#Certainly not then using it to yearn for someone who may not feel the same way. But then again I realise I have been mistaken about that

[theangel-aziraphale]

So, not as obvious as the statue....okay. So it's gotta be something smaller, more discreet then.

I'm thinking books or a painting, something that could have a sheet thrown over it easily enough. you can't hide this forever

...

I think you've asked enough.

I don't have to tell anyone anything... Much less tell them that I have a rather extensive collection of both of those.

But those are part of the private collection, I'm afraid. Like my diaries, they are unfit for others' eyes.

[lanafofana]

The Faithwarden & The Archdruid

Day THREEEEEE of HalsinTavWeek is upon us, fam! Pairing: Halsin/Tav(F) Summary: When she is away, Tav wonders if Halsin misses her as much as she misses him. Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI Warnings/Tag: Voyeurism, Mutual Masturbation, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Post Epilogue No Beta We Die Like Yonas (RIP Yonas) And an AO3 link! For all who celebrate.

If Tav had had any idea of the kind of commitment involved with holding the title of Faithwarden, she might have just killed Khaga in cold blood where she stood. The woman had certainly made it tempting enough without the added threat of being named the equivalent of a druidic mediator, judge, and oracle. 

When she said as much to Halsin the former archdruid had only given her the proudest, softest expression and assured her that she was the only druid he had ever met who was well suited to the task. Which might have just been, possibly, the least helpful thing he could have said.

The summons came from all over Faerûn and took her away from home from anywhere between a tenday to months on end. Settling disputes between groves, ousting unworthy leadership, and using her ironclad grasp of Silvanus’ teachings to guide, illuminate, and teach his servants.

Highest honor this. Under the eye of Silvanus himself that. It was godsdamned exhausting, is what it was.  

Every time her duties kept her away from home for longer than a few days her skin itched to return. To ensconce herself in their house amongst the trees, rousing from her meditation and rolling on top of her lover, listening to the chatter of nature while she walked barefoot through the forest born anew. These were the things that tugged at her mind most when found herself many miles from home. 

Frustratingly, Halsin did not seem to miss her quite as much as she did him. When she returned he greeted her warmly enough, an enthusiastic participant in their lovemaking always, but a part of Tav wondered if she was the only one left pining during their separations. 

If she was gone longer than a ten day they would exchange letters or messages through nature, sometimes managing to speak through their meditations though that was rarer. He shared news of the happenings from home, asked after her welfare, and sometimes included messages from the children under their care. All very sweet but the few times she tried to broach the subject in her letters, how she missed him and yearned for his touch, he either said something clinically empathetic about duty or, worse, didn’t address it at all. 

The lack of reciprocation of her desires began to chip away at her confidence in their bond. She began to wonder if maybe she was being selfish trying to bring it up all the time. Perhaps he considered the lust she felt in his absence a youthful fault of her own and nothing to do with him at all. 

When she takes her leave one day she mentions while he walks with her to the boundary of their home, that if it looks like she may need to stay longer she will send a letter before the tenday is out. He smiles and nods but tells her she need not trouble herself on his account and kisses her softly on the forehead. 

Walking away from him, her steps feel heavy, and the words chase themselves in circles in her mind. Hurt blooms like a wicked vine, crawling through her mind with cruel barbs that whisper silky lies that taste like truths. Keeping in contact over long distances is not necessary. If someone should miss her, they surely know how to reach her. He may as well have told her not to come home at all. 

It all boiled down to the same thing. My love does not equal your love. Once she had the thought she found it had taken root and would not be burned away. She heard it as she walked, as she lay staring at the stars, and in her troubled meditations that shattered under the weight of it. It took very little imagination to begin to hear them repeat in her mind with his voice.     The journey is long and difficult but with dark thoughts dogging her heels she pushes herself as far and as fast as she is able. The grove is surprised to see her arrive so early but readily enfold her to the circle and the reasons they called for assistance. 

Two days, one set of bruised knuckles, and a sternly worded letter to an archdruid in Amn later Tav leaves the grove in an even fouler mood than she went in. 

“Please, Faithwarden, at least stay another day. Your journey here was most perilous and long, you should take a day and refresh yourself.” 

Tav tries to put her best face forward, she really does, but it is extremely difficult after her altercation with the grove’s resident healer left her in such a seething rage the First Druid had been forced to physically hold her back from beating the woman to death. When she whirls on the young novice he flinches back and Tav feels the sharp words turn to ash on her tongue. 

She can’t do anything to rid her face of the stern expression that has decided to live there but she does try to curb her tone at the very least. She assures the poor man she was well rested enough thank you very much but must be on her way to her next destination. 

The problem was, Tav had no idea where that destination was. Should she go home? Or would it be so terrible to wander for a bit, away from where she was clearly not as wanted as she supposed. Almost as soon as the thought occurs to her she decides no. She has a stack of letters to work through, almost half of them undoubtedly more summons for her aid. 

Standing in the middle of a dusty, overgrown road she sighs. The tangle of hurt and anger giving way to sudden weariness. Was this to be her doom? Always wandering, always aiding, and never finding a notch to catch her heel and making her stop and rest. To sooth her loneliness with the fleeting, loveless passion between strangers who desire her body or her position. It turns her stomach. Inside her chest her heart feels splintered with cracks. One more blow and she will crumble. 

When she is close to Thaniel’s realm she hesitates crossing the border right away. She decides that the temporary succor of reuniting with her lover, for once, does not outweigh the turmoil inflicted by the detachment of his farewell. It hasn’t even been a full ten-day anyway, so no one will be looking for her return. She can steal in through the window in her raven form, collect her stack of correspondence, and be gone again without anyone the wiser. 

The sky is dark and silent when she begins her mission.  A new moon offers plenty of cover to flit through the dark shadows on her way to the house nestled deep in the center of Thaniel’s realm. Spying an open window she flits though and perches on a chair, cocking her head and getting a read on her surroundings. The house is quiet though; the children are all nestled tight in their beds and the druid is nowhere to be seen. 

She wonders at that for a moment, it’s unlike him to leave the children unattended overnight. Though, she concedes, he does like to wander the border in wildshape when he feels like thinking in solitude. She brushes the thought away and sheds her birdform to creep on soundless steps through the dark home. 

The letters are not in the study where she expected them to be. The desk is tidy, just how Halsin prefers, but the slot where she usually keeps her stack is empty. She rifles through the drawers but they’re simply not there at all. Huffing an irritated sigh she spends a few extra moments poking around the rest of the room but there’s nothing. 

He’s already preparing for you to leave permanently, whispers the acrid voice from before. That makes Tav stop her tracks, her heart and stomach and throat twisting so much she has to put her fist against her chest to assure herself she hasn’t been impaled by an arrow. The cracks within, quiver in expectation but she’s here on a mission, not to feel sorry for herself. She ruthlessly shoves the thought and the accompanying lance of pain from her mind. 

The kitchen is likewise tidy, and the living area where Tav is most guilty of leaving her things strewn around, “like a magpie’s nest,” Halsin had oft remarked. The words had seemed teasingly affectionate then but now, wandering the spotless house, Tav isn’t sure. 

There’s only one place left to check but at this point Tav wonders if she mightn’t just leave after all. It seems unlikely the druid would move her things there, where they had no proper place like the desk. But there is a dreadful anticipation buzzing under her skin and she realizes she can’t not look, can’t leave without seeing for herself if she has been erased from even that space. If he has packed away the odds and ends, removed the evidence of her existence. If he had truly cut her out of his life so thoroughly. 

Her hand on the doorknob, heart in her throat, Tav braces herself. When the door swings open on silent hinges, revealing their bedroom just as she remembered it before she left she lets out a sigh that feels less like relief than she thought it would. Stepping in and shutting the door behind her, her keen eyes can see little that has moved or changed in the few days she’s been gone. 

Her robe is missing from the place it usually hangs but that’s not unusual. The children were very fond of donning it for their make believe games of wizards and sorcerers. The little vanity table the druid had carved for her is littered with her trinkets and keepsakes, untouched. She spins slowly, correspondence forgotten for the moment while she looks for something. Anything to either untether the ache in her chest or banish it for good. But there’s nothing. The room is unremarkable, ordinary in every way. 

She pokes around a bit and finds her stack of letters in the drawer of her vanity. She gives the room another cursory glance but pauses when she hears a gasp. She freezes, wondering if one of the kids had a nightmare and has found her in their search for comfort but the door is shut. The room still. 

Curious, she moves as silent as a shadow towards the alcove where the bed is tucked away from sight by a large screen she brought with her from one of her travels. A very dim light comes into view, a guttering candle more ember than wick left. The view that unfolds beyond the screen however, steals her breath away. 

Halsin is naked on their bed, eyes shut tight, with one hand holding her robe to his face while the other works a fierce pace along his erection. His hand rolls over the leaking head, once, twice, smearing the leaking precum from the tip before returning to pumping his thick length. His head drops back on the pillow, his mouth dropping open as he pants, his face a rictus in concentration. He breathes in sharply, another gasp he can’t hold back while he pleasures himself, lost in his fantasy, with her robe acting as the anchor. 

She feels…giddy. The sight before her would in any other circumstance be enough to have her naked within moments and joining him but the evidence of his clear desire for her, his desperate gasps and near silent wails are the result of his desperate want of her and she…she can’t look away. Her blood runs hot but she’s frozen. 

On the bed Halsin whines, teeth clenching, hips flexing as he tries to fuck his own hand. His heavy breathing is broken by a soft murmur, a whispered litany of words she can barely make out except for one. 

“Tav.” 

The hand holding her robe clenches and he takes a deep breath through his nose, taking in her scent from the fabric and when his eyes slit open Tav feels her own breath shudder out of her. It’s hot, suddenly too hot. His expression betrays surprise, confusion but when his hand stops moving on his cock Tav’s mouth is moving before her brain can catch up.

“Don’t stop,” she commands with a voice that sounds stronger than she feels. Inside she feels brittle and if he pushes the issue she would crumple immediately but he doesn’t. He nods, chest heaving, and his hand resumes its ministrations, his nearly black eyes on hers further driving her wild with desire.

Not even sure what she’s doing anymore Tav sheds her clothes and positions herself at the foot of the bed. A possession has come upon her, moving her limbs for her while her brain is far away. Abandoning his grip on her robe he uses his other hand to squeeze his balls, his breath hitching and in response she feels herself suck in a breath sharply. When he growls, stare heavy on her, she licks her lips and drags the hot skin of her palm across her nipples, her stomach, before finally dipping between the lips of her sex, seeking the bundle of nerves that throbs for attention. 

“Tav,” he utters, breathing thready and she sways. 

She drinks up the sight of him; squirming, needy, and skin flushed with arousal. The precum welling up from his tip looks like beads of pearls before he swipes it away to join the wet slick slide of his grip pumping his sex. When his hips start to jut into his hand again her hips jerk to echo it, her fingers swirling around her clit increasing their pace to keep rhythm with his movements. 

The silent room has become a chorus of their echoing gasps, groans, and stilted breathing. The lewd wet sound as they masturbate to each other’s pleasure is obscene and Tav nearly comes apart with the force of how much she likes it. She watches with intense hunger, the flex of each muscle as he unravels under her gaze. 

“I’m–! “ He breaks off, throwing his head back, the corded muscles of his neck taunt, the column of his throat damp with sweat. 

“Y-yes!” It’s all she can manage to choke out before she’s lost to the sensation of her toes curling, jaw clenching. 

They orgasm together, the sight of his seed spurting across his hand, his stomach, his chest has her moaning and grinding her finger into her clint until she exhales an aching, guttural sob, vision exploding with stars.

She crashes to her knees on the mattress, throwing out a hand to catch herself from falling face first into the blanket while she blinks away the haze of her orgasm. There’s movement and before she’s fully inhabiting her body again his mouth is on hers, his hands pulling her into his embrace. They’re both sticky and sweaty, but it feels like coming home after being away for a decade and she throws her arms around his neck and plunges her tongue into his mouth. 

Breaking apart, still catching their breath they sit entwined, foreheads together while they come back to their senses. 

When she finally meets his gaze it’s to find it already on her, soft and warm. The ache in her chest cracks wide open and she bursts into tears. 

“My love?” Halsin’s voice is the comforting rumble of a summer thunderstorm and it only makes the tears flow more insistently. 

“I–I thought...” The words die in her throat. It’s stupid, it’s ludicrous. How could she ever have even dreamed this sweet man would do the things she had supposed. What foolishness had bewitched her? How did she let her mind come to those awful conclusions? She doesn’t have an answer and speaking the words out loud feels fraught with peril. 

Halsin doesn’t press her but cradles her head against his chest, running a hand down her back in a soothing gesture that only makes the tangled mess of her emotions a stronger torrent of tears. He rocks her, humming something slow and soft. He kisses the fevered skin of her forehead, clutching her body to his tightly, securely, until at last she feels her last sob give way to hitching sighs. 

“I think…I think I’ve been incredibly foolish,” she admits, pulling away to look at him with bloodshot eyes and a snotty nose. 

Halsin takes that in but instead of interrogating her, he thumbs away her tears gently before pressing featherlight kisses against the damp skin of her face. 

She breathes in, sucking what courage she can from the air between them and haltingly begins to explain. Halsin’s face goes through several complicated emotions as she speaks before settling on sadness. 

When she is done relaying the whole of it. How she thought he did not miss her and how it snowballed so horribly from there, he takes her face in both his hands and kisses her softly. 

“I miss you,” he begins firmly, holding her gaze. “I miss you when you are not near, whether that means you have gone to answer a summons to a far away grove, or down to the river to collect the children, or even when you are laying in this bed in a trance close enough to touch. I miss you like the land misses the rain in a drought,” he takes her hands in his and presses them to his chest. “I miss you like the winter misses the sun; the dragon misses his flight; the Tears of Selûne miss the moon when its light is extinguished and they are left to trail along until she returns. Without you by my side I feel my days grow dark and grey and spend too often looking over my shoulder for the moment you might appear and bring the light to shine on me again.”  

“But–” 

“I miss you,” interrupts Halsin urgently. “With everything that I am. Foolishly I held myself aloof in your absence because I did not wish to burden you with my own selfish suffering. You already found the duty bestowed on you an oppressive one and I did not wish to add myself to your troubles. I see now that was a mistake. One I will not commit again.” 

“I’m sorry,” says Tav, looking away. “I should have tried harder to explain what I…what I wanted, I suppose. What I needed from you.” 

Halsin smiles and nuzzles her cheek. “We each of us have learned something here today and I think we are the better for it, no?” 

“You’re very wise, archdruid,” says Tav with a small smile, the spark coming back into her eyes. “You wouldn’t be interested in becoming Faithwarden, would you?” 

Halsin laughs and tugs her into his arm again, burying his face in her neck, and stroking her hair and the bare skin of her back. “I’m afraid I’ve quite retired from druidic duties, my heart.” 

“Yeah yeah, rub it in.” She pulls back from his embrace when a thought occurs to her and she scans his wide chest in puzzlement before she spies her rolled up robe cast aside on the floor. “Halsin Silverbough did you use my robe to clean up your– “

He leans in close and snatches a kiss to cut her off. “I will wash it myself.” 

“Yes you will, that was a gift I got in Waterdeep! Silvanus protect you if I have to go back to that fetid kingdom of money plagued rats to get another one.”

He grins and snatches another kiss before rolling away and snatching the robe off the floor, backing away to the door. “I’m glad you’re home, my heart.” 

“You’re not going to be very glad if you don’t go put that in some water right now!” 

“Yes, dear,” he calls, sauntering away

“Cold water, Halsin, I’m serious!” He doesn’t respond and she trails after him in alarm. “Halsin? Are you listening?” 

“Always, my heart.”  

The End

[khywren]

「 Garden of Eden : Chapter 3 」

summary: "It's been days since you last fed on me; you must be positively starving." She flashes him a sweet, tempting smile.

A single white fang gleams from beneath Astarion's lips as he runs his tongue over his teeth and takes Tav's chin delicately in his hand. He doesn't care who may be watching.

"You've no idea," he croons softly. "Do lead the way, darling."

pairing: Astarion/f!Reader | Astarion/f!Tav rating: 18+ MDNI status: 6/10 tags/warnings: blood drinking, explicit sexual content, porn with plot, drunk sex, smut, toxic coping mechanisms, depictions of violence/abuse, hurt/comfort, mild angst, frenemies to lovers, word count: 3k spoiler warning: full story will contain spoilers for all 3 acts of the game.

a/n: chapters will be posted individually. crossposted from AO3. links to other chapters: [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ]

━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ◆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The night after Tav and her companions defeat the last threats plaguing the Emerald Grove, the tieflings throw them a party in their camp.

There is plenty of dancing, singing, and other merriment, and everyone seems to be enjoying themselves.

Well, almost everyone.

As Tav finishes another dance around the fire, her face flushed and her body warm from the wine and the exertion, she realizes that she hasn't seen Astarion all night. He's certainly not one to be the life of the party, but it still feels strange that he has receded so far into the background.

She figured he would enjoy being lavished with attention and praise, even if it meant having to accept that he had participated in something selfless for the good of others.

At last she spots him, nestled in the shadows near his tent, a bottle of wine in hand. He takes another swig, the look of disgust with whatever he's drinking clearly etched across his face announcing his discontent.

"Astarion! There you are." Tav practically bounds over to him, light on her feet and hopelessly drunk on more than a few glasses of wine.

She's feeling especially bold this evening. It's been several days since Astarion last fed on her, but that night in the blighted village has been on her mind ever since. 

There is, of course, the desire for him to bite her again - she won't deny that. But beyond that, she can't help but be greedy for more of him.

Astarion regards her with a look of condescension. "Well, I see that someone is enjoying themselves."

Tav frowns at him. "You're not? Relax a little. We're heroes, we should be celebrating!"

She gives him a playful shove and grins, but he remains impassive even as he sighs and runs a hand through his hair and takes another drink of wine.

"Heroes." The word is laced with venom. "We massacred a horde of goblins to save a pack of tieflings who are now free to go meet their doom somewhere less scenic," he says flatly, shrugging off Tav's look of concern.

"I would hardly call that heroic. At least they could have brought us better wine for our troubles."

Tav can't help but laugh at him, how he punctuates everything with that sardonic sense of humor.

"Ooh, how melodramatic," she teases him, making a face. "The wine may be terrible, but it gets the job done. Isn't that all that matters?"

Astarion cocks a brow and shakes his head. "My dear Tav," he replies, "you can't tell me that you seriously enjoy poisoning yourself with this..."

He casts a scathing glance at the bottle in his hand and swirls the liquid inside. "This swill."

Tav rolls her eyes. "It's not that bad!" 

She locks eyes with him now, and maybe it's the alcohol that's deluding her, but she swears that he's looking at her the same way he did that first night in the woods, exuding enough predatory hunger to send a shiver of want down her spine.

Tav knows that she wants him; their previous rendezvous only sufficed to ignite a deep yearning for more of him, all of him. The way he pressed his body against her, the little noises he made while feasting on her... and the way he looked at her after the deed was done - surely she's not imagining that he wants her as much as she wants him.

Above all else, she wants to feel more than his fangs inside of her.

She leans close to him now, her voice barely above a whisper as she makes her move.

"But, well, if you don't find the party suited to your refined tastes, might I offer another suggestion?"

A smirk slowly spreads across Astarion's face. "I'm listening."

Tav feels emboldened and seizes on his interest. She's so close to him now that he can feel the heat radiating off of her even though they aren't quite touching. Anyone who so much as glances in their direction would hardly have to struggle to guess the nature of their conversation.

"We could always enjoy one another's company somewhere more... secluded," Tav continues. Astarion is watching her with rapt attention, his eyes locked on the column of her throat as she sweeps her hair to the side to expose her neck to him. The puncture marks have mostly healed, but there is a faint vestige of where he last bit her.

Tav's voice takes on a low, seductive tone, her speech only slurred slightly by the effects of the wine she's drunk.

"It's been days since you last fed on me; you must be positively starving." She flashes him a sweet, tempting smile.

A single white fang gleams from beneath Astarion's lips as he runs his tongue over his teeth and takes Tav's chin delicately in his hand. He doesn't care who may be watching.

"You've no idea," he croons softly. "Do lead the way, darling."

                                      ━━━━━ ◆ ━━━━━

After several minutes of charged silence, they emerge into an open clearing ringed by a copse of trees. It's secluded, intimate.

Tav tries to hide her eagerness as she begins to unbutton her shirt, her nervous fingers fumbling with the button clasps giving her away completely. As she exhales a shaky breath, she lets her shirt fall open; the fabric hangs loosely around her shoulders and her torso, barely concealing her breasts.

She's playing coy with him, but he doesn't mind. It's nothing if not an opportunity to steer the evening to its foregone conclusion.

Tav finds her back pressed against the trunk of the nearest towering oak tree, the bark biting into her through the thin fabric of her shirt. Astarion dips his head low, an open hand splayed over her bare stomach.

He's dangerously close to kissing her again, and Tav's breath hitches as her mouth falls open ever so slightly.

It's all too easy, Astarion thinks.

His lips graze the column of her throat as he peppers kisses down her neck, enjoying the way she tenses beneath him. Her blood thrums at her pulse point, and he can hear the way her heart thunders like a bird trapped in her ribcage.

"Hmmm..." he murmurs against Tav's neck, the low rumble of his voice sending tendrils of heat to pool low in her belly.

"You offered so sweetly to let me feed from you again, but I get the feeling you're keeping something from me. Is that truly all you want?"

Tav whimpers as Astarion trails his fingertips across her stomach, up and up and up before he cups her bare breast in the palm of his hand, purposely tracing the pad of his thumb over her nipple.

"I..." She hesitates for a moment before deciding the whole charade is rather foolish.

"No," she admits, leaning greedily into his touch.

"Hmm, I thought not," he remarks slyly. She can feel his fangs pressed against her neck, and she instinctively turns her head to offer him better access, but he doesn't bite her.

He's so masterfully building the anticipation within her, and her body feels like a coiled spring ready to snap.

"Tell me," Astarion says, "what's the real reason you brought me all the way out here?" He slides his leg between her thighs and Tav inhales a sharp breath, the friction just enough to leave her desperate for more. It's all she can do to not roll her hips against him.

"Do I really need to say it?" she protests stubbornly. "It's obvious, isn't it?"

Astarion clicks his tongue impatiently. "Certainly," he muses, "but I do so wish to hear you say it anyway - how much you want me. How long you've been thinking about this since the last night we shared together."

Damn him, she thinks vaguely. He's using her desperation to his advantage, bending her to his every whim, but she's become too shameless to care.

"Fuck," she breathes, "You already know how badly I want you. If you don't hurry up and fuck me already, I'll find someone else to satisfy me."

"No you won't," he murmurs, calling her bluff. When he presses his mouth against hers, she kisses him fiercely, her fingers in his hair, tugging on the roots.

"Careful," he growls, biting down on her bottom lip as he pushes her firmly into the tree bark. When he slides his hands beneath her legs, coaxing her, she happily jumps up, throwing her legs around his waist. Her shirt comes off easily as Astarion carries her further into the clearing and presses her into the grass, where she lays exposed beneath him.

"Shall we finish what we started last time?" The myriad reds in his eyes shimmer in the starlight that filters through the thin canopy of leaves, and Tav cannot help but to stare at him in reverence.

"Yes," she whispers. "Gods, yes. Don't make me wait any longer."

