#Valorant reckoning

[yelenaa-romanova]

So here are my (cluttered) thoughts about the cinematic because I'm hyped af and don't know who to talk to why not

Cypher didn't die!

Iso is so babygirl!

The sounds of the ingame util and abilities were so perfect I love easter eggs like this

Omen with the new gun looked so freaking cool like YESS

CYPHER DIDN'T DIE!

Animation was beautiful and on point as always, I especially enjoyed the shots with the location names, felt like a movie

About that, Riot, I'm waiting 👀

The shot that had SCATTER written across the scene with Omen pushing his former boss out of the window was pure perfection

Love how the animation style changed for the flashbacks

Viper is hot pretty and shady af but goddamn this woman could do things to me

Omen saying "I'll deliver it personally" in the end gave me chills and I need a separate video just about that

None of them died and they just kicked ass together and it made me very excited! I need more!!

Also I wonder if Brim and the other higher ups at VP know about Omen and Viper's shared history

I feel like shit is about to go down and I hope we get new voicelines about the new lore

[nikcov]

Reckoning Cinematic - Cluttered Theories and Thoughts

Obviously this contains spoilers for the Reckoning Cinematic, so be warned!

As a long time Omen and Cypher fan (where are the Cyphmen people at?) I was absolutely screaming whilst watching this cinematic. And as a big lore enjoyer, I have so many questions and theories.

First of all Viper. I loved to see the fragments of what happened to Omen before he become the wraith we know and love. And to be honest it's more of a drama than I imagined it to be. A widely accepted theory is that Viper was in love with or Omen and Viper were in some sort of relationship before it all happened. Even though we see Omen trying to murder Viper in the cinematic, this still can be true, or atleast for Viper.

In the cinematic we see that Omen is trapped in come sort of tube and a question I have is, why would she go through with trapping and ripping him into pieces unless there is something more? Killing would be so much easier, especially in the long run... I'm hoping we will get atleast some snippets of their conversation in the future.

So I have two theories for this. The first theory is based on some sort of platonic relationship between them/a one-sided crush. In the cinematic we see Omen wearing a hasmic suit (?). Why would he wear that to the assassination if he's nicknamed Ghost and probably incredibly stealthy? Maybe because he infiltrated Kingdom and won the trust of Sabrine to get close to her? Because I can't imagine why it would have such an impact on her (and eventually becoming Viper, with her dark comments and so) and remaining friends with Omen even after his assassination attempt, unless there is something else behind it. It would explain why she didn't kill him but did some sort of "hard reset" on Omen, but from the impression I get going drastically wrong (referencing to the voiceline from Viper to Sage: "Sage, you're the only one who can keep us alive. Don't fail us now like you failed me then." but the other ("Never, ever assume you can help me. You can't help me, you can't help them!") doesn't really aline with my theory because who is them?) and asking Sage to revive him making Omen who he is today. That brings me to the question, how does Viper know Sage?

The second theory is less relationship based. Basically Sabine made an expert out of Omen, ripping him appart thousands of times. This could already be the tripping point for Sabrine to become Viper, because she basically torturing a man and ending in something worse that death. Maybe calling him old friend is more sarcastic, but I don't think so, because another voiceline ("Joh- I mean, Omen. Keep yourself together, you're still needed.") suggests she does care about Omen, even before he became a wraith. So I think this is less plausible than my first theory.

Also why has Iso done a switcheroo on his former employer? I don't think Valorant would pay him more, maybe for the great ✨working atmosphere✨? Idk. I do like his supportiveness towards Omen. Maybe Iso also has an negative opinion towards them/experience with their ways of maintaining control?

So yea in conclusion, I thought the cinematic was very cool :)

Thank you for reading my bouncing ball brain ramble! If you have any theories of your own or any notes to mine, feel free to leave them :)

(A lot of kudos towards the animators, storyboarders, voice actors and everyone else that has worked on this Cinematic, it was brilliant)

[non-operator]

fucking love how we got to see how these guys might operate in a real mission instead of like, an in-game circumstance

Like, Omen being the main point of entry/attack with Cypher being in his own separate location and keeping an eye on more digital security while Sova stays outside to provide (ranged) support and also work as back-up if things start going wrong. And the fact that Cypher is the go-to if things start going wrong and Sova only jumps in to wreck shit if things are getting too tight.

And the fact that Iso was taken along, but does not participate. Was he just the Vulcan driver and arrived at the very end? Or was he just sitting in the Vulcan waiting, meaning that he was just not allowed to participate? I feel like that shows the degree of trust he has earned in VP?

[froggibus]

Reminiscence - Omen

Genre: hurt/comfort + fluff

Pairing: Omen x gn! reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: after Omen returns from Indonesia, you find yourself questioning the nature of your relationship in light of his returning memories

CW: spoilers/allusions to Reckoning!! hurt/comfort, FWB type relationship, mentions of violence? talks of Omen's past, lots of reassurance

ive been playing valorant again and ive been do downbad for Omen its not even funny. this man lives in my head rent free 24/7 365...anyway val simps i noticed you're content starved and i am here to provide

Your nail cracks when you sink your teeth into your fingertip too hard. You rip your hand away from your mouth, shaking it around in the cold air to soothe the throbbing nail bed as you continue to pace around HQ. Your fingers are replaced by your bottom lip, your teeth desperate to sink into something, anything, to keep you grounded while you wait for the men to return.

It’s a near 10 hour flight from Indonesia back to HQ, and while Brimstone had told you to get some rest, you couldn’t fathom it. An overwhelming feeling that something was wrong had been hanging over your head the entire evening, and no matter what you did, you couldn’t shake it. 

Omen is anxious the entire flight back from Jakarta. His heart hammers against his ribcage and the flood of blurry memories is endless. All he can think of is how he’s going to confront Viper, what answers he’s going to beg her for. 

When they land back at HQ, it’s the middle of the night. Even after Sova, Iso and Cypher exit the dropship, Omen remains in his seat. Exhaustion radiates through him, shockwaves of pain from the machine he’d been forced in earlier still roll over his body.

You start to worry when only three men return from the hangar. Cypher and Iso are in good spirits, but there’s a sour look clouding Sova’s face. While the others return to their respective rooms, Sasha flops on the couch in front of you, his presence managing to stop your incessant pacing.

He waits until everyone is out of earshot before speaking. “Something happened,” he keeps his voice low, “with Omen.”

“Is he okay?”

“We had a close call, he’s still in one piece.” The archer sighs, “he didn’t speak to us about it, but his memories…he remembers something.”

You flinch. It was selfish, but you’d always feared the day Omen’s memory would return. Dreaded it, even. The man was never clear on the nature of your relationship, never clear on what he felt for you. You’d grant each other comfort when it was needed, and on some nights, much more than that. There was never a definition there, though, never any certainty.

Your feelings for him only grew with time but Omen remained as stoic as always. His lack of commitment left you painfully awaiting the day his memories would come back, when he’d remember he had a wife and kids, or some pretty supermodel girlfriend you could never compete with. You wanted to, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t pull away.

Sova rises to his feet, squeezing your shoulder in reassurance. “You should rest.” 

You swallow and nod, waving him off as he retracts into the dark halls. You don’t rest, though. You plant yourself on the couch and continue to wait, your thoughts running laps around your mind. It’s nearly four in the morning before you hear the hangar door open and soft footsteps approach from down the hall.

You clench your hands tightly, nails digging into your palm. You’re not ready for this, you’ll never be ready for this. A part of you is tempted to retreat to your room, but then Omen is rounding the corner and you know it’s too late.

“Y/n?” He looks surprised to see you, “what are you doing awake?”

You force yourself to your feet, walking around the couch to face him. “I was waiting for you,” you say quietly.

Omen isn’t quite sure what to say to that—he’s never sure what to say to you. The love he feels for you is always outweighed by his fear of the past, the fear of himself, and he always finds himself retreating from his feelings.

“It’s late.”

Your heart drops to your stomach. It’s only two words, but it sounds an awful lot like a dismissal. A silent plea for you to go away. It’s two words, but it practically confirms the thoughts that have taunted you all night.

You hang your head and start to drag your feet to your room. You’re tempted to argue and stay put and force him to tell you what happened tonight, but what good would that do? 

Omen watches you walk away with a heavy heart. All he craves right now is your comfort, but it’s not fair to you, or to him, or to Viper. Until he can make sense of the things he’s learned, he can’t fathom putting that on you.

—

You get an hour of restless sleep before you’re woken up by a shout followed by  a door slamming. You jump to your feet, body swaying as you fight the black spots from standing up too quickly. When you finally gather your bearings, you see Omen standing in the corner of your room, eyes locked on you.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, still on alert from the sudden awakening.

The wraith shakes his head, finding his way to your bed as naturally as he would his own. He lets himself fall to the mattress. He hasn’t slept since before Indonesia and his argument with Viper has only tired him out more. You look at him with those soft eyes that slow his racing heart, and Omen knows he’s so gone. 

There’s a bitter taste on your tongue from how well he fits into your bed—into your life—but you manage to bite it back. You sink back into your bed next to him, careful to draw your knees into your chest so that you don’t accidentally touch him.

Your feelings from just hours ago still cloud over you, settling over your heart like a thick fog. “Did something happen? I heard a door slam.”

“I spoke to Viper,” he says simply, stretching his arms to fold them behind his head.

“And?”

“I got answers.”

A sigh passes through your lips. Typical Omen, granting you only short answers and curt glimpses into his life. Your eyes begin to tear up, your nose stinging with the impending threat of your emotions. You tilt your head back, desperately trying to keep calm.

“Y/n?”

You clench your jaw, continuing to stare at the ceiling. If you dare open your mouth, you know the floodgates will open.

“Did I—is something wrong?” He ghosts a hand over your hip, not quite touching you but letting you know he’s there.

“I—” Your voice breaks as soon as you try to speak, the tears finally bubbling over and starting to run down your face. You give up on trying to hide it, finally turning to look at him.

“Oh,” he says quietly, finally bringing his hand to grab your waist, the other one wiping your tears and cupping your wet cheek. 

“Why don’t you ever share your life with me? I feel like—like you don’t even like me. And now you remember everything and you’re gonna leave and go back to your life and—”

Omen cuts you off with a dry laugh. The sound is enough to shock you out of your meltdown, your breathing turning even without you even realizing. You stare at him curiously. What about this is funny?

When he speaks, his voice carries all the kindness in the world. “Do you really think I’d leave just because I remember my past? Y/n…”

The sad nod you offer him breaks his heart.

“Y/n,” he brushes his thumb beneath your eye to catch another tear. “My past is a monstrosity, I was a monstrosity…I don’t want to go back to that, ever.”

“But—”

“Ever.” He affirms.

You stare at him, admiring the delicacy he paints your skin with. You’ve shared soft moments with him before, but this is something entirely new, entirely different.

“You’re not a monstrosity,” you whisper. “You’re not your past.”

He leans against your shoulder, admiration clear in the gesture. It was only a day ago that he was placing a furious phone call to Brimstone on the jet home, uttering the same words you just spoke. Somehow, hearing it from you is more convincing than hearing it from himself.

It’s silent for only a moment before he says: “Getting back to what you said earlier.” 

“What?”

