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#the brief blessing of having them sit together... never forget...............
laurasbailey · 1 year
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Just know that I love you.
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fawism · 1 year
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Phases Of You
A little sneak peek of my WIP— I swear it's not angst(real)
Tags: death x reader, parallels, contrasts, deep longing​​​​​​, forever bound together by the cycle that is life and death, you're constantly reincarnated into multiple facets, but death never forgets the outline of your soul, totally not a soulmates thing * I may also pub on ao3 because wtf the last time I'm on there there was literally NO death x reader fic 😕
You're here again.
He raised his head, sniffing lightly. As soon as Death recognized the familiar pattern in the air, he breathed out a long sigh. Looming over everyone amidst the building's shadows, his eyes soon landed at your form who seemingly ducked from across a market's fruit stand. Judging from the way you peeked from behind the table together with a hooded cape covering half of your features, much like his, it was clear that you were trying to lose a certain group of individuals. 
And he could already pinpoint who by the amount of royal guards dashing past through him, charging at the bustling streets in pursuit of their escaped target. 
"Where's your highness?!"
"Not again!" 
"They couldn't have gotten that far!" 
Death scoffed at the unfolding scene, his gaze shifting into amusement as they barged their way through the crowd, completely missing your hiding spot.
So you were born into nobility.
Good for you. 
The last time you had mentioned something along the lines of hoping to be more fortunate with your next life, you were but a young commoner then. You got by everyday through the means of letting the spreading garden outside your lands flourish. And you were good at what you did that the village folk regularly flocked for your goods. You've always crafted and tended to them with great care after all, Death could tell, notably with the souvenir you had dearly imparted him in that lifetime. 
A pink carnation. 
It was foolish, for someone to offer him a thing so delicate that could wither in his touch. 
(The petals were kept away safe, surprisingly staying intact despite its age.)
Still, out of all your paths he had the dis​​​​pleasure of clashing fates with, it was in this moment where Death deemed you most worthy by how you spent your days to the fullest compared to the those who put very little value in theirs. 
It's why he never understood the appeal of that one silly dream of yours. He believed you were already blessed with much more than those sitting idly on their thrones and wasting away inside their high castles. 
Wealth, of course, came in different forms. 
And so Death told you it was stupid thinking, his usual spat when it came to your absurdist of ideas, which were honestly plentiful in your brief periods of living.
"Why does it matter? Kings and queens and peasants— you're all going to meet the same end someday." 
His bitter tone was dismissed by a snort of disbelief. "Geez, you talk so dark," you commented, shaking your head. 
You often found yourself wondering how indeed you managed to strike an unlikely friendship with such a brooding cloud of a bounty hunter.
He, on the other hand, liked to think that you were able to entice him with your humble presence and a warm welcome home whenever he was at the area to fetch some sorry fool who grated his nerves. 
Gently picking at the stems of your morning harvest, you broke into a half-hearted smile. "If I'm lucky, maybe I'll even find you first next time." 
"You won't," he responded, voice low yet so sure, like this was a common topic between the two of you. His answer would remain the same. "But I will."
Death always did.
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francis-writes · 7 months
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A true alliance
Grima Wormtongue x gn!reader
Summary: you're a messenger of Denethor and due to your duties, you often visit Rohan. For some time your relation with Theoden's advisor was purely professional but now you wonder if you could get closer to Grima...
a/n: in defense of the quality, i finished this story with a light fever
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You were wandering across the halls of Meduseld, looking for a familiar silhouette. Everything you were supposed to discuss about cooperation between Rohan and Gondor was already established. Servants were packing your bags and you were going to leave next day, to tell the Steward everything you found out. The rest of your company were now relaxing to get ready for a long journey but you had important thing to do now. At least if you're brave enough. How weird, you fought in many battles, you couldn't count how many times you almost left this world. But death didn't scare you as much as talking about your feelings. Or specifically: possibility of refusal. If it was any other person, you could try to avoid them. But how would you explain to Steward that you can't represent him in Rohan because Theoden's advisor turned you down?
You didn't even have anybody to talk about it. Everybody you knew in Rohan definitely didn't like Grima. They thought he was sleazy, shady and physically repulsive. Well, they had a point, especially in two first statements but you liked him, maybe a bit too much. He was beautiful the way eclipse is stunning, the way a swamp attracts wanderers, the way poisonous species of spiders delight with the shine of their fur.
A familiar voice interrupted your thoughts.
"where are you rushing to?"
You turned around to see Grima standing in the shadow. You never understood how he was able to stand in the shadow, unnoticed by anybody.
"Uhh, Grima..." you looked for words, wondering if your plan was a good idea "Actually I was looking for you"
"Me?" Grima stepped closer, his cape was dragging on the floor. "What would you need my humble person for, when the official talks have ended?"
"In fact..." you fell silent.
"What's the problem? I know you for a few years and I never saw you in lack of words, even though during a few arguments I wished I did"
"I just... really appreciate working with you but I was wondering ... perhaps would you like to meet in more private setting?"
Grima raised an eyebrow (or at least he would if he had any).
"You mean... for political matters or maybe..." he reached his hand as if he wanted to touch your face. You leaned over a bit.
"...maybe for more personal things?"
You took a deep breath as his fingers gently brushed your skin. Well, you started it, you had to finish it.
"I want to meet with you not as representant of Gondor, but rather like two people who are bounded by something more than job"
His face stayed motionless so you added:
"If it's not for your liking, I will accept your refusal and we will forget about this"
"No..." Grima said quietly.
You nodded and turned back to walk away but he grabbed your arm.
"Wait! I just wanted to say that I see no reason you would be interested in me"
You looked him in the eyes, wondering if it's a delicate way to turn you down but then you noticed hope in his eyes.
"Grima Wormtongue,  don't doubt yourself! If didn't see anything worthy in you, I wouldn't come here, risking rejection and shame. I am not that reckless as you find me. You're a smart, charming man and you have no more flaws than me. Just tell me and don't keep me uncertain. Do you accept my offer?"
He smiled. "Yes. Shall we go to my chambers and spend some time together before you have to leave?"
"Don't you have duties?"
"Nothing that needs to be done in a hurry. I have duties everyday but you don't visit often. Like a butterfly that sits on a flower for a brief moment, to bless you with his sight but then leaves in a second"
*
Grima's chamber was spacious but dark. There was a mess - books and letters laying on all surfaces but it wasn't as uncomfortable place as you thought when you managed to catch a glipmse of this room before. During your visits in Rohan you talked with Grima a lot, as politicians and as a friends but you always did it walking through the corridors of Meduseld or observing the night sky.
After some time of waiting, Grima came back with two goblets and a bottle of wine.
"Forgive me that I didn't call the servants or asked them for a more proper meal but I didn't want them to disturb our... privacy"
He moved mess on the table with his elbow and put the cups down. He started to pour wine, looking at you every now and then but avoiding steady eye contact. He handed you your goblet and pointed at the bed.
"May we sit?"
When you both sat, close to each other but still keeping a little distance, Grima looked at you, yet it seemed like he was talking to your hands or knees.
"Again, forgive the setting. I am not used to having guests" You put your hand on his and a sudden shudder ran through his body.
"There's no need to apologize. I am pleased with any setting as long as you're there"
Grima looked up at your smiling face.
"That's... flattering to hear. I must admit I am in loss of words"
"Grima Wormtongue in loss of words? Unbelievable. It never happened during all years of my work"
He fell silent for a moment. You were worried you offended him but before you thought about words of comfort, he spoke again.
"Let be clear, so I don't misunderstand your intentions: do you wanna be with me... like a lover? Like a life companion?"
"I do. Do you want it as well?"
"I used to dream about you but I never supposed it would come true" he hesitated "In that situation... may I kiss you?"
You smiled and leaned over.
"I think there's no need for further questions"
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kyovtani · 3 years
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mean dom hinata? explain away honey 👁👅👁
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you guys- when i tell you the concept of hard dom hinata is one of my favorites- idek what it is about the thought of having sunshines like him, suga or yams go brutally at me but it just makes me pussy throb so here you go ✨
a/n: i got a little carried away so this is a little longer haha 😀
— cw: hard daddy dom!shoyo, heavy degradation, mocking, teasing and dumbification, pussy slapping, choking and brief mentions of breeding <33
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hinata shoyo is not really one who's constantly in his hard dom mood. he's also not a soft dom per se, but for him to become the mean, merciless dom you love oh so much, it does take a little bit of work.
however, it always depends, who those guys are.
however, it always depends, who those guys are.
one thing hinata absolutely despises is when you visit him at practice, dressed in one of your tiniest little dresses and that one particular look on your face. he can tell the reason behind your little visit by the way you walk and talk once you've entered the gym him and his teammates spend most of their time in.
you visit him a lot, which he genuinely appreciates because he misses you a lot but can't really do anything about it because he has to practice to become an even better version of himself. however, when you come up to him with that smirk and certain kind of playful gleam in your eyes, he knows you're here to play your little games.
and then he just gets to watch the scene unfold.
you becoming incredibly handsy with atsumu and bokuto, two of his closest friends who, bless their hearts, simply can't hide the effect you have on them, especially if you're dressed like that. shoyo also calmly observes the way you talk to his captain, meian, the guy he looks up to, his mentor. he even finds it funny how you keep letting your hands graze over his big arms and even his abs, or laughing about his puns and jokes a little too much than you'd normally do.
in those moments, shoyo just smiles and calms himself down because he knows why you're acting like that. you've missed him and he hasn't had the time to give you the attention you deserve so you're here to get what you deserve.
even on the ride back home he does not say a word and that's when you know you've got him.
because the moment he steps through the door to your shared apartment, he slams it shut and wraps one of his big, calloused hands around your neck before he calmly pushes you against the wall.
and then, hinata just starts chuckling.
the sound of his deep laughter sends shivers of excitement and arousal down your spine and it feels like he's slowly setting your body on fire in a way only he's been able to.
he holds you like that for a good while, just giggling and shaking his head, meeting your desperate gaze every now and then as he applies more and more pressure on your delicate throat.
"you know what, puppy?", he begins, running a hand through his messy curls before he scratches the back of his undercut and then casually plays with the piercings in his ear.
"i actually enjoy these shows a lot", shoyo continues, his facial expressions slowly but surely hardening as he never once averts his gaze from yours all while his other hand pushes your tiny little dress all the way up your thighs, exposing your clothed cunt to the cold air of the hallway.
"all the fake giggles and compliments whenever my boys say something, honestly – it's actually quite cute. i know how much tsumu- and bo-kun enjoy your little visits and even shu-kun gets all flustered when you keep telling him just how 'big' he is", hinata explains, the smile on his plump lips slowly fading away as he pushes his thumb underneath the waistband of your panties and casually rips it with one firm tug, not even caring about the little painful gasp you let out when the fabric lightly cuts your skin.
you just look at him with parted lips, your arousal slowly dripping down your inner thighs and your cunt clenching in absolute disgusting despair the longer hinata stares at you.
"shoyo, i-", "shut the fuck up", hinata is quick to quiet you down, the playful gleam in his big eyes burning with a fire of anger in just the right way; you've finally gotten him exactly where you wanted him, "not only wasn't i done speaking yet, you were also not granted permission to say anything, pet. so you stay nice and quiet for me, hm?"
you start nodding softly, a soft whine escaping your lips when shoyo harshly pushes his thick thigh in between your legs, right against your dripping cunt. your eyes roll into the back of your head at the delicious feeling of his strong muscle underneath you; your clit throbbing almost painfully when you slowly start rocking your hips against him.
"look at how fucking desperate you are to have your stupid little pussy fucked", hinata grunts, a deep, empty chuckle falling pst his lips before he lets go of your throat and takes your chin into his big hand to have you meet his strong, alluring gaze, "it's disgustingly pathetic."
"o-only for you, daddy", you whisper and dig your fingers into his tiny waist, holding onto him as your hips move on their own, giving your little clit just the right amount of stimulation to esse some of the pressure on your cunt.
"oh, really? o-o-o-only f-for m-me? yeah?", hinata replies, his mocking of your words sending you into the sweetest haze of pleasure and you can't believe you're about to cum from basically nothing.
"didn't look like that to me when you were basically offering yourself to my boys", he hisses, suddenly pulling his whole body away from you and with a soft yelp, you let yourself fall onto your knees; desperately pressing your thighs together in hopes of getting your ruined orgasm back, only to fail miserably.
shoyo looks down to you, his rock hard cock straining against the soft material of his sweats and the thought of his weight on your tongue, you whimper softly.
"i don't fuck you for what? two days? and you forget what manners are. have i fucked you and your stupid little pussy so dumb already? because it seems like you're not doing any of the thinking anymore, hm? but i mean, how are you supposed to when cock is all you seem to think about all day", his words ring in your head, echoing sonloudly it feels like he just yelled them right into your ear.
you gulp harshly, your hands finding the fabric of his sweats as you make your way up to him; the thought of having him fill you to the brim with his cock as he says even meaner things to you clouding your mind in just the right way.
"p-please", you whisper and look up at him, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as the arousal becomes overwhelming and the radical need to have him inside of you takes over your mind, "please, daddy, i n-need you to fuck me."
you start placing soft little kisses on his clothed cock, your eyes never once leaving his strong gaze as you enjoy the feeling of his length underneath your lips knowing oh too well that he's going to take it away from you a lot sooner than you'd expect him to.
"tsk, how unfortunate that i don't need to fuck you. i'll just use my fist and watch you beg for it before i cum all over your dirty little cunt and call it a night", he hisses, pushing the messy strands of his hair out of his face before he moves out of your grip and walks towards the living room.
and just as you're about to get up on wobbly legs, hinata raises his big, tattoo clad hand snd turns his head to the side, before he mumbles a soft, "don't you fucking dare to get up. if you want to behave like a needy little pet, you're going to be treated like one. so, you better stay the fuck on all fours."
by the time you come to sit next to him on the floor, hinata just groans, pushing his sweats and boxer briefs down his thick thighs and revealing his fat, precum leaking cock to your hungry eyes.
"sit on the coffee table", he grunts, sitting down on the couch as he wraps his big hand around his throbbing length and slowly starts stroking himself.
you nod softly, moving to sit on the little table with your juices covering your inner thighs and continuously dripping down your legs and without missing a beat, you spread yourself open for hinata.
"fuck, you're dripping everywhere", he grunts at the sight of your sopping wet pussy all spread okt for him and his words easily have your hole clenching like crazy, making more of your juices drip down to your ass.
"all y-yours, daddy", you whimper, watching the way hinata slowly bucks his hip into his fist, his precum slowly finding its way down the back of his hand.
"of course you're all mine, you stupid little slut", hinata scoffs and even though you see the way he lifts his hand, the suddenness of the harsh spank on your pussy still takes your breath away and leaves you whining and whimpering as the pain slowly spreads in your veins, mixing with the pleasure and basically leaving you high.
"you and this pretty pussy belong to me, puppy", he spits and casually lands another spank on your drenched folds, a loud moan falling pst your lips as the tears stream down your temples and find their way into the coffee table.
"now cut the crybaby shit and get on top of me, show me you're worthy of my cock and i might actually breed you."
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mrsalwayswrite · 3 years
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To Be My Night And My Day - Part 3
Summary: Hvitserk has been your best friend since childhood, the one you can always rely on. So when you start doubting your current relationship with Sihtric, Hvitserk kindly offers to help you out….but the consequences are never what you expected.
Pairing- Sihtric x Plus Size!Reader & Hvitserk x Plus Size!Reader
Warnings: Angst, implied smut, confessions 
Words: 3200
Tag List:  @youbloodymadgenius @evelynshelby @pomegranates-and-blood @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @geekandbooknerd @adrille88 @dini73 @flowers-in-your-hayr​ (lemme know if you want to be added or deleted)
Catch up here -- Part 1 / Part 2
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The day of the midsummer festival arrived. Garlands of flowers and banners were strung between some of the houses. The flowers saturated the air with their potent aroma, mixing with the smoke from the large bonfires to create a heady scent in the evening air. The rambunctious screams of children and the cheers of old friends celebrating drown out all other sounds. Even the sun as it set over the fjords cast the sky in mesmerizing colors, as if it wanted to join in the revelry below before disappearing. Food and ale were in abundant supply, promising everyone to have their fill, and for many to awake the next morning with regrets due to the pain in their stomachs or heads. Or both. 
 Yet, you wandered along the streets, feeling alone even amongst the crowd. A smile remained plastered to your face as you moved about. A few times you stopped to greet those you knew and share a few sips of ale with them. You did not linger long though. Soon enough you were back to walking, back to scanning the crowds for two faces in particular, back to ignoring the churning in your gut. 
As you maneuvered through the crowd, avoiding sprinting children and a few wandering hands, your mind reminisced that a year ago today was the first time you brought Sihtric to your home. That the two of you made love for the first time. That you shared with him a part of yourself no one else had seen or touched. 
 Your mind easily recalled how he was so gentle with you that night, treating you like a queen whom he willingly served to his utmost ability. Each caress, each kiss, each word of praise and compliment painted your skin while his musky scent and husky voice infused itself into your soul. Then as you made love, for there was no other description for it, you felt your heart fully open to him like a flower desperate for the sun's rays. 
 Afterwards, you laid together on your bed, silly smiles on both of your faces, wholly sated and sweaty. Neither of you with any intention of leaving. There he asked you to be his. His woman. His lover. 
 And you agreed immediately. 
 Under the festival's banners and the fading sun, your hands smoothed down the fabric of your dress as you walked. You had been working on this dress for the past several months by candlelight once Sihtric had fallen asleep. It was meant to be a surprise for him, a gift in a way. The color of the fabric was a deep forest green, his favorite color. It hugged you tight like a lover's embrace, showing your plump figure. Something you never would have done in the past. But for Sihtric you would….because you knew he loved your body and you wanted to look good for him. For with the way the dress was cut and showcased certain assets on your body, you knew he would thoroughly enjoy peeling you out of it later. 
 Tonight you were supposed to be at Sihtric's side, laughing and drinking with him. You were supposed to feel beautiful with his appreciative gaze and grabby hands. You were supposed to feel happy amongst your friends as you celebrated another year blessed by the gods. 
 Yet you were alone. 
 And all you could feel was despair. 
 Up ahead, you could see Queen Aslaug and Ubbe, sipping on horns as they watched the crowd, whispering to one another. When Ubbe caught your eye, he smiled brightly and motioned you over. You might have been able to keep your facade before Ubbe, teasing him about his latest lover or listening to him tell an embarrassing story of his brothers. He would throw his arm over your shoulders, letting you lay your head against him and steal sips of ale from his horn. He had told you more than once you were the sister he always wished for. A compliment you took to heart. 
 But you knew the queen would be able to see through your illusion within a second. The fake happiness you wore as a cloak to hide your true feelings, drawn back beneath her penetrating gaze, leaving you exposed. Somehow the woman had always been able to read you too well, even when you were a child. As you sat amongst the brothers at the table eating, when you occasionally joined them, they would be talking, or more likely arguing, your mind would be far away reliving the negative comments or looks thrown at you earlier in the day. Without a word, she would reach over and grasp your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Reminding you that those people's opinions were not the ones you should focus on. That your friends, your found family, their opinions matter more. Even now as you stood across the street, when her eyes met yours, there was a knowing weight there that made your heart clench painfully. 
 So instead, you shook your head and gave them a brief smile before disappearing into the crowd once more. You had hoped to see Sihtric or Hvitserk, to try and talk sense into them, to just see their faces and pretend for a moment that you had not monumentally screwed everything up. But as you wandered down the various streets, neither the blond prince or the dark-haired Viking seemed to be attending. 
 After a final glance around, with tears threatening to escape their confines and a churning of acid in your stomach that refused to settle, you turned your back and started towards the docks. You always found peace listening to the waves on the shore. The repetitive sound and motion, the salty air, the cool breeze on your skin, the sand beneath you, it all helped clear away the worries and fears in your mind for a time. And that was something you sorely needed right now. 
 You continued through the revelry, like a ghost among the living, threading your way towards the docks. You stopped when a hand landed on your arm, reaching out of the shadows and stilling your movements. With an excuse of exhaustion on your lips, you turned to deliver it to whomever it was seeking your attention.
 Only for it to dissipate when your gaze met those dark eyes that enchanted you, that held your secrets, that you found solace in. 
 "Sihtric?" You breathed out. The churning in your stomach momentarily silenced under his gaze. 
 Those dark eyes scanned you from head to toe, not missing an inch of skin or curve of your body exposed in your dress. With the intensity of his gaze, a shiver raced down your spine and caused your breath to catch in your throat. 
 "You look beautiful." He softly murmured. With the lightness of a butterfly's wing, he reached up to trace your cheek and down your jawline. Unconsciously, your eyelids fluttered, threatening to close under the sheer bliss from his touch alone. He chuckled huskily, making your eyes snap open and your heart to skip at the sound. 
 "Thank you." You responded, equally as quiet. 
 The both of you stood there, somehow your hands now laying on his chest and his on your hips. You knew you should say something instead of staring at him like a lovestruck fool; but you were too caught in a daze from finally finding him, after days of your heart yearning for him. And with the way he was staring at you...you wondered if he felt the same. 
 "Can….can we talk?"
 You nodded. "Of course."
 He gently took your hand in his, pressing a lingering kiss to the palm of your hand, making your heart beat a rapid tempo in response. Silently he guided you through the crowd, away from the festival. A couple of times, you heard the call of your name or Sihtric's, friends hoping you would join them. Every time his feet never faulted, continuing onward, leading you away. He would wave a hand at them, calling out that the two of you were retiring for the night. 