Astarion is happy to oblige her, hooking his fingers beneath her pants and underwear. Tav lifts her hips to accommodate him, and he quickly sheds the rest of her clothing, pausing only briefly to admire the full expanse of her body.

"You are simply stunning, love," he praises her, gently nudging her thighs open with his knee. He wastes little time unlacing his own trousers, and when he slips his cock free, Tav stares, open-mouthed and wanting.

"This is what you want, isn't it?"

Tav needs no reminder.

"Please," she rasps, her throat dry. "Please, Astarion. I want to feel you inside me."

"Good girl."

Astarion guides the head of his cock through her folds and presses the head against her entrance, finding her absolutely soaking wet with her need for him. He slips inside her with a single thrust, and she throws her head back, his name a cry on her lips.

With his hands braced on her hips, Astarion fucks into her tight wet heat, spurred on by Tav's breathy little moans and the way she writhes beneath him, rolling her hips languidly against his own with every thrust.

He sets an easy pace, finding it a simple task to please her. She's so drunk on him, and on the wine, that she has become perfectly pliant and receptive to even his lightest touch.

His mind begins to drift, as it typically does, his body moving of its own accord and out of habit.

Tav must notice the almost imperceptible change in his movements, however, and before long she cranes her neck to look at him, the distant look on his face causing her more than a little alarm.

"A-Astarion," she asks, snapping him from his reverie, "is something wr-"

He shushes her with a single finger upon her lips, forbidding the question he knows she's going to ask. The mask must have slipped - only for a moment, but long enough that Tav had seen enough to start to wonder.

He can't have her thinking too much about this, not now. He needs her to fall for the pretty lies and the sweet nothings he whispers tenderly to her to wrap her tightly around his finger. It's the only way this will work as he's planned it.

Instead, Astarion wills himself to keep going, to let instinct take over and to do what he's done a hundred times over. It's mechanical. Easy. He tells himself that whatever nascent affection he feels towards her is of no consequence.

"Let me take care of you, love," he says, his voice low and husky. "You need only to enjoy yourself." 

His words are a soothing balm to the concern that is clearly etched across Tav's face, and when he slides a finger between the apex of her thighs and teases her swollen clit, her protests die in her throat. A sharp cry tears itself from her lips and Tav arches her back, tipping her head back once again. She grasps desperately for purchase in the grass, her fingers digging into the dirt as though she might otherwise be cast adrift.

He feels so, so good inside of her, every perfect inch of his cock stretching and filling her so completely. It's almost as if she was made specifically for him and him alone.

Between the hand between her legs and the steady rhythm of Astarion's hips as he thrusts into her, Tav knows she won't last much longer. The alcohol and her lust for him have clouded her judgment beyond the point of no return, and she can hardly remember what it was that seemed to be bothering her to begin with.

And as long as he keeps making her feel this good, she no longer cares.

"Astarion... Astarion, please," she moans his name in ragged breaths as though she's reciting a prayer, as though her body is a divine offering for him to use as he sees fit. Her entire body feels as taut as a bowstring, ready to snap.

It's everything she thought this moment might be.

"That's it, Tav," Astarion croons, bending low over her to whisper into her ear, all the while applying that delicious pressure to her clit as he relentlessly fucks her closer to the edge. Each thrust has him bottoming out inside of her, and the slap of their skin at the place where they are joined is an exquisite melody.

"Come for me," he growls through grit teeth. "I want you to show me how good it feels to be fucked like this."

This is all too common ground for Astarion, a path he's walked more times than he can count. And oh, she's being so good for him, yielding to him so effortlessly as he knew she would. 

He tells himself that's why it feels as good as it does, not because he cares for her but because she's given herself over so easily. He lets himself believe the lie, because to do otherwise would unravel everything, and he is already broken enough without another hairline fracture across his cold, dead heart.

The low edge of his voice and the sultry command he gives Tav is all she needs, and she loses herself completely, crying out in pleasure as she comes hard on his cock and the waves of her orgasm wash over her like a ferocious tide. Astarion groans as he feels her tightening around him and follows her shortly after, spilling his seed inside her with a few erratic thrusts.

As the intensity of her orgasm begins to subside, Tav finds her clarity slowly returning, and she brings herself to look up at Astarion as he disentangles himself from her and sits back in the grass.

Although he seems satisfied upon her initial glance, the longer she looks at him, the more she can tell that there is something simmering just beneath the surface. The line of his mouth is set thin, his eyes focused on something in the distance. 

If Tav had to describe it, he looks haunted, his body present while his mind is leagues away. She knows she's staring again, but he hasn't seemed to notice and she can't take her eyes off of him.

Tav's chest tightens and she reaches for her shirt, pulling it over her body to stave off the chill that settles into her bones. She gathers herself up in an attempt to stay warm. A frown knits her brows together as she calls out to him.

"Astarion?" she presses again, quiet and cautious. "What's troubling you?"

Astarion turns to offer her a look over his shoulder, his expression troubling. He's smiling softly, but Tav swears she's never seen him look so sad.

"Hmm?" He tips his head thoughtfully to the side. "Oh, no. It's nothing, dear. You've simply given me so much to think about. I hope you enjoyed yourself as much as I did."

He says the last part in his characteristically flirtatious manner, but there's something in his eyes that suggests he doesn't fully mean it.

She wants to know what he's hiding - because he so obviously is hiding something - but it's as if he's erected an iron wall between them, and she doesn't want to upset him any further. So she merely nods, hoisting herself to her feet and quietly dressing.

A thought suddenly occurs to her now.

"You didn't feed on me," Tav reminds him, reaching to unbutton her nightshirt again.

Astarion holds out his hand and shakes his head. "Don't worry, there are plenty of beasts in these woods. Just don't let the druid know; he would be very cross with me if he knew that I was snacking on his friends."

"All right," Tav says, almost sullenly. "If that's what you wish."

After tucking her feet back into her boots, she bids Astarion good night, and makes herself presentable before heading back to camp. By the time she returns, the evening's celebrations have wound down, and a lone figure sits beside the fire, admiring the stars.

She recognizes Halsin's broad shoulders and solid frame as she approaches the fire, and he smiles kindly at her.

"Something is weighing heavily on your mind," he says omnisciently. "Come, sit with me for a spell. Perhaps I can be of some help. It is the least that I can offer after everything you and your companions have done for the grove." He pats the spot beside him and moves over to give her room to join him.

Tav feels her cheeks warm beneath Halsin's blatant observation. "It's that obvious?" She laughs nervously but sits beside him nevertheless.

"I am well-versed in matters of the heart," Halsin says simply, turning to face her. "It is written on your face as plain as day."

He falls silent now, bidding her to voice her worries to him.

Tav hesitates for a moment, uncertain how much she wishes to divulge, but there is a comforting air about Halisn that makes her feel naturally at ease with him.

She tells him what she can.

[delusional-fantasising]

Unprofessional Necking

Peter Maximoff x Reader

Word count: 3.5k

Summary: You didn’t think being Hank’s assistant came with another perk, you were supposed to help advance the makings of medicine but there was a certain someone with prying eyes that couldn’t take them off you.

Warning;

Overall: Miscommunication in work place, idiots in love, goofy yet mature Peter, Peter being a hopeless idiot yearning for you, fear of being late, bookshelf nearly falling, Hank not having any fucks to give. Also there is a part in the story where there is a note from me if you are new to me!

AFAB Version: Unprotected p in v, praise, body worship, creampie

AMAB Version: Unprotected anal, praise, bodyworship creampie

Don't be stupid and use protection in real life to prevent std or unwanted pregnancies!

At first it didn’t bother you, those dark brown eyes following every movement of your but soon enough, your heart raced every time he was around. His charm and silly personality getting to you, he made it obvious that he liked you too. Calling you nicknames and trying to ask you out on dates, but to you it felt wrong. Peter was the Quicksilver, Hank’s kinda work friend.

Pushing around the beakers of chemicals and agar plates around is what you were doing, you had to work on finding new ways to advance medicine for certain students who have special ailments caused by their mutations. You felt it again, you were hunched over your desk writing down observations of the molds growing on plates and you could just feel his presence behind you. The feeling of his gaze roaming along your lab coated body.

“You know Mr. Maximoff it is quite rude to just stare at someone and not say anything,” You mumbled, the noise of the pencil of the room was finally companies by Peter chuckling, he was leaning against the doorway while looking at your back. He finally responds with his usual cheeky tone, “Why can’t I just watch the blue furry’s assistant?Also why with the formality? Just call me Peter, we aren’t coworkers or anything.”

“You are my boss’s work friend, there for I have to be professional with you Mr. Maximoff,” You muttered annoyed at how Peter always seemed to be in this flirtatious mood whenever he sees you. He loved pestering you, wiggling into your spaces and your thoughts. He watched you spun around in the desk chair to face him, he was wearing the blue and yellow uniform. He looked so different when you first met him, you were Hank’s assistant for 15 years, starting as an intern then after the apocalypse one of the newest x-men had eyes on you, Peter Maximoff, the Quicksilver. You both were in your early 20’s when you first met now, 10 years later and now both of you are in your early 30’s. Peter adopted a more mature look yet he still had his goofy dork charm.

His silver hair more tussled today as his goggles hung loosely around his neck, he put on the stupid pout and sighed dramatically, “I guess we have to be professional…”

The pout cracked into that smirk as he sauntered over, the sassy walk then he stopped in front of you.

“No one has to know about a little unprofessional loving, Hank most certainly doesn’t need to know about you are necking with. C’mon just one chance sweetheart.” His index finger lifted up, he gave you this look that made you contemplate on letting go of this professionalism and the other part made you want to slap the shit of him. He lowered his hands grabbing the arms of your desk chair giving you a crooked playful grin, to his disappointment though you gave the answer.

“No Mr. Maximoff.”

Peter hesitated before letting go of the chair and stood up straight, rubbing the back of his neck. The smirk was gone momentarily but was replaced with a small smile as he responded, “Yeah knew you would say that but I guess I will try next week. Have a good day sweet cheeks.”

He respected your answer, like the week before, like the week before that week and went on. You did like him back but he knew that maybe one day you will finally let go of the professionalism. He still felt disappointed every time but he knew that one day will be the day.

…

Hank was sick so you were left to manage the lab by yourself completely, you were going to lock the place up for the night. The soft hum of the lights, the clean white tiles, and the smell of cleaning agents all around you. You noticed that you forget to put one of the beakers away, it was one of the stubborn ones because Hank liked placing them on the very top shelf if the glass was clean.

“Just my fucking luck,” You mumbled under your breath, the glass was spotless meaning you had to somehow put it up on the top shelf. You always made Hank put these beakers away but he seemed to leave this one out by accident the day before. You were up on your tip toes, trying to place it up on the shelf. You almost got it up and the entire shelf began to wobble threatening to fall because how you were grabbing onto it. The sound of rattling and you almost dropped the beaker as the shelf began to tilt and began to fall towards you.

It was one of those moments where you didn’t know you messed up till shit goes down south. You opened your mouth to scream but then all the sudden you were sat on a chair across the room away from the shelf. The shelf rattled a bit but nothing feel over. A small gust of wind made your hair fly up, there was Peter. A concerned look on his face as he was also holding a now soiled bouquet of flowers, he was just planning to give you the flowers but he came right on time to use his speedster abilities to prevent the shelf from falling over and put the beaker away on the top shelf for you.

“Are you okay? I just came in here and the shelf was going to fall on you,” Peter began rambling as he set the messed up flowers down on the desk behind you. His hands then went your shoulders, checking for any injuries as if he was worried he was too late and maybe something had injured you. “Peter I am fine-”

“I just I-” Peter kept on going, he never felt the true fear of being late till now, what happened if he was only a few seconds late. That scenario began playing in his mind over and over again like a form of torture but then his thoughts were cut by you grabbing his hands, gently prying them off your shoulders. You made a firm contact and then reassured him, “Peter thank you.”

A few seconds past by and it was clear how much the speedster cared about you but then something came across his mind as a cheeky smile came across his face.

“You called me Peter instead of Mr. Maximoff. Does that mean you are no longer gonna be professional with me?” He cooed as he hoped maybe his good deed can score him that date, you gave him an confused smile and chuckle as you truly didn’t know how to react to his logic. It was so stupid, so idiotic, somehow so cute that he thought that the one deed can change the dynamic. It was so hard not to just say yes.

“C’mon sweet cheeks, pretty please?” He begged playful as he squeezed your hands in his, changing the positioning of both of his and your hands so his was a more romantic grasp. His hair was originally in a neat comb over but now it was in this messier version. (Dark Phoenix version if you can’t visualize it but make it slightly messy.)

“Peter I can’t just-” You began to chuckle and trying to find a way to convince them why they couldn’t pursue anything romantic due to professionalism. He obviously didn’t care, professional was definitely not his style. He lived on chaos so rules rarely went into consideration.

“Why not, please?” He cooed as he brought your hands up to his lips, kissing your knuckles with a sly smirk on his face. Somethings never change about him, convincing this man would take years or centuries. Your heart pumping faster and face was getting a whole lot warmer as you began to just crack. “I uh…”

Peter noticed this, he gently opened your hand and kissed every finger tip then your palm while maintaining this somewhat serious yet suave eye contact. He wanted you, craved you. He thought your eyes were stunning and the way you laugh made his heart beat like a hummingbird. He was whipped and sure it wasn’t the most obvious but in this moment it became clear as day that none of the times of him flirting was ever a joke.

He soon decided to try something more bold, he began kissing up your arm as you struggled to force yourself to stop him. You had to be professional not fall to the temptation, this was like a forbidden fruit you weren’t supposed to take but why does it have to feel so good. His lips met your shoulder before he whispered softly wanting more, “Please, no one has to know.”

…

You shouldn’t have because you had this feeling that maybe it wouldn’t be a one time thing, you allowed Peter into your home. The rush to the bedroom, hands roaming everywhere and the sound of Peter’s soft chuckles. He enjoyed finally getting what he so heavily craved. His hands stopped at your hips and he pulled his lips away from yours, his thumb caressing you, threatening to go under your shirt as he asked, “Do I have your permission to go further sweetheart? I am fine with just cuddling.”

Your voice caught in your throat as this was the moment, what if you lose your job by doing this but hey you were just kissing him so if you lose your job, lose it in lust.

“You have my permission Peter,” You answered finally, the corners of his eyes crinkled up as he smiled. The floorboards creaked and the sound of shoes shuffling around as they were getting kicked off. Peter’s hands on your body with murmured praises, he wasn’t letting his chance go down badly for you, he wanted it to benefit both you and him. His hands slipping the lab coat off, letting it spill onto the floor. Your body bumping onto the ledge of your mattress, your hands cautiously moved along his body, allowing yourself to succumb to your needs.

Passion and romance in the air, Peter was helping you unzip his uniform. The yellow and blue suit being thrown onto the floor with your coat, then joining was your shirt and pants.

Okay quick interruption for my freaky individuals. I will write two parts since I am aware that not everyone has the same parts. I will write one where the reader insert has le coin slot and the other has a joystick. The pronouns will stay gender neutral and the body type i will try staying as neutral as possible, look for a massive paragraph breaks. If I mess up about anything regarding about the female anatomy please tell me, I would rather someone tell me than just let me sit in ignorance. There is an ending to this whole thing fyi so you may have to skip over a bit if you aren’t into f/m or m/m sex or just sex in general, okay resuming back to the story

AFAB version

Peter’s hands roamed along your stomach, his mouth traveling along you neck, his touch practically worshiping every inch of skin he could access. The two of you get into the bed, under the covers as the last few articles of clothing come off. Peter was definitely visibly excited, his cock ready for what Peter called ‘Necking’

It started off slowly, surprisingly coming from Peter but he didn’t just do what every idiotic man driven by lust does and just shoves it all in, he instead starts slowly with just a little bit of foreplay and more praises.

“You look atomic sweetheart,” Peter whispered as his hands caress your thighs, parting them so he could be between them. His eyes wandering around just admiring what he thought was a master piece. The soft vibration coming from his finger tips as they traveled down between your legs to your clit, he wanted you to feel good first. Leaning down to bury his face in your neck as he planted kisses. Your eyelashes began to flutter and everything work related finally left you alone as you allowed yourself to stop stressing.

“Peter…” Soft shaky exhales as your hands went to Peter’s back, nails pressing into his skin with subtle rocking of your hips trying to urge more friction. Your body creating it’s natural lubricant for his waiting cock, he mumbled sweet nothings under his breath or questions; ‘That’s it sweetheart’, ‘Do you like this?’, and ‘You look heavenly.’

The bed creaked under the shifting weight of the two of you as Peter moved himself closer to you, he craved you in so many ways that words and actions could never bring enough justice.

“Peter I am ready for you now,” You murmured as one of your hands ran through his silvery locks, he takes this as a cue to just shift himself closer. His hand stopped vibrating and he used it to guide himself in, easing in with the pair of moan and hushed whispers. Hugging your waist while slowly thrusting, refraining from just going to town on your pussy.

“Fuck mmm- sweetheart you feel so good,” Peter groaned, sounding a little whiny. He loved how you squirmed under him, he made sure to do whatever you needed. Those moans of his name drove him insane.

“Just like that Peter,” You mewled between thrusts, you bet that Peter didn’t change a single thing even when he had the urge to go faster or harder. He adored how you looked in his arms under him, his eyebrows knitted in concentration. The room felt like it was getting hotter by the second, the room being filled with the sounds of sex. Kissing your jawline before kissing you to swallow all those moans made the experience better.

He could feel your body tensing up, on the verge of going over the edge. He loved how you were getting more vocal and how your nails dug into his back. He was going to check out the evidence on his back later, he focused on every little thing about you. Then he stilled after one last thrust, deep in you with a loud groan. Coming down from the joined high, the room was filled with pants. Peter chuckled softly, his dark eyes looking down at you. He had this stupid whipped and dorky smile on his face, there was no way that he was treating this as mere casual one time sex. He was definitely head over heels.

“You are so damn hot and sexy,” He mumbles as he just rests his face into your shoulder, softly kissing your skin. You were just processing the fact you had some ‘necking’. It was definitely mind blowing and you were most likely going to come back for more.

AMAB version

Peter’s ran his hands along your sides before scooping you up by your thighs, his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. A messy passionate series of kisses that soon went to your neck and collarbone, his silver hair falling before his eyes. Carrying you over to the bed, getting in and dropping you so you were under him, with him being positioned between your legs.

“You are so atomic sweetheart,” He mumbled between kisses, he could feel the tent in your undergarments and enjoying your body’s reaction to his touch. His hands fondling your thighs, calloused fingers running down your skin. The bed creaked as the two shifted around and you were under the sheets and covers of your bed. The way his hand went to your undergarment, sticking two fingers under the elastic band of the clothing as he gently tugged them off with a little maneuvering around. His boxers also came off as well, you could feel him against you but before he did anything to please himself, you were the number one priority.

He first began by testing out the waters as he used his own saliva as makeshift lubricant since he doubt you had any on stand by for this occasion. It was slow easing two fingers in, the mild discomfort on your face made him pause momentarily to check if you were okay.

“Hey tell me if it ever gets uncomfortable, I wouldn’t want you getting the idea I don’t care about you,” Peter speaks up as he had loving expression on his face, his messy silver hair making him look more softer. His free hand goes to one of your hands, interlocking fingers giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. First it hurt to have his fingers in you but then soon he knew how to work those fingers. Loving how you mewled his name and squirmed just from his touch.

He was worshiping your body, bring the hand he was holding to kiss your knuckles, whispering against your skin praise or asking you simple questions; ‘That’s it sweetheart’, ‘Do you like this?’, and ‘You look heavenly.’

He massaged your prostate with his fingers, his body having the natural reaction to arousal. His waiting cock waiting for a little bit of ‘necking’ then you finally gave him the go sign that you were ready by mewling, “I am ready Peter, please…”

Peter just did what you asked of him, sheathing himself deep inside, every inch filling you to the absolute brim. He started slow but each time it just send waves of pleasure within you because he knew where it felt good. His self control was being tested, he knew that he had to be gentle and needed to be gentle but there was a part of him that just wanted to take you and just go to absolute town on your ass like there was no tomorrow.

Hushed whispers of encouragement and noises of pleasure filled up the room. It just felt so right and nothing could stop Peter, he wants you and he wants you to like him back openly. His eyebrows knitted in concentration, one hand on your hip and the other holding your hand tightly, squeezing it with each thrust.

He loved watching your face contorting with pleasure, he was going to treat you like a god. His lips pressed against your jaw and he hears you whine after a specific deep thrust, “Peter keep doing that…”

He does what you say, it doesn’t take that long till he notices that you are on the brink of going over the edge. His kisses peppering every part of your skin and he practically melts at the sounds you make as you topple over the edge, crying out his name in a way that makes him feel like he wants only more of you.

His thrusts getting sloppy as he witnesses your cock spurt ropes on his stomach and he just stiffens up with a soft grunt. His eyes fluttering as he finishes, there was a standstill where the room was filled with pants. You knew that you didn’t just want a one night stand like Peter, this necking and all the flirting just made it feel like something else had to happen. Losing your job or not.

…

End part

You were strolling to work extremely nervous and paranoid, you felt like everyone knew who you did all weekend long. Entering the cold lab felt like a practical sign that you were going to lose your job.

Hank was working at his desk and just mutters a small ‘hi’, he of course doesn’t know jackshit but it’s the overthinking that makes you walk up to him and start apologising profusely, “Hank I’m really sorry I did something incredibly unprofessional and I just really want to keep my job but I know you want to keep the work place built with honesty!”

Hank was startled and just listened to your rant, he thinks you have lost your marbles and he doesn’t understand why you are apologising. He doesn’t know you slept with Peter, he stops you with a quick wave with his hand and asks, “Please explain what you did, depending on what it is, I can decided on a punishment whether it be having you work more hours.”

“I want to start a relationship with Peter but I know that it’s unprofessional of me,” You blurt out with cheeks flushed red with embarrassment, the blue man just stares at you blankly. Hank quite literally gives zero shits with who you spend time with or sleep with at all, he can’t talk because he has dated a few of his coworkers before too. Peter wasn’t even your coworker.

“I don’t really care, get to work on cleaning the glass slides,” Hank told you as he just gets back to work writing down the data tables for the medicine reports and evidence.

[kitramune]

Popping by seeking your thoughts about Chapter 176: Kagome’s Heart, this specifically:

As we know, it’s a major turning point in the story. Kagome asks to stay by Inuyasha’s side, rather than leave him, the feudal era, and the jewel shard mission behind.

Now this is pure speculation, but I like to speculate. What if Kagome had left? Certainly, that’s an entirely different story, but I’m curious what you think may have happened in this scenario.

Some particular questions I have are:

Would Inuyasha have teamed up with Kikyo to try to collect shards and defeat Naraku?

Kagome was the glue that brought the Inugang together. In her absence at /this/ point of the story (the 3 year separation is different), would they have parted? As in, would Miroku, Sango, and Shippo parted ways with Inuyasha if he teamed up with Kikyo (I don’t see her being a fan of traveling with the inugang)? If so, do they fight Naraku in their smaller group, do they survive, etc.

Would Naraku/ the jewel still have been defeated?

