#custom teacup

[a-book-scarfing-goblin]

My New Utena Teacup

[itsthebeastpeddler]

The resurrection of the Teacup Demon pup pattern is complete! I remember how to make them after a day of messing around. Now you can customize your own little tiny hellion.

For now, I'm just offering pups, but I will probably move on to the full-size demons and the full-size but munchkin-legged ones too :)

All the details are available in the listing, let me know if you have any questions!

Design your own little hellpuppy!

[bogbees]

i have not booted up my computer in three days due to work killing what little spirit i had left. my last shift was particularly bad in that i ended up crying fr frustration of not being able to hear my customers bc of my coworkers talking and getting actually angry by the noise level and blowing up at a coworker. i apologized after i cooled down but i still feel bad ab it

I don't get angry!! the last time i got angry was like a two years ago and before that, I can't think of anything!! aaaauugghhh i want to quit so bad but idk where else to go!

[printsgolpal]

[boneless-mika]

Personally I would rather somebody get really mad at me than me be responsible for their death but idk I seem to be the only (former) rollercoaster enjoyer who thinks that way

[loncinbottlefactory]

6oz Yerba Mate Double Walled 18/8 Stainless Steel Mate Tea Cup,One Bombilla Mate (Straw),MATE TÉRMICO ACERO INOXIDABLE + BOMBILLA#cups #matecup #stanleycup #matecopa #beercup #mate #tumbler #teacup #matecup #yerbamate #yerberas #materos #setmatero #mateporfavor #kleankanteen #tealover #coffeecups #tumbler #teacup #matétea #customization #coffeetime #termo #mates #wholesale #mateargentina #mateuruguay #gourdmate #wholesaledistributors #teacups #bombilla #commoditytrading #yerbatea （在 WUYI Loncin Bottle CO.,LTD） https://www.instagram.com/p/CqQbDBKIy7z/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[bigfatfurby]

strawberry milk!

strawberry milk is a 1998 dalmation furby with completely custom feet, ears, hair, and tail! i made her to sell at anime north this weekend but, um.... i'm really attached, so i might not be willing to part with her 😅 depends on the offer, i suppose!

you can come by and see me (and her) in the AN dealers room booth 312 -- i'm at the table with Teacupity, and will have stickers and charms :)

[image description: three turnaround images of a customized 1998 furby. it has been dyed pink on the bottom half and has matching pink inner ears, paws, hair, and tail. it has heart shaped pupils, pink eyelids, and long pink eyelashes. its faceplate is white with pink heart shaped freckles. several of its accessories are strawberry themed: a necklace with a pendant, dangly earrings, and a large stuffed hair clip on its head. it also has small angel wings clipped to its back. a handmade beaded necklace around its neck reads "strawberry milk". end ID]

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Can you do Zayne but we are jealous? 😭

Summary: You didn’t want to be one of those people. The type that gets jealous about someone you aren’t even dating, the type to get jealous because of a hostess of all people. But thinking about how often he must come here for her to feel comfortable calling him by name (even with the word doctor thrown in front) makes your chest tight along with the way that she looks at him like she can win him over.

And if this cake is as delicious as it looks, filled with fresh berry jam between layers of vanilla and a pretty ripe red strawberry resting on a swirled mound of white sweet cream, she might.

Pairing: Zayne x F!Reader

Content warnings: jealousy, fluff, reader is a little bit childish in this one

You didn’t want to be one of those people.

The type that gets jealous about someone you aren’t even dating, the type to get jealous because of a hostess of all people.

It’s sort of cliché, isn’t it?

The woman is just doing her job, isn’t she?

Hostesses are supposed to be polite and show courtesy to the customer. Providing exceptional and sometimes personal service is how you build a clientele, even a hunter like you knows how important optics can be.

Sometimes that might mean touching a shoulder.

Sometimes that might mean offering a suspiciously large piece of strawberry cake on the house to a customer’s table.

The overgenerous portion of cake is simply for the two of you to share. That’s all.

“I’ll give you time to look over the menu. Please let me know if you need anything,” the hostess says, and you think longer about the way her eyes linger on Zayne than you would like.

Zayne seems uncharacteristically fine with the treatment but you’re not. You aren’t happy about how the hostess—owner? — knows him by name. Thinking about how often he must come here for her to feel comfortable calling him by name (even with the word doctor thrown in front) makes your chest tight along with the way that she looks at him like she can win him over.

And if this cake is as delicious as it looks, filled with fresh berry jam between layers of vanilla and a pretty ripe red strawberry resting on a swirled mound of white sweet cream, she might.

“You knew exactly which table you wanted to sit at, huh,” you comment against your better judgment after the hostess graciously drops off your mini teapot before leaving to let you look over the menu.

“I like the spot by the window.”

“You must like it here a lot to have a nesting spot picked out already,” you say with an awkward laugh. You try so hard to make it sound like a joke, biting back the insecurity and irritation in your voice. Not trusting yourself to keep a straight face, you bring the porcelain teacup up to your mouth.

“This place is a convenient distance from the hospital the food is good, and the service is fast and above standard.” His face is completely unchanged as he stirs his tea, and it somehow makes you even more frustrated as he continues, “Not to mention their strawberry cake is the best one I’ve had so far.”

With a single finger, Zayne slides the plate off to you while the small dessert fork rests in his other hand for you to take. Placing your cup down, you quickly take the fork from him, stab it into the cake, and take a bite.

The dessert barely hits your tongue before your body works up a moan. It’s creamy, not too sweet, and absolutely delicious. It’s almost enough to make you forget about your jealousy as each bite leaves you hearing the harps of angels until Zayne explains that the hostess makes all the desserts in the teahouse.

You never had the sensation of wanting to spit out a dessert until now.

“Formed your review yet?”

Sucking the last orgasmic flavor from your tongue, you place the fork back on the plate and quickly push it back in his direction.

“It’s too sweet,” you lie, and such an obvious lie because you’d ask anyone who can bake like this to marry you if given the opportunity. Upset at the thought, you place your glare on the teacup in front of you, “and the tea tastes scorched.”

Finally, Zayne picks up on your negative attitude. More accurately, he finally decides to voice the fact that he’s noticed your mood dropping ever since you sat down.

“Aren’t you the one that begged me to take you here?”

“You can’t blame me for falling victim to the hype.”

“I take it I’m “the hype” in question?”

“Well, you did keep mentioning this place.” You shrug. “It’s not a big deal. We can’t get them right all the time.”

It’s the first time you’ve seen Zayne upset at you in a while, with his eyes narrowing in your direction. “If you’re in a bad mood then we should call it a day. I’ll take you home, you obviously could use the rest.”

Scowling, you clench your hands over your thighs. You really hate it when he talks like you’re one of his rowdy patients, or worse yet, a child who needs to be laid down for an afternoon nap.

“I’m perfectly fine. In fact, I got enough energy to walk home. I’ll catch up to you later,” you reply and snatch your bag up from the seat. You place however much you think you owe for the tea on the table and hope he doesn’t follow as you walk to the entrance, pausing briefly to roll your eyes at the basic “please come again” ringing behind you.

It’s a few days before you hear from Zayne again aside from the text late the evening of your fight asking if you made it home in one piece. At the time, you were too annoyed to reply; and now that the anger subsided, you were too embarrassed to respond to him.

You feel like an asshole for getting so snippy about it in the first place.

Zayne didn’t really do anything wrong; it’s not like he was yours in the first place, but you still let your jealousy get the better of you. Now the only thing you were angry with was yourself for becoming so short-tempered with him instead of being honest about your feelings. You hated feeling like this, but anger was nothing that beating up a few wanderers couldn’t cure.

So, you throw on your work gear and head out into the city on your normal route. It offers a nice distraction to your guilty mind as you patrol the streets of Linkon for fluctuations.

There’s nothing too concerning going on. You barely manage to find a small group of low-powered wanderers on the edge of town, perfect for beating up and clearing your head before you decide to head back home.

On the way back to the apartment complex, you can see Akso Hospital, the towering blue windows on each floor waving at you from afar. Your eyes instinctively rise to the cardiac division, and it makes you think of Zayne.

“Is he in office today? Maybe I should visit him?” You take a step in the direction of the hospital then stop yourself. “What if he doesn’t want to see me right now?”

Deciding there’s no time like the present, you fetch your phone out of your pocket and click on your message thread with Zayne. As you thought, he hasn’t sent anything since that day. It makes fear spark in your heart as you hover your thumbs over the keyboard.

You’re too nervous to think of what to send.

Frowning, you stare at the screen, muddling over how to start, erasing word after word until you see three animated gray-blue bubbles appear at the bottom of your screen.

Zayne is typing.

…Zayne is typing!

It causes your mind to race frantically. “Did he see me typing? Has he been watching me type this whole time?”

Both ideas make your stomach turn as you wait for his agonizingly slow text to appear.

Are you available? My last patient canceled today. Your route is nearby if I remember correctly.

There’s a sweat-inducing pause before the last message.

If you still trust my opinion on sweets, why don’t we stop by the dessert shop together? My treat.

Your eyes widen at the offer. Zayne simply wants to take you out to eat again. You reread over his messages, zoning in on the second to last. If you still trust my opinion on sweets, why don’t we stop by the dessert shop together?

The same sickly feeling as before begins to propagate through your chest. This time it’s because you feel bad that he might somehow think your behavior a couple of days ago was his fault. Frowning, you quickly start to draft a response to meet him at the hospital. When you get to the café, you’ll apologize and treat him instead.

Sliding your phone back in your pocket, you head fast in the direction of Akso Hospital.

When you arrive, you’re not surprised to already see Zayne waiting for you by the entrance. He already traded out his uniform for his casual attire, and you briefly think about how he looks as handsome as ever in that black turtleneck.

“I was right to guess you were in the area,” he says, which is about the most standard greeting you’ve ever gotten to your surprise.

“Good evening, Dr. Zayne.”

“Are you ready to go?” he asks, and you nod, following him out to his car and making your way to the shopping district.

You’re pleasantly, or is it more correct to say awkwardly, surprised that he doesn’t bring up the incident from a few days ago on your walk through the market. However, that doesn’t stop you from thinking about it. Sighing, you suppose you should say something if only to erase the unbearable silence between the two of you.

“What am I supposed to say?”

You force a smile to muster some confidence.

“How was work?”

“Fine.”

“Been keeping yourself busy over the last few days?” you ask, delicately trying to breach the subject and where you stand with him.

“Work is always as such,” he replies, weaving his way through the crowd; his large frame creates a path for you to follow behind him and to also hide your disappointment from him. It looks like you’re back to square one as you decide it’s best to be quiet for now.

Eventually, Zayne stops and motions you to follow him to one of the street vendors. You’re still a few streets short of the café as you find yourself waiting in line with him for the sachima stall.

It’s puzzling that he’s stopping to buy more sweets when you’re already on your way to the dessert shop. Sure, Zayne had a sweet tooth, but it wasn’t that extreme. At least you thought.

“Didn’t you want to stop by that cafe?” you ask him.

Zayne shakes his head.

“No.”

He casually slides his hands in his pockets, stepping up as the line quickly begins to dwindle down. Confused, you tilt your head at him, and you notice dark hazel eyes scanning your puzzled expression.

“From what I hear, the desserts are too sweet and the tea is mediocre.”

You begin to pout at him. So, he did invite you out today because of that, not to talk about what happened but to make fun of you.

Slowly, he leans closer to you to whisper into your ear with the same smug grin he always has when teasing you. “It also happens to make an extremely jealous person I know stare daggers at the staff.”

Embarrassment claws itself into your skin, warming it as he steps forward and begins to purchase from the vendor. He pays no mind to your silence, and you question why you ever feel jealous when all he does is make fun of you. How awful to tease a woman about such a thing!

Your head droops with embarrassment as you wait off to the side for him.

When he finally steps in front of you with confectionaries in hand, you begin, “I’m sorry, Zayne. I was rude to you even though I asked you to take me, and it was childish to storm off like that.”

Instead of agreeing with you or mocking you like you thought he would, he says, “There’s no need to apologize.”

Zayne holds out the paper container of sweets at you, motioning for you to take the box from him. However, when you reach for it, he pulls it away.

"However, I still haven't quite forgiven you for not replying to my message. At least mark it with an emoji if you're too angry to respond."

You frown, remembering that you never told him if you were okay when he asked.

"I promise," you agree remorsefully, and he finally hands the package to you.

“Anyway, the problem is resolved,” he continues. He reaches into the package in your hand, pulls out one of the sweets, and holds the confectionary to your mouth. “So, we shouldn't have a repeat incident.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, waiting for him to finish off his snack, which is easy when he’s big enough to shove the whole thing in his mouth and polish it off in a few bites. “Zayne?” you repeat when he still doesn’t answer, choosing to grab another piece.

This time he holds it to your mouth, and you take the hint to eat it. As always, sugar makes you feel better especially when Zayne hands it to you.

“I took it out of my rotation,” he answers, nearly making you choke on the syrupy treat. “I won’t be going there in the future, so you have nothing to worry about.”

Coughing, you beat on your chest to force down the chunk of sachima you inadvertently choked on at his confession.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m the one who’s at fault,” you plead with him, but it doesn't seem to faze him as he chews. “If you like it there, you should go!”

“Why would I want to go somewhere that makes you uncomfortable?” he asks, and your mind thinks it would be obvious. He should have the freedom to eat where he wants but the warmth spreading in your chest manages to find its way to your face that he’d consider that. “Besides, there are still plenty of other spots to choose from that I like.”

“But…you like the strawberry cake from there,” you mumble in an attempt to convince him that it’s fine. Your jealousy shouldn’t dictate where he is allowed to eat. “It’s the best one.”

“Then, you’ll simply have to make me a better one.”

Eyes softening, Zayne smiles at you, small, discreet, something anyone else could miss, but not you on the rare chances that you’re gifted the tender expression; and suddenly, you’re remembering exactly why you get jealous over him, even at hostesses, even when you know he’s the type to avoid things that hurt your feelings.

Flustered, you shake your head. “I don’t know the first thing about baking. There’s no way, I can—”

“I’m sure you’ll succeed. It shouldn’t be too difficult when it’s coming from you.”

You gape at his insistence because out of everything he’s said to you today, this is the one thing where he sounds like he’s serious. You shouldn’t feel so fluttery at the idea that he wants to eat something you’ve made. It’s cliché and you’re much better at shooting a gun than sifting flour—

—and—

“We need to hurry.”

Pulling on his sleeve, you begin to direct him through the crowd. Zayne raises his eyebrows at you but obediently allows you to lead him. “Where are we going?”

“I need to buy strawberries before the fruit stand closes,” you explain and put more strength into dragging the doctor. "Pick up the pace. Do you want that cake or not?"

You do your best to ignore the chuckle you hear from the man behind you.

[underdark-dreams]

This fic will explore the fanon of Tiefling rut/heat cycles: specifically, what happens when a stressed, overworked, sexually pent-up wizard is confronted with his own biology and his feelings about a certain hero all at once?

Thank you @rolansrighthorn for kindly beta reading this chapter!

Rolan x afab!Tav

Birds and Bees - Ch.1

The new Master of Ramazith's Tower hasn't been feeling well. Rolan isn't quite sure what's wrong with himself, but when Tav arrives back in Baldur's Gate, things get much worse.

Tags: Tiefling Ruts, Sexual Tension, Mutual Pining | Word Count: 3.4k [Read on AO3]

Rolan awoke feeling sick as a dog. 

He pulled his legs over the edge of the mattress with a wince. The dull ache in his muscles was something he hadn't felt since those first weeks on the road out of Elturel.

He'd slept like hells the past few days; no doubt that was the cause. Once again, bizarre nightmares had left him gasping awake before dawn, covered in a clammy sheen of perspiration.

The dreams featuring Tav, however…

Rolan’s tail shuddered and flicked over the bedsheets behind him at the memory. He pushed those thoughts forcefully from his head. Tav was due back in Baldur’s Gate today—that was the last thing he should be thinking of when she arrived at Sorcerous Sundries.

She’d been away for over a week this time, gathering her materials in the Underdark. He wondered if that meant she'd have enough work to keep her in the city for longer, too. The thought encouraged him enough to rise and dress for the day. He should make sure her alchemy station was prepped and ready for her at the back of the shop, at least. 

Down on the main floor of Sorcerous Sundries, Rolan’s improved mood was instantly tested. Cal took in his face wide-eyed.

“You look awful.”

“And good morning to you,” Rolan responded irritably.

“Is it?” Cal trailed after him as he unlocked and threw open the wide front doors. “Rolan, maybe you need a day off. You look like you barely slept.”

“I'm fine,” Rolan said, voice firm. “Where’s Lia?”

Right as the words left him, a teacup appeared at his elbow.

“Had a feeling you might need it,” Lia told him. “Looks like I was right.”

Too tired to combat both his siblings at once this early in the day, Rolan accepted the tea with a begrudging sigh of thanks. The smell of bitter herbs hit his nose before he took the first sip.

“Doctoring me with folk remedies now?”

Lia waved a dismissive hand as she moved behind the counter. “Yeah, yeah, we all know you'd rather get fussed over by Tav. Can't have you dragging your tail and embarrassing us in front of her, though.”

Cal walked off with a snort.

Rolan shut his eyes and wished he could return straight back to bed. Instead, he drank his tea down in silence and said a prayer for an easy day of work.

He did find himself perking up after a while. It was difficult to stay sullen on such a glorious spring day; clear sunlight streamed generously through the high windows above, and the flow of customers milling into the shop settled into a pleasant, familiar hum. Rolan fell into the rhythm of assisting them here and there, locating scrolls and giving advice on spellwork.

It certainly wasn’t the prospect of seeing Tav again that was improving his mood so much. That’s what Rolan kept telling himself, at least.

Another breeze drifted in through the open atrium behind him, bringing with it the fresh scent of spring wildflowers. Rolan was taken with a sudden fancy to move closer to wherever it emanated from.

“Lovely morning, isn't it?”

Tav stood beaming at him from the doorway, despite the full-to-bursting pack slung over one of her shoulders. Clearly he wasn’t the only one affected by the irresistibly nice weather.

“It rather is,” Rolan agreed. Ignoring her usual protests, he unshouldered the bag from her with a tug; its weight made him question whether she’d stuffed it entirely with minerals.

“Ugh…thanks.” Tav stretched her arms back appreciatively. She was wearing a lightweight tunic, carelessly laced, and the motion strained the fabric over her chest. 

Rolan averted his gaze, feeling rather warm all of a sudden. He instead led Tav back to her workstation near the stairs.

“Looks busy in here,” she remarked with approval. “Business good?”

“Can’t complain. I take it your travels were as successful?” He punctuated the comment by landing her pack on the desk with a heavy thump. Tav laughed.

“Brilliant, actually. I've got a lot to show you, if you can spare the time.”

“Just give me a few minutes,” he answered, turning back to her.

Tav didn’t reply right away; she was frowning at his face. “Rolan, are you ill? You look flushed—” And she reached a hand as if to feel his forehead.

“Of course not,” Rolan answered, a bit too swiftly. Casting for an excuse to create some distance, he moved to the nearby reference shelves and began shoving the mess of books back into their correct cubbies. “Cal, could you grab another stack of the beginner’s Weave series? We’ve sold through.”

Cal looked up from his work rolling scroll pages. “Er, sure…which wing is that again?”

“Nevermind,” Rolan sighed. “I’ll get them myself. Let me know if your station’s missing any supplies,” he added to Tav, letting his voice soften a bit. It earned him a dimpling smile.

Rolan strode away from her toward the portal, feeling that annoying ache in his legs return as he did.

—

Tav watched Rolan’s figure trudge up the staircase with another twinge of concern. Then she set to work connecting all the equipment on her alchemy station. Lia appeared at her side before long, asking after her week’s travels in the Underdark and catching her up on news and gossip from the Gate. It was so nice to have friends like Lia; ones you could pick up right where you left off with.

Tav had emptied her bag onto her desk and begun sorting the small mountain of herbs into separate piles as she listened. “How’s Rolan been doing with everything, really?”

Lia was turning over one of her shards of laculite, idly catching the sunlight in its facets. “Mostly happy. And stressed, and overextended. And completely neurotic about organizing every shelf in the library. You know, typical wizard stuff.”

“I just hope he’s looking after himself,” she said down to her work. The words left her mouth easier than she wished.

Lia leaned a hip against her desk with arms crossed. “You sound interested in helping with that.”

The quake in Tav’s stomach made her feel very caught out, then very stupid. She let out an exhale of laughter instead.

“Rolan’s made it pretty clear that he is not,” she replied. Her fingers began stripping the blooms from her pile of dried mugwort with more force than strictly necessary.

“Between you and me,” Lia mused, “I don’t think Rolan’s anywhere near clear on that subject. Smart people can be real idiots, you know.”

“Who can?”

Rolan was headed from the staircase with an armful of books; he stood behind Lia with a suspicious look. Tav immediately wondered how much he’d heard.

“Rich people,” Lia answered at once, still leaning casually against Tav’s desk. “Lady Whitburn’s handmaid keeps coming in asking for spell scrolls that I’m pretty sure don’t exist. You think she’d get the picture by now.”

Rolan let out a long-suffering sigh and held out the stack of volumes to her. “Take these. And just send Cal to help her next time, that’s why she keeps coming back.”

Lia threw up a hand as if that only proved her point. “Like I said, idiots.” But with one last glance at Tav, she grabbed the books and ferried them away to the front of Sorcerous Sundries.

