Easy.

Your heart pounded as you stared at the massive steaming gash in the earth, the abrupt silence almost deafening as the dust began to settle. Only an hour into being in the past, and you had already almost lost your life on three separate occasions, and been saved just as many.

Honestly, you were starting to wonder if you had somehow stumbled your way into some kind of anime, because this sheer level of fuckery in such a short amount of time, seemed far too convenient to some unknown plot, to be a coincidence.

…..Either that, or the past was a hell of a lot more hectic than you remembered from history class.

Suffice to say, you hadn’t expected to end up in a situation anything like the one you were in now, when you woke up this morning. All you had wanted, was to explore some old shrines and landmarks, not get hurled back into the past and have your life threatened at every turn.

How you’d ended up here, was anyone’s guess.

Luckily, the first person you’d met, had been another time traveller, who had very kindly explained to you what had happened and where you were. Though she too was just as confused as to how you’d actually gotten here, especially since you apparently hadn’t arrived in the same way that she had, nor were you “like her” what ever that meant.

Unfortunately, her dog eared companion hadn’t been so kind and understanding, and had almost taken your head off twice, before the girl had used some kind of command to subdue him, with rather entertaining results. 

After calming the hothead down, the girl had introduced herself and her companion properly, and led you to the well that she used to travel, explaining everything about this time period and the youkai that inhabited it along the way. And wasn’t That a trip.

It was shortly after trying and failing to use the well yourself, that you were introduced to the rest of their group, including a ridiculously cute little kit who had instantly attached himself to you, and hadn’t let go since. Not that you were complaining. 

The calm atmosphere had been quickly disturbed however, as, yet again, you found yourself almost dying at the hands of a youkai.

The crazed lizard like youkai had come thundering out of the forest with a rather impressive speed, heading straight for you in its panic. It likely would have trampled you and the small kit too, if not for the arrival of another youkai, who appeared seemingly out of nowhere, before promptly dispatching the creature, its head rolling to a grisly stop at your feet. 

This new youkai and yourself, had stared at each other a little too long to be considered polite or normal, before Inuyasha, the hothead who had almost killed you when you arrived, abruptly started yelling at them, finally pulling the new youkai’s gaze away from you, and breaking the strange air that had settled over you both.

What had followed was a mostly one sided shouting match, which you paid very little attention to, focusing mainly on soothing the terrified kit in your arms, and sneaking glances at the strange but captivating newcomer.

It was because of this distraction, that you didn’t notice as Inuyasha readied an attack in the other youkai’s direction, only recognising the danger as Kagome let out a panicked shout for him to stop. You’d had barely a moment to recognise the attack headed your way, before you were suddenly wrapped in a strong but careful embrace, the softest fur you’d ever felt, pressed against your face.

The sight of you, safe from danger and wrapped in the other youkai’s embrace several metres away from the wound in the earth, was enough to send everyone into a stunned silence, including the wide eyed kit, still hiding against your chest.

From the look on the other youkai’s face, they were just as shocked by their decision to save you as everyone else was. Though they didn’t seem to have any plans of releasing you any time soon either.

lights, camera, action!

premise. in which you get yourself involved in a lot of unscripted drama. (genshin celebrity au.)

includes. xiao, childe, albedo, ayato, scaramouche, thoma & kazuha.

previous episode. watch here.

note. the long-awaited sequel nobody actually waited for lmao. please read part 1 if you still haven't! this entire fic would be incomprehensible otherwise :'D

四 ; ayato, the cannon fodder

although xiao is, with absolute certainty, regarded as your definite favorite celebrity in your heart, ayato comes a close second.

he's a modern day prince; if anyone were asked to say which male lead they liked best, you can guarantee their answer would be among one of his roles.

he played a lot of characters—a school heartthrob, a ceo, a bar owner, and even an actual prince for a snow white retelling. each one with stellar execution, as you'd expect from an actor of his caliber.

so it is to your absolute horror to find him casted in this production as a minor villain. the one that happens to (futilely) seduce the journalist to bed, no less!

is he asking to get his image destroyed?! which... actually does make sense. he's already been typecasted as the “prince” type of male lead, and you can guess how frustrating that can be. it must suck to play one persona over and over, mindlessly spouting recycled lines; not much room for creativity there.

but he's had different roles too, of course. one that stuck to your mind is another murder mystery, a film focusing on the death of a family head. the power struggle for the place of successor isn't a secret even to the public, and the prime suspects are primarily composed of the victim's relatives who stand to benefit from the family head's death.

ayato played the role of the first son, believed to be the one most likely to inherit the riches. which means the sooner the family head dies, he gets to have all the assets. he's suspicious due to his probable motive, but overly so that it's too obvious; ironically enough, this leads the audience to think he definitely couldn't be the killer.

except he is exactly that, but for a reason nobody would expect. rather than greed, the first son murdered his father for driving his biological mother to madness due to abuse and then sent her to a psychiatric ward, where she eventually died. he took in a second wife, a woman only after his money, who kept on pressuring her husband to make her daughter his successor.

contrary to popular belief, ayato's character didn't loathe his step-sister. in fact, he cared about her quite a bit, and his hate for his father grew whenever he scorned her for being “lacking” or “good for nothing.” his scummy personality led to his demise.

in the end, the step-mother was wrongly arrested, and the true murderer wasn't revealed until after the credits, where ayato was shown sitting at his father's desk and laughing to himself, followed by a scene detailing how the actual murder took place and how he tricked the investigators successfully.

the contrast between his acting as a shallow young master and a cunning mastermind had been praised by many. to tell the truth, you don't know how he was typecasted as a prince when he's clearly more suited for “villain” roles.

...even so, his current role isn't anything like the previous one! a cannon fodder and a genius murderer are nowhere near alike! he's only there to make the protagonist jealous and his character is fated to die one week after the scene with the journalist!

you suppose your disbelief must've shown on your face when each actor's respective role was announced because he couldn't help but chuckle when he looked at you.