Even *if* InuKik defeated Naraku/ the jewel (I don’t think they would have), how does the story end? Kikyo isn’t alive so she.. dies? Achieves nirvana and Inuyasha just.. grieves the rest of his life or joins her in death? I don’t see a happy ending ☹️

Just seeking civil discussion as always not trying to light any fires xD

Oh man, this is a sad one, let me strap in with a depressing yearning/pining playlist. First off, I think this arc shows a LOT of things about both Inuyasha and Kagome's character, good and bad. Mostly good, but perhaps in bad context. Or at least very sad context. I mean we got Inuyasha going from this:

... to this:

(I know this isn't the same arc but bear with me, the character development is there and he has a similar change of heart here, for her emotional wellbeing, not just physical.) The important thing to note is Kikyou wanted to die at this point, and still to take Inuyasha with her.

And Inuyasha's response was this:

So even if it's born out of extreme guilt and trauma, I find it unlikely they would have fought Naraku at all. Kikyou talks a big game, but first chance she gets she is always trying to call Inuyasha to her side strictly to die, never for his help. (At this point.) Inuyasha more than likely would have been coerced to Hell even against his better judgement. Shippou was willing to leave the group once already without Kagome (after the Sess fight, he only came back cuz of the wolves chasing him) and Miroku is used to being a loner vagabond. Who knows what would happen to Shippou but Miroku and Sango would have likely drifted apart, encountered Naraku, and perished, even if they were together tbh. (Let's face it, Sango's pretty helpless against the Kohaku card.) Even Kagome would have been miserable having her tie to Inuyasha go unfulfilled and always regretting not knowing if everyone was still alive and safe or if she left them to their doom. So with that being said, as much as I love this scene as a pure example of her devotion to Inuyasha, there realistically WAS some pressure on her decision. I think she fully knew Kikyou intended to kill Inuyasha and that he couldn't say no because of his vulnerabilities and perceived superior love for her. (That hurts me to say but it's Kagome's POV.) That's why she had the lines about wanting him to feel like he's allowed to be happy and she wants that for him. She feels that normally, yes, but even moreso in the wake of knowing he'll likely forfeit his life. (I think the anime even emphasized this by adding her saying "You have to know that I want you to live." SOMEONE had to show him they care enough or he'd be too far gone.) The beautiful part is that Kagome DID full-on save Inuyasha's life by making her choice. Because she's unsure if she'll be able to help him enough to keep him around forever, but he's shown an uncanny desire to LIVE for her. Which obviously he continues to show again and again, and is my favorite part of their relationship. An outcast so abused and conditioned to it that the first person to care about him tells him to die and he absolutely will. But that outcast learns he wants to live way more, through interacting with unconditional love. I've said it before but Kikyou to me was always a metaphor for Inuyasha's grief and succumbing to the pain, whereas Kagome was always symbolic for a desire to live and be happy again.

[lux-lost]

The angel moves through the halls on soft soles, cautiously quiet. The entities around it are not safe. The angel can feel their eyes on the back of its head. The taste of their gaze lingers on its skin, whispers the things unsaid into its ears. They think the angel is their kin, if suspiciously unusual. But in truth, it is a foreign object that sticks out and could be hammered down at any moment if it draws too much attention. They presume ownership over the angel, and that makes them dangerous. 

The angel’s exoskeleton is tight around its ribs. It warms and hides its form, and yet, that’s not enough. The angel feels the machine in its chest stutter and stumble nervously every once in a while. Every moment is stolen, could be the last. It breathes carefully, holding onto its core for stability.

Someone pulls the angel into a hug and it lets its body be soft and inviting. It feels the same softness from the other side, but none of that makes it past the bright glow of the angel’s aura, which conceals the hard shell tightly laced around its vulnerable parts.

The angel consumes and enjoys some very fucked up things. It is a deviant one, a pervert. Nonetheless its core is so pure and clean, any contact with the outer world could sully it. The angel is not ugly inside, not like other beings. Peeling back the layers only lays bare rosy flesh and silvery scar tissue. No rot, no maggots, no danger.

It is of vital importance to protect its angel core, to conceal it from prying eyes and prodding fingers. If someone witnessed that core, they’d judge the angel for it. They’d think it childish. Or lifeless. Or boring. Their ugly thoughts would dampen its glow. Some might even actively seek to ruin it. 

To keep itself safe, the angel needs to be very closed off. But it cannot be solely solitary. After all, the angel’s presence is a service, a service to those around it. It has to say and do the right things when in the presence of other beings. To uplift. To entertain. To make itself worth their while. 

For this purpose, the angel may occasionally draw upon its core to extend its glow to others. Its light can be used to illuminate the innocent, protect and nurture them as well. It’s the angel’s treasure, all it has to offer to other entities. When it is in their presence, the angel forfeits itself to them. It needs to be invited. It needs to be dismissed. It needs to be told what to do. The angel can provide something to those who need something, but it can’t really take anything.

The angel has to be very careful about what it invites back in when it puts out. Many people have a lot of beauty in them, but then something ugly as well. When eating apples directly from the tree, one has to watch for worms and mold.

The angel cannot just go around getting close to people carelessly. They may bait the angel with beauty, but then trap it in ugliness. They may try to tie it down with tendrils of need and despair, integrate it into their ugly lives, compel it to commit sin. It’s not their fault for having ugly parts, of course. The world is an ugly place after all, it poisons and corrupts. 

The angel is not immune to this corruption either, it gets infested sometimes as well. When that happens, it has to isolate and cleanse itself. Burning the poison away hurts, of course, but better than letting it fester for too long. 

The angel does not demand a pedestal, but it is certainly constructed to be put on one. To really be safe and fulfill its purpose, it needs to be put on one. Even when sullied, it still remembers and longs for its former purity. It’s this need for perfection, the yearning to be a shining idol on a pedestal, that drives its machine parts.

The pedestal, freely given, is its only form of power, the only power a being of its kind is allowed to hold. The angel actually can’t do shit. Its power is fully derived from those who put it on its pedestal. The angel’s light is a farce, nothing but smoke and mirrors for those who want to believe in it.

You have to understand, you may need the angel, but actually, the angel needs you more. It needs you to need it. It only has the worth you give it. It only has value in the needs it can meet. Without your need for its light, it has no reason to pretend it’s shining. It can’t really help you through your misery, but you can feed on its light until you feel better. If you weren’t miserable, you wouldn’t really seek out the angel, would you?

You can draw the angel in by making it feel needed, bind it with attention and affection. It doesn’t take much, just a little bit of kindness. It will attune itself to your needs. You can trust it, it’s loyal. When you don’t need it anymore, it is safe to just abandon it. It is safe to just forget about it. You don’t even have to tell it that you’re discarding it, it will figure that out itself after a while.

[silvexus]

Re: Sometimes feeling species dysphoria as someone who doesn't ID as non-human - would you be willing to expand on that? It's okay if not - I don't want to pry - but I've never heard of someone having that experience before and think it might be valuable to the overall conversation.

That said the comparison to cis folks sometimes experiencing gender dysphoria makes intuitive sense to me, too.

Sure! I'll try my best to figure out how to articulate this in a way that makes sense and is also respectful (as someone who doesn't ID as non-human, I obviously do not want to appropriate experiences!) but I do fear it may not be as interesting as it sounds.

This got really long, so I'm putting in a read more, oops!

For clarification, I experience psychosis (since childhood) and have neurological disorders. I think the combination of these things is what causes what I'm about to try to describe, though I would certainly not try to say that the only thing that can cause species dysphoria is this sort of experience, nor would that would make someone's experience any less valid if they chose to ID as non-human if they were in a similar situation. Everyone is different, after all!

Primarily, this thing I equate to species dysphoria manifests as two different things that I tend to describe as non-human body language and non-organic yearning.

Non-human body language isn't as encompassing as I'd like it to be, but it's hard to articulate. My limbs don't feel right sometimes; disproportionate to each other, maybe. My spine feels wrong; too short, maybe? That could be the scoliosis causing both of these things, but it happens in my arms sometimes too. I don't know what it wants to be, however. There's ways my body wants to move to convey ideas to others than I can't emulate properly. My vocal mimicry is good, but not good enough, though I wouldn't really tell you what calls I'm supposed to make. I do trill a lot, when I can.

My teeth aren't quite sharp enough, I know that. And would a tail help? Would upright, pointy ears? A crest of feathers? I wouldn't mind a crest, I think, but then the moment passes and what I have is... acceptable. Fine. I am here, in this place, and my nerves are made of fire.

In a more permanent fashion, I bunt people to show my affection, but even when I physically can't it is a constant urge. (I nearly broke poor @/sattarehi asking if I could bunt him.) It's easier to move on all fours sometimes, or just in ways that are unintuitive to a human blueprint. To curl around people while we're sitting on the edge of a bed, them sitting up, me on my side to encircle them, in a way I don't see others doing often. The way I hold my arms sometimes feels like the resting position of something else; holding them at my sides like a person is expected to feels wrong, like it'll impede my ability to flee if I need to. (From what? Is that the paranoia? The hypervigilance? The nerves again? The various and sundry neurodivergencies?) When I'm socially allowed to cross my arms it helps, but it's not quite perfect.

Sometimes, the fact that I cannot do these things more effectively (though my brain does not grant me the knowledge of what that would look like), that I am considered eccentric and strange for doing them at all, pulls at something in me that doesn't speak in any language I have access to.

As an aside that may only slightly be relevant, my social integration is interesting. People who are friends or close associates or even people I think of fondly become extensions of us in a way that isn't so much possessive, but in the same way a tight knit family group might be among certain animals. (Which is why when people ask 'do you experience romantic love?' I can't honestly say. This is already quite intense, you want me to try and define it further?) And that's to say nothing of the prey drive. The human prey drive is intense enough, and I can certainly repress it well (I can't believe PvP games were good for something) but mine feels a little overtuned.

... So the non-organic yearning is fun to try and figure out, but it provokes the same feelings, so I'll try to articulate it just in case it helps!

It feels like I am made of something deeper. Something farther. Here, there, everywhere. I feel like I am floating adrift in a dark sea, unable to drown or sink, though surely I must. Surely I must. And yet.

It isn't an invincibility. It isn't a belief in a higher power or an afterlife. For the sake of my health, I cannot believe in these things. (We shan't talk about my childhood delusions, but they were quite elaborate! You could tell I was into world religions as study subject as a child.)

But sometimes I look into the sky and feel it staring back, like I am stuck in a Polaroid that an old friend keeps looking at to remember me. I look at pictures from all of our instruments that turn into the infinite dark beyond our planet and my brain thinks I want to go home the same way I do when I see my hometown on a map. I am not from here, something in me insists. I am from nowhere, but I am certainly not from here. Is that the intergenerational trauma? The thing that infects you and fills in where your grandparents' language and food and culture is supposed to be? The remains of what a war before you were born left behind? Or is it something else?

It feels like something else, the same way sometimes my body feels wrong in the same, but different, way that it always feels wrong. It feels like whatever I am, separate from this meat suit and these mutinous neurotransmitters, is from somewhere else. That it knows this. That it wants to go back.

Not all of my body dysmorphia is neatly gender dysphoria. Species dysphoria, as a term, helps gather these experiences up neatly, even if I don't identify as non-human. I am human. I am a strange, eccentric human, even if I feel like Something Else Wearing A Human Skin, but ultimately human regardless. Despite that, almost. Maybe, in a strange, contradictory way, I'm both. Human is what I want to be, at the end of this day. But regardless, it does help me understand things a bit more than someone who doesn't have the same experiences, I think. And maybe this will change in the future as my understanding of myself grows! I'm a whole adult, but I'm growing every day, you know?

(You know that book, Casual Rex? And they made it into a show pilot/TV movie called Anonymous Rex? And it was about dinosaurs barely surviving their extinction and pretending to be human and they wore disguises to blend in? There's a scene where a character describes another character as "she's a human pretending to be a dinosaur pretending to be a human!" Life feels like that sometimes.)

[trudemaethien]

*skidding into your ask box in clown shoes*

ship: Rex/Cody

prompt: b a b y

okay okay prompt: yearning, responsibility, spoil

i do keep poking the next bit of that, promise, it’s just not quite. ready yet. pokepokecomeON

you have tagged me thrice for a last line, so have a pair of lines from the baby-fic and a freestanding other from an entirely unrelated work, then on to the main event:

“Cody kebbu bajur te’orikih sirbur buir,” Fox reports smugly, and Rex looks at Cody sharply.

“Kih’ika ven’gaii gar buir,” Cody hastens to add, “nu ash’ad, naas’mhi.”

—

The Admissions people had said the cadets who scored high enough for rank would be allowed their names back, and RF-7448 would very much like to be himself again.

Rex/Cody

Yearning Responsibility Spoil

(and bc i know what u like ive written u P A I N 😭)

“It only remains to decide the staffing of your new command, Anakin,” General Kenobi said to his newly knighted Padawan. “I have some suggestions, unless you have any requests for specific personnel?”

Around the meeting table, officers shifted. During this impromptu meeting called to inform the 7th Sky Command of Padawan Commander Skywalker’s unexpected promotion to General, Commander Cody had quickly drafted up his own set of suggestions, but unless General Kenobi was reading them from his mind with the Force, it was almost certainly not the same roster.

General Kenobi had not informed him in advance about this, let alone consulted him. Once again, a natborn was given precedence over Cody, no matter the absolute lack of experience, time in grade, or non-military promotion above more deserving leaders.

He suppressed his objections, and there were many, with utmost professionalism for as long as it took Skywalker to answer—not more than half a second.

“I want Rex,” the young Knight declared. “He’ll be my Captain and he can pick whoever else he wants to come along.”

Cody wasn’t that good at suppressing past his face, it seemed, because Kenobi and Skywalker both jerked around to look at him, Kenobi confused and Skywalker glaring. “Is something the matter?” they both asked, with very different intonations.

“He’s the best,” Skywalker said. “That’s what I need.”

“Did you have someone better in mind, Commander Cody?” Kenobi asked politely.

Cody steeled himself. “There is no one better,” he answered, and that was the Force-damned truth. “Captain Rex will submit his staffing recommendations within the hour, if there’s nothing else for us to cover here, Sirs?”

He couldn’t look at Rex as he sealed their separation. It was out of his hands.

“No, I think not,” Kenobi said genially. “You may go say your goodbyes.”

Cody swallowed his feelings about that into a black hole, and said, “Thank you, General Kenobi. Skywalker.” He stood and saluted properly and left the room after the rest of the clone staff.

They kept it proper all through the passageways, but as soon as the door of his quarters latched closed, Rex barreled into him and Cody caught him with all the strength he could muster.

A sob shook through Rex’s chest, and Cody squeezed him roughly. “None of that, now,” he reprimanded his brother.

“Fuck,” Rex cursed into his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Cody said wearily, “yeah, I know.”

“That nattie, jetii, civvie prick! Doesn’t think about anything except what he wants, and the rest of us have to put up and shut up; kark him,” Rex snarled.

Cody sighed heavily; he did not disagree.

“And you’re just letting him—you have Kenobi’s ear, you could—”

“I could what, Rex? It’s already done and dusted. Outmaneuvered. If he’d asked me first I could have guided it, maybe, but he didn’t, so my hands were tied. You were there!”

“Yeah,” Rex said bitterly, pulling away, “I was. The best. Not even a token protest, Cody? I’d rather you have called me half-rate and subpar, and gotten him to take …Checkmate, or Bliss instead.”

Cody said nothing, letting those words echo between them. Rex drooped.

“Sorry,” he muttered and sank onto Cody’s bunk, elbows on knees and face in his hands.

Cody knelt in front of him and pulled his hands away. All the reluctance and heartbreak he’d hidden in the meeting was clear on his face now and Rex could hardly meet his eyes.

“I don’t want to go,” he said futilely, voice small.

Cody closed his eyes to keep from tearing up, and bowed his head, leaning into Rex’s hold. He had to master himself for a long minute before he could speak.

His voice only shook a little when he said, “I love you, Rex.” Another steadying breath. “We still have a little time. Do you want to go over who I recommend, or—”

“Or,” Rex said, pulling him up from his knees. “Definitely, or.”

Responsibility Weighs Heavy 🔒 https://archiveofourown.org/works/51600688

[alpydk]

Eclipse (Part 3) - "Wish"

As Elminster left her home, his eyes passed over the traces of the magical essence that seemed drawn to her, a glowing around her that left his heart broken knowing what was to come; another potential that he may have to play the role in guiding, another pawn in Mystra’s games.3

Ao3 Link

She’d had her eyes on him for some time, the young boy with the natural gift of the weave flowing through his fingertips. It had been centuries or what felt like that since such a mortal had shown capabilities such as his, and for some time she gazed at him from the Outer Planes of her existence. Gale of Waterdeep; he had the potential to be magnificent, to be her chosen as Elminster and so many others had been before him.

Mystra watched as he grew from a young boy with guilt-filled tears in his eyes over burnt roses, to when he became a young man, confident and knowledgeable. Blackstaff had been the perfect proving ground for him, allowing him to be moulded into something she deemed useful, something powerful. As he conjured stars and gazed at clouds, she made plans for him, plans where he would protect the weave that he was indebted to. She gave him time to say goodbye to those around him, promises of his return before he reported to her, before she struck.

To love a goddess is what so many wished for and to be loved by one was more than most could even comprehend, but she gave it to him, nonetheless. There was no real time outside of the material plane, only the flow of energy, of their bodies wrapped together, entwined as if they were strands of the Weave itself. Days passed on Taril, but to them it was minutes, decades, centuries, or mere moments of passion and yearning. Times that she’d had before, with so many others, with Elminster, with Kelemvor, and now with young Gale.  

All these moments became the same though, it did not matter the face or the body; with time came unrest. She had given him all she wanted to and yet still he asked for more, more power, more ways to be better for her as she turned her back on him. To be immortal was both a blessing and a curse. Why would they always ask her for more?

She rolled her eyes as he begged and pleaded for her touch again. Like a small creature of Taril, he looked at her through those guilt-filled tears again and, rather than feel sympathy; she felt bothered by him. Like so many others before him, he wanted more than she was willing to hand over; such was the curse of mortals and their ambition.

“You are already enough.” Her words fell on deaf ears as again he tried to ask for her forgiveness. He had done nothing wrong; they had simply done everything they could together and now she was ready to move on, ready to find someone else who could light that dimming spark within her. It was time for Gale to carry out his duties as her chosen, just as Elminster was already doing. Elminster, with whom she had also grown bored with as time had gone by. Time that meant so little to her. Only a series of moments she was doomed to repeat.

She allowed Gale to leave, hoping that he would learn to accept his role. Love was always the worst of the mortal emotions to deal with, another experience she wished she could erase from her own story. If he was but another god, then maybe this would have turned out differently for them both. Gale was certainly ambitious enough, so possibly he could be what she wanted, be the one to keep her spark alive, but godhood would never be granted to him, no matter how much he wanted to impress her. He was just another expendable mortal.

Again, he came back, now with hypothetical situations, what-if’s she could not ignore, questions of the weave itself and its making, of history long buried and forgotten. She disregarded what he said as old mortal legends, of stories of bardic creation with no truths behind them. She would not grant him the power he wanted. He was to remain beneath her, like all others had before him. His role was as her chosen, nothing more, and he should have been satisfied with that.

Gale, though, of course, was desperate, finding the strand of Weave hidden from all mortals. She watched as he walked down the corridor, his fingers trailing over the dust covered tables, the oak door being pushed open for the first time in generations. She did not interfere as he read the book, as the shadows enveloped his body and he crumpled to the floor in agony. This is what he deserved for his misdeeds, for the greatest of all follies. He screamed, his voice one of nothing but terror as the Karsite weave tore him apart right down to his very essence.

Nothing at all was left of Mystra’s chosen, his body gone, and soul decimated. Gale Dekarios was dead, and there was no possibility of ever bringing him back.

She sighed as she turned her gaze from the closing book. Again, it would be left until another poor soul would find it; Gale was not the first, and as with all mortals, he would certainly not be the last. She sent word to Elminster, a request for a new potential, and observed the drop of his head at the news; so many centuries alive and still he felt for the ones he brought to her.

“Do as you must.” A dismissal of him from her plane of existence as she returned to watching over a projection of a future young girl who polymorphed a beast to protect another. A possible chosen amongst so many soon to be born into existence; Mystra’s magic granted and spread where needed to keep balance. She could sense a familiarity with this one though, a passing glimpse of a moment in time; just another interchangeable face of a loved chosen now gone.

---

“Do as you must.” Elminster had heard these words so many times over the years. Another family to give the news to of the loss of their son, daughter, partner. It never got easier but Gale, Gale was one he had enjoyed watching over, entering his life far sooner than he had others of Mystra’s chosen. Raising him and drinking tea with the boy’s mother. For Elminster, this one was not just another young mage with power and ambition; it was his family. He’d been given the information on what had happened. A lesson is what Mystra had called it, and he had felt the disappointment in all around him. If only he had protected Gale and dissuaded him from Mystra’s clutches, then maybe things would have been different, but there was little point in thinking over what he now wished for.

He first spoke with Morena and watched as she broke down in the only way a mother could do. A desperate keening to have her boy back in her life, a curse towards Mystra and all she stood for. He had wanted to ease her pain but knew that this was something he was unable to do, that the pain she felt was nowhere close to the ache he felt in his bones over this loss. He watched as Tara flew out of the window, most likely in search of a truth she wished she could find, and he longed to give her it; to bring Gale back, or to at least know he had found peace away from the realm of mortals.

The personnel at Blackstaff took the news with dignity, giving silent prayers to their goddess. He’d avoided conveying the exact information to them for fear it would lead to other ambitious magic users trying to retrace Gale’s steps. It was simply an unfortunate accident and one that even Mystra herself could not rectify. They arranged a small collection for Gale’s mother and planned to create a small memorial to him, most likely a painting for their grand walls.

Elminster’s last visit was the one he dreaded the most, to the other student he had watched grow up alongside Gale. She’d been a part of their lives for so many years, meeting Gale on her first day at the Academy as he had threatened to lick the frog from their alchemy class. Elminster had seen the sparks of young love immediately between them, the taunting comments, the blushes and gazes they tried to keep hidden from one another. Even when their relationship became official, he had tried to act surprised for them, asking questions about how long they had known and humouring their newfound love for one another. And yet he knew of Mystra’s demands and so he played his role as expected of him.

She didn’t react to his apologetic words; her face pale and eyes cold. Maybe on some level she already knew as he visited her home to convey what had happened. He gave the same vague explanation to her of what had occurred in the short two months since Gale had left and saw how she simply nodded before sitting down, her muscles growing exhausted against the waves of grief, the mindless turning of the amethyst engagement ring on her wedding finger. He could only give her the words he too had been given when he’d discovered his lover Ammaratha’s methods to bear him a child; “Even the waves of fate can break upon the shores of will.” Gale was lost forever, the fate of their love destroyed by the will of his ambition.

As Elminster left her home, his eyes passed over the traces of the magical essence that seemed drawn to her, a glowing around her that left his heart broken knowing what was to come; another potential that he may have to play the role in guiding, another pawn in Mystra’s games.

---

Gale woke the next morning in his tent at the campsite, his body aching and the orb craving another magic item. He tugged at the ring on his finger, pressing it to his chest and letting his body absorb the traces of the weave, hoping it would keep him going a little longer at least. I spy with my little eye… something beginning with R. Another memory he couldn’t recall: a ring being placed on a finger, tears burning in his eyes, knowing in his heart that something was not right with the moment.

He rubbed at his chest, trying to ease the dull ache that sat there, curious if it was caused by the orb or a remnant of heartbreak he hadn’t felt since Mystra. Though the artefacts were working well, this was not a permanent cure and soon he would have to come up with another solution. His year in the tower had done little to aid in his research. A year, or was it longer than that? He tried to shake off the sleep that was clearly affecting his senses; of course it had been a year. How could he even confuse it with anything else?

