I’d Imagine That If You Asked San For An Umbrella, He’d Bring Over Wooyoung And Be Like “Woosan?”

this is beautiful i—*sobs*

# 0.03 - THE THIRD WISH.

╰ ‘I wish to learn how to make flower crowns.’ | Chapter 3 of ‘The Five Wishes You Fulfilled For Me Before I Died’ series

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HE SCOLDS YOU FOR CALLING HIS NAME FOR NO REASON AT ALL and yet whenever you don't, he frowns and asks about your whereabouts. the yaksha that guards over liyue is certainly a strange character and an adoring laugh would've slipped out of you if you weren't too busy trying to wash away the metallic taste of blood in your mouth. amongst the cards delivered to your hands, you realized that one person hadn't sent one. of course, you didn't expect anything from him of all people but you were suddenly filled with the desire to seek his presence. now though, you wondered if you're still in any shape to converse casually. the dried tears that stuck to your cheeks made you look disheveled and though it was dark, you don't doubt that his piercing amber eyes would take note of it immediately. was your body's exhaustion really this fast approaching?

"i told you to speak my name when you need help," a voice from behind you flatly states. you don't do so much as flinch. you'd know that voice even from afar.

"xiao... it's been a while, huh? how do you do?"

the man in question frowns even deeper, allowing his polearm to disperse into fragments of lights before he approached your keeled-over form, "what are you croaking about? speak up. i can't hear you."

"gee, a little understanding, please?"

you didn't really take offense. if you had, then there was no way you could've befriended the sharp-tongued man who was just a few steps away from you by now. perhaps it was just a worthless attempt but you hoped that your little comment was enough to distract him, even just a little, from the gruesome sight you weren't able to clean up. who would've known that he was always watching your back from afar?

"who did that?"

"no one," you muttered, tense. it sounded more like a furious demand than a question and you don't think that you've ever heard such animosity from him ever since you met. heck, the way he spoke about his karma sounds tender compared to the tone he used now! "hey, calm down."

"you're bleeding. you need help."

xiao, despite not believing your words, motioned for you to come towards him. as much as he wanted to reshuffle the cards dealt by fate to whoever was dumb enough to lay a hand on you, he knew that he should probably find someone to assist you first. verr goldet should still be awake, he thinks as he glances at the moon that watched the scene curiously. time flows differently for the adepti and he couldn't be bothered to carry a watch when it doesn't apply to him but if he were to guess, it shouldn't be more than thirty past eight in the evening.

"i'm fine. there's nothing you can do to help me," you waved your hand haphazardly as you tried to stand, only to find xiao crouching in front of you.

"..." he grits his teeth, trying his hardest to fight the heat that was climbing up his pale neck, "what are you waiting for? it's faster this way so... just hurry up."

a confused sound escapes you and you half-believed that you just redefined speechlessness as you stared at his back. shifting your weight from one leg to another, you ultimately freeze as xiao turns his head slightly, just enough to meet your gaze impatiently but you knew him well enough to recognize the same shade of embarrassment on his pupils. deciding to cut the both of you some slack, you cautiously mounted his back and with an ease that made your heart skip a beat, he adjusted your position so you laid more comfortably and securely. despite your nervous fidgeting (caused by the very sharp reminder that his hands were firmly holding onto the flesh of your thighs), xiao doesn't seem to be having any trouble carrying your weight.

"um... i'm really fine... you don't need to do this. i must be really heavy, 'm so sorry..."

he only scoffs, squeezing your thighs as if to reprimand you, "you underestimate the strength of the adepti. this is nothing compared to what i have held long ago."

you don't reply, ashamed that you're taking this situation of context and even more ashamed that you're absolutely enjoying it. distracted by your fleeting thoughts, you don't notice that you have slowly nuzzled into the crook of his neck. it wasn't your intention but your subconscious desperately craved the warmth that exudes from his body. by the time you realized what you were doing, it was too late and you pretended to do it on purpose just because it felt a smidge less embarrassing.

with your bodies awfully close together, xiao desperately prayed that you didn't notice the way his breath hitched as your small sigh fanned a hot gust of air over his sensitive skin. he also prayed that you don't hear the wild pumping of his heart because he, himself, couldn't hear anything aside from that.

"xiao?" he tensed up, surprised at the intense thoughts that floated in his mind at the innocent call of his name. you're too near. you had only whispered his name prettily but in his mind, you might as well have screamed it until both his ears bled, "do you mind if we stop by dihua marsh first?"

"what? are you out of your mind? you're injured—"

"i promise i'm not—"

he ignores you're lighthearted laugh as he nearly growls, unconsciously digging his dull nails into your thighs that formed small, crescent-like engraving on your plush skin, "i can smell your blood from afar."

"hey, i really promise i'm fine. in fact, you can check for injuries right here and now!"

xiao pauses and you take it as him thinking over his options. when you slowly slid out of his grasp and he wordlessly let you, a small victorious smile curved on your lips, "if i see anything, i'm taking you to wangshu inn immediately and you better not utter another complaint."

"yes, yes... i understand. no need to frown so much," he doesn't speak of the bright twinkle in your eyes as you shrugged your coat off, twirling once to show that true to your words, no trace of blood could be seen on your clothes. aside from the remnants of the gore on your palms, you looked unscathed and xiao realized that he could finally breathe again.

"if you're not injured, what was that on your hand?"

you knew he'd ask eventually but that didn't stop the recoil from coming. nervously looking at the side, you took one long breath in before plastering a smile on your face as you met his ever-serious gaze, "about that... care to chat in a place more comfortable?"

xiao curiously raised a brow despite the seemingly permanent scowl on his face. still, he offered his gloved hand quite roughly though it was more endearing in your eyes, "to dihua marsh, right?"

"if it isn't too much trouble..."

"isn't it too late to say that?"

you only laughed at his little grumble, knowing full well that he doesn't mind taking you anywhere you wanted to go. why else would he go out of his way to accompany you to sal terrae three days after you mentioned it in passing? taking his hand gingerly, he immediately pulls you closer to him, and almost as quickly, a heady scent envelops you. for someone who claims that aromas do not cling to him after grueling hours of hunt, you sure could pinpoint that the fragrance on his clothes was one of the refreshing scents of qingxin flowers and honey-roasted almonds. it's faded now and you purse your lips in worry. surely that must mean that he hasn't been resting? xiao had the habit of having his beloved dish during the morning during the winter season, having been too exhausted by the increasing amounts of exorcisms he needed to do to bother eating upon his return.

shaking away your worry, you try to ignore the other underlying stench that coats him. death. it's nothing unpleasant like the decaying flesh of a cold corpse but there was something unique about it that you could recognize it as that. it was hard to describe but once you meet someone on their deathbed, you'll know. it's the scent of a fast-approaching demise carried by hundreds of volatile materials. who were you kidding? he deals with death so, of course, he'll smell like it. or maybe you've finally lost it and whatever scent you carried had rubbed off on him with your close proximity.

closing your eyes, you tried to focus on the good parts. the scent of the candied chestnuts and sweet potatoes that you ate earlier in your festival meal, the faint floral residue of the perfume you wore, the quick whiff you got of saltwater and sea plants... ah, you arrived. peering over xiao's shoulder, you tried to find a suitable spot to rest. you wouldn't appreciate your socks getting wet so definitely not near the waters. you have a hard time removing the dirt stains on your clothes so not the hills. the other parts are occupied by monsters and you couldn't be bothered with defeating them first.

biting back a sigh, you rolled your shoulders back. you might've been unusually picky tonight but you were about to relay some life-changing news. comfortability should be your right because soon it wouldn't even matter anymore. you swear it's just about that. you were certainly not procrastinating on the inevitable.

"we're here. speak now and fulfill your end of the bargain."

you chuckle nervously, "you really need to relax a little... would it kill you to be softer?"

"softness would do me no favors and neither would your avoidance. tell me now or i'll find out for myself."

" woah, there... is that a threat? we're not enemies here. i think i should remind you that."

he says your name once, eyes narrowed in a warning and you sigh in defeat, "okay. fine. i'm sick."

"sick? then shouldn't you be resting?"

you sighed, leaning against the trunk of an old tree, "like i said, it wouldn't help me."

"hmph. you mortals are so difficult. you say one thing and the other says another—"

"i'm dying," you interrupt him with a humorless smile, "there's no recovering no matter what i do so i'm out here walking while i still can. it's sad, isn't it?"

xiao swallows as he feels his blood freeze over. surely not? of all the people in liyue, he was one of those that painfully knew the permanency of death the best. it was not something to be thrown around as a foul joke! anger swells up in his chest but as he eyes the distraught hidden in your carefree smile, he finds his words dying in his throat. surely not...

"i was out here to say goodbye to you because... there probably won't be a next time. when you found me, i was just about to call for you but my body beat you to it."

he was certain that he was being delusional. of course, he has to be! the weight of his karma must've finally made his nightmares bleed into reality but that was it, wasn't it? nightmares, dreams... all of it could come blurring into the reality he perceives but they would never amount to be anything but that. dreams are dreams and reality is reality. there was no way that someone as pure and gentle as you would be fated to an early death. that was not how karma works. he would know.

"xiao? it's... a good time to say something? i'm getting pretty scared of your silence..."

the yaksha doesn't speak, doesn't breathe even as his fingers trembled at his side. you look too weak, too fragile to be the person he once knew. you try to reach out to him — anything to snap him out of his confused daze but he backs away. he backs away because the moment he feels your warmth radiate over his skin, he'll know that it was real — that he'd lose you many years before he expected to — and xiao refuses to accept that. he couldn't. it feels too much of a crime to add to his already long list.

"hey now... don't go avoiding speech when you just threatened me to say something..."

something foreign stirs in him. it's hot and suffocating and if that wasn't enough to say that it wasn't a good sign then nothing else would be. he's never been good with anything foreign, having been stuck in liyue for as long as he could remember and so when he feels that strange feeling bubble up — when he feels his chest close up and when he feels abnormally sharp claws carve at his heart, he schools his face to something colder, sinister even. he wanted to scream, claw his eyes out so the tears wouldn't fall but he can't do that. yakshas who knew death's caress as their first touch don't do that.

"unbelievable. you came all the way from the harbor to tell me this?"

"i— what?"

his grip grew taut and you notice. concerned eyes flitted from his eyes to his fists, convinced that he would've injured himself if it weren't for his gloves, "mortal life is fickle and death consumes your kind every day. there was no reason for you to tell me about such a common occurrence. if that is all, i'll be taking my leave. do not call for measly matters."

you watched as he teleported away, leaving you alone in the islet. not even the cicadas were around to accompany you tonight. it was just silence and unbearable cold.

you should've been mad at him for disregarding your life just like that. how cruel was it to say that you're overreacting when you were just a few hours away from certain doom? being mad was your right. no one would've judged you for it but how could you be mad?

he was crying.

you don't think you could bear to witness the sight one more time and so you left back to liyue harbor where it was easier to pretend that the voices in your head didn't exist.

CHRYSANTHEMUMS ARE BEAUTIFUL — and they would make for wonderful funeral flowers, you mused to yourself as you patiently eyed the vase that decorated director hu's office. she was out with zhongli doing god knows what but the undertaker in front was kind enough to let you wait inside. you'd rather not deal with the gossip that was sure to come. if someone were to catch you idling around in front of a funeral parlor, well, they'd surely jump to conclusions — correct conclusions.

"oho? ohoho? well, look who's visiting, mr. zhongli!"

"ah... yes... this is certainly a surprise but not quite unwelcomed. may i ask what brings you here?"

you laughed as hu tao came over to give you a hug, her cheeks smooshing against yours as she playfully cuddled into your seated form, "i came to inquire if that discount is still up for grabs?"

"hm? did you murder someone or something?"

"director hu," zhongli sighs as he offers you a cup of tea that was, thankfully, made already, "i hardly think that is an appropriate question to ask."

"no, it's fine. it's not a question i can't answer because i'm still perfectly innocent," you paused, "as far as i know?"

hu tao pulled away. with her seated in her chair properly, the scent of plum blossom that clung to her was gone and you could once again smell the incense that wrapped the entire building, "if not for some poor guy that you beat up, then for whom are you asking?"

"about that... aha, it's for me," your eyes meet zhongli's, and... who were you kidding, of course, he knew. the sad smile he sent you was comforting. it's nice to know that even after you pass, a god would still remember your name.

without letting hu tao ask, you recounted the interaction between you and the nuns of the church of favonius as well as your brief meeting with baizhu. aether had insisted that you get a second opinion and you didn't see the point when that night, you fainted out of the sheer pain that pierced through your chest once again. if there was truly hope left for you, then at least one of the potions albedo gave you would've quelled the pain, even if it was a measly bit.

"i see... i'm sorry to hear that. unfortunately, there is nothing that we can offer to suspend your fate but at the very least, we can give you a send-off to be remembered."

it's so strange to see her suddenly don a professional tone but you should've known better than to doubt her. despite her unusualness, hu tao was someone who's incredibly passionate about her job. you didn't need to know about funerary ethos to see that, "i was hoping i could leave the arrangements to you? i'm not really picky and i don't really have much time to ponder about the details. anything's fine as long as it's for close friends only uh... that is if they want to come..."

"i see... that can be settled. anything else?"

"i'd like chrysanthemums to be used and... um... is it possible to hold the rites without my body?"

"it could be done but... why?"

you shrugged casually. this was surprisingly an easy conversation though... you are talking to hu tao who has an unconventional but good perspective on life and death, "i don't think i'll be able to return to liyue from inazuma."

hu tao nods understandingly before proceeding to explain the things that were going to be done during the funeral itself. you wonder why she's telling you all of this when it wouldn't matter to you. still, you listen. this was important to her and it's... oddly heartwarming to see her determination as she worked.

"on behalf of everyone in wangsheng funeral parlor, no, everyone you've ever encountered, we are sorry to see you go. thank you for everything that you've done for us and we hope that you live the rest of your days to the fullest."

hu tao bows deeply in respect and zhongli follows suit, leaving you in an awkward position. you wanted to say that it wasn't necessary but maybe this was some cultural tradition that you didn't want to overlook. hesitantly, you bowed back out of respect before muttering that you had a ship to catch which, wasn't too far from the truth.

"please... allow me to walk you out."

zhongli sends you a polite smile, eyes seemingly hinting for you to accept and that was enough for you to indulge in curiosity. giving one last wave to hu tao, you step out of her office and into the well-maintained hallways of the establishment.

"forgive me if this is too intrusive to ask but... have you told anyone else?"

you huffed in amusement, "he knows if that's your true question."

"did you tell him yesterday?"

surprised, you only nodded as zhongli sighed with a soft shake of his head, "no wonder..."

"what do you mean by that?"

laying a hand on the small of your back, zhongli guided you away from a rushing passerby. liyue's streets are always busy. you don't think it'll ever stop for anyone, "miss goldet approached us in distress earlier. it was what director hu and i sorted when you first arrived."

"verr goldet? did something happen?"

"quite. a big chunk of dihua marsh was... damaged last night as the miasma seemed to mysteriously grow rampant."

you froze. xiao... "is he alright?"

