vee

22 | requests open.ᐟ ic. deciqm

[2crtz]

ෆ my official masterlist. not all my work is nsfw, so those underage can still read enjoy my sfw content. however, if labeled as nsfw, minors please do not interact. otherwise, enjoy! 

ಇ. GENSHIN IMPACT

⤷ CAPITANO     “ THE FALL INTO HIS HEART ” (sfw)  “ MY KNIGHT, SHINING ” (sfw)

⤷ WRIOTHESLEY         “ A SLIPPED APOLOGY ” (sfw)

⤷ ALHAITHAM  “ AFTER HOURS ” (sfw)

ಇ. NARUTO

ಇ. JUJUTSU KAISEN

ಇ. ATTACK ON TITAN

  do not modify, edit, or republish.

[2crtz]

ᯓ𑣲 AFTER HOURS

CHARACTERS. prof!alhaitham x student f!reader

WARNINGS. sfw, age appropriate guys reader is 21, heated kissing SYNOPSIS. a reserved professor finds himself increasingly captivated by his most dedicated student. when she lingers after office hours, the careful boundary between them begins to blur.

WORD COUNT. 3.439 A/N: hey guys. one of my favorite troupes is professor x student and i HAD to write it for alhaitham. also i didn't edit this so any errors, pay no mind plsss

Alhaitham spend the majority of his time inside his classroom, grading assignments, correcting students on their poor answers. Without much of a social life outside of Kaveh's constant lingering, he spent most of his time in his class, grading papers. In his eyes, it was essentially his safe haven.

As he worked through the stack of papers, one student's assignment caught his attention. The thesis was a textbook definition of clarity, the paragraphs flowing seamlessly together, and every finding backed with meticulously chosen sources. He found himself drawn in, utterly compelled by the topic they have chosen.

Searching for their name, his eyes landed on it-- a familiar one, belonging to only one of his top students. His favorite. You've always held a special place in Alhaitham's unspoken list of favorites. As much as he couldn't help it, your dedication had captivated him yet again.

Working through the evening before his class, he found himself rereading your work.

The soft click of the door pulled him from his thoughts, a sudden reminder of how much time had passed. He hurriedly organized his desk, stacking ungraded papers in neat piled. As his eyes glanced up, his sights caught you. There you were, coffee in hand, walking in early.

What he didn't expect was you walking past your seat and towards him in purposeful strides. Each step seemed to echo in the quiet room, amplifying your presence and pulling his full attention.

"Good evening, Professor," you greeted with a warm smile, placing a steaming cup of coffee on his desk. The gesture was simple, yet it carried a weight that lingered in the space between you.

Regaining his composure, Alhaitham gave a slight nod. "Hello," he greeted smoothly, his fingers grabbing the cup, taking a sip from it that he desperately needed. "Is there something I can help you with?" he glanced back at you, his tone calm.

"Yes, actually," you paused, reaching over to your bag and pulling out your laptop. "I needed revision for an essay in my history class. If you have time, could you help me?" you asked, your voice carrying a genuine request, yet there was something off about it.

With the laptop being placed onto his desk, you walked over to where he sat. Alhaitham's gaze followed your every movement, lingering as you leaned close to him. Your lips parted slightly, him catching the light that glistened on your lips-- glossed in a soft shade of pink, full and waiting to be kissed swollen.

Him not being a historian, his knowledge of the world ran deep enough to answer your desperate call for help. And in that moment, seeing the utter dedication that drove you to seek him out, the relentless strive to be the best-- he felt a surge of pride, a warmth he had never known with any other student.

You hesitated, then met his gaze. "I'm not sure I transitioned the paragraphs as smoothly as I wanted. If there was any way you could help... I'm in need, Professor."

Your voice was soft, light as a feather-- yet it carried an immense weight that settled deep in his mind. For a moment, the words themselves seemed to fade, dissolving into the space between you. All he could focus on were your features, the way the light traced the contours of your face, the quiet vulnerability in your expression as you waited for his answer.

Alhaitham forced himself to look away, averting his gaze to your paper. A glance at the clock—ten minutes until class. "Since class starts soon," he said, "how about you email this to me and I'll review it tonight. Come by my office hours tomorrow and we'll go through my annotations, okay?"

He couldn't help himself. His eyes drifted back to you, searching for your reaction. A small smile etched onto your face—quiet acceptance.

"Okay, thank you."

In the shared stillness of his shared condo, Alhaitham sat alone on the couch, your page open on his laptop. Midnight had come and gone, and the only light came from a single lamp beside him, its soft yellow light casting long shadows across the room.

He scrolled slowly through your words, reading each sentence with the kind of attention he reserved for things that truly mattered. When he reached the end, he sat back against the cushions, exhaling slowly.

"Amazing," he breathed, the word escaping him before he could stop it. A rare, unbidden smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He was completely infatuated. From your reasoning, your voice on the page, the way you strung arguments together like poetry-- he could not understand why you were unsatisfied by it.

The front door swung open with its usual lack of ceremony.

"What has you fangirling?" Kaveh's voice rang through the foyer as he swept inside. He tossed his coat in a careless manner towards the couch-- it missed, sliding to the floor. His bag followed with a heavy thud. Without missing a beat, Kaveh dropped onto the cushions beside Alhaitham, sprawling across the empty space as if he owned it.

Alhaitham's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He glanced at the discarded coat, then back to his screen. "You make this house look a mess."

Kaveh waved a dismissive hand, already reaching for the remote. His eyes, however, drifted to the laptop screen, catching a glimpse of your paper before Alhaitham could angle it away. "A student's?" he asked, interest piqued despite his casual tone.

"Yes." The word came out sharp-- quick, clipped, carrying an edge of something Kaveh wasn't meant to notice. Alhaitham straightened, fingers hovering over the keyboard. "She asked me to review it."

The television flickered to life, Kaveh flipping through the channels with lazy disinterest. "Is it good?"

