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happy74827 · 5 months ago

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A Smile From Hell

[Homelander x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Despite the amount of unpredictability The Homelander has, he still catches you off guard with something as small as a smile.

WC: 3576

Category: Angst, Supe!Reader {TW — Homelander for obvi reasons}

In honor of Season 4’s weekly releases, this one is for the Antony Starr girlies (and you @summerrivera777777)

『••✎••』

John fucking terrified you.

He terrified everyone, really.

He had the power to level an entire city block with a glance. He was strong enough to crush a man's skull with one hand and fast enough to catch a bullet. He was an unstoppable force of nature. He was The Homelander, and he was a threat to anyone who stood in his way.

But, the thing was...

You knew everything about him. Everything.

And he absolutely despised that, but there was nothing he could do to change it. You had seen him at his most vulnerable and pathetic. You had seen his humanity, it’s amazing he still has any after the way Vought has abused him, and you had seen his inhumanity.

Jessica, or Sister Sage, had confronted you on several occasions, trying to get you to tell her your secrets. She wanted the upper hand on her arch nemesis, the only one in the world who was a threat to her. It was her mission to end the reign of the superhero she hated most, and she was willing to do anything for it.

You could see right through her, and you didn’t need magnificent amounts of intelligence to do so. You could see the fear in her eyes. You could see the doubt in her face, hear the strain in her voice, feel her uneasiness when she was near him.

John knew it, too. He just simply chose to ignore it. He had grown used to being the scariest man in the room. It’s been that way his whole life, and it seemed it was going to stay that way.

But, despite all that fear, she came to you for answers. Again.

And this time, the question was a simple one. It was so simple, yet completely understandably complicated.

How are you allowed to live?

That was a question that stumped you. It took you a long time to grasp the meaning of it, the specific answer she was looking for.

After a few clarifications, you finally understood what she meant.

She wanted to know why John allowed you to live. She wanted to know why he hadn’t killed you. She wanted to understand why you were the only person alive after calling him by his name.

Not his stage name, his real name.

For being the most intelligent person on the planet, you’d think that she’d be able to understand it. I mean, the answer was right there, in front of her face. She didn't need to be a genius to figure it out; all she needed was a little more insight.

A little bit of understanding.

"Respect," you said, your voice soft. Your words were clear, though, and she heard them perfectly.

The confusion on her face was evident, as was her disbelief.

"What?"

"It's respect. Anyone I respect is someone that deserves my respect."

She snorted.

"Right," she said. "Like he could actually respect anything other than himself."

"He's capable of it if that's what you're thinking," you told her. "And this isn’t about him respecting me; it's about me respecting him."

She narrowed her eyes at you, her suspicion rising.

"Why would you respect him?" she questioned. "You're not blind; you know exactly who he is."

Yes, you did. You knew more than most, and compared to The Seven now, you probably knew the most. His actions? Completely unredeemable. He was, in fact, a monster; there was no arguing that. He was a horrible, twisted, monstrous individual; no one would deny it.

His actions weren’t excusable, but he had an explanation. A reason for why he was the way he was.

He wasn’t born a monster; he was turned into one. That… that was the respect part. You respected him because you respected his story. You respected his pain. You respected his anger.

You respected his past; anything after that was on him.

"I don’t like using stage names to those I respect enough, so I call him John. He allows it because he knows I don’t mean it the way others would if they used his name; it doesn't hold the same power with me."

She rolled her eyes at you.

"Same goes for you, Jessica; I have no desire to call you Sister Sage."

Her flinch was barely visible, but you still caught it. Again, what is intelligence if not knowing the chances of a particular outcome?

"I’ve noticed you don’t call Deep or that fire chick by their real names."

You just smiled, leaving her to solve that answer for herself, and it didn’t take long at all. You knew the exact moment she came up with a conclusion. She was quite predictable, in that regard. Maybe you should’ve been the big-brained hero instead.

And now, you really should’ve been because when you turned down the hall, catching wind of the elevator doors opening, you knew he had listened to it all.

But you didn’t say anything, and you really didn’t say anything after a simple glance at him.

He was completely drenched in blood, a look that would terrify even the toughest of men. But not you, oh no, you were very used to that. He’s done a lot worse.

Besides, you were too distracted by the fact that the blood wasn't his. Too distracted by noticing how this time was different. He was smiling, but it wasn’t his usual cruel smile. This time, it was genuinely happy.

Relief, almost.

It reminded you of the night you two bonded. No, not that type of bond. The bond that told you both that you weren’t alone.

He had a friend, but he wasn’t really your friend. You don’t believe you could ever consider him one. Not really, not with the things he has done.

But, still, you were the closest thing he had to a friend. You were the closest he had to an equal, a person he could relate to. Jessica carried the same intelligence (obviously a lot more), but the similarities between the two of them stopped there.

You had a similar history but different outcomes.

And that reveal between the two of you happened that night. This was way back, even before Starlight joined. Back when The Seven was in its prime.

Stillwell threw a party, something she always loved to do before Teddy became her focus. It was the usual: people in fancy dresses and suits, lots of champagne and liquor.

The difference, however, was the main focal point. Usually, given Vought’s status, all of The Seven members were the main event. Everyone was mandated to wear their hero outfits. It was a great way to advertise and get people to buy more of the products.

The theme this time, however, wasn’t about the group. It wasn’t about any of you. For the first time in a long while, John wasn’t in the spotlight.

Due to this, Stillwell banned everyone from wearing their costumes. No capes, no spandex, no leather, no masks. Just suits and dresses.

It was nice, actually. A little break from the norm. It felt good to go a night without the tight leather on your skin. You were actually surprised at how well it was received.

The rest of the members of the group seemed to be having a wonderful time as well.

Except for one.

He was standing in the corner, glaring at everyone. Madelyn had an entire argument with him about the suit. You weren’t there, but you knew exactly how it went.

His costume was a part of him. It was a symbol. It was a mask. A representation. An embodiment of who he was. Without it, he was a naked target.

Madelyn clearly did not give a single shit. In the end, the argument resulted in the two of them getting into a screaming match, causing him to storm off in a fit of rage.

So, there he was, standing alone, seething at anyone who passed him. Madelyn won; of course, she did, and she didn't even bother trying to apologize. She wasn't sorry.

She was just mad that he refused to listen in the first place.

But, hey, that wasn’t your problem. You were enjoying yourself. The night was going pretty well; the alcohol was flowing nicely, and the music was just right. You were dancing and laughing and having a great time.

But, of course, things weren't always easy for you.

You weren’t expecting it to last long; you weren’t one to have good luck. You knew, deep down, that the night was going to come crashing down on you. You were just waiting for the ball to drop.

The ball dropped the moment you decided to go cheer up the sourpuss.

It was obvious the way his shoulders tensed, and his head tilted ever so slightly. He knew you were approaching. He was aware.

"Don't," he said.

He was clearly angry, and you weren’t smart enough not to push. This is where Jessica’s powers would have benefited you greatly.

You ignored his warning, walking up beside him, mocking his stance.

"You okay?" you asked, your tone soft and light, a hint of playfulness.

His eyes flicked over to you, and the glare he gave was terrifying. His eyes were so intense, and his teeth were clenched. You could see his jaw tensing.

He was a volcano, ready to erupt.

You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

"I'm fine." Humorously enough, it sounded like the opposite.

"Really?"

He turned his head to look at you, his anger increasing by the second.

"Don’t you have anything better to do?"

You shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm choosing to talk to you."

He looked away from you, grumbling, "And why's that?"

"Because you’re ruining the party," you answered. "Miserable face and all."

He rolled his eyes. He actually does this a lot, believe it or not. It's the only expression he has besides anger that isn’t fake.

"And why do you care?"

You shrugged again. "I care about enjoying myself, and I can't do that when you're moping."

He turned his head towards you. He was not amused.

"Go find someone else to entertain yourself with.” He pointed behind him. "I’m sure Deep will be glad to show off his fish facts."

That one caused you to make the same face he had moments ago. The absolute look of disgust on your face was enough to bring a smug grin to his own.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Don't make me throw up, John."

The name.

It was a simple slip-up, nothing more. But, of course, it meant so much more. This was before everything, so it doesn’t seem likely that a slip-up like that wouldn’t result in consequences, but it secretly was a turning point.

He could've killed you.

He could've easily grabbed you and thrown you across the room, and no one would be able to comprehend what had happened until after you were unrecognizable.

He didn't, though.

No, instead, he stared at you, his face blank, and his mind processing. You were nervous, of course. You had no idea what was going on in his head.

After a minute, a look of realization came upon him, and you could see the exact moment the gears started turning.

Then, a simple hum fell from his lips. One said he wasn’t expecting it but was deciding whether to accept it.

Then, after a few seconds, his face relaxed. His jaw was unclenched, his eyes softened, and his eyebrows relaxed.

"Let’s have a chat."

Uh oh. That’s a code red—a sign of danger.

You were so done.

And yet, for some odd reason, you followed him. You don’t know why. It was a stupid move, in your opinion. You should've run while you had the chance. You should’ve listened and just punched fishlips or something.

You didn’t, though.

You followed him, allowed him to fly you somewhere private, and just waited. You waited for your imminent doom. You were going to die; you were sure of it.

But, for some reason, your death never came.

Instead, the two of you landed on the tower’s roof, the cold New York air hitting you hard. He had set you down on your feet and went all the way to the railing.

You stood awkwardly, waiting for him to turn around with those beams in his eyes, but they never came.

He was just looking out into the city, his back turned to you, his hands on the railing.

After a few minutes of silence, he turned his head, looking at you through the corner of his eye.

"Aren't you going to ask?"

Ask what? What was there to ask?

There were plenty of things to ask, actually, and yet you had no idea what the right thing to ask was. Because, again, even here, he was unpredictable and unreadable.

You didn't want to anger him; you knew that for sure. But you were also tired of his mind games. It was a constant battle of wit, and you were sick and tired of being left in the dust.

So, you chose something simple to say. Something easy, yet not so simple to answer.

"Are you going to kill me?"

You wouldn’t be surprised if he turned around with a smile and answered yes.

He didn’t, though. Oh no, he stayed turned, staring into the city, his eyes searching. Searching for what you didn't know.

"No."

Simple and clear.

You didn't respond, and he didn't elaborate. It was silent, and it was cold, and it was a tense moment.

But you didn't leave. You just watched him, watched his movements. The way his shoulders hunched over, his head tilting down, the grips on the railing, the way his hair slowly became unstuck due to the wind.

You always thought his hair looked better when it wasn't slicked back, but this is the first time you've ever seen it that way. It was… it was nice.

Then, his shoulders relaxed, and his head straightened. He didn’t turn around, and he didn’t speak. He just looked over his shoulder at you, his eyes piercing yours.

Even with a few strands of hair on his face, his eyes were so sharp and clear. So blue. So cold.

It felt like they were reaching deep into your soul.

It was terrifying. He was terrifying.

"Do you remember your parents?"

The question took you by surprise. It wasn’t what you were expecting, but then again, this whole encounter was the definition of unexpected.

"Yes. Why?"

His eyes scanned yours as if looking for a lie. Then, he turned back around, leaning on the railing.

"I can't remember mine," he said. "Sometimes I wonder if I even had them."

Oh. Oh. This was huge. This was a big one. You had to search deeply even to find out his actual name. Now, here he was, telling you of his past.

Of all people, he chose to tell you.

You didn’t know how to feel about that.

You were honored, yes. You were excited, definitely. But, most importantly, you were worried. Is this him letting you in? Or is it him preparing you for your demise?

It was an unknown territory, a field of landmines. You knew a lot about his past already, but now he was aware of the fact that you knew. He knows, and yet he is still giving you the information.

Why?

"I mean, it doesn't make sense. Everyone has parents, right? And I couldn't have been born out of nowhere. So, I must have had parents. A mom, a dad, some form of guardians."

His face was scrunched, and his eyebrows were furrowed. You could see the way his brain was working. He was really thinking about it, wondering how the pieces fit together.

He was struggling to make a connection, and he was mad at himself for not having it.

"I'm assuming your childhood wasn't the best," you said. You knew it was a risky move, joking about his past, but so far, he seemed to like the boldness and humor.

And he did, in fact, let out a snort.

"Understatement of the year."

You smiled but quickly stopped. It was a serious conversation, and smiling probably wasn’t the appropriate reaction.

Silence filled the space again, and he was back to thinking. He was trying; he was really trying. But he just couldn't.

It wasn't the fact that his parents were a mystery; he's come to terms with that. It was the fact that he couldn’t remember anything.

All he remembered was the torture, the pain, the experiments… nothing about how he got there. Nothing about the people before the scientists. Nothing about a home. And the fact that they were currently building a fake one for him made him so angry.

It was a mockery—a complete joke.

He felt all of these emotions and yet couldn't express them.

And he was frustrated. He was pissed off and tired and angry and sad and empty and-

"Did you rip off your tie?" Your eyes had caught sight of his bare neck, the black fabric missing.

It was the only way to pull him out of his head, and, to your surprise, it worked. You could see the moment he snapped back to reality, the moment he was pulled away from his mind.

"Yeah," he answered. "It was suffocating me."

You could tell.

His hair became more unkempt due to the wind. The strands of hair on his forehead were getting in the way, and it was getting annoying. Not for you, no, but for him.

For you, it was… humanizing. It made him seem a little less like a god.

He lifted his hand, his fingers gently combing through the locks. It was a struggle, a normal struggle that you've had with your own hair.

Plenty struggle with deviating the locks away from their desired location. You've had your own fair share of moments.

But this was the first time you'd seen him experience it. The first time witnessing him do something so simple and basic.

Such a human thing. It had you wondering what else he was capable of.

He sighed, his hand dropping back to the railing. Again, it is a normal thing to happen. But, it had you smiling, the corners of your mouth curving ever so slightly.

The action did not go unnoticed.

"What?" he asked, not even bothering to turn around.

You shrugged. "I've just never…"

Your mind kept changing images. His hair, his eyes, his shoulders, his jaw, his nose, his ears, his neck, his hand, his lips, his chin, his cheekbones, his eyebrows, his skin…

Everything is listed in your mind, including the little imperfections and details that make him, well, him. This was the first time you saw him anything other than perfect.

The perfect monster he was, the god of all men. The man of the century, the one to take the world by storm. The strongest, the smartest, the best.

The symbol, the image, the mask.

The facade.

This was the first time you saw him as just a person. A human being. Just a regular guy.

"Sometimes I wonder how different life would be if you were…"

Normal.

The word was at the tip of your tongue. You could've said it; you should've said it. It was the truth. It was obvious.

But you couldn't.

He knew where your sentence was going, though. Of course, he did.

"If I was… what?" He still wanted to hear it. He was looking for validation, and he wanted it from you. His eyes were on you, his body turned, but there was this one odd thing.

A smile.

It wasn't his usual one. The one you were used to. The one that made everyone scared and uneasy. No, this was a real smile.

A soft, small one, but still a real smile.

A true smile. As if he knew the words you were going to say, as if he knew your thoughts, and he found them amusing.

You found him amusing.

And just because of that, you didn’t give him the validation.

"It’s fucking freezing out here," You coughed in hopes of successfully changing the subject. "I’m gonna get a jacket."

He was going to argue, but you were already walking off, telling him you’d take the emergency ladder down.

Nothing was spoken about that night. No words were exchanged.

But something had changed. Something had shifted. You weren’t quite sure what it was, but it was something.

So, seeing that genuine smile again in that elevator was a shock.

He had the same face as he did on that roof. It was that smile. That one specific smile.

Capable.

That's what it was.

He was capable.

He was capable of feeling and being human. He was capable of being something other than a monster.

He was capable.

All he said to you when you walked by was a simple goodnight. Something so small, yet so big. This time, those words seemed to have a little more meaning.

So, just to raise his unsettling mood, you winked and said, "Goodnight, John."

Again, a smile.

The smile.

It was hard to continue walking, and it was even harder not to turn around. But you did.

You did it knowing you were going to have a hard time sleeping. Knowing that, no matter what, you weren’t going to forget that smile.

The demon that still had a little bit of humanity in him.

A demon that was capable.

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bldhrry · 4 months ago

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gold rush

Cassian x Fem!Reader Summary: After stopping your father from clipping your wings, Rhysand offers you refuge in Velaris at the House of Wind. Living with Cassian isn't terrible but he is loud and annoying and overly interested in you. Despite his overbearing nature, you can't help but start to fall for him. Masterlist

warnings: cursing, abuse, suggestive language, kissing

word count: 9.2k

author's note: lil cass slow burn! hope you like it n lmk what you think!

When you woke that morning with blood soaking your sheets and legs you knew you stood no chance against the expectations of females in the village. You hid your ruined bed sheets and night clothes in your closet and despite an hour in the bath, your scent was simply too strong and your father pieced it together quickly.

The start of an Illyrian female’s cycle was the death of her wings and you were desperate to save them. You loved your wings; they were unlike any of the other villagers. Unlike their dark brown, yours were a reddish pink and the sun shone through them easily revealing all the intricate veins that hid beneath the skin.

Your father chased you around the house and despite efforts to dodge his attacks, he cornered you in the kitchen and before you knew it he had your hair in his fist, dragging you to the village square. You were to be made an example to the other females in the camp that this was inevitable and although you were the daughter of a camp lord you were not an exception to the culture. Your wings were not meant to be used; they were simply decorations and nothing more.

You had put up a fight, kicking and screaming and scratching your father and when you had managed to escape his grasps, the other lords were quick to tackle and pin you down. A few received bites and threats, but this wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle. This was an almost everyday occurrence.

Your father threw you on to the stone pavement and you rose to your hands and knees and tried to scramble away but he grabbed your ankle, pulling you towards him and flipping you around.

“I fucking hate you,” you snarled at him, kicking his stomach.

It was raining so bad you could barely see what was going on but you felt him release his grip on you but it was quickly replaced by another set of hands and your father made his way behind you. He grabbed the talon on your left wing and pulled you up so you were on your knees and through the rain you could see the glint of the knife he held in his hand.

You started to cry, your tears mixing with the rain that was pouring down your face. “Please,” you begged, twisting in his grasp.

You tried keeping your wings tucked in so he wouldn’t be able to destroy them, but it was to no avail as he forced them open and pierced it with his knife.

You screamed and fell forward on to your chest. Whoever had been grabbing you was gone and you crawled away from your father, the knife still lodged in your wing. He maintained his grip and the more you moved, the more the knife ran down the muscles, tearing them apart.

The rain was so loud you didn’t hear the footsteps approaching or the voice that demanded your father to stop. But you felt it. The knife was ejected and you felt the weight of your father off your back. You didn’t stop to see what had happened. You pushed yourself up to your knees and stumbled; your left wing couldn’t move, throwing you off balance so you staggered forward, trying to find some place to hide but the rain made your visibility almost nonexistent.

A hand, large and firm, grabbed your wrist and without thinking you whirled around, your fist connecting with a nose. The movement threw you off balance again and you stumbled backwards into someone else, this time their chest. They tried to straighten you, but again, you raised your fist and swung, but whoever it was had a quicker reflex than the previous person and grabbed your wrist mid air.

“I’m here to help.” The voice was deep, but elegant.

You tried to pull back, but their grip was too strong. “Get the fuck away from me,” you growled.

They stepped closer to you and you squinted and as their face came into view you let out a small gasp.

It was Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court.

Rhysand, with his arm around you to support your weight, and his male companion took you to the healer and there you sat as the healer promised you that the wing would heal and you would still be able to fly.

The male companion, who you had recognized in the faelight was Cassian, the Court’s General.

“You pack one hell of a punch, sweetheart.” He laughed and pushed more tissue into his nostrils.

You had fractured his nose and his face was already starting to bruise. You should’ve felt bad and apologized, but you didn’t. You weren’t sorry and in fact you were proud of yourself for leaving marks on every single person who had attacked and put their hands on you today.

And maybe, just maybe, Cassian should have not grabbed you so aggressively given the situation.

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Rhysand said from across the room. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He was pissed and he made no attempt to hide it. Despite the law forbidding wing clipping, the practice was still widespread amongst the villages. You were lucky he was visiting that day and that your father was stupid enough to do it while he was there.

You didn’t say anything and you weren’t going to thank him either. He needed to do a better job at preventing this.

