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loving him was red ♡ nct 127 series

On the occasion of the release of “RED” Taylor’s version, I wanted to make a series that celebrates love.

This series is about the “red relationships”. «The ones that went from zero to a hundred miles per hour and then hit a wall and exploded. And it was awful. And ridiculous. And desperate. And thrilling. And when the dust settled, it was something I’d never take back. Because there is something to be said for being young and needing someone so badly, you jump in head first without looking. And there’s something to be learned from waiting all day for a train that’s never coming. And there’s something to be proud of about moving on and realizing that real love shines golden like starlight, and doesn’t fade or spontaneously combust. (…) But this is about the other kinds of love. Love that was treacherous, sad, beautiful and tragic. Most of all, this is about love that was RED. »

The stories are not related to each other. Originally I had planned to write for all the love songs in the album but then I decided to cut some, so there’s why some members have two (or more) stories and others just one. I don’t own NCT and their images and in no way these stories represent them, this is just fiction and all of their actions are made up. I haven’t finished writing all of these, so I don’t really know when they’ll be out, but I’ll release them all (I might replace the ones that still don’t have a plot with other songs but I think it’ll only be all too well because I’m not sure I’ll be able to write for that song). I’m planning to release at least once a month but keep in mind that I also have a life and I’m busy with uni so the release might change. But If I have more time and be inspired to write I might publish more. There shouldn’t be anything really triggering but read the warnings once I publish the single fic. I promise there won’t be only pain but also fluff and a lot of smut, not in every fic but still be careful and check the final warnings.    

STATE OF GRACE - JOHNNY 

↳ ❝ Love is a ruthless game unless you play it good and right. ❞

pairing: suh johnny x oc  

genre: ceo!au, enstablished relationship, implied past rivals to lovers, slice of life, smut, domestic fluff 

summary: Happy endings are only for the heroes of stories, the brokenhearted, heartbreakers rarely find happiness in the last pages of their book. But life’s unexpected, and it happens that sinners and heartbreakers might get their happy endings. She never expected to find love, she never tried to make it happen, especially with the person she could barely stand, but when Johnny came around and her armor fell, there was nothing else she could do. But love’s a cruel game and for the people that never played it right, it might hide bittersweet surprises.

status: started 

RED - YUTA

↳  ❝ Like the colors in autumn, so bright, just before they lose it all. ❞

pairing: nakamoto yuta x oc 

genre: racer!au, smut, angst, 

summary: Yuta was elusive, fast and bright and loud like the streets he rode with his fast cars. Their story started suddenly and ended even more unexpectedly. But Yuta is still vivid in her mind, burning red. And the only things she is left with are memories that don’t leave her brain and whishing she never found out that love could be that strong. 

status: there’s nothing here 

TREACHEROUS - DOYOUNG 

↳  ❝ And all we are is skin and bone trained to get along. ❞

pairing: kim doyoung x oc 

genre: smut, fwb to lovers!au, getting together!au, fluff

summary:  Loving Doyoung is treacherous, reckless, but she can’t help being pulled to him. She knows she should let him go, but she can’t stop thinking about him, his name haunting her every night. So she risks it all because it’s known that nothing safe is worth the drive. 

status: read here 

I KNEW YOU WERE TROUBLE - JAEHYUN 

↳  ❝  Flew me to places I’d never been. Now I’m lyin’ on the cold hard ground. ❞

pairing: jeong jaehyun x oc 

genre: photographer!au, fwb to lovers!au, smut, toxic relationship, (possible) cheating,

summary: Falling into the trap of the wolf is easy when you’re naive and heartbroken, when you only want to be wanted and loved. She knew how sneaky that path was, she knew she shouldn’t have followed him that night and kept living her boring life. But emotions get people’s heads and make them feel lightweight, and Jaehyun made her fly so high she never wanted to come back down. Unfortunately, every prize comes with a price, players stay players, and you’ll be nothing but a notch in their belt for them. 

status: started 

ALL TOO WELL - JOHNNY 

↳  ❝ You told me ‘bout your past thinking your future was me. ❞

pairings: suh johnny x oc 

genre: angst, fluff, smut, break up!au, (possible) age gap,  

summary: tba

status: there’s nothing here 

I ALMOST DO - TAEYONG 

↳  ❝ I can’t say “Hello” to you and risk another goodbye.❞

pairings: lee taeyong x oc

genre: angst, fluff, reminiscing on a past relationship, 

summary:  tba

status: there’s nothing here

STAY STAY STAY - MARK 

↳  ❝  No one else is gonna love me when I get mad. So I think that it’s best if we both stay. ❞

pairings: lee mark  x oc 

genre: slice of life, fluff, enstablished relationship 

summary: tba

status: there’s nothing here

THE LAST TIME - TAEIL 

↳  ❝ You wear your best apology, but I was there to watch you leave.❞

pairing:  moon taeil x oc 

genre: break up/make up!au, implied cheating, angst, 

summary:  tba

status: there’s nothing here

HOLY GROUND - JUNGWOO 

↳  ❝  Back when you fit in my poems like a perfect rhyme. ❞

pairing: kim jungwoo x oc

genre: singer!oc, non idol!jungwoo, slice of life, reminiscing on a past relationship, fluff, melancholy

summary: Going to your ex’s concert is not a great idea, Jungwoo knows it, but he wants to see her again. He wants to hear her sing the songs he heard before anybody else to a crowd of strangers. He wants to feel his heart break in his chest knowing that she doesn’t feel the same anymore. But when she hears that her ex is in the crowd, she also has a surprise for him. Because no matter what happened between them, she would always be grateful for having him in his life. Right where they stood, was holy ground. 

status: there’s nothing here

SAD BEAUTIFUL TRAGIC -  JAEHYUN 

↳  ❝ Words, how little they mean, when you’re a little too late.❞

pairing: jeong jaehyun x oc

genre: idol!au, childhood friends to lovers to strangers, smut, angst, some fluff, 

summary: The old days were much easier when she and Jaehyun would play in the meadows till late afternoon. It was easier when the only thing that caressed her cheeks was the air of the countryside while she fell in love with Jaehyun and not the salty tears that traced her face now that she was missing him. “Wait for me,” he had asked her and she did. Because that’s what good girls do, hopeful they’ll be and long they will wait. 

status: there’s nothing here

EVERYTHING HAS CHANGED - HAECHAN

↳  ❝ And your eyes look like coming home.❞

pairing: lee haechan x oc 

genre: coffee shop!au, fluff,  first meeting, getting together,    

summary: tba

BEGIN AGAIN -TAEYONG 

↳  ❝  And for the first time, what’s past is past.❞

pairing: lee taeyong x oc

genre: fluff, getting together, getting out of a past toxic relationship, 

summary: The midnight booked trip to Paris was supposed to be a getaway to the pain her city brought to her, with every corner screaming her ex’s name. She had no idea what it would’ve brought to her. She had no idea somebody could creep into her shattered heart so easily. But Taeyong was good to prove to her that after months of suffering you can watch love begin again, and in the most unexpected place, on a Wednesday in a Parisian cafè.

status: there’s nothing here

THE MOMENT I KNEW - MARK 

↳  ❝  You should’ve been here. And I would’ve been so happy.❞

pairing: lee mark x oc

genre: idol!au, birthday party, slice of life

summary: Trying to keep together the relationship with an idol was hard enough if you were close, but if distance was another thing that pulled you apart, it was even more complicated. She is trying, really, letting the smallest things slide, trying to ignore the voice in the back of her head that is telling her that he has another one, that that’s the reason behind the cold textes and short phone calls. But when he doesn’t make it to her birthday party, all those fears come crambiling on her.  And what do you do when the one who means the most to you is the one who didn’t show?

status: there’s nothing here

COME BACK… BE HERE - YUTA 

↳  ❝ Taxi cabs and busy streets that never bring you back to me.❞

pairing: nakamoto yuta x oc

genre: ceo!au, fwb!au, one sided love, angst, 

summary: tba

status: there’s nothing here

Keep reading

Jean and the smolnemos🍃

Congrats, master Jean, for being tall.

,,,btw heizou's like an unexpected pleasant breeze and i truly hope he's a jolly little brat

before xiao, there was alatus. xiao x gn!reader. warnings: angst, mcd!!, blood, xiao's backstory. wc: 2,708. semi proofread.

before xiao, there was alatus.

alatus who served an unknown god with a deep desire for power and used him to slaughter those who opposed his wishes. helpless and weak alatus who devoured dreams and crush the innocent’s hopes. feeble alatus who withstood countless wounds and near-death experiences.

it was him who deserved the terrified looks of his victims, begging him to spare even at least their children and kill them—only for his body to move without his permission. he who dirtied his soul and tainted his hands at the blood that painted his face.

“you’re tending to wounds that won’t kill me,” alatus muttered.