“...by any chance, did you audition for the murderer role? because- it's hard to believe that-” you struggle to piece together words, rambling while ayato is busy signing his autograph on your phone case. (as luck would have it, you don't have paper on you. you said he could sign the back of your shirt but he politely declined, insisting the shirt would get dirty like you aren't planning to get it framed on your bedroom wall and declare it your heirloom.)

you don't even feel shy talking to him from the sheer incredulity of the situation. ayato only laughs as he hands you your phone case. “i did. but it turned out getting a minor role is a good thing since i'm planning to be on vacation soon.”

“oh. that's understandable, then...” barely. you still have complaints about it. as an actor, you respect the director's decisions, but as a loyal fan, you oughta give him a talking to and demand to give your idol the role he deserves.

“do you dislike it?”

your brows knit together, eyes momentarily leaving your now prized phone case to glance at him. “dislike what?” dislike that you're treated like this? that you have to act as a brainless villain? that you don't get much screentime? then fuck yeah.

“dislike that you're going to do that scene with me.” almost bashful, he leans closer to whisper to your ear. “you know. the one in the hotel.”

all the blood in your body rushes to your cheeks. impishly, ayato's lips curl into a smile of mischievous nature, a far cry from the elegant simper he usually holds. “i... that isn't what i... no, i mean it's not that i don't like you as my partner, but- but-!”

sufficiently entertained by your fumbling, he stops being mean and lightly pats the top of your head. “let's both do our best. truthfully, i'm not the most adept with bedroom scenes, but if you need help, you can always rely on me.”

rely how exactly?!

...

“is it too tight?”

“um... a little.”

“okay. is this better?”

“yes. am i too stiff?”

“mhm, a bit. you don't have to be nervous. it's just me.”

ah yes. it's just THE kamisato ayato pinning you down your bed, breathing down your neck, moments away from stealing your lips. nothing to worry about, clearly.

he adjusts his grip on your wrists, loosening it to your liking. his character is meant to push you down forcibly, but of course he doesn't want to actually harm you during filming—to prepare before the shoot, practice is of utmost importance. you have to give the illusion of an aggressive assault when in reality he's handling you like a piece of glass.

but you're doing this right after a day's work, and you have to blame your stupid mouth for running off without command and casually asking him if he could visit your apartment to go over the scene. in late hours of the night. in what can be interpreted as a much more scandalous suggestion.

thankfully, you're not dealing with childe so you're spared from wiggling eyebrows or phrases with flirty implications.

but him being ayato doesn't make it any easier.

“don't you feel embarrassed making out on screen...?” you laugh awkwardly in an attempt to ignore the weird tension in the air, slightly overwhelmed by his intense gaze. “i know you've done this several times, but i imagine the awkwardness never wears off.”

“not quite,” he agrees. “but a job is a job... i say that, but i'd like to make it comfortable for you, if possible. how are you faring? do you need a break?” he sits up, allowing more distance in the space between you. you shake your head.

“i'm fine. just... nervous. it's my first time doing a bedroom scene...” you look off to the side, staring at the lights beyond your window. though you're in the comfort of your own room, having an unfamiliar man on your bed makes it all feel so strange.

...as you thought, it really was weird to invite a co-actor to your bed! eh? would booking a hotel be better? but isn't it overboard to go to a hotel for practice? inviting him to your apartment is equally as bad, though?!

“all the cameramen watching can be pressuring,” he adds in afterthought, releasing one of your wrists only to pin it with a single hand. you flinch a little when his fingers skim over your cheek, but you slowly relax into the heat. “it's best if you try to forget about them.”

“i'm afraid that's easier said than done,” you murmur, voice growing weaker as he leans down once more.

“really? i consider myself a decent kisser.” he grins, sly and confident. “i'm certain i can keep other things off your mind for a while.”

“wh- i'm not supposed to enjoy it, remember?!” you squawk indignantly with flushed cheeks. he relishes in your reaction, chuckling lowly.

“oh? my bad. you'll have to work hard acting like you don't like it, then.”

his lips hover above yours, breaths mingling with each other. the proximity catches you off guard but his hand is a steady weight holding you in place, urging you to look at him.

“don't think about anyone else. just focus on me.”

五 ; scaramouche, the best friend

“fantastic. i was also looking forward to a drama adaption but you've already ruined it for me.”

“that's not nice! you're supposed to congratulate me for passing the audition!”

“my courtesy towards you has already expired 5 years ago.”

“yes. you've made that very apparent.”

“have i also made my ire apparent? it's like the universe is telling me seeing you everyday isn't enough, i have to see you on television too. frankly, we see too much of each other.”

“you say that but you're the one coming over my apartment uninvited.”

“this is where i store my beer.”

scaramouche has a perfectly functional fridge so you know he's only doing that as an excuse. he's been this way for 8 years. (of course, he'd only been storing milk at your house when you were both still underage.)

(the milk didn't do any favors for his height, unfortunately.)

his words are as harsh as ever but believe it or not, he's your closest friend. not that he'd ever admit it, even at gunpoint. it's a feat you should add to your resume, honestly, because as far as you know, you're one of the few people he doesn't hate.

he tolerates you enough that he can practice your lines with you (with enough pressure), though he delivers his part of the script with such dispassion it makes it difficult for you to get into the mood. but in his own brand of patience, he lets you reiterate your lines an endless amount of times until you feel like you get it right.

he helps you with expressions too, albeit in a manner you find hard to appreciate.

“you look like you're constipated, not about to cry.”

“your jaw is hanging open. want to catch a fly with your tongue? act like you caught your husband cheating, not like you're about to eat half my burger when you said you'd only take a bite.”

(personal grudges were involved.)

he's not interested in the film industry at all, but he was the one who pushed you to pursue your dreams when everyone else was discouraging you from taking an unstable career. he's your pillar of support; even if he's glaring at you scathingly or giving cutting words matter-of-factly, he's all bark and no bite. the moment you shed tears, he's already pulling you to his chest, remaining silent as he rubs comforting circles on your back. he doesn't even complain when you bury your face to hide in his neck, soaking his shirt with tears.

underneath all that layers, he's pretty nice.

