hi! i’m kleewie! she/her, twenty-three, infp, and ar 56-asia server!
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i don’t wanna keep secrets just to keep you (and i)
summary: dating tip? just don't. for celebrities, romantic relationships are absolutely forbidden. the slightest hint of one could ruin your career. but are you even listening to the lecture? doubt it, 'cause you're doing the complete opposite. (alternatively, a celebrity au featuring secret relationships.)
→ featuring: childe, & ayato (you can really tell who my faves are)
→ warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, slight cursing, established relationship, mentions of alcohol and drinking, tension, actual cursing, unreliable reader pov, gender-neutral reader (i apologize if i missed things, i haven't proofread it yet)
→ a/n: so, hi! long time no see? i was pretty stressed with college and well, i'm back! i began writing this last year and finally got the courage to finish it. but here it is and i hope you enjoy it :> please let me know if you like it <3 it really makes my day!
credits to @dumplingsjinson for the prompts!
beware, lengthy post ahead!
more under the cut!
the debut.
“forbidden?” you repeat.
“absolutely forbidden!” your manager says. “a rookie with no fanbase? a scandal will ruin your reputation! you're absolutely forbidden from dating anyone.”
you sigh. he's being too overdramatic.
you will never be in a relationship, you're absolutely sure. how can you? with no time for yourself as it is, dating someone with the limited hours you already have sounds impractical.
besides, you're too busy training and practicing for auditions.
remembering it now, you want to laugh.
i told you so, your thoughts chastise.
god, you should've listened.
childe, the actor
“that's a wrap!” the director cheers.
your eyes glisten as you hold back tears. it's embarrassing, you think. so damn embarrassing.
you've been repeating the same kissing scene multiple times now. obviously, the director cheers for finally completing the take and not because you did a good job.
childe pats your back. “you did great,” he says, with a smile.
but you know the gesture so goddamn well. the same nonchalant cold grin he throws at everyone that he now directs at you? oh, he's angry alright.
for what reason? who knows. you're too busy wallowing in self-despair over how terrible your acting is.
the scene is supposedly simple. it involves the second lead, who happens to be you, confessing their love to the leading man, resulting to a spontaneous kiss.
yet, you're fumbling over the lines, acting so out of character, tripping over set, incorrectly initiating the kiss at awkward angles—the whole time-wasting squander.
“what's going on?” childe eventually asks, once he arrives at your shared apartment. his bag drops to the floor with a flop. “you're acting strange. the entire crew sees it, i see it, the director sees it—what if he decides to fire you? what will you do then?”
you swallow dryly. you left the set early hoping childe's hectic schedule prompted him to forget the whole issue. yet, here he is finally bringing up the conversation after what feels like a month's worth of tension.
as you sit on the sofa chair, your fingers massage the bridge of your nose. breathe in, breathe out. you repeat. don't cry. you try to calm yourself down as a sob tries to break through.
eight months, you've been a couple.
but, there are some things you're afraid to say.
each year, the biggest tabloid newspaper in the country releases an article on celebrity dating scandals. a month ago they released one single page article about a popular actor dating a newbie actress. it barely had any juicy details, just a simple paragraph of a somebody dating a nobody.
yet, it did not end well for them. and you're terrified; for when it could happen to you.
you imagine it. dozens of messages and multiple missed phone calls on your cell as your name becomes the next talk of the town. the headline reads: revealed! a nobody actress, the second-lead from the northland bank saga currently dates the nation's boyfriend, childe!
it terrifies you. you could lose your job. lose what you love doing the most. and you could get tossed aside like an old sweater under someone's bed, left to rot and decompose.
so, yes. you hesitated earlier at set because you don't want anyone to connect the dots. to look at the kiss between you two and notice something amiss. to speculate that there's more to your relationship than what meets the eye. to realize you look at him as more than a co-star. to see how much you're in love with him. to realize the both of you are dating.
“it's not easy.” you say, releasing a sigh.
two years you've been in the business. rookies barely get any roles as it is. being in a well-received rendition of an old romance drama is a once in a blue moon opportunity and you can't risk someone finding out about your relationship.
“camera shy? no—you've kissed heaps of actors for that school drama.”
you mumble, “two people aren't heaps of actors, tartaglia.”
“then what is the problem?”
childe saunters to where you sit. he leans towards you and presses his palm on the head of the sofa, trapping your body between his and the chair. childe's eyes meet yours and you instantly look away.
he knows you well enough to comprehend that look on your face. the way you hide your clammy hands behind you, the manner of your eyes staring only at your feet, how your body tucks itself into the corner of the seat.
“me?” childe whispers.
he places a hand under your jaw. his thumb softly pushes your chin upwards so your eyes meet his.
“why?” he pleads.
“you won't understand.”
“i will if you tell me,” he says, holding your gaze. seeing how you relentlessly persist on keeping your mouth shut, he shakes his head. “oh, please tell me.”
you hesitate. you tell him and then what?
you could say: hey, childe! i'm afraid of our relationship being discovered. i'll be hated by your fans. you'll be constantly drained by my crying and whining. your reputation would take a hit regardless of how popular you are and—and then he'll finally realize how exhausting and annoying it is being with you.
your self-deprecation loves to pull you deeper into its sapping embrace. you're nothing, it mouths. childe would dump you and find some other actor or actress to date. god. it would be so easy. with his popularity, good looks, and charming personality, he'd find a better and talented rising-star the moment he chucks you out the front door.
so, you shake your head firmly.
“tell me, please.” he whispers.
you cross your arms, and look away.
“are you sick?”
you shake your head.
“somebody hurting you on set?”
again, you shake your head.
childe pauses, “...do you have feelings for someone else?”
“no!”
“then what is the damn problem?”
“nothing!” you exasperate, furrowing your brows together.
childe takes your reluctance as distrust and it ignites his irritation. do you not trust him? is he that insignificant to you? what are you hiding? hell, did you fall for the main lead of the show, zhongli? or do you not love him anymore? god, he can feel himself suffocate in resentment.
is he so unimportant that you'd prefer to keep the problem to yourself? it makes his blood boil; how he'd do anything for you, but you'd rather keep it to yourself and suffer alone.
“tell me.” childe scowls as he watches your lips quiver.
you keep your mouth firmly shut.
“fine, hold your tongue.” he sneers, “i understand. i really do, baby. it's not about the cameras, the flashing lights, the audience.”
childe brushes his lips against yours, “you wouldn’t kiss me like that in public, though, would you?” he releases his hold on your chin and his sharp eyes meet yours. “it’s only behind closed doors when you care to act like we’re each other’s.”
with a hooded jacket in one hand and a face mask in another, childe swiftly leaves the apartment with a slam of a door.
leaving you alone with your wretched thoughts.
more under the cut!
despite walking out the flat hours ago, childe still reverberates jealousy and anger; pure envy at how normal you act around everyone else yet, around him you're too guarded; and angry at himself for saying those awful words to your face.
he smacks his forehead on the steering wheel. childe acknowledges how childish he's been acting. you aren't ready to talk, and he shouldn't be forcing you to speak out your difficulties.
surely, the stress is piling up on you. he knows the hours you've been working on set, memorizing lines, practicing moves—again, he thumps his head on the wheel.
stupid, he curses. control your damn temper next time.
he reaches for the box of blueberry cheesecake on the front passenger seat. subconsciously, he drove two hours (and back) to the bakery's main branch as its side branches were sold out of your favorite cake. and he knows how much you love the pastry.
however, his body slouches in the parked car outside the apartment. the long drive works miracles with his anger, but the courage to actually walk inside and apologize never comes.
the ding of a text draws his attention. ‘go inside and beg for forgiveness, brat.’ yoimiya, a fellow actress from the same company as him, says. the woman is always in the loop and well-informed.
a shiver goes down his spine. if you told yoimiya about the argument, he's absolutely sure you're furious. you'd only speak to her as a last-ditch effort; knowing her personality she'd pummel him to bits while you watch.
as a result, he stands inside the apartment, one hand knocking on your bedroom door. however, instead of tasting blood, he hears your stifled sobs. the abrupt sound convinces him to turn the knob and enter the room.
the illumination from the hallway brightens the bedroom, shining a bit of light on your face. you lay on the bed with your knees to your chest, with a blanket over your waist. your reddened cheeks and tear-stained eyes makes his stomach churn.
“please don't cry, baby.” childe cooes, kneeling by your bedside. he leans over you, his fingers gently grip your cheeks. “i'm so sorry.”
the sudden apology sprouts pools from your eyes. his thumbs brush the water off your face and softly says, “i shouldn't have said—please, don't cry. it's my fault for taking my anger out on you.”
“i'm afraid of losing you,” you whimper. “if they find out—oh god—they'll tear me apart. i'm nothing compared to you. i'd lose everything. i might even lose you—”
“never, i will never leave you. no matter what happens,” childe interjects.
you furrow your brows, sobbing. “i'm no one—too difficult,” you hiccup. “you'll throw me away. i'm too whiny and too draining. if they find out... you'll see all the comments about how ugly—”
“breathe, baby.” he settles himself on your bed and softly places you on his lap. “you're gorgeous. you're not draining, and frankly, you're cute when you whine.”
you bury your face into his neck and continue, “i'm serious, childe. you'll get exhausted. the articles will talk about you too!”
“articles, mhm. they're just articles.” he hums.
irritation begins to set in. was he this clueless? you release another sob, “they're not just articles. they'll nitpick every single thing you do! oh—look at this newbie getting together with childe. oh, they suck at acting! why is childe even—”
childe gently places his palm on your neck, coaxing you to meet his gaze. “are you talking about the tabloid from last month?”
you sigh, “what else am i talking about?” and instantly you sense his laughter resonate. “are you laughing?”
“you're adorable, baby.” he breathes, nuzzling his face on your neck.