“immortal yes, invincible no.” the once white cloth you had been using from a week ago was now a light pink and alatus knew it was the blood of his victims. it was wet and cold as you wiped the cloth across his face, removing all the red splatters and cleaning the wounds that he newly acquired.

“you’re thinking lowly of me. you know i’ll get dirty again once i step out and—” he let out a muffled noise as you wiped the cloth on his mouth, shutting him up from his self-deprecating talk. still, this earned you a glare.

smiling lightly—one that looked almost apologetic, you look down briefly. “i know…you hate seeing the blood of others on you. so let me do my job just this once, okay?”

of course, there were many things alatus hated in this world. he hated how you were always right. he also hated how you made him feel. hated how he became selfish at the thought of being with you.

you were a mortal and he an adeptus who still could not fend for himself. while you were free, alatus would be forever chained to his master. he’d told you many times to leave him be, that he was dangerous, that you’ll get yourself killed by him, but you merely smiled at his claims.

“stop looking so worried,” you giggled. “your master won’t come and barge in here. what do you know? maybe he’ll make me fight you and think you’re unfit for the job because you’ll lose to me!”

alatus scoffed—visibly frowning—and crossed his arms as he gave you a look of detest. “you mortals and your imagination.” 

“and this mortal,” you gestured to yourself, “is taking care of an injured adeptus.”

you leaned towards him, gently placing a hand on his cheek as you look up at him. “alatus,” you whispered.

he leaned into your touch, humming. your skin was warm and palm lightly calloused from the everyday work you did but he loved the way you held him. you let out a small laugh, thumb brushing over the healed wound on his cheek as he cracked an eye open to gaze at you tenderly.

“i went to town today and zhao told me there would be a war. do you think it’s true?” you mumbled, already knowing you would be separated from him.

“your god will protect you,” was all alatus could say to you.

war meant death, countless and thousands who would perish at the hands of whoever was responsible. and though alatus protected you from the shadows, he would not be able to be by your side once a war would brew. someone like him who bathed in death was for the battlefield—to kill, to destroy. war meant separation and alatus feared the day your hands wouldn’t be as warm as you held him now.

“hah…i suppose,” you said, your shoulders dropping. “at least i can spend today with you.”

“you talk as if our time is limited,” he scowled. “it’s not, at least for now. i’ll…still come by.”

the lies he told were piling up and he knew they would soon spill out. still, if the lies meant your happiness, alatus would tell a thousand just for the smile on your face to stay. he knew it was wrong—lying directly to your face as you believed him—but he couldn’t dare to see the look of anguish ever again.

with a content hum, you pulled him into your arms and basked in the setting sun. 

–

alatus will never tell you how he felt whenever he was with you. how his stomach would make him uneasy and transform him into a small shy cat, afraid that he’d hurt you in any way should you come close to him. how his day immediately brightens up when he sees you standing by a tree, a stern expression on your face.

"you have blood all over you again," you'd say with a sigh.

and even if you hid the fact that you were terrified of the things he did, you took him into your arms and ran your fingers in his hair. the sweet nothings you whispered when he’d nap on your lap even for a few minutes, leaning down to kiss his forehead made his heart swell.

and he’s glad that he didn’t abandon you the day he saw you.

instead, he listened to the way his name falls from your lips. he chose to lie in your arms and listen to the faint sound of your beating heart. alatus has looked into your eyes as he caresses your face in the moonlight, humming as you whispered about your day to him. 

you were all alatus had in this godforsaken world. he who is the devil would lay at your feet and repent for his actions. if alatus could never forgive himself, you would take his face by your hands and kiss his eyes for they were the reason he saw himself in such a bad light.

the only thing alatus wanted was to be by your side. forever.

he would hold your hand and watch the way your eyes would sparkle at the sight of the sun setting everyday if he wanted. carry you on his back if you ever felt tired from walking whenever you’d set out on a new journey with him. he would eat the food you prepared for him, biting back a soft smile as you complained that his master would treat him so cruelly to not let him eat.

he adored you wholeheartedly.

but you were mortal, ever so fragile.

there would be times alatus would not be able to be by your side and the thought frightened him more times than you’d think.

how could he live a life without you?

he was selfish but he knew you’d still risk it all for him. it was only natural for him to do the same. you were mortal and you’d vanish soon enough but alatus would do anything to keep you alive.

–

“it’s a new dish i’ve been trying out. the ingredients are kind of expensive, so don’t expect me to make it every time!” you reminded as you set the two plates down on the table. 

“your fingers are all…” alatus muttered as he picked up the spoon, eyeing your bandaged fingers—blood still seeping through.

you held them to your chest, offering him a laugh. “it’s nothing, i swear! don’t freak out if you find blood in your food—i’m kidding, i swear.”

he almost looked offended at your statement, looking down at the plate and nudging it with the spoon. it was times like this that alatus did enjoy your presence and warmth. just the two of you basking in the moonlight. the food quickly melted into his mouth and he closed his eyes.

“well?” you peered at him, nudging his shoulder with yours.

alatus turned to you, paused and reached his hand out to bring your forehead closer to his lips. he resumed eating after.

there was nothing he could say but he knew that you already knew the answer to your question.

you leaned onto him, your head on his shoulders as you looked up at the night sky. “hm. let’s name it…almond tofu? it’s made from that, or maybe we should call it tofu almond.” 

“it sounds like something a child would call,” he commented.

“alatus!” you gasped. “take that back!”

“i never said it wasn’t delicious.”

“i suppose you’re right… i hate you and your remarks.”

alatus chuckles lightly, nodding. he takes you in his arms and breathes you in—like a bee needing flowers to survive. you were the light that shone brightly beside the devil, his savior and sanctuary. 

-

fight for me and get me a seat as an archon, his master had demanded all so suddenly.

as he had always been in, alatus was back on the battlefield. his polearm would slash and destroy anything that came his way should they disobey his master, his god. the blood of the innocent on his hands as he slaughtered each and every one.

alatus would never forget the terrified looks on their face, begging him to spare their child.

he hated every second of it. he could not stop even if he wanted to, the strings on his body were being controlled by his god. his god who desperately wanted the seat as one of the seven—greedy and merciless, he spared no one.

red and black was all alatus could see—he had forgotten the colorful skies, the greenery of nature, and the color of the love you gave him.

his soul was tainted and dirty, no repenting could ever make you forgive him now. should alatus crawl to your feet and beg for forgiveness, he knew you would stare at him in disgust and punish him for what he had done.

home was no longer with you, no longer in your arms that would wrap around him and have you whispering soft nothings. alatus was leaving battlefield after battlefield and soon, it had grown into his home.

days felt like years and he wished to head back to you each time he would rest—but he was bound by contracts and his weakness, you. 

-

 “…isn’t that him? he’s disgusting. i can’t believe he’s one of us.”

“it’s like he doesn’t have a mind of his own! what are you—don’t leave me!”

“…master, alatus has caused a great casualty. your soldiers are dying at his hands as well.”

“…master, alatus has killed general zho… we must kill him, it’s the only way—"

“you dare disobey me? alatus is my greatest soldier.”

“alatus, you must kill everyone who opposes me.”

“no god will save you, you damned devil!”

and soon, alatus had begun to kill gods. gods who waged war with him and his master, gods who wanted to flee and save their people, gods who did not care about the seating of celestia.

do you actually think you’re not a monster?

do you know what’s worse than a demon like you? a liar.

you killed people.

no one would forgive you.

what would [name] think?

what would [name] think?

whaT WOULD [NAME] THINK?

it’s in the most gruesome battle that he awakens at your name.

“the name xiao is that of a spirit who encountered great suffering and hardship. he endured much suffering, as you have. use this name from now on.” morax stood in front of alatus—no, xiao.

his master was now dead.

he had won the battle—but at what cost? 

xiao fell on his knees. his world had crumbled.

death was inevitable, it really was. but he had told himself he would go to great lengths to stop death from clinging to him—stop clinging to anyone he loved. he had never loved anyone as much as you before, you were the only one he knew how to love.

so, tell him, why did death cling to him?

a minute earlier. ten minutes earlier. no, an hour earlier. god, maybe a week earlier. you, who he swore to protect with all his heart, clung to him desperately, sobs escaping your lips as you trembled in his arms.

“alatus…it hurts! it hurts!”

xiao bit back the tears, his head buried on your neck as you cried on his chest. “it’ll be okay, you’ll be okay, i promise,” he soothed, lips shaking as he held you tighter.

“i don’t want to die, alatus, i don’t want to!” your voice was weak, full of fear and heavy breaths. xiao wishes he could hear your voice from before, joyous and teasing.

like everyone he had killed, your blood was on his hands. on his arms. on his clothes. on his face. your blood was everywhere on him. it seeped into him and he could feel every bit of it. xiao wanted to vomit, you were everything he had and you were dying before him.

red—it was all he could see.

the blood that seeped through your clothes, from your arms to your middle to your legs. the wounds on your face must have hurt—he wishes he was there earlier. he would have kept you safe. he should have kept you safe.

your cries were even worse. it was the only thing he could hear as he held on to you, tears already down his face as he hung his mouth open—unable to accept the fact that you laid before him with blood. your cries were painful and it hurt him. hurt him till his bones and hurt him in his heart.

sobs wracked your body and you could feel the pain. how painful your wounds were. 

