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…𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜: In which Heizou takes you to see Inazuma’s Summer Festival, but that’s not what you’ll remember the outing for.
…𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: Fluff, pining.
…𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: Crowds, I guess?
…𝙻𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑: 3,632 words.
…𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: Gender-neutral reader, modern AU, friends-to-lovers, mentions of Japanese street food and festival games.
Reblogs and comments are appreciated.
… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …
𝚂𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚛.
“This way, hurry!”
Your heels drove into the floor to propel yourself forwards as you forced your way through the crowd. Heizou slipped ahead of you, weaving past the sea of arms and torsos with skill you could envy. Your blood rushed in your ears. The hot pulse thrummed in time with your heartbeat. Somebody knocked their elbow into your ribs. You felt the air being forced out from your lungs.
“Careful!” Heizou said, glancing at you from over his shoulder. You would have called back “I know!”, but you were too winded to speak. “Don’t get lost, now. We’re almost there!”
Another influx of people flooded past, forcing you back into the main body of the crowd. You felt yourself be pushed forwards, right, left, pulled this way and that like a fish floundering against a current. Is it always this busy? you thought, drawing your clothes tighter around yourself.
“Quickly, over here! There’s an opening in the crowd!”
You sighed and picked up the pace, internally lamenting the crumpled, twisted state of your yukata as you did. You’d wanted to wear something nice for tonight. It was, after all, a long-awaited occasion. The fact that Heizou was here had nothing to do with it.
As promised, a gap appeared in the people ahead of you. You squeezed past a final troupe of people, elbowing your way past a tourist group, and made towards the gap at lightning speed.
The situation was this: ever since you’d first come to study in Inazuma, there was one thing you’d wanted to see here—the Teyvat-renowned Summer Festival. When you arrived, you’d missed it just shy of a week. During the second, workload and life got in the way of things (as they had a tendency to do), and by the time the third Summer Festival of your stay rolled around, you had accepted that this dream of yours was unlikely to happen, and with the same mourning feeling of bidding goodbye to an old friend, you let the dream go. After two missed festivals, you reasoned, you could survive one more. There were other, more important things to focus on, anyhow.
That of course was upturned the moment a certain Shikanoin Heizou, by now a close friend of yours whom you’d made shortly after you arrived, asked you off-handedly one day, “Hey, wanna come to the Summer Festival with me?” You had jumped at the chance as any sensible person would. He’d grinned in response.
And that is how you found yourself squished up in a sea of vibrantly-dressed festival goers on a hot summer evening, practically suffocated by the close quarters. It was not, admittedly, the most flattering start to the night.
“We should have taken another way around,” you muttered bitterly, brushing yourself off as you broke free of the crowd, although you didn’t really mean it. You were glad to be here in the first place. Oxygen was a necessary sacrifice you were willing to make.
“You alright?” Heizou asked as you sidled up beside him. It took a moment for you to catch your breath.
“Yeah. Somewhat flattened,” you admitted finally, earning a sympathetic laugh from Heizou, “but it feels good to breathe again.”
He nodded. “That’s a relief. Sorry about that, by the way. I could’ve taken us down a less busy route.”
“It’s okay. It was me who wanted to go through the main entrance, anyway.”
Heizou glanced over at you, briefly pausing. “Oh, your yukata—”
“I know,” you sighed. You brushed down the front of the garment and readjusted the collar which had been twisted sideways in the scuffle. “So much for looking good for the festival, huh?”
Heizou clicked his tongue. “Come on, don’t say that. You look amazing.”
You weren’t completely convinced, but you thanked him anyway. For a moment, you watched the ocean of people flow past, a mesmerising array of bright colours and patterned kimonos. You supposed it was your fault for trying to get in at the busiest time of the evening.
“Do you still want to continue through the stalls?” Heizou asked once the human flood died down a little.
You scoffed light-heartedly. “What kind of a question is that? Of course I do.” Heizou flashed you another smile and reached for your hand. Before he could set off and pull you along through the park hosting the festival, you added, “Maybe in a slightly less crowded area, though.”
“Got it.”
And you were off again. Heizou took the lead in showing you around, since he knew where he was going and you did not. You walked shoulder-to-shoulder through the assorted festival stalls, occasionally jostled about by the colourful crowd, talking and laughing as you went. Well, Heizou did most of the talking, while you admired all the decorations like a wide-eyed child.
“Someone's enjoying themselves,” he commented with a sly grin once he finished recounting a tale about this fraud-warning show he’d tried putting on some time ago.
“Oh, be quiet, you,” you grumbled, batting him lightly on the arm. He bumped your shoulder in return.
“Ooh, hang on.” Heizou stopped in his tracks. He was looking at something behind you.
You turned around to see what had caught his attention. “What is it?” you asked.
“Sparklers,” he replied with a grin, already making for the stall in question. You trailed after him in pursuit.
“Aren’t sparklers dangerous in a space as packed as this?” you queried as you pushed yourselves into the winding queue.
“Well, technically yeah,” he admitted, “But you only live once, right?”
You raised a brow. “Only living once to die to a sparkler sounds like a pretty sorry way to go.”
“Here,” he said, decidedly ignoring your comment and offering you a fizzling sparkler, “have one. My intuition tells me it’s perfectly safe.”
For all your criticism, you thanked him and took it—though you couldn’t resist adding, “If this is where I die, I’m blaming you and your intuition.”
Heizou’s face fell in an expression of mock offence as he took back his change for the sparklers. “When has my intuition ever been wrong?” he asked. You were forced to admit he had a point. Walking back up to you, he continued, “And besides, do you really trust me so little to save you? To whisk you away from danger at a moment’s notice?”
You clicked your tongue. “Afraid so. Against a formidable sparkler,” you waved the aforementioned item in front of his face, and tiny sparks leapt out from it like fireflies, “I’m not sure even the mighty Shikanoin Heizou stands a chance.”
“Careful with that. You could poke someone’s eye out.”
Exasperated with his teasing hypocrisy, you sighed and didn’t reply. You resumed your walk for a few more minutes, taking in the decorated maple trees and the dusk air, sparklers spitting gold, before Heizou stopped again in the middle of the gravel path without warning.
“Let’s go this way,” he said, stepping off the path and into the grass.
“Why?”
His smile and mysterious tone of voice revealed nothing. “Just come.”
“Okay…”
You let Heizou tug you up the hill around which the celebrations were being held. The maple trees thinned the higher you went until you had a full view of the sky overhead. The city’s skyscrapers winked their neon lights at you, rising like glittering columns from the surrounding treeline below. Faintly, you could make out the sounds of traffic in the distance.
A deep indigo was setting into the evening sky and revealed little studded stars as it darkened, marking the transition from dusk to nightfall. Only a faint red flush told you that sunset had yet to end.