So, you let out a breath of annoyance through your nose and straightened yourself, looking into his violet eyes. “Thank you for doing what is expected of you, my Lord.” You drawled out his title, narrowing your eyes at him. This was the one thing he said he would do and yet almost every female in the village had their wings clipped.

Rhysand’s face flushed and he looked down in shame.

Cassian let out a laugh of surprise earning a glare from Rhysand. But Cassian didn’t care. He was in pure awe of you; in awe of the fight you put up, the strength of your punch, and your confidence of chastising the High Lord. You showed no fear, just rage.

The healer gave you an ointment to put on your wing nightly and sent you home, but as you left you stopped, looking around. Your father was receiving his punishment along with the other lords and you knew if you went home it would be chaos. Your mother was gone and you had no other family. You had no home left.

“I take it you have no other family in Windhaven?” Rhysand stood next to you, his hands in his pockets. His gaze was soft, sympathetic, and incredibly apologetic.

You didn’t want to let him see your fear and sadness so you scowled up at him. “No.”

“I have more than enough room at the House of Wind in Velaris. You are welcome to have a home there.” Seeing your apprehension, he quickly continued. “If you wish of course. It is the least I can do.”

You grunted. It was, actually. And you really did need a place to stay. You accepted his outstretched hand and he winnowed you away to your new home and your new life.

You lived with Cassian and Azriel in the House of Wind. They were incredibly kind and good roommates even if they both left their dishes out and never cleaned up after themselves and put their feet up on the coffee table. Okay, maybe they weren’t the best or the cleanest, but at least they were kind and you enjoyed their company.

Your room was on the opposite side of the House from where their rooms were. You claimed it was because you wanted your own space, but really it was to avoid another awkward run in with an almost naked Illyrian.

Azriel was your favorite. He was quiet, kept to himself, and cleaner than Cassian. Every time he spoke it was with a purpose and you appreciated that. You hated nonsensical conversations and that’s the one thing you hated about Cassian.

He had a lot to say about nothing. He asked stupid questions and never stopped talking; you didn’t think you had ever seen him sit in silence. He asked you what you did with your day and when you responded with a one word answer he’d ask you for details; he asked about the books you were reading and what they were about and you wouldn’t have minded this had it not been when you were actively reading.

“How was your day today, sweetheart?” He bounded into the kitchen and you could’ve sworn the walls shook. He always called you that and it was obnoxious but you could tell in the tone of his voice it meant nothing more than a friendly pet name.

“Nothing.”

“Just nothing?” He sat across from you.

You were reading yet another novel and was attempting to have a peaceful, quiet lunch.

“Yes,” you huffed your response hoping he would get the hint you wanted to be left alone.

But Cassian was stupidly oblivious. “What exactly does ‘nothing’ entail?”

“It means I did nothing.” You looked up and gave him a deadpan stare. “I read and went to the library.”

He smirked. “That’s not nothing.” He chuckled at your frown. “I love when you make that face.”

“I’m glad I amuse you.” You looked back down at your book, sighing.

“You do.”

There was something about his tone and the way he said it that made you look up and he was looking at you with an unreadable expression. Something like sadness, and maybe longing, flashed in his eyes and for the brief second you tried to decipher it you were struck at how beautiful his eyes were. They were hazel with more green than brown and if you looked closely enough they had a sheen about them that made them seem alive with mischief.

He quickly composed himself and flashed her a lopsided grin. “I actually think you’re very funny.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “How interesting.”

He eventually left, claiming he was tired and wanted to take a nap but as you read your mind drifted to that look in his eyes. It cut you inside and you felt an unfamiliar feeling spread in your chest.

Rhysand offered you a place in his Court and his Inner Circle after six months of living there. He would have asked sooner, but wanted to give you time to settle in and look at him with something other than distaste.

You didn’t hate Rhysand. You just wished he did a better job at protecting his people. Wing clipping was cruel and stripped away all autonomy that Illyrian females had, forcing them to rely on the males in their life. It kept them trapped in an endless cycle of oppression.

You knew it had to be difficult, hell maybe even impossible, to regulate all camps and enforce the law. You were rational in that thought process and you couldn’t fault him for that; he was trying his best. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t be angry for yourself and for every female across Illyria.

He made you Cassian’s “Second” despite the fact that you had no formal battle training or knew nothing about how the camps worked outside of the domestic duties of a home. You hadn’t even been born during the war with Hybern. You were essentially a glorified assistant with a seemingly important title. Your job was to accompany Cassian during his visits, or rather inspection, of the camps and check for compliance and the status of the training and would be warriors, and hopefully soon, the integration of females into the training ring.

This, you scoffed at. If Rhysand couldn’t stop wing clipping then how the hell did he think he would be able to force the camp lords to allow females to train?

You didn't care to ask questions, you were just grateful for a job and something to do. There was only so much to do at the House and in the city and you were bored. You had essentially become a librarian with how well you knew the library.

After saying your goodbyes after dinner you were about to fly back to the House when movement to your right caught your eye and Cassian was running after you, a boyish smile lighting up his face.

“Are you excited to be working together?” He breathlessly asked when he came up to you.

You gave him a sarcastic look and smiled. “Enthusiastic.”

His smile faltered and for a brief moment you felt bad, but his face lit back up and he grinned at you. “Well, I think if we’re going to be working together at the camps then you need to learn how to fight. What do you think?”

You mulled this over for a few seconds and shrugged. “I was never allowed to, so I’m not going to be any good at it.”

He waved dismissively. “That’s fine.” Then he leaned towards you, that stupid grin on his face, and much to your disbelief you found yourself tilting your head up, your faces inches apart. “I like a challenge.”

His tone was playful but at the same time it wasn’t. Hidden beneath those four words was a promise. A promise of what, you couldn’t pinpoint, but the way he said it, his voice raspy and dropping an octave made your heart skip a beat and your breath catch in your throat, a familiar heat rushing through your veins. He seemed to notice this, his eyes glancing ever so quickly, but slow enough you noticed, between your eyes and lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow bright and early at six.”

Training was fucking awful for both you and Cassian. You thought too much about your movements, double guessing yourself which resulted in your stumbling and falling or a strike from Cassian. Wielding a sword and dagger was uncomfortable and felt so unnatural that you had thrown down the ones Cassian gave you a half hour into training. You preferred hand to hand combat much to Cassian’s dismay. The more you trained and the stronger you got, so did your punches and kicks and while he tried to hide the bruises, he couldn’t hide the limping to his room after your sessions.

“You need to stop thinking so hard and just trust your gut.” Cassian told you.

It was a hot Summer day and the sun was relentless as you sweated under its hot rays. Cassian had repeated himself at least six times by now and you were getting so frustrated. He kept coming at you so fast and hard that you didn’t have time to register his movements. And when he did slow down and gave you some space you spent too much time considering his next move that by the time you decided on how to counter, he had already knocked you down.

“If I trust my gut then I would just throw you off the fucking balcony.”

He laughed loudly and shook his head. You were brash and quick witted and sometimes he would press your buttons just to hear what insult and remark you'd come up with. You were incredibly creative with them.

You two had been training for three months at this point and you actually weren’t that bad considering how awful you were in the beginning. He didn’t mind teaching you how to fight and in fact he knew you enjoyed the routine. You were always on time and if he looked hard enough he could see a glimmer of excitement in your eyes. He liked that you always had questions that even followed him out of the ring and he particularly enjoyed the way you sought him when you found something interesting in the countless books he had given you on the art of war and fighting.

You two hadn’t gotten closer so to speak, but you were tolerating his presence a little better than before. As of recently you didn’t mind his pointless talking and incessant questions. He had a loud personality but it suited him well; a big personality for a big male.

He was conventionally attractive and on the first day of training when you had entered the training ring, he was already there finishing his warm up shirtless and sweaty. It had taken your breath away; he wasn’t just good looking, but he was downright sexy. He was beautifully built with broad shoulders and extremely prominent muscles. His hair, jet black, touched his shoulders in waves and his skin was a flawless brown that seemed to glow no matter the lighting. His face was chiseled, resembling a god, and you found yourself admiring it while he was busying himself with preparing whatever he had planned for the day.

You hated that you started to notice all of this and the way it made you feel. Sometimes he would catch you looking at him, your eyes fierce and aflame with something he couldn’t name. You didn’t mean to look at him with such discontent, but you were discontented. He was gorgeous and you liked him. You liked him a lot. You liked his childish and crude sense of humor and his contagious laugh. You liked the way his brow came together when he was concentrating and the way he shifted on his feet when he was thinking.

Cassian liked you too. You were gorgeous with thick hair that reached your mid back with cheekbones that were high and round and a slightly pointed chin; your face resembled the shape of a heart. Your body was unlike anything he had seen before; you had gained a lot of muscle since you had started training and it filled you out in places that he was ashamed to look at. You had a naturally round body with wide hips and thighs and a slightly slim waist; your chest was big and your shoulders wide. But his favorite feature were your eyes; they constantly had an analytical look to them like you could see through everything and everyone. You regarded him with a mixture of interest and indifference and while he couldn’t figure out exactly how you felt about him, he took what he could get and tried his hardest to get and keep your attention.

It was a bit pathetic how hard he tried with you. He followed you around like a lost, starving dog, and the only time he was fed was when you looked and talked to him. The conversations were always short and you never cared to entertain him with a discussion that had no end goal or a discussion that wasn’t started by you. You were selfish in that way but he would take what he could get. Which really wasn’t a lot but he didn’t mind.

You both never forgot that night on the front lawn of Rhysand’s townhouse. Cassian thought of the way your eyes widened and you leaned into him ever so slightly when he did the same and the way your lips, full and slightly pink, parted when he spoke. You also thought of the way Cassian had smiled at you, a mix of joy and seduction, and his eyes, usually a light hazel, were a dark amber that seemed to see your soul in ways that made you want to hide. In your darkest moments you thought of his voice and his breath fanning your face and the way he said those four words made your knees wobbly and you gut tightened.

Cassian didn’t just mean it in the sense that it would be difficult to train you given your inexperience but also in the sense that he knew you would be difficult to get to know. He also knew it would be a challenge to get you to like him, both platonically and romantically. Whether you consciously knew it, you were guarded and armed to the teeth with walls so thick nobody had yet to learn anything about you. You chose your words carefully, but not your facial expressions. You were quick to let Cassian know in little and polite words that you didn’t care about what he was talking about, but your face said you would rather bang your head on the table than hear him speak about the bird that took a shit on his wing as he flew to meet Rhysand and Azriel.

“No training tomorrow,” Cassian told you as you walked out of the ring.

You had a better session today ending with you only falling once and Cassian dodging all of your jabs.

“Oh.”

Cassian could’ve sworn you sounded disappointed.

“Why?” You finally asked halfway up the steps to the House.

“I have an assignment in Windhaven.”

You stopped on the steps and he turned to look at you. Your eyes were sharp as they narrowed on him and he suddenly felt very naked under your stare. He could see the gears turning in your head as you took in the information.

“Shouldn’t I be going with you?” You finally asked after a few seconds.

It was his turn to give you a look, cocking his head to the side. “If you want to, I guess.”

You resumed your walk up the steps, brushing past his arm and he sucked in a breath at the contact. “Well, I think I have the right to go given we are supposed to be working together. Right?”

“That is very true, sweetheart.”

“Yes I know. That’s why I said it.” A few moments passed before you spoke again. “Why didn’t you ask me?” Your voice was soft as you two walked into the kitchen.

He stopped in the doorway and watched as you grabbed two cups from the cupboard and filled them with water.

“I didn’t think you’d want to go. It wasn’t anything personal, I promise.”

You hummed and leaned against the counter. “I know it wasn’t; you’re not that kind of person. But,” you raise your eyes to him, “it would have been nice to be asked. I have a job here too.”

You’re not that kind of person. The statement took his breath away and you tried to figure out why he was looking at you so bewildered.

“I’m sorry,” he gave you a soft smile and lowered his head. His face shifted and his eyes grew mischievous and his smile turned into a grin. His stance relaxed and he crossed one foot over the other. “If I didn’t know any better, sweetheart, I would think you wanted to spend time with me.”

You scowled and he reveled in the way your face contorted when he annoyed you. And you did it often.

“Well, it’s a good thing you do.”

You two left early in the morning before the sun had risen and flew in silence to the camp. You loved flying, especially so early in the morning; the world was so quiet and peaceful and the only life around were the birds who let you fly so close to them you could see your reflection in their eyes.

You never truly felt at peace for some reason. Your body was always wounded up with stress and anxiety and the anticipation of whatever the day was going to bring, but when you were in the sky nothing mattered but the sun on your face and the wind whispering in your ears.

Cassian could see how relaxed you were. A smile ghosted your features and it was probably one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. He was looking at you so intensely that he didn’t notice he was leaning towards you until he bumped your wing with his.

You snapped out of your trance and side eyed him and he chuckled. “Sorry.”

You rolled your eyes. “First time flying?”

He blushed and bit his lip. No, he wanted to say, just looking at the most beautiful thing in the world. But he didn’t. Instead, he just straightened himself and led the way.

After another two hours of flying you two landed on the doorstep of Rhysand mother’s house.

“After you,” Cassian held the door open and you walked in.

It was an appropriate size with a living room and two rooms to the left and a kitchen to the right and a set of worn stairs in front of you. A fire was already going in the hearth and it left a warm glow on the furniture and walls.

The size of the house suddenly shrunk as Cassian walked in. His hair grazed the ceiling and he had to turn sideways to get through the door frame. It was a comical scene and to his surprise you laughed, your head tilting back and your eyes squeezing shut. He stilled, his hand still on the doorknob. You looked stunning.

“What is so funny?” Cassian shut the door and leaned against it.

“You look ridiculous. You are too big for this house.” You bit your lip and clasped your hands together, trying but failing to suppress another laugh.

“And that’s funny to you?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No,” your face stilled and you grew serious, standing straighter and brushing your hair over your shoulder. But it quickly dissolved as you let out a snort and covered your mouth, turning away.

He did look insane in this house and you weren’t sure why you found it so funny. You were aware he was freakishly tall and built like a bull, but the House of Wind was so big it made him look an average size. But here, in this normal sized cottage for normal sized people, he looked so out of place and his indifference to it all was hilarious.

“I’m glad my vertical condition amuses you, sweetheart.” He brushed past you taking your bag to your room and to your shock he took his bag to the room next to yours.

“Our rooms are next to each other?”

And without looking at you, Cassian said, “yeah so be careful bringing anyone over; the walls are so thin.”

You hadn’t seen your father since you had moved to Velaris and you were glad for it. You never liked him; he was mean and cruel and had driven your mother to madness and eventually her death. You had never forgiven him for that or any of his misdeeds for that matter. Sometimes you fantasized about his death and how much relief you would feel knowing he was burning in hell, paying for his sins.

You sat across from him during the meeting with the camp lords. You wore traditional fighting leathers and like Cassian you had a sword strapped to your back. In reality you didn’t know how to use it or how to fight, really, but appearances mattered with males who thought they were better than everyone and it mattered to you for them to know just how good you were doing.

Your father’s stare was overbearing as he took in your clothes and weapons and the hard set look in your eyes. You looked just like your mother and he hated that.

“We are just here to oversee the training of the warriors and your preparations for the Blood Rite.” Cassian had an easy going, but threatening smile.

He knew these people hated him. They hated that he was a bastard; they hated how powerful he was; and they hated that he was above them, giving them orders and commands.

Devlon frowned at Cassian. “We have 200 warriors. They train from dawn to dusk. And nearly all of them have qualified for the Rite. What else is there to see?”

Cassian shrugged, rubbing his siphons. The red glow was enchanting and intimidating. “The specifics of our visit are on a need to know basis; I hope you understand.” His smile was sent a chill up her spine.

Devlon’s frown grew but he knew better than to argue. “Fine,” he sighed and waved his hand in a dismissive nature. “Just don’t bother them while they train.”

And with that the group disbanded. You got up along with Cassian and nodded to everyone. They didn’t bother to look you in the eye or say goodbye as they left, but you kept your head high and your hands folded in front of you. This made you appear strong, but in reality you were hiding your shaking hands.

When they all left you let out a shaky breath and cleared your throat, sitting back down in your chair. You wrapped your wings around your shoulders, cocooning yourself within them.

“You okay?” Cassian’s voice was soft and he placed a hand in between your shoulder blades.

His touch was warm and soft despite the calluses on his hands and you found yourself wanting to lean into it and maybe even ask for more. Instead you moved away from it and cleared your throat, tucking your wings in and standing up.

Facing him, you gave him a tight lipped smile and nodded. “Of course.”

You two strolled through the camp after the meeting. You weren’t really here to oversee the training, but to see about properly implementing the law banning wing clipping. Since you had left, nobody else had been subjected to that abuse but it was only a matter of time that someone did it, causing a domino effect and it would come back in full swing.

You had only been here a day and you already wanted to leave. It was dull and sad here and looking up at the sky you couldn’t help but let out a groan. You missed the sun in Velaris; in Windhaven the sky was always gray and dark like this place was destined to be constantly punished by the gods.

“That bad huh?” Cassian had noticed that you had not smiled once or chastised him for being annoying since arriving. You weren’t sure which one concerned him the most.

“It just sucks here.” The response was juvenile and it made him smile.

“I hate it too.”

You knew of Cassian the warrior, but nothing else except for what you saw at the House. And it hit you in that moment you had never thought to ask and it made you stop in your tracks and you pushed out your bottom lip and squinted up at him. “Why?”

The question threw Cassian off. You had never asked him anything about his personal life.

“Bad memories.” He shrugged. “I lost my mother young and was tossed here having to beg for scraps.” He had a far away look in his eyes and your heart lurched in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” and you meant it.

By the fifth day of the “mission,” you two had come to the conclusion that trusting the camp lords to enforce the ban was futile and that a permanent position in overseeing it was necessary. You had known that from the start and reminded Cassian of such with a sarcastic, “I told you so.”

Cassian was writing out his report for Rhysand and you were laid out on the couch, a book in your hands. He had made little to no progress on completing it; he kept getting distracted by you.

You were laying on your stomach with your head propped up with one hand and the other cradling the book and your leg hiked up, making your backside more prominent than it already was. It was a crazy sight and his head was dizzy every time he beheld you. You were completely enthralled in your book that you did not notice how tightly he was gripping the papers in his hand or the way his knee bounced furiously and the way he shifted ever so slightly in his seat.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how soft your skin would be beneath his hands or the way you would react to his touch, your back arching slightly and your breath coming out in soft pants. You were playing with your lip as you read and he admired their color and fullness and then he pondered how they would feel against his and how you would taste as he swallowed your moans. He could picture it clear as day and it scared him slightly how vivid and real you existed in his mind. Cassian was so trapped in his thoughts that he didn’t hear you calling out to him or hear you walk up to him.

He jerked when you touched his shoulders and you saw how crazed his eyes looked, wide and his pupils blown, drowning out the green and leaving gold in its wake.

“You okay?” You asked, your brow furrowed together in concern.

He had been so quiet all night and it worried you. He was usually talkative and aggravating but he hadn’t said a word since you two settled in the living room. He was staring at the papers but it was like he was seeing through them and his leg was bouncing a mile a minute. You worried you had upset him by asking about his past and you thought of apologizing but you didn’t want to bring it up again and upset him even more.

So instead you opted to leave it to him to tell you if something was wrong.

Your hand was still on Cassian’s shoulder and your face was so close that your hair tickled his arm and he sucked in a deep breath and your scent filled his senses, making his nostrils flare. You smelled like lavender mixed with pine.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, placing the papers on his lap and prayed that it concealed his erection.

He leaned away slightly, hoping that some distance would calm his nerves and you noticed it, feeling your heart sink.

You jutted your bottom lip out slightly and exhaled through your nose, straightening but keeping your hand on his shoulder. “Okay. I was just checking.”

Your eyes locked with his and he still had a look that was a mixture of disbelief and fear and it made you look at him even harder and you found yourself leaning, invading his space again.

Cassian stilled so much he wasn’t even sure if he was breathing anymore. His skin felt so tight and his pants even more so. He could feel his blood pump through his veins and his heart was shuddering with every beat. You were so, so close that it sent an irrational fear through him; anything could happen right now and a million scenarios ran through his mind, all of them including you and him kissing and what happened after that varied.

