hello sorry to bother you but i just wanted to ask (for my own peace of mind) if a scara x reader fic by the name of "if walls could talk" exists on your blog
i really enjoyed the plot, characters and overall vibes when i first came across it but when i checked to see if it had updated after a while tumblr said it didn't exist (i'm lowkey crashing out)
it's still there on your masterlist but when i press the link it doesn't go anywhere and i can't find any sign of its existence on your blog it isn't my place to question if you chose to stop writing it for whatever reason i just wanted to make sure i wasn't hallucinating
sorry for the long ask thank you for your time :)
i think i privated it cause i wanted to rewrite it. but i was thinking of putting it back again…BUT YOURE DEFINITELY NOT HALLUCINATING LMAOO
You might think his arms are woven in the same fabric of eternity as he holds you like a vow he’ll take to the altar–until the hands of time aligns with the sun-kissed sky–until the author of your story runs out of pretty words to describe the lingering touches and the unspoken phrase you and him refuse to say, remaining as only a message in a bottle.
It remains apparent, the gaze only meant for you. He doesn’t have to say it when his pretty eyes bats each syllable of the three words you often hear lovers whisper to each other during nights of secrecy. But you want to hear it. You want him to say it out loud so it becomes real. So the inexplicable haze blocking your judgement turns lavender until you’re sick of the scent–until the heat of his touch turns you into a bigger fool, until his name replaces the definition of stability and security.
“You’re such a tease.” He whispers.
No you are.
He lets go of your waist, “You started this.” And you didn’t even realize you had voiced your thoughts out loud. But that is the least of your worries when you catch yourself desperately wanting to chase his touch.
“You’re lucky I’m sick,” He continues as he focuses on the food you placed on the table instead, ignoring the elephant in the room.
You move to sit across from him, studying his face—the face that somehow makes your wingless heart flutter with joy every time he flashes his paper-white teeth. You wonder if you have the same effect for him—If his heart pounds in an undeniable force.
“You’re staring.”
“I know,” you say, not missing a beat. You try not to seem unfazed. But the weight of his gaze falls heavy on your shoulders. Instead, you switch your attention on the picture frames sitting in front of his TV. He notices the curious gaze in your eyes.
“That one is Teucer,” Childe points to the little boy hanging on his back before moving to the little girl in a princess costume, posing by his legs,” And that one is Tonia.”
You giggle at the silliness of the photo, “They’re adorable.”
“They’re a menace,” he says in between bites, “But they’re good kids. They’d like you.”
“If only their older brother did too.” You say it too fast. But there’s no regret in your words.
“It runs in the family.” He whispers.
“Does it?” You tilt your head, heart pounding faster than anxiety itself. Then you inch forward, carefully sitting yourself in a comfortable position on his lap until you face the blue hues of his eyes. What once looked like the cold empty depths of the ocean seemed to lighten under your gaze. He wraps his arms around your waist, this time holding you with certainty rather than hesitation.
He doesn’t need to respond to give you an answer. You already know with the way his hands roam around your body as if familiarizing himself in the future. Not quite owning it, but knowing it. Every touch is hot. You’re not sure if it’s because he’s sick, or you feel hot or maybe it’s both.
Then his eyes finds your lips. He always does, before he traces them using his thumbs.
“They’re probably looking for you. You’ve been gone for an hour.” He says, refusing to look at you in the eyes. The once playful glint in his expression is quickly replaced with the cool breeze aftermath of a rainy day where rainbows aren’t real and the only thing left is the dull splash of cold water.
You stay in place, because opportunities are not meant to be wasted, “I want to take care of you.”
“I don’t need it.”
“My service or me?”
“No. That’s not…” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, contemplating his next actions and words.
“Tell me to stay.” It’s not a question nor is it a statement. You want this.
He looks at you, filled with uncertainties--fearful of everything including you, “If I let you stay, I won’t let go of you.”
“Then don’t.”
“I’ll keep you until you’re sick of me–”
“That’s the plan.”
“Once this is real, aren’t you scared I’m going to hurt you?”
“Are you warning me or yourself?”
“[Y/N]--”
“I like you, a lot.” You finally said it. “Do you feel the same or am I wasting my time?”
He paused and closed his eyes, head now buried in his hands. You almost miss his words, “This is not the confession I wanted.”
“Oh.”
Was it all in your head?
“I was supposed to say it first. I was going to ask you out on a date and then say it… not in… not like this… not when I’m sick.”
“Oh.”
He leans his head on your shoulder, hugging you tight as if fate is going to strip him of his right to touch you. You stay in his embrace for a few minutes, before he mumbles a phrase that resembles “I like you too, the most.”