For her part, Tav resumed the work of preparing the week’s ingredients—there were several large batches of antidote to get through this morning. Rolan took up his usual spot at the desk in her periphery. 

Ever since the first week he’d offered Sorcerous Sundries to her as a home of operations for her alchemy, Tav found herself spending many hours at work beside Rolan like this. They spent the time talking about her travels, or his latest studies with the Weave, or just discussing the last books they’d read. On busier days, he was called away to help customers for most of her visit.

Today, however, Rolan stood unusually silent next to her.

“Sure you’re feeling all right?” She glanced at his back, again noting the tense line of his shoulders.

“Just a bit tired.” Rolan tipped open his massive record of the shop figures. “Haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I could make you something for that, if you like.”

He gave a low huff of laughter as he took up his quill. “From what I hear from my customers, I’d be out cold for days.”

“Really?” She couldn’t help a grin of professional pride, but focused on adjusting the flame under her distilling glass. “Glad they’re selling well.”

“I can barely keep them on the shelves, especially those remedial draughts you make. The last batch lasted three days.”

Though it was satisfying to hear, Tav felt a bit chagrined. “Damn…won’t have more of those for a while. I still need to track down a new materials trader in the Gate. My usual guy moved on to Neverwinter.”

There was a short pause in their little corner, filled only with the sounds of softly bubbling liquid against glass.

“You know,” Rolan said without turning, “you’re welcome to stay here, if it’s easier for you. The guest room’s always empty. That is, so you wouldn’t have to travel across the city on top of finding your new contact.”

“Oh—” Tav tried hard not to read anything into his offer. “Actually, I already left my things with Danis and Bex. But thank you, Rolan,” she added.

Rolan coughed lightly, back still turned. “Of course.” 

There was another pause, longer and strangely awkward. Tav suddenly found she needed something more to occupy her thoughts than watching a flask boil. Reaching down for her pack, she pulled her research journal up to the desk.

It had been many weeks since Rolan brought up that subject. Why now?

Cal and Lia constantly reminded her of the long-standing offer of a room in the Tower anytime she had need of it. For unspoken reasons, she’d always found polite ways of declining.

It wasn’t that Rolan had made her feel unwelcome in any way. After all, he’d opened up the expansive resources of Ramazith’s Tower to her use, lending her all of the delicate and expensive alchemy equipment that she’d never be able to cart back and forth in her travels. She owed much of her current success to his generosity.

But Rolan had proven himself a generous patron for all kinds of arcane arts as Master of Ramazith’s Tower. Really, what made her think she was any kind of special case?

The fact that she’d very much like to be that to him…well.

That was something Tav tried not to think about. It only led her to dangerous territory, such as staring at his hands while he worked a spell and wondering what else they might be good for. Hardly conducive to a friendly, professional relationship. 

And if she was any good at reading signals, friendly but professional was how Rolan wanted to keep things.

Tav shuffled through her notes a bit too briskly and almost scattered them. That was enough dwelling on that subject; clearly, Rolan had plenty to think about without worrying about unwanted advances in his own home. The least she could do to repay his generosity would be to continue respecting his boundaries.

“Noblestalk propagation?”

She glanced over her shoulder. To her surprise, Rolan had moved closer to peer down at the top page in her hands with curiosity.

“Most valuable thing in the Underdark,” she told him. “Even more than mithril. Actually, this is what I wanted to show you—”

Noblestalk fetched a high price for its alchemical power, certainly, but also for its rarity. The delicate mushrooms were notoriously picky about where they grew; it was part of what made them so hard to find. 

Truth be told, she’d been running a little experiment on them down in the Underdark over the past few months. She ran a finger across the charted results as she explained them to Rolan, whose tension seemed to vanish as he listened on with keen interest.

“Obviously the spores took faster in high humidity. But look, they actually did better when I transplanted them in a really cold spot near the river here—which is so odd, most fungi need a bit of warmth—

“Have you tried recreating these artificially? Carrying a sample back to the surface?”

“Not yet.” She scratched her chin in thought. “I’d need to find somewhere underground to propagate it. And I’d rather not spend any more time in the sewers, after that little cult business.”

“Just do it here,” Rolan dismissed, as if it was the plainly obvious solution. “We’ve got quite a few empty vaults now. Shouldn’t be too hard to repurpose one as a greenhouse of sorts.”

As she turned her head to respond, she was caught up short. 

Rolan was still peering intently at her writing. But in his concentration, he’d angled his body very close beside her. His chest nearly brushed her shoulder. She could’ve counted the freckles dusting his nose.

When he reached forward to flip over the page, she felt his other hand actually rest on the far side of her waist—the absent way you might touch someone very familiar to you when moving past them. Heat rose in her cheeks at the gesture.

Perhaps Rolan felt her tense. He blinked, and she watched realization dart over his features. He stepped back at once.

“Apologies.” Then he cleared his throat to add—“Your work is quite engaging.”

Coming from him, the words sounded much nicer than they had a right to. She felt her flush deepening, and quickly turned back to reorder her notes. 

“Thanks,” she laughed, praying it didn’t sound as awkward as it felt rising in her throat.

Behind her back, she heard Rolan return to his desk on her left. Presumably continuing his work on the Sundries inventory; more likely trying to ignore her obvious fluster. 

She clenched her jaw in an attempt to shove that same stupid, fluttery feeling out of her stomach, and returned to the practical work at hand. 

—

Rolan stared down at last week’s sales in his ledger. The figures were a blur of meaningless scribbles in front of his eyes.

Was he feverish? Seriously ill? There had to be a sound explanation for the way he’d just…laid hands on her like that, unthinking. 

He clenched the guilty right hand responsible, feeling its sharp nails press crescent moons into his palm. Idiot. He took a deep breath to regain his composure. 

It only caused that lovely wildflower scent from before to fill his lungs more completely, pulling at his other senses. Perhaps it was emanating from one of the many strange ingredients Tav was always carrying back from the Underdark. Was that what had muddled his mind this way?

He found himself glancing back over his shoulder to where she was bent over her alchemy scales. The pink tip of her tongue was visible between her teeth, a gesture she often made when concentrating.

As Rolan watched, a lock of her hair slipped forward over her shoulder. She swept it absently back behind her ear. The innocuous motion caused another wave of something floral to brush past his face, stronger this time.

“Are you wearing scent?”

Tav glanced up from the powder she was weighing out, brows raised in question. “What?”

“Nothing,” Rolan said swiftly, shaking himself back to rights a bit. He felt very lucky she seemed to have misheard. He turned back to his work before he could say anything else strange or embarrassing.

With effort, Rolan forced his attention back to the comforting logic of sums and figures. 

The time passed with blessed uneventfulness after that. The soft sounds of glassware and bubbling liquids from Tav’s alchemy faded to an idle lull at the back of Rolan’s consciousness. Nevertheless, he pushed through the past month’s numbers with more difficulty than usual, scratching through multiple errors as his quill moved over the page. He occasionally had to pause to rub at an uncomfortable crick building in his neck.

A laugh came from behind him. “Do you mind?”

Rolan raised his head to look. Tav was gesturing at the corner of her alchemy station with a bemused expression. 

To his own confusion, he found that his tail had traveled there of its own accord sometime in the past minutes. It lay coiled on the wood, its tip flicking back and forth in her direction, as if seeking her attention.

With another chuckle, Tav’s fingers closed around it and lightly dropped the appendage off the edge of her desk.

An involuntary sound caught in Rolan’s throat. The moment her hand connected with his skin, a shock of blood rushed to his groin. He nearly tipped forward in alarm at the feeling.

The rapid redirection left his legs wobbling and bloodless. His knees almost buckled under him; he gripped sharp claws into the edge of his wooden desk to steady himself. 

As the ringing in his ears cleared, he heard Tav reading under her breath behind him while she ground something against her mortar. Praise the gods that whatever just happened to his body had escaped her notice.

“Need a book from the library—”

Without a backward glance, Rolan stumbled toward the stairs.

Spurred on by the knowledge that any customers who might notice his urgent departure would certainly see the reason for it, he strode on double-time for the portal. Only once the swirl of Weave closed behind him, depositing him in the quiet of the Tower, did he release the breath caught up in his lungs.

Seeking to ground himself, Rolan glanced up to watch the golden dust motes drift through a beam of sunlight. It was the strangest sensation to be standing completely still and feel a sweat break out over his brow.

How did he not realize days ago? Muscle aches—difficulty sleeping—heightened senses. All clear indicators that his biology had finally caught up with him, albeit a solid year later than it should have.

Rolan gripped a hand to the back of his head with a groan of realization. Not perfume—it had been Tav herself he kept catching scent of this morning. That sweet smell that practically made his mouth water to recall now was nothing but raw instinct laid bare.

Well, he had no right to complain about the timing. Apparently many frantic months of escaping the Hells, surviving on the road, and battling back an invasion from the Astral Plane had done a lot to delay the inevitable. 

But inevitable it was, and as of today, very much inescapable. There was never really a convenient time for this sort of thing, was there?

It could be worse—as the new keeper of Ramazith’s Tower, at least he found himself with private quarters to retreat to for the entirety of it. If he was lucky, it would all be over in a week, and then he could go on ignoring this unfortunate side effect of his Infernal heritage for a few more uneventful years. 

Lia and Cal could manage the shop for a week without any major calamities, surely?

As Rolan paced the silk carpets of the Tower floor, he forced his feverish mind to finish scrabbling together the plan. His gaze fell on the desk by the window. In the next second, he was putting shaking quill to parchment. Something simple, just enough they’d understand—

Bad week for visitors. Please mind the Sundries while I recover. Tell Tav 

The tip of his quill skipped as he paused, letting a droplet of ink bleed into the page. 

Tell Tav what, exactly? That he was in his room rutting his brains out like an animal in heat? Likely thinking of her while he did?

That line of thought brought a series of unhelpful and very stimulating images to mind. He swallowed down a humiliating sound as the stiffness between his legs grew painfully hard in reaction. Merciful, bloody hells.

Tell Tav nothing, he finished in a scrawl. Rolan folded the note and deposited it on the floor just in front of the portal, where it would be impossible for his siblings to miss. 

Then he turned for the staircase to his bedroom, already mad to rip these chafing gods-damned robes off his skin.

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[whispereons]

Oracle!Reader Part 3

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

The Kamisato Estate was truly more beautiful in person. That little courtyard in the game was a joke compared to the real thing.

The few servants still awake at this time pass by as Thoma leads you into the estate. Almost all of them give Thoma some sort of greeting as they pass by. A smile, a wave or even a 'hey Thoma!'. They give you curious looks but no one comments on your presence.

At least you don't realize how they raise their eyebrows at Thoma holding your hand. It's not completely unusual for Thoma to be extra friendly in this way but bringing someone to the estate was a whole new thing.

"If you don't mind, you can wait here for my lord and my lady." Thoma opens the door to the room as he speaks. Its a drawing room with a window to the outside. The moonlight seeps in as the curtain blows.

You take a seat on the cushion as best as you remember the formal way. Inazuma style was inspired by Japan and you didn't know a lot of Japan customs.

The door closes softly and you're left to your thoughts. It's not long before the soft pitter patter of footsteps are heard coming from the hallway.

The door opens and Ayaka in comfortable clothes steps in with a smile. Her hair is loose and it's a good look on her. You stand up and bow politely.

"Its an honor to meet the Shirasagi Himegimi. My name is Y/N."

Ayaka smiles gracefully and gives a polite bow back. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. Thoma has explained a few things about you, most specifically your position as the creator's oracle."

It's clear by the gleam in her eyes that she doesn't believe you at all. You keep a peaceful expression on your face as Ayaka continues.

"My brother was in a meeting for most of the day and would like to address your situation tomorrow at a more convenient time. We'll have arrangements made for you to sleep here tonight."

That's fair, the moon is high in the sky. You don't need a clock to know that. But she could have easily asked Thoma to rely this to you. Meaning she wants to talk to you about something privately.

You purposely wring your hands in fake nerves to test her alertness to your actions. Her eyes immediately notice it. Either the game downplayed her attentiveness or she's just super relaxed around the traveler.

"No need to be nervous. I just wanted to speak with you for a while before tomorrow. After all, maybe my brother doesn't need to speak to you for us to know the truth about you."

It's a threat your mind supplies. A threat that if Ayaka herself could see past your lies and deceit, that she'll kick you out immediately. In fact you bet the Shuumatsuban are already looking into you as Ayaka takes the seat across from you.

There's a soft knock on the door before Ayaka says a quiet "Come in." A young servant comes in with a tea set and placed it on the table between Ayaka and you.

There's only the clinking of China and the pouring of tea as the servant brews tea. After pouring a cup for both of you the servant bows and leaves.

"Then I'll bite your bait. What do you want to know? How do you want me to prove myself?"

You know that's not what she's actually after at this moment. She's probably well aware that Ayato is better suited to figuring out any lies or schemes you might have to sell your oracle position.

"No, that's not what I came to talk about at all. I'm more interested in hearing your opinion on the creator and other topics."

She wants to know if you're truly a fake believer using the creator's name for nefarious acts. Or a crazy fanatic worshipper who convinced themselves that they are a oracle.

You feel a little happy seeing Ayaka stay up this late to help Ayato with his work. Even if it means being cross-examined by her.

You bring the teacup to your lips and take your time to savor the taste. At least you would be able to taste it if you weren't nervous to hell and back.

"Well due to my memory loss I don't know much about the creators past. So I'll need you to be more specific on what you want my opinion on."

"The Electro Archon started the vision hunt decree as a way to get closer to the creator and achieve eternity. The creator helped the traveler get the decree repealed. But many citizens that suffered due to the decree can't help but feel hurt that the creator wasn't more open on their opposition."

This was a hard subject but it's exactly what you need.

"It's understandable that they feel that way. I can't speak on my personal experience since I don't remember anything at that time but the effects have permanently altered Inazuma."

You take a breath as you prepare your words that may or may not damn you.

"The creator shouldn't be blamed for not being more open as they are stuck in a different world with who knows what kind of restrictions. At the same time, the people of Inazuma shouldn't be so reliant on the gods, both the Shogun and the creator."

Ayaka's stare is cold and unnerving. She stays as silent as snowfall as you speak. Was it just you or did the room get colder?

"The creator has lived in a different world all this time. I believe they want everyone and every being to flourish on their own with their own power. That's what visions help with. This blind reliance and trust in the Shogun is what led to so many Inazuma residents to suffer. Not necessarily because they caused it but they enabled it because the majority didn't question the decree and simply accepted the reasoning without a fight. While vision holders are a minority, they still exist. And their decisions and actions have ripple effects that do effect the majority of Inazuma."

A visible steam breath leaves your mouth as ice begins to crawl from the floor where Ayaka sits. Her bangs cast a shadow that leaves her expression unreadable. Goosebumps cover your exposed skin as you continue.

"Would the creator really be happy with overly dependent subjects? Is a parent happy when they see their child refuse to use their gifts and hard work to achieve their dreams? The creator loves Teyvat and everything in it. The good and bad has shaped the world they created. And I believe they love it all. Not that they wish harm but nothing can live without harming something. That's a hard truth people try to deny."

Frostbite strikes your fingers as they start turning a pale blue. The ice is about to touch the cushion you're sitting on.

Then it all stops. The temperature goes back to normal and the ice shatters leaving the shards broken on the floor. Your heart rate goes back to normal.

Ayaka stands and holds out her hand to you. You don't move and merely stare at the smile that's basically frozen on her face.

"I can't say that I agree with you but I find your viewpoint fascinating. It's fresh and bold. I'll leave brother to make the final decision about how trustworthy you are."

It seems your gamble payed off as you place your hand in hers. Her skin is chilly as she pulls you up before releasing you. She seems lost in her head as she leads you out the room.

You follow her down the empty halls as her hair gracefully flows behind her. Truly the title Shirasagi Himegimi suits her.

She stops at a door and opens it. The room is small but cozy. It has a neat bed, small bedside drawer, coffee table and a window showing the courtyard.

"You can sleep here for tonight. Breakfast will be delivered to you here as well. Brother's schedule is a bit unpredictable so he'll visit sometime before the afternoon."

"Thank you for your hospitality." Is your reply as you step into the room. Ayaka hasn't dropped that polite smile even as she closes the door.

You stand in your spot in the middle of the room as you hear Ayaka's soft footsteps gradually get quieter. It's only when nothing can be heard that your body loosens the tension and slumps.

Your back softly hits the door and you let your body slide down into a fetal position. The cold that ate away at your body earlier was still lingering.

Was your body still cold or was it just a phantom feeling after that display of power?

You still didn't consider Ayaka a threat. At least not mentally as she doesn't even need her vision to murder you. The Kamisato Clan is known for their sword techniques after all.

It's was Ayato. You could have pulled the same act you did to Sara. Acting meek and shy while gushing about the creator. And you know full well that Ayaka would have fallen for it before handing you off to Ayato.

But that plan only worked under the premise that you would be meeting them both in the same day. By Ayaka meeting you today and Ayato tomorrow, Ayato gets information about you from Ayaka and can look into you through the Shuumatsuban.

That would let Ayato think up a counter or even use your act against you. You can already imagine him using your oracle act as a way to bring you to Ei. She would recogize you by your voice and that would mean the end for you. No fried egg would save you from that fate.

The only way to avoid that was by playing a whole new viewpoint that would leave Ayaka feeling confused. Ayaka would report to Ayato and Ayato would feel a stronger need to meet you himself. The more unpredictable you were, the less cards Ayato had.

Your hand reach up to your mask and you're about to take it off. You slam your hand into your lap, away from the mask as you remember the Shuumatsuban.

There's no way that the Ayato, would let a suspicious person in the estate and let them stay the night without supervision.

Your suspicions made everything around you look shady. Like Sayu was hiding in plain sight at this very moment. But acting so skeptical would only make them in turn more suspicious.

Your stomach growling was what snapped you out of your thoughts. The last thing you ate was those roasted lavender melon with the Arataki gang. You missed them dearly.

You hold your stomach as the familiar hunger pains started. Getting off the floor and lazily draping your bag on the bedside drawer, you flop onto the bed.

God did it feel great.

After walking, running, lying, stealing and bullshitting your way through the whole day, you were utterly exhausted. Plus this mattress was wonderful. Nothing like the beat up and dirty mattresses you were used to sleeping on in Earth.

As you shimmied onto your back to stare up at the ceiling, another pang of hunger hit you.

Didn't they have etiquette for this? Maybe something like late night guests would be offered a snack and a place to rest?

Your bitter chuckle rings throughout the room. You may be in the guest room but you highly doubt they see you as a guest. There was no way you were waking someone up for food. You've spent nights starving before, you could do it again.

Your eyelids drift shut every so often as nerves pricked at you. Knowing that a Shuumatsuban is watching over you has kept you awake despite your exhaustion. Your mask is still on your face adding to the uncomfortable feeling of being watched.

But everyone has a limit and you've reached yours. The mental stress, lack of food, and injuries took their toll on you. It's impossible to remember when you fell asleep.

Hands. The feeling of hands on you makes your heart drop. It's just a dream you try to tell yourself as the hands continue touching.

It's taking something. Money? Food? Clothes? Those were the only things you had left after leaving.

It's only when the hands are touching your face and reaching for something hard and cold on your face that you sit up in a flash.

You weren't on the streets, you haven't been on the run for a while. Not yet at least. You were in Genshin Impact you remind yourself.

A shadowy blur moves away from you as you keep your hand over your mask that was almost pulled off.

The little mujina ears on the assailant gives away their identity.

Sayu uses her Yoohoo to disappear before you could react. But you still feel on edge, as if at any moment more Shuumatsuban will come out and hold you down. Ripping off your mask, exposing-

You let out a breath. Deep breaths are the only thing you focus on to calm the rising panic. To keep away the hands reaching out for you from the shadows.

You don't sleep after that.

The sun rises and the estate slowly gets louder as servants bustle about. Your eyes tirelessly read a book in the archive on the screen. The eyebags that you usually have are darker than normal.

You decided to read through the Genshin archive in the Paimon menu to stay awake. It was a good refresher on the events of the game and the characters. You needed to use all the resources you had.

You also noticed a difference. All the books were either slightly changed or had a overhaul to fit someone in. The creator. All the books from each of the nations have some sort of mention, indication or even a chapter dedicated to you.

Did the books change once you entered Teyvat? Did everyone and everything change to acknowledge a creator when you entered Teyvat? Or was it always there and only by entering Teyvat were you able to view that specific information?

Two knocks on the door snap you out of your head and you open the door. The servant bows and hands you a tray of food. You thank them and are sure to be extra gentle as you hold it.

The moment the door is closed, you shove a piece of bread into your mouth. You close your eyes in relief and savor the taste of freshly baked bread.

With the tray on the table you eat in a hurry. You don't recognize half the dishes or the ingredients but you don't care. It's tasty, filling and hot.

With the tray picked clean, you lean against the window and try to sense if the Shuumatsuban were still watching you. After a beat of no sense of danger or unease, you guess that they have more important things to do with the sun up.

You get comfortable on the window sill as you look out the window. Many people pass by as you watch. People watching was fun in times like these where there was nothing else to do.

A flash of blue and red enter your vision making you more alert. It's Ayaka and Thoma.

You unlock the window and raise it halfway. At the same time you reach for the book you were pretending to read during the night.

With the book comfortably on your lap and your eyes on it, you focus on the faint sound of their voices.

Damn, they're too far away. If you lean out any farther you'll draw eyes. Just as you're about to give up, the wind starts to blow in your direction.

