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firein-thesky · 10 months

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Act II

|| kaeya alberich x afab!reader || E/18+ || hurt/comfort/fluff || wc: 37k || ao3 || masterlist || Act III -> coming soon! ||

When you, a beloved artist and performer of Mondstadt, attract the attention of the Fatui, there is only one person you seek out for help; the infamous Cavalry Captain of the Ordo Favonius, Mondstadt's beloved bastard.

minors and ageless blogs dni, 18+ only

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❀ for you are the world (as i am in pieces) - @lorelune ❀

a/n: hello! i am two days late, but here is the second act!! instead of splitting into multiple parts/posts, i just linked the ao3 at the bottom to continue reading! 37k is actually insane of me. i struggled a great deal with this act and it was the source of a lot of frustration but...i am ultimately happy with how it turned out <33 big shout out to my buddies @lorelune who helped me a lot and beta-ed parts, as well as @suguwu who beta-ed and gave me some great feedback on this act, and finally, @acerathia for beta-ing and giving me feedback as well! i am very appreciative of all your help! also please go check out lore's lovely diluc fic linked above as part of this collab!! without further ado, here is act ii! i would love to hear your feedback!! your thoughts!! your predictions! anything! thank you all for reading and i hope you enjoy <3

tags: afab reader (she/her pronouns but is rather gender fluid/binds her chest sometimes and presents both femme and masc), alcohol use, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of stalking/full on stalking from the fatui to the reader, smut, oral (f!receiving), use of "good girl", friends with benefits, somewhat unclear and messy dynamics, mentions of heartbreak/abandonment issues, bodyguard au technically, fake dating au technically, angst, hurt/comfort

SCENE I

Somewhere dark and stone, dripping, and cave-like. Shadows press and shudder and shift. This is an unknown place and sharply different to Mondstadt’s gold and sky. Confined and cold. Each sound should echo softly or loudly, should repeat itself over and over again.

Kaeya moves with his back to us, slipping among the darkness as if he might belong there.

Kaeya has spent nearly an entire day attempting to tail one of the Fatui members he knows is keeping tabs on you. There’s three, he believes, and they rotate in shifts, much like he, Diluc, Jean, and Venti rotate being near you.

For the first time in a long time, he hasn’t spent his entire day with you. Nor the previous. Venti stayed with you in your own home and now you’re with Jean.

He hates to admit it, but he’s become rather accustomed to watching over you.

But he needs answers for you, so he’s been running all over the city, searching for their reasoning.

This is the closest he’s gotten to a new discovery; this ruin beneath the earth, ducking and weaving through an old, stone crypt of some sort.

He realizes rather quickly it must be some secret meeting place for the Fatui in the city, especially those dealing with the Abyss Order.

The narrow hall opens up into a larger space where an old desk, piled with papers and maps sits under lantern light. Shadows grow large and spindly on the floor. On the stone walls are photos and torn notebook paper, pinned and plastered together, a collage of secrets.

Kaeya peers carefully from his hiding spot to get a better look.

He wants to look at that desk, all the information atop it. He’s certain there must be something there of use, even a greater hint. But he needs this member to leave.

Kaeya picks up a stone, smooth and cool to the touch. He has to play this carefully.

There’s an adjacent hallway across this room. It leads to further darkness. And with the Fatui member’s back turned to him, facing the desk, if he can aim well enough, he’ll be able to–

Kaeya throws the stone and watches it sail through the air, finding it’s mark as it clatters into the bend of the wall down the hallway. He flattens himself to his own wall, waiting and listening.

“Who's there?” The Fatui member calls and Kaeya holds his breath.

“Hello?” Again, before he hears their footsteps stride towards the hallway Kaeya had thrown the stone in and away from him.

He waits as they retreat, deeper and deeper, echoing softly.

He knows he won’t have much time now.

As silently and quickly as possible, he rushes to the desk. His eye flies over all of the papers and maps and scribbling notes.

Your name jumps out to him. He skims.

Vision: Pyro

Strength: Low

Intelligence: High

-Not a fighter

-Use discretion; known and beloved by Mondstadt and other nations.

Kaeya searches harder, shuffling through the papers a little.

There’s a ledger with all the places you’d gone, every single day. There are notes about where best to kidnap you and Kaeya’s stomach sours as he reads words like use force. And torture if necessary.

But what is it they think you know? What would they need to torture out of you?

He moves another piece of paper, only to catch sight of something that makes his heart stop.

Your diary.

There’s no mistaking it. He’d know it anywhere now.

How do they have this? It should’ve been in his home or safe with you.

Horror sweeps through him–they don’t–they couldn’t have taken you, could they?

You’re with Jean, he tries to rationalize. Had you hidden your diary again? Had they found it?

If you hid it, had you snuck away from Venti or Jean in the last day or so? His mind spins sharply.

Footsteps echo.

He’s out of time.

He disappears down his own hallway, heart ricketing in his chest wildly. If they had you, would you be here? Should he search? Is he being unreasonable?

He’ll go to Jean first.

Use force.

You’ll be with Jean. And if you’re not, Jean will organize a rescue party. He’s found their hideout.

Torture if necessary.

Kaeya breaks the surface of the world with a new urgency. The day is melting into evening and the light nearly blinds him a moment as he stumbles out. He doesn’t have time, he breaks into a sprint. His mind flashes hotly, imagines he wish he could never conjure. Images of you tied up, bloody, beaten–

He runs towards the city gates fast and hard.

Strength: Low

He shouldn’t have pawned you off on others–he should’ve stayed beside you. This whole time. He should’ve had Diluc look for the Fatui, he shouldn’t have bid you goodbye yesterday. He should’ve checked in with you.

His ribs ache, his legs burn. He doesn’t stop.

What was he thinking? You’re practically a sitting duck. He knows this.

Not a fighter.

You wouldn’t stand a chance against them. What if Jean is already searching for him because you’ve been taken? He imagines bursting into the city to find her or Venti or Diluc, with some pale look on their face.

The knights on watch must know something is wrong as he runs beneath the gates–they call after him, but don’t stop him.

“Where’s Jean?” He barks to the one trying to catch up to him.

“Headquarters, I think!”

Kaeya veers sharply for Headquarters.

He prays he’ll burst through the door and find you there, with Jean. You’ll be pestering her as the sun sets, chirping and flitting around her office while she tries to get paperwork done. You’ll be there, he tries to tell himself, you will be. They must’ve just nicked your diary.

He throws open the door to Headquarters, rounds the corner and bursts into Jean’s office. Jean is standing on the opposite side of her desk, back facing Kaeya and–

You’re nowhere to be found.

His stomach drops.

“Jean,” he says her name sharply, a note of desperation. “Where is she?”

Jean turns, startled by his appearance, by his urgency, but–

“I left her with Venti. They said they were going to Angel’s Share to perform some songs.” Jean steps towards him, “why? What’s wrong?”

“They have her diary.” Kaeya gets out, rushing out the door of her office.

“Kaeya!” She barks after him, but he’s already pushing his way out of Headquarters. He won’t rest, not until he sees you, until you’re right in front of him. “What are you–where was her diary?”

“I don’t know,” Kaeya snaps, taking stairs two at a time, “I thought it was at my apartment but she’s always hiding it and–” He breaks into another run, heading towards the tavern, “when did you leave her with Venti?”

“I don’t know,” Jean gets out, keeping pace with him, “a few hours ago, maybe? I had a lot to do–”

Kaeya curses under his breath.

“I still don’t know what they want with her but–their notes were about using force. Or–” he can’t get the word out. “They think she knows something.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know.” Kaeya bites out.

He rounds the corner to Angel’s Share sharply and Jean takes it with him.

“I’m sure she’ll be here with Venti.” Jean gets out, attempting to be calm with him. She’s attempting to be a leader.

Kaeya throws open the door, gaze flying across the room and–

He doesn’t see you.

His blood runs cold.

For once, he wishes it was Diluc at the bar, but it’s Charles.

“Has Venti been here?” And then he asks for you, too, says your name with a shot voice.

Charles shakes his head, “haven’t seen either of them at all today. They were supposed to play music tonight, I think–”

Kaeya doesn’t let him finish. He rushes out.

He has half a mind to start shouting like a lunatic for you, all over the city, wandering like a mad man with your name a cry on his lips.

“Maybe they went to her house before–” Jean tries to rationalize, but he can tell she is beginning to fret, too.

Kaeya is already ahead of her, rushing towards your home on the hill in the city. He can’t help his pace, the run he breaks into again. He tries to think of you throwing open the door, laughing at his worry. Where else would you be? He wants to hear you say.

But when he pounds on the door, there is no answer. Not a peep. Your little space is quiet.

“Do you have a key?” Jean asks, but Kaeya doesn’t have the time.

He takes a step back only to kick in the door easily, letting it fly open on its hinges.

(He promises he’ll get you a new door, a better one, one that isn’t so flimsy–that could be so easily broken into. He thinks of you asleep here, with a door like that, and his worry grows insurmountably.)

He shouts your name as he enters.

No answer.

He storms the place. Your bedroom, your bathroom, all familiar and all so empty.

“Venti!” Jean calls, and then your own name, too, as she searches.

Nothing.

“You know how they are,” Jean tries to rationalize, “they’re always getting up to trouble. They could be anywhere.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Kaeya growls, rushing past her and back out the door. He’s beginning to panic. He can feel the tendrils of it creep up his chest, wrapping like vines around his poor throat. His head is growing foggy, warped with his fear. All he can see is you being dragged away.

Use force.

His mind feels hot, too sharp.

Torture if necessary.

“Kaeya,” Jean barks his name, rushing to catch up to him.

Her voice is a balm, he wants–she should–

“I’ll try to get ahold of Diluc and send word out to search the city for her.” Jean says and her voice is filled with authority now, level-headed and steady, “where else would she be?”

“I’m going to my apartment.” Kaeya says, mind narrowing, “in case she’s–I don’t know–”

“Go,” Jean agrees, a command, “and if she’s not there, keep searching–you know her hiding spots now.”

Kaeya nods dazedly.

Jean grabs him roughly, on the arm, jerking him to face her. One hand coming down on his shoulder.

“We’ll find her.” She promises and she dips her head a little to force him to meet her eyes. They’re all stone and determination. The eyes of a leader. “Do you hear me, Captain?”

Kaeya nods, more assuredly now, “yes,” he agrees, finding his voice, her eyes.

She shoves him a little, a push to go, “I’ll reconvene with you shortly. Stay sharp.”

Kaeya doesn’t need another moment; he picks his eyes up to catch the city skyline of Mondstadt, of his apartment in the distance. He breaks into a sprint. He tries to focus only on his breath, on the way his feet carry him swiftly, weaving in and around the city.

He tries to force away what he’d seen.

He bounds for his home, feels his heart and fear ratchet up inside of himself. He’s imagining his home empty.

He’s imagining you gone.

He’s imagining the door shut tight and locked, how he’d left it, and you’re nowhere to be found. A cold space. An empty space.

He takes the stairs two at a time, he tries the door and it–it’s locked still.

He doesn’t pray. He’s not a religious man. And that stupid Archon–

Is sitting perched on his kitchen counter, overlooking the living room.

“Ssh,” Venti hisses, finger to his lips, as he points to his couch. The one Kaeya has slept on nearly every night since this whole ordeal started. The one you are currently occupying, curled up beneath the blanket he usually uses, sleeping soundly.

Or, you were.

You blink awake, slow, confused.

Kaeya rushes to your side.

He kneels.

The door is left ajar.

“You’re here,” he gets out, winded, rough.

“Kaeya?” Your voice is so small and confused.

Without thinking, he brushes a strand of hair from your face as gently as he can, hands shaking. He’s still panting, chest still heaving. But–

“I’m here.” He says then, astonished, relieved.

He wants to pull you off the couch and into his arms. He wants to hold you. He wants to collapse on top of you.

He falls back onto his bottom, breathing hard, all his fear leaking out of him swiftly. “Oh, you’re here.” He says again, voice breaking, as if to assure himself.

You sit up, eyes pricking with concern, “what’s wrong?” you murmur, “where else would I be?”

Kaeya can’t even speak yet, but he laughs, delirious, out of breath.

“No where.” He says, “I thought–you were–”

“She was trying to nap,” Venti finally speaks up and his eyes are far too keen. “Before our performance tonight.”

Kaeya looks at him. Venti looks back.

The door is open.

He heaves out a rough breath. He hangs his head between his shoulders. He tries to calm himself.

“I need to tell Jean to call off–” he laughs, “oh, Diluc is going to lose his mind.”

“Call off what?” You ask.

“Your search party.” Kaeya finally can get out. Your face brightens to shock.

“My search party? Kaeya–”

“Venti, why don’t you find Jean and tell her where you’ve been? Before the whole city turns upside down looking for her.” Kaeya then says. He won’t look at him but he can feel Venti’s eyes on him.

But then Venti laughs, and chirps, “aye, Captain!”

And he flits out of Kaeya’s home.

Venti shuts the door behind him and seals you away with him. Kaeya exhales roughly again, elbows resting on his knees.

“Are you okay?” You ask for a second time, so sweetly. So sincerely. You lean towards him like you want to touch him.

And he wants to say, I was scared. He wants to say, I was terrified of losing you. I could’ve torn the whole city apart looking for you. He wants to say, I’m so relieved to see you. Hold me. Let me hold you.

Instead, all he says is, “they had your diary. And I thought–”

The door is shut tightly.

“Oh,” you breathe, “I left it at home, the last time we–”

“They must’ve broken in.” He agrees softly. And then he looks rather sheepish.

“What?” You ask, as if you know.

“I broke in. I owe you a new door.”

“Kaeya!” You scold, “why did you–why were you so–?!”

“Jean and I thought you were kidnapped!” Kaeya defends himself.

“Kaeya–”

“We were searching for you. Since you weren’t in any of the places you were supposed to be.” He begins to scold.

“Kaeya,”

“Didn’t I leave you with Jean? You should’ve stayed with her.”

You suddenly launch forward, arms wrapping around his neck, falling from the couch and onto his body. His breath is almost knocked out of his lungs for the millionth time today because of you and surprise colors his face. Raises his brows.

You hug him tight, face pressing to the crook of his neck, a bundle in his lap.

“I’m okay,” you murmur, “I’m right here.”

His arms, which had come up in surprise, finally settle over you. They wrap all the way around your shoulders, your middle, pull you closer, and he’s sure his heart is such a mess in his chest. He’s sure it sounds like a disaster.

But you press harder into him, fingers digging into his muscles.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you say, and then your voice tilts upwards playfully, “didn’t think you’d really send the cavalry just because–”

He pinches your side.

“I had reason to believe–!”

You start to laugh, into his throat. You shift to pull away and he wants to keep you there, he wants to hold fast to you and not let go. He wants to cling to you. But he lets you move away to look at his face once more.

You look at him in a way that just makes him feel naked. He wants to hide. He wants to say something clever.

“Thank you,” you suddenly say.

“For what?” Kaeya laughs, “causing a ruckus? Waking you from your nap?”

“For coming for me.” You cut him off. “I feel safe with you and this just proves that–”

Kaeya slackens a little, perhaps surprised or unsure or–you always leave him wobbly and uncertain. You always disarm him so swiftly, so viciously.

“Of course I’d come for you.” Kaeya says and he does mean it. He softens it’s truth with, “it’s my duty.”

But that night, you don’t ask him to sit beside you as you fall asleep–he does so anyway. You don’t say a word, except to ask him for another bedtime story playfully, except to hear him speak, as you always do when he stays with you.

You didn’t ask but he needed to.

It’s not his duty, but he wanted to.

He can’t imagine not watching you drift off to sleep tonight, of all nights, when he thought he’d lost you.

He watches you sleep soundly in his bed, back rising and falling as you curl around one of his pillows, cheek endearingly squished against it. He doesn’t sleep.

The door is locked tight.

And even though it's not his duty, he watches over you, anyway.

***

SCENE II

On the docks of Cider Lake in the early afternoon sun. Venti is perched beside you, plucking lazily at a lyre. Your feet dangle off the dock, swinging like a child. The sky is endlessly blue. Clouds are like sleeping rabbits in the sky. The wind kisses you.

“I feel their eyes most when I’m with you.” You say suddenly, glancing at your companion out of the corner of your eyes.

A note strums from Venti’s fingers. He hums lightly.

“Not sure what the Fatui would want with a measly bard.” Venti shrugs, “maybe they think I’m the weakest of your guards.”

“Maybe,” you say, but you don’t believe that. You don’t believe it because–well, because you noticed them following him first. At first, you weren’t quite sure and you had mentioned it to Venti, but he’d shrugged you off.

Breezy as ever. He’d pretend there was nothing to worry about.

You turn towards him and look at him before you murmur, low enough that any ears listening would only catch the sound of the gently lapping water, “why were the Fatui following you?”

“I believe I’m supposed to ask that of you,” Venti replies with a smile but you can tell, there’s a chipping like a porcelain teacup losing a piece of its lip.

“I wasn’t sure at first,” you tell him softly, eyes glancing out over the calm lake, “but then I caught them intercepting letters and messages of yours. I caught them in the belltower and I knew.”

The belltower in the cathedral was a place Venti had shown you early in your return to Mondstadt. He’d told you it’d been a place that he came to play music, to look out at the world below. A secret place for him, now for you; a gift, he’d said. Places are a gift to give the people you love and secrets are, too.

Then you’d caught a Fatui member snooping through the hidden items Venti had left there; music sheets, maps the two of you had crudely drawn, and old clues to scavenger hunts long past.

The two of you had always liked sending the other all over Mondstadt; it’s why you hide your diary. He hides new songs he wants you to learn. You’d leave clues, games to play, puzzles to solve for each other.

Venti plucks out a few, odd notes on his lyre. Goosebumps erupt over your skin.

“You don’t think I have dealings with them, do you?” Venti asks queerly. There’s a funny sound to his voice.

You shake your head quickly, “Archons, no.” And then you tilt your head, “but I did what I do best.”

A wrong note. It rings discordant in the air.

Venti looks at you.

“You didn’t.” He almost begs, but he knows.

“Of course I did.” You respond and Venti looks genuinely distraught. So you add, “nothing terrible–but I wrote you false letters. I led them on a goose chase a little, like I always do when the Fatui gets too close or comfortable in Mondstadt.”

Venti shakes his head, “you shouldn’t have meddled here.”

“They’re looking for something of yours, aren’t they?” You ask slowly.

Venti, for once, is quiet. The wind catches on your clothes in a burst. It’s confirmation enough.

“So I sent them all over Mondstadt with puzzles and clues and fake letters.” You said, “and really, I thought it was harmless but–”

“Did you tell this to Kaeya?” Venti asks.

“Not specifically this. I always toy with the Fatui when I can, though, he knows that.”

Venti shakes his head slightly, fingers digging into the wood of his instrument, “and with all the hiding places and riddles between us, I’m sure they–” Venti stands abruptly, “I need to speak to Kaeya.”

You stand with him suddenly, “why? What for?”

Venti frowns at you and it’s an expression you hardly ever see him wear.

So you press tenderly, “what are they looking for, Venti?”

“You’re such trouble,” Venti replies and his voice catches with emotion; he doesn’t mean it meanly, in fact it’s–well, it’s fond. Mournful, almost. The wind rushes past the two of you, stronger now. Water laps at the docks.

“Give me a clue.” You try to charm him but it sounds more like a plea. “Like always. I’ll figure it out and you won’t ever have to say it outloud, if you’re that scared.”

Your heart feels like a brewing storm in your chest. Venti has never hidden things so openly from you. It frightens you.

But Venti shakes his head for once, small and soft. “Not this time, my friend.”

“Venti–”

He suddenly looks away, down towards the other side of the dock, where the cobblestone of the street meets the wood. Kaeya is standing there, waiting to relieve Venti and walk with you to Springvale for rehearsal. The gold of his coat glints in the afternoon sun. He looks like a knight.

He waits for you.

“You have rehearsal,” Venti says, and his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “go.”

“Please, will you tell me?” You ask again. You swallow hard around sudden tears; stupid and silly but–aching. You can’t name why you feel like crying, only that you can tell something far larger is on the horizon.

It hangs like a storm.

You can feel its pressure, now more than ever.

Tell me, you want to beg him, you want to sing, you want to scream. Let me help you, let me in.

Venti looks at you with love and affection and sadness. He looks at you with a heaviness you can’t name, but can taste. It’s ancient. It’s otherworldly. You want to hold him. You want to hide him from the world.

“Not yet,” he replies.

“Why not?” Your voice breaks as easily and fragile as a bird’s wing.

Venti smiles sadly, “because if you knew, you’d put yourself in even more danger than you already have for me.”

You open your mouth, but he continues;

“And this isn’t your battle.” He turns away, eyes glassy, but waves at Kaeya, as if nothing is wrong. He smiles at you, watery and fond.

“Besides, you’ve never been much of a fighter in the first place.”

***

SCENE III

In the living room of Kaeya’s apartment. Soft, evening blue light through the windows. Hazy, dark shadows. You’re curled up on the couch, legs tucked up underneath you, with a cup of tea held in your palms. You’re ready for bed. Kaeya enters from his office with a stack of letters and papers; what the audience can see of his face is that he’s somber for once. He casts the greater shadow.

“Will you tell me again why you thought it was a good idea to toy with the Fatui?” Kaeya asks and in his hand, he has only some of the letters and maps and sheet music that you’d been leaving for Venti.

Or, the Fatui. Since you knew they were rifling through Venti’s things.

“I always toy with them.” You reply simply, taking a slow, burning sip of tea. It’s chamomile and rose. A hint of cinnamon. Kaeya prepared it for you before disappearing to do some work in his office. You swallow. “And I never said it was a good idea.”

“Then why do it?”

“Why are they following Venti? What are they looking for?”

Kaeya lets out a sharp breath, perhaps growing impatient. “I don’t know. Right now, I need to know why they think they need you to find it, though.”

“Well, I made it seem like I had whatever they’re looking for.”

You watch Kaeya freeze for a moment and if you weren’t so intuitive and just a little wittier, you’d make some sort of joke about cryo and freezing in place.

“Why?” He demands suddenly.

“I wanted to get them off Venti’s back.” You say, “this is what I do when the Fatui get too close to the people I know. This is what I do when the Fatui think they can stick their hands in Mondstadt. Someone has to teach them a lesson.” You take another little sip of your tea, and then add, “and I don’t have a sword–my weapon is my pen. My voice. My wit.”

Kaeya shakes his head, “you don’t even know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

You gesture smoothly, “then enlighten me.”

“This is bigger than you, do you understand that?” Kaeya then says and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him quite so stern.

His face is shadowed. It’s growing darker.

“Sure,” you say easily, “that’s why I had to intervene.”

“I don’t think you actually understand.” Kaeya says and his voice has grown more serious, imperative, a little lower.

“I’m not an idiot,” you snip, “clearly! Since I’ve managed to fool the Fatui and send them running all over Mondstadt.” You can feel your hackles rise a little, heat swimming in your chest, up your neck. “And most importantly, away from Venti–since he’s got some huge secret that no one will tell me!”

Kaeya moves suddenly to sit on the coffee table in front of the sofa you’re on. Your knees nearly brush. He splays out your letters and music sheets and maps. “Why didn’t you come to me before doing all of this? Before involving yourself?”

“Because I always mess with the Fatui!” Your voice raises and you finally move to set the tea cup beside him on the coffee table. “I didn’t think it was any different than any of the other times!”

“The Fatui aren’t just–” Kaeya gestures, papers crinkling beneath his grip that has grown tighter with his own frustration. “–some band of half-wit politicians or merchants for you to toy with! They’re dangerous.”

This quiets you for a moment. And then, “so? A lot of things are dangerou–”

“So?” Kaeya repeats, “so?! You’re not even–” he laughs, but the sound is scraping and hollow, off-kilter. It’s disbelief, almost a scoff, “you’re not even a fighter. You’re not a Knight or a warrior. You’re not even an adventurer of some kind.”

Silence stretches between the two of you.

“Can you ever trust my own judgment and intuition? I have made it this far–”

“But you’re reckless.” Kaeya says, “specifically, you’re reckless with yourself. You know the Fatui are dangerous–it’s why you’re worried about Venti, right? It’s why you intervened.” Kaeya says and then his voice gentles, “so why don’t you have the same concern for yourself?”

You feel your jaw lock. It ticks.

You look away from him defiantly, out towards one of the windows, blue with the evergrowing night sky.

It strikes a strange note inside of you. You have concern for yourself, you want to say, you came to him, didn’t you? Eventually.

But it doesn’t negate what you did, which was reckless. He’s right; you could’ve turned to him immediately, you could’ve gone to Diluc or Jean or him. But instead, you tried to distract the Fatui; you tried to dance and sing and entice them onto the path you’re on, instead of the one Venti is on.

You gave them a performance. And now, with all their eyes set on you, like the hungry, vying eyes of an audience, a predator, you are in danger.

“This isn’t a game anymore. This isn’t funny or—or breezy. You’ve gotten yourself into real danger, do you understand?” Kaeya then says and you can tell he’s trying to get you to look at him again.

“I have you and Jean and Diluc to—“

“But your recklessness got us all here. You rush head first into—into everything, without regard for yourself.” Kaeya continues. “You’re an open book. You wear your heart on your sleeve—it’s like you have no self preservation whatsoever.”

You sit in silence. You cross your arms over your chest and you feel a hard, little ache in the pit of your throat.

He’s chipping away at something inside of you, something already too tender to take the beating.

“It’s not a bad thing to be open.” You say and your voice is tight, thicker than it should be.

“No,” he agrees, “but you have no regard for yourself and all of it for everyone else.”

Tears prick your eyes, much to your dismay.

You know the reason. You can feel it, somewhere in the back of your mouth, down where your throat is tight.

You can’t lose Venti.

Venti could lose you, you’ve decided. The world could lose you. But you are so terrified of loss and really–you must’ve been easy to leave if–

If it could be done so effortlessly.

(You think of yourself as a child and your father setting you down for the last time. You think of yourself at an altar, forever waiting, the way you waited for your father your whole life.)

Venti can lose you.

But you can’t lose Venti.

You hope that maybe if you give enough of yourself to the world, it will need you bad enough to never lose. You think one day, it’ll fill the empty, aching wound inside of you that has been just left to dry out. Crack and splinter.

Sometimes, you think if you scare someone bad enough, they’ll look at you and say they can’t lose you. You think maybe if you scare yourself bad enough, you’ll finally look at yourself and say I can’t lose you.

“Don’t cry,” Kaeya hushes softly and you wipe quickly at the tear that has freed itself to slip down the slope of your cheek.

It makes you want to cry harder, for some reason, for him to be so tender now.

He sets the papers down beside you on the couch finally. He reaches out and touches your knee, broad palm surprisingly warm, as he rubs a gentle pass with his thumb.

“Why are you crying?” Kaeya then asks, coaxing, gentle.

You sniff hard.

You dig a little, you search for the answer. Is it because you’re careless with yourself? Is it because you’re scared now? Is it because he pointed it out at all—that he noticed enough, saw through you enough, to finally say it?

Is it because—

“I worry about you.” He says when you don’t answer him.

—you’re worth fretting over?

You shake your head a little, perhaps in an attempt to disagree with him, perhaps in an attempt to reassure him. But nothing comes out except another few tears.

You try to keep the sob back, the noise trapped with the reason in the back of your throat. You fear what will come out.

“I’m sorry,” you manage to whisper and when you finally turn to face him, he’s right there, and for a moment, you think he might move further to hold you. You think you might just slide into his arms.

You hold your breath.

You think he holds his, too.

“I don’t need an apology.” Kaeya finally murmurs and he doesn’t fold you into his arms, but he turns up his hand on your knee carefully. His palm, an offering. “I just need you to be more careful.”

Slowly, you slide your hand into his.

You’ve held his hand plenty now, know the rough scrape of his calluses against your own, but it has never quite felt like this.

Real. Weighted.

He folds his fingers between yours gently. Your hands lock together, woven, knuckle over knuckle. Palm to palm.

You’re both watching your hands, enamored, maybe terrified.

You cling to him in a way you haven’t clung to someone in a long, long time.

You think you’ve tried to hold onto everything like this; with too much force, gripped in your rebellious fist. You think everything you’ve ever held must’ve been crumpled and ruined from your grasp, you think everything must have the indents of your fingers permanently etched there.

You want to squeeze, you want to bear down on his hands like a dog who finally caught a bird.

“Can you promise me that?” Kaeya prompts gently when he doesn’t receive a response from you.

You glance up at his searching face, the way he’s watching you carefully, scouring to see any flicker of emotion.

You nod a little, jerky, unsure.

“Will you say it for me?” He murmurs and dips his head a little to keep your straying gaze.

You swallow hard around the lump in your throat, tight and hard.

You feel your eyes fill with tears again.

But still, you manage to croak, “I’ll try to be more careful.”

You can tell the response displeases him somewhat; you can tell he wants more. But anything more right now, may feel like a lie.

And you’re no good at that.

“Okay,” Kaeya agrees, “thank you.” And then he adds with a gentle lilt, “I’m sorry for making you cry.”

You laugh a little through your tears, “it’s okay–” you mumble, letting your eyes fall back to your intertwined hands. “I probably needed to hear it.”

His thumb makes a slow, comforting pass over the back of your hand.

For a moment, the space fills with silence.

You watch the careful sweep of his thumb, you watch the flex of his hand, the veins against his wrist. You can feel the room fill with something more, a growing of a feeling, stretching amongst your ribs. Perhaps amongst his. You think there is something blooming inside of him, something he’s terrified of, something you’ll always long for.

(If you could feel his pulse in his wrist, it would be jumping, picking up in a fierce little tempo.)

He’s tenser now, you realize. His breath is caught somewhere in his chest, like he might speak again.

You wait for him.

He opens his mouth.

But then after a moment, he closes it.

You pick your head up to examine his face, to try and discern what it is he wants to say now.

And mostly, it’s a mask of causality.

(His trembling heart is the only thing that gives him away now.)

Maybe, the depth of his eye, or maybe it’s only a trick of the light.

You want to say, what is it? Or prompt him for more. You want him to speak what is so clearly on the very tip of his tongue.

Tell me, you want to say, tell me what seems to scare you so badly.

“I–” he starts. He stops.

And then neither of you speak and the tension stretches and something inside you grows. You cling to him harder without realizing it, as if anticipating the way he’ll pull away. You don’t want him to go. You can feel it, your heart unfurling for him, you can feel the way he holds you, too.

In the same way that you hold him.

You hope he leaves indents in your skin. You hope he never lets go.

“Yes?” You prompt gently.

But then he clears his throat and glances away.

The spell is broken and he forces his hands to loosen from his own hold on you. He forces himself to recede and to calm his heart. You watch as he mentally pulls away from you. You force yourself not to cling harder to him, to catch his hand and hold it close to yourself, to pull him closer to you.

He says, “Mondstadt cares very deeply for you–and you for Mondstadt. I only wish–” he draws in a small breath, “that you’d afford yourself the same care.”

You wonder what he was going to say instead. You know this is not his original thought, but the secondary, more distant one. You almost want to ask him, you want to needle and beg, but you know Kaeya well now.

You know he doesn’t say anything he hasn’t carefully thought about or that he doesn’t want you to hear.