NOTES:
umm.. so like... hello?
sorry guys
SYNOPSIS: There’s a line Childe knows he shouldn’t cross; A line built on years of friendship; A line that happens to cross you, his best friend’s younger sister, grieving her first love; A line where he plays savior, wears a halo, then feign ignorance, because love is a game for fools—and he happens to be the biggest idiot when it comes to love.
When a new stranger invades your life and an old poet writes back.
You might think his arms are woven in the same fabric of eternity as he holds you like a vow he’ll take to the altar–until the hands of time aligns with the sun-kissed sky–until the author of your story runs out of pretty words to describe the lingering touches and the unspoken phrase you and him refuse to say, remaining as only a message in a bottle.
It remains apparent, the gaze only meant for you. He doesn’t have to say it when his pretty eyes bats each syllable of the three words you often hear lovers whisper to each other during nights of secrecy. But you want to hear it. You want him to say it out loud so it becomes real. So the inexplicable haze blocking your judgement turns lavender until you’re sick of the scent–until the heat of his touch turns you into a bigger fool, until his name replaces the definition of stability and security.
“You’re such a tease.” He whispers.
No you are.
He lets go of your waist, “You started this.” And you didn’t even realize you had voiced your thoughts out loud. But that is the least of your worries when you catch yourself desperately wanting to chase his touch.
“You’re lucky I’m sick,” He continues as he focuses on the food you placed on the table instead, ignoring the elephant in the room.
You move to sit across from him, studying his face—the face that somehow makes your wingless heart flutter with joy every time he flashes his paper-white teeth. You wonder if you have the same effect for him—If his heart pounds in an undeniable force.
“You’re staring.”
“I know,” you say, not missing a beat. You try not to seem unfazed. But the weight of his gaze falls heavy on your shoulders. Instead, you switch your attention on the picture frames sitting in front of his TV. He notices the curious gaze in your eyes.
“That one is Teucer,” Childe points to the little boy hanging on his back before moving to the little girl in a princess costume, posing by his legs,” And that one is Tonia.”
You giggle at the silliness of the photo, “They’re adorable.”
“They’re a menace,” he says in between bites, “But they’re good kids. They’d like you.”
“If only their older brother did too.” You say it too fast. But there’s no regret in your words.
“It runs in the family.” He whispers.
“Does it?” You tilt your head, heart pounding faster than anxiety itself. Then you inch forward, carefully sitting yourself in a comfortable position on his lap until you face the blue hues of his eyes. What once looked like the cold empty depths of the ocean seemed to lighten under your gaze. He wraps his arms around your waist, this time holding you with certainty rather than hesitation.
He doesn’t need to respond to give you an answer. You already know with the way his hands roam around your body as if familiarizing himself in the future. Not quite owning it, but knowing it. Every touch is hot. You’re not sure if it’s because he’s sick, or you feel hot or maybe it’s both.
Then his eyes finds your lips. He always does, before he traces them using his thumbs.
“They’re probably looking for you. You’ve been gone for an hour.” He says, refusing to look at you in the eyes. The once playful glint in his expression is quickly replaced with the cool breeze aftermath of a rainy day where rainbows aren’t real and the only thing left is the dull splash of cold water.
You stay in place, because opportunities are not meant to be wasted, “I want to take care of you.”
“I don’t need it.”
“My service or me?”
“No. That’s not…” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, contemplating his next actions and words.
“Tell me to stay.” It’s not a question nor is it a statement. You want this.
He looks at you, filled with uncertainties--fearful of everything including you, “If I let you stay, I won’t let go of you.”
“Then don’t.”
“I’ll keep you until you’re sick of me–”
“That’s the plan.”
“Once this is real, aren’t you scared I’m going to hurt you?”
“Are you warning me or yourself?”
“[Y/N]--”
“I like you, a lot.” You finally said it. “Do you feel the same or am I wasting my time?”
He paused and closed his eyes, head now buried in his hands. You almost miss his words, “This is not the confession I wanted.”
“Oh.”
Was it all in your head?
“I was supposed to say it first. I was going to ask you out on a date and then say it… not in… not like this… not when I’m sick.”
“Oh.”
He leans his head on your shoulder, hugging you tight as if fate is going to strip him of his right to touch you. You stay in his embrace for a few minutes, before he mumbles a phrase that resembles “I like you too, the most.”
NOTES:
umm.. so like... hello?
sorry guys
SYNOPSIS: There’s a line Childe knows he shouldn’t cross; A line built on years of friendship; A line that happens to cross you, his best friend’s younger sister, grieving her first love; A line where he plays savior, wears a halo, then feign ignorance, because love is a game for fools—and he happens to be the biggest idiot when it comes to love.
When a new stranger invades your life and an old poet writes back.