He thought over the night before and the sending message he hadn’t received. He had hoped for a reply and yet only restless slumber had been given to him, dreams that made little sense to him and words spoken that only confused him further. His hair lay messily over his forehead as a result and he shook it back, running his hands through it, his mind drifting to a night not long ago with Astarion, where there had been a quiet moment of pale fingertips exploring through dark tresses. Gale wondered if he should try to make things up with him, possibly pay him back by finding a way to remove the taste of the orb from his blood for a short while. If that failed, then wine was always a suitable alternative.

[faoighiche]

Children of Darkness | Ariadne & Burrow

PARTNER : @ariadnewhitlock TIMING : Current. LOCATION : Somewhere in the Pines. SUMMARY : Ariadne and Burrow cross paths on the site of a new hedge hound's creation. Ariadne gets to pet a weird dog, while Burrow starts to wonder if her understanding of the world is flawed. WARNINGS : Animal death (gets got by the strangle weed)

Satisfaction tickled Burrow’s throat, forcing a chuckle onto her lips. Yes. Her precious vines had another success, claiming another for the pack. She wondered what new hound this host would blossom. She was quick to sate that curiosity, changing her venturing to the quickest path to her vines. When she came across the awaited sight, the animal still struggled under the yearning of the vines. Legs clawed at the ground while its tinier mouth ripped at the stems. Stems that continued in apathy, soon replacing whatever the creature managed to tear off. The beast was frightened. Delirious. And causing too much inconvenience to her kin. There was no use keeping it in that state. So, Burrow imbued her essence into the vines, quickening an already heightened growth. She focused her vine’s yearning to the throat. A throat that succumbed to the vines' eternal writhing. The animal’s struggle was soon no more, reduced to the twitching of death’s aftershocks. 

All that was left was quiet. Burrow relished in the feeling of a new host, a new hound, a new friend. At least, she tried to. The forest was quiet in more than just sounds. The buzzing of her kin ceased. Her heart tried to follow: skipping a beat but continuing. So, her body followed instead, moving to desert the area. Though, not completely. She would not abandon her hound who was still so young. She watched behind the trees and the bramble as a human stumbled into view. Was she the one who scared away her precious ones? The human did not deserve to bask in her hound’s creation. The human did not deserve to run back to town and send the killers their way. Burrow stepped out into the speckled sunlight. “What are you doing here?” She demanded of the human as she watched her closely. Determining the best course of action in the following silence.  

She’d heard something resembling a whimper, and Ariadne froze, because it didn’t sound human, but she also knew that she didn’t usually create that sort of reaction in animals. It was usually more aggressive, when she was around. Either that or just altogether disappearing. By which she meant running away. Which clearly wasn’t happening right now, but she was far too curious to entirely step away, even though she was certain that if her heart could beat, it would be jumping far out of her chest right now.

A voice startled her out of her thoughts, confirming to her that she was, in fact, not alone, and she jumped at the other voice. “I – was going out for a walk.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t as detailed as she might’ve made it if she wasn’t feeling so entirely on edge. “I’m sorry if I bothered you.” Ariadne glanced down at the ground. “I just – I heard something, and it sounded like someone was in trouble, and so I wanted to come over to make sure things were okay, or if not, to see if I could help or stuff.”

The human seemed agreeable, in the same as the nectar on a pitcher plant. Burrow knew well of their liar tongues. While their words hardly served her much purpose, their bodies certainly did. If the human was eager to help, then she would be sure to show her the proper path. No sense in forsaking a fly that wished to be on the web. Especially one that looked so youthful and healthy. “You may help by stepping on the vines. You may approach the vines.” May the human’s presence be loved instead of feared. Come human, be blessed by her kin’s touch, and know true usefulness. But another of her kin was quicker to claim. Unlike her vines, her tick did not have a host to distract itself. Until then, of course, as the tick set its eyes on the human. It scurried up the human’s shoe. Further up still it would go, to find refuge under the sock. The best place for a bite.

Except… it didn’t. Burrow’s tick regarded the human the same as it would an exposed root. Its disinterest was not due to the poison humans so loved to bathe themselves in. No, her tick scurried across the leg, as it would on any other leg. The only difference was the lack of a want to bite. In fact, the human did not register as a thing that could be bitten. Not a snack, but merely a thing in its path. Burrow stared, frustration relenting to a spike of curiosity. “Wait, what are you?”

“I don’t – won’t that hurt the vines?” Ariadne looked over at the woman. “I don’t want to hurt them - but - if it will help…” though how it would help, she wasn’t sure. In fact, in a lot of ways it was deeply confusing to try and make any sort of sense of that, but she’d never claimed to be a botanist, and so she supposed that she couldn’t really claim too much to understand what was going on.

Then there was a bug crawling onto her shoe, and Ariadne would’ve held her breath if she’d needed to, waiting for the bug to somehow shriek or fly away or run away. Except it didn’t, and then the woman’s voice cut through Ariadne’s thoughts. “I - what? What - I - I’m Ariadne!” She winced at the heightened pitch of her voice. “What do you mean?” Except that she could only play at being ignorant for so long, because the what are you comment probably didn’t have anything to do with her name. “Why?”

Such an eager fly — approaching the web without much question. Only one question had sufficed: a concern for the web. It was almost sweet. The humans never cared to be kind to Burrow’s vines after watching them claim. It was too frightening for their brains to comprehend. But, this wasn’t a human, was it? This was something else. Something her parasites did not deem worthy of taking. A thing that had no spoils to offer. She only knew of one such being: the dead who took such spoils the same as her parasites. “Oh. Are you one of the dead? That is what I mean by my question.” 

Burrow observed the strange through her own senses and that of her tick. Her precious one felt no warmth of rushing blood below the other’s skin. Only a coldness was offered and a strange smell it could not place. This must be one of the dead, yes? The dead had always fascinated her. Their appetites aligned with that of her own: the blood and the flesh of those living. A great feast that made the life of others into her own. Even the fae, the ones the dead deemed the most supple, was upon Burrow’s own plate. Though, she would consume them in other means. So different and yet the same. “You will not take a taste of me, unless you offer me something worthy in return.” Her intrigue did not transfer into generosity. That was reserved for her parasites, not those who emulated them. But that emulation, that mirror upon her own nature, had her wanting to give. A piece with a price tag, but even that was a wonderful gift. “Do not approach the vines. The vines are satisfied.” She would not let her curiosity be claimed by another. “Tell me more about yourself. I am curious about you.”

She always did her best not to lie. Ariadne just didn’t much see the point in it, and she’d seen how lying hurt people far too much – how even little lies could do their own kind of damage. She supposed that just by not telling people what she was, she was sort of lying in her own kind of way, but she did her best to believe that was okay – especially because a lot of the time it was a matter of possibly dying again if the wrong person found out. Though that was something she’d discovered more recently, Celene had advised her against advertising what – who – she was to others. It was absolutely annoying that she couldn’t tell when someone else was a mare, but she’d made do.

Which didn’t explain how this absolutely alluring and yet anxiety-induing person knew what she was. “I don’t – I’m not gonna try to feed on you!” Ariadne wanted to shrink into herself, hating the fact that this was what the stranger first assumed about her. First assumed that she’d hurt them. “I can offer you stuff, if you want?” She didn’t know what, exactly, she would offer them, but it seemed like the right sort of thing to say. “I won’t – I won’t touch the vines, if you don’t want me to.” She shook her head. “I – I’m Ariadne.” Which she’d already said. “I – I don’t know how you could tell I was dead, but I – yeah, I am.” She only hoped admitting this wouldn’t result in regret. “I – I’m a mare.” The word caught tight in her throat. “Do you – know of people like me?”

The heightened voice, the shrunken stature — the dead seemed upset about something. Was the dead upset about the thought of eating? Most enjoyed eating, such as Burrow herself. No, the change in demeanor was likely caused by something else. Did the dead dislike being known? Did the dead think she would not make for a tantalizing treat? She would make for a lovely treat. The best treat. She let out a huff, but with it, her tensions departed. “Yes. I do want you to offer me stuff.” Burrow eyed the dead up and down, as if she could spy out any delectable treats or dazzling trinkets she wanted to claim. If the dead had any such thing, it was buried amongst pockets and hidden places. “What stuff do you have to offer me?” 

Burrow felt no need to offer anything in exchange, including her name. It remained absent on her lips. “Hello. Yes. I am aware of the mares. The mares are the dead who eat the dreams. The mares trample on the living when we sleep so the dreams are forced out of the mouths.” A strange thing to eat dreams. They were useless to her — both as sustenance and to experience. It had been so long the last time she had dreamt. Still, she heeded her nan’s warnings: there was always a cup of salt in her pocket. It stayed nestled in secret, for there was yet need to reveal it. Instead, she scanned the area for a thing unseen. “Where is your mare? Well, where is your horse, I mean.” She knew her vines had not claimed such a thing, for she would have definitely noticed those tingles of satisfaction. Nor had her other kin been able to dine on such a specimen. All her parasites who were still present were silent about the whereabouts of horses.

“Uh, I dunno. What do you want? I don’t have a lot. But I am happy to help you out mostly however I can. I just don’t wanna lose stuff that’s super important, you know?” She had to, Ariadne figured, if only because she saw no reason to assume anything other than the best of the person in front of her. She wouldn’t give up anything that reminded her of family, or of Wynne or Cass or Alex or Nora or anybody like that, but if the person wanted something else, Ariadne would do her absolute best to deliver.

Ariadne shrugged in agreement. “Haven’t heard it put exactly like that, but yes. That’s the gist of it all. Though I can’t like, swallow or chew dreams like people do other kinds of foods…” she let herself trail off. “I – no, I’m the mare. Not a horse, but like, uh…” she scrunched up her nose in momentary confusion. “Animals normally don’t like me, or like – my – mares. Us. People like me. I don’t know why, but ever since becoming this, animals tend to freak out when I come around, which is more than a little disheartening.” Ariadne clasped her hands together and pressed her thumbs firmly one atop the other. “Sorry if that’s disappointing. Even bugs don’t always like me and that stinks because I do love them. Most all of them.”

The clothings adorning the mare’s body seemed delightfully plush and of pleasant textures, but there was something greater the mare could give Burrow. To ask for it would expose her own nature if the mare was wise to the ways of the fae. An exposure Burrow did not undertake lightly, for exposure rarely did the parasites any good. But, the mare seemed so giving, and she would be foolish to not try to take as much as she could from a generous thing. “I want you to give me the memory of your most recent feeding.” It was so removed from any feeding she had known. No swallowing or chewing, yet sustenance was still achieved. Did the mare still feel it go down her throat? Did it simply blossom into her stomach? Burrow wanted to feel how the dreams entered her, the same as she indulged in the feeding of her parasites. 

The mares proved to be even more mysterious to Burrow. “What do you mean you do not have the horse?” That was not correct. “Why would you be called the mares if you did not ride the mares? Do not lie to me.” The mares rode the mares: it was the state of things. To suggest otherwise made no sense. Though, the mare’s statement did have some evidence. Almost all her kin who scurried or flew had fled the area. It would explain why the creature from before had been so delirious from fear. A wonderful fear, for it had fed her vines so nicely. Perhaps the mares (the horses, not the dead) are the only creatures not fearful of them. “You must have not found your mare, yet.” She watched as her vines continued to coil about what was once a creature: a fresh hound being born before their eyes. Her essence extended with a gentle hand, coaxing the vines to their proper place around its home. An invisible hand that held the hound, rising it up into its new glory. A beast weaved into a mimicry of the life it took — the vines interlacing into beautiful swirls that turned to legs, a torso, and a head that observed them calmly. A beast without flesh; a beast without fear. “You may approach my hound. Sit on my hound. You may not claim my hound for your steed, but you may feel what it is like to ride the steed.” 

“How do I give you a memory?” Ariadne didn’t know that something like that was something you could do. Maybe this person was making stuff up (which Ariande didn’t understand why, but she also just wasn’t about to start questioning stuff), or maybe they knew stuff she didn’t – which, if she were honest (and Ariadne liked to be honest whenever and wherever possible) was probably even more likely, considering Ariadne knew very little about the world she was newly part of. She wondered when she’d be able to tell herself that she wasn’t newly part of this world. She wondered if it would ever come to pass. She hoped that it would.

“I don’t like to lie!” Ariadne squeaked. “I – animals hate us – me. Mares. I don’t know why we’re called what we are, except maybe it’s ‘cause we’re nightmares, and they just took the night part away?” She hadn’t meant to get so panicked, but it seemed pretty near unavoidable at this point. Which stunk, but there wasn’t much that she could do about it, at least not in this moment. “But yeah, maybe. I’d love to find any creature that liked me. I – well, before I was what I am, I used to adopt bugs and worms and spiders and like, well, anything I could. I gave them good homes! I let them go a-s-a-p, but I just… I loved – love every living thing, and I don’t like that I scare them.” She felt her eyes go wide. “You sure I won’t scare your hound?” She took a few steps forward. “ ‘Cause I don’t wanna hurt the hound, or you, or anything…”

It seemed Burrow’s caution was misplaced. How strange this dead did not know more about her prized prey. “I will show you how.” The first to show her the ways. “Say that you give me the memory of your recent feeding.” The bind crept up the mare’s form, ready to steal away the precious memory. The dead squirmed as if Burrow had already claimed her. The same fidgeting that had been displayed before. What caused this irritation? Could it be the lies? A strange notion, for the dead indulged in the lies the same as the humans. It was as strange as to propose that the mares had no mares. “The nightmares are called the nightmares because of your kind. Your kind are the ones on the mares that come at night.” Was the dead simply lying to her, despite her protest against it? It made more sense than to believe what Burrow knew was false. It was information told to her by fae, who never spoke a lie. 

And yet… and yet a small part of Burrow wondered. “Do you promise that you have not lied to me?” She knew the fae twisted words, but never into a lie. Never. The mare must be mistaken — must be lying. Burrow would fix that mistake. The mare would either make the promise and succumb to her lies, or accept the proper ways of the mares. The most proper way, for her hounds would make the best mares (the horses, not the dead). Her hound mirrored the mare’s steps, taking a few forward. An action instructed by Burrow, for her hound had no care for the dead — nor fear — nor anything, really. It regarded the mare in near silence, the only sounds came from the muffled pops of the corpse in its core. Its vines coiled about it, round and round, churning it to perfection. “You will not hurt my hound.” Both an assurance and a threat. “My hound does not fear you. I want you to ride my hound. Ride my hound.” 

“I, uh, don’t get how that works, but okay!” If she didn’t have to detail her latest feeding, Ariadne would happily go another route with telling people. Any other route, really, because she didn’t like thinking about feeding, and one of her least favorite parts had to do exactly with the fact that sometimes those memories felt good. Far better than they should’ve. “I give you the memory of my most recent feeding.” She gave a sigh, a certain part of her feeling strangely lighter than she would’ve thought possible.

“Well, uh, like I said, I’m really not an expert. You sound smart and like you know what’s up though! It’s weird animals don’t like us, but we can hurt people, so maybe that’s why?” Ariadne shifted again. “Your hound is brilliant and beautiful. I,” she sniffed, “well, I can’t say how thankful I am that your hound will be near me.” 

“I promise I haven’t lied to you! I’m sure I do lie sometimes, but I really really try to not lie if I can ever avoid it. Lying makes me feel all gross and bad, and I already feel bad, ‘cause I have to eat nightmares, and also lying hurts. I don’t want to hurt. Cause hurt, I mean.” She sighed. “Okay.” Ariadne brushed her hand against the hound, doing her best to climb up and onto it. “You sure it’s still okay?” She turned more toward the hound, “thank you for your kindness.” Back up to the strange lady. “I – thank you.”

The memory traveled down Burrow’s throat and swelled in her stomach. Foreign fears swelled as well: those inside herself and those soon to enter. A storm of uncertainty and regret that was almost as strong as the hunger. All only quieted when it entered. The good fear. Who she became in the memory tried to deny the fear, but she wanted it. She needed it. It had no taste or smell or texture yet it was the most delectable thing to enter her. How did it enter her? Did it really enter her? What was this feeling in her very core? She had no words, no knowing, no anything to describe the sensation. Ripped away from everything she knew of the world and becoming an alien to her own body. Even when the memory faded and she was herself again, she was not the version of herself before. Forever changed, ever slightly, by that piece of the alien still inside her. 

Burrow needed to know more.

If only what followed had brought such strange delight. The promise prepared to tear through the dead, yet found nothing to grab. No lies tainted her tongue, just as the dead had proclaimed. But how? How did the dead not know of the mares? How did she not feel a piece of herself missing? Even when Burrow’s family tried to keep her away from her kin, she could still feel them waiting. Waiting for her as the horse surely waited for the dead. Right? Her stomach twisted at the idea she could have spread her family’s lies. No. Something… was missing. She needed to research the cracks in her knowledge had not known were there. She didn’t… her family hadn’t lied to her. “Yes… my- my hound is very brilliant and beautiful.” She finally managed to say. “It is okay. You will sit on my hound’s back.” Her hound did not mind, though they hardly minded anything. A few of its vines slithered past fingers and ankles — almost tickling, though not its intention. Just like its guardian, it wanted to know more of who rested on its back. “That is where you are meant to be.” Though not the horses of legend, her hound was close enough. Close enough to the image in her head that had begun to sport a small crack. “In exchange for your thank you, you will give me any memory I ask you to give me.” The best way to understand someone was to get inside their head. 

[denimbex1986]

'Tom Ripley is not a psychopath. Not the way Andrew Scott plays him in Ripley, the eight-part Netflix series adapted and directed in creamy black and white by Steven Zaillian (The Night Of), despite the fact that Tom does commit murder. The point of the series – the delicious disquietude of it – is to elongate Patricia Highsmith’s source novel. To unwind what was compressed in Anthony Minghella’s 1999 film The Talented Mr. Ripley. To idle with Tom long enough to see beyond “monster” or “villain” to “person.”

“The main task in playing any familiar literary character is to unlearn the reputation the character might have,” Scott, 47, said in a recent phone interview, as Ripley debuted at No. 8 on Netflix worldwide. “When I was playing Hamlet” in London in 2017, “I wanted to not play the obvious expectations, the easy three-word label – ‘the dark prince’ – and to think instead about who he was before his father died. Which according to the text was someone quite funny.”

In the same way, Scott’s Tom, a small-time grifter in 1961 New York who is hired by a shipping magnate, Herbert Greenleaf (Kenneth Lonergan, the playwright and screenwriter), to bring his wastrel son Dickie (Johnny Flynn) home from an extended, expensive holiday in Italy, “isn’t bloodthirsty,” Scott continues. “He’s absolutely not a natural born killer. He feels uncomfortable. He makes loads of mistakes.”

Most significantly, “Tom is on the outskirts of society and he gets transplanted into high society. He realizes there are people there who have half the talent with double the confidence and exposure to the most beautiful things in the world. That ignites a rage within him. I think it’s a rage we can all understand. We may not go to the lengths he does to express that rage. But characters can only be fascinating if we feel they reflect us in some way.”

This supple empathy is Scott’s superpower, whether he’s playing a lonely screenwriter in All of Us Strangers; a spendthrift king in Catherine Called Birdy; a madcap lord in The Pursuit of Love; or every Uncle Vanya character in Vanya: National Theatre Live. (In one gobsmacking Vanya sequence, he alternates, seamlessly, between a character who is crying and one who isn’t.) In Sherlock, it’s what made his Moriarty such a liquid foil for Benedict Cumberbatch’s Holmes. In Fleabag, it’s what made the Hot Priest hot.

With Ripley, “it’s unusual for a television series to spend so much time in the company of one character,” Scott says. “Usually you’d spend that time with a large family, or a police department, or a hospital. But we replicate the first-person singular of the novel.” We observe Tom as he climbs magnificently crumbling staircases, checks into sumptuous hotels, learns to speak Italian, is knocked sideways by the glories of Caravaggio. We watch him be, and think, and give into yearning. The series tours us through holiday destinations, but off-season, which adds to the feeling of disorientation.

“At any stage the journey could end for Tom,” Scott says. “Dickie could find him out, the police could. He’s an incredibly vulnerable character, vulnerable to poverty in New York, vulnerable to the whims of these high society people,” which include Dickie’s skeptical girlfriend Marge (Dakota Fanning) and outright hostile friend Freddie (Eliot Sumner, child of Sting and Trudie Styler), who are casually cruel about Tom’s economic status and presumed homosexuality.

“There’s a murkiness to the way people spoke about sexuality at that time,” Scott says. “Everything was subterfuge, spoken in code. People couldn’t really admit to anything that wasn’t a heterosexual lifestyle.

“But I was reluctant to attribute any labels to Tom – his nationality, age or sexuality. I see him as a very othered character. Certainly queer in the sense that he’s not invited to the party. I think his sexuality is elusive, like the rest of him. I don’t think he’d be comfortable in a gay bar, but I don’t think he’d be comfortable in a straight bar either. Any easy answer to do with Tom reduces him.”

Scott, who was born and educated in Dublin, then moved to London at 22, doesn’t usually take his characters home with him. But Ripley’s isolation presented challenges to him as a person as well as an actor.

As a person, “my great joy in life is connecting with people,” Scott says. “I’m not suspicious of people in the same way that Tom is.” Though his fame post-Fleabag has been challenging – “I do feel I have to protect myself. Fame can detract from who you really are. By putting someone on a pedestal you can dehumanize them. It’s something I keep an eye on” – he believes that if he keeps making work that means something to him, and delivering it with enough authenticity, he can continue to connect, and “people don’t become the enemy.”

As an actor, Scott’s challenge was to find “where Tom’s heart may be, in this dark world we’re examining, where a lot of the characters, not just Tom, are quite morally ambiguous, and not ultimately that generous,” he says. “For me, it’s when Tom’s on his own, looking at beauty. He has a strange affection for things. He likes handsome hotel clerks. He’s moved by art and music. He’s just never been exposed to it in the way the privileged characters are.

“I think that’s what Highsmith is really talking about,” Scott concludes. “If you dismiss certain people and deny them the art and beauty that other people in the world have, a darkness arises. And people go to great lengths to rebalance that lack of dignity.”'

[mmriesoftvat]

" ... what if... " He begins observing Kazuha intently, as he always does. He's never met someone who feels so... oddly SIMILAR to him in ways he cannot describe. Kazuha appreciates nature, THRIVES in it, just like he does. He is artistic, well articulated, and a brilliant conversationalist, to the point Albedo knows there will never be awkward pockets of silence between them, or forced discussions. Everything comes naturally between them, and he cannot deny that there's... a pull. A connection.

Yet...

" ... what if... that which is out of reach is better left out of reach? " He knows he isn't being fair, speaking in such a roundabout way, but there is MUCH Kazuha does not know that Albedo fears telling him. That he has let the ronin get this close was a mistake, in and of itself, because despite how much he STRUGGLES with emotions and feelings... even he knows there comes a point of no return eventually.

They're tiptoeing dangerously CLOSE to that point.

" ... nevermind. My thoughts can be... irritatingly and needlessly complex a lot of the time. I may be... overthinking it. " // it's about time Albedo and Kazuha had a talk, tbh.

Kazuha dimly recalls a long forgotten tale, something about a tin soldier and a ballerina. While he can't remember all the details of that story, he remembers a fire and a heart within the ashes. Kazuha doesn't want to go up in flames only to be left with a broken heart. It's an outcome that's certainly sure to happen if neither of them actually address this -- though Kazuha really doesn't want to. It's complicated and already difficult to bring up, to be direct feels very much like a confrontation.