Still, it manages to make you soften, to make tears press again behind your eyes.

You turn to tuck your face into your shoulder, like it may stop him from seeing you cry. You squeeze his hand like a lifeline.

“Oh, look what I’ve done now.” He says and his voice is light–he’s teasing you gently, holding you tighter again as you laugh now and sniffle, fingers still digging deep into his hand.

“I’m sorry–” you mumble, “Am I hurting you?”

You loosen your grip on his hand.

“I’ve been through far worse,” he soothes, running his thumb back over the dips and plains of your hand.

You try to keep yourself from bursting into heavier, harder tears. You can’t even quite name why; your care for him, or his for you. The fact that he won’t name it, or because you’re scared he’ll leave if you do.

You’re nearly trembling with it; you’re afraid he’ll say one more word, one more phrase and you’ll simply fall to pieces.

You don’t know what it is about care; but when someone is gentle with you, it makes you feel as if they’ve torn you to shreds. It turns you inside out. It turns you into a child again, desperately seeking it out. It feels foolish now sometimes, over dramatic.

But Kaeya holds your hand and you take deep, shuddering breaths until you don’t feel as if you’re going to bawl your eyes out anymore.

You don’t want to stop clinging to his hand, though.

“I should get to bed,” you finally say, if only for him, if only to give him an out because it’s easier than if he finds it himself. You’re too fragile for him to pull away first tonight.

So you slip from his grasp and stand. Your legs feel a little wobbly, unsure of yourself. He looks up at you, from beneath the fan of his dark lashes. You swallow hard, around the tears, around whatever it is he makes you feel.

You can still feel the pressure in your hand, the way his fingers feel against yours.

Again, he looks as if he wants to say something.

You wait, expectant.

And again, he lets it fall.

Instead, he says, “yes–it's another early morning. I’ll let you sleep.”

He stands now, too, collecting the papers, gathering them into his hands carefully. All of your wit and love and craft. All of your recklessness in the palm of his hand.

“I’m going to stay up a little longer,” he says then, “if you need anything.”

Now it's your turn to look up at him.

And there must be something too raw, too sincere in your eyes, because he can’t look for long.

“Kaeya,” you want to draw his gaze back to yours, but he doesn't quite reach your eyes. Still, you need to say, “thank you.”

“For scolding you?” He asks, light, too light. He tries to create distance. Coldness.

“For caring about me.”

He swallows. He doesn’t confirm or deny it. But he looks guilty, a man held back, everything carefully in place. Not a word misspoken, not a look out of place. Sometimes, you have the urge to destroy that veneer. Sometimes, you want to know what he looks like without all his thoughtfully placed appearances.

You wonder if you will ever see him like that. You wonder if he will ever tell you more; if he will ever let you in.

You think maybe you will stay like this forever, close to him, but not too close.

With care, but without it spoken. Always in the blue dark and never in the dawn.

He clears his throat, “it’s my job to look out for you.”

Your heart falls a little, sharp, like a plummeting note, a tight draw of the strings of a discordant chord. You swallow around the lump in your throat.

“Yes,” you agree distantly, nodding your head, “I suppose it is.”

“I’ll be in the office.” He says because he must slip away from you now. You think when he gets too close, he grows scared of being burned.

He closes the door behind him.

You watch it for a moment, steady.

You wonder if it’ll stay like this forever; always on the other side of the door.

When you go to sleep that night, you leave the bedroom door ajar, as if to prove something.

But in the morning, you find it shut tight.

At rehearsal, you’re somewhere else, off in your mind. Though you say your lines, you feel as if you miss them, like they’re coming out automatically, half-hearted.

And the only ones that rings true, that resonates throughout the stage is one you’d previously thrown away;

“Hold on tight–don’t let go.”

This time, your voice cracks with it, breaks over the don’t.

That night, Kaeya presents you with a bouquet of flowers; a show in front of the world.

And when he brushes his knuckles against yours, you eagerly slip your hand into his as you walk home.

You don’t even care that it’s for the world and no longer for you.

You are, if nothing else, a good actor (or of foolish heart);

So you pretend it’s real, with the flowers he gave you nestled into the crook of your elbow, and his hand curled around yours. You pretend that you are walking home with your love, and the sun is setting, and you are filled to the brim.

You laugh as if that’s the case. You lean into him as if that’s the case.

You knock into him as you walk, desperate to be close, to feel his side against yours. You are desperate to have more of him; all his attention, all his affection.

To not feel like a world away–or like there’s a door between you, one that you don’t know if he’ll ever open or not.

***

PRELUDE TO SCENE IV

Springvale in the afternoon, the sun warm and bright; it makes everything sparkle, almost radiant. The grass seems lush and full, the lake is shimmering.

Klee eats cut fruit happily beside you at a picnic table. You steal a piece or two from time to time. Kaeya sits across from you and Klee, his back to the audience.

“Are you and Kaeya boyfriend and girlfriend?” Klee suddenly asks around a burst of valberries.

Despite everything, you feel your heart tick up in a strange, sharp tempo.

Your eyes fly to Kaeya, who's already looking at you.

You share a silent conversation with each other and a series of increasingly dramatic expressions;

What should we tell her?

The truth?

What? No!

Then you tell her–

“Yes,” Kaeya finally says, “we are boyfriend and girlfriend.”

Klee picks her head up, perhaps surprised at his answer. “You’re dating?!” She asks, louder now and you can’t help but laugh.

“Yes,” Kaeya lies, perhaps for any eavesdroppers, “we’re dating, Klee.”

She looks between the two of you.

“Miss Jean said you’re in love with each other.” Klee says casually and that makes both of you freeze momentarily.

You feel heat rush into the high points of your face. Your mind whirls, spins into overthinking. Why would Jean say this? To keep your covers? A kinder way to say it to a child?

For a moment, you fear Jean knows a part of your heart that you fully haven’t gotten to know yet yourself.

You fear there is some truth to it.

(Perhaps love is too strong of a word but—)

You adore Kaeya.

You have your whole life, you think, from when you were young and chasing after them with childlike, outstretched hands, to adulthood, where you have always held respect for him and now—

Something more, perhaps, after all your time with him.

How could you not? What chance did you have against him, anyways?

(You hope he doesn’t dare read your diary again.

You suddenly worry that Jean has instead.)

You’re almost fearful to catch Kaeya’s gaze, you swallow hard, but force yourself to. And when you do, you realize he’s–

Amused. Near laughing.

That absolute bas—

You kick him underneath the table and he yelps a little. You hide your snicker behind a hand against your mouth.

“We care about each other very much.” You tell Klee, sobering.

“Are you gonna get married?” She asks then, just as casually, around another piece of fruit.

Kaeya makes a noise of surprise, “married?” He asks Klee, “where are these questions coming from?”

“I thought if you’re boyfriend and girlfriend, then you get married.” Klee responds.

“Sometimes,” you agree, nudging the bowl of fruit closer to her little hands so that she can reach the last few pieces better. “But right now we’re just boyfriend and girlfriend.”

Klee hums around her berry.

And then she looks up at you, “do you guys kiss?”

The word kiss is punctuated with disgust, almost sick curiosity; as if she might not be able to believe it.

It makes you choke, then stutter into a laugh. Kaeya laughs as well, full and surprised.

“People who are dating do tend to kiss, Klee, so yes.” He says, amused with her. He catches your eye across the table. You swallow hard with the way he gazes at you, infinitely pleased and laid back, deeply amused. By you or Klee, you’re not sure. Still, you can’t help the smile that touches your lips, perhaps just as entertained, perhaps a little rueful.

“Gross,” she declares. And then she looks at Kaeya, “do you think she’s pretty?”

You look at Kaeya expectantly, propping your chin in your hands, and sing, “yes, Kaeya, do you think I’m pretty?”

He smirks, leaning back in his seat a little, and a fissure of heat rips through you. You bat your lashes for him.

“I think you’re beautiful, darling.” Kaeya croons, sweet as ever, and enough to make you damn near melt.

You can feel heat in your face, despite it all. You feel like a teenager. You feel like a girl with a crush, a boy with his love in front of him, and not a clue what to do. Bumbling and suddenly young, graceless.

A pang hits you squarely in the chest; you wish this was real. You wish he was being honest.

Klee squeals in embarrassment or surprise. “You’re going to get cooties!” She tells you.

You use her as a distraction, leaning down a little to conspire with her, “Kaeya does have cooties.” You agree in a faux-whisper. “But I have the antidote.”

“You do?” Klee asks, “what is it?”

“Its a secret recipe,” you begin, putting on a good show of trying to come up with the ingredients, “but it certainly starts with the essence of butterflies.” You glance over at the field behind you, which you know is teeming with butterflies.

You used to chase them here in your youth until the sun set and the fireflies sparked to life in the evening dark. And then you chased their soft, blinking lights until the other kids were called home. And it was just you and the rolling fields and endless night skies and bumbling bugs. You’d try to carry one home with you so you wouldn’t feel so lonely.

Klee follows your gaze and watches as one of the butterflies flits and flutters.

“Can I ask for your help, little Spark Knight? Will you carefully catch me a butterfly? Don’t hurt it, though, we need it alive for the antidote.”

Immediately, she is perking up, jumping up from her seat.

“You can count on me!”

She bounds off into the field of swaying wildflowers.

You turn back to Kaeya.

His eye is soft, perhaps fond.

Before you can loose your bravery, loose your courageous little heart, you stand and move to his side of the bench so that you can watch Klee.

Your shoulder brushes with his. Your thigh touches his. You’re aware of it all, sharply, keenly.

He looks at you and you gaze back up at him. For a moment, you get swept away in his star-blue eye. The bend of dark lashes. Like the butterflies in the field, your heart flutters, feeling as delicate as their wings.

“Careful,” Kaeya says softly, so smoothly that his voice could be a melody, “or people really will think we’re in love.”

Heat smarts your face again. But you tip your chin up because you’ve never shied away from a challenge before; “why do you say that?”

Kaeya suddenly reaches out and carefully, as if you might fall to pieces at his touch (and really—you think you might), takes hold of your chin. His thumb barely brushes your bottom lip. Then he says, “the way you look at me.”

“You were looking at me first,” you accuse but your voice is hushed.

“And you shouldn’t melt when I touch you.”

Your stomach swoops like a bird in the sky and then soars. Your lashes flutter. You’re close to him—almost nose to nose. And now you really do think of kissing him like he’s actually yours. As if he could be.

His eye drops to your lips, thumb inching upwards.

“Then you shouldn’t touch me so.” You murmur, earnest, and if your voice is soft with pleading—a pleading for what, you can’t tell—then whose to say? “Like—like you want to kiss me.”

Your nose brushes against his.

“Don’t—” his voice sticks, “don’t kiss me. No one’s even watching.”

“Do you not want me to?”

“Yes, I want—” he stops.

Your heart sings. I want, I want, I want—

He swallows, “we shouldn’t, though.”

“Why not?” You dare to ask, hands drifting to his chest, his collar bones.

You can almost, almost feel his smile, slow and fond, “well, firstly, you’ll get cooties…”

“Kaeya,” your own smile is a warm curve that you want to feel against his.

“Secondly,” He begins, drawing in a soft breath that you feel beneath the palm of your hand.

“I have a butterfly!” Klee shouts, head suddenly poking up from the wildflowers in a burst of petals.

You and Kaeya jolt away from each other, hands drawing back into your laps, facing away from each other as if teenagers caught by your parents. Heat zips through you in a rush.

He almost—you almost—

Something in your chest bats its wings, excited, elated. It takes to flight. A smile overtakes your face, winning, determined.

Oh, you think, glancing at him as you head to Klee, oh, you want me, too.

She opens her little hands for you and the moment she does, the butterfly escapes into the sky—taking to flight.

You laugh as she squeals.

She races after it.

And then you do, too.

In an instant, Kaeya has joined you, too.

And it dissolves, the sun slowly moving throughout the sky, into running and chasing and laughing. The joyful sound of your laugh, of Klee’s excitement, of Kaeya’s fondness.

It melts like the sky, like your heart, like the way you do when Kaeya touches you.

There’s a moment, quick, when you’re in the wildflowers with him. He’s on his back and you lean over him.

He peers up at you.

Beautiful man that he is with sparkling eyes.

You think, people really will think we’re in love, if you look at me like that.

And then you say, boldened by the day and the sun and the warmth and the tempo of his heart beneath your open palm;

“You’ll be mine yet, Captain.”

He blinks, perhaps surprised, before a full, warm laugh falls from his lips.

“Is that a challenge, princess?” He purrs, looking up at you with a halo of flowers beneath his head.

You grin, beautiful and wicked and radiant.

“It’s a promise.”

And then you stand to run after Klee, down the sloping hill, and into the arms of the sky hanging above your heads.

He watches you and you can feel his gaze on your back, your silhouette against the sky, your laugh caught on the wind, and tuck the vow into your heart.

Hope it tucks into his, too, finds it’s home there where no one has before and claim it as yours, yours, yours.

You open your palms and a butterfly, blue as the sea, as a bird’s wing, leaps from your hands and takes to flight. Takes to the sky all open just for you.

***

SCENE IV

The belltower in the Cathedral, high above Mondstadt. Storm clouds cling to the horizon. The sky is mostly dark, but the sun escapes through a sliver of clouds and still shines for now, casting the world in a strange contradiction. More ominous. More stunning. Burnished buildings set against wicked, deep blue storm clouds.

Your skirts swirl against gold and silver bells, as blue as the clouds. Kaeya turns and twists, so we only catch flashes of his face.

Kaeya takes the steps near two at a time to keep up with your pace. You lift your skirts with one hand, racing up the curving, stone steps, and your other hand holds fast to his. You drag him up and up and up.

The whole day, you’d dragged him all over Mondstadt, to all your favorite places; bakeries and music stores and the library. Eagerly, he’d followed, been at your side, at your heel like a loyal dog.

(A lovesick pup—)

Kaeya thinks he could spend countless days with you like this.

The world is always more brilliant with you—he can’t deny it.

And now, you’ve promised him another secret place of yours.

“How much further?” He breathes hard, surprised to find himself winded. His legs almost burn; there have been far more stairs than he originally thought. Or was promised. but he was also promised the best view in all of Mondstadt, with one of your sweetest smiles.

And really, how could he have denied you then? How could he deny you at all today?

“Not much!” You chirp back and then all it takes is a little more, until you come to a wooden door.

It gives easily under your weight, your excited push, throwing it wide open.

Light gleams, the world bursts before his eyes in a shimmer of gold, a rain of color and life.

You sweep into the space, the arch beneath the stones and over the other side of one of the great bells. If he peers down, he can see the wooden scaffolding where someone stands to pull on the huge rope below. No doubt, it would take up this whole space, swing wildly so that the two of you would have to nimbly dodge and move, duck just to keep your heads.

He hopes you’ve accounted for this, too.

He follows you carefully around the bell, only to come to the other side of it and have the whole world open up before you.

And it’s just you, in the breeze, and the storm clouds, above all of Mondstadt.

You hang, perhaps a little too precariously, off one of the large stone pillars.

Kaeya has half a mind to grab you, to pull you back towards him. But the wind favors you.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” You breathe and you’re so taken with it all, that he can hear your voice catch.

“It is,” he agrees, but he’s not looking at the world the way you are.

He’s looking at you.

He watches you watch the streets below and the clouds above. He watches love and adoration paint across your face; joy and a strange sort of melancholy.

Oh, you’ve always been so open.

Finally, you inhale.

Whilst still looking at the world below, the heavens above, you say, “I can’t explain what it does to me–the sky and the city and the wind when it touches me.” You look as if you could almost cry, and immediately his heart gives a lurch in his chest, “I don’t know how anyone can stand it.”

Something in him twists and constricts. He wants to wipe your tears. He wants to coo, don’t cry, don’t cry.

You laugh, “I’m sorry,” and shake your head like you’re silly, “I can’t help it–I’m just so happy. I adore the world so much.”

You turn to face him, open and raw, “I know these haven’t been ideal circumstances,” you start and you shift, and like he’s drawn to the movement, like you’ve pulled him in, he moves, too.

And then he’s standing in front of you. In front of an ancient bell from a nation that isn’t is, but could be. Above the whole world. Beneath the storm of it.

“But I’ve been–” a tear escapes and again, as if he possessed, before he can even think, his hand has darted out to catch it. You laugh again, joyful and aching, “you make me so happy. And I—“

“Doesn’t seem so,” he murmurs, “seems I’ve made you cry.”

You laugh again, sweet to his ears, like their own song. Your hands come up to his chest, palms open and flat against his racing heart. He’s sure you can feel it. Can you hear it? He hopes not.

And no one is watching. He doesn’t need to stand this close to you or wipe your tears.

You don’t need to put your hands on his chest and look up at him like that, in a way he doesn’t deserve.

(You’ll be mine yet, Captain.)

You look at him like he could’ve hung the moon. Or carved your beloved Mondstadt itself with his own hands from hill and valley.

An ache spreads its wings like a bird in his chest. It isn’t fair, he thinks, to be looked at by you, with this expression on your face, when he knows he can’t have you. He knows you can’t be his, not truly.

He wishes you wouldn’t look at him so.

“They’re happy tears,” you tell him, pawing at his chest, creeping up towards his neck. You sway towards him. You finish what he tried to stop you from admitting, “—and I adore you.”

Kaeya’s heart gives this twist, like it’s trying to rebel against him. He wants to run. He wants your arms around him. He wants—

“Careful,” Kaeya murmurs reflexively. Careful of what, though, he can’t say.

Careful with yourself around him? Careful with him?

You don’t heed his warning at all, and like you always have, you barrel towards all that you want. You press up to him.

“You do make me happy,” you say again, sweeter now like honey on your lips, tip your chin up like you might offer him a taste.

“Everything makes you happy,” Kaeya counters, shaking his head fractionally, looking down at you with lidded eyes.

“Not true,” you almost pout up at him, shaking your head, fingers tightening in the collars of his shirt like you know he’s thinking about fleeing.

He has half a mind to kiss you. You’re leaning up on your toes a little. He can smell your perfume; red berries and honeysuckle. Warm vanilla. He feels something tighten inside of him, hot and aching. He needs to put a stop to this—

He says your name, in warning. Perhaps fear.

And you look up at him through the fan of your lashes and say his name like it’s a melody, “Kaeya.”

He shakes his head now, fractionally, “don’t.” He murmurs, voice a low rumble.

“Don’t what?” You ask innocently and then you do it again, as if you know perfectly well, “Kaeya–”

His hand comes down to clutch your wrist, to keep it from moving around to the nape of his neck. He stills you.

You look up at him, questioning, almost desperate. Perhaps unsure–you go to pull away, but he seizes your wrist, holds it tight to his chest and keeps you close.

Thunder rumbles.

“Don’t say my name like that.” He croons, voice a little rough, “don’t torture me.”

He watches your face transform into understanding. Into—

Your fingers sink back into the fabric of his clothes, emboldened, “Kaeya,” you say like it bursts on your tongue, and then again, “Kaeya,” you hum, sing his name on a note that could be its own siren song. “Kaeya,” you purr as one of your arms winds around his neck.

His poor heart—

He makes a noise; a soft groan of frustration, a little growl, back in his throat.

“You’re such trouble,” but his other hand is squeezing at your hip now. “I swore to everyone I had nothing but pure intentions with you.”

Your nose brushes his, a smile licking at the corner of your mouth, “I surely hope not.”

“I’m supposed to protect you.” He gets out.

“You do—you are.” Soft, sweet little assurance.

He shakes his head again, barely, nose brushing yours. Fractionally closer. “You’re my responsibility.”

“Are my desires, too?” You murmur and when you lean towards him to close the short distance between your lips, he suddenly seizes your jaw in his hand.

You gasp.

“And what of mine?” He asks, eye glinting like the too-hot part of a flame. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

His voice is a low rasp.

You look up at him with wide eyes, soft in the center, your eyebrows drawing in a little and you look—you look like you adore him. Like you’re desperate for him.

“Sleeping in my bed every night, my clothes—“ Kaeya allows his thumb to drift over your bottom lip, slow, parting it from your top. He exhales roughly. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

“Kiss me,” you plead.

Lightning cracks across the sky in a fissure of heat.

“I shouldn’t.” He counters, even as you kiss at the pad of his thumb. Lips soft and warm, wet as your tongue darts out in a flash of heat. He inhales tightly, letting his thumb be drawn into the crux of your mouth.

You look up at him through your lashes. He has to fight back another groan. There’s a flush on the nape of his neck, heat that swims beneath his skin. He’s certain you’ll melt him with your gaze alone.

What’s he supposed to do?

How’s he supposed to survive you?

He scrambles for his wits.

And firstly, he pulls his thumb from your lips.

“Kaeya—“ you coax again, “Kaeya.”

“Stop it,” he hushes, “I can’t.”

“I want you,” you murmur, almost whine.

“You’re a brat.” Kaeya groans finally, “stop tempting me.”

“I’ll beg,” you sing sweetly. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“No,” he says quickly because the thought of that makes his mind screech to a halt. “Never. I’d never—“

Make you beg.

He swallows around the words sharply.

He lays his hands, long and broad, on your shoulders.

He forces distance between the two of you.

Thunder grumbles unhappily across the sky.

“I’m not going to kiss you.”

“But you want to?”

And the way you look at him, so earnestly and so desperately—

“That’s besides the point—“ You open your mouth to speak, only for him to continue, “my job is to protect you. This would be highly unprofessional of me.”

“Since when have you—“

“You deserve better.” He finally says, words flying from his mouth before he can stop them, “I am, frankly, a rake and a cheat and—“

“That’s not—“

“The point is,” Kaeya continues over you, lest you do something even worse and try to fight or deny him, “it would be unwise of us.”

“I, for one, have never claimed to be wise.”

Kaeya laughs now, full and warm and fond. He shakes his head. You’re near glowing with just the sound of his joy. So he continues;

“It would be foolish. Perhaps, even, one of the worst things we could do.”

His voice lilts, turns melodic.

Your hands are back on his chest somehow. Flat over his heart, nearing his collar again. He’s losing. You’re sidling close and he wants to bring you closer still. He can feel all the curves of your body to his, fitting up against him like a missing puzzle piece.

“Utterly disastrous, really.” He continues, voice growing fainter. He’s losing.

“Wildly reckless?” You murmur, tipping your chin up, offering your lips to him like a sweet lamb to sacrifice.

“Terribly…” he drifts, feeling the brush of your lips against his, “stupid, I’m afraid.”

You hum lightly, barely, in acknowledgement before he’s suddenly closing the distance and kissing you soundly.

Oh, he’s lost.

(It’s a promise.)

The wind picks up sharply for a proper storm. Lightning flashes behind his eyelids.

And that’s all it takes, Kaeya realizes, heart swinging wildly in his chest like a bell tolling. Knocking against his rib cage.

You throw your arms around his neck and deepen it.

He groans in defeat, damning it all, and grabs at the skirts of your waist, squeezing at your hips desperately.

Damn it all, he thinks again, knowing it’ll be something of a shipwreck; brutal and splendid and massive. Beautiful and heartbreaking enough that he just won’t be able to look away.

More thunder, sky swirling and teeming and ready to just burst. He can feel it under his skin.

You sink your hands into his hair. He nips sharply enough at your bottom lip that a gasp is wrenched from you. He swallows it.

He wants so much more.

The sky opens up and rain falls from the heavens in a golden and brutal downpour.

***

SCENE V

Dawn Winery in the evening, plum dark and warm from fire in the hearth. You and Diluc are at the grand piano, seated side by side, in an intimate and cozy parlor room.

Kaeya has just entered and we see the side profile of his face as he watches the two of you.

“Oh, do you remember this one?” You ask and immediately, music fills the space as your hands dance over the keys in a sweet, jaunty little tune.

“Like this?” Diluc asks, setting his hands to the lower side to immediately complete the melody you play. “It’s this one, right?”

“Yes!” You exclaim, the two of you playing with ease, a smile on your face. “We used to play this one all the time for our parents.”

It’s such an innocent remark. Kaeya is almost caught off guard by it, by the memory that floods back to him.

Crepus in the lounge chair, your parents across from him on the settee. The glow of the fire warm and gentle. Faces of people that swim in his mind, that he hasn’t seen or has avoided for a long time now, their smiles and laughs. People who left. Who died. Ghosts that once listened to your music, just as he is now, on the outskirts.

Diluc, surprisingly, is not put off by the memory. Instead, he smiles, “I used to always mess this part up.”

And then with ease, his large hands cascade over the keys. Not a note out of place.

“And look at you now!” You encourage him.

He laughs softly, low, like the fire in the hearth.

With ease, the two of you close the song together, watching each other with crinkled, happy eyes for the timing. For the last notes.

He can hardly stand how lovely you look. Or how you look at Diluc.

Have you ever looked at him like that?

He clears his throat.

When you see him, your face lights up and the way you say his name, with such warmth and adoration makes him feel worse somehow, “Kaeya!”

Immediately, Diluc’s face hardens.

“Apologies,” Kaeya says with perhaps more chill than he anticipates, “I didn’t mean to interrupt the concert.”

“Not at all,” you respond, “how did we sound?”

“Your music is lovely as usual.” Kaeya responds flippantly and you eye him for a moment, scrutinizing.

And then, slowly, you say, “then you wouldn’t mind if we play a few more? This piano does bring back fond memories for me.”

There’s a glint in your eyes; it could be the fire that favors you or a trick of the light.

And because Kaeya pretends he doesn’t care, he says, “please; don’t allow me to stop you.”

He takes a seat on the settee as far from you and Diluc as he can manage.

Diluc sets his hands back to the keys and opens with a few, small notes, “do you remember this one?” He asks you.

“How could I forget?” You laugh, “I sang this one at every party and soiree we ever had.”

And Kaeya also instantly recognizes the first chord that Diluc eases out, the tune of it like his childhood. He remembers you standing so small and young, by the piano which seemed so much larger when he was a boy. Your glowing face and sweet, little voice.

And when you open your mouth to sing this time, it’s mature and warm, lower but more distinguished.

The lyrics must come to you like from a dream, he’s sure of it.

As if it was yesterday, you sing the song of a different time, a different lifetime ago it feels like. Of late nights in this very parlor, with laughter and the clinking of glasses. A house full. A heart full.

You sing of angels and the moon in the sky, the stars, and a love from forever ago.

And really, it’s so horribly fitting for you; the song is as in love with the world as you are. How could anyone sleep, you sing, how could anyone close their eyes to the night sky? To love?

Kaeya realizes sharply that he feels as if he’s been sleeping for a very long time.

He’s turned his eyes away from the stars and love and the whole world.

And you, wonder that you are, have been desperately trying to wake him. To show him again.

The last concluding notes ring softly, hang in the air, before you are smiling and leaning onto Diluc’s shoulder, hugging his broad arm to you happily.

Kaeya looks at the two of you, the light and dark of Mondstadt. The joy and pride of the city, so beautiful in the fire.

How could he ever compare to the two of you?

“Kaeya, did you remember that one?” You ask suddenly, turning to face him.

He somehow manages to unstick his voice, and lies, “not really.”

After a moment, a heartbeat where you seem to see right through him, you ask, “shall we go home?”

Yes, he wants to say. Let me take you home. Let me take you away.

Instead, he says, “I’m hardly in a rush.”

You stand from the piano bench and saunter over to him. Diluc turns to watch as you come to stand between his legs, peering down at him.

“I missed you today.” You say honestly, “were you busy?”

Kaeya won’t return the sentiment in front of Diluc. In fact, he’s surprised that you’ve come this close in front of him at all. He thought this was supposed to be between the two of you and no one else.

Selfishly, he wants to keep it that way. He wants you all to himself.

Kaeya glances at his brother, then back to you. Diluc’s eyes narrow fractionally in suspicion as Kaeya says, “very, unfortunately.”

You tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. Your fingers drift then, hovering around his jaw like you might touch him more. You don’t. You say, “let’s go home, then.”

You offer him your hand and when he takes it to stand, you don’t drop it. You tuck up against his side. Kaeya feels something wobbly and fragile take a few, tentative steps inside of him, like a newborn fawn.

How strange, he thinks, to imagine you as openly his. How strange, to have your genuine affection, your genuine adoration.

“Thank you for playing with me, Diluc,” you say with a smile, “I hope I wasn’t too much of a bother today.”

“You’re never a bother,” Diluc promises like the gentleman he is, “and I am always charmed to play the piano beside you.”

Diluc glances down at your interlocked hands. You let him look. Kaeya fights the urge to pull away and create distance. You squeeze his hand. You say to Diluc, “perhaps we should throw a soiree, the way our parents used to. I miss being in the manor. And then we can play for everyone again.”

Everyone except the ghosts, Kaeya thinks, their faces pale in his eyes.

Diluc seems as wary as Kaeya is, for once, but it is so hard to deny you. Kaeya knows that well.

As if to sweeten it, you let your head tip onto Kaeya’s shoulder, cuddling up to him even closer, “I think it’d be great fun. A reason to come together again.”

Diluc meets Kaeya’s eyes briefly and he can already feel the scolding he will receive. He can already feel Diluc’s doubt and judgment. But instead of starting a quarrel, he says to you, “Perhaps we can arrange something.”

And really, Kaeya thinks it's a testament to how charming and lovely you are.

You bid Diluc goodnight, sweet as ever, and lead Kaeya out by the hand.

He can feel Diluc’s gaze burning into the center of his back.

And the moment you pull him around the corner and out of Diluc’s eyesight, you turn and suddenly pull him down into a deep, slow kiss.

Kaeya’s eyes flutter in surprise and immediately, he attempts to pull away from you. It’s one thing for Diluc to see the way you held his hand, it’s another thing entirely for him to catch the two of you like this.

You hardly let him get a word out, before you’re pulling him back down into a dirtier, heavier, more desperate sort of kiss.

He yields with a soft, surprised noise of wanting. He kisses you back, just as dirty, just as desperate—tongue licking into your mouth, heat stoking to life along the nape of his neck, the curve of his spine.

When you pull away, he manages to get out, “well. Hello to you, too.”

You smile, wide and lovely. “I did miss you.” You say again, as if you know you have to convince him, and that he never believes you the first time. And still, he thinks you must be lying. You’d never miss him.

But you lean up onto your toes to get him to kiss you again; which he does. Easily, happily. It’s gentler than the previous, a little more content, though no less heated. He draws you closer, as close as you can get. His tongue dips gently into your mouth, deep and hungry and exploring. He feels the fabric of your dress bunch up beneath greedy hands, pulling at them, pawing at you.

A cleared throat.

The two of you jump apart, whirling around to face Diluc in the entryway.

He does not look pleased.

Kaeya, for once, feels like a younger brother again, caught red handed. He opens his mouth for some strange excuse, but you beat him to it;

“We’re taking our role as a couple very seriously. Archon forbid the Fatui question our legitimacy.”

Kaeya can’t help the laugh that barks out of him, before Diluc’s glare forces him to clear his throat and compose himself.

“I can see that.” He says dryly.

“It was my fault,” you then add, “Kaeya is, for once, blameless. I’m a bad influence.”

“I highly doubt that.” Diluc drawls, “he’s never blameless.”

Kaeya opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it again.

“We will truly be taking our leave now.” You then say, tugging at Kaeya’s hand, “goodnight, Diluc!”

