#ANYWAY LOVE YOU G'NIGHT

[guqin-and-flute]

Holding Me Holding You–Ch. 7 [3zun Raise Jingyi Prequel]

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6]

[Ao3 Link]

[Holy shit, how has it been 2 years since I last updated this fic?? ANYWAY HELLO HI I MISSED YOU. We're keeping the baby, guys. CW: Disjointed, slightly nonlinear narration; negative self talk; more talk of battle aftermath, bodies (gross but no more graphic than prev chapters), and death; focus on lots of trauma to do with death and grief; general Twin Jade parental trauma; vaguest mention of child death, in that he repeatedly tells himself there isn't one and remembers part of his nightmare about Wangji/A-Fu dying]

Who are you?

‘Wen Baiqi.’

What must be done for you to rest?

‘Say goodbye. Tell her goodbye.’

It’s raining in Qishan. It’s nothing like the rain in Gusu.

Who are you?

‘Hei Xuecen.’

What must be done for you to rest?

‘All my fault all my fault ALL MY FAULT--’

This rain isn’t crisp, but disconcertingly warm. It doesn't bring life. It soaks into the ground, milling the dirt back into the blood and gore bloated mud of that night, sucking at their feet. Reeking of putrefaction. It coats Xichen’s tongue and throat.

Who are you?

Each time, there is a chance he will receive a reply from the Yiling Patriarch himself. 

‘Ye Qian.’

He never does.

What must be done for you to rest?

‘Never apologized--’

What would he do if he did?

Who are you?

What would Zewu-jun do? Clan Leader Lan?

What must be done?

Would he soothe his spirit?

Who are you?

Ghostly fingers pluck at his sleeves constantly. 

Who are you?

‘Nie Zixing. Never knew him, tell them--’

When he had first arrived, the bodies of Wei Wuxian’s Wen contingent still hung from the gate to the battleground. Or what remained of them. After scavengers, time, and the elements had had their turn. Swaying in the warm, wet breeze along with carrion birds’ cries and the distant tunes of the guqin language. Grisly pendulums. Dripping.

There is no small boy among them. He had hoped against hope, but now he knew for sure. This secret is tucked deep, deep down beneath his heart.

Who are you?

The corpses on the ground are Wen. They are Lan. They are strangers. They are Da-ge, lying bloody on the floor of the Scorching Sun Palace. They are A-Zhan.

"We should burn them like they did to our people. Scatter their ashes, so they will never rest." A venomous whisper from his own disciples, a young man, face twisted in rage.

(“They’re killing everyone,” he had choked his sobs into A-Yao’s arms. “My people--my family are all dead and I did nothing.”)

A-Yuan had been so, so pale against the sheets. So tiny compared to the infirmary bed.

“These people?" Xichen’s voice is quiet. "These cultivators that studied healing? Miles and miles from Qishan?”

Silence.

“Did they destroy our home? Did we fight them in Sunshot?”

Too little, far too late.

There is no small boy among them. There isn’t.

A-Zhan, gray and slack, eyes glassy, head lolling--

He pushes the dream-memory away.

Who are you?

‘Jin Mingni. 

My father--’

"We will bury them and hold the proper rites, as we have the rest of the fallen. And I will ask you to swear yourselves to secrecy regarding their exact resting place. In case anyone later shares your thinking.”

‘Zhou Sanniang. Never wanted to come. Save me.’

“Help me bring them down.”

There may be no small boy among the Wen, but he sees corpses all day, every day. They're in his dreams. He cannot stop seeing them. And he cannot stop seeing a boy (Afuyuanzhan) among them, from the corner of his eye.

He can never quite catch the face before he realizes there is no one actually there.

A skeletal hand is unearthed when they lift a body--a remnant of the Sunshot Campaign, years before. There were plenty of partial skeletons from that time that the Yiling Patriarch had raised to fight them. It seems some didn't have the strength to fight their way out from the mud. The death here has layers. A slow growing mountain of violence and dead and blood instead of stone. The building of the Burial Mounds’ successor.

Do the Burial Mounds have as many crows? Is it a feasting ground, as this has become?

They carry the quiescent dead, cover them with cloth, lay them in rows. Those whose spirits have passed on easily. They lie with their Sect members--when they are able to discern who they are. Still, fields of undyed cloth mounds, waiting to be retrieved by their loved ones, if they still live. Somewhere out there, there must be people still alive, families whole and happy, living in the sunshine. Somewhere.

Who are you?

His fingertips bleed from days playing Linhai and Liebing.

What must be done for you to rest?

Even those here that are living shamble like the dead--the rogue cultivators, his Lan disciples, the handful cultivators from other Sects, all here for the same goal, all hollow eyed and pale. He is supposed to be here for morale. 

They work deep into the night, far from familiar, ingrained rules about schedule and tidiness, here. Adrift.

What must be done--?

The fierce corpse is not a powerful one, merely tenacious. Shuoyue snakes out. It crumples immediately with a muted splurch into the muck, halved.

‘Tell her I loved--’

The top half of the corpse writhes, still scrabbling for him. The sound it makes from its ruined face is horrid. It's a wonder it can sense his yang qi at all; no eyes, no nose. Its robes are a splotchy black and rusty brown-red, but the Lan ribbon around its forehead manages to show a ragged white through it, here and there.

The talisman sears, blinding. It is enough. The body slumps for the last time. He can settle into that mud, summon Linhai from his qiankun bag for the Songs of Rest.

Who are you?

‘Lan Ruicai.

Show them all--’

The blood of the walking dead is no longer life-hot, but the same, unnerving lukewarm as the rain. He cannot feel it. He can’t tell where it’s stained him until he reaches his tent each night. 

He is efficient. He is in control.

The rain here doesn't cleanse anything. It hasn’t stopped for days.

Everything is the same color; the sludge, the thick haze of lingering resentful energy, palms, boots, the hems and knees of robes. That old clotted wound color. Dirt repelling talismans can only do so much before they are overpowered by the sheer weight of yin energy permeating everything. Stained.

There's no use cleaning. He tries anyway.

‘I was so scared, so scared--’

Who are you?

Sometimes, the spirits do not answer. Sometimes, they speak first, before he can even start the questions, raking the strings repeatedly in their anguish. Sometimes, they try to tear the guqin from him, try to rend his clothes, squeeze his throat. Sometimes, banishment is the only way. 

The sudden shrieks and roars at night startle everyone from sleep. If Wangji was well, he would be here. He is known for going where the chaos is.

Is that what had led him to this? To Wei Wuxian? An affinity for soothing chaos? For chaos itself?

Who are you?

‘Don’t know. Want to go home--’

"I can't anymore, zongzhu, I-I--"

"It's alright. Return to the Cloud Recesses. You’ve done enough."

Sometimes, he wakes in the night to find that he is in the middle of dressing, having no memory of doing so, a clump of cleansing talismans clutched in his numb hands. He has cut down so many fierce corpses, he’s lost count.

Who are you?

Food is tasteless glue in his mouth.

Who are you?

Every night, he is sure to take the medicine that gives him no dreams.

‘Oh gods oh gods ohgodsohgods--’

Every night, he prays that he has not left Uncle overwhelmed, that his people are being cleansed and healed back home, that Wangji has stopped bleeding, that A-Yuan is healing, that A-Fu is….

Who are you?

(What right do you have?)

What must be done?

He has been here for days that run into one, long, dark, meaningless drain. 

‘Son. Baby. Where is he?'

Who are you?

‘Pan Liu.’

His raw fingers pause on Linhai’s strings, still humming. Rain patters quietly on the hat that shields his face from it.

He knows that name. How does he know that name.

There have been plenty of others he had recognized among the dead, from different Sects and his own, from childhood, from Cultivation Conferences, from class. But each time, he must pull himself back to that life to remember, away from the rain and the red and the dead.

He can’t place it.

What must be done for you to rest?

‘My baby. Safe.’

The spirit is a thin wisp of light, playing about the strings, shining on the dark wood. Focused. Waiting.  

Who is your son?

‘Lan Fu.’

His mouth is dry.

("A-niang?" A hopeful little voice. The memory of a crumpled form in the blood-churned muck, a shoe print between shoulder blades….) 

It is cruel, endlessly cruel that he is the one alive. That he is the one sitting in the mud across from this poor young mother’s spirit. That he is the one with blood enough in his hands to leave rain blotted stains on the strings as he tells A-Fu’s mother; He is safe.

(Shrieks of raw sound as they carry him away. Echoing off the trees. Reaching back for him.)

A hesitation. Then, ‘Who are you?’

Lan Xichen. Zewu-jun.

‘Zongzhu.’

He will be safe. I swear. 

‘...Safe.’

Rest, now.

‘...Rest….’ The notes are quiet, exhausted. Longing.

Then, silence. That pale light is gone. 

She is gone.

He sits, still and silent as the soft caverns in the clotted mud continue to patter around him. His face is wet--mist and rain and blood. He almost wishes it was tears. 