(admittedly, you have to dig real deep.)

when you're smiling and happy, however, he takes the chance to complain. sneering, he blurts, “what's up with you taking roles in romance dramas all the time? besides, you're way too old to be in high school.”

“i still look fresh.” you batted your eyelashes at him, celebrating inwardly when he made a scandalized noise. “but i'm auditioning for a different role soon. if i get it, you'll see me as a murder victim instead of a high schooler.”

two weeks later, you get the e-mail confirming the love interest role. scaramouche goes so pale you consider taking him to the hospital.

“i know the journalist is your favorite character, but aren't you overreacting? do you hate me acting as them that much?”

he rolls his eyes so hard you almost think they're going to be permanently pointed heavenward. “are you stupid? that's not what i'm worried about. wouldn't you have to- you know- do that scene-”

“which one?”

“...the hotel scene...”

ah. well that certainly is a cause for concern. it's steamier than what you're used to; so far, you've only done light pecks or kisses that don't last too long. bedroom scenes are definitely foreign territory.

“i can only hope my partner is good-looking, then. i wouldn't mind it, if that's the case.” you laugh sheepishly, missing the way his eyes narrow in disapproval.

“...whatever. suit yourself.”

“don't tell me you still feel weird about kissing scenes?”

“i don't have issues with kissing scenes. i just don't want to see you sucking face on tv.”

“don't use that word! it's too vulgar!”

as part of work, it's inevitable you have to do a kissing scene here and there. scaramouche has never been fond of seeing them, turning away from the television or excusing himself to the bathroom whenever they come up. it's a reaction you can sympathize with; it is rather awkward to see your friend making out with someone on screen.

but he especially detests the old recording of your high school play.

long, long ago, you were part of the drama club. by association, scaramouche became a member as well—the pair of you were considered as a package deal. he was your practice partner so often that he got forced into joining.

he'd die before he ever tells anyone, but he had a knack for playing villains back then, specialized in wicked cackling and bone-chilling monologues reeking of depravity.

but in your final year, he got roped into playing the prince when the original actor sprained his ankle. incidentally, you happened to be playing the damsel in distress in your (pretty much unrecognizable) rendition of sleeping beauty.

“why is the prince shorter than-” before you could end your statement, he already slammed your face with the script.

the play was a hot mess. scaramouche couldn't play a decent prince for the life of him, so your club made the play a comedy and reworked the entire script to fit him better. the valiant and heroic character became satirical, forced into saving you not for love but to fulfill a prophecy that definitely wasn't in the original sleeping beauty.

the audience was taking the change well, intrigued by the bizarre twists and turns. the huffing-puffing prince was hilarious to watch, too.

it wasn't long before you laid in the casket, blinded by stage lights even with your eyes closed. the cardboard dragon had already been defeated, and the prince was fast approaching.

to your utter distaste, it was decided the prince would slap you awake. so you prepared for it when the last lines were being said, bracing for the stinging pain.

but then there was a rise in pitch, nearing to a yelp, then a loud thud, then the weight of two hands pressing on either side of your head, and-

your lips were touching something soft and warm.

the squeals and yells reverberated in the whole theater, the narrator stammering awkwardly and improvising ad libs last minute. your eyes snapped open and you'd gotten a front row seat to see scaramouche's blushing face, an explosion of pink dancing across his features.

after the play wrapped up and he peeled off the ridiculously frilly prince costume, he'd been set on destroying every record—alas, your friends weren't so keen on deleting such good footage. to this day, he still bristled at the thought of it; his and your first kiss showcased to hundreds of people.

it's harder to endure when he sees you kissing someone else, however. he never gets used to it, no matter how many times he tells himself to.

“oh, finally. it took so long for them to get together,” his co-worker groans as he watches the tv at the break room, airing the latest episode of the drama you star in. scaramouche glances at the screen, turning away when the camera flits to the boy with ashy brown hair. he's touching your face for the millionth time, bright teal eyes staring into yours so deeply scaramouche almost thinks he's actually besotted with you.

“you're not watching? i thought you liked this series?”

“i don't.”

for his own sake, he doesn't give the tv another glance, stepping out of the room.

this is fine. it's not the first time he's felt like this.

(it doesn't feel any less terrible.)

六 ; thoma, the former male lead

there are as many aspiring actors as there are stars in the sky; it's unfortunate only some of them shine brightly enough to be noticeable, and the rest twinkling weakly in miniscule dots.

for your case, and for your friend thoma's, you belong to the latter.

thoma is handsome, that much you can see with your own eyes, but a pretty face can be found anywhere in the industry—he lacks that special something that makes him stand out. that being said, you don't have it either, so you're on the same boat.

you're best pals, comrades in arms, partners in crime.

actual partners. once. for a romance drama.

(but not the main characters. just an obligatory side pairing, of course. you're the rebound for the second male lead.)

it was your first work, and you'd rather delete your existence than watch it again. hopefully, that also erases your dark history.

your... amateurish acting had been unsightly. the innocence you portrayed wasn't lovely, just a ghastly display of incoherent mumbling and lack of comedic timing. you wanted to tear apart each clip and toss it in some imaginary ditch where nobody can find it again.

thoma's performance wasn't as severe as yours. it wasn't half-bad, almost decent if not for the scant instances of awkwardness in scenes that required more emotional acting.

alas, the end product was just about what you expected; a series no one paid attention to. both a relief and a disappointment, because even if you hated it with every inch of your being, the effort you poured into practice and filming was real.

but after the drama ended, you kept in close contact with thoma, chugging down beer at dinners as you complained to each other about work. failed auditions, mistakes in filming, inability to get roles—you shared everything, and he did the same. each moment of embarrassment and each moment of breakthrough that called for a celebration, you told each other. through thick and thin, you had the other's back.

naturally, he was one of the first few people you called (second only to your manager) when you received the e-mail confirming your role as the love interest for arguably one of the most anticipated series to date.

he'd been overjoyed, above all, his elation overruling his surprise; it was a far cry from other violent reactions. (“are you sure it's not a prank?” scaramouche had said in disbelief.)