You're suddenly able to hear their voices clearly while the voices closer to you are drowned out. Strange but you aren't going to take it for granted.

"You spoke with Y/N last night right? How was it my lady?"

"Different." You can basically taste the resentment and confusion.

"I'm sorry it didn't go so well. I thought you would feel a instant connection like I had."

Oh? This immediate liking to you seems to be a pattern rather than a coincidence at this point.

"I didn't feel anything. Not a instant dislike, although I admit I am biased hearing them be referred to as the creator's oracle. I just felt blank. The conversation was strange, their answers were like no other."

Was there no connection because you haven't pulled for her?

"I'm going to need a bit more than that to tell you any advice my lady."

"I asked for their opinion on the creator regarding the Vision Hunt Decree. Their answers were so contradictory that I was becoming frustrated."

Ayaka's voice grew a little louder as she started to rant about you.

"On one hand they downplay the creators existence and power. On the other they're sympathetic to the creators feelings and any restrictions the creator might have wherever they may be. If anything they seem to blame the residents and the Shogun more than anything else. Which would be good if they didn't discredit the creator in the same breath!"

Thoma nervously laughs at Ayaka getting so worked up over you. It seems you have a natural knack for bringing out some of her hidden sides.

"I can't say that I'm not ashamed of how I lost control of my vision and temper for a bit. It's so unlike me and I'm quite embarrassed. I have an image to uphold as the Shirasagi Himegimi after all."

Her words are so sad and disappointed that you almost feel bad for messing with her like that. Almost.

"Honestly my lady, I'm not totally surprised that Y/N said something like that. In fact they implied something similar in my last conversation with them as we walked here. You see-"

Thoma's voice fades away as the wind stops blowing. You frown and are about to look up from the book you've had your eyes on when things start to shake.

Every moment or so you feel yourself vibrate as if an earthquake is happening. You look around and see everyone acting normally. Perhaps this shaking is connected to the wind that help you eavesdrop.

The shaking stops and the wind blows from under the door of your room. What would have been silent footsteps become deafening sounds as you realize that someone is heading for your room.

It's probably Ayato you think as you put away the book.

Most likely Ayato you think as you fix your clothes and reposition your mask.

It's Ayato you confirm as the man himself opens the door to see you sitting at the coffee table with a smile. His suit is crisp and clean, not a single speck of dirt can be seen.

Rude, it's rude to open the door without at least knocking. You bow politely in your seat and speak without letting your thoughts and feeling slip out at all.

"It's an honor to meet you Lord Kamisato."

Rude, it's rude to not stand up as you greet someone new. Ayato speaks in a smooth voice. You almost hate how good it sounds in person.

"It's lovely to meet you too Y/N."

His words make your eyes fall to the mole below his lip. You try to ignore his absolutely horrendous amount of layers he's wearing as he sits down. The long sleeves fold perfectly without creasing. There's no doubt that he's familiar with information digging.

"I apologize for not being able to see you yesterday. You arrived quite late at night and I saw no reason to rush to meet a scammer."

Ah, that familiar title. You never accepted it with pride but you couldn't deny it. Even now the title 'scammer' suited you.

"The Kamisato Clan much like many others are heavily involved with the creator. We have access to both government records and oversea records of the creator. Yet not a single one of them ever talks about a oracle or the possibility of one."

"Did any of the text deny the ability for a oracle to exist?"

A shot in the dark but it seemed to work as Ayato diverted to a different topic.

"That little loophole won't work forever. What I'm more curious about is how you managed to get Thoma to bring you here."

"I just wanted a boat to Liyue to continue my work. Itto, your 'bro', brought me to Thoma and I divulged some private information to Thoma. I'm sure he already told you so I don't see the point in asking me. I will admit that I wasn't expecting to be brought here."

Ayato is good, he didn't even react when you mentioned Itto's 'bro' thing with him. A conversation with him is just as nerve wracking as you thought it would be.

"Yes, that little piece of information you told him was something. You could be the creators oracle but that's the least likely option. Wouldn't be more logical to assume that you got it from one of the Kamisato's many enemies?"

A threat drenched in the sweetest honey is all you hear. Anyone else would either get mad and fall for Ayato's little bait. Or get nervous and give him more reason to suspect that possibility.

You do neither and double down on your stance.

"Least likely doesn't mean impossible. It's not like you can drag me to all your enemies and ask them if I belong to them. I'm a oracle and able to prove it."

"Or I could just have the Shuumatsuban get the information from you. Whether you're an enemy spy or not, you don't have anyone looking for you. And if anyone does come asking for you then that's just another lead for me."

He pulled no punches with that one. He flat out said he could just torture you and anyone that comes asking for you. If you really were from this world and was faking the oracle stuff then Ayato would definitely go through on this threat.

"I don't understand what you think I'm trying to do with a oracle job that I don't flaunt. If I really was a fake, wouldn't I be spreading it like fire?"

"As true as that might be, that doesn't remove you from suspicions. I mean, even though you're trying to stay low, here you are trying to convince me that you're the real deal. Doesn't seem very low profile to me."

Twisting words and intentions was a tricky but useful tool. Something you both were skilled in using it seems. It seems being a scammer and a politician aren't that different.

You could try to explain from the beginning but it would only be seen as a excuse. Ayato would probably find it amusing, his voice lines spoke about him finding enjoyment in people squirming come to mind.

Instead you shrug and stay silent letting him win this round. He sighs seeming disappointed before placing some papers from who knows where onto the table.

"So I was right to assume you took your sweet time to investigate me. Judging from how there's only a few pages, you didn't find much."

Ayato lets you read through the papers. That's probably a sign that if you can't prove yourself then he'll kill you. You try not to think too hard about it as you put the papers back down.

"You claimed to have woken up at a shrine somewhere near Ritou and strangely enough, anyone that should have been there at that time can't seem to remember."

"Remember me or remember in general?"

"In general." He leans closer with a calm facade keeping his curiosity at bay. "I wonder why that is."

"Don't expect me to remember anyone there at that time. I was too busy reorienting myself to notice much."

"I don't expect much from you anyway." Ouch. "But I'd say I've given you more than enough time to come clean. Are you ready to prove yourself Y/N?"

"I-"

"Oh and I won't be asking for the same proof the others accepted. I require something more concrete than a switched weapon and old information."

Well it wasn't like you could tell the future, well maybe you could if you played your cards right but you had something else planned for Ayato.

"No need to worry Lord Kamisato, I have something you'll be forced to believe."

"No disappearing acts either."

"Even if I show proof of where I disappeared to?"

"That all depends on what sort of proof you provide. I have strict requirements."

"Tell me about it."

"Pardon?"

"What?"

You don't give Ayato a moment to process your sass as you stand up and walk over to his side of the table. You hold out your hand to him with a purposefully cunning smile. There's no need to hide that sort of thing from him.

"I hope you won't die of heatstroke in those clothes since we'll have to go outside for this. Get ready to get your clothes dirty, rich boy."

A huff of amusement leaves him as he gets up on his own ignoring your hand. You drop it with a uncaring shrug and begin walking out the door.

It's only when you stop at the doorway that you turn to face him. He's smirking at you knowing exactly what you're going to say next.

"So where's the exit?"

You stand in front of the blue teleport waypoint outside the Kamisato estate. You glance behind you to make sure Thoma, Ayaka, and Ayato were all still there.

You clap your hands to grab their attention. Which was unnecessary for Ayato as he hasn't stopped staring at you. Seems he was taking the 'no disappearing' thing seriously.

"Just to make sure, only those being controlled by the creator can use the teleport waypoint. Meaning normal people, vision holders, acolytes and even awakened acolytes cannot use it correct?"

They all nod and Ayato seems to catch on to what you're about to do. Jokes on him because he's wrong.

"Then watch and try not to burn your eyes."

With that as your only warning, you touch the teleport waypoint. It glows brightly as gold starts to takeover the blue color. Turning back around with a smile you look to see their reactions.

With different degrees of shock, Thoma seems the most impressed. Ayaka composes herself quickly as expected of her considering her title. Ayato does seem surprised but his smile seems more excited rather than trusting.

"Was that enough proof?" Your question has no clear reciprocate but it's clearly directed to Ayato.

He shakes his head no and explains more for Ayaka and Thoma who gave him questioning glances.

"As good as this seems, I still have my suspicions. And something tells me you have more up your sleeve."

"Yeah, cause something told me this wouldn't be enough to convince you. Which is also why I asked that Thoma and Lady Kamisato accompany us."

You walk the few steps back to them and look towards the Grand Narukami Shrine. You point up there with a smile as you think about what you're about to put Ayato through.

"You know how there's a teleport waypoint all the way at the Grand Narukami Shrine? Well I have to get up there to make that one gold too. And since Lord Kamisato doesn't want me disappearing, it seems he'll have to come with me."

The color in Ayaka's face drains with every word you say. She's quickly realizing just how long it'll take and how much Ayato will have to work overtime to catch up.

"Can't you go down to the teleport waypoint in Chinju Forest instead? It's around the same distance but will be faster since it's not up a mountain." Thoma asks trying to lessen Ayato's workload.

You smile with a little too much joy but you could afford to slip up a little every now and then.

"That would be far too dangerous! I mean Lord Kamisato with an untrustworthy individual like me, alone in a forest like that? The Grand Narukami Shrine has many visitors and shrine maidens so he'll be safe on the journey there."

"Brother is strong and has a vision. Surely there's no need for you both to travel to the shrine. No offense but my brother could deal with you just fine."

"Oh I wholeheartedly agree with you there but! It seems Lord Kamisato thinks differently seeing as he had the Shuumatsuban watch over me while I was sleeping last night."

Ayaka and Thoma freeze at the information and give a Ayato a questioning look. Ayato who was content with watching this debate gives them both a serene smile.

He doesn't apologize but you never expected him too. This was your way of revenge for leaving you hungry rather than the spying.

"It seems Y/N is right about the shrine being the best option. The hike to there is at least 30 minutes. Please let any visitors know that I'll be back in around an hour or so."

You don't feel as satisfied seeing Ayato take the punishment with such grace but you don't let that show.

"Thoma, Lady Kamisato please make sure to be at the teleport waypoint at least 10 minutes before the first 30 minutes. It's necessary for me to prove myself."

Thoma and Ayaka give a confused nod but avoid questioning it. They go back inside and you see Ayato walking towards the stairs to Chinju Forest instead of the stairs up that lead to the electrograna.

"Lord Kamisato, the electrograna is at the other staircase, why are you going down this way?"

He stops and smiles at you knowing something you apparently didn't.

"The electrograna only work for those being controlled by the creator and electro vision holders. Since we are neither, we'll have to take the extra long civilian route."

Unexpected but not impossible to work with.

"Then let me at least try to activate it. I'm not the traveler or a acolyte but I was able to get the teleport waypoint to respond to me. The electrograna may be similar."

"Respond doesn't always equal work. I know you want to teleport using the structure, which won't work, but alright lets try the electrograna."

His arrogance and confidence in his words are both understandable and annoying. You'll show him. You seem to begin doing this not for your oracle identity but to take him down a peg.

You walk side by side as you guys climb the stairs and walk under the red gate. The Thunder Sakura Boughs come into view before you both stop in front of it.

Before you could even give yourself a mental pat on the back for remembering the name of the Sakura Bough, Ayato speaks with an annoyed tone.

"Well? While you may have all day to admire it, I do not."

"Aren't opportunities like this hard to come by? Shouldn't you at least try to enjoy such a sunny day to bask in?" You say with a sigh making it your mission to kill as much time as possible.

"Even so, I would hate to cut your little show short for things that actually matter."

You know he doesn't mean it completely since the whole 'blue turns to gold' definitely showed something. But you still feel annoyed. With a roll of your eyes, you reach into the Sakura Bough and grab the electrograna.

With a smug smile you pull it out and show it to Ayato. "Seems my deduction was correct. We get to take the shortcuUUTT"

You scream as the electrograna connects to a thundersphere above the next boulder and yanks you towards it. You release the electrograna and your back hits the boulder with a thud.

You groan as you lie on your back and try to deal with the growing pain in your back. Your eyes snap open as you hear laughter coming from the boulder below.

You crawl to the edge and look down to see Ayato trying and failing to contain his laughter. Your face burns in embarrassment as you yell.

"I get thrown into a boulder and you're here laughing at me?! Not even asking if I'm okay? Is this how you react to everyone that gets yanked by an electrograna?!"

He only laughs harder at your words.

"I swear the moment I get down there I'm gonna smother you with those stupid long sleeves." You bite out as you climb down.

Ayato still has a smile as you look at the Sakura Bough with caution.

"So since only I'm able to touch it, you'll have to be touching me for you to be taken with me. There's no way I can carry you so it seems you'll be stuck carrying me. Maybe the world is fair after all." You finish as you direct a smile at him so sure that he'll hate the idea of carrying you.

But Ayato doesn't look mad at all, he looks more amused than anything else. With a disappointed pout you look back at the Sakura Bough as you finish speaking.

"It's better that way too since you have a glider so we wont crash land. I'll grab the electrograna but as you clearly saw, I can't control it very well."

"It's not that hard, you just have to angle your body correctly." Ayato speaks with infuriating smile that looks kind. You wanna punch that smile off his face.

"Then since you'll be doing the carrying, you'll also be controlling which way we go. Do you know the way by heart?"

"Admittedly I don't, do you?"

"In fact, I do. Before I take each electrograna, I'll point out which way you'll need to go with each thundersphere. Sound good?"

"That works with me, now up you go." You turn to him confused as you hold the electrograna.

You yelp as Ayato bends and swiftly grabs your knees and throws you over his shoulder. Thankfully he didn't put you on the shoulder that had the armor but it still hurt.

"What the fuck?! A little warning would be nIC-"

Your words are cut off as the electrograna pulls you both up to the first thundersphere. Your stomach lurches and you feel nauseous as it pulls you guys to the second thundersphere.

Ayato lands on the ground as the next set of electro transportation is on the other side of the broken bridge. There's a twisting root that serves as the middle part of the bridge.

As much as you would like for Ayato to put you down and jump across the gaps on your own. You know full well that you don't have the power nor energy to do that.

Ayato is aware of it too as he keeps you on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and walks towards the bridge. But before he can start parkouring, you wrap your legs around his torso and beat his back.

"Wait, wait, wait. You absolutely cannot carry me like this the rest of the way."

"That position isn't all that bad. It'll take some getting-"

Your breath is hot on the shell of his ear, your voice low and soft. Your mouth so close to his ear makes him shiver.

"Ayato Kamisato I will throw up all over your expansive ass clothes if you do not carry me differently."

Hearing his name fall from his lips makes him freeze but you honestly couldn't be bothered to upkeep etiquette when you feel like your breakfast is about to escape you.

Almost gently Ayato moves you off his shoulder and carries you bridal style. He smiles down at you with fondness?

"Is this position better for you?"

"Yeah, way better. Congratulations your clothes are saved."

He chuckles at your dry wit and starts parkouring across the broken bridge. To steady yourself, you wrap your arms around his neck. It's a little embarrassing to do especially with how his hair brushes against your hands every so often.

He makes it across without stumbling or falling. There's a cliff with the next Sakura Bough. You take a moment to point and give directions.

"You see the floating island right across us? That should be the next one."

"Hmm, isn't it strange how someone who should have almost no memory knows the way to the shrine by heart?"

"Isn't is also strange someone who lives right near it, not know the way by heart? Plus you have probably have used the electrograna way at least once due to the creator."

"Is that knowledge from the creator or your own guess?"

"Does that really matter when I'm right?"

He laughs a little and you grab the electrograna hoping to catch him off guard. Not enough to drop you but just to wipe that smile off his face.

As you expected he easily adapted with no problem and arrived at the floating platform.

"Alright it's about to get really messy since the path becomes super scattered in the middle of Mt. Yougou."

After explaining the next set of directions you grab the electrograna and Ayato seems to be smiling a little wider. Suspicious.

You are proven correct when halfway through the thunderspheres he starts fumbling with your weight. You cling onto him tighter in fear of being dropped.

"Holy shit, Kamisato why are you repositioning me when we're thousands of feet in the air?!"

"Aw no Ayato this time? Seems like my hands are starting to slip." Ayato continues, this fucker is enjoying your panic.

"Ayato, you drop me and I'll rip those pretty blue locks with me!" You scream as he starts fucking dangling you. You make good on your threat by holding his neck with a fistful of his hair.

Yes, he will kill you the moment you guys aren't in the middle of the air. But it's always safer to fear the closest threat than the one in the future.

Ayato goes back to holding you properly as he chuckles. But you keep holding his hair in case he gets any funny ideas. Finally you get to the landing where the next Sakura Bough is and you release his hair.

You get out of his arms to kneel on the ground and take deep breaths. You were used to high speed chases on foot and car. You even had to run atop rooftops in come cities. But flying through the air was definitely a new one.

"Surely you can't be tired already? I'm the one who's been carrying you this whole time."

"You call that carrying??? I saw my life flash before my eyes at least 3 times!"

You stand up and glare at him. He seems to find all your reactions incredibly amusing. Honestly if you truly felt your life was in danger, you would lie and just go to the Chinju forest teleport waypoint.

But you could tell he was having too much fun to actually drop you. Yes you were still terrified but letting your emotions show was making him put his guard down.

With every series of thunderspheres Ayato and you bickered and fought. At least until you had gotten to what should be the last electrograna needed.

"This should be the last one. Soon enough I'll no longer need to ride the Ayato Express." You say with a teasing tone.

"Until we have to go back you mean."

"Crap, I completely forgot. I was just thinking of teleporting back but I'm not even sure if I can teleport people with me."

"You mean if you can teleport at all."

"You'll see I'm not lying about this."

"So you lied about the other stuff instead?"

This makes you laugh in shock as you turn to face him with a annoyed smile. Except unlike his other jabs that were told with a cold smile, this one was different.

His smile was small but true and his naturally downturned eyes didn't look as muddled as usual. For a second it seemed like he was as clear and readable as water.

It's gone just as quickly as it was there but you turn your head away to hide your own smile.

"You know what I mean. Now don't drop me or pretend to drop me!" You grab the electrograna as you speak.

His maneuvering is just as graceful as he was the first time. "What an absurd thing to accuse me of. I mean it's not my fault you keep squirming and looking down. It's like you want to jump off and escape me."

"Ha! Nice try Ayato but if you're aren't strong enough to carry me the whole way then just say so."

You aren't exactly sure when you started calling him by his first name but Ayato hasn't corrected you so far.

"I am but the humble Yashiro Commission leader. Maybe I should let you down and watch the electrograna make you smack into another boulder."

That gets a laugh out of you. The pain in your back from that incident has already disappeared but you doubt Ayato will let you live it down.

As you laugh Ayato listens to the sweet sound quietly. The way your lips stretch into a smile and cheeks get a little flushed is distracting to say the least.

Distracting enough that he stumbles on the landing on the stairs to the shrine. Trying to correct his mistake he holds you tighter against him and turns so that his back hits the mountain instead of you.

You look up at him in worry as he grunts from the pain. He's still gentle as he sets you down onto your feet.

"Shit, that looked rough. You okay Ayato?" Distracted by his pain you don't think about any sort of etiquette rules as your hands trail up his arms and lightly rub his shoulders.

His breath shudders and he lifts your hands off him, softly he pushes them back to you.

"I'm okay Y/N, it looked worse than it felt." Ayato could feel your concerned stare through the mask. Usually he wouldn't mind it since the enemy underestimating him would only make his job easier. But he feels more embarrassed than anything else since you saw him like that despite your shady identity.

"If you say so. The journey is almost over so don't die on me yet."

Saving him anymore embarrassment you turn and begin walking up the stairs case to the shrine. You hear the clacking from his way too expensive shoes following you.

You can't stand the awkwardness and clear your throat. You've always wondered about some things.

"So you know how visions affect their holders? Like pyro visions make them naturally hotter and cryo visions make them colder?"

Ayato catches up to you to walk by your side. "Yes, it happens without activating it. Why do you ask?"

"Well what happens to hydro vision holders like you? Do you sweat more or have more fluid in your body?"

Ayato stares at you with the most incredulous look on his face. "I truly wonder what goes on in your head to make you have such questions."

"That's not an answer."

"I don't have a answer for such a absurd question."

"Well water makes skin clearer right? And your skin is pretty clear but that may be due to a skin care routine since Lady Ayaka also has clear skin."

"I know Ayaka has a skin care routine but I only wash my face in the morning."

"Oh that is so unfair. But I guess I was right in assuming that the hydro vision affects your inner body more. But still super unfair."

"Between the answer you gave Ayaka last night and the questions you ask me now, I almost feel like you're from another world."

You know he's just joking but for a second your heart dropped. He didn't seem to notice as you arrive at the Grand Narukami Shrine. God you hoped Yae would be at the publishing house.

The Narukami Shrine is empty. No people, no noise, not even visitors. You look around a little confused as you both approach the blue teleport waypoint.

Seemingly picking up on your confusion Ayato answers your unspoken question.

"It's noon meaning everyone is inside for the prayer, it'll last for another 30 minute."

Internally you're relieved beyond measure that you won't have to deal with Yae and Ayato at the same time. Then again Yae and Ayato naturally repel each other.

You touch the teleport waypoint and watch it turn gold. Ayato still looks a little awed but you've grown used to it at this point.

"Well it's finally time for you to teleport. I have very little expectations."

Your mouth sets into a firm line. "You'll be blown away even more then."

