#how do you see the truth of yourself reflected in someone else’s eyes and bear the fact that you are petty and cruel in a thousand ways

[willowcrowned]

the irony of naomi novik’s books having very little fic on ao3 does not escape me. it does however annoy me a great deal

[konigbabe]

MELTING

Pairing: Choso Kamo x fem!reader Word count: 1.5k Tags/warnings: no y/n; one bed trope; mutual pining; manga spoilers (Culling Game Arc); smut; soft!choso; p-in-v sex; unprotected sex; female gendered anatomy Summary: You and Choso stay behind and protect Tengen during the upcoming Culling Games. There’s just one problem – Tengen only provided one bed. Part of my JJKS2 writing week.

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Choso feels speechless.

You are rather taken aback.

“We should take turns,” he suggests first, “it’s better if one of us is awake anyway.”

Standing side by side, shoulder to shoulder, with eyes fixated on the empty bed in front of you, you simply nod. It might be better this way. More appropriate, practical. A way to ensure one of you stays vigilant.

But you don’t want that. You don’t want appropriate.

Especially not with this man, lithe frame adorned in a snug-fitting vest, its fabric caressing the curves of his body like a second skin, shape emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders against his slender waist. It’d be wrong to assume that for a few months old Cursed Womb, there's not an undeniable attractiveness about him.

But Christ – having to share a bed with him has to be some sort of punishment. A tempting torture.

You don’t know when things started to take a turn for you. It could be his constant, obvious glances towards you that you catch even from your peripheral vision.

The soft touch when his thumb and index finger lift your chin. Your face yields to his grasp, a vulnerable flower leaning toward the sun's caress, as he tilts it slightly to one side and then to another, checking for injuries with profound tenderness. It’s hard to miss how his eyes, pools of amaranthine depths, catch glimmers of light, reflecting a mesmerizing, twilight hue.

Or the way his hand always finds its place on your shoulder, on the expanse of your back; a pat on your thigh when you’re sitting side by side.

Why, of all the people, Choso had to be the one to volunteer to stay with you and Tengen. Now you’re stuck here alone.

He lightly touches your side. Nudges your shoulder with his elbow, drawing your gaze towards him.

“What you think,” he pulls you back.

Lashes fluttering, lips parted slightly, eyes following the straight bloody line on the bridge of his nose before finally reaching his own–

“Yeah, let’s do it this way.”

–he knows. Many people might have him for nothing more than a curse. He mostly feels like nothing more than a cursed spirit but Choso has eyes. He can see the way your gaze lingers on his face, pupils tracing the planes of his cheeks, how your eyes flicker between his eyes and lips when you talk. And stay on the later longer than deemed necessary.

Even back in Shibuya. Back when he stood opposite you. Your determination, desire to fight a battle you had no chance of winning. Choso fought for his brothers, his fallen family. He had a solid, concrete cause in his eyes. You–you fought for the goodness of your heart; met most of the sorcerers you fought side by side mere months before, being dragged into that whole mess by someone else. You had every right to turn back, to go away. You had no reason to be there. Yet you stayed, fought and almost lost your life just because of the light in yourself.

It compelled him; you enchanted him.

The first few days work well. You barely meet Choso; he sleeps during the nighttime, you take the bed during the day. And even without being by his side at those times, you found out more about him–he has a favorite side of the bed, the dip always prominent after his muscular frame even after he leaves.

In the embrace of loneliness, you reluctantly confess the truth to yourself: you purposefully sleep on the same side of the bed, seeking solace in the lingering remnants of his presence. The mattress still bears the faint imprint of his form, a ghostly echo of his touch.

The fading warmth of his body, once pressed against the sheets, now offers comfort to your restless soul. The air carries the scent of him, a heady concoction of subtle muskiness and something uniquely Choso.

As the time shortens, it’s time to discuss tactics. Create a defense plan for the upcoming fight. The shadow of Kenjaku creeps nearer, and Tengen senses it too. The plan you have crafted, driven by Choso’s unwavering resolve, seems daring and reckless, an audacious gambit with little chance of survival, to put it mildly.

Emotions run high, tangled in a web of desperation.

So you make up your mind.

Tonight.

That’s how you end up in bed. Together; the delicate touch of your hand melding with Choso’s rugged grasp, each finger finding its place amidst the roughness of his calloused palm as he pushes the back of your hand into the solid mattress.

Rising a hand to scrape the back of his neck. Feel the trickle of sweat against the pads of your fingers, pushing his head closer to you. Eyes darkened, the tendrils of pleasure swirling in the hue of his pupils, breath hot against your jawline. Lips grazing the soft contour of your cheek. Hushed moans in your ear, shooting straight into your core; make your pussy grip his cock, suck him in.

You want to get lost in the moment, to savor the ecstasy surging and undulating, gently rippling across your skin each time he bottoms out inside you. His touch is tender, hand sliding down your side, stopping at the curve of your hip.

You cup his face, relishing the wetness of his lips on yours; tongue swirling with yours, passionate and desperate. Choso moves away from your mouth, leaves you whimpering, whining. Kisses trailing down your chin, neck, over the curve of your clavicle with his hand kneading the supple flesh of your breast.

He’s caressing your body as if he’s mapping out the geography of your desire, learning the secrets and contours that his fingers can work in tandem to bring you to the brink. Choso’s lips are supple against your flesh, fingertips tingling with a tantalizing touch–

(We could die tomorrow.

Does it scare you? Death?

It terrifies me.)

–it goes in contrast to his thrusts. Short, sharp. Hard.

Choso shifts down; the strain in your legs feels painfully blissful as he keeps both legs over his shoulders. Opens you up for him. Cock gliding against your gummy walls, head kissing the innermost parts of you.

Your hand glides over his arm, untamed canvas slick with the sheen of sweat. So warm, burning beneath your naked palm. Trace the ripples curving along his bicep, sink your nails into the landscape of his shoulder blade.

Body tensing, melting against yours with each thrust; ankles crossing over the back of his neck, you lock him in. Entrap him within your grasp, feeling the slide of his cock as he pulls back before coming back in.

“Christ–right there,” your head falls backward, eyes fluttering closed, “s–good.”

Choso’s eyes sparkle down at you. Hand cradling your cheek, thumb running over the swell of your lower lip as he continues to drive himself deeper inside. He utters soft endearments, your name spoken in a whisper of desire as his hips drive into you with an unfolding intensity.

He pauses when your back arches, body writhing in immense pleasure that he’s giving you. He pulls back completely, feeling his own high reaching way too soon. He takes a moment, breathing in the sweet smell of your skin, the musky scent of your arousal filling his senses, before slowly pulling back. Taking care to let you feel the full extent of his presence and allowing himself to relish the tightness that grips around his cock as he slides out.

(He has to pull back. Has to stop himself from spilling over. It can’t be over so soon.)

You shudder at how empty you feel without him.; then he jams himself deep again. Wants to make you swallow him whole. Taking your hands in his, fingers curling around your wrists, pushing your arms over your head; drinking in the sight of your blissed face and heavy eyes as he moves.

The blooming of pleasure radiates within you, out from your core, intensified with every plunge of his cock. With each drag. You cry out, calling his name; the sound of your voice urging him on.

His movements become more frantic as his body rebels against the desire for release. He can’t contain himself any longer. Choso shudders inside your walls; abdomen contracting, spasming as he grunts, body tensing. Painting your walls in pearlescent colors, your name a strained breath from his chest.

Your body quivers in pleasure, feeling the warmth of his release deep within. Legs untangling, moving along the contour of his naked body, feeling the muscles contracting underneath your calves before landing on the mattress; still spread apart, to accommodate Choso’s wide body.

Eyes closing, a satisfied smile on your lips, as a blissful wave of pleasure passes through you. Choso’s palm returns to cradle your face; watching you, his breathing still ragged, body trembling with the aftermath of his climax.

He doesn’t even notice the corners of his lips turning upwards.

[basilpaste]

was talkin to some pals about it so... imagine loop nille post game friendship in your mind.

(755 words below.)

You are out of Dormont. For the first time you can remember with any clarity... you're free. Are you free? What does that even look like. There's still a weight in your chest, still a burning star where your heart should be. Still just a star where something resembling the hollow corpse of a human once was.

You go. You flee. It's what you're good at, isn't it? Hiding away from all of your problems, putting on a show, becoming someone else? Nothing you've ever done has given you any reason to believe that would change. Stardust's "it's thanks to you" was a nice sentiment, but...

You're on the road. You move quickly, now. It's not as though you need to eat. Or to sleep, really. You're more of an idea than a person, after all! So it's easy to move, to keep going, to not stop until your body gives out on you.

You head for the coast. You follow no maps, no roads, just moving on instinct. Just following the brightest star in the sky. You try not to think about why doing so seems so simple. If you do, you'll lose it. You head for the coast, as if tugged along by some invisible string. Or by anything else that doesn't bring to mind a pull on your stomach.

You head for the coast. And eventually you do not just head for it, you make it there. You stare into the sky on the shore of a town you did not pay attention to the name of. You can see an island in the distance.

That place is gone. You know that. Of course you do. You can't spend forever searching for a place that does not want to be found. You can't waste your life on remembering something that can't be remembered.

Yet, still... you look to the brightest star, how it hangs above a place the world forgot. And you mourn. You bend down, grabbing a handful of darkless sand in your lightless fist, and toss the powder-stone into the sky. It hangs like dust in the air for a moment that feels eternal, and then plumets into the sea.

That is the moment you meet her.

"Hey there, stranger. What brings you to town?"

You spin on your heel, water lapping at your ankles. For a moment, it's like you've seen a ghost. For a moment, it's like seeing a vision of the future.

A young woman stares down at you, an eyebrow raised. Her hair is split into twin braids, she slings an oversized hammer over one shoulder. When she smiles at you, you see a face much younger than her own.

You are possessed by the urge to run away. To vanish into the night, to dive into the inky water and to never, ever resurface. Instead you plant your feet into the sand and wave as casually as you can bear to manage.

"Who, me? Just... ah... Fishing."

She laughs. Her shoulders shake with it, eyes crinkling into something fond. She looks weary far beyond her years despite it.

"Well." She says, putting a hand on her hip, "I'm not sure how much luck you're gonna get with your hands, stranger. Not unless you're trying to find a tidepool."

... Ah. Yes. You suppose you didn't think your little excuse through. You know that. You know how to fish. You did, once. You're not stupid.

"Hah! How true." You say. You can hear it fall flat.

She sizes you up. Despite yourself, you feel suddenly very exposed. What a strange stranger you are, right? Not even human. Most rational people keep a healthy distance from you. Some assume that you're merely a Sadness. You suppose that's not too far from the truth.

"It's late." She tells you after a long moment. "Bambouche is plenty welcoming. Don't stand in the sand all night."

A moment of understanding seizes you. You look at this woman and see something familiar. Not like before, no, something far more personal. Like a tidepool distorting your reflection.

She is asking you to stay. You've already made it to the shore, what reason do you have to flee? You look at her. She looks right back. You swear that you can see your eyes reflected in her own.

"Alright."

She grins and gestures for you to follow. You don't even have to think about it. Despite everything... you are still being led.

"You got a name, Stranger?"

You don't.

"Loop." You say.

"Pétronille."

[goodolddumbbanana]

A friendly hang out (Molten x Sun platonic crackship)

Sumary: They are friends. Or Molten totally nail Sun as his friend. And Sun right now, still a litle bit awakard. Sun still feels uncomfortable when someone cares about him. He likes Molten and also want to be friendly and befriend with the bear. But old habits die hard and sometimes, Sun still feels uncertain whether Molten will be like everyone else, leaving him or stabbing him in the back.

Daycare was as cheerful and lively as ever. The lively sound of music hit Molten's ears, as the bear animatronic moved inside the door.

The children had all gone home, leaving only Sun to clean up.

'What a mess. Oh my god...' Even from afar, Molten could hear Sun's groans. The sun model sat on the ground, surrounded by scattered barrels. The faint scent of antiseptic wafted to the tip of Molten's nose.

Molten's orange-gray fur was even reflected on the plastic, glistening under the bright lights.

'How much detergent did Sun use? '

Molten tilted his head. His metal body covered in wires clanked, yet Sun had yet to notice him behind. A focus and joy that Molten rarely had the chance to witness, especially when the yellow animatronic was always in a state of anxiety or depression.

“Hmm… Argh!! Molten!!? You scared the crap out of me!!” Sun was startled and almost jumped back. An overly dramatic expression appeared on Sun’s face, and their hands unconsciously folded as if to cover their faces.

“Hello, Sun.” Molten replied cheerfully, waving his claws. “Do you want to hang out?”

“Go out?” Sun straightened up, looking puzzled. They shook their heads at him with helpless expressions, and as if they couldn’t understand what he was saying.

“But why, Molten?! I'm kinda busy right now.. and��”

Sun’s hands waved in the air, as if Molten had turned on some kind of anxiety switch in Sun.

“But you have been so busy lately. I just want you to relax a little bit. Is that not okay, Sun?” Molten lowered his head, his claws poking at each other.

“Y–Yes! Of course it’s okay. It’s just… there are people who are busier than me, like Solar, Moon… Laying around just feels wrong… you know.” Sun stuttered, looking more and more like they were about to scream, or faint. “I just want to get out of my head by doing the things I can do the best.” Sun opposes weakly, even though he seems like he didn’t charge for like a couple days. 

Molten genuinely liked Moon. He liked Solar too. They were good people, and they had both helped him a lot. Moon and the Creator had helped him fix his software, and Solar had given him a new body. 

But it was Sun who had given him a little faith into the future, and it was him who truly asked what he wanted or his purpose was. Because if it weren't for Sun, he would still be trapped in Moon's cage, lost in the curse the Creators had placed on him, with a pain of emptiness that could only be released by catching Ruin.

Because Sun looked like a sinking ship patched up with duct tape but still able to survive countless storms. Because Sun knew what it felt like to put all his effort into a meaningless goal, only to get nothing in return, just like Molten had when he sent Ruin into the abyss.

Because Sun was a good person, and Molten didn't understand what that meant, due to the fact his rotten nature, though repaired, would never be complete.

“Why do you think so lowly of yourself, Sun? Because here, I see everyone admiring and loving you?”

Molten had always been a good observer. 

He had seen Earth’s dependent and loving gaze, as she played with Sun like an overly pampered little sister. He had also seen the starry admiration in Lunar’s eyes, and the carefully hidden truth behind Sun’s brother’s indifferent demeanor. He had also seen how Moon’s innate sharpness softened whenever Sun was mentioned, and how Solar, despite his rudeness at times, had something secretly protective atmosphere toward Sun, like trying not to touch an open wound.

Everyone connected to Sun in a different way, and between them, Molten felt a sense of respect, admiration, trust, protection and love.

Molten liked that. He likes Sun. He likes the warm feeling whenever the two of them hang out, the feeling running through Molten's main circuit was almost like wanting, like possessing. It feels full. And it makes Molten feel less cold than ever.

Still, because of that, there was a stream of thoughts that came from nowhere running through Molten's small head, screaming passive rage every time he saw Sun talking or playing with someone else.

Because Sun is his friend, and he didn't like it when his friend was closer to someone else than him.

Because Sun still feels comfortable with others more than with him, and he can’t ever beat them due to the fact Molten is just Sun's new friend, and there a lot of people know Sun longer than him.

Was this strange? Molten's ears drooped. Was he becoming selfish for thinking like that?

Was he a bad person? Molten didn't want to be bad, he was bad and now he wanted to become better.

He wanted to hang out with Sun, he wanted to do more things that he felt like, he wanted to find something he was good at to help people.

"Ha... I guess so." Sun muttered. Their bright faces huddled together, even their shoulders lowered. Compared to someone who was almost the same height as Molten, at this moment, Sun looked really small.

There were many things Molten didn't know. There were many things Molten didn’t understand. But he did know that his friend was sad right now. And perhaps the thing that had distracted Molten would be of some use to Sun?

“Do you want to watch a movie, Sun?” Molten repeated what Sun had said. The yellow animatronic still looked hesitant, but nodded slowly. Their voices were still as tense and shrill as before, but more or less, their backs had relaxed a lot now.

“Wait until I finish cleaning this up, Molten.”

“I’ll help.” Molten clumsily sitting down, his loose strands accidentally bumping into the barrels that Sun had neatly arranged into vertical columns, now falling to pieces.

Sun stared, the look of Sun almost making his non-existent heart cringe before they sighed.

“It’s okay, Molten. You can use that rag over there to wipe it, okay?”

“Yeah.” Molten nodded. In the silence, accompanied by Sun’s pleasant hum, Molten timidly asked.

“We’re friends, right, Sun?”

And Sun… in a minute of silence. Their mechanical wrists were as regular as the hands of a clock. The sunlight reflected their images, reflected Molten’s fur in Sun’s eyes. There was something vulnerable as Sun replied.

“Haha… yeah, Molten. We are friends.” 

[femsolid]

Every woman, of course, wishes to believe that the man in her life is an exceptional man, a man in a million, and that therefore she is the exceptional woman. But the odds are 99.9 to 0.1 against her (and .1 is probably a high estimate), because almost no man, no matter how gentle, no matter how liberal, could bear to reject the innumerable privileges (operant in very subtle as well as blatant ways in every sphere of his life) of being male, even if it were possible. A friend once wrote to me, "For me, the bottom line now with men is that any man (my brother, too, whom I love dearly) will sell me out if it's a choice between me and patriarchy, me and his male privilege."

- Sonia Johnson

Women feel that, without men, we will be alone and further isolated. We will have no one. We do not see relations with other women as an alternative. Without men, life isn’t worth living. This reveals the extent to which women experience our selves through men’s eyes. The more lost women feel without men, the more we have defined ourselves through our relationships with men and in relation to men.

Having most members of any oppressed group live one-on-one with their oppressors is probably the strongest possible arrangement for ensuring continued psychological enslavement. Whether the adult male is father or husband, the effect is the same: the woman is isolated from other women.

- Dee L. R. Graham

Men are thinking, writing, and creating, because women are pouring their energy into those men; women are not creating culture because they are occupied with love.

- Shulamith Firestone

Heterosexuality stands out as one of the last bastions of patriarchy where the notion of individual choice remains thoroughly unexamined. This leads to curious scenarios such as the phenomenon of feminists who might be critical of the notion of ‘choice’ and ‘agency’ in relation to oppressive systems such as pornography and prostitution, posting pictures of themselves in wedding dresses on social media, and defending their ‘choices’ as a purely private affair.

- Julia Long

Feminism is stifled by women with shifting priorities based on necessary compromises with the men in their lives. This will always create a burden for the woman to choose between her politics and the oppressor class she has an intimate connection to.

- Sustainable Separatist

Women’s magazines place young women’s ability to establish and maintain heterosexual dating relationships at the centre of women’s identities. Rhetoric surrounding the achievement of ‘wedded bliss’ and finding ‘Mr Right’ abounds, with men the ultimate source of ‘women’s fulfilment’.

- Kate Farhall

The whole world wants you to partner up with a man; the handful of us who want liberation don’t threaten your little domestic dream beyond asking you to self-reflect a bit and ponder your priorities. We’re not witches, and we’re not the monster under your bed either. We’re women alive leading fulfilling lives, and we’d love it if more women got to experience it. There’s no non-misogynistic man. Some do a good job of fooling the women around them, but none of them isn’t complicit in women’s oppression. Why do you feel such a need to put your life and your freedom in a man’s hand? Can’t you do things yourself instead of waiting for someone else’s input? At the end of the day it’s not about your feelings. It’s about doing something so things change instead of just waiting passively for men to deign to give us a few rights, it’s about women’s liberation. And that might very well be something you are not interested in, which is your prerogative, but it’s not my case.

- Floatingbook

The most exhilarating experience of my newly-divorced life was the discovery that I could be whole and happy without a man; that the fierce brainwashing to the contrary, which I’d sustained all my life, was not only composed of lies from start to finish, but was a total reversal of the truth: it’s not women who need men, but men who need women.

- Sonia Johnson

I don’t think we need to argue or defend female separatism. We just have to build it. Women who are able to speak against it obviously see no benefit in joining, so they can stay as they are. But they can’t control what we do. They can go on and on about how absolutely dreadful it would be, while we’re already building our houses and planting our gardens and having immense joy at the freedom and life. Separatism proves its points by existing and showing what it really is. Don’t waste energy telling people how stupid they are for fighting you about it, come learn all about berries and sustainable permaculture with us.

- Balkan Radfem

Friends and enemies will be clearly lined up, and the friends will be real friends and the enemies unable to hide behind phony benevolence — nor will we have to toady to them. An end to this constant remaking of ourselves according to what the male ego demands! Let us be ourselves and good riddance to those who are then repulsed by us!

- Dana Densmore

[biskael]

“I know I’m not really in a position to make any requests of you. But I’m going to anyway.” As much as he frightens her, she can’t shy away from what she wants to say. “Please take care of him. Not everyone sees it, but he’s good. He deserves to be happy. You both do.”