"it's hard to be 'alright' when encountering such news..." he bitterly smiled, "loss is a battle constantly fought by those who have lived and will continue to live for many millennia. the more losses you have suffered, the less you know how to accept fate."

worry began etching itself on your features. this was far from what you expected to happen when you told xiao. if anything, it was him whom you expected to take the news the best as he had grown used to speaking words that portray him and death as close acquaintances. you were foolish to think that, in retrospect, and you wonder if you had made a mistake. as if sensing your thoughts, zhongli halts and briefly holds your hand as a signal.

"there is no outrunning the invitation of death however when you are told of this fact before you pass and you choose to silently take it to your grave, it is the living that must suffer the consequences of your action. mourning will never not cause pain but when you weren't told anything and weren’t given any time to anticipate loss, things that hurt, hurt more. "

zhongli pats your shoulder sympathetically, "that young adeptus has suffered a perilous life. it does not come as a surprise that he has run away from that which threatens to bring him pain once more. perhaps you would say that he should be used to such unexpected events after all that has transpired in the many wars he had witnessed but, dearest child, has he ever adored anyone as much as he adored you?"

"he hasn't... but he will," you cleared your throat, looking into the direction of yujing terrace, "he'll find someone who adores him just as much and he'll learn to return the favor."

the former archon chuckles as he follows your gaze, "do you say that to remove the guilt from your heart or do you say that because that is your wish for him? the words you speak now are words you could speak because he has spared you the sight of his anger and what is anger if not the part of him that loves you?"

"xiao cannot be judged by the same measure you use amongst your kind for he, himself, has suffered far too many grievances that none of you can comprehend. does it come as a shock when you see that anger is the only emotion he speaks?"

"anger... is the only emotion he speaks?"

"his affection has turned into an anger for his being that deserves none of your tenderness. his compassion has turned into an anger that drives him to continue to swear by his contract with rex lapis. now, his sorrow has manifested into an anger that screams for you whom he believed deserved a fate much kinder than what was bestowed. mayhaps not with him but xiao has only ever prayed for your safety and happiness. see him now and you'll see his resentment for the world that dared treat you with anything but kindness."

"is that why you're here?" you smile listlessly, "because you cannot fault him for his anger?"

zhongli shakes his head, mirroring your words from earlier, "is that your true question?"

"would you answer me if i told you it wasn't?"

"very clever," he chuckles with eyes misting over with subtle pride, "but if you must know... i simply think that one shouldn't miss such an opportunity. there is no greater pain than saying your farewells once the moment has passed when you had the chance to offer it in the moment it truly mattered.

"ah, i didn't realize we've walked this far. this is as far as i will go. please consider my words kindly and though it may mean very little now," zhongli lays a hand over your head as he tips his head slightly, "you have my blessing. may you go forth in prosperity.

"and he says he has placed his past behind..." you whisper to yourself as you make your way back to dihua marsh.

"you there! may i interest you with our selection of flowers?"

you blinked, "flowers?"

ONCE PERCHED AS A CROWN OF HOPEFUL DREAMS — nervously nibbling on your lip, you paced back and forth as you held your occupied hands in front of you. maybe this was a mistake and maybe zhongli was wrong to say that you should still venture to mutter your farewell when xiao has strictly told you to only call him if it's for urgent concerns.

ah, but is your passing not an urgent concern?

gulping, you looked at the bright blue sky above you. beidou wouldn't take it too kindly if you delay her any further when you were one of the people who pestered her to speed up the preparations for sailing. besides, if you didn't speak now, you wouldn't be able to speak to him ever again. with that in mind, you hugged the white chrysanthemums close to your chest.

"xiao," a soft gust of wind blows past your form and slowly, you opened your eyes to meet dull, amber ones.

"you called?"

"i did."

an awkward silence fills the small space in between you two and before he could utter something about leaving (you knew him and you recognize the downward curve of his lips), you spoke.

"i'm leaving for inazuma in a few hours and... i don't want last night to be our last conversation. i don't want you to hate yourself for telling me such words and i don't want to hate myself for keeping my silence. i think that... we both have too little time for that."

"...you're leaving?"

"i made a few friends in inazuma and while we spent the shortest time together, i figured i still owe them a goodbye," you walked towards the same tree you were leaning on before and sat under its shade, "sit with me?"

xiao hesitates before taking the spot beside you, leaving enough space so that you wouldn't be touching each other.

"...fair enough. um... i don't even know what i want to say but... i want you to listen. you can leave anytime you want. i won't hold it against you. you don't need to reply either. i just need you to hear me out or y'know... try to, at least."

taking his silence as his agreement, you looked down at your lap. you don't think you could meet his gaze. his eyes are too honest and his honesty was painful. too painful even for you who'll only need to bear it for a few more days, "uh so... i'm— fuck, okay."

"i'm sorry."

you pause in surprise, abruptly looking at him to see xiao's gaze turned to someplace far away, "what?"

"i'm sorry for running away and i'm sorry for not being able to protect you."

"you couldn't have done anything."

xiao scoffs, tracing over his mask bitterly, "isn't that the point? ...my feelings for you are difficult but i had sworn to you that i would protect you from whatever dares to lay you in harm's way. i didn't fail. i've come to your aid before anyone could even do so much as give you a scratch. i thought... that if i watched over liyue well enough, you'd at least live a prosperous life. i never dared ask for more. that much is enough."

"xiao..."

"but despite my efforts, death has no mercy and it sent a curse that i could never face. is this... a product of my karma? was the world's grudge so severe that it has to take the one person i swore to protect no matter what the cost?"

"this is not your fault! it's no one's so..." your indignant stance falters as he sends you a glare.

"do you think i'm so foolish that i don't know that? i do," he clenches his teeth, "but it doesn't change the fact that you're dying and i can't do anything. somehow, that makes me feel at fault no matter how absurd it sounds."

you slump further into the soil as he continues. in a similar absurd manner, it makes you feel sorry that you're dying, "you are... the only person who tried to understand me and succeeded and you'll be the only person to ever make me wonder about life's pleasures. i will remember you until my own demise comes and if sinners can receive the blessing of reincarnation too, then i shall remember you in mine as well."

for a while, you didn't respond and when you finally regained your bearings, you laugh lightheartedly, "and to think i came all the way here to ask you to let me go... i forgot how stubborn you can be."

"calling the adepti stubborn? hmph. you have some nerve."

"i still think it's better if you forget about me. it'll make you suffer less. make it hard to remember that i can't offer my comfort even if i want to with all my soul."

xiao raises a brow, a sigh escaping his lips as he sent you another half-hearted glare, "you might have forgotten so i shall remind you. though i am an adeptus, i could not care less about granting human wishes."

"and you don't ever have to worry about that," you scrunch your nose as you pinched his cheek much to his flustered surprise, "most people would rather live the rest of their lives in misery than bear through your agonizing glare."

"let me go—"

"you didn't let me finish."

"what now?" he mutters as he successfully pried himself off your grip.

"i won't tell you how to live your life. if you want to hold on to me until the next time we meet, fine by me. i'll rush to you as soon as i see you enter the pearly gates or something. if you want to remember my face until the very end of your years, then i'll remember your name for just as long but xiao... i also want you to be happy. i want to look down from up there and say 'ah, he's smiling... i'm glad.' i want you to try to live because if your adoration for me hasn't changed when we meet again, i'd want to be able to tell you that you carried me so well in your heart that it almost felt like i was still alive too. those simple wishes are the only things i'll ask from you because... hah, for the longest time that was my dream. i hoped to make you smile more myself but i don't think i'll be able to do that now... am i selfish for asking this?"

"you wish me happiness?"

taking his surprise as an opportunity, you laid the tightly knit carnations on his head, "why wouldn't i? you're the one this world owes it to the most."

"and this is?"

"a flower crown! i've always wanted to learn how to make one and that kind merchant in liyue taught me just in time. i'm offering the first and last one i'll ever make to you. i know you just said that you don't grant wishes but... is it bad for me to hope that i'm special enough to be spoiled by you?"

"such mortal accessories... do not suit me."

you rolled your eyes, "says who? you? invalid. i refuse to accept it. y'know... when you're not too busy glowering, you have really soft features that match such soft flowers."

xiao's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. thankfully, you knew him well enough to notice such minor changes. smirking in delight, you lean further into him as you watch a red hue slowly stain his skin, "oh? do compliments fluster you? my, my—"

"if you still want to go to inazuma in one piece, i'd shut up now."

"shutting up~"

chrysanthemums carry the weight of a million words. to some, they are a symbol of life and rebirth. to others, it's a symbol of devoted love and loyalty. to the less fortunate, they are tokens of grief — a beautiful message that honors the full life of the dead. chrysanthemums mean everything and anything but as you inched closer to xiao, no longer needing the respectable boundary between your two hurt souls, chrysanthemums could only mean the memory of someone to be cherished even beyond what this life could offer.

it's a shame that you must limit your shared joys to optimistic wishes but it'll do. even if the afterlife didn't exist, your equal adoration for him would continue to persist even after your body perishes. it was a promise. one you sealed with the crown he hesitantly wore.

“don’t tie down your happiness to me, xiao,” you lean on his shoulder, smiling softly when he didn’t pull away, “you deserve more than that kind of joy.”

╰ taglist

@dourpeep @justsidecharacterthings @nightfloweruponahill @chichikoi @genshiningg @bloopsimpsforxiao @midnightraindropme @infinite-cats @horangheyy @zephestia @diaflower @justlynna

© 2021 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐗𝐗. all rights reserved. do not copy, claim, repost or translate in any platforms but reblogs are appreciated.

soft tunes, gentle touch, and you.

— 5wirl kissing you to shut your trap

pairing : 5wirl (aether, venti, xiao, kazuha and heizou) × gn!reader

genre : hard-core fluff | scenarios

word count : 2.4k (0.4 - 0.8k each)

pov : first person point of view

summary : just 5wirl trying to calm you down or shut you up with a kiss because they cannot think of anything else.

author's note : please do not murder me for ooc heizou. written before character release.

"You're trying to kill me, aren't you?"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was wrong to believe that the adepti could endure everything. It was even more wrong to believe that they never bled. I stood beside the conqueror of demons on the Wangshu Inn's balcony, being loath of my inability to admire the landscape it evinced in the darkness.

It was preposterous to be in love with nature when your friend was bleeding beside you. I couldn't help my eyes from darting at the cuts and gashes all over his arms, dripping with shimmering golden liquid— ichor. Adepti weren't more Gods than they were humans but they still possessed the divine blood in their veins. Sometimes, it made me a little jealous of them. Despite being half adeptus, my blood was the generic red of humans.

"Are you sure you don't want me to patch you up?" I asked, for what must be the fiftieth time of the day.

"No," he grunted, "Go away."

"Not happening, " I shook my head. I was used to Xiao and his blunt hurtful remarks to be affected anymore," Not unless you get your wounds taken care of."

"Hmph," I could feel his patience running thin, "Adepti do not have the human tendencies to be taken care of. Nor do they need such assistance. Do not mistake me for a human."

It would be a lie if I said I wasn't expecting this as a response. Xiao was as reserved as an owl and as prideful as a lion. It wasn't an easy task to tear those traits away in an instant. And bleeding wasn't as gothically romantic as writers often describe them to be. I couldn't just give up and let his divine blood go to waste.

"Look here, Xiao," I tried again, "I'm not trying to make you look human even for a second. But you need to understand that the thing you're doing is not right. You might be super strong and super great but that won't matter if you bleed to death. Let me help you, yes?"

He glowered at me, the kind of look that was supposed to incinerate me to leave nothing but ashes. But there I stood, whole and scowling at him as if he was an annoying little kid. He turned away.

"You would be deluded if you think you can't die," I dared to say, "So if you don't want to regret this—"

The rest of my words were drowned in Xiao's mouth. Both his hands snaked around me, pressing me to his chest as if he were trying to mould us both into one being. His lips tasted like the brightest of sunny days dipped in the essence of the darkest of nights, revealing the most vulnerable of nightly secrets. At that moment, I knew I would want for more when this was gone, want for it over and over and over again.

He pulled away from me, our noses only millimetres apart as he stared down into my soul, "Just this once. Do whatsoever you must like."

I must have interpreted his statement wrong since he clapped his hand to my mouth when I tried to close the distance between our lips again.

"You're trying to kill me, aren't you?" he rasped.

And that was when I realized he was allowing me to tend to his wounds. I could feel a smug smile growing on my face at the thought that I affected him in a similar way he did to me.

"My heart was always yours to begin with."

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The legs of the chair screeched against the cobblestones of the floor as I pulled it toward many of my shelves lined with ancient relics and figurines. I climbed on the wooden seat to dust the artifacts on the very top. At that moment, the bell to the door of my shop jingled, signalling the arrival of an antique-loving customer.

"Welcome, dear customer, what relic must I present to you?" I recited without even looking, the words stitched to my heart.

"The attention of the shop owner, if you please."

It took less than a second for the corners of my lips to tug into a smile. It was an unforgettable voice— softer than the wind tickling your face, smoother than a clear creek washing over the stones.

"It would be my greatest pleasure," I hopped down from the chair, the duster long forgotten on the ground in my longing to embrace the one I loved.

He wrapped his hands around me with the familiar warmth I was so deprived of for so long. "Been long, Kazuha," I sighed aloud.

"I'm aware," he rubbed his hand over my back, " I'm not leaving anymore, now that it's over."

"I hope not," I nuzzled my head on his chest.

He kissed the crown of my head, "I won't, sunshine. Do you need help with cleaning?"

I parted from him and nodded. He leaned against the counter as I went to fetch another duster, watching me. When I returned to hand him one, I saw a faint crease between his eyebrows.

"What's worrying my sunshine?" I posed, worried about him.

"They didn't return your vision yet?" he asked me, climbing on the chair to dust my figurines.

I sucked in a sharp breath through my teeth to stop my frustration from breaking free. The Vision Hunt Decree was over and the Shogun had promised to hand over all the visions she had confiscated. I got mine back as well, just as promised. But getting it back didn't mean it was in the same condition as before.

"You're not answering me?" Kazuha's voice was gentle.

"They broke it," I said flatly, trying to keep the anger away from my voice,"They returned it to me with an unfeeling apology. It was in shambles."

I pulled out a wooden vase to wipe it clean. Kazuha paused, unable to collect the words that would make me feel better.

"Sunshine, I'm sorry—"

"It's alright," I looked at him," It's not your fault. Sometimes, I wish I had run away with you. Staying back was the worst decision I've ever taken. Now, look where it's gotten me to."

Guilt rose in my throat. I didn't want to lose my cool and make him feel bad just after his return. But here I was, letting everything out that I had been so meticulous in bottling up.

"They pinched a hole in my hopes and dreams and stole half my heart with that broken vision," I complained, "They just don't care—"

Kazuha yanked me to him, covering my mouth with his. His hands rested on my jaw as if he were afraid I would disappear. My heart was a flower, dripping with the sweetest nectar in this world as it rolled down to my stomach, satiating the butterflies dancing within.

He pulled away, just to brush his lips on the space between my eyebrows, both my eyelids and the tip of my nose. I could feel the heat dominating my skin, licking at my throat and ears.

He smiled, seating me on the chair while his hands rested on my shoulders.