You hardly even remember what you said to him in the midst of your meltdown, the words now sounding foreign in your ears. 

“You think I don’t like you?”

“No, it’s not—you don’t need to…” you trail off awkwardly.

He pulls away from your shoulder and adjusts his grip on your face to force you to stare at him. “You said you feel like I don’t like you.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Y/n.”

His tone is serious and forces you to pause before you speak again. He still holds your jaw in his hand, keeping your gaze level with his. His fingertips are like fire against your skin.

“I’m only going to say this once.” He keeps that same serious tone. “The things I feel for you, they cannot be described with fondness, or admiration, or ‘like’. I don’t—I can’t” he corrects, “put it into words. But y/n, just know, it would take ripping me apart and scattering my atoms across time to get me to leave you.”

You melt. The former rigidness to your muscles, the proud set of your jaw—it all melts away. The butterflies in your stomach burst into your chest and leave you speechless. 

Omen presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “Are we clear?”

You nod.

“Good.”

Omen falls back onto your mattress, grabbing your hips to tug you down with him. You settle in against the side of his chest, your head nuzzled into the crook of his arm. Your body practically gives away heat, acting as his own personal radiator.

He sighs contentedly, the sleep he’s been delaying coming easily with you by his side.

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

masterlist

[tesb]

EPISODE 8 CINEMATIC: RECKONING "The truth... won't stay hidden forever."

[likesdoodling]

I know this might seem like a wild crossover, but so far as I'm concerned it makes perfect sense. >:D

[valorant-omen]

There will be a reckoning.

[x]

[tauindi]

tbh i don't think you can put an end to single-use plastics without also reckoning with capitalist + imperialist worker exploitation.

[cleavetheclover]

Okay so now that the Ep 8 Reckoning cinematic is out, I gotta say I ADORE IT (and my analysis may show up in a different post depending on whether I feel like typing it all out)

But unfortunately, the existence of the new canon material completely retcons everything I have in store for Omen in my fic Nighttime in Las Vegas.

Fuck!

I guess that’s what I deserve for planning a fic that would take 3 years to write for a fandom that is constantly updating…

In my defense, I did not plan for it to take that long while in the initial drafting stage 🤷‍♂️

and most of the time spent is because I insist on perfection before uploading which means writing two drafts of each chapter (trying to get better about this perfectionism thing but it’s really fuckin hard)

Anyway! My lamentations aside, what do I do?

See below break (no spoilers I promise)

Hi besties so you stuck with me! love u

So, the first option is just stick with Plan A and write what I had planned.

That plan included a certain Big Revelation for Omen’s origins that lined up well with canon material up until this cinematic. I really liked the headcannon/theory and was very excited to present it to the fandom until now, and have already put in a fair amount of foreshadowing/buildup for it in Ch 2 and 4. It would be a pain in the fucking ass to change/edit/remove/ etc existing content in the fic

On the other hand, I could try changing the future narrative of the fix to fit canon, but I think it would come out to be really fuckin ugly and messy storytelling, and I’m really not a fan of that (especially considering how much work I put in to maintain consistency in this work for Cypher’s storyline)

On a third option, I could just abandon the storyline with the Box or write scenes that significantly diminish its role in the story, but that feels like useless and spiteful retconning that I’m also not in the mood for

Which leaves me with Plan A. Write the story as is, and I’ll also put a little disclaimer about canon shit in the author notes and leave it at that.

I’m sorry if that’s not the answer you wanted, but I think that’s what’s best for myself and the work. If you have advice/support about this topic, I’d highly appreciate it! Comment here or DM me idc which lol

Much love to all <3

[zae-heeyyy]

Valor

Summary: Arthur takes you on one of his adventures. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!Reader Word Count: 1,760 Trigger Warning: Animal attack, angry-ish Arthur, violence Tags: mid- high honor Arthur, damsel in destress, fluff, and angst

a/n: Hey y'all! It's been a while since I posted because life is crazy right now. This is a request from @littlemistey. I'm paraphrasing from our convo, "Arthur x reader where the reader is saved by Arthur from almost being mauled by a cougar or a pack of wolves." Sketches are copied/cut from Arthur's journal. A classic "Arthur Morgan, please save me" trope. Thanks for reading!

Valor: Great courage in the face of danger, especially in battle. It denotes bravery and heroism, particularly in challenging or risky situations.

The bones in your wrists ached with the numbing weight of boredom as another morning of chores lumbered on. In, around, under, off. In, around, under, off. In, around, under, off. Intertwined pieces of yarn grew longer at your feet as the knitting cadence played in your head. You'd zoned out, daydreaming of anything more exciting than this.

A rhythmic clank of guns on a belt alerted you to your approaching burly cowboy.

You would've been glad to see him any other time, but your contempt for your chores and an odd hat on his head made you groan with irritation. A lit cigarette sat snug between his lips as he talked, muffling his speech.

"Why you sittin' here with your lip stuck out?" he asked, adjusting his belt and sitting beside you on a wooden crate. He tossed the cigarette away, leaned over to kiss the temple of your head, and placed a hand on the small of your back.

"Bored outta my mind," you complained. The sun reflected off a shiny decorative piece on his hat, making you squint. "And why are you wearing that stupid hat?"

"What?" he opened his hands out questioningly with a goofy grin stretched across his face. "A man keeps this camp afloat, and he can't even wear a nice hat without his lady callin' it stupid."  

You rolled your eyes and gestured to all the women in the camp, cleaning tables and guns, sewing, and helping with dinner.

"No, we keep this camp afloat while you men are out doing god knows what," you said, your stitches getting sloppier as your vexation grew. "I'm losing my mind here. Meanwhile, you come back with fancy trinkets, weird statues, emeralds, and crazy hats! You know, I think you do the robbing and hunting only sometimes, and when that's done, you're just out there playing around!"

You finally stopped knitting and turned to Arthur, whose playful grin had faltered into a thoughtful glance. You continued your monologue, "Ugh! I swear, if you don't get me outta here, I'm gonna stab Grimshaw through the eye with this needle!"

You held the sharp point inches away from Arthur's face, prompting him to snatch it from you. "Alright, easy there." He grabbed your hand in two of his gloved ones and glanced at it from under the brim of his hat, thinking for a long moment, "Fine, you can come with me long as nobody gets stabbed. Can't have a degenerate murderer loose in this camp, now, can we?"

Ignoring his sarcasm, you squealed excitedly and jumped up from your spot, pulling on Arthur's arm to make him stand, too.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," you said between the many kisses you laid on him. He stilled you with firm hands on your waist and chuckled.

"I reckon it won't be as exciting as you think, but I can't say no to you."

Within a few minutes, you were ready to go, aiming and checking the ammo on a varmint rifle that Arthur had given you.

"Met a strange feller, Algernon Wasp. He's a— he has— well, he— he's an artist, I guess; he's paying me to collect some stuff for his, uh, creations. Bird feathers, orchids, that kind of stuff. Would be faster with the two of us."

And that's how you found yourself in the swamps of Lemoyne with the varmint rifle slung over your shoulder as you swatted away mosquitoes and sweated your ass off. You were hot, thirsty, and worst of all, you'd only found four of the seven cigar orchids you needed.

Mud squelched under your feet as you followed behind Arthur; you spoke exasperatedly, "how much is this fool paying you for all this?"

Arthur had gone quieter as you'd gotten more frustrated over the hours. Both of you were starting to regret this decision.

"I don't know. Money is money," he said dismissively, his head on a swivel and eyes focused. You were bothered that he could so easily spot plants and always knew which direction to go, expecting you to keep pace with his long strides when mud weighed down your skirts, slowing you down. You knew it was irrational, but you were mad at him for dragging you out here despite your near begging.

The heat was getting to you, and you'd lost control of the filter from your brain to your mouth. Arthur was a few feet ahead when you started your mumbling, "goddamn swamps is no place for a lady. Gators, mud, bugs and—" You didn't get to finish your sentence before Arthur spun and made two giant steps toward you, jaw clenched.

"You got something to say?"

You crossed your arms, defiant. Arthur's reputation as a vicious intimidator didn't phase you, though. He wouldn't lay a finger on you; you both knew it. You rolled your eyes and said, "this is as boring as being back at camp, except I'm all dirty now."

He stepped closer into your space, his angry eyes searching yours. He spoke in a low volume that would scare anybody but you: "This is what you wanted, woman, so don't go gettin' mad at me because things ain't all neat and proper."

Were you frightened by him? No. Were your feelings hurt? Yes. You scoffed and nodded slowly while you spoke, "You're right. I'm gonna head to camp. I'll see you when you get back."

You didn't give him the chance to respond before you trudged in the other direction, clicking for your horse waiting nearby. Arthur watched you go until he lost sight of you in the overgrown vegetation.

Then you were on the road, your horse at a trot, when something in his line of vision spooked him. Before you could even react, you were bucked off, your head hitting the ground with a thud. Despite the pain, you knew better than to just lay there. Gators and snakes were everywhere, but only something notably terrifying would scare off your Andalusian. You took the rifle off your back, pointing it aimlessly all around, trying to focus your spinning vision on the threat beyond.

Before you could blink, a big cat took hold of your leg through your skirt. You shot wildly once, twice, then three times before the beast let go of you. Screaming at the top of your lungs, you scrambled backward as more bullets rang out from your low-caliber weapon. Hoping and praying, you squeezed the trigger one last time. Eyes closed, you prepared for the inevitable when a louder shot rang out somewhere near you.

When pain and death didn't come, you opened your eyes to see Arthur standing over you, concern distorting his face. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead, and he huffed, trying to catch his breath. His hands scoured every inch of you, searching for signs of bleeding. Panic started to set in again when you realized you couldn't feel anything; you held your breath as Arthur pulled up the hem of your dress, bracing for the worst.

You breathed a sigh of relief and let your head fall back onto the ground. The puncture was minor, no worse than a needle prick. Arthur stood, using his arm to wipe away the perspiration that had soaked him. Then his anger started up again.

"Can't go getting hurt like that, girl. Shouldn't've let you run off by yourself. If something happened to you, I'd—"

"Shut up, Arthur," you rose back up and tried to smile through your unease. "I'm fine, thanks to you."

He held out a hand to pull you back to your feet, then wrapped his arms around you tight. His heart hammered against his chest, and you could hear your blood rushing through your ears. Then you finally let yourself cry in the safety of all his bulk.

"I'm sorry, sweet girl; I'm sorry." Every shakey inhale, sob, and gasp from you ripped him apart from the inside out. He was supposed to be looking after you, always, but his hardheadedness and pride left you vulnerable. Killing was the one thing he knew he was good for, and to almost fail at the cost of your life made his insides rot with guilt.

He peeled you away from his chest and cupped your face, "I won't let anything else happen to you, ya' hear?" You nodded, and he wiped dirt and tears away from your cheek with a big thumb and brought you back into him, stroking the back of your head. After a long moment, he retrieved your horse, helped you, and then rode beside you the whole way back to camp.

The next day, you gladly did your chores while Arthur went on his adventures. You didn't complain in the comfort and safety of a shade tree and other skilled gunmen. You were sitting in his tent when Arthur returned in the evening, now wearing his regular gambler's hat and carrying another adorned with floral designs and a peacock feather.

