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haztory · 2 months

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a matter of principles

— diluc ragnvindr x f!reader; arranged marriages, best friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, miscommunication trope, unrequited/requited love, lots of angst, fluff ending, she/her pronouns

— word count: 24k

— photo source: freminent hearth’s screenshot from hoyolab

— summary: Arranged marriages, Diluc finds, are the most atrocious of practices that Liyue has ever had the audacity to uphold in their commitment to contracts. Very much a Monstadt originated belief, but a sure one, he thinks. He heaves a breath, one that shudders at the slow cracking of his ribs and heart. “Surely, you don’t want me to make the decision for you?” “No… but advice would be welcome.” You say. “Fine.” He settles into his seat, noting with little amusement that he suddenly can’t get comfortable anymore, “Tell me.”

Prologue:

The number of friends Diluc has is often a point of teasing by many a drunkard who enter into Angel's Share. And while the banter would usually earn a simple glare and a cutting off of the drink, its lack of an answer has caused quite the festering of gossip in the tavern. Everynight it seems, whether the man is there or not, Diluc's social life becomes a topic of conversation.

Pestered and prodded upon with surgical precision, both in day and night. Names are thrown out, each person wondering if said individual would be considered a friend to Diluc, or even an acquaintance. And while Diluc would never outwardly venture forth to call a Knight of Favonius a friend, his lack of denial does little more than stir the flames higher.

Jean must be a friend, right? A reliable confidant, at least.

One did see Diluc conversing rather animatedly with Barbara at the Springvale Seasonal Gathering.

What about Kaeya? someone asks only to meet the unanimous and vehement shake of heads.

It isn't until Venti pries just enough that the answer is revealed.

"One," Diluc says with a sigh, wiping a glass down with a white rag and beyond tired of being the subject of this routine conversation. "I have one friend."

The whole tavern is suspended in silence, each member looking at one another with unsatisfied curiosity, silently nudging the other forward. All begging for the one question to be asked.

Until Venti takes the bait, "Who?!"

—

Diluc knows of you, in parts.

Remembers the separate fragments that make up the great whole of you— each moment stained in the wonderful tint of happiness, fitting together like a masterful mosaic that he pedestalizes in his head. Yellows, and pinks, and warmth spreading across his mind, all from you.

He remembers you in childhood, in the middle years, in the now; He reminisces on the happy parts of you and him, wistfully smiles at the sad ones, finds himself lost in thought at the great constellation of scattered fragments.

A child in the customary Mondstadtian colors of white and black, and another in the Liyue garments of dark reds and oranges, fretting across the span of closed eyelids and reliving the joyous memories.

He would never outwardly admit that you take up the great measure of his thoughts, but when he finds his gaze fixated on the flames of the dancing fire in his study, business ledgers strewn on his desk and exhaustion nigh, the colors ring eerily familiar and he swears, swears, that in the crackle of the wood that Adelinde has started, he hears a laugh oddly similar to yours ringing throughout the room; Sees your figure dancing in the swirling and heightening flames. As quick as he sees it, does it disappear. Embers crackling and images fading in the instant and it is then that he does come to terms with the circumstances at hand.

A friend he still considers you to be. One of the greatest to him. He isn't sure if the sentiment is reciprocated much these days as fall turns to winter; Oranges turn to white, liveliness turns to barren and with it, the fate of your treasured friendship.

His one and only.

Interlude: Fall

The friendship began before Diluc’s impeccable memory began to serve him.

An introduction through family, as all friendships are at such a tender age. Your father, one of the biggest exporting merchants in Liyue struck a good enough agreement with Diluc’s own about wine exporting to warrant a warm and frequent visit between the two businessmen, the children tagging along as all children do.

It wasn’t an immediate kindling, but one in the making, as the more he saw of you the more he grew to you and you to him. Friends, eventually; Playing in between the vineyards of Dawn Winery or exploring the cabins of your father’s ships while your respective handmaidens shouted and begged for your return. While his brother, a shadow of blue, followed close on your tails.

To no avail; Wherever it was that you wished to run to, it was hard to get Diluc to change his mind and do anything but follow you— stubborn, he is and was to a fault.

Even as the working relationship between your fathers’ came to an end with the death of Diluc’s, there were always the brief moments facilitated by the strength of the surviving bond itself. Letters and gifts, planned visits, ears attuned and pressed to the ground for rumors holding each of your names that crossed nations. The most entertaining of which being a whisper he heard during his time as a Favonius Knight as he patrolled the pathways right before Wuwang Hill, two elder women in their travels whispering of the esteemed Liyue merchant’s daughter finally receiving a vision!

Diluc, in that tender age in which he had hardly learned that the best way to learn details was to listen without looking, all but stared at these women— awaiting their tales. He soon discovered, just before being reprimanded by the two traveling passerbys, that you were suddenly granted the gift from the gods in the form of the Vision of Hydro.

A neatly written letter from you arrived in no less that one week after his hurried and hastily written one to you that would reveal that falsity behind the rumor. That you weren’t by any means gifted with such a vision, nor would you be granted one soon. It wasn’t in your nature, you wrote.

‘And how terribly offensive of you to think that the grannies of Liyue would soon learn of my gifts before you! For that transgression alone I will heartily withhold the details of my recent mythical learnings from my visit to Mount Hulao. That will certainly teach you.’

(The shame he felt was unlike anything he’s ever felt before, shame in being so invasive, but a subsequent visit from you a few months later would quickly quell such feelings. The sight of your smile and the sweet fragrance of you being more than enough to tame that which runs rampant within the flames of Diluc.)

There has never been a moment in which you weren’t at the forefront of his consideration; Of his time.

A friend, Diluc considers you to be— one of his most trusted.

You’ve arrived at his home today, the second week of the Fall season and the height of the vineyard sales, in what seems to be the finest carriage in all of Liyue— no spared expense for the only daughter of a wealthy Liyue merchant.

Diluc meets you at the end of the path trailing to his manor, a small smile on his face as he opens the door to your cabin and holds a hand out for you to step down with. Tendril of his red hair swaying with the breeze that has suddenly been brought forth on this day, no doubt by your arrival.

Elzer and Hartman are already at the back of the carriage, unloading your bags with smiles on their faces.

You take his hand, white silk gloves in his black leather ones, grip tight as his own and he feels the reflection of his own longing and deep yearning become electrified in the meeting of your palms. A feeling he swears must also plague you, one he only feels more compelled upon when you step down with the warmest of grips of your hand in his and the warmest of glints in your eyes.

An enchanting one, a sight Diluc can hardly tear his own practiced measured gaze from.

“Diluc,” You breathe out, grin erupting into a toothy one, voice airy and light and horribly, horribly, wonderful to hear after so long. The both of you are older now, clearly, in the way that he is no longer part of the Knights of Favonius, but the owner of Dawn Winery and you are no longer just learning the ropes to your father’s business but the actualized Ambassador to his overseas ventures. Seasoned and traveled, twenty-eight and twenty-five, adults still smiling at one another like children.

He says your name just as breathily as you have uttered his, followed with a gentle bow of his head.

“I hope you didn’t mind the late notice of arrival. This is all incredibly sudden and I’m terribly sorry for that. ” Your smile is overly apologetic, and Diluc scoffs. Come rain or shine, planned or otherwise, Diluc could never mind an appearance from you and you should know as much. Would be horribly blind if you didn’t. Diluc had less than a day of preparation for your arrival and yet Dawn Winery was ushered upright and ready for you by the pull of one thread by its master.

“Of course not,” He says. Mind, he never does, yet with his measured and calm tone, he cannot deny the fact that the abruptness of your visit and short notice itches within him. Something that, try as he might, he cannot scratch.

That nagging detail is quickly quieted by the latent realization that your hand has yet to let go of his, and, he begins to note, the danger of the creeping truth in the fact that he doesn’t mind it at all. In fact, he relishes it.

“Dawn Winery is always delighted to welcome you home, Ambassador.”

You smile brighter at both the sentiment and the title, if such a task was even possible. Warmth of the grin rivaling the rivulets of the sun, more blinding than the dazzling glow of cor lapis. The exact stone that sits on the corner of his desk after all these years and often finds itself the object of his fixation many an afternoon.

“I am glad to be home.” You respond in kind, a gem of amber brilliantly shining through the words and it takes every ounce of Diluc to return his attention away from your smile to the task at hand of guiding you into the home. His home.

Your home.

But he does, with the lightest of curls on his lips that he doesn’t even realize has made permanent residence upon his face now.

—

It is always a reunion when you manage to grace Dawn Winery with your appearance.

Adelinde shines with a smile that seems endless as she steps towards you in a warm embrace, a dramatic turn around from her very pointed sighs that are usually targeted towards the master of the house. Elzer is much the same, the older man alight with a jovial sparkle as he greets you, taking your bags in his hands without a second thought, and eagerly engages in conversations of matters other than business with you— a renowned feat that even the most skilled of conversationalists find hard to accomplish with the graying businessman.

Diluc, the master of the house and employer to his affable attendants, is all but pushed to the side the minute you’ve stepped foot into the threshold of the door, the congenial and loving welcoming imparted upon you in great Mondstadtian manner.

“Welcome back, dearest!” Adelinde exclaims, propriety thrown out in favor of obvious affection as she throws her arms around your shoulders and squeezes. “It is so wonderful to have you back. It’s been too long!”

“I have missed you greatly, Adelinde.” You say in kind, the same excitement and candor laced in the breathless laugh you exhale as the older woman smothers you in her embrace, swaying from side to side.

The head mistress all but shakes you vigorously when she pulls away from you, holding your shoulders in her hands as she addresses you. Mother henning instilled in the widening of her eyes.

“Have you eaten? Surely you must be hungry after such a journey to us. Come! I’ll prepare something for you. A Northern Apple Stew, perhaps? Or Sweet Madame! You were quite fond of that one last time!”

“Adelinde, please.” Elzer cuts in before either you or the neglected Diluc are able to intervene, a quiet scolding in his tone, “Let our guest breathe the air of nostalgia for just a moment rather than drown in the overwhelming one you are no doubt suffocating her in.”

He turns to you, bags in hand and a crooked elbow held out for you to grab. Gently smiling, “Come, my dear. We shall unpack and get you settled before Adelinde stuffs you to the brim with food and endless questions.”

Scoffing, Adelinde all but throws her hands down, slapping her palms against her apron-cladded thighs. “Oh, Elzer, how can you send a guest to their room on an empty stomach? After such a long journey, too! Liyue is a whole nation away and yet you would rather enslave her to the schemes of chores than a proper meal. Have you no shame?”

“I ask only for a moment, my dear Adelinde. If you can not even spare to be parted for one, then I must beg you to reconsider who should be shamed.”

And so begins the low clamor of a bickered argument, the two keepers of the manor diverting their devotions towards each other as they nip and poke at the other on the best way to treat you, their beloved guest. A frequent occurrence— exhausting, nonetheless. A look is shared between you and Diluc, one of annoyance from him and only pure amusement from you, that of which, turns Diluc’s own sour look into one of less acidity.

“Actually,” Diluc clears his throat, silencing the boiling argument. Your own delighted gaze darts to him in captured attention alongside the two head attendants of the house. Diluc folds his arms behind his back and gazes at his onlookers with little more than happy indignation— a feat only manageable by the likes of him. “Dinner preparations for our esteemed guest will be handled by me. I will also be seeing to the arrangements of the Ambassador's room, for old times sake. You both are dismissed for the evening.”

If life were a comedy, you were sure that this moment would be met with a thunderous roar of laughter. Elzer and Adelinde stare owlishly at Diluc, mouths open in stunned stupor as they stand almost a hair’s width apart, their fueled arguments replaced with something else entirely. Something more… bewildered.

“You… sir?” Elzer asks after a beat— a long, awaiting beat.

“Cook?” Adelinde follows, her voice raising in octaves as she takes in the master of the house, the boy she has raised.

Diluc rolls his eyes, “I manage a tavern, Adelinde. I can cook.”

“But can you cook… well?” Elzer questions after sparing a side glance to the graying woman.

“In all my years,” Adelinde mutters, more to herself than anyone, “I have never seen you cook, much less know where the kitchen even is—”

“Yes, that’s quite enough, thank you.” Diluc interrupts, eyes of garnet turned to slits, “You both have been of great help to us this afternoon, but I think it best we let our guest settle.”

“Well, if you’re interested in expelling yourself to such lengths for this arrival, maybe you would be interested in seeing to the manor’s gutters?” Elzer says with a knowing look and a teasing tone as Adelinde hides her laugh with a cough. “Now that you’re doing things you’ve never done before—”

Diluc’s eye twitches.

“You both are dismissed.” He hisses, but neither attendant takes much offense to it. Instead, they only let the playfulness of their smiles broaden on their faces. Their heads downward in acknowledgement to both you and the master of the house before exiting as prompted.

It isn’t until the sound of the door closing behind you two in the great entrance hall of the manor that the vibrant echoes of your laugh finally resound around the room. Diluc is quick on his heels to turn to you and point a finger in your face, a sternness to his voice and a furrow to his brow. Quick to halt the teasing before it begins.

“I will be pressed to remind you—”

And yet—

“Dinner?” You howl, and the sigh that escapes Diluc is enormous. Not that you could hear it, what with the volume of your fervent giggles masking it. He tuts, crossing his arms over his chest and watching with well-tempered amusement as you practically fold in half at the waist in laughter.

“Don’t flatter yourself. This is hardly out of the ordinary.”

“That is not what Adelinde says.”

“Adelinde does not know of my late night eating habits.”

“I would wager a guess to say that she knows more about you than either of us do.” As your laughter begins to peter out, you lift a finger to your eye to wipe a stray tear. “What is the occasion, my dearest Diluc?”

“Your arrival.”

You scoff, “I’ve arrived many times before and you’ve never demanded to cook for me.”

“I hardly demanded—”

“Insisted, then.”

“Then, there is no occasion. Only my wish to do so.” He says neutrally, hardly a rise or fall to his tone of voice as he says the words, but maybe that’s the tell all on its own. He doesn’t need the rhyme or reason in order to do as he’s never done before— no special date, no pertinent news needing to be shared.

Only ever really needs—

Your smile widens tenfold and you shake your head at the man before you. You're removing your gloves, finger by finger, then throwing them haphazardly onto the great dining room table that has been host to many of your great laughing fits. Hands of great elegance are revealed and soon placed onto your hips as you stand in the middle of his open foyer.

He should take offense to the gesture— should at least reprimand you for the lackadaisical way in which you make yourself at home. Prim and proper Diluc should not at all condone any kind of reckless behavior, especially in his own manor, but he hardly minds. Only huffs a breath through his nose at the sight of the gloves that now sit on the mahogany. The soft white of the fabric a stark, yet pleasant, contrast to the dark wood.

You stare at him, a slight shake to your head and the knowing smile on your face. “Well then, I shall insist that you allow me to be your sous-chef and assist you. Archons above know you Mondstadtians could benefit from some more spices in your life.”

You turn on your heel, leaving the great hall lined with the portraits of his family, of the great arts and literatures of Mondstadt, and enter into the kitchen held off to the right side of the manor.

The great entryway is one that he’s seen many times before, yet derives little comfort from. It’s a farce, of sorts. A living mausoleum of all that was and all that could have been, left to him to haunt the halls with. He’s confided this to you before, many years ago when it was too late to be called night yet too early for morning. Detailed it to you over the slow heat of a dying fire and the steady pace of a chess game, with your rook creeping eerily onto his knight, he confessed how much he hates the darkness of his home. How trapped he feels in it at times, how despite the many candles he lights, and the windows that Adelinde cracks open, it always feels cold.

Funny that, he had said, a pyro-user lying frigid in his own home.

Does it ever not feel cold? You had asked curiously, softly, genuinely vying for the answer. Orange hue of the fire lighting the side of your face as you studied him.

When you enter the dark manor with dark hardwood walls, and dark curtains this time, just as the many times before, you glow. Bring indescribable life to the empty home that only awakens upon notice of your incoming arrival— stays awake as you float from room to room, knowing the home as it is your own, and lay pieces of you across random surfaces.

Shining, effervescent cor lapis in the great abyss of this manor.

Sometimes, Diluc remembers responding quietly. Engrained even further, he remembers the gleam of the smile you gave him as it's the same smile he receives now. The one thrown over your shoulder as you prance forward into the kitchen, another tease rolling off of your tongue.

“I offer my home and my services to you, and get repaid in insults?” He finally speaks after willing his tongue to renew itself from sludge to form words, a false scoff in his tone. His feet follow behind you, spurred on by the geniality of a core memory as you pad across the tiled floor and wash your hands within the basin.

“A helpful tip!” You rejoice, “Seeing as you’ve suddenly decided that today was the day for cooking—”

“I have a penchant for burning things, you know.” It’s a thinly veiled threat, one that falls flat as you both meet eyes.

You smirk, “All the more reason to let me assist.”

“You are a great nuisance, Ambassador.” He says, discarding his coat to the side and rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, left then right, almost missing the fixating of your eyes on his newly revealed skin, and how quickly you avert your eyes; Face contorting into a quiet scold. As though you were punishing yourself for indulging, for losing propriety in just glancing.

He should enjoy it, find delight that you find the muscles that have been earned through years of claymore wielding strength and battles to be admirable— but something mirs your tone immediately after. Something secret, solemn. A slight twinge that no one but him would catch, would understand to know that something was amiss.

Quickly, you grab a handful of vegetables from a box placed on the rack against the wall and bring them to the basin to wash. Potatoes and carrots galore.

You forcibly smile, “Oh, you love it.”

The itch flares tenfold.

—

Barbatos Ratatouille takes approximately four hours to make. It’s a slow cook, the lengthiest portion of its preparation being the time needed for it to remain covered on the stove on low heat. However, the most arduous part of the meal is the design of it. Not necessarily due to difficulty, but in the way that the carrots must be thinly sliced and laid in proximity to the cubed potatoes and strips—decorated to perfection. It’s halfway between a stew and a casserole, but alive with flavor as it simmers on a low boil.

A herculean dish, an amateur culinarian’s nightmare; Diluc’s personal choice for your arrival.

Truthfully, he should’ve begun the meal before you arrived—should’ve had it ready for when you entered the manor. But, with the dish on the stove and three hours to kill, the suggestion of a walk around the winery as a means of relaxation and much needed catching up is hardly punishment for his error. Even though you have already been chatting throughout the duration of your meal preparation, discussing nearly everything and anything that comes to mind.

But, you both reason, there is much he must show you.

The sun sits just above the horizon as you exit the manor, the great sky of orange and pinks lulling you both into a gradual and steady trot down the paths of the winery. Through the greens of growing grapes, he walks to the right of you, pointing to the items that have been updated since your last visit. Namely, the irrigation system to the vineyards. The slow and onerous move from a drip irrigation to one of a pumping unit handcrafted by Wagner located a few miles behind the manor. A hassle to craft, install, and maintain, he tells you with a tired smile, but a necessary venture for productivity.

It reminds you to recount the traditional manner of tempered inundation that you witnessed when you finally obtained traveling papers to Inazuma. Farmers cultivating their crops to the cycle of the rivers, relying solely on its seasonal rise and fall to serve as a means of irrigation.

“And what happens when the rivers eventually decide to break tradition and flood?” Diluc asks with dumb amusement as your conversation leads you down the path that turns to gravel, winding away from the vineyards and down towards the lake. He means it as a rhetorical question, knowing in both science and anecdotal evidence nature makes a great fool of prediction.

A large rock obstructs the pathway, and while it doesn’t take much effort to climb over it, he nevertheless holds his hand out in assistance. Nevermind the fact that this trail and this particular rock is one that you and he have taken many times before, one that you are fully aware that contains a rocky terrain as you walk nearer towards the body of water, and yet, ever the gentleman he is as he offers his assistance, you take his hand.

“Inazuma is the land of eternity.” You tell him succinctly, “They would be more pressed to believe that the world would end before the land and its dutiful Shogun would disrupt tradition and predictability.” You step over the large rock with great ease. Diluc makes sure of it.

“How archaic.” Diluc mutters once he knows your feet are on stable ground once more. You shake your head with a smile.

“That is only a matter of perspective. To Mondstadt, it is limited. To Inazuma, it is nature.”

Diluc only hums, his eyes narrow as carmine irises dart across your face. Any opinion of the idea, if you even had one, is imperceptible. Hidden carefully behind a neutral gaze and the generality of your statement. Trained, you are, to be as open and peaceful with any and all walks of life. Barbatos knows Diluc would hardly be able to bite his tongue with something he strictly disapproved of.

“Born and bred for the role of Ambassador. I would've offended a whole nation if I were in your shoes.”

“Nonsense,” You smile as you link your arm with his, hand holding onto his bicep as you both resume your trek to the waters, “I think you would make for a wonderful advocate for the people. You are tough and unmoving. The kind of person everyone would be lucky to have on their side.”

He says nothing more to that, content to let the conversation die and allow nature to become the fixation of your thoughts.

Compliments have never rendered well for the likes of Diluc. He knows too much about himself, of his nature, of his own beliefs, of all that he has done to ever be convinced by another that he is at all a good man. Especially on the basis of one’s words.

They never mean much anyway. Words are never strong enough to be binding; They are the buffer between hope and disappointment, and oftentimes find themselves leaning to one side more than the other. It is why he never makes promises he cannot keep, it is why he hardly believes in things that come from another’s mouth unless he himself has experienced it. The sting of old promises and their frosted bite are too ingrained within Diluc to compromise on.

Add that to one of many things Diluc knows to be true of himself.

He is too prideful, too stubborn, too controlling, too set in his ways to believe in anything other than what he knows to be true about himself and the world. He is the stark contrast to you, and, not for the first time, he wonders how a friendship of such strength could remain when he burns too bright and you—oh, you—

Where you are amenable and compromising, he is rigid and sure; Where you are appeasing and complimenting, he is static and blunt. He does not care for the pleasantries as you do when he doesn’t feel them warranted. He’s entirely sure, as sure as the sun that sets every day and as resolute as you are on the charm of cor lapis, that he would make for a horrible dignitary considering how opposite of you he is and how well you fit into the role.

But… the way that you say it. The way that the statement rolls of your tongue with hardly a second thought, the way that you seemed assured of his nature as though it were truth— the way that you seem to believe him an honorable man despite being worldly traveled and knowing many of many honorable people—

Gravel turns to sand and a quick glance your ways reveals the brightening of a smile as you both near the lake and all the tumultuous thoughts, the internal fight over the slightest of compliments and the need to extract the lies from the truth within them, silences as he looks to you.

Diluc burns, and he burns bright, and you extinguish the flames of him that itch and ache to hurt. This isn’t a new realization, but it is a staunch one as it hammers away at the walls of his mind and heart.

Everything about this is as it has always been, and yet, the habit of cynicism so ingrained in him makes it feel as though things are different. That behind these immortalized affections from he to you and you to him hides something of greater importance. As though something lies in wait behind the florals and flowerets of your arrival.

As his mind thrums with his well known truths and his heart sings with the surprise of your presence, he can’t help but wonder when the other shoe is to drop— he tries to never be doubtful of your words, but he trusts his intuition more.

And it tells him that whatever he is waiting for, is coming.

—

“To the water, Diluc!” You call to him, already throwing your shoes off of your feet and hiking the skirt of your dress up as you inch closer to the crystal blue waters.

He shakes his head, tendrils of red strands displacing themselves from his ponytail as the wind blows gently. While his face remains stern, contorted into the serious disposition many a Monstadtian recognizes, his hands are slowly removing layers of his clothing— the boots, first. Then his socks and cuffing the pants of his slacks. All the while, following behind your prancing figure.

“I find water to be rather disagreeable.” He calls out after you and you bark a laugh. One that echoes around the empty space of the open lake and high mountains. It dances on the wind, pirouetting its way back to him, sticking to him like honey— sweet, warm, sticky honey. Slowing his thoughts down in the sinewy constitution of it.

“What isn’t disagreeable to the great Duke of Mondstadt?” You tease as your toes brush against the edge of the chilled water. Though the blue certainly isn’t as warm as many of the lakes in Liyue tend to be, the change in climate isn’t an unwelcome one. Refreshing certainly, and as the chill jolts its way through your bare toes and travels up your spine, it’s an appreciated embrace when in the presence of such a ferocious source of heat like Diluc.

Diluc who sets things ablaze with his stoicism and piercing gaze, Diluc who uses such talents to stare at you from afar— the flames of something sparking in his irises— and the urge to drown yourself in the cool waters grows tenfold.

A determined reminder of things that you have shoved to the side for too long, truths that you were hoping to dismiss for just a moment.

Not an uncommon feeling to experience whenever you’re around him. Latently, you can hear the whispers of a wry voice belonging to a Favonius Captain comment on how he too wishes he could drown himself when in the presence of the tycoon, and you laugh quietly. Anything to distract yourself from the feeling of a heavy stare on you.

Your question, as redundant as it may have been to you, hangs in the air unanswered, but it doesn’t bother you much. Find your brain too swayed by the heat of his gaze and the chill of the water to think much of even trying to find an answer.

But he does. Silently, in the train of his thoughts that never end, the answer is abundantly clear.

You are entirely too agreeable to the Duke, he thinks, as you wade further into the water with a joyful yelp. The water halfway up your shins with your skirt bunched in your hands and your face furrowed as you will yourself to move further into the lake. You are entirely too agreeable, he thinks, as he finds himself approaching the edge of the same lake and following in after you—even though he knows it probably isn’t the wisest decision, safety reasons, all encompassing.

Should something emerge through the treeline, something he wasn’t particularly anticipating, and he were soaking wet— there would be a late reaction, late preparation in being able to protect the both of you. Or, if a Fatui officer were to find their way here to you both, with you being visionless and him impacted by the counteracting measures of water against his pyro, it would be a hassle to say the least. While he vigilantly patrols the acres of his land in strict routine, there is always the chance of those bastards infiltrating his lands. He would be remiss to put his guard down, especially when they’ve been establishing encampments only a couple hundred miles from his home, as of late.

Or, what if—

“Something touched me!” You squeal suddenly, running away from your place almost knee deep into the water and back onto the shore. It happens faster than he’s able to comprehend, but the sound of your yell is enough to have him propelling forward.

He’s rushing to you in fevered panic just as you rush into him. His left arm encircling around your waist and lifting, a flame already erupting in his right hand, aimed at whatever enemy has made an appearance. Your legs fold upward into his chest, your own arms tightening around his neck as your unintelligible squeals erupt from your mouth and into his ear.

“Where?!”

“I can’t—“

“Who goes there?!”

“Diluc—“

“Show yourself!”

“I think it was a fish!”

Chaos quiets in a second, Diluc’s burning fury splashes cool as his senses catch up to one another and the realization of your words corroborates his vision. He sees no enemies, clearly one couldn’t have slipped by in the few minutes since your entrance to the water. He does, however, see the speeding trail of a Medaka swimming away beneath the water.

The flame then extinguishes in his hand, “I loathe you.”