Alhaitham paused. For a moment, he considered speaking in a academic manner-- professional. But pride, unfamiliar and warm, swelled in his chest, and the truth slipped out before he could catch it.

"Best piece I've read from a student." His voice held a quiet reverence, the kind he usually reserved for ancient texts and forgotten philosophies. He didn't look at Kaveh as he said it, his eyes fixed on your words still glowing on the screen. "She has a mind to become great, like... she's been waiting her whole life to be heard."

Kaveh's thumb stilled over the remote. He turned towards his roommate, studying him with a newfound curiosity. "That good, huh?"

Alhaitham only nodded, scrolling back to the beginning to read it all over again.

--

The walk to Alhaitham's classroom during his office hours felt longer than you remembered. Each step echoed softly in the empty corridor, and with every one, anxiety brewed deeper in your chest. You weren't ready for the critiques-- for the red marks, the margins filled with questions, the quiet disappointment you imagined he will sound.

When you reached the door, you paused, drawing a breath that did little to steady you. Then you pushed it open.

The classroom was bathed in afternoon light. His desk sat near the window, positioned just so that the sunrays streamed in behind him, casting a golden halo around his shoulders. Light caught the edges of his hair, illuminated the sharp lines of his profile, made him look less of a professor and more like something carved from marble and placed there to watch over the room. He was reading, head bent over what looked like notes, exceedingly still and focused.

At the sound of the door, his eyes flickered up.

You descended the steps slowly, hyperaware of his gaze following your every movement. Your fingers found each other, fidgeting, twisting-- a nervous habit you couldn't suppress. The silence between you felt vast, filled with unspoken words and the weight of anticipation.

He noticed your hands. He'd be a fool if he didn't.

A pause. Then, something shifted in his expression-- not quite a smile, but warmer than his usual neutrality. He leaned back in his chair, setting down his glasses.

Alhaitham already knew what he was going to tell you. Your paper hadn't just met his expectation-- it had exceeded them. That he had read it not only once, but twice. That he had lingered over certain passages the way one lingers over something beautiful, something rare.

But he wouldn't say that yet. Not until you were sitting across from him, close enough to see the truth in his eyes.

"Sit down," he said, voice gentler than you'd ever heard it. "I have a lot to tell you."

You pulled a chair from beneath his desk and settled across from him, close enough to see the way the sunlight caught in his lashes. Your hands found your lap, still fidgeting, still restless—but the longer you sat in his presence, the more the anxiety began to ebb. He radiated a kind of quiet patience, his body language open and unhurried, nothing like the stern professor you had braced yourself for.

His eyes traveled across your features with unhidden attention. Tracing the curve of your brow, the nervous purse of your lips, the way your eyes kept darting to his then away again. You were beautiful like this, he thought—anticipating, vulnerable, that bright mind of yours working behind your anxious expression, trying to calculate what he might say next.

"Your paper," he began. He paused, reaching out to turn his laptop toward you. Your essay filled the screen, pristine and untouched. His voice when he continued was measured, deliberate—each word chosen with care.

"One of the most remarkable pieces I have read thus far. No flaw. No mistake." A beat. "Just perfection."

Your eyes flew wide. For a moment you simply stared at him, waiting for the punchline, the correction, the but. When none came, you reached for the laptop, pulling it closer, scrolling through the document with desperate urgency. Page after page—no corrections. No notes in the margins. No comments questioning your arguments or highlighting your errors.

Nothing.

You looked up at him, disbelief written across your face. "B-but how?" Your voice came out smaller than intended. "I was so sure I didn't do my best on it. I rushed the conclusion, I—I thought for sure there would be—"

"You are remarkable."

The words left him before he could stop them—not that he wanted to. They hung in the air between you, raw and honest, stripped of any academic pretense. He held your gaze, letting you see that he meant it.

A shockwave rippled through your body. Heat bloomed in your stomach, warm and fluttering, spreading outward until your cheeks flushed pink. You couldn't look away from him, and didn't want to. A smile, tentative at first, grazed your lips, then softened into something genuine.

"Thank you," you whispered.

And for a long moment, neither of you moved, the sunlight shifting slowly across the space between you.

You didn't want to leave, but as the office hours were winding down, and there was no reason to linger. Gathering your things, you stood up from your seat. But before leaving, you spoke.

"You know," you said softly, emboldened by the warmth still blooming in your chest, "you're not quite what I expected, Professor."

One corner of his mouth twitched. "Alhaitham," he corrected quietly. "When we're alone. Like this." The implication hung in the air, delicate and dangerous. When we're alone. Like this. As if there might be more moments like this. As if he wanted there to be.

Your heart stuttered, "Alhaitham," you repeated, testing how it slipped off your tongue, savoring the flavor of his name.

You smiled—soft, reluctant, already mourning the end of this moment—and began backing away toward the stairs. One step. Two. Your hand found the cool metal of the railing.

"Please."

The words stopped you cold.

Not his voice—not the measured, controlled tone he used in lectures, not the quiet authority of office hours. This was something raw. Something cracked open.

You turned.

Alhaitham was rising from his seat in a rush, his chair scraping against the floor, his elbow catching a stack of papers that scattered across the desk in slow motion. He didn't seem to notice. Didn't seem to care. His eyes were fixed on you, wide with something you had never seen in him before—fear, maybe. Or want. The kind that stripped away pretense.

"Stay," he said, and his voice broke on the word. Just slightly. Just enough. "Stay for a little longer."

The sunlight had shifted, no longer haloing him but catching him from the side, illuminating the sharp line of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand gripped the edge of the desk like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

You stood frozen at the bottom of the stairs, your heart pounding so hard you were certain he could hear it. No one had ever looked at you like this. No one had ever pleaded for your company, voice thick with desperation, eyes betraying every wall they had ever built.