The door slams hard behind you.

Kaeya looks at you, your back to the door, chest heaving a little. You look back at him.

And then you burst into laughter. He shakes his head, but he can’t stop the smile that comes onto his face. The laugh of disbelief.

“Diluc is going to kill me,” he finally says, “I can’t believe you.”

“Oh,” you coo, striding past him, “should I protect you? Diluc is harmless.”

Kaeya laughs again, though this time it’s dryer, not as funny, but more ironic.

Well, he has an eyepatch to certainly prove otherwise. You must catch onto his shift in mood, because you take his hand again and assure him, “I’ll deal with Diluc, if you’d like.”

“No,” Kaeya says, “no need to fight my battles.”

“I did get you in trouble.”

“Well, that I can’t deny.” Kaeya agrees with a smile, slipping his hand around your waist and this time, he knows it is real. Realer than ever before.

The stars are bright above your heads. The moon is full and shining like a coin and casting you in its soft light. Your eyes are crinkled in delight.

“You’re also a liar,” you add and Kaeya pauses, looking at you.

It strikes a strange note in him.

You continue, “I thought you said you weren’t the jealous type?”

Kaeya’s brows prick upwards, “did you think I was jealous?”

“Kaeya,” you say his name warmly, with love, “I could feel you glaring a hole into the back of our heads while we were at the piano.”

Kaeya laughs, but it’s rather hollow, “I’m not the jealous type, my dear. I’m sorry to disappoint. Did you have fantasies of being ravished by me in a jealous rage?”

It’s a little barbed.

If you notice (which you do), you don’t take his bait.

“Well, now that you say it…” you tease, walking backwards and in front of him, a sly little smile on your lips.

Kaeya shakes his head, “there’ll be no ravishing.” He promises, “I’m being a gentleman.”

“Hm,” you hum lightly, “and how long do you plan to keep that facade up?”

“It’s not a facade–” he starts to protest, but your hand is winding in the front of his shirt to pull him back into your orbit.

You pull him into a hard kiss.

This one is more desperate. Heavier. Hotter.

He sees what game you’re playing.

The walk home, in Mondstadt’s streets, for everyone and the moon to see, is a game of cat and mouse. Kissing hard and soft, slow and fast, against brick walls and wooden fences. Leaning into shadows and sharp, little gasps. Teasing kisses along the jaw, before slipping away, and back into the night.

You manage to lead him right up to the threshold of his bedroom.

He takes a stance here, roots himself down. He swallows hard—he has to steel himself, he knows.

So he goes no further than the arch of the doorway, no matter how much you pull at him, or kiss him or tease him. And as hard as it is, he doesn’t even sway when you gaze up at him with that look in your eyes; dreamy and enamored.

You look at him like he could be a great man.

It’s absolutely horrifying. His heart jumps in his chest. He can feel as if he can hardly breathe.

“You really won’t sleep with me?” You ask, lips hovering just beneath his. His hands are latched tight to the doorframe of his bedroom as to stay them. To keep his resolve.

Kaeya shakes his head, “I’m a gentleman.”

You let go of a tired sigh, “I don’t need you to be one.”

He swallows hard.

“I’m afraid I need to be one.” He answers.

“I didn’t take you as chaste.” You murmur, kissing at the corner of his mouth, his cheek. All that warmth comes rushing back to him.

“Hardly,” he scoffs reflexively, allowing you room at his throat, down the length of his neck. “But I am trying to preserve–”

He stalls, when he feels your tongue at his pulse.

You blink up at him innocently and supply, “you’re trying to preserve–?”

He clears his throat, “some level of professionality. Dignity, maybe.”

Protection, too, though he isn’t sure anymore if it’s for you or him. Perhaps both.

The only way he sees this ending is poorly–he cannot foresee a current future where you don’t end up disappointed and hurt by him. He cannot see a future where you don’t leave for your own good.

And besides, all things must end, he knows, all people must leave or be left behind.

He was left once and he’s vowed to never be left again, standing in the rain, shivering and young.

(He tries not to think of you—left at an altar.)

You pull away to look up at him, sweet-eyed and gentle, almost amused with him. “If you say so.”

Reluctantly and with a great deal of his strength, he leans away to put distance between you. Coldness sweeps in. He tries to appreciate it. “You should sleep. You have rehearsal early tomorrow morning.”

You step away as well. You offer him a little curtsy in jest, “as you wish, my most proper and chaste lord.”

“I’m a lord?” He asks, astonished.

“A prince?” you ask, “or do you prefer a knight? We can roleplay, if you’d like–”

“Goodnight!” Kaeya announces then, reaching for the doorknob to begin swinging the door closed, to put distance between whatever it is growing between the two of you.

You laugh, though, so warm and wonderful at his antics that he just can’t help it; he kisses you once more, soundly, goodnight.

And this time, he says it gentler, lower and sweeter in a way he knows makes you shiver, “goodnight, princess.”

He watches you fluster, the way you blink up at him. And now it’s his turn to laugh, low and soft and hot, before he quickly swings the door the rest of the way shut. Locking you on the other side of it. Far from his reach.

Lest he do something horrible.

Lest he want you too greatly.

But when he lays down on the couch to sleep that night, he realizes he can hardly sleep at all–and, really, he thinks, who could sleep at all? With the night sky like diamonds, and the way you kiss him like you have everything to lose, and everything to gain.

Like he could be desired to keep.

How could he sleep at all? When there is a door between the two of you? And the world hums and glows and shifts, right from underneath his feet.

How could he sleep? He hears you sing, around and around in his mind, at the piano of his childhood, and the one tonight, a lifetime later.

***

Finish the rest on Ao3 ->

a/n: this act was too long to post on tumblr in full and i would've had to split it into three separate posts. i figured linking ao3 would be easiest to finish reading :)) thank you for reading!! let me know your thoughts!! <33

#kaeya alberich x reader #kaeya alberich x you #kaeya alberich x y/n #kaeya x reader #kaeya x y/n #kaeya x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x y/n #genshin impact x you #cielo writes!#cielo's writing!#cielo collabs!#my heart your song

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softprettything · 1 year

Text

late bloomer, ch 6

AO3 | Previous | Next

Fandom: OHSHC

Pairing: Kyoya/Reader

Tags: 18+, A/B/O Dynamics, College AU, Fake Dating, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slice of Life, Eventual Smut

Summary: Nobody ever said falling in love with your best friend would be easy.

Taglist (new!): @silverhetdanes @lampalooza

late bloomer, ch 6

“Are you sure you don’t want to revisit the black dress?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? It’s a classic for a reason. You can wear the blue blazer for color?”

She shakes her head. “It’s a date, not a Model UN conference.”

Right.

You came home from your shift at the coffee shop to find Haruhi in her room, and her room looking so messy that it might as well be your room. That was an hour ago, and it’s only gotten worse since then. An hour of her turning down everything you suggest; trying on every possible combination of clothing she owns; trying on the few articles of your clothing that she wouldn’t drown in.

Your phone buzzes—your group chat with the twins.

Thing 1: y/n. come out.

Y/N: Im busy

Thing 1: busy doing what, sniffing h’s dirty laundry?

Thing 2: EW

Y/N: Youre absolutely vile

Thing 2: ignore him

Thing 2: but also…..come out

Thing 2: pregame in 5 @hikarus place

Y/N: Homework

Thing 1: booo.

Thing 2: its literally friday are u kidding

Thing 2: get your ass over here and lets go frat hopping

Y/N: Ew x a million

Y/N: You know i dont do frats and ALSO i have HOMEWORK.

“How about this?”

You lock your phone, toss it on the bed. Look up. “Oh.”

You recognize the long-forgotten camisole, simple ivory silk. Must have found that at the back of a drawer, though God only knows how it’s so wrinkle-free. She’s tucked it into the dark, slim-cut dress pants (the pants you’ve mended for her at least once a year through college—cheaper than buying new ones, after all), and adjusted it to be just the right amount of baggy. Really, it’s not that much different from what she usually wears. There’s no reason for you to feel as though your heart has made a play for your esophagus.

But then she turns back to look at you, and something about her eyes, something about the arc of her neck, something about her smile, her smile, her smile —faint and familiar and more vulnerable than any you’ve seen—something about it has you lost for words.

Though the smile quickly disappears when she sees your lack of reaction. After all, you aren’t usually the stoic one. “Oh good? Or…”

“Yeah. No, yeah, it’s perfect.” You cross to the dresser, doing your best to seem very interested in the slim selection of costume jewelry you two have amassed over the years.

“Really?”

Your eyes meet in the mirror. And it’s funny, because you and Haruhi have been friends for years and years. Nearly two decades, at this point. You’ve seen each other through every year of school, through every major life milestone, through first kisses and funerals and everything in between.

But here’s the thing: you can’t remember the last time you ever saw her looking anything close to insecure.

You look down at the little gold hoops you have in your palm. You walk over to her, and place them in her hand. “Really.”

She swallows, and nods. Outside, you hear the sound of a car door opening and shutting. Haruhi turns back to the mirror to start putting in the earrings. “That’s probably him. Could you—”

“Already on it.” You stop at the door. “You know he’d be an idiot not to be into you, right?”

There’s a short moment of quiet. “Thanks, (Y/N).”

*****************

After awkwardly greeting Tamaki at the door (her brought her a small bouquet and a single rose for you, which, you begrudgingly admitted to yourself, was very considerate), giving him a half-joking version of your typical “hurt her and you’ll be sleeping with the fishes” speech, and closing the door behind them (because you’d already forbidden yourself from torturing yourself by watching them walk to the car), you check your phone again.

Thing 2: here btw

Thing 2: its raining pls come get me

Thing 1: y/n.

Thing 1: are you still playing dress up with haruhi.

Thing 1: you ARE aren’t you.

Thing 2: y/n just say youre coming so hikaru can come unlock the door

Thing 1: you know the door code, dumbass.

Thing 2: oh yeah

Thing 2: k im in

Thing 1: y/n. pls come save me from this idiot.

They must have started drinking, because the next text was twenty minutes later—and significantly less comprehensible.

Thing 2: look if ur.not gonna pregame at leastt meet us out

Thing 2: hango n ill drop the addres

It’s not far from your apartment; just a seven minute walk. Which you could probably make in five.

No! No. You are not going out walking alone, in the middle of the night, only to ruin your only sneakers on some filthy, sticky frat room floor, come home too exhausted to even take off your makeup, and wake up tomorrow morning smelling like sweat and beer and other unmentionable fluids. That is the last thing you want or need.

Thing 2: u promised back in aaugust youd come out with us atl east onxe

Thing 2: onxe

Thing 2: ONCE

Thing 2: cmonnnn

That last text was five minutes ago. Surely they wouldn’t have left for another party that quickly?

Chewing on your lip, you type:

Y/N: Still there?

#kyoya/reader #kyoya x reader #late bloomer #chai.writes #ohshc x reader #kyoya fanfic #abo

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ryulockweek · 1 year

Text

RYULOCK WEEK 2023 - April 17th-23rd

Hello everyone!!

Thank you again for answering the interest check for Ryulock Week that ended last week! Now that we've read through your input, we are happy to announce the official date and prompts of the event :D

DATE: From April 17th to 23rd

PROMPTS:

Day 1: Dance/Deduction | 踊り/推理

Day 2: Domesticity/Confession | 日常生活/告��

Day 3: Long Distance/Kiss | 遠距離恋愛/キス

Day 4: Smoke/Sweets | 煙/お菓子

Day 5: Investigation/Silly | 調査/滑稽

Day 6: Aquarium/Mascot | アクアリウム/マスコット

Day 7: Alternative Universe/Free day! | パロ/なんでもいい！

For free day here's a few extra ideas (some of them submitted by you!) that you may feel inspired by: comfort, discovery, balance, flowers, classical Holmes/Watson, crossdressing, fake dating, greetings, tea, literature, parenthood , travel, desk, trial.

TO PARTICIPATE:

Once the week arrives, simply tag your work with #ryulockweek2023 and/or @ryulockweek at us on Twitter or Tumblr, and we'll share it!

If you're sharing your work on AO3, feel free to submit it to the Ryulock Week (ryulockweek) Collection!

Suggestive/NSFW works are allowed within Tumblr/Twitter limitations. Just make sure to tag/label/filter your piece appropriately so it can be shared!

If you are making suggestive/NSFW works for Ryulock Week: Ryunosuke and (S)herlock must be adults; the pieces must be fully consensual.

We'll be on the lookout for entries posted up to one week before the event, and then one week after.

We're all very excited to see all the submissions and we hope you all have a great time <3

Thank you so much again!!

#ryulock #ryuulock #homuryuu #homuryu #herryu #sherryu #sharoryu #the great ace attorney #dai gyakuten saiban #tgaa #dgs #ryunosuke naruhodo #herlock sholmes #sherlock holmes #ryulockweek2023 #シャロ龍 #大逆転裁判

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melancholic-hues · 3 months

Text

line between truth and pretend (where are we?)

posted on AO3

kafblade week 2024: prompt - dinner party / fake relationship

fandom - honkai: star rail

rating - general audiences

warning - no warnings apply

category - f/m

pairings - blade/kafka

tags - kafblade week 2024 ; pretend/fake relationship ; no beta we die like caiyi

word count - 1796 words

Curse the script.

Kafka breathes in the cool night air of the planet they’re on, looking over at Silver Wolf through her peripheral vision.

Silver Wolf throws her head down, letting out a dramatic groan, flinging her arms over the edge of the fence. Her video game console is tightly clutched in her right hand because Aeons know how she’ll react if the console drops down the, what, seventy, eighty story they’re on?

Kafka waits until Silver Wolf is done lamenting about her deleted game accounts. She must say, this little Herta–Silver Wolf rivalry is amusing to watch. Oh, with the addition of the Screwllum robot. She heard it all from the other Hunter. Silver Wolf hates being outsmarted.

“Kafka,” Silver Wolf turns around and leans against the fence, “You got a date yet?” Her lips are twisted into a mocking smirk, and her voice is drawled out and sarcastic. Ah, right. Her new mission.

“I have plenty of those on my calendar,” Kafka counters, unfazed and calm. But she still needs to find a partner for the script. This is one of the few times she curses Elio’s name. Have you seen the script?

“Good luck finding one,” Silver Wolf snickers, “Just so you know, there’s someone who will definitely take up your offer straight away.” She slips her console away, the device vanishing into neon-colored pixelated code.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Kafka asks, tilting her head, though she has a sneaking suspicion she already knows.

Silver Wolf yawns and stretches. She brings her arms down and heads into the building. “Imma head off now. TTYL,” she calls over her shoulder, full of mocking sincerity.

After a moment, Kafka heads in as well, a decision formed in her mind.

“Dinner… party?” Blade asks the next day.

Kafka downs another glass of wine, the purple-red liquid dribbling down the corner of her mouth. She sets the glass down with a clink and nods. “A dinner party,” she confirms, reaching across the counter to pour herself another one. It should be in her best interests not to get intoxicated within such a short amount of time before the mission, but it’s not like Elio can stop her.

“And you need a partner for this,” Blade looks down at the script. “Are you sure you want it to be me?” he hesitantly asks.

Kafka nods again. “Sam can’t go because it’ll look weird. Besides, we’ve been partners on several missions already. This one is no different.” Deep down, they both know this one is drastically different. Previous missions didn’t require anyone to pretend to be in a relationship. Previous missions didn’t need her to find someone to be her “husband.”

Will it be so bad, though?

…She shakes off the curiosity. What a pesky little intrusive slip of a thought.

“Of course,” Blade says, slowly, “I will go with you, then.” He shifts from his position, eyeing the wine glass Kafka is holding in her hands. Wine from a planet known for its drinks and culinary arts. The universe is infinitely vast and holds so many surprises. She didn’t even know a planet can manufacture several thousand different types of alcohol.

“Thank you, Bladie,” she smiles, “The mission is tomorrow evening. We have to check into the hotel in two system hours. I wish Elio gave us more time to prepare. Alas, we will have to make do with what little time we have.” It’s unusual for Destiny’s Slave to hand them a script on such short notice; it’s even more abnormal for this to be such an important mission. Apparently, they have to retrieve something that Elio foresees will be an important bargaining chip in the future.

Blade gives her a tight nod. “So I have to call you my…”

Kafka chuckles at the faint dust of red spreading across his cheeks. “Yes, husband ~ ” she teases.

Blade turns an absolutely ferocious shade of red at that.

***

They are to enter the ship, arms linked and as a couple. Kafka is to introduce them, referring to him as her “husband” and her as his “wife.” Blade thinks their marital status, however fake it is, should not be of the security guards’ concern. Kafka disagrees.

“Got it?” Kafka asks him in Xianzhou, their go-to foreign language so no one can understand what they say, placing a reassuring, black-gloved hand on his upper arm. “You don’t have to say anything during the check-in. Leave all of the talking to me.”

“Okay.” Blade pulls at his tie one more time through the camera of his phone. He had to forgo his bandages for gloves that Kafka bought at the last minute, her reasoning being “it’s not proper enough for an exquisite gala like this.” Blade doesn’t think so, but what does he know about being proper? And, besides, who is he to disagree with Kafka?

Kafka looks like a goddess in her outfit: a long black, shoulderless dress exposing her left leg in dramatic layers and laced black gloves; her hair is curled, flowing down her shoulder in rolling magenta waves. “Our ride is here,” she looks at the black limousine that pulled up, Sam in the driver's seat. He is not sure how Sam managed to fit, considering he always wears considerable shoulder armor. “Let’s go,” Kafka nudges him in the elbow.

“Yes, wife,” he says, the word strange in his mouth.

Kafka smiles. “I see you’re getting into the act already, husband ~ ”

Blade clears his throat and walks up to the limousine, opening the car door for her. Kafka winks at him when she steps in like a princess to a carriage. Except Kafka doesn’t need a prince charming, and Blade can never even be considered a prince. The thought alone disgusts him.

He enters the car after her and takes a seat on the U-shaped velvet couch next to Kafka.

Their ride to the gala is silent. Blade isn’t sure if he should initiate conversation, since Kafka is looking out the window, a tranquil smile on her cherry lips. She had spent a long time on her makeup, and Blade wants to ask the universe how someone can, somehow, get more prettier than they already are. Kafka does not abide by any rules, it seems. She never has.

They pull up in the parking lot of the gala next to a lot of similar limos and elegantly dressed patrons, though none of them can match Kafka’s beauty.

“Enjoy your date,” Sam says matter-of-factly as they get out of the car. He does not flinch at Blade and Kafka’s glare.

He takes Kafka’s hand in his when their turn comes.

“Good evening,” the security guard greets. “Names?”

“Good evening, I’m Lily Ming, and this is my husband, Ren Ming.” Something about Kafka’s fake identity taking his pretend last name shouldn’t be as heart-stopping as it is right now. It really shouldn’t, and he’s being delusional.

Kafka hands over their identification cards, and the guard lets them through. “Have a nice night,” they say, stepping aside.

“Good work, Bladie ~ ” Kafka praises.

He is not blushing. He is not blushing. He is not blushing. He did absolutely nothing. Why is he blushing?

Blade inhales and lets Kafka take him to their next location.

“Would you be so kind, husband, and take me up on this dance?” Kafka asks, holding out a hand. They have a period of intermission before they kick-start the next act of the script, and Kafka clearly isn’t going to let go of any chance to have fun.

Blade blinks and looks at the other couples on the dance floor. “Are you sure?”

“Unless you don’t want to. Are you a good dancer?”

There are bits of broken memories that float to him, then. He remembers holding the hand of someone on the Xianzhou Luofu, their grip firm yet gentle, and them two dancing underneath the moon on a clear night, cups of wine long since forgotten on a stone table away from their makeshift dance floor.

That is in the past. He is not the beloved anymore. He is Blade. The steps are a bit hazy, and he is most certainly not a professional; nevertheless, he can manage. He just hopes Kafka isn’t looking for a standard ball dance.

“If you don’t mind me accidentally stepping on your feet,” Blade murmurs.

“As long as you don’t do it excessively,” Kafka replies and pulls him onto the floor.

Turns out, he still remembers a lot of it. It’s mainly muscle memory; although, Kafka is obviously stunned and (hopefully) pleasantly surprised by her expressions.

He twirls her around and bends her over to the beat of the orchestra, smiling slightly. He’s, admittedly, having fun during this. Kafka’s eyes flash with something he can’t name, but she’s smiling. She hasn’t stopped smiling since he took up her offer to dance.

Blade allows himself to feel nice about this, just this once.

He tells himself he is just following the script.

He tells himself this has nothing to do with their relationship. All of this is strictly professional. They are to not speak of this mission ever again after it ends regardless of their victory or loss.

He tells himself this over and over again as they talk to the other patrons as a married couple. Tells himself this over and over again as they ask about their fabricated past. Tells himself over and over again as they awe over how perfect they look and how gorgeous their children could be.

He tells himself Kafka is not into this, that everytime she calls him pet names like “babe” and “dear” and “darling” and “husband” are all part of their plan.

He tells himself he is just really playing the role whenever another man comes near Kafka, trying to talk to her, only to be unnerved by his cold glare.

This is all play-pretend, and they are to shed the personalities of Lily and Ren Ming as soon as they step out into the night air again after the gala ends.

The night ends.

They are yet again successful in their mission. Blade is holding his suit jacket in one arm and his other is looped with Kafka’s.

Maybe it’s the alcohol they both drank a generous amount of, maybe it’s the overwhelming amount of couples kissing around them; but Kafka turns to stare at him, her smile reaching her lovely eyes.

“Promise me something, Bladie,” she says. It’s the first time she called him Bladie ever since he’d agreed to be her pretend date to this gala.

“Yes, Kafka?” he asks.

Kafka leans over and kisses him. Just along his jaw, with her fingers caressing his face.

She whispers into his ear: “Promise me, forget everything about tonight.”

#melancholic-hues #writing-hues #blade x kafka #kafka x blade #honkai star rail #blafka #kafblade #kafblade week 2024 #hsr blade #hsr kafka #sam hsr

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hopeswriting · 2 years

Text

EVENT: KHR Rare Pair Week 2022

PROMPT: Day 4 - Fake Harem AU

PAIRING: Sawada Tsunayoshi/Vongola Tenth Generation Guardians

SUMMARY:

Tsuna just has to fake it for one night, and then fakes a big breakup or whatever. He can manage that much, surely, probably. Hopefully.

Oh, please, God, let him manage that much.

RATING: G

AUTHOR: @hopeswriting

TAG WARNING: Swearing

WORD COUNT: 12024

LINKS: Ao3 & Ff.net & Vietnamese translation & Spanish translation

[Plain text:

EVENT: KHR Rare Pair Week 2022

PROMPT: Day 4 - Fake Harem AU

PAIRING: Sawada Tsunayoshi/Vongola Tenth Generation Guardians

SUMMARY:

Tsuna just has to fake it for one night, and then fakes a big breakup or whatever. He can manage that much, surely, probably. Hopefully.

Oh, please, God, let him manage that much.

RATING: G

AUTHOR: @hopeswriting

TAG WARNING: Swearing

WORD COUNT: 12024

LINKS: Ao3 & Ff.net & Vietnamese translation & Spanish translation /End PT]

“I’m already seeing someone,” Tsuna blurts out of desperation, lying through his teeth, because he’s very much not. But he’s been rejecting Matsuda for five minutes now, and hopefully this will make him take the hint.

Matsuda stops in his speech about the many reasons why Tsuna should give him a chance because he just knows they’ll get along with each other, surprise then disappointment flickering across his face. “Oh. I’ve never seen you with anyone like that, though. Or heard you talk about anyone like that.”

Tsuna gaps. What even—?

He tries to say something, opening then closing his mouth multiple times as words keep failing him.

Is Matsuda really asking him to justify himself to him? Or convince him, or whatever this is?

They aren’t even friends! They’re nothing more than colleagues, and even then, they don’t even work in the same department! How Matsuda even knew when to come find him just as he was getting himself a cup of coffee at the vending machine, he doesn’t know.

They literally don’t even work on the same floor, what the hell?

“Yeah, that’s—I mean, that’s my private life, isn’t it? We’re both just very private people, that’s why.” He smiles politely, then pointedly looks past Matsuda down the hall at his office. “Sorry, but—” He steps aside, but so does Matsuda, blocking his path again.

“Yeah, I guess some people are just like that, uh?” He laughs, and if he notices Tsuna’s strained smile, it doesn’t seem to bother him. “Ah, I kind of feel jealous, though. I bet she must be really pretty, isn’t she?”

Tsuna laughs awkwardly. “Yeah, she is. Lucky me.”

“She is a she, then?” Matsuda asks, stepping forwards, and Tsuna holds on tight on his cold cup of coffee between them. Matsuda’s smile is still friendly, but he doesn’t like the glint in his eyes. “Yeah, I bet she must be that pretty. It’s just, you know, Sawa told me you said it was a he when you rejected him just a week ago.”

Tsuna gaps again, floored, and now a bit wary of him.

What, he background-checked him? What the hell is even going on? Why are they even still having this conversation? Tsuna’s pretty damn sure the first words out of his mouth were a polite but firm and explicit “no”.

“I’m bi,” he blurts out again. Wait, no, that’s not the important thing. “I mean, I’m dating both. At the same time!” he hurries to add, because the last thing he needs is for people to think he’s a cheater. “I—I mean, they both know I’m dating the other one too—”

Matsuda puts his hands on his shoulders, beaming. “Oh, so you’re polyam too?” He’s what? “That’s great, me too!”

“O-oh?” He laughs. “Yeah, I am,” he keeps lying through his teeth. He can guess what being polyam means from context, and he didn’t know it was a thing, but thank God it is. “So…” he trails off, looking past him at his office again, because this is it, right? This is finally the end of the conversation?

“Is that what was bothering you?” What? “Because it’s totally fine, I can even meet all three of you at the same time! I’ve never been afraid of crowds, and I’ve always been told I make really good first impressions, isn’t that great?” He shakes him playfully, then laughs all by himself at his own joke.

Oh God, no no no no no— “Wait—no, we can’t—you can’t—”

Matsuda frowns, stilling. “What? Why not? Come on, I’m single, so it’ll only be the four of us. It’ll still be manageable.”

“R—right. Right, but it’s just—well, you see, actually, there isn’t only the three of us. We’re, um—there’s already too many of us—I mean, just enough of us”—God, is he even making sense?—“and, um, we’ve agreed not to… take on anymore… people. Um, yeah, so…”

An awkward silence settles over them, and stretches, and stretches, and stretches between them.

Matsuda will totally call him out on his bullshit, won’t he?

Matsuda drops his hands from his shoulders just as Tsuna’s about to make a run for it. His face is unreadable, his smile even still on his lips, but Tsuna still reads the suspicion all over it.

Yeah, he’s screwed.

“Oh,” Matsuda says, his voice deadpan. “How many are you, then?”

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. What’s the right answer, the right number?

Is there even one, or is that just a trick question?

Fuck.

Tsuna smiles, straightening to his full height, hopefully showing nothing but confidence and inspiring nothing but trust.

He opens his mouth.

“You what?” Reborn says, like he didn’t hear him perfectly the first time, and Tsuna can’t hear the amusement in his voice.

He groans in his hands, his elbows resting on Reborn’s desk. “I’m not saying it again. That’s not the point anyway!” he says, snapping his head up and slamming his hands on the desk. “Guess what he said after? He said I totally should bring them to the company birthday party, and that he was looking forward to meeting them, and that we just all might hit it off during the party anyway!”

“You what?” Reborn deliberately says again, just to drive even more home how stupid he is and how stupid he thinks he is, as if Tsuna didn’t already know both.

Tsuna groans, hiding his face back in his hands. “Just kill me now. Please, Reborn, just take me out right now.”

Reborn chuckles, and the sound of his keyboard tells him he’s back working. “First of all, my office isn’t the place for you to come complain about your ridiculous life. Second of all, I am the person you should come complain to about your ridiculous life first and foremost, and if that ever changes, I’ll kill you both. Finally, and most importantly, you’re hilarious and so fucking stupid, never, ever change.”

He laughs more openly, and Tsuna considers banging his head against the desk until he blacks out.

“Thanks,” he deadpans dryly. “Any other helpful words you want to throw my way?”

“Last time I checked, people just said no to people confessing to them when they didn’t feel the same.”

“I did!” Tsuna shouts, showing his indignant face again. “That’s literally the first thing I said, but he just wouldn’t listen to me!”

“Then you should just have left, you didn’t owe him any more than that. Then again, you wouldn’t be here now if you had, and what a shame would that have been for me?”

“Please, just tell me how to get myself out of this.”

Reborn raises his eyebrow. “How else? You told him you already have multiple partners, so show them to him.”

“Yeah, and I lied about it, that’s the whole problem! No, I’ll just have to miss on the party.”

Reborn scoffs, looking away from his computer again to narrow his eyes at him. “Sure you will. The party is mandatory, Idiot Tsuna. I’ll hunt you down and drag you there myself if you dare skip it.”

Tsuna narrows his eyes right back. “You just want to watch me make a fool out of myself.”

“You just always do it in such an amusing way, I’m only but human,” Reborn says, smirking, every inch of it fitting for the evil, merciless demon he is.

Tsuna wants to scream, but only groans again. “I’m quitting.”

“I’d love to see you try.”

“I’m going to take me out myself.”

“Keep me updated on that.”

“I hate you so much.”

Reborn laughs. “You’d be nothing without me. Now get the hell out of my office and get back to work. And do make sure to show up to the party. I, too, look impatiently forwards to meet your six partners, so do your best to not disappoint me.”

“I hate you so much.”

Reborn rolls his eyes. “Oh, stop whining already. The party is in one week, and it's plenty of time for you to come up with something. Do you know how many partners I could find myself in one week? Real ones too, obviously, but there’s only so much you can do.”

Tsuna bangs his head against the desk, wishing for the sweet release of death.

Tsuna times his arrival to the party for when it should already be well on its way, hoping to hide in the crowd. He shows up to it still with no partners, fake or otherwise, let alone six of them.

Reborn sits at a table across the room with the other big names of the company, and Tsuna knows he already knows he did nothing during the last week but work himself into a frenzy about how he had to do something to get himself out of this mess, but Reborn still subtly raises his glass at him, smirking.

Tsuna doesn’t need to have a good look of his face to know he’s unsurprised, but beyond amused to see how much more of a disaster this is going to be.

If Tsuna had a glass of his own he’d wish really hard he could throw it across the room right in his face, but Reborn’s the least of his problems now.

The joke’s on him anyway, because Tsuna has planned for this. Yeah, that’s right, he did. He figured that once backed against a corner with no way out of it, he’d have no choice but to come clean to Matsuda about the whole fake partners thing. It’s going to be one hell of an awkward conversation to have for sure, but at least it’s only going to be for one moment during the party, instead of Tsuna spending the whole night pretending to be romantically involved with six people he couldn’t possibly find at this point to play pretend with him anyway.

That’s right, everything’s under control. And talking about Matsuda, here he comes from the side where the food and drinks are, making a beeline for him. Tsuna is still at the doors, though he moved aside to not block the path, and he waits for him because he’s going to be an adult about this.

Which he is, so this should be a breeze, right?

Matsuda closes in on him, and Tsuna goes the opposite way in the fastest, most natural fleeing pace he can manage.