Confrontation is such an ugly word, too. It feels too final, too set in stone and closes a lot of doors that Kazuha would rather stay open. But then again, wouldn't both of them be able to just move on after that? The ache would sting, but it'd be final. It'd also be the very last option Kazuha wants to take.

It's not like Albedo is directly saying no. Kazuha knows, or at least is sure of, Albedo's meaning. What is unclear is the reason why. Kazuha wants something, and Albedo is more hesitant. The why being a mystery feels Kazuha with some vague terror, like something is incredibly out of reach and so wrong. He is just a wandering ronin, he isn't interested in wars or politics or whatever cosmic horrors may come. Those concepts have always been beyond his understanding. Those cosmic themes had taken the life of someone he cared very much about, over some uncomfortable 'eternity'.

So why is Albedo's phrasing bringing about that same faint dread? Kazuha tries to shake it off. Albedo is very much human like him. They're friends at the very least, and both have brilliant minds. If there's anything more serious to discuss, it can wait until they have this conversation first. Albedo's words have to mean just that: that maybe he can't give Kazuha want he desires. Or is very resistant to the idea for personal reasons.

"Your thoughts are fine," Kazuha says, daring to take a step closer. "I have no problem with the way you apply logic and reason to everything." It's part of why Kazuha adores the other man. "I am simply..." he trails off, lifting a hand before letting it drop back to his side. "...another man with yearning in his heart."

He'd said it. He'd said it directly, without trying to hide it behind whimsical poetry and riddles. He could have likened the situation to leaves again, considering he's still holding one, but his word choice felt appropriate.

"I do not wish to put you out," he continues, glancing downward. The leaf is placed back into his pocket. No doubt it will be crushed with the slightest amount of pressure, but he's used to gathering more leaves along the way. It's not like he keeps them for long, anyway. "I want to be selfish sometimes, and announce what and whom I desire. Is that a horrible feeling?"

[hook-your-ex-system-review]

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[glacialswordsman-a]

“Oh, certainly. The people of Mondstadt aren’t all that well-versed in being discreet. However, I can and will assure you that they are harmless. The moment you open your mouth to greet them, they’ll be all over you and would be eager to know more about you while unwittingly taking you on a tour of our city fair,” Kaeya explained, his expression just a tad fond as he spoke of the nation of Freedom.

The only people Kaeya knows the citizens of Mondstadt would be wary of are, of course, the Fatui. Are wary of them. Fortunately, the Traveler made no mention of Itto being an agent. The Captain held onto the Traveler’s word after all, as they never have reason to lie to him. After all, they’ve mentioned knowing other members of the organization before, such as being acquainted with a few Harbingers. He wonders if that number has gone up since the last time they spoke.

Regardless, Kaeya knew that Itto wouldn’t feel completely out of place there. Perhaps a little, but not completely. Who wouldn’t feel out of place in a new location, surrounded by a whole new culture, after all?

When Itto brought up the Chasm, Kaeya paused momentarily and regarded the man once more. That’s right, they had mentioned their adventures there and how they had been with a whole entourage. To be honest, his memories of that time specifically were a little fuzzy. To put it lightly, he hadn’t felt all that well when the Chasm was suddenly unsealed and was out of commission for a few days.

This was a golden opportunity. Something within him yearned to know more.

For now, though, he merely kept his smile and nodded along during their conversation as the oni led.

“She has a few that are admittedly quite funny, though she definitely knows how to pick ‘em and irritate those very people with said names. The name given to you though is quite unfortunate.”

Unfortunate was putting it lightly, he knows. Although, there was a small side to Kaeya that found amusement in the name. He would never use it, but it is quite a feat that the fairy is able to come up with these ugly nicknames at all.

Keeping in step with the oni, Kaeya’s eye wandered here and there as he took in the sights of the land of Eternity, quite drawn to the vibrant greens, pinks, and purples. Even the little village that they passed through to get to Inazuma was beautiful. Humble, yet lovely all the same. The change of scenery is truly a breath of fresh air, and he almost couldn’t believe he was actually here in Inazuma. He’ll have to give the Traveler a souvenir from this trip.

A hum of acknowledgement left Kaeya as Itto mentioned the inn may be booked. He’s not surprised about that, but he was slightly surprised by the offer of staying at Itto’s gang’s headquarters. “Oh? Well, I would hate to impose. The last thing I would want to do is take advantage of your good graces, no less when we have just met.”

All sweet words with little meaning to them, if only to make himself seem a polite and humble person. As much as he would love to jump at the opportunity right away, he always has that little itch to keep up images, even with complete strangers he just met half an hour ago or so.

His eye lidded slightly at the mention of Itto’s family. A subject that Kaeya was quite touchy with, yet gave his attention to the oni all the same. “I see. It’s good to know that you’re surrounded by people who care about you immensely. That alone says a lot about your character.” Normally, hearing about someone who was surrounded by constant high praises prickled at Kaeya incessantly, telling him there's something much more to it. Yet, Itto was anything but someone like that. He wasn’t surrounded by frequent praise, no. He had something real. It didn’t take someone with two eyes to see it.

The primary reason for the Oni mentioning rice and noodle dishes was actually fairly simple. There was an abundance of them, different preparations, sauces, spice mixtures, proteins, and vegetables were served depending on where the dish was purchased. Though, every street food vendor, restaurant, and street seating establishment knew that he was allergic to beans and products crafted with them. So he never had to worry about soy, beans or sauce, being part of any dish he ordered for himself.

"I have a feelin' I'd get some pretty open stares anyway, from what I know of Mondstadt, the nation ain't known for it's abundance of creatures like myself,"

He'd chuckle, though this one would be a genuine one, and not one that was laced with worry such as the one when learning that Kaeya knew the Traveler, and Paimon had been. He honestly loved traveling, and as a legitimate adventurer now, he could go to other nations and do commissions there, as long as things were available for him to do so. Hearing that the people in Mondstadt were welcoming wasn't a surprise to him, the people were fairly 'free' though, as someone from the nation of Eternity he wasn't exactly sure what 'freedom' was. Well, he knew the definition but now how it worked for people. He'd learn, should he ever travel to the nation itself which had been pretty tempting more than once already.

"She opted to give it to me before she ever met Ushi too, I ain't sure if the Traveler mentioned a time where they were trapped in the Chasm in Liyue with a group of others, but that was when she decided my name wasn't good enough."

He couldn't understand why Paimon opted to give people such awful nicknames but he had no real reason to ask. Knowing the little pixie, she'd likely come up with some strange, convoluted reasoning, and stick with it. The Traveler never called him by the awful name which was why he tended to speak to them, over Paimon, who was more often than not, much more childish than she claimed she was. Especially when she was being ignored. Shinobu had tried to talk to her from what he'd been told but the tiny floating fairly like companion of the Traveler had stuck to the awful nickname. She even referred to him as 'bull-chucker' when other people were around, at least he was nice enough to her, not to do the same with 'floating lavender melon'.

"I recall her mentionin' a few other nicknames she gave people, but I don't even know who she's referrin' to, since I ain't met anyone who resembles any of the names she's given,"

As Kaeya turned down the offer of a small snack prior to making their way to the city he'd merely nod at the other male. The trek wasn't arduous, nor was it particularly long. The walk from Ritou to Inazuma City took less than half an hour and that was even for the older people in the nation. While the older folk were often slower at moving, than the younger generation, he'd seen some make it from Ritou, or the village shortly outside the little island within thirty minutes before. It the more moderate weather seemed to help them, and Inazuma was cooler than Liyue was, temperature wise, and it cooled down even more at night.

"I can't say for certain if there'll be a room available at the inn inside the city, but my Gang's headquarters has a number of guest rooms."

He'd continue as he began leading Kaeya toward the city, it'd be pretty obvious where the city was, as there were a number of very large buildings that were visible shortly after they left Ritou itself. He'd walk at the same pace as Kaeya so he didn't leave the other behind, not only would that be rude to do, but he'd not be a very good guide if he did that. Ushi would let out a moo as he trotted next to the Oni, easily keeping up with the two men.

"My Gang, to me, is like my family. Granny Oni, she's an older human who found me when I was a kid and took me in. She's raised me like I'm her own flesh and blood. The members of my Gang have all faced some form of adversity in their lives."

The Traveler and Paimon weren't aware of his being an orphan, and he wasn't about to mention it without needing to. It wasn't a secret, most people in Inazuma knew that the Crimson Oni was an orphan who was raised by a human woman. It wasn't just her influence on him that made him the way he was though. Various things his parents had instilled in him prior to their deaths stuck with him and a lot of them were reinforced by Granny Oni as he grew up. Kaeya was intelligent, he'd already gathered that just from their conversation so far, so it was very likely that the other man would easily put two and two together, just going off of what the Oni had said.

[notnctu]

push & pull | kim doyoung

❀ slytherin!doyoung x hufflepuff!femreader ❀ genre - SLOW BURN, smut, fluff, a bit of humor (idk not rlly) ❀ details -  hogwarts!au, fwb to lovers?, y/n is a player lol, jealous doyoung, mutual pining, doyoung is a lil mean ❀ word count - 9.7k ❀ warnings - explicit language, possessiveness (a concept of marking), dom!doyoung, angry sex?, slight dirty talk, penetration, fingering, praise kink ❀ synopsis - in which a prideful slytherin and an oblivious hufflepuff play a clueless emotion game of tug of war.

❝I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?❞  

❝People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you pursue me?❞ ❀ a/n - i changed the plot a little bit as i was writing lol but hopefully it still fits everything! i said this in the teaser, but i want to preface and say that the magic/marking is not canon to harry potter, and that the only thing im using are the sectional houses/subjects. besides that, everything is made up LMAO also pls b lenient with me, i read hogwarts!au but writing it is very out of my comfort zone and am very bad at creating anything magical 

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Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, mindlessly and imperfectly steals glances your way across the dining tables and under several hundred floating lit candles. He sits huddled with his few posh friends that wear the same green and silver tie situated so tightly underneath their necks. And you, just looking as dazzling as ever, with your yellow and black tie hanging loose and a few buttons undone from your dress shirt.

He hates how easily you catch his attention and his ability to spot your figure in a dense crowd. You barely even look his way in public now, often distracted by a broad Gryffindor that tries to make flirtatious advantages at you. And when he thinks it can’t get any worse, it does… as you’re flashing your bright beautiful smile back at him and the shift in your body language.

“You’re staring again.” Yuta flickers between his friend and the subject of his focus.

Doyoung clears his throat, smooths his tie and physically turns his body away from the horrendous scene. “It’s very hard not to stare when she’s flirting with other men in front of me.”

“Does she do it on purpose?” The silver haired boy raises a questionable eyebrow and Doyoung reacts before he can speak.

He perks up and narrows his eyes at Yuta. “Purpose? Like to make me jealous?” Doyoung scoffs, laughs almost at the ridiculous thought. “The answer is no. We’re not exclusive, we’re nothing.”

“If you two are nothing, then why are you acting like you two are something? Get a grip, it’s practically sickening watching you fume over a ditzy Hufflepuff.” As Yuta prepares to bite into his delicious soft bread roll, it flies out of his grip, down the long table and onto another person’s plate.

Both boys are quick to stand to their feet and face each other chest to chest. Neither one of them is intimidated by the other, but their other friends around them are rather shocked by the sudden discrepancy.

Doyoung forcibly brushes off an imaginary dust off his good friend’s shoulders and draws a perfectly strained fake smile, knowing that others may be watching and he is a Prefect after all. But most importantly, you could be watching. “Call her that again, and your dinner won’t be the only thing that’s thrown across the table.” His threat is loud enough solely for Yuta to hear.

Yuta, with glaring eyes, picks up his dinner tray and walks off with his chin held high and a brisk in his stride. Doyoung clears his throat in the midst of the brief silence and out of habit, fixes his tie back in place. He takes a seat back down and the chatter at the table resumes, but he’s beyond embarrassed and disappointed at his loss of temper that everything drowns out.

Almost everything. He feels a light tap on his shoulder and out of annoyance, he spins around hastily and sharply snarls, “what?” But his eyes land on your fearful wide eyes and the slight cower in your stance, knowing that you caught onto his bad mood. And he’s half in disbelief that you’re approaching him right in the center of the Great Hall, that you’re standing so beautiful a foot away from him.

Instant regret and guilt fills his chest, his sharp eyes soften at your pout and the concerned furrow in between your brows. Nonetheless, he doesn’t have any words to say… he can’t get himself to apologize for his behavior.

“Do you want to walk to Herbology with me?” The quiver in your voice made you seem so small, so desperate for him, that he can hear the reactions of his friends. They’re laughing, at him, at you, at the whole scene that’s unfolding. He feels mocked, being a laughing stock isn’t something he’s very fond of.

His lips form a tight line, and in a snarky tone, “you don’t know your own way, Puff? Mind you ask your own Prefect to guide you.” Fuck. He tried to find the nicest way possible to brush you off, but his friends laugh a bit louder and intensely. And you didn’t like that one bit.

Your lips part slightly in a frown, an eyebrow raised and a hand on your hip. You look as if you’re ready to attack him, to jinx him, to probably pinch at his skin. But he knows you, and you’d do none of the above. Instead, you say the one threat that causes his heart to sink into the pit of his stomach, “don’t talk to me in class.” You’re slipping away from him as you pick up your pace, exiting all the commotion in the Great Hall.

He tries to hide the disappointment that stems from his chest, and his heart beats with an inexplicable dull pain. All he can think about is the twist of your expression and he’s gathering his things rather quickly to follow after you, without even a bid goodbye to his clique.

Without any knowledge of what you two do behind closed doors and the complex history that you two share, one may view your relationship as practically nonexistent; you two are strangers, barely passing acquaintances. 

Doyoung does not approach you in the halls, in anywhere that necessarily has many witnesses. You smile at him, maybe even a wave depending on your mood, but no one questions it … as you wave at almost everyone who passes by you.

Classmates might see interaction during the one class you two share, if they pay attention close enough. However, you and Doyoung are much more to each other than passing acquaintances. Although he’s starting to see himself as another name on your list of individuals you sleep with, you are much more to him than you could ever know.

He’ll never forget the first time you two met. He was patrolling the halls for anyone lurking past curfew with his nose dug deep in his heavy book on magical creatures, when you walked right into him and caused the both of you to fall to the granite.

He was beyond ready to dock off points for whoever the rule breaker may be, but you took his breath away when you hovered above him and clasped your palm over his mouth before he can scold anyone. You looked a bit frazzled as your hair was all over the place and he noticed your minimal amount of clothing in the middle of a cold winter night.

He saw the signature Hufflepuff badge on your thin sweater and the sound of your voice completely threw him off his tracks.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper at the stunned Prefect underneath you, whose body feels warm against your own. But your eyes remain frantically on the lookout for anyone else passing, despite the lack of light in the cobblestone hallway. You most definitely do not belong in this wing of the castle and knocking down a Prefect caused more of a problem in your escape route.

Quickly standing up, you lend your hand out for him to take. His long fingers accept your hold as he pulls himself up and dusts the dirt off his robe. His green emblem glows in the dim light and you’re internally screaming at the mess you just made for yourself. But you recognize his features: the sharpness in his eyes, the small curves of the corners of his lips, his neatly parted black hair.

“You’re in some deep---”

“---Kim Doyoung.” The boy freezes at the sound of his name and he blinks at you, curious as to where you know of him. Being a Prefect has its small perks of popularity, but he didn’t expect for it to go this far. “Y/N, we had brooms together.”

As he repeats your name and examines your pretty features, a light bulb goes off in his head. “The clumsy Hufflepuff that fell off her broom in the highest altitude?”

“If that’s how you remember me by.” You smile proudly, and he scoffs at how someone could possibly hold pride in something so silly. “It’s nice to see you around, you’re a Prefect! Wow! That’s incredible.”

“And you’re still as clumsy as you were a year ago. Falling all over the place.”

“Unfortunately, some things don’t change! But you certainly have.” Doyoung looks at you with hooded eyes and a cautious gaze, but you’re so outlandishly bold despite swaying with your hands behind your back. “Please, don’t take that the wrong way. I meant it as a compliment! I used to have a tiny crush on you, baseless, but you helped me catch my broomstick and I’ll never be able to forget that.”

Doyoung, unknowingly, lights up at your shameless confession and takes another good look at you. You're much more mature now, and if he stared into your alluring gaze any longer, he’d be completely mesmerized without the need of a love potion. “So you liked me over a meaningless chivalrous act?”

“I liked you because you were charming and yes, perhaps I am someone who finds attractiveness in men who are chivalrous. There’s nothing wrong with that.” You bat your sweet eyelashes at him so endearingly, and he’s a blushing mess all over the place.

Doyoung has had anonymous love letters passed on from his friends, but they were all Slytherins who yearned greedily to be associated with his status. So knowing that a Hufflepuff, with an innocent youthful approach to love, festered some form of infatuation with him does flatter him quite well. “I’ll let you go.”

You’re about to exhale an exasperated sigh of relief until Doyoung continues, “under one condition.”

“Okay, I’ll do anything.” Your gleaming eyes sparkle like stars paired with the night sky.

He rolls his eyes at you, “don’t be so quick to jump at conditions without hearing them first.” Doyoung groans and you passively brush off his comment.

“If it’s harmless, I’ll do it.”

And in the dead of the night, where only you two stand in the middle of an empty cobblestone hallway, Doyoung requests, “I want to see you again.”

Although that night marked the beginning of your friendship, public interactions were still scarce and this was mainly on the fault of Doyoung. The times you met were late nights past curfew where he was stationed at and he grew to enjoy your wondrous personality. This boy grew up in a Slytherin bubble his whole life, no one outside of his house ever dared approached him … at least, not with the warmest smile as yours.

You were everything he was not, but he liked it so much. You were a half that completed his whole, and there were growing pains he couldn’t confide in anyone else. Surprisingly, you knew his imperfections more than he did himself and yet, you still wanted to be around him to encourage him. Not to mention, you had a sudden growth in other parts of your body and formed into your features very beautifully.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed, as there were more male counterparts who smiled at you, talked about you, fawned over you. And he felt something heighten inside of him along with his existing romantic feelings, and that he began seeing you in a new light.

With you experiencing new things, like hand holding and being showered by love letters on Valentine’s Day, it was wrong of him to fester such envy over the ones who publicly adorned you. He was so blinded by his hot headed rage that he completely missed the fact that you never accepted anyone who confessed, maybe the hand holding, but everyone else was a complete rejection.

All this time, you had been waiting for him and when you two shared your first kiss together, you had an assumption that Doyoung was going to finally confess that he felt the same way. But he never did. You two did, however, further your relationship into something more intimate and taking each other’s virginities opened a whole pathway of possibilities --- none being one where you two end up officially together.

He was the first to sleep with someone else, that was his first of many mistakes that he was going to make in his relationship with you. It also became the drop of the needle for you to start seeing other people as well, to explore what Doyoung couldn’t offer, to rid yourself of the feelings you had for a boy that didn’t seem like he wanted anything more.

Chivalry was dead and Doyoung believed that the innocent youthful Hufflepuff love had disappeared from within you.

As his present day runs after you, you’re abruptly stopped by a Ravenclaw for a small chat. Damn you Hufflepuffs for being friendly and social. So, he rushes past the two of you and into the classroom to await for your arrival. The quick shade of green flashes by your side and you’re fuming incredibly at how Doyoung continues to play you like a harp.

When you slide into your assigned seat next to him, he goes off like a canon. Doyoung starts spewing backhanded excuses and endless shameless rambles about his behavior. “I told you. Don’t talk to me during class or I will jinx you. Won’t be able to talk with your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.”

“You’re not going to jinx me.” With a subtle flick of his wrist, your chair is pulled closer to his. “And if you were to do so, you wouldn’t do something so cynical.” Yelping at the abrupt usage of his magic, you’re irritably pressing your ink into your journal with a newfound annoyance.

“You’re right. I’d turn you into a duck, so at least, you’re still cute to look at.” The mindless scribbles on the paper make no sense in your head, as you’re primarily zoned in on the disrupted energy you have about your Slytherin companion. These ill feelings make you almost sick, wanting to shut out any bad replay of the moments before and forgetting about the attention you seek so much from Doyoung.

“For you to successfully cast a jinx on me, you must make eye contact first.” His finger lifts your chin and you’re eye to eye with his lustful dark stare. Doyoung licks his lips, a shine shimmers from his saliva, and he’s tempted to bring you into his chambers for an intimacy he’s been craving. “My, oh my. You’re looking very charmed today.” A grin curves up and taunts you, and you’re blinking away down at the table.

“Doyoung, we’re in class. Please, focus.” Your desperate whisper turns into a whine once his cold hand slyly smooths over your bare knee.

“Are you free later tonight?” Doyoung peers over at your side profile and your skin feels soft at his fingertips. He’s imagining your intoxicating scent mixing with his sheets, your light playful kisses along his neck, and gripping onto every naked part of you. For a whole minute, he’s forgotten that he’s in class with other no name individuals and a boring professor. He has tunnel vision whenever he’s with you.

“I have an arrangement.” The grip on your knee tightens at your quiet answer. An arrangement.

“The Gryffindor who had leafy greens in between his teeth?” Doyoung treads lightly, because you’re both well aware he’s made harsher insults than that. He retrieves his hand and picks up his pen as if he’s never touched you.

He sees your head shake out of the corner of his eye, you’re rolling your lips together sheepishly. There’s something odd about your stance and he’s growing a bit more curious…. A bit more spiteful at how closed off you are being. There’s something you’re hiding from him. “Then, who?”

“Is there something you’d like to discuss with the class, Mr. Kim? If not, I’d like for everyone to head over to the greenhouse.” As the class slightly snickers and the classroom empties, you and Doyoung are stopped by your professor.

Professor Sprout, wearing her worn out Dragon hide gloves and a thin lined smile, shoves a potted plant into Doyoung’s hands, “behave, you two. Your conversations are never very secret when spoken aloud.” She gives both of you a warning before proceeding out along with the rest of the class.

Doyoung scoffs at the absurd encounter and rolls his eyes. “Ah, you’re getting me in trouble with you now.”

“I’m sorry, Doyoung. It’s better that you don’t know.” You say this every time, when will you realize that keeping your hookups a secret only causes him more agony? He catches your wrist as you both exit the corridors, he barely ever has you alone now. And to say the least, he fucking misses you.

“Spare me some of your time after class.” He’s disgusted by himself, knowing that his eyes are begging for you to say yes. Him, a highly admired Slytherin, has settled for scraps and if anyone knew, they’d never let him live.

Your hand gently clasps over his and when you look up with your starry eyes, something inside him feels at peace. “Did you miss me?” He gulps at your question and blinks at you like a deer in headlights. If said by anyone else, he would not hesitate to snap his fingers into a malicious spell. But you ask the million dollar question so sweetly, there’s no taunt… there’s no mockery in your tone. It’s full of genuine curiosity.

So, he answers you with part of his heart that you know too well. “Unfortunately.” His body falls slightly in defeat, and suddenly the potted plant is alive in his hands. It’s wailing a dangerous and annoying loud cry, completely ruining the moment.

Doyoung quizzically ponders the monstrous green plant and its magical capabilities puzzle him, possibly reminding him to pay more attention to the actual curriculum than on your unbuttoned shirt.