“it hurts!” you cried, “it hurts so bad!”

xiao ran his fingers through your hair, attempting to soothe your cries. his hand reaching out to cup your face as you looked up at him with tear-stricken eyes. you cherished life and you cherished being with him.

losing life meant losing him. 

“you won’t die,” he repeated over and over again.

please…

 xiao wished it was enough to comfort you but really, it was for him. for him to stop falling apart and hurry and take you to the adepti.

“alatus,” you choked out, “please i want to live, i want-i want to be with you…please save me.”

a new name, he wanted to tell you. he lived under a new god now. the cruel master that you hated was now dead and he was saved. the war you had told him about was now over.

you can be together as usual now. he had so many things to say but his body trembled and you simply cried into his shoulder, begging him and any god that you wanted to live and to be saved.

the pain was unmeasurable and both of you knew that you were unsavable. still, you begged him to save you. you were being selfish, so selfish. but you wanted to be with him, feel his smile against your shoulder, have him bury his face into your neck in embarrassment.

“you’ll live. you’ll live. i’ll-i’ll take you to-to morax,” he spluttered, already making up his mind that he should at least try anything to save you. but you hissed in pain when he lifted you up and xiao knew.

there was nothing he could do.

alatus, what do you think of my dish?

alatus, do you think we can gather some qingxin?

alatus, kiss me?

 alatus, welcome home!

 alatus.

alatus.

alatus, do you want me to die?

alatus, why are you so useless?

alatus, you killed me.

(i didn’t…!)

“alatus, i love you, i love you, i love you,” you whispered against his skin. briefly, you wanted to see him smile at you but you were already being too selfish; so, you buried your face into the crook of his neck and closed your eyes at the warmth he brought you. “even-even until death, i will-will love you.”

“you’ll be okay,” xiao whispered, hand by your head as tears rolled down his cheeks. he was weak—he’d always been weak. “it’s okay, i love you too… so, please… it’ll be okay, it won’t hurt anymore. i love you, i love you."

xiao could only wish you managed to hear it.

before liyue and its people, there was you who he swore to protect.

before xiao, there was alatus who wished that you could have stayed with him as xiao.

notes the 2.7 archon quest absolutely wrecked me, i felt so sad seeing xiao wanting to sacrifice himself so i wrote this to help <3 hope u like it because i know i did

gen taglist @ljinghe @yaefics @imtoodumbforaname @wccycc @sugxqts @cottonfluffs // join the taglist here

lights, camera, action!

premise. in which you get yourself involved in a lot of unscripted drama. (genshin celebrity au.)

includes. xiao, childe, albedo, ayato, scaramouche, thoma & kazuha.

previous episode. watch here.

note. the long-awaited sequel nobody actually waited for lmao. please read part 1 if you still haven't! this entire fic would be incomprehensible otherwise :'D

四 ; ayato, the cannon fodder

although xiao is, with absolute certainty, regarded as your definite favorite celebrity in your heart, ayato comes a close second.

he's a modern day prince; if anyone were asked to say which male lead they liked best, you can guarantee their answer would be among one of his roles.

he played a lot of characters—a school heartthrob, a ceo, a bar owner, and even an actual prince for a snow white retelling. each one with stellar execution, as you'd expect from an actor of his caliber.

so it is to your absolute horror to find him casted in this production as a minor villain. the one that happens to (futilely) seduce the journalist to bed, no less!

is he asking to get his image destroyed?! which... actually does make sense. he's already been typecasted as the “prince” type of male lead, and you can guess how frustrating that can be. it must suck to play one persona over and over, mindlessly spouting recycled lines; not much room for creativity there.

but he's had different roles too, of course. one that stuck to your mind is another murder mystery, a film focusing on the death of a family head. the power struggle for the place of successor isn't a secret even to the public, and the prime suspects are primarily composed of the victim's relatives who stand to benefit from the family head's death.

ayato played the role of the first son, believed to be the one most likely to inherit the riches. which means the sooner the family head dies, he gets to have all the assets. he's suspicious due to his probable motive, but overly so that it's too obvious; ironically enough, this leads the audience to think he definitely couldn't be the killer.

except he is exactly that, but for a reason nobody would expect. rather than greed, the first son murdered his father for driving his biological mother to madness due to abuse and then sent her to a psychiatric ward, where she eventually died. he took in a second wife, a woman only after his money, who kept on pressuring her husband to make her daughter his successor.

contrary to popular belief, ayato's character didn't loathe his step-sister. in fact, he cared about her quite a bit, and his hate for his father grew whenever he scorned her for being “lacking” or “good for nothing.” his scummy personality led to his demise.

in the end, the step-mother was wrongly arrested, and the true murderer wasn't revealed until after the credits, where ayato was shown sitting at his father's desk and laughing to himself, followed by a scene detailing how the actual murder took place and how he tricked the investigators successfully.

the contrast between his acting as a shallow young master and a cunning mastermind had been praised by many. to tell the truth, you don't know how he was typecasted as a prince when he's clearly more suited for “villain” roles.

...even so, his current role isn't anything like the previous one! a cannon fodder and a genius murderer are nowhere near alike! he's only there to make the protagonist jealous and his character is fated to die one week after the scene with the journalist!

you suppose your disbelief must've shown on your face when each actor's respective role was announced because he couldn't help but chuckle when he looked at you.

“...by any chance, did you audition for the murderer role? because- it's hard to believe that-” you struggle to piece together words, rambling while ayato is busy signing his autograph on your phone case. (as luck would have it, you don't have paper on you. you said he could sign the back of your shirt but he politely declined, insisting the shirt would get dirty like you aren't planning to get it framed on your bedroom wall and declare it your heirloom.)

you don't even feel shy talking to him from the sheer incredulity of the situation. ayato only laughs as he hands you your phone case. “i did. but it turned out getting a minor role is a good thing since i'm planning to be on vacation soon.”

“oh. that's understandable, then...” barely. you still have complaints about it. as an actor, you respect the director's decisions, but as a loyal fan, you oughta give him a talking to and demand to give your idol the role he deserves.

“do you dislike it?”

your brows knit together, eyes momentarily leaving your now prized phone case to glance at him. “dislike what?” dislike that you're treated like this? that you have to act as a brainless villain? that you don't get much screentime? then fuck yeah.

“dislike that you're going to do that scene with me.” almost bashful, he leans closer to whisper to your ear. “you know. the one in the hotel.”

all the blood in your body rushes to your cheeks. impishly, ayato's lips curl into a smile of mischievous nature, a far cry from the elegant simper he usually holds. “i... that isn't what i... no, i mean it's not that i don't like you as my partner, but- but-!”

sufficiently entertained by your fumbling, he stops being mean and lightly pats the top of your head. “let's both do our best. truthfully, i'm not the most adept with bedroom scenes, but if you need help, you can always rely on me.”

rely how exactly?!

...

“is it too tight?”

“um... a little.”

“okay. is this better?”

“yes. am i too stiff?”

“mhm, a bit. you don't have to be nervous. it's just me.”

ah yes. it's just THE kamisato ayato pinning you down your bed, breathing down your neck, moments away from stealing your lips. nothing to worry about, clearly.

he adjusts his grip on your wrists, loosening it to your liking. his character is meant to push you down forcibly, but of course he doesn't want to actually harm you during filming—to prepare before the shoot, practice is of utmost importance. you have to give the illusion of an aggressive assault when in reality he's handling you like a piece of glass.

but you're doing this right after a day's work, and you have to blame your stupid mouth for running off without command and casually asking him if he could visit your apartment to go over the scene. in late hours of the night. in what can be interpreted as a much more scandalous suggestion.

thankfully, you're not dealing with childe so you're spared from wiggling eyebrows or phrases with flirty implications.

but him being ayato doesn't make it any easier.

“don't you feel embarrassed making out on screen...?” you laugh awkwardly in an attempt to ignore the weird tension in the air, slightly overwhelmed by his intense gaze. “i know you've done this several times, but i imagine the awkwardness never wears off.”

“not quite,” he agrees. “but a job is a job... i say that, but i'd like to make it comfortable for you, if possible. how are you faring? do you need a break?” he sits up, allowing more distance in the space between you. you shake your head.

“i'm fine. just... nervous. it's my first time doing a bedroom scene...” you look off to the side, staring at the lights beyond your window. though you're in the comfort of your own room, having an unfamiliar man on your bed makes it all feel so strange.

...as you thought, it really was weird to invite a co-actor to your bed! eh? would booking a hotel be better? but isn't it overboard to go to a hotel for practice? inviting him to your apartment is equally as bad, though?!