“you're making fun of me! what the hell, childe?”
he releases a sigh, pausing his laughter. “the tabloids every month. they're paid. companies pay them to talk about their idols for publicity.”
your face contorts into confusion, “who would willingly—they talked about lumine all month because of the article! you know she's my favorite actress. why would they willingly put her on the spotlight like that?”
“publicity, baby.”
you shake your head, “it makes no sense.”
“oh, it does.” childe hums. “of course, they'd seek permission first. it boosted views for her drama, didn't it? lumine did say she got extra for the views and switched apartments.”
“yeah, wait—you knew this whole time and didn't bother to tell me?”
he chuckles, “that's what you get for keeping these things to yourself for a month.” he squeezes the bridge of your nose.
“you're terrible.”
“love you too, baby.” he teases, “and besides, if a tabloid threatened to do something—” his thumb gently traces the skin around your neck. “—i'll keep you safe.”
a soft smile graces your features. “...i'm just not ready for anyone to find out. yet, anyway.”
childe hums, “we'll do it on your terms, okay? whenever you're ready.”
“sure, i guess you can keep me for a while longer. until you throw me away and find the next rookie to—”
childe's soft laughter sparks a flutter in your stomach. he would never do such a thing. the moment he first laid his eyes on you on set, heard your beautiful laugh between takes, listened to your jokes while practicing lines, and god, seen your angelic smile? the things he would do to keep you as his.
“never.” a cheeky grin appears on his lips, “i'll take care of you.”
bonus: five years later
your phone rings. the vibration continues on and off, signaling multiple inbox messages. you swipe your phone to see texts from several of your close friends.
‘i know you told me you were okay with it, but i didn't think he'd try to do it so soon. i tried but he's too hardheaded.’ says yoimiya.
‘congratulations! when's the wedding? i'm kidding. don't kill childe.’ says thoma, an actor from your same company.
‘sorrows, sorrows, prayers.’ says venti, your current co-star.
you even receive a message from childe himself.
‘good morning, baby. i'm completely fault-free. simply honoring your wishes as a devoted fiancé should.’
attached to a message was a link to a video entitled: please don't kill me honey.
you click the link.
the video's blurry, as if taken by a cellphone. you recognize thoma as the person videoing the whole scene, as he turns the camera to face him before focusing it on a woman—seemingly a fan of childe. she wears merch from his most recent drama.
a fan goes on stage chosen by a random lottery draw. the said fan wins the chance to interview childe, who was the guest of the day for talk show, and ask one question.
the girl hastily walks on stage, holding a microphone given by staff.
“um. hello, childe!”
the audience screams as the huge video screen focuses on your lover's face. he waves a quick ‘hello’ and the crowd yells louder.
the girl hesitates, “are you dating anyone right now?”
childe twists the microphone in his hands. “hm? right now... i'm not dating anyone.”
the crows sighs in relief, utterly happy their favorite leading actor continues to be single.
but you see the outline of a smirk flashing on his face, and you instantly know there's a deeper meaning to that sentence. “but, it's difficult to say... since we're not really dating as of the moment.”
quietly, you hear the voice of yoimiya whispering, “don't do it.” the camera now focusing on her, trying to get herself on stage. thoma flips the camera around to face it on himself, waving a hello, apparently enjoying the drama. he then focuses the camera on the wide screen, featuring childe's face.
to add mayhem into the mix, childe continues, “i don't think being engaged to your partner falls under dating. we're way past that.”
the interview ends with the audience screaming their lungs out in disbelief, while childe's laugh resonates the whole auditorium.
ayato, company director
“oh, them?” ayato's steady gaze meet yours, pressing his lips in a tight-lipped smile. “they're a friend of mine.”
friend. it echoes in your mind, repeating incessantly. friend. friend. friend.
dread creeps into the pit of your stomach akin to a quick flick of a lighter. after all this time, your stomach lurches. is that all he thinks of you?
god, you need a drink.
the businessmen before you smile, prompting you to return the favor. subsequently, you humbly introduce yourself as just an ‘actor in the industry’. and they laugh. of course they do.
who wouldn't know you? a multi award-winning movie and television star with piles of nominations. so modest, they say. so kind, they praise. you grin, the smile not reaching your eyes, thanking them for their compliments.
but you're so accustomed to their fake smiles, ingenuine flattery, and sweet talk; you never truly know what's actually honest and real—eyes flickering to your azure-haired partner—no, who's honest and real.
you swallow the thought down.
as if aware of the invisible daggers thrown his way, ayato's gaze meets yours. his lips are pressed firmly together, eyes devoid of warmth.
not now, his expression conveys.
you narrow your own eyes, irritation burning through your corneas. as much as you want to start an argument in front of his investors, you agree to his silent insistence. after all it's his gala; one he's tirelessly prepared for over several months.
so you bite your tongue and smile: one honed by years of acting—fake yet strangely genuine.
it's not strong enough. you say, sipping wine with shaky hands. earlier, you left ayato to his fellow businessmen using the excuse of needing a bathroom break, a reason to which he obliged.
you stare at the elaborate party before you, wishing you could go home. the gala swiftly dissolved your social battery, aided by forced mingling and bitterness. a friend, your consciousness repeats. always a friend. so you sit on a chair by the wall, sipping drinks like water.
suddenly, the hairs of your neck stand on end. you sense his presence behind you, prompting a glance through your peripheral vision.
“careful, darling.” ayato's says, tone smooth yet laced with warning. “i'd rather not have you collapsing. your lovely face wouldn't compliment these filthy floors.”
you tense immediately, shoulders stiffening. “reverting back to pet names, i see?”
ayato's hand now rests on your shoulder, his thumb brushing your soft skin. “what seems to be the issue? i doubt it's due to the eight glasses of wine you've consumed in one sitting.”
you roll your tongue in your mouth, practicing the words. let's break up. you bite your tongue. let's see other people. besides, he wouldn't care would he? it's not as if he's been acknowledging you as someone he's been dating, has he? hiding your relationship from his business partners is one thing, but concealing it from closest friends? his family? that's an entirely different matter altogether.
a friend, he says to his business partners.
a star from the company, he answers to his closest friends.
a companion, he whispers to his family.
you're sick and tired of it. all of it.
raising the wineglass to your lips, you drown the drink in one go. you raise two fingers signaling the waiter for another drink.
ayato sighs and you think you feel his hand on your neck tighten, ever so slightly. “you've reached your limit with wine, dear.”
soon, the waiter arrives with three more glasses on his tray. ayato's disapproving glare compels the waiter to scurry across the ballroom floor, steering clear of you.
you click your tongue and begin, “who says so?”
“your fiancé,” he mutters, voice dripping with venom.
you immediately scoff. “sure. for your sake, i'll pretend you mentioned that earlier.”
before ayato could retort, the presence of another individual calls his attention; his younger sister, ayaka.
“brother, the sangonomiya heir's requesting your presence.”
he sighs, irritation etching his features. yet, you blink, catching a subtle shift in his expression—seemingly twisting from annoyance to something resembling relief at the mention of sangonomiya's name.
you swallow the bitter thought.
“watch them for me, could you? i'd rather not have them find a server willing to disobey my instructions and serve them a drink,” ayato whispers, his tone betraying a hint of tension that doesn't go unnoticed.
ayaka nods. her consent prompts the older brother to depart, heading towards the misty rose-pink heir who stands at the opposite side of the ballroom.
ayaka says the inevitable, “you should let him know it bothers you.”
“...i'm not sure what you're referring to.”
her gaze follows yours, observing the giggling and cheerful countenances of the kamisato and sangonomiya heirs. they seem to be enjoying their time together. as always, you remark.
“they're just close friends, you know.”
you click your tongue. “like how him and i are just friends?”
ayaka sighs, understanding your implication. “you know what i mean.”
sangonomiya's hand on your partner's shoulder elicits an exasperated sigh from you. “thoma told me they were to be married if i wasn't here.”
“the man always running his mouth—” she takes a calming breath before continuing, “—but brother's very fond of you. i'm his sister, i should know.”
“then how come after dating him for five years, he still calls me his friend.” you pause, a hand sliding into the right pocket of your outfit. you absentmindedly play with the engagement ring inside. “i'm his fiancé, aren't i?”
“he has his reasons. petty reasons.”
you bite your tongue. or he's embarrassed of you.
you met the kamisato company heir two years after your debut as an idol. as you shifted towards acting, you developed a close relationship with his sister, a seasoned actress from the same company. eventually, she became the bridge that strengthened the bond between the two of you.
you dedicated yourself nonstop, evolving from a rookie actor to a multiple-nominee and winning star; all in the pursuit of being able to openly show off your relationship with ayato without it tarnishing your reputation.
however, when you're prepared to finally reveal your relationship, he isn't.
and it leaves you wondering, is there someone else?
you mean, you're hesitant to doubt the love of your life. but considering he's kept your relationship a secret from everyone for years, it's obvious he's adept at keeping things hidden.
even from you.
and the thought sours your mood.
excusing yourself once more to use the restroom, using the premise of consuming ten glasses of wine, you bid adieu to your favorite kamisato (at the moment). you instead head towards a secluded balcony away from prying eyes.
you stare at the garden below. your eyes quickly blink back the tears threatening to fall. not now, you hiss. don't do this to me, not right now.
“i assumed you would have retreated to your room by this point.” his voice murmurs, unnervingly composed.
you turn around to see your partner holding a glass of wine. his features remain blank, inscrutable.
maybe it's because of all the wine you've been drinking. you can't seem to tell between what's real or not.
“what did you discuss with kokomi?”
“i wasn't aware you were both on a first name basis.”
“answer the question.”
he smiles, “business as always.”
you huff and wrap your hands around your arms. “of course. just business.”
ayato immediately picks up the anger in your tone. he lays his palm on your forearm, gently pulling you towards him. “look at me,” he pleads, with a subtle trace of irritation in his voice.
you turn to look at his face, eyes glaring.
