Why Is It Always The Good Reader Falling For The Bad Guy Character Why Cant It Be Bonten Executive Reader

this meme gives me: "goodnight sanity and money and welcome genshin impact!"

— Love Rivalry (Kaveh x reader)

PAIRING kaveh x gn!reader (ft. alhaitham)

GENRE social media au, college au

SYPNOSIS You’ve been rejected by your academic rival, alhaitham, without even confessing or having feelings for him. You decided to go to a party to fix your damaged ego, so why are you suddenly making out with his roommate?

TAGS attempt in comedy, fluff, slight angst, misunderstandings, fast burn ish, implied sexual content (no smut)

WARNINGS might be ooc, written before kaveh’s official release, cw images of cats

STATUS ongoing! (11/16/22)

main m.list

profiles: (reader’s) peak mental illness | (kaveh’s) most wanted

00. prologue (🌻)

ACT I — delusional

01. confession

02. brutal

03: rumors

04. beer

05. rejection

06. one word

07. stream

08. cheating lover

09. real talk

10. plan

ACT II — scandal

11. lost (🌻)

12. scandal (🌻)

— to be added

note: im back with smau cause writing sucks

taglist close!

@dee-zbignuts @lxry-chxn @ducq @nikkicola @artssleepy @arraxthatsonjah @scarasaver @i-x4o @matenlau @soohasoya @yae-raidenmyloves @aixaingela @09yyeol @nebulaera @bokutetsumu @kairxse @victoria1676 @thenightsflower @ti-lsy @alizaneth @abvolat @carnnieval @ultimate-imagines @ventisoba @skimm0nzz @slvdsjjk @httpmitsuya @unit-008 @ruisann

-- this is my first time doing a taglist so pls send an ask or comment if it isn't working thank you

★ SOFT AS IT BEGAN.

district four’s only victors—satoru gojo, dazzling and deadly, and you, cunning and stubborn—are dragged back into the arena for the quarter quell. with the capitol watching and a rebellion brewing, the hunger games are no longer just about survival. they’re about trust, betrayal, and the unresolved past that still burns between you.

★ pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader ★ genres & contains: romance, angst, smut, action, hurt/comfort, slow burn. the hunger games!au, dystopian!au, enemies to lovers!au. violence, gore, character death, injuries, blood, misogyny, class differences, mentions of non-consensual sex work, profanity, alcohol consumption. basically anything you’d expect in a typical hunger games au. individual warnings will be placed before each chapter. ★ word count: 6.2k (ongoing) ★ credits: art by _3aem. beta read by @mahowaga & @admiringlove.

“The poem ends, Soft as it began— I loved my friend.” — “Poem”, Langston Hughes

01. The Reaping. 02. The Capitol. 03. The Victors. 04. The Arena. 05. The Cannon. 06. The Beach. 07. The Plan. 08. The Games. 09. The District. 10. The Mockingjay.

[10:00 PM] + assassins/gang!au + "i want to go home."

a/n: for the person that wanted "yeosangst" i love you hope you like this, based off the song bellyache, warnings for angst, death, and some descriptions of blood/violence, the narration switches between past and present tense, 6k

-

you've got a bellyache.

your stomach curls in on itself, a sharp pain that crawls up your limbs, creeps up to the crevice of your heart and stays there. heavy. it's heavy. suffocating.

a dull thud resounds over the dull hum of the car engine and you sit up straight.

you're just hungry, you decide. you're fine. it's fine. everything is fine. you're fine.

you take a breath. another. the dark house in front of you looms, like a parent, bent at the hips as they chastise you with narrowed eyes and a skeptical turn of the lips. you barely remember your parents after so many years of this. you barely remember a home like this. another -

"open the door." the familiar voice and the knock at the window makes you jump, hands over your heart, your steady breathing gone ragged.

"jesus fucking christ."

"no, just yeosang." kang yeosang rolls his eyes from beyond the drivers side window, his skin flushed pink from the cold and his scarf slipping past his nose, revealing his lips. his sharp features remain on you, though, narrowing especially when you still haven't moved. he knocks a knuckle against the window, "now open the fucking door, y/n."

and you do.

your fingers are trembling (when had they started doing that?), but you unlock the door. yeosang ducks into the driver's seat, tossing you the backpack without so much as a second glance. he is quick to back out of the driveway, and as you watch the dark house slip away the ache in your belly, your chest, returns.

it's a terrible fate, the consequences you two will face, whether that is by the hands of the law or by the hands of whatever supposedly awaits you both after death.

you met yeosang fresh out of college, struggling to pay off your loans and get past your first round of interviews. at the time, he was merely a friend of a friend. mingi's roommate's friend. you barely knew mingi, really, so yeosang was nothing more than an acquaintance.

until he found you with blood dripping from your hands.

he convinced you that night that the police would never believe it was self defense. he looked at you that night with clear eyes and a serious face, and you could tell he didn't believe you either. maybe that was the start of everything. maybe that explained how you both were now. yeosang had stared at you, unwavering, and pointed at the dead man at your feet as if he were discarded trash, and he said, "why would they believe you? look at his suit. his watch. his shoes. his fucking handkerchief."

you didn't know the brands, just that they looked like they were worth more than you could afford in a lifetime.

yeosang murmured, "now look at you."

and he was right. you'd always hated that - how rich people were favored, how you were judged for what you wore and how you looked - but he was right. you knew it just as much as he did.

you found out a lot about yeosang that night, sat on an old couch in an abandoned warehouse with his friends (more friends of your friends) discussing your fate as if you were not even there. wooyoung from your accounting classes and the only person willing to help you during group projects. choi san, your third year roommate's plug she occasionally hooked up with for free weed, who you believed to be absolutely harmless. kim hongjoong, your lab teaching assistant from your last year that you'd always argue your grades with. your friend who was barely a friend, mingi, and his roommate yunho who you met yeosang through. there were a few more familiar faces you may have seen at parties or at the bar.

you'd stared down the barrel of a gun that night, with your most annoying lab TA from college at the other end of it, and, looking back, you think that was when you'd lost your mind, right alongside that man you and yeosang left in the gutter.