"Don't you worry about them stealing half your heart," he said, with all the gentleness in this world," You can have mine. My heart was always yours to begin with. As long as you have me, I'll sew your hopes and dreams together. "

That was the problem with Kazuha. His eloquence was evil dipped in innocence which always made me want to cry. His words had the tenacity to shred me into pieces only to sew me back together in a way that made me see him a little differently everytime.

His words were nothing if not curses which made me fall deeper into the chasm of his love, something I was sure I would never escape.

"That ought to do the trick, don't you think?"

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It was a glorious day under the huge tree in Windrise. The breeze was sweet, carrying soft seeds of dandelions and the dignified strum of a lyre. But it did nothing to make my heart dance to the joyous nature.

"C'mon, Y/N!" Venti called from a branch on the tree, his fingers sliding over the strings of the lyre,"It's okay to lose a book. Lisa won't have your head!"

I let out an exasperated sigh,"That is not what worries me. I am flabbergasted at my own irresponsibility. I can't even take care of a book."

Lisa loved her books. She trusted me enough to let me borrow one and I ended up disappointing her hopes of taking good care of it. Indeed, Lisa was scary when she came to collect overdue books, but that wasn't an excuse to hide my mistake.

"What do I even say to her?" I continued, pressing my hands to my head,"She'll be so upset."

"Y/N, listen to me, it's—"

"I should probably buy a new one to replace it," I decided,"That should do it or maybe—"

"Y/N—"

"— I must look for it more. She obviously holds her copies very dear—"

I heard a soft thud on the ground beside me and then I was rendered speechless. Venti pressed his mouth to mine and all my words died in my throat. His hand slid behind my waist to pull me closer. As if my hands had minds of their own, they cupped his soft cheeks on instinct.

My heart was a tangle of strings on which he played a merry tune with that kiss. With each strum of my heartstrings, he seemed to suck all my worries away.

He pulled away and rested his head on mine, smiling, "That ought to do the trick, don't you think?"

"I'll do much, much worse than just kiss you!"

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I had been sitting atop the outstretched palms of the Anemo Archon's huge statue, lost in the world of the book I was reading. I had not realized that I was staring straight ahead of me until Aether took it upon himself to snap me out of my reverie.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked me, voice dripping with innocence.

I, on the other hand, felt annoyed at being called back from my own world. So I decided to test his patience.

"What else?" I said, as if it were very obvious, " I was thinking about Captain Kaeya."

"And what about him?" I could practically hear him frown.

"What ain't there to think about him?" I pretended to be surprised, " He's the knight in shining armour everyone dreams about. He's tall, beautiful and everything out of a fairytale book."

I gave Aether a sideways glance. He was playing with the fabric of his gloves, utterly downcast. I felt guilty for my relishing this torturous experience I was putting him through. I couldn't help but snicker a little.

"Oh, just imagine him smiling at you," I spoke in my dreamy voice, trying to impersonate Donna, " Or the cruve of his lips on—"

Aether didn't let me finish my sentence. He put his lips on mine, washing away all my words with the sunshine within him. And I hadn't realized how much I would want this. He was oxygen I was dying to breathe. He was the sweet I was dying to taste. It was an eternity so short-lived, giving me nothing at all but everything all the same.

"Don't you think about Kaeya ever again," he growled at me with his cute voice.

"And what if I do?" I teased him.

He gave me the you-are-insufferable look and balled his fists together, saying, "I'll do much, much worse than just kiss you!"

At that, I was sure I wouldn't have any more witty rejoinders anymore. He was so adorable and I was dying because of it.

"You don't have to be perfect all the time, babe."

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Heizou lounged on a straight-backed wooden chair, his feet propped up on the table and crossed at the ankles while his hands cushioned his head, serving as a makeshift pillow. A pair of moths fluttered around the single yellow lantern dangling down the ceiling as he sat watching me.

I was sitting with my back to his bookshelf, troubled at my recent failure with a case. It had been quite simple if I'd thought about it harder, then, I wouldn't have embarrassed myself like that in front of everybody else who expected so much from me.

"Y/N," he spoke softly, "It's alright. Even the best of us need help sometimes."

"Not with a petty theft case," I shook my head with belligerence, " Especially not when the thief is right in the line of sight, doing a good job to blend in with the crowd."

I heard him sigh aloud. I knew I was annoying him quite a lot. But I still couldn't fathom the stupidity that brought him down along with me. What worried me was that he considered it to be next to nothing. But for me, who called myself a detective with a keen eye, it was a big deal.

"Y/N, chill out," he drawled. It was a miracle that he hadn't given up on cheering me up yet.

"You don't understand," I whined, raking a hand through my hair," If I were worried about my dignity, I would've locked myself in a room and isolated myself. But I'm not. I just managed to bring your reputation down in an instant and I can't believe you're so cool about it."

"We caught the thief," he tried to reason with me," We're good."

"But still." I shrugged, "It's always going to be there in the back of my mind, poking me like a needle all the time."

The chair scratched. Heizou pushed himself out of the sitting position only to come and crouch down in front of me. He tucked a single strand of hair behind the shell of my ear," It's alright. All is well that ends well, yes? According to that logic, we're grand."

I parted my lips to object but found myself obstructed by the force of his mouth on mine. The way he was kissing me, it was as if I owed him complete access to my mouth, whensoever he must want. If I could bottle up that feeling of his lips on mine and get drunk on it every night, I would do it all the time. Oh, wouldn't anybody?

A smirk stretched on his lips at the sight of my face which I suspected was a gradient of red.

"You don't have to be perfect all the time, babe."

Never had I realized that his words could ever make my heart stutter that way.

© mxplesyrvp 's work 2022, all rights reserved. reblogs are highly appreciated. Do not plagiarize, take heavy inspiration or translate.

Picture credits to the rightful owners.

✈️ welcome home

footprints

[ zhongli x child!reader ]

summary: the lonely archon does not seem to be lonely anymore, not with the presence of a little human.

notes: self indulgent gnhn was going to be a longer fic but i got tired of waiting and went for the cute moments lmao :') | m.list

words: 601 | warnings: fucking adorable i swear

zhongli finds the snow magnificent. he's not a big fan of it, but he can't deny that this particular season makes liyue more beautiful than it already is. the chill in the air feels great in his lungs, although it stings a little bit when he stays outside for too long. for now, the pair of gold crystals admires the way the snow slowly fills the ground like the sand filling the bottom half of an hourglass.

"oof!"

amused, a quiet chuckle escaped from his chest, listening closely to the sounds of footsteps shuffling in the snow.

one of the reasons zhongli can relax peacefully without the weight of his past is you.

over the months that he had taken you under his care—as much as he can, that is—you had continuously followed him around the harbor, always right behind or beside him whenever he searched for you. your small footsteps have become familiar to his ears and he finds himself restless when he can't feel your presence. you have also helped him in the ways of humans—your young mind not processing the fact that he himself should have known how that works without your help.

keeping a slow pace, his head turns sideways to take a look at you. before his eyes, is the most purest creature of all doing the most adorable thing in the world.

on the blankets of snow, your footprints are nowhere to be found.

the reason? you were too determined to step on his footprints, your feet too small to even fit on the size of his. your face held the most wonderful smile, eyes set downwards on the set of footprints his feet left for you to follow.

suddenly, the cold air that filled his lungs earlier disappeared and his is chest embraced with a warmth that he hasn't felt before.

with a certain glint in his eyes and a deep chuckle, his left foot steps farther, followed by his right foot with the same distance. slowly, the spaces between his footprints start to grow, far enough that you have to stretch your little legs to reach.

he watches as you waddle to his direction, lips pursed, and your arms outstretched for balance.

he unconsciously stopped on his track, deciding that watching you seems more worthwhile than the beauty of the landscape behind him. nor does he notice the fond look on his face the closer you got to him, still stepping on the footprints he left.

"a little closer," you mumble under your breath, feeling your legs start to hurt from the stretching it has done.

with one last set of footprints left, your foot got caught in the snow, throwing your balance off and pulling your body down to fall on the blankets of cold snow.

"eek!"

fortunately, zhongli was fast enough to catch you. he chuckles at the bewildered look on your face.

"careful, little one."

"thank you, mister zhongli!" you beam at him, pearls white as the snow on display with how big your smile is.

the warmth in his chest once again made its presence known, as he took your hand in his to help you travel through the snow.

"shall we head back? the cold will not be good for your health."

"can we have hot chocolate? or your signature tea?" your eyes sparkle, rendering the snow around you useless with how they shine against the light.

"of course, little one."

on the way back, the lonely archon's footprints don't seem to be lonely anymore, not with the second set of small footprints accompanying him wherever he goes.

[ - 13 stepbrother au - ]

Tags: Fem!reader, child!reader, platonic fluff, mordern au

Summary: You were young when your father was planning on remarrying again. Your father is always busy always outside the country for work that his fiance said that you could stay at the teyvat residence, and live with 13 of your future stepbrothers!

Characters: Zhongli, Diluc, Kaeya, Albedo, Ayato, Childe, Venti, Xiao, Kazuha, Thoma, Itto, Chongyun, Bennett (Other characters too!)

Hashtag: -

+ Your new home: All + Ask: You are being bullied + Ask: Tea time + Ask: Father’s day + Ask: Dancing practice + Ask: Chocolate kisses ;; dialog + Ask: A puppy, a cat and a parrot + Ask: The handmade gifts / (Other gifts that I considered) + Ask: Swimming lesson + Ask: Failed bike lesson / part two + Ask: You punched a classmate + Ask: They found out you have a crush on someone + Little comforts: Ayato, Kaeya, Albedo + Sleeping in the living room... kind of: Diluc, Kaeya, Xiao (coming soon) + Candies and sweets: All (coming soon) + Drinks and Venti's alcohol: All (coming soon) + A little sleepy (coming soon)

Tags: -

a song of past romance a royal / greek au gojo fic

pairing ⸺ suitor/king!gojo x princess!reader

summary ⸺ king gojo satoru of ithaca travels to sparta, seeking to win over who they say is the most beautiful mortal woman's heart. so when he sees you upon his arrival weaving under an olive tree, looking goddess-sent, he immediately loses the plot and concludes that it must be you that the tales and legends must talk about. it is not, but gojo has chosen who his queen will be. as gojo continues to break down your walls with his endless devotion and silver tongue, you must decide: will you let duty and your loved ones's expectations decide your fate, or will you choose the man who would defy even the heavens to claim you as his queen ?

warnings ⸺ smut, p i v sex, oral f recieving, whimpering gojo agenda <3, fluff, a big of angst if you squint, some insecurity, pining, banterTM, gojo is really whipped for reader, odypen inspired (this one's for my epic/pjo baddies), extensive greek mythology knowledge not needed, athena is tired of gojo lol, jealousy, helen is a sassy diva, not totally accurate to the lore of the illiad bc i just use the premise, mentions of children/pregnancy at the end if you squint, semi edited, art by @/yunonoaii

a/n my hyperfixation made me write this lol. you dont need to know anything about greek mythology to read this fic it's more of a period piece / royal au :3

general masterlist

You had registered the young man’s presence for quite some time now.

Ever since your beloved cousin Helen—the most beautiful woman in the world, the kallikomos, kalliparēios Helen—had come of age, your palace had been plagued by an unceasing tide of suitors. Even a respite alone in the garden, in peace, was not guaranteed to you; just as the ivory haired suitor (who thought himself furitive) that had been sneaking and skirting around you for a while now, there were countless of men on the palace grounds desperate to even get a glimpse of what the countless legends and tales about Helen had described. 

Though, you weren’t jealous of your lovely cousin—you loved her to death. But it was getting on your nerves, because you had hoped for a quiet evening relaxing under the olive tree you were sitting in. This mn, however, was different.

For some time now, the ivory-haired suitor had been skirting the edges of your sanctuary, moving as though he thought himself invisible. You could feel his gaze, sharp and intent, as you alternated between weaving and reading. His persistence should have irritated you. And yet, there was something amusing about his poor attempt at stealth.

The telltale rustle of grass betrayed him once again. You sighed, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear before reaching up to gather it all, baring the curve of your neck to the evening breeze.

The stalker suitor tripped with a loud thud.

You blinked. Then, sighing once more, you set down your spindle and turned. "I know you’re there," you called, unimpressed.

Silence, then a low chuckle.

When he finally stepped into the open, your disinterested gaze lifted—and promptly widened.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. The build of a warrior, yet the face of a prince. A mischievous, almost boyish charm softened the sharp lines of his features, but his striking blue eyes gleamed with something untamed.

Helen would have a field day with him. Like that one thing she said about how she looovedd versatile men, the ones that could manhandle you but also whimper. Or whatever. 

Then, to your utter shock, he dropped to one knee, extending his hand toward you in a bold gesture of devotion. His demeanor was confident, but you saw him sporting a hue of pink on his cheeks. It was rather cute, but any feelings of fondness disappeared at his next words.

"O’ Helen—" the suitor began, his voice rich with reverence, "fairest of all women, whose beauty outshines even the dawn—"

You exhaled sharply through your nose. Of course.

"—permit me but a moment to bask in your radiance, for no mortal man could gaze upon you and remain unchanged—"

Your fingers curled tightly around the threads of your spindle.

"—grant me the honor of—"

"Try again," you cut in, your voice deceptively sweet.

The suitor paused mid-sentence, blinking up at you.

"Pardon?"

You raised an unimpressed brow, tilting your head. "If you’re going to wax poetic, you might at least direct it toward the right woman."

His lips parted, then pressed into a puzzled frown. He tilted his head, sharp blue eyes scanning your face as if trying to decipher a riddle. "But… you are Helen," he said slowly, as if testing the words.

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. "Afraid not."

A pause.

His gaze flickered over you again, as if he could will you into being Helen just by staring hard enough. "Are you sure?"

You gave him a look. "I would hope I know my own name."

His brows drew together, clearly struggling to process this revelation. "But you’re—you’re sitting under an olive tree, looking vaguely divine. Your hair caught the light just now in a way that seemed very… goddess-sent. You have the whole tragic air of someone who is probably devastatingly beautiful and sought after by hundreds."

You blinked, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck. You shouldn’t be affected by his bromides, for his words must be a ploy to gain back his image after offending you. "Is that supposed to be an apology?"

He squinted. "More like a logical assessment of my mistake."

You sighed. "Well, your 'logical assessment' is incorrect."

He sat back on his heels, regarding you with blatant skepticism. "I don’t know," he said slowly. "I came here for Helen. You’re here. And you're lovely. Seems like a very Helen thing to do."

You gave him a flat stare in return. "What, exist?"

"Exactly."

You rolled your eyes. "I see why they make you fight instead of think."

At that, the suitor huffed a short laugh, his earlier embarrassment giving way to something more amused, more interested. "Alright," he conceded, crossing his arms over his knee. "If you aren’t Helen, then who are you?"

You leaned back against the tree, allowing yourself a small, satisfied smirk. "The woman you just proposed to by accident."

He blinked. Then groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "The gods are laughing at me."

"As they should," you replied smoothly.

To your surprise, he grinned. "That makes two of us, then," he mused, tilting his head at you. "I get the feeling you enjoy seeing men suffer."

