Am Soo Happy To See Your Back Even If It's Just For A Short While I Hope Your Doing Okey And That Everything

Am soo happy to see your back even if it's just for a short while I hope your doing okey and that everything is good with life and work 😊 i wanted to ask if it was possible how do you think Yan Scara would react if reader got sick ? Would he be worried ? Would he try to tend to them or leave it to the doctors and servants ?

Again thank you so much for taking time for us 💕

My asks are FULL of this exact same question, I'm not joking 😭😭 so I just wrote all of them.

Sick Day

Yandere! x Fem! Reader

Featuring: Diluc, Childe, and Scaramouche

Diluc spent most of his life taking care of himself. Before and after the passing of his father, he was independent to a worrying degree for a young child. So when he got sick, he paid it little mind. He took the proper medicine and if the fever was mild enough, he'd still be sitting at his desk filing his mountains of paperwork. The only indication that he was unwell being the slight rasp of his voice and flush of his cheeks.

But that was because Diluc didn't care much for his own well-being. His body wasn't useful for much other than work, but only he believed that. The day you wake up with a cough and runny nose, mentioning to the head maid that you can't leave the bed because you're so lightheaded, Diluc is in shambles. The second the news makes it to his ears that you're under the weather, he's rushing to your bed chambers, at your side even when you don't want him.

Diluc can't stand the idea of losing you. You can hate him until Teyvat freezes over, it hurts, but at the very least he knows you're well. So the second you fall ill, a part of him feels shame for his inability to protect you, the other feels a visceral fear that you won't be around anymore.

For days you're catered to in bed. Not just by maids, but Diluc too. You're given soft, warm foods and plenty of water. Your temperature is taken three times a day by a doctor, who insists that if you're not awake to eat, you should sleep more to regain your strength. You wondered how much Diluc threatened him to get him to say the same thing over and over.

The day that you're deemed well and cleared to roam the manor freely again, is supposed to be a joyous one for you. As much as you love your room, you were growing sick of the wallpaper and you could only look at the same painting so many times before it frustrated you instead of entertaining. But overbearing Diluc is still around, watching you with worried eyes and begging you to take breaks to rest after every three steps you take.

Ajax is the epitome of an old wife when it comes to health remedies. With all of his siblings, some of which he ended up taking care of as he got older, he picked up a thing or two from the way his mother cared for him when he was sick. Her remedies, while strange to those from other countries, always had him in tiptop shape in a day or two.

It didn't help that you didn't hail from Snezhnaya. Liyue got cold, but even the hottest day in Snezhnaya was colder than the coldest in Liyue. Your body would have to acclimate to your new climate, meaning that even if he tried to keep you warm at night with the fireplace roaring and many blankets, all it would take was a little Snezhnayan air tickling your nostrils to make you wake up with a cold.

Using what his mother taught him and what her mother taught her before, he woke you up from your sleep when he noticed your runny nose and tears in your eyes. Pressing a hand against your forehead to check your temperature, all while your dreary eyes slowly blinked, wordlessly begging for more sleep.

“You'll rest soon, my angel, but I need you to drink this first,” Childe spoke in the softest voice he could muster, so as not to intensify your headache.

He knew something was wrong with you, the way you took the cup from his hands and downed without batting an eye. The little grimace your face made when the vodka hit your tongue was cute, but he tried not to get lost in your features while you were still sick and needy for assistance. His mother did a lot of things when he fell ill, but a shock of vodka was always the first, you were out cold after swallowing it down.

Despite his love for you, Ajax doesn't worry when you're sick. He believes that sickness is just one of the many battles of life and that there's no way you won't succeed in conquering it. Even after you're better, Childe insists that the two of you do some light exercises together. You can complain that it's your first day healthy, but he won't listen. Strengthening your body will keep you from getting sick again.

Even though he's lived for hundreds of years, Scaramouche doesn't quite understand the human body. Improper conditions for a prolonged time will just make you cease to work? And in the most inconvenient way possible as well? It's annoying and far too inconvenient.