Leave him be. Back up. Go to bed. The thoughts were so loud but you didn’t move. You were entirely entranced by his gaze and you were rooted in place. He smelled like the aftermath of a forest fire, the air thick with smoke clouding your vision and making its home in your lungs. You felt like you were in a haze of him and you couldn’t find your way out and honestly, you didn’t want to. It was comfortable and warm and oddly safe.

You barely heard yourself over the roar in your ears as you asked Cassian once again if he was okay, but you definitely heard the way he rasped out his response. It was a stangled “yes” and your entire body grew hot, so much so your vision tunneled and you could only see him.

His response wasn’t just a direct answer to your question. It was a response to the unspoken questions floating between you two and he hoped you had understood that. It was also a plea, a one word beg for you to close the distance and let him lose himself in you. He didn’t just want it, but he needed it. He had this ache in his chest since the day he met you that no amount of times he thought about you while he pumped himself into oblivion could quell it. He begged Rhysand to give you a position that would keep you close to him and you didn’t need to train in order to work with him but he made up that excuse so he could spend even more time with you. And it was worth it even if you gave him a blank stare when he said something ridiculous or when you snapped at him for bothering you.

And this closeness was only making it worse. You were so close but so far and he didn’t want to do something that made you uncomfortable and shatter whatever you felt for him, if you did at all. So he stayed where he was, letting you make the decision, praying it was the one where you kissed him.

But to his utter disappointment, you released the grip on his shoulder and pulled away, giving him a pained smile.

“Okay.” You exhaled, expelling the thoughts and feelings and his scent from your body and mind. “Goodnight, Cassian.” And as you walked to your room, leaving him reeling from this three minute encounter, you turned and gave him another smile. “If you need to talk just let me know.”

He gave you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and felt like he was being stabbed. “Of course. You too.”

Neither of you slept that night.

He spent an hour in the bathroom, making himself finish three times and even then he couldn’t get his erection to go away. You had stood so close to him that he could see the brown that flickered in your eyes and every pore on your face and even now he could smell you on him, like it was clinging to his skin, taunting him.

You didn’t rest either. The bed was uncomfortable and the room was too hot and the blankets made you itch. You couldn’t stop thinking about his eyes and the way his lips were parted just enough you could imagine your tongue snaking its way in, claiming it. If you allowed the thought to fester, which you did, you could see yourself moving against and feel his arms around your waist helping you reach your climax and you could also see his eyes, with their pupils blown, staring into yours, encouraging you.

You made the fantasy stop there. This was ridiculous. You were being ridiculous. You couldn’t say why or rationally curse yourself for these thoughts and feelings, but this was wrong and just couldn’t happen.

It was unrealistic anyway, really. Cassian had lived a life you couldn’t even begin to fathom and though he could act like he knew nothing, he actually knew a lot. He always had an answer to your questions and could go on and on about the endless strategic tactics used when fighting. You could listen to him all day if you could.

You were a camp lord’s daughter from a village that hated the existence of your gender. Your education had been cut short and you were forced to teach yourself basic arithmetic and reading beyond a grade school level. Your dreams were crushed beneath your father’s boot and any flame of ambition was snuffed out and replaced with patriarchal propaganda. You were a nobody wanting a somebody.

You two were complete opposites but were the same in your insecurity: thinking you weren’t enough for each other.

The tension between you and Cassian was so thick that Azriel started to sleep at Rhysand’s townhouse.

You and Cassian still had your morning training sessions but you both pulled your punches and kept your distance which ruined the point of training.

You were avoiding him, too. He still looked for you during breakfast and lunch and made unformatable small talk. You couldn’t bear it and after a few days you started taking your food in your room.

You did want to be around him and hear whatever nonsense came out of his mouth and his pointless questions because you had a gripe with how you felt about him. You felt stupid with the way your mind became foggy when he was near and how you stared at him when he wasn’t looking and most of all how your body came alive when you saw him. It was embarrassing and you hoped by spending less time with him it would go away.

You hated crushes. They were childish and pointless especially when pining after someone like Cassian. You knew so many people wanted him and it was evident the few times you had gone to the city with him. Females and even some males were shameless in the way their eyes trailed his body and the way they openly flirted with him when they stopped him in the streets. You never felt jealous about this because you completely understood the appeal but you knew with how many people he could choose to be with, you wouldn’t be the one he wanted.

Cassian noticed the way you would scurry away when he came into the room and stiffened when he spoke to you and it broke his heart. It aggravated him to degrees he didn’t think was possible. You had no reason to avoid him unless you were put off by the night in the cottage and you didn’t like him anymore, if you ever did. Maybe you were tired of being around him and the way you seemed to detest his presence prior was real and you finally got sick of it. He wasn’t sure but he missed you in a way that was foreign to him; he missed your scowl and raised eyebrow that said ‘are you fucking serious?’ He also missed the way you would curl up on the couch, with your feet tucked in underneath you, and smile at whatever you were reading, holding your lip between your fingers. But he especially missed your eyes and how they saw him. You saw him in a way that was entirely too personal despite you never asking him a question; it was like you could see every single thing about him and sometimes he could see a glimmer of acceptance dancing in them.

He thought about that night in Windhaven and the way you looked at him with concern and a hint of need. The scent of your arousal that night mixed in with your natural scent followed him wherever he went. He would smell it at the most random moments and he was ashamed to admit that it caused a physical reaction that left him biting his lip and stifling his moans and no matter how often came, your name falling from his lips, the craving for you never ceased. It was driving him crazy. He had never felt like this before and he knew that even if he had you, it still wouldn’t be enough. He had the idea that he would never not need and want you.

You had been eating a snack in the kitchen when Cassian sauntered in. He had seen you when he had walked past and decided to essentially trap you so he could get just a few minutes of conversation. He missed your voice.

You didn’t hear him come in but you felt his presence immediately. It was powerful and filled the room and seeped into your pores, making you flush with heat. Your body tensed at it and you glanced up and he was already looking at you, that stupid grin on his face.

“Hey.” It was a greeting but a dismissive one as you looked back down at your book.

“Hello.”

You could hear the smile and joy in your voice and you just knew he was going to bother you despite seeing you preoccupied. You closed your eyes and inhaled through your nose waiting for the avalanche of bullshit that was going to spew from his mouth.

From the corner of your eyes you could see him brace against the counter and scan you. Your body tensed even more.

After a few seconds Cassian sucked in a breath and bit the bullet. “Why are you avoiding me?”

The question was unexpected and you looked up at him and frowned. “I’m not avoiding you.”

“Yes you are.”

“No. I am not.” You punctuated each word hoping he would understand those simple, yet clear, four words.

“You are,” and before the scowl could take root in your face he added, “we don’t hang out anymore.”

“We never did to begin with.”

“Fine, you don’t let me hang out with you.” Now that was more accurate.

You shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what? Walking the house and the city and reading?” His words were dripping with annoyance and sarcasm.

“What I do is none of your concern, Cassian.”

He made a noncommittal noise and sighed through his nose. You noticed the way his shoulders sagged slightly and he took his cheek in between his teeth. “You don’t want to be around me anymore.”

You scoffed. What the fuck? “You’re being absurd.”

“Fine, then let’s hang out. We can go to the city.”

You gave him a blank stare and looked back down at your book. “I’m busy.”

“You’re eating crackers and reading.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. This was stupid. He was being stupid. “This is being busy for me.” You gestured to your book and before he could counter you added, “and frankly, Cassian, if you’re taking this personally that’s just not my problem. If you think I’m avoiding you, then maybe, you should take the fucking hint.” Your eyes were hard as they stared into him with such conviction he stepped back even further into the kitchen counter.

He made a small noise that you could only discern as shock and a little bit of anguish, but it was quickly replaced with narrowing eyes and a set jaw. “You’re a fucking bitch.”

This made you roar with laughter and you got up, pushing your chair back behind you. “Excuse me? What the fuck is your problem?”

“I try to be nice and do you a favor and be your friend and you act like it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world!” He didn’t mean to get loud with you but he was so tired of being rejected.

“Do me a favor?” You took a step forward. “I never asked. You did that on your own. And have you considered that maybe I don’t care to be more than your roommate? Have you considered that maybe it’s not all about you?”

He matched the distance you took towards him. “And why is that, sweetheart?”

Because I like you. Because whenever I’m with you I feel like I can’t breathe. Because I want you so much I feel like my body is going to explode.

But you didn’t say that. It was too beneath you to be that pathetic over a male. “Because I don’t care about you.”

This stung Cassian, bad. And Azriel and Rhysand, who had been eavesdropping, grimaced at the blow.

Cassian cleared his throat and he felt tears starting to sting his eyes. “Well, sweetheart, that is not very nice is it?”

It wasn’t and it wasn’t the truth but the actual truth would make it too real. You had been pining for him for months and if you said it, confronted it, spoke it into existence, and he rejected you then…you didn’t even want to consider the aftermath. You hated the feeling of falling because you knew sooner or later you knew you would crash and hit the ground.

“I’m sorry the truth hurts, Cassian.”

Cassian took another step towards you and he was so close your chests were touching and you had to tilt your head up to look at him.

“You don’t mean that.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “I just said it, so yeah, I mean it.”

“You don’t.”

“By the cauldron, Cassian,” you hissed and his eyes widened slightly. “I don’t owe you shit. So, do me a favor and fuck off.” You turned to leave and he grabbed your wrist.

He scowled and sucked his teeth. “You’re a fucking coward, you know that?”

You made a face, a ‘what the fuck are you talking about’ face, and it made Cassian smirk. He loved it when you did that.

“Look me in the eyes and say that shit.”

The demand startled you. Not because of what he said, but because of how he said it. Full of anger and rage and a slight twinge of despair. His eyes were hard and dark as they bore into your soul and you sucked in a breath. You knew he was seeing right through you and through the lies that were falling from your lips.

And it was true. You hadn’t looked at him every time you took a jab at him. Instead you opted to look around his face or close your eyes in feign annoyance. This would be your downfall because the longer you looked into his eyes the more you felt like you were drowning, being pulled under and covered in the green and gold and brown that swirled in them.

“I said what I said so deal with it and leave me alone.”

He tightened his grip on you and took another step towards you and you were acutely aware of how close you two were. One move and he would consume you.

“Say it.”

“No.”

“Why? Because you don’t mean it?”

Yes.

“No, because I’ve already said it and I don’t want to repeat myself.”

He snorted. “You’re impossible.” He ran his tongue over his bottom lip and you followed the movement.

You two stood in silence for a few seconds and he saw your expression shift from one of annoyance to longing as you said, barely above a whisper, “if I did,” you cleared your throat and straightened yourself, “it wouldn’t even matter.” You meant for your voice to sound strong and defiant but instead it came out broken and hopeless.

He matched your volume and his eyes turned soft, the brown taking over. “It would.”

You popped your hip out and made a face that said ‘you’re joking, please be serious, and leave me alone.’ He smiled and took his lip in between his teeth. Gods, he loved the faces you made. So real, and transparent, and comical, and expressive. You could say nothing but it all would be said in the ways your eyes narrowed, your eyebrows raised, and the downturn of your lips.

“It would matter a lot because unlike you I wouldn’t lie about how I feel about you.”

You didn’t say anything but you squinted your eyes and tilted your head, once again silently asking, what the fuck are you talking about?

“So, tell me the truth.”

You narrowed your eyes and huffed, stomping your foot. “You know Cassian you are the most obnoxious and annoying person I have ever-” you weren’t able to finish your sentence because Cassian cupped your face and crashed his lips into yours.

It was the most exhilarating feeling in the entire world. His hands, so big and warm and confident in their hold of you, made you melt and the sensation of his mouth working against yours made you see stars. You stumbled with the force and failed your arms slightly to steady yourself, but Cassian removed one hand and grabbed your wrist again, placing it on your chest and you gripped his shirt and threw your other arm around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair.

You pushed yourself on to your toes in an attempt to get closer to him and with a small groan he arched his body down against yours and tilted his head, deepening the kiss. You matched the way his mouth feverishly overtook yours and it wasn’t long after that he swiped his tongue across your bottom lip asking, no begging, for entrance and you allowed it, moaning as he explored and tasted you.

This was exactly how he imagined you would feel, sound, and taste. This was even better than what his imagination had conjured up these past few months. You were soft beneath his grasp and you moved your body as his hands trailed down your back and under your shirt, gripping your waist. The sounds you made were small and quiet but they vibrated his body and his pants grew tighter and tighter and he feared that if you pressed yourself into him more he would come undone.

You had thought about this moment for so long, too and the reality was so much better. His stubble scratched your chin and his hands engulfed your frame and his tongue dominated your mouth. You wanted to be entirely consumed by him and he was doing just that and it was like the heavens had come to you. Your hands roamed around his chest and shoulders and hair; he was firm and his skin tight as you explored his body and you ached to know every muscle and crevice, every scar and expanse of skin. You yearned to know him and you didn’t think this level of need was possible but here you were, silently, mentally begging for him to take you and reach for the stars.

He pulled away and you followed him with your mouth, a small whimper leaving your lips. Your eyes were still closed, reeling from his touch. Cassian’s eyes were still closed too as he brushed his lips over yours and brushed his nose on the tip of yours. You two were panting, your breaths heavy and moving in synchrony.

A small smirk spread across his face as he brushed his lips against yours again and you tilted your head, trying to capture them in another searing kiss.

“Tell me again,” he kissed you. “Tell me you don’t like me.” Another kiss. “Tell me you don’t care about me.” Another kiss. “Tell me you don’t want me.”

You wouldn’t because it wasn’t true. It was never true. Yes he was annoying and sometimes you detested his presence but at the end of the day he was fun and kind and made it a point to include you in everything he or the Inner Court did. You secretly did like when you asked about your day or what you liked to do. Nobody had ever been interested in you back home; how you felt and what you wanted was of no concern to anybody. All that mattered to your father was that the house was picked up, the laundry was done, and the dishes were clean. It felt amazing to be noticed even if Cassian was overbearing with his interest in you.

“I can’t,” was all you said. It was true. You couldn’t lie anymore. You liked him, you cared about him, and you wanted him.

“Good.” Another kiss; this one was hot and long, making you both moan, leaving you dizzy and throbbing with desire.

“Because I don’t just want you, sweetheart. I need you.”

#cassian fanfiction #cassian fanfic #cassian x reader #cassian x fem reader #cassian x female!reader #cassian x female reader #acotar #acosf #acofas #acomaf #acowar #c writes!#a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin

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qu1cks1lversb1tch · 13 days ago

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☆ Silver's Sinful Sunday ☆

Week Four: Azriel

Warnings: 18+ [MDNI], enemies with benefits (mates), fem reader, choking, p in v, reader is kinda a brat, dominant Azriel, no use of Y/N, pet names, slight angst at the end, it's my writing — that's a warning within itself (cringe), all actions are with consent ofc

A/N— Week four was originally Vox (Hazbin Hotel). Refer to this post for the reason why it's not. Azriel was intended to be week five, but he's been moved to week four. The style for this one is also a little different than the others. . . Oopsies. . . Your honor, they're actually in love with each other but they're idiots. . .

Word Count: 2.8K

“Let me in.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine despite the massive argument the two of you had been in less than an hour ago. It was over something so petty that you didn't even remember what it was about, but you were still heated over it.

The anger simmered just beneath the surface, a feeling only he could evoke. It both drove you wild and pissed you off at the exact same time.

“I know you're in there. Let me in.”

After every argument, Azriel found his way to your door. After every argument, it always ended the same way. There were never apologies. Apologies didn't exist between the two of you. The thought of one alone was highly amusing.

You reached the door with a scowl, twisting the brassy colored knob in your firm grasp. The door swung open, revealing the very male you knew it'd be.

His gaze roamed unabashedly over your form. From your hair to the silken midnight blue nightgown that hugged your curves in all the right places, all the way to the soft glow of your skin in the warm light of your bedroom.

“What?” You hissed, eyes narrowing.

He hummed approvingly, noting how you were still heated from the argument. “Are you going to let me in, or just glare at me?” His voice was deep and raspy, telling you everything you needed to know. The reason why he'd come, just like the other times.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed, turning on your heel to return to your vanity. The door was left wide open; Azriel stepped in, shutting and locking the door behind him, watching closely as you walked away from him.

“Do you have any idea how mad you made me out there?” Azriel asked as he walked towards you, his steps quick, but quiet. His body moved with ease, like a prowling animal, every muscle rippling with every step.

“You started it. You pissed me off.” You sharply bit back, stopping in front of the mirror to take off the last remnants of the lipstick that Mor had wanted you to try because she thought it would look good on you. She was right, as usual.

He came up behind you, his large frame towering over you in the mirror. Azriel's hands landed on your hips, pinning you against the vanity in front of you. His hard chest pressed against your back, his lips grazing over the shell of your ear. “I may have started it, but you don't know when to shut your little mouth.”

"I thought you liked my mouth wide open." You snapped with a small, barely noticeable rumble of a growl, glaring at him in the mirror as he pressed against you.

He chuckled and he slid his large hand up your body, gently wrapping his fingers around your throat, his hand almost covering your entire neck.

"I do. But I also like it when you're a good little princess and shut up and listen. I like it when you're good for me." He moved his other hand, letting it run over your thigh.

He moved his lips over your neck, letting his tongue trail over your sensitive skin, feeling your pulse in his hand. "Maybe next time you'll think twice before you open that pretty mouth of yours to say something you'll know will piss me off, hm?"

His hand on your thigh moved higher, letting his hand slide under the fabric of your nightgown, running his hand over the smooth skin of your hip.

“Don't act like you don't fucking love it.” You growled, fighting the urge to react to his touch. He didn't deserve to see you melt into his touch. Ha. No.

A dark chuckle fell from his lips, his breath warm on your skin. “You're right. It makes it more fun when I shut you up. . . I like it when you can't hide how much you want me.” His teeth grazed your neck.

“Go fuck yourself.”

A low chuckle came from him again, he didn't expect anything different from you. You were stubborn and defiant. But he liked it, loved it even. You were the only one who dared to talk back to him, to fight and argue with him. It drove him crazy.

"Such a filthy little mouth." His hand fell from your throat and he spun you around to face him, lifting you up, sitting you on the vanity and standing in between your thighs.

His hands ran up your thighs, his hands disappearing under the fabric of your nightgown, gripping your hips and tugging you closer against his front. He moved his lips to your ear again, his chest now pressed up against yours as his breathing quickened.

"You know, for someone who was so angry a moment ago, you seem to be enjoying my touch now. Your breathing, the way your heart is racing, the way your legs are opened wide for me.”

You growled at the clear smugness in his tone, your eyes narrowing into a glare once the brief shock from his quick movements wore away.

"You know, your little growl sounds more like a moan to me, love." He grabbed your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist as he stepped forward, pressing his hips against yours so you could feel how hard he already was. His mouth moved down your neck again, gently nipping and sucking your skin.

"You can stay defiant, but your body is telling a different story.”

Your slender fingers gripped the collar of his clothes and forced him to look at you as your legs locked around his waist, pulling him closer. "Stop. Playing. Games. Azriel." You snarled.

He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him as he stared down at you with his darkened gaze. He leaned close, his lips hovering just inches away from yours. "Why don't you just admit you want me, princess?”

"Maybe I should just go ask Cassian if he'd want to —”

The moment you mention Cassian's name, something snapped inside of him. His grip on you tightened, and he let out a low possessive growl. His hand slid up, wrapping around your neck. "Not. A. Chance. He's not allowed anywhere near you, do you understand me?”

"It seems I've struck a nerve." You spat, a dark grin spreading across your face as you stared up at him.

He let out a low growl, his grip on your throat tightening a bit more. "Cassian won't be able to give you what you need, sweetheart. I know how much you want me right now, and deep down, you know you can't deny it. You're mine."

His hips ground against yours, making you feel the further evidence of how much he wanted you. "You're mine, princess. Say it.”

“Choke.” You muttered darkly.

His hand tightened around your throat, constricting it in a way that had you releasing a soft moan despite the glare set on your face.

He chuckled again, watching that expression on your face. "I can tell how much you want this." His voice was low and gravelly against your ear. His hips continued to grind against yours, putting just the right amount of pressure where you wanted it.

You groaned, which turned into an almost embarrassingly needy moan very quickly. You glared harder, hating the way he reduced you to a writhing mess so easily. . . Knowing what was imminent, you reached down and began unlacing his pants at a tantalizing slow pace.

