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intangibly-here · 3 years

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don't say it's too late (to say i need you)

zhongli x gn!reader

- scenario; 2.9k words - fluff & angst - sad ending - alternate universe; canon-divergent - warning: implied/past character death; self-deprecation; descriptions of asphyxiation, blood, and injury; please take note.

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a single red dahlia blooms inside your heart.

(a field inside your lungs.)

title from milet - inside you.

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soft sunlight falls on your face as you slowly wake up, a soothing voice lulling you to the realm of the awakened. zhongli, pristine as always, peers over your blanket covered form, smiling gently at your face as you give him a quiet whine.

“good morning, love.”

“morning zhongli...” you clear your throat to respond without mumbling, but give up halfway through, instead reaching your arms up to loop around his back and pull him into a hug. zhongli complies all too easily, breathing an exasperated sigh and tugging you to sit upright as he takes you into his arms. his skin is warm, still clothed in moderately casual clothes - by his standards - and the sun-kissed edges of his eyes drown you in his being.

(zhongli is such a warm being. encompassing yet not suffocating, sweet but not unnaturally so; the way he can twist words, spin tales so enamoring that you can’t help but stay. his presence grounds you, a constant in this ever-changing universe that surrounds you, and you let yourself fall, deeper and deeper, into the sanctuary that is zhongli.)

his hands rub soothing circles into your back, fingers working to trace shapes onto your skin and brush over a swipe of gold all too tenderly. his long hair, still untied from where he had instead moved to wake you up, drapes like embellished curtains around you two, hidden safely from the world.

as you’re about to fall back into slumber, zhongli sighs, gripping your shoulders to admonishingly shake your sleep-softened form.

“we should begin the preparations for a meal,” he chides, or in other words, i’m hungry, get up so we can eat. it’s probably the closest he’ll ever get to pouting, and you chuckle at the thought.

“alright, alright, ‘m getting up.”

pulling away the puffy blankets and taking your hand, zhongli gracefully helps you to stand up from the bed and stumble to the bathroom.

it’s halfway through your morning routine that you hear the rapping of several knocks on the door. you look up from the white towel your face is buried in.

“zhongli?”

he clears his throat, and before you have the chance to wonder why, he responds:

“i’ve heated the pan, however-“

his voice trails off into an embarrassed silence. you can see the sullen look on his face, the dip of his brows and the tiniest push of his lip, even from behind the door. your mouth lilts up into a smile.

“-however you would like some help with the rest?”

zhongli huffs, just loud enough to reach your ears.

“..yes, that— if you would.”

your hands resume their motions, if not a little quicker, the damp towel set down and a string bracelet slid over your hand, fastened to rest on your wrist. the singular charm dangles freely, cool against the heat of your skin. it was fashioned to look like a larger dragon curled around a smaller one. your heels shift against the ground as you turn to the accessory cabinet, opening the drawer in search of a comb.

“of course, a-li. i’ll be finished in a moment.”

a sheepish hum is all you receive before you hear his footsteps trail away back to the kitchen, take the chance to exit the bathroom in search of your outfit for today.

while zhongli is an expert in all recipes complex, his slow-cooked bamboo shoot soup being one of those, he by some odd chance of nature cannot cook simple meals. how you’d discovered this, it would be unwise to mention (for the sake of zhongli’s pride and your own skin), but ever since then, it’d been you cooking the simpler meals and zhongli taking charge of the more elaborate ones, per say.

it makes up just another part of how your relationship has bloomed over time.

finally properly dressed, you hurry to the kitchen to make breakfast. zhongli shuffles to the left to make room for you, helping you to fasten a simple apron for cooking. you find your peace in the spot nestled by his side, dropping cubed radish cakes on hot metal and stirring congee in the pot. your shoulders brush and hips bump as you prepare the meal together, hands fumbling to arrange the array of dumplings. the sizzling of the pan and billows of steam from the steamer basket draw you closer into the moment.