HII!! i loved elysian so much and i usually reread it whenever i can 🥹 then i realized that i had this question that i don't think i ever got an answer to.. so im wondering, what exactly is scara and [name]'s history together? i remember its been implied in a few chapters that they were already close friends before the events of when the fanfic takes place and that they worked on an ost together.. but overall, im honestly interested for a more deeper explanation for that because i love them so much graahhhhh
1. Start
[name] and scara met when they were trainees. Scara used to be in Fatui entertainment—they were the one that followed him non-stop and even adjusted their audition schedule for him. However, he got a better offer from Favonious Ent. But during his time at Fatui, he and [name] got close. They often ate together after practice when they ran into each other as coincidence (it wasn’t a coincidence). Or when [name] is under a strict diet, scara would sneak snacks from the convenience store to her dorm. I imagine [name] debut first so when Scara got the better offer, he took that opportunity.
2. Marlin Background (the plushie and scara’s stan acc)
Since they both have busy schedules, they only had fewer opportunities to talk to each other. Sometimes they wouldn’t talk for months, but the ost collaboration brought them back together. I imagined it was ost about a historical romance drama that has a sad ending, directed by Hu Tao… and Heizou was the male lead…. 🤔
After they recorded that session, they went to an arcade. That’s how “Marlin” was born. There was a clawmachine and [name] wanted the octopus plushie, scara tried to get it for her, but all his tries failed lmao. He was probably bitching about how these types of games are rigged. But when it was [name]’s turn, she got it on the first try 😭 So she gave it to scara instead, and said “take care of our son.” not implying anything—just a friendly banter, but scara short-circuited.
3. Bambi
Also, about Bambi, [name]’s cat, it was gifted by Scara during their work trips, (I don’t remember what the worktrip was about 😖) But [name] wouldn’t stop looking at the adoption center, so scara gave it to her lol before they left.
— I honestly regret not making separate chapters for these fluffy interactions. After re-reading ELYSIAN, I didn’t know it was that stressful. Ya’ll were saying how stressed you were reading it because of Inez and the hate comments and honestly, I didn’t notice mbmbmb 😭😭😭
— If you have any other questions, I’d happily answer them.
—also, it’s been a year since, that’s fucking crazy
Presentation Night, Thoma’s topic: “The morality of Bro Code.”
Thoma takes care of people.
As a result, he became observant. He notices the smallest details—the minor habits, the niche stories, and the embarrassing moments. It’s what makes him a good listener, a great companion, and a big brother.
It’s what he does best.
So naturally, he knows.
He’s aware of the longing glances. Of the silent conversations. Of the late night calls. Of the subtle matching posts. Of the back of his head silently screaming, “Punch Ajax in the face.”
It began with a hunch.
1. Dawn Cafe
“Thank you for the picture” and “You’re welcome” captions both posted on the same day, within the same hour—Thoma chalked it up as coincidence. Childe didn’t know you and you didn’t know Childe. Thoma imagined it was the girl from the swim gym. That somehow the girl had agreed to meet up with the ginger. It didn’t have to be you. It couldn’t be you. Childe was in a cafe and you were in an arcade… with someone else… someone who wasn’t Navia or Charlotte or Kaveh or Lyney… and most importantly someone who wasn’t Childe. He was sure of that. It had to be a coincidence.
2. The Orphanage
On halloween, Childe went as Nicke Wilde and you went as Judy Hopps. Thoma chalked it up as another coincidence. It was a popular movie, it’s easy to capitalize off of. Then, he heard of the orphanage. Thoma knew Childe always went there. The ginger was fond of kids. He had brothers and sisters of his own as sly and mischievous as him. So there was no surprise. But Thoma heard you were also going—and you were dressed as Judy Hopps. It was bound for you and Childe to meet—if you hadn’t already. That thought became a nagging feeling. Thoma wasn’t so sure anymore.
3. The Wallpaper
Childe wouldn’t stop talking about the mysterious girl. He kept rambling about her like there was no tomorrow. He was never like that with the other people he dated, because they always liked Childe more than Childe liked them. But this was different.
They were all sitting around the couch playing a console together when the doorbell rang. Their pizza had arrived. As if on instinct, Childe rushed to grab their meal, leaving his phone, face up next to Thoma. That’s when Thoma noticed the digital copy of a photo strip taken at an arcade of you and Childe dressed in characters from a movie he doesn’t think he can watch again without being reminded of his close friend and his sister, intimately intwined.
4. Gift Exchange
Thoma wanted to test the waters. In other words, he wanted to be sure. So he dragged you along with him to find the perfect gift for the ginger. To get an insight on how you felt. and it was worse that he imagined. Even from on-lookers, it’s obvious how much you liked Childe. With the way you asked questions and the thoughtfulness behind the gift. You looked happy and he felt bad for wanting to beat up his friend. If you were happy, then Childe’s face would be safe. But if you weren’t? Well that’s a secret for his fist to deal with.