For a long, suspended moment, neither of you moved. Then, softly—so softly it was almost lost in the space between you—you spoke.

"Alhaitham..."

His name. Not his title. Just him.

His chest rose and fell with a breath he seemed to have been holding since you started backing away. "I know," he said quietly. "I know I shouldn't ask. I know what this is supposed to be. But right now—" He stopped, searching for words, then gave up. "Just... don't go. Not yet."

Your hand slipped from the railing.

And you walked back toward him.

The sun was setting beyond the window, the last threads of gold dissolving into twilight. The classroom grew darker, shadows pooling in the corners and creeping across the floor, but neither of you reached for the lamp. Neither of you looked away from each other long enough to notice.

His expression, though—that you could see perfectly. The way his eyes had gone dark, intense, stripped of every professional boundary he had ever maintained. The way his chest rose and fell with breaths that came faster now, heavier. The way his hands, still gripping the edge of the desk, had begun to tremble.

Alhaitham couldn't help it anymore.

Couldn't help himself.

He met you in three swift strides, closing the distance you had almost crossed. His hands found your waist—gripping, claiming—and then your chest was crashing against his, the warmth of him searing through your clothes. His lips met yours, hungry and desperate, like a man starved.

It felt so right. It felt so wrong.

So wrong, he thought dimly, even as his mouth moved against yours with increasing urgency. She's a student. My student. This could cost everything. But then you sighed against his lips, soft and yielding, and the thought scattered like ash in wind.

His utter infatuation—for a student, for this beautiful creature who had graced his life with her bright mind and brighter soul—consumed him completely.

In this moment, tangled in you, he understood with piercing clarity-- this was all he wanted. A beautiful soul like yours, he realized, could cure his most damaging self. Could fill the empty spaces he hadn't known existed until you walked into his classroom.

You met the pace of his kiss without hesitation, equally hungry, equally passionate. Your fingers laced through his hair, pulling him closer, deeper, until there was no space left between you. His hands roamed downward, tracing the curve of your back, pressing you harder against him.

Then he lifted you.

You gasped against his mouth as your feet left the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist instinctively. He carried you to the desk—his desk, the one where he had graded your paper, where he had called you remarkable—and swept everything aside. Papers scattered like falling leaves, a coffee cup tipped and rolled unheeded, pens clattered to the floor.

He didn't care.

Didn't care about the mess, the cleanup, the evidence of this moment that would remain when morning came. All Alhaitham wanted—all he had ever wanted without knowing it—was this.

He laid you back against the cool wood, hovering over you, drinking in the sight of your flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips in the dying light.

"I need you," he breathed, the words escaping him like a confession torn from somewhere deep—somewhere he had kept locked away until this moment. "Like the rain needs the clouds. Like the flower needs the sun." His forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with yours, hot and uneven. "I need you like you're my last breath of air, and I'm drowning, and you're the only thing that can save me."

Your heart clenched. Before you could respond, his lips found your jawline—soft at first, reverent, then hungrier as they trailed lower. Down the column of your throat, pausing at the pulse point that fluttered wildly beneath his mouth.

"You are an unearthed jewel," he murmured against your skin, the words vibrating through you. "Waiting to be discovered. Waiting for the world to witness your everlasting beauty." He kissed the hollow of your throat.

The heat of his kisses clouded your judgment, drowned every rational thought. And you didn't care. You wanted this—wanted him—with an ache that bordered on desperate. Your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more, always more—

A knock echoed through the room. Loud. Sharp. Reality splintering through the haze. You both froze. Heavy breaths filled the sudden silence, yours mingling with his, chests heaving.

"Shit," Alhaitham hissed under his breath.

He pulled back abruptly, hands already moving—straightening your collar, smoothing your hair with trembling fingers, swiping his thumb across your swollen lips as if he could erase the evidence. You fumbled with your own clothes, heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.

"Haitham! Let's go drinking!" The door swung open before either of you could respond. Kaveh stepped inside, freezing on the top step as his eyes adjusted to the dim room. 

The last of the sunset had faded completely now, leaving only shadows and the faint outline of two figures standing too close, adjusting clothes, avoiding each other's eyes.

"Oh." The single syllable hung in the air, loaded with recognition.

You lowered your head, heat flooding your cheeks, shame curling in your stomach. Caught in the dark with your professor, clothes disheveled, lips kiss-swollen, the evidence of the moment written all over you.

Of all people, you thought desperately. Of all the people to walk in.

Alhaitham stepped slightly forward, positioning himself partially in front of you—a protective gesture that only made things more obvious. His voice, when he spoke, was strained.

"Kaveh."

Kaveh descended the steps slowly, each footfall echoing in the charged silence. His eyes moved between the two of you—taking in Alhaitham's rigid posture, your averted gaze, the palpable tension that still crackled in the air between you.

"So," he said, stopping a few feet away, "this is the student you're infatuated with."

Alhaitham said nothing. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but he didn't deny it. Didn't deflect. Just stood there, close enough to you that your shoulder almost brushed his arm, silent and watchful.

Kaveh's lips quirked. "And in your classroom. After hours?" A beat, then a low laugh escaped him. "I didn't know you were much of a scandalous person, Haitham." He crossed his arms, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Good for you."

Your face burned hotter.

"Anyway," Kaveh continued, waving a hand as if dismissing the entire scene, "the offer still stands. Drinks. Unless you two need more privacy?" He raised an eyebrow pointedly.

You wanted to disappear. To sink through the floor and never resurface. To undo the last ten minutes and start this day over.

But beneath the shame, beneath the embarrassment—you couldn't quite bring yourself to regret it.

"I'm down for some drinks." The words left you before you could second-guess them. Quiet but steady.

Alhaitham looked down at you, surprise flickering across his features before softening into something warmer. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Kaveh's eyebrows shot upward, then settled into an approving grin. "She's got spine. I like her."