"technically they did kill the target." mingi was the one that spoke up first. you'd been surprised - though you both were friends, he only ever reached out to you for parties or to go out to bars.

hongjoong had turned his hard stare from you to mingi, asked, "yes, but it was messy. they've only caused us more problems. if we accept them, are you going to take responsibility?"

mingi shook his head. you couldn't even be bothered to feel disappointment.

"thought so." hongjoong said, turning to you with a lopsided grin. you wondered, briefly, if he'd wanted to do this to you every time you visited office hours and pointed out mistakes in his test questions. it was certainly the same smile he'd give you back then.

"i will."

yeosang said it so casually, so easily. you looked up at him, the dried blood making your hands feel tight as you fisted the hem of your shirt.

"will you now?" hongjoong tilted his head, and the dangerous glimmer in his eye stuck with you even to this day.

wooyoung frowned at yeosang, "why would you do that?"

"they have potential. no matter how you look at it, the target should have overpowered them, yet they managed to kill him in one blow. we can use that."

you remembered it all to be so clinical. the way they all nodded, the way they looked over you. you almost couldn't believe they were the same people you'd interacted with so casually over the years.

when hongjoong dropped the gun and nodded, you'd realized you had no choice in the matter.

he still asked, "so what do you say, y/n. want to clean up the mess you made?"

it was either death or joining them. the gun glinted in his hand, a mocking thing.

so you'd joined them.

and yeosang held it over your head from the moment you said okay.

~.~.~.~.~

"it's done?" you ask, now, watching as he rolls to a stop at red light.

"you think i'd be here if it wasn't?"

"i don't know. you've done it before."

yeosang finally looks at you, fingers tight around the wheel. "what's got you so worked up?"

you shrug. and he leaves it at that. he was never a man of words. that was more wooyoung's thing.

~.~.~.~.~

responsibility meant vouching for you at training and training meant pushing you to brink of death on so many occasions, you'd lost count. the trainees were separated from the main gang, in a warehouse at the edge of town that hongjoong only visited once a year and yeosang apparently never visited until you were brought in. even then, you only saw him once a month. the facility was run by a stoic man with debilitating punches. jongho. he woke you all up at the crack of dawn and worked you until dusk. then there were chores, most of which you were made to do because you were the newest trainee.

mingi had been kind enough to explain it to you, three weeks into your indoctrination as he stood leaning against the bathroom door, watching you attempt to staunch your bleeding nose, flinching at the pain. you'd snapped at jongho earlier and he made you spar him as punishment. the broken nose could be healed, but the broken ego could not be.

"yunho is coming," he said.

"then why are you here? shouldn't yeosang be here? since he's responsible for me?"

you'd spit out the word responsible with all the vehemence you could manage.

mingi snorted and it reminded you of the few times you both were getting air during a party. those conversations were insignificant at the time, but they made you wonder if you and mingi could have been better friends in another life.

"yeosang doesn't want to show favoritism. neither of us do."

"trust me," you'd said, "no one thinks he favors me. or any of you favor me for that matter. jongho just rocked the shit out of me in front of everyone an hour ago."

"it's apart of the job."

"kindness isn't?" you'd frowned at mingi.

"no," mingi shook his head, stepping back out of the bathroom, "it never will be."

and yeosang proved that during every monthly visit. he rolled up the cuffs of his dress shirt and gestured to the ring, fists at the ready.

he spoke quiet instructions at you. fix your stance, hands up, too heavy on the heels, and when his visit was over, he'd just toss you a water bottle, wave, and disappear.

sometimes, he'd knock you over the head long enough that you saw stars. he'd sit with you after those days, with ice.

many many months in, you'd gotten the guts to speak up on one of those days. with black dots in your vision and a possible bruised rib, you sat and asked, "why me?"

you didn't expect yeosang to answer.

but after a long moment, he said, "i don't know. maybe i see something in you i want to protect."

"what could that possibly be?"

he shrugged.

you'd spoken into the silence, "maybe you just felt guilty."

yeosang blinked at you for a long moment before he rolled his eyes and said, "maybe i like to have people indebted to me. it makes it easier when i need to call in favors."

"that's weird," you'd said, "and manipulative."

yeosang tossed your hand wraps into your lap, "i think you're ready to keep going."

"i think i have a concussion."

"too bad. get up."

and you did.

two years later and you stood amongst of a pile of groaning bodies, barely able to stay standing, and you looked hongjoong in the eyes and declared, "i won."

hongjoong looked you dead in the eyes, his dark eyes filled with a dreadful sort of amusement, and he did not bother to answer you, looking instead over his shoulder at yeosang. he raised a brow and waved a hand.

yeosang spoke, voice quiet and musical, casual as always, "kill the last man you hit."

he tossed you a knife, the one he always keeps strapped to his thigh.

you met his unwavering gaze, your belly aching. yeosang looked very much like an angel, even as he ordered you to kill. it makes sense. they were assassins, made to do the bidding of whoever hongjoong decides. training isn't over until you kill. on purpose.

so, you did, turning on the other trainee, a boy you'd spent day after day alongside, who you laughed with during dinners and you watched the terror in his eyes grow with each step you took and you cleaned the dishes with him and sparred with him and he shook his head, small pleading whimper left his lips and on his birthday you got together with the other trainees and bought a small cake and champagne and -

hongjoong laughed, "now you've won, y/n."

~.~.~.~.~

the hotel is quiet, likely empty. yeosang tosses the burner phone on the table, beside the backpack. you watch from your position sprawled out on the hotel bed. he glances over at you, wrinkling his nose.

"at least take off your shoes."

you roll your eyes before you kick your shoes off in his direction. one of them hits him in the shin. he glares at you before he slips into the bathroom. he doesn't slam the door shut behind him, though, so you know he's not really mad.

~.~.~.~.~

"you couldn't have warned me?"

you'd pulled yeosang out of the bar when you'd finally found him, after bowing your head at a million and one people congratulating you for your ascent into official ranks. he was standing beside san and wooyoung and you'd promptly grabbed his elbow and dragged him away, earning a snort from wooyoung and giggle from san. hongjoong shook his head at you in warning, but you ignored him. the consequences for that might bite you in the ass later, but you'd only been able to focus on yeosang.

yeosang had stared down at you with an insolent brow raise and it made you want to punch him.