“i felt your glares the entire night.” he begins.
you shrug, smiling innocently. “...what ever do you mean?”
“don't toy with me, darling.”
as he enunciates his answer, it's as if the final thread of your patience snaps. does he still continue to feign innocence and lie to your face?
last month he proposed and you were overjoyed. you then expected a shift in your relationship; the final unveiling of your engagement to the public. you gave him your permission, a definitive “i'm ready for everyone to know.”
yet thirty days later the engagement remains concealed leaving only a few of his friends (thoma) and a few family members (ayaka) knowing about your updated relationship.
if it was the ayato from two years ago, he would be delighted—ecstatic even—to reveal the truth. he might have used the gala today as an avenue to scream to the world, this person and i are in love.
but he didn't.
so the weight of your feelings began to drag you down; it almost feels suffocating in a way. as if a ribbon labeled, he's ashamed, tightly winds around your insides, intricately tying them all together into a sophisticated bow sowing distrust whispering; he's hiding something.
your suspicions, coupled with his frequent visits this month to the sangonomiya estate, fueled your frustration until it erupted. if only he ceased pretending innocent, perhaps you would able to smile through the whole facade.
if only he didn't ask.
“i'm not naive. if you developed feelings for kokomi then you shouldn't have proposed.” you snap. “was it out of pity? did you feel so damn guilty that you chose to go through with the engagement instead of being honest about your feelings?”
ayato furrows his brows, mouth tightening in anger. “what are you talking about? i discuss private affairs with kokomi. business affairs.”
you laugh; one infused with irritation and disbelief. “don't tell me then. keep your stupid secrets.”
“do you want me to jot down a damn list detailing every single thing i do in a day?” he growls. “i won't divulge company secrets just because you feel like throwing a tantrum.”
your hands drift to the tie around his neck, tugging the crooked tie straight. “no. go ahead and keep your secrets.” you pause and roll the words with your tongue, “you're clearly very good at keeping secrets. you’ve kept me—us—as a secret for so long, so of course you’d be good at keeping fucking secrets.”
anger flares across his face. “you desired our relationship to remain a secret, and i respected your wishes.” he sneers, “i wanted to let the damn world know how much i'm in love with you yet, it was the opposite of what you desired.”
ayato releases his grip on you and strides back into the ballroom, but he halts right at the door to the balcony. “so don't dictate when i should reveal the truth simply because you've grown sick and tired of keeping me as your dirty, little secret.”
he finally departs; and you stay, tears pooling, with a profound ache in your heart.
ayato waltzes around the room in a nonchalant dance; yes, good to see you. he lies. how's business? he couldn't care less. enjoy the party! no, he wants everyone in the damn room to feel his wrath.
although he yearns to set the entire ballroom ablaze, ending the party prematurely would be ill-manned of him. so, ayato continues being a gracious and honorable host.
but he feels hollow. he envisions himself freezing the entire room in an icy gust, everyone turning into statues. he wants to sprint back into your arms and plead for you to listen.
he doesn't understand what came over him. why he lost his temper like that. typically, he'd manage your outbursts with composure and understanding. what happened? he doesn't know.
he attributes his outburst to the mounting pressure. the chronic lack of sleep and continuous exhaustion coming from his title as heir. perhaps it's the truth gnawing his skin; despite his powerful position atop the company, it can easily be ripped away with the flick of a wrist.
instead of spending time with his fiancé—he doesn't know if he still deserves to call you that, you probably threw away his ring the second he left the balcony—yet here he is, engaged in conversations with business associates he cares little about.
“brother?” ayaka calls. she finds him leaning against a railing of stairs. “i closed off the gardens.”
ayato swallows. he last saw you sneaking towards the grounds. “they're still on the grass?”
“yes.”
“they'll catch a cold.”
“they will.”
he glances at his sister. “they think i'm unfaithful.”
“i know,” she says matter-of-factly. “have you offered them any evidence to convince them otherwise?”
ayato stays silent.
“i know you care about them, brother.” ayaka sighs, “however, surprising them with a specially crafted ring and being petty when your entire relationship is at stake may not be the wisest move.”
he sighs.
“most especially if they suspect that your frequent visits to the sangonomiya manor are fueled by romantic feelings for its heiress, and not for their own wedding ring.”
after a while, ayato spots you lying on the grass in a starfish formation, having finally swallowed his pride. his eyes glaze over your features: red eyes, cheeks marked with tear stains, and an exhausted expression.
“can we talk?” he begins.
you spare a quick glance before turning your attention back to the night sky. “there's not much to talk about.”
“i'm not cheating,” he asserts.
“i know.”
“do you know, or have you resigned yourself to not knowing?”
“hm,” you hum. “a part of me entertains the thought of you cheating. yet an even smaller part absolutely knows that if you were truly cheating, you'd be more discreet. who, in their right mind, would inform thoma that you visited her manor?”
he chuckles, a laughter-less sound escapes him. “i understand i've been secretive. you have every right to assume i'm up to something indecent. but i have my reasons.” ayato confesses, kneeling beside your body. he places his hand inside his suit pocket, pulling up a black small box.
you instantly sit up. “you're horrible,” you cough, eyes widening as he opens the box to show a ring. “this entire time you were—god.”
“i placed a special order,” he mumbles. “i visited each day to ensure it was flawless, right down to the smallest details.”
“i'm so sorry.”
“don't be, love.” he breathes, “you had your reasons, and i was insistent on keeping it a surprise.”
relief floods your features. “good,” you whisper before tears well in your eyes.
the sound of your sobs breaks his heart. he immediately wraps his arms around you, brushing his lips on your cheeks.
“i'm sorry, darling,” he murmurs, kissing the skin above your brow. “i'm sorry for worrying you.”
“goddamn sadistic,” you sob. “you knew i was freaking out, but you just watched!”
he grins, “i have to admit, you look cute when you're jealous.”
a groan escapes you. “don't make me throw away both rings.”
“is that so? i should've ordered twenty spares.”
“no.” you scold.
“oh? look at my darling, so jealous,” he smirks, nuzzling his face into your neck. you then feel his lips press into a straight line. “you're not something i would ever try to hide. i would never be ashamed of our relationship.”
you laugh, “prove it.”
your smile faces seeing the smirk on his face. in that exact moment, you know that kamisato ayato, the preposterous god in human flesh, plans to do something grand and explosive to prove you otherwise.
“do not.” you begin, “we've talked about this. you cannot—you absolutely will not bribe the government to declare our wedding date as a national holiday!”
bonus: ten minutes before the clash
“is it getting warm in here, or am i sensing the intense gaze of your loving fiancé on me?” kokomi laughs, sipping a glass of champagne.
ayato takes a peek, and he chuckles upon seeing your irritated and jealous expression. “they certainly are.”
“please do not involve me in your lovers' quarrels. everyone knows we're just close friends.”
“they do.”
“have you told them?”
“...it may have slipped past my mind.”
kokomi shakes her head. “sadistic.” she slips a black box into his palm. “clear it up. i do not want to be murdered by your future partner.”
ayato glances at you from across the room as you engage a conversation with his sister. “mhm, i could, but their jealous expression is too endearing.”
“sadistic,” she repeats. “absolutely sadistic.”
he chuckles.
“also, kazuha mentioned that you've been referring to them as your companion. correct that.” she continues, “and stop calling them your friend!”
“they asked me to when we started dating.”
she rolls her eyes. “you're so petty. stop trying to provoke them!”
“anyways, everyone knows we're engaged,” he corrects. “their whining face is the cutest.”
“sadistic.”
“kokomi?”
she tilts her head and hums, “yes?”
“ever wondered how much it costs to propose a national holiday?”
author’s note: lmao. so in this modern au ayato actually succeeds in turning your wedding date into a national holiday. the government actually appreciates his donation because a.) they always accept goodwilled (lmao) funds and b.) ayato's an important pillar to the gov and they don't want to upset him 'cause petty rich boy tantrums tilt the economy (how sadistic).
so, ayato's the heir of the company where you are employed at as an idol turned actor/actress. kokomi is the heiress to a big jewelry corporation. lmao they were both engaged together when they were like five but they instantly broke it off because well, they both threw five year old tantrums.
plus thoma telling you that they were to be engaged was just a fact he blurted out when you asked about kokomi (he manages to omit the five-year-old part because he's careless + he didn't think it matters because anyone can tell ayato's intensely in love with you)
summary: he couldn’t stop death. so, death kindly stopped for you. and years later, he’s still picking up the pieces—one shard after another. but you, of all people, know that nothing heals a wound better than letting go. (simply, a bittersweet fic where you reincarnate into someone else’s body and watch your lover in anguish over your death).
→ pairings: diluc, & xiao
→ warnings: not properly proofread (may have tense issues), angst, character death (you), mentions of death, grief, bittersweet comfort, mentions of blood and wounds, trauma (about your death), gender-neutral reader (the use of she on the title is from a song quote called ‘epiphany by t.s’)
→ author’s note: hi, it’s me again. i was supposed to finish this weeks ago but i was exhausted from a fourteen hour flight and it took me a while to get my rhythm back. but here it is and i hope you enjoy it :> anyway, was planning to (maybe?) make a part two. like, what if they find out it’s you in that body. and what’d they would say or do. (yes, ayato was supposed to be in this but i switched him out to be included in a different angsty fic)
and credits to @wholelottaprompts for the angsty prompts!!
beware, lengthy post ahead!
more under the cut!
#diluc:
it begins as a normal day. a typical, ordinary, day.
you clean the bed, eat breakfast with your beloved, greet the servants a ‘good morning’, kiss diluc's cheek goodbye, head to the market to shop, say ‘hello’ to a passing kaeya, smacking his shoulder in surprise when he teases you: (“shush! you're going to ruin the surprise!” you laugh).
so, how is it you're freezing? how is it you can't feel your legs? how is it possible to be bleeding out on the cold snow, one hand over your wound?
you don't know—it was such a beautiful day.
all you do know is the resounding pain from your abdomen. the feeling of blood sliding down your body. and the awareness of your inevitable end; all alone on the chilly ice.
you want it to stop. you scream, please make it stop.
but, no words fall out of your mouth.
only complete silence.
hours seem like days, before you hear the sound of boot steps—heavy and frantic, crunching on the snow.
someone comes for you. and you breathe a sigh of relief.
alone. you aren't going to die alone.
