Clueless

F34/tired af.

[goofballproximitysurveyor-deact]

when people put "trigger warning" on their content without specifying what the trigger warning is for

[ohtehnoeszombies]

this post contains notes

[zeesqueere]

does it?

does it though?

[pileofknives]

Fuck is going on here

[liina-puff]

post expired

[unyieldingsilence]

‎ ‎

[official-penis-posts]

HERE IT IS YOU NO-NOTES FUCKERS

[pocketsizedpanther]

He can't keep getting away with this 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

[jackhawksmoor]

If people don't stop suggesting this stuff he's going to accidentally become a wizard

[fuckyeahchinesefashion]

How to fix a ripped plushie (clear and easy to follow) by 浪浪山陈三丫头手缝师傅

[salmonmakiii]

To Love The Burning Sun

Wc: 21.8k+ (woops) Summary: You were promised to him as a child. You were raised within temple walls, trained to serve, to revere, and to love the god you would marry. But love between a mortal and a god was never meant to be easy. Especially when he never showed up. Cw: God!Phainon x Fem!Mortal!Reader, Alternate universe, Semi-smut, OOC Phainon, mentions of blood, slight 3.4 spoilers, MDNI, hurt/comfort (I ain't Shaoji). Notes: This is my first time writing (somewhat) smut + something this long, pls be nice (◞‸◟), pssst here's the side stories!

CHAPTER I

You sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that day, your gaze fixed on the horizon beyond the temple’s arched windows. The sunset bled across the skies of Okhema in a soft orange and gold. You could see the view of the city from afar as people began lighting up their burning lamps. The view should have brought comfort and peace to your restless soul. 

But it only made you angrier as the color of the sky reminded you of him.

You closed your eyes and inhaled slowly as you tried to still the tightness in your chest. You lifted your elbows from the cool marble sill and turned away from the window, the warmth of the sun’s dimming rays brushing your back as you made your way across the quiet bedroom. You collapsed onto the cushioned couch near the hearth, arms folded. Soon, the temple maids would come, their polite voices chiming in another reminder for dinner. 

Another formal, joyless meal at the long table meant to seat two — yet always ended with you alone at one end, the other left hauntingly empty. What was the point if your supposed husband never came home?

You tried to remember the string of events that had led you here. 

It began twenty years ago, during the last days of the Black Tide.

Your father, General of the Okheman Knights, stood on a battlefield soaked in blood and shadow, surrounded by the groans of the dying and the monstrous. His comrades, once proud warriors, now lay lifeless or worse — corrupted into twisted, grotesque abominations, their bodies overtaken by the force of the Black Tide. 

Smoke and ash choked the sky, painting it red. His vision blurred as the stench of rot and scorched steel filled his lungs. He sank to his knees, despair clawing at every inch of his body. It was then he whispered, eyes clenched shut.

“Oh… God Khaslana, protector of Okhema… Save this city. I will give you the greatest gift I can offer — My firstborn, to be yours, body and soul.”

Khaslana, the Worldbearing God, was known among mortals as the Deliverer, an eternal flame against the crawling darkness. He was radiant like the blazing heart of the sun and has long shielded the human kind with his light. 

From the heavens, fire rained down. Meteors streaked through the sky like divine spears, crashing into the earth with fury. The monsters of the Black Tide screeched, then fell silent beneath the weight of the stones. 

The battle was won, and the city was saved. The army cheered, thrusting their swords and shields upward as your father roared out a victory saying that Khaslana was with everyone.

When your father returned, he was hailed as a hero. He told the people of Okhema of the divine intervention — how the god himself had descended to save them. What he did not speak of, however, was the vow whispered on the battlefield, the promise made from a man to the divine. 

It had been a desperate, spur-of-the-moment plea. Yet breaking a vow to a god? It was unthinkable. Especially when the god had answered so grandly, only his family and the priests of Okhema’s temple knew the truth. When he confided in the high priest, he was met not with comfort but with pressure. 

“A vow to a god must be honored. To break it would only invite ruin,” the priest said.

That night, your father returned home. You were only a babe, swaddled in white linen, cradled in your mother’s arms. He watched the two of you quietly. His wife smiled, not yet knowing what burden had been placed upon their daughter’s shoulders. 

You were raised in the temple, trained as a priestess to serve the god who had spared your city. Your father hoped that by living among the sacred — tending to the shrines, memorizing the old hymns, and praying beneath Khaslana’s ever-burning flame — you would grow to love the god who would one day be your husband.

You tried. You really did.

Now, you stand as a woman of the age when they became brides. Your time had come. 

But your wedding was not like those you had seen in Okhema’s gardens or among the white-stone courtyards where laughter and music would echo. No streamers were fluttering in the wind, no tables heavy with food or jugs of honeyed ambrosia. No children dancing. Nothing.

Yours was a private affair. It was quiet, solemn, and shrouded in ceremonial gravity. 

Only your family and the temple clergy were in attendance. You were dressed in a flowing white chiton, its fabric soft as breath, trailing behind you. A circlet of gold leaves rested atop your head. Golden cuffs adorned your wrists, broad and gleaming like sunlight pressed into metal. Your ears bore the weight of gold, your neck cradled by an intricate collar, etched with celestial symbols. 

You climbed the stairs alone to the temple’s highest balcony — a sacred circular platform open to the skies above. The wind was gentle, brushing against your skin. You swore you felt a hand brushing your cheeks, the touch hidden in the gust of wind. 

You stepped into the center of the platform as the archbishop began to pray.

You knelt, head bowed, hands clasped in practiced devotion. You said your vows, promises of loyalty, of faith, of love, offered not only as a worshipper, but as a bride. You spoke the vow you’d rehearsed a thousand times. 

Then, light emerged from below you.

A brilliant, blinding glow burst from the platform, golden and radiant. It was more intense than anyone had ever seen. The wind surged around you, lifting your robes and tussling your hair. The archbishop froze, priests shielded their eyes. Even the people in the marmoreal market turned their eyes, wondering what miracle had occurred. 

You closed your eyes against the brightness, heart thudding at your chest. But then, it was over.

The archbishop announced that your vow had been accepted. You were now the wife of Khaslana.

There were no cheers, only whispers, nods, and quiet awe.

You stood, shoulders stiff, eyes lifted into the sky. You breathed in deeply, calming yourself.

That night, you packed your things in silence. The carriage was already waiting for you at the gates of the temple. You said your goodbyes under the night sky. Your little brother, Atlas, clung to the hem of your dress, though you had never been close. His small hands trembled as you soothed his head with gentle pats. 

Your mother embraced you next, brushing your hair behind your ear and murmuring her pride through teary eyes. Your father hugged you last, his was longer than the others. He didn’t speak first. Just held you.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered.

You forced a smile, “It’s all right. I’m lucky, aren’t I? Anyone would want this.”

You weren’t sure if you believed it.

As the carriage wheels creaked into motion, you stared out the window, watching your family grow smaller in the distance.

When you arrived at the temple atop the hill, the sanctuary where they said Lord Khaslana often rested, you couldn’t help but pause at the sight of it. It was… vast.

The marble pillars stood tall like pale tree trunks, disappearing into vaulted ceilings. The halls echoed softly with every step you took. Looking around, you realized there were a few staff members in this temple compared to the temple you stayed in, Okhema City. You later found out that only a few priests and priestesses served here — trusted ones who had long devoted their lives to silence, prayer, and sacred duties.

The elder priestess who guided you eventually stopped before a towering set of doors inlaid with gold and sunstone. Looking back, this place was separated from the temple, yet still connected by the long corridor. Your head turned back to the priestess when you heard a slow creak of the doors.

“This is Lord Khaslana’s chamber,” she said softly, “It is yours now as well.” 

You stepped inside and gawked at the sight of the room. The bed alone was large enough to hold your entire family, heck, maybe twice over. The ceilings soared high, so distant that they would definitely fade into shadow if not for the chandeliers. The furniture was grand and oversized, built for someone not quite mortal. It really did feel as if a giant was living here. 

You bathed in silence, the temple servants having prepared a warm bath perfumed with wildflowers and sweet oil. You dressed yourself in soft nightwear, brushed your hair, and sat carefully at the edge of the bed.

You even tried to make yourself look pretty.

You heard whispers about what a wedding night should be like. Servants at your old temple murmured things when they thought you weren’t listening. Stories passed between maids like secrets. Surely, this would be the same?

Right?

You flushed at the thought — embarrassed by where your imagination wandered, especially toward a god you had worshipped all your life. But he was your husband now, wasn’t he? It should be fine to think of him that way… shouldn’t it?

You didn’t even know what to call him. Should you call him with the honorifics still? Would “Khaslana” be too familiar? Would “my lord” be too distant? Could you ever say his name like a wife should?

You covered your face with your hands, trying to quiet your flustered thoughts. Still, you waited.

Would he descend in divine form, or would he look like the murals? Golden-dark wings stretching wide, with hair like woven sunlight, and eyes that could pierce souls. You told yourself it would be enough just to see him. To hear his voice. To feel that you weren’t alone.

Minutes passed.

Then hours,

The moon rose high above the temple, then it drifted past its peak.

Still, he did not come.

You stayed awake as long as you could, eyes fixed on the empty half of the bed. But eventually, exhaustion took you. You fell asleep with your body curled to one side, the silken sheets untouched beside you. 

When morning came, nothing had changed. The bed was still smooth, the air quiet, the god you had been bound to in sacred ceremony had made no appearance, left no message, cast no shadow on the marble floor.

Was it supposed to be like this?

You told yourself he must be busy with the divine duties that kept him from descending. Gods moved differently through time than mortals did.

But as you sat in silence, a pit formed in your chest. 

Were you not worthy of his presence?

Had you done something wrong?

A soft knock at the door startled you. A priest stood in the hallway, politely informing you that breakfast had been prepared. You forced a smile, thanked him, and got dressed. As you walked the corridor, you felt hollow. There were too many thoughts swirling in your chest.

Was this what marriage with the divine looked like? Was he disappointed in you? Displeased? Disinterested?

Still, you didn’t see him that day. Nor the next. Each night, you lie in the vast bed alone, heart aching a little more. The heart ached, pushing you to eventually gather the courage to speak to the Archbishop.

After morning prayers, you lingered near the sanctum until he approached. You explained your worries as delicately as you could — stumbling over words as you worry about how much was appropriate to say.

The Archbishop listened to you with patient eyes, “All things Lord Khaslana does,” he began gently, “Are done with purpose. Continue your devotions. If you wish to speak with him… speak through your prayers.”

That’s just their way of saying “I don’t know.”

You nodded and left the room. Nonetheless, you followed his advice. 

The next day, you waited until the temple’s roofed balcony was empty. You stepped onto the stone platform, the one that overlooked the city below. The sky stretched endlessly above you, behind the round glass roof, the clouds painted with soft morning light.

You knelt on the cold marble, hands folded. At first, you whispered the usual verses. Then, you opened your eyes slowly. You looked up.

Hesitantly, you spoke.

“Greetings… husband,” you said, wincing at the awkwardness of it. When there’s no response, you felt your cheeks burn. But you still continued. 

“I… I just wanted to say hi. Um…” You trailed off. You had no idea what you were doing.

“I hope you’re doing well. I’ll take my leave now!”

You stood abruptly, flustered beyond belief, and walked away with your heart pounding. But that soon became your routine.