(it is the gentlest picture of home.)

the subtle clink of cutlery fills the air as zhongli sets the table, moving from setting down appropriate tableware to helping you plate the food. two cups of tea find their way to the table, “the tea is hot love, don’t burn yourself.”, and you enjoy the sole, blissful feeling of a morning with zhongli. the meal is delicious as always, the seasonings flavorful and food warm in your stomach, but the serenity of your slow morning together is all too easily interrupted by voices from outside your front door. they chatter for a moment, then pause and a few knocks on the door sound out.

zhongli’s expression lights up just a tad from where it had sunken into soft contentment, and he nods at you in silent confirmation of who they are, setting down his chopsticks. at that, you smile as well, unlocking the door to let havria and guizhong inside.

(havria? guizhong..?)

“good morning you two! ready to head out to the market?” guizhong, ever cheerful and energetic, shifts restlessly by the door. havria modestly stands beside her, nodding along in unsaid agreement.

“allow us to tidy up first?” zhongli looks over at you, and you pick up the empty bowls and plates, moving the dishes to the sink in response.

when the dishes have been washed and lain out on the rack to dry, you reconvene at the doorway, straightening out your coat and putting on your shoes to head outside.

out of the corner of your eye, you spot zhongli’s tie slipping out of his coat just the slightest. unthinkingly, you turn around, deftly slipping the cloth back into place. zhongli’s eyes widen, then smile at you, lifting your hand to press a kiss to the back of it. if your cheeks heat up in the telltale sign of a blush, no one mentions it.

the moment you open the door and step outside into the sunlight, your senses are filled with the sight and sounds of the bustling harbor.

you can hear the shouts of merchants handling hawker stalls even from just outside your doorway, and that’s the direction you immediately tug zhongli in, havria and guizhong trailing with smiles behind you.

(when you first met him, but a brief glance given as you walked down this very street, you’d thought of him as particular. particularly royal, particularly formal, particularly- well, interesting. dressed finer than anyone else around, yet lacking the common sense of anyone surrounding him, he was an enigma in himself.)

zhongli stumbles for a moment, shaken by your sudden enthusiasm, and gives a low chuckle, shaking his head. his footsteps follow yours nonetheless, hand tucked into your own. the string of his bracelet sways in the breeze, as if chasing the end of your own flowing string.

(it was only with time that he was willing to show you more behind that distracting facade. the micro-expressions that danced across his face whenever you made a joke he didn’t quite understand, the slump of his shoulders when he realized he had yet again forgotten to bring mora, the draining weight of century-lain exhaustion that plagued his soul.)

(it was all... zhongli.)

you’re strolling by the various stalls, each and every one selling different specialties, when you spy a certain stand by chance. letting go of zhongli’s hand with a squeeze for a moment, you step closer to the stall’s spread of items.

to the side of a flower-pressed piece of pottery lays a pendant of cor lapis. you pick it up to inspect it further, and are only increasingly surprised by the fine details and remarkable craftsmanship.

“zhongli! come over and look at this!” you call, flipping the locket over in your hands. the more you look, the more stunning it seems to get. a single dahlia head is perfectly encased in molten amber, fine pattern displayed beautifully and strung masterfully on a delicate metal chain.

“zhongli?” when he doesn’t respond, you turn around, mildly confused. there, he stands unnervingly still, eyes wide and shocked. you tilt your head, looking around you to see what he could be so uncharacteristically surprised about. nothing is out of the ordinary. chefs are strolling around, shopping for groceries, and construction workers are still repairing the damages to a house nearby. it’s alright nearby the cliffs, no mishaps or accidents, and the sun shines as brightly as ever.

you look down— and all at once everything seems to make sense as blood-red petals spill out of your lips onto the ground.

the pendant slips out of your grasp, and the world stops for a moment.

