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aliyahwritings · 2 months ago

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THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (01)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 4.2k

Aliyah's Notes: this is my first series on here so go easy on me (#adele) pls + some things are not going to be obx canon ... at least some of yall are warned. anyw im so excited for this cause lord knows the amount of time ive wanted to make a fake dating fic!!!!!!! anyw i hope you all will enjoy this i had so much writing the first chapter

The clatter of high heels against the marble floor echoed in perfect sync with the ticking of your watch. Every step was deliberate, poised—just like your life had to be. Perfection, it seemed, was not a choice but a requirement for survival.

You adjusted your sunglasses, your gaze skimming over the glamorous expanse of the fashion agency's lobby. People buzzed around you like bees in a hive, their worlds spinning, fueled by the weight of names, status, and flawless images. You smiled politely at the receptionist, offering a nod, though your mind was miles away.

To the outside world, your life was golden. The covers of magazines, the invitations to high-society events, the million-dollar deals with luxury brands—it was a fantasy that others could only dream of. It was your dream some time ago, too.

But today, your reality felt like walking on the edge of a tightrope, the safety net fraying below you.

Your phone vibrated in your purse, interrupting your thoughts. You fished it out, your pulse quickening when you saw the text from your lawyer. Three words that sent a chill through your carefully constructed façade.

"We need to talk."

Your heart sank. The issue of your visa had been hanging over your head like a storm cloud for months now, growing darker by the day. You’d known this was coming, but knowing and confronting it were two different beasts.

Fame didn’t shield you from the cold bureaucracy of citizenship laws, and your time was running out. One misstep, one delay, and your golden empire could crumble. In a matter of months, you could be deported, left behind by the very country that had built you up.

With a deep breath, you silenced your phone and slid it back into your purse. This wasn’t something you could dwell on right now, not in public. Your expression remained serene, even though your mind was anything but. You had a shoot in an hour, a charity gala that evening, and at some point, you had to meet with the lawyer to discuss "options"—a word that had started to feel more like a trap than a solution.

As you exited the building, the cool breeze caught your hair, the city unfolding before you like a glittering stage. New York City. You looked out at the streets, the people, the life you fought so hard to build. The car pulled up to the curb, and you climbed inside. On your way to your lawyer.

You stepped into the law office, the familiar scent of polished wood and stale coffee wrapping around you like a tight band.

"Ms. Y/L/N, good afternoon," Nicolas Ramirez, your lawyer, greeted you, standing behind his desk. His expression was composed, but you knew him well enough by now to spot the unease in his eyes.

"Hi," you softly smiled at him. Your heels clicked softly on the floor as you sat down, crossing your legs tightly, as if holding yourself together. "Let’s just get straight to it, okay? How bad is it?"

Nico sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Your visa expires in less than three months."

You felt your stomach twist, your worst fear inching closer to reality. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "And what about the appeals? The extensions?"

"We’ve exhausted every possible option—work visas, artist visas, even humanitarian grounds. Immigration laws are tightening, and without a permanent solution like citizenship or residency, you’ll be forced to leave the country."

"Leave?" Your voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the full weight of the nightmare you’d been living with.

Leave? Go back there?

The country you had fought so hard to escape. The country where your childhood had been marked by suffocating poverty, where your parents had already planned your marriage before you even turned 15. Where your dreams had been a distant, impossible hope until that one person changed your life forever.

You felt your throat tighten. You couldn’t go back.

Nico’s gaze softened slightly, his voice gentle but firm. "I know what this means for you. I know how difficult—"

"You don’t know," you cut him off, your voice sharper than you intended. "You… You don’t know—I can’t go back there, Nico. I just… I can’t."

He nodded, giving you a moment of silence to compose yourself, but the pressure in your chest only grew. You took a deep breath, trying to keep the panic at bay.

"So what now?" you asked, fighting to keep your voice steady. "Is this it? Am I out of options?"

"Well… There’s one option we haven’t explored yet." his tone was cautious, like he knew what he was about to say would open a new can of worms.

You furrowed your brow. "What?"

"Marriage."

The word hung in the air, thick and heavy. You blinked, unable to comprehend at first. "Marriage?" you repeated, as if saying it aloud would make the absurdity of it clear.

"It’s one of the few legal paths left," he explained, leaning forward slightly. "Marriage to a U.S. citizen could secure your green card and, eventually, permanent residency. It’s a legitimate route—many people in similar situations have done it."

You sat back in your chair, the tension in your body coiling tighter. The thought of marriage, of attaching yourself to someone you barely knew for the sake of staying in the country, made your skin crawl. You had already sacrificed so much for your freedom, for your career. And now this?

"You’re telling me the only way to stay here is to marry someone I don’t even love? Just to avoid being sent back to a country I don’t belong in anymore?"

"Not necessarily," Nicolas said, his tone measured. "It wouldn’t have to be a traditional marriage. Think of it as a business arrangement. It’s a legal partnership—nothing more. And it could save your career, your life here."

You crossed your arms tightly, your mind racing. Marriage. It was a word that had haunted you ever since your parents had tried to force you into it as a teenager. Back then, it was their way of controlling you, of keeping you bound to a life you didn’t want. Now, it felt like the universe was throwing the same chains back at you, just in a different form.

"I’ve compiled a list of potential candidates," Arjun continued, sliding a piece of paper across the desk toward you. "People who might be open to an arrangement like this. Athletes, businesspeople—individuals who might benefit from a similar deal."

You glanced at the paper but didn’t pick it up. The names blurred in front of your eyes. This wasn’t how your life was supposed to go. You’d already lost your family, fought tooth and nail to get out of your country and build something for yourself in the U.S. And now you were at risk of losing everything—again.

"I don’t know if I can do this, Nico," you said quietly, shaking your head. "I’ve already sacrificed so much. My family… I gave up everything to be here. And now you’re telling me I have to give up even more?"

"I’m not telling you that you have to do anything," he replied, his voice calm but firm. "I’m saying this is an option. One that could keep you here, legally. But the decision is yours. I’m just laying out the possibilities."

You swallowed the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in your chest.

"I can’t go back there," you whispered, more to yourself than to him. "I’ve worked too hard to get here. I can’t lose everything."

He nodded slowly. "Then maybe it’s time to consider unconventional options."

You finally picked up the paper, scanning the names but not really seeing them. Your heart was racing, your mind spinning with a thousand thoughts. Marriage. It felt like a trap, just like it had back then. But maybe—just maybe—it was the only way to keep your future intact.

"I’ll think about it," you said, standing up and smoothing the front of your dress. "But I’m not making any promises."

"Of course," he said, standing as well. "Just let me know. We’re running out of time, but I’ll support whatever decision you make."

You nodded curtly, turning toward the door. As you stepped out into the cool city air, your chest tightened with the weight of everything you stood to lose. The lights of New York City flickered ahead of you, just out of reach, as though the life you’d built here could vanish at any moment.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt truly afraid.

Your phone buzzed, dragging you out of your spiraling thoughts. You fished it out of your purse, heart skipping a beat when you saw the name: Nina. Your agent.

With a shaky exhale, you answered. “Nina, hi.”

“Hey, babe!” Nina’s voice was all cheer, a stark contrast to the storm inside you. “So, I have amazing news! Guess who just got major campaign offers coming in? You! Chanel, Loewe, and oh my God, don’t even get me started on Louis Vuitton. The year starts beautifully for you!”

You should’ve felt ecstatic, but instead, the words passed over you like an echo. All you could think of was the countdown Nico had set in motion: three months. Three months before everything you’d built here would be taken away from you.

“That’s… amazing, Nina,” you managed, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Really amazing. Thank you so much.”

“Are you okay? You don’t sound like your sunshine-self.” Nina’s voice softened, concern creeping in. “What’s going on?”

There was a pause. Nina had been there through all your ups and downs, from your rookie days as a model to your rise in the industry. But the immigration issues, the fear of being sent back to a life you couldn’t return to—that was something neither of you could control.

“Three months?” she repeated, her voice going higher. “Oh my God—what the fuck? I thought… I thought you had more time.”

“So did I.” You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Nina, I don’t know what to do. I’ve called Nico and he tried everything—extensions, appeals—but the laws are tightening, and he said there’s only one real option left.”

There was a brief silence before she asked, “What option?”

You bit your lip. “Marriage. Nico says I could marry someone for a green card.”

“Marriage?” Nina’s voice came out in a shocked squeak. “Like a fake marriage? Babe, are you serious?”

“I don’t know!” you burst out, frustration and fear colliding. “I don’t know what to do! I can’t go back there. I can’t. My parents… My parents already wrote me off as dead, and if I go back, I’m stuck in a place I spent my entire life trying to escape.”

Her voice softened. “I know, honey, I know… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound—God, I can’t imagine how scary this is for you.”

You took a shaky breath, grateful for her understanding. Nina wasn’t just your manager—she was one of the few people who you actually close to. She was a 34 years old American-Filipina woman. You trusted her with your life.

“Okay,” Nina said, her voice more focused now. “Okay, now listen. We’ll figure this out. I know Nicolas wouldn’t suggest something like this unless it was a real option. Do you trust him?”

You sighed. “Yeah. I do. But the idea of marrying someone just to stay… it feels like another version of what my parents wanted for me. Like I’m back in that same time of my life.”

“I get it. But this isn’t like that. You’re in control this time,” Nina said. “If this is what you need to stay here, it’s not about love or being owned by someone.”

You nodded to yourself, trying to absorb her words. “Well, um, Nico gave me a list of potential candidates—people who might be willing to make an arrangement. You’ll never guess who’s on it, though.”

“Who? Shawn Mendes? Harry Styles? Tom Holland—”

“Rafe Cameron,” you said, cutting her off. “The basketball play—”

“Yeah, I know who that man is, Y/N. His reputation is a total mess right now. It’s not surprising for him to be on that list.”

“Exactly,” you muttered. “It’s a perfect business arrangement for him, too. He needs a way to look respectable again, and I need to stay in the country.”

“So, you’re actually considering this?”

You leaned against a streetlamp, staring at the city around you. “I don’t know. Maybe? It just feels wrong. Like I’m giving up a part of myself.”

“As nicely as this can be said, you are being dramatic here, babe.” Nina sighed softly. “Look, I’m not going to push you either way, okay? But I do think you need to look at it from a different angle. You’re not giving up on yourself. You’re doing what you need to do to stay here, to keep fighting for your career and your future. And Rafe—or whoever you’ll end up marrying—is not your parents. He’s not going to control you or he’ll get slapped.”

You closed your eyes, trying to let her words sink in. She was right—you were in control now. This wasn’t the same as being forced into a marriage you didn’t want. This was about survival. About keeping your life in the U.S. intact.

"Yeah… I guess you’re right," you said softly, feeling some of the tension release from your shoulders. "I just need time to think."

TWO WEEKS LATER.

The soft glow of the late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting warm light across your living room. After two relentless weeks of back-to-back fashion shoots, campaign meetings, and gala appearances, you had finally found a moment of peace. You curled up on the plush sofa, sinking into its embrace as the hum of the city outside became a distant murmur. The oversized, loose pajamas you wore were a far cry from the designer gowns and couture you’d been draped in recently, but they were yours—soft, comforting, and familiar. Your hair was twisted into a lazy bun under a satin bonnet.

You exhaled a sigh of relief, finally feeling the weight of exhaustion slip from your shoulders as you closed your eyes.

Buzz. Buzz.

The sound of your phone vibrating on the coffee table pulled you from the calm. You groaned softly, reaching for it with one hand, expecting to see another notification about a meeting or event. Instead, it was a message from Nicolas.

“Any thoughts on who you're going to marry? We need to move quickly if we want to ensure everything goes through in time.”

The familiar weight of the situation you’d been trying to avoid crept back into your chest. Two weeks had passed since your lawyer had first laid out the reality of your visa situation. In those weeks, you'd thrown yourself into work, hoping the constant flurry of activity would drown out the anxiety. But now, in the quiet of your home, the decision loomed large again.

You typed back, hesitating for a moment before hitting send.

"I haven’t decided yet."

A few seconds later, the reply came through.

"We need to discuss this in person. Can you come to my office today?"

You frowned, your eyes darting around the cozy room, not quite ready to leave your home.

"How about you come here instead?" you typed. "It’s been a long week, and I’d rather talk in private."

There was a pause before the three dots appeared, and then the message followed.

"Sure. I’ll be there in about an hour."

You put your phone down and leaned back against the cushions, staring at the ceiling. This wasn’t a conversation you wanted to have, but it was necessary. Time was running out, and you knew you had to face it—whether you wanted to or not.

An hour passed in a blur, and soon enough, you heard the knock at your door. You padded across the room in your socks, your oversized pajama pants swishing softly as you walked. Opening the door, you found Nicolas standing there, looking as composed as ever in his tailored suit.

“Come in,” you said with a smile, stepping aside to let him in.

Nicolas entered, his eyes scanning the room before they landed on you. "You look... relaxed."

You gave a soft chuckle, gesturing to your pajamas. “Don’t mock the pj’s until you’ve tried them.”

He smiled slightly, but there was a hint of emergency in his expression as he took a seat in the armchair across from you. “I know you’ve had a lot on your plate lately, but we really need to make a decision.”

You nodded, sitting back down on the couch, hugging a pillow to your chest. “I know… I’ve just been avoiding it.”

“And I noticed,” he said, pulling out a folder from his briefcase. “But with the visa expiration approaching, we don’t have much time. We need to find someone—someone who understands the situation and won’t make things harder.”

You bit your lip, holding a smile, glancing at the folder in his hands. “You bought the list?”

He nodded, and handed it over, and you flipped through the names, recognizing some immediately. Athletes, businessmen, even a couple of actors/singers. And then there was Rafe Cameron, his name standing out like a bold headline.

“I’ve looked at these,” you said quietly. “I just… I don’t know who to choose. None of ‘em feel right.”

Nico leaned forward. “It's not about right or wrong. It’s about who can offer the least amount of personal complications and help you secure your residency. Rafe Cameron, for instance—he’s someone who could benefit from this arrangement as much as you. His reputation needs mending, and this could be a mutually beneficial situation.”

You stared at Rafe’s name, the memories of seeing his name in the news about how much of a womanizer he was… Could you really tie yourself to someone like him in a fake marriage?

“Alright, but I need you to help me decide,” you admitted, looking up at him.

He nodded, his expression understanding. “Of course, that’s why I’m here. Let’s break it down together and figure out who makes the most sense, not just legally but for your peace of mind.”

Nicolas opened his briefcase again, pulling out more detailed files on the potential candidates. He laid them out neatly on the coffee table, each name with a stack of information—financial records, personal histories, public perceptions. It was all very businesslike.

You leaned forward, looking at the pages in front of you. Each one represented a major decision, a shift in your life you weren’t entirely ready to accept, but you knew you didn’t have much of a choice.

“Let’s start with the most practical options,” he said, sliding the file on Rafe Cameron toward you. “I know his name has come up before. He’s wealthy, influential, and… well, let’s be honest, he could use a boost to his public image right now. It’s a good match on paper.”

You stared at Rafe’s name again, tapping the edge of the file with your finger. “Yeah, but he’s also a bit of a mess, isn’t he? I mean, the media paints him as this… whore, and his personal life is always talked about. What if that blows back on me?”

Nicolas raised a brow. “That’s something to consider, but you also have to think of the benefits. His public image might not be very clean, but he’s powerful. Marrying him would put you in a stable position, and if it’s a business arrangement, his private affairs don’t have to concern you.”

You exhaled slowly, still feeling uneasy. Rafe Cameron was trouble, and you knew it. But at the same time, trouble might be exactly what could make this work—for both of you.

“What about the others?” you asked, flipping through the files. “There has to be someone who’s… less complicated.”

“Well,” he said, tapping another file. “there’s Owen Turner. He’s a succesful tech entrepeneur, keeps a low profile. No scandals, no messy reputation. He’s reliable, but you’ll have to approach this differently. He’s more private, less likely to want his personal life on display.”

“And boring—plus, he seems like the type of white guy to want a traditional wife. Like he would expect me to cook for him every night… and he has an ugly name.”

“Owen won’t be expecting home-cooked meals, Y/N. He’s a tech guy; he probably lives on energy drinks and instant ramen,” Nico pointed out, trying to steer you back to the serious topic. “But if we position it as a legal arrangement, he could see the value in it.”

You sighed, leaning back on the chair. “Okay, maybe Owen is the safer options. But can you imagine our wedding announcement? ‘Succesful Tech Entrepeneur Married Famous Model: They Share a Love for Cats and Instant Noodle.’”

Nico shook his head, trying not to smile. “Focus, please. This is a serious matter.”

“Right, right, sorry…” you said, wavering your hand dismissively. “But, what do you think about Rafe?”

“Rafe Cameron is the most straightforward option,” he said, his tone now more measured. “He’s already in the public eye, which means there won’t be as much of a shock if you’re suddenly married. Plus, his need for good press aligns with your need for stability.”

“And personally?”

He smiled softly, a rare gesture from him. “Personally, I think you should go with the person you think you can manage.”

You nodded, appreciating his honesty. Staring at the stack of papers in front of you, Rafe Cameron’s name glaring up at you from the top of the list. Every name on the list had its pros and cons, but something about Rafe’s file felt different. Maybe it was the intensity of his media coverage, the scandals, or the way he dominated the headlines for all the wrong reasons. But as much as you hesitated, his name kept pulling you back.

“I know his reputation isn't spotless,” Nico said, sensing your hesitation, “but in this situation, a clean reputation isn’t the priority. You need someone powerful, someone with enough influence to make this arrangement stick without getting tangled up in emotional complications.”

You nodded, again.”But I don’t know if I can handle all the baggage that comes with Rafe Cameron. His public image is a trainwreck. Wouldn’t that only complicate things more?”

Nico leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. “Possibly. But think of it this way: his personal life is already so chaotic that a stable, respectable marriage might be exactly what he needs to repair his image. And that’s where you come in. You’d be helping each other.”

Your eyes dropped back down to his file. "Do you think he'd even agree to something like this?"

Nico chuckled softly. “If there’s one thing I know about men like Rafe Cameron, it’s that they understand deals. His reputation is hanging by a thread, and a marriage to someone like you—someone with a pristine public image—could be the ticket to restoring his credibility. It’s a win-win, really.”

You considered Nico’s words. He was right. Rafe had everything to gain from a marriage of convenience, just like you. And while his scandals were messy, they didn’t define him entirely. He was still an elite athlete, one of the best in the game, and with the right PR strategy, you could both come out looking better.

But the thought of marrying someone like him—a notorious playboy with a history of messy breakups—made your stomach churn.

“You know,” Nico continued, “if this were just about your visa, we’d be having a different conversation. But this is about your entire future. Your career, your freedom to stay here, everything you’ve built. I’m not saying it’s an easy choice, but it’s one worth considering.”

You sighed, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. "What happens if it falls apart? What if things with Rafe go wrong?"

"That’s why we’ll draft a contract," Nico reassured you. "This won’t be a traditional marriage, Y/N. You’ll both have clear boundaries, and legally, we’ll protect your interests. If things go south, you’ll be covered."

You stared at the file a little longer, then closed your eyes.Rafe Cameron. He was cocky, possessive, and reckless—everything you usually avoided. But maybe that was the key. You wouldn’t have to worry about him trying to control you or make this anything more than a business transaction.

It would be messy. It would be complicated. But it would also keep you here, in the country you’d fought so hard to call home. And maybe, just maybe, it would be the solution you both needed.

“Okay,” you said softly, your decision finally settling. “I’ll do it.”

Nico’s eyebrows shot up, a little surprised at how quickly you’d made up your mind. “You’re sure?”

“No,” you admitted with a weak smile. “But I think this is the best option. I’ll marry Rafe Cameron.”

Nico nodded, closing the folder with a satisfied smile. “Good. I’ll set up a meeting with him. We’ll get the ball rolling.”

Oh God, you were going to marry Rafe Cameron…

chapter two

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pocket-stars · 2 years ago

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#sometimes i wonder if hell would be the first place to welcome me with open arms #the devil would look at me broken and bloody and crying from gods cruel hands and he’d say #me too #and he’d understand me and my pain #and hes seen it millions of times with millions of people #some deserve punishment #but the one who deserves it the most the golden father himself gets to watch his prey suffering eternally #the universes most powerful sadist feigning a frown as he rips the young lambs wool out hair by hair #until it cant help but run to the wolves who will kill it more kindly #and i wonder if the devil would take my hand and bring me somewhere safe #where he and everyone else who has been wronged by the creator can rest together #see that we’re not alone #see that all of us were bred this way on purpose only to be used like playthings #and those of us who wanted to stay could stay #but me and the others who were done with life could be put to rest #and return to the stars

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solxamber · 1 month ago

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Take Two || Vil Schoenheit

You and Vil, once lovers, are forced to reunite through work, stirring up old heartbreak and undeniable tension. Slowly, you realize love never truly left, and some stories deserve a second chance.

i promise it's a happy ending

The night air feels sharp against your skin, the chill sinking into your bones as you stand face to face with Vil in the shadow of Pomefiore’s grand staircase. His golden hair catches the faint light, glimmering like spun silk, his expression frozen in a mask of disbelief. But his eyes—his eyes betray him, shining with an ache so raw that it almost makes you collapse under the weight of your decision.

"You’re leaving me," he says, his voice flat, brittle, like glass about to shatter. "After everything."

You try to smile, but it’s more of a grimace. "You deserve someone who can keep up with you, Vil. Someone who doesn’t have to fight just to be noticed, someone who—"

"Stop," he snaps, the word cutting through the night like a knife. "You think this is about keeping up? About deserving?" His voice rises, trembling with a rare fury. "You’re not a burden to me. You never were."

Tears spill over before you can stop them, warm against the chill of the night. "But I’m holding you back. You’re going to be an award-winning actor, a global icon. You’re meant for so much more, Vil. And I—I can’t be the reason you look back someday and wonder what you missed out on."

Vil’s hands curl into fists at his sides, his perfectly manicured nails digging into his palms. "You sound like a coward," he says bitterly. "Someone who doesn’t understand what it means to love. I gave you my heart, and you’re throwing it away like it’s... disposable."

You step closer, your voice trembling. "Vil, I love you. I love you so much it hurts. That’s why I’m doing this. Because I know that if I stay, I’ll be the anchor that holds you back."

He stares at you, stunned into silence, before his face crumples. It’s a sight you never thought you’d see—Vil Schoenheit, so composed, so regal, letting tears spill unchecked. "I regret it," he whispers, his voice breaking. "I regret giving my heart to someone who doesn’t want it."

Your breath hitches. You reach out, wiping his tears away with trembling fingers. "I want it. I’ll always want it."

"Then why—"

"Because I love you enough to let you go," you say, your voice cracking. You lean in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, tasting the salt of both your tears. It’s desperate and bittersweet, a farewell that neither of you wants but both know is inevitable.

When you pull back, his eyes are filled with an agony that mirrors your own. "I’ll pray to the stars that they align for us in another life," you whisper, stepping away even as every fiber of your being screams to stay.

Vil doesn’t follow. He stands rooted in place, watching as you disappear into the night, his tears sparkling under the starlight like diamonds.

And as you walk away, your heart breaking with every step, you can’t help but wonder if love is truly worth it when it hurts this much.

The spotlight gleams against the polished floors of the gala, chandeliers casting constellations on every surface. You stand at the edge of the room, champagne flute in hand, wearing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Laughter ripples around you, yet your heart pounds louder than any of the polite chatter.

Across the room, he stands, bathed in a soft golden light as if the universe itself couldn’t bear to dim him. Vil Schoenheit, global phenomenon, beloved by millions. And you, just a rising singer whose every success still feels like a shadow of his own.

You force yourself to look away before your gaze lingers too long. It's been years since that night—the night you kissed him goodbye, the night you walked away so he could become everything you knew he was destined to be.

And he did. Oh, he did.

Every magazine cover, every award stage, every grand performance is proof of that. You’re happy for him. Truly. You send flowers every time he wins something new, handpicking each bouquet and handwriting every note. Congratulations, Vil. You deserve this and more. No reply ever comes, but you never stop.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That this is enough.

He spots you before you spot him. He always does.

You stand by the windows, moonlight catching on the delicate fabric of your clothes. Your laughter mingles faintly with the music, but Vil knows you well enough to hear the cracks in it. To anyone else, you’re poised, radiant—a star in your own right. But to him, you’re the person who kissed him goodbye and took his heart with you.

He straightens his posture, as if that will shield him from the wave of memories crashing over him.

The flowers you send have become a cruel routine. He receives them like clockwork—each arrangement more thoughtful than the last, each card bearing your familiar handwriting. He reads every word, his thumb brushing over the ink, before placing the cards in a drawer he’s too afraid to open.

And yet, he saves them all.

Seeing you now is both agony and relief. He knows his worth; the world adores him, reveres him. But when he sees you, every ounce of that worth feels hollow. He feels young again, vulnerable—a teenager fumbling with emotions too large for his heart to hold.

The inevitable happens: your eyes meet.

You catch Vil’s gaze across the room, and your heart stutters. You force yourself to smile, a small, polite thing, and raise your glass in acknowledgment. He nods back, his face unreadable, and you swear your knees might give out.

You’re supposed to be over this. You’re supposed to be happy.

But every time you see him, the years fall away. It’s as if you’re back at Pomefiore, back on that staircase, wiping away his tears and whispering that you loved him before breaking both your hearts.

You excuse yourself to the balcony, the cool night air biting at your skin. You lean on the railing, taking deep breaths.

"Running away again?"

His voice is smooth, poised, and far too close.

You whirl around, and there he is, the moonlight outlining him like the leading man in some grand romantic drama. He’s holding his own champagne flute, his free hand tucked neatly in his pocket. He looks flawless, as always, but his eyes betray him.

"I wasn’t running," you say, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

"Of course not," he replies, his tone as sharp as ever, but there’s something softer beneath it. He steps closer, the scent of his cologne wrapping around you. "And yet, here you are. Avoiding me again."

Your throat tightens. "I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me."

He laughs, a quiet, bitter sound. "Do you really think I have nothing to say to you after all this time?"

You blink, taken aback. "I—I didn’t know. You never—"

"Responded?" He raises an eyebrow, his expression a careful mask. "What was I supposed to say, darling? That every card, every flower, every fleeting mention of you feels like a dagger?"

The word darling slips out so naturally that you almost miss it. Almost.

"Vil, I—"

He cuts you off, his voice dropping to something softer, more vulnerable. "Do you have any idea what it’s like to be adored by millions and still feel empty because the one person I want won’t even look at me properly?"

You gape at him, words caught in your throat.

"You left me," he says, and his voice breaks just enough for you to hear it. "You left, and I—" He exhales sharply, composing himself. "I told myself I hated you for it. But the truth is, I never stopped—"

You take a step forward, closing the distance. "Stop."

His eyes widen slightly, his perfect mask slipping.

"I never stopped either," you admit, your voice trembling. "I thought I was doing the right thing. For you, for us. But all I did was break us both."

And then you unceremoniously run, like you always do.

The sound of your phone vibrating aggressively on your nightstand jolts you awake. It’s your manager, and he’s barking something about an emergency meeting, now.

Still half-asleep, you throw on the first pair of pants you can find, grab your bag, and sprint like you’re being chased by a swarm of angry bees. By the time you reach your company’s little meeting room, you’re wheezing like an old accordion.

You stumble in, gasping for air. “I’m—here—what’s the—emergency?”

And there he is.

Vil Schoenheit, sitting in your dingy little meeting room, radiating elegance and beauty like he’s some Greek god forced to endure mortal company. His perfect golden hair gleams under the flickering fluorescent lights, and his outfit probably costs more than your annual rent.

For a second, you just stand there, staring at him in disbelief. "What?" you manage to choke out.

“Ah, you’ve arrived!” your manager says, completely ignoring your obvious confusion. He’s fawning over Vil like the man just descended from heaven itself. “Aren’t we so fortunate to have Vil Schoenheit here with us today? What a privilege!”

Vil sits there with the most unimpressed expression you’ve ever seen, his gaze lazily drifting to yours. He raises an eyebrow, and the look on his face very clearly says: The universe hates me as much as it hates you.

“Why…” You gesture wildly at him like that explains anything. “Why is he here?”

Your manager claps his hands together as if this is all the most wonderful news in the world. “You’ve been given the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to compose and perform the opening theme for Vil’s new drama!”

“…What?”

“And Vil has graciously come all this way to provide you with inspiration!”

Vil crosses his legs, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “I didn’t exactly volunteer,” he says flatly. “I was informed this meeting was non-negotiable.”

“Graciously forced,” you mutter under your breath, earning a sharp glance from him.

Your manager continues, oblivious. “This is huge for us! For you! For the company! A chance to collaborate with Vil Schoenheit!” He’s practically vibrating with excitement.

You? You’re mentally screaming. The room’s ancient air conditioning groans louder than your brain cells, and the smell of stale coffee is threatening to choke you. This is where Vil Schoenheit is supposed to get his inspiration?

“Great,” you say weakly, flopping into a chair. “Love that for us.”

Your manager claps you on the back, way too hard. “I’ll leave you two to get started! Can’t wait to hear what you come up with!” He scurries out of the room like his life depends on it.

The door clicks shut. Silence.

You turn to Vil, who’s looking at you like he’s silently calculating how fast he can escape. “So,” you say, attempting to sound professional. “I guess we’re doing this.”

Vil sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It seems we have no choice.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“And risk tarnishing my reputation? Hardly.”

You narrow your eyes. “Wow. Thanks for that vote of confidence in my music.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t misunderstand. I’ve heard your work. It’s… fine.”

“Fine?” You bristle. “Just fine?”

“I’m sure you’ll rise to the occasion,” he says smoothly, completely ignoring your indignation. “Or at least, I hope you will.”

This is going to be a long day.

The next hour is spent with Vil giving you vague, lofty descriptions of “atmosphere” and “emotion” while you scribble down ideas that may or may not be entirely out of spite.

“Think regal, but with an edge,” Vil says, leaning back in his chair like a king addressing his court. “Something that captures the drama’s tone—elegance, intrigue, power.”

“Right,” you say, scrawling Fancy Soap Commercial Vibes in your notebook.

“And it must resonate with the audience on an emotional level,” he adds, completely serious.

You nod, underlining Fancy Soap Commercial for good measure.

At one point, Vil gets up to demonstrate a movement he wants the music to evoke, his motions fluid and precise like the world’s most intimidating interpretive dancer. You’re not sure if you’re inspired or just terrified.

Finally, you throw your pen down. “I get it! Regal, edgy, emotional. Big feels. Got it.”

Vil gives you a skeptical look. “Are you certain? Because your notes don’t inspire much confidence.”

You glance down at your notebook, where you’ve doodled a tiny stick figure labeled Vil’s Vibes surrounded by stars. “…Yeah, totally got this.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “If this ends up sounding like a children’s lullaby, I’m holding you personally accountable.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “Great. No pressure.”

And yet, as much as you want to throttle him for his impossible standards, there’s a part of you that doesn’t hate this. Because, well… it’s Vil. And whether you want to admit it or not, working with him is kind of incredible.

Even if he’s the most dramatic muse you’ve ever had.