“you came,” you weep.
“always, my love.” diluc kneels beside you, placing a pressured hand on the fatal gash. “i’m right here, you're alright. you're going to be fine.”
he's lying.
you can tell.
you see it by the way his eyes moisten at the intensity of the wound. the way he squeezes his eyelids shut, hoping the tears don't fall. the way his eyebrows furrow in concentration, as if praying you don't see how terrified he is to lose you.
“forgive me,” he whispers. “please, forgive me.”
diluc twists, looking back, and you hear him scream. one so agonizing, so piercing. a shout for someone, for anybody, to please save you.
but you can barely think; you're too exhausted, too numb.
you squeeze his hand, “it's the end of the line for us, isn't it?”
“no—” he says, sucking breaths in between sobs. “—we have all the time in the world, darling.”
#after:
you wake up days later, in a warm bed.
the heat's almost too much to bear, so you shuffle all the bedsheets off your body. you sit up, and the sudden awareness hits.
i’m alive! your thoughts sing.
you can’t wait to see diluc! you can’t wait to hug him! you can’t wait to kiss him!
but, a surprised gasp escapes you.
because standing in front of you is a giant standing mirror. and a reflection, unlike your own, stares back at you.
you scream.
it takes two weeks to accept the new, well, you: a sickly child of a pair of gardeners who work at the ragnvindr estate. apparently, you were at the brink of death—wasting away from a bacterial infection you caught weeks ago—and survived.
you know the truth though. their child died. and you took over their body like some demon (why you come back as them? you have no idea).
funny. they're the same age as you (when you died).
so subtly, you try asking the couple about your previous body. i mean, who in their right minds will believe you reincarnated into their child's body? a fever dream, they may say.
but they greet you with clammy hands and wide eyes, begging never to mention that name ever again.
at least, never out loud. and not ever in the presence of the master. because everyone knows how miserable he is from the loss of his beloved.
four years had passed since the incident. yet, his wound still stings as if their death happened yesterday.
still, you want to see him. partly in disbelief and partly in fury.
after all these years he still longs for your presence.
oh, your sweet, sweet diluc.
and because how dare he continue to beat himself up over an accident he had no control over.
that's the last thing you want.
to hurt himself over the memory of you.
alas, the opportunity to see him comes.
the head maid summons you to work as a house servant for the mansion. this was your (the previous soul's) plan to work for the family, who has treated yours with such kindness (only cancelling because of your prior sickness).
so now, you're sweeping the dirt out of the second floor of the dull manor. dusting the windows, wiping the cabinets, scrubbing here and there.
sometimes, you glimpse a wandering shadow. one, whose eyes stare unseeingly—only brightening up upon seeing a covered old portrait of halcyon days.
a scene, you know so well.
a couple smiles at the painter, eyes beaming with happiness.
yet, the ecstatic emotion doesn't reflect back at the man staring at it.
at times, you see an anguished soul. one, who knows how to push people away—barking furiously, at anyone who tries to come close.
even if that person happens to be you.
“what do you think you're doing?” he snaps. “who allowed you to enter this room?”
me, you want to say. it's my room.
instead, you respond with: “my apologies, master. the room's dirty. so i thought it'd be nice to have it cleaned.”
diluc stares, stern and sharp. a moment passes and you see his eyes trail behind you.
on instinct, you look back to notice an opened maroon-colored present on the bed side table.
the lid of the box lays forgotten on the floor,
and a lustrous gold ring sits on the wooden desk.
his gaze immediately softens.
“leave,” he scolds. “and never come back.”
you obey his orders.
sadly, you're banned from the room. but you're thankful you get to stay at the mansion.
and unbeknownst to you, diluc lingers for hours.
peering at the piece of jewelry he bought four years ago as a token of his love for you.
ever so often, you find a sorrowful man—one too grief-stricken to eat. all his meals turn into mush and slop, thinking about how you used to love dining with him.
he remembers sitting with you while he works, your hand in his.
he recalls you caressing his hair, soothing his head from the nightmares that plague his sleep.
he recollects all of your jokes, even the ones that aren't even funny. but you're smiling and it brightens his day.
you, you, you.
he finds the thought of you hard to swallow.
once in a while, you hear the sounds of footsteps tapping at midnight—soft and light on the second floor. he walks with purpose; now and then, lifting his legs high as if trailing on thick snow.
tailing him, you watch as he mindlessly marches towards the end of the corridor. towards your old room.
his fingers twist the doorknob to no avail.
it's locked.
he can't get in. he can't save you.
you place a gentle hand on his back, guiding the man back to his room.
even in his unconscious state, he looks for you.
he searches for you in the coldest of places. hoping and praying, he'll make it in time.
in time to see your radiant smile once more.
(he doesn't)
sometimes, you glimpse a shadow of his former self—eyes staring fondly at a scene you know perfectly well.
“i haven’t looked at this portrait in years,” diluc says, softly.
he leans against the wall opposite of the image, his dominant hand rests within the right pocket of his pants.
in the painting, you and diluc are smiling. eyes sparkling joyfully.
you shoot him a quizzical look.
the curtains that hid the portrait are gone. but you're sure it was there a day ago. certainly, it was him who removed it.
glancing at his peaceful form, you ask, “do you miss them?”
diluc twists a gold ring in his pocket. his fingers brush the cursive engraving of your name.
sentiments of melancholy soar in his chest, thinking about the day you died.
the same day he was going to propose.
a bittersweet smile rests on his face, “more than you know.”
#xiao:
“xiao!”
where is he? why isn't he coming? your thoughts run as fast as your feet carry you—over thick terrain, and sliding repeatedly on the rain soaked ground.
“xiao!” you scream.
swishing your head back, you see the faint silhouette of your attackers. seven treasure hoarders sprint towards your direction, enraged by your successful stealing attempt.
it's a commission, you see. all you have to do is: sneak into a specific treasure hoarder hideout, steal a specified silver necklace, and easily get out.
a supposed effortless commission.
and unexpectedly, it's the job that's going to get you killed.
if it weren't for the bleeding gash on your abdomen, and the flint arrow jammed through your ankle— you'd beat these watered-down weaklings any day.
but you're exhausted from the sleepless night before. drained from crying your eyes out in a jealous fit of rage; all because you couldn't stand hearing the traveler's name, over and over, from your dearest adeptus' lips.
“please, xiao!” you yelp, sliding against a tree root.
shouldn't he be here by now? you wonder. is he the type of person to watch you suffer in agony as revenge for yesterday? of course not!
he will be here the moment you call his name. he will rescue and then chastise you after.
but, a bitter taste wallows in your throat. he's not coming and it's all your fault.
screaming you absolutely hate him to his face? weeping about how unfair his favoritism is? praying you suddenly die a swift death so he can finally be with the person he truly loves?
how stupid can you be!
“i didn't mean what i said!” you choke, as a steady stream of tears fall. “i'm so sorry for everything, xiao—”
a gust of wind cuts your apology, and xiao stands right before you with a concerned (almost frantic) look on his face.
he digests the scene quickly, beating the humans who dare hurt his cherished lover. “foolish!” xiao scolds. “reckless! what were you think—”
xiao's heart skips a beat. turning around, he sees you on the muddy ground. one hand squeezing your chest in a death grip. he hastily dashes to you and places your back on his lap.
“who did this?” xiao snarls.
struggling, you point a finger at your left ankle. xiao immediately notices the flint arrow coated in a mulberry-like tint.
poison, you think. you're going to die.
tears flood your eyes as your chest feels heavier than ever before. like an anchor pulling you to the bottom of an ocean, while you suffocate slowly.
“i don't want to die.” you mumble, between shallow breaths.
xiao places one hand under your knees and another behind your back, lifting you up into his arms. “don't be scared, i'm right here.”
puffs of wind sting your face and you know he's carrying you to help. searching for a doctor, or a merchant. for anyone to help.
a plop of water tickles your eyelash, compelling you to glance upwards. “you know, i don't think i've ever seen you cry...”
unblinking, xiao stares forward and more tears slide down his cheeks. as if sensing the life trickle out of your body, he whispers “do not leave my side.”
you're to tired to respond.
but, you hope the sigh of relief coming from your lips is a loud enough answer.
#after:
past memories materialize in your brain like an electric shock.
you died—oh, archons—you're dead!
your hands shake in terror, and you feel like throwing up.
oh, yes. you do puke your guts out. in front of your newfangled distraught parents.
apparently the blast of information is too much to bear for a seven year old.
