Summary: When petty jealousy threatens to sour the quiet sanctity of their secret marriage, Mondstadt’s unyielding master of Dawn Winery burns away the rumors with an unforgettable public declaration of his devotion.
Word Count: 8.5k (whoops)
Warnings + Tags: Fluff | Established Marriage | Fluff | Comfort | Softness | Heavy Jealousy (from Donna) | Rumors | Protective Diluc | Protective Brother-in-Law Kaeya | PDA | Sweet Revenge | Public Confession | Public Marriage | Kaeya being a menace as always
The morning sun over Mondstadt always seemed to catch the crest of Starfell Valley first, pouring like liquid amber over the cider-scented orchards of the Dawn Winery.
It was a quiet sort of beauty, the kind that didn’t demand an audience but simply existed, grounding and immense.
Inside the manor, the atmosphere was much the same.
You sat at the long, polished oak table in the dining room, the crest of the Ragnvindr clan catching the early light from the high arched windows.
A cup of black tea steamed faintly beside your plate, the scent of bergamot mingling with the rich, earthy aroma of the breakfast Elzer had just laid out.
From the doorway, the soft, rhythmic click of leather boots signaled his approach.
You didn’t need to look up to know the precise cadence of Diluc’s step.
It was a march born of years of discipline, yet whenever he entered a room where you sat, that rigid pace invariably softened, rounding at the edges until it was nothing more than a gentle glide.
Diluc paused behind your chair, his gloved hand coming to rest lightly on the carved wooden back. With his other hand, he reached down, his long, pale fingers gently tucking a stray lock of your hair behind your ear.
His touch was warm, always so incredibly warm, a silent testament to the Pyro Vision that rested against his coat but it was also remarkably tender.
To the rest of Teyvat, Diluc Ragnvindr was a man of iron and ash, a silent protector who wore a permanent scowl and carried the weight of Mondstadt’s sins on his broad shoulders.
But here, within the private sanctuary of the winery, surrounded by the staff who had known him since childhood, he was simply yours.
"Did you sleep well?" his voice was a low, gravelly rumble, rich and soothing in the quiet of the morning.
"I did," you replied, tilting your head back to look up at him.
A small, soft smile graced your lips as you reached up to cup his cheek.
His skin was rough from years of handling claymores and reins, but he melted into your palm, his eyelids fluttering shut for a brief, sacred second.
"Though the bed felt a bit empty after dawn."
Diluc leaned down, pressing a lingering, warm kiss to your forehead. "I had paperwork to review with Elzer regarding the summer vintage. I didn’t wish to wake you."
Across the room, Adeline stood by the sideboard, a silver teapot in hand.
A knowing, deeply affectionate smile softened her features as she watched the two of you.
She had seen Diluc through his darkest, most turbulent years, the years of grief, of self-imposed exile, of bitter isolation.
To see him now, anchored so completely by your presence, his sharp edges thoroughly blunted by the sheer depth of his love for you, brought a quiet joy to her heart.
"Master Diluc, the carriage is being prepared for your trip into the city," Adeline murmured, her tone respectful yet warm. "And forgive me, Lady Ragnvindr, your dynamic with the Knights’ logistics team is scheduled for early afternoon, is it not?"
You laughed softly, shaking your head. "Adeline, please. Just my name is fine. And yes, Jean asked if I could assist with the inventory of the elemental reserves. With the Stormterror aftermath still causing minor anomalies, she wants an extra Vision holder on site."
Diluc’s eyes flicked down to your hip, where your own Vision rested, glinting softly in the morning light.
A subtle, protective tighten crossed his jaw, though it vanished as quickly as it came.
He trusted your strength implicitly. You were a formidable fighter in your own right, an equal partner who could stand back-to-back with him in the dead of night against an abyss pack without flinching.
His protectiveness wasn't a doubt of your capabilities; it was simply the natural law of his universe.
He loved you, and therefore, the world was a threat to be managed.
"I will be at the tavern by nightfall," Diluc said, his hand sliding down to your shoulder, giving it a firm, reassuring squeeze. "If your duties wrap up early, come find me at the Angel’s Share. We can ride back together."
"It's a date," you teased softly.
He didn't smirk, but the corners of his eyes crinkled a rare expression that only you ever truly witnessed.
To the world outside these stone walls, you were a dedicated ally of the winery, a capable Vision user, and a dear, trusted friend of Diluc Ragnvindr.
When the two of you had married a year ago, it had been a quiet affair, held in the estate’s private chapel with only Adeline, Elzer, and a profoundly smug Kaeya in attendance.
It wasn't that you were hiding your love; it was simply that neither you nor Diluc felt the need to perform your marriage for the court of public opinion.
You didn't hold hands in the streets of Mondstadt; you didn't exchange sweet nothings over the counter at the Good Hunter.
You walked side by side, equals, autonomous and private.
If anyone asked, neither of you lied. But Mondstadt was a city of gossip, and when people didn't see grand gestures, dramatic declarations, or a woman dangling off the winery master's arm, they assumed what they pleased.
To the average citizen, you were just an exceptionally close confidante. A brilliant friend.
And that suited you both perfectly. But privacy, you would soon remember, often left room for the imaginative malice of those who envied what they could not understand.
The afternoon air in Mondstadt was crisp, carrying the scent of dandelions and fresh bread from Sarah’s ovens.
You walked down the stone steps from the Knights of Favonius headquarters, stretching your shoulders after hours of cataloging elemental crystals with Lisa.
Your Vision hummed with a faint, resonant energy, responding to the ambient elemental flow of the city.
As you made your way past the flower shop, intending to head toward the plaza, a sharp, carrying voice cut through the midday bustle.
"Oh, look who it is. I swear, some people simply don't know when they are overstaying their welcome."
You paused, turning your head slightly. Standing near the city gates, leaning against a crate of goods, was Donna.
Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her lips curled into a sneer that looked entirely out of place on her usually bright face.
A couple of other townspeople stood nearby, shifting uncomfortably under her intense, venomous gaze.
You blinked, genuinely caught off guard. "Good afternoon, Donna. Is something the matter?"
"Is something the matter?" Donna scoffed, taking a step toward you, her heels clicking sharply against the cobblestones. "You have a lot of nerve acting so innocent. Everyone in the city sees it, you know. The way you constantly hover around the Dawn Winery. The way you practically force yourself into Master Diluc’s schedule."
You stared at her, utterly bewildered. "I work closely with the winery on elemental defense and trade routes, Donna. It’s matters of business."
"Business! Is that what you call it when you follow him around like a stray dog?" Donna’s voice rose, deliberately drawing the attention of passing citizens.
A few merchants turned to look; a pair of Knights on patrol slowed their pace. "You think just because you have a Vision, you're somehow special? You’re just a commoner clinging to his coattails, desperately trying to climb the social ladder. It’s pathetic, really. Master Diluc is a nobleman of highest caliber. He’s far too polite and well-bred to tell you to your face that you're an annoying nuisance, but it’s obvious to everyone else."
A low, collective murmur passed through the small crowd that had gathered.
Some looked sympathetic toward you, while others, fueled by the natural human appetite for scandal, began to whisper among themselves.
Is she really clinging to him? Well, they do spend an awful lot of time together... and Master Diluc never did seem the type to tolerate idle company.
You felt a prickle of annoyance, but you kept your composure.
You didn't need to defend your honor to Donna; the ring tucked safely on a silver chain beneath your shirt pressed warmly against your collarbone, a solid, unshakeable truth.
"Donna," you said, your voice calm, steady, and entirely devoid of the anger she was trying to provoke. "I assure you, Master Diluc is entirely capable of expressing his discomfort if he had any. My presence at the winery is welcomed."
"Welcomed? Keep telling yourself that!" Donna spat, her eyes flashing with a desperate, bitter jealousy.
For months, she had watched you slip in and out of the winery gates, had seen you walking beside the man of her dreams.
She had convinced herself that you were an opportunist, a parasite exploiting Diluc's solitary nature. "You're just a parasite. A desperate, clinging little girl who thinks a shiny glass orb on her hip makes her worthy of a Ragnvindr. You don't belong near him. You're nothing to him."
Before you could even open your mouth to reply, a long, dark shadow fell over the cobblestones between you and Donna.
"My, my. What an incredibly loud performance for such a quiet afternoon."
The smooth, theatrical drawl was instantly recognizable.
From around the corner of the alchemy station stepped Kaeya, his single eye gleaming with a dangerous, icy amusement.
His hand rested casually on the pommel of his sword, his posture relaxed, yet there was a distinct, predatory sharpness to the air the moment he arrived.
Donna paled slightly, stepping back. "Captain Kaeya! I-I was just... I was just pointing out the truth. She’s always bothering Master Diluc, and-"
"And since when did the logistics of the Ragnvindr estate become the civic duty of a floral assistant?" Kaeya interrupted, his smile never reaching his eye. He walked over, deliberately stepping into your space, his arm coming around your shoulders in a loose, protective, brotherly drape.
He looked down at you, his expression softening into genuine fondness. "Are you alright, little lady? Did the bad weather wash up some refuse?"
"I'm fine, Kaeya," you sighed, though you appreciated the warmth of his presence.
Over the past year, Kaeya had firmly established himself as a fiercely protective, albeit incredibly teasing, older brother figure to you.
He might have a fractured relationship with Diluc, but when it came to you, Kaeya was fiercely, uncompromisingly loyal.
Kaeya turned his gaze back to Donna, the temperature in the immediate vicinity seeming to drop by several degrees.
"Let’s clear something up, shall we? The lady you are so carelessly slandering happens to hold a position of utmost respect within the Knights' strategic network. Furthermore..." His grin widened, flashing a row of white teeth.
"If Master Diluc found her presence 'bothering,' he wouldn't be the one constantly ensuring her favorite tea is imported directly from Liyue just to keep her comfortable at his table. So, unless you want me to write up a formal report for public disturbance and harassment of a Knights' liaison... I suggest you take your flowers and your fascinating theories somewhere else."
Donna choked on her breath, her face flushing a deep, humiliated red.
She cast one last, hateful look at you before turning on her heel and storming off toward the flower shop, her hands trembling with rage.
The crowd dispersed quickly under Kaeya’s sharp, lingering gaze. Once the street was relatively clear, Kaeya dropped his arm from your shoulder, letting out a soft sigh as he looked down at you.
"You let people trample over you too much," he chided gently, though his voice held no real bite. "You could have flattened her with your Vision in three seconds flat."
"And cause a scene? Diluc hates scenes," you reasoned, smoothing down your coat. "Besides, her words don't change the truth. Let her think what she wants."
Kaeya shook his head, a complex emotion flitting across his face. "You and Diluc... I swear, the two of you are stubborn to a fault. This whole 'private romance' bit is all well and good, but it leaves the door wide open for fools like Donna to think they have a chance, or worse, to drag your name through the mud. Diluc would burn Mondstadt to the ground if he knew she spoke to you like that."
"Then let's not tell him," you said softly, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "He has enough on his plate with the Abyss Order activity near the Wolvendom borders. He doesn't need to waste his energy on town gossip."
Kaeya stared at you for a long moment, before letting out a defeated, amused chuckle. He reached out, rustling your hair affectionately. "You're too good for him, you know that? But fine. I won't say a word.
Just... be careful. Jealousy makes people do incredibly stupid things."
As it turned out, Kaeya’s warning was entirely prophetic.
A few days later, a grand celebration was held in Mondstadt.
The Knights of Favonius had successfully cleared out a massive hilichurl camp that had been blocking the main trade routes from Liyue, and the acting Grand Master had declared a night of festivity to boost morale.
The entire city was alive with light, laughter, and the heavy scent of Barbatos’s favored brew.
The Angel’s Share was packed to the brim.
Every table was occupied, the wooden rafter echoing with the loud choruses of bards and the clinking of heavy beer mugs.
Diluc stood behind the bar, his expression as impassive as ever as he poured drinks with practiced, flawless efficiency.
He wore his usual high-collared vest, his fiery red hair tied back in a neat ponytail.
Despite the chaos of the crowded tavern, his eyes continuously tracked a single point in the room: you.
You were sitting at a table near the corner, laughing softly as Venti spun a ridiculous, entirely fabricated yarn about a dragon and a giant dandelion.
Beside you, Kaeya was nursing a glass of Death After Noon, his eyes occasionally scanning the room with quiet vigilance.
"Master Diluc!"
Diluc’s gaze snapped back to the bar counter.
Standing there, leaning heavily against the polished wood, was Donna. She had clearly had a bit to drink, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glassy, though fixed on him with an intense, desperate focus.
"A glass of your finest white wine, please," she purred, trying to pitch her voice lower, trying to emulate the sophisticated ladies she read about in novels.
Diluc didn't utter a word.
He simply reached for a clean glass, poured the requested wine, and slid it across the counter to her, already turning away to wipe down a tap.
"Master Diluc, wait," Donna called out, her hand reaching out across the wood, nearly catching the sleeve of his coat.
Diluc subtly stepped back, entirely out of her reach, his eyes narrowing into a cold, flat stare.
Undeterred by his icy demeanor, Donna leaned in closer, her voice carrying over the din of the tavern to the surrounding patrons. "I... I just wanted to say how much everyone appreciates you hosting these events. You are always so hardworking, so noble.
It must be so exhausting... especially with certain people constantly draining your time and resources."
Diluc’s hand paused on the towel. "What are you referring to?"
Donna took his response as an invitation, her eyes lighting up with a cruel, triumphant gleam.
She glanced pointedly over her shoulder toward your table. "Oh, you know. There are rumors all over the city about how some people take advantage of your generosity. Always hanging around the winery, acting like they belong there, using their Vision as an excuse to get close to your wealth and status. It’s disgusting, really. Someone like you deserves a woman who truly understands high society, someone who values you for you, not just your name."
The immediate area around the bar went dead silent.
Six-Fingered José stopped strumming his lyre a few paces away.
Several patrons lowered their mugs, sensing the sudden, suffocating drop in atmospheric pressure.
Diluc did not blink.
His crimson eyes fixed onto Donna with a terrifying, absolute stillness.
The heat radiating off him became palpable, a heavy, oppressive warmth that made Donna’s breath hitch in her throat.
"Is that so?" Diluc’s voice was dangerously quiet, a low hiss of embers before a wildfire.
"Y-yes!" Donna stammered, emboldened by her own delusion. "Everyone thinks so! She’s just a clinging, desperate nobody who’s dragging down your reputation. You should just ban her from the estate, Master Diluc. You don't need that kind of dead weight—"
"Donna."
The name slipped from his lips like a sentence from a judge.
Diluc slowly placed the towel down on the counter.
He didn't raise his voice, but the sheer command in his tone cut through the entire tavern, silencing even the rowdy tables in the back.
"You are speaking of my wife."
The words dropped like a claymore splitting a boulder.
Donna froze, her eyes widening to the size of saucers. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. "W... W-wife...?"
Across the room, you raised your eyebrows, a quiet sigh escaping your lips.
You had hoped to avoid a scene, but looking at the absolute fury vibrating beneath Diluc’s calm exterior, you knew there was no stopping him now.
Kaeya, on the other hand, let out a loud, delighted bark of laughter, leaning back in his chair with a thoroughly entertained grin.
Diluc walked out from behind the bar counter.
He didn't spare Donna another glance as he crossed the floor of the tavern.
Every single eye in the establishment followed him as he made his way directly to your corner table.
As he approached, you stood up, a soft, apologetic smile on your face. "Diluc, you didn't have to-"
Before you could finish your sentence, Diluc reached out. His large, warm hand cupped the back of your neck, his fingers tangling into your hair with an intense, possessive gentleness.
He pulled you to him, and without a single shred of hesitation, he leaned down and pressed his lips firmly against yours.
It wasn't a chaste, polite kiss.
It was deep, breath-stealing, and heavy with a profound, unyielding adoration. It was the kiss of a man who was utterly consumed by the woman in his arms, a declaration made in the language of fire and absolute devotion.
Your Vision pulsed in tandem with his, a warm, harmonious light flaring briefly between you.
The tavern erupted.
Cheered, gasps, and the slamming of mugs against wood shook the rafters. Venti clapped his hands with glee, while Patton near the door looked like he might faint from sheer shock.
When Diluc finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a brief second.
His breathing was slightly shallow, his eyes dark with an emotion so raw it made your heart skip a beat.
He looked down at you, his thumb gently wiping a trace of moisture from your lower lip.
"I am tired of listening to fools speak your name with anything less than the reverence you deserve," he whispered, his voice for your ears alone.
He then turned his head, his sharp, lethal gaze locking onto Donna, who looked as though she wished the floorboards would open up and swallow her whole.
"Let me make this entirely clear to everyone present," Diluc announced, his voice ringing with absolute authority through the Angel’s Share.
"The lady standing beside me is the mistress of the Dawn Winery. She holds my heart, my trust, and my name. Any insult directed toward her is a direct declaration of hostility against the Ragnvindr house. If I hear a single whisper of slander against my wife again... you will find yourselves permanently barred not only from this establishment, but from every trade route, estate, and asset I control in Mondstadt. Am I understood?"
Donna looked as if she might burst into tears.
She gave a frantic, terrified nod before grabbing her bag and sprinting out of the tavern doors, the laughter of the patrons following her into the night.
Diluc let out a soft breath, the tension leaving his shoulders as he looked back down at you.
His expression immediately melted back into that soft, gentle gaze that was reserved entirely for you. "Are you alright?"
"I'm more than alright," you smiled, wrapping your arms around his waist, burying your face in his chest. "Though I thought we agreed no public displays of affection?"
"Exceptions can be made," he murmured, wrapping his arms securely around you, holding you close against his chest, entirely ignoring the catcalls and cheers of the tavern around him.
From the table, Kaeya cleared his throat loudly, a massive, mischievous grin stretching across his face. He stood up, swirling his drink before tossing it back.
"Well, well. Quite a performance, Master Diluc," Kaeya teased, walking over to the two of you. He clapped a hand heavily onto Diluc’s shoulder, a gesture that made Diluc’s eyes narrow, though he didn't pull away. Kaeya looked at you, his single eye glittering with a brilliant, sudden idea.
"You know... since the town is clearly so confused about your martial status, I think there’s only one logical solution to put this entire matter to rest permanently."
Diluc glared at him. "And what would that be, Kaeya?"
Kaeya smirked, leaning in. "A proper, grand wedding. Right in the middle of the city, at the Cathedral of Favonius. A full mass, the entire town invited, the grandest decorations the winery can buy."
He winked at you.
"And most importantly... we ensure Donna is given a front-row seat to watch you slide the ring onto her finger all over again. What do you say, sister-in-law? Want to give Mondstadt something real to gossip about?"
You looked up at Diluc, who was already looking down at you, awaiting your verdict.
The thought of a grand wedding was usually against his private nature, but seeing the soft, unspoken warmth in his eyes, you knew that if it made you happy, he would rent out the entire city for a week.
"I think," you said, a beautiful, radiant smile breaking across your face, "that sounds like a wonderful idea."
The morning following the announcement at the Angel’s Share did not arrive with the usual quiet dignity of the Dawn Winery.
Instead, it arrived with the sound of Kaeya Alberich’s boots clicking across the polished flagstones of the manor’s entrance hall at an hour that Diluc considered borderline criminal.
Inside the study, the air was thick with the scent of old paper, sealing wax, and the rich aroma of dark-roasted coffee.
Diluc sat behind his massive mahogany desk, his crimson hair tied back loosely with a black ribbon, a pair of reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.
You sat on the chaise lounge across from him, a ledger of elemental inventory resting on your lap, though your attention had long since drifted to the way the morning light caught the sharp lines of your husband’s jaw.
The door flew open without a knock.
"Good morning, newlyweds or should I say, the soon-to-be publicly newlyweds?" Kaeya breezed into the room, his fur-lined cape swirling behind him like a dark blue cloud.
He held a thick stack of parchment in one hand and a half-eaten red apple in the other.
Diluc did not look up from his ledger, though his brow twitched with an immediate, practiced irritation.
"Kaeya. It is barely eight in the morning. Do the Knights no longer require their Cavalry Captain to pretend he has duties?"
"Oh, Jean has given me a temporary leave of absence for a matter of grave diplomatic and cultural importance," Kaeya said smoothly, dropping the stack of parchment directly onto Diluc’s immaculate desk, right over the trade reports from Liyue.
Diluc finally raised his eyes, his gaze flat and lethal. "And what matter might that be?"
"Your wedding, of course," Kaeya smiled, his single eye glinting with pure, unadulterated mischief.
He turned to you, his expression softening into that warm, brotherly fondness that had become so familiar over the past year. "Good morning, little lady. I trust my dear brother didn't keep you up all night discussing wine fermentation statistics?"
You laughed softly, closing your ledger and setting it aside. "Good morning, Kaeya. And no, we actually managed to sleep. Though I see you’ve been busy."
"Busy? I haven't slept a wink!" Kaeya declared dramatically, pulling up a high-backed chair and spinning it around so he could rest his arms across the backrest.
"Do you have any idea how much coordination it takes to plan a grand ceremony at the Cathedral of Favonius on less than a month's notice? Jean is already organizing the honorary guard. Lisa is curating the evening's musical repertoire though she threatened to electrocute me if I suggested any sea shanties and Amber has volunteered to handle the decorations for the plaza."
Diluc slowly took off his reading glasses, placing them precisely on the desk. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.
"We agreed to a ceremony, Kaeya. We did not agree to turn the city into a carnival. A quiet, dignified service at the Cathedral is more than enough to satisfy whatever... point you are trying to make."
"Oh, this isn't just about making a point, Master Diluc," Kaeya purred, his smile widening into something genuinely wicked.
"This is about community morale. And, more importantly, it is about civic education. The good people of Mondstadt need to learn the consequences of gossiping about the winery’s Lady."
Kaeya reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a separate piece of parchment, tapping it against his chin.
"In fact, I’ve already taken the liberty of handling the floral arrangements. I thought to myself, 'Kaeya, who in Mondstadt is most qualified to provide the highest volume of Cecilias and Windwheel Asters for the Ragnvindr estate?' And then it hit me."