He feels your head rise from its burrow in his neck, “It scared me!”

“It’s a fish—“

“I didn’t know that! It could’ve been the tendrils of a slime!”

A bitter retort finds itself on the tip of his tongue, an item he is ready to unleash just as he turns his head to face you, only to feel it die at the sudden realization that—

—You are in his arms.

Held tightly to him, your body melding into his and your faces hardly more than an inch apart. Your eyes wide in residual panic, sparkling with the blend of humor. And then…he’s drowning.

Choking on the feeling of closeness, suffocating in the swarm of feelings in his lungs as he realizes that as abnormal as the occasion is to have you in his arms, it feels pointedly normal. He’s startled at how quickly he had thrown away the makings of a gentleman the moment your arms wound around his neck; Lost—completely, entirely, unabashedly—at how the weight of your gaze buoys him in the tides of a long lived affection.

An image of eternity finds him, then; A quick flash in the stagnation of thoughts, a future he had never allowed himself to fantasize of before— a cinder of hope to wake up tomorrow, two days, two years, two decades from now, and have this.

Knowing that it is something that he can never have, however, fills his lungs with a choking fluid.

“Enough of the water.” He mutters quickly, his cheeks tinting red in what you can only surmise is anger. “We should return for dinner.”

He’s lowering you back into the water then, making a short effort to remove your limbs from him and turn his back towards you, trekking towards the shore at a brisk pace.

It’s whiplash; A ferocious brand of rejection heats your body even as your feet are placed back into the cool lake. You stare at his retreating figure in dismay, but shock isn’t a feeling that registers. When he’s bitten by the bug of his own tumultuous thoughts, it doesn’t take long for Diluc to turn cold despite all of his heat. It’s a tell tale sign, one you can predict, but have never been able to fix. You can only pretend to understand what went through the mind of the Great Duke of Mondstadt.

Whatever it was that made him so cold, made the lick of heat that you’ve always associated with the man disappear in an instant, clearly is one he’s not ready to share. He has always been stubborn; An adult he may be, but a child he frequently can become. That, however, is always something you have been able to meet with equal measure. With a roll of your eyes, you follow after him.

“But Diluc!” You protest, rather immaturely, hand finding his and tugging him back to the water. “We just got here!”

He hardly budges. “I dislike the water and clearly, you dislike the fish that reside in it.”

“An overreaction on my part! I wasn’t mindful of my steps.”

“You haven’t brought any extra clothing. You’ll be walking home soaking and cold.”

“Then you can just snap your fingers and make me warm again!”

Diluc sighs heavily, “Ambassador—”

“So formal, Diluc. Let go, for a second. Come have fun with me!”

He yanks his hand away from yours, turning to face you in a ferocious manner. “Is that what you came all this way for? To have fun?”

All joy seems stripped from you in that moment as you halt in place, “Do you… not want me here?”

“Of course I do.” He says, and while the statement is true, his tone is stoic and cold—almost making you wonder about the validity of his claim.

He watches your brows furrow, watches as the skirts of your dress dampen as you no longer care to hold them upward but instead stare deeply at him. Watch as something clouds his mind that he cannot seem to shake off.

Shame, mostly, for his anger. “I just… am curious. You’re busy these days, my friend.” He says, eyes softening as he meets yours. You give him a gentle smile.

“As are you, dearest Diluc. I just wanted to see you.”

His heart should flutter and soar at this measly proclamation, but it doesn’t. Because in all the years that he has had the pleasure to know you, he can’t shake the feeling that something is off. That your arrival isn’t for any reason, that your touch is lingering, and that there is something you aren’t telling him.

He doesn’t confront you about it even though his mind races and wars and urges for him to. You will tell him in your own time, that much he trusts. If he confronts you now, when no initiative has been taken to show that anything is awry other than his own confidence in knowing you, then you will lie. Tell him that everything is alright, nothing is wrong.

Diluc doesn’t trust words, despises lies more— even if they do come from someone as agreeable as you. So, he says nothing. Only insists that you return home lest the food burn. And you do as he asks; Walking beside him in silence and climbing over obstructing rocks without his assistance. Feeling both of your skins burn despite no longer being close enough to touch the other.

—

“Well,” you say, peering over his shoulder and onto the food that he neatly plates onto two white porcelain dishes, “It looks edible.”

He huffs in laughter despite himself. A scolding tone far from his realm of view as he spares a sideways glance towards your face hovering above his shoulder.

“I can still arrange for it to be burnt.” He says, without any real threat.

“It was a compliment.” You meet his gaze in kind— soft over the warmth of his creation, diluted in the wake of previous tension.

“I recant all previous judgements of your character; You make a horrible foreign dignitary. I am terribly offended.” He says flatly.

“I hardly think my skills in flattery uphold our relationship.”

“You’re right. They destroy it.”

“The Great Duke, Mondstadt’s very own Darknight Hero, in need of reassurance?”

“Would you look at that?” Dilic begins boredly, his eyes half lidded as he looks at you, his index finger held upward in the air and a flame dancing atop it, “I suddenly have lost control of my motor functions.”

—

Dinner, even in the simmering of side glances and veiled suspense, is much like it has always been between you two. Easy and warm, seated beside one another despite the great length of the table; Him at the head of the hall table, and you to his left, finding one another and enjoying the closeness in company with a surprisingly well-made meal.

You tell him as much, with a shrug, a raise of your brow, and a disbelieving nod of your head. “It’s edible.”

He glares, you smile, and the ire of before dissipates into nonexistence. Neither of you able to remember what caused it.

The company at the table extends beyond dinner. Plates scraped clean of their respective meals, yet you remained seated. Weaving through the ebbs and flows of bountiful conversation and comfortable silences. Diluc listens with quiet interest as you recount the mining operations, the new additions to your family, friends and their gossip, books you’ve read and you, in turn, let him interject his dry responses that then turn into debates on trivial items. Most recently, the introduction of a new card game that you can’t understand the rules of no matter how many times it is explained, much to Diluc’s mild exhaustion.

It hardly lasts long, before you’re mentioning something and discussion is renewed. It is the most Diluc has spoken in months. A surprise to everyone but him. The night ticks on, a fire stoked and the familiar orange hue cast on your person and all is right once more.

It is in discussing ledgers and letters that it happens. The itch is finally revealed.

“Have you received any?” You ask, head tucked downward as you swirl your glass of wine, avoiding his eyes.

Diluc stares, and can only stare, startled upon the realization that he’s forgotten himself once again. Got lost in the intricate tethers of commonality and the sanctity of long-awaited reunions that he forgot that at the basis of he and you, lies a fundamental difference.

Between upbringing and duty, between values and expectations, between daydreams and reality. He knows exactly what you are asking, girl from the land of contracts.

“No.” He lies, easily. Diluc dons the farce of nonchalance that strains against the lines of his face at this very moment. He doesn’t need you to know of the large box that he tosses the offers in at the end of every day, the box that Adelinde insists he keep. The box piled with letter after letter that he hardly spares a second glance at. “Have you?”

He knows the answer. Maybe it’s hoping otherwise that has him asking anyway. Such is a stupid, stupid notion.

“Yes. A few.” You say, eyes still averted, neutrality in your words. No excitement or dismay, no begging or joy; Just fact. He nods, emptily. A motion without purpose.

“Have you accepted any?” He questions further, and it’s then that the mask slips. The air of coolness he so expertly concocts suddenly grows hot with invasive curiosity, with burning bitterness. His jaw pulses and his knuckles blanche beneath the table. Your eyes meet his, honest and open and he finally sees it.

The teachings of prim and properness fade and you crumble with the weight of emotion, too. Something, in your eyes. Slight and small, but noticeable to him— for he’s seen these eyes in every shade and situation. In childhood, in mourning, in light, in dark, in duty, and in dreams. Diluc knows your eyes better than his own; Sees them in every phase of the moon and every Spring.

He knows of longing well enough to be able to see it surface in the pools of your irises. He knows you, girl from the land of contracts. And the itch, that blasted thing, starts to be scratched.

“A decision is expected soon,” You say with a thick swallow, placing the napkin on the table yet never losing his heady gaze. The air shifts, the stale politeness gone and replaced with something more ignited.

You adjust in your seat and he watches. Shoulders stiffen, neck elongating, posture righting itself as if you’ve now realized the revelation that came to Diluc only a moment before, regarding the stiffness of the air; Regarding the mutuality in the suppression of all things inherent and true, burning and blazing alight.

“I wanted to speak with you before I gave an answer.”

He wants to yell, wants to throw the plates off the table, shout to the gods above about the cruel and cynical games they make him play, but instead he does as he has learned to do and stares. Looks at you, soft and comfortable, entirely at home in his manor. The manor he has made to be suitable for you.

Arranged marriages, Diluc finds, are the most atrocious of practices that Liyue has ever had the audacity to uphold in their commitment to contracts. Very much a Mondstadt originated belief— a city of freedom— but a sure one, he thinks.

He heaves a breath, one that shudders at the slow cracking of his ribs and heart. “Surely, you don’t want me to make the decision for you?”

“No… but advice would be welcome.”

“Fine.” He settles into his seat, noting with little amusement that he suddenly can’t get comfortable anymore, “Tell me.”

“There’s Liu Fuey’s son, an aspiring noctilucous jade merchant—”

He hums discontentedly and you pause in consideration of it. You look at him, and he places his index finger against his temple. “You couldn’t possibly think that an advantageous match, could you?”

You lift your cup to your lips speaking into the glass and shrugging lightly. “His son is quite nice. A bit too young, however.”

“Nice is one thing; Prosperous is another.”

You tease a gentle gasp, a coy smile curling onto your face as you ask, “Whatever do you mean?”

Diluc rolls his eyes. Sarcasm, unfortunately, a color you wear too well in times where it’s less than appropriate. You must know what he is going to say, wouldn’t be the inheriting child of one of the biggest exporting businesses in Liyue to not know— your father would all but roll over in his eventual grave before he ever let you exist without the capabilities to be exactly as you are now. And still, the fact that you're even contemplating a match of this nature turns him acetic.

The fact that this is happening at all turns him more bitter than the drinks he makes nightly.

“I hardly meddle with Liyue affairs and yet even I know one cannot derive a great fortune from the noctilucous jade market. Too much supply, little demand.” Diluc says after a gentle pause.

“Controversial opinion.” You smile at him and he must turn his gaze away before the cracks of an ill-tempered scowl breaks out onto his face.

“Yet, you agree with me.” He mutters.

Your smile—it’s too ill-fitting for something like this. He can hardly stomach it, much less fathom how you can even muster the curl of your lips when taking the businesslike approach to this. To think of your potential spouse as a transaction than what it actually is: the tying of life and body. It’s archaic; It’s depriving; It is the death to the bloom of life; It is not befitting for his beloved of Liyue that shines brighter than the most carefully extracted gems and blossoms with the incoming warmth of the replenishing seasons.

This is not you—but it’s not as though he could really say more than that.

He meets your amused gaze with little more than a stoic one, “Continue.”

You detail, with fine-lined trepidation and mirth, a number of other suitors that have been presented before you. Isamu from the Yashiro Commission, a match considered for the strengthening of national ties and Diluc grits his teeth because that’s hardly a bad option. Shabandar, the Navbed of Sumeru for merchant dealings and exports and while it certainly isn’t a creative choice, it’s a solid one.

“And—” You pause and Diluc raises his gaze. Hesitation flashes for the briefest second before you gather yourself, etiquette kicking in to disguise the weakness with mere coincidence. But he sees it, he sees all of it.

And he waits with a sip of his drink.

“The second son of Tsaverich, who will soon be taking over the overseas branch of his father’s merchant operations.” His glass of grape juice stays perched against his lips, halted at the words and weighted.

“Mikhail?” He repeats seriously, once the words have settled— albeit thickly— and you nod. “Mikhail, the one that engages surreptitiously with Fatui officers and embezzles from lowly merchants when he can. Namely, merchants here in Springvale; That, Mikhail?”

There’s a sharp edge to his tone that digs and pierces you at every syllable. Try as you might to not physically cringe at what he’s said, you can hardly suppress the waver in your voice as you speak.

“They’ve offered a grand sum for a marital union—”

“He’s a criminal.” Diluc spits and you sigh. Fingers place themselves onto the center of your forehead and press, attempting to soothe the beginning pulses of a tension headache.

While you hadn’t expected this conversation to be one of ease, you certainly hadn’t anticipated the extent of which this pit of turmoil would lie in your stomach. This surge of angst that causes your shoulders to tense and your heart to thrum with exertion. You’ve had far more heated negotiations with merchants and political officials that did less damage to your psyche than this.

You should’ve known better.

A conversation of this nature with Diluc would not only be painful, but would serve to have you aching and longing for a different fate altogether. One where he looked at you with less contempt, one where the conversation around marriage was less centered around other men and more around him, one where your hands were intertwined with his rather than clenched and white-knuckled.

You discard such a fantasy with the release of a heavy sigh, and begin once more. “The only reason you know that is because you interfere with Fatui business in an equally surreptitious manner. To everyone else, he’s just a wealthy young man. To my father, he’s a handsome prospect.”

Diluc scoffs, flaming and burning, aimed directly towards your heart. “And you would agree to a marriage and condone such immoral behavior? That is not you.”

“It’s not like I can make such a claim without evidence, Diluc. Tsaverich is funded by a number of businesses across Teyvat. They all have an interest in him and your preventative measures for some of his endeavors have caused quite the stir.” You explain, leaning forward in your seat if only to put yourself further into his blazing eyesight. If only to make him see.

“I’ve had a hard enough time convincing merchants to not pursue the Darknight Hero on their own volition, it would be even harder to convince them of Mikhail’s bad behavior with Fatui. Especially when he is the one fueling the hatred for your alter ego.”

Your words meet the side of his angular face as he finds his body slumping into the wooden dining chair. This is nothing he doesn’t already know, nothing you haven’t already transcribed in your monthly letters to him as he dons his nighttime persona and you wield the mantle as his political protector in the daytime. Nothing you haven’t discussed moments prior to this.

“Would you rather I expose your nightly endeavors in the presentation of proof and have the consequence be multiple nations come down against you and Dawn Winery for interference in business?”

His averted gaze meets yours once more, quickly. But he’s even quicker in his reply, “If it means you don’t marry him, yes.”

It is your turn to roll your eyes, as you throw yourself back into your chair, “Oh, please.”

“What I am hearing is that you would be okay with marrying a murderous, thieving, criminal—”

“I am not. I just don’t have a choice.”

“There is always a choice—“

“The Tsaverichs have been the most enticing opportunity that’s been presented thus far and my father’s never been much for politics anyway. And… hypothetically, if I were to marry Mikhail…” Your voice trails off, as though the mere mention of marrying the man were enough to have bile pushing up your throat, “Hypothetically, I would have more political leverage and be able to wield it in favor of the Darknight Hero and—”

“Do not use me as your excuse. I would never ask this of you.” Diluc adds, missing only the liquid of venom for his statement to be rendered poisonous. It stings nonetheless.

You shrug, defeated, “Your consternation is just a matter of principles, but you mustn't forget that this is just what it must be. I am just trying to consider all the positives here.”

“No. You’re wrong.”

“A contract is a contract—”

“One you haven’t willingly entered into yet.”

“Only because I was able to barter for some time of contemplation with my father. My time is running out.”

Diluc breathes out a wry breath of amusement through his nose, “Hence why you are here.”

His tone is bitter and disapproving, but you can only nod in agreement for it is the truth. “Hence why I am here.” You repeat, and Diluc turns his head to the side with a heavy sigh.

“How long?” He asks, eyes finding the window, watching as the wind sways the orange trees and leaves descend to the fading green grass. Silence encompasses the room and drowns in the undercurrent of his ire and bitterness. Thick and unrelenting.

“Until Spring.” You supply lowly, and he scoffs. His head shakes, fingers finding his chin.

The food that once brought great warmth to you now churns unpleasantly within your stomach. Maybe it would’ve been better to have made a decision in private with your father and inform Diluc through an invitation to the ceremony— it certainly would’ve saved you the exhaustion of the debate you now found yourself glued to. But such a thing is a matter that you would never find it within yourself to do.

There is too much respect for Diluc, too much admiration, too much love to do something so cruel to him. Maybe, it is even crueler to make him privy and liable to the decision you make here, too.

You had prepared early on for the day requiring this commitment— knew in the depths of young childhood and the blossoming of your role as Ambassador and heir to your father’s business that this fate was inevitable. It was easy to separate yourself from it when understanding it to be a part of your duty. There were no tears, no despair, no tantrums thrown when your father presented the candidates he deemed most viable to a marriage. You had anticipated such a resignation of yourself throughout the duration of your choosing and eventual betrothed.

Here, sitting before Diluc in the home you know too well, in the space of memories that belong to him and you, and drowning in the heat of his anger, does such a resignation wilt and the weight of your repressed feelings come forward.

“Tsaverich does not fit with your name.” Diluc mutters after a moment.

There is one man you would choose without a moment’s hesitation, but he is not a candidate. Has not made himself to be one, no matter how often you wish he would. Unsure if he has ever thought about you as more than a beloved friend.

That is something you could live with—being his beloved friend for years and years, if only to have him close to you—but, you fear, as this conversation grows more sour and the figurative space between you seems to increase in size, that the berth has become too wide and a bridge of reconciliation is too weak to span such a distance. There are few things you dislike more than Diluc being upset with you.

But you try for remedy, nonetheless.

“I… knew,” You begin quietly after a moment, and Diluc finds his eyes drawn to you without much more of a reasonable request other than the sound of your voice, “I wouldn’t be able to get your blessing. But I figured I could at least get your advice. Or comfort… in your presence.”

He takes a moment’s pause, voice only finding grounding once he’s able to temper the severity of his feelings to little more than a dull ache in his chest. He’s monotonous when he says it.

“Is that what you want? My blessing?”

“I want to make a decision. And I want you to be happy with it.”

He scoffs once more, vicious and mean, and unafraid to be so because it’s you. You, who knows him in and out, through years of flaming moods and dark lows, who knows what he thinks and says before he even gets the chance to. He, who sits astounded because how could he ever say, in the gentlest ways possible, that his happiness on your betrothal to anyone other than him is something that would never be granted? And more importantly, how could you not know that?

“My happiness?” He responds, no longer trying to hide any disdain, “And pray tell, of what use could my happiness serve in making that kind of a decision?”

You tilt your head in soft dismay, “Diluc—”

“Would you like me to choose for you the best man I see fit, is that it? Lay the offers out on the table and have me select which seems to reap the most monetary benefits for you?”

You shake your head, “No, that isn’t what I—”

His tongue grows more ire, the toxin that resided in the depths of his soul is now unlocked, and seeping through him. Gasoline to the flame, and he burns, burns, burns. “Oh, I see. You’d like to make me equal, if not worse, to the role your father currently plays in this hell of a mess. You’d like me to select in accordance with familial values. What would make father happy, is that right?”

“You forget yourself.” You spit at him, equal in the anger that he has pushed you to. “Not all of us were born in the land of freedom. Some of us have duties that must be seen through.”

Diluc leans forward, elbow braced on the table as he pushes his finger into the hardwood for emphasis, “This isn’t duty, this is atrocity.”

(Diluc has only ever known duty to himself and the Dawn Winery. Diluc only expects that your own duty would be so aligned— duty to yourself and the business you hold dear. A voice speaks from the recesses of his mind, the parts not addled by fire and brimstone, reminding him that he has always had a duty to you, too.)

“Arranged marriages are common!” You speak with a broken laugh, in disbelief as the red-haired man stands from the table with a violent push of his chair back.

“A violation against the wants of the person, in favor of what?” Diluc paces around the table, feet taking him towards the walls decorated with paintings yet hardly sparing a glance. He turns back to you, hands placed on his hips and brows furrowed in desperate anger, “Connections? Land? Wealth?”

He looks to you in charged silence, awaiting an answer. You shake your head at him.

“It isn’t a simple answer, Diluc. You know that. It’s culture, and duty, and—and the need for security. I want to—”

“This isn’t what you want.”

“And how do you know what I want?” You narrow your eyes and such a thing would be insulting we’re Diluc already not a few stops short of a blown fuse. “You’ve spent most of this conversation speaking over me to know what I want.”

“Because I know you.” He insists harshly. “This is your father’s doing.”

He takes a step forward, “And if it's money he wants then tell him I have more than enough that I know not what to do with. If it’s land, tell him I own acres of Mondstandt with the plans for expansion. Your children, your grandchildren, and their children will have land to their name, I will make it my life’s mission to make sure of it. Connections?” He holds his hands out, letting them drop to his thighs with a resounding clap.

“You bring more of that than I ever could.”

To anyone else, his words sound much like a proposal.

To you, it sounds like a proposal.

Your breath hitches, and the words are practically whispered. “...What are you saying?”

And the truth that you both know in your own respective manners, yet remains unknown to the other, comes forward on his tongue. It waits there, stagnated yet burning in his mouth.

He should just say it, make the feelings that survive deep within the depths of his soul actualized in this very moment— where you demand them to make their appearance. Tell you that he says these things for the sole purpose of making himself the contender for your hand in marriage. Tell you that he says these things not so that you could abide by duty, but so that you could have the freedom to choose.

So that you could choose him.

The words are desperate in their crawl up his throat, digging their nails into soft tissue and drawing blood. His mouth floods with the ichor, too stubborn to swallow and too scared to spit.

So, he does nothing but choke.

“Freedom… within the contract.” He says quietly, cowardly. “I will… sponsor whatever fee or promise may be necessary if only to give you what you want. The chance to choose whomever it may be that you wish to marry. This decision isn’t mine to make. Nor should you make it because of me. And to be frank, I don’t want to be a part of it.”

Silence encumbers the space.

A look of measured disbelief sits ill on your face, and in feats unlike him, he finds himself raging. At this, at you, at himself. His decision feels like brittled tar coming off his tongue, settles in the room like a death sentence, and yet the stubbornness within him threatens the burning flame of truth in his stomach like a hovering guillotine. The blade shining with the promise of an ill fate.

“...sponsor?” You murmur.

Behead the hope before it can take flight. The blade descends.

“Yes. Sponsor.” He bites, “Until you can rid yourself of that inane notion of duty.”

You stare at him, a heartbreaking silence filling the room as fragments of the friendship seem to crack and shatter in place. Baring your soul to him, open and honest, vulnerability displayed at the most monumental decision you could make, when you were desperate for comfort, and he spits at you. Treats you pedantically, insulting the very thing you care deeply enough about to ask for consultation on; Throws things as insignificant as money your way and tells you, more or less, to leave him alone.

This is a Diluc that you have heard of yet, seen on occasion, but have never met. Angry and distanced, cutting strings before they have the chance to vibrate against him. You don’t like it. It sparks something within you, something equally as vitriolic and vile.

“What is it about this situation that angers you, Diluc? Hm? Because I believe that you are misguided in directing your anger to me.” You return to him woefully digging for a futile truth that Diluc has already locked deep within him, key thrown into a fire and burned with no remorse. If only you knew how close you were to uncovering it, the root of his ire. How your hand almost brushed the cage of his heart, fingertips barely scraping along the bars of its confinement.

He yanks you away, “You sit there content with this, amiable as you always are. You always want to placate, you stand up for everything but yourself when you clearly must. Then, you bring this to me, seeking help in something I greatly disapprove of, something I do not wish to be involved in, and yet I am misguided for trying to save you—”

“I don’t need your money, Diluc. And I certainly don’t need saving.”

“Then what could you possibly be doing here, then?”

“I apologize for inconveniencing you with my need to seek the comfort of a friend. How burdensome of me, how juvenile. Because I forget that the great Master Diluc can handle these things on his own, so why should I do anything different!”

“I gave you my answer.” He says, eyes burning. An ashen field of the garden of your friendship reflected in his stare, “I suggest you take it.”

And for the second time today, you feel the hot brand of Diluc’s rejection.

He doesn’t need to spell it out, his words are as clear as day to you— the professional linguist in Diluc's veiled bluntness. He has no intention of respecting your decision, nor does he intend to be involved any further within it.

The room is silent once more, this time in a way that is entirely different from the other instances. This is a silence of heartbreak as Diluc embraces the characteristics of his nature that he knows well and fine to be true of himself. This is the silence of heartbreak that shatters your soul and clogs your throat as it comes to actualization that your long held resignation of this fate was not born out of duty, but of hope that maybe, Diluc had felt the same way about you as you did to him. That from this, maybe, survived the chance of an outcome unneeding of your intervention, but instead a mutual confession that would sweep you off your feet.

Such a thing will never happen.

He does not return your feelings, nor will he ever. He sees you only as a pitiful friend in need; A friend that he can help free from the shackles of inane duty like a good gentleman should. You aren’t sure what stings more— the unrequited feelings, or the insult against your capability.

Diluc may be a formidable blaze that anyone may stand intimated by, but it is equally remiss to take you as something not equal in that strength. As a damsel in distress, as a child, as someone in need of a savior. He, of all people, knows better than that.

This is the silence of a heartbreak at the realization that a dear friend has misunderstood you horribly— romantically or otherwise. And born from its stillness is a blade of your own.

You rise from your chair. Vermillion eyes follow you with focused intensity, titillating as you waver not. Steel becomes you, and it is in the few moments like this that Diluc is astounded that the gods did not grant you a vision.

“That is an honorable offer, but I will not subject you to a stipulation of pity. This is not a horrid fate, it is a duty I have and will continue to embrace.” There is no amiability in your words despite the cordiality of them. Your tone is the embodiment of the negotiator that you have assumed completely in your adulthood.

Surely, he could back down now— apologize, admit his foolishness, but that would mean accepting the circumstances of the arranged marriage and that is something he could never do. He holds his head high.

Optimism lies decapitated most cruelly on the floor between him and you, two blades now stained with the blood of a lost union.

“A duty that I accept without remorse. Something I thought you of all people would respect. I see now that I was wrong.” You bow your head curtly to the gentleman of the home. “Thank you for the enlightening dinner and your hospitality, but I believe there is nothing further to be discussed. Good night, Master Diluc.”

You return to your bedroom without a glance backward, the sound of the bedroom door slamming echoing loudly throughout the manor. The mansion is soon thereafter submerged in a freeze that etches away at his skin. He stands there, the last witness of the murder.

If there was something to do, if he had an idea about it, maybe he would’ve handled the next moment more appropriately. But he doesn’t; he returns to his room a few moments later, stopping only to briefly glance at your door. No light peeks from underneath the door sill and no noise sounds when he leans his ear against it.

Sleep doesn’t come. Dawn breaks and his eyes ache with the need to fall yet his mind roams. It ambles around in so many directions he hardly notices the sound of movement in the hallway as the sun breaks the night and pinks and oranges become the day.

It isn’t until he receives silence when he knocks on your door that the thought of doing something becomes a tasteful thought. He knows it’s too late. Your room and all of your belongings are vacant by the morning and he does nothing but stand there.