The fabric came loose in your grasp and he immediately shed them, along with his underwear, tossing them somewhere in the room before he slid a hand back under the hem of your nightgown, expecting to meet the lace fabric of your panties. He let out a low growl when, instead of fabric, his hand immediately met your slick folds.

You gasped softly as he ran a finger through them before gently thrusting two fingers into you, while his thumb rubbed gently on your clit, his other hand finding its way back to your throat as if it was magnetic.

He moved his hand in a steady rhythm, listening to the sweet sounds you tried and failed to stifle.

“You're so desperate for me, aren't you? You need me, don't you?”

You could only moan softly as his fingers curled deliciously within you.

“Say it. Say you need me. Say you're mine.”

"Yours." You gasped out a moan. "I'm all yours — GODS, I need you, Az. . ."

He loved hearing those words from you, loved hearing you admit how much you needed him. . . Loved seeing you completely surrendering yourself to him. "Good girl. That's it, princess. I'm the only one who can make you feel like this.”

He dipped his head down, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin on your neck, as his hand continued to move in that steady rhythm between your thighs. "You're all mine, princess. No one else gets to touch you, to make you needy and desperate for release like this. Say it. Tell me you're mine.”

"I'm yours." You moaned, your hips bucking slightly, seeking more friction than what he was giving you.

You hated how in control he was.

You hated the way his fingers alone made the heat within you build, threatening to snap.

You hated the way you didn't really hate any of it.

He grinned as he continued to leave marks on your neck, moving down to your chest. "Louder, princess. I want you to say it, louder. I want you to admit how much you need me." His hand between your legs moved faster, applying more pressure, knowing it will drive you crazy.

You let out a loud, needy moan. "Need you so bad, Az. . . So bad. . . Please. . !" You gasped.

You needed him. You hated how much you needed him, but at the end of the day, the two of you were mates, destined to be, and maybe, just maybe, the harsh words exchanged could turn into soft, reassuring words. . . Unlikely, but possible. . . Maybe.

"Good girl. That's it, princess. I like it when you're needy like this. I love knowing that you're all mine. I love hearing you begging for me." He says against your chest, his mouth moving down to one of your sensitive mounds. He continued to suck and lick, his hand between your legs still moving steadily, but he could feel how eager you were, how impatient you were getting. "Be a good girl for me, princess. Tell me what you want. You need to ask for it.”

“Fuck me, Az. . . Please. . .”

He chuckled, a low, possessive growl coming from his chest. There was an intense look on his face as he slowly moved his hands away from their placements — stealing his fingers away from your core before you could come around them — gently grabbing you by the hips and pulling you forward off the vanity. With ease, he pushed you up against the wall next to the mirror, pressing himself against you.

He moved his hips forward, letting you feel how hard you made him, letting you feel how much he'd been wanting you. "I'm going to make you remember who you belong to. Who you've always belonged to." He looked into your eyes, his expression full of desire and possession, a hint of a smirk on his face.

You glared slightly but gasped softly as he pressed forward, entering you inch by inch.

He let his mouth roam over your neck again, moving down to the top of your chest, gently nipping and sucking on the skin, leaving marks that would be visible in the morning. His hands stayed firmly on your hips, keeping you in place as he slowly moved in and out of you.

"You're mine, princess. You're mine, not only in this room, but out there too. Everyone needs to know who you belong to.”

"Fuck you." You ground out, fighting back a moan at how he was making you feel. But the moan spilled out anyway.

He grinned against your skin, knowing he was getting to you. "That's it, princess. You can try and be defiant, but you'll eventually break. You'll break for me, like you always do. That mouth of yours is always going to end up wide open, just for me, whether you admit it or not." He moved his head up, looking into your eyes, his intense stare holding you captive.

You moaned as he hit a certain spot before growling and capturing his lips in a fiery, lustful kiss. It was new territory, but something within you told you to do it. . . Perhaps it was that taunting golden string tethering your souls together. . . Or maybe you just wanted him to shut the fuck up.

He quickly took control of the kiss, pushing your head up against the wall as he dominated you. His hips moved harder and faster against yours, the sound of flesh against flesh filling the room, combining with the sound of your and his moans.

"You're mine, princess. No one else can make you feel like this.”

You knew without a doubt in your mind that he was right. No one could. No one would.

He couldn't take his eyes off of you, watching your face twist into ecstasy and pleasure, hearing your moans and sounds fill the room. He loved how shamelessly you gave yourself over to him, how you couldn't fight it, no matter how much you'd tried before. He loved how you were his.

He moved his hands from your hips, one gripping your neck again, his fingers lightly closing around your throat, the other moving to your thigh, hitching your leg up over his hip, giving him a deeper angle to work with.

Your eyes rolled back as you moaned louder. Gods, he knew your body far too well. Your desires. Just the right way to push your buttons — just the right angle to thrust mercilessly into you.

He loved the sound of your moans, the way your body was responding to him, the way your eyes rolled back when he pushed you right to the edge. He knew you better than anyone else, and he loved that he had this power over you, that you willingly gave into that power, even if you didn't like it a few minutes ago. He knew you needed this, just as much as he needed you.

He leaned forward, whispering against your ear, his voice low and gruff. "You're mine... say it. I want to hear you say it, princess.”

"Shut up." You moaned out with a slight groan.

He chuckled against your skin. You could always try to resist him, but you'd never be able to win. He loved how stubborn you were, but he also loved being able to take that stubbornness away from you, to make you completely surrender to him.

"You just can't help defying me, can you, princess? But then again, I know exactly how to set you straight, don't I?" He tightened the grip around your neck, his fingers pressing against your pulse point, knowing how wild it would make you.

"Fuck — I'm yours." You moaned pathetically. "I fucking hate you, but I'm yours. . .”

"That's right, princess. You're mine. Now, and always. You can hate me and fight me all you want, but deep down, you know that you belong with me..” He continued to move against you, faster and harder, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

He moved his hand down, his thumb gently tracing slow circles against your clit, adding even more sensation and pleasure.

You knew he could tell you were close. He always could. The way your breath caught. The way you subtly met his thrusts. The way you clenched around him so sinfully and your eyes fluttered closed.

"Give in, princess. Let yourself go. Let yourself feel all of this.”

Then pleasure crashed into you as the steadily growing, hot coil snapped and you fell over the edge right into an orgasm, your breathing heavy as you slowly began coming down from the high.

Seeing you completely lose yourself sent him over the edge, his release intense and powerful, his body going taut as he let himself go inside you, his forehead falling against yours as he leaned against you, trying to catch his breath.

He took a few moments to regain his bearings, his body still pressed up against yours as his hands gently held your hips, still holding you in place.

There was some part of you that wanted to ask him to stay, but as he slowly separated the two of you, setting your feet back on the smooth hardwood floor with shaky legs, before going to locate his clothes that he had hastily discarded in the heat of the moment, you knew this was how it was.

He dressed, sparing a quick glance back at you before leaving your room. Wordlessly. Leaving you with his cum slowly spilling out of you. . . You also knew that you'd have to start another argument with him tomorrow. . . Just so you could have him close again.

Because even you knew that you didn't truly hate him.

#☆ silver's sinful sunday ☆#azriel x reader #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel acotar x reader #azriel x reader acotar #azriel x reader smut #azriel x female!reader #azriel smut #x reader #fem reader #Reader x Azriel acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #a court of silver flames

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ellieabbyy · 3 months ago

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“Endure and survive.”

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cameronmitchelljohn · 3 months ago

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people hate on the london production of starlight express but i see colourful gay trains and im happy

#i love the london production #its not a matter of if.... its a matter of when.#forrrrr hydrogennnn #it was so funny seeing people hate on fem greaseball and now you dont hear ANYONE insulting her . al knott is just too good #starlight express #stex #stex revival

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commander-spaceboy · 6 months ago

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threw my thoughts about them onto a canvas I think Belles outfit was ok, her hair was super cute and I love that shes purple, I just wish it was more obvious that she was a sleeper car besides the fact that she had that neck pillow thing. So i kept a similar-ish shape to everything while changing what the clothes actually are! Fem GB on the other hand i REALLY dont like LOL I just cant stand the mullet, so here are my thoughts on what i would have done with her. In my mind rather then just bein a fem gb shes like Gb's sister or something like that so shes similar but different enough that she looks like her own person. I've been calling her 'Bug' in my head, but maybe I'd name her something like Ladybird methinks! anyways. yeah

#stex #starlight express #stex revival #stex london 2024 #stex london revival #belle the sleeping car #Fem Greaseball the diesel #Ladybird the diesel #idk how to tag fem gb so your getting whatever i feel like #sb’s art #digital art #stex posting #ok i think thats it

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mrs-lebeau · 4 months ago

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ahhh i need request!!!, i wanna write sooo badly but when I do it for myself it's absolutely hot garbage😭, please somebody request something🙏 I'm starving to write a actually good story

Characters/shows/fandoms I'll write for

X-Men: gambit, sabertooth, wolverine, rouge, storm, beast, I'm open to some more those are just my top one's^^

Game of thrones: danny, sandor, gregor, some of the targaryen's, joffrey, oberyn(cause he needs more love), and open to others

The boys: black noir, homelander, A-train, starlight, butcher, MM, frenchie, open to more!(no soldier boy i hate that motherfucker)

Will also write for MK please request kano i can't get enough of that Aussie😩🙏

Readers I'll write for

Child x character platonic only

Animal x character platonic only

male x male (I'm not use to it but I'll try^^)

Fem x fem very use to it!

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gutsofgold · 3 months ago

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ily woman greaseball

ily man greaseball

ily greaseball

there's no difference aside from the fact that one of them is a girl and the other is a man. can we keep in mind that they're the same character

they're the same character!!!

#greaseball the diesel #stex greaseball #stex #starlight express #starlight express revival #greasedinah #I've seen people say they dont like fem gb but love masc gb #and vice versa #but like #they're the same character #they just look and sound a little bit different #but they're still greaseball!!#i absolutely ADORE female gb btw #i just also am a fan of male gb!!

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givemebackmypills · 11 months ago

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#mlem and all #they're so toxic i love them #the boys #homelander #starlight #fem!homelander #my art

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seelestia · 2 years ago

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A Blessed Imperfection [1/3]

(submitted by: @/hermosacolibri. all credits go to them, this work isn't mine!)

SYNOPSIS: Many consider your disability as a burden, but he finds a way to make it a blessing in disguise. What makes us flawed is what makes us unique, and that is what he considers the most beautiful thing about you—an imperfection he dearly adores. Nevertheless, he knows of your lingering sorrows and thus seeks a way to support you in the best way he could.

WARNING(S): symptoms of chronic/terminal illness, implications of mental instability, mentions of past trauma resulting to severe injury, possible triggers, panic attacks, sleep paralysis, hallucinations, etc…

CHARACTER(S):

Aether (as Traveler & Abyss Prince), Albedo, Diluc, Kaeya, Venti, Dainsleif

NOTE: I copy-pasted this from my Quotev so if the format turns bad, that’s why lmao. Part 2 will have the Zhongli and Ayato version I submitted with some other characters from the same nations. Part 3 will be Sumeru boys and Harbingers. I will submit them at a later date lol. Anyway, I would like to leave a shameless promo here for those interested in my writing. HERE is my Quotev. For those who wish to read about my collab story here on Tumblr, it is posted by my co-writer: @intothegenshinworld

•

AETHER is like a star in the abyssal sky, constantly in sight yet far out of mortal reach. He carries the wishes of others, granting them in acts of what shall be seen as miracles or blessings. When time arrives for departure, he shoots across the cosmos with a trail of light that leaves witnesses mesmerized. Alas, he whom was born half of a whole, the name of this Traveler is forever bound to that of another—his dear sister, Lumine. Due to these same ties, he undergoes a quest across Teyvat to find her. The promise of a reunion always uttered by his lips, hopeful and eager yet never taking for granted the steps he took.

The lonely young man is at odds with the world. He could barely trust anyone after some god caused him to separate from his younger sibling. However, this humble Viator continues to treat others amiably in hopes to be treated the same way. From nation to nation, the blond adolescent sought answers from this peculiar world that felt so nostalgic yet still so foreign to him. There are trying moments of grief and frustration, but also blissful days of celebration.

Throughout this path, it was entirely unexpected for him to develop an intimate attachment.

Aether was not a stranger to bittersweet partings, as someone whom has always hopped from one world to another. For this same reason, he and Lumine try not to get too invested in any realm they visit. It was better for them as well as for everyone else that welcome them so affectionately. There must always be a particular distance to maintain, since there can be no guarantee of their stay or return. A deeper tragedy is the knowledge they can easily outlive the dwellers of any world. Witnessing the birth and death of many stars since their youth, the twins have grown rather desensitized to friendships that would not last as long as their lifespan.

That is why this separation hits them where it hurts enough to leave a scar.

Then, there was you.

As a mere mortal in a world governed by gods, you are content to live your life the best way you know. It is a lifestyle that can change at your will. One day, you can be exploring as an adventurer. The next, you are a seamstress earning your keep for the week you plan to stay with the spinsters. Every other month, you do a variety of odd jobs that you have learned throughout your lifetime. As a human, you are most hyperaware that everything can be ephemeral…

…and someday, even your soul shall be relinquished to the judgment of Celestia.

Until then, it is yours to do as you see fit.

For this reason, you felt torn by the Pyro Vision that had been bestowed upon you. While most of your peers seek the blessing of the divine gaze, you have subconsciously sought to avoid it. Many saw it as a gift but you were raised under the notion that most presents come with strings. Earning the “eye of god” meant that you are under Celestia’s watchful gaze, thus binding you to the Heavenly Principles. Their elemental blessings taunt mortals to dare reaching for the stars, and gain a place amongst the divine if they are deemed worthy of it.

Well, you personally believe that only thineself can determine one’s worth—no other, not even the gods.

Nevertheless, you move forward. Keep going on a quest without a destination, as you always do, until this fleeting life comes to its inevitable end.

Needless to say, there is one thing you genuinely did not see coming—

“I am so sorry, Miss!”

—and that was meeting your soulmate.

“It’s fine.” You replied.

Aether scrambles to collect your things while you do the same at a more relaxed pace. Your satchel had become so worn that it took a small bump to finally snap the strap. Now, all your possessions have been scattered across the ground. Fortunately, the blond stranger is a very kind and considerate young man.

Once you got everything, said stranger wasted no time apologizing profusely again.

“I should have been looking where I was walking! It was my fault.”

You tilt your head, “You could just make it up to me and we can call it even.”

His aureate eyes beamed as he nodded with an eager smile. At that moment, you wonder if he is the personification of the sun.

You smiled serenely, “I’m [Name].”

He pauses, a flicker of doubt passing through his gaze. Quick as it came, it disappeared as he smiled back—a tad softer.

“Just call me Aether.”

That day, he bought you a new satchel.

When you were younger, your parents always said that one moment is the same as a thousand—you only need one. It was a proverb that both confused and unnerved you. After they died together due to sickness, the words were haunting as you buried them before leaving your village. Every moment was cherished by you, each one unique in the best and worst of ways. However, as both you and Aether keep crossing each other’s paths after one meeting, a part of you finally thrums to life in understanding.

At one point, Aether even sought you out for a joint commission together.

“Don’t you have a travelling partner?” You asked.

He laughs sheepishly, “He’s a bit busy doing other things. Also…”

A light blush colored his cheeks, looking away as he scratched his nape lightly.

“…I wanted to spend some time with you.”

You found him cute so you agreed.

On that particular day, Aether learned something new about you. It was the little things he had been noting every time you met. The way you sometimes slur even though not a drop of alcohol can be traced from your scent, how you try so hard to keep your emotions under a certain level of control, how your eyes randomly droop even when you always look so adequately well-rested, and the pills he saw you sneak into your meals/drinks—you were ill. Perhaps, it was not the traditional ailment that left you weak and bedridden. The scariest symptom has been the occasional hallucinations that distract you, since the more vivid ones tend to set off your Vision. Anything within a meter radius is either set aflame, or rises up in temperature. It is why you always remind him to keep a certain distance whenever you tend to space out. He never prodded because you gave him the same respect of privacy by never prying into his life, even if he saw the incessant curiosity he adored about you. Still, he looks after you because he had to admit he truly grew fond of you.

Then, on your way home, you just abruptly collapsed as if your entire body went boneless.

“[Name]—!!!”

Aether caught you just in time before your head hit the ground. He checks your temperature for a fever, and then searches for some wounds you might have missed. You have a high pain tolerance, which can sometimes be a disadvantage whenever an injury goes unnoticed. There was a time a scratch almost got infected, or even when you nearly bled out because a poison prevented coagulation.

When he saw no signs, the outlander lifts you up in his arms and calls for the nearest doctor.

Thankfully, nothing was amiss and you just needed to rest while adjusting your diet.

Aether witnessed the true horror of your condition when you abruptly woke up half past midnight. He was already passed out on your bedside, sat on the ground and his head resting on his forearms. The chaise lounge would have been practical, but the blond felt the urge to be near you. At some point, he just dozed off.

On the other hand, you jolted awake with a choked gasp and widened eyes of terror. It was not due to any frightening nightmare. This is just how it always goes every time you wake up: frozen stiff, terrified, and barely breathing. Your pupils dilate as your iris moved wildly to make sense of your surroundings, pointedly ignoring the shadows manifesting into something monstrous. The candle on the nightstand was unfortunately almost fully spent, flickering to its last embers of light. With every dance, the shadows seem to get closer and slithering to get their clawed hands on you.

Alas, the candlelight spares you one last hope of salvation amidst this merciless night.

Sunshine golden hair glowed, emitting a silver halo as moonlight peeked from the half-open blinds. As much as you are able, you desperately crane your neck to see your companion. Tears blur your sight but the silhouette is unmistakable to you. His warm breath blew against your fingers, centimeters away from his lips as he breathed. Chilling goosebumps ran across your skin yet you welcomed it, hoping to regain mobility from this nightmarish paralysis. Your hand twitched, wishing to get ahold of this precious little sun—uncaring if it burns.

If you are to be like Icarus, then you would prefer an end embraced by warmth and light…

…instead of ice and darkness.

Perhaps, pyro suited you for this reason.

Your lips purse, crying in anguish to speak.

“A…Ae…A-Aether…”

To your relief, that seems to be enough to awaken the young man. However, respite is all to brief as your chest seizes up. The mere act of breathing gets difficult, and your heartbeat grew alarmingly slow as it echoed alongside the tinnitus in your ears.

Aether blinks awake, expecting the grace of morning light. Instead, he was met with your agonized gaze in a darkening room. In an instant, he snaps into full attention as he cups your face. You cannot hear him but you can guess that he must be firing questions out of concern.

“[Name], what’s wrong?! Are you in pain? What can I do? How can I help?” He exclaimed.

You gasped and hoarsely coughed.

“C-Can’t…breathe…I…”

The blond quickly thinks back to whenever Lumine experienced minor panic attacks. He assumes this is relatively similar, so he hopes his next actions will help rather than harm. Gently and carefully, he takes you into his arms. Back against the headboard, the new position situates you comfortably on his lap as one arm is secured around your waist. He takes both of your trembling hands with his free one, directing them to rest against his sternum.

“[Name],” he says softly yet firmly, “I need you to focus on me, okay? Focus for me. Hey—”

He catches your frantic gaze around the room and mindfully tilts your head back to meet his stare. They are brimming with steadfast reassurance, not at all deterred by the dark beasts. Your head rests against his shoulder, as you do as he told—closing your eyes to only relish his warmth, consume his scent, and listen to his voice.

“Breathe with me. Inhale, exhale…”

His chest rises and falls, to which you mimic the rhythm in return.

“Feel my pulse, and use it as your center.”

One hand keeps hold of his and the other seeks his heart, obeying the instructions.

The hand connected to the arm securing your back drift to your hair. At that moment, you realize that Aether’s hands are ungloved. Wandering fingers comb through your strands, calming you down with a soothing pet. Little by little, you regain movement in your limbs yet you rest limply—content.

“That’s it.” Aether whispered, “You’re doing great. Just keep repeating the exercise with me.”