"Well," Alhaitham said slowly, his voice still rough from earlier but laced with something new—pride, maybe, or quiet wonder that you hadn't run, "if she's willing to come, then let's all go."

He didn't reach for your hand. Not with Kaveh watching, not yet. But his pinky brushed against yours in the darkness between you, a silent question, a quiet promise.

And for the first time since the door opened, you lifted your head and met Kaveh's gaze without flinching.

"Where are we going?"

do not edit, modify, or republish.

[2crtz]

hi hello I am. a lurker that absolutely adores your Capitano fic "my knight, shining" but I forgot to tell you that. so here I am.

I actually ended up ranting about it to a mutual because I freaking adore your work? I also got it into my braincell what Capitano himself may have been thinking and ended up writing something akin to a literary analysis about your fanfic. yeah it's that good and it's changed my brain chemistry for the better

thank you for blessing these cursed interwebs with your gorgeous work, we appreciate it more than you know

this is like such an honor?!!!!??? THANK YOU SM FOR ENJOYING MY WORK 🥹 i have some ideas of what to write for capitano and i’m hoping i get them out soon 🙏🏼

[2crtz]

can we bring back angst on tumblr i want to cry not moan

[2crtz]

⊹₊⟡⋆ MY KNIGHT, SHINING.

CHARACTERS: capitano x f!readers

WARNINGS: sfw. SYNOPSIS: with flower arrangements showing up at your doorstep from an anonymous sender, you’re curious who this admirer was and why they are being so secretive.

WORD COUNT: 1.699  A/N: i disappeared for 6 months and came back writing for my man. nothings changed

Watching the knights gleaming in their armor in preparation for their jousting battle, you've been captivated by the clamor of blades sharply hitting against each other.

Standing on the sidelines, your eyes fixed upon the men dressed in steel, your heart raced, sending a surge of adrenaline through your veins as their blades shyly miss their opponents vital points.

One knight had captured your sights, infiltrating your thoughts. He stands out from the rest, tall and proud even among his opponents. The undefeated, the one whose strength seemed a shadows of the Gods, The Captain.

Seeing him face his rivals, effortlessly using his strengths to take them down left you utterly infatuated in this dangerous sport. You cleared your schedule to watch him, canceling plans and devoted your time for him.

When you weren't spending majority of your time out watching knights, you found solace in your quiet home library, immersing yourself in romance novels. Other times, you were out with friends.

As you were rereading a favorite novel, a sudden knock at your front door shattered you from the fantasy world in your head, abruptly pulling you back to reality. Closing the book and walking to answer, you found that no one was standing there.

Confused, you slowly shut the door, but something caught your eye. Opening it fully once again, you noticed the bouquet of flowers sitting on your doorstep. Bending down, you carefully pick them up.

Inspecting the strange gift, you found no note or any hint who might've sent them.

"Who could've sent me these?" you murmured to yourself, carrying the bouquet to the kitchen to place them in a vase. No one had shown an interest in you before, which made this gift all the more puzzling.

No matter the reason, you happily accepted the present with a smile and displayed them in the windowsill for all to see.

────

The flowers continued to show up, week after week, always on the same day and at the same time. No name was ever attached, just a mysterious gift, leaving you to wonder who could be behind them.

It got to the point that you've began to stalk near the window, waiting for the person to show. One day, you got close enough to catch the delivery man.

"Do you know who sends these?" you asked , carrying the flowers.

The man merely shook his head, his expression neutral. "I do not. The sender requested to remain anonymous."

There goes that.

At this point you doubted you'll ever know who sends you these beautiful arrangements.

────

As the season transitioned to spring, you found yourself confined in your home most days from the pollen. Allergy season proved to be utterly rude, causing you to miss out on your favorite activities, in particular, the one that involved knights.

However, the flowers did manage to brighten your days. But it wasn't until this particular arrangement arrived that you finally saw a note tucked underneath the petals. As you read the words, your eyes widened, and your heart skipping a beat.

The note read-- "I have missed seeing you in the stands"

A viewer? Commentator? or even-- no, it cannot be.

A knight?

Who else could possibly see you in the stands? Without any solid evidence, you could not pin-point who in the world might've written you this, or even sent these flowers all along.

With the thought of figuring out who've sent you your presents, going to the fights was the key to your mystery.

By the end of the week, you found yourself in the stands, eyes keen and mind clear of solving the missing piece of this puzzle. The weather in Khaenri’ah was warm on this day, nothing but a slight breeze to cool off the bystanders, waiting— anticipating— for the knights to ride out on their houses.

As the day went on and the fight coming to a close, you sat in your seat disappointed that you could not find who have sent you the flowers. Perhaps all you needed to do was ask the knights, however the thought sent shivers down your spine.

There was no way you could face the knights without fan-girling.

The crowd grew thin, only you and some who were chatting amongst their friends. You stared off into the sky, tired of this mystery. This person had to make themselves known or you’ll lose your mind.

Standing up from your seat and walking out the arena, your footsteps were loud— and sounded clucky?

Those possibly could not be your steps. Peering your head over your shoulder, you saw a figure, all in black whose height reached the heavens.

It was a knight, but not any knight— it was him.

Your eyes widened as his figure grew larger in your sight, his pace quickening. “Miss— please wait.” his tone was deep, causing multiple reactions to occur within your body.

A confusing feeling of confusion and delusion brewed. Why on earth would The Captain follow you, and is he the mystery sender?

My admirer…?

In no possible simulation or alternate universe.

You paused in your step and turned your body towards him, not being able to face him. “Yes?” your tone was quiet, barely capable of finding your voice.

The slowly he approached, towering over you. “I hope you enjoyed the show.”

Looking up at him, a slight smile growing. “Oh, yes. It was very entertaining. I am quite fond of the sport.”

He chuckled, eyes lowering to the floor before back into yours. “Yes, I am aware.” Oh, so he's aware that you're into the sport?

You continued to ponder over the thought of the if. What if he is him.