Each day, you woke, ate a modest breakfast in the quiet dining hall, wandered the temple, sat in the garden with a book, prayed, ate lunch, wandered again, returned to your room, wrote idle thoughts on parchment you never sent, ate dinner, and finally prayed to your unseen husband.

Sometimes you’d say nothing, sometimes you’d ask him how his day was, even though you knew you weren’t getting a response. You smiled less. Spoke less. 

Days blurred into weeks, weeks blurred into months.

You were now in the present, sitting alone at the long dining table, spooning a lukewarm breakfast into your mouth. The temple was silent, as always. Only the soft clink of metal against porcelain accompanied you — a small, hollow sound swallowed by the high ceilings and marble walls. 

Once finished, you rose, gathered your plate, and made your way to the kitchen. A servant greeted you with a respectful nod, which you returned with a tired smile. You handed over the dish with a soft “thank you” before turning to leave.

Your footsteps echoed through the temple halls, vast and empty. Each corridor felt like a labyrinth of silence, lined with tapestries that did not stir and statues that seemed to watch but never speak. As you passed one of the open arches, you paused, drawn toward the view outside. 

The city of Okhema lay far below, nestled among rolling green hills and sandstone streets warmed by the morning sun. From here, the people looked like ants, moving about in the rhythm of daily life.

It had been a long time since you’d last visited.

You remembered how excited you were the first time you asked for permission. The Archbishop had granted it, so long as one of the priests escorted you. You nodded and followed his orders.

You had tried to enjoy it. Truly, you tried.

But it wasn’t the same.

The entire excursion felt performative. You weren’t free to walk where you pleased, only allowed to greet your friends briefly. The visit to your family had been short and formal. They had asked you how you were holding up and if you were happy, but you could only answer with a bitter smile as you lied about your happiness. Your family smiled back, glad that you were okay. Though your father had watched you with wordless guilt in his eyes.

You had returned to the temple more tired than when you left. You didn’t feel like going through all that again, so you scratched the thought off. You exhaled and rubbed your temples as you continued to walk back to your chambers in silence.

You passed by the sacred balcony, the platform where you had once knelt and whispered greetings to a god who never answered. You didn’t even look toward it.

You had no intention of “talking” to him today. What was the point?

You had spoken your thoughts into the wind and silence for moons now. Whatever patience the priests spoke of, yours was running out. Whatever marriage this was, you were beginning to wonder if you were the only one in it.

You pushed the doors to your room and let them shut softly behind you. The air inside was still and faintly scented. The high windows poured sunlight onto the floor, casting long golden stripes across the stone.

You didn’t bother changing out of your temple robes. You simply crossed the room and slumped onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath your weight. The other half of the bed? Still untouched, pristine, as it had been every night. 

You curled to your side, your cheek against the cool pillow. Outside the window, birds wheeled lazily through the sky. You watched them, envious of their freedom. 

A bitter smile tugged at your lips. You weren’t even sure if you remembered what that kind of freedom felt like.

Your mind begins to wander, a thought crept in — quiet, sharp, and unbearable.

Has he… abandoned me?

You closed your eyes and let the silence answer.

CHAPTER II

You wandered the gardens again, your steps trailing along familiar paths. The air was warm today, soft with the scent of blooming flowers and freshly tilled soil. Sunlight filtered through the trellises, casting latticed shadows on the stone walkway. You passed by the same clusters of dianthus and wild hyacinths, now fully in bloom, their petals trembling slightly in the breeze. 

The gardeners sure are diligent. Their work showed in every vibrant stem, every carefully clipped hedge. But even the beauty of the flowers couldn’t shake the dull ache in your chest.

You haven't prayed since yesterday. You knew you should have—not because you expected anything to change, but because that had been your one way to pretend someone was still listening. But the silence you would receive in return had grown too loud, too painful. You couldn’t bring yourself to do it again. Not now. 

So instead, you let your feet carry you aimlessly through the garden’s winding paths. Eventually, your steps slowed, and you lifted your eyes toward the sky, letting out a quiet sigh.

“It’s so lonely here,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, “I miss my family… my friends… the sound of the busy market…” 

The words slipped from you without a thought. The truth of them made your eyes sting. You hadn’t realized how tightly the loneliness had been coiling in your chest until you said it out loud. It was homesickness, plain and simple.

The temple, for all its golden beauty and perfection, was a cage. Not one built of iron bars, but of duty, silence, and unanswered prayers. You were its reluctant bird, fluttering from one empty hallway to the next.

As you returned inside, your footsteps echoing along the polished floors, you passed by a few servants carrying bundles of fresh linens. They paused to dip their heads respectfully, and you returned the gesture automatically, your mind still lost in the haze of longing.

As you passed them, you caught fragments of their conversation.

“The town is already setting up for the festival… the one for Hysilens…”

Your breath caught. Of course. Today was the first day of the fifth month — the Month of Joy. The festival of Hysilens, goddess of the sea. 

Your footsteps slowed to a halt.

You remembered how, back in the city, this day would transform the streets into rivers of color and sound. You remembered the rows of market stalls selling sugared fruits and roasted meats, the performers dressed in sea-colored robes dancing in the square, the laughter of children chasing painted ribbons through the air. 

You remembered attending those festivals with your friends, pockets full of wages saved up over weeks, spending every coin on treats and trinkets and memories that lingered long after. Those had been the brightest days.

But now… You were up here, alone. Watching the world move on without you.

For a moment, you thought about asking permission from the Archbishop to attend the festival. But the thought quickly left your mind. You already knew how it would go. Even if he said yes, he would assign you an even stricter chaperone. You would be led from one designated stop to another, rushed. It would feel less like a visit and more like a ritual of appearances. 

It wasn’t worth it. 

Then a thought struck you. It sparked suddenly in your chest like a match struck in the dark.

What if you didn’t ask? What if you just… Snuck out?

Your heart skipped.

Could you even do that? 

It felt like madness, but the idea had already lodged itself into your mind, refusing to leave. There were guards posted at the gates. Clergy walking the halls at all hours. And yet… the idea of slipping past them, of blending into the crowd of festivalgoers, of tasting freedom even for a day — it was too tempting to ignore. 

You couldn’t make it to today’s celebration, that much was certain. But maybe, just maybe, if you prepared carefully… next week could be different.

Over the next few days, you turned your casual walks into reconnaissance. You watched the guards from a distance, searched the halls for blind spots, watched the rhythm of the servants, and mapped the quietest corridors. You draw a poorly made map of the temple, scribbling notes on the paths you could take. 

With your newfound determination, you’re sure you’ll be able to go to the festival this week.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

This temple was built like a damn fortress!

Every entrance was watched. Every path accounted for. You returned to your room one afternoon and slumped into your writing chair, burying your face in your hands. The frustration burned in your chest. 

Curse those who assigned the layout of this prison temple. 

You ran a hand through your hair, fingers tangling in frustration. With a sharp exhale, you stepped out into the quiet halls of the temple. It was nearing the hour of evening prayer anyway, so you stormed through the quiet halls of the temple, the sound of your hurried footsteps echoing faintly against the stone. 

When you reached the prayer chamber, you kneeled at your usual place. You clasped your hands together. When you opened your mouth, the words you uttered were not soft-spoken, but they were razor-edged. You followed the usual form of prayer, though this time, there was fire in every syllable, a simmering fury that made the priests nearby stiffen and steal worried glances.

They had never heard you pray like this before. Were you praying to Khaslana, or were you threatening him? They didn’t know. The priests dared not interrupt and kept their heads bowed. 

After your evening prayers, you passed by the front gate. You didn’t intend to do anything, just watching. 

But then you saw it.

Two of the guards had stepped away from their posts, moving with practiced ease as they swapped shifts. You lingered nearby, pretending to observe a flowering vine on the stone wall. Five minutes later, they returned. 

It wasn’t much — just a narrow window, a sliver of chance. But it was something. 

Your heart raced as you walked back to your chamber.

If you timed it perfectly, if the halls were quiet and no one was watching, you might be able to slip through during a shift change. It wouldn’t be easy. But it wasn’t impossible. Still, you had doubts lingering. You knew how unpredictable the temple was. There might still be wandering priests in the halls. You would need more careful timing.

You would need luck. Even divine intervention.

The thought made you pause. Would your husband notice? Would he stop you? Would he… care?

You considered praying to him, you know, just enough to tip fortune in your favor. But how could you make such a prayer without revealing your intent?

You tried keeping things vague: requesting protection, for clarity, for guidance on uncertain roads. But even so, guilt festered at the back of your throat. You were a mortal trying to outwit a god. 

You sighed deeply as you sat back at your desk, fingers absently brushing over your ink-stained parchment. Your eyes drifted to the row of old temple scrolls. One of them, worn at the edges and bound in cracked leather, mentioned Cifera — goddess of trickery and hidden paths. For a moment, you considered turning your hopes toward her instead. Surely she would understand. She was the patron of secrets and silent rebellions.

But even that felt dangerous. Gods did not always answer as mortals expected — and Cifera, for all her wit and charm, was as unpredictable as the ocean. One prayer could lead you to freedom.

Or straight into a trap.

You sighed, walking to your bed, planting your face into the pillow, carefully planning the escape.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

When the night finally came, you looked outside your window and gathered your courage. You had prepared everything in secret, every detail planned with precision over the past few days. Your belongings were already packed: a modest satchel with your saved coin, you wore a simple linen dress, and a travel cloak with a deep hood to hide your face. 

Just before sunset, you told the priestesses not to disturb you for dinner, claiming that you were unusually tired and would be resting early. They seemed concerned but didn’t question you further.

You waited until the temple fell quiet. According to what you’ve overheard, the Archbishop had summoned all the priests and priestesses to a meeting. Something about receiving a message from Lord Khaslana himself. That timing couldn’t be more convenient.

It was almost suspicious, even.

You almost laughed. Whether it was divine providence or coincidence, you didn’t care. You were determined to leave.

With your cloak slung around your shoulders and your bag secure at your hip, you crept through the dimly lit corridors. You kept to the shadows, heart hammering in your chest as the last golden rays of sunlight bled over the hills. You arrived at the edge of the temple grounds, ducking behind a stone pillar near the front gates. Just as you had predicted, the guards began their shift change.

Now.

You sprinted across the open courtyard, your breath catching in your throat as your sandals pounded against the stone. You muttered a desperate prayer to the West Winds, begging them to carry your footsteps quietly. Reaching the outer wall, you climbed with surprising ease — the muscle memory of childhood sneaking and tree-climbing in Okhema still alive in your limbs. With one final push, you vaulted over the gate, landing softly on the other side with a thud muffled by grass.

You paused only a moment to catch your breath, casting one last glance back at the towering temple. Then you ran, cloak fluttering behind you, hair whipping in the wind as you tore down the hill toward the city below. Your feet burned and your lungs ached, but you didn’t stop.

For the first time in months, you felt free.

The gates of Okhema loomed ahead, golden lights from the festivities already glowing like stars fallen to earth. Laughter, music, and the clatter of wooden wheels floated on the breeze. Your heart pounded. 

Not from the run this time, but from exhilaration. 

You were finally here.

You made your way to the familiar district where your family lived. When your mother opened the door, her eyes widened in disbelief.

“By the gods… what are you doing here?” she whispered, pulling you inside.

Atlas, your younger brother, shouted your name with delight and rushed into your arms, wrapping himself around your waist. You smiled as you held him close, heart clenching at how much he had grown.