A non committal hum from you. “Maybe, maybe not.” With that, you began weaving once more, giving him the signal that his presence and platitudes were no longer needed.  

Yet, he remained.

You could feel his gaze lingering, heavy with an amusement that refused to wane. He had the look of someone thoroughly entertained, and that irritated you more than anything. Having conversed with him, you knew he was sharper than the average suitor—quick-witted, quicker still to recover from his blunders. Though he had not done anything to overtly suggest it, there was something about him that set him apart. It was a feeling—an air around him, something god-graced.

You paid it no mind.

He had not meant for you to be the one on the receiving end of his affection, and it would do you no good to cling to a man who had come here seeking another. He was meant to lose his mind over Helen, not take interest in you.

"Tell me your name," he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

You didn't pause in your weaving. "Why?"

A short huff of laughter. "I figure if I’m already embarrassing myself in front of a woman, I should at least know which one."

You shot him a sidelong glance, unimpressed. "Bold of you to assume you’ll be staying long enough for it to matter."

His grin deepened. "Well, now I have to stay, just to prove you wrong."

You sighed, shaking your head. "You’re insufferable."

"I’ve been told worse," he admitted. Then, leaning forward just slightly, he added, "Though never by a woman whose name I don’t know."

You lifted a brow at him, unimpressed. "And do you have a name, then, mysterious suitor?"

His expression shifted, something proud yet teasing gleaming in those striking blue eyes.

"Gojo Satoru," he declared, as if it should mean something to you. "Of Ithaca."

You hummed, as if considering. "Never heard of it."

He blinked, then scoffed. "Never heard of Ithaca?" He placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. "A land of brilliant minds, fierce warriors, and some say the most handsome men to ever walk the earth—"

"Ah," you interjected, dry. "That explains it."

He smirked. "Explains what?"

"Why I’ve never heard of it."

A beat of silence. Then, to your dismay, he laughed—fully, unabashedly, as if you’d just handed him the greatest gift in the world.

You huffed, returning your attention to your weaving. "Now that you have a name to be proud of, surely you can be on your way."

"Not yet," he said, far too easily.

You didn’t look up. "Why?"

"Because you haven’t given me yours."

You didn’t miss the way his voice dipped, taking on something smoother, something more coaxing. He was trying to charm it out of you, as if your name was a prize worth winning.

"Perhaps I simply don’t wish to give it," you mused, feigning disinterest.

"Perhaps you’re afraid," he countered.

You did look up at that, leveling him with an unimpressed stare. "Afraid?"

He shrugged, utterly unbothered. "That if I know your name, I’ll never forget it." His gaze flickered to your hands, to the weaving that had slowed ever so slightly. "And maybe… neither will you."

You forced yourself to resume your work, your fingers steady despite the odd flutter in your chest. "You think too highly of yourself, Gojo Satoru of Ithaca."

"I’m told it’s my greatest flaw," he admitted, smirking. "Well—one of many."

You ignored him, the rhythmic motion of your weaving serving as a convenient distraction.

Gojo exhaled, as if relenting—though something told you he was nowhere near finished with you. He rocked back on his heels, eyeing you with unconcealed interest. "Alright, mystery woman," he drawled. "If you won’t give me your name, I suppose I’ll have to keep guessing."

You didn't dignify that with a response.

But somehow, you knew—this would not be the last time Gojo Satoru of Ithaca sought you out.

He had yet to claim your name.

No matter how cunningly he pried, no matter how sweetly he coaxed, you remained steadfast, denying him that small but significant victory.

Satoru had undoubtedly set sail for Sparta in search of a worthy challenge and a faithful bride—but he had not expected to find both in one woman. You were a puzzle, divine and elusive, a riddle spun by the Fates themselves. And for a man who relished the thrill of unraveling mysteries, you were the most captivating enigma he had ever encountered.

Not since the day he bested the enchanted boar—a feat that had drawn Athena’s keen eye and earned him her favor—had he felt such a rush.

He’d dare say you were the first one he’s felt an affinity for, despite the countless of women and candidates he had faced ever since becoming the king of Ithaca.

But before he could ponder more on the thought, he sensed a presence, tensing immediately. Heavy-set footsteps, trying to be quiet in the hallway they were both in.

Satoru crossed his arms, halted where he was. “I know you’re there.”

A laugh barked out in a deep voice. “Perceptive like they say, Gojo Satoru of Ithaca.” 

Satoru watched as Toji Fushiguro sauntered toward him, his movements unhurried, yet carrying the unmistakable confidence of a seasoned warrior. The man was broad-shouldered, his presence commanding, the kind of brute who could cleave a man in half with a single swing of his blade. Yet his grin—sharp, knowing—held more calculation than recklessness.

Toji came to a stop before him, arms crossed, weight shifted onto one foot like he had all the time in the world, smirking. "No wonder Athena’s got her eye on you."

Satoru tilted his head, feigning nonchalance. "I do have a way of impressing gods and mortals alike," he mused. "Though I imagine you didn’t come all this way just to admire me."

“Just assessing the competition,” Toji hums in response, eyes still assessing Satoru. He was trying to plan three steps ahead; unfortunately for him, Satoru was ten steps ahead. 

“There is no competition,” comes Satoru’s cool response. 

Toji studied Satoru for a moment, his sharp green eyes narrowing slightly. Then, with an amused scoff, he asked, "You’re not here to fight for Helen’s hand? Are you crazy?”

Satoru let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as if the very thought was amusing. "Helen?" he echoed, letting the name roll from his tongue with deliberate care. He lifted a hand, absently brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. "No, I’m afraid I have no interest in her."

Toji studied him, eyes narrowing. "She’s the most beautiful woman in the world."

Satoru did not deny it. "So they say."

"And yet," Toji pressed, his tone skeptical, "you aren’t here for her?"

Satoru finally looked at him properly, his head tilting, his gaze alight with something teasing, something unreadable. "Not in the way you are." He let the words settle between them before continuing, his tone almost indulgent. "You’re welcome to her."

Toji’s mouth pressed into a thin line. His instincts told him Satoru was not lying, yet something about the Ithacan’s expression, the way he carried himself, the glint in those striking blue eyes—it all made him wary. He had met many warriors in his time, but this was no brute with a sword, no hotheaded prince desperate to claim a prize.

Satoru Gojo was something else entirely.

"So what is it, then?" Toji asked, crossing his arms tighter, his voice edged with suspicion. "You sailed all this way, and for what? A festival?"

Satoru’s smirk deepened, his expression inscrutable. "Let’s just say Sparta has given me a rather interesting puzzle."

Toji scoffed but let it drop, running a hand through his dark hair. "Whatever," he muttered. "If you're really not here for Helen, then maybe you can help me."

Satoru hummed in vague interest. "Oh?"

"I intend to win her," Toji stated plainly. "But I could use an extra hand in ensuring things go my way."

Satoru did not answer immediately. Instead, he turned his gaze upward, as though admiring the vaulted ceilings of the hall, as though considering some grander design that only he could see. Then, with the ease of a man wholly unbothered by the concerns of others, he exhaled through his nose, the beginnings of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Don't worry about it," he said at last, his voice rich with something almost too smooth, too assured. "Everything is already falling into place."

Toji stiffened slightly at the words, his war-honed instincts bristling at their implication. He did not like things he could not predict, and Gojo Satoru of Ithaca was proving to be as unreadable as the gods themselves.

His brows lowered. "And what the hell does that mean?"

But Satoru only laughed, turning on his heel, the faintest shimmer of torchlight catching in his silver-white hair.

"Guess you’ll just have to wait and see."

And with that, he strode off, his footsteps unhurried, leaving Toji standing in the flickering shadows, frowning after him.

The great hall of Sparta was alive with the clash of bronze and the roars of men. The suitors, assembled from all corners of Greece, fought with a desperation that could only belong to those who sought glory and the hand of Helen. Blades flashed, spears thrust, and the resounding clamor of shields meeting shields filled the air like the din of battle.

Satoru Gojo of Ithaca stood at the edge of the fray, watching with a detached amusement. He had not drawn his blade, nor did he so much as feign interest in the chaos unfolding before him. Instead, his arms were loosely crossed, his posture relaxed, his sharp blue gaze studying each warrior as though they were mere pieces on a game board.

Meanwhile, you and Helen watched from the shade of a marble colonnade, seated atop a cushioned bench where servants had arranged fruits and wine for the both of you. But neither of you reached for the offerings; your gazes remained transfixed on the chaos below.

You shook your head at the ridiculous display. "It must be nice to be fought for by so many men," you murmured, resting your chin in your palm.

Helen sighed daintily—in a way that was so typically Helen it made you smile fondly—her hair catching the afternoon light like threads spun from the sun itself. “I will admit that it has its advantages.”

You cast her a dry look before gesturing at the men below. “Helen,” you shook your head, sighing exasperatedly, “they’re savages. They’re beating each other senselessly. Does this not disgust you?” Instead, your cousin’s beautiful lips curled up in a knowing smile, teasing you, “Jealous, my dear cousin?”

“No.” But the answer came a little too quickly, a little too defensively. The yells and violence was a display of brutishness—but you would not be truthful to yourself if you didn’t admit that you were a bit envious of the attention your cousin was getting. 

However, one would be a fool to confuse your sentiments for bitterness—as a princess yourself, there were no shortage of men who would be here to get you as a prize, if they did not get Helen. No shortage of men wondering who is he? Who is the man who’ll have the princess as his wife?

But unfortunately, it seemed that your father, the Spartan king Icarius, had other plans, for he would not let any man be your husband so easily. In fact, he did not wish you to marry and be taken away from him.

It was safe to say that not much male attention was on you due to this obstacle.

Helen showed no reaction to your response, but only hummed. “This fighting—sooner or later, you’re going to be in my shoes. You’re going to have to choose at one point, too, my dear.” 

“Says who?” You scoffed, turning your eyes back to the courtyard. “Do not forget Helen, these men want power. Power so they can tower above each other, place themselves above all others.”

Helen shrugged. “So what?”

You shook your head. “Silly Helen. Wouldn’t you prefer some intellectual prowess over some…savage?”  

Before Helen could reply, a shift in the air drew both of your attention back to the courtyard.

The chaos had stilled, if only for a moment. A singular figure stood at the center of it all, his ivory hair catching the wind, his stance languid yet poised.

That suitor.

The gathered nobles whispered among themselves, exchanging glances as Satoru approached the high table where the King of Sparta, Tyndareus, sat watching. The aged king stroked his beard, his expression unreadable as the Ithacan prince stopped before him, offering a bow that barely concealed the glint of mischief in his eyes.

"Your Majesty," Satoru began smoothly, "it seems we have our victor. But before we move forward, I believe there is an agreement that must be made."

The murmurs in the hall grew louder. Tyndareus narrowed his eyes slightly. "Speak, Gojo of Ithaca."

Satoru straightened, clasping his hands behind his back. "These men have come from every kingdom in Greece, each seeking the honor of marrying your daughter. Such a prize, however, comes with its dangers. Whoever wins Helen’s hand will earn not just her love but the envy and ire of the rest." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the hall. "If left unchecked, this jealousy could lead to war."

Tyndareus’s jaw tightened. It was a concern he himself had harbored, though few had dared to speak it outright.

Satoru’s lips curled at the edges, his voice turning smooth, persuasive. "I propose an oath. Let every suitor here, whether victorious or defeated, swear allegiance to Helen’s chosen husband. Let them vow, upon the gods, to uphold this union and defend it should any outside force seek to undo it. In doing so, Sparta ensures peace among the great kingdoms, rather than sows the seeds of discord."

Silence fell over the hall. The assembled nobles exchanged glances, the weight of the proposal heavy in the air. Even Toji, ever the warrior, raised a brow in consideration.

Tyndareus studied Satoru for a long moment, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his throne. Then, slowly, he nodded. "You are wise beyond your years, Gojo of Ithaca. Your proposal is sound. Let it be done."

A herald stepped forward, calling for the gathered suitors to kneel. One by one, they bent the knee, placing their hands over their hearts, swearing their loyalty to Helen’s future husband, binding themselves to an oath that would shape the course of history.

As the final echoes of the vow rang through the hall, Satoru turned his gaze to Toji, his smirk deepening ever so slightly. The pieces were falling into place, just as he had foreseen.

Meanwhile, in your place—where you and Helen were spectating the whole event away from common sight—Helen nudged you slightly, voice hushed in interest you hadn’t seen her display for any suitor yet. “Did you see that—the way he sweet talked my father?” Her gentle eyes widened in a way that could kill a man. “Who is he?”

You had no answer. Because, truthfully, you were wondering the same thing.

The palace gardens were quiet at this hour, bathed in the golden glow of the late afternoon sun. The scent of myrrh and olive trees lingered in the air, mixing with the faint salt of the distant sea. You sat with Helen beneath the shade of a vine-laden pergola, her back pressed against your legs as you wove your fingers through her silken strands, carefully braiding them into an intricate plait.

Helen, ever the restless one, sighed dramatically. “Do you suppose I should be flattered or terrified?”

You didn’t have to ask what she meant. The courtyard had been in an uproar for hours after the suitors’ oath had been sworn. Servants gossiped in hushed tones, and noblewomen tittered behind their veils. The future queen of Sparta had just gained the loyalty of every warrior present—whether she wanted it or not.

“Why not both?” you mused, separating another section of her hair.

Helen laughed, tossing her head slightly. “It is one thing to be the object of admiration. It is quite another to be the cause of bloodshed.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, though your fingers stilled when she spoke again, voice full of mischief.

“Did you see him?”

You resumed braiding. “Who?”

Helen turned just enough to throw you an incredulous look. “Who?” she repeated, mockingly. “As if you do not know exactly who I speak of. Gojo Satoru of Ithaca.”

You clicked your tongue. “Oh, him.”

“Oh, him?” Helen scoffed. “Do not play coy, cousin. He commanded that entire courtyard without lifting a blade.”

You smiled, but she could not see you. “That only proves he is cunning,” you pointed out, keeping your voice neutral.

“That proves he is powerful,” Helen countered, shifting as you tugged lightly at her braid. “He held those men in the palm of his hand.”

Barking out a laugh, you continued your work. “Or perhaps he simply enjoys hearing himself speak.”

Helen laughed, tilting her head back against your lap. “You wound me with your dullness. Do you not see? There was something about him. He has the air of a man accustomed to winning.”

You tried not to scowl. Of course he did.

And if Helen had her eye on him, there was no chance for you.

The thought settled in your chest like a stone.

It was not as though you had entertained any hopes—but you were not blind. The way he had looked at you in the hallways, the way he had tried to coax your name from you, the way he had seemed amused by your defiance. It had sparked something treacherous inside of you, something unspoken and foolish.

Because no man, no matter how powerful or wise, would ever choose you over Helen.

You forced your thoughts aside and tightened the braid. “And what of Toji Fushiguro?” you asked lightly, forcing the subject to change. “I noticed you watching him as well.”

Helen hummed, pleased with the shift in conversation. “A brute, but a striking one. I imagine he fights as well as he looks.”

You snorted. “I imagine he thinks with his fists.”

“All the better,” Helen teased. “I should not mind a warrior who throws me over his shoulder and carries me off.”