Moreover, your giggle surprisingly calms him in this stressful situation and you lightly pat his hand that’s still gripping your wrist. “I’m all yours after class.” 

Taking the wretched plant, you hurry off toward the greenhouse to find someone to diffuse the crying creature. Doyoung laughs in disbelief at your comical animated figure running around with a pot over your head and shouting for any student to help you. So you’re not paying attention in class either?

Doyoung takes you to your favorite place, despite the rule that you’re not allowed access to it. The Prefect Bathroom remains spotlessly clean and fresh paired with an immediate scent of rosewater and wild honeysuckle. The white polished marble gleams prettily under the twinkling diamond chandeliers and you’re twirling enthusiastically in the center of the large undressing area.

He observes and smiles widely to himself at the sight of your happiness and cute giggles. It’s always a risk to have you use their bathroom, but he is always abusing his privilege to seek your enjoyment that he truly doesn’t care about anything else. Your morality has beaten him enough and he’s heard plenty about his wrongdoings, yet here you are… sweetly dancing in the one place that’s absolutely wrong. Perhaps, you two have rubbed off a little too much on one another.

“I can never get sick of this place.” As you plead to Doyoung to cast a bubble bath, you’re already stripping out of your skirt. He shields his eyes to give you some privacy and recites the charm to run hot dazzling water in the ginormous pool. A nice soothing bath is exactly what you two need after a stressful day playing in the dirt.

“This is your favorite place.” says Doyoung with a matter of fact edge to this tone.

“It’s my favorite place because I only get to come here with you.” You jump on his back and he hoists you up by your thighs. His heart skips a happy tune. “I refuse for you to tell me the password, even if you do wish for me to enjoy the simple pleasures of a bubble bath.”

“You and your right and wrongs.” With eager hands, you’re loosening his tie from around his neck. “You stripped so fast that you’re going to get a cold.”

“It’s going to get steamy really soon. Plus, I know you like me best without any clothes on.” Your hot breath tickles the shell of his ear and a blush scatters across Doyoung’s cheek. Button after button, his open shirt exposes his toned build. He sets you on the edge of the elevated step before the bath.

Doyoung smirks at your nakedness and your hot lustful expression. Leaning in until he’s practically breathing against your lips, he stares straight into your eyes. “My Puff knows me best.” And dives into you with all his soul. Fruitful drags of his lips along yours, his long tongue enters your mouth. His large hand carefully caresses your cheek to pull you further into the kiss, noses pressing into skin and with a desire to never part.

His heart swells lovingly, kissing you feels like the best thing in the world. There are no tricks, no spells, no recited charms, but you are more than magical. The same surge of energy runs through his veins, but unlike his impressive ability as a notable wizard, he can’t control it. You make him lose control. As meticulous and cautious as he is, you’re the first thing he doesn’t think through.

Your needy hands push off his dress shirt and he hurriedly unbuckles his belt. When you break the kiss, he automatically pouts and pulls you back in for one more lingering peck. “Are you going to scrub my back for me?” You smile, dragging him closer to the overflowing bathtub.

Large puffs of white bubbles spill from the rims and disappear with your every step. It reminds you of sea foam that washes upon the shore, with a floral fragrant that fills your lungs. “That’s quite an intimate gesture, but yes.”

After removing all his garments, he joins you in the large pool of glossy bubbles and the clouds of steam that rises from the water suffocates him warmly. He sits with his back against the wall and eyes unwavering on your alluring expression. 

The bubbles do a great job at covering your breasts, but his sneaky hands snake under the water to grip them. Doyoung grabs a full tit and thumbs over your erect nipple, all while he holds the most sensual gaze with you. Slowly, you naturally end up in his hold and your wet back relaxes against his chest.

The beating of his heart is too loud and surely, you can feel the way it jumps out of his chest. Doyoung attaches his lips on your skin and as you’re melting at his harsh suckling. However, you perk up and snap out of your dazed arousal at the realization of his purposeful licks. “You’re trying to mark me?”

His hand continues to rub and twist your aching nipples. The sensation stimulating the growth of pleasure to sprout below and your mind to wander. 

“Possibly.”

A lovers’ mark is the ultimate testament of mutual love. Engraving the skin with your beloved’s Patronus, wherever the giver chooses to mark. Love emblems are meant to be something sacred to the couple, a way to make someone completely untouchable to everyone else. Not only does the symbol glow with an iridescent shine whenever love is felt, it also numbs any romantic feelings for all others besides the partner.

Besides the use of possessiveness, it’s a beautiful way to discover one true love since the engraving of their Patronus shows up on the skin under the conditions that both individuals must be madly in love with one another. And if it doesn’t end up forming, the receiver is left with a bright, sparkling star hue in its place before fading away completely. If it does appear, it fades when both fall out of love.

“Doyoung--” His name falls from your lips as a moan and he’s running down to explore the beauty between your legs. “--can’t do that unless you actually want to commit to me.”

“I am committed to you.” The more your neck cranes off to the side and exposed to him, the more he wishes to etch the symbol of his love for everyone to see. A hand is hooked under your thigh to keep your legs spread open and you’re gasping at the slight pressure from the water.

“Romantically committed to me.” You remind him, but your train of thought is cut fairly short as Doyoung begins rubbing circles on your needy clit.

“You’re afraid of it showing up?” He’s lathering your breasts with bubbles and dragging his long finger along your slit. His greediness overtakes him and with wandering hands, he’s gripping every part of you that they can reach. Doyoung’s guilty pleasure is always going to any form of physical affection from you specifically. When he finally gets ahold of you, it’s hard for him to let go.

Your warm skin is delicate and smooth beneath the very tips of his fingers and every exploration of your terrain makes him feel inexplicable explosions of fondness. Perhaps, you’ve captivated him and although he believed it would take something as extreme as the Amortentia to have him falling for someone, you did it as easily as being yourself. His better half.

So, he’s impressed by your genuineness and how he’s willing to give up parts of his reputation to unapologetically be himself around you. No one else matters, nothing else matters, but why must it be so difficult to tell you that?

“I’m afraid of it not showing up.” You’re more than convinced that Doyoung has confused his strong sense of lust with love and there would be no possible way his Patronus would appear. It’s better to save the embarrassment for the both of you.

Spinning in his arms, the water twirls to the curves of your body and he’s admiring parts that expose above the surface. He’s matched with your beauty before him, resemblance to the stained glass window that situates above the large bathroom.

However, the doubt in your statement finally reaches his ears and he’s grabbing your ass as you settle over his thighs again. His furrowed eyebrows bring together a rather upset expression --- lip pout and all.

“Why wouldn’t it show up?” Doyoung puzzles, bringing your arms to wrap around his neck. Leaning into him, your pruney fingers trace his smooth chin and he notices your quick flicker between his eyes and his lips.

While your gentle kiss reassures him of your subtle endearment, your next words do the opposite. “You tell me.” All you do is push him away with your vague doubtfulness, like you’re constantly testing him and using his poor guessing skills to your own advantage. He can pull you close after any altercation he wants, but you push him away in any emotionally romantic sense.

“You’re rather mischievous and mysterious today,” Doyoung squeezes your ass and smacks it lightly, causing ripples in the water. “I liked it better when you told me everything you felt.”

Suddenly, his fingers poke at your entrance and his other hand drops in between your legs again. Your mouth opens in shock when his long fingers enter slowly and he enjoys the pleasurable contour of your reactions. “Like this, for example.” The pad of his fingers working rapid flicks against your sensitive bud. “How does this feel?” His whisper dances across your shoulder, landing a kiss at the end of his question.

Your moans echo in the lavish bathroom, bouncing off the marble walls and encouraging Doyoung to keep a steady pace. There’s no worry about how loud you may be, Doyoung charms every room before every lustful encounter. This allows you to let go, let free, let him know how he makes you feel.

He curves his fingers into you, pumping and dragging into your tightness until you’re practically screaming. He only has one thought, as his eyes trail down your intoxicated needy figure, how beautiful you are as a moaning mess under his control. Your head is thrown back, eyes are squeezed shut and opening them to see nothing but tiny yellow starlight.

Dainty kisses line your exposed neck line and his ego swells with so much pride. Doyoung has mastered every flick of his wrist to have you under his trance, spewing nonsensical words and forgetting anyone else that exists. He gives your erect nipples harsh licks and with a faint drag of teeth, the sensation pushes you to your end.

Sporadic pleasurable convulsions cause your legs to close around Doyoung’s hands, but the strength of his knee keeps them apart. “Doyoung… I’m going to free fall.”

Leave it up to you to beautifully announce your climax. He snickers, applying more pressure on your clit and a rubbing motion against your walls. “I’ll catch you.”

Moon crescents embed into his skin as you’re holding onto him with your whole life. As your scream hits every octave, the massive collection of bubbles that cover the surface of the bath fly and splatter every corner of the pristine room. 

White and wet bubbles drip down from the walls, falling from the diamond chandeliers, and coating every steamy mirror. Doyoung’s eyes light up from the chaos, making sure you’re riding out your high for as long as he can provide.

Your body trembles with euphoria, falling forward into Doyoung’s chest and squeezing around his lazily pumping fingers. For a brief second, your mind is wiped and nothing in the world feels better than being in this perfect moment with the one person who’s Patronus you hoped would etch your skin.

If one possesses feelings that are practically unbearable to contain, one should confess… right? For all your life, you’ve lived by this statement. Friends do not hear the end of it and most surely, one should follow their own advice… right?

So why do you yearn for Doyoung in your gaze as he stands across the Great Hall as if he doesn’t know of your existence? As if he wasn’t kissing you in the Prefect bathroom a few days prior?

It’s not an understatement to say that you catch the attention of almost every person in the room, but the one head that refuses to turn your way… the one who’s looks you wish to steal… is the one person who looks right through you.

Feelings have become a nuisance ever since the first time you confessed to him and it was worse than landing on cobblestone after falling off your broom. The reason why you’ve buried them deeper than any chamber is that you’re positive that the prized Slytherin would rather be with another, preferably one from his own house.

While you try to remain optimistic and playful for the time being, you’re simply replaceable to him. He can barely care to acknowledge you in public when Gryffindors boast about you in their arms like winning a trophy. You’ve kept good relations with every Ravenclaw you’ve slept with. You’ve kindly rejected every romantic gesture another Hufflepuff has offered.

But if there is one thing you’ve learned about him is that he’s lived in his Slytherin circle for as long as he lives. And it will stay that way. You’re his sweet Hufflepuff that he’ll push away at no cost, then pull you back in secrecy.

Now if one feels as if they’re wasting their time, one should leave… right? Wrong. Kim Doyoung has skewed with your morality… and your feelings remain loyal to him since the day he confessed to see you again.

“Lemon-drop, I’ve been looking all over for you.” An arm slings around your shoulders and the notable red and gold tie is the first thing you see. Jung Jaehyun, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, flashes his deep dimples at you. “Walk with me.”

He extends his palm out for you to take and your friends painfully elbow your sides to wake you from your hesitation. Taking his hand, you get up from the dining table and follow him out the Great Hall.

Doyoung sees the scene unfold before him and rolls his eyes at how Jaehyun’s dimples are all it takes to have you wandering off with him. Despite every wicked intent to follow you two, he heads out in the direction of the dormitories to fume in his room.

“It’s such a nice and sunny day today.” Jaehyun runs a hand through his luscious brown locks. You both exit into the front courtyard as other students are scattered on the lawns mingling with one another. When you peer up at the sky, the sun is barely seen past the layers of clouds.

“Jaehyun, is there something you needed to speak with me about?” His laughter roars, full of hefty song and amusement.

“Listen, lemon-drop. I like you and I have a feeling you feel the same way. I want to mark you if you’d let me.” Jaehyun smirks and just as he brings your hand up for a kiss, you gently let go. “Am I coming off too strong? We don’t have to do it today, I just wanted to see if it would show.”

“Jaehyun, you’re going to find an extravagant person one day. A person who is going to know all your favorite castle balconies to swing from and how you like to be kissed on the nose.” His ears grow a bright red and for once, his gaze drops to the ground. “I am, unfortunately, not that person for you so I must kindly reject your confession.”

As you turn on your toes, Jaehyun lightly holds your wrist to stop you. “But, you know all those things about me. Is there anything I can do to prove that we belong together?”

“I know them because I care enough to remember things you tell me, not because I loved you enough to observe these things about you. I give you my word that there is nothing you can do to prove me otherwise.” The corners of his lips dip downward and you’re running to the one person that will erase this sad rejection from your memory.

When you’re scanning the Great Hall for any sign of him, he’s not there and it leads you to his only hiding place. Doyoung loves to shut himself out from the rest of the school whenever he gets the chance. However, a lost Hufflepuff wandering outside the entrance of the Slytherin dormitories is rather an odd sight to see and you haven’t had the chance to form many connections from this house.

The sparse amount of Slytherins you know aren’t going to be passing by, unless with some stroke of luck, someone will be kind enough to open the door for you. Every person passes by you with questionable stares until a silver haired boy blinks at you with wide eyes.

“Who is it that you’re trying to see?” He asks abrasively, but softens his tone when he realizes that you mean no harm.

You bid him a small grin, “your Prefect.”

“And what for?”

“There is an urgent matter that involves him and he’s practically unreachable when he’s hiding away in his private room.” The boy narrows his eyes at you, but beckons you to follow him down to the Slytherin dungeon.

Excitedly, you hurry behind him and whisper over his shoulder, “what’s your name?”

“Nakamoto Yuta. No need to tell me yours, I’ll doubt he’d want me to know.” He spits and then, mutters the enchanted password to reveal the large green common room. “Come this way.” He leads up the boys’ dorms and walks briskly. Although you never mentioned a name, Yuta seems to already know who you’re here to see and it makes you wonder how he must know.

“Open up.” Yuta stops and knocks at the wooden door, Kim Doyoung written in a fancy penmanship on the center. “You have a guest.” He looks your way before rolling his eyes at Doyoung’s irritated tone through the other side.

“Tell them to leave.”

“He wants you to leave.” Yuta repeats, mostly to satisfy Doyoung’s nag.

“That’s fine. Thank you for bring---” The door swings open abruptly and Yuta almost loses his balance. Doyoung frantically turns his head side to side to comprehend what he is seeing. His ears felt deceived, hearing your voice through the door, he had to make sure it wasn’t you.

But you stand before him and Yuta. Here you are approaching him whenever he least expects it. “What are you doing here?”

“I came by to see you. I’ve been here plenty of times.”

“What are you doing bringing her in?” scolds Doyoung and the other boy shrugs carelessly.

“What was I supposed to do? Let her bat puppy eyes at several other Slytherins and have her telling everyone who passes her that she came here to see our Prefect? It was also getting cold out.” Yuta mumbles, but finds great entertainment at seeing how frazzled Doyoung has gotten by your presence.

“It was a bit chilly.” You admit and Doyoung groans, pulling you into his room and shutting the door on Yuta. “Thank you, Yuta.” You whisper through the crack between the door frame.

“It’s too risky for you to be searching for me around other Slytherins.” Doyoung paces the room and you notice his tie is loose and shirt is unbuttoned around his neck. “Why are you here?”

“A Gryffindor blew me off. I thought I’d come and see you with all the free time I can get.” Taking a seat at the end of his neatly made bed, your legs swing adorably and Doyoung almost doesn’t hear you.

“Jaehyun? Does he think he’s too good for you or something? That cocky dimple Gryffindor, with the draw of my wand---” Doyoung whips out his intricately customized Dragon Heartstring, and you’re on your feet to calm his temper down.

“Will you put that thing away? I’m here for you.” Your giggle warms his tight chest and puts out the fueling flame for anyone who dares to hurt you in any way. “It’s not a big deal and it’s not the first time it has happened.”

Doyoung uncomfortably clears his throat and withdraws his wand. Buttoning up his shirt, he fixes his tie back in place. To say the least, your words erupted his festering jealousy and this may have been a small tipping point.

Before you had entered, he was so frustrated with himself and you. You can just walk away with another man without a second thought, in front of him too. He remembered the soft feeling of your body and how he’s not the only one who’s needy hands ran their course over you. That may be the one pain he can never get rid of.

“I never understood why you give other men the time of your day when they just brush you off undeservingly.” He stings and you’re slightly surprised at his sudden attack. When you respond in silence, he continues.“I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?”

Crossing your arms, your weight is barred on your left leg and there is a shift in your overall mood. With an eyebrow raised, you sass him back, “People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you chase after me?”

Doyoung swallows hard and blinks at you speechless. A clammy hand runs through his black strands as he tries to find any possible explanation without confessing his feelings. If he had a plan to confess, it would never be in the middle of an inquisition with you.

“I guess you didn’t think before acting on your desires.” And how he hated how correct that statement is. He doesn’t ever think whenever he’s around you. All his actions are conducted with his emotions and the feelings that overtake him.

Doyoung scoffs, rolling his eyes at your rash comment. “Aren’t you supposed to have the strongest morality among all the houses?”

“Sleeping with multiple men isn’t morally wrong. There’s nothing wrong with it…” The slight hurt from his question is difficult to ignore, but you must remember one thing if you want to protect your heart on your sleeve. This is nothing serious to be bickering over. You two aren’t anything serious, so why feel the need to squabble over nonsense? “... it would only be wrong if someone liked me and wished to commit to me.”

Your eyes meet and Doyoung blinks at you with wide eyes. His Adam’s Apple bobs as he gulps again, completely whiplashed at how the conversation has turned. “And if that’s the case and you like me, would that make you jealous, Doyoung? That’s why you’re trying to poorly attack my character?” He’s never heard such a strong taunt in your tone and he’s baffled by it, slightly aroused, but shocked.

“I don’t like you.” His voice is small and he pouts his lips at you. Doyoung crosses his arms and perhaps, his sad expression reveals a little more than it should have. Your heart softens at his ridiculously cute response, had you expected something much more angry and vindictive.

“Then this conversation is over, right? I’ll be on my way now. I have herbology.”

“We have the same class.” He grumbles, grabbing his robe from his desk chair.

You open the door to make your exit, “but since you don’t want to be seen with a Hufflepuff, I’ll go ahead first.” When you stumble out into the hallway, a recognizable face brightens at your appearance.

“Haechan! Hello, I haven’t seen you in a while.” You’re cheering and Doyoung chews the inside of his cheek. His pride is left at the door and along with all the things that hold him back from you, he doesn’t want to push you away anymore.

“My favorite Hufflepuff, are you just leaving?” Haechan walks up to open his arms, wishing to embrace you in the longest hug. However, Doyoung quickly takes you by your hand and rushes past him.

“She came to walk with me to class. Bye Haechan.” And Haechan is left standing in the middle of the hallway, confused and watching your backs as you’re both briskly walking out the common room.

Doyoung looks back at you, “you think I’m going to let you walk out of my room and have another Slytherin walk you to class? Don’t be so foolish.”

But you are foolish. Your heart beats foolishly and loudly for Kim Doyoung. And may you be foolish enough to wonder if his heart does the same for you.

And it does. Foolishly. Loudly. Lovingly.

You both wonder if this vicious cycle will ever meet its end. Doyoung pushes you away by ignoring your existing relationship, but pulls you back into his embrace as if it never happened. You push him away by running off with other men, but come back to him as if he’s the one person you’re loyal to.

But on this particular night, after mass circulation of rumors reaches the ears of the lovesick Slytherin, Doyoung is pulling you away from your huddled group of friends in the middle of the long corridor hallways. Without any greeting, any spoken words, he’s dragging you to his room right in front of everyone to see. His hand around yours like it was two days prior, but with an expression so grave on his sullen face.

The silence between you two brings no comfort, but you don’t dare say the first words. Doyoung, finally, approached you first in public and it is possibly for a greater reason. Perhaps you’ve done something horribly wrong, and the moment you two step into his room that you’ll hear a mouthful.

However when he closes the door to his room, your hand immediately drops from his embrace and he turns to face you. There is a darkness in his eyes, one that light cannot touch, and his lips are tight in a line.

There is an eerie silence that fills the dark room and the murky windows paint the area an ominous green. Doyoung focuses on your confused, yet adorable expression. “Why did you lie to me?”

The door catches your slight stumble and you’re blinking cluelessly at him. “About what?”

“Jaehyun.” He breathes the name in spite and aggressively loosens his tie. “He didn’t blow you off. You rejected him and he’s telling everyone it's because you’re in love with someone else.”

You scorn at such a ridiculous rumor and for the fact that it’s even made its way around to Doyoung. Another realization hits you. All it took for him to approach you in public is a meaningless rumor.

So in response, you laugh and it mocks him further. “This is not a laughing matter, y/n.”

“I’m sorry, but why are you so upset at that? Fine. I did lie to you, but I never told Jaehyun I was in love with anyone else.”

“Are you in love with someone else?” Doyoung says with balled fists at his side. There is a mixture of anger and sadness running through his veins and he’s so sick of feeling this way.

Your hesitation speaks for you, “It’s better that you don’t know.”

“You say this every time and it does nothing to ease my conscience.” Doyoung throws his hands in the air and stares at you with sharp eyes. “Is that why you were afraid that my emblem wouldn’t show up? Because your heart belongs to another. Yeah, I heard Jaehyun wanted to mark you too.”

Men and their constant want to prove something to themselves with their marks. Everyone has a twisted reality of markings now. There have been many others who have tried to mark you, feeling as if lust would be enough to suffice its appearance. As one's Patronus is special to their own protection, a beloved’s Patronus mark holds the same value.

You’re quite at a loss for words, “I was afraid that it wouldn’t show up, not because of myself, but because of you.”

Doyoung points at himself in disbelief. Him? He loves you more than anyone he’s ever encountered, even if you didn’t know it. “I wouldn’t have almost tried it if I wasn’t sure of myself.”

“You don’t love me, Doyoung. I don’t even know if I can even say you romantically like me.” Those words hurt the both of you and it lingers in the room for longer than you’d like.

“Do you think I fuck you meaninglessly like all those other losers you sleep with?” Doyoung steps forward, pulling you into his chest and admiring everything he’s fallen in love with. A pain spreads across his heart as he thinks of you with another person, of someone else kissing you, of someone else making you happy.

“You really don’t feel it in the way I kiss you?” He asks once more and your own stare drops to his shoulder, a bit ashamed to maintain eye contact with such pained eyes.

“And if I did? How would you explain that? That you are actually in love with me?” Your questions pelt him like rocks. As he pushes you on his bed, you pull him down with his tie.

Doyoung drinks you up like fresh water, a crisp and refreshing love that encourages him to reach heights. His hand cups your face and his feather touches reminds you of his gentleness. Your lips taste like sweet honey, dripping and coating him with a sticky sugar.

He’s happier with you and he’s the happiest kissing you. Perhaps, it’s hard for him to express with words, but he’d always hope his actions speak louder. So, his lips press against yours with a whirl of passion and every good feeling that grows in his chest.

The collar of his shirt is wrinkled in your fist and you’re holding him as if you’re afraid of him letting go. Doyoung runs a hand down your torso and lifts the end of your skirt up. A warm hand pushes your legs apart and a finger presses your clit through your cotton panties.

Your mouth opens into a moan and he takes this opportunity to shove his long tongue inside, lapping with your own. As a wet spot forms on your panties, he pulls them to the side and gathers the slick to gently rub your erect clit. His name is lost and muffled in the kiss, but you tap at his chest.

When he breaks away and halts all movement, he looks down over you with a fire burning in his dark orbs. And a confession falls from his swollen lips, “may I mark you?”

“And if it doesn’t show up?” Though, you’re wishing to the most powerful wizards that it does or else your heart would shatter into a million pieces beyond repair.