Despite everything you've gone through with him, Ayato still seems skeptical of you. The plan you have will make you seem crazy but it's your only shot.

You planned on touching the teleport and then using your other hand to bring up the screen. Yet you only got to touching it and remembering where the Kamisato Estate teleport waypoint is on the map when your vision goes white.

The feeling of being teleported is still unfamiliar but you manage to fix yourself as you open your eyes to see the Kamisato Estate. You lock eyes with surprised green and blue eyes.

To think you can teleport to gold waypoints by simply remembering where it is on the map. It couldn't have come at a more convenient time. You smile charmingly and step closer to the duo.

Ayaka becomes embarrassed as she remembers how she acted around you. She leans back with a red face. She uses her fan to hide most of her face.

You're unperturbed and simply lean closer till your face is nearly touching the mask. "Ayato requires strong evidence that my teleportation wasn't staged or shady. So I'll be taking your fan as proof."

You can tell she's about to back away. To stop her you place one hand on her back and she leans back making the position look like you're dipping her.

You easily slide the fan out of her loose grip and lean back to help her stand straight. After removing your hand from her back you turn around to walk to the teleport waypoint.

Ayaka keeps her head down as the lingering feeling of your breath on her face stays. The spot where you held her is still warm. Her mind can only remember that confident grin on your face as you slid her fan from her shaky hands.

Thoma watched the scene with a tight grip on his spear. He took it out in surprise when you appeared but he's using it more as a stress tool at the moment. He can't help but feel a flash of envy when you got so close to Ayaka and held her.

Even as you walk back to the teleport waypoint both of them want to call out. They want to ask you to stop, to come back. But neither of them let out a sound as you touch the structure and leave in a flash of white.

You open your eyes and see Ayato standing in front of you with a rare troubled expression. He sighs in relief seeing you in front of him again.

Your smile is victorious as you stand in front of him before pulling Ayaka's out from behind your back.

"Care to believe me now?" You ask as you hold the fan over your lower face. Ayato takes a few steps towards you with a smiling facade. Your heart stutters as you recall how he threatened to torture and kill you.

You blink in surprise as Ayato plucks Ayaka's fan out of your hands.

"I believe you Y/N. You've truly proven my suspicions wrong. While you may still have secrets you'll not divulge, I'll place my trust in you as the creator's oracle."

Holy shit, you actually managed to make the Ayato Kamisato believe your scam. You can't stop the beaming smile that overtakes your face.

Ayato watches you with clear blue eyes. That smile on your face makes him want to see it even closer but he refrains himself from doing anything inappropriate. Yes, even the sight of your happy smile makes him as excited as your mischievous one does.

Ayato places something in your hands and cups your hands around it. The item is a fan, specifically Ayato's fan judging by the pattern. Both sides of it has his signature theme but one side also has the Kamisato crest clear as day.

You look up at him and tilt your head in confusion. He taps your nose and gives a simple answer.

"I believe my fan suits you better."

Your jaw drops at his blatant flirting. Never ever has someone tried to use flirtatious tactics to make you lose your composure.

But instead of questioning you he smiles wider at your shock and turns around. He starts walking down the stairs and calls out to you.

"Are you going to stand there catching crystalflies all day or are you coming?"

You snap your mouth shut with a blush and follow after him. Was he really flirting? Was it just a compliment? You decide to shake it off for now.

"With you fully proven as a oracle, I must apologize Y/N. I lacked certain courtesy while you were staying in the estate. I do hope you understand why I gave you such a strict test."

The Sakura petals gently sway in the wind as you walk down together. He takes your silence as permission to continue.

"Once we get back I'll arrange for the best ship to take you to Liyue. The ship I have in mind will be in Ritou tomorrow so I would like you to stay at the estate tonight as well. Of course you'll get lunch as soon as we get back and you'll be served dinner tonight. Feel free to ask any of the servants for whatever you need."

Your mind begins to be flooded with the types of food you can eat. The breakfast you ate was delicious and the bed was like sleeping on a cloud-

Oh. You are not going through that again.

"I'm not so sure I would like to sleep at the estate again. I don't want to be woken up in the middle of the night again by Sayu spying on me. The last thing I want to be is sleep deprived on a boat."

"You're completely right about that Y/N, I'm sorry. That was more than not performing certain platitudes, I crossed a boundary that you did not deserved to be breeched. I understand if you would rather have me pay a hotel for you in Ritou but I would be grateful if you could give the Kamisato estate another chance."

Ayato isn't smiling as he says this. He's serious and looks a little ashamed of himself too. A small part of you wants to keep jabbing the opening Ayato revealed and accept the offer to sleep in Ritou. But the sight of him looking down at you with unsure eyes makes your heart ache.

A familiar desire rises in you. The same one that has always ate away your heart for all the lying, cheating, and deceit you pulled on innocent people.

Besides, you were really expecting him to hit back with something like 'If you didn't hide your face then I would never have felt the need to send Sayu.' Yet what you got was a sincere apology instead.

Your silence unnerves him and he turns his face away with the faintest hint of pink on his ears. That's all it takes for you to give in.

You stop at the Sakura Bough and stop Ayato by tugging his long sleeve.

Perhaps you were dumb or foolish for giving in like this. Maybe this was all a trick of his to get more information on you tonight. Or even another chance for Sayu to remove your mask.

Even so, you didn't want to relive your old life again. Your old life where all you had was your wit, quick thinking, and a cold corpse of the only one dear to you. You wanted to trust again and that could only be done by taking a leap of faith.

If this really is a trap then you'll deal with the fall out one way or another, you've always had.

"Thank you for the apology Ayato. To a certain extent I can understand why you had the Shuumatsuban watch over me. But waking up to being touched without my consent is still troubling."

You clench his fan closed as you stare directly at him. Deep blue eyes that seem as vast as the ocean pull you in.

"But just as you're taking a risk in trusting me despite my obvious secrecy, I want to extend that same trust to you. I'll sleep in the estate again tonight."

If you hadn't been paying attention to his body language, you would have missed how tension left him in a very subtle way.

"Now, enough with the mind games we should go to the estate quickly. I'm sure your workload is almost as heavy as me at this point."

Ayato chuckles at how you dismiss the heavy conversation with ease. Swiftly he carries you again and with your hair so close to him, he can smell the sakura petals that linger on you.

The journey back to the estate is filled with more banter after you asked him the age old question on whether water is wet. Spoiler alert he threatened to let the electrograna drag you into the air if you didn't stop asking stupid questions.

Finally landing on the boulder that you hit the first time. Ayato puts you down and tells you. "Careful there Y/N, I don't want you falling again."

"Ayato, I swear to Celestia. If you don't stop bugging me about that I will steal your boba."

"I'd like to see you try."

You're tempted to flip him off but decide against it as the estate comes into view. Thoma is standing outside waiting for you both. Surprisingly enough Ayaka is there too.

You know Ayato is still capable of torturing and killing you but you still feel sad that the journey is over. Realistically you know that even if you trusted Ayato fully, adventures like this would probably never happen again. He's the head of the Yashiro Commission after all.

Thoma smiles when he spots you both, Ayaka and him meet you halfway. Ayato gives Ayaka her fan back and gives a simple summary of how it went.

"The journey to the shrine went smoothly and I'm sure you saw them teleport. I will be arranging a boat for them to leave tomorrow. They've graciously agreed to stay here another night despite our previous hostility."

"I understand. Y/N, thank you for giving the Kamisato Clan another chance. Especially considering how I treated you last night. I am truly sorry for my behavior."

Ayaka hides part of her face with her fan as she speaks. You aren't sure if you should apologize for purposefully riling Ayaka up or not but you nod anyway.

Thoma claps his hands with a smile to disperse the oncoming awkwardness. "With everything cleared up, why don't we all head inside now? Y/N hasn't ate anything since breakfast and my lady has a meeting with other parties. My lord as you're no doubt aware, many things require your attention."

Ayaka and Ayato sigh in unison. You feel a little bad that while you'll be enjoy lunch they'll be working. Giving them both a pat on the back, you speak encouragingly.

"Don't look so glum Lady Kamisato. The faster you finish work, the sooner you can enjoy things you like. And Ayato while your workload isn't something I envy, I do hope you enjoyed our little adventure as a break from your usual work."

They both seem to perk up at your words. You aren't completely sure why since you said pretty normal words of encouragement. Maybe since it felt like the creator was speaking through you?

You weren't completely wrong but you weren't right either. Ayaka was looking forward to finishing her work to speak more to you. She wanted to make sure you and the creator didn't have a bad view of her. Ayato on the other hand was more happy that you seemed to have enjoyed the journey as much as he did.

Thoma is quick to grab your hand and pull you towards the estate. He smiles and begins chatting with you as people swarm Ayaka and Ayato.

"You must be hungry after that hike. I made some lunch, my signature miso soup."

"That sounds delicious Thoma, thank you so much!" Your excitement is clear in your voice as you follow him inside.

Inside the room he led you to is two bowls of his signature dish. You begin eating making sure to imprint the taste into your brain. You didn't know when you would be eating like this in Liyue.

Probably never but you would rather do that then have Ei a constant threat.

Thoma eats across from you as he talks with you. The conversation is light and entertaining as you ask him strange questions like:

"So what's the deal with Taroumaru? Like he's a badass Shiba Inu who worked for the Shuumatsuban before retiring as the owner of the Komore Teahouse. How did he become a member of the Shuumatsuban? Who sold him the Teahouse? Who even wrote up the contracts that he used for his employees?"

Thoma stops eating as he thinks. "I can't really tell you much about that. I guess the only 'safe' information I can tell you is that my lord was the one who helped Taroumaru with all that."

"What makes that information 'safe'?"

"If I tell you anymore information there is a very large chance that you may get assassinated."

You nod in understanding, and decide to drop that particular subject. Lunch is soon over and Thoma leaves to fulfill his duties, leaving you alone in your room. But that's fine, you have your own things to test.

Taking the book you were pretending to read that morning, you open it up as you sit on the bed. The cover is in a language you can't understand.

Genshin has it's own language and you've always headcanoned that Paimon was the one who translated it for the traveler. A lot of the stuff in Genshin was in ineligible scribbles if they weren't important.

Now that you were here in the flesh, you can see the letters clearer. But it was useless since you didn't recognize the language at all. You never got to finish your schooling in your world either.

Thankfully Genshin was set in a time where most transactions are done by talking. But that doesn't mean reading wouldn't be useful either.

It is strange how when using the screen it automatically translates it while you in real life cannot. You stare at the cover of the book harder hoping that a new screen will open and automatically translate the cover. That of course doesn't happen.

Could you even learn a whole new language while traveling? How would you even learn if nobody knew what language you read in? Plus you can't ask anyone in the Kamisato estate since you were fake reading this book for a good portion of the morning while eavesdropping.

As you continue brainstorming you let your fingers trace the words on the cover. You feel it start to move and watch in fascination as the characters twist and move to spell the book cover in your language.

"Treasured Tales of the Chouken Shinkageuchi" is the name of the book. You remember reading it in the archive. To think that you were using a book about the Electro Archon to help you get away from said Electro Archon.

You open the book and touch the letters on the first page. Just like the cover, all the letters changed into your native language. What a useful feature, even if you have to touch every sign and book from now on, it was well worth it.

In fact this reminded you of how the wind blew Thoma and Ayaka's conversation to you while blocking out the other sounds. And how the ground seemed to shake only you when Ayato was coming closer to your room. Perhaps this was powers you got from being the creator? Or could it be Teyvat itself helping you?

You don't get much more time to stew the possibilities as someone knocks on your door. You open it expecting it to be a worker tasked with giving you dinner. Instead it's Ayaka with a small smile.

"I hope I didn't come at a bad time Y/N. I wanted to ask if you would like to have dinner with me. Brother and Thoma unfortunately can't join due to work. If my offer is uncomfortable for you then you can reject it with no problem."

You're starting understand why Ayaka seemed to have changed her tune. Not that you blame or think less of her due to it. This 'worship the creator' thing is deeply imbedded in Teyvat as a whole.

"That sounds great Lady Kamisato, I would love to eat with you." Ayaka relaxes at your answer, you can already tell what she'll be asking you at dinner.

"Please call me Ayaka." She says with a smile as she leads you down the hallway. You enter a clean dining room that already has food set down on the table. You let Ayaka take a seat first before choosing the spot across from her.

It's quiet at first with workers putting portions of the food on each of the plates. It's a weird feeling to be served outside of a restaurant. Many of the dishes that you saw in the game were on the table looking just as delicious as before.

They also tasted amazing as you and Ayaka ate in silence. Soba, unagi meat, sushi, and other soups left you eager for more. Ayaka sets down her chopsticks and speaks quietly.

"I understand that this may be presumptuous of me to ask but I have to. Why am I the only one in the Kamisato clan to not be awakened?"

You finish chewing the food in your mouth before responding in a neutral voice. "What kind of answer are you looking for? A emotional answer with me telling you the creators thoughts and reasons on why they haven't awakened you? Or a factual reason that is out of everyone's control, including the creator's?"

You continue eating as Ayaka looks down while thinking about what you said. As her silence stretches on you audibly sigh and speak.

"Look Ayaka, if you want me to give you a real answer you'll need to tell me why you want to know. Are you feeling insecure as the only Kamisato left out? Are you envious of everyone else who was awakened? I mean even the Electro Archon and the head of the Narukami Shrine haven't been awakened yet. What are you hoping to see happen or feel, when or if you are awakened?"

You give Ayaka a moment to think before going back to eating. It was a shame really, you had hoped to bond in some way with the Shirasagi Himegimi while you were still here. But it seemed that no matter what kind of setting you were in with her, you two seemed to be on opposite sides of each other.

The sound of twinkling ice falling onto the table startle you. You stop eating and look up to see what ice was falling. For a second you even though that Ayaka was going to use her cryo to threaten you again.

Yet instead of seeing a raging snowstorm, you saw small tears leave Ayaka's eyes and freeze before hitting the table. She was crying, shit you made her cry. You were crap, complete and utter crap.

Leaving your spot in a hurry you move to her side and sit next to her. You don't touch her in case that's too personal as she tries to wipe away the tears. The tears only fall faster and faster while you are helplessly watching.

"I'm *hick* sorry. You sh-shouldn't have to s-see me like this."

Ayaka's whole problem was struggling with speaking her mind and having to keep up a perfect appearance in front of everyone. You feel like a fool for not realizing how your words only aggravated her insecurities.

"Don't apologize for something like that. I'm sorry for pushing you so hard with all my questions. Not my best words, I'll be the first to admit that."

It's true. In trying to fight back against Ayato and defend yourself, you've used Ayaka without care. You wouldn't change your decisions since your life was on the line but you can't help but feel the need to make her feel better too.

Slowly you place your hands on hers that are covering her eyes. You keep them there for a moment giving Ayaka more than enough time to reject you. With no movement from her, you slowly pull her hands off her face to see her clearly.

Her eyes are red-rimmed and tears are slowly sliding down her face before becoming ice once they fall off. She's looking away from you before glancing at you quickly.

"Ayaka, I never meant to make you feel bad or ashamed for any feelings you might have. Envy, jealousy, isolation, or any other emotion are completely normal to feel in your situation."

Your sincere words and apologetic smile seem to comfort Ayaka as the tears slow to a stop. She doesn't move her hands out of your grasp as she replies with a hoarse voice.

"You are right though. I do feel insecure and envious of my brother and Thoma. I had hope after Ayato was awakened that I would soon be too. Yet it never came and I watched more and more acolytes awaken too. People spoke more and rumors spread."

She bites back a sniffle as her feelings and words flow out with a frosty tone.

"Things like 'She isn't a good enough worshipper' or 'poor Ayaka is the only exception'. It was only when brother stepped in and stopped the rumors from festering or growing that it stopped but that doesn't make them stop thinking about it. The pitying looks, side eyes, and even mocking stares were destroying my life's work in keeping a good image of the Kamisato Clan. The image of perfection that I worked towards was crumbling beneath my feet."

She breaths heavily as she speaks with despair filled love and adoration.

"I could never blame the creator for that. I never needed to know why they couldn't or even refused to awaken me. They are perfect and if I wasn't the problem then people would think the creator is. I would never allow that sort of perception of them. That's why I have never fought against the rumors, this is the only way I can show my love for them without being awakened outside of normal worship."

Her words blow you away. You never considered how being awakened could have this much effect. Nor did you understand how high Ayaka herself placed you as the creator. To think that she would rather her image of perfection and title of Shirasagi Himegimi be tarnished than let your own perfection be questioned. You aren't perfect nor will you ever call yourself perfect but the devotion she shows touches your heart.

"Ayaka, know that I speak as both myself and the creator right now. That image of perfection you feel the need to upkeep is due to your upbringing from wanting to help Ayato right? Just as your brother was recognized, not for his title or deeds but for the love and care he showed for you. You too will be recognized, perhaps in a way that neither you nor anyone else will realize. But know that you are loved and appreciated for the sacrifices you have made."

You smile and hug her tightly. Ayaka hugs back as she grips the back of your clothes. She's crying harder than before and it leaves cold wet spots on you but it goes ignored.

You never had the income to pull and whale for all the characters. Ayaka wasn't very high on your list of desired characters and her banners came at the moments where you had little to no primogems. But you wanted to now, you probably would never build her but if simply awakening her would stop her problems then you'll happily do so.

Ayaka seems to calm down in your arms and after a while she pulls away with a flushed face. The embarrassment of how she acted around you seems to finally dawn on her. All she could fully remember was the sweet words that left your mouth and the warmth of your arms around her.

On the other hand, you were too busy despairing over the now cold food to truly notice the dazed look on her face. She stands up in a hurry making your head snap up to watch as she hurriedly leaves the room.

You sit there confused by her sudden exit before moving back to your spot. Determinedly you begin eating your cold food. Cold or not, delicious food was delicious food. If you could eat expired, dumpster and even raw food then some cold food would be fine.

The moment you finished eating, Ayaka came back holding a small tray with a single plate on it. She's completely composed again but she still avoids your curious eyes as she sits down.

"My performance just then wasn't what I should have showed you considering that you are a guest. I apologize for that. Please have some Sakura Mochi I made as a apology."

She sets the plate down and uses her fan to hide her face. You chuckle and bring the plate closer to you. It's her signature dish and you had never tried mochi before.

"Thank you Ayaka and like I said, don't apologize for expressing normal emotions."

She smiles quietly and watches you cut a big piece of it. She gives you a worried look as you put the whole piece in your mouth. It's sweet and tasty but it's also very sticky. She tries to suppress her giggles as she watches you struggle to chew and swallow it.

"Have you ever eaten mochi before?"

You can't even open your mouth to answer and simply shake your head no. You were choking on a delicious piece of mochi while Ayaka laughs at you. A death like this wouldn't be all that bad.

Thankfully you manage to swallow it and sigh in relief.

"Even though I nearly died choking on this mochi, I absolutely love it. If you were expecting to have a piece of your own creation then I have bad news for you."

You say with a teasing tone before cutting a smaller piece and eating it. This time with no choking in between. She only smiles wider behind her fan.

You finish the mochi and the servants come in and take the dishes back to the kitchen. You get up and Ayaka beckons you to follow her to lead you back to your room.

"I know that you don't really need to know, but I think closure is important." Ayaka gives you a questioning glance and you take that as a sign to continue.

"While in the other world, the creator has limited power to awaken acolytes. Some acolytes are able to be awakened at any time, while others only have a certain time frame. In fact even luck has a huge factor in this too. The creator hasn't awakened you, not because they dislike you or something. But rather because your constellation for awakening happens to come at the worst moments."

You give her a soft smile. "You're just really unlucky but I have a feeling your luck will turn around soon."

Ayaka doesn't answer and you don't expect her to. When you get to your room, you open the door and are about to step inside. She places her hand on your shoulder making you look back at her.

"You're right, that does make me feel better." Her answer is quiet and soft just like her smile. Yet it's beautiful all the same.

She releases you and walks away. You go back inside your room and hope that the next one-on-one conversation you have with her won't have dramatic emotional moments. But you have a feeling that those moments were needed for both of you.

The sunset makes your room bathe in a soft glow as you read some books from the shelf that weren't in the game archive. It's been a few hours since dinner and you were trying to enjoy the last hours you have until tomorrow where you'll stuck on a boat for who knows how long.

A knock the door surprises you and it's Thoma who stands outside smiling at you. Most of his armor and accessories he usually wears are gone which makes him look good, just a bit unfamiliar.

"Y/N! Glad to see you're still awake. My lord and I have finished up work and he wanted to invite you to hotpot with us. My lady will also be there. Are you up for it?"

Your social battery was completely drained at this point but the way Thoma was staring at you with such excitement made you nod. He beams and grabs your hand.

"Have you ever played hotpot before? It's really fun and we have the dishes already you just need to choose which one you want to put in."

"I know the premise of it but I've never done it myself. If I put something disgusting in it, can you help me make sure Ayato is the one who eats it? I wanna see his reaction to it."

Thoma laughs at your mischievous smile. He pulls you down another hallway past one of the few rooms that has lights on.

"Sounds great to me, I'll think of it as payback for all the strange stuff he's made me eat in the past."

"Didn't he try to make you eat some strange flavored Boba before?"

"Ah, don't remind me. I drank it all trying not to waste food. I was sick for the rest of the day."

"Or maybe you're just competitive. I mean you did eat all the weird stuff in the hotpot you played with Ayaka and the traveler."