A sudden, terrible suspicion flashed across Diluc’s face.
"Kaeya. What did you do?"
Kaeya’s grin was blinding.
"I placed a massive, non-refundable, incredibly lucrative order with Flora’s shop. Specifically, I requested that the order be processed, curated, and hand-delivered directly to the Cathedral by her senior assistant."
The room went dead silent for three seconds.
You blinked, a slow, disbelieving smile breaking across your face as the pieces clicked together.
"Donna."
"Precisely!" Kaeya snapped his fingers, looking thoroughly pleased with his own genius.
"I ordered five thousand Cecilias, three thousand Windwheel Asters, and a dozen arrangements of silk flowers imported from Liyue. And I made sure to specify in the contract that the delivery must be supervised at all hours by Mondstadt's most dedicated floral enthusiast. She will be spending the next three weeks surrounded by the very flowers that will adorn your bridal aisle. She will practically smell your happiness every time she breathes."
Diluc let out a long, heavy sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose where his glasses had just been.
"You are a child. A petty, vindictive child."
"I am a protective older brother," Kaeya corrected, his tone shifting for a brief second into something entirely sincere as he looked at you.
"And I don't tolerate people throwing dirt on my family. Besides, think of the economic boost for the flower shop! It’s an act of pure charity."
"It's psychological warfare," you corrected gently, though you couldn't deny the small, wicked spark of satisfaction it gave you.
Donna had spent weeks trying to poison your reputation; letting her carry the flowers for your wedding felt like a poetic, if slightly chaotic, form of justice.
"Exactly. The best kind of warfare," Kaeya chuckled, standing up and dusting off his trousers.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go check on the wine selection with Elzer. I told him we need at least fifty barrels of the 1984 vintage, and he looked like he was going to have a stroke."
"Kaeya, do not touch my cellar," Diluc growled, his voice dropping an octave.
"Too late! See you at lunch!" Kaeya waved a hand over his shoulder as he sauntered out of the study, his laughter echoing down the hallway.
Once the door closed, the heavy silence returned to the study, but the tension had evaporated, replaced by a warm, lingering amusement.
Diluc turned his head to look at you, his crimson eyes softening as the rigid persona of the Darknight Hero melted away entirely.
He stood up from his desk, walking across the room with that silent, graceful stride of his.
He stopped before the chaise lounge, reaching down to take your hands in his.
His palms were large, covering yours completely, the ambient Pyro energy within him making his skin feel like a hearth on a winter night.
He pulled you up to stand, wrapping his arms around your waist and drawing you flush against his chest.
"If this is too much," Diluc murmured, his face burying into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin, "we can stop it. I don't care about the city's rumors. I only care about your peace."
You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers tangling into the soft, thick waves of his red hair.
"Diluc, it's fine. Honestly. It’s a little chaotic, but... seeing everyone want to help, seeing Kaeya get so worked up to protect us... it makes me realize how much love we actually have around us. And besides..."
You pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, a playful glint in your own. "I wouldn't mind seeing you in a proper tailored suit at the altar."
Diluc’s chest rumbled with a rare, low chuckle.
He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, deep kiss that tasted faintly of coffee and sweet morning air. "If it pleases my wife, I will wear whatever she desires."
Over the next two weeks, Mondstadt was transformed into a whirlwind of wedding preparation.
Because you and Diluc were already technically married, the typical stress of a wedding was absent; there was no anxiety about vows or legalities.
Instead, it became a massive, community-driven festival, with every major figure in the city finding a way to involve themselves.
At the Knights of Favonius headquarters, Jean had practically turned her office into a war room specifically for the logistics of the ceremony.
"The honorary guard will line the steps of the Cathedral," Jean explained, tapping a quill against a map of the city plaza.
You were sitting across from her, while Lisa lounged on the sofa nearby, sipping tea.
"We will have four squads of Knights in full ceremonial armor. No weapons drawn, of course, but it will ensure the crowd remains orderly. Master Diluc’s standing in Mondstadt demands a certain level of security, and given your status as a vital liaison, the Knights are proud to sponsor the guard."
"Jean, you really don't have to go to such trouble," you said, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the scale of it all. "A simple walk up the steps is fine."
"Nonsense, darling," Lisa chimed in, setting her teacup down with a elegant clink. "Mondstadt hasn't had a proper noble wedding since Diluc's father was a young man. The people need something beautiful to look at. And besides, Jean needs an excuse to think about something other than paperwork. Look at her, she’s practically glowing with tactical wedding enthusiasm."
Jean flushed slightly, coughing into her hand. "I am merely ensuring that the event goes smoothly. Furthermore, Klee has requested to be the flower girl. I have... strictly forbidden her from using any 'special' flowers, and Albedo has promised to supervise her to ensure no explosives are disguised as bouquets."
You laughed, the vision of Klee accidentally blowing up the Cathedral altar with a companion sphere of dandelions both terrifying and hilarious. "Thank Barbatos for Albedo."
Meanwhile, down in the city plaza, the real drama was unfolding at the floral shop.
Kaeya had made it a personal habit to check on the progress of the floral orders at least twice a day.
He didn't just check the inventory; he brought a chair, sat near the fountain, and watched with a look of supreme satisfaction as Donna worked.
Donna was utterly miserable.
Her fingers were raw from trimming the thorny stems of the silk flowers, and her eyes were permanently red from a combination of pollen and bitter, furious tears.
Every single flower she touched was a reminder of the woman she hated, the woman who had turned out to be the legal, fiercely adored wife of the most eligible man in Mondstadt.
"Careful with those Windwheel Asters, Donna," Kaeya called out from his chair, swirling a glass of sparkling cider he had brought from the tavern.
"We need them to be perfectly symmetrical. My sister-in-law has a very keen eye for detail, you know. If a single petal is wilted, I’ll have to report it to Master Diluc, and we both know how particular he is about quality."
Donna bit her lower lip so hard it nearly bled.
She kept her head down, her hands trembling as she tied a silk ribbon around a massive bouquet of Cecilias. "Yes, Captain Kaeya. I am being very careful."
"Excellent!" Kaeya beamed, taking a slow sip of his drink.
"Oh, and make sure the delivery to the Cathedral on Friday morning is prompt. Master Diluc requested that the altar be completely covered in white lilies. He told me just yesterday while looking at his wife with the most sickeningly sweet expression I've ever seen on his face, mind you that she reminds him of a fresh lily after a spring rain. Truly, the man is a closet romantic. Who knew?"
A sharp snip echoed through the plaza as Donna accidentally cut the head completely off a pristine white rose.
"Oops," Kaeya murmured, his eye flashing with cruel amusement.
"That’s coming out of your commission, dear."
Donna looked up, her eyes wide with a mix of terror, humiliation, and deep-seated jealousy. "Captain Kaeya... why are you doing this to me? I... I only said what everyone else was thinking! How was I supposed to know they were... they were..."
"Married?" Kaeya’s voice lost its playful edge, dropping into a cold, sharp tone that made Donna flinch.
He leaned forward, his single visible eye locking onto her like a dagger.
"Because, Donna, a sensible person minds their own business. You let your jealousy cloud your judgment, and you tried to publicly humiliate a woman who is worth ten of you. Consider this a lesson in humility. You’re lucky it’s me sitting here teasing you, and not my brother. If Diluc had his way entirely, you wouldn't even be allowed within the city walls right now."
Donna swallowed hard, her throat tight with unshed tears. She looked down at the ruined rose in her hand, the reality of her situation sinking in. She had lost any chance she ever thought she had, and now she was forced to build the stage for her rival's ultimate triumph.
The night before the ceremony, the Dawn Winery was filled with a warm, bustling energy.
The entire staff: Adeline, Elzer, the maids, and the stable hands had gathered in the main hall to finalize the preparations for the reception, which was to be held on the estate grounds.
You stood in the center of the hall, wearing the beautiful, flowing white gown that Margaret and the city’s finest tailors had spent the last two weeks perfecting.
It was elegant, with delicate lace along the sleeves and a high neckline that managed to look both classic and modern.
Your Vision was subtly integrated into the sash at your waist, glowing with a soft, comforting light.
"Oh, look at you," Adeline whispered, her eyes misty with tears as she adjusted the long, sheer veil that trailed behind you. "You look absolutely breathtaking, my lady. Master Diluc won't know what to do with himself."
"He'll probably just scowl to hide how nervous he is," you joked softly, though your own heart was fluttering with a sweet, nervous anticipation.
"He doesn't scowl when he looks at you," Elzer remarked, entering the hall with a tray of polished silver chalices.
"In all my years serving the Ragnvindr family, I have never seen Master Diluc as at peace as he is when you are in the room. This ceremony... it is a good thing. The people of Mondstadt need to see that the Dawn Winery has a mistress who is strong, graceful, and deeply loved."
Just then, the heavy front doors of the manor opened, and Diluc stepped inside.
He had just returned from a final sweep of the perimeter with the Dawn Winery guards, ensuring no Abyss Order elements would disrupt the following day.
He stopped dead in his tracks the moment his eyes fell upon you.
The entire room went quiet.
The maids stepped back, smiling secretly among themselves.
Diluc stood perfectly still, his breath catching audibly in his throat. His crimson eyes scanned you from head to toe, taking in the elegant curve of the dress, the soft glow of your Vision, and the radiant, loving smile on your face.
For a man who never lost his composure, Diluc looked completely undone.
He slowly walked forward, his boots making no sound against the thick rugs. He stopped just inches away from you, his hands rising as if to touch you, but pausing, afraid to disturb the pristine perfection of the lace.
"You..." Diluc’s voice was barely a whisper, thick with an emotion so deep it felt heavy in the air. "You are beautiful."
"Do you like it?" you asked softly, reaching out to take his hands, pulling them to your waist.
Diluc didn't answer with words.
Instead, he leaned down, his lips finding yours with an intense, quiet reverence.
The kiss was gentle, almost hesitant, as if he were trying to commit the exact feeling of this moment to memory forever.
His hands slid around your back, pulling you close against him, completely unbothered by the fact that his entire staff was watching.
Adeline let out a soft, emotional sniffle, while the younger maids giggled into their aprons.
"I love you," Diluc murmured against your lips, his forehead resting against yours. "More than my own life. Tomorrow, the whole world will know it."
"They already know it, Diluc," you whispered back, squeezing his hands. "But tomorrow, we make it official."
The morning of the wedding arrived with a sky so clear and blue it looked as though the Anemo Archon himself had personally swept the clouds away.
The bells of the Cathedral of Favonius began to ring at noon, their deep, resonant chimes echoing across the rooftops of Mondstadt, signaling the start of the grandest celebration the city had seen in a generation.
The plaza outside the Cathedral was packed to absolute capacity. Citizens from every walk of life: merchants, Knights, adventurers, and farmers from Springvale had gathered along the grand stone steps.
The atmosphere was electric, filled with the sounds of laughter, the chatter of excited children, and the beautiful music of bards playing traditional Mondstadt love ballads.
Standing near the base of the steps, holding a massive basket of flower petals, was Donna.
She wore her finest dress, but her face was a mask of pale, frozen misery.
True to Kaeya’s word, she had been given a designated position right at the front of the spectator line, forced to watch every single guest arrive.
Her hands were trembling so violently that a few dandelion seeds slipped from her basket, scattering into the wind.
"Oh, look! The Knights’ leadership is arriving!" a merchant nearby shouted.
Jean walked up the steps in her full ceremonial uniform, her blond hair styled elegantly.
Beside her was Lisa, wearing a stunning purple gown that turned heads with every step.
Then came Barbara, leading the Cathedral choir, her face bright with a pure, angelic joy.
And then, the carriage from the Dawn Winery arrived.
The crowd went completely silent as the door opened. Diluc stepped out first.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
Diluc Ragnvindr, who spent his entire life in dark coats and practical combat gear, was dressed in a pristine, tailored black tailcoat with gold embroidery along the lapels.
His fiery red hair was tied back in a flawless braid, and a single, perfect white Cecilia was pinned to his breast. He looked every bit the high-born nobleman he was born to be; regal, imposing, and breathtakingly handsome.
But what caught everyone’s attention was his expression.
There was no scowl.
There was no cold detachment.
His eyes were fixed entirely on the carriage door, a soft, incredibly tender look softening his sharp features.
Diluc reached his gloved hand back into the carriage, and then, you stepped out.
The silence of the plaza broke into a roar of cheers and applause that could be heard all the way to Whispering Woods.
You looked like an absolute goddess, the white silk of your gown shimmering in the Mondstadt sun, your Vision gleaming at your hip like a star.
Diluc took your hand, drawing it through his arm. He looked down at you, a proud, deeply affectionate smile touching his lips. "Ready?" he whispered.
"With you? Always," you replied.
As the two of you began your walk up the grand stone steps, Kaeya stepped into view near the Cathedral doors.
He was dressed in his formal captain’s uniform, his cape flowing dramatically.
As you and Diluc neared the front row where Donna stood, Kaeya deliberately caught your eye, casting a subtle, mischievous glance down at the floral assistant.
Diluc, noticing the movement, paused right in front of Donna.
Donna froze, her breath catching in her throat as the terrifying, magnificent master of the winery stood just two feet away from her.
She looked down at your joined hands, the gold wedding bands catching the light, an undeniable, permanent reality.
Diluc looked at Donna, his crimson eyes cold, but entirely indifferent.
He didn't need to speak an insult; his happiness, his devotion to you, and the sheer grandeur of the moment were a far greater defeat than any words could inflict.
"Thank you for the beautiful flowers, Donna," you said softly, your voice filled with genuine kindness and grace, entirely devoid of malice. "They make the day perfect."
Donna’s face flushed a deep, burning red. She lowered her head, her voice a tiny, broken whisper. "Y-you're welcome, Lady Ragnvindr. I wish you... a lifetime of happiness."
Kaeya, standing just a few paces away, let out a soft, satisfied hum, crossing his arms as he watched the final piece of his plan fall into place.
Diluc looked down at you, his eyes immediately melting back into that soft, private warmth that belonged to you alone.
He squeezed your hand, and together, you walked through the grand wooden doors of the Cathedral, leaving the gossip, the jealousy, and the whispers of Mondstadt far behind.
Inside, the altar was a sea of white lilies and glowing candles.
Barbara began to sing, her voice filling the high stone arches with a melody of pure peace.
The high stone doors of the Cathedral closed behind you, shutting out the roar of the Mondstadt crowd and leaving only the ethereal, echoing resonance of Barbara’s choir.
The ambient temperature inside the sanctuary felt instantly warmer, charged by the quiet intensity of Diluc’s presence and the harmonious hum of your twin Visions.
As you walked down the grand aisle, flanked by rows of white lilies that Donna had spent the last two weeks painstakingly preparing, Diluc’s arm beneath your hand felt as solid as stone.
Yet, the way his fingers loosely entwined with yours showed a profound, almost hesitant gentleness.
He was a man who handled a heavy claymore with lethal precision, but with you, he always moved as if a fraction too much pressure might break the most precious thing he owned.
At the altar stood Acting Grand Master Jean, her expression a mix of professional dignity and deep personal relief.
Beside her, Albedo stood with a watchful eye on Klee, who was bouncing on the balls of her feet, clutching a velvet basket filled with shimmering Anemo-infused dandelion seeds.
"We are gathered here today," Jean began, her voice rich and carrying through the vaulted ceiling, "not to initiate a bond, but to honor one that has already stood the test of time, trial, and secrecy. Diluc Ragnvindr and his lady have long been the silent pillars of Mondstadt. Today, we bring their devotion into the light of the Archon."
Diluc turned to face you, taking both of your hands in his.
The gold embroidery on his tailored coat caught the flickering candlelight, casting a warm glow up into his crimson eyes.
In this sacred space, the stern, unyielding master of the Dawn Winery vanished completely.
The gaze he leveled at you was so raw, so entirely soft, that it made your breath catch.
"I, Diluc Ragnvindr, take you once more, before the gods and the people of Mondstadt," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly timbre that vibrated straight to your heart.
"I swore my life to you in secret, but today I gladly bind my name, my house, and my honor to yours for all to see. No rumor can shake what we have built, and no shadow will ever come between us."
You smiled, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you squeezed his warm, leather-gloved hands.
"And I take you, Diluc. With my life, my sword, and my Vision, I am yours. Yesterday, today, and for every tomorrow Mondstadt has left to give."
Kaeya, standing just a few paces back as Diluc's best man, let out a soft, theatrical sigh, wiping a completely imaginary tear from his eye.
"Beautiful. Truly, I might cry," he whispered loudly enough for Lisa to chuckle behind her hand.
"You may now seal the vow," Jean said, a genuine, warm smile breaking across her face.
Diluc didn't wait.
He stepped forward, his hands sliding up from your waist to cup your face with an immense, protective tenderness.
When his lips met yours, the Cathedral choir hit a breathtaking crescendo. It was a kiss of absolute victory; a silent, powerful declaration that the rumors, the jealousy, and the petty malice of the world outside had officially been incinerated by the hearth of his love.
Klee threw her hands in the air, sending a flurry of glowing dandelion seeds exploding into the air like miniature, harmless fireworks.
The crowd inside erupted into applause, led by a fiercely beaming Grand Master and a thoroughly satisfied Cavalry Captain.
The reception at the Dawn Winery later that evening was an affair that Mondstadt would talk about for decades.
The rolling hills of the estate were lit by hundreds of floating paper lanterns, casting a soft, golden glow over the grapevine trellises.
Tables groaned under the weight of Mondstadt's finest delicacies, and Elzer had indeed been forced to crack open the legendary 1984 vintage, much to the delight of the gathered Knights and citizens.
You stood on the stone veranda overlooking the festivities, a glass of sparkling apple cider in your hand.
The heavy lace of your bridal veil had been removed, leaving your hair to fall softly around your shoulders. Your Vision pulsed with a gentle, contented rhythm against your hip.
"A penny for your thoughts, Lady Ragnvindr?"
You turned to see Kaeya leaning against the stone balustrade, a glass of Death After Noon tilted lazily between his fingers.
The chaotic smirk he had worn all day was gone, replaced by a quiet, genuinely protective expression.
"I'm just thinking about how perfect everything turned out," you smiled, leaning back against the railing.
"Even with all your chaotic planning, Kaeya. Thank you. For everything."
"Oh, don't thank me," Kaeya chuckled, looking out over the crowd where Diluc was currently trapped in a conversation with Jean and Venti, though his eyes were still firmly locked onto you across the courtyard.
"I simply expedited the inevitable. You two deserved a day where you didn't have to hide in the shadows of that big old manor. Mondstadt needs to know who holds the reins around here."
He paused, his expression turning serious for a brief moment. "Donna was at the gate earlier, helping the catering staff. She looked like she wanted to melt into the dirt. I think she finally understands that some fires burn too hot to play with."
"I don't harbor any ill will toward her," you said softly, watching the lanterns drift into the night sky.
"Jealousy makes people blind. I just hope she finds her own peace."
"You're far too kind," Kaeya sighed, shaking his head with a fond smile. "But that's exactly why my stubborn brother needs you. Speak of the devil..."
Kaeya gave a polite nod as Diluc excused himself from the Grand Master and walked up the stone steps toward the veranda.
His posture relaxed the moment he stepped away from the crowd, his eyes entirely consumed by your image.
"I believe it's time for me to mingle elsewhere," Kaeya said smoothly, tapping his glass against yours.
"Don't keep her up too late, Master Diluc. She's had a long day of being adored by the public." With a sharp wink, the Cavalry Captain sauntered back down into the gardens, leaving the two of you alone in the quiet dark of the terrace.
Diluc closed the distance between you instantly.
He didn't say a word at first; he simply slid his arms around your waist from behind, pulling your back firmly against his chest. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume and the faint, familiar trace of elemental energy that always lingered around you.
"Are you tired?" he whispered, his chest rumbling against your back.
"A little," you admitted, tilting your head back to rest against his shoulder.
Diluc looked out over the crowded courtyard, watching his staff laughing with the Knights, watching the city he protected in the dead of night celebrating the light of his life.
For the first time in years, the heavy burden on his shoulders felt completely weightless.
He leaned over, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your jawline, his Pyro warmth enveloping you completely in the cool night air. "From this day forward, the world knows exactly where I belong. Right here. With you."
I will be the first to say that I think Reina's character is woefully underutilized in Beatbreak. That compared to her teammates she's gotten relatively little focus. Which is notable for a character set up as Tomoro's foil.
But I do think Reina's is ALSO not given enough credit as a character for her role in the team in general. I don't believe the Glowing Dawn would function half as well as it does without her. Because its very possible there wouldn't be a Glowing Dawn, at least in its current form, without her. Because while Kyo IS the Leader and Paragon, Reina is the Glowing Dawn's Heart.
Reina and Pristimon are literally the middle of the Glowing Dawn, prior to Tomoro joining in several ways. She is 6 years younger than Kyo, and 6 years older than Makoto. Wolvermon is Adult, one level below Murasamemon, and one level above Chiropmon. We know Kyo was an established Cleaner by 11, that Reina became a cleaner when she was about 8, and that Makoto is already a cleaner by 10. In other words all three of them became cleaners probably when they were about 9, give or take a year, so assuming Kyo didn't become a cleaner as a preschooler or something. She's about as experienced (if not as strong) as Kyo was when he was her age and Makoto will be about as experienced as Reina is now when he's her age. In many ways, Reina is to Makoto, what Kyo is to her.
Reina is also the Taichi to Tomoro's Yamato. While I think there is a lot to be said about Tomoro and Raito's rivalry harkening back to the classic gogglehead rival dynamic. Tomoro can have two foils. In fact, it's arguably something Digimon does somewhat frequently, breaking up "Yamato" into the lancer and the rival as two distinct characters. But that's a discussion for another time.
Reina is Taichi in that she is the leader of the younger trio. The one that takes initiative towards their goals. Reckless in a fight, but also utterly trusting of their team. Able to recognize and utilize the wisdom of someone younger but tech inclined. But also completely lacking in emotional intelligence and very bad at talking about their own issues. A fire-using Digimon.