He greeted you with a peck on your cheek, joined you on the cot, and talked through a crooked smile, "found the rest of those orchids today and gave 'em to Algernon. Took this instead of the money. Think he was happier with that trade, anyway."  

The closer you looked at the beautiful monstrosity, the more you had to fight off your reaction. It was undeniably unique, but you couldn't image anyone wearing it seriously.

"It's um—," You covered your mouth to stifle your giggle, but your quaking shoulders gave you away. To your relief, Arthur joined in your laugh and placed the hat atop your head.

"He tried to give it to me, made me try it on, but I figured it'd look better on you. Now we both got a crazy hat."

The idea of Arthur standing in front of a mirror in the hat with all his hardened features made you throw your head back in near hysterics.

"Well, I will cherish that image and this hat forever. Thank you." Arthur's face softened as your amusement died down, then morphed into a lamentable combination of worry and self-loathing. You recognized it all too well.  

He stroked your face with the back of his hand and spoke in a hushed tone, "I'm sorry, again, for letting you go off by yourself like that. I—"

You silenced him with your lips, pushing him onto his back and mounting him. Your new hat fell away along with his worry as you showed him just how appreciative you were.

[solarnomoon]

your eyes on me ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙✩ sim jaeyun smau

the time of reckoning has come! everyone is linked to their soulmate when they're born, but only after they turn twenty does that link become visible. however, you don't expect much, because the stupid red line tied to you is only seen when they're close by. for now, you'll just help your best friend with their soulmate, hoping it'll happen to you too.

pairing -♥̩͙ jake x male reader

tags -♥̩͙ soulmate au, college au, smau, fluff, cliche trope yatta yatta, male reader, not idol enhypen but enhypen as a group, crack, angst, misunderstanding, gaming terms, valorant, league of legends, genshin impact, references to pop culture

warnings -♥̩͙ cursing, suggestive themes, corny/dirty/kys jokes

featuring -♥̩͙ chaewon of le sserafim, winter of aespa, felix of straykids, more to come!

status -♥̩͙ not started!

taglist -♥̩͙ open!

author's note -♥̩͙ bro there's no way i'm doing another one BUT I LOVE SMAUs hello anyway SURPRISE i'm gonna start this one soon once i get all the profiles and storyboard together but yes jake!!!

profiles >>> the O(h)G(ee)'s -♥̩͙ enTRIFLIN

chapters >>>

*written

00. just a normal day, searing dawn 01. so fucking supportive, call me sona 02. the bible??? 03. dino for the huzz* 04. im tight as hell

[speaknow-sw]

THE POET AND THE ROSE

Content : mdni, smut, pussy eating, PiV.

A/N : erm…8.2k words guys ??? Is this too long ? Idk but this chapter is very Shakespearean I reckon…anyway here’s your smut @anisangeldust try not to cheer too loud, you’re gonna wake the kids up.

꧁ Chapter 4 : Letters in the Dark ꧂

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

The ink whispers secrets the tongue cannot bare,

A fragile bridge between despair and care.

In shadows, hearts awaken to yearn,

Letters ignite what words cannot discern.

The mist clung to the rolling hills, softening the edges of the battlefield that had been marked by blood and valor. Anakin Skywalker stood at the crest of a hill, his dark cloak brushing against his boots, a sharp contrast to the pale light of dawn. The air was still, thick with the aftermath of war and the unspoken tension of what was to come. He waited, hands resting loosely on his belt, his sharp gaze scanning the horizon.

A lone figure emerged from the fog, his steps deliberate and his broad frame unmistakable. William Wallace, the Guardian of Scotland, approached with the bearing of a man who carried the weight of his people’s dreams on his shoulders. He wore no armor, only a simple cloak, the fabric frayed but dignified. His weathered face bore the scars of countless battles, his blue eyes sharp and unyielding.

When they met, there were no guards, no banners, no intermediaries—only two men who had come to speak plainly in the fragile quiet of dawn.

"You came alone," Wallace said, his voice rough but not unfriendly.

"As did you," Anakin replied. "It’s the least we could do, given the blood that’s already been spilled."

Wallace nodded, his gaze sweeping the hills. "Aye, too much blood. And for what? Kings with greed in their hearts and chains for their people."

Anakin’s jaw tightened. "I didn’t come here to defend my king, nor to apologize for the crown I serve. But I agree—wars are seldom fought for noble reasons, even when noble men die in them."

Wallace turned to face him fully, his towering presence unyielding but calm. "Then why do you fight, Skywalker? You’re no tyrant’s lapdog—I can see that much. So why march under his banner?"

Anakin hesitated, the weight of the question settling on him. His hand brushed against the hilt of his sword, not out of threat but as if seeking an anchor. "I fight for the men who follow me. For the farmers turned soldiers who trust me to bring them home. For the people who want nothing more than to live without fear."

"And yet, you march into Scotland, where those same people bleed for their land," Wallace countered, his voice steady but laced with quiet fury. "Do you see the irony in that, General?"

Anakin met his gaze, unflinching. "I do. But if I laid down my sword, another would take my place—one who cares nothing for mercy or reason. At least I can temper the madness."

Wallace studied him for a long moment, the silence between them heavy with understanding. "You’re a good man caught in a bad war," he said finally. "But no amount of tempering will change the truth—Scotland will never bow to England. We’ll fight until there’s nothing left of us, because freedom is worth more than our lives."

Anakin’s voice softened, a trace of respect in his tone. "You fight for freedom. I fight for peace. And yet, here we are, enemies on the same field."

"A cruel jest by the gods," Wallace said with a bitter chuckle.

They stood in silence for a moment, two warriors bound by the same honor, the same burden of leading men into battle.

"Do you ever wonder," Anakin said quietly, "if all of this will be remembered? If the men who die for us, the families torn apart—if any of it will matter in the end?"

Wallace’s expression hardened, but his voice was tinged with sorrow. "Aye, I wonder. But I’d rather die fighting for something than live on my knees for nothing."

Anakin nodded slowly, his respect for the man before him deepening. "I wish we’d met under different circumstances, Wallace. Perhaps in another life, we’d have fought side by side instead of against each other."

Wallace smiled faintly, the expression fleeting but genuine. "Aye, perhaps. But in this life, we fight. And if I fall, I’ll fall knowing I stood for what mattered."

The sun began to rise, its light breaking through the mist and casting long shadows across the hills. The moment of fragile peace between them passed, the inevitability of their roles pulling them back into their separate paths.

"Until the next battle," Wallace said, turning to leave.

"Until then," Anakin replied, watching as the Scottish leader disappeared into the mist.

As the first rays of sunlight warmed the earth, Anakin stood alone on the hill, the words of their conversation echoing in his mind. A good man caught in a bad war. And for the first time in years, he felt the weight of those words press against his soul.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

Chains may bind the flesh, but not the fire,

A dream that climbs, relentless, higher.

Through blood and stone, through ash and pain,

Freedom is the breath we fight to regain.

Anakin sat at a rough-hewn table in his tent, the candle’s weak flame flickering against the soft night breeze that crept through the seams of the fabric. The clamor of the camp had begun to fade, soldiers retreating to their bedrolls after another day of skirmishes and hard marches. Yet for Anakin, rest remained elusive.

His armor lay discarded in the corner, the dented metal a testament to the brutality of recent battles. Dirt and blood clung to his hands, faint smudges smearing across the blank parchment before him. He hadn’t written a letter in years—not since his mother passed. Words weren’t his craft; they never had been.

And yet, here he sat, quill in hand, staring down at the blank page as though it were an adversary.

The faintest image of you surfaced in his mind—the way your fingers had moved over your canvas as if weaving life into color, the soft arch of your brow as you’d stolen glances at him when you thought he wasn’t looking. He shook his head, willing the memory away. But it clung stubbornly to him, just as your presence had lingered in the halls of the castle long after he’d left.

With a sigh, he pressed the quill to the page. The first words came haltingly, their formality feeling both a shield and a chain.

“My rose, I trust this letter reaches you swiftly and in good health.”

He stared at the words, his jaw tightening. Too cold, too distant. But wasn’t that safer? Still, something inside him rebelled against leaving it there.

“The days here are long and unforgiving, but it is the nights that weigh heaviest. When the fires die and silence falls over the camp, my thoughts stray to the castle—to you. It is a strange thing, for I have spent my life carving paths through stone and steel, yet now I find myself wondering what might lie beyond them.”

Anakin paused, his brow furrowing. He had always been a man of action, not introspection. But the words seemed to pour from a place within him he didn’t fully understand.

“I am no poet, nor a man given to sentiment. Yet, as the days pass, I find myself curious. You are not what I expected. Your quiet strength is a balm I did not know I needed, though I lacked the grace to see it before I left.”

The quill hovered over the page, its tip trembling as he fought against the vulnerability clawing its way into his chest. He thought of the way your eyes had flickered with defiance during the wedding reception when Count Aulbry had dared to slight him. The memory stirred something deep within him—a flicker of admiration and something else he dared not name.

“Perhaps you see me as a hard man. I would not blame you for it. The battlefield has no room for softness, and I have worn that truth like armor for many years. But in the quiet moments, I begin to wonder—what might a life beyond war look like? What might it be to know peace? To know you?”

Anakin leaned back, running a hand through his disheveled hair. The words felt foreign, almost too raw, but there was no taking them back now.

“When the fires die and silence falls over the camp, my thoughts stray to the castle—to you. It is a strange thing, for I have spent my life carving paths through stone and steel, yet now I find myself wondering what might lie beyond them.”

He glanced at the folded leather notebook lying on the edge of the table, the same one he had taken to scribbling in after long days of battle. It was filled with fragments—half-formed thoughts, lines of poetry he would never dare to share. He briefly considered copying a verse into the letter but shook his head. That would be too much.

Instead, he signed the letter with practiced precision.

“Yours sincerely, General Anakin Skywalker”

He folded the parchment carefully, sealing it with his family’s insignia. As he handed it to his most trusted messenger, his voice was low and firm. “This is for Lady Skywalker. Ensure it reaches her swiftly and safely. Do not linger.”

The messenger saluted and disappeared into the darkness. Anakin stood alone in the dim glow of the tent, staring at the candle’s flame as it danced and sputtered.

Why had he written to you? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was guilt for the way he’d left, or perhaps it was the way your painting had lingered in his mind’s eye, haunting him with its quiet beauty. Whatever the reason, the act of putting his thoughts to paper felt like loosening a knot in his chest.

He reached for the notebook and opened it to the last page, where a half-finished poem lay scrawled in his uneven hand. The words seemed to taunt him, unfinished and raw, but they felt truer than anything he had spoken aloud.

“Beneath the armor, beneath the steel, Lies a yearning I dare not reveal. For peace, for light, for a hand to hold, In her gaze, I find my soul.”

Anakin snapped the notebook shut, tossing it onto the table. His gaze lingered on the shadows dancing across the walls, his thoughts torn between the battlefield before him and the woman he had left behind.

The letter arrived two days later, just as the sun was setting, its light spilling through the tall, narrow windows of your chamber. You sat at your desk, your brush poised above the unfinished painting of Anakin, the colors of his armor muted and incomplete. The messenger bowed as he handed you the parchment, sealed with the unmistakable insignia of House Skywalker.

Your heart stumbled. Anakin had never written to you before.