But behind closed doors, Thoma watches a new one open.
He ends his presentation with that.
“Kaveh would’ve loved this.” His audience of two claps.
NOTES:
surprise? double update 😱 (is there a third one? actually idk if i’m gonna finish it in time, don’t count on it.)
this takes place before the party, so they were all plotting… except for kaveh. don’t be fooled, thoma is still inching for a punch… just one
SYNOPSIS: There’s a line Childe knows he shouldn’t cross; A line built on years of friendship; A line that happens to cross you, his best friend’s younger sister, grieving her first love; A line where he plays savior, wears a halo, then feign ignorance, because love is a game for fools—and he happens to be the biggest idiot when it comes to love.
When a new stranger invades your life and an old poet writes back.
Presentation Night, Thoma’s topic: “The morality of Bro Code.”
Thoma takes care of people.
As a result, he became observant. He notices the smallest details—the minor habits, the niche stories, and the embarrassing moments. It’s what makes him a good listener, a great companion, and a big brother.
It’s what he does best.
So naturally, he knows.
He’s aware of the longing glances. Of the silent conversations. Of the late night calls. Of the subtle matching posts. Of the back of his head silently screaming, “Punch Ajax in the face.”
It began with a hunch.
1. Dawn Cafe
“Thank you for the picture” and “You’re welcome” captions both posted on the same day, within the same hour—Thoma chalked it up as coincidence. Childe didn’t know you and you didn’t know Childe. Thoma imagined it was the girl from the swim gym. That somehow the girl had agreed to meet up with the ginger. It didn’t have to be you. It couldn’t be you. Childe was in a cafe and you were in an arcade… with someone else… someone who wasn’t Navia or Charlotte or Kaveh or Lyney… and most importantly someone who wasn’t Childe. He was sure of that. It had to be a coincidence.
2. The Orphanage
On halloween, Childe went as Nicke Wilde and you went as Judy Hopps. Thoma chalked it up as another coincidence. It was a popular movie, it’s easy to capitalize off of. Then, he heard of the orphanage. Thoma knew Childe always went there. The ginger was fond of kids. He had brothers and sisters of his own as sly and mischievous as him. So there was no surprise. But Thoma heard you were also going—and you were dressed as Judy Hopps. It was bound for you and Childe to meet—if you hadn’t already. That thought became a nagging feeling. Thoma wasn’t so sure anymore.
3. The Wallpaper
Childe wouldn’t stop talking about the mysterious girl. He kept rambling about her like there was no tomorrow. He was never like that with the other people he dated, because they always liked Childe more than Childe liked them. But this was different.
They were all sitting around the couch playing a console together when the doorbell rang. Their pizza had arrived. As if on instinct, Childe rushed to grab their meal, leaving his phone, face up next to Thoma. That’s when Thoma noticed the digital copy of a photo strip taken at an arcade of you and Childe dressed in characters from a movie he doesn’t think he can watch again without being reminded of his close friend and his sister, intimately intwined.
4. Gift Exchange
Thoma wanted to test the waters. In other words, he wanted to be sure. So he dragged you along with him to find the perfect gift for the ginger. To get an insight on how you felt. and it was worse that he imagined. Even from on-lookers, it’s obvious how much you liked Childe. With the way you asked questions and the thoughtfulness behind the gift. You looked happy and he felt bad for wanting to beat up his friend. If you were happy, then Childe’s face would be safe. But if you weren’t? Well that’s a secret for his fist to deal with.
But behind closed doors, Thoma watches a new one open.
He ends his presentation with that.
“Kaveh would’ve loved this.” His audience of two claps.
NOTES:
surprise? double update 😱 (is there a third one? actually idk if i’m gonna finish it in time, don’t count on it.)
this takes place before the party, so they were all plotting… except for kaveh. don’t be fooled, thoma is still inching for a punch… just one
SYNOPSIS: There’s a line Childe knows he shouldn’t cross; A line built on years of friendship; A line that happens to cross you, his best friend’s younger sister, grieving her first love; A line where he plays savior, wears a halo, then feign ignorance, because love is a game for fools—and he happens to be the biggest idiot when it comes to love.
When a new stranger invades your life and an old poet writes back.
Destiny and fate are liken to strings you can’t untangle with ease. Two simple words with inexplainable concepts. A belief split into millions of definition.
And this—is not fate playing its game. It’s not a coincidence. It’s not doomed, rather it’s time lending you its hand to convey a story of hearts stuck in bottles.