Compared to Tomoro as Yamato. Always yelling about their feelings. Musically inclined. Prone to getting single-minded in their desire to protect their loved ones. Moon themed Digimon.
It may be through Kyo that Tomoro is connected to the Glowing Dawn through Asuka, but its Reina who is Tomoro's first anchor in the Glowing Dawn. The person who he can relate to, and thus comes to know the team through.
Reina has a meaningful dynamic with each individual member of the Glowing Dawn which is more than any other member can say. Makoto doesn't really have a particularly notable relationship with either Kyo or Tomoro, and Tomoro and Kyo's relationship exists but Reina is the one who really ties the group together. Even outside of the Glowing Dawn, she has more of a rapport with Yosshi than the other kids. This may simply be because she's been with Kyo/Glowing Dawn the longest, but the fact that she's been with Kyo the longest means she still has a meaningful amount of experience relative to her teammates.
A family, a team, by definition needs at least two people. Kyo could not have made a family just on his own. The formation of the Glowing Dawn, at least as a family, is something that Reina and Kyo must have done together. While we have yet to get the exact circumstances of the formation of the Glowing Dawn (if we ever will), we know it must have involved Reina, unless there is some former member of the Glowing Dawn hanging around which we probably would have heard about before now. Even if, as the older one, Kyo put in most of the "work" to give Reina a place to belong, the one who first used the label "family" Reina's reciprocation of that is probably just as important to Kyo's emotional well being.
It may have been Kyo's ideals, his dreams that are at the heart of the family. That gave them something to really live for again. But he couldn't have built this on his own. Kyo gave them, Reina, a dream. A place to belong. But Reina also gave Kyo a place for his dream to grow. Reina took Kyo's dream, and made it her own, building Kyo's momentum and sharing it with Tomoro and Makoto. Reina is a living fulfillment of the feasibility of Kyo's dreams.
While Tomoro does eventually adopt the habit as well, both Reina and Kyo are both fiercely, explosively protective of their "Family" from the start. The only real difference is that Kyo has a bit more fire power to back it up.
But Reina is in no way weak or dependent on Kyo.
In fact that's a very distinctive point of contrast between her and Kyo and Tomoro and Asuka. Part of what makes Tomoro and Reina foils is their relationship to their families. Asuka is overprotective of Tomoro, to the point of Tomoro not being able to look after himself when Asuka is gone. Though, like Asuka, Kyo tends to keep secrets from his teammates, Kyo trusts Reina to look after the team in his absence, officially labeling her the trio's leader when Tomoro joins the team.
Presumably prior when it was just the three of them there was no need for such a label. Of course Reina would look after Makoto, and of course Makoto would default to Reina. While it's unclear how often exactly Makoto and Reina handled bounties alone prior to Tomoro joining, the fact of the matter post-Tomoro they often have to go it alone without Kyo. And very often Kyo is sleeping or away when plot happens. And when Kyo is away, Reina is in charge. Which again, is often.
It's a role that Reina plays well. Pristimon is officially described as being like a big sister. An official description indirectly applied to Reina. She's affectionate and seemingly protective of pretty much anyone younger than her. Both her teammates and Granit. She will throw herself into the line of fire to protect people, not unlike Kyo.
In this way, describing Kyo as "Team Dad" is certainly an accurate assessment. The adult of the team, protective of his family, cooking for them and helping them to grow. And also prone to not relying on his teammates. Though I fear taking this expression too literally obscures the ways Kyo does treat them as peers (and the way they act when he doesn't) and how his relationships with his teammates are mirrored in Asuka and Tomoro and Reina and Makoto. It also doesn't give enough credit to the fact the kids also hold a lot of responsibility in the day-to-day survival of the group and are also kids who were forced to grow up too fast. Remember its Makoto whose in charge of the "boring stuff" (presumably bills, though we do see Reina looking over bills at the end of episode 25 while Kyo brushes it off).
By the time Reina had met Kyo, she'd been a cleaner for long enough to have gone through several cleaner teams. She'd been orphaned and abandoned when she was 8 and ran away from the orphanage. She learned how to be a cleaner all on her own. Reina is capable of taking care of herself. She's had to take care of herself.
Kyo says as much of her in episode 16. Even if Kyo is here in Reina's life now, that past isn't undone. Even if Kyo wanted to be as parental to Reina as Asuka is to Tomoro (though to be clear I don't think it would even occur to Kyo to be that protective) Reina likely wouldn't allow it. And in fact the survival of this new family is something Reina pours her heart and soul into maintaining. Reina is fiercely protective of the group. Proactive in going after what she thinks will help them. She's constantly concerned about money and constantly throwing herself into the line of fire. In fact, she's more concerned about money than Kyo is (although Kyo probably had enough of money during his time as a 5 star it does not change the fact the kids deserve financial stability).
While not a prodigy with a dark past like Kyo, I think certainly has a similar relationship to Makoto, as Kyo has with her. Kyo trusts Reina to look after the family, even when Gekkomon and Chiropmon were both still stuck at Child. Reina scolds Kyo when he isn't honest with them. Reina trusts Makoto's support. Makoto scolds Reina about the laundry. Reina is saved by Murasamemon's support. Makoto is stated to be reliant on his teammates. They are relationships that go both ways. What Kyo gave Reina, Reina gives to Tomoro and Makoto. Praise, support, protection, a family. And for Kyo, she's the first strike back at Klay about the value of Kyo's dreams.
Reina is the glue that holds the team together. She's the bridge between 22 year old Kyo whose time as a 5 Star gave him a skewed perception of priorities, and 10 year old Makoto who just wants to be with Chiropmon. Kyo's 11+ years of experience to Makoto and Tomoro's complete lack. She's the one who aggressively (whether a good idea or not) pushes Tomoro to figure out where he fits with the Glowing Dawn. She's the one who believes in Kyo's dream with full sincerity but also in their need for money. More than any other character, Reina's character revolves around the Glowing Dawn and what it means to her.
Synopsis: The first time Yingxing met you, was the second time he saw you. The first time Blade met you was also the second time he saw you, but this time he stole you away for himself.
Word Count: 19.7k [i know, i know but PLEASEEEE give it a chance]
Content Warnings: female reader, virgin reader, pseudocest, semi-public sex, canon typical violence, canon compliant, blood, gore, body horror [<- only a few scenes for those three], cunnilingus, age difference, angst with a happy ending, minor character death, yinxing/blade's pov, reader is referred to as "little one", "little flame", no use of "y/n", implied yandere blade, implied yandere yingxing, codependency
masterlist | ao3 | director's cut
a/n: this is written entirely from yingxing/blade's pov, also i read both "the king in yellow" and "shakespeares sonnets & other poems" while writing this so if its repetitive at some points well. it was the genres i was reading sorry lol
"Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins." — 1 Peter 4:8
The first time Yingxing sees you is in Flamewheel Forge, a tuskpir plushie held in your arms as a pale orange heliobus bobs around your head. The sight of you, so small and quiet as you toddle around the forge with sparkling eyes distracts him from the sword he's making. Blinking in bemusement he slowly sets down his hammer on the anvil, watching you as you approach a currently vacant desk.
You look up at it with a concentrated frown on your chubby face, practically pouting before your eyes light up. He has to refrain from laughing as you shift the tuskpir plush to one arm, hooking your other around the chair leg and dragging it out. Yingxing covers his mouth with his hand to muffle the snort that escapes when you clamber up onto the chair, nearly dropping your plush before the heliobus dives into it and lifts it up onto the desk for you.
How cute, he can't help but think and then, who let her in here?
Watching you for a few more moments, Yingxing deems that it shouldn't be too big of a risk for you to be here. All you seem to be doing is rolling out a large piece of canvas, helped by the heliobus still possessing the tuskpir plush that must be babysitting you. If he had been any other artisan of the Flamewheel Forge, then you would likely be getting dragged out by your ear for it; but Yingxing sees no harm in letting a child draw on paper that is easily replaced.
Had you been rolling out someones blueprints to draw over them, then that would be a different story and something that Yingxing would have stopped. Seeing as that isn't the case, he just watches for one more moment to make sure that you'll be fine before he goes back to his project.
The metal has gone cold whilst he had been observing you, so Yingxing set his hammer aside fully to retrieve the tongs in his apron. Picking up the metal he moves over to the forge and reheats it the end of it he had been drawing out, he takes one last glance at you as he returns to the anvil. After that he gets lost in the movements as he moulds the metal into the shape he wants, a long thin blade that he intends to punch several grooves that will make removing the blade quite unpleasant.
By the time he finishes the project the artificial sky of the Zhuming has turned from day to night, making him blink in surprise. The blue glow of the Pseudo-Sun in the centre of the Forge flickers along the walls, mixing with the dying embers of the forge that Yingxing had been using. The ghostly sight makes something click in the back of his brain, and suddenly he remembered about you.
Spinning around his eyes are already creasing in concern, he hadn't known you had entered the Forge earlier until he saw you because he had attributed the loud sound of the doors to another artisan. Though surely if you had left he would have heard the doors slamming shut, wouldn't he? Yingxing isn't so sure when he thinks about it more, his Master has always told him he gets too stuck in his head when working.
Looking around reveals nothing, except for the fact that you hadn't finished packing up the things you'd been using to draw or pushed the chair in. He ignores that bit since you were just a child, and the chair was meant for an adult, but is slightly irritated that no one seems to have taught you to always finish cleaning up after yourself.
Stopping at the edge of the desk his irritation melts away as he stares down at what you had been drawing, a niggling curiosity filling him as he picks up what almost looks like a blueprint for a weapon. It looks like a shuangdao yet instead of the typical half-moon design the guard and hilt look like a taijitu, the blades more similar in shape to a guandao than regular single handed dao blades.
An interesting idea to be sure, and one drawn impressively clean considering the typical unsteadiness of a child's hand. Rolling it up he takes it with him, it should be a fun challenge to see if he could make your idea come to life.
The second time Yingxing sees you is a week later, as he's melting down another failed attempt at creating those shuangdao. You're holding General Huaiyan's hand as you trot along at his side, your head turning in every direction like you weren't sure what you wanted to look at most. Like this he can see the resemblance between the two of you, the shape of your eyes and the lines of your jaw are so similar it makes Yingxing wonder how he hadn't noticed your resemblance to his Master.
Barely seconds after he thinks this, your eyes connect with his and Yingxing smiles kindly at you. For some reason you startle, tucking your face into Huaiyan's side to hide from him, the same pale orange heliobus at your side swirling in what seems to be–amusement? Reassurance? Yingxing isn't quite sure, still unused to reading heliobi despite the near three decades he has spent on the Zhuming.
"Now, now, no need to be so shy. I told you about him, remember?" Huaiyan says gently to you, who must be his daughter, because Yingxing's Master had no relatives with children for you to have been the man's niece. You peek out from behind the General's leg, face scrunched up shyly and your eyes teary as you look up at Yingxing.
Looking at you properly you have to be eight to ten years old, and Yingxing actually can't believe that it has been that long since his Master had taken paternity leave. Even for a short-life species like himself, Yingxing swears that is was barely last year that Huaiyan had set aside his duties at the Flamewheel Forge to help his wife look after their new child.
Yingxing shakes himself out of his thoughts as he sees you start to shrink behind Huaiyan again, stepping away from the anvil he'd been working at and crouching near his Master. He smiles again at you, softer, less pronounced than he had before and making sure not to show any teeth this time, his hands hanging over his knees, palms in plain sight facing you. Perhaps he is treating you similar to the stray cats he feeds, but it works; you inch out from behind General Huaiyan, a tremulous smile on your face as a meek little greeting leaves your lips.
"I'm Yingxing, an apprentice of your father. It's nice to meet you, little one." Mentioning that seems to make you perk up, blatant interest lighting your face as you stare up at him. Though the words that come out of your mouth shock him, Yingxing gaping at you in surprise.
"Oh I know you! You're the one papa says has more arrogance than common sense!" You beam up at him despite the damning words leaving your lips, the gap between your teeth on display. Mechanically Yingxing's gaze slides from your face up to General Huaiyan standing behind you, though his Master has suddenly become quite interested in the ceiling of Flamewheel Forge.
"Is that so?" Yingxing grits out, eyebrow twitching. Discounting when he'd seen you the other day he had never met or spoken to you before, just what kind of stories had his Master been telling you about him? Before he could get too annoyed Yingxing hears a quiet giggle, drawing his gaze back down to you.
"Your projects sound so cool though Mister Yingxing, can I see one?" Your eyes shine with more genuine interest than most people, and it makes him pause. Yingxing was so used to all Xianzhou Natives other than his Master judging his ambitious projects, but as you stared up at him there was nothing but honest curiosity in your gaze.
"Okay." Yingxing folds immediately in the face of such innocence, standing back up before offering his hand to you. You look utterly delighted as you grab his hand in both of yours, your little pet twirling happily at your side–at least, the chiming it lets out sounds as if it is happy.
"Reeeeeen shush!" Yingxing hears you whine at the heliobi, likely attempting to be quiet yet not aware that that made it more obvious. It amuses him slightly, the fact your heliobi must have been teasing you going by how you reacted; he can only guess that it had been your enthusiasm about getting to see his work.
He doesn't find out the real reason until several months later, through a passing remark made by Huaiyan's newest apprentice Hanguang. The young man who looks so similar to how Yingxing used to they could have been mistaken for siblings, watches in fond amusement as you leave Flamewheel Forge running after the heliobi messenger your father had sent to collect you.
"That puppy crush she has on you is rather cute you know? I can only hope that if I ever have kids, that the people they crush on are as kind about it as you are." After saying that Hanguang leaves Yingxing alone, the other man heading further into the Forge back to his own workspace.
Yingxing however is frozen in place, staring down at the mess of canvas paper you had been doodling messy weapon ideas on. A puppy crush? It made sense of course, so much that Yingxing can only blame the fact he usually never spends extended amounts of time around children on the fact he hadn't picked up on it.
Yet Yingxing also has no clue how he hadn't picked up on it, now that he's thinking about it you act so differently around him compared to the other artisans that work for your father. Your eyes are always on him even though you shy away each time he catches you staring, until he could coax you into calming down again. The heliobi always by your side laughing each time you would switch to clinging to Yingxing, attached to his hand like a vice or hanging off his back when he needed both of his hands.
He had indulged your clinginess because of the fact that there wasn't really any children around your age, whose parents would be comfortable with them being near the Flaming Heart's daughter. Yingxing remembers what it was like to grow up with no one willing to get to know you, after all half the kids he had tried to befriend still acted like teenagers.
All Yingxing had wanted to do was to make sure you had someone you could rely on, since he hadn't had that as a child–even though Baiheng had tried, she was so busy as a pilot in the fight against the Plague Author. He couldn't imagine how lonely it was for you though, not with your father being the General of the Zhuming. Lonely enough that you had gotten Ren as a pet at least, and how lonely did a child have to be to turn to a heliobus for company?
On one hand Yingxing wonders if it had been a mistake, now that he knows of your crush on him. Had he done anything to accidentally encourage it? On the other hand he doesn't want to suddenly be cold to you, such a sweet little girl who had no friends because of the position her father held.
Would you grow out of it, if he just acted like normal? If he ignored your crush without damning you to the loneliness that had Huaiyan letting you keep a heliobi as a pet? Yingxing doesn't know, he can't remember having ever had a crush on Baiheng or any other adult as a child; but perhaps he doesn't remember because it had passed so quickly?
It's possible, he thinks, that it will just take longer for you to get over due to the differences between a short-life species like himself and a long-life species like you. The thought relaxes him, there is no need to shut you out for something that will pass by anyway. Yingxing goes back to cleaning up your messy blueprints, lips quirking at the sight of a sword that seemed to be floating around the stick figure wielding it.
The next time Yingxing sees you, he really can't believe that it took Hanguang pointing it out for him to notice your crush. Little sparks of flame linger on the end of your hair, a brilliant red that matches the artisanship commission-ship uniforms rather than the pale orange of your heliobi. Not only that but you fidget with your sleeves and top, always ducking your head and glancing at him when Ren says something he can't hear to you.
"Heh," Yingxing laughs at himself once you are gone again, shaking his head with a sardonic smirk. Maybe he really did have more arrogance than common sense, too stuck in his projects and proving that he was as good as any Xianzhou Native to notice something so obvious.
Ah well, it doesn't matter. Yingxing will continue to treat you as he always does, besides his Master had never complained about your little puppy crush. On top of that Huaiyan always seemed to prefer Yingxing to be the one to babysit you, though it was hardly a chore to look after such a well behaved child like you.
During the next festival Yingxing finds himself being the one to take you, since Huaiyan is too busy with his duties as General to take you himself. It's nearing the end of the night, when Yingxing gives into your begging and lets you have drag him towards the goldfish game, when another off-hand comment gives him an idea.
"What a cute little sister you have," the lady running the stall coos to Yingxing, as both of them watch you struggle to catch a goldfish with the paper net. The sight makes Yingxing's lips quirk up, but then what the woman had called you registers in his mind and his eyes widen.
"Oh, no she is..." Yingxing pauses, rolling the idea around in his head. If he makes himself into your big brother, then surely your puppy crush on him would die faster wouldn't it? Then you could develop one on someone your own age, and someone you won't outlive by centuries.
"Don't let her cuteness fool you, she's a little devil just like that pet of hers." Yingxing says instead of denying the connection, a warmth forming in his chest. He hasn't had family since the borisin tore his planet apart, part of him feels like he should have denied it; if not due to you being unrelated, then solely because Yingxing likely shouldn't be declaring himself to be your big brother without asking Huaiyan first.
But isn't that what he is already? Yingxing protects you when you are with him from the assassins you don't know exist, he is the first one to look after you when your father is busy. He knows all of your favourite things, knows how you want to make weapons that outshine any others ever made within the Xianzhou's long history. Aren't these the types of things an older brother does and knows?
Hearing a sniffle makes him shake himself out of his thoughts, focusing back on you and tensing at the sight of your eyes tearing up. Quickly he swoops in, standing behind you and grabbing the last one of the paper nets he had bought you. Yingxing puts it into your hand and wraps his hand around yours, guiding you into catching the one you had been trying to get. It is only after you cheer and the stall owner claps, that Yingxing realises what he's done.
Ah, I'm going to have to explain your new pet to Master Huaiyan, aren't I? Yingxing thinks, and yet he can't find it in himself to worry too much about the oncoming conversation. Not when you turn to him, a wide and brilliant smile on your face, flames sparking in your hair as you carefully hold the bag containing the little black and orange fish.
"Come on little flame, it's about time to go home now." Yingxing hums, holding a hand out to you. Usually you would cling to his hand immediately, but this time he watches as you swap between staring at him and the fish in your hands. A quiet huff of laughter escapes him at the sight of you, too worried about your new pet to latch onto him with your normal enthusiasm.
"Don't want to let them go, hmm?" He says playfully, though he doesn't wait for you to respond. Yingxing steps closer to you and crouches down, before reaching out and scooping you up into his arms. Standing back up Yingxing tucks you against his chest, unable to stop a smile crossing his lips as you curl into his neck while still clutching the fish bag.
You are fast asleep by the time he gets you home, and Yingxing has long since had to take over holding onto your prize. He grimaces slightly at the faintly disappointed look Huaiyan levels at him at the sight of the fish, but Yingxing stays silent not wanting to wake you up.
After a moment his Master relents and guides Yingxing to your bedroom, taking the fish off of his hands and leaving. Yingxing tugs the blankets on your bed back and lowers you down, taking a moment to remove your shoes before he tucks you in firmly. Yingxing lingers for a moment, gently brushing your hair aside and then leaving you to sleep.
A few months later Yingxing gets an opportunity he can't refuse, not with how short his life is and yet. When he sits you down–on what is likely the last day he will ever babysit you–and tells you, Yingxing feels his chest squeeze so tight he briefly wonders if he's having a heart attack. He can't stand the sight of you in tears, sobbing and wailing at the idea of never seeing your beloved big brother again.
"Don't cry little flame, we can write letters to each other!" Yingxing blurts out without thinking, just wanting your tears to stop. Not only does it work to stop your crying, but when he thinks about it for another minute the idea appeals to him very much.
"We might not be able to see each other for a long time, but as long as we write you wont loose me. It will be okay little flame, I promise." He crouches down to your height, giving you a reassuring smile as he holds his arms out. As he expected you launch yourself at him, making him grunt slightly as you cling to him like an octopus.
Humming he picks you up, even though Yingxing probably shouldn't be indulging you so much right before he's set to leave the Zhuming. Resting his chin on top of your head he sighs faintly, he's going to miss you once he's moved to the Luofu but the chance to make his own forge is just one he can't give up.
Unsurprisingly he gets a letter from you after only a week of living on the Luofu, and it makes the stress of being looked down upon by the artisan's here melt away. More surprising is the letter he gets from Huaiyan alongside your own, but when he read it his lips twitch up. It seems his Master isn't above spoiling you either, if he's using the fact a General's correspondence is delivered faster to make sure Yingxing gets your letters quickly.
Ignoring the mass of supply invoices and commission requests that he still has to go through, Yingxing sits down to write a reply to your letter first. Before he takes it to the post office to send it back to you, he decides on a whim to make you a hair stick. Yingxing crafts flame like ornaments the same colour as your heliobi for the end, smiling to himself as he imagines how excited you'll get at seeing it.
Two decades pass like that, through letters and gifts sent back and forth between the two of you from the Zhuming to the Luofu. Yingxing wonders sometimes if he should be sending you photos, of the sights of the Luofu, of his friends or the weapons he makes; but always ends up distracted, and rushing to send his latest letter off until he eventually forgets all about it.
It comes back to bite him, of course it does. It comes back to bite him when you decided to visit him, all grown up now without needing to get your father's approval to leave the Zhuming. Reading his Master's latest letter it bites him in the ass, because he has no clue what you look like anymore but now you're apparently going to be visiting him.