“you're finally going to be acknowledged!” gleefully, thoma chattered on, “that's the best news i've heard all year!”

and that was good. it was nice having his support. he'd been the one to give you a pep talk before you had to start rehearsals, soothing your fretful worries.

when you don't understand the essence of a particular scene, he's more than happy to help—“i'm just one call away!”

when you fumble your lines on camera, he laughs but not with mockery (a stark contrast to that little gremlin scaramouche)—“it's no big deal. you only have to do your best tomorrow.”

when you recount your experiences working with famous actors, he listens attentively—“you're starting to get along, huh?”

and then you would hesitate. it sounds like you're... bragging.

he says he's only one call away, but he's busy with his own work; still, he makes time for you. he listens whenever you complain, but he has bigger problems, ones that he doesn't say because he knows it'll dampen your mood. he has to hear about you acquainting with celebrities he can't even dream of meeting, like you're showing him the things he can't have.

you got lucky. what about him?

slowly, your face bleeds to commercials, advertisement banners, even huge outdoor LED displays on shopping malls featuring the drama cast—yet he remains as a blurry, nameless figure in the sea of aspiring actors.

he doesn't show it, doesn't even hint at it, but he must be... envious, right?

it's not hard to be. you've been in the industry for the same amount of time, began at the same starting line, yet only one of you found success, the other one left behind in the dust.

still. still. he never shows it. never stops being your biggest fan. never lets you think otherwise. he watches every episode, every interview. babbles how amazing your performance was in this scene. rambles how you did so well in this drama and he's so proud of you. smiles at how you have to wear a disguise now whenever you go out together so nobody can recognize you.

“it must be hard,” he comments as you hide in a secluded park, nearly getting found out by someone you noticed following you around. “you can't get around as freely anymore. are you okay? nobody follows you home or anything?”

always the worrier, you think. “of course not. my manager drives me around everywhere these days. you don't have to worry.”

thoma grins, plopping down at a bench. “that's a relief.”

for a moment, you just sit in silence, basking in the slight chilly air. the orange and pinks of sunset darken to streaks of blue, streetlights flickering to life.

“...did you know there are rumors of you dating xiao?”

you choke on air, coughing to your fist. “what?!” not that you feel flattered. not at all. (you've badgered xiao to come with you to the carnival last week, and then the waterpark a week before that with the rest of the cast, and- well. you suppose there's reason for people to speculate. you also wore matching animal headbands—how on earth you got xiao to do that, you're not sure either.)“why did that- how did it come to that?!”

“it's surprising for me, too,” thoma says. “if anything, i'd expect dating rumors with the actual male lead. or childe. he seems... particularly clingy.”

“albedo? there's no way he'd like someone like me.” you furrow your brows. if anything, it's only gotten awkward between the two of you ever since the confession scene. “ajax... well. i never know with him.” you honestly can't tell if he's flirting or not.

thoma laughs, eyes crinkling with mirth. “you look close with all of them. if i didn't know any better, i'd think you were acting a romance film outside of the project.”

you shudder. “if, and only if, i end up dating one of them, i'll attract all kinds of bad attention. it's not even good PR. i'd hate to think of all the fan girls who'll start cursing me, stealing their man and all that. hell, i'm not even dating anybody and i'm already being cursed.”

“i'll reply to every single mean comment and defend your honor.”

you snort. “do you even have the time for that?”

“...unfortunately, yes. i'm not receiving much work at the moment.”

oh.

fuck.

“i can... i can recommend you to the director. i heard he's starting a new project soon, so maybe-”

thoma frowns and you ground to a halt. “it's fine. i don't want you to do that for me.”

it sounds like you're pitying him. like you don't trust him to rise on his own.

but you want to help.

“is this why you look sad around me every so often?” he realizes, astonished.

“i... can't help but feel guilty,” you admit, unable to maintain eye contact. “every time i say a silly story about xiao, or ajax, or albedo, i feel like i'm showing off. every time i complain, you never try to compare, you only comfort me and never tell me about your problems. i want to do something for you, but i don't know what. i care about you, and i want you to do well because i know how talented you are. except everyone else doesn't, and i want them to see you.”

it's not fair. he's putting in the effort. the same as you are. but it's still not working out for him, and it's not fair.

“you... want to help me?”

you manage a weak nod. you hear an intake of breath, feel him shuffling closer. then he places his hand on top of your clenched fist.

“[name]. can you look at me?”

slowly, you raise your head. his green eyes are shining so brilliantly, bright emeralds gleaming in the moonlight.

yet they also seem... resigned.

“you're really nice, [name]. but you don't have to feel guilty. it's not your fault i'm still like this, and i'm already thankful you're worrying about me. i can't say that i was entirely... not jealous of what you have now, but that's just my problem. so you don't have to make that face, okay?”

he smiles, just like always. you open your mouth to respond, but then you feel that sensation again—that prickle at the back of your neck, the feeling that makes your hair stand on end.

“you're kind.” his hand cradles your cheek ever so softly, tenderly. your lashes tremble, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. “that's why... i hope you can forgive me.”

this position is familiar. you know this, because you've experienced this before.

long long ago, just when you started your career, you'd practiced this scene with him in the dressing room—hearts pounding, hands awkwardly finding their places;

your lips brushing together in a shy kiss.

now, his fingers are carding through your hair, the closest he's ever been to you in years. you flinch, gripping his shirt, uncomprehending, and-

you hear it.

the shutter of a camera.

七 ; kazuha, the murderer

the first time you heard a complete newbie would act the murderer role, you were in disbelief.

alright, you were an unremarkable actor before your current role, but at the very least, you had experience. not only is this person entirely new to the industry, having nothing to show for himself, he's an amateur. it sounds like a recipe for disaster.

it's even more baffling when you discover ayato, THE kamisato ayato, tried for the role and didn't get it. who the hell is this newbie? someone who got in through nepotism? preposterous! the murderer is an incredibly important character to the plot, the whole series would be ruined if he turned out to be awful!

and then you see who he actually is, and oh boy, he does not look like a murderer.

he's more like a harmless bunny. fluffy white hair, round red eyes, a polite disposition—did you arrive at the wrong set, kid? maybe you were aiming for the high school romance drama and came here by mistake?

the webtoon murderer was no pretty boy. just an average-looking dude working at a convenience store nobody suspected to be the killer because of his unassuming looks, and that was the point. yet this eye-catching hottie is the complete opposite.

but everyone else in the cast is hot as hell, so maybe the murderer needs to be hot too so he can blend in??? director, what exactly did you have in mind?