Thoma's hand tightens around yours for a moment before his grip goes back to normal. You take note at how you passed that same lit up room again.

"Did the creator show you that? You aren't completely wrong but I'm not that competitive."

"Oh, so you just like eating strange stuff? Never guessed you were the type Thoma."

Your teasing words made him shush you playfully. You've been walking for at least 10 minutes, more than enough time to arrive at the room. You stop walking making Thoma stop and look back at you. Just as you're opening your mouth to speak, the door to that room you had your eye on opens.

"How many times were you going to walk past the room Thoma. Did you get lost or something?" Ayato says with a smile. He's wearing a dark blue yukata or was it a kimono? That had a white obi and gold engraved patterns.

A really good look on him and you can see Ayaka peaking out behind him. She has her hair loose again and she's wearing a white kimono and a steel blue obi. The winding gold sakuras that decorate her kimono suits her.

"Sorry my lord, I was so caught up in the conversation that I kept walking." Thoma speaks with a sheepish smile. Ayato slides the door open wider letting you and Thoma in.

Ayato and Ayaka go back to their seats across each other. Thoma is busy bringing the ingredients to the wide table to sit yet leaving you with the decision.

Do you sit next to Ayaka or Ayato?

To kill time you close the door and walk slowly to the table. The decision is made for you as Ayato pats the spot next to him and tells you.

"Sit here Y/N, you probably haven't played hotpot before, right? We'll be playing a hotpot game too so I'll explain it."

Just as you are about to sit down, Ayaka pipes up.

"Then shouldn't Y/N sit next to me instead? Me and Thoma are the only ones who played it before with the traveler. So it would better for me to explain."

"That may be true but I was hoping to add something new to the game that would require Y/N to be in the spot next to me."

You sit down before they can go on any longer. Ayato smiles at you while Ayaka looks away with what you think is a pout. Thoma comes back with a box of ingredients. He sets it down before siting down across from you and next to Ayaka.

Ayato begins explaining as the broth is finishes heating up.

"The game goes like this. We all put some ingredients into it and we all take turns tasting it and guessing who put it in. The ingredients in the box are up for everyone to pick but if one of us already have a ingredient then they can use that instead. Every time someone is right they get a point. I was hoping we could play in teams since Ayaka and Thoma have already played before."

"Wouldn't it be better for Y/N to pair up with me and you with my lady so that it's more fair?" Thoma says which makes Ayaka speak up.

"Then Y/N can also choose to pair up with me instead of either of you."

"Then Y/N, who do you choose to be your partner?" Ayato asks you with a smile that makes you feel a bit nervous. You look at all their expectant faces as you contemplate your choice.

Yeah, you'll just leave it up to chance.

Pointing at Thoma you start rhyming as you point at them all with each word.

"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe."

They look at you confused by your strange words and actions.

"Catch a tiger by the toe."

Ayato seems to understand and sits back with a smile. This prompts Thoma and Ayaka to relax as they continue watching you.

"If he yells, let him go."

"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe!"

Your fingers stops and it's pointing at Thoma.

"Luck and probably math has chosen. Thoma is my partner, I hope ya'll are ready to lose."

Ayato and Ayaka take the decision with no hard feelings just like you hoped. Instead they send each other a firm glance before turning back to you and Thoma.

"We'll just have to see Y/N. Thoma may be up for eating strange things but you may not be able to." Ayaka says as she smiles at you.

"I'll be fine, I mean how bad can it be?" It wouldn't be a good decision to let them know just what kind of food you used to eat to not starve.

"You'd be surprised how things can change taste in hotpot. Just make sure not to almost choke this time." She finishes with a giggle. Ayato smiles at you in amusement as Thoma laughs.

"I don't know if I'm just a fun target or if you and Ayato are that similar. I made one mistake using the electrograna and he never let me live it down the whole journey."

You pick your ingredients; sea ganoderma, matsutake, eel meat, and fluorescent fungus. Hopefully you won't make anyone sick with this and you hide them in your box under the table.

"I believe it's your inability to behave normally that makes us pick on you so much. Who even asks if a vision can make you sweat more?"

Thoma and Ayaka laugh while you stick your tongue out at Ayato. You all turn around for one of the late night servants to put all the chosen ingredients in. With no body able to witness him, he sticks his tongue out at you back.

You give a mock shocked gasp and pay very close attention to the boba the servant hands to Ayato before they leave. You all turn back to the table and take turns cooking the pot full of strange choices.

"I'm starting to think this hotpot is a danger hazard."

"It probably taste better than it looks Y/N." Thoma says comfortingly.

"Are you lying to make me feel better?"

"Yes." You laugh at his honest reply before Ayaka uses her chopsticks to check the hotpot.

"Y/N, tell me how does your back feel?" Ayato asks innocently. You smile at him before responding.

"It's perfectly fine, never been better. Why do you ask Ayato?" You know exactly why but you're just waiting for him to say it. Your hand twitches in anticipation.

"I just wanted to check since you hit the boulder so harshly when that electrograna dragged you."

Ayaka and Thoma give you concerned looks and you're quick to reassure them.

"I'm fine, really, no bruises or cuts. But Ayato is about to be one boba short!" You say before reaching over quickly to snatch the boba out of his hand.

Ayato is a step ahead of you and keeps his boba in his other hand farther from you. At this point you're leaning on him trying to reach the damn boba as he smirks at you.

"What's wrong Y/N? Can't reach?"

"You are so lucky you changed your clothes or else I would have used those long ass sleeves to drag your hand down."

You give up and sit properly in your seat as you glare at his boba. Ayato simply sips it loudly to further annoy you.

"The hotpot is done, so who'll go first?" Thoma asks as he looks up from the pot. You immediately raise your hand, you did not want to get stuck eating something bad.

"I'll taste the pot of doom first." Ayaka hands the chopsticks to you with a amused smile. You hold the chopsticks with a sense of resignation.

You don't know how to use them. All this time, they had given you a choice between chopsticks and other utensils.

"Sorry but I can't use these. I can barely handle a fork and knife." One of the guys snorts as you hand it back to Ayaka. Giving a glare at both of them who look away innocently, you use a different utensil and scoop out a piece that doesn't look poisonous.

The whitish soft food is put into your mouth. It taste sweet and only a little soggy. You chew it a bit before realizing what it could be.

"This kind of taste like tofu. I'm gonna guess Thoma put this in because we ate miso soup for lunch."

"Looks like my partner knows me well. That's right Y/N, I put it there." Thoma high-fives you as you swallow the tofu.

"That's one point for you two but now it's my turn." Ayaka grabs a piece of food and eats it. Her face scrunches up in surprise. You laugh at her expression and the game goes on.

Points were gained and Thoma almost always guessed each weird ingredient as Ayato's. He was at least 80% right. It's on one of Ayato's turn that he ate something green.

As Ayato continued trying to swallow it as Thoma laughed at him, you slipped your arm behind his back. You blindly groped the floor next to him for the boba before the plastic bottle was in your hand.

You pulled it back victorious and drank from it. It tasted like strawberry milk boba, refreshing and sweet. You kept the straw in your mouth as Ayato spoke.

"Who put sea ganoderma into the hotpot? It didn't taste bad but the texture is awful."

You only smile as you keep slowly sipping the Boba. For some reason Thoma and Ayaka are giving you a look. Ayato finally looks you and covers his mouth with his sleeve.

"You do know I already drank from that, right?"

No, no you didn't but damn it you weren't losing.

"And you do know I threatened your boba right? It's pretty good so I think I'm keeping this now."

He only laughs at your childishness and looks away. You can't see how his face becomes a soft pink at your actions.

"I'm gonna guess Ayaka put it in. It's too tame to be Thoma's and Y/N can only choose from the box." Ayaka shakes her head no and you raise your hand.

"It was actually me this time. I found it all the way at the bottom of the box. The look on your face was funny but I'm glad it wasn't poisonous."

"C'mon Y/N I wouldn't give you a box with potential poisonous ingredients. But I am glad you found all the hidden gems I snuck in." Thoma cheerfully adds. Something about the way he's speaking is off, the same could be said for Ayaka with how she's refusing to look at Ayato.

You shrug it off and the game continues on. That weird tension slowly goes away leaving the atmosphere pleasant and fun. At the end of it, you and Thoma won the game. You felt bad that he was the one who ate some of the strangest ones.

Thoma was sprawled out on your lap as you rubbed his back. Ayaka was dozing off on your shoulder while Ayato cleaned up the remaining mess. You weren't sure how you got into this position but it was nice.

Ayato smiled softly as he saw you trying to keep Thoma awake. He shakes Thoma and brings him to sit up.

"Thoma, Ayaka fell asleep, please bring her to bed while I lead Y/N back to their room."

Thoma is about to say something but the look Ayato gives him backs him hold his tongue and nod his head. You aren't able to understand but it seems Ayato wants to talk to you in private.

Thoma stands up and pats your head as a 'thank you'. He carefully carries Ayaka and leaves the room. Ayato offers you his hand and you accept the help.

He doesn't let go of your hand as he leads you out of the room and down the halls. It's quiet with the moon as your only light source. Ayato keeps glancing at you while smiling a little sadly.

You get to your room and before either of you can say a goodbye you fumble with something in your pocket before taking it out. It's Ayato's fan, you hold it out to him.

"I almost forgot to give this back to you. I don't want to forget and accidentally take it with me. It's very pretty so it must be just as expansive."

Ayato shakes his head and pushes it back to you.

"Keep it. This isn't just a gift, this is a symbol of my trust in you as a oracle. The Kamisato crest will serve as proof that the Kamisato clan backs you up."

You accept it with mixed emotions. Out of everything that you've lied about, your status as a oracle was definitely the most profound one. Yes, you kept up and made it more believable to save your life but what would happen if they found out? Believing and trusting were different and accepting this fan would mean accepting whatever punishment they would subject you to for breaking their trust.

"Thank you Ayato. It's a beautiful fan, I'll be sure to utilize it to solidify my oracle position. You accept the intricate beautiful fan with a graceful smile.

He turns to leave before stopping and turning back to you. "And Sayu will be paying you a visit soon. So please don't sleep just yet."

A little confused you nod and wave goodbye to Ayato who returns it with a soft smile. When you close the door, his eyes dull a bit as he remembers how far away you'll be tomorrow. Not for the first time he curses the vast ocean that will separate you both.

You flop on the bed and sigh. The bed seems to envelope you as the smell of sakura seeps in through the window. For a few seconds you doze off before the sound of something on the window sill startles you awake.

Mujina ears are the first thing you notice as Sayu sits on the window sill with a bag next to her. You sit up and watch as she moves to kneel in front of you.

"I hope I'm not interrupting you Y/N. Wait should I address you formally?" Sayu's signature sleepy voice is quiet as the wind blows gently.

"Nah just call me Y/N and speak to ne normally. I'm not a noble or someone important."

"The creator is important and by extension you are too Y/N. Please forgive my rudeness and suspicion I treated you last night. Even though I was under Lord Kamisato's orders, I was still wrong."

You can basically see how the mujina ears and tail drop as she speaks. You feel very tempted to reach out and pet her, but you really don't want to be bitten.

"I also wanted to thank you for not mentioning how I tried to take off your mask. My lord never requested it and if he found out I would be stuck with even more work as punishment."

So Ayato never ordered Sayu to take off your mask. Then that leaves the question.

"Then why did you try to remove it?"

Sayu gets up from her kneeling position to look up at you. Her eyes though tired are firm as she speaks.

"The creator is one of the few people that I have left in my life. When you came in and Thoma claimed you were a oracle, I was pretty mad. Someone claiming to be the creator's oracle is really arrogant. You were even more dubious with that mask. When I was sent to get information on you and couldn't find anything I just felt worse. That's why I decided to use the opportunity I had to see your true identity."

That's right, it's implied that her master left her in some way and since people worshipped you so much, she ended up relying on you to fill the hole her master left. It's hard to lose the only parental figure in someone's life, you've gone through it too. But it wasn't healthy to fixate on you or growing taller.

"Thank you for apologizing Sayu, I don't hold it against you. But even if I was someone suspicious please don't do that again, to anyone really. I'm keeping this mask on for a reason and for anyone not preapproved to see my face would mean drastic events would occur."

Sayu's eyes widen when you mention drastic events. It wasn't the best move to imply that but you needed to scare her. You didn't have the time to try and ease her off the devoted worshipper train.

Instead you change the topic to something else. Pointing at the bag on the window sill you ask what it is. Sayu grabs it and carries it to you. It's a cute sight seeing the small ninja carry a bag that's as big as her.

"This is a gift from my lord and myself. I hope you like them. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm actually gonna sleep tonight instead of wasting time watching you." Her words come out as a sleepy mumble before she uses her Yoohoo art to leave.

You open the bag to find a ton of clothes inside. Formal, pajamas, casual, and even some tougher clothes that seem to be built with resistance. All high quality and expansive.

You change into the pajamas to find it fitting you perfectly. You remember how Sayu was touching you, she must have been measuring you. Maybe the original reason she was doing that was to get a body bag for you since they were so sure you were a fake.

As you put the other clothes inside your bag, you continue thinking on the topic. They wouldn't need a body bag for you since Thoma is more than capable of burning dead bodies. But maybe they were worried that Thoma would refuse to since he was the one who brought you.

You lay down on the bed and wonder how in the world did you get so comfortable imagining your death. Thinking yourself as the creator with acolytes willing to die for you, still feels unreal. But the way the bed cradles your tired body is too tempting to continue debating the morality or logistics of your situation. Your eyes close and you fall into a deep slumber.

Finally done with this monster of a chapter. Was it too long? If you thought it was then just let me know and next time I'll cut it in half. It was really fun to write. In my outline I wrote that Ayaka and reader would get along well. But by the time I got to the scene, everything changed. None of those dramatic emotional burst were supposed to happen. And Thoma? His yandereness showing every so often was completely unplanned. I really enjoy this kinda characterization for Ayato. I hated him as I wrote him in the beginning and loved him by the end of the chapter. I hope you all liked how the teleport waypoints were used! Taglist: @vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @sielt If you are in italics that means I couldn't tag you! Usually you'll need to check your settings to fix that.

[hlficlibrary]

HL FIC LIBRARY ☕ Coffee Shop Fics

Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find the library's other recs here.

☕ I’d Still Dance With You by kikikryslee / @flamboyantommo {M, 57k}

“Liam, if you met someone that you really liked, would age matter?” Louis asked. “I suppose so; to a point, anyway.” “Like, how young would you go?” Liam thought it over. “Uh… I don’t know. Like, 24?” Louis groaned and dropped his head in his hands. “Why? How old is this guy you like?” “Twenty-one,” Louis muttered. “Hang on. He’s 21, and you’re… what? Twenty-eight?” “Yeah.” “Wow. Um… well, OK. That’s a, uh, that’s a gap.”

Or, the 21/28 age difference fic where Harry is younger than Louis thought he was, and even though Louis’ head is telling him not to pursue anything, his heart doesn’t seem to agree.

☕ I Really Like Your Styles: The Baking Advent-ure by @homosociallyyours {T, 34k}

Louis isn't much for frills, and the coffee shop he co-owns with his best friend Liam is evidence of that. Yes, it's got a decent sized, well-kept industrial kitchen, but Louis insists that people come to coffee shops for coffee, not mediocre pastry and plastic wrapped cookies. When Liam's campaign for serving treats turns into watching a few baking accounts on whichever popular app he's on, there's one that really gets on Louis' nerves: "I Like Your Styles." With his chipper demeanor and over the top descriptions of the food he makes, Louis is sure that the (unfortunately cute) baker is full of it. Nothing that adorable could possibly be worth the hype.

It doesn't actually take much for him to eat his words...and some quality baked goods, while he's at it.

☕ love drunk, waiting on a miracle by @hellolovers13 {E, 30k}

Christmas inspired Coffeshop AU

Harry has a bit of a crush on a customer. Thankfully, the feeling is mutual.

These are their first 24 days together.

☕ And That’s The Tea by @2tiedships2​ {M, 27k}

I’d like an Earl Grey with milk and sugar, please.

Louis had the phrase memorized, even though it had disappeared off its place on his upper arm over thirteen years ago now.

At fourteen he didn’t understand. Soulmarks don’t just disappear. Not unless…

Unless one of them dies.

Or, the one where Louis loses his soulmate before even getting the chance to meet them, and he is in no way prepared for the kind of distraction his new friend Harry proves to be.

☕ Friday I'm in Love by @perfectdagger {M, 25k}

It has a pattern, Harry has noticed.It’s not that he has been observing the guy who regularly comes to the coffee shop for the past few weeks; but he totally has.It’s also not Harry’s fault that he’s infatuated with the guy who apparently follows a very repetitive schedule.

Or the one where Harry works at the coffee shop and Louis goes there almost every day and Harry is head over heels for him, making his love life look like a The Cure song.

Inspired by Friday I’m in Love by The Cure (obviously).

☕ From The Heart (series) by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom {E, 24k}

Every Tuesday, Louis spends his day off holed up in his favorite coffee-come-bookshop, writing his little stories as part of the WordPlay challenge while daydreaming about the resident barista, Harry. Each week a new word prompt is revealed and Louis adds to his series of short stories about Henry, the owner of a B&B in the Cotswolds who has curly hair and dimples, Lewis, his long term guest who just happens to be a writer, and Tigger, Henry’s cat.

As Louis and Harry’s friendship develops, could his fantasy world spill out into real life? And how does that reader who leaves the lovely comments with the teacup emoji seem to be able to read Louis’ mind?

☕ ever since new york by @sunflower-live​ / sunflower_live {NR, 22k}

Louis works at a coffee shop in NYC and he pines endlessly after the boy who lives above it.

☕ blend into my favourite colour by rainbowninja167 / @rainbowtitania {T, 19k}

Harry often wonders if they’ll ever meet in real life. And if Harry will recognize Tommo the instant they see each other, like somehow their souls will just know. Or maybe Harry’s soul is shouting “Louis!” too loudly for any other signals to go through.

Harry is a barista with a secret Werewolf High fan blog, a desperate crush on a customer named Louis, and a best friend on Tumblr who always makes him laugh. Louis can't figure out why the barista at his favorite coffee shop keeps creepily staring at him, and to make matters worse, he may be slightly in love with a friend he met online.

A love square involving two boys, one TV fandom, and one food fight.

☕ The Importance of being Earnest by @louloubabys1992​ / louloubaby92 {NR, 16k}

Harry cannot help but pay extra attention to Louis' order, even if it is just a warm cup of tea with a dash of milk and no sugar. He also makes sure that the Danish Louis asks for is warm and fresh from the oven and not the one in the display, even if it means delaying Louis a bit when he fetches said Danish from the kitchen. It's all worth it when Louis smiles his crinkly smile at him before he rushes off to work.

Man, he's hot, he cannot help but think.

Or Harry is a barista who's been harboring a crush on Louis for months. Little does he know that Louis actually likes him back.

☕ Before We Ever Wrote a Song by @casuallyhl​ {E, 13k}

Harry just can't be around Louis when he's flirting outrageously with Chad Michael Murray. So what if he's the star of one of the country's most popular shows? Harry's seen an episode or two and it's not that great. Sure, the drama is exciting and all the actors are attractive and it’s shot in his hometown, but still. Not that great. Certainly not great enough for Louis to fall over himself every time Chad enters the coffee shop.

Harry doesn’t want to watch the over-the-top spectacle, which is why he usually retreats.

And besides, it hurts to see the boy he’s in love with flirting with someone else.

Or, Harry and Louis work in a coffeehouse on a film studios lot, and Harry wishes Louis would pay half as much attention to him as he does the famous actors.

☕ A Love Stronger Than Espresso by tempolarriefics / @tempolarriefix {G, 12k}

Louis is entirely dependent on caramel mocha in the mornings, but soon he finds that there's one thing at the coffee shop he needs more than coffee - a cute barista named Harry.

aka: The one where Harry is a cute barista guy and Louis plays hard to get by using a different name to order coffee each day

☕ John Doe by FitzAndLarry {G, 12k}

John Doe I don't even know you, but I know fo' sho' That you are beautiful, so baby let me know Your name Damn what's his name?

xxx

There's a boy taking the stand at the open mic night where Harry works as a barista, and he's going to find out the boy's name if it's the last thing he does.

An ode to Never Shout Never, and a story about finding a new home.

☕ Coming Home Through the Dark to You by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup {G, 6k}

Harry Styles works at the Fox in the Snow, the most hipster coffee joint around. He's got too many roommates and a best friend he met his first day of university who he might very well be head-over-heels for.

☕ ‘Sup by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics​ {G, 6k}

Gemma really wants her little brother to sign up for a dating app and get back in the game after a messy divorce. Harry thinks he’s way too old to swipe. They compromise to devastatingly embarrassing results.

Meanwhile, all Louis wants is to finish the play he’s been commissioned to write, but one of the regulars at his local coffee shop keeps distracting him.

ft. older larry, pushy gemma, harry being a disaster gay and silver fox louis.

☕ Time Of The Season by alienharry {NR, 6k}

When writer's block stands in the way of Harry completing his second novel, he turns to the sweet-smelling omega behind the counter of his new favorite coffee shop for inspiration.

☕ I Kinda Need A Hero (Is It You) by @fallinglikethis {NR, 5k}

Louis is a barista who’s had his heart broken. Harry is the boy who wants to put the pieces back together.

☕ That's Not My Name by @lululawrence {NR, 3k}

He froze for a second, because he hadn’t expected to be hit with such an intense gaze. Green eyes beneath a beanie and loads of curly hair made Louis miss a beat before coming back to himself.