The only reason he knows you intend to visit at all is a throwaway line at the end of Huaiyan's letter, two days before you're set to arrive in Stargazer Navalia. And really you are just like your father, neither of you remembering to tell him anything until the last second yet Yingxing can't help but find it charming from you as apposed to how it irritates him from Huaiyan. Thankfully it is just enough time to get the guest room ready, and hastily clean up the mess that has accrued in his home due to his long hours in the forge.
When Yingxing goes to the docks to pick you up, he's thankful that Ren is by your side letting him easily recognise you; he sees you before you see him and you take his breath away, in a manner that has to be damaging for his health. As you look around–likely searching for him–the artificial sunlight makes you look sublime, like a divine emissary from stories he half remembers his mother telling him about.
The last time he saw you, you only reached his hips but from where he's standing, he thinks that now you at least reach his shoulders. Remembering how you had declared you would be taller than him when you grew up makes him smirk, but then you turn in his direction and it's like everything else falls away.
You're the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. Yingxing could craft a million weapons in his meagre lifetime, but none would ever compare to the beauty you hold.
Is this why the Knights of Beauty insist in THEIR survival? Yingxing can't help but think, but it is a fleeting thought because in the next instance your mouth opens. Those beautiful lips part and he feels what the weapons he creates must feel when they are quenched because, because through his own fault what leaves your mouth is an excited cry of "Yingxing-gege!"
It's like a balloon has popped and the sounds around him come crashing down on him, but Yingxing makes sure to plaster on a smile as you draw closer; the burgeoning regret he feels isn't something you should concern yourself with, big brothers are supposed to look after their little sisters after all.
His smile turns more genuine as you wrap your arms tightly around him, Ren swirling around the two of you chiming happily. Yingxing has missed you during his past two decades on the Luofu, unable as he was to spare the time to visit you back on the Zhuming. Having you in his arms, even with the complicated mix of emotions in his chest, feels like coming home.
"It's good to see you again little flame," Yingxing sighs into your hair, basking in holding you for just a little longer before drawing back. Setting his hands on your shoulders, he pushes you back gently so he can look over you properly.
It wasn't just the light of the artificial sun behind you that had made you look beautiful, you were just naturally breathtaking. A kind of beautiful that would make heads turn your way, the idea of other people staring at you with desire fuelled by lust instead of love infuriated him. Made Yingxing grit his teeth and glance around the docks, shooting a dark glare at a few people that were staring.
"Gegeeeee," your whine recaptures his attention, Yingxing's gaze falling back onto your face–lingering on your pouting lips for barely a second, before he forces himself to look in your eyes. "Where are your friends you always talk about? Did they not want to meet me?"
Yingxing blinks at you, it wasn't surprising you wanted to meet his friends, but you had said that like you'd expected to meet them now. His eyebrows crease slightly as he removes his hands from your shoulders, crossing his arms and giving you a familiar exasperated look.
"Why would they be here? If it hadn't been for Master Huaiyan mentioning your visit in his letter, I wouldn't even be here to pick you up!" Yingxing exclaims in mild annoyance, though he can't find it in himself to stay angry at you. Not when your lips part cutely in shock, your eyes that shine like gems filling with embarrassment.
"I… did I… did I forget to send… you the letter I wrote?" You stammer meekly, red sparks flickering at the end of your hair. Yingxing sighs in both amusement and sympathy, Huaiyan's letter had been all about you passing your artisan finals so it isn't that shocking to learn you had intended to tell him and had simply forgotten.
"I'll make sure you can get to meet them before you have to go back to the Zhuming, okay? Just remember to warn me in advance next time you intend to visit me," Yingxing relents to you, as he always finds himself doing when it comes to you. It doesn't stop him from pinching your cheek though, smirking almost tauntingly at you as you whine at him.
Releasing your cheek he snatches your bags while you rub at the spot he'd pinched, smirk turning arrogant as you try to take them back from him. Yingxing just lifts them above his head out of your reach, teasing you about your height difference.
"Aw, what's wrong little flame? Can you not reach them?" He chuckles at the way you scowl up at him in response, resisting the sudden urge to bite your cheeks as they puff up so cutely. Yingxing lowers his arm again but refuses to let you take your bags back, instead he grabs your hand in his and tugs you after him.
He can feel it when you hesitantly intertwine your fingers together, but he doesn't protest it. No, in fact it softens his smirk back into that small fond smile that he reserves just for you.
When the two of you reach his home in Aurum Alley, Yingxing is slightly nervous at the possibility he might have missed something when cleaning. He doesn't want to worry you, yet at the same time the idea of you fussing over him is strangely appealing. Yingxing takes you on a tour around his house, dropping your bag on the guest rooms bed (though if he were honest with himself, when he had bought his house he had only made sure it had a second bedroom in case you ever visited).
After that he leaves you in his living room, heading to the kitchen to make you some proper food. Yingxing highly doubts that the food on inter-fleet starskiff rides had improved in the past two decades since he moved, if it was ever improved it would likely be long after he died. Thinking of it makes him pause for a moment while washing the rice, the reminder that you will live long after he has died.
It makes him maudlin, makes him want to carve out a spot within your heart for himself that nobody else could ever fill; but no, that would be cruel of him. Yingxing has at maximum another forty years left, at best likely only twenty with the strain his craft puts on his body. You however, you will live another seven centuries at least before Mara becomes a problem for you, and if you inherit your fathers peculiar resistance to it, you could even live for millennia longer.
To carve an irreplaceable spot in your heart for himself would be the cruellest thing Yingxing could ever do, and yet. The idea is so tempting, as tempting as it is to abandon the congee he is making to go kiss you.
Yingxing lets out a slow breath and goes back to stirring the rice, trying to ignore the way his heart pounds in his chest. Are your lips as soft as they had looked? He can't help but think, getting irritated at himself for the thought. Feeling the spoon start to bend in his grip he snaps out of his thoughts, shaking his head roughly to get rid of them.
Refocusing on the rice he decides it's cooked enough, turning the heat off and moving it aside. Yingxing moves to the cutting board as the rice cools, chopping up some onion and left over chicken from his dinner last night. Grabbing a ladle he puts a generous amount into a bowl for you, nearly forgetting to grab you a spoon before heading back to the living room.
Yingxing pauses in the doorway and watches you, warmth filling his heart as he spots you curled up on his couch fast asleep. His throw blanket is pulled halfway over you, and Ren is trying to tug it so that it covers you better. Yingxing goes back to the kitchen, putting the bowl of congee in a warmer for you to have later before returning to the living room.
"You can stop now Ren," Yingxing says quietly as he circles the couch, taking care not to wake you up as he removes the blanket from you. Chucking it over the back of his couch again Yingxing crouches down, grunting slightly as he picks you up in his arms.
He freezes for a moment when you stir, letting out a slow breath as you nuzzle into his neck sleepily. A shiver runs down his spine as he moves towards the guest room, Yingxing doesn't know if it's a blessing or a curse to know that; yes, your lips were as soft as they looked.
Yingxing has to shift you into one arm to open the door, and then pull back the blankets on the bed. It is hardly a struggle though, to him you are as light as a feather. He takes your shoes off and tucks you in, thoughtlessly smoothing his hand across your forehead as you sink into the mattress. What a familiar scene this is, though back then he had viewed you as nothing more than his little sister.
If his friends could see the smile on his face right now, Yingxing is sure they would be teasing him relentlessly. He doesn't mind though, Yingxing isn't ashamed of how much he cares for you even with the complicated addition of these new emotions he feels for you.
Even with his promise that you could meet his friends before the end of your visit, Yingxing hadn't actually been sure he could manage to make it happen since Baiheng was off ship. Yingxing nearly sighs in relief when just three days before you are due to go back, he gets a message from Baiheng that she's back on the Luofu.
He doesn't tell you where the two of you are going when you leave that morning, not wanting to get your hopes up about meeting all of them–just in case Dan Feng has to suddenly cancel because of the Preceptors nagging him. Yingxing just couldn't stand to see the disappointed pout on your face, if he promised for all his friends to be there only for three instead of four to greet you.
However after he has introduced you to them all, after the two of you have sat down at the table; where you sit as close to him as possible, practically sitting in his lap as you cling to him. Obviously intimidated by Dan Feng and Jingliu, despite the fact he has heard you speak of Teng Xiao in annoyance while calling the man your uncle, and Yingxing wonders if he should regret this meeting.
Because Jing Yuan is staring at you with wide eyes from his spot next to Jingliu, it is perhaps the most unguarded expression Yingxing has ever seen on the kids face. But it burns inside Yingxing's chest, the sight of a brilliant blush erupting on Jing Yuan's face as the lieutenant stutters his way through introducing himself to you.
Why was that brat introducing himself? Yingxing had already done that barely even five minutes ago! His eyebrow twitches, a scowl briefly crossing his lips before he hastily replaces it with a reassuring smile when you glance up at him.
Yingxing wants to reach over the table and throttle the brat for making eyes at his little sister, for thinking he was in any way good enough for you. But isn't he? An insidious whisper rises in the back of Yingxing's mind, Jing Yuan is young and strong and most importantly he has a life span that could match your own.
Why wouldn't you pick him over Yingxing? He can't help but grimace at the bitter truth his mind has reminded him of, that even if you did choose him. Yingxing was just destined to break your heart all over again when he died, like he had when you'd had that puppy crush on him.
"Is something the matter Yingxing?" Dan Feng's voice brushes against his ear, making him stiffen slightly as his eyes snap between you and the High Elder. But his friend is staring at him with veiled concern, tea cup raised to his lips and no one else seems to have heard the vidyadhara speak.
"Should I ask Jingliu to reign in her apprentice?" Dan Feng's lips barely move, and Yingxing thinks: ah of course, he's using cloudhymn to speak to me. Yingxing contemplates his friend's offer for a moment, staring into sea foam coloured eyes.
Yingxing can see the concern in Dan Feng's eyes, but he can also see slight amusement. He isn't sure how he feels about it, the idea that Dan Feng must have guessed just what was irritating Yingxing and why. It is however something he can think of later, if he takes too long to respond Dan Feng will likely do whatever he thinks is best–and Yingxing doesn't need Jingliu figuring out his complicated feelings for you.
He shakes his head minutely, Dan Feng raises an eyebrow at him but tilts his head ever so slightly and concedes to Yingxing's choice. As always, Dan Feng's unwavering support makes Yingxing relax, even as it makes him wonder if it would really be so bad to give into the feelings for you that had been rapidly growing the past two weeks of your visit.
Dan Feng was rather disconnected from the normal day to day life of citizens on the Luofu, but even so the vidyadhara was best at predicting how the public would judge something out of all of them. If his friend was willing to subtly encourage Yingxing's possessiveness over you, then surely he could; but no, he cuts the thought off before it can take root in his mind.
Yingxing is like a mayfly compared to you, and he does not wish to be a scar upon your soul for the rest of eternity.
Dan Feng stares at him, likely having seen Yingxing waver for a moment but he doesn't say anything else; not through cloudhymn at least, no instead his friend inserts himself into the conversation to ask–perhaps a little too sharply–about how you got Ren. It humbles Yingxing, for just a moment. Dan Feng's willingness to not only cause potential friction with one of the vidyadhara's only friends, but to try and get to know you just because he can tell how dear you are to Yingxing.
It soothes Yingxing when he realises you don't seem to notice Jing Yuan's stuttering attempts at flirtation, even if each one sparks another flicker of irritation within him. No, in fact you seem more interested in Dan Feng, or rather; the stories about Yingxing you can pry from Dan Feng, and he ignores the look it has his friend sending him.
Yingxing doesn't know what that look means, and nor does he want to; to have false hope is the worst kind of thing he can imagine.
The next day Yingxing takes you to his forge, barely able to hold back an excited smirk as he thinks of what your reaction to his surprise will be. It is only a shame that he hadn't had time to drag you here sooner, with how you'd wanted him to show you practically every inch of the Luofu during your visit.
He watches as you look around his forge, unable to stop himself from practically preening at your starry eyed gaze. After a moment he tears himself away from you, heading into the back where he keeps all of his personal projects separated from his commissioned work. Yingxing retrieves the gift he had finally made for you, though the only reason it had taken him until this year was because of how much work he'd had since moving to the Luofu; well that, and the fact he'd wanted to make it with the best materials possible.
Stepping back into the main room of his forge, Yingxing huffs out a laugh as he spots you snooping through his blueprints. A smirk crossing his lips as you jolt and look up at him, a guilty pout on your face as the familiar chiming of Ren's laughter echoes as the heliobi swirls next to you.
"Well I had a gift for you, but now I'm not so sure you deserve it." Yingxing teases, setting the wooden case he was carrying down over top of his blueprints on the table. Crossing his arms he leans against it while listening to you stammer out excuses for a few minutes, taking perhaps a little too much joy in watching how flustered you get.
"I suppose you can still have it, it's your design after all. I just made it a reality," Yingxing says in mocking thoughtfulness, nudging the box towards you with his elbow and raising an eyebrow. He watches with a sense of almost nervousness as you open it, wondering if there was something wrong with them even though he'd checked them over several times before bringing them out to you.
You freeze after opening the box and for another moment Yingxing thinks he messed something up when forging your gift, then your lips start to wobble and tears are forming in your eyes. Yingxing tenses at the sight, panicked at the sight of what must be your displeasure at his audacity; and then you open your mouth.
"Y-you made… made these for me?" Your voice trembles but you don't sound upset, no. Yingxing relaxes as he registers the sheer delight coating your words, his smirk melting away into a fond smile. Even though the tears don't leave, he isn't panicked anymore as you pick his gift up out the box.
The scabbard containing the real gift is darkly lacquered alder wood, stained to look almost a deep black. Silver metal coats the chape, mouth and middle of it; all three in the shape of the flames you wield as easy as breathing. Just like the blueprint you'd made as a child, the guards for the shuangdao are shaped like a taijitu, each blade having one magatama.
Your eyes are still teary and your lips still tremble, but your hands are steady like stone as you remove the blades to look at them. Made of a metal so black it appeared to suck the light out of the surrounding space, and sharp enough they make a slightly ringing sound as you withdraw them. You stare at them silently before abruptly sheathing them again, making Yingxing's eyebrows furrow in confusion.
Gently you set the scabbard down on his work table, then rapidly circle around it and throw yourself at him. Yingxing grunts as you slam into him, but wraps his arms firmly around your form as you cling to him. Yingxing smiles helplessly down at you as you bury your face in his chest, able to feel the tears wetting his clothes as you mumbles endless "thank you"'s against him.
"I knew you would, but I'm glad you like them." He says smugly, belying his earlier internal certainty that you had hated them. It's not like you needed to know about that anyway, to you he was strong and unwavering and Yingxing didn't intend to do anything to change your opinion of him.
"I don't like them," you sniffle, making his heart drop instantly–had he misread your reaction twice? "I love them! I can't believe you really made me those shuangdao I drew as a kid, Yingxing-gege you're really the best."
"You made an interesting design is all," Yingxing dismisses your praise, though he feels faintly as if he'd had a heart attack. He keeps rubbing your back soothingly, huffing his next sentence out with slight irritation. "Besides, how can I trust weapons made by other people to protect you? My little sister deserves the absolute best to protect herself with."
For some reason his words make you giggle, despite the absolute seriousness he had behind them. The thought of you dying in the middle of this war, just because the weapon from some rushed artisan broke on you features in his worst nightmares. It has ever since your letter a few years ago about joining the Zhuming cloud knights, though he decides not to push the issue right now.
When Yingxing sees you off the next day, he is slightly irritated when Jing Yuan tags along without any warning. Yet the sight of his gift hanging at your side, of you clearly wanting to show it off, instead of putting it inside your quantum storage fills Yingxing with a smug sense of childlike glee.
Each time after the first that you visit him, Yingxing can feel his resolve to not be a scar on your heart forever weaken. Not helped by the way you never seem to notice Jing Yuan's increasingly desperate attempts at flirting with you, or the way Dan Feng always subtly encourages Yingxing to do something about his feelings for you.
At night he is kept up either by thoughts of you, or dreams of you, nothing but you in all your glorious splendour. Thoughts that make him feel guilty in the morning, dreams that wake him up in a cold sweat; both good and bad. Although Yingxing tries to convince himself they are all bad, in an attempt to ignore the more carnal desires he has for you.
In his mind you are pure, innocent. Unaffected by the desires of others, either because of how your father has shielded you or how you simply have no interest in interacting with new people. Yingxing doesn't know which it is, but the way you never register the constant interest directed at you makes him burn.
Yingxing wants to introduce you to desire and pleasure in all its different form, to make you feel so good that no one else will ever compare no matter how many centuries you live. Yingxing wants to make sure you stay his innocent little sister forever, so that if he can't have you no one else will ever get the chance either.
And Yingxing knows it's wrong of him to feel like this.
For him to feel so good about the attention you give him, to preen and stand taller when without fail you always search him out first even if his friends are nearby. Even if he took the title upon himself, even if there really is no reason not to give in considering a lack of blood relation to make it truly taboo; Yingxing is held back from pursuing you, due to his own morals by the role he has given himself of being your older brother.
Yet he can't help but continue standing taller whenever you look his way, always takes great effort to make sure you never see the different ways his age has started to affect him over the past decade since you've started visiting him. Yingxing wants to remain the strong, skilled, handsome man that you had once had a puppy crush on; he wants so horribly for you to still have those feelings for him despite the time that has passed since then.
At the same time he can't help but pity his young friend, Jing Yuan's infatuation with you in genuine even if it had started due to your looks. Yingxing knows that Jing Yuan would treat you well, that if you had to fall for anyone Yingxing would prefer it to be Jing Yuan. At least if you were with Jing Yuan, than you would have someone with a lifespan comparable to your own at your side who has the smarts to keep himself alive for you.
Still though the idea of you with anyone else makes Yingxing sour, so he tries to avoid thinking about it and mostly succeeds. In fact he manages to nearly put it out of his mind entirely, at the very least Yingxing doesn't worry about anyone except Jing Yuan managing to steal you away.
Hah! Steal, as if you belong to him. Yingxing really doesn't deserve the way you look at him, with such absolute trust believing that he won't let anything happen to you. Sometimes it makes Yingxing feel like he's rotting inside, twisting into a version of himself he can hardly recognise as he struggles with the ever growing urge to keep you all to himself.
Yingxing lets out a slow sigh as he realises he's thinking about it again, setting his tools aside and taking his gloves off to rub at his face. It's likely because of the fact you're on the Luofu right now, and yet he hasn't been able to see you because you're busy in meetings with General Teng Xiao on behalf of your father. Knowing that Jing Yuan has been able to see and speak to you due to his position as liuetenant, when Yingxing has been stuck waiting for your meetings to end irks him more than it should.
Taking a deep breath in Yingxing decides that he is long overdue a break, the sun is low in the sky and he has been working all day without stopping. The latest batch of devastator glaives he had been commissioned to make were nearly finished as well, so there would be no harm in him leaving the forge early today.
Nodding to himself Yingxing sets about cleaning up his workspace, putting away his tools and clearing the bench tops of all the random paper and rubbish covering them. Locking up his forge as he leaves, Yingxing chooses to take the back alleys on his way home on a whim only to stumble upon a scene from within his nightmares.
Well, that's probably an exaggeration. But it certainly feels like something directly out of a nightmare, spotting you and Jing Yuan standing across from each other underneath a gingko tree. It looks like something out of one of Baiheng's romance immersia's she's so obsessed with, and Yingxing hates it; yet he can't bring himself to leave even though he knows he should, instead Yingxing lingers around the corner listening to the conversation he'd nearly interrupted.
"Although, so far, you have either failed to notice or chosen to ignore my endeavours to sway your heart. I," Jing Yuan hesitates for a moment, which strikes Yingxing as strange. Even during outlining the most risky battle plans ever heard, Jing Yuan's voice had never wavered like it is right now.
Was there something Yingxing was missing? Jing Yuan was one of the most perceptive people he knew, which was likely why the kid was already a lieutenant, did he know something about you Yingxing didn't?
"I still wish to make sure, for my peace of mind if nothing else, that you know of my feelings for you. You, who shines brighter in my eyes than the arrows of the Reignbow Arbiter, I utterly adore you." Jing Yuan breathes out, though he sounds almost resigned to Yingxing. Even so Jing Yuan's gaze never wavers from yours, looking resolutely into your eyes as he waits for your response.
Yingxing can't see your expression–the way you close your eyes, a faint grimace crossing your lips–but he can see the way calm acceptance blooms to life on Jing Yuan's face. There is pain hiding behind the acceptance, as if Jing Yuan was anticipating a rejection; or had been rejected by you already without you ever opening your mouth.
"I'm… sorry, Jing Yuan." You speak haltingly, as if it pains you to reject Jing Yuan. Yingxing wouldn't be surprised if it did, Jing Yuan was the only person you knew that was the same age as you in a similar position as your own after all. "But I can't return your feelings."
"You don't have to answer me of course, but may I ask why?" Jing Yuan's voice is quiet, and it sounds like he already has an idea. It sounds less like he's asking you a question, and more like he's looking for confirmation.
"I…" Your voice wavers, and you cross your arms shifting almost nervously in place. It seems that now it's your turn to hesitate, though surely if you liked someone Yingxing would have noticed, wouldn't he?
"I'm still… still in love with Yingxing-gege. I know it's stupid, to be in love with someone who probably still sees me as that little girl he met three decades ago but I am." Your voice is as quiet as Jing Yuan's, but in Yingxing's ears it is like a scream. You cross your arms and straighten up, raising your chin up as you presumably look into Jing Yuan's eyes.
Yingxing feels faint, surely he must be dreaming–to hear those words pass your lips, to learn that your crush had never disappeared only that you had learned to hide it from him. Yet he also feels as if a bucket of ice water has been poured over him, wide awake as his heart rabbits in his chest.
He shouldn't be here. He really, really should have left when he had the chance because now he is rooted to the spot just waiting for the two of you to leave.
"Haa… just as I thought then." Jing Yuan sounds unsurprised, though Yingxing can barely process that fact.