The day starts with your manager shoving a revised directive into your hands: go watch Vil's shoot. Apparently, you needed more "inspiration" to compose a song fit for his upcoming drama.

Great. Because spending more time around Vil Schoenheit, global icon and your ex, is exactly what you needed to totally not lose your mind.

Still, you don’t show up empty-handed. On the way to the set, you grab an aggressively caffeinated iced espresso for yourself—because surviving the day calls for it—and, without much thought, you pick up a caramel macchiato with oat milk.

The barista hands it over, and you’re hit by a pang of nostalgia. This was Vil’s favorite back when you were teenagers, back when you’d watch the sunset with him after his rehearsals. You shake the thought away. It’s just coffee.

When you arrive, Vil’s seated on a folding chair, reading over his script like it’s sacred text. Even in the chaos of the bustling set, he looks poised, his hair perfect despite the heat of the lights.

You approach, clearing your throat. “Hey.”

He glances up. “You’re late.”

“I’m five minutes late.” You hold out the cup. “Peace offering?”

Vil takes the coffee without comment, but the moment he sips it, his movements falter. His eyes widen, ever so slightly, and you catch the flicker of emotion on his face before he masks it.

You don’t linger. “I’m going to talk to the producers.”

As you walk away, Vil stares at the cup, at the faint smiley face you’ve drawn on the lid. His chest tightens. You remembered.

He forces the thought down, folding it neatly into the drawer of unspoken feelings he’s cultivated since the day you left him. Setting the cup aside, he rises, perfectly composed. He has a scene to shoot, and Vil Schoenheit doesn’t falter.

Watching Vil perform is like watching magic. Every movement, every look, every line—he’s utterly captivating.

You sit near the monitors, jotting down notes as inspiration flows. There’s something about him—his intensity, his elegance—that fills your mind with melodies. You’re so engrossed that you barely notice the shoot wrapping up until Vil walks over, a towel slung casually around his neck.

“Are you leaving already?” he asks, his voice smooth and calm, like you hadn’t just been mentally composing an ode to his perfection.

“Uh, yeah. I’ll call an Uber.” You stand, shoving your notebook into your bag.

He frowns, clearly unimpressed. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll take you home.”

“Vil, it’s fine—”

“I insist,” he says sharply, already walking towards his car.

You follow, feeling a strange mixture of gratitude and dread.

The car ride is quiet, filled only with the soft hum of the engine and the city lights flashing by. Vil’s driver keeps his gaze firmly on the road, giving the two of you privacy, but the atmosphere feels oddly intimate.

As you sit there, your mind drifts back to your first date. You were a nervous wreck back then, fumbling with your words, tripping over your feet. Vil, of course, had been effortlessly composed, amused by your flustered state but kind enough to guide you through it.

A small smile tugs at your lips at the memory.

“What’s so amusing?” Vil asks, his voice breaking the silence.

You glance at him, startled. He’s looking at you, his gaze sharp but curious.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, shaking your head.

He doesn’t press, but his eyes linger on you longer than usual.

When the car pulls up to your apartment, you thank Vil and step out, but as you turn to leave, you feel his hand wrap around your wrist.

“Vil?” you ask, surprised.

He blinks, as if realizing what he’s done, and lets go immediately. “Nothing,” he says, straightening. “Just… be on time tomorrow.”

You raise an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. “I will.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he might say something more. But he doesn’t. He nods curtly, turning back to the car.

Inside your apartment, you close the door behind you and slide down to the floor, the tears spilling out before you can stop them.

He’s as beautiful as the day you let him go, and it hurts.

You’re so happy for him, so proud of everything he’s achieved. But God, you miss him.

Meanwhile, Vil sits in the back of the car, staring out the window as the city blurs past. His fingers brush against the empty coffee cup in his bag, the one with the faint smiley face you drew.

His heart aches, but he doesn’t let it show. Not even to himself.

The drama is an undeniable success, catapulting Vil’s already dazzling career into further stratospheric heights. But unexpectedly, the opening theme—your song—becomes the anthem of the year, a chart-topping sensation that has every talk show, magazine, and fan forum buzzing about your collaboration.

You, however, aren’t basking in the glow of success as expected. If anything, you’re moping.

Deuce notices first. “You okay? You look… weird.”

“I don’t look weird.”

“You do,” Grim adds, gnawing on his tuna sandwich. “You look like you ate bad tuna but don’t want to admit it.”

“Thank you for the visual,” you deadpan.

You sigh. Everyone else is ecstatic. Your phone is a whirlwind of congratulatory messages, your manager has been pacing like an over-caffeinated rodent, and your inbox is overflowing with offers. Yet all you can think about is the fact that the drama is over—and so are your obligations to Vil.

No more early mornings brainstorming lyrics with him. No more quiet moments sipping coffee during breaks. No more stolen glances when you thought he wasn’t looking (he always was).

It’s ridiculous, really. You’re thriving. Your career is skyrocketing. You should be ecstatic.

Instead, you feel like you’re bracing for an emotional wrecking ball.

Vil, on the other hand, is furious. Not at the drama’s success, of course—he’s a consummate professional, and his performance has been widely praised. No, Vil is furious because he can’t escape you.

He tried. Oh, how he tried. He kept himself busy with interviews, photoshoots, and premieres, meticulously avoiding the thought of you. But then the making-of video was released.

There you were, sitting beside him, coffee cup in hand, throwing out ideas with that little spark in your eyes. The fans lapped it up, the media ran with it, and now every outlet wanted the two of you together for joint interviews.

Vil could not imagine a worse fate.

The first interview is scheduled for 10 a.m., and you arrive early, clutching your notes like a lifeline.

Vil is already there, of course. He sits with perfect posture, his gaze steely as he scrolls through his phone. When he notices you, his lips press into a thin line.

“Good morning,” you venture hesitantly.

“Is it?” he replies coolly, without looking up.

Ouch.

The producer, blissfully unaware of the tension, claps his hands together as he enters the room. “Ah, our power duo! Ready to make magic?”

You exchange a strained glance with Vil. He raises a single brow, clearly unimpressed.

The interview begins, and for the most part, it’s harmless—questions about the creative process, the drama’s success, and future projects.

Then the interviewer smirks, leaning forward. “You two have such wonderful chemistry. Were you always this in sync, or did it take time to build that dynamic?”

Vil’s jaw tightens. You blink, feeling the weight of his stare.

“Well,” you start, “we worked really hard to make the song fit the tone of the drama. It’s all about teamwork.”

“Hmm, teamwork,” Vil echoes, his tone dangerously smooth. “Yes, that’s one way to put it.”

The interviewer beams, oblivious to the storm brewing. “Fans are dying to know—any plans for another collaboration?”

“Who knows?” Vil says, his smile razor-sharp. “Perhaps fate will decide.”

By the time the interview ends, you’re emotionally drained. Vil, of course, looks as pristine as ever.

“Thanks for being civil,” you mutter as you both head to the parking lot.

“Civil?” Vil’s laugh is devoid of humor. “Darling, if that’s your standard for civility, I fear you’ve been spending too much time with amateurs.”

You glare at him, heat rising in your cheeks. “I didn’t ask for this either, you know. You think it’s easy for me to—”

You stop yourself, biting your tongue. You’re not about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he still affects you.

Vil arches a brow, waiting. When you say nothing, he smirks. “Thought so.”

Later that night, as you scroll through social media, you stumble upon a clip from the interview. It’s nothing scandalous—just a moment where you and Vil exchange a glance and laugh at a question. But the comments are merciless.

> “These two have HISTORY, I can feel it through the screen!” >“Vil looked like he wanted to stab and kiss them at the same time, and honestly, relatable.” >“Petition for them to star in a romantic drama together??”

You groan, throwing your phone onto the couch.

Somewhere across town, Vil is scrolling through the same comments, his expression unreadable. He closes the app with a sigh, but not before saving the clip to his private gallery.

He doesn’t know why he does it. Maybe it’s masochism. Maybe it’s hope. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because a part of him isn’t ready to let you go.

The day of the photoshoot arrives, and you’re running on a dangerous combination of nerves, caffeine, and denial. Standing next to Vil for hours under flashing cameras, forced to feign effortless chemistry, feels like a ticking time bomb.

Vil, of course, looks unbothered—poised and perfect as ever, his every movement calculated for maximum elegance. Meanwhile, you’re sweating like a guilty criminal.

“Relax,” Vil murmurs as he adjusts his jacket between shots. “Your unease is practically a stench.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” you grumble.

The shoot goes on without a hitch, until—of course—it doesn’t.

It happens in the middle of a particularly dramatic pose. Vil, perched precariously on a raised platform in heels, steps down just as an intern accidentally knocks over a loose prop. It lands with a sharp crack, and Vil, who’s clearly caught off guard, stumbles and falls.

A collective gasp ripples through the room.

“Are you okay?” someone yelps, rushing toward him.

“Don’t touch me,” Vil snaps, voice sharp as glass. He sits up with a wince, cradling his ankle.

You’ve been keeping your distance the entire shoot, trying to maintain your professional boundary. But the second you see Vil hurt, that self-imposed wall shatters.

“Vil!” you shout, practically tripping over cables as you rush to his side.

He looks up, his expression guarded. For a moment, you hesitate, half-expecting him to snap at you too. But instead, he simply nods, a subtle permission that shocks the entire production team into silence.

With a surprising amount of strength born from sheer adrenaline, you lift Vil into your arms, bridal style.

Someone from production stammers, “We can call for—”

“I’ve got him,” you cut them off, your tone firmer than you expected.

Vil doesn’t protest. He just loops an arm around your neck, tilting his head slightly as though he’s resigned to being carried like royalty. You can feel the weight of everyone’s stares as you carry him out of the studio, whispers trailing behind you like gossip at a high school cafeteria.

The walk to the medic feels like an eternity.

“You’re heavier than you look,” you mutter, trying to distract yourself from the way his perfume is overwhelming your senses.

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” Vil replies, his voice still sharp but lacking its usual venom.

When you finally reach the medic, you set him down gently, your arms trembling from the effort.

“You can leave,” Vil says as the medic begins their examination.

You nod, turning to go—but your feet refuse to move. Instead, you end up awkwardly sitting on a nearby chair, your hands clasped tightly in your lap.

You tell yourself it’s just to make sure he’s okay. That you’ll leave once the medic gives the all-clear.

Vil doesn’t say anything about your lingering presence. He keeps his eyes closed, his usual pristine mask slipping for just a moment as he exhales slowly.

When the medic finishes and declares him fit to leave, you finally stand. “Well, I should—”

“Thank you,” Vil says softly, cutting you off.

You freeze. For a moment, all you can do is nod before hurrying out of the room, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

Back in your dressing room, you sink into a chair and bury your face in your hands.

“What is wrong with me?” you groan.

Meanwhile, back in the medic’s office, Vil sits in contemplative silence, the ghost of your touch lingering like a memory he can’t shake.

You’re holding Vil’s phone like it’s made of glass, glaring at Rook’s number on your own screen.

“You sure I can’t just leave it at the studio?” you ask for the third time.

“Non, non, mon ami!” Rook’s dramatic voice practically vibrates through your speaker. “Vil has a most pressing engagement this evening, and the phone is vital to his work. You’re already such a dear for delivering it!”

“Couldn’t you do it?”

“Alas, I have an engagement myself. A critical affair, truly,” Rook sighs, his tone more playful than apologetic. “I’ve sent you his address. Bon courage!”

Before you can protest, the line goes dead, leaving you staring at the apartment address like it’s an execution order.

You’re in the car, grumbling to yourself as you mentally rehearse what you’ll say.

Here’s your phone. Bye.

Short. Simple. No emotional mines to step on.

But then you accidentally touch the screen, and his phone lights up.

And there it is. The lock screen.

It’s a selfie of the two of you from years ago, taken on some lazy afternoon. You’re both laughing, your faces smushed together awkwardly. You remember the moment vividly—Vil had just cracked a rare joke, one so unexpected it had you crying with laughter.

And now here it is, preserved like some cruel reminder of what you had.

Your stomach twists.

“Oh no,” you mutter.

The driver glances at you in the rearview mirror, concerned.

You’re ugly sniffling by the time you pull yourself together, the poor driver tactfully pretending not to notice. “Sorry,” you choke out. “Allergies.”

He nods slowly, clearly not buying it.

When you finally arrive at Vil’s penthouse—a sleek, modern building that screams successful celebrity—you take a deep breath and ring the doorbell.

Vil answers the door himself, wearing a loose, elegant cardigan and lounge pants that still manage to look couture. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you.

“You left this,” you blurt, shoving the phone into his hands.

He takes it, his gaze lingering on your face. “Were you crying?”

“No,” you lie, unable to meet his eyes.

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside.

“I’m fine—”

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” he says, his tone soft but firm.

Despite your better judgment, you step inside.

The interior hits you like a brick wall of memories.

The layout is different, but the details are achingly familiar. The same muted color scheme you’d picked out together. The same arrangement of throw pillows on the couch—even the same colors.

Your eyes dart to the bookshelf, spotting a framed photo of the two of you tucked discreetly among the décor.

It’s too much.

“You did this on purpose,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Vil’s gaze softens. “I didn’t want to forget."

Before you can respond, he goes to the kitchen to get something to drink, leaving you to drown in memories.

You’re sitting on Vil’s pristine couch, sipping tea that you can’t even taste. He’s seated across from you, the distance between you both palpable, like a chasm you’re too afraid to cross.

But Vil doesn’t wait this time. He doesn’t dance around the words.

“Why?” he asks, his voice sharp, cutting through the silence.

“Why what?” you whisper, even though you know exactly what he means.

“Why did you leave?” he snaps, the composure he always clings to starting to crack. “Why did you take my heart—my trust—and then shatter it into a million pieces? Do you have any idea what you did to me?”

You flinch, tears already pooling in your eyes. “I—I thought—”

“No,” Vil interrupts, standing abruptly. His hands tremble as he gestures, his voice rising. “You didn’t think. If you had, you would’ve seen how much I loved you, how much I—” He cuts himself off, his chest heaving.

You’re crying now, hands gripping your knees so tightly they hurt. “I didn’t want to hold you back, Vil. You had so much ahead of you, so much to achieve—”

“And you thought you were the thing holding me back?” he yells, his voice breaking. “You thought I would’ve been better off without you?!”

You nod miserably, choking on a sob. “I wanted you to thrive! I didn’t want to be the thing that kept you from reaching your dreams!”

Vil laughs bitterly, the sound hollow and laced with pain. “And you did just that. You leaving—you leaving—was the only thing that’s held me back. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you. You haunt my dreams, my every waking moment. And I hate it. I hate you for it. So tell me—”

He drops to his knees in front of you, his face inches from yours as his voice cracks. “Tell me you hate me. Tell me you don’t love me anymore, so I can move on. Please, I’m begging you.”

You’re sobbing now, shaking your head frantically. “I can’t. I—I don’t hate you. I never stopped loving you. I left because I thought I was doing the right thing, but I see now that I was so, so stupid—”

“Yes, you were,” Vil cuts in, tears streaming down his face. “So stupid. And so cruel.”

His sobs are raw, unrestrained, and they tear at your heart. You cradle his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing away his tears even as more fall. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never leave again. I’ll stay. Forever, if you’ll let me.”

Vil closes his eyes, leaning into your touch like it’s the only thing tethering him to the earth. When he opens them again, his voice is barely audible. “Don’t promise me that unless you mean it.”

“I mean it,” you say, your voice steady despite your tears. “I’ll stay. I’ll stay.”

Vil exhales shakily, his arms wrapping around your waist as he buries his face in your shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispers, and for the first time in years, the weight between you begins to lift.

You’ve barely put the mop down when Vil calls from the living room.

“Hurry up with the tea,” he says without even looking up from his script. “And don’t forget to fold the laundry after this. Properly, please—last time you folded one of my scarves into an actual triangle. Who does that?”

You mutter a half-hearted "Yes, your majesty," and shuffle toward the kitchen. You’re halfway there when Rook bursts in through the front door, a bouquet in hand and stars practically bursting from his eyes.

“Ah, l’amour! C’est magnifique!” Rook declares, startling you so badly you almost drop the tea tray.

Vil raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by the dramatics. “Rook, must you barge in unannounced?”

“Mais oui!” Rook exclaims, twirling dramatically. “How could I not visit when my dear friends have rekindled their eternal flame of passion? Look at you two! You, bossing them around, and them—obediently obeying every word like a loyal partner. True love has won!”

You roll your eyes but can’t fight the grin spreading across your face. Vil, however, looks less charmed. “They’re making up for years of terrible life decisions, Rook,” he says, deadpan.

“Oh, of course,” Rook says, his grin never faltering. “But love is in the air, and I, your humble admirer, could not be happier. Do not deny it—my heart soars!”

You and Vil exchange a look, both exasperated and oddly amused.

“Fine,” Vil says with a sigh. “If it makes you happy, Rook, then yes. True love has won. Now, will you let me enjoy my tea in peace?”

Rook gasps as though he’s been given the greatest gift of all time and promptly sits down, refusing to leave.

When you and Vil finally announce your relationship, the internet goes into an immediate frenzy.

The official post is simple: a photo of the two of you holding hands, captioned, "It’s official."

But the comments?

>"Wow, groundbreaking news. I couldn’t tell from the way Vil stared at them like they invented oxygen." >"You’re telling me they weren’t already dating? I thought this was public knowledge." >"The tension between these two could’ve powered the whole continent. About time." >"Wasn’t their last interview basically a rom-com in disguise?" >"Not even surprised. I’m more shocked it took this long."

Vil reads through the comments with a scoff. “Captain Obvious seems to be having their moment in the spotlight.”

You laugh, peeking at his phone. “I mean, they’re not wrong. We weren’t exactly subtle.”

Vil hums, a small smile tugging at his lips. “At least they approve. For now."

It’s late by the time you both get home, the quiet hum of the city fading behind you as Vil unlocks the door. The soft glow of the apartment feels comforting, like the kind of peace you didn’t know you needed until now.

You both kick off your shoes, and Vil immediately starts fussing with his scarf. You grab it before he can hang it up, putting it neatly on the rack.

As you settle on the couch, Vil joins you, resting his head lightly on your shoulder. For a moment, neither of you speaks, just enjoying the stillness.

“Do you ever wonder why we made it so complicated?” you ask quietly, breaking the silence.

Vil chuckles softly. “Often. But then again…” He tilts his head to look up at you, his violet eyes warm and full of something you can only describe as home. “Perhaps we wouldn’t have appreciated it as much if it had been easy.”

You hum in agreement, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You’re probably right. But still…”

Vil smirks, pulling you closer. “No more unnecessary complications. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” you whisper, letting yourself finally, fully relax.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #vil x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit x you #vil schoenheit #vil #angst with a happy ending #hurt/comfort

548 notes · View notes

stllmnstr · 3 months ago

Text

all the things I never said

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

genre: childhood friends to lovers

word count: 7.3k

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, heeseung is so romantic I want to die a little, a kiss that gets quite heated, this is very much unedited

note: happy (almost) Heeseung day! I hope you enjoy this little romantic take on childhood friends to lovers ♡

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Lee Heeseung has a secret.

It’s scribbled on a forgotten note, tucked away in a bottom drawer, carved with a shaky hand into the aging wood of his childhood treehouse.

Sometimes, on cloudless nights, he looks up at the stars and tells them what he’s been hiding for so long. In response, the midnight sky twinkles in a way that looks all too much like laughter.

On afternoons in late autumn, Heeseung whispers the truth to the wind and watches as it’s carried away with an array of dead leaves.

A million little gestures. A thousand tiny moments that are inconsequential on their own. But when pieced together, string a story so obvious he’s not sure if his heart could ever handle it.

But he’s not sure what would happen, if he shouted at the top of his lungs instead of confiding the world around him in hushed whispers.

He’s a firm believer in balance and is terribly afraid that letting words drip from his tongue would only spell disaster.

So for now, he lets Mother Nature serve as his only confidant and hopes that she’ll keep her vows of silence.

There was a time, not all too long ago, when his secret wasn’t, well, a secret. When he used to speak freely and honestly without a fear of the future, without anxiety of repercussions.

But all secrets have their reasons, and all stories have a beginning.

For Heeseung, both begin on a rather ordinary afternoon in early summer nearly twelve years ago.

…

Heeseung’s right palm is annoyingly sweaty. So much so that the shaky grip on his pencil is in danger of being lost.

Half of his attention is directed towards the front of the classroom, where his fourth grade teacher reiterates the guidelines for the upcoming solar system project.

The other half is trained directly on the small white note currently clutched between Mina’s fingers.

Even at nine, Heeseung knows she’s a terrible gossip that can’t be trusted. Just earlier today, she spent all of morning recess hounding poor Jake about his supposed crush on her best friend. She was unrelenting, no matter how fervently Jake denied the accusation or how crimson his cheekbones turned.

Unfortunately for Heeseung, she also sits directly between you and him. A particular stroke of cruelty on Mrs. Kim’s part, in Heeseung’s opinion, but the desk arrangement of his fourth grade classroom is the least for his worries at this point.

He swallows. A bead of sweat forms at the edge of his hairline. Late May has tumbled into his hometown with an unseasonable warmth, but that’s not the reason for his perspiration this afternoon.

With an audible swallow, he locates the paper in his peripheral vision.

Still clutched between Mina’s fingers.

Mrs. Kim has turned her back at least three times since he handed the note off with very clear directions about who to give it to. There’s no reason Mina should still be turning it over between her sticky fingers.

Unless…

No. Heeseung won’t assume the worst. Not when it took him nearly the entire school year to work up the courage.

With one final repetition of the project due date, Mrs. Kim slides off of her chair at the front of the room and walks to her desk tucked away in the opposite corner.

Heeseung’s heart skips a beat.

It’s the perfect opportunity, a golden window.

He glances at Mina, half terrified, half excited.

This is it. The moment he’s been waiting for. The moment he’s been mustering up courage for over the past six months.

He’s doing it. It’s happening. It’s really happening.

And then, all at once, his excitement starts to transform. Starts to turn into dread before it morphs into worry.

“Uh, Mrs. Kim?” It’s Mina’s voice. And Heeseung knew she liked to spread rumors, but he didn’t think that would extend to their teacher.

Heeseung is panicking, trying to figure out a way to save face, to avoid the detention that is sure to come with the classroom crime of passing notes.

Mrs. Kim looks up from her desk. Heeseung thinks he might pass out.

But then Mina says, “I don’t think ___ feels too good.”

For a moment, Heeseung basks in the relief of not having his secrets spilled in the middle of silent work time. But then, the words register. Form meaning in his mind.

The loud screech of metal against linoleum rings out like a gunshot in the otherwise quiet classroom. Heeseung stands up from his seat with a ridiculous speech. It’s a miracle he didn’t know anything off his desk. And he didn’t mean to, not really, but he couldn’t see you around Mina sitting down.

At first glance, her appraisal seems to be correct. You’re pale, terribly so, and shaking slightly where you sit in your seat.

Heeseung doesn’t realize his mistake until Mrs. Kim turns to look at him with a raised eyebrow and most of the class does the same.

In the back corner, Jake and Sunghoon share a meaningful glance.

“Uh,” Heeseung stammers, “Sorry.” Red faced, he takes his seat again. This time, he’s more covert as he turns his gaze back to you.

Mrs. Kim approaches your desk quickly. “Hi, Sweetie,” she greets in that voice she has reserved for scraped knees and other ailments. “Are you feeling okay?”

You shake your head. It’s a minuscule movement that Heeseung tracks intensely.

Mrs. Kim lays a gentle hand across your forehead. “You’re burning up.” She frowns. “Why don’t you head down to the nurse? I’ll let her know you’re on your way.”

Again, you say nothing. The only response you give is a small nod as you gather the materials sprawled across your desk.

Heeseung watches, a little pathetically, as you place them carefully in your cubby before leaving through the door.

You do turn to look at him, just before you exit. When you find his eyes already trained on you, you give him a small smile.

Heeseung’s heart clenches. Whether in fear or anxiety or the same funny feeling that made him spill his heart in the note, he’s not entirely sure.

And then you’re gone. Heeseung makes a mental note to check in with you later, ride his bike the short distance between your neighborhoods and knock on your front door. Your mother is no stranger to his appearances at this point, after all. He won’t bug you, not if you’re resting. But he’ll check in on you, maybe bring you some tea or soup or flowers or whatever else grown ups always say is supposed to make you feel better when you’re sick.

He’s so caught up in his sudden afternoon plans that he almost forgets the paper, the note, still sitting between Mina’s fingers.

Oh well.

He’ll have to try another day, he supposes. It’s not fair to put anything else on your plate when you’re not feeling well.

Heeseung shifts in his seat, turns to ask Mina to just give him the note back. To his horror, she’s already begun to undo his careful folding. The kind of edges only someone who spends long afternoons doing origami with his grandmother could manage.

“What are you doing?” Heeseung hisses, trying to shout without breaking a whisper.

Mina pays him no mind, swats the air like he’s nothing more than a buzzing fly.

“Stop,” Heeseung pleads, “That’s not for y–”

But Mina doesn’t care. Much to his horror, she unfolds the note entirely, leaves it tucked discreetly beneath her desk.

Sparing one final glance at Mrs. Kim, she confirms that her attention is elsewhere. And then she reads it.

It’s unmistakable, the way her eyes scan over words that were never meant for her.

Heeseung has half a mind to cause another scene, stand up out of his seat again and snatch the note from her, detention be damned.

But it’s too late. The damage is done.

Mina turns to face him fully, a quizzical look pulling her brow downwards. She stares at him, eyes narrowed, appraising, as if this is the first time she’s seen him.

And then she folds the note back up, tucks it away underneath her notebook.

A million awful scenarios flash through Heeseung’s mind. Mina making copies of the note and distributing them to the entire class. Mina taking the note to Mrs. Kim and ratting him out. Mina making sure the entire school is privy to Heeseung’s secret before the day is done.

But in the end, he doesn’t need to worry about any of that. After an agonizing stretch of silent work time where Heeseung gets absolutely nothing done, Mina finds him outside the classroom at the water fountain.

Heeseung is in the middle of downing a near concerning amount of lukewarm fountain water when she walks up next to him.

Lifting his head, Heeseung wipes the spare drops from his mouth.

“Here,” Mina hands him the note. She tried to fold it back up, but it was clearly done with inexperienced hands. The lines are no longer crisp, the edges no longer sharp. His work has been tainted.

“I…” Heeseung starts. Should he thank her? Beg her not to tell anyone? Plead with her not to tell you?

Ultimately, he doesn’t need to. Mina cuts him off before he can get another word out.

“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna tell anyone.”

Heeseung will believe it when he sees it, but maybe, just maybe, Mina will actually keep a secret to herself this time.

Heeseung exhales a sigh of relief, tension draining from his shoulders. The victory is short lived.

“You shouldn’t give that to her, though.”

Heeseung balks, freezing for a moment. “What?”

“That note.” Mina nods towards the item in question, clutched between Heeseung’s white knuckles. “Don’t give it to ___.”

Heeseung’s brow furrows. He can’t decide whether he should be angry or confused. This was never meant to be something for Mina to pass judgment on. If he wanted her two cents, he would have asked.

Still, he asks, “Why?”

Mina sighs, looks at him like he’s an orphaned panda in the local zoo. “Because she likes Jay, not you. Everyone knows about it. She gave him a Kit Kat on Valentine’s Day when everyone else just got a Hershey Kiss, and everyone knows that Kit Kats are better. Plus, she–”

Heeseung doesn’t hear the rest of it. It’s as if he’s suddenly been submerged in icy water. Frozen in his body as the world around him is muffled to a dull, indecipherable hum. His heart drops to his stomach; the world spins on its axis.

Jay.

Jay?

Heeseung likes Jay. He’s smart and kind and can play the guitar, which Heeseung can’t deny is incredibly cool. Too cool. So, painfully cool, and you must think so too.

Heeseung wants to cry a little bit. Wants to scream. Wants to eat his feelings and his words and his incomplete confession until there’s nothing left of them and this whole terrible day is nothing but a faded, forgotten memory.

Instead, he turns away from Mina mid-sentence and takes robotic steps back into the classroom. Slides down into his seat like he’s in a trance. Finished out the school day with his head in the clouds.

You don’t return to class. Heeseung assumes that you went home straight from the nurse’s office.

And when Mrs. Kim catches him at the door and asks if he’d be willing to bring your backpack to you, all he can do is give a miserable, dejected nod.

Mrs. Kim has the tact to not say anything, but she does notice. Especially since he’s usually jumping out of his seat at the opportunity to do anything remotely revolving you.

She watches with a frown as he exits through the classroom door, head hung and shoulders slumped. Your backpack dangling uselessly between his fingers.

The air outside is warm, uncharacteristically so for late May. But now it’s choking with something too. A humidity that clings to skin and feels foreboding, especially with the way clouds begin to gather overhead.

Heeseung is halfway to your house when the rain begins. It’s thick, heavy, unforgiving in the way summer showers always are.

When he dismounts his bike at the edge of your driveway, he’s in such a hurry to get your things to you before they’re soaked through that he doesn't notice the small, white paper that falls out of his pocket with the motion.

Just as he predicted, your mother greets him at the door. She’s thankful for your school things and mildly horrified at the dripping wet child on her doorstep. She offers him a towel and a ride home in her car, both of which Heeseung declines politely.

By the time he finishes the ride home, he is well and truly soaked. He’s grateful, at least, for the way rain disguised the singular tear track that stains his left cheek.

And later than night, dry and warm and alone, he lets one more tear fall. Laying against his pillow, it’s warm where it gathers in the corner of his eye, salty as it breaches the barrier of his top lip.

And then he makes a decision. Despair will do him no good, and it’s not like anything has changed, not really.

It’s you that he values, your presence and your friendship and your smiles. He won’t lose those things, even if you save all your Kit Kats for Jay. Even if he has to banish the butterflies in his stomach and hope they don’t escape. Even if he has to pretend his heart doesn’t hurt a little every time he looks at you.

But summer is coming soon and his year in fourth grade is nearly done. There are lots of things to look forward to, and you’ll still be just a short bike ride away. Even if your heart suddenly feels unreachable.

When Heeseung falls asleep that night, his sleep is dreamless and undisturbed.

And a handful of neighborhoods away, a small white piece of paper sinks to the bottom of a puddle. Soaked from the rain and worse for wear, the careful writing is nearly unintelligible.

But if someone wanted to, if they really tried, they just might be able to make out the message.

Dear ___, it reads.

I think you have the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen. I like the way your hair looks in the sun, and I’m glad we’re in the same class. I couldn’t decide how to tell you, so I think I’ll just write it here. I like you. I think you’re pretty and smart and nice and I like you a lot. Can I buy you ice cream at the shop at the end of your street? We can eat it together. :)

Sinceerly,

Sincerely,

Heeseung

…..

The early afternoon sun glints off the ocean in a way that’s almost blinding. Seated on a faded beach towel that’s more sand than fabric at this point, Heeseung readjusts his sunglasses. They sit on the bridge of his nose and do less to shield his wandering gaze than he thinks.