“Aether…”

“I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

You wept and sobbed, “Aether…”

“I know.” He murmurs as he cries with you, “You’ve been so strong, [Name]. Everything’s fine. You’re not alone anymore.”

You look up, “Promise?”

He looks back, “I promise.”

The hand on his chest reaches for his white scarf as you pull him down. He obliges as his grip on you tightened, holding you close while your free hands adjust to interlace with each other.

That was the first kiss of many.

Day or night, Aether stood by you. Every battle was fought together. Every quest was finished together, sometimes with his elusive partner named Dainsleif whom was later introduced to you. On the journey to search for his sister, he even renewed his vows.

“When we find her, you can come with us.”

You smile teasingly, “I don’t have world-hopping powers.”

He narrows his eyes at you, unyieldingly headstrong and determined.

“I’ll find a way to bring you with us anyway.”

He raises your hand to his lips with a sly grin.

“You’re not getting rid of me~!”

Aether cradled you in adoration as if you were an endless summer amidst the cold loneliness of his sister’s absence. You beheld him as if he was the sun bringing life to the paradise of your evanescent mortality. The pair of you were thriving happily, hand in hand, even after discovering the truth of this world—and dictating the journey’s end.

Then, your Vision broke mysteriously, and you were condemned to an enchanted sleep.

Aether cursed the divine and all of Teyvat for it. He figured this was his price for learning the truth, but taking you will be their gravest mistake. He severes his ties with Dainsleif, whom tried to console him into taking the righteous path. He viewed you as his friend as well, and he knew you would not want this for your lover.

Now, the Abyss Prince sits by your bed—waiting in forlorn hope. His ungloved knuckles caress your cheek lovingly. You were dressed in a nightgown with abyss colors, outlined by satin ribbons of silver and gold. A crown of inteyvat rested on your head, petals scattered across your spread locks draped over silk pillows. They have grown after the past centuries but he dutifully trims them to an acceptable length.

“Your Highness,” the Abyss Herald called, “it is time.”

Aether paused. His honey gaze hardens and his aura turns cold. He breathes deeply, eyes closed to lean down and leave a chaste kiss on your brow.

“I will return shortly, my love.”

He puts on his gloves, taking leave resolutely.

Even if the sun turns black, you will both find your way back to each other. Even as the moon is painted red, goodbye shall never be an option. Every star in the sky—false or otherwise—shall bear witness to a union that even the Heavenly Principles would dare not destroy. Should this world be torn asunder, the reckoning cannot spell departure for either you or Aether. This is the eclipse that will pave the way to a new world, as the Abyss Order entails.

For if fate can only be accepted, thy vows shath be sworn by royal decree—

“You are my predestined person, the one I will always choose.”

ALBEDO discovered that there is beauty in what the heart perceives which the eyes cannot see. As an artist, he can grasp onto the concept yet is unable to truly understand it since he heavily relies upon his sight. As an alchemist, whatever eludes him may come into being by his own hands and thus enable him to attain it. The pursuit of truth is a mere matter of time and place, preordained even if hidden. As the most prized creation of Rhinedottir, he was given the task of uncovering the truth of this world for himself as a purpose in life. Even if to exist is a sin in the eyes of Celestia, he must endure and keep moving forward to reach his answers.

Amidst such dedicated research, there was little time and effort to be spared for attachments. The Chief Alchemist of Ordo Favonius finds it much too difficult to maintain. Of course, exceptions has been made throughout the years. Aside from his master, he had bonded with Alice and Klee as family. He had also made friendships with his colleagues amongst the Knights of Favonius and his subordinates, whom he taught the art of alchemy. Alas, as an artificial human created by a sinner, he feels as if he can never belong anywhere. Regardless of these bonds, the Kreideprinz feels as if a part of his heart remains hollow.

It came to him that this place was reserved for you, the apple of his eye.

Ever since Albedo met you, a new muse began to live within his heart. People consider it as seeing the world through rosy lenses; but for him, it felt as if everything appeared clearer than facts…

…and it was beautiful.

The sun shines brighter. The wind blows cooler. The grass looks greener. Therefore, life is that much greater and sweeter. He is still in pursuit of truth, yet he felt as if the magnum opus was already in his hands—molded in the shape of you.

His only lament was that you could not see it alongside him.

You were not born blind. It happened from an act of jealousy and unkindness. Before you came to the City of Freedom, you were a noblewoman dwelling in Fontaine and worked as an artist. Much like him, you love to paint and draw but Albedo always argues that you were better at it. He had seen your works long ago, and every single piece has never failed to inspire him. It was as if each painting can bequeath aspirations, letting it blossom from the hearts of the people that view it.

Then, news spread that your entire atelier was set on fire while you were still in it…

…and then, you lost your eyes.

The Hydro Vision in your hand may have been the sole reason you even survived. Many speculated that you can never make art the same way again.

You came to Mondstadt, wishing to break free from the suffocating experience. You struggled to regain your passion, overcome your sorrows.

Then, you met Albedo; and one thing led to another.

It started when you were taking a stroll in Springvale with your guide dog, Vincent. He is a very spirited Golden Retriever, protective and responsible. You both stumble upon a young girl named Klee, whom was busy fighting a bunch of hilichurls. You opted to stand aside and calm your snarling canine friend, petting his head. When your keen hearing detected irregular breathing and racing heartbeat, you realize that the little girl was getting overwhelmed. She must have fought other hoards before your arrival, and now you hear slimes joining the fray. Thus, you order Vincent to keep his distance and engaged.

Sword unsheathed from your walking cane, you attack the ones behind Klee. Her bombs startled you when they exploded too close, but your hydro shield easily deflected any friendly fire. Vapor damage is then redirected to the monsters, tempering the girl’s mines and lasers so your skin will not be singed by the building heat. Vincent was barking wildly like a supportive cheerleader, growling whenever you get nicked or whenever the other girl yelped.

Soon, the fight was over.

The pitter-patters of tiny feet went towards you, and stopped at an arm’s length. You look down, smiling kindly yet not sheathing your blade.

“Thank you for helping Klee!” She chirped.

You chuckle, “You’re welcome.”

Vincent came running towards you, shamelessly nuzzling your legs. He then licks Klee’s hand in his own way of befriending her, causing the girl to giggle from the ticklish sensation. She hugs him around the neck, and you can only tilt your head in amusement.

“What’s your name, Miss?”

“You may call me [Name].”

The hairs at your nape rose. Although you can see nothing else but darkness, your eyes also snapped open with a dark glower. By instinct, you swung your sword to strike whomever snuck behind you.

A resounding clang echoed in your ears, as metal struck against metal. Another sword has parried yours skillfully yet makes no move to counter.

“Brother Albedo…!” Klee exclaims.

Upon realization that this is no stranger, you swiftly disengaged with a soft apology. The gesture was returned as the man apologized for startling you. To your amazement, Vincent did not seem to be wary of this newcomer. The dog merely barked gruffly, a bit admonishing, instead of growling defensively like he always did.

“You dropped this.” Albedo said.

You hesitantly presented your hand to receive whatever he was giving. A familiar cloth is placed on your palm. You belatedly realized that it was your blindfold. It is a durable silk fabric that kept your burn scars from showing. Your disfigured face has been exposed all this time for Klee to see.

It must have been a horrifying sight—

“Your eyes are very pretty, Miss [Name]!”

Your breath hitched at the unexpected compliment, turning away shyly. As you wore the blindfold again, Klee notices Albedo smiling in awe at you. She put up her hands to cover her mouth and muffle her mischievous giggles.

“I agree.” He murmured.

You nodded, “Many thanks.”

Albedo never told you, but for him, it was love at first sight the moment his eyes met yours. There have been solitary days spent in Dragonspine where he wondered tirelessly:

Would it have been a mutual feeling if you could have seen him back then too?

From then onwards, the mysterious alchemist had turned into a close friend. He acted as a personal pillar of support in unexpected ways. The little ball of sunshine that is Klee turned into a source of lighthearted joy for you as well. They tend to visit your home in the city together, offering gifts and knick-knacks. The habitual meetings resulted into some new friends who helped you settle down in Mondstadt, especially Eula. Her own aristocratic lineage helped you two bond about a lot of things, even when she vehemently rejects hers—which is frankly for understandable reasons. You both share the sentiment that genuine nobility upholds the belief of noblesse oblige above all.

Albedo, most of all, enabled you to regain the love you thought had been lost forever with your sight.

Although life still hit hard with how you struggle to create art, your appreciation for it was reborn and you are experiencing everything all over again as something new. Regardless of the burns and scars that made you insecure, the Kreideprinz made you feel nothing less than desirable and deserving of love. Though the blankness of your gaze saddens him, and sometimes even angers him due to the injustice you were dealt—he saw beauty in all that is you, and everything that blossoms from your hands.

Just for a moment, he wanted to show you what he sees the only way he knew: to create.

Vincent guided you into Albedo’s personal art studio in Mondstadt. The canine looked more excited than you. He nipped at the alchemist's white coat, tail wagging as he sat by your feet but paid attention to your lover. Charming eyes swept between you two as if awaiting praise and treats for a job well done.

For a moment, Albedo was reminded of Klee and it made him smile. He kneels down before the dog, patting his head. After a few minutes of petting, he relinquishes the promised treat.

Vincent then ran to his corner, satisfied. Usually, he is very protective and ends up hovering next to you; but with Albedo, he knows you are safe.

You giggled amusedly.

“Sometimes,” your lover sighed, “I think he only likes me to get treats and headpats. He also only comes to me by whining to play.”

You smirked teasingly, “Sounds familiar.”

Albedo paused before giving you a scolding look, yet the twitching smile betrayed him. He was then taken aback when you presented him a small gift bag and a bouquet of cecilia flowers.

“Happy Anniversary~!” You said.

He smiles, accepting your gifts to greet you back.

“Happy Anniversary, [Name].”

Per usual greeting, Albedo takes your hands in his to let them settle. Then, you let go to just feel as they glide across his skin. He closes his eyes to relish your caresses, nuzzling when you reach his face and touched his cheeks. From there, you felt his smile and it spurned yours.

However, as the alchemist opened his eyes, he had witnessed the spark of sadness in yours.

On your first anniversary together, Albedo crafted a special gift. A wooden easel held a blank canvas, or so it seems. If not for the colorful palette and wet brushes, nobody would spare it any glance or even thought. He guides you in front of him, encasing you in his arms and pressing his chest to your back. His lips whispered instructions almost seductively, soft and sensual as he lifted your hands to move them forward.

“Go ahead.” He implored your touch.

Fingertips make contact with what seems to be a canvas, but with bumps on it that definitely felt like braille. Your brows furrowed in confusion, unable to interpret it as anything. You can decipher some sort of pattern, but nothing in the braille alphabet comes to mind that makes sense.

“Don’t think in words, love.” Albedo advised, “Imagine it as you would paint a landscape.”

He is familiar with your art technique. After all, he has always been a fan since he first purchased your work at an auction. His keen observation noticed that the colors bloom from the center. Then, multiple layers come to refine the structure and control the shades. Once the painting is complete, the basic foundations are harder to notice but details never escape Albedo. To him, it felt like he was seeing two images in a single painting: one perceived by sight, and another perceived by heart—dual masterpieces for the price of one.

You follow his words and thus you begin to deduce a work of something.

The braille patterns made you think of Mondstadt’s flower meadows, petals of cecilia and seedheads of dandelions fluttering in the breeze. An orb that seems to be the sun is raised eastward with what appeared to be outlines of birds, aflight in the cloudy horizon. There are faint marks connoting mountains in the distance, and flowing swirls that felt like wave patterns along the coast. To further understand his message, you sought the center much like how you used to paint.

Albedo detects your newfound focus, aware that an image has been imprinted upon your mind.

“[Name],” he murmured tenderly, “I need you to keep your hands on the canvas. I will guide you in this next step. Do you trust me?”

You smiled meaningfully, “Always.”

A loving caress upon your skin is accompanied by a chaste kiss on your crown.

“I cannot give you the world—”

Then, the brailles moved.

“—but I can leave a piece of it in your hands.”

You quickly realize that the brailles were not made of ordinary material. Days and nights of listening to your lover’s random alchemy ramblings allowed you to learn a thing or two. This braille painting has been constructed with special elemental crystals. From the feel of it, they respond strongly to elemental energy—particularly yours and Albedo’s combined, both currently being channeled. Depending on the crystal, it can resonate with other elements.

Beneath your hands, the patterns moved in looping motion to signify that it was animated. Furthermore, the energy that resonated from every shard is almost alive. Anemo can be felt from the swaying of the dandelions, and dendro amplified the scent of the scattered cecilia across the grassland. Even the painted sun emits a comforting warmth due to hints of pyro, as if bathing the scenery with its light. The waves along the shoreline felt moist due to hydro, which resonated strongly with you—and for a short second, you actually miss Fontaine. The mountains are the familiar cold of cryo, which then registered for you that it was likely a reference of Dragonspine.

Just from this, your mind’s eyes can almost envision the outline of a city—one founded by Barbatos.

In Albedo’s eyes, the special formula for the paint which Sucrose helped him concoct had finally revealed itself. To outsiders, the canvas is nothing more but a lumpy surface. In truth, the blind will see its true form; and when given life via elemental energy, the rest will be unveiled. To you whom once knew the colors of the world, the simple animations of the image form a kaleidoscope that provides you melancholic nostalgia. By your fingertips, it certainly felt as if Albedo had given you a piece of the world that only you can see.

For this one moment, he and you can perceive the same world.

Tears gathered in your eyes yet a heartfelt smile radiantly shone upon your face. A sob of genuine happiness wracked your throat. As your knees begin to weaken, you leaned on the man that helped you see again—

—even if only a few seconds.

Albedo also smiled in relief, fully embracing you around the shoulders in support. He let you take in the moment while he basked under the blessing of your presence.

“If there is anything else you wish to see again,” he solemnly swore, “I will be your eyes and shall piously present its sights to you.”

At his oath, you abruptly let go of the painting and turned. Cupping his face in your hands, your lips eagerly meet his. Albedo returns your passionate amor with fervor, ever delighted to please you. He wishes to someday discover the truth of this world, as his master bade him to do. His one desire is that you would be there beside him when he does.

Even if destruction came by his hand, he already knows one truth by heart—

“The beauty of this world forever pales in comparison to you.”

DILUC RAGNVINDR is an uncrowned king raised as a noble gentleman of chivalry and gallantry. From the fiery red of his hair to his stern crimson glare, he upholds his aristocratic lineage with dignity. The cumbersome title of lord dictates the gravity of his obligations to Mondstadt. Whether as a nocturnal vigilante or as master of Dawn Winery, those who dare to threaten his home will face the wrath of his flames. Sinners who refuse penance shall have their blood paint the mighty blade of his claymore, as a furious firebird sends the wicked to retribution.

As a man coveted by many, he keeps his circle small and tightly knit. An outsider’s only chance to ever earn his favor is to either make themselves useful to Mondstadt, or by earning the approval of his more compassionate wife.

That woman is none other than you.

Diluc met you as a playmate in his childhood. His father, Master Crepus, was both a close friend and trusted business partner of your parents. Like the Ragnvindrs, your family specializes in the wine industry—specifically the medicinal values that are incorporated in liquor. Although your own father is from Mondstadt, he settled down in Liyue upon marrying your mother. Secretly, you and Diluc were arranged to be married. Everything worked out well since you both actually liked each other a lot. He was a very protective yet supportive friend, while you were a tactful and encouraging listener. When Kaeya had joined the family, the three of you became quite the inseparable trio.

Then, Crepus Ragnvindr died.

Everything happened so fast. Before you knew it, your fiancé chose to disappear and left only a single note for you as goodbye. It was not even a proper farewell, at least not the kind he made sure to give you every time. Even if there was little to no sincere romance in your engagement, you both respected each other as equals. However, his final note had completely staggered you.

“Don’t wait for me.” It said.

Such a heavy message in merely four words…

You understand what he means by it. He has made a decision wherein he would prefer to not involve you, and thus opting to let you go. The contract regarding the engagement was never too binding. Crepus had assured that either of you can break it off if you both reach such a consensus. However, the former head of the Ragnvindr Clan did not just choose any girl to be paired with his son. He specifically took interest in you because he always knew—if any woman can ever match his son and heir in terms of headstrong stubbornness, it can only be you.

With the patience of a saint, you graciously accepted Diluc’s decision. However, it did not mean you would back down so easily.

Honestly, you see it as poor manners to just leave things with a note. You have to just wait in the Dawn Winery so you can give him a proper scolding upon his inevitable return. Until then, you were more than willing to manage everything else on his behalf. The servants are ecstatic to find out you meant to stay despite their young master’s wishes. Your parents are also very considerate, only ever wishing for your happiness since then and now.

Under your supervision, Dawn Winery flourished and maintained dignity after the loss of its masters. You hold the cunning and integrity of any businessman worth their salt. Adelinde, Elzer, and the entire staff can attest that you are more strict than even the late Lady Ragnvindr—wife of Master Crepus.

Kaeya never confided to you whatever caused the fallout between him and his brother. However, he seemed so relieved and touched when you did not treat him differently. If anything, you seem to dote on him even more now—like a real older sister. He thus returns your kind and loving care equally, a bout of protectiveness that rivals your absent fiancé.

Years later, tragedy struck once again.

You were mistaken as the official Lady Ragnvindr by whichever enemies Diluc had made. They aimed to lure him out by means of threatening his supposed wife, taking you hostage. Despite being Visionless, you were far from a pushover. You did not go down without a fight and worked to plan your escape.

In the end, your captors thought you to be more trouble than your worth…

…and so, they aimed to kill you.

It is only due to Kaeya’s timely arrival this instance that you did not follow Crepus.

However, you did not get out of the incident perfectly unscathed. The brutality you suffered had caused a critical and permanent injury on your spine. It is with heavy hearts that the doctors informed you of the grim situation: you can never walk again.

Diluc promptly returned to Mondstadt when Kaeya relayed the news to him via letter. He had been so devastated to realize that you almost died because of him. He wanted to protect you by letting you go, but he underestimated your resolve. In his mind, he knew the only way to truly get you far away from him is to make you hate him. Upon finding courage to visit you, he doubled down on his determination when he left you years ago. You deserve better, and the life he could give you as Lady Ragnvindr will only be a disappointment. You deserve so much better than waking up to a cold, empty bed and waiting on late nights.

He opened the door to your room in his manor, ready to break your heart so you can leave him.

However, his hardened goal fell short.

You sat by the window, as beautiful as the day he last saw you. Even confined to a wheelchair, you remain smiling so warmly. Your enchanting gaze meets his crimson pair, and he melted at the sheer adoration you bestowed upon him. Your cheeks took a rosy glow, and your smile widened—lips moving to utter words of welcoming him back home, yet he cannot hear a thing. His only thoughts revolved on how badly he wanted to kiss you right now.

Diluc missed you so much, and hence he realized that he really is a fool.

How can he ever survive if he truly broke your heart, the most precious thing you entrusted to him?

“Marry me.” He said.

Much to his surprise, you only laughed and accepted—as if you always believed he would return to you.

It was truly laughable how easily you can weaken his resolve with a mere smile.

“It took you long enough, Master Diluc~!”

You winked at him as you laughed. Despite your lighthearted cheer, the redhead can see that the years apart took a toll on you. He crossed the room in graceful strides and he saw you more vividly. The bags under your eyes did little to dull their sparkle; the hollowness of your cheeks worried him but the rosy hue amplified their glamor; and your pallor was a little too pale for his liking, yet the freckles across your nose reassured him that you get enough sun on a daily basis.

Then, he bends down to hold you close and buries his face at the crook of your neck.

Your heart skipped lightly.

Then, you hugged him back—more tightly.

Diluc said nothing as he felt his shoulder get wet, and you did not make a sound as yours trembled.

“Welcome home.” You whispered.

He grits his teeth to fight against the tears.

“I’m home.” He murmurs.

The marriage started a little awkwardly. Three years had been a long time, and you both had changed in ways that put a strain on your dynamic. However, as you both learned to trust each other the way you did as kids, everything else flowed smoothly. You relied on him as he relied on you. Thanks to your endless patience, you managed to help your dear husband in anything that troubled his heart. At times, it is only by your gentle interventions that his overprotective tendencies can be quelled. It had become norm for the people of Mondstadt to see you at a cozy corner of Angel’s Share—beside the bar, whenever your husband took a shift. Any shenanigans are put to a stop by a warning glare that seemed more scathing than any other nights. None of the patrons—drunk or otherwise—dare to start any ruckus as long as you were present in the tavern.