The wax seal broke easily under your trembling fingers. You unfolded the letter, your eyes scanning the elegant but reserved handwriting. The first words were formal, distant even, but as you read on, the tone shifted. Subtle hints of longing emerged between the lines, soft admissions cloaked in restraint.

“When the fires die and silence falls over the camp, my thoughts stray to the castle—to you. It is a strange thing, for I have spent my life carving paths through stone and steel, yet now I find myself wondering what might lie beyond them.”

A breath caught in your throat. You reread the words, each line piercing through the defenses you had built around your heart. There was something unspoken here—something fragile.

The letter ended simply: “Yours sincerely, General Anakin Skywalker.”

The parchment fluttered slightly in your hands as you set it down, the weight of his words pressing against the knowledge you carried. Your father’s betrayal.

The intercepted letter was still hidden in the bottom of a chest in the corner of your room. Its contents had unraveled the delicate threads of trust you had begun to weave with Anakin. Your father had plotted to manipulate both sides, using your marriage as a pawn in his schemes. If Anakin knew, would he believe you complicit?

You rose from the desk and began to pace, your gown brushing softly against the stone floor. The walls of your chamber seemed to close in around you as the dilemma clawed at your mind.

Anakin’s words lingered. “I begin to wonder—what might a life beyond war look like? What might it be to know peace? To know you?”

Could you risk breaking this fragile connection by telling him the truth? Would he see you as a spy for your father, as another piece in a game of politics and power? The thought of losing whatever tenuous bond was forming between you left a hollow ache in your chest.

But silence, too, was its own betrayal.

You moved back to your desk, reaching for a fresh sheet of parchment. The candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows across the room as you dipped your quill into the inkwell.

“Dear Husband,” you began, the words coming slowly, each one weighed with care.

“Your letter reached me as the sun was setting, casting the castle in hues of gold and crimson. I find it fitting, for your words carried a similar light—unexpected and strangely warming.”

You hesitated, your quill hovering above the page. How much could you reveal without unraveling everything? How much of your heart could you show?

“You speak of carving paths through stone and steel, of wondering what might lie beyond them. I, too, have wondered. Perhaps we are not so different in this—both searching for something that feels just out of reach.”

The quill paused again. You closed your eyes, picturing Anakin as you had last seen him: the determined set of his jaw, the shadows under his eyes, the unspoken weight he carried.

“I hope this letter brings you some measure of comfort, as yours has brought me. Though we are apart, know that my thoughts are with you. May the stars guide you safely home.”

You signed the letter with a simple “Yours,” leaving the rest unspoken.

As you sealed the parchment, the weight of the intercepted letter still loomed in the back of your mind. The decision to remain silent gnawed at your conscience, but for now, you pushed it aside.

The messenger was summoned again, his footsteps echoing through the corridor as he carried your words back to the man who haunted your thoughts.

You returned to your desk, your gaze falling on the unfinished painting. The armor was only half-complete, the strokes hesitant, as if you feared finishing it would solidify the distance between you. You reached for your brush, but your hands trembled too much to paint.

Instead, you turned to the window, staring out into the growing darkness. Somewhere out there, Anakin was reading your words, just as you had read his. And somewhere within that exchange, a fragile thread of connection began to form, even as shadows of doubt lingered on the edges.

The first letter had been cautious, a measured exchange of pleasantries cloaked in formality. But as weeks turned into months, and the battles stretched endlessly across the rugged Scottish terrain, the tone of the letters began to change.

“Lady Skywalker,

The campaign against Wallace progresses steadily. Though victory is within reach, the cost has been high. I trust the castle remains secure and that you are well.

Yours,

Anakin Skywalker”

The letter had been brief, almost impersonal, yet it was the first time he had reached out since departing. It stirred something in you, a faint flicker of hope. You responded in kind, careful not to reveal too much of yourself.

“General,

The castle remains quiet, though I must admit its halls feel emptier in your absence. I hope the tides of battle turn in your favor soon. Yours, Your Wife”

The next letter came weeks later, its tone slightly warmer. His words hinted at exhaustion but carried a thread of something more personal.

“My Lady,

The battles are fierce, and the Scots fight with the desperation of men who have nothing left to lose. There is an honesty to their resistance that I cannot help but respect, though it makes victory no less bitter. In the quiet moments, I think of the castle—of its stillness and the sanctuary it must offer. I hope you find peace within its walls, even as I find none here.”

His words lingered in your mind long after you read them. You wrote back that night, pouring a small piece of yourself into the ink.

“My Dear Husband,

The castle is peaceful, though it is a hollow peace. The roses have begun to bloom again, their petals bright against the gray walls. They remind me of you—unyielding, even amidst hardship. I hope you return soon to see them for yourself.”

The letters became a lifeline, weaving an intimacy neither of you had anticipated. Anakin began writing more frequently, his words shedding their rigid armor. Each letter revealed a man wrestling with the weight of his role, his responsibilities, and the yearning for something he could not name.

“My Rose,

The days are long, the nights longer still. In the quiet hours, I find myself thinking not of the battles but of the life I might have had—one without swords or blood. It is foolish, perhaps, but I wonder what such a life would have looked like, and whether you might have been part of it.”

You read his letters with trembling hands, your heart caught between longing and fear. His vulnerability was disarming, his words a window into the man hidden beneath the hardened general.

Your responses grew bolder, though you still held back the secret of your father’s betrayal. That knowledge weighed heavily on you, a dark cloud over your growing bond with Anakin. Yet in your letters, you allowed yourself to dream, to share pieces of a future you knew might never come.

“Anakin,

Your words are not foolish. I, too, wonder what our lives might have been if the world were kinder. I see glimpses of that life in your letters—in the tenderness you try to hide, in the dreams you dare to share. Perhaps there is a part of us that can still claim it, even amidst the chaos.”

In the heart of the Scottish highlands, Anakin read your letter beneath the dim light of a lantern in his tent. He traced your words with calloused fingers, his chest tightening. For years, he had buried his softer inclinations beneath layers of duty and discipline. Yet your letters stirred something he had thought long dead: hope.

One evening, his letter arrived with a small addition—a fragment of poetry hastily scrawled at the bottom of the page.

“I do not know if these words are worthy of your eyes, But they carry the echoes of nights I cannot sleep. In their frailty, they whisper of the stars, And of a face I see in every dream.”

You read those lines over and over, your heart pounding. His words were unpolished but raw, a glimpse into a side of him he had kept hidden even from himself.

Anakin’s words grew softer, more unguarded, like sunlight breaking through heavy clouds. Each letter carried with it the weight of exhaustion and longing, but also a vulnerability he hadn’t shown before.

"The days blur into one another—steel clashing, men falling, the air thick with smoke. Yet amidst it all, your image anchors me. Your words remind me there is a world beyond this chaos, a reason to hope."

You read his letters in the quiet of your chambers, clutching the parchment like it was a lifeline. Each line drew you closer to the man you had once seen only as a distant, stoic general. In his words, you found a soul searching for meaning amidst the violence, a man yearning for something gentler, even if he didn’t know how to name it.

Your own responses began to mirror his, shedding the formality that had first marked them. Where his letters spoke of the horrors of war, you offered solace, painting images of the castle’s gardens in bloom, of the birds nesting in the eaves outside your window, of the peaceful moments you dreamed of sharing with him.

“I wish you could see the roses this spring—they climb higher than ever, their petals like drops of blood against the gray stone. I think of you when I walk among them, wondering if you are safe, if you feel the warmth of the sun through the armor you wear.”

Anakin's next letter arrived on a rain-soaked evening, its ink slightly smudged but his words unmistakably clear.

"You write of roses, and I think of the ones that grow wild near the fields we fight on. They are stubborn things, surviving against all odds. I wonder if that is why I thought of you, unyielding in your strength, even in a place where others might falter."

You traced the words with your fingers, your heart tightening at his unexpected tenderness. Each exchange stripped away another layer of distance between you, revealing the raw humanity beneath.

As the weeks wore on, the letters grew bolder. Anakin began sharing fragments of the poetry he wrote in his leather notebook, words he had once kept hidden from everyone, even himself.

"I do not know if these words are worthy of your eyes, but they have been my solace on nights when sleep refuses to come. Perhaps you will find in them some small measure of the man I wish to be, rather than the one I am."

His poetry spoke of the stars, of fleeting dreams, of longing that burned like a fire too fierce to contain.

"You haunt me in sleep—your eyes in a thousand forms, your voice a melody that slips through my grasp. I am a fool to cling to such visions, yet they are the only peace I know."

Your letters in return began to echo his vulnerability, though always with a touch of guardedness. You had not yet told him of your father’s betrayal, the weight of that knowledge still pressing against your chest.

One evening, you sat by the fire, Anakin’s latest letter spread before you. The castle was quiet, the servants retired for the night. You dipped your quill into ink and wrote with a courage you hadn’t known you possessed.

“There is a line in your last letter that has stayed with me: ‘Perhaps you will find in them some small measure of the man I wish to be.’ I want you to know that I do. In your words, I see someone who yearns for more than war and bloodshed, someone who carries the weight of others' burdens yet still dreams of a gentler world. That man is already worthy, though he may not yet believe it.”

You hesitated, then added a final line: “I, too, dream of that world, though I am not sure I will ever know it.”

As you sealed the letter, you felt the sting of unshed tears. For the first time, you wondered if you and Anakin might have been different people, had the world been kinder.

The letters continued, carrying your words back and forth like a bridge over an unspoken chasm. Though you remained separated by miles, the distance between your hearts began to shrink. In the ink-stained pages, you found something you had both longed for, though neither dared to name it yet: connection.

The castle was bathed in the faint hues of dawn when the sound of hooves echoed through the courtyard. The guards rushed to the gates, startled by the unannounced arrival of riders cloaked in frost and exhaustion. At their head was Anakin Skywalker, his armor dulled by battle and travel, his features shadowed by fatigue.

The news of his return spread quickly through the castle. You were still in your chamber, seated at your easel, a brush poised over the canvas. The unfinished painting of Anakin stood before you, a labor of longing and frustration. You had been adding the slightest details to his eyes, trying to capture the sharpness and sorrow you remembered, when the knock came at your door.

"My lady," a servant announced, "the general has returned."

The brush slipped from your fingers, leaving a streak of paint across the edge of the canvas. Your heart leapt and then sank. You hadn’t expected him back—not yet, not like this. A thousand emotions surged through you: relief, excitement, fear. How would he look at you after all these months? Would the intimacy of your letters translate into the flesh, or would the distance you had felt before his departure return?

You stood, smoothing your gown and composing yourself as best you could. When you descended to the great hall, Anakin was already there, speaking in low tones with his second-in-command. His presence was magnetic, as always, drawing every eye in the room.

For a moment, you hesitated at the edge of the hall, watching him. His face was sharper, leaner than when he had left, and there was a new weight in his gaze. Yet when his eyes found yours across the room, something shifted. His stern expression softened, just for an instant, before he turned back to his conversation.

When he finally approached you, he gave a slight bow. “My lady,” he said, his voice formal but warm.

“General,” you replied, feeling the strange distance of titles again.

“I trust you have been well?” he asked, searching your face.

You nodded, unsure what to say. His presence was overwhelming, and you couldn’t reconcile the man standing before you with the one whose tender words had filled your letters.