You rolled your eyes, but you giggled regardless. “You are insufferable.”

Helen twisted, kneeling so that you were now face to face. She reached for your hair, her fingers beginning to weave it into a braid of your own.

“You say I am insufferable, but you have yet to deny that Gojo Satoru is worth admiring,” she murmured.

You sighed exasperatedly, looking anywhere except for your cousin’s eyes. “Must we discuss this?”

Helen’s fingers worked deftly, her expression smug. “It is only natural to discuss the most intriguing men.”

“And yet I am sure you are doing it to torment me.”

“Perhaps a little.” Helen’s grin softened as she studied you. “You would not be so opposed to him if you did not find him interesting.”

You swallowed, looking away. “That is not—”

“You braid my hair with such care,” she interrupted, looping another section of yours. “And yet, you guard your own thoughts as if I am the enemy.”

You closed your eyes briefly, inhaling the scent of lavender and sun-warmed stone. Helen had always been perceptive when she wished to be.

“There is nothing to guard,” you murmured.

Helen merely smiled, finishing your braid with a satisfied tug.

But the knowing look in her eyes unsettled you more than any battle in the courtyard ever could.

Despite coming for Helen, Satoru continuously seeks your presence.

Your presence is intoxicating, even the smallest of glimpses of you enough to induce a feeling, one he’d liken to eating the gods’ ambrosia or drinking the finest nectar. Every time he saw you, it was passing moments in the hallways of the palace or sneaked glances while you were in the garden—your chin up, posture proud. Your eyes downcast as if you had no interest in the countless of men among you. The light only returned when you were weaving, or discussing with your cousin.

But Satoru had not been able to see you more than just those miniscule, fleeting moments—it was your accursed father that kept an eye on you during dinners, his withered glare threatening all suitors, as if to remind them: You’re here for Helen, and keep my daughter out of this, for she is not a prize you can easily win.

Little did he know Satoru loved challenges.

So he thanks the gods that an annual Spartan festival is thoroughly celebrated in the palace today.

The hall is the spitting image of revelry. Men adorn their finest tunics while women have braids of flowers and cloths, wine, fresh fruits, and meat are plentiful on all tables. There’s singing, there’s dancing, and, best of all, there’s you.

Satoru’s been observing you for quite some time now. It wouldn’t be fair to call it something akin to a predator stalking his prey; no, you far from being bested by Satoru. More like a bird waiting for all the weaker mates to filter themselves out.

They were like peacocks, the men that came up to you, with the way they flared their artificial grandeur. Each time a young man sat next to you, you remained aloof, giving them nothing but a bunch of polite glances and nods. But it was clear that what ever your responses or questions were, they were nonplussed. Satoru almost felt bad for the fools if it weren’t for how they were encroaching on his time to finally talk to you.

It was the opening that a particularly witless and brutish man had given him—the guy basically leaves the seat next to you, almost in tears from whatever you had said to him, but you only blinked as Satoru approached.

Satoru slid into the recently vacated seat beside you with the grace of a man who had never been denied anything in his life. He draped an arm over the back of his chair, all effortless ease, as if he had been waiting for this moment all night.

"Whatever you said to him, I’d like to hear it," he mused, his lips quirking in amusement. "Though I do hope you go a little easier on me—I’m rather sensitive, you see."

Your gaze flickered to him, unimpressed, though there was something almost imperceptible in your eyes—mild intrigue, perhaps.

"If you are so easily wounded, Your Majesty, then I fear you are not prepared for a Spartan woman’s words."

His grin widened. "Oh, but I live for danger."

You hummed, noncommittal, before returning your attention to the food before you. Satoru, however, found himself transfixed by the way you reached for a slice of fruit, your fingers delicate yet decisive as you brought it to your lips. You took a slow, deliberate bite, and for the first time in his life, Satoru forgot how to speak.

It was absurd, really. He had seen beautiful women eat before—Helen herself had a practiced elegance to it—but there was something about you. Something about the unthinking ease with which you did it, how your lips parted just slightly before closing around the fruit, how you chewed with quiet, effortless grace, unbothered by the weight of hungry gazes that lingered on you.

For a man who had always been surrounded by beauty, who had spent his life sated and indulged, it was utterly unfair that something so simple could leave him spellbound.

Perhaps the gods were toying with him.

"You’ve been staring for quite some time," you remarked, snapping him out of his reverie.

Satoru exhaled a laugh, recovering with impressive speed. "Can you blame me? I’m simply trying to unravel the mystery of how you managed to make that poor soul flee in tears. I’d rather not suffer the same fate."

"Then I suggest you leave now, Your Majesty."

"Not a chance."

You sighed, though there was the ghost of amusement at the corner of your lips. "Persistent, aren’t you?"

Satoru grinned. "And yet, here you are, still talking to me."

He watched as you reached for another piece of fruit, this time slower, as if testing him, watching to see if he would stare again. He nearly laughed—because, of course, he did.

"You truly are hopeless," you muttered, shaking your head.

"Ah, but at least I am entertaining," he countered. "And I do believe I’ve managed what those other poor fools could not—I’ve kept your attention."

You opened your mouth to retort, but he was faster. "Go on, you can admit it," he teased. "I make for much better company than them, don’t I?"

For a moment, you merely regarded him, expression unreadable. Then, to his absolute delight, a soft laugh escaped your lips.

It was small, barely more than an exhale, but it was real.

And gods, it was beautiful.

Satoru leaned in slightly, drinking in the sight of you as if committing it to memory.

"See?" he murmured, triumphant. "I told you I’m quite good at this."

Your amusement lingered, but you shook your head as if in exasperation. "If you say so."

He did not say so. He knew so.

Because despite all the reasons he had come to Sparta, despite all the men who had gathered to win Helen’s hand, Satoru had found himself drawn to you instead.

And he had no intention of stopping now.

But before he could get another word in, a horn sounds, and you nod to him, somewhat apologetically. “That is my call.”

Before he can ask, you head, skirts fluttering behind you as you move to join a growing group of young ladies in the middle. It’s clear the gathering has captured the interest of most of the men that were previously dining. 

You make your way down to the middle, where you arrive at your position—it’s the one you’ve occupied every year. This dance is a show of grace and lineage, a chance for the noblemen to watch and admire, to see which girl carries herself with the most poise, the most elegance, the most effortless charm.

In Gojo’s eyes, it’s easy to determine who that is.

You take your place among your cousins, hands joining as the musicians begin their melody. It is a lighthearted dance, nothing too intricate, nothing that demands much more than the ability to move in time with the others. Your skirts flutter with each step, the long strands of your braid swaying as you turn.

It’s a girlish, lighthearted dance you’ve done since you were little. You and your younger cousins giggle as you go through the motions, reveling in the attentions of the spectators that witness the lovely display with amusement and pure, wholesome adoration.

That is, until you register a special set of eyes on you.

In a specific turn along to the strum of the lyre, you turn gracefully—a move that orients you towards Gojo’s direction. When you finally see his face and notice his presence, it’s like you’re kicked in the chest in a spar with Helen, with the way your breath leaves you.

His eyes are dark, enraptured on you, and only you. Heat creeps up your neck as you move your hands as you’re oddly flustered. His gaze is admiring and is respectful, but the intensity of it—like longing that is toeing the line between lust and pure yearning—makes your heart quicken in a way that you rue your accursed organ, for it to beat so traitorously. When he notices that you’re staring back at him, his jaw—which was clenched—loosens in a smile, but the smile isn’t innocent. It spells out a promise—one unspoken, one that curls at the edges of his lips like a secret meant for you alone. It is the kind of smile that men wear when they know something you don’t, when they have already decided on something long before you’ve even had the chance to argue.

It is sharp. Focused.

It traces the curve of your waist, the sway of your hips, the way your arms extend with each graceful movement.

It darkens.

Heat spreads up your neck before you can help it. The flickering torches of the hall must be to blame, or perhaps the wine in your belly, but you feel warm, too warm, and it is absurd.

Why should you care where Gojo of Ithaca’s eyes linger?

His smirk grows, and it is cocky. Infuriating, even. You snap your head away before he can see how your face burns, resuming your dance with the others, willing yourself to shake off the foolishness that has settled in your bones.

But even as you turn, even as the skirts of your dress flare and the room around you continues its celebration, you feel it—

His eyes.

Still watching.

“Athena, I swear to you that I need her. She is my future wife!” Gojo insists, stomping his feet as he trails the goddess as if he were a child. It reminded the goddess of wisdom of when she first met him—when he had taken down the magic boar she had let loose, showing him of having intellect worthy of being mentored by her. 

But Athena had meant to be a mentor to a warrior of the mind—not this lovesick, pathetic fool in front of her, like a dog whining for food. Athena sighed exasperatedly as another animal she was hunting runs away from Gojo’s sheer loudness. “Enough!” she snaps, but not unkindly. “Who is this princess you speak of, and what kind of spell has she cast on you to become this much of a fool?”

Gojo ignores any insults directed towards him, and instead adorns a bright smile at the mention of you. “She is the cousin of Helen of Sparta, and the daughter of Icarius—”

Gojo is interrupted by a snort. “The same one that swore to never marry his daughter off?”

This gives Gojo a reason to pause. He had not known this fact. “So, how do you propose I—”

Much to his chagrin, the w goddess is already a few steps ahead. “To waste my time on strategy to secure a woman, Gojo, is quite preposterous.

But if you must insist on my counsel, then you shall earn it," Athena declares, turning on her heel to face him fully. Her gaze, sharp as a well-honed blade, sweeps over him, as if assessing whether he is truly worth the effort. "Icarius is a man of reason before all else. He values intellect, discipline, and above all, loyalty. If you wish to stand a chance, you must prove to me two things: one, that she is a wise woman worth of being sought after, and, two, you must prove that you are not merely another suitor blinded by beauty."

Gojo grins, clearly pushing his luck. "So you will help me?"

Athena exhales, the very picture of divine suffering. "I will not gift you the answer, but I will grant you the means to find it yourself."

"Which is just a long-winded way of saying you will help me." He nods sagely, as if he has unraveled the mysteries of Olympus itself.

Athena rubs her temple. "I should have let the boar trample you."

Gojo only laughs, stepping in line beside her as they weave through the woods. His mind is already turning, piecing together what little he knows of Icarius, of you, and of what he must do to win. Because one thing is certain—he will win.

Icarius may have sworn never to wed you off, but Gojo Satoru has never been one to abide by the rules.

You do not want to be here.

All you simply wanted was time in your sanctuary, your olive tree. It remained hidden in the royal gardens, so it’s a wonder that Gojo of Ithaca had found you. Of course, you would have to be a fool to not admit that these suitors’ wit paled in comparison to that white-haired young king. Such as this one, for example.

“My lady, I could not help but notice your fair disposition when I looked upon you,” the suitor grins, his teeth bared like a dog catching scent of a meal. It is not a pleasant expression. You do not react, save for clutching your weaving tighter to your chest. He steps closer, and you take measured care not to recoil, though the instinct is strong. “May you grant me your name—”

“I would have to apologize,” you cut him, already turning away. “My father does not—”

You’re stopped by a harsh grip on your wrist, and you wrench your gaze back to the suitor in shock. 

"You wound me, my lady," the man says, still smiling as if this was amusing. As if he had power over you. Physical power, you suppose, but clearly this man was lacking in intellect, to not have noticed his presence. "You have been so cold to me, and I—"

He does not notice the shadow behind him.

“Ah,” a voice interjects, smooth, easy. “That’s no way to hold a lady’s hand, is it?”

The grip on your wrist slackens, but another takes its place—light, barely a touch.

Gojo.

The suitor’s face twists in confusion, but it quickly shifts to pain as Gojo applies the smallest pressure to his wrist.

“You—”

“She said no,” Gojo interrupts breezily. “And I’d hate to make a scene, so do us all a favor and leave before I decide to break something, yeah?”

With an effortless flick of his hand, the suitor stumbles back, shaking out his wrist as if burned.

Gojo does not spare him another glance. His attention is on you.

“Are you alright?” His voice is softer now, no teasing lilt, no easy arrogance.

You hesitate, unsettled.

“I was handling it,” you say, though it does not come out as firm as you would like.

Gojo only hums, something that sounds like, I know you could, but you’re distracted by his eyes drifting down to your wrist, where a faint mark has already begun to bloom.

His gaze darkens, but you hurry to assure him. “I’ll bandage this, it’s not a big wound—”

He interrupts you. “No need,” gently holds your shoulder, as if imploring you to follow him into the direction he’s started to walk, “I’ll do it myself.”

“That’s not—”

“Look.” He shoots you a look, but it is not unkind nor patronizing. You realize belatedly that it has set your heart aflutter. “I trust that you know how to bandage your wound. But I have had countless like it, so you are with a skilled master in healing. And who knows which suitors may find you on your journey to the physician?

You purse your lips, biting back a retort but failing. “And aren’t you one of the said suitors?”

His lips pull back in an amused smile, and you notice his hand is still resting lightly on your shoulder. “I think we both know I’m different.” You bite back a smile.

“Oh, really?” you remark dryly, but the look in your eyes is anything but. “And how did Your Majesty acquire the title of being different?”

His thumb brushes, just barely, against the fabric of your sleeve before he withdraws his hand entirely, as if sensing that he’s lingered too long. But his smirk remains, insufferable as ever.

“For one, I don’t make a habit of forcing myself upon unwilling women,” Gojo remarks, a pointed edge to his otherwise careless tone. “And for another…” He tilts his head, considering you. “I daresay I might be infatuated in a way they—or you—couldn’t comprehend.”

Your breath catches, but you recover quickly, huffing as you turn away. “All these sweet nothings. Helen will love you.”

Gojo chuckles, stepping ahead of you as he leads the way. “Yet she is not the one I am after.”

You pause. Soak in his words. Outwardly, you roll your eyes and follow him for you were at a lack of words, but inside Poseidon’s storm rages inside you at his words, creating a ferocious whirlpool of conflicting feelings.

His strides are long and easy, as if he belongs wherever he walks, and yet, he slows his pace just enough for you to keep up. The gesture is not lost on you.

The physician’s chamber is quiet when you arrive, save for the distant chatter of servants outside. Gojo does not call for assistance. He merely gestures for you to sit, pulling out a small cloth and a bowl of water, his movements easy and practiced.

“You’ve done this before,” you murmur as he kneels before you, pressing the damp cloth against your wrist.

His smile is unreadable. “I am a warrior, am I not?”

The cold seeps into your skin, making you shiver. Gojo notices. His touch, for all his bravado, is unbearably gentle. You do not know what to make of it.

“You’ll bruise,” he says softly, fingers skimming over the faint marks. “Does it hurt?”

You swallow. “No.”

A lie.

Gojo’s gaze flickers up to yours, and for the first time, there is no teasing in his expression—only something quiet and knowing, something that makes your heart betray you in its weakness.

For a moment, you both fall into a silence, and, to avoid his gaze, you go back to clutching at your hand and staring at it, as if there’s something really intriguing about it. Then, he speaks up. “Want to play?”

You bring your gaze back to him, caught off guard. “What?”

He cocks his head in a direction to which you face, and there you see it: a game board. One to play petteia. 