(even if your current mind is older than twice your current age)
and your parents don't know what to do: you don't eat, you don't talk, you stare out the window with glazed eyes, you barely sleep at all, even food doesn't help.
and they know how much you love food.
so imagine their surprise seeing their child burst out into tears upon feeding your favorite dish, almond tofu.
tears of happiness? nope. you sob hopelessly remembering your dearest xiao. your favorite person in the whole world.
oh, what you would give to jump back into his arms.
but, no. you're stuck here. you've stolen an innocent child's body. taken the place of that said child. taking advantage of your new parent's kindness.
how it happened? you don't know.
but you're smart enough not to ask.
precautions in case they decide to burn you as a sacrifice to the gods, for figuring out you're a devil in disguise? i mean, you don't know these people. it's better to be safe than sorry.
anyway, the sudden personality change baffles your parents.
a month ago, you nearly drowned playing near the deep waters of wangshu inn. a day after the incident, you remain the same. weeks later, you're having nightmares and talking in your sleep.
what's going on? your parents don't know. they think you're having a delayed response to almost drowning. and they absolutely need to bring a healer to you pronto.
your grandmother, who coincidentally happens to be verr goldet, recommends she takes you into her care while they (father and mother) head to liyue harbor.
they accept. and you're thrown into the arms of your loving grandmother.
some days, she tells you stories about the illuminated beasts known as the adepti. magical beings who protect liyue from demons and vile gods.
grandmother winks, “i hear, a certain friend of mine loves almond tofu. try offering some, and maybe he'll tell you more stories.”
and that's how you're sitting on the floor, leaning against an open window in one of the inn's available rooms.
the mere action beckons child services to scoop you up. i guess, she trusts you not to fall to your death.
anyhow, the plated dish lays perfectly on the window sill. yet, xiao still hasn't come to say hi, and you've been waiting for hours.
why would he come? you think, he doesn't know you.
unsurprisingly, you fall asleep as exhaustion creeps up on you.
and unknowingly, you whisper xiao's name over and over while you dream of blissful days. watching the sunsets and sunrises with your dearest person.
you don't see the yaksha when you wake up though. but the empty plate on the bottom of the window sill attests his visit.
afterwards, you see xiao three times.
your first meeting takes place when you are seven and a half years old. outside wangshu inn, near the shallow waters.
funnily enough, you assume that since you (previous child) virtually died (actually died) while swimming in the said place, you suppose you'd be banned from going near the said place.
but composed grandma has other ideas. rephrasing her words, “face your fears, or face your death.” yes, she loves you and only wants you to be prepared for the worst. then how hard can it be? you know how to swim. it'll be easy-peasy.
so how is it possible you're choking on sea water? your limbs struggle to bring you above the surface, and your neck cranes at different angles to help you breathe.
“xiao—please—help!” you scream, gasping for air.
seconds later, someone carries you up by the back collar of your t-shirt. “mortals and death wishes,” xiao chastises as he drops you on the grass. “leave my name out of this.”
your mouth gapes open in awe. he's here! he came! you're so giddy that you nearly spill the beans (of who you are). “thank you! it's great to see you again!” you beam.
xiao tilts his head quizzically, “...again?” he pauses and then says, “forget it. it's time to move you somewhere else. lest you'd call me again for something mediocre.”
you wince. now isn't a good time to reveal who you are, you figure. he'd likely scoff at your face and evade all contact with you than actually believe your story.
so you keep it to yourself for the time being.
before xiao can seize your collar (well, to carry you around of course), your tiny hand grasps his fingers.
“did you like the food?” you ask, pulling him towards wangshu inn.
he throws a bizarre look, one akin to surprise and turmoil. and subsequently nods slowly, as if testing your reaction.
“let's go home then!” you chirp. “there's more in the fridge.”
xiao stops walking, taken aback. and you suppose your friendly invitation is too much for the adepti. but a short while later, he's behind you, trailing after your footsteps.
four years pass and now you're eleven.
it's time for your daily afternoon walk. as your doctor recommends walking around the shoreline to cure your fear of swimming, you stroll near guili plains.
honestly, you're only permitted to walk near the inn. but hey, what's a life without adventure?
hours pass and you're exhausted from wandering. so you decide to rest beneath a tree to gain enough strength to walk back to wangshu.
however, fate loves to meddle and you end up tripping on a piece of cobblestone. upon inspecting the rock, you notice your name carved on the stone.
and your heartbeat quickens. your name? how could you forget? this is where your life ended, within the embrace of the person you loved most.
a snowy colored flower catches your attention. a qingxin. the freshness of the plant makes it seem like someone placed it quite recently.
actually, spot on theory. a breeze of wind tickles your back, signaling the arrival of a certain annoyed adepti.
“tread carefully,” xiao warns, adjusting the disorderly flowers. “perhaps, try to watch where you're going.”
his words sound awful, but you notice the lack of hostility. inviting xiao to eat lunch at the inn must've done wonders as he's less unfriendly towards you.
you mutter a sincere 'sorry' and plop down on your knees, facing the grave. your eyes watch the adepti in sheer engrossment, trying to make the grave as perfect as possible.
the words flow out of your mouth without much thought, “are you always here?”
xiao opens his mouth to speak but quickly closes it. a pause. he repeats the action, following another pause. he's likely contemplating why in archon's name he'd be telling his troubles to a child like you.
and you understand his hesitancy. he barely knows you, you've only met him twice, and he isn't the type of person to spill his whole life story to a kid he knows.
but before you can change the topic, xiao whispers, “unusual it is. they’re gone... i know it. but i always come back, waiting for them to return.”
you’re thirteen when a dream scares the living daylights out of you.
your eyes blink, adjusting to the darkness of your room. clammy hands grip the bottom hem of your t-shirt as your eyes fill up with tears.
how scary it is. to continually have reoccurring dreams about your death day. the drumming of the rain must have triggered the nightmare, as your bad dreams seemingly happen on a rainy day.
“help me... please. xiao,” you mumble, tucking yourself deeper into the blanket.
instantaneously the adepti appears kneeling beside your bed. he lightly lifts the cover; and you, fully-adjusted to the darkness, see a perplexed look on his face.
“the rain scares me,” you croak, voice raspy from crying.
xiao’s expression promptly softens. “don’t be afraid. i’m here.”
he pauses before adding, “...and i don’t like the rain either.”
you nod in agreement. the day you stumbled upon your own grave was the same day he explained about what happened to you—a story you reminisce multiple times in your nightmares.
but you’re in no mood for frightening tales.
grabbing his hand, you ask: “can you tell me a story about them?”
xiao’s shoulders relax, appreciating your reassuring hand. “they love adventures and exploring the great unknowns,” he pauses. “now they are finally flying above the stars, just like they always wanted.”
author’s note: before anyone comes after me saying xiao wouldn’t take that long to save you, his part actually occurs at the same time the chasm escape lore happens. so the moment he shows up was the only time he actually heard you calling his name. ‘cause we all know he’d come running to save you instantly if you called ;-;
also, it’s purely platonic on xiao’s part. we don’t ship pedo in this blog;; he simply treats you as a little sister/brother in the #after sections.
update: i’m working on a new angst fic, hehe! i might publish it tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow (if i can’t finish it earlier). also going to work on a masterlist + rules (maybe?)
spoilers, it’s about ayato, diluc, and xiao.
yes. watch me write about diluc and ayato angst again. you can really tell who my faves are (*'▽'*)
Stumbled across your blog and I got to say the way you write is so lovely!! You’ve captured each of the characters so nicely as well! I’m glad you’ve started up a writing blog cause your fics are so soothing //idk if that’s the right word I wanted to use haha// to read!
Cant wait to read more from you! Take care! :3
hi, there!
aaaaa! i’m super thankful, and really appreciate your nice comments about my writing (*´꒳`*)!!
really super happy about your support ( ˊ̱˂˃ˋ̱ ) ♪ hehe and i’m legit crying in the club, right now (tears of happiness aaaa)
i knew it from the first old fashioned, we were cursed
summary: drunk nights like these always end with your mind in a drowsy numbness. but why does your heart pound like a drum in your chest—fast and hot in anticipation of something more than just friends? (in other words, a modern au about drunk nights, hand holding, and unsaid feelings).
→ pairings: childe, zhongli, & alhaitham
→ warnings: fluff, light cursing, not proofread, mentions of drinking and alcohol, gender neutral reader
→ author’s note: i had a dream about my old crushes. as much as i want to say “yikes!! stop that cringe,” i got to admit it made my heart go doki-doki! plus binge listening to taylor’s reputation + midnights albums made the idea pop into my head. slight present tense issues are present (probably) ‘cause it hasn’t been proof read ;-; anyhow, i hope you enjoy it!
credits to @a-cure-for-writers-block on tumblr for the prompts!
beware, slight lengthy post ahead!
feedback, comments, and reblogs are extremely meaningful! i’d love to hear your thoughts on my writing (*´∀｀*)
childe: the sponsor-and-instigator
seemingly, the reason why you’re almost half-dead on the floor.
childe decides it’s a great idea to sponsor a fifth round of drinks when (a majority of) the group threaten to leave.
you and the bunch don’t though,
the shiny allure of brand new drinks put up a convincing fight.
so when you’re cursing his name, slamming imaginary daggers at his back,
the actual demon stands over your tired body, as if summoned. obviously delighted by your drunken state, he sends you a cheeky grin.
you, annoyed at his antics, return his smile with one of your own.
one screaming dare me, i'll leave you to vomit your guts out.
honestly, you never know what he's thinking.
your relationship with the ginger is, in short, awkward. both of you are in the same friend group.
yet, you seem to be closer to actual strangers than with him.
a chance to bond never presented itself. hence, you're stuck in a state of wariness and longing— slightly afraid to offend the man you're trying to be friends with.
so when the opportunity arises (a night out to drink for fun's sake), you immediately agree.
now, you're stuck in this predicament.
a hand behind his back, his arm around your shoulder, your whole body carrying the weight of his, stumbling around.
figures. the reason why he'd approach your tipsy condition is that you're the only one willing to carry (drag his ass) to the sofa.
bad call.
previously, you lounged half-dead on the second floor. which means, you'll have to haul him safely down the stairs.
him climbing the stairs, instead of crawling himself into the couch, baffles you. i mean, the last time you see him is downstairs.
anyway, certain someone (a drunk kaeya, “oops!”) forgets to wipe the pool of water he spilled on the lower steps.
causing you to slip first. as you're the one pulling his body, he soon follows.
the first thing you hear is a loud smack.
and the first thing you think is: you killed him.
“oh god!” you blurt.
you're almost disappointed to hear his sudden laughter. almost.
