#the past feels so far away. the sight of the stars the dawn on the horizon. the clouds yonder over the beach

[noxtivagus]

random thought usually i kin characters that i love the most or characters i rather hate in a way (hate is too strong of a word though hmm)

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Brave [10 of ?]

Pairing: Orc!Steve x Reader

Summary: You see that the grass sea does truly have an end.  

Warnings: 18+ Only, Genre typical violence, Warlord Nomad AU, Dark Fantasy AU, Enemies to lovers, Eventual smut, References to past abuse, Fighting, Monsters, Animal Death, Violence, Mildly described gore

A/N: 👀 as always, reblogs and feedback of all kinds are appreciated and always welcome! thank you! mind the warnings ❤️

Steve wakes you before dawn. 

You’re still tired from the hard rides in the days before, only managing to stay upright on your horse through sheer force of will alone. The others are more experienced at sleeping in the saddle than you, who begins to slip out of it just as soon as your eyes drift shut. 

Riding in the middle of the pack had meant you had no responsibility other than to keep ranks, to follow the path set in front of you. But at the front, Steve had had different requirements. 

Hold your hand like this, Sweetmeat. Which way’s the wind leaning? 

Ride up ahead, Little One. Tell me what you see. 

You see the first stars on the horizon? Good. Spread your fingers like this—ah. See? That tells us how far we have left to go. 

When his hand falls upon your shoulder, you lurch in the saddle, a hand flying to the hilt of your short sword as the other grips the reins. 

“Easy, Sweetmeat.” You feel Steve’s hand close around your own, re-sheathing your partially drawn sword with a click. “Ready for battle?” He asks with a chuckle, and your cheeks burn. 

“Shouldn’t I always be?” You shoot back, before stifling a yawn. The sky is still dark above you, only just beginning to turn orange and indigo at the edges.  The shapes Steve had taught you to look for—Tirth’s Throne, Ginza the bear—are high in the sky now, directly overhead. 

“Is something wrong? We haven’t lost course, have we?” 

Steve raises an eyebrow. “No, we have not.” He seems almost… Proud. “How dutiful.” It is not the most flowery compliment to be sure, but it makes you bite your lip and look away anyway. Perhaps it is the look of admiration that makes you nervous—yes, nervous. Certainly that is what the trembling is in your belly, the reason you look for something to do with your hands. You settle on smoothing out your skirt. 

“That was your purpose in teaching me navigation, was it not?” You ask, and he laughs. 

“If you like.” His horse falls into step beside yours. Even his horse is a massive beast, larger at least by half than the mare you sit astride. 

“Then why wake me?” 

The smile that creeps across the Orc’s face makes you look away for the pounding in your chest. 

“I promised you wondrous sights, did I not?”

—

At his bidding, you had handed Carol the reins to your horse, stammering and staring at the ground you wished might open up to swallow you. You can feel the eyes of the pack on your back, Steve’s especially. Carol elbows you, the force of it making you stumble. 

“Not one but two, eh?” She grins so wide her tusks poke into the apples of her cheeks. Your whole body prickles.

“I do not know what you mean.” You loop a stray curl away behind your ear. “Take good care of my horse, will you?”

“Mm. Like my own.” 

You return to Steve, who holds out his hand, beckoning. 

“It is faster with just one,” he explains. Your hand seems tiny in his as he grips it and swings you up in front of him. Hopefully he cannot feel how hard your heart is beating, or hear how fast the blood rushes in your veins. He’s warm behind you, the bare skin of his tattooed chest pressing against you through the back of your dress, and touching you where the sleeves had been torn off for convenience. You stiffen as he lowers his head to speak directly into your ear. 

“Hold onto the saddle.” 

You do, yelping as the horse rears back before taking off. The beat of its hooves is tremendous as it races into the horizon, pounding against the earth like a great drum. Carol is a speck behind you in moments, lost in the shifting grass. You ride until you are sure the pack lies many leagues behind you now, and the sea has well and truly swallowed them. But finally Steve brings the beast to heel, slowing, and you see that there is an end to the low hills and little rivers of the zikaegina—here, at least. Countless days and nights from the village you’d known but there is at least one place where the grass sea does not truly meet the sky. 

The air smells of water and something familiar but unidentifiable, and as Steve slows, you see the grass is shorter, windswept and crusted with white. He dismounts behind you, before helping you down. You run a hand over the stiff, almost frosted grass, and then bring a finger to your lips. 

Salt.

There is a sound almost like wind through the tall grass but louder, like deep and resounding thunder. 

“What is that?” You turn to stare at Steve, wide eyed. He looks up from hobbling the horse, a small smile gracing his features as he loops the reins around the remains of a stunted tree. 

“Go and look. Mind the edge.” 

You creep forward, pushing your way through the grass until it’s almost a normal height, brushing against your knees. And the dirt—it’s looser, grittier, nothing like the hard packed red clay beneath the village, or the dark, moist soil of the grass sea. It is littered with tiny dried shells, circles and spirals and little five pointed stars, crunching beneath your feet. The grass ends in a sharp drop—a cliff. The salt-water smell is stronger than ever now, as is the wind and e sound. As you approach the edge with cautious steps, you see it—

Water. 

Deep and endless blue, like the green that stretches on forever behind you.  

Infinity meets infinity.

The waves slam against the sheer rocky cliffside, and even up here, miles above, you can feel the cool spray. You have never seen this much water at once, roiling and crashing. What swims beneath those waves, you wonder, what stares up at the sun through the shifting mirror of its surface? A curious, childish joy wells up in you at the sight of it, at this new wonder you behold with wide eyes. 

“What is this?” You shout to be heard over the cacophony of wind and waves and crumbling stone. The Orc who had been your captor is now behind you, you can feel his presence, like the world simply bends around him, held like a suspended breath. You do not know what you would call him now, as “captor” no longer seems fitting. 

“The sea.” You turn to face him, the wind whipping wildly at your hair and skirts. 

“It’s beautiful.” You turn back to watch the water, staring at place where it meets the horizon, a lifetime away. 

“Yes,” Steve says quietly. “It is.” Together, you watch as the sun rises, orange-red and shimmering from the depths. You sit in the grass, folding your legs beneath you as the glorious spectacle keeps you riveted. It isn’t the first time you’ve watched the sun rise, but now it seems incredible, beautiful instead of mundane.

“Did the sea come up here, once? Is that why there’s sand?”

“Once.” He nods. “I believe I told you of Molroch.” 

You nod. “You said he split the sea.” Steve smiles. 

“So they say.” He gestures at the grass sea, and at the sharp stone edge. In the distance, you see it curve around, stretching on for uncountable thousands of leagues before disappearing into the horizon. “And what do your people say?” 

“They say that Gods and giants dwell on the other side of the mountain.” The village sat as most settlements did in the Kingdom of Light—in the shadow of the mountains. They traveled parallel to the grass sea, hostile and uncrossable. It was forbidden anyway, a land shrouded in choking mist and marked by a chasm so deep that the bottom could never be reached. “They say Halith reached down and pulled up the mountains so the giants could never reach us again. That she went up into the sky to shine down upon us and shun them from her light.” 

You look back at the sea. “Is there anything on the other side?” 

“I don’t know, Sweetmeat.” He rises to his feet with a stretch. “Perhaps one day we shall find out. But today, we lead the pack to Tarrath.” Steve offers you his hand, and you take it. You stand, brushing sand and dry grass from your skirts as you do. 

“We’ll get there today?” You ask, wide eyed. Steve laughs. 

“Perhaps by nightfall.” You begin to make for the grass and his horse. “Wait.” He reaches for a pouch at his waist, and from it he pulls a cone shaped spiral shell, perhaps half the size of your palm. It’s pearly and iridescent, shining beautifully in the sun when you hold it up. Your cheeks heat. 

“A token.” He says, turning back toward the grass sea. “So you always remember. Hold it to your ear and listen.” He pantomimes holding it up, and you do, pressing your ear to the hole. After a moment, you hear it, a softer, quieter version of the booming crash of the water against the cliffside. You smile. 

“Thank you. It’s beautiful.” 

Steve nods. “It is.” He is not looking at the shell, though. You tuck it carefully into the little pouch at your waist. 

“To Tarrath, then?” You ask, and Steve lifts his chin, tusks gleaming as his lips curve upward. 

“To Tarrath.” 

Brave Masterlist

next chapter

[tinytinyblogs]

Our Fairy Tale

That one kiss sealed your fate, and he vowed to make you his and conquer the world together.

⚠she/her, soon-to-be king!Minho⚠

2,1k words

Stray kids masterlist here

A tense silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the faint echo of Minho's voice bouncing off the opulent walls. "I told you," he repeated, his words dripping with barely veiled frustration, "call me by my name, Y/N." His gaze, sharp and predatory, held you captive as if you were the sole focus of his entire universe. You met his stare, your mind reeling from the whirlwind of the past minutes. The plush velvet sofas, the shimmering crystals adorning every surface, the luxurious dress clinging like a second skin – it all felt unreal, a far cry from your everyday life. The expensive jewelry, glinting under the chandelier's soft glow, mocked your simple upbringing, making you feel like an undeserving imposter in this gilded cage. Across the room, Minho remained statue-still, his eyes devouring your every curve, your every flinch. He savored the sight of you, the vision he'd dreamt of for so long now, finally standing before him in all its breathtaking glory. His silence spoke volumes, a silent acknowledgement of the raw power he held over you, the power to whisk you away from your ordinary existence and into this dreamlike world. But behind the mask of control, a flicker of uncertainty betrayed him. He watched you as you stared at your reflection in the gilded mirror, your expression a kaleidoscope of disbelief and dawning awareness.

The girl staring back – adorned in finery, bathed in luxury – was a stranger, a fantasy version of yourself that you could barely recognize. Never in your wildest dreams had you dared to imagine yourself touching, let alone owning, such lavishness. The weight of it all threatened to crush you, the unearned opulence a constant reminder of the vast gulf separating your past from your present. Your world had shifted on its axis like a rogue planet, spinning from the familiar, earthy orbit of village life to the dizzying, gilded sphere of court intrigue. It had all happened in a heartbeat, an improbable dream morphing into your new reality. You still tasted the dust of the fields on your tongue, the echo of your parents' laughter mingling with the whispers of silk skirts and the clinking of courtiers' goblets. "But your Majesty," you began, the awkward syllables rolling off your tongue like pebbles over cobblestones. You couldn't escape the weight of his title, a shadow looming over your newfound life. Lee Minho, soon-to-be king, stood framed by sunbeams filtering through the grand window, his presence both regal and disarmingly intimate. He took a step closer, finally breaking the spell of his stillness, his gaze burning with an intensity that warmed you despite the chill of the marble floor. "That wouldn't be very appropriate."

"There is no need for formalities between us," he declared, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "I want you to look at me and see Lee Minho, the man who will grow old by your side, not just a king." He had dismissed princesses adorned with diamonds and wit, their lineage as long as their gowns. He had disregarded beauty and cunning, choosing you, the girl with dirt under her fingernails and stars in her eyes. You, the enigma that made his heart hammer a wild rhythm against his ribs. You, the missing piece he never knew he yearned for. The question of why hung heavy in the air, unspoken but potent. For him, the answer was as clear as the sunrise. There was no comparison, no tapestry woven with finer threads than the one embroidered with your laughter, your tears, your very being. You were perfect, not in the eyes of the court, but in the depths of his soul. The title of 'luckiest girl in the world.' seemed to hang around you like a whispered incantation, a constant reminder of the improbable bond you shared with Lee Minho. While others schemed and clawed, their eyes gleaming with ambition and envy, you had stumbled upon his heart in the whispering embrace of the forest. It was a chance encounter, a moonlit dance of fate, where you encountered a prince not as royalty, but as a man drowning in the shadows of his impending crown.

Those starlit woods had been your only stage, the mossy earth your backdrop. You had found him there, tears carving silver tracks down his cheeks, his regal facade crumbling under the weight of unspoken burdens. You, a girl whose world danced to the rhythm of rustling leaves and chirping crickets, had no inkling of his lineage, no map to navigate the labyrinthine world of courtly whispers. Yet, your intuition, as pure as sunlight filtering through leaves, drew you closer. There was no grand pronouncement, no declaration of nobility. He poured his sorrows into your listening ears, a torrent of anxieties and fears. The weight of responsibility, the suffocating expectations, the looming specter of the throne – all laid bare before a girl who smelled of wildflowers and spoke in the soft cadences of the earth. His heart, a frozen wasteland under the heavy cloak of royalty, began to thaw under your gentle gaze. You didn't offer solutions, only solace, wiping away tears with the touch of a feather, your presence a balm to his wounded soul. In that moonlit clearing, your worlds collided, two galaxies on a celestial crash course. You, the whispers of the woods, and he, the echoing halls of the palace, found harmony in the shared vulnerability of the night.

And as the first rays of dawn kissed the horizon, painting the sky in hues of hope, a bond was forged, etched not in the language of power, but in the whispered secrets of shared vulnerability. You were his solace, his sanctuary, the one person who saw not the crown upon his head, but the trembling boy beneath. In the shimmering embrace of candlelight, Lee Minho leaned closer, his voice a tender caress against your ear. "My love," he whispered, the word carrying the weight of a thousand promises, "you look so radiant, like a star descended from the heavens." His compliment ignited a blush on your cheeks, warming you from the inside out. His own beauty was breathtaking, etched in moonlight and moonlight-spun silver. He seemed to have stepped straight out of a forgotten fairy tale, his princely aura amplified by the glittering chandeliers overhead. But your gaze, drawn by an invisible thread, drifted back to the mirror before you. It reflected not just the dazzling gown that clung to your curves, but a flicker of doubt in your eyes. "Minho," you spoke, your voice barely a tremor, "are you sure about this?" The closeness between you was intoxicating, his breath fanning your skin like a whispered secret.

You could see every detail of his face, the fine lines etched around his eyes, the gentle curve of his smile. All his imperfections only made him more perfect in your eyes. His gaze, in turn, devoured you, tracing the delicate path of your features, the tremor in your lips sending a frantic rhythm through his heart. "I know nothing about being a queen. What if I make a mistake? What if I disappoint you, disappoint everyone?" A shadow crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by a determined glint. He cupped your chin, his eyes burning with an unwavering conviction. "Look at me, Y/N," he commanded, his voice soft yet resolute. "You wouldn't disappoint anyone, my love," he murmured, his voice velvet against the hushed grandeur of the room. "All you need is to take my hand, and together, we'll write our own story, rule the world not with iron fists but with open hearts." His thumb, roughened by years spent wielding a sword, traced the soft curve of your cheek, sending shivers down your spine. "I'm not perfect either, Y/N," he admitted, a self-deprecating smile playing on his lips. "We have a lifetime to learn, to stumble, to rise again, hand in hand."

He stood, taking your hand in his, his warm fingers enveloping yours in a gesture of silent promise. His touch, both powerful and gentle, pulled you towards the balcony, where the night sky unfurled like a velvet tapestry studded with a million diamond stars. The city shimmered below, a constellation of its own, its lights twinkling like fireflies caught in a net of dreams. With a hand resting on your waist, Minho drew you closer, the cool night air brushing against your skin. His gaze, as vast and starlit as the sky above, held you captive. "This, my love," he whispered, his breath tickling your ear, "is our journey." The wind whispered secrets through the canopy of stars, carrying with it the scent of pine and the distant murmur of the palace. You stood beside Minho, the breathtaking panorama of the kingdom spread out before you like a velvet tapestry embroidered with moonlight. Yet, his gaze held only you, his emerald eyes reflecting the flickering flames of a thousand unspoken emotions. "Remember what you said to me?" he asked, his voice a low rumble against the symphony of the night. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek, sending shivers down your spine like fireflies dancing on the wind. "Do what your heart calls for,"

Minho, heir to the throne, carried the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders. The responsibility etched lines on his youthful face, lines you traced with your fingertips, whispering reassurances he couldn't find in the gilded halls of the palace. You had seen the fear lurking in his eyes, the fear of not living, of being just a king instead of a man. And you, with your heart as vast as the starlit sky, had reminded him that he deserved love, that amidst the pressures and protocols, a single, simple truth remained – he needed you, just as much as you needed him. "And my heart told me..." His voice trailed off, thick with emotion. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the delicate curve of your jawline. His eyes, deep pools of emerald, searched yours, seeking solace, seeking confirmation. "To be with you," he breathed, the words echoing in the stillness of the night. And in that moment, under the watchful gaze of a million stars, the world around you faded away. The weight of expectations, the whispers of doubt, the gilded cage of the palace – all dissolved into the quiet hum of your beating hearts, a symphony composed of two souls intertwined.

Beneath the cloak of a moonlit sky, he ventured into the emerald embrace of the forest, each rustle of leaves a symphony leading him closer to you. Hope, a flicker in his chest, grew with every moonlit path until finally, there you stood, bathed in the soft luminescence. In that kiss, a universe ignited, galaxies swirling within him. His vow, unspoken yet etched in the stars above, was to stand as a shield for his people, his love for you his unyielding shield, a love that transcended time and whispered promises of forever. "Not anyone else," he breathed, his voice a caress against your skin. "Your essence, a tapestry woven into my soul, a light that burns brighter than a thousand suns. You, my guiding star, my whispered prayer, the melody that plays on the strings of my heart." His gaze, a treasure hunter's glint, found your eyes, where galaxies mirrored his own. "You, my precious gem, my reason for every beat of this yearning heart. In your arms, I find solace, in your eyes, my destiny. Let us write our forever, intertwined, our love a symphony echoing through eternity, as together, we safeguard this world, hand in hand, breath in breath."

"You're going to be a perfect queen," he breathed, "The perfect story," he murmured, his voice a caress against the rising tide of anticipation. "We'll write it together, brushstroke by brushstroke, verse by verse." His thumb traced a circle on your palm, a silent promise echoing the pronouncement that followed. "We announce our wedding tomorrow," he declared, his voice ringing with the triumphant joy of a knight claiming his kingdom. "Get some rest, my love," he whispered, his lips brushing your forehead. "This fairy tale we weave has only just begun, and oh, so many chapters await." Sleep felt like a stolen dream that night, your mind ablaze with the incandescent embers of his words. Tomorrow, a queen. Tomorrow, his. Not just a ruler, but a storyteller, your fingers intertwined with his as you dipped your pens into the inkwell of destiny, painting a masterpiece of love and laughter, of bravery and shared dreams. And in that shared vision, in the warmth of his hand clasped in yours, you knew, with a certainty that defied words, that the most perfect ruler was not one who stood alone, but one who found their perfect reflection in the eyes of the one they loved.

💬After a long stay in my drafts, Minho's story is finally ready to see the light of day! The reaction posts aren't quite polished yet, but I couldn't wait to share this piece. Even if it's not perfect, I'm proud to put my heart and ideas into it.

©Tinytinyblogs

[jorvikpov]

You are surrounded by little more than the rhythmic, echoing beating of hoofsteps against the hard ground and the faraway mountain ridges obscured from your view by thick, endless mist. Before you lies a only vast expanse of white nothingness, but above the mists, the night is clear and the moon and stars bright as ever, and the thin, powdery sheet of snow laid atop the frozen lake where you walk shimmers ever-so-slightly even in the dull grey-white of the world.

Dusk falls earlier and earlier with each passing day: when you left Valedale, it was already evening. The midnight sun has disappeared as soon as she came to give way to ever darker shadows; in the depths of night the trees once again stand alone in the forests and the mountains guard their passes silently, for those either brave or foolish enough to walk through the deepest dark are few and far between. At night, say the village elders, the beasts come out, and the more superstitious may claim stranger things yet: should you begin to stray off the beaten path you may find that the trees behind you are not where they were mere seconds ago, and when you pass through the shadows, the evil that has always lived in Jorvik’s darkest corners has its eye sharply focused on you.

So far beyond the forest and the mountain pass that another forest has begun, you take a deep breath in and out, and the cold midnight air burns your throat and lungs. Beneath you, the ice creaks and rumbles, as though something is turning in its sleep far below the surface. Your horse’s ears twitch and turn at every noise, even the ones you don’t hear, and as you step further and further away from the cover of the trees behind you, its steps grow more and more tense under the saddle. The wind, cold and unforgiving, creeps slowly over the frozen lake and envelops you in a chill that penetrates flesh and blood and settles deep in your bones; a shiver trickles down your spine, and you think about how your jacket isn’t quite warm enough for this climate, but you do not think about the feeling of being watched that rests at the back of your mind. In the distance, what you hope is a sudden gust of wind roars through the ancient trees, and the sound of thunder echoes through the valley, though there is no flash of lightning to accompany it.

A glance over your shoulder tells you that the person you came here for is still nose-to-tail just behind your horse, icenthistles in hand and head hung low as she blindly lets her pony follow you through the valley. A dark, heavy gloom has made itself at home in the shadow beneath the hood of her jacket, and from it spreads an all-consuming loathing burying its claws deep in her flesh and bone. Though it is a new sight to you, you realise that this hatred, this anger – for herself: if I were Elizabeth, I would hate me too – must have been there for longer than you could ever know, carefully hidden just beneath the surface. You see all too clearly now, too, what the strange longing in her eyes has always been: the desire to become something more, something different, and the inability to recognise that which you cannot become because it is what you already are.

Another shiver washes over you, and you glance down at your hands, wishing that the slow hum of magic coursing through your blood and humming with warmth right at your fingertips could’ve helped you.

You don’t notice her quiet crying until it stops; by then, the two of you are far beyond the frozen lake and the icy mountain passes, and the sky over the Hollow Woods is glowing with the purple of early dawn. At the nearest edge of the village, a door slowly creaks open, and in the doorway, backlit by soft, warm-toned lamps, stands a familiar, friendly silhouette. From behind you comes a deep breath in and out, and then the hoofsteps grow quicker and louder; as Alex canters past you and further down the hill, the hood of her jacket slips backwards inch by inch until it finally falls.

For a split second, you can just barely make out the shapes of constellations far above you before the stars fade one by one as the first sliver of sunlight begins to peek over the mountaintops. A warm breeze rustles through the forest, and in the village, the door is still open, still waiting for you, still promising your cold, weary body warmth and comfort.

From the warm doorway, your name is called. You do not have to be asked twice.

[kornstreifs-storys]

AoR, A new Dawn, 15

The Seraphore hovered above the snow covered landscape. He could feel the hollows approaching. If had a mouth he would have smiled. The energy of his signature move Mask pulse flowed through his body, now was not the time to hold back. As he changed into his Wrath form the first hollows came into sight.

Dune and the others were on their way back to the cave when the fight started. Dune saw round about twenty hollows leap up from the ground towards Seraphore. As they were in the air, the Legendarys masks began to glow, then a shock wave of Energy released from them and knocked them back to the ground. The attack was directly followed by the move gravity, which knocked the flying hollows to the ground.

The effects of the move could be felt all the way over where Dune was standing and even Shooting Star got knocked out of the sky. Kuro picked him up while running. Then they took a turn towards the cave and the battle grounds were out of their sight. Dune could see a bright light above the trees. Most likely Dazzling Gleam, Seraphore seemed to focus on using multi target moves to hit all his enemies at once.

When they arrived at the cave Maxwell stood outside guarding the entrance. He saw them approach and gave a sign into the cave, after which the rest of Dunes group and the Eevees came into site. Maxwell greeted them, “Welcome back, I see you got my message. We should leave right away.” Shooting Star shook his head, “You know we can’t go out there, they’ll see us for sure.”

Just as Maxwell wanted to reply another flash of light lit up the forest around them, he looked up, “What is even going on out there?” he asked. “Seraphore’s Avatar is fighting the hollows, he’ll buy us time but even he’ll not last against such an oppressive force.” Shooting Star explained. Maxwell looked surprised, “There was an Avatar of Seraphore nearby?” Shooting Star shook his head, “No he created one from the Energy he gave to Dune.” Maxwell paused, “… but then how is she? … You used a wish didn’t you?” Shooting Star nodded.

