Thank The Heavens I Found Your Blog! After Getting Into The Wind Breaker Anime And Currently Reading

ᥫ᭡. 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫, 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫

⤷ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠.: yandere dragon!dan heng x reader

⤷ 𝐭𝐰.: yandere behavior, possessiveness, obsessiveness, isolation/imprisonment, slight blood/gore

⤷ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬.: dan heng has his draconian transformation aboard the express with you to watch over him. his desire for you had finally made him snap, and, now, there was no escape from your mate.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊

whenever trailblazing wore you out, you could count on dan heng to make sure nothing strayed too much out of order.

his constant watchfulness over you, march, and the trailblazer was nothing if not helpful and convenient should anything ever go awry, which it has, too many times in the past, but in your downtime on the express, you just wanted to be away from his scrutinizing, assessing gaze. you also didn’t want to be a burden on anyone, another person to worry for, and the thought of spending some time by yourself, without the presence of the other crew members, drew a sigh of relief from you.

you had promised yourself moments of rest after the stellaron mission in belobog, no matter how fleeting. with kafka and the stellaron hunters getting involved and sending the express crew to the xianzhou, you wanted to savor every moment you could in solidarity before you had to aid welt, march, and the trailblazer in their mission to seal the destructive core.

what you hadn’t expected, however, were the muffled sounds of pain coming from past march’s room and straight from the archives, where dan heng’s voice had echoed out in agony.

it hadn’t been long after the express was docked, and you rushed out of your room to make sure that your companion was unharmed.

after skidding to a halt at the doorway of dan heng’s makeshift room, you hurried past the open door, where himeko was bent over dan heng’s silently whimpering form, looking concerned.

when she noticed your entrance, her eyes flitted to you and she nodded, motioning for you to come over. you obliged, suspense and adrenaline racking in your system as you hunched over dan heng.

you’d thought that your eyes had deceived you when you had run through the door, but it seemed that the flash of green was indeed an extension of dan heng.

what you had glimpsed before when you were rushing in was a tail, whose fluffy tip was now pattering against the floor in obvious distress. what you hadn’t seen before, however, were his horns.

also a green hue, they extended upwards proudly, akin to branches of coral. they still seemed to be growing, as noted by his light breaths and whimpers of pain as you thought you imagined them coming up to be a little higher every time you blinked.

immediately you took charge, knowing that he would need a more comfortable place to be situated in, and you didn’t think that intruding on himeko’s space would please her all that much.

“i’ll take him back to my room,” you informed her, not realizing that you were too shaken by this whole ordeal until you heard your voice waver.

she gave you a nod of affirmation and, before you knew it, dan heng was on the edge of your bed and you were out of breath from helping himeko carry his deadweight. you tried pushing him to the middle of the bed for maximum comfort, and to minimize the risk of him falling off, but gave up when he didn’t budge and, instead, made the bedsheet wrinkle.

sighing, you turned back to him for a moment to check that everything in your room was orderly and that the door was closed after lugging him inside, which it was, but then a sudden weight came crashing down on you and you collapsed with a choked shout of surprise.

on top of you was the body of human, yet devoid of warmth, like a reptile. the pants and low growls resonating in your ear were most definitely human—the voice of an irreplaceable person in your life.

“d-dan heng!?” you exclaimed, trying to push yourself up, already in a plank and ready shake him off and book it for the door, but his weight and power pressed you down until you were flat against the ground, panting for air.

“you’re mine,” dan heng whispered, his voice husky and low and his breath hit against your ear. your breath caught in your throat at his proximity, and your struggles renewed as you pushed your back upward to try and shove him off.

a swift, unexpected bite to your throat ceased your struggling, and you lay limp on the floor at the pain that blossomed. the weight on your back was lifted off of you for a moment, but you couldn’t escape with your senses hyper-focused on the wound on the most sensitive part of your body.

dan heng was staring intently at your back, his objective dark, and, you couldn’t see it, but you could feel the desire emanating from his possessive, lustful gaze. your skin crawled with gooseflesh, and you gulped slightly, as unnoticeably as you could manage.

he dipped downward sharply soon after though, absentmindedly lapping at the blood streaming down your neck before it could reach the ground. it was too precious to waste, you were too delectable to pass up.

dan heng had thought that his feelings would be hidden from you forever, the desire to lock you away from the universe and have you safe from harm’s way. unfortunately, the life of a trailblazer was seldom easy, and you met life’s challenges with courage, even when your qualms and fears had a grip on your heart.

he always went out of his way to make that your life wasn’t being threatened, even when it seemed impossible. he was your shield, his cold, unyielding personality your preservation.

he needed to make sure that you had placed your trust in him fully, first and foremost and no one else.

if he was immovable, then what was there to threaten you? what was there to deny him from what he had kept himself from for so long? he craved you, ached for you, longed for you, but never showed an ounce of it through his words or actions, for fear of your rejection, of society’s caution around his amplified desire for you, strong enough to harbor hatred and murderous intent for anybody who so looked at you the wrong way. looked at you at all, even.

now though, he was finally discarding those frivolous thoughts of his concealment of desire for you, his draconian side emerging. after all, it was only normal to want your lover in every way, right?

his present, human, morally ambiguous but restrained side was miles away, the tsunamis of desire crashing into oceans of want and possessiveness making him realize that he wanted this so badly that he would die if he was without you for another moment. even blinking was made scarce, absorbing your ethereal, once ephemeral, form in to fully appreciate you in ways he couldn’t before.

his stone-cold, deadpan exterior had finally given way to his true self, more open to expressing his love and devotion for you, as the dragon in him coiled with the need to make sure that you were his forever.

so why were you struggling? couldn’t you tell that you were his mate? his to love and cherish forever? even if you didn’t think you loved him now, there was no way that he’d let you go, not when the both of you were finally alone, together, and safe.

carefully, gently, absurdly for the situation he had just subjected you to, he lifted you up in a bridal carry and you couldn’t tell if you wanted to curl into his strong embrace, or shimmy away from your captor.

once he settled on your bed, he bunched the covers up around you and him until you were both insulated and he could retain the warmth that you gave him. he had made sure you were comfortable, drawing the blankets up around you first and foremost and leaning over your form quite inquisitively, drinking in the most vulnerable side of you he had never gotten to appreciate properly and feeling a strange welling of wholesomeness in his heart at your figure, dwarfed by him and his twisted love for you.

after getting settled down, you couldn’t help but close your eyes sleepily, unsure as to why you were feeling so exhausted that your body would let your guard down around the beast that had possessed your friend. you would contemplate why you were allowing him such proximity, but your mind was too scrambled to discern if he was a threat or not, and it seemed as though your body had decided for you as you were his mate.

a hand from out of the blue descended upon your head and sharp nails massaged your scalp deeply, comfortingly, lovingly. they were careful not to draw blood or scratch you too hard, and your eyelids grew heavier still, and your ears gradually rose a barrier between you and the outside world, content in the embrace of someone you knew.

the wound in your neck hadn’t bothered you for a moment now, and you had half a mind to wonder why when a low croon came from above you. it seemed as though he was still watching you, with another hand descending to rub your cheek soothingly. the solace of his presence was unbearable for your rationality, and you let go all train of thought to give into him.

dan heng watched with satisfaction as you drifted off into slumber, pride welling in his chest at the level of trust you still had for him, even after his slightly unorthodox display of dominance.

after making sure that you were truly sleeping, deep inside the crevices of your mind and dreaming of him, no doubt, he lowered himself down into a space next to you, where he was able to hold you with your back to him and his arms wrapped tightly, possessively around your waist and pulled you as close to him as he possibly could.

a few seconds later though, he opted to drag his arms up higher until he was just right below your chest so that he could make way for his tail, which dipped under you and then coiled upwards to wrap around you, doubly secure and safely tucked in by his side.

although your blood had supplemented him some energy to get by for a little after his grueling transformation into a dragon, he was more than content with the prospect of regaining his full strength by resting by your side, knowing that nothing could ever take you away from him.

and afterwards, when his power was at its full glory, he’d prove to you that you’d never need to leave his side. ever.

and even if you insisted, tried clawing your way out of his embrace, tried to escape into a world with dangers lurking around every corner, ready to take you away from him, there was no way he would ever lose you, no way you would ever lose him.

your mate.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊

Then There Was You ‧₊˚ ⋅ Drabble (Request)

ଳ he swore to only keep his eyes on ume and follow his good example, but then you just had to become a distraction ଳ character; sugishita kyotarou (wind breaker) ଳ tags; floof, tsundere sugi, short fight scene, afab reader, no y/n

"You've been staring at her a lot lately huh?"

Just like that, Sugishita was snapped out of his stupor. He rarely narrowed his eyes at Ume, but if someone teased him about her... then not even Ume-chan is an exception to his grumpiness.

"No," he grunts and looks away.

Ume pats his back with a reassuring smile on his face. He said something about how it's okay to like someone because it's totally normal.

Yeah, right. Normal.

But the thing is—Sugishita's an anomaly. He's different in a way that he had never loved anyone before, let alone "liked." Some people were just not made for it and he believes himself to be one of those people. His purpose—he says—is to become stronger so that he can be someone Ume can be proud of. Even better if he could become someone that the great Umemiya Hajime could rely on.

However, he was nowhere near to attaining that. The idea of love is then out of question. He just had no time for trivial things.

It's funny though—how his mind and body are doing completely different things. A part of him doesn't want to stray from the path that Ume has carved for him, but another fuels this urge in him to simply stare at you. Admire you from afar. Because you were the most delicate thing in his eyes.

Compared to the self-assured and confident Kotoha, the new part-timer at the cafe was a bit laidback. But she was the bubbliest and friendliest person that the Furin boys have come across.

Each time they would come and visit the cafe, she'd be standing at the counter with a warm smile on her face. And once everyone has their food in front of them, she would happily listen to Ume's tales about the day's fight or Nirei's rants about the people he "observes." She'd giggle at Sakura's bashfulness and be amused by Tsugeura's enthusiasm.

She had a special talent in that she could make anyone feel at ease.

And Sugishita was sure that it would be the same thing all over again. No matter how nice or kind someone is—they'll be too intimidated to even converse with him.

But that wasn't the case with you.

He could still vividly recall how his heart skipped a beat the day he first met you. The boys had come to the cafe to wind down after a major scuffle. They had cuts and bruises all over, but they laughed as if there was no pain at all. As the newbie, you didn't know better and acted with the utmost concern.

Much to everyone's surprise, you came to Sugishita first.

"Does it hurt?" you ask, pointing at a cut on his arm.

His brows furrow and his lips press into a thin line—an obvious indicator that he is in no need of your help. But he should've known that it wouldn't be enough to push you away.

"Here," you say as you offer a band-aid to him. "Sorry, it's a bit childish with all the elephants on it, but it's all I have."

In spite of his unwelcoming demeanor, you persisted. Even the other guys around him were stunned at your resolve. But they remained quiet, wanting to see how Sugishita would react.

Sugishita sheepishly took the cute band-aid from your fingers, shoving it immediately deep into his pocket.

You smile. "You should wash that up and plaster it on as soon as possible or it'll get infected."

When he finally spares you a glance, he sees the maddeningly bright smile on your face. It almost reminded him of Ume when he annoys him.

"Thanks," he whispered. It took all of his willpower to say one syllable because he knew that there would be consequences.

Sakura piped up. "Oh, so you do know what gratitude is?"

The consequence being—a certain two-toned boy would get on his nerves.

Of course, the usual back-and-forth ensued. Sugishita got too heated up that he nearly forgot the band-aid in his pocket. When he glanced over to you again and saw how you laughed at their bickering... he swore you had done something to his forsaken heart.

He often found himself daydreaming like a kid when recalling that day. It made him happy to an extent, though he'd never admit it. But he mostly repeated the events in his head because he was trying to figure out why his heart was thumping so loud then and why he felt so nervous around you.

It bothered him to no end because he was this big hulking guy and you were... just a girl who probably wouldn't hurt a fly. He had fought guys thrice your size. Yet, here he was; scared at the thought of you sitting next to him and talking to him.

Throughout his daydream, he failed to notice that you had disappeared and went out to buy some milk for the cafe. Kotoha was busy cleaning the kitchen, so the errand was left to you.

It left Sugishita bored. He wasn't really interested in whatever they were talking about and Ume was busy eating anyway. And you were... well, he didn't know where you were. He'd rather be kicked in the shins twice than ask where you had gone.

Everything comes to a halt as they heard commotion from outside. And by the sound of it... it was you. His question was answered in the worst way possible.

"Let go of me! Stop!" you cried out desperately, but to no avail.

"C'mon, lady. We were askin' ye for some change so nicely, weren't we? Don't be a bitch and show us some kindness, will ye?"

The shady group of guys who were outside the convenience store saw you and decided to follow. So here you were, getting mugged.

Everyone in the cafe knew the situation straight away. They were all ready to jump into action, but none of them would have expected what happened next.

To put it simply, Sugishita just shot out of his seat without another word or thought. Kotoha was sure that the cafe's door would fly off the hinges with how strongly he swung it open.

His fiery stare was zeroed in on the scumbags that had you surrounded. His mind was empty except for two things: to beat these fuckers up and to save you.

He stomped over to you, the shady men becoming aware of his approaching and menacing presence.

"Watcha want, punk? Walkin' over here like a—"

The guy's sentence was left unfinished as Sugishita's fist met his face. His punch snapped and didn't waste any time slugging the rest of the men. Though they tried to fight back, they were no match for an extra aggressive Sugishita.

His senses only came flooding back when he felt a pair of arms around him. He inspected the ground below him where the men had fallen unconscious... and then he realized that you were clinging on to him like a koala.

"THAT WAS SO SCARYYYY," you cried. As you did, you squeezed him tighter. You were probably pushing his boundaries, but the adrenaline and fear got the best of you. You could apologize later for the tears that had seeped through his navy blue cotton shirt.

And normally, he would push you away, but strangely—it felt... really good. His hands hovered in the air, unsure of what to do with them. He helplessly looked around. But as he turned his gaze back at the cafe, he saw the boys and Kotoha watching them from a distance.

They were smiling and snickering, flashing a thumbs up at Sugishita for saving the day.

When it finally sank in—he was in a state of catharsis. He still couldn't put a finger on what it was that he was feeling. But all he knew was that he liked your warmth and that you still made him insanely nervous.

To some extent, it was like his eyes were opened to a world never seen before. And you were the key to that hidden realm.

He gulped and slowly placed a hand on your head, gently stroking it albeit he was shaking. Was it from punching too hard or was it because of you? He wasn't sure.

Buuuut, maybe Ume was right about this being totally normal.

o-sachi © 2024 pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

Serendipity

“The faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable and agreeable things not sought for” 

Ordinary (h/c) hair and plain (e/c) eyes. Two loving parents bringing in average income. Part of Mondstat’s middle class. Enough schooling and education to bring out job opportunities, with grades succeeding an average score. And lastly Visionless. 

If it weren't for any legal work, your very existence itself is replaceable a humdrum to the big shots who bears a vision.  

If the whole of Teyvat is a written book of wonderful heroes like the Traveler and the Knights of Favonius. You’re probably one of the mob characters blending in the background par average without any accomplishments, outshone by some fortunate enough to be given a vision. Whose ambition shone brightly enough to gain the archons recognition. 

Yet as you walked through the market square you failed to notice bright teal eyes wander to your form as you listened to the girl, he heard was named Eury.  

The bustling children looking at you expectantly, hoping that you’d lend some of your time indulging them in their childish antics. 

Or the lines of admirers including his very own disciple, Timaeus.  

Lost in the thought of considering yourself mundane, you failed to realize that your simplicity is a blessing to those whose life is filled with action and chaos at every moment.  

================================================

Boorish and mundane. When Albedo heard about Timaeus’s little “puppy crush” on you through Kaeya, the subject of course went his ear and out the other. Until the faithful day when he saw you at the Alchemy stand with sucrose on his rare visit’s to Mondstadt, bored out of his mind he then decided to pay you some mind. Interested in how you made his normally timid and shy assistant, social and comfortable enough to go outside. 