People were trickling steadily in from the surrounding paths which lead from the main activities, but it was quieter here than in the middle of the festive throng. Colder, too. You hadn’t taken notice of the cool summer wind when you were being crushed amid moving bodies, but here, in this relative isolation, it became apparent that the night was not as hot as you’d thought it was.
Just as you were going to suggest finding somewhere warmer to stand—behind a tree, maybe, to block the breeze—the last crimson blush faded from the horizon. Heizou put a hand on each of your shoulders and whispered into your ear, “Surprise!”
No sooner had he spoken than the night came alive with colour. Dazzling twisters of pink and blue sprang into the sky, squealing as they burst into shimmering showers of gold over the treeline. Red, sparkling rockets were set off in the shapes of foxes and kitsune masks which exploded among the constellations like they were dancing with the stars themselves.
“Woah,” was all you could get out before your jaw fell open. To your right, Heizou’s mouth tugged into a smile which half matched your own excitement and was half smug.
“That’s what you wanted to see right?”
You nodded, not really paying attention to what he was saying.
“How do you like it?” he prodded.
A redundant question, but you answered it anyway. “It’s… I mean, it’s incredible.”
Heizou chuckled and pressed a kiss to your cheek in an action too quick for you to register. “I’m glad you like it.” He tugged on your hand, leading you further into the stalls. “Come on, let’s go find a better spot to watch it from.”
You let him pull you forwards. The kiss hit seconds later. The moment it clocked you, you felt your face light up like a furnace. Your limbs went stiff, like they were locked at the joints, and you were rendered frozen for a good while, practically being dragged along by Heizou while your feet stumbled uselessly over the ground. Wait, when had your heart started racing? Bemused, you lifted your hand to lightly touch the tingling spot he’d marked, the fireworks a distant afterthought.
You came back to your senses when you reached the hilltop. You and Heizou nudged your way through the crowd, all donned in plastic kitsune masks and holding wooden gohei, until you found an open space and sat down on the grass. Once more your attention was captivated by the fireworks display, and the kiss was a fleeting memory gone in the next burst of colour.
You watched the rest of the fireworks in awed silence. The display went on for a few minutes more, and the glittering colour faded from the sky all too quickly.
“Good show, right?” Heizou’s voice snapped you back to the present moment. He was looking at you intently, like he was studying your expression for a sign of your own opinion. In the olives of his irises, you could faintly make out the glittering reflection of the fireworks’ dying showers. “I heard Naganohara Fireworks played a big hand in it this year. What did you think?”
You floundered for words, struggling to find a way to articulate your answer. Finally, you succeeded in stammering out, “I’ve never seen anything like it before in my life.” You shook your head, disbelieving. To think you’d practically given up on coming—and you wouldn’t have, if not for him. “Thank you for taking me here. Seriously. It’s everything I could have hoped for.”
“No problem,” Heizou replied, his smile contagious. “It’s my pleasure.” He stood up from the grass and stretched widely. You suspected it was for dramatic effect: you’d hardly been sitting long enough to develop a cramp, much less in the arms. He dropped his arms to his side and shot you a grin. “Do you want to go and get some taiyaki?”
You barely had the time to say ‘yes’ before you were pulled to your feet and into a run, ducking and weaving between the crowd, your laughter mingling in the air as you went. The stream of people thickened again as you entered the main length of the path; shoved about backwards and forwards, your hand slipped from his and a row of passersby blocked your vision. When they cleared, Heizou had vanished among the crowd.
You turned from side to side in a futile attempt to locate him. Just as you were reaching into your pocket to call him on your phone, you felt a tap on your shoulder. There he stood, grinning, holding two paper bags containing one taiyaki each. His mouth moved as he said something you couldn’t make out over the crowd’s hubbub, and he held out one of the bags to you. You accepted it with a ‘thank you’ and, chewing on the snack as you went, elbowed your ways into a less crowded space.
“This is really good,” you remarked, taking another bite from the fish’s sorry head. The pastry was crispy on the outside, yet chewy and not too firm, and the red bean filling was still warm. You spoke around your mouthful, “And it’s not too sweet, either.”
“I know, right?” Heizou nodded towards the taiyaki he was holding. “I suspect the secret to these is in the batter: they probably leave out the egg when making it, so the pastry is more crispy.”
You swallowed down a large chunk of the stuff. “That makes sense.”
Once you finished the taiyaki, you moved along through the other stalls, splashing out on festival foods and having a go at games like shateki, during which you made the pleasant discovery of having a very good aim with low-quality guns, and wanage, during which you discovered Heizou was much better at throwing rings than you were. By the time you’d exhausted all the stalls, it was well into the later hours of night. The crowd thinned slowly. You and Heizou made your way back through the emptying park, occasionally glancing at games which still caught your interest.
“I ate way too much,” you groaned, holding what felt like a swollen lump in your stomach. “Nobody should have that much fried food.”
Heizou agreed as he stretched out his arms again beside you. “If I see another piece of kaarage, I think I’m going to throw up.”
“I thought you loved fried food.”
“‘Loved’ being the keyword there,” he lamented. “Past tense.”
“Too much of a good thing, huh?”
“Something like that.”
You walked in silence for a few minutes, watching tourists and locals move throughout the stalls. The initial buzz of energy you felt when arriving here had lessened. It was calmer, now, yet also felt strangely lonely. Your sparkler produced a final, feeble sizzle of light before dying out. You were surprised it had hung on for so long at all. Its death seemed to mark the end of the festive spirit, too. Absentmindedly, you took out your phone and checked the time. 01:24.
“We should probably head back now,” you said, a touch regretfully. Heizou nodded.
“Yeah, I was thinking so, too.”
You passed your weight from foot to foot, hovering there awkwardly. Even though you’d spent a whole evening together, you didn’t want to say goodbye just yet. You searched your mind for some excuse to make.
“You know, I could walk you back,” you offered. “I doubt it’s dangerous because most people are at the festival, but better safe than sorry, right?”
A grin spread across Heizou’s face and brightened his eyes. “Oh? Are you volunteering to be my big, strong bodyguard?”
“Big, strong bodyguard at your service,” you confirmed, folding your arms across your chest, “to keep the damsel from harm.”
Heizou pressed his hand to his forehead in a fake swoon. “Oh, my, I can barely stand. Please, my good knight, save this poor, helpless—ah!” He tipped backwards too far in his swoon and stumbled into a surprised-looking tourist who dropped their gohei at the collision. He apologised and picked himself back up while you wheezed with laughter in the background.
“What the fuck,” you snorted once he rejoined you.
“I couldn’t handle your manliness,” he explained miserably. “I’m sorry.”
You shrugged, as if to say, fair enough. “You know what, I can forgive that. Not many people can.”
“Should we get going, then, my shining-armoured knight?”