Nope, nope, nope, he just can’t be an adult about this—has been already once to be fair with him, but it clearly didn’t work, and Reborn’s right, there can only be so much that can be expected of him.

Tsuna frantically flickers his eyes around while trying to keep it as natural as he can, looking for someone—anyone to be one of his fake partners.

The most notable achievements of the company from the year are exhibited on that side of the room, people walking slowly along the display or stopped in front of the tables, large boards, or projections to appreciate more everyone hard work. One of them catches his attention, a tall man in a tailored black suit and a purple dress shirt, short black hair with no other defining features he can catch because he has his back to him.

His figure’s familiar so Tsuna makes for him, ignoring the feeling telling him to back off, not him, anyone but him.

It’s not like he has a choice anyway, literally running out of time.

He smiles like he knows who he’s about to talk to, if nothing else because he feels Matsuda’s eyes on him, but also because he’s supposed to know him, right? He’s supposedly just about to catch the attention of one of his partners after all.

Yeah, right.

“Excuse me?” he says, lightly putting his hand on his arm.

Hibari turns to him, and frankly Tsuna only feels like bursting out laughing, because would you look at that, it’s Hibari Kyoya he’s about to ask him to be his fake boyfriend. Because of course it is.

Hundreds of people in this room, and he just had to be instinctively drawn to Hibari Kyoya of all people. Like they’re on good terms or anything.

They’re not.

Wow. Just wow.

Hibari Kyoya.

Tsuna can just hear Reborn already laughing himself to tears but still managing to look cool and composed as he does so, and you know what? He deserves this one.

“Hiba—Kyoya,” he corrects, still smiling and looking him right in the eye, making sure to appear at ease through his body language like they’ve done this a hundred times before. Hibari raises both his eyebrows at the same time, then slightly frowns after a beat when Tsuna doesn’t rush to take back his words. He pointedly looks down at the hand on his arm again, but Tsuna still keeps it there, and actually slides it down to hold onto his hand. He steps forwards, holding onto his other hand, then whispers, “Please, be one of my fake partners just for tonight.”

Hibari blinks, a deadpan expression on his face, and Tsuna almost laughs again, but genuinely this time because he had no idea Hibari could make those type of expressions too. The dumbfounded, absolutely floored, you-just-threw-me-in-for-a-loop type of expressions.

Tsuna doesn’t know either just from where all that gall is coming from him, but no, actually, he does. This is just about the worst thing that’ll happen tonight without a doubt, and there’s comfort and bravery and levity to take from that he sure as hell won’t deny himself of.

He was still going to be bitten to death anyway even if he had backed down at the last second, for having touched him or breathed the same air as him or something, so he has nothing to lose going for it.

“Tsuna, hey,” Matsuda calls out before Hibari can give him his answer, and Tsuna smoothly turns the both of them to face him, linking their arms together. He doesn’t push his luck actually leaning against Hibari’s side though, and he wonders if it looks too awkward to be believable. Matsuda stops in front of them, looks at them back and forth, looks at their linked arms for one long moment, then catches Tsuna’s eye again with a smile. “Finally caught you. Didn’t you see me come? It almost looked like you were running away from me.”

Tsuna laughs the thinly veiled accusation away. “I did, actually! But then I caught sight of Kyoya, and I just had to get my hands on him before he could prematurely leave the party. Maybe you already know how he is? His reputation always precedes him, isn’t that right, Kyoya?” He catches his eye, playfully bumping their shoulders together.

Matsuda laughs. “Can’t say I don’t.”

“Well, let me introduce you two anyway. Kyoya, this is the friend I talked to you about, Matsuda Arata. Matsuda-san, this is Hibari Kyoya, my boyfriend.”

Glass shatters on the floor as audible and visible shock hits the people around them within hearing range, dead silence falling among and around them.

Tsuna firmly, desperately keeps up the pretense of normalcy, ignoring the way Matsuda watches them, the way the people around them openly watch them, frozen in whatever they were doing.

A look from Hibari and they thankfully scatter like mice, though unfortunately, Matsuda stays.

Matsuda even smiles, looking at Hibari. “Right, your boyfriend.” There’s a laugh in his voice just waiting to spill free, and Matsuda lets some of it out as he looks at him, raising his eyebrows. “Really, Tsuna?”

Tsuna plays innocent, frowning while tilting his head.

So Matsuda doesn’t believe him for a second, obviously, who would ever, but so what?

“Something to say, herbivore?” Hibari asks, nowhere near as threatening as Tsuna knows he can be, but Matsuda still straightens himself, warily looking at him, all traces of humor leaving his face.

Tsuna has to try very hard to not grin with all his teeth out, gloating inwardly.

He is lying to Matsuda to his face, but what is he going to do about it, to say about it? Call out Hibari Kyoya on the lie?

Call out Hibari Kyoya’s potentially real boyfriend on his lie in front of him, however unlikely that option is?

Tsuna watches Matsuda force on a strained, tight, polite smile, and of course the answer is no. God bless Hibari. “No, it’s nothing. Nice to meet you.” He offers his hand, but Hibari doesn’t even look at it.

Instead he drags Tsuna a few steps away, their backs to Matsuda, and shit, shit, shit— “Explain, Sawada Tsunayoshi.”

“I already did,” Tsuna says, somehow keeping eye contact. “Matsuda-san doesn’t take no for an answer, so I somehow ended up telling him I was already seeing multiple someone, and, well—” He shrugs. “You’re the first person I thought of.” More like the first person he came across, but maybe Hibari will feel more inclined to help him if he puts it like that.

Hibari narrows his eyes, pursing his lips, and Tsuna gives him his best, helpless, pleading smile. Something flickers across his face then, too fast for him to put a name on it, but it seems to sway him a tad. He looks him up and down, like he’s seeing him for the first time, and Tsuna realizes it’s not quite anger Hibari’s feeling at the whole ordeal as a smile pulls at his lips.

Or, well, at least it’s not all anger.

Hibari pulls at their linked arms, closing the distance between them, then leans down to whisper in his ear, “I will bite you to death for this. Literal death.”

Tsuna laughs dryly. “Yeah, I could have used that like a week ago, but fair enough. Just let me know when you’re free.”

Hibari’s lips twitch like he’s fighting back another smile, curiously taking his face in, and Tsuna didn’t know he could look like that either. Especially not while looking at him. But thankfully he hasn’t the time to dwell on that as Hibari drags him back to Matsuda.

Not that there was anything to dwell on.

Right?

“Hey,” Matsuda awkwardly says when they stop in front of him again, keeping his attention on Tsuna, only daring to glance at Hibari.

“Who are you to him?” Hibari asks him suddenly, and it takes both Matsuda and Tsuna aback.

“What… do you mean? We’re friends. That’s what Tsuna just said, didn’t he?”

“Friends,” Hibari repeats, and manages to sound incredibly dismissive and deadpan at the same time. “Strange then I’ve never heard about you until very recently, and while I did, I heard you insisted for this to happen.”

Oh God, no no no no no— “Kyoya—” Tsuna tries, because what is he doing? Tsuna’s doing all this precisely so nothing confrontational will have to happen!

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Matsuda says, braver once more, steadier, apparently getting used to Hibari’s… everything. “Tsuna told me he was seeing people, and I was just curious to meet them. I asked once, and he said yes.” Oh, the little—! He literally left before Tsuna could say anything, because he knew he was going to say no! “Friends introduce each other to their partners, don’t they?”

“I see,” Hibari says, suddenly cordial, like he’s trying to deescalate the situation, but Tsuna knows there’s no way in hell it’s what he’s actually doing. “I suppose friends would do that, indeed. As long as you know your place.” And saying that, to drive his point even more home, he frees his arm from Tsuna’s to instead wrap it possessively around his waist, pulling him flush against his side.

Tsuna almost swallows his tongue.

He’s so not going to survive this night, one way or another.

And he’s only found one fake partner so far, God help him.

Matsuda looks hard at Hibari’s arm around his waist, and so would Tsuna if he hadn’t had to keep up the pretense of being used to that.

Of being used to the weight and warmth of Hibari’s hand against the small of his back, long fingers curling around his hip; to the feel of Hibari’s lean and muscled body against his side, steady under his arm as he instinctively wrapped it around his back; to be able to smell Hibari’s perfume, an earthy, flowery scent that seems to be all he can smell all of a sudden.

Yeah, right.

He’s blushing, blushing hard too, but that’s just normal, right? Just helps sell the bit. His boyfriend is being openly affectionate with him in public to assert dominance, so of course he’s all flustered by it.

Tsuna almost breaks into hysterical laughter right then and there, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek hard not to.

Hibari Kyoya is playing his fake boyfriend being openly affectionate with him in public to assert dominance.

Tsuna truly doesn’t know how he keeps getting himself into situations like this.

“I could use a drink,” Hibari says, unnecessary leaning in close like Tsuna won’t hear him otherwise. He’s knowingly smiling too, clearly having fun with all this, but Tsuna ignores it for his own sanity.

Why is he though? Does it mean anything?

“R—right, me too, actually.” Ha, could he ever. “The others might be around there too.”

He looks at Matsuda, who’s been staring all this time, but he snaps back to his senses then. “Oh, yeah, sure!” He grins, overly cheerful, but it’s still plain as day he’s seething. Tsuna doesn’t feel sorry about it one bit, not when he’s going through his own ordeals because of him. “I was actually about to get one myself when I noticed you, but it’s going to be even better to share it together.”

He turns away, taking the lead, and Hibari makes them fall in step with him.

Tsuna tugs at his jacket, making him lean in again so he can keep his voice low.

“Don’t pull at my clothes, little animal.”

“What are you doing?” he asks, smiling pleasantly, keeping an eye on Matsuda in case he turns to look at them, and he likes to think he sounds pointedly assertive instead of totally out of his depth.

“What else?” He pointedly squeezes his hip, and Tsuna’s breath catches in his throat, his body jolting from the touch, which only presses him further against Hibari’s side. Fuck— “Am I not meant to make him back off? Isn’t that what this is about?” He glances at him then, just so Tsuna can see he already knows he doesn’t have anything to say to that.

Ugh, what an asshole.

“Shut up,” he says, petulantly letting go of his jacket and turning his head away.

“You’re welcome.”

“Oh my God—really?” Hibari just smirks, and Tsuna hates him even more for it. “Yes, Hibari-san, thank you so much, I’m currently totally not having a terrible time. Can you now stop enjoying this so much? Thanks.”

Hibari actually chuckles low in his throat, and somehow, for some reasons, that’s actually something Tsuna’s already managed to get out of him before. More than once too. And he knows just the once is no small feat by no means. But he’s not going to think about it now, or ever, preferably.

“How many of these fake partners are there?” he whispers in his ear.

Tsuna winces, and there’s no hiding it from Hibari, but he still smooths his face back as quick as he can.

Right, two is a crowd, and there’s already two of them—three actually, and Hibari hates crowds.

This is going to be such a disaster.

Tsuna chuckles to buy himself time as he scrambles for an answer that won’t make the disaster happen too soon. “Take a guess?” is what ends up coming out of his mouth, his brain unhelpful as ever, but he stands by his words even faced to Hibari’s unimpressed face.

“So, Tsuna,” Matsuda calls out, and Tsuna almost feels grateful to him. “See anyone familiar?”

They’re almost to the tables with the food and drinks on them, and Tsuna lets his eyes wander over the people near them. He does find two familiar faces, and his mood lifts, relief washing over him, though with a bit of guilt for being about to involve them in this.

He did tell himself he wouldn’t do it over the past week, but…

He just really could use the help here, and now that he’s already doing this, it just wouldn’t feel right not to ask them for it anyway.

“Over there,” he says, gesturing with his head to the table Hayato and Takeshi sit at, a drink each in their hand.

He takes the lead with Hibari this time, and it’s obvious the moment Hayato and Takeshi notice them.

Hayato widens his eyes, his jaw dropping, while Takeshi raises his eyebrows, both their gazes taking them in, and getting stuck on their arms around each other’s. Tsuna brings his free hand to Hibari’s chest like he’s going to cozy himself up even further against him, mindful of Matsuda behind them, and Hayato’s jaw somehow drops even more, while an incredulous grin pulls at Takeshi’s lips, which he tries to hide behind his glass.

Tsuna doesn’t actually rest his hand against Hibari’s chest though, instead giving them an okay sign to reassure them this is all consensual. Hayato seems too shocked to process it, but he catches the subtle realization flickering across Takeshi’s face, God bless him.

“Tsuna, here you are!” he calls out cheerfully when they’re close enough. He puts down his drink on the table, then meets them halfway, clearly intent on a hug.

Hibari and him let go of each other just before Takeshi pulls him into an enthusiastic hug, Tsuna laughing then greeting him in turn. Hibari keeps walking to Hayato, Matsuda following his lead, but Takeshi still sways them side to side under the guise of enthusiasm, conveniently shifting them around until Tsuna has his back to Hibari, Hayato, and most importantly, Matsuda.

“I need three other fake partners, including at least one fake girlfriend for the night so Matsuda-san gets the hint,” he pleadingly, hurriedly whispers in Takeshi’s ear. “Five partners if you and Hayato don’t want to play along, which you totally don’t have to, it’s fine, but if you do want to, I really could use the help.”

Takeshi hides his face in the crook of his neck to hide his startled laughter. “Oh, Tsuna.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, okay?” Tsuna says defeatedly. “But it’s not like I tried or asked to get myself into this, alright?”

Takeshi pulls away, chuckling. “Copy that,” he says reassuringly, cupping his cheeks, and as grateful as Tsuna is for the help, and actually reassured by it because God knows Takeshi has that way to always get himself out of situations like this unscathed, he can’t help but narrow his eyes at him.

Takeshi’s already having too much fun with this, and he isn’t even trying to hide it from him.

He’s going to make Tsuna regret asking for his help, isn’t he?

Takeshi grins wider, no doubt knowing exactly what he’s thinking, then leans in to kiss his forehead. It’s purposefully too sweet and lingering to only be friendly, and Tsuna can’t help but blush a little. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” he says, taking his hand and leading him to the others, like he doesn’t know it only makes him worry more.

The others couldn’t look more awkward standing next to each other if they tried, and why they didn’t take a seat and why Hayato stood up, he doesn’t know.

Hibari stands further aside from them, ignoring them in favor of his drink, unbothered by the awkward atmosphere, naturally.

Hayato flicks his eyes to them to Hibari to Matsuda, still comically holding onto his drink halfway up his mouth, clearly trying and failing to put it all together. He did manage to close his mouth by now, but doesn’t look any less lost than before.

Matsuda is also taking them in, and though Tsuna is genuinely friends with Hayato and Takeshi as everyone in the company knows, which should make them a lot more believable as his boyfriends than Kyoya, Hayato’s reaction alone is visibly making Matsuda confident in his suspicions all over again.

Fuck, how does Tsuna explain that and get Hayato in on the loop?

“Kyoya, don’t think I don’t have a hug for you too,” Takeshi says in lieu of greeting him, letting go of his hand as he makes for him.

Hibari’s eyes make it very clear just what he thinks of that, but Takeshi still goes for it, though only wraps his arm around his shoulders for a side-hug. He still nuzzles his face in his hair, and would you look at that, Tsuna’s already regretting asking for his help so, so much.

Takeshi’s going to make the most of this, isn’t he?

He’s going to push his luck with everyone that’ll end up involved in this, and is already purposefully trying to push his luck with Hibari, to see how far he’ll be allowed to push before Hibari snaps.

And Tsuna should have known, of course he’s going to do just that, so really, this is on him too.

“You should have told us you were coming. You almost gave our poor Hayato here a heart attack.”

Tsuna blinks. Then he tries very hard not to beam, because of course! That explains Hayato’s reaction nicely and believably!

Oh, whatever he’d ever do without Takeshi? He could kiss—he means, he’s super grateful to have Takeshi in his life.

Um, yeah, that.

“Yamamoto Takeshi.”

“Hm?” Takeshi says, like he doesn’t only just now stop nuzzling Hibari’s hair, like he doesn’t lean all his weight against him like he belongs there, like he hasn’t draped his other arm across Hibari’s chest to hold on his waist.

Tsuna wonders sometimes how Takeshi has managed to live that long, he really does.

Hibari narrows his eyes at him, but then smirks, and then whispers in his ear what can only be some terrifying, very explicit threat.

So of course Takeshi bursts out laughing, and then playfully bumps their hips together. “Maybe somewhere else,” he says, winking, flirting, with Hibari Kyoya, who has yet to stop him because they’re pretending to be Tsuna’s boyfriends, which apparently means they’re also each other’s boyfriends?

Tsuna did look into polyamorous relationships in the past week, and it’s a thing that can happen that all partners of the same polycule date each other, but they don’t have to go there, so what is Takeshi doing?

Tsuna bursts out laughing too. He hopes it sounds like he’s only getting in on the flirting too, even if it sounds hysterical to his own ears, like he’s losing his mind.

And suddenly, he feels a lot more sympathetic for Hayato.

This does look like the wildest fever dream he could come up with.

Right, Hayato.

Tsuna catches his eye, still laughing because he can’t seem to make himself stop, and he wills Hayato to get the situation through their shared gaze alone, or at least to start laughing like he’s getting in on the flirting too, hopefully in a more believable way than him. Hayato could do anything and it’d be better than what he looks like right now, really, though Tsuna does see the beginning of understanding in his eyes.

He steps forwards in his space, finally biting on his laughter. “Hey, Hayato,” he says softly, taking his drink from him and putting it on the table. He then holds onto his waist as he rises on his tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Hayato blushes, his breath hitching. Tsuna doesn’t remove his hands from his waist. “Takeshi is as shameless as ever, isn’t he?” he jokes, and sure enough, never one to pass up the occasion to jab at Takeshi, Hayato snorts.

He looks at Takeshi, finally acting natural, knowingly or unknowingly easing up under his touch, though he doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, stiff at his sides. “What else is new?”

“Kyoya started it, actually,” Takeshi defends good-naturedly.

“I’m going to kill you, Yamamoto Takeshi.”

“I’d let you.”

Hibari promptly elbows him in the stomach, and Tsuna looks away, leaving them to it.

“You look better, I’m glad,” he says, cupping Hayato’s cheeks, and he ignores how much redder Hayato’s face turns. “I thought you might have gone too hard on the drinks with Takeshi,” he teases. It can’t hurt to explain his suspicious reaction away again.

Hayato huffs. “As if.”

“Good, because here’s the person I wanted you all to meet.” He links their arms together, turning them both to face Matsuda. “Takeshi—” he starts, but Takeshi’s already stepping up at his other side, Hibari having apparently successfully gotten rid of him, at least for now.

Tsuna glances behind him to make sure he’s still there, which he is by some miracle, then looks at Matsuda. He expects at least annoyance from him from having been ignored all this time if nothing else, but he looks strangely content, smiling as he looks at them.

Or not so strangely when he looks so obviously sure Tsuna’s lying to him through his teeth, which he is, but as long as he doesn’t call him out on it, he isn’t about to come out clean by himself.

“Hayato, Takeshi,” he starts, “this is Matsuda Arata. Matsuda-san, meet Gokudera Hayato and Yamamoto Takeshi,”—please, please, please, Hayato, play it cool and natural—“also my boyfriends.”

Tsuna sees from the corner of his eye the way everything instantly clicks and makes sense to Hayato at his words, how he gets exactly the situation Tsuna’s gotten himself into and how he’s gotten himself into that, ever the smart one, God bless him too.

Tsuna should have just done that from the beginning actually, introducing them to each other so Hayato would have been in on the loop right away, so really, this one is on him too, again.

Hayato even plays it cool, though angry, glowering at Matsuda, because where the hell does he come from not taking Tsuna’s no for an answer, and even pressuring him so much he had to put himself in this predicament?

Or at least it’s what Tsuna’s pretty sure he’s thinking. And he’s very tempted to let him go off on Matsuda, actually.

Wait, should he? It’d make Matsuda back off, and then he could call it a night without having to figure out two other fake partners and one fake girlfriend!

“You,” Hayato starts, taking a threatening step forwards, and Tsuna really thinks he should let him go on.

“Nice to meet you,” Matsuda says cheerfully, offering his hand like he can’t tell Hayato’s about to murder him. He’s even purposefully provoking with the way he talks and smiles and looks at him, and Tsuna’s pretty sure half of it is how Hibari’s staying out of it. Maybe Tsuna should involve him in the conversation again then, see how Matsuda likes it. “We actually work on the same floor, Gokudera-san. Maybe you already noticed me before too?”

Hayato scoffs, looking disdainfully at his hand then back up at him. He doesn’t take his hand.

Takeshi takes it instead. “Nice to meet you too!” he says, just as cheerful as Matsuda, and not meaning it one bit either. “I know all of Tsuna’s friends, so I was very surprised to hear about you, and couldn’t wait to meet you after that.”

Matsuda falters, almost flinches, hearing exactly what Takeshi didn’t say. Tsuna smiles.

It’s his mistake to have been thinking Hayato and Takeshi aren’t people he should fear too in their own right.

“I was very curious to meet you too,” Matsuda says, putting himself back together. “So, you two too, then? Well, I guess at least it’s a lot less surprising than Hibari-san, right?” He laughs, and then pretends to catch himself. “Ah, no offense, of course.”

“Oh, none taken. Kyoya couldn’t care less about what you think anyway,” Takeshi says, looking him right in the eye, not catching himself after, and Tsuna distinctly hears Hibari laughs in their back.

Matsuda raises his hands in front of him in fake surrender. “Ah, come on, don’t take it like that. I just meant—well, it’s just a little hard to believe the four of you are together like that. You just don’t look the part, that’s all,” he says, catching Tsuna’s eye as he does, smirking knowingly, like—

Like what? What is he saying? That Tsuna and him would look more the part?

And what about that victorious look on his face? Does he think that once he exposes his lie, Tsuna will just have to go out with him by whatever twisted logic of his?

God, this guy’s an actual creep, isn’t he?

Just Tsuna’s luck, but what else is new?

“And?” Hayato harshly dismisses him, daring him to say more.

He does, though he looks at him instead of Hayato. “Well, so far you’re also all part of the company, aren’t they, Tsuna? How convenient.”

“You sure open your mouth loud and often for the pathetic, weak herbivore you are,” Hibari says before any of them can say anything, and Matsuda tenses, looking past them, losing all humor and confidence on his face once again.

Tsuna could get used to that. It’s really so nice to have someone like Hibari Kyoya on your side.

“I know, right?” Takeshi says, still smiling, but his voice is poised and just on that side of not cheerful anymore. “He’s a bold one that friend of yours, Tsuna. How nice.” He wraps a possessive arm around his shoulders, not once looking away from Matsuda.

Matsuda shrugs the very explicit threats off, raising his hands in front of him again, but Tsuna’s starting to suspect it’s that he can’t tell he’s being threatened even if it couldn’t be more obvious to him. “Come on, guys, I was just saying. Though if that’s how you react to it…”

He barely tries to smirk again that Hayato grabs him by the collar of his dress shirt, Tsuna stumbling forwards along with him, Takeshi’s arm falling from his shoulders. “Listen here, you bastard—”

“Hayato, wait.” Tsuna puts himself between them, one hand on Hayato’s chest, the other on the arm holding onto Matsuda.

“No, Tsuna-s—Tsuna.” He glances at him, a flustered look on his face, but he’s all anger again when he looks back at Matsuda. “I’m going to teach this guy when to shut his fucking mouth.”

“I can do that by myself.” Hayato stills, his mouth open on the rant he didn’t get to start. He blinks, turning to look at him. “You’re only meeting each other and interacting because of me to begin with, so I should be the one to do this.”

They hold each other’s gaze for a beat before Hayato smirks, nodding. “Of course.” He lets go of Matsuda, stepping back and crossing his arms on his chest. “He’s all yours,” he says, his eyes on Matsuda, expectant anticipation on his face.

Matsuda looks at Hayato and him back and forth, thrown off enough he doesn’t think to adjust his clothes now free of Hayato’s grip. He looks at him uncertainly when he steps in front of Hayato to be face to face with him.

He puts it bluntly. “Matsuda-san, you have no business passing judgment on our relationship, nor do we care to hear it.” Matsuda widens his eyes, and whatever image he had of him Tsuna’s currently shattering, good riddance. “Quite frankly, you’ve been nothing but incredibly rude to say the least all night, even when none of us owed you this meeting. If that’s how you’re going to thank us for agreeing to it anyway, then let’s just enjoy the party each on our own side. These are dear people to me, so please, do watch the way you talk to them and talk about our relationship.”

Tsuna isn’t actually asking, which seems to have come across to Matsuda as he flinches. He smiles politely, and he’s been nothing but polite through it all too, but Matsuda winces, looking at him warily.

Good. Tsuna isn’t trying to play nice.

“Little animal.”

A shiver runs down Tsuna’s spine, his heart skipping a beat. He didn’t know Hibari could sound like that.

He turns around, and Hibari’s already stepping into his space, way too close, and his heart’s beating against his rib cage and in his ears fast.

He didn’t know Hibari could have that look in his eyes either. Let alone would have ever imagined he could look at him like that.

It seems there’s a lot he’s learning about Hibari tonight.

That can’t be good for his heart.

“Yes, Kyoya?”

Tsuna doesn’t want to be presumptuous, he swears, but he also swears Hibari looks nothing short but fascinated. He’s actually grinning, looking at him like...

Fuck, if Hibari would just step back a little, he’s sure he’d find his words then.

“Who told you you were allowed to hide your fangs from me?”

What? “What?”

What?

Takeshi laughs, hugging him from behind, pushing him forwards, and he’s all but pressed against Hibari, his hands against his chest. “What are you saying, Kyoya? Tsuna has never been hiding. You failed to notice him, that’s all.”

Hibari’s scent’s overwhelming, even more than the first time, and Tsuna can’t make sense of anything else, absently noticing he’s holding on his jacket for dear life.

This is too close, way too close, way too fucking close, oh God—

“Guys,” he croaks out, his mouth dry as the desert, but maybe not because they ignore him.

“Mind your own business, Yamamoto Takeshi.”

“You’ll have to earn our approval first, just so you know. Isn’t that right, Hayato?”

Tsuna can’t move, stuck between Hibari and Takeshi, and he’s warm on the front and back, warm on the face, burning, really, his heart just about ready to burst out of his chest. “Guys—”

“Watch it, bastards!” Hayato pulls him free straight into his arms, wrapping two firm, but careful and protective arms around him, and he instinctively holds onto him just as firmly to not lose balance. “The hell do you think you’re doing?”

Tsuna should be able to breathe now. He’s hugged Hayato and has been hugged by him before, not as often as Takeshi, but he’s definitely familiar and comfortable hugging Hayato. His heart should be slowing down now.

His heart still beats a mile a minute and his face’s still burning, Hayato’s cologne not helping, Tsuna being just the right height for his head to rest in the crook of his neck, and this is still way too close—

To Hayato.

God, this whole pretend thing is messing with his head.

Tsuna’s starting to doubt more and more he’ll last the night.

“Aw, no, Tsuna,” Takeshi starts, genuinely apologetic despite the lighthearted tone of his voice. “You—hey, no, wait up, Matsuda!”

Tsuna pulls away from Hayato, whipping his head around. Takeshi wraps his arm around Matsuda’s shoulders, turning him around so he faces them again, keeping him put. “Where are you going? Don’t worry about what Tsuna just said. Now that we laid some ground rules, you might as well meet the rest of us too, right?” What? No! “Right, Tsuna?”

No! What is Takeshi doing? Let him go so they can finally drop this whole pretend thing!

Takeshi doesn’t seem to hear his internal pleas, or ignore them more likely, actually pleading with him with his eyes.

Oh, he really wants to have his fun with this, doesn’t he? And probably get back at Matsuda for having put him in this situation to begin with, which makes him dread even more just whose people “the rest of us” might be.

But no, Tsuna will stand firm on this. He straightens his back to do just that, opens his mouth, but then Takeshi gives him the puppy look.

He crumbles right away.

Fuck!

He smiles. “Yeah, sure. As long as you remain respectful about it, Matsuda-san,” he adds, but it’s a pitiful attempt to put up a fight.

Takeshi beams. “Didn’t I tell you? Isn’t Tsuna the nicest person you’ve ever met?” he asks, squeezing Matsuda tighter against him, choking him, though the paleness of his skin might be from the prospect of being forced to stay around them and meet more of them. “Ah, Kyoya, you don’t have to come though. How long have you been here already? You’ve already met Matsuda, so don’t push yourself too much, okay?”

Tsuna blinks. Turns to look at Hibari. Turns back to look at Takeshi, who’s already walking away, dragging Matsuda with him.

But then he glances over his shoulder, and doesn’t even bother to hide his victorious smirk at Hibari following after them.

Tsuna blinks again. Huh. What just happened?

He sighs, leaning against Hayato. “What just happened?”

Hayato clicks his tongue. “The baseball idiot happened, what else? Should I knock some sense into him?”

He huffs a laugh. “No, it’s fine, but thank you. He said he got this, I trust him.”

“You’re too nice too him, Tsuna-san.”

“But he’s always nice to me too.” He pulls away again, smiling up at him. “You’re all always nice to me. Thank you for that, but you really don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Hayato huffs, crossing his arms on his chest. “Please, Tsuna-san, don’t think so little of me. I can survive a little bit of acting.”

Tsuna grins. “Okay. Sorry. Thank you.”

“I still don’t like that that bastard forced your hands like that though,” he says, frowning. “Should I force my fists on his face, see how he likes it?”

Tsuna bursts out laughing, unbidden, and quickly slaps both his hands against his mouth to muffle it. “Let’s make it plan B, alright?”

Hayato huffs again, but he has the softest expression on his face, smiling. “Fine.” He gestures with his head to the side. “We should go too before we lose them.”

“Right.” Tsuna links their arms together, and they fall in steps behind Takeshi and Hibari, a couple of feet away. Takeshi’s leading them deeper inside the room, walking along the dance-floor and skirting around the people spilling out of it. “So,” he starts, casual and innocent, and Hayato suspiciously glances at him. “What about keeping calling me Tsuna?”

Hayato instantly turns bright red. “No, I—”

“Couldn’t? But you already did it, remember? And it wasn’t so bad, wasn’t it?”

“No, that’s—”

“Yes?”

“Tsuna-san—” Tsuna raises his eyebrows. “Tsuna… -san…” Hayato looks away, covering his face with his hand as best as he can, red to the tip of his ears.

Tsuna giggles, but swallows it down as fast as he can. He bumps their shoulders together. “Just teasing, but I’ll stop now, I promise.”

“...Sorry,” Hayato mumbles in his hand.

“What for? I like best the name you’re the most comfortable calling me with, Hayato.”

Hayato carefully peaks at him through his fingers, then lowers his hand from his face, but strictly keeps looking ahead. “That was uncalled for.”

Tsuna giggles again, pressing against his side, then rests his head against his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, I just couldn’t resist. Oh,” he says, hurriedly pulling away. “Sorry, is this okay?” Hayato frowns. “Should I let go?”

“Oh.” Hayato glances down at their linked arms, then looks at him again. “No, it’s fine.”

“I’m not doing this for the act or anything though. Is it still okay?”

Hayato misses a beat, looking at him like he just said the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course not, I know.” His eyes soften, a teasing smile pulling at his lips, and he slightly bumps their shoulders together. “I know you, Tsuna-san.”