“Uh, hi. Sorry. Can I take your order?”

The boy (man?) gave a shy smile and said, “Just a caramel macchiato, please. Grande.” Louis nodded as he scribbled onto the cup and punched it into the register.

As the boy held his phone to the machine to pay, Louis asked, “Name please?”

“Oh, uh, Marcus.”

Louis scribbled Marcus on the cup and handed it off, but not before giving the boy a smile and nodding over to where he’d be able to pick up his drink. Louis watched him a bit longer than he probably should have, then forced himself to move on.

Or the one where the cute boy coming into the coffee shop gives Louis a different name every time...for over a month.

☕ A Cuppa Courage by @juliusschmidt {G, 3k}

Liam kicks Harry's shin, picking up another cup to fill. “He seems like he’d be a good catch, if you liked guys, I mean.”

I do like guys, Harry does not say, even though he’d like to shout it at the top of his lungs. I DO LIKE GUYS.

[a fluffy lil' fall coffee shop coming out au.]

☕ cursing the cosmos by 5sexualhomos / @hogwartzlou {NR, 3k}

In a world where people have timers counting down to when they meet their soulmate, finding love is easy. Harry meets Louis in a coffee shop one day. They slowly fall in love, the only thing holding them back is that they aren't soulmates.

☕ baby baby, you're a caramel macchiato by @missandrogyny {T, 3k}

So, yeah, Harry doesn't think it's that far of a stretch to call himself a good barista. There are some particularly bad ones, and some particularly good ones, and, with his work ethic, his skill, and his charm, he'd probably be lumped in with the latter group.

☕  tell me what you need by @disgruntledkittenface​ {G, 2k}

“And a fresh cherry?” he asks, pinching his bottom lip between his fingers. He waits as Louis stares him down, his brow furrowing.“No? What the fuck,” Louis rasps, looking bewildered.

coffeeshop AU based on this iconic prompt:

harry: can i please get a semi-iced half caramel half vanilla decaf latte with no foam using fresh almond milk with a small swirl of whipped cream covered in a pinch of cinnamon and a fresh cherry? louis: ...no? what the fuck

[afsalovesnikolai]

Hey!! I saw you need requests so I wondering if you would like, if you could write for Akutagawa where he gets a crush on the waitress at the cafe he frequently visits and all of the mafia members try to set the two up. Have fun writing!!

It was an unusually quiet afternoon at the cozy café tucked away in Yokohama’s bustling streets. Akutagawa, accustomed to the chaos of the Port Mafia’s daily affairs, found solace in this tranquil corner where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the gentle hum of conversations. Little did he know, a shift in routine awaited him that would stir his typically stoic demeanor.

As he sat by the window, meticulously sipping his espresso, his attention was drawn to a waitress weaving through the tables with effortless grace—You. You had a smile that could rival the sun. Akutagawa found himself captivated by your serene presence and the gentle way you interacted with customers.

Days turned into weeks, and Akutagawa’s visits to the café became more frequent. Each time he came, he found himself stealing glances at You, feeling a strange flutter in his chest whenever your eyes briefly met. His thoughts, usually consumed by missions and strategy, now wandered to thoughts of you—your laughter, the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the kindness in your eyes.

Meanwhile, the members of the Port Mafia couldn’t help but notice Akutagawa’s subtle change in demeanor. Chuuya, the observant one at present, was the first to pick up on it. "Hey, Akutagawa seems different lately. Ya’ think he’s got a little crush?" he whispered to Gin during a meeting.

Gin, with her quiet demeanor, observed her brother with a mix of curiosity and amusement. She nodded slightly, acknowledging Chuuya's observation. "It does seem that way," she replied softly, glancing discreetly at Akutagawa who was lost in thought.

Soon enough, word subtly spread through the ranks of the Port Mafia. It became a whispered topic among the members during breaks, with everyone secretly rooting for Akutagawa—some out of genuine goodwill, others purely for the entertainment value of seeing Akutagawa flustered over a woman.

One afternoon, after weeks of silent encouragement and not-so-subtle matchmaking attempts from his colleagues (mostly from Gin), Akutagawa found himself alone with You in the café during a rare lull in customers. His body was tense, awkwardly watching you, unnerving and fidgeting with his teacup. Finally, Akutagawa mustered the courage to speak.

"(Name)...," he began, his usually composed voice betraying a hint of nervousness, "I... I wanted to ask if you would... perhaps... like to... join me for tea sometime. Not here, of course, but..." He trailed off, inwardly cursing his inability to articulate what he meant.

To his surprise—and relief—You smiled warmly. "I would love to, Akutagawa-san," you replied softly, her eyes sparkling with genuine kindness.

And so, amidst the scheming and teasing of the Port Mafia (especially Gin), a quiet romance blossomed between the enigmatic assassin and the gentle waitress. They stole occasional moments between their respective responsibilities.

In the end, Akutagawa discovered that love was as unpredictable and dangerous as any enemy he faced in the underground world of Yokohama. Yet, it was a risk he was willing to take, for You had brought a light into his life that he never knew he needed—a light that softened his edges slightly and gave him a reason to think fondly amidst the shadows of his mind.

[darielivalyen]

Everbloom: Free | Full game | Cozy Fantasy

Everbloom is a cozy fantasy game set on the idyllic Everbloom Isle, a place where the charm of a simpler life and the warmth of a close-knit community come together. In this tranquil world, you’re invited to slow down, cherish the small moments, and find joy in building connections and creating a space where everyone feels at home.

Your journey centers on the dream of opening a teahouse, an aspiration deeply influenced by your longing for independence and a meaningful life. This dream becomes a reality with the inheritance of your grandmother’s house on Everbloom Isle. Here, in a setting far removed from the bustle of city life and your family’s expectations, you begin the delicate process of building a new life for yourself.

Are you ready to leave behind the monotony and dullness of daily life and build the teahouse of your dreams on Everbloom Isle?

Play as male, female, or nonbinary.

Choose your appearance and personality.

Romance or befriend one of three distinctive characters: a brave knight seeking a new purpose, a mischievous oakling who finds joy in life’s lighter moments, or an enigmatic elf with a complex past, seeking solace and clarity on Everbloom Isle.

Create and customize your own teahouse.

Cultivate and enhance your grandmother’s garden.

Explore Everbloom Isle in search of unique tea saplings.

Interact with a host of quirky characters, from the whimsical Holy Cow and her not-at-all terrible fish choir to giant turtles, winged wolves, and mysterious fernlings.

Follow a lovely little quest from the Holy Cow that will challenge you to build friendships, honor your grandmother’s legacy, and expand your collection of unique teas.

Wordcount

Overall: 220.000. Playthrough: 60.000.

Sir Castian/Dame Castillia Honeycutt

Personality: brave, honorable, old-fashioned, bashful. Blurb: In a land where swords are replaced by teacups, Casti(), a knight accustomed to battles and quests, struggles to find his/her role. Everbloom Isle, with its whimsical ways, challenges him/her to redefine what it means to be a hero. Can you help him/her weave his/her knightly virtues into the fabric of your new home?

Narciso/Narissa Roseblade

Personality: mischievous, lighthearted, adventurous, non-committal. Blurb: Nar()’s presence on Everbloom Isle is like a breeze through the Elder Tree’s leaves–light, unpredictable, and full of life. His/her playful antics and seemingly carefree nature captivate those around him/her. Yet, there’s a depth in his/her eyes suggesting more than just whimsy. Will you be the one who figures out what really inspires his/her eternal dance through the grove?

Ideru/Ideri Nightingale

Personality: calculating, composed, solitary, adaptable. Blurb: Ider() arrives at Everbloom Isle cloaked in an aura of intrigue, his/her quiet nature standing in stark contrast to the isle’s vibrancy. Amidst the isle's welcoming community, his/her enigmatic presence stirs a sense of curiosity. Will you be the one who digs into his/her mysterious past and discovers what brings him/her to Everbloom?

DASHINGDON | ITCH.io | FORUM | TUMBLR

PS: If you're interested in why I decided to release Everbloom for free, you are welcome to visit the forum and look under the 'State of the Game' section. I explained everything there! 😊

[itsthebeastpeddler]

Custom teacup demon bb! CUTIE <3

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Love Story

Colette is an up and coming actor, Harry is an international popstar who fell in love with cinema. When the pair work on a rendition of Romeo and Juliet, their worlds collide as feelings develop.

CW: Brief mention of dying, Smut.

Word Count: 11,860

Colette stepped into her dressing room, a lavishly appointed space designed to echo the opulence of the Verona in which her film "Romeo and Juliet" was set. The walls were draped in deep burgundy velvet curtains, softening the room with a rich, warm texture that whispered of hidden secrets and dramatic declarations. Golden accents framed mirrors and furniture, reflecting the flickering light from several ornately carved silver candelabras positioned thoughtfully around the room.

As she entered, her eyes were drawn to the vanity, an exquisite piece of craftsmanship with an expansive mirror bordered by tiny bulbs that bathed the area in a gentle, flattering light. Upon the surface lay an array of cosmetics and brushes, each laid out with precision, their handles catching glints of light like miniature scepters waiting to bestow their magic upon her.

The air was filled with a subtle scent of roses and myrrh, creating an atmosphere that was both calming and invigorating, as if the very essence of romance and tragedy had been captured and dispersed through the room. A large window draped with heavy curtains looked out upon a secluded garden that boasted marble statues peeking through lush greenery—Juliet's own secret sanctuary.

Colette’s costume hung on a dress form; it was a stunning creation of silk and lace, the fabric dyed in shades of moonlight and adorned with delicate embroidery that mimicked the intricate patterns of an Italian tapestry. The bodice was fitted, designed to accentuate her figure while allowing for the dramatic movements required in her scenes.

Next to the dress stood a pair of custom-made shoes, their leather soft and supple, seeming almost alive, like they were molded from a piece of night itself. They were embellished with small pearls and crystals, which twinkled like stars against the shadowy backdrop.

On a small table beside her plush, velvet-covered chaise lounge lay her script, its pages worn from use yet handled with reverence. It was flanked by a quill and an inkpot—an affectation provided by the director to inspire connection to the era they were emulating—as well as a delicate teacup painted with scenes from Shakespeare’s works.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself amidst this feast for senses—a real-life canvas painted with details fit for royalty—Colette prepared mentally to step once again into Juliet's world: one where love defied reason and every corner held both beauty and sorrow. She sat at her vanity, poised to transform under the artful hands of her makeup artist, ready to breathe life into Shakespeare's timeless lover once more.

The door to her dressing room opened with a soft creak, heralding the arrival of Madame Laurette, the makeup artist whose skills transformed actresses into visions from another time. Clad in a smock splattered with the remnants of foundation and rouge from previous masterpieces, Madame Laurette carried an ancient-looking leather case, which she set down with a practiced grace next to Colette.

"Ah, my dear," Madame Laurette began, her voice a soothing melody, "today we paint the tragedy and triumph of young love upon your canvas." Her hands were deft as they opened the case, revealing rows upon rows of pots and brushes, pencils and palettes; tools of the trade laid out like a surgeon's instruments, each with a purpose to bring forth beauty from bareness.

With delicate fingers, Madame Laureette applied a light moisturizer to Colette's face, preparing the skin like a primed canvas. She then used a sponge to dab on foundation that matched Colette's complexion so perfectly it seemed as if it were but a whisper on her skin. As she worked, she spoke softly about the character of Juliet—her passion, her grace, her strength in the face of despair.

Next came the eyes—windows to Juliet's soul. Madame Laurette chose shades that reflected the hues of twilight; dusky purples and soft blues blended seamlessly to suggest a depth of emotion. The eyeliner was applied in a fine line, accentuating the shape of Colette's eyes, making them appear larger, more expressive. Lashes were curled and coated with mascara that made them flutter like the wings of a night moth.

Cheeks were next attended with a brush dusted in rose-pink blush that brought a gentle bloom to her porcelain skin, reminiscent of English roses in bloom. It was as if Juliet herself had paused in a garden, momentarily caught up in thoughts of her Romeo.

Lips were not forgotten—painted in a soft red that was bold yet not overwhelming—a color that whispered of promises and kissed by starlight. As Madame Laurette worked her magic, the transformation from actress to character was nearly complete.

Finally, Madame Laurette set everything with a light dusting of powder which seemed to pull forth an ethereal glow from within Colette herself. Standing back to admire her work, she nodded slightly as if granting approval to proceed with the act.

As Madame Laurette packed away her tools and bid her farewell with wishes of good luck, Colette took one last look at herself in the mirror. Now staring back was Juliet Capulet: tragic yet triumphant in her love—a young woman framed not only by curls dark as raven wings but also by an aura of timeless romance that would soon spill over onto the stage under countless watching stars.

Her movements were infused with an anticipatory grace that seemed woven from the very threads of the narratives she was set to embody. The costume assistant approached, a vision of focus and professionalism, carrying the garment that would complete the transformation: a dress that seemed spun from moonlight and gossamer dreams.

The dress itself was a masterpiece of historical accuracy blended with theatrical flair. Its fabric was a whisper-soft silk that flowed like water over Colette's form, pooling slightly at her feet in a shimmering cascade of sky-blue. Intricate embroidery adorned the bodice, featuring delicate vines and flowers meticulously stitched with silver thread, catching the light with every subtle movement and suggesting a lattice of morning dew. Sleeves of sheer chiffon draped elegantly from her shoulders, airy and almost translucent, giving her arms the appearance of being wrapped in wisps of cloud.

As she stepped into the dress, the assistant deftly laced up the back, pulling the strings tight enough to sculpt her waist without hindering breath—a crucial balance for any performer. The final touch was a delicate ribbon tied in a bow just below her collarbone, a nod to youthful innocence and burgeoning romance.

Once dressed, Colette floated towards the full-length mirror, her steps tentative yet poised as though she were both discovering and remembering Juliet’s haunted grace. Her reflection seemed to transcend time; here was Juliet not as mere fiction, but resurrected in flesh and blood and silk, her eyes alight with both excitement and a hint of sorrow for the tale she was to live anew.

Taking a deep breath that lifted her chest slightly against the soft confines of her dress, Colette turned away from her reflection—away from Juliet's temporary shelter—and made her way out of the dressing room. The corridor outside was lined with flickering candles encased in glass lanterns hanging from ornate metal stands, casting shadows that danced like shy phantoms on the walls.

As she walked, her dress whispered secrets only she could hear, each step a murmur of silk. Exiting the building, she stepped out into an expanse that felt less like part of a film set and more like stepping through a wrinkle in time into Verona itself. The set designers had outdone themselves; cobblestone streets wound beneath balconies overflowing with ivy and blooms. Lamps glowed softly along pathways and a distant fountain murmured in melodious tones.

Here under the vast expanse of an artificial twilight sky beginning to pin itself with stars, Colette paused at the center of an old square waiting for Harry's arrival. In this moment suspended between reality and fiction—where night air kissed her cheeks as sweetly as any lover might—she was neither Colette nor Juliet but something timeless; a whisper of love’s eternal reverie waiting to be awakened by Romeo’s pledge beneath soft-footed shadows.

Colette felt eborn into another age and another life—her heart beating rapidly with anticipation and empathy for her character’s imminent joys and sorrows. She moved towards the set where artificial stars awaited their nightly audience and real emotions would stir under painted skies.

Just as the anticipation in the air reached its peak, Harry emerged from the shadows, a figure pulled from the very pages of Shakespeare. His costume was a masterpiece of Elizabethan artistry—velvet doublet embroidered with intricate silver threads that caught the light with every subtle movement, making him shimmer like a star newly born into the night sky. His breeches were of a similar rich fabric, hugging his legs with a precision that spoke of many hours spent in the tailor’s care. Upon his feet were boots made of soft leather that whispered against the cobblestones as he moved.

His hair, usually untamed and wild, had been tamed into soft waves that framed his face, echoing the romantic heroes of old. Around his neck, a heavy chain with a cross pendant rested against his chest, gleaming softly in the lamplight. His eyes, when they met Colette's, sparkled with a mixture of excitement and nervous energy—the perfect echo of Romeo’s own youthful vibrance and passionate soul.

As Harry walked closer to where Colette stood, waiting in her character's eternal reverie, his presence seemed to draw the very essence of the night towards him. The distant murmur of the fountain seemed to harmonize with his every step, creating a melody that resonated with the quiet rustling of Colette’s gown. Each element of the scene—the glowing lamps along the pathways, the soft rustle of ivy against stone—seemed to lean towards him, as if nature itself was eager to hear the tale these two star-crossed lovers would enact.

The square they occupied breathed with an air of ancient romance; it was as though they had truly stepped back in time and were no longer actors on a set but living embodiments of their characters. The buildings surrounding them wore age like proud badges, their windows darkened save for the occasional flicker of candlelight that suggested life continuing unaware inside. Above them, the crescent moon cradled stars that had witnessed countless tales of love and tragedy.

Harry reached the center of the square, his boots clicking on the cobblestones with a rhythmic certainty. He stopped before Colette, who remained motionless, her gaze fixed upon him with an intensity that belied the serene expression on her face. Her costume—a flowing dress of midnight blue, embroidered with tiny silver threads—whispered tales of bygone elegance as it caught the breeze, fluttering lightly around her ankles.

Clearing his throat softly, Harry began to recite Romeo's lines with a tender fervor that seemed to pull at the very air around him. "But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun." His voice rose and fell in perfect cadence, each word a brushstroke painting emotions across the canvas of the night.

As he spoke, an unexpected gust of wind stirred the leaves around them into a gentle dance, mirroring the turmoil brewing in Romeo's heart as he gazed upon his forbidden love. The scent of rose and old stone mingled together, casting a spell over the scene that was palpable. The director, hidden in the shadows beyond the set's makeshift lights, allowed himself a small smile at the authenticity of this moment—cinema magic in its purest form.

Colette responded in kind, her voice carrying back to Harry with equal parts longing and restraint. "O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?" She stepped forward slightly, her hands clasped before her as if to steady her racing heart. Her eyes never left Harry's, and in them flickered the fire of Juliet's love—a burning, all-consuming flame that acknowledged neither reason nor consequence.

The crew around them had ceased all movement; even those seasoned in film felt themselves caught in the spellbinding performance unfolding before them. The prop master forgot his duties for a moment, lost in the authenticity of Colette's accent and the palpable connection between her and Harry.

Above them, clouds began to drift across the moon's face slowly veiling and unveiling the celestial glow. This natural play of light added a dramatic flair to the scene below—an unwitting collaboration between man and nature that highlighted this poignant moment of shared solitude between two lovers cursed by fate.

Every detail was perfect, the way the lamplight flickered as though trembling with anticipation; how a distant owl hooted right at Juliet’s tender confession; the subtle shift of fabric as Harry moved closer to Colette—contributed to an atmosphere thick with drama and history. Even those behind cameras or holding booms felt as if they were no longer just creating but witnessing something transcendent; a story retold yet forever new in its telling.

As Harry delivered Romeo’s pledge of undying love beneath Juliet's window conceived anew beneath towering oaks and ageless stone buildings, it was clear this was not merely a recitation but an act of truth.

The director, normally a stoic figure shadowed by the breadth of his responsibilities, allowed a rare smile to creep across his face as the final words lingered in the air, trembling like the leaves around them. His approach was silent, reverent almost, as if stepping into a sacred space that the actors had conjured with their spellbinding talent.

"Cut!" he called out, but the word was soft, filled more with awe than command. The silence that followed was profound, filled with the collective held breath of the crew before they erupted into spontaneous applause. The clapping rolled through the set like thunderous waves, each member expressing their unbridled admiration for what they had witnessed.

The director raised his hands, beckoning for quiet, his eyes gleaming with both pride and something akin to gratitude. "That," he said, his voice steady but imbued with emotion, "was nothing short of magnificent. Harry, Colette—I've seen many a scene in my years behind the camera, but what you both have delivered today transcends performance. It reaches into the core of what it means to be human; to love, to despair, to hope."

He walked over to the actors, who were still nestled in their characters' final embrace, slowly returning to themselves as they listened to his praises. "Colette," he continued, turning to her with a respectful nod. "Your Juliet is both vulnerable and fiery; you’ve given her a depth that breathes new life into Shakespeare’s lines. And Harry," he turned with equal admiration to the young actor whose eyes still held a glimmer of Romeo's passion. "You’ve played Romeo not just as a lover but as a warrior fighting against the inevitable tragedy of his fate. Exceptional work."

The surrounding buildings and trees seemed to absorb his words, casting longer shadows as if in agreement. The director then turned towards the crew members who had captured every nuanced moment on film. "And let’s not forget the incredible work of our crew—lighting, sound, props—this magic can’t happen without each piece falling perfectly into place."

He clapped his hands together once more, this time signaling an end rather than silence. "Alright folks, let’s pack up here—remember this feeling of accomplishment. We’ve got early scenes tomorrow and we need to bring this same energy."

As they disbanded gradually, whispers of praise continued amongst them like quiet ripples on a pond at dusk; everyone shared part of the triumph. Juliet’s balcony scene would be remembered not just for its beauty and tragedy but for its vivid realness that evening under the shrouded moonlight—an echo of love carried softly by the wind through the leaves of those ancient trees.

As the crew began to disperse, the air filled with the clatter of equipment being packed and the soft murmur of satisfied conversations. Harry and Colette slowly walked side by side toward the dressing rooms, their costumes slightly less pristine than they had been at the start of the day but still radiant under the fading sunlight. The path was lined with ancient oaks, their branches gnarled and stretched toward the sky like silent watchers of countless tales unfolding under their gaze.