“We shall.” Maybe it was the festival food getting to your head, but on a whim, you boldly held out your arm to Heizou. The thing was that you hadn’t been expecting him to actually take it. He hooked his elbow around yours, flashing you a confident grin which made your heart stutter, and bumped your shoulders together. Jitters shot down your arm from the contact.
A teasing slyness crept into Heizou’s voice. “What, is my bodyguard getting nervous? Tsk. How unmanly of you.”
“Oh, be quiet,” you grumbled. “The manliest people get nervous, too.”
He laughed brightly. Your face warmed. You always felt this kind of proud flush when you managed to make him smile.
You made your way to the park’s exit and set down the road, leaving the glowing lights of the Summer Festival behind you. You talked as you walked about whatever took your fancy: recent gossip, the news, workloads, and, when Heizou insisted on ‘protecting’ you from a street cat wandering around the bins by walking bravely in front of you and distracting it with a gohei you’d purchased earlier, the topic of bodyguards again. You raised your eyebrow after Heizou confirmed the cat was gone.
“I thought I was supposed to be the big, strong bodyguard here,” you remarked.
“Even the big, strong bodyguard needs a bodyguard themselves, you know.”
You pointed out, “Wouldn’t that bodyguard need a bodyguard too, though?”
“What a conundrum. I don’t think there are enough of us for infinite bodyguards—oh, speaking of which, I don’t think we’ll need any more bodyguards anyway. Here we are.”
You looked up to see a familiar door standing in front of you. A too familiar door. Your eyebrows furrowed. “Hang on a minute.”
Unknowingly, you must have led the two of you back to your place, not his. You grimaced, feeling guilty for bringing him here when you’d said you would take him back to his place. You yourself usually walked alone, so even though you knew where Heizou lived, you weren’t used to returning there. You’d probably walked this way without thinking. Muscle memory, you supposed.
“I don’t know how we ended up here.” You scratched your neck. “Er, sorry about that. I can still walk you to your place and come back afterwards, if you want.”
He shook his head. “No, there’s no need at all. We both got carried away while talking. I can make my own way back alone.”
You shifted in your place, guilt still gnawing at you with its little, irritating teeth. “Are you sure?”
“Mhm.” Teasingly, he added, “Don’t worry, I won’t get ambushed.”
You grumbled, but begrudgingly let go of your doubt. If he was sure, then he was sure.
“Um,” you began. “Thank you so much for today, by the way. Again. All of it was…” You trailed off, recollecting all the games, food, street performances, fireworks you’d seen that evening. They flooded back to you painted golden, like you were remembering them through the leaping light of a sparkler. “Archons, I can’t put it into words. Everything was amazing.”
He grinned at you, and it was the warmest thing you’d ever seen. “The pleasure was all mine.” He paused, then said, “You know, it’s not often I see you smiling as much as you did tonight.”
“Yeah, well,” you shrugged, “you do have a strange way of doing that to me.”
Instead of continuing the banter with another quip, Heizou stepped closer and opened his arms out in front of you expectantly: an invitation you knew well by now and could never resist. You stepped into his arms and he pressed you into a hug.
You didn’t hug many people, but there was something about Heizou’s hugs which made you feel so grounded and secure for all of his light-hearted demeanour. As you held each other this time, you noticed you could feel his breath on the side of your neck and his hair tickling your shoulder, and you wondered, Were you always this close when you hugged? His arms wrapped around you just a fraction tighter than they should; he kept the embrace for only a moment longer than a good friend would.
Before you could question it fully, he pulled away, still holding your hands. His hands were so warm.
“See you on campus tomorrow?”
“Not if I see you first.”
Heizou chuckled and narrowed his eyes at you. “Game’s on,” he said. You did the two-finger gesture of I’ve got my eye on you towards him. He wriggled his eyebrows in response, making you snort despite yourself.
Becoming serious for a moment, you said, “But… get home safely, alright?”
Heizou nodded and turned away to make his way down the street. “Will do. I’ll text you when I get back.” You waved a final goodbye, and he waved back with a casual call of, “Love you!”
To your surprise, your heart cinched without warning and heat rushed to your face at the words.
You slapped yourself out of it. Why were you reacting like this? This wasn’t anything new. Heizou said ‘I love you’ often, and you never really questioned it: it was a friend thing, surely. Tons of friends said ‘I love you’ to each other—and as an emotionally open person, why shouldn’t Heizou say it to you, his best friend, as his best friend?
Yet as you watched him go, you lifted your hand again to your cheek and wondered at the curious stutter in your chest as you recalled the brief token of something more he’d pressed to your cheek earlier that night. Electrifying and bright and too short-lived, like a sparkler.
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the ghost of one specific homosexual cowboy regularly possesses Tumblr gays
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S
Toji taking baby Gumi fishing and Yuji with his grandpa 🥹
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The real barbie is Y/n.
Y/n’s a doctor, a cop, a scientist, an agent, vet, hero, villain, astronaut, lawyer, spy, criminal, artist, chef, engineer, psychologist, architect, journalist, firefighter, event planner, mechanic, photographer, musician, actor, interior designer, bartender, fashion designer, barista, florist, forensic scientist, flight attendant, profiler, tour guide, translator, etc.
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So. Let's talk about Penacony and birds.
-Spoilers for the 2.1 quest (and possibly some of 2.2 if my theories and findings are correct)
Hey all! I'm not too good at starting these essay type things, so we're just gonna dive right in. Disclaimer, these are all just theories complied from random (not very in depth) research I did, and my own thoughts, so take it all with a grain of salt. I just wanted to put this out here for funsies!
With that out of the way, let's dive in!
From very early on into the Penacony quests, there was something that just kept nagging at me. Robin's name, (mixed with the fact that shes a singer.) The family's crest being a Nightingale. Aventurine's design very clearly representing a peacock. Ratio's owls.
There were just too many bird references for this all to be a coincidence, so I decided to do some research on bird symbolism and meaning.
And here are some very interesting things I found!
Now a lot of this is quite clear cut, so I won't go into alot of explanation, but I do find the "rebirth" part quite interesting, especially since it is hinted during the 2.1 quest that she came back from "death".
Let's start with Robin, since she's one of the more obvious ones: "Above all, the robin red-breast is a symbol of spring song and good fortune. Additionally, it also symbolises passion, a new beginning, and re-birth. Therefore, if the bird flies into your life you will be blessed with happiness and joy. Subsequently, most of the symbolism of robins is centred on their spiritual meaning which is believed to be a symbol of divine sacrifice." In native American culture, Robins also have strong ties with family and "heart centered connections."
Next up are Owls: Now this one is also pretty obvious. Dr Ratio's design has very heavy Greek inspiration, and owls in Greek mythology are very clearly tied with Athena, knowledge, and wisdom.