He reaches for the tote bag a few feet away from him, hands in search of the extra strength sunscreen his mom packed two bottles of and reminded him no less than fifty times to reapply. Heeseung figures now’s as good a time as any to follow her instructions. He’s half afraid she’ll actually wring his neck if he comes back sunburnt with his first day of eighth grade just around the corner.

Besides, the current object of his attention is down at the water’s edge. Heeseung thanks his lucky stars you’re too preoccupied with searching for seashells to watch as he slathers a ridiculously high SPF sunscreen all over his face.

Early August has been milder than late July, but the air is still heavy with a heat that’s almost oppressive. He has half a mind to join you in the water for a reprieve from the weather if nothing else.

Despite himself, Heeseung’s eyes never stray far from you. Disaster of a fourth-grade confession aside, he likes to think he’s done a decent job of keeping his feelings close to his chest. Not that they’ve ever changed much, to be honest.

He’s old enough now, far enough into the painfully awkward clutches of puberty to put more words to the way his heart always feels a little funny whenever you’re near.

He has a crush.

A high school, sweaty palm, awkward conversations at your locker between periods crush.

But Heeseung is a master of disguise and this is no exception. For the last six years, he’s held up his side of your steady friendship with nothing outside the realm of platonic.

Even if his gaze always tends to linger a little too long, even if he spends most of every middle school dance standing on the sidelines imaging you asking him to join you, even if he never has quite been able to look at Jay the same way, he’s happy to be your friend. Content in the comfortable routines between the two of you. The easy kind of closeness that comes with growing up with someone.

For better or for worse, he knows you like the back of his hand. And you know him just as well. Besides the one secret he never can quite bring himself to divulge, that is.

On a towel a few feet away, Sunghoon glances at Heeseung. Follows his gaze and is less than surprised to find that his lovesick puppy eyes are trained squarely on your shoulders.

Sunghoon nudges Jake, wordlessly gesturing to Heeseung with a jerk of his chin. Jake follows the movement, traces the same line of sight Sunghoon noticed just moments ago.

The two boys share a look and then an eye roll.

It’s been the same old story since their shared days in Mrs. Kim’s fourth grade class, and Sunghoon is growing weary of witnessing this same old song and dance never reach any kind of conclusion.

Sunghoon clears his throat. Heeseung doesn’t notice.

A bit louder this time, Sunghoon says, “Hey, Heeseung.”

That finally gets his attention, even if it does take him a comically long time to take his eyes off of you. “Yeah?”

“You could, oh, I don’t know, just talk to her, you know.”

“What?” Sunghoon can’t tell if his confusion is genuine or if he’s suddenly become a fantastic actor. “Who?”

“Is that a joke? ___. Who else?”

Heeseung’s brow furrows. “___?” He echoes. “I talk to her all the time. I invited her today.”

“Yeah, okay, but I mean really talk to her.”

“I don’t know how you think we communicate, but I did ‘really talk to her’ when I asked if she wanted to come to the beach t–”

Jake sighs. He’s not sure how much more of this he can take. “He’s saying you should tell her that you like her, idiot.”

“What?” Heeseung splutters. “I don’t… I don’t like ____,” he insists in a way that is not at all convincing.

“Right,” Sunghoon nods. “And I’m going to pass algebra with an A next semester.”

“We’re friends.” Despite himself, Heeseung glances at you again out of the corner of his eye. His stomach gives a very unfriendly flip, but the two boys next to him don’t need to know that.

“I don’t get why you’re still so weird about it.” Sunghoon shakes his head. “You’ve literally been obsessed with her since, like, fourth grade.”

“Yeah,” Jake nods. “Remember that day she got sick in class and he nearly knocked his chair over because he stood up so fast—”

“I was worried about my friend,” Heeseung insists, desperate to change the topic. That day is a particularly sore memory for more than one reason. “I would have done the same for either of you.”

“Uh, no thanks.” Sunghoon shakes his head.

“I’ll pass too,” Jake agrees. “You can save all that lovesick shit for—”

“Lovesick?” a voice interrupts. “Who’s lovesick?”

Three sets of eyes turn to you, two colored in mild humor and one tinged with abject horror.

Sunghoon reaches over with devious intent in his grin. Patting Heeseung on the shoulder, he responds, “Well, your friend Heeseung here—”

“Heard Jungwon talking about a new girl he met this summer.” Heeseung interjects desperately, pausing only to send his two friends a withering glare. “I guess he’s super into her.”

“Oh, really?” Oblivious to the sighs of frustration Sunghoon and Jake exchange, you slide down in the seat next to Heeseung. “Good for him. Between school and dance and taekwondo, I thought he’d always be too busy to meet someone.”

Nudging the boy next to you, you add, “Kinda like someone else I know. I’m surprised you had time for the beach today with basketball starting so soon.”

In all honesty, he doesn’t. Heeseung should be at the court near his house right now, practicing layups. At the very least, he should be going for a run or getting some pre-season cardio in.

But you’ve been mentioning wanting to go on one last trip to the beach before the school year starts for weeks now, and Heeseung has never been good at denying you much. Well, other than access to his real feelings, that is.

Feigning a nonchalance he doesn’t feel, Heeseung shrugs. “I can take a day off every now and then.”

“Oh, really?” You arch a brow. Because I heard that a certain someone asked you to the movies last week and you said you were too busy,”

For you. Heeseung should have clarified. I can take a day off for you.

“What?” Sunghoon pipes up. “Who?”

“No one,” Heeseung grumbles.

Rolling your eyes, you lean over him, angling your face towards Sunghoon conspiratorially. “Her name rhymes with Schmarina.”

“Dude!” This time, it’s Jake who slaps him on the shoulder. “Karina asked you out and you said no? Are you stupid?”

“No,” Heeseung protests. “She didn’t even ask me out. It wasn’t like that.”

“Mhmm.” Sarcasm drips from your voice. “That’s not what Mina said.”

That absolute gossip. “RIght, because you can always trust what Mina says.”

“Sunoo confirmed it too.”

“He’s just as bad!”

“Okay, okay.” You raise your hands in mock surrender. “I’ll drop it. But if she does ever ask you out, I think you should say yes.”

Heeseung forces his features into neutrality. Tries to conceal the fact that your words feel a little bit like a thousand knives stabbing him right in the heart. Ends up looking a little bit constipated.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you admonish. “She’s really sweet.”

Heeseung’s sure she is. He just doesn’t care. Karina could be the kindest, nicest, sweetest girl on planet earth and he would still find a reason to let her down gently. But he can’t exactly tell you that, not when it would only lead to more questions that he is not ready to answer.

Instead, he just shrugs again. A non response. A hopeful end to the conversation.

Luckily, you take his silence as a sign to divert, even if Jake and Sunghoon are still sitting flabbergasted right next to the two of you.

“Speaking of basketball,” you redirect the subject. “I heard that East High’s team is supposed to be really strong this year.” They’re your high school’s biggest rival and the primary reason Heeseung spends so much of his free time on the court. They’re also the reason his coach is already giving speeches about the importance of winning this year’s opening game.

“I figured you might need a little extra luck.”

Sunghoon chokes on a laugh. “C’mon, ____. Cut him some slack. He’s not that bad at basketball.”

“What?” You frown. “No, that’s not what I meant.” Turning back to Heeseung, you clarify. “I promise it’s not. I know you’re, like, insanely good. I just…” You trail off. Heeseung is too busy trying not to explode from the compliment to notice the way your cheeks go slightly pink. “I just saw this when I was down at the water.”

Hastily, you shove your outstretched palm beneath his nose. Encased in your hand is a fully intact, unblemished, perfectly round sand dollar. “It’s supposed to be good luck to find them unbroken,” you explain. “It made me think of you. Uh, I mean, of basketball,” you’re quick to amend.

“Right,” Heeseung can barely hear you over the thrumming of his heartbeat in his ears. “For basketball.”

“For basketball,” you nod.

But when his fingers accidentally brush the skin of your palm as he accepts your good luck charm, basketball is the last thing on his mind.

And when he tucks the sand dollar into the bottom drawer of his dresser for safekeeping later that night, he finally lets the giant, unrestrained smile he’s been holding in all day take over his entire face.

…..

Heeseung’s head is spinning.

And maybe it’s the late summer heat or dregs of the too sweet wine cooler that are getting to him. But neither of those have the ability to fuck with him as much of the sight of you in a sundress does.

A sundress. A real, proper, flowy, honest to god sundress.

Heeseung doesn’t think he’s ever felt more insane in his life.

It doesn’t help that this is the first time he’s seen you in months. Going from classmates to students at different universities has been a difficult transition to say the least. But your friendship has weathered a lot, and this is no exception.

It doesn’t matter that the thoughts Heeseung is having right now are very much not friendly. He’s been dealing with those for the better part of a decade too.

But it feels different tonight.

You’re older. He’s older. The two of you have grown and changed and matured and the feelings he harbors have started to feel a little less like a crush.

And a lot more like something with far more devastating consequences.

You’ve always been pretty. The prettiest girl in the world in his eyes.

But tonight, in the fading glow of another late sunset, looking at you is almost painful.

Heeseung wishes for a lot of things. He wishes it was just the two of you here. Mostly because he can see Sunghoon and Jake making vulgar gestures in the background every time his gaze lingers on you a little too long. And that happens a lot.

He wishes that he was a better friend. That he could give you the support and undivided attention and platonic love that you deserve. That he wasn’t always keeping it guarded behind his fear of revealing too much. Of ruining the best relationship he’s even built in his nineteen years of life.

And sometimes, in his weaker moments, he wishes that he could go back to the fourth grade. He would tell Mina to give her opinion to someone that asked for it and give you that letter. He wonders if things would be different. How they would be different.

In his favorite dreams, you returned his feelings, even back then. The two of you grew up skirting that line the way teenagers do. And then, when you were ready, it turned into something real. Something honest. Something he doesn’t have to hide.

But in his moments of fear, Mina was right. Your attention was somewhere else and his note becomes nothing but an embarrassing memory. Something the two of you never overcome. Something that prevents you from forming friendship at all.

That, Heeseung decides, no matter how much he might sometimes wish thing were different, will never be worth the risk.

So he does what he always does. He keeps his feelings close to his chest and nurses another warm beer along with a wounded heart.

Across the yard, Heeseung watches you laugh at something Jay says. It’s real laugh, the kind that makes your eyes twinkle and makes his head spin.

Jay. He can’t help the way his grip tightens against the bottle in his hand. Who even invited him tonight?

It’s not like anything ever came of Mina’s prediction. As far as he knows, you’ve never so much as given Jay another Kit Kat. But the sight of the two of you together still has an ugly green monster rearing its head.

Eventually, the evening, as all evenings do, starts to draw to its inevitable end.

You catch Heeseung’s eye across the yard just as everyone is bidding their farewells. Silently, you jerk your chin, motioning him over.

Putty in your grip, Heeseung complies with no trace of resistance.

When he finally reaches you, you don’t offer much of an explanation. Instead, you just motion for him to follow you again.

“For old time’s sake,” is all you say.

But it’s not much of a hint. After all, the two of you have memories scattered across this entire city. Tucked in alleys and street corners and shops. Safekept in all of your favorite childhood destinations. Forged in Heeseung’s memory.

Finally, the two of you reach the edge of a small stretch of forest. A place the two of you used to visit whenever the rest of the world just felt like a little too much to bear. A place where you discovered the small treehouse you lead him to now.

Wordlessly, you outstretch your hand, encasing his grip in your own. Heeseung has already begun to lose remnants of his boyhood. His features are losing their youthful roundess, are sharpening into a face that unmistakably belongs to a man.

But with his hand in yours, he feels nine again. Nursing the unsteady heartbeat and sweaty palms that come with a first crush.

When the two of you finally reach the top of the ladder, you ease your way through the opening first.

You’ve nearly outgrown this place. The two of you have to hunch slightly to avoid hitting the roof with your heads.

“Remember coming here that day my cat ran away?” You’re not looking at him, gaze wandering around the space, collecting memories like souvenirs.

“Mr. Mittens,” Heeseung nods. “How could I forget?”

“I still think he’s out there somewhere. He couldn’t forgive my dad when he stopped giving him table scraps.” Your tone is light, teasing.

But the space is small and it leaves no choice but for the two of you to sit close. So close. Too close. Not nearly close enough.

Still, Heeseung does his best to maintain his composure. “Mm,” he agrees. “I’m sure he’s very happy now. Probably eating leftovers as we speak.”

The conversation drifts into silence. It’s not uncomfortable, but it is charged. Fraught with something Heeseung’s been trying to ignore for the last ten years.

“Heeseung?” Your voice is small. He feels it as much as he hears it.

“Yeah?” He doesn’t mean to sound so breathless, but he can’t help it. Not here. Not now.

“I missed you.”

For a moment, it’s all he can do to stare at you. He missed you too. So much it hurt. But it feels like he’s been missing you for years now. Missing something he’s never allowed himself to ask for.

“I mean, I knew I would.” You drop your gaze now, toying with the hem of your dress. “And I know we still texted and called a lot, but there were so many times when I just wished you were there with me, you know?”

He does. He does.

“Yeah,” Heeseung nods, jaw working. He swallows hard. His voice sounds scraped raw. “I felt the exact same.”

You meet his gaze again. Hold it for a moment. And then another. Heeseung watches as your lips part, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

For a second, he thinks you’re about to say something else. But then you shake your head. It’s a tiny movement, barely perceptible. But he sees it. He always does.

Diverting the subject, you ease some of the tension. “Do you have anything sharp?”

“Sharp?” he echoes. “I don’t think so. Why?”

Instead of explaining, you reach for a rock next to your knee. Holding it up, you grin at him. “This should work.”

Scooting closer to the interior wall of the treehouse, you begin your handiwork. After a couple of minutes, you sit back on your heels, satisfied.

“What do you think?” You turn over your shoulder to glance at him.

Heeseung thinks a lot of things. He thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful than you do in this very moment, this exact second. He thinks his heart might actually be beating loud enough for it to be audible. He thinks he’s not going to survive another semester away from you.

He thinks he might be in love.

And when his eyes settle on the wall over your shoulder, he knows he is.

Because there, in the respite of your childhood treehouse, you’ve carved both of your initials into the wood and framed them with a slightly lopsided heart.

It’s messy. It’s imperfect. It’s his favorite thing he’s ever seen. Well, he amends as his gaze slides back to you, it’s his second favorite, maybe.

“It’s perfect,” he tells you.

A handful of minutes later, when you find yourself approaching his doorstep, Heeseung notices the way you suppress a shiver against the slight chill of the gentle night time breeze. For him, it’s the most natural thing in the world to offer you a sweatshirt. Something to keep you warm while he walks you home.

You’re no stranger to the inside of his bedroom, but Heeseung’s heart still jumps regardless. It’s so intimate, the way you navigate his space like it’s your own. The way you sit down on the edge of his bed without thinking anything of it.

“Bottom drawer,” Heeseung nods towards his dresser. He rearranged while packing for his dorm. “I have a few sweatshirts in there. You can take any of them.”

Nodding, you stand from his bed, quiet footsteps tracing a path over to the dresser. But when you open the bottom drawer a moment later, it’s not a sweatshirt you hold in your hands.

“You still have this?” There’s a bit of wonder in your voice. A soft edge that Heeseung would read more into if he wasn’t suddenly panicking.

It’s the sand dollar, he realizes. The one you gave him all those years ago. A good luck charm. Stupid, how could he be so stupid to forget that he left it in that drawer too?

It’s not damning evidence of anything, not really. But it’s late and he’s tired and you’re still in that fucking dress. Logic was never going to be anything but a losing game.

“Of course,” Heeseung admits. “We won every game that season.”

You know. You were there to watch all of them.

“Heeseung?” Something in your tone has all of his attention zeroing in on you. Maybe it’s the strange stroke of timidness. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve always commanded his focus, even when you’re not trying.

“Yeah?” That breathlessness is back. Heeseung can’t find it in himself to curse it.

You’re still standing across the room from him. The sand dollar enclosed in your gentle grip. When you finally tear your gaze away from it, it’s to look Heeseung in the eye.

“Can I…?” You’re unsure. Shy. Heeseung has seen a whole lot of you, but he has no idea what to do with this.

“Can I try something?” Your teeth are worrying at your bottom lip like the words taste bitter. Like you can’t decide whether you regret them or not.

Heeseung would give you the world if you asked for it, but he knows better.

He’ll play his cards the same way he always has.

“Try what?”

You don’t answer him. Not with words, at least.

Instead, you begin to trace a steady path towards him. The sand dollar is still in your hand. Heeseung’s heart is still in his throat. The hem of your dress brushes gently against the bare expanse of your thigh, just about your knee.

You’re standing right in front of him now. There’s less than a foot of emptiness between you. Heeseung has no idea what to do with that liminal space. He can’t decide whether he should close it or widen it until his brain starts to function again.

“Is this weird?” you whisper.

It is. It is.

“No.”

“Okay,” you nod. You avert your gaze, buying time. “Good.”

He watches your chest rise with an unsteady inhale. Fall with a shaky exhale.

You bend to set the sand dollar down on the floor to the left of you.

And then your hand is on his shoulder. Gripping lightly, like you need the support.

Close. You’re so fucking close.

And with every passing heartbeat, you’re only getting closer.

Without meaning to, Heeseung is screwing his eyes shut.

Later, he’ll regret it. Not committing every possible detail to memory.

But right now, any semblance of logic is lost with the shreds of sanity he’s been dropping at your feet for the past ten years.

With the sureness of a steady thing, you ruin them all in one fell swoop.

And then your lips are on his.

It’s a gentle pressure. Light. No expectations, no demands. No promises or secrets or vows. But the hand on his shoulder is gripping harder now.

And the second Heeseung regains control of his limbs, he mirrors your action. One hand finds the notch at the bottom of your spine and the other pushes hair away from your temple.

You’re gentle, unsure. You’re afraid you’re crossing a foolish boundary, ruining a friendship you cherish.

But Heeseung has been warring with every thought that’s crossed his mind for years, and he can’t find it in himself to be patient now. There’s no hesitation when he pulls you closer. No semblance of restraint when he presses his mouth against yours more firmly, when he swallows the shallow gasp you give him and then begs for more.

Restraint is all he’s ever known but there’s nothing left of it now.

When he feels your lips part against his own, he takes it as an invitation. An opening. An offering he’s only ever been afforded in his favorite dreams.

But this is different. It’s better. You’re real. So fucking tangible and his hands can’t decide where to go next.

They make quick work of tracing your spine, your neck, your collarbone. But he’s greedy and he’s desperate and he wants his hands as full of you as his mind is.

It’s not long before fingers are slipping under the flimsy strap of your dress, forging a path that he follows with his lips.

He hears you sigh, feels the whisper of breath against his hair. And then he hears you whimper.

A long, drawn out plea that sounds all too much like “Heeseung.”

He shudders, all the way down to his toes. And then he’s pulling you backwards, flipping your positioning so that your spine is pressed against the wall of his bedroom.

One hand rests above your shoulder, the other beside your head. He sets his forehead against your own, eyes still screwed shut. His heartbeat races in time with the shallow breath in his chest.

“You have to tell me to stop.” His voice is raw, ragged. “You have to tell me to stop before I fucking lose it.”

“What if I want you to?”

He’s dead. He has to be. Caught in a purgatory of his own making, stuck between a heaven and hell perfectly curated for his ruination.

“We can’t—” You could, and that’s what makes it so impossible.

But for Heeseung, this is the culmination of a decade of repressed feelings. Of fleeting touches and lingering gazes and first crushes and the realization that he’s been carrying love with him before he knew what to call it.

He has no idea what this is for you.

“I have to know what you’re thinking.” It’s barely a whisper. His voice nearly cracks on the last syllable. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more scared in his life.

Quietly, your hand finds the base of his neck. Your fingertips trace his skin, a soothing rhythm that does little to quiet the war in his mind. But it does tether him to the moment, anchors him in the present.

You whisper, and he feels your breath against his swollen lips. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“You won’t,” he shakes his head. It’s a lie. He’s terrified.

“But what if—”

“I’m in love with you.” It was always going to be him that confessed first. It had to be. “I’ve been in love with you since we were nine years old.” It’s like a weight has been lifted off his chest, as if the world around him is a little lighter now. “You won’t scare me.”

You break the contact of your foreheads, and Heeseung misses your touch the second it’s gone. He’s grateful for the hand that still traces gentle circles on the skin of his nape.

You use the distance you’ve created to look him in the eye. Searching for any trace of dishonesty, you find nothing but a long held secret, a well-guarded truth.

“You love me?” You don’t even have to ask. You can see it in his eyes.

“More than you know.”

“Good,” you whisper, an echo from before. “Because I love you.”

When he kisses you this time, it’s softer. Gentler. The urgency in his gut is still there, but it’s been quieted a bit. Replaced with a distinct sort of fondness he does his best to communicate with touch.

Love. He spells it with every breath that spills against your own.

Love. He imbes it into every touch against bare skin.

Love. He whispers it in your ear and shudders when you do the same.

Because that sand dollar isn’t stuck in his bottom drawer anymore, hidden away from the light. It’s here, in the openness of his childhood bedroom. A truth between the two of you.

And when he picks it up again later, he sets it on top of the dresser. Where he and you and anyone else that might pass by can see it.

…..

Lee Heeseung has a secret.

It’s whispered in practice runs with Jake and Sunghoon, imagined on the nights he pulls you closer to him as he drifts off to sleep, hidden away in a small, nondescript black box in the back of his closet.

But Heeseung isn’t nine anymore. He’s not fifteen or nineteen.

He’s twenty-six, and he’s learned a thing or two about secrets.

So this time, he only holds this one for a month, only carries it with him for a handful of weeks before he divulges.

And when he does finally get you right where he wants you, back in that same too small treehouse, his secret spills easily.

Even though his voice is shaky, even though his hands tremble with overflowing nerves.

He can’t drop to one knee, not exactly. And he nearly drops the little black box when he pulls it from his coat pocket.

But the ring slides onto your left hand without a hint of resistance. And the stone flickers in dying daylight like it was meant just for you.

This time, he doesn’t hide behind a note or a sand dollar or even a kiss.

Instead, he looks you in the eye when he tells you loves you.

He smiles, a hopeful thing, when he asks you to marry him.

All the things he never said, every word he never told you, are all here, now.

Every second of torment, every moment of agony suddenly feel brand new.

But when you tell him yes, your eyes shining with unshed tears that match his own, he thinks that they just might have all been worth it.

And when you tell him, for the thousandth time, that you love him, he knows that they were.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! I am still working on sacred monsters, but I wanted to put out something cute for Heeseung's birthday and I had a big chunk of this already sitting in my drafts. I mentioned at the beginning, but this is unedited, so please forgive any little mistakes you saw.

all the love ♡

#heeseung fanfic #heeseung x reader #heeseung scenarios #heeseung imagines #heeseung fanfiction #heeseung fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x you #enhypen fanfic #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fluff #heeseung x you

836 notes · View notes

throughparisallthroughrome · 1 month ago

Text

The Sun and His Star

The Result of This Poll

Pairing: greek god!anakin x female reader

Description: Unable to resist a friendly wager, Anakin finds himself in a world of trouble as he seeks out a Naiad he has fallen deeply in love with.

Warnings: f!reader, swearing, angst, unrequited love, mentions of death, mentions of worship, alcohol, SMUT, fingering, oral sex (f recieving), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, degradation, literal pussy worship, loss of virginity, corruption kink, crying, size kink, soft dom!anakin, praise kink, orgasm denial, MDNI 18+++

Word Count: 8.5k

A/N: I have been SO excited to post this. This is also my first time writing actual smut and i'm pretty nervous about posting this! This is very loosely based of the myth of Apollo and Daphne, except that myth is pretty creepy and Daphne turns into a tree at the end of it so I wanted something a little more happy. Thank you guys for participating in my poll! I really hope you enjoy. As always, my requests and inbox are open!

masterlist.

Thwap!

Almost.

As Anakin's fingers trace the intricate details of his golden bow, his focused eyes never leave the target, anticipating a shot that he thinks to be perfect. Squinting his eyes, he tilted his head to the side, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong. His mind ran through different calculations at a million miles a minute. Perks of being a God, I suppose.

He shook his head in frustration, allowing the bow to slip from his hand and rest beside his belongings as he sought reassurance from the comforting embrace of the ancient fig tree. Although he had the entirety of Olympus to practice, Anakin always chose the hills and forests of Macedonia, knowing the only thing he could possibly run into was a bear. And running into bears was fun for the Sun God, as archery usually is. How is the God of archery missing his shots? Anakin was lost, although he’d never admit it.

His slender fingers traced the grass, memorizing each blade's touch as he became increasingly fascinated with the Greek world. He brushed back his chestnut locks with his free hand, letting his eyes close as he breathed in the mortal air surrounding him. Greece was better than Olympus; it was his missing piece.

Things hadn’t been the same lately. Worshippers had died down at Delphi, and his typical “appear in their dreams nightmare route” wasn’t going so smoothly either. And now he’s struggling to make a shot? Could he even call himself a God, much less his father’s favorite?

Annoyed with his thoughts, Anakin summoned a fig to his hand, biting deeply into it- just for the taste. He chewed slowly, letting the juices run from his lips, down his chin, and onto his golden armor. And that was another amazing thing the Greek world had- fucking figs.

“Why so down, my friend?” Anakin’s eyes shot open out of his trance to meet his favorite rival, Obi-Wan Kenobi, God of Passion. Anakin’s fingers swiftly moved the arrow off the target behind him, not wanting Kenobi to catch his failure.

“How did you find me?” He stood up abruptly, dropping the fig onto the grass he was tracing before. His fists balled at his sides. Typically, they got along pretty okay, but with Anakin’s meandering mind, he was the last God he needed to see.

“Oh, you know, I just followed the foul stench of arrogance and failure into the Greek world. By the way, how would Zeus react if you were practicing down here, hm? Letting your talents go to waste, and possibly seen by mortals, not to mention-”

“Alright, Obi-Wan, I get it. You’ve made your point. What do you want?” Anakin watches as Obi-Wan’s smile grows before him, and a sinking feeling fills his chest.

“You don’t need to hide your failure from me, Anakin.” Obi-Wan lips turn into a smirk, watching as Anakin’s temper began to get the best of him once again.

“Obi-Wan, I’d be careful. I am Anakin, God of the sun, The All-father’s first-born son, and I will kick your ass all the way back to Olympus any fucking day. Try me. If I were you, I’d choose your next words carefully.” Anakin towers over Obi-Wan, his remarks laced with venom as he observes the smile grow on the God before him.

“I heard your worshippers are waning at Delphi. And now you’re missing your shots… Gods, Anakin, are you no longer Zeus’s favorite? What is going on with you?”

With Obi-Wan suggesting Anakin’s worst nightmare, Anakin had him up against the fig tree in seconds, his hands pulling up at his toga as rage coursed through his golden blood. His eyes searched Kenobi’s, watching the amusement dance within them. What was his game? What could he possibly want?

“Watch your fucking mouth, Kenobi. I’ll send your ass right down to Hades, and Zeus will not come to your aid again. There’s a reason I’m more powerful than you. What the fuck do you need love for when you can be God of the Sun? Zeus’s favored son? Huh? There’s a fucking reason I am celebrated more than you are. I don’t see your temples taking over the Greek world. I don’t see you massively worshipped-”

“Oh please, Anakin, they worship Ahsoka as much as they worship you. She’s your twin sister and equally on par with you despite being a goddess.” Anakin pulls a fist back and sends it flying into Kenobi’s jaw, watching as his golden blood pours from his nose and down his chin. Anakin grinned.

“Fucking watch it. That was the last comment you’re going to be making in a long, long time.” As Anakin pulls back his fist, Obi-Wan’s hands go up in defeat, signaling the white flag Anakin is looking for.

“How do you feel about a little wager?” He whispers, a hint of fear present in his voice as he watches Anakin’s golden eyes narrow at his proposition.

“And why the fuck would I do that, Kenobi, when sending you to Hades is just as easy?”

“Because I know you can’t resist a chance to prove yourself to be better than me.”

“Okay,” Anakin loosens his grip on Kenobi, letting him fall against the fig tree as he backs up and crosses his arms, “And what would this wager consist of? And make it quick- before I change my mind and punish you regardless.”

“Best of 3 shots. If you win, you can punish me as you deem necessary. If I win, well, how about we keep your punishment a surprise?” Obi-Wan pushes himself off the tree, summoning his bow and arrow in his hands as Anakin bites his lip skeptically.

“That’s too- No- what’s the catch?”

“If I win, you have to fall in love- no exceptions.”

“That’s it? Deal. This is too fucking easy.” Anakin shakes his head, picking up his golden bow and tracing the olive branch details on the upper limb.

“May Zeus be on your side, Anakin.” Kenobi holds out his hand for Anakin to shake, sealing their wager.

Anakin takes his hand, his grip firm, letting the eyes of his father, high up in Olympus, confirm the bet.

“You first, Obi-Wan.” Anakin chuckles, picking up an arrow and sharpening the end of it while Obi-Wan takes his stance in front of the tree, his shoulders relaxed, and eyes focused on the target in front of him.

Instant bullseye. Lucky shot.

Anakin says nothing, instead taking his place and shooting without hesitation.

Another instant bullseye. This was going to be closer than he thought.

Anakin’s eyes squint as he watches Kenobi make another bullseye. It’s now 2-1. Since when did Kenobi get so good at archery? Anakin shoots another bullseye, but it’s close, too close. He watches as Kenobi’s brows furrow slightly, his frustration growing alongside Anakin’s arrogance. Did he really think the God of archery would lose a challenge as simple as this?

Obi-Wan shoots his final shot.

Instant Bullseye. Fuck.

He turns around, placing his bow on his back and grinning at the angry God before him.

“May Zeus be on your side, old friend.” He repeats that phrase, eager to remind Anakin what was at stake. As he approaches Anakin to shake his hand, he grins as Anakin dodges it and steps up to the mark.

“Save it, Kenobi. I’m too excited to hear what Hades will do with you after this.”

As Anakin grips his bow, his hands are filled with sudden apprehension. He missed the shot just before Kenobi got here, and his last two were practically just luck, and- Actually, what the fuck is he even on about? He’s the God of archery, for fucks sake. Some measly love God wasn’t going to take this easy victory from him. No way. Anakin pulled an arrow from the sling on his back, letting it sit comfortably between his fingers as he lined up his shot. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let his fingers do the work.

And with one swift motion of Obi-Wan’s wrist from behind him, Anakin tripped over a rock.

Miss.

“Wha- I- How? What the fuck did you do?” Anakin turned around, storming over to Kenobi who had his hands innocently raised in the air as he backed away from the angry God once again.

“I did nothing, Anakin. You lost, plain and simple.” Before Anakin had time to react, Obi-Wan’s bow was out again, this time with a red-tipped arrow.

The arrow slipped between Kenobi’s fingers, flying across the grass and into Anakin’s shoulder. He gasped, not in pain, but at the audacity of the God before him.

“Kenobi, this better not be one of your special arrows, or I swear to Zeus-” He grips the arrows, pulling it out of his skin, letting his golden blood drip onto his armor.

“Her name is Y/N. You can find her along the River Lamos. Good luck, old friend.”

And with that, he was gone.