PLEASE TAKE CARE OF HIM . this girl was a strange one , that was certain. he’d begun to tear the flesh from her bones , when they’d first met . hardly something plausible to commune with . something that would terrify even those more divine than she was . inhuman . a monster . cannibalizing men , and obliterating animals . not many would live past sklavarei’s wicked light . and yet , she was only a mortal girl with a taste of power . and a heart far gentle , what some would call naïve , than his own . quilge thought his a citadel of cruelty . a place where no one else lived . except …

except for him .

a red gaze is cast upon her , & quilge sees the fear in her eyes . not that it stops her . unsure of what he could do to her , should the wrong words leave . still , the girl’s voice never wavers , and the hunter stops . listens to her . she sounds so earnest . a rarity around the palace , where vanity almost serves as currency .

his heart stirs . the man he loved so deeply . perhaps , to some , it hadn’t looked like love , but a soldier bringing home his spoils of war . a selfish , hungry motion of conquest . but it wasn’t all that . not in the time that had past , and hearts that had worn themselves raw in each other’s presence . because how do monsters love ? and what do hunters do when they are cornered ? rifle to the chest , fangs at the neck . an image reflected in the eye of your enemy . yourself . reborn within a heated gaze . then , silence . weapons sheathed .

i love you . i have always loved you . I love you , too .

stay with me ... please . don’t go . i’ll be right here .

it hurts , it hurts . help me ... ! hush ; come here . closer .

quilge cannot help but smile . slight , gentle . something genuine . “ he has such trouble seeing the good in himself … & I had told him until he believed it was true . “ an adoring laugh . “ ——— he says i’m too good for someone like him . that he doesn’t deserve me . I don’t believe that for a moment . we are deserving of each other .

the severed half of my soul i'd once thought lost . a beast & a hunter . a demon & an angel . an arrancar & a quincy .

so , I must take care of him . guide him alongside me . teach him about the joys of the world he had departed from , when he was alone & possessed by sorrow . hardly any others are so patient .

I will love him . I fear no man nor beast . I have to love him , as husband , consort & mate , as an equal match . and , since nnoitra has suffered so greatly , shouldering his despair is what I can do . Loving him —— all of him , the good & the bad —— is what I can do . his wounds , I kiss . his tears , I dry .

I must love him as he loves me : without abandon , without fear . he needs a man to love him the same manner . an intensity unlike any other . we were both in need . and we’d never voiced it until we met upon the battlefields . perhaps , i think … we were fated to meet . that i had loved him in a past life . “

she cannot see the softness his eyes suddenly possess . " but , in truth , it was never so simple . when we had first met , i had known that i was hurting him . that he was hurting me . we wanted to kill each other ... he'd wanted to eat me alive , you know . leave nothing left of me to find . and in turn , i was cruel to him . barbarically so . but , at the time , we'd only saw each other as our own natural enemies . we didn't know that we would become so ... devoted to one another . that we couldn't bear to have the other leave our side . our love was ... tumultuous , to start . and i suppose , that some would say that it still is . some claim that it is too strange . that a union between an arrancar & a quincy could never be . but they don't know everything about either of us . our love has only grown . it ... has changed , as love changes you .

he was a nobleman's son , once . long ago , when no one remembers . and he was in need of a guardian ... someone to protect him from the dangers just lurking within his home . perhaps , as his own living memory fractured , that was something he'd forgotten ...

i love him . i love him so very , very much . and it is a miracle that he loves me in return . " of her own curiosity , her concern , he is grateful . " ... thank you for your kindness . "

@inouehs , featuring @guadanya

[friday-night-flunker]

Been binging the Silly Billy song. It just gives me sooo many vibes. More thoughts below, no coherency, make sense of it if it if you will. Formatting is evil and not my strong suit atm sorry. I just wrote down my thoughts as they came to me as I listened.

Like- It's such an emotional song, like a conversation not obvious through words but you can HEAR it and understand. It's a nice surprise when those lyrics hit, almost like you're walking in on two people talking or being told something important you didn't even consider before.

So. Yeah. They're good. The song is good. I like it. Cool beans.

Mirrors = Truth = Fears = Doubts

"I can take you; I'm picking up what you're putting down; let's Funkin' Go" "I'm everything you are" "I'm everything you're not" "This is what I think of you" (small and "barky"; laughing almost) "This is the difference between us two" (not actually that different, perhaps) "Do I even love me?" "I'm so f*cking lonely/desperate to know I'm worthy of something"

Almost having fun dancing around each other with those backs and forths "I'm not scared of you" "Can you handle this? You at your scariest? You at your lowest?"

Countering something intense with a fun personalized twist to "argue" its point "I'm full of surprises"

Self-appreciation / Self-love / Self-acceptance

Call and Response (literally the best)

"I want to be seen but I think you're (I'm) the only one who can see ME the way I want to be seen and that makes me sad. / Should I be ok with that?"

The agony of someone loved left behind

Back and forth, give and take with the healthbars thing, like Yourself is also in the position of Boyfriend trying to get a high score, making you the same; the conversation Yourself started changes in the end to the emotional core of the topic

A perfectly different reflection (edit: don't know what this means but I sure thought it did)

"You can't overcome me so easily, can you?" / “You can’t overcome -this- so easily.”

"Listen to me" "Ok" "Now listen to me" "Ok" "Ok now I understand you; you're like me, you can understand me" "Now I don't have to hold back"

(Emphasizing you; agreeing; mirroring sentiments and adding my own thoughts in reply; I understand your pain/feelings)

"Wow, look at you go, keeping up with me like that"

Yourself is Boyfriend's reflection; a projection of his internal self at the moment, hence the reflection's tired lines under his (Yourself's) eyes before he puts his hand on the mirror. A part of himself he doesn't show or was shown TO him.

Seeking solace with the self. "Tell me how good I was; because I was, wasn't I?"

By the end, after the lyrics, the “health bar” for Boyfriend and Yourself disappears and the color of the arrows are both solidly blue, seeing the world the way Yourself does, and like nothing else matters about the battle anymore and that everything that needed to be said has been.

Plus I think it’s REALLY interesting how, during Yourself’s big lyrical solo, Boyfriend is singing along, supporting those notes of his voice.

Dudes... Boyfriend is canonically 7-foot-ish tall. Bearing that in mind Yourself must be at least 13-feet-ish tall. Ten tops. Dudes.

[yandere-sins]

Good evening or morning (wherever you are).... My request for today is Kaeya from genshin impact. What if he were to confess his love to a timid reader but *gasps* she reveals she has a boyfriend already. Smut is fine if you want.

Thank you so much 🦋

Thank you for requesting!! ♥ Part 2 of my trying to get back into smut OTL

Rated Lemon/Explicit!

»»———————— ♡ ————————««   

Even after everything that happened, you weren't able to forget the look on Kaeya's face as you broke the news.

True, you and your boyfriend had wanted to keep your relationship on the low, but not because you tried to deceive your friends, just so you two could have some peace while finding out more about each other and developing your feelings. But you never meant for anyone to look at you so... disappointed. Even if you were happy with your choice of partner, having to reject someone dear to you still hurt.

"Oh, [Name]," Kaeya sighed, shaking his head. Of course, he wouldn't be happy to hear the person he just asked out confess that they had a boyfriend. Perhaps especially because you two had always been relatively close, even more so lately where you were out almost every day after work. You felt a tinge of regret not telling him earlier. Save him the embarrassment you assumed he must feel. Then again, how could you have known that the charismatic Kaeya had feelings for you? He could have any woman in town, so why had it to be you? Of all people, you wouldn't have expected Kaeya to confess his love to you. Even if you two always got along fine, you thought yourself to look rather gray next to the shining knight that Kaeya was. Someone who wasn't fit to be anything more than friends with him.

"W-We can still continue being friends?" was the best and stupidest comfort you could come up with on the spot. You saw his grimace of disapproval, and it took him a second to collect himself, taking a deep breath before pushing himself away from the wall he had leaned on after learning the truth. Kaeya truly appeared devastated by the realization that you were taken already, and part of you could understand him. Certainly, you had just ruined his night and whatever companionship you two had, just because you couldn't have been more open from the beginning. It would have at least saved him some heartache, if any.

"Friends?" Kaeya mumbled, unfolding his crossed arms as he walked back to your side, leaning on the backrest of your chair. Feeling uncomfortably cornered, you stood up, looking around you. The outside of the tavern was lonely, and Kaeya had chosen this place for his confession surely to avoid any curious listeners. There were still voices coming from inside Angel's Share, but the streets of Mondstadt were quiet at this time of the night, with only his smooth voice reaching out to you. "With all due respect..."

Wrapping his fingers around your chin, you were forced to look up, staring right back into the mocking expression of your 'friend', the mood suddenly shifting. You had regretted having to reject Kaeya's feelings before, Kaeya always having been a good friend to you and hurting him felt wrong. But you would come to regret it much more that you went outside with him, away from the safety of the masses.

"I'd rather be anything else than your 'friend'."

»»————————

"Come on, Dove! Say it! I'm better than him, aren't I?"

"N-No--"

Your attempt to refuse this assumption was meekly interrupted by your loud gasps as Kaeya pushed forward. The curve on his cock was so perfectly aligned inside of you, constantly hitting the good spots whenever he plowed it inside. A cocky grin was on his face as he showed you off in the reflection of the mirror before you, spread over his legs and hanging in his grip on you. It was the biggest taunt he could think of, constantly reminding you how good you were feeling despite your initial refusal of him.

The image inside of the mirror wasn't one you had ever seen of yourself. That sweaty, drooling mess of a human, eyes unfocused and yet filled with pleasure, was nothing you could relate to. And yet, except for the occasional blue strands of hair falling over your skin and peeking out from behind your shoulder, your brain recognized the sight as you. Still, it was hard to accept this side of yourself, especially with his marks and hands. All. Over. It.

Kaeya only laughed as you tried to refute him, smirking a cocky grin from behind you. "Oh? Did Mr. Boyfriend not touch you yet? Even though you're such a little slut?"

His hand falling between your legs, Kaeya first brushed up your thighs, causing you to squirm from the sensation. His hands were trained and roughed up from handling swords, but the way he used them showed how skilled he was. Settling at your clit, he slowed down the rocking of his hips for a moment to get his fingers wet with your juices before picking up the pace again. There was no way you could deny how you were feeling after riding him for the better portion of time ever since he brought you to this city apartment of his, your body shivering and moving on its own with his hand teasing your clit, the additional pleasure riling you up.

"Look at your cunt gaping open for me~" he purred, opening your lower lips wide for the mirror to reflect your exposed entrance. Seeing how his shaft disappeared inside you clearly, you only felt hotter from embarrassment, turning your head which was quickly caught by his free hand, Kaeya turning it forward again - painfully so. His grip wasn't even close to how he had touched you before when you two had still been 'only' drinking buddies. You weren't sure how long he had feelings for you, but you wagered that these feelings must have changed much in the last hour, just like his touch. It once had been so gentle, kind. But now, it was rough and demanding, leaving no room for how you felt.

"Let go!" you said firmly, tearing yourself from his grip to avoid looking at this strange self in the reflection. You felt ashamed and embarrassed. Kaeya made a fool out of you, now that he had you in this peculiar situation. It's not like you wanted to cheat on your boyfriend and betray him in any kind. But your body reacted positively to it, making Kaeya chuckle as you tightened around him after seeing yourself, "You are enjoying it a lot, aren't you?"

It brought tears to your eyes, knowing it was Kaeya deeply lodged inside of you, but your sobs were just another incentive for him to continue. You couldn't even blame him for that - they did sound a lot like sounds of pleasure that overtook their place. Soon you were back to gasping and moaning, glad you at least weren't begging him for more with how shameful you behaved.

"You can still leave him," Kaeya suggested. Though a smile still played around his lips before he hid them behind your shoulder, kissing it tenderly, he sounded very serious. "Leave him and stay with me. No one needs to know what kind of slut you are, going behind his back."

"But I didn't!" you sobbed. "You forced me too-- You forced yourself on me!"

Without hearing the sigh falling off Kaeya's lips, you found yourself breathing in sharply as he made a sudden push, burying his cock even deeper inside of you, the base of it touching your body. The gasp was followed by a long moan, tears streaming down your face after he exploited your sensitivity so much. It was a regrettable, disgusting moan signaling how much you enjoyed him hitting these sweet spots of yours.

Your gaze fell back to the mirror, showing the pleasure-stricken expression on your face. Even though you knew you shouldn't feel this way, Kaeya simply seemed to know all the right things to do, and he used all of them. It was bitter, but he did make you feel... erotic. Made you feel like something you never saw yourself as. Something your boyfriend couldn't make you feel.

With him, it was sugary-sweet puppy love, but with Kaeya, there was so much more. Desire, carnal at that. Love, demands, obsession. No matter how either of you moved your body, it was exciting, making your heart race. Every glance at yourself in the mirror made your body tingle, and every one of his pushes sent waves of excitement up your spine. You wished to have experienced these things with the person you truly loved instead of the hawk watching you from behind.

"I know," he mumbled, his hands driving up from your pussy to your chest, giving your breasts an equal squeeze. Taking in a sharp breath, you held back, instead having Kaeya be the one to groan lowly into your shoulder as you tightened around him. "I'll take so much better care of you than that boy. I can make you your true self, don't you think? You're wasted on everyone but me."

"Just finish it," you breathed heavily, and Kaeya sighed.

"As you wish."

Picking you up by the legs, Kaeya hoisted you up into the air, taking a few steps forward to stand right in front of the mirror. It was a breathtaking sensation to feel his cock carving you out from the dynamic motions, your walls gladly welcoming every inch before confining his member inside. You really could do without a closer look at how his cock slid in and out of you, sloppy sounds and tingling sensations running through you, but it almost made you wonder if you'd be able to experience the same sensations that Kaeya put you through, ever again once this was over.

"Hope you're ready for what you wished for," he reminded you, and you instantly began to realize alarming innuendos in his choice of words and the teasing tone of his voice, struggling in his hold.

"N-Not inside!" you yelled at him, slinging one arm over his head to be the one to tightly grip his face this time. "You can't cum inside!"

"Oh, really?" he taunted you. You squeezing his cheeks together didn't change the fact that he could grin like a Cheshire cat out of fairytales. "Give me one good reason not to."

"I can't bear your baby! I just can't!"

Grinning even wider, Kaeya let you drop a few inches to kiss your nose. "You'll need to do better than that."

Biting your lip, you thought about what he could want to hear from you, eventually realizing the level you'd have to stoop to. A baby would ruin everything, especially if it was Kaeya's baby. Even if things wouldn't turn out the worst way possible, it would still be a lifelong reminder of this ordeal he put you through. Your pride was worth nothing in exchange for the future you always wanted to have.

"P-Please..." you mumbled, the quick pace with which he was ramming into you making it hard to speak. At the same time, it urged you to hurry, as it wouldn't be long now before he'd fulfill the deed inside of you.

"I can't hear you~"

"Please don't cum inside me!"

Halting abruptly, Kaeya looked at the mirror image of you two, thinking for a split second before he resumed the pounding--this time, determined to finish. It was almost like you were hit by thunder, every movement releasing more shocks through you. You were a panting mess, but Kaeya wasn't far from it either. His eye would close halfway as he sunk into pleasure with you, both of you falling deeper and deeper into this hole.

Until it was finally over, your body curving and stretching, Kaeya's grip tightening to hold you throughout your orgasm, fingers digging into your supple thighs. Closing your eyes, you felt like flying, carried by a cloud, away from all the bad things and surrounded by the comforts and excitement that only intimacy could cause. You were almost lost in the orgasm before a part of you recalled the danger that was Kaeya, but much to your relief, when you opened your eyes again, he pushed in deep for the last time before suddenly lifting your up and off his cock.

Spurts of white semen shot through the air, landing on your reflection's stomach almost exactly where it would have landed inside of you. Both of you huffing, exhausted and spent, you watched as it dripped off the slick surface, leaving its stains there rather than inside of you.

Kaeya finally dropped you down, your legs unsteady, but his hold never ceased and kept you up. "Thank you..." you muttered, finding it hard to believe that after all he did, you were still thanking him for not cumming inside. Finding yourself in his arms rather than the ground, you refused the kiss he wanted to plant on your lips, instead turning your cheek, but Kaeya didn't seem to mind.

"I think you owe me something," he whispered into your ear before you felt his teeth bit into your lobe, making you flinch. "I did pull out like you asked me to."

"I owe you nothing, you... you bastard! You fiend! You...!" Your feelings took the upper hand as you heard what he demanded from you now. It was hard not to raise your voice when he dared to tell you about what you owed him after taking you against your will.

Laughing out loud, Kaeya quickly composed himself again, pretending to be hurt. "Ouch. I didn't know you knew these kinds of words."

A sudden rough pull in your hair yanked your head back, your body arching under the force and pressing against his while Kaeya towered over you, never letting his gaze stray from you. "Call me what you want. I don't care what you think, I'm not your friend, remember? I am anything but your stupid, little friend."

This time he took your mouth as he pleased, ramming his lips into yours and slipping his tongue down your throat. When he finally spoke again, his words were nothing but threatening to you, an anxious knot building in your stomach.

"That's why you'll break up with that asshole, you understand?"

"Why would I! Just leave me alone! You had what you wanted!"

"You still don't understand it," Kaeya sighed, releasing your hair briefly before tangling it around his fingers again, pulling you back even further and making you fear your spine would snap. "You are what I want! You belong to me! I was nice this time, but I will change if I must. Break up with him and make it easy for both of you. And then you'll come back to warm my bed, understand?"

Gulping, you put on a brave face, trying to face his stare head-on. This was getting out of control; you couldn't let him win with all his endeavors! No matter how you thought about Kaeya before, this wasn't the man you had come to like and appreciate in the past. He was something, but you could only hope it was still a human.

"And what if I don't?" you asked, using all the courage left inside of you.

"Oh darling, believe me," he laughed, unexpectedly pulling away all of his hands, your body unable to keep itself up and plummeting to the floor. Instant waves of shock and pain hit you, but when he stepped between your legs, you couldn't help but look up to him. How could you have been so wrong about a person you spent so much time with? Who was this man claiming to love you?

"You will do as I say, or everyone will know what kind of slut you really are. Especially your fine boyfriend. Who do you think the people will believe - their charming cavalry captain or some random chick that was seen laughing and hanging around him a lot?"

You opened your mouth to protest, wanting to prove him wrong, wanting to tell him Mondstadt cared about you as much as they did about him. But... was this wrong to assume? Would they really believe your word against his? With a reputation like Kaeya had, would you stand a chance to win against him? You couldn't imagine living a different life than you had so far, so would you be able to deal with the branding of a cheater? Realizing these questions, you closed your mouth again, scrambling to get up and collect your clothes from the ground. You were ready to storm out of the room, just go home and forget about everything that happened but reaching for the doorknob, Kaeya approached you from behind, holding the door shut with his hand.

"Don't hate me too much, okay? I really, really love you, [Name]."

He sounded anxious as he whispered these words against your head, leaving a trail of kisses. How could you believe this? How could you believe any of what he was saying? Just now, he had forced you into a level of intimacy you hadn't been ready for, threatened you, and made demands. And now he came to you, showing these rare moments of vulnerability and insecurity that made you special before all of this went down. What could you still believe about Kaeya?

"This isn't love," you mumbled, twisting and turning the knob to leave, deciding you couldn't listen to his voice anymore.

"You'll come to understand that this is love," Kaeya chuckled. You could hear the bittersweet smile on his lips as he planted one more kiss on top of your shoulder before he pushed himself away, letting you escape into the night.

Only when the cold, fresh air engulfed your heated body could you finally collect your thoughts. Your body ached, and yet, it tingled with every step, remembering you of the pleasure you had experienced through him. Disgusted and appalled by yourself, you made your way back home, crying the whole time, wondering what went wrong.

It was all Kaeya's fault, right? He went mad and did these unspeakable things to you. He was jealous because you had a boyfriend already and rejected him. None of this was your fault... right? But at the same time, would he make these threats come true? Was there really no other way than to break up with your boyfriend? Could you do nothing but obey his demands if you wanted to keep living your life? Was the love he had for you really love?

These questions kept you up all night.

All while Kaeya sipped on his drink, satisfied with himself, studying the image of you he had in his mind and the cum stains on his mirror. Stains he only planned to add to but never get rid of.

Just like you'd never get rid of him.

[witch-hazels-musings]

because I need that good loving can I request Diluc and Zhongli reaction to seeing there SO dressed up for a formal event even though its not something they really like doing but because they dont want to make Diluc/Zhongli look bad in front of all these other people they put all their effort into looking like the human embodiment of attractiveness.

the way you look tonight 

(okay so truth time - I thought about you the whole time I was writing this and forgot you requested it -- I hope the love of these boys reminds you that you are lovely <3!) 

Warning -> SFW, fluff / comfort (cussing(1))(self-conscience reader)

Character X GN Reader | Anthology

Includes: Zhongli ⚘, Diluc

Zhongli

He finds your normal style of dress unique and interesting, it’s unlike most of the people who make up Liyue’s landscape and it’s independently you

When someone lives their life in the way they want to, that's what Zhongli admires the most about people, about humans 

He doesn’t mind what you wear, he would want anyone to meet you, to see you regardless because through his eyes he sees your attractiveness - it’s in the way you smile, the way you laugh, the way you react when something makes you excited or when he gives you a gift you don’t expect - how could he hide you away and not let others see the way you glow? 

You look at yourself for the tenth time in the large circular mirror. An hour had gone by and you still felt unusual, out of place, like a fraud in this attire. For the, you’ve lost count, time you fuss with the fabric that sits against your stomach, tugging on it, wondering if you should leave it open or closed. The most frustrating thing about this is that you had no idea how to wear this damn thing. 

Your head falls onto the vanity and you do your best to hold it all in. With a deep breath, you go back to messing with your hair and face. The ticking clock behind you reminds you that time is not your friend no matter how much you want it to stop. 