You turn back at him, blinking. “You play petteia?”

Gojo grins, stretching out with a lazy ease that only makes you more suspicious. As if he has ulterior motives to this. “What, surprised? Strategy games are a warrior’s pastime.”

You squint him. That line of reasoning was rather true, you suppose. Something told you—something being the way he convinced Helen’s father so easily, how he always seemed three, no, six steps ahead—that he was no normal warrior, no normal brute. Huffing, you remark offhandedly, “I suppose a true warrior does sharpen his mind as well as his sword. It’s a pity that you’ll be losing today. To me.”

His smile deepens, and it makes you notice small indents in his cheeks as a result, and the way there’s a rosy pink hue on his cheeks, as if he’s excited to see what you can do.  “Then by all means, put me to shame.”

You settle onto the floor, determined, as he arranges the pieces between you. The rules are simple enough—capture your opponent’s pieces by flanking them on either side—but the way Gojo moves is anything but. He plays with an insufferable sort of confidence, shifting his pieces with flicks of his fingers, as if the game is already his to win.

Until it isn’t, obviously.

He frowns when the click of stone dropped onto the board sounds. You’ve cut off his advancing soldier, trapping it neatly between two of your own.

“Huh,” he muses, tapping his chin. He stares at the board, mind no doubt going at a speed unfathomable to most. His eyes flick rapidly, as if assessing the position of all the stone and calculating all the possible moves and permutations that can salvage him out of the situation you’ve created for him. You maintain your poker face, but inside, you want to smile. You had calculated those said combinations a few steps ago, and it’d be really hard to get out of this. Then, comes out a “That was… unexpected.”

You smile sweetly. “What’s wrong? Did the great King of Ithaca not anticipate that?”

Gojo exhales, dragging a hand through his hair while huffing out a laught. “You’re quite ruthless, aren’t you?”

“I’m practical,” you correct, claiming another of his pieces. “And good at this game.”

Gojo squints at the board, as if trying to decipher where exactly he went wrong. “You do know you’re supposed to let me win, right? My pride is fragile.”

“I wasn’t aware kings had fragile pride.”

“You wound me, my lady.” He presses a hand to his chest, but his movements are distracted as he moves another piece—only for you to immediately trap it.

His head snaps up. “Wait—”

You make your final move, effortlessly cornering his last few soldiers.

Silence.

Gojo blinks at the board.

You clear your throat. “Do you need a moment to process this?”

Slowly, he leans back, shaking his head with something close to awe. “You know, I was planning to go easy on you, but I don’t think that would have helped.”

You grin, triumphant. “I’ll take that as an admission of defeat.”

Gojo exhales through his nose, then tilts his head at you, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes.

“You’re dangerous,” he says, and you’re not quite sure if it’s a compliment or a warning.

“Maybe to an overconfident king who underestimates his opponent.”

That urges out a laugh from him, and he shakes his head. “Trust me, I was not underestimating you. It seemed that I had overestimated myself.”

Before you can respond, Gojo leans forward, propping his chin on his hand as he watches you with something unsettlingly thoughtful.

You don’t trust that look.

“What?” you ask warily.

He hums. “Just thinking.”

“That’s a dangerous pastime for you.”

Gojo presses a hand over his chest, as if wounded. “Cruel. After I iced your wrist and let you absolutely demolish me at petteia, this is the thanks I get?”

“You act as if I owe you something.”

His smirk returns, slow and smug. “Well, since you mention it…”

You narrow your eyes. “No.”

“You didn’t even hear me out.”

“I know you well enough to predict whatever absurd request you’re about to make.”

Gojo lets out a dramatic sigh, tilting his head back. “And here I was, about to propose something completely reasonable. A fair exchange.”

You arch a brow. “Fair?”

He nods, all feigned seriousness. “See, I let you win.”

“You most certainly did not.”

“And I helped with your wrist.”

Your lips press into a line. “Which you did of your own volition.”

Gojo ignores this. “So, as a completely justified request, I think you should let me meet you in the royal gardens.”

You blink. His words hang in the air between you, a casual proposition that somehow carries more weight than it should.

“The gardens?”

He nods. “By the olive tree at sunset. The one where we met.”

“Why?”

Groaning, he lounges back, pushing his feet out while doing the motion. It makes his long legs come closer to where yours are opposite from him, so much that you can feel their heat. Not direct contact, but there. “Have I not made my advances clear by now?” He moves to a sitting position, a more serious look in his eyes as he earnestly looks at you, but you find it hard—despite your usual dry disposition towards suitors—to maintain eye contact, so you opt to look at your hands instead as his next words strike blows to your treacherous heart.

 “Your Highness, I am here for you. You are far wittier than me—I have things to learn from you. You have bewitched me, for I did not know it was possible for a lady to consume my every waking thoughts in such a violent way as you have. You may think me a stranger, and you may think me one of the many foolish suitors here for Miss Helen’s hand, but I will make you fall in love with me. I will show you that despite my pride, I will be a kind and gentle husband.” He exhales, as if steadying himself, but his eyes remain fixed on you. There is no jest in them, no trace of the arrogance he so often wears like armor. Only something raw.

“And I will absolutely not leave this city until you come back to me in my kingdom as the Queen of Ithaca. It may require god-like skill to convince your father to marry me—but I am nothing if not persistent.”

Before you can even begin to form a response—before you can push past the breath lodged in your throat, the furious pounding in your chest—there’s a voice.

"There you are!"

Helen.

You turn just as she strides toward you, golden as ever, a vision of effortless beauty. She doesn’t seem to have heard a word of what was just spoken, too preoccupied with her own delight at having found you.

"I’ve been looking everywhere," she sighs, linking her arm through yours before glancing at Gojo, who, for once, remains uncharacteristically silent. Her eyes flick between the two of you, and then she hums. "I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything?"

Gojo recovers faster than you do. "Not at all, Your Highness," he says smoothly, a practiced smile slipping into place. "I was simply getting to know your cousin better."

Helen gives him a flirtatious smile, but nevertheless turns to you, frowning. “And why are you at the physician’s?”

You feel Gojo’s eyes follow your movements as you shake your head and rise, walking towards Helen. “An unruly suitor. It was a light bruise, it is not a great matter–”

“A bruise?!”

“Come with me,” you hissed, waving her along so she did not question further. It seemed that the room was very warm, for you felt a heat creep up your neck the longer Gojo’s eyes unequivocally stayed on you. 

Helen blinked, at a loss for words, no doubt pondering why you both were leaving Gojo’s presence so readily. “But His Majesty—”

“Cousin,” you snapped, “did you not have a reason to be looking for me?”

Helen blinks, momentarily distracted. Then, as if something suddenly occurs to her, she brightens.

“Oh! Yes, Father wanted to see you.”

You exhale, relieved—only for it to be short-lived, because she doesn’t move.

She remains rooted in place, glancing back at Gojo with a look that is far too amused for your liking. The flirtatious smile returns, softer now, more intrigued.

“But surely,” she muses, tilting her head, “you wouldn’t mind if I stayed a moment longer? It’s not often one meets a man as charming as His Majesty of Ithaca.”

You narrow your eyes. “Helen.”

“What?” she says, all innocence. “We’re simply talking.”

You glance at Gojo, expecting him to look insufferably pleased, but instead, he’s watching you. Not Helen. You tear your gaze away.

It’s only once the two of you are walking through the halls, out of earshot, that Helen sighs, linking your arms again.

“He’s quite something, isn’t he?” she murmurs.

You keep your eyes ahead. “Perhaps. A bit arrogant, though.”

“He’s clever,” she corrects, then gives you a knowing look. “And you like him.”

You scoff, though the heat on your skin betrays you. “I do not.”

Helen only laughs, shaking her head. “Dearest cousin,” she sighs, “I have seen you endure the most persistent suitors with all the warmth of an ice-cold river. And yet, here you are, playing petteia with him, letting him tend to your wounds.”

You do not have an answer to that.

And Helen does not press further. She only smiles wistfully to herself, as if she already knows how this story will end.

…

The halls are silent at this hour, save for the whisper of your steps against the cool stone. You keep to the shadows, careful, quiet. If anyone were to see you like this—wrapped in a cloak, a weaver in hand, slipping through the corridors like a thief in the night—there would be whispers by morning.

But then again, what whispers have ever concerned you?

The thought does not comfort you as much as it should.

Your grip tightens around the weaver, its familiar weight grounding. You brought it with you on the off chance that Gojo, like most men, proves unreliable. You have no reason to believe he will come; his feelings for you could be temporary lust, a second option in case his primary one—Helen—fails. No reason to have entertained his invitation at all. And yet, you go.

You cannot say why.

A foolish impulse, perhaps. Or simple curiosity. Or maybe—

You push the thought away, focusing instead on the memory that surfaces unbidden.

A conversation with your father, just today while you dined.

You had spoken of Helen’s upcoming wedding of the foreign princes and warriors who sought her hand, of the future that awaited her.

Your father had frowned, the lines of his face deepening. “It is dangerous,” he had said, quiet but firm. “To entrust my daughter to a man who cannot ensure her well-being.”

You had smiled then, easy and unbothered, as if his words did not touch something in you. “It is not you he must convince.”

He had looked at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his gaze, but ended up remarking offhandedly, as if reminding you. “I do not want you to go far from me.”

And you, still smiling, had said nothing at all.

Now, in the solitude of the night, you are no longer smiling.

You know your father’s concern is not unfounded. It is not simply Helen’s future that weighs on him—it is yours.

But it is a strange thing, the way his words linger, how they press against you, heavy and quiet. Not as a warning. Not as a burden. But as something else. Something you cannot yet name.

You reach the courtyard, the olive tree standing tall against the night sky behind a series of trees. You exhale, slow and steady, before walking to reach it, weaver in hand.

If he comes, he comes.

And if not—

Well. You were never the kind to wait idly for a man.

But before you could go on your endless mental tirade of how despicable the male species were, you heard a voice. Gojo’s voice in particular.

Walking closer and closer—to where your olive tree was but not where you were visible, trees providing coverage—you noticed him talking to someone in a hushed, yet excited tone. You use the window of sight allowed by the gap between the trees’ leaves to see him, standing with an owl on his forearm. It’s turned to him, as if paying attention, although exasperatedly, to him while he stands tall as ever, his foot tapping impatiently against the grass.

You hesitate, watching as the owl blinks at him, as if listening, considering his words.

And then it notices you. Its, well, owlish eyes are wide as they lock in on your figure.

With a quiet rustle of feathers, it takes flight, disappearing into the night.

Gojo turns, following its path before his gaze lands on you.

“You scared my friend away,” he says, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

You blink at him. “You were talking to an owl.”

He shrugs, as if this too is perfectly reasonable. “She’s a good listener. A little judgmental, though.”

You give him a look, unimpressed. “I see you’ve finally found an audience that suits you.”

His lips curve into a slow smile. “And yet, here you are.”

You huff, settling onto one of the smooth stones beneath the tree. “I didn’t come for your company.” You hold up the weaver in your hands, as if that alone is proof of your intentions. “I came to pass the time.”

“Ah,” he drawls, stepping closer, hands slipping into the folds of his cloak. “And yet, you’re talking to me instead.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but he only grins, triumphant.

“Tell me,” he muses, dropping down beside you. “Were you hoping—or predicting, with that fast mind of yours—I wouldn’t come?”

You don’t answer right away, fingers idly threading the weaver. The night air is cool, the scent of olives and earth thick around you.

“Would it have mattered?” you ask at last, voice light, careless.

Gojo watches you, and for a moment, he does not answer either.

Then, quietly, as if confessing something neither of you are ready to name, he says, “Yes.”

You inhale slowly, fingers stilling on the weaver as his answer settles between you.

Yes.

It wasn’t spoken in jest, nor with the easy arrogance he so often wielded. Instead, it was quieter, more certain—like an unshakable truth, unburdened by expectation.

You don’t know what to make of it.

You cast him a glance from the corner of your eye. He’s sitting close but not too close, his long legs stretched out before him, arms resting lazily over his knees. His usual grin is absent, replaced by something unreadable, something you cannot name.

The weight of his gaze is different now. Not teasing, not searching for amusement—but waiting.

You look away first.

Your fingers resume their slow, practiced work, weaving delicate patterns into the fabric, though your thoughts are anything but orderly.

“Why are you here?” you ask, voice softer than you intend.

A beat passes before he answers.

“Because you are.”

You swallow.

He leans back onto his hands, tilting his head toward the night sky, moonlight catching in the pale strands of his hair. It makes him look otherworldly, like a figure carved from myth—too beautiful, too untouchable.

“I’m not Helen,” you say after a moment, unsure why the words leave your lips. “You have nothing to gain from this.”

Gojo exhales, a quiet sound, but when he looks at you again, there is something almost amused in his expression—touched with something softer, something more patient.

“Do you think I speak to owls for political gain?”

You huff, trying to ignore the warmth threatening to creep up your neck. “I think you do most things for your own amusement.”

He hums, as if considering that. “You wound me.”

“I doubt that,” you mutter, eyes fixed on your work.

And yet—his fingers twitch where they rest against the stone. It’s small, barely noticeable, but your eyes catch it, and you wonder.

Does he want to reach for you?

The thought unsettles you more than it should.

He exhales again, then shifts, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees, expression thoughtful. “You know,” he muses, “I had a whole speech planned.”

You raise a brow. “Oh?”

“Something about how I was drawn to you the way sailors are drawn to sirens. That you, unlike any other, have made me question things I thought I knew.” He looks down at his knees, lips pulling in a mischievous smile. “But with you, I doubt a night of spilling sweet nothings or perhaps…other things would have swayed you.”

Your fingers still.

“But I think I’ve changed my mind,” he continues, tilting his head. “I think I’d rather just talk to you.”

You stare at him, caught somewhere between wariness and something dangerously close to wonder.

And then, before you can stop yourself, you ask, “What would you have said next?”

His lips twitch, and for the first time tonight, there is mischief in his gaze again. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You roll your eyes, but the moment has shifted, lighter now, though something unnamed still lingers beneath it.

“Keep your secrets, then,” you mutter, returning to your weaving.

“You wound me,” Gojo says again, pressing a hand to his chest as if truly affronted. “Here I am, spilling my heart, and you deny me even a scrap of sentiment.”

You let out a quiet scoff, keeping your focus on your weaving. “Perhaps if your words weren’t so dramatic, I’d be inclined to believe them.”

Gojo gasps. “Dramatic?” He leans closer, an almost boyish grin tugging at his lips. “My lady, I am nothing if not a man of sincerity.”

“Oh? So that speech about sirens wasn’t an embellishment?”

“Not at all.” He sighs, as if suffering under some great burden. “I wake in the morning thinking of you, I lay my head at night wondering if you’ve thought of me at all. It’s agony, truly.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips betray you, twitching into something dangerously close to a smile. “That sounds more like a malady than love.”

“Ah, but love is a sickness, is it not?” He exhales dramatically. “And you, my lady, have made a very ill man of me.”

Despite yourself, a laugh escapes—light, unguarded, like something slipping past your defenses before you can catch it.

And then—silence.

You glance at him, and find him already watching you.