“I was granted permission to attend the festival,” you said, the lie tasting oddly natural. “Just for tonight.”

Your mother’s eyes searched your face, clearly unconvinced, but she didn’t press. “Your father’s out of town,” she said after a pause. “There was an urgent dispatch from the southern front.”

You nodded, choosing not to ask for details. “Will you come with me to the festival, then? Just for a little while?”

She shook her head with a tired smile. “No, I’m too old for those crowds now. But take Atlas. He’s been begging me for days.”

“Please, Ma? Can I go?” Atlas clutched your sleeve eagerly.

Your mother sighed, then gave you a look that was part blessing, part warning. “Come back safe.”

“Of course,” you said with a grin.

Moments later, Atlas returned with a small bag of coins and excitement bursting from every step. He grabbed your hand and began pulling you toward the heart of the city.

The festival was more dazzling than you remembered. Lanterns strung across the streets bathed everything in amber light. Stalls overflowed with spiced meats, honey pastries, roasted chestnuts, and painted masks. Atlas dragged you from one corner to the next — watching dancers spin to the beat of drums, laughing at jugglers dropping flaming torches, squealing at the scent of fresh honeybread.

He remembered your favorite food. You hadn’t even realized he’d been paying attention all these years.

“Sis, look! There’s a play! Let’s go watch!” Atlas tugged on your arm, pointing toward a crowd gathering near a stage.

“Atlas, slow down,” you said, laughing as you tried to keep up with his darting steps.

You ended up at the back of the crowd, barely able to see over the heads in front of you. Atlas strained on tiptoes, pouting in frustration.

“Come on, I’ll lift you,” you said, crouching.

He blinked. “Are you sure? I’m not that little anymore.”

“I’ve carried heavier,” you teased, and with a grunt, lifted him onto your shoulders.

His hands settled on your head for balance, and his smile widened as he finally got a good view of the stage. For a moment, everything felt perfect. It felt as though you had slipped into a pocket of time where none of your duties or fears existed. But that moment was broken when you felt something shift behind you.

Your bag. A rustle.

You turned quickly, but it was too late. A man was already sprinting away, the coin pouch clutched in his hand.

“Thief!” you shouted, quickly setting Atlas down before darting after the man.

You pushed past onlookers, dodging carts and barrels, the thief just ahead, weaving between alleyways. Then, suddenly, someone stepped in.

A tall, white-haired man blocked the thief’s path, moving with fluid confidence. Before the thief could turn, the man seized him by the collar and effortlessly lifted him off the ground. The thief writhed and kicked, but the stranger didn’t flinch.

“Now, now,” the man said calmly, his voice smooth as still water. “Let’s not ruin the festive mood with petty crime.”

He held out his other hand, palm open. The thief groaned and quickly handed over the coin pouch. Without another word, the stranger dropped him to the ground. Guards rushed in from the crowd and dragged the man away. You arrived just as the commotion died down, shielding Atlas with your arm on instinct.

The white-haired man approached, holding your pouch. “Yours, I believe,” he said.

You stared at him, not just out of gratitude, but out of something else. Something you couldn’t quite name. His presence was overwhelming in a quiet way — like a hearth fire in winter, steady and warm but impossible to ignore.

“Thank you so much, sir...” you hesitated, unsure how to address him.

He seemed to catch your pause, his gaze briefly flickering with something unreadable before he smiled. “Phainon.”

“Sir Phainon… I can’t thank you enough.”

“Thank you for helping my sister, Sir Phainon,” Atlas said with an adorable bow.

Phainon chuckled, kneeling slightly to ruffle Atlas’s hair. “It was my honor.”

You clutched the pouch to your chest. That was all the money I had left…

You found yourself staring at him; his striking white hair, his eyes the clear blue of the high heavens. He looked unlike anyone from Okhema. Had you met him before? Surely you’d remember a face like his.

You shook your head and composed yourself. “Then… let me repay you. I’ll buy you something from the stalls.”

He raised a brow, considering. “And if I decline?”

“Then I’ll insist,” you said with a half-smile.

He sighed with mock reluctance. “In that case, I trust you’ll choose wisely.”

The three of you began walking together, passing through the glowing streets of the night market. You watched him out of the corner of your eye as he lingered in front of a stall selling grilled meat skewers. You chuckled softly, stepping forward to place your order.

You handed one skewer to Atlas, then another to Phainon. As you held it out, your fingers brushed. A strange heat rose up your arm — not burning, not painful, just… familiar.

Phainon looked at your hand for a moment before taking the food from you, then offered a slow, easy smile.

“Thank you, pretty lady.”

You turned away quickly, cheeks warming. That same feeling fluttered in your chest again, unnameable and unfamiliar.

The festival lanterns were beginning to dim, their golden hues paling against the indigo sky. The evening air had cooled, brushing against your cheeks with the gentle scent of roasted spices and trampled flowers. You hadn’t intended to spend this much time with Phainon. In truth, you hadn’t expected to spend any time at all. But something about his presence was disarming. He was steady, grounding even. He had a calmness that settled like silk over your nerves. Atlas adored him; that much was obvious.

Still, as you glanced up at the clock tower at the center of the city square, you knew time was slipping from your hands. If you don’t return soon, someone might notice your absence.

You turned to Atlas, who was still licking honey off his fingers from a fruit skewer. “It’s time to go home, Atlas.”

He frowned, lower lip jutting out like it used to when he was a toddler. “Can’t I stay with you a bit longer?”

You hesitated, your smile softening with guilt. “I’ll try to visit again soon,” you said, crouching to ruffle his hair. “Promise.”

You guided him home, Phainon walking silently at your side. When you reached your family’s doorstep, your mother opened the door, her eyes widening at the sight of a stranger beside you.

Her eyes flicked to Phainon. “Who is this?” she asked, ever the vigilant matron. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around these parts, young man.”

Phainon bowed slightly, his voice smooth. “Phainon, ma’am. I’m from out of town. Recently relocated here.”

Your mother tilted her head. “I see,” she murmured, her gaze turning to you for explanation.

You cleared your throat. “He helped us earlier. A thief tried to steal my coin pouch.”

Her eyes widened in alarm. “A thief?!” she gasped, her hand flying protectively to Atlas’s shoulder. “Oh, by the gods... thank Khaslana you were there, Sir Phainon.”

Phainon gave a modest smile. “I only did what anyone would.”

Your mother turned to you, concern etched into her face. “I should’ve known trouble might stir while your father’s away. With the general gone, they think they can take liberties.”

You offered a faint nod, placing a hand over hers. “I’ll pray for your safety every night, Mother.”

She squeezed your hand gently. “And what about you?” she asked, more quietly. “Is your... husband treating you well?”

You froze, a familiar ache returning to your chest. The words caught in your throat, and you looked away. Phainon, standing just behind you, didn’t say a word. But his gaze was steady and unreadable.

“I have to return now,” you said, dodging the question. You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around your mother. “Please send father my love.”

She held you tighter than usual. “Be safe, my child.”

You pulled back, your throat tight. Atlas tugged at your cloak and hugged you around the waist once more. You turned away, waving goodbye to them, your mother’s expression sad, but you tried to reassure her with a bright smile. Phainon silently followed as you walked down the lantern-lit streets, heading toward the city’s edge. The path grew quieter as you left the bustle behind. 

“It seemed like you hadn’t seen them in a long time,” Phainon remarked softly from beside you. “Why not stay longer?”

You exhaled, pulling your cloak tighter around yourself. “I can’t. My husband is... strict.”

He stopped walking for a moment. “Strict?” he echoed, with a frown. “Really?”

You glanced at him, raising a brow. “He’s a loving husband,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your tone. “So possessive that I need permission just to walk the streets. Even then, I have to bring a chaperone like I’m a child again.”

Phainon’s frown deepened, but he looked down, expression unreadable. “Maybe he’s just... worried. About your safety.”

You laughed bitterly, the sound carrying a note of pain. “If that’s the case, he has a strange way of showing it.”

He didn’t reply to that. The silence between you grew heavier as the temple walls came into view in the distance.

“I can walk you back,” Phainon offered after a pause.

You looked at him. There was sincerity in his tone, no trace of insistence — just concern. “I live somewhere... unusual,” you said carefully. “Not many are allowed near it. It’s better if I go alone.”

He nodded slowly. “Then let me walk you to the gates, at least.”

“...Alright.”

The rest of the walk was quiet. You tried to find something to say. Small talk felt foreign now, like a language you hadn’t spoken in years. You glanced at Phainon from time to time, noticing the way the lantern light softened the sharp edges of his face. 

Before you realized it, you were standing at the main gates.

You stopped and turned to face him. “Thank you again, Sir Phainon. For everything.”

He smiled, tilting his head. “Thank you, too. You were good company tonight.”

An awkward pause stretched before you. You cleared your throat and stepped back.

“Well... I should go. Farewell, Sir Phainon.”

“Safe travels, my lady,” he said, his voice just above a whisper.

You began to walk, the gravel crunching beneath your feet. But something tugged at the edge of your thoughts. You stopped and turned around.

“I never told you my name, did I—?”

But he was gone.

The street was empty. Lanterns swayed gently in the breeze. Not a shadow, not a trace of him remained.

Your shoulders slumped, a sigh escaping your lips. Still, a strange warmth lingered in your chest.

Maybe you would see him again.

CHAPTER III

Ever since you went to the festival, things have gotten… strange.

You hadn’t expected the guards to make it easy for your return. In fact, you’d spent most of your walk back from the city wondering how you’d sneak past them again without getting caught. As you neared the outer wall of the temple, your pace slowed, eyes scanning the shadows. Your heart was pounding as you drew closer to the main gate.

That’s when you heard it — a low, rhythmic sound. You stopped in your tracks.

…Were those snores?

Your brows knit in confusion. That couldn’t be… right?

But sure enough, when you rounded the corner, there they were: the two guards slumped against the wall, fast asleep while still standing on their feet. Their helmets were slightly tilted forward. The gate was ajar, just enough for someone your size to slip through. 

There’s a weird feeling in your stomach. This wasn’t normal.

Had someone broken into the temple while you were away? Were the guards faking it? 

You hesitated, then began to move cautiously as you moved your feet against the stone path. You slipped through the gate, wincing slightly when it let out a small creak. You paused, eyes flicking back to the guards.

They were still snoring; if anything, it was louder.

You exhaled softly. You admit this situation was a bit odd, but you didn’t want to think about it right now.

The temple grounds were unusually quiet. You would’ve expected at least one priest or priestess wandering about at night. But there was no movement, no sound. There was only a gentle breeze and your own groggy footsteps. 

Your unease grew, but you pushed it down. Worry about this tomorrow!

For now, you just needed to make it to your chambers without being seen. Not that it mattered, there was no one patrolling the halls. It was as though the temple had fallen into a temporary slumber. 

You slipped into your room unnoticed. Changed your clothes. Lie in bed.

Sleep came quickly that night.

The next morning brought no answers; it brought more confusion.

You were halfway through your breakfast, your thoughts still adrift in the memory of last night’s strange silence, when the Archbishop passed by. He gave you a warm, grandfatherly smile and patted your shoulder. 

“When you’re finished, come to my office. I’d like a word.”

Your stomach dropped. You hadn’t thought he’d found out, but now, your mind raced. 

You’d explain, you told yourself as you walked toward his office. You’d apologize, say you just wanted to see your family, that you had no ill intentions. Maybe even pretend to weep if needed. 