“[name]!” just as you were staring at him, he turns and notices your gaze, expression immediately brightening. like an innocent baby chick, he walks up to you. “good morning.”

it's another day of rehearsals for the upcoming episode. so far, you haven't gotten to see his true skills yet—the most he's done is act like an ordinary extra part of the background and out of the limelight. it's understandable, since his character doesn't appear much until halfway through the series.

“kazuha,” you acknowledge him, still a little unused to his... general stickiness. you don't know what he found so appealing about you but he's taken to sticking by your side most of the time. childe has teased you more than once that perhaps the little chick has a crush on you.

“do you want to eat lunch together? i know a good fried chicken place.” so it's cannibalism now?

you agree to go anyway because fried chicken sounds great. plus, as much as you came to find that even celebrities are just regular people and you managed to befriend a lot of them, there's a sense of comfort in kazuha—he's the one you felt least intimidated by.

even if you text xiao for hours now, or come over to childe's house frequently, or go on food trips with albedo, or go clothes shopping with ayato and his sister, they're still people you can't get close to without boundaries. there's still a sense of distance separating you, one that you can't cross, but can happily do so with kazuha.

being with kazuha is just comfortable. there's never a need for formalities, and rather than co-workers, you feel closer to being friends.

sometimes, you feel as if you're babysitting though. he just... screams youth. holds the freshness of an amateur, clutching to naive hopes and wishes in the path of stardom. it's endearing to see, and it's like seeing a younger version of yourself.

it's a shame you've buried those naive wishes long ago, but you hope kazuha's career goes well for him. this drama will undoubtedly be a big boost for his popularity, but will also backlash on him if he performs horribly.

“this is my treat.” kazuha pushes the plate of chicken fingers to your side of the table, eyes shaped in smiling crescents.

you shake your head but take one nonetheless. “what kind of senior would i be to make you pay? order all you want, it's on me.”

kazuha doesn't pout but comes close to it, sulking as he bites on a piece of korean bburinkle chicken. “i can't tell if you're doing this on purpose.”

“doing what?”

“letting me off easy.”

...? this kid says some pretty strange things sometimes.

“i'll order some drinks. what do you want?” he offers, standing up.

“iced tea is fine.”

“got it.”

as he moves, his wallet drops on the floor. you're about to tell him so but you think better of it, already considering the possibility of kazuha sneakily paying for your meal on the counter and ordering drinks as an excuse.

you sigh, bending down to pick it up from the ground, but the wallet faces up, revealing the contents.

the first thing you see is your face.

you nearly jolt and hit your head on the table in shock, but you manage to suppress your surprise in a garbled mess of choking. this photo is... from that modeling gig you did a year ago. but why is it in kazuha's wallet-?!

you quickly put it back on the table, just in time for kazuha to arrive. he raises an eyebrow at your flustered expression but doesn't mention anything.

he makes a face seeing the wallet he forgot on the table. you were right after all.

later, as you return to set and practice ends after a few more hours, you recount the order of events to xiao, who could not be anymore uninterested at your entire spiel. perhaps childe would've made a more engaging conversation partner, but you'd rather not deal with his teasing right now.

“-and my face was right there! as his wallet photo! what the hell does that mean?!” years ago, you never could've guessed you'd ever be able to rant to xiao's face like this. yet here you are, unashamed in front of your idol.

“isn't it obvious?” xiao isn't even pretending like he's giving you his full attention anymore, hands preoccupied with the game console in his hands. “he likes you.”

“???”

xiao sighs, dead fish eyes looking straight at your clueless expression. “don't you have a photo of me in your wallet? that's the same thing.”

“that is certainly not the same thing! you're- xiao, and i'm just me. you're popular.”

xiao almost rolls his eyes. you're way too humble for someone who gets recognized by people on the street daily. “congrats, then. you met one of your rare fans.”

that was an unbelievable thought, before. you? having a fan? whenever you searched up your name, you couldn't find anyone talking about you. your character is different; you're looking for people who's interested in you as a person, not just your role.

now, though. you've accumulated enough fame for a fan club. several maybe, even.

... but even then. that modeling gig hadn't been successful. only someone who knew about it a year ago would know about it now, since it faded from the internet pretty fast.

as far as you know, you didn't have fans a year ago.

xiao makes a realization. “...isn't this the fourth time he invited you to lunch this week?”

“yeah?”

“.....isn't he just hitting on you then?”

now that's just not in the realm of possibility. xiao is so funny.

“he literally baked you cookies the other day.”

“friends give each other cookies, xiao. i can even make some for you if you want.”

“they were heart-shaped, [name].”

(you end up making him cookies to prove a point.)

days pass by, xiao giving you increasingly odd looks, and kazuha finally proves his worth in filming.

his performance rivals that of albedo's—the soft edges of his eyes sharpening into something menacing, gaze cold and apathetic, his lips downturned to an unfamiliar sneer. you're watching the birth of a star, and it's only a matter of time before his talent will be acknowledged.

he's different from ayato as a villain. ayato is cunning, the perfect example of a mastermind. malicious and dripping with spite. but kazuha looks innocent, a cute little bun you'd never guess can make those kind of facial expressions—twisted, vicious, malevolent.

it's part of the act, but you flinch when his character turns violent; kicking down doors, smashing glass windows with a bat. holding the extras acting as murder victims by grabbing them by the hair, throwing down cops like they weighed nothing.

and then right after that scene concludes with the director's “cut!”, with (fake) blood still splattered on his face, kazuha runs up to you grinning innocently, fishing for compliments. “did i do good?”

nevertheless, you give him headpats. “you're terrifying.”

he flushes, not too pleased giving that impression to you. the next day, he acts all sweet to you again, giving you a batch of cream puffs this time. xiao snorts somewhere in the background.

eventually, your manager notices the snacks you receive regularly. “oh, it's from that kid?”