"I must speak with the king," he said after a pause, his tone turning serious. "There are matters of unrest in the kingdom. Whispers among the courtiers, rumors spreading like fire. I sense that something is brewing in the shadows. It is not just the threat of external enemies; it's the court itself that is beginning to fracture."

His words sent a chill through you, and the weight of them lingered. Anakin’s sharp instincts had always been his strength. He was never one to ignore the subtle stirrings of danger.

“I will find out what is happening, my lady,” he continued, his gaze hardening. “But for now, I must meet with the king. I trust you will be well while I’m away?”

You nodded again, though your mind was already swirling with thoughts. What did this unrest mean? Could your father’s machinations already be coming to a head?

Anakin hesitated, then stepped closer. “Later, we will talk,” he said quietly. “I’ve missed you.”

He turned and walked briskly toward the king’s chambers, leaving you standing in the hall, torn between the need to understand his sudden tension and the fear that you might already be too late to prevent the kingdom’s ruin.

Later that evening, after he had met with the king and addressed the court, Anakin wandered through the castle, finding himself drawn to the tower where your chambers were. He had meant to wait, to give you time to adjust to his return, but something pulled him forward.

The door to your chamber was slightly ajar, and he hesitated before stepping inside. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

The room was filled with paintings—of landscapes, of still lifes—but most prominently, of him. There were sketches of his profile, studies of his hands, and in the center of it all, the large, unfinished portrait.

It was him as you remembered him, clad in his armor, his expression resolute yet touched by something softer. The details were painstaking: the curve of his jaw, the strands of his hair, the sharp focus in his eyes. But it wasn’t complete. His gauntlets were left as rough outlines, and the background faded into blank canvas.

Anakin moved closer, his breath caught in his chest. He reached out, his fingers hovering over the painted surface as if afraid to disturb it.

Behind him, you entered the room quietly, startled to find him there. “Anakin?” you said softly.

He turned, his eyes meeting yours. “You painted these,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, stepping closer. “I... I wanted to keep you close, even when you were far away.”

He looked back at the painting, his expression unreadable. “You see me differently than I see myself,” he said after a long pause. “In your eyes, I am... more than I feel I am.”

“You are more,” you replied without hesitation. “You’ve carried so much, fought so hard. I see it in every line of you.”

His gaze flickered to you, and for a moment, the stoic mask he wore fell away. “Your letters kept me alive,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “And now this... I don’t know if I deserve it.”

You stepped closer, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “You do.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, as if breaking from a trance, Anakin straightened. “I should let you rest,” he said, his voice once again guarded. “Thank you, my lady.”

He left before you could stop him, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. Yet as he walked away, you saw him glance back, his eyes lingering on the painting one last time.

The weight of the day’s events hung heavily between you, the silence stretching longer than either of you was comfortable with. Anakin had returned to the castle, but the shadow of the kingdom’s unrest still loomed over him, and the tension in the air was palpable. He had been gone for so long, and now, with the sharp edges of his absence still fresh, it was difficult to reconcile the man before you with the man who had filled the pages of your letters.

You watched him from across the room, his back to you as he examined a map of the kingdom, his fingers tracing the contours of the land, drawing lines of strategy and war. There was a distance between you now—one that you both seemed to carry, unspoken but undeniable.

You couldn't bear it anymore. Not the cold, not the distance, not the gnawing feeling in your chest that kept you awake at night. You couldn’t stand to watch him walk out again, leaving your heart behind. Without thinking, you pushed yourself off the chair and crossed the room, stopping just behind him. Your breath caught in your throat, but you forced yourself to speak.

“Anakin,” you said softly, the name slipping from your lips like a plea. His head turned slightly, eyes narrowing as he saw the resolve in your face. It was as if he had already known what was coming, and yet he was unwilling to acknowledge it.

“I cannot let you leave again,” you continued, voice trembling with something you could not name. “Not like this. I… I have missed you. Every day, every moment you were gone, I felt it.”

He took a step closer to you, his eyes searching your face, his expression unreadable. “I know you have, my lady. But there is much that must be done—there is unrest in the kingdom, and there are threats that must be confronted.”

“I understand that,” you whispered, “But I—” You hesitated, unable to say what you truly felt. Your heart felt torn between the loyalty to your father, who you still feared, and the love that had slowly, painfully, bloomed in the cracks of your isolation. You had learned so much during his absence, and yet you felt as though your trust was slipping through your fingers like sand.

He reached for your hand, his touch sending a jolt of warmth through you. “You don’t have to explain,” he murmured. “I know. It’s never easy, being torn between duty and love.”

“I can’t,” you said quickly, almost pleading with him. “I can’t lose you, Anakin. Not now, not after everything that has happened. But I—I don’t know if I can trust anyone anymore. Not even my own blood.” You let out a shaky breath, the confession more difficult than you had imagined.

Anakin stepped closer, his hand lifting to gently cradle your cheek. “Trust is fragile,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your skin. “But love… love is built on it. And I want you to know, whatever happens, I am here. I will stand by you. But you must be honest with me, Aurelia. All of it. No more hiding.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek, and you closed your eyes, unable to hold it back. “I don’t know how to tell you,” you whispered, “What if you look at me like I’m just another pawn in this cruel game? What if you—”

He placed his fingers against your lips, silencing your fears. His voice was low, filled with a raw tenderness that cut through the tension. “You’re not a pawn. You’re the woman I’ve come to love. And nothing will change that.”

For a moment, you stood there in the silence, the weight of his words settling over you like a blanket, warm and secure. And then, as if the storm inside your chest had finally subsided, you closed the distance between you. Your hands reached up to pull him close, your lips finding his in a kiss that was both desperate and tender.

Anakin's eyes widened in surprise for a moment before he melted into the kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him. He held you tightly, his fingers splaying across your back as he deepened the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim you with a hunger that stole your breath away.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you lost yourself in the sensation of his lips on yours, his body pressed against your own. The world fell away, the weight of the day's revelations and fears momentarily forgotten as you lost yourself in the taste and feel of him.

Anakin's hands roamed over your back, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on the swell of your hips. He pulled you impossibly closer, his hips rocking against your own in a slow, sensual rhythm that sent molten heat coursing through your veins.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were both breathless, your chests heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. Anakin's eyes were dark, filled with a desire that made your heart race and your skin flush with heat.

"My rose…" he murmured, his voice rough with want.

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that clung to your cheeks. "I know the path ahead will not be an easy one. But I swear to you, here and now, that I will stand by your side. Through whatever trials and tribulations may come, I will be your constant companion and your fiercest protector."

His gaze bored into yours, intense and unwavering. "And I need you to trust me, my love. To be honest with me, always. Hold nothing back, no matter how painful or frightening it may be. We can withstand anything - but only if we face it together."

You nodded, your voice thick with emotion as you spoke. "I trust you, Anakin. With my life, with my heart... with everything I have. I know the road ahead is uncertain and fraught with peril, but I choose to walk it with you. Always."

Anakin's hands roamed your curves, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your gown to caress the smooth skin beneath. He tugged at the fastenings of his armor, impatiently loosening the straps and buckles until the heavy plates fell away, clattering to the floor.

His lips trailed down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point as he nipped and sucked at the sensitive flesh. You arched into him, your head falling back to grant him better access as a breathy moan escaped your lips.

Anakin's hands slid lower, his fingers splaying across your lower back before gripping the globes of your rear. He lifted you effortlessly, his strength evident in the way he positioned you on the edge of the strategy table, the maps and parchment crinkling beneath you.

He stepped between your parted thighs, his hips nestling against your core as he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue delved deep, tangling with your own in a dance of passion and desperation.

Your husband’s hands roamed your body with reverent fervor, his touch a balm to your weary soul. He traced the delicate lines of your face, marveling at the beauty he found there. "My rose," he whispered, "a bloom of purest grace, your beauty far outshines the fairest flower's face."

His fingers trailed down your neck, skimming over the delicate curve of your collarbone. "These hands, once stained with battle's crimson hue, now tremble to unbind the silken threads that cloak your tender form. A sacred trust, a privilege I've earned by love's own code."

Anakin's gaze smoldered with adoration and unspoken promises as he slowly peeled away the layers of your gown, revealing the creamy skin beneath. "As I lay bare your flesh, I swear to lay bare my heart, to open wide the chamber where it beats for you alone."

He leaned in to press fervent kisses along your shoulder, his lips a brand of branding love upon your skin. "Behold, I am the thorn entwined within your stem, the guard and shield that shall defend you evermore. My life, my honor, my eternal troth, I pledge in this moment to love's eternal shore."

Anakin's hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over the hardened peaks. "These buds of beauty, tender and unrivaled, shall be my constant stars, my north and south in life's vast sea. I'll cherish them, as I shall cherish you, until the end of days, our hearts entwined as one eternity."

As he lowered his head to worship at the altar of your flesh, his voice rumbled with solemn vows. "Fair lady, my sweet rose, I am your loyal knight, your champion, your eternal friend. With every breath, with every beat of this heart that beats for you, I vow to love you, honor you, and stand by you, forevermore. Let no foe, no fate, no force on heaven or earth sunder the bond that joins us now and evermore."

His hand pressed gently on your stomach lowering you on the table as he send sweeping all his strategy papers off. “Wait…your plans…” you whispered trying to stop him. 

Anakin paused, his hands stilling on your waist as he sensed your gentle protest. He looked up at you, his gaze intense and filled with a fierce, burning love. A slow, sensual smile curved his lips as he took in your flushed cheeks and heaving chest.

"My rose," he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion, "No strategy, no plan, no matter how carefully crafted or vital to the kingdom's fate, could ever be as precious or as worth the sight of my beloved wife laid out before me like a feast for the senses."

Anakin's hands slid up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the last remnants of your tears. "I would gladly burn my maps and scatter my plans to the wind, if it meant I could hold you like this for eternity. You are my everything, my reason for living, my love."

He leaned in to capture your lips in a searing kiss, pouring all his ardor and desire into the caress. "Let the world wait, let the kingdoms crumble, let the wars rage on," he declared fervently. "For in this moment, with your sweet body beneath me and your loving heart entwined with my own, I have found paradise. And I will cherish it, and you, above all else."

Anakin knelt between your parted thighs, his gaze locked onto your glistening sex. The flickering candlelight cast a dance of shadows across your curves, illuminating the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "I could spend a lifetime exploring every inch of you."

Slowly, reverently, he leaned forward, his breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh. The first touch of his tongue was electric, a bolt of lightning that shot straight through you.

"Anakin!" you gasped, your fingers fisting in his hair.

He hummed against you, the vibrations adding to the pleasure that already threatened to overwhelm you. His tongue delved deeper, stroking along your slit, teasing your entrance.

"What do you want, my rose?" he asked, his voice low and intimate. "Tell me what you need."

His fingers teased your thighs, his thumbs brushing against the tender skin of your inner thighs. He could feel your muscles quivering, your body coiled tight with anticipation.

"Please," you whimpered, your hips rocking slightly as you sought more of his touch. "Please, Anakin..."

He smiled against your flesh, the action sending a new wave of sensation crashing over you. "Please what, my love? I need you to tell me."

His fingers slid higher, brushing against your sensitive clit. The touch was fleeting, a promise of more to come.

