Following the Recipe

Characters: Diluc, Xiao, Zhongli, fm!reader

Word Count: 2,877

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: A meal from those you love is something very special. Unfortunately making said meal is a little more difficult.

In which the reader cooks for their s/o with somewhat disastrous results

Author’s Note: Thank you anon for your request! I had lots of fun!

The request used she/her pronouns so I tagged fm!reader, but I don’t think you can actually tell.

I too am very bad at cooking and you can tell because there are no measurements in this fic.

Diluc

• Being married to Diluc you knew meant marrying the entire tradition and routine of the Winery he ran as well. Maids took care of your clothing, chefs cooked your meals, you never had to run to get a mop because any spill or stain that might show was whisked away, as if by magic.
• And frankly it made you incredibly uncomfortable.
• You’d think the transition from being utterly self-sufficient to only doing your non-domestic work would be smooth, but more and more you found yourself in a mindset torn between guilt and overwhelming boredom. The hours in which you waited for Diluc to come home from his business both as a merchant and as a vigilante stretched before you endlessly. You couldn’t do it. You had to do something self-sustaining.
• So you picked cooking, mainly because you had no idea where they carted out the laundry to – what kind of mansion didn’t have a place to wash things – and also because it was cute, the idea of making something that you could share with your husband, a labor of love or some such thing.
• Walking down to where you knew the kitchens were kept you hesitated for a moment, gawking at all the state-of-the-art cookware, before waving all the cooks and servants away. Once all the bowing and curtseying had ended – there was another thing you were never going to get used to – you tied back your hair, put on an apron, and looked around for a cookbook. When that didn’t work – seriously did people just memorize everything – you groaned and trudged back upstairs.
• Your first Adventurer’s Handbook was the sort of artifact that you’d always cherish. Memories flowed through it, of your first fight, your first expedition, and, most importantly, your first cooking attempts. Of course that had been years ago and you were never stellar or anything, but the food listed within the weathered and water damaged pages were hearty, and you were sure you’d be able to replicate them again.
• Unfortunately, you’d underestimated how much water damage your pseudo-cookbook had taken, and though you’d managed to marinate the chicken and piece together how much heat you needed no matter how much you squinted you couldn’t make heads or tails of the time it’d take to cook. Sighing you shook your head. No way in hell were you going to give up now, you were so close. Looking around once more you tried to figure your way out of this. One of the nice things about the state of the art kitchen equipment Diluc had managed to procure is that the oven had quite a large window. You supposed you’d have to eyeball it and use a thermometer.
• How hot were chickens supposed to get?
• Shrugging you pushed the chicken into the oven, the small piece of doubt sneering at you that this was surely going to end in disaster.
• “My darling!” Diluc smiled widely as he entered the Winery, peeling off his gloves just in time for you catapult into his arms.
• “I’ve missed you.” You murmured, giving Diluc a soft peck on the cheek, which he quickly turned into a proper, if a bit heated, kiss.
• “You saw me in the morning.” Diluc noted, mirth hinting in his voice.
• “Who’s the one who kissed the other like they had been gone for two weeks.” You shot back, a bit out of breath, but then Diluc always had that effect on you. Especially today. Today you were positively bouncing on your toes, although how much of that was excitement and how much of that was nervousness you couldn’t quite tell.
• “What is it darling?” Diluc asked, smiling an indulgent sort of smile. “You seem awfully bright.”
• “I’ve made something for you!” You replied in a sing-song type voice.
• “Oh? What is it?”
• “Dinner!” You’d been planning on saving the surprise, but you found yourself unable to keep it a secret. Diluc, for his part, brightened at the revelation.
• “You didn’t need to do that.” You could tell that he was happy, or perhaps impressed. Shrugging you put on a front of nonchalance.
• “I know, but I wanted to. Are you hungry?”
• “Extremely.”
• Laughing you sat down at the table you two used for dinner. There was a far fancier one for entertaining, but sitting there normally gave one the feeling of shouting to one’s spouse, so you both decided it was better to sit in the much simpler parlor, where the table was too large to be considered a coffee table, but not so ornate it made meals feel like a hassle.
• The chicken was already there when you arrived, sitting under a lid the servants had found – that kitchen was so big you need a map to know where the utensils were. Diluc sat down placidly and you eagerly lifted the lid. Smiling he cut off a slice, although not with so little effort that you didn’t ponder the actual logistics of serving a whole chicken, no matter how scrawny. You bounced a little in your chair as he cut a piece and ate it. You were pretty certain you’d cooked it long enough, at least it wasn’t raw inside, that you were sure of.
• Yet Diluc’s expression of thoughtfulness lingered just long enough to look less like he was savoring it and more like he was wondering how he was going to swallow it, and how he was going to reply to your unsaid question: how did it taste. Swallowing with some effort he reached for the glass of water next to his plate.
• “It’s… ah. It’s slightly dry.”
• “Slightly?”
• “Well, more like very dry and slightly burnt.” Diluc admitted, grimacing slightly. “I’m sure it’s not your fault, what book were you using; was the oven by any chance malfunctioning?”
• “I doubt it,” you admitted, trying to ignore the blotches of red spreading across your face, hoping if you kept talking the embarrassment would eventually go away. “I, um, I couldn’t find a cookbook, so I used my old Adventurer’s Handbook but the cooking time was smudged out and I couldn’t remember the right temperature the chicken was supposed to have to prove it wasn’t undercooked. I suppose I went a bit overboard.” You let out a huff of a laugh but your throat felt slightly dry and you felt the sudden urge to catapult yourself out the nearest window.
• Diluc evidently registered the look of discomfort, for he stood up and silently enveloped you in a hug. Burying your face in his chest you let out a groan of frustration and an “I’m sorry.” Diluc stroked your hair in a way that calmed you down, and you could feel his chin bumping into your forehead as he shook his head.
• “Don’t apologize my darling, it’s not your fault. Let’s go and find a cookbook, shall we? I’m sure there must be one in the kitchen or in the library.”
• “Have you seen how big the kitchen is?” You looked up at him, face slightly deadpanned as you realized the absurd hilarity in the fact you were essentially about to retrace your earlier steps. “We’ll be searching a long time.”
• “As long as it’s with you, I don’t mind.” Diluc pressed a featherlight kiss to your forehead, causing you to smile. Things had certainly not gone as planned, but you didn’t mind. As long as you got to spend time with Diluc and feel a certain sense of agency, well that was all that mattered.