The thing I found interesting about this was all over Sunday's mansion, there are owls decorating a lot of the furniture. Could this have been foreshadowing for his "betrayal" and assisting Sunday? I'm not sure. In my opinion, that seems like quite a length to go to mislead players- especially since it's such a niche detail that most people probably won't think twice about. Maybe it will have more meaning in 2.2. Guess we'll wait and see!
3rd, Another obvious one, Black Swan: They symbolize the opposite of what the white swan does, naturally, so death, danger, destruction, suffering, chaos, mystery, etc.
Even more than that though, "The black swan theory of events is a metaphor that describes an event that comes as a surprise, has a major effect, and is often inappropriately rationalized after the fact with the benefit of hindsight."
Another one I don't feel the need to dig that deep into. It all pretty much checks out with what we've seen of her character and the events of the story so far. Black Swan is a scary lady....
4th, Let's talk about Peacocks: Now we all know peacocks are commonly associated with general wealth, pride, and flamboyance. I thought that was all there really was to it being such a big contributor to Aventurine's design. But I decided to dig a little deeper and. Oh boy.
Peacocks can also symbolize both death, and life. Now at face value this is quite contrasting, but when you apply it to Adventurine's character- it makes quite a lot of sense. A single coin flip between life and death that keeps landing face up, and yet, it's a gamble he never hesitates to make. Moreso, peacocks can symbolize the freedom and liberation of the soul. (OUCH)
And Let's finish off the doozy. Nightingales: The symbol of the family and the bird constantly following Sunday around and watching everything the entire quest without a sound.
"Nightingales are symbolic of beauty, melody, creativity, purity, and the expression of oneself freely. They are also symbolic of darkness, mysticism, spiritual awakening, and renewal."
Now I found that the latter is often meant when you see a nightingale in your dreams. It is also mentioned if they do not speak back to you in a dream you will soon be betrayed.
,,,, How intriguing.
Also intriguing, Bloodhounds are very well known to be hunting dogs, and birds are prey for dogs.
And speaking of prey,,, are fish not considered birds' prey? And Sparkle, who we see fish around every time she shows up, was the "victim" in Black Swan's quest.
Anyways. I could be grasping at straws with that last part, but I do feel there is alot of stuff going on here with animal symbolism, especially more to dig into with Gallagher and Sparkle. It's all very intriguing
If you read all this here's a cookie! 🍪 Thanks for your time :) I hope you enjoyed the ramblings of a madman. Please feel free to add anything or comment your thoughts! I'd love to discuss
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COULDA, SHOULDA, WOULDA, DIDN'T.
➳ synopsis: aventurine has never lost. that's what he tells people when he makes bets and in passing conversation about gambling. but every night when he lays in bed, he will always think about the day he lost you.
➳ character/s: aventurine
➳ warnings: 2.1 spoilers, aventurine backstory spoilers, aventurine real name spoilers, death, slavery (it's not romanticised, you're safe-), mentions of torture, hurt/no comfort, aventurine with some passive suicidal ideation, mention of family, mention of marriage
➳ word count: 0.8k
➳ notes: i wrote that concept for the people and myself because i need to practice fics again ._. it's not really the best i think i could've done, but it's something. also wrote this to 'i found' by amber run so take that how you will LOL
𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 / 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 / 𝐰𝐢𝐩 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
his reflection disgusts him. each time he gazes into his hideous eyes and catches a glance at the branding on his neck, a shiver runs up his spine and rage bubbles in his chest. aventurine finds himself avoiding mirrors as often as possible nowadays. sometimes when he runs his fingertips over the branding, he can still feel the searing pain and his own screams in his eardrums. when he dresses and undresses himself each morning and night, he swears he can feel the sting of knives against his once soft skin, free of lacerations that struggled to heal for months.
sometimes, he thinks he can feel your warm breath on his neck as you lay on cold concrete. truthfully, that may be the only time he's ever felt warmth; within your arms and blanketed with an unspoken oath to stay together as long as life allows.
the security underneath the duvet that covers his bed feels uncomfortable. aventurine would never admit that he suffers from a severe case of imposter syndrome when it comes to his safety on occasion. he knows he has himself and himself only to credit for his freedom and success, but when he occupies his cushy king bed night after night, he wonders if he deserves it if you're not there to share it.
he dreams of your first meeting on a regular basis. you were only kids back then, no older than 8 perhaps. he remembers the fear you and his sister felt when you were running from danger each day, never getting enough sleep in lieu of escaping. even with ragged clothes and dirt staining your skin, he thought you were perfect. the first time he saw you cry, he pulled you in for a hug. it was that day as a mere 9 year old that he realised he wanted you beside him for eternity and maybe even a little more than that. the way your head slotted under his chin like a piece to a missing puzzle gave his empty heart something to yearn for that wasn't a basic human necessity.
aventurine will never forgive himself for letting you get caught alongside him. the day he became a serial number rather than kakavasha was the first day he felt true failure as he witnessed you be stripped of the identity he had come to love so dearly.
the first time you were ever harmed has been burnt into his brain. he thinks you look gorgeous in red, but never when it's your blood that decorates your skin. your cries and howls of pain make a haunting alarm when he awakens from his slumber each morning. the brand on the back of your nape was one he found horrifically beautiful, though it served as a reminder of his failure to protect you. when he was sent on his first 'assignment', he looked back at you with an uncharacteristic determination. he'll get you out of here.
as aventurine slides his rings on over top his gloves, he scoffs to himself. you did manage to escape, but not to stand beside him. not to sleep in his arms and experience a life of luxury like you always dreamt of. the day he bought the ring he planned to propose to you with, he'd found out the organisation you were enslaved under was still under operation. he'd pulled some strings and gotten some ipc lackeys to check it out and locate you, but when they brought back your corpse, a crushing weight befell his heart.
that night, he'd spent hours sobbing and attempting cpr. he'd pinch himself to forcefully wake from this nightmare he now called reality and he'd hold your hand expecting a sliver of warmth, but it was now reminiscent of the concrete floors you would lay on.
when sunday placed a curse upon aventurine, he secretly hoped he wouldn't make the deadline. maybe then he could've seen you again. maybe then he could see you as you were meant to be. standing tall, unscarred skin and a glimmer in your eyes that he can only imagine, for he had never seen such a thing. luring out acheron in hindsight might have also been an attempt to see you again.
he never spoke about you. he never felt he had the right to do so anymore. you'd died merely days before he could come to you and he would forever drown in the guilt that he should've been faster. he would've brought you into his arms and caressed your sunken cheeks as he reassured you that you were finally free. he could've married you and had a family, treating his child the way he wished for many years ago. he should've been able to live with you in his life in peace, living each day as they pass and enjoying the little things like the sunset or trees that looked like they had faces. he would've made sure you felt valued and showed you all his love over the almost decade since he last saw you alive.
he didn't.