He aches in a new, terrible way, now.

Oh, little one. You were so loved.

He has been witness to both sides, now, of this small, destroyed family reaching for each other through the dark. And how useless he has been in the task of bringing either of them lasting peace. 

To bring anyone lasting peace. 

(Useless.)

And do you serve anything so fiercely that it would be your last thought, taken across into death? 

It is irrelevant. The soul quieting ceremony had been performed on them as children, with all the other inner disciples. He will not linger as a ghost, even if he were to be struck down by a fierce corpse this instant.

He finds himself trying to remember if his mother had ever mentioned having had such a ritual performed on her….

Selfish. You would have your own mother suffer and linger as an unquiet ghost for some sort of twisted confirmation that you were loved? 

Xichen remembers childhood before the death of his parents. The infinity of all of it. It probably never crossed A-Fu’s mind to beg her to stay with him. (“No, no go! P’ease!”) She had always returned before. 

The memory of A-Fu clinging to his hands so tightly he had drawn blood with his nails is inescapable. 

During that final farewell at the Jingshi, A-Huan too had had no idea it would be the last time he would ever see his mother’s face. He didn’t know what creeping death looked like, then. She was simply her, smiling, twinkling at them.  He had kissed her cheek and taken Wangji’s hand and waved to her through her ornately carved window screen as Uncle led them away. Wangji had always been the one to pull back, to fuss over leaving. Uncle had always made sure that Xichen set a good example for him.

The snowy day she had left this world, cold and dry, so far from the warm wet muck he was in now, something in him hadn’t believed it. Hadn’t believed that someone could just…no longer exist, just as suddenly as a storm might blow over the mountain summit with no warning. 

He saw her so sparingly, it seemed impossible that she wasn't just simply waiting in her front room for them to visit with a smile and open arms.

How? he had asked. When? Why?

Uncle had said that it was not for children to know. This pulled it even farther into the unreal, stretching his comprehension. It felt like a dream, a lie. A story. But if he could just see her…if he could just prove that this was some sort of…misunderstanding--

(Xichen had never asked again after that first refusal sat in his gut like a chilly stone. He suspected that Wangji had not either. Even now, decades later, he still did not know how his mother had actually died. 

He suspected enough, however. 

He knew it was sudden. He knew it was unexpected. He knew no one spoke of it. He knew it had broken his father beyond any hope of repair. Uncle had not volunteered the information, even now, when they were both grown. And Xichen will not allow useless rumination. Rule 60.)

 He remembered he hadn’t been able to stop crying. A-Huan had always hated crying--he always tried to hide away and not bother anyone with it, but this had been constant. 

Uncle had squeezed his shoulder and spoken softly, and reminded him after hours of stopping and starting that he must not grieve in excess, that he would make himself sick, that he was agitating Wangji, that he needed to calm himself, death was a natural passing, like the moon or a river, one must not let their emotions control them.

But still, that something in him that just knew it wasn't true waited until it was dark, until curfew set in and the snow lit the night full-moon-bright, reflecting the stars and lanterns. He had pulled on his boots and slipped from his window, cautiously darting across the paths of the Cloud Recesses in just his pajamas and his blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders, shivering from more than the cold. 

This had to be a trick that he didn’t understand; a joke or a punishment for something he had done wrong. When he figured out what to apologize for, he would be able to see her again. 

The fear of being caught breaking the rules was washed away when he crossed beneath the familiar bower wound with skeletal winter vines. His mother’s house stood dark. All around it, snow was churned and broken, as if many people had been there. In all his memory, no one else had ever visited the Jingshi. The door was unlocked. 

It opened onto emptiness and moonlight. 

Everything was gone.  Her plants. The blue cushioned couch. Her desk and papers. Her dragon incense burner. Her tall candlesticks. Her big, thick, round rug they laid on and played games. The pictures he had painted for her.

He had drifted, stunned, through the shell of his mother’s home. The only proof that she had ever even been there were the scratches on the floor from where furniture had been dragged. That, and the scent of her that still lingered underneath the smell of whatever they had scrubbed the floor and walls with. They had erased her completely. Like she was never there in the first place.

Then it had settled on him like a cloak of lead, dropping him to his knees; the understanding, the true deepness of what this meant.

She was really gone. Forever. 

The ‘always’ was gone. The ‘next time’ and promises. That warm, constant presence on the rim of the Cloud Recesses, the visit that marked his days as cyclically and surely as the sun had simply...vanished. In just one moment, the world was made completely lightless. Incomprehensible. It had a hole ripped in its center, cold and inescapable.

She would never brush back his hair and kiss his forehead. She would never pout when she lost a game. She would never squinch up her nose and do an accidental snort-laugh.

If he had only known that it could happen so fast…if he had only known that people could leave so quickly and completely, he would have taken something. A set of her dark, weighty chopsticks, one of her bracelets, a letter; anything. But there was nothing.

Somehow, he had found himself in front of the Hanshi, his feet numb, his face and hands frozen. Thinking back on it, he couldn’t remember what his 6 year old self had planned. He wasn’t sure that there had been a plan. Maybe he had just wanted a parent. Maybe he had been seeking out the one adult that might have cared as much as he did that his mother was gone. Uncle didn’t understand--A-Huan and A-Zhan had always known that he didn’t like her. He was always polite, because that was important, it was in the rules--but he was always stiff and short. He frowned the whole time--every time--picking them up. He hated talking about her.

But the father he had hardly met, that distant, hidden figure--he had married her. He had loved her.

He would care.

The Hanshi, too, had been dark--and he panicked. Had his father left--or died like his mother and no one had told him? He had yanked the door handle--and to his shock, it slid open. He had been expecting a lock like the one that he saw being done up behind them when he and A-Zhan left the Jingshi. (A choice, not a prison, he had realized as he got older. Not in the same way, at least. Other things kept Qingheng-jun bound.) 

It was dark inside, curtains drawn, vague shapes of things illuminated by the light creeping in behind him. He stood in that doorway, frozen in body and mind, unable to trespass that much farther. It smelled unfamiliar and sharp. He had never been in his father’s home before. 

It was so dark.

He had called into that darkness, choked and quiet; “Fuqin?“ 

Silence. 

“...Diedie?”

(“They made choices. These are consequences,” is all Uncle had told him when, younger, he had asked why both of his parents were locked away from him and refused to say more.

Afterward, A-Huan had always been afraid that he might accidentally make those same choices, that he would be kept from his brother and his Uncle and nannies for it. Because no one would tell him what those choices were, he studied the rules obsessively so he could be sure to follow every single one. So he would never be locked up.)

There was a rustle, a clink. A shape had formed in the shadows, someone sitting up from being slumped on a table. A pale hand swayed into the pool of silver moonlight, pointing. The voice that followed had been rough, slurred like a mouthful of rocks. “You are not supposed to be here. Go.”

A-Huan had fled as fast as his numbed legs could go. Stumbling, breaking through the crust of snow, falling and rising and falling, back up through his window to collapse on the floor. His breath had burned in his lungs as he coughed and sobbed as quietly as he could, hot tears stinging his frozen cheeks.

Not quietly enough, though. A-Zhan had eventually crept into his room and curled up next to him on the floor without a word, arm wrapped around his middle.  When A-Huan had rolled over and held him more tightly than he had ever held anything before, he realized that A-Zhan was the only part of his mother he had left in the entire world.

And now, what did A-Fu have left of his parents, of a life he knew? 

A story, at the very least. A reason. A goodbye. The truth. It was all he could offer. It was all he had left for the boy. These other spirits and their wishes can only be passed along to others, if they were attainable at all. But this, this he can do; this, he can set right. To make absolutely sure that her will is found and executed, that the family who cares for her son is told the story of her last farewell, so he will know, too, in time. 

So a son will never have to wonder.

This much peace, he can provide. With those who can bear this place no more and an endless caravan of cloth draped bodies, he returns to Gusu, leaving behind Qishan’s bleeding sky.

-

The quiet of home stuns him. There are no screams, no groans echoing down the mountain. The trees don’t muffle sounds of sword or talisman sizzle, merely birdsong and wind. There is beauty here, something he hadn't known his soul craved like water in a drought until he saw it in rich blues, blooming whites, lush greens. The coolness, the clarity of the water and the touch of leaves. Nothing here is red-brown. All that bleeds is hidden away behind pale bandages and pale walls.

It's almost too much. 

(His hands feel filthy, no matter how many times he scrubs them. Discontent among such blessings is an insult to those that can no longer come home to them. He will kowtow in the shrine for this disrespect later.)

Time has meaning once more. In theory. There are places to eat, to rest. 

(It hardly makes sense to him anymore, despite the schedule being as familiar as the stone beneath his feet.)

