i think what got me the most this episode is the very, very ending.
you can tell sakuna lives inside phaya now, that they've become one in the same.
"i'm sorry i didn't recognize you" because sakuna would never forget wansarut but he was locked away and limited by mortal phaya's memories.
"i wouldn't have let you stay close to that man." because sakuna would have never, ever allowed chalothorn anywhere near tharn, never would have tolerated his constant interference - but phaya didn't know, didn't know how that man had hurt them and torn his heart from his body the moment wansarut hit the cold hard ground.
"from now on, always stay close to me." because sakuna can't ever take his eyes off wansarut again, can't bear the thought of what may happen, can't stand the thought of what has already happened as tharn kept his mortal body safe. "you have to stay by my side."
"because you are only mine." because sakuna will not let chalothorn have him, he will not bend his knee to the snake that has torn them apart time and time again. tharn is not a petty trinket to be had, he is the most precious thing in his life and the very reason he and phaya still live today.
sakuna cradles tharn's face between his hands, knows he has finally come home, and he won't allow any force in the world to take his home from him again.
Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader (no Marc yet)
Summary/Context: The one in which opening a bakery garners you a rather interesting friendship with a certain gift shoppist.
Rating: Semi-explicit
Warning/Content: Dub-con (both parties are drinking), non-graphic smut, fem!reader, no beta we die like Harrow
Word Count: 845
Author’s Note: The first fix I’ve published since 2018. I feel like someone’s ma trying to be down with the young crowd.
-
Steven is far too shy to ask the lady from the baker's for dinner, so instead he finds a way to meander into your shop as often as he can. It becomes almost a routine, a reason to interact with you.
He is all nerves and awkward angles, though you never seem to mind. Your face lights up when he walks in, and if the shop is not too busy, you will talk for a bit. "Oh, Steven, I have something for you to try," you told him once before scuttling over to a small paper-wrapped basket. "It's a new recipe. I got inspired by one of the stories you told me."
"Me?" he inquired, shifting in his seat. "How... wait, no... I didn't think I could do that."
Your laughter rings in his ears - gentle, amused by his words but not at the cost of him. "I feel like that sometimes, too." And yet, you grin impishly as you set the basket on the counter before him. "Try them, please?"
Steven takes one triangular bit between his fingers, feeling the semi-sticky coating. The bake is fragrant - fruits, nuts, cinnamon - "Is this a honey cake?"
Your excitement is palpable, so sweet against his senses. Eyes bright and that soft lower lip caught between your teeth as you watch him take a bite. "Yes! It's a tiger nut honey cake! I might have done some Googling and changed it slightly."
He can't stop the small noise that escapes him, somewhere between a moan and a grunt, derived solely in pleasure. "Bloody hell, that's a fine bake." You’re smiling so brightly at him - he wonders if you taste as sweet, if you'll melt against his tongue -
Steven coughs, almost choking on the next bite, ears warm with shame.
"Oh, no. Do you need some water?"
He needs many things, none of which he can have.
-
As days turn into weeks, the tension between the two of you only grows. Often, late in the night when Steven finds himself fighting sleep and staring up at his ceiling, he is plagued with thoughts of you. Scenes of a possible life together seemingly just out of reach - dancing in his flat, introducing you to his mum.
But what is worse is the impropriety, the thoughts that have his heart racing and his cock throbbing in the confines of his trousers. He knows it is depraved, and yet he cannot stop himself from indulging so often.
-
The tonal shift happens somewhere in between friendship and the unspoken question of ‘What are we?’ The now-familiar tension between you two snaps when the you invite him to your little apartment above the bakery for dinner. A bit of wine turns into a bit more wine, amidst shared stories and laughter that leaves you gasping for breath.
Steven is listening to you talk about your ‘old, pre-Blip life’ in New York when he realizes the pair of you have almost entirely finished the bottle. He is warm, flushed, but he cannot bring himself to care as his gaze lingers over your lips, soft and pinkish and wet as your tongue peeks out. He swallows, downing the rest of his glass in hopes of keeping his hands to himself. "Woah there, Stevie," you giggle, leaning close, hand on his shoulder. "Don't wanna get sick!"