Tsuna feels his face heat up in a blink, probably blushing just as bright as Hayato was. He rests his head against his shoulder again, hides his face against it actually, and gently nuzzles it a bit. “Thank you,” he breathes out, and he’s not sure if Hayato heard him, but he’ll guess anyway.

Tsuna keeps his face hidden, trusting Hayato not to let him bump against anyone, and it takes everything in him to not start laughing like an idiot.

Hayato would know him, wouldn’t he? They all do. They’re his close, trustworthy, reliable friends after all.

Warmth spreads throughout his whole body, and he eagerly soaks in it. He didn’t have friends at all growing up, let alone close ones, and how lucky he is to have found them in particular?

Tsuna wouldn’t change them for anything in the world.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, that fucking baseball idiot,” Hayato says, suddenly stopping walking, and Tsuna preemptively sighs.

But no, he still wouldn’t change them for anything in the world, chaos and all.

He reluctantly, slowly raises his head. They walked all the way across the room, standing in front of the secluded tables for people to settle at, chat or rest in between enjoying the party. He flicks his eyes around in case Reborn is anywhere near, relieved to not see him even if he’s sure he hasn’t lost sight of him all night, before focusing on the problem at hands.

Hibari stands the closest to them, back to them, but the line of his shoulders and his tensed muscles are enough for him to know he’s that close to snap.

Matsuda stands to the side between him and Takeshi, warily looking at them back and forth, looking like he wants to run but not daring to.

Takeshi stands next to Mukuro, sitting at the table he’s apparently chosen for them, idly playing with his hair.

Mukuro.

Tsuna immediately ignores that information, instead focusing on Chrome next to him. He likes Chrome a lot! They’re friends, and if he had to deal with this alone he’d actually have gone to her for help too, even if he’d have died of embarrassment doing it.

Chrome is also actually friendly with Hibari too, not that that’s relevant in any way whatsoever right now, of course.

He beams at her when they catch each other’s eye, Chrome smiling back, and also waving back when Tsuna waves at her.

Unfortunately, Hibari mercilessly shatters his blissful bubble of denial. “You don’t have to put that much efforts into your death wish, Yamamoto Takeshi,” he says, his voice chilling. “I’m happy to help you with it right now.”

Takeshi frowns, looking sad and worried, looking at Hibari and Mukuro back and forth. “Are you two still fighting? I thought you agreed to make an effort for tonight at least, so Tsuna could introduce us his new friend?”

All eyes turn on him, namely Mukuro’s, intent on him, even if he keeps munching on his cake like nothing’s wrong. Tsuna can only give them all a stiff, polite smile, keeping his mouth firmly shut.

What the hell is Takeshi doing? And why does he have to keep asking himself that?

Why does Takeshi keep provoking Hibari like that?

Really, Mukuro of all people? And it’s not like Takeshi doesn’t know a lot of people! This is one hundred percent on purpose, for God knows whatever reason.

“Did we, now?” Mukuro says, looking at Hibari.

“No, it’s fine,” Takeshi says understandingly before Hibari can say anything, straightening himself as he puts his hand on Mukuro’s shoulder. “Kyoya, you really don’t have to push yourself by staying, you know we won’t hold it against you. Just let us handle the rest from here on, okay?”

Tsuna doesn’t have to see Hibari’s face to feel the weight of the glowering, murderous look he must be giving Takeshi now, and his stomach drops. This is it, this is where Hibari will snap and murder them all, and then murder everyone else in the room just because.

This is where he’ll murder Takeshi first at the very least for sure, and then Mukuro, making it slow and painful.

Hibari moves, and Tsuna tenses, holding onto Hayato’s arm for dear life.

Hibari takes the seat the furthest away from Mukuro on the opposite side of the table without a word, and Tsuna’s jaw drops.

What?

He looks at Hibari and Mukuro back and forth, who’s hiding his surprise a hell of a lot better than Tsuna who’s nothing short but dumbfounded, looks at Hibari and Takeshi back and forth, and here’s that victorious smirk on Takeshi’s lips again.

What?

Tsuna leans up closer to Hayato, not taking his eyes off the unbelievable sight in front of him, Hayato doing the same, leaning down. He has to try twice before finding his words. “Why is Takeshi so good at handling Hibari-san the way he wants to?”

“The fuck if I know,” is Hayato’s insight on the matter.

They lean away from each other, Tsuna nodding absentmindedly. Fair enough. The fuck if he knows either, or if anyone would, really.

He looks at Hibari and Takeshi back and forth again, at Takeshi’s happy face who sat right across Hibari, still dragging Matsuda along with him, sitting next to him.

He looks at Takeshi’s face lights up even more when he looks at Hibari, even if Hibari still looks murderous, and towards him specifically.

Oh.

Is it…?

Tsuna leans up again, and so does Hayato, leaning down. “Is Takeshi…?”

“It looks like it,” Hayato confirms his suspicions, and they lean away from each other again.

Huh. Actually, it’s kind of obvious now that he thinks about it, thinking back to all their previous interactions. Then again, he supposes hindsight has a way to always do that.

He glances at Hayato, about to say something else on the matter, but the annoyed expression on his face makes him pause. He follows his gaze to Hibari, though he sometimes glances at Takeshi too, frowning even more when he does.

Oh.

Is Hayato…?

This one he definitely already had his suspicions on, and he purses his lips, holding back his happy grin. He could say something, especially when Hayato looks like he doesn’t quite know what’s annoying him, but sometimes he just has to come to terms with things on his own pace.

“Tsuna, Hayato, what are you waiting for?” Takeshi calls out. “Come sit with us!”

Tsuna takes the lead, pulling Hayato along, making for Hibari’s side of the table. Hayato probably doesn’t want to sit next to Takeshi or Hibari right now, but Hibari should be the safest option.

“Tsunayoshi, why don’t you come sit next to me?” Mukuro asks. Tsuna pauses, turning to him. “If my dear Chrome doesn’t mind, of course?” Tsuna throws her a pleading look, but she moves to the free chair next to her with an apologetic smile, freeing her seat.

Mukuro looks at him expectantly, and though he’s sure Matsuda couldn’t care less about his so-called polyamorous relationship right now, he still lets go of Hayato.

“Of course,” he says, smiling. “If it’ll make you happy.”

He takes his seat between Mukuro and Chrome, Hayato sitting across Mukuro, which just so happens to be the furthest seat away from both Hibari and Takeshi.

An awkward silence settles over them.

Takeshi breaks it. “Mukuro, Chrome-chan, this is Matsuda Arata, Tsuna’s friend who wanted to meet us. Matsuda, meet Rokudo Mukuro and Chrome Dokuro, also loved, important partners of ours.”

Tsuna feels Mukuro’s and Chrome’s eyes on him, and suddenly everything but them looks very interesting to him.

A heavier, awkward silence settles over them again.

Matsuda breaks it. “Nice to meet you,” he says, not bothering to put up an act about actually being happy to meet them whatsoever. He stands. “But unfortunately—”

Takeshi pulls him back down on his seat with what he’s sure must be a bruising grip on his arm. “No way, already?” he asks, cheerful, like he’s not holding him hostage at the mercy of his whims. Not that Tsuna feels sorry for him one bit. Serves him right. “Stay a little more. There’s only one other person you still have to meet, and he’s just running a little late.”

“Is he?” Tsuna can’t help but blurt out, a little edge in his voice.

Who is?

Takeshi knows a lot of people, and even if only a couple of minutes ago he’d have been sure he wouldn’t choose someone Tsuna isn’t decently familiar with, here he still is, sitting next to Mukuro.

And, okay, to be fair with him, he is familiar with Mukuro. But they aren’t exactly best friends, and most importantly, Hibari and Mukuro sure as hell aren’t best friends, more like sworn enemies.

“Yep,” Takeshi says easily, cheerfully, leaning forwards to better catch his eye, like he doesn’t know Tsuna won’t trust a word out of him for the next month or so at the very least. “He said he’ll be here soon.”

Did you even explain to him the situation properly? At all? He asks through his eyes.

When would he have done that though?

No, that’s a silly question. This is Takeshi he’s talking about. He probably texted him right there next to Matsuda, and maybe even straight-up called him.

Don’t worry, Takeshi says through his smile, and Tsuna worries even more.

“Kyoya, amore mio,” Mukuro says lovingly, and Tsuna’s soul leaves his body all at once right then and there, he swears it does. He holds his breath. “You’re going to scare our new friend away like that. It hurts me too when you’re angry with me like that, don’t you know, cuore mio? Anima mia, vita mia?”

“Please, stop,” Tsuna breathes out over Hayato snickering, mounting horror and terror churning in his guts, not averting his eyes from Hibari. He can’t afford to miss the moment when he’ll have to take cover.

“Won’t you even answer me, tesoro?” Mukuro continues, a sad tone to his voice. “Tesorino? Orsetto, zucherro? Cucciolo?”

Oh God.

Hibari swiftly stands, his chair clattering on the floor, while Hayato and Takeshi burst out laughing, and he hates them both for it in that moment.

“Kyoya, wait!” Tsuna shouts, hurriedly standing up too.

Wait, no, what is he doing? This is all Takeshi’s fault, he’s the one who should be standing to try to avoid collateral damage at the very least!

Hibari doesn’t wait, stalking along the table to Mukuro, and with the way his eyes are intent on him, promising death, he might not be able to hear him at all.

“Kyoya, please?” Oh God, fuck, fuck, fuck, would he just stop walking for a second— “Kyoya, baby?”

Both Hayato and Takeshi choke—serves them right—while Chrome gasps, and Mukuro’s laugh is of course unmistakable and unapologetic.

Most importantly, and the only thing Tsuna cares about right now, Hibari stops, just about to walk past Hayato.

But then he turns his murderous gaze on him, and now what?

Fuck, why does he even keep running his mouth so easily with him anyway? Baby, really?

Wait.

Wait wait wait—oh shit, shit, shit, fuck—

Is he…?

Nope, not thinking about it, not right now, not ever.

“Will you bring us some drinks now you’re already standing?” he hears himself says gently, somehow holding it together. “To me especially, I actually didn’t get to get one while we were there. And maybe some cake? Mukuro’s making jealous with his.”

Hibari slowly crosses his arms on his chest, and then just watches him, not saying anything, while his murderous look doesn’t go anywhere either, unfortunately. Eventually he glances at Mukuro, and Tsuna immediately glances down at him too.

Mukuro catches his eye, and whatever face Tsuna’s making, it seems to make him think better than adding oil to an already blazing fire. Good.

Tsuna looks back at Hibari, only to find him already looking at him. To his relief he looks the tiniest bit less murderous, a ghost of a smile even at the corner of his lips.

He walks away without saying a word, though not before throwing Mukuro another scathing look.

Tsuna’s legs almost give out on him. Apparently shutting up Mukuro earned him points. Well, thank fucking God for that.

Hibari probably doesn’t plan to come back at all, let alone with drinks and cake, but that’s fine. It’d be better he doesn’t come back, really. Tsuna really can’t deal with both Hibari and Mukuro at the same time, and close enough to each other to be able to jump at each other’s throat at a moment notice.

“You should just have told me you wanted some cake too, Tsunayoshi.” Mukuro wraps his arm around his waist, pulling him back down on his seat, but then keeps his arm there. He scoots closer to him, too close even if it can’t be comfortable for him, and slides his cake closer to him. Tsuna makes for sliding it the rest of the way in front of him, smiling gratefully despite the everything of the situation, but then Mukuro scoops up another bite of it again with his spoon. He holds it in front of his mouth. “Here you go. Say ‘ah’?”

Someone chokes again, probably Hayato. Tsuna would too if he wasn’t so dumbstruck.

Mukuro can’t be serious about this.

But he is, he sees it clearly in his eyes, and in the innocent smile on his lips like there’s ever been anything innocent about him.

He opens his mouth to tell him they aren’t about to do that, but Mukuro takes the opportunity to shove the spoon in his mouth before he can get any word out.

His face instantly heats up, but unfortunately the floor doesn’t open to swallow him whole and spare him from his mortifying embarrassment. He chews and swallows the cake with nothing else to do, not tasting any of it.

“Good?” Mukuro asks, before putting the spoon in his mouth, eating the rest of the cake on it. He hums contentedly. “Delicious, right?” Tsuna wants to die. That’s it, just that. Someone just kills him right now, he’s begging. “Oh my, what do we have here?” Mukuro wipes the corner of his lips with his thumb, then licks it clean, all the while looking him dead in the eye.

Tsuna leans his elbows on the table, hiding his face in his hands. “Please, stop.”

Mukuro laughs.

“You—” Hayato starts.

“Mukuro,” Chrome says over him, sounding disapproving. “Please, stop embarrassing him like that.”

“What are you talking about, Chrome? Dear Tsunayoshi here wanted cake, and I simply gave him some.”

“You know. Please, just give him back his space.”

“Ah, come now. Like you weren’t enjoying the cute sight he made.”

Tsuna wants to disappear from the face of the earth forever.

“Stop talking nonsense,” Chrome says, sounding just a little more worked-up than before. “You’re making him uncomfortable. Sit in your chair properly.”

“Says who? And were your cheeks always that interesting pink color, Chrome dear?”

Tsuna jumps at a sharp, loud noise, shooting upright to find Chrome standing, one hand against the table. She does look like she’s blushing, and not just because of the natural tint of her cheeks, but Tsuna isn’t about to say any of that out loud, not with that look in her eye and that smile on her lips.

“This is my song,” she says, almost unblinking, and how Mukuro finds the gall to laugh, he doesn’t know. “And you know this is natural.”

“Me too,” Tsuna blurts out, hurriedly standing once more. “Mine too, I mean. I—I mean, I like this song too, and, um…” he trails off for an awkward beat before offering his hand to Chrome. “Will you give me this dance?”

Chrome blinks, surprised, but easily puts her hand in his, her smile turning into a genuine one. “Anything that hasn’t to do with Mukuro right now.”

Tsuna gives her a wide grin. Her and him both.

“You’re doing unspeakable things to my feelings right now, Chrome dear,” Mukuro says, not even pretending to sound sad, and Takeshi laughs while Hayato snorts.

Chrome and him walk to the dance-floor hand in hand without looking back.

“Hey, about…” he starts uncertainly.

“Let’s not mention it.”

“Agreed,” he says right away, his shoulders sagging, and they share a smile.

Tsuna, of course, only remembers he can’t dance once they stop in front of each other among the other dancers. He winces. “I’ll very likely walk all over your feet, I’m so sorry in advance.” They glance down at her feet at the same time, and though she wears a pair of pretty, black sandals, they’ll unfortunately do little to protect her feet from accidents. He winces again. “Oh God.”

She laughs. “You’ll be fine. This is a slow song, and we can just go even slower.” She steps forwards in his space, putting her hand on his shoulder, and following her cue, he puts his hand on her waist, both of them raising their already linked hands at their side. “Ready?”

He smiles, nodding. “Yeah.” A beat passes. “Oh, right!” he blurts out, remembering he’s the one supposed to be leading, and they laugh. “Sorry. Here we go.”

They start moving at the rhythm of the song along the other dancers, though slower than them, gently moving back and forth and around their little corner of the dance-floor. They probably move even slower than she planned, but she doesn’t rush him, letting him find his footing.

“So,” she says pointedly, and he pouts.

“I thought we agreed not to talk about it?”

She smiles. “I’m just a little worried. For you to end up in a situation like this… That Matsuda guy didn’t cross the line too far, did he?”

“Oh, no, it’s fine, I’m fine. I wouldn’t have let him anyway. I know I may look like that, but—”

“I know,” she cuts him off gently. “But that’s a relief to hear.”

Tsuna can’t help but preen, just a little. Right. Close friends who know him and all that. How lucky he is, truly.

“Sorry to have involved you in this, by the way. Mukuro and you both.”

“Did you? It looks to me like something Takeshi-kun would do.”

He laughs. “Oh yeah, for sure, that’s totally on him. But also I’m the one who asked for his help, so.”

“I’m happy to help,” she reassures him. “Mukuro even more. We’d actually already noticed you when you were just with Kyoya,” she says, mirth in her eyes.

They pull away from each other, holding onto each other’s hands, before Tsuna pulls her close to him again, spinning her on herself once after he did so. He makes a face at her. “Yeah, yeah, everyone did, I get it.”

She’s merciful enough to hold back her laughter. “Mukuro was actually thrilled when we noticed you coming to us.”

“Oh, I’m sure he was,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Glad some of us are having fun with this tonight, I guess.” Chrome suddenly spins him on himself, standing on her tip-toes, and he splutters. “Chrome-chan!”

She laughs this time. “Because you were making a face like that, Tsuna-kun. Come on, cheer up, at least while we’re dancing together. You’re the one who asked me for this dance, you know.”

“Of—of course. But you didn’t have to…” And of course, because he just had to say that, she spins him on himself again.

He keeps his mouth firmly shut this time, though he thinks he might just pass out with all the blood rushing to his face, but eventually lets her laughter spur his own.

He forgets all about Matsuda and his fake partners after that like she said, enjoying the dance and her company. They might be killing each other back at the table where they left them for all he knows, whether Hibari came back or not, but especially if he did, but he isn’t going to check.

He’s having fun for the first time since showing up at this godforsaken party, and he couldn’t care less about it at the moment.

They finish the dance with one last spin—Chrome’s, not his—, then step back from each other, smiling.

“How’s your feet?” he asks.

“Safe and sound. Not so bad a dancer, are you, Tsuna-kun?”

This time Tsuna lets himself fully glow under the praise, grinning.

“Sawada!” someone calls out very loudly just as they’re about to walk back to their table.

They turn to Ryohei and Kyoko making their way to them, cutting right through the dance-floor without a care.

Kyoko runs the couple of feet left, her arms open in invitation. “Chrome-chan!” She jumps in her arms, pulling her in a hug. “Hi, you look beautiful.”

“Thank you, you too, Kyoko-chan,” Chrome says, hugging her back. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just some car troubles.” They pull away, and she turns to him, reaching out with her hand. “Tsuna-kun, hi.”

“Hi,” he says, taking her hand, and she immediately squeezes his.

“You okay?” she asks, looking around like she’s looking for someone, a worried frown between her brows.

He frowns in turn. “Yes?”

“Sawada, extremely good evening!”

Tsuna has barely the time to turn to him that Ryohei swallows him into a hug. He laughs, hugging back. “Good evening to you too, Ryohei. I heard you had car troubles. Glad you could make it.”

“Of course! A man extremely always has his friends’ back.”

Okay?

Tsuna loosens his hold, ready to let go, but Ryohei unexpectedly keeps holding on. He actually holds him tighter, closer, his hand sliding into his hair, and then keeps holding him into what is decidedly more than just a friendly hug.

Tsuna swallows thickly, wrapping his arms around Ryohei’s back again. Right. Guess Ryohei is the last person Takeshi was talking about.

Tsuna actually meets his eyes when they finally pull away from each other, but only because it’s marginally less worse than looking at Kyoko’s and Chrome’s amused look. Which he knows, because he glanced at them for a second before immediately looking away.

Ryohei puts his hands on his shoulders, beaming at him, almost blinding, but there’s a serious tone to his voice. “Sawada, I think at times like this you should be decisive and to the point to make them understand. What do you say?”

“Agreed?” he says, and it makes Kyoko gasps, for some reason.

Ryohei laughs, then shakes him approvingly. “I knew you extremely would!” He cups his cheeks, his hands soft and warm against his skin, and leans in.

Tsuna, stupidly, thinks he’s going to whisper something to him, or something.

He kisses him.

On the lips.

Everything goes quiet, everything disappears, and there’s only the feel of Ryohei’s lips against his left, rough against his, yet soft and gentle in the way he doesn’t rush him, doesn’t pressure him for any more than the chaste kiss he’s giving him. They’re undoubtedly there against his lips all the same, a pleasant coolness to them when he’d have thought they’d be just as warm as the rest of him, but it’s made up by the warmth of his hands, like the sun is holding him.

Tsuna almost, almost leans in for more when Ryohei pulls away. He pulls his hands away too, and he almost stumbles like they were the only things holding him up. He opens his eyes, not remembering when he closed them, but the world’s still quiet, only white noise at the back of his mind, and has still to reappear in a way as he doesn’t register a single thing of it.

He raises his hand to his mouth, and idly brushes his fingertips across his lips. They’re tingling. It’s a nice feeling.

A flash at the corner of his eyes pulls him out of his daze.

He looks in its direction, only to find Reborn holding a camera in front of him, grinning at him with all his teeth out.

Tsuna hides his face in his hands, just barely holding onto a scream.

This is going to be a long night.

- they don't fake a big, dramatic, public breakup after this, for some reason that escapes tsuna. not that he does anything to make it happen.

- tsuna kisses a lot of his other friends after that in a relatively short time. not that he's complaining.

- at some point they go from a fake to a real relationship, and tsuna can't say how or when it happened for the life of him. but still not complaining.

Okay, this is pure crack, but I'm lowkey in love with the dynamics here. Also sassy!Tsuna is super fun to write lol, I should write him more often.

This one ended up being more of a fake dating AU, but I hope you still enjoyed it. Thank you for reading!

[Plain text:

“- they don't fake a big, dramatic, public breakup after this, for some reason that escapes tsuna. not that (italic) he (end italic) does anything to make it happen.

- tsuna kisses a lot of his other friends after that in a relatively short time. not that he's complaining.

- at some point they go from a fake to a real relationship, and tsuna can't say how or when it happened for the life of him. but still not complaining.

Okay, this is pure crack, but I'm lowkey in love with the dynamics here. Also sassy!Tsuna is super fun to write lol, I should write him more often.

This one ended up being more of a fake dating AU, but I hope you still enjoyed it. Thank you for reading!” in bold. /End PT]

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aziraphales-library · 3 years

Note

I’m really not sure how to word this, but can you list me some fics with like... a gimmick? Or a trope? As the basis of the plot? That’s not the best way to word it because it doesn’t have to be gimmickey or tropey, but just... You know, a plot that’s interesting... that starts out with a situation... unusual circumstances?? Am I making any sense? Like I’ve read the stuff that’s easily tagged like spells, fake relationship, soul mates, ect, but just fun, different stuff like that?? Sorry...

First of all, I want to apologise for the super later reply to this ask. I found it sitting unanswered in our drafts. To make up for it, here is an extra long list of gimmicky, tropey fics that i absolutely love!...

i've found a way (a way to make you smile) by curtaincall (T)

Crowley worked in Sales. He had never intended to work in Sales. It had just sort of happened. One moment, there he’d been, a newly minted university graduate off to change the world, exquisitely useless Philosophy degree in hand, and now here he was, having sauntered vaguely downwards into a Hell that consisted mainly of cold-calling new customers and sucking up to existing ones. AU based on The Office.

A (not quite) tinder date by NohaIjiachi (M)

“Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry—“ A man said, breathless, plopping himself down in the chair. He sounded like he ran a marathon. “Got held up at work— I couldn’t even check my phone! I’m so terribly sorry!”

Aziraphale would’ve beamed, at that. He would’ve immediately declared that it was no problem, these things happened, so no worries at all— Except the guy currently catching his breath in the chair in front of him was definitely not his missing date. That was unless he’d decided to shave his beard, make his hair grow magically, and dye it red.

“I—“ Aziraphale croaked, confused. The man tipped his chin down, glancing at Aziraphale above the rim of his darkened glasses with a surprising set of honey-coloured eyes, and winked at him. Aziraphale closed his mouth. “I— It’s quite alright. I’m glad you, huh— Could make it—“

Win a Date With Anthony J. Crowley! by Caedmon (E)

Crowley is a world-famous rock star who sells out arenas. His name is synonymous with 'rock-n-roll', and he thrives on the spotlight. When he agrees to raffle off a date with himself for charity, he's expecting to meet an overzealous fan that wants to wear his skin and very well might try to roofie him. What he's not expecting is to be instantly attracted to the quiet man with the unusual name who shows up for the date at the Ritz... and he's certainly not expecting for Aziraphale to have no clue who he is...

You’ve Got Kudos by curtaincall (M)

Aziraphale and Crowley both write fanfiction. As it happens, they both write Good Omens fanfiction.

Of course, neither of them would ever admit this to the other.

(A love story told primarily in AO3 comments)

The Best Laid Plans by hope_in_the_dark (T)

Ezra Fell has sworn off romance forever and is perfectly content with his books and his tea and his ugly wardrobe. At least, he is until a handsome stranger hits him with a car.

it’s a new craze by attheborder (T)

CROWLEY: I try not to make a habit of gratitude, but I must give our appreciation to everyone out there who’s been listening and subscribing to The Ineffable Plan. AZIRAPHALE: Ooh, yes, we’ve become quite popular, haven’t we? CROWLEY: Yeah, just hit number eight on the advice charts … No advertising at all. AZIRAPHALE: Mm. How … miraculous. CROWLEY: … Aziraphale. You did not.

***

Crowley and Aziraphale are very possibly the people least qualified, on the entire planet, to start up an advice podcast.

But what else is there to do when the world isn’t ending anytime soon, you’re technically on indefinite sabbatical from your lifelong careers, and you need a plausible excuse to spend more time with your best friend who you’re definitely not, absolutely not, maybe just a little, actually maybe overwhelmingly in love with?

happiness, more or less by TheKnittingJedi (M)

Renting a flat is all fun and games until you fall in love with the ghost haunting it.

An adaptation of the 2005 romcom Just Like Heaven.

on the same page by Chekhov (E)

Aziraphale Z. Fell is a rising star of the spiritual literary genre - the next Eat Pray Love guy - and his version of Chicken Soup For the Christian Soul is flying off the shelves. It's not that he's not grateful, but it's one thing to enjoy a career in writing and another completely to be pigeonholed into a specific genre, so much so that you are almost forbidden from writing anything else. So yes, maybe he has a bit of a secret. An outlet for his less... appropriate urges. And yes, if his typical readership got word of the sort of paragraphs he could put out on a particularly inspired night, they might suffer some form of heart attack typical for their age. But all of that is well hidden, and there is absolutely no way anyone would ever find out about his Arrangement with A.J. Crowley - the most debaucherous romantic fiction author of the decade. That is... until they have to pretend to be married to each other.

The Whole Damn World Seemed Upside Down by WyvernQuill (M)

"I just wish things were different," Crowley says... and the universe happily obliges.

Stuck - perhaps forever - in a reality in which Shadwell is the first Wiccan MP, Pepper's only aspiration in life is to be a dutiful wife to someone, and his beloved Bentley is a rusty VW bus, Crowley is slowly learning that "different" doesn't necessarily mean better...

But how long can he bear to live* in a world where Aziraphale hates him?

*Not that he has any other option. The Death of this world can't see blood...

The Annual Tadfield Cheese-Rolling Festival by summerofspock (T)

Disgruntled newscaster Anthony Crowley is forced to cover the annual Tadfield Cheese Rolling Festival...again. Only this year he's accompanied by a new producer who he can't seem to get his mind off of even though he's swiftly realizing he has far bigger problems. Namely, the fact that the Tadfield Cheese Rolling Festival refuses to end.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #tropes #fun #mod d

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theres-a-goldensky · 3 years

Text

30 More The Untamed Fic Recs

Here we go again. Another Wangxian rec list. Are you bored of me yet?

Were these recs helpful to you? If so, you can check out my other Wangxian rec posts:

Part 1 - 40 recs

Part 2 - 23 recs

Part 3 - 23 recs

As ever, feel free to reblog.

You can also head over to my bookmarks on AO3.

(All recs are complete) (I’ve noted pairings, length, and rating, but not any warnings or additional tags.)

** denotes personal favorite

1. say it's here where our pieces fall in place by Lirelyn - ~69,000 words, explicit - Modern AU where Lan Zhan meets Wei Wuxian after he adopts a small A-Yuan, because Wei Wuxian also has a past with him. Lots of adorable family feelings and emotional hurt/comfort.

As often happened, Wei Ying’s voice preceded his entrance, calling to his co-worker through the open door, “Frankie, they forgot to order spoons again, can you hold down the fort a little longer while I —”

Lan Wangji was already looking to his entrance, head turning as if magnetized toward the voice, so he saw the moment when Wei Ying’s eyes landed on A-Yuan and the smile fell from his face. He looked stricken, and Lan Wangji immediately looked to his son in alarm. A-Yuan seemed fine. His small eyebrows were pulled together in a small frown as he looked back at Wei Ying, but that wasn’t surprising, given the expression on Wei Ying’s face. Lan Wangji had seen that face beaming, laughing, whining, wheedling, and occasionally angry, but never like this. He looked blank and hollow and it stirred something fierce in Lan Wangji: he wanted to rise up and obliterate whatever was making him look like that. Then his eyes lifted to Lan Wangji and there was a flash of something almost like betrayal, before he pressed his lips together and turned his back.

“I’m going to run out to the store and get spoons,” he said in a flat voice to his co-worker, and left without looking their way again.

2. the breaking of your soul (upon my lips) by sunsandships - ~41,000 words, mature - This is an AU of the novel where Wei Wuxian puts two and two together when Lan Zhan sneaks that kiss from him. It changes a lot of things.

Against his own will, Wei Wuxian found himself glancing at Lan Wangji’s hands. They were… certainly large enough that one of them could wrap around both of his wrists. And Lan Wangji was certainly strong enough, tall enough, broad-shouldered enough to bodily pin him against the trunk of a tree with no chance of him breaking free. Lan Wangji was the first person he’d come across in his slow comb through the vicinity of where he’d been so headily kissed.

Wei Wuxian drew a sharp breath. There was a connection to be made here. He didn’t think he was crazy enough to make it. Perhaps he truly was going slightly insane with demonic cultivation if he could believe Lan Wangji, the paragon of virtue and respectability, who lived unflinchingly under Gusu Lan’s three thousand edicts, who had at best only tolerated his presence as children, would sneak up to him while he was blindfolded, pin him against a tree, and steal a kiss from him in broad daylight.

3. and his wanting grows teeth by yukla - ~25,000 words, teen - This is a very interesting AU where Lan Zhan is a traveling cultivator and runs into Wei Wuxian and the Jiangs looking for shelter during a snowstorm. No spoilers, but this fic goes to a pretty dark place that genuinely shocked me, but I enjoyed. (Still ends well though.)

Without further ado, they are hustled past the entrance and into a smaller greeting area. Huang-bobo approaches the brazier in the center with his hands outstretched, warming his fingers in the heat, but Lan Wangji hangs back. As he carefully brushes the snow free from his shoulders, he feels the burn of a curious gaze trailing up and down his body, lingering at the guqin still strapped to his back; when the sensation pauses at his face and stays there, he lifts his head.

The boy with the ribbon lights up at the eye contact, flashes another dazzling smile, and gives a little wave.

“You must be new here,” he whispers, something like laughter threaded into his voice, eyes scrunching into winking half-moons. “All dressed up in white like that! You might lose yourself in the snowstorm!”

Something stirs to life in Lan Wangji’s chest. It’s—uncomfortable, he decides, and so he steps away. Teasing should not be encouraged with a response.

4. Ghosts Shouldn't by ShanaStoryteller - ~15,000 words, not rated - After Wei Ying's death, his spirit seems to linger. The story is told from Lan Xichen's point of view. I love an outsider point of view. I also love the way the author fleshes out his character as well.