You knocked gently. “Come in,” came his voice.

The Archbishop was at his desk, scribbling notes into a scroll. He looked up, eyes bright behind his glasses. He gestured for you to take a seat across from him. You sat down and braced yourself.

“How are you feeling?” he asked casually, quill still in hand. “The priestesses mentioned you weren’t well yesterday.”

Your breath caught. Then you blinked. 

What.

“Ah, yes. I was just… tired,” You said, quickly recovering. “A little rest was all I needed.”

“Glad to hear it.” He smiled, setting his quill down and folding his hands. “We wouldn’t want you falling ill, would we?”

You forced a polite laugh, tension still clinging to your spine. He laughed with you, then leaned back in his chair.

“One more thing,” he said, removing his glasses and setting them aside. “Lord Khaslana has spoken to me.”

Your heart jumped into your throat. “He… did?”

The Archbishop nodded, his expression unreadable. “He’s permitted you to visit Okhema. Whenever you’d like.”

You sat there, stunned. “Truly? I can go alone?”

“Yes. You may leave the temple without an escort.”

Your face lit up with disbelief and joy. “Thank you,” you said quickly.

“There is one condition,” he added gently. “You are expected to return by parting hour, and you must ‘talk’ with him every time before you go.”

You tilted your head. The Archbishop noticed your confusion as he let out a laugh.

“Yes, I was taken aback by his last condition as well. I take it that you haven’t been talking with him lately?” He asked. 

You looked away, “I… may have.” You answered sheepishly.

“Haha! Maybe he just wanted a bit of attention from his dear wife.” The Archbishop stroked his beard.

Him? Wanting attention from you? Last time you checked, he was the one ignoring you!

“Right… But I will accept those conditions,” you replied. 

He smiled and nodded. “Then that is all I wished to share.”

You stood to leave, already imagining the market stalls, the smell of roasted foods, and the distant music echoing through the streets. But something tugged at you — a bitter feeling in your chest.

You turned back at the doorway. “Archbishop?”

“Yes?”

You hesitated for a few seconds. “Does… my husband speak to you often?”

He furrowed his brow slightly, as though surprised by the question. “Hmm… I wouldn’t say often. But from time to time, yes. Usually, when he has something he wishes us to know.”

The ache bloomed again, sharp and cold inside your ribs. “I see. Thank you.”

You left the office quietly. Your footsteps echoed in the corridor as your thoughts spiraled. You were sure that your new freedom was because your husband had probably heard you talk with Phainon yesterday, he knows you snuck out, and he lets you. You were now sure that the guards and the gates were all his doing. He heard you and yet…

Why won’t he speak to me?

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

True to his word, the temple’s gates no longer kept you captive. The priests, once hovering shadows at your every step, now bowed and let you pass unaccompanied. No more chaperones, no more restrictions, no more surveillance. For the first time since your marriage, you were free. And you felt it. 

You began to spend more time in the city. You walked with Atlas to his school, sneaking in conversations with your friend at the bakery and other shops. Of course, you couldn’t tell them the truth. You simply said you’d been promoted and reassigned to a more “sacred” temple. That word tasted bitter on your tongue. 

Even so, the temple staff noticed your glow; how your prayers grew longer and how you seemed to have more to say to your husband in the roofed balcony when you thought no one was there. Because now, you have something to talk about. Even if he never answered.

You ran into Phainon again one sunny afternoon, just outside the antique shop. This time, you introduced yourself properly.

“A beautiful name,” he said, and before he could follow up with something else, you gave him a stern look and reminded him that you were married. He only laughed, completely unbothered. It annoyed you and, somehow, made you smile. 

He began showing up more often after that, just accompanying you wherever you go. He’d tell you about the fake antique he saw, and how he managed to convince someone from getting scammed. Sometimes you’d share a meal with him after you pick up Atlas from his classes. Atlas was more than happy to see him, talking about what he learned from school and even bragging about his grades. 

The little traitor even stopped pulling your hand during festivals and started dragging Phainon’s around instead. The tall man always hunched a little so Atlas could reach him properly, grumbling playfully and shooting you half-hearted looks of betrayal. You only chuckled. 

And now, here you were, seated on a bench near the festival square on the last day of the festival. The lanterns above cast flickering gold against the deepening dusk, music drifting from a nearby corner. You both sat with tired feet and half-eaten honeyed bread in hand, watching Atlas run off with some boys from school. You and Phainon started talking as usual.

You hadn't meant to bring up your troubles. But the words slipped through anyway.

“He never talks to me,” you muttered, biting into the sticky bread. “Never comes to see me. Sometimes I wonder if I’m invisible.”

Phainon cast a glance at you, his usually bright face dimming. “Your husband…? Maybe he’s… busy,” he said, cautiously.

“That’s the thing,” You cut in, a bitter laugh escaping. “I know he’s probably busy with… whatever he’s doing, but don’t tell me he doesn’t have time to even see me? No need to talk for hours, just… see me.”

You shouldn’t have underestimate what gods do. For all you know, he could be busy protecting Okhema from unseen threats. But you were pissed off, it’s rational for you to think this way.

Phainon looked like he wanted to say something, but swallowed it down. You stared off into the square, the sound of flutes drifting in the air.

“Maybe…” Phainon began carefully, “Maybe he’s afraid.” his voice was too steady for someone just speculating. It made something tighten in your chest.

You blinked and turned to him. “Afraid? Of me? I’m his wife.” You flail your arms, “He’s faced monsters and armies. He has helped many people as well! He has all that power— I mean skills, and yet he’s afraid to meet his wife?” You scoffed.

Phainon sighed, letting out a soft, breathy laugh, “To be fair, you are terrifying,” he mumbled.

You widened your eyes, looking at him with mock offense, “What did you say?” You asked, tone offended, though the smirk on your lips said otherwise.

Phainon raised his hands defensively, “What? I didn’t say anything. Wow, the West Winds sure are strong nowadays…” He said, looking at his surroundings as if to check the wind.

You tried to hold your scowl, but it cracked at the edges as you let out a laugh, “You defend him a lot for someone who’s never met him.” 

Phainon smiled sheepishly. “Let’s just say… I can imagine his side of things. From one man to another.”

You let out a small huff, rolling your eyes with a fond smile. “How about we just enjoy the festival tonight and leave our troubles behind, huh?” You said, rising to your feet and extending your hand to him.

Phainon hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on your outstretched hand. Then, without a word, he took it. 

You gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze before gently tugging him upward. As he stood, you released his hand and turned, stepping forward with your newfound energy. Behind you, Phainon followed, your touch still lingering on his skin.

And the evening continued — gentle, golden, warm in ways you hadn’t felt in a long while. You didn’t notice the way Phainon’s gaze lingered. The way he watched you not with curiosity…

But guilt. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

It was the sixth month now— the Month of Everday.

The days were blazing, the sun bearing down on Okhema like a merciless spotlight. You had stopped visiting Okhema City as often, worried that too much time outside would leave you sun-drunk or worse, sick. So you remained within the white-stone halls of the temple, living in routine and resignation.

Oh, and of course — you still hadn’t met your husband.

Still, you had a growing suspicion. Your prayers, though unanswered in voice, felt… heard.

Whenever you complained about the stifling heat, a gust of wind would roll in from the hills, brushing sweat from your brow like an invisible hand. Whenever you wandered into the gardens, that familiar loneliness clawing at your chest, you’d find yourself quietly joined by a bird perching near your feet, a butterfly settling on your shoulder, and a stray chimera curling beside your bench, purring softly.

Were those coincidences? Or was it his doing? You didn’t know. You didn’t want to know.

Today, the wind had picked up again. Cool enough that you decided to visit the temple library. The temple’s archive of fiction was surprisingly robust. Romance novels nestled among sacred texts, hidden like small rebellions. The priestesses pretended not to notice them, and you didn’t ask questions.

If escapism was a sin, then you were already damned. 

Oh well, at least you’ll have your divine husband to save your soul later.

When you stepped inside, the doors were already open. The scent of parchment and lemon polish drifted in the warm air. Ah, the priestesses must’ve been cleaning. You walked down the rows of bookshelves until you reached the fiction corner. You were just beginning to trail your fingers across a row of colorful spines when hushed voices caught your attention from behind the adjacent shelf. 

You didn’t mean to listen. You weren’t trying to eavesdrop. But then—

“It’s been a while since Lord Khaslana visited, huh?”

You froze.

“Yeah… I miss when he used to talk about the stars with us,” one voice sighed.

“He was so kind. Just… glowing. I always felt so calm around him.”

“Ever since the wedding, though, he’s stopped coming. I wonder why?”

Your blood turned to ice. The ache in your chest, the one you’d been nursing in silence for six months, splintered. So he had been coming before. He could come in human form. He had been visiting. He laughed, talked, and spent time with the others. 

Just… before you came.

You turned on your heel, left the shelf, and made your way to the Archbishop’s office with purpose burning in your steps. You didn’t knock. You didn’t need to.

The Archbishop startled in his chair, lifting his gaze. “Child, what’s—?”

“Did Lord Khaslana used to visit the temple?” You asked, your voice low but shaking.

He blinked. “Yes… regularly, in fact. He often stayed in his chambers. He enjoyed visiting in his human form. Shared stories with us. Just casual talk.”

You swallowed. Your mouth tasted bitter. “When did he stop?”

The Archbishop exhaled slowly. “He… hasn’t visited since the wedding.”

You nodded, almost mechanically. “Thank you,” you said, though your voice barely carried. You turned before he could say anything more. 

You walked. Fast. You didn’t know where you were going until you found yourself back in your chambers, your hands already gathering your cloak and satchel. You didn’t greet the guards at the gates like usual. You barely acknowledged them at all.

Their concerned glances followed you, but you didn’t stop.

You ran.

You ran through the dirt roads, through the burning streets of Okhema, your breath heavy and ragged. You didn’t care about appearances anymore. You didn’t care if people stared. You just needed to see someone who loved you.

You reached your parents’ home, panting and soaked in sweat. Your hand trembled as you knocked. When the door opened, your mother’s eyes went wide at the sight of your tear-streaked face. She didn’t ask questions and pulled you inside. She held you like she did when you were little, brushing your hair back and murmuring.

Your father was home too; he had just returned from his campaign. His rough soldier’s hands clenched into fists the moment he heard your sobs. 

You sat between them on the couch, your words tumbling all at once. You told them everything. About the empty bedroom, the silence, the prayers that never answered in words, the dinners eaten alone. 

The months of hoping for something — anything. 

“I hate him!” you choked, collapsing into your mother’s arms. “I hate him.”

She stroked your hair, whispering, “Don’t say that, sweetheart. What if he hears you?”

“I don’t care! I want him to hear me!” You screamed into her shoulder. “I hate him! I hate him! He left me! I don’t want to go back!”

Your father stood in silence. Then, in a voice like thunder, he said, “I’ll kill him.”

You pulled back from your mother in shock, breathing still ragged, “What?! Father—” you sobbed, “have you lost your mind?!”

“I mean it,” He snapped. “God or not. No one does this to my daughter.”

“Dearest, calm down. Don’t say that,” Your mother gasped, rising to stop him. “You’ll get yourself killed.”

He paced, shaking. “I do not care! It is not impossible to kill a god.” He muttered, “I offered her over, thinking that he would protect her.”

You looked up at him, tear-streaked, heart pounding. The sight was enough to stop him. Then slowly, he knelt beside you. 