Or, that's what he told himself. But when he looks over at you that first morning when you're sick, sweay pooling on your forehead and seemingly unable to breathe, something tugs at his heart. He feels something for you, watching as even in your dreams you're writhing in pain. Scaramouche feels pity. He assumes it's something he can only feel towards you because his heart sings for you.

“What are you doing?” Scaramouche questions a maid who he bumped into in the hallway.

Even though she carried a bowl of water in her hands, she still found a way to bow, “I received news that the Lady has a fever, my lord. A towel soaked in cold water on her forehead will help break it.”

He hummed. He'd heard of such things, but never thought that he himself would see them being used. A sense of urgency took over him when he realized that this would help you though, a need to be the one doing it for you.

“She'll be more comfortable with someone she's familiar with. Let me do it,” he ordered while snatching the bowl from her hands.

She opened her mouth to question him, but he shot her a glare before she could. He marched back to his room promptly, kneeling beside you as you slept. As the maid said, the cool towel did work. You seemed less pained when he placed it on your forehead.

After that moment, Scaramouche insisted he be the one doing everything for you while you were sick. Feeding you ginger soup, changing your blankets, nursing you back health without any assistance. All because he assured everyone that you'd be more comfortable with him doing it, although you rarely even opened your tired eyes the entire time you were getting better, so you had no idea who was cradling you in their arms and insisting you eat more.

When you're better, you're under the assumption that the maids are the ones who helped you, knowing that while you're sick you're practically comatose. But they insist that it wasn't them, saying that Lord Scaramouche himself cared for you and stayed by your side the entire time.

He'll never admit it though, brushing you off by saying something along the lines of, “Why are you saying such stupid things?”

Mai. I definitely don’t want to rush you and I get it. Life happens, but do you still remember the consummation of the marriage fics?

Somewhere in my 50+ drafts. I'm not even joking. I was being serious when I said I need to get rid of some of those wips. I just have an emotional attachment to all of them.

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like and reblog are much appreciated ♡

Illusion

Yandere! Lyney x Fem,Dancer! Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: if this story seems similar to "I wonder if you look both ways..." It's cause this is the original. I scrapped it, but when reading it again I realized that I was very stupid to do that cause I like it. They're sisters, but not twins, they both can be enjoyed.

A magician's job is to lie. To convince you that there are wonders of the world that the human eye can't decipher. To entertain and entrance an audience of people, all while they stare in awe. Their eyes having a look of simultaneous confusion and scrutiny, they'd try to pick the trick apart, only to fail and be even more impressed by their inability to solve the puzzle. The job of a magician is to endure all of that inspection from prying eyes, but still make it look captivating.

Your job was to draw attention. That's what Lyney told you the day you were hired. They were set to perform at the opera house again, the biggest stage in Fontaine, but this time it would be an even more grand performance, this time, there would be no issues. With an area so large, they needed to maximize as much space as possible, there didn't need to be a moment of time where the audience had to question what was coming next. That's where you came in.

When the music came to a crescendo, cymbals crashing and violins singing at their loudest harmony, you'd be dancing, leaping all over. Graceful as a swan, but with enthusiasm that made your moves look more playful. Hopefully that would be enough to keep the eyes on you as Lyney rushed to the other side of the stage to complete the performance in an escalation.

You'd never done something like this before. Actually, you'd never danced professionally. Not yet at least. This would be your first real show. A fresh face right out of ballet school with nothing to your name, but a few school performances, none of which you were granted the leading role for. Who would give you a chance? Who else, but Lyney and Lynette who needed a dancer on rather short notice.

Lyney, who said your dancing was mesmerizing. But not in his usual, eccentric voice that would draw the crowd. He was talking quietly, in a breathless whisper as he spoke. Mesmerizing. His eyes glued onto your form as you panted after your audition, wide and entranced. You gave them a nervous bow and a heartfelt appreciation before exiting stage left. What you felt like was a mediocre performance where you messed up too much, was what landed you your first real gig.