With the excuse of performing outdoors precautions on making Alchemy safer. He had the opportunity to stalk observe you.  

Like he predicted, you were mundane as he thought. More than the others he found a nuisance. 

Physically wise nothing was out of the ordinary. You wore the same clothes like anybody else, styled your hair the same way, and had your actions oriented in a way that made you blend in. 

Other than your snide witty remarks, you almost always listened and never really “conversed”. Even as Sucrose went into detail about how her experiment went wrong, or the number of species of mushrooms she recently discovered with her bio alchemy and the difference with each one. You just stood alongside her, smiling at her urging her into her rambles, and at times giving her shoulder a light pat.  

Considerate and having the patience of a saint. Likable traits enough to make his assistant feel comfortable. Or anyone at that. He must say he starts to see the appeal of well, being your friend. But it doesn’t answer his question at the very least. 

Dismissing your inhumane attention span. The way you make people flock around you mesmerized him more.  

The way the Calvary captain muses to you about his recent case, often inviting you to the tavern for a drink. Or how both the spindrift knight and the outrider seemed to always try to invite you to one of their expeditions. What baffles him the most is the fact that his own sister a girl who often says what's on her mind, flusters at your presence. 

 Curious about this phenomenon, and him deeming his predicament is the answer to his master's question. He then decided to do a survey among the Knight’s, people who are well adapted to the general public. a complete contrast to his profession. On how exactly can someone be so ordinary yet be so stimulating to others. 

“Albedo... the question is a bit off-putting but since it comes from you, I'll try and answer the question as best as I can- Let's see I would say that it is refreshing to hear a person's life whose lifestyle varies from your's.. but for it to be stimulating, I'd believe it would be about the person themselves wouldn't it? ordinary or not a person's life isn't the only thing that brings people together, it's the people themselves also."

“Hmm.. Well, stimulating isn’t how I would word it...- but to be accepted by the citizens of Mondstadt and to be not seen as a schemer plotting over Mondstat's downfall would be quite nice... *Ahem* what I would like to say is...- to hear about the common folks lifestyle.. makes it easier to fantasize such lucid fantasy- not like it matters anyway.... I hope I answered your question is that all?"

And as much as he hated it he had one person he didn't ask about the survey.. The one person he dreaded to ask. But alas a survey is a survey and to make it as accurate as possible to be presentable enough for his master he had to do it.  

“Oh- are you perhaps talking about dearest (Name)~.” 

Upon seeing the slight shift of the Chief Alchemist’s normally painted passive face. The Calvary Captain couldn’t help and hide how his lips curved up. 

“Sigh- Please just answer my question for the survey...” 

“Oh how you wound me buuuut- surely do amuse me on what exactly the survey is for, I doubt that a survey based on psychology and social dilemma relates to anything, Alchemy” 

Rubbing his temples, he felt himself getting a migraine. Dealing with Kaeya is akin to dealing with a child. 

“It’s for the final assignment my creat- master told me to fulfill.. So, I would gladly appreciate it if you answer it truthfully, I may add” 

Leaning on his palms, the bluennette pursed his lips entertained at the spectacle happening before him. 

“Well seeing how desperate you are.. I heed~ “ 

“I well- I personally believe that no one is really ordinary, from the line of my work the most mundane thing can and have the potential to become one of the unordinary, and really who is to judge on what is and what isn’t normal.. Don’t believe me-? Think about Inazuma a land that was known for its infamous Vision hunt decree, at a time vision holders with their vision taken away was the norm in Inazuma..- but to us doesn’t that sound abnormal” 

“To put it simpl-” 

“That’s enough Kaeya.. Your answer is enough, take you for lending me your time..” bowing out of courtesy he swiftly made his way out of the door. Ignoring the teasing remarks, that came soon after. Disappointment clear on his form. Time and energy spent on his little assignment thinking that this was the answer to his master’s question. Rubbing his forehead, he can tell that if it weren’t for his homunculi nature a headache would’ve already formed. Curse Kaeya and his musing on normality.  

Pausing to take his pocket watch out of his pocket he fumbled with the button expecting the latch to open he realized that the latch was clogged by something, and upon investigating he smelt a light scent of sulfur, Gunpowder. How did Klee even manage- 

“Hey.. Are you alright” 

Snapping his head at the sound, he felt more than embarrassed at his current situation. Light ashy hair in disarray, with his uniform disheveled with all the running around he did. He out of all people didn’t want her to see him like this, all so disoriented. 

“Oh- it's nothing really... My pocket watch’s latch seems to be clogged up by some gunpowder.... It's nothing to worry about” gesturing to his hand. 

He watched as they looked at his pocket watch, (e/c) gleaming from the sun’s reflection.  

“If you want, I can take a look at it, my folks always clogged theirs's to and I always manage to fix them.. going to the Locksmith these days I heard it's very expensive.. And well-.” Cute. To think that she seemed to forget who she was talking to- he must admit this was a turn of events. 

“If u want to..”  

And just like that, the normally unimpressed alchemist watched as the “mundane” girl fumbled with his watch. Being this close to her, he noticed how picturesque she looked. (h/c) lashes fluttering softly, youth clear from her features, and tongue poking a clear reverence of wanting to prove her word.  

“And Iam-.. Done" reaching her arm out, the girl looked at you. Mirth dancing through her irises.  

“(Nam-e) .. right?” 

“mhmh surprised you remembered, we met.. Back at the alchemy stand- while I was visiting sucrose...so uhh.. are you going to take it- or are you just going to keep staring at me” 

Blinking rapidly, he hurriedly grabbed the watch in her hand. Feeling a volt of electricity shock his gloves' layers upon contact with her palms. He felt his ears redden as he bashfully hid his face in his hands.

“uh- well, it's nice to see you again Albedo.. if that is all il see you later then-” 

“yeah..” 

The star-stricken man watched as the girl went past him. His form glued to his spot as he watched her form pause at that oh so familiar door. His blood running cold knowing exactly where she is going.

The Calvary Captain’s office.

𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌

nonnie asked: lately i noticed many writers writing about reader kissing character's face while wearing lipstick and therefore covering them in it and i found it so cute and then started to imagine your om!ocs and the modern au guys (…) being covered in lipstick kisses too […]

pairings: my genshin modern au guys (xiao :: scara :: aether :: kazuha :: heizou :: venti :: childe :: diluc :: kaeya), my obey me ocs (dantalion :: valefar :: stolas), my twst oc (cheron) x gn! reader

warnings: these lipsticks are not smudge-proof

a/n: as said i might write a full thing for one character when i have the chance but considering i have 13 characters here and i can only think of so many scenarios, i’m writing a few paragraphs each for now ^^;

original ask

modern au || dantalion || valefar || stolas || cheron

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐀𝐔

𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐎 Piercer/ Tattoo Artist

It had been a busy week in which you hadn’t seen much of each other, so when you finally made it to Friday evening, you were overjoyed to see your boyfriend again. Needless to say, when the door swung shut, the first thing you did was flutter some well-earned kisses across his face, not even bothering to take your make-up off.  So when Xiao spotted his reflection in the mirror, the flush on his cheeks wasn’t the only rose colour decorating his beautiful complexion. While you watched his blush darken, he couldn’t meet your eyes in the mirror and you giggled to yourself as you watched them snap to you when you pulled the neckline of his shirt out of the way and planted a final kiss on the base of his neck.

𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀 Piercer/ Tattoo Artist

It was your day off, so for once you weren’t out of the house before Scara, instead getting ready at the same time as him. You made him his usual morning coffee to go after he slept over, since he straight up refused to drink anyone else’s, and kissed him goodbye. Not long after he arrived at the piercing studio, notifications started blowing up your phone and you skimmed the furious string of texts, laughing to yourself. Apparently, Xiao hadn’t said anything about the smudge on the corner of his lips, leaving Heizou and Venti to have a field day when they came in, teasing him relentlessly even after he wiped it off.  As for the accusation that you did it on purpose, who was to say…

𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 Piercer/ Tattoo Artist

“Do you still need the make up remover?” Aether asked from outside your bathroom door. You’d both just gotten back from an outing with the others from the piercing shop, staying longer than you initially intended. But that was what always happened. Venti could be very convincing and the group was too much fun to leave early. “I’m done, but I didn’t notice you wearing any makeup earlier,” you admitted, opening the door to let your boyfriend in.  “Well I wasn’t,” Aether sheepishly laughed, rubbing the base of his neck. And then you saw it. Faint traces of colour decorating his temple, cheek, the corner of his mouth and even the parts of his neck and chest not covered by his shirt. A shade that very closely resembled the lipstick you applied before going out. “You might be a bit of an affectionate drunk.” “Oh my— I’m so sorry, Aether,” you apologised, quickly searching around for some cotton pads and wiping the lipstick off his chest, trying not to linger on the thought too much. “Don’t worry, I thought it was cute,” he assured you, his warm smile seemingly lighting up the room. As you leaned in to clean his face, he took the opportunity to steal a quick kiss from you as well. “You should wear it more often, it looked very pretty on you.”

𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐇𝐀 Piercer/ Tattoo Artist

Kazuha had come over for lunch, as he often did, taking a break from his coworkers between the plants, sketching if the time allowed for it. When you both had to return to work, you pressed a sweet kiss against his cheek and then rushed to help a customer. And while neither one of you noticed the colour dusting his cheek, the others sure did and wasted no time pointing it out, though all their teasing comments seemed to bounce right off of him.  He wiped the stain away before any customers came in, laughing off how he hadn’t noticed at all. “Of course you wouldn’t notice,” Heizou agreed, a knowing air about him. “After all, you’re way too busy making heart eyes at your florist to even think about looking anywhere else for a second.”

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐔 Piercer/ Tattoo Artist

“Hey honey, could you help me with something real quick?” You called your boyfriend over as you finished applying a new shade of lipstick you bought. As Heizou strolled up to where you were standing, you turned towards him with a smile. “What do you think? Do you like it?” “The colour looks beautiful on you,” he easily replied, sending you a flirtatious wink. “Though I’m not sure if it’s really the colour or just you being gorgeous that’s causing it. Now what did you need help with?” Wrapping one arm around his neck, you pulled him in for a kiss, making sure to firmly plant your lips against his. If your boyfriend was surprised at all, he masked it well, easily melting into the kiss. As you pulled away a little breathlessly, you grinned. “Just wanted to see if it’s really smudge-proof, though I guess it failed in that regard.” You traced a finger around the faint trace of colour on his lips as Heizou took the tube from you and applied the lipstick with pinpoint precision. Turning to you, his olive eyes were gleaming with mischief as he chuckled. “I think we should run a few more tests, just to be sure.”

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈 Piercer/ Tattoo Artist

“This one’s for the song you wrote for me and this one’s for bringing me my favourite coffee without me asking,” you mused, studying your boyfriend’s face covered in pink-hued gloss marks. Somehow a kiss to the temple had ended with you caging Venti against the couch, fluttering a dozen kisses all over the skin you could reach. “Ehe, what can I say, I’m just the best boyfriend ever,” he giggled, tracing his fingers down the contours of your face in return. Then, something in his expression changed and you prepared yourself to shut down whatever idea he was about to propose next. “Maybe I should think about getting one of them tattooed? On my shoulder or so?” “Don’t you dare.”

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄 Idol

Ever since you had caught a lot of heat from Childe’s manager for accidentally letting your boyfriend leave with a mark decorating his collarbones, you were very cautious of leaving any visible stains on him, even if it was just makeup.  Still, you found ways to work around this little inconvenience. There was one time you signed off a little post-it note you left on the fridge for him, wishing him good luck for a performance, with a lipstick stain. After seeing his reaction of childish glee, it became a staple in your relationship. Then again, whenever Childe came home from work with his makeup still on, he never failed to press a big, fat, lip gloss stained kiss on your cheek, chuckling like the menace he is when you make a show of wiping it off.

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐂 Club Owner/ Bartender

Diluc had seen his fair share of shameless make outs during his time at the Angel’s Share and normally he just turned his head the other way, not sure why people would enjoy slobbering all over each other. Well, that was until he met you anyway.  Though he’d like to think he was more composed than the intoxicated people at his club, whenever you pressed your lips against his, he thought he might get drunk off of you. He swallowed hard when you pulled away, mind still trying to process what was happening as his eyes tracked the movement of your own kiss-swollen lips, not hasty to wipe away the traces of you against his skin.

𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐀 Model

Kaeya actually revelled in it whenever you leave any type of mark on him, as long as it didn’t lead to a scolding from his manager. Whether it was something more durable like a hickey or something easily wiped off like a lipstick stain, Kaeya always looked very smug about it afterwards. After all, the marks were a testimony to the events that transpired previously, and what could he say, Kaeya enjoyed those very much. Even more so considering he knew his way around a makeup bag, confidently picking out shades that looked gorgeous on you and even more gorgeous when they were smudged around the corner of your lips and over his skin. In his opinion, every photo of the aftermath was more stunning than any of his cover shoots.

𝐎𝐛𝐞𝐲 𝐌𝐞! 𝐎𝐂𝐬

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 Majolish Owner/ Devil Style Chief Editor

You walked in on Dantalion getting ready, his attention that was previously on his reflection in the vanity mirror flickering to you when you entered. His plush lips, curled into a loving smile, are painted in a flattering shade of red and your gaze was trained on them as you came to stand in front of him. “Are you trying a new shade? It suits you well.” “I am. I’m glad you like it,” he hummed, tilting his head in contemplation. “I wonder…” Cupping your cheek in his palm, the demon leaned towards you and you instinctively closed your eyes as his soft lips pressed against yours with purpose. As always his kisses made a part of your brain short circuit and you blinked at him dazedly for a moment after you parted. There was a satisfied gleam in his bright eyes as he wiped at your bottom lip with his thumb, studying the red stain he left. “As expected, it’s an even lovelier colour on you, my flower.”

𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐀𝐑 Casino Owner

“Little lamb, come here for a second.” Valefar was no stranger to finding your lipstick smudges at the rim of his drinks or wiping smudges of colour and gloss from his cheek before leaving for the casino after you gave him a kiss goodbye. He didn’t mind, found it cute even, but as he regarded the pink stain on the collar of his white dress shirt in the lounge’s mirror, he knew it won’t come off with a quick swipe of his thumb. It wasn’t a big deal, he kept spare shirts in his office, but Val wouldn’t pass on the opportunity to fluster you. “Care to explain yourself?” You were halfway through stuttering out a sheepish apology when Valefar backed you against his desk, keeping you pinned to him with a hand on your back. Intense amber eyes keep contact with yours as he leaned down to suck a noticeable hickey on the same spot his collar would be, knowing your clothes barely wouldn’t be able to hide it. “Debts should be repaid, wouldn’t you agree?”

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐒 Popular Streamer

It was a pleasant day in the Devildom, as pleasant as it could be in a realm without the sun anyway, pulling the two of you out into town. While strolling from apparel stores to gaming shops, you passed a café you frequented and decided to stop by for some refreshments. As you pointed around various shop displays, you had the sinking feeling that your drink emptied faster than usual. And when you spotted the colourful stain that had transferred from your straw to your boyfriend’s lips, you caught the culprit red- handed (or rather red-lipped). When confronted he merely chuckled playfully before swooping in to steal a kiss on top of your drink, staining them with more of your lipstick and thereby destroying the evidence. (His straw also became more colourful as he offered you his drink as compensation.)

𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐂

𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍 Prince of Hell

When Vil gifted you a set of lipsticks and glosses from a campaign he was part of and had no need for, you accepted them gratefully. You just finished sorting through all the shades and trying out a pretty shade of red, when there was a knock on your door and Cheron sauntered into your room.  “There you are,” he grinned, charming without even having to try, before pulling you close and stealing the air from your lungs with a kiss. For someone who claimed to not be interested in ferrying more souls to hell, he sure seemed intent on trying to kill you. “What’s this you got there? Vil’s new collab?” “Right you are,” you paused, peering around him to the lipstick tube in your hand and chuckling as you read the shade name. Pressing another kiss right onto the middle of his cheek as payback for his usual schemes, you took in the red matching the colour on the corner of his lips. “Don’t you think it’s a beautiful colour, Cherry? It does match your hair and eyes. Maybe I should start calling you that.” There was a dangerous glint in his crimson eyes, clearly aware of the red staining his face, as he swiped his thumb under your bottom lip where the lipstick left a smudge as well.  “You have a lot of nerve marking the Prince of Hell.” His grin showed off the points of his fangs more clearly now, clearly amused at your little stunt, taking a step forward and walking you backwards towards the edge of your bed. “That’s fine. If you can handle the consequences, that is.”