—------------------------------

“Padme! These fucking mortals are pissing in the water again! I mean, how do they even find us out here? This is the furthest north they’ve gone in quite some time.” You let your knees hit the grass, running your fingers through the stream to purify the waters.

Sometimes, you quite hated being a Naiad. It had the perks of a goddess, but not quite the status. And Zeus forbid you ever tried to compare yourselves to a Goddess…

“Y/N, honey, have you ever tried to talk to a mortal? They aren’t the brightest. It’s not their fault Zeus made them that way.” Padme emerges from the waterfall behind you, offering her condolences as she places her hand on your shoulder.

“Maybe we should pray to Ahsoka and have her punish them.”

“Y/N! Don’t be harsh.” Padme’s jaw drops in fake shock, rolling her eyes as she joins you along the riverbed. “Besides, I heard Dionysis is throwing another rager tonight. Let’s focus on that.”

“Yeah, sure,” you mumble, picking up a rock and skipping across the water, avoiding the lilies that littered the surrounding stream.

Padme had always grounded you. You’d probably be lost without her. When you escaped your father as a child, Padme stuck by you in your request for freedom. Your new life, though promising, never quite managed to fill the void that had been there all along. As a Naiad, you felt the weight of responsibility for the ancient world, but the path laid before you was far from what you imagined. Your life was filled with adoration from cult leaders, lavish ceremonies, and the occasional taste of royalty on Mount Olympus - but an emptiness lingered within you. Something that trivial worship and sacrifice wouldn’t fulfill.

“Padme,” you pulled your hand from the water, picking a dandelion next to you and observing it. “Do you ever think about what our life would have been like if we never left Father?” She sighs.

“Y/N, if you’re questioning our decision, let me assure you, we made the right choice. To disobey the calling of such passion… well, I’d rather not debate it. Have honor in what we do, Y/N. We are irreplaceable.” Padme smiles gently at you, the sun bouncing off her chocolate eyes in a particularly irresistible way.

A forced grin stretched across your face, a desperate attempt to conceal your disdain for her reply. Padme had a knack for finding the silver lining - always seeing the good in people and situations, even when things seemed bleak. But it didn’t make the feeling disappear from within you. Every day was the same. The same taking care of the rivers and the forests. The same cults and sacrifices and worships and prayers and celebrations. You tried to convince yourself otherwise, but the truth was undeniable: you felt utterly lonely. You had Padme, but she was your sister, and she was supposed to be there. But as much as it ached you to say… You wanted a lover.

As a devotee of Ahsoka, the Goddess of the Hunt, you pledged your loyalty to her with a sacred vow. To remain pure. Sure, it was silly and not very feminist-positive of Ahsoka, but she was an Olympian. The Olympians were traditional in their ways. And that was something you had to deal with. Or workaround. Ahsoka was stubborn, much like her younger twin brother Anakin, but even though she was a woman, she was treated with the utmost respect and equality. You found yourself constantly drawn to her, admiring her strength and resilience. Every opportunity you had, you would go to her temples, offering your devotion and respect with each visit.

Snap.

Your heads snapped around in unison, your hearts pounding, as you braced for the appearance of an unfortunate mortal who had unknowingly interrupted you. However, standing behind you, bathed in the golden light of the morning sun, was none other than the Sun God himself, Anakin.

“Anakin! Your majesty, to what honor do we have to be graced with your presence?” Padme’s words were honey to your ears, and she quickly pulled you down into a curtesy next to you.

“I came for a Naiad by the name of Y/N.” Your heart dropped. Fuck. “I wish to seek her hand.” Padme turned to you, her eyes wide along with your slacked jaw. What the fuck was happening?

The first thing you noticed was his smile. A self-satisfied smirk stretched across his face, the kind that made his whole body seem to radiate arrogance. Sure, he was attractive; he was an Olympian, after all, but there was something about him you couldn’t stand. There was no mistaking the pretentiousness. You had pictured him with golden hair, but his hair was a surprising chestnut brown, the curls soft and unruly, framing his face like a halo of warm sunlight. The intricate details of his armor were impressive, reminding you of his sister’s. And when your eyes met his, you saw that same hollow emptiness in his gaze, reflecting the void you carried within. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Hopefully, he wouldn’t ruin it by opening his mouth.

“Go!” Padme whisper-shouted next to you, pushing you forward.

“Your majesty,” You cringed at your words.

“Anakin.” He mused, his smirk growing as his eyes lingered on your form. Your wet dress suddenly felt a lot wetter tighter.

“Anakin,” You faked a smile, purely out of fear of what you’d do next. “As much as I am flattered by your offer, I made a sacred vow to your sister that I plan to uphold. I do apologize. I am honored to be considered by you.” He nodded slowly, his smile widening and his eyes holding something mischievous within them.

“You know, Nymph,”

“Naiad- I mean, Y/N.” You stuttered. Padme’s eyes widen as she stomps your foot to shut you up.

“Y/N,” he winks and leans closer, his breath hot on your cold, wet cheek as his mouth is centimeters from your ear. “Normally, I would take what is mine. But you are lucky to be in favor with my sister, and that I love a good challenge. We will see just how much longer you will remain pure, my muse. You are the most beautiful creature I’ve had the privilege of laying my immortal eyes on, and I plan to have you.”

You freeze. A challenge? Who the hell did he think he was?

But before you had time to say anything else stupid, he was gone.

“Are you fucking CRAZY?” Padme grabs you, shaking your body, “You just rejected THE Anakin. Ahsoka’s brother. That’s, like, probably, the only pass you’d ever get not to remain pure. You should have taken it! And Y/N, you cannot speak to him like that! You’re lucky he didn’t just take you with him as prisoner or send you to Hades-”

“Padme! Come on, you heard him. He likes a challenge. It’s obvious that this is far from over.” You trailed off, your mind uneasy at the thought.

Realistically, you had to weigh the pros and cons.

Pros: He was hot. It would give you a higher status. You could have a family. You could be closer with Ahsoka. It would fill the void within you. He could possibly be a good person, maybe even a good lover. He could be the best sex you’d ever had.

Cons: It was Anakin. He’s arrogant and everything you could dislike in a lover. He could potentially ruin your relationship with Ahsoka and create an eternal enemy that would end your life as you know it. He could ruin your life. He could be the best sex you’d ever had.

Fuckkkkkkkkk.

Week after week, Anakin shows unwavering resolve in his pursuits.

The first week, he’d occasionally drop by, leaving nothing but wine and flowers and his sweet, sweet words.

“I’d do anything to make you mine, Y/N. Just one chance.”

“Please, you’re the love of my immortal life. I want nothing but to spend the rest of eternity with you.”

“I can’t get enough of watching you. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“Let me be yours, please. I’m so in love with you. It’s killing me.”

Eventually, you began to play along. You loved how his eyes would light up when you gave him hope, but the return of his arrogant smile when you turned him down again made you roll your eyes.

The admission, though loathsome, was undeniable: you were falling for him. You gotta give it to him- consistency was key. But did the cons outweigh the pros? The situation was tricky, and not ideal. If only he were a dumb mortal and not Zeus’s favorite son. And not the brother of a God you’ve spent your entire life worshipping and having a precious oath, too. If only.

The second week saw the gifts become more intense, each one a thrilling surprise. He brought you a beautiful cat, along with some flowers from Olympus to plant near the river. The gesture was sweet, the cat was cute, and the flowers were divine, literally. Although you were tempted, you held your ground, and your answer was a firm, unwavering no.

Anakin's patience was wearing thin by week three, his annoyance growing with each passing day. He thought he had given you everything you could have desired as a river nymph, showering you with gifts that would make any naiad happy. As someone he hoped to share his life with, he offered his heart and devotion. Even though he tried, you were still refusing his advances. He didn’t take you as one for material goods, but who was he to judge? So, he began leaving you jewelry that was unlike anything you'd ever seen, intricate pieces that captured the essence of nature and water in every detail. And, of course, they were all gold. The necklace he had given you was his favorite, a simple gold sun pendant suspended on a chain, worn close to your heart.

“Do you like it, my love?” Anakin held the necklace in your hands, watching your smile grow beneath him.

“Anakin- I- It’s beautiful. I love it. I’ve never owned anything quite like this before.” You smiled up at him, the sunlight reflecting in your eyes in such a way that he’d drown if he looked for too long.

“Would you like me to put it on you?” He whispered, his eyes trailing from your own down to your lips.

“Yes,” You whispered back, allowing him to turn you around and move your hair.

His fingers moved slowly across the back of your neck, their light touch sending shivers down your arms. He pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your neck, and much to your own surprise, you let out a soft moan against his touch. His presence behind you was heavy with insolence, and even though you couldn't see him, you could practically feel his smug grin on the back of your head. He laid the necklace against your chest, and you instinctively reached your hand up to touch it, only to be met with his own as he pulled you closer.

“Y/N,” He groaned softly, resting his forehead upon your shoulder, “Please. I’m in agony.” You hummed against him, leaning back onto his chest as the sunlight washed over your wet skin.

“Ani, I can’t. You know this, baby.” You turned around to face him, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for the necklace- I really love it. You’ve been so kind to me.”

He smiled back at you and was gone once again.

During week four, his presence dwindled. He came only a couple of days, mostly just to bring you offerings. This time, he started leaving little love notes instead of his usual visits you had become accustomed to.

My muse,

Every day I do not spend with you is tortuous. You are everything to me. You are the air I breathe, the Sun I worship, the light bringer of my life. I did not know love could be so powerful, so intoxicating, just like you. To me, you are love. You are the physical representation of everything I have ever wanted from this life. I’d give it all up for you. Olympus doesn’t matter if it means I could have you. And if it’s my sister you are worried about, I would have it handled. I would keep you safe and spend the rest of eternity loving you, worshipping you, and making you happy and fulfilled. Please just give me a chance, darling; that is all I ask. I feel ashamed for not coming to see you in person, but I couldn’t bear to look at you. It has only brought me pain and suffering as of late. I know it is not your fault, but you are all I want. I’m not giving up on you yet, but I feel as if maybe some distance would help you. Perhaps I’ve come on too strongly. Too confident. And if it means changing who I am to have you, consider it done.

With love for eternity,

Your Anakin.

As you held the letter in your hands, you barely noticed how your hands shook, and your body trembled. You didn’t see how you instinctively brought the letter to your heart, holding it close as stray tears cascaded down your face. And you certainly didn’t notice Padme’s presence; her soft touch was comforting on your arm as she appeared behind you.

“Honey, you should give him a chance. He’s really trying. I don’t know what that letter says, but for it to evoke that reaction from you, it must be genuine. Unless he plans to kill me or our father, then maybe not so-”

The hug you gave her was warm and tight, a genuine embrace she hadn't felt from you in years. She held you close, the heat from the sun radiating off of the both of you and sending you into more of a frenzy than ever. Even though you couldn't see him, you knew Anakin was watching, and the feeling of his intensity was a constant presence. You felt a strange indifference, a lack of concern that surprised even you. But you just wanted to feel.

By week five, Anakin had stopped appearing altogether, but his presence was still there. Maybe it was when you healed the water, or took care of the plants, or gave an offering to Ahsoka, but it always felt like he was standing right there next to you, offering a helpful hand in your tasks. It seemed that he was beginning to fill that void inside of you. And as much as you desperately wanted that, now that you were so close to having it, the idea terrified you.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” You quietly asked as Padme lit a candle, preparing for another ritual.

“Would you grab the wine and pour the libation, Y/N? I’m afraid we must move on with this for right now.” She smiled gently, attempting to lighten your mood. It didn’t work. The last thing you wanted to do was worship his sister.

As much as you hated it, you did as you were told. You headed further into the cave you and Padme made into the oasis you called home. As you turned the corner into your private quarters, you noticed the wine stacked by your “bed.”

As you and Padme ventured out and stumbled upon your own Oasis, you both set out to personalize it, infusing it with your own unique touch, making it a place you could truly call your own. The cave behind the waterfall was a breathtaking sight - lush green plants carpeted the floor around the river, colorful creatures flitted through the air, and the soft glow of candles danced off the shimmering crystals. The river ran through the cave, a constant source of fresh water, offering a home for you and your sister amidst the silent stone. It was everything you had ever dreamed of. But, as sisters, you both still needed your privacy, so it was made sure that you both had your own private sectors of the cave. Your quarters were filled with treasures you collected from the forest - musical instruments, shiny jewelry, beautiful dresses, furniture in both perfect and broken states, and writing tools. You even brought back random knick-knacks that you saw potential in. One mortal's trash is another Naiad’s treasure.

The sight of the wine on the stool made your stomach churn, as you thought about the God who had given it to you. Would it be weird to worship Ahsoka with the wine her brother declared his love to you over? Probably. You weren’t willing to risk it. Your fingers danced across the cool glass of the bottle, remembering the warmth of his hands as he placed it in yours. Honestly, what was wrong with you? This was wrong. You knew that. You couldn’t possibly love Anakin. And he couldn’t possibly love you. Anakin could have any woman, goddess, nymph, and mortal alike, so why would he choose you out of everyone?

Against all odds, he did. And he kept doing it. His absence had sparked a flicker of doubt within you. And as hard as it was to admit, you missed him.

—----------------------

“Obi-Wan, I cannot do this any longer. She doesn’t love me. Please, take my misery away from me.”

Anakin wasn’t himself. Obi-Wan could see that. Even though it seemed impossible for an immortal being to have bags under his eyes, Anakin somehow managed it. He looked rough. He looked sad. And Obi-Wan genuinely felt for him.

“Tell me more,” Obi-Wan leans back against his chair, stroking his beard as he watched the God fall apart in front of him.

“It seems that nothing has worked. I’ve tried to win her over with lavish gifts, these grand gestures of love. I’ve written her letters, given her space, and told her how I felt- how much I loved her. It-It’s not enough. She doesn’t want me. In all of my years as a God, I have finally found a worthy opponent. And this is a battle I will not win. It is a battle I will never win. I have finally been defeated. Y/N has taken my heart, and I will let her do it a thousand times more for the eternity that we live. My heart belongs to her and her only. She has filled a void within me that I never thought would disappear.” Anakin sits down in the chair beside Obi-Wan, throwing his head into his hands. He lifts his head up to look at the man beside him, and Obi-Wan instantly freezes.

Anakin was crying. The Anakin. Was. Crying. He had never been so deeply affected by anyone before, and the weight of his newfound emotions pressed down on him heavily. Obi-Wan felt a pang of guilt, realizing that his attempt to teach Anakin a lesson had inadvertently caused him immense pain.

But Anakin passed Obi-Wan’s test with flying colors. The deal was that you couldn’t truly fall for Anakin until he finally let go of his pride and broke down the defenses he'd spent years erecting. Only once you have allowed him to be vulnerable and show his authentic self, could you begin to love him back. To see him for what he truly was, yes, he was a god, but he was still a man. A man who had fallen deeply in love with you. A man who was heartbroken, and finally admitted defeat. He had met his match.

“I think you should visit her one last time, Anakin. Maybe say your goodbyes. I’m very sorry I put you through this, old friend.” Obi-Wan flashed him a small smile, earning a nod in response.

“Actually, no need to apologize. You’ve taught me a valuable lesson. For years, I thought that I could never be beaten, and that I was better than anyone, and now I see that even I have challenges I cannot overcome. I have been arrogant. Selfish. And I am truly sorry. Now that I have felt true pain, I cannot imagine the suffering I have caused. I will visit her one last time. She needs to know how she has changed me.”

—-------------------------

The pre-dawn darkness had settled in when Padme left for the meeting on Mount Olympus, the air heavy with anticipation and the rustle of the wind through the trees. What it concerned, you had no idea. But she was always into politics like that, and you respected her for it. She was driven, and despite only being a Naiad, she made sure that her voice was heard and that she spoke for those around her.

You sat along the riverbed, the gentle sound of the water rippling over stones a constant companion, watching as the morning sun rising reflected off of the water and the lilies that lined your stream. The Greek world was so beautiful, and you were so glad that you were able to experience it. You watched the frogs, green and plump, hop from pad to pad, their croaks blending with the splash of the fish swimming in synchronized schools, their scales glinting like silver coins. It was peaceful, and you were thankful for it.

Before you could think about him, you felt him.

“Anakin,” You whispered, feeling his presence behind you. Your eyes began to feel heavy, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I am here to say goodbye, my love.” He mumbled from behind you, not daring to move an inch.

“Would you sit with me?” you mumbled, keeping your gaze on the lilies, scared to show your solemn face. He slowly sat next to you, with more space between you than you would have liked.

‘I’m sor-”

“Anakin, I have fallen for you. You have won me over. But, I must admit, I am apprehensive because my loyalty lies with your sister, and I do not want my life to be ruined. I’ve heard too many stories of nymphs falling for a God and being destroyed in the process. I cannot give up my life up like that, and I will not. So, if you truly love me as you say, I need to to swear to me and your father that you will love me and only me for eternity, that you will never abandon me, and that you will give me the family and life that I deserve.” You finally turn your head to face him, your eyes welled with tears as he gazed upon your face, memorizing your features.

“Y/N, I swear upon every God, Goddess, Nymph, Demi-God, and whatever else out there that I will love you for eternity. That you will always have me. And I will continue to show my love, be there for you, and treat you as you deserve. You are priceless and my life as a God means nothing without you.”

You didn’t give him a response, no, he finally deserved a kiss. The one he had been waiting so patiently for.

You pressed your lips fervently against his, eagerly exploring his mouth with your tongue, while your hands became entwined in his hair. Letting out a gentle moan, he deepened the kiss, reveling in the sensation that he never wanted to end. He tasted like figs, sweet and savory, a flavor you could taste for eternity. His tongue eagerly explored yours, a silent struggle for control as he sought to please you. His hand grazed your cheek, holding you against him as if you were a second away from disappearing.

His touch traveled down your neck, finally arriving at your damp, clothed chest, where he tenderly held your breasts, his thumb moving in circular motions on your nipple. Now, it was your turn to moan.

“Baby,” He broke the kiss, holding your forehead against his as you both attempted to catch your breath. You were apprehensive. You had never done this before, and Anakin was intimidating. “Hey, look at me. It’s just me. Let me take care of you- make you feel good. Does that sound okay?”

You looked up to meet his blue eyes, his blown pupils staring into your soul, overflowing with adoration. You nodded slowly in response, a small smile gracing your lips.

“Can I hear you say it, darling?” He whispered against your lips as he peppered small kisses on your cheek and down your chin, reaching your neck. His kisses seared your skin like the sun, feeling warm and holy.

“Anakin, I need you to make me feel good. Please.” You whimpered under his touch, the warmth in between your legs growing wetter by the second. The desperation gnawed at you, a constant hunger that wouldn't be satisfied. You needed Anakin to take what was his- immediately.

He falls on top of you, his weight a welcome force as you pull him down. His kisses rain down on your neck, hot and needy, while his fingers trace the curves of your body, each touch a possessive claim. He presses himself into you ever so slightly, and you moan at the sensation between your legs.

His hand finds its way down your hips, inching closer and closer towards where you really needed it. With a mischievous grin, he carefully pulls up your wet lace dress before planting another sloppy, wet kiss on your lips. Your hands tighten on his shoulders, your breath hitching in your throat as his fingers slowly dance up your legs. His hand snakes up your thighs, rubbing them and pinching them as he continues to control your kiss, his tongue deliberate and delicate against yours. His hand slips under your top and then under the neckline of your dress, teasingly massaging your breasts and nipples. It was an overwhelming feeling, and his bulge growing between your legs didn’t help at all.

Anakin pauses, and you sense a shift in the air, a prickling sensation that raises goosebumps on your arms. You’d never been this close to anyone before. You’ve never let someone touch you in a spot so sacred, so holy. Letting Anakin feel this part of you, touch every inch of your body, it was a new ritual on its own. One you weren’t familiar with. But as a Naiad, you had a duty to uphold. You needed to worship.

‘Do you trust me?” He whispers against your lips, pulling you out of your moment of ecstasy.

“Yes.”

“I will take such good care of you. I’m going to make you feel so good, my love. It may hurt at first, but I need you to trust me. Do you want me to touch you, angel?” You nodded in response, letting out a giggle and soft smile at his sweet words.

“Of course, Ani. Please.” You practically whimpered, watching as his smile grew into the familiar, arrogant one you had met all those weeks ago.

Anakin's hand slowly moves up to your throbbing clit, his fingers gently exploring your wetness, teasing a response from you. He had you completely under his control. It was a foreign feeling, the way he touched you, and yet all you could do was subconsciously push yourself against his fingers, begging for more. Anakin was eager to memorize you. The things that made you feel good, made you squirm, made you moan, and most importantly- made you cum.

“Such a needy thing, aren’t you? Just needed me to take care of you so bad. Needed me to take away that innocence and purity you held above my head for weeks.”

Before you could respond, his thumb aggressively pressed into your clit, rubbing soft circles that evoked noises from you that you didn’t know were possible. You push yourself into him further, laying your head upon his shoulder as you sit upright, suddenly overwhelmed by the pleasure he is giving you. A new fluttering sensation found itself below your stomach, feeling hotter and hotter by the second. The pressure keeps building, as Anakin picks up the pace, watching you with determined, golden eyes. You clutch his arm tighter, squeezing your eyes shut and letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Ani- I-” You barely gasped out, the knot in your stomach tightening as you were getting closer and closer to coming undone. As he worked his thumb against your clit faster, he felt the way you grew wetter underneath his touch, the way your hips bucked against him, and the way your legs shook underneath him. He let it go straight to his ego and dick.

“Yeah, angel? You like that? You gonna cum for me now?” He smirks.

“Anakin, I-” Before you knew it, he pushed two fingers inside of you and curled them up against that sweet spot where you didn’t know you needed it most, sending you over the edge. You feel every inch of his fingers against your walls, feeling so stuffed to the brim you burst. Your body convulses beneath him, and his moans mix with yours, both overwhelmed by the intensity of your orgasm.

“That’s perfect, just like that baby. You’re doing so good, can’t wait until it’s my cock inside you, making you cum and moan like that. Look at how perfect you are. So fucking beautiful.” He mumbles into your ear as he continues to work his fingers faster through your orgasm, practically torturing you with his touch.

You called his name like a prayer, worshiping him as you would any other God. He gave you more than they ever could, and you couldn’t help but moan his name into a new hymn you’d gladly sing over and over again. When you finally come down, he removes his fingers and licks them slowly in front of you, showing how much he truly worships you.

“Fuck, I need to get a taste.” He aggressively pushes your body down against the grass, lifting your dress and pulling your hips against his face.

He licks a long stripe up the side of your thigh, relishing in how loud it’s already making you moan. You feel him smirk against you once again as he places a sloppy, wet kiss against your folds. He licks a stripe down your center, and you instantly get goosebumps as you whimper and whine underneath him. Anakin doesn’t care, no, Anakin wants to make sure you savor every touch, lick, and kiss he has to offer. He flicks his tongue against your clit, slow and deliberately, wanting to feel your reaction against his tongue. Once again, you only grew wetter and he only grew more famished. He finally starts at an increasingly slow pace as he laps against your folds, not giving it to you where you really need it.

To Anakin, licking your clit was the nourishment he didn’t realize he missed. He had never truly been satisfied until his tongue was in between your legs, slowly savoring every fold and taste, never wanting to leave.

“A-Ani, please, I-I need it!” He pauses.

“You don’t know what you need, Angel.” He finally picks up the pace, lapping at your clit at an unrelentless pace, feeling you squirm underneath him. It was overwhelming, and you were bound to cum again any second with the way he was abusing your poor, poor pussy. Finally, the warmth returned, increasing the tension that had been building, and the knot felt like it might unravel any minute. You feel yourself on the edge; just a couple more flicks of his tongue and-

Anakin pulls away, coming over from under you with a wet mouth and nose, a sweet smile spread across his face as he pulls you against his lips.

“You taste so good, yeah? You taste that? Fucking incredible. I could drink you all fucking day.” He mumbles as he continues to hungrily kiss you, his hands holding you down as if you’d escape from him at any second.

As he lifts you upright, his arms effortlessly strip off your dress, leaving you completely exposed. His eyes danced across your skin, tracing every curve and line, drawn to the intoxicating glow your body had in his sunlight. He unconsciously started taking his own clothes off, his eyes never leaving your panting, wet figure beneath him.

As soon as his cock sprung out, you felt your breath catch in your throat. He was fucking huge. His cock was long, thick, and veiny, a beautiful pink color that would fill you up so good. He stroked it in his hands slowly, and your eyes finally made their way back to his, your mouth slightly agape in shock. He smiled at you sweetly, his hand never leaving his cock as he started to stroke a little faster, letting out a small moan as his eyes gazed upon your beautiful naked body on the riverbed.

“Come here beautiful, no need to be afraid. I’ll take such good care of you.” Anakin pulls you closer to him, positioning himself between your legs. He slaps the tip of his cock against your folds a couple of times, and you feel the heat rising to your cheeks. “This part is going to hurt a little bit, okay? I promise I will never ever hurt you, but this will sting. If you need me to stop, tell me. We can take this as slow as you want. Ready, Angel?”

You divert your attention from his cock outlining you to his eyes and his soft, sweet smile. It’s no wonder that you fell in love with him, truly. He was the better of the Gods, but it was so, so easy to fit him in with the rest. Were you worried he was going to taint you and then leave? Absolutely. Did you want to change anything about the moment?

“Yes, I’m ready. I’m nervous, but-“ You take a second to cup his cheek, letting yourself smile underneath him, “I trust you, Anakin.”

With your approval, Anakin slowly pushed his thick tip into your small, virgin pussy. He groaned at the contact, watching as you let out a painful, pleasurable moan from the feeling. He filled you so entirely, so completely, that the emptiness inside you vanished, replaced by a sense of wholeness you never thought possible. He grinned at the way his cock bulged from inside you, knowing that he was going to split you in half and make you scream his name again. He could never get enough of the way his name rolled off your tongue, the way you lingered on each syllable, your back arched in pleasure as you called out for him.

“H-How are we doing down there?” He barely groans out, tracing your cheek with his finger, “Fuck, I can barely contain myself right now.”

“I-I’m okay. It stings, but I want you to keep going- I need you to keep going.” You pull yourself up slightly, putting your hands around his shoulders and pulling him further into you. He was so deep, so intoxicating as he filled you up. You kiss him, burying your tongue down his throat to silence your painful moans. It hurt so bad, but you couldn’t get enough of him. You needed more.

“Fuck, Y/N, that was so fucking hot. Can I fuck you? Please? You feel too good.”

You could barely manage a whispered "yes" before Anakin thrust himself into you with full force, slamming his cock into your cervix. You let out a loud scream, never feeling so full and overwhelmed at the same time. With his free hand, he brought his thumb back down and massaged your clit in small, rhythmic circles, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

He made sure to keep checking on you as he fucked you relentlessly, watching how your head bobbed and your eyes rolled as you took him so good. You had heard stories about how “God sex” was another level, but you didn’t think it’d be this fucking good.

As he felt you grip around him tighter, he slowed down, suddenly wanting to take his time more than he had before. His eyes softened at the sight of you. Your cheeks flushed and tear-stained, your entire body wet and glistening under his sun, his own saliva dripping down your chin as you let out soft moans from his slow thrusts. You were mesmerizing, you deserved to be worshipped. And that’s exactly what he was going to do.

“I want us to cum at the exact same time, okay? Solidify our bond together. I want us to reach that point together. You let me know exactly when you are going to cum.” He whispered against your lips, pumping his thick cock and holding back a groan.

The slowness of his movement was torturous, his brows furrowing as he watched you below him, each agonizing inch he pushed into you taking what felt like an eternity. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but he had a way of making you feel like the most incredible fucking thing in all of the Greek world. You look down and watch as his thick cock slowly pushes himself into you, memorizing his every vein and freckle. He continues to impale you over and over again, groaning and moaning your name like his own prayer. The squelching of your wetness and the way he moved his hips was making that pressure return from before, except it was seeking a vengeance this time.

Anakin picks up the pace as your cries grow louder, watching your body language and responding the best way he could. He played with your tits as they bounced from the forcefulness of his cock against your cervix. The knot in your stomach returned, the pressure building more and more- eager to explode.

And as you felt your orgasm coming on, your hips bucking up against his, your cries and moans increasing, you finally opened your eyes and looked at the God above you. The sun highlighted his face like it was made for him, his hair and eyes golden under the light. His collarbone and abs shimmered, a mixture of sweat and juices making him glisten above you. He really was a god, a beautiful and misunderstood creature who wanted nothing more than to love and be loved. And in that moment, you’d give it to him.

“A-Anakin, I’m gonna- I-“

“That’s right, baby, I’m close too, push me over the edge, yeah? Make me fill you up so good and full with my Godly cum. You can do this, baby, please-“ He cut himself off with a groan, feeling your walls squeezing tighter against him, your body, golden from his sun, trembling underneath him.

“Ani- I- Fuck- I-I love you!”

As soon as the words left your mouth, the band snapped and your walls were pulsating around him. Your moans were loud, your back arched into him as you heard him curse and groan from atop you, his cock cumming deep inside you, making you his, and making him yours. He memorized the tears as they streamed down your cheek from your orgasm, your eyes squeezed shut as you were filled to the brim with pure ecstasy.

Anakin pulled out, collapsing on the grass next to you as you both attempted to catch your breath.

“Y/N, y-your- that- that was the most fucking incredible experience I have ever had.” He barely breathed out, still coming down from the orgasm you gave him.

As you caught your breath, you rolled onto your side to look at him once again, the beauty of the sun god as he lay by your river.

“You aren’t leaving now, are you?” You whisper, your eyes solemn as you trace your initials on his chest.

“Never, baby. You’re stuck with me for eternity.” Anakin beamed at you, pushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear before he pulled you on top of him into another deep kiss.

“Wait, Ani-“ You pulled away, noticing eyes were etched with concern and you let out a little giggle, “I have something I wanted to give you. Since you’ve given me all of those gifts before and- well- I meant to give it to you earlier but we got so caught up in things.” You blush under his gaze, your nerves catching up to you as you thought about your gift.

“Angel, you didn’t have to do that. But I promise I will cherish whatever you give me for the rest of time. Lemme see.”

You stand up from beside him, watching as he lay naked against your riverbed as if he had always belonged there. Except now he did. Your cheeks flushed as you turned away from him to walk to the laurel tree, feeling his eyes on you.

Your hand reached up to a branch, pulling it from the tree and snapping it off, your heart aching at your actions. As you walked towards Anakin, the laurel branch transformed into a crown under your skilled hands, its leaves shimmering with the soft light of your Naiad magic.

“I wanted to give you a piece of me, because I know that you have other responsibilities and I won’t always get to see you.” You placed the crown upon his head, before taking his hands within yours, “That laurel tree made me pick this spot. It’s always been my favorite. This crown will never die, and the leaves will never fall, it is eternal- just like our love.”

A radiant smile spread across Anakin’s face as happy tears welled up in his eyes. He enveloped you in a tight hug, and you could feel the warmth of his affection. His fingers traced the contours of your back, a lingering touch, as he whispered his thanks, each word laced with a desperation that made your heart ache. It was strange how you got here, but yet you had found that missing piece. You didn’t expect him to be the God of the Sun, Zeus’s favorite, or anything like that. To you, he was just your Anakin. Your sweet, sweet Anakin.