 For the first time that day, the smile you wore was genuine. Not a hint of fictitious joy to be found. And whenever Sihtric would catch your eye and grin or wink at you….your smile only grew wider. 
 It was several minutes before you realized he was leading you back to your home. Privacy and quiet was what he most likely were looking for and that was guaranteed at your home right now. It was now though as you approached, your mind could see through the mental haze and began to question what he wanted to speak to you about. 
 Releasing your hand, he opened the door and stepped through. Yet you lingered for a moment on the threshold. There was something in you that knew, after this moment, after this talk, nothing would ever be the same. But would it bring you joy or heartbreak was unknown. 
 With a deep breath, you willed your heart to settle as you followed him inside. You first noticed the fire in the hearth was alive and dancing, casting light and shadows around the main room. For a brief moment you questioned your own sanity, for you were certain you had not left it like that. You always doused the flames before leaving your home. There were one too many stories of the negligence of others forgetting about their fire and their home turning to ash. Something you never wanted to experience personally.
 The second thing you noticed was the blond prince sitting next to your small table, clad only in trousers and loose shirt, his legs stretched out before him. His green eyes were trained on you, first taking in your form through your dress before settling on your face. His pointer finger drummed repetitively on the cup he held in hand. At any other time, this scene would have been normal. He would probably be over demanding food and cuddles. But now, with the tension you could see in his form, it was anything but relaxed. 
 Your head whipped around to stare at Sihtric, your stomach doing somersaults and your traitorous heart racing like a horse. "What is going on?"
 With a glance at Hvitserk, the dark-haired Viking stepped closer. His hand moved to cup your cheek, forcing you to stare only at him. "You love me?"
 "Yes." You murmured. 
 He nodded once. "But you also love him."
 This time when you answered, there was a tremble in your voice; not because your answer was untruthful, but from the pain you knew it carried with it. "Yes."
 "How?"
 You blinked owlishly for a moment. The question did not startle you, for it was a logical question. What caused your hesitation, your momentary lapse of thought, was that this was the very question you had been wrestling with ever since Hvitserk walked out after confessing his love to you. Amongst your sobbing and sleepless nights, you pondered how it could be. How could your heart yearn for both of them so earnestly? How could the very thought of your life without one or the other fill you with such dread?
 As your mind fumbled, tripping over your chaotic thoughts like unearthed roots in a forest, Sihtric drew back from you. With a resigned glint in his eyes, he turned and walked over to the small table, taking the seat opposite of Hvitserk. 
 Both men faced you, their gazes solely locked on you like you were a mystery needing to be solved. It was here you truly realized how very different they were. One was a blond prince, someone you had known almost your whole life and had become a safe haven for when the world became too much. The other was a dark-haired bastard, someone who you had only known for a while but showed up like a shooting star amongst your darkest of nights. 
 So how could you love them both equally?
 How could you explain it in a way they would understand?
 "Because, Sihtric, you are my night." You stated with finality, meeting the gaze of your lover. After a moment, you turned to look at your best friend. "And, Hvitserk, you are my day. I need you both."
 "That makes no sense." Hvitserk complained, then drained the cup in hand quickly. Only when he reached to refill his cup, did you notice the pitcher on the small table and the second cup near Sihtric's elbow. Absent-mindedly, you wondered how long the two of them had been sitting in your home drinking together while you were at the festival searching for them. 
 Running a hand over your dress, you took a second to gather your thoughts before speaking. The gazes of both men were still on you. Hvitserk tapped on his cup with his forefinger, a habit he did when thinking or listening intently. Sihtric sat frozen, unmoving like a statue, his full attention on you. Silently, you sent a plea to the gods that your words would ring true and turn their hearts from violence. 
 "Sihtric, you are my night. You are the peace in my storm, my quiet moments of solace. You are my comforting walks along the shoreline, holding hands and listening to the waves. You are my late-night talks, my confessions in the dark. You are the only one who truly understands what it was to be alone, to be an outcast amongst your own family. You have truly made me feel wanted and beautiful and happy, when I could only see loneliness in my future before I met you."
 Tears in your eyes and heart held in the palm of your hands, you smiled faintly at your lover before shifting your gaze to your best friend. 
 "Hvitserk, you are my day. You are the joy in the sunlight. You are my silly adventures and learning to lie so as to avoid your mother's wrath. You are the laughter that always bubbles up in me whenever we are together. Yet you are my strength, without you I would not be here. You are the one to always encourage me, to ignore the comments and keep my head up high. You are the reason I can walk in Kattegat without a care, because their snide opinions hold no control over me anymore."
 No longer could you hold the tears back, staining your cheeks as they slid down. You sniffled, trying to wipe them away with the sleeve of your dress, only for them to be replaced with your next heartbeat. 
 "I'm so sorry," you continued when you were certain your voice would not crack, "I don't know how else to explain it. I love you both….for different reasons. I know it makes me selfish. I know I don't deserve either one of you. Especially now. I hope one day you can forgive me….but I cannot choose between you. I can't. It would be like choosing which eye I wish to keep. I can live with only one, but having both makes me better, makes me happier. I'm so sorry."
 Silence descended over the small room like a wet blanket, leaving you struggling to breath between their scrutiny and the tears streaming down your cheeks. Only the crackling of the fire could be heard and even it seemed to sense the intensity of the moment. 
 This was it. The time you had been waiting for. When they both would walk away and leave you alone. Not that you would blame them or try to stop them. It was what you deserved.  
 The two Vikings shared a meaningful look, an unspoken conversation passed between them, dark eyes meeting green ones. Hvitserk tilted his head to the side with raised brows, the faintest hint of a smirk teasing his lips. A long exhale escaped Sihtric as his gaze dropped to the table for a second before jerking it back up to meet the prince's. He nodded and they both faced you once again. 
 "This is it? Nothing can change your mind?" Hvitserk softly asked. 
 You shook your head. "I'm sorry."
 Hvitserk smirked. "We figured as much." He took a sip of his drink, carefully setting it on the table after. "We have talked….neither of us wish to lose you. Thus, we have a choice for you."
 "Yes?"
 "Would you be willing for us to share you?"
 Your thoughts tossed and turned like a rowboat stuck in the raging seas. Never had you thought of that option. You knew of others who had shared and had heard their stories of what it was like to have two lovers, but you never considered that for yourself. Mostly because you never thought more than one person would ever be interested in you anyway. 
 Your prior tears forgotten, you stumbled over your words as you watched both men. "I….truly? You would be willing….to share….me?" A part of you wondered if this was some kind of joke, something to raise your hopes only to dash them away 
 Sihtric rubbed a hand along his jawline. "We can try."
 "How….how would that….it work?" 
 "Well, tonight we figured we could have a trial run, if you agree." Hvitserk said casually, as if you were discussing the weather or what he wanted to eat for dinner. 
 Your mind continued to whirl with thoughts and questions. For surely there were certain things which would need to be discussed beforehand. Would others know of this….arrangement? What would happen if this fell apart? Curtly, you shook your head, hoping to dislodge the worries and fears. For once you wanted to live in the moment, and take the hand outstretched before you. Let the morning light bring its own concerns. 
 With a confidence you were unsure you truly felt, you straightened as you stood before them. "Yes. I want to do this."
 Hvitserk chuckled as he leaned back in his seat again, that damn smirk beaming from his face, causing butterflies in your belly to dance. 
 "Good." Sihtric leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Before your eyes, you watched the heat grow in his dark gaze, transforming from stoic to hungry in a way that made your breath hitch. "Take your clothes off."
 Your core clenched at the way his voice dropped while giving the command. A low simmer of desire sparked in your belly at the covetous look in his eyes. Your gaze shifted to the blond, only to be met with a wicked, primal stare that sent a shiver down your spine. Standing before them both, you felt a lamb before two ravenous wolves. Ones that would only feast on your flesh after they toyed with you, played with you, and made you cry out and beg for relief. 
 With hands shaking, not from trepidation but anticipation and excitement, your hands made quick work of the ties of your dress. Desire tightened a knot in your stomach and caused arousal to bloom between your legs. In the next moment, your dress dropped, pooling at your feet, leaving you naked before their eyes. Every roll of fat, every stretch mark, every blemish on full display for them. Every curve of your body, your ample breasts and thick thighs exposed in the firelight. Yet all you could see was the way both men drank you in with their starved looks, as if they were at a feast and you were the main course they had been waiting for….and they fully intended to devour to their heart's content. 
 Sihtric spoke first, almost making your knees buckle due to the low growl of his approval. 
 "Good girl."
Part 4
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randomrosewrites · 3 years
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Bittersweet Dreams
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Every night, your mind is plagued with visions of an old Liyue. She blesses your nights, like a guardian angel, but you never remember her face or name when the sun rises again.
Pairing: Ganyu X GN reader Words: ~5K Warnings/ tags: Memory loss, reincarnation, blood and injury, death, fluff and angst, happy ending, implied sexual content a/n: I never thought much of Ganyu, until I dreamt of her one night (which unspiringly inspired this fic) and now I'm hooked. Patiently awaiting her rerun.
She comes to you in a dream.
You can tell it’s her from the feeling of it. Warm. Comfortable. It loosens your muscles (if you even have muscles in dreams) and puts your mind at ease. It makes you sleepy, wanting to lie down on the soft hills of grass under the shade of a tree to take a nap.
You don’t know exactly where ‘this’ is, whether or not it’s in the fields of your home, Liyue, or some other place. It looks like Liyue, with the craggy mountains behind you, and the bubbling stream running down the hill. But it feels different.
Then, you see her.
You don’t know what – or who – she is exactly, because you can never get a clear view of her. Everything blurs around her body. But you know she’s there, know she’s waiting for you. Sitting in a pocket of empty grass, sounded by glaze lilies, feet tucked underneath her as she naps.
She starts when you approach, uncurling herself to sit up properly. She smiles. She says your name – at least you think it’s your name, it feels like your name – and pats the spot beside her.
You wade through the flowers and sit down, so close to her that your legs are touching. It’s rather close even for friends, but with her, it feels right. How it should be.
She never talks much. For a dream or a vision, she never has much to say. Only whispering in a soft voice about how pretty the flowers are, or how beautiful the day is. The silence is good. A brief period of peace.
(Peace from what? You always wonder when you wake, but no matter how many times you re-enter the dream, you always forget to ask.)
This dream always ends in the same way.
“You should get some rest,” she says.
“What about you?” you always respond, the words feel foreign in your mouth – like they’re not yours.
She shakes her head. “I’ll be alright. Rest, and have peaceful dreams.”
You rest your head in her lap, as you’ve done a thousand times before. Her hand cradles your head, brushing through your hair lovingly.
“Who are you?” “Why are you doing this?” “What is this?” – You always want to ask, but no matter what you try, the words never come out, tongue glued to the roof of your mouth.
Just like every time, your eyes grow heavy, your body grows weak, and you close your eyes, falling asleep once more.
..
.
When you wake, you’re never in the flowery fields anymore, but in bed staring at the ceiling. The hum of noise vibrates through the wall, employees at the Inn already getting up to do their daily tasks.
You sigh and rub your eyes, rolling around for another ten minutes before finally getting up.
By the time you dress and leave your room, you’ve forgotten all about the dream.
---
“Good morning, Mrs. Goldet,” you great sleepily, rubbing your eyes.
Verr Goldet looks up from the counter and nods. “Good morning, sleep well?”
You give the cat laying on the counter a few scratches. “As good as always. I had a nice dream.”
She blinks slowly. “What did you dream of?”
You turn away, heading out of the doorway to start your chores. “Her. As always.”
As you disappear, Verr Goldet’s brows furrow and she frowns. It dissolves the second a customer walks into the lobby, ready to check in.
---
You’ve been working and living at the Wangshu Inn for a while now. Free room and food for helping out every day, with Sundays off. It’s a good deal.
You do odd tasks around the Inn, helping out in the kitchen, moping the floors whenever travelers track in mud from the marsh – things like that.
Days are spent polishing the balconies, evenings are spent wiping down dinner tables, and you when the moon is high in the sky, you sleep.
And dream.
---
There are many people in the crowd, packed tight together under the hot midday sun. Guili plains is alive in celebration. Booths are set up on either side of the streets, the smell of delicious food wafts through the air, and colorful decorations hang everywhere. You push through them, scanning the sea of heads for a particular person. She’s not hard to miss, but everywhere you turn, she evades your sight. Anxiety begins to bubble in your stomach – the speech will start soon, and you want to be with her when it begins.
A cold hand falls on your shoulder. Turning around, you sigh with relief.
“There you are,” you yell over the noise of the crowd. “I thought I’d lost you.”
She smiles, showing off fresh Qingxin flowers in her hand. “Sorry, I was distracted by a stall. Would you like some?”
You take her free hand and kiss it. A red blush forms on the apples of her cheeks. “They’re all yours.”
Hand in hand, the two of you make your way towards an elaborate stage, raised high above the people, crafted out of rock and decorated with gold. Many people are gathered around, waiting patiently, holding umbrellas to protect from the sun or fanning themselves off with whatever they have. The two of you take your seats just as the theatrics begin.
There’s a cry, and a point of fingers as the audiences’ attention is turned towards the sky. Hailing in rays of light are two of the Adeptus, taking the form of cranes. One of them a gold and orange, the other blue and white.
Cloud Retainer, you’ve heard (?????) call her Adeptus.
They land on stage and spread their wings out in a flourish.
“People of Guili,” Cloud Retainer begins. Her voice ringing out like a crystal bell. “On behalf of all the Adepti we would like to welcome you here.”
“We hope you have all enjoyed the festivities,” the gold and orange bird speaks next. “Today’s celebration marks not only the anniversary of the creation of Guili, but to also pay homage to the warriors that have fought and are still fighting in the ongoing war. Because of the date’s significance, the Lord of Geo and Lady of Dust have decided to bless all of use with their presence.”
The two birds spread their wings once more. Cloud Retainer raises her head high in the air. “People of Guili, I now present to you, the Lord of Geo – Morax and the Lady of Dust – Guizhong.”
At the mention of their Gods, the people break into a round of applause, this only increases when a man and woman appear onstage, and everyone rises to show their respects. They’re both dressed beautifully, in fine silk-robes, adorned with smears of make-up around their eyes. Your goddess looks divine, accepting the praise with a warm smile. Morax, on the other hand, gazes out towards the crowd, sharp gold eyes piercing anything in his sight.
Morax – though you have nothing but respect for him – has always been a bit enigmatic to you. You can’t imagine what your Goddess sees in him. But their companionship has what lead you to become acquainted with her, so you’re not complaining.
Morax steps forth on stage, raising a hand. The crowd goes silent instantly.
“Thank you for the warm welcome,” Morax’s voice is rich and calm. Beside you, your companion is sitting at full attention, gnawing on her bottom lip in anxiety. She startles as you place a hand over hers. She smiles thankfully, some of the tension leaving her, before returning her full attention to the couple on stage.
“This land has seen many years of fighting,” your Lord’s words are wispy yet firm, just like dust being blown through the wind. “Many, many people have suffered at the bloody hands of war. Such heinous acts stain the land red, spreading sorrow on every inch of the earth.”
She gathers a breath, and when she speaks again, her voice is strong, that of a warrior who has fought in battle. “But not here. Guili will be – is – a place where there is respite. It’s the beginning of the future, a future where the monsters of today are nothing but a kids-bedtime story in the future.”
Guizhong touches her chest with one hand, the other extending out towards the crowd. “I make this vow to you now – my precious people – we will fight to protect the lives of each and every one of you. I promise you security, prosperity, and peace. One day, the bloodshed will end, and I promise you, when that time comes, when the dust has finally settled, we will lead you into the new age of Liyue. To this, I swear on the very ground I walk upon.”
There is nothing but pride, joy, and determination emanating from the crowd, applauding the Lady’s finest speech. Even Morax is smiling at her, the small corner of his mouth quirking upwards.
Cool fingers squeeze yours. Looking over, there are tears in your friend’s eyes. She blinks them away, the wind tousling her blue hair.
She’s beautiful. Your heart squeezes painfully as you fight the urge to lean over and kiss her.
You squeeze her hand back, letting all of your hopes, feelings, and things unsaid pool between the two of you.
---
There is an Adeptus at the Wangshu Inn.
You know little of the Adepti, but seeing the boy (being?) in front of you, there’s no doubt in your mind that he is one.
His sharp eyes slide over to meet yours, run up and down your person, before returning to your face, then back to staring at the marsh.
“Sir Xiao?” you ask. “I’ve brought you dinner.”
Xiao doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even acknowledge your presence. You were warned he would be like this - bitterly stubborn and unresponsive.
You settle the plate down by your feet. “It’ll be here if you feel like eating.”
You wait a minute longer, but Xiao doesn’t make a peep. You sigh and turn to go back inside.
“Do you remember Guili?” he whispers suddenly, so quiet you nearly mistake it for being the wind.
You spin around. “Do I what?”
“Guili. Remember Guili.”
“…Remember? It’s an ancient ruin,” your brows furrow as you frown. “I’ve only been there maybe once or twice, passing by.”
A painful second goes by.
“Why, am I supposed to know something about it?”
From what you can see of his face, Xiao grimaces. “Nothing, just – just forget it.”
“You can’t just-”
“I said forget it,” he snaps, his voice cracking at the end of his words. “You don’t – I thought you – ” He rubs his face with his hand, breaths deeply. “It’s nothing. Please just leave.”
He gets up suddenly and leaps from the balcony before you can even speak. Leaving both the tofu and you alone on the balcony, a cold ache spreading through your heart.
---
She’s nervous, you think. Abnormally so.
Jueyun Karst is safe, kept watch over by Morax’s Adepti and the Qilin in the clouds. Only select few are allowed up where you are – (There was a smug steak of satisfaction when Cloud Retainer begrudgingly let you traverse her abode atop the mountains, Ganyu smiling gleefully as she held your hand.) – and even less are allowed to set foot on the sacred lands.
She’s been shifting for the past hour, unable to focus on conversation and jittery. Ever so often, she rubs her hands over her horns in a pacifying motion, then as if realizing what she’s doing, abruptly tears her hands away.
“Is the upcoming battle bothering you?” you ask, finally, not being able to stand her fidgeting much longer.
She stiffens, surprised that she’s been found out, and dips her head in embarrassment. “Oh. No, it’s not that…”
“…Ok. If not that, then what?”
She swallows thickly. She turns to you, taking both of your hands in hers, refusing to meet your eyes.
“I was wondering…I mean I hope,” she starts, nervously. “That after this is over…all of it…that maybe…you’d, um…”
You’re patient, gently prompting her, “I’d?”
“W-well, that we could…?” she trails off, squeezing your hands again. “That this…could be s-something more.”
Oh. Oh.
Your chest heats as you lean forwards, whispering her name to the wind. She squeaks raising her head.
“I like you,” you sigh, unable to stop the loving cadence in your tone when you say it. “A lot. So whatever concerns you have just know that…anything you want is…it’s all good.”
She’s silent for a moment as your heart pounds against your ribs. Slowly, she tilts her head towards yours, resting your foreheads together. Her cheeks are so hot, unlike the cryo vision strapped to her side.
“I like you a lot, too,” she says. “I don’t really have…any…experience with something like this but um…I’d like to try.”
Your heart soars, leaps, and does a flip twice over. You smile so hard your cheeks hurt. “Can I ask you a question, now?”
She blinks, nodding her head.
“May I kiss you?”
She wets her lips with her tongue and nods again, vigorously.
You close the distance, firmly kissing her lips. They’re soft and plush, warmer than you’d imagined. (Because you have imagined this, many, many nights before.) A mix between a gasp and a pleasured sigh escapes her, the noise only heating you up further.
When you pull back, she’s turned three different shades of pink and her eyes are glazed. You rest your head against hers and wrap your arms around her waist, feeling the curves and dips of her body, squeezing at the skin there.
“Good?” you ask.
She nods, tucking her head onto your shoulder. “Mhm.”
At some point, you lie down together, tangled in limbs, listening to the sounds of each other’s breathing and heart beats as Liyue’s night sky sparkles with constellations.
It’s only much later, when you hear the screams, that you realize peace is fleeting in this world.
---
You pant heavily, setting the last box down on the ground and flop on the stairs. Five in total, weighing gods know how much. Each one filled to the brim with legal documents from Liyue Harbor. You had suffered through carrying them one-by-one up the stairs as the elevator had conveniently decided to break this morning.
You push the box with your foot, sliding it with the others against the wall. If this is how much paperwork the Inn gets, you don’t even want to know how much paperwork the Qixing have to deal with. (Then again, it was the Qixing that dictated the laws, so perhaps it was well deserved.)
Verr Goldet had taken one look at them and called it an early day, leaving you to handle closing.
At least your day is done now. You hang the keys up in their proper place, pet the cat goodnight, and begin blowing out the lanterns.
“Um…excuse me?”
The sudden voice startles you, turning towards the entrance. A figure stands in the doorway, silhouetted by the moonlight. You can’t make their identity out.
“Could I speak to Mrs. Goldet? It’s about the recent delivery of paperwork.”
“Mrs. Goldet is away right now; I could take a message?”
The person nods, steps through the threshold, and your mouth goes dry.
She’s tall. Eloquently dressed with hair the color of Glaze Lilies. It frames her face, falling down her back in delicate curls. As you stare, stary eyes blink back at you in shock.
She seems familiar.
“I’m…sorry…” she says, turning away quickly. “I-I’ll just come back tomorrow-”
The tassel of her outfit swings as she does a complete 180. Her hair is furled out, exposing the smooth expanse of her back. The sight sends a throb to your temple, the scene feeling reminiscent of…something.
Your head is aching.