Home, in the Hanshi, surrounded by familiarity and comfort, sitting at his desk as the incense burner next to him delicately permeates the air with sandalwood and the trees outside rustle and no one screams at all, he holds Pan Liu’s will in his hands. It is a brief, frail little thing in the face of such sorrow. It must have been hastily written after her husband’s death, as she willed A-Fu and her remaining possessions to the care of her younger sister. Who upon brief investigation of his ever growing list of the dead was found to have been killed in the battle against Wei Wuxian as well. The sister, yet unmarried, had no will of her own--probably too young to have begun to even consider death as a real possibility before life and Wen and war swept their way in. Their house had been one destroyed in the Wen’s sacking of the Cloud Recesses, their personal possessions few. No one else remained of their immediate family.

Pan Liu clearly had not expected to die before she could update it.

In his heart, somewhere, he had known that something like this was the case; that A-Fu was truly alone. Xichen had carried him for days and no one had come looking? No one had wondered where he was, wanted him home safe, with them? 

He had not wanted to look directly at this, at the time, knowing he would have to give A-Fu back to that loneliness, that uncertainty. Even though A-Fu is not the only child in the Cultivation World or even the Cloud Recesses with the same fate, it had been…different. He couldn’t have said why--still can’t--but it had felt like a betrayal to the boy. A loss, savage and personal. Even when he knew any other choice came nowhere close to making sense.

Still. Even he and Wangji had had their uncle and the small, rotating cadre of minders that were familiar to them. He saw his mother once a month and knew his father was there, somewhere, out of sight. There had been a thread connecting them to their parents and the life they could have had with them. 

A-Fu has none of this. 

And yet he still cries, still calls out, because he trusts that someone he knows will come. Of everything in these last few days, this is what is almost too much to bear, a knife stuck in his ribs that gouges with every breath. He does not feel sadness or regret; only pain. Everything else has been out of reach for a while now.

The rattle of his door opening onto seeping sunshine and fresh, bloodless air has him looking up. His Uncle steps over the threshold. “You’re back,” he says warmly by way of greeting as Xichen rises.

“Shufu.” He bows, then offers him his customary seat, more out of habit than necessity; this teatime visit was a familiar ritual in a life not too long ago.

 They take their places at opposite ends of the low, square table at the center of his sitting room as Xichen opens his tea cupboard. “It’s been a while since we have been able to simply sit and have tea together,” Uncle observes, easily.

Yes; nothing has been right or normal for a long time. “Mn.”

When he continues to set out the cool porcelain cups and the dark pot with no further elaboration, Uncle watches him work, expression a thoughtful blur in his periphery.  “...The library is not where I expected your first stop to be.” 

He sounds only mildly curious, but Xichen knows that it is unspoken approval that he had not gone straight to Wangji.

He hesitates, then continues his methodical ritual of movement. “There was a time-sensitive matter that I wanted to attend to.”

In truth, after the bath he had taken upon his return--where he had had to call for 3 rounds of water (Do not be wasteful, Rule 23; broken) before it was no longer clouded dark with dried blood and mud and rot--Xichen had stood on the Hanshi’s front porch, staring down at the blindingly white path before him, forking off through the trees. 

His heart had tugged him one way and his cowardice in the face of pain another. The thought of seeing more bodies just lying there, of seeing those dear to him--Wangji, A-Yuan, those in the infirmary--suffering while he could do nothing to prevent it was….

It was not something he was capable of, at present. Just for now. Just for these first few hours. It was selfish, but true. And so, he had gone to their records room in the library to request Pan Liu’s will. Pain had won. His heart was weak, choosing the easier duty.

Unable to stop himself, though he knows it will cloud his uncle’s relaxed and pleasant demeanor, he asks; “Is Wangji…?” He trails off. 

Awake? Improving? Well? …Alive? A sharp internal rebuke at this last. Do not exaggerate. Rule 671. Uncle would not be so calm if things were dire. He is angry, not cruel. He would have been told.

(A heavy hand on his shoulder. An empty house. Churned snow.)

He would have been told.

Uncle’s face does, indeed, darken. “Hmph.” A mirthless, scornful snort. “He wakes on occasion. He refuses to speak, refuses to acknowledge anyone. He is simply lengthening his own punishment.” Uncle eyes him, adding, “You should be able to talk some sense into him. He always has listened to you best.” 

‘And so how could you have let this happen? How could you have let him do this?’ 

(When will you stop being angry and start being afraid for him?)

Xichen lowers his gaze to the dark wood of the table and scoops the tiny, furled up leaves of the tea into the pot, the smokey green scent tickling his nose

It’s true. Of everyone--their caregivers, teachers, and relatives, Wangji has always responded to him best. He would not always necessarily disobey outright, but he might frown or hesitate before complying or pretend not to hear--especially if he were called to come away from Xichen’s side. “Your class is this way, xiao-gongzi,” the minder would call and A-Zhan would continue his resolute little stride beside him, hand squeezing tighter around Xichen’s fingers the only indication he had heard anything at all. 

It was when Xichen squeezed back and knelt down to straighten his robes, smiling up into his serious face, saying, “It’s alright, ZhanZhan; I’ll ask if I can come out early to pick you up, mn? Go on, be good,” that he would allow himself to be led away with no further fuss.

 He had been the only one who could finally convince him that kneeling in the rocky ground every month when they should have been visiting their mother would not force anyone to bring her out to them. The first time, he had asked him to come in, come home. But knew his brother. He was not surprised when he silently refused to even show he had heard him. 

And so he hadn’t asked again, never having the stomach to fully destroy the hope that he would be let back into the Jingshi if he just waited long enough. 

But Uncle had become frustrated, their teachers and nannies muttering. They were impatient with his refusal, seeing it as disobedience. They didn’t see his mourning, only his stubbornness. So A-Huan had had to protect his brother's soft heart from those that didn’t understand. “We can kneel together, back at home,” he had whispered, his fingers screwed tight around A-Zhan’s cold hand. “I’ll wait with you as long as you want. But niang would--” his throat had caught and he had wrestled his tears from his voice. “Niang would hate if you got sick, sitting out here in the cold all day.”

A-Zhan’s dark eyes had bored into him, thinking. Reason and punishment and demands from adults had not moved his stubborn frame one inch, month after month after winter-to-spring month. 

Then, finally, this second and last time, A-Zhan had listened to him. Whatever it was about him was what finally got his little brother slowly, stiffly to his feet to hobble back home with him. Xichen remembered that he hadn’t felt relieved at all. He just felt like he had taken their mother from him all over again.

“I will speak with him, shufu.”

 Uncle nods, then heaves a sigh. “What news is there from Qishan?”

Mechanically, as if operating his own mouth from across the room, Xichen relays numbers, movements, and times. He almost reflexively scolds himself for lying; the mundane description of dry duty and the lived horror so far from one another that they were entirely irreconcilable. Just words passed across a shining table over fragrant tea, cool wind brushing the sun-pale windows serenely with tree shadows

When he reaches the final fate of Wei Wuxian’s executed Wen contingent, Uncle approves. “It was wise to swear the disciples to secrecy. This has all gotten so inhumane. Denying them burial was an unnecessary cruelty,” he says heavily as he shakes his head, eyes closed in weariness. “I pray that we are done with this madness at last, with that Wei Ying finally taken care of. What a mess.”

There is silence. Xichen cannot fathom what his response to that could possibly be. Should possibly be--as Wangji’s brother, as the Lan Clan Leader, as his uncle's nephew. As Wei Wuxian’s…what. Friend? 

…As one who cannot delight in his death, in any case. 

Despite the period of kneeling before the Jingshi, Wangji had never been a troublemaker growing up. He was always the Jade who grasped the Lan way of life more easily, molded himself to the rigidity of the rules with that same stubborn tenacity. 

It was Xichen who failed in that, who smudged the black and white lines to gray, bent them so they were slightly more comfortable around him; bearable--once he discovered that they could be. 

He was the one who accidentally got drunk trying to see if he could filter out alcohol with his core, he was the one to kiss Mingjue first in the Jin Gardens during a Cultivation Conference. The one to urge his brother to befriend a talented teenager who was gleefully and repeatedly stomping all over their Clan’s ancestral rules.

He was the one who had told Wangji to step outside his rigid view of the world, to see people for their hearts. And then Wangji's own heart had been torn out. As his uncle said; Wangji had always listened to him best. This much would never have happened without Xichen's deliberate meddling. 

All those years ago, when Wei Wuxian had first cannonballed into their lives, Xichen had just wanted Wangji to be happy. To have friends. Alone didn’t always mean lonely, but he knew he saw it in his brother. Saw Wangji with peers who were merely in awe of his talent, who respected but did not like him, love him, know him, want to spend time with him. He knew the difference, no matter what Wangji showed the rest of the world. The older he got, the less he smiled--the soft, secret ones that so many others failed to see. Xichen had missed them, dearly. And so he had pushed.

Everything that has happened sense feels as if it’s unshakably all his fault.