“I thought I’d be searching for eternity throughout the Greek world for a love like this. And yet, you were brought to me.” Anakin pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as the weight of his words came down on the both of you, “Our love is eternal.”

“Our love is eternal.”

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maddymoreau · 2 months ago

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Finding Frankie Ending Discussion

I've seen a lot of people discussing the ending and some confused so I thought I'd share my thoughts!

Why does the Real Frankie say: "Stop ruining my fucking gameshow!"

When you meet the Real Frankie in that room there’s a white board showing his plans. Which are to help keep the player alive until the final round in order to boost views. By not dying during the climatic moment you’re ruining his show.

How does the contestant survive?

Although it's not shown how the contestant survives. It's important to consider this scene is shown from the audience's perspective. Everyone watching assumed the contestant died so the broadcast ends. Which is why the credits begin to play.

We can also see this through the Real Frankie when afterwards he's watching the credits on his monitors. Along with how he's surprised when the contestant appears.

Why does the Real Frankie recruit the contestant?

When the contestant reveals they're alive this is a golden opportunity.

The broadcast is over (shown also by the TVs being turned off). It's just the contestant and the Real Frankie. Since you won, as promised, he gives you the five million dollars.

Although the Real Frankie helped the contestant survive they're the first out of hundreds to make it this far.

Real Frankie: "You're the first contestant we've ever had who won. Hundreds of people last a few seconds, a few last a couple of minutes, but you . . . you're different. I like that."

So he uses this as an opportunity to try and recruit the contestant for another round. Since contestants are disguised if they do another round the audience won’t know it’s them.

What is the contestant's motivation?

While not explained we're given clues throughout the game. Let's start with what the Real Frankie says about the contestant.

Real Frankie: “But let's be honest with ourselves for a second, contestant. We need each other. Especially you, I mean, look where you live . . ."

We're shown the contestant's apartment which is in rough condition. Along with the detail that the constant has watched prior shows:

It's important to note that the broadcast is privately funded. Most likely through people paying to access the stream and gambling thousands of dollars on it.

ANONYMOUS: "I HAVE 10,000 ON THIS GUY LET'S GO!"

For someone living in those conditions we know the contestant took a HUGE gamble for the opportunity to get on the show.

Considering they spent $3.99 X 769 boxes = $3,068.31

My theory is that the contestant's financial situation may not be the best due to gambling (or other life circumstances) so they chose to stay another round.

Real Frankie: ". . . And you've helped us. Having a privately streamed and funded show isn't the easiest thing in the world, and then, on the verge of bankruptcy, you came along. Our star, but stars don't just leave after a season, do they?"

#⁽⁽(o ≧∇≦)o⁾⁾ 𝗜 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗣𝗘𝗢𝗣𝗟𝗘 𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗞 𝗔𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗚𝗔𝗠𝗘!!! So if anyone would like to share or add onto it please do!!!#Maybe in another post I'll ramble about the Real Frankie and contestant since I find their dynamic 𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗬 interesting!!#How they need each other . . . ANYWAY!!! GO PLAY THE GAME!!!!#Finding Frankie Spoilers #Finding Frankie #Henry Hotline #MaddyMoreauPost #Long Text

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doyoulikethissong-poll · 3 months ago

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Blondie - Call Me 1980

"Call Me" is a song by the American new wave band Blondie and the theme to the 1980 film American Gigolo, starring Richard Gere and Lauren Hutton. Produced and composed by Italian disco producer Giorgio Moroder, with lyrics by Blondie singer Debbie Harry, the song appeared in the film's opening scene and was released in the US in February 1980 as a single. It spent six consecutive weeks at number one and was certified Gold (for one million copies sold) by the RIAA. It also spent four weeks at number 2 on the US dance chart. The single was number 1 on Billboard magazine's 1980 year-end chart. It also hit number 1 in the UK and Canada, where it became Blondie's fourth and second chart-topper, respectively.

Moroder had originally asked Stevie Nicks from Fleetwood Mac to perform a song for the soundtrack, but she was prevented because of a recently signed contract with Modern Records. Moroder turned to Debbie Harry of Blondie, presenting her with an instrumental track called "Man Machine". Harry was asked to write the lyrics, a process that she states took a mere few hours. The lyrics were written from the perspective of the main character in the film, a male prostitute. In 1981, the song was nominated for a Grammy Award for Best Rock Performance by a Duo or Group with Vocal, as well as for a Golden Globe for Best Original Song.

"Call Me" received a total of 93,4% yes votes!

youtube

#finished #high yes #low reblog #80s #soundtracks #o1 #o1 sweep #lo4 #blondie #english

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the-californicationist · 2 months ago

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Cali's Kinktober: Day 13

Kinktober Masterlist pulvis et umbra sumus - "we are dust and shadow" TF141 x f!reader Kinks > monsters, knotting, ritual magic sex in a cave Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

Monster AU where the TF141 are gargoyles. You love your shitty 87th floor apartment, you really do. Sure, the view is mostly fog and smog and clouds, but your balcony is shielded by four awesome gargoyles. You spend long nights admiring their statuesque figures wishing they could come to life and please you since no human man seems to be able to. Be careful what you wish for, I guess?

Warning: short part with an abusive ex-boyfriend, but he gets gargoyled pretty quickly, so it's short-lived.

Rain pelted the grimy, floor-to-ceiling windows of your apartment. It seemed like it was always raining. You loved living downtown in District 10, you really did, but damn if it wasn’t hard to meet people. Sure, millions of people lived in the city right alongside you, but other than a few dates to the ramen shop around the corner, your attempts to find The One had fallen flat.

It was the same song and dance. They’d ask what you did for a living, and if they stuck around after you told them that you were a professional streamer, they either thought you were rich or that you wanted to flash your pussy on camera for money. Either way, the only guys who stuck around after they made their judgements about your job were either disappointed by your shitty studio apartment or were terrible in the sack. Clearly, they just wanted an easy lay and never called you again.

You didn’t really have anyone to complain to since your best friend abandoned you for Topeka, of all places, to get married and have a litter of babies. You were happy for her, truly, but bitching to a woman who was cherished by her man about your shitty Tinder dates was a dark, dark time that you didn’t care to have.

So, you smoked, and you told your gargoyles all about it.

Your apartment was unique in the fact that you had the entire patio to yourself, and it was shielded from the wind by the outstretched wings of four enormous gargoyles. They were huge, at least seven feet tall, and their bodies looked like they were ready to compete in the next strongman world championship.

You’d named them all, of course. There was the spooky one with a skull-shaped mask over his face and huge fangs that you called Mr. Bones, one with a mohawk that you named Mr. T, a supermodel-hot statue that you named Mr. Vain, and your favorite one, the biggest of them all and the guardian that sat right next to your bed, Mr. Big.

That’s where you found yourself tonight. You were crouched in your usual spot, tucked in an oversized raincoat, a pair of wellies, and nothing else, smoking a cigarette under the protective wings of Mr. Big.

You watched the tip glow golden bright as you took a drag, holding it in longer than normal, hoping to feel something other than disappointed.

“He was such a jerk, Big. Didn’t even bring a condom. Not sure someone with a dick that small should have that sort of audacity, ya know?”

Mr. Big didn’t reply. He looked out over the dense, foggy night and shielded you from the rain, keeping you dry while you smoked.

You leaned against his chest as he crouched over you, raking your eyes over his body with more appraisal than you usually did, confessing aloud,

“I bet you’ve got cock for days under that loincloth. And I bet you’d pay for a babe’s dinner. Maybe even buy her a strawberry shake afterwards. Bet you wouldn’t ask to come up; you’d just wait to be invited. And I bet you’d bring your own damn condoms to a third date, huh?”

He loomed. You sighed,

“Yeah, I know you would. You know what?”

At that very moment, you gazed up into the sky as the clouds shifted and cleared, revealing a heavy, orange harvest moon. You spotted a streak of falling stars out of the corner of your eye, and you watched as they crossed the moon’s body, falling towards earth, burning up a million miles away, and you said,

“I wish you guys were real.”

You watched the stars vanish over the horizon, and you took one last drag off of your cigarette, flinging it off the side like a nasty little gremlin, not caring where it landed or what catastrophe you had just contributed to. This whole world was fucked. What was one more cigarette butt, right?

“But, you’re not real, Mr. Big. Maybe one day you’ll wake up and come save me from this damn carousel of nightmares. You and your buddies could fly me around, give me a mindblowing fuck, and steal me away from here. Wouldn’t that be something?”

You stood up next to him, barely tall enough to reach his face even though he was crouched over. You caressed his cheek, wiping the raindrops from his brow, and lifted yourself up to kiss him on the corner of his bearded mouth, right where his fang protruded from the lip, round and sharp like a boar’s tusk.

“Goodnight, Mr. Big. See you in the morning.”

You toweled dry as you stepped through the window, using the same old towel you’d been using all week, making a mental note to get around to the laundry. Then, you snuggled under the covers, checking your notifications and getting upset that there weren’t more (even though you’d just checked them before you went out to smoke). Maybe you would have to start flashing your tits online if you wanted to make the real bucks.

You flipped your phone over and went to sleep, begging your brain to give you filthy gargoyle dreams.

Once dawn’s glow yanked you from your peaceful slumber, you’d forgotten all about why you’d been so sad. You forgot about Dan, or David (Darren?), whatever his name was. You hopped online and said hi to your early birds, fitting the headphones over your ears just to let them know you’d be back in a bit. Then, you had a quick shower, ducked out for half of a smoke, and got to work.

The day turned into night, and everything was great. The games were fun, chat was a riot, and you even got raided by one of your favorite mutuals. You ordered some takeout and video-chatted with some friends. You even hopped on the stream again for a double feature. All the darkness from the night before was lifted, and you felt like you might be alright. But, then, just as the sun was setting, you got a text.

donny-Hinge: hey babe. left my charger. can i come by in 15

you: sure

donny-Hinge: k thx

“Ugh!” You audibly exclaimed, forgetting you were still online.

Chat started pouring in with questions and asks about the text. Tell us! They exclaimed. What happened, momma?? They begged to know.

You thought about it for a minute, but you decided that your shitty love life was one thing you weren’t ready to own up to online, so you side-stepped,

“Forgot I had to take a friend to the airport. Gotta cut this short tonight, sorry. Love you guys! Don’t forget to live, laugh, love, like, share, sub!” You rolled your eyes at your own catchphrase and waved goodbye.

You flung down your headset and did a few soothing spins in your computer chair before deciding that you needed to kick this dude to the curb.

“What’s the sluttiest outfit I’ve got so this asshole knows what he’s missing?” You asked Mr. Vain who was sitting outside your bathroom window, looking bored.

“Coachella last year?” You dug around in the drawer and pulled out the too-short, can’t-wear-this-in-public slip dress, looking at Mr. Vain one last time before nodding, “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

You wiggled into the fit, mangled up your hair into a careless rumpled mess, and threw on some eyeliner to top it all off. Then, you waited. You checked your phone. You waited again. You paced. Then, you had a smoke to try and calm your nerves.

You huddled next to Mr. Big’s giant forearm and looked up at his bearded jaws from below,

“Still not real, huh? I could really use a big, scary beast for some support right now. Why does breaking up with losers still feel so shitty? He doesn’t deserve me, right?”

Mr. Big said nothing. He loomed, and nothing more.

“Right,” you whispered, starting to worry about yourself now that you were carrying on multiple daily conversations with statues.

Your door buzzed. Dumbo was here for his charger.

You fixed yourself, checking your eyeliner for just the perfect amount of smudge, and then you cracked open the door. The man was there, looking a little too well-dressed, and he sauntered into your apartment without saying so much as a hello.

“Uh, hi,” you spat.

“Hey, sorry,” he frowned, looking around for the charger under your clothes pile, “Can’t stay. Gonna meet up with the boys at Six Hands tonight.”

“Oh,” you mumbled, feeling a little more than just put out.

“Ah, here it is,” he dragged the charger out from under your desk and wrapped it up.

“I don’t wanna see you again,” you blurted out.

He looked up at you, noticing you for the first time, eyeing your dress and your makeup, furrowing his brow,

“Why not? Didn’t you have fun last night?”

You didn’t like his sly tone,

“No, so just, lose my number, okay?”

“C’mon, baby. Don’t be like that,” he stepped into your space and put your hair behind your ear. You fucking hated when guys tucked your hair behind your ear.

You smacked his hand away,

“Don’t touch me. Just go.”

“Is that why you’re dressed like a fuckin’ slut? You gonna call some other guy up here?” His contempt filled the room, making your alarm bells clatter and peal inside of your head.

“No. Leave! Now.”

“Listen,” he took another step into your space, dragging his finger under the strap of your dress and purposefully letting it fall off of your shoulder, “How about you drop the attitude and let me hit it before I go out, and I’ll come back tonight and we can watch a movie.”

You used both hands to shove him away from you, hating how little he moved backwards,

“Fuck you! Get out of my house.”

“You don’t have to be such a bitch!” He shouted at you, grabbing you around the wrist and knocking you off balance.

Then, all of a sudden, he stopped. His face became even paler than it already was, and he stared out of the window behind you. He scrambled to drop your wrist and bolted for the door, not even bothering to shut it behind him.

“Yeah! You shouted after him, fixing your shoulder strap, “Get the hell out and don’t come back!”

You shut the door and locked the top and bottom deadbolts, upset with yourself for how badly you were shaking.

“What an asshole,” you muttered under your breath as you turned around. Then, you looked up, and that’s when you saw him.

“Mr. Big?!”

The giant, hulking gargoyle that you sat by every night was standing, full height, right outside your window. He used his immense paw to open the window and stepped through it, staring right at you with unnaturally blue eyes. He was still not a human color, but at least he wasn’t made of stone. His flesh was textured, sort of scaled in a way, and hairline cracks that looked like scars covered him like a broken eggshell. His hair and beard were shaggy and brown, and even though he was enormous, he was graceful, tucking his black wings behind his back to keep from knocking over all of your shelves.

“Are you alright, love?” His voice came out like a roaring, tumbling sea, and yet, it was as gentle as a purr.

“I… This… You! You are! You’re… you’re a statue! How…” You backed away from him, and he did not pursue you. He simply stood there, focused on you, patiently letting you figure it out, “You’re Mr. Big, and you’re in my damn house!”

“I am John. We come when our mate calls to us.”

“What? John? No,” you sat on the bed, wrenching your eyes shut, “This isn’t happening. Fuck, I actually am out of my mind. I don’t have insurance. I can’t afford fucking gargoyle visions. Fuck!”

You heard the flutter of wings and your eyes darted up to see Mr. T and Mr. Bones squeezing themselves into your tiny home,

John nodded to them,

“This is Soap and Ghost. Your memories will return to you, my love,” he turned to address them, “Did you find him?”

Ghost let out a dark chuckle full of fire and brimstone,

“Aye, he screamed like a fuckin’ pussy.”

“Who?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

Soap answered you in a surprisingly smooth brogue,

“Your wee suitor, lass. Tried to run, but he couldnae get very far.”

“Did…” You felt your blood rush out of your body, “Did you kill him?”

Ghost, his skin a steely gray with black cracks running across his flesh, his wings a bony ash color and splotched with tears and scars, his eyes an impossible hazel shade, gleaming behind the huge skull mask, stalked over to you, crouching down to look at you closer, studying you. Then, he took his clawed hand and untucked the hair from behind your ear, lifting your locks to his fearsome muzzle to smell your shampoo. He smiled (you weren’t exactly sure if it was a smile or not), and said,

“Would you like me to? Because, right now, he’s hanging off the side of a fuckin’ tanker ship headed for the bloody south Pacific. He’d be easy to capture and –”

“No! No,” you shook your head, “Thank you. That’s… that is a great spot for him. Alive.”

“You must have questions, pet,” a fourth voice spoke over your shoulder, startling you and making you jump out of your skin, “Surely you must remember me; your Gaz, your favorite.”

It was Mr. Vain. The others gave him a glare for his comment, but he did have a way of stealing the show. His skin was a shimmering copper, and golden cracks cut through his flesh. His wings were an iridescent green patina, and his eyes were a deep brown. He was every bit as beautiful in real life as he’d been as a statue, and you had a hard time looking away from him.

“I’m…” You tried to ask something. Anything. You should have questions, right? Normal people would have questions. Finally, you whispered, “What is happening to me?”

John came to crouch beside you, his thick tail curling around his feet, tucking itself out of the way, and he dropped his voice into that deep purr of his,

“You called us here, love. You needed us, and we were awakened. We have listened to your struggles. For years we have kept you safe in this…” He looked around with a frown of disapproval, “... bloody meager estate, waiting for the night you would bring us back to this plane of existence to mate with you and take you home to claim your rightful place on the throne of Evenhold. Your people need you. We need you. You are the last hope for our kind.”

You listened to him and tried your best to keep a straight face,

“You have got to be fucking with me right now. This is not real. You are not real!”

To your shock, instead of doubling down, he looked hurt by your comments. His eyes peered down at you as if he wanted to make you see the truth, like he wanted to convince you of his words, but he held himself back.

Soap came over to you, his pale flesh gleaming like a pearl under the moonlight, the cracks of his skin a cerulean blue, and his wings fading from navy to black at the very tips,

“Bonnie, I ken how it sounds. But, you didnae meet your mother nor your father, aye?”

“No, I grew up with my Grandma Val–”

“Valeria, the Witch of the Four Winds,” Soap confirmed, sitting down beside Ghost, “She protected you until her death. So, you came here, to this city, and –”

“And this apartment… the deal was so good, I couldn’t pass it up,” your brain was reaching around in the dark, looking for the light. It was making your head spin.

“Did you never wonder how you could afford it, lass? Didnae you remember Darkhollow? The River Binn? Everhold Keep? We ran together as rooks through the halls, stealing burchfruit from the ta–”

John cut him off, his eyes studying you in the darkness,

“Enough. Sorcerer Cael stole her memories the same night he fuckin’ murdered the Emperor and the Empress. She knows nothing of home. But, we can help her remember.”

You reached out to him, touching his cheek in such a familiar way, and yet, experiencing it anew,

“How?”

“We will take you as our mate. Through our magic, you can use our memories to rebuild what you’ve lost,” John cupped your hand in his huge paw, bringing it to his fanged mouth, and kissing your palm reverently.

“We know that you have been…” Gaz smirked, “... disappointed by suitors in this realm. But, we will help you remember the kind of mate the Empress of Evenhold deserves.”

“Trust us, lass,” Soap lifted your chin up to look into your face, “We will set things right. We’ll take you home.”

Ghost crawled beside you on the bed, and the mattress dipped beneath his heavy frame,

“You are our guiding star, love. We’ll do whatever you ask of us. If you want us to leave, we fuckin’ will. Just say the word, and you’ll never see us again.”

At his oath, you felt something twist in your heart. No! That was wrong. You belonged together. These were your protectors. You needed them as much as they needed you.

“No. You belong with me,” you said, planting a soft kiss on the side of Ghost’s mask, “Help me remember.”

“We won’t be back here, love. Are you sure you’re ready to go?” John asked you, standing at full height.

The others stood with him, waiting for your word.

You thought about checking your phone, or putting an away message up on your profiles, but what would be the reason? If you wouldn’t be back here, you’d just disappear. You’d fade away from memory just like any other streamer who logged on for the last time and never came back. It happened all the time. Your parents were dead, you didn’t have any family, and your friend would be okay without you. What was keeping you here?

“Let me wash my face, and then we’ll go,” you said, ducking into the bathroom to braid your hair out of your face and wash the eyeliner off of your eyes. You looked at yourself in the mirror, and for the first time in a long while, you enjoyed looking at the person that you saw. You looked brave. You looked ready. You looked like you were about to have the ride of your fuckin’ life.

You slid an extra hair tie around your wrist and met the gargoyle army in your bedroom.

“Okay, I’m ready for the magic mating ritual, I think. Do you wanna do it here, or…”

“No, love,” John chuckled warmly, “We’ll take you to the portal. Your power will ignite the beacon.”

“Where is that?” You asked, feeling a little deflated.

“Far from here. C’mon, love. Need to beat the sun,” John grabbed your waist and held you against his chest. He wrapped his tail around your body protectively, and you watched in horror as the other three dove through the window, spreading their wings out over the midnight fog.

“Oh, fuck. Are we flying there? Holy shit! Wait, wait, wait…”

The next thing you knew, you were sailing through the air, gliding down from your bedroom window and out into the night sky.

“It’s alright, love. Hold onto me,” John chuckled, amused by your panicked response.

“Fuck!” You whispered, burying yourself in John’s broad chest, clutching at his waist as hard as you could.

You could feel the powerful beat of his wings as he gained altitude, the rush of wind subsiding when you emerged above the clouds, and the moon looked as if it hung close enough for you to grab it, bright and glowing in the black sky.

You were breathing in rushed gasps, and you didn’t know if you should laugh or cry. John sensed your distress, and he held you tighter against his warm body.

“Shh,” he pet you gently, and you felt his claws trace delicate lines down your back. For some reason, it lulled you into a dazed state, and you thought you might pass out, “Sleep, pretty girl. I’ve got you.”

A few more minutes went by, and with each delicate pass of his claws, you watched the stars scatter above you, more and more of them coming into your view as you escaped from the city, and you closed your eyes and let your guardian take you away with him.

When you awoke, you were still flying with John, but you were descending on a small hilltop.

“Where are we?” You asked in a low voice.

John pointed below,

“The portal is here. I’ve sent the lads on ahead to prepare the ritual. We won’t beat the dawn unless we hurry.”

“What happens at dawn?”

“We turn to stone. You’ll be left unprotected.”

“Is that what these are?” You asked, tracing the cracked lines in his skin, “From where you broke free?”

“Yes,” John nodded, “We wear them with fuckin’ pride, love. We’re soldiers. It is our duty and our right to be your guardians.”

“In the… At home, do you turn to stone in the sunlight?”

He paused, and you wished you could hear his thoughts, but after a few moments he said,

“No, only here.”

Something about his answer saddened you. You wanted to wipe all of that pain away from his face. You needed to see him in the light of day. To see him happy. You felt so strongly about it, and it made you wish that you had called for him sooner.

“Could you hear me when you were frozen?”

“Yes, love,” he smiled, swooping his wings to land with you on the soft grass, “Every word.”

He placed you down carefully, and as he did, he bent forward, wrapped his wings around you, and kissed you. You leaned into his touch, enveloped in his dark embrace, feeling the bristle of his beard and the fullness of his lips. He tasted like holiday spices and raw honey. His sweetness and heat blending together on your tongue and making you dizzy with want.

“Tryin’ to get a head start, Captain?” Gaz’s voice rang out over your shoulder.

You were unfurled from John’s wings and released from his kiss, but he kept a possessive hand around your waist.

“Captain?” You turned to ask him what that meant.

“We’re soldiers, remember? I’m the Captain of the Imperial Guard. My two sergeants,” he pointed to Gaz and Soap, “and my lieutenant,” he nodded to Ghost.

“C’mere, love,” Ghost pulled you away from John and brought you over to the entrance of a large cave.

The mouth of the cave was hidden behind vines and overgrowth, but you could barely make out the ancient carvings that were etched into the side of the round entrance.

“This is the portal, lass. Your magic opens the door, and we can go home.”

“I don’t know how to do magic,” you looked at him for help.

“We’ll show you. Let us help you remember, love,” John purred darkly behind you, joining you on the side opposite Ghost, taking your hand and guiding you into the cave.

Once inside, you saw a large, flat altar, carved with runes and symbols, and all along the back wall of the cave were huge scenes of war and destruction, patterned in gold and silver and bronze etchings. In the images, you saw hordes of gargoyles fighting against an evil wizard who carried a long staff and cast fiery spells across villages and castles, destroying everything in his path.

But, you couldn’t dwell on the images for long. Your warriors had other plans. John guided you to his arms once more, kissing you chastely this time, before untying his loincloth and revealing his unbelievable cock.

When he saw the look on your face, his mouth stretched into a smug grin, and he pumped his wings, proudly beating them once and then twice to stir the air in the large cave, purring deep inside his chest.

His dick wasn’t just large. It was impossible. There was no way that thing was going to fit inside of you without some sort of feat of strength. As the others disrobed, standing beside their leader, you saw how much of a challenge this venture truly was.

Their cockheads were covered in layers of foreskin that lay across their head like the petals of a flower. They were thin and smooth, and it made the tip of their dick look like the head of a blooming rose. John had more petals than the others, while Gaz had only three or four, but his were large, like a drooping magnolia, hiding the fist-sized glans underneath.

The shaft of John’s cock was studded with smooth, marble-like protrusions, which, as he rubbed his hand over them, swelled and leaked, producing his own lubricant for him as he worked his phallus to a high, glossy shine. On the underside of the body, two soft bands of flesh hung down like lips on a mouth, creating a flared feature along the base of his cock.

At the root of his shaft, John had a bulging, pulsing knot. It looked like it was throbbing with its own heartbeat, and it wrapped itself around his entire girthy base, making your mouth water.

Their physiology was as unique as it was inhuman. Gaz only had three marble protrusions, none of the soft bands on his undercarriage, but a hefty, engorged knot. Ghost’s cock was board-straight, covered in a chaotic mess of marble bumps, making his whole prick drip and drool onto the cave floor without him even needing to touch it.

Soap was the only one who had pulled his petals down over his blunt cockhead to reveal it to you. It was bright pink and swollen, looking every bit like a smooth, silky peach. The large slit in the center held a bead of precome, ready to be smeared across either of your lips. His shaft was curved like a bow, and you noticed that the flared flesh at his base looked like a plush bed of fox coral, bending and furling like fine lace on the hem of a dress.

“Our mate is pleased,” Gaz noted, sniffing the air and licking his fangs with a skillful tongue.

You made your way over to John, eyeing Gaz as he tugged on his giant ballsack, fondling his heavy pearls and comforting himself as he admired you. John was breathing hard, his belly filling with air, his rolling purr growing louder as you got closer to him.

You knelt on the soft dirt floor of the cave and began to lick and suck at the knot on the base of John’s cock. He growled, flapping his wings with excitement,

“No, love,” he peered down at you, “Let us care for you.”

“I want to taste you,” you looked at the other beasts circling around you, casting long shadows over you with the shuddering wings, “All of you.”

“Your wish is our command, Empress,” Ghost snarled, fisting his cock in his claws and presenting it to you like a treat.

You used both of your hands to rub his shaft, letting his silky lube collect in your palms and drip down your wrists. You began prying his soft petals apart with the tip of your tongue, discovering how sensitive they were. By the time you found his head, he was drooling wet for you, filling the center of his flower with clear, shining precome. You drank from him, sucking the sticky fluid like nectar from a buttercup, sighing when you found it sweet.

John chuffed, impatient with his lieutenant for cutting the line, and you looked up at him and smiled, showing him your tongue as it dripped with Ghost’s wet promises. Then, you brought your attention back to your biggest guardian, taking care to use both hands to roll the flesh of his shaft up and down the hefty appendage. You let your thumb dip into his furled folds that ran along his base, and he hissed, instinctively using his paw to cradle the back of your head and encourage you further.

You obeyed his silent command, using your lips to kiss inside of his crown of closed petals, slurping and drinking the sweet gift you discovered inside. As you kissed his cockhead, the fleshy flower surrounding his tip tickled your lips and nose and chin, spreading their honey over your whole face, coating you in him and his heady scent.

Gaz reached down to touch your breast inside your dress, his huge claws tickling over the smoothness of your skin, making you gasp.

“So fuckin’ bonnie, innit she?” Soap admired you, taking position on the other side to fondle and feel your other heavy teat, using his claws to draw aching spirals all the way up to your nipple.

You were fully suckling on John’s wide head, now. He was pouring clear, shining precome down your throat, and you were swallowing it into your belly as if it were his come. Then, Gaz took you from him, guiding your chin over to his hanging prick, smiling at you as you nuzzled it, handsfree, into your lips. His wide petals covered most of your face, spreading his slick over your cheeks and down your throat, sticking themselves to your skin. Then, Johnny took your hand and held it in his own, making you rub his curved length until he was trembling for you. You took turns sucking from them both, realizing that the more you sucked, the more delicious fluid they made.

John petted your hair lovingly, drawing your attention away from his soldiers and back to him. You looked into his glowing blue eyes, mesmerized by his magic, and gave him your best doe-eyed face, hoping your hunter would take his shot.

“The sun is nearly here, Empress. There will be plenty of nights to play together ahead of us, but we must open the portal.”

You rose to your feet, shocked by how small you were compared to the monsters that surrounded you, and let John lead you to the altar. He lifted you up and knelt down in front of you, using his long, blue tongue to lick his way up the side of your thigh. When he found your heat, his chest shook with a stifled roar, and he grabbed your hips in his paws to crush you to his face. Ghost stood beside him, peeling off your black slip dress to make you naked, and he and Gaz held your legs wide for their captain. Soap crawled upon the altar to feed his tongue into your mouth, fucking your throat in long, gentle licks just as John stuffed his into your warm pussy.

Ghost and Gaz suckled from your breasts, pulling and plucking at your nipples in deep, vacuumed mouthfuls, making you feel like you were being eaten alive from the inside and the outside of your whole body. Your orgasm hit your body before your mind registered that you were coming. You jerked, arching your back and screaming out from the base of your throat, begging for mercy.

Your gargoyles pet you with their claws in that same, somnolent way that John had while you were flying, and you felt yourself relax into your orgasm, riding it out in long, suffocating waves.

“You are so tight, love,” John looked up from his eating, his eyes full of worry, “We’ll try to be gentle with you, but you will need many nights of training before you can carry our rooks. Your body will learn from us, in time. For now, your memories are all that matter.”

He stood, and the other gargoyles held you tightly, supporting you on the altar. John huffed out a long breath, spread his wings wide, and stepped forward to mount you.

You watched his cock’s petals as they collided with your own, spreading himself all over you like a brush full of paint. He focused on your hole, smearing his hot precome as generously as he could. Then, he began to press forward.

“Holy fuck! I can’t take it! I can’t… John… it’s not… mngh! Ohhhh…” You cried out in agony and then melted into a quiet bliss.

As he entered you, the other three pet you with their paws, soothing you and helping you catch your breath.

Then, when you took his entire head, he rested at your entrance, waiting for you to come back around.

“John, what the fuck? I’m not built for your dick. How…?” You looked up at him, pleading for some relief.

“You’re doing so good for us, love,” Gaz licked and kissed your neck and breast, suckling on you to calm you down.

“You can take him,” Ghost held your hand, “His musk will open you up for us. Look at how it’s swelling your pussy, sweetheart.”

You looked down at yourself, and you saw that Ghost was right. Your pussy was creamy and puffy, soaking in John’s fluids, his musk, and it was helping you relax for him. John stepped forward, slipping in another inch or so, fitting his bent petals through your entrance. Then, with each grueling thrust, you felt the line of marble nodes press against your walls, secreting their lubricant all over your walls and making you drip onto the altar.

“So good for me,” John groaned, holding your breasts in his hands, stealing them away from Gaz and Soap, squeezing them hard enough to leave pinprick marks with his talons.