“W-wait!” you reach out and grab her arm, catching on the cuff of her sleeve. The motion rattles the necklace around her neck – no, not a necklace – a bell. The chime crisp like morning frost, soft like the way she feels, like the way she-
Pain bursts from your temples, piercing both sides of your head. You cry, loosing your grip in the process. There’s a muffled yell before the world blurs, spins, and sends you tumbling down, down, down, into the dark.
And then, there’s a hallow nothing.
---
She comes to you in a dream, but Liyue is not as it once was.
There is fire everywhere you look, the ground scorched by flames or destroyed in the aftermath of intense fights. The air is thick with smog, choking you with each gasp you take. One of your legs isn’t working and blood pools through your fingers pressed tightly against your side. You don’t know how much further you can make it.
You hobble through destroyed fields, corpses littering the ground, blood seeping into the earth. All of the glaze lilies are gone, wiped out in the destruction.
You cross the river on one leg. You slip on a rock and lose your footing, collapsing into the water. It’s freezing, the sensation colliding with the burn of your wound. You shiver and suck air through your chattering teeth, dragging yourself using your arms. Your side screams in pain at every pull, black spots dance in your vision. You grit your teeth and dig your fingers into the dirt, pushing forward.
Not yet, you can’t die just yet.
You exhaust yourself at the edge of what used to be the flower field, rolling onto your back and wheezing at the sky. This is as far as you’ll go. Mud soaks through your clothes. You dig your fingers into it, grounding yourself from the searing pain.
You hear the chime of her bell before you see her, crisp and pleasant, soothing your mind. She cries out your name, fear and desperation in her voice. You call back, a cracked, soft groan.
The bell draws closer and she rushes to your side, kneeling in the dirt. Her hair’s a mess, dirty and singed. Her sleeve is torn, blood dripping down her pale forearm. She pulls you onto her lap and rushes to tend to your wounds, pressing a hand to your side. She’s never been a healer, only a fighter. A strong fighter. Stronger than you could have ever hoped to be.
“You’ll be fine,” she says to herself more than you. She nudges you gently. “Please stay awake just a bit longer.”
You take her hand and squeeze it tight. Smiling takes all of the will you have, and even then, it’s weak. “It’s alright.”
She shakes her head. Her eyes – such pretty eyes – wide and filled with tears. “Please don’t go. I can’t…”
“Morax,” you croak. “There’s still him.” Your goddess, Guizhong might be gone, but he’s still alive. As enigmatic as he is, you know she’ll be safe in his care.
“I care about that!” she shouts, for the first time ever, her anger directed at you. “I’m not talking about a god to follow, I’m talking about you!”
She’s sobbing now, her eyes swollen red, teeth clenched tightly through her gasps. She curls around you, fingers grasping at your bloody clothes.
You lean your head into her, offering what little comfort someone dying can offer their partner.
“I’m sorry, Ganyu…” The life is fading from your body, your fingers and toes are so, so cold. “For leaving you like this…”
She gives up on the wound, wrapping her arms tightly around you, burying her head onto your chest, over her heart. Pitiful whimpers leave her mouth, awful sounds that make your heart ache.
“I love you,” she confesses, the words coming out as a sob. “I love you.”
Your heart squeezes. “I love you too, please…”
But the words don’t come. The ache in your side is almost unbearable, growing worse and worse with each shallow breath you manage. You fight to keep your eyelids open, but you’re so tired. And sleep has never been more appealing.
“Rest, now,” she coos, combing your matted hair from your face. You feel the small, delicate press of chapped lips on your forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The void calls, gathering you into its arms, wrapping you in a warm bundle; warning you that your time’s up. You fight against it a bit longer, mustering up the last of your consciousness to tell Ganyu – you friend, partner, lover, one final thing.
“Forgive yourself.”
She bites her lip, fresh tears forming in her eyes. She nods. You’re relieved.
Her form wavers, and you know you can’t stay any longer. You let your eyelids close, your breathing slows, and you give yourself to eternal sleep.
..
.
“Sweet Dreams…” she whispers after a long while, in a soft, saddened voice.
---
You wake up alone, sweating in your bed, in tears, and remember.
---
The climb to Quicing Village is long and straining. You could have taken the path to the west, but stubborn as you were, wanted to save time by scaling the mountain.
You don’t know what drew you to this place, only a tugging at your heart forcing you forward. A firm belief that you’re heading where you need to go.
It’s easier the further up you go. You’ve done this before, in another life, as another person. You remember scaling mountains all the time, just to pick the freshest Qingxin petals for her. You used to eat them together, on the tops of Mount Azjong, legs dangling in midair, watching the birds go by, the wind nipping at your skin.
It’s not long before you reach the top, where the path dips to overlook the village. Fields of red, blue, and yellow stretching over the lands.
You let yourself wander, talking to the villagers as you go. Everyone is so nice, excited to talk to a new stranger in town. The air’s so fresh and the grass is so green, it reminds you of those days in the fields of glaze lilies.
You almost stop breathing when a familiar scent flows by on the wind. Sweet, fresh, cool. One you’re very well acquainted with. You rush forward, running towards the smell faster than your legs can carry you.
She’s sitting in a field of flowers. Just like the ones in your dreams, except there’s only one glaze lily, resting by her knees and cupped in her palms. You slow down and take the stone paths carefully, as to not to disturb the environment.
You stop just behind her, clearing your throat. She startles with a jump, turning around. Your face heats in embarrassment.
“Ah…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Her lips, which are slightly parted, close. She shakes her head. “It’s quite alright…I was just enjoying the day.”
“Do you mind if I join you?”
She pauses, then nods wordlessly. You settle down in the grass beside her, a visible gap between the two of you. There are many things you are unsure of. Does she even want you here anymore? Does she just want to forget what happened?
“[First] is your name, correct?” she says eventually.
“Oh – yes, it is.”
She nods, staring out over the river. Another silence befalls you.
“I’ve dreamt of you,” you blurt. “For a while. It comes back in chunks. The memories of my past.”
“That usually happens with reincarnation. The soul is the same but the body and mind doesn’t remember, plagued by shadows of a past life.”
You swallow down your nerves, trying not to focus on how your voice shakes. “In that past life, were we…were we…lovers?”
Her fists clench on her lap. She takes a shaky inhale and nods.
“Oh…” Is all you can say. You knew – know? But to heart it out loud is…
“You look just like you did all those years ago,” Ganyu murmurs sadly. “I’ve never forgotten your face.”
A heavy, hot weight settles in your chest. “How long has it been?”
“Thousands of years…since before the Arcon war,” Ganyu rubs her eyes with her palm. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
You wait until she composes herself before you speak again. “I remember in the past, you asked me to share a future with you.”
Ganyu turns to face you, and desire flares up inside your chest. Dark and powerful, urging you to pull her close and into your arms.
“I did.” She says.
“I’m not…the same person from the past. I don’t know who or how I was, and I don’t know if I’ll ever return to remembering anything. But…”
Cool fingers rest on your lap, you shudder at the touch. Ganyu smiles gently, and there’s a feeling of deja-vu when she says. “But…?”
“But if you’ll have me, I would like – I’d really like to – to try. With you.”
Ganyu scoots to the side, until your thighs are touching, and hums softly. “I think I’d like that, too.”
You let out a shaky, relieved breath and squeeze her fingers tightly. She smells sweet and floral, the scent overwhelming your body, making your head drift and spin. You’ve never smelled anything more right.
“I hope this isn’t rude, but you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”
She flushes deeply, smile spreading across her face. “You told me that before, thousands of years ago, when you first met me.”
You smile back, tucking a piece of stray hair from her face. “Well, it’s true.”
---
As much as two immortals (???) might have just rushed back into dating, neither of you wanted that.
You two talked. A lot. About your current lives and past. You talked about Wangshu, about your occupation, about Xiao. (“Don’t mind him,” Ganyu had said. “Xiao’s always a bit cold, even to the other Adepti.”) Ganyu talked about the harbor, about your past lives in Guili.
You might not ever get your memories fully back. But even if you don’t, you feel surprisingly calm and accepting of it.
At the end of the day, after both of your throats were hoarse from conversation and your eyes wet from emotion, you both decided to part ways.
She returns to Liyue Harbor. You return to the Wangshu Inn.
Temporarily, you promised, until you figured yourself out. Liyue Harbor is daunting, the populated streets reminding you too much of Guili, of memories you can’t remember, that make your head ache terribly.
You stay at Wangshu. In the mornings, you mop floors, dust paintings, and help fix the elevator. At evenings, you go to the top floor and eat plates of Almond Tofu with Xiao, staring longingly towards the Harbor.
And at night, when you go to bed, you don’t dream of the past, but of your future.
---
One day, when you return to an empty room, and your heart aches with loneliness and the desire to see her becomes too painful to bear, you decide it’s time to go.
---
Liyue is calm, today.
The clouds drift by idly, whisps of white against blue as birds soar on the random wind currents. The sun shines high in the sky, slowly making its way across the map.
“Stop moving,” you grumble, locking your arms tightly around her, burying your face into her chest.
Ganyu chuckles, carding her hands through your hair. “I’m sorry, did I disturb you?”
“Yes…I was having a good nap.” Which is true. Ever since your reunion, you’ve been sleeping more soundly than you ever have in years. Perhaps it’s because you don’t dream of the old anymore, don’t float through your memories like a puppet being pulled on a string.
“You’ve had enough time to rest, I think,” she says tartly. “Thousands of years’ worth.”
You lift your head and pout. “You’re so cruel,” But your words don’t hold any bite.
Ganyu smiles mischievously. Her hand trails down your spine, drawing a shiver from you. “Do you think it’s unfair? To not indulge me after I’ve waited for you all this time?”
You drag yourself up to be eye level with her. Your hand cups the back of her head, trailing up to the base of her horns. A gasp escapes her lips and her eyes flutter when you tenderly pet them.
“If you wanted my attention,” you whisper, lips an inch from hers. “You could have just asked.”
Ganyu pulls you down by the neck, sighs and gasps being lost to the wind.
---
Much later, when the two of you were sweating and grass was stuck in both of your hair, you lay together, dozing under the night sky. Ganyu lays curled to your side, feet tucked underneath her, a content purr vibrating from her throat. You wonder if all Qilin do that.
As you pet her hair, fingers rubbing curiously over her empty ring finger, a deep feeling of content seeps into your bones.
You’re home, at last.
You kiss her forehead, joining her into a peaceful dream.
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sugawarassoulmate · 3 years
Text
but i can't see you every night, free
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you and suga have been dating for about four months but nobody on the team knows about it yet. the two of you didn’t mean to keep it a secret for so long — it’s just been nice not having anyone ask too many questions or make constant jokes. they’d all know eventually but for now, it’s still fun to sneak around with your boyfriend.
or car sex with sugawara
words: 2.5k
cw: fem!reader, exhibitionism, fingering, vaginal penetration, pet names, degrading (one line), cursing, minors dni.
There was something about long car rides that always put you at ease; you weren’t sure if it was the long stretch of road before you or the slight rumble that came with being in a moving vehicle. Whatever it was, it made you immediately say yes when the boys asked you to accompany them on their trip to a beach resort they found for the summer.
How could you say no to two weeks with your favorite people at a gorgeous resort? Plus, you might be able to sneak some time with Sugawara. 
You and Suga have been dating for about four months but nobody on the team knows about it yet. The two of you didn’t mean to keep it a secret for so long — it’s just been nice not having anyone ask too many questions or make constant jokes. They’d all know eventually but for now, it’s still fun to sneak around with your boyfriend.
And so here you were, sitting in the passenger seat as Suga barreled down the highway. The ride wasn’t super long, only a few hours, but Daichi made sure there were a few stops for gas and snacks. It was peaceful inside the car, the only sounds were the low hum coming from the radio and the light snores coming from Hinata, Nishinoya, and Yamaguchi who had fallen asleep in the backseat hours ago. Suga’s eyes were concentrated on the road while you stared out the window, enjoying the scenery. 
That was until you felt a hand on your thigh. You looked down and saw your boyfriend’s hands rubbing at your thigh, exposed thanks to the shorts you were wearing. Looking up, you notice that his attention never faltered. He just wanted his hands on you and it made you smile. Placing your hand on top of his and squeezing a bit, you brought your attention back to the window.
It was another few minutes of comfortable silence before you felt Suga’s hand moving up your thigh. You didn’t think anything of it first until the pad of his thumb rubbed against your clothed pussy. Your eyes widen, looking over at him and seeing him staring back at you — just for a brief moment. The look he gives makes you press your thighs together, you know what that look means but he can’t actually be thinking that right now.
“Seriously?” you whisper, remembering that you weren’t alone in the car.
He chuckles, taking a second to look at the rearview mirror before his eyes return to the road. “Everyone’s still asleep, princess.”
You look behind you and, sure enough, there are three sleeping boys in the backseat. For good measure, Yamaguchi even had his headphones plugged in, hopefully keeping him from hearing the two of you.
Suga’s hand starts moving again and you probably shouldn’t let him but even while he’s driving, you can hear the anticipation in his breath. The cons of sneaking around are that you don’t always have time to be intimate. For the past few weeks, you two have been relying on the makeout sessions at your house after volleyball practice. Not to mention you almost got caught the last time he fucked you.
It wasn’t your fault that Suga gets so riled up after practice. It was his turn to lock up the gym and he lingered behind under the guise of working on his serves. Once everyone was gone, he pinned you to the locker room door. Being the good (secret) girlfriend that you were, you tried to visit Suga and the boys during practice — sometimes it had its rewards. 
The way Suga was pounding into your cunt kept you two from noticing that Tanaka and Noya had made their way back to the gym after forgetting something. Suga acted quickly and covered your mouth with his hand, quieting your sobs until the coast was clear. You had no idea how they didn’t notice their precious setter was railing one of their friends. 
You’re brought back to reality when you hear the button on your shorts snap open. If you weren’t so terrified of one of the sleeping boys suddenly waking up and seeing what Suga was doing, you’d probably commend him for being able to do all of this while staying focused on driving.
“Please, baby?” he asks. His other hand gripping the steering wheel with want. “Haven’t been able to touch that pretty pussy in so long.” You hadn’t realized one of your hands grabbed his wrist. You want to tell him no; to wait until you could sneak off at the resort. But you had needs too.
Against your better judgment, you let go of his wrist. 
The sadistic grin that grows on Suga’s face catches you by surprise, but your attention is immediately broken when his fingers slip past your panties. You hadn’t realized how wet you got from just a few light touches. 
“Just focus on the road, my love.” you heard him say. Looking away from the backseat, you try your best to pay attention to the road disappearing underneath you. 
And God bless the way Suga knows your body better than you do. He teased you a bit at first, but the rational part of his brain knew that time wasn’t really on your side. With his thumb rubbing circles on your clit, two of his fingers pushed in and you were embarrassed at how quickly you were gushing around him. 
He laughed beside you. “Has my baby missed me too?” All you can do at this point is whine in response. “I promise once we’re alone, I’m going to  ruin  this pretty little cunt okay?”
Your thighs press together at his words and all you can think is Please let me cum, please let me cum, please, please, please…
Suga took notice and brushed up against that one spot he knew would drive you crazy — wanting to get you off as badly as you did. You were right there, trying so hard to cover your moans as to not alert anyone, scratching at the car seat. He can feel your pussy clench down on his fingers, his good girl is so close just a little bit more…
And your cellphone rings, startling the both of you. Worried that the sudden noise would wake the boys, you slap Suga’s hand away. Quickly buttoning up your shorts, you turn over your phone and see Daichi’s picture on the screen.
“H-hey what’s up?”
“Oh, did I wake you from a nap?” he asks, definitely noticing the hitch in your voice. 
“Yeah,” you lie, your pussy throbbing after being denied its release. “What did you need, Daichi?”
“Tell Suga to take the next exit. We’re taking a 20-minute break.”
A laugh escapes you. “We’d be at the resort by now if it weren’t for all these breaks, you know.”
“Hey!” Daichi teases. “I’m just making sure our drivers don’t get tired. See you soon.”
The call ends and you look over at Suga, letting him know about Daichi’s plans. He rolls his eyes but proceeds to take the exit anyway. The frustration on your face must be noticeable cause he places his hand on your thigh again.
“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take care of you soon.”
You want to respond but Hinata and the others start waking up and suddenly, both of Suga’s hands are on the steering wheel.
 After one last break, you all had finally made it to the resort — and, thankfully, Suga kept his hands to himself the entire time. The extended drive had tired everyone out and it had been pretty late anyway, so it was decided that it would be best to turn in for the night. 
The cabin you all rented for the trip was quaint but it had enough space for all of you — of course, you’d be rooming with Kiyoko and Yachi which would only make it harder for you and Suga to get some time alone. 
Daichi realized that the fridge in the kitchen hadn’t been stocked, meaning there wouldn’t be any food for breakfast.
“I’ll see if there’s a convenience store,” Suga offered, keys already in hand. “We can just get some essentials for now.” His eyes glanced over in your direction and you quickly caught on.
“I can go with him,” You announced, trying your best to sound nonchalant. Nobody seemed to notice and Daichi thanked you two for offering.
And you and Suga were back in the car, off to run your little errand. But something was telling you that there was something else on your sweet boyfriend’s mind as he drove into the night.
 “I don’t think the convenience store would be around here,” you said sarcastically, taking note of the remote area Suga had taken you to. “Are you kidnapping me?”
He had somehow taken the two of you to a heavily wooded area, with trees dense enough that it was impossible for anyone to see where you were. The car was turned off and your boyfriend had gestured for you to sit in his lap. You hopped over the console and greedily climbed on top of him, wrapping your arms around his neck.
Suga’s hands circled your waist, fingers rubbing against your skin. “I don’t think it counts as kidnapping if you’re coming willingly.” He laughs at his own joke, you roll your eyes. To silence him, you close the distance and press your lips against his.
He leans in almost immediately, tongue entering your mouth as his fingers dig into your waist. He pulls away to attach his lips to your neck, biting down causing you to whine.
“Not too hard, Kou,” Remembering the last time Suga left a hickey on you — Hinata noticed it during practice and blasted it for everyone to hear. You didn’t think the “burning yourself with a curling iron” excuse would work a second time. Suga grunts in frustration but relents to your request, removing your top and nipping at your chest.
“Better?” he asks, tongue swiping at your covered nipple.
Playing with the ends of his hair, you pout. “No, actually,” and Suga quirks his eyebrow. “I want more, Kou…” You say, grinding into him. He had been doing such a good job today of keeping his own desires hidden but the way his cock was hardening underneath you said everything you needed to know.
He feigns surprise when he looks up at you. “Does my princess wanna get fucked here?” he asks as if he isn’t unbuttoning your shorts this very moment. “Being away from me has turned you into a needy slut, hm?”
His vulgar words force a choked sob to leave your lips. You can feel his fingers rubbing against your clit and now, without an audience in the car with you, there’s nothing stopping you from moaning as loud as you want. He bites down on your chest again, with enough force that you’re sure he left a mark this time, at least it’s in a place nobody will see.
But as good as it feels, you need more. “Koushi, please,” a beg. “I didn’t get to cum last time...you promised.”
And, being the ever so generous boyfriend that he is, Suga pushes your panties to the side and shoves two fingers inside you. Fuck does he love the sound of your cries in his ear. You were so wet for him, your arousal running down his hand. Oh, how needy you must have been today when he tried to play with you earlier. From the way your walls were sucking him in, he knew you were close and your whines of, “Please, please, please…” just egged him on even further.
Creaming all over his hand, the tension you felt all day finally released. Suga felt you slump on top of him, trying to catch your breath. “Think you could do that again for me, baby?” A sweet kiss is placed on the side of your face. “Want my pretty baby to cum on my cock. Can you do that for me?”
You’re already so sensitive but he’s speaking to you so sweetly and you just want to please him. “You’re gonna have to do all the work,” He laughs above you, grabbing your chin for another long kiss.
Suga takes his time removing your shorts and panties, leaving you completely bare from the waist down. Before you know it, he’s rubbing his cock against your folds; your juices making a mess of him. He lifts you up so you sink down on him, you cry out in sensitivity but he coaxes you through it.
He gives you a moment to adjust before slowly lifting you up only to slam you back down. “God, you’re so pretty,” he groans, kissing down your neck. Suga tugs your bra down, exposing your breasts. “Let me hear you, baby.” Just then he bites down on your nipple, rolling the bud with his tongue.
“Kou– ” Tears form in your eyes from pleasure as you pull on his hair, crying out. It had been far, far too long since he was inside you. “More...I want more.”
And, of course, he obliges, bouncing you on his cock with so much force there was definitely going to be bruises leftover from his fingers on your waist. Your sopping cunt always took him so well, gushing and clenching around him. He was so lucky to have you.
Your whines start getting higher and higher, telling Suga that you’re about to cum. He removes a hand from your waist to reach down and rub at your clit, sending you off the deep end.
“Ahh, can I cum? Please? Please, please, please …” your begging makes Suga fuck you harder. He loved when you begged. You were always such a good girl, asking your sweet boyfriend to make you cum. Not that he would ever deny you, of course, but hearing your cute little voice made him want to ruin you.
“Cum for me, baby,”  Suga commands, his own release fastly approaching. “Want you to cream on my cock.”
You practically scream when you finally cum, your walls gripping his cock as your legs shake. Suga’s mouth hangs open, thrusting into you and chasing his own high. He’s got his own tell when he’s about to cum; pulling you to his chest, wanting you as close as possible. 
“So good, baby, s’good for me fuck.” And, with a groan in your ear, he’s cumming inside you. Your pussy milking him dry.
The two of you each catch your breaths. After a bit, Suga cups your cheeks and leaves dozens of kisses all over your face. Your laughter fills up the silence. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he repeats in between kisses.