"that would have made it unfair."

"i had to kill someone."

"you've already killed someone."

"i - that was different."

"is it really?" yeosang tilted his head and you deflated under his gaze, letting the brick wall behind you carry your weight as he said, "murder is murder, y/n."

"intentions matter."

"no, they don't."

"yes, they do. the first time was an accident!" you couldn't help the way you shouted at him, your voice echoing in the ensuing silence around you.

"i didn't want to be here. i didn't want this," you couldn't help the tears in your eyes. you hadn't been allowed to be upset about your circumstances since that fateful night. this was the one person you never wanted to show your vulnerability to, but you know, he's the only one you should be showing it to. he's responsible for you. no one else here was.

"then why did you listen to me? why did you kill him yesterday?"

"i - i don't know."

"it's because you wanted to live," yeosang pressed a hand to your shoulder, featherlight, barely there, "that's the same reason why you killed the first time. that's how you should operate here. everything you do, from here on out, is for survival. it should have been this whole time, but now it's your number one priority."

"that's not -"

"you owe me that much, y/n. from the moment you agreed to hongjoong's request, you've become my responsibility. your survival is my survival."

you'd blinked at him, frowning, and said, "it almost sounds like you care."

yeosang had scoffed, his hand on your shoulder suddenly much heavier, his eyes narrowed, clearly unappreciative of your comment, "one way or another, i always collect my debts, y/n."

you'd shrugged him off, but he wasn't lying. when yeosang did speak, his words were meant to be heard.

~.~.~.~.~

"what did joong say?"

yeosang ignores you, opting to towel dry his hair. he tosses the wet towel on the hotel couch. you wrinkle nose at his actions. he plops down on the bed opposite yours.

"he said, 'good job'," yeosang says, staring at you with his unwavering eyes and a small, pretty smile on his face.

you don't respond, nodding as you turn to stare at the popcorn ceiling above you.

~.~.~.~.~

the only time you've heard hongjoong praise any of you was when he praised one of your fellow trainees for his wonderful work before he turned the gun he'd had pointed on the dying target on your colleague and lay his brains out all over the floor right in front of you.

"what did he do wrong?" hongjoong asked, turning on you. the glint in his eyes told you he didn't expect to hear the right answer from you, and the gun in his hands already found the point between your eyes.

you'd tried to swallow the lump in your throat, "i -"

"he let the kid and wife go," yeosang interrupted from behind you.

hongjoong scoffed, dropping the gun, "of course you won't let me have my fun."

"new recruits aren't endless, joong, one dead is enough tonight," seonghwa said, shaking his head at the mess before him as he shouldered past you, "i'll go find the kid and wife."

and you stayed quiet, even as wooyoung took a look at the bullet wound in your thigh, even as yeosang held out a hand for you to hold while wooyoung pulled the bullet from your wound and stitched you up. you stayed quiet until only you and yeosang sat alone in his car in front of your apartment building, the heater and light hum of the engine the only sounds between you.

"do you need help going in?"

you'd nodded.

yeosang tucked his hand around your waist and allowed you to lean your weight on him, half carrying you to the door. the ride up was quiet, and he'd punched in your apartment code without hesitation. he barely visited, so you were unsure if he'd remember it. he helped you into bed, placed a water glass at your nightstand along with painkillers, and finally you broke the silence.

"if i fuck up, will hongjoong kill you? is that what you meant when you said my survival is your survival?"

yeosang stood over you, his dark hair falling into his eyes. your bedside lamp illuminated his delicate features, and somehow he looked less dangerous, kind even.

yeosang met your gaze before looking away, gaze flicking over the wall art adorning your walls. "he didn't like the way i undermined him that night."

"by taking responsibility for me?"

yeosang nodded, "he didn't like that you don't listen to him."

"i listen to him."

"the night you passed the exam? at the bar?"

"can he blame me for wanting to yell at you?" you'd sighed, "i didn't think he was that offended. maybe he just doesn't like me. i did spend an awful lot of time undermining him in class."

"he mentioned that too."

"that isn't fair."

yeosang shrugged, "it isn't supposed to be fair."

you'd watched as he flicked the bedside lamp off.

"he'd kill you because of me?"

"he loves his punishments," yeosang said, melodic voice soft as the pillow under your head. he crouched beside your bed, until he was at eye level with you. "nobody ever survives his punishments in one piece."

"sorry," you said, unable to help the sarcasm. "i would have been nicer in class if i'd known i'd be in this situation."

yeosang let out a soft laugh, an admittedly pretty, calming sound.

"maybe next time."

this time you'd laughed and yeosang just pat your leg before slipping out your room.

~.~.~.~.~

"want to talk about what had you so worked up?"

the hotel room isn't dark enough for you to sleep properly. the curtains are thin and the bustling city below never sleeps, so the lights streak through the room.

yeosang never speaks at night, even when he knows you're awake. you're supposed to be the annoying one. your stomach churns, the remnants of the bellyache, but you ignore it. you blame it on having a small dinner.

"it's nothing. i'm fine."

yeosang should drop it. he usually does.

but you hear his bed creaking and rustling, then you feel a weight on your bed. you pull your head out from under the covers, blinking at him. he's wrapped in his blanket, his dark hair messy, and he's looking at you with a determined expression. he raises a brow. your heart skips a beat, especially when he gives you a gentle smile, the kind he usually bestows on you when you're both alone, the kind he gives wooyoung often.

"not moving from here until you talk."

you glare.

he just plops down beside you, his arm warm against yours, even with the blankets between you.

you crane your neck to look sideways at him. you find him staring at you, a soft look in his dark eyes.

you breathe, "why hasn't hongjoong punished me yet?"

~.~.~.~.~

"what the fuck did you do?"

seonghwa's voice was sharp and it cut through like a knife.

"he was going to kill yeosang."

"so you think you can kill him?" seonghwa shouted, "we needed him back alive."

"i know, but i -"

"y/n, shut up," wooyoung said, stepping between you and seonghwa's seething form. "check on yeosang. seonghwa, we need to damage control."

"that was -" yeosang gasped, clutching his stomach, "that was fucking stupid."

"and you're bleeding out."

"yunho can fix it."