Cerulean eyes meet yours just moments after leaving Kazuha. The contact lasts shorter than you wanted. But within those few seconds, recognition is acknowledged on both sides. Strangers and acquaintances briefly gave you their attention, but it wasn’t the one you wanted. It didn’t hit the same. It wasn’t his eyes that were on you, and it wasn’t his voice your ears welcomed.
Now it is, and you want it forever.
Childe maintains his gaze on you and it’s difficult to tell where his mind takes him. Was he looking for you? Is the urgency in his eyes meant for you? Is he glad to see you? And most importantly, why does he have a knife in his hand? These thoughts occupy your mind in a matter of seconds before it’s disrupted.
A blue-haired friend swings his arms around Childe’s shoulders, offering him a shot of liquor, “Hey! Feeling better?” He says in a mocking tone.
Childe groans as he attempts to remove Kaeya’s arms, but the blue-haired boy only tightens his grip until he spots you, just inches away.
Kaeya squints his eyes in recognition before he points with excitement, “You’re Thoma’s sister right?” He walks to you, but your attention doesn’t land on Kaeya, it stays on Childe as he creeps up behind, “I’m Kaeya, one of his best friends. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
You nod politely and smile back. Kaeya gives you a friendly hug and the proximity makes Childe visibly annoyed. It makes you thrive.
“Okay, that’s enough, she looks uncomfortable,” Childe coughs as he pulls Kaeya away with more strength than necessary.
Kaeya rolls his eyes, “Your temper worsens when you’re sick.”
“He’s like that even when he’s not sick.” Thoma pats Childe’s back before handing you a plate of your favorite food.
“Whatever,” The ginger says before glancing at you and stepping away, but Thoma pulls him back.
Your brother stares at Childe intently, “Before you go home, grab some food.”
Childe waves his hand in refusal, “I’ll be fine,” he barely mumbles before walking towards the door to grab his gray coat, and leaving.
He doesn’t look back. You wish he would. But he didn’t, he simply left. You can’t blame him. It’s not as if you can pretend to be friends when your “friendship” is based on late night conversations that toes the line between flirting and longing locked in secrecy.
“He’s sick, don’t mind him,” Thoma says, snapping you out of your distractive thoughts. But his words only weights down your worries, leaving you no room for relief.
He’s driving home in that state?
Thoma clears his throat loudly, “Since you still have your coat on, can you run to the parking lot to give this to Childe?” He hands you a Tupperware of food.
“I’ll do it,” Kaveh offers but Thoma interjects.
“You’re the host of the party, you have to stay here.”
You nod, offering a strained smile, trying not to make it obvious how you badly wanted to do this. How badly you wanted to be near him.
Once you leave the apartment door, you run trying to catch up to the ginger. The flight of stairs has you gasping but it didn’t matter. When you reach the parking lot, and you don’t recognize any of the vehicles resting in place.
Was I too late?
When suddenly, you hear a voice.
“It’s cold, go back,” even with his hoarse tone, you recognize him.
You turn around and place the back of your hand on Childe’s forehead—he’s burning up, “And you’re sick.”
He grins, but it doesn’t reach the corners of his eyes, “I’ll be fine.”
You shake your head, “I’ll take you home.”
“Suddenly, I’m getting the princess treatment?”
You don’t respond, only taking his hand with his car keys intertwining it with yours and letting the beep of the car lead your way.
“You should go back,” he says, but the grip of his hands tightens as if he had no intentions of letting you go. Luckily for him, neither do you, “They’ll wonder where you went.”
You reach his car, opening the passenger seat, “Frankly, I don’t care.”
He chuckles, obediently putting his seatbelt on, “Last chance.”
You slam the door before sitting in the driver’s seat, “Too bad.”
— 💌
The apartment smelled of complexities and rarity.
The walls are covered in picture frames of what you guess are his family. This is his home. His life is displayed in ways you could only get a glimpse of from a screen. Now you get a different version of him—a domestic one. It’s not too bad.
“Take off your coat,” you say upon entering, removing your shoes and turning to face him as you swat the bits of snow left on his fluffy hair. You fight the urge to ruffle it.
He removes his coat before hanging it up the wall, “Do you want to take off my shirt too?”
“Should I?”
Not expecting your answer, he clears his throat but you can see the red blush appear on his ears as moves to sit on the gray couch, arms covering his eyes to avoid the blinding light, “What will your brother think?” He says but the words are too faint you almost miss it.
Did he not like that idea?
Was he uncomfortable that you’re Thoma’s sister?
Was it too risky for him?
Did he not want to take that risk?
You follow him, placing the packed food on the coffee table before laying the containers in an organized manner, ready for him. Childe watches you, his gaze unreadable.