No. Yingxing is still stuck on the fact you're rejecting Jing Yuan–Jing Yuan who has fan-clubs upon fan-clubs filled with various long-life and short-life species–you're rejecting him, for an old man like Yingxing. It does obscene things to his ego, and if he wasn't so shocked it would be much harder to control himself.
"Perhaps this is… crass, of me to suggest. But do you think, that after Yingxing passes." Jing Yuan pauses for a moment, staring at whatever expression that has crossed your face. He stays quiet for another moment, before clearly deciding that since he'd already been bold enough to start speaking he should at least finish his statement.
"Do you think there is any possibility, that you could grow to care for me as you do for him, after he is no longer here?" Jing Yuan asks you, in the same tone of voice he uses when playing star-chess with someone. Soft and probing, looking for doubt or any signs of giving up; in this case he was probably looking for signs of you giving in.
"That's not fair, not to either of us." You shoot him down immediately, a distraught tone creeping into your voice. Yingxing twitches at the sound of it, resisting the urge to go comfort you before you start crying only by reminding himself that neither of you knew he was listening.
"I don't know how long it will take, or even if I will ever move on from him." You stop but Jing Yuan doesn't reply, just staring at you with endless patience. "Logically I know that with how long we live, that that is unlikely but emotionally I can't see that grief ever ending."
"It's not fair for you to expect me to have an answer for something like that, and I don't think it's fair on you to be giving yourself false hope." You turn–thankfully away from Yingxing's direction–to leave, uncrossing your arms as you do.
"That's my choice though, isn't it? If I choose to wait and see if you ever develop feelings for me, it is no fault of your own and you should feel no guilt for it." Jing Yuan points out gently, reaching out and taking your hand to stop you from leaving. It stops you in your tracks, despite the fact that Yingxing can tell Jing Yuan grabbed you loosely enough you could still leave if you wanted.
"Jing Yuan…" You sigh heavily and turn back to him, and now Yingxing can see your expression. Face twisted up in equal parts love and despair, lips pressed tight together as you visibly struggled to gather the words for whatever you were thinking.
"I have loved Yingxing, I have been in love with Yingxing for three decades now. Despite," you pause and clear your throat as your voice cracks, taking a deep breath before speaking again. "Despite several attempts to like other people I… just cannot seem to move on from him, and I will likely be in love with him for the rest of his life and a significant portion of my own."
Yingxing barely processes you tugging your hand free of Jing Yuan's grip and leaving, or the almost bitter bark of laughter that escapes his friend before he too leaves. Again Yingxing tells himself he must be dreaming, he has to be; if he isn't, then he doesn't know how to shove down the feelings threatening to explode out of his chest.
There is smug pride because of course, of course you love him, Yingxing is a better artisan than most if not all that are in the Xianzhou and became so within a tiny fraction of their lifespans; why wouldn't you fall in love with someone who has proven that they can get things done.
Ah but Yingxing loves you too, loves you in every way a person can love. Like a brother who wants to protect you from every bad thing in the universe, he loves you. Like a friend that cherishes every moment spent with you, he loves you. Like a lover whose mind is always on you no matter what it is he is doing, he loves you.
Yingxing's love for you is like a brand on his soul, it is a feeling he doesn't think he could ever forget. A twisted part of him is glad that you are in the same boat.
Alongside love and pride, lust too, bubbles up. Even if he had dismissed the signs of you liking him as his own foolish delusions, Yingxing knows you are the type of person to only think about intimacy with someone you're attached too. You had said you couldn't like anyone but him, which would mean that Yingxing must be the only one to feature in any fantasies you have. The concept of it makes him dizzy, opens a gaping pit of hunger inside of him without an end.
Yingxing wants to buy you anything you've ever looked at for more than a second, to spoil you until you no longer know the concept of being unable to have everything you want in life. Only that if you want something you just have to look his way.
Yingxing wants to chase after you, grab you by the hand and take you back home. Back where he can lay you out on his bed, could take you and teach you all the different pleasures of the flesh. Somewhere he can spend as much time as he wants worshipping you, until you know that in Yingxing's eyes you are more perfect than any aeon in existence.
But he can't, he can't.
Just because no one on the Xianzhou would bat an eye, except for maybe at your differing lifespans, doesn't mean Yingxing can have you how he wants the most. At best he has another forty years, but realistically with the way he works his body he probably only has twenty. Not nearly enough time to spend with you in his opinion, which would make it like the blink of an eye to you.
It would be cruel of Yingxing, to give himself to you with so little time left.
And yet that rotten, covetous piece of his soul. That part of Yingxing that wants to carve himself so deeply into your soul, that there is no removing the stain of him from you grows stronger and even more ravenous. It eats at his insides, burns him up with a fire hotter than his forge or the Pseudo-Sun in the Flamewheel forge.
It feels as if you had reached into his soul and set it alight with your words, a fire that burns and burns until it threatens to destroy his self control completely. Yingxing wants and wants and wants. Perhaps this is the real reason he gets along so well with Dan Feng, despite not being a dragon like the other man Yingxing is just as greedy and covetous as one when you look into the meat of his soul.
But Yingxing knows self control, knows it intimately after six decades under the scrutiny of a race that judges the lofty ambitions of someone as short lived as him. All he has to do is ignore the flames of his desire, like he ignores the icy rage that blisters inside him when someone refuses to believe Yingxing make the weapons he sells; just because they think someone with as short a life as his can't create the kind of quality he does.
At the very least, he is well practised in the art of ignoring his own desires, and it is easy to ignore them the next time he sees you. As much as it pains him to do so, now that he recognises the affection in your eyes for what it really is in all its entirety. Yingxing smothers the flame inside him until it is barely an ember, until he can pretend it has gone away the same way you had once convinced him yours had.
Yingxing is just a mortal, a blink in the universe compared to the centuries upon millennia that you will continue to shine brightly for. He has to be content with the role of being your big brother, Yingxing… is content with the role he has chosen for himself, he convinces himself.
[At night the words you said haunt him, they repeat endlessly over and over. In his mind, in his dreams, they keep him up, they make him sleep in. Bit by bit that cavernous hunger within him grows and grows, and every morning Yingxing wrestles it down so that it goes unnoticed.
Dan Feng stares at him sometimes, his eyes filled with dark understanding. Neither of them speak of it, that delirious fever that lurks in the depths of their souls; mouth gaping wide as it waits for them to slip up, so that it may devour them and then everyone in their surroundings.]
Yingxing is content to get to be in your life at all, despite the way he keeps breaking your heart. Content to get to love you, to experience a life with you and his friends. He doesn't need more than that, than the company of you and Dan Feng and Baiheng and Jingliu and Jing Yuan. All of you are more than he ever thought he would have, after those wretched wolves destroyed his homeland and he was reborn in the flames of his people's pyre.
Yingxing… can die satisfied like this.
[But he can't, he can't. Baiheng sacrifices herself in the fight against Shuhu. You–who shouldn't have been on the front lines of one of the Luofu's fights–catch that reprehensible Emanator's attention, and the affection bestowed upon you by Shuhu nearly makes the mara in your blood consume you whole.
Yingxing was never supposed to outlive any of you, not him, not the poor short-lived man with dreams that extend far beyond his natural lifespan. He was supposed to be the first to go, not Baiheng who picked him up from the wreckage of his world and not you who Yingxing would destroy anything and everything to keep safe.
When Dan Feng asks him to research something that could help you two he says yes without thinking, when Dan Feng takes him to the roots of the Ambrosial Arbour and shows him Baiheng and you–covered in branches, why had nobody told him your mara had gotten so had?–laying there his heart lurches.
In the roots of that tree they commit three unpardonable sins, although Yingxing had only known the plans for two of those sins. The third sin Dan Feng's alone.
First is the creation; Dan Feng brings out something that beats like a heart and siphons power straight from the arbour, the waters of the gorge swirling around the vidyadhara as he pours it into Baiheng's corpse through the beating sphere. They don't know it yet, but they have just created an abomination that will soon destroy the Luofu's vidyadhara's homes.
Second is the alteration; the High Elder retrieves an orange flask from his robes and pours it over you, covers you in the gorge's water and Yingxing watches in dizzying relief as the branches covering you melt away. Dan Feng changes you, as long as you have oxygen you will continue to burn.
Third is the extension; is the sin of betrayal.]
You are safe, you are safe and alive and that is all that matters to Yingxing. He can die happy now, he can, he can, he can, he…
The first time Blade sees you—he is in the middle of hunting down that traitor Imbibitor Lunae once more—on the planet 216813, he stops in the middle of the busy street and stares. You look and feel familiar, the colour of your hair, the glint of your eyes; how you stand, how your hair is pinned with a stick made of flames, it all seems to tug at the back of his brain. Strange that you would, with how far 216813 is from the current location of the Xianzhou fleet and yet. And yet the flickers of Yingxing's soul flares into an all consuming blaze at the sight of you, making his breath catch in his chest.
It's strange, Blade thinks, your familiarity that is paired with nothing but an overwhelming feeling he dare not name. Not like the burning sense of betrayal that bubbles up at the sight of Imbibitor Lunae or that Swords-master that submerges him under the mara, not like the complicated mix of regret and pity that swells in his chest at the name of that General on the Luofu. The clothes you wear are nothing like the clothes of the Xianzhou, and yet you must have come from there to be so familiar to him, for your name to be on the tip of his tongue yet just out of reach.
What Blade feels looking at you from across the street, walking alongside a chattering teen with long blond hair is unlike anything he has ever felt. What Blade feels watching as you laugh at something the kid says, the way it briefly chases away the empty look that he hadn't realised was lurking in your eyes, is like a soothing balm on an irritated wound.
Your familiarity is less like a chain around his heart, and more of a gentle pressure filling the cracks of his fractured soul. Similar to the feeling that surges through him alongside revival, yet instead of agony following Shuhu's twisted gift it is a gentle warmth. Looking at you, Blade feels alive, and yet there is no pain, no suffering.
The sight of you and your smile lingers in his mind even as you disappear into the crowd, soothing the mara down until he no longer even wants to continue chasing that traitor today. You make the lingering remnants of Yingxing's soul swell with affection, and cause Blade to momentarily wonder if eternity would be bearable standing at your side.
You let another laugh and the sound rings in his ears rousing faint memories from the depths of Yingxing's shattered soul, snippets of Yingxing spending time with you like you're with that boy. In these memories your face is without the stress lines Blade had spotted around your eyes–and without the bottomless grief in them–but bare of any of the baby fat the boy still has.
Your eyes which had been so empty until the boy had made you laugh, are filled with an endless ocean of devotion in every single one of these scraps of memory. Affection that makes the heart in Blade's chest swell and twist inside him, beating faster and faster; like it wants to crawl out of his body, and go running into the tender mercy of your hands.
It makes him wonder–this feeling of this heart in his chest reaching for you across the crowd, a lingering surety that he needed to beg your forgiveness present–if Yingxing had died whilst the two of you had been arguing. Blade's mouth sours at the idea, knowing even without any memories that if you had been arguing; the chance it was because of Yingxing's arrogance, rather than something you had done was much more likely.
How foolish of Yingxing, to let his arrogance cause strife with someone that looked at him like she did. Blade thinks to himself, disquieted by the urge he has to go over and plaster himself to your side. Yet Blade is glad that you are alive, under the confusing mix of Yingxing's memories and emotions, that relief is so overwhelming it almost brings tears to his eyes.
Even stronger than the relief that you're not dead, is the relief that you have not become mara-stricken over the past seven centuries. There are no branches growing from the soil of your flesh, no golden leaves clinging to you like a second skin, no nauseating fruits that have grown ripe on your blood.
Blade thinks he would shatter completely, if he had to see you like that. The mere idea of it causes the shards of Yingxing to flare up, the mara bubbling up in a frenzy; both demanding he hunt down and destroy every single thing that might cause the mara lying dormant in your blood to bloom. This too, is another familiar feeling to him.
Yingxing would have cleaved the skies in two to protect you, would have made monstrosities beyond the pale–even more so than the ones crafted by that High Elder–if you had been taken from him so soon into your long lifespan. In fact the concept that you could have died barely a century old sets Blade's teeth on edge, the fact that at nearly eight centuries old it's a wonder you aren't mara-struck makes him dizzy with the urge to steal you away, to a place where he can watch over your every waking moment.
Usually whenever Yingxing's emotions swell inside Blade's chest thick enough to choke him like this, he would bundle them up and shove them as far down as possible until they faded. For a moment he considers doing the same with this lot, but then another memory flashes through his mind–more akin to an imprint then any tangible memory–of your eyes bright and shiny and filled with pure devotion as you hold a pair of shuangdao in your hands.
Blade melts like steel in the furnace, unwittingly moulded by the faint memories of your smile. No, this feeling is good, the feelings you inspire in Yingxing–in him, are as pure as freshly fallen snow and as gentle as a spring breeze. Perhaps it is selfish for a weapon like him to crave such sweetness, but you are the only familiar thing that hasn't brought him pain and he yearns for more of it.
Something loosens and tightens in his chest at the same time Blade decides to keep these feelings, like another chain around his heart; and yet it is one that soothes him, soothes the mara too. Letting his feelings for you in feels almost like coming home after a hard, almost endless day, as if you are the panacea to all his troubles that he has been desperately searching for all these centuries.
Someone brushes against him as they walk and it snaps him out of his reverie, blinking as his eyes automatically searched for you among the crowded street. Blade's head snaps back and forth with more urgency as he realises you aren't here, and that more importantly he can't even recall anything about you other than the curve of your lips and the sound of your laugh.
Scowling slightly he stalks through the crowd, looking for the high blond ponytail of the boy that had been at your side. Surely if he finds the kid, then he will find you, he will have you back in his arms where you belong. Blade searches for hours, and then lingers in the shadows of the only way off of 216813.
After nearly two weeks of haunting the singular interastral dock at all hours of the day, Blade is forced to admit that the day he saw you might have been the last of your travels here. This revelation agitates not only him but the mara as well, its voice clamours in the back of his head but this time it says something Blade agrees with.
If Imbibitor Lunae hadn't killed him last week trying to escape his sins, forcing Blade to wait until the mara finished healing him. Then maybe Blade could have been on 216813 sooner, would have had time to find you after that first glance of your figure had disoriented him so badly. It irks him badly enough, that when he catches a glimpse of black hair and jade green eyes slipping onto a ship; the mara manages to take over sending him into a bloodthirsty haze.
That memory again… Blade opens his eyes slowly, staring at the green light flickering over his cell's ceiling. How long has it been since he caught that glimpse of you? It must have been at least a decade now, and even though the memory of your face is blurred his feelings for you have festered like an infection inside his chest since then. Growing stronger and deeper, into an all consuming hunger that gnaws at his bones every time a thought of you slips into his fractured mind.
It swells in his chest again as he thinks of you–the faint curve of your lips that flickers on the backs of his eyelids nearly every time he blinks, your laugh that had sounded like the wind chimes Yingxing had made you to ward off bad luck–clawing up his throat not unlike the mara, but still different enough he does nothing to stop it's ascent.
A heavy sigh spills past his lips as the feeling settles in his gums, an incessant need to mark you up and mark sure everybody knew you were still his–even after all these centuries apart. Hearing the echo of footsteps down the hall, Blade shifts to sit up on the meagre cot in his cell. Rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck, idly testing the strength of the cuffs on his wrists as he waits for the next scene in his script to begin.
I wonder if I'll see her while I'm here. Blade muses, watching the green lighting ripple against the wall like waves on the shore. Your name hadn't been in his script, even if he didn't recall it Blade is positive he would have recognised it regardless. He had recognised you on sight even after centuries lost in a haze after all, he is sure your name would have been the same.
If I do, will she recognise me? He decides that's a stupid thought after a moment of consideration, since in every scrap of memory he has of you. Your eyes had shone with an unwavering adoration and while he can't remember anything said between the two of you, by the feelings that felt as if they'd been growing in that endless haze only to swamp him on 216813 at the sight of you; Blade is certain you must have been lovers, and just as sure that you're heart would have never wavered.
He is drawn out of his thoughts at the sound of the door unlocking, eyes sliding over to see two cloud knights standing in the doorway. A smirk tugs at his lips, seeing how they hesitate to enter and the way their hands tighten on their glaives. How weak. Standing up he scoffs under his breath when they startle, but exits his cell silently and lets them pretend to guide him through the Shackling Prison to their General.
Stepping into the darkened hall he can hear five heartbeats besides the one in his chest, yet when Blade's gaze sweeps over the room there is only two figures visible on the dais. That blond boy who had been at your side on 216813, and the uncanny figure of little Jing Yuan; not so little anymore, now all grown up. Jing Yuan esteemed General of the Luofu, a sharp lance of grief wells from within Yingxing's memories.
What a pity.
"Yanqing." So that is the boy's name, Blade doubts he will retain the knowledge for long but it is good to know regardless. "Watch this person carefully."
As Blade draws to a stop where the floor shifts from glass to stone, stepping fully into the light of the hall. That extra heartbeat stops for a moment, only to start up again a sharp staccato that threatened to burst out of its owners chest.
"Do you remember me?" Jing Yuan asks him, and though Blade is curious about why that extra heartbeat is so erratic at the sight of him. The script demands Blade has this conversation, so he casts it aside for now and answers his old friend.
"I remember." Blade starts, unable to hold back a smirk as he sees Yanqing tense. That smirk splits into a roguish grin as his next word make the kid shift, clearly preparing to summon a weapon. "Of five people… three must pay a price."
"You are not one of them, Jing Yuan." "Yingxing-gege is… is that really you?"
You step out of the shadows from behind Jing Yuan, eyes wide and lips trembling as tears line your lashes. His chest seizes at the sight of your tears, thumps faster at your divine figure clad all in white. As Blade rakes his eyes over you, greedily taking in the sight of you; he can't help but notice that your clothes cling to your body, even that the bone white armour of yours–so similar to that of the Cloud Knight's armour–seems several sizes too small.
A slight frown tugs at his lips, because there is no way that you could find that comfortable. In addition the only colour on you is on the dao–no, the shuangdao hanging from your side. Familiar in design, a blueprint flashes through his mind briefly. Yingxing had spent a long time making those for you, and you had clearly taken good care of them over the years. The red silk wrapped around the grip is still in pristine condition, and the yellow tassel hanging from the pommel looks near untouched.
That and the sight of your face lighting up, a subdued grief lifting from your shoulders makes his heart skip a beat as a thought flickers into his mind. But it can't be, surely not. Someone would have had to notice, wouldn't they? Would have noticed that you started wearing too tight, uncomfortable clothing right after the period to continue wearing your sangfu had run out.
Yet that look on your face as you take a step towards him–only to be stopped by Jing Yuan's outstretched arm, like you hadn't even realised you'd been approaching him–says Blade must be right in his thoughts. You look like someone who has been told up is down and down is up, like someone had revealed to you that everything you ever knew had been a lie.
Yet. Yet you also look as if you have seen the sun after a long, long night, a fragile hope blooming in your eyes as your hands curl over Jing Yuan's arm. That familiar gleam is returning to them as well, that look that was always in your gaze whenever you looked at Yingxing that the artisan had always pretended he couldn't see. Blade can see your hands trembling ever so slightly on Jing Yuan's arm, and he is frankly surprised you haven't shoved it aside to throw yourself at him.
Out of the corner of his eye he sees a strange expression flash across Jing Yuan's face, bitter resignation twisted together with a sort of helplessness that looked strange on the man's face. It looks so familiar, like Blade had seen it on his face before but when? A faint memory stirs in the depths of his soul, of you who have bewitched him and little Jing Yuan standing under golden ginkgo leaves, of a stammered confession and a refusal said because of him.
Blade is suddenly reminded that his script had had a divide in it, a blank space between this conversation with Jing Yuan and Blade meeting back up with Kafka that Elio had simply labelled "choose". He can remember Kafka spotting it and asking Elio about it, Blade remembers his reply despite the mara because it had disturbed him for some reason.
"Well… this is a choice Blade will never get again, so if felt necessary to point it out. He can either take it, or someone else will have their patience rewarded."
If pointing out that Yingxing was dead, if telling you he couldn't be that man again meant pushing you into Jing Yuan's arms, then Blade refused. The idea that someone else would get to hold you at night, some other persons lips would touch yours when it's all he could think of since seeing you on 216813; that your heart could possibly stop beating for him, and start beating for Jing Yuan instead fills him with an indescribable rage.
"Yes." Blade answers you, Blade decides it on the spot. Whatever reasons Yingxing had to make you treat him as your big brother, none of them mattered to Blade anymore, all he knew was that he wanted you and so he would steal you for himself.
He rolls his shoulders and breaks the flimsy handcuffs around his wrists easily, lunging forward while swinging the shard sword at the boy and Jing Yuan. Blade holds you in one arm, tucked into his chest your arms wrapping around his shoulders. He can feel your tears soaking into his coat, the same way Blade can feel your trembling lips pressing desperate kisses again and again to his neck.
Blade smirks again as he turns his back on Jing Yuan ignoring the resigned look on the General's face, ignoring too the way the boy was shouting after you in a panic. Blade may have been wrong about the fact you were lovers, but by the way you cling to him he is self-assured that he had been right in thinking your heart had never wavered from him.
Yes, even if Yingxing had been a hesitant coward. Even if Yingxing had been too scared of receiving scorn, due to the chains he had placed upon himself when making himself your older brother, to claim you for himself. You had always belonged to him, ever since that day in Stargazer Navalia when you had looked at Yingxing; eyes full of love and Yingxing had foolishly let his sensibilities make him ignore it, you had been his.
Blade has not been Yingxing in nearly seven centuries. Not since the flesh of that Emanator twisted him into this undying abomination, not since that Swords-Master killed him over and over until Blade rose from the shattered remains. Yet for the first time he is glad for it, because for all that Yingxing insisted on calling you little sister if you had been his by blood than Blade wouldn't have you in his arms right now.