"let me see -"

"i said yunho will fix it."

you'd froze, eyes on yeosang, and his angry expression, the clench of his jaw, and you'd stepped back.

"fine." you'd said.

"go home, y/n."

and you sat on yeosang's couch in his empty apartment and tried to understand how home translated to yeosang's apartment in your head.

you came over often, if not to meet up with him before jobs, then to bang pots and pans and doors until he woke up and bought you breakfast. you'd memorized his code and he threatened to change it but never did.

you had a home, an apartment of your own, but it wasn't this. it wasn't here. you never accidentally fell asleep on your couch in your apartment. you could barely sleep when you were there, body always on high alert. maybe that's the side effect of being an assassin, knowing damn well someone could slip in while you're sleeping and slit your throat.

you woke up to a series of beeps.

wooyoung met your eyes first, with yeosang on his back, dragging him down. san was behind him, keeping yeosang from sliding off wooyoung's back. wooyoung bit his lip, his eyes full of something akin to pity as he looked at you.

"what is it?" san called.

yeosang looked up, met your gaze, and held it as he asked, "i thought i told you to go home."

"i - i'm - sorry."

"you never fucking listen, do you?" yeosang's voice was sharp, angry, loud. he'd never raised his voice at you, no matter how annoyed he got with you.

you watched as he stepped closer, his eyes unwavering. wooyoung hovered, attempting to steady yeosang, but yeosang just pushed his arm off. san merely stood at the doorway, watching, eyes wide.

"i told you to stand the fuck back, y/n. why don't you listen?"

he shouted the last word and you stared. wooyoung stepped up, said, "yeosang, don't."

"this is not your home, y/n. so leave."

his words weren't even untrue, but it hit a nerve you could never have explained until years later. it hit that lonely part of you, the part of you that forgot you should not have made a home somewhere without permission first. because, he's right, this is not your home, no matter how much it felt like it.

"i saved your life." you snapped, ignoring the urge to cry, fingers curled into fists at your side.

"i didn't ask you to."

"i didn't ask you to either, yet you fucking did it anyway." you stepped closer, until your face was inches from his, and watched him glance over your face. you pressed a finger to his chest, "but what i want doesn't matter right?"

"no," yeosang bit out, "it never mattered."

and you shoved past him, past wooyoung calling your name. san let you through the front door, only to follow after you.

you'd stomped through the building and all the way to your car. you fumbled with your keys through the tears in your eyes and only when san grabbed the keys from your hands and opened the door for you did you realize you were crying. san sighed, shutting the door behind you, before he slipped into the passenger's side.

that night, he said, "yeosang didn't mean any of it. he's just scared."

"of what?"

"what hongjoong will do to you."

you'd barely even thought of that, of the consequences to your impulsive actions.

"he shouldn't take it out on me. he shouldn't - he shouldn't tell me to leave like that."

"i'm sure wooyoung's yelling at him about that right this instant."

you'd let out a small laugh and san squeezed your hand and you pretended, for a moment, that you were living a normal life.

please come home, y/n.

the text from yeosang lit up your phone screen. san snickered as he read it over your shoulder, dodging your attempt to shove him into the door.

~.~.~.~.~

"is that all you're worried about?"

"isn't that serious?"

yeosang shrugs, his arm moving against yours. "it's not serious enough for you to lose sleep over."

you flip over onto your side, so you're facing yeosang full on. he startles, coughing loudly to hide the way he chokes on his own spit.

"i want to go home, yeosang," you say, resting your head on the side of your arm. "how long do we need to stay out here?"

yeosang looks sideways at you before he turns his gaze to the ceiling. "we need to drop off the backpack to the rendezvous and then we can head home."

you nod.

he says, "is there anything you want to do? before we head home?"

you study his expression, especially when he turns to face you, copying your position.

"maybe visit the ocean?"

"okay," he nods, "let's do that."

"seonghwa hates when any of takes detours, though."

"he won't mind."

you raise a brow at him, skeptical. yeosang just rolls his eyes and presses his hand to your cheek, pinching lightly, "stop questioning me."

"fine," you mumble.

he makes a move then, to get up, and that dreadful feeling at the pit of your stomach returns. you tug at his arm before he can slip away and you say, "can you sleep here?"

yeosang looks at you then as if you are asking the world of him, and maybe you are. you've always had lines between you two, lines the both of you spent every day toeing with the smallest of gestures.

you fully expect him to say no.

but he does not.

~.~.~.~.~

"we're headed home, joong."

hongjoong looked up from the documents he and seonghwa were pouring over. even mingi glanced their way at yeosang's words, brows furrowed.

"home?" hongjoong asked, a small lilt to his tone you couldn't quite place.

yeosang blinked, frozen to his spot for just the smallest of moments, before he said, "my apartment."

"both of you?"

hongjoong directed the question to both of you, but he only looked at you.

you spoke slowly, "we came in the same car, so i need to get dropped off at my place. i live close to yeosang though."

hongjoong only nodded, but the silence in the room seemed to be more heavy than usual.

"y/n."

you looked up at hongjoong, "yes?"

"how is the clean up work going?"

he'd assigned you grunt work as punishment for killing the target to save yeosang. it wasn't hard work, but it was tedious and disgusting and you'd come home extremely late to complete it. you thought he was letting you off easy, but you hadn't voiced it in fear that you would jinx it.

"it's going well."

"good," hongjoong said, though this time his eyes were on yeosang, "great work."

~.~.~.~.~

you wake up to yeosang packing your stuff, the spot next to you still warm.

you roll out of bed and yeosang presses your coat to your hands. you yawn at him, holding your arms out. he sighs, helping you into your coat without another word. he only rolls his eyes when you laugh.

the morning is colder than usual and you can see your breath. yeosang cranks up the heat. despite the cold, the sun shines bright, the last of the sunrise painting the clouds soft oranges and golds.

yeosang drives southbound, away from any rendezvous points you been told of.

the ocean, you remember.

you look over at yeosang, at the way the morning sun hits the planes of his face in ways you think someone could write lines and lines of poetry about. you expect content, but his brows are furrowed. there are bags under his eyes. you slept well beside yeosang, warm and content, and you realize he did not. his lips are downturned into a tight frown.

you can see the shoreline from all the way up here, even as yeosang turns into an empty road lines by tall, tall trees.

that dreadful bellyache returns, coupled by the tight ache in your chest you'd ignored all this time. you've been an assassin long enough to understand that something is wrong. maybe you would have realized something was wrong a long while ago if this wasn't yeosang.