“Forgive me… I should’ve never…” He trailed off, gritting his teeth, “This is all my fault. Forgive me, my daughter.”

You wrapped your arms around him, nodding on his shoulder.

The rest of the evening passed quietly. Atlas had just come back from school. Thank the gods you had already washed your face. You greeted him with a smile as he told you about what he learned in school. Your mother ushered Atlas to take a bath and to change. He nodded and went straight to his room.

Everyone was at the dining table, your mother bringing out your favorite food. Your father, still trying to calm himself, began recounting silly stories from his latest travels, with Atlas asking him hundreds of questions every time your father said a sentence. The sight made you smile. It was warm and familiar. 

But eventually, the moment had to end. 

You declined their offer to stay the night, thanking them both for comforting you. You promised to return soon. Your mother pulled you into one more hug. “I love you, sweetheart.” She whispered, her voice helpless.

“I love you, too, mother.”

You stepped back into the streets of Okhema. The warmth of home faded behind you. You wondered if Phainon would appear tonight. But he was nowhere to be found. Maybe it was for the best, you’re not exactly in a condition to talk to anyone right now. 

You arrived at the temple just as the sun began to dip below the horizon. You told the priestesses not to wait for you at dinner, informing them that you had already eaten with your family. In your chambers, you changed out of your clothes, washed your face, and leaned against the window. A drop of water hit your hand, causing you to look up.

“...Rain?” you whispered. The sky above was darkening quickly, a deep grey settling over the hills. A crack of thunder rumbled in the distance. 

You watched the rain fall, slow and steady. You didn’t know why, but something about the rain felt… different.

You closed the window and walked towards your bed. The sound of rain tapping the glass and thunder rolling over the skies above rocked you into sleep.

CHAPTER IV

The first time Khaslana heard your father’s prayers, he was sitting alone beneath the wheeling stars in the Vortex of Genesis. His throne was carved from marble and fiery amber, but tonight, his eyes were downcast, quiet.

The voice of a mortal reached him. It was frantic and raw. A father, kneeling in bloodied armor beneath a broken sky. He had offered his daughter to the Worldbearing God in exchange for deliverance. Not her life, but her fate. Her soul. To be entrusted to him. To become his. 

Khaslana didn’t speak, nor did he descend. But he heard and he listened. 

With a wave of his hand, the heavens cracked open. Meteors streaked through the red sky, cleaving through the monsters of the Black Tide with divine precision. Screams of terror turned into shouts of awe.

Your father’s voice rang out among the crowd. But the god had already turned away. There were other matters to attend to.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Time passed differently for gods; A year for mortals was a blink for him. Yet when he returned to the mortal plane in his human form, the earth had changed again.

His hair was now snow-white, his eyes the piercing blue of high summer skies, and he walked through the halls of his personal temple, blending in like any other human. The Archbishop welcomed him warmly, inviting him into his study. The scent of honeyed tea and spiced bread filled the room. Though Khaslana had no need for food anymore, he accepted it out of politeness. Human cuisine always stirred something faint within him, perhaps it was a memory, a warm feeling.

“It seems the time has come for your wedding, Lord Khaslana,” the Archbishop began. 

The god paused, a piece of pastry untouched in his hand as he raised a brow.

“The one with the General’s daughter,” the Archbishop clarified. “She’s of age now. And, if I may speak freely… she’s become quite the beauty.”

Ah. That exchange..

“Has the time come already?” he murmured with a quiet laugh, more to himself than to the priest.

“Yes,” the Archbishop replied, watching him carefully. “Though I must admit, I didn’t expect you to accept the offer.”

Khaslana didn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingered on the tea’s surface, where the reflection of his own face shimmered. 

“The law of Equivalence,” he said at last, voice low. “As old as the breath of the world.”

The Archbishop remained silent.

“When a mortal offers something of true value, something that wounds them, the heavens are bound to answer. The greater the sacrifice, the deeper the prayer carves its way into us. And a daughter…” He looked up. “A daughter is no small offering.”

“So you accepted… not out of desire?” the Archbishop asked softly.

“No,” Khaslana said. “I accepted because it was owed.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The wedding day arrived. 

Seated upon his throne, Khaslana watched. The ceremony unfolded beneath him like a sunlit dream.

You stepped onto the temple balcony, dressed in white and gold, the light catching the silk of your dress like water running over moonstone. Every moment, the way you walked and the way your fingers clutched stirred something ancient in him.

And when you lifted your face to the sky, full of resolve, something inside him ached. You were radiant. Perhaps… too bright for a god like him.

Aglaea has blessed her, he thought. I’ll have to ask her about this later.

He could not descend. Not yet. So he sent a warm, soft, laced with summer and sunlight, breeze to touch your cheek in place of his hand. And when you spoke your vows, so simple yet earnest, he smiled—not as Khaslana, the bearer of worlds, but as a man. A soul. Phainon. 

As you pledged yourself to him, he answered. Not with words, but with the divine. The stone beneath your feet lit with a celestial glow. The covenant is now sealed. 

As the ceremony ended, he immediately left the vortex, but not to you.

His mind raced with questions: How does one protect a mortal wife? How does one hold her without harm?

He went to Castrum Kremnos, seeking the advice of Mydeimos, the God of Strife, and also his closest friend. He had led his people to many victories. He was battle-hardened and unshaken. His people look up to him for his protection, and almost all of his people were warriors or warriors-to-be. Surely, he’s the one best when it comes to protection, right?

That was his first mistake.

“Why ask me such stupid questions?” Mydeimos grunted, arms crossed. “Treat her like any subject… just more important.”

Khaslana frowned. “Do all Kremnoans speak in riddles?”

A vein bulged in Mydeimos’ forehead. “Just get her guards! When she goes outside, someone follows her. Feed her. Protect her.”

Ah. Khaslana nodded slowly.

And just like that, he returned to his temple, appearing in the Archbishop’s office in his mortal form. The old man barely flinched — already used to his god’s sudden appearances. Khaslana gave his orders, guards, routines, and what was expected. The Archbishop was a bit puzzled, but he obeyed. 

That night, Khaslana stood again in the Vortex of Genesis. Stars spun above like galaxies caught in breath. But his gaze was fixed below. 

On you.

There you sat in your new chambers, at the edge of his bed, alone. Waiting.

Aglaea, the Goddess of Romance, made her presence known behind him, “Shouldn’t you be down there with your wife, Deliverer?” She asked, voice gentle and curious. 

Khaslana turned to her, about to ask what she had meant. Then his breath caught in his throat.

Ah. The wedding night. Where couples would usually consummate their marriage.

He turned back to your room. You had changed from your temple robes into more delicate garments. You sat at the edge of the bed in silence, tugging at the edges of your sleeves. 

“You fear her,” Aglaea murmured, stepping beside him.

“I do not fear her,” He replied too quickly. Then after a moment, “I fear what I no longer understand.

Aglaea tilted her head. “She’s human.”

He closed his eyes. “I was, too, once. I remember what it was to love, to burn, to yearn with a heart that beat for another. But now… I remember only the shape of those feelings, not their weight. Like remembering the warmth of a fire I can no longer feel.”

His eyes drifted back to you, “I know what she hopes for. I know what I should do. But what if I fall short? What if I hurt her without meaning to?” He turned to look at Aglaea. 

“She wants with no fear. Speaks freely. Cries and smiles and hopes. How am I supposed to touch that… without breaking it?”

Aglaea’s face softened. “So the god who bears the world is afraid of breaking a single girl’s heart?”

He gave a dry smile, “Because I have broken nations without meaning to. What damage might I do… when I mean to touch?”

She shook her head, smiling faintly, “Hearts don’t shatter from being touched, Khaslana. They break from being left waiting.” She turns to leave, her voice fading with her steps. 

He stayed silent, watching as you curled up in bed. Alone. 

He took a deep breath before he descended in silence.

He appeared in his divine form, the chamber awash in starlight and wind. You lay peacefully, fast asleep. So small compared to him. His hand hovered near your cheek, trembling slightly.

You were… fragile.

He could cover your entire face with one palm. If he tried to touch you, would he shatter you like porcelain?

He withdrew.

Then disappeared again, leaving you in the quiet of the night. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Khaslana had watched your daily life unfold with quiet diligence. From the celestial cradle of the Vortex of Genesis, he observed everything. How you rose with the morning light, how you bathed with graceful efficiency, how you chose your robes each day with a frown of indecision. He even listened in on your earliest prayers, chuckling softly to himself at how bashful your voice became when you "talked" to him aloud for the first time. Something was endearing about the way your voice trembled.

He watched as you walked through the streets of Okhema with a chaperone trailing behind you, weaving between markets and festival stalls. He felt assured that you were safe, that you were protected, as Mydeimos had advised. 

And yet, he never answered your prayers with words.

He could have. He had the power to appear at your side in an instant, to offer his voice in response. But a part of him hesitated. What if you asked why he hadn’t come to you? Why hadn’t he appeared on your wedding night? Why hadn’t he even seen your face-to-face since the vow? He wasn’t ready to answer that.

It was now the Month of Joy, and for the first time, your prayers carried a different weight. No longer just requests for health or protection. 

You began to whisper your loneliness. 

At first, he was puzzled. You were allowed to leave the temple grounds. Why didn’t you simply request permission through the Archbishop? A chaperone was all it took.

But then, he noticed something… odd.

Your behavior changed. You lingered in corridors longer than necessary, watching the guards with sharp eyes. Your gaze flitted from corner to corner when you thought no one was watching. You studied the temple’s layout as though trying to memorize every hallway, every path.

Suspicious. Curious. Restless.

Was this normal behavior for humans? Khaslana tried to remember how he had acted as a mortal. But his memories, though vivid in form, felt distant in emotion.

And your prayers changed again. They still asked for his blessings and guidance, but now they sounded… sharper. Each line was laced with the fire of frustration. Threats, almost. 

Ah… those suspicious behaviors and those oddly vague yet threatening prayers… You were trying to sneak out. That amused him more than anything.

Cute. He thought, lips curling with dry humor.

Then came the night of your escape.

Khaslana had already planned ahead. He contacted the Archbishop using the stone tablet etched with his sigil, the divine channel between the Vortex and his temple, asking him to gather the priests and priestesses for an urgent “discussion.” The Archbishop, ever dutiful, obeyed. When the clergy assembled that night, expecting celestial orders, Khaslana simply asked how they were doing. No divine proclamations, no rituals. Just… small talk.

With the temple’s attention occupied, he turned his gaze back to you.

There you were — walking the cobbled streets of Okhema in the moonlight, your younger brother trailing behind you, eyes full of wonder. A smile tugged at Khaslana’s lips.

But then… a thief. Quick hands snatched your coin purse and darted through the crowd.

Before Khaslana could think, his body moved. In an instant, he teleported down to the mortal plane, hidden behind a tree in the city’s plaza. The thief was already headed his way, and without effort, Khaslana caught him by the collar, lifting him off the ground like a child.

He retrieved your coin bag and turned toward the sound of your footsteps. You had run after the thief, breathless, face flushed, and worried. Khaslana approached you with a quiet composure, holding the pouch in hand.

“Yours, I believe,” he said, voice steady. Though his pulse might’ve been racing.

“Thank you so much, sir...” you replied, dipping your head politely. His breath caught slightly. Your voice sounded so much clearer now, spoken directly rather than through the haze of prayer.

Then you looked at him expectantly.

Oh. You were waiting for a name.