(you know what this means.)

then, an ear-piercing scream rings out, echoing inside your head, breaking the silence, and suddenly everything is shattering, golden shards flying across the floor, and try as you might, you just can’t, can’t— can’t pick up the pieces fast enough.

(not again, not again, not again—)

you clutch at your neck, vines climbing up your throat and petals forcing themselves from your gaping mouth. it burns. the pain sends you reeling, licking white hot from your veins and into your flesh, and you collapse onto the floor, curled up and clawing at the gaping emptiness growing inside you. it’s choking, suffocating, and the claws of your ribs dig into your lungs. the splintered pendant shards cut at your knees.

(rightful punishment for what you’ve done.)

your head throbs with freezing realization as you remember once more, contrary to the flames singing your nerves. the stinging pain stabbing your skin only worsens, your breaths becoming shorter and shorter.

keep telling yourself lies,

the voice in your head whispers,

because zhongli is dead anyway.

it screams—

this is what you deserve.

(he was so, so beautiful.

kind in all the right ways, wise in all the best.

and then you just had to strangle him with your own hands.

lying traitor.

withholding one side, then murdering the other.

—should just disappear.)

now, it is your eyes that burn, when did you even close them?, and you force your heavy eyelids to open. you chest heaves, and your mouth struggles to do anything other than choke on flowers. you can’t breathe. in your hazy vision, zhongli crouches in front of you, all regal bearing discarded. he’s blurry all around the edges, but you can make out the sad expression on his face. your head throbs again.

pitiful.

you choke out another mouthful of bloodied petals. the wind blows harder, as if mocking your suffering. zhongli’s thread bracelet, the matching ones you two had gotten together in hopes of brighter future, swings even harder as the draft pulls it towards the sky.

your bracelet stays placid.

zhongli lifts his hands to you, almost hesitantly, as if you would disappear any moment now. his mouth opens, as if to say something, but then it closes, and he murmurs, “shhh... it’ll be okay.”

miraculously, your lungs expand, and you take a deep breath.

his palms, soft and untelling of his long-lived history, cup your face, and he gingerly wipes away your tears. it’s too gentle, too caring for, for— for someone like you. how can he still—? he knows what you’ve done; he has to know now. of the blood on your hands.

(you- you don’t deserve him. didn’t ever deserve him. and now all that’s left for you is your pathetic being. alive instead of him. alive instead of zhongli.)

he smiles softly at you, out of place within your shaken head.

he knows.

but he still cares.

he loves you.

it’s warm, warm, warm.

tears slide across your skin once more.

and just as you’re sinking back into this haze, this dream, his smile drops—

he backs away.

the air that had just made it’s way back into your lungs vanishes, the overgrowth in your heart and soul surging forth tenfold.

please stay—

the stems that branch from bloodied dahlias grasp your windpipe, constricting it with baleful strength. your words die in your throat, and you desperately gasp for air. your heart aches, longing for something right in front of you, yet ungraspable, intangible. it eats away at the small part of you deeply hidden, tucked far inside, the part that just wants and wants and wants— wants to be happy. wants to be loved. wants.. zhongli. “—y child.”

he must see something in your eyes, because he purses his lips and turns his head away. it’s a stark contrast to all his earlier behavior, and it has your heart freezing over, heavy and cold and wrong.

unwanted.

then again, this illusion is over now isn’t it? of course it’s your fault once more, these stupid stupid flowers killing you; both your ignorance and your bliss.

he’s still so, so beautiful.

“—ke up, m-“

the last kiss he presses to your forehead goes unnoticed, as does his tears, your eyes trained solely on his back as he stands up and walks away calmly, steadily.

forgotten.

in the distance, even with your increasingly darkening vision, you can make out the forms of guizhong and havria smiling, welcoming him.

(you love him, love, love— is that not enough? not enough for you to stay? here? please, why whywhywhywhywhy—)

so that’s why they were here.

you wish you could follow them.

the piercing pain of asphyxiation slices through your chest as if in reminder of your betrayal, throbbing with every shaky breath you take as you watch zhongli fade away. your hands claw futilely at the ground, nails dirtied and fingers sore. the first loud sob escapes your throat.