This is so hard for you, of course, you want to be there for Zhongli - he was there for everything you ever did, it was beyond time to repay him - but you just couldn’t find the confidence to be proud of what you’d done. So, shaping the image in your brain into a distorted representation of what you wished you looked like, you stood from your small chair and walked toward the door of the bedroom. 

Your shoes click on the hardwood floor which is something you hate, the thought of people hearing you coming only to see what appears from the source of the sound makes your skin crawl. Still, you pressed on, and that’s when your eyes fell onto the immaculate figure that stands near the entrance. His tall, elegant frame is so intense it knocks the wind from your lungs as if someone just punched you in the stomach. How can I stand next to that … you panic and turn to retreat back into the safety of the bedroom when your arms collide with a small table in the hallway.

Objects fall to the ground and, in a ridiculous display of your clumsy nature, you juggle one of the more breakable objects before catching it moments from shattering on the floor below. 

“Whew …” You exclaim, bringing it close to your body. “Sorry, little guy didn’t mean to do that.” You wince, patting its side before place it back onto its home and picking up the other objects from the ground. 

Long fingers enter your field of vision, startled you stand only to see Zhongli reaching down to assist you. 

“Ah, sorry.” You express, crossing your arms after putting the items in your hands half-hazard onto the surface. 

“No need to apologize, are you injured?” He asks, standing himself and reminding you how tall he is. 

“My pride, maybe.” You share, laughing through your embarrassment. 

“Too much of that and we might find ourselves in trouble anyway.” He looks down at you, his eyes scanning, interested and making you shift under their gaze. “You …” 

“I know... I look so strange, and,” you begin, fussing with the top again, “I can’t seem to get this right.” Turning around you show him what you were talking about and how it seems far too loose. 

He laughs softly and you feel his hands run underneath the edge of the fabric and coming to rest at the wrap at your waist. “Let me assist you.” 

“Thank you …” He’s so close to you, his hands move expertly as they work to correct your inadequacies, eyes compassionate, patient as they always are. 

“This outfit suits you.”

“Does it really? I look so … I mean this isn’t something I would normally wear. In fact,”  You think for a minute before continuing, “I can’t remember the last time I dressed up for something other than adventuring. It’s not practical to go running through ruins in this type of getup.” You explain, lifting your arms and watching how the fabric slips down to your elbows before sliding back to your wrists as they collide with your legs. 

“That could turn things into quite the challenge I’d imagine.” 

“Exactly.” 

“Nevertheless, you will turn quite a many heads upon our arrival.” 

“That’s what I'm afraid of …” You mumble, forgetting that he is close enough to hear you. 

“Y/N, need I remind you how spectacular you look.” 

You bite your lip but your insecurities make you speak anyway, “I just don’t see how I have the right to stand next to you, I don’t want you to be … ashamed of me.” The end of your sentence trails off as you look to the ground. Zhongli doesn’t respond until his hands stop fixing your gown. With comforting fingers he presses against the soft underbelly of your chin, lifting your head at the angle it should be. 

“While I am beyond sure you can hear me, I hope that you can trust me as well when I tell you that every day I am honored to stand at your side. There is nothing in this world which compares to your beauty, in fact, you are more radiant than the moon itself.” He leans in to place a kiss against your forehead. 

“You don’t wish I was … more attractive?” 

“I cannot wish for a thing that holds no bearing on reality.” 

“Mmm.” 

“If my words have not reached you, perhaps I can better express my truth through actions …” He pulled you flush against him, his hands now wrapped around your hips and eyes focused on your lips. 

“Aa! Wait … no, I believe you.” Embarrassed, you push away from him and make your way toward the door. “Let’s just go because if I get out of this thing I won’t be putting it back on.” You huff, smoothing out the wrinkles. 

“Shall we?” He reaches for your hand and easily you take it. 

“Let’s do this.” With a lighthearted Zhongli, you exit your home and head toward the lively sounds drifting over the water. 

Diluc

He already thinks you are so incredibly attractive no matter what you wear - he knows you’re one for practicality, from your actions to your clothes, you are ready to go and prepared for whatever will come your way - a trait he admires

There is something adorable about the way you fall out of bed in the morning and, in some cases, take less time than he does to get ready - it can come in handy where there much work to be done 

He never asks for you to be more than what you are - he honestly wouldn’t care what other people thought about you, all that matters is you believe him when he tells you how good you look or how you make his heart clench 

So when he sees you descend the stairs in an outfit, a formal, totally out-of-the-absolute-norm outfit, he’s stunned 

“Crap.” You say, flinging the jewelry you couldn’t decide on anyway back toward the dresser. You’d taken far too long to get ready, even though you started hours ago, it still wasn’t enough to make you feel confident and finished. Glancing at your reflection one last time, you gave up with a heavy sigh and made your way down the hallway. 

You could already see everyone else in their formal attire ready to go, even the attendants looked better than you did. When you caught sight of Diluc your steps slowed and for a solid minute to you debated about turning around and hiding under the comfortable covers of the bed you loathed getting out of this morning. 

“Ah, there you are! Are you ready?” Adaline shouted from below you and like a scene from a nightmare everyone turned to look up at you. You stumbled backward and felt your chest tighten, eyes scanning each face as you debated on your next action. When they fell onto Diluc’s stoic eyes, you felt a little bit of relief and knew all you had to do was make it down to him. 

Slowly, you started again and, with a deathlike grip on the railing, you made your way down the stairs. Diluc met you at the bottom, his hand extended to take yours. 

“I’m so sorry. I couldn’t figure out what would pair well with … this thing.” You gestured at your outfit and looked behind him, thankful that people had already started to leave through the front door. “Do I … look okay?” 

With an awkward smile, you waited for his answer, hopeful that he wouldn’t have to struggle so hard to lie to you. I mean, when you were able to see him in his suit, the way it perfectly fits around his toned body, the fabric tucked in all the right places, the sleeves just long enough to give one a peek of skin underneath - there was no way you compared to him. 

He looked at you for so long your heart started to feel like a thousand knives were stabbing you in all directions. He hates this … he can’t believe that I’m such a disaster. The thoughts circulate in your brain and just as your about to rush back up the stairs and hide he lifts your fingers to his lips and kisses them with so much love. 

“I apologize … I’m just a bit startled is all.” Your stomach drops to your feet at his words. 

“Archons, is it that bad? Did I put something on wrong … or?” 

“Nothing like that,” He kisses your palm and the action makes your spine turn hot, “You look unbelievable, is what I wanted to say.” 

“Oh, really?” 

“Yes.” He looks at you but you shy away from his eyes. “Y/N, do you trust me?” 

“What … of course I trust you.” You reply, flabbergasted. 

“Then trust me now.” He pulls you in for a hug, his arms wrapping around your neck, his hand resting at the back of your head. “I’ve never seen someone as brilliant as you.” 

Fueled by your emotions, you return his hug, squeezing your arms around his waist and doing your best not to let your face be ruined by the tears that want to fall from stinging eyes. “Thank you, I’ll trust you on this … today.” 

“I don’t have any issues reminding you again and again.” Shouting outside tells you that it’s now or never and, as much as you don’t want to, your arms release each other. “Are you ready?” He asks, offering you his arm, and with a deep inhale and sharp nod, you take it and walk through the doors. 

----

taglist: @star-gods @mercurysmaiden @dourpeep @clemmywrites @pepperoncinipizza @handswritteeen @the-mermaid-of-mondstadt @lucifucker @beelsdessert @coolcats09 @ninqat @musekala @sufzku @mooshymello @heavenlyang @plenilunegazes @odafashioned @glazelilyy

[bestruction]

How it’d be to watch animes with them

A/N: While i’m working on my Mikasa x reader royal au, this little idea came to my mind. I tried to put the links when i mentioned a specific scene and speak a little about the anime in case you don’t know it.  So here it’s: 

Warnings: Me exposing my otaku self, mentions of 18+ animes (Not hentais) 

Eren -  Kaguya-sama wa Kokurasetai: Tensai-tachi no Renai Zunousen (13+)

A / N: The main characters like each other, but none wants to confess because being the person who takes the first step would also represent being the defeated person. The anime develops in a series of plans that both elaborate to make the other confess their love.

Warnings: None

It was his idea to watch an anime together since the two of you liked it a lot. You saw no harm and agreed to go to sleep with your boyfriend on Friday night. So, you would have the dawn and the weekend to see everything.

“We could watch One piece! Everybody likes"

“In three days ?! We will not finish even if we do not take breaks ”

"Naruto then?"

“Haven't you seen it all five times or more?

"But it is a classic!"

"It is also too long!"

He would sulk when he saw you reject each of his suggestions for being too big animes. The truth was, he was trying to convince you to stay longer. After much searching in the catalog, you choose to watch a short comedy of 12 episodes.

Biggest mistake ever

Eren is already annoying by nature, and after watching Kaguya-sama's two seasons he would spend the day and night trying to get you to confess to him EVEN IF YOU'VE BEEN IN LOVE FOR TWO YEARS AND HE HAS BEEN THE FIRST TO DECLARE. HIT HIM, PLEASE.

"Do you think that using such a low trick will make me give in?"

“Eren, I just got out of the shower. What trick? Wear an outfit? ”

“Showing off your skin won't make you win”

If you wanted to play with him, great. You are going to spend the day in this little game until he gets tired and just hugs you or something because he can't spend a lot of time without touching you. But if you didn't want to, just you could use that touchy side of him against him too.

"Maybe I shouldn't show you anything else then"

"Yes, of course, do- Wait what?"

"You heard"

“NO, BABE! YOU WON! I CONFESS! I LOVE YOU"

Watching anime with him would be quite an experience. For being very verbal, Eren would be the type of person who doesn't shut up watching anything. Especially, something that makes him laugh. You would see him laughing out loud and throwing himself back on the couch or on you, whether you were with him or not. You may even complain, but it would be fun to see him react to everything as immediately and naturally as an unfiltered child.

He will sing ALL the openings for the rest of the days around the house until you are humming some without realizing it.

For some reason, can I imagine him doing Chika dance ?? Yes, please film this big bear dancing like a little girl.

Levi - Death parade 

A / N: Do you want to cry and hurt yourself? This is the right place. Death Parade is a story about what happens after death. The characters are sent to mysterious bars where they will be judged to decide the fate of the souls themselves. (18+)

Warnings: Suicide, depressive themes, mentions of rape and domestic violence

I don't see Levi watching many animes. In fact, I don't see him watching much anything at all. He would be the type of person who can't spend a lot of time in front of the television without feeling like he's wasting time. Which would result in a very selective and demanding taste.

He would always read the reviews about the film, and after watching it, he would make his own. Ever. No exceptions. Unlike Impossible-to-be-quiet-Eren, Levi would be silent to be able to capture and understand all the details. This is interesting because getting his attention is a difficult task. But once it's done, he is 100% focused on the story and immersed in the characters.

So, after reading about it, he would agree to watch Death Parade with you.

He would have low expectations at first, and if the anime failed to hold his very difficult attention in three episodes, he wouldn't even try with the rest.

So when in the first episode, all suspense and doubts left to the viewer entered Ackerman's head, he would finish the other 11 without realizing it.

As a rational person, he would love things that make him think and reflect on the proposed theme. In the case: Life and death.

For some reason, I imagine him as someone who would like to study and read philosophy as a hobby and that he would love Nietzsche? So, you could expect deep conversations after each episode.

But without any arrogance, humanity's strongest soldier might not be the most talkative man in humanity, but surely when he opened his mouth to it, it wouldn’t be to show himself off with something that he knows and you don’t. On the contrary, he would be more than happy to explain if you asked and added your opinion.

He wouldn't cry, but he would be touched by the way the emotions were shown and created in the characters.

He would probably see the scene where Decim cries more than once for being impressed with how the pain of a character who is supposedly not flesh and blood is expressed so well.

And after the anime is over, you would always see him listening to the music of the ice skating scene around the house while doing something.

When you were finished watching everything, you would talk again about the anime. You lying on his chest and he touching his hair, smelling him.

"Do you believe in reincarnation, Levi?"

“If so, I wouldn't go back to this shit a second time. No matter what they offered me ”

"Levi!"

"Unless it was to have you again"

“What a cliché” He would roll his eyes after hearing your response “But I like clichés”

Again, he wouldn't cry, but he would be thinking about how ephemeral things can be, including being alive. Then you can expect a more touchy Levi for a few days.

Jean - Banana Fish 

N / A: Another one to cry and get hurt. Banana Fish is way more than just a story about one character just is hard to define. So in case, you didn’t watch it, here’s the trailer. (18+)

warnings: pedophilia, rape, violence, drugs, your heart being destroyed

You know that guy who says that no yaoi is good, it's just a way to feed a bunch of fujoshi and stuff like that? Jean. It's him. I just know it. So when you suggested Banana Fish and said it was a BL / yaoi, he would probably laugh and ignore the idea.

But after insisting a little and showing him the many compliments that both the anime and the manga received, he would accept.

At first, he wouldn't pay much attention. He really thought it would be just another bad anime. But by the end of the first episode, he would be too involved in the story to stop.

I think he would love crime novels for the same reason that Levi: To think. Try to find out how things are going to end and pick up any clues that the author has left about the ending. So the plot would hold him so much because he would make a ton of theories about the end.

He will ship Ash and Eiji with all his soul. I mean, how can he not ship? To see an anime in which the physical touch between the couple doesn't really happen and still builds a well-developed and healthy relationship would be a new experience for him.

Jean is somewhat similar to Eren in this respect. So you can expect to see him huffing in anger, cursing one of the characters, throwing a pillow away, or using it to hide a tear or two that he would let go of you. The kind of person who gets emotionally involved with the things he watches.

He would cry an entire river after watching the last episode and deny it later.

“I was not crying. The cushion fabric made my eyes itch a lot ”

Show him again and he will cry the same amount and intensity

Armin - Haikyuu

A / N: Considering all the texts on Tumblr for haikyuu characters, I’m pretty sure you know what anime it’s lol (10+)

Armin is an otaku with a license card and no one can change my mind. He would probably start watching it as a child. So, his first animes would be everyone's classics: Naruto, Dragon Ball Z, Bleach, etc.

So it would be normal that as the vast majority, he would continue to have a preference for shounen when he grew up. So it would be your idea to see Haikyuu.

He would have low expectations because he thought it would be just another anime with cute characters for everyone to be thirsty as an inverted harem. And also because the synopsis does not create a strong impression, especially for those who consume shounen daily.

"So we are just gonna see a little boy trying to catch a ball?"

“It's gonna be good! Everyone is talking about it now ”

"Does he have some superpower?"

"No"

"Something scary?"

"Armin, just give a chance!"

He would like it. Did I say he would like it? Because he would love it. The atmosphere created and well developed with such a simple plot would hold his attention well. (Is it possible to dislike Hinata in the first episode?)

It would be a great anime for him to watch because 1. It is different from what he usually sees. Unlike shounen, Haikyuu deals only with real and tangible scenarios. Of course, still with that touch of anime, but it is very easy to recognize yourself in the characters and learn from them and therefore reflect on yourself as well.

It would be great to make him think about his own insecurities and how most of them were inside his head.

He would be so immersed in the anime universe that he would have to pause the game scenes because he would be too nervous waiting for the ball to fall.

You will probably see him taking a deep breath in each drawing scene of the characters and see him truly cheering for the team as if it were a real national game.

More than that, you will see his eyes full of tears when Yamaguchi hit the serve in the match against Aoba johsai.

In fact, Yamaguchi would be his favorite character. No discussions.

"I said it would be good"

"Shut up"

"Make me"

Mikasa - Heaven’s official blessing 

A / N: I'm going to leave the trailer here because I don't know how to define it very well. It's a novel, but the story doesn't focus ONLY on that. (14+)

Okay, you didn't suggest. She did not suggest. So how do you end up watching together? You catch her watching when you come home by surprise lol

Until then, you would know that she watched some anime, but nothing romantic. Never. In fact, that was her little secret.

Although common sense is that Mikasa would be cold even in a modern au (and I agree in parts). I think she would be the type of person who loves to see the sweetest and softest things to melt alone on the couch without anyone seeing. A moment for herself and a part of her that she would not show to anyone.

You would already know about her romantic side, but seeing her under the covers sighing while watching the Netflix special episode is a totally different story.

Please don’t mock her!!. She would be red enough by the time she was discovered.

When she was less shy, she would ask if you want to watch with her. She would say she saw no problem watching it with you again since doing it with you would be a different experience.

If you accept, you would spend the rest of the night in the room sharing a blanket and absorbing the soft atmosphere, the soundtrack, and the Chinese culture so present in history.

She would not speak a lot because she was paying attention, but she would hug you all the time. In the romantic scenes, she would tighten her arms around you a little and sometimes left a kiss on your shoulder.

I think she could relate to Hua Cheng's way of loving. He is always there to protect, care for and see his lover even if sometimes Xie Lian doesn't even know.

And that is what she wants to show you, that more than a girlfriend, she is also someone you can count on.

Days later, you will see her reading the rest of the work around the house because she couldn't stand to wait for a second season.

And later, SURELY melting and vibrating while watching Mo Dao Zu Shi.

[musical-shit-show]

could have danced all night

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Reader Inspiration: Prompts #2 (“apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.”) #14 (“when i’m not with you, it’s almost like…i can’t breathe.”) and #41 (“i may or may not have left some…marks.”) Warnings: sexual references, kissing, meddling siblings, fluffy fluff Word Count: 3,733 Author’s Note: This is my first request! Big shout out to @acmbooksandfilm​ for sending this in, I had a lot of fun writing it. Also, apologies on it taking a bit to get out, writing has gotten difficult as my real adult job has slowly turned my brain to mush. But, if you would still like to send in a request, feel free! My DMs and Askbox is always open, even though it may take a little longer to complete requests. And as always, check out my Masterlist, About Me page, and Prompt Lists. Thanks for all the love on my other one shots and enjoy!

“Colin, enough,” Benedict huffed as he threw on his shiny black tailcoat, “Surely you have better things to do than pester me about my love life.” Anthony, Benedict, and Colin often crossed paths when getting ready for the numerous events of the season, and now the younger Bridgerton brother was doing everything to get on his elder sibling’s last nerve.

“I’m merely pointing out the obvious, Benedict,” Colin said smugly, straightening his cravat as he looked at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t help but flash a mischievous smile at his reflection, “Practically everyone in the ton knows about you two, what’s the harm in proposing?”

“What on God’s green earth are you two talking about?” Anthony strode into the room, closing the door in the likely event that Colin said something inappropriate and scandalized one of their younger sisters or, heaven forbid, their mother.

Benedict couldn’t help but flush. Yes, he was close enough with his brothers to discuss all matters surrounding women, but it felt wrong for him to talk about you. Especially when your relationship wasn’t meant to be any sort of relationship whatsoever.

It had started out innocently enough; you had been close with his younger sister Eloise and Penelope Featherington for years, acting as surrogate older sister on account of you being several years older than them. You were also friendly with Daphne and Simon Bassett, and often had tea with the pair when they weren’t off performing their duties as the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.

In truth, you knew Benedict the least out of the Bridgertons who had or were close to coming of age, and was shocked when he requested to have his name written on your dance card at the first ball of the season. When it came time to dance, you had expected Benedict to act shy at first; but after some coaxing from you, he won you over almost instantly with his wit and humor.

He only asked to dance with you once more at that particular event, not wanting to be improper. However, it was clear from the way the two of you looked at each other that there was a spark.

“No one,” Benedict said, almost too quickly, “Our brother is just sticking his nose into affairs that aren’t his own, as usual.” Anthony rolled his eyes, thoroughly unamused by his younger siblings’ bickering. The three of them strode down the stairs of their home and seized a carriage so that the conversation could continue in private.

“So…” Colin drawled, “It is an affair, then?”

“You know that’s not what I meant at all.”

“A slip of the tongue, perhaps? You know, brother, you must choose your words more carefully—"

“Mark my words, Colin Bridgerton; I will kill you in this very carriage if—”

“Will the two of you, please,” Anthony huffed, feeling a migraine coming on, “Benedict, is this about who I think it is about…?” Colin nodded fervently, but Benedict remained stone-faced. He hated keeping things from his family, especially his brothers. But he couldn’t risk tarnishing your name, not after what had transpired between you two.

It wasn’t meant to happen. When Benedict had snuck off one night to another one of Sir Granville’s soirées, he was shocked to see you there, wearing a tightly-laced corset, undergarments, and practically nothing else. As soon as you saw him, your eyes widened to the size of your mother’s best teacup saucers. Without thinking, you grabbed him and pulled him into the nearest empty room.

“Benedict, wha—what are you doing here?!” he remembered you asking him, utterly flustered. His eyes drifted to the sheer robe draped over your shoulders, the fabric floating gently with your every movement.

“I could very well ask you the same question!” he attempted to whisper, now distracted by how your corset pushed up your bosom considerably, “How do you even know about these, um, parties?” For a moment, you hesitated, unsure of what to say as Benedict’s pale blue eyes bore into yours.

You sighed, resigning to come clean, “Genevieve—Madame Delacroix—she told me about them. I confided in her about my father’s money troubles,” you felt the tears start to well up, but could not bear to cry in front of Benedict in the state you found yourself in, “I barely have any money for a dowry to find a suitable husband, and Genevieve and Sir Granville are familiar so…I work when I can and just make the guests feel comfortable—you know, offer them drinks, tobacco, the like—but I provide nothing more than hospitality.”