There is nothing that Diluc kept from you anymore, as he claimed no more secrets. Although, he was curious when you steered clear if the topic is Kaeya.

“It’s not just your secret to share.” You reasoned.

The redhead felt his love and respect for you deepen at the claim.

Now, you sat in your husband’s office. While he was busy doing paperwork, you did embroidery on a silk pillow that got torn. However, there was a stifling air in the room that bothered him.

“What is it?” Diluc asked.

You raise a brow, “What do you mean?”

He stared back knowingly, “You have been redoing the same stitch for the past half hour. That only happens when you’re distracted; and you’re only ever distracted when something is troubling you.”

The redhead leans back on his chair, dropping his quill to cross his arms.

“So,” he continued, “what is it?”

You blushed at the fact you were caught so easily, but also flattered by how he is so attentive to you.

Diluc is then worried by your prolonged hesitance, gradually standing up from his chair. He walks up to you leisurely, kneeling by your side. His gloved hands take yours, mindful of your needlework as he placed it on the table. His vibrant eyes implore you to share your burdens, waiting and encouraging.

“I lied to you.”

He frowns at your blunt confession but said nothing, tilting his head to let you continue.

“On our wedding,” you reminisced, “you asked me what I wanted most so you could provide it. I replied that there was nothing more I could ever want since you asked me to marry you for real.”

Your right hand carefully broke free from his, rising to tuck his fringe away. Your palm rests on his cheek and your husband savored it with fondness. He then recalls being ready to arrange a grandiose wedding that day, remembering how much you rambled about being like a princess in your shared childhood. As a young boy, it used to grate on his nerves; but as your fiancé, Diluc found it necessary to pay attention.

Back then, he did not question it when you asked for a simpler celebration. After all, a lot has changed between him and you—for better and for worse.

“However,” you murmured, “there was one thing I had truly wished to experience with you.”

Your eyes stray away from his, drifting towards the unfinished embroidery pillow. His own eyes follow, and he immediately understands. The picture’s basic design depicts a pair of lovers dancing under the moonlit night. A gazebo frames their silhouettes while lampgrass grew around its base structure.

A wedding dance.

Diluc looks back up to you, smiling in exasperated affection. He then leans forward, taking you into his arms as he stood up. A mild squeak escapes your lips as your own arms clung to his neck, caught off guard by his sudden movement. Your husband steps out of the room while carrying you, yet offers no explanation whatsoever. Although you felt confused, it did not stop you from relaxing in his embrace and just leaning against him.

The redhead took you to the main foyer, and headed straight towards a small library corner. He dismisses the maid stationed to clean it, leaving you both in privacy. First, you were placed on the recliner near the fireplace. Then, he walked towards the old yet pristine gramophone. It belonged to his mother, he vaguely remembers. His father told him that she always loved to collect vinyls, a bittersweet sheen of unconditional love shining in his eyes.

The young lord wonders if the two of you would also remain as in love when you get older together.

“Diluc, what is this all about—”

You trailed off as waltz music began to play.

“When my wife wishes to dance,” he says, “what kind of husband am I to refuse?”

A suave smirk on his handsome face leaves you so utterly breathless. Your heart races, bursting with an unspeakable joy to call this man yours. Captivated by the sight of him, you can only watch as he strides back to you—charming as a prince straight out of a fairy tale book. His gloved hand is presented with a chivalrous bow, his rare theatric side being shown only for you—always only for you.

“May I have this dance, Milady?” He asks.

You gape speechlessly for a minute. A part of you was reluctant. How can you possibly dance in this circumstance? Nonetheless, you trust Diluc more than anything so you accepted.

“You may.”

Diluc gives a dazzling smile at your faith in him, and gently pulls you up. He expertly places your feet on his shoes, carrying your weight as you swayed. One of your hands is on his shoulder while one of his arms is wrapped firmly around your waist, holding you close. Your respective free hands are entwined, inseparable and perfectly at ease.

The marital couple moved fluidly and gracefully. You entrusted your body completely, to be moved in this dance he led confidently. Your patience and trust are returned by his warmth and protection, cradling you in a chrysalis that hopes to let you flourish. He even dares to help you twirl, making the skirt of your dress flutter like the petals of a wild rose in bloom.

The dreamlike sequence ends as he dips you into an intimate position. Heartbeats skip in sync, never of fear but of exhilaration.

Your hands leave his, believing he would never let you fall even if you let go. His grip transferred to your back and your nape, eager to be your support. You caress his face and pull him down for a searingly passionate kiss. He indulges you wholly, taking all that you have willingly given him. Your fingers shook as they entangle with his red mane. With the ease of a man who wields a claymore, he lifts you up. Your arms held tight around his neck, tilting into a new angle to not break the kiss. The fervor is returned a hundred fold, as if Diluc wishes nothing more than to fuse his soul with yours.

You are the one who empowers his flames, igniting his heart as your chosen Ifrit.

He made a vow at the altar, and not even death can do you part anymore—

“The privilege to call you mine is an honor I cannot surrender to fate.”

KAEYA ALBERICH is someone painfully aware of the power in words, and uses it to his advantage. He is as mysterious as he is efficient at being the Cavalry Captain of Ordo Favonius. The charisma he exudes can be as menacing as the frigid coldness of his Cryo Vision. The swiftness of his blade can be more merciful than the secrets he ruthlessly exploits. As much as he is admired by his peers, everyone can unanimously agree that his enigmatic ways leave them a little wary to trust him entirely. Nevertheless, the cunning of a flightless bird is just as deadly as the venom of a pit viper. A reluctance to comply is merely a sign to delve deeper.

In the carefree city of Mondstadt, only one has squared up to his level and defeated him—

—in every sense of the word.

You are the dainty little assistant of Lisa Minci, the resident librarian of Mondstadt. She slyly evades all attempts of divulging how and from where she met you. It is rumored she just found you sewing some of her worn books one day, and then decided that she has to have you as her assistant. The only other thing known about your relationship with her is that she can be extremely protective to the point of territorial. Similarly, nobody can fully understand the eccentricities demonstrated by the Witch of Purple Rose as much as you do. Since your employment, a peaceful synergy can be observed in the workings of the library and even the Knights of Favonius HQ.

The most notable thing about you is how you never limit your goodwill to work. Anyone you can reach is always on the receiving end of compassion. As such examples, Lisa has proudly introduced you to many of her prestigious friends. Since then, it had become a norm for them to see you.

Jean always ends up a little more relaxed with the cups of coffee you brew for her. You serve her tea as a silent insistence when it was time to rest. Albedo and Sucrose now have a habit of asking your referral in finding the best locations for any ingredients they would need. At random times, you appear around the corner to help Noelle in the most menial tasks and labors. Whenever Amber returns from her daily outriding, she would find you welcoming her by the gates with some food and water. Lastly, even Eula has begun picking you up to join her for lunch on weekends. You are the only civilian that never treats her differently, and actually seems to like her very much as a friend.

In a bout of poetic irony, the only one that seems to rarely receive your kindness was Kaeya.

Of course, you were far from unkind or cruel. You still greet him amicably every time you cross paths in the hallways or city streets. However, his shrewd gaze can detect your hesitance to interact with him for prolonged periods of time. Politely asking you about it did him no good as well. You only stared at him skeptically before shrugging, as if he should know the answer. A part of him questioned why it even bothered him so much, but perhaps it was a matter of ego. He knows himself well enough to be aware that it could be the reason he kept persisting on gaining your favor.

When Kaeya decided to tell Lisa about his situation, she had the gall to laugh at him.

“It’s because she sees right through you.”

Kaeya raises a brow, “I beg your pardon?”

Lisa smiles sharply, “My darling [Name] is an astute judge of character. It’s one of the reasons I adore her so much. Like you, she also knows her way with words. The more you talk while she listens, the more she compares the character she sees in your eyes and the persona that speaks with your lips. If they don’t match up, she will consider you to be too dangerous.”

For a moment, the Cavalry Captain felt his eyes darken defensively. A second later, they return to being detachedly bemused.

The Witch of Purple Rose catches the slip but does not comment about it. In fact, she willingly closes her eyes to let the man have his moment. However, she did continue to speak her piece.

“You’re not a bad guy,” she states, “and she knows that well. However, [Name] is the type who does not like to converse with people that refuse to respect the weight of the words they speak.”

A beaming smile is given by the librarian as she pats her colleague on his shoulder.

“Try speaking a little more honestly! It might earn you some brownie points.” She said.

Kaeya wanted to claim he is not going to bother and that he will just leave it at that. Alas, it seems he had found his match and could not resist your allure. In the end, he nodded before taking his leave.

To Lisa’s credit, her advice worked.

Obviously, Kaeya did not lay everything out in the open; but he became more sincere in his efforts to befriend you. To his pleasant surprise, you may be taciturn and reserved but it did not make you shy at all. If anything, you were quite bold for a pretty little damsel. He playfully flirted with you a few times and you were barely fazed. You even flirted back with teasing glances and fleeting touches that—he was impressed to admit—flustered him in shock. Your dollface can be deceiving as well. He had seen you pettily tattle to Lisa about patrons that give you a hard time. In turn, the mage trusts you to be the one to remind her of anyone who is late on their book returns. Thus, he watched you just peacefully sip tea while your employer terrorized the poor souls that earned her wrath with an innocent smile.

You rewarded the Cavalry Captain’s honest efforts by opening up to him a little.

It is here that Kaeya learned you were mute.

The cause was a very unfortunate birth defect when you were born prematurely. Your vocal chords did not grow correctly and almost suffocated you. The doctors were forced to remove it entirely via surgery so you can survive. Growing up, you became quite the bookworm because of this disability. You found solace in the immersion of reading the words you can never speak. It gradually turned you into a very talented scholar worthy of Lisa’s attention. Your nurturing ways with books and your preservation of comfort amidst the silence certainly gained merits.

Of course, your reserved nature did not mean you are to be underestimated.

The Witch of Purple Rose chose you as her personal assistant and sole substitute for a reason. It can be argued that you are potentially more frightening. You are the calm before the storm; and when you strike, no one ever sees it coming. Whenever hooligans think they can just steal books from the restricted section, every single one will be found hogtied and gagged on the Knights of Favonius’ doorsteps. A damsel you may appear but the only distress that can be felt is by the drunkards, who think they can harrass you without direct consequences. In fact, you made it your personal vendetta to discipline every member of Barbara’s fanclub and their stalker tendencies. A failure to comply forces them into public humiliation by wearing nun attires, and then prostrating themselves in front of Barbatos to beg for forgiveness.

Venti had an interesting view when he woke up from his nap on the statue’s hands.

The job of Cavalry Captain became that much more entertaining, and easier too.

Public ordinance is now easy to handle for all the patrolling knights, whom often need to tread lightly just to appease the common folks. Although the Acting Grandmaster would never say it outloud due to her soft nature, she was thankful for this subtle measures you have been making—especially in regards to her sister’s privacy and safety. Even the stoic Master Diluc seems to respect you since he actually makes effort to greet you more than he does any other stranger in the streets. Your drinks in Angel’s Share are discounted too, which is always a plus after a long day of work. Lisa took advantage of this perk just to tease.

As he got to know you, Kaeya finally arrived to a profoundly frightening conclusion.

He was falling in love with you.

No, he may have already fallen the moment you had turned into his newest fixation. The icy captain can recall Lisa’s words—how you judge people based on the character in their eyes, if it matches the persona that speaks. You actually looked at him and saw him with just a single glance; and when his words blurred the truth, his facade was already unraveling before your piercing gaze. You rejected him because he was denying the lost boy you see, and you embraced him when the charismatic captain found felicity in your companionship. You accepted both sides even if you knew nothing about either of them.

However, for all his clever ways in manipulating the feelings of others, Kaeya is powerless at the face of his own emotions.

Hence, the reasonable thing in his perspective is to simply run away from you.

It hurt you but it was something you also understood quite well. As mentioned, you were aware of Kaeya’s true character from the get-go. It was fine if this is really what he wants. You both lived your lives just fine when keeping your respective secrets. That should not change just because romantic feelings are now involved.

Lisa and your friends firmly believed otherwise.

Your doting older sister figure tells you one day that the elusive captain left a message. He says to meet him in Windrise, where Jean had put him on patrol for suspicious activity of the Abyss Order. In a twist of fate nobody expected, they even managed to get Diluc involved to make the information appear to be legitimate. The redhead claims he was getting sick of Kaeya's face brooding over you in Angel’s Share.

All else, as they say, was history when you were both given a chance to confront the truth together.

Now, Kaeya watches over your sleeping form on his bed—tuckered out from today’s work.

You are curled up to his chest, nuzzling his clavicle like a kitten. A delightful shiver ran through his spine every time your warm breaths hit his skin. Your left arm is draped over his waist while your right hand rested over his chest. His own arm cushions your head, bent by the elbow to poise himself up while he ran his fingers through your hair. The other one holds you close by the waist, legs intertwined so no space remains. The moonlight peeks through the curtains, basking you in afterglow that left him mesmerized every night. Leaning down, his lips tenderly kissed your brow as his embrace tightened possessively.

He grins as he felt your fingers move drowsily on his back, crumpling the blouse.

“Why are you watching me sleep?”

You drew special patterns to speak, blinking your eyes open to stare blankly at your lover.

He chuckles, bending down to give you an eskimo kiss while tracing words on your back as well.

“You look too beautiful to be true.”

You hummed in the form of a soft exhale, observing your beloved closely. Your hand leaves his back and reached up to his face, tucking his fringe behind his ear to see both of his eyes. It no longer concerns him to let you see his normally hidden eye, which flickered for a fraction of a second. He disclosed everything long ago. He has nothing else to hide, not from you at least—never again from you.

In fact, the language you were both using to silently communicate is from Khaenri'ah.

Kaeya invented the sign language of it and taught it to you. In public, people think it is just a cute secret between couples; but you knew better. There is a power in words, and Kaeya had entrusted you this in particular—a piece of his true self that only you can keep. Not even Diluc knew this much about him, as their bond of brotherhood shattered before he could make an attempt. Henceforth, you use this sign to talk with him privately and send messages only for your dear captain to decipher.

As you caressed his cheek, Kaeya sighed in perfect bliss. He leans towards your touch, turning his head to press a loving kiss on your palm. His own hand reached up to keep it in place. Delicately, his index finger traces another message on your knuckles.

“You’re not just a sweet dream, are you?”

Your eyes softened in understanding, smiling in hopes to alleviate his insecurities. Your hand directs his to your heart, much like how your other one stays above his own. Two hearts beat as one, delivering a mutual confession beknownst only to you and him.

Your lips moved and his unique eyes read them as if they held the meaning of life.

“I’m real, and I’m yours.”

Unable to help himself, Kaeya changes positions to loom over you. He pins your hands by the wrist on either sides of your head. You let him, locking eyes to wait until he regains his anchor to reality. As he straddles you, he leans down and his scarred eye glows with an unknown power. For a moment, the star in his misty blue orb sharpened into a slit. Then, his grip eventually loosens. Your arms soon take the chance to slither around his neck. You pull him down to your level, sensually slow to leave him in intense anticipation. Once he is a mere breath away, you lean up and forward.

Kaeya never fails to find sanctuary in your embrace, and salvation in your kiss. The taste of ambrosia is as addictive as the first time. He wanted more—needed more, even if it meant unequivocal demise.

One of his hands seeks one of yours, pressing against the mattress to interweave. A final message is traced as you both succumb to the passion that has waged wars since the dawn of creation.

“I love you.”

If the day of reckoning ever comes for him, the last hope of Khaenri'ah knows he does not stand alone.

Kaeya will always remember to seek out your light, and savor the hour of respite in your shadow. He holds faith in no god nor archon; but before you, he shall bend the knee in devoted worship.

This lost prince of sinners may be predestined for damnation, but he prays in your name—

“You are my northern star, the light that guides me back home.”

VENTI is a bard whose secrets are guarded by the lullabies of yesteryore and evermorrow. He holds the face of jubilant youth, yet his eyes tell a tale as old as time. While his voice mellifluously sings of tunes so spirited and free, his heart weighs heavy with the burden of an untold sacrilege. A couple thousand years can be a long time, yet the agony remains as fresh as the memories of a lucid dream. As he dons a smile that hopes to brighten the days and luminate the nights of Mondstadt, his soul belies the image of a nameless friend long gone. At times when the winds blew too coldly, he relies on the burning heat that drips down his throat—a taste so fine yet so bitter, like the freedom he idolizes.

Memories remind people what matters most, a life’s purpose to never forsake. However, more often than not, they come with the cruel regrets of what-ifs and what-could-have-beens. Henceforth, in tiresome days, the expense of living gets a little too much; and in sleepless nights, the weight of existing gets a little heavier.

Alas, when stars align just right, the wind will lead a pair of soulmates to find one another.

In Venti’s case, you found him.

It is actually very difficult to get him drunk, even if he acts otherwise. To be precise, he recovers quicker by getting sober minutes after he felt tipsy—and then, he would be downing another bottle. It is annoying for someone who just wants to forget his problems, but that is partially why he became accustomed to binge drinking. His rate of alcohol consumption would kill an average human, via alcohol poisoning, by the time he actually blacks out.

Amidst this cold and lonely night, the windborn bard was spared an ounce of warmth by a kind muse.

Venti woke up in a peculiar cottage that smelled of pollen and varnished wood. He heard the chirping of bluebirds, rousing him further away from his drowsy haze. A ray of sunshine peeks through the hanging cheap fabric used as curtains. He sits up, braids all messy with a very entangled bedhead.

As he stumbled out of the bedroom, the familiar sounds of Der Frühling beckoned him to the front porch. His veteran ears can attest that the notes are undoubtedly produced by a musician's hands, but a mere novice in the ways of the lyre. There was a harmonious flow in melody, yet the tone and pitch held little to no finesse in-between transitions. A sense of sheepish uncertainty distorts the song, but there was a certain charm in its dissonance.

He turns a corner, and there he saw you—

—a young dame sat upon a rickety swing, taming the bluebirds that sang for her strings.

The amused bard leaned against the doorway to watch the free show. His gleaming teal eyes stared blatantly, mesmerized by his supposed hostess. You wore an outfit that resembled his, but more modest and somewhat mismatched in color palette—an odd choice for a fellow bard. The only flashy thing about you is the Anemo Vision pinned onto your hair as it tied up your headband braid. It functioned as a hair ornament surrounded with cecilia and windwheel aster petals. A teal silk ribbon was mixed into your braid as its curled tail fluttered under your Vision ornament.

You seem to be inexperienced with the lyre, as Venti had confirmed upon seeing your performance; but you are still quite precise in your play. In theory, you hold enough knowledge to figure out which note works for a particular measure. Before he realized it, his own voice begins humming alongside the chirps of the gathered songbirds.

Alas, joining your small choir of avian creatures had startled them into flying away.

You also stiffened with a surprised jolt, practically snapping your head to look back at him. He does note that it was the birds’ exit that had shocked you, and not his soundly abrupt entrance.

“Ehe~!” Venti giggled nervously, “Sorry about that.”

You fumbled for a moment yet held the lyre firmly, careful to keep it steady. Standing up, you then walk over to him even though you shook in anxiety. Ever so tenderly, you returned his dearest Der Frühling as if handing over a precious baby.

Venti finds this heartwarming and endearing, having not met a fellow bard as considerate as you. He thus receives his lyre with gratitude, tracing its frame and plucking the strings. He marvels at the fact you even polished the instrument and retuned the strings.

“Many thanks, fellow bard~!” He chirped, “My name is Venti. May I know yours?”

You stared blankly at him for a moment, as if taking a few minutes to decipher his words. He spoke a little too quickly on purpose, patiently observing if you would prove his suspicions. As soon as you finally understood, you replied with some stutters in-between your syllables. It seemed more like a sound of uncertainty rather than a speech impediment.

“I-I am…[Name].”

A deaf virtuoso—the windborn bard believes you will make an interesting friend.

Ever since that day, Venti developed a habit of either visiting your abode or seeking you to hang out in the city. His consistent presence helped you be more comfortable in conversations. There was little to no stutters in-between your sentences now. As a bard whom prided himself in knowing all music of the past and future, the art of sign language is a helpful skill he utilized to pleasantly astound you.