“I love you too, Kou.” And you want to be like this with him forever. Maybe it’s time that you tell everyone about your relationship. You wondered if he felt the same but for now, you cozied up to him, enjoying the closeness.
“You know,” he starts, “They’re probably gonna wonder where we are.” 
You really couldn’t bring yourself to care.
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bakingandbooks3 · 3 years
Text
A Court of Song and Serpents
A bit short but the begging of a project I'm SO excited for- hope you love this as much as I do.
Summary: What a time to be alive as Nesta Archeron, going backward to move forward and finding that the places she once called home are now empty tombs.
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Nesta
Nesta held her breath for a moment, a pause, and stilled entirely. The Court of Nightmares. She knew the verdict would be severe, but never would she have expected exile to a world of terror. The horrors of that place, of how it was once the main residence of the High Lord- till Rhysand.
Rhysand, the man who boasted of lands bountiful with choice and reason, now sat across from her donning unmasked hatred. A look he kept shielded from his mate, reserved just for Nesta. The kind that rips one apart from the inside out, would carve out the belly of a beast, burn a witch on a wooden pyre.
Nesta felt nothing, she always did. It wasn’t hard to see what he was thinking of her, how his beautiful wife’s wretched sister was little more than a gambling thief who slept her way through his glorious city. Now, fingers smeared that blank canvas so pure of her darkest shades.
Eyes flicking back, she studied that same sister. The Cursebreaker, the Savior.
How small and insignificant she became next to the glimmering shining thing Feyre was. The lands spoke of her beauty and kind touch, and how she sacrificed everything to save a world of people, and Fae that she was raised to despise.
Nesta wished it’d be known that her touch wasn’t always kind.
She built her bricks firm enough that her house of grace never shattered; Held firm, it was all she had left in her. Too many eyes on her filled with grief, excitement, retribution-Nesta was keenly aware of how this Court of Dreams felt of her.
“This is an exile.”
Rhysand's smirk peaked so slightly, his mate tensing.
“No, no. This is an intervention, a chance for you to find yourself away from bad influences and habits. You can’t keep living like this, and I refuse to let it continue happening and I take the fall for it. Your decisions are impractical and immoral. You are sober much less than you are drunk and-”
“If you’re going to condemn me, do it. But don’t sit here and act as if this is out of kindness.” Nesta snarled. She hated the barbed words, but it’s what she felt. “Who are you to question my morality?”
“I think I can speak for my wife when I say that your presence here is….” Rhysand growled but pulled back, like he forgot Feyre was right there, too.
Nesta wished he would’ve let go, so maybe that facade Rhys reserved for Feyre was broken. No, that’s cruel. As much as she hated this and him, he was making her sister happy.
Something Nesta could never do.
“I do not give a shit what my presence is doing. The decision has already been made, so stop scolding me like a child and make good on your word, Rhysand.” Bile rose in her throat, the words feeling nothing but slimy and disgusting. Foreign, yet habitual all the same. Sometimes, she forgets there once was a woman called Nesta who was so much more than the viper living in her now.
Sometimes she remembers that she can’t ever be her again.
Home was nowhere for her, not in a person, not in a place, certainly not in this bombastic group of “heroes”. Nesta didn’t need a hero, she just needed someone to care. But Nesta knew better, no one would. She was taught to be unlovable, just a woman to be sold off and married- to climb her mothers' ever-growing social ladder.
But Nesta on her own was never enough, even with her mother six feet under and rotted away there were unsung expectations unmet. She was a catastrophic failure and a dark smear on a family name that never truly held weight to her.
Nesta looked up, felt everything all at once again, could only see one man pacing a worn-through tether between them. He wasn’t going to stop this, but she could see it, how it looked like he wanted to jump out of his own flesh, the veins of his arm prominent and knuckles normally so brown a new fresh fallen snow.
There was no prince to save Nesta, much less any will to save herself. So when Mor took the pleasure of bringing her to a living Hell, Nesta did not fight.
She was tired of fighting, after all, she fought an inescapable fate for the first twenty years of her life…
Flowers always made Nesta sneeze, but Elain lit like lights during winter whenever she could thread them through her hair. They all symbolized something, Laine would say. There are ones for good days, and hard storms, for sunshine and stars.
Nesta was always adorned in flowers that paralleled the estate. Astute, cold, tired, where she was warm, comforting, and smelled like cookies- ones that Celia normally baked for the sisters. She never asked Laine why she picked the ones for her that she did, her reasons would stay silent for now.
Spring was a high time of activity in the Archeron estate. There was always a flurry of activity, from preparing their mothers' obscene balls, to guests at every corner in every room. The halls were sprinkled in candles and on walls hung frames nearly kissing it was packed so tight.
They were in the gardens. It was an Elain day, as the girls would call it, and no matter how boring or mundane her wishes were they’d be fulfilled. Nesta was propped on the floor in front of Laine, who was bunching handfuls to weave in tangled auburn coils that gathered on Nesta’s head- as a bird's nest would.
Eventually, Nesta would have to learn braids or risk knotting the curls entirely.
The eldest basked in the silence she created from mentally muting her middle sister, and spared a glance at Feyre. What she saw was not surprising, but required far more willpower than she expected to not burst into laughter and risk the flowery rat's nest on her scalp.
Feyre appeared to be so bored out of her mind she was eating discarded flowers of Elains. Actually, ingesting them, as if she was a critique. When Elain wasn’t looking at Feyre, she’d grab another couple and study them- analyzing her next experiment. Glaring at the blues and yellows as if she was speaking to them, “Which one of you will make me puke the fastest so I can run away?”
In time, Feyre looked up from her taste tests to see Nesta grinning at her so violently you’d think Feyre hung the moon.
And Feyre beamed back, crossing a pinkie across her chest and pointing it back to Nesta. Then she viciously spit out the grass she’d just finished chewing, crying directly at Laine, “This MUST stop at once, my stomach hurts far too much to continue on here.”
Elain, in a garden so quiet, simply ignored her sister's poor attempts at escape. Making Nesta work even harder to stifle the shaking of her shoulders, covering her mouth and nose before she started wheezing. Elain would hardly hurt a fly but sent Nesta a glare that could’ve easily killed a man.
Nesta cleared her throat, “I do believe there are more of the blue flowers down that hill near the pond. Would you mind getting some more for Laine?”
Feyre was already on her feet, mouthing her thanks as Elain turned her back to get the next bunch of flowers, “Why of course I will!” And with a very bad curtsey, Feyre threw off her shoes and was rolling down the hill, spinning wildly, her laughter sure to be heard in meadows far beyond theirs.
You would find the Archeron sisters all together, or never in the same place.
Laine was the easiest to find, by the waters or pond on the east side, in gardens surrounded with bugs and willows calling to the young girl. She could hardly read but if the text included any mention of colors and blooms, suddenly she was a scholar. Elain was not simple or dull, but rather a passive spirit, like a summer wind- brief, fleeting, but teeming with love and hope.
Feyre, as their mother said, was a reckless wild child. Far too young to care, far too small to be whipped into shape. If you were sent to find her and your life depended on it, may the Mother bless you. Feyre liked the kitchen, because of the immaculate food and maids who would shove any sweet down the littlest Archerons throat. But, also for the immeasurable amount of sharp items to be found in there. If it was pointy and could stab a wall or scare their ice-cold mother, Feyre would be running the halls with it in hand or making targets of her fathers old trade route maps.
Then there was Nesta, the firstborn. Molded to be another woman that she somehow couldn’t fit, as if her feet were too big or hair too long, Nesta was outgrowing the standards forged into her being. You would see her as a ghost, floating in and out of rooms, comfortable in silence and slumber, but never escaping people. She loved the maids and could recite all of their names like clockwork, and the workers loved her in turn. Always stuck in new worlds between pages or willingly dragged by the two youngers, Nesta teemed with liberation. She was often alone, but never lonely, and found new loves in the library or in the fields beyond marble confines.
Adela was constantly dissatisfied with her eldest's progress inside these walls, as if at eight she should’ve already been engaged to a prince. Granted, Adela knew better. Nesta would never truly find another kingdom to buy into when she already had a crown waiting for her elsewhere. She was known as fair and beautiful beyond her years, would age like fine wine, and become so much greater than Adela ever was. What Nesta saw as fit would normally come to be, an instinct Adela was unprepared she would inherit. Nothing left her more confused than this daughter only by blood, who was hated by both her parents for reasons far from the same, and how at less than ten years had an entire mansion wrapped around her fingers.
But Adela would wait, and simply leave them be for now. When viper's strike, they kill. And even though the Matron of the house wanted her little queen gone, she had other ways to see this through.
Anyways, children's blood on her hands would stain her diamonds.
---
Cassian
Cassian was violently fucking ill. Watching whatever the fuck that was did not help in the slightest. The second she was gone, so was he.
The General and High Lord were not on speaking terms, his presence was an obligation and not a request. When Rhys first displayed his plans, Cassian just about murdered him. Had his brother on the table in a chokehold that the Shadowsinger had to come and release Rhys from. The way his so-called family planned her exile was… horrific.
Cassian was full of light and humor, but not dull the way his family made him out to be. He could see this for what it was, punishing an already broken female for not meeting every damn need of a fully grown woman that was no longer her responsibility. Cass knew better than to downplay the sacrifices Feyre made, but he was also well aware that Nesta's habits were hardly a financial problem and more of a reputation scandal.
That’s what the High Lord did best, when his Court was breaking at the bonds, the mess would “disappear”. Just like the Illyrians hidden in the mountains, the displaced families of Spring, the homeless warriors of Night.
Cassian loved his brother, but more often than not he wondered when Fate would come to bite them in the asses for Rhys’ neglect.
Now, here he was, in his mothers' cabin, wings dragging behind him wiping tears long since shed over a woman who was thrown to the wolves and torn into so many scraps he wasn’t sure how he could put her together again.
He missed his Nesta, the one who threw glares and begged for her people, not this one who hardly spoke and caved into herself enough that she couldn’t see where she was heading.
Cassian fingered for his mug in the wooden cabinets and hit his mark, soon placing water to heat over a small fire over the counter.
He was not okay, not okay at all.
When you look for something in the dark for too long, you eventually find what you need but not always in the way you expect. Cassian coped the same as Nesta Archeron in his first years post-war. It was suffocating trying to be the happy one while dying inside. He watched men he looked up to fall and a lover he admired take her last breath- too much in far too little time. Cassian was not an idiot, he was simply perplexed. Why was he allowed to grieve in unacceptable manners, but Nesta was a sinner in holy clothing?
Bright walls and unlit rooms in the house were silent, only the winds of the mountains singing outside. The newly dusted snow wrapped the dirt in a delicate kiss- a forbidden touch. It was the peak of winter, just after Feyre’s birthday and another insufferable party.
One that Nesta wasn’t invited to.
Cassian wished he wasn’t invited either.
The cup in his hands was dwarfed in comparison to the bulky Illyrian holding it, but at least it was warm. At least it wasn’t empty.
Because if there was one thing he knew, it could always be worse.
Cassian knew that if things were a little different, he’d be the one sitting in a prison of darkness and Hell because of mistakes made as a child. He’d be exiled by family, cast away by the only living remains of a life once lived.
Nesta didn’t know but long before this he had called it even, their sins atoned for in hurting each other equally.
She was the only one in the world who could tell which smiles he was faking.
To anyone on the outside, one kiss was merely that. How curious it was, the iceberg went far deeper.
So when the mug crashed against the wall, and in its wake resembled his inner turmoil, Cassian took to the skies and found himself at the door of a place far too familiar.
.
.
.
AHHHHHHHH OMG OKAY hope you guys enjoyed this:) if you want to be added to the tag list let me know!
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seasonofthewicth · 3 years
Text
nobody does it like you do - act 1
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I'm finally back with some more rowaelin! I started this fic in november last year and wrote the first 10k in 24 hours, but from then on this fic was a struggle... Thank you so, so much to @morganofthewildfire for sharing so much of your time to help me with this, this fic would not be here without you 💗 I'm so happy to have finally finished it and can share it on here. I hope you enjoy
CW: past drug abuse, minor character death, violence
7.7k - masterlist - ao3
--
When her agent sends her the script it’s not the first time she’s heard of Rowan Whitethorn, his name is written at the top under the heading director, which itself is under the big red text reading confidential. He’s been at this stuff for a while now, directed a couple of movies that popped up on her radar but that nothing ever came of for her, and he’s well known in the business.
He was even nominated for an Oscar a couple of years ago, and she watched the ceremony with Lysandra, slapping the bills into her outstretched hand when he didn’t win.
His movie had been far too fucking raw for him to have won, she knew that, a tale about a group of kids who witnessed a murder and how it stayed with them and fucked them up into adulthood, but it had stuck with her nonetheless and she’d put her money on him anyway.
She reads the section of script Dorian has sent her, tucked up in bed with a glass of sparkling water and her most comfortable sweater, leaning back into the mountain of expensive pillows she had Elide buy for her and pondering how so much money could end up so uncomfortable, and she knows it’s something special.
She realises she wants this role, almost to an uncomfortable degree, when she’s about five lines in. The heroine is bratty and rash, but serious and pained in a way that makes her completely fleshed out and Aelin wants to play her, wants to be her and embody her in a way that takes her out of the pit she’s in.
She hopes this could be what gets her out of it.
Aedion had tried to pull her out, gods bless him, dropping by her apartment every morning for weeks to check up on her with a coffee in his hand, topped with cream and two sugars the way he knows she likes. Each morning he let himself in with her spare key, the one she gave to him the day she moved in, wanting him to be able to let himself in whenever he wanted but also knowing there was no one else she wanted to give it to.
She would have given it to Sam, would have given everything to Sam, but he’s gone and she’s left sitting here, wondering how to salvage what’s left of her reputation.
What reputation she had even managed to build after starring in one mediocre TV show and a handful of low-budget movies. She knows deep down, and in a way her brain likes to remind her of when she’s at her lowest, that the main reason she isn’t a complete nobody is because she’s Evalin Ashryver’s daughter. Her therapist tells her every time she bothers to go to a session that having a famous mother doesn’t mean she’s a failure and that she has to recognise each of her successes as her own. She nods along every time, but she doesn’t believe her. What has she managed to accomplish truly on her own?
It hasn’t been made public yet that Rowan Whitethorn is involved in the film, she only knows because Chaol wrote the whole script himself and texted her to let her know when he signed on to direct. She’s known Chaol since she was eighteen and took her first solo trip to Rifthold, drawn to the lights of the big city and the almost magnetic pull of the heart of the industry. He’d stumbled upon her in a club she was far too young to be in and had pulled her out, sending her home in a cab that he paid for. Looking back she was grateful for his attempt to avoid what she knew later was an inevitability.
She had cursed him when he told her she’d still have to audition, but she gets it. She hasn’t exactly behaved in a way recently that makes people want to take a chance on her.
Stumbling out of clubs, eyes as wide as saucers and high as a fucking kite isn’t the kind of star casting directors are desperate to hire, but she’s trying to be better. She’s promised those around her that she’ll be better, and she knows that the only reason she hasn’t ended up in rehab is that she has an incredible therapist and a highly persuasive manner of dealing with her friends and family. The only reason they’ve taken that chance on her is time, and she’s grateful for that mercy.
She turns the page, hitting the final line for the third time. Chaol’s script is so good she’s read the few pages she’s been sent over and over.
She only reads scripts in physical copies, takes the time to print them out using her shitty printer that belongs right back in 2008, and she knows it’s wasteful but she allows herself that small luxury of the crisp paper in her hand as she delves into each new world. Her character is in the middle of a teary monologue that she knows exactly how she’d do, the way she’d halt her breath and choke out the words-- it’s not her character. Yet.
The audition is next week, and she’ll work her ass off to make sure she’s ready. Her usual pre-audition ritual involves taking up far too much of Lysandra’s time to practice reading the lines and filming herself time after time, take after take, and watching it back in the unholy hours of night until she’s happy she’s made an improvement.
Or at least that’s how she used to do it, nothing has made her want a role like this in a long while. She worries as she bites her lip, that wanting something this much means she’s getting over Sam. That maybe one day she won’t think of him and hear the pounding in her ears, won’t feel the lightheadedness that comes with a memory of their time together. Worries that if she forgets the sounds of his screams she’s failing him somehow.
She takes another sip of her sparkling water. It’s poured into a wine glass so she can at least pretend she’ll get the relaxation she craves. Alcohol was never one of her vices but she finds it’s better to be safe than sorry. It’s unhealthy as far as coping mechanisms go, but she’s been worse so it’s going down as a win.
Chaol told her some guy called Brullo is casting this one. She’s never heard of him, which is kind of rare. She’s been on the periphery of this bubble for pretty much her entire life, following her mother around her own movie sets and sitting on the wooden directors chair when her legs still dangled off the side, but if he’s like any other casting director in Adarlan she knows how to impress him.
When she reaches the last line of the part of the script she’s been sent, her mind wanders again to Rowan Whitethorn.
He’s the kind of director up and coming actors can only hope to one day work with, even though she’s pretty sure he can’t be much more than thirty, he’s built himself to a level where he can be choosy with his projects.
It's a well deserved privilege. Each of his works has stayed with her after watching, his style is gritty and dark, but grounded in a way that leaves her empty each time after finishing.
She wants this, and she buries the guilt she feels for that. Sam would want her to want this. She deserves it, or at least she hopes she can come to.
Dorian books her a mid-morning flight so she doesn’t have to wake too early before the audition, he’s a damn good agent and one she definitely doesn’t deserve with his seemingly endless patience, but she’s continuously grateful for him.
Aelin styles herself for it, ties her hair back and leaves the makeup to a minimum in a way that she hopes shows them she’s right for the part, that she can be the insecure little girl who experiences far too much. She knows she doesn’t have the sheltered innocence the character has, but she’s an actress and this is what she does. Aelin pretends for a living.
He’s also booked her a room in a pretty nice hotel for the night, she’s not sure whether he’s used her meagre acting funds or the funds from the account she knows he mom throws money into every month. It’s an argument she and Evalin have had repeatedly, she wants to stand on her own two feet, but she never protests too hard. The account kept the roof over her head when she was too busy snorting her life away to consider where her next paycheck would come from.
Aelin throws herself backwards into the crisp white bedding on the hotel room bed and takes a deep breath. The only luggage she brought with her is a carry on slung somewhere by the door and the room feels too empty to sit here and wait for the car that’s arriving to take her to the studio in just over an hour. If she sits here and waits the nerves will only build, and then she’ll itch for something to take the edge off.
She picks her phone up to text her cousin.
Jet lag from a 2 hour flight. Who would have thought?
Aelin waits two minutes for a reply, locking and unlocking her phone as she sits there, but one doesn’t come. Aedion’s probably at a training session and not checking his phone. Aelin runs a hand through her hair, careful not to dislodge the pins she placed carefully in it this morning, she needs to stop using him as her crutch. She knows he doesn’t mind, but it’s not right either way.
She needs to get out of this room.
The streets of Rifthold are busy and crammed as she meanders down them, clutching the takeout coffee cup she bought from a vendor with a stall at the side of the road.
People pay her no mind as she walks, the oversized shades hide her eyes that she knows are a dead giveaway for her membership of the Ashryver line. Even if she didn’t wear them, everybody else here wants to be someone, and so far she can still blend in if she tries.
She sends a text to the assistant organising the audition, it’s kind of shitty of her but she keeps it brief because she can’t remember their name, letting them know the car isn’t needed anymore and that she’ll make her own way there. She needs the stroll through the streets to clear her head.
Aelin needs to nail it. She hasn’t felt the twisting of desire so sharp in her stomach for a long time and the only way she’ll manage it is with a clear head.
She alternates her breathing with sips of her coffee, the taste is bitter but she keeps drinking. She pulls her phone out to check the directions to the studio.
Spontaneous isn’t a word Aelin would use to describe herself anymore, any longing to go with the flow died the minute she lost control. It’s safer now to plan, to make sure she won’t lead herself astray.
Brullo is a man in his mid forties, with dashes of grey seasoned through his muddy brown hair, and kind lines around his eyes as he smiles and shakes her hand. Aelin wipes the sweat off her palm on her jeans before clasping her hand in his.
The audition goes about as well as she can hope for, she remembers every line, and the other casting director is fairly natural reading the lines for her to act against. Aelin swallows back her tears after she finishes, trying to keep what dignity she can to end the audition when there’s snot threatening to run down her upper lip. It was a brutal scene to start with, but if she can pull this off she can surely manage the rest.
Brullo’s expression is carefully guarded as she leaves, giving nothing away, but Aelin thinks she did a good job, which is all she could have ever hoped for.
She’s staring at the tiled floor, mulling over Brullo’s parting words, thanks Aelin, our people will be in touch, when she hits something hard and warm.
She’s too busy dissecting those eight words to register exactly who it is with their hands clamped around the top of her arms, steadying her as she stumbles, but she looks up and her gaze meets that of a pair of striking, green eyes.
The man gripping her is easily over a head taller than her, broad and strong enough that she fights back the shiver that wants to roll through her at his touch. He’s staring down at her, the strong planes of his face drawn into a deep frown, with his strangely coloured eyebrows pulled in.
They’re a kind of silver that matches his short cut hair, and it shines in the fluorescent light of the hallway in a way that it can only be natural, but she’s never seen a shade quite like it.
“Sorry,” she manages to stutter out, still thrown from the vulnerability of her audition.
“It’s alright.” His voice burns through the words, his accent rolling in a way that raises hairs down the back of her neck. He flashes her a dangerous grin and she steadies herself. She knows what that look means. She’s used to the male attention, and as much as she hates to acknowledge it, she knows her looks are an element of how she’s got as far as she has. That and her family’s name.