"I want...I want you to make me come," you gasped out, your cheeks flushing hotly at your own boldness. "I want to feel your mouth on me, your tongue inside me, your fingers filling me...please, Anakin, make me come."

Anakin licked a long, slow stripe up your dripping slit, savoring your essence on his tongue. At the top, he found your sensitive clit, swollen and throbbing with need. He flicked his tongue over the tender bud, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

"Anakin!" you cried out, your fingers tightening in his hair as pleasure sparked through you.

Emboldened by your response, Anakin sucked your clit between his lips, his tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh. He could feel you trembling beneath him, your body winding tighter and tighter.

As he pleasured you with his mouth, Anakin tugged down his trousers, freeing his aching cock. It sprang forth, long and hard, the thick length pulsing with each beat of his heart. The sight of his manhood, so powerful and ready, sent a fresh surge of arousal coursing through your veins.

Anakin's hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking himself as he continued his ministrations between your thighs. His tongue delved deeper, thrusting into your entrance, fucking you with his mouth.

The dual sensations of his lips and tongue on your most sensitive spots, combined with the erotic sight of him pleasuring himself, pushed you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

"Anakin, I'm...I'm going to..." you panted, your body tensing as your climax approached.

He could feel your walls fluttering around his invading tongue, your body desperate for release. With a low groan, he suckled your clit harder, determined to bring you to your peak.

"Come for me, my love," he growled against your sex. "Let me feel you come undone."

He thrust two fingers deep inside you, pumping in and out, as his tongue and lips worked in tandem to drive you wild. The combined stimulation was too much, and with a scream of his name, you shattered in his arms.

Anakin held you close as you rode out the waves of your intense climax, your body trembling and quaking against his. He gentled you through it, his strong arms wrapped around you like a protective cocoon.

"Shh, I have you," he murmured, his voice a soothing rumble in your ear. "You're safe with me."

As your trembling subsided, Anakin pressed soft kisses along your neck and collarbone, his touch reverent and tender. He could feel the pounding of your heart, the way your skin glistened with a sheen of sweat.

"Beautiful," he breathed, his eyes shining with admiration and desire. "You're exquisite when you let go."

His hand slid up your side, cupping the curve of your breast. He could feel the soft weight of it in his palm, the way your nipple pebbled beneath his touch.

"Tell me, my rose," he asked softly, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak. "Did that feel good?"

He knew the answer, of course. He could feel the way your body had responded, the way you'd cried out his name in ecstasy. But he wanted to hear it from your own lips, wanted to cement the connection that had begun to blossom between you.

Anakin's own need was a throbbing ache, his cock hard and heavy against your thigh. But he held himself back, determined to focus on your pleasure first. This moment was about you, about the trust and intimacy you were building.

He waited, his heart pounding in his chest, for your response. Whatever you said, whatever you chose, Anakin knew he would follow. This was your journey now, as much as his own.

“Anakin….please…take me…”You whispered, clinging to his strong back. You probably left crescent marks in his shoulder but he didn’t care. He wanted you to brand him with every single part of your body. 

“Anakin, ”you cried out his name, your voice resembling a divine plea in his ears “Don’t stop…” you gasped. 

Anakin's heart swelled at the desperate, needy sound of his name falling from your lips. With a primal growl, he redoubled his efforts, his hips slamming against yours with increasing force and speed.

"Never, my love," he rasped, his voice strained with exertion and desire. "I'll never stop. I'll take you again and again until you're fully satisfied."

His fingers continued their relentless assault on your clit, rubbing the sensitive bud in tight, rapid circles. The combination of his thick cock driving into you and his fingers stroking your most sensitive spot pushed you closer and closer to the brink of another shattering climax.

Anakin could feel your walls starting to flutter around his plunging length, your body tensing as your peak approached. He leaned down to capture your nipple between his teeth, biting and sucking the hardened peak as he fucked you with abandon.

"That's it, my rose," he urged, his hot breath washing over your skin. "Come for me. Scream my name as you shatter. Let all the world hear who you belong to."

His words, rough and raw with passion, sent a fresh surge of arousal coursing through you. You could feel your orgasm building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

"Anakin!" you cried out, your voice echoing off the stone walls of the chamber. "Oh God, Anakin!"

Your body convulsed beneath his, your inner muscles clenching and rippling around his pistoning cock. The sensation was exquisite, your silken heat gripping him like a velvet vise.

"Yes, my love!" Anakin roared, his own release fast approaching. "Milk my cock. Take every last drop of my seed."

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you. His cock jerked and throbbed as he spilled his hot, thick essence deep within your spasming channel. He continued to grind against you, working you through the aftershocks of your shared climax.

Anakin collapsed against you, his weight pressing you into the table as he struggled to catch his breath. His heart pounded in his chest, his skin slick with sweat from the exertion of their lovemaking.

He could feel your nails raking down his back, the slight pain only heightening his pleasure. The marks you left on his skin would be a badge of honor, a reminder of your passion and desire.

"My love," he murmured, his voice rough and sated. "That was...transcendent."

He propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at you with a satisfied smile. Your cheeks were flushed, your eyes glazed with post-coital bliss. The sight of you, disheveled and glowing, filled him with a profound sense of masculine pride.

Anakin leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. It was a kiss of thanks, of gratitude, of deepening affection. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and you granted it willingly.

As they kissed, Anakin's hand slid down your side, tracing the curve of your hip, the flare of your waist. He marveled at the softness of your skin, the way you yielded beneath his touch.

"You're exquisite," he whispered against your lips. "A goddess, made of flesh."

He knew he was being overly sentimental, but he couldn't help himself. In your arms, he felt a sense of peace, of belonging, that he had never known before. It was a feeling he wanted to hold onto, to nurture, to let grow.

Anakin's hand slid lower, cupping the rounded globe of your buttock. He squeezed gently, pulling your hip forward to grind against his own. Even in the aftermath of their lovemaking, he could feel his spent cock beginning to stir, to harden once more.

"Again?" you asked, your voice breathless with surprise and a hint of trepidation.

Anakin smiled, a wicked glint in his eye. "Is that a challenge, my rose?" he teased, his voice low and intimate. "Because I assure you, I'm up for it."

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

In your eyes, the heavens rest,

A goddess clothed in love’s caress.

You walk the earth with light divine,

And in your heart, the stars align.

[arthenaa]

ikaw at ikaw (only you) — mizu x f!reader

synopsis: 4 times your team lead chose you and 1 time you chose her.

content: modern!au, office romance, you and mizu are creatives, specifically in the character and concept design department in a very very famous gaming company (take a guess), she is your creative director and lead designer and you are the concept artist, 4+1 format, FLUFF, work relations, dynamic, and position might not be accurate, forgive me, this is basically just me projecting yet again.

a/n: this is requested by @andieperrie18 ! the answer shit isn't letting me edit my answer so ill be @-ing you here. TYSM FOR ENJOYING MY WORKS !! means a lot ... u also chose pasilyo 🥹🥹🥹🥹 sunkissed lola is the best

1.

Being part of the creatives team was a nightmare.

To tell you the truth, the position for a Concept Artist with a specialty in 2D design wasn't actually all that bad. The monthly benefits and wage were something you're quite lucky to receive considering the constant side eye other departments have with the admin's treatment of the artist employees. This was also your dream job—having had to play their games, specifically, VALORANT, left you in awe and gearing to apply once you were ready for an Internship. After your OJT course, you were accepted for a position in Character and Concept Design and are considered one of the team's most beloved artists (Your followers on Twitter reckon so).

In short, the work environment was great. A solid 15/10 experience—I mean how can you beat a company that caters not only to you as an artist but also as a player? Nothing can beat that feeling of satisfaction once you see your work displayed on various monitors all around the world.

It was more of ... the relationships and interactions with that work space environment that left you grasping at a chance to breathe.

People think you're overreacting but you think it's completely reasonable.

"Yes, you are overreacting."

Your face falls at Taigen's words—watching as he plays a round of unrated in the company's leisure space decked with state of the art PC builds that could definitely beat your poor touchscreen fridge with just a move of its mouse. You could hear the familiar voicelines of Jett from VALORANT as he uses the character's abilities to swiftly enter the site and take a hold of the defenders' positions.

Taigen is part of the Gaming Development Department in the VALORANT Team. He often does routine user gameplay checks and one of its perks is that you literally just have to play the game and get paid for it. You think its unfair but then again, its Taigen. He's always unfair.

"I think you're just saying that to be mean," You frowned, eyes trained on his face—the lights reflecting back on his stupid, stupid, clear-skinned face. Taigen rolls his eyes but not an ounce of his focus leaves the game.

"Being honest equals to being mean, got it." Taigen's voice comes out in a sarcastic tone. You kick a speck of dust on the cement floor, twirling in the gaming chair you're seated on.

"I just think its a reasonable thing to complain about!" You throw your hands in the air in an attempt to get him to look at your side of things. "You're completely unfazed because your team lead has the patience of a mother with 7 kids."

You hear the familiar cue of an ACE kill as Taigen hits a headshot on the last player. The game's interface shifts to the winner screen and finally, he turns to you, pulling his headphones off and giving his best deadpan stare.

"You're freaking out over Mizu sighing over your concept design proposal for Neon and overanalyzed even the way she drank her coffee because you're obsessed with her like that." Taigen arches his eyebrow to make the situation all the more ridiculous. Your mouth closes and opens like a fish out of water. "Am I right? Wait no, don't answer that. I know I am."

"What the fuck?" Your voice comes out in a desperate attempt of self-defence but it ultimately just sounds defeated. Taigen chuckles as he turns back to his monitor to take a look at the game stats.

"Look," Taigen tries to be empathetic but you're pretty sure this is just to get you off his back. The queue for competitive is already up and running. "As your friend, I say this with the love that I have for you and your works but please, Mizu is just one woman. If my mind process went like yours, I would've assumed Akemi hated my very existence and this is coming from someone who IS dating Akemi."

You purse your lips in thought as he raises his eyebrows in exaggeration. You're not exactly sure why you approached Taigen with this problem but he was the only familiar face that you saw after walking out of the meeting room in a hurry.

But then the question in this situation is who exactly is Mizu?

Well, there were a lot of things you could associate with the familiar blue-eyed director. Mizu is your boss—the creative director for Concept and Character design for the VALORANT team. She oversees character ideas, map visuals, detailing, and the final approval for character and asset ideation before it's sent for building in the 3D and VFX departments. She is your employer but you can also consider her your friend, albeit a highly respected one (she did the character design for Jett and Yoru).

It's not that you were obsessed—Taigen is wrong, he's always wrong—it was definitely because you respected her very much. Being a Riot Design Lead is basically fucking God. You create and give life to ideas. She's part of the original team that worked on the pre-release of VALORANT during its early stages and got to see the whole thing unfold. Something you wished to see back then but glad that you were able to become part of the journey despite being a few patches late.

You respected her enough to always want to be on her good side. I mean, who wouldn't? She's talented and very... youthful-looking and one of Riot's youngest leads, you honestly think that being worried over her approval like this is just a matter of respect and definitely NOT obsession.

"You're doing that thing where you space out and I have to assume that it's probably because of Mizu, yeah?" Taigen's voice intercepts your reprieve and suddenly, a curl of your eyebrows creates a look of annoyance on your face.