“i fell for you,” he mumbles.
crouching over him, you furrow your brows. “don't tell me…” you hesitate. “…do you have a concussion?”
childe promptly sits up, gripping your wrist. his sober blue eyes meet yours in a silent plea, as if begging you to grasp the message he's trying to convey.
to realize he's not fooling around.
to understand he’s serious.
maybe that's why it’s so difficult, so embarrassing, so upsetting for you to begin a friendship with the man.
you never want to be friends.
you desire something else, something different, something more.
his fingers, gripping your wrist, slide up in a gentle caress, “why would i try so hard to make you stay?” you feel his thumb brush your shoulder. “why would i try so hard to catch your eye?” his hand skims your cheek. “all the jokes, the teasing, the lingering gazes— all of it.”
childe slides his hand, softly resting his thumb on your lips.
and you swallow a lump in your throat.
“don't look at me like that and then feign innocence,” he whispers. “you keep saying we're friends, but you look at me for a moment too long for that to be true.”
more under the cut!
zhongli: the low-tolerance drunk
at any given occasion (involving drinking), there are ten kinds of drunks.
apparently, zhongli’s the type to look like he can hold his liquor.
but looks can be deceiving, as he’s the first one to drop his glass and sprint to the bathroom.
why he’d rush off after one more cup? who knows.
you feel guilty though. i mean, you’re the one pestering him to chug a glass down.
your pouty lips, twinkling eyes, and soft convincing voice entice him to drink against his one-bottle agenda.
you're that persuasive.
but when he leaves, you feel the loneliness hit. ironic as you cause him to depart in the first place.
hu tao glances at your sullen form, slightly snickering.
it's obvious. extremely obvious how captivated you are by the dark haired man.
a small crush develops into something more intense. you could bask in all his greatness, yet, still be wanting more.
you sigh and wish he'd come back from his break sooner.
since it's mandatory to order additional drinks for sulking individuals. being the best companion (wingwoman) she is, hu tao drags you towards the bartender.
as she orders more glasses, a couple of intoxicated men approach you.
looking at how unsteady they are on their feet and how they stink like alcohol, you assume one had too many to drink.
“hey, cutie.” one slurs. “begging for some lovin'?”
you say, “no, thanks.” and step away. adding, “i'm with a friend.” when you see them follow you.
your eyes search for hu tao, but the amount of people piling around the bar obscure your vision of her.
the other man smirks, “playing hard to get?”
you roll your eyes.
stupid how these men don't take no as an answer. how they presume standing here is an invitation for something else.
before he's able to grab your wrist, a palm swats his hand away.
“excuse me,” zhongli drawls. “you're getting a little too comfortable.”
he wraps a protective arm around your shoulders, against your collar bone. igniting a red blush on your cheeks.
of course he's here to save you.
though, you still want to beat the douchebags up for continuing to hit on you after refusing them.
the man hisses in response, “ouch! shit hurt!”
scowling, zhongli shoots a hostile glare. “my apologies. foolish men daring to touch them puts me in a sour mood.” he gently pulls you, before adding. “be careful. try not to upset me.”
if you know what's good for you, he thinks.
and the irritated man whisks you off somewhere else. gone from the crowded room and away from the vulgar folks you go.
you sense his displeasure, as it radiates his whole body. but you're half-worried, half-giddy.
yes, he's mad. but he’s mad because of you.
“...you're upset.” you hint.
zhongli hums in agreement.
tugging his hand loosely in yours, you ask, “...so what's wrong?”
his thumb brushes your palm in soothing circles before pulling your hand to his lips for a soft kiss.
“darling,” he mumurs. “you don’t know half of the things you do to me.”
alhaitham: the designated-chauffeur
amongst a group of drunkards, there always has to be one sober person who picks up everyone else’s shit.
and unwillingly, alhaitham becomes the appointed chauffeur.
a funny circumstance really.
because: one, he never came to the party in the first place; and two, he meets up with your plastered crowd by pure chance.
and he's certainly surprised to see you.
since you told him the night before that you weren't going, at all.
your heartbeat quickens in anticipation.
i mean, why wouldn't your heart beat like it's running seventy miles an hour? your long-time crush from college (you both take the same classes) suddenly appears out of nowhere to save the group from certain despair (passing out on the sidewalk).
and upon considering he now knows you lied, your heart beats even faster.
“alhaitham, i can explain!” you sputter. “i thought i wasn't going either but—”
tighnari decides it's a great idea to intrude on your speech by gagging his life out on the pavement.
but you totally understand.
cyno succeeded at creating the nastiest concoction of juices and alcohol you've ever tasted— you heave just thinking about it.
“—but first... i think we (you, cyno, and the almost-hurling man),” you continue “need a ride home.”
as he cares about your welfare, and is the most responsible person in the group, he agrees.
but before you can get into the back of his four-seater car, he pulls front-seat car door open. “after you,” he says.
you gulp.
he's mad, alright.
after he drops off the two other intoxicated people in the car, he drives towards your apartment.
your eyes glance at his figure, trying to perceive his mood.
is he still mad? did he feel left out?
is it because you lied?
you couldn't tell.
the deafening silence is killing you. so you put on a brave face and apologize.
“i'm sorry, okay?” you mumble. “i wasn't planning to go but tighnari—don't look at me like that— you, of all people, know he can't hold his liquor.”
“oh? that's it?” he prods, steering the wheel to the right of an intersection.
you huff. “yes, that's it.”
a pause.
“you're a terrible liar.”
you grumble in frustration.
yes, he can see right through your lies. the point is, you've never been a good deceiver. so you curse the alcohol for making your inability to lie more obvious than usual.
thus, you explain the reason why you came to the party: a secret surprise planning session for alhaitham's birthday.
not so surprising now, is it? you remark. his fault for persuading you to spill the beans.
now, you feel guilty. and because you’re guilty, you get grumpy.
and because you’re grumpy, your eyes tear up in frustration.
alhaitham hears your sniffling and sends quick side-glances at you. “are you crying?” he asks.
“no,” you lie.
you blame your weakened emotional state on your weak alcohol tolerance. if you would’ve known he’d show up, you’d be as sober as a judge.
god, you’re absolutely going to embarrassed in the morning.
yet, something pulls on the breaks in your mind.
alhaitham parks the car in front of your garage, and you see the colors of your apartment through glossy eyes.
“please don't lie,” he reaches for your face and places his thumbs below your eyes. sighing, he wipes the fallen tears from your cheeks. “forgive me. i'm not mad, and i didn't mean to ruin the surprise.”
you choke a sob in response.
but, you're too busy tearing up to see how tenderly he looks at you.
with eyes full of longing, eagerness, and want.
“i hate seeing you so upset,” alhaitham cooes. “take a deep breath, sweetheart. you'll be okay.”
thank you so much for reading! ♡
feedback, comments, and reblogs are extremely meaningful!
i’d love to hear your thoughts on my writing ( •̀ ω •́ )✧
summary: it’s your special day and you’re ready to tie the knot with the love of your life. but a certain letter ends up on your doorstep telling you to ‘don’t say yes’ and runaway with him now. hey, what’s a wedding without the drama? (in other words, a modern au about a special someone desperately wanting you to marry him instead. but this begs the question of who?)
→ pairings: diluc, & ayato
→ warnings: slight swearing. angst. fluff (if you squint), mentions of drinking and alcohol, gender neutral reader.
→ author's note: i was listening to speak now (taylor please release the album) and this idea popped in my head. i might write a part two with more characters if i feel like writing more aaaaa. there might be present tense issues since this hasn’t been beta read,, anyway, i hope you enjoy!
long post ahead!
feedback, comments, and reblogs are extremely meaningful!
i’d love to hear your thoughts on my writing ( •̀ ω •́ )✧
the prologue.
“you dropped this.” ganyu says, handing a white envelope with gold engraving.
“a letter?” you ask, confused.
“earlier, you carried the bouquet and it slipped out.”
curiosity beckons you to rip the seal off the letter and pull out a card. the gold print catches your eyes while you repeat the words to your companions.
if second thoughts plague your mind,
meet me at the back entrance of the church.
i’ll see you soon.
“this has to be the worst time to be admitting to a fiancé steal-and-run,” keqing muses.
a joke, this has to be a joke. your thoughts sing. your wedding is in an hour. you should be preparing to walk down the aisle without a worry in the world.
instead, the notion of an objection to your marriage as you recite your vows makes your heart race— in the worst way possible. yet, the thought of who could have done this pops in your mind.
“any idea of who wrote it?” ayaka wonders, as if reading your thoughts.
the timing? the medium? the words? who else can it be?
“just a hunch.”
diluc: the first love
the first meeting with the heir to the ragnvindr corporation begins on the wrong foot.
hell, it begins terribly— you cringe each time the memory resurfaces.
a week before meeting diluc you meet his brother, kaeya—long story short, your father works for the ragnvindrs and wants you to befriend the brothers as they (crepus and papa) are good friends— and he tells you they are going to throw a surprise party for hothead’s eighth birthday.
one problem. he never explains what he looks like.
so on the day of the party, you lounge outside waiting for the birthday boy. and once a redhead arrives, it confuses you.
the invites practically say enter through the back entrance.
gosh, did he not read the invite? what if diluc saw! the party would be ruined!
thinking about it now, you wonder how distracted you were to assume a good looking boy with the rich-kid aura wasn’t diluc.
anyway, you rush towards him and hiss “what are you doing here?” while gripping his hand gently. “the party entrance is at the back door!”
he winces at your sudden friendly contact (or because you bluntly ruined the surprise, he is a smart kid. of course, he knows what you're talking about. yet he couldn't help but ask the question to rouse a reaction out of you) “party?”