“all the cameramen watching can be pressuring,” he adds in afterthought, releasing one of your wrists only to pin them with a single hand. you flinch a little when his fingers skim over your cheek, but you slowly relax into the heat. “it's best if you try to forget about them.”

“i'm afraid that's easier said than done,” you murmur, voice growing weaker as he leans down once more.

“really? i consider myself a decent kisser.” he grins, sly and confident. “i'm certain i can keep other things off your mind for a while.”

“wh- i'm not supposed to enjoy it, remember?!” you squawk indignantly with flushed cheeks.

“oh? my bad.” he relishes in your reaction, chuckling lowly. “you'll have to work hard acting like you don't like it, then.”

his lips hover above yours, breaths mingling with each other. the proximity catches you off guard but his hand is a steady weight holding you in place, urging you to look at him.

“don't think about anyone else. just focus on me.”

五 ; scaramouche, the best friend

“fantastic. i was also looking forward to a drama adaption but you've already ruined it for me.”

“that's not nice! you're supposed to congratulate me for passing the audition!”

“my courtesy towards you has already expired 5 years ago.”

“yes. you've made that very apparent.”

“have i also made my ire apparent? it's like the universe is telling me seeing you everyday isn't enough, i have to see you on television too. frankly, we see too much of each other.”

“you say that but you're the one coming over my apartment uninvited.”

“this is where i store my beer.”

scaramouche has a perfectly functional fridge so you know he's only doing that as an excuse. he's been this way for 8 years. (of course, he'd only been storing milk at your house when you were both still underage.)

(the milk didn't do any favors for his height, unfortunately.)

his words are as harsh as ever but believe it or not, he's your closest friend. not that he'd ever admit it, even at gunpoint. it's a feat you should add to your resume, honestly, because as far as you know, you're one of the few people he doesn't hate.

he tolerates you enough that he can practice your lines with you (with enough pressure), though he delivers his part of the script with such dispassion it makes it difficult for you to get into the mood. but in his own brand of patience, he lets you reiterate your lines an endless amount of times until you feel like you get it right.

he helps you with expressions too, albeit in a manner you find hard to appreciate.

“you look like you're constipated, not about to cry.”

“your jaw is hanging open. want to catch a fly with your tongue? act like you caught your husband cheating, not like you're about to eat half my burger when you said you'd only take a bite.”

(personal grudges were involved.)

he's not interested in the film industry at all, but he was the one who pushed you to pursue your dreams when everyone else was discouraging you from taking an unstable career. he's your pillar of support; even if he's glaring at you scathingly or giving cutting words matter-of-factly, he's all bark and no bite. the moment you shed tears, he's already pulling you to his chest, remaining silent as he rubs comforting circles on your back. he doesn't even complain when you bury your face to hide in his neck, soaking his shirt with tears.

underneath all that layers, he's pretty nice.

(admittedly, you have to dig real deep.)

when you're smiling and happy, however, he takes the chance to complain. sneering, he blurts, “what's up with you taking roles in romance dramas all the time? besides, you're way too old to be in high school.”

“i still look fresh.” you batted your eyelashes at him, celebrating inwardly when he made a scandalized noise. “but i'm auditioning for a different role soon. if i get it, you'll see me as a murder victim instead of a high schooler.”

two weeks later, you get the e-mail confirming the love interest role. scaramouche goes so pale you consider taking him to the hospital.

“i know the journalist is your favorite character, but aren't you overreacting? do you hate me acting as them that much?”

he rolls his eyes so hard you almost think they're going to be permanently pointed heavenward. “are you stupid? that's not what i'm worried about. wouldn't you have to- you know- do that scene-”

“which one?”

“...the hotel scene...”

ah. well that certainly is a cause for concern. it's steamier than what you're used to; so far, you've only done light pecks or kisses that don't last too long. bedroom scenes are definitely foreign territory.

“i can only hope my partner is good-looking, then. i wouldn't mind it, if that's the case.” you laugh sheepishly, missing the way his eyes narrow in disapproval.

“...whatever. suit yourself.”

“don't tell me you still feel weird about kissing scenes?”

“i don't have issues with kissing scenes. i just don't want to see you sucking face on tv.”

“don't use that word! it's too vulgar!”

as part of work, it's inevitable you have to do a kissing scene here and there. scaramouche has never been fond of seeing them, turning away from the television or excusing himself to the bathroom whenever they come up. it's a reaction you can sympathize with; it is rather awkward to see your friend making out with someone on screen.

but he especially detests the old recording of your high school play.

long, long ago, you were part of the drama club. by association, scaramouche became a member as well—the pair of you were considered as a package deal. he was your practice partner so often that he got forced into joining.

he'd die before he ever tells anyone, but he had a knack for playing villains back then, specialized in wicked cackling and bone-chilling monologues reeking of depravity.

but in your final year, he got roped into playing the prince when the original actor sprained his ankle. incidentally, you happened to be playing the damsel in distress in your (pretty much unrecognizable) rendition of sleeping beauty.

“why is the prince shorter than-” before you could end your statement, he already slammed your face with the script.

the play was a hot mess. scaramouche couldn't play a decent prince for the life of him, so your club made the play a comedy and reworked the entire script to fit him better. the valiant and heroic character became satirical, forced into saving you not for love but to fulfill a prophecy that definitely wasn't in the original sleeping beauty.

the audience was taking the change well, intrigued by the bizarre twists and turns. the huffing-puffing prince was hilarious to watch, too.

it wasn't long before you laid in the casket, blinded by stage lights even with your eyes closed. the cardboard dragon had already been defeated, and the prince was fast approaching.

to your utter distaste, it was decided the prince would slap you awake. so you prepared for it when the last lines were being said, bracing for the stinging pain.

but then there was a rise in pitch, nearing to a yelp, then a loud thud, then the weight of two hands pressing on either side of your head, and-

your lips were touching something soft and warm.

the squeals and yells reverberated in the whole theater, the narrator stammering awkwardly and improvising ad libs last minute. your eyes snapped open and you'd gotten a front row seat to see scaramouche's blushing face, an explosion of pink dancing across his features.

after the play wrapped up and he peeled off the ridiculously frilly prince costume, he'd been set on destroying every record—alas, your friends weren't so keen on deleting such good footage. to this day, he still bristled at the thought of it; his and your first kiss showcased to hundreds of people.

it's harder to endure when he sees you kissing someone else, however. he never gets used to it, no matter how many times he tells himself to.

“oh, finally. it took so long for them to get together,” his co-worker groans as he watches the tv at the break room, airing the latest episode of the drama you star in. scaramouche glances at the screen, turning away when the camera flits to the boy with ashy brown hair. he's touching your face for the millionth time, bright teal eyes staring into yours so deeply scaramouche almost thinks he's actually besotted with you.

“you're not watching? i thought you liked this series?”

“i don't.”

for his own sake, he doesn't give the tv another glance, stepping out of the room.

this is fine. it's not the first time he's felt like this.

(it doesn't feel any less terrible.)

六 ; thoma, the former male lead

there are as many aspiring actors as there are stars in the sky; it's unfortunate only some of them shine brightly enough to be noticeable, and the rest twinkling weakly in miniscule dots.

for your case, and for your friend thoma's, you belong to the latter.

thoma is handsome, that much you can see with your own eyes, but a pretty face can be found anywhere in the industry—he lacks that special something that makes him stand out. that being said, you don't have it either, so you're on the same boat.

you're best pals, comrades in arms, partners in crime.

actual partners. once. for a romance drama.

(but not the main characters. just an obligatory side pairing, of course. you're the rebound for the second male lead.)

it was your first work, and you'd rather delete your existence than watch it again. hopefully, that also erases your dark history.

your... amateurish acting had been unsightly. the innocence you portrayed wasn't lovely, just a ghastly display of incoherent mumbling and lack of comedic timing. you wanted to tear apart each clip and toss it in some imaginary ditch where nobody can find it again.

thoma's performance wasn't as severe as yours. it wasn't half-bad, almost decent if not for the scant instances of awkwardness in scenes that required more emotional acting.

alas, the end product was just about what you expected; a series no one paid attention to. both a relief and a disappointment, because even if you hated it with every inch of your being, the effort you poured into practice and filming was real.

but after the drama ended, you kept in close contact with thoma, chugging down beer at dinners as you complained to each other about work. failed auditions, mistakes in filming, inability to get roles—you shared everything, and he did the same. each moment of embarrassment and each moment of breakthrough that called for a celebration, you told each other. through thick and thin, you had the other's back.

naturally, he was one of the first few people you called (second only to your manager) when you received the e-mail confirming your role as the love interest for arguably one of the most anticipated series to date.

he'd been overjoyed, above all, his elation overruling his surprise; it was a far cry from other violent reactions. (“are you sure it's not a prank?” scaramouche had said in disbelief.)