The decision of whether to register in the guild as Aelin Ashryver or Aelin Galathynius was one she had spent hours deliberating over. Did she want the level of independence Galathynius would give her, or the reputation being an Ashryver would bring?
The man releases his grip on her shoulders, but not before running his hands down her arms until he reaches her wrists which he releases with a light squeeze. She takes an almost imperceptible step back, leaning back to breathe some air into her lungs. All she ends up doing is filling her mind with this man’s smell, inviting and intoxicating, a delicious combination of pine trees and snowy winter mornings.
“I don’t usually go around slamming into people like this,” she tells him, letting some of her snark slip through. He’s said two words to her so far but she knows he can take it, and she wants to play.
His grin becomes even more wicked and it truly is a sight to see. This man is built like a god; broad, muscular shoulders stretching the white button up he wears and she spies the dark lines of a tattoo threatening to slip past his collar.
It’s been a couple of months since her last mindless hook-up, and this man would more than do. The mischief glimmering in his eyes tells her he’d know how to make her gasp and beg.
“Slam into me anytime.” His words are a sensual croon and her mouth drops open slightly, but he sidesteps her before she can manage to speak again, nodding towards the door she’s come through. “Good luck with whatever you were here for.”
With that he’s gone, leaving her to turn and watch the way his grey slacks pull against his thighs as he walks away from her.
Aelin tries not to think too much about the outcome of the audition, and flies back to Orynth in economy class with a sleep mask tucked over her eyes lest she be recognised when all she wants to do is curl up in bed and be alone for a bit. That or get fucking wasted, and she can’t do that.
She tries far too hard to forget about the man from the hallway, forget about the way his voice had rumbled deep in her chest and the tug in her belly that his words had sent through her.
She begs Elide to come to a bar with her, and she agrees. Aelin needs to pay her more, maybe change her title from publicist to publicist-come-part-time-therapist-and-life-saver. Aelin’s not sure she has the budget for that really.
Elide would smack her if she knew Aelin’s thoughts. Would scold her for looking at Elide just like an employee as if they weren’t childhood friends and Elide hadn’t been there holding her hand through the whole Sam thing. As if she, Lysandra and Aedion hadn’t been her only reason for being here now.
A bar might be a risk, but she can sip her sparkling water while she browses the small selection of men that Orynth has to offer.
She enjoys the easy conversation she has with Elide, chatting about what their friends have been up to, even though most of them are mainly Elide’s friends at this point. After Sam she stopped speaking to everyone but those who were necessary. She couldn’t manage any more than that.
“You should come with us next time,” Elide is saying as she sips her own lemonade. Aelin knows Elide would normally choose a crisp glass of white wine over a lemonade and her sobriety solidarity touches her heart.
“Maybe,” she shrugs, noncommittal.
The look Elide wears tells her she’s debating pushing the issue for the millionth time against the risk that Aelin would pull back again. She hates that she does this to her friends so she sighs.
“Text me next time,” she tries. “I’ll see if I’m free.”
Elide offers her a thankful smile, and Aelin returns it, trying to tell herself this is what she needs and that she shouldn’t just stay locked up thinking about Sam.
There’s a dark haired guy at the bar catching her eye, his jeans are far too tight and his shirt is ridiculous, but she can see the body beneath and his face is striking. Elide notices her stare and smirks.
She likely knows why Aelin invited her out tonight, but doesn’t mind. Lorcan’s probably waiting for her at the home they share, waiting for her to come back so they can be in love. Aelin hates the bastard, except she doesn’t. She introduced her friend to the tall, dark and grouchy hockey player at the wrap party for the shit teen movie she did a couple of years back, and she’s big enough to admit she wants what they have.
She had what they have.
What’s left in her glass slips down her throat easily in one mouthful and she promises to text Elide tomorrow before slipping out of the booth and over to the guy at the bar.
“You going to just stare at me all night?” She asks with a sly smile. “Or did you plan on doing something about it at some point?”
His smile makes him look even more attractive.
“Maybe I was waiting for you to make the first move, a beautiful girl like you can be intimidating.”
It’s a shit line and she rolls her eyes, but tugs him into a cab back to her place anyway.
“Please.” Her voice shakes as she begs. “Please don’t do this.”
The man in front of them scoffs and Sam squeezes her hand, his palm rough against her own.
“Aelin, baby. It’s okay, just do what he says.”
He lets go of her hand and turns back to the guy in front of them. His face is covered by a black mask, only two slits show her the dark brown of his eyes. She can barely look away from the knife he holds out in front of himself, it’s pointed at Sam but that doesn’t make her feel any better, it makes her feel worse in fact.
“Your wallet,” the guy demands.
Tears are rolling down her cheeks, fat and hot, as she fishes around in her bag for her purse.
“Just dump the whole thing,” the guy growls, irritated, but she’s pretty sure she’s going into shock and she can’t focus. Can’t breathe.
Sam’s voice is steady by her side as he throws his own wallet onto the street in front of them.
“Alright, man. We’re doing everything you say.”
“Hands up.” The mugger’s voice is sharp. “Don’t fucking move.”
She raises her arms straight in the air, trying to control the way her hands are shaking and the attacker ducks down to grab their things.
She lets out a tiny whimper and feels Sam spin to her, his eyes begging her to trust him. No, she shakes her head.
“I said don’t fucking move,” the guy yells and lunges for Sam.
His scream cuts the night air and she whirls, hands dropping into the air between them as he drops to the ground. The mugger takes off, sprinting down the empty street and she falls to her knees by Sam’s side.
In the dark, the pool spilling out across the floor by Sam’s side just looks black, but she knows that really it’s red. She’s not stupid. His face is twisted in pain and her hands flutter around his torso before she manages to pull back the flap of his jacket.
There’s a hole in his white t-shirt and now her jeans are wet where she kneels.
She needs her phone, needs to call someone who can make this all better, but her phone is gone.
She presses her hands against his side and his eyes shutter closed as he gasps. His breathing is stuttered and uneven.
“Sam. Sam, no,” she cries. “I’ll get help. You’re okay.”
“Aelin.” He raises a hand to press against her cheek, and the blood on it is sticky and warm.
“No, Sam. No, stay with me.”
The scream that tears through her throat will hurt tomorrow but now she barely feels it. “HELP!”
His breathing becomes much quicker as she presses on his side and screams again.
She knows abstractly that she’s crying, tears and snot streaming down her face as she desperately presses her hands against his side.
There’s a strong arm around her waist, tugging her back and away from Sam, and she screams one word over and over.
“No, no, no, no.”
There are people here now, leaning over Sam, leaning over his body.
“NO.”
Aelin gasps as she launches up in her bed. The sheets are stuck to her clammy skin and her head flies to the side. The guy is gone, the side of the bed he occupied when she fell asleep now cold. Good.
She lives it over and over in her dreams, sees the dark street more often than not, feels the phantom warmth of his blood down her legs. Wakes screaming herself hoarse just as she did that night. She doesn’t normally let people stay the night. Even when Aedion tried for the first few weeks after the fact, she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t turn her brain off for even a second. Every time she closed her eyes she was back on that street, begging and pleading for him to open his eyes.
She grasps at her side for the switch of her bedside lamp and flicks it on. Her room is cold and empty and she hasn’t had it in her to decorate past the basics so it’s plain and impersonal when she looks around, trying to calm her breathing.
She checks the time. 6:25am. Not bad, she must have managed about six hours of sleep last night, and it’s more than she usually gets.
There're a few texts waiting in her inbox, including one from Elide, and she expects it to be a request to let her know that she got home safe but it’s not.
Call me as soon as you wake up.
Sent at 6:02am. Elide is a chronic overworker, no matter how much Aelin begs her to stick to a 9 to 5 schedule, but she couldn't imagine her friend any other way. The smiling emoji at the end of the text lets her know it’s nothing she needs to panic about, so she takes a moment to scroll through her other messages. It’s unusual for her to wake up to so many.
She clicks on her conversation with Dorian, the only message she can see, his most recent one, just says Aelin. He has sent her nine messages while she slept, and she scrolls up to reach the first one.
Aelin, you did it. You booked the Rowan Whitethorn movie.
Her heart pounds in her chest, running into overdrive as she processes the words on her screen.
She got the part. She fucking did it.
This is one of those moments she knows she’ll remember.
Dorian has forwarded over a number of contracts and official things but she ignores them in favour of dialling Elide’s number.
“Aelin!” Her friend’s voice is breathy when she answers. “Congratulations, I knew you could do it.”
“Thanks, El.” A pause where she takes a deep breath in. “I can’t believe it.”
She falls back onto her mattress, pressing a fist to her lips as she smiles, eyes closed, almost giddy as she listens to her friend talk.
“They’re putting a press release out today at 12:30, announcing you and the male lead, who I haven’t found out yet but I will.”
“Oh my gods,” she sighs, covering her eyes with a clammy hand.
“I know,” Elide laughs.
She allows herself one tear as she stares up at the white of her ceiling.
This is big, she can feel it.
Later her phone buzzes as Elide sends her links to two different articles breaking the news.
Fenrys Moonbeam and Aelin Ashryver to star in new Chaol Westfall drama. More to follow.
Rowan Whitethorn signs on to direct The Crescent City, the latest project from Chaol Westfall (Throne of Glass, The King’s Hand & more).
She presses the phone to her chest as she lets out a sigh of relief.
It all moves pretty quickly from that point.
She’s on a plane back to Rifthold the next day and Chaol has sent over the whole script for her to read on the plane, bypassing Dorian completely even though that’s how it normally goes and she knows the two are like brothers.
Chaol was the one to introduce her to Dorian, and they kind of took her under their showbiz wings in the first few years she began to get really serious about acting.
They gave her the inside scoop, having been in the industry for a few more years than her. Chaol writing and making movies and Dorian doing all the background stuff like contracts and negotiations and exposure. They took her to their wrap parties that everyone knows are just networking events and introduced her to some of the big names in the industry without so much as batting an eyelid, and she knows she owes them a lot.
The script is phenomenal, and she has to try and hide the tears that form when she reaches the end, it probably wouldn’t be the best start to the project, being photographed crying on the plane on the way to start shooting. It really is some of Chaol’s best work, and she sends him a text when she lands that says fuck you, I hate it, but his reply lets her know he knows she’s joking.
It tells the story of her character, Feyre, and how she’s dragged into selling drugs to pay for her mom’s hospital bills. Along the way she meets Fenrys Moonbeam’s character, Rhysand, the glowering bad-boy who’s well established in the gang and together they see some shit and do some shit but manage to get out together. The topics are kind of cliché and over done, but Chaol has managed to add a level of originality to it that makes it really special.
It’s heavier on the romance than Rowan Whitethorn’s previous projects, but it’s gritty enough that she can see why he’s signed on. It’s going to be hard, she knows this, and it will really push her to her limits trying to embody the range of emotions her character goes through. But she wants it, and she will make her performance incredible if it fucking kills her.
There’s a niggling part of her brain that reminds her that she’s surrounded by some big names on this project, names that are big for a reason, and she can’t let them hiring her be a mistake.
She sends Chaol a follow up text, wtf are these names btw???
He ignores her.
When she’s in the car taking her to the apartment the studio is renting out for her while they film she decides to take a little trip through Instagram and look up her new co-star. Fenrys is a household name by now, a couple of years in after his debut, but it can’t hurt to know a little more about her leading man.
f.moonbeam01 comes up as the first option when the types the three letters f e n into the search bar and he has over eleven million followers.
Shit.
Not that she needs a reminder but it slaps her in the face that this is actually big. Aelin only has a few thousand followers herself and Elide has already told her to prepare herself for that to rise.
His Instagram is a mixture of mostly photos of himself, some selfies and some professional shots, and he’s obviously gorgeous. His deep brown complexion playing well against his golden curls with a straight strong nose and flawless white teeth. He’s definitely leading man material, and she can tell just how charming his grin is even through a screen.
There are also promo pictures for all the movies he’s involved in at the moment, there are at least three projects he has coming out this year. Damn.
His most recent picture is a screenshot of the article announcing their casting, and he’s actually tagged her in the photo along with Rowan himself. She hasn’t seen the tag until now, it’s normally Elide’s job as her publicist to tackle the professional side to her social media, but there’s 6.4 million likes on the photo.
Again, shit.
She can’t help herself from clicking onto Rowan’s account, rowanwhitethorn is a pretty simple handle. He only has 27 posts, most of them are behind the scenes shots from projects, one with his classic director’s chair that has his surname printed across the back in thick white lettering, and a few pictures of different cameras and pieces of equipment.
There’s only one picture of him on there, and it’s from 2017. He has his back to the camera and the sunset behind him lends a shadow that covers all of his features. Very artsy she muses to herself as she double taps the screen to like it, he probably won’t see anyway, the notification will probably get lost in the ones his account no doubt gets from his 2 million followers. The only thing she can gather from the photo about his physical appearance is that he has pretty broad shoulders.
She’s tempted to google him, wanting to know what he looks like, but she feels a bit too much like a stalker, and she knows she’ll meet him in a couple of days anyway so she leaves it and pulls up her emails to reply to the seemingly endless list of forms she has to fill out and send back to Dorian.
The apartment she’s living in for the next few months is modern and airy, with clean lines and bright decor. Aelin likes it, and while it’s not hers in the same way as her home back in Orynth, it’s far better than a hotel room that lower budget movies tend to shove actors in. Another reminder that this time is different, there’s a bigger budget than she’s used to, bigger names than she’s used to, and she can’t fuck this up. There’s more eyes on her now than ever before.
She sends Elide a picture of her new bedroom and her friend just replies with a bunch of exclamation marks and she forwards the picture across to Lysandra too. Aelin wanders through to the kitchen, wondering if anyone bothered to stock the kitchen, not that she can’t do groceries herself, it would just be nice. She’s delighted to find a fridge full of fresh produce and gets about making herself a dish of pasta and veggies.
She tucks herself in front of the big television, munching away as she watches some National Geographic documentary about whales and it helps to take her mind off the fact that this is her last night of peace for a while. She’s trying not to get too in her head about it, there’s a fine line between knowing it’s a big deal and freaking the fuck out about it, and she needs to stay on the right side of that line, needs to keep herself in check.
If she allows herself a moment to relax, a moment to sink into the situation and bask in the opportunity; she’s excited.
And depending on how well this movie does, she knows she may not have another night like this one. Somehow the thought doesn’t seem to scare her.
Lysandra calls her as she’s waiting for the car to arrive to take her to the studio, it's day one of their table read today and she’s tired. She spent all of last night tossing and turning, unable to shut her mind off and panicking over every single detail of how this day could go.
She’s lucky it’s only a table read, she’s not sure even a professional make-up artist would be able to cover the dark circles under her eyes.
“Hello, you.” Lysandra’s voice is cheery through the phone and Aelin smiles, she’s really missed Lysandra and hasn’t taken nearly enough time to seek her out during her recent whirlwind. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
They had texted since the news dropped, but with Lysandra shooting a campaign for a brand she can’t remember somewhere over in the Southern Continent they haven’t had time yet for a call.
“Thanks Lys,” she says as she gets into the back of the sleek black car that the studio has sent for her, tucking her small black backpack onto the seat next to her. It’s all she can use at this point, any other bag just makes her think of that night.
“How’s it going? Have you met everyone yet?”
Lysandra runs in these circles of A list celebrities and Aelin wouldn't be surprised if she already knew Fenrys. She met Lysandra when they were teens; years before her first show for Victoria’s Secret, years before she was walking for people like Gucci and Prada, and they stayed close when they were both living off cheap ramen and thin strands of hope. Aelin likes to tease her about hanging with a lowly C-lister like herself but Lysandra is always quick to quip that she’s maybe a G-lister at a push.
That could change.
“I haven’t met anyone so far, but I’m literally on my way to meet everyone now.”
“That’s exciting, you’ll have to let me know if Fenrys Moonbeam is really that good looking in person.”
“So you don’t already know him?” she asks, teasing. Maybe Lysandra doesn’t know quite everyone.
“Oh you know, apart from every week-end when we hook-up, we’re not really that good friends.”
Aelin laughs, mostly to herself, knowing that somewhere out there that probably is a story that’s cropped up in some cheap tabloid. She knows there’s probably some dating rumours about herself and Fenrys already even though she’s still yet to meet him. It’s just how it is, she knows this, has known this since she was old enough to read the stories about her parents’ messy divorce.
“What does Aedion have to say about that, hm?”
“Oh, he joins us obviously!” Lysandra’s laugh is bright and loud through the grainy speaker.
No-one is more desperate for Aedion to propose to Lysandra than Aelin, not even the magazines, desperate for a scoop of the golden couple, quarterback for the Rifthold Ravens and the world-famous supermodel.
“I think I’ve heard enough, thanks,” Aelin laughs as the car pulls through security checks at the studio. “Lys, I have to go, I’ve just got to the studio.”
“Okay, good luck! Promise you’ll call me later though and let me know how it goes.”
She needs to make sure she puts aside a minute to catch up properly with Lysandra, she’s been slacking recently and she knows her friend misses her. She misses Lysandra too, and Aedion. Maybe she’ll stay with them for a couple of days when she gets a break from filming, she can probably see them far more often now that she’s in Rifthold too.
“I promise,” she agrees. “Tell Aedion to make sure he spoils you from me.”
Lysandra snorts, “Oh he does, I’ll pass it along anyway though.”
“Means a lot. Love you, got to go.”
Lysandra’s returning love you is sincere, but she cuts off the phone as the car comes to a stop outside the plain brick building.
She readies herself in the back of the car, pulling down a deep breath to center herself, she can do this.
The girl leading her to the room doesn’t speak other than to tell Aelin to follow right this way, and she’s grateful, she’s not sure she could speak right now without vomiting all over the dated linoleum flooring.
She needs to get a grip, and fight the urge for a hit that strikes her when she’s nervous like this. It could make her fears disappear, at least for a moment before they all came crashing back down ten-times worse the minute the high faded. There is a reason she packed that shit in, and she knows her nerves will pass. It’s been a while since she’s done any of this, her last movie read was pre-Sam and no matter how hard she tries to push it down, there’s a lot of pressure on her for this to go well.
The girl pauses outside an unassuming white door and holds a hand out to gesture for Aelin to go in. She rolls her shoulders back, holding her head high before she steps into the room. If all else fails she’s still Evalin Ashryver’s daughter and to some people that is something to be proud of.
Fenrys Moonbeam is the first person to catch her eye when she steps into the room, and it seems he’s done some stalking too because he ends his conversation by the food table with some others she doesn’t recognise and bounds straight over to her with a grin.
“Aelin Ashryver,” he says, his voice deep and smooth like velvet. “I’ve heard of you. It’s a pleasure.”
“You have?” She’s both surprised and not at the same time as she holds a hand out for him to shake.
He bypasses the hand she holds out and tugs her into his chest, wrapping both arms around her and knocking her backpack off her shoulder.
“I have,” he says as he bends down to pick her bag back up. “Sorry about that.”
She shakes her head. She needs to stop acting like a bewildered school girl meeting the Queen, she needs to remember that she has second billing for this movie thanks to Dorian.
“Don’t worry about it.” Aelin finds a smile and plasters it on.
Someone calls for everyone to take their seats and she notices the name placards spaced out in front of each chair. She locates her own and it's surreal to see her name printed there, Aelin Ashryver, between Fenrys and another actress playing her sister called Manon Blackbeak. She’s even less known than Aelin, and she only feels slightly guilty for how much that relaxes her.
Aelin knows how this goes down, they sit opposite the production team, the director and all the executive producers and she realises that she’s opposite the sign that reads Rowan Whitethorn.
She slides into her seat, Fenrys and Manon chatting over her head as she does, and she spots a male slipping into the chair opposite her. He’s wearing a slim-fit forest green henley and dark jeans, his shoulders are just as broad as they were in his Instagram photo and here there’s no shadow across his handsome features.
She can’t deny that he’s attractive, she knew it the first time she saw him. Her stare locks onto the man from the hallway after her audition and he smirks at her as if they have a secret. And maybe they do, but now she’s realising that he’s her boss, and a little voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like Elide is whispering to her that opportunities like this don’t come around everyday.
She owes it to Sam and she owes it to herself not to fuck this up, but the look that Rowan Whitethorn is sending her across the table makes her think she could risk it all.
It takes them three hours to run through it in full, and she’s happy to see she’s not the only one with a tear in her eye at the end. Rowan doesn’t cry, but he hasn’t looked at her since before they started and each time she read a line she avoided looking at him. She knows there were a couple of times where he nodded along with her expression of the lines. She’s ignoring it.
This is what she lives to do, they’re not even filming yet and she feels like she’s right where she needs to be. It’s cliche but she breathes easier when she acts, the air feels lighter when she takes on a new personality and feels all the things she’s told to feel.
It takes away the restlessness she feels when it’s all just down to her, being told how to feel is far easier.
Her therapist tells her she has both anxiety and PTSD, but she feels like giving it a name doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. She knows a diagnosis can be a relief for some, but to Aelin, what she feels is far too messy to be summed up in four letters. Her life has simply become the before, and the after, even though what each of those contains is a complete fucking shit show.
There are two Aelins; pre that night and post that night.
The Aelin from before that night doesn’t exist anywhere but in her own memory.
Once the run through is completed and basic notices are given by the producers, things like call sheet distributions and health and safety, the occupants of the room begin to mingle. She sees him make a beeline for her, and she swallows. She’s not ready for this.
“You look surprised to see me.” His voice is as hot as it was the last time she saw him, the slight rasp in his throat and his accent. Gods, the accent.