Your choreo was simple, most of it you came up with yourself, with the twins giving minor input here and there. Raise your leg here, jump there, when you twirl, go in this direction. It was much easier than the strict, uptight teachings of school, where your instructors insisted that the real world would be harsher than they were. You weren't needed for a good majority of the performance, so nothing especially skillful was required until the very end.

“I'd like to see an addition to our set,” Lyney announced. His hands on his hips, he spoke proudly, but while sneaking quick glances towards you, “I feel like we're not utilizing our new resident dancer enough. I think we need to add a slight change to the choreography.”

There was no issue with this, they were your employers after all. You did your best to make it known to them that you were flexible in every aspect. It was their show. Anything they needed to be done, you'd do your best to accommodate.

The move the blond added was simple. As you stood on your toes on one foot, your other leg would be out straight behind you. Lyney would step forward to take your hand, then he would walk around you, turning you both in a slow circle while addressing the audience to prepare them for his next illusion. Like a ballerina trapped in a music box, you spun to the creeping swell of the music alongside him.

The addition was not even close to difficult, a move you'd done a million times before and would probably do a million more in the future. But this was the first time that you'd touched Lyney. The separation between you two gave you no reason to do so. His hands were cold, yet clammy and it was only when you were this close to him, that you noticed he smelled of plums. You could feel his heart beating in his fingertips and even see a little sweat on his forehead, you chalked it up to nerves though. Even those who have performed a thousand times before can fall victim to tension.

“Would you mind if I put my hand on your waist when we did that move,” he asked you one day between practices. He was hesitating, but still playing up his confident attitude.

A hand on your waist was nothing. You'd had to be close to other dancers plenty of times, and the turn did look a bit awkward with Lyney just having his hand at his side, but you thought that that would be the ample time for him to do a quick card trick or sleight of hands to spice things up, “That would be alright.”

The turn was practiced with the change. To you it felt no different, like an average day back at the academy. The real difference was Lyney himself. With that gentle hand on your waist, so soft it felt like he was hovering his hand over your body and not touching you at all. His cheeks had reddened, the first time you'd ever seen the great magician Lyney blush and you could feel him trembling, but just barely, like he was shivering from cold.

Eye contact with your partner is good when you're dancing a duet. It gives the appearance of chemistry, but eye contact with a crowd is mandatory when engaging with them. Despite this, for the entire duration of the turn, Lyney’s vibrant purple eyes would be locked with yours, not looking away for a second, not until the spin was complete and it was time for your solo.

Even you couldn't bring yourself to hold his gaze, not with the strange way he was smirking. Midway through the spin, when your back was facing the audience, you'd look down to not have to be staring at him anymore, a move that made him squeeze your hand to the point of causing pain. You held back a yelp to keep from causing a scene, it was an accident, it had to have been. He wasn't realizing his own strength.

When he let go, you began your energetic dance, twirling around the floor while music vibrated at your feet. You could hear the sound of Lyney's prop going off, the signal that the song would end in a triumphant climax and the show was over. You dropped from your ending pose and turned to see the remnants of the ending. Realization hitting you that the confetti had fired, but Lyney wasn't there.

Rather, he was still close to you, having only taken two steps back and seemingly frozen in place right there. Lyney had missed his cue. He was a perfectionist. Even though he knew things would and could go wrong, and he was a bit of a stickler when it came to things like this. It was the big moments, the parts where the audience would be in the most awe. With flashes, pops, and bangs to draw their attention, then he'd be there to take the brunt of the cheers. These moments were some of the most important.

The way he stood there behind you, eyes on you like you'd put a spell on him. Barely moving, barely blinking, like he was trying to drink in every piece for your form. He shook himself from this trance rather quickly, giving an embarrassed smile, “It appears that I've fallen for the distraction,” he laughed rather brazenly, “Well at least we know she's good at taking the attention! Let's take a break and start from the top again, yeah?”