As the tea is poured, they speak; it passes over him like clouds. Which elder is still in which stage of recovery. The smith they called to repair swords and assess the spirits of those now without a handler. 

Something touches him.

 “Xichen!” 

His hand burns. He is on his feet. Shuoyue’s naked blade buzzes, ready in his hand. He does not remember moving. Every fiber of cloth on his skin feels alive and writhing. Blood courses. Scalding tea is cooling, dripping from his knuckles.

The touch had been spiritual, not physical. From the corner of his awareness and the Cloud Recesses boundary wards at once; a warning, tasting of wild metal (close to blood, so close). 

The Western Wards, crossed.

“Do not unsheathe your blade in a residence!” Uncle’s face crinkles from shock to a wince. “And contain yourself, this is not a battlefield.”

It takes a moment. His killing intent is up, streaming from his core like a river of blades, of blood. 

Sucking in a breath, he takes the torrent in internal hand and yanks it back, firmly, like the reins of a horse, winding the silk rope of it over again and again in the palm of his concentration, until the thrum of it eases. The pressure that had filled the room with the promise of death ebbs. Shuoyue hums warm, expectant. When he does finally sheathe her, the connection between them flickers, confused. 

Above his hammering heart, he hears Uncle continue, frowning, “I felt it, too. Was it someone passing outward or inward?”

His tongue, his mind is mud-stuck slow.

Focus. There is no battle here. You are home. Get a hold of yourself.

“...Outward. Less resistance. Nothing powerful.”

Oddly, at this Uncle’s frown deepens, shadows of concern replacing mere puzzlement. “Hmm. Those were in the West…far….” After a moment of thought, he rises.

As he steps out the door and calls for a servant from the Hanshi’s porch, Xichen continues to try to pull in slow, deep breaths.

Have you regressed to being such a novice that you cannot control your own qi? Your own battle intent? Are you a child? Though his uncle's voice is low and his attention is divided, the words ‘searchers’ makes it through the pounding blood in his ears. Strange.

When Uncle slides the door back open, Xichen asks, “Searchers?”

His silhouetted form hesitates, framed by the sunlight that pours in behind him and dazzles Xichen’s eyes, leaving his expression briefly in shadow. “...Yesterday evening, a child managed to wander into the woods alone.” A spike of cold worry threatens to heighten the wild surge of energy within him once more as his uncle continues, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “We have had several teams scouring the backhill and the whole of our land since then. They are young enough that their spiritual signature isn’t strong enough to register on normal tracking talismans.”

“Why was I not told?!” 

It burst from him, harsher from shock than he had meant and Uncle blinks, pausing in settling himself back onto his seat, brow furrowed.

But he cannot bring himself to care about disrespect, just now. Any child alone and lost is terrifying, awful. There is something, though…something about his tone, his expression that has breath caught in Xichen’s throat as slow, glacial horror creeps up from the depth of his gut. He is avoiding specifics. 

Why.

 “It is being handled already; why would I distract you from your duties? You’ve only just returned and you must--”

“Who. Which child.”

He huffs in irritation, brow furrowing further. And he shuts his mouth, lips compressing.

Xichen no longer needs an answer.

Behind him, he can hear Uncle’s voice raised in startled alarm, but he is already out the door, already leaping from the porch onto Shuoyue. The wind howls in his ears as shoots upward, speeding west to where he had felt the wards ring within him. To where A-Fu has just crossed beyond their safety.

He knows. He doesn’t know how, but he knows.

Xichen can barely breathe around the air battering his face and his own terror. The shrieking sky threatens to rip him from Shuoyue’s blade. Everything at once feels heightened, his awareness expanding to notice how chilly it is despite the sun, how the damp of the wind tearing at his hair and clothes tells of rain in the past day, how dark the woods look beneath the thick canopy blurring by below his feet. He had been alone and cold and terrified, out all night. Had the boy been trying to find his mother? Xichen? The thought made his gut writhe within him.

(They peel his little fingers from Xichen’s sleeve as he clutches and screams…)

Please please please please please

How could this happen? How could he have ever allowed this to happen? There were rivers, cliffs, steep slopes of scree, ponds, caves, animals--gods, animals alone would--

He is well enough to move, to cross the wards.

If it was him. If it were not a strong enough spiritual animal to trigger the alarm. 

There is no boy hanging among them THERE IS NO--

The invisible boundary rears up in his senses, mere seconds full tilt sword ride from the Hanshi but so, so far for a tiny child, wandering in the night. Beneath the canopy, before Shuoyue even manages to drop to a reasonable height and speed, he has already leapt off, landing at a sprint. Internally, the memory of the disruption in the web of the spell warps around his spiritual awareness like a broken arch as he crosses in that exact place. The ground is not suddenly more treacherous, the trees no more menacing, but beyond the relative safety of the Cloud Recesses, his hammering heart sees the whole world is a death trap for this little child.

(He cannot bear to see a tiny body, he can’t, he can’t--)

Skidding to a stop, he wheels in place, eyes scouring everything at knee level and below. “A-Fu!” his throat is pinched, his mouth bone dry. “A-Fu?!”

The ground cover is thick with bushes, shrubs, trees both young and fallen. The sun shines spots into his eyes through the swaying leaf cover above, dappling the floor with shadow and light, dancing, blurring. Silence. Even the birdsong had stopped when this strange being had suddenly crashed into their peaceful little clearing. He sucks in a breath to call again--and then he hears it.

There is a small child crying somewhere nearby. 

Quiet and hoarse but unmistakable.

He isn't slow, gentle, or cautious or anything that a terrified child might need right now; something else has a hold of him, now. He blindly crashes through the brush towards the sound, half skidding down a slope until--until! There! 

A blur of white amongst tree roots halfway down, a curled shape and-- “A-Fu!”--a little face, smudged and red cheeked and tear stained raises and his little eyes light with recognition and he scrabbles, fumbling and crawling out as Xichen tears back up the slope--slips, rights himself--and reaches and the boy throws himself off the lip of the hollow and into his arms, colliding hard with his chest like his heart coming home. 

He staggers, momentum and sudden weakness buckling his knees. A gnarled tree catches his side and he slides them down into the huddle of its roots, curled around him. Against his chest, wrapped in his arms, A-Fu is damp and chilly. He is covered in muck and sticks and burrs but he’s alive--alive--safe and hiccuping and piteously hoarse, tangling his hands through Xichen’s hair as he clutches him back, gasping.

He can breathe. He can finally breathe again.

Some unnameable agony, like some wild beast, is thrashing, welling up, bursting from his chest. It shakes him, tearing at his throat, his heart, his lungs, burning. It’s not relief. It's not fear. It’s…

Heedless of stitches cracking and bursting, he yanks his thicker outer robes open and over the child, tucking him deep into the pocket of warmth. He can feel him shivering, his tiny heart speeding.

He had forgotten that his head is so warm, that his hands are so tiny, just how real his weight is in his arms. When he buries his nose in the baby fluff of his hair, under the dirt and musty forest chill is that wild-sweet child smell he remembers from carrying him for days beneath his chin--and long ago from when Wangji was young. 

He tries to pull back to check him for injuries, for bruising, but he latches onto his neck and sobs. Mere minutes before, Xichen had never wanted to hear another scream again--but now he wishes A-Fu’s cries were as loud as the first day he held him, deafening and demanding, sure and strong in their conviction. These sobs are private, weak, exhausted little things. Not calling for attention. No longer certain of a trusted adult’s return.

“P’ease,” he croaks and that pain, that pressure bears down on Xichen and it feels like drowning; it feels like dying.

“I know. I know. I’m sorry. I’m here,” he whispers back, thick and choked (that thing inside him that aches, that wails, that loves is strangling him), and he draws up his knees, he wraps his robes tighter and rocks and rocks them both as it breaks--all of it, calving and crashing and surging and molten and ugly and broken--and he wants to beg ‘scream, little love, scream your heart out; someone is coming, someone will always come,’ but he doesn't have enough breath as it tears from his locked throat in silent sobs, because with unworthy hands and heart, he holds this blameless little life that has wandered through the halls of his heart leaving muddy fingerprints, and does the cruelest, most selfish thing he can ever recall doing. 

He realizes that he cannot let him go again. 

#'Xichen has emotions and wishes he didn't' is the name of THIS chapter! #3zun raise jingyi au #3zun raise jingyi au content #my fic #my stuff #untamed fanfic #mdzs fanfic #SORRY FOR THE LONG ASS WAIT AND THE INCREDIBLE AMOUNT OF ANGST HE HAD TO WORK THRU SOME STUFF #I'll try to post happier fluffier things next #Maybe some 3zun fluff in Snowed In. Or the next chapter of And A-Fu Makes 4 which has fluff #Or the next chapter of In Your Hands because I PROMISE we're working things out #ANYWAY LOVE YOU G'NIGHT

[reginrokkr]

With that IC content delivered, it is time to dip out for the evening. I'm quite content that slowly I'm able to catch up with things and be able to stay more in tune with my RP partners, which wasn't as possible in earlier moments due to the internship (speaking of which, if you'd like to discuss things with an interaction to lead eventually, feel free to boop this post and I'll drop by your IMs!).