"we're going to the ocean first?"

yeosang nods.

~.~.~.~.~

long ago, you used to dread training.

yeosang would say, in his calm, unwavering way, "get up."

then you'd raise your fists and go another round.

every time he knocked you down, he'd say so calmly, "get up."

"get up."

the pain would bloom all over and he would toss you a hard look and say, "get up. you should always get up and keep fighting."

the punch you landed on his pretty face and the accompanying crunch was utterly satisfying.

~.~.~.~.~

"i want to go home," you whisper, fingers pressed to your thighs, your eyes on his sharp profile.

"home?"

"to your apartment. to bed. you look tired."

"i asked you once what you considered home. is it really our apartment? do you trust me that much?"

our. it sits on your shoulders, a heavy burden and a relief all at once. your fingers tremble against your thigh. the trees loom over you, this time as onlookers, as witnesses to a moment that would be lost forever otherwise, now held onto by centuries old sentries who will whisper of this moment through the wind and birds and insects. perhaps even to the ocean you will not be able to see.

"i don't know anything else. i don't think that's a bad thing."

"i'm sorry," yeosang grips the steering wheel, even as the car comes to a rolling stop. the birds no longer sing. the sun does not shine as bright. it's a dreary morning really.

you had an inkling the moment you left the looming house of your target. the inkling only grew to certainty as you listened to yeosang tell you hongjoong believed you did a good job. years have passed since that night he killed a new recruit before you, and you've quickly learned that hongjoong only praises people before he kills them.

that's the thing. you expected hongjoong to appear with a gun and an amused smile. maybe even seonghwa.

you didn't even consider that it would be yeosang, but you should have known.

you'd asked him once if hongjoong would kill him because of you, and yeosang only said hongjoong would punish him.

you stare at the way yeosang grits his teeth, and you realize this is the punishment.

"you don't have to do it."

"joong took me in when i was starving. he saved my life. i have to do it."

"my survival is your survival," your voice shakes, "you said that to me yourself. does that not matter to you?"

"do you think," yeosang grips the steering wheel so tight, his knuckles turn white, "i'm going to survive this?"

you meet his glistening eyes, the furrow in his brow, the clench to his jaw, the way his hands tremble. you think of the way he slept beside you, his warmth, the way he shows you kindness, not in words, but in actions that you've always just thought was yeosang, and nothing else. at least you told yourself it was nothing, because feelings were not something you were allowed. they'd be used against you.

"oh."

"yeah." yeosang lets out a breathy, broken, bitter laugh, "hongjoong knows me like the back of his hand. he knows how i've felt about you since the first day and he used it to his advantage. he just didn't think you..."

"he didn't think i felt the same way until i killed the target for you."

yeosang takes a ragged breath and closes his eyes.

"until i admitted to san and wooyoung that you are my home."

yeosang opens his eyes, and the sadness there breaks your heart. he drops his hands from the steering wheel and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes.

"you shouldn't make homes out of people, y/n. especially not people like me."

"it's too late for that."

"i wish it wasn't."

"i know."

~.~.~.~.~

long ago, you were drunk out of your mind and trying to process your first real assignment. it was the excuse you told yourself the next morning when you woke up with a raging headache and the terrifying memories of the way your heart fluttered at yeosang's touch.

yeosang had pressed his hand to your chin, tilted your head back, and held your gaze. he murmured, "you're going to be the death of me."

you laughed, "i think it'll be the other way around with the way you kick my ass during training."

yeosang's thumb traced along your jaw, right beneath your lip, and he merely smiled. your heart pumped in your chest, even as he dropped his hand from your face.

he leaned close, murmured, "stop getting your ass kicked then."

you'd blinked after him, only to watch as looked over his shoulder and held out an arm for you to hold as he walked you back to his car.

you'd dared to slip your hand into his as he helped you out the car and back up the stairs. he did not brush you away, merely allowed you to entangle your fingers in his as he drew little circles along the back of your hand with his thumb.

~.~.~.~.~

yeosang takes a deep breath, "so that's it? you won't fight back?"

you shake your head. "i'm tired of fighting."

he presses a hand to your cheek, brushes at the tears there, and he says once more, "i'm sorry."

he takes out the gun, and holds jury amongst the trees as they bear witness to your long overdue last moments.

because i will love you until i die, and even longer still

content: angst, learning to move on

character/s: albedo

note: i’m really excited to share this one with you guys!! i have been thinking about this angst prompt for a while now, and it basically centers the concept of grief and loss. i believe it’s a truly difficult journey to wrap your head around the loss of a loved one. sometimes even the smallest of their habits and likes that you’ve picked up still breathes life into them even when they’re gone. i think it’s a beautiful yet sorrowful lesson to experience in life - to learn that love isn’t always about holding on, but letting go - and it’s seriously inspired me to write this albedo story. for now i hope you’ll still enjoy and have a lovely day!!

ALBEDO

Happy birthday, my love.

Albedo jolted up from his sudden slumber, frantically glancing around his empty laboratory.

I thought I heard her…

He blinks, puzzle for a moment, before fully shaking himself awake and running a hand through his unkempt hair in frustration. How did he end up falling asleep in the middle of his work? And a very important project at that.

He glances down at the stacks of scrolls scattered around his desk and the heaps of books dispersed in the room - starting from the area near his feet trailing all the way to the exit of his laboratory.

I was a bit confused on what to give you as a birthday present, so I ended up sticking with a letter instead.

He stands up and stretches his arms, groaning sloppily from exhaustion. Albedo knew he had to clean before doing anything else - you would have reprimanded the life out of him if you saw his mess of a workroom.

It was currently 9:30 in the morning, and his stomach angrily grumbled, urging him to get some food. He ignored the persistent pain, bending down to gather the fallen books and trash disposed all around the room.

I hope you don’t mind this gift - there are also a few things I need to convey to you in my message as well.