There was a unanimous choir of groans that filled the room while Lyney chuckled. You were rather grateful for the break. You needed a moment to breathe and collect yourself. Most importantly, to think of what had just happened. The rational part of your brain wanted to tell you that you were overthinking, that Lyney wasn't acting strange at all, but the paranoid part of you couldn't help, but notice the way he stared. Not just when you were dancing, but whenever he got the chance to.

You'd look over and see bright purple eyes on you, seemingly unblinking. If you caught him in the act he'd give you a smile and a wave, making you feel as if you'd misunderstood. But that didn't stop the sinking feeling in your chest, he was acting normal, but intuition was telling you that something was off.

Almost as if he knew you were thinking of him, Lyney appeared. He stood a little too close to you, that gentle smile on his face. “Sorry for messing up back there,” he whined a little, then rested his head on your shoulder.

You flinched from his touch and tried to step away from him, but his arm snaked itself around your waist before you could. And Lyney was much much stronger than he looked. A nervous chuckle left your lips.

“It's alright, it's just practice after all,” you assured him.

“You're right,” he sighed. It felt like his hand was sinking, lowering to your hip while he continued the casual conversation, “I just want to impress you.”

Words got caught in your throat as you tried to choke up a response. What were you supposed to say? What could you say? A part of you wanted to brush this off as flirting, maybe you'd given him the wrong impression with something you'd said or done, but you couldn't even open your mouth to tell him otherwise.

“I have something for you,” Lyney gave a signature grin, lifting his hat from his head. Almost immediately a few cards fluttered down onto the floor around him while he gave them a confused, almost embarrassed stare, “Well that's not right,” he joked. He was performing. Right in front of you, Lyney was putting on a little show to charm you. Reaching into his pockets and pulling out much too large objects, only to magically put them back while cursing comically.

“There we go!” He cheered while holding a single rose that he'd managed to yank from his sleeve. He reached it out to you, waiting for you to grab it. The bud was surprisingly real, usually this trick was performed with fake flowers, the real ones would die too quickly. When you went to take it, he flicked the flower, making that singular rose turn into a bouquet. So close to the magic, but your mind couldn't decipher how he'd done it, even you were dumbfounded, “One isn't enough for you.”

You held the bouquet in awe as Lyney walked away proudly. He stepped backwards the whole time, not taking his eye off of you for a second until practice was set to start again, but this practice was different. He was finding more and more ways to sneak glances at you and more ways to brush up against and touch you.

The day of the performance was one that was considered nice in Fontaine. There was rain, but it was a light drizzle, light tears from the hydro dragon. It was believed that a good performance on this day would cheer him up.

And a good performance Lyney was set to give. You were backstage in a costume so tight it practically corrected your already good posture, and with so many sparkles, you were convinced that if the lights hit you the wrong way it'd blind the audience. He was most impressed with what he'd chosen for you to wear, stealing glances at you as you went through the choreo once more.

The lights felt hot. That's all you focus on as the show began. The acclaim of the crowd blended in with the vibrant music and the only thing you could think about were how hot the lights were. But you still performed. Your simple moves first. Light spins and little jumps, placeholders as Lyney and Lynette mesmerized the audience.

You did your best to keep up, they seemed to be performing even stronger now that there was focus on them. Your heart was pounding as the time came closer and closer to your solo, the idea of messing up suddenly grazed your mind. But before your solo, there was Lyney.

He stepped up to you, not looking away for a second. His chest was rising and falling rather quickly, he was tiring himself out, but his actions were still fluid. You reached your hand out for him to take and he did, just as you'd practiced.

Only this time before the turn began, he lifted your hand to his lips, placing a kiss against it. The urge to snatch your hand away was crushing. Confusion and fear filled your head. This wasn't a part of the show. This was never practiced before. Had something changed without being announced to you?