“for diluc! his party?” you huff.
at the time, you think this kid has to be the dumbest monkey bun for being too slow to understand the vibe.
while to diluc, he thinks you are the pettiest pipsqueak to ever have lived— he assumes you knew who he is. but wanted to ruin the surprise anyway.
so when kaeya magically whisks through the front door with a smirk saying, “what took you so long, brother?” diluc reasons you’re in cahoots with the he-devil and instantaneously hates you a thousand-fold.
you being a smart kid, feels the resentment. and embarrassment fills up your whole consciousness.
yes. you spoiled the party. great job. and you feel so bad.
as you sincerely apologize, diluc cuts you off with a “save it,” and runs up the stairs to his house.
rude!
but you did ruin his surprise party (kids are petty like that.)
no worries, you do get to apologize properly.
well, after diluc accidentally pushes you causing you to land face first into his birthday cake— okay, to his defense, it wasn't premediated. someone left a bowl on the floor, near the table, he trips, and forces his weight onto your back, causing the whole issue.
though, diluc feels terrible.
yes, he still dislikes you for ruining the surprise (again, children are petty) but not to the point that he would intentionally hurt you.
so he genuinely apologizes.
you truthfully admit you had no idea he was diluc, while saying sorry.
and you become friends.
you both promise to let bygones be bygones.
still, each year on diluc's birthday, you unsurprisingly get a cake slam onto your face (candles excluded!) and he gets messages of “don't forget to bring the cake to diluc's birthday bash at 6:00 o'clock sharp!“ on random days before his actual day.
pretty much, you become the best of friends.
need someone to beat up bullies who laugh because you can't afford new school shoes? he's your kid! he'll pay for the hospital fees and buys two pairs of the shiniest shoes without letting you know it was him.
when bringing it up, he always plays dumb. “shoes? what shoes?”
and that's what you love about him, he never seems to claim the credit.
need a study buddy for high school entrance exams? he's your man! he will not stop until you master each and every subject matter, eyes closed.
and even if you do get failing marks, he never chastises you for it.
he simply encourages and promises he'll keep in touch.
just because you both go to different schools doesn't mean you'll lose your close friendship, you try to console yourself.
so imagine your surprise on the first day of class, seeing his red locks passing through the door. once your eyes meet, a small smile forms on his mouth. “surprised? don't think you’ll be getting rid of me anytime soon.”
and you're ecstatic. the chaotic duo together in high school! imagine all the fun trips, and school events you can attend together!
what are best friends for? obviously to have fun!
some days are particularly bad. like when you're sobbing your lungs out at three a.m. because someone manages to break your heart into a thousand pieces.
he's there too. always there.
imagine his surprise, hearing your heart-wrenching sobs over the phone. his soul breaks hearing you cry and his hands clench in anger; how could anyone hurt someone as wonderful as you?
he absolutely loathes your boyfriend.
ex-boyfriend, he corrects. by the way things are going he won’t accept anything less than stranger with a target on his head.
minutes later, he's inside your house with your favorite drink in hand, rubbing soothing circles behind your back with the other.
you apologize for wasting his time (you both have tests later in the afternoon) and listlessly laugh, “you'll eventually get worn out. my drama's a witch.”
“really?” he hums. “i could never get tired of you.”
more under the cut!
you exchange looks and feel the warmth of a blush crawl up your neck. while diluc coughs sensing the awkwardness.
maybe he does stand a chance. he hopes.
he leaves minutes later, slightly in a better mood to when he came.
yes, he feels awful seeing you cry. but seeing your reddened cheeks as a consequence of his proximity and comfort pacifies his shaky feelings.
things have been slightly awkward for the both of you after.
there have been lingering looks here and there, frequent touching of hands on the bus seat (“it's crowded, stay close.”) even gnawing thoughts of i don't think you know this, but i like you, without courage to say it out loud.
up until a certain incident happens.
with diluc's looks, status, and intelligence, no wonder he's the most popular student in the class. more like the whole year.
mountains of letters appear in his locker daily, and once in a while, a student proclaims their underlying love for redhead (to no avail, as he plainly acknowledges their feelings), finishing off with a “not interested.”
one day an extremely good-looking upperclassmen reaches out to him and confesses their feelings— you, feeling especially jealous, grumbles about how stupid he was to reject such an attractive person.
diluc, slightly annoyed at your assumption, rolls his eyes. “because i fell for you, obviously.”
your mouth gapes open.
what? no way.
his confession results into a game of hide and seek wherein, you: run for your life in sheer surprise (“oh god, this has to be the worst prank he's ever done!”); and him: chasing after you in complete frustration (“is it that hard to accept i have feelings for you?”)
in the end, he catches you underneath the oak tree and you both share a kiss.
how romantic!
both of you stay after school hours to clean up all the trashcans and mop buckets toppled over because of the hunt.
anyway, a relationship with your best friend is pretty blissful. almost very similar to your previous relationship (aka. friendship).
diluc teaches topics you have difficulty with, walks home with you after class, more frequent calls before sleeping at night, a little kiss here and there.
actually, a lot of kisses. and hugs.
with recurring “not in front of my face!” hisses from kaeya.
and retorts of “leave!” and “knock the damn door first!” from you and diluc respectively.
but with every relationship, there are ups and downs.
and one awful down changes everything.
the moment crepus dies—the ragnvindr family vacation (for diluc’s eighteenth birthday) results to a sudden a car crash, with both brothers leaving the incident unscathed but scarred— diluc becomes bitter and closed-off. a natural reaction to someone whose heart has been ripped out into a thousand pieces.
you have been trying to console the hurt man: calling him every night; caressing his hair as he falls asleep; assisting him with homework he’s too exhausted to begin; and hugging his body tight as he shakes in utter grief and sadness.
you’d like to think, slowly by slowly, it gets better.
and sooner or later, you’ll be able to reach out to your closed-off lover.
and it’ll be okay.
but when you’re too busy consoling someone whose heart is covered in sorrow, who’ll be there for you when heartache and sadness take over you?
constantly hiding your feelings become the new normal as you try to lessen the burden on your boyfriend.
until it reaches the breaking point and he lashes out, causing a big fight.
with the pressure of being the next heir to the ragnvindr company, the expectations of stakeholders, and the burden of protecting all he cares about, diluc couldn’t allow himself to be open to any risks.
“it’s impossible to pretend nothing’s wrong, when everything is,” diluc murmurs. “i’m not ready to get hurt again.”
your body shakes and you cry. “why does it sound like you’re saying goodbye?”
it’s a stupid argument.
it wasn’t supposed to end that way.
but it is, what it is: the fight that ended your relationship.
the timing of the quarrel conveniently (sarcasm) destroyed all chances of reconciling with your ex-lover as he decided to: stop attending classes as the last semester of the year ended days before your fight; and to add fuel to the fire, he disappears without a trace.
diluc changes his number, moves out of his apartment. spamming the company email proves to be pointless, and even reaching out to kaeya causes a pitiful look. “sorry, i can’t.”
the last time you’ve seen diluc was the fight. and knowing his personality, he wouldn’t show himself unless he wants to.
so when he appears at the wedding reception carrying a salmon-colored box, feelings of surprise, happiness, and confusion resonate your heart.
“am i dreaming? mr. ragnvindr attending my small wedding?” you jested. “why i’m honored.”
he hands you the gift, shaking his head. “i was invited.”
“i expected you to be busy, you-know, with your own wedding.”
the news of the engagement between the ragnvindr and gunnhildr families captured headlines for months now. of course, you know.
“father would’ve rolled around in his grave if i didn’t.”
you smile. after all these years, the sarcastic diluc you once remember shows his colors, albeit slowly.
your hands pull the ribbon off the present and you open the box. inside, a name tag with your name on it.
before you can inquire the meaning of the present, the master of ceremonies chirps, “now, ladies and gentlemen. we shall have the cutting of the cake!”
that’s your cue to proceed to the main hall and do the honors of cutting the dessert with your beloved husband.
as if sensing your confusion, diluc answers. “so they remember you as the marriage celebrant.” then adds “try not to fall on the cake.”
you burst out laughing. all this time, he’s still the pettiest brat you know. “i thought we let bygones be bygones.”
“i keep my promises.”
soon the mc ushers you towards the cake-cutting table, you taking your time talking must have taken a toll on the program flow.
a thought suddenly nags your consciousness. who wrote the letter?
turning your neck slightly, you see diluc walk towards a good-looking blonde woman, and his brother. a small smile creeps on his face.
of course, diluc didn’t write the letter.
he’s never one for regrets and second thoughts.
bonus:
“oh god!” you wail. “i failed math and science!”
diluc’s bewildered. all he hears before you bust down his front door are scrambled expressions of i’ll never get into college! and i’ll die alone!
you’re sixteen. you have your whole life ahead of you. how two failed quizzes develop into the slippery slope destruction of your complete existence confuses him.
bawling, you grip his wrist. “diluc— you have to attend my wedding.”
he knows you well. whenever something terrible happens, whether it be a failed test or even larger issues, your mind spirals down the road of bad thoughts, irrational beliefs, and unreasonable consequences.
a sarcastic reply almost escapes his lips, but the worried look on your face erases it completely.
“…i will,” he answers.
“you will?” you sputter, brows furrowed in confusion.
of course he will. what kind of person would he be to miss your wedding?
“i promise.”
ayato: the nemesis
no one manages to ignite the nastiest part of your soul like kamisato ayato.
i mean, you’ve met your fair share of handsome, rich, and smart men, but he succeeds in coming out on top as the worst of the bunch.
yes, he is good-looking, wealthy, and clever.
denying the fact is impossible.
but when someone talks about how kind-hearted he is?
how generous and caring?
it makes you blow a fuse.
you first meet him at a college party.
ayaka invites you to a close nit celebration with a few of your close friends, to celebrate the end of the exam week. her brother, who you’ve never met before as he skipped a year (or two), attends as well through her pestering. as she wants him to get to know her, quote “soulmate!”
you’ve only known the woman for a short while (four months) and you expect her own sibling to be as fun, charming, and generous as she is.
boy, are you wrong.
he arrives with his own friend group, all smiles, and takes the farthest seat away from where you, ayaka, and keqing (a classmate) are. he waves at his sister and returns to talk with a man with messy blonde hair.
ayaka annoyed at his indifference, hollers, “my friends! keqing and—” and pointing at you, “my closest confidant!”
ayato replies with a short wave and a smile.
he seems nice! (for now)
the party goes on: more glasses in hand, a few drinking contests, loud laughter, screaming, until it comes to a point where you feel dizzy from all the blinding lights— and your stomach makes this grumbling, gurgling noise.
you guessed it. you’ve eaten something bad. very bad.
muttering a quick “watch my drink,” you head outside. and ready yourself for any hurl that may sprout from your mouth.
while crouching behind a dumpster, you hear the chime of the door opening. the sight of blue hair catches your eyes, and you can’t help but listen into the conversation he’s having on his phone.
they weren’t being particularly quiet. i mean, it’s difficult to tune out someone shouting at the top of their lungs.
well, you’re not particularly blameless either. alcohol tends to turn the lightest of sounds into the heaviest of noises.