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Bound to You | Blade x Reader

Howdy! So, I don't have a real reason for writing this, other than I felt like it. I've been heavily debating doing more fantasy type fics, but I just don't have a proper idea. This might just help me a little! I think this should have 3 parts just to finish up the story, so I may most likely add two more to this. Word count: 4516 Extras: Fantasy AU

Blade's red orange eyes practically glared at you as you flipped through the third book in your possession. He watched the frantic look in your eyes only get worse as this book was yet another dead end. The previously darkened room was illuminated by the large sigil Blade was sitting on. It was bright yellow, with every symbol pulsating with enough power to keep Blade prisoner. Golden cuffs with long, ghost-like chains held onto his wrists, refraining him from leaving the sigil that he'd been summoned with.

"Could you at least let me go?" He asked, his tone of voice indicating his clear frustration. His head was propped up on his closed fist, while his elbow rested on his knee. It had been so long, at this point, he was just bored.

"No!" You yelled as you looked over at him with a frown. "You've been doing nothing but yelling at me and hurling insults." Blade sat up a little, that fighting fire lit within him once more.

"Oh? What the hell else am I supposed to say? Only an idiot confuses a binding spell for a summoning one." Your frown only deepened at his sarcastic words as you placed a hand on your hip.

"It was an accident! It was really just a test to see if it was even going to work!" You argued, but it only irritated the demon before you.

"Who reads an incantation out loud as a test? You really are an idiot." He scoffed, making you groan out loud. For the last hour and a half, he'd done nothing but call you dumb and stupid for what you did. Which was fair. You certainly didn't mean to bind a demon of his worth to you, you just wanted to practice summoning a demon for future fights! However, you were so engrossed in reading, you accidentally read aloud the incantation... which wasn't even the right one, you came to find out. As for the sigil… well, you just decided to set it up to see how much work it would require. You did intend to use it but at a later date since none of the items were perishables.

"Hey, I'm still really new at this mage thing, ok?"

"You're new to using magic, but not new to reading right? It literally states on the page before that it's meant to bind demons to your own soul. You know, even we don't use spells like that." He explained as he adjusted his legs that were beginning to get sore.

"What? But don't demons make that whole pact binding thing?" He rolled his eyes, as if he wasn't surprised that you would even ask such a question.

"No. We create contracts that are called pacts. Both parties list their terms and conditions and once those terms are fulfilled, the pact comes to an end. The connection between demon and mortal is held by the signed contract, which is why they're kept safe and hidden. As you know- or at least I hope you know- the easiest way to break a contract with a demon is to destroy the actual tome it's written on. Soul binding is nearly unbreakable. It actually binds the souls together and there are no conditions required for it. There is no tome to break and it's an extremely powerful spell that’s almost forbidden." He explained, doing his best to stay calm since he had been furious the entire night and it was exhausting.

With every word that spilled from his lips, you realized just how grave your situation was. You... really didn't mean to do this. You wanted to practice summoning a demon which is why you set up the circle exactly as stated in the old grimoire you found. Blade had a point... the instructions and sigil were on one page but the page before had all the warnings including the title. Somehow when you were flipping through the book, you skipped over that. Mainly because the next page explained which color candles to use for what demon. So, you figured it was just a regular old summoning spell.

"There... is a way to break it, right?" You asked, your eyes flickering to the demon.

"Of course there's a way to break it. Every spell can be broken, but the more powerful the spell, the more limitations appear. This particular spell is avoided by many precisely because of how difficult it is to break it. Even your death wouldn't break it, you'd just be resurrected because you're attached to my soul. And vice versa."

"Aren't you already dead?" Blade's eyes widened at the audacity you had to ask the dumbest question he'd ever heard in the centuries he'd been alive.

"Are you serious? No, demons aren't dead, in fact, we can't die permanently. We just get resurrected in hell, which is probably where you're going after this dumbass stunt." Your eyes widened at his words, and you couldn't help the words just escaping your lips.

"Does that mean I'm stuck with you for eternity?"

"No. I'm stuck with you for eternity." Blade corrected, with an irritated smile ghosting his lips as he looked away, shaking his head in disappointment. He was far from the most powerful demon in the hellish realms, but he was up there and to be stuck to such a weak mage was practically insulting. Not to mention your lack of understanding in apparently everything.

Though… you did succeed in the spell which felt like the biggest shot of luck ever; but spells like this didn’t ride on luck. 

"Why would anyone have a soul binding spell for demons?" You asked with a pout, your eyes glancing at the torn, leathery binding of the grimoire you'd used earlier.

"It's a grimoire right, and not a scroll?” Grimoires, as opposed to single use spell scrolls, were written by high level magic users. Mages- and often witches- usually created their own. There were a multitude of reasons from convenience to secrecy, if they’re confident enough, they could create their own spells. “Chances are whoever owned that grimoire was probably close enough with a demon to bind their souls together. It's an easy way to gain immortality.” Blade replied, his own red-orange eyes flickering to the grimoire that sat on the small pedestal.

"Isn't using magic to make yourself immortal punishable by an eternity in the prison of torment?" You questioned as you walked over and grabbed the grimoire.

"Only if you're found out." Blade answered, leaning back on his hands and staring up at your ceiling. "It's not easy to recognize a bound soul when they're both powerful. Our magic will intertwine and you can use my own soul energy for yourself. To those who aren't like the High Mages, you'll just look like a strong magic user."

You opened the grimoire, walking back over to Blade who looked at you. Kneeling beside the sigil, you placed the grimoire in between you two and slowly moved through the pages.

"Honestly, it just has simple spells. Here's one to make plants grow faster, then there's a minor healing spell, one to help wash dishes, then the spell I used to summon you, but then there's this orb spell which preserves whatever you put inside of it, this one helps dig tunnels- I mean this is a total beginner friendly grimoire." You said as you looked up at him. However, Blade was still staring down at the grimoire.

"Give it here, I wanna look at it."

"Sure." You slid the grimoire into the circle allowing Blade to grab it, picking it up and flipping through the pages. He was silent for a moment as he read through each of them before turning the book back to you.

"I knew it. It's been modified." It was the spell to create a preservation orb.

"How do you know?" You asked, tilting your head a bit as your eyes glanced over the text. Nothing looked weird.

"Magic is second nature to us. I know this spell and the original's orb lasts at most three days before it expires. This one doesn't- it's a permanent orb."

"Ok, so they improved upon it? What's the issue?" You countered as Blade placed the book back in his lap. “Didn’t you just say magic users can make their own spells?”

"There's a bunch of beginner friendly spells, then a nearly impossible spell to cast and a modified preservation orb spell? Nothing seems out of the ordinary? Who did this book belong to?"

"I don't know, I found it in a ruined house." You said with a shrug, making Blade's eyes widen.

"You just picked up some random person's grimoire and started to play with it?"

"Well, I wasn't worried because it had a bunch of beginner friendly spells and it let me touch it. So, I just thought it was a grimoire made for newbies like me!" Why wasn't Blade surprised you would do something like that?

"Well, for one, it didn’t react negatively with you because it's made for us. Whoever created this was obviously a magic user- that's you... somehow. And it's meant to help bind a demon's soul, which is me. I don't think the author expected anyone to find it, though it’ll blast anyone else who tries." The lack of hesitation in his words made you flinch a little.

"So, other than immortality, why would someone bind their soul to a demon?" You asked, making Blade sigh as he fell in thought. That piqued his curiosity as well, why would someone go to these lengths and not just make a contract?

"I don't know. Power, control, the ability to traverse the hells, maybe even love? Though, the weird orb situation is the most confusing. Whatever this person was doing, they needed a preservation orb that lasted... forever."

"Think if we find the orb, we'll know more?"

"Probably, but you still need to let me out of here." Blade said, referring to the sigil he was sitting on. A frown crossed your lips and you were silent for a moment. You may not have meant to summon him, but you could tell he was a powerful demon. You needed one in combat because you weren't the best fighter and were still a novice. However, you knew he'd leave the first chance he got and... you didn't want that.

Blade stared at you before reaching forward, still within the boundaries of the sigil, and snapped in front of your face. It was enough to pull you out of your thoughts.

"Hello? Let me out."

"What if you run away?" You asked in a small voice, your tone wavering as if you weren't sure whether those words should escape your lips or not.

"Go where? You'll know exactly where I am 24/7, which is one of the perks of soul binding. I can't go anywhere without you knowing. Not only that, as the creator of the bond and me being a demon, you have some level of control over me."

So, he'd stay if you commanded him to? Not only that, but he'd protect you in battle if you commanded him? So far, this soul binding thing didn't seem so bad. You couldn't die, this powerful demon was gonna be with you all the time, and he would do whatever you asked. You weren't entirely sure of your specialization... but conjuration didn't seem so bad with him.

"Ok." You replied, sitting on your legs and touching the edge of the symbol with both palms. According to the book, it was quite easy to make it go away- which was the opposite of setting it up and drawing it. The symbol's bright light began to dim, little by little before it dissipated completely.

Blade inhaled sharply, exhaling slowly and he stood up. The ghostly chains that held him to the sigil were gone, but the cuffs remained on his wrists. He raised his arm to get a better look at it. There were symbols on the cuffs themselves, which he recognized as protection spells. Multiple of them.

For him or for you?

His red orange eyes flickered to you before he roughly reached out and grabbed your throat. A scream escaped your lips as he yanked you forward, giving you little time to fight back. You felt his sharp nails digging into the sides of your neck as he squeezed tightly. His grip was strong, cutting off your breathing in seconds. Against his brute strength, you could do nothing except attempt to pry his hand off. 

"Th-the hell?!" You choked out, weakly looking up at him. However, he released you as quickly as he grabbed you, staring down at his cuffs again. You instantly took a step back, gaining distance from him. After a brief coughing fit, you spoke up. "What was that for?!"

"It's not for you..." he mumbled, entranced by the spell writing on his cuffs. He didn’t even seem the least worried about your current state as he began to examine the cuffs once more. Why would a demon get a protection spell? Not one, but multiple.

"What are you talking about?" You asked, making him look over at you. He held his arm up, the cuff glowing a dim gold. You could feel the power radiating off of the bands, even making you look away for a moment. He was really stuck, there was no way he could ever break out of those.

"There are protection spells on this thing, but they aren't for you. In fact, I could've killed you right there, which is bizarre. I've never heard of a mage putting a protection spell on a demon. Especially in this situation, where it would be more beneficial for you to have safety from me."

Usually, demons had no reason to harm or kill those they made contracts with. The end goal was to acquire the soul, which could easily be done through granting their wishes. But soul binding was different, there were no end goals. At the end of the day, Blade owed you nothing, not even his mercy.

"So, you choke me to find out?" You yelled, glaring at him a little. Your heart was still pounding in your chest and you weren’t sure if you could trust him considering he just admitted to being able to kill you. Even if you wouldn’t stay dead for long, you didn’t want to die! 

"If I told you, you would've expected it. Whatever spell is meant to protect you, wouldn't kick in if you don't truly believe I'm going to harm you. So, I didn't say anything. But I released you by choice, nothing actually stopped me. Meaning... this mage trusted the demon they bonded with. I'm starting to think it was a friends or lovers situation." You rubbed your throat while he spoke, turning away from him a little.

"Can demons even be trusted?"

"Only as far as their contracts are concerned. No demon will ever break a contract. Otherwise, not really." Well, at least he was honest.

Eventually, Blade walked closer to you, stopping only a couple feet away. Your hand briefly flew up to your neck but he made no sudden movements. Instead, holding his hand out, he met your gaze with his own. This time, you saw no anger or hatred, which brought an inkling of comfort to your mind. 

"I am Blade. For the time being, I will be your personal demon. You may use my services as you wish, and I will do my best to protect you from any harm. I only ask that in return you help me break this soul bond."

Your eyes slowly fell to the outstretched hand as his words rang in your ears. You didn't expect him to say something like that, but at the same time, your soul bond was a type of contract, right? So, he was just abiding by it.

Hesitantly, you reached out and grabbed his hand, your fingers tightening around it. Raising your eyes, you nodded to his terms.

"Ok. I will help you break the bond. Thank you for serving me." Yet, the words felt like sandpaper in your mouth. You weren’t entirely certain why, but you knew your words weren’t genuine.

Once that was done and over with, Blade retracted his hand and walked back to the grimoire. His eyes slid across the old pages, searching for any clue. As far as he was concerned, he could only sense a weak protection spell on it, nothing else. That meant the pages hadn’t been altered with magic. 

“Where did you find this? We should go back there to see if we find any more clues.” With little hesitation, you found yourself nodding to his words.

“Sure, but it’s a bit of a trek. I found it on a trip I just recently went on.” You explained as he walked to your desk and grabbed your bag, putting the grimoire inside of it.

“Doesn’t matter to me. By the way, until we figure out who made this book, try not to use it. Even if the spells are simple, they’re not meant for you. Best to leave them alone.” Understanding what he meant, you agreed. That book clearly had a purpose which you didn’t know of. Trying to use it could cause issues like with Blade. The last thing you wanted to do was cause more problems that you didn’t even know how to solve. 

“I’ll need to get another grimoire then.” You said with a sigh. Those things didn’t come cheap and you were still a novice mage. Being able to buy one… well, it was gonna take a while.

“Why bother? Don’t you have scrolls or something?” Blade asked, looking over at you.

“Scrolls aren’t as informative as grimoires. Not to mention they take up a lot of space and some vanish once the spell is cast.” You replied with a slight sigh as you began to clean up your mess.

Blade’s emotionless eyes watched you for a moment before he began to help. For any magic user, having their very own grimoire was proof of their abilities. Not only were they great sources of power and knowledge, if a mage ever managed to climb to greatness, their grimoires would get preserved in the Library of Novis, which was the biggest library the entire region, said to contain every single spell known to man.

Novice grimoires were often given to young students just beginning their journey into the arcane, but were usually loans and needed to be returned. Blade couldn’t begin to understand why you didn’t have one. There were plenty of grimoires handed down within families for young mages, yet not only did you not have one, but you chose that dingy book that clearly had its own ulterior motives.

A bit pathetic… but admirable. Though the spell you casted was powerful and unstable, you did it. No destruction came to you, this small space, or him. In fact, Blade felt great, technically speaking. The sigil also subdued his powers and kept him there and that’s something he expected from a high level mage.

Blade stopped for a moment and looked at you as you kept picking up the candles you’d laid out. The space around you two was dark, but Blade could make out the rundown walls and floorboards with his sharp eyes. The room was barren except for a small desk on the side, an old looking bed on the other, and what seemed to be a dresser beside the bed. The scent of dust lingered in the air and tickled his nose- it was almost enough to give him allergies. Turning his head, he saw two training dummies against the wall behind him, both covered in a thick layer of dust with cobwebs to boot.

Looking back at you, he noted a frown on your face which was expected. But with your newly created bond… he also felt your resolve. In fact, if he focused hard enough, he felt your desperation to be a great Mage.

An Archmage. Like the legendary celestial, Alessia. Noting that you were distracted, Blade decided this was the best time to peek inside your mind. Inhaling softly, the demon closed his eyes and focused on you. Your presence was heavy in his mind and heart.

He could feel your breathing, gentle and soft. Your heartbeat was strong, yet hastened. He felt your muscles moving as you picked up each item and threw it into a nearby box. Every curl of your fingers made his own tingle. Soul binding was scary, even he wouldn’t attempt something so stupid. But, he had to admit- it was fascinating to be here like this with you. You felt like an extension of himself yet he couldn’t control you.

Pushing past the physical aspects, he delved into your mind. Other than you scolding yourself over and over for making this mistake, he felt that resolve again. To be better, to be stronger, to be more mindful. There was a lingering sadness that he couldn’t decipher. He wanted to push past it, to see what you were thinking but stopped himself.