You felt that you needed to make that distinction to Benedict. Though you suspected that any chance with him was gone now that he had discovered your secret, you wanted to at least maintain part of your reputation, “Granville is generous enough and I could not be more grateful,” you continued, pulling the nearly translucent robe tightly around your body, “And these parties are so secretive that I thought, perhaps, I could scrounge enough money together before the end of the season before I was discovered. Clearly not.”

You couldn’t help but laugh dryly, but Benedict stared at you, his expression earnest, “You need not worry about that,” he breathed, “I won’t tell a soul.” You absentmindedly bit your bottom lip, chewing nervously on a bit of broken skin. Could he really be trusted? Yes, you had crossed paths over the last few weeks, exchanging pleasantries and the occasional flirtatious glance, but would Benedict be able to keep your secret?

“Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton,” you replied coyly, deciding that you didn’t have a choice in the matter, “Perhaps I will be able to repay you one day.” A sly smile spread across Benedict’s face, his eyes flickering to the locked door. Though the party was continuing on the other side, you two had remained virtually undisturbed.

Feeling bold, he traced his fingers over your collarbone, instantly sending a chill down your spine, “Perhaps…you could repay me now?” he posited, trying his best not to sound like a complete and utter rake, “Only if you wish to, of course.” Despite your best efforts, you could feel a palpable spark that had been building between the two of you over the past few weeks. And you had grown tired of restraining your impulses any longer.

Gently, you placed a soft kiss on his lips. Your eyes fluttered shut and Benedict cupped your face with his hand, his grip surprisingly tender. His free arm wrapped around your body smoothly, pulling you flush against him. You frantically thought through the consequences of someone discovering you with a Bridgerton, but you were too preoccupied with removing Benedict’s clothing to pay much mind…

“Benedict!” Anthony snapped his younger brother out of his reverie as the carriage slowed to a stop, “Would you get your head out of the clouds and tell me what’s going on?” Benedict stared at him, utterly panic stricken. He had kept your secret for nearly a month now, and during that time the two of you had gotten even closer, both in the eyes of the ton and after nightfall in your bedchamber.

Benedict’s mind almost drifted to the night he had shared with you only hours before, but focused on the task at hand, “You needn’t worry your pretty little head, brother,” he said coolly, “I have it all under control.” Anthony looked as if he were going to be sick, and Colin smiled with devilish glee. The three brothers clamored out of the carriage and made their way into the bustling ballroom, more of their family trailing close behind.

Benedict could hear Eloise whine as Lady Bridgerton attempted to smooth down her hair, and he felt a small pang of guilt for not coming to his sister’s aid against their mother’s incessant prodding. But now, he had more pressing matters at hand; namely, what in the hell he was going to say to you now that his brothers were onto him.

He spotted you from across the hall, his heart fluttering with every step he took in your direction. He noticed that you were wearing an intricately laced shawl that was tied tightly across your chest, completely covering your collarbone and much of your breast. Benedict felt himself frown slightly, then immediately scold himself for being improper at a society function; surely, you need not show your bosom to the entire ton in order to draw the eye of him and a number of other suitors.

You were conversing with Penelope and Lady Featherington when he finally approached you, eyes wide with fear, “Hello,” he said politely, giving a slight nod to Penelope and her mother, “Is there a spot open for my name on your card?” You quirked an eyebrow, giving him a smirk as you removed the card from your wrist.

“Why of course, Mr. Bridgerton,” you replied in an equally cordial manner. Heaven forbid Portia Featherington get a whiff of your affair; you’d be certain your name would be splashed across Lady Whistledown’s pamphlet before you’d wake the next morning, “In fact, you are the first gentleman to ask, so you may have the first dance. If you are not otherwise engaged, that is.” He shook his head and his eyes gleamed as he returned your card to your delicately gloved hand.

Despite his anxiety being astronomically high, Benedict was delighted that he was able to dance with you so early in the evening. He always thought of you as a fluid dancer, light on your feet as the two of you would glide across the ballroom. He often found himself not being able to take his eyes off you, the lively music and judgmental crowd fading away the moment he embraced you.

More importantly, he wanted to speak to you about the precarious situation you found yourselves in. It was only a matter of time until either Anthony or Colin pried the truth out of him, and he wouldn’t let the news spread across all of London society, besmirching your good name. He cared about you too much to allow such a wretched thing to happen.  

A few moments later, all of the couples were signaled that the first dance was to begin. Benedict shot a glance to Colin, who had been talking Anthony’s ear off since they arrived. Now, the two of them were staring him down, whispering like schoolboys. He refrained from scoffing and instead took your hand gently, pulling you into his tall frame as the music began.

You instantly noticed the nervous and almost pained expression splashed across Benedict’s face, and you furrowed your brow in worry. However, you decided your best course of action was to try and alleviate the tension he must’ve been feeling, “I see you haven’t taken a liking to my shawl,” you remarked, a sly smile dancing on your lips, “I will have to tell my sister she has dreadful taste.”

Benedict ripped his eyes from his brothers’ stares and produced a small chuckle at your teasing. He realized he’d much rather converse with you than worry about what Anthony and Colin were up to, “No, it’s uh—it is, quite lovely,” he countered, lowering his voice, “Though I would prefer to see more of you, of course.” You raised an eyebrow, impressed by his boldness.

“I believe you saw plenty last night, Mr. Bridgerton,” you posited, weaponizing his own name against him, “In fact, I suppose you could blame yourself for my more…conservative attire, wouldn’t you agree?”

Benedict couldn’t help but flush, but cleared his throat to attempt to keep up with your rather scandalous banter, “Yes, well…I suppose…” he stuttered, “I may or may not have left some…marks.” He spun you, watching as your dress moved gracefully around your body and fluttered behind you as you gripped his arm once more.

You searched the panicked expression on his face. Surely, he only knew you were teasing, so why did he look like he was on the brink of sickness? “Benedict, why are you acting so strange?” you asked, attempting to keep the mood light while searching for information, “You’re not falling in love with me, are you?”

Benedict swallowed, attempting to maintain his composure. Besides the looming threat of every affluent family in Mayfair uncovering your secret, he was also painfully aware of how nervous you had been making him over the past weeks. The way your smile lit up every room, the way your eyes sparkled playfully, the way your laugh made his heart do a somersault.

“It’s just as well,” you continued, not waiting for him to answer your rhetorical question, “I overheard Colin and Pen whispering earlier, and Simon and Daphne as well. Apparently, all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.” He sighed, a little relieved that you had caught onto his family’s shenanigans before he worried you unnecessarily. He couldn’t help but appreciate your perceptive nature.

“Believe me, Colin and Daphne may be my siblings, but they are not my friends right now,” he joked nervously, only half-kidding, “And Anthony is on dangerously thin ice. It appears my family can’t help but get involved in matters that do not concern them.” You giggled, causing Benedict’s heart to swell. He was growing more infatuated with you by the second.

“I wish my family cared half as much as yours does,” you say, a twinge of sadness in your voice, “They are all so wonderful, and I’m sure they are just being protective.” Benedict nodded, heartened by the kindness and understanding you were showing to his siblings. You already got along quite well with Eloise and Daphne, and you were always courteous to his mother while still being able to hold your own when conversing with Anthony or Colin.

As the dance came to an end, Benedict had begun to realize his affection for you. Not just physically; yes, your first encounter at Sir Granville’s had brought you two together faster than he had ever expected. It was reckless, intimate, and completely wonderful, but getting to know you, without dozens of uppity members of high society leering at your every move, was more valuable than any nights you had spent together.

And he decided in that moment, as your hand released from his and you both bowed respectfully, that he could not bear to spend one more day without you by his side. But he could not profess his love in front of God and everyone, least of all his family; he quickly surmised that he must wait until a moment presented itself.

You were quickly whisked away by your mother, unable to even say a proper thank you and goodbye. But as your eyes met his blue ones, you couldn’t help but notice how they were sparkling in the candlelight, and you felt a twinge of melancholy. You cared for Benedict, but feared it was only a matter of time before your affair ended and he was married to another disgustingly wealthy aristocrat. You gave him a fleeting smile before getting dragged to the other side of the ballroom.

As you turned away from him, Benedict felt two hands grasping each of his arms, one hand belonging to each of his meddling brothers, “I knew it!” Colin whisper-yelled as he and Anthony pulled their love-struck sibling into a secluded corner of the lavish hall, “You know, you really aren’t fooling anyone, Ben.”

“How do you mean?” Benedict asked nervously in one last ditch effort to conceal the truth. He shouldn’t have bothered; his brothers had seen how smitten he was with you, and soon the entire ton would be abuzz with salacious gossip if he did not make his move that very evening.

“Benedict,” Anthony chided sternly, clapping him on the shoulder, “Please, do not deny it any longer. You’re clearly bewitched.” The eldest Bridgerton child could not help but smirk; it was almost entertaining to see his usually guarded brother so obviously in love.

Benedict sighed, defeated, “Alright,” he whispered, his face flush with embarrassment, “I apologize for thinking I could ever keep a secret from you two.” Colin smirked proudly, feeling as if he were London’s greatest detective, “I’ll tell you everything if you want, but for the love of Christ, it cannot be here.” He gestured to the room, which was growing more crowded with preening mamas, hunting for the slightest whiff of a scandal.

While Benedict and his brothers searched for a private room for him to regale your escapades, your night flew by, and hours later you found yourself chatting with Daphne and Simon on the gorgeously decorated outdoor terrace. The night was perfectly temperate, and although the noise had died down significantly as many guests had departed for the evening, your head was still swimming in thought. Specifically, you were overwhelmed by the thought of Benedict.

He was quite kind to you, and a very smart, charming gentleman, but you felt your heart lurch as you recalled the intimate nights you had shared over the last few weeks. Men of Benedict’s status would not wed a tainted woman, no matter how much you wished he would. It was only a matter of time before Lady Whistledown revealed your transgressions, and you would be marked as an undesirable to the entire upper echelon of society.

You shuddered at the thought. “Chilly, dear?” Daphne asked sweetly, noticing the unsettled look on your face, “I would think you’d be more protected from the elements with that beautiful shawl on.” Your heart jumped to your throat before you could cover for yourself; Benedict had appeared on the terrace, looking absolutely petrified. Simon and Daphne exchanged glances.

“Darling,” Simon said, turning to his wife, “It is quite crisp out here, don’t you think? Perhaps we should—”

“Go inside to warm up?” Daphne finished his sentence, that unmistakably mischievous glint in her eye that all Bridgerton children possessed, “Why yes, I think that is a fantastic idea, Simon.” She hooked her arm under her husband’s, and the two of them bid you and Benedict adieu, much to your dismay. You were certain he had been found out by his family and was here to end your affair before word reached the rest of the ton.

Still, you managed to smile politely. Simon was right, there was a slight chill that pervaded the terrace, mostly due to the lack of company that had populated the space only hours before, “Hello, Benedict,” you mutter, shifting your weight from one heeled foot to the other, “Will you be departing soon or—?”

“Erm, yes,” he answered a bit too quickly, and you raised an eyebrow. His strange behavior all night was another indicator that ending things was clearly as difficult for him to initiate as it would be for you to accept, “But first, I, well, I need to tell you something. Something I probably should have told you weeks ago.”

You felt a lump in your throat almost instantaneously. ‘Here it comes,’ you thought, more distressed than you hoped you would be. Benedict took your gloved hand, rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. If it were not slightly improper, you would almost find it comforting; his touch always seemed to soothe you, ever since your first night together.

“I never expected to…for us to become so close in such a short period of time,” he began, wondering at what point in this silly speech he would make a royal ass out of himself. Though he had gained a little brotherly insight from Anthony and Colin, he still felt as though he could vomit at any second, “And, well, truth be told, I have enjoyed every moment we have spent together.”

You smiled, pleased by his kind words, “Truthfully, I have felt the same,” you remarked, “But it’s quite alright, Ben, I understand—”

“You do?” he cut you off again, a bead of sweat forming on his brow, “Am I really so obvious about my affection for you?” You stared at him, confused. Was this not him ending whatever…relationship the two of you shared? Now you felt like the fool.

“Affection?” you repeated, your mouth twitching, “I thought you did not want to see me anymore.” Benedict’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t help but laugh dryly. You had mistaken his jittery behavior as a bad omen, when that could not be further from reality.

He shook his head, and you felt the pace of your heartbeat quicken, “My dear, I think there’s been a slight misunderstanding,” he joked, clearing his throat, “I know that our relationship has been a secret for some time, but I cannot hide how I feel for you any longer. You are kind, and witty, and strong, and incredibly adventurous, and when our dance came to an end earlier this evening, I…I felt like there was a part of me missing as soon as you left. I…when I’m not with you, it’s almost like…I can’t breathe.”

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, taken aback by his doting and earnest words. “And it would be my honor,” he smiled, his gaze intense and impassioned, “If I could ask for your hand.” Your eyes sparkled back at his, and you nodded silently, attempting to conceal a squeal of girlish glee. You two were still, unfortunately, in public.

“Yes,” you exhaled, feeling foolish from your assumptions about Benedict only minutes before, “I would be equally honored to be your wife, Benedict Bridgerton.” You snuck him a quick kiss on his cheek, causing him to flush for what was probably the hundredth time that night, “I see our friends were right after all, weren’t they?”

“Yes, yes they were, and I doubt I will ever hear the end of it from Anthony and Colin,” Benedict mused, smiling sweetly as the corners of his eyes crinkled happily, “I’ll see to a proper visit first thing tomorrow morning, I promise.” He studied you, doing all he could to absorb the joyous look etched upon your radiant face. You smirked, turning in the direction of your family’s carriage.

“I shall hold you to that,” you said, pulling him towards the exit, “But don’t think this night is over, Mr. Bridgerton. I’m not done with you quite yet.”

-----------

I hope you enjoyed reading! As always I would love to hear any comments or feedback! Like/comment/reblog, all that good stuff :)

[syndxlla]

Part eleven of the More To Love series

Summary: You get a chance to reflect on who you are, where you are with your relationships, and what you really want in life with the help of your mother, the Queen of Corellia. You meet some new seemingly friends, who quickly prove you otherwise.

Word Count: 7.1k, NO USE OF ‘y/n’

Warnings: Non-consensual kiss, swearing, alcohol

Author’s note: i am LIVID. why tumblr only lets you have a certain amount of paragraphs in a post IDK! it’s dumb haha and the only reason i went over is because there is so much dialogue in this. BASICALLY. I am making the decision to go easy on myself. I know earlier today I said part 11 would be split into two, but i am going to just make the second half be part 12. SO. i made a new moodboard for this chapter! i hope you like it :).

i wanna say a big THANK YOU to @stinky-child for helping me edit this chapter and getting it out on time!

PART 12 WILL BE RELEASED THURSDAY, MAY 27TH AT 6pm PST, 9pm EST.

part ten

Koska escorted you back to your quarters, the castle corridors were finally starting to calm down a little bit, however, more and more special guests who would be staying in the palace over the weekend walked in and out of doors, most of them not paying any attention to you because of your drab attire. You hoped the knight made it to his meeting on time and dry. There was no way to know until tomorrow morning, however. Koska was silent as she walked behind you, her footsteps much lighter than the knight’s. Your hair was thick and frizzy from the effects of the elements, and you kept your face down out of a foreign sense of shame.

Keeping your face down can’t hide that sense of shame from everyone, however, and before you can make it to your room, you’re hearing a joyful gasp and footsteps pattering in your direction. You look up from your walk of shame to see someone very important to you, it’s not your Knight, it’s not even Soniee, no. It’s your mother, the Queen of Corellia. She’s accompanied by three Corellian guards and she’s wearing the most beautiful yellow gown you had ever seen. It was clearly a gift from Bo-Katan. You smiled brightly, relieved to see someone you love. It had only been a few weeks but it felt like an eternity. You had completely forgotten she would be coming to your engagement ball. You’ve been so preoccupied with the plans and teaching the Knight how to dance that it completely slipped your mind. Your mother had a wide smile on her face, too, and wore the traditional Corellian crown. You ran to her and embraced her fighting around the waist, something that was not appropriate for royalty in public like this but you couldn’t care less. You had been so emotionally confused over the last few weeks that there was nothing you needed more than a fulfilling hug from your parent. She hums with joy when you come into her arms, and she runs her slender fingers through your beautiful hair. You sigh of relief in her embrace.

“I had forgotten you were coming.” You admit, holding back tears of relief. She chuckles in response.

“You look a mess.” She replies and you’re the one to chuckle this time.

“I’ve had quite the day.” You smile, blushing as you remember who you spent it with. “Come, I have so much to tell you.” You pull away, holding her hands in yours and then leading her to the closest sitting room. You were finally starting to understand the layout of the Mandalorian palace, it only took two weeks. This room was the same blue as the royal color, you guide her to sit by you on the sofa, and Koska awkwardly follows. You look over to the handmaiden before standing and walking in her direction. “Lady Reeves, you are dismissed.” You nod while speaking in a regal tone, but after stating it, your voice hushes and you whisper to her, “Is he going to be alright?” You ask in reference to the Knight.

She nods once, “Even if he was late, he’s bound to duty by the Queen, he’ll be okay.” Your stomach twists.

“What does that even mean?” You ask, there is much he is not telling you.

Koska sighs, she seemed to regret saying that. “I’ll worry about him, you enjoy your time with your mother.” She nods to the Queen who was patiently awaiting your return. You smile a “thank you” and walk back to the Corellian Queen. When Koska closes the door finally, you slouch into the couch, feeling pure relief as you were alone with your kin.

“You look absolutely exhausted.” Your mother says.

“I am, life here is exhausting. There are so many rules, much more than back at home.” You awkwardly shrug.

“We miss you.”

“I miss you too, more than you know.” You were so homesick these days. “I had to spend four days learning all the rules and customs and I still take private lessons from the literal queen so I don’t embarrass her anymore.” You roll your eyes, knowing that you couldn’t express this arrogance to anyone else in the palace and taking advantage of the chance now.

“Oh, I'm sorry love, I worried that there might be a bit of a culture shock.” She takes your hand with hers, stroking the stop of it with her own cold hands.

“Is father here?” You ask, your eyes hopeful. That glimmer immediately fades when she sighs, her eyes leaving yours. “What? What’s wrong?”

“He’s not coming…”

“What? Why?”

“He’s… sick, I didn’t want to tell you but it’s your right to know. You would have eventually found out anyway.” She somberly explains.

“Is he okay?”

“Yes, we think so. But traveling and socializing in his condition was not realistic. We understand that rumors will start, but his health is necessary before an impending war.” She frowns, and you try not to let it upset you too much. “Enough of that, tell me about this place.” Her tone immediately flips.

You smile, “It’s so hot, much hotter than Corellia. I mean the heat is exhausting and the dresses are heavy and the tea parties are always outside and I always feel overheated.” You complain.

“Do you at least like the prince?” She asks. “Is he cute?”

Now you must choose if you’re going to lie, like you have for the last fortnight, or be truthful with the only person you feel that you can be. You sigh, and just look at her, defeated, hoping that would be enough to tell her.

She hums empathetically. “Oh dear.”

“Yeah…” You sigh, happy she understood and you didn’t have to make the decision of communication.

“Well, keep your head up, I didn’t really like your father all that much until we had you.” She chuckles.

“What?” You ask, your eyes showing surprise. “I had no idea…” You weren’t sure how much you liked that thought, your parents had always been an example of a couple you’d like to experience for yourself. “Why had you never told me?”

“There was no reason for you to know before now. The older you get, the more you’ll learn what you need to hear.” She explains. You supposed she was right. “And remember, it’s supposed to be a partnership—marriage that is— it’s not so bad if you work at it.”

“Well, he certainly likes being solo.” You humph. “He’s very kind, and it’s clear he cares for his kingdom but-“ You knew you weren’t being completely truthful with her.

“But what?”

You debated your next words. You wanted to tell her, more than anything you wanted your mother to know what was really going on, but you knew you couldn’t. You knew she wouldn’t understand. This marriage is a diplomatic solution to an oncoming war of her home kingdom. She wouldn’t understand the strife. “Nothing.” You feel untruthful to yourself, but you can’t do anything about it. “I just feel like I will be unhappy in our marriage.”

“Marriage isn’t supposed to make you happy.”

You hated that, it wasn’t the first time she had said it to you, either. When an arranged marriage was first brought up, she said it then for the first time. The other time she said it to you was about three weeks ago, just before you were going to leave Corellia and come to this ornate prison. It was your last attempt to try and get out of it, but she uttered those words and you had to live with it.

This time, you pulled your hand away from hers. “But what about love? I thought you loved my father!?”

“I do love him, but that didn’t happen for a long time, like I said, not until you were born.”

“So then what’s the reason for all this? For sending me here for a big ball and a fancy wedding if I am not supposed to love the man I’m sharing these parties with? How am I to enjoy marriage before children then?” You stand up on these words out of frustration. You hated feeling like your only purpose in this world is to bear children, to produce an heir.

“Love between royals is not a natural thing, it can’t just happen between any two people. There must be that connection there and it often isn’t developed for a while.” She chuckles. “What? Did you think you were going to live inside one of those fairytales your wet nurse used to tell you before you went to sleep?” She asks, looking up at you, surprised.

“What do you mean ‘between royals’?”

“We must do what’s best for our people, it’s selfish to marry for love when you are royalty.”

You feel defeated.

“No… No, there's so much more to love. Love is not selfish, in fact, I believe that loving someone with our hesitation and unconditionally is the most selfless act one could ever do.” Your voice raises just a bit. You meant every word you said.

“If you feel this way about love, then surely you must love the Prince. What’s the problem then? We’ve been preparing you for this reality for years, it’s not a new concept that you would not love immediately, I can only imagine you would feel so emotionally because you have those feelings for someone.”