“I couldn’t just let her die Max, you know that.” he said, Maxwell nodded, “I know Star. … So how many do you have left?” Shooting Star looked away, “Four, I can still grant four wishes. Then I need to sleep to refill them” “You can only grant four more wishes?!” she exclaimed, “Then was it really OK for me to get one?” Maxwell looked at her, he seemed to feel her guilt, “Would you have rather left you family behind?” he asked, she shook her head, “Then it’s fine, we agreed to keep the remaining wishes for emergency situation. I’d say that this was an emergency. Wouldn’t you?”

Dune could only nod, but she couldn’t help asking herself if she really deserve all these second chances she was getting. After all this was the second time the she should realistically have died. She heard Kuro explain their plan to Maxwell, “Shooting Star said we should hide deeper in these caves. He want’s to collapse the entrance behind us to be save.” Dune looked over and saw Maxwell nod, “Good idea, I had forgotten about that option.”

As the Group had already prepared to leave, it didn’t take them long to gather the rest of their stuff and head deeper into the cave. Dune was surprised she had never noticed the paths that lead deeper underground, though to be fair to herself she hadn’t spend much time in this cave. Kiara looked nervous, “If we collapse the entrance behind us then how are we going to leave again?” she asked. Maxwell answered, “The cave system is huge and there are bound to be other exits around.”

Seraphore still hovered above the forest, the hollows had closed in on them. As far as they could tell there were around 100 of them around. If Shooting Stars group had tired to sneak past them they surely would have been noticed. They let loose another Mask Pulse, but spreading the energy between this many enemies lessened the individual impact significantly. The gravity was preventing the hollows from getting to them for the time being put this wouldn’t last.

They could feel a slight disturbance in the air, then they heard the sound of a collapse. They focused on the direction the sound had come from and noticed that a cave had collapsed. This must have been the cave that Shooting Star and his friends had wanted to escape to. “So they made it.” they thought to themselves, “Good, then it’s about time we end this.”

They took of in the direction opposite to the collapsed cave and the hollows gave chase. They were really predictable. The Seraphore charged up another Mask pulse, directly followed by a dazzling Gleam. The two shock waves hit their pursuers and knocked a few of them out. As they fell to the ground they dissipated into black smoke. The Legendary smiled finally their attacks seemed to pay of.

Suddenly the flight capable hollows lifted up from the ground again. The effects of Gravity had ended and the enemies were no longer bound to the ground. The Seraphore shoot a Dazzling Gleam in their direction but they missed and a powerful Ice Beam from a Baxcalibur on the Ground. The super Effective Move knocked the Legendary out of the Sky and into the forest below. As they fell they changed their form to the Grief Mask. They would not go down alone.

Elsewhere: A lone hollow investigated the rubble from a collapsed cave entrance. It didn’t seem like it had collapsed on its own. The being decided to report this to the others, so they left. Though just as they rejoined the fight a Baxcalibur gave the Legendary the finishing blow. The Hollow wanted to approach the leader to report it’s finding, but before it could move an unseen force hit it and it faded into black mist, never having passed on it’s message.

End of Chapter 2

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Start / previous / next (soon) Cover (ch. 2)

It' done! Chapter 2 is finished. I hope you all enjoyed the Story so far.

I might take a small break before starting Chapter 3, that depends on my motivation.

Writing this Story has been really fun so far and I love to see how many people checked out the updates every week. To be honest this Story has changed a lot from when I first came up with it's concept. It wasn't even originally planed to be my main Focus.

Those that read this on tumblr might remember that I first had another Story called Birth of a Goddess, where I wanted to tell the Story of Anima the youngest of the Great old Ones. But that Story was formated as an ask-blog and ultimately didn't go anywhere.

Birth of a Goddess is now discontinued, but I might tell some of the Stories planed for it through Tales of Origin. At some point I even wanted to make a Comic. But I think Ages of Ruin is the perfect format for me.

Well enough rambling, I'll see you all in Chapter 3, so stay tuned.

[rosiewildcard-art]

Molten Slice Drive

Driving was something that provided a comfort in those early days, when time could be frittered and our time felt loose, aimless, drawn out. Sitting on the cusp of Spring and change. Awaiting bureaucratic news and scheduled momentum incoming. Driving required me to focus, to attune to the conditions, shadow stitched to the tarmac, the white painted line cutting neatly through the flanks. I used to think of the vehicle shaped shadow eating up the road as we pelted down it on long journeys. We ate up a lot of miles within our first month, covering a complete route from North to South covering both motu of our great nation. Strange wanting to put those words into diction after a life-time of disdain at the pomp and cirque of our warmly departed United Kingdom. Great Nation. Wild. Alive. Here the Commonwealth shadows took up inches less each year and the sky grew taller above my head and I stood taller. The austerity laced anvil around my neck began to shrink. I tasted, despite the conceptual mind-advert of New Zealand from afar, that this was a place the pasty colonials could not break and I was to feel its mightiness press all around me. It would push me around, consuming, pushing all of me through a new doorway, stretching and uncomfortably so. But like birth the pain followed by all that peace felt a single drop amongst a storm. I could speak to Aotearoa and feel alive, not lived upon. Free, and on the road. It all relented to be strange for a while though and only now with the passing of time can I see the endurance dug down to gold.

There was a sense of purpose garnered on the road that I knew in the beginning I would be fraught to find anywhere else and so we drove. Something about watching those median lines and cats eyes rise, slip out from under you and out of sight that felt like cashing strings of pennies at the bank. Never enough at once, but something all the same. Paying it up in my own little way. I could count thousands and not be done. Lone riding on the highways, a roving shepherd, responsible for watching the markings and potholes. For knowing the layers of the horizon even in only shadow. Deep dark nights alone. Dark knights alone? The hills around to rise and fall like cloaks that hang long, pooling in waves on horses backs. I am thundering.  A long flock to follow and keep watch. Aiming for just a few more miles, until the next big sigh, the impasse, the clearing, the place, to pause. We drove enough for me to know I would never tire of the rays of the moon, to discover true moon-light, to feel a child; new to its glow. To hear the stillness of the whenua, to grasp at something that called deep or far away, I wasn’t sure, but I knew it turned the seasons and made the birdsong, filled with power it did not trouble to pander to me. On the road, I would come.

The road itself afforded me partnership at an early age, its formulation always differing, asking a different question. Moving me along. I was grateful for the movement this time, its self given duty, its scenes anew at each kilometre passed. The dipping sun across the river fragment, wind ripples on forest banks, clouds chasing stars, feeling compacted in the grandeur of the landscape and equally free, wide, fleshed out, for all of you is embodied in the road and your little understanding of it. A few times a little crumb of the past, a street, a snippet, a scene refreshed from brief childhood memories. Reminders that felt like the soft warm that poured in the passenger window. A hopeful circular joy to remember and discover all over again. To be eastbound, then west. To see the sun swallowed by the roto only to be spat out on to a pink dawn another season, not too far from now. Weaving the routes together, peering back at the year past, my four wheels and a hopeful little grin. 

(original work, aug 2022 1st draft & refined sept 2023)

[monocaelia]

the kisses they give

sometimes a kiss is all you need to know that they love you.

feat. childe, diluc, kaeya, kazuha, and xiao

genre : headcanons. fluff. slight angst for xiao.

note : a pick-me-up cause these past few weeks have not been nice to me TT i hope everyone's weeks have been good though! lots of love <3

❀ childe

to childe, giving affection is like breathing. he loves showering those he holds close to his heart with love or gifts or whatever he deems necessary to show that they mean the world to him. and kissing is no exception.

considering cheek kissing is a common greeting in sneznhaya (russia) and he grew up in a family where he was heavily doted on and spoiled by his elder siblings and parents, childe has absolutely no problem kissing the people he loves as a greeting or as his form of affection.

which is why cheek kissing or showering your face in kisses is the harbinger's go-to when it comes to loving you.

childe's kisses are filled with love and pure affection reserved for you, as if you needed him or anyone to tell you that directly. you would be able to tell from the way his slightly chapped lips peck the skin all around your face and from the way his eyes of ocean blue nearly twinkle when they focus on you.

due to his duties of working with the fatui and being stationed anywhere in teyvat, childe hardly gets any time to spend with you. so he treasures the moments shared with you during his time off.

the door to your home would slam open with a loud thunk and his hurried footsteps would get closer and closer to you before you're swept into his arms, your laughter intermingling with his as the ginger spins you around the room. it's not long before the spinning stops and your vision is obscured by orange tufts as the cheeky sneznhayan plants kisses all over your face.

no amount of protests will stop him until he's gotten his fair share of loving from you. and even if you do manage to wiggle your way out of his arms, childe would see that as a competition to see who was quicker; you getting away or the harbinger and his hungry lips. [spoiler alert: it's him and his hungry lips, to no one's surprise]

mornings on his days off aren't any better. usually they start off quiet with the golden morning rays seeping through the curtains of your shared room and the faint chirps of the morning doves outside.

but it always ends up in a fit of giggles and smooches when the sneznhayan is in need of your attention once more and decides to kiss you awake. despite your light protests for the man trapping you in his arms so he can kiss you again and again, it's not like you ever want him to stop kissing you.

each kiss that finds its way onto your face [and occasionally your lips] is proof that childe, your sweet ajax, is absolutely enamored with you and you wouldn't have it any other way.

❀ diluc

despite how diluc is around his brother, the young master of dawn winery is not one to shield his heart from those close to him. diluc is just not as affectionate as others are in a relationship, so don't expect him to shower you in kisses when he gets home or scream at the top of his lungs how much he loves you, though it would be a funny sight to see.

instead, he shows his love through his actions. shielding you from the rain with his coat, bringing you closer to him when you both have something to do in dragonspine so you won't get cold, ensuring that you get enough sleep while he stays up to keep watch of the team. it's subtle, but enough to tell you he cares.

kisses on your knuckles are what diluc would give you due to the polite and gentle nature of the kisses.

diluc would kiss your knuckles as a polite greeting, as he was raised to have respectful manners. when he first did it to you, you were quite flustered at seeing the vigilante bow before you and gently plant his lips on the curves of your knuckles.

however, now he gives them to you in more intimate situations. like after you've cleaned him up after a rather rough evening patrolling the grounds of mondstadt. diluc had come home to you in a disheveled state; ponytail messed up, dirt coating his clothing and face, porcelain skin covered in scrapes and bruises. luckily, nothing horrible on the surface.

you're shocked at the state he's in and quickly clean him up. you don't say a word to him however, in fear that he already had gone through enough and you scolding him would just add more to the weight on his shoulders. your fingers brush against diluc's skin and he leans towards your touch, the gentle and caring nature tending to his heart.

he kisses your knuckles, lips warm and soft, as a thank you for taking care of him and as a silent way of showing you how much you mean to him. you're the only one he trusts to see him this injured and the only one he's comfortable enough to let his walls come crumbling down.

diluc kisses your knuckles as a gentle reminder that he is devoted to you and only you. he finds you one night standing alone on his balcony, eyes glued to the vast orchards of grapes that surrounded the winery. it's hard to hide what you're thinking of from the attentive eyes of the vigilante beside you.

when you tell him your concerns that he should marry someone with more influence than you, diluc's brows furrow and his frown deepens. you are the one he loves, and he could care less about the winery or his business. he hesitates when you shy away from his touch, but you quickly find his hand again to hold.

the thick wall that shields diluc's heart crumbles when he's around you, and nothing proves his loyalty and true feelings more than his gentle kisses along your knuckles.

❀ kaeya

a playful and cheeky person, kaeya is someone who makes you want more and more of him. from his mischievous smile to the way your name melts off of his tongue. you can't help but miss his presence when he leaves for a mission and misses a night at the bar with you.

it's hard to miss the smirk that grows on kaeya's face when he catches word of you ever missing him. and it's even more difficult to avoid him as the calvary captain needs to tease you about it and shows up at your work or at your door to bring up the news to you, much to your dismay.

kaeya gives you brief, yet enticing kisses at the corner of your mouth to not only tease you with the idea of wanting more from him, but also because he absolutely loves to fluster you.

the calvary captain kisses you goodbye one night while dropping you off at home after a night drinking at angel's share. you weren't expecting it at all, but maybe you should have once you saw the playful glint in your companion's eye and the cheeky grin growing wider each second you stepped closer and closer to your door.

it's a quick kiss, short yet long enough to feel how soft kaeya's lips were against your skin and how good he smelled from the brief proximity. dazed, you can only stare at the captain with your jaw slack as he chuckled and closed your mouth for you so you wouldn't "catch flies."

kaeya's kisses are even more dangerous when he has an excuse to kiss you. while catching lunch at angel's share one afternoon, his eye catches a piece of your sandwich at the corner of your mouth while you're telling him a wild story about how the traveller killed all of timmie's pigeons one day as a bet.

you don't even have time to react as kaeya's cold hand grabs a hold of your chin and presses his lips against the corner of your mouth, successfully grabbing the grain from your face. the familiar scent of his fruity cologne fills your senses and it takes everything in you to not pull the calvary captain in.

there's a knowing smile on his face when he pulls away and sees your expression. his tongue pokes out from his lips as he licks it clean, smile growing when your eyes flit down to watch his movements.

it's hard to judge kaeya's true intentions when his kisses are so brief and you barely miss them, but everyone around the two of you can see the way the captain's gaze always lingers on you when you're storming away from his teasing lips.

❀ kazuha

polite and yet, always the romantic, kazuha isn't a stranger to showing or receiving affection. although he's reserved and grew up surrounded by nobility, affection is nothing the inazuman traveller strays far from.

fleeting and soft touches are what kazuha is fond of, his fingers always brushing against yours when you walk beside him or linking your pinkies together when you sleep after you've had a nightmare.

inner wrist kisses are ideal for someone like kazuha to give; intimate yet delicate, private enough where only you can see and feel the love he gives you through the simple kiss.

kazuha kisses you on the wrist in the intimate moments shared with one another on the crux. it's always when the two of you are alone and admiring the night sky and the sound of the waves gently brushing up against the side of the boat. the rest of the crew is either sleeping or drinking with the captain on the other side of the boat.

you brush his bangs aside, fingers lingering on the side of his face as you admire the beauty that the inazuman traveller holds.

he always catches you off guard by complimenting you in the most poetic ways. "the stars pale in comparison to you, my love." or "every time i look at you, my heart flutters as if carried by the sea breeze. you alone make the stars dance as if they are rejoicing that you were born into this world, the most beautiful and the pride of the universe."

his laughter floats in the air, as if twinkling like wind chimes dancing in the wind, seeing your flustered reaction to his words and he presses a quick kiss to the inner wrist of the hand that remained by his face. truly, you are the most mesmerizing being to ever grace teyvat.

kazuha's kisses are gentle against the skin of your wrist when he wakes to sound of your gentle humming. he had fallen asleep while resting with you underneath the shade of a thundersakura tree, though it's hard to blame him when your fingers are delicately brushing through his white strands of hair.

his heart swells seeing you so at ease beside him, with your ethereal smile and the way the sun seeping through the branches of the tree illuminated you like the god you were. celestia above must be so jealous of your divinity, but they could never have you so long as he was here to love you.

kazuha wishes there were more words to describe how much he loves you, but no words could ever describe how enamored he feels when you simply gaze his way. so kazuha kisses one of your wrists in hopes of showing you the devotion he has for you.

❀ xiao

xiao isn't one for affection. he doesn't seem the appeal to it: how mortals like the enjoy the feeling of another's hand in theirs or how they find peace with the feeling of another pair of lips on their own confused the poor adeptus.

not like he found any need for it anyways. being affectionate to the one you love was a mortal tradition and what did xiao know about being a mortal. more so, did he even deserve to be loved the way mortals loved one another?

xiao finds it terrifying to love you, a mortal that could easily succumb to the aftermath of his karmic debt. this debt was his own burden to carry and you don't deserve to love a corrupted being like him, someone who only brings despair and destruction to anyone who crosses his path, innocent or not.

forehead kisses are the only kisses xiao allows himself to give you.

they're intimate enough to communicate his feelings for you without saying a word, yet simple enough so that he doesn't overwhelm himself with your presence.

they're to bid you farewell before he leaves for one of his missions as the sole adeptus of liyue. xiao does not know how long he'll be gone, or even if he'd return to your warm embrace. and so, his featherlight kisses are pressed to your forehead before he disappears without a trace, leaving you to worry about his safety on the deck of the wangshu inn.

xiao gives you forehead kisses as an apology for being the one you love. anyone else could have given you a better love than he ever could, could even promise you a future together and grow old with you.

you deserve someone who could openly love you and show you off to those around them, someone who didn't have a high chance of never coming home. all the adeptus has done for you was give you the crystalflies whose light reminded him so much of the stars that inhabited your eyes and the slightly crinkled qingxin flower he picked up on the way back to you.

xiao wonders why you're so happy when he brings you those small gifts when someone else could be giving you gifts of a grander scale.

and yet he's also thankful for you for finding love in someone like him, for showing him the gentleness and compassion the adeptus seldom received in his lifetime. the pain surrounding his heart ebbs away every time you smile at him, like the warm spring sun melting away the frigid winter ice.

one day, xiao would be brave enough to kiss you the way you kiss him, to indulge in all of the different ways he could properly show you just how much you meant to him. but for now, his lips against your forehead is enough.

[watevermelon]

Just Enough | Diluc (Genshin) x Traveler!Reader

✧ Summary: Between freeing Dvalin and pursuing the Geo Archon, you were constantly moving forward to find your brother with hardly a second to look back. You were in a rush to find your lost sibling, not realizing how your heart had stopped in Mondstadt. Visiting the city while waiting for things to die down after Rex Lapis’ death, you return to a… jealous Diluc?

➳ Spoilers for the Dark Knight Hero quest and some of the manga background ➳ Notes: lots of fluff, slight angst and jealousy, character development, mutual pining at one point, a long one-shot that covers the (1.0) beginning of the Liyue story  ➳ Navigation

---xXxXxXxXxXx---

If he had only asked you to stay.

To say that these past few weeks were a blur would be a severe understatement. For months you were simply a lost wanderer, traveling from world to world for any sort of clue that could lead you to your brother.

And in just a matter of weeks you were suddenly Mondstadt’s hero.

From bringing peace to Dvalin’s heart to meeting Mondstadt’s infamous Dark-knight hero, you were familiarizing yourself with a people and a place for a world you knew you did not belong to. Learning of the history of the Seven Archons, the Gods’ of contracts or of freedoms, suddenly you were being thrust into it all at once.

You shared the burden of knowledge with a few of Mondstadt’s elite, the true God of Freedom walking in plain sight to the citizens of his nation. And with him, were the quick allies you found side-by-side when fighting a dragon. 

It was all happening so suddenly and Lord Barbatos himself was giving you directions to the next country over, to continue on your journey in meeting all seven Archons to Liyue. 

To this day, you could fondly recall your final celebration in Mondstadt.

“To think that despite his small stature he can drink so much.” Kaeya commented from his seat at the table, eyes slid in the direction of Venti at the bar next to you. You could see the impatient stare behind Diluc’s eyes, not at all happy that their God was indulging himself so freely.

“Honorary Knight, Mondstadt thanks you for your service.” Jean formally stated, for the nth time since Dvalin had been freed.

“I’m just glad I was at the right place at the right time.” You answered back, offering a placating smile in return.

“Humility doesn’t pay for dinner!” Paimon hmphed next to you.

“But aren’t we at a feast now?” You countered, gesturing to the table. 

She sighed again before moving to get a taste of some of the honey roasted ham. “Fine, don’t blame me when we have to settle into that poor excuse of a tent!”

“Please, do not feel you are in any rush to leave.” Jean offered, “You are welcome lodgings at our Favonius Headquarters.”

“With the other Knights of Favonius?” Diluc asked, face completely blank if not for the small upward tilt of his left brow.

Kaeya flirted with you from across the room, uncaring of the other partygoers, “You could always stay with me.”

You laughed lightly and responded, “That’s a hard pass.”

The Cavalry Captain simply shrugged, offering it to you again if you changed your mind before grabbing another glass of wine and walking with Jean toward the busy table.

Barbara was trying different dishes and offering some to her older sister, spouting descriptions with medicinal purposes and flavors that compliment one another. Lisa was no better as Amber egged both of them on, completely sober as she continued to feast on the food laid before her. Other Knights of Favonius that you recognized were scattered about, enjoying the first truly peaceful night in the past few weeks.

“You are welcome to stay at the Dawn Winery, while you look for your brother.”

He relished in the sight of your smile.

“Thank you, Diluc.”

That was three months ago.

And since then you had been thrown into more of not your business but suddenly IS your business, business.

You remembered your last day before setting off from Mondstadt. The Knights of Favonius would surely call on you again and so you had quick goodbyes with Jean and Kaeya the day before. Venti was saved for last, a somewhat light-hearted and yet somber goodbye as he was the first and last person for you to see in Mondstadt. 

But Diluc… How could you even start that conversation?

He was the lone wolf with a prickly reputation and an even worse sense of patience. You remembered the first time you even spoke to him, clipped words meant to get straight to the point. Not to mention that he was the first person to antagonize Kaeya, who was one of the few people you kinda trusted in the beginning.

It was not until the side adventures, the little quests you did one-on-one that you realized how much more there was to the edgelord that was Diluc. 

Of course, he was still the strict type to focus solely on the mission. 

But you realized more about why Diluc had come to be this way. 

‘The uncrowned king of Mondstadt.’

As you worked together against the possible abyss invasion of Mondstadt, you poured over strategies and testing of his slime potion. And while slimes were not the hardest enemies to fight, he still complimented you on your form and appreciated your quick style with the sword.

You had a unique style, unlike Kaeya or anyone else of this world.

“Elegant, but deadly.”

You took that as a compliment.

And little by little Diluc opened up to you, cluing you into his personal history. 

He and Kaeya were step-brothers, growing up together at the Dawn Winery. How he knew Jean since he was child and once served as her superior in the very organization he now despised. How he still has things to protect, to avenge. And while his description about what happened to his father was nothing more than a quiet stare, you were still grateful that he was entrusting you into his world.

You remembered Kaeya’s words as he discovered Diluc’s nighttime secret:

“I’m glad you’re working with an assistant.”

Kaeya’s tone may have come out scathing, but you knew better. Kaeya and Diluc used to be close, close enough to entrust their lives with one another. There was no doubt that Kaeya still cared about his brother, but with Diluc pushing everyone away….

Again, you were so appreciative that he chose to let you in.

When Kaeya finally left the bar, you turned to Diluc with a smile. “I think my work tonight earned me at least one glass of wine?”

That broke a small smile on his face, not the slight tilt on the sides or the wistful, far off look he got when he recalled something beyond your knowledge.

“Alright.” He waved over a nearby waitress, all of the customers tonight employees of the Dawn Winery. “Let’s take this up to the balcony, I’m going to close up anyway.”

“Oh?” Paimon’s squeaky tone somehow went up another octave in curiosity, “I just remembered I have to ask Venti something! Why don’t you two enjoy your date alone.”

She flew away before you could swat at her for her teasing words, blush apparent on your face. Diluc kept his flat face as he maneuvered things behind the bar, wiping at something before putting something in the below cabinet. 

To your surprise, he handed you a bottle and two glasses, motioning with his head toward the second floor. Charles was among some of the ‘customers’ tonight, taking his usual spot behind the bar as Diluc stepped out.

You followed him wordlessly, walking up the steps and out the second-floor door closely behind him. He pulled out a wooden chair next to the table outside, you taking the seat underneath the stars as he plopped down alongside you.

“I thought the stars here in the city would get overcrowded by the lights.” You admitted, “But they’re beautiful even here.”