Your hand reaches the top of his hair, massaging his head in a pattern he clearly enjoyed, as you stand in front of him, while he looks up at you with those puppy ocean eyes. “I asked you—what do you think? Should I sit on your lap and carefully unbutton your shirt? Or should I just stand here and watch you?”
You like that idea—so much that you hear your own heart beating against your chest that if you’re not careful enough, might leap out of the bottled up feelings you began harboring in the months you started to get to know him.
And with the way his hands slithered around your waist, and the apparent shade of crimson painting his face, you assume, he likes it too.
NOTES:
when they match each other’s freak:
deep inside, thoma is actually crashing out
this chapter makes me want to rip my hair and teeth out because i didn’t know how to convey the story in a direction where it would make sense 😡 i hated this so much, i started writing the ending to feel something 😔
SYNOPSIS: There’s a line Childe knows he shouldn’t cross; A line built on years of friendship; A line that happens to cross you, his best friend’s younger sister, grieving her first love; A line where he plays savior, wears a halo, then feign ignorance, because love is a game for fools—and he happens to be the biggest idiot when it comes to love.
When a new stranger invades your life and an old poet writes back
Destiny and fate are liken to strings you can’t untangle with ease. Two simple words with inexplainable concepts. A belief split into millions of definition.
And this—is not fate playing its game. It’s not a coincidence. It’s not doomed, rather it’s time lending you its hand to convey a story of hearts stuck in bottles.
Cerulean eyes meet yours just moments after leaving Kazuha. The contact lasts shorter than you wanted. But within those few seconds, recognition is acknowledged on both sides. Strangers and acquaintances briefly gave you their attention, but it wasn’t the one you wanted. It didn’t hit the same. It wasn’t his eyes that were on you, and it wasn’t his voice your ears welcomed.
Now it is, and you want it forever.
Childe maintains his gaze on you and it’s difficult to tell where his mind takes him. Was he looking for you? Is the urgency in his eyes meant for you? Is he glad to see you? And most importantly, why does he have a knife in his hand? These thoughts occupy your mind in a matter of seconds before it’s disrupted.
A blue-haired friend swings his arms around Childe’s shoulders, offering him a shot of liquor, “Hey! Feeling better?” He says in a mocking tone.
Childe groans as he attempts to remove Kaeya’s arms, but the blue-haired boy only tightens his grip until he spots you, just inches away.
Kaeya squints his eyes in recognition before he points with excitement, “You’re Thoma’s sister right?” He walks to you, but your attention doesn’t land on Kaeya, it stays on Childe as he creeps up behind, “I’m Kaeya, one of his best friends. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
You nod politely and smile back. Kaeya gives you a friendly hug and the proximity makes Childe visibly annoyed. It makes you thrive.
“Okay, that’s enough, she looks uncomfortable,” Childe coughs as he pulls Kaeya away with more strength than necessary.
Kaeya rolls his eyes, “Your temper worsens when you’re sick.”
“He’s like that even when he’s not sick.” Thoma pats Childe’s back before handing you a plate of your favorite food.
“Whatever,” The ginger says before glancing at you and stepping away, but Thoma pulls him back.
Your brother stares at Childe intently, “Before you go home, grab some food.”
Childe waves his hand in refusal, “I’ll be fine,” he barely mumbles before walking towards the door to grab his gray coat, and leaving.
He doesn’t look back. You wish he would. But he didn’t, he simply left. You can’t blame him. It’s not as if you can pretend to be friends when your “friendship” is based on late night conversations that toes the line between flirting and longing locked in secrecy.
“He’s sick, don’t mind him,” Thoma says, snapping you out of your distractive thoughts. But his words only weights down your worries, leaving you no room for relief.
He’s driving home in that state?
Thoma clears his throat loudly, “Since you still have your coat on, can you run to the parking lot to give this to Childe?” He hands you a Tupperware of food.
“I’ll do it,” Kaveh offers but Thoma interjects.
“You’re the host of the party, you have to stay here.”
You nod, offering a strained smile, trying not to make it obvious how you badly wanted to do this. How badly you wanted to be near him.
Once you leave the apartment door, you run trying to catch up to the ginger. The flight of stairs has you gasping but it didn’t matter. When you reach the parking lot, and you don’t recognize any of the vehicles resting in place.
Was I too late?
When suddenly, you hear a voice.
“It’s cold, go back,” even with his hoarse tone, you recognize him.
You turn around and place the back of your hand on Childe’s forehead—he’s burning up, “And you’re sick.”
He grins, but it doesn’t reach the corners of his eyes, “I’ll be fine.”
You shake your head, “I’ll take you home.”
“Suddenly, I’m getting the princess treatment?”
You don’t respond, only taking his hand with his car keys intertwining it with yours and letting the beep of the car lead your way.