Lan Xichen means to force his way inside, angry ghost of the Yiling Patriarch or no, but then his brother lets out slow breath, settling, the pain easing from his face as he falls back into a more peaceful sleep.

His hair is moving on its own, so subtly Lan Xichen might not have noticed it if he hadn’t been looking at Wangji so intently. It’s like someone’s running their hand through his hair.

The window frosts over suddenly, thick enough that he can’t see through it. Anxiety spikes through him so quickly he’s nauseous with it, but then the frost melts away and the opening notes of Healing start up again.

He can’t tell if it’s a warning or not. Maybe it’s just an acknowledgement. Wei Wuxian knows he’s there.

5. **leading tone by silencemostofall - ~32,000 words, general - This is a modern AU set in a world where people who love you leave a mark of color on you the first time you touch. Wei Wuxian has no color on him. So much emotional hurt/comfort. So much of Wei Wuxian's terrible self-esteem.

He can cover up his palms with his gloves, so that the blankness does not draw stares. But he has no marks on his fingertips, which he cannot easily hide, and none visible on his face or neck, the blankness of which is even more difficult to hide. People look at him and, with a single glance, understand the single most devastating truth that he knows about himself.

They assume that he does not have very many marks. He may be an eccentric, dramatic person, but the likelihood that an individual has all of their marks on, say, their feet or their torso or other places that are not immediately obvious-- that probability goes down as your number of marks increases. He can laugh as much as he wants about how he loves touching people for the first time with odd places, like the knee or the elbow, but it doesn't quite mask the feeling of other that he knows he exudes.

They assume that he does not have a lot of marks. This, while a heavy weight, is not unbearably so. It is okay that they think he is not much loved. It chafes a bit, and feels occasionally like something he has to furiously push down within himself, but it is not unbearable. What would be unbearable is if they knew the truth: that he does not just have very few marks, but none. That he is simply an individual who is not loved at all.

6. **pastel by antebunny - ~7,000 words, gen - This is a remix work of the above fic. It's from Lan Zhan's point of view and just different enough to be interesting. Still lots of emotional hurt/comfort. I love this concept a whole lot, and both of these fics are great.

It’s a simmering day in May, and Wei Ying is wearing long sleeves, long pants, and gloves.

His choice of dress isn’t unusual for many reasons. For one, there’s plenty of people who don’t like strangers seeing their soulmarks. There’s plenty of people who wish to keep them private by covering them up. For another, Wei Ying spends most of his day in various chilly computer science department rooms, He could just be wearing long sleeves for that.

7. one good thing by Yuu_chi - ~27,000 words, teen - Wei Wuxian has died (or did he??) and is haunting his old home. Lan Zhan moves in. This story has a happy ending! And so much yearning!

To the flowers struggling to grow on the other side of the glass, he says, “We’re getting a new roommate. Well, I’m getting a new roommate - you’re getting somebody who might actually be able to water you for a change.” The flowers outside sway a little in the breeze, and Wei Wuxian nods contemplatively. “He can’t be any worse than the last guy who lived here. Remember when I spooked him while he was cooking and he nearly burnt the house down? Of course you don’t. You’re fucking foliage, your memory is worse than mine. I remember though, so it’s cool.”

There’s the sound of shuffling behind him and Wei Wuxian looks up to see the stranger has entered the kitchen, setting the last of the boxes down on the table. Disgustingly neat handwriting declares the box kitchen - homeware. The stranger carefully brushes his hair back from his face and, without so much as a second of hesitation, cracks open the box and begins unpacking.

“Wow, you really don’t waste any time, do you?” Wei Wuxian marvels. “You literally just got here - who cares about unpacking? Sit down for a moment, breathe, have something to eat. It’s not going anywhere.”

8. with you, I am home by tellthemstories - ~47,000 words, mature - Modern AU where Wei Wuxian is being forced to return home to entertain marriage proposals. So naturally instead he "convinces" Lan Zhan to pretend to date him. I love a good fake dating fic, and this one hits all the right beats.

Lan Zhan does that almost-smile thing that Wei Wuxian takes to mean he’s happy, or at the very least not-mad. “You don’t have any money.”

“Not true. I have the money from our last job, when we settled the vengeful spirit for the flower shop girl.” (He doesn’t. They have Lan Zhan’s money. Wei Wuxian spent his on a pack of loquats and three bottles of Emperor’s Smile wine.)

“Fine,” Wei Wuxian says. “Do it for me.”

Thinking back on it two weeks later, standing alone in the middle of Jin Ling’s graduation banquet and watching Lan Zhan walk away from him, Wei Wuxian realises that this, this was the moment when he should have known. He should have realised in the way Lan Zhan doesn’t hesitate or negotiate and just says with that half-fond, half-exasperated tone he gets sometimes, “Fine.”

9. and in the spring i shed my skin by wvlfqveen - ~11,000 words, teen - Modern AU where Wei Ying can't find Lan Zhan, but hey, there happens to be a rabbit here instead. Features a very slow Wei Ying, emotional hurt/comfort and accidental love confessions.

Immediately, his heart settles and he grins down at his new friend. “Oh, hello there,” he coos, reaching out to pet the fluffy ears. The bunny is very, very still under his hand.

“Did Lan Zhan bring you today?,” he continues cooing. “I’m sorry I missed that, but your Dad didn’t tell me he was bringing you.”

Lan Zhan rarely brings his rabbits to work since they are as tolerant of crowds and unnecessary noise as he is. They were probably relevant to today’s lesson but…

Wei Ying frowns. “Why would he leave you alone? And where is your cage?”

10. how, or when, or from where by sarahyyy - ~10,000 words, gen - Wei Ying wakes up in the hospital with amnesia and can't remember the last few years of his life, including his best friend and the guy he's in love with.

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes so hard Wei Wuxian is surprised his eyeballs don’t just fall out of his eye sockets. “That’s the worst part. He did. Whatever mating ritual you both have going on is so fucking weird, Wei Wuxian.” He snorts. “If you’d stayed asleep for any longer, I’d have lost my shit and thrown my myself out a window just so I wouldn’t have to talk to Lan Wangji again.”

Wei Wuxian blinks at him. “Is this a good time to ask who Lan Wangji is?”

Jiang Cheng glares at him. “Your Lan Zhan,” he says, annoyed. Wei Wuxian must look as confused as he feels, because Jiang Cheng’s annoyance bleeds out into concern. “Your Lan er-gege? Your soulmate, Lan Wangji?”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “No bells are ringing.”

11. ** a shared plate by yukla - ~26,000 words, teen - This is an absolutely gorgeous fic about Wei Wuxian traveling the world post-canon to rediscover himself and restore his faith in humanity and eventually find his way back to Lan Zhan. The whole thing is great, but the last two chapters are just *chef's kiss*

Lan Zhan,

Just as the mountains stand unchanging and the green rivers flow ceaselessly, we will meet again — and between then and now, you cannot hope to avoid my letters, either! Haha! Lan Zhan, I’ve seen so many things and met so many people, and it’s only been a month!

I miss you already

It’s so hot that I find myself missing the wind in Gusu’s mountains. Your poor Wei Ying is I’m melting away, Lan Zhan...

I’m realizing now, sixteen years is a long time to be away — the world is vast, and quite a bit different than I remembered. And in sixteen years, a child can also grow up into a man! It’s your job to catch me up on A-Yuan’s fun childhood stories! I do remember hearing something about a pile of rabbits...

12. with your arms outstretched to me by annemari - ~14,000 words, teen - Lan Zhan finally gets up the nerve to ask Wei Ying on a date, but things don't go as expected. Features emotional hurt/comfort (are we sensing a theme with these recs??) and just regular hurt/comfort.

"Oh, man, I was hoping you had some water with you," Wei Ying says. "I totally forgot to bring any for myself. Stupid of me."

"There is enough for both of us," Lan Wangji says. He has another bigger bottle in the car, as well.

Wei Ying hums but he only takes a few sips. He presses it back into Lan Wangji's hand. "I don't need any more."

Lan Wangji is considering arguing, but then Wei Ying shifts a bit, moving his ankle, and gasps very, very quietly.

13. ** A Lot of Edges Called Perhaps by hansbekhart - ~22,000 words, explicit - Wei Wuxian has finished traveling and returned to the Cloud Recesses and Lan Zhan. But their lives never do run smoothly.

“Lan Jingyi,” Wei Wuxian says, recognizing him after a moment. His heart slams against his rib cage. “Where is Lan Zhan? What’s happened?”

Lan Jingyi flaps a hand at him, gulping air. Wei Wuxian hands him the water, and leans back against Little Apple’s side as he waits impatiently for the boy to get his breath back.

“I’m so glad I found you,” Jingyi gasps, just as Wei Wuxian is about to throttle a proper answer out of him. “Hanguang Jun was in such a state when he woke up, we didn’t know if you’d come and gone already.”

“Where is he, Jingyi,” Wei Wuxian says, as evenly as he can. “What happened?”

14. So Why Not Crack Your Skull When the Mind Swells by greenteafiend - ~14,000 words, explicit - Wei Wuxian is cursed to feel extraordinary pain unless he's touching Lan Zhan. Yet more of Wei Wuxian's self-esteem issues and Lan Zhan's steadfast devotion.

“Are you hurt, Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji asks, pressing his hand to Wei Ying’s forehead to feel his temperature. There is no fever, but that doesn’t do much to mitigate Lan Wangji’s worries.

“No—I’m not hurt,” says Wei Ying, sagging forward to lean his weight into Lan Wangji’s hand like he can’t help himself.

It’s so strange—Lan Wangji can feel what Wei Ying is feeling. Although the relief is still very profound, wisps of other things are making themselves known; happiness; wistfulness; guilt. It’s all so fleeting that Lan Wangji can’t even begin to deduce what has provoked those feelings, but he wishes he knew their source.

15. puzzle pieces by Anonymous - ~6,000 words, teen - Modern AU where Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are roommates, and Wei Ying has started borrowing Lan Zhan's clothes.

“Hm? Oh.” With sleepy eyes that does— things to Lan Zhan’s heart, he blinks and tugs at the lower hem of the shirt, which is riding just above the curve of his thighs. Does Lan Zhan’s mouth water? Maybe. Yes. Absolutely. “Ah, yeah, sorry. Laundry day caught up to me before I could catch up with it. I saw this shirt left in the washer a few days ago, and—“ He blinks up at Lan Zhan through dark eyelashes that Lan Zhan wants to kiss, maybe, and gives him an uncharacteristically hesitant smile. “Do you mind?”

I mind the fact that we are not married, Lan Zhan thinks. But he can’t say that, and his tongue doesn’t know how to say anything else. So he stays silent.

“Oh,” Wei Ying says after a moment. “If you—oh, damn, I should’ve known, this is like real silk, must’ve been super expensive. Fuck. Okay, here, uh, I’ll take it off—“

16. ** Nothing But Trouble by brooklinegirl - ~60,000 words, explicit - Modern AU where Wei Ying is trying to be a good brother and get Jiang Cheng laid. Somehow this plan involves pretending to date Lan Zhan.

"I won't!" Wei Ying insists. "I'll ask out someone...high stakes. I'll find someone. I'll...okay, how's this? I swear that I'll ask someone out and keep at it for at least two dates."

"No."

"Three dates."

"Nope."

"Okay, okay, five. That's fair! That's more than fair! One person, five dates." He points at Jiang Cheng. "You have to do it, too. That's how a pact works."

Jiang Cheng stares at him. "Five dates," he says flatly. "Five. And yours can't be Nie Huaisang."

17. i'm the one for your fire by occultings (microcomets) - ~43,000 words, explicit - This is a Modern AU and a Cherry Magic AU! (Side note: GO WATCH CHERRY MAGIC IF YOU HAVEN'T.) But in short, Wei Ying turns 30 without losing his virginity and gets the power to hear people's thoughts when he touches them. He gets more than he bargained for with Lan Zhan. The author does a good job of translating the story to these characters. Wei Ying is not forced to be like Adachi, the main character of Cherry Magic. He's still himself, and the same goes for Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan’s voice is so clear, so sudden that it’s as though it’s spoken, the slice of a sharp object through velvet.

He’s touching me.

Wei Ying startles for a moment, wonders if he’d somehow heard his own thoughts instead, but — no, that had definitely been Lan Zhan’s steady, factual baritone, loud and clear.

God, this is still so weird. It still doesn’t seem totally real. But how else can he account for hearing Lan Zhan’s voice in his head, as clearly as if he’d spoken to Wei Ying directly?

18. like blue flame over my fingertips by tangerinechar - ~37,000 words, teen - Modern AU where Lan Zhan and Wei Ying are roommates, and Lan Zhan just finds himself wanting to take care of Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji’s roommate. Is a problem.

He doesn’t get an answer to the roommate problem until the next morning, when Lan Xichen texts him telling him that the apartment he’d suggested (and helped pay rent for) to Lan Wangji said in the small text that it’d be two people per apartment, the second bedroom wasn’t actually a guest bedroom, sorry, Wangji, you can move in with me if you want, I have space —

No. Thank you for your kind offer, Brother, but I will be quite fine, Lan Wangji texts back.

19. ** some impulse of delight by handclaps - ~20,000 words, explicit - College AU where Wei Ying decides he needs to help Lan Zhan get used to touching people. Lan Zhan agrees. Wei Ying is dumb and in love. Lan Zhan is less dumb, but still as in love.

Lan Zhan shakes his head and fumbles, tries to push the cotton wool into Wei Wuxian’s hand.

“Sorry,” Wei Wuxian says, realising. “Touching people, I know.”

He feels dumb. He thought he’d worn Lan Zhan down more than this, that they were friends now and that his whole no touching thing was mostly overcome. He took Wei Wuxian’s hand easily, right? He looks down at his belly full of scratches, dabbing at them moodily.

“Sorry,” he says, again.

Lan Zhan makes some kind of noise, but he is busy packing the first aid kit back, placing everything exactly where it was before.

“Lan Zhan, you’re going to have to do something about this,” Wei Wuxian complains. “I know you don’t like touching people and usually it plays as a kind of gentlemanly thing, but what about emergencies?”

20. And I Will Call You Home by Spodumene - ~43,000 words, explicit - Wei Wuxian returns after a year of traveling and rejoins Lan Zhan in the Cloud Recesses. He's doing a good job of pining and ignoring the obvious. Look, at this point, it shouldn't be a surprise that I'm a sucker for stories where Wei Wuxian deals with his ~*~issues~*~ and Lan Zhan takes care of him, whether he asks for it or not. This story has lots of that. I also enjoyed the case fic aspect of it.

“I do, I think,” Wei Wuxian admits. “Would be nice to see his face again after so long. And at least this time, I’m going to show up draped in finery. What do you think, Lan Zhan? I can’t possibly disgrace him—or you—wearing a cloak like that.”

“You could never disgrace me,” Lan Wangji says gently, that soft, affectionate look back on his face.

Wei Wuxian grins, warmed to the tips of his toes.

“I’ll remind you of that later. The next time I’m three jars deep and feeling especially shameless, you’ll have to remember those words, Lan Er-gege.”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji says simply.

Wei Wuxian smiles some more, overwhelmed by fondness.

21. darling, am i a chore? by martyrsdaughter - ~7,000 words, explicit - Wei Wuxian really, really wants Lan Zhan to call him 'gege'. Lan Zhan knows a trump card when he sees one.

“You know what I want,” Wei Wuxian purrs, reaching up on his tiptoes to throw his arms over Lan Wangji’s shoulders. “Call me gege, won’t you? Call me and I’ll stop.”

Lan Wangji knows he will not stop, regardless of what he calls him. Still, he thinks about it. If there really is a way to make Wei Wuxian stop, should he not consider it? He doesn’t have any real interest in curbing his husband’s insatiable mischievousness, but he does like knowing things about him—everything there is to know.

If there’s something that persuasive in the world, that it can bring Wei Wuxian into submission when no one is under threat, could he stop himself from seeking it?

22. your name, safe in their mouth by astrolesbian - ~11,000 words, gen - Wei Wuxian & Lan Sizhui fic with the Wangxian in the background. Lan Sizhui wants another dad and Wei Wuxian wants a son, they just don't know how to explain that to each other.

“Hush,” Wei Wuxian says, in a low croon, like someone quieting a baby. Then he blinks, and looks away, awkward. “I mean—you shouldn’t speak. You’re tired. Rest if you need to.”

Lan Sizhui tucks his chin into his uncle’s shoulder, and lets his eyes fall closed.

“It doesn’t hurt too much, does it?” Wen Ning whispers to him kindly.

Lan Sizhui takes a deep breath, and takes stock of all his aches, his ringing ear, his hollow chest, the way he had selfishly wanted Wei Wuxian to keep speaking to him in that careful voice, like he was just a child to be soothed and there was no real danger. How dangerous, to pretend. “No,” he lies. “It doesn’t hurt that much at all.”

23. when you're doing all the leaving (then it's never your love lost) by tardigradeschool - ~26,000 words, teen - AU where Lan Zhan with Wei Wuxian to Jin Ling's one-month celebration. Things go down, and it leads to Lan Zhan discovering Wei Wuxian's missing golden core. This obviously will not do, and oh look, the best doctor in the world just happens to be right here.

“How—“ Lan Wangji chokes. “His core —?” He looks at Wen Ning, half accusatory in his shock. “Jin Zixun could not have—“

“No, no!” Wen Ning says, holding out his hands. “He hasn’t had one for years, don’t worry!”

This is not as reassuring as Wen Ning seems to think.

“Please explain,” Lan Wangji says, pained. He feels for Wei Wuxian’s pulse instead; in the absence of a golden core, it will have to do as reassurance that he’s still alive.

Wen Ning is so anxious that the story comes out in a ramble, out of order. Lan Wangji wants him to hurry up, but he’s also not confident in his own ability to speak, so he just keeps quiet and lets him talk. His heart feels as if it’s about to fall from his chest, beating nearly twice as fast as Wei Wuxian’s does under his fingers.

24. A Match in the Making by lareine - ~30,000 words, teen - A Modern AU where Wei Wuxian sees his single and bad ass friend Lan Zhan and his single and bad ass friend Mianmian and gets some very dumb ideas.

To return to the point: Lan Zhan was peak adulting. Mianmian was peak adulting. And if they were both at the peak, then they were on the same level. What level? That mysterious level thing that everyone mentioned when it came to dating.

Whatever level it was, Lan Zhan and Mianmian were on it together. Wei Ying nodded to himself. So, Lan Zhan and Mianmian were allowed to date each other. The next question was: were they compatible? Did they have chemistry or whatever the fuck people called it?

25. Crack me open, pour you out by Tenillypo - ~16,000 words, explicit - Lan Zhan gets cursed to say whatever he's thinking. So his worst nightmare. Mutual pining, first time, all good stuff.

Lan Wangji freezes with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth, lifting his eyes to stare at Wei Ying.

"I know! Just completely paralyzed." Wei Ying mimes being still as a board. "I don't know how long I lay there. It must have been two days at least. Good thing for Little Apple. He wandered back to the village when he got hungry, and eventually a few of them got brave enough to come look for me. When they rolled me over, the figure fell out of my hand and I could move again. Cunning little thing." He shakes his head. "I was weak as a kitten for a little while after they took me back to the village, and by the time I recovered, they'd burned the whole place to the ground. Such a waste."

Lan Wangji slowly lowers his chopsticks, heart racing unpleasantly. In his head, a picture of Wei Ying slowly wasting to death alone in the middle of the woods, with Lan Wangji a hundred miles away and none the wiser.

26. Crazy, Rich Cultivators by ShanaStoryteller - 13,000 words, no rating - Lan Zhan wants to bring his boyfriend home to meet his family. There are some things he definitely didn't realize about Wei Ying.

“He has a life here,” he says down the line. He doesn’t say that he has a life here too, one he likes a lot more than the one he had before. He misses home. He’d miss Wei Ying more. But he doesn’t say that, doesn’t say how vibrant he is and how beautiful and how little interest Lan Zhan has at seeing him among the high society he grew up with.

“Well, your life is here, Wangji,” his brother says. “You can’t stay away from home forever. You’re going to have to see how he does with the rest of us sooner or later. It might as well be sooner.”

It might as well be never, as far as he’s concerned. His family can meet Wei Ying at their wedding.

“I’ll ask,” he says.

Wei Ying has no interest in cultivation politics. They’re horrible, the five clans have an iron tight alliance that’s thirty seconds away from collapsing in on itself the moment someone from one sect steps on another sect’s toes. It’s the worst and he hates it. Surely even just the idea of it will be so horrifying to Wei Ying that Lan Zhan will be able to tell his brother no.

27. just our hands clasped so tight by electrum ~4,000 words, teen - Lan Zhan really, really, really just wants to give Wei Ying everything he wants.

“Despite your best efforts,” Wei Wuxian agrees. He shakes his head in mock-dismay. “How much longer do you think that will last if you keep buying everything I look at?” When this, too, fails to soften Lan Zhan’s resolve, he tries a different tactic. “We couldn’t even afford potatoes,” he says. “Back when I was with the Wens, at the Burial Mounds. Only radishes! If I survived that, I can certainly survive without another pretty comb.”

Lan Zhan’s expression is at once unmoved and yet somehow stricken. “I would have bought Wei Ying potatoes,” he says, like Wei Wuxian doesn’t know, by this point, that Lan Zhan would buy him anything. “If I had known…”

28. ** Rotten Work by ShanaStoryteller - ~64,000 words, no rating - Jin Ling & Wei Wuxian with Wangxian in the background. Jin Ling is the best boy! And as he tries to rehabilitate his sect and his family and keep himself alive at the same time, he realizes, horrifyingly, that he has to be the mature one.

29. ** an act too often neglected by Ariaste - Lan Xichen / Meng Yao, ~61,000 words, explicit - The Wangxian is in the background here, but the main story is about Lan Xichen meeting Meng Yao on a dating app and getting immediately dickmatized. Meanwhile. Meng Yao refuses to be won over by Lan Xichen's charm. It goes as well as you'd expect for him.

The caption below is equally sparse: “5’6. Demanding.”

Lan Xichen feels a low simmer of arousal kindle in the pit of his stomach, and he gazes at that word-- demanding --for nearly as long as he’d stared at the photograph. He swipes right.

A few minutes later, a notification pops up: < Hm, the size of your hands is promising.

This is familiar. This is the flirtation stage. Lan Xichen knows the steps to the dance.

30. My Land Beneath Me by longleggedgit - ~30,000 words, explicit - Modern AU where Wei Wuxian is cast out of his sect and out of China to America. And Lan Zhan just...follows.

Lan Zhan always waited for his tea to cool before drinking, which meant he had nothing to do but give Wei Wuxian a judgmental look. “No more McDonald’s.”

“You’re just bitter because you get indigestion from anything that actually tastes good,” Wei Wuxian grumbled.

Because Lan Zhan was insufferably mature and patient, he didn’t rise to the bait. “We have time to stop somewhere before class,” he said.

“Fine. But you’re paying this time.”

It was a bad joke, and predictably, fell flat; Lan Zhan was, after all, paying for everything, every time. Wei Wuxian frowned into his mug.

“You know,” he said, after another swallow, “you really don’t have to be here. I’m going to figure something out.”

Interested in 86 more The Untamed fic recs?

Part 1 - 40 recs Part 2 - 23 recs Part 3 - 23 recs

#the untamed fic #the untamed #master of demonic cultivation #wangxian fic recs #wangxian fic #mdzs #lan xichen/jin guangyao #lan zhan #wei wuxian/lan wangji #wei wuxian #jin ling #lan sizhui #mxtx novels

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klaineccfanficlibrary · 2 years

Note

Could I have some fic recs similar to One More Night by Gleeful Poppet? Thank you!

There aren’t any other completed fics with this exact same premise (closeted!Blaine fake dating Rachel during high school). I’ve expanded my reply to include high school fics with a straight!Blaine. You should check out our Closeted!Blaine and Straight!Blaine tags. - HKVoyage

It Must Be Love by lovely_sparkle

It’s 1987, and Blaine just wants to fit in with the cool kids at school. So he wears trendy clothes even though they aren’t his style, saves his singing and dancing for his bedroom, and keeps his sexuality a secret by dating a popular cheerleader. But everything changes when teen sensation Kurt Hummel, lead singer of the latest New Wave craze Social Heap, enters his world. And little does Kurt know that his world is about to be turned upside-down, too.

~~~~~

Sideways by CrissColferL0ve

Blaine is the most popular kid at school, he’s also a bully. Kurt is the new kid and the victim of the football team, but bullying somebody doesn’t necessarily mean you won’t end up liking them, even if you try your best not to. Rated M for later.

Sequel: Anywhere but Here

~~~~~

Underneath and Unexplored by icedwhitemochas [PDF and EPUB]

Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson have each spent 17 years assuming they were straight. But when Blaine transfers to McKinley High, they both start to wonder if they just hadn’t met the right person yet. What do you do when you develop a crush on your new best friend? (You kiss him, of course.)

~~~~~

Across an Empty Land by AntarcticBird

Glee club is certainly not Kurt's idea of a good time, and having to sing a duet doesn't make it any more appealing. Blaine's firm insistence on school assignments being important doesn't really help either.

Note: You need to be logged into an AO3 account to access this fic.

~~~~~

One More Night by @gleefulpoppet

[AU] Based on the wildly popular fan-made video “One More Night” by Alison447. This story is finished and being posted all at one time!

High school is a caste system where kids fall into certain slots. Popular kids are up in the penthouse, which is where Rachel Berry reigns supreme. She’s got the hottest guy in school and everything she’s ever dreamed of right in front of her. The Invisibles are on the bottom floor. That is where you will find Kurt Hummel, daydreaming about his first kiss and trying to survive the torment each day brings at the hands of bullies and cowards. And then, there is Blaine Anderson. Is he everything he appears to be? Straight, in love with the most popular girl in school, and set to take the lead in the school play? Or is there more to him than anyone knows?

#klaine fic #klaine fanfic #klaine fanfiction #fic finder #anonymous #high school!Klaine #closeted!blaine #straight!blaine

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softprettything · 9 months

Text

late bloomer, ch 10

AO3 | Previous | Next

Fandom: OHSHC

Pairing: Kyoya/Reader

Tags: 18+, A/B/O Dynamics, College AU, Fake Dating, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slice of Life, Eventual Smut

Taglist: @silverhetdanes @lampalooza

late bloomer, ch 10

You wake up in your own bed, which is good.

You’re also surrounded by empty wine bottles and cups, which is…less good.

Doesn’t matter. You can clean those later. Right now, you let your eyes flutter back shut, planning to get whatever additional sleep you can before your alarm goes off. You smooth your cheek against the pillow, which seems almost to be rising and falling beneath you.

Oh, shit.

Not a pillow; a chest. A person. And all you have to do is let your gaze wander ever-so-slightly upwards to confirm that wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, that person is none other than Kyoya Ootori. He stirs. Slightly. He must have felt you move your head.

“Kyoya,” you whisper. He doesn’t respond. You try again. “ Kyoya.”

His arm tightens around your waist, and you feel his chin against the top of your head. Before you can even consider what you’re doing, your eyes close again; your leg curls over his hips, your face tipping up to rest against his neck.

The panic and embarrassment you should be feeling? Nowhere to be found. It’s buried beneath half a dozen layers of a deep, heavy calm, too powerful to fight. You let out an involuntary hum of contentment, pressing your hips more firmly into his, and—

He jerks awake.

The sudden movement shakes you out of your fog, and simultaneously the two of you leap to opposite ends of your creaky twin bed. He hits the wall; you fall off, You scramble ungracefully to your feet. “I didn’t—um.” You grab his glasses from your nightstand, and toss them at him. “I’m going to go brush my teeth.”

And with that, you bolt from the room.

“What did you do?” you whisper to your reflection.

In your early college days, when you went out more, you took a specific pleasure in going to the bathroom, mid-party, and looking at your face in the mirror. Examining it. That is me, you would think. That is me and I am drunk, wheeeee--

Now, you find yourself doing the same thing—regrettably sober.

You look down at your clothes. Pajamas. You do remember putting on your pajamas. You remember opening the door; opening the wine; passing out after Kyoya left for water. You don’t remember him coming back.

So you didn’t sleep together, then, you just…slept.

That calms you down a bit. You set about actually brushing your teeth, washing your face, combing your hair.

When you get out of the bathroom, you half expect him to be gone, but he’s still here. Leaning against the doorframe to your closet-sized-bedroom, holding two steaming mugs. He is also dressed in yesterday’s clothes, rumpled but still obviously expensive.

“Coffee?” he asks. You take the mug to be polite. “I called a car.”

“Oh. Good.” He sips his coffee. You put yours down on a little shelf built into the wall. “I’m sorry about…all of that.”

“All of what?”

“You know. We don’t have a proper guest room, or anything,” you improvise, trying to convey your intended meaning without flat out saying sorry for snuggling up to you in the middle of the night like some kind of drunk koala. “I mean, we don’t have a couch. Or, like, any floor space whatsoever. So I appreciate you being cool with sharing the bed.”

“I’m the one who showed up unannounced.”

“At Haruhi’s request. And besides, I invited you in,” you say, and how has this become an argument over whose responsibility it was that you woke up cuddling? “And then proceeded to foist alcohol upon you.”

“I think you foisted more alcohol upon yourself than on me,” he says, his voice wry.

That’s true—you drank more than him, and you’re a lightweight to begin with. Oddly enough, though, your head feels entirely fine. “I’ve had much worse nights out. Out and in.”

“I’d agree. This was one of my better nights in, as of late.” He checks his phone. “And it seems H and T are still occupying my apartment, so. As much as I regret imposing on you, I can’t say I’m not grateful.”

“Right.” You lean against the wall, and slide down until you’re sitting more comfortably on the floor. “What a shitshow.”

“You know, coffee might not fix a broken heart, but it’ll at least do something about the hangover.”

You shake your head. “I don’t drink it. Sorry. Not that I don’t appreciate it. It was nice of you.”

“A grad school student who doesn’t drink coffee? I didn’t have you pegged as that much of a masochist.”

“Guess you had me pegged wrong. But I do drink tea.”

“Noted.” His phone buzzes again. “Car’s here. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Tomorrow. Monday. In class. Right, it’s Sunday already. Christ, all the unfinished work you have to get done…

You nod, giving him a small smile. “See you tomorrow.”

“Thank you again for the hospitality, (Y/N). Especially the wine.”

“Wait!” You stand up, reach out a hand. Without having to be asked, he hands his phone over, still unlocked. You text yourself his name, then pass it back to him as the two of you walk to the front door. “There. Now you have my number. Feel free to shoot me a text if you ever get sexiled again.”

“Thank you.”

“Not going to return the offer?”

He shrugs. “I strongly doubt Tamaki would elect to stay here in the face of…” He peers back over your shoulder at the world’s tiniest living room. “Literally any other option.”

“Fuck off.” You can’t help but grin as you say it.

He smiles as the car pulls up. “Have a good afternoon, (Y/N).” And with that, he’s down the stairs, down the sidewalk, and gone.

Afternoon? You look at the time. Sure enough, it’s a quarter to one, which means… shit. Shit!

It takes you ten seconds to yank on shoes and a coat and take off running.