His usual mischief is gone, replaced by something softer, something wholly unprepared. His breath is caught somewhere between his ribs, his lips slightly parted as if the sight of your laughter has stolen the air from him.

And then—

A blush, unmistakable even in the moonlight.

Your heart stutters.

Oh.

For the first time, you allow yourself to study him properly. The sharp angles of his jaw, the elegant bridge of his nose, the vivid eyes that hold yours so intently.

He is very handsome.

The thought settles somewhere unexpected, like an admission you’ve been avoiding.

Before you can dwell on it, something light catches against your shoulder—a drifting leaf, caught in the folds of your garment.

Gojo moves before you can react.

His fingers brush against the fabric near your collarbone, and then linger, featherlight and warm, as he pulls the leaf free. The moment stretches—longer than it should, charged with something unspeakable.

You feel his breath before you see him move, close enough now that the space between you is barely a whisper.

His hand, now free of its task, hesitates—before it trails downward, catching yours in his grasp.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to fill the moment with jest. His thumb traces the back of your hand, slow and absentminded, as if memorizing the shape of you.

Your own breath falters.

His breath is warm in the cool night air, his proximity setting something taut beneath your ribs. You are no stranger to flirtation, nor to men who think they can win you with pretty words, but Gojo—Gojo is different.

Perhaps it’s the way he looks at you now, his usual mischief tempered by something quieter. Or perhaps it’s the fact that, despite his arrogance, despite his clever tongue and tireless persistence, he does not presume to take.

He waits.

A dangerous thing, because it gives you time to notice the way his fingers twitch slightly against the fabric of your sleeve, the way his lips part as if tasting the words before speaking them.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, tilting his head.

You arch a brow, feigning indifference despite the heat pooling low in your stomach. “Am I?”

His lips curve. “Should I be flattered?”

You hum, as if considering it. “I’m only making observations.”

“Oh?” He steps just a fraction closer, his voice dipping. “And what have you observed, my lady?”

“That you blush quite easily,” you say smoothly, pleased when the faint flush creeps further up his neck. “That despite your grand declarations, you are, in fact, a little shy.”

Gojo lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Shy? My lady, you wound me.”

“Do I?” You tilt your chin up slightly, your voice softer now, your hand still in his.

His gaze flickers to your lips.

Your breath catches, just for a moment.

And then—

His hand moves, fingers brushing along the curve of your jaw before settling at the nape of your neck, his touch deliberate, careful. A question, waiting for an answer.

You don’t grant him words—only the tilt of your head, the briefest lean forward.

It is all the invitation he needs.

He kisses you like a secret, like something to be savored—slow at first, testing, before he grows bolder. His other hand finds your waist, pulling you just a little closer, and warmth floods through you, seeping into your bones.

The world is silent save for the soft hitch of breath, the faint rustle of fabric as he deepens the kiss, as you allow yourself to press into him, fingers curling into the front of his tunic.

For a man who never stops talking, he is utterly wordless now. 

When you wake up next in the morning, it is grumpy and tired. Not only were you up late into the night, talking to and…kissing Gojo of Ithaca, or rather, Satoru (while you were drunk on each other, he had convinced you to call him Satoru), but the sound of Helen’s squealing made your head ring, putting an unbearable pressure onto them.

“Helen!” you scold her, throwing a spare pillow at her. She easily dodges while you sit up in the bed, half-heartedly rubbing your eyes to wipe the sleep from them. As she throws herself onto the foot of the bed, you notice and hear the pitter patter of rain, casting a somber gray light in your bedroom that is occasionally interrupted by Zeus’s thunder, as if the god was angered or sharing a premonition. 

Shaking off the thought, you scowl at your cousin, who’s excitedly prattling about things you still have yet to comprehend. “Slow down! Tell me, without spewing all your words at once.”

“Father gave me permission to marry!” she squealed, jumping on you and hugging you closely. She seemed happy, and you loved your cousin very much, even if you did not show it much. Pure affection permeates your countenance, as she continues. “You know I’ve always wanted to marry him, with his big arms and all. He could totally manhandle me, but you knoooww I love the ones that can whimper—”

“Oh my god,” you groan, covering your ears as if scandalized (you’ve said much worse to her), but you grin regardless. “Who is the man that you have chosen?”

“Well,” she laughs, flipping her hair off her shoulder, “Gojo of Ithaca is to be my husband, of course.”

Your heart drops to your stomach.

What she says next seems to blur together, not registering because you are shocked, your world almost tilted.

Gojo of Ithaca is to be my husband, of course.

It is then you realize belatedly that Helen seems to be calling out to you, and what you notice the most out of anything on her face is the soft smile she has on her face. One that shows that she is fond of Satoru Gojo, that she has affection for him. And who are you—the girl whose father doesn’t wish for her to marry, one that isn’t to be promised—take that away from Helen, from him?

Gojo has made it clear that he is not here for Helen—but wouldn’t it be better for him and his kingdom (which you discovered last night that he cares so dearly for) for him to marry Helen? A beautiful queen and a wise king. 

What a match.

You swallow, throat suddenly dry, but you manage a smile—strained, weak, but a smile nonetheless.

“Helen,” you begin, voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you, “are you certain?”

“Of course!” she beams, oblivious to the way your fingers tighten in the fabric of your bedding. “Father said Gojo has yet to ask officially, but he will, I know it. And why wouldn’t he? A match like this—it’s fate.”

Fate.

What cruel irony.

You remember last night—Gojo’s hands warm against your skin, his laughter pressed against your lips, the way he had murmured your name like a vow.

And yet—

You look at Helen, golden and radiant even in the gray morning light, her eyes alight with genuine happiness. You love her, truly, and have since childhood. She has always had her pick of men, but there was something softer in the way she spoke of Satoru just now.

The soft smile, the dreamy lilt to her voice.

She wants this.

And what of you?

Your chest aches, but you laugh, the sound lighter than it should be. “You sound quite taken with him.”

“I am,” she beams, watching you. “He’s gorgeous! Charming, too. He told me last night that he thinks my eyes are like the sea at sunrise.”

Your stomach twists and it seems that the panic overwhelms you because all you can manage to do is swallow and nod. “Well,” you look at her with a tight smile, “I congratulate you. Let us discuss this matter further over breakfast.” She smiles and squeezes your upper arm in a goodbye, and the touch of it burns.

You don’t ever make it to breakfast that day.

It continues raining that day, and it’s quite appropriate for how you’re feeling. The feeling of melancholy permeates the air around you as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Usually, you occupy your time by reading or, more likely, weaving, but you couldn’t muster the energy to find interest in that either.

Over a man. What a shame.

You were not one to lie idle—you were constantly praised as a princess wise beyond her years, and it would be wise, in this situation, to move on. Because the man you had grown feelings for is now engaged to your cousin, or, at least, your cousin intends to be engaged with him. And it would be wiser to let it happen, for Helen’s happiness was your happiness.

Sighing, you stuff your face into your pillow and groan, muffled by the linen fabric of your seats. You then decide grudgingly that if you’re not going to leave your room at all, it may be best to shed yourself of your clothing and lay comfortably in your loincloth and mamillare.

But right as you put your hand on your clothing to strip yourself, you hear a noise. 

The sound comes again—a sharp, rhythmic tap-tap-tap, just barely audible over the rain. You freeze, fingers still curled around the fabric of your chiton, half-peeled from your shoulder. At first, you think it might be a stray branch scraping against the stone, wind-tossed by the storm. But then it happens again—more deliberate this time, insistent.

Then, looking at the new objects strewn across your balcony, you realize it’s not branches—it’s pebbles.

You scowl, tying your garments hastily before moving toward the balcony. The rain is gentler now, more mist than storm, clinging to the stone and silvering the world beyond. You grip the railing and peer down—

And there he is.

Satoru.

Drenched from head to toe, hair plastered to his forehead, a frown curving his lips as he concentrates on where he’s going to throw his pebble next. His stance seems urgent, but you’re so caught up on the fact that he’s here, as if he isn’t supposed to be engaged to Helen or be subjected to whatever congratulatory round of alcohol men bestowed upon each other after securing the most beautiful woman alive.

Your heart stutters.

You pull back immediately, breath catching in your throat. You shouldn’t have come to the balcony. You shouldn’t be looking at him, shouldn’t be thinking about this morning when Helen’s voice still lingers in your ears—Gojo of Ithaca is to be my husband, of course.

The pebble strikes the stone beside you.

“I know you’re up there,” Gojo calls, tone indecipherable. “Are you really going to ignore me? After all we’ve been through?”

You swallow and your voice trembles when you say, “Go away.”

His resulting laughter sounds betrayed, hurt. “You don’t mean that.”

“Satoru,” and you don’t know if it’s a plea or a warning. His head tilts, an anguished look on his face as he closes his eyes and sighs.

“You wound me,” he huffs out a pained laugh, “After all, I run the risk of sickness just to see you and tell you that you believe wrong.”

Something is created in you, then. Something dangerous like hope. “What?”

But instead of answering, Gojo crouches, then, in one smooth motion, leaps up, catching the edge of the balcony with ease. You barely have time to react before he’s pulling himself over the railing, stepping onto solid ground with practiced grace.

You stumble back, eyes wide. “I told you not to come up.”

“And when have I ever listened?”

There’s something in the way he looks at you then—an intensity you aren’t prepared for. The air between you is charged, thick with something unspoken, something far too dangerous to name.

He takes a step forward. “I thought you were smarter than this.”

You blink, startled. “Excuse me?”

Gojo exhales, running a hand through his damp hair. “Why would you ever think it would be Helen?”

Your stomach lurches. “She said—”

“She assumed,” he corrects, cutting you off. “But I did not accept her. And you let her do that.” His voice drops lower, softer, a stark contrast to the teasing lilt he so often wields. “Do you truly think so little of me?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because if you do, it will come spilling out—the hope you tried to bury, the ache that settled in your chest the moment Helen uttered those words.

He moves closer, and you don’t stop him.

“Princess,” you can see his ivory lashes with how close he is, his face covered in raindrops, “for how wise you are, you seem to not have caught on. What animal is the emblem of Athena?”

Blinking, you’re taken aback by the sudden quizzing. “Owl, what about it—”

Oh.

He sees the realization dawn over your face, and now his tense expression melts into a bittersweet smile. “The goddess of wisdom has been my companion ever since I was a child, helping me attain whatever I needed the most. Whether it be to gain the knowledge one must have to be worthy of being king, or,” he inhales sharply, vibrant eyes scanning over your face vulnerably, “to gain the power to be able to make the wisest, wittiest, funniest, and most beautiful girl I’ve ever known my queen.

“After all, I have my wit—add a little of godlike power, and even I could defeat your father. Respectfully,” he adds quickly. He looks anxious you realize, as if he is about to make a risky move, a big ask. Something he’s been anxious to ask, but scared to. His eyes are still scanning you and his hands twitch at his side as he says, “I hesitate to make this decision, to ask you still after knowing the true nature of my desire for you—”

“Ask me what?”

His eyes are fixed on you, and you think that both of your hearts are beating very, very fast at the moment. “What do you think, princess?”

The silence that falls is loaded, heavy, and laden with hesitation. It’s as if a vice has caged its way through your heart, squeezing and squeezing until all the things you’ve left unsaid threaten to spill out. Things like I don’t want you to marry my cousin. Or yet, even worse, I want you to marry me. “I would not want to throw out my guesses, Satoru,” you instead opt to say, voice soft. “Things like this must be said directly, to not leave any confusion or misunderstandings.”

His jaw tightens, his breath coming harder as he stares at you, something raw and dangerous flickering in his eyes. “I agree. These things should never be left unsaid.” His voice is low, almost seething, but not with anger—no, this is something else entirely, something desperate. “I love you.” The words are unshakable, like a vow. “And I refuse to sit here and pretend my thoughts of you are anything less than ruinous. I dream of you in ways no other man is allowed to, ways that would send me to Hades with a smile on my lips. You have bewitched my soul, stolen the breath from my body, and most dangerously—you have claimed my mind.” His voice drops, softer now, but no less intense. “I do not know how to make you believe me, only that I would sooner challenge the gods themselves than let you slip through my fingers. The world could promise me tens of Helen, but there is only one woman I would ever choose.” His hand finds yours, fingers tightening, as his next words fall like an oath.

“You.”

Your breath stutters, throat tightening as his fingers tighten over yours. His touch is searing, as if the gods themselves have set him aflame, and yet you cannot pull away—you do not want to pull away.

“Satoru—” His name slips from your lips like a prayer, and he swears under his breath, his free hand coming up to cradle your jaw, thumb pressing just below your lips, as if he is fighting the urge to kiss you.

“I would tear down Olympus itself if it meant keeping you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your cheek. “I would make war with the gods, call upon Athena to guide my spear, and spill the blood of any man foolish enough to think they could take you from me.” His voice is rough, almost a growl, and you swear your knees would give way if not for the way he holds you now, as though letting go would be his ruin.

It is reckless, to let yourself lean into him, to let your fingers curl into the fabric of his damp chiton as though you could anchor yourself to him. But he is an anchor—pulling you into something deep, something dangerous, something you know you will not escape from unscathed.

His nose brushes yours, his lips so close that you feel his every breath, his every hesitation. But you see the war in his eyes, the battle between restraint and desire, and for once, you decide to let yourself be selfish.

So you whisper, “Then prove it.”

And that is all it  takes for him to break.

His lips crash against yours, urgent and claiming, as if to kiss you any softer would be to deny himself the air he breathes. He groans as your hands tangle in his hair, your body pressing flush against his, his own hands no longer gentle but gripping, desperate, possessive. His teeth graze your bottom lip before he deepens the kiss, one hand trailing lower, pressing against the curve of your waist, then lower still—

Thunder crackles, as you gasp out his name. He pulls you both apart, looking anguished as if he’s fighting the urge to keep touching you, to make you moan out his name. Realizing this, you grab his hands and put them on yourself. “My love,” you say, tenderly, and you see how his pupils dilate in response, “you may touch me—”

“Are you sure? For if you say that, I may not be able to stop myself from indulging. Because I will take and take, until you can give me no more.” The way he says it, uncharacteristically serious and brows furrowed, makes you heat up even more, dizzy with lust and your pent up longing for the man.

But your response stays the same, paired with a firm nod. “I am sur—mmmph.”

He smothers you with his lips before you can finish, cupping your jaw until his hands start to move downwards. They move, tracing the planes of your body, and they are relentless in their exploration—they grab you possessively, pushing you closer and closer to him until his hands are below your thighs. Satoru maneuvers you until your legs are straddling his waist so that he can pick you up and carry you to your bed.

After he throws you down like carrying you poses to him as much of a challenge as carrying a light potato sack, he admires you—-thighs clenched, hair splayed around your head like a halo. The skirt of your clothes has inched its way up, exposing your thighs. “Gods, you don’t know what you do to me.”

But instead of playing the innocent maiden, you look at him through your lashes, laughing. “Satoru, time is of the essence. Flattery will get you nowhere—you must show it through your actions.”