—

Your sudden departure with a written note of goodbye on your neatly made bed inspired all of a twelve-hour huff and puff from Adelinde and a stern shake of the head from Elzer, but the deep scowl on Diluc’s face stops any further questioning cold in its place. Diluc is more than aware that such a response, particularly a nonverbal one, leaves much to be desired, but truth be told, he has no desire to explain himself.

Whatever transpired between you two rests solely between he and you, no one else; No matter how strong third party affinities may lie. He will honor the privacy of your friendship by keeping your argument under wraps and, subsequently, his rather… brutish behavior unknown to further scrutiny.

(Let it be known that that was hardly the deciding factor in his secrecy. His shame pride. No, of course not. Rather, he believes it pertinent to only describe a story if both sides are there to present it, lest any details become muddied by perceived rights and wrongs, transgressions and righteousness, little he said, she said’s. It is best to act accordingly, with honor to the other even if they aren’t there to defend themselves. Which is why he pledges his silence to the issue.

Even as he spends minutes, hours, days mulling over his words, reliving the argument and the kind of temperament that was exalted from him in response. He can hardly be ashamed by the genuinity of his anger, it is a direct reflection of his morals and to be dismayed by those is to be deceptive of himself.

So, no. He does not tell Adelinde and Elzer the intricate details of your battle, unsure as to whether he would omit certain phrases he had uttered or not, in honor of keeping the situation between the war of morals and opinion between you and he.

Or so he says.)

“You needn’t be concerned.” He tells the vexed headmistress, keeping his breath and stare as neutral as one could possibly muster when one hardly believes the words they say. “It was a minor incident. It will be nothing in two weeks’ time.”

The words do not placate Adelinde. They only serve to make the older woman shake her head in agitation and return to the kitchen in a brisk walk as she prepares breakfast. She mutters something underneath her breath, but Diluc is too concerned with pretending to focus on ledgers to listen intently to the words. If he did, he’s sure there would be some vernacular strung together to express the sentiment of “foolish” and “idiotic”.

And he’s likely to agree with them.

Winter

Fall exits Mondstadt with haste and winter follows on its heels with great delight. Nipping at skin and verdure mercilessly, the wind gusts powerfully from Dragonspine, expelling its subzero climate onto Mondstadtians as though it had been waiting for lifetimes for the chance to taste skin once more.

It has sparked many an overheard conversation. The weather being the heated topic of discussion, irony of the statement notated with a hearty laugh— even within the Dawn Winery.

Adelaide remarked to Elzer one frigid morning how unfathomable it was to even try to adjust to the suddenness of the cold as she wrapped a third quilted cardigan around her shoulders. Much too vicious, she screeched. Elzer nodded with little more than a mumble, trying to play off the chattering of his teeth as purposeful, pondering what could have brought forth such a merciless chill so quickly; So violently.

The answer seems obvious to Diluc, but that is a truth he keeps held tightly to himself.

Punishment, he thinks. You took the warmth from the manor and all of Mondstadt when you left. Absence of heat has left an arctic presence in its retreat. He tries not to focus too much on it; But the days grow colder, the days fall shorter, and life is ever more bleaker. Trees are barren, snow builds on the veranda, and the lake you once pirouetted and danced in freezes over.

Even worse, Ernst exemplifies himself as Mondstadt’s greatest mail courier in his commitment to delivery despite the freeze and danger. Diluc sees him every mid-morning, the man trudging through the blockage of snow with a wagon in tow.

Diluc nods courteously to the man’s gloved wave. Sometimes a greeting is verbalized, other times the two men meet eyes and continue on with the day, and yet try as he might to deny it, carmine eyes linger on the postman in repressed desire. Hoping even as the man treks past the deciduous trees and his figure becomes smaller and smaller in Diluc’s line of sight, that maybe, just maybe, the man will stop in his place. Maybe, he’ll look into the wagon that holds the great number of tied mail, and turn around in surprise. Run back to Diluc with paper in his hand and a hearty laugh, forgot your mail, Master Diluc! The phrase caught on the wind and swirling its way back to him. Your script on the front of the letter.

It never happens.

Ernst fades into the white blanket of snow and Diluc finds great difficulty in trying to take his eyes off of his figure. It is only when the chill finally catches up to him and Adelinde screeches a scold to him that he returns inside. No letter in hand. He can't say that he’s surprised.

It’s been a little more than two weeks and the incident remains frigid. Only, no longer is it a crime scene of stained blood, but a coffin buried in the ground. A headstone hidden under two feet of snow.

Reading: Here lies the friendship I once knew.

—

"Ah, Master Diluc. What a pleasant surprise."

"Kaeya."

It isn’t a surprise to see the owner of the Angel’s Share doing as he usually does behind the counter, but both men know that. To find Diluc in the sanctity of the tavern, away from the emptiness of the manor and in the warmth of the hearth is almost traditional. But there is a certain stink that circulates throughout the tavern this morning; A pitiful one, sour and rancid. It emanates from the bartender in a choking waft that is even more pungent than usual. Kaeya almost coughs.

Sauntering over to the counter, Kaeya seats himself with the kind of confidence that exists uniquely to him, hesitation hardly a recognizable shade in the man when asking for his usual. The request is met with a visible eye roll, but other than that, the two remain silent.

Angel’s Share is empty this morning, save for the owner— understandably. Seven feet of snow lines the buildings within the walls of Mondstadt and were it not for the official weather advisory granted by the Knights of Favonius, business most likely would have come to a standstill on its own. Not Diluc, though. Never the honorable Master Diluc.

His business stays open despite sending all of his workers home for shelter during the cold. How noble, how sweet. What a kind capitalist he is, one that knows exactly how to make Death After Noon just as Kaeya likes it.

Kaeya sips from the glass before finally deciding to break the silence.

“Lovely weather we’re having, wouldn’t you agree?”

Diluc grunts disapprovingly. Kaeya takes another languid sip. Despite being appropriately dressed for it at all occasions and all hours of the day, Kaeya knows rather intimately Diluc’s averseness to freezing temperatures and strikes of chills.

“There is something so beautiful in the snow. Shame that our neighboring nations don’t get to see it too often. I’ve recently returned from an expedition to Liyue,” The corner of Kaeya’s mouth curls upward as he swirls his wine around in his glass. A knowing smile in the fact that even as Diluc maintains a focused gaze on the glass that he is drying, he has his complete attention. Caught at the mention of the nation, of what resides there. “Whispers of an outgroup seizing trading merchandise a little ways beyond Stone Gate led me there, and I must say I am quite envious at how un-winter-like Liyue can be.”

“Fascinating.” Diluc drolls, placing one glass down only to pick another up. Kaeya plows on, hardly bothered by the man.

“The snow practically stops at the edge, right before the marker of the two nations. Pretty impressive, if you ask me. Apparently they will see the rare bout of snow pull in from Dragonspine in a particularly cold season, or so I’ve heard. From a… friend.”

There is no room for insinuation, it couldn’t squeeze into the damn place even if it tried. Your name all but shouted throughout the emptiness of the tavern. Diluc grits his teeth, and try as Kaeya might to find some smugness in this—sadistic joy in the way that the man grows uncomfortable and fights the urge to run— he cannot. For, try as he might to deny, Kaeya is and always remains his brother’s keeper.

And Kaeya knows a man in longing when he sees one.

He figures he might earn some deductions on his ledger of sins for ending the other man’s suffering early. So he begins again.

“You know, I was told a story during my time there. One, in particular, that I think you would find great value in.” Kaeya places the cup down, the sweet liquor of Death After Noon blossoming on his tongue, “Of course, it is a tale told to the children of Liyue to teach them certain morals, so I think you will be rather challenged in this story. Would you like to hear it?”

“I can’t imagine that I have much of a choice.”

“You don’t. Do try to pay attention.” Diluc gives nothing more than a bored glare at the man across the counter. Kaeya plows on.

“This story began with a question: When roads converge, do we assume them as fate, or do we impose our will upon them?”

And so he weaves a familiar tale of the target of two gods, Morax and Guizhong. The brawn and brains, the seal of a contract and the cursive words it comprises of written by plume, stone and dust; The firm and the wise. An unlikely partnership formed throughout the centuries, the makers of the era.

A tale of Morax, who has always been much too hard-headed, incapable of seeing the path laid before them, and Guizhong— sweet Guizhong, whose smile settled ashes and her wrath decimated stone to particles— finding herself as Morax’s advisor. The growth of wisdom from shouldered burdens and friendship, an unexpected term that hardened stone accepted in time.

A tale of growing affections, hidden smiles, and intertwining fates, lingering in the coiling of their lives together yet never voiced. Always dancing beneath the grounds of sand and stone. Until war ravaged their land of prosperity and brought an end to their union—Guizhong laying stricken upon the Guili Plains, her ichor forming into the rivers of the land, her flesh becoming one with the grass. Dying, in his hands, bemoaning their fate of all that was left unspoken.

“And Morax looked down upon the fallen god with what one could only describe as deep sorrow and asked, ‘Why has this happened? Why could you not have waited for me?’. Guizhong, taking her last breath, said to the god of stone, ‘I would if you had asked me.’”

Kaeya draws a finger around the rim of his cup, his one revealed eye flicking up to Diluc, knowing stare boring into the red-haired man. “A tragic story of missed opportunities. But of course, it is just a fable.”

Diluc says nothing, but meets his brother’s stare with a stoic one of his own. Cold and void, as it always is, but swirling in the iris of flames lies the starting spark Kaeya was looking for. The twinge of reminiscence; The flint striking against stone in the flicker of realized parallels.

“Riveting.” The barkeep says, tearing the windows of his soul away from the man who rivals him in skill of knowing all. But, is it really in the silent ability to read the room or is it in knowing Diluc well beyond any shadow of a doubt that has Kaeya acting as lighter for the wicker of ignition?

"I heard our friend came into town."

“You heard correctly.”

“I heard she came with a question.”

Diluc stills and Kaeya hums. As though he had nary a worry in the world and all the time for this moment, he brings the cup to his lips and takes a slow sip of the wine. Long and obnoxious and captivating for all the wrong reasons. Diluc can’t help but watch as terse silence settles between the two of them, the fire of frustration licking at the nape of his neck just as Kaeya seems to grow colder in his seat.

If only arrogant Kaeya would stop playing his mind games.

Detached and quiet and entirely too pleased, Kaeya sits at the fact that as much as Diluc tries to deny it, they both know he is dying for Kaeya’s next words.

If only precious Diluc would stop being so stubborn and admit that he needs help.

The glass is placed on the counter with a gentle clack, and neither man can deny the weight that escalates at that moment. “The poor girl practically offered herself on a golden platter. Well, as much as a dignified noble woman could.”

“She asked for my opinion on her suitors—”

“And she was hoping you would make yourself one of them.”

“That—you do not know that.” Diluc seems affronted, almost scandalized.

Kaeya sighs this time, loud and obnoxious, “No, of course I don’t. It’s not like she and I remain friends outside of you.”

Gloved hands place an ivory piece of paper on the wooden bar surface. Beckoned forward by unfettered curiosity, Diluc wastes no time in picking the item up, hardly remorseful even if a smirk settles onto the tanned man’s face.

“If you do not make yourself known, someone else will. Sooner rather than later, it seems.”

The paper reads: Kaeya Alberich, you are cordially invited to the wedding of Mikhail Tsaverich and —

Diluc tears his eyes away before he can make out the neat script of your name on the paper.

“I know that you have a tendency to make a fool of yourself, but do try to not waste the opportunity that is presented before you.” Kaeya raises a brow, leaning his head on his closed fist. “The gods have made the mistakes so that we do not repeat them.”

Vermillion eyes meet crystalline ones, perfect fragments meeting together.

“I am, unfortunately, rooting for you. I quite like our girl.”

The words linger within Diluc far longer than he would like to admit. They swirl around him even as Kaeya makes his teasing departure—Until next time, he said. They echo in the emptiness of the tavern, they trail behind him as he rides horseback to the manor. His boots are caked with the frost, and his ears are bitten with the freeze, but all that he can feel is the steady pulse of his Kaeya’s words.

Do not waste the opportunity before you.

Night falls but sleep eludes him. He sits in his bed and ponders, before deciding that he must do what he does with all of Kaeya’s keen words of wisdom and ignore it.

Imagine his surprise when he finds that he just can’t.

—

Rage finds Diluc in the guest bedroom a month later. Your bedroom.

The snow is at its thickest, wet and cold, blanketing all of Mondstadt in its frosty embrace and daring them to try to escape. No one attempts to compete with the force of nature, even the valiant Ernst throwing in the towel as blizzards obscure the pathways and the days begin to blur together in the white wall of relentless snow.

The manor is kept warm by the fires that Adelinde stokes, but it does nothing to soothe the deep and aching chill that settles within Diluc. It grinds his teeth, has him pacing the rooms. Unable to sit with the unease now in being so cold all the time.

(He remembers a time like this once before. When the shadows of blue and red converged so violently, only to part in equal fierceness. The kind of wintry bitterness that stings from the hollowness of a severed bond. The immediate aftermath of his father’s death.

Quietly, he wonders what Kaeya is up to.)

Adelinde, for all her mother henning, seems to understand that the discomposure that runs through him isn’t something she can solve. So, she keeps the fires warm, lights the candles in corridors and arched niches of the home, and keeps her distance. Although, if Diluc didn’t know any better he would think she’s keeping him out of her way. Annoyance and ire from the woman has been kept well fed and loved by her hand if her continued scoffs and mumbles are anything to bear in mind. It leaves her just one hair's width away from lecturing him once more—not that he needs anymore of it. He’s at the receiving end of his own indignation plenty.

Tonight, however, that familiar bite of his own self hatred is sparked by the flames.

In the crackle of the wood, he hears a laugh oddly similar to yours ringing throughout the room; Sees your figure dancing in the swirling and heightening flames. As quick as he sees it, it disappears.

He had been attempting to write a letter—an unfortunate consequence of Kaeya’s lingering words. At the very least, an explanation behind his behavior, a request for an update on your life, and maybe even, hidden beneath the flowery description of a cold Mondstadt and the dull season of the wine business, a quiet apology; A plea to reconsider. Each attempt is more pitiful than the last, the words becoming less poised and more of a mad man’s ramble as ink scribbles across the surface; Looking more jagged and unsteady than the previous. Paper after paper is thrown into the inferno and with it, his patience.

Frustration leads to the rage. He has no clue as to what parasite of uncertainty has bitten him so deeply, and that pushes him further. Hating that he has no idea where this has come from, why it is happening now after so many months, why this blasted thing won’t go away. Macabrely, he wonders what limb he needs to cut off to finally rid himself of its unabated punishment. It burrows so profoundly within him that he’s willing to take a gamble and partake in self-mutilation of all visible skin until he is fixed. Hack away at each joint of meeting bone with his claymore until the solution is found.

Until his mind is rid of your violent eyes and your corrosive goodbye. Maybe then he will find some semblance of sweet relief.

Diluc is proud fire and acidic sulfur. He does not and should not doubt himself. It is unbecoming of him to be so dubious of his own actions. Were you to stand before him now and pose the same question that you did in the Fall, he would have largely the same response that he did then. He’s sure of it. He would still be unmoving in his confidence that an arranged marriage was a barbaric idea; He would continue to rage at your disposition in being so accepting of it; He would maintain his morality in asserting that you need not be bound by such a restricting design. There was no need, no purpose.

But…if he was to be largely the exact same now as he was before, why does he keep replaying the memory in his mind? Running every look, every sigh, every word that comes off your tongue over and over and over. Wondering what could have been said differently to make you see what he meant; Wondering what he could have posed more nicely and less igniting to have made you stay.

He quickly shakes away the thought. No— there is nothing he could have done or said that would not have been a compromisation of his own ethics. He himself is not only to blame. You were equally as acidic, as defamin of his meaning in the height of the argument.

Such is the truth and the truth is final. The truth cares not about feelings. He has grown accustomed to that notion.

(Then why are his so hurt?)

His feet find himself in the bedroom before he knows any better. In search of… something. An answer, maybe, in an item left behind. Any sign of you that he can conjure up seeing as three months have passed since that wretched argument and he has nothing to show for the fate of the friendship other than its ashes.

No letter and no lingering scent of you; No gifted cor lapis and certainly no mundane detailing of day to day life, and thoughts, and jests, and imparted wisdom that he knows to only come from you. That he only listens to if they come from you. There is nothing left but a raging mind and the burning lacerated wound of a scorned memory.

It’s a fool's game, he knows. Adelinde had gone in and cleaned the room after her long stew of anger upon your departure, so chances are if there was anything for Diluc to find, it is long gone now. Having been taken away by Adelinde’s hand. The thought of that fills him with a quiet seethe that he knows is beyond irrational. It’s his fault he hadn’t entered the room after you left, much like it is his fault that he hadn’t entered when you were still here. Even with the light off, he should’ve entered, admitted his faults and come to a truce. If only to still have you.

The room is dark upon his entrance, lit only by the dying fire previously mended by the headmistress. The bed is made neatly, royal ruby covers folded with expert precision and the curtained posts drawn back to reveal the array of pillows that decorate its surface.

This room has, more or less, always belonged to you. It is where his father hosted yours and when you tagged along on business ventures, where you stayed. That tradition remained. The room becoming less of a guest room and more of your own room, right between Diluc’s and Kaeya’s. Playing in one or the other when either brother decided they wanted your attention.

Toys and Guoba plushies left behind remained in there, sometimes summer clothing and bathing suits would remain stocked and stored in the dresser drawers for your future arrivals. Remnants of you have always decorated the room beside his which is what makes its neat barrenness so much more jarring.

The room is practically wiped of any memory of you, due in part to the natural passage of time— where plushies were replaced with whatever task you brought that is seen as the new fad taken up by young socialites, and summer clothes were outgrown and changed with wear that are appropriate for maturing young women, everything in this room has aged just as you and he—

This is the natural progression of things, yet he remains resistant. This is what would have naturally happened; You would soon marry, arranged or otherwise, and this room that belongs to you would slowly become empty. Disused, void of you, unless you were to occasionally visit alongside your husband, whoever he may be. and your… children; because that too would be the natural progression of things.

Then this room would become theirs, and he would make sure it was known that it was theirs.

And maybe that is what bothers him the most. It never came to mind that this room would be empty because he had always assumed, one way or another, a part of you would always be in it—married or not. Ideally, it would have been you married to him. Or neither of you married. Together in the infinite in the ways and routines that are so known to you both, content with each other.

He would have been elated, beyond happy were that the case. It speaks volumes to him that he hadn’t realized that sooner or later, you wouldn’t be.

He is sat on the edge of your bed, lost in the thought of possibility, when Adelinde enters.

“Would you like me to start a fire, Master Diluc?” She asks, quietly, head poking into the room.

Diluc’s gaze is too fixed, too comfortable staring into the void, so he remains there. He says, “No, thank you. No need.”

“You are not cold?”

“If I was, I could surely start one myself.”

Adelinde hums noncommittally. She lingers for a second in the doorway before moving forward to him, sitting beside him on the bed. She heaves a great breath and Diluc prepares for the lecture.

He will take it, as he always does. He just hopes she’ll cut it short this time.

Instead, she asks only a question. “Are you going to finally tell me what happened or would you rather continue looking into the void?”

Quiet settles, in the same way that it has existed in this house for eons. Sobering, stilting quiet that aches and etches into the depths of bones. Weaving into the fabric of skin, unspoken truths tearing at the seams, begging for their voice.

It is through great misery and effort that Diluc is able to clench his teeth together and finally utter the wretched words. “She is… getting married.”

Adelinde’s face betrays no thought, unfortunately. There would have been great catharsis in being able to see some kind of validation seep into her face, but alas, wrinkled lines of wisdom remain soft. She hums. “To a good man?”

Diluc is quick. “No.”

“Does she know that?”

He grits his teeth, skin splitting further as the coal ignited deep in him simmers a low broil. “It was made abundantly clear.”

“Well, you have always had a way with words.” Adelinde folds her hands on her thighs with a sigh. “How do you feel about it?”

“Fine.”

“Hush now, child. Do not lie in this house. Your father taught you better than that.”

Offense should be taken at the reduction of age, but he cannot muster strength nor energy to deny the truth of the matter. The angst within him reduces him, grinds him, wears away the tethers of tendon to bone and makes him feel like the rageful child he once was years ago. Violent at the spring of growth, harboring resentment for a world that demanded so much from his father, from his brother, from him—

He is eleven, again. Furious at the news of his mother’s death at sea, Adelinde whispering in his ear to voice the tense feelings of grief that he could not yet name, feelings that you smothered with the feel of your hug. He is eighteen, blade stained with the ichor of his father, readying it at the throat of another and willing to stain it once more with that of his brother, stuck in the aftermath of a solitude interrupted only by the delivery of your letters—letters he could not answer, yet. He is twenty, swallowing the thirst for revenge with the blood of fatui, traversing through Teyvat in search of answers that will forever be inadequate, writing to you (finally) from wherever he lands, detailing no more than his safety and a promise to return home.

He is all of those at once, a child again. Sitting on this bed, feeling the emotion that turmoiled in his youth bubble once more within him.

“...Angry.” He grits out, finally. The ability to voice that which festers within him is less of an achievement of emotional intelligence but instead the identification of the familiar taste of a fire that simmers on his tongue.

“And why is that?” Adelinde probes. Diluc rolls his eyes.

“Because she should not marry him.”

Adelinde blinks calmly. “Because she should not marry him or because you do not want her to marry him?”

A mirthless laugh tumbles out of his mouth. “Is that not the same thing?”

Adelinde knowingly hums and he can taste wrath that settles like burnt tar, charred pieces of skin that rolls around in his mouth before he finally decides to spit them out. “If you have something to say, Adelinde, speak it.”

She waits for a moment, a solid and silent beat that weighs in the air before she asks. “Why did you not offer?”

“Arranged marriages are barbaric. She should be free to choose whoever she wants to marry—”

“And she had her pick to choose from. Why did you not make yourself one?”

“Selecting from a batch of suitors is not a free choice. That is asking to pick the lesser of two evils, where is the freedom in that?”

“There is freedom in the choice.” She says, simply.

“It is a forced hand.”

“One that only you are unsettled by.”

Diluc’s head snaps towards the headmistress, his eyes narrowed in a venomous stare that she meets with fortified steel. “What is it that you trying to say?”

Adelinde shrugs elegantly, as though this were a mere discussion about the weather, or dinner options rather than a fated conversation about marriage, and love, and you. “You are attempting to rewrite rules to a game that has existed long before you. You clearly want something, and yet, you are unwilling to navigate the game to get it—”

“You believing marriage to be a game affirms that my position is correct.”

“Diluc—” Adelinde says, suddenly serious. “Did you not offer yourself because you are afraid she would not pick you?”

Diluc stares widely into the woman, stomach dropping at the utterance of his great fear. Coal stifled in its blaze, water dousing the flame as he is realized in the words of actuality.

He stares, eyes of vermillion boring into the motherly figure. Adelinde takes his silence for affirmation and speaks with a heaviness that should take to mean her conviction in the matter, or, the extent of her confusion. “Why ever would she not?”

Words unable to string together, he is a child again. Figuring out how to piece emotions together through crafted hand cards made by the headmistress for moments when he could not voice what he felt, but instead could point. His finger, made bloody with how often he picked at the skin, pointing to the card written in purple ink, stained with juices of grapes for emphasis.

Humiliated.

He finds himself muttering, “You did not see how she looked at me.”

“As though she were angry?” Adelinde raises a brow, a quiet admonish to the man beside her that looks just like the boy she used to wipe tears from, “People are allowed to be angry at you Diluc and it mean nothing more than the fact that they were angry with you. Just as you were angry with her. It is not a statement of your character.”

“You do not understand.” Diluc begins again, self-hatred and reproach ready to be released from the confines of the mind that it has swirled around so viciously in for all of these months. He is tired. He is weary. He wishes he could wake up and have this be the end of the nightmare. “I am not a good match for her.”

“A decade of friendship would speak otherwise.”

“We cannot return from where we came because of how I acted. I was mean and insulting, and yet I had never been more true to my feelings. I could not hide my nature even for the one I love the most, how could anyone ever be deserving of that?”

“Did you ever think that, maybe, the severity of your feelings intensified your anger?” “That does not make it acceptable.”

“You are right. You are long overdue in issuing an apology, but my dear, you spoke without filter in the heat of a moment. It is but a mistake.”

“She deserves better.”

“Archons above, Diluc, one would think with your manner of speaking that you have violated her innocence! She is not a girl, she is a woman. Give her more credit to understand and make her own decisions—with,” Adelinde emphasizes, holding a finger up before Diluc could even think to interrupt her with a string of excuses explaining how you have, in fact, made your decision to marry, “all of the facts of the situation. Namely, how you feel about her.”

Adelinde scoffs. Tickled at her train of thought. “Besides, if either of you cannot handle one disagreement, then maybe marriage should be a tabled conversation.”

“This was a fight.”

“One you will overcome. Diluc, here you sit looking into a darkness that promises you nothing because you believe that is what you deserve. But I am telling you that you are deserving of a happiness that you may think is well beyond your reach, but it is right there. You need only to apologize and speak to her.”

“What if it goes wrong?”

“You have sat in rage for years, my dearest. Why not let yourself find joy in what you know will bring it?” Adelinde smiles. She steps closer, her fingertips brushing aside the stray crimson hairs that fall onto his face. “You forget, my darling boy, that I raised all three of you. I know each of you better than you know yourselves.”

And for a moment, Adelinde’s heart aches with a pointed swell. She sees a young boy once more, eyes glassy, fear holding tightly onto a long-held hope.

“When you decide to stop looking through your own eyes, and start looking through another, maybe then you will see that they want it, too. So instead, ask yourself, what if it goes right?”

Equinox

The Tsaverichs are an ambitious bunch.

Your father makes note of this characteristic to you in a low murmur, watching with little enthusiasm as your future father-in-law booms and bellows with audacious designs for the impending wedding. Gathered in your family’s office in Feiyun Slope, the Tsaverich Family sits opposite of yours as details of the union slowly begin to be ironed out—emphasis on slowly.

Despite the eager receipt in which the Tsaverichs acknowledged your acceptance of the marriage arrangement, their propensity for grandeur is oftentimes contradicting and irritating to your father’s own demands.

(“Cranes are a sacred animal to Liyue. We will not be detaining five-hundred of them for release at the wedding.”

“You wish to invite… how many people?”

“Out of the question! My daughter will not declare herself allegiant to the fatui in her vows!”)

Your groom-to-be sits quiet beside his father, silent to his demands and hardly makes any effort to look you in the eyes. Ten meetings so far about wedding preparations and your groom has done little more than provide a quick nod of his head and offer a surprised gasp at his father’s mentioning of future children. (Another detail attempted to be negotiated into the preparations: the immediacy of an heir upon your union. Your father—your hero, really—is quick to strike that from the table altogether.)