“Anhh– John! I’m…”

“Yes, come again, love. Come for me, remember me…”

Your mind was flung through space and time, spinning and feeding you a chaotic string of memories that didn’t seem like your own. You tasted food and drink you’d never tried, you sang songs you didn’t know, ran full speed across fields full of flowers you’d never smelled. It was maddening, watching you live a life you’d never had. Then, there they were, your four gargoyles, pledging their loyalty to you and your parents, vowing to be your protectors. But, just as your heart filled with hope, there was a great black fire that roared through the halls of your keep, burning the people you loved, destroying the peace in your realm. The Dark Sorcerer, Cael.

John was pounding away at your body now, and you were shivering from the heightened pleasure. How long had you been out? Your belly felt full of him, and you could see the outline of his shaft as he shoved himself through you, fucking you nearly up into your ribs. You reached down and cradled him outside of your belly, and he moaned from your touch, his heavy balls slapping against your ass in a punishing, deafening rhythm.

Then, you saw John beat his wings again, fighting with his own pleasure. He speared you fully, sealing himself inside of you, and it was at that point that you felt the curling, pulsing pressure of his knot.

“John… I’m not… I can’t…” You could barely keep your eyes open.

He gathered you up in his arms, wrapping you tight to his chest, and hugged you to his scalding, scaled flesh. When he breathed against you, his chest filled your space, and you could feel the tremors racking his body. He folded his wings around you, enclosing you in his protective embrace, hiding you in his darkness, and lowered you with his steady, inhuman power onto his throbbing knot.

Your scream was silent as your breath caught in your throat. You’d been shattered, thrown with supernatural might into a bursting orgasm, forced to come hard onto his swollen, beating shaft.

He was coming, too, and it filled your walls, making your belly hang heavy with fertile, gargoyle seed. John roared, thrusting himself up into you to grind his knot within your hole, churning his cream within you, and soaking your womb in his come.

John sighed, bending his neck to kiss your open mouth, petting you with his paws, rubbing his cock through your abdomen with his thumbs. His come moved inside of you as he did so, and you were so stuffed with his hot spend, the moment he began to unseal himself, it sprayed out of you and onto his cock, legs, and the floor of the chamber, turning the dirt to mud. You were gaping wide, dripping in his come, and trembling from brain-breaking orgasms. He didn’t look much better. He was spent, sitting on the ground of the cave, breathing hard and fast.

But, you couldn’t think about aftercare. Ghost took his place as soon as it was available, stepping through the muddy, semen-soaked floor without so much as a second glance. His dick was covered in his musk and he used it to rub it all over your clit, arching his back to paint your nipples with it as well, painting long lines of his scent all over your chest, belly, and legs. Satisfied, he notched himself at your entrance and spread your walls wide again, guiding himself deep inside of you.

You hissed in sweet agony, and he smiled down at you knowingly,

“You’re taking me so well. My tight little quim. So perfect. How I missed you, lover.”

John was standing again, and he came to help Ghost hold you in place as he pounded himself into you with long, agonizing strokes. You were glad he was there because your whole body was limp. You hung off the side of the pedestal like a ragdoll, letting Ghost rail himself into you, his studded shaft rolling orgasm after orgasm through your nerves, forcing you to come one after the other, just an endless parade of pleasure. Your mouth was open, and Gaz was suckling on your lips and tongue while Soap devoured your breasts, pinching and biting and slurping to his heart’s content.

John put his paw on your belly, feeling how Simon was protruding out of your flesh, heavy and built to last, His knot smaller but harder than John’s.

“Remember, love. C’mon, try to reach deeper,” you keened, feeling hot tears rush out of your eyes and down your cheeks as Gaz devoured your tongue. Then, you were transported again, back to your dear Evenhold. You were locked in a battle, controlling your magic and trying to crack a portal. You didn’t have a clear destination, but you found one all the same. Finally, your opponent, Cael, made a misstep. He tried to cast a sealing spell on you, but you deflected it, casting it on your devoted warriors instead, watching them tumble into the portal, wrought in dark stone. You felt yourself scream, and you killed the sorcerer, leaping into the portal to save the heroes you loved.

But, something had gone wrong. Time, fickle and flowing, warped itself, wrapping around your magic and flinging you back through time. You were a child again, and you were alone.

The look of despair on your face told Ghost everything he needed to know,

“She remembers. It’s working. Fuck! Take all of me, love. Come back to us!”

He slammed his knot inside of you and stretched his wings out wide and straight, his whole body vibrating with his energy, the enormous cock inside your core jerked and drooled come all over your walls, drowning itself in your tight, swollen hole.

When he popped his knot out of you, he held it to your pussy like a gate, encouraging the come he’d left behind to settle in your belly instead of spilling onto the ground. It worked poorly; there was just too much of it, but you felt fuller than before, and you knew your womb was carrying their seed deep within you.

“Hurry, Soap,” John stretched his claws, showing his discomfort, “Dawn.”

Soap took his place between your legs and struggled with his tip. You were pliant and soft for him, but it still wasn’t enough.

“Turn her,” he grunted, and your protectors followed his command, flipping your body over so that you could be on all fours for him.

He spread his musk over your hole, using his paws and cock in unison, trying his best to prepare you for his cock’s sinister curve, but it was no use.

“Just… take me, Soap. Please… I need to know…” You whined, just under your breath, preparing yourself for the ache of being stretched by him.

“Bonnie, I willnae hurt you. Give me a moment t–”

“Now,” you insisted, spreading yourself wide for him, “It has to be now.”

He sighed, and he put his wings around you instinctively, wanting to protect you from the pain and not knowing how. Soap slipped forward, and his cockhead caught in your inner ring of muscles, stuck, oozing its precome into your hole. He was afraid to press forward, unwilling to injure his mate, fearful of what he might do to you.

So, you fucked him. You leaned back, pressing your cunt down onto his tip, feeling every hard inch as you did so, prying yourself open like a stone fruit, using his prick to cleave your body. Thankfully, he was not as thick as John nor as long as Ghost, but he was a challenge for the entire ride. Every single thrust felt like a damn marathon, and he was shaped in such a way that your delicate g-spot was bullied into a wet, body-shaking submission.

You never stopped coming on Soap, but you didn’t remember starting either. He erased your mind and filled it with him, only him, and you slipped into his memories as easily as a warm bath, letting him drown you in his slick affection.

You saw yourself as a child, running through the keep, chasing Soap, a mischievous rook, letting him fly you onto the feast table to steal fruits and berries from the bowls, screeching as the cooks chased you from them, laughing and tumbling and rolling into the garden where you shared them together, ripping off ripe, sweet lobes, and fighting over the last bites.

Then, he was a young man. Younger than he was now, but every bit as handsome. None of his blue cracks were there to mar his pearlescent skin, and you marveled at his beauty. He flew with you to your secret spot, high in the white, chalk cliffs of Evenhold, overlooking the sea. He said nothing, but you understood everything in that moment.

The crash of the waves mimicked his rough fucking, and the lightning strike of another pleasure-filled crescendo slammed you back to the present, letting you watch him groan and stretch and fly with your body, pulling you from the altar into the air, clutching you around your throat and belly with his long tail in a deep embrace, trapping you on his knot and using his hands to milk himself into you, squeezing his root like a summer fruit, giving you every last drop.

His wings faltered, and his body went limp, and he lay you on the altar as gently as he could before collapsing on the ground of the cave, eyes shut and trembling.

Gaz mounted you, grabbing your hips and dragging you toward him. You looked down as he held your legs open, using his tail to protect your head from the rough platform. Then, he slipped into you with a gentleness you were not expecting due to his size. You thought you had finally been stretched to the point of comfort, worried about the state of yourself, but it was just an illusion. Once he impaled you past his enormous head, the petals folded back and his fat prick began to struggle within you. But, unlike Soap, he did not hold himself back. He knew you were close to the answer, and he needed to give it to you.

You both stared down at your swollen belly, full of come and beginning to fill with his shape. Gaz took your hand and placed it just above your womb, and moaned, grunting at you,

“Hold me here, love. Feel me… here…”

You tried to obey, but doing so made all of the sensations inside of you that much more intense. You could feel every petal, every ridge, every slippery marble node, the furl of his flesh and the impossibly thick length of his phallus, all of it working inside of you, right below your palm.

“Press…” He begged, his brown eyes soft and pleading.

So, you did, and you made yourself start to come. It was too beautiful of a feeling. You could sense every twitch and pulse and slip of his cock inside of you, feeling it with your walls as if you would your hands, squeezing him within you like a hilt to its blade, wielding him like a weapon.

You tipped over the edge, falling into another dream, but this time, it was a place you recognized. You were with Valeria, young again, just a child, and you watched her close the portal, making the runes with her hands, and sealing off the world of Darmoch, Evenhold, and everything you’d ever known.

Then, she cast a spell over your guardians, releasing them from their stone prisons, but at a price. Their skin splintered and cracked, and the stone cut awful shapes in their flesh, burning them with permanent scars. You wanted to help them, but you were slowly forgetting their faces. Things were fading away, and Valeria was the only one who knew how to help you.

You opened your eyes, clutching Gaz’s long dick within you in both of your hands, massaging him with deep affection and adoration. You looked up at him and said,

“I remember everything.”

He smiled, leaning forward to kiss your mouth, nuzzling your nose with his own snout, minding his tusks and groaning for you,

“Mmm, of course you do, my love. I knew you would.”

Gaz took a sharp breath and rolled his knot into you, emptying himself inside like the others, making you warm, full, and knowing the most perfect love. It was written all over your soul, your promise to them, their vow to you, the ancient oath to protect you and to follow your command until the end of days.

When he pulled away, stumbling back and catching himself on the cave wall, you knew your destiny. You rose to your feet, ignoring the aches of your humanity, casting aside your doubt. You pulled your guardians close to you, putting their hands on your arms and shoulders, and just as the pink dawn began to crest over the horizon, you said,

“Hold on to me. We’re going home.”

Don't look at me like that. Y'all knew I was out of my mind before you even started reading this fic. C'mon, now.

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milkloafy · 7 months ago

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wait..... this is hella cute!!! <3<3<3<3<3<3<3 if ur free to do reqs could you do hsr boys summer headcanons? im not sure if theyre open so it's fine if u dont thx!!! 🩷🩷

SUMMER SUN; SUMMER FUN — AVENTURINE, DAN HENG, JING YUAN

⋆｡˚ ❀ a/n: ty anon for the request!! :> yes they are open so request awayyy ! i love summer sm best season fr so this was such a fun vibe to write :3 i hope u enjoy! i wasn’t sure which hsr guys u wanted so i just picked my current favs AHDKSLDK

𝜗𝜚 — AVENTURINE

aventurine would love going to the beach with you

building sand castles, picking seashells, jumping over the shallow waves along the shore

it all feels fun and refreshing to him. something he did not have the luxury to feel when he was younger

at your encouragement, he signs the two of you up for surf lessons one day

aventurine is…not a natural

you’re both falling off the boards and needing the instructor to come and fish you out of the waves

after a few too many close calls, aventurine decides he never wants to go surfing again

when the sun sets and golden hour hits, you take one million photos of aventurine, at minimum

he models and poses for you, enjoying your excitement whenever you get a good shot

once you’d had your fill, aventurine sneaks a few photos of you as well

he shows you his favorite beach pic of you with a smile

“you’re prettier than the sunset”

aventurine ends the day off by buying ice cream for the two of you as you head home <3

𝜗𝜚 — DAN HENG

while dan heng likes the warmth, he is not a fan of the summer heat

he prefers staying indoors during the summer, at the library or in museum with minimal walking around outside during the day

however, he does like sitting underneath the shade of a tree and reading a book

some days, he’ll set up a hammock between two trees and ask you to join him

when the heat cools down and the darkness graces the earth, dan heng likes to walk around and go stargazing

the temperature is perfect at night—not too hot but also not cold enough to need anything other than a long sleeve shirt or a light jacket

dan heng has read about all the constellations you can see in the summer

he’s disappointed there’s too much light pollution in most places, but for the stars he can see, he points it out to you and explains the story behind it

what constellation it’s part of, what planet is next to it, is that a space vehicle or a cosmo?

he would definitely go on one of those websites that sell you a star lmao and “buy” one for you

even though he’s aware it’s a scam, he know you’d find it cute. dan heng shows you the certificate of your new star ownership and the two of you look for the coordinates in the night sky together <3

“you deserve the universe, but for now i got you a star”

𝜗𝜚 — JING YUAN

jing yuan thinks going to an amusement park is the peak summertime activity

doesn’t matter if you are sweating buckets waiting in the long lines surround by body heat. jing yuan comes prepared. he has a hat, a battery-powered fan with a built-in mist spray, and water bottles with ice

of course, he shares all that with you once you get tired of using your foldable fan

jing yuan is an amusement park snack afficionado. a salty pretzel? yes. a sweet treat? yes. a whole ass turkey leg? also yes.

you are never hungry during your outing since jing yuan has you covered

when you want photos taken of you, you show jing yuan exactly how you want it—angle and zoom and everything

yet when he takes the photo, it comes out off

crooked. blurry. you’re half cut off…

the only good photo he took of you is one where you weren’t prepared and have a horrendously silly look on your face

“jing yuan… delete that right now.”

“why? i believe it is called a ‘candid’ by the young folks. very popular.”

you may not have come out with good photos of yourself, but at least you and jing yuan had fun and will treasure these memories forever. no matter how bad the photo to capture it is.

#why do i headcanon summer jing yuan as 100% dad vibes? idk i just see it ok #hsr x reader #dan heng x reader #aventurine x reader #jing yuan x reader #hsr headcanons #hsr fluff #hsr imagines #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader

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green-tea-in-absinthe-bottle · 4 months ago

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Million dollar man

How does your life by his side look like?

General masterlist

Being Aventurine's "Lucky Charm🍀" includes:

🎰 Always staying by his side. If he has to attend business meetings you sit next to him, when he goes to parties with his coworkers you are his plus one, during his gambling sessions you sit on his lap and cheer on him. He is never seen without you.

🎰 If he finds himself in tough situation, Aventurine holds your hand for good luck. It calms him down rather than giving him additional luck (he doesn't care, he has plenty of it already) but it doesn't stop him from calling you his Ladybug, Shooting star or Goldfish. Usually he shortens it to Goldie. He kisses your hand before making his move in games, makes you blow on dice before throwing it or allows you to pick which numbers you bet on.

🎰 Aventurine shares his monetary gains with you with no restrains. "Don't worry about anything, just spend" - that's what he says, letting you know the tab is on him. He is happy to finally be able to take care of those dear to him after being so powerless for years. Providing for you, keeping you safe and well fed makes him feel like he does a good job as a man.

🎰 You are always dressed in the most expensive clothes, not even the ones from high-end fashion brands, he wouldn't like you to accidentally match outfits with any other woman in the room. All your dresses are made for you exclusively, tailored by best fashion designers from the most delicate fabrics.

Your jewelry matches his, gold with aventurine stones. There is one necklace you never take off, golden peacock feather with green stone in place of it's eye. Aventurine gave it to you as a reminder, so you never forget you belong with him.

🎰 He shows you off on every occasion, posts you on social media and proudly introduces you to his work colleagues. Because of that you sometimes assume that he invest so much into your looks, cosmetics and clothes just because he wants to flaunt his wealth, but this couldn't be further from truth. While he enjoyed jealous looks from another men he pampered you solely for his own viewing pleasure. He would never choose a woman based on what others think about how his partner should look like, if he keeps you by his side it's because you're exactly his type and not because he thinks you would make him look more expensive in other people's eyes.

🎰 He makes you count his money while you sit on his lap. Of course there's too much for you to reckon, stacks of coins in front of you seemed to only grow. Aventurine adores that concentrated expression on your face, the way you lick your lips with the tip of your tongue and scrunch your nose. He loves how you switch from common language to your native one when you count, especially if you have regional accent, and he just sometimes needs to hear your voice. You speak in steady, slow rhythm, quietly mouthing numbers and his heartbeat slows down to match that pace. Aventurine finds it meditative.

🎰 He's afraid that you aren't aware of how precious you are to him. He knows it's very hard for him to be vulnerable after years of being abused and constantly keeping his guard up, so he might seem emotionally detached even with all the money he throws at you and physical affection he baths you in.

The last thing he wants is you thinking you're just a pretty little thing attached to his arm like an ornament. So he tries to show you his love without confessing it directly. He shields you with his own body during fights, he makes time for you no matter how busy he is, he remembers every little detail about you from your favourite food to the size of your shoe, listens attentively to everything you say and frequently does little acts of service.

He ties you shoelaces if you struggle with it in hurry, gives you his jacket when it gets cold, reminds you to hydrate yourself, scolds you if you skip a meal and takes care of every problem before you even mention it to him. His beautiful, unique eyes always find you and watch over you, under his protective gaze nothing will be allowed to harm you.

#hsr aventurine #honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #honkai aventurine #x reader

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kaisaerinlover · 2 months ago

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michael kaiser ^__^

tw: not much just previous abuse

he’s so gentle today, you know he’s probably having a tough day, practice might have been difficult; and his head in general. kaiser has a hundred years worth of trauma, and you do too. maybe it’s why you’re together. you want to fix his and he only makes more for you, but it’s okay, you’re both fine with this arrangement, “if you weren’t you would leave” he always told you. it’s okay if he cracks your fragile porcelain skin sometimes, because it makes the sparse instances where he is tender so much more sweet. but it makes the next day bittersweet too. the next punch. next insult. next round of manipulative whispers in your ears. all of them end up being bittersweet after the softness he displayed just the day before. but it’s okay.

you’re laid together on his bed, he probably had a long day at practice. “tell me, schatz;” he starts. you perk up to listen, your eyes boring into his. his eyes look so different right now, but you can’t pinpoint what it is. “why are you with me, hm?” he asks, his voice wavered a little, but he still sounded confident as ever. you’re still looking into his eyes, how come they aren’t the same as normal? “because i love you a lot” you retort back. his eyes, it’s not the colour that’s different, they’re the deep shade of blue they always are.

his hand on your cheek, kneading it and pinching it softly is enough to snap you out from those thoughts about the sudden difference in his eyes. “why?” it’s a vulnerable moment for kaiser, he usually doesn’t ponder things like this. “how do you love someone like me?” he adds. how DO you love someone like him? it’s a good question, even though you’ll only admit that in the furthest corner of your pure soul. you love him because he’s perfect. he’s so perfect for you, and you think you’re perfect for him. you like his eyes. what is it about them that’s different? the shape is the same?

“i like you as a whole” you answer back to him. it’s not a lie, you like everything he has to give you. you like the way he calls you from another room. “prinzesschen come here” and you like those mean words and punches he hurls at you at times. you like the star striker of bastard münchen and you like the remnants of the broken child inside of him. he holds your hand and squeezes it a bit “i love you my baby, love you so much” he’s looking deeply into your eyes, can he tell you’re wondering what’s different? “i love you the most”

“would you ever leave me?” it’s a hard question to answer, but yet again, you wouldn’t ever admit that to yourself. why would you ever admit there’s a possibility you might leave him? he’s pretty mean at times, most of the time, almost all of the time, but even then, it’s not enough to make you leave. nothing is. is he scared you’re going to leave? you aren’t sure. you bring your hand to his hair and play with it in your fingers, turning his golden locks in circles that amount to nothing, just harmless fun for you. “never in a million years” what is wrong with his eyes anyway? you can see your reflection better in them now, why is that?

moments like these are rare. laid in bed with your boyfriend holding hands, playing with his hair as he cups your face in a manner that suggests he’s scared of shattering you, his doll, this is so so rare. it’s almost like you’re a normal couple, both of you enjoy this normalcy, even though only one is to blame for the poor dynamic of your relationship. “wenn du mich verlässt was soll ich dann tun, meine klein prinzessin?” he asks you. “sie sollten nicht einmal darüber nachdenken denn es wird nie passieren das verspreche ich” you retort back. you smile at him and he smiles back for a second.

his smile fades and you almost flinch for what’s to come. maybe a black eye. but all you get is his face buried in your neck and a weird wetness there. your boyfriend is sniffling into your neck, michael kaiser is crying into your neck. you pat the back of his head and shh him soothingly. ah, that’s what was different about his eyes, they were glossy and wet from the tears threatening to spill over and ruin this moment. but it’s okay, it’s not ruined. you squeeze him tightly, in a loving way of course, you squeeze him enough that he doesn’t feel scared about you leaving anymore, not for now anyway. he quietly cries into your neck and you let him, because what else would you do. kaiser is just as broken as you. you like this rare moment of vulnerability, as bad as it sounds. kaiser is really human, isn’t he? the same as you.

right now, you are not adults. you are the same two broken children you always have been, you were before. you’re kaiser’s sweet angel hugging him after he scraped his knee playing soccer at the park. you kiss his head sweetly. it’s hard to not feel bad for him, how can you not. all he is right now is that crying little kid. and he sees you the exact same way. maybe that’s why he was so gentle today, because all he saw is the girl from his kindergarten class, the shy little thing from his class, the one he vaguely remembers, yet didn’t notice her until he dug deep in his memories again.

he’s asleep eventually, still in your arms, and you’re almost there, and you feel the most comfortable you have in years. your insides are soft and you’re content. tomorrow isn’t promised, who knows how he’ll act tomorrow. but who actually cares? you’ll take this small victory for tonight, maybe he’ll be nicer tomorrow if you’re lucky. but even if not, the tear stained shirt and the faint sounds of his sniffles are enough to get you through anything after this.

he’s just human after all, yet you are his little angel

german translations

“what will i do when you leave me my little princess”

“nothing because it won’t ever happen i promise”

sorry for using actual german:< i just prefer those phrases in german since it’s my first language and i like these sentimental valued phrases better in german anyway hehe hope u enjoyed if u read it ♡

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #michael kaiser x reader #kaiser x reader #angst #dark content

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wannabepoeticischiya · 2 months ago

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in the wake of stars... there, we remain

Do you wish to know the horrible truth? When I close my eyes, her memory does not resurface. I cannot remember her laugh, or even tell apart her voice. All that remains is the waking thought that she was the only woman I ever loved—the only thing I ever wanted. And the Abyss took her away from me. The gods took her away from me! And all the time in the universe—all the power this world has to offer—couldn't fill the void she left behind.

ao3: in the wake of stars... there, we remain pairing: capitano x f! reader genre: angst, romance wc: 16k status: one shot art by: C50spicy

“Granny!”

“Freminet! Don’t call her that—”

A soft chuckle echoed in the closed room, halting the chastise the magician was about to bestow on his younger brother.

“It’s quite alright, Lyney. I’m sure little Freminet meant no harm.” A pair of blackened hands patted the young boys’ heads, the blue veins marring the skin contrasting with the oceans of blond threads.

Despite Freminet’s endearment of the woman, no sign of aging was visible on her youthful face. A stranger might even proclaim her as an older sister to the infamous Knave of the House of Hearth. But the only thing stopping them from doing so was the darkened skin tracing from under her left ear all the way to the horizons of her forehead.

“Can you tell us the story again? Please?” The little blond diver sat near the woman’s feet, looking up at her with big beady eyes—one which always proved difficult to refuse, even for their ‘Father’.

“Only if you promise not to call me an old lady again.” She playfully bargains with the child, although… [Name] wouldn’t really mind either way. “Now, gather around.” She ushers the children to move closer to her, for which they happily obliged.

A rhythmic song echoed in the bowels of her soul as she silently watched the children talk amongst one another, a joy she knew could only live here… in this home, in this time, with them, and nowhere else.

Once upon a time, in a kingdom under the golden sea, there lived a knight, brave, righteous, and kind as they could be. And this knight, he loved no one else but the woman who threw flowers at strangers with glee.

The citizens loved this knight, and everyone wanted to be acquainted with him. But this knight lived with no other thought than to love and be loved by me…

“Haven’t I already told you to get lost?”

Cradled under a dome of a million stars, a noble lady stood far on the far side of the balcony, gazing down with fiery eyes at the knight looking up at her from below. Threads of [h/c] swayed by the eternal gale that rounded the kingdom every after-dark, ruffling the violet and golden garments she wore oh so devotedly—a striking contrast to him who wore clothes darker than the void itself.

“Ah, well—” his voice echoes in the silence of twilight, hopeful at best, painted as desperate for the woman on the loggia.

“My answer remains the same, Captain.”

Before the Captain could raise another protest, a plea for her to reconsider, the lady peered over the balustrade, angered at his stubbornness, “No.”

She could not wrap her head around his insistence, at first finding it admirable before it morphed to be unbearable. Many times had she told him off:

‘I must refuse your proposal, my lord’

‘I’m honored, really, but I cannot accept’

‘Surely, a maiden far fairer than me would most wholeheartedly embrace your affections’.

One would think that after three rejections, he would relent.

At one point, she believed him to have raised the white flag, given that he had ceased his advancement for a full fortnight.

That is until she ran into him at the plaza one fateful afternoon. Finding him surrounded by a sea of people both of highborn and low, militia and serpent knights, harboring him affection and regard.

The shadow of her presence was enough to stop their banters, the weight of her name parting the ocean of people, and before her… was a path that led right to him.

Snapping out of the memory, she is reminded that the object of her daydreams was still perched upon the street below her awaiting an acceptance that the lady swore would never come, even if he is a knight. “Now, if you will be so kind as to step aside—”

“My lady…”

A sharp stare silenced the Commander’s tongue, forcing him to freeze where he stands, burning the remnants of his thoughts. All that remained was the echo of her voice, the light reflecting off her eyes, the presence of her soul. He wouldn’t have minded staying rooted there for the rest of the evening, shackled to that post until the end of his time, so long as she would be near. A call away, just over the wall, looking at him from the panes of her windows.

“Please move out of the way, Capitano. I have more pressing matters to attend to.”

The Commander, as if time began to march slower, saw her marching towards the archway that would lead her indoors, and before he could detain his tongue—his thoughts had run past his better judgement.

“Throwing flowers at passersby hardly seems to be of urgency.”

[Name] let out a scoff of disbelief, swiping away her hand that held the doorknob and turned to march back towards the balcony, peering down at him with all the disdain in the cosmos. The nerve of this—this… “A lot more concerning than having you propose another time when my take on the matter will not change. Now, move out of the way before I throw a pot at you.”

“But why?”

The lady looked at him cynically, was he asking in accordance with his repeated rejection or for the threat of the pot? She would be happy to indulge in the latter, but [Name] knew that the ever-righteous Captain was not one to act like a fool… yet he continued to play the jester with her.

“Are we really going over this again?” She looks at him in exasperation, internally wondering how he rose to such power when he was stubborn as a mule. “Have you forgotten where you stand? I am a lady of the house [L/n], you are a Commander for the knights. Do you really dare have me be insulted by it all? Let me remind you again: from the moment we met all those years ago, when you had so brazenly declared to me that you would take arms and fight the heavens, your conceit and selfish disdain for the feelings of others made me realize that you will be the last man I’d ever be prevailed upon to marry. And I would rather dine on the scraps of field tillers and cross the seven seas with no leverage than be courted by the likes of you. Good day.”

Capitano stared at her retreating figure, counting that as the fifth attempt to court her that month. And the overall hundredth rejection for the last five, or was it seven, years? Every time she turned down his advancements it had him motivated to do more, to be more, become better.

Because in his eyes… there was no greater blessing, no greater honor than to love her.

[Name] who offered him cakes and cookies down by the gardens all those summers ago, the one who ran down the streets to welcome him back, the little lady who pushed the swing when he sat alone by the playground. [Name] who supported his dream of knighthood, the lady who dressed his wounds, who wiped his tears, parted his lips so he could breathe.

I’d be the last man she’d ever be prevailed upon to marry… she didn’t say she’d never marry me—just that I’m her last option.

Even if the same [Name] now sneers at all things related to him and his status as a commander.

A foolish smile carved its way onto his face, eyes as deep as the depths of the ocean shining in delight at the newfound hope.

There’s still a chance!

But love didn’t come easy for the knight, no matter the ardency of his feelings, the sincerity of his soul, nor the patience in his heart. The lady simply turned a blind eye to him—

“That’s awful! Mr. Knight must be very sad.” A little girl cried while her friend tried to console her by rubbing her back, the sight tugging at the seams of [Name]’s heart.

“Indeed, how cruel the lady must have been.” She agrees gently, curling a fistful of fabric under her touch, suppressing the urge to just run outside and comb the earth to make it all right. How cowardly was I to have shunned your affection for so long…

Not long after, one of the older kids spoke her piece, “If a knight as chivalrous as him had loved me, I would never let him go, not even for all the mora in the world.”

For a few arbitrary seconds, [Name] is left at a loss for words.

Perhaps it’s the curse taking effect or maybe it’s the regret clawing from the depths of her eroding soul. Still, it remained clear that the young lady’s words were something she wished she had lived by all those centuries ago.

“Nor I.” [Name] concedes, acknowledging the boldness—the genuineness—of the child’s declaration with a look of understanding.

But no matter how we wish to change our fate, to pave a way for a better tomorrow, a waking moment where we aren’t suffocated by the crushing weight of regret—that was all they could remain as: wishes.

It didn’t matter how ardently we pray for it to be true, how earnestly we chant so we could forge it into being… because when the dust settles and the moon is at rise, only then we’ll know…

“You see, children, to speak of love is an easy task, even the most vicious of people can do it. But to wait and prove that it’s true—even when there is no guarantee of getting loved in return, that is an act of faithfulness that cannot be accomplished by everyone. It takes merely a few seconds to profess love, but doing it takes more than a lifetime. And to find someone eager to spend that time with you… is a blessing that not everyone is fortunate enough to receive.”

…that some tales are not fated for a happy ending.

The children looked at her in amazement, no matter the blights of her curse on her skin—how it can easily depict her a monster—Lady [Name] is still one of the kindest people they have ever been lucky enough to meet.

Love didn’t come in all the shades of the rainbow as the lady had hoped. Love didn’t come dressed in willingness as the knight assumed.

Perhaps, in their hearts, they knew.

Sometimes, love can come painted like a summer night: dark as it comes but scattered with a hundred million stars. Sometimes, love is cloaked in hesitance: a gentle wave by the shores dyed with the warmth of a thousand suns.

And sometimes… love appears in forms we least expect it to take.

“You turned him down? The Captain? The Commander of the Serpent Knights? The Captain?”

A young woman paced around the room, struggling to accept the story her friend told her only moments prior.

“Yes, Peruveere, I did.”

[Name] rolled her eyes at the other person’s restless mumbling, continuously taking apart the petals from the flowers. And as if sensing the follow-up questions of her inquisitive friend, [Name] quickly attached the rest of her answers not a breath later, “Yes, the Captain. Yes, the Commander of the Serpent Knights. Yes, the Captain. And yes, Il-Capitano, the ever-righteous, strong and brave, nigh-invincible Captain. I turned him down just as I had the previous time he asked, and the time before that, as well as all the other advances he had made. And I will continue to do so if he keeps insisting. It will not change.”

She tore another petal away from the stem, not sparing a single glance at the other lady currently losing her marbles over the simple matter of [Name]’s rejection of matrimony.

“But why?”