He can smell the wine on your breath, fermented grapes alongside the flowery scent on your skin. The air grows thick between them, breath coming heavy as each gazes at the other. And yet, in all his nervousness, it is Steven that moves first - lunging forward to press his mouth to yours, hands clamoring for purchase at your waist.
The kiss is rough, rife with inexperience and want. Your fingers thread through his hair, and he groans into your pliant mouth. A gasp works its way from between your teeth when he pulls you closer by your skirts, those flighty hands grasping the fabric without mercy. Your legs tremble when you stand, and he gasps as your bodies part, seemingly surprised.
"Oh, bollocks," he groans, voice thinning in shame. "I'm sorry... I shouldn't have - "
Your response is a soft noise, almost a whine as you untie the front of her dress with deft fingers. Words die on his tongue at the sight of her bared chest, gently-heaving breasts donned in soft lace. " - oh - oh my."
"Touch me, Stevie. Please."
And later?
When your intertwined forms tumblr in your poor bed, and he's between your thighs, every moment a sacrament as you lose yourselves in each other's bodies. He touches you as if he is afraid it will end, desperate and filthy, a worshipping all its own. It aches, how badly he wants to tell you that he loves you, but he can settle for pouring that emotion into you flesh. He could die there a happy man, surrounded by you - breathy moans and slick flesh and grasping hands and the squeeze of your cunt around him with each movement. He thinks he just might, suffocating in the intensity of it all.
-
Did you enjoy the story? Would you like something that I wasn't written d a late-night binge of Mitski? Drop me an ask!
what if I dug into my chest and harvested my trauma, put it on the exam table and sliced it open to show the parts that create the whole
what if I reached into my skull and unwound the threads of my thoughts and instead used them to knit you a kaleidoscopic tapestry of where I have been and what I have seen
what if I caressed my veins like the strings of a violin and played you a careful waltz, a back and forth of passion and desire
what if I siphoned my blood to make ink and wrote a eulogy of who I wanted to be, who I am, and who I could become
what if hid those little pieces of myself inside the characters dancing on the page, strangers that somehow mirror so much of myself from within their own universes
and what if I called fanfiction therapy for tired souls that want to be seen but dread the ordeal of being known
Tharn cradled Phaya's body to his chest just as Phaya had cradled his so closely the night before, damp skin pressed together once again. He pressed his fingers to Phaya's neck and searched for a pulse, not unlike the way Phaya had grasped his throat. His heartbeat had stuttered against his grip just as Phaya's stuttered now. He tilted Phaya's head just slightly to get the right angle before leaning down to press his lips to his and the image of Phaya turning his head and devouring his mouth burned somewhere inside him.
He shared his breath with Phaya, a familiar sensation after their mingled breaths the night before; the way they'd practically panted into each other's mouths. He pulled away and pressed his palms to Phaya's chest, not stroking or burning a trail this time but instead pushing - pushing with far more force than Phaya had used to press him against the shower wall. He timed the motions, pressing his weight down in a rhythm so similar to the one that still ached across his body as a reminder of the early hours of this morning.
When Phaya did not rouse, his body pliant in an almost cruel caricature of Tharn's own after their coupling, he pulled him into his arms again. He shouted, these shouts for help worlds apart from the impassioned litany he'd cried out against Phaya's sheets.
One night had been everything he'd ever dreamed of while this one was turning into his every dreaded nightmare.
(inspired by @negrowhat 's recent brainrot posts, sorry beloved)
a little peek at better off alone (chen yi/ai di soulmark au) chapter 3
“You know I tried to have it removed?”
Chen Yi knew he wasn’t meant to hear the words but the door had been left cracked just slightly and he’d had to pass it as he crossed the hall. He found himself rooted in place, a horrible, viscous sensation seeping into his chest. Surely this was about something else, surely he was jumping to conclusions.
“You know that’s not–”
“I bought those stupid creams they advertise to help it fade, used up five bottles before giving up.”