You do well to hide your smile as your father huffs another sigh of annoyance underneath his breath, but it remains a difficult task. Especially as your future father-in-law preaches incessantly about how important the venue to the wedding is for the sixth time, about what it means for the union, and other details that you try to listen to but repeatedly find slipping between the threshold of reality and thought.

Consciousness caught between the dismayed feelings of your reality, of the eerie creep of the winter chill that seeps through the floorboards despite the fire blazing in the corner; Thoughts linger on the remaining tasks for the day, impending ledgers to sign, travels to prepare for; Memories springing to the forefront of your mind, how you wish you were ten again, running through fields of open grass without a care or an obligation to a man who can hardly look your way.

How you wish Diluc were around to keep you company. How unassuming he would find these negotiations to be, how you would make it your life purpose to get him to crack a smile at that very moment. How angry you are with him.

You sip at your tea, bitterly.

“--and that is why we demand that the union take place in the Schneznayan Mountains, as a respect for our culture and a formal introduction of the bride into her new home nation.”

Your father heaves a great breath, rubbing the weariness out of his eyes with two fingers. “As mentioned before, Tsaverich, we do not oppose a celebration within Snezhnaya. This is a union of two families, we will have two celebrations.”

Tsaverich guffaws, his rotund stomach jumping with the action. “I will take a firm stance that two celebrations are preposterous! We are already spending a fortune on the one alone, two is simply making a mockery of the whole affair. And it must be in Snezhnaya, where the bride will live and where her children will be born.”

“I take this as a grand offense to my daughter’s nationality, Tsaverich. Do you wish to erase Liyue entirely from my daughter and my future grandchildren? These were not terms we agreed to upon acceptance of your arrangement.”

“Of course not, my good sir, but you must consider this from our perspective.”

“I have heard of your perspective greatly.” Your father sighs before standing to address the whole table. “I propose a different solution altogether.”

An array of pensive gazes follow his movements, your own included. Your father is prone to his eccentricities, the many of which have become great friends of his during his time as an entrepreneur. It has made for moments like this, a simple gesture coupled with a phrase having the entirety of the room still in anticipation of his next movement. Your father, a monolith, in a room full of mortal men.

“They marry in neither of our nations.”

Said monolith states his solution with little qualm, even as the entourage of advisors and planners emit a low gasp at your father’s suggestion and your own head snaps to him in earnest—beyond curious. It’s not an unheard of solution, but certainly a drastic one considering the company currently kept.

Your father bypasses the general din of unease with little more than a wave of his hand.

“If we cannot come to an agreement about either location, we shall find another means of compromise. Hence the idea. I believe I have sourced an appropriate and fair opportunity for this and I hope—” In perfect timing, a knock resounds throughout the office. The door behind your father being the spotted culprit. He turns towards it with comical eagerness, practically dancing on his feet. “Ah, right on time!”

He approaches the door with a giddiness that is hardly seen within a negotiation room— as though his victory lies behind the wooden divide. His trump card ready for presentation, willing to wipe the room and render everyone speechless.

There is much to admire about your father, but his ability to forgo proprietary notions in business meetings will certainly always be a top quality. It never fails to pull the corners of your lips, much like it currently does. A small smile crossing your face despite the horrendous nature of the planning so far, particularly when your father’s hanfu sways with his flippant movements. It is hard to deny that your father’s own excitement functions as a social contagion, your own interest beyond piqued.

“I present the solution to our venue issue!” With his hand on the knob, your father delivers a grand smile to the room of waiting attendants and a pointed wink your way. Opening the door, he announces his winning deal with grandeur and delight.

“Master Diluc Ragnvindr!”

Said interest shatters at the mere mention.

There is great fortune in the fact that the name of the individual is equally as egregious to your Snezhnayan counterparts as it is to you— your startlement quickly concealed by the furious uproar of your future father-in-law and gasps of his entourage.

A vision of red and black steps into the room, hardened boots deafening a hollow sound on the wooden floor as his presence fills the empty spaces of the room not contained by the shrieks of shock.

You stare in angered amazement; Three months of stilted silence and lingering wounds have obscured the memory of his face into something more treacherous, vicious, and unkind. But, as he stands in the room affronted with the great upset that his arrival has caused, in a room filled with people, his eyes find yours in a split second. And they hold.

You remember this face, even as your heart has tampered with recollection to protect you from the hurt, made him into something jagged and meaner. But you know this face, know the softness of his skin and the sharpness of his jaw; Dream of the breadth of his shoulders and the hauntingly beautiful warmth of his smile.

You have gone a great deal of time without seeing him before—such is the nature of a long distance friendship. But, this time, Diluc Ragnvindr stands before you exactly as you remember him to be— eyes still the same burning shade, sharp and narrowed and able to pick apart a person with little more than a quick flick up and down. He is dressed as intimidatingly as he always does and the air that surrounds him is much the same as it always has been, and yet— there is something entirely different about him.

He is not the same man that stood in the dining room staunchly opposed to you, alight with anger and a furrowed brow that creases the delicacy of his even face. He is someone new altogether; A renewed vigor. A sense of determination.

Handsome. Frustratingly so.

You do not dare to take your eyes off him, even as anger simmers beneath you and the memories of your argument fill the silence. He does not move himself either; He lets himself be scrutinized and the object of ire. Not a new position for him to be in, but it is clear from the direction of his gaze that he lets himself be seen—unabashedly, unwaveringly by the entirety of the room—for you.

A familiar language seems to speak in the meeting of your gazes. The words natural and inherent even in the gliding fit of anger. Bad habits finding themselves once more.

It is your future father-in-law that shatters the charged gaze.

“My, this is absolutely preposterous! You have invited a traitor to our familial conversations. He is not welcome here and I find your behavior to be most insulting to us and our great nation!” The Tsaverich patriarch boasts a face as red as jueyun chilis, his head shaking from side to side in search of validation in his entourage’s gaze.

Your father placates, his hands held up in surrender. “Please, Tsaverich. Hear us, for just a moment. Master Diluc is not only one of Teyvat’s greatest businessmen, but he is an upstanding gentleman and friend. His late father was my dear companion, and Master Diluc has come to be his exact likeness. He has been a most trusted advisor and also a dear ally to my daughter. Let bygones be bygones in pursuit of our children’s future.”

Only then does Diluc tear his eyes from yours, meeting the gaze of Tsaverich and his son with a polite bow of his head that you imagine he swallowed a great amount of pride to do.

It is only then can you finally exhale the breath you had not realized you were holding.

“I come only to offer a solution.” He says, low and even. Steadied, as if practiced. Sure, as though he truly believed the words he had said. “In favor of a friend.”

“Unbelievable.” Tsaverich mutters, and you can’t help but agree.

You find it difficult to believe, relatively unfathomable. You were made acquainted with a man blistering in fury at the prospect of your marriage to a Tsaverich and here he stands offering a solution.

Insult to injury, practically. A machination of divine intervention, surely, for only the gods would be so interested in seeing the mortals squirm with discomfort.

“I offer a venue in Dawn Winery.” Diluc begins again, his hands folded behind his back and his stature erect and poised. Standing beside your father, he appears the very picture of an intimidating man. The spitting image of his father, with the same sense of honor. “The couple can hold the ceremony on our grounds with the full assistance of the manor’s staff and complimentary wine to celebrate the event.”

“No. The couple will be married in Snezhnaya and that is final!”

“I offer Mondstadt not as a means to usurp your desire, but to find a middle ground. Mondstadt is a friendly and fair nation, it holds allegiance to both families. The couple marries on neutral lands and the families avoid a generational war of resentment. It is a fair offer, Tsaverich.”

Whatever logic could be perceived at the suggestion at this moment is thoroughly clouded by the vindicating sulfur of rage. Tsaverich ignores Diluc entirely, his gaze and finger aimed directly at your father. “This is an insult to our very name. You could not be honorable enough to suggest it yourself, you had to be in cahoots with an enemy to our great nation—”

“Not an enemy. Just banned from entry.” Diluc clarifies stoically and, finally, you find reason to interject within the conversation. Albeit, involuntarily. A huff of laughter escapes your mouth, one that you quickly try to mask lest you fuel fires further. (Either, the branding fire of anger belonging to Tsaverich or the slow burning flame in the eyes of vermillion that are waiting, begging, for the catch of wind to breathe life into it. You wish to avoid both. A glance upward reveals that you’ve stoked one.

Familiar eyes flicker to yours again and a corner of his mouth is pulled upward. For only a second.)

“For heinous behavior!” Tsaverich bellows again, finger wagging in the air.

Your father begins again, tone soothing. “Once more, I beg you to let things remain in the past—”

Tsaverich points a finger accusingly at your father, “This is all very odd on your part, my good sir. Are you intending to sabotage this wedding?”

“Why don’t we defer to the couple for their opinions on the matter?” Your father says, quieting the murmurs of the room. Eyes fall quickly to Mikhail for answer but you feel the flaming burn of a particular pair land on you.

Mikhail seems startled that things have landed on him. A cold sweat seems to emerge upon his brow as his hands wring together. “Me?”

“Yes, you! Out with it, boy!”

Mikhail hesitates, his eyes bouncing from his father to the other members of his party. His mouth opens, his own thoughts and words coming to the forefront—the first to have ever graced the many convened sessions of wedding planning so far— before they disappear entirely at the closing of his mouth. His father bores a heinous glare into him and, briefly, you see the rest of your life in this moment.

Set forever to be sat at a table on the discussions of your marriage between three people. You, Mikhail, and his father. It is a desolate image and, not for the first time since this all began, do you feel the bile of dread push up your throat.

Finally, Mikhail decides to voice an opinion. “I-I believe my father is right.”

“That settles it!” Tsaverich begins quickly thereafter, his hand clapping his son’s shoulder so hard it jerks the boy forward. “The couple wishes to be married in their future nation. Let us put an end to this nonsense—”

“There are two people to be married and one of them has yet to speak.” Diluc’s tone is that familiar bite, the kind that was aimed at you three months ago. It is a gentlemanly gnash of his teeth, but his intent is verbose. Poisonous as he tears his deathly glare away from Tsaverich before finally falling onto you.

Eyes softening, only then.

“You have not spoken.” He says to you, gently.

And you’ve never been one to need anyone to offer you the stage—you’re a negotiator, an Ambassador. You’ve learned how to command things when necessary. This is not Diluc being a savior, but instead, him being earnest—interested to know your position, determined to hear your thoughts. Which makes this all the more confusing.

He did not want to hear your opinion three months ago. Diluc was wholeheartedly, completely, and violently uninterested in any conversation surrounding arranged marriages— and yet, here he stands. Asking for your opinion on your own.

You hate how easy it is to give it upon being asked by him.

“Forgive my silence,” You begin after a long beat. Sparing a glance to the number of people in the room, you compose yourself as quickly as you can. “I meant only to consider all positions before offering an opinion.”

“Heartily forgiven, my darling.” Your father beams, sweetly. “This is your wedding, you are allowed to do and ask as you please. Forgive us for forgetting that detail. Tell us, what are your thoughts?”

You nod, fingers fiddling with themselves as you find the correct words to tell.

“It… is as Master Diluc says. Mondstadt is not only friendly territory for the two families that have conducted business there, but it is also my second home. Let us abide by a matter of principles. If venue is the object of contention, then I vote for the compromise.”

Tsaverich looks heartily annoyed by your words while your father beams a perfect picture of a proud man. Entirely too pleased to see that his plan has worked, thus far. You find your attention, however, drawn to someone else entirely.

Diluc stares at you as though fate were predicated on you entirely.

And it is. The words are heavy coming from your mouth, an admitted desire at the revelation of your long held truth. It is breathy and uneven and the unearthing of truths that shatters the foundations of carefully built walls.

“Let us begin a marriage with peace and trust. End the stalemate. I wish to be married on Dawn Winery.”

He looks at you, a burning flame in his eyes. And for a moment you can see the unspoken language, you can hear the whisper of what he means to say ring in your ear.

Your father claps, its startling sound resounding throughout the room.

“Well! There’s our answer! It is the bride’s big day after all, I believe we should defer to her wishes on this matter. Let’s put this down as a tentative idea. I will gather with Master Diluc to discuss more of the finer details of the venue, but for now let us all break for a much needed dinner.”

—

He is quick to follow you, right on your heels as you lead a path from your father’s office into the upper pavilion. Past the lingering staff and into the seclusion of your own personal office where high windows overlook Liyue Harbor and the sun casts its setting hue into the room. The warmth of orange bathes the quaintness of your personal items in a settling glow. Your desk is filled with papers, and ledgers, and charming trinkets given to you over the years; Pictures of your family, a childhood dog, and even him, scattered on surfaces. The room is hardly fitting for the arena in which your emotions threaten to spill onto the man before you, but you suppose neither was a dining hall.

You and Diluc certainly are aiming to have a knack for disagreements emboldened in the safety of personal spaces.

“Is this your way of mocking me?” You turn quickly on your heels as soon as the doors to the office close. The question is pointedly aimed and his face contorts into a furrow.

“No, this isn’t that at all—”

“Then petty revenge, is it? A final ‘I told you so’? Even if my father did come to you for assistance, you should not have involved yourself—”

“He didn’t.” Diluc interrupts quickly. He holds his hand up in gesture and you notice briefly that in the duration of the walk back to your office, he has removed his gloves. They remain folded in his hands. “I offered to your father the Dawn Winery as a venue for your wedding.”

Your head pulls back, confusion etched on your brow. “...You offered?”

“Yes.”

You blink owlishly and despite the discomfort, Diluc has never stood more surely on his feet. “I do not understand. You oppose this wedding.”

“I do.”

“You said you did not wish to be involved.”

“I did.”

“Then why would you offer?”

The question does not catch him by surprise. It is one he knew would be asked and yet it still renders him quiet. All that which he had rehearsed, fortified as explanation when sleep evaded him and his attention waning as he rode horseback between the trail leading to Liyue, falls through at the moment of demand. He is speechless despite having much to say.

The only words able to fall through his mouth at the sight of your furrowed gaze and waiting figure is: “I was a complete fool—“

“Of epic proportions.” You interject, and he nods absently. Deservedly.

“Yes. And, in my foolishness, I realized that I do not wish to be right. I care only to have you speak to me again. I was wrong to dismiss what was so important to you, and it was wrong of me to treat you so coldly. That is not how one treats their friends, and it certainly never should have been how I treated you, especially not when you had come to me for comfort.” He grips the gloves tightly in his hands, fingers wrenching over the leather material. If you look hard enough, you can see the blanching of his knuckles. “I was prideful, and angry, and that is my nature that I am ashamed I could not hide, even for you. But, I had to come. I had to see you.”

The space between you two—where he stands by the door and you by your desk—feels like the proverbial sea splitting apart lighthouses. Both of you, lamps circling and splitting through the fog, just barely missing alignment with one another.

"I am not, nor will I ever be, proud of the man I was that night." He says and there is no shyness to his tone. He almost seems to grow taller, more emboldened where he stands, displaying his seriousness to the words he speaks. He means to make no mistake with his words.

He stands before you replacing the man of rage you saw all those months ago with an apologetic one. Believing everything he says.

The hue of the setting sun wafts across his figure pristinely, softening the sharpness of the features that your angry mind made him out to be. The sculpted physique that has turned him from boy to man. An honorable man, always and still.

The fortified walls of your sorrow crumble at the sight of him. Three months of built steel and rage crumbling in an instant and it is pathetic, and pitiful of you. Your beating heart tears at the sinews and seams as the truth confronts itself once more. You are and will always be in love with a man you cannot have.

You will live your life in union with another, and still think of the tenderness of his gaze and the honesty of his words. Of his care for you. To cross a nation and offer his home in something that he despises, solely for the sake of an apology. For you.

For his friend.

You pull your gaze away, looking instead to the gold inlaid hourglass on your desk. You spin the object, more content to watch the sand spin than to look at the man before you. "I am not foolish enough to think that I am blameless in this disagreement. I cannot fault you entirely for your response. I knew it would draw forth an argument and still, I sought your counsel. And then, I ran when I was hurt by your feelings that were the fault of my actions. But, it was not your temper that hurt me."

The floorboards creak with the shuffling of his feet, his nerves once safely concealed by the steadiness of his figure suddenly betrayed by the squeaking wood. "Then…it was what I said?"

You sigh, sadly. "It was what you didn't say."

Diluc swallows, almost stuttering. "What... what did you want me to say?"

Your eyes are drawn to him, then. Something burns there, something that was burning once before in your father’s office. Your mouth opens and closes, hesitancy shuddering through you like a frigid chill.

It comes forward, the truth, "...Diluc." You exhale it away, softly, before shaking your head.

Diluc steps forward, crossing the sea and approaching the gravel of your shore. “No, no. Please. Tell me. I would like to be better. I would like to have my friend back.”

He takes your reticence to mean ways in which he can be a better comfort, a better friend in times of need. It isn't what you mean at all. You know what you wanted him to say, what you wished he would do.

Sensing you pulling away further, Diluc begins again. “I… do not know how to express myself so freely like you. I do not know how to express myself so freely to you. But in that inability I realized that I was at risk of losing one of the most important people in my life. So, please, tell me how I can be better and I will.”

It would be pathetic to tell him that you had hoped that he would declare a love for you that he has never given an indication of. How stupid of you would it be to admit that the love you held for Diluc is not in the way that friends do, but something deeper, something more consuming.

“Maybe we are no longer meant to be friends. Maybe this was meant to happen.” You whisper. There is a tightness in your throat, a stone forming in the depths that your voice cannot overcome. “I am to be married soon and off to another nation. The nature of our friendship will surely change. Maybe this is for the best.”

Diluc steps forward again, a desperate hurry to his movements as he draws himself ever nearer. “I do not believe that. And I do not believe that you believe that.”

“I cannot live with a crumbling friendship, Diluc. Let us end it, be done with it. This is too big of an obstacle, we cannot be as we once were.”

In a turn of efforts, it is Diluc then who is forcing himself into your eyesight. A sharp contrast to months ago when you were the one pleading to be seen by his avoiding gaze. He bends his head down, boring his eyes into yours as you try to lean away. “You mean to tell me that only I have lived in the misery of our silence for these past three months?”

And you want to lie, if only to further avoid the ache and the drawing out of this, but you cannot. Your heart does not allow it. Not with him.

“No.” The sharp threat of tears line your eyes. Diluc’s hands move quickly. They cast his gloves onto the surface of your desk and rest on the sides of your arms, gathering you into his hold. Squeezing you softly.

“You cannot live with a crumbling friendship, but I will never be able to live without you. Your company, your voice, just thinking of you keeps me sane. My words cannot be easily forgotten, I know, but I beg you, come back. Be angry at me, treat me coldly, I do not care. So long as you are here. I cannot live without my friend.”

“But can you live with a friend who has made a decision that you disapprove of?”

Slow moving and rolling fog of silence clutters the room. Diluc swallows. The answer is obvious in the wavering of his stare, in the tightening of his hands on your arms. You wait.

His voice is a low and a desperate plea. “Do not marry him—”

“Diluc—”

He remains determined. Words picking up in speed, in desperation.

“You deserve more than him. You deserve someone who knows you like I do, knows your heart—not your fortune. You deserve to be in a marriage that is happy, and true, and of your choice—”

“Some people are not meant to marry for love. Some concessions must be made. And that is my choice!” You argue, again. Shaking your vehemently. His hold on you remains fixed and in this battle you realize that his face has become so much more closer to yours.

“You can. We can.” He insists. “Make a choice with all facts presented before you.”

“I have—”

“Marry me.”

Your mouth widens, falling open and shut in a foolish manner. Your heart stops beating altogether. “...What?”

It is only then that he seems to realize what he has said. It flashes across his face in a masterful play of emotions. Surprise, fear, disbelief all replaced soon thereafter with a blazing determination.

It can no longer be denied. Diluc has run from this for too long. Words fall before he can catch them, truth and the resounding levity taking over him. His hands slowly move from grasping onto your arms, to cupping the underside of your jaw. Holding, gently, within his palms.

“I raged against the imposition of an arranged marriage because it forced me to confront the fact that I am a coward in not making my affections for you known. Yearning for your presence, your heart, your mind in every waking hour and yet having to discuss your future with another… A future without me. I could not bear it and so I was reduced to a child. Helpless, and angry, and afraid to lose you. But it has only pushed you away, because that is what I know best.”

Tendrils of loose hair fall onto his face, painting the perfect image of raw sincerity. He’s beautiful and it crumbles the remaining walls of your heart. “Three months without you have been agony. I wake thinking of you, I sleep dreaming of how you are. I would rather be near you than to ever be right about something, again. And I must tell you that I have been in love with you since I first saw you on your father’s ship all those years ago.”

His thumb sweeps against your chin, sweetly and you find your own hands being drawn to grabbing onto his wrists. He continues, his head dropping and finally tearing from your gaze, “I love you enough to hope for the return of your affections, but I will love you enough to put your happiness above my own. Even if your final decision is to marry him, with all the facts.”

You breathe out, disbelief and incredulity stiliting your words.

“Diluc, I don’t want this if you feel as though this is your last obligated effort to save me from something. I don’t want this if you don’t feel this.”

He shakes his head vehemently. Dispelling your thoughts before it could even take flight. “No. It should have been my first effort. I should have told you my feelings long ago. But, I hadn’t thought it possible. And, I was blinded by rage.” A humorless laugh tumbles out of his mouth, “Kaeya and Adelinde were quick to inform me otherwise.”

It is your turn to cup his face, his face falling gently into the touch of your palms. “You are everything to me, Diluc, and have been for so long. How could I not be affectionate for you?”

He shrugs, “Because I am prideful, and stubborn, and you deserve… much more than that.”

“You say that as if I am perfect.”

“To me, you are.” He says quickly.

“I am not. Our disagreement made each of our faults abundantly clear.” You insist.

“You are to me.” He says again, resolutely. “Even your faults are everything good. You are intelligent, kind, and beautiful and… the good things of me, what little there are, are because of you.”

His hands, strong and ungloved, calloused from years of labor yet soft to the touch, grab onto yours, then. Gently holding your palms to his, fitting together as though they were always meant to. He brings your hand to his lips, a gentle kiss to the surface as he utters his words. “And I do not deserve your forgiveness, but… if you will allow me to try, I will spend every waking moment of this life and the next hundred, earning it.”

And it is everything you had hoped and more. Eyes of vermillion boring into yours earnestly as he descends onto one knee and procures a ring. A single stone of cor lapis shining in the center of an embezzled design.

“If you will have me.”

Epilogue: Spring

It is finally accepted, the idea that was presented and discussed so feverishly once before. A ceremony will be conducted at Dawn Winery—with complimentary wine and the assistance of the full staff, as was promised. Which, fortunately enough, didn’t take much negotiation this time around, further doubling your father’s excitement. His sense of propriety and restraint was thrown out the window the moment you informed him of the change in plans.

Or rather, the change in groom.

No event could be more worthy of grandiosity than this. His daughter’s wedding— the long awaited union to the man they had all hoped it would be; had prayed to the gods to enact their divinity in making it happen. And in their blessed favor, it had finally come true.

Your father gleefully informed the Tsaverich family of the broken arrangement while shoving a drafted wedding invitation into their hands — one that crudely scratched off the Tsaverich’s last name beside yours and messily wrote ‘Ragnvindr’ atop of the strikethrough— and shouted from the rooftops in Liyue Harbor of the great news.

His beloved daughter was marrying the love of her life!

You had been more than content to have a small affair, and Diluc had been at peace to do as you pleased, but when your father in his great glory had appealed to your senses and emphasized how important it was to honor the union of your families and their respective nations—how great of a duty it was to respect the ancestral lines!— you both had acquiesced with little issue.

It would end the same whether the ceremony was performed in the great peaks of Mount Hulao or in the ravines of Windrise, whether there were two hundred guests or two people.

You would be married to Diluc, and he to you.

(And Diluc—

Poor Diluc who found himself at wit’s end with how elated is, who has found himself lost for words despite never trying to speak. A kiss from you, of which have they become more frequent these days, quells the simmering rage and forges a new fire in him; One of great joy, of great desire that he hadn’t even thought possible.

Poor Diluc who lays beside you on your shared bed in the manor as you peruse a booklet of different colors for table linen, offering a sweet yet lazy opinion whenever you ask for it, his fingers trailing slowly up the curve of your spine. Exposed skin the fodder for his eager touch, brushing over splotches of red, revealed only after the intimate moment of the night prior.

—realizes rather latently and with great awe that Adelinde was right.)

“This is a good look for you, my boy.” Your father had told him when it was just the two of them. You, having been stolen away by Adelinde and a few older women of your family to plan, plan, plan!, just a few moments prior.

Diluc raises a brow. “Hm?”

“Happiness. It does wonders for a man.” Your father says simply, patting Diluc on the shoulder, “My dear late friend would be proud of the man his son came to be.”

It’s a warmth he hadn’t realized he was waiting to hear. An affirmation he hadn’t realized he wanted. It strikes him rather deep in his chest. Has his throat closing and a sharp prickling irritating the corner of his eyes.

That is until your father, for all his eccentricities, pushes the matter further.

“He would, however, be humiliated to know that he now owes me ten-thousand mora.”

“Ten-thousand?” Diluc questions after swallowing the ball in his throat. “What for?”

“I wanted to formalize your union when you were children but your father insisted that you both would eventually find your way. Ah, the scruples of men from the land of contracts and freedom. We bet the amount on it.”

Diluc pauses, “Forgive me, sir, but it sounds as though you owe my father. We made the decision on our own accord.”

Your father hums, a twinkle in his eyes. “You’re right. It does sound that way. But it would not have happened without a little push.”

Your father gives a knowing glance to Diluc, patting him lovingly on the shoulder. Diluc huffs a mirthless breath, realization falling onto him.

"She was never going to marry Tsaverich."

"Archons above, no. Me? Tied to that man? Puh. I thought she was going to finally confront her ‘secret’ feelings when I informed her of the need to decide. Or, that you would have made your sentiments known when she brought that wretched boy to you as a candidate. But, you two have always been a stubborn pair, so I was hardly surprised when she came home early slamming doors. I decided to take matters into my own hands and push. With a little help from some friends, of course."

Diluc huffs a breathless laugh. Speechless. Curious how he hadn’t seen the two strategically placed agents in Kaeya and Adelinde before. “Ten-thousand, it is. I don’t suppose you have a preference on cash or check?”

Your father laughs heartily, “Keep it. Invest it in my grandchildren. Now go, your bride is calling you.”

You are married, twice, in the Spring. With the sun setting on the horizons and the cranes returning to the land from their winter migrations, blessing your union with their homecomings.

It’s a beautiful event, one that habitants of Liyue and Mondstadt are sure to discuss for the rest of their lives. Unable to forget the melodious romantic hymns of a joyful bard, and the profound prose of a well-versed director who insisted that this was the most harmonious wedding he had ever seen.