A flurry of soft raps echoed throughout the silent laboratory from the entryway. Never batting an eye at the wooden door, Albedo continued to put away a few more items before eventually responding to the knocks. “Come in.”

The door creaks open, a shy and high pitched voice severing the tranquility of the area. “Mister Albedo, it’s me.”

“Sucrose.” He hums, acknowledging her presence. “What do you need?”

She awkwardly fiddled with her fingers. “You’ve been stuck in here for weeks. I was wondering if you wanted to go out and have breakfast with us. And Klee…insists for your appearance.”

Are you well? Have you been taking breaks like I’ve asked you to?

Albedo shakes his head, dusting his hands off as he stands up. “You know I can’t do that.”

Sucrose sighs. “I knew it.”

“So why bother coming anyway?” He asks, looking around the now tidy room.

She huffed at his stubbornness. “Mister Albedo, you know that isn’t good for your health. If Y/N were here-“

A loud crash echoes throughout the laboratory.

“Don’t say that.”

He seethes through clenched teeth, pent up frustration boiling in the pit of his stomach. In a fit of anger, Albedo’s hands had shoved the previously neat pile of books he arranged, and sent them flying back to the ground.

Even after all these years, hearing your name roll out of anyone’s mouth still sends him into a sensitive and frenzied state.

Sucrose knows that he is slowly dying inside. Anyone could see it in those lifeless pools of teal. Countless days and nights were spent locked up in the tiny room, experiment after experiment only to get his expectations crushed. It had eventually reached a point where even the archons could tell that the great and brilliant Albedo was simply clinging on to the last thin strings of false hope.

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

“I’d voluntarily exhaust the rest of my life making sure it does.” Albedo retorts, eyes fixated at the mess beneath his feet, never daring to meet hers.

Sucrose nods, glancing with pity at the unreadable man with clenched fists standing in front of her.

As I thought. He’s still persistent.

“Alchemy has it’s limits too. That’s all I’m saying.”

Without another word, she quietly slips away through the exit, making sure to shut the door behind her and leave Albedo alone with the voices in his head.

I’ve spent a great deal of time trying to come up with the best way on how to celebrate your birthday.

Not again.

He scoffs, looking away from the scribbled writings on the board down to his chalk - once the length of his index finger, now reduced to a minuscule size. Tossing it behind his shoulder, his fingers dive in to reach for another, before it dawns upon him that he’s finally run out of it.

Archons, this is so damn irritating.

We could pick cecilias and stargaze on Starsnatch Cliff.

Albedo massaged his forehead in frustration, glancing over at the barricaded windows he blocked months ago to obstruct any light from entering the tiny room. It had been weeks since he left the laboratory, and he knew the day would eventually come when he depleted all of his necessary materials and needed to replenish his supplies once more.

Hesitantly reaching for his white dusty coat, he throws it on himself while delving through his pocket for his keys, before carefully approaching the exit of the dark and grimy laboratory.

Or perhaps we could have a nice picnic at Windrise and watch the dandelions flutter in the breeze.

The sun’s harsh glare that peeked through the towering establishments of Mondstadt caused Albedo to wince and squint his eyes at the sight of it.

Today was especially crowded than the usual, or perhaps he simply forgot how the world once looked like before he locked himself out of it. And the longer he stayed with the multitude, the more Albedo felt like he was suffocating as he presently stood amidst the packed jam of bustling citizens.

With one swift motion, he slithered through the crowd, muttering the occasional ‘excuse me’s or incoherent apologies to people who stood in his way.

We could even spend the day cooped up in your camp at Dragonspine. Anywhere is perfect as long as it’s with you.

“Chief Alchemist…?” Flora asks in confusion, blinking once more to check if her vision had betrayed her, upon staring at the man no one had seen for a long period of time.

“I need more flowers.” Albedo hands her a leather bag filled with coins. “Cecilias, if you will.”

“A-ah, right away!” She exclaims and quickly rushes to work, still a bit weirded out to acknowledge his existence back around the streets of Mondstadt.

Albedo tapped his foot in waiting, glancing around the area to make sure no one he knew would notice him.

“I..heard about what happened.” He hears Flora say, and looks back at her, with a bunch of potted Cecilias in a crate on her desk. “I’m sorry for your loss, Albedo.”

He shakes his head rapidly, picking up the crate. “It won’t be a loss soon enough.”

Flora doubtfully nodded as she watched him walk away, wondering if he truly came up with a solution that would eventually fix his problems, or if the alchemist was simply being…delusional.

Anywhere with you…

“Albedo?”

He freezes in his spot at the voice calling from behind him.

“Is that you?”

…Albedo, I have to tell you something.

A hand reaches to clasp his shoulder, and he forcefully comes face to face with familiar purple irises and an eyepatch.

“Wow…I never thought you had it in you to leave your laboratory.” Kaeya grinned at the short man.

Albedo shoved his hand off, beginning to pace away before gathering more unwanted attention. “I’m already headed back anyway.”

“So quickly?” The blue haired man chirpily asks, following right behind him. “You’re very persistent in this new project.”

“I would have greater progress in doing so and in making my way back if you’d just turn around and leave me alone.”

Kaeya clicks his tongue playfully. “Aw come on, at least have a drink with me. We haven’t properly talked together since-“

“Finish that sentence and I’ll make sure you never speak again.”

I’ve been denying it for a while now, because I feared losing a great deal just to admit the bitter truth.

Kaeya pauses upon hearing Albedo’s cold and unfamiliar tone. Everyone had been affected upon hearing the news, but Kaeya knew deep down that the blonde had suffered the worst out of them all.

“I know you’re grieving.” He says calmly, putting his hands in his pockets. “We all are. But you can’t just ignore the truth anymore.”

“You’re wrong.” Albedo counters, a wave of foreign emotions crashing around inside him. “I’ve never ignored the truth. I simply thought beyond it.”

Now that it’s standing right in front of me, I can’t just run away anymore like I did for a long time.

“Not even the archons are capable of doing this.” Kaeya says in a fit of frustration, throwing his hands up in the air. “And you seriously believe you can make it work? What the hell makes you so different, anyway?”

“The only difference between me and all of them is that I still haven’t given up.” He says scornfully, glaring over at the man’s direction.

“Not like the rest of you.”