taglist (just taken from comments of the thought post):
@lunagalaa, @persipeoni, @lunavixia, @mostsaneptvfan, @kuureii, @shehrazadekey
if you're in bold, i couldn't tag you ;v;
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all the wrongs (make a right)
when you ask them to set you up with someone else.
or at least, that's what they interpreted it as.
wanderer, wriothesley, diluc ♡ gn!reader
warnings: diluc may be ooc (but he's funny), yapping
notes: WRIOTHESLEY... THE MAN U ARE...
you like someone else.
wanderer doesn't know how to deal with that fact—because of course you do. why would you ever love someone like him, anyway? who is he to even consider love, when he has none of it to give?
when he was created, love built him fiber by fiber. love constructed his eyes, love blessed him with sight and touch, love allowed him to perceive. because in this world, perception is the basis of love, and when wanderer was allowed to perceive, he was allowed to love.
he had love. lots of it, even. there was so much love in his being that it spilled from his eyes, dancing across the oasis of his irises and manifesting into stars. when the wanderer was created, he was ready to be loved, he was ready to love.
and then he was discarded—with all his love—because he was not enough.
(he wonders what it would take for him to be kept. for someone to cherish him despite his artificial limbs, his heartless chest.)
(he wonders what it would be like if he were cherished, even for just a little bit, by you.)
from across the lecture hall, wanderer stares at your figure. his eyes, which once manifested stars and dripped with love, trace over the bridge of your nose and the curl of your lips. wanderer stares at you, basking in the mundane, romanticizing the ordinary because for some reason, under the lights, you look ethereal.
(he would rather die than admit that outloud.)
he stares and stares, oblivious to the fact that stars have reappeared, that they begin to scatter across his irises like a mosaic of love. because the wanderer is unlike himself when it comes to you—he's enamored, he's taken, he's smitten.
when you blink, his chest throbs, and the nothingness in between his ribs becomes something—something akin to a heart, maybe—because you turn nothingness into everything, and all of a sudden wanderer feels a buzz in his chest. if he stares at you long enough, the buzz begins to sound like this: thump-thump, thump-thump.
suddenly, you turn to look at him.
his breath hitches.
you smile, and his heart aches.
then you look away. as if none of it mattered to you, as if your smile were a simple little thing, as if your eyes and your attention were meaningless.
but none of it is ever meaningless, because when he's in your presence, and when he has just a mere wisp of your existence, the wanderer breathes. he does not need to breathe (like humans do)—but when you look at him, your gaze sweeping over him like a golden light, he becomes human.
his humanity manifests in the form of a stolen breath, stagnating in his synthetic lungs in order to catch you for just a second. to adore you, within him, for but a moment.
when you meet up with him after class, wanderer feels his stomach churn (like humans feel). he feels something crawl up his throat—disgust, probably—when you look at him with those oh-so pretty eyes of yours, and when you talk to him with that oh-so pretty voice of yours.
(what has he been reduced to?)
"sorry to make you do this, wanderer!" you exclaim, bashful. "you really don't have to help me talk to him! just let me know if you don't want to, okay?"
earlier, you had asked him to help set you up with some nobody. something along the lines of, "i need my thesis project approved" or whatever, but wanderer knows mortals.
he knows that they have ulterior motives in everything they do, and the way your gaze averted from his and the way you fiddled nervously with your fingers when asking him for help was enough for him to deduce: you liked the person you were meeting up with.
"i mean—" you suddenly add, trying to fill in the awkward silence that's caused by wanderer's frustration, "he's a really scary guy, so i get it!"
"hah," he replies bitterly. "scary? yeah, right."
because what could be scarier than him? a puppet whose previous incarnations committed deeds of mass destruction, a puppet whose previous incarnations still exist with him in the present.
wanderer's past incarnations come in the form of hatred, and hatred festers all across his bones and makes its way onto his expression as he stares at you with longing. because wanderer wants you—and what would it take for you to want him back? what would he have to do, to have a mere fraction of your existence?
(but the hatred within his being grows larger. it takes over his ribs and his skin, because wanderer is a disgusting product of his previous incarnations, and his previous incarnations would never be satisfied with a mere fraction of you. his previous incarnations—and him—want all of you.)
"he really is, though! everyone in the akademiya fears him 'cause he always rejects their thesis projects—i mean, i'm scared too, but if you're there then maybe it won't be so bad!" you explain, waving your hands around for emphasis. the wanderer latches onto the fact that you need him there, that you want him to be there for the sake of comfort.
he thinks bitterly to himself: you're the only one who'd find comfort in me. and there you go again, your attention leaping beyond him, traveling towards greater heights that he will never, ever be able to catch up with. because one thing about mortals is that they are fickle, they are fleeting and they are dangerous, not to him—never him—but to each other.
one thing about mortals is that, in the face of love, they will do anything. they will look back for a brief second and lose it all, just for a glimpse of what could've been. one thing about mortals is that they'll do anything, everything for the person they love, all because it makes them happy.
as he trails after you, observing the back of your head with all the bitterness he can muster—none, when it comes to you—wanderer sighs.
(what has he been reduced to?)
you lead him towards a large door, and wanderer's chest stutters. he realizes that you're headed straight towards the grand sage's office, where many akademiya students loathe to be. but there are some outliers who want to enter that office, who want to exist inside of it because of the sage himself.
(something along the lines of the grand sage being attractive or whatnot. wanderer doesn't know, and frankly, he doesn't care. unless it comes to you, of course.)
what was his name again? wanderer thinks. but he doesn't have time to mull over the details because he just can't let you go there—wanderer doesn't want you to leave him behind those grand oak doors, left to exist with himself when you're just across from him.
he's always been star-far from you, perpetually longing to reach out and catch even a wisp of your light. and now that opportunity irrevocably close.
wanderer is going to seize a star; he's going to grasp your radiating atmosphere, let himself get pulled in by your gravity, and he's going to rest there forever and ever.
his hand reaches for your wrist, stopping you just before you reach the doors of doom.
(what has he been reduced to?)
"don't go," wanderer states. although his tone is stern, there's an unmistakable softness to his voice, his fingers clasped around yours as if he's afraid you'll be whisked away by the world, leaving him alone and betraying him once again.
"but my thesis project—"
"don't go," he repeats, "stay here." with me, his mind adds.
something crawls up his throat, his gaze suddenly averting yours as his free hand comes to tilt his hat down, masking his expression with its golden rim.
he holds his breath.
"alright," you respond. "is everything okay, wanderer?"
he doesn't respond. he tugs at your arm and pulls you close to him—so, so close—and chooses to exist in the silence. with you.
after a couple minutes, you hear wanderer mutter quietly to himself: "who even needs a thesis project?"
"uh, everyone who wants to graduate," you reply. wanderer rolls his eyes.
"who would even want to graduate?"