Now, that life has settled and the routine has become normal— your life being lived between Liyue and Mondstadt, in the warmth of the manor that was always yours and in the arms of the man that always belonged to you—when bar attendants jokingly ask Diluc these days how’s that friend of yours?

He tells them the truth with a roll of his eyes and a small smile.

“My wife is very happy.”

And when the manor is soon thereafter honored to welcome another guest to the home the following Spring—a swaddled bundle of joy with the scarlet hair of her father and the warm eyes of her mother that the gaggle that is your conjoined families can’t keep their hands off of—

Well, Diluc is all too pleased to admit how happy he is, too.

a/n: if you made it here, thank you. i have been working on this fic for four years now. its taken up so much of my heart and space. kind of in disbelief that its finished.

#genshin x reader #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc genshin impact #diluc ragnvindr #diluc <3 #tw: genshin #my writing #i expect exactly two notes on this fic lol #thats okay though! im finally DONE

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withleeknow · 14 days

Text

lifeline.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort kinda?, slice of life?; unedited don't look at me lol word count: 0.7k listen to 🎧: lifeline - the rose note: weeeee it's been a good few months since i last wrote a plotless baby drabble so i might be rusty. in my head this is a companion piece to happy place :) wrote this v randomly bc i was in a mood lol

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

There’s a touch that Minho is familiar with, one that makes him drop whatever it is that he could be doing just to be there for you.

When your fingers dance across the back of his hand until you reach his wrist, wrapping your fingers around it so you could feel his pulse under your fingertips, he knows to take you into his arms and keep you there until you’re ready to let go.

It’s at the crack of dawn when you’ve just woken up from a bad dream, or in the middle of the dark, dark night when you’re plagued with bouts of uncertainty and your chest feels too heavy to fall asleep. Your hand tentatively traces over his pulse point, and Minho brings you closer, your legs tangled together in the sheets, his lips pressed against your forehead and his voice humming the melody of your favorite song.

It’s on the couch on a stormy evening, the room filled with the neverending patter of rain against the window, loud enough to drown out the trio of cats snoring in the background. You aren’t entirely there, your head is somewhere far away but you still absentmindedly reach for him, your thumb on the underside of his wrist. Minho lets you count the beats for a minute or so, before he pulls you into his lap, no questions asked. He tucks your face into the crook of his neck as he cards his fingers through your hair, gentle against your scalp, soothing when they rub the back of your neck.

It’s right before you both leave for a week-long trip with friends, when he’s hauling your suitcases to the front door but you tug him back by his wrist, and Minho knows that the airport can wait a few more minutes. He’s wrapping you up in his arms in an instance while yours wound around his neck, holding him flush against you as you breathe in his scent, your favorite in the whole wide world.

And it’s even when he’s putting groceries away that you come up to him from behind to hug him close. He rests his hands over yours where your fingers are securely fastened around his middle like a seatbelt, and you instantly untangle them in search of that familiar destination again. You press your forehead against the defined muscles in his back as you feel his pulse, beating steadily right under your thumb. A couple of minutes, it’s your little routine.

When Minho twists his body around in your hold to look at you, he scans your face for traces of discomfort, for any sign that you need him to ground you.

“Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” you say with zero regard for the potatoes and onions that have been abandoned to roll around on the kitchen counter.

Then you’re guiding him down by the neck, a sense of urgency in your movement when you press your lips to his. He kisses you back just as eagerly, not wasting a single second as his hands find their rightful place on your waist.

You kiss him until you’re both breathless, until your cheeks are tinted with the rosiest shade of pink. When he opens his eyes, Minho finds you already looking up at him like you’re wonderstruck, your gaze doused in so much love that it proceeds to knock some more air out of his lungs.

“What was that for?” he manages to ask.

“Just… thank you.” You smile softly, nudging your nose against his before you press another quick kiss to the corner of his mouth for good measure. You’ve got more to say, he can tell.

The thing is, you two aren’t overly vocal about your affection for one another. He doesn’t have to tell you he loves you every hour of every day, and you don’t write him love letters like this is some kind of sappy romance novel.

What you lack in words, you make up for with actions, with an understanding that transcends the kind of love people often dream about. Whenever you search for him in your darkest moments, reaching for him and feeling his heartbeat against your fingertips like that is simply enough light to anchor you, to bring you back home, Minho knows that he’s your lifeline in every way that you are his.

And when you speak again after a brief moment, your voice gentle yet firm, he knows that it isn’t an exaggeration. He knows you mean it.

“I think you saved my life.”

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #lee know fluff #lee know scenarios #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee know x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids #lee know #lee minho

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so-starz · 8 months

Text

˗ˏˋ⭒ things that make their heart flutter ⭒´ˎ˗

genre ? fluff reactions/headcanons , cw ? mentions of insecurities

bf!riize x gn!reader

⋆ note: first post! check pinned :3 might do little drabbles on some of these

将太郎⭒SHOTARO

[initiating hugs]

☆ shotaro’s love language is definitely physical touch

☆ so when you hug him from behind to surprise him

☆ or pull him into your arms in bed

☆ or bury your face in his chest as you squeeze him

☆ he feels like his life is complete

☆ adores when you run and jump into his arms after a long day

☆ just the feeling of being in your hold is enough for him

☆ he always makes sure to hug you back 10x tighter too

☆ (and no, he is never letting you go now)

은석⭒EUNSEOK

[dressing up for him]

☆ he thinks you always look pretty, no matter what you wear

☆ but when you dress up really nicely for dates, or to show off some new clothes you bought

☆ oh my god he loves it

☆ makes sure to compliment you every 3 seconds

☆ “you look beautiful”

☆ “that sweater looks so nice on you”

☆ fixes your jacket for you, smooths out your skirt

☆ silently admiring you the entire time

☆ you are his angel and he can’t believe he was lucky enough to be chosen by you

성찬⭒SUNGCHAN

[public skinship]

☆ sungchan loves to make sure everyone knows that he is yours and you are his

☆ like Yes you are taken and Yes he will bark at anyone who dares to think otherwise

☆ he always has a hand on your back, an arm wrapped around your waist or over your shoulders, etc

☆ but when you do it to him? he literally does a happy dance on the inside

☆ when you grab his hand and lace your fingers together

☆ or link your arm with his

☆ or hug his middle while waiting in line

☆ you are his Baby okay

☆ he thinks its so cute when you show him off to others

☆ it always puts the biggest smile on his face

원빈⭒WONBIN

[praise/compliments]

☆ you always have a knack for telling when wonbin gets in his head

☆ when his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, or when he’s even quieter than usual

☆ so you make sure to shower him in compliments and praise whenever you can

☆ telling him how hard he’s working and how good he is at what he does

☆ commenting on how pretty his eyes are, or how you like his new shirt

☆ you can see the stress leave his body when you praise him

☆ sometimes your reassurance is all he needs

☆ especially when he’s feeling insecure, he immediately searches for comfort in you

☆ because you always know just what to say

승한⭒SEUNGHAN

[random kisses]

☆ there’s nothing seunghan loves more than when you kiss him

☆ he’ll just be scrolling on his phone and you stop to kiss him on the forehead before going about your day

☆ or you could be in the middle of a conversation and then you randomly peck him on the lips

☆ it makes him smile so hard

☆ he could be having the worst day ever, but at least he knows he’ll be able to get a kiss from you later

☆ please cup his face kiss his cheeks when you see him

☆ if you kiss his neck while cuddling, he’ll literally melt in your arms

소희⭒SOHEE

[whispering in his ear]

☆ cuddles with sohee is a mandatory step in your nighttime routine

☆ and the atmosphere is always so soft and peaceful

☆ you always whisper an “i love you” into his ear

☆ or if you’re quietly talking about your day in your soft sleepy voice

☆ and he kind of dies inside everytime

☆ like his heart actually stops in his chest

☆ your voice is so beautiful to him, and when you whisper??? even better

☆ you make him feel so safe and he loves how vulnerable you can be around him

찬영⭒ANTON

[playing with his hair]

☆ it’s a subconscious habit you have, to mess with his hair, or twirl strands around your fingers

☆ and he falls for you all over again every time you do it

☆ when his hair falls into his eyes in the middle of a conversation and you reach up to brush his fringe to aside

☆ and if you make eye contact at the same time?

☆ anton.exe has stopped working

☆ he stutters in the middle of his sentence

☆ you always make him so nervous

☆ you can see him trying not to smile when you begin to play with his hair if his head is in your lap

☆ he's so soft for you, it's crazy

MASTERLIST

reblogs + feedback are greatly appreciated!

©️SO-STARZ

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hazelsmirrorball · 9 days

Text

And they were roommates | F1 Drivers

summary: y/n wanted to live in New York, so that's how she ended up living with three losers faceclaim: Sabrina Carpenter pairings: oscar piastri x fem!reader, lando norris x fem! reader, Logan Sargent x fem!reader, franco colapinto x fem!reader

a/n: Excuse any errors english isn’t my main language. this is inspired by new girl

yourusername via instagram!

liked by logansargent, oscarpiastri and 138 others

yourusername can someone pick me up? I don't think I can live with them anymore

tagged: @logansargent @oscarpiastri @landonorris

view all comments

logansargent we look really hot with our shades on!! But why the hell are Oscar and Lando wearing ur bras?

yourgirlbestfriend omg!! I thought you were joking when you said they used trash cans as pools in ur balcony

-> yourusername nothing is a joke when it comes to them

landonorris shoes off the couch! I sleep there

-> yourusername boo you whore

francolapinto you look so cute :)

-> yourusername omg im blushing

-> logansargent she really is blushing btw

-> yourusername delete this!

-> landonorris @oscarpiastri are you seeing this? isn't this ur girl

-> yourusername stop cockblocking me

-> oscarpiastri We are just friends.

-> landonorris but you wish you were more

-> yourusername do you guys know that private message exist

-> landonorris but I want your whole 100 followers to see that Oscar has a crush on you

-> oscarpiastri I do not.

-> <-

Logan and Y/n stood in front of the tv as the Zumba routine played at full volume. The clock read 4:30 am as the pair tried following the middle aged woman in front of them. Logan skipped in a circle moving his dumbbells side to side. As Y/n hollered when the woman on the TV would ask if they were hype. Oscar, being tired from the night before he could hear the pair having the time of their lives with the zumba. He quickly slipped on some pants not bothering to put on a shirt while walking down the stairs rubbing the tiredness of his eyes. When Oscar finally got to the bottom of the stairs he quickly got flashed with Logan’s short shorts.

“Oh, Oscar, are you joining us?” Logan said, turning to him as he placed the dumbbells down taking a sip from his water. Y/n also turned jogging in place smiling at Oscar.

“I thought you guys were doing that dancing class” Oscar said as he yawned looking at the pair thinking that the clothes they had on was a cause of his imagination and lack of sleep.

“Yeah, dummy. What do you think we are doing? This is a dancing class. We are doing Zumba. Logan found a cheap disk at a thrift store and he also found these sick outfits so we are matching with the ladies on the tv” Y/n responded stretching her wrist warmers.

“Yeah, we are getting ripped”

“I thought you guys meant you were going to the gym and that they were offering the class. It's four in the morning guys. That stupid song is driving me insane” Oscar said glaring at the pair as he leaned against the wall. Logan groaned, throwing his head back as Y/n raised an eyebrow at him.

“You are certainly not invited to our pilates mom group”

“Logan, you are not a mother. Neither of you are”

“Well with all you bitching and moaning, I should be”

Lando pushed open the apartment door after having one to many drinks at the club he looked at Y/n and Logan and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“Are you guys supposed to be John Travolta and Jaime Lee Curtis?”

-> <-

landonorris via instagram !

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri and 354 others

landonorris I just noticed that my whole camera roll is dedicated to my loser roommates. I need a life.

tagged: @logansargent @oscarpiastri @yourusername

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yourusername mom! I swear I don't drink

-> landonorris babe don't lie. those white claws are on ur side of the fridge

-> yourusername those white claws aren't mine, that's Logan side of the fridge

-> logansargent I hope none of you are touching my white claws

yourusername Oscar is such a nerd

-> oscarpiastri Hey! I have instagram.

-> logansargent surprisingly

-> <- Y/n pulled Franco Colapinto’s arm as she quietly tried to sneak him out of the apartment without waking her roommates up. Franco’s clothes hung loosely on her body as she shushed him for what felt like the one hundredth time. As they were almost near the exit, Lando turned on the light with a huge grin on his face.

“Is this supposed to be his walk of shame?”

“Lando shut up and go to be” Y/n replied through gritted teeth, as Franco stood in front of the door awkwardly.

“I will not shut up. This is the first time you bring a guy home. Honestly I am so proud of you. I was worrying that I was the only one bringing people to the apartment. But now I don’t feel as bad.” Lando said walking up to them and wrapping his arms around both of their shoulders.

“Lando, you literally bring two people daily. I think you should feel bad.”

“No because, this is different. Wait until Osar finds out. Hold up, this means you are not a virgin anymore. Oh my God my kids are growing up.”

“Lando, I wasn’t a virgin”

“That’s what I am saying, Did he..Oh God. Oscar! Oscar, come here”

The three of you guys stare at each other in silence while oscar quickly walks into the kitchen looking at the trio. He looked Franco up and down, quickly turning to Lando

“What”

“Did you know, Y/n isn’t a virgin anymore?”

“I know”

“You know?!”

“Who did you took it?”

-> <-

yourusername via insta stories! landonorris via insta stories!

-> <-

The four of roommates sat on the couch quietly scrolling on their phones. They have been like that for like for an hour. The peaceful silence had broke when Lando gasped loudly.

“You guys remember that we agreed on doing a group costume”

“No one agreed to do a group costume”

“No, you guys did!”

“You said, we should do a group costume for Charles halloween party and we didn’t answer”

“Anyways, as I was saying, I saw a tik tok of some roommates that dressed as the main south park characters and that would be perfect for us. Logan can be Kyle, Y/n can be Stan, OScar can be Catman and I can be Kenny” Logan said while showing them the tiktok on his phone. Y/n laughed and turned to Logan.

“You being Kenny is insane”

“Why?”

“Oscar should be Kenny and you should be Cartman” Y/n responded as if it were obvious.

“Stop defending your boyfriend. I don’t want to be Cartman”

“Lando. You are literally Cartman”

“ I am not! I already bought the costumes in our sizes so shut up”

“Wait, why did my card got charged”

-> <-

oscarpiastri via instagram!

liked by logansargent, landonorris and 50 others

oscarpiastri I am never saying yes for a 4th of July party.

tagged: @logansargent @oscarpiastri @yourusername

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yourusername who is that lady in the last picture, she is quite attractive

landonorris I look so good in this pic, what the fuck

logansargent oscars active era?

charlesleclerc I think I missed a chapter, what's up with that last picture

-> landonorris I don't even know what's going on, I thought the little guy that flirts was still in the picture

-> francolapinto i am taller than you

Francolapinto invite me next time

-> oscarpiastri No.

-> <-

“Damn it! Everyone to the bathroom right now!” Logan yelled, making everyone enter the small shared bathroom. Logan gripped on his towel showing it to the group. “Is someone playing a joke on me? Honestly, why is my towel still damp?”

“Because that’s not your towel, Logan. It’s my towel” Lando responded, pointing at the blue towel he was holding. Logan looked at Lando with fear.

“No it’s not. Your towel is the red one. It always has been the red one”

“I'll tell you this, pal. I've never used that. I do use that one every single day.”

“Oh, God.” Logan said, gagging.

‘This towel's so warm and fluffy. It's like it's been in the sun forever.” Y/n said, touching the red towel.

“This means you two have been drying your junk with the same towel.” Oscar commented, trying to escalate the situation.

“Intimate.”

“Are you out of your mind?! What do you mean, am I... How do you think this is your towel? Do you even wash it?” Logan asked, trying to not get worked up, which he was failing miserably.

“No, I don't wash the towel; the towel washes me. Who washes a towel?” Lando responded matter of factly while the others looked at him shocked.

“You never wash?”

“You wash your towel?”

“You never wash the towel?”

“What am I going to do? Wash the shower next? Wash a bar of soap? You got to think here, pal.” Lando said, rolling his eyes.

“I'm furious right now.”

“ I get out of the damn shower, I'm clean as a damn baby, and I use the towel.”

“Let me ask you this. Have you been wearing my underpants” Logan asked as his eye twitch.

“Sometimes, yeah. Who cares? You guys don't wear each other's underpants? You're lying. We all wear each other's underwear.”

-> <-

logansargent via instagram!

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri and 900 others

logansargent loving my roommates (excluding the little one)

tagged: @yourusername @oscarpiastri @landonorris

view all comments

landonorris the little one?! y/n is the little one. I am taller than her

-> yourusername oh shut up short king

-> logansargent take away the king

-> yourusername short

-> logansargent short

-> carlosainz short

-> oscarpiastri short

-> alexalbon short

-> georgerussell short

-> francolapinto short

oscarpiastri you are so American, im scared

-> <-

“I want to see who got podium!” Oscar said through his headset grinning, while lando scoffed.

“I obviously got podium, did you not see my hard work out there? I for certain won” Lando replied hitting the table in front of him. As the screen went black.

They all had been like that for the past two hours and none of them had gotten podium. So they had come up with a group strategy for at least one of them to come on top. When the screens comes back up lando yells angrily while Logan groans.

“You guys didn’t give me five starts!”

“Come on, Lando! We can’t all be on the podium” Y/n replied from her room through the headset.

“You are such and ass. My outfit was better than your. Fuck! The theme was Main Character, you did a basic outfit, while I actually played the game correctly and did Sharpay Evans. It pisses me off that I lost. Like this game is dress to impress. Not dress to be mediocre. I am done”

logansargent via insta stories! oscarpiastri via insta stories!

-> <-

yourusername via instagram!

liked by logansargent, oscarpiastri and 127 others

yourusername apartment 512 got a doggy!

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charlesleclerc now our doggies can have a doggy date

-> landonorris I don't want my dog near your dog, leclerc

logansargent why did we also get pictures of you and Oscar? what happen to that handsome guy

landonorris if you guys are together don't you dare break up because we have a lease together, thanks x

alexalbon since when is Oscar this happy

oscarpiastri via instagram!

liked by logansargent, yourusername and 17 others

oscarpiastri my favorite roommate

view all comments

landonorris I didn't get a post for my birthday

logansargent I think we are out of the loop what is happening

alexalbon Oscar is in his active era. I am afraid

yourusername love you, Osc.

logansargent you guys can't leave me alone with lando if you move out!

#oscar pastri smau #oscar pastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #lando norris x reader #lando norris #logan sargent fluff #logan sargent x reader #logan sargeant #formula one x y/n #formula one x you #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction #franco colapinto #franco colapinto x reader #landoscar

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s4no · 1 year

Text

TOKREV: STONER HCS

+ feat: ken ryuuguji, keisuke baji, mitsuya takashi, hanma shuji, seishu inui, sanzu haruchiyo, wakasa imaushi & shinichiro sano

+ cw: fem!reader, drugs (weed + cigarettes), nsfw themes (ptv, cockwarming)

+ summary: ever wonder what they're like when they get high?

+ a/n: i am smoking a blunt while writing this so ignore the typos

ಇ 𝗞𝗘𝗡 𝗥𝗬𝗨𝗨𝗚𝗨𝗝𝗜. after a long day of grueling work, draken likes to relax by smoking a blunt. he'll roll it after he's locked up his shop and walk into your apartment with it behind his ear, his forehead and fingers smudged with motor oil. it's become part of your routine to walk up to him as he places it between his lips and light it for him, watching him take a hit and blow the smoke out to the side. you two pass it back and forth while he cleans up in the bathroom, and then relocate to the living room once he's done, lounging on the couch while discussing your day. the more he smokes, the closer he gets, subconsciously closing the distance and gravitating toward you. he gets touchy when he's high, and you hum as calloused hands absentmindedly wander over the curves and valleys of your body, tracing abstract shapes into your skin. and when you run out of things to talk about, you sit two there in a comfortable silence, merely enjoying each other's presence.

ಇ 𝗞𝗘𝗜𝗦𝗨𝗞𝗘 𝗕𝗔𝗝𝗜. the first thing baji likes to do when he wakes up is smoke, especially if it's the weekend. you'll wake up to him packing the bong, bathed in golden light pouring in through the window. "mornin', kitten." he grins down at you, sharp canines poking past his bottom lip, "wake and bake?" the rips he takes from the bong are impressive, and when you try to copy him, you inevitably end up coughing and sputtering. he always snickers and takes the bong from of your hands, rubbing his palm over the center of your chest. "breathe, baby, breathe." by the time you manage to catch your breath, he's finished packing another bowl— one that he single-handedly smokes before finally getting out of bed. without fail, his stomach rumbles and he shoots you a sheepish look, "you want breakfast? i'll make pancakes." throwing the covers off you, you run after him to the kitchen, knowing he'll most likely start a fire if you aren't there to help.

ಇ 𝗧𝗔𝗞𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗜 𝗠𝗜𝗧𝗦𝗨𝗬𝗔. mitsuya mainly smokes in social settings. whenever someone offers him a joint at a party, he always accepts it with a gracious smile. surprisingly, a little weed makes him even more charismatic than usual, and he's able to entertain the whole room without even trying. but he walks a fine line because once he's true and properly stoned, he becomes more introverted and ends up clinging to you like a lost puppy. you'll be dancing in the middle of the floor and he'll walk up to you and just throw his arms around you. "you high, babe?" you giggle, leading him toward the couch. "mhm, feel really good." he hums, and the next thing you know, he's pulled you down onto the sofa and buried his head in your chest. "so comfy.." it doesn't matter that his antics attract the stares of other partygoers, he will cuddle you in front of everybody and he'll do it without a hint of shame.

ಇ 𝗦𝗛𝗨𝗝𝗜 𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗠𝗔. hanma will swear up and down that nothing's better than a cigarette after sex. but sometimes, he takes it step beyond that— rolling a fat blunt and lighting it up while you two lay naked in bed. he's never embodied his tattoo more than he does when he blows the smoke out from his nose; he's the personification of sin and temptation with the blunt perched between his fingers. he offers it to you but when you go to take it from him, he lifts it up out of your reach. "you want a hit, doll?" there's a smirk on his face as he blows the smoke directly into your face, and it only grows when you start to pout. "open." you follow the simple command without hesitation and you're rewarded for it when he brings the blunt to your parted lips, holding it for you while you inhale. he doesn't miss the way your eyes turn glassy from the high. in fact, it makes him hard all over again and by the time he's putting out the roach on the ashtray, he's ready for round two.

ಇ 𝗦𝗘𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗨 𝗜𝗡𝗨𝗜. inui has a couple of guilty pleasures and one of them is smoking right before bed. he'll pick out an indica that's sure to help him sleep and pack his bowl full of it. you can visibly see the tension leech out of his body, his shoulders sagging lower with every hit he takes. most nights, he'll doze off after finishing it, but if he manages to stay awake long enough for you to join him in bed, he'll pull you close and wrap his arms around you. soft lips pepper kisses against the crook of your neck, and when you laugh and tell him it tickles, he tightens his hold on you and starts sucking a bruise into your skin. "this tickle too?" he murmurs, knowing damn well what he's doing. his hands slip beneath your shirt, squeezing your tits and playing with your nipples until they're poking through the fabric. then, he sheathes himself inside of you, making you warm his cock while he drifts off to sleep.

ಇ 𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗨𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗬𝗢 𝗦𝗔𝗡𝗭𝗨. sanzu is all about optimizing his pleasure and one way he does this is by smoking while he fucks you. you'll be on your hands and knees, back bent into a pretty arch as he thrusts against your backside. his pace is steady but brutal, one hand gripping your hip while the other lifts the joint to his lips. "mm, fuck.." he groans, voice raspy (from the smoke or how tightly you're squeezing him, you're not sure). "that's it— haah, yeah, that's it, angel. take this fuckin' cock." if he's feeling generous, he'll lean over you and extend the joint out for you to take a hit, but oftentimes, you're being fucked too hard to even think about accepting the offer. if, on the off chance, you are able to take a hit or two, you severely start to struggle holding yourself up. but he takes it in stride, pushing you down so your stomach is flat against the bed, cheek pressed against the sheets. "there you go, just lay down and take it."

ಇ 𝗪𝗔𝗞𝗔𝗦𝗔 𝗜𝗠𝗔𝗨𝗦𝗛𝗜. not only is wakasa a stoner, but he's also a plug. he stays stocked up with flower, wax, and cartridges; and he has a revolving door of customers at his disposal with tokyo university located half an hour away. he smokes several times a day every day, and he's built up an insane tolerance as a result. when you come over to hang out, he'll easily face a blunt while giving you your own to hit as you please. "you tryna keep up with me, princess? don't overdo it." but really, he wouldn't mind if you did. you're so cute when you're high out of your mind, so pliant in his hands. his teasingly lips brush over yours, so lightly it can hardly be considered a kiss, before he shotguns the smoke into your awaiting mouth. though, if you truly do start to get too faded, he'll pluck the blunt right out of your hands and put it out. "aht," he chides, "that's enough. can't have you greenin' out on me, can i?"

ಇ 𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗜𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗥𝗢 𝗦𝗔𝗡𝗢. shinichiro is a lightweight compared to his best friend, not because he doesn't have access to weed, but because he really only smokes it on special occasions. for his last birthday, wakasa brought over some wax and shinichiro could only blink when his friend pulled a blow torch out from his bag. after some convincing, he took several hits, but he nearly coughed up a lung in the process. that was the highest you've ever seen your boyfriend— too stoned to even keep his head from falling over against his shoulders. "you good, shin?" he nods slowly in response, eyelids drooping as if they're being weighed down by something heavy. he stayed on the couch for the rest of the day, asking you to make him something to eat every couple of hours. "shit.." he mutters to himself, "food really does taste better when you're high." you and wakasa got quite the kick out of his blissed out state.

#♡⃕ tokyo revengers #tw weed #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #draken x reader #draken x you #baji x reader #baji x you #mitsuya x reader #mitsuya x you #hanma x reader #hanma x you #inui x reader #sanzu x reader #sanzu x you #wakasa x reader #wakasa x you #shinichiro x reader #shinichiro x y/n

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nadvs · 6 months

Text

both sinners (part one)

pairing drugdealer! rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

content warning drug use

summary as a stripper, you’re well aware that someone you know could walk into the club at any moment. when rafe is your newest customer, you’re actually glad to see a familiar face.

{ masterlist }

*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

The room is humid. The pole is smooth. The music is throbbing. And the seats are filling up fast. It’s a typical Saturday night at the club.

You just stepped out on the stage, circling the pole, taking slow, seductive steps in your stilettos.

A polished ‘reserved’ name plate sits on table in the booth right in front of you. You’ll start your routine and get undressed when the people who claimed that booth come in.

You’ve only been stripping for a few months, but you know well enough by now that it’s not worth putting your best show on until the reserved booths are full. Those customers are the most generous with their tips.

Moments later, in the pink and purple lights shimmering over the large club, you can make out the shadowed figures of three men piling into the booth.