Harry glanced at Colette, noting how the evening breeze gently lifted strands of her hair. She looked ethereal, a stark contrast to the raw intensity she had displayed on stage just moments before. "You were truly magnificent today," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that lingered in the cool air. "It’s amazing how you transform so completely."

Colette smiled, a blush tinting her cheeks. "Thank you, Harry. You were incredible as well. There’s a certain ferocity you bring to Romeo that’s both thrilling and heart-wrenching."

They reached the dressing rooms, tucked behind a curtain of ivy that draped over the stone walls of the old stage building. Its doors stood like portals back to reality from the whimsical world they had just left behind on set.

Pausing by her door, Harry shuffled slightly, a mix of eagerness and hesitation playing across his features. "Colette, I was wondering, would you... perhaps care for some dinner? There’s this little place I know nearby, quite secluded, perfect for winding down."

The offer hung between them like a delicate promise; a chance to extend the enchantment of their shared performance into the evening. Colette’s eyes lit up with genuine interest. "That sounds lovely, Harry. A quiet dinner would be perfect." Her smile was inviting, bridging the gap between their on-set romance and off-set camaraderie.

As they walked towards Harry's car parked under a canopy of whispering leaves, they talked about everything from their interpretations of their characters to trivial anecdotes from their daily lives. The restaurant was nestled in an alley illuminated by strings of faint golden lights that created halos in the misty night air.

Inside, they chose a corner table surrounded by bookshelves filled with worn volumes and odd trinkets—a cozy retreat from the outside world. As they ordered, they continued to unravel layers of conversation, each topic a stepping stone deeper into each other’s thoughts and dreams.

The meal was delicious—simple fare but made with care—a reflection of the restaurant itself. They laughed over shared appetizers and lingered over wine that painted their thoughts in broader strokes. The candlelight flickered across their faces, casting soft shadows that danced to an unplayed rhythm.

By dessert, Harry found himself watching Colette with renewed appreciation as she articulated her ambitions for future roles and her vision for modern theatrical interpretation. She listened equally intently as he described his journey through being a musician and his aspirations beyond.

As Harry and Colette lingered over the last sips of their drinks, the cozy warmth of the restaurant began to feel like a protective cocoon against the crisp night air outside. They shared a quiet moment, smiling at the serendipity of their meeting and the depth of conversation it had spurred. But as they rose to leave, pushing their chairs back gently against the worn wooden floor, the surreal bubble they had enjoyed burst with abrupt clarity.

Stepping out onto the alley, they were met not by the quiet of the night but by a sudden burst of flashing lights and clamorous voices. Paparazzi, having caught wind of their dinner together, swarmed around them like moths to a flame. Cameras clicked and flashed relentlessly, capturing every gesture and expression, as reporters shouted questions trying to pierce through the veil of their private evening.

"Harry! Colette! Are you two more than just co-stars?" one voice rang out, sharper than the rest.

"Is this dinner a sign of a new Hollywood power couple?" another chimed in.

Shields up against this intrusive barrage, Harry instinctively placed a protective arm around Colette’s shoulders. He guided her gracefully yet swiftly towards his car, parked under the now ominous canopy of leaves that whispered secrets in a tone much darker than before. Each flash from the cameras cast stark shadows on the ground and painted their path in fast paced steps.

Colette kept her head down slightly, her smile replaced by a composed mask of cordial indifference; it was clear she was no stranger to these encounters but nonetheless hoped they might evade them tonight. Harry muttered a polite "have a good night" as he helped her into the passenger seat of his car.

Inside the relative safety of the vehicle, they exchanged a look—a mix of amusement and exasperation—and Harry let out a sigh as he started the engine. The lights outside continued to flash through the tinted windows as he maneuvered out of their parking spot.

The drive back was quiet at first, as if they were both processing the sudden shift from intimate conversation to public spectacle. Yet soon enough, Harry turned down the volume on an ambient tune that had started playing automatically when they entered.

"That was intense," he said, glancing over at Colette with an apologetic half-smile.

"It always is," Colette replied, turning to face him with a resigned smile. "But hey, part of our charming careers, right?"

Harry laughed softly. "Yeah, charm is one word for it."

As the car glided through the dimly lit streets, the silence between them grew heavy with unspoken thoughts. Colette broke the tension first, her voice soft but tinged with a hint of frustration.

"I sometimes wonder if this is what we signed up for, you know? The constant scrutiny, the invasion of privacy... Is it worth it in the end?" she mused, her gaze fixed on the passing city lights.

Harry nodded thoughtfully, his grip on the steering wheel tightening imperceptibly. "I ask myself that question too, especially on nights like this. It's like we're always under a microscope, every move dissected and analyzed by strangers."

A sense of comfort blossomed between them, a shared understanding born out of their parallel experiences in the spotlight. Colette turned to Harry, a spark of defiance igniting in her eyes.

"But despite all of that," she continued, her voice gaining strength, "we can't let them define us or dictate our every move. We're more than just their headlines and gossip fodder."

Harry smiled at her resolve, a flicker of admiration shimmering in his eyes. "You're right, Colette. We're artists first and foremost, creators of worlds and emotions."

Their shared conviction filled the car with a renewed sense of purpose, a quiet determination to reclaim their narrative from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. As they neared Colette's apartment building, Harry parked the car with a sense of finality.

"Thank you for tonight," Colette said sincerely, turning to face him with a genuine smile. "Even the chaos at the end, I truly enjoyed our conversation and dinner, it was really good."

Harry returned her smile warmly. "Likewise, Colette. We are more than just co-stars caught in a media frenzy."

As Colette opened the door to her apartment, the image of Harry in his Romeo costume flashed vividly across her mind. His appearance had been a perfect blend of vulnerability and valiance, his attire accentuating the expressive lines of his body as he moved with an almost ethereal grace on stage. The sheer, soft fabric of his shirt clung to him as if it were part of his own skin, and the way the stage lights had caught the highlights in his hair made him look like a figure from an old-world painting—romantic and heroic.

Inside her quiet apartment, everything seemed too still, too empty compared to the warmth of Harry's presence. She tossed her keys on the table absent-mindedly and moved towards her bedroom, her mind replaying their conversation in the car. His words echoed in her ears, blending with flashes of his smile and the intensity in his eyes when he spoke about their artistry. It was as if he'd stripped away all the glitz and scandal that so often cloaked their lives, revealing a raw, sincere connection between them.

Colette tried to settle into bed, pulling her covers close, but restlessness took over. Turning onto her back, she stared at the ceiling, her thoughts spiraling around Harry’s comforting arm around her shoulders earlier that night. She remembered how secure it felt, a protective circle that shut out the incessant flash of cameras and curious stares. The smell of his cologne, a subtle mix of bergamot and sandalwood—seemed to linger on her skin, transporting her back to their fleeting moments of privacy amidst the chaos.

The more she thought about him, the more details came flooding in. How his lips curved into a smile just before he laughed, how his eyes lit up when discussing a particularly passionate scene. Even the way he held himself during their performance—confident yet tender—seemed etched into her memory with surprising clarity.

A sigh escaped her lips as she turned again in bed, fluffing her pillow in vain search for comfort. The digital clock on her bedside table glowed 2:17 AM; time was slipping by slowly tonight. Every tick seemed to resonate within the quiet room, each one reminding her of Harry’s gentle demeanor and unspoken assurances.

Why was it so difficult to push these thoughts aside? Why did every tiny detail of him seem magnified tonight? Colette knew that sleep would be elusive as long as these memories danced through her head, a sweet torment but a torment nonetheless.

Realizing that fighting it was futile, she sat up and reached for a book from her nightstand. Perhaps diving into someone else’s fictional world could ease her back from hers filled with all too real emotions spurred by Harry. Yet as she flipped through page after page, Colette found herself reading without absorbing any words. Her mind was back with Harry, reliving each moment spent together that day.

Finally surrendering to the inexorable pull of those memories, Colette set the book aside and allowed herself to reminisce about every glance exchanged and every laugh shared with Harry until tiredness eventually claimed victory over turmoil—a bittersweet end to an evening that neither camera flashes nor gossip columns could ever truly capture.

As the first rays of morning light began to filter through her gauzy curtains, Colette felt a tentative peace settle over her. The unavoidable sunrise not only heralded a new day but also the unavoidable return to set where today's scenes awaited her—scenes that would force her to bridge the gap between reality and fiction, between Colette and Juliet, Harry and Romeo.

The day unfurled slowly, each moment stretching languidly as if aware of the weight it carried. Colette arrived on set, her heart thrumming a nervous rhythm against the cage of her ribs. The set was a meticulous recreation of Verona, the air perfumed with artificial blooms that lined the faux stone balconies. It was here, beneath a painstakingly crafted balcony, that she found Harry already immersed in his role, his eyes distant yet filled with an intense purpose.

As makeup artists fluttered around them like attentive sprites, dusting their faces with powder and painting their lips, the boundary between Harry and Romeo, Colette and Juliet blurred seamlessly. The director—a wiry man with a penchant for perfection—guided them through their positions with an authoritarian yet oddly paternal touch.

"Remember," he said, his voice low and urgent as if conveying a secret, "this kiss isn’t just about passion. It’s about discovery, wonderment. You’re unveiling layers of your soul to one another."

Taking their places, Harry extended his hand with a gallantry that could either be attributed to him or to Romeo—it was hard to tell at this juncture. As Colette placed her hand in his, their fingers tentatively entwining, she wondered if he felt the same electric surge that ran up her arm.

The cameras rolled silently, capturing every nuanced expression. Around them, the crew faded into obscurity; it was just Harry and Colette, Romeo and Juliet. As Harry spoke his lines—the words Shakespeare penned centuries ago—his voice wove around her heart like a tender vine. His gaze held hers captive and in that moment, under the watchful eyes of countless unseen spectators both present and future, fiction turned into a palpable reality.

With the gentlest of motions indicative of both apprehension and certainty, Harry drew closer. His breath mingled with hers—a sweet prelude to the imminent ballet of their lips. When their lips finally met in an embrace as old as time yet fresh like dew on morning leaves, there was a hush on set so profound that even the rustle of fabric seemed sacrilege.

The kiss deepened not out of direction but from an intrinsic need to explore the burgeoning emotion that had started off as an onscreen farce but had bloomed into something indefinably real. They existed in the breath between lines; in the silence between words—their world distilled into the small space between their intertwined fingers and mingling breaths.

As they parted—an infinity encapsulated in seconds—their gazes lingered longingly; not solely because the script demanded it but because their souls hesitated to disentangle.

"Cut!" The director's voice sliced through the thick curtain of emotion, abrupt yet not unkind.

Applause broke out among the crew, bringing Harry and Colette back from Verona to the soundstage. Yet something lingered in their shared glance, a spark that neither the stark lights of the studio nor the return to their own separate lives could dim. As they stepped away from each other, there was an awkward moment of hesitation, a mutual recognition of something undefined and new swirling between them.

The rest of the day passed in a daze of repeated scenes and whispered lines. Colette found herself more aware of Harry's presence, every look and every touch magnified under the scrutinizing lens of her newfound feelings. Off-camera, they joked and laughed, but there was an unspoken agreement in their smiles, a secret tucked away behind their lighthearted banter.

When filming wrapped for the day, Colette felt the exhaustion from emotional strain more than from physical demand. The carousel of her thoughts kept spinning as she drove home, the ghost of Harry’s touch lingering like a promise on her skin.

Back at her apartment, she knew she ought to eat something or perhaps review scripts for tomorrow's shoot. Instead, she found herself at her window, gazing out into the twilight cityscape, her mind replaying every encounter with Harry. It wasn't just their characters who had discovered new emotional landscapes; Colette feared she was standing on the precipice of a revelation herself.

Her phone rang, slicing through her silence. She hesitated before answering, half-hoping it was Harry. It was her agent instead.

"Colette! Todays news came in; you were absolutely sublime! Everyone’s buzzing about the chemistry between you and Harry," her agent enthused over the line. Though meant as praise, each word weighed heavy on her soul like stones filling her pockets.

"Thanks," Colette managed to say, her voice a mere whisper against the storm inside her. "That means a lot."

"Listen," her agent continued, oblivious to Colette's turmoil, "There’s talk already about future projects for you two—maybe even some endorsements together. This could be huge for your career."

Her career. Right. That’s what mattered. Yet as Colette ended the call and sat back against the soft cushions of her couch, she couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps this time, something else mattered more.

She finally allowed herself to consider the possibility that what was scripted for Romeo and Juliet might have woven itself into the fabric of reality for Harry and herself. Could life imitate art to such a degree? Or was it merely caught up in the whirlwind of creating something beautiful together?

The night deepened around Colette as she sat alone with her thoughts. She knew decisions lay ahead, decisions about how far she should let this potential off-screen relationship develop amidst their on-screen romance. Tonight though, she would allow herself one certainty: that in all her roles, both lived and acted, nothing had ever felt quite as dangerous or as genuine as whatever was unfolding with Harry.

The room dimmed further as the last strains of sunlight vanished, leaving only the flickering shadows cast by the streetlamps outside. Colette's mind, a whirlpool of longing and rationality, began to conjure vivid scenes of Harry reciting lines from their recent scenes. Each word, artfully delivered with his rich, emotive voice, seemed to echo through her now quiet apartment, filling the spaces between her scattered thoughts.

He had stood there on stage, beneath the opulent glow of the set lights, his eyes finding hers in the scripted moments that felt all too real. "But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?" Harry's voice had quivered slightly with a passion that transcended performance. Colette remembered how her heart had leapt at those words, how the scripted distance between them seemed to collapse in a singularity of shared emotion.

As Romeo, he had been impetuous yet earnest, his every motion weaving a spell of youthful ardor and desperate love. And now, alone, she let her mind replay those scenes—his beseeching gaze, his hands reaching not just for Juliet but for Colette herself. Could it be that each line he delivered was an arrow aimed directly at her heart? The balcony scene unfolded again in her thoughts: Harry's silhouette framed by the mock Verona backdrop they had on set. "With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out," he had declared fervently.

Could stony limits hold her emotions at bay? Her career had always been a fortress of sorts—a necessity to keep vulnerability at bay. But Harry’s portrayal of Romeo dismantled her defenses brick by brick, not through sheer force but through the tender strength of shared vulnerability.

In her mind's eye, Colette wandered back to a moment during rehearsals when Harry had improvised—off-script yet profoundly resonant—speaking directly to her soul beyond the bounds of their characters. "And yet I wish but for the thing I have: My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite." How his eyes had held hers, unwavering!

The thought brought an unexpected tear to Colette's eye—a tear for the uncertain future, for the potential hardships they might face together or apart, but also a tear for the beauty of a connection that might just transcend the ephemeral world of acting.

Colette rose from the couch and moved towards her window. Gazing out into the starlit cityscape, she pondered over these newly tapped depths within her heart. Perhaps tomorrow she would make decisions with consequences she couldn't yet foresee. But tonight belonged to dreams and whispered lines—a night where Harry's recitations from Romeo and Juliet swirled around her heart like a sweet yet potent incantation. Tonight was not about contracts or cameras. It was about understanding that what they might share could be as profound and real as any love story ever penned—an ode not written by Shakespeare but lived by two hearts daring enough to explore it.

As the hours ticked by, the city outside her window slowly transformed. The glaring neon signs dimmed to a soft glow, and the relentless honking of cars turned into a distant murmur, as if even New York herself had decided to catch her breath. In that serene quietude, amidst the gentle rustle of leaves and the occasional chirping of a late-night bird, Colette's mind kept returning to Harry—to his eyes, his voice, his surprisingly delicate touch on stage.

She tried reading a book, but the words blurred into meaningless shapes as her thoughts danced back to those moments onstage when the air between them seemed charged with an electric intensity. It was in those moments when Harry's voice would deepen just so, casting out lines like spells that wrapped around her heart, binding it inexplicably to him.

Restlessness finally got the better of Colette. With a sigh, she set aside her book and picked up her phone. Her thumb hovered over Harry's contact—for a moment she hesitated—but then, driven by an impulse she neither questioned nor understood fully, she pressed call.

The phone rang briefly before Harry's familiar voice filled the line. "Colette? Is everything alright?"

"I couldn't sleep," she confessed softly, the words feeling both foolish and necessary.

There was a pause—a thoughtful silence—and then Harry’s voice came again, quietly intense. "Come over, then. I’ve been trying to distract myself with scripts and lyrics, but it seems tonight is bent on being restless."

A small smile touched her lips; relief washed through her in gentle waves. "Give me twenty minutes?"

"Take your time," he replied with such warmth that it felt like a hug through the phone.

When Colette arrived at Harry’s apartment—a modest yet cozy space filled with stacks of books and paintings that spilled from every corner—she found him sitting on the balcony overlooking the twinkling skyline. He had two cups of tea steaming gently on a small table between them.

As she stepped out onto the balcony, he rose to greet her with an ease that belied his earlier restlessness. They didn’t speak much initially; words seemed superfluous as they sipped their tea and let the city’s nocturnal symphony envelop them.

It was only after both cups were emptied that Harry spoke again, his voice soft but clear against the backdrop of whispering winds. "You know," he began hesitantly, "tonight reminds me of our final act last week—the way Juliet looks at Romeo with such... such unguarded hope.”

"Yes," Colette whispered back, feeling that familiar pull in her chest—the inexplicable connection that seemed to thrive in shared silences and stolen glances rather than grand declarations.

"Sometimes," Harry continued, turning to face her more fully now, "I wonder whether we’re more than just actors playing parts—whether some scenes bleed into reality without us even noticing."

Colette reached out then, touching his hand lightly. "Maybe they do," she said simply. And for a long while after that, they sat there together—two figures etched against a sprawling cityscape—finding solace in each other's presence and in the quiet conviction that tonight was not merely about roles or rehearsals; it was about discovering truths hidden within lines delivered.

As the night deepened and the city's sounds ebbed into a lulling quiet, the conversation between Harry and Colette drifted from their characters' tragic romance to their own realities—careers that were as dazzling as they were demanding, personal lives constantly scrutinized by the public eye, and futures uncertain but full of potential.

"Sometimes I think about stepping away," Harry admitted, his gaze locked on the distant lights. "From the music, from the films—just to see who I am when the lights go off."

Colette nodded. The vulnerability in his voice resonated with her own unspoken fears. "It's as though we're constantly wearing masks, isn't it? Onstage or off, it's hard to tell where the character ends and where we begin."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Tonight though, being here with you—it feels real. No scripts, no audience." His eyes met hers with an intensity that sent a shiver through her.

She smiled, feeling a sense of kinship forge deeper between them. "No masks," she whispered.

They sat for a moment in silence, each lost in contemplation of the rare simplicity this evening had brought them—a stark contrast to their everyday chaos. Harry eventually stood up, stretching his arms towards the starry sky before offering his hand to her. "Come on, let’s take a walk. The night’s too beautiful to spend it all sitting down."

Reluctantly leaving their secluded spot, they wandered down quiet streets lined with barely lit cafes and closed bookstores, their steps synchronized in comfortable silence. Every so often, Harry would point out an old theater or a quaint little art gallery he’d visited during his tours. Colette listened intently, her heart swelling with an affection that was new and yet profoundly familiar.

As they turned back towards Harry's apartment, he stopped suddenly under a streetlamp’s soft glow. "I haven't felt this... peaceful in months," he confessed, looking at her with an earnestness that made her heart skip.

She reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. "Neither have I," she said. "It’s easy to forget what quiet feels like when your life is full of noise."

Harry nodded, his gaze lingering on her face as if memorizing every detail. "Do you think it's possible? To find peace amidst all the turmoil?"

"I think," she started, pausing to gather her thoughts under his attentive gaze, "it's about finding the right person to share in those quiet moments—the ones who hear the music in your silences."

A warm smile spread across Harry's face as he drew her closer. Underneath that streetlamp, amid the sleeping city and beneath an audience of stars, they found a momentary escape—not as Romeo and Juliet caught in Shakespearean tragedy nor as celebrities shadowed by fames relentless spotlight—but simply as Harry and Colette discovering solace within each other's company.

As they slowly headed back to his apartment, hands entwined with silent promises of more shared nights like this one, both understood that while their careers might pull them in different directions come morning, tonight was theirs—a night marked not by dialogues written by playwrights long gone but by honest words exchanged between two souls navigating through life’s vast stage together.

She felt the warmth of his hand in hers, the roughness of his skin against her own soft palm, sending shivers down her spine. She looked up at him, taking in the way he moved, so confident and yet so gentle at the same time. Colette couldn't help but feel safe in his presence. The sound of their footsteps echoed on the empty sidewalk, mixing with the distant hum of traffic and occasional howl of a lonesome siren. As they turned into an alleyway, she breathed in the scent of freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery, mingling with the stale smoke from a cigarette butt left behind by some passerby. The stars above twinkled like diamonds scattered across a midnight sky, their light guiding them home.

They walked hand in hand beneath the glow of the streetlamp, casting shadows on the brick wall behind them as they stepped forward. The rhythm of their stride became synced, almost like they were dancing to an unknown melody. Every now and then, Harry would point out constellations he recognized or make up stories about the ones he didn't, his voice deep and soothing like velvet caressing her ears. His laughter rang out when she teased him about his astronomical knowledge—or lack thereof—and she loved how genuine it sounded despite everything that surrounded them.