"me?" you respond, confused. wanderer looks away.
"whatever."
"eventually, i have to talk to him anyway—" you start, but wanderer quickly cuts you off.
"no, you don't."
"what?"
"nevermind. you wouldn't get it."
(what has he been reduced to?)
(a human.)
"what?" wriothesley says, almost incredulously. ''you want to know what clorinde's favorite flower is?"
"yeah," you reply. "i'm thinking of mailing it to her soon because i'll be too busy in the underworld to go out."
wriothesley briefly considers dispatching you on a deep sea expedition before realizing that if you're far from clorinde—underground—then you'll also be far from him, and he's not sure if he can handle that.
"well, you know, i don't really know her all that well..." he trails off, lacing his fingers together professionally. "it's a shame, really. maybe you can give her something else?"
"oh, like a box of chocolates?"
he blinks, his mind venturing to the worst scenarios. are you confessing to her? are you trying to court her? what's with all these romantic gifts?
it's unmistakable, the way his heart aches and squirms within his ribs. it's unmistakable, the way he feels something sutter one-too-many times within his chest, the tempo of his heart becoming slower and slower when, in your presence, it typically races.
but wriothesley swallows his envy and opts to relish under your gaze, feigning ignorance to the way his heart constricts a little, his ribs beginning to close in on themselves.
"well, clorinde is fond of anything that comes from your heart," wriothesley says, trying to ease the strain of his voice. "so anything you give her will definitely convey your feelings for her."
you chuckle to yourself, amused at the thought. "yeah, my feelings."
wriothesley doesn't quite know how to explain it, but the way you speak of your feelings for clorinde makes him want to give into the world and forget everything. because your expression is so lighthearted, so cheery, it makes him hate himself for wishing that it belonged to him. for wishing that you would ever, could ever, feel about him the same way you feel about clorinde.
he's selfish. too selfish. and maybe that's why you don't like him, and maybe that's why he doesn't deserve you, not now and not ever.
damn this heart of his.
"so, how long have you been planning this for?" wriothesley asks, forcing his signature grin. but the way his lips twitch a little, and the way his leg bounces up and down gives away everything.
you like someone else. for how long? wriothesley wonders, chuckling bitterly to himself. for how long have you liked clorinde?
how long has he spent, pining helplessly after you, only to realize that it was never going to work out? how could he even begin to perceive the thought of loving you, to even contemplate a time beyond what you've already given him?
he's such a fool.
"a couple of months," you say, fiddling with your fingers. wriothesley's such a fool, because the way he notices your tiny habits and the way he ogles at your embarrassed expression makes him want to continue falling hopelessly in love with you. even though you like someone else. even though you're discussing "someone else" right in front of him—he wants to love you anyway.
because that's just the kind of lovesick, hopeless fool he is.
"oh? a long time, huh?" he replies, hoping you don't notice the way he struggles to speak, the way words fail to leave his mouth the way he should.
wriothesley loves you—but no, love is not enough. he loves you the same way the birds love the sky, reaching into the limitless void, yearning and wanting. he loves you the same way tide loves the shore, ebbing and flowing, wishing for more.
wriothesley loves you in unimaginable ways, but they are not so galactic or as grand as the stars, because the love he has is rooted here on teyvat, within reach, and most fervently, within himself.
"yeah. i've been needing to apologize to her for a while now, actually," you explain, averting your eyes from his. "'cause a while back, i accidentally dropped a whole cake on her. it was a mess. literally and metaphorically."
"what?" wriothesley blinks.
"huh?" you tilt your head.
"apologize? so those gifts are for an apology?"
"yeah," you state, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
"oh."
the grin he wears is no longer forced, and when you exit his office, wriothesley buries his face into his hands, unable to contain his smile.
so i have a chance, is all he thinks.
angel's tavern is unusually quiet today.
"is kaeya single?" you suddenly ask.
the glass in diluc's hand nearly shatters, his gaze focused wholly on you as his jaw clenches.
angel's tavern is unusually tense today.
"what?"
you smile awkwardly. "is kaeya single?"
"i heard you the first time."
silence ensues.
"so is he single?"
he looks away.
"i'm not sure."
diluc wonders where it all went wrong; since when were you interested in kaeya, of all people? he doesn't know what's worse: the fact that you don't like him, or the fact that you'd like kaeya over him.
he decides to ignore the way his heart constricts a little, suffocating in between the ribs that are supposed to protect it. but even when his heart gets pierced, skewered onto his bones, he feels warm. so, so warm.
he looks at you.
"you like him?"
"he's okay," you respond nonchalantly, swirling your glass of water as if it were a decadent wine. "i don't know him all that well."
"and you still want to know if he's single?"
"we all start from somewhere."
well, you're starting from the wrong brother, is all diluc thinks.
"huh," he says unenthusiastically, "so you like unreliable men?"
"what?"
"nothing."
diluc doesn't know what to make of himself—he doesn't know where to look or what to do. should he keep polishing this wine glass, or should he confront you right now and tell you about how he's loved you for so, so long?
should he tell you about how he's willing to do anything for you, how he returned to mondstadt all those years ago with only you in mind? should he tell you about how he was ready to leave this life as a ragnvindr behind, to travel teyvat and never look back, but he was more faithful to you than he could've ever imagined? he remembered you, so fervently, that he returned. he returned and he stayed.
there's no point, diluc tells himself. i will wait. he's waited and wanted you for so long, he can withstand this newfound infatuation you have. so what if you like kaeya now? diluc latches onto a slip of hope, a minute chance that maybe, just maybe, you'll notice that it's been him all along.
he's always been here. waiting. (for you.)
you glance at him, your irises enveloping him in a tender embrace, and diluc wonders what it'd be like if you were in love. with him. he wonders how much lovelier that look would be, how warm it'd make him feel, if your pupils would dilate a little, if your expression would soften and your lips would curl into a smile when you did so much as recognize him.
would you notice him then? would you be able to discern the look in his eyes—that look of love—if you felt that way too? would you be able to tell that your existence is sown into his skin, growing and blossoming like a wildflower, persisting 'till the ends of time itself?
your existence blooms all across his being until there is nothing left of him, and everything left of you.
"what do you like about him?" diluc asks, trying to ignore the way his chest throbs. he readjusts his collar, feeling strangely stuffy.
"well, he's attractive. but i don't like him like that."
diluc steals a glance at his reflection in the wine glass. people usually tell him that he's attractive. more than kaeya, though? they haven't specified.
"beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder," he affirms.
"what's that supposed to mean?"
"anyway,"—diluc feigns ignorance to your flabbergasted expression—"i wish you luck on your endeavors." he crosses his fingers.
"thanks?"
"and if anything ever happens, i will be here." as i've always been, he thinks.
"right."
"and if he does anything weird, say 'ragnvindr' three times."