Xiao

• Honestly up until the Lantern Rite you weren’t even sure if Xiao actually ate anything, besides the offerings of Almond Tofu that you made about once every two weeks – and secretly the only thing you actually knew how to cook with any skill.
• It wasn’t really surprising of course that you didn’t know Xiao’s eating habits. Though you two had each professed you love for one another and had cemented your relationship as mutual, you still led somewhat separate lives, something to be expected between a mortal and an adeptus.
• But once you’d found out you couldn’t ignore the idea of cooking for him. And not just because you’d been trying to find a motive for learning how to cook for years – mooching off various friends, colleagues, and food stalls was hardly the most responsible thing. You wanted to do something, to have something between the two of you. A set routine, a link that was tangible, or at least that you could see in some ways. You loved Xiao, and you understood that he couldn’t simply slip into a normal sort of relationship, not considering his past, but you still wanted to share something. And what was more casually intimate than eating together?
• Unfortunately for you, you had the annoying inability to measure anything by eye. And though the Wangshu Inn was piled with foods, spices, and various other edibles, Smiley Yanxiao was one of those traditionalists that believed if they had mastered the art of not measuring, than surely you could as well.
• The dish was simple enough: baked Salmon. What was more simple than sticking something in the oven? Well perhaps not a lot, but that didn’t change the fact you had no idea what you were doing when it came to seasonings. How much thyme is too much thyme? What is too much salt and how do you tell? What about pepper? These thoughts swirled through your head as you tried to remember your past cooking failures. Well last time your friend had complained your food was too bland, so surely more spices was the way to go this time? So, throwing various herbs liberally on your fish, you stuck it in the oven. Surely this would be better than last time.
• Well the fish certainly smelled of spices, although you weren’t sure if there was too much. But food having a strong fragrance was surely a good thing! That was what you told yourself as you placed one of the two pieces on a plate and handed it to Xiao.
• At first he just raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms and slouching back.
• “What’s this?”
• “What do you think?” You replied, unperturbed by his reaction. “It’s food. I wanted to make some for you.”
• “Why?” Xiao raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need to eat the way you do.”
• “I figured,” you admitted, shrugging slightly, “but I wanted to have a sort of ritual to do with you. Normally boyfriends and girlfriends and various other partners eat together, or at least I think they do. It’s like sharing a small part of your day with someone always, sort of to build intimacy… Not sure if I explained that well.” You laughed slightly, but you could tell from Xiao’s expression that he had gotten the gist. Picking up his chopsticks he cut into the flaky fish. Well at least it had cooked the right amount of time.
• However, you knew something was wrong the minute Xiao’s eyes widened and he brought his napkin up to his mouth.
• “Ah. That bad.” You let out another laugh, embarrassment growing by the second.
• “How much salt did you put in this?” Xiao asked, tone more genuine disbelief than judgemental. Still you felt yourself growing smaller by the minute.
• “I, uh, I didn’t know how much salt it needed so I sort of guessed. I’m not very good at that, as you can tell.” You glanced down at the table, finding that you were backing away slightly. You felt like you wanted to close the pages of your own life and disappear this moment. Why had you decided to do this?
• Why did you have to mess up now? Around friends it was embarrassing enough, but with Xiao it was different. How could you espouse the idea of cooking for one’s significant other when you didn’t even know how much salt to put on a piece of fish? It was silly, really. You knew you weren’t good at cooking, you should’ve thought of something else. And now here you were, and there was nothing you could do to stop the shame building up in you.
• Xiao calling your name was finally what brought you out of your circular thoughts. Usually he didn’t address you by anything really, whether a name or an endearment. He sort of assumed you’d know he was talking to you. Now, you lifted your head, finding in the adeptus’ eyes no mockery or superiority, only the soft gaze of someone who wanted to make their loved one feel better.
• “Thank you for making this for me.” He said softly.
• “It’s not even edible.” You pointed out, voice flat with regret. “I saw you spit it into your napkin.”
• “Perhaps it didn’t turn out right,” Xiao admitted, “you just need to practice. Cooking is about habits, someone once told me that. I’m sure they were right. You just have to cook enough to build those habits up.”
• “And ruin food until I get there?” You pointed out. “Seems awfully wasteful.”
• “I’m sure we’ll find something to do with this.” Xiao’s voice was always soothing but now it seemed especially so. Reaching out he rubbed circles into your wrist, shooing away the rest of your embarrassment. “I’m sure it won’t take long.”
• “Thank you.” You whispered, leaning your head on Xiao’s shoulder.
• “Thank you for telling me about this tradition.” You could hear the smile in Xiao’s voice. Maybe this time around had been a total wash, but it’d be alright. As long as Xiao told you that you could believe it.
• Even if you were ready to take all the salt at the Inn and throw it into the fire.