Blade will keep this one, pure, thing left over from the forge of Yingxing's mortal existence for himself and cherish it. Like a sword he will take care of you, will look you over at the end of every day and make sure to wash away your sadness so that radiant gleam of happiness stays in your eyes.
All the things that Yingxing wouldn't let himself want, all the things that could have happened between you and him don't matter anymore. All that mattered to Blade was this; this cavernous want for you in his chest that kept growing ever bigger, and the desperate want with which you clung to him as if to be separated from him again would kill you.
For all that Yingxing had played the role of big brother to you, Blade can't help but think he had been a horrible one. An older brother should look after his little sister, should help her through life as she grows and protect her hearts from being broken. As your older brother Yingxing should have looked after your heart better, but that artisan had been too cowardly and had broken it so many times it must have shattered upon his death.
Blade was just… correcting a mistake is all, one that had stewed inside you for seven centuries getting worse and worse. Until the point that your heart had startled to crumble, because all your memories of Yingxing were painted with the heartache of his negligence. Seven hundred years may be a lot for him to catch up on, but for you Blade thinks anything would be worth it.
That thought is why he is sure Yingxing had been a horrible big brother, the way he had broken your heart over and over again even though he'd returned your feelings; but Blade would be better. Blade would make sure you knew he would never let you go like Yingxing had, that he would hold onto you tightly and worship you like the pious did aeons because that's what you were to him.
Holy. Sublime. Utterly divine.
Only once he's finally through the Artisanship Commission and stepping into Stargazer Navalia, does Blade let the shard sword dissipate back into his quantum storage. After a few minutes he finds an area completely devoid of cloud knights or abundance abominations and shifts his hold on you, his arm moving from under your thighs to grip your waist as Blade carefully sets you on your feet.
Blade can't find it in himself to let go as he draws back, eyes raking over your form again as if you could have been injured somehow (impossible, he had shielded you from all the aurumaton shards that had gone near you). You can't seem to let go of him either, your arms still curled around his neck your hands tangled in his hair.
Your face is twisted into a strange expression, the slightest pout graces your lips and Blade is startled to realise he can feel the heat emitting from you. There is a warmth in your face he can see, due to the way little clouds leave your mouth as you breath; a searing heat in your body that warms his hands, even through what must be three or four layers of clothes.
A frown tugs at his lips, there is no reason for you to be this warm, for the fire you wield so easily to be burning you up like this. Blade tightens his hold on you, intending to check if you had a previous injury he hadn't noticed when snatching you (surely you didn't, surely Jing Yuan wouldn't have let you follow him to the Shackling Prison if you had been injured) only for you to whimper.
Blade pauses at the sound, blurry quicksilver fragments of memory flashing through his brain. It causes that ravenous feeling inside of him–that only shows up when he thinks of you–to flare, a bestial hunger so similar to the mara yet more covetous in nature clamouring at his mind. He doubts the possibility of the scenarios his mind conjures up inspired by those memories, with how long it had been there was no way a simple touch like this would unravel you and yet he can't help but indulge in them.
You had never seen Yingxing when he looked like Blade, had only met him one when he was already half grey and by the next time you had seen Yingxing his hair had been fully silver. Maybe that didn't matter to you though, it hadn't done anything to stop you from falling in love with him after all.
Blade adjusts his grip on you again to test something, acting like he was making sure the belt holding your shuangdao and overcoat in place was still secure. It causes you to squirm and he uses it as an excuse to squeeze your waist gently, forcing you to stop moving and behave for him. Another whimper escapes you, louder this time, and Blade can feel you trembling in his hold like a scared little rabbit.
When he raises his eyes from your belt to your face, your eyes are wide and bright as you stare at him. There is an innocent embarrassment in them, in the way you bite your trembling lips as if you think he might get mad. Like Blade could ever get mad at you, his sweet little sister who had spent so much of her life stuck in grief over him.
No, the sight you make, trembling in his arms with that shy cluelessness in your luminous gaze makes Blade faint with hunger. The surge of love and lust running through him making him dizzy, causing his grip to tighten ever so slightly as he struggles to control himself. You look as if you have no idea why you'd reacted like that, and it drives him insane.
Of course, of course you wouldn't. Blade doesn't remember much but ever since he saw you on 216813, he had clung to any scrap related to you that he could. You had always been stubborn and loyal like a dog, and grief did strange things to the body–even moreso for Xianzhou Natives. It only made sense that you had never looked another person's way, not when the man you had wanted the most was dead.
There was no way you didn't know what you were feeling, that old man of yours would have never let you go without proper schooling at the very least. But you probably had no clue why you were feeling that way, if your grief had really made you completely uninterested in sex like he suspected it might've. Especially when Yingxing had never touched you, Blade is sure he would have remembered that if nothing else of you.
Yingxing had been so scared to loose you, that by confessing his feelings he would scare you away and had wilfully ignored the neon signs that you had wanted him; and then too scared to scar you, to act on them after finding out the truth. Blade however has nothing to loose, nothing except this. The feeling of you in his arms, so flustered by a simple touch yet clearly wanting more of him.
Yingxing might not have given you what you wanted, but Blade would give you everything. Every last scrap of his body and soul, it was all yours to do whatever you pleased with just so long as you stayed at his side, as long as he could bask in your presence he would welcome anything you wanted to do to him.
Cut him, kick him, kill him, if it was by your hands he would happily die a thousand deaths. It is what Blade deserves for leaving you to think him dead for so long, though he knows you are too kind, too relieved to have him back to do such things to him. You are his very own goddess in the flesh, one he will worship like a supplicant does at the altar for as long as you allow him to do so.
There are no shadows in your eyes, even though with how you had ghosted at Jing Yuan's heels you must have seen even more war over these long, long years he had been absent. Only a bright adoration directed all at him, as if Blade being here holding you meant that all the suffering you'd endured over the years no longer mattered.
It inflames him, it engulfs him. His hunger for you grows and grows and grows, the way it claws up his throat until it fogs his brain is so similar to how the mara seeps into mind except. Blade gently squeezes your waist again as he glances around, nudging you gentle until you start taking a step back for every one he takes towards the nearby stack of crates.
Reluctantly he removes his hands from you to divest himself of his coat, reaching around you to lay it out on top of the cold metal surface of the crate. His lust for you tugs at his mind, unravelling him just like the mara does. Except still when he picks you up and sits you on the edge he is careful, barely putting any pressure on your shoulder before you lay yourself down.
Blade feels half insane from lust when your thighs spread for him before he can even touch them, feels like he could choke on it as he undoes your belt just enough to pull your pants down. A low unrecognisable sound drags itself out of his throat when his eyes land on the wet spot on your underwear, a guttural growl like sound rumbling through his chest as he stands frozen by his desire.
His hands tremble ever so slightly as they hook in the waistband, the air stolen from his lungs as he watches your arousal cling to the seat of your panties when he drags them down your legs. Blade is almost scared too look at your cunt as he drops to his knees between your legs, distracting himself from it by picking your legs up and ducking under your clothes to set them upon his shoulders.
His heart pounds, hands curling against the soft flesh of your thighs as he takes a deep breath in. Groaning low in his throat as the scent of your arousal floods his nose, it makes his head spin the exact same way it does when the mara starts to take over. This isn't the mara, though it feels the same, unravels him the exact same way; when Blade brings his gaze to your cunt, his mind is as clear as glass and just as sharp.
Shiny and slick your arousal drips down onto his coat as he watches transfixed, mouth watering as his hands slide from your thighs up to your hips. Holding you firmly in place he leans in a licks a stripe up the middle, shuddering both at the sweet sound it pulls from your lips and the salty taste that beads on his tongue.
The taste of your pleasure intoxicates him like finely aged wine, making his eyes flutter closed briefly before he snaps them back open. Blade wants to watch after all, wants to see you painted in the strokes of ecstasy as he guides you through this new experience. His eyes never leave your face as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking on it gently, his thumbs rubbing reassuring circles into your hipbones.
Supporting you, like a good older brother should. Blade thinks sardonically, a little smirk tugging at his lips. A faint sound passes his lips, partly a laugh but mostly a satisfied sigh as your taste continues to flood his mouth. It fills him with a sense of deep satisfaction as he hears your whimper, sees your face scrunch up as you try to keep quiet.
Blade adjusts his grip on you, moving so that his left arm pins your hips down across the soft pudge of your stomach. His newly freed hand sliding back down your leg, over your thigh that twitches on his shoulder, and down to your dripping entrance. Pausing for a moment he reluctantly draws away from your clit, licking the slick from his lips before bringing his gloved hand to his mouth.
Biting the fingers Blade tugs his glove off, a ripple of amusement running though him as he hears a quiet whine leave you at the sight. He sets his glove to the side of you then returns to his previous position, though this time he gently prods at your entrance with a scarred finger. You squirm under him as he slides it into you slowly, Blade being oh so careful not to hurt you with the intrusion although your weeping cunt makes it easier.
Still it doesn't hurt to go slow, no, in fact Blade would much rather be too careful with you than ever risk hurting you. Seeing your face twist into a slight grimace Blade sucks on your clit again, laving his tongue over the small nub; pleased when the discomfort melts away from you, privately ecstatic when he feels your hips try grinding into his hand.
Blade obliges you, of course he does, sinking his finger in all the way and curling it inside you. He can feel the heart inside his chest quicken at the sound that leaves you, high pitched and breathy as your cunt squeezes his finger. Enraptured as he is with the expressions on your face, Blade almost doesn't notice your hands reaching for him.
Curious he stops and waits to see what you want, if you wish to stop he will even though he thinks he would die to be separated from you without even making you cum. Only for a low groan to leave him as your fingers tangle in his hair, the sound vibrating against your wet heat as you tug his face closer to it. He can feel his pants becoming a little too tight, but ignored it in favour of focusing on you.
"Y-Yingxing-gege please!" You whine in a needy tone, staring down at him with hazy eyes and a wobbly pout. It makes him want to coo at you, so small and fragile in his grasp; yet so trusting that he can give you everything you want, even when you weren't able to find the words to ask him properly.
"Blade." He huffs against your clit finding himself slightly annoyed, the sight of you like this belonged Blade and Blade alone. Yingxing's cowardice had deprived him of the chance to ever see this, the corpse he inhabits shouldn't get to have his named called out by you.
"Wh-ah, mmn… what?" A cute little look of confusion washes over you, making him realise just how far Jing Yuan went to make sure you wouldn't find out Blade was alive. Had he been scared that you would run away to find him? The idea amuses him, especially since Jing Yuan hadn't been wrong in his fears, after all you had all but jumped into Blade's arms inside the Shackling Prison.
"Call me Blade," he draws back just enough to clarify, before flattening his tongue against your clit again. His sunset eyes boring into you from between your legs, midnight blue tresses scrunching up in your hands as you tug on them again. It sends another bolt of lust down his spine, heat pooling between his legs making his cock throb.
"If you call me that, then I'll give you everything you want," Blade adds on, even though you both know he would do so regardless. His finger inside you curls once more then stills again, his tongue a warm weight against your throbbing clit. Blade can practically see you deciding it doesn't matter what name he goes by, as long he continues with what he's doing right now.
"Blade-gege I want… I want…" You sound like you don't know what you want, or like you can't bring yourself to say it to him. That's okay though, Blade can easily tell what it is you want by the way your hips keep trying to move under his arm. He almost wants to reach down and palm himself, but to do that he would have to stop touching you; something he refuses to do unless you ask it of him.
"Good girl," he says pressing a kiss to your clit, voice a low growl as he feels how the praise makes you shiver. Carefully Blade removes his finger from your cunt, lapping at your clit again to distract you as he slips two fingers back into you. Languidly he pumps them back and forth inside you, curling them every so often as he searches for the spot that will let him unravel you.
He can tell when he finds it because you gasp and tug roughly at his hair, it makes his smirk return wider than before. Blade makes sure to rub his fingers directly against your sweet spot, bullying your clit with his tongue at the same time. Blade revels in the divine noises escaping as you give up on keeping quiet, babbling little pleas for more spilling past your lips as you writhe on the crate.
He nips gently as your clit while slipping a third finger into you, a ragged moan leaving him when the reinforced metal heels of your boots dig into his back as you buck wildly into his mouth. A faint noise echoes from down the alley but Blade ignores it, refuses to look away from you and risk not seeing how your first orgasm reflects on your face unless absolutely necessary.
"Blade-gege please, ah, feels nghh… weird!" You whine above him, fingers almost ripping out his hair with how hard you're tugging on it. Even though you say that, even though someone else might think you're begging him to stop Blade knows otherwise, can hear it in your tone of voice. It was the exact same tone you'd get when Yingxing bought you something expensive, wanting it but not wanting to seem greedy.
"That's it, my sweet little sister," he groans into you, almost dizzy as your slick floods into his mouth. "You're being such a good girl for me baby, so perfect."
Blade can feel how close you are, can see it painted across your face, hear it in how your sounds of pleasure keep rising in pitch and your breathing gets progressively more ragged. Even as you whine and babble you pull him closer to you, hands balled tight enough in his hair to hurt; your heels digging further into his back, thighs squeezing his head as you start to full on pant.
Withdrawing his fingers from your cunt Blade ignores the pitiful whimper you let out, instead dipping his head further down to lap at your entrance like a starved dog. He swiped his thumb over your clit teasingly at first, before rubbing it firmly pleased at the way it not only makes your body jerk under him but causes you to let out a pleasured sob.
You sound so divine, he is sure your sweet voice would fit right in the middle of a godly choir. Blade can't help but lose himself in you; your taste, your voice, the expressions on your face, and the pain you are unknowingly inflicting on him. It all causes the heart in his to chest race, makes his cock throb and leak in his pants.
Blade pauses for half a beat, realising just how close he is to cumming in his pants like an overexcited teenager. Yet it just makes him more eager to tip you over the edge, the idea of cumming simultaneously with you makes him pant and growl hungrily into your cunt. He goes back to devouring you, with even more enthusiasm than before, determined to bring you the rapture you were begging him for.
His tongue dips into you, a groan rumbling through him as your arousal drowns him in the taste of you, you, you and nothing else. If he were to die like this, to die suffocated by your thighs and cunt it would easily be his favourite death, because you–his precious little sister, who had waited so faithfully for so long to reunite with him–would be the one killing him. As he drags his tongue in and out of you, his fingers pinch and twist your clit.
"Blade-gege I'm ah, haa g-going to-!" His eyes are wide and unblinking as he stares up at your face, the heart in his chest stuttering and skipping a beat as he feels you tense up. Blade seals his mouth against your cunt as you shudder and fall apart, crying out his name as your release floods his mouth.
"Fffuck baby, you taste so good." Blade growls against your cunt, his hips jerking and warmth filling his pants as he messily drinks up your release. He is unashamed by the wet sounds of him feasting on you, proud of the way you moan and mewl as your hands switch between tugging his head closer and attempting to shove it away.
It's only when you slump down onto the crate, face slack your fluttering eyes closed as you pant heavily that he draws back. Blade licks his lips once, then twice as he stands up; lifting your legs up over his shoulders first, your pants and underwear still bunched around your knees. He stands in front of you, right hand rubbing your thigh soothingly as he summons the shard sword with his other.
Swish, shiiiink!
Blade glances briefly to the sound of splattering blood and metal slamming against the ground, watching dispassionately as the spying cloud knight crumples to the ground; his sword pierced right through the armour's gap over their neck. A sense of satisfaction fills him, no one should see or hear you like this but him. Especially not spying voyeurs who should have more respect for you, as annoyed as Blade is by it he is sure the Luofu assumes you are Jing Yuan's partner.
Yet this knight had stopped to watch, as if they had had any right to look upon Blade's little sister with such lust. If it wouldn't have alarmed you, if it wouldn't have risked making you feel sick that someone else had seen you in such an intimate position. Than Blade would have gone over and done more than just kill them, he would have made them regret their very existence.
"What's wrong Yi… Blade-gege?" Your voice is shaky as you ask your question, it has a rasp to it that pleases a primal part of him. His gaze drops back to you laid out on his coat, the pleasure on your face giving way to confusion, and a sense of almost panic shoots through him as your gaze starts to shift in the direction he'd been looking.
Blade does the first thing he can think off to distract you, something that he'd wanted to do since he first saw you on 216813. Leaning over you he makes sure to block your view of the corpse, angling his head slightly as he looks into your eyes. A small smile forms on his lips, the inferno in his eyes dying down into gentle embers as Blade looks deeply into your eyes.
Cupping your cheek with his left hand he leans in, Blade presses his lips against yours soft and sweet and loving. Exactly like you, exactly the kind of first kiss his beloved little sister deserves to have, a kiss from someone that adores her more than anything else in the universe. Closing his eyes he melts into the kiss, like hot metal on an anvil he welds himself to you.
Blade pulls back reluctantly when he feels your hands tugging at his hair, eyes opening to look at your dazed expression. Something warm swells in his chest at the happiness he can see shining in your eyes, nothing like that bleak emptiness that used to be there. It fills him with a spontaneity Blade finds himself unable to resist, so he presses another soft kiss to the corner of your lips.
Then one to your cheek, one on your jawline; one, two, three kisses down your neck, Blade peppers several across your collarbone before making his way back up to your lips. He can't help but smile, though it borders on the edge of an arrogant grin, as he feels more than sees the smoke leaving your lips.
"Is this too much for you, sweetheart?" Blade purrs low in his throat, smugly pleased to know he made the fire in you flare out of control. He nuzzles your right cheek gently feeling how warm it was, sunset eyes staring into yours again as you let out a flustered whine.
The sound makes the heart in his chest throb, the inside of his chest feeling just as warm as your cheeks and the smoke emitting from your mouth. Blade wants to kiss you again, again and again. Until there was no doubt in your mind that he belonged to you, just as much as you belonged to him.
"Will you let me kiss you again, my sweet little sister?" He asks almost breathless, his voice rumbling through his chest into yours. His eyes are wide and bright, filling with delight when your fingers–still tangled in his hair–tug him closer. A content sigh escapes him as your lips connect again, they were so much softer than Yingxing had ever dared to imagine, and they were all Blade's alone to kiss.
It feels good to kiss you, it feels right–makes something in his chest unwind, and soothes the mara away better than Kafka's spirit whisper ever could. Blade could spend forever kissing you and not get tired of it; of the way your lips and skin feel against his mouth, the way your skin is warmed by the fire burning inside of you that steadily grows warmer with each press of his lips. No, Blade could never tire of this.
Almost laying on top of you Blade looses himself in the feeling of you, your hands tangled in his hair and the way you kiss him back. Licks away the happy tears that trail down your cheeks, his hands moving back to your waist–his grip firm and grounding, making you melt under him in a way that causes the heart in his chest to skip a beat.
Time looses all meaning like this, nothing except for the trust and love you hold for him matters to Blade right now. So focused that he is on you, it isn't until familiar footsteps approach that he is drawn out of the haze your affections had put him in. Blade slows his kisses down at the nearby clack of heels, irritation welling up inside him at having his time with you interrupted.
"You do remember that we are on a Script, don't you Bladie?" Kafka asks him, amusement clear in her voice. A soft laugh leaving her as he stills above you and Blade grits his teeth, burning in embarrassment knowing that she'd likely already knew how redundant her question had been.
Taking a deep breath in, Blade lets it out slow sighing against your lips. Opening his eyes slow he feels his chest tighten, worried that you might be uncomfortable or scared regardless of the way his body is covering yours. Tension melts from his shoulders at the sight of your trusting eyes, he can see the embarrassment in them at being caught like this–but you are still relaxed underneath him, still trusting that you aren't in any danger because of how close Blade is to you.
He softens again at the sight, pressing another quick kiss to your lips before shifting his weight back slightly. Blade makes sure to keep you covered from Kafka's view, although he doesn't think she would be so crass as to look there without your permission. Reaching between your legs with one hand he tugs your clothes back up, his other hand sliding under your back to lift you up enough to slide them over your hips.
He gives you another soft kiss before standing up fully, ignoring the way it makes Kafka laugh again in favour of adjusting your pants. As he does your belts up Blade notices that your shuangdao are gone–liking put into your storage, making his lips twitch up at the blatant show of trust.
"Hm?" Blade blinks faintly surprised as you sit up once he's done, giving him a kiss this time. A small smile curls on his lips, though this time he doesn't return it but only because he can hear Kafka tapping her foot as if telling him to hurry up. Blade stops you as you go to hop off the crate, leaning closer he reaches behind you to lift his coat up.
Holding it up by the collar up with one hand, he uses his other to hold the sleeves up one by one for you to thread your arms through. It pleases him to see you in his coat, a primal satisfaction filling him as he tugs the strings tight and does it up. A flicker of amusement building at the way the collar half covers your mouth, though it disappoints him that you won't get to show off the marks he had left.
Picking you up by your hips Blade is gentle as he sets you down on the ground, lips twitching when he spots the hem of his coat nearly touching the floor. Feeling your hand grab his, Blade automatically threads his fingers into yours as the two of you turn to face Kafka. That cloud knight's corpse is nowhere to be seen, and Blade feels a flicker of gratitude towards Kafka over the fact you won't have to know one of your subordinates had tried spying on you.
Kafka's eyes flick down momentarily, a smirk crossing her lips that Blade ignores. Between his powers over wind and the heat that was still rolling off of you, his pants will have dried by his next appearance in the script. Shrugging she turns and starts walking down an alley, tightening his grip on your hand the two of your follow after her to where the Master Diviner will "capture" Kafka.
Trailing after her with you at his side, Blade feels at ease like he never has before during this long life he had been cursed with. So when your hand twists out of his it makes the heart within his chest seize, Blade's head snaps around to look at you; the shard sword already materialising in his other hand, ready to cut down whoever was trying to take you away from him.
All he sees is you though which makes him pause, his eyes creasing in confusion until you curl your hand into the crook of his elbow. Blade relaxes at that, his chest squeezing as you rest your head against his bicep and look up at him with pure adoration painted on your face. Mindlessly Blade tugs you along as he keeps walking after Kafka, though his eyes remain locked on yours as you open your mouth.