Did you?

You consider what she was saying, your eyes trailing to the side as you thought. You supposed she was right, there would be no reason for you to feel so passionately about it if you hadn’t experienced it for yourself.

But you weren’t having that experience with Korkie, the hell you weren’t.

Did you love the Knight? You don’t know his name, you don’t know his face, you don’t know anything about him and yet you are starting to think that infatuation has grown into adoration. Your legs feel weak, and you have to slowly lower yourself onto the couch again, feeling woozy from the realization. How did you let it get so far? Your confused face turns to look at your mother’s, eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly open.

“I sense you realized something you didn’t already know.”

You slowly nod your head. Unsure of how to react, you fiddle with your fingers, trying to gain your bearings again. You expect your mother to speak up but she never does.

Before the conversation continues, however, the door is pulled open and three Knights are walking in, a Butler steps in, “Her Majesty, The Queen.” He says before nodding and stepping away. Bo-Katan glides into the room, regal as ever. You and your mother stand up from where you sat, curtsying for your hostess.

“Your Majesty.” She takes your mother’s hand, both of them smiling and kissing one another on either cheek. “I trust your travels were comfortable?”

“Yes, your coachmen were very hospitable.” Your mother nods.

Korkie then enters the rooms with another young Prince who you hadn't met before. He was blonde, and skinny as a twig. He wore a white and gold ceremonial cloak that covered his right shoulder. You smile at Korkie out of Obligation, and he and the other prince bow to the women in the room.

“Princess!” Korkie cheers, “This is my cousin, Prince Hugo of Bespin.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.” He takes your hand and kisses the top of it, his smile charming and blue eyes bright. You were flattered by the gesture, humming.

“The pleasure is mine.” You follow royal protocol. Then, another woman enters the room. She’s tall, an intricate headpiece adorns long, black hair and she has hypnotic, black eyes hidden by deep set, hooded eyes. She’s beautiful, with toned skin and red dots drawn under her lips making her stand out from everyone in the room.

“Ah, Her Majesty Queen Clarya of Naboo.” Bo-Katan introduces. The Elven Queen Ahsoka then enters the room, and everyone, even the Queens bow out of respect before the door is closed. The parlor is suddenly very full, and your intimate moment with your mother is lost entirely. You are suddenly very aware of your disheveled look, and try to run your fingers through your hair a few times.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you.” Clarya says, smiling. “I’ve heard so much about you.” Taking your hand and giving you a friendly squeeze.

“Oh… I’m afraid I haven’t heard much about you.” You apologize.

“No troubles, You are all the gossip among the other Kingdoms.” The eastern queen explains.

“Yes, It appears you are.” Korkie says, moving to stand by your side. “How wonderful that my beautiful wife-to-be is regarded so highly across the world.” He tries to take your hand but you pull it away, not necessarily meaning to, but it was a reflex that you failed to suppress after realizing you were in love with an entirely different man. He clears his throat, and the aura in the room is awkward, you aren’t sure what to do, so you just say the first thing to come out of your mouth.

“Have any of you gone to the beach? It’s lovely!” You awkwardly smile before walking over to the drink cart underneath a portrait of a Manda’lor of a past generation. You try to ignore all the people, feeling a little embarrassed that they were all seeing you dressed like this. You didn’t even think of what suspicion could be born out of that phrase.

“Oh yes, our sandy beaches are widely loved by all.” Bo-Katan takes a seat on the sofa in the place you had sat at just moments before, crossing her ankles under her gown. You shakily pour amber liquid into a crystal glass, your hand shaking as you bring it to your lips, taking a sip of the alcohol.

“Nothing like the Corellian beaches, I assume?” Your mother asks. “Our beaches are rocky and often frozen over.”

“Ah yes, but the Corellian ship fjords are lovely, what a wonderful exposure to culture you raised your daughter with!” Ahsoka sings.

“She turned out alright.” Your mother teases and everyone chuckles warmly. You turn around after drinking, and sheepishly smile. Gods you hope she meant that.

“Well, we are all very excited for the ball tomorrow.” Clarya says, “My assistant worked on a mask for hours the night before we left. It will be an extravagant sight to see everyone dressed so festively.”

“Of course, but we all know none of us can compare to the fashion and extravagance of the Naboolians.” Korkie hums. Everyone chuckles again. You nervously looked out to all of them, you had just made possibly the biggest mistake of your life and none of them paid any attention to you despite it. You had just shown Korkie your first and only sign of true disinterest the night before your engagement ball and you desperately wished you could go back in time and take his hand instead of denying the act of affection, even if you didn’t feel good about it.

“I think you will all be pleased to hear that it was the Princess who came up with the Masquerade idea.” Bo gestures to you. You smile with your teeth, trying to act normal and not like you were secretly dying inside. There is general amusement when that is said, and you can’t help but fidget with the crystal alcohol glass, wanting to leave the room and return to the comfortable embrace of the Knight on the beach.

“Beautiful and smart!” Korkie’s cousin laughs, putting emphasis on the ‘and’. “It’s not every day you find a woman like that!” Everyone laughs again, and this time you force out a faux chuckle to seem more involved in the eyes of the others. “You better hang onto her, Kork!” Korkie smiled at his cousin's words, looking over to you. You feel weak, not liking all the attention. If this much attention was making you feel this way, what would the ball with hundreds of guests tomorrow night be like?

“Yes but, I can’t seem to remember going to the beach with you?” Korkie asks, his diplomatic voice cutting through the laughter. You nervously laugh. He knew something was up. How could you be so careless?

“What? Did I say something about the beach?” You try to play it off cluelessly.

“Oh come on, we all know you aren’t that ditzy.” His cousin groans

“Your fiance asked you a question, dear.” Your mother prods.

“Yes, did you go to the beach sometime during your time here?” Bo-Katan is the one to ask this time, and your legs are starting to feel unsteady.

“It’s not a bad thing, we just want to know.” Korkie takes a step in your direction, making you feel closed in. “We all love the beach here and we are happy you have gotten the chance to enjoy it.” You sensed there was an undertone with his true meaning.

You weren’t sure if you believed him when he said this, “Is it hot in here?” You chuckle, “I think I’ll have another drink, would you like one, Korkie? You ask before turning around and pouring another glass of brandy. He can see how shaky your hand is as you try to fill the cup. He stands behind you, wrapping his arm around you and cupping your hand with his in an attempt to make the pouring more steady. The action startles you, and you flinch as a reaction, dropping the crystal glass in your hand. It was already partially full, and it falls down to the floor in slow motion, golden drink splashing out of it as glass shatters on impact, making a loud, crashing sound that sends shards out across the floor and leaves a puddle of alcohol to soak into the bottom hem of Koska’s sister’s dress. The women of the room gasp from shock, and Hugo walks quickly over to see the mess. You look down at the glass in shock of what you just did, your heart sinking and stomach churning. Lady Tano is the next one to walk over to you, taking you by the shoulders and guiding you to one of the arm chairs, helping you sit down. The room was deathly silent now, you could hear your pulse ringing through your ears. Ahsoka crouches before you, ruling your hand with hers and trying to comfort you from the unexpected shock. Korkies hands are balled into fists. Was he angry with you?

“No worries.” Hugo laughs, trying to be an entertainer, “Butler!” The Butler opens the door.

“Is everything alright?” He asks after bowing.

“Yes, we just made a little mess, would you be so kind as to clean it up?” Hugo walks Korkie, who seems to be just as shocked and embarrassed as you, over to another armchair. The butler snaps and then whistles and three young maids come in, each one getting on their hands and knees to pick up the pieces of glass.

“Princess?” Your mother says, “Do you have something you would like to say to the Manda’lor?” She awkwardly asks, clearly trying to make good from the situation, side-eying Bo.

Your pale face turns to look at Bo, who had that same disappointed frown that you always see on her.

“My deepest apologies, your Majesty.” You clear your throat before painfully looking over to where Korkie sat, his hand resting in his palm and expression down turned.

“Well!” Hugo takes the center of the room. “No use in sitting here in silence, mistakes happen! Right Auntie?” He says to Bo.

“Of course.” She smiles, physically accepting your apology with a reassuring nod.

“Lovely, would anyone like some music?” He asks.

“That would be lovely, Hugo.” Lady Tano says in her ethereal voice. He smiles and walks over to the baby grand piano in the corner of the room, the same baby grand that you played at for your Knight a few weeks ago.

“The Princess plays!” Your mother says, trying to alleviate any tension.

“She does?” Hugo makes direct eye contact with you. “Would you like to play a duet with me?”

“Hugo, she just-“ Ahsoka begins but is interrupted by your mother.

“Oh won’t you play for us Dear?” She asks, smiling.

“Please! I have wanted to hear you play since I was told you could.” Bo-Katan asks. It would be rude to decline a request from the Queen and the Host of the night.

You nod and stand up, that could be just the thing you need to feel better. You walk over to the piano, stopping just before Hugo.

“Bass or Soprano?” He asks, muttering so quietly that only you can hear it.

“Soprano.” You say. He pulls the bench out and sits first since he would be playing the lower part. You then sit next to him, your hands still slightly shaking.

“Do you know the ‘Dathomirian Waltz’?” He asks. You nod. “Lovely, key of D minor then, I’ll follow you.” He pulls his hands up to the keys, and you follow, taking two deep breaths, the first to calm your shaking hands, the second to conduct both of you in at the same time. Together you play a set of intricate chords, Hugo emphasizing on the bass notes, playing a complex scale that brought his left hand over his right several times. You carry the melody, playing just slightly louder than him and allowing yourself to fall into the trance of performing. Your hands finally quit shaking after a few phrases of the music, allowing it to soothe your nerves. Music has always done that for you. All of the nobles in the room smile, the Naboolian Queen sighing at the beauty of the complicated piece. You can’t keep the smile from pulling on your lips. Korkie’s cousin was very talented, much better than you. His hand brushed against yours several times and you couldn’t help yourself from thinking about the Knight when Hugo touches you.

This was something you would never get with him. You would never get to share a memorable moment with others, never get to rub hands against each other in front of three Queens, never get to look one another in the eye without shame or secrecy. The thoughts start to overcome your consciousness, causing you to play a sour note. No one seemed to notice, but you were more aware of it than you should have been.

A beautiful piece, carefully composed and rehearsed, performed with the intent to dazzle, the intent to impress. However there will always be the sour note, an incorrect chord that the audience might not hear but those giving the show will dwell on undoubtedly.

Like the Kingdom of Mandalore.

——————————————

“Rise and Shine your Highness!” A sing-songy voice calls out to you before pulling the long, draping curtains apart and letting the warm Mandalorian sun pour into the room. You groan and flip over onto your side, your body is still exhausted from yesterday evening and you would like to sleep in a little longer.

“Oh, don’t give us that.” A more brash voice groans and you recognize it as Koska’s. You can hear a number of other bodies file into the suite, maybe three or four. The handmaid's pull in the elven dress and a light breakfast. You can still smell the salt water on your forearm as you swing your hand over your eyes. You were not a morning person. Koska walks up to your bed before sitting on the edge of it, placing her tan hand on your shoulder. “We’ve let you sleep in long enough, we have to get you dressed and ready for tea with the Queens.”

“Queens?” You mumble, slurring the ‘s’ out.

“Yup, both Bo-Katan and your mother as well as the Queen of Naboo and Duchess of the Felucian mountain Kingdom are all eager to spend brunch with you in the Garden.” More guests arrived this morning while you were still sleeping, but it wasn’t until Koska explained to you about the women waiting for you that you remembered what day it was. You opened your eyes wide, flopping your arm onto the mattress beside you and looking up at her drowsily.

“The masquerade is today.” You say out of realization. She smirks and slowly nods her head. Soniee budges into your conversation, sitting on the opposite side of the bed.

“We have two dresses for you to wear today! This one,” She pulls forward a gown that isn’t quite as full and round as the dress for the ball, but is still a lovely dress with a pretty skirt and pearls embroidered into the bodice. “And of course the elf dress.” She nods to the pink and gold gown that sat on a sewing-bust, shimmering in the light. “We won’t get you into the ball gown until later tonight.” She hums.

“Now, we have to get you cleaned up, your hair is a mess.” Koska stands up and pulls the heavy down comforter from off of you. The loss of warmth elicits another sleepy groan from your lips and you stare up at the ladies in waiting frustratedly. “Up!” Koska’s serious voice commands and you’re scared enough of her that you jump up out of bed, pulling the nightgown sleeve up that has been slowly slipping down your shoulder and showing more and more skin. “That’s better.” Koska hums, “Let’s get you a bath, yeah?” She walks towards the bath room, opening the golden gilded doors and into the naturally-light room. You will always admire the beauty and effort put into the Mandalorian palace despite the internal battle with living here. You follow her into the room, still sleepy and walking slowly but eventually making it to the tub in the center of the room. The bath has already been drawn, which they must have done in your sleep (they’ve never done that before). You strip out of the cream-colored nightie and dip into the warm water. It smelled of lavender and honey and you allowed your muscles to relax into the bubbles. It was perfect, exactly what you needed to clear your racing and stressful mind. Your muscles were sore from yesterday and the warm water and flowery oils soaked them blissfully. You sigh at the sensation but before you can enjoy it anymore, Koska is dumping the warm water over your head, wetting it completely. It’s unexpected and you gasp from shock, your eyes glued shut to keep the water out of them. Damp hands come up from out of the water to wipe your eyes but then another dump of water is pouring over your head and you’re back at square one. Koska was a much harsher bather than Sonnie was.

All is forgiven however when she starts massaging your scalp, cleaning your hair. You relax back into the tub and enjoy the seawater and wind getting rinsed out. The other ladies come in, one on either side of the tub who files your nails, and Sonnie brings in a towel and silk robe. The other handmaiden works at your calloused feet with a pumice stone and you try not to let it tickle too much. It was true pampering and you loved every second of it. Usually there’s only one maiden to bathe you but five was divine. You assumed this was the treatment the Queen always received.

After you are properly cleaned, your Corellian tea is brought in and you’re left alone for as long as you like. You slowly sip on the purple shaded drink, waking up from it’s comforting properties. You sigh deeply, allowing the fragrant air to fill your lungs while you look out of the tall, narrow window in the center of the outside wall. You could not see the ocean from here, but instead the distant roofs of Keldabe. It was a beautiful summer day, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky and you could hear the birds who have nested in the nooks and crannies of the towers chirping. You knew you had a long day ahead of you, and you wanted to try and enjoy it as much as you could. You never really enjoyed the social aspect of royalty, and that’s all today will be, but you’re ready to brave it head on.

An hour passes before you are finally dressed in the first gown of the day. Your hair is braided back so that it will have a desirable wave for the ball tonight. You are snuggly tied into the pearled bodice of the dress, and you run your hands up and down the beading, allowing it to tickle your soft palms.

Koska pulls open the door, and you’re expecting to see the Knight standing there stoically as always, but he isn’t. The hallway is completely empty, in fact, and you can’t ignore the dreadful feeling that overcomes your body. Where was he?

You clear your throat, and look back at Koska, who was adjusting the skirt of your gown as you walked.

“Where is he?” You ask, your voice hushed almost to a whisper but not quite. There were a million possibilities behind his absence and not a single one of them was ideal. Koska lifts up from her crouched position, smoothing the front pleats of her dress.

“What?” She asks and you sigh out of frustration, there was absolutely no way she didn’t know what you were talking about but you had to be vague because of all the ladies in waiting listening in.

“Who will be accompanying me to the garden?” You say with a forceful tone, trying to prod at a deeper meaning to the question.

Luckily, Lady Reeves picks up on it, and she looks behind you. You felt like she was avoiding eye-contact and it only made you more stressed and confused. “I’ll be escorting you, Highness.” She nodded, moving a step forward and then taking the lead down the corridor. You follow hesitantly, and wait until you are far enough down the hall from the other ladies back in your suite to speak again.

“Don’t horseshit me.” You mutter behind her. She keeps her chin up high as usual. “He’s in trouble, isn’t he.”

Koska doesn’t answer.

“Koska, you promised me he would be okay.” You try not to let the emotion show through your tone but that was a challenge. You felt guilty for some reason. If he was in trouble, it would be entirely your fault. The words shake in your throat and maybe it’s the tight corset and the fact that you are descending the stairs but you’re out of breath and it’s hot, so hot.

“He’s fine, I swear to the stars.” She whispers, saying it straight forward instead of turning back at you in an attempt to stay calm and unsuspecting to watchful eyes.

“Well then why didn’t you tell me that?” You ask, twiddling your thumbs.

“I couldn’t… there’s more to it but-“

“But what? What could be so secretive that you have to keep it from your future queen?” You say through gritted teeth and immediately after, Koska is spinning around on the staircase and looking up at you with a furrowed brow. You felt like you were being scolded by an impatient tutor despite the fact that you out-ranked her.

“You don’t even want to be the Queen.” She says in a whisper-shout, starting to sound as angry and emotional as you were just moments before.

“You’re right, I don’t-“ You bite back.

“So why are you here, then?”

You aren’t sure how to answer, the obvious answer is for Corellia. You were promised something in return for your ability to produce an heir and look like a porcelain figurine on a high shelf. But you also knew it would make your family happy, and your Kingdom. You would be making them proud by marrying so rich. You made a promise.

But now you think you’re starting to stay for an entirely different and unethical reason. Something that is inherently a trap and you know it, and yet here you are, fussing over it at every change you have.

Koska rolls her eyes and scoffs before continuing down the stairs.

“Who spit in your porridge this morning?” You reply.

“You did.” She groans in response.

“I’m sorry, but what did I ever do to you?” You ask when you complete the steps down and start down another corridor, one section of the massive palace closer to your destination.

Koska is the one not to answer this time.

It infuriates you that everyone is keeping secrets from you, your entire experience in Mandalore feels built on deception and being left-out. And now, the two people who finally seemed to be on your side aren’t with you in one way or another on such a big day. Koska is angry with you for no reason and you have no idea where your knight is.

The rest of the walk to the Gardens is silent, and before you know it, you are plopped down on an uncomfortable wicker chair in the hot sun, sipping on lukewarm lemon tea and wondering how much longer you have to suffer. Your mother and Bo were giggling about something, the rest of the court buzzing with conversation and ignoring you as always. Was it possible that you were the problem? You ask yourself this after another sip of the tea, a lemon slice bumping up against your upper lip a few times. As you think, you hold the dainty cup against your mouth, losing yourself in thought without realization. Your pretty eyes stare down at the green grass of the Garden. The grass never gets green back home.

You start subconsciously bouncing your leg as you thought to yourself. Everyone seemed to ignore expect for Korkie and your Knight— who both want to fuck you. Maybe that was the only desirable thing about you. This wasn’t the first time you felt insecure about the relationship you have developed with the Knight. He’s so quiet, so different from you. Were you falling for a trick?

Was he?

Tea must have gone by fast because just before the pearls of your dress start to burn against your arms from the heat exposure, you’re excusing yourself and wandering back inside.

“Strange girl.” One of the noble ladies says to Bo when you walk away. You don’t hear it, you can’t hear anything except for your deafening thoughts.

“Are you sure she’s the one for your nephew?” Another asks. If you had known your mother was silent for all of this in fear of losing her reputation or even the deal between Corellia and Mandalore, you would have been furious.

“Well his father was an outcast, too.” One chuckles. “I guess you Kyrze’s attract the wallflowers.” A few hummed in amused response.

“Well his father wasn’t just an outcast, he was a downright scandal-“

“My sister loved him, and that is all that matters.” Bo interrupts. The laughter quickly dies out.

“Don’t tell me you believe in love, too.” One laughs.

“You aren’t married, what could you know of love?” The same one bo interrupted says.

“I do believe in love, which is why I am not married.” The Queen reiterates. “And I don’t think she’s the right fit for my Nephew, she’s too… outspoken. He needs someone who won’t outshine him.” They chuckle again, all do but your mother, who is still meekly silent.

“Well with the engagement Ball tonight, it is far too late to back out now.” One teases, and the laughter only grows.

Bo-Katan stares in the direction you left.

You huff down the hall, your arms folded and neck sweaty from the heat. You are looking back and forth, studying the layout of the hall in search of something. You’re looking for the smallest idea of where the knight could be but you aren’t very successful.

While all the fully armored guards of the Mandalorian palace are dressed identically, you are almost certain you would be able to spot your boy in a crowd of a thousand of them. You aren’t sure why, but there is something different about him, something that sticks out from the rest. Somehow you two were connected, and it made it so he was always plaguing your mind, even when you are with your literal fiance. Even when you are far away from him and have no clue where he is for the first time in two weeks.

Separation Anxiety.

You aren’t watching where you’re going, which makes you run into a tall, lanky boy. You yelp out in apologetic surprise, looking up at the person blocking your stressed search. A blonde boy flips around to look at you and you’re half expecting to see Korkie but it isn’t.

His Cousin, Hugo, looks down at you with his same charming smirk as always.

“Princess!” He bows.

“My apologies, Hugo!” You exclaim.

“Oh please, you are perfectly fine. You looked distressed? I hope It was not something I did?”

“Of course not!” You reassure, awkwardly smiling. “Uh- may i ask what you were doing in the center of the corridor?”

He chuckles, “Admiring this art.” He nods to an expansive, framed oil painting on the wall. It was of a tall man with a long face and alarming smirk. What stuck out to you, however, was that he held in both hands the same black sword from the royal portraits upstairs by the war room.

“The art is beautiful here.” You smile.