Other than that, this week seems to be one of looking forward to a few things. Thursday will be my last day of internship. Tomorrow I have to make a call to a pharmacy with the potential of a job interview. During this week I should get a call from the pharmacist that interviewed me last week and receive news about the delivery of the provisional title of pharmacy technician (that's a whole can of worms that is best to not open lol). And lastly I will visit the place where I'll continue my studies from September onwards within the health line, going for dietetics! I hope you peeps enjoy the last of the weekend and that you have a good start of the week ♥︎

#◟༺✦༻◞ what lays behind the mantle of faux stars ┊ooc.┊ #I anticipate that this week will pass by quickly #which is great because next week we'll have Dain #and I can't wait for that after +1 year #I'm really proud of myself and the results I achieved in these past two years #with the conclusion of the pharmacy technician title #it's something I adore doing and I'd love to work as #while I continue to study #and thankfully for me I have an easy time studying #and getting great degrees #so topping that off with me working part time #it'll be great for the economy #this summer hopefully I have the luck to be hired #to work at full time at a pharmacy #anyway that's it for this post's rant djfhjg #g'night you peeps ♥︎

[prozac-shaped-urn]

I'm emo lately :)))

Read this as the Palmetto holding Deborah captive inside the 'medicine' of her Little Debbies and QVC line, not stand-up as a whole. I couldn't quite fit in the specifics. As for Ava, her 'medicine' is her insatiable desire to prove herself, especially when no one is listening. By coming together, Ava and Deb can stop using their respective 'medicines' and rely on each other for support and praise... and maybe realize their strengths aren't so different after all.

#hacks hbo #deborah vance #ava daniels #avorah #avadeb #fanvid #this one was hard ngl #framing the story took some Brain Power #yeah the first half is all deb per norm but it switches so if ur an ava girly don't click away just yet #adore the idea of 'medicine' being things that used to be fun but are now chores that go with the thing you love #like deb's fans and ava's drug habit #thought ava's drug habit was a bit on the nose for this tho so i kept it directed towards her writing career #anyway enjoy if u like it don't feel pressured to watch #ok g'night #Youtube

[humblemooncat]

Have a WIP because these sleepy boys were too cute to wait and post tomorrow.

I'll put the full thing up once it's done, but I need sleep as well.

#Mooncat ramblings #My art #Elezen have weird proportions #Aymeric I love you but why must you be so lanky? #Anyway #G'night!

[forecast-rain]

hm I should probs make the part 2 to those ninjago fic recs

#cloud posts #cause I mean #there's still the neuro & skylor platonic soulmates fic; the fic where cole and wu talk during s9; the grass is greener fic series #the very au fic which has morro & kai as focus and chen is a dictator and just MAN. #the one where the ghosts are a cult instead of actual ghosts... #if an author of one of these fics is reading this post hi #I love you work #hm #there's a lot of stories I can still rec #I won't do it today tho #probably not really all that soon either... #it's like. 1 am. #and also school. #which. I should be doing more about. #hng #anyways #g'night! #tire.

[definitelynotlazav]

some nights really are for listening to kesha and coming to terms again with the long line of systematic failures that left me to fend for myself back when

#it's been so long and so short all in the same stretch of time #and hell I'm doing a lot better #but I am still *so* angry #an anger that used to feel like it was going to drown me #and now that I'm floating in it #I know other people are hurting just as badly as I was. as I still do sometimes #I want to help #I quake with desire I feel unfit to manifest #anyways g'night loves #it gets better even if you never forget

[embers-archive]

I'm about ready to pass out gn yall ahsgdh

#i will not say anything i will get sappy but know you guys make me so happy - this includes mutuals and followers okie if youre a regular #in my notes chances are i know your name and i love to see ya #anyways g'night yall <33 gonna go sleep off the nostalgia agsghdd

[tennant-davids]

@anon i’m not gonna post that, delightful though it was... i obviously don’t condone any character’s homophobia, no matter the reason, but i also don’t debate with aggression and name-calling at 2am. so... thank you, but no thank you. and now i’m going to bed. good night!

#anyway i've changed the caption bc i'm not waking up to more of that nonsense #but if you don't like something i post or say pls just scroll past or block me or something? :) #anon hate in 2022... on the last day of pride month?! pls 😭 #anyway fuck this i'm logging off <3 #g'night lovelies

[alienjaes]

The eternal problem of "it is nighttime and my brain has oopy-goopy thoughts I want to soak in"

vs

There's a thing to be up for relatively early (and your body already sucks at existing with 8 hours of sleep)

#alienwords #listening to the album 'zerobounce' by LORN & DOLOR has me feeling a certain way #like that way where you're in a new friend's house just past midnight #everyone's sitting around in the dark listening to some weird fucking music #and it feels like being high without doing anything #someone's fingers feel like the branches of an ancient tree as they brush your head #scattered breaths sound like the ground creaking below you #y'know? that sort of feel? #where all you want is to exist in that non-existent moment with people you barely know in a place that's unfamiliar and just #let the dark hold you for a while? #(I promise this is meant in like a comfortable way. reading that back sounds really depressing but I mean it in that weirdly comfortable wa #anyway love y'all drink water sleep and all that g'night)

[loverlylight]

I am very sleepy but unable to go to sleep so this is probably not very coherent, but I just have such an admiration for creative people. Not for just their ideas and the stuff they create, but people who don't just have a passion and a desire to create something, but who have this drive to improve, to get better? That's just so cool to me.

#my mind is an odd place #anyway anyone who makes something i love you g'night

[cassiopeia-core]

Hey, how’s it going?!! I was wondering if you could write dad!luke x reader fluffy fic? I had the thought of Luke being a girl dad and it’s driving me nuts.

favourite girls

modern!luke x reader

a/n: i love the idea of girl dad luke! its so sweet and cute and aldfjaldkfjk anyways enjoy :)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"claire, honey, please go to bed already," you sighed, watching your five year old little bundle of energy chase her father around the house. it was way past her bedtime. "luke, stop encouraging this behaviour. i swear to god, i will start graying before i reach thirty."

luke scooped your daughter up and swung her around in a circle. claire giggled, small fists grabbing at your boyfriends curly black locks. "daddy, please, just five more minutes?" your daughter whined, looking up at luke with those big brown eyes she knew he could never say no to.

you sighed a deeper sigh, feeling an incoming headache on its way. it'd been a really tiring week; your boss had been pushing deadline upon deadline onto you and you were on the verge of multiple simultaneous mental breakdowns.

upon hearing your sigh, luke's heart dropped a little, suddenly feeling that his and his daughters actions, although playful, were very inconsiderate towards you, his lovely sweet girlfriend who wanted nothing more than a night of well deserved sleep. "come on claire bear, off to bed now. mommy's had a really long day okay? how about i read you a bedtime story, yeah?" he spoke softly, slinging your still whining five year old over his shoulder, making his way towards her room. as he passed by you, you shot him a grateful smile, standing up and walking to you and luke's shared bedroom.

you slipped under the warm covers and closed your eyes contentedly, feeling sleep overtake you. a few moments later, you felt the mattress next to you dip down. "luke?" you murmured groggily, hands reaching for him.

"shit baby, did i wake you? i'm so sorry." luke took hold of your hands and pressed a kiss to each one before pulling you close to him.

"s'okay," you mumbled, snuggling closer to him. "thank you so much."

"mama?" you heard the soft pitter-patter of feet, accompanied by your daughter's sleepy voice. "mama, i can't sleep. i want a cuddle. please?"

"of course sweetie." your daughter scrambled into the bed, climbing over you and settling in between you and luke. you kissed her cheek. "good night claire bear."

"g'night mama."

luke watched his two favourite girls succumb to sleep before pressing a kiss to your foreheads, feeling so lucky to have the both of you in one lifetime.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n pt2: again, rushed ending? i have zero experience with children so i hope this was okay <3

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fluff #pjo #pjo x reader #dad luke x reader #this was so fun to write???

[tahdashi]

WHEN HIS BABY GETS JEALOUS. . .

✫ ft. akaashi, atsumu, iwaizumi, and suna x mom!reader

✫ a/n: the kids are ages 1-3 (can stand, walk, talk in sentences). the babies aren’t really “jealous” in some of these. they just want some love and affection, too !!!