You hook your leg around the pole and gyrate while they get seated, ready to start your show.

Rafe settles in the cushioned booth and is immediately captivated by you. You’re so smooth with every slow roll of your hips.

He glances around, seeing the other dancers, but there’s something about you that’s magnetic. It’s like his eyes will only allow him to look at you.

You’re in a sheer skirt and a scant bra; in his opinion, too many clothes are covering your body. He watches while you sensually sway, the lights hitting your planes and curves.

When you arch your back to pull the string holding your bra together, baring your tits, you bra falls to the floor in a bunch. You dip your head back, chest uncovered and so fucking perfect, as you hold yourself up on the pole.

You’re left in nothing but a mini-skirt, lace panties, and six-inch heels.

He’s in awe.

“Dude!” Topper shouts over the music. Rafe looks over at his friend and the waitress leaning over his shoulder. “Drink?”

Rafe realizes they’ve probably been trying to get his attention for a while. He was just too damn distracted by the silhouette on stage.

He laughs, ordering an old fashioned, and turns his attention back to you.

“Acting like you’ve never seen tits before,” Topper chides him, shoving his shoulder and making Kelce crack up.

“Shut the fuck up,” Rafe chuckles.

You hike yourself up on the pole and slowly spread your legs apart, twisting and rolling. Goddamn. He’s already so fucking worked up just from watching you dance a few feet away from him.

You wait until their drinks arrive and let them get a few sips in before you sink to the glossy floor and swing your legs over the stage.

“Hi, boys,” you say over the music, turning on the flirty, confident identity you always take on while on stage. “Having fun?”

“It’s his birthday,” one of them shouts and points to the man in the middle.

“Oh, yeah?” you say with a smile. You slowly drop onto the carpeted floor and start to close the distance between you and the three men.

The way your hips swing is making Rafe’s groin get tighter. He can’t believe this is his first time in a strip club. What the fuck took him so long?

You freeze for a second when you realize you know these guys. Kind of.

Even though you live nowhere near Figure 8, you’ve befriended enough wealthy people on the island to get invited to their extravagant house parties. And you’ve definitely seen these men before.

You know Rafe best out of the three. He sells the purest coke you’ve ever tried and he somehow gets hotter every time you see him. You’ve talked to him maybe twice, buying a couple of grams off of him.

It’ll only be awkward if you make it awkward, so you place your hands on the edge of the table in the middle of the booth and lean forward, arms pressed against your sides to push out your tits.

Rafe’s eyes dip to your naked chest immediately, then back up to your face. He’s met you before. He thought you were hot then, and he thinks you’re hot now.

“I know you,” you tease. He finds it sexy how you’re completely unfazed by this, not embarrassed at all to be half-naked like this in front of them. “Happy birthday.”

His friend, who you’re pretty sure people call Topper, holds out a folded $50 between his fore finger and middle finger to you.

“First dance is on me, man,” Topper slurs, patting Rafe’s chest with his other hand. By the lazy smiles on their faces, you can tell these aren’t their first drinks of the night.

You lick your lips and smile as you take the bill and tuck it in the waistband of your skirt. You know these guys are loaded. You’re going to make a killing tonight.

You look back at the stage, spotting another dancer and cocking your chin to silently gesture to her to join the table and keep the other guys entertained while you focus on Rafe.

You slowly make your way towards him, the erotic, bass-heavy music surrounding you. You typically let your mind drift away while you give a customer a lap dance, but you’re actually attracted to this one.

The sight of your thighs spreading as you kneel down to straddle him makes Rafe’s heart start pounding even harder.

“Hi,” you say with a sweet smile. You settle and hover over him, mostly supporting yourself on your knees, but sitting on his lap just enough to feel his firm thighs beneath you.

You’re a little nervous, which takes you by surprise. This must be what happens when a customer is someone you have a crush on.

His cologne smells crisp and expensive as you put your hands on his broad shoulders, rubbing over the fabric of his t-shirt.

“Hi,” Rafe says with a stunned grin, his dimples deep. You feel his hands settle under your skirt, fingers splayed over your ass. Even though the rules are strict against touching the dancers, and you’re sure he was told that when he arrived, you let him.

It feels so damn good to be wanted like this by him, to have him touch you. Besides, he seems like the type who thinks he’s above the rules anyway, so telling him not to touch you would be a waste of breath.

“How’s your day been?” you coo, palms sliding down to his chest. Rafe’s blue eyes trail from your mouth to your half-naked body, the handsome angles of his face shadowed under the lights.

“Better now,” he says, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. You giggle, leaning to speak into his ear.

“They don’t let you touch the dancers here,” you mumble to him, “but I’ll give you a pass tonight.”

You pull back to see him clench his defined jawline as he squeezes harder.

“Yeah?” he rasps, the sharp smell of bourbon on his breath. “How come?”

“It’s my birthday present to you,” you say, starting to writhe on him.

“Bullshit,” he smirks. “It’s ‘cause you want me to touch you.” You can admit to yourself that his ego is kind of charming. And yeah, he’s right. His hands on you do feel good.

You sit up to prop your chest right up to his face. Rafe breathes in the smell of your perfume, revelling in the feeling of your tits inches away from his face.

“Are you always this cocky?” you ask. You rake a hand up the back of his head, his hair soft between your fingers.

“Yeah,” Rafe says simply, his careless shrug adding to his charm. You start to gyrate against him, feeling his firmness in his jeans. You dip your head, your cheek pressed against his as you grind.

“That feels good, huh?” you hum.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice deep as he says your name. “I didn’t know you were such a bad girl.”

Damn. You’re actually getting wet right now. This never happens. This is supposed to be work.

“Now you know,” you reply. Your hand slides down his chest, over his firm stomach, landing at his groin. Damn. He’s big.

“Shit,” he groans. You pull back, seeing Rafe’s drunken smile, and seamlessly sit up to swing your leg off of him, backing up to shake your ass on him.

The way your skirt is bouncing with every recoil makes him feel like he could go crazy. You look back at him to see him digging into his pocket, taking a wad of cash out.

He tucks a bill into the band of your skirt, his bottom lip trapped under his teeth as he watches you lustfully.

The way you shake and sway and bump on his lap is making the tension in him tighten, closer and closer to snapping by the second. It’s not enough. He needs to see you fully naked.

The next time you look at him, Rafe impatiently wags his fingers to beckon you to turn towards him again. You obey and kneel over, your faces only inches apart, your hands on his thighs, your ass in the air.

“You gonna get naked or what?” he mutters impatiently. You’re flattered that he’s so into you.

“I can, here,” you say, eager to upsell, “or we can go up to a private room.”

“Yeah?” he says. “What else can we do in there?”

“Did you come here to talk?” you hear a man shout. You realize Topper’s giving him shit, smiling as one of the other dancers grinds on him.

You honestly like that Rafe is talking to you instead of silently watching you dance for him, but you giggle, trying to keep the atmosphere light and fun.

Rafe doesn’t like you laughing with his friend. Or smiling at him. Or even looking at him.

“Let’s go,” Rafe says resolutely. You turn to gaze at him again, his eyes gleaming in the flickering lights.

“It’s $100 for a room-” you begin, but he interrupts.

“Let’s go,” he repeats. You have a feeling you could tell him any price and he’d agree.

You smile and take Rafe’s hand, leading him upstairs to one of the VIP rooms. A bouncer standing in the top level hallway nods to you and motions to a free room.

“No touching, buddy,” he warns Rafe, who only replies with a mocking nod. This man has no respect for anyone or anything. And he makes it look so sexy.

The small space offers an upholstered booth, a pole, and a table for drinks. The dim red bulb on the ceiling seems to casts more shadows than light, making Rafe annoyed that he won’t be able to see you better.

He settles onto the booth as you shut the door behind you. His legs are spread wide, his cock stretching his jeans out in an impressive bulge.

The music is muffled, but still loud enough to dance to in the private room. You toss the bills that are sitting under your waistband onto the table, then position yourself between his knees to writhe for him as you pull down the zipper on the side of your skirt.

The skirt pools around your heels. Rafe drinks in the vision of your lace panties, the way the fabric hugs your lips. He has never been more turned on.

“Damn…” he groans with a disbelieving scoff, his hands sliding up your thighs. When he runs a thumb up your middle, you tremble.

This feels unreal. You’ve given every other man who merely tried to touch your hand a firm reminder of the rules. But here you are, letting Rafe touch your pussy, loving the feeling.

“I knew you were fine, but shit,” he mutters.

You can’t help but wonder if he was attracted to you before he laid eyes on you tonight, when you were fully dressed at the parties you’ve seen each other at.

Rafe’s lips curl into a smirk as he digs into his pocket to pull out his wallet and a clear baggy of white powder. If you weren’t sure that he couldn’t give less of a fuck about rules before, you are now.

“Want some?” he asks.

“I’m working,” you laugh.

“What’s a little bit gonna do?” Rafe asks, pulling out a credit card. “Lie down.”

Intrigued, you follow his orders, settling on the booth onto your back.

“Stay still,” he mutters. You laugh to yourself in disbelief when you realize he’s setting up a line on your chest, right between your tits. He’s almost too much.

Rafe loves the way the powder looks sitting on your skin. He taps the edge of his credit card against the line of coke, evening it out, before he leans down and snorts through a rolled up bill.

Euphoria hits every one of his senses immediately. His lips are right by yours and he gives into his impulse like he always does, leaning down to kiss you.

He takes you by surprise when he captures your lips in his. You smile beneath his hot mouth, enthralled by his spontaneous passion, feeling him suck on your bottom lip. When he pulls back, he’s smiling.

“You sure you don’t want any?” Rafe asks, pupils blown.

“Fuck it,” you laugh. This night has been crazy enough. “Just a bump.”

You sit up, leaning against the cushion of the booth and you hold out your finger, watching as he carefully tips some coke out of the baggy. You rub it over your gums, purposely sucking your finger as you pop it out of your mouth.

Everything about you is driving Rafe crazy in the best way. You’re so fucking carefree and self-possessed.

He shifts to hang over you, his fingers looping around the band of your panties. Rafe pulls them down your legs and sharply inhales when he sees your bare pussy.

He needs you. A dance isn’t enough.

“I’m supposed to do that part,” you breathe a chuckle.

“How much to fuck you?” He meets your eyes, his hair hanging over his forehead.

“We can’t do that, baby,” you laugh, although you desperately want to. You’d get fired in a second. “Not here.”

“It’s my birthday,” he whines with a heartbreaking grin. He palms his dick in his pants, eyes drifting down your body hungrily. “How much? I’ll give you whatever you want.”

You’ve already broken so many rules, and you would love to fuck him, but the risk of getting caught is just too high. You decide to compromise.

You put him hand on the hard swelling in his pants and rub.

“How about this?” you ask, looking up at him through your lashes. “You sit down and I touch you.”

That way, you think, if anyone walks in, your back will be to the door and you can hide what you’re doing, making it look like you’re just giving him another lap dance.

Rafe nods, glad he has the promise of a release, and sits back down where he was before.

You shuffle to straddle him, feeling his hands on your ass again. You unbutton and zip down his jeans and he frantically bucks his hips up and slips them down.

When his cock pops out of his boxers, you nearly gasp at how big it is.

“I got hard the second I saw your tits,” he laughs, feeling drunk and high out of his mind.

“Yeah?” you purr. You spit on your palm then put your hand around his base. He groans, the pressure sending a roll of pleasure through his body.

“Yeah,” Rafe shudders. “You have really nice fucking tits.” Wow. He’s talkative when he’s high. You love it.

His hands move up to capture your breasts, squeezing the flesh.

“How the fuck am I not supposed to touch you? That’s a stupid fucking rule,” he mutters, his thumbs rubbing over your nipples. You shudder, arching your back at the sensation.

“Damn, you like that?” he rasps with a smirk.

“Yeah,” you breathe a laugh. You start to run your hand up and down his cock, arousal pooling in your gut.

“You’re telling me you don’t want this dick inside you?” he teases. You bite your bottom lip and twist your wrist as you stroke him.

“We can’t fuck in here,” you tell him.

“But we can somewhere else?” Rafe asks, tilting his chin towards you so you’ll kiss him again.

The coke is starting to hit your system as your tongue rolls over his, your palm wet against his cock.

“Yeah, we can,” you say shakily when you pull away.

“Shit, you’re good at that,” he grunts, looking down at your hand working him. All you can hear is the muffled music and your combined breathing and the sound of your wet skin rubbing over his.

“Yeah?” you ask.

Rafe’s head is spinning. He takes in the sight of his hands on your perfect tits, the way you’re jerking him off, the smile on your pretty face. All this combined with the liquor and coke rushing through him is fucking paradise.

“You wanna cum on me?” you impulsively ask. He’s still partly dressed, but you’re fully naked. It’d be easier to clean up. And, if you’re being honest, you want to feel his cum on you.

“You really are a bad girl,” Rafe laughs. You meet his eyes. He’s so depraved, but hell, so are you.

You put your other hand on him, rubbing his thick length in a faster rhythm. He rolls his head back as he groans.

“I’m gonna… oh, fuck…” His deep voice unravels into mumbles.

You aim his cock towards you, watching the white ropes of his cum spurt out of him, his body twitching beneath you. The hot liquid splashes over your stomach and your thighs, making you smile in satisfaction.

When he comes down from the high you gave him, he hands you his entire wad of cash.

You didn’t expect your night to take this turn, but it was so much fucking fun. And you have no idea if Rafe will remember any of this. But you hope he does.

{ part two }

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

#my enemies/rivals to lovers fic took a little pause just bc i love this concept sm hehe #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x you #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #obx smut #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and y/n #rafe cameron and reader

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puhmpken · 7 months

Text

Author’s Note: This one is a filler since I am still working on “Dairy of the Obsessed” ..this one was spontaneous lmfaoo! Also requests are open feel free to give me story ideas

This has BEEN edited 🥳🎉

Warning ⚠️-> If you’re under the age of 18+ DONT interact with this post, this is your only & final warning! I do not & will not take responsibility for anything further!

You have been warned

Title: A Shape-Shifter’s Dilemma

Alastor x Reader Oneshot

written + edited by @puhmpkins-blog 🎃

W/C: 5.1K 😀 oops maybe too much lol my imagination got the better of me but please enjoy!

You always questioned where Alastor your husband would go. Most of the time you would brush it off and not think of it—Overlord stuff.

But one night while Al and you slept in the same bed he tossed and turned in his sleep you could assume he was having a nightmare

“honey..?” You said in a low ruff voice as you gently placed a hand on Alastor who stops his moving before the word he mutters out was

“charlie..”

...Now that is odd. Why would a overlord like Alastor be saying the princess of hells name in the middle of his sleep?

It made you raise a eyebrow, and questioned him.

The day following did not seem to ease your nerves one bit, he again in rather ..a rush to leave the manor

Standing next to the front doors door you watched as he moved back and forth through the living room looking for whatever he was desiring

“What's rushing for darling? This is rather out of character” You said as your eyes watched him move throughout the room

“Oh nothing to concern yourself with dearie!~ Just overlord business”

You hummed back at his bland cryptic response not wanting to pick it apart–you just decided not to question it and save yourself the energy

“Right. Just don’t go get yourself in trouble” You said smiling at Alastor standing infront of you, slightly towering over you as you fixed and cleaned off any dirt or lent that got caught on his suit as he was in your words rushing around

Moving your hands away from him, your eyes locked with his as Alastor’s reddish brown eyes, a flicker of amusement dancing within them. His lips curved from a small smile into a sly smirk, revealing his pointy teeth.

“Trouble?,” he questioned, making his one of his eyebrows raise in a cocky way , “Why..thats my middle name, my dear.” He said clasping and holding both your hands as he stared at you, before shrugging “But perhaps maybe I’ll make an exception—for you.”

You rolled your eyes to your husband's playful antics, before giving Alastor his goodbye kiss and waving him bye as he sinks into his shadow disappearing leaving you alone in the manor.

A moment of silent filling the air before

“Now, let me figure out WHAT’S actually happening.”

And that’s how this whole shenanigan began with you.

You see, while Alastor might have been expected to marry some ordinary demon, you in your case, were far from ordinary. As a shape-shifting demon, you possessed the ability to transform your identity at will, becoming a whole new demon or a manifestation of whatever your imagination desired.

The only limitations were those of your own imagination or..if Alastor was able to sniff you out, thanks to his keen sense of smell. HOWEVER, avoiding detection was usually easy enough… for the most part.

Weeks to months you’ve been keeping up on this “routine” of cat and mouse but all was paying off.

You found out Al has been to much of your dismay harboring rather a couple of secrets hidden and tucked from you. Other than your known overlord stuff he was a suppose helper at a hotel called the “Hazbin Hotel” that princess charlie owns and works at with a couple of other people almost made you drop with laughter when you first seen Alastor helping out with the hotel, you had to tell Rosie about this later.

It was easy to stay undercover and even easier to get close to him without him realizing and knowing it was you.

You made up your mind weeks ago that his territory would be fine, if you step away here and there to follow Alastor to the hotel

And that’s how you end up to the present day you.

You weren’t satisfied with knowing Alastor helps at a hotel. Yes indeed it was a shocker but that’s all? You were still puzzled on why Al said Charile name to began with

Alastor hasn’t suspected a thing yet due to him kinda being busy at the hotel or up in his office.

On the rare times you would see him, he was up in the upper balcony with nifty laughing with her, you couldn’t hear what they were talking about but knowing the both of them.. it was rather something strange or gruesome

As another shifted ended, the day ended with you back at the manor seating in your comfortable loveseat, reading a book before mere minutes Al got back, making it seem as normal as possible to not raise suspicions

The next day as things moved along you wished Alastor a goodbye as you watched him shift into the shadows and disappear off.

Waiting a few minutes after he left you then began to get ready for your shift at the hotel, that first started with showering to rid yourself of your natural scents–you didn’t want to be tackled down by your husband as soon as you walk in through the door.

Finishing up with your shower you stepped out spraying some random cheap perfume you had bought to scramble Al scents.

As you began styling yourself from being a lady of the 1920s with elegant beauty and designer dresses to a ripped petite coat, old bleach stained black skirt with a hole at the bottom with a finish messy down hairstyle

You laughed at your reflection

Seeing what you looked like in your normal form made you laugh. Alastor would probably gasp and dropped to his knees at the things you wore.

You walked out the house being sure to not be seen

Successfully making it past the fenced gates and out of the woods you came to the main roads of hell shifting yourself into a hell creature you have been using for this whole little “spying game”

A lengthy white fur being that stood, 6ft having two red stripes covering both arms and legs. Your (h/c) just reached the middle of your back and on your head sat two cream colored pointy horns, you kept your sharp teeth to still be able to scare off unwanted demons if the occasion was to rise

Checking yourself out in the reflection of the glass windows, you made sure everything was correct: your look, your attire and your scent.

You started to walk to the hotel, the sidewalk you have taken at least more than ten times.

As you inched closer to the hotel you for safe measures stopped and sprayed yourself down one more time in cheap perfume emptying the bottle before tossing it off in the distances and kept walking

Getting inside the hotel was an easy task,

You said hello to everyone vaggie, angeldust, sir pentious and his eggo children, huskier and nifty.

‘Everyone is down here practically–well almost everyone’ looking around furrowing your eyebrows together

“Where Charlie? She's usually with you, Vag?” You said to Vaggie who was sitting on the couch next to Angel looking at the TV

“She should be in her office right now Lucy. I think she also wanted to talk to you” Vaggie said kinda nonchalantly shrugging her shoulders towards the end as she looked up from the tv to you as you nodded your head

Making a hum noise you turned on your heel and began walking to Charlie office

Knocking before you entered, Charlie sat at her desk looking at papers

“Helluva morning Charlie. Vaggie was telling me you were looking for me, I just wanted to speak to you about what you wanted” You said as you walked towards her desk and seating down in one of the chairs across from it

Charlie still having her go lucky smile on her face nodded putting down a couple of papers “Yes Vaggie was right! I was looking for you Lucy!” She said pausing as she slide over a little stack of paperwork, “It’s nothing serious promise! I just wanted you to run these up to Al~!”

You nodded silently thanking hell for the opportunity to be closer to Al

“Yeah of course I can do that” You said standing up taking the paperwork in your black gloved hands “Consider it done Charlie!” You said walking out of her office as she screamed a thank you from behind a closed office door

You hummed quietly to yourself as you walked up the flights of stairs to get to Alastor’s door

Minutes passed before you got to the door that read in bold letter

“Alastor, Radio Demon”

Knocking lightly on the door, ‘he should be in there?’

“…”

‘No response..hm that weird’ You thought as you looked over both your shoulders before you placed a gloved hand on your door handle twisting the knob before it opened slowly

!!!CREAAAK!!!

Your body mentally cringed at the noise as you pushed the door more open glancing around one more time you slipped in the crack of his door, gently shutting it closed once you entered

‘Wow’ Was the first word that escaped your mouth looking into his room now, it's his office yes, but what was beyond it that made it almost feel like you were..alive it was the bayou swamp/forest it was just how you remembered before you died all those years ago..breathtaking

Scanning the dimly lit area with the only light being a moonless night and the few fireflies that infested the air, you didn’t see Alastor anywhere in sight, just a table with a chair on it in the middle of the grassy forest.

You bite your lip gently as you looked between the paper work and the forest before groaning knowing your mind was made up, as soon as you laid your eyes on the bayou. Leaving the paperwork for Alastor sitting on his wooden desk before you walked passed it and too the bayou landscape filling as it was almost a dream

Walking slowly into the grassy area with a smile as you breathed in the smell of forest closing your eyes and taking in the sound

It was a wonderful moment of quiet before the light noise of static in the forest made you snap your eyes open,.. that’s Alastor getting closer into range of where you were standing.

Being lucky and hopeful you HOPE he didn’t see you in the clearing just standing their with your eyes closed

You ran and hide behind some bushes and trees that were away from the table and chair you were standing near–and just in the nick of time

You could hear and see him from where you were hiding the full static sound of a certain radio demon as he hummed a tune with a deer slumped dead over on his shoulder, carrying it with ease as he slammed it down on the table, you examined as he sat down making a fork appear out of thin air as he leaned his staff against his chair, before disappearing into air as he began to eat the deer raw pulling at its meat–made you want to gag in disgust

‘He could’ve cooked it’ you thought watching him munch down on his hunt you can assume. Licking his lips after a couple of bites he wiped his mouth with a napkin like a true unhinged gentleman

Before he cleared his throat his eyes shutting but his smile spreading wider, causing you to get goosebumps

“I know your there” He said making you do a double take ‘he knows i am here?’ you thought blinking as you didn’t buy his bluff

“I can sense your presence,” he drawled, his voice dripping with a sinister charm.

“You can’t hide from me.” He opened his crimson eyes as they began scanning the area. You kept your movement still as he scanned over the area you were hiding. You saw how he squinted his eyes almost immediately at the bush you were in

“Come out, come out wherever you are” He sang out in a haunting tone

“You do know as a predator.”He started in a cheery tone before his voice dropped to a dual and deep one “ I can smell you out.” His voice ringing of no radio filter

Your heart began to sped up

‘fffuck’ Is what you thought before you seen Alastor disappear into thin air—it wasn’t a surprise you were accustomed to that but you couldn’t help your heart starting to speed up as he vanished into the air

“Run,” a disembodied whisper breathed against your nape

Took you no time of convincing as you ran not looking behind you as you kept your eyes forward only hearing the sound of something chasing behind,

You hit left and right, hoping to get Alastor off of you

As you take another right you ran behind a tree, hiding behind its figure as you heard and felt Alastor run pass you

You have never done something like this, it was rather fun but dangering

Peaking your head from behind the tree after what felt like entirety you didn’t see Alastor for safe measures you transformed yourself to a small forest animal, just in case Alastor wants to sneak behind you..again

Following near your foot trail from the tree branches, you jumped from branch to branch with ease as you stopped once more hearing static noise come from nowhere, you smirked in your creature form as Alastor wouldn’t suspect a thing

Watching from above, his form essentially appeared from thin air as he had a wide smirk and a look of hunger in his eyes as he looked at the spot you were suppose to be standing

“Where are you~?” He said

“…”

After a moment of looking in all the places he would expect and assume for someone to hide, he stood in the middle of the forest arms crossed as his ears flickered now and then

“Now where did they go? I was rather hungrier for something other than deer” He said you can tell by his voice he was almost dumb struck how could he still be able to smell you but your nowhere near..weird?

You slowly shifted yourself backwards away from Alastor as you didn’t want to alarm him nor give away your hiding, you were almost clear before a vibration was felt throughout the branch and in one second the branch snapped as you land ontop of Alastor head

“...”

It was quiet not either one of you dared to move before you felt your body being picked up fully by his hand and now..the jig was up

“What do we have here..” He said looking at you “A small diversion from the person thats in here?”Alastor’s gaze bore into you, dissecting your very essence.

A wicked glint in his eyes began to take place, “Well I guess since I couldn't catch my actual food, I shall eat you little one” Pausing to smug smile before continuing “Bad luck for you?~” He said as he lifted you above his mouth

You squirmed in his hands, heart racing.

‘This can’t be how (y/n)'s story ends’, you thought desperately.

Just as he was about to drop you into his abyssal maw, you shifted—your disguise falling away

You landed on top of Alastor, who staggered back, utterly unprepared.

“Don’t eat me,” you blurted out, adrenaline surging. Alastor stood, bemusement etching his features.

“Lucy?!” Alastor’s voice crackled through the air, a radio filter distorting his words. The static hummed, raising the hairs on your arms.

“Why are you in here?” His step was deliberate, menacing. You retreated, heart pounding.

“How did you make yourself appear small? Then big?” His eyes narrowed, dissecting you. Each step he took, you mirrored, until your back pressed against a tree—literally.

Your mind raced for a lie, an escape. But then it happened—the slip up, the unraveling.

You shifted into your true form, the one Alastor would recognized.

“(Y/N)?!” His voice lost the radio filter, and you met his gaze. Confusion etched his features. You bit your bottom lip, a awkward laugh escaping.

“Erm, surprise…?” You said as you watched him back up a little from you a smile now spreading wider by the minute as the static was the buzz in the air

As it was overtook by the applause he started to emitted as he turned the other way starting to laugh

“A surprise indeed dearie who would’ve know my wife could pull such a thing off” He started.. you didn’t like how this was sounding as you moved away from the tree watching him as he created slight distances between him and yourself

You watched as a nagging feeling was telling you to start running but ignoring that you spoke up “Alastor I-” He cut you off with his words

As he appeared behind you—the Radio Demon, with crimson eyes and a dangerous smile. His arm encircled your waist, pulling you closer. “You had the entire hotel convinced of this Lucy woman,” he murmured, his voice devoid of filters. “Bravo, dearie. Truly bravo.”

You didn’t like how he was taking the situation as what he said to you in a flare voice on confirmed how much you actually DID piss off Alastor with this little disguise

“You should run now.”