“Yes, my Aunt Satine worked hard to make it culturally rich.”

“Did you know her?”

“Yes, I am a bit older than Korkie, and I knew her for several years before she passed.”

“Are you… second in line?”

“I am.” He says with a classic amused smirk.

“So maybe you can answer a question for me, then.” You ask as you look up at the art. “What in the world is that?” You ask in reference to the blade.

“That, my foreign Princess, is the Dark Sword of Mandalore.”

“The what?” You cluelessly ask.

“A sacred weapon that the rightful ruler possesses, it’s rather powerful.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it before.” You look up at it in awe.

“Hah, yes. It is made of pure obsidian. The white is enchanted quartz veins. It is practically invincible, an elven Mand’alor forged it when he was just a boy.”

“What? There were Mandalorians who were part elf?” You ask, your eyes peeling off of the art and onto your companion.

He looks at you almost confused, “There is much you do not know about my Kingdom?”

“No… I’m afraid not.” You shamefully admit.

“Most don’t,” He shrugs and returns to the conversation unbothered, “It’s history is rather complicated.”

The two of you were quiet for a long time. Your eyes were glued to the stern face of the man in the portrait. You wondered who he was. Hugo is the first to speak up.

“You played beautifully last night.” You doubted he didn’t notice the incorrect notes and mistakes you made several times, maybe he was just being polite by ignoring them. You turn to look at him and smile kindly.

“As did you.” You return the compliment. He looks at you, and you must have been distracted by something other than him because you weren’t aware that his eyes were darting between your eyes and your lips.

Hugo forces a kiss on you.

Just like how Korkie did a few weeks ago in the library. It’s fast because you angrily pull away just as fast as he placed it on you.

“What?” You say like an idiot, looking up at him in shock.

“Oh come on, don’t tell me you don’t feel it?” He gets defensive immediately. The worst part is that it wasn’t even that bad of a kiss, much softer than Korkies, but nowhere as tender as the kisses the Knight would lay on you in the water or behind a closed door. Your entire body seemed to seize up, and you couldn’t get any words out. Not any words that you wanted to say. You just looked up at him, vulnerable and confused. He leans down to do it again but you’re able to turn your head to the side, keeping his lips off of you.

“I am… in love with another man.” You say, clearing your throat.

“You and I both know that isn’t my cousin.”

No use denying it at this point, “yes, but I am still engaged to him. I cannot just be disloyal to the future Mand’alor.” You mutter, embarrassed but trying to keep your cool. You knew you were lying, because you weren’t staying loyal to Korkie. No, you were outright cheating on him and you were falling in love with the boy you were cheating with. You were falling in love. You were very exposed, after all. Anyone could turn the corner or look through the windows and see you. It was different this time, however. Usually hiding your kisses are exciting, but that was only with the Knight. “Please,” You voice betrays you, and the emotional shake is heard through your clenched jaw, “Excuse me.” You push passed him frustratedly, making sure to shove him over a little with your shoulder. You angrily walk back to your room, finally getting there without help for the first time.

When you turned down the Corridor to your suite, you were hoping to see the beskar-clad boy who held you last night, but he still wasn’t there. You hold back emotional tears, but not seeing the one who brings the most comfort to you makes you break. Two crystal tears roll down your cheeks.

You have been taken advantage of too many times in this forsaken castle.

You pull open the door, the golden afternoon light reflecting warmly off of the gold-leafed furniture and decorations is a stark contrast from the bleak hallway. Your bed has been made, and things have been tidied up since you were in here last. You flop onto the mattress, your arms stretched out from your sides, looking up at the sheer canopy above where you lay.

Two hours pass. You think you fell asleep but you cannot remember. If you did, no dreams were had.

Soniee opens your door with trepidation after two soft knocks, “Princess, It is time to prepare for the ball.” Her voice is so timid. You twist your head to look at her, the other ladies from this morning were behind her. Koska was not with them.

You sit up from the bed, rubbing a crook in your neck from how you were laying...

—

authors note (again): i know this isn’t the best chapter ending but ya know... IT WASNT SUPPOSED TO BE

Anyways..... see you tomorrow? i guess? haha

Taglist: @remmysbounty @snow30285 @what-iwish-you-knew @softly-sad @carbonated-beverage @frogllady @baileys-corner @song-of-sea-and-sky @leaiorganas @weirdowithnobeardo @ginger-swag-rapunzel @bewitchedbodyandsol l @mograh @justavolcano @theokatz @lowkeytesss @hallway5 @dat-girl-in-corner @news4bees @istealyof00d @songofcosplay @waffles4lif3 @mcueveryday @310ra @thatonedindjarinfan @songofseraphine @callmekane @theelilbritt @bbwithaknife @firstofficerwiggles @jedi-jesi @ironbabey @minttchipp @bel-ppa @honey-hi @cp11 @venomous-ko @bbwithaknife @lunatic-sunsets @1800-fight-me @foundtheavacados @elphabaforpresidentofgallifrey @florenceivy @theanothersherlockian @spideysimpossiblegirl @mandomistress @floraandfrost @paradoxpictures @stinky-child

“if you are included in the taglist, you are expected to interact with the post you are tagged in (ex. reblogs, comments and notes), if I notice that you are not interacting with the applicable post, you will be removed from the taglist”

—

part twelve

[after-witch]

Emotional Loan [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Emotional Loan [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You shouldn’t be this nervous about telling your boyfriend that you want to transfer to a college out of state. Ransom is nothing if not generous with you--so why is your stomach in knots?

Word Count: 3144

notes: yandere, sexism, emotional abuse

You shouldn’t be this nervous. Really. Ransom has been nothing but generous with you, and in turn you’ve been patient--maybe too patient, maybe too forgiving, sometimes--with him. It’s only fair that he extends that patience to you, especially with something as serious, as important, as your future.

So why does the thought of telling him about your plan to switch to a new college make you feel like you’re going to throw up?

You puff out your cheeks and stretch your arms across the breakfast table, leaning down and wishing you could ask someone else to tell him in person. But the thought is ridiculous, and you push it away in favor of rehearsing what you’re going to say for the millionth time since you made up your mind.

You will tell him about the need to change your degree if you want to ever be in the contending for a museum curator position in the future. You will tell him about the fact that the best place to get this specific degree, the one that will put you right in the open arms of the internship that leads to your dream curator field, is in California. You will tell him about the apartments you’ve already inspected. You will tell him about the fact that he can visit anytime, that you will visit him, that you can text and video call and vacation together. You will tell him that you love him and you want to make this work.

You will tell him all these things… and yet. Yet while you can rehearse the words, rehearse how you’ll push your printed out papers showing exactly what you need to do and why towards him so he can see you’re telling the exact truth, you can’t rehearse how Ransom will react. You try to imagine, but all that comes up is a blurry, grey blank.

Is he going to freak out? Get pissed? Or worse--not care at all? Maybe you’ve overestimated how much Ransom has invested in this relationship. Maybe he’d rather cut you loose than deal with a long distance relationship. Maybe the second you mention that you’ll be moving to California, he’ll be mentally checking a list for someone local to hook up with the minute you’re gone.

You’re not sure which reaction would scare you more.

But you don’t have much time to think about it, because you hear him padding down the stairs, hear the din of some video he’s still watching, probably whatever he put on while he was in the shower. You can’t bear to look up, and you thumb aimlessly, nervously around your phone’s apps while you listen to the sound of him scraping the eggs and bacon you’d cooked onto a plate.

He plops down in the seat across from you and you glance up. He catches your eye and gives a tight-lipped, tired smile. He was out late. But he’d texted you about staying out late earlier in the evening, so you didn’t feel you had the right to be mad--that’s the condition you’d given him, after all, when he’d accused you of being controlling. When he’d called you a nag and accused you of being jealous of other women, women he had no feelings for.

“I just want to know when you’re going to be out late so I don’t stay up half the night thinking you’re dead somewhere.” And so he did--let you know--and you swallowed down your feelings of suspicion at his late night adventures.

Maybe… maybe this is a bad time to tell him. Maybe you should wait for a day when he’s had more sleep. Maybe you should run your thoughts by someone else, get a second opinion. You’re focusing on the table, on the light from the phone screen, anything to avoid looking up and starting the dreaded conversation.

“What’re those papers for, babe?”

Shit.

Your hands tremble just a bit when you set the phone down, and the way it vibrates against the table mimics the way your stomach feels right now. You suck in a breath and look up, but you can’t make eye contact just yet and you push the words out, stumbling and breathy and rapid, without stopping to breathe until you’ve said your peace.

“Ransom this is really hard for me but we need to talk about something and I don’t want you to be mad but I need to change schools if I’m ever going to get a shot at a curator position and the best school for this is in California and I know it’s going to be hard but I love you--I love you and we can make long distance work if you want and if you don’t want well--well I don’t know what I’ll do then but I just wanted to let you know now because I’ve got to turn in my application next week and please please try to see this from my point of view because it’s all I’ve ever wanted and you know that.”

You take a shaky breath and hold your hands together on top of the table, clasped and shaking from the adrenaline and anxiety coursing through you. You look up at Ransom with trepidation, hoping that he’s not mad--or indifferent.

But he’s neither. He simply looks… confused.

He simply stares at you for a moment, a dumbfounded expression on his face as he processes all of the words that just came rapid-fire out of your mouth.

“California?” Is all he says, finally.

You take the opportunity to push the stack of printed papers towards him. “These are… it’s… well, emails from people in the industry, some important articles about getting positions at museums. About where you have to go. Oh, there’s apartment listings there, too.” You even printed out detailed information about the qualifications for acceptance, and put them in a neat little table next to your own academic and experience record. You were a shoo-in, and you didn’t feel the need to be humble about it.

He grabs the stack and starts thumbing through, not saying another word as he seemingly thoroughly reads everything you’ve printed out. Your stomach feel like floating lead, heavy and flipping. You can’t tell what he’s thinking or feeling, and he’s not giving you anything but a concentrated look at he looks through the statements, the listings, the plan you’ve outlined so neatly.

He finally sets the stack back down and simply stares at it for a few moments. Taking it in. Taking his thoughts in. Finally, Ransom looks up at you and the intensity in his eyes makes your stomach drop. He doesn’t look mad. He looks--and you hate it--disappointed, sad even.

“Look…” He sighs, eyebrows lifting as his gaze drifts away before settling back on you. “I’m not going to lie and pretend I’m okay with this. I’m not. Jesus, babe. California? Four years?”

“It’s no--” you interrupt, but he holds up his hand and you stop.

“But. But, but,” he lightly pounds his fist on the stack of tables, an almost nervous gesture in your eyes. “It’s what you want? What you need for your career? There’s no other way for you to get this--” he waves his hands around, “museum gig you’re after?”

You nod, unable--no, afraid--to speak, in case your voice is too tight with emotion.

“Then I guess I can deal with it.”

“What?” You blurt the words out.  You expected… an argument. Or for him to blow you off, make it seem like you weren’t serious. Or, as you’d admitted to yourself earlier, for him to throw you away and find someone who wouldn’t make him wait around. Not… acceptance.

He laughs at your reaction and your stomach feels lighter, the tension in your body starting to fizzle away. “

“It’s not like I have to worry about getting the money to come visit, right? And hey,” he continues, “if you need someone to put in a good word to this school… maybe throw some cash at a dean or something…” He raises his eyebrows, wiggling them a little in a way that makes you snort.

You lean forward and nab one of the lukewarm pieces of scrambled eggs from his plate and pop it into your mouth. “Since you’re offering to help, I could use someone to check over my application…”

**

The envelope is too small. It’s way too small. Why did they make the envelope so damn small? Maybe the acceptance letter was sent on its own, and all of the other information--the giant packet telling you where to send payments and sign up for courses--would be sent to your email. But the thought of checking your email and seeing nothing makes you feel sick, so you keep your phone next to you on the table.

“You gotta open it,” Ransom says, soft and casual. He doesn’t move from his place beside you on the sofa, watching you with a neutral look. He probably knows why the envelope is too small, but he won’t say the words out loud--just like you won’t. If you say it out loud, then it’s true.

There's nothing else for you to do except confront the truth, and you rip open the envelope and pull out the folded paper with far too few printed words on the page.

Rejected. Outright. Completely. Not a fit for the school or the program.

If you weren’t sitting on the couch, you would have fallen over. As it is,  you feel like the world is collapsing, like the sofa underneath you is melting into the floor and taking you with it.

“I don’t understand.” You can only manage to whisper, voice small--reflecting the way the rest of you feels. Small and falling and stupid.

Ransom takes the paper from your hand, and you don’t bother keeping a grip on it. You register the fact that he’s put an arm around your shoulders, but you can barely feel it through the numbness of rejection.

“What the fuck,” he says, voice louder next to your ear. It makes you shrink in more, even though his anger isn’t directed at you. “What the fuck.”

It’s you want to say, what you would say, if you had the strength. The energy. But the absolute, complete way that your future has suddenly become an unknown blank has left you stuck and heavy.

It doesn’t make sense. Your transcript was perfect--should have been perfect. You should have gotten in. You got top grades and references from professors and a list of relevant experiences that most students wouldn’t have until the end of their degree.

“I’m going to call them and find out what-the-fuck,” Ransom says suddenly, getting up with a jerking motion and walking towards the kitchen, where his phone rests on the counter. “No,” he says, clicking his tongue. “Better yet. I’ll call my grandfather. He’ll know how to convince this so-called top school that they made a big mistake.”

The thought makes your head spin. “Ransom, don’t.” You’re not a child. But you feel like one, like you just failed a math quiz and your dad is calling to find out why the teacher doesn’t know the quiz answers from his ass. “You can’t just call a school and make them accept someone.”

Your legs feel wobbly when you stand up, and Ransom practically swoops back to your side to hold you steady. He leads you back down on the sofa and you feel yourself accepting the loss, accepting that your dream is gone, or at least altered.

He squeezes an arm around you when you finally begin to cry, and for the moment you feel better, less worthless, less hopeless. It was just one rejection. One egg. You can’t put every egg in one basket, as they say.

You rest your head against his shoulder and sigh into it, enjoying the warmth and closeness. A feeling of luck pings at your heart. You’re really lucky to have a guy like Ransom. He’s not perfect, and sometimes you fight, and sometimes he does things that hurt you, but--are you perfect? Do you do things that hurt him, too? Don’t put all your eggs in one basket, and don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

With comfort comes clarity. The world isn’t ending. Your future isn’t blank. There are other options.

You feel almost perked up when you speak: “I guess I can apply to other schools. Maybe it won’t be the exact one I wanted but… there’s some in Chicago, even Michigan, that might work.”

Ransom’s arm tightens around you, slightly but firmly enough to notice.

“Babe, you’re not serious.”

You pull back enough to look up at his face.

“What do you mean?”

You can see Ransom fighting with his annoyed expression, trying to soften it up. You dimly recognize that you should be grateful--you know how snarky he can get with others when he’s not putting on a filter.

“Your transcript was fucking impeccable. I saw it! I sent it in for you! And you still didn’t get in. You think these other schools are going to accept you….” He trails off, leaning his head back, looking disappointed of all things. Disappointed in you? Or the school?  You can’t tell. All you know is that it makes you feel low again, like you’re nothing, falling into the floor with a sense of worthlessness.

“I’m not tryin’ to be an asshole,” he says, and there’s a flicker of doubt in your mind about the truth of that statement. “I’m just trying to be honest. I don’t want you to have to deal with getting rejected from all those other schools, too. You know what I mean?”

You swallow down against the tightness in your throat. “Their standards might not be as strict. I know they’re not as strict. I could get in.”

He looks down at you, the same intense gaze from the morning that you told him about your plan on his face. The gaze that let you know he believed in you and would do anything--even go long distance for almost half a decade--for you. A gaze that let you know he was serious, honest, giving you his thoughts with an open heart. “Keyword. Could.”

It’s like a slap to the face.

“Are you saying I’m too stupid to get in anywhere?” You start to pull away, but his arms don’t let up and so all you can do is turn your head away, cheeks hot with humiliation. “Don’t you support me?”

“Jesus, no--and Jesus, yes.” Annoyance is bleeding into his voice and you wish you’d just ripped up the envelope and avoided the entire conversation. You keep your eyes on the floor, humiliating tears blurring your vision as you stare at the sliver of a stain from soda that you never got out of the cream colored rug.

“You are the smartest chick I know,” he says, voice a little softer, now. At least he’s trying to stop being an ass. “Seriously, you are. Maybe you’re just a--a different kind of smart. A  kind of smart these schools don’t give a shit about. Do something here with that smartness, then. Stay where you’re at. Fuck, talk to the dean and tell them you want to to an independent degree or something. But don’t get your heart broken a million times when you could just make the most of what you’ve got here.” He squeezes, affectionate. “What we’ve got here.”

It’s not what you want. It’s not viable. You can’t get to where you want to be if you stay where you are. But he’s right--he’s right, isn’t he, because if you can’t get into a school with a nearly picture-perfect record and recommendations and experience oozing out of your ears, will there be any school that accepts you?

And if you stay here, Ransom is here, and you’re already in school here, and maybe you won’t get anywhere near a curator position (but you want to, it’s your dream, why give up on your dream?) but you can do something else, surely. Ransom will help you, like he always does. You might fight and argue and sometimes it gets intense but he always lends you a shoulder to cry on, doesn’t he? He’s always honest with you, even when it hurts. Even when it hurts like this, crushing and disappointing and sharp.

He pulls you closer to him, and this time you don’t fight as you rest your head back on his shoulder.

“So?” He starts to gently stroke your hair, the way he knows you like it.

You nod, sniffling against the last of the tears, unable--afraid--to say anything. 

“That’s my girl,” he says, before gently flicking your forehead and reaching for his phone. “Hey, let’s go see a movie tonight. My treat.”

You nod against his shirt, unable to do more than mumble back, “Okay.” Okay, okay, okay. It’s a soft, unceremonious end to your California dreams.

[ibijau]

A second part for that fic where lxc died in seclusion and nhs, through mourning him, realised how much he felt for his Er-ge  / Also on AO3

Warning for themes of suicide, depression, and self-hatred (but this is angst with a happy, or at least hopeful ending)

Lan Xichen had been staring at the ribbon in his hands for only a short while when his uncle entered the room and gently took it from him.

That was when he realised that many hours had passed, and night had fallen. Time, once again, had moved around him without touching him. His uncle felt his distress and said nothing, instead pushing a glass of cool tea in his hand and presenting some light food to him.

Eating was difficult some days, but Lan Xichen always made an effort for his uncle who would look so sad otherwise. After everything else, it would have been unbearable to cause Lan Qiren yet more pain. Of course if Lan Xichen hadn’t lost his nerve that morning, if he’d done what he intended to do instead of hesitating… If he'd succeeded it would have hurt his uncle, his brother as well, but only in the same way that removing a splinter always hurt, and then they would have been free and relieved of their burden.

“It cannot go on like this,” Lan Qiren said when Lan Xichen found himself unable to swallow anything more.

Lan Xichen dejectedly stared at the rice he could not finish. Do not waste food. But then, wasn’t it wasted too if someone as useless as him ate it?

“Seclusion is meant to be a cultivation tool,” his uncle continued, “or a way to reflect on one’s conduct. You cannot continue using it as a way to hurt yourself.”

An argument that would have held more weight, had their family not had a long history of doing exactly that.

“Xichen, you cannot stay in this house.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes snapped up from his bowl of rice to gaze at his uncle in terror. He thought he would find judgement, or anger, or worst of all disappointment on his uncle’s face, but instead saw only a pity so great it made him feel ashamed.

“Shufu, I cannot leave,” he said.

Not ‘do not want”, not ‘will not’, but ‘cannot’.

He knew his affliction, though he had never found a suitable name for it. He usually merely called it melancholy, so it wouldn’t worry those who did not already know the truth… which was to say, anyone besides his uncle and brother. He’d never dared to fully explain this to Nie Mingjue, whose own illness was so much more serious than his little bouts of misery, but he had thought sometimes with Jin Guangyao he might… yet he hadn’t wanted to seem weak in front of a man who had fought so hard for everything he had, and changed his mind about that confidence. One secret, against all those his sworn brother had kept from him.

Lan Xichen knew what he suffered from, and how he suffered from it. It had been a constant companion all his life, even before his mother’s death, though that had certainly been the first time it had become noticeable to others. He’d become quite good at functioning through minor attacks, at disguising major ones.

This one was something different. This one, he knew, he would not recover from.

“This house is not good for you,” Lan Qiren said. “The Cloud Recesses are not good for you. Not anymore. Perhaps they never were, but we all trained you too well, and we did not see what it had done to you. You need to rejoin the world”

“I cannot,” Lan Xichen whispered, lowering his eyes.

The mere thought was intolerable. To stand again in front of others, pretending that things were fine, that he could be strong, that he could lead, that there was any wisdom to be found in him…

A warm hand came to rest on his own, while Lan Qiren tried his best to smile at him, even when they both knew it did not come to him easily.

“I am not asking you to resume your position as sect leader,” Lan Qiren said, and his weak smile dropped. “It would kill you even quicker than staying here alone could. This should never have been your responsibility to bear in the first place, but with the Wens preparing for war…”

Guilt and shame flooded over Lan Xichen. He knew this already. They had discussed it, right after Qingheng-Jun had died. Lan Qiren had been of the opinion that his nephew was too young to bear the responsibility of an entire sect, while himself had age and experience on his side. Had times not been so desperate, Lan Xichen would gladly have let his uncle rise to the honour of sect leader. But there had been a war on the horizon, and while Lan Qiren would have been more competent, neither of them could have denied that Lan Xichen was the more charismatic of the two, and they’d needed a leader who would garner good will among potential allies.