There was a stretching silence where Chen Yi very nearly stepped away and left the conversation behind to tend to his wounded heart and hand.
“Why?” Bai Zong Yi was like him, of few words and straight to the point. Chen Yi had always respected that about him.
“I didn’t want anyone but him to be my soulmate.” Chen Yi had been stabbed, burned, and even grazed by a bullet. None of that pain came anywhere close to the breath-stealing pain that exploded in his chest and stomach. Why hadn’t he ever noticed Ai Di’s incandescent love? It was bright, all consuming, unconditional, and pure. It was more than he’d ever deserved.
Ai Di tried to cover it by opening a beer can but Chen Yi knew him and could hear the little sniffle he let out. He hadn’t realized how deep Ai Di’s hurt went, how deeply he’d left gouges in his heart. He leaned against the wall next to the door, legs stretched out in front of him as he sank slowly. He wanted to go in there, to figure out some way to make things right, but words had never been his strong suit. What could you even say to take away all that pain?
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/?
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Ai Di | Eddie/Chen Yi, Bai Zong Yi/Fan Ze Rui, Chen Dong Yang/Zhou Ming Lei
Additional Tags: Role Reversal, Prison Swap AU, Gratuitous Amount of cursing, Angst with a Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, no beta we die like zhang teng
Chen Yi goes to prison instead of Ai Di. Everything feels as if it’s been moved slightly to the left; some things are different while others remain exactly the same.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: 奇蹟 | Kiseki: Dear to Me (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Relationships: Ai Di | Eddie/Chen Yi (Kiseki: Dear To Me)
Characters: Chen Yi (Kiseki: Dear To Me), Ai Di | Eddie
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant
“I smell blood.”
Ai Di wasted no time sitting back on his heels and yanking up the shirt of a still dumbstruck Chen Yi. His eyes first narrowed in on the wound, refusing to show on his face how grateful he was that it was a fairly minor scrape. While his heart rate settled his eyes wandered to the opposite hip, the dark lines over the exposed strip of skin causing his brow to furrow. Had that always been there?
have a surprise wip wednesday saturday for all my This Is the Day I Left You readers
here's a little peek at chapter 2
year one
He wished he could say the days passed in a haze but the truth was Ai Di was acutely aware of each and every one.
‘It’ll get easier as time goes on. It’s not forever.’ Bai Zong Yi had said during his most recent visit but he couldn’t bring himself to believe the words. He couldn’t imagine the pain in his chest ever fading and wondered if he ever wanted it to. If it faded that meant he didn’t love Chen Yi anymore, right? It’d be a relief, surely, but he knew no other state of being. What would an Ai Di that didn’t love Chen Yi even look like? Would he recognize himself in the mirror?
Ai Di stepped into the bedroom, not his own, but one cradled by glass panels and washed in neon lights. He slipped the leather jacket off his shoulders and secured it to a hanger on the back of the door before making his way into the bathroom. Fingers crusted in dried blood traced over the counter lazily, all the way to the sink where he scrubbed. And scrubbed. And scrubbed. He lost himself in the methodical rhythmic movements, trying to will his mind to settle into some semblance of peace.
Once he’d washed his face and dried his hands he picked up a small, innocuous bottle nestled on the back of the counter. Ai Di hesitated, ignored the shaking in his hands, before lifting it to his nose and inhaling slowly. Just the scent alone brought a sting to the back of his eyes that had nothing to do with the cologne itself and everything to do with who had worn it.
He tucked the bottle against his palm and walked into the bedroom once again, standing in front of the jacket as if facing a firing squad. He didn’t know what he was waiting for, really. Maybe for the door to swing open and Chen Yi to be standing on the other side, brow furrowed and lips turned down in disapproval? The door remained closed.
Ai Di lifted the bottle and sprayed twice, once near the collar and then again at the sleeves that so often swallowed his hands. It wasn’t the same, the cologne alone didn’t have the unique smell of Chen Yi, but it was the closest he could get now. Did he feel absolutely pathetic for this little ritual? Absolutely. But there was no one here to see it.