He blinked once before smiling with effortless charm, “Phainon.”

“Sir Phainon... I can't thank you enough,” you said again, gratitude glowing in your eyes.

Your little brother approached, too, grinning up at him and offering his thanks. Khaslana reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair, warmth blooming in his chest.

He should’ve left then. It was safer that way. But—

“Then... let me repay you. I'll buy you something from the stalls.”

He paused. Considered it. “And if I decline?”

“Then I'll insist.”

There it was. That smile. How could he say no to his wife?

So he agreed, reluctantly, but with a small twist of amusement. You led the way through the colorful rows of vendors and festival lights, your brother bouncing ahead. It had been centuries since he’d stood in a human celebration like this.

His eyes lingered on a stall that sold meat skewers. Oh, those looked heavenly.

Suddenly, you stepped in front of him and ordered two skewers. Without hesitation, you handed one to him, the other to your brother. His hand hesitated as he took the skewer from yours, your fingers brushing his in that brief contact. Warm. Real. He held onto that sensation like it might disappear.

“Thank you, pretty lady.” He smiled.

Your cheeks turned crimson.

Khaslana — no, Phainon — felt something loosen in his chest.

He stayed with you longer than he planned, drawn into the simple joy of watching you laugh, eat, and enjoy yourself. He noticed how your smiles here, in the mortal realm, were fuller than the ones you wore inside the temple.

He wanted more of that. 

But then he saw your expression shift after looking at the clock tower. You quickly offered to bring your brother back home. Ah, yes, it was getting late for a youngster like him. He followed you back home, greeted your mother, and stayed silent after. Just watching you interact with your family. 

After that encounter, he had tried to dissuade you from leaving so soon. Really, it was fine if you wanted to stay longer. He could just tell the Archbishop to turn a blind eye for tonight.

But then, something you said made him stop in his tracks. 

“I can’t. My Husband is… strict.”

His brows knit together. Him? Strict?

“Strict? Really?” He hadn’t meant to sound so offended.

You looked back at him, an eyebrow raised.

“He's a loving husband,” you said with dry sarcasm, the same tone Mydeimos would usually use on him, he notes. “So possessive that I need permission just to walk the streets. Even then, I have to bring a chaperone like I'm a child again.”

Phainon frowned, visibly stung. That wasn’t possessiveness? It was protection. But… maybe he’d misjudged what that protection felt like.

“Maybe he's just... worried. About your safety,” he offered gently.

“If that's the case, he has a strange way of showing it.”

The words landed like a stone in his stomach.

When he walked you to the city gates and watched you disappear into the night, a heaviness settled in his chest. He sighed, teleporting back to the Vortex, where the stars coiled like a divine storm above his head.

The Archbishop was still in his study. Through the sacred stone, Khaslana reached out once more and delivered new instructions — gentler rules, freer movement, and no more chaperones. The Archbishop, though clearly confused, agreed without question.

He owed you that much, at the very least.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Truly, revising the temple’s rules had been the right decision.

You had begun to bloom. 

Your voice in prayer softened from its once-frustrated edge to something warmer, more sincere. Each time you entered the temple sanctuary, he could sense it: a calmness in your posture, a gentler rhythm to your words. You spoke to him now not as a distant stranger, but as someone familiar. 

You told him about your plans before venturing into town, where you might go, and what you hoped to find. And when you returned, you’d come to the roofed balcony and recounted everything to him. From the people you saw, the food you tried, to the new book you discovered tucked away in a corner stall.

It had become your ritual. And though you didn’t hear his answers, he listened to every word like scripture.

Your frequent visits to Okhema meant he could now meet you — not as Khaslana, the Worldbearing God, but as Phainon.

Still, a quiet fear gnawed at the back of his mind.

What if you came to prefer Phainon? What if the smiling stranger with the white hair and blue eyes, the one who could laugh and tease and walk beside you, eclipsed the unseen god to whom you had been bound?

But those fears melted the day he tried flirting with you in the middle of a market stall, only for you to straighten and remind him, quite firmly, that you were a married woman.

He had laughed, not because of the words, but because of the quiet, overwhelming relief that swelled in his chest.

You still remembered him.

Not just the idea of a husband, but him. Khaslana. The one cloaked in divinity, hidden behind stars and clouded sky. You still held space for him.

After that second encounter, meeting you came more naturally. Your conversations grew longer. He no longer felt the sting of hesitation when you smiled at him, or the jolt of nervousness when your fingers brushed again. And in your evening prayers, you started mentioning Phainon with a kind of amused fondness that made him laugh in the Vortex.

It was adorable hearing you try to hide how much you enjoyed his company.

Whenever you visited the city, he’d always find a way to cross your path. Never too obvious. Never too frequent. But enough. Enough to hear your voice, to see you light up when Atlas tugged on his arm, to walk beside you, even if only for a little while.

He cherished those fleeting moments more than you could ever know.

And when you were back in the temple, fast asleep in your chambers, he would sometimes return in his divine form, a silent shadow bathed in starlight. He would stand at the foot of your bed, watching your chest rise and fall, listening to the soft sighs you made as you dreamed. In those quiet hours, something stirred in his chest — something foreign and familiar all at once. A tenderness and longing he could scarcely name.

You had gotten closer. Perhaps that was why your words on the final night of the festival struck him so deeply.

You had laughed together that evening, walked through bright-lit streets beneath strings of lanterns. But when the topic shifted to your marriage, about the husband you had never seen, your smile dimmed. Your voice cracked, wrapped in quiet sorrow.

You confessed how confused you felt, how hurt you were. How you didn’t understand why he — Khaslana — hadn’t come to see you. And in a low, guarded voice, you asked aloud if he even cared. 

He listened, seated beside you as Phainon, heart heavy with guilt. Each word was a knife, though you didn’t know you were placing the blade in his hand. He had wanted to speak. To explain. 

To say I do care. I watch over you every day. I listen to every prayer, every breath. I’ve never left your side.

But instead, he defended Khaslana as if he were someone else entirely.

A stranger.

That night, when he returned to the Vortex with questions running through his mind. Should he tell you the truth? Reveal the name behind the face you now trust? Or would it ruin everything you had come to build between you?

No, he’d just have to keep it a secret. Just for a little longer.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

When the Month of Everday rolled in, Phainon had begun answering your prayers more deliberately.

When you sat alone in the gardens, shoulders hunched, eyes faraway, he sent soft-pawed animals to sit with you; a curious chimera here, a fluttering cluster of butterflies there, chirping birds above. Gentle companions — not enough to startle, but enough to soothe.

When you muttered beneath your breath about the suffocating heat, he stirred the air with his fingers, sending winds to cool the sweat from your brow. You never seemed to notice the small cloud that followed you whenever you stepped beyond the temple gates, shielding you from the sun like a loyal servant.

He watched you and thought, Yes, this is enough.

The days had been steady. Almost peaceful.

Until he heard your sobs.

At that moment, he was in the midst of an argument with Mydeimos, a spirited bet over who could lift an entire mountain range faster. Their fists pounded the cliffside as they compared strength like war-hardened brothers.

Your sounds reached him like a whiplash.

It was soft at first. It sounded fragile, but unmistakable. 

Then, loud sobbing.

Phainon stilled.

His head jerked slightly, listening. Mydeimos raised a brow at the sudden silence.

“What's the matter—?”

But Phainon was already gone.

He reappeared just behind your parents’ house. The sky above was bright, a contrast to your emotion. And through the walls, your cries tore through him like thunder splitting stone.

“I hate him!”

He froze, eyes wide, and his breath caught in his throat. The words struck like a blow to the chest, and his pupils trembled.

“I hate him.”

No.

No, no, that can’t be right.

He stepped closer, pressing himself against the shadows of the wall, every muscle in his divine body locked in place.

Then your mother’s voice, soft and warning: “Don’t say that, sweetheart. What if he hears you?”

You didn’t hesitate as you answered, “I don’t care! I want him to hear me!”

The air around him cracked. 

“I hate him!”

His heart stuttered.

“I hate him!”

Stop... please—

“He left me!”

No. No. I’m right here–!

“I don’t want to go back!”

That sentence hit harder than any divine weapon ever had. For a moment, time twisted. The world stilled. Your voice echoed in his head on a cruel loop, every syllable sharper than the last.

I hate him. He left me. I don’t want to go back.

He could no longer hear the muffled protests of your father or the sound of your mother’s arms pulling you in close. None of it registered. All he could hear was you.

The pain was unfamiliar. Foreign and all-consuming.

Why?

Why did you feel this way?

He had given you everything: comfort, safety, freedom. The power to come and go as you pleased. He answered your prayers. Protected you. Watched you. Even the smallest desire, he met with quiet, invisible care.

So why did you hate him?

He vanished once more, light splitting the space where he stood.

Back in the Vortex of Genesis, the stars above spiraled violently, distorted by the storm brewing in his chest. He hovered in the silence of the divine plane, your cries still ringing in his ears, over and over.

The look on your face. The tears that spilled down your cheeks. The grief in your voice.

It was all because of him.

Even when he kept his distance to protect you. Even when he tried to be careful. He still hurts you.

And he didn’t understand.

Phainon’s — no, Khaslana’s — breathing ragged, he fell to his knees. Divine form trembling, hands clenched so tightly the stone beneath him cracked. His heartbeat thundered like war drums in his ears. Mydeimos' spear had pierced his chest once in battle, but it hadn’t hurt like this.

This... this was heartbreak.

Tears welled in his eyes, burning hot. They fell freely, only to sizzle and vanish into steam the moment they touched the sacred ground beneath him.

“You hate… me…” he whispered.

You hate me. You hate me. You hate me.

He repeated it in his mind like a curse, and the storms began to brew.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Okhema had been ravaged by storms for over a week.

Thunder rolled through the heavens day and night, shaking rooftops and soaking the earth with relentless rain. The fields were drowning. Crops began to rot beneath the mud. Work halted, streets emptied, and the people whispered of divine wrath. It was the worst weather Okhema had seen in generations. 

High above, Aglaea watched the storm with a quiet frown. The Goddess of Romance was no stranger to divine tantrums; gods and mortals alike threw them when love faltered.

But this one had become… excessive. 

Not only had Hyacinthia, Goddess of the Sky, blistered her ears with complaints about the ruined blue of her canvas, but one of Aglaea’s golden threads was trembling. Dangerously so. Nearly fraying at the edge. 

A divine-mortal bond. Now that was rare.

Aglaea leaned closer, fingers brushing the glowing weave, noting its resonance. This wasn’t an ordinary thread, tangled from passing crushes or whispered longing. This one pulsed with something ancient and sacred. A thread that should never have been this brittle so soon.

She hummed, amused. “Now… who do you belong to, I wonder?” 

Without another word, she vanished from her realm. 

In a breath, she stood within the Vortex of Genesis. Stars swirled in slow, infinite spirals, like pain spilled into the void. She walked with grace past the twelve thrones of the Twelve, each grand in their own way. 

And there he was. 

At the edge of the vast platform, Khaslana stood alone. The Worldbearing God, cloaked in shadow, stared outward into nothing. His broad wings, once radiant with power, now hung heavy behind him. Their gold and amethyst plumage dulled like tarnished glass. The eternal flame of his hair, normally burning like a solar flare, flickered dimly above his brow. Even his halo had lost its luster.

Aglaea paused beside him, her presence warm, “I see Okhema’s having quite the weather — on the sixth month, no less,” she said lightly, her voice breaking the hush.