Colette paused for a moment to look at a painting on an old doorstep; it was beautifully executed yet marred by graffiti tags that told stories of love lost and hearts broken. Harry stood beside her, looking over her shoulder as if seeing it for the first time too. She noticed how his presence made even this decrepit alleyway seem somehow beautiful.

They continued walking, their steps echoing softly against the pavement as they neared Harry's apartment building. As they reached the front door, he stopped and with a flourish produced a set of keys from his jeans pocket. The metal jangled softly against each other as he unlocked it, and then they stepped inside out of the cool night air into the warmth of his cozy living room. Setting down her purse, Colette looked around at the familiar surroundings - the worn sofa, the bookshelf filled with favorite novels and framed photographs from past adventures, and the unlit fireplace waiting for winter evenings. The musty smell of old books mingled with freshly brewed coffee drifting from the kitchenette.

"Well," Harry began as he shut the door behind them, "I guess this is where our little adventure ends."

Colette's heart sank at his words but she forced a smile anyway. "Yeah... it was fun while it lasted."

"It always is," he agreed quietly, moving towards her and giving her one last hug before gently pushing her towards the door. "You should get some sleep though, early morning meeting tomorrow."

With one final wave goodnight, Colette slipped through the door and into the hallway, hearing it click shut behind her. Outside on the sidewalk, she took a deep breath of the cool night air and felt a slight shiver run down her spine as reality came crashing back in - work in the morning with its emails and deadlines and office politics. But for now, she allowed herself to linger on the memory of their night together: The taste of wine on her tongue still lingering; the soft buzz from alcohol fading; Harry's touch still lingering on her skin like tiny electric shocks. 

As Colette closed the door behind her, she could hear the familiar clicking sound filling her with a sense of finality. The night air was crisp against her skin, carrying with it a chill that sent shivers down her spine as she took in deep breaths of the city outside. Her mind was still reeling from the events of the evening; it had been an unforgettable journey into a world she never imagined existed. But alas, all good things must come to an end, and now she found herself standing on the sidewalk once more, back in reality. The neon lights from nearby stores cast an artificial glow upon the pavement as she stepped away from Harry's cozy apartment and began to walk towards home. The sound of footsteps echoed on concrete as cars honked their horns in the distance, creating a symphony of urban noise that surrounded her.

She could still feel Harry's embrace pressing against her back as if he were wrapping his arms around hers again, sending tingles up and down her spine with each step she took away from him. She could still taste the sweetness of red wine dancing on her tongue - its tartness mixing with the lingering taste of their passionate kisses as if it were a bitter-sweet symphony only they shared. She let out a soft sigh and looked up at the starry sky above; the sight always managed to calm her nerves but tonight it only served as a reminder that their time together was over.

The streets were empty save for a few late-night stragglers making their way home from parties or bars, their laughter and music fading into nothingness as Colette walked further down the block. A soft breeze rustled through trees lining the sidewalk, leaves whispering secrets only they knew while carrying with them.

Once Colette made it home she brushed her teeth and went into her cozy bed wrapped around in her favorite cotton pajamas, snuggling deep into the softness of her sheets. She reached over to her phone on the bedside table and saw Harry's name still glowing on the screen. A smile tugged at her lips as she remembered their last goodbye

As she drifted off, Colette imagines walking through Central Park once more. The crisp air rustled through trees, carrying with it the scent of autumn - earthy and musky. She could hear the sound of leaves crunching underfoot and see birds flitting from branch to branch overhead. They sat together on a bench, leaning against one another as they watched nature's greatest show for free. He held her hand closely, lacing fingers between hers as if they were always meant to be entwined like that. And then she felt a drop of rain on her nose, followed by another one on her cheek. They both laughed as they ran hand in hand towards his apartment; their shoes splashing through puddles left behind by an unexpected shower that cloud-covered sky promised earlier in the day.

Colette woke up with that same coolness brushing against her face but found herself alone in bed instead of curled up with Harry. The memory lingered like a fond dream but faded away with each blink until all that was left was reality.

Colette got ready and made her way over to the studio, today was the last day of scenes, and the scene where Romeo and Juliet meet their demise.

As she entered the bustling set, the weight of the final day pressed on her shoulders like a heavy curtain about to fall for the last time. The air was thick with a mix of excitement and melancholy, as everyone from the crew to the cast moved with a purposeful urgency, aware that this chapter was closing. Colette brushed past the props and costume racks, her mind still tangled in thoughts of Harry and the night that they had spent wrapped in each other’s company.

She found herself in front of her dressing room mirror, staring at her own reflection as she slipped into Juliet's intricate gown. Each layer of fabric seemed to wrap her tighter, not just in character but also in the realization that soon she would have to strip away this identity that had become a second skin over months of filming.

"Knock knock," came a familiar voice from the door. It was Harry, leaning against the frame with that charming smile that always seemed to disarm her.

"Hey," Colette replied, her heart skipping a beat. "Ready for the grand finale?"

"As I'll ever be," Harry said, stepping inside and helping adjust a loose strand of her hair. "It’s surreal, isn’t it? Feels like just yesterday we were stumbling through our first lines together and today we die together."

Colette nodded, feeling the corners of her eyes moisten. "I'm going to miss us—this."

Harry took her hand gently, squeezing it reassuringly. "The end of one story, Colette. Not the end of everything."

Together, they walked onto the set where the final scene awaited them—a beautifully tragic conclusion to Shakespeare’s timeless tale. The set was a somber array of shadows and light, perfectly crafting an ambiance befitting their last moment as Romeo and Juliet.

As they stepped into their marks, silence enveloped the set. The director called for quiet on set and slowly, every surrounding noise dulled into obscurity until there was nothing but the fictional world they were anchored in.

"Action!" came the resolute call.

The scene unfolded with an intensity that mirrored the raw emotions both Harry and Colette felt. They delivered their lines with a palpable passion, their voices laced with the poignant realization of both the characters' and their own impending separation. As Romeo, Harry took a vial of poison, his hands trembling slightly—a detail that added a layer of desperate realism to his performance. Colette, as Juliet, lay motionless on the stone-cold crypt, her chest rising and falling subtly, awaiting her final cue.

When it came time for Juliet to awaken, Colette's eyes fluttered open to meet Harry's gaze one last time. The sorrow in his eyes was reflected in hers; no longer just acting, they were living their characters' tragedy. As she spoke her last lines, a tear escaped down her cheek, blurring the boundary between performance and reality.

The potent mix of fiction and their personal goodbye charged through their final kiss, drawing a silent gasp from the crew around them. As Juliet drove Romeo's dagger into her chest, Colette collapsed beside Harry with a grace that spoke volumes of the artistry she had poured into her role.

For a few heartbeats after the director called "Cut!" nobody moved. The echo of their lines lingered in the air, heavy with the weight of finality. It was only when the applause broke out that Harry and Colette were pulled back from Verona to the stark reality of the studio set.

Still lying beside each other on the cold ground of the set crypt, they turned to look at each other one last time. The clapping around them faded into a distant murmur as Harry reached out to brush away another tear from Colette’s cheek.

“That was...” Harry started but seemed unable to find the right words.

“Beautiful,” Colette finished for him, her voice barely above a whisper. “And absolutely fucking heartbreaking.”

They helped each other up and took a bow to the crew whose cheers had now filled up space like light flooding into dark corners. It was over — their journey as star-crossed lovers had come to an end on screen.

Just then, the director, a tall figure with a rumpled look that spoke of endless days and sleepless nights, stepped into the circle of light. He adjusted his glasses, looking from Harry to Colette with an expression torn between admiration and the perpetual dissatisfaction of a perfectionist.

"Truly magnificent," he pronounced, though his voice carried a but that hung in the air unspoken. The crew quieted, sensing there was more to come. "However," he continued, casting a quick glance at the cameraman who nodded sheepishly, "we had a slight glitch with the lighting. One of our key lights flickered out right at the crucial moment."

A collective sigh rippled through the team, mixed with a few suppressed groans. Yet no one protested— they all knew the importance of getting it just right.

"We need to go for another take," the director declared firmly. The disappointment was palpable, but so was the resolve to perfect the art they were all crafting together.

Harry and Colette exchanged a look of weary determination. Without a word, they moved back to their starting positions beside the stone altar that served as Juliet's final resting place. 

As the crew reset their equipment, Harry glanced around at the towering set pieces that recreated Verona's gothic splendor. Artificial moonlight streamed through stained glass windows crafted from gel and plastic but beautiful nonetheless. Shadows danced along walls textured to look like ancient stone, casting eerie patterns that whispered of old secrets and timeless tragedies.

Colette smoothed her velvet gown—a rich crimson that pooled around her like spilled wine—and repositioned her hairpiece, tucking a stray lock behind her ear before she lay down once more on the cold faux-marble slab.

The props master darted forward to adjust the placement of the dagger—a replica so finely crafted it seemed as sharp as truth itself—before scurrying away as silently as he had arrived.

"Places everyone!" called the assistant director, a sprightly woman whose energy seemed inexhaustible. Her voice cut through the murmured conversations and last-minute adjustments, snapping everyone back to attention.

As silence reclaimed the set, encapsulating it in a tense bubble of anticipation, the director looked over his tableau one last time. Satisfied, he lifted his hand high then brought it down sharply.

"And... action!"

In a haunting moment, Colette delved deeper into her character, her eyes brimming with an unfathomable anguish originating not in physical torment but in the profound intertwining of loss and love. As she enacted plunging the steel through heart and bone with tragic precision, Harry’s response mirrored her intensity—his visage a masterful portrayal of despair and utter helplessness.

Silently, the cameras rolled, capturing each subtle nuance: the taut muscles beneath Juliet's delicate makeup; Romeo's trembling fingertips reaching across unseen barriers; Colette's quivering shoulders as she drew breaths heavy with sorrow. When she crumpled beside Harry once more, her descent seemed like a graceful surrender—a fragile leaf succumbing to its inevitable fall.

The seconds stretched endlessly until once again the director called out "Cut!" His voice broke through Colette’s final shuddering breaths and this time when he spoke there was no hiding his satisfaction. "Perfect," he said simply, nodding with fervor.

The applause that erupted was spontaneous and heartfelt, echoing around the cavernous studio like waves crashing against a shore. Crew members wiped away tears, caught in the emotional riptide of the scene they had just witnessed.

Harry and Colette, still entangled on the ground, finally allowed themselves a small smile—exhausted, relieved, and a little incredulous at the magic they had managed to recreate. As they stood up, their faces glistening with sweat and theatrical tears, they were enveloped in a series of eager hugs and congratulations from everyone around them.

The makeup artists hurried over with their kits ready to do touch-ups, but for a moment nobody touched Harry or Colette; it was as if their looks were sacred, perfectly capturing the essence of the poignant tragedy they had just embodied. The director approached them, clapping Harry on the back and kissing Colette on both cheeks.

"I couldn't have asked for more," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You both brought Juliet and Romeo to life in a way I never could have envisioned when we first started this project."

Harry, catching his breath, nodded appreciatively. "It felt right," he admitted, looking down at his costume, stained with artificial blood that somehow felt all too real at that moment.

Colette brushed a tear from her cheek and laughed lightly. "I think I'm going to miss her," she confessed, referring to Juliet. "It's strange how a character can become a part of you."

As they made their way off the set, passing through the constructed archways and past the fabricated stone tombs, there was a collective sense of completion but also of loss; the world they had created was temporary, its dissolution inevitable now that the film was wrapped.

The wrap party later that evening was a lively affair held at a local venue adorned with replicas of props and costumes from the film. The mood was buoyant yet bittersweet as cast and crew mingled, sharing memories from months of hard work.

Colette found herself standing by a balcony overlooking the city lights, a glass of champagne in hand. Harry joined her soon after.

"It's going to be odd not seeing everyone tomorrow," he said, leaning against the railing beside her.

"Yeah," Colette agreed softly. "It's like saying goodbye to family."

They sipped their drinks in companionable silence for a moment before Harry spoke up again.

"What’s next for you?" he asked curiously.

Colette shrugged slightly. "A few scripts to read; maybe some time off. And you?"

"Same," Harry replied. "Though it'll be hard to top this experience."

They smiled at each other, sharing an unspoken acknowledgement of the journey they had shared. The night grew deeper around them as words gave way to shared glances and laughter from inside reached their ears—a soundtrack to endings and new beginnings alike.

“Why don’t we get out of here, go to my place for a while.” Harry said while looking over at Colette.

Colette glanced up at the stars twinkling above, considering his invitation. A gentle breeze ruffled her hair, bringing with it the distant sounds of celebration from inside. It felt like the perfect end to an intense and transformative day.

"Sounds like a plan," she replied with a smile that matched the lightness in her heart.

They excused themselves from the party, slipping away unnoticed among the throngs of well-wishers and fellow revelers. The city's streets were quiet as they walked side by side, their footsteps syncing in a comfortable rhythm.

Arriving at Harry's place, he unlocked the door and let them into his warmly lit apartment. Colette really examined the place. The space was tastefully decorated with various mementos from his travels and projects, each piece telling a story of its own. Colette wandered over to a shelf displaying several old cameras and script binders.

"This place has character," she commented, picking up a vintage camera and examining it closely.

"Thanks," Harry said as he went to fix them some drinks in the kitchen. "It's my little sanctuary away from all the chaos."

Returning with two glasses of wine, he joined her by a large window overlooking the cityscape. They talked for hours about everything—from their fears and dreams to trivial stories from set—each conversation thread drawing them closer, weaving a new layer into their friendship.

As dawn hinted at its arrival with a soft glow on the horizon, Harry poured them each another glass of wine. "To new beginnings?" he proposed, raising his glass slightly.

"To new beginnings," Colette echoed, clinking her glass against his. They sipped their wine in serene silence, watching as the city slowly came to life.

Harry's heart raced as he leaned in closer to Colette, his breath hot against her ear. "I have to do this," he whispered urgently, desperation lacing his words. Colette's eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded, giving him permission to continue. And with that, Harry pressed his lips hungrily against hers, pouring all of his pent-up desire and longing into the passionate kiss. Electricity crackled between them as their bodies molded together, fueling the intensity of their connection. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the taste of each other on their lips and the overwhelming need driving them both.

“I’ve been thinking about this since we filmed that scene.”

Colette's breath hitched at Harry’s admission. "That scene?" she inquired, her voice trembling with a heady cocktail of nerves and anticipation. He traced his thumb across the contour of her lips, nodding before reclaiming them with a renewed intensity that left no room for doubt.

"That damn scene," he murmured against the luscious curve of her mouth, his hot whispers making her shiver in response. His hands found their way to her waist, pulling her closer so she could feel every hard inch of him against the softness of her body.

Colette's heart pounded in her chest as Harry's thumb traced the contours of her lips, her eyes fluttering closed at the feeling. His hot whispers sent shivers down her spine, and she couldn't help but arch into him, seeking more contact.

"That scene," he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with desire, "made me want you even more." With that, he claimed her lips once again, his tongue diving deep into her mouth as his hands found their way up underneath her shirt. She moaned into the kiss, feeling his calloused fingertips brush against the underside of her breasts.

His touch sent electric shockwaves through her body, making every nerve ending tingle with anticipation. She whimpered softly against his mouth, clutching at his shoulders as he teased her nipples through her bra. "Harry," she gasped out between ragged breaths, her voice barely a whisper.

He pulled back slightly to look down at her flushed face. "Tell me you want this," he growled lowly, eyes dark and intense as they bore into hers. Colette swallowed hard before nodding frantically. "I do," she whispered back in a voice that shook with need.

Without further hesitation, Harry scooped Colette up into his strong arms and carried her over to the nearby bed. He set her down gently before kneeling down between her spread legs and gazing up at her with a hungry glint in his eyes. "You are so so fucking beautiful," he murmured approvingly as he ran his roughened hands up along the insides of her thighs until they reached their final destination: the lace-covered mound of between them.

Groaning lowly, Harry pressed his fingers against the damp material covering Colette's core and pushed them through the fabric to slide along her wet folds. She cried out softly as sensations she hadn't felt since that fateful day on set washed over her once again—sensations that only seemed to intensify now that they were alone together like this .

Harry's fingers slid deeper into Colette's wet folds, finding her swollen clit and circling it gently. She moaned loudly, arching her back as the sensations overwhelmed her. "You like that, don't you?" he growled, his voice thick with desire.

"Oh god yes," she whimpered, her eyes fluttering closed. "Please, Harry. I need you."

He pulled his fingers away from her core and stood up, pulling her with him. She stumbled to her feet, feeling unsteady from the intense pleasure he'd just given her. He backed her up against the wall, their bodies flush from chest to thighs. His hard cock pressed against her stomach, making her even wetter.

"You are so pretty, love.," he murmured again, his lips brushing against hers in a featherlight kiss. His hands roamed over her body, squeezing her ass cheeks and pulling them apart to reveal her tight little hole. "I want you to feel every inch of me inside you."

Colette shuddered at his words, imagining how good it would feel to be filled up by him. She reached down between them and took hold of his cock through his pants, stroking it slowly as she looked up at him with pleading eyes. "Please," she whispered again.

Harry groaned deeply and grabbed hold of her wrists, lifting them above her head and pinning them against the wall next to her head. His other hand slid down between their bodies once more, pushing aside the fabric of their clothes until he could position his cockhead at her entrance. He looked into her eyes for permission before thrusting forward powerfully into her tight heat.

She cried out in shock and pleasure as he filled her completely in one swift motion. He began to move inside her slowly at first, watching as she adjusted to his size. But soon enough he picked up speed, slamming into her over and over again with a roughness that made Colette's legs shake uncontrollably beneath him."Fuck yes!" she screamed breathlessly as he took control of their coupling completely."

She could feel every inch of him, stretching and filling her while also leaving her wanting more. His grip on her waist tightened as he picked up speed, slamming into her so hard that the bed shook beneath them.

"You like that?" he growled, his voice hoarse with lust.

"God yes!" she moaned back, arching her back to meet each of his thrusts. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she clung to him, unable to resist the overwhelming pleasure coursing through her body. He reached down between them and rubbed circles around her clit with his fingers, sending shudders of delight through her entire being.

"You're so fucking tight," he grunted, leaning down to capture one of her nipples in his mouth and sucking hard. The sensation sent electric shocks straight to her groin, making her even wetter for him. She cried out his name as he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside her, causing an explosive wave of pleasure that left her breathless.

Colette found herself begging for release as he continued to thrust into her unmercifully. "Please... I need you to cum with me!" She could feel herself getting closer and closer to the brink but didn't want it without him by her side. In response, he picked up the pace even more, driving deeper than ever before as they both neared their climaxes together.

Their bodies moved in a frantic rhythm, the sound of their heavy breathing and the soft thuds of flesh meeting flesh filling the room. Colette felt the coil of tension winding tighter and tighter within her, her entire being focused on the overwhelming sensations Harry was eliciting from her.

Just as she thought she could take no more, Harry’s movements became even more purposeful, his strokes deepening, each pushing her further towards that edge. His mouth left her nipple with a wet pop, traveling up her neck, leaving a trail of kisses until he reached her ear. His hot breath against her ear sent another shiver down her spine as he whispered, "Let go for me, love. I’ve got you."

And with those words, Colette felt the dam break. A powerful orgasm washed over her, waves of pleasure pulsating through her as she cried out his name, her body trembling uncontrollably. Harry followed soon after, his own climax overtaking him with a groan as he buried his face in her neck, his body shuddering against hers.

As they both regained their breath, Harry slowly pulled back to look at Colette, his eyes soft now with a tender glow. Gently, he pressed a kiss to her forehead before easing out of her and helping her lay down on the bed. He lay beside her, pulling her into his arms and wrapping her up in his warmth.

They lay there in silence for a moment, neither needing words to express what had just transpired between them. Finally, Colette turned to look at him, a shy smile playing on her lips. “That was…” she started but seemed lost for words.

“Everything,” Harry finished for her, smiling back. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear gently. “You were everything, my Juliet.”

Colette snuggled closer into his embrace, feeling an unfamiliar sense of peace wash over her. What had started as an undeniable attraction had blossomed into something far deeper in these moments alone together. They both knew that what was happening between them wasn’t just fleeting passion; it was something that might just redefine their understanding of connection and desire.

As the night deepened, outside the confines of their intimate world, the city's sounds blended into a distant hum, almost like a lullaby meant to soothe them in their post-climactic serenity. Harry lay there, feeling the gentle rise and fall of Colette's breathing against him, his thoughts meandering through the events that had led to this moment.

After what felt like an eternity bathed in silence and warmth, Colette stirred slightly, breaking the magical spell that had enveloped them. She lifted her head to meet his gaze, her eyes reflecting a mix of wonder and a hint of vulnerability. "Harry," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the quietude. "What does this mean for us? For tomorrow?"

Harry’s heart tightened at her words. Tomorrow. With their lives so deeply entrenched in public scrutiny and their careers always on the line, the weight of reality began to dawn on him. Yet looking into Colette's hopeful eyes, all he wanted was to delay those worries, to live in this bubble for as long as they could.

He brushed his lips against her forehead softly, choosing his words with care. "Let's not think about tomorrow yet," he murmured softly. "Tonight, it’s just you and me. No labels, no expectations. Just... us."

Colette nodded slowly, nestling back into his chest. "Just us," she echoed, allowing herself to be enveloped by the warmth of his promise.

They stayed like that for a while longer until sleep began to claim them, their bodies entwined in a quiet promise of the now with thoughts of tomorrow held at bay.