“You don’t look too surprised to see me.” She tilts her head at him because she feels way thrown off, like he has all the power here. Which he does. But like, she can play it cool. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? “Maybe had a little google search?”
He shakes his head at her, biting his lip kind of like he wants to laugh, and she bristles. She needs to level the playing field.
“Says you.” He’s definitely laughing now. “I saw you liked my photo last night.”
“What about it?” She shrugs, hoping her acting skills are up to it. He only tilts his head to the side as he takes her in.
“Do you think I didn’t know who you were in the corridor? I’m the director.” And fuck him for saying it like that, full of an easy confidence that in any other situation would have had heat pooling in the floor of her stomach. “Brullo discussed the casting with me.”
Right. Of course.
She’s not sure what to say next. Honestly? She kind of wants to flirt with him, but fuck.
Instead she hums a laugh, not really caring whether he thinks it’s sincere or not, and looks absentmindedly around the room instead of back up at him. He reaches a hand out to brush his fingers down her arm, looping them round the bones of her wrist and squeezing slightly like he did the last time before letting go. Her eyes snap back to his.
“Just between you and me?” he asks and the smile he wears is far too hot for her to deal with right now. “I think we made a good choice.”
“Thanks,” she says, but it’s a little too breathy. A little too dazed for having spent such a short amount of time in his presence. She’s aware that she needs to be careful, they are very much not alone in this room right now, and she doesn’t need to start any rumours that would destroy her chances of escaping this without a scandal.
She’s here to do a job, and she’s going to do it well. She doesn’t need any distractions.
He leaves her soon after that, and his parting remark of “have a good first day, Aelin” sticks with her, and she tries not to replay the way his voice had wrapped around her name.
Manon Blackbeak is watching them from across the room, and she arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow at Aelin. She ignores her; let her think what she wants, she’s surely professional enough not to gossip to any press, and stomps over to where Fenrys is chatting with one of the producers. It seems like a good enough place to start.
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restapesta · 3 years
Text
They were sitting in their car in the middle of an empty McDonald's parking lot. It was three in the morning, star-lit darkness, the world around them only lit up by the white light of the always-opened drive-through.
It had been a craving that brought them here. Ian waking up for a midnight snack, realizing that Mickey was quite awake too, unable to truly rest until he knew his husband was near, with him. He had been standing in front of the fridge inside their scarcely illuminated kitchen, with Mickey sitting on the kitchen counter, legs criss-crossed watching him. Ian had been contemplating what would be best suited to satiate his hunger, besides the man licking strawberry yogurt clean off the spoon.
A light bulb had lit up above his head.
"Get ready."
"What?"
He threw his hoodie Mickey's way. It was big on Ian most of the time, but it was good enough to keep a person warm. "Trust me, Mick."
Mickey placed the gray sweatshirt over his head, pulling it over his torso until he was engulfed in it. Ian rummaged slowly around for their phones, wallets, and keys, searching for them in the dark. His eyes had accommodated to it, and the moonlight filtering in through the windows helped.
"Where are we going?"
"You look great in my clothes, you know. And, you'll see."
He grasped Mickey by the hand, their fingers locked together in a soft embrace, feeling the warmth of each other's skin. Mickey didn't resist for a moment, trusting Ian with his entire life, following after him like a moth to a flame. The only sound echoing throughout the silent apartment had been the turning of the key inside their lock, and later on the slight thudding of quiet steps outside in the hall before their door.
First they got inside their car, both Mickey and Ian staying silent as the redhead drove through the Westside streets—empty and calm. They were enjoying the peace, the clock on their dashboard showing 02:47, and their bodies were still touching, Ian's palm resting flat against Mickey's pajama-bottom-covered thigh, the ones he felt no need to change out of. Ian was in his too, checkered and amusing, reminding Mickey of a grandpa. It was ten minutes before the logo came into view, large and inviting.
Mickey's stomach rumbled unwittingly as he glanced at his husband, noting the twinkle in his eye. He himself was draped in a thick black sweatshirt, the hood obnoxiously pulled over his head, wisps of hair poking out, flaming red.
"Really?" Mickey asked, a slight flutter in his stomach at the image of it all.
"Open 24/7."
"That's your response?"
"Come on, baby, you're just hangry. Let's get some food in ya'."
Mickey couldn't argue.
Now they were in the car, stuffing their faces with hamburgers and fries, downing them with Coke like madmen—something about late nights made them starved—talking amongst one another with mouths filled with food. With anybody else, it probably would've been disgusting and unattractive.
But not with them. Never with them.
They were playing a game.
Twenty questions that were turning into thirty, all asked with no clear goal in mind, simply the first thing to pop into either one of their heads, out of their mouths only for them to hear.
"Have you ever thought about playing the ?"
"You know I play guitar."
"Do you want a guitar for your birthday?"
"It's my turn to ask the question."
"'kay. Ask."
"How old are those tiny as fuck briefs you have hidden in our dresser and why the fuck do you never wear them?"
"Those are two questions."
"You're blushing."
"'m not."
"Answer it, bitch."
"Just so you know, those briefs are brand new and they fucking fit amazing."
"Why was I then denied the pleasure?"
"Mick—"
"As soon as we get home, you're putting them on."
"Fine."
"You're gonna try them then too."
"Why?"
"Your ass. Have you seen your fucking ass?"
Mickey grinned.
They lapsed into silence as they slurped on the last few sips of their Cokes, plastic squeaking in their hands.
Ian finished his drink with a loud sigh, discarding the cup with the rest of the trash that was sitting between them. Mickey followed suit. They were stuffed now and slightly sleepy, drowsiness appearing in their eyes.
Mickey watched as Ian leaned back in his seat. They had reclined them all the way, so Ian was practically laying in it, long legs sprawled out underneath the console. He placed his hands across his stomach, palms across one another.
"What was the best day of your life?" He asked like the sap he was.
Mickey smiled at the question, teasing, "It's my turn."
"Mickey."
"Okay, fine," He chuckled, not wanting to play that specific game of pull and tug, content with the peacefulness of it all. "Let me think about it."
First kiss. Engagement. Wedding. Anniversary. Too many moments to pick from, each stained with a problem they had faced and overcame, beautiful in their own fucked up ways.
He nibbled on his lower lip as he recalled a memory of compete and utter happiness. No problems, no worries, no sadness. It dawned on him, the sensation like drinking water after days of dehydration.
"Remember that trip to Oklahoma?"
A smile graced Ian's features, his eyes briefly closing as he seemed to recall the day. "Don't think I could forget."
"We spent a whole day at that fair. Rented out a room at some shitty motel. From morning till night we went on every single ride possible. Literally saw every attraction there." He was getting lost in the memory, chest swelling with happiness. "Kissed on top of the Ferris wheel at midnight when it was just about to close, like fucking dorks."
He turned around to glance at Ian. He was looking straight at him, the small upturn of his lips reading clear in his eyes, gazing at Mickey like he was everything to him in this entire world.
Whispering, Mickey said, "That was the best day of my life."
Ian grabbed a hold of his hand slowly, delicately, placing it in his lap, the action making warmth heat Mickey's cheeks. Mickey leaned against his own seat, mirroring his husband, eyes on him all the way.
"The best day of my life was the 21st of June, 2021," Ian said longingly as if he was reading the beginning of some old fairytale-type story.
Mickey couldn't help the laugh that escaped him at Ian's sweet earnestness. "You know the date?"
Ian shot him a look, no bite in it whatsoever. "Allow me to tell the story, please?"
Mickey bit his lip to stop smiling. "Okay, okay, you're allowed."
Ian smacked lightly at Mickey's chest, not moving an inch, still slumped in his seat lazily.
"That night I had a dream," He began. "It wasn't even like a dream. More like a fucking vision—and I know how weird that sounds, trust me. But it was literally like a vision, clear and vivid and everything.
"Anyways, the dream—or vision, whatever—was of you and me, sitting in two lawn chairs, staring out into the world. But the thing is, we were older. Like, ninety-year-old old. We were just staring ahead. Then at each other. The way we looked at each other is how we look at each other now—filled with a bunch of love and fondness. It was just the two of us, together, old and gray."
Ian stopped and took a deep breath, leaning forward in his seat, locking eyes with Mickey who was listening carefully. Mickey straightened himself as well, and they were just sitting in their car, gazing softly at one another as Ian told the story, the remnants of their endeavor resting between them.
"So," He continued. "On the 21st of June, 2021, I woke up and all I could think about was that dream. It was like—like on a fucking loop inside my head, and each time I even glanced at you, I just saw the two of us, old and together.
"And I realized, as fucking weird as it sounds, that it was us. I swear Mick, it was you and me, years from now, just sitting in fucking lawn chairs, staring out into the world. Into each other's eyes." His eyes shone. "And all throughout that day, I knew that one day, we'd get there. That you and I would spend the rest of our lives together until we were wrinkly and gray and doing nothing but being together. Each time I even saw you from the cone of my eye, grumpy and frowning at whatever, I was so happy because I would get to spend the rest of my life with you.
"That, until the day I died, I would have you as my partner. My husband. My best friend. The love of my fucking life; by my side until there is nothing left in the world to do but sit by each other and just watch as time goes by.
"Just you and me, Mick. Until the end."
Mickey watched him inhale deeply.
"Best day of my fucking life, and I get to live it forever."
A tear slipped out of Mickey's eye. He felt it on his cheek, rolling down, hot against the already warm skin, yet all he could see was Ian. Ian with the shimmering orbs and that look in his eye like he was staring at everything he needed in life.
Mickey pulled his hand out of Ian's from where it was resting in his lap, then raised them to palm Ian's cheeks, pulling him in for a deep kiss. Lips moving together in the dark, serendipitous in all ways, the vulnerability for once a blessing instead of a curse.
"You never told me that story," He whispered against Ian's lips.
"It just felt right for me to know. Maybe we were just both waiting for this moment, unknowingly."
Another tear, filled with so much.
"We both live the best day of our life like that, Ian. Every single day."
Ian nodded, smiling against Mickey's lips. "I know, my love. I know."
They were sitting in their car in the middle of an empty McDonald's parking lot. It was four in the morning, star-lit darkness, the world around lit up by only them, the love palpable like a glow, allowing them to see clearly; see all the things that were important to them.
A person needed the match to their gasoline so they could light the fire that would burn and simmer. A person, too, needed the cord to their plug that would alight the darkness of the inside of their chest.
Because one would be lost without the glow in the dark. Or at least not be able to truly see.
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magniloquent-raven · 3 years
Text
so there's this post @draculcid made a lil while ago that i thought was fuckin ADORABLE, and i wrote a thing. that sat in my drafts for a while lol, but here is the finished product, pls enjoy
--
if asked, he honestly couldn't say how he ended up being holly wheeler's babysitter. something to do with steve mentioning to claudia, who mentioned to karen, that billy has a lot of free time lately, and the next thing he knows he's being cornered at melvald's and strong-armed into spending afternoons with the least bratty wheeler child.
ever since she got her new job and apartment and shit, she's needed someone to pick holly up from school, and apparently billy counts as a qualified adult.
the couple hours he has to spend watching the kid aren't awful, holly's alright, but the five minutes of small talk when mrs.wheeler gets back is always awkward as hell. she tries painfully hard to be polite and he hates it.
but he needs the money. it was either this or waiting tables at the 24hr diner, and, shockingly, he's actually more qualified for the babysitting gig.
maybe he's not dad material or anything, but he manages. he had fun bossing the aqua tots around last summer, while it lasted. the young ones are easier to deal with.
though it's truly exhausting sometimes. on the days when his scars ache and it's more noticeable than ever that he isn't as strong as he used to be because he has to keep putting holly down even though he promised her a piggy-back ride.
but on those days he calls steve, because steve is a goddamn blessing.
steve always has pizza money and he lets holly put glittery clips in his hair—something billy doesn't do anymore, not after she got one tangled so deep in his curls he had to go home with it still in there—and he's a good sport when she wants to play pretend.
today she wanted to play house. billy's not entirely sure what that means but it's keeping the kid happy and steve looks ridiculously adorable in the stupid apron she made him wear, so.
billy though, billy likes to think he still has some dignity left, so he's busying himself cleaning up the mess of lego on the living room floor while steve makes an invisible sandwich for holly.
but then holly says, in her quiet little voice, "is daddy coming home now?" and billy pauses, stops with his hand hovering awkwardly in midair and his heart hammering.
he glances at her out of the corner of his eye. awkward conversations about the fact that her mom and dad are divorced now, and what that all means, are definitely not supposed to be part of his babysitting duties.
how would that conversation even go? he's pretty sure she knows about the separation, she has to, she moved away without her dad, they had to have told her something, but—
"i think she means you, big guy," steve supplies, with barely contained amusement.
ah. right. playing house.
he mentally shakes himself, and drops the lego bin on the coffee table before shuffling over to join steve and holly by the little plastic kitchen set. steve is smirking at him, way to smug for the guy who's wearing a frilly apron.
billy plops on the carpet next to steve. "honey, i'm home," he says dryly.
it takes about fifteen minutes for him to completely forget about feeling weird about it all.
in fact, it's disturbingly easy to slip into his role, making moon-eyes at steve and pretending it's because he's acting. he's been careless lately. letting his feelings get all over the place. he never was that subtle around steve, but the weird domesticity of babysitting a kid together gets in his head.
like when steve pokes fun at his make-belief dish washing skills and it's somehow not embarrassing. and it just does things to billy's stupid heart because it doesn't realize they aren't actually married.
"shut up," billy mutters, softly, too soft, warm and not at all threatening. he should feel off-balance but he doesn't.
"is that any way to talk to your wife?" steve can barely say it without grinning.
his big dumb sunshine-y grin is probably what fried billy's brain enough for him to respond with, "aw, sorry, baby," a little too sweetly to be serious, and then—
it's over before he even realizes what he's doing. and he's left sitting there, leaning into steve's space, looking into steve's eyes, wide with shock, searching billy's face, still inches away because steve hasn't moved or reacted or...
"claire from art class says boys aren't supposed to kiss each other," holly whispers.
billy jerks backward, ending up a foot further from steve than he was before, trying to pretend his heart isn't racing and he isn't struggling to breathe, and his goddamn lips aren't tingling with the phantom sensation of steve's mouth pressed to his, breath mingling, a soft sound just...
he curls his fingers into the carpet at his sides and stares, unseeing, at a stain on the knee of his jeans.
before he can even fathom saying a damn word, steve cuts in with a vehement, "claire from art class is full of shit," and billy startles, turning to look at him. there's a set to his jaw and a spark of something in his eye, determined and steady despite the flush on his cheeks.
it's a really inconvenient moment for billy to get distracted by how fucking gorgeous steve is.
holly lets out a nervous giggle. "steeve...that's a swear."
"ah, fu—uhh...um. right." steve pushes his bangs away from his face and sighs. a couple locks stick out awkwardly when his hand falls away, and it makes billy's fingers itch. "listen, holly. it's not nice to tell people they aren't allowed to love someone—"
"you and billy are in love?" she gasps, her eyes huge and round, flicking between the two of them.
steve turns impossibly pinker, mouth opening and closing silently. billy's heart leaps.
he bites his lip, holding back a smile and trying to stamp down on the bubbling, hopeful warmth in his chest. he needs to do something. right now. something other than stare at steve. he runs a hand down his face, blows out a breath, and tries to get his shit together.
"alright, holly, steve here is gonna make us some hot chocolate, with extra marshmallows, and you are gonna forget this ever happened, deal?"
she glances between billy and steve with a furrowed brow. "and a piggyback ride?"
billy snorts. "sure, kid, whatever you want."
she grins, suddenly, and nods. "okay."
"billy, you sure you're feeling up to that?" steve murmurs. when billy turns to look at him he's a lot closer than expected. his breath catches, the irritated retort on the tip of his tongue evaporates.
"yeah, i..." his gaze wanders down a little, touching, briefly, on steve's mouth before he snaps his eyes back upward. "i'm fine."
steve's hand inches towards his on the carpet between them, fingertips brushing billy's knuckles. holly's staring at them, billy can see her out of the corner of his eye. the scrutiny is setting his teeth on edge but he doesn't pull away. "just. don't push yourself, okay?"
billy scoffs. "yeah, yeah."
and then steve kisses his cheek.
fucking. kisses his cheek.
he doesn't linger, he's sauntering off to the kitchen before billy can even fucking blink. it's brief enough that billy wonders if he imagined the sudden warm pressure of steve's lips against his skin, the way steve's eyes were all lit up and fond and just that little bit defiant, like he was daring billy to say something about it.
they'll talk about it, he's sure. later. billy's a horrifying mix of ecstatic and absolutely terrified. he's shit at talking about his feelings, and so is steve. it's going to be a goddamn shitshow, but...
but still. he has a good feeling about it.
holly's even quieter than usual when she scoots over to sit next to billy, "you love steve?"
"thought we were gonna forget about that, wheeler." he glances down at her. there's nothing but innocent curiosity on her face. he sighs. bites his lip. "...yeah. yeah i do."
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whentheynameyoujoy · 3 years
Text
Yup, Sure Was a Finale
I had an epiphany. The reason why I never re-watched the final two parts of Sozin’s Comet even though I’ve popped in episodes at random many times over the years isn’t that I can’t bear the sadness of seeing one of the best, most engaging narratives out there come to an end.
It’s simply that the finale isn’t all that good.
Some honorable mentions of what was enjoyable.
(+) This
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Just this.
(+) The Church of Zutara has another convert
“Are you sure they don’t get together?” Hubster, 2020
(+) The tragedy of Azula
And the fact that it’s acknowledged as such. I hope Zuko will do his best to get her help and have a relationship with her…
(+) Sokka being a big bro
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And the whole airship sequence in general. It’s wonderfully paced and plotted, with moments of humor, real stakes, Toph being both badass and a scared crying kid, Sokka strategizing and protecting, Suki saving the day, and non-benders being instrumental in thwarting the bad guy firebender’s plans. Would be shame if Bryke never portrayed them this capable ever again…
And now for the main course.
(-) Blink and its over
The wrap-up feels too quick (hashtag Needs More ROtK-style False Endings). A part of this is due to how fast the story goes from the thick of the action to hastily tying up a bunch of loose ends, but the larger issue is how Book 3’s uneven pacing comes home to roost. After spending half a season on filler episodes that at best subtly flesh out established characters while dancing around a huge lionturtle-shaped hole, and at worst contradict the theme of “no one is born bad” with “you’re a hot mess because your great-grandfathers didn’t get along too well”, the frantic “go go go” rush of the second half screeches to a halt with “they won and everyone was happy because now the right people have power and it will be all good from now on yup nothing more to deal with baiiiii”.
Yes, I know, it’s a kids’ show. But goddamn, this particular kids’ show has proven so many times it can do better than the expected tropiness. Showing the characters in their roles as builders of a new world was the least that could have been done.
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Oh well!
(-) Ursa
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We’ll never know. There will never be a story that delves into this. Yup. Shall forever remain but an intriguing mystery. Is good, though. Mystery is better than a story where Ursa shares her son’s penchant for forgetfulness. Imagine how embarrassing that would be. Speaking of which…
(-) What does Mai see in this jerkbender?
Look, I like to harp a lot on the mess of inconsistent writing that’s Mai but let’s unpack this scene from her perspective, shall we?
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Zuko forgot about her! It totally slipped his mind that the one person who prioritized the safety of his dumb ass was rotting in the worst prison in the Fire Nation—because of him! And she was rotting there long enough after the final Agni Kai for the news of Zuko’s upcoming coronation to spread and her uncle to feel sufficiently secure to release her. But then the coronation scene is attended by every single member of Gaang & Friends that was imprisoned?
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So what this tells me is that either a) the invasion force had the ability to break themselves out the whole time and for some reason decided not to exercise it until after the war was over, b) Zuko forgot about them as well and no one thought to remind him there were prisons full of POWs until Mai arrived, or, and that’s even better, c) Zuko took care to free every single resistance fighter while making sure Mai would be the one to stay behind bars.
Never thought I’d say this but Mai? Honey? You deserve so much better.
(-) “What does Katara want?”
Asked no one in the writers’ room ever, apparently.
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This is not so much anti Cataang as anti romance stories that pay attention to the needs, opinions, and wants of only one partner in general. Over the previous 60 episodes, Katara actively expressed romantic interest in Aang exactly, wait for it,
Once.
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And it got retconned out of relevance by the following two interactions where the possibility of a romantic relationship came up, making the Headband dance pretty easy to reclassify as just one of those examples where Aang “teaches” Katara to have fun (as if one of the main obstacles to her having fun wasn’t him constantly fooling around and offloading his duties). And because the writers not only didn’t succeed in portraying Katara’s internal state of mind, but also failed to root her reluctance to pursue a relationship in outside circumstances that could change, her sudden state of unconfused once Aang steps into the spotlight has a single canonical explanation that as much as approaches coherency.
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The fact is, though, that trying to interpret canon Cataang from a Watsonian perspective is an exercise in foolishness. Because there is no Watsonian justification for the ship and never has been. Bryke simply conceived of Katara as nothing but a tropey prize for Aang, never saw her as anything beyond that, and were perfectly happy to go on and immortalize her as a passive broodmare for the rest of her life.
And I fully intend to die mad about it.
(-) Iroh dips
OK, it’s been long apparent that the show doesn’t intend to do anything about Iroh’s complicity in AzulOzai’s regime in any meaningful way, and that his sole motivation for doing anything whatsoever is Zuko whom he views as a replacement son which is supposed to be good for some reason. But the finale has him abandon even that, and instead turns him full-on YOLO, idgaf anymore. It really throws Iroh’s supposed love for Zuko into doubt when his last act in the entire show is to take a half-educated 16-year old with no political savvy or an heir to secure a dynastic continuity and plomp him on the throne of a war-mongering imperialist regime where the entirety of the militarist and ruling class is guaranteed to fight him tooth and nail for power.