No response. 

She tried again, more pointed this time. “Hyacinthia has come to me to complain that a certain Worldbearing God has been painting over her skies with stormclouds. She says they look like… hm… what was it that she said?” She tapped her chin with a playful smile, “‘a muddy, sulking bruise.’ Quite poetic, don’t you think?”

Khaslana didn’t so much as flinch. His eyes remained fixed on the stars, or perhaps… beyond them.

Aglaea folded her arms beneath her chest. “So… nothing to say about the storms, then?”

Still silence.

Her eyes narrowed, studying him more closely. His face was drawn, the sharp lines of his jaw clenched tight beneath his dim halo. Everything about him—from the slouch of his wings to the rigid set of his shoulders—radiated tension.

“The crops are dying,” she said more gently now. “The streets are flooded. The people of Okhema are starting to wonder what they did to anger their precious god.”

At last, his jaw shifted.

“…Let her complain,” he muttered, voice low and rough as crushed stone.

“Oh, she is,” Aglaea smirked faintly. “But I didn’t come for Hyacinthia.”

She raised her hand, and with a glimmer of divine threadwork, a golden string appeared. It curled in the air between them, one end wrapped around Khaslana’s divine presence, the other trailing far downward, through the layers of the world as if reaching for someone below. 

“This thread,” Aglaea said, letting it swirl around her fingers, “has been trembling all week. Do you know how rare it is to see a bond like this? Between a god and a human? This isn’t just affection. It’s something sacred. But right now,” her eyes narrowed, “it’s falling apart.”

Khaslana said nothing, but his brow furrowed deeper. Then, finally, he spoke.

“She said she hated me.”

Aglaea’s eyes softened, a quiet breath leaving her lips. “Ah.”

“I did everything for her,” he said, and though his voice was calm, there was a bewildered ache behind it. “I protected her. Gave her food, shelter, and freedom. Everything she could want. And still…” He looked down at his hands, clenching them slowly. “She said I left her.”

“Well,” Aglaea said carefully, “didn’t you?”

His head snapped toward her, but she didn’t flinch.

“You gave her your temple, your guards, your blessings. But not you. You let her see her family, her brother, but not her husband.”

“I was there,” he said sharply. “I watched her. I listened to every prayer. I shielded her when no one else could.”

“But did you hold her?” Aglaea asked softly.

Her words landed like thunder on Khaslana. He didn’t answer.

“She is human, Khaslana. Mortals aren’t fed by silent devotion. They need to touch, they need voice, and presence. She needs her husband. Not just her god.”

Khaslana looked away.

“I never wanted a bride,” he muttered. “I only answered a prayer… one too steeped in blood and desperation to ignore.”

Aglaea raised an eyebrow. “Then cast her off. Let her go.”

The thread shimmered between them, its glow dimmer than before. He didn’t speak, his jaw tensed, and his fists trembling. 

“I can’t,” he said at last, voice cracked.

“Even if I never asked for it, I can’t let her go. I don’t know when it happened, but I can’t imagine the temple without her steps echoing in the halls. I can’t remember what silence was before her voice filled it.”

“She was a burden I never meant to carry,” he whispered, “but now… she’s a weight I don’t know how to set down.”

“Then carry her properly,” she said. “Because if you don’t—she’ll tear herself from your hands just to feel free again.”

Khaslana’s voice turned hard. “You speak as if I could have simply walked into that room. As if lying beside her wouldn’t risk shattering her ribs or scorching her skin.”

Aglaea tilted her head. “Is that truly what you fear?”

He was quiet. Then, softly:

“My form isn’t what it used to be. I’m not some soft-lit statue. My body is lined with cracks. My shoulders are spiked. My hands are claws. I have destroyed armies with the weight of my breath.”

His claws curled against his palm.

“If I touch her… I would ruin her.”

Aglaea was silent for a long breath.

Then she said, “So instead, you let her ruin herself. Wondering what she did wrong. Believing she was unwanted.”

Khaslana’s expression faltered. Barely. But enough to show the storm beneath.

“She hates me.”

“She was lonely,” Aglaea replied, her voice quiet.

He turned from her, “You wouldn’t understand.”

But Aglaea only stepped closer.

“I understand love,” she said, her voice gaining strength. “And I understand what it means to show up, even when it’s terrifying. I’ve seen mortals risk heartbreak, war, even death, just to reach each other.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder, steady and warm, “Your body may be forged from flames, Khaslana. But your soul still longs.”

She stepped back.

“I’ll leave the skies alone for now. But if you let this thread break, the world may not end... but something inside you will.”

And then, like the soft falling of starlight, she vanished, leaving Khaslana alone with his thoughts.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You stood by the window, worry etched into your features as you gazed out at the endless downpour. The storm still hadn’t passed. 

For the past week, the rain had come in vicious cycles. It would rage from Lucid Hour to Parting Hour, winds howling, thunder deafening, and rain lashing the windows like angry fists. Then, it would slow to a drizzle during Curtain Fall Hour, only to begin again at Entry Hour the next day. 

You were grateful that the corridors connecting your chambers to the temple were covered. Without them, even the simple act of fetching food would have been an ordeal. 

Now, wrapped in a blanket, you remained cooped up in your chambers, your fingers curled around the warm fabric to help shield you from the cold. The sound of rain pelting the stone walls had become constant, almost maddening. 

Then came a knock at your door. 

You blinked, startled, and rushed to answer. Standing in the doorway was the Archbishop, his robes damp at the edges, his face weary but composed. 

“Forgive me for coming so suddenly, my child,” He said gently.

You stepped aside without a word, allowing him to enter. He moved with care, as if unsure whether he was intruding.

“You’ve never visited me in my chambers before, Your Excellency,” you said as you shut the door behind him. 

He gave a small nod, his hands folding behind his back as he walked a few steps in. “Is something wrong?” You asked, sending a weight in his silence. 

He stopped at your question and drew a deep breath. When he turned to face you, his expression was troubled. 

“I believe this storm is Lord Khaslana’s doing.”

Your brows furrowed. You stepped closer, clutching your blanket more tightly around your shoulders. 

“What makes you think that?” You asked, your voice low.

The Archbishop looked down, hesitating before he met your gaze again. “This has happened before, there would be raging storms and our prayers would take more effort to be heard. And right now… He has not responded to our prayers,” he said, voice subdued. “Nor has he answered any of our calls to commune with him.”

You blinked, silence stretching between you. There was a heavy feeling in your chest.

“There are reports from the city,” he went on, “that the flooding is getting worse. The crops are dying. Food stores are spoiling faster than we can replenish them. Children are falling ill. Transportation has all but stopped.” His shoulder sank. “I fear we may be approaching a crisis if this keeps up.”

His eyes reached yours, weary and pleading. “Have you tried praying or talking to him to stop this storm? Did he answer?”

You let out a soft scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. “Forgive me, but asking me is pointless.”

You took a step back, your voice tightening. “He’s never responded to me. Not once. He has never spoken, has never appeared. Even if I did pray, he wouldn’t respond.”

The Archbishop’s expression fell, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he stepped forward and gently took both of your hands in his. 

“You are his wife,” he said, his voice steady despite the desperation behind it. 

You looked away, your jaw clenched. “Only in name.”

He held your hands a moment longer before releasing them. “Try,” was all he said. 

Then, with a small bow, he turned and left you standing alone. The silence that followed was deafening.

You bit your lip, frustration burning behind your eyes. Was this storm his answer? Did he hear you that night at your parents’ home, shouting your anger at him? 

You let out a low, bitter sigh and dropped onto the edge of your bed. It didn’t matter what you felt. People were suffering, the city drowning, and your family — your people — were in danger. 

You had no choice now. You would have to swallow your pride for the sake of Okhema.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

It was useless.

No matter how many times, in however many ways you tried, your prayers were met with silence. You had offered devotion, tears, your voice hoarse with pleading. And still, nothing. Lord Khaslana remained absent, and with each passing storm-filled day, your anger burned hotter beneath the weight of your helplessness.

How could you not? He’s acting like a child throwing tantrums!

You’ve had enough. If the passive approach didn’t work, you need a more aggressive approach. 

You left before dawn. The thunder, for once, had settled to a distant murmur, like a beast sleeping fitfully beneath the clouds. You threw on the thickest cloak you owned, but the rain had already soaked you through the bone before you reached the temple gates. 

The guards cried after you, the priestesses stepped into your path in panic, but you didn’t stop. You shook their hands off your arms. Your boots splashed through rising pools of mud as you walked with purpose — not to the city square, not to shelter, but to the hills. To the highest point you could reach, far from protection, far from anyone who might stop you. 

Your fingers trembled with cold, your soaked cloak clinging to your back like a second skin. The rain was relentless now, an endless sheet drumming down from the bruised sky.  The winds howled against your face, strong enough to nearly topple you off balance with each step. 

But you pushed through it anyway.

Wet hair whipped against your cheeks, sticking to your skin. Mud pulled at your feet, but you climbed higher. The temple had long disappeared behind you, and now only the city lights flickered below, blurred by the mist.

By the time you reached the hill’s summit, your breath came in shallow gasps. Every muscle in your body ached, screaming at you. Your lungs felt like it was burning from the cold, and your teeth chattered uncontrollably.

Yet you stood there against the blackened sky. Your chest heaved as you felt the air was heavier. 

“Lord Khaslana!” You screamed, the name ripped from your lungs, echoing into the storm. You paused, but no reply came. 

The rain struck harder now, angry needles against your skin, “I’ve prayed!” you shouted, louder. “I’ve waited, I’ve begged! But you — you arrogant, absent god! You stayed silent through it all!” Your voice cracked under the weight of months of abandonment.

“You bring storms to punish the people of Okhema just because I said what I felt?!”

Lightning crackled overhead, illuminating the sky for a breathless moment. You didn’t flinch. You glared into the storm as if daring it to answer.

“Oh, send your thunders then! Strike me down if it pleases you!” Your chest rose and fell rapidly as the words poured out in rage and desperation.

“Just stop hiding and face your wife you– you–!” You clenched your fists. Your body trembled from a final, reckless kind of defiance.

“COWARD!” you screamed with all the force your soul could muster. 

A blinding light shattered the sky. Thunder cracked loud enough to split stone. Then came the strike.

A bolt of lightning split the earth just ahead of you. The blast threw a gust of wind so strong it forced you a step back, shielding your face with your arms. But when the light faded and the roar quieted—he was there.

He stood tall, towering over you by more than triple your height.

Radiant and terrifying.

Golden wings streaked with violet unfurled behind him like a storm split in half. His body glowed like cracked marble, lines of molten gold spilling from the fractures across his limbs and chest. Spikes jutted from his shoulders, golden and sharp, and his hair blazed like the sun.

His clawed hands flexed at his sides. And those eyes—those burning, golden eyes—pierced through the veil of rain like twin suns, fixed solely on you.

You staggered back in awe, your breath hitching as his presence filled the air like a pressure too great to bear. But before you could speak, the storm around you softened. A dome of warm, golden light shimmered into place above your head, shielding you from the wind and rain. The world fell quiet, save for the sound of your breathing.

You dared a glance upward.

He hovered just above the ground now, slowly lowering himself to stand before you. The closer he came, the more you felt it; his power, his sorrow, his presence pressing against your skin like something tangible. You opened your mouth, but no sound came. Your fury had carried you here, but his silence stole the words you had prepared.