"what?"
there's no trace of mirth in diluc's expression, and everything he's stated thus far has been said with a straight face. you shiver a little.
"we are also closing, by the way."
"i thought you guys were open all hours of the day—"
"nope. goodbye, dear customer." diluc pauses a little when saying "dear," for he relishes in the sound, wondering when he'll be able to drop the "customer" part and call you only that. only "dear" and nothing else—with no strings attached, except for a red knot around both of your pinkies.
he cringes at the cheesy thoughts he's having.
"uh, diluc?" you call, getting ushered out of the tavern by his glare alone. "you do realize i'm not trying to get with kaeya, right? i feel like you're misunderstanding things."
"what?" this time, it's diluc's turn to be flabbergasted.
"i'm just asking for a friend. you know donna?"
he wonders if it's possible to disappear off the face of teyvat (again).
(but even then, he'd return to mondstadt for the sake of being with you. for the sake of existing in your presence.)
(because that's just the kind of man diluc is. the kind of man he becomes at the mere thought of you.)
"oh," is all he says.
"did you think i was interested in kaeya?"
"angel's share is open all twenty-four hours of the day," diluc states, ignoring your question.
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Do you think Ratio has the stereotypical 'doctor's handwriting'?
I know he isn't a practicing physician but, he does have a PhD in medicine so imagine, just IMAGINE : Ratio who writes his most ardent confession to you in a letter because words betray him when he's faced with you but the ten page letter is barely intelligible so you show it to Aventurine who knows exactly what's up and tells you, “That's a lot of medicine Doc prescribed to you. You should consider doing a serious health checkup.”
You bolt to Ratio in panic but are shell-shocked when he tells you that he isn't “mentally prepared to tell you everything” and keeps on delaying the confrontation. This leaves you tossing in bed, unable to focus on anything and constantly paranoid because you think you have a serious illness while Ratio's just biting his fingernails thinking he's going to get rejected and Aventurine who's wheezing by the sidelines.
Or, Aventurine did it deliberately to sabotage any potential of romance between you and Ratio idk.
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Ilia fucking Malinin’s world record breaking free skate
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close to your heart and that bed of yours too
you've been having the same weird dream about dan heng, over and over, and it just so happens that he's had the same dream, too.
dan heng x gn reader — 2.4k — super suggestive content but definitely nothing serious or graphic, some guilt abt attraction, dreams, romantic fantasies but not weird ones, kissing and closeness and physical touch, literal sleeping together
notes: forgive me and my debaucherous writing... this is nowhere near smut but it's definitely suggestive they get touchy and feely but it's very emotions-focused...oh my god what did i write this is so
—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—
It’s probably not possible to get cabin fever on a constantly-running space train, but that’s the only reasonable explanation for the weird, weird recurring dream you’ve been having about Dan Heng. It’s not— not that weird, not weird enough that you feel like a complete deviant, but enough for you to realize that it’s a complete reflection of your innermost thoughts and desires, and that scares you more than anything.
The dream— it goes like this:
You wake up—not in real life, but in the dream world, which freaked you out the first time because you didn't realize you were dreaming at all so you thought everything was entirely real—and it’s usually because of the noise of your door sliding open. The instinct to look and see who it is doesn’t hit you. You lay there, gaze fixed distantly on the steel surface of your ceiling until the feeling of your bedsheets moving next to you pushes you to full awareness.
You still don’t move your gaze until you feel a body—warm, breathing, real real real?—lift up your blankets and slide underneath them, pressing next to you, curling into your side as if seeking out your life source. Your breath catches in your throat every single time as you turn to see that it’s Dan Heng, still dressed in his work clothes because he doesn’t understand the concept of pajamas, and his arm reaches around you and curls around your shoulder and he rests his head on your collarbone, gently, and you can feel his breath fan against the fabric of your shirt and your skin.
Dan Heng says your name with reverence, with something like desire, and it makes your stomach clench and he turns his body into you more. He tucks his leg between yours—not moving, just sitting there, a reminder of him, his warmth—and he’s so, so warm, it amazes you that he’s like a furnace, and that he’s so unbothered by laying so close to you under all of your blankets.
And he says your name again, each and every time, and it spurs something in you and you bring your arms around him each and every time, and pull him close, and feel the way he shudders, like a cold breeze wracking his body, like he’s never been this close to anyone before, and it dawns on you that he probably hasn’t—and that thought alone spirals into the realization that Dan Heng would never do this—
And then you wake up. Each time.
The first time it happened, you didn't realize it was a dream, and you were so overwhelmed with thought after thought and feeling after feeling and sensation after sensation. When you finally woke up, it felt like you were grieving a loss. You felt too cold, and too empty, and curled into yourself and laid in your bed for an hour taking in shaky breaths until you finally got over yourself.
You couldn't face Dan Heng for that entire day. Which was fine, because he spent his whole day in his room shuffling through the archives, so he was easy to dodge. But then you dreamt of him again. And again, and again, and then it just became a part of your nighttime routine to dream of your own friend so intimately and then wake up and pretend like nothing matters and nothing changed. Pretend like you didn't feel anything, and pretend like these dreams didn't flood you with guilt about your sick sick feelings and your sick sick fantasies.
You tried to rationalize it, make yourself feel less awful. The dreams never went past him laying beside you, for the most part, and you preferred it that way. If they got any more intimate than they already were, you would’ve thrown yourself off the Express the next morning.
Regardless, the Dan Heng in your dream and the Dan Heng that you saw every morning were different people, because the Dan Heng you saw every morning would never get so close to you. Would never lay in your bed and breathe on your neck like that.
Never. That distinction is the only thing that convinces you to let yourself dream. You indulge, and it’s sickening, but you let your dreams happen over and over, and each time you hold Dan Heng tighter and tighter and tighter, and let him breathe against your neck, and feel the rush of his blood circulating through his body.
One night, in one iteration of this dream, Dan Heng kisses you. It feels so real that it makes you nauseous. His lips were warm and damp and clumsy against the corner of your mouth, and he let out anxious breaths until you tangled your hands in his hair and tugged him closer and kissed him back.
You woke up sick, running to your bathroom to puke in the sink as your hands shook in guilt. Somehow, you could still talk to Dan Heng normally that day, stomach twisting only the slightest bit whenever your gaze lingered on him for too long.
Welt might have noticed how weird you were acting. There was a nagging furrow in his brow and he caught your gaze more than once and each time, you felt waves of humiliation crash into you, flooding you in heat and guilt and vertigo. He looked like he wanted to pry in that odd, awkward, old-man-paternal way of his, but you just shook your head and looked away and begged, hoped, wished upon a star that you would have a normal dream tonight.