The bard had never seen any mortal beam so bright when you smiled at him that day.

While you have gotten comfortable with him, Venti has also grown comfortable with you. There have been many incidents wherein his smiling mask just naturally came down around you. By your side, he felt more freedom than he has ever experienced in the past centuries. He knew it was dangerous to let this continue. The god in disguise has always been meticulously aware of his own feelings; and he was more than aware that he is falling for a mortal he will someday outlive.

However, he found you hard to resist.

Neither Venti nor Barbatos can hope to deny your profoundly unconditional love. What kind of god could reject such a heartfelt offering?

Despite your penchant for playing any available instrument, you preferred not to take center stage. In fact, your hidden knack for taming avian creatures is how you earn a daily living. Every songbird in the City of Freedom knows your tunes and can chirp them on command. This is due to your Anemo Vision, which has a unique ability that enables you to interact with the birds by means of frequency. Depending on how you control the vibrations in the breeze, they will follow like a choir does with a maestro.

You once dedicated a performance to Barbatos and the Four Winds. On that day, Venti heard his wisp brethren amongst the thousand winds croon at you in delight. He witnessed the silhouette of Vennessa’s falcon form hovering above you appraisingly, and a resounding roar can also be heard from Dvalin in his proclaimed lair. There were even the echoing howls of Andrius and his pack in Wolvendom.

This leads him to discover that your true talent lies in writing music. He had seen and read your musical compositions, grinning at every single one. With your permission, he even played a few in your home as payment for your gracious hospitality.

“You can negotiate with bards for this, you know.” He proposed, “I’m no businessman; but even I know letting other musicians play this will earn you a hefty sum of mora.”

You smiled sadly, “N-Nobody��w-would acknowledge music…composed by a deaf girl.” You confessed.

Venti turned solemn as he gazed at you. Although intimidating in its rarity, you are not perturbed by this abrupt change of mood. Your darling bard wears a mask on a daily basis that blurs truth and deceit.

You have become acquainted with them all.

He hummed playfully, “Now that just won’t do.”

You tilt your head confusedly, blinking in surprise when he suddenly takes hold of your hands.

“Ehe~!” He giggled, “Let me play…all of your music, [Name]. In fact, I’ll write…a lyrical ballad…for each of them. We’ll be the best duo…in Mondstadt!”

He had to slow down his speech a bit since he could not use his hands to help you keep up.

Thus, a new routine began for you two.

Venti kept his word. For the next few months, he only sang of the tunes you composed. A few of his regular listeners heard the slightest change in his playstyle. A part of him wished to smile bitterly as other bards and occasional playwrights praised his talent. He pettily made sure to charge thrice from them when he was requested for encores. These fools had rejected you just because of your disability yet they literally sing praises when he played your creations. Any artist worth their salt should have been able to see your potential at a glance.

Nevertheless, he ensured to always come home to you with bags full of mora whenever he plays your music in particular. You deserve nothing less than that, and he refuses to settle for anything else.

Regardless of this success, Venti recognized the melancholy in your eyes. You used to smile radiantly every time you watched him play. Your ears cannot hear the notes but you can feel the vibrations in the air. Your beguiling eyes relished the perfection of just watching Venti play to his heart’s content.

However, he was not blind to your inner turmoil and thus sought to relieve it.

“What’s wrong, Windblume?” He asked.

You hesitate, looking down at your feet. Gently, he props a finger under your chin to raise your head. A tender smile of encouragement implored you to speak your thoughts freely.

“I’m…frustrated.” You replied.

He says nothing but his smile does falter to a glaze of concern, waiting patiently to let you finish.

“I feel…so happy and grateful…when you play my songs.” You confided, “It’s finally being heard…and not just through the songbirds. People are now listening…to how it is supposed to be heard, and how I envisioned it to be played.”

Tears gather in your lovely eyes, overflowing with emotions too much for your heart. Your darling bard does not waver. He raises a hand to cup your cheek in his palm while his fingertips swept your sorrows.

“I want to…” you sobbed, “I want to hear you too!”

Venti held you protectively close, wishing more than anything else to shield you from this wild tempest of emotions. Alas, he was more than aware of the truth that the loveliest of rainbows can only come after the harshest storm. These are the feelings that must have festered for so long within you. People who can hear cruelly turn deaf to the ones whose worlds have been rendered silent. It was as if they do not deserve a voice if they knew not how it sounds. The thought infuriates the bard, reminding him of your beautiful songs discarded as nothing more than the passing chirps of songbirds.

He used his talents to let your ballads be heard.

Perhaps, he can use a different set of talents to let you hear his own?

You gripped onto Venti as if he was your lifeline, a part of you crumbling in sheer relief. He has always encouraged you to never be ashamed of what and how you feel. Whether it be deemed good or bad, all of it belonged to you. They make you human, the reason why he adores you above all. His gentle hand carded through your hair, skillful as when he plucks and strums the strings of Der Frühling. Pulling away slightly, his lips rested upon your temple and then your forehead. They stray towards your cheeks, a taste of salt from your tears.

Lastly, they hover above your own lips—centimeters apart, just a breath before they touch.

Teal eyes glow a shimmering green, both of you becoming enraptured by each other.

Venti needed you to say no more.

He takes you in his arms and spreads his wings. He delivers you to Windrise and its special tree, trusting him so wholly that you did not question him. Instead, you melted in his arms and enjoyed the warm breeze that wrapped around you like a blanket.

Once he sits you down beneath the tree, Venti sits in front of you to place one of your hands right above his heart. It beats steadily yet faintly, present yet not quite—like the wind he controls. He summons Der Frühling and smiles lovingly at you. The crystalflies illuminate his youthful features, providing a mystical glow that enthralls his dearest muse.

“Eyes on me, meine liebe.” He mouths.

Closing his eyes, he begins his private performance.

You frown, wondering what he means to prove with this. Still, you obliged his wishes and kept your eyes solely on him. Your hand remained where he placed it, right over the constant beating of his heart.

Then, you finally noticed the gathering streams of energy around yourself and your lover.

Your Anemo Vision began to glow alongside Venti’s iconic braids. The winds hummed together with him, united under his influence. It is an enchanting image, dazzling you into stunned admiration.

Then, you finally hear him—vocalizing the precious melody you dedicated to him alone. He sang of his past, his present, and his future which are now all intertwined by the whispers of you.

/Gales of song, please stay by my side/

He opens his eyes and releases his lyre. It plays as it floats, and you are mesmerized by how you can hear it all. By power of anemo, he merges your heart with his while enabling your psalm to be immortalized amongst the winds. He reaches up a hand to keep yours on his chest while its pair entangles with the other. His forehead leans on yours, gaze softening as you wept in bliss.

White feathers rained down on the landscape of green and blue. Floating lights illuminated the dark, be they stars or crystalflies. The Statue of the Seven sung in accompaniment to the intimate confessions of Barbatos—to you and for you.

/Winds of love, breathe into my life/

You can hear him so clearly—his regrets, his woes, his dreams, and his love. You hear it all through the song you composed at the thought of him, which he plays at the memory of you.

A fated parting shall occur someday, but he will love no other the way he loves you.

Therefore, with a passionate kiss, he makes you a promise—

“Come what may, you are the melody my heart will always sing.”

DAINSLEIF perseveres as a maverick shaped by his resolutions and driven by conviction. After enduring five centuries, he has earned a fair few titles as his new names. However, these remnants can never piece together his whole existence. As the Twilight Sword, there is no longer a Khaenri'ah to consider as his homeland to protect. As the Bough Keeper, there is no true grace to his purpose while burdened by a curse that shall someday rob him of his own mind and soul. In the eyes of Celestia, he is no more than a sinner doomed to a fate which can be argued as worse than death. As for the rest of the world, he is no more than a listless wanderer whom holds an obsession with stopping a disgrace known as the Abyss Order.

To honor those he had failed in his homeland, he can only move forward in the best way he knew—even if it is against those he had formerly served. Souls of the condemned hold no genuine hope of ascending to Celestia, for they amount to nothing more than heretics that do not worship any god. Therefore, for those who dare to remember, erosion will befall upon them as a final kiss of damnation. Before that day comes for him, this foolish score must be settled so he can meet his demise without regrets.

There is no genuine reward at the end of this tedious and lonesome quest. He is aware.

Nonetheless, the accursed immortal human refuses to falter under the taunt of judgment. If damnation is what shall meet him at the end of this quest, then he shall do it on his own terms. For if he must also end without his resolve, then there will truly be nothing left of him and Khaenri'ah.

There had been instances aplenty wherein the divine is likened to the flowers blossoming across Teyvat; and as a lonesome wanderer, he has grown accustomed to these tragic folklores.

The God of Dust named Guizhong left behind a quiet legacy amongst the glaze lilies. Songs which keep them abloom become tributes to her name.

The Goddess of Flowers known as Nabu Malikata had left her remnants within the padisarahs. Even if not as they were anymore, they serve as a memoir.

Godless they may have been, the glorious nation of Khaenri'ah also held pride over a particular flower—the Inteyvat. Alas, nobody but the former Twilight Sword retains the awareness to recall whom they represent the most.

“My memory has all but faded completely,” a voice murmurs piously, “but I will always remember how much she too loved these flowers.”

Dainsleif spoke not of Lumine here, although she does remind him of the one he reminisces. He dares say travelling with her had been the closest to home, a feeling of warm comfort. However, it never was the same exact happiness he sought in another—a mere ghost in his past. The lost historical relics in Sumeru speak of her as the last Eclipse Princess, whom was hailed as the Heretic Saintess. However, to him, she was the woman he dearly cherishes to this day…

…and the one he laments most for failing to protect in the bout of cataclysmic calamity.

Indeed, the Bough Keeper realizes; this accursed immortality is a fitting punishment for what Celestia deems a sinner. For he can forsake everything, but anything he has left of her will vividly linger. The doomsday of his own reckoning shall be when that too is ripped away from him.

Until then, he will dream of her. Until then, he will foolishly hope for the day they meet again.

Then, like a prayer to a nonexistent god, answers came in the ethereal form of you.

You met Dainsleif on a stormy night. In fact, he just found your cabin in the woods to seek a temporary shelter—injured and knocked unconscious. He was already half-delirious from a high fever, and it did not take a genius to know the man had a rough week. It is not out of kindness that you nursed him back to health, but due to a selfish motive to figure him out.

“Who are you?” You mumbled.

It seems he was not entirely out of it since he still managed to respond clearly.

“Dain…sleif…”

As soon as he muttered back, he eventually fell limp in your arms. For those brief seconds, there was a swelling ache upon your chest—nostalgia. A chilling tingle ran through your spine, like the touch of an invasive ghost on your skin—melancholy. Then, it spreads as smoldering heat to your veins as if to ignite your bloodstream—passion.

“Dainsleif, huh?”

The name felt like velvet on your tongue. His clothes and features were all too familiar to you—a fellow kinsman from Khaenri'ah. However, your eidetic memory never once brought you to a conclusion about this man’s identity. Regardless, your body reacts as if begging for your mind to catch up in recognition.

Even as you tended to him, nothing clicked.

“Your Highness…”

His voice weakly called, raspy and strained as if to choke it out. Your star-shaped pupils dilate as they meet his own hazy glare. His hand was reaching out to you, looking yet not truly seeing.

Alas, you made no move to truly stop him and remained awkwardly staring back.

“You’re dreaming, Sir Dainsleif.”

As if hearing his name from you brought comfort, he settles down again. His eyes start to close but now his hand found yours resting by his bedside. You recoiled yet his grip was oddly firm for a deeply ill patient. Perhaps, you can allow this until he gets some real rest.

When he recovered, Dainsleif vanished as abruptly as he barged into your life.

The next time you met again, it was your turn to be the one in need.

Dainsleif finds you in a clearing of soot and frost, holding a young man desperately. It was as if a clash of fire and ice had occurred under the rain. You look up to him, stars in your eyes shimmering with panic and sorrow. Without a word, he aids you by carrying the unconscious male and leading you back to the cabin. You made no reaction other than grasping onto his cloak tightly, like a lost child.

Despite not wishing to overstay his welcome, the Bough Keeper chose to stay for the night. You were unresponsive to him, as if your mind had shut down completely. A vague memory of a person so similar to you made Dainsleif familiar to the situation. Thus, the task of healing your patient fell to him until you could regain your composure.

��Please be well, Kaeya.” You murmured.

Dainsleif did not pry about your business, giving you the same respect you had done for his privacy. It did, however, astonish him when you took hold of his wrist and dragged him outside with you the next day.

The man named Kaeya stirred awake.

Befuddled, the former Twilight Sword kept silent as he watched from afar with you. Kaeya ate the warm meal you prepared on the table, and mixed emotions flickered in his eyes as he did. His head turned to observe everything in the cabin, searching almost as desperately as you appeared last night. Numerous dreamcatchers and embroideries decorate the walls in a contradictingly systematic manner. The more he analyzed, the more he remembered his childhood—as if your crafts gave him pieces of long forgotten memories. Then, he slowly stood up and made his way to a periwinkle dreamcatcher designed with a pavo ocellus constellation.

A single silver-blue eye gazed out the window, nearly catching your own gaze—

—but you ducked down behind the huge boulders and pulled Dainsleif with you to hide.

Kaeya got his things back and left a small note of gratitude for your care. Wordlessly, he left the cabin with the dreamcatcher now hanging on his belt—right beside his Cryo Vision. He looked back over his shoulder only once to give a bittersweet smile.

“Farewell, sis.” He whispered.

A humming zephyr delivered his message, and then he went back to Mondstadt.

Dainsleif sat down beside you for an entire hour, a mix of pity and empathy. When clarity returned to your eyes, he rose to take his leave. Once again, he was halted on his tracks by your hand grabbing onto his own gloved one.

“Hey,” you said, “do you mind if I go with you?”

Against his better judgment, the cursed immortal agreed after a minute of contemplation.

This newfound journey together has a very tedious beginning, mostly attributed to you. Everything was strange and nothing felt safe, which was expected because you both never stayed in one place. You, whom sought solace in consistency, were always forced to adapt to something new. Sleeping became a chore because you felt every small pebble and thin blade of grass pressing against you. It is by the mere thoughtfulness of your companion that you got a semblance of rest. Dainsleif always covered you in his cape and was willing to hold you soothingly, as if he knows just how to calm you down. There has been moments wherein you had tantrums, and some meltdowns that delayed some plans. Other days, you shut down completely and only wake back up to reality after a day or two.

Dainsleif was shockingly very patient with you, never berating and ready to soothe whenever you are in distress. He never once pushed you to go back. Only once, he offered to take you somewhere to settle after a very bad episode.

“No, I can’t!” You exclaimed, “I have to keep moving. I have to…keep going. Make sure…nobody finds me.”

It was unspoken that you were specifically running away from the City of Freedom, all for avoiding your your younger brother. There is a destiny that kept you both apart even when you mutually wish to be reunited. As children of Khaenri'ah, the former knight can take a guess what that sort of fate presents.

Since then, your travel companion did not question your decision anymore.

Without prompting, Dainsleif seemed used to your symptoms. It was almost eerie how he knew exactly what to say and do in every situation that involved your condition. He makes effort to prepare the same meals that you wish to have every day, and only light fruit snacks at night because you get very restless otherwise. At times he wanted to keep going, he stops himself to make camp for you first on the same evening hour before scouting ahead. He only allows himself to be gone for exactly 45 minutes, which was your limit to being alone whenever you both decide to camp out rather than checking into an inn or hotel. Whenever a wave of unease hits, he keeps a bag of materials that either lets you weave dreamcatchers or tinker an antique you scavenged in the ruins you passed. Every time your mind begins to close off, he sits down with you and holds your hands to meditate. When you need space, he keeps his distance; and when you need companionship, he keeps you close.

“How?” You ask.

Dainsleif raises a brow as he looks down at you. It was in the middle of Lantern Rite as you both watch the festivities from a nearby hill. After indulging in a few stalls, you calmed by playing with his fingers as your head rested on his lap. He knows the meaning to your one-worded inquiry, and he wonders how to answer you truthfully.

“I knew someone similar to you.” He said.

You sat up before blankly staring into his eyes, stars meeting stars. Tilting your head, a flash of curiosity brought light to your emotionless gaze.

“The princess…?” You asked.

The Bough Keeper blinked in surprise.

“You dreamed of her a lot when we first met.”

Your statement made him look away bashfully, a bit embarrassed to be reminded.

“Was she important to you?” You asked.

At this, he looks at you in the eyes. His star-shaped pupils practically gleam with an emotion you could not read—or perhaps, could not comprehend.

“She is my dearest one.” He declared.

Normal people probably would have felt jealous at that confession. He even used a present tense to show that his feelings have not wavered.

You and Dainsleif never gave a label to this peculiar relationship, but you hold a mutual understanding that it had grown to more than just friends. It was a development nurtured by meaningful exchanges and secretive affections. The sentiments are far from platonic or familial, that much is sure.

That night, when you released a lantern, you made a fleeting wish—

—not to the gods, but to the princess.

“Please look after Dainsleif.”

Meanwhile, the Twilight Sword fondly gazes upon your form. The image of your past self overlaps with the present. He recalls the ever sleepless nights of guarding you in the tower. Starlight showered upon your figure leaning by the windowframe. Delicate hands reach out to set free artificial crystalflies that glow as wisps of moonlight. A breath of laughter is echoed in the lonely room, and then he is blessed by a smile more divine than Celestia.

The memory flickers as the silver starlights are replaced by golden lanterns, and your humble self stood in place of the estranged saintess—

—but that smile remains.

Morning welcomed Dainsleif with the strange sight of you looming over him. With practiced ease, he resumes calm as he let you do as you please like it was nothing unusual. He knows of your quirks just as you are aware of his boundaries. There is mutual trust of consent that tells which actions would be acceptable anytime. He did gulp a little nervously as his drowsy eyes analyzed you. His hands twitched but he willed them to stay in place despite his inner yearning.

Disheveled, you were straddling him while still in your nightgown. Your hair was messily draped over your shoulders, creating a curtain around the blond man beneath you. A glazed veil engulfs your eyes like a dreamy countenance of a faraway reverie.

“Dain…”

“What is it, [Name]?”

“I had a dream last night.”

“A dream, you say?”

You nod, leaning down almost conspirationally yet the expression on your face remains unreadable. A gasp hitched in his throat as your lips strayed to his ear, whispering shakily—

“I remember, Dain.”

Realization struck him.

Dainsleif switches positions with you yet he receives no protest. His ungloved hands cup your face in order to meet your eyes with his own beseeching pair. You see his visage, unmasked and vulnerable, that longingly wish for your approval.

You nodded.

Dainsleif claims your lips in ardent greed, and you responded in eager devotion.

Intertwined, redamancy is bliss for the reunited knight and his only princess—

“Your heart is the only other half that can ever complete mine.”

#REMINDER: this is a submission from starlight anon (not mine)!#please support them and their glorious writing <3 #genshin x reader #genshin x fem!reader #genshin x female reader #aether x reader #albedo x reader #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #venti x reader #dainsleif x reader

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wonderful-magician · 6 months ago

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THE ROCKIES !!!

They are so fun I literally love the Rockies sm you don't understand. Nobody talks about them I LOVE THEMMM.

Anyway 💥💥💥 I DREW 5 OF THEM, WHAT A UNIT. A TEAM. HOW ARE THEY SO IN UNISON? THE WORLD WILL NEVER KNOW.

Clarifying all my Rockies are he/him, except for Rocky 4 who's she/her :]

#stex #starlight express #stex rockies #i dont think I'm missing any?#but i am also doing those old fem rockies #so they'll be included #and the hip hoppers obv #MagiciansStexRefs

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bindinglove · 17 days ago

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no thoughts just tamlin in an outfit inspired by the folklore dress.

#Or fem tamlin IN the dress #Or tamlin in the dress idgaf #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #a court of mist and fury #sarah j maas #a court of silver flames #a court of frost and starlight #a court of wings and ruin #tamlin #taylor swift #folklore #the eras tour #fem tamlin

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bldhrry · 4 months ago

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loml

Cassian x Reader Summary: You, Cassian, and the entire world knew you were mates until you weren't. Masterlist

word count: 4.8k

warnings: sadness

author's note: been sitting on this one for a minute. thank you taylor swift for writing the saddest song to exist. as always lmk what you think!