“Yeah, they are.” Diluc agreed, making you smile before turning to him.

“You’re not even looking at the stars.”

The pyro-user simply smirked, before looking up at the starry sky with you. You relished in the moment, glad to have some time alone with Diluc. Many had commented that the winery owner was so elusive, missing from the bar weeks at a time and unseen within the city walls. And yet here he was, enjoying the crisp air and a glass of wine with you.

“Thank you.” You started.

“Shouldn’t you be demanding thanks from me?” Diluc asked.

You laughed lightly, “Yeah, cause I’m sure that the abyss mage would have totally kicked your ass without me.”

Diluc had that slightly amused expression on, looking a bit more light-hearted as he turned to you with a slight tilt at the corner of his lips.

You continued, “I mean, thanks for entrusting me with your secret.”

Diluc paused, looking you straight in the eyes, probably to gauge your honesty. And he would concede that there was nothing else there. You wanted to be his friend, the first in a long time to have approached him without your own agenda regarding either the winery or his fortune.

In return, he poured you a glass of wine and replied, “You’ve long earned it.”

“Thank you, Diluc.” You took the glass and felt your heart flutter at the brush of his fingers. “I’m glad I got to know you.”

“I’m glad you’re in my life too.”

He shot you another one of his genuine, millisecond smiles before pouring some from the bottle for himself. 

“Wine and not grape juice today?”

But he did not answer, instead eyes latching onto the rise of goosebumps on your arms. You could not help it against the crisp Mondstadt air, naturally feeling a chill at this time of night. Without a word, he shrugged off his outer coat, the thick black one he wore at almost all times of day, and rested it casually on your shoulders.

You muttered a small thanks as you snuggled into it. Diluc’s iconic dark coat, a complete contrast to yourself. While you wore a white dress with open sleeves and plenty of skin, Diluc wore black covering most of his body with the exception of his neck and face. Seeing it on your shoulders only reminded you of that fact.

“Don’t need you getting sick anytime soon.” Diluc stated plainly, as he returned to his seat.

You huddled into it more and replied, “Aw, Diluc cares.” Again, you were rewarded with another flat expression. “Or rather, if the events of today are to show anything, you’ve always cared. Just in your own, protective way.”

He slung an arm across the back of your seat, leaning closer before stating in a low voice. “Don’t forget that.”

Your eyes snapped to his, the both of you basically sharing the same breath in your close proximity. His scarlet eyes, usually a searing color when on the battlefield, looked surprisingly tender only inches from yours.

“You mean so much to me, Diluc.” You whispered back, afraid that anything above a whisper would punctuate this amorous atmosphere.

He slowly dragged his face alongside yours, stopping beside your ear and continuing in his low voice. “So do you.”

There was no stopping the shiver of anticipation that crawled up your spine.

You could feel the small smirk grow against your skin before he pulled off and grazed his lips against your forehead.

The expression on your face was practically begging him to kiss you. From the small lean in your side against his arm slung around you to the way your eyes slowly fluttered closed, it took all of his self-control to stop himself before he pulled you closer. He wanted nothing more than to grasp you by the back of your neck, relish in the way you melt against him. To kiss you now and tomorrow and maybe even the morning after at the winery.

Diluc had to remind himself that in less than a week you were going to be long gone.

He did not want to ruin this memory a week from now, asking what if and why. And so he settled on a simple kiss above your brow before leaning back in his seat, enjoying the moment he had with you tonight.

You were disappointed, but actually not surprised. It was a feat in itself that you were so close to Diluc in this short amount of time, it would do no good in pressuring him into anything else. But also, another more rational part of you, had to remind yourself that getting attached to the people of this world would only make it hurt more when you had to return home.

This was for the better.

But no matter how much rational thought Diluc used to push you away, you were sure that you had already fallen for him. From the small interactions with Diluc, you could barely recognize the moment that you were completely enamored with him. It was not during the first time you saw him fight or even the night he leant you his jacket. No, you feared it was much before then.

To think you had gotten attached to Diluc in such a short amount of time.

But then you had to say goodbye.

“Safe travels.” Diluc stated from behind the bar when he saw you enter on your last day.

You were not sure what you expected, a drawn out goodbye or a fore longed hug, but Diluc was still, well. He was still Diluc. And to see him re-erecting his walls before you left for your journey was a sad thought, but needed while the two of you were hundreds of miles away from one another.

But you would regret it if you didn’t say anything.

Instead you settled on, “I’ll miss you.”

The hopeful look in your eyes spelled out exactly what you wanted to hear back.

Diluc instead replied, “You fight good.”

“Oh. Um.” The hesitation was clear in your voice.

Was this really how you were going to leave things?

But with Diluc turning his attention back to the wine glass he was previously wiping, yes. It seemed that this was exactly how he wanted to leave it. Paimon scoffed, but said her own goodbyes before flying away.

“Goodbye, Diluc.”

Outside the tavern, you let your frown grow at that interaction. After everything you had been through together, Diluc complimented you on your fighting? Then said peace out?

“That was really lame.” Paimon commented aloud as she floated alongside you. You could not help but internally agree, but you had a whole journey ahead of you. At least the busyness of Liyue would keep you busy from dwelling on that conversation.

But as you said goodbye to Venti, the both of you stood in silence under the giant tree staring at the city. You thought about going back three times, to get a proper goodbye out of Diluc. But doing so would do neither of you any good, since it would only open more issues.

“No more questions about the other Archons?” Venti asked, voice surprisingly serious.

“Can’t think of anything.”

“None even of a certain… winery owner?” You could almost hear the smile in his voice.

You rolled your eyes and responded, “You’re such a little shit.”

“Hehe.”

You both continued to stare at the city, the marvels of its people and history within its high walls. To think Barbatos and Dvalin were finally free, because of your otherworldly intervention. Venti was truly thankful for you, and while he knew his words were on the more mischievous side, he knew that you understood.

Venti’s voice permeated the air. “Be safe in Liyue.”

You smiled back and offered him a tight hug, replying. “As always.”

To think that the same day that you stepped into Liyue, Rex Lapis was murdered before your very eyes. It was like the Gods actually hated you, having to rely on a Fatui to run away from the government officials hot on your trail.

Since then you had been working with Zhongli to prepare for a parting ceremony. From running around for certain types of Jade materials to singing to flowers, you were happy to take a second to yourself at all. You were afraid that trouncing around Liyue with a bounty on your head would do you no good and often stayed in the wild areas. Visits to the city were for necessities only, which often left you relying on the ever so truthful Childe or the mora-averse Zhongli.

More than three months after your initial departure to Liyue, you stepped back into the walls of Mondstadt’s bustling city, a commission nearby and you figured you were safe simply due to your reputation under the Knights of Favonius.

Venti was the last face you saw and the first face that greeted you, beckoning to join him for lunch. With your final commission of the day finished, you joined him with a smile and ordered some honey roasted ham.

You recounted some of the news to Venti, meeting many of the adeptus and how out of touch they seemed with the region. You described Zhongli from the funeral parlor who always felt like he knew more and played a higher part in Liyue (and you inwardly noted how Venti’s eyes lit up in recognition at the name). And also, Childe the Fatui Harbinger that had you on edge. 

“You’re hanging out with a harbinger?” Venti asked.

“Uh oh.” Paimon reacted.

“Well.” You remembered your last encounter with Signora. “It’s complicated.”

Venti paused before sighing, “Is he cute?”

“That’s not why!” You huffed back instantly.

“So he is cute!”

“And rich!” Paimon added, joining in on the teasing.

“Not the issue here.” You stated, “He saved me from the Millelith and helped me get into contact with the adepti.”

Venti’s mischievous smile from the earlier teasing turned blank, as if he was fully ingesting your words. “... Why would he do that?”

“Huh?”

But Venti quickly recovered, waving away the question and urging you to move past it. “Just thinking out loud, continue. What happened after?”

And so you recalled everything from then. How the soldiers followed you all the way up the mountain and how you had to defend yourself from people that were supposed to be on the same side as you. 

How there was someone out there with the strength to take down a God.

Venti laughed at you for like, twenty minutes.

After his laughter subsided, he held a hand over his stomach and asked. “They think you killed Rex Lapis?”

He took another look at your pouting face and laughed again.

It only made you scowl further. “I’m glad you think my supposed war crimes are so funny.”

“I think I’m missing the punchline again.” Paimon added.

“Hehe. You’ll be fine.” Venti shot back his mischievous smile, “Besides, I’m sure you’re looking forward to laying low here with a certain… someone here.”

You paused and put your fork back down, “What are you trying to say?”

“Well, the Dawn Winery is throwing a festival tonight.” Venti stated clearly, “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“Wait, really?”

The mischievous light was back in Venti’s eyes, “I’m sure the winds of fate have brought you here purely on coincidence.”

You sighed and turned to him fully. “You trying to fight, old man?”

“Hehe.” His signature giggle, one you found almost endearing, was undoubtedly mocking you. “We should go together later.”

And true to his word, somehow you found yourself with the Anemo Archon heading over to the bar. To think that it was Venti who introduced you here and now he was bringing you along again.

That is, if you even had a chance to make it inside at this rate.

The area was packed to the brim, all the seats outside in front and on the side of the building already taken. There was a line out the door, many hopeful young women with gleaming eyes trying to get a one-on-one conversation with the current barkeep and owner.

You peered into the open door and saw Diluc and Charles behind the bar, the red-head adorned with his usual flat-expression. It was the first time in months since you had seen him, but he looked exactly as the day you had left. Still the same colored wardrobe and prickly atmosphere, Diluc was still, Diluc.

What did not help was the ever growing line of flirty men and women trying to vye for his attention.

It only seemed to further nail the pit in your stomach.

Was this… jealousy?

You didn’t dwell on the thought for long.

Instead, you considered for a single-second if you should just turn tail now, but Venti must have seen your hesitation and grabbed you by the arm to walk inside. Dozens of eyes followed you on the way in, many people recognizing you as the young hero of Mondstadt and honorary knight of Favonius.

The crowd was surprisingly less inside, but knowing Diluc he probably would have tried to corral everyone to the outdoor areas. Venti continued to lead you towards a table in the back and you saw a familiar red-bowed Outrider.

“I didn’t even know you were going to be here today!” She greeted you excitedly. 

“Tone-Deaf Bard here convinced us to stay the night.” Paimon replied.

“Oh?” Her voice lifted in a tone that only spelled trouble, “No matter, I’m glad to see you in one piece.”

“I’m assuming you’ve heard.”

Amber stretched in her seat and lowered her voice, smile turning to a smirk. “Well, I won’t confirm anything. But my suspicions are that the blonde person the Knights were pursuing for stealing the Holy Lyre may be the same blonde person running from the Millelith.”

“What a crazy theory.” Paimon responded as she cleared her throat.

“At least it’s just a theory, right?” Amber replied. “Anyway, we’ll hold the seats. Do you mind going up to the bar to order?”

Paimon chimed up as she floated down into the wooden seat, “Yeah, you should go.”

You barely had a second to object before Venti agreed and was motioning for you to go back to the bar. If not for their eager stares at you, you would have rolled your eyes at how obvious they were being.

“Fine, fine. I’m going.” You stated aloud, getting up from the seat you inhabited for at most ten minutes. 

Turning towards the bar, you took in a deep breath to collect your thoughts. To think you fought the Wolf of the North and Oceanid with more courage - it was just Diluc.

“Long time no see.” You greeted, trying to sound extremely casual. “Bottle of wine for one of your favorite people?”

Diluc looked at you for a quick second, then back down to the bar, then rapidly snapping back up to you in surprise. “Hey. Of course.”

Unsure what to say, you responded back with a simple, “Thank you.”

“Didn’t know you’d be in town today.”

“It was all coincidence. Venti told me about your event tonight.” You mentioned, motioning behind you to the table where the three of them were waiting. Amber waggled her eyebrows in response and you turned back to Diluc in embarrassment.

But he was looking at you the entire time. “For a war criminal, you look well.”

“Ugh, not you too.”

“Ironic how you delinquents always return here while hiding it out.” Diluc did not answer, instead openly teasing you.

Honestly, it was a little ironic that you and Venti ran here after stealing the Holy Lyre, just to end up back here while the Millelith were on the hunt for you.

Instead you replied, “They didn’t release any names.”

“Right, it’s probably some other sword-wielding blonde with white clothes and access to the Anemo vision.”

“Obviously.”

To think you were so involved in Teyvat's politics. An otherworldly being with no prior connections to the people or nations was somehow involved with the highest ranking people of every country you’ve stumbled into.

Everyone from the Dvalin team knew about your primary objectives: to find your brother and regain your full power through the seven Archons. And when news of Rex Lapis’ death reached Mondstadt, Diluc could almost physically feel the dread in his heart that something had happened to you. And when the Millelith released their man-hunt of your exact profile, there was no doubt that you were involved. 

To see you standing before him, in association with an Archon of all people, it was like a breath of fresh air on his heart. You were here in the tavern, fine and even enjoying the night. 

A large part of him wanted to ask about your journey, what was it that had you on the run again? But with the growing line out the door, he knew he barely had time to keep this conversation going.

So instead, Diluc grabbed glasses and a bottle of wine from beneath the bar and asked, “Spare a few minutes for me later?”

You nodded quietly, handing him the necessary Mora before returning back to the table.

Amber did not pull her punches, “So, you guys dating yet?”

You almost dropped the bottle, but Venti was quick even through his laughter.

“Yeah and I’m the Archon of Snezhnaya.” Paimon replied sarcastically.

“Shut up.” You pouted, “It was just nice to see each other after all this time.”

“Oh so you had a good conversation? Did he ask you to stay after? Are you going to stay the night? Did he offer for you to stay at the Dawn Winery?” Amber spit out question after question, not a sense of patience or tact in her words.

Venti was still laughing like the Archon of assholes he was.

While they prodded through their multiple questions, you tried to wave them away to another conversation topic. If Amber was prodding you like this, you could only imagine that the other Knights, such as Kaeya and Jean, were also aware of your strange relationship.

Amber tried to push it a bit more, but you were able to spin the conversation to ask what the others were up to. It was interesting to hear about the little tasks in Mondstadt, small commissions that the Knights take care of in the city as well as guarding the areas further out into the country.

And while you hated to drift off with them sitting right in front of you, your mind often wandered toward the red-head behind the bar. Diluc had personally asked you to stay back later, undoubtedly to speak to you about something one-on-one. Would it be cowardly if you left early? Would the others notice if you tried to make a break for it at one point?

Again, it seemed as if Venti was capable of reading your mind, lightly calling you to attention and putting a casual hand on the back of your chair.

He was not letting you get away from this.

Venti even shifted the conversation to you, asking about Liyue and the local adventures you had while in the city. Unable to ignore the direct questions, you told them about the stories of the people you met so far and the strange events you seemed to be dragged into.

“Wait, start over.” Amber cut into your most recent story about a ship just outside of the Liyue city. ”You just glided down onto the Pearl Galley?”

You paused then replied, “Well. I mean the ship was just sitting there outside the harbor and I was curious.”

“And so you boarded a luxury ship without an invitation?”

“Yeah, so?” Paimon answered with a question, genuinely confused.

“And yet you wonder how you keep getting involved in all these crazy schemes.” Amber answered ambiguously.

“Well, eventually I did get an invitation.”

“But after you were already on the ship.” Amber pointed out. “How did you even glide that far out?”

“I climbed to the top of the nearby mountain and then just dropped down.”

“Wow.”

“Is it really a surprise?” Venti commented, “She doesn’t even follow the proper stairs here in the city. Don’t think we don’t see you climbing over every wall here in Mondstadt.”

“You’re such a weirdo.” Amber sighed with a smile, “You’re lucky we love you so much.”

You continued on with your stories, some in the city and others within hidden temples deep in the wilderness, puzzles and timed traps masking treasures you sought to find. Amber and Venti listened on in rapt attention, asking questions here and there and even teasing you about your constant climbing.

You hadn’t even noticed how the bar patrons were starting to slowly thin out.

The night with Venti and Amber was such a refreshing feeling compared to the nights you spent staring up silently at the night sky, only Paimon at your side. It was nice to hear and speak to other people, to not be on the run and always looking over your shoulder.

Feeling a light tap on the side, you turned to see Diluc standing at attention.

“Hey.” He greeted you again.

“We were just on our way out!” Amber exclaimed, standing instantly with Venti not far behind her. “Mondstadt’s star Outrider has to be up bright and early tomorrow.”

“Which is why you’re both leaving…?” You asked.

“It’s my duty to ensure the safety of the city and we said we were going to discuss something.” Venti answered ambiguously.

You crossed your arms, “Discuss what?”

“The— !” Amber paused, “The thing. You know, with the stuff at the Seven Winds Temple.”

“Right! Let’s get going.” Venti turned to Paimon at the last second, “I think this will interest you.”

Paimon winked at you before turning to Diluc, ”Right, the stuff!”

Diluc motioned you to follow him and so, once again, you found yourself following behind the Pyro-user out the second-floor balcony. However, instead of sitting at the table, you learned against the railing while Diluc stood to the side.

“Wasn't expecting you to be gone for so long.” Diluc started with a flat voice.

You turned to him with a slight grimace. “I’m sorry, I ended up getting caught in something important back in Liyue.”

More important than him.

The implication was quiet in the back of Diluc’s mind.

But that would always be the case. To think that the first person in years to open up his shell was someone who could only be in his life temporarily. You intrigued him to the high heavens - the strange mix of both pride and humility as you fought and carried yourself. You were strong, but merciful. Kind, but a purveyor of your own brand of justice.

It had been a while since he met someone with such genuine reservations as you.

But your time together was already ticking down, from your time in Mondstadt to your time in his world. You were looking for your brother and who knew if he was even in Tyvat currently? It would be unfair to be bitter towards you. And so he resolved long ago to simply cherish the moments you had together.

So instead of snapping back, Diluc teased you.

“I’m sure. I’ve heard of your extensive… wanted days.”

You sighed aloud, “How did the news travel here so fast?”

Diluc smirked, “First Barbatos and now Rex Lapis? What kind of luck do you have?”

“The worst kind.”

Of course, there was something he wanted to learn more about. After he had caught wind from Katheryn in Liyue, Diluc still wanted to be informed about your current situation. To think that you were in close association with one of the high Fatui Harbingers after Signora personally attacked you, it was almost like you were openly inviting trouble.

It also did not help that many of the gossip mills included how attractive this particular Fatui was.

He goes by the alias of ‘Childe.’ Young, but deadly!

A Fatui, but doesn’t wear his mask - for good reason! He’s quite the looker.

I wouldn’t mind if he impaled me somewhere. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Needless to say, his sources did not alleviate his worries.

Of all people? A Fatui was one of your close associates in Liyue? A party of him wanted to snarl, the thought a worse downgrade from the Knights of Favonius. At least he knew Kaeya would do you no harm; he doubted the same could be said about Childe.

Archons, why did he care so much?

Diluc told himself multiple times that your abrupt parting was necessary to keep himself from getting too attached to you. But it hardly mattered when he was worrying this much anyway in spite of that.

Fuck, why did he just let you walk away like that?

Diluc was not going to make the same mistake.

He turned to you and asked, “Like the Fatui kind?”

You sighed, “Believe me, I don’t like it either.”

“And yet somehow here we are.”

“It’s complicated, okay?”

“When is it not with you?” Diluc asked, more hypothetically. And while from anyone else, it may have felt offensive, you could tell from his tone that it was just a tired sigh.

“Tell me about your journey.” He continued.

“What?” You answered with a question, genuinely surprised. “It’s a long story, not all that interesting.”

Diluc took a step forward, taking the spot next to you against the rail as your shoulders touched. “I want to hear it from you.”

You couldn’t help but smile, “Okay.”

And so you recounted your journey to find the Geo Archon, how the adepti set up strange puzzles and at some point you swore you were pulled into a teacup that somehow contained a full domain.

There were also other missions on the side, other things you would do to collect Mora or materials if you were going to get any stronger. Some of them made sense — doing deliveries, clearing abyss camps, and other mercenary like duties. Other instances, not so much.

“Only you would accept a commission from a ghost.” Diluc teased as you recounted the treasure in the mines.

“In my defense, I didn’t think he was a ghost at first.”

“Right. Nothing suspicious at all about a transparent old man in the middle of an abandoned village.”

“I was reading the poster he was showing!”

“And when did you realize he was a ghost?”

“... After I met three other ghosts.”

Diluc cracked a smile at that, only making you pout more. You had adjusted your postures overtime, standing against with rails to your backs as you faced the tavern.

“He paid me good Mora!” 

“How…?” Diluc thought about it before waving it off, “Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

You laughed back before you saw the lights inside the tavern switch off, complete darkness in the windows as the remaining employees packed up and went home. 

“Oh wow, I hadn’t even realized how long we were out here.” You admitted, “I’m sorry I took up so much of your time.”

“Don’t apologize. I wanted to spend this time with you.”

“Still, it’s already late.”

“You’re right. Where were you and Paimon going to spend the night?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” You admitted, “Venti convinced us to stay, but I don’t even know where he is.”

Diluc pushed off the railing to stand facing you, “You could stay the night at the winery. We can retrieve Paimon tomorrow.”

What game was he playing? Your disappointing departure with Diluc cutting you off and now he was asking for your time and space back into his life? You hated that he pushed you away just to pull you back in at his convenience. And while you understood his personality tended to keep people at a distance, you had your own limits as to what you could withstand. 

“... Diluc, what are you doing?”

“You’ll have to be more clear.”

You closed your eyes, trying to gather your thoughts and hamper down on your rising temper. “Come on, why are you being so nice to me?”

He stared at you expectedly, blank eyes urging you to continue.

It only served to make you more angry.

“Diluc, when I left you hardly blinked. And now that I’m here, after months of us not talking, you want me to spend the night?”

“I told you before how much you meant to Mondstadt.”

To Mondstadt? Not even to himself personally? 

You decided it was better to confront him cleanly asking, “Why didn’t you kiss me that night we were drinking here?”

Diluc paused, not a single hint of surprise on his face as you addressed the situation head-on. “Why should I have?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t feel it. There was something between us.” You scoffed.

He noticed your use of past tense.

“Does it honestly matter? You would’ve left anyway, I saved us both the trouble.”

You visibly recoiled in response. “Is that what this is about? I have to go to Liyue and the other counties, Diluc. I have to find my brother.”

“I know that.” Diluc cut in, before you got the wrong idea. “You don’t think I’m acutely aware of that fact? The fact that this is my home and not yours. That one day you’ll find your brother and I’ll never see you again?”

“Wait.”

“Believe me, I know better than anyone that you’re off to find your brother. And I’ll help you in any way that I can.” Diluc continued, not heeding your confused attempts to stop him. “But let’s not pretend like I was anything more than a stepping stone in your journey.”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh?” Diluc’s tone was almost challenging,  “It’s not? So once the dust is settled, if I asked you to stay here with me, would I be enough?”

You stuttered over your words, “I --”

“I don’t want to hear your excuse because we both know the answer.” He cut you off, “I was trying to save myself from that before it happened.”

“Will you let me speak, you idiot!?” Your voice cut through the silent evening air.

Diluc paused, standing a good ten feet away from you and looking angrier than you’d ever seen. But he did, thankfully, stop talking.

“Is it crazy to think that I feel the same way about you?”

“What?”

“Diluc, I’m just me!” You answered, “I have nothing to my name but an objective to find my brother — if he’s even alive at this point. I need to try and I need to continue on this path…”

He crossed his arms, but stayed quiet as he listened. 

“But just because I have so much ahead of me, that doesn’t I don’t care about where I’ve already seen.” You took a few steps toward Diluc as you spoke, “You mean so much to me and I wouldn’t ever want to throw that away.”

“You won’t have a choice if you have to leave this world.”