*************

“Sorry, sorry!” You get around the counter and scribble your name on the clock-in sheet just as the hour turns. At least the rain washed away the last of the snow and ice, which made your sprint slightly easier than it would have been otherwise. Kaoru regards you with amusement.

“Careful there, (Y/N),” he says, “You’re only exactly on time .”

“Ha, ha.” You’re trying to slip your apron over your head while simultaneously tying your hair back. It is not going well. “You look like hell.”

“Why, thank you.” He pretends to flip hair back over his shoulder. “And in last night’s clothes, no less.”

“Worth it?”

“Never. It was that Zeta guy. The one from last semester.”

You freeze. “No.”

“Yeah.”

“White Boy Dreads?” He nods, and you groan, tipping your head back. “Kaoru. Even you have better taste than that.”

“I missed the first half of this, but no, he doesn’t have better taste than whatever it is he did. Especially not after ten shots of Fireball,” Hikaru says. He yanks on one of the ties of your apron as he passes by, freeing you from the tangled mess you’d gotten yourself into. “You don’t look much better yourself. Are those pajamas?”

You look down. Silky white sleep set with little pink and purple hearts all over it, check. Bra, uncheck. Heat rushing to your cheeks as soon as you realize—check, check, check. “Shit! Is it that obvious?”

“Apron covers most of it. Stay behind the counter, you should be fine.”

“Right. Perfect.” You rub your eyes and shake your head, trying to wake yourself up. Trying to focus. “Remind me to never keep alcohol in the house ever again.”

“Hungover? On a Sunday? ”

“More importantly,” Kaoru says, “what I’m hearing is that you’d rather drink alone, in your shoebox of an apartment, than with us.”

“I wasn’t alone,” you say, “and besides, I wasn’t planning to get drunk, I just—”

“You weren’t alone?”

You freeze. “What?”

“Well. It’s just interesting, because…” Hikaru pauses to open his phone, and gives it a few taps before turning the screen to you. “I have it on very good authority that Haruhi was out of the house last night.”

You look at the picture — a beautiful candlelit dinner — then back at him with an unamused expression. “So by very good authority , you actually just mean Tamaki Suoh’s Instagram story ?”

He locks his phone, and slips it back into his pocket. “Fess up, (Y/N). Who were you with?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter? You get laid for the first time in ages , and it doesn’t matter?”

“Nobody got laid last night!” Your gaze slides sideways. “Except for White Boy Dreads.”

Hikaru wrinkles his nose. “Ugh, Kaoru. Really?”

“Not the point. (Y/N) —”

“I should check on the register,” you say, and escape before he can get any further. You’re not exactly in the best mood to be receiving customers right now, but at least a perfect stranger won’t ask you anything more personal than whether or not you’re out of croissants. "Hey there, welcome to Ground Up."

"(Y/N)?"

"That's what it says on the tag—oh." It so happens that the person on the other side of the counter isn't a stranger. Or not a perfect stranger, at least. Bronze hair, bright smile— "Hi. You're—"

"Reese."

You nod. "Yes! I know. Sorry, I'm just—” such a mess this morning “—I, uh, what can I get started for you?"

"Flat white with oat milk, if you have it?” You try to keep your face neutral, though you catch Kaoru snickering in your periphery. “And…” Reese scans the pastry display. “I don't know. I'm stuck between the pumpkin bread and the Danish. Which would you recommend?"

"Hm. I’d usually say pumpkin bread, but…” You shift to a stage whisper. "This is the end of last week's batch, so it's not as fresh."

They chuckle. "Danish it is, then."

You pass off the marked up cup to Kaoru, and wave off Reese when they offer their debit card. "Don't worry about it."

"What?” They try offering it again. “No way."

“Please.” You shake your head, keying in the code to cancel the transaction. "It's the least I can do to pay you back after you rescued me the other week."

"And after you forgot my name this morning."

"I didn't—" They tilt their head, and you realize you're being teased. "Well. I knew it started with an R, at least."

"Honestly? Grateful for even that." You share a small laugh. They tuck their hands into their pockets. "Hey, I'm actually glad I ran into you here. I don't want to overstep, but..."

“Oh?”

They hand over a different card—a business card, almost, but instead of their name and number, it's the name of the beta frat.

“Oh.” You hold it like you would a live slug. Then you remember yourself, and try to school your expression into that of someone who doesn’t feel as though they’re holding a live slug.

“We’re having a meeting tonight. Not a meeting-meeting, just this thing we do every other Sunday—I mean, usually we burn through a couple of agenda items for the first fifteen minutes, but after that it's just, like, a study hall. But more social.” When you don’t respond for a few seconds, they add (with a chuckle), “You don’t have to be a card-carrying member, I swear. Zero pressure. But it’s a good time, and I think you’d really fit the vibe.”

You’ve spent so much time avoiding Greek life at Ouran. And while half of it has to do with an actual distaste for frats themselves…you’d be lying if you said that was the only reason.

There’s no shame in being a beta. You know that. You’re the first to proclaim that. Why, then, does it feel like that proclamation applies to everyone but you?

For all your determination to not feel shame in your status, you’ve never felt comfortable taking up space in all-beta rooms. You don’t apply for beta-only scholarships. You at least have attended some rallies and donated to some fundraisers over the years, but for the most part school and work kept you so busy that anything else had to fall by the wayside. But it makes you feel like a sham. Like you’re all talk and no walk.

You’ve tried to comfort yourself sometimes with the thought that academia isn’t nothing—this degree is the start of an entire career, an entire life, dedicated to the examination of dynamics. The work that Professor Suzuki and Abe and all the researchers like them are doing—the kind of work you want to do—is the type of thing that informs policies for decades to come.

So no, academia isn’t nothing. It is, however, incredibly slow. Any progress you make will be subtle. It won’t come to fruition for years down the line.

And…does it make you a bit of a hypocrite, this not-so-subtle avoidance of all beta spaces?

You know your answer to that—yes. It’s just hard to shake this…this fear. The feeling that you’re not a good example of what a beta should be. The feeling that you should be happier. More content. More at peace with who you are. In truth, the idea of sharing a space with people who are so entirely secure in their—your identity—made you feel deeply inadequate.

Better late than never, right?

You finish bagging their Danish, and move to hand it over the pastry counter to them. “Sounds cool.”

“Great! Hope to see you there.” They toss a few bucks in the tip jar, ignoring your protests. “Cool outfit, by the way,” they say over their shoulder on their way out.

You look back down at your pajamas, and immediately bury your burning face in your hands.

“Reese Barlow was your mystery date?" Kaoru lets out a low whistle. "Damn. Now I'm really embarrassed about settling for White Boy Dreads."

“The fact that you weren’t embarrassed before is embarrassing," Hikaru says from your other side.

“There was no mystery date, we just—hey!” That last bit is in response to Hikaru plucking the card out of your hands, and Kaoru grabbing your wrists to keep you from stealing it back. You hate it when they team up on you. "Cut it out!"

“ Epsilon Phi Cozy Quorums ,” Hikaru reads. “Oh. So they were just…recruiting you?”

You get your wrists back from Kaoru, and Hikaru hands you back the card. “I guess.”

“You gonna go?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” You shake your head, and put the card on the counter, next to the register, which you open to re-sort the bills. It’s rare to have a lull in the cafe during the afternoon on a weekend—part of the reason why you always make a point of arriving ten minutes early, to get ahead of the work rush—and God knows the twins aren’t the best at keeping things organized. “I have all this work I meant to finish last night—”

“Before you got distracted by your mystery date, right.”

You shoot Kaoru a glare. “And part of it is a paper that I’m also going to be submitting for this scholarship contest thing?”

“I thought you’d already won every single contest in the school.”

“Yeah, but this one—it’s the Jennifer T. Goodwin scholarship? It’s, like, the biggest one in the department. So it’s not just the money, it’s the prestige—although the money would help, obviously.” You sigh, flipping through a stack of ones as you think of all the free time an extra ten thousand dollars could afford you. “I could travel to other universities for document research, I could replace my laptop, I could cut back on my shifts at the cafe…”

“Less shifts at the cafe? You absolutely cannot win this scholarship,” Kaoru says.

“Absolutely not.”

“We won’t let it happen.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t waste your energy on sabotage. I’ve lost it every year I’ve been here. Don’t know why I’d expect this year to be different.”

“Jennifer T…oh! I have heard of that, actually,” Hikaru says. “That’s the one Ootori wins every year, right?”

You freeze while shutting the cash drawer. “Who?”

“Kyoya Ootori. You know him, right?”

“Why would she? The only people she even talks to are us and Haruhi.” Kaoru hip-checks you as he carries a tray of replacements to the pastry display. “And apparently Reese Barlow, now.”

“Yeah, but Kyoya and Tamaki live together. And if he keeps beating her in this humanities scholarship thing, they must have had a class together at some point.” Hikaru turns to face you. “You ever run into him, (Y/N)?”

*************

According to the card Reese gave you, EpPhi’s monthly shindigs take place in the old church on the end of campus, which is A) a bit creepy, location-wise, and B) doesn't exactly ease your concerns that you're about to be indoctrinated into some kind of cult.

But when you walk into the basement, you're met with an airy, well-lit space. Paper lanterns are stacked atop every open surface, in soft golds and blues; against the back wall, a line of foldout tables have been set up and laden with food. The rest of the space is filled with overstuffed chairs, couches, beanbags; plush-looking rugs where a few people are sitting crosslegged with plates of food in front of them.

"(Y/N)!" Reese waves at you over from the main table. "Glad you could make it!"

You walk over to them. "Yes! Sorry I'm late, I just—"

"No worries. You came at a good time; we're pretty much done with all the boring administrative stuff, so now people are just mingling while we wait for the Trips to show up. Go on, get some food."

The who? you want to ask, but they're already gone to greet someone else. You grab a plate of snacks and make your way over to the nearest empty beanbag.

You weren’t going to come. It’s like you told the twins—you have work to do. As soon as you got home from your overlong shift at the cafe, you sat down with your laptop and forced yourself to read every single winning entry Kyoya had ever submitted to the JTG.

They were all brilliant, dammit.

You shouldn’t be surprised. You know he’s smart, obviously. And he wouldn’t have gotten first prize if the essays weren’t any good. But…God, it’s just so unfair. Not only does he clearly not need the money, but you’ll never forget what he said the first time he walked into your Austen seminar. Where does he get off, submitting to prestigious awards in departments he clearly doesn’t give a shit about?

And all of this is complicated, of course, by the fact that you have hung out with him in depth, and are finding it increasingly difficult to dislike him.

He hasn’t texted you since this morning. Not that you’d expected him to. But you did maybe want him to, loathe as you are to admit it. You spend all day at the cafe with the twins, and Haruhi’s text chain with you has mostly been reduced to her letting you know that she’s going to be out of the house again. You’re lonely.

And so—after many failed attempts to rewrite your own essay submission, after scrambling together a discussion post response for your class tomorrow, and after checking your empty message inbox an embarrassing number of times, you dug the little card out of your pocket and headed across campus. To make some new friends, maybe.

Of course, you didn’t exactly get to where you are now by being a social wunderkind.

So you resign yourself to people watching. The room isn’t overly crowded, but there are a good number of people here. Reese, of course, talking to a group of newcomers by the window; people standing and chatting at the food table, people with laptops in one corner, people coloring in posters in another.

“First time?”

“Hm?” You turn. A girl—shorter than you, with long, honey-colored hair and a well-tailored red pantsuit. “Oh. Yeah. That obvious, huh?”

She laughs nervously. “No! I mean, I’m new, too. New-ish. This is my second one. It’s really fun, though, everyone’s really nice. Sorry, I am off to the worst start—Reagan.” She sticks her hand out for a firm, if fluttery, handshake; her hand feels so light, almost delicate, in yours.

“(Y/N).”

“Yeah—I think I saw you present at SecGen last year? Sorry, not that—I mean—God, I sound like such a creep—”

“Chill, Ri.” Another girl, tall and dark-skinned with close-cropped curls and the prettiest eyeshadow you’ve ever seen. “But yeah, we were both definitely at the panel. You fucking nailed it.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm. Your advisor last year had submitted your thesis project—which combined your interests in medicine and the humanities—to a university conference hosted at Ouran, one of the biggest academic events of the year for people studying secondary gender dynamics across fields. Being selected as an undergrad was a huge honor. Probably the biggest honor of your academic career. “Oh. Thanks. I’m sorry, I have the worst memory for faces—”

“Shut up, you were the one up on the stage. Don’t expect you to remember a couple of faces in the crowd. But you’ve met Reagan now—forgive her the fangirling. I’m Lou.”

The conversation flows more easily than you would have expected. They’re both undergrads, you find out—seniors, so one year below you—and waiting to hear back from engineering job interviews (Lou) and med school applications (Reagan). You don’t envy them. You remember the anxiety of being a senior and not yet having any concrete plans for the next year.

“I’m going to miss Ouran, though,” Reagan sighs.

Lou snorts. “I’m not.”

“Oh, come on. When else are you going to get the chance to live somewhere this beautiful?”

“Beautifully racist, sexist, classist…” Lou ticks off on her fingers. “Look, will I miss waking up every morning and looking out my window to see buildings that look like literal castles? Yes. Am I going to miss being micro- and macro-aggressed at every quarter hour on the hour?” She shakes her head.

A wave of relief washes over you. “Yes!”

She looks at you. “Aren’t you literally going to school here? For several more years?”

You nod fervently. You love the twins, but sometimes it seems as though they occupy a different reality than you, in terms of struggling through Ouran. It’s nice to meet someone who gets it. “I thought it would be better in grad school, but if anything it’s so much worse. I mean, I love the work, but it’s just…”

Lou shakes her head. “And that’s where we differ. God help me, I wouldn’t go into academia if I had a gun to my head.”

“As opposed to engineering, that famously easy field,” quips Reagan.

Lou holds up her hands. “As long as they pay me and they don’t assign me any five to eight page papers with one inch margins on some niche topic I don’t give a flying fuck about, I’ll be happy.”

As you all share a laugh over that, you’re struck by the warmth in your chest. Yes, you’re dirt poor and overworked and losing your best friend to a man who knows the difference between sauvignon blanc and chardonnay, and also losing this one fucking scholarship contest over and over again to a man who also knows the difference between sauvignon blanc and chardonnay. Yes, you are going to have to pull an all-nighter trying to rework your paper proposal into something salvageable to show T.A. Abe tomorrow. And somehow, in this moment, you are bothered by none of it.

“Hope you guys didn’t start the party without us!”

Until you hear that voice, and turn to watch as Olivia Freidmonte walks through the door.

#late bloomer #kyoya/reader #kyoya x reader #softprettything #a/b/o #ohshc x reader #kyoya fanfic #kyoyaxreader #ohshc x y/n #a/b/o fanfic

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edupunkn00b · 2 years

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Revisions, Ch. 9: Trapped in an Elevator

Prev - Mutual Pining - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Tags: Human AU, Pining, Mutual Pining, Characters Writing Fanfiction, Slow Burn, Hanakahi Disease, Timeskip, Crossover, Fake Dating, Secret Royalty, They Were Roommates, Mind Control, Trapped in an Elevator, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change - WC: 2177 -- This is not going to go the way you think.

Logan woke early that morning to shower and dress. He then double-checked the small messenger bag he’d hung on the back of his door. Inside, he’d packed a thermos of his numbing tea, plus some extra sachets in case they stopped somewhere he could get a cup of hot water. He also had a full box of Sucrets, and a small bottle of Chloraseptic throat spray. He nodded and clasped the flap on the bag. He had every tool possible to help keep the coughing under control.

He needed to wait until at least tomorrow before he could risk a second dose of the serum. Today, though, he was spending the day with Remus and Janus finish their preparations for Patton’s birthday party on Saturday. Lately, the coughing wouldn’t get bad until he was alone in his room at night, but he was going to do everything in his power to guard against a poorly-timed fit during daylight.

The smart thing to do, of course, would have been to back out or to reschedule this excursion until tomorrow, after his next dose, however their schedules would not permit them another day together until the day of the party.

And, frankly, Logan simply couldn’t deny himself this opportunity to spend all day with Janus and Remus. He checked his reflection in the mirror and straightened his tie. He wore a simple pair of black slacks with a black long-sleeved shirt. Impulsively, he’d selected the same tie he’d worn the night of their dinner. Logan was confident neither would notice, but the green and yellow starred tie had instantly become his new favorite.

Smoothing down the silky material once more, Logan nodded and checked the time. He still had nearly an hour before they were due to leave. His feet brought him to his desk, hands opening his laptop before he'd even made the conscious decision to add more to his story.

“Warning.” The alert panel flashed and the gentle, modulated tones of the ship’s computer's voice was anything but soothing. “Dampener failure. Turbolift four will reach terminal velocity in 34.8 seconds.” Geordi reached up from where he crouched next to Data on the floor of the turbolift. He slammed his fist against the open control panel, silencing the automated warning. “Geordi," Data reached for Geordi's arm, weakly pulling him closer. "There is something I must tell you before I no longer can.” Geordi shook his head. “Nope, I don’t like the sound of that, Data. You’re not going to die. We’re going to fix you up and you’ll be just fine. I’m not going to let you die on the floor of a turbolift.” “But really you must know this." Geordi peered down at him, his furrowed brow wrinkling the ordinarily smooth skin above his visor. He moved closer. "You must know that I—” Data turned away from Geordi and directed his voice toward the mic pickups in the space around him. “Computer, end simulation.” “Affirmative. Simulation ended.” “Computer, please store and send the results to my private log, authorization Data-Sigma-2-4-8-7-Ypsilon-4.” “Affirmative. File saved.” He stood as the turbolift's flashing lights resolved into the standard black holodeck grid, and the turbolift, smoke, and detritus from the simulation dissolved as well. The figure that resembled Geordi remained, motionless. “Computer,” Data waited for the computer’s responding tone. “Please reset character 113845 to his state immediately preceding the start of this simulation and save.” “Affirmative. File saved.” He watched the Geordi figure dissolve, leaving nothing but the rest of the holodeck grid. “Computer, lock the file and also save it under my personal code, matching authorization.” “Computer,” Data had one more request. He wanted

Logan's bedroom door swung open and he jumped at the sound, his glare only softening at the timbre of Remus’ voice. “Knock, knock, Lo Lo…” Remus opened the door and stuck his head through. Logan spied the soft, faded leather of Remus' ancient motorcycle jacket draped over one shoulder. He was wearing a neon green ripped t-shirt emblazoned with what looked like a hand-drawn light switch. Logan chuckled. He did not have an inkling of half the bands Remus listened to. “Sorry, Lo… didn’t mean to startle you. You didn’t answer when I knocked.”

Standing and closing his laptop in one motion, Logan adjusted his eyeglasses. “I—I must have been absorbed in my work. My apologies. I did not hear the door.”

Remus grinned and shimmied his shoulders in a little dance. “Are you ready? Jannie’s downstairs in the truck.”