A gasp escaped his lips as his eyes shot open, feeling the sensation fade away. His eyes landed on you once more, who hadn’t realized what had just occurred. He could just peak into your mind like that? You couldn’t ever hide a secret from him. Yet, the idea of pushing through your defenses to peer into your mind felt unfair. You wouldn’t appreciate that, right? Being you and all.

There is one thing he wanted to hear you say.

“Hey, (y/n).” He called, making you look over at him, your hand abruptly stopping. It felt weird hearing him say your name and not call you an idiot or something.

“What?”

“Are you allied with a college? For your magical training, I mean.” At his words, you shook your head.

“If I was, I wouldn’t have summoned you the way I did. I actually can’t afford attending a college right now. I wasn’t born with the gift so I never prepared. Now, I’m so much worse off because of it that I can’t even attend a college if I wanted to. I’d just humiliate myself and make life harder.” Your words weren’t burdened with sorrow or anger, as if you were just stating pure fact. Even in his own heart, he didn’t feel any particular emotion stir. What? You just internalized your failure and called it a day? This was the worst way to learn magic in his expert opinion.

Plenty of thoughts filled Blade’s mind. With how dumb you were, it would be so easy to just manipulate you to do what he wanted. Hiding his emotions from you was an easy job, it’s not like you even knew you could look into his mind. Not only that, but you were so naive and clearly alone. But, that weird resolve of yours made him waver. You may have thought you were a failure, but you didn’t just live with it. You were still trying to learn and do better. He wasn’t sure if he was pitying you or not, but another thought flashed in his mind. One that seemed to yield a better outcome than just manipulating you. Standing up, he let out a sigh as he gestured for you to approach him.

“Come here.”

“Why?” You asked as you dropped the items in your hand into the box and walked over. Grabbing your shoulder, Blade positioned you in front of him with your back toward him. “What?”

“Like this.” Intending to put those neglected training dummies to use, he pushed one of your arms out straight, and  your palm to one of them. Reaching out, he positioned your hand in a more relaxed form. Using his foot, he pushed your feet a short distance apart and forced you to bend your knees a little. “Make sure you’re in a steady stance or you’ll fall over. From here, push your energy into your fingertips. Don’t force it, or it’ll explode.”

Deciding not to question him, you breathed and followed his instructions. It wasn’t necessarily easy to understand what he meant by energy, but you tried it anyway. For a moment, you felt a warmth at your fingertips. It was the slightest sensation that you could’ve almost missed.

“It tingles.”

“Good. It’s easy to aim since you’re pointing your hand. Be careful and try not to aim this attack recklessly. Also try to avoid heads.” He pushed your hand downward a little so you weren’t pointing at the training dummy’s head. “Once it feels like a good build up, release the energy. Literally, think in your mind that you’re letting it go.”

Giving it a moment to build up some more of that energy, you did as he said. You let go of the energy. Suddenly, a blast escaped your hand and fired straight at the dummy, hitting it right in the chest. You were knocked back a little too, but Blade kept you steady.

“What the- what was that!?”

“A blast. Good.” The demon commented as he stepped away, inspecting the dummy. Because it was a training dummy, it wasn’t destroyed but Blade could see the point of impact. That would certainly kill… as long as you didn’t fly away.

“How did you know I couldn’t do that?” You inquired, your eyes flickering to him. Even now, you felt the tingling at the tips of your fingers. It was that easy?

“Because that’s one of my attacks. You definitely don’t know it.” He replied, walking past you to finish up your attempt to clean up. “But make sure to plant your feet firmly or you’ll fall over like you almost did just now.”

He… taught you a personal spell? After all that name calling and stuff, he was actually willing to help you? That was kinda nice of him. You watched as he quickly cleaned up with his magic. He made it look so easy, flicking his fingers and making all the excess items fly into the box you’d used earlier. You hadn’t even figured that out, no wonder he kept judging you. He wasn’t entirely wrong, you were as weak as they came and he was the opposite. He grabbed the bag with the grimoire, making sure the book was secure.

This was the demon you were expected to just let go? He was powerful, smart, and handsome. You knew it was the right thing to do, but at the same time this was a good chance. A good opportunity to learn magic and have a powerful companion at your side.

“Stop staring, idiot.” He said as he looked back at you, holding the bag out to you. “Come on, we need to get going.”

“Right, thanks for the help.” You said as you took the bag from him, slinging it around your shoulder.

“Just keep your word and I’ll consider it even.” 

A Linnet on a Bough [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Title: A Linnet on a Bough [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Synopsis: Isolation takes its toll, and you begin to sleepwalk out of the gilded manor Scaramouche has procured for you. Commissioned piece.

Word count: 3300ish

notes: yandere, married reader, sleepwalking, isolation, unhealthy/controlling behavior 

Being the spouse of a Harbringer is no simple matter, and you are no simple spouse. 

If you had married someone from  your village, your life would be simple. You would do what your parents had done, and their parents had done, and their parents had done. Cooking and mending and minding the children, and living out your days without ever venturing very far, except on rare occasions that would be something you would treasure forever.

You would grow old within the confines of the village and die surrounded by your children, who would bury you near your own parents and go on to live out their lives much as you had done.

But you didn’t marry someone from your village, and your life is not so simple. Instead, you were wed to Scaramouche. Sometimes it doesn’t seem real, even now, and you pinch yourself to make sure you’re not nursing some long standing fever-dream. 

Who would have thought? Certainly not you. Sometimes you wonder if even he expected to ever make such a match. But he told you that he intended to marry you, and let the words hang in the air, to be caught or cut down with your decision.

You said yes. Really, you couldn’t say no… but part of you wanted it. Yes, you can admit that much. It was flattering, and isn’t it nice to be flattered? Especially when you were nobody. Just someone who trudged to the town well to fetch water for your elderly parents, someone who helped a stranger (Scaramouche, it turns out, was not the helpless waif you’d assumed) and got a husband for their troubles. 

So, no, life is not simple. Both in the figurative and literal meaning of the word. 

And now, wife of a Harbringer as you are, you have grown acquainted with--and acquainted is the only term for it, for you could never say you were accustomed to any of it--certain luxuries. Food, to your liking, whenever you would like it. Sometimes it is even brought to you out of season, the greatest luxury of all. Clothing made with rich materials; ribbons, jewels, the softest of slippers to adorn your feet. Servants and pampering the likes of which you had only heard about in your old life. 

But there is one luxury that you are routinely denied, no matter how much you pout your lips, no matter how prettily you ask, no matter how many tears blur your vision and wet your eyelashes: the outside world.

You’re not meant to go outside, Scaramouche had told you, the first time it became clear that you were not going to waltz out of the stately manor he’d brought you to for the wedding in order to take in the scenery. 

And so… you don’t go outside anymore. Not in the traditional sense. You rest in covered litters with the windows tacked shut and he’s not above smacking your hand if you try to lift up the corners to catch a glimpse of whatever (or whoever) waits outside. Of course, when he’s not accompanying you, your pitiful looks sometimes convince one of the guards to let you keep one flap untouched so that you can take a peek.

But seeing flashes of the world you used to live in are not the same as truly being within it. The ghost of a breeze against your half-hidden face is not the same as basking in the sunshine. Hearing the sounds of life from a village as you’re carried through it is not the same as stopping at a market stall to buy a treat, asking someone how their day is going, and absorbing the hustle and bustle of everyone around you.

There is no substitute for living out in the world. 

You just don’t know how to convince Scaramouche of that fact.

--

There is a fine line between gratitude and ingratitude, between obedience and surliness, and Scaramouche finds that you walk it all too well. 

It doesn’t matter how much he takes away; how much he removes the temptation by tacking up screens or keeping you within interior apartments, free from all the noise and sights and smells of the outside. You still want to go outside. Something about it calls to you, pulling on your sleeves, no matter what he does.

He loves to hear your voice, nightingale that you are, but sometimes he is so gravely tempted to press a finger to your lips and tell you to hush. 

No matter how much he tries to occupy your mind with something different. Better. Himself, most often (for you should be grateful for that) but things that no one else could say he gave them. Gifts. Trinkets. Things that suited your interests, which he knew very well, because he hangs onto every word that comes from your mouth.

Even the ones that drive him mad. 

At least until you learn to stop saying things that grate his ears and the space where his heart should be. 

The pleadings that come so softly and sweetly--but if that was all, he could manage. It’s the way that you weave your thoughts into every conversation like a pattern in a tapestry--remarking on the weather conditions in regions that the two of you might be traveling in, asking if the retinue had encountered certain flora or animals during the journey. You want to know about the world; you want to be in the world. 

Little things, little threads, connecting you to a world that isn’t exclusively him… why has nothing successfully cut them from your grasping fingers? 

--

“They only blossom under certain conditions, you know.” Your voice is soft and lilting, carrying on the one-sided conversation over a shared table of delicate foods. You take bites in between your verbal fascination with the local flora, a subject you’re all too keen to share with him. “The flowers are said to be so lovely that people have wept at the sight of them. And the fragrance…” You sigh a little, and pick a piece of fruit to nibble on. “There’s nothing like it. Or so I’m told.” 

A pause. You glance at him, eyelashes practically fluttering, then look back at your dishes. 

“And… I’ve never seen one in person,” you add as you reach for another helping of fruit. “I wonder what they’re like.” 

Do you think he doesn’t know what you’re trying to do? Looking at him so sweetly, asking how he finds the food, interspersing dinner with notions of flowers blooming right outside the borrowed manor the two of you have been living in for this current assignment.

But he won’t give in. He won’t be manipulated, not even by you. 

Still… that doesn’t mean he can’t try to fulfill this hunger of yours. Much like filling a better, a taste should be enough to keep you from grumbling. 

Within the week, he has some unlucky Fatui tasked with the mission of cutting a fresh bouquet of the very flowers that you were waxing on about so prettily. And you wake up one morning to find them on the nightstand next to your bed, set in a clear vase.

He thinks that you’ll smile, and thank him, and if all goes well, he won’t have to hear any more not-so-subtle hints about your desire to go outside.

But you don’t smile and fling yourself at his feet, thanking him for such a thoughtful, fine gift. You don’t tell him that this is all you need--the flowers he gifts you, the clothes he has painstakingly crafted to suit our form and above all, him. 

Instead your hand goes to your mouth, covering the smallest of gasps. 

And, well, he thinks--you’re surprised. That’s all. That’s to be expected., if anything. You did often complain about the monotony of your days, so a little surprise was bound to get a reaction from you. 

But instead of breaking into a grin and thanking him, your hand reaches out to touch the delicate blossoms. Like they’re going to break. More than that--like there’s something wrong. 

“How much prettier they would be in nature…” Your lips curve downward, a soft frown that feels aimed right at him. “I’m sorry that you cut them…”

“What is it?” And if there is a snap in his voice,  you surely couldn’t blame him.  You are so difficult to please, and hiding the fact that he wants to please you at all is a tiring chore all on its own. You exhaust him as much as you fill him.

Sometimes, you make him want to scream.

He’ll take out his pent-up irritation on someone else. Irritation that is not at you, but with you. Yet not with you as well. It’s all a jumbled mess that he doesn’t want to untangle, and he won’t. He’ll shove it down deep into some cavernous hole, perhaps the one that exists inside of him no matter how hard he tries, and move on with his day.

If only you would stop looking at those flowers like they were broken glass.

--

You’re gone. The space that you occupy (the left half of the shared bed, all wrapped in blankets and often clutching a pillow instead of him, a trait he does not find endearing but does not wish to push on) is empty, bereft of anything but cool rumpled sheets.

There’s fear, at first. Fear that something has happened. Someone has taken you. Perhaps it was Her… perhaps She, of all the unholy things, has slithered past his defenses and snatched you up just to snap another piece from his broken patchwork body. 

It doesn’t have to be Her, though. He has many enemies. And enemies will target your weakest point, and you, you, you. You are exactly that to him. 

So there is fear, yes, that you have been snatched away and perhaps you are already dead, and they took you not for blackmail but for some kind of revenge. To see him wither. 

But then he retrieves the lantern from the dresser and lights it, the warm glow illuminating the silent, heavy room. He can feel his breath quickening, his chest tightening, and he doesn’t know why or what to do with any of it.

It only gets worse when he realizes that there is no sign of forced entry. No broken door-locks, no sprinkles of glass on the rugs, no drops of blood on the windowsill to mark where you might have been dragged through.

The fear ebbs away, replaced by a sour, sickly feeling of betrayal. 

You’ve left him. After all he’s given you. All he’s done for you. 

Yes, he’s taken away your freedom, but you didn’t have the capacity to understand why that was not something to begrudge him for. Freedom was not for delicate things that needed to be kept alive, protected, harbored from the rest of the world. 

He clutches the lantern in one hand and storms out of the room, still wearing his night-clothes. The hallways are dim, barely light by small windows that let in a trickle of moonlight. He listens. 

You couldn’t have gone far, and you’d better hope he catches you himself before morning, because if he has to engage a search party on  your behalf, no one (least of all the Fatui stationed with him) will be enjoying it.

He dismisses one of the guards who spots him. He doesn’t want them involved, not yet. He pushes out one of the side doors and begins to walk the perimeter of the grounds. You might have gone off into the forest, or perhaps you went down the paved path, hoping to find a traveler who might help you.

He is about to decide which option to take when he hears something from behind him, near a half-broken brick enclosure that had seen better days. Were you hiding in there? Trying to trick him? He couldn’t put it past you. 

He braces himself, feeling something thrum through him that made him want to turn away and rush forward all at once, and walks through the open gate of the enclosure. 

And… you’re there.

Sitting in the midst of a garden, some untended thing that was left here by the previous tenants, before it was abandoned and absorbed into the network of buildings useful to the Fatui. And to him, for keeping you in one secure location for months on end.

It was wild and overgrown, and some of the rocks creating the garden path were moss-covered. It’s a wonder you didn’t slip on them, he thinks, and there’s a flash of fear mingled with his irritation. How could you do something as stupid as sneak outside at night, in the dark, and walk into some unknown, overgrown eyesore? 

You haven’t heard his footsteps, evidently, because you go on standing. You’re swaying a little, and your hands brush the flowers. He can hear you talking to yourself, something low and sweet. He can’t see your face but it’s easy enough to imagine that you’re smiling. 

“What are you doing?” There was an attempt, in his mind, to keep his voice level. But it quakes anyway, with fury and irritation and that still-sour worry that you betrayed him in the night.

He waits. You don’t turn around. He thought that, when you heard his voice, you were going to jump like a scared little animal and apologize and try to smooth things over with your teary lashes and pouting lips.

But you don’t turn around. And when you answer him, it’s not a word, really. It’s mumbling. Low. Almost a groan.

He’s had enough. He walks forward until he can grip your upper arm, and moves to turn you around. But you don’t pout or jerk away or tell him that you just wanted to go outside. You’re looking straight at him but he can tell right away that you don’t truly see him at all.

You’re… asleep. 

Standing up, eyes blinking rapidly as if in the throes of some waking dream, in the middle of a garden.

But asleep, all the same. 

He presses his lips together. You were a nuisance. Truly. He should leave you here, let you wake up in the morning cold and shivering and covered in slick green moss.

Instead, he lifts you up. You flail a little, arms jerking this way and that, but it’s easy enough to grip you close and carry you bridal-style back down the hallway (the Fatui stationed in the hall is wise enough to say absolutely nothing as he sees him returning) and continues until he can lay you gently down onto your side of the bed.

You gasp, then, perhaps half-waking. But it’s eased enough when your hands instinctively grab your pillow and curl up with it. 

Before heading back into bed, he grabs a fire poker and slides it through the handles of your bedroom doorway. You wouldn’t be getting out, not in your sleep, anyway.

His dreams that night are fitful.

--

The first thing you realize upon awakening is that you’d really rather go back to sleep, because your dream was lovely. You were in a garden, fragrant and lovely. There was cool fresh air on your face and grass under your toes and sounds, real sounds. Birds and insects buzzing and everything that is forever kept on the other side of walls and windows now.