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(I sure hope Mai’s ready to start popping out babies by tea-time otherwise the whole country is fukd in about a week)
Christ, how hard would it be to have Iroh keep the throne warm for a few years while Zuko is getting ready to succeed him? Not only would it make the whole FN reformation bit quite likelier to occur, it would require Iroh’s hedonistic ass to actually sacrifice something for once. And not having Zuko ascend to power, instead spending some time bettering and educating himself first, would be a wonderful message that no matter what you endured and overcame, you never stop growing. A kids’ show, remember?
(-) The conquering of Ba Sing Se
Gee, I feel so blessed to have my attention diverted from battlefields which actually matter to an old dude vanity project I would have been perfectly happy to assume resolved itself off-screen.
The White Lotus in general just bugs me. I was fine with the individual characters and their overall passivity when they were portrayed as lone dissenters living under circumstances where it wasn’t really possible for any single person to mount a meaningful resistance. But as members of a far-reaching shadowy organization that’s left the real fight to a bunch of kids for 59 episodes straight and didn’t turn up until a perfect opportunity presented itself to take control of the largest city in the world and bask in the spotlight?
Yeah, no.
Similarly to the lionturtle-ex-machina, the White Lotus represents a huge missed opportunity for a season-long storytelling. Here’s just a brief list of what they could have been doing throughout Book 3:
orchestrating a Fire Nation uprising;
gathering those directly persecuted by AzulOzai’s regime to help Zuko keep his hold on power once he’s crowned;
establishing themselves as a viable alternative to Ozai;
sabotaging Fire Nation’s war efforts from the inside;
countering Fire Nation propaganda (Asha Greyjoy’s pinecones, anyone?);
running a supply network to alleviate the suffering of Earth Kingdom citizens.
Instead, they sit on their asses until the time comes to claim personal glory.
You know what, good on Bryke for making me conclude that in comparison, the Freedom Fighters were perfectly unproblematic, actually.
(-) Fire Lord Dead-by-Dawn
Yes, a kids’ show, I know! But ffs, this is the same kids’ show that came up with Long Feng and portrayed courtly intrigue, kingly puppets, secret police, spy networks, and information wars. Was it really too much of me to expect something other than “enlightened despot solves everything”? Especially if said enlightened despot has persisting anger issues, no personal support system, no base of followers, and no political experience whatsoever?
If Zuko’s actually serious about regaining the Fire Nation’s honor (i.e. by dismantling the country’s military machine, decolonizing the Earth Kingdom, paying reparations to everyone and their lemur, and funding any and all cultural restoration projects Aang and the SWT come up with), then there is no way, no way in the universe that he doesn’t face a civil war, deposing, and execution within a month.
One reason why his future as a Fire Lord seems rather bleak is that little’s been shown about the actual subjects of AzulOzai’s regime. While we get a vague reassurance that “no Toph, they’re not born bad” (le shockings), they largely remain a voiceless uniform mass of brainwashed clapping seals. What is their view on the Fire Nation’s crimes? Do they associate their condition with their country’s war-mongering? How will they react when Zuko starts dismantling the country piece by piece to rebuild it, bringing it to economic ruin? What will they do when noble Ozai loyalists come out of the woodwork and begin rounding them up under the banner of “Make the Fire Nation Great Again?”
I have no idea, and Zuko doesn’t either because he’s unironically more qualified to rule the Earth Kingdom than his own people.
You know what would have been better? Fire Lord Iroh, White Lotus pulling the strings to maintain the regime, and Crown Prince/People’s Champion Zuko travelling the Fire Nation with Aang and an army of tutors to promote the new boss, only to realize that absolute monarchy is kinda crap for the people he’s one day supposed to rule and gaining their support by ceding some power to them.
I’d laser holes into my TV due to how much I’d enjoy watching that.
(-) All hail Avatar Rock
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Literally and metaphorically. Aang doesn’t sacrifice anything, gets everything, and the clever solution of going about getting said everything is handed to him on a silver platter, requiring no active participation on his part whatsoever.
He doesn’t work to unblock his chakras, spiritually or physically.
He only speaks to his past lives to get a pat on the back and a bow-tied solution he could mindlessly follow.
Energy-bending doesn’t require any sacrifice from him, leaves no lasting marks, and only serves for the narrative to praise him as the rare individual that’s unbendable and thus so very very special.
The most infuriating thing is, however, that Aang is clearly shown as being able to beat Ozai without either the Avatar state, or energy-bending.
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And he chooses not to. From this moment on, Aang no longer fights to save the world. He fights to preserve his beliefs, going directly against the instructions of his past lives and effectively reneging on his duties as the Avatar.
Again.
It’s not like you can’t portray Aang’s faithfulness to his spiritual beliefs as the key to beating Ozai and saving the world. But that’s not what the show did. There is no link between Aang sparing Ozai and securing a better future, quite to the contrary—Ozai’s survival ends up being a massive problem for the continuation of Zuko’s rule, and consequently a threat to the world at large. His survival benefits Aang and no one else.
Aang’s spiritual purity and his status as a savior of the world are allowed to coexist only due to a deliberate stroke of a writer’s pen.
And I hate it.
Welp, nothing to do about it now except to bury myself up to my tits in fix-it fics I guess.
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milks-writings · 3 years
Text
✫ ˚♡ ⋆。 ❀ 。⋆♡° ✫  ˚♡ ⋆。 ❀ 。⋆♡° ✫
✫ ˚♡ ⋆。 ❀ PAIRING: Atsumu Miya x Male!Reader
✫ ˚♡ ⋆。 ❀ WARNINGS: mention of stabbing, Hurt buT LOTS OF CUDDLES AND COMFORT AFTERWARD, mention of death (meaning of the red anemone)
✫ ˚♡ ⋆。 ❀ REQUEST: all right so.. atsumu ⭐️ can you please write m!reader and him being teammates and reader being a big friend of osamu. he knows that reader is gay and in love with his brother, so he always like.. quietly supports him and takes care of him, helping with reader’s crush on his chaotic brother :D so imagine a training camp mhm, the team spends all the time together and reader has all this *gay panic* since atsumu is always there, near him (i also just can tell atsumu is damn handsy person) atsumu is mocking reader (in a loving way of course, cuz he crushes over a sweet boy himself) since reader is that shy and cute, but he doesn’t understand his words hurt him because reader is too sensitive to his words and actually thinks that atsumu is making fun of him. so just one day without any intense atsumu makes reader cry with his mocking and like.. he has no idea what to do and he’s like “eey.. wait.. wait! samu! he’s crying! what should i do?!” :0 please gimme some hurt/comfort 🤍
✫ ˚♡ ⋆。 ❀ A/N: OMG YES ATSUMU REQUEST HASHDFHIXOANSDF THANKS SO MUCH I LOVE THIS MAN--
✫ ˚♡ ⋆。 ❀ Masterlist
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✫ ˚♡ ⋆。 ❀ Scenario: After one loss would always follow one win
Shuffling over the court and leaving some squeaking noises behind was almost a calming sound that came to your ears, echoing through the big volleyball court. Between the two sides, of your teams side and the other teams side was only a net that divided the thick air. There would be always one team at least one point ahead, and depending on who it was, the air seemed to be bearable or rather toxic and suffocating.
It was only a training camp, yet the feelings were fatal. Each point would cause the opposite team to get panic, to fill up with the anxious feeling that screams ‘Just one point’
No one would give up so easily. No one wanted to give up so easily. It was just a training camp, yet it felt like their life depended on this whole game. Each point felt like the string was about to just cut into a half, but no one knew who would get the longer string since the scissors were wandering on the string, waiting for some random moment to finally break the nervous atmosphere and end this whole game that drove everyone insane. The heavy breaths filled the court with some kind of beat, since at this point everyone just wanted to rest, yet no one was ready to give up already. Until the last bit of power would they fight.
For a brief moment, you thought, only a brief second, Atsumu would look back at you. The tiring game must’ve made you delusional. It was quite some while since you guys played against such a great team, also known as Itachiyama. Osamu had told you quite often that Atsumu never really labelled himself with a sexuality, giving you at least some rising hope. Honestly, your crush towards him felt like trying to take care of an almost dead flower. And not just one flower, it was the well known  red anemone that symbolizes death or the act of forsaken love. For some reason, it never wanted to open up. The petals stayed up, risen to the sky and not showing the truth behind the facade of the red petals. The secret was just laying on the stigma of the flower, waiting to get opened like a present and to outshine everyone's appearances. But as long as the flower wouldn’t open, the love felt one sided.
The last point felt like a long moment of silence. It wasn’t a real game, yet it was laying heavily on your shoulders. Your team lost. Kita would be disappointed, but you just knew that he wouldn’t scold you. As a Libero it was literally your duty to keep the ball over the floor. Even if it was one centimetre, one finger between the ball and the floor, anything could be done to win this god damn game. For a moment, your mind tricked you into thinking that this was an actual game, but seeing the others just walking off with the words “thanks for the training game.”
Osamu already had taken place beside you with two bottles of water, passing you one of the ones he held while just letting out a small sigh. “That was intense” He admitted, and if he said such a thing he really meant it. He was fucking right. This game was intense.
The water slowly went down your throat, giving you a cool down and filling your senses with some refreshing thoughts, among with the thought of Atsumu.
That’s right, the boy you have a crush on, the boy who is the twin of one of your closest friends, Osamu Miya. It was like your thoughts had to manifest the boy that filled your mind with worries but also with dreams you never thought would come true. “Hey!” The setters hand landed on your shoulder, making your cheeks heat up and leaving a pinkish blush on them, almost like it was naturally after a hard game. But sadly the blush didn’t blend in, it rather made your red exhausted face ever worse. You could swear, for a moment the wind hit the anemone, almost opening the flowers with the sweet sound of the wind blowing but somehow the windflower stayed closed, not letting you enter yet.
“Ya wanna grab some food with me and ‘Samu?” Atsumu asked you, making you slowly nod in agreement.
It has been a curse or a blessing that Atsumu always suggested you three to hang out. Being around those Twins was like walking on a thin rope, over the water with shaky feet. You could never know what would happen, if the rope would just tear apart or if you would fall into the water out of balance and if anyone would safe you. “I didn’t even agree, jerk!” Osamu huffed out at Atsumu’s statement. And there they went again. Barking at each other like two mad dogs, yet they didn’t rip their heads off since they still loved each other as siblings. Osamu soon snapped out of it though, and gave you all his attention again. “Ya want onigiri?” His eyebrow raised in sync with his words, like the words were pulling it slowly up and the question mark set an end to the pulling, but instead tilted his head to the side. With slowly moving your head up and down as a nod, you answered his question. It was the first day of the training camp so the left overs from the drive to the training camp were still good and it would’ve been a pity to let them get bad. “Yer just tryna to get him fat!” Atsumu snapped at Osamu, somewhat sounding mad for something. You weren’t sure if Atsumu preferred skinny people -- or if he was trying to make sure that Osamu wouldn’t feed you too much so you could still eat together. Nevertheless, you didn’t take it personally, yet. Just brushed it off and moved on, thinking that nothing too bad could happen with ignoring that. “No I am not! Back off pisshair!” Osamu complained with a hiss. Sometimes he could only wonder how you could fall in love with such an idiot like him. “Let’s grab some food” You finally broke the heavy and almost hatred atmosphere that was among you three thanks to the twins. No one could blame them though. It was just a typical conversation between two siblings.
A small wind seemed to have blown over the flower when you three were sitting in the small cafeteria and chatted. The anemone was about to open, to show it’s real colour, but you got hit with the train of disappointment as soon as Atsumu let his guards down again and begun to mock you. “Yer aren’t in yer top form today huh?” Atsumu smirk only grew with the last words, beginning to push you into the corner of just a breakdown. “Not really” You honestly admitted. It always had been him mocking you, him pushing you off your edge emotionally. With pressing your lips together you hoped to swallow the slightly painful comment down your throat, but nothing seemed to help. “Yer gotta be more self confident!” Atsumu implied, almost complained about you. He wanted to help you. For the three people on the table, Osamu, Atsumu and you it was very clear that Atsumu cared about you, but the way he would say things would be sometimes sharp, like a stab in your heart. But in reality he would be patting your head and stabbing your negative feelings instead of you. “Listen, it’s not easy you know” Your voice laid hoarse in the room, creating a short yet uncomfortable silence. Just when Osamu was about to butt in, Atsumu had taken advantage of the situation. “What if yer-” Just as Atsumu was about to continue his sentence, the tears that you had swallowed down along with the rice balls had just came up, running down your cheeks. The mocking sometimes got overwhelming to you. All you wanted were sweet words, but all you got was sweet mocks. Of course, it was probably his way to tell you that he liked you… or not. “No no pretty boy don’t ya cry!” Atsumu’s voice was filled with worries and confusion, immediately jumping up and sitting besides you. Osamu, who sat on the other side of you, just let Atsumu be. He should take care of you. He was the one who thought that mocking was a way for flirting and a way of showing someone his love. “Osamu what should I do?” he asked confused, but his twin just carelessly kept eating the Onigiri, like you two had been ghosts.
The tears that had been just streaming down your cheeks were like a soft, yet meaningful wind that had blown over the red windflower. With the soft wind blow, the dead petals fell down onto the ground, and the flower opened like a present, showing of its beautiful colourful petals. They were glowing under the rain, almost like the sun kept on shining behind the clouds. If a human eye would get to see the bright presence of the flower, they could forget for a second about the rain that was pouring down. And if someone, who saw the flower opening up and showing their beauty, would see that it was actually a white anemone, just waiting to show their sincerity.
“Hey hey hey- I didn’t mean to hurt you!” Atsumu said while getting a hold of your hands, “I really like you, you know and I tried to flirt with you” It was like he begun to rant his heart out, not trying to find an excuse to hurt you, but to explain the situation to you. To make you understand better, to cheer you a little up. “Let’s uh… Let’s get some food, huh? Or a warm tea?” Atsumu offered, not letting you talk until now. The tears that had been streaming down your face became less and less after seeing the not red, but actually white anemone in his eyes. The rain stopped.
“You… you do like me?” Your voice was dipped in some spark of hope, and also sealed with some confusion.
“Do ya want tea?” “Atsumu do you really like me or did you use it to cheer me up?” “I am not sure,” “You have to give me an honest answer. Yes or no.” With a sigh the boy finally gave in. It was useless to fight with you now. “Yeah kinda like ya” a small pout formed on his lips, seeming to be rather a little embarrassed than pleased by saying that.
“I like you too” There was nothing to save or to destroy now. You had been at your end, emotionally, and Atsumu also just opened up like a book, letting you read whatever had been written deep down in his feelings and mind. “Yer want cuddles?”
That question took you off guard.
Cuddles was the last thing you would expect him to ask you, but could you say no?
With a small sob that had been still saved from the crying just a few minutes ago your head slowly motioned to a yes, making his goofy smile grow. “Good thing we share a room!” He cheered, ruffling your hair.
After that sentence you can guess what happened.
Lots of loving cuddles and hugs were exchanged this night.
After one loss would always follow one win.
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«𝐛𝐲 𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞»
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Please please please, may i please request a prussia/reader drabble (oneshot?? what ever is easier for you honestly) for the prompt: “Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.”?? thank you so much and i love your writings <3
Hello, Lovely~ Wanted to thank you for your patience. Couldn't quite get the perfect scene in mind till about 1:14 am this morning. Hope you enjoy, and thank you for the request!
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In a world that never seemed to rest, tranquility had become an elusive mistress, an antiquated ideal that was valuable for its rarity alone. There were many who would never find such a thing, or would be cursed with just a brief glimpse before it slipped away once more, never to return.
Tranquility was a gift, and you had been blessed in multitudes.
A light breeze was rustling the pines towering above you, scents of the nearby stream, forget-me-nots, and the wisps of smoke from the campfire dancing with it.
So tucked away from everything, you couldn't hear any engines, noisy neighbors, or- most fortunately- the impatient pings from your cell demanding your attention. 
It was quiet, as quiet as Nature could be when one is sitting near a babbling brook, their swing squeaking on hinges decades older than themselves, birds of all ages serenading the small patches of sunlight reaching the forest floor.
Your foot trailed along the ground beneath you, a path carving in the soil from the steady back-and-forth of the old wooden swing, your head resting comfortably against Gil's chest.
He had one arm loosely draped on the back of the swing, the other extended as he read his paperback, folded over itself to spare himself a little freedom.
You shifted slightly, just a little, and he instinctively followed, adjusting the blanket across your legs and shifting his own to accommodate your new position, all without once removing his attention from the page.
It was approaching midday, and while you had both agreed on a short hike to visit some waterfall or other, you were finding you had no desire to leave just yet, perfectly content and cozy as you were.
You let yourself relax further, eyes closing as you rested your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady refrain of his heartbeat. 
The familiar, unconscious dance of fingers against your upper arm made you smile, his decision to shift his free arm almost as reflexive as your decision to open your palm and rest it directly over his heart.
In a time not so long ago, the very thought of being alone in the same room as him would have been laughable, and now you were alone together in some ancient hunting cabin, leagues away from civilization, and completely at peace.
It struck you in that moment just how ingrained he was into your life, your sphere, your thoughts. You never could have anticipated this level of intimacy, and the unexpected epiphany of just how vulnerable that made you left you reeling.
"It kind of scares me sometimes," the words slipped out in a sigh, a wisp of a murmur that faded as easily as woodsmoke. They hadn't even been loud enough to disturb a trio of hares near the truck, and when several moments passed, you were beginning to hope Gil hadn't heard them at all.
It was more a rumbling than a fully coherent query that finally answered you, his eyes still firmly affixed to the Greek text before him. "What's that?"
Without fully lifting your head, you shifted your angle, giving you the chance to study his features- the small indents on his nose from wearing his glasses so much the past week, the single, nearly invisible freckle just by his left eye, the patch of chapped skin on his lower lip, the intoxicating and inexplicable gradients of indigoes and crimsons in his irises.
He hid nothing from you, every perceived flaw and weakness completely at your mercy. And to know that he could see through all of your own barriers, knew you in-and-out more than you perhaps knew yourself-
But there was trust there, and something so strong that- even years after first naming it, after first defining it, exploring it, embracing it- still left you breathless, still rendered you speechless.
For a moment, it did exactly that, overwhelming you in a wave of emotion so strong that you could scarcely think in the face of it. 
But it was a familiar feeling, one so commonplace that you simply sighed again, letting it settle over you like an additional blanket, warmth settling in your veins as you relaxed once more.
"It scares me sometimes how in love I am with you." You traced a pattern with your finger against his shirt, eyes focused on the lupine family enjoying vegetable scraps from the night before. "It scares me how vulnerable you make me feel."
But no. Scared wouldn't be quite the right word for how this vulnerability made you feel. Intimidated, perhaps? 
Irregardless, it was such a good feeling, so freeing to be so fully exposed to someone, to know they saw the worst of you and still-
He was resting his head against your own, silence patiently resting between you, the quiet of the forest yet again remaining undisturbed. He had even ceased powering the swing, apart from a small movement with his toes that was likely from his muscle spasms than anything else. You let yourself relax fully, because no matter how suddenly and aggressively this wave of realization had swept you away in its riptide, he would always keep you safe, always anchor you in the face of whatever storms may come.
"You know it's a two-way street, right?"
As if further testament to his knowing you, the words went straight to the core of it all, exposing his own vulnerability to you, proving just how much he had placed his faith in you.
What a perilous place to be, putting so much faith and trust and hope and care and control in someone else's hands, wholeheartedly believing that they will never bring you any harm, that-
"You're not going to leave me, right?"
The question was so sudden, so unexpected, that you took yourself by surprise, not accounting for the deep, tired exhale of the man so gently holding you. "How could you even ask that?"
You started to try taking it back, wishing for all the world you could keep your thoughts more thoroughly reined in, but he was plowing ahead, the arm that had been resting on the swing coming around you, fingers slipping in between your own. "Do you really think I could leave you?"
By all accounts, yes. Yes he could. 
His claim to immortality was shaky at best, and there was no guarantee that he wouldn't get bored of you, that someone pushing near 1,000 would wake up one morning and realise that-
"Where the Hell is all of this coming from anyway?"
You gave it a half a moment of thought, and soon found yourself melting in defeat. "I wish I had an answer, but I honestly have no idea."
He resumed his earlier motion, putting the swing back into a steady glide. When he spoke again, it was as if he were reaching across centuries, finding just the right words out of billions to try to comfort you. "To quote some book I read in some teahouse somewhere quite a long ass time ago: 'Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own.'" Here he paused, a good six seconds of silence as he rooted himself once more to the present, voice lowering to a whisper. "Leaving you? Losing you? It would be like losing a part of myself, like losing the best parts of myself."
He paused again, a seriousness that was only just familiar to you making an appearance, a depth to his words that made your toes curl. "I was lost for centuries, Schatz, never realizing or accepting just how alone I was, how fucked up I was. I waited for you for ages, and didn't even know how badly I needed you until I finally met you. It was like everything I had done, everything I had gone through, suddenly made sense. You were- are- the very thing I was fighting so hard for."
For claiming to have not a hint of romance in him, he still always seemed to have the perfect strategy for disarming you, for charming you, for leaving you even more infatuated with him than you were mere minutes before.
But this pedestal that he had carved for you, these expectations- 
"I'm only human, Gil."
"I know," he murmured.
"I could still get sick-"
"I know," he sighed.
"Or hurt-"
"I know," he growled.
"Or di-"
"I know!"
His exasperation was so unexpected that you swore the whole world had frozen around you, as if the tranquility of the forest had finally been disturbed. 