“If!” You pointed out, “Diluc you’re so worried about the future, about me walking away from you forever, but it doesn’t have to be this way.”

“And suddenly there’s an alternative?”

“There’s always been one, you idiot! You just never bothered to actually talk to me.” You put your hands on his chest, the light material of his dark clothes underneath your palms. “I would’ve tried. If you asked me to make this work, to come back to you at the winery back then, I would’ve done it.”

Diluc closed his eyes, taking in your words as his hands snaked down to your wrists.

“Don’t give me empty promises.”

“I mean it!” You defended, “You aren’t just another person, Diluc. I—“

He opened his eyes then, reflecting back to you as hopeful and curious. “You…?”

“I care about you more than you know.” You settled on, still unsure about the extent of your feelings. “Why are you giving up on us before even starting?”

You stared right back at Diluc, his silence paramount to the inner turmoil you were sure he was going through. From his late father to the betrayal from the Knights, there were plenty of reasons why Diluc was so hesitant to connect with other people.

But you’d be damned if you didn’t try.

Your hands felt heavy against his chest. Despite your small demeanor and even smaller palms, the weight of your hands seemed to play seesaw between his heart and mind. He had logical reasons to keep you at a distance, but here you were trying to carve your way through back to him.

It had been a long time since he cared about anyone like this. And Diluc could not even recall the last time he wanted to sorely kiss someone at all. But how could he not want to now? You stared up at him, eyes blazing with determination as you tried to convey your feelings.

“You mean so much to me.” Diluc stated after a few silent minutes, “Let’s make this work.”

The smile you shot him was wide and radiant, a private blessing that only he was gifted tonight. He wrapped his arms around your waist, eager to feel more of you — to envelop you in his arms and keep you within them tonight. 

One hand strayed upward, carding itself in your hair and pulling you closer until both your eyes fluttered closed. The soft skin of your lips slotted against his, an endearing frenzy to give one another tender pecks. You could not help the happy mewl that escaped your lips as Diluc licked against the crease of your skin.

Moaning aloud to his tender touch, Diluc was eager to explore every inch of your wet cavern. There was no battle of tongues, simply moving in tandem as Diluc dominated the kiss. You tried to maneuver to give him more access, but with your height difference it was the best you could do.

Diluc lifted one of your legs, wrapping it around his waist and lightly tapping the other to do the same. Eyes clouded with lust, you did as instructed and quickly felt the soft thump behind you, the wall of the tavern helping hold you upright.

You fell more and more into the passionate lip lock, pushing to match his intensity as Diluc connected you in one of the most intimate ways possible. One hand was still in your hair while the other continued its scandalized trail downward.

You prayed to Barbatos that nobody heard you outside the tavern.

The both of you would later attribute this impassioned frenzy due to the prolonged time apart and mutual pining (culminating in a mistake outside on the balcony, twice inside the bar, and the rest of the night back at the winery).

For the first time, you enjoyed the morning sun streaming in through the windows, a lazy arm strung across your waist as you snuggled in the chest of the man you were growing to love.

Diluc woke long before you, hand threading through your hair silently as he resolved to remember this moment. You kissed at the naked skin of his chest twice before nuzzling him, feeling the light arm pull you closer.

“Good morning.” You started, voice muffled against his skin.

But you would have never expected Diluc to be so affectionate.

He kissed the top of your head, murmuring in a low tone. “Good morning, my love.”

Nothing about your relationship was perfect. You still fought and cried like every other couple. But you both knew that what you had was real, willing to fight for it no matter the obstacles that came with the future.

It did not matter that Tyvat was not your home.

Wherever Diluc was, that was where you’d return.

---xXxXxXxXxXx---

Extra: “What if they end up fighting?” Amber asked the other two as they walked down a side-street of the city.

“Then we’ll find out the moment it breaks out. Trust me.” Paimon replied. After all, your Anemo power would only serve to make any fire larger.

“They’ve both been in that pining puppy phase for so long, I doubt it’ll come down to that.” Venti added.

“500 Mora says they’ll be dating by the end of this week.” Amber bet.

“1,000 that they’ll be together by tonight!” Paimon countered.

“10,000 that they’ll be joined in every way by tonight.” Venti added, the mischievous tone not missed by either woman.

“You tone-deaf bard!” Paimon exclaimed as she slapped her hands over her red cheeks. “The traveler is more dignified than that!”

Amber had a hand on her chin, “Dating? Probably. But more than that…?”

Venti held out a hand to both, vying for both to shake one and accept the bet.

Nothing, but a couple of suckers. 

Amber grumbled once when she heard the news, but otherwise excitedly congratulated you two on finally accepting your feelings. Paimon’s whine could probably be heard in a fifteen mile radius and Venti’s proud smile didn’t help either — accepting the easiest twenty thousand Mora he ever made. 

And, just to gode the tiny guide a little more, Venti turned to Paimon in the middle of her complaining rant. 

“Hehe.”

---xXxXxXxXxXx---

A/N:

The festival idea comes from Diluc’s story 1: “The winery holds festivities from time to time. These events are routinely attended by enthusiastic fathers, eager to introduce their wonderful daughters to the young and single winery master.”

[hansensgirl]

please don’t take him (even though you can).

summary. | She can have anyone she wants, but you can never love again. Not without him.

warnings. | Major angst, cheating, nightmare mentions, anxiety, yearning, nail-biting, insecurities, mental heath issues, mentions of violence, abandonment, implied smut, talk of death, grief, some religion stuff (not major), loneliness, mentions of torture, PTSD, split personality disorder i think, this is really angsty and possibly triggering so please be aware of the warnings! 18+

word count. | 12k.

pairings. | Bucky Barnes x Reader, Winter Soldier x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff.

a/n. | THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 6K!!! i love each and everyone so much like serious i will kiss you all!! happy valentine’s day as well!! based off of jolene by dolly parton and love by daughter. thank you to my love @mypoisonedvine for beta-ing and listening to me talk about this fic every now and then! ilysm! this fic is very near and dear to me, so please reblog it 🥺

The Soldat’s sentences are broken, just like he is. The words fall apart as soon as they roll off of his tongue. So much to say, so few words, so little time. His hands are as cold as the bitter Russian winters, as cold as his stare. The Soldat doesn’t know what to feel. He’s as numb as when one’s entire body has been bitten by frostbite.

His voice is deeper than it was for the man he once was. From the screaming, from the crying, from the torture. He has no control, not even over his own voice. He keeps quiet and thinks. He thinks, and he thinks, and he thinks. Something has dawned on the Soldat. He does have control. But for how long? He only has it for a few minutes, maybe even hours. But it’s enough. He only has it until the soul of his mission’s body has left. He only has it until their eyes hold no life in them.

It’s 2014, and the first sentence he has completed is “I love you.”

You can remember it well. November 17th, the snow had fallen early and neither of you were prepared. Milk intended for hot chocolate boils on the stove and the crackle that the fire brings was the only sound in the room. He watches you from afar as you slowly stir the milk with a wooden spoon — the only one that he hadn’t accidentally snapped.

He doesn’t like the cold, he never has. Though he’s always warm, the cold haunts and taunts him. Memories and nightmares come with the snowfall and ice. “Are you okay, Winter?” you ask him, and he snaps out of a blank trance.

Winter. He likes being called Winter, although he loathes the season.

He nods his head after some careful thinking. Through the mess that is his mind, he manages to ask himself if he’s okay. Is he? No, he isn’t. He’s not sure why he nodded, but damn is he grateful for that smile you give in return. One in a million, you’re a burning star. The brightest there is, and the shiniest diamond ever. You’re rare, the person who poets write about and singers cry about. But you’re the only one for him. Only his.

“What flavours, Winter? Would you like to try something new?” you ask him, bringing the heat down and taking the milk off of the stove. Winter gets up from his spot near the fireplace and strides over to you. He likes the way you don’t choke in fear when he walks towards you.

You show him the numerous flavours of cookies you had baked that morning, and allow him to take as long as he’d like to choose. “M…” He struggles to say the word, scared that he’s being too demanding and that it’s a trick. HYDRA often did that. Fooling him just so that they could harm him, even though they never really needed a reason. “You can have anything you want, Winter. Anything.”

You reassure him, hesitatingly putting your warm hands on his warm face. He looks up at you, and you give him a soft smile that makes him want to cry with love. “Macadamia?” he requests politely. You hand him the macadamia cookies and smile, before grabbing one of the chocolate bombs you and he made the other day.

“Would you like to pour the milk, Winter?” you question him, grabbing his favourite mug. It was white and had a cheesy pun that always made him smile. “Yes.” He keeps his answers short, scared that he’ll say the wrong thing, or that he’ll abuse his privileges. The stories… The harsh stories they tell about him contradict him. He looks just like that feared soldier; the one you should run from.

But God, he’s just a broken man. Not too far past repairing, but just enough that it takes certain special tools to fix him. He towers over you like a brute, a powerful stare that would make anyone but you cry. He takes the carton of milk for you, cracking a slight smile when he remembers that you were so weak that your hands would shake when lifting it.

Your heart warms as his lips stretch. Before, you weren’t sure if you even had a favourite sight. But now… now you know. He’s your favourite sight. He pours the milk with shaky yet careful hands, and you envy his strength through your admiration. He stops just at the right time without having you tell him. Independence. He’s learning.

You break pieces of chocolate into the cup and let the hot milk melt the sweet treat, before adding a dash of cocoa powder. You both watch in wonder and awe as the milk turns into hot chocolate. Winter takes his cup from you, and thanks you. “You’re welcome, Winter,” you say, placing your cold hands on the mug.

He watches as you sigh at the warmth, knowing that your body doesn’t radiate as much heat as he does. “S- Share?” he offers you, taking note of how you’re slightly shivering. You nearly choke on your hot chocolate as he proposes the utmost tempting action ever. “My blanket…” He adds on, making you take note of the blanket your father gave you that rests on his shoulders.

It’s not necessary, but it gives him a type of comfort that only you can give as well. “Please?” you ask, shivers crawling up your spine and goosebumps rising on your skin. You walk closer to him, padded feet barely making any noise as they rest on top of creaky wooden floors.

He opens the blanket like wings and takes you under his arm like a bird. Ready to show you the world, even the nastiest bits and pieces of it. He wraps the majority of the blanket around you and he’s infatuated with the relaxation that you radiate. No threats, no impending dooms. You stand side by side, not so silently sipping on your hot chocolate because you love the little smile he gives at the slightly loud slurps.

Winter doesn’t know what comes over him. Courage? Cowardice? A spur of love? His mind is too messed up to think that clearly. He turns you around to face him, the blanket falling to the floor with a slight thud. Who knew wool could be so heavy?

Heavy like your heart. Heavy like the tension that lingers.

Perhaps it’s not courage or cowardice, and in fact, it’s Bucky who used to flirt like a maniac with every girl in the neighbourhood. He bends down and plants a kiss on your lips — at least that’s what he thinks it is. You’re easily goo beneath his coarse hands as they cup your cold face. He doesn’t move his lips and you don’t either. You’re both content with the simple yet unique kiss.

He pulls away and you have to admit — you’re breathless. From both the lack of air and from happiness. It’s rare to have such feelings be reciprocated. “I love you,” he bluntly admits, and never in your life have you been so shocked. “W- What?” you ask incredulously, taken aback yet you can already feel your body, soul and mind taking off to cloud nine.

“I love you.”

He repeats himself and God knows he’s willing to say those three words and eight letters over and over again just for you. “You do?” you ask him, feeling tears well in your eyes. “Yes. I love you. Love has immense, yet measurable effects and changes in the biochemistry of the brain. I mean- my brain? The three basic parts of love are driven by unique blends of brain chemicals…”

He pauses to take a deep breath.

“Every time I look at you, I have the term, ‘butterflies in the stomach.’ It’s caused by a reduction in blood flow to the stomach. I have the strongest urges to protect and love,” he explains with more words than ever.

Never in your life have you ever heard the words that are pouring out of his mouth. “Do you…?” he nervously questions, feeling his heart palpitations speed up at such a rate, it’s like he’s having a heart attack.

“I love you, even more, Winter.”

It’s 2016, and your Winter is almost a different person.

His name is Bucky– James, he tells you. You call him Jamie. Information discovered from trips to the museum and paragraphs of articles and textbooks fill out the blank spaces of his life. Apparently, students learn about him and the rest of the Howling Commandos in school. But you haven’t been, so you wouldn’t know.

The night terrors are tough, but they’ve been slowly improving with you by his side. You’re both broken in your own ways, but you have each other, and that’s enough. He doesn’t mind it when you call him Winter, but you know it makes more sense to call him by his true name. You’re fine with anything, as long as you have him.

“My, my… Did you wake up in a good mood?” you ask him, hugging him carefully from behind because you know that sometimes he doesn’t want to be touched. That’s fine. “Maybe… I was thinking of going out today. Alone. Will you be safe?” he asks you, handing you the best meal he can scrounge up. Biscuits and tea. “Always, because I have you,” you tell him, making him give you a sad smile.

You don’t have a table, so he lifts you up onto the counter that is next to the sink. Inside, there are stacks of dishes. Neither of you have the energy to wash them, but today you will, to keep yourself busy. He’s already dressed; tight red henley on top of two more sweaters that are stretched out over his broad chest.

Jeans that barely fit his thick legs, combat boots that he stole and a cap that conceals his identity from wandering eyes. He watches as you eat, just in case you accidentally bite your tongue, burn yourself or choke. He’ll always be there for you. “Did you eat?” you question him, breaking your last biscuit and handing the bigger piece to him.

At first, he refuses to take it. Doubts from HYDRA still linger, they never can go away even with the most reassurance and love from you. “Please? You can lie and you can choose to not answer, but at least take this,” you beg, placing the half in his gloved hand. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips; the taste of orange pekoe tea making him sigh.

He’s always been partial to green, even though he can’t recall ever drinking it. He reluctantly eats the piece and you stare him dead in the eyes as he does so. “You know I’ll always love you, right?” you speak up once he’s finished. You know all the proper manners like they’re written on the back of your hand. When you were younger, they were.

In loopy cursive. Black Sharpie ink settling into your skin and you can remember the way your father scolded you for doing so. The memory is fresh, fresh like the tears you notice in Bucky’s eyes. He nods, and you down the rest of your tea. You never had a preference between tea and coffee. You were grateful to have either.

They both had their flaws, and they both had their strengths. “And I’ll always love you, лунный свет,” he whispers, closing the space that divides you both. His lips — slightly chapped yet so soft — are pressed against your cold forehead. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, but it’s not one of surprise.

No.

It’s of satisfaction, and you find yourself doing it more often than once. “What does that mean?” you ask him as you trace the teacup with one of your fingers. There’s still a bit of tea inside of it, but it’s barely anything. Not enough to quench a thirst. But since it’s come from him and since his murder-scarred hands made it, it’s enough for you.

Your finger dips, and it’s only then when you notice there’s a small chip. You don’t resent the cup for it, no, not at all. In fact, you find yourself a bit more enamoured with the piece of cheap china in your hands. “Moonlight,” he bluntly tells you, before taking the cup from your hands. You don’t even realize it until he replaces it with his hands.

Oh… He doesn’t like it? Now– now you hold a little bit of resentment towards it because if James doesn’t like it then maybe you shouldn’t. “Why?” you ask as you wrap your hands around his. You lace your fingers together and you can feel the stark contrast. On one hand — your right hand — your skin is comforted by the cotton glove he wears.

On your left hand, your skin is comforted by his bare, rough hand. “Well, лунный свет, what do you think it means?” he asks you in return as you trace the stitches on his glove and the grooves of his hand. “I… I’m not sure. I’m sorry,” you apologize to him. Your head ducks down in disappointment, but not with him. It’s for yourself, as always. “Don’t be, sometimes we don’t know everything,” he tells you softly, “and that’s okay.” His words reassure you as always.

“You’re just like moonlight. You’re wise, the brightest of them all. No matter how small you make yourself, you always manage to make everyone marvel at your beauty. You’re mysterious, always a surprise, but only for some. Your aura– your brightness, it never ceases to amaze people. It helps me through the darkest times. The world needs you, I need you,” he monologues to you, and you find yourself at a loss of words. “James…” You whisper, looking up at him.

His eyes are still a bit bloodshot, but they’re glassy and you can see right into his soul. “I love you, лунный свет, until the end of love,” James whispers to you, and he places a chaste kiss on your lips. “I love you, even more, Jamie, until the end of love. Until the end of time,” you whisper back, shutting your eyes. Bucky squeezes your hands, and you do the same in return. His head slightly knocks yours as he places his forehead against yours.

“Until the end of time, лунный свет.”

It’s still 2016, and you’ve lost your Jamie.

And it’s not like he’s somewhere in a sea of people, or some nook of a large building. No, he’s gone and you don’t know how to get him back. He told you to wait in the park that nobody usually goes to. Well, if you count both yourself and James as nobodies. You watch from afar as destruction and terror rips your home apart, and you pray that James is okay. You need him.

Surprisingly, nobody notices you. You wear most of James’s clothing, as it all couldn’t fit in the two backpacks he packed. You don’t mind, because you’re trying to forget about the small gun that’s in your boot. You don’t even know how to use it, and he knows that. “It doesn’t matter, лунный свет, once they see you with a gun, you’ll automatically be the strongest person there.” His words echo in your mind and so do his actions.

He dressed you in a rushing manner. His eyes kept locking with yours. Through his soft, almost scared complex, you can see the soldier you met two years ago –– only murder in his eyes, ready for a mission.

You bite your nails and try to ignore the screams from passersby “Until the end of time, until the end of time, until the end of time, until the end of time…” You repeat the phrase over and over, hoping the Gods above can hear the plea in your voice. “Please don’t take him, even though you can, please don’t take my Jamie,” you beg out loud, looking up to the sky that greys the same way old memories do.

He’s not okay, he's probably dead… And you left him there to suffer. How selfish could you be?

“Shut up.”

I’m not wrong, I never am. I wasn’t wrong about Father, was I?

“I… That’s different.”

Is it though?

You bite your tongue, whatever snarky remark you just had has now lost itself in the mess that is your mind. You’re conflicted as always. Should you stay, and let Jamie get hurt? Or should you help him? You spend a good few minutes repeating those questions over and over. You feel like you have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. You let out a satirical laugh, and you know that you seem insane.

Two days ago, you had brought up a saying to Jamie.

“My father… He had this saying. When someone has lived their full life, but it still seems to go on and on, it means that God and the devil haven’t come to an agreement yet,” you tell him, pulling at a thread that hangs on his jacket. “An agreement about what, лунный свет?” he asks you, looking up from the pamphlet he stole from a museum in a town near Bucharest.

It’s crumpled, but everything is legible still. “Who has to take them,” you smile up at him, and he returns it. “Perhaps, that's what's happening. They’re still arguing, still negotiating. That’s why you’re still here. If one of them were ready to take you, they would’ve done so already. But they haven’t,” you explain to him in your usual soft voice. He once told you that your voice is one of the best things to listen to.

Better than music, better than laughter, better than the admissions of ‘I love you’ you tend to trade.

“Maybe you’re right, лунный свет. You know, you’re different from the rest of us– them,” he whispers to you, taking in the way your face creases in certain spots when curiosity takes over. “How so, Jamie?” you ask him, setting down the needle, roll of thread, and jacket. “You have hope, faith,” he starts, “it’s both dangerous yet helpful. It’s what separates you from the demons of the world.”

“лунный свет!” James calls out. You look up from the ground and the movie of your life with James pauses. “Jamie…” You whimper, taking in his form. He’s bruised and battered, cut up and injured. Just like when you found him on the porch of your home. “Oh, Jamie… What happened?” you ask him, feeling yourself begin to panic. Your heart quickens, and you rush to him like he’s about to die.

“We have to go, лунный свет. It’s a hideout, it’s for your own safety,” he briefly explains to you and he grabs your arm. His grip is perfect. Not too tight, but not too gentle. You can tell he’s scared, but you know he’ll never admit it. “I have to go fight, but I’ll be back for you. Do you know the Avengers? It’s– Argh– We don’t have enough time. But I’ll tell you all about it later, лунный свет.” James is all business and nothing else.

You’re worried, so worried. But you have hope, and you have faith, and you know everything will be okay in the end. “But you’ll stay safe, right, Jamie?” you question him. He doesn’t respond, the only thing coming from him are grunts of pain and puffs of determination. “Answer me, Jamie. Promise me you’ll stay safe,” you demand of him in a strong voice. Never in your life have you ever raised your voice like this, but when it comes to James’s safety, you no longer care.

“I promise, лунный свет, until the end of time.”

It’s still 2016, and your Jamie is going away.

He’s leaving this world, but it’s for himself. You hold back all the pleas, all the begging you have in your body because you know he wants this. He needs this. His train is going to depart soon, off to a faraway land. A cold one, to be exact. You feel tempted to remind him how much he hates the cold, but you choose to keep your mouth shut. You’ve learned a lot in the past few days, more than when you were in high school.

Steve, Jamie’s past, what HYDRA is, the Avengers, the types of evil in this world–– They’re all things you’ve learnt. Your Jamie isn’t a different person, he isn’t. He just has more to him now. You replay the horrific memories of the past days in your mind over and over, even though you hated them. You look through the glass doors, and ahead of you is James in all his beatific glory.

In front of him, though, is the Black Widow. You don’t know if she’s from Jamie’s past, but you know they have a connection. The way they speak to each other; low and soft, just like summer rain. It’s almost the same way you speak to Jamie, but it’s not quite like it. He smiles up at her, and you remember how much you love his side-profile. It’s envious, really. But then again, Jamie is perfect in your eyes, despite his horrors and his scars of his past.

Of Winter’s past.

Your Jamie and Winter have their similarities. You’d make a list, but it would go on forever. You keep your eyes trained on his face, one of your favourite things to look at. Dare you say, he looks at her like no other. You’ve never seen this look on his face. But then again, your Jamie is going away and maybe it’s that impending nervousness. She looks at you. Her green eyes –– ones that just encapture you in the best way possible –– lock with yours. You feel insecure, almost as though she’s judging you.

But one of Earth’s mightiest heroes would never do such a thing.

She’s judging you, you know. Probably thinks you’re some nobody, some pathetic little girl who can’t even defend herself.

“No, she isn’t,”

And how can you be so sure?

Right. How can you be so sure? You watch as she gives James –– your Jamie –– a pat on the shoulder. She walks out, through another door and you feel as though she did that just to avoid you. And honestly, you don’t blame her. You walk in, hesitatingly of course. Each step of yours is wary. Your old, beaten-up sneakers barely make a sound against the floor. Your Father always said you walked like a ballerina and spoke like a princess.

“H– Hi, Jamie,” you quietly greet him. He looks up, his eyebrows drawn together and his lips are puckered in thought. He gives you a small ‘hi,’ and you smile at him. “Are you hurt anywhere?” you ask him, taking his form in again. His cuts and wounds are all bandaged and healed up. You recall the marvel that is the explanation of how he heals so quickly. The super-soldier serum, curated by HYDRA just for Jamie.

“No, Shuri and Helen fixed me up. And now, they’re gonna fix my mind,” he tells you, all while letting out a light-hearted chuckle. You smile again, just to ease the tense a bit. But even you can’t fix it. “I may be back to my old self, but I’m a walking time bomb. I’m dangerous, and I need to heal. For the sake of myself, and others,” he tells you sadly. He looks up at you and he gives you a grin that isn’t his usual happy one.

Yours falls, and his follows. “It’ll only be a year, maybe even a few months. Everyone here is smarter than Tony Stark, they’ll probably figure it out,” he reassures you just like how he used to whenever you got worried. You nod, and it’s just a farce. You’re not sure if you hope he can see through your façade or not. He sighs and looks at the door. The same door that Natasha walked out of just a few mere moments ago.