Stepping quickly to the door and threading his head and one arm through the strap on his bag, Logan nodded and matched his grin. Remus winked at him as he closed his door. "I do like that tie," he said, then took to the stairs two steps at a time.

~~~~

The new shopping center downtown was intended to make use of some of the excess office space that had recently become available in the latest zoning expansion. Unlike most other malls that outbuilt out, with sprawling one-and-two story complexes, the new, hyper-modern Gainesville Shopping Centre had built up. The mall stretched up 10 flights, with brightly colored, glitzy shops on each floor in a rectangular ring around a center, open space atrium.

The centerpiece of the mall was the grand lobby, tastefully decorated to match each season. In December, there’d been a large tree next to the sparkling all-glass elevator, popular with children who wished to get a closer look at some of the decorations on the higher branches of the tree. The marbled floor of the atrium was dotted with comfortable seating arranged in conversation clusters, a bubbling fountain with a light show that started after dark, and, on most days, a string quartet, often accompanied by a dramatic pianist on the grand piano.

A certain dramatic pianist with whom they were all well acquainted. As they passed Roman's view, he attempted to ignore their intrusion, instead focusing on playing his part of a quiet rendition of Chopin's Nocturne No. 8. He kept his eyes averted from the lewd suggestions Remus was signing to him in ASL. Logan waved a blushing apology—he didn’t know everything Remus had said but he recognized two signs in particular. Janus rolled his eyes with a smirk and snaked an arm around Remus’ waist, whispering, “Now, Remus… I’d never kiss and tell. You shouldn’t either…”

They were still laughing as they stepped into the small glass elevator. Remus turned to the other two, waggling his eyebrows and giving Janus a wink. “Whaddya think? Start at the top and go down from there?”

Janus smiled as Logan opened the notes app on his phone and adjusted his glasses. “That would make sense. There is a small printshop on the top floor where we could have copies made of the photographs. Then we could visit the book binder on nine and—” he paused when he finally noticed their amused expressions. “Did I say something wrong?”

Remus grinned and shook his head as he pressed the button for the tenth floor. He slid next to Logan and draped his arm around his shoulders. “Nope, you’re perfect, Lo Lo.” He tugged Janus’ sleeve and turned them both around to look through the glass back wall of the elevator as it began its exaggeratedly slow ascent. “C’mon, you two. This is the best part.”

Pocketing his phone, Logan pressed his forehead against the glass and watched as the tables, the fountain, the piano, everything on the first floor began to fall away from them as they rose. He smiled at Remus, “You’re right. This is spectacular.”

They pressed their faces against the glass, watching with giddy faces as they approached the second floor. “Janus, look at—” Logan looked to his other side where Janus had turned, directing his back at the rapidly expanding view below them. He gripped the elevator railing with both hands, knuckles turning white, face drawn and eyes squeezed shut. He was quietly hyperventilating and silent tears traced his face. “Janus?” Logan asked, voice rising in concern.

“Jannie,” Remus said softly. “Oh, no… Too much?” He rushed to his other side, cupping his face and whispering apologies in his ear. Janus kept his eyes closed but leaned his head against Remus’. Logan started to move a little away, doing what little he could to give them room in the enclosed space.

Before he could get far, though, Janus’ hand snaked out, grabbing his wrist. “Don’t go,” he whispered.

“Okay, Janus.” Logan said quietly. He stepped closer and held Janus’ hand between his own. “I’m right here.” Remus caught Logan’s eye and gave him a quick smile.

“Jannie,” Remus murmured close to his ear and glanced up at the elevator’s control panel. “We just passed the third floor. Wanna get off early?”

Shaking his head rapidly, Janus squeezed their hands tighter. “I need to get past this. I thought it was gone.” His voice failed and he swallowed several times, gulping in breaths. “I want to try.”

Remus slid closer and kissed the side of Janus’ head. “Okay, Love, we’re right here with you.”

After little while, Janus muttered, “What floor?”

“Nearly five,” Logan answered, stroking the back of Janus’ hand. He nodded slightly and cracked open his eyes before snapping them shut again.

“Fuck, I forgot the floor’s glass, too,” his voice cracked as his breathing grew more ragged. Janus tightened his arm, drawing Logan closer. “Lo, tell me about fail safes. The elevator has them, right?”

“Y—yes, yes, it does.” Logan nodded again as he wracked his brain for everything he could remember about elevator mechanics. “Modern elevators have redundant automatic braking systems in the event of”—Janus’ hand tightened in his—”anything unusual.” He looked up at the motor and lift mechanism through the glass ceiling above them.

“This elevator has a linear motor that mechanically locks the elevator in place in the event of a power outage.”

“Sixth floor,” Remus quietly murmured near Janus’ ear, pressing another kiss in his hair.

Logan looked back at Janus. “Would you like to see the motor?”

Janus pressed his lips tightly together, breathing heavily through his nose. He nodded slightly but kept his eyes closed.

Logan looked at Remus, eyebrows raised, gesturing toward Janus’ chin. Remus smiled and nodded. “Jannie, Lo Lo’s gonna lift your head so you’re looking up at the right part of the motor, okay?”

He nodded again and held his breath as Logan gently extracted one hand from his grip and positioned his chin to look up, right at the clear motor casing. “Okay, Janus. You’re facing it. You can open your eyes whenever you want.”

When Logan started to release his jaw, Janus quickly covered his hand, keeping it in place. “Please,” he whispered.

Nodding at first, then speaking when he registered that Janus’ eyes were still closed, “Yes, of course.” So Logan gently cradled Janus’ jaw as he winced and cracked open one eye.

“We just passed seven,” Remus murmured before training his eyes back on Logan and Janus.

Staring up at the motor, Janus slowly opened his other eye. Logan leaned a little closer to see better from Janus’ vantage point. “Do you see those green-tipped clamps?” Janus nodded slowly. “Those complete the circuit. They’re a total fail safe. If anything is wrong with the motor or the rising mechanism, the elevator stops and can’t move.”

Logan pointed to slots at regular, twelve-inch intervals along the front of the shaft, the only non-transparent part. “And do you see those inserts?” Janus lowered his eyes slightly, watching the marks they slowly inched past on the elevator’s meandering journey up to the top floor.

“I see them,” Janus whispered.

"When there’s an outage, those pins come out." He sent a gentle smile to Janus when his eyes briefly flicked over to meet his. "They span the entire length of the elevator shaft. They'll halt the elevator."

“Eighth floor, now,” Raising Janus’ other hand to his mouth, Remus pressed gentle kisses against his knuckles. “We’re so close, Love.”

“And each of those pins works independently,” Logan added, watching Janus begin to look up at other parts of the elevator’s mechanism. Slowly, he lowered his hand from his face and Janus laced their fingers together, holding Logan’s hand against his chest.

“So even if one broke," Janus' voice was still shaky, but it was starting to regain some of its usual deep rumble. "The most we’d fall is a foot?” He turned to Logan, still keeping his eyes away from the other glass walls and floor of the elevator.

Logan smiled and nodded. “Precisely.”

“Ninth,” Janus said together with Remus when he saw the floor marker change. The trio stood together and watched as the elevator slowly crawled up to the tenth floor and came to a stop. The doors slid open and Janus kept his eyes focused on the shops along the wall opposite them as he stepped out of the elevator, Logan and Remus at his side.

Image by wknight94 via Wikimedia Commons, CC 3 licence

taglist:@mavenmush @melaniidarling @braingoburr @lunatatic @demon9980 @crossiantgay @psychedelicships @justmeandmygayships @ts-creator-boost @bluerosesbleedred @tsfanficarchive @tsshipmonth2020

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candyopala · 3 years

Text

Stuck in his ways, Chapter 7

Chapter Summary: Y/N and Obito have to get around the awkwardness of the events from that night, and what better to help with that then team seven in all its glory?

Words: 2.3k

AO3

Please like or reblog if you enjoy, check my rules for requests too! My dms are also open if you want to chat or anything else.

After spending a whole day on the hospital, Obito heads home for some well-deserved sleep. It is only on the next day, on his way to the field, that he starts properly processing what happened that night with Y/N. Her bandaging him up with a weird look in her eyes, him crying in front of her… the warmth he felt when she held his hand. Why did he do that in front of her anyway? They barely know each other, she teases him to no end, but he can’t help to already feel close to her, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

The way she held him…. He hasn’t felt this way since long ago, he felt accepted in an intimate way, he felt genuine companionship with her. Obito feels bad when he remembers too the reason for that whole situation, he wanted to get rid of the girl; he wanted to make her go away without giving her a chance.

I’ve been so blind, shutting her off like that…

Without knowing anything about his failures and only knowing that ugly side he shows to everyone, she still helped him through a tough time. He can’t help but feel his heart flutter with embarrassment, he didn’t even give her much of a chance. She might not be from Konoha, but there’s still good in her. He needs to take his mission with her more seriously.

He walks down the market streets, instinctively analyzing every single action that happens around him, seeing the faces of the people going up and down the roadway busy with their things. It’s not long before he spots four familiar figures walking down the street together: team seven. Naruto and Sakura discuss loudly about a matter Obito doesn’t bother try rearing, followed by Sasuke and Kakashi tagging along. Obito tries to say hi to Kakashi, only to be attacked by a running Naruto that throws himself onto him with all his force:

“Big bro Obito!”

“Hey! Calm down now! It’s only seven a.m. for Kami’s sake!” He scolds while laughing aloud and hugging the thirteen-year-old back

“I’m learning something new, you have to come see it! Are you busy?”

“I’m going to the training grounds, I can’t Naruto, sorry”

“Come on! Train with us!”

“Hey Naruto, stop bothering Obito, all right? He’s busy” Kakashi tries to intervene in Obito’s sake

“Huh… actually…”

Obito’s mind starts functioning, he does need to teach some new stuff to Sasuke and bringing Y/N along would be good for her training. He decides to join them, he actually feels deep down the need to introduce her to new people, to get her more settled into the village.

“I guess I’ll come along. There’s someone I want you guys to meet”

“Oh, is it her?” Naruto says with a devilish sparkle in his eyes.

“Her? Are you dating?” Sakura jumps up, immediately invested into the conversation.

“Finally” Sasuke also joins to make it all worse.

“Guys, calm down…” Kakashi once again tries to save his friend from his hyperactive trio “He’s just training a new member of the village”

A collective “oh” is heard from the two in disappointment. Great, now even the kids are invested in his love life. Obito tells them a little bit more about her on the way to the field, and he notices that even Kakashi seems a little bit more enthusiastic than normal.

When they reach the training grounds, he finds Y/N laying back on a tree, with a surprised look on her face when she sees the kids. Obito tries to introduce them, but they end up introducing themselves, with a hyperactive Naruto leading the presentations followed by his teammates and his teacher.

“Nice to meet you guys! Are we training together today?”

“Yup” Obito tries to say in the middle of Naruto’s ramblings

“How’s your arm?” She asks him back in the midst of it, a bit of what seems worry flashes her eyes, only to be quickly concealed with a look to the side.

“Oh, feeling like new. Some medical ninjutsu quickly solved it.” He states as he gets more embarrassed by the minute, once the memory of their shared companionship floods his mind. He needs to try to actually be nicer to her.

Meanwhile, Sakura flies a sly meaning smile in Obito’s direction, to his utter desperation. Watching the whole scene develop, Kakashi once again intervenes, trying to get to the subject of training.

“So, Y/N, dumbi- ahem, Obito told me you need some help with discovering your chakra nature. Coincidentally, that’s what I’m currently doing with the kids, so we could help you with that”

“That would be great, thanks guys! Out of curiosity, what horrible things did my mentor say about me?”

“Only the most terrible embarrassing things I found on your file” Obito teases back in a flash, without doing much thinking, letting himself play around a little.

“Oh then I should tell you friend about your new nickna-“

“Let’s start training, shall we?” He interrupts her before she can say it, since letting Kakashi know about that would be the end of him.

Kakashi started trying to teach Y/N a couple of techniques, teaching her to concentrate her chakra and showing her the right hand signs. Obito also explained about the ideal state of mind each element requires, the type of energy each one of them consumes.

Raiton was immediately out of question, and despite her special punch technique, doton seemed to drain too much of her energy, as well as suiton. She was able to produce a small amount of katon, only achieving smaller jutsu still due to the immense amount of chakra these require, so the fireball jutsu was out of question.

Futton was their last attempt and the one they were more successful with. She could produce wind with her running speed, creating vacuum spots, using the element in a less concentrated way than the rasengan requires, since she is still inexperienced with chakra concentration at that level.

Obito was actually pleased with today’s developments; he thinks that she can become even stronger by actually doing jutsu in battle. Naruto was also overjoyed to learn that his new village mate had the same main element as himself, showing her his still developing rasengan, proud of his own training and giving her some tips.

Obito let the pair talking and went to oversee Kakashi and Sasuke, now training his chidori technique. His little cousin had also developed a lot, and was now opening up to be a wonderful kid thanks to Naruto and Sakura’s insistence on their friendship, and Itachi’s efforts to make him socialize more.

He then also let them train and sat down together with Sakura, who was watching her colleagues train too, while she herself studied some medical ninjutsu books. The small girl looked at him with curiosity, noting the different expression on her sensei’s friend, who was usually much more uptight and serious. With that knowing look again, she simply stated:

“Mr. Obito, your main element is katon, right?”

“Yes Sakura, why?”

“Ah nothing, I was just wondering… katon is compatible with futton, right?”

“Yes, both can be used together to create more powerful jutsu”

“So… we could say that you and Y/N are compatible”

Obito’s eye goes wide with the way the girl says it. Both of them know she is not talking about just jutsu here. The implication of what she said makes him go as red as a pepper.

“N-no Sakura, she is my colleague, we are just that.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about sir, excuse me.”

The girl gets up and runs into Naruto and Y/N’s direction, winking back at Obito on her way.

~”~

The team gathers up for lunch, Y/N sits beside Obito’s friend Kakashi, opposite to her mentor, who sat in front of her. She avoided his eye contact, still feeling a little inappropriate for her behavior that night. She fears that what happened was too intimate for her own comfort, that she should not try to get that close to him. She should be his teammate, nothing else. She must ignore that pull that she feels from him, that desperate need she feels to talk to him about why he was crying that night.

She tries to strike up conversation with the ninja beside her, and he is very receptive, if not for his general lack of energy and relaxed demeanor. She sees a small little orange book protruding from his pocket, is that what she thinks it is? It is! The greatest book series of all time!

“Hey, is that Icha Icha?”

“Yes it is! I just picked up the latest volume!” he immediately assumes a whole different behavior, now fully invested in the conversation.

“What chapter are you on? Did you reach chapter 37 yet?”

“No, and no spoilers, please! I dying to know what she will do when she finds out about that thing”

“Dude, trust me, it’s going to be awesome”

They both strike up conversation about it for a couple of minutes, Y/N talks excitedly about the romance’s structure and how she finds it poetic in a way. They both discuss the general plots, praising the author despite Naruto’s loud complaints about him being a total pervert.

When she finally looks at Obito’s direction, she sees the jonin hunched forward, with an unimpressed look on his face, matching Sasuke’s that also seems to be bothered by the subject matter.

“Great, another one, they will talk about it forever” The young Uchiha comments.

“I don’t know what you guys see in this stupid book anyway” The oldest complements.

“He didn’t even give it a try; can you believe it, Y/N?” Kakashi teases in response.

“Sacrilegious! How could he say such things?” She retorts with fake shock.

“Shut up, you two perverts.” Obito says with a scorn forming on his lips, something he usually does that Y/N is starting to find extremely fun and… endearing?

Y/N, Kakashi and the kids laugh at his little tantrum, and later even himself. He is acting different today, more open, with a more lighthearted attitude, a lot less uptight and grumpy. Y/N feels a little happy knowing that he is feeling better, but she quickly shuts off the realization.

Concentrate on what’s important here.

They quickly fall back into training, with Y/N sitting back due to her extreme exertion during the chakra nature tests. After he has finished with his portion of the training with Kakashi and Obito, Naruto joins her. They sit together observing Obito discussing the fireball jutsu with Sasuke, Y/N can’t help but notice the proud look on her teammate’s face when his little cousin does a perfect ball of fire, making her let out a small smile. He’s not so cynical after all.

Naruto begins to talk about how he needs to be as strong as his father is, and Y/N learns that he is, in fact, son of the Hokage. He talks and explains a lot about the village and also talks about how his mom is always bothering him to make his bed in the morning. The kid is all over the place until he focuses on the subject of Obito.

He begins to tell her about how he is like a big brother for him and how he taught him his most deadly jutsu, something about a sexy jutsu, and how he is cool even if he has no girlfriend. Y/N, being the innocent thing she is, prods him for more embarrassing details about her mentor.

“One time he got stuck in the sexy woman form and Jiraya followed him around the village for a day! He had to hide from the pervert in the sewers! And once he choked with candy in the middle of a jonin reunion, Kakashi told me that”

Y/N cannot help but bust out in laughter at the image that forms in her mind, not being able to breathe while the kid continues to spill out embarrassing stories about the Uchiha. Naruto is suddenly stopped when Sakura lands a punch on top of his head, screaming in annoyance with her teammate’s attitude:

“Stop ruining everything!”

What she meant with that remains a mystery to Y/N. The discussion has to be separated by a tired Kakashi, holding Sakura back with all his force. Y/N is caught off guard by Obito’s presence by her side.

He helps her get up, giving his gloved hand in support. She accepts it, steading herself up.

“So, that’s all for today, sewer boy?”

“He told you about that, huh?”

“Of course he did”

“Yup, that’s all for today. Let’s head home”

“Let’s? I didn’t know you had moved into my broom closet, Obito”

“You know I’m not letting you walk around exhausted like that, Y/N”

The change in his tone scares her. He sounds serious, almost protective, and he calling her name like that sends shivers down her spine, in a not so bad way. He also didn’t call her a dumbass, is that an improvement?

She once again insists on walking by herself, but he insists on it so much that she eventually gives up and lets him accompany her. They discuss her new technique possibilities on most of the way, only for the subject to change as they reach her apartment.

“So, what did you think about them?”

“They’re nice kids, all of them seem to look up to you, Naruto especially”

“He’s a good kid, they are all like family to me”

Y/N agrees with her head, thinking to herself about the word family. She once had one, but lost them very early on. Moreover, once she found another person she could call that, she lost them too. The memories flood her mind, making her face go serious and eyes to go foggy.

“Take good care of them Obito, what you have here is… amazing”

“I will, I promised that long ago”

They reach her door, saying their goodbyes quickly. As Y/N closes her door, Obito calling her name again interrupts her.

“Oh! Y/N! I forgot; we have an important meeting with the Hokage tomorrow at ten in the morning. We will be heading out for our first mission, be ready”

#Obito #obito uchiha #obito x reader #Jonin Obito #obito x you #obito x y/n #uchiha obito #naruto fanfiction

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spideychellesecretsanta · 3 years

Text

Welcome again to the Spideychelle Secret Santa Gift Exchange! 2021 Edition!

We’re back with year three! Last year was so much fun, and I don’t know about you guys, but I am excited to get started! If you’re interested in participating, keep reading!

To sign up, fill out this form.

If for some reason that doesn’t work, feel free to send a DM!

You’ll need to provide an email, but if you are uncomfortable sharing that, you can create a temporary one just for this event

Sign ups will be open until August 31st 11:59:59 PM EST. After this day, SIGN UPS WILL BE CLOSED, as it is impossible to add anyone after the assignments are sent!

Once you have received the assignment on or around September 1st, (check your spam just in case!) I will also send a link to the Secret Santa Discord server! Here, there will be announcements and other things related to the event.

Write your wishlist and make sure to check your person’s. Snoop around their blog, even!

If you’d like to make things a little easier for your Secret Santa, enable anons here on Tumblr.

Beginning on Dec. 25th, we will start posting through the week until January 1st!

If for some reason you are unable to make that deadline, don’t hesitate to DM me, and to let your person know that you’re their Secret Santa

NEW THIS YEAR: there will be 3 check-ins (October 1st, November 5th, and December 10th) to see how the gifts are coming along, if you need help, etc. If you don’t have anything by the third check-in, we will discuss your options going forward.

A full FAQ post and a Rules post will be going up soon!

Tag your giftee!

Tag @spideychellesecretsanta

use the tag #SpideychelleSecretSanta2021

Post on the AO3 collection!

The deadline for having your wishlist in is September 10th!

You won’t have to worry about this until the actual invites are sent out on Sept. 1st, but keep it in mind!

What genres you like (fluff, angst, etc.)

What tropes you like (fake dating, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, etc.)

What AUs you like (Mob!AU, College!AU, etc.)

Specify whether or not you’re okay with receiving smut/n*fw art.

A NOTE: if you are an artist/writer and you are not comfortable drawing/writing smut, then you are not obligated to, even if it’s on your giftee’s wishlist. This is simply just so that the Secret Santas that are comfortable know what their options are.

Also, make sure to put some things that you don’t like!

This is pretty self-explanatory, but DON’T TELL ANYONE WHO YOU HAVE! It’s not a secret if you do! Keep it secret! Keep it safe!

Remember that this is an exchange. If you are expecting to receive something, you must also expect to give something in return.

Dropping out, no matter how last minute, means that you will not receive a gift.

Know that you aren’t guaranteed a specific gift, even if you specify it in your wishlist. So be kind!

Depending on who your Secret Santa is, you will either get a fic, art, a moodboard, or some other creative work.

Along that note, GIVE FEEDBACK!!

No talking about your gift/giftee publicly.

For writing fics, shoot for around a minimum 1-1.5k word count.

Write a wishlist after you’ve received your assignment and before the deadline! It will help your Secret Santa get to know you and get ideas for what to make for you!

When filling out your wishlist, do not only put smut, as there are minors in this fandom. Give other ideas!

and the biggest rule of all DO NOT FORGET THIS:

You made it to the end! If you read all of that, and you’d still like to sign up, fill out this form! If you have any more questions at all, feel free to send me a message or an ask! 🎁

#spideychelle #petermj #peter parker #michelle jones #peter parker x michelle jones #petermjane #mj is mj #spideychelle secret santa #spideychellesecretsanta2021

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irrlicht-writes · 3 years

Text

of Rex Lapis and the water's embrace

The rock persisted for centuries. Unaffected by the wind and the weather, it was to remain forever. And yet, recently, the tide had been rising and the water hit against the stone. Stubbornly, the stone would endure the fluid form and persist still. But in the battle of adaptability and endurance, adaptability would always win; and the water tore the rock down. The stone would crumble; and the pillar would be no more. The rocks fell deep, deeper than they ever had before and the water caught them gently in their embrace. | "Tell me a story."

Ao3

Please read part 1 here

The tea was too hot to drink.

Childe had seemed distressed when they had talked on the pier, and Zhongli was unsure of how he should proceed. He was aware that after he gave away the gnosis to the eighth harbinger, Childe had been upset. He only wasn’t sure why exactly. Zhongli had simply fulfilled his contract. Childe had no reason to be mad.

Regardless, Zhongli had decided to let him calm down a while before he would attempt a conversation again. Childe had a wild temper at the best of times and it was generally unwise to anger him unnecessarily. The boy would go into the wilds of Liyue and kill things to his heart’s content and then they could have a civilised discussion again.

Although, Zhongli had to admit he missed his dates with the harbinger.

It was hard these days to find someone who’d be willing to listen to him ramble in full.

He checked his tea again. It was still too hot.

As he sat waiting, he pulled the Old Stone out again. He missed Azhdaha. Seeing him again had simply reminded him of how much he was missing his old friend – but on the other hand, it had been wonderful to be able to talk to him again, to maybe even ease his pain.

He wondered if Childe would be interested to hear stories about Azhdaha.

They were so alike, in heart. Big and powerful – and yet they possessed a gentle heart inside of them.

Zhongli smiled at his stone.

He hoped that Childe enjoyed his gift. The sword that never made it into the hands it had been destined for – mayhap this had been fate. Maybe Guizhong had never been meant to hold this sword and perhaps Zhongli had been a fool for keeping it all these years. Childe would put it to good use, he was sure of it.

The boy was one of the most formidable warriors he had met in recent years. He hadn’t been what Zhongli had expected in the slightest.

I shall send you my eleventh, my dearest Tartaglia. The vanguard of my forces shall serve your contract well, Rex Lapis.

The vanguard of the Tsaritsa... Zhongli had expected an old man, rich in battles and weary of heart, much like Zhongli himself.

And instead, he had received a bright-eyed, young boy with a blinding smile.

A joke, he had believed.

~*~

“Hi! My name’s Tartaglia, but you can call me Childe! You’re Zhongli, right?”

There was a young boy standing in the Funeral Parlour. His eyes were a dull blue, and his unkempt hair was orange. He grinned brightly and extended his hand in a greeting.

“Her Majesty said I’d find you here. Are you hungry? Let’s go get some food!”

There was no waste in this young boy. He reached forward and grabbed the stunned Zhongli, pulling him outside into the sun.

“Haha, it’s so hot here in Liyue! It’s going to be hard to get used to that... maybe they have thinner uniforms here. Ah, I shall just get used to it, I guess.”

Hold on.

This was Tartaglia? This young boy was supposed to be the vanguard of the Tsaritsa? No. This must be a joke.

Perhaps... perhaps this boy was the assistant of the harbinger, yes? If the real Tartaglia might not wish to deal with the outside world due to weariness or simply because he wished to remain hidden, then Zhongli could understand.

Yes. Yes, this sounded very plausible. He must have hired this boy to be his public face, to allow him to work in the background undeterred.

He did not like being deceived but he would insist on meeting the real harbinger soon. In the meantime, he shall entertain this young boy.

“How can I serve you?”

Zhongli hadn’t even noticed that they sat down at Wanmin Restaurant.

“Hi! I’m fresh off the boat and I would like some nice Liyuean food. I’m not picky; just give me what’s good! What about you, Zhongli? I didn’t stun you into silence, did I?”

Zhongli blinked. “Ah... no, you did not, I apologise for my lack of manners. Miss Xiangling, I would like a bamboo shot soup and my ah, associate would take the Crystal Shrimp.”

The boy grinned at him.

“Well, I’ll trust you, then!”

Xiangling smiled and wandered off. Now, Zhongli wasn’t sure what to say. This boy truly had come in like a hurricane.

“Sorry for dragging you away like that, but I’ve only just arrived and the bank already wants to drown me in paperwork. I know we were supposed to meet tomorrow, but I just had to get away, you know?”

“The bank? You mean the Northland Bank?”

“Yeah! I’m supposed to supervise it a bit while I’m here. Apparently, the debt collectors have gotten a bit too soft around these parts, so I’m meant to rough them up again. I wasn’t told about the paperwork though, so that’s a bummer.”

A harbinger would not talk like this, correct? This boy couldn’t have seen more than twenty summers.

“You have knowledge about collecting debts?”

“Yeah, I guess. Before I became a harbinger, I’ve been a debt collector for a while. Not very long though, because I kept killing the clients. And, y’know, dead guys don’t pay their debts after all. But I’m a harbinger now, so who cares!”

Tartaglia laughed and Zhongli blinked.

This boy could not be the Tsaritsa’s vanguard in a hundred years.

“Wha – what are those?!”

The boy’s hand was cramping around the chopsticks.

“Those are chopsticks. You use them to eat your foot... no, don’t stab the shrimp.”

“Well, then how... how do you use them?! This is impossible!”

Zhongli chuckled. “They are an important part of Liyuean cuisine, Childe. Please learn how to use them.”

“How do you guys not starve to death?! What’s wrong with forks?!”

~*~

“Yaahoo, your tea is cold, old man.”

Hu Tao’s voice tore Zhongli out of his thoughts. He looked at the Funeral Parlour Director for a second before he confirmed her words. Indeed, his tea has gotten cold. He sighed.

“What’s got your panties in a twist to make you sigh like that?”

Zhongli frowned. “I do not –“, but then he decided to just not indulge her.

“Are there any clients?”

Hu Tao pouted.

“No, there are no customers. It’s so boring. Nobody dies anymore these days. Hey, where’s your Fatui boyfriend? He always brought in good business.”

“I have not seen Childe in a few days. Last I saw him he did not seem to be in the mood for providing business, Director.”

In fact, Childe had seemed very depressed, so unlike the boy he had gotten to know.

Hu Tao started to whine. “Boooring. Go to him and make him kill some people, I’m so booreed.”

Zhongli closed his eyes and took a deep breath. In, and out. In, and out. Just this easy. This child was going to drive him insane. Childe was not a dead-body-factory.

Although, admittedly, he had provided a lot of bodies for Hu Tao during his stay here.

The two of them even got along. Hu Tao had convinced Childe to partake in several pranks and in almost all of them, Zhongli had been the butt-end of the joke.

“If there is nothing to do, I shall take a walk.”

“Go drag your boyfriend’s ass back here! And bring some dead people! I need a booming business!”

Zhongli decided to ignore her as he pocketed the Old Stone and left the Parlour.

Maybe he should check on Childe. At least, he could inquire whether or not the boy liked his new weapon.

The guard at the door barely recognised Zhongli, as he was busy writing a letter.

As usual, the bank was relatively quiet. The local manager, Andrei, and Mister Qi were talking to each other, presumably about the latter taking on a loan. They did not interest him however. Zhongli headed straight to the bank’s teller, Ekaterina. She’s always been his go-to whenever he had been looking for Childe.

“Good day, Miss Ekaterina. I was wondering –“

“Master Childe is not with you?”

Zhongli frowned. “I – no, he is not. Is something wrong?”

Despite the mask, Zhongli could tell how worried she was.

“Master Childe has left early the last evening and when he did not return, I thought he might be with you – please tell me I haven’t lost a Harbinger. Oh, I can’t even imagine what they’ll do to me. Tell me he’s fine. I don’t care if it’s a lie, just tell me he’s making a bad joke and is harassing Vlad outside the door.”

Childe was missing?

“Are you sure he is not just out for a few days?”

She shook her head. “No, he always tells me for how long he’ll be gone, and we have a matter for him to attend to tomorrow morning. In fact, I only know he has left is because I saw him leave. I checked his office for any sort of note but there was nothing which leads me to believe he intended to be back by now. Oh Seven, what if something’s happened to him? The Tsaritsa will lynch me.”

Childe was strong. Nothing could’ve happened to him, right?

“I will find him.”

Without waiting for an answer, he left the bank.

~*~

The young fake harbinger was a friendly sort. Despite Zhongli’s irritation of not meeting the real harbinger, he could not complain about the company of the fake Tartaglia.

“Xiansheng, do you really need to buy these rocks...?”

“They are of a quality made, Childe, you shouldn’t let an opportunity like this pass you by.”

The boy behind him groaned but paid the merchant. Zhongli took the pair of Jade and pocketed them. Some would wonder where he’d put all of these wonders, and he would never tell.

“Shall we eat, then?”

The boy looked up and blinked at the sun.

“Yeah but we gotta hurry. I have a training session right after lunch and it’s hard enough to keep these rat-tags together at the best of circumstances.”

The harbinger Tartaglia, the boy meant. Often, Zhongli had been tempted to sneak after the boy, trying to catch a glimpse of his real contact. But he, perhaps most of all, knew how difficult it could be to maintain their secret identity.

“Is it hard to train new recruits?”

Childe shrugged. “No, not really. It’s more about what they expect, you know? I’m not the boot camp. I’m not evaluating them, they’re already in. They just have no idea how to properly hold their weapon the right way around. I swear, I have held so many rifles in my life that you’d think I’d be replacing my bow. And you know the worst? The Hydro Gunners keep coming to me like I know what they’re doing. Just shoot your bubbles, man! I’ve never had a tank like that before.”

“You hold a hydro vision, though.”

“Yeah, but do I look like a healer to you? I heal my enemies from their pain by ending their misery. But somehow they expect me to know how theirstuff works. Just hit stuff until it works, it’s not that difficult.”

They arrived at Wanmin Restaurant and Chef Mao came to their table. Apparently, Xiangling was out today, gathering ingredients.

“We’ll take the Chicken Tofu Pudding and the Cured Pork Dry Hotpot, please.”

Childe smiled at him. “We should take a walk sometime.”

“Childe, we take walks all the time.”

“Yeah, I know, but I meant outside! Outside the Harbour. I haven’t really been, you know? There’s so much for me to do in the city that I haven’t really gotten a chance to see the landscape. And I figured, since you know everything about Liyue, you’d be a perfect tour guide!”

That was true. Childe had been for about two weeks and he had seldom left the Bank without Zhongli’s company. A young boy like Childe would grow restless in a city like this, especially considering how he’d grown up in a small village surrounded by trees. So he nodded.

“If your training session does not take too long, we may take stroll tonight.”

The training session did indeed not take long and Zhongli presumed that Childe had simply left early since the real harbinger was going to lead the training anyway.

Brash as ever, Childe stormed the Parlour and leaned over the counter, staring expectedly at Zhongli. He was not deterred though and kept going through his papers.

“Yaahoo, who are you?!”

Oh no. He forgot about Director Hu. He would –

“Hi, I’m Childe! Are you the leader here?”

“Before you stands mighty Hu Tao, 77th Director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour! Are you the guy who keeps stealing my consultant?”

Childe laughed. “Indeed I am! In fact, I’m here to steal him away again.”

“Hmmm, you have the deadest eyes I’ve ever seen. You’ll be a customer soon, yeah? If you sign up now, I can give you a coupon.”

Childe waved his hand. “Thanks, but I’m not going to die here. If I do, it’ll be in the cold embrace of my home. But I’ll take coupons!”

Hu Tao grinned and shoved them into Childe’s hands. “Effective only if used within three weeks!”

“Well, I’ll be sure to drop some bodies, then.”

Zhongli stood up quickly before this could escalate any further.

“Childe, let us leave lest it gets too late.”

“Oh, right! Bye, Hu Tao! It was nice meeting you!”

Zhongli practically dragged him out of the Parlour before Hu Tao could respond.

“I had no idea the Director was that young!”

“She has taken over at a very young age, indeed. At some times, I think she does not respect the dead enough, but she is surprisingly loyal to the traditions.”

As Zhongli was dragging him away, Childe looked over his shoulder, seemingly deep in thoughts.

“Anyway, where are we going?”

“It’s a place called Yaoguang Shoal. You will like it.”

“Looks peaceful,” Childe commented and Zhongli nodded.

“There is little here for the Treasure Hoarders to find here. This place is not known for its hidden treasures.”

Childe crossed his arms and looked over to the shore.

“My siblings would love to run across here, I bet.”

“Oh?”

Childe grinned. “Yeah, it’s kinda hard to do that back home, you know? They could even run bare-foot here. You know what...”

The boy turned over and got rid of his shoes, wiggling his toes into the sand. He grabbed Zhongli’s hand and pulled them both down onto the ground.

“Let’s watch the sunset, yeah?”

Zhongli complied. There was, after all, no reason not to.

“What are these called?”

Childe had picked up a conch and held it up to Zhongli’s face.

“They are called Starconches. They say if you hold it to your hear, you can hear the longing call of the sea.”

The boy held the starconch up into the sky, looking at it. “I’ve never seen a seashell with a star on it.”

He proceeded to hold it next to his ear, looking at his toes that were still buried in the sand. He seemed to be listening intently. Then, he laughed.

“Oh, what a siren call indeed. It’s like a call from the very deepest depth, from within all the endless void and darkness at the bottom of the world. So enticing, but I’m not going to drown.” A moment of pause. Then: “No use in hiding back there!”

In a flash, Childe was standing upright, a spear made out of hydro in his hands. Zhongli had barely enough time to turn around to see the Treasure Hoarders before Childe ran over to them.

With each of his attacks, Childe’s weapon shifted fluidly between the spear and what seemed to be two daggers. The red scarf on his back was glimmering with pure hydro energy as Childe spun around himself to knock the Treasure Hoarders out.

The boy turned around, shouldering his spear and grinning at Zhongli. “Do you think that there are any Ruin Guards about?”

~*~

Childe was not on the Guili Plains. After hearing the harbinger had gone there just days prior, Zhongli believed he might’ve returned but there were no hydro traces of his friend.

Why are there no Glaze Lilies on Guili Plains?

Zhongli looked at the desolate plains. He still remembered a time in which the Lilies would bloom plenty. In his ears, he could still hear Guizhong’s song to them. He has never been able to sing it, no matter how hard he tried. But right now, she didn’t matter.

Zhongli turned around again to head to Yaoguang Shoal, hoping to find Childe there. Alas, he was disappointed.

Where else could the young harbinger be?

Maybe... the sword. He closed his eyes. He might be able to find the sword. He’s carried it for so long, there were still so many traces of himself left behind. But he couldn’t concentrate. There were too many thoughts in his head. What if the harbinger was dead? No. No, he couldn’t think like that. He wouldn’t die this easily.

Zhongli opened his eyes again and looked down. There was a starconch lying in the sand. He bent down to pick it up. A conch, carried up to the shore from the depths... Childe liked them. They were a lot like him, he had said. Zhongli had never been sure he understood. Geographically, Snezhnaya was not lower than Liyue. But there had always been something about Childe, something that hadn’t seemed quite right. His eyes, of course, but there had also been the general feeling of... of something beyond this world. Like the boy had been claimed by something else, but Zhongli had never been able to put his finger on it – not that it had ever mattered this far.

Why couldn’t this shell lead him to Childe?

Not wanting to crush it, he threw it back into the ocean. The water rippled for a moment, then the surface stilled once again.

But in the battle of adaptability and endurance, adaptability would always win; and the water tore the rock down. The stone would crumble; and the pillar would be no more. The rocks fell deep, deeper than they ever had before and the water caught them gently in their embrace.

Embraced by the deepest depths, the stone would remain forever more, gently floating away, having overseen the world for long enough.

And if the rock would ever tire, the tide would gently carry the stone to the shore.

Zhongli turned, and left the shore behind. The water was gently lapping at the sand, washing the starconch back ashore. The star in the middle of it shimmered in a gentle blue.

Everything inside him called him to Nantianmen. He was not sure why, but he was not one to ignore a feeling like that when he had deliberately been looking for it. There were a lot of monsters and Treasure Hoarders in the area, so that might be why Childe had been heading there. It was worth a try.

The Old Stone in his pocket gave a slight hum, but Zhongli did not have the mind to listen to it.

Nantianmen was eerily quiet. Normally, one could hear the Hillichurls running around, but now there was just dead silence. Something had happened here and Zhongli had the uneasy feeling that Childe might be at the middle of it.

Ever the eye of the storm.

“Not a step closer!”

The voice rung out across the field. It was distorted but Zhongli recognised the voice. It was Childe. He started running.

There was a mass of Ruin Guards and Hunters in front of Azhdaha’s tree. And there was something else. Something twice the size of a human floating in the air, with a cape made out of stars. Zhongli did not recognise the body, but it was Childe’s voice. And judging by the pile of destroyed Ruin Guards, he had been here a while. There were still so many...

“Childe”, he shouted as he ran over.

The boy... turned his head.

“Xianshen –“

He didn’t get to finish as a Ruin Hunter had been charging up his drill to promptly launch forward to attack him with it. Due to Zhongli’s interference, Childe was not able to evade the attack and got thrown back at the tree behind him. Zhongli saw the boy glow and shrink in size before he fell down to the ground, not to move again. He barely saw the jade sword fall next to him.

No.

Childe always got up immediately after being struck down.

Zhongli could only stare for four painfully long seconds before he decided to take revenge. He didn’t know what brought the Ruin Guards here or how Childe was able to transform the way he did or why any of this was happening at all – all he knew was that he wouldn’t let a friend die in vain once again.

Morax was far from dead; and these enemies would know.

Gently carried by the waves, the rock saw more of the world than the pillar ever could have. The tide was careful to not jostle it too much and to carry it great distances before slowing down, allowing the stone to rest.

Countless fish and sea-creatures would come up to the rock but the sea gently carried it away. The rock was thankful and it appreciated the small whales coming with them.

“I am tired,” the rock would say to the waves. “I have overseen it all for too long. But how will they fare without my pillar?”

The water did not answer, but it changed course. It carried the rock back to the start, so that the stone could see: nothing had changed. The pillar was forever gone, and in time, it would be forgotten. Rock would forever endure, until it would ebb away with the tide.

“Take me away,” the stone requested, “show me your beginning. And when you end, I shall end with you. Until that day, let your tide carry me until I erode away.”

As the Ruin Hunters lay dead to his feet, Rex Lapis took a heavy breath. Without a second thought, he spun around and ran up to the boy that was still lying on the ground. He was breathing, right? But there was blood.

“Childe,” he whispered as he gathered his friend into his arms and brushed a strand of hair aside. This couldn’t be like Guizhong all over again, he wouldn’t be able to take it. The boy groaned and shifted a bit.

“Xiansheng...?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m here.”

The boy blinked and slowly his eyes focused on Rex Lapis.

“Oh wow... I didn’t know you had horns.”

Morax didn’t understand, but it also didn’t matter. “Please. Are you in pain? What do I do?”

Childe laughed a bit. “It’s... don’t worry, yeah? It’s nothing a little herbs and bandages can’t fix, right? I’m more exhausted than I am hurt.”

“You are bleeding.”

“Oh believe me, I know. It’s okay though. Still, I... I should probably bandage it, right? I don’t wanna pass out.”

Morax sprang into action. “Don’t worry, baobei, I will take care of it.”

Childe blinked at him hazily as he removed his jacket and started wrapping it around the boy’s torso.

“...that looks kinda ineffective.”

“This is all I have. I will take you to the Harbour immediately.”

Gently, Rex Lapis gathered the boy in his arms to begin the trek back to the Harbour. Childe’s grip on the sword handle was steady.

“They were attacking the tree,” he said after a few minutes of walking. Morax could tell he was about to fall asleep.

“You were protecting it?”

“No, I came here because I heard about the Ruin Guards. But then I saw them attacking the tree and I... I didn’t want to, but I had to. It’s where... it’s where you sealed Azhdaha, right?”

Rex Lapis just nodded.

“I thought I could take them all on, but they just kept coming. Your sword did good damage but I needed something bigger.”

“Which is why you... transformed.”

“Yes,” was all Childe replied.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

Childe pressed his forehead against Morax’ neck.

“I wanna see the shore.”

“Childe, you’re hurt. Baobei, I need to take you to the Pharmacy.”

“Please.”

So Rex Lapis turned and walked to Yaoguang Shoal.

“Tell me a story,” the young boy asked.

“Please, baobei, let me take you to the Harbour,” Rex Lapis pleaded.

“You can. Just one story. Just tell me one story to fall asleep to. I won’t die. The tide’s not gone yet. I won’t go anywhere just yet, alright? Just one story, alright? Please.”

“Once, a long time ago, Rex Lapis encountered a young boy. The boy would never walk beside the god, but the god would always follow. The god was as steady as stone, but the boy was like the tides, ever-changing, ever-evolving and forever coming back.

Rex Lapis would oversee his country for eternity, and always he would watch the waves, wondering just when they would erode him. Perhaps, the god thought, perhaps erosion would not be the worst if it meant flowing like the tides.

After all, the boy would gift him a starconch, telling stories of a far-too-distant shore.”

In his arms, Childe had fallen asleep. The water was gently lapping at their feet and a starconch was washed ashore. Rex Lapis picked it up and put it gently into Childe’s arms. Carefully, he picked the young boy up and made the long walk back to Liyue Harbour.

Behind him, there was a singular rock carried by the waves.

As Zhongli and Childe disappeared from view, so did the rock vanish as if it had never been there.

#genshin impact #zhongchi #genshin childe #genshin zhongli #hurt/comfort #fanfiction #genshin tartagalia #irrlicht writes #tartali

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