So this is me being brave. I’m sorry it took so long for me to say to you.

Kaeya scoffs, astounded at his resolve. He was aware Albedo was highly intelligent and completely logical, yet at this rate he was just straying away from his original path.

So this is what he chose.

He looks down with surrender, solemnly nodding at the alchemist’s pitiful answer.

“Or perhaps you just don’t know how to let go.”

I’m dying. I think I have been, for a while now.

Albedo stands alone once more in his laboratory.

Perhaps you just don’t know how to let go.

He gently sets the crate of Cecilias on the ground, and carefully walks over to his desk, rummaging through scrolls and books until he finds what he’s looking for. Albedo reaches out for it, and hesitates for a second, before picking up a picture frame that had been face down for a while now.

They say it’s a rare disease - that I can’t be cured. And that I have two months left.

It was a photograph of you smiling amidst the dandelions, your white dress billowing in the wind. He remembers it like it was yesterday, watching you goofily twirl around barefoot in a bed of grass, while he grinned and held up a camera to capture the memory of your beauty.

The sound of your laughter haunts him until this day, and Albedo can hear it echoing around the empty room, almost as if you were standing right beside him. He shuts his eyes and swallows a bile forming in his throat, feeling tears prickle in the corners of his eyes.

“Albedo.”

That’s on your birthday.

The frame slips in between his hands and crashes onto the floor with a resounding smash.

His eyes flutter open upon realizing what he had done, absentmindedly staring at the broken glass beneath his boots.

Please stop calling me, Y/N.

A little too coincidental, if you ask me.

Perhaps it’s fate reaching out to the both of us, saying that it’s finally time to stop.

Weaving through the shards of glass, he carefully plucks your photo from the mess, with blood-tainted hands. He stands back up and stares at the scattered papers and notebooks spread across his desk - a sign of grueling work he wasted months perfecting, only to realize he hadn’t even reached half of it.

Alchemy has its limits too.

He falls back onto his chair, this time unable to stop the tears from tumbling down his cheeks, and the uncontrollable sob that escaped past his lips.

My love, I know it’s hard. I can’t even imagine my life if I was the one losing you.

The tucked away flashbacks of you start to slip out from the locked part of his mind, swirling around like a tornado that had been waiting to destroy everything around it. His vision blurs and the world spins, and for a moment he swears he can see you standing across his desk, looking down with tears at his vulnerable self.

But we have to remain brave even in the face of danger.

“I love you, Albedo.” You whisper, gripping his chilly hand tightly, smiling up at his teary face.

Even if it kills us.

“Please don’t leave me, Y/N.” He says, with a traitorous crack of his voice at the end of his sentence, unable to bear the sight of you weak and helpless on your deathbed.

Even if it means we end up alone at the end of the road.

“Big Brother Albedo?”

But that will never be the case for you.

Albedo finally looks up from his desk, stunned upon seeing the hazy figure of a little girl in red standing by the entrance of his lonely laboratory.

“…Klee?”

You will never end up alone in this path.

She hesitantly remains rooted in her spot, clutching the doorknob in her little grasp. “I - Sucrose told me I wasn’t allowed to come in…” Klee nods at herself. “But I heard a crash and I ran away, to see if you…were okay.”

Am I okay?

It takes a moment for him to process her words before he nods at her, hastily wiping the tears off his cheeks and sitting up straighter.

“I miss her too.” Klee quietly says with sorrowful eyes.

“But Big Sister Y/N won’t come back anymore.”

I know.

Promise me you won’t try to save me.

It was the simple and blunt truth, yet Albedo couldn’t help but run away at the face of it.

“You can…come in if you want.” He voices hoarsely, making gestures for her to do so.

She nods doubtfully, slowly walking over to his side, carefully stepping over the glass left on the ground.

Let us accept mortality, even if it makes us lonely.

“Is that her?” Klee asks, pointing her little fingers at the slightly crumpled photo lying on his desk.

“It’s the last one I have of her.” He whispers, holding it out to let her get a better view of it.

“She looks happy…” Klee trails off, touching it gently. “I’m sure she’d want us to be happy too.”

And don’t be afraid to be happy without me again.

The sound of footsteps rushing towards the laboratory echoed around the hallways, and perks up Klee and Albedo’s ears upon hearing it.

“Klee!” The two turn to see a figure panting by the door.

“I told you…not to run away.” Sucrose huffs, leaning by the wall to gain support for her body.

“Sorry.” Klee sheepishly apologizes, guiltily rubbing the back of her head. “I just wanted to see Big Brother.”

“I’m surprised…he let you in anyway.” She remarks, raising an eyebrow at the quiet alchemist.

Because I promise I will love you until I die

He looked down, noticing an envelope stuck behind the destroyed frame. Picking it up, he examines it while letting Sucrose and Klee talk for a moment.

Flipping to the back, his eyes widen upon seeing the date and signature scribbled behind the paper.

September 13, Albedo’s birthday gift

“Is your offer…still up?” He asks, eyes flickering back and forth from your picture to the envelope in his grasp.

“What do you mean-“

“Although…perhaps it would be more fitting to have lunch now.” Albedo states, before slowly setting the possession down and glancing over at Sucrose and Klee.

“If you still don’t mind me joining you, that is.”

and even longer still.

“Of course it is!” Klee exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air. “We can make up for breakfast tomorrow, and the day after that, and for the rest of our lives!”

Albedo smiles, standing up from his chair, as Sucrose nods at the little girl’s cheery declaration.

“For the rest of our lives…that sounds lovely.”

Yours always and forever, Y/N.

P.S. I’ve attached a long list of ways on how to celebrate your birthday (and the next ones to come) with everyone else. Have fun - and more than anything, don’t be afraid to try again.

LOVE ON THIN ICE. childe

anonymous said : Hi hi! Congrats on getting 800 followers!! For the event, how about "love on thin ice"?

content; ice hockey player!childe x gn!reader, modern au, sports au, fake dating au, college au, friends to lovers au and fluff, mentions of cheating and childe's real name, and kissing. wc; 1.4k

☆ — a part of my 800 followers event ✧ and happy birthday, tartaglia!!