“wake up—“

useless.

(no, no no nonono, please come back love, please, don’t leave, don’t leave don’t leave, pleasepleaseplease—)

your battered, bloodied form shrinks into itself, seeking lost comfort and amber eyes, hands clutching your once shared bracelet. the light in your eyes dim and your body falls numb, hand twitching and you lose your thoughts in a daze.

thump.

stay, stay, stay—

thump.

you want to stay.

thump.

why can’t you stay?

thump.

zhongli...

thum—

“wake up, my child.”

—and then your eyes are snapping open, the tsaritsa’s shadow looming over your huddled form. in your sleep-muddled daze, you recognize her instantly, mechanically performing an informal kneel to her majesty. your legs stutter beneath you and your hands tremble underneath your sleeves. your hands curl into themselves like a lifeline as you attempt to cease your rapid breathing.

“i see you’re having dreams again,” she mildly remarks, gaze flicking to you then back at the arch of her wrist. her eyes shine in the dark of the room. you can’t tell what she’s implying, but it sends a chill down your spine nonetheless.

you don’t reply.

“there’s a new mission awaiting you, my dear.” the drawl of her voice is too languid for the emotions running through your head, much too cold and nonchalant; you barely process her words to give a shaky nod. even from where you face the floor, still kneeling, you can feel the smile she adorns.

“make haste.”

with that, she saunters out of the room, heels clicking against the tiled floor. you can hear the tinkle of the chain wrapped around her waist, and with it, a glimpse of a familiar hourglass shaped ornament. the door shuts.

you wish you hadn’t looked.

standing up unsteadily, you turn to your wardrobe to redress properly, discarding your resting top and pulling a clean one over your scar-marred form. you don’t make an expression acknowledging it, but your fingertips trace over the dull gold of a dragon tattoo that sprawls across your torso, scales spiraling in a show of fierceness.

(you don’t let the tears fall until you’re sure she’s far, far away.)

duty waits for no one. you follow in the tsaritsa’s footsteps as quickly as you can after dressing, exiting the room with grace into the cold sunlight of snezhnaya.

(...you can’t do this any longer, zhongli.)

if only the warm fog of your imagination would keep you there, safe in his arms and tucked into his chest, kisses pressed to your face and warm meals shared between warm souls. you can feel the phantom hold of his palms on your face, thumbing your cheeks and pressing the softest kiss to your lips as you trudge through the freezing snow.

after all, in your imagination, you wouldn’t be lethal poison to him.

(“a-li?”)

if only you hadn’t selfishly kept that warmth all for yourself, tightly grasping it and binding it to a being that would never be free.

maybe then it wouldn’t have died out so soon.

(“yes, my love.”)

if only you hadn’t ever loved—

(...the one thing you will not allow yourself to regret is loving him.)

his hair clip weighs a little heavier in the pocket of your uniform today.

#zhongli x gn!reader #zhongli #genshin impact #fluff #angst #cecilia #scenario #zhongli x reader #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact imagines

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gigiree · 7 years

Text

To catch a star, to fall for one

Day 13: lucid dream, follows the Kimono prompt. In which Hinata does too much and Sasuke gets angry.

Summer fades into fall. Hinata’s health wanes with the coming rains.

She feels sluggish. Heavy as the water that pounds against her window pane. She doesn’t want to move. Her headaches are getting worse and she’s been too petrified after her first failed attempt to experiment anymore.

Her resolve is weak, but still she pushes herself to get up and go to her new job at the local apothecary. She slides out from under the many blankets she’s piled on, and slips on her bunny slippers to avoid the chilled wooden floor.

She dresses quickly into an oversized gray sweater, some drab long pants, and winces at her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks are still sallow, her eyes ringed by prominent dark circles, her is lank and unkempt…her clothes hang off her more so than usual.