“you're finally going to be acknowledged!” gleefully, thoma chattered on, “that's the best news i've heard all year!”

and that was good. it was nice having his support. he'd been the one to give you a pep talk before you had to start rehearsals, soothing your fretful worries.

when you don't understand the essence of a particular scene, he's more than happy to help—“i'm just one call away!”

when you fumble your lines on camera, he laughs but not with mockery (a stark contrast to that little gremlin scaramouche)—“it's no big deal. you only have to do your best tomorrow.”

when you recount your experiences working with famous actors, he listens attentively—“you're starting to get along, huh?”

and then you would hesitate. it sounds like you're... bragging.

he says he's only one call away, but he's busy with his own work; still, he makes time for you. he listens whenever you complain, but he has bigger problems, ones that he doesn't say because he knows it'll dampen your mood. he has to hear about you acquainting with celebrities he can't even dream of meeting, like you're showing him the things he can't have.

you got lucky. what about him?

slowly, your face bleeds to commercials, advertisement banners, even huge outdoor LED displays on shopping malls featuring the drama cast—yet he remains as a blurry, nameless figure in the sea of aspiring actors.

he doesn't show it, doesn't even hint at it, but he must be... envious, right?

it's not hard to be. you've been in the industry for the same amount of time, began at the same starting line, yet only one of you found success, the other one left behind in the dust.

still. still. he never shows it. never stops being your biggest fan. never lets you think otherwise. he watches every episode, every interview. babbles how amazing your performance was in this scene. rambles how you did so well in this drama and he's so proud of you. smiles at how you have to wear a disguise now whenever you go out together so nobody can recognize you.

“it must be hard,” he comments as you hide in a secluded park, nearly getting found out by someone you noticed following you around. “you can't get around as freely anymore. are you okay? nobody follows you home or anything?”

always the worrier, you think. “of course not. my manager drives me around everywhere these days. you don't have to worry.”

thoma grins, plopping down at a bench. “that's a relief.”

for a moment, you just sit in silence, basking in the slight chilly air. the orange and pinks of sunset darken to streaks of blue, streetlights flickering to life.

“...did you know there are rumors of you dating xiao?”

you choke on air, coughing to your fist. “what?!” not that you feel flattered. not at all. (you've badgered xiao to come with you to the carnival last week, and then the waterpark a week before that with the rest of the cast, and- well. you suppose there's reason for people to speculate. you also wore matching animal headbands—how on earth you got xiao to do that, you're not sure either.)“why did that- how did it come to that?!”

“it's surprising for me, too,” thoma says. “if anything, i'd expect dating rumors with the actual male lead. or childe. he seems... particularly clingy.”

“albedo? there's no way he'd like someone like me.” you furrow your brows. if anything, it's only gotten awkward between the two of you ever since the confession scene. “ajax... well. i never know with him.” you honestly can't tell if he's flirting or not.

thoma laughs, eyes crinkling with mirth. “you look close with all of them. if i didn't know any better, i'd think you were acting a romance film outside of the project.”

you shudder. “if, and only if, i end up dating one of them, i'll attract all kinds of bad attention. it's not even good PR. i'd hate to think of all the fan girls who'll start cursing me, stealing their man and all that. hell, i'm not even dating anybody and i'm already being cursed.”

“i'll reply to every single mean comment and defend your honor.”

you snort. “do you even have the time for that?”

“...unfortunately, yes. i'm not receiving much work at the moment.”

oh.

fuck.

“i can... i can recommend you to the director. i heard he's starting a new project soon, so maybe-”

thoma frowns and you ground to a halt. “it's fine. i don't want you to do that for me.”

it sounds like you're pitying him. like you don't trust him to rise on his own.

but you want to help.

“is this why you look sad around me every so often?” he realizes, astonished.

“i... can't help but feel guilty,” you admit, unable to maintain eye contact. “every time i say a silly story about xiao, or ajax, or albedo, i feel like i'm showing off. every time i complain, you never try to compare, you only comfort me and never tell me about your problems. i want to do something for you, but i don't know what. i care about you, and i want you to do well because i know how talented you are. except everyone else doesn't, and i want them to see you.”

it's not fair. he's putting in the effort. the same as you are. but it's still not working out for him, and it's not fair.

“you... want to help me?”

you manage a weak nod. you hear an intake of breath, feel him shuffling closer. then he places his hand on top of your clenched fist.

“[name]. can you look at me?”

slowly, you raise your head. his green eyes are shining so brilliantly, bright emeralds gleaming in the moonlight.

yet they also seem... resigned.

“you're really nice, [name]. but you don't have to feel guilty. it's not your fault i'm still like this, and i'm already thankful you're worrying about me. i can't say that i was entirely... not jealous of what you have now, but that's just my problem. so you don't have to make that face, okay?”

he smiles, just like always. you open your mouth to respond, but then you feel that sensation again—that prickle at the back of your neck, the feeling that makes your hair stand on end.

“you're kind.” his hand cradles your cheek ever so softly, tenderly. your lashes tremble, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. “that's why... i hope you can forgive me.”

this position is familiar. you know this, because you've experienced this before.

long long ago, just when you started your career, you'd practiced this scene with him in the dressing room—hearts pounding, hands awkwardly finding their places;

your lips brushing together in a shy kiss.

now, his fingers are carding through your hair, the closest he's ever been to you in years. you flinch, gripping his shirt, uncomprehending, and-

you hear it.

the shutter of a camera.

七 ; kazuha, the murderer

the first time you heard a complete newbie would act the murderer role, you were in disbelief.

alright, you were an unremarkable actor before your current role, but at the very least, you had experience. not only is this person entirely new to the industry, having nothing to show for himself, he's an amateur. it sounds like a recipe for disaster.

it's even more baffling when you discover ayato, THE kamisato ayato, tried for the role and didn't get it. who the hell is this newbie? someone who got in through nepotism? preposterous! the murderer is an incredibly important character to the plot, the whole series would be ruined if he turned out to be awful!

and then you see who he actually is, and oh boy, he does not look like a murderer.

he's more like a harmless bunny. fluffy white hair, round red eyes, a polite disposition—did you arrive at the wrong set, kid? maybe you were aiming for the high school romance drama and came here by mistake?

the webtoon murderer was no pretty boy. just an average-looking dude working at a convenience store nobody suspected to be the killer because of his unassuming looks, and that was the point. yet this eye-catching hottie is the complete opposite.

but everyone else in the cast is hot as hell, so maybe the murderer needs to be hot too so he can blend in??? director, what exactly did you have in mind?

“[name]!” just as you were staring at him, he turns and notices your gaze, expression immediately brightening. like an innocent baby chick, he walks up to you. “good morning.”

it's another day of rehearsals for the upcoming episode. so far, you haven't gotten to see his true skills yet—the most he's done is act like an ordinary extra part of the background and out of the limelight. it's understandable, since his character doesn't appear much until halfway through the series.

“kazuha,” you acknowledge him, still a little unused to his... general stickiness. you don't know what he found so appealing about you but he's taken to sticking by your side most of the time. childe has teased you more than once that perhaps the little chick has a crush on you.

“do you want to eat lunch together? i know a good fried chicken place.” so it's cannibalism now?

you agree to go anyway because fried chicken sounds great. plus, as much as you came to find that even celebrities are just regular people and you managed to befriend a lot of them, there's a sense of comfort in kazuha—he's the one you felt least intimidated by.

even if you text xiao for hours now, or come over to childe's house frequently, or go on food trips with albedo, or go clothes shopping with ayato and his sister, they're still people you can't get close to without boundaries. there's still a sense of distance separating you, one that you can't cross, but can happily do so with kazuha.

being with kazuha is just comfortable. there's never a need for formalities, and rather than co-workers, you feel closer to being friends.

sometimes, you feel as if you're babysitting though. he just... screams youth. holds the freshness of an amateur, clutching to naive hopes and wishes in the path of stardom. it's endearing to see, and it's like seeing a younger version of yourself.

it's a shame you've buried those naive wishes long ago, but you hope kazuha's career goes well for him. this drama will undoubtedly be a big boost for his popularity, but will also backlash on him if he performs horribly.

“this is my treat.” kazuha pushes the plate of chicken fingers to your side of the table, eyes shaped in smiling crescents.

you shake your head but take one nonetheless. “what kind of senior would i be to make you pay? order all you want, it's on me.”

kazuha doesn't pout but comes close to it, sulking as he bites on a piece of korean bburinkle chicken. “i can't tell if you're doing this on purpose.”

“doing what?”

“letting me off easy.”

...? this kid says some pretty strange things sometimes.

“i'll order some drinks. what do you want?” he offers, standing up.

“iced tea is fine.”