"I do not know what happened to change you from Yingxing into Blade, if it left you as empty I have been since he died but I don't care. I don't care if you wish to be Blade, instead of Yingxing." You whisper to him, and although your lips wobbles and tears line your lashes, your eyes are resolute. "As long as you're still my older brother I love you, even if… you do not wish to claim that title, I will continue to love you Blade."
"When you took me away, the grief that has ruled me for so long melted away like ice under the spring sun. The world without your radiance was cold and empty and colourless, and I don't want to go back to that." Blade feels a stabbing pain in his chest at your words, a long forgotten feeling–guilt?–swelling up at hearing how his poor sweet sister had suffered in his absence.
"Father might be upset when he finds out I left without telling him, but please let me stay by your side?" Your eyes stare unshakingly into his, and Blade can tell that even if for some unfathomable reason he refused you; that now that you know he exists, you would follow at his heels with the relentlessness of a Galaxy Ranger chasing their prey.
"Of course," Blade grunts out blandly, a poor attempt to hide the lump forming in his throat. A wicked gleam sparks in your eyes and fuzzy memories of a younger you overlap your face, but Blade cuts off whatever you were about to say to tease him by pressing his lips to your forehead.
Lips twitching he mouths the words he had–Yingxing has–yearned to tell you for decades–centuries–now, it soothes an aching, nameless regret he has had since Blade first woke up in Scalegorge Waterscape. Similarly it seems to settle you as a radiant smile blooms on your face, the sight entrances him. Even more so as your free hand comes up to rest on his bicep, right under the spot your head is lent on.
Blade almost misses the next turn Kafka makes, nearly having to double back as the two of you follow after her. He knows he should brush your hand off his arm, just in case any cloud knights stumble upon the two of you after Kafka is "captured". You will need at least one hand free to summon one of your shuangdao, when they attack in a futile attempt to take you back.
You must know, must be able to read it in the line of his shoulders that he has no intentions of letting you go. Blade is both gutted and made whole by it, by the unwavering trust you have placed into a bloodied weapon such as himself. He had already been resolved to keep you by his side, but now that resolution has gained a razor sharp edge; Blade thinks he might kill anyone who dares to look at you wrong, might cut down anyone who turns a covetous gaze to his precious little sister.
The first weapon Yingxing forged as a gift may have been your childhood scribbles brought to life, intending to ensure you could always protect yourself with those shuangdao he had crafted with the blood of the Pseudo-Sun. Now though it seems like he had forged an even better weapon in the dying embers of his soul, had let himself be drawn out into Blade.
You won't have to fight ever again, Blade thinks to himself. Unless you wish to fight, unless you crave the rush of battle, Blade will make sure you never have to raise your swords again. He will temper himself within the fire of your soul, draw himself out into an even sharper point; one that can cut down even the Aeons THEMSELVES.
Sharper and sharper, until his edges are sharp enough that the ones you had grown in his absence grow dull and soft. Blade will become sharp enough to slice his way through fate, all to make sure that cruel destiny can never hurt you so badly again. Maybe he shouldn't be wishing for all your edges to grow dull, maybe Blade should make sure that you can still fight even if he intends to make sure you never have to again.
Yet the idea that under his protection your skills might dull enough that you would be unable to leave him, it makes the heart in his chest pulse with a possessive desire. Unlike Yingxing who had denied himself until the very end, Blade would weld himself into every aspect of your life–until the two of your were as inseparable as your shuangdao, utterly incomplete without the other by their side.
Good older brothers were supposed to make sure to protect their younger siblings after all, and Blade would make sure you became so unfamiliar with the feeling of pain, that the word would become completely foreign to you.
a/n: to anyone who read this thank youuuuu ToT at some point in the future i will be writing a jing yuan pov of the 700's reader thought her beloved gege was dead
do you know the link where Lucy became a nun only for the ending to be revealed that the priest(Natsu) is surprisingly END on Ao3? yeah, i know there is a premise of it but i forgot the name
I’m actually so mad because I’ve read it very recently but I’m just incapable of finding it, I’ve been trying for two days now. Maybe we are lucky and someone following me knows the name.
Don’t forget ColourLovers, either! It’s a social media-esque site where you can browse tons of palettes and share your own.
You can browse the most popular ones or search for certain colors, themes, and even specific hex codes!
When you find one you like, you can download a wallpaper swatch of it and also select the specific colors it uses to look at more palettes that use those same ones.
ColourLovers is my go-to for when I’m having trouble coming up with a color scheme! It’s also been around for over a decade, so there’s plenty to browse through.
The deuteranomaly and protanomaly ones are very similar but they are different. The purple section ranges out a little farther to the right in the protanomaly one. Not seeing the difference between might not indicate color blindness but rather difficulty with color differentiation.
You, a runaway apprentice turned petty thief, stood before a king and queen whose grief had hollowed their eyes and made their crowns feel heavier than gold.
"Another one" the king muttered, his voice flat with exhaustion.
You barely bowed. You knew your odds.
Behind you, the guards tightened their grip on their spears. One wrong word, and your head would join the pile left by healers, scholars, and miracle-workers who'd failed.
“I can heal him.”
A lie? Maybe. But it bought you time. And time was all you needed.
'He used to be brilliant. He once debated four councilmen to silence when he was ten.'
You heard it all on the way here. What a pity.
The king waved his hand. “Fail. And you die.”
That was fair.
You were led to the prince’s chamber.
The man who once charmed courts and terrified scholars now sat in the middle of the room, barefoot, with leaves in his hair and a belt wrapped around his head like a crown.
He was humming to a beetle crawling on his palm.
You cleared your throat.
He glanced at you. “Do you think beetles are born knowing they’ll be crushed?”
"That depends. Are you crushing them on purpose?”
He blinked, then grinned. “You’re funnier than the last one. He tried to exorcise my lungs. I'm Anaxagoras.”
You stepped closer.
“Yeah, yeah prince A.”
You were just a dropout with half a spellbook and a death sentence in every direction. But you could feel pressure, a kind of twisted resonance, like a spell wrapped around him.
The prince tilted his head. “You don’t look like a real mage.”
“I’m not.”
“Oh good,” he said. “They make my brain itchy.”
You were panicking. The pressure was unbearable. You had minutes to prove your worth, or your neck was next.
You whispered a spell under your breath: Echo Tongue. To make him mirrored the words you said.
“Say this: ‘My mind is clearing. I feel… lighter.’”
“My mind is clearing. I feel… lighter.”
A gasp echoed behind you. The queen had stepped inside, the royal physicians followed.
“What did you do?” the queen asked.
“I severed the mental snare around him. The effects will strengthen with time.”
Lie. But it worked.
Cheers broke out from the hallway. Inside, your heart was clawing to escape your chest.
The king entered last.
“If this is a trick—”
“It isn’t.” you interrupted smoothly, guiding the prince to his feet. “He needs rest and continued monitoring. I’ll remain close, in case of relapse.”
You didn’t say: Because if I leave, the spell wears off. Or Because I have no cure.
And now you had it. Time… and a prince who parroted your every word like a puppet on a golden string.
That night, while he slept, you poured over scrolls, scraps. Whatever cursed him hadn’t just broken his mind. The false cure bought you hours, maybe days. Eventually, they’d realize something was off. The prince was too agreeable, too rehearsed. You had to find the real root.
You didn’t expect him to be a genius. Parents usually brag about their kids so you thought maybe the queen did the same. No, he's not just any genius, but the kind of genius who could recite entire economic treatises from memory, solve siege logistics in his head, and critique high court decisions while brushing his teeth.
And now, the kingdom expected him to return to duty.
They assigned you as his assistant. Every hour he was dragged to meetings, study halls, strategy sessions. And every hour, you were there behind him, feeding him lines when needed, making sure his “miraculous recovery” didn’t unravel in public.
It was exhausting. More importantly, it was dangerous. The longer he played puppet, the more people stared, noticed the uncanny pauses, the oddness of his phrasing.
You needed time.
So you made it.
You waited until the prince was halfway through a military briefing. The sun shone gently through the palace windows. A perfect afternoon. A rock soared in from the garden. You’d enchanted it minutes ago.
Thwack
It smacked the prince clean in the temple.
The prince collapsed. You rushed to him dramatically, checking his pulse. “He needs rest and healing. Alone.”
Within the hour, he was carried to a private room in the medical wing, under a healer’s care.
You returned to your quarters, pulled the curtains shut, and unwrapped your tool - a glass globe.
You contacted your master. The globe flickered with a dull light. Then, slowly, an image emerged through the glass.
“Well,” he drawled, “I thought you were dead in a ditch.”
“I might be soon,” you said. “I need your help.”
He scoffed. “You always need help.”
You shook your head. “I’m trying to break a curse. It’s… it’s on a prince. Everyone who tried to cure him got beheaded. I only survived by pretending I did.”
Your master blinked. His face softened, hardened, settled somewhere between curiosity and...was that respect?
“Well,” he muttered. “You learned some courage.”
“Whatever this curse is, it’s not normal. It feels like it wanted him quiet. Like it hated that he was clever.”
Your master frowned. “A sabotage.”
“So someone did this on purpose?”
“Fools fall two ways - by nature's hand or another's. So ask yourself: what slipped past his lips? What 'blessing' came with strings? And what's been staring at you this whole time?”
You scribbled the words down. You hate quizzes.
He added, “If it’s still lingering, it means the anchor’s close. Break the anchor, and the spell will collapse.”
“Any clue what it could be?”
“Could be an object. A name. A symbol burned into his soul.” His gaze narrowed. “Or it could be someone he trusts.”
The globe dimmed. Then he vanished.
The spell you cast was… unstable, to say the least. You didn’t even have all the ingredients, so you substituted powdered mooncrab shell with stale chalk, and you’d spilled ink on half the glyphs. But it was all you had.
It worked, though.
The moment you whispered the incantation, a sickly shimmer outlined two objects in the prince’s quarters. One was a bronze pendant tucked inside the folds of his pillow. The other - a porcelain chess knight sitting quietly on his bookshelf. You smashed both.
Nothing changed.
That was the problem.
You slumped against the wall, clutching your head in your hands. You were tired.
And the third anchor? Still hidden.
It felt close. But you couldn’t see it. Couldn’t feel it the way you were supposed to.
You were cursing under your breath when the prince suddenly stopped spinning in circles and walked up to you.
“Why are you sad?”
“…I can’t find something” you admitted. “Something very important.”
The prince tilted his head. His long light green hair shifted over his shoulder. “When I’m lost,” he said, “I always look for Seraphel.”
“Seraphel?” you echoed.
He nodded. “He gives me tea and tells me what thoughts to ignore. He says I think too much.”
Anyone the prince truly trusted was suspicious now.
You waited until nightfall. Then broke into Seraphel’s chamber.
He slept like a statue. His room was neat. Almost unnervingly clean.
The third anchor. A sealed ring tucked in a velvet box under Seraphel’s bed. Marked with the same sigil etched into the tattoo on the prince’s hand.
You shattered the ring, burned the box.
All three anchors disappeared.
You waited.
But the prince didn’t move. He had fallen asleep moments after you broke the curse, head resting gently on a spellbook.
You tried shaking him.
He wouldn’t wake up.
It was like his mind, freed at last, had left to find itself.
You sat by his bed, hands trembling.
The curse was gone. But so was he.
What if breaking the curse came too late?
It happened in the soft hush of dawn, when you’d half given up hope.
The prince stirred. A faint sound escaped him.
“Good morning.”
He recognized you immediately, of course he did. You’d been his shadow for weeks. Feeding him lines, lying for him.
But there was something new in his stare.
By noon, the entire palace knew the news: Prince Anaxagoras was well. The king wept. The queen kissed your forehead like you were a holy relic. Nobles who once scoffed at you now bowed so low their knees cracked. And Anaxa just watched it all with a faint, feline amusement, like he was testing how far they’d crawl.
When the king asked how to reward you, you’d barely opened your mouth before Anaxa’s hand settled on your shoulder.
“I’d like them to stay,” he said sweetly. “Beside me. They’re useful.”
The king hesitated. Who would dare refuse the miracle child returned to himself?
And so it was done.
You were no longer a prisoner.
You were the prince’s personal aide.
At first, it wasn’t so bad.
You helped him catch up on lost months—papers, councils, secretive letters.
But then… the games began.
He’d catch you watching him from across the room. Smirk, as if he knew every thought that flickered behind your eyes. Drop a pen and make you pick it up, only to brush his fingertips along your wrist when you did.
Yet outside those moments when he bullies you, he guarded you like a dragon its hoard.
A chancellor sneered at your common birth, Anaxa cut him off mid-sentence. “Do not speak to them again.”
Only he could torment you. Tangle your nerves until you wondered if he was toying with you or protecting you from something far worse.
One night, you found yourself alone with him in his private study. He reclined in his chair, long hair brushed to one side.
“You look frightened,” he murmured. “Don’t be.”
“Why keep me here, Your Highness?”
“Because you made me interesting again,” he said, “And because you belong to me now. Don’t you?”
----
Today was spectacle disguised as labor, Anaxa’s favorite kind of cruelty.
He’d dragged you to his private study. Scrolls, treaties, and obscure arcane scripts were stacked in leaning towers that threatened to crush you.
He perched behind his massive desk, long green hair tied into its usual elegant ponytail, eye unblinking as it skimmed lines of ancient text at a pace you’d once described as “inhuman.”
“Write this down” he ordered. He began reciting words you’d never heard, whole pages unwinding from his tongue.
You scrambled to keep up. Ink splattered your cuffs. The first pen cracked in half under your grip. The second one slipped and left a black streak across your wrist. Halfway through your third pen, he paused, just long enough to watch you struggle to jam the nib back into its slot, then went on.
You wanted to hiss at him. Maybe cry.
By the tenth pen, your fingers were numb and your notes looked like the aftermath of a dying spider on cheap parchment.
When you handed him the stack, Anaxa didn’t even glance at the ink-stained pages. He just leaned back and said, “This is hideous.”
“You didn’t even read it—”
He tapped his temple. “I remember it all. You only wrote it so you wouldn’t forget how small your mind is beside mine.”
You hated him a little, then. Not enough to say it. Just enough for the sting to settle behind your teeth.
And he wasn’t done.
He swept the table clear with a single swipe, papers and pens clattered to the floor. He tossed you a piece of chalk. “Draw.”
“Draw what?”
“Whatever you know. Whatever you think you know. Let’s see how useful you really are.”
So you drew. Your palm cramped. Your knees ached on the cold marble floor. A third of your attempts flickered, sparked and died.
He watched it all.
When the final line sputtered out, you were sure he’d ask for more. Instead, Anaxa stood. His robe brushed your shoulder. He cupped your chin with his fingers, forcing you to look up at him.
“You look dreadful,” he said, “I suppose you’ve earned your bath.”
“You suppose—?!”
“Go.” He released you, already turning away. “If you’re not clean when I call for you again, I’ll drag you back half-soaked. Understood?”
You almost barked back something rude, but your aching back and filthy hands betrayed you. You just nodded.
“Good,” he murmured. “Off you go.”
The bath was the closest thing to heaven you’d known in weeks. You stayed until the water cooled. Until your thoughts were soft and boneless.
When you returned to his study, half expecting another trial, he didn’t even look up. He was alone at his desk, the tower of scrolls replaced with a single open ledger, candlelight dancing over the gold embroidery of his robe. His pupil flicked back and forth, tracking line after line at impossible speed.
You lingered by the door longer than you meant to.
He didn’t look up. But his voice, when it came, cut through the silence like a knife. “Staring is rude.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were,” he said calmly, still eyeing on his work. He dipped his pen, “Do you like what you see?”
You folded your arms. “I was wondering if you’d break another ten pens for fun.”
He chuckled “If I did, would you curse me?”
“I’d consider it.”
Finally, he looked at you. “Come here.”
“Why?”
“To read to me. Your voice is tolerable when you’re not whining.”
You snorted despite yourself. “So you do enjoy tormenting me.”
He didn’t deny it.
“I enjoy many things about you.”
And you did what you must. Because you valued your life.
You never liked staying in one place too long. You’d made a life out of slipping through cracks, stealing bread, disappearing.
But Anaxa… Anaxa was an iron lock around your ankle, disguised as silk.
It started over a half-finished supper in his private garden, where he’d dragged you out to “get fresh air”. Really, he just wanted to watch you feed the koi while he read court letters and pretended you weren’t entertainment.
He must have felt the shift in you. The way your eyes drifted to the walls, the guards beyond them, the distant sky.
“You’re restless.” he said, not bothering to look up from his letter.
“You’re imagining things.”
“You want to leave.”
“Always do.”
He set the letter aside. When his eye lifted, they pinned you like a specimen on a tray. “You could take me with you.”
You choked on your laugh. “Right. Sure. I’ll just drag the prince out. No one will notice.”
“You could use magic.”
You snorted. “What do you want me to do, fly us both? The only time I flew, I almost left my legs behind.”
“Then open a portal.”
You rubbed your temples. “That’s worse. The last time I opened a portal, it swallowed my teacher’s cat for two weeks.”
“Then figure it out. You’re clever when you’re desperate.”
You stared at him. “You’re serious.”
“I’m always serious.”
You gestured at the palace behind him. “You’re royalty. You have an entire country under your thumb. You can’t just run off because you’re bored—”
“It’s not boredom.” His voice snapped, just a bit. “It’s disgust. Look at them.” He gestured vaguely toward the invisible halls beyond the garden. “They used to laugh behind my back. Call me the idiot. Feed me honeyed words and shove me into walls when no one was looking. Now they line up to kiss my feet because I’m useful again.”
You fell silent.
“Did you know they plan to marry me off soon?”
“I figured,” you muttered. “You’re a prince. It’s how kingdoms stay rich.”
“It’s how vipers stay fed.” he corrected. “I heard them. They treated me like a stray dog back then. Now I’m a prize.”
“Then… don’t marry them.”
“I won’t,” he said. “Not if I have something better to amuse me.”
You stepped back.
“If I have to,” he continued, “I’ll marry you instead.”
It wasn’t a proposal. It was a threat.
You scoffed, pushing him back by the shoulder. “Don’t joke about that.”
“I’m not. I’d rather chain myself to you than to any of them.”
“Do you hear yourself?” you snapped. “You can’t just decide that because you’re bored—”
“I’m not bored!” The koi scattered at the sound. He caught your wrist before you could retreat.
“I remember everything. Every laugh. Every lie. I know exactly what I am to them. But you—” His thumb traced your pulse like he might snuff it out for fun. Or keep it beating, just because he could.
“You’re mine.”
You pulled your hand back. “You can’t own me.”
“I already do.”
“You’re insane.”
“Perhaps.” He leaned in, close enough that you could see the gold thread of his eyepatch. “But you’re the one who broke my curse. You should’ve let me rot if you wanted to run.”
“I saved your life. That doesn’t mean you get to ruin mine.”
“Stay, and I won’t have to.”
“So what, you’d rather cage me here forever than let me walk away free?”
“You’d leave?”
You looked away. “I don’t belong here. I never did.”
The koi drifted back to the surface, scales flashing silver under the garden lanterns.
“Then I suppose I’ll just have to find a way to belong wherever you run.”
And you realized, with a cold knot in your throat.
You weren’t the one keeping him caged here anymore.
He was the lock on your door.
And you were the key he’d swallowed whole.
----
Prince Anaxa summoned the Board of Masters. Everyone knew: when Anaxa wanted to know something, he wouldn’t stop until it cracked open in his palm.
And someone had to be the test subject.
Of course they picked you.
You sat in a circle of chalk. Anaxa stood just outside the circle, watching.
“Let’s increase the pull by half.”
You wanted to curse him. Instead, you braced your palms on the circle’s edge, forcing the flow of your magic through the sigils into the new vessel—a glass sphere.
You felt the drain immediately.
When you swayed, he was there, one hand on your shoulder.
“Focus.”
When the session ended, you collapsed back onto cold stone. Someone draped a blanket over your shoulders, it wasn’t him. He just looked down at you like a craftsman studying a flawed tool.
You’d thought that was the worst of it.
Whispers slithered through the hallways. Servants snickered when you passed. Apprentices called you pet, plaything, parasite. A pretty toy to drain dry for the prince’s amusement.
You tried to ignore them. Tried to tell yourself it didn’t matter. For now, you were… useful. That was enough.
But one morning, bruises bloomed on your wrist where someone shoved you against a cold marble wall, just out of sight.
“You think you’re special?” they hissed.
You shoved them back, but the sting stayed. The words too.
Anaxa found out, of course.
He said nothing at first. Just called for another test.
“We’ll test the vessel directly.”
He held up the finished sphere. He gestured for the man who’d shoved you.
“Come.”
The man obeyed—how could he not? He placed his hands on the vessel. The moment the spell triggered,the apprentice gasped, spine arching as raw power licked through him.
Anaxa didn’t look away from you. Not once.
The apprentice collapsed.
“Perfectly. No more questions, yes?”
Later, when the Masters were gone, he sat with you in the empty hall. Your head rested against a pillar, hair damp with sweat. He twirled the vessel in his hands, its gem glinting with magic trapped inside.
“You’re trembling.”
“I’m bored,” you lied. “That’s all.”
“Good. Stay bored here, with me.”
You shut your eyes. “One day, I’ll go.”
He pressed the vessel against your palm.
“Then I’ll follow.”
“Yeah, Prince A. I doubt that.”
----
You knew something was wrong the moment you saw his fingers hovering at the edge of his eyepatch. You were just going to find some food when you saw him.
“A?” you asked. He didn’t answer.
He just tilted his head back against the pillar, thumb pressing into the black-gold edge of the patch that covered his left eye.
You remembered all those nights lately, catching snippets of what he read when he thought you were half-asleep by the hearth.
And suddenly it all made sense, why he’d been mumbling about magic sigils, why he’d half-joked about keeping you close.
“..I shall sacrifice this.” his thumb pressed harder, you lunged forward and grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t.” You hadn’t meant to shout, “Don’t you dare.”