She hopes no one notices.

—

“Are you alright, sweetheart? Do you need a moment to rest?” Asks Koto-San. She is Hinata’s current employer. An old, kindly apothecary who had needed an extra hand after her grandson had gone off to university in Kumogakure.

Hinata looks up for a moment from wrapping up the next parcel of herbs, shakes her head with a polite smile, and continues to work.

Koto-San admires the girl’s work ethic. She really does. Hinata is the opposite of everything she’d come to expect from a Hyuuga. The girl is humble, sweet, and skilled with herbal remedies. Hinata still holds her head with a certain manner of well bred elegance that would have left Koto-San envious had she been a few decades younger.

As it is, Koto-san has merely grown to love the girl for all her kindness, and she worries as she sees her grow thinner, more tired with the passing month.

Her smiles are still broad. Her warm interactions with customers still draw in more regulars, like moths to a bright little flame. Never hesitating…save for today it seems.

A particularly beautiful young man with dark hair and eyes enters the small shop. The top of his head nearly brushes the hanging potted herbs, and Koto-san finds his stoicism a bit daunting.

At least until Hinata returns from the storeroom, muttering recipes to herself.

The change is instant. The young man’s eyes widen, his cheeks flush for an instant, before he brings his hand to his face and looks away.

Koto-san is filled with amusement. The boy recognizes her lovely employee and seems to find himself in the throes of some sort of attraction.

“Hinata dear, we have a customer. Could you please attend to his order?” Koto-san announces with cheer, before making herself scarce in the back room.

“Of course, Koto-San! Hello sir, how may I he…oh crap…” Hinata stops once she looks at who exactly is the new customer. The packets in her hand fall to the floor with dull thuds as her cheeks flush with a long absent red.

“Hyuuga.” Sasuke says quietly, amusement at war with every bit of awkwardness the situation could merit. He’s long since dropped his hand from his face, seeing as his reaction couldn’t have been any worse than hers.

Her jaw seems to be working to say something, but all that comes out is series of petite coughs that remind him of when he had accused her of seeking out erotica in the library.

“U-Uchiha-San….how may I help you?” She gathers herself, pulling her flaming face into the best sort of politeness she can muster up at the moment.

She hadn’t seen him since the night of the festival. The last week of August. It was now early October.

Still, Sasuke seems to be feeling magnanimous, because he merely shrugs and tells her his order. He points out the various herbs on the shelves just to make it easier as well. It doesn’t escape her notice that he’s moving his arm stiffly, and she can see a clean, white bandage peeking out from under his long sleeve.

“You’re hurt? What happened?” She says worriedly, as she wraps up the last few packages for him.

He seems surprised by her inquiry, and then smiles with fondness at the familiarity of her concern.

“I was distracted. Stupid mistake.”

She frowns. He’s being evasive, and she knows this distance between them will only grow unless she addresses what happened. His absence from her life has left more of a gaping hole than she’d realized. She’d stored away the moonstone bracelet in her nightstand, fearing that wearing it may give the wrong kind of signal.

She isn’t used to this at all. She is unsure how to proceed. At the same time, it hurts not to have him in her life..however infrequently their paths crossed.

“Sasuke…I…” she begins quietly…too quietly.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He interrupts without meaning too, and then gestures at her to continue.

“I…” she wants to deny the accusation, but she’d be lying and she doesn’t want to be false with him. They’d been so open with each other for the most part…he’s a piece of her world now. He shares her burden of Neji’s secret…she can’t lie. “I did…but I didn’t want to…I’m just not good with this.”

She gestures sheepishly in between herself and him, and looks down at the discarded pieces of white wrapping paper.

“I had no expectations Hinata…I have none. Things can stay the same…if that’s what you want.”

She feels the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. The watery sunlight seeping in from behind gray clouds makes everything feel silvery and dreamlike. She feels warm. Too warm.