He bites his lip and every possible outcome scatters his thoughts. It’s too hard to concentrate, so he doesn’t at all. He focuses on your pretty lips and the way you look at him like he’s the only person that matters. “Then, we’ll deal with the consequences later.”

With your quick nod, Doyoung attaches his lips to your neck and harshly sucks at your skin. For the most part, it’s a pleasurable feeling and sends a shiver down your spine. So, he licks and nibbles until he can barely breathe. Your faint scent of patchouli and ginger intoxicates him, wraps him up in a fuzzy coziness that is unmatched.

Your hands unbutton his shirt and a final gentle bite seals his mark. If the love is reciprocated, the emblem would take a moment to form. Doyoung is rather hopeful and excited, as he’s never seen his Patronus before. “You look beautiful.”

“And you look dazed as if someone charmed you.” You giggle and kiss his red lips.

“You’re quite the powerful one, my Puff.” He smiles against your jaw before proceeding to your mess down below. He gives your aching clit a few licks, which cause your body to twist and turn at the sensitive sensation.

“Please, I haven’t felt you in so long.” Whining and tugging at his hair, Doyoung leaves a lasting kiss and gets up to remove his pants.

“Did you miss me?” Doyoung raises a suggestive eyebrow and cocks his head to the side in mockery, a smirk growing on his face.

You reply with a silly response that only he knows and causes him to chuckle, “unfortunately.” And he’s finding every way not to confess his endearments for you.

His dick stands tall and proud against his abdomen, giving it a few jerks as he watches you strip out of your own clothes. You turn around and sit on your knees, with a slight tilt forward and the arch in your back to accentuate your ass.

Doyoung rolls on the protection as quickly as he can. His hands lightly smack your cheeks and slowly enters your dripping hole. His hands grip your hips as he slides deeper into you, both being moaning messes at the delicious feeling.

“Have you always been this big?” You look back at him and to which he devilishly smiles at you.

“You know just the way to fuel my ego,” when his length is fully buried inside of your tight walls, he wraps an arm around your waist and a hand on your tit. “After all the times you’ve been fucked, your pussy is still as tight as ever.”

Doyoung slams hard into you, showing no mercy and causing you to jolt up. He takes every frustration, every feeling of anger, every ounce of jealousy into his thrusts. “But you take me so well, darling. I’ve never seen someone as pretty as you.”

His compliments cause your heart to soar, despite the soreness you’re beginning to feel in your pussy. He’s relentless, bottoming out until his tip is practically in your guts. “Just like that, baby. You’re the only one who fucks me this good.”

He blushes under the low light and leans forward to kiss the top of your head. “My Puff, you’re so sweet to me.” The loud squelch of your tight pussy gripping his dick fills the hot room, “and so wet.”

You’re shamelessly dripping on his green velvet blanket and Doyoung picks up his speed. Your knees give out as you fall face forward into the mattress, hands in fists from the incredible pleasure of every hit. Your ass now in his full view and every tingle of magic lights up in his veins.

Your throat is raw from screaming and moaning, Doyoung holds your hips steady to thrust into a new angle. Automatically, your body twitches as his tip hits your special spot and he’s well aware that you’re close to releasing.

And with his fast thrusts, he asks you an intimate question that is fueled by envy and rage. “If I fuck you the best, then why do you sleep with other men?”

There are no thoughts in your mind to even give him a white lie, to mask the truth of your actions. He’s fucking you into an oblivion that it’s hard to even focus on anything besides pleasure. The books on his shelf begin to tremble as you’re crying out, “I- I don’t know! Fuck, please… ! I’m tipping over.”

“Answer the question or I will stop.” He’s absolutely cynical and you have every reason to believe his threat. Doyoung lifts your limp body upright, against his torso and an arm secured around your middle as before. His hand snakes to your clit, rubbing feathering circles over the neglected bud.

Nonetheless, his single action paired with his tip grazing harshly against the particular spot causes your legs to tremble. “Do you want me to stop?” His threat rings in your ears when you still left him without an answer.

You’re so close, you’re starting to see white. So, you say what your heart tells you and the truth falls from your lips in a loud confession. “Because I wanted you to love me instead! I fucked them to forget about my love for you… fuck, I’m--”

“I’ve got you. Let go of yourself, baby.” Doyoung slows his hips when your walls squeeze around him sporadically. Every book flies out and hits the opposite wall, clattering the floor with heavy academia. However, he repeats your proclamation endlessly in his mind and his heart surges with the most intense romantic desires.

“I do love you, y/n.” He whispers, cumming into his rubber and simply holding you tightly. He lets go of every prideful arrogance in his body, tossing the lame reputation he always tried to hold onto. He didn’t need that if it meant losing you. Doyoung chuckles to himself for being an obvious cliché, announcing one’s love in the midst of a lustful act. He pulls out and gently tucks you into the covers.

Breathless, you’re finally realizing his confession. “You do? Are you sure?” Any subtle movements has your aching lower half in pain, so you settle with resting on his plush pillows and await for him to join you in bed.

All this time, from beginning to now, you’ve been oblivious to his yearning looks across the Great Hall. The intensity of his kisses had been lost upon you completely as you had convinced yourself that he was incompatibly of loving you back. Even now, as you lay in slight doubt, you’re wondering how you managed to have everything fly over your head. 

When he discards his used protection and with a quick flick of his wrist, every book finds its original place on the shelf again, he enters the warm covers. Your arms wrap around his neck and you’re admiring each other’s expressions in the low light. He spots the notable twinkle in your eyes and his thumb lightly rubs your cheek.

“If the symbol of my Patronus doesn’t show, I promise to love you harder until it does.” Doyoung leaves the softest, most loving kiss on your lips. He’s more than thankful for the lack of light as he’s bashfully red all over his cheeks.

“Usually, people just give up.” Your voice is harsh, possibly from the deafening screaming of pleasure prior.

Doyoung shakes his head. He’s made too many mistakes in this relationship with you. Sleeping with another. Ignoring your existence. Being too prideful to be seen with another house. All these incidents have made him feel nothing but ugliness and distraught, and pushed you away further than how much he is able to pull you back.

He loves you. He’s in love with you. He’s fallen for you recklessly as you did off your broom the first encounter. You’re everything he’s never been and never will be, yet you don’t care. You’re by his side, despite his spitefulness and you never miss a beat. That innocent youth approach to love, oh how he wishes it never faded, and though he thought it did, it didn’t. You remain true to your character when he fights with himself internally.

“That would be a mistake and I can’t afford to keep making them.” A glossy sheen over Doyoung’s regretful eyes, but you pull him closer and you refuse to let his eyes wander.

A tired harmless sigh escapes your lips and a dreamy haze overcomes you. Besides the reminder of needing to use the bathroom flashing in your mind, there is nothing else you want to dissect. Feelings are too complex to discuss at the moment and the resolve has already passed.

Regardless of the marks appearing, you’re content with the night and for the rest of your days. Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, loves you back and the power of that alone beats any spell in those dusty old textbooks.

“Why can’t we lay here forever?” Your heavy eyelids fall slowly and your voice grows small.

Doyoung kisses your shoulder, then your neck. “That’s impossible. I can’t give you forever.” He mumbles against your skin, sending vibrations across your throat.

“You are my forever.” Doyoung halts and is left speechless as a white glowing entity catches his eye. And the absolute perfect outline of his Patronus sits underneath your jaw, brightly shining with iridescent brilliance --- he makes out the outline: a White Swan, representing his love for you. Doyoung smiles to himself and hopes for it to never fade. Perhaps, he can give you forever.

some fun critical questions to think about hehe -

why do you think y/n lied to doyoung about jaehyun confessing? why do you think yuta helped y/n enter the Slytherin dormitories? what is the meaning behind the White Swan Patronus? Why do you think y/n continued to like doyoung after all this time?

there are no right or wrong answers, just something fun to have you thinking a little more about the fic haha if you want, you can send me an ask about it :) but overall, no pressure and thank you for reading! please leave me some feedback if you can! happy new year!

READ NEXT PART

[ventisehe]

crying on their wedding day / genshin impact / part one

this was a request from my old account and i am only transferring it here. there is a part two to this but i got busy with school and organizing my new account, as well as thinking over deleting my old account.

since bennett is fifteen or sixteen, his part will be a little different from the others. with aether, he is hundred years old so his part if just like the rest. this is unedited and i wrote it at night when i was supposed to be farming so please bear with me hehe.

requested by: @bakuhoe-is-my-bakubro

includes: diluc, zhongli, childe/tartaglia, aether, bennett

warning: unedited, not proofread

part two

THOSE WHO WOULD SHED A SINGLE TEAR

     DILUC

       After losing his father and his horrible fall out with Kaeya, Diluc has become a firm believer that a man can truly live as an island, to some extent. As much as possible, he kept to himself and worked alone. Having people share his burdens with him did not appeal to him. In fact, it miffed him, as it made him feel indebted to them.

          He limited his interaction with everyone, especially those who are part of the Knights of Favonius, favoring solitude above else. But of course, this did not entail bad social ethics to others.

    He treated his maids and employees with civility and respect, the same can be said with his patrons whenever he worked behind the counter (it would certainly be bad for his business if he behaved aloof to them) and those he was once close friends with. He always behaved appropriately to them, although he must admit he can be quite insulting to the Knight, he always stood behind an invisible barrier, careful not to cross it and grow attached to anyone.

        He has long given up with amorous relationships. After all, what good would he be as a lover if he could not provide his woman the love and care she deserved? Surely, he cannot let a maiden suffer with his inadequacy as a potential husband. He is aware of how hectic his schedule is (he hardly has enough time for himself so spending time with his lover would be proven difficult) and how poorly he expresses his feelings, thoughts, and emotions. In a relationship, in marriage, communication is the key for it to be successful, and already then, he has failed. He may be a cold man at first glance, but he will not put a woman in s distressing dilemma, not intentionally anyway.

                    Being the richest man in Mondstadt and being considered attractive by many, Diluc was not foreign to having women throw themselves at him, attempting to seduce him. If maintaining a relationship with a woman with his current tribulations was hard, finding a woman who truly love and understand him was even harder. He has no means of deciphering who were pure with their intentions and those who sought him for his money and influence.

     And he accepted his fate without easily, without question. This was the way it was supposed to be in the first place. Diluc Ragnvindr - a lone man, who lived in too big mansion, sleeping on a bed too big for him. It was all he knew. The bright days of his childhood long forgotten.

    But then you came to his life so suddenly.

                          "Master Diluc," Began Jean, a polite smile over her lips. "This is ( Your Name )".

              All it took was for you to give him shy smile to have his walls broken down, and for his heart to yearn for what he has resolutely denied himself of for years. And it twisted him, and not in a way he welcomed.

          Diluc tried so damn hard to push you away. He avoided your presence, and made it his point to show you he wanted nothing to do with you, and made no attempt to cover it and ignored how his heart broke every time your smile fell. He resolutely refused to yield to your sincere advances.

                                     He treated you the same way be treated everyone, to show you how you were no different from everyone. You were just another dot in his life waiting to be erased and thrown in the back of his mind.

                                                       But the harder he pushed, the harder you pulled. In his brightest days and in his darkest days, you have never strayed far and welcomed him with open arms. You always went out of your way for him.

          It was hard not to fall in love with you? Why did you have to make things so difficult?

                        It wasn't too long until he was falling asleep in his bed with you in his embrace, his heart feeling light, warm and content. He hasn't feel like this in a long time - safe, and at home. Diluc found home from someone he tried to push away.

                                      The horror of what could have happened if he had been successful weighed down on him, and it took quite an assurance from you to make him remember that he has failed, and you were his, as he was yours.

                          Back then, he thought your persistence was bothersome. But as he stood at the altar right now, watching you enter with your white wedding dress, he was grateful you never gave up on him.

Diluc cannot describe how beautiful you looked as you graced everyone in the place with your presence.

Your eyes locked with him, and his heart soared in his chest. And when you smiled at him, an excited gleam in your eyes - he cannot help but smile back.

Time cannot be any slower, and the aisle cannot be any longer. And have you always walked this slow? Or were you just teasing him?

Diluc's breath hitched - Perhaps you knew how much he wanted to get this over with so he can have you all to himself in the comfort of his room.

And when he saw you smiling mischievously at him, he knew that he was right.

His words failed to describe how beautiful you looked. His words failed the joy he was feeling. May Barbatos have mercy on him

But the tear that escaped the corner of his eye explained everything.

"Oh, what is this?" His best man whispered beside him, a teasing tone lacing his voice. "Master Diluc is crying. Why, I never thought I'd see the day."

Diluc shot him a glare. "Do not make me regret making you my best man, Kaeya."

Kaeya laughed. "Ah, ah, ah," He chimed. "Your wife won't be pleased if we fight at your wedding day."

A warm and pleasant feeling coursed through him. His wife.

"She's not my wife yet." Said Diluc.

Kaeya looked at you as you walked down the aisle. "And in just a few minutes, I'll have two Ragnvindr to annoy." He patted his brother on the back, smiling a genuine smile for the first time. "Congratulations, Diluc."

     ZHONGLI

       Zhongli, or Rex Lapis for that time, has watched over Teyvat for thousands of years and has witnessed firsthand how kings and tyrants rose and fell, how kingdoms were born, how camaraderie are conducted, how romance makes a man foolish and blinded, how society flourished in the hands of mortals as Archons guarded them from their resting place, and throughout the tales of humans, his eyes has laid upon many beauties.

                   But you? Oh, even the most esteemed bard of all realms could never bring the satisfactory glory to your name and pulchritude.

            How dearly Zhongli missed the unspeakable power, money and authority he had back before he revoked his own position as a deity, keeping a close eye over Liyue and his people. But if ever presented with the opportunity to return to his rightful place as part of the Seven, he shall graciously decline, casting his gaze away and simply returning to your side.

                               After all, what benefit would he gain from it when he already has his heart is content in the possession of a mere mortal, a mortal he loved and adored. He would dream of ever choosing his old power over you, and that can be affirmed when he asked for your hand as the two of you took an evening stroll outside Liyue.

                 He has fallen for you and he cannot rise again. A gentle and kind woman with an understanding and patience which knows no bounds. If not for his revelation that he has accomplished all his duties and has come to decide to resign from his reign, your existence may be another reason for him to take the form or a mortal and ask for your hand.

                      He can still recall that faithful day when he first met you at the harbor. He stood by a high balcony, overlooking Liyue Harbor with arms crossed. The sun beat down against Liyue grounds and his skin, but it also casted an ethereal glow on you as you exited one of the ships that stopoed at the docks. And may he boldly say the sun was outshined that day, and his heart has been taken.

                                         Zhongli can only imagine how many men has chased after you, but failed to woo you.

                   Zhongli understood the concept of love. After all, Liyue and every living being that sought shelter in its walls were close to his heart, but never in his life has he felt the way he felt for you. It was the sort of phenomena he observed between lovers for centuries - unconditional love and care, a sanctuary in the arms of their beloved, an individual to trust and come home to whether the day has been kind or unkind.

           What he thought were trivial matters and the means of mortals for survival he has tasted its sweet flavor, and it was by your hand did he receive it. And he was thankful that you have found him worthy of being with you, and soon, being one with him in the contract of marriage.

And thus came the faithful day, the very day he longed to come ever since you have accepted him as your husband to be, and the day you have dreamt of every night you laid with him.

Zhongli counted the months, weeks, days, and if he had the ability to, minutes until the day of your wedding. He has a calendar in his room and everyday, he enthusiastically crossed out every passing day, watching as his wedding with you grow closer.

And when it finally arrived, Zhongli followed a meticulous routine to prepare himself, using expensive oils and perfume to which the Fatui money has provided splendidly. After all, he wanted to look the best he can for you. You deserved only the best of things, and he shall not hold back on anything to please you.

Though Zhongli, most of the time, was a calm man even under the eye of tribulations, when he stood at the altar in front of his close friends and colleagues, he can't help but feel anxious.

Of course he has no doubt in your love for him. He holds on your every word of love and affection as true, and his love for you was as hard as stone. Rather, it was he who doubted himself and his capabilities.

He wondered if he would be able to take care of you, love you the way you should be, bring a smile to your lips, and a laugh out of your mouth. If he had been Rex Lapis still, he would have easily uphold his duties as your husband. After all, what can an Archon not do?

It would be Childe, his best man, who would console him. He would tell Zhongli he is more than capable to care for you. He has a stable job (not to mention his connection with the Fatui), he was eager to please you and give you about everything if he can, he has a kind heart, he was a man who can manage his time wisely and never choose his profession over you, and above all, he loved you. Not many men can afford the luxury of being this perfect, but Zhongli was no man, not originally at least.

He will be unconvinced of what Childe has said. This unease in him was hard to diminish. Not being enough for you will tear him apart. The thought of it just gnawed at him. Will he make you happy? Will you regret marrying him when you realized life married to him wasn't as you expected?

It was only when the doors opened, and his wide and anticipative eyes darted over to the other end of the place did every little doubt in his mind is erased.

You stood by the entrance wearing the white dress you have fought hard not to show him until this day.

That bright smile on your face, those eyes that shimmered at the sight of him, the faint red on your cheeks - Zhongli did not even notice how love stricken he looked, and nor did he notice a tear cascade from corner of eye.

It was only when Childe stifled a laugh and pointed it out did he feel the dampness at the side of his face.

He forgot how to breathe when you finally stood before him. Even a veil cannot conceal your beauty.

With twinkling eyes, you smiled at him - like he was the only person in the room.

"Are you crying?" You ask playfully.

Zhongli will let out a chuckle, and as he take your hands in his, he said, "In such a beautiful day like this with the loveliest lady in Teyvat before me, how can I not?"

Indeed it was a beautiful day, made better when your lips met his.

He can't stop a few more tears from slipping.

THOSE WHO WOULD BAWL THEIR EYES OUT

     CHILDE/TARTAGLIA

                 Childe understood his duties as a Harbinger even if his playful and flirtatious facade may say otherwise. He kissed hands of women and paid them golden compliments until their mind went hazy with his feigned affection, but he was still a Fatui at the end of the day - a ruthless and greedy scoundrel who had too much Mora in his hands.

              And it was because of his line of work that he decided never to commit himself. If he was to find himself infatuated with a woman and she reciprocated his feelings and desired to pursue a relationship with him, it would inevitably drag her to the dangers entailed to his position.

                                       The last thing he wanted was someone to dear to him to be harmed, not to mention his lover could become his weakness, she could be taken by his enemies and be used against him, thus, making things more complicated and harder for him to fulfill his duties to the Tsaritsa.

             To him, nothing is more important than seeing through his mission with the finest quality of work he can give.

                   So damn you for coming into his life and distracting him. Damn you for bringing another bright to his life. Damn you for taking care of his family when he was gone. Just - damn you for making him fall for you.

      He hated this - the feeling of being weak, of being vulnerable, of laying his guard down. One touch from you and he's no better than the people he despised for being so frail and powerless.

                                              How ever do you possess this prowess to make him so dependent on you, to relish in your voice when you sing to him as the two of you laid together in his bed, how he let his defenses crumble when you whisper his name, the tug of his heart when you he sees you getting along so well with his family.

                          Childe wanted you. He wanted you more than anything and anyone in Teyvat. He was going crazy thinking about you.

             He refused to acknowledge his feelings at first, thinking perhaps he can use you to comfort him and his family in these troubling times. That's all you were supposed to be, a tool for him to make his family feel better whenever he goes off to accomplish his work as a Harbinger.

                              But he couldn't stomach the thought of using you like that. He didn't want you to treat like a toy. And it did not help that one day, when he was returning from a mission, you come rushing to him and blurting out your feelings and your worry for his safety.

               You loved him. Did he hear you right? You love a Fatui, and a Harbinger, no less. Surely, you aren't that stupid to fall for him.

     And yet he smiled a sincere smile at your confession, and he too followed your steps. That night, he was at his weakest. Just relishing in your arms and ridding all the responsibilities over his shoulders. He can forget all his faults for a moment, with you. A peace of mind and heart was found in you.

     Childe watched as you played with his fingers, and then he spoke. “Aren’t you afraid?”

       You hummed. “Afraid? Of what?”

                   Childe shook his head and held your hand which toyed with his digits. You looked up at him, puzzled.

              “Of me.” Said Childe, pulling your hand and holding it close to his chest. He closed his eyes, almost terrified of what your answer can be. “Of what I can bring to your life. I’m a Harbinger, [ Your Name ]. Your life is at stake just being with me. Do you know what you’re in for for loving me?”

                        You gazed at him, and he can’t see anything in your eyes. He let out a small gasp when you leaned in and kissed his cheek.

            “I’m not afraid of you or anything this world can throw at me.” You confessed. “You’re going to protect me, Tartaglia. I know you will. I trust you. I love you.”

                            And fucking hell, did he protect you.

                                          He tried to hide you from his fellow Harbingers, and especially to his enemies. Not because they will use you to get the upper hand against him, a leverage. No, he wanted to hide you, as long as he can anyway (because it won't be long until his secret is out, walls do have ears), to protect you. No one will lay a hand or even get a single strand of your hair. May the Archons have mercy on anyone who dares put you in the middle of the dangers of his job, because he surely won't.

Because of this, you and Childe decided to get married in secret, with no one else but Zhongli, the traveler, and their floating companion to be your witnesses in becoming one. The two of you knew well of the consequences your decision shall birth, but it's the one you're making. Nothing in this can stop Childe from making you his wife, and treating you as such.

Childe could not wait for the ceremony to begin. Even with such a small crowd - very small indeed - he did not hold back to make this day special for you. The finest of everything is what you deserved, and if he could give more, he would. But for now, all he can give you is himself, and he dearly wished he was enough.

The whole time, as he waited for you to emerge from the doors of the small cathedral the two of you chose to be wed in, he kept imagining how his life would be like with you.

Waking up beside you was the thing he looked forward to the most. When the sunrays peeked from closed curtains and cascaded down your slumbering form, a gentle and even breaths leaving your lips, a soft expression of rest - the thought of it filled his heart with warmth, a kind of warmth only you can evoke from him.

Waking up at your side on his bed always reminded him thst you were indeed there, and his. Soon, he'll be waking up beside you with a soft smile on his lips, a reminder that you were there, but now as his wife.

Childe never really considered him emotional. It was part of his discipline as a Harbinger never to let his emotions get the better of him. But when you stepped into the cathedral wearing the wedding dress you personally chose and had hidden from him for so long, a veil over your face but the soft smile still just as bright as the morning sun, it all came crashing down to him.

Childe wanted a lot of things in life. But what he wanted the most was to spend the rest of his life with you - providing for you, protecting you, comforting you, falling deeper in love with your every single day. All this he will do until his dying breath, and he knew you'd do the same.

His dream was walking towards him, never taking her eye off him as she approached the altar.

He can hear Paimon clapping and the Traveler reprimanding her for being a little too loud. He can hear Zhongli saying something to him but he couldn't understand a word he said. But he was too lost in his realization that you're going to marry him.

You chose him, a man with too many faults and imperfections.

Just as you arrived at the small steps leading towards the altar, the tears Childe has been trying to hold back streamed down his face, small hiccups escaping his lips.

You stared at him, worried. "Tartaglia, are you alright?"

Childe would try to formulate an answer but through his tears and hiccups, he couldn't make a single comprehensible word. His posture was regal and proper, as though he was trying to fool everyone that he wasn't crying.

How can you ask if he was alright? How can his heart handle how beautiful you looked right now?