“Everyone! Thank you for coming tonight,” Lyney called to the audience followed by a round of applause for him, “The next trick will be my last and I'm so sorry to leave such a gorgeous crowd, but I want everyone to give a round of applause to my ma chérie! Thank her for being here as well!”

Your eyes danced around in confusion, trying to find who he was talking about as the crowd erupted into a symphony of cheers, only to realize that he was looking at you. To pour more salt into the wound and reiterate that he was talking about you, he lifted the hand he was holding, an action you could only let him do as bewilderment set in.

With those vibrant eyes still on you, he faced you, still smirking. He grabbed you by the waist then pulled you towards him, leaning down to place a kiss upon your lips. You couldn't hear anything over the cheers and screams of the audience, couldn't even hear your own heartbeat. But you felt it. Felt that heavy pounding as Lyney stroked your cheek in a romantic gesture before marching off to complete the set.

The music. As your head swirled and your eyes lost focus, you tried to pay attention to the music. It was time for your solo. You danced. Danced like hell, danced the choreo you created as the music swelled. But it wasn't really you dancing, more muscle memory than thought. And then it was over. Lyney appeared on the other side of the room, confetti was fired, and there was a standing ovation from the crowd. Everything was perfect.

Everything except your fearful face. The tears your eyes. Your look of worry as you looked back at your fellow members, then taking their bows as the curtain fell. They seemed so normal about what happened.

“What the hell was that?” You managed to ask, but instead you were only met with confused looks.

“What ever could you mean, ma chérie?” Lyney had taken your hand, but you pulled it back quickly, the watchful eyes of the audience no longer swaying you.

“This!” You gasped. You felt crazy trying to motion to everything around you, everything that was wrong, “All of this! You kissed me out there!”

“What's the problem with that?” It was Lynette talking now, her usual calm demeanor not seeming to be perturbed by your hysteria, “A kiss was always in the script.”

You gulped down saliva, trying to stop your beating heart and shallow breathing. Everyone was so calm and collected. Yet here you were, confused and practically causing a scene.

“Are you alright, ma chérie,” Lyney asked, stroking your cheek again. There was a look of genuine worry on his face, but all you could think about was that name. That fucking name. Has he always called you that? “You seem rather upset? What bothers you?”

“None of this is making sense,” you muttered. But you weren't really talking to him, more trying to calm yourself. Being surrounded by people who insisted upon lying to you was making doubt swirl in your mind. Had you misunderstood something? Were you truly the one confused? In your heart of hearts, you knew the truth, yet here you were, still being told otherwise.

Around you everyone was doing as normal. The stage hands had already begun packing up, with you standing there dumbfounded. You're sure you would've stood there until the end of time, had Lyney not taken your hand and begun to pull you out of the opera house.

The air of fontaine still had that salty smell to it, but the light drizzle had stopped. Your performance had pleased the hydro dragon, you supposed, yet you now were the one with tears in your eyes.

“I was thinking, ma chérie, how about you join our troupe permanently,” Lyney’s voice sounded like he was underwater in your ears, yet you somehow understood him perfectly. His question was just giving you the illusion of choice as you knew the answer he was going to make you take. A magician’s job is to lie, after all.

kissing you

cw: very suggestive themes, slight yan content with wanderer, self indulgent, overall fluff, afab!reader in some parts (overall, gn! terms used, reader wears make up/dress), terrible flirting. minors dni, mdni. user has a vision.

characters: kaeya, diluc, wanderer, arlecchino, al-haitham

kaeya has been staring at your lips for awhile now - as you talk about something that you ran into while out doing some sort of investigation. it's starting to make you nervous, the way he remains silent, bent down, his eye on your lips and his head tilted to the side.

"captain? are you listening to me? this this hilichurl camp set up nearby and -"

"yes, yes." kaeya says with a wave of his hand. "i'll have some of my people get on it." he pauses now, leaning in closer. you can smell his cologne. "say, did you get a new shade of lipstick?"

