The scratching of quill against paper is rhythmic and soothing. Combined with the sandalwood incense and the lack of conversation to flow between the two of you, it’s enough to lull you into a gentle slumber in the warm lighting of Ningguang’s office.
Sometime through your catnap, there’s a little murmuring that comes, that filters through the haze of your sleep. Then, there’s rough yet firm hands scooping you up, under your back and knees. You’re tucked up against a familiar chest, head pressed against a soft breast.
“…put her. I’ve been here before.” The voice is feminine and deep, gentle and joking. You relax into the familiar cadence.
“I know you have. I’m just saying,” Ningguang replies. “Leave so I can get my work done.”
“How about a kiss? Maybe I’ll go faster,” Beidou hums, leaning forwards and jostling you in the process.
“I’m not an idiot,” Ningguang replies. “I’ll give you more than a kiss when I’m done with all my work.”
Beidou sighs, big and heavy. With an air of faux-broken-heartedness.
“Don’t be a baby,” Ningguang chides. “You’re going to wake her up.”
“Maybe I'll just stay in bed, then. I bet Ophie will be nicer to me when she wakes up than you are.”
“Good. I’ll be nice when I’m done working. I’m taking a meeting in ten minutes.”
Beidou sighs, giving another, “You’re so mean to me,” before she sets off towards Ningguang’s suite. It’s a gentle ascent, where Beidou tries her hardest to not jostle you or rouse you.
Too late. You bat your eyes open and you’re greeted with each soft shake of Beidou’s breasts as she climbs the stairs of the Jade Chamber. You turn your head against the soft skin offered to you, and let out a little grumble before placing a kiss to her chest.
“Oh, hey pretty lady,” Beidou says, tilting her head down to look at you. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Mhm. Too late,” You mumble. “Where’d you come from?”
“Straight out of your dreams,” Beidou grins, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “Having a good nap?”
You nod, eyes still half closed. “Stayed up late last night.”
“Oh?” Beidou enters into Ningguang’s room, carefully sliding the door shut behind her. She crosses the floor and gently lays you in the bed, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “What were you up to?”
A sheepish grin worms its way across your face. Your eyelashes slide across your cheeks as you avoid her gaze. “Nothin.”
“Nothin?” Beidou presses. “Sounds like it was somethin.’”
Her hand dips under your dress, sliding across your soft tummy.
“We were… We were just having fun.”
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courtly love trope with dehya where she gets away with calling you 'my lady' in front of your betrothed because you are her lady. her sword is bound to protect you, your wishes are her commands. your gaze turns bashful when the words leave her lips, oh so casually.
she places her hand on your lower back in brief touches while walking through the streets- to provide better protection of course. she comes up behind you to help grab things off the shelf, even if it's only a few centimeters above you. wouldn't want you to have to worry about falling over. where she teases you for taking an hour every night to write in your diary but is always sure there's oil for the lamp.
and the night you fall asleep while pouring out your heart, dehya can't help but sneak a peek at what you were scribbling away. what was so important you had to lose the fight against consciousness. she never mentions it again, though. because in the pages are details over all the things you selfishly want from dehya that she can't give you but gives you all at once.
it's quiet moments, it's the lunches you already have on the balconies. it's her hand in yours. you've spent paragraphs wondering what all the callouses on her hands feel like. what it would feel like to have her loyalty focused on your without the mora hanging over your heads. how different your life would be if you were able to spend the rest of your future, uninterrupted, with her.
she doesn't ever mention the way you roll into while she carries you the few steps from your desk to your bed. that your hand lingered on her arm while she places the briefest of kisses against your forehead. she closes your diary, out of care that no one else saw the words scrawled upon the pages.
your secret would always be safe with her.
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thinkin about the chosen one story told from the pov of the person standing next to them again. thinkin about the one who has to stand by and watch the chosen one become a weapon, a sacrifice, an offering to the machinations of plot and can do nothing but make sure they’re fed and rested and soothe them when they wake up screaming from nightmares. thinkin about the fierce devotion that has to exist to follow someone to the end of the world just so they don’t have to die alone. thinkin about the terror they’d feel every step of the journey knowing it’s not their place to change how the story plays out. thinkin thinkin thinkin.
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