Over breakfast, you smile, and serve your husband his dishes before you tuck into your own. And is it wrong that you want to tell him about your dream? Is it wrong that you hope it will make him finally let you go outside, even just for a little while?

“I had a lovely dream last night,” you say, smiling with what you hope is sweetness and not desperation. “I was in a garden…”

You don’t see the goosebumps that run up his arms at your words.

--

You sleepwalk the next night. And the next. And the next. He doesn’t know how you manage to get the bar off the door every time, how you evade the guards, how you don’t wake him up… but you do. 

Always going to the same place, the damned garden, with its stubborn flowers and broken paths.

Well. If one vase of flowers is not enough to keep you satisfied (and more importantly, inside) perhaps he needs to take it a few steps further. 

He gifts you more flowers. Bundles of them, baskets of them, stuffed into vases and pots and cracked pans his underlings found in the kitchen storage room. 

And while the rooms of the manor are soon a garden, filled with cloying blossoms and greenery that brings its fair share of insects lurking about, it doesn’t make you stop talking about the world that you’re supposedly “missing” out there. 

Not just the flowers, but the animals. The people. The markets. 

The life, teeming with every little thing, good and bad, that makes up this world. 

Most disturbingly of all: The sleepwalking continues.

What more can he give you without giving you the freedom that would break him apart?

--

It’s not that the sound of a bird in the morning is unusual. It’s just that they are normally muffled, as there are no trees near the window of the bedroom.

But the chirping that you hear now is so close that it might as well be in your ear. Groggy, rubbing away the dust of sleep in your eyes, you sit up…

And find that there is a silver bird cage sitting on top of your dresser, next to a wilting vase of flowers from a few days before. 

It’s a pretty thing. Small and  yellow. A pretty thing in a pretty cage. Another gift from your husband, after the mountains of flowers, the wreaths of blooming vines, the meals, the clothes, the comfort…

--

He can never get used to waking up without you beside him. No matter how many times he easily finds you and brings you back, mumbling and bleary, there is always those terrible, agonizing moments of panic when he thinks: you’ve left him.

But you’re not alone in the garden. 

You’re holding the cage, clutching it to your chest. He wonders what will happen if your sleeping muscles dream of something else; will you drop the cage and let it clatter to the ground? Will the delicate bird inside be jostled so terribly that it dies? And what would he do, then, to ensure that this doesn’t make you even less satisfied with your isolated life?

But you don’t drop it. One thing he has learned from watching you sleepwalk is that you are surprisingly nimble about it. 

He watches, lips pressed into a frown, as you slowly lower the cage to one of the formerly ornate pedestal tables in the garden. It must have been pretty once. Now, it’s mossy and gray and damp. 

It doesn’t surprise him, what you do next. Your fingers, shaking but surprisingly deft, undo the latch on the door and swing it open. The bird inside hops around for a few moments, tilting its head to and fro, before it launches itself into the air and flies away.

You mumble something, sweet and slurry. A farewell, perhaps. Who knows what really goes on in your pretty head when you sleep? 

And it’s his cue to take you back inside. You still fight, just a little, when he picks you up. Flail your arms and legs, until he’s held you tight enough that your muscles seem to accept the hold and relax.

He looks down at your bleary, half-awake face. Your eyes tend to close when he carries you. Perhaps your body knows that it’s okay to let them rest, now that someone else is carrying you. Holding you. Protecting you.

A pity that your mind couldn’t understand that fact. 

Sometimes he considers chaining you up at night. It would be the most practical solution. It might even ease his fears every time he wakes to find you gone, and he’s forced to track you down to this nighttime garden that no one else would bother entering.

But there’s something in him, hard and sick, that wonders. If he chains you up, he might just free you in his sleep, like you’ve freed the bird in the cage. 

It’s easier to pretend you aren’t his prisoner when your chains are invisible, after all. 

ART OF THE BEDCHAMBER | part 1

"Dual cultivation with you wouldn't be very useful. You might have extraordinary qi as a Vidyadhara, but it's sealed when you're in your human form."  Dan Heng stares at your fingers, deliberates as you trace the invisible paths of his meridians.  "Then," he says, "what about my dragon form?"  (Or: Dan Heng dreads the thought of outliving you and will do anything to help you achieve immortality. If that means fucking you in his dragon form, then so be it.)

6.5k words. smut, fluff, established relationship, xianxia elements. semi-explicit sexual content (only with dan heng in his human form in this chapter, sorry). reader is gender neutral, afab — they have breasts and bomb pussy game. cultural notes: "yinyue jun" is the chinese equivalent for "imbibitor lunae". please see the end notes for information on cultivation. other notes: this is set pre-1.2. 风月 was based on this fic so some things may feel very familiar! network: @trailblazernet. MDNI.

When Dan Heng—in a rather unexpected move—fell in love with you, he didn’t foresee all the agony that would come with it.

Shockingly, you aren’t the direct cause of this agony: a remarkable fact, given your routine of pestering him for as many hours as the day will allow. Dan Heng often complains about your many inconvenient behaviours (e.g., trying to cuddle with him in the archives, trying to kiss him in the archives, trying to have sex with him in the archives), but to the amazement of his fellow trailblazers, he never actually does anything about it. After getting over his initial embarrassment at such public displays of affection (this took quite some time), he’s come to tolerate it.

You often like to tease him for his leniency, all playful smiles and lilting tones: You don’t have to act so shy, Dan Heng—I know you enjoy the attention. My Heng'er likes to be spoiled, huh?

He always rolls his eyes in response. Consider it a miracle that I haven’t kicked you out yet, he’ll usually say, flicking you on the forehead. He never tells you if he means kicking you out of the archives or if he means throwing you out of the Astral Express itself, right into the vacuum of space. (Most bystanders are astonished that the latter hasn’t happened yet. So are you.)

He also doesn’t tell you how wrong it feels when he isn’t listening to the background noise of your shameless flirting. Or how wrong it feels when he doesn’t get to humour you with a kiss every once in a while.

Which brings him to the root of the problem: the wrongness that he’s feeling right now. The emptiness of the archives without your laughter, the tasteless quality of his food when you’re not there to dine with him, the restlessness of trying to sleep without you—it’s all wrong, wrong, wrong. Wrong enough for it to be a little agonizing, now that he’s nearing one hundred and twenty days of this.

You often have to leave the Express for many months in a row, so Dan Heng is no stranger to these unsettling feelings. Neither are you. If I could spend more time with you, I would, you’d said before leaving last time—and the time before that, and the time before that, and the time before that. But I can’t avoid going into seclusion. It’s part of the whole Cultivator gig, y'know—gotta go to a mountain somewhere and meditate for a few months. That’s just the price of immortality if you’re a measly human. Then you’d given him a little smile, pecked him on the lips. Most people do it for years at a time, but I wouldn’t be able to leave you alone for so long.

The first time you’d pointed this out, Dan Heng was startled by the relief that flooded him. Vidyadharas have an intuitively different sense of time compared to human beings, and two or three years should feel like nothing to him: relative to the centuries he’d lived as his previous incarnation—or the decades as his current one—it would be only a fleeting moment.

But in your absence, it would feel like an eternity.

It surprises him how much he hates the crawl of time without you. Dan Heng had never before been a needy person: solitude and isolation had always been the norm for him, in a lifetime absent of human touch—first imprisoned from birth, then exiled from the first moment he got to see the sun. Even after leaving the Alliance, he hadn’t allowed himself to become particularly close with anyone: it would have been too complicated because of the sensitive matter of his past, and he simply didn’t feel deserving of it anyway. Nor was he in need of it.

Then he met you.

Then he met you, and he became accustomed to the sound of your laughter, and then your offhanded, warm touches, and then your smile as you sat in the blue glow of the archive floor and poured baijiu into everyone’s cups. (Scalding, bitter; you had laughed as he made a face and warmed up huangjiu specifically for him next time, and it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.) And then he became accustomed to talking to you—to letting you unearth things he’d buried for decades, to revealing his suffering and receiving your compassion, to the gentle feeling of your hand on his shoulder. Then the tender, nervous look in your eyes, then the silky press of your lips, then the closeness of your unclothed body, and then the breathless warble of your voice—Dan Heng, I’m close, I’m so close, please—and then the euphoria of having you arch and fall apart so beautifully in his arms.

And then the afterglow. He hadn’t only grown used to that: he’d become addicted to it. Warmer and headier than huangjiu, something that he’d have never been able to imagine while growing up in the night-dark prison of his childhood.

Even the memory of his first taste of sunlight aboard the Luofu pales in comparison to the feeling of having you in his arms. The first time he’d had the privilege of holding you, he caught himself thinking: If paradise is but a dream, then I wish to sleep forever.

And now, each time he lies awake on his futon, alone except for the glow of artificial stars, Dan Heng becomes acutely aware of the emptiness left by your missing form.

He isn’t exactly deserving of your companionship. He knows that.

But he is in need of it.

After one hundred and twenty one days of seclusion, you are ready to return to the Astral Express.

Time moves differently when you cultivate behind closed doors. The act of such intense meditation and training distorts the flow of the world for you, makes entire months feel like days. Emerging from seclusion always comes with a certain anxiety: Are your friends well? Have they forgotten you? Has the Express continued its journey across the galactic railroad, or has some terrible event happened to your home—a supernova, a meteor shower, the destructive force of a stellaron?

And, most importantly: Did anyone murder your boyfriend while you were away?

There is at least one intergalactically wanted criminal who's tried to kill Dan Heng a number of times, and an entire alliance consisting solely of his haters. Half the reason you take your cultivation so seriously is to prepare for the inevitable day that someone is going to seriously attempt to murder him in front of you (probably the aforementioned criminal). You want to be strong enough to one-hit KO Arbiter-General Jing Yuan himself, if it ever comes down to it.

Of course, the downside is that the murder attempt might happen while you're off training, but you're hoping that March 7th and Caelus can cover for you in that case.

Still—while you have nothing in confidence in Caelus’ abilities (you adore March, but will not comment on hers), you sigh in relief when your phone begins to buzz.

> Are you out yet? We're on our way. > Get something to eat if you haven't yet. I'll make sure something is ready for you on the Express too. > I know you can practice inedia, but you're still a human at the end of the day. Please get something to eat as soon as possible.

No hello, no I missed yous, just plain, practical concern—as always.

You are not a practical person.

> GEGE! > GEGE GEGE GEGE > DAN HENG GEGE > come fast i want to kiss u > i'll die if u don't kiss me soon > i missed you!!!!!! > did you miss me??????

You can more or less imagine the expression on your (hopefully unharmed) boyfriend's face: deadpan exasperation. The first time you came out of seclusion during your relationship, you texted him no less than twenty times in a row from a new number, and he reflexively flagged it all as spam. He's since told you to tone down the double texting (and triple texting, and quintuple texting, and dectuple texting…), but always replies anyway.

> The Express is about to warp. We'll be there soon. > I'll do whatever you like, please just eat.

You watch as an ellipsis appears at the bottom of your chat window, then disappears, then appears again. When he finally sends his text, a smile stretches wide across your face.

> And yes, I thought of you the whole time you were gone.

With your return to the Express, you make Dan Heng engage in all your usual couple activities. Which is to say: you act disgustingly sweet with him and the other passengers experience varying degrees of shock and entertainment at his complacent behaviour.

You surprise him as he works in the archives, looping your arms around his waist and pressing against his back so you can whisper things into his ear: Gege, pay attention to me! or Dan Heng, can't you take a break now? or Heng'er, are you really going to ignore your lover like this? So cruel!

Dan Heng doesn't react during these moments, but he also doesn't push you away. Sometimes he'll shove a stack of books into your hands and say, If you have time to mess around like this, then you can work on digitizing these for me. You always agree, but wheedle a kiss out of him in exchange for your hard labour.

(Welt Yang walks in on one such kiss, coughs loudly, and walks back out. Dan Heng pulls away from your lips to stare at the door in abject horror.)

You give Dan Heng a number of books and films from your travels, and keep him company as he dives into them. He always gravitates toward the latest Xianzhou novels first, especially the ones that give mention to everyday life on the Luofu. You suppose that he's never been able to rid himself of his curiosity about the life that he'd been denied, enthralled by visions of night markets and starskiffs, teahouses and cross-talkers. You can see his longing in the crease of his brow, the softening of his eyes as he reads.

Seeing his wistful expressions, it is impossible to stop yourself from keeping him company. You press into his side, resting your head on his shoulder—something that will comfort him, you hope—and read alongside him. Sometimes the two of you fall asleep like that, wrapped up in each other on the archive floor.

(March 7th stumbles into one of these moments and can't help but snap a picture of the two of you. Dan Heng later pales when he sees your lock screen, where your slumbering, entwined forms are clearly visible.)

You often convince Dan Heng to have a proper, sit-down dinner with you in the dining car. He won't ever do it for food from the kitchens, preferring to eat in the archives instead, but he'll do it for food you cook together. The two of you enjoy your meals while watching the interstellar scenery roll by outside, stargazing at distant galaxies. Sometimes you savour the tangy-sweetness of tomato-egg stir fry (your handiwork); sometimes you enjoy the rich broth of delicately steamed xiaolongbao (your boyfriend's handiwork); sometimes the both of you sweat over the punishing numbing-spice of malaxiangguo (a combined effort and favoured couple's activity—right up there with building furniture).

The other passengers wave whenever they see you, impressed that Dan Heng has emerged from the archives. They joke as they greet you: I guess you're the only one that can pull him out of his cave!

(The older ones—Himeko especially—laugh and talk fondly about young love when they spot you. Dan Heng's expression stays as stoic as ever, but the tips of his ears go red and he accidentally burns his tongue trying to eat his own bao.)

You address Dan Heng with an astonishing number of pet names at an alarming frequency; your excuse is that you need to make up for the four months you couldn't call him anything. Mostly you call him 'Gege' in public, which he usually doesn't mind as it saves him considerable face relative to all the alternatives, but this changes when Caelus starts teasing him about it.

Morning, Gege, he starts saying at breakfast, drawing a long stare from Dan Heng. Gege, can you help me with finding these records? he asks whenever he strolls into the archives. Before expeditions, he starts turning to Dan Heng and using his most sugary voice: You'll protect me, right, Gege? And Dan Heng turns to Himeko to flatly state, I will not be held responsible if he dies.

Eventually, Caelus grows bold enough to join you both for dinner: Gege, he asks, do you want me to hand-feed you these noodles too?

Dan Heng replies by rising from his seat and walking straight out of the dining car.

(Your long-suffering boyfriend eventually says, during one of your reading sessions, that Caelus is quickly becoming unbearable with this new habit of his.

Well, you muse, since he’s just teasing you about the way I talk to you, I could stop calling you ‘Gege’.

Dan Heng stops. He looks almost hesitant, like he wants to protest, but his expression flattens into a deadpan when you continue: I could always call you 'baobei' instead. What, you don't like that? But Heng'er, you're my baobei, my xingan baobei, my little little apple and beloved husb—whoa!

You laugh hysterically as you dodge the book he chucks at you.)

Sometimes you do get him to reciprocate your actions. Shockingly—despite his reserved and conscientious disposition—you have the greatest success with this whenever you tease him while he's working. You find it works best to crawl into his lap and kiss at his jawline, whispering into his ear while he tries to focus on his screen.

I’m so pent up, Gege, you often start with. I've been trying to take care of myself, but my fingers aren't enough. You like to straddle his hips as you talk, grind a little if you think you can get away with it. You whine if you do, pressing your face into his neck—right beneath his clenched jaw. Won't you give me some attention? Just ten minutes on this desk is all we need.

Dan Heng can only ever endure about fifteen minutes of this before throwing you over his shoulder. You inevitably find yourself being flipped over in a fireman's carry, being lectured in a flat tone. I don't know where you get off lying like that, he usually comments as he makes his way to your room, ignoring your yelping and kicking. 'Ten minutes'? Every time you act like this, you end up taking up my whole evening.

(He does, in fact, spend the rest of his night in bed with you, making it clear that there is no need for you to ‘take care of yourself’ so long as he’s around.)