"I am not obssesed with Mizu," You reiterate, but this time with your mouth. "I just... respect her."

Taigen leans back on his gaming chair, nodding as if you just told him that he didn't need to double double-click everything.

"That's the most unbelievable shit I've heard today," Taigen finally replies with a scrunch of his nose. Your jaw falls open.

"I do not!"

"Do too."

"Do not."

"Do too!"

"Do fucking not—Stop it."

Taigen purses his lips, and makes a motion of zipping his mouth and shaking his head. You huff in anger. Taigen was never going to believe you.

Just as you were about to chastise him again for being mistaken, a knock on the glass doors notifies you of a new presence. You turn by instinct and your eyes widen in shock and probably, dread—who knows.

"There you are," Mizu's voice filters through your ears like classical music on a good Friday evening. You stammer slightly as she enters the area, eyes trained on you through those tinted orange specs. Mizu momentarily greets Taigen who only raises his hand in greeting before turning towards the screen (only you can see through your peripheral vision that this motherfucker is laughing). "I've been looking for you."

"You did?" Your voice comes off quiet. Mizu furrows her eyebrows.

"Uh, yeah?" She replies with a confused tone. "I had your concept design for Neon approved, it was more direct compared to Matt's. I wanted to tell you in person since you just bolted from the meeting room."

You fall silent at her words. She looks a bit concerned as you try to make sense of the information.

"You seem in shock—Are you okay?" Mizu asks, eyes glancing towards Taigen who looks at her before shrugging.

You feel your heart speed up. You momentarily calm yourself before finally responding. "Y-Yeah, sorry. Just didn't think that you'd approve it."

Mizu tilts her head like a fucking cat and you're quite sure you would drop dead then and there. "Why not? It's your work."

You're not sure what she means by that but a sudden shiver runs through your veins at her praise and suddenly your cheeks are flushing.

"Ah," You're voice fills in the silence, awkward and quiet. "Thank you?"

There's a pause of silence before Mizu chuckles. She heaves a breath before pulling the glass door open.

"I'll see you at my office, Y/N." She smiles. "Great work."

The silence further pushes you into the void as you and Taigen watch her exit and disappear into another hallway through the glass windows. Just as you were a few minutes ago, you lean forward to slouch over your knees, hands on your face as you meltdown from what just happened. You hear Taigen chuckle beside you.

"Give it a few more months and she'll give you a ring on your finger with a bent knee on the ground."

You sob into your hands as Taigen erupts in heaps of laughter.

Oh my fucking God.

2.

The release for Neon was a hit. An all-time new duelist originating from the Philippines, your concept design took off without a hitch. It's safe to say that your hard work paid off as you stood over the central common room—leisure areas decked with your coworkers trying out and celebrating the release. A sense of satisfaction fills you.

"I hear you spearheaded the design concept for Neon," A voice infiltrates your sense like a lure. You can't help but smile at its familiarity. Akemi wraps her arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder as she continues. "Marketing was thrilled with the positive response. Good job."

You turn around, her arms loosely accommodating you. "Akemi," you coo.

The girl grins wide and pulls you into a hug. You return the affection in a grander gesture of squeezing her tight against you.

Akemi's part of the Marketing Department for Riot. While she often creates publication material for VALORANT, she also has cross work with League of Legends for its various strategic releases (ie. KDA).

"I just want to say that I already predicted Neon would be a sure hit, it's your work after all," Akemi pulls away from the hug with a smug smile. She grabs your hands in hers, swinging them slowly. "Marketing it was like a breeze in the park."

You laugh softly at her enthusiasm. "You give me way too much credit."

Akemi rolls her eyes affectionately. "Humility is a disease—live a little."

You shake your head at her quips, opting to smile in response. A member of your team passes by, eyes widening in recognition of you before giving you a thumbs up. Akemi watches the interaction—eyes trained on that person's figure as they walked towards Mizu who was busy talking to other creative team leads. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion at her prolonged silence.

"Who are you—?" Your words trail off as you turn to look at what she's so focused on before turning back at the sight of Mizu. "Nevermind."

Akemi raises her eyebrow with an amused look on her face. "Taigen always has a penchant for exaggerating but I didn't think it was this bad?"

Your face falls at the information. "Taigen told you?"

Akemi gives you a 'duh' look—eyebrows raised and eyes half-lidded. "Taigen's a loose lock if you pry hard enough. He basically can never keep a secret."

You give her a deadpan stare before shifting in your position. Akemi crosses her arms over her chest as she eyes you up and down—filled to the brim with amusement. "I'm fine, stop making a big deal out of it."

"Uh huh," Akemi squints her eyes playfully. You could only glare back in response.

The loud cheering at the front catches your attention as resident workers, interns, and newbies alike begin to tune in at the commotion. Akemi and you move to the sidelines, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you tried to find out what's happening.

"What's happening?" You ask the person to your front. He turns, eyes beaming with excitement.

"The creative director for C&C got pulled in a 1v1. They're playing against Beckham."

Your breath hitches at the information. Akemi nudges you with her elbow, overhearing the conversation. The two of you move to the side, finally getting a glimpse of the two team leads focused on a custom game of VALORANT. Your eyes zone in on familiar raven locks seated on the right monitor.

A live stream of their game is projected on the monitor up front and suddenly you feel sick from the amount of butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

She's playing Neon. The character you designed.

Oh God. You watched her take kill after kill, headshot after headshot as she sprinted across the map—zapping characters with Neon's electric abilities. You've never seen someone look so fucking hot playing an FPS game before. It's doing things to your brain.

Just as you expected, the winning banner appears on Mizu's screen and the C&C Team erupts in cheers. You become entranced at the sight—a few of your co-workers patting her on the back before she erupts in smiles and laughs. This is not healthy for your heart.

And just as you think the night couldn't get any better, one of the people from the Marketing departments begins stirring up an interview.

"What made you choose Neon on the character pick? You usually go for Sentinels, no?"

Your eyes meet and suddenly you could feel your heart skip a few beats. Mizu chuckles.

"Wanted to do a duelist around for a spin," Mizu replies. "The design and character visuals for Neon was amazing and I ought to pay the artist who did it a homage."

Suddenly all eyes are on you—some of them even "ooh-ing" for being praised by Mizu. You pale at the attention before doing a hesitant bow in gratitude.

Mizu pulls the headphones off her head and smiles. "Congrats, Y/N. Hope you liked the win."

You feel Akemi stir up beside you, chuckling at the interaction.

You're going to die. You can feel it and its all because of your boss.

3.

Okay, maybe admitting that you were a little bit obsessed and crushing over your employer was a bit overdue. You weren't exactly the type to parade your feelings around the office but if people were to zone in on you acting sheepish and awkward around Mizu, there was a 55% chance that you could tell based on that alone.

It wasn't like your admiration for Mizu started on a whim. As said countless and countless times, it had a foundation of respect until Mizu started trying to get to know and interact with you and those same feelings of admiration started to change. What else were you supposed to do? Mizu is a fucking all-in-one holiday basket—you didn't have it in you to resist the charms.

It also didn't help that over the past few days, Mizu seems to have her undivided attention on you. Showering you with praises, asking if you wanna spearhead a certain project, revel in your work—all that shit. It's messing with your productivity and mindset and that's not a good idea.

The Head Director for the VALORANT Team had decided to call a night out for drinking to reward the team for the positive feedback for the latest patch. You were quite thankful for the opportunity as this was a way for you to get a moment of rest from Mizu's constant attention. Not that you were complaining, it's just a little... too much.

You were seated at the far right booth of the restaurant, keeping to yourself as you watched Ringo and Taigen begin to have a debate about team composition. Akemi grumbles beside you, clearly not enjoying whatever the fuck these two were talking about.

"Look," Taigen holds his hands out in front of him, trying to make a point. "All I'm saying is if you keep putting DPS builds on your team comp, how in the hell will you be able to maximize their kit? Supports are there for a reason."

Ringo rolls his eyes. "It's called enjoying the game, Taigen. So what if I want to put dick 1, dick 2, and dick 3, together?"

Taigen's jaw drops. "Do you know how much skill point dependent they are? I'm even surprised you could bust a skill out." The raven haired man pauses before continuing with a face contorted in disgust. "And stop calling them dick 1,2,3? It's Dan Heng, Blade, and Jing Yuan."

"Of course you'd police that as well. You look like that fucking emoji." Ringo raises his prosthetic hand, imitating pushing up a pair of glasses. "Um, actually—"

"You are as annoying as my grandmother, do you know that?" Taigen snarls, eyes pulled into a glare. Your tall huggable co-worker only grins and bats his eyelashes.

You begin to tune out the two as Akemi excuses herself to take a cigarette break—already having enough of their banter. You eye the glass of beer in front of you, watching as the liquid sloshes around with each twirl of your wrist.

You had hoped to end the night with silence but alas, you can never get everything that you wanted. You feel a pair of eyes on you—direct and unashamed. Already having a feeling on who this was, you looked up and met the reflection of the ocean.

'You okay?' She mouths, concern overflowing her features. It's subtle enough for people to not notice her sudden shift of attention but enough for you to understand her. Your cheeks flush as you nod back with the same softness that she had thrown your way.

She nods in understanding, sending a soft smile your way before turning back towards her conversation with the Head. You hang your head down, wishing that the night would end faster so that you can finally have the moment of peace you have been wanting ever since this morning.

It was as if the world decided to cast hell upon you and revoked you of your rights to peace at the arrival of yet another problem.

"L/N!" The Head Director's voice encompassed the whole area—eyes turning towards him then at you in amusement. "You're one of the star employees and yet you haven't touched a single speck on that glass of yours!"

His hearty laughter follows—giggles and cheering from you co-workers following suite. You sweat drop, eyes darting to Taigen and Ringo who both looked away at your glare before turning towards the window where Akemi sends you a gracious thumbs up, a cigarette hanging from her lips. You groan.

"I-I'm fine," You wave your hand, laughing it off. Your eyes connect with Mizu, an unreadable look on her face as she takes a sip of her chosen beverage.

God decides to punish you more as the team lead beside Mizu chimes in. "Oh c'mon! You're a great asset to the company! I suggest drink up!"

One of your team members passes a full pint of beer as the others begin to urge you to drink up. You hadn't felt the intensity of peer pressure ever since your dance recital on 10th grade and that wasn't even as half bad as this. You weren't feeling on drinking yourself to death as well so trying to down a full pint of beer was a ticket for you to the afterlife (ie. you on your bed with puke all over the floors). The previous pint you had was enough.

You tried to decline as humbly as you could, afraid that this might be the instance that you could finally be fired off from Riot. You knew that if they kept pushing a 3rd more of their attempts that you'd probably give in for the sake of never doing this again but while the need hasn't yet arisen, you'll try fighting off the urge to be a people-pleaser.

Just as you finally begin to decline for the nth time, a hand emerges to your right—pushing the pint of beer in your co-worker's hands. The table falls silent. Your breath falters as the familiar scent of lavender and probably a hint of sunlight begins to seep in from behind you.

"Stop pressuring her like that," Mizu's voice sounds so close —your heart hammering off your chest. Your co-worker gives Mizu a sheepish smile.