Capitano took note of your pause and decided to speak up. "I hope you liked the flowers. It had become slightly difficult finding new flowers to gift you."

And just like that, you felt your heart skip another beat, the air that was once help hostage in your lung being forced out of you, and you stood there, feeling like you were living in a dream.

With your lips parting slightly, tongue finding the courage to move and respond to him, you felt yourself speechless.

Never once have you thought a man would have you search for the right words, but how can you? The man before you had been in the silent chambers of your mind, always lingering, haunting your every thought.

The silence stretched between you until you felt your words stumbling out. "The flowers, they were your gift?" Eyes looking everywhere but his helmet. How blessed you felt for the barrier between you.

"Were they not to your liking?"

"No-- I mean yes, but why?" Your voice wavered, not wanting to misinterpret this, to spin a false narrative. The last thing you wanted was to be painted as a fool.

The knight answered without hesitation, his voice a low rumble. "You have captured my attention." He lowered his head, as if he amused himself. You could almost hear the unspoken laughter in his voice.

Beneath that metal helmet, you imagined his lips curling upwards, etching his face with a smile.

"Watching you in the stands," He began, tone dropping, "that gleaming look in your eyes, on the edge of your seat as you witness every clash of my sword, is what drives me for success." When he lifted his face, all that were visible were his eyes, one glowing a cerulean gleam.

Your gaze traced the broad lines of his armored form, lingering on the way his weight shifted subtly towards you. You studied him, watching every movement, until you noticed the faint twitch in his gauntleted hand, fingers flexing as if they ached to close the distance between you.

The realization sent a flush in your face, he burned to touch you, to feel you beneath the tips of his finger.

"If I may," he murmured, tone slipping into something warmer as his fingers reached to the hem of his helmet. With deliberately long upwards tilt, revealed the curve of his lips, exactly how you imagined. "would you do me the honor of granting a knight his good luck kiss?"

A laugh escaped you before you could stifle it. "Your next match isn't until tomorrow."

"Practice kiss." He leaned closer to your face, his voice getting softer. His scent infiltrated your senses, causing a short high, getting you addicted to his presence.

His lips barely ghosting yours, pausing before he could place them upon yours. "My dreams have become reality from this moment alone." He confessed, words grazing your mouth like a prayer. Covered hands slowly brought to the lining of your jaw. "I would strip every garden in this kingdom bare if it meant I have even a drop of your affection."

"Then make your dreams a reality." This newfound confidence buzzed within you, words that were bolder than you. You tilted your head upwards, an invitation for him.

"Gladly."

No hesitation. No knightly decorum. Just a starving man ready to devour his meal.

His kiss was soft, not a crushing demand of a warrior, but one that was devastatingly tender.

The fairytale that you've created in your head was slowly unraveling in reality. The journey of figuring out the culprit, stalking them down, and rendered the search futile was what you had expected, but being kissed by The Captain, Capitano, the man who's strength shadowed the gods, was not.

And yet, you found yourself relishing his taste. You barely had time to melt into the kiss before the warmth of his mouth slowly drew away, leaving a cool absence.

The steel of his helmet was slid back into place, shielding his smile from you. He took a step back, standing large before you. The dying sunlight glinted off his armor like a promise.

"Be in the stands tomorrow. I intend on finishing our unfinished business." His voice carried the weight of a vow.

And like that, we was gone, leaving you breathless while your skin still humming where he'd touched you. The words coiled low in your stomach, bringing a child-like smile to your face. Tomorrow, you'll watch your knight crave another victory for you.

do not edit, modify, or republish.

[2crtz]

hey baee do u still write eren smut 😓

i will when i get the motivation but it hasn't came yet 😅

[2crtz]

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[connorsui]

Capitano would occasionally find himself caught in moments when the weight of his duties seemed to pull him too far from you. Even though his responsibilities demanded the best of him, he could never forget the quiet joy he found in small acts of care—his affection wrapped in parcels, far away yet never distant.

When he was away on missions, he made sure that even in his absence, you always felt his presence. Wrapped gift boxes would arrive at your door, carefully packed with gifts chosen to nurture your spirit and keep you connected to him during the long, quiet hours.

Inside, there would always be an array of paints—vivid, rich hues, each one selected to reflect the shades he imagined you’d bring to life. Brushes with fine, supple bristles and palettes made of polished wood were nestled alongside spools of lace in intricate patterns, delicate and elegant, meant to inspire your craft. Every item was a token of his devotion, a gesture that spoke of his desire for you to find beauty and solace even when he was far away.

The paints and lace became tangible extensions of his love, ways of saying, I’m with you. They were silent promises, bridging the gap between him and you, even when he couldn’t be by your side. Each time you mixed a color or traced your fingers over the soft, intricate weaves of lace, it was as though you felt his presence, grounding you in his unwavering affection.

Upon his return, the sight of your finished creations—paintings filled with emotion or lacework that adorned your shared home—always filled him with a quiet, unspoken pride. Capitano, so stoic and commanding to the rest of the world, would find himself softened by these glimpses into your heart.

Sometimes, you would tuck small pieces of lace into the lining of his coat or paint tiny, intricate designs on a corner of his gauntlet—hidden details that only he knew were there. These small tokens, created with your own hands, were treasures he carried with him wherever he went. During quiet moments in the midst of battle, or when the solitude of his duties weighed heavily, he would trace the painted edge of his armor or run his gloved fingers over the lace tucked away in his coat.

“It’s like you’ve become a sentimental fool, Capitano,” one of his comrades might jest, smirking as they noticed his softened gaze lingering on the lace or paintwork.

Capitano would never respond to such remarks. He didn’t need to. The truth was, he wore those small details like armor—reminders of the love that awaited him beyond the battlefield. For him, they were anchors, tethering him to a life that was more than duty and chaos.