He blinked at you, startled, caught in the act.
“What are you doing?” you hissed. “Curse it? Offer it up? Do you think I’d stay?”
“It wouldn’t hurt for long.”
“You idiot. You idiot.”
You forced the next words out before they stuck in your throat.
“I’ll stay. For… however long.” Your jaw twitched. “Until someone assassinates you. Or me. Or both of us. So leave your eye be.”
His breath caught, like he hadn’t planned for that answer. Like he didn’t know what to do with it.
Then he lowered his hand.
“Ah…” he sighed, like he was letting go of something too heavy to carry anymore.
You opened your mouth to say something when he bent one knee down onto the cold marble floor.
“What are you—? Wait—don’t—don’t propose to me right now.”
A laugh puffed out of you. “I swear I’ll knock you out—”
But he didn’t pull out a ring or something. Instead, he hissed sharply through his teeth, winced, and shifted his weight off the knee.
“…I think I strained it.”
“You—what?”
“Well? Do something about it.”
You stared. “You want me to—”
Anaxa pointed at his own shoulder. “Piggyback ride. Now.”
You threw your hands in the air. “You—”
“You said you’d stay.” he reminded you sweetly, ignoring how you nearly growled at him. “That includes carrying me if I hurt myself for your sake.”
You crouched anyway, let him drape himself over your back, let his breath tickle your ear as he settled in with infuriating satisfaction.
TIL LIES DO US PART / Yandere Anaxagoras from the “Lipstick Mark” collection
Summary: After having discovered your husband’s revolting secret, you have decided to leave him. However, you didn’t realize that during his time with you, he had managed to become obsessed with you, and that he would drag you back to where you belong.
contents: gender neutral reader / manipulative and obsessive Anaxa / reader wears lipstick for the sake of the plot / forced kiss / angst / implied non-con. Word count: 4,4k. reposting this after it got deleted.
You’ve grown to hate your husband. No, you genuinely and wholeheartedly hated him; not as in “ugh, he’s so annoying”, but as in “he’s the most despicable, cruel and evil man I’ve ever had a chance to marry”. You were feeling disgusting at the prospect of having been telling him “I love you” until not so long ago. Such creature shouldn’t have earned the title of your spouse, being nothing but a snake that’s been using you the entire time, and pushing your affections for him to be another tool. If only you possessed more power than him, perhaps you would have killed him, deeming his actions as something above the illegal field.
Not that Anaxa was ever the most affectionate husband, deciding to show his “care” through acts and providing instead, but you still had sensed there’s respect, love and loyalty between you two. You didn’t need him to be most loving; you just needed him.
As you packed your things, it was anger blocking your emotions from yet crying about what the dehumanizing truth you have found out. How could he have dared to commit himself to treating you like this, to using you, to lying to you, wasting your time, and leaving you in a state of madness?
Because marrying someone just to see what it’s like being in relationship made it an unethical research, if the subject could have never consented in the first place — of course he had never told you about his intensions. You had to find out on your own, by an accident, meaning that you could have stayed living in oblivion if the fate didn’t allow you some mercy. The experiment on marriage, marriage hypothesis, you as his spouse in the center to do nothing but fill his curiosity.
The hurt aspect of course existed too, as after being told you’re loved and taken care of, your hopes were utterly destroyed and left you with a gap in your heart, blocking you from ever trusting anyone else.
Anaxa didn’t love you. Anaxa didn’t care about you. Anaxa didn’t even want you. He went through all the trouble of marriage solely out of scholar’s spirit of inquiry; not lowering himself to the human emotion, but to the elite genius mind that found research in a human relationship. He could have done it any other way, such as find actual married couple or at least, ask for your consent — but you were sure he’d hit you with some excuse about him requiring the environment bringing results without a need for performance.
All of this was so overwhelming you didn’t even want to bother to wait for his return to take out your anger on him and expose him. You realized you’d only waste your breath more than your time already was, only for nothing to be resolved and for you to build up even more resentment enough to gradually ruin you.
The note would do. “I know. Our marriage is over. Do not seek me out.” Perhaps, you even felt cocky by that “I know”. You didn’t over-explain your feelings, you didn’t make it clear about what you mean, but these words should be enough to spiral some panic at the sensed context behind them. “Look at me, I outsmarted you!”
You packed only most important items, deciding to retrieve the rest later — you just couldn’t stay in this forbidden house anymore, or pack with a knowledge he might return any moment.
What felt like a home to return to everyday, spending hours on talk and debates, while completing domestic chores together and not making them unbearable because they were done with him, turned into a foreign space where you’d enter to meet the executioner of your soul.
“Curse this man,” you scoffed under your breath, and your hands shook from the rage you felt. You didn’t want to cry, so far. You wanted to ruin this man, expose him to the public and let everyone know their great professors is a double-faced man, except… you assumed many of the scholars wouldn’t care, their elite group caring only about themselves and what they could achieve. They weren’t even about improving others’ lives, but the power of glory a scholar was praised for on Amphoreus.
Not that Anaxa’s reputation was great before.
With your suitcase being packed, you fantasized of turning around to leave the bedroom, then walking through the familiar hall, the little porch and out through the garden’s gates.
You still weren’t sure where to go. You couldn’t just disappear and ruin your current career; you also couldn’t stay close to him. For now, you could only accommodate yourself in some tavern’s room, preferably on the outskirts of the city. Nonetheless, being lost wasn’t just about your location. The loss of home was emptying your sense of stability.
In any case, you didn’t expect him to chase you. Since this was all an experiment and he didn’t love you, he had no need to pursue you if you now knew and could no longer provide objective results.The ‘only’ struggle you’ll have is to get through a heartbreak he caused, traumatizing enough to be haunting you for the rest of your life.
It was insane, really, how drastically your life could change upon receiving just one hidden aspect about someone you knew. How someone could hide such an important detail and do so with ease, his act perfected and made to feel you attached, not at all caring about the painful crush onto the ground it would bring? Just how many people were lied to this way everyday? The Nousporist he was supposed to improve and not destroy.
Before you’d head out, you sat on the edge of the bed, still not able to comprehend the situation fully. How one can, when suddenly being thrown into the pits of hell with a knowledge so tormenting. Your head ended up between your knees, with your hands pulling on your hair, ready to rip off your scalp from the agony.
Suddenly, you were standing up and reaching an item in the drawer you remembered about — in the nightstand placed on your side, of the bed you eagerly shared and saw as a marriage union itself till yesterday. The item you looked for was nothing else but a lipstick you wore only once and never again, as it was the color you had picked for your wedding. The object worthy of worship was now meant only to be destroyed in fits of your anger.
It was thrown on tiles, before mercilessly crushed by your shoe, its color splashing everywhere like a rotting fruit, and staining the floor — hopefully permanently, in hope of your husband being reminded of his sins everytime he entered the bedroom.
You were gone from the place you once called home few screams later.
•
Few weeks have passed and you assumed your theory was proven right — Anaxa really has never cared about you. He used you for the sake of his research, not even in name of science but his own interest. You knew he couldn’t have loved you yet being proven right left you awake at nights. You were a mess after your escape, catching yourself in moments of sudden disbelief, followed by anger and then sorrow you had nowhere to release.
You hoped for a day where the anger would shift into resignation, and resignation into acceptance — without forgiveness.
That peaceful thought was ruined when you received a package at your doorstep.
There was a confusion in you and even more wariness, as you recalled you didn’t order anything. You still didn’t retrieve your items from Anaxa, unable to face him, but the parcel could not be them if so small. Hearing rumors about a supposed conflict in your marriage, with people having noticed you weren’t seen together for a while was already too much.
Opening the small wooden box, you were met with a heart-stopping sight. The lipstick, very much the same as the one you wore for your wedding, weeks later after you had destroyed it. Your mind errored and the makeup fell from your hands, unfortunately not shattering like the first time. The only person that appeared in your mind that could have send this to you was Anaxa; considering the fact your lipstick tone was created individually for you, not obtainable in some shop. To make it worse, the lipstick didn’t look brand new — more like fixed, as the container still had old micro-scratches and your initials engraved on the bottom.
Was he taunting you? Was he trying to hurt you with a reminder of what he has done to you, by reminding you of your fake wedding? Why would he go that far, as if he was secretly a sadist all along? That’s not the man you knew; regardless, you didn’t know him anymore anyhow.
The lipstick was destroyed, with the urge to quickly forget before you’d lose yourself in your despair too deeply. Thrown into your trashcan so no one can take it and fix it again.
•
To your horror, the same lipstick arrived at your house a week later. The dread came from the fact it would imply Anaxa has broken into your new place of living; as if expecting you’d break it and taking it before your trash would be recycled.
There were no signs of breaking in — not calming if adding to the creepy atmosphere of the situation. What if he’s been watching you for weeks, while you lived with no concerns to worry about your safety?
Everything compelled you to send him the lipstick back to his home, demanding the answer and telling him to stop messing up with you. There was only little you could take before he had you at his feet like he wanted.
“What in the world are you trying to achieve, Anaxa? You have ruined years of my life already, playing an act of a husband while never meaning anything. What is the lipstick supposed to do, as if you aren’t done with abusing me?
Give yourself a permanent break of sending me those lipsticks. At this point of the Grove’s tragicomedy, I will not hesitate to come and seek you out so I can shove that lipstick down your throat and see you suffocate with it down your trachea!
Your acts are so violent, you’re nothing but a shameless beast.”
The response you’ve received a day later was challenging, not even acknowledging your words and treating you like a desperate who flows out their emotions, as if they’re overdramatic: “Do it.”
And you’d do it.
•
Just how much you’d be punished for killing a Chrysos Heir and a renowned scholar? Not that you’d be able to murder him, well aware of his strength being dominant to yours; which didn’t mean you couldn’t find comfort in this fantasy.
You were still ready to cause some harm, at least mental.
With a huge breath in, you knocked on his door, no longer yours too, with a force of multiple Titans. You were about to punch the door one more time, when the door finally opened, and your body suddenly started to drown in a cold dread. You’ve been so ready to put this man in his place, unleash the repentance he had to suffer; but seeing him in person, the object of your misery, made you a coward.
To your surprise, Anaxa didn't seem to hold any cruel or mocking expression you've expected to see after the separation, a natural assumption after the tricks he’s played. If anything, he was smiling gently. “Ah, there you are. I'm glad you did visit me in the end. Come, come inside.” He then stepped aside to let you enter, which you didn't act on immediately.
Something was wrong, awfully wrong. He was acting as if he was happy to see you, as if you're some guest he has invited over for a tea, and you wondered if it's another game of his.
You didn't greet him back and on your unstable legs, you entered 'his' house.
"We have a lot to talk about, dear, don't we?" he mused as he walked through the corridor to the lounging room, expecting you to follow him behind.
You scoffed, your face shifting to express your anger, “That's a colossal understatement, Anaxa.”
You saw his hand twitch at the usage of his shortened name, fueling you with small rush of power over him, so satisfying to your need for revenge.
“Please, do not call me that, my dear,” he sighed, way too calm to your liking — you expected a stronger annoyance. After the suffering he's put you through, it was only right for him to be tormented too.
Soon, he seated himself on one of the armchairs, and tilted his head when noticing you were still standing and not sitting across him. “What is it? Are you going to act like I'm a stranger?”
“You shouldn't have the audacity to be judging my actions. I'm here to say only one thing—stop harassing me. I don't want my eyes to see that lipstick ever again. I meant it when I said our marriage was over. It's just a matter of getting a divorce.”
Anaxa frowned, showing some displeasure at your words. “Except, you ignorant student, I wasn't harassing you. You mistake my actions and see them on the shallow level. The deliveries was only returning our memento to a person who should remember its significance.”
You looked at him in disbelief, unable to take in the fact he still played a loving husband role. “Stop playing with me, Anaxa!” you were shouting at this point. “You know what you did, you surely know about the abuse it was, and so this lipstick is nothing but some twisted game to further experiment on me!”
His face expression didn't change, but his hand tightened into a fist, as if bothered by what you had left behind when leaving this house. “Ah, your note. I'm sorry you must have found out some... unsavory information about me, but you're also lacking a certain context.”
Next thing you knew, you were charging at him, ready to slap him — because there's no way that any context would have justiified his actions, or at least make you feel better. However, a man used to fighting, he swiftly maneveured you to be pinned under him before your hand would cut his cheek, and you found yourself to be the one sitting on the chair.
Your eyes were bulging out, you quickly frightened by the trap he put you in. His face was way too close to yours, and his hands rested on the chair's armrests, his body triumphing over yours. Then, a fight urge kicked in, and you were trying to shove him away with your legs... all for nothing. Anaxa was like a boulder too heavy to move.
“I'm not letting you go until you listen to me first.” The words didn't reach your mind yet, with you still too emotional to be able to rest. But Anaxa let you tire yourself down — if anything, pushing you to release your anger on him would help you. He let you pull on his hair, he let you beat at his chest, and he let you kick his stomach; frustratingly, with no reaction.
Once you had it out of your system, he finally spoke, “I will ask you a question first—how did you find out our marriage was a fraud... at least initially?”
'Initially', he said? His words confused you, yet you delievered the answer, “You sleep talked.”
You’d have laughed at his dumbfounded expression if it wasn’t for your anger. “What? How would that reveal my intensions? Even if I was to talk to my sleep, I’m sure it wouldn’t mention enough details.”
“You mentioned one thing that led to the branches of conclusions.”
“And what is that?”
“You’ve mentioned the phrase “marriage hypothesis”. I wasn’t sure why you’d think of that and assumed it to be a random dream, but then a few days later, I’ve found your research during a browsing in the local magazine for educated readers like you—signed anonymously, but the phrase was just the same. Then I had a feeling I should compare it to your works… and while you changed your style of writing, I noticed the person who was the subject was behaving awfully a lot like me.”
As you revealed your deduction, Anaxa was smiling wide. “Well, aren’t you a smart thing? I’m so proud of you, dear. I’ve always known you have it in you!” he laughed in excitement, and you looked at him with repulsion.
“Why on Amphoreus are you happy about this?” You thought what a bastard he was, making the situation into something positive, changing the subject entirely.
“Oh, don’t be so tense. The reasoning is simple and yet understandable—I have always enjoyed your mind. You have a tendency to overthink everything, but in the end, it ends up with you being observant and coming to conclusions others wouldn’t reach without being told to start observing the connection. Your theories, and opinions, they were always so refreshing to me… you might be too sensitive sometimes, but you also can read between the lines and not be naive. Some would call you skeptical or overly pessimistic; yet, I like your rationality,” he blabbered and it moved your heart, to the logic’s displeasure. Despite the degrading event he put you through, your body and mind still carried reminiscences of what you once had, hence you felt something at the praise. Perhaps he didn’t hate you entirely, acknowledging something good about you… Still, you hated him.
You leaned back in chair, the discomfort at him holding you here against your will still not disappearing; only amplified more when dragged on, and you shook your head. “That’s not relevant at the moment! You broke into my house, you kept sending me this lipstick fixed over and over, and you didn’t leave me alone when I told you to!” you protested.
His smile died and he turned his visage into serious, if not scarily stern. “I’ll be frank with you, dear. You are correct about me having entered a marriage with you to use you as a specimen for my experiment. However, it doesn’t mean I’ve always seen our marriage as something meaningless.”
“You’re not leaving or getting a divorce,” he added, not leaving any doubts about the honesty of his intensions.
This time, you tried to punch him, but he grabbed your hand and placed it over his chest. “Do you see how fast my heart runs? Isn’t this enough evidence for you, that you have an effect on me? I found it to be quite… dreadful, sometimes, yet I think I don’t mind the feeling that much.”
You tried to move it away, interpreting his heart rate differently. “It’s an excitement by the stress you’ve put me through. You can’t do all of this and then act as if it’s me who’s the problem here, walking away with no reason!” you said pitifully, the anxiety and frustration from not being heard all over your face.
“Nonsense,” he debunked everything you said with coldness. “I can tell apart the way heart goes depending on someone’s mood. It also doesn’t matter if I didn’t feel nothing for you in the begging, if you still were taken care of. You were more spoiled than a person should be. And seeing you reveal yourself to me, you’ve given me enough material to turn this marriage into a real union between two lovers.
You belong by my side, and nowhere else.”
You couldn’t believe your ears. Anaxa seriously acted as if material things would have been the replacement for the emotional damage and lies he’s committed; even hit you with the possessive claim. Being provided for wasn’t worth it when he has broken your heart. You could have lived on your own, and while it wouldn’t give you any bigger status or comfort, it’d hurt much less than this.
“I didn’t want money. I wanted you, Anaxagoras,” your voice finally cracked and you were sobbing like a baby.
Something cracked on his face too, being taken aback by your words, and you twisted a knife in his chest with the confession. While he still saw things more pragmatically, hearing about the extent of your adoration for him he put in you fed his obsession, albeit soothed his longing for you too; and seeing you cry shook him.
“As I said, it doesn’t matter,” he repeated, but his voice accepted more softness to be expressed. “Since I started to see you as more, we can continue our marriage on these terms. I have no need to let you go, not when you stimulate my mind and make me feel alive each day, pondering about how I’ve found someone so marvelous.” His hand landed on your face, and his thumb not wiped but spread your tears under your eyes. He found himself entranced with the fact you spilled them for him, a sign of your heart’s devotion.
Yet, his words only troubled you. The way he pronounced things sounded more twisted than affectionate, and like a man who was seeing you more as a test subject and not a spouse. “You’re lying,” you choked out through hiccups. “You didn’t reach me after I had left. You ignored me for weeks.”
“That I did,” he said with a sigh. You trashed when he was lifting you up and placing you on his lap, the chair taken by him again. He kept you to his chest too tightly to free yourself or distance yourself from him who was scaring you. “But it wasn’t me being neglectful. My idea was to let you release your anger and resentment, so we can have this talk in less emotional way that would cause you to have irrational outbursts. Albeit… you still ended up rather emotional. Yet that is to be expected. Perhaps I’ve been focusing more on logic than the psychological aspect of going through such situation, considering my initial plan was research and not amorous affairs,” he spoke as he stroked your back, and the physical soothing didn’t match his methodical words. You didn’t wish to feel like a person being scrutinized.
“You hurt me,” you accused. “I can tell you feel hurt.” The response drove you mad — it wasn’t “yes, I did”, but “yes, you appear that way” — cold acknowledgment, and not admitting his faults.
You gave up at this point, and when you stopped crying, it wasn’t because he consoled you. You only were feeling wiped out, staring blankly ahead.
“There you are,” he muttered and pressed the kiss on top of your head, something your body still remembered. There was a part of you that wanted to forgive him, desperate for those warm gestures you were deprived of; if it wasn’t for the fact this “overthinking” aspect he’s mentioned was holding your back.
“Not that you’ve calmed down…” he announced a new intension, and reached for his pocket. You tensed up when seeing what he took from the space of his pants — that unfortunate lipstick. “… let me do something, darling.”
“W-what? Do what?”
“I think it’s time to renew our vows. I don’t want you to hold any doubts, and I’m afraid that break certainly put some differences and distance between us…” Your body trembled as he applied the color onto your lips for you, all careful to create perfect outlines. The product was a symbol of your marriage if you once worn it during ceremony; and once again, you were leashed to him — this time when you didn’t want it.
“Stop this ludicrous act, I don’t want you anymore…” you cried out.
“Then why are your pupils like this?” he teased with a knowing voice. Your stomach dropped, and you felt most vulnerable, your mind trying to deny the accusation. Were you really looking at him as if still in love?
“A… a heart wants what it wants. My mind still comes first,” you barked back, no bite at all when you were defeated by the renowned philosopher.
“I think I’m fine with someone’s heart deciding for once. You’ve made me realize that not everything can be worked for me with logic, my dear…” he whispered.
Next thing you knew, Anaxa was gripping your chin and forcing his lips on yours. The kiss was practiced and lovely, and the familiar pressure shoved some butterflies into your stomach, until the mind was screaming to think and not feel. Your hands pushed at his chest but he only pressed his face harder to yours, tilting your head to be caged against the back of the chair and him as the result.
Anaxa didn’t mind your unwillingness. He didn’t even considered it to be unwillingness — just a hesitation he could push into a right direction, that’s meant to adjust you to the right sense of loving and wanting him.
Withdrawing, he made you a promise with an adoring smile, “I, Anaxagoras, take you as my spouse, and promise to carry my duty until my breath cannot be taken anymore.” He didn’t expect you to return the vows today — still, it was just the matter of time. Him cursing himself this way was supposed to let you know he’s devoted, the same way he suspected you were.
“You’re… manipulating me again, just so you can restart your research…” you protested once more this day, but the twist of situation put you in delirious state where you couldn’t decide which was true and which was a blasphemy.
He chuckled, as if you were being a bit silly and assuming the worst — the overthinker he’s painted you to be.
“I do love you, if that’s what you still doubt. I’ll allow time and my actions to imprint that in your heart, not even in your head. Now, let's go to sleep. I’m sure the familiarity of our bed will help you rest easily.”
When he held you in his arms squeezing out your soul that night, the curtains’ entering light revealing you his hungry gaze, you realized you were no longer allowed to think for yourself.
A naked eye 3D pterosaur installation at Shanghai Natural History Museum
(The guide is describing the exhibit and talking about the various "flying dinosaurs" and their appearance through history as they emerge from the fossil displays)
[ID: 1. Flaming text reading, "Meta commentary". 2. Similar flaming text reading, "a GIF". 3. An image of the character Irving Braxiatel from Doctor Who, staring at the camera. /end ID]
This is how they wrap surgical sets before sterilizing them (in a cloth not paper...god I wosh the cloth is a pain in the ass) except when they tuck the last bit in, they fold it over so the end is poking out of the box (like a pull tab).
“Cassandra woke up to the rays of the sun streaming through the slats on her blinds, cascading over her naked chest. She stretched, her breasts lifting with her arms as she greeted the sun. She rolled out of bed and put on a shirt, her nipples prominently showing through the thin fabric. She breasted boobily to the stairs, and titted downwards.”