You didn’t know what saying his name—and prompting him like that—does to him. He meets your lips in a furious kiss once again, this time hand sneaking up your skirt. He meets the fabric of your loincloth, hooking at its sides and pulling them downwards and downwards, until it is hooked off your ankle (not before Satoru leaves it a trailing kiss there, of course. It is only until Satoru’s eyes hone in what’s in the middle of legs that you realize that you are bare to him. “Satoru, I—”

“I must do something,” he instead responds, and you look at him in confusion. He’s moving down your body as you ask him what he means and if something’s wrong.

You’re interrupted by your gasp as his mouth descends on you, leaving hot, openmouthed kisses directly on your core. His tongue delves inside your lower lips, pleasing the nerves and leaving them singing. He undoes you, leaving your legs feeling like jelly, and the fervor he does it with is nauseating—as if your nectar is ambrosia itself. 

Soon enough, with his reverent worship—and a finger or two added to stretch you out and make you emit embarrassing noises that only encourage him further—you come with a cry of his name. As you roll your hips, riding out your climax, his mouth and head follow and trail your hips, unrelenting in pleasuring you even though you’re overstimulated and left quivering. 

“I—” you blurted, trying to fill the silence after he had just made you taste colors. “I hate you.”

Satoru faux pouts, biting back a grin. “Rude thing to say when I just made you—”

“Don’t finish that!” you shriek, swatting his head lightly as he laughs, kissing his way back up your body. In a tone more shy than you’d like, you say in a small voice, “But I hope we’re not done yet?”

Satoru’s made his way up to your clothed breasts, kissing them tenderly. However, when he hears the question, he stills, looks at you with wide eyes, and he groans, as if surprised by your forwardness. “Princess, the things you do to me.”

He kneads your ass while he stands up, orienting himself into a position to do—that. A voice in the back of your head reminds you that you’re not supposed to be doing this before you get married, but your lust is too strong. And, after all, you trust that there’s no way Satoru wouldn’t marry you.

You feel a slight pressure in your nether regions, and you realize that it is Satoru’s cock. His eyes are on you, blown out with lust, as he continues to stroke the length of it while observing your every reaction. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.”

With your confirmation, his eyes next left your face as he pushed in, moving slowly and gently. He gauged your features for any signs of discomfort or pain as he moved in shallow thrusts, gradually increasing their length. You gasped, his murmurs and sweet nothings coaxing out your whimpers and whines as he bumped a spot inside of you. As he did, fireworks erupted in the back of your mind, leaving you boneless as he got you closer and closer to your climax once again.

For someone who didn’t experience carnal desires often, you wonder how you’ve gone without this kind of pleasure for so long. Satoru made you feel worshipped, tracing kisses with a love that was almost pious. It doesn’t take you long after that to come once more, thrashing in his grip.

Your climax sheathed on his cock unlocks something in him, for he begins to thrust harder and faster, becoming sloppier and sloppier. His voice is by your ear, whining your name continuously. When he finally feels himself climb over and finally orgasm, he breathes out an “Ah,” and thrusts himself to completely bottom out while his come fills you up, pooling inside of you.

You both stay interlocked for gods know how long. Until Satoru pipes up, voice still unstable and panting, “By the way, it went unsaid, but I’m going to marry you. And you can’t say no.”

Your resulting giggle makes him break out in a big smile before he hugs you, wrestling you both to lie side by side in bed.

It goes without saying, but it all goes smoothly according to plan.

When Satoru had played with petteia with you, he had aimed to show Athena your wit. It is no small claim to defeat him, a king associated with Athena, in the game. The following events further made Athena approve of you and give her blessing. 

So Gojo was already ten steps ahead when he asked your father for your blessing. Your father was furious, of course—he did not want to let you go. After much cajoling and agreement to beat your father, a champion runner, in a race to attain your hand, Satoru wiped his brow. The way your father loved you would be scary to him if he didn’t love you as intensely as he did now. 

And of course Satoru won. Athena got her fellow Olympian, Hermes, to rent out his infamous speed. When he wins, Sparta is in an uproar, including your cousin.

“So, how is he?” Helen asks mischievously. You later found out that day that Helen’s words of marrying Gojo had a purpose—to push you both towards each other, once and for all. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you turn away, with a hmph. Crossing your arms, you pretend to roll your eyes at the knowing look she had.

“I don’t know, cousin,” she giggles, “I heard a couple of voices in your room when I tried to visit you a few nights back. Tell me, does he whimper—-”

“Helen!” 

The day you marry, donning beautiful and regal clothes, Gojo sneaks you away multiple times to kiss you under your veil when no one is looking.

His wedding gift is built by him—on the voyage back to Ithaca, he not only takes you away from Sparta, but the olive tree that you both had met at. He builds the shared marital bed out of the olive tree for his queen with his blood and sweat. It is a symbol of your love, everlasting, and you would daresay that it is the most precious gift anyone has ever given you.

What you give him in return is one fat and giggly baby. Your father grumbles that the child looks too much like his father, but the way he holds the babe—so carefully, so gently—betrays his affection. Helen coos at her little nephew, amused at how utterly soft Satoru has become, how the once-cocky king now spends his days doting on both you and your child, as if he has won the world itself.

And perhaps he has.

After all, Satoru has always been a man of ambition. A man who would scheme, fight, and even defy the gods for what he desires. And yet, as he holds your child in one arm and you in the other, murmuring teasing words against your ear before stealing another kiss, you realize something—

He had never needed Athena’s wisdom, Hermes’ speed, or any other divine favor to win you.

Because you had already been his, just as he had always been yours.

general masterlist

a/n thank u to my very supportive bestie @purplegemadventures i love all ur ideas ml <3 anyways like always all my beta readers are the goats thank you for reading my incomprehensible ideas. it's 5am and there's a mosquito that's hovering near me and im not totally happy w how this turned out but it was fun writing it kjenkjne. i may write more greek mythology aus but i need to lock in on my series....

ppl who asked to be tagged: @heh123321 @melotter

thank you for reading! reblog and comment to let me know ur thots <3

boyfriend!wooyoung - atz video diary au

⤷ the world was always so dull and uninviting...until the day wooyoung came into your life. and maybe, just maybe, your world became just a little bit brighter

—song: blue by keshi

hooked on the feeling

❝ you know, i don’t usually get girls falling all over me like this. ❞

PAIRING ▸ lee taeyong x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ fluff, crack, meet-cute au, strangers to lovers, college au, mutual pining

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, lots of !! fluff !! and ft. giselle and ten being your annoying best friends, making out, minor suggestive content 

SUMMARY ▸ in five minutes, you’re about to ride the disco pang-pang that you’ve been dreading. that’s plenty of time for you to admire the attractive biology major from your university that you wish you can pluck up the courage to talk to. luckily (or unfortunately), you end up falling right into the lap of lee taeyong. 

PLAYLIST ▸ love me like that by sam kim • my treasure by treasure

WORD COUNT ▸ 4612 words

TAG LIST ▸ @leeknowsredeyeliner​ @wownajaemin​ @geniejunn​ @huangberryyy​ @halbae​

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ hello !! this is for @notnctu​’s beginnings collab! please check out the other author’s works as well !! note: this is a disco pang-pang if you didn’t know >:) and thank you so much for inviting me to this collab, joyce! i adore you so much and wish you the best. i’m so glad to have met you and make sure you keep in touch every so often !! ♡ 

YOU WERE A NERVOUS WRECK.

Ten and Giselle were so adamant on riding a Disco Pang-Pang ever since they saw a TikTok about it, but you were not interested in potentially falling all over a bunch of strangers. Ten, on the other hand, was ready to see you eat shit. He had an iron grip, and you knew he was going to be recording you and Giselle humiliating yourselves.

Your friends had dragged you all the way to an amusement park just for the ride, but you were able to convince them to put it off until the end. For the entire day, you were trying to convince yourself the ride was harmless, but you had seen far too many TikToks, and you didn’t want to end up being the laughingstock of one. These were rides that you found fun to watch on a screen, but you weren’t very happy about going on one. Plus, you were already feeling queasy from the last few roller coasters, so a ride that spun you around didn’t sound too appealing.

In a measly five minutes, you would be riding the human death trap, clinging on like nothing else mattered and fighting to keep your lunch down. You could hear the ride’s operator shouting over the 1980s playlist he had running. He was sending people hurtling across the floor while laughing at their misery.

Nevertheless, you steeled your nerves. One little ride wasn’t going to take you out. You were determined to hold on for dear life and brave through the experience.

Of course, all this bravado fizzled away once you realized you were going to be part of the next batch of riders.

“Y/N, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Giselle pointed out.

“Not yet,” you replied, dazed. “After this, though, I’m gonna be seeing many ghosts.”

Keep reading

With Xiao's banner being up, I've thought of a particularly painful scenario.

"If you awake to a knife at your throat, if monsters dig their claws into you, if death comes knocking at your door... Call out my name. Adeptus Xiao. I will be here when you call."

You felt so cold, so tired. You felt like you were fading away. The battle has finished and your team had emerged victorious but why was it that blood was still flowing out of your wounds. You gasped as you slowly sat up, some wounds reopening. The snow numbed your fingertips and your breaths became white in the air. You could barely see in front of you as you stumbled down a path, trying to see something that would tell you where you were.

You thought of your team. Were they alive and well? How was the traveller? Where was Xiao? You contemplated calling out Xiao's name but a memory flashed before your eyes and it made your heart squeeze in pain.

"You called me out for this? I have more pressing matters to attend to."

No. You can find your path home. You're probably just close by, you couldn't have gone too far from the scene of the battle. You continued down the path, the freezing breeze creating little icicles on your lashes and hair. Your lips were turning blue and your eyes were drooping from the exhaustion. Little frozen puddles of your blood being left behind.

How long has it been? How long have you been walking this path It's all been towering snowy mountains and frozen lakes. Have I been walking in circles? You think for a moment but you can't tell if you have been. The snow has been falling heavier by the minute and you've lost more blood than you ever have. You want to lay down, sleep but you know better than to do that right now. If you closed your eyes now, you wouldn't open them again.

You slowly lose hope in finding a way out of this place alive. It's too cold. You've bled too much and there hasn't been even the slightest sight of the flicker of a flame in hours. You aren't sure if you can even bend your toes anymore. I want to see him again. You wish to all of the archons to let you live just long enough to see him for a last time. You have a thousand words you want to say and another thousand more stuck in your throat but there's three words you want to say again for the last time.

He has never replied in the same way. He has looked at you with affection before but that look has become more and more scarce especially with the arrival of the traveller. What was once your place next to Xiao became the traveller's. He looked so at ease with her. You even saw him crack a smile and a light chuckle in front of her.

He hasn't even smiled at me before. No. Stop with those thoughts. I'm not that replaceable. I've been with him for longer, stood by him even in the worst battles. What haven't I done?

Have him love you back. A dark voice spoke in your mind. It paused before laughing at your despair. As soon as it came, it disappeared just as quickly.

You shake off the thoughts before continuing to stumble down the snowy path. Just a little bit more. You think to yourself when your knees buckle and you fall down to the ground, face down. You try to push yourself up but you can't. You barely manage to flip onto your back. Your lips quiver not from the cold but from the truth. Xiao hasn't looked for you ever since you've woken up. Was your presence or absence unimportant to him? Has he thought of you?

The truth was scary. You knew you wouldn't be able to escape on your own out of this place. Not in this state. You reach a hand up in the sky, grasping at the stars and the falling snow. You lick your dry, bloodied lip as you are barely able to speak your thoughts as your brain starts to make you see an image of Xiao. It ripples when you reach towards the image, but despite it being only an image, it brings you comfort to see him in this time.

"I want to see you again. I want to be by your side no matter what. I want to be selfish. I want to love you, kiss you, hold you. But I can't." You pause for a moment, trying to stop yourself from coughing up blood but failing. Once the coughs subside, your eyes dull. "Xiao..." You stop for a moment. You expect to see him come but you can't see or hear him at all. Did he not hear you? "Adeptus Xiao..." You try again. Maybe he'll hear it this time. You wait a little bit longer. "Xiao, the one that I love, save me, please..." You barely choke out as tears bubble in your eyes. The streaks of tears freeze in seconds as they flow down your cheeks. "Alatus... Adeptus Xiao- Xiao-! Please hear me- save me... Anybody... Please..." Your begs for rescue were unheard. You call out his different names but he doesn't show. Darkness ring around the edges of your sight and it blurs what you can see but you don't stop calling out to him. Not until your voice becomes low whispers and you call his name for the last time before you are silenced for an eternity.

Xiao feels like something is amiss. Ever since that battle weeks ago, everything has felt a little bit off. Everyone was there. Verr Goldet, the traveller, the people at Wangshu Inn. He cannot recall anyone missing. Has there been a task he had yet to finish? He isn't able to think of anything and writes off the feeling. Perhaps it was the adrenaline. He steps back into the balcony as he stares out at the peaceful sight in front of him. A hand suddenly places itself on his back and he instinctively calls out your name as he turns to face you. Only that the person in front of him isn't you. It's the traveller. Where were you? He hasn't seen you... Since that battle...

He disappears and returns to the scene of the battle. You aren't there. He teleports to places you've gone together and you still weren't there. Where are you? He scours the land of Teyvat to look for you but only at the outskirts of the Entombed City in Dragonspine does he feel a trace of you. He follows this trace and sees dark maroon marks on the dirt and rocks. He hasn't felt this type of impending doom. You couldn't be here. You must've just visited. At any moment, you'll just jump out and place that warm hand of yours on his arm or back as you always had and smile at him with that bright smile like you always have.

Any hope of seeing you smile at him again is diminished when he sees you. Your body frozen and encased in solid ice coffin. He tries to break the ice but no matter how much energy he pours into it, nothing cracks the ice. It regenerates faster and is stronger than the strange ice. "I will save you now. The day came where darkness has taken you and I was not there. It will be up to me to undo what has been done."

He continues to strike against the regenerating ice until- "I knew you'd save me, Xiao." Your voice is carried by the wind. He turns to the source of the sound and he sees an apparition of you. It's the you he remembers. Unharmed, smiling, and warm. Not the you beside him. Wounded, pained, and cold.

You smile at him like you always do. Your apparition fades before he can speak and reappears. It was showing him your final moments. You crying out to him. Your declarations. Everything. He wants to say that he's too inhuman to be carried by such trivialities like love and emotions but it's you. You've always been by his side but he hasn't been by yours in the longest time and he sees it now. He remembers how your smiles twitch when he leaves you behind in favor of accompanying the traveller. He remembers how you shrink bank when the traveller joins in and you become part of the background. He remembers you cooking almond tofu so many times just to make sure he has something to eat if he returns at any time. He remembers your kindness and he wishes that it wasn't just being remembered. He wishes for you to be by his side again but seeing how pitiful you were, calling out to him for so many times in your last moments and not being heard. What was he even doing then? He wasn't injured too badly. Where was he when you were suffering and calling out to him? Was this the way he'd return your kindness? By forsaking you at your last moments?

Even the most evil creatures wouldn't be this cruel.

"I will find retribution for my actions and bring peace to you. I will go with you in the afterlife. I will do right by you in our next lives."

-Big-Sad Anon

ԅ༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽ᕤ yes officer. This. This made me cry. Arrest them.

Oh. My. God.

How am i supposed to even function normally after this 🥲 comrade i cant even open my eyes im crying too much why would you do this /j 😭