✫ warnings: usage of “mom” and “mama” to refer to reader

✫ AKAASHI leans into your touch after coming home from the office, his tie loosened and his hair a bit messier than usual. you two are splayed on the couch, his head resting peacefully on your chest as he updates you on bokuto’s recent msby game. and just minutes later, you feel your son pull on your leg. an eruption of babbles leave his lips as he whines and tugs. “mmm, it’s my turn with mom,” keiji whines into your collarbones. you can't help but laugh at your husband's child-like behavior. "keiji, get off, you're gonna make him upset." and as keiji nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, your baby breaks out into a sob, "mama! mama!" filling the small living room. keiji gets up from his place on your chest and picks your son up, mumbling "i'm sorry, bud" into his equally messy hair. "mama's all yours," he kisses the top of his head and allows him to crawl happily into your arms. "you're as whiny as your mo-" "keiji." he can't even be upset at his limited time with you — the image of you holding his entire world makes up for it.

✫ ATSUMU lingers in the kitchen after tucking your daughter in to bed just about every night. he puts dishes in the cabinets, wipes down the counter, and traps you between his arms for a moment of intimacy. "mind if i kiss ya, babe?" he asks, knowing you'll let him anyway. "you'll do it no matter what i say," you turn your head to the side, creating distance between his lips and yours. "no! i'm a gentleman! that's why ya married me, isn't it?" a laugh leaves your lips and you're stepping up onto your toes to reach his. his hands wrap around your waist, pulling you close against himself. it's been hard to find time for yourselves — your daughter was at the age where she'd walk (stumble, really) away if you took your eyes off of her for even a second. and as you pull away from the kiss, breathless and all, you hear the pitter patter of her tiny feet approaching you two. "baby, why are ya awake? can't sleep?" atsumu bends down to her level, pushing her hair back from her eyes. she rubs at them and then wraps her tiny arms around his neck to kiss his cheeks. "i want a g'night kiss too!" she whines. "alrighty, baby, ya can get as many as ya want! make sure ya give mama a kiss too," he tells her before peppering her cheeks with loving kisses.

✫ IWAIZUMI used to wake up early every morning, getting ready for the day at a slow and relaxing pace, but he finds it harder and harder to do so when you cling onto him, asking for five more minutes of peace, five minutes of calmness before the storm (the storm being your daughter, of course). she's gotten clingier with every step she could take. she wakes up with the sun and makes her way to your bed, struggling to climb up with her tiny legs. the sight of her dad's arm around your waist brings a pout to her lips, her cheeks puffing out as she whispers a "daddy?" and of course, he's awake (he's been awake for the past 15 minutes). "wanna come up?" he asks her before unwrapping his arms from your body and lifting her onto his broad chest. she immediately crawls over him, kicking his face with her feet in the process, to place herself between you two. her little arms and legs wrap around your torso like a koala, and she looks up at you with a toothy smile. "my turn,” she says, nuzzling her head into you. you hear iwa mumble under his breath (something about waking the team up with kicks to the face).

✫ SUNA always searches for you and the twins in the crowd. his team had just won a game that he's been training especially hard for, and it's the first time in a while that you've seen his dimply smile on his face. he runs up to you and the twins with nothing but joy in his eyes. grabbing ahold of your waist, he presses a kiss to your lips — his teeth clash against yours and he's laughing into the kiss out of sheer happiness, but you don't mind it one bit. your sons pull at your clothes as they try to get your attention. suna catches a glimpse of their raised arms and pulls away from you to lift his boys into his own arms, one on each side of his body. they're cheering for their dad, clapping and yelling, “you did it!" suna's never been an affectionate guy, opting to show his love in more subtle ways, but he feels the urge to pull you and the boys in for a tight hug (one where you can feel the rapid beating in his chest). he kisses the top of your head before pressing one on each of the twins' cheeks. "let's go celebrate, yeah?" suna grins. he’d do anything to hold you three like that again after each win — his prized possessions in his arms.

reblogs are appreciated, as always!

#these were fun! #unedited once again. i’ll proofread another time 🫶 #sayu.writes #akaashi x reader #atsumu x reader #iwaizumi x reader #suna x reader #akaashi fluff #atsumu fluff #iwaizumi fluff #suna fluff #akaashi headcanons #atsumu headcanons #iwaizumi headcanons #suna headcanons #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #dad haikyuu #dad hq

[angelshimaa]

thinking about shinso who finds himself in love with you so suddenly. gn!reader, established relationship (hinted at it being new-ish)

one would assume someone like him would take his time easing into falling in love— he seemed like the type to take the stairs instead, taking care to dip his toes into it before he fully commits to the dive. hell, he thought so too.

then again, he never really could be sure about the way his heart worked when it came to you.

your head rests against his shoulder as lazy conversation drifts through his bedroom. you try to hang onto every single word you exchange, but you can't help how your eyelids droop so heavily, as if carrying the weight of the world.

it doesn't help just how comfortable his bed is.

“y/n? are you listening?” his voice sounds like liquid gold, so attractive in how effortlessly smooth it is. you force your eyes open, humming as if you were listening.

shinso's head is turned to look down at you and it's then that he notices just how tired you are. it's been a long day and he'd missed talking to you and hearing the sound of your voice, but he hadn't realised just how heavy the exhaustion weighed on you.

“why didn't you say you were tired, hm?”

your yawn is wide and long— so very cute to him— and you blink slowly up at him. “‘missed you, ‘toshi. i wanted to hear all you had to say— sleep can wait a bit.” your words are slightly slurred, but there's something about them that makes him feel so touched.

“well, clearly it can't.” his grin is lazy, and your lips do their best to pull back in an equally lazy smile. even with the heavy lidding of your eyes, you look at him in a way that still has him jittery— the kind of jittery that threatens to jump out of his chest and sing like every love story does.

“no no no no no, it can. keep talkin’, pretty boy— i’m listenin’.” the ‘pretty boy’ has the jitters coming in stronger, and he laughs— the light sort of laugh that suits soft moments like this.

“the ‘pretty boy’ will talk again tomorrow— now, let's sleep.” you don't have it in you to protest— nor do you want to, with the way your body feels ready to collapse.

it doesn't take very long for the two of you to settle comfortably under the sheets, and shinso just can't take his eyes off of you. with heavy eyelids and slurred words, you seem drunk off something and it amuses him.

the two of you face each other, and the purple of his eyes is almost hypnotising in how it traces over you. framed by deep eyebags, you don't think you've seen prettier eyes in all your life.

“g'night, ‘toshi. pretty pretty ‘toshi with the pretty eyes,” you giggle a little at your words, and the way you gaze at him has his heart thumping in a heavier manner than he's used to.

“sleep well, babe,” is all he can muster— his mind is too preoccupied with the beauty of you to say anything else. dear lord, you make him so very nervous.

shinso stays awake while you give way to sleep, trying to understand the strangeness in his heartbeat, the wonder swimming in his veins and the content pooling into his stomach. he's never called it what it is before— but tonight has made him aware that he just might start doing exactly that.

there wasn't anything better to call it, anyway— ‘love’ has never fitted a singular person so well before.

✧ — thank you for reading !! rbs and feedback are greatly appreciated <3

taglist (fill in this form to join!!) :: @maeby-cursed @katsukismrs @himikoslove @afairywithacrown @pasteldaze

#— signed ⋆·ʚ⁺ #idk what this is either #shinso x reader #shinsou x reader #mha shinso x reader #mha shinso hitoshi #hitoshi shinso x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fluff #mha shinsou #mha drabbles

[eddiemunsons-missingnipple]

Are you awake?

《 Eddie munson x fem!reader

《 Summary: Eddie can't seem to sleep.

《 Warnings: choking, unprotected sex, thigh job.

A/n: Not proofread. Short little blurb.

18+ minors dni

The day had been long after spending it with your parents in their home. Neither you nor Eddie had expected to be over for that many hours. So when your Mom had offered for the two of you to spend the night, you obviously didn't say no. The trip back to Hawkins would be another couple of hours anyway.

Eddie had been struggling to be on his best behavior. He was. For the most part, he was being good. Until night came around, and you were in nothing but his old Hellfire shirt from high school. Your mom liked to keep old clothes of yours lying around just in case of situations like this. She never realized a lot of the clothing she saved was actually Eddie's from his late night visits that ended up being early mornings of him climbing out of your bedroom window.

"G'night, Eddie." You yawned, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"Good night, baby." He slid up closer to your back, hugging you to him with an arm thrown around your middle. Your head tucked under his chin. Your eyes grow heavy as sleep takes over.

Eddie tried to sleep. He truly did. His cock was getting painfully hard and no matter how much he tried to think of anything else it wouldn't go away. He needed you desperately. He promised he would behave, but seeing you in his shirt made his brain short-circuit. It was like he was seeing you naked for the first time all over again. As the night progressed, he finally decided to wake you.

"Eh! Psst! Baby, you awake? " Eddie, shook your shoulder lightly.

"Hmm." Your tired voice groaned.

"I fucking need you." His husky voice whispered by your ear. You felt a hand roaming up your leg.

"Eddie, we can't. This bed sqeaks too much," you whispered over to your boyfriend as you felt him pulling your panties down halfway down your legs. His hand moves back up to go between your thighs.