“kazuha? mhm.” you nibble happily on the pastries.

your manager chuckles. “never thought i'd see him again here.”

“...what do you mean?” blinking owlishly, you pause from chowing down. “you know him?”

“he used to work at the bakery you went to often before, didn't he? the kid you kept telling to watch your first drama. you forced him to watch the episodes on your phone during his break.”

...............FUCK.

you do remember doing something that stupid. during the filming of your first drama, you frequently stopped by at a nearby bakery to buy snacks, and you remember there was a cute kid working there. you often pinched his cheeks and cajoled him into watching the series.

but when filming ended, you couldn't go to the bakery anymore. the filming location was far from your house, and the bakery was simply out of the way.

did that kid... kazuha... support you all this time? from that early on?

you curse your manager for telling you this right before filming. your mind is a mess, having trouble connecting that cute, precious child (why are you always calling him a kid, he's barely 2 years younger than you) to the smooth and flirty man today.

it's an important scene today too! the confrontation between the detective, his partner, and the murderer. it needs your complete concentration, and you just don't have it right now. you've never seen the director lose his temper, but you can probably manage to do it today.

albedo is performing well in front of the cameras as always, so much like a protagonist that you feel like you're watching from a television screen already. but you have a job to do too, so you do your best in the spotlight, pretending to be unaffected.

kazuha looks even scarier up close, so unhinged and unreadable. you know what his next move will be, written on the script, but that doesn't make you any less uneasy.

“you're bold,” kazuha drawls, playing with the knife in his hand, “coming to see me by yourselves.”

you can hear what he's saying, but it feels like your head is full of cotton. why are you so distracted? “so it really is you,” you speak, praising yourself for acting normally.

the other two exchange lines, and you thank the heavens you're mostly silent for the time being. for the meantime, you have a few moments to collect yourself; there's a chase right after this, and you'd rather not do something stupid like trip over yourself in the middle of something so serious.

...

sometimes, you're gifted with foresight.

but! to be fair! you did not trip over yourself! the staff forgot to fix the cables in one part of the set, and you tripped over those. so no. not entirely your fault.

albedo is too far away—he's on the side trying to unlock the doors with his brain powers somehow, and you're the bait distracting the murderer before he does so.

ordinarily, you would not trip over the cables. you have able eyes, and you could easily step over them. but you're at the stairs.

...you're at the flight of stairs. and you're about to fall over. FUCK. WHY DID THE DIRECTOR WANT A CHASE SCENE IN THE STAIRS.

you brace for the impact, hands outstretched, but then in a complete break of character, kazuha reaches for you.

you're leaning too far to the edge now. there's no way to pull you back to even ground. kazuha grits his teeth, pulling you to his chest, and in an immense show of strength, twists around so he'd be beneath you.

you descend in a disgraceful tangle of limbs. you're enveloped in a warm embrace, cheek resting on a firm chest. a chin is tucked into the crook of your neck, heavy breaths tickling the skin of your shoulder.

you jolt back to action when you realize what just happened. “your head-!” you scramble to touch his head, feeling for any bumps or even worse, blood. kazuha hisses, so you soften the touch, tracing over this body to check for other injuries. he became a literal mattress. “what about your back? did you get sprained anywhere?”

“i'm fine,” kazuha wheezes under your caressing.

“you don't sound fine! who are you trying to fool? you didn't have to do that!” you grab his cheeks. they're as soft as ever, just as pinch-able as you remember.

“i'm not hurt. it's because you're... on top of me...” bashfully, he looks away. you blink, glancing down at your position. you're straddling his hips, at a proximity entirely inappropriate.

...his hands are still on your waist.

this kazuha is too different from two minutes ago! wasn't he just chasing you down the corridor in murderous intent?! now he's blushing underneath you, like a pure maiden you defiled!

what's with this soft, sugary atmosphere?! last time you remembered, this was a murder mystery drama!

(when the drama ends, you're casted for a romance college series with kazuha as the male lead. figures.)

the magi of alma torran [12] || hakuryuu ren

pairing. hakuryuu x alma torran magi! reader

genre. romance, angst + smut

warnings. none

words. 568

summary. none of your words make sense to him. not when you talk in words he can't even hope to unravel.

notes. a short chapter for the feelings before we approach the fight between hakuryuu and gyokuen

masterlist

previous || next

who are you?

When the moon stands high in the night sky, adorned by twinkling stars and the milky way splitting the heavens in two, a lone Magi stands on the royal balcony.

The prince, Hakuryuu, who desires nothing more than to reclaim the throne and his empire, looks up from his place in the gardens. Sweat shimmers in the moonlight, his chest heaves rhythmically. He came back from the only thing he knew how to do: fight.

He sees the faraway gaze from all the way down there. Eyes that seem to witness the past, present and future all at once, when in reality, they're merely gazing at the castle in the faraway distance. Hakuryuu wonders what's pulling your mind back and forth.

The wind caresses your cheeks and the leaves of trees rustle a song as they dance through the air. Tonight, your heart is heavy with useless what ifs and questions you do not wish to think about.

What if she realizes her goal of summoning Il-Illah?

What if this world would end up being an exact reflection of Alma Torran?

What if your King dies?

"For someone who was so determined to fight, you look awfully troubled," Hakuryuu notes and comes to a stop next to you.

Briefly, you take in his facial features, smile like a cracked mirror and then face away from your king. "This feeling in my stomach..," you begin and grasp the pearly around your neck. "It's the same as the time Il-Illah descended on my home."

Taking a deep breath, you attempt to calm your nerves, but it's futile. Your fingers are shaky and your voice; it's nowhere near stable. "I'm scared. I'm scared of facing her again, Hakuryuu," you admit with pain laced into your syllables.

Again? Hakuryuu furrows his brows and shakes his head in confusion. None of your words make sense to him. Not when you talk in words he can't even hope to unravel. Gyokuen is a normal human being, a human with an average lifespan and not someone who's lived for over a thousand years.