You don’t look back. You don’t follow his gaze. Why waste your time on something that will hold no meaning in the future, when you have the love of your life in front of you? You tilt your beard and swallow, just the way your mother used to. At least that’s what your father told you. “I love you, Jamie. I’ll always love you, until the end of time,” you whisper to him.

“And— And I love you too, лунный свет.”

It’s 2017, and along with your Winter, they’ve taken James’s love for you.

You don’t blame them. You don’t hate them. They’ve helped James heal, help him be better (even though God has already curated such perfection). The past seven hundred and thirty and then some days have been painful. The past seventeen thousand, five hundred-twenty hours have been slower than ever. It’s not like you’ve been keeping count. No, but Friday has.

The team — the Avengers — don’t allow you to come with them on their trip to Wakanda. You expected it. Ever since Steve and Tony put their differences aside for the sake of the world, you knew you’d be shunned from the team. Wanda, Sam, and Rhodey have tried to be friends with you, but after a debriefing with Tony, they couldn’t even lock eyes with you.

Once again, you don’t blame them.

You stay locked in your room, and you don’t mind it. It’s nice. It is true that people really do look like ants from such a height. You know the glass is bulletproof, but it feels like it’s seconds away from breaking. You love seeing the rain patter against the glass, just like how you love to see the snow melt as soon as it touches the clear surface.

You wonder if they’ve cut his long hair. You love his locks. Strands of brown mixing, the occasional lighter brown strands standing out. You love the length of his hair, too. Reaching just at his shoulders, and even past them. You love the way it tickles your face, especially when he bends down to kiss you.

You love everything about him. You always have, and you always will.

Your room is small. You can’t handle big spaces — Friday tells Tony, and he scoffs. Truthfully, you’re content with anything. He could’ve given you a broom closet to live in, and you wouldn’t complain. But you like small spaces. Big spaces make you feel a bit overwhelmed. Stark Tower has many wonderments to it.

For example — the technology. If you don’t like the scenery of the concrete jungle, you can change it to the view from Tony’s vacation home in the Hamptons. You always did have the wish to travel the world. From the streets of France to the lovely waterfalls in the Philippines. But the thought of being high up in the sky, with the small chance of crashing. It may be one in five million, but you won’t take the risk.

Even air crafts have their faults and flaws. Like having only two or three backup plans, the bathrooms, the limited space, the fact that if you pay extra you get better treatment, and the food options. But everyone looks past these things and they’ve been reduced to small issues that just don’t really matter. As long as the big picture looks perfect, the small details don’t matter.

You wish you could see yourself that way. A beautiful person at first glance. Where your details –– your flaws –– don’t mean anything. Because as long as the big picture is perfect, the details don’t matter. But you’re a detail-oriented person and every single thing matters. Even the little things that nobody will see. If only you could see yourself the way both Jamie and Winter see you. They know you have flaws, like the way you don’t like listening to helpful advice sometimes.

“Ms… Mrs. Barnes?” Friday calls out. You look up to where the voice comes from. Up above you, and a little to the side is a speaker. It’s small, barely noticeable. “Y- Yes, Friday?” you ask her, setting down the old mirror that was once your grandmother’s. It has a few cracks, but they aren’t serious enough to mess with anyone’s reflection.

“The Quinjet with Ms. Maximoff, Mr. Stark, Mr. Wilson, Mr. Rogers, Ms. Romanoff, Mr. Vision, Mr. Rhodes and Mr. Barnes is arriving,” Friday tells you. You swallow thickly — nervously. You may have been preparing all week, but all that effort goes down the drain. Will he act differently? Will he be ecstatic to see you? You ask yourself all these questions, and the answers to them just seem to taunt you.

“Will you be waiting at the entrance for them?” She speaks up after a few beats of silence. You nod before you remember Friday doesn’t have eyes. She can see, but she can’t see. “I will, Friday. Thank you,” you tell her. You set down the mirror with its face on the top of your dresser. You look around and you can just feel as though there is something missing.

Truthfully, you aren’t used to your room. You miss the wooden walls that held scratches from the furniture. You miss the coziness the fireplace emanated. You miss the view of the hills covered in snow. You miss it all. This concrete jungle isn’t made for you — you aren’t made for it. You stand up and with short steps (intentionally short), and the feeling of marble underneath your feet instead of wood works up your nerves even more.

You can hear commotion –– more so people whisper shouting at each other. “God, Rogers, get a grip! You look and sound like an old lady worrying about her grandchildren,” Tony snaps at Steve, before calling out for Friday. “Friday?” he yells, shoving one of his hands into the pocket of his pants. “Yes, Mr. Stark?” she answers back.

“Is the room ready?” he asks her, and the rest of the Avengers take a seat in the living room. “Yes, Mr. Stark. Welcome to the Avengers Compound, Mr. Barnes. If you need any assistance, just call for me.” Friday’s voice is always lovely. She reminds you of an aunt who is always ready to take care of her relatives.

You don’t hear Jamie’s lovely voice and you’re worried. You can see some parts of the living room from your spot in the hallway. “Just try not to kill any innocent people, okay?” Tony sneers, earning a smack on the shoulder from Pepper. Pepper always seemed nice to you, but your encounters with her were usually a bit awkward and short-lived. Steve is ready to throw his shield at Tony and so do the rest of the Avengers who were on the Captain’s side.

“’S fine, Steve. I deserve it anyway,” Bucky whispers loud enough for you to hear. Your heart jumps for joy — your Jamie really is back. You take another step, carefully, of course. “You don’t deserve that… Are you okay, Buck? Do you need to lie down? Drink water? Fresh air?” Steve attacks your Jamie like a mother and you can see why they got along so well in the past.

“I’m fine, Steve. Really. I just want to take a tour of this… this place,” Bucky admits to Steve, and Tony just can’t pass up the chance to roll his eyes. Bucky turns his head around as he takes in the large room. The television was so huge, he feels as though he is at the cinema. He doesn’t turn all the way around, so you must deal with the sight of his back. His clothes are nothing like the clothes he used to wear back in Romania.

He looks like he just attended his own funeral.

“You sure, Buck?” Steve asks him for reassurance. Bucky nods and he thinks about how much he misses his goats. “Alright, but remember to call for Friday if you get lost.” Steve pats Bucky on the shoulder and Tony is the first to walk out of the room, as usual. Pepper follows him, knowing how Tony gets whenever he sees Bucky. “Can I see my room first?” Bucky quietly asks Steve, making sure nobody else hears.

“Of course, Buck. It’s upstairs, is that fine?” Somehow, Steve believes that Bucky has a fear of heights. Though Bucky fell from a great height back in 1940-something, he’s not scared of heights. He’s more terrified of the cold and of trains, especially ones that run between mountains.

“Everything is fine, Steve,” Bucky snaps, growing tired of his best friend’s constant worrying. Steve raises his hands in surrender and you can tell Bucky doesn’t like that. “Hi, Jamie,” you greet quietly. You immediately regret ever leaving your room as everyone whips their heads around to face you. Bucky’s lips fall open in a gasp.

“Doll,” Bucky whispers beneath his breath. You take in his face and he’s just as beautiful as ever, if not more. Wisps of his hair fall and frame his face. He has a slight five-day-old scruff, one that is clean but also slightly messy. You remember the way you would sit in his lap, razor in hand, as you clean up the edges of Bucky’s beard.

He pushes past Sam, past Wanda, past everyone — hell, even past Steve who doesn't take the shove lightly. He nearly trips over the white couch that stands in the way. He comes up close to you, and you look up at him. You watch his eyes — but you don’t look into them. For some reason, you can’t seem to lock eyes with him. “Oh, my doll… I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers softly as he cups your face with his murder-scarred hands.

“Jamie…” You easily mimic his look of shock with a mix of adoration. You’re not sure how you ever said goodbye to the man in front of you — no, the man he used to be.

Now, he’s different. He’s not your Winter, your Winter is gone. They’ve taken him from you, and if it weren’t for the circumstances, then you would’ve fought them until the last tooth and nail. “I’m back, Doll, and ‘m all yours,” he whispers, bringing your face forward to his. You close your eyes and you think he’s going in for a kiss, but he stops when his lips are inches from yours.

“But I need to get better first, Doll. I need to get used to everything, is that all right?” He asks even though he should already know the answer. Right? You don’t know what they did to your Jamie. The rushed explanation filled with words you don’t understand only left you a confused mess. “Of course, Jamie. ‘Until the end of time,’ remember?” You whisper back.

He keeps quiet.

It’s still 2018, and you’re at an impasse.

You loathe impasses. You may persevere every now and then, but impasses just seem to love you. The saying, “you attract what you fear,” is terrifyingly true. You’re scared of impasses. You know they love to knock you down and kick you until you’re sputtering with blood leaking from the corners of your mouth that rarely ever turn up anymore. But they still occur.

It’s been a year and five months since Bucky came home, and each passing day has its difficulties. Whether it be nightmares, panic attacks or intrusive thoughts. But you’ve been there with him for every step. When he didn’t want to go to therapy alone, you went with him. When he couldn’t sleep after a rather gruesome nightmare, you told him some childhood stories. It feels like nothing has changed, truly.

But Jamie isn’t Jamie — and you don’t know what to do. “Jamie, do you want anything to eat?” You ask him, holding a plate of pancakes you whipped up once you knew nobody would be in the kitchen area. “Is– are those pancakes?” He asks you, turning around from his desk. You nod and look down at the impressive stack. Dr. Cho told you to make sure Bucky continues to eat. Sitting on the small table next to you – the ottoman – is a cup of steaming hot tea.

It’s not orange pekoe, it’s earl grey, Your father loathed it, saying that it’s meant for the elderly even though he had a head full of greys and aching joints. You’d laugh him off, but then pour him a cup of green tea. “Yes, some of them have blueberries,” you tell him, stretching your full arms out at him. You see that look of contemplation in his eyes again. “Would you like to eat with me?” You ask, knowing how he can get when those thoughts pester him.

“Of course, I’m all but a gentleman,” he jokes, and you give him a smile. “That you are, especially when it comes to the ladies,” you add, and he blushes. Bucky looks down and tries to hide the shy smile from you, and you allow him to do so. It’s not like you haven’t memorized every bit of Jamie, even down to the small things. “Is there any syrup? I’ve been craving sweets all morning.” Bucky grabs the second plate and he almost hesitates in grabbing a few pancakes.

You turn back around to get the tea, knowing that Bucky wouldn’t feel as embarrassed with taking food. “Here’s some tea, you don’t have to drink it, though.” You set the filled China cup on the glass table and the clink it gives lasts for a split second. “Remember when we would buy about three boxes of orange pekoe tea? Even though it wasn’t the best — especially since it was for so cheap — we’d still drink it like it was water,” you reminisce to him out loud as you take a pancake off of the stack.

There’s silence, and you swallow thickly. “It’s okay if you don’t remember, Jamie, I myself forget a lot of memories too,” you quickly reassure him, fanning the flames before they could even start to burn. “No, it’s not okay… I’m sorry,” he apologizes, gripping the specially made fork tightly. He hates it. It makes him feel like some sort of danger. Someone that breaks people and things so easily.

“Don’t be sorry, Jamie, or else I’m going to have to start apologizing for things that aren’t my fault,” you threaten him, and he cracks a smile. “Alright, only because I know you’re going to become annoying.” He grabs the syrup and drowns his pancakes with sticky delightfulness. “Yeah…” Your voice is all but monotonous with a hint of sadness.

He probably thinks you’re already annoying, you follow him around all the time… Do you ever let him do other things? Without you? Like hanging out with friends, healing on his own, cooking his own food… You’re so clingy.

“Shut up.”

You only want me to shut up because you know I’m right.

“What are you doing today?” you suddenly ask him. You haven’t dug into your pancakes yet, so you stare at the food in front of you with a strong glare. “Uh, well I’m not sure,” Bucky admits, and you only then realize how much you’ve held him back. “You should hang out with Sam, or Steve, or maybe even accompany Banner in the lab,” you suggest to him, looking at his plate. It’s nearly clean, with some streaks of syrups and a few occasional crumbs.

“Sam’s busy training with Steve, and I know Banner works best without someone hovering over him like a hawk — well, more so a raven. I’ll probably just hang out with ‘Talia, she’s been of great help with my healing.” Bucky takes the tea from your side and slowly sips it. “‘Talia?” you ask him. The name doesn’t ring a bell, but you’re sure that it’s a nickname. “Natasha, she went through something similar as me, so I’m hoping she can give me some advice,” he clarifies quickly.

“Oh, that’ll be great for you,” you exclaim to him. “I know… You don’t mind, do you?” he asks with one of his eyebrows raised. He’s never done that before. “Never. Go enjoy yourself, Jamie,” you urge in a soft voice, looking at him from the brim of his teacup. The sight reminds you of when you first moved away from the city.

The sun was rising in the distance. A few clouds shrewd over the lovely sight, but the yellows and oranges were stronger than the greys. From over the horizon, the sun made its way up to the sky. You watched from the porch with a blanket wrapped around your body. You miss those simpler days.

The ones where the only problems you had were the cold weather and the homework your father had given you. Sheets of paper sat on the table in the living room, with your multiplication tables written on them. Your sevens and eights always messed you up, but your father knew you could do it.

“Do you have any plans for today?” He questions, staring into the half-full cup. “I might go to that huge library Tony has, one of the agents was saying they have these seats called ‘bean bags,’ isn’t that funny?” You let out a harmless giggle, one of those small ones a protagonist would have that would make their love interest swoon. “I’ve sat on one. Not very nice. Natasha and I are the only ones on the team who hates them,” Bucky says as his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.

The other day, you caught him with a mouthful of blood. It wasn’t from a punch in the face or a knife in the guts.

“Oh, maybe I’ll join you two,” you playfully tell him, wiggling your eyebrows to the best of your abilities. Bucky just stares at you, a small glint of humour in his eyes but it slowly disappears and your smile goes away along with it. “Hm.” He downs the rest of his tea and you wonder how he isn’t wincing with pain from the heat. Oh, right, he’s a super-soldier.

Bucky begins to stand up and moves to take the dishes to the kitchen but you quickly stop him. “It’s alright, I can take it,” you reassure him. Without realizing it, your hand strokes the wrist of his bionic arm. You look up at him and smile, instinctively giving him that look you used to give Winter. Bucky hesitatingly shrinks away from you, and your smile drops. Nononono– Too much…

He smiles and walks out the door, not even sparing you one of those lovely second glances. Sighing, you settle the plates upon each other and the tension leaves the room behind him. You’re careful to avoid the syrup on one of the plates. The feeling of stickiness against your dry, cold hands will be unpleasant.

The thought of it has you shivering. A small electric shock climbs up your spine and you’re glad that nobody is there to watch you shake it off. You carefully pluck the fork from Bucky’s plate and place it next to yours. “Hey, Friday?” you call out into the empty room. “Yes, Mrs. Barnes?” she answers, ready to be at your service.

“What books are there in the library?”

It’s been around 92 days since Jamie told you about him and Natasha, and you can feel reality slip through your fingers.

Bubbles of giggle erupt from the common room. Never in your life would you ever have called a living room the common room, but words always seem to stick. Just like the syrup on these plates that just don’t seem to go away. You don’t mind cleaning up after the heroes. You’re glad.

You have something to occupy yourself with, or else there’d be holes in the floor for your incessant pacing. You run semi-lukewarm water over the plates, hoping the dried syrup would melt. You recall the way your father would terrify you into loathing sweets. He’d show you the way syrup would ‘harden underwater’, and he’d tell you that’s what occurs in your blood.

It’s too bad that a few days later, you learned that blood is thicker than water and the world is filled with nothing but lies. It’s scary, really; trusting someone with your whole life while they toy you around like seeing you be oblivious is a pass time.

Your hands warm up under the water and suddenly you wish you hadn’t left your bed this morning. “Bucky, stop, my face is all red,” Natasha demands through her laughs, and James snorts. “So? I like seeing you red, it’s my favourite colour,” he retorts and Natasha rolls her eyes.

You can’t see the playful, friendly banter, but you can hear it. It makes you smile. You love knowing Jamie is having fun, he deserves it. “Hey, you,” Sam greets, walking into the kitchen. “H- hi, do you need anything?” you ask him, halting your movements.

“No, just got done training those new recruits and I’m already fed up,” he complains and you giggle. You know Sam is being light-hearted, so you don’t take his words too heavily. “Well, a busy man like you needs a big breakfast. There are some pancakes over there, help yourself.”

You wait until he busies himself so that you can continue to wash this plate. You look at it — it’s covered in a mix of suds, syrup and water. You notice there’s a small chip on the edge of the plate and you can’t help but wonder where the piece went. If it were a piece of clothing, you would accuse the washing machine. But it isn’t, so you suppose it just went missing.

You place the plate back in the sink and sigh, before grabbing a sponge. The colours always confuse you. How can two contrasting colours go so well together? It’s beyond you, truly. Maybe your grandmother would’ve known, she always did know a little bit about everything.

Maybe she’d know what’s wrong with you.

You don’t say anything, knowing that you might weird Sam out. You roughly scrub the syrup off and it’s a bit too joyful to see it all gone. “Hey, Sammie,” Natasha chirps, patting her fellow teammate on the shoulder. You halt your movements. “Hey, Nat. Are you doing anything today?” Sam asks her, his eyes following her.

“Other than hanging out with Bucky, no, not really.” She tells him. She stands right next to you, a little too close for your personal liking. She opens up the cupboard and you continue to wash the dishes. You ask yourself if she’s watching you, or if she’s judging you.

Looking up, you accidentally make eye contact with her. You quickly look away and you’re not sure if she does the same. “‘Scuse me,” she whispers, stretching over to the cupboard on the other side. You stare straight at the sink, but your eyes fail to miss the locket that hangs from her neck. It’s slightly opened, and it’s absolutely gorgeous. The gold is slightly aged, perhaps a gift from when she was younger. Or maybe she got it recently, and a battle in the fields damaged it slightly.

On the outside of the locket is an engraving. You squint your eyes to read it, as the shaking from her movements messes up the text. “Until the end of time…” You read in your mind, and you drop the plate in the sink. Everyone in the room flinches and Natasha steps away. Sam stops eating and you’re utterly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you quickly apologize, picking up the plate. It’s not broken at all, but you still feel so guilty.

Natasha looks at you for a brief moment and you look back at her. She darts her eyes to your still hands. If she focuses just a bit more, she could see the way they shake. You look at the locket one more time, trying to see the inside of it. You need to know who’s a photograph she cherishes. You need to know who she cherishes in her heart, until the end of time.

The black and white photo of Jamie moments before he was shipped out reveals itself, and your heart drops.

“Friday?” you call out, setting your book down onto the bed. You place your makeshift bookmark –– a polaroid of Bucky — into the page. “Yes, Mrs. Barnes?” she answers. “Isn’t it a good thing that Jamie is socializing with his teammates?” you ask her, sounding like a worried mother. “It is. It’s just what the doctor prescribed,” she jokes, adding a mechanical laugh to her words. “Well, more so his psychiatrist. Dr. Cho is the doctor he gets his medication from. And his psychiatrist suggested socializing,” she clarifies.

You wonder if she’s against the joke mechanism Tony added to her system.

You laugh, just to ease the tension but it doesn’t do anything since she’s an A.I and you’re the only person in the room. “Thank you for laughing, Mrs. Barnes,” she graciously says as much as she can. “If it’s a good thing, then why do I feel so…?” You trail off because you don’t know any words to describe the emotion you’re feeling. “Anxious?” she completes, and you sigh. “Yes, anxious,” you admit.

“The other day, I was washing the dishes. I could hear James and Natasha laughing. Jamie’s laugh was music to my ears. It was like that song you hear on the radio occasionally, you know? But he doesn’t laugh like that with me, he doesn’t laugh like that with anyone else,” you solemnly tell her. “He spends so much time with Natasha — and usually I wouldn’t mind, I wouldn’t even bat an eye — but it just makes me anxious, Friday.”

Your voice is filled with concern, and Friday herself has never heard you so worried. “She… She had a locket. It was gold and heart-shaped. It had a very special phrase engraved on it, and the picture inside is Jamie.” You swallow thickly as even you can’t fathom the words that are falling past your lips. “I held back from telling you this, but Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Barnes had a past together,” Friday admits.

“Pardon?” you ask incredulously. “Back in Hydra, Mr. Barnes trained Ms. Romanoff. They had secret romantic rendezvous and were in love. Then, when the Red Room and Hydra found out, they were separated,” Friday tells you. “It’s probably why they’re so close, Mrs. Barnes. She’s his most recent relationship before you,” Friday reasons to you. It makes sense, it makes so much sense. “Should I be worried, Friday?” you ask her, smoothing your hands over the sheets that you lay atop of.

“No, Mrs. Barnes. Would you like to know why?” she asks you. “Yes, please,” you whisper, looking down at your hands. They’re sweaty, yet so cold. “Because that was in the past, Mrs. Barnes. Mr. Barnes is in love with you, he’ll love you until the end of time,” Friday sweetly tells you. You smile and then dip your head. Bucky loves you just as much as you love him.

It’s been a month since the talk you and Friday had, and you’re starting to doubt her words.

You lie awake in your bed. Caffeine-provided adrenaline pumps through your veins. This isn’t the first time you’ve stared up at the ceilings since you’ve arrived. Ever since Sam made you a cup of coffee from the new machine Stark bought, the bags under your eyes have gotten worse. You warned Bucky about it and he laughed. Just not as hard as you wanted him to. At least he heeded your advice.

Bucky lays asleep next to you. He lays on his right side, even though laying on his left side would make more sense. Bucky always gets better sleep when he lays on his left. You crack your knuckles quietly, even though you can’t wake him up. He used to be such a light sleeper, only because of the vivid nightmares he would get. You hate when he would get his nightmares. The terrifying images that taunt him would always cause him to have a panic attack.

It’s been over a few months since his last nightmare.

You want to turn on your side so badly–– and you can. But your mind can’t help but make you wonder if he’ll wake up. You look to your side when you hear a snore escaping Bucky’s mouth. You let out a coo, even though you used to think snoring was annoying. Your father’s snores would always bother you. You used to joke and say that one night, he’ll wake the sun up.

You gently turn on your left side and a small part of you hopes he’ll do the same. Maybe then you’ll get some warm cuddles to make your sleep. You shut your eyes because the city lights are far too bright at night. The sheer curtains obviously can’t hide New York’s bustling and liveliness. You slow your breathing down and relax your body. Hopefully, sleep can come to you soon.

Next to you lies Bucky. He’s quite literally in dreamland and he doesn’t want to ever wake up. Everything is so realistic, almost as though he’s living another life when his eyes are closed. He has a smile on his face, one that can charm almost anyone. The last time he had a dream like this wasn’t back in the forties — no. It was last night, and now sleeping is a lot better for Bucky.

Natasha giggles, loudly. It’s a cacophony of different sounds. It’s not fake, like the ones you hear on television. It’s real. It’s so vividly real that it makes his heart swell loudly. He looks to her first, making sure she’s enjoying herself before facing the judging stares from Tony and Rhodey.

His hand is intertwined with hers. He rubs his thumb on her skin and he knows what’s running through her mind. She shoots him a look, one that he chooses to ignore. He gives her a smirk and then brings her hand up to his face. He closes his eyes and presses a kiss on the diamond ring she wears.

The scenery changes.

It’s some time in 1992, and he’s holding onto her tightly. She’s asleep, with her locks of auburn hair spread out against the floor. She lays on his chest, and he makes sure she’s comfortable enough with him. Sure, his spine may ache and his under-eye bags may have deepened but he doesn't care.

“Natalia?” he whispers, checking to see if she’s asleep.