"Oh!...youre fucking soaked already sweetheart." He purred. You felt his middle finger running up your slit. Instinctively, you lift your leg, giving him more access.

"Was dreamin'." You confessed shyly trying to hide your face in the pillow.

"Yeah? Bout' me?" His fingers still gliding through your wet folds. Getting them nice and sticky with your juices.

You nod, still hiding from him.

"Aww, sweetheart, that's okay. I'm gonna take that ache away. He cooed a smile spreading on his face.

The living room was covered in total darkness except for the street lights peaking in through the curtains. The house was dead quiet except for the humming of the AC. You felt Eddie grinding his hard cock against the curve of your ass.

"Eddie, we can't, though this bed is so loud." You whined. You needed him just as bad as he needed you.

"Then I guess I'm gonna have to go real... real slow." His breath tickled your ear from behind. You felt his hand sneak up your night to pinch at your nipples. He knew that always drove you crazy. You were already getting intoxicated by his touch.

You squirmed in his hold as Eddie brings your back tighter to his chest.

His tip nudging at your wet opening slowly pushing its way in. You moaned a little too loud in the quiet house. Eddies hand moved to quickly cover your mouth.

"Shh gotta be quiet," He whispered in your neck, dropping his hand.

"M'trying." You whined.

You let a deep breath readying yourself for him.

"I know, baby. I know such a good girl." He praised. Something he loved doing, and he knew you loved hearing.

"....fuck you're wet." Eddiegrunted as his cock spreads you open. Your walls hugged around him perfectly.

"God, I can't wait to get you home." His jaw clenched, and nostrils flared. It's taking all of his strength not to just pound into you relentlessly. "G'nna have you screamin' for me."

Eddie gently places a hand to your throat while pushing his cock in deeper. inch by agonizingly slow inch. He pulled your head back to rest in the crook of his neck. His hand never applying pressure, just resting. It was tender but dominant. Making your stomach do flips and your head dizzy.

He pumps inside you softly, carefully. His languid strokes sending you over the edge. Eddies hips grinding on your ass as his cock stretches your walls. You swear you could feel every vein on his length pulsating inside you.

"Fuck fuck go faster." You begged as your becoming a whimpering mess. His hand still placed firmly on your throat.

"You know I can't, baby." Eddie murmured dragging his cock almost all the way out and pushing it back in little by little.

"I really wanna, but I can't." He was trying to go easy. To not make any noise and alert anyone as to what he's doing to you. Your soft, needy voice begging him to just let go was making it so much more difficult.

You bite down on your lip hard, almost drawing blood, trying to prevent another moan. His cock hitting that sweet spot on yours walls just right with every stroke.

The squelching of your pussy from his cock pumping you lazily was the only thing you could hear besides his heavy breathing. The inside of your legs covered in your slick. You were completely drenched for him. Your body covered in beads of sweat.

"I--i wanna cum. " You whispered. You feel that coil in your stomach building as you move one of your own hands to play with your clit.

Eddie takes mercy on you and thrusts his cock in you faster not caring if the bed is making any noise now. He can't keep this up for up for much longer. Your pleading was enough for him. He's always struggled to not give what you need. Even when you were bad for him, he still caved.

"Don't worry, baby, I got you." His voice low and ragged in your ear, causing your skin to prickle with goosebumps.

You continue rubbing tight circles on your sore bud while his cock splits you open. The hand that was once placed gently on your throat now tightened ever so slightly. Your legs shake. Your walls clenching around him. His grunting quietly in your ear. The springs of the old mattress screeching in rhythm to every thrust.

"Be a good girl and cum on my cock. I wanna feel you." He croaked, letting out a shakey breath.

Your release approached you almost too suddenly, and with a few more strokes, you cum around him hard. Your body trembling and writhing against his. Your orgasm ripping through you almost violently making your vision go blurry. No sound escapes past your lips as your mouth hangs agape. The hand on your clit pausing.

"Fuck baby thats it." Eddie groans still pumping you full of his cock as he helps you through your orgasm. "Gettin close too baby."

He pulls his cock from inside you with a loud schlick. You almost cry at the sudden loss, not wanting him to leave.

"Squeeze your thighs together for me jus' a little."

You do as you're told and close your legs back. You felt him pushing his cock between them. His length rubbing against your pussy. Pumping his cock in between your legs his tip rubbing against your sore clit.

Eddies rocking his hips against your ass frantically. His cock sliding on the inside of your thighs. Your juices dripping down your legs helping him pump his cock easily.

You squeeze them just a little more, making him moan louder. "Ooh! Sweetheart."

Every nudge of his tip on your clit causes your body to shiver. He's getting close. His thrusts are getting sloppy. His breathing is erratic, and at this point, he doesn't care if the bed is loud. He just wants to cum. He needs to cum.

"Mmphf! fuck i--im oh shit-." Eddie struggled to speak.

Just a few more long strokes he's spilling his cum all over the inside of your thighs and pussy. Making a big mess in the middle of your legs. Eddie doesn't stop or slow down until he's milked himself of everything he has left. The grip Eddie has on your throat loosens as he calms down.

After a few minutes of silence and just the two of you wrapped in eachothers arms.

"You okay?" He asked rubbing up and down your ark.

"I'm okay." You repled weakly.

He leans up in a panic." You think they heard?"

"Probably." You quietly laugh.

"We're leaving before anyone wakes up."

You don't even have to look back to know his face is red with utter embarrassment.

"Go to sleep, Eddie. I'm going to clean myself off." You moved to stand. Your legs felt like jello, but you're still able to walk. Barely.

"Im gonna smoke real quick." He yawns, stretching his limps.

The following morning, Eddie kept to his word and woke up before sunrise. Your eyes were barely able to register where you were before he's pulling you out the front door and taking you home quickly. Last thing he ever wanted to do was face your parents after something like that. Especially your father. Who made sure to give you a call as soon as he knew you would be walking through your front door. Luckily for your sake, they heard nothing.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson blurb

[anilovie]

i feel like ani would give great back rubs :) do you have any thoughts on this topic??

Yes yes yes I do!!

CW: just fluff

WC: 500

I feel like his hand automatically goes to the nape of your neck if you're ever just chilling together. Like if you're watching something, or working on something, or even just laying in bed ready for sleep, his arm would go around you and find the back of your neck and just squeeze all gentle, over n over n over, slow and rhythmic. It's a bit of a possessive touch, but also relaxing cause he likes how your shoulders droop a little and you shiver if he scratches the base of your skull.

One day your neck just hurts extra bad for some reason, must have slept on it wrong or tweaked it somehow. So when he starts rubbing your neck that night, you turn to him and so seriously, say, "That feels really good, Anakin."

He's a bit taken aback because 1) you looked right in his eyes when you said it, 2) you used his full name, and 3) you're usually not so bold telling him how you feel.

It makes him laugh, all soft and breathy, and respond, "Yeah?"

"Uh-huh. Think I pulled a muscle or something, feels better when you do that though."

His brows furrow. "How'd you do that?"

"Dunno," your cheek is squished against his thigh, book propped up on his knee. You flip the page. "Probably slept on it weird or something."

"You do move around a lot. Swear you're trying to run away sometimes."

You turn and bite his leg through his pants.

"Violent," he murmurs, completely unbothered as his hand drifts to your shoulders. "Does it hurt right here?"

"Mhm. Everywhere," you breathe sleepily.

He answers with a hum and stows his datapad on the bedside table, grabbing his glove and buckling it over his arm so he can return both hands to your shoulders. You wince a little as he works out the knots, cheeks going a little hot at the slow, tender way he's touching you. It's strangely intimate, and you try not to move as he digs his thumbs into a particularly senstive spot.

"Relax. You're so tense," he tells you.

You decide to close your book and turn so that you're more draped over his lap, giving his hands more access to your back. He takes the invitation, rubbing circles down your spine, which oddly tickles.

"I said relax," he chastises as you squirm and giggle.

"Can't help it! Stop tickling me," your voice is muffled by the material of pants.

Rather than responding, he doubles his efforts working up and down your back, and once you're lulled into pliancy, he returns to your shoulders and neck.

You swear he's got magic hands. Every inch of your skin is covered in goosebumps, waves of pleasure making you shiver every time he squeezes and rubs your muscles just right. Somehow, he's doing a good job of keeping the pressure equal on both sides, despite one hand being flesh and the other metal. And he works the tensity out of your muscles like it's his personal mission, squeezing and rubbing and kneading with loving tenderness.

"Feel good, baby?" he murmurs after a while, and you can only manage a low noise.

"Yeah... feels a lot better, Ani. Gonna make me fall asleep."

You can picture him smiling down at you, gentling his touch as he returns to thumb at your nape, scratching your scalp in just the right way that makes you tremble with pleasure.

"Shoot," you nearly moan. "G'night."

You did warn him, but he's still surprised when your whole body goes limp a moment later, dead weight on his lap as you breathe deep and even.