Hakuryuu clenches his jaw. "I don't understand what you mean, [Name]. The more you talk, the more I feel like I have no idea who you are."

The prince firmly grasps your upper arms. One look in his eyes is enough to let you know that he desires knowledge. Knowledge about you.

"I don't know how you lived your life. I don't know a single thing about you other than your name." Hakuryuu's grasp on you loosens and his calloused palms slide down the length of your arms, coming to rest at your wrist.

"Won't you tell me something about you, [Name]?"

Your mouth falls open, eyes wide at Hakuryuu's sudden display of vulnerability. Him not knowing about you hurt him just as much as the time when you didn't know anything about him.

Gently you take his hands in yours and press his knuckles against your forehead. "I will tell you everything once this fight is over, Hakuryuu. That, I promise you."

The prince frowns. His hand caresses the scar on the top of your head and stops at your cheek. Heat rises to the delicate skin while an expectant shimmer finds home in your eyes.

"Only people who are about to die say something like this," Hakuryuu whispers into the night.

And you can only give him a broken smile.

Scene Prompt

It had been a week since A died, and B had finally gotten around to cleaning out their room. They finished packing the last box around midnight, and got up from the floor. As they stretched, they felt something move behind them. B whirled around and to their shock, A was standing behind them.

"A?" B choked out, taking a hesitant step forward. For the first time in a week, happiness bloomed in their chest. A smiled at them and reached out, as if to touch B. "A-are you alive?"

A's smile faltered. "I'm afraid not," they said, stretching out a hand. Hope died in B's heart as they noticed the transparency of A's fingers. B let out a sob.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn't save you."

"Hey, it's okay," A said. "You couldn't have done anything. B, listen, it's wonderful to see you again, but I have to warn you. Something's coming. Something bad. You and the others have to get ready."

"What? I-I don't understand."

A smiled. "That's why I'm here. Come on, B. Let's work together, one last time."

-Mod Minita

this is stupid.

kuroo knows that better than anyone—knows that this is entirely unreasonable and entirely spur of the moment and entirely something he should not do—but you’re standing in the kitchen, covered in flour, and the words seem to fall from his lips as if they were always meant to be there.

“marry me,” he says, and he means it just as he did when he asked you yesterday as he kissed you goodbye, and just as he did the day before when you tripped down the stairs, and just as he would tomorrow if you said no.

but this time, as laughter spills from your lips, messy dough coating your cheeks, something stirs in him. something that he wouldn’t find yesterday and won’t find tomorrow and something that feels like hope, and delirium and you—and he thinks, if only for a second, that stupid isn’t even the word for it.

“you’re asking right now?” you raise a brow, motioning your fingers around your mess of a kitchen, and a silly little smile draws across his cheeks.

“i am.”

“i’m covered in flour,” you say.

and he grins, “yeah, and you should marry me.”

you shake your head, pulling your lips together, and you give him that look you always do; the ’maybe when we’re older and smarter and a little less prone to divorce’ look that he’s grown to dread.

because, yes, this is stupid—incredibly so—but he’s twenty-one and he’s pretty sure he’s never going to get much smarter than this and you share a bed every night without killing each other, so, really, why not?

he holds his hand in the air, waiting to insist on asking you again tomorrow, but you laugh—soft and bright and something that aches like home—and a little okay rolls off your lips.

“what?” his fingers stutter in front of him, voice tugging at the back of his throat, and you laugh.

“i said okay.”

“you’re kidding,” he says, a little too dumbfounded for his own good.

“now why would i do that?” you reply, a little tease catching your breath.

(oh, you must be trying to kill him now.)

“because i asked you to marry me.”

“you did.”

“and you said yes.” a breath spills from your throat—happy little laughter swirling between you.

“i did.”

and he doesn’t know whether to scream, or cry, or maybe throw up, but he does know that you just agreed to marry him, so all three sound like a solid approach.

“i’m in love with you,” he says, hands reaching for floured cheeks.

“well i would hope so.”

and he rolls his eyes, pulling you in—lips meeting yours with a clash of flour and warmth and a breath of anything but regret—and he’s sure that he’d be stupid every day of his life if it meant being with you.

minho: i hate seeing you like this

jisung: like how?

minho: in person.

MIDNIGHT HAZE — rin itoshi.

— notes ⨾ ive been shying away from posting this for too long now. [ sensual/making out ] and heavy on the details hahahs

Rin takes note of the way you're shrinking in your seat beside him, how your arms are protectively tucked in your sides and the subtle but sharp inhales.

from his peripheral vision, he can see that you're gnawing on your bottom lip, gulping hard to swallow your sniffles because he knows you don't like to be seen crying. which is why he's not sure why he's in his living room with you beside him at 2 am watching some sappy sad movie you picked. it's been an hour already since you started your movie marathon and he could've suggested you watch a horror movie instead— but he didn't, and he thinks he regrets it now.

He sighs, pausing the movie and reaching for the box of tissues he's glad he set on the table just in case. he offers it to you, smiling a little to himself when you hesitantly take it, as if you're still not ready to accept you're crying.

“you're such a crybaby” he says. by now a few tears are falling down your cheeks, leaving a damp trail behind in their wake.

“shut up, I'm not. i don't cry often, i swear”, you whimper with the wobble of your lip, and rin laughs. it's the irony of this scenario that swells his heart. you're looking at him with narrow, glassy eyes and warm hues setting on your skin. your words are meant to be firm and legitimate, but you're voice is hushed and low.

“okay, crybaby” he teases, and you pout.

his room glows in a faded shade of honey with the paper lamp you bought him as a housewarming gift. there's nothing but the sound of his steady breathing, and your quivering one. a touch of the scent of lemongrass from the air freshener lingers in the air and rin realises he's been staring at you.

there's still a dampness sticking to your cheeks and rin wants —such a treacherous thing to do— to trace his finger along the trails. feel the smoothness and warmth of your skin. when you realise he's looking at you, embarassment blooms in shades of fuchsia, “stop staring at me like that.”

rin hums. he heard you, doesn't think much about it. and before he realises what he's doing, he's caressing the side of your face. it's a ghost of a touch at first, “staring like what?”