"C'mon Mizu, let your team live a little!" The Head laughs once more before leaning forward with a smug smirk. "Unless you'll save this one yet again?"

There's a pause of silence as your co-workers darted between them—back and forth. You feel Mizu sigh behind you before her arms encase you against the table, one arm placed on the beside you each. Your breath hitches.

"Sorry," She mutters as she reaches for the pint. You stammer, turning towards her as you reach out to her wrist by instinct. Mizu blinks with her eyes wide open, suddenly surprised by your actions.

"Y-you don't have to!" You murmured, trying to keep your voice low. Mizu's eyes are unreadable. "You don't drink—!"

The woman chuckles before patting your hand and gently pulling herself off your grasp. "It's okay." She says.

You watch with stammering breath as she gulps the pint in one go, others cheering as she did. The Head claps.

"Didn't expect to see Mizu downing a beer today but here we are," The man bellows in laughter. Mizu chuckles, wiping the residue off her lips. You could only stare at her in shock.

Mizu glances down at you with a smile before patting your head then walking off. Your gaze trails on her and somehow the hammering within you becomes all the more intense.

Oh, Lord.

4.

It was supposed to just be a little game—a past time that the others decided to force you along. You really had no qualms joining games like this but if it concerns the people around you, especially in your work place, somehow you feel the risk of being outed for liking someone in you work space.

"If you guys wanted to date someone in the office, who'd you pick?" Ise leans forward, eyes squinted as she gives you and Akemi a smirk. The three of you were currently lounging in the cafeteria during you lunch break. There weren't many people present due an event going on in one of the building's sectors, so having a conversation like this somehow was less anxiety inducing.

"Taigen, unfortunately," Akemi deadpans. Ise rolls her eyes.

"I mean! Besides him," Ise whispers excitedly. "There's a newbie from marketing that looks cute but kinda quiet, maybe he's nice."

"You mean Takayoshi?" Akemi raises an eyebrow as she takes a sip of her tea. You glance back and forth between them.

"Is that his name?" Ise watches Akemi nod in response. "Well, I'll just have to go get his number then."

Akemi shakes her head at Ise's musings and you had hoped that the conversation would end there, but Ise suddenly turns to you with that mischievous look in her eye.

"What?" You whisper out, eyebrows furrowed in innocence. Akemi side glances you, the corners of her lips upturned in a smile. God, she was enjoying this too.

"What about you, Y/N?" Ise props her arm on the table, placing her cheek on her palm. "Got someone you're interested in?"

You avoid eye contact. "No."

Ise leans forward with a gasp. "You do!"

"I don't!" You reiterate with urgency. You turn to Akemi with a frantic stare. "Tell her I don't."

Ise turns to Akemi who smiles. "She doesn't."

"Bullshit." Ise deadpans. "The moment I'd believe Akemi with a smile on her face is the moment I'd die," Akemi flashes her middle finger at her to which Ise returns generously. Finally, the girl turns to you—chair scooted over to your right as she flashes you her doe eyes. "So? Who is it?"

You Akemi chuckle against her cup as you stammer in front of Ise. "I don't really like someone though?"

"Lies," Ise declares. "We might not be that close but you got that twitch in your eye that already tells me something. Who is it?"

"Ise," You plead, eyes darting around the space. Somehow, saying it out loud meant that you're solidifying the fact that you liked Mizu—an occurrence you'd like to keep to yourself as much as possible. You loved Ise, you really do. You worked with her hand in hand in bringing Neon to life (You worked on her design while she worked on the 3D build) and have become tremendously grateful for her critique and contributions to your work. But this, this was something else. You could feel your heart speed up as she started listing some names.

"Is it Beckham? That piece of shit always too full himself." Ise places a hand on her chin in thought. "Or Ringo? Nah, he's way too focused on content map-building."

There's a pause of silence before an 'aha!' look spreads through her face. You prayed that she would get it wrong but this is Ise we're talking about.

"Is it perhaps," Ise pauses, eyes darting all over your face. "Mizu—"

"What about me?"

The three of you tense, eyes darting behind you as you turn to find the familiar stance of your boss. She leans forward, a hand on the back of your chair as she gives the three of you a curious glance. You hadn't heard her at all, and something about Ise's frantic glance towards you says she didn't expect the same thing as well.

"W-we we're just listing people we found attractive," Ise laughs uncomfortably under Mizu's stare. The creative director glances at Akemi who raises an eyebrow at her. Somehow there was a silent conversation going on between the two that left you confused.

"Really?" Mizu asks, the ends of her words trailing off as she glances back at Ise. "Who said I was attractive?"

"It was Y/—"

"NO ONE!" You exclaimed, cutting Ise off with a jump. You flush under Mizu's wide gazed, surprised at your interference. Somehow, the way you said it implied that no one found her attractive at all, and that was way too wrong so you caught yourself before you delved into a pit of despair. "I mean, w-we haven't started and was just listing people off."

Mizu nods slowly in understanding, eyes examining your face for any slip-ups. You looked away from the intensity.

Ise finally saves your ass. "Yeah. What she said."

"What about you, Director?" Akemi chimes in from your left and both you and Ise turn to her with wide gazes. She simply smiles over her cup, face contorted in a mischievous look. You couldn't read Mizu at all. You had expected Akemi to drop it—after all, she wasn't even joining in on Ise's incessant need to know everything about everyone. "Who do you find the most attractive in this office, hm?"

You can feel Mizu shifting behind you before a chuckle pulls out from her lips. You turn towards her in curiosity as she flashes a smile towards you.

"I'd pick Y/N, of course,"

Huh?

Akemi rolls her eyes, somehow already expecting the answer. Your jaw drops at her response as Mizu turns to Ise who already has a knowing look on her face.

"She's just that reliable," Mizu looks back down towards you, those shades of blue peeking from her tinted glasses. She pinches your cheek in a flash before pulling away. "Cute too."

You turn away, afraid that the flush on your cheeks might've given you away.

"Anyways, I just dropped by to see what's happening outside the event," Mizu sighs, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. "I'll see you girls around."

Your interactions always end up one sided somehow. She gives and then leaves—resulting in you malfunctioning from whatever she's left for you to deal with.

Ise turns to you with a mischievous grin when Mizu finally turns the corner. "You and the Director huh?"

"Shut up, oh my God."

+1

"Why do you always do stuff like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're not leaving me any room to process the shit you do?"

Mizu lets out quiet laughs from beside you. 10:47 pm. Normally, work hours in the office end at about 9 but you've learned that staying late is where the good things happen.

"I literally just told you 'good job' the other day and you malfunctioned in front of me," Mizu giggles, leaning forward as she tapped you on the nose with the pen to her digital tablet. "And I heard everything by the way. Quite adorable of you to deny everything."

You flush under her affectionate gaze. "Everyone's so gossipy. You can't blame me."

Mizu turns her chair towards you, arms reach out to take a hold of your own before pulling them close to her side. You lean back at her sudden proximity.

"Well you can't blame me either when you're this adorable," Mizu grins. You furrow your eyebrows, finally leaning close as you cupped her cheeks within your palms.

"You even drank beer," You whisper, tone apologetic. "You don't even like alcohol."

Mizu leans into your touch. "And you don't like being pressured into something you don't want to do. I can sacrifice a little bit of something I don't like just for you."

You melt at her words, eyes darting over her softened features. "Thank you," You whisper, grateful.

"Anything for my girlfriend," Mizu teases. You roll your eyes before pulling her into a soft kiss. She kisses back instantly, hands gripping the arm chair as you take lead of the kiss. After a few pecks and chaste kisses here and there, you finally pull back—reveling in the soft flush across Mizu's cheeks.

"Also," You chime in. Mizu raises an eyebrow. "I was the one who pursued, not you. Correct that when they catch on."

Mizu chuckles at your words. "Right on. Akemi threatened me the other day, saying something like, 'I forbid you from dating Y/N Y/L/N, Mizu Tagawa!' Funniest shit, I've heard. If only she knew."

You pinch her cheeks, giggling at her words. "Of course, she's say that."

There's a pause of silence before Mizu turns to her work, a sketch of VALORANT's newest agent displayed on screen.

"Want to help me with the new guy?" She nudges towards the screen. "Heard he's French."

You turn to her monitor, dozens of details sketched on the edges with a version of her idea of the new agent. You grin, placing a kiss on her cheek.

"You could've just asked me to marry you." You tease. "Also, sure."

You turn towards the table and pulled her tablet towards you. Mizu scoffs as you take over her work.

"And if I actually did?"

"Sure, Mizu, sure."

"I'm serious!"

a/n: hey guys!!! this was so fun to write and honestly i was just inspired to do this request bc ive been drafting an office romance for mizu after the roommate thing. hope yall enjoyed ! if yall arent familiar with valorant, here are the agents mentioned or referenced (neon & chamber (french guy)). also mizu's last name is derived from master eiji's va! cary-hiroyuki tagawa!

[non-operator]

ajklsdjfalksdjflkjasdklfjAFJKLSDJFLKAJSDFLKAJSELKFDJ literally so happy about the new cinematic. Got to see my babygirl on screen 🥰

more thoughts under

but lorewise, I don't think we were given the hourglass organization's name yet? So I'll just be calling it Hourglass. From what I understood, Omen was sent to kill Viper/Sabine in order to "safeguard [their] secrets" and "keep the discovery of radianite from a world that wasn't ready". So presumably, Sabine had just discovered radianite and started messing with it; considering that her poison abilities are disabled when hit by Kay0's knife, she probably made her poison agent from radianite?

Then it must mean that Omen failing to assassinate her revealed radianite to the world, which was not what Hourglass wanted. This also means that Hourglass has known about radianite for a while, at least before the larger populace have known about it; it was one of the "secrets" that Omen used to safeguard. What were they even doing with it? And this organization must've been very powerful to keep the mining of such a resource a secret for so long.

But from the way the boss said "you became one of *them*", it looks like Hourglass doesn't look too kindly on radiants? Or at least separates humans from radiants. Or perhaps the "them" in question does not refer to radiants, but to Valorant Protocol. But if it's the former, was Hourglass trying to limit access to radianite in order to keep radiant population low (on top of having a monopoly of the world's biggest energy source ig)? Or if it's the former, they clearly have beef with VP did Hourglass already have a run-in with Valorant before somehow? But when Omen/Shrouded Step went after Sabine, it seems clear she was still working for Kingdom at the time; do they think Omen is working for Kingdom?

Next point: it doesn't look like the boss died? It could be them trying to keep gore/blood off-screen by not showing him splatter on the ground, but it kind of just looks like he vanishes before he even hits the ground? He also didn't seem too worried about falling, so maybe he knew he had an out? I don't think I heard a thud either, so I feel like we might see him again? Like, wild guess, but is the boss Thurston Wolf...? The developers/writers said that Breeze was a place of interest because of its connection to this Wolf guy and not because of radianite supply (or at least I think that's what was said). As far as I know, we haven't heard more about Thurston Wolf and the boss seems like the only person who seems important but also without a name to maybe be him?

[2700lagostas]

Sova in Valorant - "Reckoning" Episode 8 Cinematic

[reallybadlawyer]

RECKONING // Episode 8 Cinematic - VALORANT

headers from new valorant cinematic, viper, sova and cypher

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