But despite all the grief you give Dan Heng with your public, grand displays of affection, your favourite moments with him are the private ones. The ones where you sit next to him on his futon, sharing a pair of earbuds and listening to the latest hits from the various worlds to which you’ve travelled. The ones where you make dumpling skins together during the quiet hours of the kitchen, flour dusting your fingers as you roll out the dough that Dan Heng has kneaded. The ones where you spend lazy mornings in bed together, Dan Heng holding you as you talk at length about nothing at all.

The ones where you pause in your long-winded ramble to find him staring at you, his gaze fond and fully attentive. Met with such tenderness, you have no choice but to lean in and kiss him, long and deep and smiling—and in the privacy of your room, your boyfriend is more than happy to return it.

Some weeks after you return to the Express, Dan Heng gives you a long look after one such moment and says, "You should spend more time with me."

You raise a brow. "Eh? I already spend plenty of time with you, Heng'er. I've been bothering you 24/7 now that I'm back on the Express… It's a wonder you aren't sick of me yet."

"Of course I'm not sick of you," he replies plainly. "I could never be."

The admission makes you blink. Heat prickles the back of your neck. It's not often that Dan Heng is so straightforward with his feelings.

"And I mean"—he looks away, the red paint along his waterline hidden by his lashes—"that it'd be nice if you didn't have to leave the Express so often. If you could stay here all year round."

You can't stop yourself from frowning. "You know I don't like leaving you, but I really don't want to compromise my training." Your fingers sweep gently at his brow, brushing away his hair. "I wanna be strong enough to protect you, Gege. After I get to that level, I promise I'll be around more often." Then you smile a little. "And if I'm lucky, I might even get a long life out of it!"

Dan Heng's brow dips. "A 'long life'? The whole point of cultivation is to achieve immortality, isn't it?"

"Sure, in theory. In practice, almost no human ever becomes immortal by these means. If cultivation were so easy, then people wouldn't turn to shortcuts like magical elixirs or blessings from Aeon Yaoshi." You purse your lips, voice starting to colour with derision. "Not that I'd ever be shortsighted enough to chase either of those things, mind you. I'd rather work hard, have a long and healthy life, and die and reincarnate properly if it comes to that. Immortality isn't worth the strife caused by any other method."

Dan Heng studies you closely, his eyes steadfast on yours. "Then… what do you consider a 'long life'?"

You hum, thinking. "If I don't slack off with my training, I have maybe eighty to a hundred years of youth before I kick the bucket."

"Eighty years?" Dan Heng's eyes go a little wide. You aren't used to seeing it.

"Yes?" You shift, fidgeting. "But that's only if I'm lucky. Pushing for anything more would be tough. I could undergo a qi deviation and die… or I might just not be talented enough to reach that stage of cultivation and pass away from natural causes… someone could also just kill me at any time, given my lifestyle. I've got a lot of options for dying, you know."

Dan Heng doesn't reply, nor does he look at you. It occurs to you that this whole conversation might be unsettling for him, given everything that's happened with the Xianzhou Alliance, with the matter of his past life and that vengeful monster he seems unable to kill. The mere thought of immortality must be painful for Dan Heng.

"I'm sorry, Gege," you say. "It's insensitive of me to talk about these things with you. Anyway—I'm not seriously trying to become an immortal, so you don't have to worry about me. I'm not looking to break any taboos."

Your lover gives you a long, unreadable stare before replying, "Right. Of course. Nothing good can come from the pursuit of immortality." Cinnabar paint flickers as he looks away. "Human life should be as morning dew—fleeting and ephemeral."

Dan Heng starts to behave strangely, after that. Quieter and withdrawn. Not just subdued in his affection, but absent in it.

When you bother him in the archives, he no longer scolds you or distracts you with any work—merely continuing with his tasks, completely immersed in them. When March 7th and Caelus tease him about his many pet names, he doesn't get flustered—only rolls his eyes and ignores them. When the other passengers catch sight of the two of you dining together and fondly comment on your relationship, he hardly reacts. He only continues eating, staring absently at his dish—usually something you've made, because he seems uninterested in eating anything else these days.

(Are you sure you don't want actual food from the kitchens instead? you ask once, studying what's supposed to be dough for fried breakfast buns. For whatever reason, you can't get the consistency right. The Express chefs are way better than me, you know.

No, he insists. You made it, so I want to eat it.

You don't need to be so polite!

I'm not being polite. He looks down at your fingers, dusted snow-white with flour. It's just what I want.)

You wrongly assume, for a little bit, that he's somehow lost interest in everything but your cooking. It only feels like the logical conclusion, especially when Dan Heng gets into the habit of ignoring you for most of the day despite your use of every trick in your arsenal—from kissing him to teasing him to begging him for sex. He simply tells you that he'll entertain you later, and is otherwise too deeply absorbed in his work to pay attention to you.

"Is something wrong, Dan Heng?" you eventually ask, voice small. "Is it that you don't feel the same way about me anymore? Do you want to break up?"

Dan Heng goes stock still when he hears this. Without saying a word, he puts down his tablet, locks the door, and kisses you long and hard. And then—for the first time in your relationship—he proceeds to actually fuck you in the archives. He rails you next to the terminal for the better part of an hour, forces an earth-shattering orgasm out of you that ruins the carbon-fibre surface you're laid out on, and then he fills you up to the point that his spend starts trickling down your thigh.

Hazy and fucked out, you wonder idly if it's dripping down onto the phosphorescent tiles below. Dan Heng will probably make a fuss about it, especially since this is technically a public space, and the terminal is its most high-traffic area. He'd have a stroke if anyone ever saw this mess.

When he stands up, you assume that he's getting right to cleaning, like usual. The guy can hardly ever relax.

You don't expect it when he gets onto his knees and puts his head between your thighs.

"Gege?" you say, solidly confused, but before you can ask him what he's doing, you feel the press of his tongue against your dripping entrance and then all you can do is moan.

By the time Dan Heng is done with you, the two of you are messy and breathless, collapsed and tangled up in each other on his makeshift bed.

You stare at the ceiling, mind whirring even in your exhaustion. It had been hard to process the situation while your boyfriend was railing every thought imaginable out of you—but now that he’s finally done, the shock is settling in.

Holy shit, you think, Dan Heng never gets this nasty. Something really is wrong!

You think of broaching the matter, but Dan Heng beats you to it. He turns to you, says, "I don't want to break up," and then gets back on top of you for another round.

You decide to put your foot down.

The next night, you invite Dan Heng into your bedroom. You're all business this time. There's no whining, no teasing, no Heng'er, you don't want to touch me? There are no desperate and indirect plays to get his attention while you simmer in anxiety about what he's hiding from you. (This change is not because of your own strength of mind—of which you have none, when it comes to your boyfriend—but because you're now sure you won't break up, whatever happens.) Instead, you seat him at your table and regard him with a firm expression.

You're careful to keep your voice gentle, but you still don't hesitate: "I know something's been bothering you, Dan Heng. Can we please talk about it?"

Dan Heng is prepared for the question. "I'm sorry I've been neglecting you," he says instantly. "It won't happen anymore. I'm very serious about our relationship, and I have no wish for it to end."

You know he's being earnest. After spending the rest of his night fucking you—slow and sweet in your bed, rather than the desperate way he'd done it in the archives—he'd woken up this morning and gone back to normal. Paid attention to you, paid attention to others, humoured your public displays of affection and initiated his own in private. Acted like the past two weeks never happened, and that nothing’s been weighing on his mind.

Were he anyone else, you'd assume that you're simply being strung along for sex, or perhaps being distracted by it. But Dan Heng isn't anyone else: he has absolutely no interest in physical intimacy without the emotional kind. He'd slept with you as an affirmation of his feelings for you. (He probably also did it because you kept begging to be fucked, but that's neither here nor there.)

Still, as much as you liked having your back blown out in the archives, semi-public sex isn't exactly a healthy way to deal with relationship problems.

"I know you'll be more mindful of my feelings now," you reply, "but I'd still like you to tell me what's been bothering you. I won't force it out of you, but if you did tell me, we could maybe fix it?"

"It is unfixable," he replies, "and not a problem to begin with. Simply the nature of things that I must accept."

His tone is neutral. Factual. Certain of the insignificance of whatever the issue is, even though you know that he's not the type to be bothered by insignificant things.

You frown, confused. "If it's the nature of things, then it won't hurt for me to know."

Dan Heng isn't looking at you anymore, instead fixated on the view beyond your window. Peering at the many moons of this galaxy, he finally relents: "'The night-blooming cereus flowers only once.' This is how Vidyadharas describe human life."

You consider his words, contemplating the bittersweet air of the idiom.

"Because human life feels ephemeral to you?" you discern.

"Yes. The lifespan of a human is but a fraction of ours. It's never bothered me before, but"—he's finally looking at you now, and his expression guts you—"four months without you feels unbearable. I can't imagine four centuries."

You go quiet.

Dan Heng is right: this is the nature of things. Skilled as you might be, you aren't likely to be one of those rare few humans who can ascend to immortality without Yaoshi's fruit. He’ll likely need to spend the better part of his life without you, and then every lifetime thereafter. Such is the reality for a Vidyadhara choosing to love a short-life species.

“...I’m sorry, Dan Heng,” is all you can bring yourself to say, but he shakes his head.

“There is no need for you to apologize," he says plainly. "I should have prepared myself for this eventuality when I chose to commit myself to you. It cannot be helped."

Dan Heng loves this phrase, you think to yourself. It cannot be helped that I had to live alone for so many years. It cannot be helped that I was exiled from my home. It cannot be helped that I was punished for the sins of Yinyue Jun.

It cannot be helped that you will someday leave me.

A splinter digs into your heart. You reach out, squeeze his hand, and wish that you could do more.

"It cannot be helped," you agree, "but that doesn't make it any less painful."

Dan Heng does not speak, but the way that he closes his eyes is enough of a reply. No matter how unfeeling he makes his voice, his pain is evident.

You wait for him to collect himself. Listen to his breaths—deeper than usual, meditative, reflective. There is hesitation in his eyes when he finally looks at you. A weakness that he only ever shows at night, after waking from a terrible dream.

"...I know it's a cruel thing to ask of you," Dan Heng eventually says, and the bitter edge to his words surprises you, "and perhaps a sign that this soul of mine will never change in its sins, no matter how many times it is reborn—but is there no way for us to spend a life together?"

You forget how to breathe.

What he's asking you is not just heretical for him—it's traumatic. An echo of the crime he'd committed in his past life, the tragedy that marked him for suffering in this one. He must be desperate for an answer if he's voicing the question at all.

You struggle as you think through your options.

"Seeking out the Peaches of Immortality is out of the question," you start. "And Sanctus Medicus is just a bunch of nutjobs—no way could they make me immortal. Demonic cultivation is another Path, but I don't think you'd like the thing I'd become by the end of it."

A brilliant river of stars streams past the window, like the one in that ancient folktale about the bridge of magpies. You can see the reflection of your lover's face in the window: muted, sorrowful, already mourning you. And of course he's mourning you long before your death, with how much he'd lost long before his birth.

Oh, Heng'er, you think, even if I drank from Meng Po's bowl and lost every memory of you, I'd still find my way back to you in my next life.

It would be too cruel to say aloud, so you remain quiet—merely staring at the galaxy before you, hoping quietly to see some kind of bridge.

Then a nearby sun flickers, and you remember something.

"...I guess there is another option," you say slowly, "but I can't imagine you being happy with it."

He straightens up. "What is it?"

"Well…" You take a deep breath. "Sometimes people practice dual cultivation as a way to extend their life. It's quite safe, but would be difficult given our relationship."

Dan Heng stares. "What exactly does it entail?"

"Well… it's basically cultivating by having sex. If I slept regularly with an immortal being with highly refined qi, I could probably exchange energy with them and achieve longevity that way." You make a face at the thought. "But it's not exactly easy to find an immortal who'd want a lifelong friend with benefits… and I'd really rather not have sex with anyone other than you, anyway."

It would probably make him miserable.

You're surprised when Dan Heng looks thoughtful, rather than disturbed. He studies you for a long moment, considering.

"Vidyadharas are immortal," he says, "and the qi of a High Elder is much more powerful than that of any other species. Is it not helping that we're already coupling so often?"

"Not really." You reach out across the table, hold out your palm, and he knows to give you his hand. You turn it over, tracing a finger along the length of his wrist. "Dual cultivation with you wouldn't be very useful. You might have extraordinary qi as a Vidyadhara, but it's sealed when you're in your human form."

You feel for the warm glow of his meridians, even though you already know what you'll find—an ordinary, unremarkable life force coursing through his body.

Dan Heng doesn't seem discouraged, though, when you look back up at him. Only curious.

"Then," he says, "what about my dragon form?"

It doesn't end up being very straightforward.

For a full ninety minutes, Dan Heng sits in your room and listens to you discuss the mechanics of dual cultivation, also known traditionally as the 'art of the bedchamber'. As its name would suggest, there are quite a few nuances and technical considerations involved: different positions enhance your qi in different ways; certain acts are more useful than others; mutual pleasure must be attained for the greatest possible benefit.

It isn't just a lecture that you give him. You take out one of your cultivation manuals and show him various diagrams and poses. You whip out your tablet and visit "questionable websites" for "video demonstrations". You quiz him intensively at the end of each unit.

At around the seventy-minute mark, you catalogue Dan Heng's expression—thousand yard stare, stiff posture, red ears—and decide that you're overwhelming him. So you tell him the most important takeaway, which is that one thing he must absolutely do is—

"—finish inside you?"

"Mhm." You sound completely unbothered. "As much as possible. And as many times as possible."

He gives you a long, blank stare, and then crosses his arms. "...all of this is just a ploy to get me to do one of your favourite things in bed, isn't it."

"What? No! I wouldn't lie to you about something like this, Gege!" You're being truthful. Though your sex drive can sometimes drive you to try insane things, it never drives you to be cruel. "I'm being dead serious right now. This really will extend my life. Those cultivation manuals were proof!"

Dan Heng considers you. "You're right. You wouldn't lie about something like this."

"Thank you."

"You're already so shameless about begging for it—I don't think you'd see the need to come up with an excuse."

Wow.

"...okay, yes, but you're also pretty shameless about giving in."

Dan Heng clears his throat, and you try not to laugh. "Well, I've never had a reason not to, since we don't need to worry about pregnancy…" He tries very, very hard to assume some semblance of dignity as he deflects: "Anyway. I think I understand the gist of it. You more or less want me to do the usual things."

"Yes—but while you're in your original form, of course."

"Right." His eyes narrow, and his expression becomes uncertain: something you've only seen a handful of times. "...I do need you to know that taking that shape… complicates things. There is a reason why my powers are usually sealed."

You nod. You've known for a while now that Dan Heng hates invoking his Vidyadhara powers—he considers it as taboo as much as a Xianzhou native would. Truthfully, it did occur to you some time ago that exchanging qi with a dragon would make your cultivation progress leaps and bounds, but after learning about how much he despises that form of his, you'd scrapped the whole idea and put it out of mind.

You're surprised that he's even consenting to this, all things considered.

Noticing the tension in his body, you leave your teaching set-up (tablet, an annotated cultivation manual, and smartboard with various stick figures you've drawn) to rest a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't know if we have to worry about that. The Alliance only sealed Vidyadhara powers due to historical reasons relating to the Sedition, right?" you try to console him. "Rather than anything to do with your nature in this lifetime, I mean. You aren't inherently dangerous."

You can see the conflict in his eyes; your words run exactly counter to everything he must have heard while imprisoned on the Luofu.

"I don't know," Dan Heng finally says, "but for better or worse, things are still different when I take my true shape. I'm no longer used to it." He frowns a little. "The amount of power feels overwhelming to me now. It's fine in normal circumstances, but—" He struggles for a moment. "...I don't know how I'll behave in… these circumstances with you."

"Ah, I see. You're worried that you won't be able to control yourself while fucking you're me, huh?"

He gives you a disgruntled look. "Do you have to use such crass language?"

"Sorry, Gege. I'll try to speak eloquently like you: Yinyue Jun may fall to his base instincts once he's crossed the threshold of the chrysanthemum gate, right?"