“like you're doing right now” you breath hitches in your throat at the tenderness of rin's caress. momentarily closing your eyes, you lean into his touch. his gaze devours you whole, it makes you want to shrink further into the couch, but at the same time— daring you to wait and see where it takes you.

when all you can hear is the loud thumps of your own heart, watching the steady rise and fall of rin's shoulders as he's gazing through the soul window of your eyes, you're painfully aware that the two of you are alone.

“can't help it,” he mumbles. “god, you're beautiful” he says.

the faint glow of moonlight strips lines of silver across the room, and rin's bathed in luminescence. you can't help but trace the sharp white cut of his collarbone and the flutter of his eyelashes, over the broad expanse of his chest and the slopes of shoulders down to the ridges of hard muscle roping the length of his forearm. you take in his light. he takes in yours.

there are too many details. too much to breathe in yet not enough at the same time. a drug-like midnight haze encompasses the room, the air in the room is electrified and frozen still. rin's fingers travel down from your cheekbones to the corner of your mouth, then brush lightly against your chin.

you can't think. can't say anything. it's like your voice is caught in your own throat. all you feel is the heaviness of the air and the brushes of rin's fingers across your skin. mind blurring with the lines of a countless ‘what ifs’ and moments you've felt the same heaviness in the air, times when the glances you steal from each other lasted longer than they should've.

you swipe your tongue across your bottom lip, and rin's eyes follow the action. his gaze rests there and your falls to his.

there's a momentary pause, as if you're caught in a trance. as if there's hesitation and doubts filling the spaces left behind your words. rin's eyes are still set on your slightly parted lips.

and then it breaks.

you feel it in the form of a shiver running down your spine when the lightning in the room reaches a breaking point, you think rin feels it too. there's a shift in his shoulders when he leans forward at the very second time melts into infinity— a magnetic pull drawing you both in.

rin's other hand supports his weight when he practically crawls on all fours and rolls forward on the leg tucked beneath him.

his lips surround yours— desperate, heated, almost obscene. it's nowhere near the gentle caress from before. teeth nipping and tugging at your bottom lip, long and languid glides of tongue against tongue. he breathes in all of your gasps and mewls, chasing after your breaths to consume you whole like he's waited forever for this very moment. breaths tangle in heated knots of passion, you're holding onto rin's arms, aware that your hands are almost shaking. this is not your first kiss. you've kissed people before. but it's your first kiss with rin and he's made you forget there was anyone ever before him.

you pull away first, breathless and hot. it's addictive— the way rin's lips chase after yours, eyes fluttering open when he can't find them. but he's still close. so, so close. forehead resting on yours and hot breaths fanning against your mouth.

his eyes are brimming with awe and glimmer, but lips swollen and sinful. the contrast is striking— awestruck eyes and moon-bruised lips.

rin falls back into the couch, calming his staggered breaths and throbbing heart.

it takes a long minute before either of you speak again.

“do you regret it?” it's a whisper that's almost raw with desperation and fear. rin's eyes are glued to you again, waiting for an answer.

“i don't. i'd never regret it. do you?” though still breathless, your voice is bold.

“regret?—” he chuckles, as if you asked a dumb question, “—you have no idea, how long I've wanted this. wanted you.” it's a declaration— of all his unconfessed feelings, all the times he'd stopped himself just short of the breaking point. “i feel like i'm about to lose my mind.”

“me too”, is all you can say. it's all you can think.

and if rin senses that, then he smiles, “why don't we try that again?”

© seimirii 2023 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

i hope this is what you wanted m'lady @rinnahhhh

(source)

Unsplash -  photography, illustration, and art

Pixabay - same as unsplash

Pexels - stock photos and videos

Stockvault.net - stock photos

freepngimg - icons, pictures and clipart

Veceezy - vectors and clipart

Getdrawings - simplistic images and drawing tutorials

Gumroad - photoshop brushes (and more)

Canva - needs login but has lots of templates

Library of Congress - historical posters and photos

NASA - you guessed it

Creative Commons - all kinds of stuff, homie

Even Adobe has some free images

There are so many ways to make moodboards, bookcovers, and icons without infringing copyright! As artists, authors, and other creatives, we need to be especially careful not to use someone else’s work and pass it off as our own. 

Please add on if you know any more sites for free images <3

List of “so tell me, how am I supposed to get over you when all I can dream about is you?” prompts

“I just can’t move on from you and it’s not doing me any good.” 

“You’re the hardest thing I’ve tried getting over. None of the attempts I’ve made have been successful so far.”

“Everywhere I go, all I see is your face. Tell me how that’s possible?”

“No rebounds is going to make me get over you, let’s be real.”

“I drink to forget, but somehow you come to the forefront of my mind regardless.”

“If a one night stand is supposed to mean nothing then I guess you’re not meant to be a one night stand for me.”

“Texting you is like an instinct of mine. Whenever something shitty or good happens, you’re the first person I want to tell that to — and then I remember you probably don’t want to hear from me at all.”

“I thought I was over you, but then you show up and prove me so wrong on that.”

“You don’t get to just show up at my door and expect me to be okay with it, knowing I still want you so fucking badly.”

“You’re drunk—” “I’m not drunk! Why can’t we”—a sob—”why can’t we go back to the way we were before?”

“I miss you so much. I know I shouldn’t, because you’re supposed to be my past, but I just… I just do.”

“My friends keep telling me to move on from you but tell me this: how the hell am I supposed to do that when there’re still pieces of you in my life? You left behind memories I can’t discard; pieces of you you told me to keep safe for you.”

“I never wanted to lose you like that.”

“Hi. I know I’m calling at an inconvenient time but— I’m sitting on the roof of my car, staring up at the sky, thinking about you; about how you used to sit next to me on top of this very car, staring up at the sky with me, and telling me how you were so excited to become my forever. And I keep wondering... What happened to change that?”

“I’m sorry I called you at one in the morning, sobbing my sorry heart out — I just— I miss you so much—”

Let me get this straight.

Young K was Brian. Jae was Brian. So, really… Who is Brian?!

*mind blown*