You were young when you met Cassian, a footsoldier, at the war camp you had been stationed at as a healer, but you knew then that he was the one you were destined to be with.

He had come in after a strenuous battle with Hybern’s forces and had a gash down his leg so bad it exposed bones and harbored an infection. He was unconscious and bloody with his own blood and the blood of those he had killed and despite his ragged state he was breathtaking. You worked on his wounds and stayed by his side until he woke up the next morning.

You were reapplying bandages to his leg when you felt him shift and when you looked up he was already looking down at you with a crooked grin.

“I must be dead and in heaven because you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life.”

It was corny and in other circumstances it would’ve made you scrunch your nose and roll your eyes, but his chances of surviving the infection were low and you were just happy he had survived the night.

You laughed and tied the bandage, patting it lightly. “Thing?”

Cassian blushed and his eyes widened slightly. “No.” He cleared his throat and you couldn’t help but giggle at the way his eyes shifted around the room in embarrassment.

Before he could explain and possibly embarrass himself even more you stood up and smiled at him. “I know what you mean. I’m happy to see you too.”

He visibly relaxed, his shoulders sagging and he flopped back on the bed.

“How do you feel?” You asked without looking at him, focusing on putting your supplies into your pack.

“Good,” he paused and nodded his head. “Fine.”

Had you looked at him during this brief conversation you would have noticed Cassian’s hazel eyes glued to you, taking in you in like water when he hadn’t drank in a long time. You were stunning and graceful and it was true what he had said, he had never seen something or somebody so beautiful. He felt stupid for saying thing instead of female or person or literally anything else, but if he didn’t know any better he would have assumed you were a goddess taking him away and if it were true he wouldn’t have objected. He would follow you anywhere.

Cassian decided then that you were the one he was destined to be with.

Fortunately for you both, you were Cassian’s primary healer. He saw you every morning, afternoon, and night when you came to redress his wounds and check his temperature. Every time you were in his presence he felt like he couldn’t breathe and there were times you had to tell him to breathe normally so you could listen to his heart and lungs. It was hard to contain his excitement when he saw the sun rise and set itself in the sky because he knew you were coming. He would try, and fail, to make himself look presentable for you so you would look at him longer than 15 seconds and say something other than “how are you feeling” and “are you in pain.”

It was difficult for you to care for Cassian and not gawk at him every time you came to visit. He was gorgeous and charming and surprisingly funny. He asked you about your day and your patients and every few days he would ask if he was your favorite patient. This always made you laugh and you would just shake your head and tell him you had no favorites. This, of course, was not true because Cassian was your favorite patient. He was quiet during your exams and didn’t protest when you checked his wounds or make vulgar comments regarding your body like the other soldiers at the camp. He was respectful and kind and it was the highlight of your day to see him.

You were still with his legion when the war came to an end and the relationship between the two of you had not advanced in the slightest. He was discharged from your care after a week and you saw him rarely in between battles and his duties and while you prayed for his safety during the war, you couldn’t help but hope that he would end up back in your section of the camp.

When the news came out, you sighed a breath of relief; you would finally be able to go back home. You were originally from the Dawn Court and was a prominent healer in your district and you did not hesitate to answer the call to service the army’s wounded.

Cassian found you later that night. You didn’t hear him come in and he swayed in the entrance of the medic tent for a brief second, watching as you meticulously put your supplies away, humming quietly to yourself.

Cassian felt a foreign sense of peace when you were around. He had fought his entire life to get the bare minimum from clothes to food to shelter; he had never known comfortability even when he did have a roof over his head and a full stomach. But you, this female that had blown in with the winds of fate, gave him that peace. Your aura was pure tranquility and he wanted to bask himself in it.

“Hey.”

The voice made you jump and let out a yelp as you turned around, your hand on your heart. “Oh gods Cassian! You scared me.” You let out a small laugh as you observed the warrior in front of you. He had no open wounds save for a few cuts and his face and body was caked in mud. His seven siphons glowed in the dim tent and you watched the light move as he shifted his feet.

“Sorry,” he gave you a sheepish smile and you let out a quiet sigh at the sight.

“It’s fine,” you waved your hand and held your hands together. “Do you need something?”

Cassian’s heart was beating so loud and hard he was worried it would fail him entirely. He shook his head. “No, I just wanted to come see you.”

Your mouth opened in an ‘O’ shape and your cheeks flushed with heat. You tucked a piece of hair behind your pointed ear and looked at the hem of your dress. “For any particular reason?” Your voice was soft and hopeful.

“Yes.” Cassian cleared his throat and suddenly his next words were lost to him and he just stared at you.

You looked back with an expectant and confused look.

“I’m sorry,” he laughed nervously, shaking his head, the mud making his hair stick to his face. “I’m nervous.”

There was an awkward silence and you cocked your head to the side, your brows coming together and you jutted your bottom lip out slightly. This look Cassian would memorize and come to know as your “I’m trying to figure it out” face.

“Why?”

“I want to keep seeing you.” The confession was rushed and his face was a mix of red and brown. “I know we don’t know each other and that’s my fault. You made me so gods damned nervous.” He laughed again and his eyes softened. “I want to see you again. I want to know you.”

Your face lit up and you smiled widely. “I would like that.”

Cassian nodded and gave you a look that you would memorize as his “I’m in love” face and gave you his signature crooked grin. “Good. I will write to you. I promise.”

And he did. You had no more to do once the remaining wounded soldiers became well enough to travel home and you went home too. Cassian wrote to you almost daily and you would laugh and shake your head in disbelief when they would come. His handwriting was atrocious and it took you some time to figure out what he had written but it wasn’t long after that you were able to read his letters so fast that you missed the way you felt when you started.

He came to see you a few months later and it wasn’t as awkward as you both thought it would be. You were different in many ways; he was nearly mannerless and brash and you were timid and observant. But you were also the same in many ways; you both liked to travel and explore and you especially liked to love one another.

You two traveled to see each other and wrote letters until your hands ached before he asked you to move with him. He had gotten a permanent position at the Night Court under Rhysand and bought a small cottage near the sea, something you had said you wanted to do at some point in your life.

You moved with him and you both spent the next 500 years in bliss. Your love transcended unknown boundaries and it was inconceivable the way your bodies survived the amount of affection that coursed through your veins. It was sickening to many just how in tune you were with each other and the looks shared from across the room conveyed things that were unspeakable. It was common knowledge that you two had to be mates. This kind of love couldn’t possibly exist between two regular people in love. This kind of love existed solely for mates. And you two believed it. The bond never came to fruition during the centuries but it didn’t need to and you didn’t need a magical bond to keep you two together. You would love each other regardless and you did so with glee.

It was a sunny Spring day when Feyre’s sister came to Velaris. It was an exciting day, their arrival, and you had helped Feyre the entire day to prepare the House of Wind and their rooms. You were excited to meet them. If Feyre was as incredible as she was, her sisters had to be even better.

They arrived later in the evening with Rhysand and Azriel. You were waiting for them with Cassian in the living room, your hands intertwined as you discussed the upcoming week. He would be leaving for an emissary mission and you were going to see your family in the meantime. You hated not being with him and so did he so you had planned to stay in the cottage once you had come back to make up for the time apart.

Feyre met the four at the door and you and Cassian padded in, giving the sisters time to rejoice in their reunion. Hugs and kisses were shared and then Feyre stepped back, her hand outstretched to you and Cassian. Cassian stiffened at your side and you didn’t realize he had stopped walking until you were two paces ahead of him. You turned to look at him, but his eyes were looking straight ahead, unwavering.

You looked at the direction he was facing and found Nesta, eyes wide with shock and surprise. You turned back to Cassian and his face was not one of shock, but of fear and before you could ask what was happening the scent hit you so hard you stumbled backwards.

You knew what a mating bond smelled like being around Feyre and Rhysand so there was no doubt in your mind that this was that scent. It was strong and felt like a physical wave crashing against the walls in the room and rocking you back and forth.

“Cass?” Your voice was barely a whisper. Cassian looked down at your still intertwined hands and then at your face, his face shifting from fear to anguish and you let out a breath. “Cass.” Your heart was breaking.

There was movement and then a sound like a footstep and you broke eye contact with Cassian to see Nesta had made a step towards you two and before she could take another Cassian had pushed you behind him and squared his shoulders, spreading his feet slightly into a fighting stance.

“No.” Cassian’s voice was rough and low and while it was a command, it was also a plea. No, don’t come any closer, and no this can’t be.

You were thinking the same thing: this can’t be.

Cassian swiftly turned around and ushered you out and you glanced back at Nesta and her face had contorted to rage but you didn’t have time to see what would happen next before Cassian had pushed you out the side door and took you in his arms, shooting you both into the sky and towards the cottage.

You didn’t cry as you flew to the house you had shared with him for 500 years, or when you stepped inside, or when you entered your bedroom, your belongings mixed together throughout the room. You were confused. So confused it felt chronic, like nothing was making sense even though it was painfully obvious.

Your name echoed throughout the house as Cassian tried to talk to you. He begged you to look at him but you just shook your head and waved at him, moving towards your shared bathroom. It wasn’t until you had locked the door that you let out a sob and then another and another until your cries were so loud your ears were ringing.

This was a mistake. You had been with him for centuries. He was yours and you were his and that was final. Not even the Mother could change that, but She was and you were shaking so bad you fell to your knees and clutched your chest. You couldn’t breathe and your heart was shattering in a way that you had feared long ago would happen but soon became confident it would never; he would never leave you and he would never not love you. This, you were so sure of and here you were, screaming into your bathroom mat.

The picture perfect life you had been painting for all these years was being smeared and destroyed. The heaven that you had been living in was slowly turning into hell.

Cassian banged on the door behind you, begging to be let in.

“I’m sorry.” He kept saying and he was. This was not what he had expected or ever hoped to happen. That female was not his mate. You were his mate; you were his other half, his twin flame, the love of his life. “This doesn’t change anything. I promise. Please let me in.” He was crying now, his sobs matching the volume and intensity of yours.

Your world was falling apart and so was his. He didn’t want to be told he was meant to be with someone else. That notion didn’t make sense to him. How could it not be you? The female he fell in love with the moment he saw her bent over his leg, your tongue poking out slightly as you concentrated; the female who would cover him in kisses during his moments of doubt and insecurity; the female whom he loved more than life itself.

Cassian shimmied the lock until it slipped from its hold and he opened the door slowly until it hit something and when he peeked his head in, he saw that the door had hit your foot. You were curled up on the bathroom mat. It was an ugly yellow color and did not match the decor but you looked so happy when you came home with it tucked under your arm he couldn’t not let you have this one victory. The sight of it made his stomach lurch and he knelt down beside you, lifting your head and cradling it in his hands.

You always thought his hands would hold yours until the end of time. They were always so big and warm and inviting, grasping for you in the night and closing the distance between you two. But now they felt so cold and you shrank from his touch. He was no longer yours. He was just a pawn in the Mother’s game. You were just something momentary, something to bide his time until she came along. You were so angry.

“Nothing is changing,” Cassian’s body shook with his sobs. “I promise.” Him and his promises. “I love you. You’re the love of my life.”

You savored those words like it was elixir. You loved the way he said it, with such conviction it could make the mountains shake and the world spin in the opposite direction. And he said it now, through a voice so broken it made you look at him, that you once again believed him. The Mother be damned; she could not and would not do this to you. You were his and he was yours.

Cassian held you so tightly that night that you had to ask him to loosen his grip and even then he barely did. He was so scared of what this meant. He had only seen bonds that were accepted, but what happened to those who rejected it? He didn’t care what happened to him and how he felt, really. He cared about you and what this would mean for the relationship. He did not want to leave you and he wouldn’t. He would go down fighting, teeth bare and knives out, to keep you and the life you had created.

Cassian didn’t leave for the emissary mission and you didn’t go to visit your family. Instead you stayed home and laid in each other’s arms, memorizing once again what it felt like to be held and loved so fiercely.

Cassian abandoned the Court entirely in avoidance of her. He couldn’t even bear to think of her name. He hated her and wished she would go away by any means necessary. It was a morbid thought but Cassian didn’t care. She was not worth the space she was taking up in your mind and he knew how obsessed you had become with what happened. He could see it in the way you methodically did the chores around the house that you were ruminating over the memory and he could almost see the scene in your eyes: the look between her and him, the scent, the realization, and then the moment euphoria turned into misery.

Azriel came to the house first, giving you a sympathetic smile and a kiss on the cheek before stalking to Cassian’s office. They argued about his abrupt leave of Court and while Azriel understood it completely, he was drowning trying to balance his work and Cassian’s. But Cassian didn’t care and told him to leave.

Rhysand came next and the High Lord demanded his return, promising that Nesta would be nowhere near him and he would never have to interact with her. But Cassian didn’t care; he didn’t want to take that chance and he felt like being in the same continent as her was betraying you. They argued, more aggressively than he had with Azriel, until Cassian had Rhysand pinned to the wall.

You rushed in at the commotion and yelled out. “Cassian! Please.” Your voice was quiet despite the scolding and he gave you an exasperated look and released Rhysand.

“He’ll be there tomorrow morning, Rhysand.” You bowed your head in apology and gave him a smile. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

Rhysand didn’t need the apology and he wouldn’t accept it. He understood it entirely and wasn’t even angry at Cassian, not entirely at least. This had been Feyre years ago and it took Rhysand everything in him to leave her be and even then he struggled.

“What the fuck?” Cassian snarled, slamming the door behind Rhysand.

You jumped at his tone and held your hands together. “We have to get back to normal at some point.”

Your eyes were glistening with tears and Cassian’s anger immediately faded away and his shoulders drooped. “I do not want to do this. I do not want to leave you.”

You chuckled. “You’re going to work, Cassian. You’ll be back.”

“And if I have to go on a mission?”

“You’ll still come back. Everything will be as it was before. I promise.”

A year turned into two and into three and your relationship didn’t deteriorate, but it also didn’t progress. It was like you were waiting for something bad to happen, for Nesta to come and demand he come to her, for Cassian to realize he wanted the bond more than you. It was agonizing to live in so much fear. You were scared all the time; you were scared that when you woke up Cassian would be gone or he wouldn’t come home.

But he was always there when you woke up and he always came home.

Cassian made sure to be present in every moment with you. He had moved on from the encounter and was pleased to not feel the bond as strongly as he did that night. He felt it every now and then, a flicker of feeling or a hazy image sent by her but he never cared to explore it. Instead he shoved it away, pushing the bond to the deep pits of his stomach and resumed his life with you. He knew how much you were hurting and he did his best to constantly reassure you of his dedication to you and your future.

The rain was coming down heavily as you prepared dinner. Cassian hadn’t come home yet and you were growing worried. You twisted your hands as you peered out the window, counting the seconds in between the lighting and thunder.

There was a thud outside and then the sound of keys jingling together and Cassian bursted through the door, soaked from head to toe from the rain.

Relief flooded through your body and you made your way to him, a smile so wide and bright it would’ve put the sun to shame. The expression on Cassian’s face made you falter and then you smelled it: Nesta.

“No,” you gasped out, taking a step back.

“Nothing happened.” Cassian was rushing towards you but you kept backing away, bumping into the kitchen counter until you were cornered. “She came into the office while I was waiting for Rhysand. But I left immediately after. I pro-”

“You reek of her,” you sneered.

Cassian stopped a mere feet away from you, his hands still outstretched towards you. “She came to me and I couldn’t get her off me.”

“You couldn’t or you didn’t want to?” This couldn’t be happening.

“Please, listen to me. I was waiting and she came in and ran to me. Please believe me. I got her off of me and-”

“She touched you?” This was happening.

“For the love of the gods you have to believe me.” Cassian was shaking. Either from sobs or the cold from the rain you weren’t sure, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care.

“Get away from me,” you snarled, sliding past him. Cassian grabbed your wrist and you jerked away from his touch, yanking your wrist free. “Don’t.”

He let you go. The devastation in your voice was clear and there was nothing he could say or do to stop you from thinking and believing whatever you told yourself. He let you go to your bedroom; he let you slam and lock the door; and he let you cry yourself to sleep. And it wasn’t until he heard nothing through the gaps of the door that he let himself in, sneaking into bed and pulling you into his chest.

You woke up the next morning with sore eyes and a pounding headache. The events of the night before came rushing to you so fast you recoiled into something hard. Turning your head, you saw that it was Cassian. He was fast asleep, his mouth slightly open and his arms were tight around your waist. You didn’t remember letting him in but regardless of how he got here you were glad for it. You missed the warmth in your bed but was too upset, and maybe too proud, to allow him in.

You were so upset that Nesta had gotten to Cassian but it made you realize that you were living on borrowed time. You knew that at some point this facade that you were upholding would fall apart and he would be taken away to his mate. His mate. The words branded themselves into your mind and soul and you hated it. For so long you wanted to be his mate, to be bound to him for all eternity, but it never came and you never understood why until now. He wasn’t truly yours and it made you feel like you were being torn from the inside, your organs and muscles shredding under the sharp edges that was the empty space growing in your chest.

“It’s not going to work, Cassian, and you know that.” Your relationship had gotten worse since that night. You were paranoid every time he left the house and he was becoming bitter. Not at you, no never you, but at the situation. His anger was occupying his time more and more these days and he was losing himself in it, leaving you stranded.

“Don’t say that.” He shook his head, his hair framing his face as he looked at you.

You gave him a smile so slight but etched with so much pain and agony. “It’s true.” You let out a breath, trying to contain yourself. “We cannot outrun what fate has written for us.”

“Fuck fate.” Cassian jumped up and balled his hands into fists. “We are meant to be. We promised to be together.”

“You are meant to be with your mate if you have one, and you do.” Your voice was soft, but trembled as you spoke.

“Mates don’t mean anything. Rhysand’s parents were mates and they were horrible for each other. I don’t need to be with my mate. I need to be with you.”

You let out a breath and tilted your head up to the ceiling. Tears were streaming down your face and you were trying so hard to keep your composure. Every bone in your body was screaming at you in protest, but you knew this was the right thing to do. You two were perfect for each other but not anymore. Now you two barely spoke as if doing so would shatter the illusion you had been creating for the past three years. Him angry and you sad, it just wasn’t going to work anymore.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered. “I am so, so sad. And scared. I just can’t do it, Cass. I love you, I do. But not like this. We cannot expect love to change our circumstances. It just doesn’t work like that.”

“It does and it will. I promise.”

“So many promises,” you let out a laugh and looked at him. Your eyes had lost their light so long ago and Cassian had tried everything to ignite them but to no avail. You were completely gone. “I thought this would work.” You clicked your tongue and looked around your home. So many memories and dreams coated the walls, all engulfed in flames that were nipping at your skin threatening to take you down.

You cleared your throat. “It’s better this way. The longer you deny the bond the worse you’ll get. I read about it.” You nodded like it meant nothing, like you were trying to convince him, but really you were trying to convince yourself. This had to be better because what was happening now was not good for either of you.

“Please don’t do this.” Cassian’s eyes were red and his face was wet with tears. He bit his lip to contain his sobs but they kept coming out. He didn’t care about his composure.

“I have to.” You took a step back and kept his gaze. If you looked away you would lose it. You would stay. You would be miserable. You couldn’t do that anymore.

“You’re the love of my life.” The words came out more like a beg than a declaration.

Those six words have meant everything to you for the past 500 years. They made you see stars and feel safe. They put you in a drunken haze that smelled and tasted like Cassian and at this point they had been your religion. You loved Cassian more than anything and you knew you would never love anyone else like you did him. You would never bask in the presence of another like you did with him, you would never cling to another like you did with him, and you would never make another your world like you had him.

What you had was legendary even if it was momentary. So much so that the story of your love would be told for generations to come, one of both happiness and tragedy.

You would never forget him and you never wanted to; you wanted to remember every scar and muscle that adorned his body, his smile and laugh, the way he walked towards you, and the way he felt beneath your fingertips. But all you had of him now was memories, fleeting images and sensations that left you breathless and reeling, yearning for more.

The next six words that fell from your lips, six words so contrary to the ones he and you had shared for so long, would haunt you until the day you died.

“And you’re the loss of mine.”

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