[Name] tore her eyes away from the busy streets and looked over her shoulder to her friend with a stare of utter disbelief, as though she, herself, could not wrap her head around the question directed at her. [Name] could not choose which one of her inner turmoils would best fit the situation at hand: ‘You know why’, was one, and ‘I cannot, in my wildest dreams, believe that you would really ask me that’, was another. Though it seemed that no matter the choice, it still would not be enough to convey the entirety of her plight.

“I know that look, missy.” Peruveere narrowed her cross-marked eyes at [Name], drawing lines in the air as if it would raise the stakes of an imaginary court to accuse her further. “Your thoughts are all over your face! Peruveere, you’re a fool to ask me that—a lunatic to even ask why—I question to this day why I am friends with someone as empty-headed as you.”

The obsidian of her hair shone under the golden light of the artificial sun, casting away the shadows of the locks of her hair that were colored in ivory.

“Those are your words, my friend, not mine.” [Name] smirked, crossing her arms over her chest as she turned to face the fuming lady before her. “You know me, Peruveere, nothing in this world can persuade me into matrimony. If you wish to be tied to that man so very much, why don’t you marry him instead?” she offered, smiling faintly at the prospect of having to get rid of that persistent knight.

Peruveere scoffed at the idea, waving a hand in the air as though it would scatter her friend’s ridiculous suggestions.

Soon after, her expression morphed into something far too difficult for [Name] to interpret, “One day, [Name], you will wake up with your head in your hands and realize how wrong you were, and you will wish to have done things differently. You will wish that you loved him a little earlier so you could have loved him longer. And you will hear the echoes that my foresight was correct. The way I endeavored to inform you will come into light, and after all of that is said and done, only then will I trust that my earlier warning has been understood—"

[Name] let out a sound of alarm at the near cursing her friend was speaking, now it was her turn to wave her hands in the air as though it would rid of the baleful prescience. “Stop. Stop. Stop!”

Peruveere ignored [Name]’s superstitions and instead opted to convey her thoughts on all the privileges that [Name] would possess once she is married to the Commander.

“Every noble lady in the kingdom wants to be wed to Capitano! He’s got it all, you know, titles, wealth, power, influence—” Peruveere listed off his qualities from the tips of her fingers, explaining how each one of them would be beneficial to her and what it could mean for the years to come. Peruveere droned on and on until she finished at least ten laps on both hands, and [Name]’s ears were on the verge of caving in from how many times that brooding man’s name left the lips of her friend.

“And as your bestest, greatest, most fabulous, not to mention only friend, I have to root for you! I must! You two are practically born of the same soul! And to address your previous statement, no, I will not marry him on your behalf. Capitano is not what I look for in a man, he wears too much black, his friend on the other hand, oh my Dainsleif—hey! Where are you going?”

Peruveere quickly traced the steps of her departing friend, not quite finished with listing off the reasons why [Name] should accept the Commander’s proposal.

[Name] reckons Peruveere could never understand.

She wasn’t present at the time. She wasn’t even part of [Name]’s life when it all came crashing down. So how could Peruveere understand why rejecting Capitano hurts [Name] more than it did him? Especially when he was so persistent, so dedicated, treating her feelings as though being at the receiving end of it was an honor far higher than the heavens. Especially because he does all of that.

Capitano gave it all… and it was being wasted when she could not bring herself to return it despite every inch of her soul begging her to do so.

“A place where I won’t hear another mention of that man’s name—” [Name] saw Peruveere brace herself to question and quickly snuffed it out, “—or his accomplishments, his power, his oh-so-handsome visage, or anything even remotely related to him!” [Name] yelled, sick of all the iterating questions of why when she had already been so clear of her intentions. Peruveere, mother, even my sisters… all asking the same thing, and no matter my answer, they still won’t relent.

“[Name]…”

She snapped out of her thoughts, the consequence of her action hitting her with full force as she looked at the stupefied expression on her friend’s face. “Peruveere—I… I apologize, I did not mean to—”

Peruveere caught the hand that was reaching out to her, encasing them fully in warmth as she gazed at [Name] in a kind light. “No, I should be the one to apologize, [Name]. I shouldn’t have pushed you too far. If you don’t wish to speak about him or hear of his person, then I won’t tell of him at all.”

Peruveere’s patience ate at [Name]’s heart, flooding it with guilt. Words said on a whim that hurt her friend’s heart when all she ever wanted to do was ensure that [Name] could live with someone by her side.

Perhaps Peruveere did understand. Maybe she understood far more than [Name] could have.

“If only my family was as accepting as you.” [Name] could only smile at her kindness, squeezing the hand that held hers.

The two friends laughed at the thought knowing well that the heavens would fall before the great house of [L/n] weakens their immovable resolve. [Name]’s lineage wasn’t exactly known for being one of the friendly fellows of the kingdom, with their emotionless fronts, and closely guarded connections, it proved to be difficult to even just see one of their own walking down the streets as leniently as [Name] did. Their headstrong attitudes and unrelenting tendencies to stop at nothing to get what they wanted drove any and all coming acquaintances away.

It was a miracle that [Name] even had Peruveere for this long.

“I just… don’t wish to be unhappy all my life.” [Name] admits sadly, choosing to look at the dust littered on the cobblestone path.

“What do you mean?”

The chatters of everyday life seemed to blend in with all the colors of Khaenri'ah, until all that remained was the echo of the man loved by all… and yet loved only her.

She laughs and caught Peruveere’s stare with a net of fear—frightened of the uncertainty that came with a person like Il-Capitano. “I hear what people say about him, too, you know. The ever-righteous Captain, the nigh-invincible Captain, the brave and fearless Captain.”

“All good traits, are they not?”

[Name] gave her a pained stare, “When people put him in that light, he is. Yet all the same, it paints him in a different color… like he’s so far away. Don’t you fear that someone possessing such unprecedented righteousness is a latent danger? How… how could someone like that ever truly live? Will he ever truly confide? What if I am the embodiment of all that he detests—everything he cannot accept? Could he still bring himself to love me just as he proclaims?”

“You have yet to know that, [Name].” Peruveere shook her head, trying to coax her friend out of the spiralling doubt, “It isn’t fair to put assumptions on him when you haven’t given him the chance to act on how he really feels. He loves you. For eight long years he’s proven it, practically reformed the heavens so his adoration for you could be caged by the finiteness of this world!”

[Name] denied her friend’s suggestion, finding it too farfetched to be bled into reality.

How could she bring herself to believe his sentiments to be true when the prime of his promises to her had been broken from the moment he turned his back on her that fateful night?

I want to love you, I really do… but what would become of me if I gave it all to you once more? I know it’s tiring to love—to wait. I know I’m not the only one drowning in this ocean of grief when a thousand others were subjected to the same heartache.

But why does it feel like such a sin to love you now?

I don’t know how I’ll free myself from this fear—this soul-binding fear of leaving it all behind.

“Love is an illusion, Peruveere. We believe it because we haven’t seen what’s beyond that. That just as easily as you claim it to be true, it is just as easily gone—taken away before we know it.”

Because what if I did do it—leave everything behind? And what if beyond that, you will leave me, too?

Peruveere sighed in surrender. [Name] spoke words of fear, sentiments plunged in the depths of heartache, a great many things to project hostility but they all meant one thing: come and save me—if you truly love me, take me away from here. That much she understood, it was [Name] who was blinded by her shadows who remained cloaked in ignorance.

“But he might prove you wrong if you give him a chance.”

At her words, [Name] raised her head to look at her, and Peruveere took it as a sign to continue.

“Tell him of your grievances, what makes you happy, the things that upset you. Perchance you might find him a lot more flattering than he does you. He isn’t asking you for a thousand chances [Name], just one.”

‘Can I escort you to town, my lady?’

‘May I have the next dance, Lady [Name]?’

‘Please, do me the honor of accepting my hand.’

“And what if it doesn’t work?” She whispers, feeling the tears prickle at the back of her eyes.

Peruveere smiles, caressing the hills of her cheeks, “You’d be surprised at how often it does.”

The lady found herself tracing the paths of the past. How the pillars of her fear formed the walls that guard her frail heart. Underneath the mountains of rejection, blanketed by years' worth of injustice, numbed by the unrelenting march of time, there existed a version of her… who had once loved the knight more than there were stars in the sky.

“Are you so ugly that you have to hide behind a canvas of the evening sky?”

The masked squire pivoted on his heel, nearly swatting her head off clean with the wooden practice sword.

“Whoa—hey!”

A flock of birds flew away from the volume of her voice, shaking the foliage bordering the courtyard. A gentle breeze swayed between the falling leaves, scattering a palette of white and yellow petals in their wake, painting upon the once-green lands with their hue.

Domed by the artificial Khaenri'ahn sky, a young lady and a young boy stood face to face. One with a soul as radiant as the stars in the heavens crouching down to cover her head, and another dyed in the color of the midnight sun, entranced by her abrupt advent.

As if realizing the silence left by their strange encounter, the masked boy quickly got down on one knee and struggled to find the words to say, fearful that he might be offending a prominent figure in court. “I apologize, my lady. I did not mean to endanger you in any way.”

The young woman, as though struck by the reminder of their difference in status, quickly gathered herself: pulling her figure from the ground, patting away the micro spectacle of dust that had managed to touch her expensive dress.

“Ahem.” She cleared her throat, every bit of her mannerisms hinting that she was not used to interacting in such a formal fashion—as though she was not used to interacting at all! She took a peek at his still kneeling form, not finding him the least bit familiar, he must be new. She memorized the slouch in his shoulders, the hesitation in his movements, the threads of obsidian hair protruding from under his ridiculous helmet.

“You are pardoned, please rise.”

A younger version of [Name] stood before the young boy.

“You are most kind, my lady.”

The one who would soon be known as Capitano.

The lady, curious of his reasons for hiding his face, went by the gardens to pursue an answer. Unfailingly, for three full moons and a crescent, she sought out his company. Finding even the most mundane questions of everyday life directed at him, yet the prime interest she had was not answered until the first fall of the snow.

“I hope you like the cakes. The helpers in the kitchen always seem to make far too much of it,” the young lady walked around the edge of the winter wonders, watching as the young knight trained even under the descent of the cold. “And because no one wants to share them with me, I am left to enjoy them all.”

The young knight, ever so subtly, turned his head in her direction, a small gesture to let her know that despite his straining routines he would always make room for the things she had to share.

“I’m glad to be the one who shares them with you, my lady.”

[Name] caught herself smiling at the knight, feeling as the flames stemmed from her racing heart all the way to the horizons of her fingertips, casting fire to the hills of her cheeks, the bowels of her soul—the embers in her mind.

No words followed those fleeting sentences, only the breaths of a diligent knight, and a lady brimmed with adoration. The heavens falling to witness the waltz of two souls, dancing to the melody of a tune made to bind for all eternity.

The knight ceased his practice, drawing nearer to the lady waiting by the steps.

She could have watched him from the balcony, or not at all yet here… in this place shrouded with the harshness of winter, closer to where he was—there, she stayed.

He began to wonder, when did I begin to see like this? As though all of the heavens and the earth only came into being so they could hold you. What greatness did I do… that I am worthy to behold you? That I am so fortunate to have existed in a time—a place where I could love you as much as I desired?

Driven by the intensity of his emotions, the knight turned his back and began to walk away from her.

The lady, unsure of what to make of it all, snickered under her breath. [Name] found his behavior strangely endearing, to think one of the most skilled in knighthood could have been rendered flustered just by the thoughts running in his head was something not even the greatest of alchemists could conjure.

With a small laugh, [Name] stepped a foot into the snow followed by another, slowly tracing the footprints the knight in front of her had carved into the winter treasures.

The knight, who had initially only intended to break away for a few seconds, took notice of the way his lady had started to walk upon the path he made. With a smile of his own, he began to take wider steps, knowing that she would surely start to struggle.

[Name] had to leap in her step to continue her little fun, but the added distance in the interval of his steps along with the weight of her clothes had her stumbling a few moments later.

The young knight, ever so quick in his steps, turned with swift haste, catching her in his arms before she could hit the snowy ground.

A different object, however, had fallen into the snow.

“Oh,” Her breath was painted white from the cold, yet her eyes reflected the deep blues of the irises that looked to her with such ardent affection. “You aren’t ugly.”

But stars did not shine, they burned. And just as quickly did the snow thaw, the reality of their distant worlds had dawned on them. Lightning painted the canvas of their skies, ripping it open for the rain to fall��dousing the embers of their adoration for one another.

“Please… I beg you, do not go.” An older lady clung to the cloths of a man’s armor, hugged by the artificial lights of the Khaenri'ahn sky… the two lovers held onto one another as though it was their last day on this land.

The man touched the lady’s cheeks, ridding the mar of silver water racing down the canvas of her face. “I must, my dear. It is my duty.”

The Serpent Knights have been called to defend the borders of the kingdom from the ill-will of the abyss. A duty that was promised honor, gratitude, and legacy whether they emerged victorious or not—whether they returned breathing or not at all.

[Name]’s father was a knight bestowed the rank Captain, prestige that came with the comfort of wealth, and the oath of power. But for her mother, who loved her husband dearly, all it came with was the looming danger, the never-ending saga of fearing for his life.

And even if [Name] was still beyond the sense of maturity, she could piece apart that much.

Many words were exchanged by her mother and father, promises of eternity, a love to last a thousand lifetimes and a thousand more after that, that her mother only needed to wait—wait, and surely, her husband would return to her.

Yet as selfish as it sounds, even if oaths were broken and lives were lost, her mother didn’t want her father to go.

“It is also your duty to stay by your family’s side! We need you—I… I need you.”

“But the people need me more.”

[Name] who was watching from behind a towering pillar, looked at her father in disbelief, feeling as the little crevices in her heart began to rip its surface clean. Silently coming to terms with the truth that knights and all that they were associated with will always, unfailingly, put their duty above any other.

The real world was not like the stories her father had told her. Knights do not stay with the people they love when a kingdom is in threaten for ruin… they go out there and fight for the kingdom they had sworn to protect.

Even if it cost them their lives.

Even if the price paid for a momentary tranquility is the anguish of a broken heart, a wife’s grief for the loss of a husband, a daughter’s heart shattered to a million irreparable pieces at the loss of a father, a family torn apart so another could live completely.

And as if the universe wanted to play, [Name] found herself looking into the abyssal canvas of his face on the far side of the courtyard, almost as if she was asking him the same request as her mother did to her father.

‘Don’t go…’

But she knew that this righteous knight, the ever so brave recruit, the nigh-invincible young Capitano was the same as her honorable father.

Even if the price paid for a momentary equanimity was the silence of a lover, the heartache of a soul left alone in the world, a heart once entrusted to the hands of those who had sworn never to break it, shattered by the same hands.

Because that was the price you paid for loving a knight.

The weight of the years numbed the pain, and the tears had blurred the memories. Yet all the same, it proved that no matter how deep the valley that severed their ties, it could not hide the lingering affection littering the oceans of their skies.

"Oh, Il-Capitano~ Commander of the Royal Army."

“We have most patiently awaited your safe return.”

“What an honor it is to have someone like you in the kingdom’s service.”

Nobilities and common people alike gushed at the arrival of the esteemed commander. One enshrouded in the colors of the night, with what looked like the heaviest coat in all of mankind draped over his shoulders.

He marched through the gates of the kingdom perched atop his tall, midnight steed. And as if feeling her drilling stare, that faceless helmet turned to gaze in her direction. A simple gesture, one which a stranger could have passed as nothing but a meaningless movement, but to [Name]… she knew, that it meant more to the knight than the praises sung at his name.

Perhaps it was a trick of the light, or the sadness clawing its way out of her soul. [Name] would have taken any other explanation, any other reason, so long as it wasn’t the one forcing its way through her throat.

For a fleeting second, everything had crumbled away. In the place of that tall, imposing, broad-shouldered knight was a younger boy, one whose eyes looked far too hesitant to urge the stallion forward, his form was slouched, often kneeling before her, he who had promised the world.

Yet when she blinked, both figures were gone, one buried under the weight of time, and the other marching forward, once again turning his back on her.

No longer a young, naïve, lovestruck squire but a revered commander, righteous, brave, and powerful.

Rumors in the plaza spoke about how the Commander never smiled, or that there was nothing in his life other than his duty and the endless battles against the abyss. But the conversation that sparked about the most was the mystery behind his mask.

Others spoke that his face had been scarred by his countless conquests that he had no choice but to hide it from his enemies, while some say that he was born unfortunate in the department of looks therefore forcing him to wear such a thing to shield his deformed face from the eyes of the public.

But [Name] knew otherwise.

“Isn’t this exciting, [Name]?” Her friend, Peruveere, looks to her with eager eyes.

The young lady was a descendant of the previous dynasty, named Crimson Moon. Peruveere was the one who had so boldly claimed to be her friend after [Name] had thrown a fistful of flowers at her by accident.

[Name] shrugged and pretended to be indifferent to it all, forcing herself to look away as she felt his stares burn holes into her very being. "Eh, I've fallen witness to better."

That was a lie, of course.

The only one that could ever hope to best him in anything was himself, and [Name] was sure that the ever so charming Il-Capitano, Commander of the Royal Army, knew that for himself. But [Name] would rather eat all the snow in her courtyard than have to admit that to his face or anyone for that matter.

"The cats loitering the streets would hiss at you for saying that. Even they admire Capitano." Peruveere shook [Name] back and forth as she eagerly watched as the fleet of soldiers march back to the palace grounds.

[Name] tried to ignore the incessant beatings of her heart at the mention of his name. One which she hasn’t spoken in a long, long while.

"He looks far more miserable since the last I saw him." She unconsciously whispers, tracing the outlines of his shadows until his figure is nothing but a speck in the far-off distance.

Then again, how long has it been since I last saw you? Certainly not long enough!

"Perhaps it's because you keep declining him." Peruveere perks, smiling pointedly at [Name] who was still looking in the direction of the castle.

The lady let out a bitter chuckle, of course, I’d never marry him!

Capitano returned to her all those moons ago, nearly after three years, he returned.

But by then, her heart had come to realize the weight of his promises. That next to his duties, they meant absolutely nothing.

"Oh, woe. His poor soul." She emptily comments, finally tearing her gaze away from the reminder of his broken oaths.

"Please, [Name]. Miserable, yes. But poor he most certainly is not." Peruveere hooks an arm with [Name] and dragged her to descend the steps of her balcony.

"Do tell, Peruveere." [Name] rolls her eyes at her friend's antics, with half a mind listening to her ramble on and on about the oh-so-amazing Capitano, as they walked the now-empty streets to the plaza.

"All that power and wealth to his name and he commands half the Royal Army." Peruveere boasts as though speaking about that man made his achievements hers as well.

She really does hold that… man in high regard.

"The miserable half?" [Name] jests, leaving a fuming noble lady on the side of the street.

And so, tired of the longing glances and hearing the rhythm of two souls crying for one another, the heavens had moved to have it ceased…

Far into the depths of the night, when the trees slept and the lands were blanketed in silence, [Name] found herself standing by the steps that led to a courtyard.

Although this time, the space before her was covered with blades of grass and blossoming flora, the breeze was not sharp but rather a gentle lull in the ever-growing warmth of the season—a great contrast to a time when this place was riddled with cold, covered in his footsteps, thriving in the words he had no intention of keeping.

‘My lady,’ he whispers, drawing nearer to her. Close enough that his breath tangled with hers as the warmth of his hand draped over the hills of her reddened cheeks. ‘My heart calls your name, unfailingly, every night. My soul desires to see you—far too much that it has my gaze lingering in everything that reminds me of you. Each day, this feeling in me grows and I fear that the skies can no longer house them.’

‘I love you, [Name]… most ardently, please allow me the honor of staying by your side—’

“[Name].”

The sudden call broke the young lady from her daydreams. She turned hastily to meet the tired eyes looking straight at her.

“Mother.”

With the golden light of the chandelier seeping past the windowpanes, the scenery before her nearly resembled a painting of the heavens… except, the subject’s face was dyed in colors of loneliness—her mother’s heart died along with her father many, many years ago.

“You have a visitor.” She states plainly before tracing back her steps to enter the house once again.

[Name] furrowed her brows in confusion at who could be visiting her at this ungodly hour. Surely, Peruveere was sound asleep by now, and even if she wasn’t, her mother would never go as far as tell [Name] of her presence when she was already known by her entire family—she’s my only friend, it would be strange for them to do so.

As she stormed her brain for any other acquaintances who might be brave enough to knock on the gates of her home, the sounds of heavy footfalls and the clinking of metal chains flew past her ears.

Until a large body loomed over her fretting figure.

Even if she dared not to look, the stranger’s shadow—all broad-shouldered and imposing—already told her enough that this was no acquaintance.

Are you starving for another rejection? You really are thick-faced…

“Commander.” She greets coldly, curtsying for the sake of formality, rising once more to bravely look at the nothingness that shielded his face.

For a moment, Capitano did not know what to say, rendered speechless by the weight of reality that she really was standing in front of him. No longer crowds apart, no wall stopping him from seeing her, no meddling audience.

Just him and her, at last.

“You look well, my lady.” He smiles, although it was quickly wiped away by the steely expression still plastered on her face as well as the realization that she could not see him.

“I have no interest in making small talk with you, Commander.” [Name] looks away, turning her attention to any other thing that wasn’t the darkness in the place of his visage. “Speak of what you want and be done with it.”

A faint click resounded in the silent atmosphere followed by a small sound of something hitting the earth. Capitano decides then, that if [Name] was going to drive him away no matter his intentions, it was best to just be honest and let all this tangled mess unravel thread by thread, even if it cut and strangled him in the process.

“Your mother… desires our union.”

[Name] spun on her heels at the imprudent claim, raising a finger to point at him daringly, “By that you mean—you desire this union.”

The now unmasked knight gently shook his head in denial, taking a small piece of parchment from the insides of his cloak, one which was sealed in the sigil of her house.

In a hurried panic, the noble lady swiped the paper from his hand, and every bit of him burned at the faintest graze of her touch.

With unbattered patience, Capitano watched as her eyes traced the ink that was bled onto the paper. He was over the stars, yes, but above all else, he wanted to know… if she wished for this to come into reality.

“You schemed this.” [Name] looks to him in disbelief, a line of silver brimming the horizons of her eyes. She clutched the paper so tightly that the mountains of her knuckles had been painted white, and the parchment had nothing left to do but rip apart at the center from the intensity of her hold.

Capitano awaited her to draw nearer, pressing his lips together before he whispered, “I did not.”

“You did.” She insisted, stopping in her trails once she was close enough to look him straight in the eye. “Because why now, out of the many times I have been suave by some nobleman did my mother finally agree? To you, no less. And I mean that in every possible offense.”

His ocean eyes searched the contours of her face for any hints of remorse, traces of hesitation, creases of consideration—even the littlest of faults, he would have accepted. If she was hiding them, her true emotions, even just a speck of the love he once held in the palm of his hands, then he must let her know that she was doing a splendid job.

“Why do you detest me so?” He asks softly, unconsciously raising a hand to caress her face but before he could, [Name] had already turned away.

The lady let out a loud scoff and began to walk away from him, blatantly avoiding his questioning gaze.

Unable to hide his frustration, the knight gambled his chances. "Tell me then, that I am not wanted."

[Name] halted in her steps, still looking in the direction of the bordering trees. Desperately ignoring the echoes of a treasured memory formed once upon a time in the same place she stood upon now.

“Leave, Commander.” She says, in a tone so bitter she could almost taste it.

“Look me in the eye, My Lady.” He urges demandingly, softly— “Step forth and tell me that you no longer want me. Scream at me. Command me to step aside, show me that I am the last man in this world you could ever want to marry. Then, my heart is yours to break.”

Capitano was not one to relent, choosing to close the distance between them in a few calculated steps, standing in front of her way.

“Tell me, what I did to have warranted your aggression. I will make it right, and I swear to you that I will do no such thing to tarnish your honor or be the center of your unhappiness.”

And after many, many years, [Name] finally gathered the courage she stacked upon one another and looked him in the eyes. That same pair of irises, dyed in the colors of the ocean that haunted her every waking moment.

“You Serpent Knights and your promises. Cease them already! You know you will break them sooner or later—you always do, unfailingly. And you always will.” She seethes, hitting his chest as if doing so would make the pain in hers hurt less.

“I will not.” He counters, raising his arms to wrap around her frame.

“You will. Don’t lie to me!”

“I won’t, and I would never.”

[Name] clutched a fistful of his clothing, pulling him closer to her—far too near that one push would have his lips grazing hers.

“Alright then, swear to me right now that you—that you will not die. That when we are wed, you will return to me no matter what—there will stand no mountain, no ocean, nor lifetimes between you and me. Swear it. Say it to me right now.”

Capitano stares at her silence, long gone was the frail young lady who adored pastries. Her eyes shone in a vibrant light, the walls around her heart falling brick by brick to allow him the honor of gazing at the years of anguish she had endured by his single mistake, the passion in her eyes burning straight through his will to speak. This was the most she had ever spoken to him.

“I… ” He whispers, desperately fighting off the urge to just draw nearer and end this agony. I love you.

“You can’t.”

[Name] laughs bitterly, freeing her hold on him and walking past his figure.

No matter the years that passed him by, Il-Capitano remains the same righteous, brave, and powerful Serpent Knight. [Name] was not about to succumb to the shackles of matrimony with the inkling thought that she be a widow once the threat of war arose. She will not go down a sinking boat. Be married to a dying man.

“That’s a big promise.” Capitano swallows the lump in his throat as he watches her walk about the garden, ever so close to walking away completely. And he had this inkling thought, if she were to leave his sight right now, he would never see her again.

‘You’re drawing the shorter end of the stick with me,’ those were her words all those years ago, when his attempts were nothing but a flickering flame. Naïve, in the kindest words; half meant, in the worst.

Still, the way she had so kindly given him a choice on the matter had him steel his resolve. How easy it must have been for her to say no, tell him off—that she wishes to never see his face again, be near his soul, or be reminded of his existence—but she didn’t.

Even if it slipped her thoughts, what she gave him all those moments ago… was a chance.

One chance. One take. One moment to make it all right.

And all of the heavens will be damned if he did not take it.

Capitano did not speak of love to her, rather he showed it with every atom of his being. In every breath he took, all the gazes he sent her way, in his lingering but persistent affection. There, right along with him… his love had existed.

[Name] remains in silence, trying to suppress the trembling of her voice. He was not one to relent, not then… and most certainly not now.

It was useless trying to get soldiers to choose their personal attachments over the good of the many. That’s why I dearly detest them. Why allow yourself to love, to make home in the heart of another… only to leave and never return?

Capitano waited for her, even when there was no guarantee that she could love him in return.

If she would have him, he would have all the eternities to tell her he loves her.

But here, when she is not so accepting of him, he would not do it.

‘I would rather live my days as the most unfortunate man to ever come into being than to live a life where you do not know that I love you.’

And his sentiments had sought him in his every waking moment.

“But for you, anything.”

[Name]’s world came to a standstill.

Every star nestled in the depths of the cosmos had ceased their dance. Blackholes frozen mid-spin. Nebulas that scattered like clouds lulling at the echo of his words. It drifted from galaxy to galaxy, in different timelines, in every version of existence.

"I would have seized the stars for you if you asked." He continues, taking step after step to close the distance between them, a silent promise that once she allows him to be near—a place in her life where he could stay, he would never leave.

Capitano could never have fathomed the gravity of those words, pulling every world she built, the doubts, the longing, every molecule of eagerness... they collided, spun, condensed, and burst forth to resound his words for all the eternities to come.

"The stars?" She echoes.

Everything began spinning fast—too fast. The colors around her merged, blurring her surroundings until all she could see was him.

"Taken every single one of them." He affirms, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. "I would tally the heartbeats of every single thing that has ever lived on this planet, count the grain of sands in the deserts, drain the oceans, freeze the skies—you will only ever need to ask… and I will make it so. This is how much I would love you, if you will have me. You only ever need to say one word. Speak my name, and I am yours... from now until you are sick of me, 'til the last of the embers burn out into oblivion, until life ceases to exist—even beyond the destruction of nothingness—I am yours."

She allowed him to cross the distance between them. Not raising a hand in protest when the expanse of his palm had covered the plains of her cheeks.

She didn’t utter a single rejection when he touched her forehead with his, not even when his nose brushed against hers.

"In your acceptance, and in your denial... I am yours. In death and life. In the wake of destruction and reform. In this soul—before and beyond. Yours... and no one else's."

She didn’t do anything, even when the softness of his lips had descended on the meadows of her hairline.

Capitano, her memory reminded. Oh, but how could she ever forget? Not when he was looking at her like that—like one word from her would send him to paradise. She should be the one looking at him like that.

Because as it stands, [Name] was already there—in paradise—as though his soul was the shadow that guards her everyday life, the scent of flowers that follows her like daylight… the love that soothes her heart, every time he was away.

And so, the woman set her heart free and granted the knight a chance.

The lady and the knight loved with a love that was more than love.

Affection that was far from perfect, but they were made perfect for each other.

And so… love was made perfect for us.

The sound of waves crashing against the rocky mountains filled their hearts with ease. Nothing but the serene symphonies of nature pooling within the depths of their ears.

A thousand wonders brought by autumn descended from the trees, now looking as if they were reaching for the vast, multi-painted sky above. The breeze carried the leaves dyed in shades of vermillion and gold, scattering them across the earth.

The lady’s sudden laugh broke apart the peaceful atmosphere, making his heart tremble in delight as his head ever so slightly looked to her direction.

The way the late afternoon breeze danced with the threads on her head, eyes reflecting that of the sun which sat on the hands of the seemingly never-ending ocean. Her face that looked as if a painter spilled a bucket of orange dye on it.

His deep-colored irises stared at her with wonder.

And Capitano thought to himself, how could anyone… be as lovely as her?

Feeling his gaze fall upon her, the lady tilted her head in confusion, a small yet playful smile resting upon her lips. "What are you looking at, man?"

Raising his bare hand, the knight gently rested it on her cheek, leaning in to touch her forehead with his before momentarily closing his eyes only to open them and whisper...

"I'm looking at you, woman."

The lady wondered then how she could have endured denying the knight for so long when the light of his love was something she now no longer knew how to live without. She asks the heavens for answers, and sometimes even herself if the reason she was born long ago was so she could live in this plane of existence… and be loved by him.

The day the heavens bestowed upon the land a gift so majestic and wonderful that the earth has marveled upon it ever since its descent from the gentle hands of the clouds was beginning to dawn upon them once more.

At least... to the knight who loved her dearly, it was his interpretation of the special occasion. Her birthday. He was always so dramatic, that one.

His ocean-dyed eyes stared lovingly at the lady who stood not too far from where he was currently leaning against the threshold,

The knight observed the woman from a distance. His heart free from wickedness.

Ever righteous, they spoke of him. But with her, Capitano was certain he would do unspeakable things to those who dared bring her harm. Brave, still… he feared her denial—that a day will come when she realizes she did not want him anymore. Powerful, so why did he feel no power when he stood next to her?

Why was he anything but their depictions when she was the one standing in front of him? [Name] could have seen him as anything… yet she chose to see him as he was, as Capitano. No more, and certainly no bit less.

He loved her so, even more than his own life. And his affection for her flourished like fresh spring flowers each and every single passing day.