No matter how far his missions took him, no matter the storms he faced, he always carried a piece of you with him, stitched into the fabric of his life, painted onto the edges of his world. And when the weight of the world grew too heavy, those small, cherished pieces gave him the strength to carry on—until he could return to you again.

[letsgotothefantasyworlds-blog]

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[2crtz]

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[2crtz]

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[2crtz]

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[2crtz]

happy new years !! i hope everyone is being safe tonight and have a good 2025 <333

[zephilyr]

I’M SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS

[2crtz]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ A SLIPPED APOLOGY .

CHARACTERS: wriothesley x f!readers

WARNINGS: fluff. fighting. apologies and everything sweet. sigewinne being cute. friends to lovers. childhood friends.   SYNOPSIS: an invitation to a ball hosted by lady furina came to your doorstep, taking it as an opportunity to drag wriothesley along with you find him a wife, but he did not enjoy that idea whatsoever.

WORD COUNT: 1.938 A/N: can you guys tell i'm obsessed with a particular troupe? you'll understand at the end of the post ;)

Having a friend who constantly refuses join in activities with you was beyond annoying. He'd been like this since youth, and his unwavering habits were adding up onto your everlasting list of problems with Wriothesley.

When an invitation was sent to your family home, without another though, you began your trek to the Fortress of Meropide. Each step laced with determination, your mind set on convincing your ever-stubborn friend to join you in whatever the letter contained.

Pushing open the door, there he sat. Your graying friend leisurely sipping on his tea, surprised by your sudden appearance.

"Ah, and what pleasure do I own?" setting his porcelain cup, a familiar, teasing smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. As taunting as it is, you found it quite endearing he continued to play childish games with you.

Tossing the wax-sealed envelope onto his desk, his eyes flicker towards it. The seal was unmistakable, a hue of blue so infamous it could only belong to one unique character.

"You got a letter from the Archon. So what?" he dismissed the importance of the letter as he lazily laid back into his seat. The way he went about it so casually left you wondering that the Archon was a frequent sender of his.

"Open it, Wrio." you crossed your arms over you chest.

The seal was already broken, its contents not a surprise to you. As you prepared yourself for an inevitable rejection, your gaze was sharp, studying his every movement.

Wriothesley exhaled a weary sigh before retrieving the letter. As he skimmed through the words, inspecting each part with precision, he could only laugh before discarding it.

"If you honestly believe I would go to a ball, of all places, you are sorely mistaken." his tone laced with dry amusement.

"Wriothesley," you began, your voice softening, holding a weight it lacked when you first arrived. "It is time for you to enter a new chapter in your life."

Your friend could not help himself but to roll his eyes. "And you think the Fortress of Meropide will be beneficial for both me and my "wife". What a joke."

A losing fight you have declared. Yet, that did not stop you from trying. Watching Wriothesley go on his days in solidarity, surrounding himself with the steel walls of the prison was a lonely sight.

"It's because I care for you." you replied, holding up your ground, unwilling to raise the white flag.

"Then stop caring." he retorted sharply. "All you ever do it point out my flaws that I do not care for fixing."

You scoffed, not understanding why he won't listen to you. "You cannot just spend the rest of your life in solitude, refusing to open up for someone."

Wriothesley rose from his seat, palms slamming hard onto his desk with such force his paperwork and books shifted, his tea nearly spilling over. "For gods sake, stop pestering me with these fairytales you refuse to let go of!"

His shouting caused you to flinch, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Just because you were raised in a wealthy family and had everything handed to you on a silver platter does not mean you can bother me." he spat, words sharp with bitterness.

Watching him grow angry at you was entirely unfamiliar to you. Your tongue begged to retort, however you were incapable of producing sound. You were left speechless, caught in his wind of fury.

Without missing a beat, you quickly left his office and back onto the surface.

Why was it that every time you tried to be helpful, push him towards being a better person, he always brushed it off? How can he just accept the fact that he will end up alone, locked away in the Fortress of Meropide?

The questions remained in your mind, forever being unanswered.

────

Wriothesley hadn't intended to shout at you, but your never-ending questions had worn him thin. He did not understand why you wouldn't stop bothering him about finding love, why it mattered so much to you?

He never asked you to carry that burden of constantly worrying about him.

"Fuck," he sighed, reclining back into his seat, hands rubbing his face. He understands that you only care about him, but damn, it really annoyed him. The frequent concern, the never-ending push to change.

"I should probably apologize," he spoke to himself, voice muffling in his hands.

────

The night of the ball arrived, but you still felt the lingering aftershocks of your fight with Wriothesley. Days have passed since you've last seen him, and the ache in your heart only deepened.

On the days you didn't meet with him, he exchanged letters with you, brief summaries of his day, keeping you informed with changes within the prison. Yet, none have been sent, a silent reminder that you went too far in your pushing.

The words slipped from your tongue quietly, an admission that weighed you down. "I need to apologize to Wriothesley."

You knew you had to make things right between you, but the thought of facing him after scaring you off, shattering the walls he kept restrained for a long time, filled you with anxiety.

What if he didn't accept your apology?

A shaky breath escaped your lips as you looked down onto the delicate jewelry in your hand, ready to be put on. A symbol of what Wriothesley had said, his voice echoing in your mind, that everything had been handed to you on a silver platter.

Ashamed, you placed the piece of jewelry into it's container, closing it with a quiet snap. With one final glance on your dress and jewelry, you had to fix this, no matter how difficult it will be.

Without hesitation, you felt your feet move.

────

Wriothesley adjusted the cuffs of his sleeve, positioning them nicely around his wrist. He didn't know why he is going to the ball-- no, he knows why. It is to apologize to you after days of deciding.

Perhaps seeing him there will prove to you that he does listen to you, that he understand why you push him towards greatness. It was his way of showing you that, despite his stubborn head, he was trying to bridge the gap between you and him.