"i-uh, yes?"

"hmm." he gently cups your chin with his fingers, tilting his head to the side as he gently kisses you. "aw, it's not flavored this time."

all you can do is stutter before he bends in to kiss you again.

the fall night is warm, you're warm as you wrap your arms around his as the pair of you exit the manor for the night - the party goers dispersing and it's time for you to head home as well. the abundance of wealth diluc has always surprises you, on top of all his connections. he tells you about something, maybe it's another compliment in the list of all the creative ways he tells you how much he loves you, you're not sure but you're tired.

"shall i accompany you home tonight, my love?" diluc asks as he helps you into your carriage. "you are certainly more than welcome to also stay the night."

"ah, but we certainly cannot have rumors flying around just yet." you say with a tired giggle. playing hard to get is one of your favorite things to do - he seems to enjoy the chase some, at least.

"then," he gently takes your hand into his gloved one, those red eyes that always look into your soul and beyond, look into your own, as he presses a kiss to the back of your hand. "get home safe, okay? if you encounter any trouble, do not hesitate to return."

you smile, taking your hand back and bend down (silently delighting into the new height advantage the carriage gives you) and kiss him on the cheek.

"have a lovely night, diluc." yet it takes one more kiss to pull you out of the carriage and back into his manor.

he is irritated, agitated more like, with his pacing back and forth. you sigh and watch him, legs crossed and elbows resting on your thighs. you're getting dizzy at this point, but his frustration is honestly really funny.

all that had to happen was someone complimenting you today and he loses his mind. the entire day, he's been sulking and pouting and grumbling.

"hat guy," you call to him, gently. "are you okay?"

he stops in his tracks, staring dead in your eyes. "no," he grumbles. "i am not." you huff a laugh and shake your head. it's like you blink and he's blocking your view of well - the rest of the living room. you're not exactly sure what's happening, but your shirt is being pulled down and his lips are pressing against the tender skin at the juncture between your shoulder and your neck.

and he bites. you yelp a bit, but he doesn't pull away until there is a bright red mark there.

"you're mine, don't forget that."

"you never let me forget." you grumble as he pushes you down, his teeth sinking into more of your neck.

you are wholly naked after getting out of the bath, and sitting between arlecchino's legs, on her bed, as she brushes your hair. she admires every inch of you, on a daily basis. whenever you ask about her doing your hair, she simply tells you that she enjoys it and should she not pamper her loved one? so you always drop the subject and lean into this momentary peace in her chaotic life. the candle flickers some, its flame casting a gentle glow in the bedroom.

a clawed hand rests on your thigh and you peek at the full length mirror, she's set the brush down.

warmth blossoms through you as she kisses the back of your neck, trailing kisses down along your spine until she reaches midback. after a moment, she's tugging at your hair, forcing you to lean your head back as she kisses you on the lips.

"you're very beautiful." she murmurs.

"you tell me that often." you tell her with a little giggle. she hums softly.

"not often enough." she declares, her hand reaching for the brush again. "i believe i should praise you more. you are a good girl, after all." your face reddens at that and she looks even more pleased. another kiss is pressed to the side of your neck before she resumes her previous task.

you talk too much, al-haitham has told you many times - you like to visit him in his office at lunch every day, just to ramble on and on. you like to think he's listening, but with his eyes always glued on his book, you're never sure. but that never stops you (nor does it ever stop kaveh, the poor man sometimes stresses himself out over his roommates indifference). oh, you do this to annoy him most of the time, but lately, it's just scheduled and expected.

"and can you believe-"

your words are cut off when his lips meet yours, your eyes widen when he pulls away. you're stunned as you sit down on the comfortable couch, trying to comprehend what just happened.

"do you hear that?" he asks you after a moment.

"no. what should i be hearing?"

"the sound of sweet silence." al-haitham finally answers, and you finally look at him, while his eyes are glued to the book, he has a smug look to his face. oh this asshole.

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