“got it.”

as he moves, his wallet drops on the floor. you're about to tell him so but you think better of it, already considering the possibility of kazuha sneakily paying for your meal on the counter and ordering drinks as an excuse.

you sigh, bending down to pick it up from the ground, but the wallet faces up, revealing the contents.

the first thing you see is your face.

you nearly jolt and hit your head on the table in shock, but you manage to suppress your surprise in a garbled mess of choking. this photo is... from that modeling gig you did a year ago. but why is it in kazuha's wallet-?!

you quickly put it back on the table, just in time for kazuha to arrive. he raises an eyebrow at your flustered expression but doesn't mention anything.

he makes a face seeing the wallet he forgot on the table. you were right after all.

later, as you return to set and practice ends after a few more hours, you recount the order of events to xiao, who could not be anymore uninterested at your entire spiel. perhaps childe would've made a more engaging conversation partner, but you'd rather not deal with his teasing right now.

“-and my face was right there! as his wallet photo! what the hell does that mean?!” years ago, you never could've guessed you'd ever be able to rant to xiao's face like this. yet here you are, unashamed in front of your idol.

“isn't it obvious?” xiao isn't even pretending like he's giving you his full attention anymore, preoccupied with the game console in his hands. “he likes you.”

“???”

xiao sighs, dead fish eyes looking straight at your clueless expression. “don't you have a photo of me in your wallet? that's the same thing.”

“that is certainly not the same thing! you're- xiao, and i'm just me. you're popular.”

xiao almost rolls his eyes. you're way too humble for someone who gets recognized by people on the street daily. “congrats, then. you met one of your rare fans.”

that was an unbelievable thought, before. you? having a fan? whenever you searched up your name, you couldn't find anyone talking about you. your character is different; you're looking for people who's interested in you as a person, not just your role.

now, though. you've accumulated enough fame for a fan club. several maybe, even.

... but even then. that modeling gig hadn't been successful. only someone who knew about it a year ago would know about it now, since it faded from the internet pretty fast.

as far as you know, you didn't have fans a year ago.

xiao makes a realization. “...isn't this the fourth time he invited you to lunch this week?”

“yeah?”

“.....isn't he just hitting on you then?”

now that's just not in the realm of possibility. xiao is so funny.

“he literally baked you cookies the other day.”

“friends give each other cookies, xiao. i can even make some for you if you want.”

“they were heart-shaped, [name].”

(you end up making him cookies to prove a point.)

days pass by, xiao giving you increasingly odd looks, and kazuha finally proves his worth in filming.

his performance rivals that of albedo's—the soft edges of his eyes sharpening into something menacing, gaze cold and apathetic, his lips downturned to an unfamiliar sneer. you're watching the birth of a star, and it's only a matter of time before his talent will be acknowledged.

he's different from ayato as a villain. ayato is cunning, the perfect example of a mastermind. malicious and dripping with spite. but kazuha looks innocent, a cute little bun you'd never guess can make those kind of facial expressions—twisted, vicious, malevolent.

it's part of the act, but you flinch when his character turns violent; kicking down doors, smashing glass windows with a bat. holding the extras acting as murder victims by grabbing them by the hair, throwing down cops like they weighed nothing.

and then right after that scene concludes with the director's “cut!”, with (fake) blood still splattered on his face, kazuha runs up to you grinning innocently, fishing for compliments. “did i do good?”

nevertheless, you give him headpats. “you're terrifying.”

he flushes, not too pleased giving that impression to you. the next day, he acts all sweet to you again, giving you a batch of cream puffs this time. xiao snorts somewhere in the background.

eventually, your manager notices the snacks you receive regularly. “oh, it's from that kid?”

“kazuha? mhm.” you nibble happily on the pastries.

your manager chuckles. “never thought i'd see him again here.”

“...what do you mean?” blinking owlishly, you pause from chowing down. “you know him?”

“he used to work at the bakery you went to often before, didn't he? the kid you kept telling to watch your first drama. you forced him to watch the episodes on your phone during his break.”

...............FUCK.

you do remember doing something that stupid. during the filming of your first drama, you frequently stopped by at a nearby bakery to buy snacks, and you remember there was a cute kid working there. you often pinched his cheeks and cajoled him into watching the series.

but when filming ended, you couldn't go to the bakery anymore. the filming location was far from your house, and the bakery was simply out of the way.

did that kid... kazuha... support you all this time? from that early on?

you curse your manager for telling you this right before filming. your mind is a mess, having trouble connecting that cute, precious child (why are you always calling him a kid, he's barely 2 years younger than you) to the smooth and flirty man today.

it's an important scene today too! the confrontation between the detective, his partner, and the murderer. it needs your complete concentration, and you just don't have it right now. you've never seen the director lose his temper, but you can probably manage to do it today.

albedo is performing well in front of the cameras as always, so much like a protagonist that you feel like you're watching from a television screen already. but you have a job to do too, so you do your best in the spotlight, pretending to be unaffected.

kazuha looks even scarier up close, so unhinged and unreadable. you know what his next move will be, written on the script, but that doesn't make you any less uneasy.

“you're bold,” kazuha drawls, playing with the knife in his hand, “coming to see me by yourselves.”

you can hear what he's saying, but it feels like your head is full of cotton. why are you so distracted? “so it really is you,” you speak, praising yourself for acting normally.

the other two exchange lines, and you thank the heavens you're mostly silent for the time being. for the meantime, you have a few moments to collect yourself; there's a chase right after this, and you'd rather not do something stupid like trip over yourself in the middle of something so serious.

...

sometimes, you're gifted with foresight.

but! to be fair! you did not trip over yourself! the staff forgot to fix the cables in one part of the set, and you tripped over those. so no. not entirely your fault.

albedo is too far away—he's on the side trying to unlock the doors with his brain powers somehow, and you're the bait distracting the murderer before he does. he can't catch you with his male-lead-in-a-romance-drama-slash-protagonist reflexes now.

ordinarily, you would not trip over the cables. you have able eyes, and you could easily step over them. but you're at the stairs where darkness falls with each lower step, and wire cables don't exactly glow in the dark.

...you're at the flight of stairs. and you're about to fall over. FUCK. WHY DID THE DIRECTOR WANT A CHASE SCENE IN THE STAIRS.

you brace for the impact, hands outstretched, praying to at least save your face, but then in a complete break of character, kazuha reaches for you.

you're leaning too far to the edge now. there's no way to pull you back to even ground. kazuha grits his teeth, pulling you to his chest, and in an immense show of strength, twists around so he'd be beneath you.

you descend in a disgraceful tangle of limbs. you're enveloped in a warm embrace, cheek resting on a firm chest. a chin is tucked into the crook of your neck, heavy breaths tickling the skin of your shoulder.

heart pounding in adrenaline, you jolt back to action when the relief fades away and the panic settles back in. “your head-!” you scramble to touch kazuha's head, feeling for any bumps or even worse, blood. kazuha hisses, so you soften the touch, tracing over his body to check for other injuries. he became a literal mattress for you, and you crushed him under your weight. he looks so so frail, what if you permanently crippled him or somethi- what the hell is all this muscle?“what about your back? did you get sprained anywhere?”

“i'm fine,” kazuha wheezes under your caressing.

“you don't sound fine! who are you trying to fool? you didn't have to do that!” you grab his cheeks as you admonish him, frowning severely. they're as soft as ever, just as pinch-able as you remember—but you won't let that distract you now! that was very reckless of him!

you scramble to scurry to the side, but his hands maintain their tight grip on your waist.

bashfully, he averts his gaze, the cheeks beneath your palm growning warm and flushing with a pretty pink. “i'm not hurt. it's because you're... on top of me...”

you blink, glancing down at your position. at a proximity entirely inappropriate, you're hovering above him, straddling his hips and making no move to get away.

this kazuha is too different from two minutes ago! wasn't he just chasing you down the corridor in murderous intent?! now he's blushing underneath you, like a pure maiden you defiled!

what's with this soft, sugary atmosphere?! last time you remembered, this was a murder mystery drama!

(when the drama ends, you're casted for a romance college series with kazuha as the male lead. figures.)

OH MY LORDDDDDDDD AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

16 | slowly rest your head on my shoulder. (1k words)

you sigh and smile in content. the last time you got to loosen up like this was when you got through your first year of college. it's been months since then and you find yourself here right now, enjoying with friends, your worries at the very back of your mind.

it's already past midnight, three in the morning. most of your companions scattered around the almost empty bar, passed out either on the floor or on one of the couches. but you see venti, kaeya, kazuha, and hu tao on one of the bar tables, still taking shots together. laughing and slurring at whatever they're talking about. you giggle slightly at them.

goodness, they have monster livers.

your mind is a little hazy but you're sober enough to be aware of your surroundings and remember everything that happened tonight. you didn't drink alcohol as much as the others did. you probably only had roughly a bottle of liquor. you can handle your alcohol well, but you chose to tone down your intake this time. considering that there are other people accompanying your friend group today, you didn't want to embarrass yourself in front of them.

you stand up from where you're sitting and decide to head outside the bar, wanting to get some fresh air.

in the dim staircase, you see the silhouette of someone at the end, sitting on the curb of the street. (the bar is underground and the entrance is a staircase, if you didn't get the picture) you jog your way up the stairs and stop just behind the person.

you realize that it's scaramouche.

you didn't want to admit it, but you secretly kept looking for him inside the bar when he disappeared somewhere. not only was he late but he only stayed with the group for an hour or two before disappearing by himself. he didn't even interact with his friends much, just quietly drinking in the corner of the bar. when you realized that he was nowhere in sight, you just assumed that he went home by himself.

so this is where he went.

you study him. he's facing the quiet street, holding a shot glass and a bottle beside him.

you make your presence known by coughing slightly. "is this how antisocials hang out when they go to a bar with their friends?”

he turns his head to look at you. he let's out a breath, almost like a laugh, and smirks lazily. "what, missed me already?"