"if you want this, us, to work—" childe furrowed his eyebrows, and you on the other hand, noted that he often did this only when under immense pressure. fake dating was a tiring thing to keep up, especially when childe's teammates started to notice how awkward you guys were when accidental physical touches occurred around you, "—kiss me everytime we won a game."

you almost choked out on the tea you were having at the cafeteria, "huh?"

"it would slowly come off natural if you can pretend to be excited for me," childe sighed. deciding to cut the chase, he put his palms underneath his gorgeous face, "i know our games aren't really your thing, but the bare minimum we can do for people around us to believe is for you to running excitedly into my arms, and me, maybe, lifting you up so that you can cup my whole face and kiss me. in front of the whole arena."

"you hate pda, and as the considerate boyfriend that i am, this would be the only one time we should prove to them," he sent you a smile, and chuckled when the red shades on your face were starting to form at the idea.

fake dating childe was a whole new experience for you, but god damn he was an amazing one at that. no one told him to be a perfect pretend boyfriend for your sake, but here he was, once brought a punch to your ex's face when you came back crying, standing up for you as if he was meant to fight anyone who talked bad about you, and casually came knocking on your door every weekend as if it was his routine to check up on you, or, to spend his time with you.

there was no way you fell for him, of course not. you wanted to make your ex felt devastated cheating on you with all these fake dates and flirting you did with childe, and childe wanted to show you to his family and teucer as his fake partner since they wanted him to find the one.

before, you weren't a fan of pda, or surprises, because you never did all of them with your ex, but fake dating childe made you craved that you did want everyone to know you were his. and the casual surprises he did on you when you were out with your friends—for an instance, he suddenly showed up out of nowhere, introduced himself as the boyfriend, giving you your favourite ice cream, all while ignoring the visible shock your friends gave and hugged you tightly, said that you should have a date with him after that since it wasn't fair for him to miss you—ended up with you looking forward to his little banters.

was it normal to feel this kind of way? even though all of it was fake to begin with? you didn't really know. but the thought of kissing childe was making you nervous for some reasons, it would turn out to be the first kiss you'd ever shared, you gulped.

after spending some time rolling on your bed yesterday, you realised that you needed to get away from him before he knew what he did to you. knowing childe, you knew it would fuel his ego even more if he ever knew how much he affected you now and this fake act.

if someone told you months ago that you would actually enjoy the weekly hockey games, you would laugh them off.

yet, here you were.

screaming your lungs off, cheering for your college team, sighing when the opponents got another point, jumping around the seats when childe's team won a point.

this time around, the match was pretty intense. whenever his team took the lead, the opposing team would catch up with their score.

"ajax!" you thought you might burst your lungs. you never ever reached the highest pitch of your own vocal range, hyping the game as it went on, "land the final blow!"

it was a miracle, despite how noisy the whole arena was, child did hear you amidst the crowd. he lost his focus when he saw you, and you panicked when someone from behind was about to hit him and get the puck from childe.

he regained his consciousness, aware of his surroundings when your eyes gave him what he needed; the spirit to continue. time was running out, and he was the team's current final hope and ace for reasons.

he should make you proud, he thought.

the ginger skated gracefully across the rink, ultimately prevented himself from getting body check by the one behind him.

then, he heard it again. ajax.

something about you made him determined to end this for good, as he charged forward, made the shot for it with all his might, whilst the goaltender seemed to be in shock at how fast childe's attack was.

maybe it was the goaltender's fault for blinking, but then the whole crowd that went silent throughout the last minutes was jumping, and the joyful sounds were coming from your college, and the final whistle went off.

childe's team had won.

he quickly removed his helmet, and his teammates ran towards him. as the scene unfolded in front of you, you clapped your hands excitedly, you were proud of him. the way he hugged his teammates back with the widest smile you had ever seen made you unknowingly jumped off from the crowd seats, instantly made a beeline, passing through the boards when childe finally stepped outside of the rink, his skates were already off of his feet.

he saw you, the sweaty beads on his forehead as he pushed the strands back to clearly see you running at him made his smile widened even more, and you were happy for him, as well as flustered at how good he looked after all of those crazy acts he put up beforehand.

"hey, look, i'm just joking around about you kissing me if we do win. and if you are uncomfortable with it, then don't force yourself—

you didn't care. you didn't care even the slightest. something inside your mind screamed for you to make it real. to kiss him for real.

and then you ignored the stares from his teammates, leaping forward as childe quickly caught on your waist, the look on his face confirmed that you did want him, although you had already reminded childe beforehand that you didn't think you could do it.

childe was caught off guard, yes, but it was insane how fast his reflexes were to not make your feet touched the ground anymore, but instead holding his jersey dearly that made him melted at the sight.

it was proven that you already had faith in him.

"no, really, if you don't want to, then it's fine—

"shut up," you surged forward without any warnings, the sudden kiss made childe widened his eyes, but smiled nonetheless at how eager you were to kiss him, "god, i am so proud of you," you breathlessly said.

you took his breath away, and this was exactly how childe envisioned it to be, but even better.

you, being lifted by him in his arms, your waist fit perfectly around them. the small hand on his neck and the other fisting his jersey for you to kiss him even more.

the soft contact of his lips brought you to an epiphany, that you wanted all of these to be real, not just another fake act to the innocent witnesses around you.

your lips brushed his. soft, delicate, like butterfly wings. just long enough that he could inhale your breath, felt the warmth of your skin, and the taste of your lips still lingered on his far after you had gone to steady yourself.

he pulled you closer again, giggling through the kiss and hummed when you didn't seem to stop sooner. it was more than he wanted. it was perfect.

so when you almost gasping for another rush of air for your lungs, childe finally put you back on your feet.

his hold still didn't loosen up, "that didn't feel half bad. you're not a bad kisser, i must say."

you almost shying away when you realised how bad you wanted to feel him against your lips, and even though childe was still drenched in sweats, you hid your face against his chest, simultaneously felt the fast beating of his heart.

"let's go on a date after this," he gave you a cheeky peck on your lips once more, and you swore that he would definitely be the death of you one day.

yes, you were an ordinary student with nothing extraordinary, but it just happened that you had the best fake boyfriend in the world.

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one summer’s day.

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.

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What I understand from dialogues between Kaeya and Diluc

They are both idiots