Zhongli

• Zhongli was a good cook. A surprisingly good cook. And, considering your own cooking experience consisted of making Puttanesca and literally nothing else, it was perhaps unsurprising that Zhongli ended up cooking all your meals, something which you appreciated greatly.
• But you also felt kind of bad about it. Though Zhongli never complained about it, cooking day after day is exhausting, and eventually everyone needs a rest.
• It was with that thought in mind that you grabbed a cookbook, rolled up your sleeves, and decided to get cooking.
• Unfortunately recipes are, apparently, really fucking confusing. Or rather transferring measurements is really fucking confusing. The recipe you had was for pork chops, but the pork chops you had were about two sizes smaller than what the book called for. So do you cook it for the same amount of time? You spent an agonizing amount of time pondering this. Surely not! There was less surface area, probably less depth. Why wouldn’t you cook it for less time?
• That, as one might expect, was a mistake.
• Zhongli greeted you that evening with his characteristic calm smile and short kiss on the hand and then the cheek.
• “I made something~” You chimed, leading Zhongli to the table.
• “Oh my love you didn’t have to!” Zhongli’s sedate smile turned into a grin as he kiss turned towards you and gave you another light kiss. “I’m perfectly glad to cook.”
• “I know,” you replied, smiling brightly, “but you deserve a break, and besides I wanted to do something for you, I guess to thank you for being such a wonderful partner.”
• Zhongli smiled at that, sitting down and tucking his napkin into his lap, the same calm ritual as always. However this was quickly stopped when he put down his utensils and furrowed his brow. “My love?” His normally calm voice was tinged with, well something, though you couldn’t really describe it.
• “Yes?” You replied, a sinking feeling developing in your stomach. Zhongli gestured towards the pork on his plate and you walked over slowly. Seeing what he cut into you let out a gasp of embarrassed laughter. “That’s pretty rare.” You joked weakly.
• “We’ll have to put it back in the oven.” Zhongli commented, before turning towards you, an expression of surprised plastered all over his face. “What happened? It looks like you followed a recipe I’ve used before.”
• “I wasn’t sure if I should cook it for less time because the amount was less.” You admitted. Sighing you propped your elbows up on the table, resting your face in your hands. “I’m sorry,” your groaned, “I created more work for you.”
• “Nonsense.” Zhongli’s voice was as reassuring as always and he rubbed your shoulder lightly. “It just needs a little more time.”
• “I really am a bad cook.” You laughed sheepishly.
• “You just need practice,” Zhongli smiled fondly, leaning over to kiss you on the forehead before getting up to stick the pork back in the oven. “And I’d be glad to help you learn if you’d like.”
• “Really? If it doesn’t take up too much time, then I’d love that!” You smiled, mood finally lifting. As if waiting for that Zhongli’s expression completely relaxed, and his small smile widened as well.
• “It won’t, and I would love to as well. Now,” he said, gesturing towards the kitchen, “shall we finish dinner together?”
• “Gladly!” You replied, partially amazed by how easily Zhongli managed to smooth over your embarrassment and your worry.
• But that was Zhongli after all, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.