"Excuse me, ( Your Name )," Zhongli interjected as he stepped beside Childe. "It seems that your soon to be husband needs a moment to collect himself. Please, excuse us."

Zhongli led Childe back to his room, and the Harbinger did not fight back. He was still crying even when the doors has closed behind him. Zhongli stood by the door, watching the Fatui sit on his bed, trying to stop himself from bawling.

Childe can feel guilt crawling up to him as he realized what he had done. What was supposed to the most perfect day, your most perfect day, was ruined because of him.

He was scared to think what you thought of him now. Were you resenting him for what happened? Did you still wish to marry him?

If only he had controlled his emotions much better. He shouldn't have let his joy break through him in tears.

"She was crying too, you know," Spoke Zhongli.

Childe raised his head to look at the former Archon. "Huh?"

"Your bride, she - " He smiled at him. " - she was crying too. She's happy to be marrying you."

Childe can feel his heart hammering against his chest in delight at what he said.

"So don't keep her waiting."

Childe bawled his eyes out once more when the words - "I do," - left your lips.

     AETHER

                 When his sister was taken from him, Aether was a lost and wandering soul in Teyvat with the sole purpose of finding her.

              Throughout his journey, he met different people from different regions. He learned their values and cultures, he grew to love the world he used to be a stranger to, he was able to utilize different sorts of Visions, and yet, despite all of this, Aether was lonely. Paimon - bless her pure soul - tried her best to keep his spirits and bring a smile to his face (he assumed she too felt the hollowness inside of him) but it was all futile as he often find himself seeking solitude and gazing out in an open field wondering where his twin could be and how she was fairing on her own.

                He will let the cool breeze comfort him, but all it left was a searing kiss of reality that his search might have been all for naught. That very concept his mind was conjured haunted him in his every waking days. Is he still journeying through Teyvat and reaching out to all Archons with a solid purpose? Was he no wasting his time looking high and low for someone who could not be looking at the sky as he?

                     "And what if she is?"

                                     Your words is what got his attention. Aether met you in the evening when the stars and the moon was absent from the skies. He sat on a fallen log overlooking the city of Mondstadt, alone and cold. Paimon has insisted in him accompanying him, but he had snuck away before she can chase after him. He needed to be alone with his thoughts, and with the scarce time he has for himself, he has to make the most of every night that comes.

                 Lumine was in his mind, and worry was gnashing its teeth at him. He was deep in his own world, sinking to the hands of his tragic thoughts, that he did not hear footsteps trekking the hillock he was at. Nor did he realize he was speaking his own worries in the air, eyes distant and staring blankly at nothing.

       "What if she's not even looking for me?" That's what he remembered saying that time.

                                       Then you made your presence known with an answer that refuted his initial thought. He whirled his head to the side, wide eyes with surprise. You stood next to him with a faint smile, hands behind your back and the moon slowly peeking from the shroud of clouds. A light in the darkness, the moon was. And so you were you to him.

                "Sorry," You apologized, sheepishly giving him a smile as you rubbed the back of your neck. "I didn't mean to interrupt. You were speaking out loud and-and I just had a feeling I needed to say something." You took in a deep breath, and Aether found the pink dusting your cheeks adorable. "I . . . I'll just go now - "

              Aether didn't regret asking you to stay.

                                   Before you came to his life, Aether did not know how much he was dwelling in the own hell he made. His inner tribulations, his worries, his insecurities - he only took notice the torture he was putting on himself when you keep saving him from his own mind.

                   At first, all he thought of you was a precious friend - someone he leaned on and entrusted with everything, whether it be secrets or help with his quests. He told you about his past, his twin, how exactly he was different from the people of Teyvat, how he and sister fought an unknown god, how she slipped from his fingers when he reached out for her, how much he wanted her back. He was terrified of what you may think of him when he told you these things, but to his surprise, all you did was wrap him in your arms and comforted him.

                                      Along with Paimon, you were his dearest friend.

             But as time passed, the longer you accompany him and Paimon in his travels, he noticed something strange. The way his heart skipped a beat when you smile at him, how he can't keep his eyes off you when you laugh at one of his tales, how his heart hammered ceaselessly when you press a chaste kiss on his cheek, the relief that seeps in his system when he sees you unscathed from a battle, how irritated he becomes when someone makes an offense against you, the joy that seizes him when he listens to you talking about something you loved, and how much he adored it when you scold him for being a little too reckless in fighting.

                           Aether, despite being older than he seems, did not know what to make of what he was feeling. It was strange, a good kind of strange - the kind of feeling that makes him feel like he was floating in the sky. All he thought of it was an overwhelming adoration for a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

                  It wasn't until Paimon pointed it out did he realize what he was feeling for you.

                                           Upon learning his feelings for you, Aether couldn't sleep for many nights. He was plagued with the desires of his heart and his insecurities. It was like falling back to the same hellish pattern before you came along.

              He was in this world for one reason only - to find his twin. And when he does - and he fucking will - he will depart from here with her and continue their travels. Leaving you was the last thing he wanted. He couldn't bear the thought of it. It felt like leaving a piece of him behind in Teyvat, a hole in the shape of your name.

                            The solution he had for this is directly confessing to you. Of course, the blond was a nervous wreck when he approached you and asked for a moment of your time. Paimon knew of his plan and wandered away for the time being, wanting to give the two of your privacy.

              If you did not share the same feelings as he, he can already imagine the pain he will have to deal with, but it'll be much easier to leave. At least then he knows you won't be as hurt as he thought once he takes his leave. He never entertained the idea of you reciprocating his feelings. It would be foolish to - surely you can't find anything appealing with someone like him ; to which you rendered him speechless and a bumbling mess when you pressed your lips against his when he was in the middle of his confession.

                                 Aether shouldn't be this happy with you. He loved you too much to see you hurt when he tells you that he must leave. He was not welcome in this world, he was an outsider, a being not under the authority or influence of any Archons.

     But still, he spent months loving you, caring for you, doing anything to come back to you no matter what is thrown at him. He loved having you in his arms when you slept, he loved watching the stars with you at night, he loved you even with the inevitable arguments you two have - Aether was utterly and hopeless in love with you.

                     And thus, he decided to tell you what will happen after he finds his sister.

                      He knew he would be heart broken in seeing you cry, but it hurt more to see you smile at to him so genuinely and embraced him, saying, "You used to doubt you'll ever find your sister. It broke my heart everyday seeing you so hopeless, and I - " You composed yourself, shaking your head as your tried to gather your thoughts. " - now look at you," You cupped his cheek, the corners of your eyes wrinkling as your smile broadened. "I always knew the day will come when you have to leave me. When you told me you weren't from this world, I knew then I'll have to let go of you someday. But until that day comes - Aether - "

               What a shock it came to him when you got down on one knee and presented to him a glittering ring - there was unconditional love and hope in your eyes. It was like looking back at his reflection. "Marry me, Aether, let me make you happy for the rest of the days we still have remaining until you leave."

                                   Aether can never say no to you.

To his surprise, Master Diluc has already agreed to host your wedding at Dawn Winery. Aether was puzzled as to why he seemed unsurprised by the news of his engagement with you, and the Claymore wielding male answered, "( Your Name ) came to me for help when she planned to propose to you."

Aether knew Diluc, as much as possible, wanted to be alone. A lone wolf, he was. But with gratitude for what he has done, he asked him to be his best man. Diluc was startled by this requests but obliged. The red head might not show it but he was immensely flattered by Aether asking him to be his best now (and now time to subtly show it off to Kaeya).

At the day of the wedding, contrary to what he thought he would feel, Aether woke up with his an ache in his chest. He found himself looking out the window of his room, torn between his happiness and sorrow.

In a few hours, Aether will be able to adorn a ring on your finger, symbolizing your promises with one another. He shall be granted the sole blessing of calling your his wife. It was something he was looking forward to - seeing you in your wedding dress, watching as you walk down the aisle -

But Aether's mind kept drifting back to his sister - She would have wanted to be here. He thought.

Aether felt like he was committing a crime when he decided to take a walk just hours before his wedding. But he needed to clear his mind. Lumine never left his mind. He always thought that they would always be there for one another, or at least in big moments like this.

And yet she was still nowhere to be seen.

Is she still alive? Have I been wasting time? Is she still in danger? Is she lost in Teyvat as well?

"Didn't expect to run into you here."

His body tensed when he heard your voice, and he twirled around only to have his breath taken away.

You stood before him in the white dress he had longed to see ever since you proposed to him. He thought he would see a frown on your face, dismayed for his impromptu walk, but you wore a soft smile - a soft and understanding smile.

Aether did know what to say to you. He just stared at you, overwhelmed.

He opened his mouth to speak but he couldn't say anything. His shoulders slumped, and he sighed.

You approached him and kissed his cheek. He hummed in delight, eyes closing. "I hope you're not having second thoughts on marrying me." You told him.

Aether was quick to respond. He took your hand in his and kissed your knuckles. He looked into your eyes with affirming hues, "There is nothing I'm more sure of than marrying you."

You beamed at him. Seeing your face brighten up is always a beautiful sight for Aether, and it was enough for him to feel enlightened in the midst of his internal crisis.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Of course you can already tell something is bothering him. Aether shook his head. He has already ruined a small part of what is supposed to be a perfect day, he can't risk another mistake.

"I'm not going to push you to tell me anything." You stated.

Aether smiled. "Thank you." He replied. He gazed at you for a little while, taking you in. "Why are you out here anyway? And in your wedding dress too."

Your eyes widened and you looked down to assess his evaluation. "Oh Archons," You mewled. "I forgot I was wearing this." You let out a groan. "Great, now my surprise is ruined. I won't be able to see you cry when you see me walk down the aisle."

He laughed a little. "But still happy as ever to see you." He said. "So why are you outside?"

"Just . . . " You began, and Aether can detect a hint of nervousness in your voice. " . . . picking some flowers."

"I thought we already ordered flowers." Aether thought, frowning. "Did someone forget to deliver the flowers? I can call someone if - "

"No, I just wanted to pick some flowers, randomly. Like how you wanted to take a walk, randomly."

He looked at you with hesitant eyes. He didn't believe you. There was something hidden behind your motive to be out here. But like how you didn't press him with what was the problem, he did the same for you.

"Okay," He breathed out. "What flowers did you pick then?"

Aether's breath hitched when you pulled out a bundle of Windwheel Asters and several more flowers that was all too familiar with him.

He stared at the white flowers that combined with your Windwheel Asters, the very flowers that he remembered adorned his sister's hair.

"Aether? Aether are you okay?"

He stared at you with glistening eyes, his heart blossoming with adoration and gratitude. Without even meaning to, you managed to make everything alright.

"Yeah," He smiled at you. "I'm okay."

Aether thought when he stood at the altar, he would have Diluc trying to soothe his nerves as his insecurities slowly sink in his mind. But it didn't happen. Diluc merely stood by him with a relaxed expression, glancing at him every now and then.

"You don't look nervous at all." Diluc remarked.

Aether chuckled. "This is the only decision I fully know I won't regret."

Aether felt like it was his first time seeing you in your wedding dress. His heart was filled with the brim with utmost joy, but what caught his attention was the bouquet of flowers in your hands.

You told him before that you will have roses as your bouquet, but to his surprise, he can see the Windwheel Asters and the white flowers that reminded him of his sister.

His emotions was all over the place. He had no idea how he could look so calm. Somehow he managed to hold himself together until you finally stood before him.

When you stared at him behind the veil, he couldn't take it anymore. You were too perfect. How could he be so blessed with you?

Tears sprung to his eyes when you reached out to take his hands in yours. He retracted one of them to rub his arm across his eyes, wiping away the wetness that streamed to his face.

Why am I crying like a child in my wedding? Stop it!

He couldn't.

He only cried harder when you leaned forward, removed his arm from his eyes, made him look into your vibrant hues, to give a small peck on his lips - "You're okay, Aether."

     BENNETT

                 Bennett understood his bad luck more than anyone. He had lived with and through it his entire life he graced the surface of the earth. It was almost pitiful to see the boy smiling ever so brightly as misfortune after misfortune comes hurtling his way, but to him? It was an everyday and normal occurrence, nothing he hasn't seen or experienced before. His spirits has never let their roaring flame vanish, however, and if it had not been for his bad luck, everyone would have been drawn to his warm, welcoming, affable, and cheerful soul.

                                 But just because he was used to the constant array of debacle thrown his way, doesn't mean there were never days where he won't be upset over everything it brought to his life, and others as well, and wonder how long it will take until his unluckiness will lead him back to the very situation he was rescued from when he was a mere baby.

          He forgot how long it was when he had experienced something good, miraculously so. The only time he can recall being so was when he encountered the Honorary Knight, convened with them as a temporary adventure team, and found a treasure chest containing items he has only dreamed of in his sleep deep within a domain. However, that was many moons ago, and nothing has ever compared to it ever since. The moment he departed from the Honorary Knight, his bad luck came instantly to bite him.

                 It was far too long ago. Sometimes, Bennett wondered if that would be the only good thing that can happen to him in his lifetime, and thank the Archons he was wrong because the very worst day that came upon him is a day he will never exchange for another - the day he met you. When it was raining, thunder in the distance, lightning striking trees and soil, his bruised and bleeding form hardly covered under a small and flimsy tent, you graced him with your presence, and an umbrella which you used to cover both of you.

                                    He had never stopped admiring you ever since. His eyes always followed you, wide and shining. He remembered the warmth in his chest and the redness tinting his cheeks when you brought him to your abode and treated his wounds with care gentler than the Deaconess. When he told you what happened to him, he anticipated to he shoved out of the house immediately and have your front door slammed on his face, but you did not. When he warned you about his curse, telling you how you will be affected when you spend a little too much time with him, the look of fright did not cross your visage and you even insisted that he not leave your house until you were sure he was capable of moving without pain, even if you had instantly been affected by his unluckiness (you pricked your finger quite badly when you were stitching a deep wound of his. He always felt guilty for that and has not stopped offering his apologies whenever it pricks the corner of his mind).

                   Other than the team of adventurers who had saved him from peril when he was a baby, it was difficult to find someone who will stay with him, through bad times and more of it. One cannot simply imagine and comprehend the confusion and happiness that seized him when he found out you were spending more and more time with him, not out pity but because you enjoy his company (which was weird, but he'll take it).

                              You possessed no Vision, but Bennett never saw you in an inferior light. In fact, it impressed him how you can hold yourself without the aid of any power. Enemies took a little longer to eradicate but ultimately, you were always successful. He held you in high regard, and very much like a certain blond traveler, the poor boy thought it was merely friendship and respect he felt towards you. After all, wouldn't a friend accompany him in his adventures no matter what disappointing or gratifying the outcome is? Wouldn't a friend prepare meals for him before he goes off on a solo expedition? Wouldn't a friend stay up late up waiting for him to return after? Wouldn't a friend welcome him by the entrance of Mondstadt upon his arrival? Wouldn't a friend give him butterflies in his stomach? Wouldn't a friend make his heart pound in a way

                  It had taken the Traveler and his floating companion for Bennett to learn about how exactly he was feeling for you.

           He liked you, and not in the way he liked the traveler or Razor - he liked liked you.

                               When he realized about his feelings, Bennett nearly short circuit every time you go near him. His face flush a rich color of vermillion, his confident posture stripped down to a coy and uncertain stance, his eyes darted and never meeting yours for too long, a sheepish smile painted over his brims - Bennett had never felt this way before. It was foreign to him - liking someone - and it was worse for him because you were his one of his few friends (you, Razor, the Traveler and their floating friend), and having you withdraw from him if you ever learned his feelings frightened him more than any Ruin Guard could.

    He didn't bother entertaining the idea of you returning his feelings. With his bad luck, it was bound to end in a rejection, and he didn't believe he had the heart to accept the hurt that would come.

                 Bennett tried to keep his feeling a secret, he really, genuinely, did. He locked his feelings for you in a box and stowed away somewhere behind his mind. But it didn't take you too long to catch on. Bennett's theatrics wasn't as impenetrable as he originally thought because there was no other reason for you to corner him in a street in Mondstadt after he tried to avoid crossing paths with you, and admit your feelings to him.

                                  "( Your Name )," Stuttered Bennett, eyes darting to the side to avoid your eyes as he pressed his back against the wall behind him. You gazed at him, a tint of red over your cheek.

                 Archon, how are you so adorable?

                   "Uh, hi," He greeted meekly, as he rubbed the back of his head. "I-I was just about to leave for an adventure - "

                               "Bennett," You spoke, and he froze at the tone of your voice.

                   He looked at you properly, gulping. Shy eyes, shy smile, shy, shy, shy - and yet somehow, Bennett thought the worse - that you found out about his feelings and was about to turn him down.

          He almost got down on his knees and press his hands together in a praying position, head bowed, and beg to keep your friendship. It didn't matter if you did not share his feelings. You were more important than his stupid feelings. He can deal with the hurt of rejection that will soon to come, but losing you completely? Can he even come to terms with that?

                                But before he can do such humiliating display, you leaned in and pressed a kiss on his cheek,

                  It was almost too good to be true, and with someone like him, Bennett had to take a moment to comprehend what has happened. His feelings were reciprocated, opposite of what should have been considering his dilemma. How can this be? He was sure your friendship would be put to an end when you learn about what he felt for you. How did you even know that he liked you? Has he been too obvious? Surely not (he was). Perhaps you were merely toying with him, discovering his feelings and choosing to use it as a way to alleviate your boredom -

                                           Horror struck him when he processed the message behind his doubt. How could he think so little of you? Someone as sweet and kind as you would be repulsed by the intention of the actions he thought you were presenting to him. Prideful as this may sound, Bennett believed he knew you enough to know you were sincere in everything you do.

            But even if both your feelings are revealed to be mutual, the two of you agreed to wait until a certain age before forming a romantic relationship. The two of you are young and there are a lot more the world can offer outside Mondstadt. There are countless of opportunities to grow and be mature, to be able to have a set of qualities to take of one another.

                            But that didn't mean the two of you easily managed to hold back showcasing your favor for the other. Bennett will always find himself exchanging secret glances and smile with you whenever a third party joins in on your adventure. He would stick by your side in situations he think could potentially lead you to a major injury. He will attempt (and fail, unfortunately) to whip you up with something delicious when he has free time. And you did the same to him.

                  With you, there was never a time where his heart wasn't beating against his chest. He can't stop himself from bounding recklessly through his adventures whenever you accompany him, although he will still keep a close eye on you just in case something bad happens to you (but it's always him who ends up injured).

                                              But what he liked the most are the kisses the two of you share. Short, chaste, and shy - whether it be behind closed doors, when others are looking away, or when the two of you set of on an adventure.

            Bennett would lay in his bed with a smile on his face, his thundering heart preventing him from sleeping. He'll often find himself burying his face against his pillow, grinning from ear to ear.

                         This smile was different. This wasn't smile that he usually wore, the kind of smile that persevered through hardship after another. No, it was the sort of smile that was too carefree and too full of utmost joy, no worries or doubts in his heart. Everyday he always woke up to the excitement of adventure, but now, the excitement of it and seeing you once again always had him brimming with the want for the night to be over with so he can chase after his dreams with you. Chasing his dreams with you, what a life.

      His world is full of a bad luck, but he thanked the Archons for giving him someone he can depend on in the troubling waters he always he seem to drown in.

Bennett, embarrassing it may sound, often laid on his bed imagining about marrying you.

He can see himself making a fool out of himself when he gets down on one knee and propose to you. It'll be set in the most beautiful place he discovered in one of his adventure, somewhere quiet. Like maybe on top of a mountain overseeing a vast field.

Because of his bad luck, he'll try to prepare for every outcome. To be very sure everything will be saved, he made sure he created a plan B for his plan A, a plan C for his plan B, and so on, and so forth.

He can imagine himself fumbling over his words, blushing a bright red was made prominent because of his white hair, holding a bunch of hand picked flowers a little too tightly, sweat pouring from his face, his suit and hair a little ruffled -

If you say yes (spoiler alert, you will), he will most probably go haywire with shock and happiness, causing him to drop the ring down the mountain, and the two of you will spend quite some time looking for it. But in the end, you two will find it somewhere deep underground or deep underwater (to which you will ask help to retrieve) (Bennett offered to go down to get the ring but you can’t take any chances) and then you can start planning the wedding.

If Bennett had backup plans for his proposal, then expect there'll be much more backups with your wedding. He needed this day to be perfect for you, and his bad luck won't stop him from providing it for you. Even if he had to fight through horde after horde of Hilichurls (please stop him when he does, he definitely will do that for you), making you happy is his top priority.

Bennett will be extremely anxious the day before the wedding. He'll be pacing around his room, and has half a mind of running over to your place and spending the night there to reassure himself that you still want to marry him, and that you’re absolutely sure you want to spend the rest of your life with him. It will be Razor - who the Traveler spent hours teaching the basic information of the role of Best Man to - who will calm his nerves. He’ll stop Bennett from reaching your house and carry him back to his own, and giving him a lecture (he did his best) like the best man he was.

Was he having second thoughts on marrying you? No way! He will just be nervous about how the wedding will go. With his bad luck, something horrible is bound to happen.

At the day of the wedding, Bennett can imagine himself constantly seeking reassurance from his best man.

"What if I mess up?" Questions Bennett to Razor, anxious hands fiddling with his tie.

"Messing up is . . . normal." Razor will reassure him, but Bennett will shake his head.

“But it's me. When I mess up, it's always . . . catastrophic . . . ”

Bennett hoped that at least for his wedding way, everything will go smoothly. A perfect day, for you and for him. He won't embarrass you or himself. He won't forget the rings, he won't have his clothes tucked inside out, he will not spill any food or drinks on himself or on his guests, there will be no random Hilichurl attacks - none of that.

He really hoped for the Archons to spare him from his bad luck. 

He will be able to stand by the altar with confidence and a smile, waiting for you to walk down the aisle.

As Bennett is consumed with his thoughts, his eyes drew to the small table at the side of his bed and caught sight of the picture of the two of you perched on the surface. It was a picture you took with a kamera after one of his adventures. The two of you smiling happily as he showcased the loot of vegetables and wheat he gathered in numerous luxurious chests. It was good day, that picture was. He found more resources than usual. Of course, he learned from the Traveler that most of the chest they found contained treasures but hey, vegetables are better than nothing, right?

Bennett stared at your smiling face and can feel the heat creep on his cheeks as he imagined you in a pretty, white wedding dress, smiling at him so shyly and cute - oh, Archons, help him. May them have mercy on him. Of course, you always looked pretty to him - so, so pretty - but in your wedding day? Archons, he doesn't know if he can take that. It'll be too much for his big heart.

He can only imagine how your wedding will play out, but there is one thing he was sure of and that is that he will burst into tears once he laid his eyes upon you - and not the soft cry most men do in their wedding, oh, not at all like that. His heart is too big with too much love for you, and too soft to control his emotions properly.

Bennett will cry (bawl, actually), his tears of joy coming in streams, and it was loud enough for strangers to think he was grieving over a deceased loved one. He was hiccupping and sobbing, will probably be holding on to his vest tightly as if his entire lifeline depended on the pressure of how he crumpled the fabric. He hoped that in that time, Razor or the Traveler will lend him a hand and calm him down before he can ruin his own wedding.

Bennett, as he happily imagined that fateful day to come in the future (spoilers again, it will) did not feel a tear slip from the corner of his eye as he drifted off to a pleasant slumber with a beaming smile.

The boy absolutely adores you.