Anyways, I also think he does just rub your back up and down a lot, like if you're stressed or ill or just not feeling well in any way. Or if he’s stressed, he finds the rhythmic motion and feeling the curve of your back soothing under his palm.

He's the type to lead you around crowded places with a hand to the small of your back, and rest his hand between your shoulder blades to announce his presence when coming up behind you, and throw his arm over your shoulders to drag you into his chest all man-handley and possessive.

It's an innocent enough touch to grant in public, so yes. He loves to rub your back and he does it so good.

thanks for the message ava!! 💖

#anakin skywalker #anakin #anakin x reader #anakin x reader fluff #anakin fluff #anakin skywalker fic #anakin skywalker x reader fic #anakin skywalker x reader fluff #anakin x reader fic #fluffy anakin

[kelcemenow]

Drive Me Crazy - Chapter 8.

Pairing Travis Kelce x Reader

Words 1391

Warnings Some angsty vibes here, but it's going to get better, I swear!

Huge thank you to the Anon who sent this in! They had such amazing words to say about my writing which I massively appreciate and then to top it off, had an incredible request for me! I only have experience with mechanics in the UK, so I’ve tried my best with this one! “I just recently got interested in Travis K. X reader stories and wanted to let you know, I read all of yours as quickly as I could. They are so well done and I couldn’t help but laugh/giggle and feel through each word you typed out. You’re doing amazing and I’m so glad to have stumbled onto your page. If you have any space for a request, I’d be curious about what Trav would think about having a military (like fighter pilot) or engineer or mechanic girlfriend. I see a lot of stories with him paired with models/singers/social media individuals (which are phenomenal!) but just wondering how he would be with a more tomboy like girlfriend!”

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

"Are you sure you're okay?"

You sighed, rolling your eyes, "Travis, I'm fine. I'm just tired."

He stared at you as thoroughly as he could through his phone screen. Faint wrinkles between his eyes deepened as his eyes narrowed. He hummed quietly before laying further back on his bed, his elbows elevating his torso, "Your Dad seemed pretty happy tonight."

You forced a smile, your chest still panging with hurt, "Yeah, thank you for doing all of this, he had a blast."

"And you?"

You paused, a little longer than you should've, "Yeah, it was great."

Luckily, Travis had rolled across the bed to grab the charger for his phone and didn't pick up on your disheartened expression, "I'm still pissed you wouldn't let the team doctor check you over."

"Travis, I really appreciate that you're concerned for me, I am. But honestly, it wasn't necessary."

He sucked his teeth and shook his head, "It's crazy though, there's gotta be a reason you passed out."

You avoided his gaze, adjusting the folds of your bedsheet.

"Anyway baby, I'm tired. I think I'm going to hit the hay, okay?"

Nodding your head gently, you could feel your body yearning to yawn, "Yeah, me too."

"But I'll call you in the morning?"

"Sure."

You watched as his eyes creased into a sweet smile, "G'night, babygirl."

Your stomach fluttered as his left eye quickly closed into a charming wink. It seemed travis had a talent for making you melt, no matter the situation.

"Goodnight, Travis."

The phone display returned to your home screen, a black and white photo of you and your Dad when you were younger. You must have been around 9 or 10 years old and were wearing one of his work t-shirts, splotches of grease and oil covering most of the fabric. He was leaning over the hood of his car and you were stood on a stool in front of him, holding a large tool in your tiny hand. You recognised his battered baseball cap adorning his head as one of your own now, something he gave you when you took on part of his business. 'A good luck charm', he said. Your chest swelled with love before melancholy set in. The opinions of other people had never bothered you in the past, especially the opinions of complete strangers. You had always been confident in yourself and you valued hard work and kindness over appearances. But now here you were, overthinking and distracted by the online comments of people you didn't know.

You laid back on your bed and stared up at the ceiling, shadows forming swirled patterns across the white paint. Taking a few deep breaths, you glanced across to the digital clock on your nightstand before feeling your eyelids droop lower and lower with each breath.

______________________________________________________________

Music blasted from the small radio you had perched on top of the exposed engine. Your head was buried under the hood, fingers tinkering at greased bolts and pipes as the sounds of the garage were overpowered by Whitney Houston.

"Y/N!" A deep voice yelled out from behind you.

Your body jerked as the noise disturbed your focus. Glancing over your shoulder, you noticed Jordan standing 20 yards or so away from you, his eyes avoiding yours.

"Yes?" You said impatiently, without changing your stance, a clear sign that you weren't interested in a lengthy conversation with him.

"I don't know if you're busy or..."

"Yeah, I am."

"Right." Jordan turned away for a second before spinning around and taking a few steps closer to you, "You know, it's just that it's obvious that other people think the same as I do."

You stood up straight, your shoulders tightening, "Excuse me?"

"I just don't think that you and Travis are a good match for each other." His feet were planted on the floor but his knees were twitching, his hands nervously fidgeting in his washed out denim jeans, "And I know I shouldn't have behaved the way I did the other night, but I was just in shock to see him there, you know? He's a pretty big deal, and you...you're just a-"

"Is this supposed to be an apology?"

Jordan sighed, his hands moving up to his temples, "I just think you would be better suited with someone else."

You laid down the spanner that you had been firmly gripping, the clang ringing out through the garage and capturing everyone's attention, "Someone else? Someone else like you, you mean?"

"Y/N, that's not what I'm saying-"

"What are you saying, then?

Jordan's gaze drifted to the floor, "I...I don't really know."

You took a step towards him, "Exactly. You don't know what you're saying. So, let me give you a clue. Who I date is none of your business, Jordan. It is actually none of yours, or anyone else's business."

You could see heads turning in your peripheral, but all that you could feel was the heat quickly rising in your chest and adrenaline speeding through your veins. Jordan stood with his mouth open, as if he was about to speak but even if he wanted to, you were reluctant to give him the chance.

"So, just...stay out of it, okay?" You waved your hand before rushing over to the bathroom, the wooden door slamming shut behind you.

Your shaking hands reached for the white basin, fingers gripping the smooth, cool, porcelain as you looked up into the mirror. You gritted your teeth as you attempted to hold your composure for a few seconds before you crumbled, tears travelling down your cheeks quickly. The clangs of the garage were muffled in the distance behind your occasional sobs, but you ran the tap just in case anyone could hear you.

Your reflection stared back at you, the skin under your eyes shiny from tears. As your breathing slowed and you took back control of your emotions, you grabbed your hair behind your head and tied it back with a small scrunchie that was snug on your wrist. Wiping your face, you inhaled deeply before a gentle knock on the bathroom door made you jump slightly.

"Uhh, there's someone in here." Your emotionally charged voice gurgled.

"It's Dad."

You looked around the small restroom, for nothing in particular, before flushing the toilet, "I'll just...I'll just be a minute." You called out, grabbing a hand towel and desperately dabbing your face.

There was a short moment of silence on the other side of the door as your Dad waited for the sound of rushing water to cease.

"He's gotten under your skin, hasn't he?"

"Jordan? I couldn't care less about what Jordan thinks." You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and brushed down your overalls, "I don't-"

"I meant Travis."

You turned towards the door, your eyebrows furrowed.

"Forgive me for saying this, and I know I don't really know much about your dating life-" He let out a chuckle, "-but I've seen a change in you. A good change."

You reached for the door handle, "Really?"

"You seem happier." You could hear a smile in your Dad's voice, "Today aside, of course."

As you gently turned the handle and opened the door, his face came into view, his cheek pressed to the door frame, desperate to comfort you. You exhaled a smile as his eyes scanned your face, "I am happy."

"So, what's this?" He gestured to your eyes.

You shook your head, "It's stupid, really. I saw some comments on a picture of me and Travis online and then Jordan just-"

"And since when did you care what people thought?"

You blinked, "I don't."

Your Dad pushed the door open further and placed his hands on both of your shoulders, "So, what's the problem?"

You giggled, "I don't know."

"I think I know." He winked with a grin.

You lowered your brows again, your lips tightening into a coy smile.

"You like the guy!" He shook you gently, "And I don't blame you. But I have to be honest here, he's the lucky one to have you, sport."

You looked down at your feet, your cheeks flushing with red.

"So, fuck what everybody else thinks!"

"Daddy!" Your head snapped up, your eyes wide at your Dad's uncharacteristic cursing, which was something exclusively reserved for watching football games.

"Go get him."

______________________________________________________________

I think I've got my groove back!

This series will be finishing soonish and then I'll get onto the one-shot requests list that I have sitting in my notes app...which is quite a few!

Anyway, I hope you like this next chapter, it's not too dramatic but it's setting up the finale! If you want to be added to my Taglist, just let me know!

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#travis kelce x reader #travis kelce imagine #kelce x reader #nfl imagine #original story #travis kelce fic #travis kelce #travis kelce fluff #nfl fluff #travis kelce smut #travis kelce angst #nfl smut #nfl angst #nfl fic #kelcemenow requests