Those four words holding a threat of the unknown and you wanting to at least talk for yourself turned to face Alastor his crimson eyes only reflecting the pure chaos he was about to inflict on this game of catch with you, as you shook your head

“Please let me explain” You urged, desperation coloring your voice.

“5” Alastor your dear husband replied, holding out his hand. The air crackled with tension

“Al please—…”

“4..” He sung out as he closed his eyes, standing tall. One hand rested behind his back, the other poised like a pendulum. The smile of him showing his sharp teeth made you swallow harshly

“3” He warned out to you knowing your still there as he opened one eye to look at you breathing out short “Hmm..a shame your going to let me catch you so easy” He said shutting his open eye closed

“2 dearie” He warned out now holding two fingers as he began to shift in his stances his neck elongated he was slowly shifting into his demon form, and that’s when you finally decide to run

You huffed and panted as you switched your form a couple of times to give you longer distances away from Alastor as you made it deeper into the Bayou the ground under you turning slightly squishy as you kept running not interested to turn around

You ran for what felt like hours before you stopped down near a swamp bank hunched on you knees as you gain your second wind, taking a few more breathes you stood up, the air was quiet you couldn’t hear the static of Al, so you have to be far from him? or he just turned off that noise so he could stalk and pounce on you

Whatever the case maybe you took a breathe in and out as you looked ahead of the lake, nothing but more forest—

You thought different ideas like turning into a winged creature and flying back towards the rooms door to get out of here, but you didn’t know how high you could fly and since Alastor can’t fly nor has wings, you doubt that celling is high enough to get high enough where he couldn’t hit you out of air

Best option was to keep running or go into the swamp water, it would give you better opportunity, reflecting your options about it you heard the ground beneath you move with vibrations ‘fuck he already found me’ you thought coming to the defeat you were going to let yourself be caught but that was until you seen that fucken demon form mere seconds before he seen you, you bailed out dipping yourself slowly in the cold water taking a big breathe before dunking yourself under

Seconds stretched into eternity as you held your breath, your lungs screaming for release. The vibrations in the ground intensified, and you knew he was near. What was Alastor going to do when he catched you? He wouldn’t actually hurt his wife? You thought of as your heart hammered against your ribs, and you wondered if you should be actually concerned

Alastor scanned the area, seeking his dear wife. You pressed deeper into the water, your head submerged further, only the top part of your head concealed by a stray lilypad.

Minutes passed—or perhaps it was mere seconds—before you surfaced. Gasping for air, you wiped water from your eyes. Alastor wasn’t in sight.

You continued walk towards the edge of the pond before crawling out of the pond, lying down on the edge of it your knees still submerged as you sighed out in relief, shutting your eyes for what felt like a second

Before you heard, the clearing of a throat—a sound that sent shivers down your spine. Opening your eyes standing above you was the oh-so-familiar radio demon. You smiled, but before you could vanish into the water, Alastor’s grip closed around your arms. His purr was a velvet blade against your skin.

“Come now, darling,” he drawled, his tone deceiving. “We don’t want you to get wet. Let me assist you in this rather…exchange.” His strength pulled you back, and you squirmed, defiance flaring. But Alastor was stronger, and you found yourself pressed against his chest, dripping and caught.

“Let go,” you demanded, but he only laughed—a predator savoring its prey

“Now, dear, this is part of the game.” His eyes bore into yours, crimson flames dancing. “I’ve caught you, and now you’ll be the prize I win.” His tongue flicked across his lips

As Alastor carried you through the forest he hummed a simple tone, making you more on edge

You both arrived at another clearing?

“This isn’t where we started Al” You said as he set you down, gently helping you get up, as your eyes shifted from the scenery to him

Alastor’s gaze was going up and down on you, as you caught little symbols manifesting themselves around him as he was now a step or two away from you

“Come here” He said in a commanding tone, a chain manifesting around your neck as your eyes widen to metal chain outline with the color of green. Your hands immediately shot to your neck trying to grip and claw at it. You felt a tug come towards Al before you leaned your body away from it trying to keep space, digging your feet lightly in the ground

One real yank got you to move forward unprepared, the earth meant your face very quick and you instantly felt blood in your mouth

“Ah, be good for me, Y/N, and just obey,” he murmured, his grip unyielding. You crawled on your knees and hands, inching closer to him. The chain around your neck tightened, lifting you off the ground. Alastor’s crimson eyes bore into yours.

“My dear sweet little wife, Y/N,” he drawled, his voice devoid of filters. Each word carried weight, punctuated by his southern accent. “You, dearie, violated our little agreement.” His fingers traced the chain. “We had an understanding, did we not?”

Your breaths came in ragged gasps. “I didn’t mean to Al” you whispered

His chuckle echoed through the clearing as he lowered you gently to the ground, ensuring the fall didn’t harm you.

“So, my doe,” he began, his voice a velvet blade, “please give me an explanation. Why has my wife been running around disguised as a Lucy person, working—” His fingers closed around your hands, the chain that had bound you vanishing into thin air. “Her dear, softly delicate hands at a hotel that deserves none of her attention?” His words hung in the air, a question wrapped in menace. “Rather than be in a manor that belongs to her and her husband? Have I done something wrong?”

You sighed out as you nodded taking your hands out of his, to his displeasure “All this started because i heard you mumble in your sleep rather a month or so ago..princess name Charlie” You said with embarrassment flaming your checks as you looked away from Alastor not wanting to know what expression he held

The air was quiet between the both of you, not a word was spoken—You felt like you were holding your breathe with the tension in the air before you felt the touch of your husband on your hands again

“Mon cher~” He purred out making you look at him, his face of course held a wide smile but the look in his eyes held anger with something else glimmering around it “Nothing could replace you”

“No hotel” He said his hand holding out your arm as he kissed at the palm before saying, “No demon” Alastor continued raising his head kissing you at the center of your arm, looking at you in the eyes before kissing more up your arm while saying “And certainly no Lucifer daughter could take my eye off of something as ravishing as you my doe~” Al kissing up you between each pause as he at your neck slowly peaking at it having you basically in his lap with your back towards him, as you moved your head to side to let him continue as he only chuckle at the gesture

Al with his free hand grabbing at your chin to make you look at him as he stared into your (e/c) “But my dear mon cher, you agree at my words as if you understand, but it seems as though you forgotten who I belong too” He said letting go of your chin as both of his hands traveled down to your hips resting there “You forget who's name causes thrill of different emotions within me, so let me remind you~”

Alastor leaned into you, as you meant him half way kissing him

A passionate kiss with some underline aggression made the kiss much more thrilling as Alastor fought for dominance with you trying to dominate over him

With a deep chuckle he pulled away from the kiss, “You being defiant won’t end well for you dear” You looked up too him as you bite your lower lip holding on too his bow tie slowly undoing it as his hands trailed up and down your legs

“No words so be it” He shrugged before pushing you down to the ground, your back laying on the grass as he spread your legs open wide, everything on full display for him to see

He leaned his head down as his ears pushed back towards his head as his eyes half lidded looking up to a red face you “Mm~Darling your so intoxicating with that look on your face” He said before plunging his head down open his mouth before eating your pussy

Your eyes shut closed as your hands went immediately to his hair gripping and pulling at it, as you mumbled out moans holding onto Alastor head down as he kept eating you out

“Al~!” You said in low moan as you felt yourself starting to come undone down there “Alastor..I..I am going to—”

Before you could muster and get out the words to warn your husband, the sensation of Alastor mouth moved away from you leaving you in almost blank state, so close to clarity but yet so far …

You whimpered as you looked down to Alastor who’s face was smirking as he shook his head licking his lips slightly “You think after the charade you pulled your going to get to cum that quick and easily?” He said and laughed “Dearie we are just starting.”

Alastor in a instances flipped you over making you rise to all fours with help of his shadows tendrils you were now ass up face down, with your arms being held down by the shadows tendrils, you whimpered trying to move against them as you felt a burning sensation on your bottom causing you to move it from side to side

Alastor watched in trans like state as you moved your ass after he smacked it only making his boner go harder, as he rub on it through his pants

“Al, let me out of this! I don’t want to be—Ahh~!”You said feeling a familiar feeling slide in you as your eyes rolled behind you, you clawed at the grass alastor pushed all himself in you

“Mmm~There you go Mon Cher~” Alastor said rolling his hips as his head tilted backwards, both of his hands gripping on your hips keeping them in place as he began slowly pumping in and out of you

You moaned as you moved with his thrusts, arching your back as Al grunts and low moans could be heard

Alastor started to pick up in speed as you could only speak out the simple word “Al~” Which was music to the radio demons ears

“Oh (Y/n)~” He said as he kept up fast with his thrusts moving one his hand to your hair, gripping at it pulling you backwards as your head flung back

“Open your eyes.” He said making you slowly open your eyes as meant with the eyes of crimson red ones as his smile was deceiving as his eyes showed pure lust that was feeling “Fuck.” He said as gripped tighter on your hair yanking almost at the root as you moaned with each thrust

“I am going to finish in you.” He said in not a question but as a command as you tighten around him bring him closer as he shut his eyes letting go of your hair before opening his mouth and bitting at the back of your neck as you moaned closing your eyes feeling yourself reaching edge as you reached climax sametime as Alastor

Couple months later drawed by quick before you knew it you were back at the manor, watching over Al’s territory sipping tea as you smiled mindlessly, yeah there was really nothing to worry about.

FIN!!!

Extra! Extra!

(Y/n) and Al strolling through the park. hand in hand as Al hums a tune

Al: “I do say mon cher, I think I never told you why I was saying Charlie's name”

Y/n: “Yeah you haven’t, do share”

Al: “You wouldn’t believe it! Charlie in my dream was trying to paint my Radio Studio, it was all going to be rainbows with fluffy pink unicorns if I didn’t say her name”

Y/n: deadpans

Al: Only telling you the truth dearie~!sings out

Y/n: Your truth is utter dogshit sometimes

Al: gasp Darling!

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wispyxjae · 29 days

Text

going to a rave or concert with bf!p1harmony member

genre: fluff, nsfw/suggestive below the cut (mdni)

cw: established relationship, female reader, mentions of substance/alcohol use (aged up seobsoul), pda, kissing/making out, groping, possessive piwon, non idol au

a/n: i wrote this at 4am while still intoxicated post-first rave so i hope you enjoy my drunk thoughts. i’ve also been wanting to write this ever since those pictures of intak, keeho, and jongseob in the crowd at gov ball were released.

imagine going to a rave or concert with your boyfriend and he’s just holding you close, hugging you from behind and dancing with you.

you turn around to face him and stare lovingly at him as you both feel the music coursing through your veins. his hands go to cup your face as he presses kisses all over, pulling away to smile at you as he spins you around so you can enjoy the light show the artist puts on for the crowd.

he loooves having you in his arms so close to him and being able to show other guys around you that you’re his and no one else’s to lay hands on or even look at. is definitely possessive in public, especially if either or both of you are under the influence; the pda is coming out and there’s nothing anyone else can do about it. for the most part, keeps it simple and classy with just skinship and kisses. it’s enough to make you feel safe and him feel like the luckiest man on earth.

absolutely makes sure you’re hydrated before, during, and after the outing so you can have a good time. will even take off your makeup and do your skincare routine for you at the end of the night if you’re too gone or tired to do it yourself. loves to take care of you and nurture you because you’re his loving partner who deserves nothing but the best (which is what he is to you).

nsfw/suggestive below the cut! mdni at this point

if he had to be completely honest, your outfit had his head spinning even more than the substances or alcohol. he knew you were planning this outfit for a few weeks now, constantly drooling at the idea of you in less clothing than usual. the moment you got dressed, pulling on the last few accessories to tie the look together, all it took was one look at you for him to drink you in and get drunk on you alone. he admired the bold and sparkly makeup you decided to do, fingers lightly touching the jewels on your face every now and then.

it was nights like this when he couldn’t believe you were his girl. he was obsessed with you (which is nothing new) and couldn’t keep his hands off you the entire night. he tried his hardest to limit the pda to kissing and holding you in front of him, not wanting to ruin your high/trip if he got too handsy. but the moment you turn to look at him with those big doe eyes he’s a goner.

his hands travel from your waist down to your ass, the lack of clothing giving him easy access to squeeze and grope at the flesh. your arms snake up around his neck as he leans down to kiss you, slowly and passionately. time stopped down when the two of you were together, especially intoxicated and in the middle of a huge crowd; it felt like you two were the only ones that existed.

the longer you two kiss, the more handsy he gets, causing you to gasp and allow his tongue to slip into your mouth. you can taste the remnants of alcohol on his tongue, but his touch is even more intoxicating. the thrumming bass drowns out any noises you may make to those around you, but he knows you so well and knows exactly what sounds you’re making just by how desperately you’re kissing him back, panting and scratching at the hair at the nape of his neck.

when you finally pull away after what feels like an eternity, he’s still holding you close to him, one hand around your waist and the other giving your each of your cheeks a light squeeze. you’re both breathless and can’t help but smile at each other as you rest your foreheads against one another. “you make me crazy, y/n,” he shouts over the blaring music, pressing another kiss to your smiling lips. “i love you too,” you nearly scream back, laughing before he turns back around to enjoy the show, but now pulling you even closer than before, with his chin on your shoulder, just so you can feel the affect you have on him digging into your ass.

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lovelytsunoda · 4 months

Text

F1 DRIVERS AS CHARACTERS FROM MAGIC MIKE

aka the best shitpost that has ever shitposted from lovelytsunoda on tumblr

JENSON BUTTON as DALLAS

He’s been around the block a few times. The seasoned veteran that holds our group together. Semi-retired, Jenson is now the touring MC and the owner of the club where our favourite boys perform. He’s still got it though, and that’s evident by the women that hang off him like shirtless white dudes are going out of style and they’re desperate to grab the last one. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and just how to please a woman. Looks incredible in a cowboy hat.

LEWIS HAMILTON as MIKE

He's got dreams, visions of a life where he can put his male stripper days behind him. Despite himself, he takes a new young talent under his wing, while he prepares to leave and create a humble new life for himself. Ladies everywhere know his name, and he's always the title performer. The other dancers are jealous of his street cred and wish they could all be him. There will never be another Lewis.

LANDO NORRIS as ADAM

He’s young, he’s eager and he’s attracted by the idea of swimming dollar bills and all the chicks he could possibly want. Lando Norris is green in the gills and needs someone to take him under their wing. Enter Lewis Hamilton. Lewis teaches the kid everything he knows, and eventually The Kid becomes a bigger star than he is.

CARLOS SAINZ JR. as BIG DICK RICHIE

Do I really need to explain this one? Ladies man with two sides: romantic and scandalous. Insecure about the size of his package, as it tends to scare the ladies away. Lover of MILFs. The ideas man of the group, tired of doing the same routines over and over again. No fashion sense at all. when he finally gets laid, you know damn well everybody is going to hear about it (and it might be with a middle aged mom).

CHARLES LECLERC as TITO

He's like a hyperactive puppy with a heart of gold. Brings a certain kind of swagger to the stage, but is easily distracted offstage. Has tried (and failed) to create different products and startups, but thinks whatever hairbrained idea he has come up with next is the one. Wants to go on Shark Tank. I love him your honour.

FERNANDO ALONSO as TARZAN

He's been in the game longer than some of the younger dancers have been alive. Nobody is sure why, but the ladies love him. A sweet and gentle soul who would do anything to go back in time and settle down with the one who got away, Fernando has more depth than expected.

OSCAR PIASTRI as KEN

Thinks they should 'stop giving women what men think they want' and start 'asking women what they want'. Certified sweetheart, the ladies love him. Will give you a lap dance while serenading you with love songs that stopped being popular in 1986. The baby of the group, sometimes it takes a few tries to be taken seriously. And did I mention women love him?

VALTTERI BOTTAS as TOBIAS

He may not be a good stripper, but he's the number one supporter (and the driver, and the DJ). When Jenson fucks off to Monaco, it's Valtteri who takes over as MC. Will totally win an impromptu drag race because he is just that bitch.

YUKI TSUNODA as ANDRE (magic mike xxl)

Certified sweetheart. Will put on his little fedora and suit jacket and make up a song about how wonderful you are. Because sometimes, the shy girls in the audience need a bit of love and attention as well. Even if his music career were to take off, he'd probably still keep stripping because he loves making pretty girls smile.

#f1 x Reader #f1 imagine #formula one x reader #f1 #f1 smut #jenson button x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #lando norris x reader #carlos sainz jr x reader #charles leclerc x reader #fernando alonso x reader #oscar piastri x reader #valtteri bottas x reader #yuki tsunoda x reader

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solbaby7 · 9 months

Text

A Guy Who Takes His Time

pairing: azriel x burlesque!reader

warnings: nothing really, just me watching Burlesque and yet again not having any form of self-control

summary: The High Lord takes his two brothers to a Burlesque show to take in and watch the finer things in life—you.

—

String pearls.

Tassels.

Waiting staff wearing skimpy little skirts and tops that earned plenty of stares and even more tips teased into the dip of their bustier.

Liquor flowed and desire pulsed hotter than any of the dimly glowing lights hanging from the ceiling. “You’re up in five,” Tess’ voice shouts through the changing room as you shimmy your next number on.

Ten years here and still you’d never get tired of the confidence that ebbed from your form when wearing nothing but leather and diamonds, feathers and pearls, lace and miles and miles of bare skin. Someone’s touching up your makeup, probably Sean with a brush coated in a lipstick a brighter red than the blood pulsing in your veins and when the stage lights go black, you know it’s time. “Wish me luck.”

Tess swats at your ass, a playful smile on regal features. “You don’t need it.”

You take your place, the slow drag of your heels against the stage is the only sound in the whole bar and you can feel yourself shift into the persona that takes place to exude the role you’re playing. The crowd is full, every seat occupied and even then there are more filtering in, standing in the corners with drinks in their hands and eyes trained on the stage—on you.

One group catches your eye, placed smack dab in the middle of the room is a trio of men; powerful, that much is obvious even with their plainclothes on but there’s no time to ponder when the music begins and a bright light shines on you.

A two, eight count pause while the band sets the mood and you’ll never grow tired of the way the crowd shifts in their seats when you begin to sing.

Oh, oh, oh, oh

A guy who takes his time, I’ll go for anytime

Countless hours of dancing, training the moves over and over until you were ready to rip your hair out from the root when Tess kept telling you to be aware of every part of your body.

Presence.

Engagement.

Confidence.

It repeated in your brain like a mantra.

“If you let them make you believe you don’t belong on that stage—that you don’t own that stage then you don’t have any business being up there in the first place.” She’d drilled into you after applying ointment to the blisters on your feet, wrapping them in bandages thick enough that it didn’t irritate in your high heels.

Presence.

Your hands rake over your body, fingers hooking into the see through cover-up and sliding it off your shoulders. You can feel their eyes follow the clothing drop to the ground; the air charged with anticipation, wondering exactly how much you were planning on taking off while looking so pretty doing it.

I’m a fast-moving gal who likes ‘em slow

You’re eyes catch on that group in the middle, sliding over their faces while you continue your routine and while you were supposed to stay up here, you can’t help the way your body slinks off of the edge of the stage, back arching like a stretching feline.

Got no use for fancy drivin’, want to see a guy arrivin’ in low

The lights follow your every move, back-up dancers filling up the space you’d left occupied but it’s like you’d taken the stage with you—attendees twisting in their chairs, necks craning and eyes glued on you as you ease through the tables.

Engagement.

You stop by one male, dressed nicer than most and the cocky smirk he sends his group of friends makes your fingers itch to bring him down a peg. Your palm ruffles through his pristinely styled hair, painted nails tracing down his neck and you pause as cup your hand around his throat. A public display of dominance—of who really ran this fucking show and commanded the attention of everyone who’d handed over their hard-earned money just to watch you prance around in your tiny little clothes and sing just like you did at home when no one was looking. There’s a ring on his finger and you make sure to loosen up the tie around his neck, pressing a red kiss on your hand to smear over his mouth before leaving as if you’d never ever seen him.

I’d be satisfied, electrified to know a guy what takes his time

A hurry-up affair, I always give the air

The three men in the middle are even more handsome up close, you realize. The thin material of your tights brushing their knees and you see the one in the middle tense—happily taken, you conclude.

A huge part of your job was reading body language, understanding the people in your crowd without truly exchanging words and he sends you a grateful smile when you casually avoid him.

His other two friends were fair game, both with inky black hair but while ones was cropped short at the shoulder, the other; it was clear there was even more hiding in that bun at the nape of his neck. Their wings are tucked tight behind them, a silent warning not to touch without permission and you’re careful when extending your hand.

The one of the left comes to your aid without hesitation, eyes wide with awe as the alluring scent of your perfume washed over him. His hand is slightly calloused in yours as he helps you onto the table before them, lights shifting with your new position with ease and you can feel a few of the male bar staff gravitate a little closer—trained to ensure the safety of the dancers above all else.

Confidence.

Your routine continues without a hitch, moves coming to you like second nature. Exaggerated movements that didn’t seem so obvious when the rest of your body followed suit so smoothly, hips slow when you put on a show and you’re certain they’re staring at the pearl thong shoved up your ass when you bend at the hips slowly.

You could hear Tess’ voice in your head. “Balance, baby. Every naughty move has to be followed by something soft and sweet. I can’t explain it but it just adds to the allure.”

And while one friend is eager to appease you, the one on the right pretends you aren’t even there. A brow quirks—finally, a challenge.

You voice carries through the space, a picture worth painting when gently pressing a heel to his chest. It forces his gaze, hazel eyes burning as he looks at you for what seems like the first time the whole night and you try to ignore the chill that runs down your spine—like you’d met him before, known him from somewhere but you can’t quite put your finger on it and you’re certain he catches the way your eye squints down at him.

Your head shakes slightly, as if physically pulling yourself free from the feeling and the cool mask you wore when performing slid back into place when reaching for his hand. You can feel his whole body tense and he waits for you to recoil, to pull your hand back but you truly make no indication that you could even feel the misshapen scars there and it’s then when you gain his full attention.

Hazel eyes boring into yours like you were a puzzle he had to solve in five minutes or less and the clock was tick, tick, ticking away.

It surprises you; the way your body reacts to the slow drag of his palm up your thigh and you don’t stop until it’s reached the little clip at the top holding your stocking in place. His throat bobs when it flicks open with a click, sheer material pliant and loose and sliding down the length of leg you’d guided him up before but this time he does it on his own.

Everyone else seems to melt away when you stare at the way he does it, seemingly captivated by the truly bared skin and when it’s bunched at your ankles he makes gentle work of slipping off your heel, planting a kiss on the flesh toned bandage wrapped just under your big toe. The fabric falls free from your body, heel back in place and your steps are a little wobbly when you retract, Luca; one of the newer staff security subtly raising an arm to stabilize you.

Oh a guy what takes his time, I’d go for every time

A hasty job really spoils a master’s touch

It takes every bone in your body to step away, to finish your set–on stage where you were supposed to be but every step felt like you were leaving behind something you didn’t even realize you were missing. And when you finish off the final note, the lights go dark and the curtains close.

You’re rushed back to the fitting room to change for the next set and the whole time you’re shaking in anticipation, waiting for the chance to see him again but when you go to finish your final number—he’s not there.

In fact, all three of them had left, their table cleaned and another group was being ushered to sit in their place. You shun away the disappointment, silently cursing yourself at the distraction and in an instant you’re back—cool and calm.

This was your stage. You owned it and no one could ever take it from you.

Presence.

Engagement.

Confidence.

The curtains rose and the light snapped to light, focused right on you and you’re sure you did well, judging by the cheers outside when your pushed to the back room, drinks already being brought in and you’re searching for Tess but she’s nowhere to be found. “Tess?” You call out for her, rounding the corner to the dressing rooms, eyes scanning over the empty office before going to the makeup tables and you freeze. “Tess, I need help. I can never get out of this one without breaking the zipper—“

Because sitting at your spot, eyes trained on a framed picture of you and all the girls on some trip you’d taken a few years back—was him.

“You’re not, Tess.”

“No,” He answers and his voice sends a shiver up your spine.

Suddenly, it feels too quiet in here and you’re more aware of the fact that everyone is surely already changed and filtering out for food and drinks after a long night but you can’t bring yourself to tell them to wait for you. “You’re not really supposed to be back here.”

“No? Well, I spoke to woman who claims she owns this bar and she told me I could wait for you here.”

Tess.

It’s then you seem to notice the flowers, a pretty bouquet obviously hand picked from the garden that Tess’ best friend Sean liked to tend to during the day but you don’t point it out. Instead, you look at them like it’s the first time ever seeing such colors on soft petals . “Those for me?”

“They are.” He hands them over almost nervously, pinky finger twitching when your hands grazes his own.

Your eyes flutter shut when you take in their smell, comforting and familiar and everything you could’ve ever wanted. “And who am I to thank for such lovely flowers?”

He’s behind you when he answers, fingers ghosting over the zipper stuck between your shoulder blades and your heart hammers against your chest when his knuckles graze your back as the fabric split down, down, down until you were clutching it in place at your chest. “Azriel,” His name is whispered on your shoulder, breath catching in your throat at the close proximity and every bone in your body is screaming for him to touch you; somewhere, anywhere. “But for now, I’d like to just be a guy who takes things slow.” Your heart skips a beat, excitement and interest and all of the perfect crush forming feelings beginning their dance in your belly when he finishes softly. “You hungry?”

The smile he pulls from you is genuine, eyes sparkling when you look up at him. “Starved.”

“Come on—change. I know a place.”

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar x reader #acotar x you #high lord rhysand #rhys acotar #rhysand x reader #cassian #cassian acotar #18+ age range #burlesque #azriel x you #azriel x reader #acotar azriel #a court of mist and fury #rhysand #azriel #batboys #copyright

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neiptune · 8 months

Text

no one teaches you what to do when a good man hurts you

cw: 1.4k wc, mentions of alcohol, painful breakup, hurt no comfort, reader is a writer, you call levi in the middle of the night and the last thing you expect is for him to pick up

You don’t expect him to pick up.

Levi is always busy: when he’s not working he’s at the gym, tidying up his apartment or entertaining a surprisingly large social circle one wouldn’t expect someone as quiet as him to have.

Levi has hobbies. He enjoys going to the movies, visiting exhibitions, experimenting in the kitchen with western recipes.

Levi is also usually asleep at 1 am, the man has quite the regular routine and tries to be in bed by no later than midnight because, of course, he gets up at the ass crack of dawn.

But he picks up and suddenly the glasses of wine shared with your friends, the joy of a night out still lingering in your throat like magical golden bubbles, weighs heavy on your chest. He wasn’t supposed to pick up.

“Hey” his voice is gravelly but no as in I-was-almost-asleep-you-asshole-what-could-you-possibly-want. It reminds you of all the times you two have laughed until tears streamed down your cheeks, those incredibly rare moments where you could bribe him with your silly humor and stupid videos, knowing looks, exasperated smile. His voice used to always get so husky after laughing for so long, almost a protest of throat muscles not used to the foreign action.