His expression turns from disgruntled to disdainful. Evidently, he's not a fan of your erotica novel slang.

"Please be serious for once. We need to be careful if we do this. I might behave impulsively—do something rash. Accidentally hurt you."

You hum, considering his words. "That's surprising. I thought dragons were generally supposed to be pretty calm and wise…" Then you think about how you couldn't walk this morning. "Though I guess you weren't particularly calm yesterday."

He snorts. "Well, I usually am. Unfortunately, I find it exceptionally hard to control myself around you, with how much you like to provoke me," he says plainly. "It'll just get worse if I switch forms."

You try not to stare at him, shocked at how unbothered he is by these admissions. You suppose that multiple rounds of semi-public sex might have forced him to cross an event horizon of shame, and now his face is finally getting thicker.

"It isn't just my behaviour I'm worried about," he continues. His arms cross again, and his brow furrows. "You might find my form… unattractive. You probably won't like it."

You frown. "I can't imagine that. I bet the real Cold Dragon Young is super handsome."

It's a testament to his anxiety that he hardly reacts to your stupid comment. He just studies you carefully, uncertain. Apprehensive.

"I guess we'll find out."

END PART 1

notes: for those unfamiliar, this fic is set in the same universe as fengyue. fengyue was actually based on this fic, but due to my inability to manage deadlines, it came out way ahead of this LOL

i'm sorry there was no dragonfucking in this part when i have been promising dragonfucking for ages on this blog. but i am 12.5k words into part 2 and i can assure you that there is an excessive amount of incredibly nasty dragonfucking in it, so please look forward to that

this was written way before 1.2 came out (and in fact, before I had even caught up to 1.1 content). hopefully the characterization still holds up ok!

big, big thank you to @petrichorium for helping me navigate canon lore and riffing w me on this piece. please go check out their works, they have banger star rail content!

cultural notes:

cultivation is the practice of using martial and spiritual arts to cultivate one’s qi, gain spiritual powers, and attain immortality

dual cultivation is the act of refining your qi through having sex

I will be honest. I cannot remember the other cultural refs I dropped because I just kind of blindly write them in so please let me know if you have any questions about things LOL

translation notes:

gege is a term meaning "older brother", though it is often used for non-familial relationships that are very close; it can come off as either flirty or childish. heng'er is a diminutive of dan heng's name.

“If paradise is but a dream, then I wish to sleep forever” - this was a reference to the chinese version of dan heng’s ult line. in english, he says “this sanctuary is but a vision”. however, in chinese, he says “洞天幻化，长梦一觉” which is closer to something like “paradise is an illusion, reveals itself to be a long dream”

"The night-blooming cereus flowers only once" - this is how I rendered the idiom "曇花一現", which describes thing that are short-lived

"Human life should be as morning dew" - this is how I rendered the idiom "人生如朝露", which describes the ephemeral nature of human life

yes I really made dan-gege break out the chengyu and poetic speech... I'm not sure how he sounds in english but my man has his super literary moments in chinese haha

first date nerves. [various]

requested: ✔ (by @heartkaji) [if it makes you uncomfy to be tagged here, please let me know babes!!]

featuring: suo hayato, sakura haruka, jo togame, ren kaji

a/n: first dates!! i have actually had this thought before, and even mentally drafted how i believed first dates with each of the boys would go! thank you so so much for requesting this, it makes my little heart so happy UwU

wc: 1.7k

c/w: fem!reader, fluff, first dates, headcanon blurbs, language, cafe dates, smooth!suo, richkid!suo if you squint, picnic dates, matsuri dates, blushy!sakura!!!, surprise dates, just general sweet things 💕

on your first date with suo, you felt almost out of place.

the resto-cafe he brought you to for lunch certainly wasn’t the fanciest place in town; but it was just on the right side of sophisticated that you felt incredibly underdressed in your plain blouse and jeans. suo had insisted you looked amazing, but you couldn’t help but eye up the other patrons who wore things that looked as if they came straight from some high-class celebrity’s closet.

and the prices printed across the menu had your eyes bulging; even if you saved up your money for a month you wouldn’t have been able to afford even the cheapest thing on the menu.

but suo had only tilted his head and with a soft smile and with an even softer voice coaxed, “go ahead and get whatever you want, dove.”

of course, your immediate reaction to these words was to pinpoint the cheapest thing — and suo was far too quick to catch on to it. he pursed his lips but said nothing further as the waiter jotted down your order; in fact, suo hadn’t even reacted on it at all until the food was finally delivered to the table.

as the waiter stooped to place your plate in front of you (it looked quite pitiful; fancy, but very poorly portioned) suo cleared his throat, catching both the attention of the waiter and yourself.

“excuse me, sir. that’s mine.”

your mouth popped open and the waiter looked rather baffled, but mumbled out an apology and quickly set the plate in front of suo — subsequently putting suo’s order in front of you in turn. it was much larger portioned and far fancier; and the steam wafting up from it was so aromatic that drool accumulated in your mouth.

too concerned about causing a scene with the waiter still present, you merely narrowed your eyes at suo, who only smiled back at you. and when the waiter had taken his leave, you weren’t able to question suo before his lips were opening.

“i’m not going to eat much. i’m on a diet, you know. so go ahead and enjoy that. i bet it’s good.” suo said smoothly, plucking his cup of steaming tea from the table and blowing softly before taking a sip.

you were rendered absolutely speechless and baffled; but suo’s demeanor told you he wasn’t going to budge. and so, a bit reluctantly, you set about taking small bites out of suo’s plate.

but it wasn’t long before you were practically inhaling it, nearly moaning at the savory taste of it — as wrapped up in the experience as you were, you couldn’t even notice the way suo watched you over the rim of his cup, his heart palpitating in his chest and love nearly spilling from his very being.

watching you indulge yourself in something that was clearly a rarity was something akin to a blessing to suo — one that he would continue to worship for as long as you’d allow him to.

sakura was more nervous than you’d ever seen him before.

you were used to seeing a myriad of his expressions; embarrassed, angry, pouty, shocked, coy, confident (sometimes even to the point of cockiness), condescending, disgusted — but the one he’d had on his face as he locked his fingers into yours to walk you to the entrance of potho’s was unlike any you’d ever seen.

you couldn’t quite recall a time that you’d ever seen him genuinely nervous.

sakura nearly fumbled when he reached forward to open the door for you, the little tinkle of the bell announcing your presence to the familiar woman inside — she looked shocked to see sakura stumble in after you and slip his hand into yours, but it quickly melted into an expression of softness; something warm like happiness.

sakura’s face mirrored that of a tomato the entire time; as the two of you walked to a booth, as kotoha took your orders, as kotoha dropped them off — even as sakura nearly inhaled his omarice, missing the veggies portioned to the side. you couldn’t help but find it endearing — especially with the way the toe of his shoe would graze against your shin or ankle beneath the table, the action clearly intentional from the way his eyes flicked up to yours every time he did so.

you would return the small touches as you are; a reassurance that everything was okay, and that he was doing fine. it had taken some time, but sakura eventually found it in him to meet your eyes — and from there the two of you did what you always did. you talked, and you smiled, and you laughed.

and, of course, you slipped the occasional tease in there.

sakura may have acted as though he was indignant about it, but there was no missing the soft relief and adoration swirling in his eyes as you not-so-outright soothed and assured him. even if most wouldn’t consider it a “good” first date, it felt perfect to you — because your boyfriend was trying, and he was growing.

and the universe knew that the two of you had all the time in the world to eventually recreate the perfect date — for however long it may take for sakura to feel as if he’d achieved giving you one.

working part-time at stalls during festival season made togame a bit impartial to matsuri dates.

togame often saw couples during his time within the stalls; would watch as they held hands and gazed at each other softly, swapping words quietly so as to have a conversation that was meant only for them; something personal and private amidst a bustling crowd — would watch as boyfriends tried their hardest at various game stalls to win a prize for their date; and he would feel slightly envious of them as their girlfriends clutched the prize and stared at them as if they’d quite literally hung the moon.

and togame had long since decided that he wanted that too.

so when summer rolled around, he was insistent that the two of you attend the festival. it was a week long festival, and somehow, after your first initial night there, he’d convinced you to attend with him for the entire duration of it.

maybe it was the way the he absolutely gushed over your kimono, at every chance he got, turning you multiple shades of red over the course of the night. maybe it was the way he dragged you to every game stall — and the way he won every single one, grabbing the biggest prize and handing it to you with a soft smile and even softer eyes.

maybe it was because you genuinely had fun during it — maybe it was because there was something so infectious about the way togame flitted from stall to stall to sample every single snack offered; and the way he insisted on hand feeding you all the ones that didn’t require chopsticks (he wanted to feed you with those, too.)

maybe it was the way the lights danced across his face and gleamed within his eyes, morphing him into something less human and something more ethereal. maybe it was the sweetness of his lips when he connected them to yours in shadowed, secluded areas.

maybe it was all of these things combined that made you want to experience a festival date with him as often as you could — for the rest of your life, if at all possible.

if only you knew just how much togame wanted that too.

your first official date with kaji had been on a rather humid day in july, something small and intimate tucked away in a secluded area of the city.

and his secluded area of choice just happened to be within a small clearing hidden away inside a copse of small, leafy trees directly behind a vintage record store.

you had remembered kaji talking about it on a few occasions, but that was the first time he had taken you to see it — it wasn’t anything special and didn’t particularly stand out amongst the other stores around it, but kaji’s eyes still gleamed when he lead you around the corner by the hand, as if it was as dazzling as a light show in the sky.

you wondered if that store had been home to any special memories.

your skin was slightly itchy when you finally broke through the foliage of the trees, but it was hard to focus on the unpleasant sensation when you took in the sight in front of you — a checkered blanket was spread across the small clearing, littered with styrofoam plates piled with fruits, breads, and sweets. beverages ranging from sodas to teas and water were arranged in the center of the blanket.

a picnic. this was a picnic.

“kaji, did you—?”

you weren’t able to finish your sentence at that time, because kaji pulled you urgently to the blanket and mumbled for you to “sit.”

you had taken a seat quickly and observed the myriad of food across the blanket as kaji mirrored your position straight across from you. his shoulders were hunched up to his ears and his face was dusted in a blush, and his teeth worried around the stick in his mouth far more nervously than they normally would.

it wasn’t uncommon for kaji to surprise you with little things, but something this big and intimate… it was certainly out of his comfort zone — and you realized quickly that he was nervous and anxious of your reaction. he was scared you wouldn’t like it.

so you did the one thing you knew would reassure him — you talked.

not about the picnic that he’d set up for you, but about the record store he’d chosen to set it up behind. you asked him what they sold, when and how he’d first stumbled upon it, and why it had taken him so long to bring you there.

and as he answered these questions of yours, that look of anxiety melted from his face — and you were so focused on those pretty lips speaking around the sucker in his mouth that you didn’t notice the way his eyes gleamed in adoration for you.

and you certainly had no idea that he had just formed one of the happiest memories of his life there on that blanket with you.

y’all pls watch this, this is literally how i envision suo 😭

also, i am so very sorry for my inactivity. i’ve been dealing with some stressors in life (blegh) but slowly but surely i am regaining my motivation!! i hope to get back into my old flow soon!!

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐢 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐩𝐭

warnings/info: scaramouche x gn!reader, scaramouche lore spoilers, not proofread very well, ~1k words, fluff, overuse of italics, no other warnings

notes from tori: continuation (prt3) to the husk of opulance miniseries. i am planning on writing a part 4. please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in that!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 (you are here)

Nights on Yashiori Island were painfully dark. Dark enough to be vulnerable, and yet, Scaramouche had kept your quaint pair so safely hidden while he formulated whatever plan he was concocting. Currently, you were sitting across from the man, orange firelight between you casting deep shadows across his dramatic features, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared intently at you. The pads of his fingers were pressed together in front of his mouth, but despite his contemplative, overall calm posture, you couldn’t resist squirming under his burning gaze. The violet in his irises glowed, reflecting the embers below, and he stared. He stared at your face, studying each curve without expression. 

“Kunikuzushi.” You murmured, feeling the need to coax him from his thoughts. Aching to sever the tension before it stirred up the raging thoughts you’d had since that night.

That night. 

His hands had been calloused yet delicate against your skin when he slid on your shoes. Like he cared. Perhaps that wasn’t far-fetched at face value, but anyone who knew Scaramouche knew. They knew how monumental such a gesture would be. 

Scaramouche didn’t respond to your meek call of his name, and you shivered internally, warmed by the fire and yet so cold within. 

“Is everything-”

“At dawn, I will be leaving for a time.” He interrupted matter-of-factly, his words leaving no room for argument. “I will be coming back. You better stay put while I’m gone.”

“What?” You guffawed, your voice barely cutting across the smokescreen. “Where are you going? Why can’t I come?” His eyes narrowed at your interrogation, but he remained otherwise calm.

Keep reading

La Vie en Rose

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason wildly preferring you over everyone else

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: standard batfam arguing etc.

You sit curled up embarrassingly close to Jason on the couch, head on his shoulder. The team is still in their gear as they filter into the living room, masks and helmets discarded in scattered locations between here and the cave. The mission had been fairly simple and with all of them together it only took a couple hours to finish up.

As you waited, Alfred had kept your mind busy in the kitchen while he taught you how he makes his famous ice cream from scratch.

The clamor of the heroic party’s return had made itself known sooner than later, and you think your face must have displayed your emotions nicely because Alfred nodded you away with a small smile and no second thought.

You’d walked into the living room, weaving through the mess of siblings until a hand snuck out on your left and grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to look at him before Jason pulled you down to sit next him on the sofa. He wrapped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you in and leaving virtually no space between you. His armor sits heavy against you, but a welcome weight on your shoulders.

Tim plops down on the couch across from you and you can just make out a bit of blood on the side of his head, aptly accompanied by an irritated look sprawled across his face. It’s not enough blood to be concerned about—not for them—but you can venture a guess that whatever they were up to shouldn’t have called for any injuries and his pique is likely directly related to that.

Though Dick’s goading aura might have something to do with it too, as he comes crashing down next to him a second later, partially sitting on Tim’s cape and pulling him into an awkward angle. 

Nightwing doesn’t seem too perturbed by the younger vigilante’s agitation and curt manner of pushing him off.

The others are too caught up in chatter to pay much attention to you, and you can be certain that’s why Jason takes that moment to press a kiss to the side of your head. He lets his lips linger there for just a second as you lean into him.

Alfred’s own entrance is the only thing able to subside the flurry of conversations skirting around the room.

“A job well done,” he commends with a nod. “A selection of ice creams awaits you in the kitchen.”

He gives you a sly wink before retreating back through the swinging door, leaving Stephanie and Cass to practically trip over themselves trying to beat each other to the kitchen. Robin follows after unhurried, mask still on, with his hands behind his back.

Jason kneads your thigh before pushing himself up to stand. He turns back, looking down to you. “What do you want?” he asks softly.

You hum, "Just strawberry's good."

Tim sits up, "Can I—”

"No, you've got legs,” Jason grumbles, stalking off to the kitchen.

Dick barks out a laugh and you bite back a smile.

Tim looks absolutely aghast. 

“That’s such bullshit. You know, he used to be nice.”

“No he didn’t,” Dick laughs, shaking his head. “Not since you’ve known him.”

Stephanie stumbles out of the kitchen then, the door hitting her back on the way, as she mutters a curse behind her. You can vaguely makeout Jason grunting something back before she rolls her eyes.

Steph looks at you, shaking her head as she returns to her seat, “You live like this?”

You shrug, “He’s nice to me.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Tim grumbles.

Jason returns after Cass a minute later with a bowl of strawberry ice cream and two spoons. He expertly ignores Tim’s unwavering glare as he resituates himself beside you.

He scoops your legs up over his lap and positions the bowl in between you, wrapping the sleeve of his jacket around it so that the cold porcelain doesn’t make contact with your skin.

The others have set themselves up so that the four of them are stuffed up against each other on the sofa adjacent to you, very obviously examining you both. 

And while you’re willing to acknowledge the amused stares and singular glare, Jason only sighs heavily, rolling his eyes as he glares at the coffee table.