“having fun? meet anyone interesting?” the person on the phone asks.
ayato scoffs, “no one special.” he kicks a pebble before adding, “a few are nice, some are pathetic.”
his sudden display of hostility causes you to slip and, before you know it, his eyes meet yours. awkwardly, you grin. he returns the gesture with a smirk and walks back inside the bar.
a fluke, you reason. you’ve probably caught him at the wrong time. it’s easy to assume the bad in people out of context.
so you give him the benefit of the doubt.
the next day, you run into him outside the university courtyard with his friends. hoping (that you read the room wrong yesterday), you try to start a conversation with the man.
it ends fruitless though. he succeeds in ending the discussion as quick as possible with the excuse of having classes.
hey, sure! of course, you understand. classes are important.
so you disregard his unresponsiveness.
a comment from ayaka, irks you. “really? he’s free at the afternoons though?” only slightly.
it’s fine! of course, you get the picture. talking to strangers tire some people out.
so you forget his lie.
but every time you try to get to know your best friend’s brother, he always succeeds in turning the conversation into something one-sided, leaving you feeling neglected afterwards.
oh well. so what if he’s nice to everyone but you?
who cares if he gets along with all your friends?
it doesn’t hurt you one bit! (even if you’re the only one uninvited to hangout with his friends)
who needs a narrow-minded, rude, and overcritical jerk like him anyways?
thus, you ignore the douchebag with the passion of a burning suns.
except this time, he purposely steps on the paper (the air-conditioner blows it off your desk) that took you the whole night to cram and write by hand.
he does pick it up.
however, the ungenuine “sorry,” he quips (with his signature smirk) fuels your anger to the highest level.
and you lose your temper.
but not before scrambling to erase the footmarks left on your paper ahead of the due date. which was in five minutes, tops.
nevertheless, you do confront him about the issue a few hours later.
“listen here, you piece of shit. it took me hours to finish that paper. hours!”
“i apologized, didn’t i?” he gibes.
your face reddens in frustration, “you’re going to pay for that!”
he smiles. “oh? is that a threat?”
that becomes the day you place a target on his back.
and the start of frivolous payback fueled by pure animosity and bitterness.
you offer homemade donuts to the kamisato household (you visit for a project), specifying that the box with the blue ribbon is for the unfortunate creature ayato only.
he gives you the stink eye the next day. he must love the mayonnaise-filled doughnuts.
ayato returns the favor by replacing the cream-filling of oreo cookies with toothpaste. in your defense, the wrapper was completely sealed and untampered. it’s impossible to know how he did it!
one afternoon, you place sticky notes all over his car. imagine his surprise to see an assortment of ‘goodlucks’ and smiley faces on the yellow paper,
and the list goes on.
weird enough. no matter what pranks you throw at each other, it’s sort of an unspoken rule to never cause enough harm to seriously hurt one’s studies or reputation (feelings).
you hope.
hence it comes as a complete shock to see your own cellphone floating in a bucket of mop water. no matter what you do, the device doesn’t turn on, prompting you to buy a new one.
a cost you can’t afford either.
so you cry.
both from the stress and betrayal.
the initial anger from his neglect faded into something akin to dislike, closer to light bickering. it hurt more thinking how you were almost getting along. even if it’s not the most conventional way of becoming friends.
when ayato comes through the door. seeing as you’re late for another school project at the kamisato household (his sister begged him to pick you up) and he’s at the same building anyway, why not walk together? (with a bit of teasing along the way)
the first thing he sees are the tears streaming down your face. followed by your excruciating sobs. he instantly knows something’s wrong.
“what happened to your face?” he asks, softly.
cheeks flushing, you seethe. “how could you! stupid pranks, i understand. but destroying my stuff? you’re awful!” and another sob racks your body.
he watches your hands cradle a wet cellphone and right away, comprehends the situation.
you think he did this.
you think he deliberately hurt your feelings (and phone).
unexpectedly, the thought of you hating him wounds his conscience.
“i may dislike you, but i’m not heartless.” he mutters.
with glossy eyes, you stare at the man.
he looks sincere. the most sincere you’ve ever seen him.
'cause you’re too busy noticing his flaws and scheming
he’s telling the truth, isn’t he? i mean, he isn’t the type to lie and all. instead, he’s more likely to laugh and take the claim rather than play innocent.
...so you believe him.
but ayato senses the hesitation and sighs.
slightly irritated by your skepticism, he grips your chin with his fingers and gently pulls your face towards his—your eyes meet. “is it that hard to believe?”
you shake your head. almost immediately.
and the issue is solved.
you believe the jerk-face is telling the truth (calling him one to eradicate the sappiness and to keep up with your i-slightly-don’t-hate-you-but-i-have-to-pretend-i-do-for-reputations-sake persona).
and he trusts you'll treat him the same (and forget about his sentimental moment with you in the classroom).
did i mention, you also receive a new phone from him the next day?
you burst into ayaka’s empty classroom, holding up the new device. “please tell your brother i’m thankful. but did he have to flaunt his cash by getting the newest model? oh god—” you exclaim. “i owe him a kidney now, don’t i?”
your closest friend shoots a quizzical look and asks, “what phone?”
dazed, you look at her.
who else would’ve bought you the phone?
so you take her confusion as protecting her brother’s character (doubt the man would appreciate you advertising how kind and caring he is to buy someone, one who has smacked an egg on his head last week, a phone).
and you go on with your day, occasionally throwing the guy a stink eye.
by now, you realize your relationship with your adversary changes from ‘i slightly despise you so damn much!’ into ‘hey, some brat pushed me down the stairs. you in for some whooping?’
simply, he becomes the chaotic, manipulative, and scheming associate you can count on to teach you math problems, while being present for more sinister things.
like recording three upperclassmen threatening to pummel you for breaking their so-called angel’s heart. technically, ayato did the breaking. and why you’re being bullied in his place, you have no clue.
“really? suing them? are you insane?” you blurt.
ayato shrugs his shoulders. “why? prefer a hit man?”
“no— what? i can’t afford a lawyer!”
you don’t have to, he has you covered.
apparently his trust fund covers intimidation, lawsuits, and hospital bills (for, surprisingly, a fourth upperclassman trying to trip you after hearing the first three fail at their bullying tactics).
not only does he offer protection over bullies, he provides unsolicited relationship advice as well!
like the time you start dating a student from a different university. each occasion you try bringing up the man, he has no qualms in squandering the alleged person’s reputation.
you roll your eyes. “he’s not that bad! he’s kind and smart and loves the same music i do!”
this close, you are this close to throwing your drink at him.
good thing you don’t.
days later, the so-called boyfriend goes missing and the next time you find him is at a bar. dancing and kissing random strangers.
you’re too agitated at the i told you so smirk forming on ayato’s lips to berate the player for hurting your feelings.
anyway, besides the pranks and teasing, kamisato ayato’s a great friend.
though, sometimes you have your doubts.
especially when it comes to being the best man of your wedding.
why your husband decided on him, you absolutely have no idea.
“no. you will not bartend!” you hiss. “the last time you did, we ended up blacking out on a beach! on a random island! with thoma vomiting his guts out!”
ayato hums. “oh? your loss. it’s not everyday a special someone gets married.”
though, he senses your unrest. earlier, you were over the moon, excited for wedding. now, a feeling of dread radiates your form. mixed with the sudden outburst (asking to bartend was more of a joke, really), he knows something happened.
so he prods the subject. hoping it results to an answer (instead of him being kicked out from the ceremony).
and you, though reluctant, explain how a letter landed in your dressing room, begging you to stop and marry them instead.
eyes squinting at his, a sudden clarity forms in your head. “too low. this has to be the worst prank you’ve ever played! on my day— you’re nuts!”
ayato pauses, thinking. “i’m flattered, really, but i’m no wedding crasher.”
you shake your head, taken aback.
if he didn’t do it. who else would it be?
suddenly, the processional song chimes, causing you to flinch in surprise.
following the sound, an elated ayaka hollers, calling your attention to walk to your proper place (as practiced in rehearsals).
curiously, you peek at the quiet man. “you know, i still don’t really know why i used to despise you.”
ayato smiles. “i’m irresistible, aren’t i?”
bonus:
“you’re a bad liar, did you know that?”
ayato peeks at his younger sister. “oh, really?”
she knowingly places a hand on his shoulder. “everyone knows you’d wreck the wedding if you wanted to.” she pauses, “so why didn’t you?”
faraway, he watches as you bounce your legs in excitement. and soon, the doors will open, and you’ll walk towards the love of your life.
the thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.
“they’re good for each other.” he lies.
though he never wrote the letter. sometimes he falls asleep with you on his mind. is it worth it? risking everything he holds dear, for a chance?
would you have fallen in love with him instead?
as symphonies of music reach his ears, a stinging thought sings.
‘would you have said yes if he asked?’
feedback, comments, and reblogs are extremely meaningful!
i’d love to hear your thoughts on my writing ( •̀ ω •́ )✧