She’s knocked out cold and he’s glad. After what he just put her through, he doesn’t blame her. Hours upon hours of what they both like to call ‘training’ has her sleeping like a baby. He chuckles, and he hopes the rumbles in his chest don’t wake her up.

“Hi, Winter,” she hums, rousing from her sleep.

He curses and she giggles. Natalia rubs the tiredness from her eyes and she stretches as much as her body allows her to. “How long until they come?” she asks him. He looks to the make-shift alarm he stole from a mission and sees an hour marked on it. “One hour, Natalia,” he says.

She hums in delight. “Do you think this one hour will take a while? Or will it go by as fast as light?” she questions. Her accent is heavy, but it’s so beautiful. “Fast. Time well-spent goes by fast,” he tells her. “And how do you know this will be time well-spent?” she looks up at him.

“Time spent with you, is always time well-spent, Natalia.”

You hold your breath. Bucky mumbles sweet nothings to Natalia — Natasha. You want to cry so badly but then again, you don’t want to wake Jamie up from his dark paradise. You try to tell yourself it’s just a dream, that everything will be okay and that there’s nothing to be worried about. But even your thoughts fail to reassure you about the man lying next to you. You don’t know whether you should wake him up, so you bite down on your bottom lip and hope that this whole thing is just a dream.

“Did you sleep well, Jamie?” you ask him, folding his laundry for him. He looks up from the book he’s buried in and nods. “Amazingly, I’m so glad I can finally get some shut-eye now,” he tells you. You hum and Bucky looks at you. “Is everything alright?” he asks. “Yeah. Just peachy,” you say. He mumbles a quick okay and goes back to reading his book.

Jamie has a wonderful attention span, so there’s no reason for him to be stuck on the same page for around ten minutes. You have an idea as to what’s on his mind. Well, more so who. Natasha. “Any weird dreams?” you ask him after a few seconds. This time, you’re pairing up Bucky’s socks. “N– No, I don’t think I dreamt of anything.” He lies through his teeth and you know this because he has a tell.

Whenever he lies, he stares out into the distance. It’s usually to your right, but that doesn’t matter.

“But that’s good, right? No more nightmares.” You hold a pendant in your hand and it’s not yours because you broke your necklace a few days ago.

“That’s true,” he dryly agrees. It has the letter ‘N’ written on it. It seems like it’s new, unlike Natasha’s locket. You place it on the dresser softly. “You know, everything has a meaning. Nightmares, dreams, even dreamless nights,” you start. “I know, some are worse than others, though,” he follows. “Sometimes, nightmares mean change,” you continue.

He nods, but you don’t see it. “When you dream, it might be that you have some wishes or conflicts that have been suppressed,” you sweetly tell him. Bucky looks at you, but your back faces him. “And even not dreaming means something. When you don’t dream, it might mean that your mind is free of all the bad things,” you roughly shut the filled up drawer and Bucky squeezes his eyes shut at the loud sound.

“Sorry…” you sheepishly apologize. “S’ alright,” he smiles. “Well, my burning question relates to that, I guess,” you admit. He raises an eyebrow and you turn around. Your fingers tap against the oak wood of the dresser. Sweat that has built up for the past morning or so leaving an imprint of your fingers on the wood. “Do… Do you remember when you used to call me ‘moonlight’?” you ask nervously.

Bucky pauses whenever small movements he was making and you make direct eye contact with him. You look away immediately, though. “A– As a nickname?” he asks. “Yeah… You’d say it in Russian. There was beautiful reasoning and meaning behind it…” you explain to him. Your voice carries more hope than anything. He stays silent and you shakily exhale.

You know exactly how to pronounce it. “лунный свет.” You look up at him. “I… What was the meaning?” he asks. “I– I have it written down. Just wait, don’t go.” You move towards the bed and reach underneath your mattress. Your father would always hide things like that. Sometimes, you’d catch him placing your works of finger-painting underneath the bed.

You lift it and retrieve your little notebooks. It’s not much, but it’s something. You flip to the page that you wrote on two years ago. You smile once you reach it and turn back around. Jamie hasn’t left. “This page. I wrote it down when you left to go to the market. I remembered each word and I still do,” you cheerfully tell him. He smiles up at you and you hand him the book.

You’re just like moonlight. You’re wise, the brightest of them all. No matter how small you make yourself, you always manage to make everyone marvel at your beauty. You’re mysterious, always a surprise, but only for some. Your aura– your brightness, it never ceases to amaze people. It helps me through the darkest times. The world needs you, I need you.

The words are beautifully written. They’re traced over in black pen and even have little stars scribbled around them. “I said this?” he asks, in an almost incredulous tone. “Yeah, word for word,” you assure him. “This is really sweet, and I probably said this, but I don’t remember calling you moonlight, Doll. I’m sorry…” He sadly admits to you. Your heart drops, but it’s alright. He may not remember it, but you do. Maybe one day he will.

“It’s okay, don’t apologize,” you tell him in a sad tone. You take the notebook back from him and place it underneath the mattress. Jamie watches you as you do so. “Are you sure?” he asks on more time, just to be sure. “I’m sure. Dr. Cho and the others said this is normal, Jamie,” you assure him. “Alright.”

Everything is alright. Everything was alright. Everything will be alright.

You carry the laundry basket against your waist and you can’t lie and say you didn’t just bury your hands between the clothes as soon as they came out of the dryer. The common room is mostly empty. Wanda and Clint are out on a mission. Tony, Rhodey and Pepper are on a trip. Steve and Sam are training recruits. Vision and Bruce are in Dr. Cho’s lab. You assume Natasha is in her room and James is in yours.

But even assumptions can be wrong.

You hear that laugh that’s as soft as summer’s rain — Natasha’s laugh. It’s beautiful, just like her. But you can’t compare her beauty to anything, it’s beyond that. You walk up to the room where you can hear her, and pear through the small crevice the door has. She looks at Bucky with those emerald green eyes of hers. In them is absolute love and adoration.

“лунный свет, you look so pretty when you laugh,” Bucky tells her. She smiles and blushes, before giggling again. “You’re too sweet, Buck,” she whispers. Bucky grabs a hold of her hand, and his thumb rubs against her ivory skin. “Can never be too sweet when it comes to you, лунный свет,” he counters.

Your heart cracks, especially at the seams.

It’s been a week since Jamie called Natasha “лунный свет,” and you’re determined to get him back.

She must know she can have anyone she wants, but you can never love again. Not without him. That’s why you’re wearing a dress you borrowed from Wanda. You bite your red-stained nails nervously. It’s an improvement since your last date night with Jamie. Last time, you both shared a box of macarons that he stole from the grocery store. Underneath the moonlight, he once again professed his love for you. But this time, he gave you his dog tags to wear.

You have them on. They clink with your each and every movement but you don’t mind the sound at all. You spread a blanket onto the wooden floor. It has some similarities to the two sleeping bags you used back then. They were similar colours and took up the same amount of space. You throw some pillows on top, arranging them in a circle. The record player in the corner plays “‘Till the End of Time” by Perry Como.

You hum along to the melody of the song. You remember when Jamie said it was one of his favourites. You jumped in joy because it’s also one of your favourites. You carefully light the candles that are scattered around the room. Friday is already on alert in case one of the flames gets a little too big. You open the box of macarons and place them inside the little circle you have going on.

You set down other food items — such as croissants and a charcuterie board. It was all for cheap, mostly due to the bargaining you did with the old lady at the store. As soon as you dropped the words “date night’, she immediately went with whatever you had to offer. You turn back around and try to search for the scrapbook you have been making for the past two years. You always saved it for something, but that something doesn’t seem to be in your future.

“Where are you, little book?” you ask out loud. Your voice is in a sing-song melody, just like how your father would have his. You search around the dresser. You check in the drawers and the jewelry box but you can’t seem to find it. You decide to check the desk, because if it’s not here then it has to be there. You scan the top of the desk but don't find anything.

Carefully, you grasp the golden handle of one of the drawers and pull it open. The drawer glides easily, and if your father were here, he would’ve marvelled. You don’t find it, so you lift some stray sheets of paper. “Please be here…” You beg out loud. But it doesn’t turn up, and you pout like a little child. You drop the sheets of paper, but something grazes against your finger.

If you weren’t so out of it, you’d probably squeal in fear. Twine that’s pulled at the ends tickles you and you giggle. Your eyes follow to where it comes from, and you find a sealed envelope. You frown out of pure, ingenue curiosity. You pick it up and spin it around in your hands. It’s a beige envelope, one of the many you gifted Bucky on Valentine’s Day.

The twine wraps around it with no useful purpose. Only for the aesthetics. On the back has your name, written in cursive scrawl that belongs to one James Buchanan Barnes. You turn it back around, and carefully open it. Your father taught you that there’s a specific trick for opening envelopes. It was one of the many secrets your family had. And by family, you mean Jamie, your father and your grandmother.

It may not be much, but it’s more than enough.

Inside is a letter. More of Jamie’s handwriting fills your view and you don’t mind it at all. You pull the letter out and unfold it. You start to read it, only taking in the way his handwriting looks. You sit down on his chair and your eyes take in each word.

Dear лунный свет,

I’m sorry. From the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry. You can hate me, you can be disgusted with me. You can do whatever you want. But promise me, you won’t let what I’m about to say hurt you. I’m in love with Natasha. I’ve fallen out of love with you and listen, it’s not your fault. How can it be your fault? You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.

But I’m in love with Natasha. I have been for the past year or so. When I saw her again two years ago, something inside me happened. I got butterflies, as stupid as it sounds. She’s everything I want, everything I need. We go way back, and she knows me like the back of her hand. I’m sorry, лунный свет. I am so fucking sorry. I know writing this letter isn’t the best way to do this, but I feel the need to do so.

Love,

James Buchanan Barnes.

You can die right here, right now. You wonder if this is some kind of sick joke Bucky is playing on you, but after sitting there for a few more minutes, you realize it isn’t. Suddenly, the candles burning around you are pointless and so is your entire being of existence. You sit there, stupefied and filled with hurt. You let the letter fall into your lap and slip down to the floor, where it meets the wood with no sound.

The record scratches but you don’t even wince. Now, the voice of Perry Como is all warped and haunted. You hate it. You hate everything. You shut your eyes and sigh quite loudly. She took Jamie from you — your Jamie. Your throat tightens up and you feel like time slows down. You break down, the dam crashing down as the water flows at high pressure. It’s all so much at once. Tears leak from your eyes and drip down to the desk.

You hang your head, almost in shame.

Why are you crying? This was bound to happen.

“Can you just shut up for once?” you cry out.

“Mrs. Barnes, is everything alright?” Friday asks. “Yes, Friday. Do you mind leaving me alone, please?” you politely request. Your voice nearly cracks from the tears. “Of course, Mrs. Barnes,” she says, before dinging away. Mrs. Barnes… You’re not Mrs. Barnes, were you ever? She was always Mrs. Barnes, and she always will be. You let out a choked cough, one that uses all the strength in your body that isn’t destined for your crying.

You look down to the opened drawer and then to the letter on the floor. A groan escapes past your lips. It’s one of pure hurt and pain. You can feel your heart shattering into pieces. Each shard cuts your insides and you struggle to calmly breathe. You grab a sheet of paper from the drawer and pluck the pen that lies on the desk. You take a deep breath and begin to write your heart out.

Natasha,

Please, please don’t do this. I know you may be in love with him (which is the best feeling ever, I know), but please don’t take him just because you can. I also know that nobody can control their feelings. But even love disappears one day, right?

You could have your choice of man, Natasha. But I don’t think I can ever love again. Not without him. If only you could see the way Steve, Sam and Bruce look at you. You can have any of them, so why did you choose Bucky? Why are you taking my Jamie from me?

He dreams about you. He calls your name in his sleep. He calls you moonlight and I’m sure you don’t know the true meaning of it. But if you ask, he’ll probably tell you. This is coming off as rude — I know. It’s not what I want but I want you to ask you one thing only.

Please don’t take him, even though you can.

You scribble your name at the bottom of the page. A tear drops from your eyes and soaks into the paper. You re-read each sentence, and with every word, you hate yourself even more. You throw the pen at the wall, not caring that it breaks at the impact.

You want to send it to her so badly, but your father always told you to never fight fire with fire. Would she even listen to you? Probably not, so why try? Jamie isn’t coming back because Jamie doesn’t love you, he hasn’t for a while. You look away from the letter and to the candles that decorate the room.

You’re so foolish, thinking Jamie could ever love you. He did once, but this isn’t your Jamie. Your Jamie is gone and so is his love for you.

You fold the letter up until you’re satisfied. One end slightly overlaps the other but even the smallest things that would usually bother you doesn’t matter now. Nothing does. You bring the letter to the burning candle and let it light on fire. Along with the paper goes your instinct to fight for the love of your life.

You can never love again. Not without him.

[havenoffandoms]

Hey congrats on 900 followers! Would I be able to request the touch starved prompt from your list with the pairing Aiden/Lambert please? Love all your writing!

Hello!! Thanks for requesting this prompt and this pairing! I’ve been on a right Lambden kick recently, so I felt inspired. I hope you like it! 

Prompt 13: Touch-Starved

Pairing: Aiden x Lambert

Warnings: None

Prompt List

Lambert was apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together. Being stabbed to death in his sleep comes to mind, or having Aiden go all batshit crazy if Lambert dared to beat him at Gwent. Lambert has heard many rumours about Cat witchers in his long life. Cats are batshit crazy. Cats are emotionally volatile. Cats are backstabbing sons of bitches… literally and metaphorically. Cats are bad. Cats are evil, etc, etc. All these rumours circulated in Kaer Morhen long before Lambert even set foot in that ramshackle castle. He was too young to have witnessed the Tournament, but he heard the older witchers talk. Later in his life, when only a handful of wolf witchers were left after the sacking, Eskel gave Lambert a more detailed account of the Tournament.

“The Cats betrayed us, went on a rampage. Killed many wolf witchers in the process. Geralt and I lost many friends that day,” Eskel told him one evening, when the oldest surviving wolf was too far in his cup to notice that he was oversharing. “Radowit’s court mage Astrogarus promised the Cats monopoly on killing monsters within Kaedwen in exchange for attacking the Wolves during the tournament. Turns out Radowit was a backstabbing motherfucker himself. He ordered his soldiers to shoot all of the remaining witchers of both schools in the arena.”

“Lemme guess,” Lambert spoke, his own speech slightly slurred, “pretty boy saved the day?” 

Eskel shook his head. “Fled. Mousesack helped him escape the massacre. Poor bastard never forgave himself for abandonin’ our brothers, but what choice did he have?”

Don’t get Lambert wrong. He’s not saying that Aiden is harmless, far from it. The guy’s lethal with his swords, deadly with a pair of daggers, not to mention a stealthy and clever thief. Aiden is mercurial, hot-tempered and a bit feral when he wants to be, and his morals are at best dubious. Whereas wolf witchers had their emotions beaten out of them at a young age, cat witchers feel too much, too strongly. Lambert’s witnessed Aiden flip tables when peasants beat him at Gwent, but he’s also witnessed the Cat shed a tear after bringing the news to a mother that her son did not survive the ghoul attack two villages down the road. 

Lambert was apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together, but the Cat had never ceased to surprise him. The most unexpected trait Aiden has displayed to date is his insatiable need for physical contact. It’s not like Lambert hates being touched - he’s only human, albeit a mutated one, but still human. He enjoys a hug as much as the next person, especially when said hug comes from one of his brothers (or, dare he say, Vesemir) at the end of a long and difficult year on the Path. Lambert has also never begrudged a bed partner a post-coital cuddle session. Aiden’s need for physical contact is… on a whole different level. 

The first time it happened, Lambert almost shoved the Cat off him and sent him packing, until he realised that Aiden was not only hugging him, but clinging onto him. His sharp nails were digging in the soft material of Lambert’s shirt, the fabric creaking in protest under the firm grip. When Lambert looked down, he noticed the pinched eyebrows and tears trailing down Aiden’s face. It wasn’t until a broken sob pushed past the Cat’s lips that Lambert reluctantly returned the embrace, arms wound tightly around Aiden’s trembling body. Aiden eventually settled in the safety of Lambert’s arms, his features softening as he sank back into a peaceful slumber. 

Neither mentioned the previous evening’s impromptu cuddling session, but from that moment one, it was like someone had flicked a switch. Aiden came up with every possible fucking excuse to touch Lambert. Their hands would always accidentally graze each other when they packed up camp, or tacked up the horses. Aiden would bump shoulders with him when they were travelling on foot. If they sat next to one another in a tavern, Aiden would press his leg against Lambert’s, and if they were facing each other, a tentative foot would gently nudge Lambert’s shin and linger there. It’s not like Aiden was trying to hide his intentions, either. They rarely paid for two rooms anymore, because even if they did, Aiden would always end up in Lambert’s bed anyway, arms wound around Lambert’s body like a koala clinging to its mother.

Lambert doesn’t hate Aiden’s need for physical proximity, he’s just… confused by it. Aiden rarely takes any lovers to bed, even though he clearly craves physical intimacy. Lambert is more than happy to cuddle with Aiden, especially when they are forced to sleep under the stars and the early autumn frosts begin to settle over the region. It saves them from lighting a campfire, which may attract the wrong kind of attention to them. That’s all that’s ever transpired between the two, though… cuddling. Lambert enjoys the cuddling as much as Aiden does, but for Aiden it seems to be about more than mere enjoyment. The Cat simply refuses to go without physical intimacy which at times can be… alright, it can feel overbearing, but Lambert’s not about to complain, not when most humans turn away from him in disgust and contempt when he tries to chat them up. 

Over the course of the next few weeks, Aiden almost develops a form of separation anxiety. He refuses to let Lambert out of his sight, going so far as to follow the man everywhere, and that’s the moment when Lambert snaps. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he asks, his tone hiding none of the irritation he feels at being tailed by this overgrown tomcat. Aiden stops dead in his tracks, his eyes growing wide at Lambert’s words. 

“Huh?” 

“You’ve been following me since this morning… I have errands to run and it’s hard to do that when you’re breathing down my neck!”

Lambert instantly regrets his words the minute they leave his mouth. Aiden’s shoulders visibly sag at Lambert’s comment, his content expression melting into something sadder and the sight tugs at the wolf’s heartstrings in all the wrong ways. Aiden averts Lambert’s eyes shyly, the tip of his ears turning a pretty shade of pink as embarrassment washes over him. Lambert heaves a sigh. Way to act like a fucking dick. 

“Sorry, Aiden. I… I didn’t mean to sound like an ass, but-”

“It’s alright, I… I knew this moment would come eventually.”

“What are you talking about?” Lambert asks, a confused frown etched on his face. Aiden doesn’t look at him when he replies in a voice far too small to belong to the lethal, cocky witcher Lambert has come to know over the past few months. 

“You’re gonna ask me to leave for good. I get it. I… I’ll go back to the room and pack my things.” 

As Aiden turns around to leave, Lambert’s hand shoots out and grabs a hold of Aiden’s wrist. Before Lambert’s brain has a chance to catch up, he finds himself pulling Aiden into a nearby alley, away from prying eyes of judgemental humans meandering the stalls of the midweek market. Aiden looks so unsure now, so vulnerable like this, and it makes Lambert want to wrap the Cat up in warm blankets and cuddle him and forget the world for a while. Instead, he settles on pressing Aiden’s back against the wall and draping himself around the Cat witcher as much as he can. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Lambert breathes in the air pocket between them as he locks eyes with Aiden, “you’ve just been… especially clingy recently. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Aiden averts his eyes once again, but Lambert is quick to grip the other man’s chin and force Aiden to meet his gaze. Even that simple touch pulls a small hiss from Aiden, whose eyes flutter shut as he relishes in the feeling of Lambert touching him anywhere. Lambert purses his lips, eager for an answer. 

“Aiden-”

“Winter is around the corner,” Aiden whispers, his tongue darting out to lick his suddenly dry lips. Lambert’s frown deepens. 

“And?”

His question is met with a pointed eye roll from Aiden. 

“And… wolves return to their dens for winter, don’t they? I was just… enjoying the last few weeks in your company before you leave and never come back.”

As the final piece of the puzzle slots into place, understanding dawns on Lambert. He pulls away from Aiden and the small whimper the loss of contact triggers does not go unnoticed. Something old and fragile aches in Lambert’s chest as the meaning of Aiden’s words sink in. Aiden isn’t just worried about being separated from Lambert for a few months, but he’s worried that Lambert will never come back.The wolf links his fingers with his Cat’s, squeezing softly as he leans into Aiden’s space and rubs his bearded cheek against Aiden’s jawline. The latter quickly melts under the soft ministrations, the soft content rumble deepening into a continuous purr as Lambert nuzzles the crook of Aiden’s neck. 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” 

“Yeah, right,” Aiden snorts in response, “cause you’re so good with feelings and shit.”

“Not everyone’s a sappy sentimental bitch like you are,” Lambert teases gently, earning himself a half-hearted slap up the back of the head. “I don’t have to go back to Kaer Morhen this winter.”

Aiden tenses, his soft purring stopping abruptly as he takes in Lambert’s words. Lambert continues to rub his cheek against Aiden’s jaw, his neck, his cheek… wherever he can reach, the action meant to soothe the brewing storm in Aiden’s mind.

“It’s your home,” Aiden offers weakly, “I don’t want… I… it’s your home.” 

“I can send a letter to the old man. Let him know I’m alive. We could find a den somewhere else… an attic somewhere, or an abandoned castle.” Lambert nuzzles the spot right behind Aiden’s ear, earning a pleased hum from the Cat. “Or you could come with me.”

“Sure. Cause that’s gonna end well…” 

“That’s settled then. I’m spending winter with you.”

Aiden pushes Lambert away, their eyes meeting once again but this time, Aiden searches for any trace of a lie in Lambert’s amber gaze. He finds none, because Lambert is one hundred percent honest in his offer. He would ditch Vesemir, Geralt and Eskel for a year to spend it with Aiden… and the thought should scare him more than it does, truthfully. He’s only known the Cat for a few months, and yet… well, maybe Lambert was dreading the winter as well. How about that? It’s not like he felt equally anxious about leaving Aiden, it’s just… fuck off. 

“You mean that?” 

“Mhm. Fair warning… I hate the cold. If I’m spending the winter with you, you’ll have to find a way to keep me warm or I will bite your head off.” 

In Aiden’s defence, he does keep Lambert warm all winter long. Their cuddling finally turns into something more, and from the moment Lambert and Aiden cross that fateful line there is no going back. Aiden becomes insatiable, always seeking Lambert’s body in some shape or form, never letting the wolf out of his sight again.  Lambert may have been apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together, but it turns out that all his worries were for nothing. Turns out Cat witchers are still crazy, and feral, and mercurial… a tad possessive as well, something Lambert doesn’t hate... but they’re also the cuddliest sons of bitches on the Continent. 

Lambert can live with that, he thinks. 

Request a prompt.

[eunoiaastralwings]

Unexcepted Love - Chapter 8

chapter one chapter two chapter three chapter four chapter five chapter six chapter seven chapter eight chapter nine chapter ten chapter eleven

featuring erestor x reader

fandom tolkien- the silmarillion lord of the rings

a/n lady taniara is @daughterofimladris​ mellon nin. Please please go show her some love- she deserves it. PLEASE! - thank @i-did-not-mean-to for this chapter- my sister said she hated the last chapter - and I was thinking about abandoning this

The night had started tremendously- it was lively and bright.

But it was also too nosy.

Erestor hated such events- he would rather stay inside his study until dawn had broke.

But at the news of a certain elleth joining tonight- he was instantly joining.

The pain his scar was causing was unbearable- he had locked himself away in his room for days.

He blamed it on the elleth- who was currently seated beside his lord's daughters.

Erestor gave her work after work- overloading her- but she still finished them in the acquired time- that didn't do anything to satisfy him.