Only a few seconds of this are allowed to go by before he pulls over a throw pillow and sets it over your knees, so that it rests atop your heads like a mini-fort, successfully blocking out his siblings' view of the two of you.

You smile and press a light kiss to his shoulder as he simmers.

Regrettably, you miss the way Damian side-eyes the pillow above you as he re-enters the room, perching himself atop the back of the couch behind the others.

“This is so nice,” Dick preens. “He used to just leave the room when too many of us gathered in one place. Now he has to stay.”

Stephanie watches the makeshift fort with wary eyes, scooping ice cream into her mouth. “Yeah…I don’t wanna freak you guys out but, uh…”

It’s quiet for a moment and you guess Cass is speaking. 

You’re proven right when Stephanie starts up again, “My thoughts exactly.” Her voice drops into a raspy whisper that isn’t really meant to go unheard, “I don’t know who the hell that is, but it is not Jason.” 

“This is unprecedented,” Damian mumbles, dipping into his own chocolate cup.

“Do they always talk about you like you’re not here?” you ask Jason quietly. 

“Yes,” he grumbles with a scornful look directed at the bowl.

A low hiss can be heard immediately after, “I’ve never heard him whisper before, what the fuck?”

You can’t hide your laugh as well as you mean to, but you know Jason’s light swat to your thigh is nothing more than a rib.

Mumbles continue along the other couch, mostly going unacknowledged, until Tim busts out, “He doesn’t even like strawberry!”

Jason snaps the pillow out of the way, “The fuck do you know about what I like?”

Tim resets his posture with one hell of an attitude, snarking, “Well I can name one thing you really seem to fucking—”

Jason grabs the pillow harshly and chucks it at Tims head which connects with a loud thwack.

Damian swats it away before it can knock him off balance, though his scowl is only half worth what Tim’s is. 

“You’re unbelievable,” he says with a sneer. “This is why you don’t get invited to movie night anymore.”

Jason doubles back at him, “Sorry, is this not your own fucking house?”

Tim huffs, “Yes, which i—”

“Then get your own goddamn ice cream!”

Tim huffs as he stands, sending Jason a pointed look. “I’m going because I want to.”

Jason barely gives him a sardonic nod as he stomps off.

“Get me some too!” Dick calls back, only for the back of his head to be met with a sideways grimace from Tim.

As he leaves, the focus of the room seems to shift towards Damian dripping chocolate onto his cape and it fades away from there.

You turn to Jason, lowering your voice to just below a whisper, “If you don’t like strawberry—”

“I like it,” he tells you, leaving no room to argue as he takes a bite.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Declined.

Voicemail.

Declined.

Declined. 

“I swear to God, he better be dead,” Stephanie mutters to herself.

She shuts her phone off and tosses it into the passenger seat with a huff. Her fingers drum against the steering wheel as she scans the sidewalk across from her car.

The night before the majority of the team had been involved in a less-than-successful plan, which some have called “a display of complete idiocy and inability to circumspect.”

Then Tim had to go and make a joke about that word choice in what was apparently a bad moment. This gave way to a harsher punishment of the team being forced to clean the batcave foot by square foot—notably, an impossible task.

So naturally, they had to retaliate.

The plan was to dismantle the batmobile piece by piece and leave it a collection of parts for Bruce to find. Problem being, the group as it stood didn’t possess the capability to do so without doing a great deal of damage to the parts. Damage, that the family was not willing to face extra retribution for.

Fortunately, they knew just the man for the job. 

Unfortunately, said man has devoted his life to ignoring their messages, favoring to live peacefully and distantly from them. And because that peace and distance does come with an add-on of borderline complete secrecy from his family, no one had any idea where to look for him.

So, Stephanie decided to do the next most rational thing and track down your location. She’d hoped he would be with you like he always is, but for seemingly the first time in the last year—he’s nowhere to be found.

Now, was revenge for a minor-slight by Bruce so important that it required Stephanie to take all of these steps to get a hold of Jason? No, absolutely not. She’s pretty sure that the others have already given up on it by now and started cleaning. But it’s about the principal. And also, she does not want to clean the floors of a cave.

She jumps up in her seat when she spots you exiting a store, scurrying to unbuckle and pry the car door open.

She’s across the street in half a second, running directly into your line of sight. It actually would’ve been very difficult for her to miss your line of sight, considering she’d landed only a good six inches in front of your face. “Hey!”   

“Oh, fuck—” you jump, grabbing your chest. You take a breath when you realize who it is, less surprised now by the theatrics of the introduction. “Hey Steph.”

“Hey,” she smiles casually, like she didn’t do what she just did. “So Jason’s been ignoring us and I need to get a hold of him,” she tells you.

You nod, still collecting yourself. “Oh. I don’t know where he is—”

She shakes her head, “That’s fine. Can I use your phone to call him?”

You frown, “Is something wrong?”

“With him, yeah,” she snarks. “I called him, Tim called him, Dick called him, Cass called him, Damian called him, we used Bruce’s phone to call him—that was a bit of a long shot, but still. This is our last option. Well, not our last option, if this doesn’t work I could get really invasive, but—” She shakes the thought from her head, “Nevermind.”

You nod blankly, taking in the mountain of information she’d just handed you. “How’d you know I was here?”

She scans your eyes back and forth for a second before her own widen in realization and she’s shaking her head. “No, no, don’t worry we’re not tracking you! I just hacked into the traffic cameras to find you.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, nodding some more. “Okay.”

You hand her your phone without any further questions—for your own sake—and she happily accepts. 

“You know I texted him 115 times?” she tells you as she scrolls through your contacts.

You furrow your eyebrows, watching her click his name and press the phone to her ear. “Did you count?”

“Well, I had the time, di—you son of a bitch! One ring?” Stephanie scorns into the phone.

You can hear Jason groan on the other end of the line. 

He says something to Stephanie that she follows up with a firm shake of her head.

“No,” she says defiantly. “She let me use it.”

Stephanie rolls her eyes, not pleased with his response. “What if it was an emergency?”

She listens for a second, skeptical look on her face.

She gasps suddenly, “I am not overstepping, we thought you were dead!”

Over the course of about ten seconds the shock on her face drops into just-been-caught guilt. “Well, I mean we considered it.”

You imagine Jason’s telling her to give you your phone back as she stands her ground, pushing, “If you promise to text me back.”

A short response on his end.

“Promise to text me back!”

There’s a brief lull before she’s giving a self-satisfied nod and jostling your phone back into your hands. “Here ya go. Thanks, babe!” She smiles wide at you before jogging back across the street, not waiting for the cars.

You smile as you watch her go, putting the phone up to your ear, “Hey Jay.”

You can hear the relief on the other end of the line. “Hey sweetheart. You know if you see Steph in public, you can just walk away?”

“I’m not going to walk away from your family.” You look again across the street, “Also I don’t think that was an option for me this time.”

“That thing is fucking scary.”

Cass smiles fondly, signing, “I think he’s cute.”

Tim eyes the way Salem traipses around his feet, yellow eyes staring up at him. “Why’s it even here?”

Jason rolls his eyes, continuing to scroll on his phone. “He’s hers. Deal with it.”

Tim scrunches up his mouth. “She knows I hate it. And she, unlike you, wouldn’t subject me to this just for the hell of it. So again I ask: why is it here?”

Jason huffs, looking up from his phone. “What do you want me to say? He wants to be.”

Tim scoffs at that, “‘It wants to be’? You’re the one who put it in the car.”

“No, I didn’t,” Jason says factually.

Tim looks at him sideways as Salem leaps onto Jason’s lap and nudges his hand up. Jason follows along as requested, petting the top of Salem’s head with an open palm. 

Tim squirms to the other side of the couch with a look of disgust on his face. Salem watches him the whole time.  

A smile adorns Cass’ face as she signs, “She says he can read people’s energy.”

Tim huffs, resting his head against his fist. “What does that even mean?”

The conversation is cut off by the clatter of you and Dick stumbling into the room, carrying a freshly painted headboard. Blue paint coats both of your hands and has no doubt stained your clothes.

You’re clearly struggling a bit to keep your grip on your end, the weight of the wooden frame dragging your arms down.

Jason stands and Salem flows along with his movements easily, leaping down onto the hardwood. He comes over and helps you lift your end of the frame with a stupid amount of ease, to the point that you’re not even holding any of the weight up anymore. The three of you—less so you—move the headboard and lean it up against the wall. After it's set down Jason steps back and looks over it gingerly.

“It looks good,” he murmurs to you, quiet enough to not give his brother the satisfaction of his approval.

Dick had asked you over to help him paint Damian’s bed frame as a surprise for him for not getting in any “altercations” at school this semester. You’d decided on coating it with his favorite color first and then fill it in with a collection of what Dick has “on good authority” are his favorite animals. It’s a fairly random assortment that you’re not sure adds to or disproves Dick’s credibility. You’d spent the better half of the afternoon googling animals you’d never heard of just to make sure you projected their likenesses accurately. Dick had been very clear that you had to be precise on the details because Damian would know if he was really looking at a komodo dragon painting or if it was “some common lizard.”

You sigh, “I hope he likes it. I’m worried we did it too childish for him.”

“He is a child,” Jason says plainly.

“But he is not childish,” you counter. And he sure isn’t. You’d had a hard enough time convincing Damian to watch cartoons, adding a colorful animal mural to his bedroom might be one step too far. You’re still trying to figure him out.

“He’ll like it,” he says firmly.

You smile, slipping around under his arm and tucking yourself into his side.

Not a moment later, Dick slings an arm around Jason's shoulder, grinning as he pulls his brother in close.

Jason’s immediately louring. "No, get away from me."

Dick, unfazed and still smiling, removes his arm and takes a big step to the right. You do the same, figuring he needs his space, but you get caught by the wrist before you can do more than sway to the side. 

“Not you.” 

He pulls you back under his arm, wrapping it around the front of your shoulders. You hook your fingers around his forearm, letting your hand hang.

You hear a double-clap from the other side of the room that has you both turning around to face Cass. 

She signs something to Jason with a fond smile on her face. 

You look back and forth between them as Jason waves her off. “What?”

He shakes his head, “It’s nothing. She said—she said we’re cute.”

You smile up at him and he deflects—not so subtly—and starts nudging you back towards where the group is gathered, now all standing. 

Dick’s quick to start bragging off to the room about how great of a job the two of you did and how really complex and daunting it actually is painting animals for a child.

As he talks, your eyes find Jason, who’s definitely about to roll his eyes any second now. A bit subconsciously, your hand comes up to brush Jason’s white streak of hair back, away from tickling his forehead. 

On the other side of Jason, Tim does the same, sweeping Jason’s hair back in a much more mocking manner. 

This gives way to Jason smacking his hand away, harder than he needed to.

"Wha—You let her do it!" Tim protests, overplaying how much the slap hurt.

Jason scowls, "She can do whatever she wants."

Tim drops his shoulders, looking at Jason as if he’d been scandalized. “Oh but I can’t?”

“Not if it involves touching me,” Jason grumbles.

Tim steps closer, putting a finger to Jason’s chest. “You’re such a—”

From the floor, Salem hisses up at Tim, successfully startling the teenager. “Auahh—”

He stumbles backwards, grimacing at the cat. 

“Fucking demon,” he hisses, walking away.

When Tim’s far enough away and Salem’s seemingly satisfied, he brushes up against your leg, purring. 

You peer down at him with a furrowed brow. 

“What’s Salem doing here?”

“I’m not doing this shit with you.”

“No, come on, 9 out of 10 times is what you said. How ‘bout just once? Beat me one time at anything, Jaybird.”

“Anything?” Jason asks like he knows damn well Dick can’t swear on that word.

Rightly so, Dick backtracks. “Something agreed upon.”

Jason throws his hands up, partially in exasperation, partially relenting.

Dick smoothly turns his back to him, announcing, “Opening up the room for ideas.”

Damian’s eye roll is almost audible from the corner armchair, where his attention is unmoved from intently sharpening a blade he’d recently come into possession of.

Bruce similarly remains unbothered in his seat, trying to read despite the distractions. 

“Ooh, okay. Okay.” Stephanie wiggles up a little on the couch. “You could race!”

Dick shakes his head negatively, “I literally just busted my knee up two days ago, Steph.”

“Convenient,” Jason mumbles.

“You were there!” Dick exclaims with an open mouth.

Steph continues, “Um…”

Cass waves to the room from her position upside down on the couch, head hanging down next to Stephanie’s legs. Attention successfully acquired, she signs, “Staring contest.”

Jason grimaces, “That sounds like a nightmare.”

Dick gives him a faux-smile.

“You should play chicken,” Damian chimes in, holding up his knife.

“No,” Bruce drones monotonously as he flips a page. 

“Tic tac toe?” Steph suggests.

Cass is already shaking her head as she scrunches up her mouth in thought.  

Jason rolls his eyes, “What are we, five?”

Dick nods, cracking his knuckles as he thinks. “No, we need something that really proves our worth.”

Bruce looks up from his book, staring numbly through his brow, but remains silent.

“You could arm wrestle,” Steph suggests.

The elder brother twitches at that, “Uh, no.”

Cass moves past that before a joke has the chance to be made. “Handstand contest?” she suggests.

Jason shrugs, “Yeah, sure.”

The elder brother looks at him incredulously. “You’ll do a handstand contest with me?”

“That’s what I just said.”

Dick scoffs, “Jaybird, I’m an acrobat, you’re just some guy.”

Jason, not giving him the courtesy of eye contact, pulls his sweatshirt off from his back. “Well, you’re a lot of things, aren’t you?”

Dick throws his head back with a squint.

Jason fishes his phone out of his pocket and Dick follows suit, offended stare maintaining all the while. 

No exchange is required as they both toss their phones across the room, landing together with a rough clatter on Damian’s lap. Damian’s resulting glare is borderline disgusted.

Dick starts them off, “Alright, go. One…two…”

Both men push up onto their hands, muscles flexing as they find their balance. Dick’s form is better, of course, but Jason looks to have a stronger foundation.   

They both hold strong as several minutes go by with the brothers only maintaining the attention of some of the room, and the interest of none of it.

Stephanie huffs and tilts her head, thoroughly unentertained with the consistency they’re both managing. 

“Starting to wish they’d picked something that moved along a little faster,” she murmurs to Cass.

Dick glances over at the younger brother, clearly displeased with his lack of trouble keeping up with him. He shuffles closer one hand at a time, using the decreased distance to poke at Jason with his foot, trying to knock him over.

Jason kicks him back harder, “Hey! Don’t be a dick—”

“Very funny,” Dick leers.

They both end up finding a struggle to keep balance and are forced to mind their own.  

A chime rings out from the corner that has heads turning briefly in his direction before coming back to the competition. 

“Whose was that?” Dick calls out.

Damian leans over and inspects the screens with disinterest. “Todd’s.”

Jason adjusts his position, “Who is it?”

Damian responds with your name. 

“And?”

He picks up the phone shrugging like he couldn’t care less, “She wants to know if you want to go see some movie.”

There’s a brief silence before Jason drops out of the handstand, standing up. 

Dick’s blood-flushed face peers up at him, bewildered. “Wait, what?”

The family watches with wide eyes as Jason picks his sweatshirt up off the floor and tugs it back on.

Stephanie gawks, bordering on laughing. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he says simply.

Dick lets himself fall into a kneeling position with a huff, “You would rather go to some movie you don’t even know the name of than win a bet?”

Jason moues at him, “Uh, yeah.”

He tosses a twenty at Dick, and plucks his phone from Damian’s hand as he strolls past him, typing out a reply.

Cass sits up a bit and signs up to Stephanie, “Does he even like movies?” 

Bruce, now attention now fully removed from his book, watches Jason exit with the slightest hint of a smile. Dick sits dumbly on the floor, staring after him with an open-mouth. 

Damian twists the knife in his hands around contemplatively before rising to stand. 

“I will go,” he announces, dropping his blade onto the seat of the chair. Jason grumbles a no but Damian follows after him just the same.

you know what happened to the last guy that didn’t reblog? … 🔪🧨💥😵⚰️🪦