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day twenty | ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ

"Was I ever going to be told about this, or was I supposed to accidentally discover it myself?"

tags: pet names, fem!reader, established relationship, reader is preganant, dragon!zhongli doing dragon!zhongli things because im a simp, nesting, tooth rottingly fluffy

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hello everyone ^^ this segment of the zhongli flufftober that is now just 31 fluffshots is inspired by this ask! i recommend checking it out so you know what the original context was :) i had so much fun writing this, i was literally kicking my feet and giggling like an imbecile... anyway I've been told by a couple of betas on some other works that i may have a slight over reliance on dialogue so I've been working on setting the scene a bit more through description, please tell me if this slays or not.

i am down so astronomically bad for family man zhongli be still my beating heart and ovaries cause wtaf

Zhongli's favourite part of the day is easily six pm when he can hurry home from the funeral parlor to see you. But over the few weeks, he's been becoming more on edge as the clock tends to the end of his work day. He's never particularly enjoyed being away from you for long, granted, but he always wants to be at home now.

On his way home, he passes through the market stalls and finds himself drawn to a couple of stands, musing over how the wares would suit your home perfectly. Before he knows it, he's bought a ridiculous amount of goods and is staggering under the weight of it as he returns home to you. He'd only meant to buy the vase, but then he'd been drawn to some woolen blankets and pillowcases with golden threads, and how could he ignore his instincts when they were calling out to him so loudly?

"You're finally home," you smile when he comes through the front door. You dare not ask about the ridiculous amount of things he's been buying recently–when you do, he looks at you with confusion, as if you're supposed to know what he's doing. You don't. At all. When it comes to Zhongli and his instincts, you've learned to ride the wave and accept whatever you're told.

Zhongli lowers his head to kiss you, manoeuvering his pile of goodies out of your way. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm great. How are you?" You shoot back snarkily. You know that's not what he's asking—he's asking about whether the baby's been good today or whether you've done anything particularly exciting with the sudden excess of time you've been granted since taking maternity leave.

"I'm well, thanks," he replies, chuckling and your evasion of his question. You do this almost every day, withholding the detail of your day from him until he sits down and gives you his full attention—something he can't do while carrying a whole mound of knitted goods.

"I'll tell you more after you put that away. Where are you putting all that stuff anyway?" You ask, and Zhognli shrugs.

"Places." he smiles, heading upstairs. The aforementioned place is your room—not that you spend much time in it. In fact, Zhongli's been in your old room more often in the past three months than you have since you moved in. As your pregnancy progresses, you seek him out more than usual, desperate for his comfort. And so, his room has become a shared room. Not that he particularly minds.

When he returns downstairs, he lies down, resting his head in your lap, and you tell him everything you've done today, absent-mindedly braiding his hair as you talk. He likes being close to your stomach, even though you're barely showing, and listens attentively, asking questions about your adventures. Nine times out of ten, you both fall asleep like this, and you awake in the morning in your bed. But today, you wake up before Zhongli does, having napped earlier in the day, and carefully slip away from him, slipping a pillow under his head where you once had been.

The sheer amount of knitted things Zhongli brought today has made you want to revive your old hobby of crocheting in the hopes you might be able to make something for the baby. If you remember correctly, the last time you crocheted anything was when you still used your room for its intended purpose—and not as a walk-in wardrobe. And so, you march yourself to your room, ready to check under the bed for your trunk of supplies.

Or rather, you would be if Zhongli hadn't replaced your bed with what feels like thousands of pillows and blankets.

Oh, Li, you think, wrapping a blanket with golden threads around your shoulders.

Sometimes, it's easy to forget that the man wasn't always human—that even though his body is that of a man's, his mind and soul aren't, and that sometimes old instincts kick in. Was he embarrassed? Was he worried that you'd think he's weird?

You walk towards the large pile of comforters out of curiosity. If he put this much work into it, you might as well test if it's any good, right? You sink into the blankets, curling up with one of the pillows in your hands. It feels like every part of your body is being hugged by him, no less. You can swear the blankets smell like him. Before you know it, you've fallen asleep, a golden pillow clutched close to your chest.

When Zhongli wakes up and finds you replaced by a pillow but the house silent, he's slightly concerned. Have you injured yourself while he's been sleeping? It can't be. He would have woken up. And so he's decided to search for you. Just to make sure you're alright. He can't be too careful. But you're not in his bed, and you're not in the bathroom, the study, or the small makeshift library he'd put together for you.

The final place to look is your old room, but you'd had no reason to go in there before, so why would you go now all of a sudden? But of course, that's where he found you, curled up in the middle of the sorry attempt of a next he'd put together to try and curb his urges. He wishes he'd had enough time to finalise his preparations, but seeing you sleep so happily makes his heart swell. He sits on the floor beside the bed, carefully taking your hand in his as you stir, resting your hand on your stomach as you sit up.

"Good evening," he smiles, and you stare at him blankly as if you don't understand, a sign you've slept well. "Are you alright?"

You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into bed with you. When you've finally woken up enough to talk, you look up at him and ask: "Was I ever going to be told about this, or was I supposed to accidentally discover it myself?"

"I had intended it to be a gift for you and the baby when you were further along, but I have no objections to you getting an early present." His smile is excited and bright as he pulls you closer to him, suddenly overcome with the feeling that you can never be close enough.

"This is not what I expected when I found out dragons nest." You smile against his chest.

"Well, I can't exactly bring you feathers, can I? You'd slaughter me the minute I step over the threshold, so this will have to do."

"I can think of worse places to sleep," you smile, kissing him lightly. "Thank you. I love it."

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