“Hi” you swallow what feels like a lump of ashes “sorry, it’s kinda late. I didn’t want to-”

“It’s fine, I wasn’t sleeping. I’m actually at the bar with some friends”

You hear the music, the voices, the clinking of glasses.

Well, that’s new.

“Wow” you fail to suppress a tiny, amused smile.

“I know, right?” when you don’t say anything back, he clears his throat “how are you?”

“Good” the reply is automatic, you’re kinda on autopilot and being tipsy makes the entire situation just weird, unexpected, instead of painfully embarrassing “um, what about you?”

“I’m okay. Currently putting myself out there”

“Like I always told you to?”

He smiles a little at that but you can’t see it and it’s been too long to guess the stretch of his lips by his voice only.

“Like you always told me to”

“I don’t want to keep you”

“No, it’s fine” Levi inhales and waves back at one of his friends sitting at the table with everyone else while he lingers by the counter “I’m waiting for my beer. Erwin’s here, he’d probably want me to say hello on his behalf”

You ache for another little piece that has been taken out of your life for good the afternoon Levi broke up with you. His family and his hobbies and his routine and his friends. They all used to be a little yours, too.

“Tell him I said hi”

His gaze fixates on a tiny stain on the counter and as he starts absentmindedly scraping the surface with one nail, the words come out on their own accord.

“It’s nice to hear from you, by the way. I thought about calling but I didn’t want to make it weird or uncomfortable”

You melt against the comfort of your pillows, wishing the couch could absorb the sudden exhaustion consuming your cardiac muscles. Fuck, it still hurts. Who would’ve guessed? Five months of going out with your friends, drinking, dancing with strangers, downloading dating apps only to delete them again. It’s never enough. How could it be? Can five months fix a shattered heart that hurts as much as crushed bones? He’s pulled you apart and you still can’t quite remember which piece is supposed to go where. Five months are definitely not enough.

“For me, you mean” it comes out bitter, borderline resentful, and Levi sighs. He sighs. It makes you clench your fist.

“Don’t be like that”

“I’m not being like anything”

“Well, it’s not what I meant. But I know you need something to be mad at, you always do” he retorts.

You sit up straight at that, a jolt of electricity running across your spine. The skin of your forearms starts tingling.

Fuck. You.

“Levi” you’re a fucking asshole fuck you fuck you fuck you for leaving me fuck you for making me fall in love with you “seriously?”

“I’m sorry” he says and he actually means it, tone so sincere it plants a scorching fire poker right through your chest “sorry. That was shitty”

“It’s fine”

No point in fighting anyway, you want to add. Isn’t that what caused everything to go to shit in the first place? Arguments, bitter retorts, stupid quarrels and frustration building up over the silliest things.

I’m too tired for this.

I literally just got back from the office, can you give me a fucking break?

Levi, is it really so hard to wash your goddamn mug in the morning before leaving?

I don’t want to go out tonight.

I have plans with my friends, actually.

Shit, I forgot. Was it today?

It’s okay. No worries.

I’m not sure.

I don’t think I’m in love with you anymore.

It’s fine.

“How’s your family?” he conveniently changes the subject with evergreen smoothness. You shut your eyes.

“They’re fine” my mom misses you “dad is going to buy that kawasaki ninja, I think”

“Are you kidding?” his chuckle startles you and the room suddenly feels like a ship, couch and pavement and walls and paintings undulating dangerously “wow, that’s some dedication”

“Yeah, he’s pretty excited. Are things in the office alright? Is that intern of yours, Armin, still there?”

“I hired him, actually. Pretty good catch”

Pieces that were taken, new pieces adding up to his life without you being aware in the slightest. It’s none of your business anymore.

“That’s great, Levi” it’s redundant, really, repeating his name so many times. But you can’t remember the last time you said it out loud and it still tastes perfect on your tongue, weighs exactly the correct amount.

“How’s the writing going?”

“Ah. I’m kinda in a slump right now”

“Not the first time. You’ll bounce back, can’t wait to look for your next masterpiece in the thrillers and crime section” now you hear the smile and your eyes are suddenly wet.

“I miss you” it comes out before you can stop it, before you can think. He used to find your inebriated state adorable, funny, attractive even. He used to buy expensive red wine you’d share on your couch and cool fingers would sneak underneath your shirts and jeans and his laugh would fill the air like a perfect melody as his lips were softly pressed to your neck.

“God. Guess that’s a weird thing to say. Did I make this weird?”

“No” his voice is kind and dripping with sympathy, which makes your insides churn with sudden pangs of the worst nausea “I miss you too. We were pretty special”

Oh, Levi. Always so gentle at breaking your heart. Never too rough, yet careful enough to paint some very well needed permanent, conclusive hue over three years. You wish it could’ve been just as easy for you.

“Right” then why did you go? “breakups suck”

The childishness of what you just said makes you giggle.

“They really do” he indulges “it’s been a while but you know, right? I’ll always care about you”

It really hasn't been a while for you. His absence painfully throbs along the margins of your days, the spot he used to take in your life and your couch and your kitchen now filled with devastating emptiness.

“I really loved you” Levi adds softly and it’s a concession. You’re grateful.

“I really loved you, too” I would still cross oceans and climb mountains to get to you “have fun, yeah? I mean, be happy. Find whatever it was I couldn’t give you” when did you start crying? You hope he can’t hear it in how oddly your voice is quivering.

Levi sighs again, quietly. You gave me plenty, you gave me everything. He wants to tell you that it wasn’t your fault, that you don’t have anything to blame yourself for. But he knows it’s gonna sound terrible, condescending and disgusting. He knows you’ll heal on your terms, it’s not his place to interfere anymore.

“Thank you for calling” he murmurs and the line goes silent for a second too long, has him shortly wondering if you’re already gone.

“Yeah. Sure, um. Goodnight, Levi” you hang up immediately because you know he’s already guessed the wetness of your cheeks and is probably imagining the redness of your eyes.

He stares at the screen, your name hasn’t blinked back at him in a while. It gives him comfort. But then his beer is getting warm and his friends are calling for him and the phone is shoved back into his pocket and the night has only just begun.

#levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #aot x reader #aot x you

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kangaracha · 4 months

Text

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 19

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n isn't life a mess right now? absolute chaos out there, i swear to god. stay safe everyone.

previous | masterlist | next

---

You're choosing to ignore the noise that you know clouds the air online as you file into the underside of the stage on the tail of the boys, early enough in the morning that they are still yawning and blinking bleary eyes open, coffee clutched in their hands.

Stay offline, they'll all tell you, and make sure you sleep too, but you're no good at either; sleep is hard to find in the face of what hovers over you in three days time, and it's almost worse to not know what's going on where you can't see it than to keep a finger pressed very casually to the pulse. Just to know what they think. Just to know what to expect when you inevitably come face-to-face with them.

Not that you'll see them too closely. Four songs on one day, that's all you were here for. No fan meetings, no signings. Not that you had a problem with that, when those four songs alone came with a mountain of nerves to climb and conquer and sure, you'd been taught how to feign confidence until your voice didn't waver and your feet kept dancing, but that stage...

You come out onto it from underneath, following eight sets of feet up a narrow set of hidden stairs, and stare upwards at the seats that line the hall. It's lucky you're at the end of the line, your feet rooted to the ground on the final step by the sudden, unnerving terror of being faced with that ring of empty space; the stage that stretches out before you seems so small compared to the towering walls of the hall, so far into the ground when you look up at the final row of seats and see them hovering far above you as if to look down from the heavens.

Chan glances back from the middle of the pack as they spread out across the stage, checking that everyone is present, and beckons for you to join them, the smile on his face a message you can't decipher. Maybe he takes pleasure in seeing you speechless, or maybe he's just excited to share this with you - or relieved that you finally made it here after he staked everything on believing it would happen. Even with his invitation, you still can't find it in yourself to move though; not until a manager's gentle hand pushes you up that final step and onto the stage, the surface thumping quietly under the fall of your feet.

There are so many things you don't know, wandering across those boards while the others spread from corner to corner, jumping around or stretching or arranging bottles of water at its edge. They look so comfortable here, following a routine their bodies intrinsically understand, while you are...lost, your hands wringing nervously as you gravitate towards Chan in the centre of the stage.

He's still smiling though, his hand reaching out to stop yours from pulling themselves apart. "Still okay?" he asks, repeating the first question he'd put to you upon seeing the looming height of the convention centre this morning.

"Mmm," you reply with a mouth that has forgotten how to shape words. "Not really."

"Do you want to go back downstairs for a moment?"

You focus on him instead of the seats for a moment, the warm feeling of his hand where it brushes your arm, the slow fade of his smile into something more focused on the problem, and how he can fix it. "No," you say, before he can get any further ahead of himself than he already has, and force a breath down into your lungs. "I'll get used to it. I just need something to do."

"We'll warm up in a minute," he assures you, and twists to look at the four boys that are gathering on the edge of the stage behind him, squawking at something they've seen down below. "Unless Han falls off the stage. Then I might just give up and go home."

Your eyes stray over his shoulder to the boys teetering on the edge of the platform, the toes of their shoes hanging over a fall that is far from fatal but still not ideal. As if he'd heard your conversation, Han crouches in the centre of them all, wobbling back and forth - it's the hand that Changbin wraps around his arm at the last minute that saves him, tugging him back on his heels just before he can tip too far forward to save himself.

"Are you going to stop them?" you ask Chan, and very deliberately put your hands in the pocket of your hoodie as if you are completely relaxed, willing him not to turn around.

"I'm trying really hard not to look, actually," he answers, and then he turns thoughtful. "Maybe I should make it your job to try and stop them, if you need something to do."

"I don't think I have that kind of authority here," you say, huffing a laugh. "You've killed any respect they had for their elders."

"I know. Lee Know is working on it," Chan sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"He has no respect either."

Chan's eyes flick to you, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth; and he doesn't count the joke out loud, but you know that in his head he is adding it to his tally. You're not sure how he remembers what number he is up to, or why he even bothers when you throw them out so sporadically, numerous one day when you're feeling bold and then nothing on other days when the urge to cower at the sight of the group chat or all of them loudly laughing together is too strong. And recently you've started to throw them out in person too, rather than just in the safety of your messages with him.

Maybe he just makes the numbers up as he goes along. You haven't been keeping track of the total he says each time any more than you suspect he counts the jokes.

"I'm glad this is an English concert, actually," he says suddenly, snapping your attention back to the present moment.

You frown in confusion. "What?" you ask, wondering if you'd spaced out for a moment and missed something he'd said.

"I was just thinking," he answers. "I'm glad we'll be speaking English this week."

You still don't follow. "Why?"

"Because if we're speaking English, you'll talk to me like this on stage."

You can only stare at him for a moment. Processing what he'd said, and the way he'd said it; genuine, with that smile still hiding in the corner of his mouth. "I don't know if I'll be able to say anything on stage," you say when the words have sunk in, scrambling for a response. "I'm going to be busy trying not to mess it up."

"Oh, come on," he scoffs. "You don't need to do that. Nothing is going to go wrong."

Somehow, his brazen confidence eases some of the tension in your chest. Maybe because he plays at being so entirely convinced that it's kind of funny; maybe because he'd already thrown you off beat a moment before and you're still reeling. "You cannot tell me that you believe that," you say; a joke, but a weak one, testing the waters rather than diving right in with any of the other responses that spring to mind.

"I am a hundred percent sure everything will go perfectly," he throws back without hesitation.

"Are you?" you tease, egged on by the grin that bites at his face. "I feel like you've basically cursed us now that you've said that."

His smile very deliberately falters, his mouth flattening into a put-upon line. "Go and warm up," he sighs dramatically, waving a hand. "No more talking about curses. Go on."

Your own smile doesn't budge as you turn away, sticking to your face until you gather with the others in the centre of the stage, stretching and loosening stiff and cold muscles, a warning to your body that it is nearly time to dance. It goes by in a flash with the distraction of Changbin's loud voice in the background and the complaints of the younger boys around him every time he yells, the laughter that the group shares. Chan was right, too; the distraction is just what you need, the laughter easing the anxiety that squeezes at your chest so that by the time you sort yourselves into the opening formation of God's Menu, you can almost imagine that it's just another day in the practice rooms at home.

"Ready?" Changbin asks as he rounds out the back of the formation, a hand held out flat between you.

You slap it with your own, loud enough that the sound echoes across the stage and he rescinds, shaking his palm out like it stings. "Ready," you confirm, adding strength to your voice so that he will believe you, and then you turn you backs on each other, crouching down back-to-back.

You spare Hyunjin a small smile, now in front of you where he crouches as well, and then drop your head as the music starts, counting the beats to the moment where you will jump to your feet.

It comes quick, barely four bars past the moment that that loud, discordant beat kicks in; quick enough that every time, it feels like it takes your breath away as Hyunjin turns to the side and you rise to your feet, only a moment before Felix and I.N shift outward too and reveal you to the empty crowd. It occurs to you again, in the fleeting of moments that passes between beats, just how terrifying that could be on the day that it matters - how it could be so easy to freeze in the spotlight and forget what you're supposed to do and where to go after-

"Ne sonnim!" you shout to an invisible audience, your throat remembering by itself the power that Changbin has beaten into you in the days since you'd taken the part and your hand rising into the air. Someone whoops into the microphone as you take your swift step to the left, out of Changbin's way - you almost laugh, but your concentration turns too quickly to the choreography and your place in the crowd, careful to stay out of Chan's way as he moves forward and you move back.

It gets easier from there, until the second verse comes around - hide at the back and keep up with the rest, part of a unit rather than leading the way into the light. Your parts follow on naturally, short and sharp movements paired with similar vocals in the verse, and then the relatively easy task of standing still and filling your chest with your voice while they continue the dance around you in the pre-chorus.

And then, the bow at the end, the struggle not to stop and gasp for a breath of air in the five seconds of silence that follow.

Hyunjin is the first to fall on the third runthrough, sitting with a dramatic flourish and signalling the start of a break for everyone. Minho rolls a bottle of water across the stage to him, and then holds one out to you - you take it gratefully, your throat already dry just after one song. Nerves, you think as you sate your thirst and then pass the bottle off to I.N.

"Happy?" you ask Hyunjin, still on the floor close enough to your feet that you're mindful of not stepping on him as you shuffle around, keeping your feet moving.

He groans, his head rolling backwards to look at the ceiling. "We still have to run through Hellevator," he says, which is not an answer to the question, but not a complaint either. No news is good news, you assume, and nudge his bottle back towards him again as it wanders away down an imagined slant in the stage surface.

"You have a whole day off tomorrow," I.N points out.

"No I don't," Hyunjin replies, unscrewing the cap of his water bottle. "I have schedules to go to."

"So do I," Seungmin puts in from behind you, a shadow at your back as he circles around to join the group.

"No, you don't," I.N says, his eyes tracking him as he walks. "The only thing we're doing is going out for lunch."

He flips the empty bottle in his hand up and down idly between two fingers as he speaks, his attention elsewhere. You can see the glint of playfulness in Seungmin's eyes as they mull over what he's said, and then look down, tracking the movement of the bottle - you don't see his hand before he whacks it out of I.N's hand and watches it bounce away down the stage, laughing at the look of disgust on the younger boy's face.

"Do you want to come out for lunch tomorrow, noona?" Seungmin asks while I.N is distracted by the bottle.

"I want to come out for lunch," Hyunjin says from the floor, carefully placing his own water out of Seungmin's reach.

"You're not invited," Seungmin throws back before he can be convinced. "Unless you're paying."

Hyunjin screws up his nose and turns away, climbing to his feet instead of answering. Minho calls your names from the other side of the stage only a moment later, the backing track of the new song they'd added just for you queuing and then stuttering to a stop over the sound system. "I'll come out for lunch," you answer Seungmin as you walk, I.N falling into your shadows. You specifically don't say anything about paying.

"Good," Seungmin says, "because we're making a vocalracha vlog."

If he notices the way your stomach drops at the mention of the vlog, he doesn't say anything, and you don't either - stupid, really, to feel nervous about the prospect of a camera pointed at you when you've spent all these years chasing that exact dream. Not to mention the amount of cameras that have caught you in their vision in the past - from instructors, and evaluations, and TV networks, and online content.

But to do it with them, for their fans who, so far as you've read, don't seem very interested in seeing you with them...the thought kind of turns your stomach upside down. Makes the sweat running down the back of your neck turn ice cold all of a sudden, your skin shivering at its sudden touch.

"What are you worrying about?" I.N asks you suddenly, appearing at your shoulder.

"What?" Seungmin says on your other side.

Before you can answer, I.N cranes his neck to see the other boy and says, "She's worrying about something again. Look at her face."

"What?" you echo, and if your face wasn't screwed up in consternation before, it is now. "My face isn't doing anything. How would you know? You were behind me the whole time."

"You can pull expressions with the back of your head?" Seungmin asks. "That's weird. You're weird."

You arrive in the circle of the rest of the group like that, I.N looking at Seungmin like he has something equally witty that he wants to say. Chan leans behind Seungmin with a funny twist to his mouth that says from one look, he knows exactly what you're going through, and wordlessly offers you a microphone. You pull down your headset as you take it and tune out whatever Seungmin says next, calling up the lyrics to the next song as the music starts.

You note, as you sing the first line, that the tension in your chest has eased away as quickly as it had tightened. You have a feeling that was I.N's perogative the entire time. Either way, you're grateful.

—

"Annyeong," Seungmin says to the camera that sits heavy in his hand, hoisted up to keep its lense from catching the sun as you walk down the street. "This is our vocalracha exclusive outing. No one else is allowed."

"Stay is allowed," I.N says beside him, poking his head into frame just to give Seungmin a look that the camera will catch, and they start off on an argument that plays out so naturally you can almost forget that the camera is there at all.

Except that you can't, because every time you stare into the face of it from where you're hiding on one side, your stomach drops and your limbs stiffen like they don't know what to do with themselves, anticipating the moment that it turns onto you.

Not that you haven't seen a camera before, or even had to produce this kind of content. The survival show you'd once done had loved this type of content just as much as any other, and there was always someone recording something in practice rooms, whether it ended up online or not...but this felt different somehow. More revealing, or more public, maybe, because of the audience that would surely be waiting to watch it. Because of the way that audience felt about you, lain out so clearly in a hundred comment sections online for you to see.

"You know who is invited," Seungmin says, cutting over whatever I.N has just told him with little regard for the other boy's opinions. "Our noona is here to buy us lunch."

You blink, and the eye of that camera turns to look at you in the moment that you aren't paying attention, cornering you within its gaze. Ignore it, you tell yourself firmly around the lump that begins to form in your throat, and turn your head to look at Seungmin instead, trying to remind yourself of the conversation topic. "Is that the only reason you invited me?" you ask, and resist the urge to wince when it comes out flatter rather than playful, the joke choking on itself before it can even reach your tongue.

Seungmin doesn't miss a beat, his lips pursed like he's thinking about it. "Youngest always pays," he says.

Behind him, you can see I.N's gaze turn sharp, already preparing to be the next one under fire. "I'm older than you," you point out mildly, not wanting to swing the conversation one particular direction or another.

"Grandma always pays," he fires back.

"You can't just change the rules to whatever you like," I.N says.

"Says who?"

"Everyone," you tell him.

"Do you even know where you're going?" I.N asks.

Seungmin scoffs. "No. That wasn't my job."

"Why are you leading then?"

"I'm following Stay."

Their attention snaps so naturally back to the camera that it feels like whiplash, like you're lagging one step behind and you can't quite catch up. You tail off again as Seungmin starts explaining your day and what you're doing after this to an invisible audience, sliding back out of view and into your comfort zone to the side of the camera, forcing a breath right down into the bottom of your lungs.

You're going to have to get used to this, and the idea that everyone is going to see everything you do. It's silly to try to dance around it when there is no way out, but still, you let yourself slip away when you can no longer muster the strength to hold yourself within view of that camera, promising that another day you will try harder. Another day, it will come easier, and you will stand there and chatter on to that lense without thinking twice, just like the boys do.

Today isn't that day though. Neither will tomorrow be, and the day after-

The day after, you are on stage, for all the world to scrutinise in full view rather than in a box on a computer screen.

---

"You can go out when you're ready," the stylist tells you with a final adjustment of the hem of your shirt, gently tugging the creases into just the right position. "Have a good dress rehearsal. Let me know if there's anything we can fix."

She moves out of the way of the mirror so that you can see the entire piece. It's a simple concept, really, dark and grungy to fit the group's ongoing concept and yet pulled off in pieces of soft cotton and the glimmering gold of the plain rings on your fingers. You could almost imagine yourself sitting at home doing nothing, except for the makeup that sharpens the lines of your face and deepens its shadows, the embellishments that dangle from the loose cargo pants that cover your legs and the way that the hoodie's sleeves billow artfully at your sides. A safe outfit for a first performance, except for the strip of skin that shows at your midriff whenever you move, the shirt's hem cut at just the right length to expose it.

There'd been a lot of back-and-forth over outfits in the past few weeks. You'd only been privy to the part of it where they'd asked how much are you comfortable with and you'd answered I don't mind what I wear, and then the fittings afterwards in which there was a new outfit every time, but you knew there'd been...discussions. Arguments. Mistakes, nearly, and since then it seemed like the entire group's styling had been toned down to accomodate the lack of agreement over yours, which was-

Music starts playing upstairs somewhere, blaring from the speakers and then cutting off again. "Thankyou," you say to the stylist, who is already busy with something else, and cut across the room to where the boys are gathering around a manager who is handing out equipment.

"Ah, noona!" Changbin says as you approach, his voice deliberately pushed high and light to match the broad smile that crosses his face. "I haven't introduced our noona yet!" A camera follows him, latching onto you before you have time to duck away - you swallow the nerves that suddenly pile onto your chest and focus on the smile you're giving Changbin in greeting and the table behind him that you're trying to reach.

"Hello Stay," you say to no one, waving at the camera for the two seconds you're comfortable enough to look at it. You busy yourself with the search for your equipment on the table as an excuse to turn away and collect yourself, preparing for the onslaught of questions that you know Changbin has been told to ask.

"That's right, Stay," he says to the camera in your peripheral vision, filling the empty space that would otherwise be left. "Just for you, we brought our new member to LA to show you just how cool she is. Right, Y/N?"

There, over in the corner. "Yes," you say over your shoulder and then grab the bundle of cords and monitors, careful not to tangle anything. "I've come after a long time to join everyone here."

"You hear that, Stay? We trained her for a long time just for you."

The way that Changbin fills the air all on his own is like a weight lifted off your chest, giving you a chance to breathe while he natters on about the schedule and how he expects the performance to go and whatever else happens to come to his mind. Hyunjin's arrival provides further relief; you busy yourself with the equipment in your hands while you hang in the background of their show, appropriately on camera and yet out of the way of the spotlight while you pretend to be too busy to talk.

The in-ears pack unravels itself in your hands, a long string of cord and a monitor that nearly slips from your hand as you separate it, conveniently providing a real distraction rather than the one you were pretending to focus on. You clip it at your hip before it can hit the floor, your other hand reaching up to feed the cord down your back.

"Ah, wait, wait, wait," a voice says behind you as you try to tug the cord down through your shirt, and then warm fingers brush the back of your neck, brushing your hair away from a knot you hadn't realised had formed at your collar. Your head turns so that you can see Chan out of the corner of your eye, picking at the cord until it falls freely down your spine. You catch the other end of it with your hand, turning to face him as you plug it into the monitor.

"I don't know how I did that," you admit with half a smile, quiet enough that the camera behind you won't pick it up.

"Five minutes in and you're breaking things already," he returns, his fingers gently shifting a lock of hair out of the way of the cord. It slips from his fingers as you turn to face him, adjusting the way that the earpieces fall over your shoulders and dangle around your neck.

"I like the outfit they gave you," he says as you take in what they've dressed him in - artfully designed cargo pants, just like yours, and a sleeveless shirt that's half-tucked at the waist, detailed in silver. "The SKZ style suits you."

"You think so?" you ask, looking down at yourself again. Too self conscious, you know, but you're mindful of what it might look like from the outside, what the fans might think of you when the boys move aside and they see you for the first time on that stage- "It's not too..."

"No, it's perfect," Chan insists. "You look good."

You struggle to keep your face from turning red as you say, "Thanks." By the way his lips pinch together, trying to swallow a smile, you're pretty sure you fail.

"Are you going up now?" he asks, a hand pointing to the stairs that lead to the stage.

"In a minute," you answer. "I just need-" You spy the object you're looking for as you speak; your headset, neatly wrapped on the other side of the table. It only takes a moment to unwind, looping it over your head and reaching back to feed the cord through again.

"Have you tried using a microphone?" Chan asks, circling around you again to free the cord from your collar before you can displace everything.

"I thought it would be better if my hands were free," you answer. "Maybe next time I will."

"Use whatever you want," he says, watching as you hook up the headset and shuffle its components into a space where they are comfortable.

When you're done, he offers you a hand, his body twisted towards the stairs. "Ready?" he asks.

You glance behind you before you take the hand that's offered, looking for Changbin's camera. You find it in the corner of your eye, pointed safely at Felix as he endeavours to take uninterrupted selfies up against the back wall. When you turn back, Chan is still waiting, his hand steady and his patience unending, as if he'd stand there an eon if it meant you would walk up those stairs with him.

"Ready," you say, the word dragging all your breath out with it, and you take his hand, the warmth of his palm sinking into your cold fingers and the strength of his grip dragging you up into the world above.

---

A squeal of delight that echoes in the large, empty space is all the warning you get before a body barrels into you, uncaring of the phone held in your hands or even if you're looking up when she meets you.

Minseo, her hands cold and her body familiar as she hugs you tight enough to squeeze all the breath out of your lungs and then pulls away to look at your face with a smile that you feel like you haven't seen in decades. Her cheeks are pink from the cold air outside, her gaze alight as a giggle rises to the surface of her breath at the luck or the absurdity of you meeting in this place, at this time, after so long apart.

"I can't believe you're here," she says, as if you haven't known for weeks that you would be in the same hotel at the same time, scheduled to perform the same day. "I can't believe I'm here. God, we have so much to catch up on."

"I can't believe I'm here either," you answer. "After everything that's happened this year-"

"Don't you dare tell me you might not have been here," Minseo threatens, one finger prodding at the air between you.

"Maybe I was going to say we might not have been here," you lie.

She sees through you immediately, arms crossing over her chest. "No, you weren't."

No, I wasn't. "Are we hanging out in your room or mine?" you ask instead to distract her.

Her eyes stray to the desk behind her, where her managers and the rest of her group wait patiently. "Well I don't even have my room yet, so..." her voice trails off suggestively, her back turning on her team with the conviction that tells you she would abandon them here without a second thought if you let her.

"Get your key first," you say, reaching out and pushing her back towards the desk. "I'll come up with you."

"But I can't wait that long to hear what you've been doing here for three days," she whines.

"Nothing special," you insist.

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