Neither did the sight of her hands- frail and tired- she kept rubbing her sore joints.

Every one of her actions- they brought him torment. His mind spiraling- he couldn't keep up.

He was annoyed with her- he wanted to pursue her- but she would be making a greater fool out of him then.

He glared on- Tara interacted carefully- she would feel his eyes on her.

She had already gobbled down 3 glasses of wine- some of Erestor worried- was she drinking for than she can take?

She was still a young elleth- the same age as Lady Taniara.

Erestor tried to look away- but every time he looked around the entire ball- his eyes returned to Tara.

It drove him insane- he tried not to overwhelm himself- there was only so much Elrond's medicine can take.

So abruptly- Erestor stood up- startling some of them- he didn't spare a look at anyone and left.

But from the corner of his eyes- he could see Tara was watching him leave- before he turned away from her.

He climbed how the stone steps- ignoring the calls from the golden haired oaf lord.

Erestor let out a deep sigh and ran a hand over his face.

“Am surprised you stayed- until now. . .”

The voice of Elrond- suddenly commented.

Erestor frowned and looked towards the balcony.

His lord and friend stood here- looking into the valley of Imladris.

But Erestor knew- it was not the valley- nor what it hid he was looking at.

But past the valley- towards the shores of Arda- that was far.

“It was. . . tolerable. . .”

He replied.

Erestor stood next to Elrond.

“Tolerable. . . because of a certain elleth from Mirkwood?”

Elrond smirked at his old- even more so when he frowned and avoided answering.

“Shouldn't you be down at the festival?”

Erestor asked- he wanted to change the topic.

“I was there. . . but later I came up here . . .”

“You were hoping he would come tonight. . .”

Erestor said and Elrond hummed a little disappointed- maybe hurt too.

By he- Erestor knew he meant one of his foster fathers- Maglor. Elrond remembered the days and nights- when Maglor would speak about the festival.

It was his favorite.

So- every time the stars aligned to mark tonight's festival- Elrond would make the grandest ball- and hoped it would guide Maglor here.

Erestor had heard the stories many times- it was one of the reasons he had been so inspired to fight alongside Elrond- so long away.

But in the end- he received an unhealable scar- that tormented him day and night- now it added an elleth to the equation.

“You know. . . he always said: the heart knows what it wants- and one way or another with will always get what it wants- and fate is not so easily broken, mellon.”

“Why are you saying this?”

Erestor frowned.

“Even if you hid yourself away, the heart will always win. . .- why are you hesitant?”

Because she said it was an accident!

“It is late, my lord- I should retire to my chambers. . .”

Again- Erestor avoided the topic- he half heartedly listened to the words.

Elrond only smiled.

“Goodnight, mellon nin- Just remember what I told you. . .”

He said- when Erestor was about to leave.

Erestor gave a nod in response and left.

As he made his way to his chambers- Erestor traced over the hidden scar. . .

Maybe Tara- maybe she thought twice.

She thought she could be with an eldar with a scar- but now she realized as soon as she kissed him- she couldn't

Maybe that's why it was an accident.

The sound of drunken giggles coming from his chambers made him frown- the slightly open door made him panic inside.

Erestor almost slammed the door open- the elleth who was just in his thoughts jumped in the middle of his chambers.

“Tara?”

He questioned.

She giggled drunkenly at him- and nodded.

Erestor sighed.

“Tara, how much have you drank?”

He suddenly asked- more worried seeing her alone, in his chambers.

The elleth brought her hand to his face- and slowly lifted her fingers one by one- counting.

He sighed- when she looked like counting past 5.

“Let's get you back to your chambers. . .”

“No!”

The elleth suddenly whined- and quickly wrapped her arms around his neck.

Erestor snapped his eyes close- and tried to breathe in through his nose.

“Tara. . . you're drunk.”

He said.

The ellon tried to push her away- but she insisted on clinging to him.

“Are you mad?”

She suddenly sounded so upset- it made Erestor freeze.

Her bottom lip was trembling.

“Please don't be mad. . .”

She said- the elleth suddenly pushed herself closer to him and hugged him tighter.

Erestor gulped- and hesitantly rest his hands on her back for a moment- before he thought it was best to drop it.

“I missed you. . .- I saw you, but then you disappeared”

The elleth confessed.

Erestor sighed and opened his eyes- he looked at her.

She looked at him with pleading and drunk eyes.

“You missed me?”

The elleth nodded- her eyes drifted down to his lips.

Again- Erestor needed a moment to breathe through his nose.

“Tara. . . don't. . .”

“You hate me. . .”

“I don't hate you, Tara. . .”

He sighed- when she slurred her words

“But then- why did you leave me- and gave me so much work- my hands are so sore. . .”

She complained looking so upset.

“Didn't you tell me it was an accident?”

He questioned her.

Tara lifted her eyes.

“Yes. . . but. . .”

“But?”

She swayed and Erestor needed to hold her carefully on him.

His hands rested on the young elleth hips- and held her gently.

“It's just. . . - I think am in love with you. . .”

Erestor lost his breath- he just stared at her.

Her confession shocked him.

didn't they say drunk words- were sober thoughts?

A few seconds passed and the elleth tried to reach up- she brushed her lips on his lips- but she didn't get to kiss him like last time.

She felt dizzy and she collapsed into his arms.

Erestor looked at the unconscious elleth - that claimed she thinks she's in love with him- in his arms.

He gently stroked her flushed cheek.

“What are you doing to me, Tara. . .?”

form for taglist

Fic taglist:​​ @i-did-not-mean-to​​ @involuntaryspasms

tara's taglist: @mslizziesblog @spidergirla5 @wandererindreams @aeonianarchives

elves of imladris: @queenstarlight2

erestor’s taglist: @itsdameron

[thekillingmoonmoon]

one | marigold

part one / part two

(cruelty, jealousy, grief)

Pairing: Bonten! Kokonoi Hajime x Fem!reader

Warnings: ANGST, swearing, mention of violence, drugs, guns, blood, death

Length: 1k (big wtf?)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

You were not enough.

You would never be enough. No matter how much you begged, no matter how much you bled, you would never win. You would never know the sweet taste of your name on his lips, would never know the cold kiss of love laid in diamonds on the third finger on your left hand, would never know the solid safety of his heart beating between your ribs. Because you were not her. You were not an angel, all gold and sapphire blue, holy light and cherubim smiles. You were not kind, soft at the edges and easy to hold. You were not her, would never be her. Because you were not dead.

You breathed, and so you bled, the strings to your soul snapping in your chest with every curl of your lover’s lips, every turned shoulder and every dismissive wave from his sacred seat. You breathed, and so you were imperfect, real, and in Kokonoi’s world of gold-gilded riches and flawless, shimmering jewels, you were a stubborn speck of dirt smeared across his skyline. A solemn reminder of his past, a stain upon his current success, you hung on the threads of his life, a red string frayed and worn between you.

Your tears surprised you, washing down your cheeks in salt-scorched eulogies to your dying relationship. Your world lay broken around you, the biggest piece of your heart shattered at your side, gathered in the sleeping figure of Kokonoi on the mattress beside you. You glanced at him, a sob hitching in your throat at the silver-soaked sight. Kokonoi was beautiful, stunning, a drop of divinity fallen to earth. And you should feel blessed. Instead, your chest cried in hoarse fear, iron filling your lungs, blood on your tongue. You leaned over your lover’s slumber, listening for the deep and steady sigh of sleep. His breathing rattled, a remnant of past battles and current vices, but he was far away, lost in the land of dreams, carried away by his preferred poison of a mixed prescription and whatever alcohol he could get his fingers on. A bottle still stood on the bedside table, brought to bed whilst you pretended to sleep, the burn of the alcohol the only goodnight kiss Kokonoi would accept. Carefully, carefully, you eased yourself off the bed, immediately shivering at the loss of Kokonoi’s warmth. You crept around the room, gathering up your meagre life, tossing it haphazardly into a tog bag, closing away your heart with a zip.

It was nearly dawn, the night caught in the unhallow hush of the dark hours before daybreak. You paused, a ghost captured in grey light, a ghost leaving their own life. You looked over the room you’d once shared with the love of your life. The room where you’d lost yourself to Koko, where you’d given your heart to him, where he’d thrown it back with hot venomous scorn, and a name you’d hoped he would forget.

Akane. The woman you could never be. Because she was dead, and you still breathed. Because she was perfect, and you were alive. How dare you try to touch Kokonoi’s heart? How dare you dream of love? How dare you hope to compare to an angel that had been called home, when you were only mortal, only you.

The box of your broken dreams still lay on the floor, its lid askew, and its contents scattered in strings of silver stars. You picked up the nearest piece. His initial and yours, cast in permanent platinum, shattered in a second. It was meant to be a gift, part of the celebration of your life with Koko. A matching set of necklaces, because you never even considered a ring, because you were too scared to consider a ring. It was a gift of equals, your name alongside his, to be worn above both of your beating hearts. Now, your heart was still, splintered when Kokonoi had thrown the box of your love into the nearest wall.

You had never tasted an anger so sour, so bitter, as the poison that had poured from Koko’s tongue, the acid melting away whatever naïve future you had planned for the pair of you. For the first time since meeting Koko, you’d let him leave, a trail of burning ichor and stinging curses following his footsteps out the door. You’d let him leave, even though you had followed him as your god until now, even though you had sworn to never leave his side. You blinked, and thought of Inui. Sweet, steady Inui. Your best friend. Koko’s best friend. The boy you had left behind to follow Koko’s dreams. You wondered if Inui smiled now, if he could laugh freely, if he knew love. He had been right, of course. He had always been the more sensible, the less star-struck, the more aware of Koko’s shortcomings. And so Inui had warned you, with wide summer sky eyes, he warned you not to follow Kokonoi, warned you that even if you loved Kokonoi with your whole life, he would never even grant you a moment of his in return. His prophecy had come true, of course, it had come true and had come crashing down around you in a deluge of hellfire and alcohol-fuelled tears.

Your name broke the room, splintering the silence in a muted murmur as Kokonoi rolled over in his sleep, long painted fingers searching for you amongst the empty sheets. You needed to leave. You needed to leave now.

Your departure was slow, clumsy, punctuated by sniffles and choked sobs as you extracted your heart and soul from an unlived life. You granted yourself one last kiss, a tear-saturated press of your lips to his, ignoring the sickening scent of cheap booze and another woman’s perfume that lingered on his skin. And then you were gone, leaving your set of keys on the kitchen counter, alongside the coffee mugs set out for two. The security door evicted you with an asthmatic huff, pushing you out into the cold. You clicked and thumped away from your previous life, already listing your future out in puffs of air and drying tears. First, a hotel, a bed, somewhere to sleep, anything. Then, a new phone, free of all the various trackers and cages Kokonoi had installed around your life. And lastly, live. Live without him. Live without the ghost of a dead woman stealing away your love. Live with yourself, whole and wanted. Live. Breathe. Bleed.

my little flowers: @cursedmoonchild @ravenina14 @sujiko @mrskisaki @scatoru @iridescesara @rinnsenpai @ransbatongobrr @demonslover @deajanew @rinrinfoxy @peepeepoopoot

let me know if you would like to see a second part

taglist for this event open until 25 October

[dxrkdreamer]

Fall- Eren x Reader

Pairing: Eren x Reader

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 980 words

In which you two love each other but must leave each other.

------------------------------------------------------------------

You were not sure how the two of you got here. Standing atop wall Maria, one side your home and the other side a chilling mystery. Was a chilling mystery. Now it was home as well, the other side of the sea was a mystery. But this brought you back to your past and you weren’t sure if your eyes were watering from nostalgia or from the absolute fate that was about to tumble from your best friend and partner’s lips.

He had grown, the height difference was ever obvious as he towered a good half foot taller than you. His boyish charm was replaced with something deeper and more unknown and more sinister.

“(Y/N)” he drawed out your name, not apathetically, but as if he was tasting something for the last time and wanting to savour it. But not sad either.

“Eren” you look at him, but not at him. You look behind him, beside him, at his clothes, shoulders, lips but not his eyes. The emeralds you fell in love with would make this all too real.

He sighed, he knew you knew too. What this was about. And it would be selfish of you to cage him any longer, you knew what you were getting into with someone as stubborn and free as him but you never really thought it would come as far as this. It was fair, you both wanted something different, and if you two did want the same thing you would probably just get in his way.

“Remember when we were kids and we tried climbing the wall? We had rope that we stole from that man and tried tossing it over one of the bearings and climbing.” You were recalling the memory as you looked down. What you two once wanted so bad, you no longer wanted anymore. Everyone was leaving you, one by one. Eren was all you really had left, the only one you cherished. Your friends were nice but Eren was Eren. “And-and I didn’t really know what was going on, I-I kept falling and getting hurt but…”

His warm embrace hit you and you curled your fist around his jacket, holding it with all your might afraid of letting go. Your face buried in his chest as you breathed his scent “but I just wanted to follow you! Because you were my best friend then! And I always wanted to be at your side…”

“I know (Y/N) I know,” he said softly. He had never felt like this, when his mom was eaten, when Marco died, when he learned about Marley. This was different. He was choosing this, choosing to hurt his loved ones… starting with you. He kissed the top of your hair, tightening his arms around you, afraid that you’d break into pieces if he let go. His heart was beating like crazy, his tongue went dry. He had rehearsed this many times but in person it was much harder to say.

He wanted to bring peace with you by his side like always but this was too dangerous, and he could never forgive himself if something hurt even a hair on your head. This was for the best, he would die soon anyways, you’d be left alone in the end regardless.

He took note of your sobs quieting down until you were just breathing unevenly, gently pulling you away but still holding onto your arms as you looked up at him and he looked down at you. Is this really it ? The both of you wondered. Of course you would see each other again but not necessarily on the same side. And not necessarily together.

“The sky looks beautiful” You said looking up, it was peaceful. The night was turning into dawn, the sky was dark, the stars were fading as the sun started taking its presence. Rightfully outshining them. And the entire solar system followed it’s orbit. It was the brightest after all, just like your Eren.

“It does,” he agreed. “Like you” A smile cracked at your lips. And his heart warmed at the sight.

“You’re as silly as ever” you mumbled, reaching for his hair, untying the bun as his brown locks fell over his face. You combed your hand through it, feeling the soft locks while you hummed. You loved his hair.

It’s not fair you thought childishly, both of you loved each other dearly. You shouldn’t have to leave someone you love. But it wasn’t you two that were the problem, the situation was a strange one to be in. He was eons more powerful than you or anyone else, so he had a responsibility. To protect everyone. To protect you too.

Your hand dropped out of his hair and as you retracted it back, he grabbed your small hand in his large calloused one and pulled you closer until you were flush against him. He studied your face, memorizing every detail over and over again before pulling you in for a long kiss. It was desperate, he wanted you to know he loves you no matter what. And he wanted to say sorry for what was in the past and what was going to come in the future.

As he pulled away, you shook your head “I understand” you said quietly without him speaking. It was one of the things he loved about you, you always knew what he wanted to say without him saying it.

He drew a long breath before he stepped away from you, towards the ledge, his feet balancing on the edge. His hair flew everywhere as the morning wind hit him.

“Eren, I love you.” He titled forward and started his descent towards the ground, or towards madness. He wasn’t really sure anymore.

“As do I (Y/N)...” he closed his eyes and fell.

[vipetriol]

It’s that time of the year again. . .

Sleeplessness is a long-standing habit of Jamil’s. 

As a child, many nights were spent in restless vigil. When the sky was at its darkest, long past midnight and just before the break of dawn, he would sneak out to the rooftop, away from prying eyes. As long the rest of the world lost itself to slumber, he was free to behave as he liked.

Just by gazing up, Jamil was met with a living remnant of the past: the very same view that once guided travellers in their journey across the desert and through their voyages over unknown seas. Sometimes, he would lie flat on his back, mapping every corner of the starry sky until sunrise. 

But, on occasion, he would run. He ran and kept running despite having no destination in mind. Shrouded by the veil of night, he would vault over gables, slide across canopies, and climb onto parapets until his legs gave out.

The moon looming above was the sole spectator of his nocturnal escapades. There was warmth to be found in its distant but ever-present glow. By basking in it, Jamil had made out, hidden amongst the infinite web of constellations, a sliver of hope.

When he reflects on those days now, he realises just how foolish it all was. He'd only foregone some much needed rest in exchange of delaying the inevitable. A diamond sky? Don’t make me laugh. Stars, in all their brilliance, could do nothing to help him.

Yet, the habit remains. Whenever he’s feeling restless, he takes off and flies over Scarabia’s desert landscape, cursing his lot until daybreak or until his magical reserves all but run dry. 

And the crescent moon —that dreadful moon—  like a grotesque, jagged grin, became not his confidant, but his adjudicator. 

Time marches forward, waiting for no one, and tomorrow would arrive whether he wanted it to or not. Morning come, any proof of his outburst would disappear without a trace. Another day would start anew; Jamil, always quick to adapt, would go about his daily tasks and his classmates none the wiser.

Or so it usually goes. 

Tonight, the pocket dimension of the dormitory feels too stifling. He leaves Scarabia at a quarter before midnight, broom in hand. Slithering past the hall of mirrors and to the nearest courtyard, he takes flight. 

Jamil surges through campus, flying by the colosseum and nearby woods, by the island’s cliffs and ridges, by the crashing waves on the beach, and back to the start. If he could, he would go as far as his broom would take him, to the ends of the world if need be, until the chains that bound him were well and truly torn. 

Reinventing himself anew somewhere no one would ever find him, shedding his current obligations like an old skin… 

Truth be told, he’s contemplated the idea many times. 

…If only.

Perching himself over one of the main building’s tallest turrets, he watches the waning moon reflected upon the ocean waves. 

As per usual, these moments of peace last only a handful of seconds before they’re interrupted; while he’s taking every detail of the scenery in, Jamil catches, against all odds, sight of a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye. He turns to examine his surroundings, but the figure has long since gone.  

A bird? A bat? A moth? No, no, that’s not it. He knows exactly what it was. Someone is watching him, even now.

But two can play that game, he believes.

Sliding down the turret and jumping onto a gable, he tosses his broom towards a nearby balcony. Then, after finding his footing over the slates, Jamil takes a deep breath; with all the strength his legs can muster, he races towards the edge, and jumps. 

With wind harsh against his cheeks and the frenzied beating of his heart, he plummets towards the ground at almost terminal speeds and—

At the last second, something sweeps under his feet, stopping his fall.  

—Just in time. 

« Took you long enough. » Despite his still-frantic heartbeat, Jamil says so without batting an eye. Beneath him, the familiar silken fabric of the magic carpet rustles in protest as if to scold him. « You didn’t think me stupid enough to jump without a backup plan, do you? You were spying on me there— who do you think I am? »

In the distance, a bell tolls at the stroke of midnight. On cue, the carpet speeds up of its own volition, soaring and twirling in an impromptu airborne dance. Perhaps brought upon by the thrill of this wholly senseless endeavour, Jamil does something he’d never allow anyone else to see, and earnestly laughs.

It is a bright, clear laugh, very much unlike himself. One day, surely, he’ll stand proudly on his own feet. Like his countrymen, he’ll venture forward into the sea’s horizon, and no one will be there to hold him back. He’ll be able to laugh like this whenever he pleases when that time comes.

After getting this far, the freedom he’s yearned for ever since he was a child is something he’ll seize with his own hands— even if it costs him his life.

But, having already endured all these years, that dream of his can stand to wait a little longer. 

Splaying his back over the carpet, he allows it to carry him wherever it wishes. 

« Happy birthday, » he tells himself, gazing up. 

And Jamil decides that, just for now, he wants to revel in the remaining starlight while he can. 

[heroloverangel]

Cloud City

We interrupt your regularly-scheduled filth for some surprise Sad Boy Hours.

You’re six years old when Oboro Shirakumo drops into your life. Quite literally, in fact.

It’s your first day of school, and you’re terrified. Your family only moved to this city a few weeks ago, and you haven’t had a chance to meet any of the other kids in the neighborhood. So here you stand in the school yard, shyly watching from behind a tree as your new classmates play together. You’re lonely, but too nervous to approach them. Your tiny mind is on the verge of a breakdown and you can feel the sting of tears in your eyes. “Don’t cry,” you whisper to yourself. “I’m not a baby, don’t cry.” You sniffle, but your train of thought is interrupted by the sound of a twig snapping above you.

There’s a boy floating on a cloud several feet over your head, one hand grasping a branch to keep himself steady. “Hi!” He grins down at you, and you look back with wide eyes. “I’m Oboro! Wanna be friends?” You gawk up at him; you’ve never seen a quirk like that before. Even his hair looks like a fluffy cloud in the breeze. 

“Okay,” you agree after a few more seconds of confused staring. Your new friend gives you a thumbs up, immediately loses his focus, and the cloud dissipates underneath him. Both of you scream as he comes crashing to the ground, landing on your back. You’re rewarded with some impressive scrapes to both your knees, and him with both his front teeth knocked out. You’re inseparable from that moment on.

You’re the best of friends through elementary, but things begin to change once you hit middle school. It’s cute when you’re six and happily tell your parents that you’re going to get married when you grow up. It’s just awkward when you hit puberty and start to discover that your feelings for your best friend suddenly aren’t so cute anymore. The two of you grow apart with separate friends and different interests, but still make it a priority to walk home together every day. 

“High school admissions are due soon,” he points out during one of these walks. It’s been storming all day, and the two of you huddle under the same umbrella in a half-hearted attempt to stay dry. He’s hit a growth spurt over the years and towers above you now; it’s hard for both of you to stay out of the rain if you’re not nestled suspiciously close together. “You figure out where you’re applying yet?”

You shrug, stepping wide to avoid a puddle that he ignores. “Probably just Endor. It’s close, and they’ve got a pretty decent reputation.” You nudge him with your shoulder. “You’re going for UA, right?”

It’s never been a secret that Shirakumo wants to be a hero, and there’s no doubt in your mind that he’ll be great at it. He stops walking and you look at him, surprised to see his expression so discouraged.. “Yeah, of course. You’re not? Their general studies class is supposed to be one of the best, too.”

You glance away. “Too much pressure, I think. And it’d be hard, going to school in a different city where I wouldn’t know anyone.”

“You’ll know me.” You’ve both had a grip on the umbrella, but now his fingers wrap tightly around your hand and squeeze.

“Oboro…” You’re not used to him having such a serious look on his face, his eyes wide and unblinking as they stare into yours.

“Come with me.” It’s not an order, it’s a plea, and your chest feels tight at the thought of disappointing him. You swallow hard and nod. It won’t hurt to apply, you think. You probably won’t even get in.

Shirakumo pushes a stray strand of hair out of your face and leans down to press his lips against yours. Your first kiss isn’t perfect; his neck is bent at an uncomfortable angle to make up for your height difference, your nose bumps awkwardly into his as you shift, a car drives by too fast and splashes both of you with frigid water. Still, when he pulls away his smile is as warm and bright as the sun. You’ll gladly follow him to UA. You’ll gladly follow him to hell and back if it makes him happy.

He’s accepted into the hero course without a problem, but you make him promise that he’ll go even if you fail. You’re more shocked than anyone when you open the envelope to find an acceptance letter welcoming you to UA, and you finally allow yourself to feel excited. You’ll be going to the best school in the country, and you’ll be there with your favorite person in the world. For the first time you won’t be in the same class, but you’ll still be close enough to watch him reach his dreams. 

The first few weeks of high school are a whirlwind of chaos before you settle into a routine. You have to be at the train station before dawn; every morning Shirakumo meets you outside your house, still half-asleep and groggy as you walk. You split something simple for breakfast most days while you ride. When you’re lucky enough to find two open seats together, you can manage a well-deserved nap slumped against each other’s shoulders. Your classes are tough but with enough effort you manage to do well once you form a study group going with the other girls in your class. They’re friendly, and they’re both impressed and jealous to learn that you’re already dating a hero student. They swoon when he appears at your side on the first day of school to buy you lunch, and you can’t help but gloat just a little at your good fortune.