"you wish. i just came out for fresh air." you make a move to sit down beside him on the curb, the bottle of liquor between the two of you.

"you're kind of a moron. but i know you can get there."

you suddenly remember his words earlier today. after the debate, you've been thinking about your view of him ever since he said those words of comfort to you. if it were any other person who said them, you would've laughed at their bad effort of trying to be supportive.

but those words came from him. which made them completely different and special. knowing him, it was the best consolation he could give to someone and, most especially, to you.

so you begin to see him in a new light. perhaps he's not as bad of a person as you thought. perhaps he doesn't actually think you're below him. you think that maybe his way of friendship is through offending people but with no actual malice. or perhaps he just doesn't know how to approach people normally.

but all of those are mere speculation in your perspective. you realize that you can't get to know him properly if you keep pushing your petty grudge on him.

moments pass with just the two of you sitting there saying nothing.

"we did good." you slur slightly, the tiredness that your body felt is now only settling. "i wonder why we didn't get partnered for debates at all back in highschool. not that i wanted to, though."

he stares at you for a second before explaining, "i organized the debates in a way for us to always be on separate teams. being pres had its perks."

you notice that he didn't slur his words at all. how many bottles did he have? you wonder.

"are you not drunk at all?" you ask.

"i can hold my liquor." much to xiao's disappointment "what? thought you could catch me slipping?"

"kind of."

"never." he laughs slightly.

although he did say that, it's quite obvious that he's out of it to some extent. he's snarky, but his remarks are more lighthearted than usual. or maybe he's just too tired to start his usual arguments with you. who knows.

he grabs the bottle between the two of you, uncapping it to refill his glass.

he's so passive right now that you find it weird.

once he's done filling his shot glass, he hands you the bottle that still has one shot worth of liquor in it. "you can finish it. i've had enough."

you accept it, "you sure you didn't drink from this bottle?"

he looks at you boredly. "why do you think i have a glass with me?"

"just making sure." you shrug and down what's left of the bottle in one go. scaramouche follows you and takes his shot.

you cough at the bitter taste, squinting slightly as you take in the alcohol. you place the bottle back down beside you. you sniff and wipe your face with your sleeve.

you sigh heavily and rest your head on your palm. you feel your muscles relax and your eyes start to droop out of exhaustion. your head swaying slightly, trying to keep it upright.

you take a sleepy glance at scaramouche only to find him already staring at you.

"you look ugly." he says.

"and you have a bowlcut..." you mumble back.

you finally let yourself succumb to sleep. so out of it that you don't feel his hand slowly guiding your head to his shoulder.

you two sit there, side by side, with you dozing off. silence engulfing you both and street lights illuminating your features.

a peaceful and intimate moment with only the moon as your witness.

and as you continue to drift in your dreamland, passed out and unaware of your surroundings, you don't hear the quiet mutter under his breath that's forever lost to the soft breeze of the cold morning.

"you did good today. i'm proud of you."

raised the bar !

masterlist / prev - next

synopsis yn thought she finally escaped the perpetual doom of constantly placing 2nd after she graduated high school. but alas! the leaderboard has her name printed under another’s! a name she thought she’d never get to see again. better luck next time, i guess.

a/n: just some of their instagram story highlights! because is it really a social media au if there aren't irl ulzzang photos 😭

anw that's a wrap for the act one of this smau!! the next updates will continue on act two which will focus more on yn and scara's development and will reveal more about their struggles and stories since act one focused more on introducing the characters and their dynamics.

{ ⚖︎ } taglist — @iwziu @nejibot @thenightsflower @crowbird @scaramouchekink @bleedingwhiteroses222 @dksfl920 @sevynnee @hangezoessidehoe @lunaflvms @ifelloutofbed @aerasoline @cloud-emoji-exe @platinumuse @lovelyiez @yolotokyoo

if your username isn't darkened like the others that means i unfortunately can't tag you

If you want to be part of the taglist, just reply, dm, or ask!

you wear another man’s clothes

f!reader┆canon┆wc. 1k┆navi┆like or reblog┆

ayato [綾人]

he wasn’t a jealous man, but it’d be a tremendous lie if he said he didn’t experience it. his jealousy didn’t stem from insecurity or low-self esteem. his tendency to get jealous was sowed in petty, childish annoyance over anything else

jealous? debatable. possessive? of course. the need or obligation to uphold a facade around others made it a fun challenge. it forced him to act sneakier than a fox when it came to showing his true feelings and intentions

he was so smug about it. sure, you didn’t know he was behind it but he didn’t mind. the reactions people had towards you compensated for it

Keep reading

merry cristmas❄️

A Charlie Brown Christmas

“ GENSHIN IMPACT !! ” 🏷️— SNEZHNAYA DOES NOT BELIEVE IN TEARS (CHILDE X READER).

＃CHARACTERS! — CHILDE.

＃CONTENT WARNING(S)! — ANGST.

＃MASTERLIST! — HERE.

＃ALT ACCOUNTS! — @yyolkchi (spam/sketch posting account!) & @ddollipop (mature fic account!)

＃A/N! — INSPIRED BY THE OFFICIAL RELEASE OF THE HARBINGER DESIGNS, SOMEONE CONVINCE ME NOT TO SIMP FOR PANTALONE, HELP ME.

Snezhnaya isn't always so bitter and cold.

Sure, the winter is unrelenting, the snow piles high, up and above the heads of small children who know of nothing else outside the nation's borders, —but there's warmth to be found in this icy place. Warmth comes and goes like the frosty winds that sweep across the land. It's fleeting, and painfully unreliable, but perhaps the worst part of it all is that you reach for it every single time it comes back around, no matter how long it's been without a single flickering flame off in the distance to let you know it hasn't been extinguished.

Childe comes and goes as he pleases. He's a Fatui Harbinger first, and your lover second. You know that to be the case, even when he denies it, even when he insists to you that he does what he does in order to build a better life, —for himself first, then his family and you, because you've "always been included in that from the day I fell in love with you." Family. It's nice to think about, but it's hard to imagine that Childe sees you so fondly when he hardly ever sees you at all these days. His visits have gotten shorter, only lasting a week at most, and they're now few and far between. His travels have gotten longer, and he comes back with more injuries than he ever has before.

But you can't seem to let him go, no matter what he does, no matter what he says, no matter how many times he disappears into the distance and leaves you hanging by a thread for days, weeks, months. . . You wait. You turn down the men that only swing by the confectionery shop you work at to flirt with you while they mindlessly order small boxes of chocolates or fudge. You go home to an empty bed, saving his side just in case he crawls in through the window again in the dead of night. You hold that shirt of his that he left at your apartment not-so-accidentally half a year ago to the lower half of your face, breathing in whatever's left of his scent after all this time. It's fading, just like he is. . . But you won't wash it, nor will you wash yourself clean of him. The ties between him and you have turned into iron chains. Sometimes, they curl around your neck and pull taut until you're sputtering, falling to your knees on the floor next to his side of the bed.

You weep. You worry. You drive yourself mad wondering if he's okay, if he's injured, if he's doing alright. And then he waltzes his way back in like he never left, —and you should be angry. You should probably hate him by now after all the sleepless nights and harrowing days he's put you through, but the moment he returns with that arrogant laugh and that cocky smile, you've already lost the fight. He opens his arms and you've slotted yourself between them before you have half the mind to stop yourself, letting him hold you even though he doesn't deserve to. The thick fur of his coat tickles your neck, then weighs heavily on your spine when he sheds it like an unneeded extra layer of skin and places it around your shoulders.

Now's the time when you should shove it off, look him dead in those ocean blue eyes and tell him that you're tired of this, —that it's all too much, and you deserve better. But when he's here, he's the best man you could ever ask for. He's doting, even when his body aches and it's hard for him to move around properly. He understands when you crack under the pressure, letting you cry on his shoulder as he rubs little circles into your skin by the fire. It crackles, and your heart sings for him. Childe is all you've ever wanted. For so many years, you've watched him grow and change, becoming the person he is today who is many things: some good, some bad. But the bitter truth remains that you are an affair, second to his job that he works for tirelessly. As long as he's a Harbinger, the only place you'll ever have is as a homewrecker.