“You should go back,” he says, but the grip of his hands tightens as if he had no intentions of letting you go. Luckily for him, neither do you, “They’ll wonder where you went.”
You reach his car, opening the passenger seat, “Frankly, I don’t care.”
He chuckles, obediently putting his seatbelt on, “Last chance.”
You slam the door before sitting in the driver’s seat, “Too bad.”
— 💌
The apartment smelled of complexities and rarity.
The walls are covered in picture frames of what you guess are his family. This is his home. His life is displayed in ways you could only get a glimpse of from a screen. Now you get a different version of him—a domestic one. It’s not too bad.
“Take off your coat,” you say upon entering, removing your shoes and turning to face him as you swat the bits of snow left on his fluffy hair. You fight the urge to ruffle it.
He removes his coat before hanging it up the wall, “Do you want to take off my shirt too?”
“Should I?”
Not expecting your answer, he clears his throat but you can see the red blush appear on his ears as moves to sit on the gray couch, arms covering his eyes to avoid the blinding light, “What will your brother think?” He says but the words are too faint you almost miss it.
Did he not like that idea?
Was he uncomfortable that you’re Thoma’s sister?
Was it too risky for him?
Did he not want to take that risk?
You follow him, placing the packed food on the coffee table before laying the containers in an organized manner, ready for him. Childe watches you, his gaze unreadable.
Your hand reaches the top of his hair, massaging his head in a pattern he clearly enjoyed, as you stand in front of him, while he looks up at you with those puppy ocean eyes. “I asked you—what do you think? Should I sit on your lap and carefully unbutton your shirt? Or should I just stand here and watch you?”
You like that idea—so much that you hear your own heart beating against your chest that if you’re not careful enough, might leap out of the bottled up feelings you began harboring in the months you started to get to know him.
And with the way his hands slithered around your waist, and the apparent shade of crimson painting his face, you assume, he likes it too.
NOTES:
when they match each other’s freak:
deep inside, thoma is actually crashing out
this chapter makes me want to rip my hair and teeth out because i didn’t know how to convey the story in a direction where it would make sense 😡 i hated this so much, i started writing the ending to feel something 😔
SYNOPSIS: There’s a line Childe knows he shouldn’t cross; A line built on years of friendship; A line that happens to cross you, his best friend’s younger sister, grieving her first love; A line where he plays savior, wears a halo, then feign ignorance, because love is a game for fools—and he happens to be the biggest idiot when it comes to love.
When a new stranger invades your life and an old poet writes back
Uhhhh! We’re getting to the angsty stuff in the Sami and I don’t know if I’ll handle it! Your writings amazing but I can’t handle angst (but I’m a sucker for it all the same)
have some flowers for your amazing work💐
you’re not gonna suffer with angst dw loll. thank youuuu for the flowers 🥰
The thrill of danger lingers in Childe’s veins more often than not. Bloodshed does not scare him. His blades have known him for almost a lifetime as he holds them dear day and night. He had once sworn to be used as a machine in battle, and he intends to keep it.
At the moment his blades swing against a wooden dummy as it holds on for dear life. From anyone watching his aggression is not something to be taken lightly. There’s blaze in his eyes, replaced by the lack of sparks. Sweat drips down from every direction of his body. But his stamina doesn’t break. He doesn’t stop. Because once he does, he’ll be back to reality.
A reality where he’s born to protect the crown and its heir.
To protect and serve someone that’s far from his grasp: you.
It haunts him, how his loyalty will forever be yours, but he can’t say the same for you. One day you’ll take up the crown, marry someone of the same status and have children of your own—all while he watches, so close yet so far.
So he swings. For every battle in the field. For every battle against himself to stop his heart from beating for you. For every time he forgets his place. For every time he lets go as only Ajax in your presence. For every time he wishes to be just a boy helplessly drowning in feelings he doesn’t deserve to have.
And for every time you visit him practicing privately in the early mornings.
“How long are you going to keep staring, your highness?” He was trained for this. He would know someone else’s presence, especially yours. It’s always you.
“How long are you going to keep practicing?” You cross your arms, borrowing his smile.
He can’t tell if his heart is beating rapidly from adrenaline or from the sweet smile of your face, “All day if that means I get to have your attention.”
“I didn’t see you this morning.”
“You’re incredibly needy, my princess”
“You’re aware of that.”
It’s bittersweet. How you can talk to each other acting like there’s no consequences. As if you’re walking in a limbo not caring if you fall. If only it was that easy. To cross the line. To push you off the edge so he can catch you and hold you in his arms like he does in his dreams.
He’d stay there for an eternity if he could have you.
“What’s wrong?” You tilt your head and reach up to his head with a cloth, swiping the drops of sweat from his forehead.