Maybe, for a slight moment, you would catch a glimpse of the Wriothesley you had always believed was hidden beneath the surface. One who was listening, one who cared.

In truth, Wriothesley was doing this because he missed you more than he'd ever admit. It was torture not speaking to you, not writing to you, not being near your presence. He needed you to survive, act as his anchor-- as dramatic as that sounds.

If he didn't care, he wouldn't go through such lengths for a ordinary person, but for you, he'd walk on Natlan's lava barefoot just to protect the soles of your feet.

────

You ran up the steps, heart pounding in your chest, each step echoing your urgency. You pushed the heavy doors leading in Wriothesley's office, calling his name.

But as the door swung open, the room before you deprived of his presences. The air hung thick with his absence.

"Are you looking for Wriothesley?" a soft, child-like voice came from behind you, standing in the doorway. Sigewinne gaze fixed on you, a hint of concern in her eyes. She could see the look etched in your face, one that she noted down as disappointment.

Nodding you head slowly. "Yes." it was clear you were upset about missing your friend.

"He just left to the surface, something about attending an event." Sigewinne's hand rubbed her face as she tried to recall where exactly Wriothesley's had gone.

Your eyes widened as she ended her sentence. "The ball?!" you exclaimed.

Sigewinne, with a sudden snap of her fingers, nodded. "Yes! It's strange. He does not usually attend in those gatherings," she spoke softly, pondering the unusual turn of events.

Without a second thought, you hurriedly made your way home, slipping on your dress and jewelry. The realization struck you in awe. He truly was at the ball, and it was for you! Never, in your decade and a half of your friendship, had you ever imagined seeing Wriothesley grace such an event.

────

Wriothesley was well aware why he'd always avoided events. It was nothing but a dating pool for unmarried men and women. The sight was sickly, almost nauseating-- though, perhaps, that sour feeling was from the alcohol.

His eyes scoured through the sea of people, scanning each face in the crowds, his gaze sharp and attentive. Yet, despite his search, his efforts were met with failure. He could not find you.

Perhaps you were engaged in conversations with men, and the thought caused his blood to boil. The mere image of other suitors admiring you, swoon you with their words, might ignite the room from the flames of his fury.

As he seized another glass of alcohol from the tray of a passing servant, the murmurs around him grew louder, the guests' attention drawn to the top of the grand staircase.

There, fitted in the most beautiful gown, was you. Standing over the people as if you were their goddess, answering the silent prayers around you. Wriothesley set his glass down, eyes locked on your being descending the staircase, each step capturing his heart.

Wriothesley watched as your eyes scanned the crowd, searching through the sea of guests as if you were looking for something-- or perhaps, someone.

The moment your gaze met his, you made your way towards him in purposeful strides, your eyes locked onto his sea of blue, your voice tinged with both frustration and relief. "I ran around the world searching for you."

A humorous smile threatening to appear on Wriothesley's lips when you spoke. "Really?" his voice laced with amusement.

"My world consists of the Fortress of Meropide, so yes, really." you replied.

Once noticing the determined look in your eyes, Wriothesley gaze softened, a rare vulnerability flickering in his expression. "I came to apologize," he confessed, voice laced with sincerity. "To show you that your words hold meaning, and that they haven't fallen on deaf ears."

"I also apologize for constantly forcing you in a position you clearly have no interest in," it was difficult maintaining eye contact with him, shame swelling within you. "I miss you, Wriothesley." you whispered, words hanging between you both.

Not caring for the eyes of others, he gently cupped your face in his hands, tenderly and reassuringly. "I've missed you too," he murmured, his voice low and filled with sincerity.

"Wriothesley--"

"Marry me."

His words hit you like a thunderclap, leaving you stunned momentarily. Your eyes widened, unable to grasp on his unexpected proposal.

"What?" you could not mask your surprise.

"I cannot imagine myself marrying anyone else," he confessed, his tone steady. "All the times you asked me about marriage, only you comes to mind. The thought of you entertaining other men stirs something in me, a jealousy that consumes me whole."

Not understanding the grasps of his words, your knees buckled beneath you, threatening to give out as the rush of emotions overwhelmed your senses.

"I should have never raised my voice at you, and I intent on making it up to you, now and for as long as I live." his hands never leaving your face. "So please, do me the highest honor and marry me."

Without a second thought, you nodded eagerly, the words tumbling from your lips with no effort.

"Yes--" you breathed, heart pounding. "Yes, of course, Wrio."

do not edit, modify, or republish.

[2crtz]

my first post on here got 50 notes?? thank you guys so much 🥹🥹

[2crtz]

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ THE FALL INTO HIS HEART .

WARNINGS: light nsfw thoughts, brushing of the hand (wink), arranged marriage, haters to slightly friendly strangers. this is mainly fluff. CHARACTERS: capitano x f!readers SYNOPSIS: the tsaritsa ordered capitano to take your hand in marriage despite his better judgement. one day in the garden ignited a new version of you, and capitano found himself at the window, watching you look serene under the sunlight.  WORD COUNT: 1.439 A/N: this is my first post on this account and hope i don't disappoint. i love capitano and i want to write more of him (…and other genshin men).

Capitano never agreed to an arranged marriage, however, whatever the Tsaritsa orders him, he obliges without protest. 

His first glance into your eyes ignited flames within his veins. If a look could kill, you would have fallen dead at his feet. You never agreed to this predicament, but you could not refuse your parents' wishes no matter how you deny.

The wedding was not one to write down. For the guests, yes, it was a magical day, but when it was time to finally retire in your new home, there was a cold, distant silence between you and your new husband. 

Since meeting Capitano, not a word had been said between the two of you. A foreboding feeling captured your senses, worried about if you had to preform that night, but Capitano did not make the impression he was interested in consummating the marriage.

He ended the night by not sharing another gaze and left to his separate chambers.  

You could finally breathe freely for the first time that day.

────

A month has passed of being married and there has been no improvement in your relationship. Most days are silent, while others, only a few words were spoken.