Here you are though. . . Again.

"Easy," he requests, voice strained from the pulse of his aching ribs, "—I missed you too."

"It's been two months since I last saw you, Childe," you comment, sounding much more bitter than you'd intended. "No letters, no nothing, and I. . . I was scared something had happened. Something bad."

Guilt floods through his veins. He hadn't even realized it had been quite that long. His tireless work which often requires an intense amount of traveling is known to easily allow him to lose track of time. Still, he knows he should have sent someone to give you a message somewhere in between his camp setups. He should have done more to ensure that you weren't losing sleep over him.

"I'm sorry," he relents, voice thick with melancholy. "Time gets away from me on jobs. That's not an excuse, though. I need to be more mindful of your feelings, and I'll work on that."

You hate this. When he has time to spare for you, the last thing you want to do is spend it talking about all the ways he's made you worry or feel small unwittingly. In a way, you feel equally responsible for your own feelings. He never misrepresented himself to you after all. . . You knew what you were getting yourself into, and you jumped headfirst into the fire. Because Childe, above all things, is warm. 

"We can talk about it later," you mumble against the skin of his neck.

Later will likely never come, but you're keen on overlooking that. For now, at least. Until he leaves once more in a few days time, and you're forced to reconcile with loneliness again. And so the cycle will begin; he leaves, and you tell yourself this is the last time. When he comes back, you'll pull yourself free of his grasp: the one that's ice cold sometimes, but still manages to nip at your moth-eaten, frostbitten heart. But then the next time comes around, and you find yourself in his embrace again.

"People are starting to stare."

They're common folk from the looks of it, just regular citizens of Snezhnaya, same as you. Even so, it's impossible to know when someone may be working as an informant. Childe's head on a platter is worth at least a couple hundred million Mora. . .

"You're pretty," Childe notes, a playful smile pulling at the corners of his lips, "they can't help themselves."

That's far removed from the reality of the situation, but his comment still makes you giggle. The truth is that Childe is somewhat of a Snezhnayan celebrity; much as all the Harbingers are. They rule with an iron fist over a great deal of politics, trade, travel, economic systems, and social functionality. The Harbingers are well respected, but also immeasurably feared. That is the real reason all the people have begun to throw glances your way. You're with Childe.

"Hardly," you brush the comment off, stifling a giggle.

"Hardly?" Childe parrots, "—Don't be so modest. You're the most beautiful person in Snezhnaya. In all of Teyvat, even. And trust me, I've probably seen every inch of this world. Parts of other worlds too, and none of it compares to you."

He means it. Not just outerly, though he does think your physical beauty is utterly unmatched, —but internally. When he's down and wondering if he should even bother to pull himself back up, he thinks of you, and you give him the strength he needs to move forward. He thinks of your smile, the way your eyes reflect starlight, the way your bleeding heart welcomes him and gives him shelter. When he sleeps beside you, he likes to imagine that he's sunken into your being, and that you've sunken into him. He sleeps behind your ribcage, right next to your beating heart, and you sleep next to his.

"You're laying it on thick tonight," you comment.

His compliments pile up like the snow at your feet, and you know what that means.

"You're not staying for long, are you?"

The glimmer in his eyes dies out a little as his face falls, and you wish you hadn't said anything. It's too late now though.

". . . Things haven't been easy since Rosalyne's death," he says. "Her work has been mitigated to the rest of us, and I've been given the tasks that require the most travel, since I'm the one who leaves Snezhnaya the most."

He's avoiding the question, and you sigh; warm breath hitting the cold air in a little cloud of vapor.

"You'll be gone by morning then?" You ask.

Childe opens his mouth to speak, but you already know the answer, so he purses his lips together a few seconds later. There's no point in rubbing salt in the wound.

"Let's go," you prompt, pulling him by the hand. "It's freezing, and you don't have a coat anymore."

"I don't really need one," he assures you, "I was born and raised here in Snezhnaya, after all. I'm more than used to the weather."

You just want to get inside. Both because your fingers have started to go numb, and because you know Childe has injuries that you're keen on looking after before the sun rises and daybreak comes. By then, he'll be gone again, and you'll be left to wait for him once more.

The way snow crunches under his feet is an almost comforting sound. It's been a while since you've heard it. There's a certain something to every little thing he does, —as if the world all but bends for his will and the universe seeks to bow at his feet. He's the only man alive you'd wait this long for.

He squeezes your hand as if to say "I'm sorry."

And you squeeze his in return to let him know that it's okay, —everything is fine— even though it isn't. It never really has been. But when this coat is draped over your shoulders, his fingers have laced with yours, and he's pulling you close to keep you warm, it's easy to convince yourself that maybe one day everything won't be so bad. He'll find a way to make things better for everyone: himself, his family, you. . . He'll find a way to ease the sting that comes when you wake up in the morning and he's not there.

He'll hold you to sleep, then pull away at the first sign of sunrise. Just like the icy winds of Snezhnaya, he'll come and go with the breeze.

They're bitter. They hurt. But they dry your tears when they swoop in from the north, and sometimes, they carry Childe's heartbeat along with them.

The thick blanket of snow along the ground glitters in the humble moonlight. Childe's hand is placed at the small of your back, matching the curve. And somehow, it's comforting in ways any apology he could ever give never would be. Once again, you're being swept away; washed out into his sea. You're drowning in him.

"I love you," he whispers, for your ears only.

Like it's just between the two of you, —some deep, dark secret, or something precious he hopes you'll only ever need to hear from him.

You'll think about that secret, that precious whisper, come morning when Childe sneaks away at the first sign of daylight. Maybe if you're lucky, you'll catch a glimpse of his footprints before the new snowfall rains down from the heavens and buries them, erasing all traces that he was ever even here in the first place.

"I love you too," you answer honestly.

It's all you have the will to say

But sometimes, I wish I didn't.

footprints

[ zhongli x child!reader ]

summary: the lonely archon does not seem to be lonely anymore, not with the presence of a little human.

notes: self indulgent gnhn was going to be a longer fic but i got tired of waiting and went for the cute moments lmao :') | m.list

words: 601 | warnings: fucking adorable i swear

zhongli finds the snow magnificent. he's not a big fan of it, but he can't deny that this particular season makes liyue more beautiful than it already is. the chill in the air feels great in his lungs, although it stings a little bit when he stays outside for too long. for now, the pair of gold crystals admires the way the snow slowly fills the ground like the sand filling the bottom half of an hourglass.

"oof!"

amused, a quiet chuckle escaped from his chest, listening closely to the sounds of footsteps shuffling in the snow.

one of the reasons zhongli can relax peacefully without the weight of his past is you.

over the months that he had taken you under his care—as much as he can, that is—you had continuously followed him around the harbor, always right behind or beside him whenever he searched for you. your small footsteps have become familiar to his ears and he finds himself restless when he can't feel your presence. you have also helped him in the ways of humans—your young mind not processing the fact that he himself should have known how that works without your help.

keeping a slow pace, his head turns sideways to take a look at you. before his eyes, is the most purest creature of all doing the most adorable thing in the world.

on the blankets of snow, your footprints are nowhere to be found.

the reason? you were too determined to step on his footprints, your feet too small to even fit on the size of his. your face held the most wonderful smile, eyes set downwards on the set of footprints his feet left for you to follow.

suddenly, the cold air that filled his lungs earlier disappeared and his is chest embraced with a warmth that he hasn't felt before.

with a certain glint in his eyes and a deep chuckle, his left foot steps farther, followed by his right foot with the same distance. slowly, the spaces between his footprints start to grow, far enough that you have to stretch your little legs to reach.

he watches as you waddle to his direction, lips pursed, and your arms outstretched for balance.

he unconsciously stopped on his track, deciding that watching you seems more worthwhile than the beauty of the landscape behind him. nor does he notice the fond look on his face the closer you got to him, still stepping on the footprints he left.

"a little closer," you mumble under your breath, feeling your legs start to hurt from the stretching it has done.

with one last set of footprints left, your foot got caught in the snow, throwing your balance off and pulling your body down to fall on the blankets of cold snow.

"eek!"

fortunately, zhongli was fast enough to catch you. he chuckles at the bewildered look on your face.

"careful, little one."

"thank you, mister zhongli!" you beam at him, pearls white as the snow on display with how big your smile is.

the warmth in his chest once again made its presence known, as he took your hand in his to help you travel through the snow.

"shall we head back? the cold will not be good for your health."

"can we have hot chocolate? or your signature tea?" your eyes sparkle, rendering the snow around you useless with how they shine against the light.

"of course, little one."

on the way back, the lonely archon's footprints don't seem to be lonely anymore, not with the second set of small footprints accompanying him wherever he goes.