But no- 
Everything was still exactly as should be; it was only your surprise that had affected your perception. 
In actuality, his interjection had been scarcely more than a rasp, so damaging to you alone as it cut straight through to your soul, piercing through what little armor you still had against him.
He squeezed your hand, an apology conveyed simply through touch, an armistice accepted and strengthened through reciprocation. "'Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own,'" came the quiet refrain, each syllable accented through the dance of his thumb against your palm, each syllable a soft breath that tickled your scalp. You expected him to stop there, his point well made, but soon enough he was murmuring again, words nearly a hum. "'In pain and sickness they would still be dear.'"
You couldn't place the words- who knew if a copy of that book even existed anymore- but it didn't matter. They were exactly what you had needed, the balm for a restiveness that you hadn't even known was plaguing you till a few moments ago. And what's more, you never knew Gilbert to exaggerate, not when it came to matters of the heart. He knew no other option than complete sincerity, maddening some days, endearing most others.
Thoughts shifting, comfort once more reestablished, you shifted slightly, turning your attention to the few clouds you could see through the canopy. "Every atom, huh?"
There was a huff of a laugh, an accentuated exhale that highlighted his exasperation, but the amusement in his reply was tempered by fondness, highlighted with a small kiss above your ear. "Every proton, neutron, electron... Every single quark, if you need me to get technical," he finished in a whisper, slowly, gently, reassuringly, practically an embrace on its own.
You melted against him, giving his hand a small squeeze of gratitude, thoroughly reminded now of exactly why it was okay to share your vulnerabilities, how lucky you were to have found him, to be found, to trust and fall and grow together.
Tranquility eventually, quietly, made her reappearance, bringing with her the blessing of the midday sun.
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Thanks for reading!
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ibijau · 3 years
Text
Jin Rusong Lives pt12 / On AO3
Nie Huaisang discovers that it's not easy to kiss a pretty man when you have a job to do
When he was very young, a year or so after the death of their father, Nie Huaisang had wondered about his brother being single. Since he’d personally been something of a brat, and none too impressed with the changes that circumstances had forced upon his brother, he had come to the conclusion that Nie Mingjue just wasn’t nice enough for anyone to like him that way. 
Nie Huaisang, moved by pity, had promised his brother that he would stay with him all his life, but only if Nie Mingjue never made him attend sabre practice again. His noble sacrifice had been met with indifference, and Nie Mingjue had just sent him to train anyway, proving that he definitely was the hardest, coldest, least lovable person in the world, and deserved to be single.
Some years later, Nie Huaisang had once more wondered why his brother was yet unmarried. At that time, he had been mostly concerned by the fact that made him heir to Qinghe Nie’s leadership, a most horrible realisation to have when he only wished to enjoy his time in Gusu, kiss pretty people, and never learn a single thing in his life. 
He had at that time befriended Jiang Cheng, whose views on love and marriage were entirely unlike what Nie Huaisang felt himself. And then, there had also been that list of popular young bachelors. The second proved that Nie Mingjue was desirable, while the first offered the consideration that not everyone longed for a partner. Nie Huaisang had tried to accept his brother the way he accepted his friend, though it annoyed him that he'd have to be the one producing an heir. He’d already started taking notice of Lan Xichen around then, and no girl in the world could have been even half as beautiful.
Later still, after the Sunshot Campaign, Nie Huaisang once again reconsidered his opinion regarding Nie Mingjue’s situation. His brother wasn't quite as cold as he pretended, and it happened sometimes that he would let his gaze linger on a pretty girl, though never long enough to be noticed. Some of those girls would have made fine mistresses for the Unclean Realm, and could have given Nie Mingjue the heir which would ensure Nie Huaisang would never have to be sect leader. 
But as Nie Mingjue's temper deteriorated in the years leading to his death, after witnessing the violence with which he lost his life, the same violence their father had shown in his last moments, Nie Huaisang formed a new theory; if Nie Mingjue had never married, it was because he was scared of hurting others. 
For a decade, Nie Huaisang satisfied himself with that theory. It went well with the image he had of his brother, noble and self sacrificing. It also helped rekindle his hatred of Jin Guangyao by reminding him that it was his actions that had robbed Nie Mingjue of the loving family he deserved. But the truth, Nie Huaisang was now realising, might have been more simple than that.
It was just so damn complicated to have a sentimental life as a sect leader, and even more so while raising a child. 
Little Jin Rusong, bless him, was the sweetest child in the world, polite, obedient, affectionate. Considering how difficult his presence made things, Nie Huaisang felt immense sympathy for his late brother, who'd had to deal with a hellspawn like himself. Nie Mingjue might have thought that his little brother would embarrass him or throw a fit out of jealousy if he tried to flirt with anyone… and Nie Huaisang couldn't deny he would have taken great joy in doing just that. 
At least, Jin Rusong meant no harm when he'd cried out just as Nie Huaisang, after a decade of hopelessness, was about to be kissed again by the man he loved. With the rough evening he'd had, the little boy also couldn't be blamed for being worried about falling asleep alone, so that had ended any chance for Nie Huaisang to have more time with Lan Xichen right then. 
In the morning, Nie Huaisang had the pleasant surprise of seeing Lan Xichen enter the room at the same time as the servant who brought breakfast. Although they usually dined together these days, to spend breakfast together was entirely new. 
"I have been awake for a while," Lan Xichen explained before Nie Huaisang could ask a single question. "Even here I usually follow our rules and…" 
He trailed off, a touch of red blooming on his cheeks as he stared a moment at Nie Huaisang, before promptly averting his eyes. Perhaps he remembered that he’d boldly offered to break some of those rules only the night before. Nie Huaisang certainly hadn’t forgotten.
"I was awake and thought I'd come see you," Lan Xichen quickly finished. "I hope you don't mind?" 
"I'm always happy to have you in my room," Nie Huaisang retorted, delighted to see the other man's blush deepen. He'd missed flirting. It had been a long while since he'd done that, and he felt rusty, but he was sure Lan Xichen would be forgiving. 
The three of them sat down for breakfast. Nie Huaisang, quite innocently, tried to sit next to Lan Xichen rather than Jin Rusong, but the child protested against that, saying he wanted to be sitting close to Lan Xichen. He then proceeded to also monopolise the conversation, clearly delighted to have both of his uncles at his disposal. Both men still attempted to flirt a little, but eventually had to give up and settle for exchanging fond looks over the table.
When breakfast was over, Nie Huaisang helped Jin Rusong get dressed and ready for his day while Lan Xichen watched. They all three went to the classroom, and as they walked Lan Xichen stood a little too close, causing his hand to brush against Nie Huaisang every so often. At least, he did so until Jin Rusong grabbed both their hands, seeming in an excellent mood that morning and determined to enjoy both his uncles at once.
When Jin Rusong had been handed to his teacher, there was a brief moment of awkwardness. Nie Huaisang stood silent near the classroom door, suddenly as nervous as a teenager with a crush. His only comfort was to see Lan Xichen equally anxious.
“Would you like to go for a walk?” Lan Xichen suggested. “We could…” he hesitated, pink dusting his face, and finished miserably: “we could walk.”
“I’d love to walk,” Nie Huaisang replied with too much eagerness.
Lan Xichen smiled, looking more shy and uncertain than he’d done the previous night. Nie Huaisang also found it harder to think about renewing their old connection, now that it was light around them. Without darkness to soften the world around them, he could remember every reason he’d given ten years earlier to argue against their little romance, every fear of a political disaster, of blackmail if they were discovered, of losing the last true friend he had. And yet even like that, Nie Huaisang knew he could not resist his feelings, not this time.
He was tired of denying himself the things he wanted, he thought as he reached out to take Lan Xichen’s hand.
And that was when Nie Funyu found them, and scolded Nie Huaisang for forgetting that he’d agreed to see a local magistrate that morning about a series of mysterious disappearances in a nearby town. The magistrate in question had been waiting for a while already, and was quite unhappy about it. Nie Huaisang had no choice but to follow his first disciple, and could not even offer Lan Xichen a chance for a lunch together, as it had already been agreed he would eat with that magistrate.
“Duty comes first,” Lan Xichen said with a thin smile that lacked its usual warmth.
It was a comfort, Nie Huaisang supposed, to know that he wasn’t the only one irritated by this unexpected interruption.
The meeting with that magistrate went well. Once the situation was explained, Nie Huaisang offered different ways to deal with it, so that some important people who appeared involved would not be offended if they were innocent, nor allowed a chance to escape he’d they’d done something nefarious. The magistrate appeared satisfied by the solution offered, as well as by the meal. Sadly, the man was of a curious nature, and hinted very strongly that he would like to be given a tour of the Unclean Realm, admitting he was fascinated with cultivation, though lacking any talent himself. 
Nie Huaisang had no choice but to show him around. This, in turn, meant that the amount of work he would normally have done during the afternoon piled up. Even when the magistrate had left, Nie Huaisang found himself busy with correspondence, before having to give some lessons to the juniors, as Nie Funyu occasionally insisted he did, “so the little ones know who you are, zongzhu”.
Then some other business came up, so that by the time Nie Huaisang was finally free to join Lan Xichen and Jin Rusong for dinner, they were almost done eating and he was exhausted. Even if he’d still had the energy to think of flirting, Jin Rusong happened to be in a chatty and joyful mood, demanding to play, and Nie Huaisang had to oblige until both of them were too sleepy to go on. Lan Xichen was very graceful about it, and offered to keep Jin Rusong for the night so that Nie Huaisang had a chance to sleep more deeply.
The offer was immediately taken, and Nie Huaisang stumbled back to his room where he dropped on his bed half dressed, too tired to bother with clothes.
The following day showed promises of more contradictions to Nie Huaisang’s plans. While he would have wanted to finally continue his conversation with Lan Xichen, as soon as he was done with his breakfast, some juniors came to find him to complain about a problem they were having. Someone’s cousin had said something about someone else’s fiancée, who happened to be close friends with the young master of a small sect who now threatened everyone with a duel. 
It was only a small dispute, but Nie Huaisang had seen what happened to arguments allowed to fester, so he gave the situation his full attention and wrote right away to some of the people concerned in an attempt to make everyone calm down. But then, since he had gone to his office to write those letters, Nie Funyu found him there and took the chance to make him review some bills that he thought were not quite right.
It was nearly noon when Lan Xichen knocked on the door of Nie Huaisang’s office. He appeared slightly disappointed to find that Nie Huaisang was not alone, which Nie Huaisang thought funny. Nie Funyu did not share his amusement, and his mood turned sour when Lan Xichen asked if he might keep them company. Nie Huaisang promptly agreed, which annoyed his first disciple. It would take a while until Nie Funyu no longer resented Lan Xichen for his former friendship with Jin Guangyao, but he would have to get over it. Nie Huaisang intended to keep Lan Xichen in his life.
He just wished they could have half a shichen to themselves to decide how to make that work.
An impossible wish, it seemed.
Still, at long last, lunch time came to free Nie Huaisang from his work. Not only that, but he knew that Nie Funyu was teaching all afternoon, meaning it would be that much easier to avoid work for a little while. 
Lunch was unmemorable. Some elders insisted that Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen eat with them, complaining that their sect leader had neglected them lately. It was not entirely untrue, but Nie Huaisang wished he could have neglected those elders today too. It wasn't even possible to chat with Lan Xichen in such company, though since they were sitting next to each other, their hands accidentally touched frequently. 
After they were done eating, Nie Huaisang promptly asked Lan Xichen if he would mind checking something with him in his quarter. Just as quickly, Lan Xichen agreed, and they both walked there a little more quickly than was dignified for two sect leaders, worried about more interruptions. 
There were none. Nobody stopped them on their way to Nie Huaisang’s quarters, and they were allowed to finally be alone together again. Nie Huaisang felt like a mischievous teenager trying to escape parental supervision to get naughty with their crush. He found that he quite enjoyed that. He hadn’t felt this young in years.
"I'm glad you're taking your duties more seriously, but surely your sect can function without you sometimes," Lan Xichen said as they closed the door behind them.
His voice warried with such petulance that Nie Huaisang almost laughed. 
"Xichen, were you getting impatient maybe?" came the teasing answer. 
A slight frown appeared on Lan Xichen's face, before he stepped closer and took Nie Huaisang’s hand. 
"Yes, I was." 
He said it so simply, as if it were evident. Perhaps it was, after having waited so many years for this. Nie Huaisang was hardly any better. Patience had been his main quality for a while, but now he was tired of waiting.
"Well, we're here now," he said, breathless. "I'm all yours, Lan Huan." 
Lan Xichen shivered at the use of that name, a first between them, and squeezed Nie Huaisang’s hand, with a tender smile on his lips. 
That smile disappeared when there was a knock on the door and Lan Xichen glared at it. Nie Huaisang felt just as disappointed, but was starting to find some humour in the situation. He almost laughed as he freed his hand from Lan Xichen's. 
Nie Mingjue was well avenged for every bit of trouble his brother had caused him. 
“Come in,” Nie Huaisang ordered. “Oh. Jin Yixin, is there a problem?”
Jin Yixin came into the room and bowed with cold elegance, while at her side Jin Rusong tried to copy her posture. He looked very serious, the way he always did around Jin Yixin, clearly trying to impress his teacher and prove that he was a worthy student.
“I come to Nie zongzhu to make a request,” she said. “Some of the concepts I’m trying to explain to the young master would profit from outdoor demonstrations. I was hoping you would allow me to take him outside of the Unclean Realm? I’ve tried using the gardens to make my point, but they are too touched by human minds and it does not work.”
The request made Nie Huaisang frown. 
It was nothing particularly strange, Nie teachers also took the younger juniors past the walls of the Unclean Realm sometimes, just for a shichen, to show something about… energies? It might have to do with energies. Nie Huaisang hadn’t paid attention as a child, and he still struggled with some of those concepts as an adult. What he understood, though, was that those concepts were important to cultivate in a solid, healthy manner, and he didn’t want to deprive Jin Rusong of a chance to learn well.
“Where would you go? And when?”
“There is a little field behind the Unclean Realm that’s uncultivated, and well within your borders,” Jin Yixin explained. “I was thinking of going there. Perhaps this afternoon? Of course it can wait if you’d rather check the place yourself first.”
“No, I think I see what you mean,” Nie Huaisang replied. “I used to go there sometimes to admire the view of the mountains, and to watch the birds that live around. I suppose there’s no harm…”
He hesitated. The idea of letting Jin Rusong leave the Unclean Realm, however briefly, however well accompanied, was deeply unpleasant. At the same time, a little field trip like that was likely to tire out the child, and if he could be convinced to go to sleep early…
They wouldn’t be going very far, he thought, and Jin Yixin came with the approval of both Jin Rulan and Jiang Wanyin. Nie Funyu, who had seen her train and even got to spar with her once, also vouched for her being a very strong cultivator. She’d taken part in the Sunshot Campaign even. Clearly she was someone who could be trusted with Jin Rusong’s safety.
“Take some of my disciples with you,” Nie Huaisang ordered. “And take some distress signals too. I don’t think Qinghe Nie’s reputation has fallen so low that anyone would dare to cause trouble so close to the Unclean Realm, but let’s take every precaution. SongSong, you will be very good and listen to your teacher, won’t you?”
The little boy enthusiastically promised, and was still grinning when Jin Yixin and him left the room to go find some people who might accompany them.
As soon as the door closed, Lan Xichen pressed Nie Huaisang against the nearest wall and kissed him, unwilling to risk any further delay. After a brief moment of surprise, Nie Huaisang wrapped his arms around the other man’s waist and pulled him closer, melting into the kiss.
It felt nothing like that miserable kiss they’d exchanged on the day of Nie Mingjue’s funeral. Back then it had felt like a farewell between them, while now Nie Huaisang could hope there would be more of this in the future. Lan Xichen’s passion in kissing him, the way their bodies were pressed together, certainly promised more.
They kissed against the wall for a while, impatiently clinging to each other. Then Lan Xichen, always so clever, suggested that there was a sofa right there, which might be more comfortable than to remain standing. Nie Huaisang felt tempted to point out that if comfort was an issue, his bed wasn’t very far either, and it would be even more comfortable. But the sofa was closer, and there was no urgency. They had found each other again at last, and had the rest of their lives to explore all they could want from that.
Although they’d started sitting on the sofa, before too long they were lying on it, Nie Huaisang straddling Lan Xichen, kissing him more slowly now as they allowed their hands to wander, enjoying accidental brushes of skin on skin, but making no effort to discard their layers of clothing. There was no rush, not now that they had each other, and Nie Huaisang thought he could have happily spent the rest of his life like this, nestled on a sofa with the man he loved, lazily kissing him.
Time passed around them without their notice, until a knock on the door forced them to return again to the world around them.
Nie Huaisang’s first thought was that he had to be cursed to never enjoy a single moment of peace. Then, noticing how the shadows had grown longer, he realised with some embarrassment that they’d been together like that for a long while, and it wasn’t so surprising that someone should be needing him for something or other. He tried to get up, only for Lan Xichen to hold him by the hips, keeping him in place. Nie Huaisang almost laughed, and seeing how handsome Lan Xichen was like this, flushed and with his lips so red, he couldn’t resist leaning for one more kiss.
Another knock on the door, insistent enough to make it shake, put an end to that. Nie Huaisang, surprised by such urgency, stood up. Lan Xichen did not stop him again, looking puzzled as well, and followed him when he went to open the door, both of them trying to put order to their appearance. 
One of his disciples was on the other side, looking distraught and breathless from running. 
“Nie zongzhu, there’s a problem,” he explained, speaking so fast it made him hard to understand. “The men who went with Jin Yixin and Jin xiao-gongzi have returned. They’ve been beaten up, they say they were ambushed and attacked.”
“What?” Nie Huaisang gasped, so shocked he had to support himself against the doorframe. “How…" A thought crossed his mind, and he grabbed the man's collar. "Where's Rusong?”
The man shook his head.
“Zonghzhu, he’s been taken.”
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nakachuchu · 3 years
Text
Sidelines | Aido Hanabusa
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SYNOPSIS: You love with all your heart.
READER: female
WORDS: 805
WRITTEN: 01/16/2021
NOTES: ngl I teared up writing this but I'm also sensitive lol. And pls send more quotes! I love writing. As for the yandere/non-con question, I meant I will not write non-con smut (since that's basically r*pe). I cleared it up on my form as well so thank you for asking me that. If you want me to write yandere, that is fine!
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You had started off as acquaintances who met at a ball Hanabusa's parents had a few years back.
There were curious glances on your side and soft smiles on his side. There was a brief 'hello' and friendly discussion between your families before they went their separate ways at the ball.
The next time you two encountered each other would be at Cross Academy in the Night Class. Now, you were classmates and greeted each other when contact was necessary.
Classmates evolved into friends, and two of you often spent your time together.
You walked next to him when the Night Class went out while the Day Class were waiting for them. He would wait for you to fall asleep before tucking you in and leaving your room. You two would take walks together and do your homework together as well.
You didn't know exactly when you developed romantic feelings for him, but you didn't need to question why.
He was everything to you. He made you smile and laugh easily. You always looked forward to a new day because you knew you would be able to see him.
So it was no wonder it hurt so much to see him fall in love with a human. It hurt enough to see him with another woman, laughing so freely, but her being a human was an insult to you and the nobles.
You didn't cry because you knew it wouldn't have changed anything. He wouldn't have dropped everything in order to run to your side and make you feel better.
All you could do was drift away from him as he spent more time with his lover. It hurt you, and you swore that you could feel yourself dying, but you knew it wasn't possible.
Maybe you were so in love with him that you were blind to what was going on around you. Maybe he had loved her for a long time now, or he had already been dating her for a while now.
You tried to carry on your other your life, studying and keeping up your facade of being happy and polite in order to live up to your family status.
What were you to him? Did he truly believe you two were only friends?
Maybe it was because you were a child who didn't receive motherly or fatherly love. You were good at keeping your emotions bottled up, and when you needed to explode, you just didn't.
You clenched your fists and held it in ever since you were a child. Your role was to be an outstanding member of the society.
You rubbed your eyes tiredly, closing the curtains behind you as you laid down in bed. For a vampire blessed with beauty, you were looking run down. You looked as if you had contracted a disease.
But you were sure some sleep would make it better. Maybe you would dream something nice for once and feel better about your life once you woke up.
You closed your eyes and sleep immediately came to you, but when you came to, you were being shaken. A voice was calling out to you, and you had hoped it was Hanabusa.
You knew it was too good to be true because when your eyes opened, Takuma was in front you.
He let out a sigh of relief. "You wouldn't wake up," he cried. "I got worried when you weren't in class on time."
"It's time for class already?"
He shook his head. "You've been asleep for almost twenty hours."
"Maybe I was having a nice dream," you whispered.
He helped you sit up and handed you a glass of water. "How long are you going to torture yourself? He's not coming back."
You stared down at the water. "I know, but it doesn't make it any easier."
"There are other people — friends and potential lovers — in this world. You've been so holed up with him that you never took the time to talk to anyone else," said Takuma.
"He's the one that got me to truly smile for the first time in my life," you said.
"I'm sure someone else can do the same for you," he said, brushing your hair back.
"Maybe," you whispered.
"It'll take a while."
"Mhm."
"But would it be worth it?" he asked.
You glanced at him and nodded slowly. "I guess it would be."
"Then let's start by taking care of your body," he said. "I'll bring you some blood tablets."
"Thank you," you whispered.
He nodded before leaving your room. You were left to your own thoughts once more, feeling light headed as you thought about Hanabusa.
You knew you shouldn't have, but it was difficult to forget about someone you once loved, even if it was going to hurt you in the end.
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