He closes his eyes and leans into the touch, “Did my princess miss me that much that she’d take her time to visit me in my quarters?”
“Aren’t you over-doing it?” You ask and he sees the evident concern form in your eyes.
He loves it. He loves your attention.
“You sound concerned, your highness. Do I take it you’re doubting my abilities?”
You shake your head, “It’s hard to find you around the palace. It’s as if you’re deliberately ignoring me.”
“Who would ever ignore the princess?” It almost sounds sarcastic, because maybe it is.
He has been avoiding you, rather he’s been ignoring his feelings and thoughts enveloping only you as he wakes. It’s hard to hold back when every silhouette he sees reminds him of you.
Then he sees a frown on your face. He hates that—that he’s the reason for your pain.
He clears his throat, “Would you like to go anywhere today, your highness?”
“I hate when you call me that.”
“It’s your title.”
“I’m your princess.”
“What difference would it make, your highness?” He’s riling you up the way you do to him as he inches closer to your face, until he can see the blush on your face down to your neck.
You stay there for a minute before you move away from him, “There’s a ball this evening.”
“Yes, I’ve heard. Anything you’d wish for me to do?”
“Don’t attend.”
He laughs but it’s an empty one, “One minute you’re looking for my attention and the next you’re pushing me away.”
“He’s going to be there.”
He flinches. He—the one you’re set to marry. At least that’s everyone’s expcrations, whether you pull through with it or not, only time will tell. He swears there’s an invisible knife twisting itself in his chest, agonizingly slow to make it more painful than it has to be.
“Why does that matter?” He asks and his eyes are burning brighter than before. He leans towards you once again, but this time it’s with purpose. Almost predatory. He’s backing you up in a corner until his arm stretches to the wall, trapping you in, “Why should I care about him?”
“Ajax.” You whisper, staring into his eyes as if you’re not fazed by his sudden action. Perhaps you’ve wanted this, and that thought excites him.
He tilts your neck upwards and his fingers rest there, tracing your jaw, “Why can’t I be there?”
He leaves his hand on your jaw and focuses on removing the strands of hair covering your neck line to get a better view—a part of him wants to dig into it, to claim it and tell the whole world that you’re reserved for him, “Are you afraid, your highness?”
He traces your body—his touch is hot and desperate as he snakes his hands along your waist and on your back, playing with the short ribbon holding your dress together as he loosens it slightly, “Will you let him touch you like this?”
You lean into him, hoping to feel his lips, but his only hovers above yours, “What would you do if I did?”
He chuckles, dangerously low. His hands lowered down your body, passing your dress, now caressing your legs in ways you enjoy—in ways he’s memorized before, “I’d kill him.”
You put your hands against his cheeks, “You’re killing me too.”
“Is that true, your highness?” His hands rest at the back of your thigh, lifting one leg up as he leans in, nipping at your ear. You gasp at his hot breath.
“Will you let him get this close too?” His attention moves to your neck. You tilt your head so he can have access to it, as he trails wet kisses along the side.
You wrap your arms around his neck as your fingers weave through his soft hair.
“You’re not giving me an answer,” His voice is hoarse.
“You’re not giving me a chance to answer.”
“If I didn’t, my lips would be on yours the whole time.”
“Why isn’t it?”
“Impatient and needy. What would the people say if they found out the princess acts like this in private?”
You intertwine your hand with his and places it on top of your chest, so he can feel the rapid pace of your heart rising up and down, “You won’t let them see.”
“Don’t be so confident,” He moves up to your jaw.
“I didn’t take you to be someone who shared.”
His lips continued to hover yours. For a minute it feels like time surrendered their hands for the two of you, lending you a moment of peace in each other’s arms where birth given titles are replaced with vows of love.
This, out of all the life-threatening battles he has experienced has to be the most difficult fight he doesn’t think he can survive. But if it’s you holding the blade, if it’s you twisting the knife, then he’ll die happily.
If it means he can hold you like this. Touch you in ways another cannot.
“You’re right, I’m not.” He replies after the prolonged silence.
Then his lips are on yours, finally giving in to his urges. It starts off slow and patient, opposite of what he is. Then he wills your mouth open. He holds onto the back of your neck like a lifeline, pulling you closer each time you gasp for breath. It feels like hours passed, before you broke off the kiss, and he appears as if he’s desperate for more.
“You’re killing me, my princess.”
“Guess we’re even. Shall we continue in my chambers?” You say accompanied by a sweet smile and an innocent flutter of your eyes as you pull him closer, arms around his neck.
And who is he to refuse.
After all, you’re his princess, and he’s your knight—lawfully and willfully worshipping the cathedral of your chest, treasuring the heart that also keeps his beating.
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