It ought to have been a temporary situation. Lan Xichen was meant the abdicate in favour of his uncle once the crisis had passed… but the Sunshot Campaign’s aftermath had created a tense political situation that allowed no apparent weakness, then there had been the need to avoiding bringing attention to Lan Wangji’s seclusion after the death of Wei Wuxian, and later that new political mess between the Nie and the Jin, and… and the time had just never been right, with always something to make them fear their sect would suffer from a change in leadership. So Lan Qiren had waited and done his best to help, while his nephew endured and tried to ignore his ever declining health, until one last crisis broke him for good.

“I don’t think it will be enough,” Lan Xichen whispered. “Even if I’m no longer a sect leader, people will still want to ask about…”

He drew in a shaky breath, drowning in guilt so thick it nearly made him sick. The things he had done he could almost live with. But what he had allowed others to do, the crimes he had left unchecked, the accusations a dying Jin Guangyao had thrown at him, the cold hatred Nie Huaisang had spewed at his brother’s second funeral… This haunted him, and he could not bear to imagine how much worse it would get for him if he faced the world.

Lan Qiren said nothing for a long while, silently holding his hands while watching his face as if searching for something in it. What he hoped to find, Lan Xichen could not imagine. He had only grown more and more empty these past two years alone in his house, until nothing but a shell remained that he hoped to make disappear as well.

“Lying is forbidden,” Lan Qiren said at last, speaking in the slow manner he used to teach younger children. “And yet in certain circumstances, it will be excused. I hope you will forgive me for the lie I am about to suggest.”

“Shufu?”

“You cannot live hidden in this house,” Lan Qiren stated, his grip on Lan Xichen’s hands tightening. “You cannot live as a sect leader, either. And I agree that it would harm you just as much to merely retire and remain among cultivators.”

“So I must die,” Lan Xichen said, terrified and hopeful at once. He only lived because others had not allowed him to take his own life. If his uncle and brother promised they would no longer attempt to rescue him…

“You cannot live on like this, and I cannot allow you to die,” Lan Qiren replied, his grasp now painful. “But I am willing to let the world believe that you have, and to never see you again, if that might help you.”

Lan Xichen blinked, surprised by the emotion on his uncle’s usually stern face, the unspilled tears that made his eyes shine. More pain that he had caused, more guilt to weigh down his soul.

“I’m not sure I understand, shufu.”

“We are going to lie,” Lan Qiren explained. “And doing so, we are going to save you.”

-

Back when he was young and had time for idle purposes, Lan Xichen had sometimes paused for portraits. Lan Wangji had needed a model patient enough, and Nie Huaisang had never taken no for an answer when he had a caprice in mind.

This, however, was quite different from pausing for a painting.

“No, no, don’t look!” Wei Wuxian scolded. “Keep your eyes closed! And don’t breathe so deeply. You’re dead, remember?”

“Nobody will look that closely,” Lan Xichen mildly complained, even though he’d been informed a little earlier that he wasn’t allowed to speak either. He’d almost laughed. If there was one person who didn’t get to demand that the dead be silent, it was Wei Wuxian. 

“The entire Lan sect is going to see what they need to think is your corpse,” Wei Wuxian said. “We need to fool them.”

“They haven’t seen me in two years, it will be fine.”

“Probably. But Nie Huaisang has sent word that he’s coming to your funeral, and we’ll need to fool him too.”

“Oh,” Lan Xichen just said, and fell silent. 

He hadn’t thought Nie Huaisang would come at all, but of course he was too clever not to pay his respects, if only to maintain whatever alliance remained between Qinghe Nie and Gusu lan.

He wondered if Nie Huaisang would be fooled by this fake corpse Wei Wuxian was crafting. Wei Wuxian was a man of rare talent, but Nie Huaisang had proven to be quite good at seeing through lies. If he realised the truth, would he denounce the subterfuge? Or would he be too satisfied to find that the last of his brother’s murderer had died to even bother looking at his corpse?

He wondered if Nie Huaisang would cry for him. They had almost been friends, once. And if Nie Mingjue hadn’t died when he had, maybe they would have…

But Nie Mingjue had died, and the manner of his death could not be forgotten.

Lan Xichen knew that Nie Huaisang would not shed a single tear for him.

He hadn’t earned the right to be mourned by him.

-

Lan Xichen did not linger to see his own funeral, but heard later that it had been a very sober affair, and that people said many good things about him.

It would have comforted him about his own value, if he hadn’t remembered that people did the same at Jin Guangshan’s funeral.

-

It had not been Lan Xichen’s own choice to have Wen Ning as a travelling companion. His family, or at least the part of it that knew he wasn’t dead, had just decided that his current health wasn’t good enough to let him wander on his own. As Wei Wuxian so pragmatically put it, they hadn’t faked his suicide just so he could go kill himself ten li away, so he needed someone to keep an eye on him.

It couldn’t be Lan Qiren, who was under so much attention as a new sect leader. It also couldn’t be Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, who were a little too noticeable everywhere they went. They’d thought about Lan Sizhui, but in the end the young man hadn’t even been told at all that his uncle still lived, because Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian felt it would be cruel to force him to keep that secret from his friends.

Meanwhile, Wen Ning had no official duties to conduct, and he was good at staying hidden. He had agreed to keeping an eye on Lan Xichen, even though they’d hardly exchanged two words in their lives. Not only that, but Lan Xichen had been there when Wen Qing’s ashes were scattered, he had been among those who swore to destroy the Wens who survived in the Burial Mounds of Yiling. Lan Xichen had thought then that the place had turned into a den of demonic cultivators, filled with an army of fierce corpses all as dangerous as Wen Ning, who had slaughtered so many already.

It was not the travel companion Lan Xichen would have preferred, not that he’d given the question much thought.

Yet when he thought of protesting, Wen Ning had looked at him and given him that odd grimace which passed as a smile for him.

“Two dead men, I think it’s fitting,” he’d said.

That had settled the issue. Lan Xichen just did not have the strength to object any further. In fact, he quickly decided that it might be for the best that Wen Ning, of all people, would be travelling with him. After the lies Lan Xichen had allowed himself to be fed about the Wens of the Burial Mounds, it was doubtful that Wen Ning would do too much to protect him from himself, next time that melancholy seized him.

-

The first few months of travel weren't unpleasant. Lan Xichen found himself thinking that his uncle had been right, that he had only needed a little change to allow for recovery. Most of the time he appeared to be alone, as Wen Ning was reluctant to show himself to common people. Well, nearly alone: he had been given a horse by his uncle, an even-tempered animal that matched his own personality, and proved to be quite enough company for him. During the day he travelled without clear goal except for the enjoyment of the journey itself, sometimes stopping to admire a beautiful landscape, once or twice even painting something quick that he might show to…

But there was no one left to admire his work, supposing there ever was. Perhaps Jin Guangyao had only ever been polite whenever he professed that he thought the world of Lan Xichen’s latest work. As for Nie Huaisang, whose taste had always been excellent, whose praise had been so hard to obtain… certainly he must have lied, whenever he said something pleasant about Lan Xichen’s paintings. Surely it must have cost him to praise the man who had failed to prevent his brother’s murder.

Surely he must have hated Lan Xichen as much as Lan Xichen hated himself.

His thoughts started spiralling on that subject one night. He’d done a quick sketch of some mountains that afternoon, only to be struck first by the thought that Nie Huaisang would have loved to see such a place, then by the remembrance that he actually did not know Nie Huaisang at all, that the only certainty he could have was the other man hated him, having said as much when they re-buried Nie Mingjue.

Normally, Lan Xichen never stayed alone for long at night. Whether he had to sleep in the wild or could find an inn, Wen Ning would join him and check on him. But for whatever reason Wen Ning was late that night. He never really had the chance to explain, either, because when Wen Ning finally made his way to the room Lan Xichen had paid for, it was to find him preparing a knot with his ribbon.

Wen Ning did not say anything. Lan Xichen just smoothed out that knot, and politely asked about the Ghost General’s day, as he always did. It was easy to fall into their normal routine and pretend nothing had happened. Lan Xichen had always been particularly good at that sort of deception. He had his dinner, did some meditation, and went to bed as if nothing were amiss.

All that time Wen Ning stared at him as only a dead man could stare, patient and unrelenting.

Even with his back turned to him, and in the darkness of that room, Lan Xichen could still feel the strength of that stare as sleep eluded him.

“You must despise me,” he said at last, his own eyes closed as if he still thought he would sleep that night.

There was silence for a while.

“Is that an order, or a conclusion you’ve reached?” Wen Ning asked.

More silence, as Lan Xichen considered that question.

“A conclusion. I have no rights to give you orders. I have allowed so much to happen… Your family in the Burial Mounds, and…”

“A-Yuan is a happy young man,” Wen Ning interrupted. “He is well adjusted, he has friends, he’s been taught well. He told me you often took care of him when he was very young.”

Lan Xichen hesitated.

“Do not think me kinder than I am. I just couldn’t let anyone… He’d been very sick and didn’t seem to remember his life before coming to us, but if his memories returned and he said something wrong…” Lan Xichen paused, and sighed deeply. “At the time, I thought he might have been the love child of your sister and Wei Wuxian. It seemed to make sense? Wei Wuxian had abandoned everything to protect your family.”

Wen Ning was silent.

And silent.

And silent so long that Lan Xichen feared he had offended him, especially when the fierce corpse started making an odd, wheezing sound. 

Laughter, he then realised.

“Jiejie would be so insulted that anyone could think she had that relationship with Wei Wuxian,” Wen Ning said with surprising good humour, as if the idea delighted him. “I think uncle four suggested it once, and she scared him so bad he avoided her for a week. She said nobody should have such bad taste. No offence to your brother,” Wen Ning added after reflection.

"It's fine. I’ve also expressed doubts regarding his choices,” Lan Xichen said with a weak smile.

It had been such a long while since he’d smiled.

He was more grateful to Wen Ning for making him smile again than for saving his life.

-

When he’d left the Cloud Recesses, Lan Xichen hadn’t had any particular destination in mind. If he were honest, he hadn’t particularly expected his uncle’s plan to work, and had thought he’d just wander for a little while until his self-hatred became too strong and he took his own life. Since Wen Ning had now made it clear he would not allow this to happen, Lan Xichen was forced to start planning.

He tried, first of all, to ask Wen Ning if he had preferences. To this the fierce corpse replied that there was nowhere he wished to revisit that wouldn’t remind him of darker times, so while he had a list of places he’d rather avoid, he otherwise didn’t care where they went. Lan Xichen was thus left alone to decide where to go, when he still did not trust himself to make decisions of any sorts.

After a long, painful week of consideration, Lan Xichen settled for Baidi as a destination. It was a city that exiles had visited and immortalised in poetry, which he thought was fitting for his own situation, unlikely as he was to ever see his home again. On a more practical note, there was no longer a cultivation sect around Baidi, the old one having allied itself with Qishan Wen and been slaughtered during the course of the Sunshot Campaign. That meant it was less likely for anyone but rogue cultivators to be in that area, and only in case of crisis, so Lan Xichen would be in less danger to be recognised.

But there was also…

It was a very silly thing, all things considered. But Lan Xichen remembered talking about Baidi with Nie Huaisang once or twice, and how nice it would be to go there together. Back then, things had been easy. They’d been friends, and he’d thought he knew Nie Huaisang. He’d even thought sometimes that they shared a special bond, Nie Huaisang with his many fears, Lan Xichen with his deadly melancholy. Nie Huaisang had been the only person in whom he’d felt he could confide that particular weakness, the only person who seemed like he might have understood what it was like to be constantly betrayed by one’s own mind. He’d seemed very sympathetic to Lan Xichen’s plight at the time, and started writing to him out of the blue if they didn’t see for a while, just to get some news. Lan Xichen had taken to doing the same in return, and he’d thought, he’d truly thought…

But in the end, he hadn’t known Nie Huaisang as well as he’d thought, and there had probably never been any unspoken understanding of a shared plight, no secret affection that couldn’t be acted upon. Lan Xichen had been wrong about this, just as he was always wrong about everything.

He’d been wrong, and he was enough of a fool to still hold dear memories of a lie.

Wen Ning offered no objection to the prospect of going to Baidi. But when after a few days of travelling in that direction Lan Xichen wondered if he should warn his uncle of his decision, Wen Ning guiltily confessed that he’d already sent word about that, just as he’d made sure to keep Lan Qiren updated about most things they did.

“Even…” Lan Xichen started asking, before shame overcame him.

“I did not mention that you briefly relapsed,” Wen Ning replied, and Lan Xichen instantly relaxed. “It was only one time, and you haven’t tried again since. I saw no reason to worry him when you’re doing better.”

It felt odd to Lan Xichen that anyone might think his health improved. He wasn’t sure he felt any particular difference, save for the fact that he was now hiding among crowds instead of inside his house. Perhaps Wen Ning was just trying to be kind, then.

“I suppose it’s better if you’re the one writing to him,” Lan Xichen said. “After all, I’m supposed to be dead.”

“So am I,” Wen Ning reminded him. “It’d probably please him to have news directly from you.”

Lan Xichen doubted that anything he’d done since becoming sect leader had ever much pleased his uncle, even if he sometimes said otherwise. 

But no, that was just the melancholy speaking. His uncle had always scolded him when he needed to be scolded, praised him when he deserved to be praised. It would be unfair to Lan Qiren to accuse him of insincerity, and so he had to mean those occasional compliments he’d given.

That night, when he stopped at an inn, Lan Xichen wrote a brief letter to his uncle, which Wen Ning promised would reach Lan Qiren in a discreet manner.

Some days later, Lan Qiren sent a letter. Even though his prose was as stern as ever, there was something joyful in that short missive, in his remarks that Baidi seemed like a wise hiding place. Perhaps he really was happy to have received news from his nephew. And perhaps Lan Xichen being able to acknowledge that he could give joy to those he loved was a sign that he really was improving.

-

A slow correspondence started between Lan Xichen and his uncle, which became a steadier one once he had reached Baidi. At first Lan Xichen had very little to talk about, save to say how much distance they’d travelled since the previous letter. But as time passed, he found more and more to say. He would describe the villages they’d passed through, the sights they’d seen. He shared some of the sketches he’d made, and a haunting he’d had to help with, once people of a certain manor near Baidi realised he was a cultivator, after which the master of the house had invited him to stay at another home he owned in Baidi as an honoured guest.

It had felt good to be useful, to be helpful, to deal with a situation where right and wrong were easy to distinguish.

It made it easier when Lan Qiren, in his own letters, started mentioning that Nie Huaisang had announced he would be stepping down as sect leader.

At first nothing more than that was known, and Lan Xichen could only wonder at how little he knew Nie Huaisang. He’d imagined that Nie Huaisang would now show his true colour, perhaps even that he would try to seize power and become Chief Cultivator.  Why not? He was smart enough for it. Lan Xichen had long thought that Nie Huaisang’s problem arose from a lack of ambition and motivation rather than from being stupid as some would have said. Having proven he could be motivated after all, who knew if he hadn’t also hidden that he was power hungry? Even his stepping down could have been a mere part of a complicated plan.

When Lan Xichen expressed those thoughts in a letter, Lan Qiren replied that he did not think Nie Huaisang held such dark designs. On the contrary, it had been widely observed that he’d been growing depressed and indifferent in the past year, delegating more and more of his duties to his first disciple, now his future replacement, while he personally tried to amuse himself with other pursuits. If this was merely part of a scheme, then it had to be a very complex one indeed because one of the few topics on which Nie Huaisang could be bothered to take position was that a Chief Cultivator was not something anyone needed anymore.

That did sound more like the Nie Huaisang who Lan Xichen had thought he knew. It sounded like the man he’d been friends with for well over a decade, and gave him hope that not everything had been a lie, that he’d only been fooled at a few key moments rather than a majority of time. There was a comfort to be found in the thought that perhaps both Nie Huaisang and Jin Guangyao had truly liked him, that the affection and friendship had been genuine, regardless of the betrayal and the lies.

When more news filtered out, when Lan Qiren learned from Nie Huaisang himself that his intention was merely to withdraw from public life and wander to admire the beauty of the world, Lan Xichen only felt more peaceful. Being idle and aimless was exactly what Nie Huaisang had always dreamed of doing, before his brother’s untimely death had forced a different fate upon his shoulders.

In his next letter, Lan Xichen felt nostalgic enough to wonder if there was any chance that Nie Huaisang and him might meet again. He did not think that Nie Huaisang would ever forgive him his role in Nie Mingjue’s death, nor would he likely approve of Lan Xichen’s escape from his duties out of mere sadness, but for his part Lan Xichen couldn’t help but wish he could get a chance to find out what sort of a man Nie Huaisang truly was. He’d had so few friends in his life, and Nie Huaisang was the last one still alive. 

It would have been pleasant if they could have had another chance to be friends, this time without any secrets left between them, his letter concluded.

After this Lan Qiren’s letters never mentioned Nie Huaisang again, except to mention that he’d stepped down as planned. Lan Xichen felt silly for having burdened his uncle with his regrets, and dropped the subject as well.

In truth, while Nie Huaisang, Jin Guangyao, and even Nie Mingjue were often in his thoughts, Lan Xichen also had much else to keep him busy.

Without quite meaning to, Lan Xichen had gathered around him some disciples, children of Baidi who were eager to learn cultivation and had shown some promise. First it had been only the daughter and the son of the man whose house he lived in, and that hadn’t been so bad. But of course the two children had told some of their friends, while their parents had boasted of their luck to a few relatives. Soon enough Lan Xichen had been forced to explain that he could only teach children who had the right disposition, and that he wouldn’t be able to go beyond a few basic principles since it was not his intention to establish himself there. Even like that, Lan Xichen found himself with a dozen students, mostly boys but a few girls as well, listening to his every words as if he were a well of wisdom.

It was terrifying at first. A few times, Lan Xichen thought of dying to escape this new responsibility he’d never asked for, but Wen Ning’s constant presence made that impossible. He still wanted to escape then, and one night even told Wen Ning about wishing to leave Baidi behind.

“It’s just teaching,” Wen Ning pointed out. “You like teaching, no?”

The question startled Lan Xichen out of his rising panic.

“I do. I did. But that was when I still thought I had a right to it. I’m not sure I’m fit to be a teacher anymore, considering…”

“Well, you probably shouldn’t be teaching children how to spot evil people in their lives,” Wen Ning agreed with a wry smile. “But what happened doesn’t change the fact you’re a good cultivator, and you know how to show others what they need to start cultivating, according to Sizhui. You like that part, right?”

“I do. I’m just not sure I’m the right person to do this.”

Wen Ning shrugged. “Maybe yes, maybe no. Sometimes, there’s no right person. There’s just the person who’s there when it’s needed.”

Lan Xichen fell silent for a moment. He wondered if that was what Nie Mingjue had thought when his father had died, Nie Huaisang when he’d lost his brother. If nobody else was left, someone had to do the job.

“Fine, I’m staying in Baidi,” Lan Xichen agreed. “But I think you should help me teach these children.”

Wen Ning grimaced, always a frightful sight on his stiff face. “That’s a terrible idea, for so many reasons I can’t list them all.”

"You were trained in the methods of Qishan Wen, and you are probably the last person to remember that training." 

"That's one of the reasons why it'd be a terrible idea, yes." 

Lan Xichen smiled weakly. "I meant that as a reason why you should do it," he corrected. "Qishan Wen was not always what it had become. Its knowledge should not be lost." 

"I was a very poor cultivator when I was alive," Wen Ning countered. "I wouldn't be the right person to… ah. I can guess your next argument."

"Good. I don't want to do this alone. I think I don't like being on my own."

Two years with only himself for company had proven that. And the fact that he still missed Nie Huaisang and Jin Guangyao proved well enough that he craved friendship and closeness. Lan Xichen wasn't sure Wen Ning was his friend, but after nearly a year together, he wouldn't mind if the other man owned him as one. 

In the end, Wen Ning agreed to help him teach. 

The children were scared of him at first, not realising that he was equally terrified. But over time everyone relaxed, and Wen Ning appeared to find real joy in this new task. He seemed to really like children, perhaps because he'd not quite been an adult when he died, and he was clearly proud to share the knowledge he'd gotten from his sect with people who didn't instantly treat any Wen teachings with disgust. 

How odd, to find pride in anything. 

But as weeks passed, Lan Xichen realised that he too was proud of his work in Baidi, of his student's progress, of his own healing even. These days he rarely thought of dying more than once or twice a week, when it used to be a constant noise in the back of his mind. And unless he was having a truly awful day, it was getting easier to tell himself that death wouldn't really solve his problems. 

Even bad days were a little easier to handle. Lan Xichen could not control his moods nor the speed at which small things made him take a turn for the worse, but he was starting to recognise it when those shifts happened, and so did Wen Ning. The fierce corpse would cancel lessons for the day, and let Lan Xichen rest, keeping him company in silence. Or if the dark mood lasted too long, he would convince Lan Xichen to leave the house and wander on the banks of the Yangtze River, to watch passing boats and diving birds, or just to meditate somewhere different. It usually worked in getting Lan Xichen out of his own head.