The night— it goes like this:
You lay in your bed, staring at your ceiling, leftover remnants of guilt swimming in your lungs and nightly congestion forcing you to take shallow breaths through your mouth. Thoughts run through your mind and slam into your skull at rapid speed. Has Dan Heng noticed how weird you’ve been acting? He hasn’t treated you any differently, but maybe it’s out of pity. Maybe you haven’t been paying enough attention, because you’re so busy replaying that dream over and over and over, obsessive, wondering if you should just let go of the rope you’re suspended on and slam into the water and drown in your wants and your needs.
So you close your eyes, and you let yourself drift off and wake back up in your dream. You’re on your side now, instead of on your back, and the door is on the far wall behind you. You still hear it slide open, as it always does in this dream, and the footsteps get closer until you hear the shuffling of someone kneeling behind you. And then there’s nothing.
Your blankets don’t get lifted up. There’s no warm body tucking itself next to you. But there’s— a voice, Dan Heng’s voice, and your heart sinks into your stomach as you hear the pitch of his voice, the vibrations of sound.
“Are you awake?”
Your brow furrows, and you clench and unclench your fists twice before parting your dry, trembling lips. He’s never spoken in a dream before, not like this. He’s only ever said your name. Your fingers twitch with the instinct to pinch yourself.
“Yes,” you respond, hoping that the confusion isn’t clear in the timbre of your voice. “What’s— is something wrong?”
“No,” he says immediately. Clothes rustle as he adjusts himself. You’re scared to turn around and face him. You don’t know what you’d see. “You…” and he pauses, thinking of his words. Dan Heng would rather take a full minute to think about what to say, what words to pick, instead of stumbling over syllables, and it’s so unlike your own habits and as you think of this, your fingers twitch again. This time with the desire to hold his hand, because that’s what you’re supposed to do in this dream, but everything feels too real now and you don’t know where you are.
Finally, he finds his words. You’re patient with him. “I can’t sleep alone,” he whispers, as if embarrassed to admit it, “not tonight. I trust you.”
God. He can’t say that. He shouldn’t say that, because your head is spinning and you’re going to throw up. Your hand finds the strength to pick itself up and pinch the skin of your forearm. You’re not dreaming.
“Yeah,” you cough out, sniffling afterwards to cover up your budding anxiety as you finally sit up and turn to face him. “Yeah, you can, um. Sleep here.”
When he finally enters your field of vision, he looks the same as he always does—both in your dreams and in real life. It makes you sick. The guilt that you feel now comes more from the fact that he’s still in his typical outfit instead of pajamas.
“Dan Heng,” you start as you shuffle back on your bed to make space for him. He follows your motion, kneeling on the edge of your mattress before adjusting the sheets around you to tuck himself underneath and lay down. “We need to get you pajamas. I don’t know how you sleep like that.”
“I don’t sleep,” he admits, “not usually. I don’t need a lot of sleep.”
“You do. You might not think so, but you probably do. I wish I had a spare set of pajamas, but— they’re all, um, in the wash right now.”
“It’s okay. Your blankets are nice.”
Words tingle against your gums, syllables of confessions lighting up in your mouth. You want to tell him that a dream-version of him has slept under a copy of these blankets multiple times before, that you’ve dreamed for weeks about him curled into you and sleeping, and saying your name, and kissing the corner of your mouth. Right now, you’re just laid side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder, but you can feel how warm he is and his hand is so close to yours and you just want to hold it. You want him to say your name and look at you and hold your hand.
“Good,” you say instead of everything else that you could say, because you have a sense of self control at times.
Then Dan Heng says your name, rolling onto his side to face you, hands tucked underneath the side of his face in a stupidly endearing sleeping position. You follow suit, because your self control isn’t that strong. He doesn’t say anything else. Just your name, once. With reverence and desire. Maybe you’re dreaming it, but you pinch your knuckles again and yet you’re still in the same room with the same man in front of you.
One of your arms is bent between you two, hand resting on the pillow that separates you two. Dan Heng’s own hand—warm, and breathing, and real— comes up to rest on top of yours, and you cannot believe any of this is happening. You want to pinch yourself again but his hand is curling around yours and he’s inching forward and you hope that your deer-in-headlights expression doesn’t scare him off.
“Dan Heng,” you whisper, voice cracking with an embarrassing desperation. It’s a warning for him, before he does whatever he’s about to do. But he says your name, again, and his face is so close to yours that you can feel every breath fan against your face, and your entire body is warmed and your hand flips over to hold his, fingers slipping between his and tightening around it.
“Have you had these odd dreams these last few nights,” he asks, a leading tone in his voice, “because I have. About you,” and he’s too honest, and you have to swallow your saliva before it turns into sweat and blood, and you feel his hand squeeze back around yours. His is shaking, and you find some kind of comfort in knowing that you’re not the only one.
“Yeah,” you answer, because you can’t get more than one syllable out at a time tonight. Could anyone blame you? Would Dan Heng blame you for that, afterwards, even though his face is so close and his hand is so warm and it’s tight around you, and he’s shuffling around again, constantly fidgeting, and he takes his other arm and slides it around you, hand between your shoulder blades. He hooks a leg between yours, tugging you closer and closer and closer. You’re blinking at him, heart caught in your throat and eyes landing on his lips so that maybe he’ll finally take the hint.
He does. He does, and as cliche as it is, it’s better than your dream. He kisses you, desperate, and right before your eyes flutter shut you catch the contemplative furrow in his brow. His mouth is—warm, damp, but you feel the crack in the skin in the center of his bottom lip. It scrapes against you and you can’t help the shaky sigh you release at the feeling, and the hand on your back curls into the fabric of your sleep shirt.
Your eyes are closed, tight, scared that if you open them, you’ll just wake up back in your room, alone and cold again with your empty steel ceiling. Dan Heng’s mouth is moving against yours with a practiced proficiency that you’re almost jealous of. You let your tongue trace the edges of his teeth, carnal in your desires, before you bite down on his lip hard enough to leave a temporary dent. He shudders, hand trembling against yours and lips pulling back from yours as he tucks his head into your neck and lets out shaky breaths lines with addictive sounds. You’re going crazy. He’s driving you crazy.
The hard, carved metal parts of his clothes dig into you. Your hand goes around him to rest on the back of his head, threading through his hair as his breathing slows against you. “We can go shopping somewhere tomorrow,” you tell him, already thinking of how you’d convince Pom-Pom to land at some shopping district of some planet. “You need pajamas.”
“There’s no need for me to have that,” he says, stubborn and set in his ways, even with something as mundane as sleep clothes. “My normal clothes are fine.”
“Not if you’ll be sleeping in my bed.”
And that makes him succumb to your whims, much too easy for your own good, and you laugh when he lets out a weary sigh at your reciprocal stubbornness. Your fingers keep combing through his hair, soft and meaningful, until he falls asleep. You think you'll get him a blue plaid pajama set. He'd look nice in it.
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