The hero course is even busier than general studies, and you don’t get to see much of your boyfriend during school hours. It’s nearly a month into the term before he catches sight of you at lunch again and practically sprints over, flanked by two classmates you recognize from the stories he’s told you on the ride home every day. “Guys,” he grins and throws an arm around your shoulder. “This is my girl! The one I’ve been telling you about.” Your heart skips a beat at being called his girl, and knowing he’s been gushing about you to his friends. Yamada’s a bright, loud ball of energy when he introduces himself, while Aizawa barely mumbles his name and looks like he’s been dragged over against his will. They both seem nice, and you’re happy he’s found some good friends to work with.

Everything goes surprisingly well for your first year at UA, and your second seems like it’ll be just as good. It’s late one night, several months into the school year, when you’re woken by a tapping at your bedroom window. This isn’t the first time Shirakumo’s snuck you out of your house, but the window gets harder to crawl out of every year and you’re glad that graduation isn’t too far off. “Hey, come look at the stars with me. They’re really pretty tonight.” It’s not like he needs to give you the excuse, but you can see he has a point.

Ten minutes later you’re laying on a cloud together, floating a few feet over the power lines in your neighborhood. It’s cold up there, and you cuddle together for warmth as you watch the stars overhead. You know more about the sky than him, and he’s happy to listen while you point out a few things above you. A chilly breeze blows through your thin pajamas and makes you shiver, and he pulls you in closer to share his heat. “Was all of this just an excuse to get me alone up here?” You laugh, kissing his smiling lips.

“Not all of it,” he jokes with a smirk. “We’re past the halfway point this year already. Just one more, can you believe it?” You curl up close and listen to him chatter about his big plans for the future. You’ve heard this all before; he’s always so excited about the idea of opening that hero agency with Aizawa and Yamada. “I figure we’ll do the sidekick think for awhile, work up some solid experience, y’know? Then it’ll be smooth sailing when we break off on our own after that. Four, maybe five years?” You nod, running your fingers through his familiar fluffy hair. “And then once things settle with the agency, we can get married if you want,” he announces with only the faintest blush betraying his nerves.

“Oboro, what?” You bolt into a sitting position, gawking at him with wide eyes. Sure you’ve thought about the future you might have together, but the two of you have never talked about it before. “You can’t just spring that on me out of nowhere!”

He folds his arms behind his head, totally unconcerned. “It’s not really out of nowhere, is it? You know I’ve been in love with you since we were six, right?”

This boy is ridiculous. “Me too, but still! Isn’t this a little sudden? There’s so much more to talk about if you want to get married.”

He shrugs. “Like I said, it won’t be for a couple of years. We’ve got plenty of time to talk it over.” He grabs your hand and pulls you back down to rest your head against his chest. “I’ll wait for you, as long as you want.” You stay like this for a few minutes, mulling the proposal over in your head. “Just think about it for a couple years, okay?”

Slowly, you nod. “Okay.” You’re already warming up to the thought of marrying him. You’re seventeen, and you’ve been together for eleven years now. You can give him another five. Or ten. Or fifty, if that’s what he wants. In your heart you already know you’ve decided on an answer, and you murmur it into his ear later as he’s helping you climb back through the window into your bedroom. He’s beaming with happiness as he kisses you goodnight and flies off. You’re too giddy with love to sleep the rest of the night.

If you’d known what was coming only a week later, you never would have said goodbye. He promised to call you after his internship the night before, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d fallen asleep instead as soon as he got home. You’re not worried until he doesn’t show up in the morning to walk with you, even after you call him twice with no answer and wait until the last possible minute to leave on your own. You arrive at school just as the final bell rings, and it’s a bit of a relief when you catch a glimpse of Aizawa looking even more tired than he normally does. They must have had a really tough time on their patrol, you assume, and Oboro just decided to take a well-deserved day off.

Your day is uneventful until lunch, when you hear your name called to the office. The principal sits there with your homeroom teacher and the counselor, all of them looking grim. A lump forms in your throat; you’ve got no idea what you could have done. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes. We understand that you’re particularly close with Oboro Shirakumo from the hero class.”

You nod. “Yeah, we’re dating. Um, actually we’re kind of engaged now, I guess?” Your stomach drops at the sad expressions facing you. “Did...did something happen? I haven’t seen him all day. Is he hurt?”

Nothing in the world could have prepared you for the answer. “He was killed in an encounter with a villain yesterday. I’m sorry for your loss.”

You want to argue, insist there’s been some mistake, but the words don’t come. A sudden sense of numbness sweeps through you as it sinks in, and it feels like everything within you shuts down. Your brain doesn’t process the voices offering you sympathy and compassion. Your lungs refuse to take in air. You’d swear that your heart itself stops beating in some attempt to defend itself. You’re not even aware of your movements as you stand and leave the room while your teachers are mid-speech. You need to get out of there. You need to be alone. You need to breathe, but you can’t. You’re on autopilot as you rush down the empty hall, if you can get up to the roof there’ll be fresh air-

Completely blinded by your grief, you collide hard with another body and almost fall before hands grab your shoulders to steady you. “Sorry,” you gasp through the lump in your throat. “I just-” You blink back your tears and stop when you recognize him. Up close, he looks even worse than usual. His eyes are red and hollow, the dark bags under them could pass as bruises. It’s obvious he hasn’t slept all night, you can practically feel the exhaustion radiating off of him. “Aizawa,” you croak, your voice cracking on the syllables. He doesn’t say anything, only gives your shoulder a squeeze, and something inside you completely breaks.

“Oboro, he’s...” is all you can manage through your tears. You fists ball into Aizawa’s jacket as you sob against his chest, and he doesn’t stop you. He knows there’s no comforting you; the only thing he can do is let you use his shirt as a tissue while you mourn. You’re vaguely aware that a bell rings to resume class, but you ignore it. You can’t bring yourself to do anything except cry until there’s nothing left, and he stands there holding your shoulders to keep you upright. It’s the best way anyone can help you right now.

An eternity later, you wear yourself out. Your throat feels raw, your eyes are burning, and your fingers hurt from the grip you’ve had on his uniform. “Thanks,” you manage out, and he nods silently. He’s not the most exciting, but you’ve always liked Aizawa’s calm personality as a match to your boyfriend’s unstoppable energy. Your own emotions are a train wreck, and you don’t think you could handle being around anyone else after that news. “I’m glad he had you,” you muse out loud.

“Thanks,” he says awkwardly with a shrug before fixing his wrinkled jacket. “You should get back to class.” Aizawa walks off before you can think of anything else to say.

You don’t go back to class. The other students have noticed something’s off, and rumors are beginning to spread around campus already that there’s a new, empty space in the hero course. You grab your bag and head for the exit as fast as you can, ignoring everyone else along the way. You spend the rest of the week at home; your parents allow it once they learn what happened. It’s a struggle to get through the first month without Shirakumo’s presence hanging over you like a cheerful little cloud, and the rest of the year doesn’t get any easier. Your friends do their best to console you, but it’s a losing battle when you feel his absence every minute of your day. It’s all too familiar, too easy to see the missing piece that’s been a part of your life for so long. You transfer to Shiketsu for your final year, where no one knows about Loud Cloud and you aren’t stuck going through a routine that’s been irreparably broken.

It’s an uphill fight. You force yourself to do well in school, because it’s what he’d want for you. You throw yourself into work and establish a good career, because it’s what he’d want for you. You make yourself move past your loss and date other men, because it’s what he’d want for you. By the time you’re 31 you’ve got a divorce under your belt, a sad excuse for a social life, and a cat with fluffy white fur; you loved him the moment you laid eyes on him. You’re not entirely satisfied with how your life has turned out, but it could be worse. You can go entire weeks now without thinking about him. Sometimes you wonder what kind of life the two of you would have, but you try not to dwell on those thoughts. 

You’ve had the day off and have spent it happily lounging around the house. You treat yourself to lunch and settle on your couch to watch a movie with your beloved cat when an unfamiliar number pops up on your phone. You answer without a second thought. “Hi, if you’re out of noodles, I can just get rice instead. It’s fine.”

There’s a beat of silence before the man confirms this is the correct number. You don’t immediately recognize his voice, but you’re sure you’ve heard it somewhere before. “I’m not with a restaurant. This is Aizawa, from...from UA, when we were younger.” You can tell he’s choosing his words carefully, and he continues. “We need to talk. It’s about Shirakumo.”

It’s surprising how hearing his name is enough to reopen wounds you thought healed years ago. You swallow nervously, fresh dread pooling in your gut. You can hear how hoarse your voice is when you answer. “Okay. I’m off today, if you want to meet.”

You’ve got a very bad feeling about what you’re about to learn.

[lavendermin]

if all stars fell at once (4) | xiao

pairing | xiao/reader

word count | 3.1k

genre | fluff, light angst, developing relationship, overall domestic

warnings | light smut, eventual smut

Routine.

Defined as habitual tasks you partake in on a regular basis. These monotonous daily routines are what provided a grasp of control amid the uncontrollable and brought you order in a time of uncertainty.

The dawn of a new day started with the bittersweet greeting of the mourning doves’ songs. It gently tugged your consciousness forward, your weary limbs stretching out beneath warm covers. Your eyes would peek open and be greeted by the same dull room, bed tucked in a far corner. The sheets over old furniture still haunted you, the house inherited by past ghosts of memories.

It was a husk you resided in, perhaps a tomb you inherited. And as with every morning, you push the thought away.

A quick wash-up and breakfast helps kickstart your day before you’re off to run any errands listed off in your mind already. Fresh morning dew still glistens on the grass when you leave.

Days where errands would carry you to the harbor would have their own side routine you knew fairly well. Checking Bubu Pharmacy for any medicine pickups for the village elders, a quick chat with Ganyu as you passed her during one of her duties, a passing stop to the markets by the docks for supplies, and the occasional prolonged stay for lunch per the invitation of Zhongli and his courteous acquaintance. Every week, just like clockwork.

The busy day would wind down near the docks, watching the waves as they crashed upon rocks and taking in the scent of the sea spray that swept by you with it’s breeze. If you closed your eyes, the sounds of the sea and bustling voices of the harbor would meld together into one— a comforting cacophony of background noise to keep you grounded before the harbor’s relentless energy swept you away.

The city was a little much for you. It made you miss the tranquility of the small place you resided in tucked far back in the village.

And so everyday your heels pointed back towards home, ending with a meal in between more work you buried yourself in until odd hours of the night.

This was the routine you came to know with seldom any out-of-the-ordinary variation.

And then, curiously, slowly, the yaksha you came to befriend incorporated himself into the routine— first embedded into your routines and soon enough ever-present in your heart. Perhaps you could say that he altered your habits for the better.

Nowadays, leaving the harbor after errands is pleasant. No longer does the road back to Qingce isolate you into your thoughts. The sun that casts mesmerizing hues upon the sky as it sets leaves a pleasant warmth on your face. You look forward to his name on your tongue.

‘Xiao.’

The summon rings out clearly amidst his tumultuous headspace, bringing brief peace with the familiarity of the voice. In an instant he’s at your side, the ominous mist that enveloped him subsiding. There's a wordless question in his eyes as he shyly laces his fingers with yours.

With a light squeeze of his hand, you reply, “Let’s go home.”

There’s a pleasant silence that accompanies these walks, his hand firmly holding yours as if you might slip through his grasp at any given moment. On occasion, he would ask how your day went just to hear your voice. Though he wasn’t fond of the crowded hustle and bustle of the harbor, hearing your little enthusiastic retelling was enough to leave him with vivid imagery. Your voice was his comfort.

Arriving home has also taken on a newfound normalcy. With Xiao around, the once-empty house you inherited no longer feels foreign. Finally, with sure conviction, you can say it feels like your own.

Shelves that were once scarce with items and decor were now neatly arranged with ornaments and small handcrafts that Xiao has given you. The bookshelf that was once littered with dust and cobwebs is now rich with rows of books of all sorts. Even tables and bedside stands that were once empty are now always adorned with flowers that you and Xiao pick while out stargazing. These items are glimpses into the new pastimes you treasure to make time for.

Today was one such day where the breeze was pleasant as the sun tucked away for the night. However instead of being outside, you chose to take up comfort reading indoors. There on a pile of blankets and pillows you sat comfortably, Xiao resting his head on your lap to intently listen to you read aloud.

The adeptus reminded you of a cat that’s getting comfortable with a stranger they keep meeting. The spots he chose to rest on were getting much closer in proximity, but never directly on you. That is, until you boldly asked if he would like to rest on your lap and he settled there gratefully with your permission.

You closed the book, running your hand through his hair to get the yaksha to open one eye. “Are you sure you want to hear me read this poem book again? I’m sure you know it by heart at this point,” you pointed out with a laugh. “Why don’t you choose a book this time?”

There was a moment of contemplation before Xiao relented and went to search through the many book spines readily available. A glistening stone caught his attention again—his hand visibly hesitating for a moment.

You leaned your body over a bit from your comfortable pillow haven, curious as to what book he would select. Part of you expected him to select a random one off the bookcase, and was surprised to have a quaint little red book placed in your hands.

“I’ve been meaning to ask… about this one,” Xiao started, his face neutral but betrayed by the twinge of pink that was hidden by the dimness of the lamplight.

“This is…?”

He shrugged. “The subject of this book— is this something you like?”

Confused, you opened the cover. Inscribed on the inside in unmistakable cursive was a message from a certain librarian— a friend. Your brows creased, mouth pressed in a thin line as your eyes skimmed over the note the particular librarian left. A subtle feeling of dread crept over you.

‘Hey cutie, sent you a few goodies that were offloaded from our catalogue this season. Thought you might enjoy this one to spice things up a bit. I know how curious you were about the forbidden section, so here’s a little glimpse for you.’

Oh no… You quickly skimmed through some pages of the book that felt hot in your grip. Or perhaps it was your entire body flushed with embarrassment at the lewd imagery the story portrayed

“I–I didn’t… I d–didn’t know Lisa sent this along with the other books. This book— I haven’t read before so… um…” You anxiously bit your lip, voice growing quieter the more you went on. “I–It was a gift. I didn’t know.”

Xiao hummed, hand grazing your reddened cheeks curiously as you fanned your face. There was practically steam rolling off you.

“So,” Xiao started cautiously, “The things the book spoke of— it’s not something you like?”

If you were red before, you couldn’t possibly imagine how you looked now.

“N–No! I mean— Yes. I mean—!” You fumbled over your words, flustered over such an erotic novel unknowingly being in your possession.

“So, it makes you… happy?”

“Xiao— Stop, please— I’m going to die of embarrassment,” you squeaked into your hands.

His persistent curiosity would be the death of you at this rate. You buried your face under a pillow, too overwhelmed by the suggestive images still swirling in your head.

A little dumbfounded by your reaction, Xiao could only watch your huddled form hide away as he awkwardly rubbed your back in an attempt at reassurance.

The adeptus finally gained a bit of your attention, quietly inquiring, “Do you not wish to talk about that type of subject?”

The grip on your pillow slowly eased up, partially uncovering your face to meet his gaze. There wasn’t an ounce of discomfort on his face, and it was reassuring save for the fact that you were the one needing to explain.

“It’s not… that I don’t want to. Intimacy like— that—“ You pointed accusingly at the book now in his hands. “Is something, uhm, highly emotional— in a good way! Ah, what am I saying… It’s an act of love and bonding with a significant other, so to speak. Usually. Ah— it’s a little complicated.”

As you fumbled with your train of thought, his hand slowly placed itself over yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles. It drew your little state of panic to a close, feeling him press his lips to your forehead in a moment of soft distraction. It quickly brought a small thankful smile to your lips.

Kisses made you happy. This was a fact Xiao had learned.

“Let’s talk about it another time. Do not stress yourself over it.”

You nod timidly, choosing to hide your face in the crook of his neck. “...Okay.”

Xiao leaves not too long after, disappearing into the shadows to diligently tend to his duties. Sleep finds you quicker when he’s not around, though your mind is still tumultuous.

You had half a mind to go straight to Mondstadt and give Lisa a stern reprimand, not that she would care. If anything, it would fuel her amusement and her teasing would become more unbearable especially when your heart could barely handle Xiao boldly initiating displays of affection. That librarian was more perceptive than her languid facade let on.

For the time being you buried the cursed erotic book within cluttered closet boxes and called it a night.

Out of sight, out of mind.

—

A bead of sweat rolling down his temple caught a glimmer of the pale moon watching over him. Beasts that were affected by his karmic debt laid strewn across the battlefield. It weighed heavy on his mind, a distasteful reminder of increasing demonic activity with the Lantern Rite a few weeks away.

There was a light burning sensation that twinged Xiao’s calves and arms, and he rolled his shoulders to relieve his muscles from the fatigue of ceaseless combat. His tired muscles were just about ready to turn in for the night and make his way to Wangshu Inn.

But he paused. The voice tugged at his mind.

‘Xiao…’

There was no mistaking it. It was your voice.

The ache in his muscles was an issue for later. There was strain in your voice, evident discomfort. The reason was uncertain but as much as Xiao wanted to deny it, he was alarmed ever so slightly.

A blur of black mist was all it took and he was gone under the serene moonlight. When he found you, his guard was high with lingering confusion. An intruder was his first thought.

A quick walk around the house, footsteps lighter than the breeze that accompanied him. Nothing. No other presences detected either.

‘You called me, but why?’ Xiao questioned.

The bed gently dipped with quiet creaks where he sat next to you, brushing his thumb over your cheek. Your peaceful sleep was broken as your brows slightly furrowed, breathing slightly labored with small whimpers you let out.

“...X–Xiao,” you quietly whimpered amidst your sleep.

Ah, you had summoned him in your sleep then. How odd. It was a first, to say the least, but he couldn’t be upset with you.

‘Another nightmare…?’

Just how bad could a nightmare be that you would desperately call his name in your sleep, he wondered? But a promise was a promise. He was determined to rid you of your ailments if it was within his power.

The yaksha took in a deep breath, focusing himself fully before slowly exhaling a puff of dark mist. The aches in his body went ignored.

Dearest dream eater, won’t you save her?

—

The sound of his footsteps pacing a dark corridor— humid, stuffy as he pressed forward following the muffled sound of your voice. It’s something he will never forget though he feels he should.

To feel haunted by a dream’s fragments that refuse to vanish is something he should laugh at. It’s not real.

Then why?

Bits and pieces are burned into his memory. Perhaps in a torturously pleasant way he never really imagined. Blame it on him never finding someone he considered such private feelings with.

Xiao did not stay that night after consuming the dream, nor did he come back to check on you come morning as he usually did. On the tiled roof of Wangshu Inn he lays, brows furrowed and a strange warmth pooling throughout his lower torso.

The memory is unlike others that plague him, though it causes him inner turmoil with the increased bodily frustration.

Those eyes… haunt him. The smugness on the face that stared back at him then was enough to piss him off. The reasons festering in his tightened chest he couldn’t quite explain. The fragments would rewind and play, rewind and play, over and over since that night.

‘So,’ the familiar red stranger began with an amused smirk. ‘Looks like the yaksha really will answer any call of his name.’

They made it a point to maintain eye contact as they pressed their lips to your temple, arms holding your back flush against his chest.

Those piercing jade eyes— a mockingly similar exterior. It was like Xiao stared at a twisted reflection of himself conjured by your dream, the red accents in his hair and clothes a fiery scarlet akin to the bubbling anger he felt upon seeing the illusion lay its hands on you. The fact that they spoke in his same voice was enough to raise a rumbling growl within Xiao’s chest.

Quiet huffs left your parted lips as your chest heaved, a scarlet sash tied over your eyes like a blindfold.

‘Xiao, I–‘ Your body shivered at the feeling of his hands gliding over the inside of your thighs. It made you let out an involuntary whimper, cheeks aflame with arousal.

‘That’s enough,’ Xiao commanded the dream illusion of himself through gritted teeth.

The scarlet-hued Xiao shifted you in his lap, his lips set in a mocking smirk as his hand slipped between your legs to elicit sweet mewls from your parted lips. What Xiao wouldn’t give to conjure his spear then and there to wipe that irksome grin off his own face.

The illusion hummed, making it a point to place a kiss to the swell of your exposed chest. ‘Surely you don’t mean to ignore our person’s feelings? Or our own, for that matter. How crude of you, adeptus, to try and stop something she begged me for— something our body clearly begs for, as well.’

‘Quiet.’

The silence was deafening, though the illusion only seemed to stop momentarily out of amusement in seeing how long the real Xiao could uphold such a serious facade. Internally, he battles with two new emotions he hadn’t experienced before— jealousy and arousal. Somehow, because he could channel a warrior's rage through jealousy, the other warm feeling seemed to be drowned out. For now.

‘Silence me all you’d like. Deny your desires until you grow numb, for all I care. But for your human, these desires are your bond,’ the illusion persuaded, unbothered by the icy daggers Xiao glared through him. ‘Isn’t that right, my love?’

His fingers slowly working at the sweet, throbbing ache between your legs left you unable to form any coherent thoughts. Perhaps it was deliberate so your mind was elsewhere, drowning in a hazy pleasure. The gasps and mewls leaving your shaking body were slowly getting to the adeptus. Ironic, just how similar to that stupid book this was.

Xiao scoffed, and prepared himself to finish what he had sought out to do. ‘I don’t concern myself with desires. I’ve had enough of you.’

As Xiao unraveled and crumbled the dreamscape around him, the illusion remained smiling with sly intention.

‘Dishonesty will get you nowhere, Adeptus Xiao. She will be forced to forget this dream, but these feelings you both harbor cannot be erased so easily.’ The illusion lifted the ribbon from your eyes, leaving Xiao momentarily frozen.

Eyes are the windows to the soul, and what he saw in those misty eyes left his body aflame— confused. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, and he swallows thickly.

Once you get a taste, a dormant desire will begin to flourish.

The sly illusion holds their hand out invitingly, jade eyes unreadable as they scrutinize Xiao’s movements. It’s hesitant— the small step forward he takes.

‘What are you waiting for, adeptus?’

—

There’s a harsh gust of wind that blows through, the skies of Liyue harbor a dull grey with the rolling storm. The crashing sounds of waves upon the rocks below the docks resonate with your tempestuous heart. Weary eyes scan the horizon of the uneven sea, looking past the peaks of Guyun Stone Forest in the distance. You cling onto the hope of catching a glimpse of something— something to ease your worrisome heart.

“It’s been a few weeks,” you note quietly, the door of the balcony clicking shut as you walk back into the warm home office.

Yanfei answers without looking up, her hands still furiously scribbling on the parchments that have slowly accumulated into a towering pile. “He’s probably busy. With what exactly, I wouldn’t know— but I’m sure you have a better idea.” She sighs, regretting the coldness of her blunt tone. She adds in a softer tone, finally looking up, “Sorry, I’m not much help if it’s not consultation involving the law.”

The legal adviser can only watch helplessly as your eyes drift back to the window to gaze out beyond the sea’s horizon.

“He’s going to the Lantern Rite festivities with you, right?”

You turn back enough to meet her hopeful gaze with a sad smile. The silence is all the answer she needs.

“Was that a stupid question to ask?”

You shake your head, and turn your face back to the window so she can’t look further into the feelings you try to conceal.

The Lantern Rite was in a few days, and Xiao was nowhere to be seen. Though there've been occasions where you hardly saw him, this… this time was different. It was a feeling you couldn’t shake off and it filled you with uneasiness.

The thought of calling his name and receiving no answer terrified you. Doubt was quick to grip your mind in a vice.

“I think I’m the stupid one.”