-

That particular day was a bad one almost from the start. Lan Xichen’s host had proudly announced over breakfast that another cultivator had just arrived in town, and instantly Lan Xichen’s mood had turned sour. Even when his host told him that the newcomer claimed no affiliation to any sect, and didn't appear to be anyone famous, dread settled deep inside Lan Xichen’s bones. Wen Ning noticed, as he always did, and immediately said that they had some business out of town that day which they could not delay. They might be gone a day or two, he said, before shoving a large bamboo hat on Lan Xichen's head and dragging him outside. They left the city behind, walking silently for a long while until they were perfectly alone on the road.

"It might not even be a real cultivator," Wen Ning quietly remarked. "There are plenty of people out there who lie to get gifts from those who don't know better. And if it's an impostor, he'll avoid us." 

"But a real cultivator will seek our company," Lan Xichen replied. He looked around, admiring the river, and sighed. "I don't want to leave. I like this place. I like our students." 

Wen Ning nodded. "I can scare away that person," he offered. "I am the terrifying Ghost General."

That remark got a weak smile out of Lan Xichen, and almost a chuckle as well. It surprised him sometimes that they’d all ever thought Wen Ning was a terrifying thing to be destroyed. It certainly was hard to remember that he’d done terrible things in the past to justify his reputation, when he was so gentle with the children they were teaching.

“Let’s not advertise your presence here more than necessary,” Lan Xichen said. “We’re lucky enough the people here could be convinced that you’re merely the victim of a curse. If cultivators hear that the Ghost General is here, it’ll draw them to Baidi rather than away from it.”

“Then what do we do? Just wait?”

“I’m not sure there’s anything else we can do,” Lan Xichen sighed, though the idea made him uncomfortable.

Waiting to see, waiting for proof, waiting in case things got better, that was how he’d gotten in this situation in the first place. He’d done so much waiting all his life. He’d done nothing but wait and hope that others would take action first, willing to react but never to act. Waiting hadn’t worked out so well for him this far, and yet he couldn’t push himself to do anything differently even after he should have learned better.

As every time he encountered a problem these days, death offered itself as a solution. It felt like a more tempting option than it had in a long while when faced with the threat of discovery. Everyone who'd been forced to pity him over his early death would be furious. His brother and his uncle would see their reputation tarnished for having been complicit in that lie. And Lan Xichen himself would have to face the consequences of his actions, or rather of his inaction. He would be made to explain why he never doubted Jin Guangyao's true intentions, why he never saw past Nie Huaisang's comedy, why he never suspected that the world could be so cruel, or that most of its cruelty came from the people he loved the most. 

Death would be easier. 

But Lan Xichen did not want to die. 

That thought was so shocking that Lan Xichen felt guilty. After all the wrong he'd done, after causing so much trouble for his loved ones, what right did he have to live? 

Still, he did not want to die, not even when life felt so terrifying. 

After such an intense realisation, it was a relief when Wen Ning agreed that they should just wait and see what would come of that supposed cultivator's arrival. He also did not protest when Lan Xichen expressed the wish to go meditate in a quiet place he liked, by the river. It was what Lan Xichen often did when bad days struck, and he desperately needed that chance to calm his mind. 

Lan Xichen's favourite place was a particularly picturesque one. There was a large tree by the river, which in that season was covered in pale flowers, while in its branches birds sang to their mates. Petals fell on Lan Xichen's hat like colourful snow. On the other side of the water, there was a clear view of high mountains, a peaceful and steady sight which never failed to make Lan Xichen feel a little more grounded. He sat there under the tree until the shadows grew long around him, until his heart could make peace with the fantastically novel idea that he might enjoy being alive, now that he was removed from the title of sect leader which had so weighed him down. 

As darkness started to tint the horizon, Lan Xichen felt a presence near him and opened his eyes, expecting to see that Wen Ning had come back from wherever he went while Lan Xichen meditated. Instead, glancing from under his bamboo hat, he saw shoes and robes that belonged to a stranger.

“Please don’t be alarmed,” the stranger said in a voice less foreign than it should have been. “I hope you will forgive me for being so rude, but earlier as I was wandering alongside the river I saw you sitting here and was overcome with the need to paint you. It might seem odd, but something about you reminded me of a friend who passed away some months ago.”

For a brief moment, Lan Xichen felt breathless. Even if the hem of his hat hid the man’s face from him, and his own face from the man’s sight, that voice was so familiar that it made his heart ache. It had to be a coincidence, though, because while that sounded like Nie Huaisang, he would never have called Lan Xichen a friend, not after everything that had passed between them.

“As an apology for behaving this way, I actually made a second painting to give to you,” the stranger insisted, bending over to hand him a piece of paper. Lan Xichen lowered his head to keep his face hidden, but took the painting offered to him.

It was one thing to doubt a voice, but there was no doubting the skill in those brushstrokes. Every line was clear and precise, a few expert touches of colour bringing the scene to life. Lan Xichen had seen enough of Nie Huaisang’s art that he could have recognised his pieces anywhere.

“Thank you,” Lan Xichen said, which startled Nie Huaisang so badly that he took a step behind. “I am honoured that you would mistake me for a friend.”

In the silence that followed, Lan Xichen heard the doubt that had to cross Nie Huaisang’s mind, the disbelief that would be stronger than his own, having believed Lan Xichen to be dead.

“It was a very dear friend of mine,” Nie Huaisang said carefully, as if he feared to be mistaken. “Dearer than I realised when he was alive. I will always regret that I wasn’t able to tell him what he was to me before it was too late.”

“I’m sure he would have many things to tell you as well, if he could.”

Nie Huaisang took a step forward, then stepped back again.

“Please remove your hat,” he said in a tone that was both an order and a desperate plea.

Lan Xichen obeyed, lifting the hem of his hat and letting it fall behind him. Looking up, he saw emotions openly displayed on Nie Huaisang’s face. Shock first, then fear. Disbelief quickly followed, before he settled for a shining smile and happy tears and he fell to his knees, reaching out for Lan Xichen’s hands and holding them tight.

“Er-ge, I have so much to tell you,” Nie Huaisang sobbed, his smile growing wider.

Lan Xichen could only smile back, too choked up by emotion to say anything, clutching Nie Huaisang’s hands tightly.

Staying alive really wasn’t a bad thing, if he could get second chances like this.

[sohin-ace]

Dio - Stolen Dance

For immersion, listen to the Dark Waltz Music - Vampire masquerade collection on youtube. Oh boy

Especially 'Tonight Ve' Dance' that shit hits the spot for this fanfic. Trust me.

"Would you honor me with a dance, Y/N?"

'Hell no', was what you craved to answer to this charming yet cruel man. Dancing with him meant selling your very soul. You were about to dance with the Devil.

But you had no choice.

You tried to run away from him, from his toxicity, from his poison, but he always managed to get you back and trap you in his web. And now he offered his warm, destructive hand for a dance, just a single dance with him.

And you had no choice.

You could not refuse. You had no right to. It was oh-so reluctantly that you had put your trembling, cold hand over his possessive one. He pulled you towards him as the music played in the luxurious ballroom.

He laid his large hand around your corseted waist, pulling you to him and bringing your bodies a little too close for your own comfort. Way too close for a gentleman to conventionally be from a lady.

But he didn't seem to care one bit as your heart pounded heavily in your chest. He could probably feel it from this proximity. And he most definitely drowned himself in it.

You hesitantly, and regrettably put one hand over his broad shoulder in what you could only call a ghostly touch. You barely wanted to touch him and potentially show him a form of validation from his wrongdoings.

He engulfed your other hand in his own, relishing in the adorable yet terrifying size difference. If he wanted, he could just close his entire hand on yours and claim it as his. Just how he could easily close the distance between you and claim you just the same.

People were around. The ladies and gentlemen of the World. High class society, partying mondanely through the night. Couples dancing, businessmen meeting, Madames chatting.

Oh but in these decorated mansions, the families yearned to see newfound lovers, for what a sight it was.

Some were watching you in earnest and maybe even admiration, glad to see how the charming, handsome Dio Brando of the Joestar Estate was gracefully swaying in rhythm with the gentle, beautiful Y/N L/N, daughter of the Lord L/N.

Your face felt warm, burning almost and it was not a comfortable feeling. Maybe it was the close proximity between him and you, maybe it was all the unnecessary attention you were receiving, putting pressure and forcing shyness upon you.

Maybe it was the rising anxiety that built viciously within you and made yout heart pump violently in your chest, or maybe it was the pure hatred you felt towards the blonde man holding you captive within this very dance.

It didn't matter what it was, it felt horrible, suffocating. You could barely breathe, the room was spinning.

You were always taught to look at your partner in the eyes when dancing, but now your partner wasn't just anyone. It was Dio Brando. There was no way you could look up at his soul-piercing amber, no, crimson red eyes. Like gems of blood.

If you looked at them, if you even glanced at them...

"You are quite tense, dear." He released your hand briefly to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, letting cool air hitting your now more exposed cheek and temple. "Relax and follow my lead."

You wanted to scoff at his words. How could you relax when your only wish at the moment was to run away from him? Your family was nowhere to be seen, Jonathan was nowhere to be seen. No one was there and no one would help you.

"You stole this dance, Dio," You growled quietly, not wanting to gather even more attention to yourself. "But it will be the last thing that you'll steal from me. Heed my words."

You finally met his eyes to grace him with a glare and he only looked down on you with mockery and a hint of fondness. As if your anger was endearing to him. He hummed in amusement.

"Hmmm...? Do I take it that everything else will be graciously given to me...?"

Before you could even gasp at his scandalous assumptions, you missed a step and fell forward, right against his solid chest. He of course didn't waste a second in wrapping his strong arms around your small form.

You could hear the other guests whispering and chuckling, probably drinking in the sight and preaching how cute you both were. The beautiful Y/N L/N clumsily falling into the arms of the very handsome Dio Brando.

Like a princess and her prince, right from a romance story. It was really fresh to witness and people just couldn't wait to see you both engaged, you looked so perfect together. After all, in this mondane society, it was all about looks.

If only they knew the truth.

You tried to push yourself off of him as you laid your palms flat on his chest, but he held you there firmly. A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest and the blonde leaned down to whisper in your ear.

"Let us go somewhere more private darling. I am tired of those curious eyes."

You felt like you were about to faint and really wanted to get out of that busy room, but surely not with Dio. As you didn't have much of a say in this, you let him guide you away, to one of the many chambers in the mansion.

He opened the door wide for you and you entered the empty, cold room bathing in darkness, not sparing him a single glance and went straight ahead to the large windows that lead to a beautifully decorated balcony.

You stayed inside though, as Dio closed the door behind him and went on his way to light a gas lamp that was laid on a night stand.

You gently pushed the silky curtains aside to glance at the moon outside. You stared at her magnificent silver light, completely forgetting where you were and that Dio was still in this very room.

You sighed, comforted by the moonlight. The moon was full on this cold night, it was the end of the year and it felt like the nocturnal satellite decided to show off all of her magic tonight.

Sometimes, you envied those legendary creatures who lived solely by the moonlight. Fantastical beings who could see the moon through all her phases and for as long as they lived. Werewolves, Vampires...

"...Beautiful, isn't it?"

You gasped, startled by his sudden deep voice so close to your ear. You swiftly turned around and glared at him, offended that his appearance tore you off your pleasant rêverie.

"Oh, please do continue. The moon reflects so deliciously on your skin, it is beyond mezmerizing."

"Yo-... you're losing yourself again, Dio!" You tried to sound strong and composed, but you couldn't help the slight whimper from escaping your throat.

"Maybe..." He lifted his large arm next to your head to fully open the curtain behind you, the sudden position flustering you as you felt trapped yet again.

You looked down as you contemplated fleeing. How many attempts was it now? You stopped counting after the 20th, but you wanted to flee again.

Not bearing the sight of his broad chest in front of you, you turned slightly back to the window and side-glanced at the beautiful garden.

There was a large maze in there. The thought of maybe trying to lose Dio there was very appealing. It turned your once melancholic and lonely expression into a softer, more relaxed one.

The moonlit maze alone filling your heart with an ounce of hope, the ghost of a smile reached your lips and eyes.

"What a sweet expression you are sporting, my love." The blond devil put his large hand on your cheek and turned your head to face him as he purred. "Although I delect myself more from your despaired expression."

Disgusting. This man was disgusting. You put a hand over his large wrist as a sign to tell him to let go of you, which he patently ignored.

He leaned forward, hovering dangerously over your face as he lifted your chin up, a soft smirk stretching his lips.

"Now tell me... what could my dove possibly be thinking about to make her look so beautifully blithe?"

You looked downwards to the red brooch on his tie, the ornament suddenly more distracting than his dominating burning gaze on you.

"I was thinking of getting away from you. It gets me going." You spoke the unfiltered truth with bitter sugar dripping from your voice.

The man before you froze upon hearing those words. Were you challenging him? Him?! The Dio Brando?

You drove him so crazy. Oh you drove him to such unfathomable frustration. His blood was boiling and pumping ferociously in his veins.

His entire body cringed, his fists balling tightly. He ground his teeth as his eyes widened in pure rage. Or was it rage? No it was deeper, more twisted than that.

It was lust.

He needed to gather all his self-control to prevent himself from breaking something or rather someone right this instant.

Yes... He could break you. Oh and it would be so easy and so satisfying, too. Nothing could quench his thirst more than destroying every inch of you at that moment.

You were such a nasty pest, you were so terribly problematic, no wonder he was so infatuated with you. So obssessed with you.

You were bad, maybe as bad as him. You pushed on all his buttons like no one ever did and yet, you played the cute little perfect girl in front of everyone else.

You made him so insane, so mad. He wanted you all to himself. He yearned for you to get your revenge on him, to be infuriated with him. He craved you right here, right now. He loved that you hated him.

Swiftly, he pressed his weight against you and pushed your body flush against the window as you gasped in surprise, barely able to even react at the forceful contact.

He was quick to catch your wrist and pin it next to your head as you tried desperately to push him away, your other hand uselessly resting on his much stronger arm.

You tried to squirm away, but his body meddled with yours in an emprisonning cage. You couldn't hide your panicked pants anymore.

"You damn woman..." He breathed in a shaky hiss right next to your heating ear, his tone way darker now and his eyes half-lidded. "Do you even realize what you are doing to me?" He spat with venom but also with dripping excitement. "You are in deep trouble, darling."

He nuzzled his face in your exposed neck, drenching himself in your sweet scent and you shuddered, his hot breath on your skin making the hair at the back of your neck stand.

Your heart hammered alarmingly inside your chest as his malicious hold triggered your Fight or Flight response. This was bad. Real bad. You struggled against his grip, writhing and pushing him.

But struggling against him was futile, useless. So useless, useless, useless...

"I hate you, Dio Brando. There's not a single piece of you that is remotely redeemable!" You growled in his ears through exhausted pants. "Hear me when I say this, I despise every inch of your disgraceful being, Dio-ugh...! I hate you with all my might...!!"

"Yes!" He grunted hungrily as he put his free hand around your hips, leaving no space between your body and his, feeling all of yourself against him. "That's it, that's what I want to hear! One more time... Scream it."

"You disgusting bastard... You have no shame..." You squeezed your eyes shut, you refused to cry. Never for him. He didn't deserve it.

"Y/N, Y/N, Y/N... Please." He was crazed, Dio lost himself, yet again. "Sweet Y/N, let me make you mine... Be mine... I know you want this..."

Just like that, the man above you craddled your body like his most prized possession, teasing the pulsing point of your neck with his lips, tongue and teeth. He clutched your hips and wrist in a bruising grip and you knew there was nothing you could do.

"I'm going to ravish you, destroy you..."

And so he did.

[jeongvision]

Member: Jaehyun

sugar dadddy au ,“Can I taste you?”

thankyou❤️

pairing. sugar daddy! jeong jaehyun ✗ sugar baby! fem! reader

genre. borderline smut, sugar daddy au, non idol au, strangers to lovers au

warnings. cursing, suggestive themes (heavy make-out scene), implied smut, not proofread bc i’m tired as heCk

author’s note. SKSKKS okay so kiss scenes are prob my BIGGEST weakness so bEAR WITH ME HERE i’m trying my best but feedback is awesome guys bc i can’t tell if i’m doing it right send help

Anyone born in the modern era can absolutely vouch that college is a fucking bitch to fund for, for society has decided that it would be a great idea to force the young generation into thousands of dollars in debt just to get a degree you probably won’t have a use for. In no way are you saying that obtaining an education is useless—in fact you love learning new things around the world—but you find it utterly repulsive that there is this pressure placed on you to get a college degree or else you’re deemed a failure to the public’s eye. And with the increasing debt from your loans and the interest rates attached to them, you were desperate to find different means in paying them off than working your ass off for the next twenty years.

What better way to pay them off by having someone pay it off for you?

Succumbing to the internet has landed you with a single businessman in his twenties, fully loaded with cash to spend on anyone who is willing to attend with him on one important business affair to scare off possible marriage proposals from his potential business partners.

The man’s name is Jung Jaehyun, and holy fuck is this man knees-down attractive. You were a little skeptical at first of his offer because what’s so hard about acting like a trophy girlfriend wrapped around someone’s arms when there at thousands out there that would do it for free? Whatever, you thought. Easy job, easy money. And it was an easy job indeed, for he was gentleman all throughout the whole evening. He made sure you were taken care of, pampered for, and made sure that you were comfortable for the entire evening you were with him. He was a sweetheart, and you felt like you were on the top of the world. You get to have your debts paid off and spend some time with an attractive businessman. Nothing gets better than this.

Oh darling, don’t speak too soon. This is just the beginning.

You sat in Jaehyun’s passenger seat as he drove you back to your home. For the first time in years, not a single dime in your wallet has been spent for the latter has provided it all just for you. From the dress you embodied to the jeweleries you complemented all the way down to the heels you traveled on, you wondered how this feels to be part of the upper class. To be able to afford such luxury without fear of making a dent in your bank account seems like a dream too good to be true. And yet here you are, having already a taste of what it’s like to become the rich, you couldn’t deny how glamorous you felt.

However, rules are rules, and it’s upsetting to say that you won’t be experiencing it again any time soon. You and Jaehyun have already agreed that this is a one-time arrangement and you two shall depart from each other’s live once he drops you off at your door. It’s a shame really because you were actually enjoying his company, exponentially exceeding your expectations of how a rich person acts. In the short amount of time you’ve spent with him, if you were to erase his title of a rich businessman, he is just like every one of your friends, just a dash more mature.

You let out a sigh. ‘If only I could spend a little more time with him,’ you thought.

“You okay, y/n?”

You pulled yourself out of your thoughts and looked over to the driver side, Jaehyun half-concentrating on the road and on you.

You giggled a little. “Yeah I’m okay,” you shrugged. “Just a little tired, that’s all.”

The time on his dashboard currently reads 11:34pm, certainly coinciding with the dark skies splattered with millions of diamonds. You immersed yourself into the leather seat and looked out the window, gazing at passing cars and trees as you reached closer to your home.

You could hear a chuckle from his end. “I just want to say thank you for joining me tonight. It really means a lot to me.”

You smiled, your expression reflected on your windows to which he catches a glance of. “Of course, it’s the least I could do for our agreement.”

Right when those words left your mouth, there’s a bitter aftertaste on your tongue. You winced a little. Was it wrong of you to say? You’re not sure. One thing you’re sure of is that it’s the truth, and sometimes the truth hurts.

As your front door came to view, Jaehyun parks his car in your driveway. Turning the ignition off, he was quick to unbuckle and exit his vehicle to open your passenger door, sweetly smiling down at you. You couldn’t suppress the chuckle in you. “I guess chivalry is not dead,” you joked, earning a smirk from him. You got out of his car and walked up to your doorsteps, Jaehyun following behind once he shut and locked his door. You two stopped in front of your entrance and faced each other, your porch lights automatically illuminating the dark after sensing your presences.

He gazes down at you, intensely, eyes peering into your own that sends shivers down your spine.

“I-I guess this is goodbye then,” you whispered.

He nods, his eyes never leaving you. “I guess it is then.” You two continued to stare each other down, time slipping into a continuum where nothing else mattered in the world. It’s just you and him, alone at night, the crisp air failing to cool down your heated cheeks as he gazes down at you intensely.

You shakingly let out a sigh. “Be careful driving.”

And right when those words left your mouth, there’s a sweet taste left on your tongue, your body trapped against your front door. Jaehyun’s lips are pressed against yours, his arms pinned on both of your sides. You reciprocated his kisses, moaning in between as your mind loses all focus. He was soft, sweet, and so delectable that you left you wanting more, craving more.

He pulls apart from you, breathing heavily as a translucent thread of saliva connected both of your now-swollen lips. Your face is flushed, your pupils are dialated, and the growing tent in his pants makes it harder and harder to think rationally.

All throughout the night, he adored your innocent nature, finding it no less than adorable for a compassionate individual you are. In just a span of a few hours, he found you more intriguing than all the other women he encountered in his lifetime. He wanted to get to know you more, explore further into the depths of your lens and see the treasures that holds within.

He places his hands on your waist, pulling you close against his own body and knocking the air out of you. “Ma chérie,” he groans, “may I request one more favor of you for the evening?”

You wrap your arms around his neck to bring your face close to his own, your lips only gasp away from crashing into his.

There’s a saying that the eyes are the mirrors of one’s soul, and you’d be damned in hell for lying through your teeth that you didn’t anticipate for this moment to come. You saw how he looked at you the whole night, and you were dying to see more sides of him.

You nodded. “Be my guest, mon cher.”

He sighs deeply. “Can I taste you?”

May all your innermost desires be released from their shackles, for the taste of temptation is too great to bear within.

You let out a mischievous giggle. “Do as your wish, love.”

Oh darling, looks like your professors won’t be seeing you in class tomorrow.

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