But she’s grateful. Her smile is big and genuine as she nods her head.

His answering smile, a nice one that reaches all the way up into his pretty eyes, is the last thing she sees before she collapses. —-

She drifts in between the stars, her hair trailing past her in the dead air of space.

Her eyes burn against the brightness of it all, the multi-hued totality of the galaxies are mesmerizing…especially when the stars begin to fall and shoot past her.

They’re beautiful, molten silver streaking like white hot ribbons. when she reaches out to touch one, they burn her fingers. It hurts too much, pain shooting all the way up her arm and searing into her head.

She opens her mouth in a silent scream, but then a blessedly cool hand presses against her lips, trails up alongside her temple and forehead leaving relief and peace in its wake.

She tries to look past the stars in her eyes, to thank her savior, but she can only make out a silhouette.

The stars keep raining, but this person cradles her cheek in one hand and holds a familiar, battered umbrella over them both with the other hand.

The stars bounce off of it with bell like sounds, and she swears she can hear this person say-

“I love you. So wake up, stupid.”

She leans her head against the solid support of their embrace, and doesn’t protest when they kiss her forehead. This is only a dream after all.

She says vaguely to herself and them-

“I think I could fall for you.” —-

She looks so tired, frail. She’s shattering here on his couch, and he can’t help her. He can only help keep her cool. He could have asked Sakura, but something tells him this illness has everything to do with Hinata’s exhaustion from the past few months.

She seems to be settling from her initial fever dreams, mumbling incoherent things until she speaks with some clarity.

“I think I could fall for you.”

He has to take in a sharp breath when she utters those words.

An unwanted hope spears through him, fills his lungs until he feels he might go insane with want and dreams and he can’t let himself feel this. He’d had no expectations.

He’d had no expectations for forgiveness when he first came. Had had no expectations for reparations to be made or for his family name to be expunged…he’d merely counted himself lucky to be able to help Naruto change this world into one where no more children like him would be raised…no children alone or fearful of the future.

He’d only expected to rebuild this little home of his in the Ghostly Uchiha district. Only expected to live with the remnants of his mother’s garden and the sparse few belonging sItachi had left behind.

He had been content to be nothing but a solid stone, forever watching the currents of life eek past him.

And then she had shot into his life like a falling star, wide moon eyes pulling him closer until he caught her in his waiting arms.

Her words make his heart beat fast, but it quickly sinks back down to the pit his of stomach when he wipes away the sweat gathering on her forehead with a damp towel.

He sweeps back her long bangs to reveal a horrifying green cross, surrounded by a flowering reddish bruise that is hot to the touch.

He curses loudly and Hinata’s eyes open at that. She looks at him through a fog, a worried expression furrowing her brow as she reaches up with clammy hands to wipe away the tears gathering in his eyes.

“Don’t be sad.”

He grits his teeth, his jaw tensing with barely restrained fury and a tenderness that’s nearly unbearable as she worries for him.

“Who did this?” He says quietly, brushing trembling fingers against her forehead.

She winces, and closes her eyes. She is silent for a long while, before she looks at him again.

“I did.” She whispers, and she has the gall to look at him with broken pride.

He inhales sharply, and leans down to press his cool forehead against hers.

“You’re so stupid.”

She laughs bitterly.

“I know.”

He wants to say more, but he can’t. He’d promised that things would stay the same. This is as much as he will do.

Except maybe..

He pulls away, relieved that she’s awake. Furious that she would try and experiment with the seal on herself.

She seems to be drifting off into sleep again, too exhausted and hurt to do much else.

Before she does, he makes sure to tell her-

“The next time you need a guinea pig for this, use me.”

He thinks she’d protest quite loudly if she wasn’t ill, but as it is, she merely hums an inconclusive response. But he will make sure that means agreement once she’s well again.

#sasuhina #sasuhina month day 13

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