There was just absolutely nothing about her that he couldn't adore. The little things like how she would swivel and sway with the leaves when she danced with the melody of the breeze, exclaiming that the years of arduous dance practices had finally been put to good use, or when she would hum a tune when the silence was too heavy to bear.

To the knight, everything she did represented grace and beauty in a different light. She was simply just... heavenly.

When the light of the crescent moon penetrated through the curtain of clouds, the knight knew that the awaited day has been gifted to both him and to the woman he loved.

The gentle rhythm of waves crashing against the shoreline filled the silence left by the cold evening.

As quiet and light as a feather, he approached her, draping a shawl over her shoulders before sitting right next to her on the bench.

The woman was not the least bit startled by her lover's stealthy advance, far used to it more than she would have liked to admit. In the place of caution was peace; his presence helped calm whatever disaster was brewing up within her.

And ever so subtly, his warm fingers interlaced with her own. The little touches had flames burning at the tips of their fingers, crawling their way to the caves of their hearts, bursting forth to drape them in a blanket of fiery warmth.

"My dear, the moon is beautiful, isn’t it?" The woman's gaze turned towards her lover the moment his endearment left his lips—a far wanted term than the ever-so-formal my lady.

"Indeed, it is..." A gentle smile replaced the previous dazed expression that had been painted upon her face.

Nothing more was said within the next few passing moments. No words in all the letters of the worlds could describe the way their souls seemed to long for the other's presence.

"Thank you, my love." She spoke in a gentle whisper, leaning her head to rest on the expanse of his shoulder.

The midnight-eyed knight craned his head to face the lady who was still staring at the moon, admiring the way the lights above reflected the colors of her face.

"What for?" He questioned, unconsciously rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb.

She gave his hand a subtle embrace of her own, smiling at him with such gentleness that he was afraid she'd break at the lightest of caresses. "For staying..."

For remaining by my side even if there was nothing for you but denial. For your persistence. For your affection. For everything and anything all at once. That you’ve loved me even if I was the least deserving of it. Because you didn’t surrender.

You had so many chances to give it all up—so many reasons to grow weary and leave, but you didn’t. You found reasons to stay.

Caught off guard, the knight could only stare at her. An unexplainable blend of emotions swirling within the pools of blue that tinted his irises.

I’m happy to be at the end of your adoration.

He chuckled at her sentimental declaration, indeed... everything she did was absolutely breathtaking.

"Come." He urged, tugging at their entangled limbs, prompting her to rise to her feet.

"Alright, alright..." she laughs, "so impatient."

And with the flick of his wrist, Capitano interlocked their hands once more. His bare hand found anchor on her waist, pulling her closer to him.

Resting his forehead against hers, he swayed her to a melody that was nothing but silence for the rest of the world and yet a string of sounds of the most wonderful tunes for the two of them.

Indeed, love does work in mysterious ways.

The commander unhooked his hands from hers, circling one around her back, while the other carded the threads settled upon her head.

"Happy birthday to you, my love." He whispers, his featherlight breath tickling the shell of her ear. "Make a wish."

Just as how he embraced her with utmost respect and adoration, she did the same for him: hugging him tighter as she muttered the words that made his heart almost leap out of his chest.

"Be mine."

Capitano tucked away the stubborn lock of hair behind her ear, gazing deeply into the depths of her irises, memorizing the lines etched on her pupils, the way her lashes would graze her cheeks in the stray moments where she blinked. I’m in love with you. He hung those reminders of her like stars, formed constellations in her glory so that he may be reminded that no matter where he went… a place exists—a time existed—where she and he lived under the same moon.

"Already yours."

But the angels, not half so happy in the stars, envied the love of the knight and the lady. And that was the reason as all men knew, had them move everything to have their love ceased…

Magnificent, that was what he was.

Rain clouds blotted the vast sky, casting shadows upon the face of the lady who stood by the loggia. Her feet freezing her to where she stood as her eyes settled on the dark gloom ahead. The once gentle gale of the season had turned sharp, as though they carried shards of broken glass along with their escape. She listened intently to the whispers of the people, carried by the trees who had lived long enough to tell the tale of a dynasty made strong by human hands.

Her vision, though still a bit hazy, had begun merging the two-layered images that had played out in front of her: the sun that was nearing the end of its time of the day—little twinkling dots that had scattered across the palette of colors that painted the sky, and him, the anchor amidst this hell-bound storm.

His words flew from one ear and out the other, all she saw was the crumbling castle, pillars that held every brick and structure made strong by humans be submerged into the depths of the waters below.

What a terrifying sight indeed, such treasures kept hidden from the cruelty of this world.

And ever so softly did she feel a gentle tug on her hand, a small affectionate gesture that had urged her to move forward in order to match the pace of the one in front of her. Slowly but surely, her sight had focused on a man whose back was turned against her, the gentle yet impactful approach of the frost wiping away the footprints he had imprinted as he had continued to lead her to his desired destination.

Up on that hill stood a tall gateway, towering pillars of nothingness standing on either side.

Embers descended from the sky like the first fall of snow, and the flames of the heavens shone brightly as though they were stars.

His feet carried him from the bloodied pavement and onto the grassy ground that had covered the small hill.

“Go.” He whispers, pushing her towards her escape.

It felt cruel to do this to her—to [Name]. To ask the only woman he loved… to let him go.

Their laughter resonated within the empty atmosphere of that scenery. Her smile, so bright it put even the setting sun to shame. But now, only the thought of reality remained, crushing them from its weight.

“No.” [Name] shook her head, latching onto his bloodied sleeve, preventing him from marching back to all that desolation. “Don’t go, please. I beg you… don’t—Capitano, please.” [Name] fell to her knees, the seams of her clothing dyed in the hue of life that stained his shoes.

“[Name]…” His hands blanketed hers, gently—desperately trying to pry her grip open.

“No. No, no… you—you swore to me. You promised me. You gave me your word.”

Her ears struggled to process what her Knight was saying. Everything sounded as if she was submerged in water and yet her eyes could see the knight tense and stagger as he fought to keep his own morals for her survival.

Capitano knelt before her, discarding the veil he put upon his head, just as he once did all those moons ago.

He knelt beside her and caged her face between his hands. Capitano took it all in, everything. From the way the threads laid upon her head shone under what little luminescence embraced them, her ears that pointed a little too sharply, the little dots that littered her skin, her eyes brimmed with silver, the rivers of water that raced down her rose-dyed cheeks, the tremble of her lips, ones that he had never got to taste—and he never will. He seized them all, plucked them one by one, and hung them like stars. He engraved them all in his darkened sky—swore to heaven and earth that he would look to them every night... because after this moment, he knew he would never see them again. “And I intend to keep it.”

Finally, as twilight settled upon the two lovers, the knight turned and faced the woman he loved so dearly—for the last time, the last time in a good long while.

"Wait for me, my love. Wait for me, and I'll come back to you."

Even with her silver-brimmed gaze, the magnificently terrifying sight of a giant wall frosting into creation had slowly seeped into the crevices of her being, serving as the cold that froze her heart.

Through the tears, she stared at his unmoving figure. This time, Capitano was facing the enemy.

“I hear what people say about him, too, you know. The ever-righteous Captain, the nigh-invincible Captain, the brave and fearless Captain.”

“All good traits, are they not?”

Il-Capitano.

“When people put him in that light, he is. Yet all the same, it paints him in a different color… like he’s so far away. Don’t you fear that someone possessing such unprecedented righteousness is a latent danger? How… how could someone like that ever truly live? Will he ever truly confide? What if I am the embodiment of all that he detests—everything he cannot accept? Could he still bring himself to love me just as he proclaims?”

The ever so righteous commander, the brave and fearless captain, the powerful captain.

“You have yet to know that, [Name]. It isn’t fair to put assumptions on him when you haven’t given him the chance to act on how he really feels. He loves you. For eight long years he’s proven it, practically reformed the heavens so his adoration for you could be caged by the finiteness of this world!”

But to her, he was simply just Capitano.

The commander she loved.

“I hope you like the cakes. The helpers in the kitchen always seem to make far too much of it, and because no one wants to share them with me, I am left to enjoy them all.”

“I’m glad to be the one who shares them with you, my lady.”

The kind and affectionate captain. My one love… Capitano.

“I love you.” She whispers to the wind.

It dawns on her then, that she never really said those to him. Capitano told it to her through a hundred thousand different actions yet she—she had never told him. Not even once.

“I love you…”

And now…

[Name] didn't fear if another war was to come, nor did she fear that he would turn his back on her and cast her away again—no.

What caused her heartbreak was the certainty that after this... nothing would follow.

She would be stuck in stagnancy; in an endless cycle of trying to figure out what she could've done better. How she could have changed his fate, free him from the holds of death. Wondering that if she did things differently then things wouldn't end up like this—that she wouldn't have to be forced to see him leave… when she wasn’t ready to let him go.

I just got you… don’t—don’t leave me so soon. Please…

Deep down, no matter how much she tried to deny, [Name] knew what would come once she opens her eyes.

“… thank you for the adventure.”

To my Captain—darling, dearest, dead.

Many suns have risen. The lands are riddled with ruins of dynasties who once thought they would last for eternity. And the gods have been replaced… yet here, I remain. In this desolation, in the midst of destruction, cradled under a hundred thousand lights, I linger.

The echo of your laughter haunts me—even if more than half a millennium has dawned. I have seen more than a myriad of faces, descendants of those who once believed they would parent no children… and every time I do, I am reminded of you.

Of your ardent affection, and bold declarations. Your promises of eternity, and the dedication that came along with it—yet you were the first to fall, the first to stand against the ones who threatened our home.

Your love will see me in forever. Just as you had sworn. You, however, will not.

My Captain… my love, my darling… my dearest.

When we crossed paths, my life began. As though the once monochromatic mundaneness of my every waking moment was dyed in thousands of shades of color by your dark, and brooding figure. I told you, didn’t I? That when I pictured my life beyond it all, it would not be with you. I spoke the words, ‘I would prefer to eat the remains of field tillers than be courted by the likes of you’, still, you did not relent. I once had thought that you were a madman, choosing me out of everyone else—when you could have had anyone, yet you declared your love was mine to hold. I told you that you were getting the short end of the stick with me… and you said the words, ‘I’d rather live as the most unfortunate man for all my days than to live a life where I cannot love you’. So dramatic, that you are. If you weren’t a commander, you could pass as an actor.

Sometimes, love came as simple as staring at the moon—but sometimes, it was as arduous as forcing the heavens to align. Still, I loved doing both for you.

My life began the moment you made yourself known to me. My Captain, my dearest… my one true love.

I once had thought that the hardest thing in life was to find someone you couldn’t live without… but now it seems that it’s harder to live life without him—without you.

My life began with you, so why is it that before long, yours had ended…?

Your love was my haven, a paradise in this space riddled with chaos—comfort in a place destined to ruin.

Oh, but how quickly did it all crumble. How hasty sunshine leaves when the rain clouds loom. And how the heavens cry when life is devoid of meaning… devoid of you.

What would the gods ask me to do? Who will the abyss have me become? What more do I have to surrender to have you return to me?

Tell me, and I’ll do it. I’d reform the universe if I must. I’ll make it so, if they would grant me another chance. Another life. Another universe. A next time—next life… to have even just a few more seconds with you. To have you tell me that you’ll be leaving—so I’ll be able to let you know… if I’m ready to let you go.

But if fate is kind, if destiny permits, and you find the chance to come home to me—I’ll cherish our mortality, no matter how fleeting. Even if you return with a face blanketed in shadows, memories as fragmented as the skies above, a body crumbling from the cruelty of time... I would still know you. Your soul sings of love in gentle lullabies, whispers as warm as sun-kissed fire, tethered with hopes for another morrow. I would know you. Even if I am caged by darkness, drowned in silence, slipping from the threads of life… I will know you.

And I will love you. I will love you all the same.

My Captain. My darling… my love.

In this space, in this life, how very fortunate was I to have loved and have been loved by you.

---

Domed by an endless blue sky, children of all ages slumbered for the welkin to shine upon. Stars drifted amidst the ether, sending all that lay within its path with promises of a home that differed in shape and size. Melodies of the late summer breeze echoed throughout the home of the hearth, swaying the curtains to the rhythm that it carried along.

[E/c] irises reflected all the hues the heavens had to offer, light that had traversed the bowels and lengths of the cosmos reached the ends of its journey when they drowned in the depths of her forlorn gaze.

“Thank you for accompanying the children, Lady [Name].”

Walking between the borders of dreams and reality, the Khaenri'ahn woman’s dazed figure snapped back to the present: eyes darting back and forth, left and right, desperately trying to search for the voice that rattled her solitude.

She has seen that face countless times, Arlecchino. The Knave. Wolf in sheep’s clothing, they call her. But to [Name], Arlecchino has always been kind. A little on the intimidating side yet remained kind either way.

Arlecchino was the one who took her from the Doctor’s hold and gave her a place to call home. She gave a stranger food and clothing, accepted her and let her be near the children.

Perhaps it’s that kindness that had her vision altering to picture someone else. The one who shares the same blood as that of a soul she knew so long ago.

It felt surreal—as though she was still stuck in that nightmare.

“[Name]…” A small voice called her from the side, before long, cold fingers clutched the hem of her sleeves.

The young woman turned her gaze to her friend, Peruveere. Her cross-marked eyes glistened with unshed tears, hands trembling from the weight of fear blossoming in her heart.

[Name] felt her heart drop at the vision before her. Blood stained her friend’s clothing, falling so freely down the concrete flooring. Part of her face had begun to be caged in frost, blinding her completely—yet she remained hesitant to freeze the one standing before her.

Fragments of her sanity had been lost… still, her heart remembered that the one in front of her was someone she would always love—even as the darkness threatened to swallow her whole.

Before [Name] could support the bleeding lady, a deafening sound shattered the earth, shaking the buildings, and marring the ground in deep valleys.

Peruveere looks to [Name]—an action she was surely going to miss, to see her beloved friend, her only friend, before the world ends—because she knew, seeing her won’t happen again for a long time.

What a great adventure it was… to have been friends with you. To be near close as sisters. Even when I was cast away by the rest, you remained. Even when you had nothing to gain from me, you remained.

“Run.” Peruveere gave her hand one last squeeze before she pushed her out of the balcony.

If fate allows, and destiny is kind… would you meet me in another life? Can I be born again… and take walks with you around the plaza? Throw flowers at strangers in another life? Talk behind other people’s backs in another life? Can we be friends again… in another life?

Can I have another chance… in another time… in another universe….

In another universe, in another time, another chance…

Lightning struck the place where [Name] once stood, then a blood-curling scream followed—Peruveere.

In the place of her ivory hair was a faceless entity, shrouded in obsidian and the colors of the sky. The hands that had once held hers so kindly had been covered by blades, claws in the place of fingers, a danger in the place of comfort.

“[NAME]!”

Thunder echoed in the skies, lightning broke apart the heavens, carving a way for the creatures of the abyss to swarm her home.

The woman had no strength to rise from where she had fallen, her eyes staring in shock at the way a wall of ice grew from the ground up—shielding her from the creature that overtook her friend.

Her only friend Peruveere…

Before long, the lady found herself looking into the void of someone’s face. Capitano.

Ringing in the depths of her eardrums was a rhythmic echo of stone crashing against the ground.

“My love.” She breathes, staring at him with hazed eyes as she looks to him and back over at the wall of frost. “Peruveere—something… I—I don’t—what is going on—she’s still out there, oh god—Peruveere.”

“[Name]—” Capitano caged her trembling hands in his, trying his best to rid of the blood that drenched the pads of her fingers.

“I—I’m never going to see her again.” She cries, gripping the hands that held her so tenderly. “She was my best friend, and I didn’t—I didn’t even hug her. I never even got to tell her that she was right. I’ll never get to tell her anything ever again—”

“—[e]? —[Name]? Lady [Name]?” The calls gradually faded into a dull echo, one tune called to her in a familiar way, warm, and kind… and the other was cold, and distant—the one that bled into reality.

[Name]’s search ended when she met a familiar cross-pupiled stare. A small, sorrowful smile carved its way onto her face.

“Ah, Peruveere… how nice of you to come back to life. Have you come to gloat on me and tell me of your fated premonitions.”

The Knave, far from the one called Peruveere, patiently corrected the immortal woman. “I apologize my lady, but I am not the person you speak of.”

Ah, I knew that.

“Oh. Are you certain? You look just like her, except your tongue is on a leash.” [Name] laughs softly, “Perhaps it’s better. I wouldn’t know if that fool could have stomached living for so long…”

More than anyone I know…

“Why is that?”

[Name] looks to Arlecchino with a playful smile, “Ah, are you sure you aren’t her? She used to ask me that countless of times. Always with the whys.” She laughs, caressing the side of her abyss-tainted face.

“I’ll tell you just this once, so listen closely… because she would have gone mad with grief—existing when all that she loves has gone.” She whispers softly, fighting back the tremble in her voice. No, she couldn’t burden this descendant with the memories of a friend lost in time.

But she took one look at her, the one they call Peruere, yet all she could see were the fragments of the one she called Peruveere.

If this was her way of telling [Name] the ‘I told you so’, she would take it.

Peruveere could gloat and gush and ramble on and on about the Knights of the Khaenri'ah and [Name] would be sure to listen.

“Though it would be nice to have walks with her again. And talk behind other people’s backs… throw flowers at pedestrians.”

They could take the longest way home, pick the food that would take hours to finish, watch the longest play at the theatre—anything, if it meant I’d get to be with you longer.

Arlecchino drew closer to where the Khaenri'ahn woman sat, shutting the windows close. “Maybe another time, my lady.” She offers kindly.

[Name] looks to the Harbinger with a small flickering hope. “Yes… another time, I’m afraid there exists no such thing as that for her.”

Her words had the white-haired woman stop in her wake, ‘I see’. “Then, perhaps, in another life.”

[Name] laughs bitterly, a droplet of stars falling from the eroding side of her face, “Another life… huh?”

"Can't you see?” She whispers, “That doesn’t exist. Not for me, or Peruveere. Not even for him who so valiantly declared his promises. There is no next time! There's no next life! There is no other universe. It's a nice sentiment, believe me, it is, but this is it. This is all we get. But god… what I wouldn't give to have a next time. A next life. To be given just another chance."

Another chance, and I’ll be true. Another life, and I’ll do you better. Another time, and I won’t waste a single second. Another universe… and I’ll love you right—far more than I could have here. Perhaps there, you can keep your vows, fulfill the promise you gave me.

I am here, my love… I’m still waiting.

I have faced many losing battles, the loss of my father, my dream, my heart shattered beyond repair. But in all of that, I had you. I had you and it was enough—enough for me to gather all my broken pieces and hope for another day.

Everything would be alright because I had you.

Everything would fall into place because you were there. And life would take on different forms, different meanings, different paths because I had you.

“I’m still here but where has he gone?” She asks.

But how would I find my way now?

Every ray of hope disappears before my eyes.

I'm not sure I even know what happiness means anymore.

My existence is no longer necessary in this world. The gift of life—the curse of immortality ever so potent, ever so meaningless when all else is gone.

“Tell me where to look—where to go, the promises I have to say, the gods I have to trick, what I must surrender. Only tell me the way… and I’ll do it. No matter the journey, no matter the hardship, no matter the cost.”’

My love, my dearest... my Captain, how I miss you so.

Arlecchino looks to the woman, unsure of what to say.

She has faced plenty of formidable enemies, even formidable allies… but not one as unconquerable as the grief that came with the curse of immortality. She knew only two others who hail from the same land the Lady [Name] had come from, but even they spoke none of the anguish that came with the price they paid.

How could she have stomached living for so long… when there was nothing left to live for?

“I’m still waiting… so he has to return. He has to come home. Come back to me. I’m still here…”

Maybe that was it.

She held onto this person’s promise of return. How cruel, to have been given hope by a dying man. To live in a world where another has gone is truly one of the greatest sorrows a soul can face.

“My colleague is from Khaenri'ah, my lady. They call him Pierro, perhaps he can be of service to you.”

In the wake of stars, the shadows of galaxies, and in forever... there, we remain.

Domed by the ether of the land of fire, a fragment of a soul exists. Clothed in the colors of the night with a face shielded by the void of his helmet that he wore so devotedly, unfailingly.

Stillness blanketed his surroundings, only the songs of the seelies dancing in his midst and the faint droplets of water hitting stone echoed in the closed space.

It felt so long ago... that the embrace of the land was this mellow. The sensation was akin to receiving a hug from someone in the bleakness of winter: loving, comforting... warm.

It was just how he remembered it would feel like.

"You long for something." The Lord of the Night speaks, her voice sounding as though it came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. "Your heart screams at you to drop everything and look yet your mind shackles you to remain."

Capitano let the words settle—a statement, so it would seem—a question was its true form. No matter how the ancient being phrases her intentions, Capitano knew just as much that Yohualtecuhtin already holds the answers.

"Why do you hesitate, Outlander? Is she not all that you have ever wanted? Everything you have fought and lost to protect? The home you'll return to once the dust settles?"

The Harbinger let the ancient being’s words sink into the horizons of his shattered soul—a piece of what was once whole.

"She was."

Silence dyed the dust motes fluttering in the air. The Captain's answer seemingly weighing them down to stop their eternal waltz. Even the lullabies of the seelies floating the perimeter had dwindled to a whisper.

“Those blessed in sound will not know the turmoil of silence. A man raised in peace remains ignorant to the loss of war. And if the reason for my travels is my destination—I would have never left her side.” Should Capitano’s visage be free from the shadows of darkness, the reflection of an ocean of regret would be far too painful even for an entity as wise as the Night to witness.

“I returned to her, many times… but there was no one to return to.”

For years on end, that was something he struggled to accept. She doesn’t exist anymore. Not in all that ruin, not in the center of all this life.

But Capitano, in his grief, thought that anything could be brought to life.

He was free to dream, even the one he serves did not deprive him of that, but every fragment of hope he managed to stack upon one another was continuously knocked down by every passing sun that sought after him.

Capitano thought anything would be possible.

So, despite not believing in any deities, he prayed to every star, to every god that he knew that his beloved was alive. That [Name] was somewhere in this world, just waiting for him to return. Every meteor that grazed the sky and set alight the night in streaks of fire, he’d catch them all. Every aurora. All the full moons. Even for the slimmest of chances that he’d be heard—that his prayer would be answered.

He did not wish for a thousand things, not even a hundred, just one.

One wish for the heavens: to see her again.

Capitano did not need them to bring her back seven times, just once. Once and it would be enough. He would ask this of them, only this, and never again will he want anything more.

Only grant me this, and I will never ask anything of you ever again.

Ignorantly he believed that if he wished for it eagerly and hopefully enough, the universe would move the stars to make it so.

But for many centuries, they ignored his prayer.

"Do you wish to know the horrible truth? When I close my eyes, her memory does not resurface. I cannot remember her laugh, or even tell apart her voice. All that remains is the waking thought that she was the only woman I ever loved—the only thing I ever wanted. And the Abyss took her away from me. The gods took her away from me! And all the time in the universe—all the power this world has to offer—couldn't fill the void she left behind."

Capitano's power fluctuates, threatening to burst from the nothingness festering inside him. He would have permitted it. Let the anger and sadness wreak havoc on the lands just as they did in their homeland. He would have done so—once.

All those moons ago when her image haunts his dreams, when her laughter echoes through the valleys, and her figure lingers in every turn. He would have let it all burn, bury everything in eternal frost so that they may see what it's like to exist when there was nothing left to live for.

Feel for themselves what life means when everything else is gone.

"So why do you linger?" The Lord of the Night asks patiently, calming… soothing, as though she knew the heaviness of the burden the Harbinger had been carrying for the past five centuries.

Why do I? Why am I the one permitted to live? Why are you the one trapped under the ruins of our home? Why?

"Because I am ashamed.” He admits.

“All humans fear death, Outlander. Even the bravest of warriors are afraid to fall.”

“No.” Capitano denies, clenching his fist to control his breathing, “To be wounded in battle is nothing to be feared—dying to defend your kingdom is an honor. But when I looked at her—when I looked at her as she watched me walk away when I swore to her that I was never going to do it again, all I felt was indignity.”

“When I fled and went forth with my escape, I saw her there. Waiting. Waiting just as I had told her to. I knew then, I would never see her again.”

Back then, Capitano should have frozen the entirety of the ruins of his home, blasted the debris inching closer to where she remained, subjugated the creatures of the abyss that threatened to hurt her—anything, anything to keep her alive.

But he didn’t.

“I am the only one left to remember her. The only one to speak her name. The sole monument that once upon a time, she, too, had existed. And when I think of her for the last time—when the echoes of her memory fade into eternity, only then will I know that I am worthy enough to meet her again."

The Commander of Khaenri'ah would have never spoken words plunged in the depths of cowardice. In the wake of the falling stars five hundred years ago, he would have done anything.

If she was taken to another world, Capitano would cut through the skies to find her. If she ceased to breathe in this space in time, he would transcend realities—search the bowels of the cosmos to see where she'd gone. If she were to ask to see him, even for the most fleeting of seconds, he would drop everything and come running.

He would have done anything.

And that was the part that riddled his heart in fear.

Because what if it wasn't enough?

Capitano was one of the most powerful people in the land. His name drove fear into the hearts of those who heard it, had them anticipating their deaths, finding their nights spent in restlessness at the thought that he’d take away their lives in the blink of an eye.

Crossing paths with the Captain was something you would not even wish on your enemies.

But this Captain—the one drowning in the oceans of his grief, chained down by his loneliness, awaiting the moments of his last breath... could care less for names and titles.

He reckons she would have reprimanded him for that. She'd even go as far as to demand him to take the matters of sovereignty and lordship a lot more seriously.

And he'd laugh at her, of course—a melody that could render even the most talkative of noble ladies to deafening silence. Always a stickler for the rules, that one.

At the end of the day, when the twilight settles, and the last rays of the sun slip under the blankets of the horizon, his mind would drift to the impossible and pathetic thought—one which he never fails to think about for every moon that rises, and all the suns that have gone—has she been reborn yet?

Having been serving under the majesty of the Tsarista, there was no way he would know for certain. Or at least, that's what he's been telling himself for the last few hundred years.

Capitano has seen the wonders of this world more times than he could count. He's met with a myriad of leaders and lords. Witnessed as the cultures of these mortal beings be brought to ruin and reform once more.

He closed his eyes for every reminder of her—thinking that it was better to live in ignorance of her presence than to have been led on only to be betrayed by his own heart, his own hope turned against him.

Capitano encased her memory in frost, put her in the deepest part of his mind where she could not haunt him. He forced himself to burn the desires of his soul—to see her, to hear her... to tell her that he loves her and that he would give anything and everything to change her fate. He numbed his heart to it all, compelled himself not to think about her.

For every venture beyond the walls of ice, past the snowy hills, and the frosty palace, Capitano felt her get further and further away.

And soon enough, her memory had altogether faded from his mind.

He'll wake in the dead of the night trying to piece together her image, guess the color of her eyes, remember what shade her hair was, what her smile looked like, the sound of his name when it was her who had said it.

He'd try desperately to replicate the scent that followed her like daylight, the clothing she adored, the sounds of her footfalls.

But nothing ever felt right.

He'd tell himself over and over again that he did not deserve to remember her—to miss her when he was the one who threw it all away. I miss you all the same. He'd whisper repeatedly that he was not allowed to hurt, that his heart had no right to break for all that he lost when he had the choice to keep her memory alive, but he didn’t. It hurts all the same.

Capitano would chant it like a mantra. A prayer for his punishment. But even as he tells himself that so long a time has passed—that he had no obligation to continue loving her, a ghost from a kingdom in ruins, a phantom in a land colored in life. I still love you... I love you all the same.

In the frozen wasteland of every passing second, the echoes of her joy would come rushing back to him. The warmth of her loving hold, and her fleeting touches saturated in adoration.

No matter what he did, where he went, who he met... Capitano always thought about her. Are you happy? Are you eating well? Do you get enough sleep? Have you fallen for another? Does he treat you right? Do you miss me? Are you looking for me? Do you—will you still love me?

Whenever he departed, Capitano went with the hopes that by some stroke of fate, he'd run into her. When he would turn the corner, she'd bump into him. Or perhaps walk past each other on the street. Go to the same tailor in town.

Or that I'd see you... even if it's from afar.

But it wasn't enough to just hope.

Yet that was exactly what he'd been doing for the last thousand suns that had passed him by.

He wonders, if he had only risen to protest—to deny the fate the heavens had set for her… would she still be here? Would he not feel this twisting sense of guilt knotting his stomach? Feel as the threads of his heart come undone at his powerlessness?

Capitano knew he should have done more. He could have tried, as soon as he was able—and he always was—as early as he attained power... he should have tried, to look for her, to get a glimpse of her shadow, just to put his heart at ease.

But he didn't do that.

Perhaps it's the gnawing fear of finding her soul nowhere in this world—that he'll finally see that he's left alone in this plane of existence, where she can only live in the memories he forced himself to shatter, fragments of it carried away by the zephyrs of grief.

“You speak of my longing, Yohualtecuhtin…” He spoke into the silence, his footsteps resonating in the hall of stones, “Surely, you would wish for the same. Wish to be closer to demise if it means you’d meet the one you love. To rid of it all so you’d reach the ends faster.”

Before he left, Capitano looked past his armor-clad shoulders to that big monument that housed the ancient spirit. He could almost feel the burning stare she was carving into his being.

“She alone has made me love the path to death.”

And only there, in the cradles of the infinite nothingness… will I be worthy enough to see you.

“Perhaps you should seek her for a final time. Not in the past where ruins lay, but within the warmth of a home, surrounded by the promises you spoke to her… maybe then, you and your beloved will find peace.”

Funny story, I almost lost this fic💀.

My laptop crashed coincidentally when I uhh ‘killed’ off Capitano from the reader’s perspective. Turns out my 1st drive also died along with it. The repairman told me he needed the 2nd drive (where this fanfic was stored) to get my laptop working again but I couldn’t do that (cuz it had this fanfic) because all my files is stored there. The panic I had was otherworldly—but I managed to create a solution.

I came up with this idea as a form of revenge because of a post I saw on a page on Facebook saying Maviuka was Capitano’s TOTGA (I remember you Jhan, this is all your fault>:0). I didn’t read too much into it (cuz the update was like a day ago back then???) because at that time I hadn’t done the archon quest (and it was midterm week). I was so PISSED that I planned this fanfic in my dorm room instead of reviewing—so now uhmm… I think I might have gotten a little carried away ehe (BECAUSE EVEN I’M CRYING FROM THIS FIC) on another note, you’d think after I wrote a Khanrean kanreeyan Khanreyan STUPID FCKER prince Kaeya fanfic, I’d know how to spell kahnreeya khanrea— I don’t know how to spell it. I think I might have a thing for khaenriyan help ya know what, I take it back.

I hope you enjoyed it 💖

#chiya's head rent 🎐#capitano x reader #genshin capitano #il capitano #capitano #genshin impact #ao3 #fanfiction #i love capitano #genshin impact fatui #genshin x reader #arlecchino #dainsleif #lyney #freminet #house of hearth

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