When Capitano does speak, a trace of malice taints his tone, you found yourself scared. 

Hearing his footsteps approach you made your blood run cold, the armor clanking causing you to flinch, and his low, stoic tone has you frozen in place. He has never given you a reason to hate him, but he shows himself as a person who shouldn't be trifled with.

The tales you've heard about the Harbinger could stir fear in anyone who have dared their ears to know the horrors he's caused. 

This marriage was a forced one, and one you wished was a nightmare you longed to free yourself from. 

Maybe, one day, you will wake up.

────

Capitano's office sat in the far end of the manor, away from your chambers. In there placed a grand window overlooking the green, lush gardens where he could look out at when the orders of the Tsaritsa are irritating.

Today was one of those days.

The towering man stood before the window, his gaze sweeping over the vibrant blooms and the sunlit waters shimmering like liquid gold. Yet today, the scene held a view, poised within the landscape of his vision, an unfamiliar change in the shades of green, one that belonged to you.

Stood there, in the purest shades of white, a gown that fitted loosely on your frame, looking breathtakingly serene.

Unaware of his eyes, standing there with not a care in the world, not knowing anyone is watching, you were unapologetically being you.

Capitano's head screamed to look away, to leave you be, but his eyes betrayed him. They were glued onto the image. It's like a reenactment of a live painting in front of him.

You were like a jewel, unearthed from beneath the surface that sparkled from the hitting sun for the first time. A sight he thought he could never experience in his lifetime. 

Watching you was a sight that Capitano continued to watch even after telling himself that he should stop, but he needed it. It was like a shot of heroin. He craved for you, watching you, seeing you in a light he never thought he would.

It's been weeks and he had yet to stop, and didn't plan to. Even if he didn't mutter a word to you for weeks, the silence was overshadowed by this new habit. A new secret was curated within weeks.

A secret of watching his wife.

He had never set foot onto the garden-- until now.

As he watched your movements, he noticed an odd limp in your steps. Making a mental note of it, he heard a thump followed by a wail. 

His spine straightened.

You were nowhere in sight.

Capitano's eyes moved rapidly across the garden to find you, his pulse quickening by the second, but he couldn't. He stepped out of his office and walked purposefully towards the garden.

His movements were sharp, yet his thoughts raced despite his better judgement. Capitano swiftly moved through the hedges, his sword cutting through the thick bushes. The ground beneath his feet was soft, littered with stones that could cause a limp from walking of them barefoot. It could be easy to trip over one, and once realizing that, Capitano's search became more frantic.

He first heard a soft whine followed by feet coming into view. 

"Gods--" He muttered as he came by your side, inspecting your condition.

"I think--" You swallowed between words from the pain shooting from your foot. "my ankle."

Capitano's eyes lowered to your swollen ankle, his brows furrowing with concern. Slowly, he bent down onto his knees beside you, his hand gently grabbed your foot.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice unexpectedly light. There was no hatred or spite, only a voice that you could relax in. It was unfamiliar, but comforting.

The touch was soft, and his demeanor grew tender. It was the first time you saw this side of him he tried to conceal. Even through your teary eyes and blurred vision, you saw the part of him he tried to keep hidden.

Your ankle was swollen and most likely sprained. Even from his light touch, you winced from the pain.

"I-I'm fine, I swear." you murmured, trying to not burden him more than you've already have, but he quickly dismissed it.

Capitano looped his arm under your knees and gathered you in his arms with ease.

"My wife is injured, and as your husband, it is my duty to be by your side. In sickness and in health."

The way he said it was like he was just repeating the vows he made, but to you, it was reassurance. This was his way of telling you that no matter the hardships or trials in your marriage, he remains by your side.

"Thank you." you whispered.

He only nodded and carried you off to your chambers.

────

Your husband carefully wrapped your ankle and elevated it to ease the swelling.

"You are not allowed to move from this bed unless told to. Should you need assistance, ring this bell and I will come." He held up the brass bell before placing it on your bedside table, softly clinking as it settled into place.

As he turned to exit your room, you quickly grabbed the bell and rang it.

Almost instantly, Capitano turned around.

"My dress is stained with dirt." your tone was low and quiet, laced with embarrassment that you were not capable of walking over to your dresser to collect fresh new clothes.

Understanding your unspoken request, Capitano walked towards your drawers and opened each one to find your nightgowns.

"Second to last drawer." Seeing him rummage through the articles of clothing was slightly humorous to you, it tugged the corner of your lips.

Following your instructions, he finally found a gown he liked and walked to you. "Will this do?" he asked, tone still low and even.

You nodded, reaching out to grab it, your fingers brushing his.

"Do you require any assistance with clothing yourself?" Even though it was an innocent question, your face began to heat up. Unbeknownst to Capitano, you didn't wear any undergarments beneath a nightgown.

If he pulled your dress up slightly, you would become vulnerable. From that thought alone, of your husband seeing you nude, caused your nipples to harden.

Capitano's gaze lowered slightly to see harden peaks appear through the thin fabric. Thankfully, his helmet hid his eyes.

"No," You quickly shielded your chest. "I can manage."

Like clockwork, Capitano nodded and exited your chambers without sparing another word.

As Capitano entered his office, he could finally breathe properly. After the scene he had witnessed, it became difficult for him to get air in his lungs.

Your breasts were on the forefront of his mind. The stiffened nubs were begging for his touch, taunting him that it'll be something he could only do in his wildest dreams.

The frustration ate him alive. If he could, he would go back into your room and show you what more he can do for you.

Hot and moist air filling the room, slapping noises, your moaning and pleads hitting his ears, he would do anything to sink himself deep inside your folds.

With those thoughts flooding his mind, he felt ashamed that he was taking advantage of you in his head. It was an absurd fantasy that he knows will never happen.

Only in his dreams.

do not modify, edit, or republish.