With trembling breath, you forced yourself to stand firm. You could feel droplets of water dripping from your hair, your wet clothes heavy on your body. The wind no longer reached you, and the weight in the air still crushed your chest.

“Stop this storm,” you managed, voice rough. “Please.”

Khaslana’s golden eyes locked onto yours. There was no flicker of warmth in them, no spark of the god you once dreamed of meeting. His voice when he answered was low, almost cold.

“You’re asking me? The god you hated?” He said,

The sound of his voice rooted you in place. It was the first time you’d heard it, and yet something about it was painfully familiar. A memory brushed the edge of your thoughts, but the coldness in his tone and the tension in your spine prevented you from figuring it out. 

“Oh for goodness sake,” you hissed, rolling your eyes as your chest heaving from anger, “You never responded to my prayers! You never even looked at me! What was I supposed to think?”

Khaslana’s eyes narrowed, the gold in them flaring like the sun. “I did respond,” He said, “You just didn’t notice.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his words. “What…?”

“I sent you winds when the sun was too harsh. I made the guards fall asleep when you returned late from sneaking out of the temple. I changed the temple rules after your complaints. I sent you critters to accompany you in the gardens. I was there, every moment, watching. Protecting.”

Your breath caught in your throat. A thousand little things that never made sense now returned like puzzle pieces falling into place.

“But you weren’t present,” you said, frustrated. “They said you stopped visiting after our wedding. You never came to see me. Never… touched me. Never spoke to me.”

“I did,” Khaslana said, quieter now. “Just… not in this form.”

And in a quiet, golden shimmer, his divine shape began to fade. The crackling marble softened into flesh. The halo dimmed. The claws became gentle fingers. The glowing eyes, still golden, now carried something more—vulnerability.

Phainon stood before you.

You gasped, eyes widening as the realization hit you like thunder, no wonder his face and voice was familiar. “Phainon… You were Phainon this whole time?!”

He frowned, looking away.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, voice breaking. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“When we first met,” Phainon murmured, “there were too many people. I didn’t plan to talk to you for long. Then... I panicked.”

“Panicked?” you repeated, hurt blooming in your chest like fire. “You’re a god, and you panicked?”

“I did,” he answered, a note of defensiveness creeping into his voice. “And the longer I stayed quiet, the harder it became to fix it. You smiled at Phainon… but you said you hated Khaslana. How could I show you I was both?”

“Then why didn’t you just visit me—like you’re supposed to? As my husband?”

“Because I was afraid!” he shouted as a sound of muffled thunder cracked from behind him.

“I was afraid,” he said, quieter now, almost desperate. “Afraid that if I touched you, I’d break you. My true form… It’s wrong. It’s all jagged edges and burning weight. I’m not like you. I remember what it was like to be human, but I don’t understand those memories anymore. I don’t understand those feelings.”

His voice broke slightly. “I didn’t want to hurt you. So I kept my distance. I thought if I gave you the world, you wouldn’t come looking for the god you were promised.”

Something snapped in you at those words. Your hands curled into fists, trembling. And then, before you even realized it, you struck him in the chest.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t stop you.

You hit him again, your voice ragged with pain. “I never asked for the world! I asked for you!”

You hit him once more, sobs escaping you now in messy gasps. “I waited. Every day. I waited for you to come. To say something. Anything. And instead, you watched me from your sky like some—some coward! I thought I was the problem. I thought I wasn’t worthy of you.”

Your fists weakened, falling limply against his chest as your legs gave out. You collapsed against him, burying your face into his shoulder.

“I was so lonely,” you whispered, brokenly. “So alone.”

Phainon didn’t speak. He stood still, hands trembling slightly at his sides as you sobbed into his shoulder, your pain crashing into him like waves. Each crack in your voice struck something tender in him — deeper than any spear, sharper than any blade. And though he tried to stay composed, he couldn’t stop the single tear that slipped from his cheek.

It fell onto your hair with a soft hiss, evaporating before it touched your skin.

Then another fell. And another.

You heard it, the faint sizzle of heat, and slowly, you pulled away to look at him.

His brow was furrowed, his mouth parted in a quiet breath, and his blue eyes were wet and aching. The tears continued to fall and vanish into vapor, but he didn’t hide them. He let you see every drop of sorrow, every fracture of regret written into his face.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, voice hoarse. 

Unbeknownst to either of you, the storm outside the golden shield had eased. The sky was still bruised with clouds, but the wind had softened, and the thunder no longer roared. 

You wiped your own tears away with a trembling hand, then reached for his face. With slow, deliberate care, you brushed the tears from his cheeks, fingertips cool and soft against the heat of his skin. The contact made him flinch, not from cold, but from the gentleness, the grace of being touched by you in kindness after everything. 

You took a deep, shuddering breath and looked away for a moment. Then, voice raw but steady, you spoke. 

“You hurt me,” you started, “So much that… there were nights I thought about leaving you.”

A bitter chuckle slipped from your lips, dry and hollow. When you looked back at him, you expected anger or indifference. But what met your gaze was something far more fragile.

His face was stricken. His eyes were wide, devastated, like a child who had just broken something precious and didn’t know how to fix it. Your words had pierced him in a place not even divinity could shield. 

“Do you want me to leave?” you asked, quieter now. “If being married to me is just… a burden to carry, if I’m something that makes you uncomfortable —”

“No!” Phainon’s voice rose sharply, full of panic, as he stepped forward and caught your arms, holding them firmly but not harshly. His grip trembled, as if afraid you’d vanish if he let go. 

“I—” he faltered, eyes searching yours. 

“I never asked for this marriage, no. But meeting you as Phainon… being with you that way — it changed everything.”

His voice the softened, almost trembling as he continued, “You made me feel something I hadn’t felt in centuries. You made me imagine a life where we weren’t bound by pacts or divine duty. A life where we were just two strangers who met by chance and fell in love slowly without fear.”

Phainon’s smile flickered, touched with ache and hope. “You made me feel human again.”

“So no,” he said, firmer now. “I don’t want you to leave. Not now. Not ever.”

You stared at him, stunned, then slowly your expression softened. A new tear slipped down your cheek — not from grief, but relief.

“I see…” You murmured.

Phainon quickly released you, noticing your flinch too late. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I hurt you again?”

You shook your head. “No,” you whispered. “I’m… relieved.”

Above you, the sun began to pierce through the clouds, golden light filtering softly across the hill.

Phainon let out a shaky breath of relief. “Then…” he began, voice tender, “can we start over?”

You hesitated only for a moment before nodding. “Let’s start over. No need to rush.”

Then, with a faint smile and glistening eyes, you reached out your hand to him—not as a formality, but as an offering. Your fingers were cold, wrinkled from rain, yet steady.

He blinked, taken aback by the gesture. A handshake? 

But the moment he took your hand, it no longer felt like just a handshake.

You gently curled your fingers around his and pulled his hand to your chest, just above your heartbeat. “I’m your wife,” you whispered, your voice warm and trembling. “It’s nice to finally meet you… truly.”

His eyes softened as he lowered his head, pressing a reverent kiss to your knuckles. His lips lingered there a moment longer than expected, like he was trying to memorize the feel of your skin, the texture of this promise, the shape of a new beginning.

When he looked up, he smiled.

“I’m Phainon,” he said gently.

You tilted your head. “Not Khaslana?”He held your hand a little tighter, “Khaslana bears the weight of the world. But when I’m with you… I’m not holding the world. I’m holding you.”

CHAPTER V

When he heard you sneeze on the hill, his expression shifted instantly to worry. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you, holding you firmly against his chest. In a blink, the storm vanished from your senses. There was no more wind, no more rain, only the sudden warmth of your chambers and the soft scent of cedar and rose oil clinging to the walls.

You blinked in surprise, barely catching your breath as he guided you gently toward the washroom.

“Take a hot bath, quickly,” he said, already unfastening your soaked cloak. “You’ll catch a fever like this. I need to take care of a few things first—Hyacinthia’s going to have my wings for the skies I ruined.”

And with that, he vanished.

Just like that.

You stood there in silence for a long moment, the empty space where he had been already cold. The pain that flared in your chest was sharp, instinctive—not as deep as before, but still a ghost of the hurt you'd carried for months. You pressed a hand to your heart.

No. You had made peace with him. You had seen his tears. His heart. You had both made a choice to begin again.

Still…

You sneezed again—sharper this time.

You sighed, stripping off the damp layers clinging to your skin. Your fingers moved quickly as you turned on the hot water, steam already beginning to rise around the marble basin.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Phainon returned to your shared chambers not long after Parting Hour, the quiet hum of his powers still clinging to his presence. His expression was soft but worn, likely from appeasing Hyacinthia and announcing his return to the temple priests. You heard from the priestesses earlier that the temple had rejoiced, and the Archbishop was moved to tears when Phainon’s voice finally answered the ritual prayers. 

Inside your room, the air was warm. You had just finished towelling off your damp hair, your night robe loose around your frame as you combed your fingers through the tangles. The sound of the door opening behind you made you turn slightly.

Phainon approached with a tentative smile. “Sorry for making you wait,” he said as he made his coat vanish with a shrug of his shoulders, the materials disappearing into soft golden dust.

You arched a brow and gave him a small, teasing smile. “Only half a year. Barely noticed,” you said with a playful roll of your eyes before turning toward the bed.

Phainon let out a breathless sigh, following behind you with a dramatic pout as you perched at the edge of the mattress. He sat beside you, close enough for your knees to brush.

After a short silence, he cleared his throat. “So…” he said as his eyes nervously flickered between you and the bed. 

“We don’t have to rush anything, Phainon,” you said before he could get too tangled in his own nerves. “Besides, I’m not spending the night with someone I barely know.”

His lips parted as if to protest, but you lifted a hand before he could. “And don’t argue that I know you because of the times we spent together. I know Phainon, the human version—the friend. But you? As my husband?” You gave a soft shrug. “That’s a whole different story.”

Phainon looked a little deflated at first, but then he smiled. It was a quiet, grateful kind of smile. “That sounds fair. Getting to know each other properly… That sounds nice.”

And so you talked. For hours.

The two of you curled into the bed, at first upright against the pillows, then slowly sinking into the comfort of the covers as the conversation stretched into the night. You told him about your childhood. You spoke of your fears, your petty dislikes, and your odd preferences.

Phainon, for his part, opened up in ways you didn’t expect. He told you about the earliest memories he had when he first became human, how he used to live in a place called Aedes Elysiae, which was surrounded by fields of wheat as far as the eye could see. He described his affinity for antiques and how he had a hobby of collecting them back then. 

You laughed, cried a little, and at some point, you both lay facing each other under the shared blankets, your fingers tracing idle shapes against the fabric between you.

In the days that followed, life began to bloom around you again.

Phainon kept his promise. He was no longer just a god hiding behind the sky. He became a presence, warm and tangible. He walked with you through the temple gardens, sat beside you during meals, and occasionally dragged you just to lie in the sun. 

He asked you questions often, about your dreams, your moods, your thoughts on every little thing. As if trying to memorize you in real time.

He formally met your parents again. This time, not as a stranger cloaked in mystery, but as your husband. You nervously explained everything to your family, how Phainon and Khaslana were the same person, and how things were different now. Your parents exchanged looks, and your brother seemed to be more excited, but overall, they were overjoyed to see you smiling again.

Your father did apologize for threatening to kill him once, though Phainon simply laughed and said, “I genuinely don’t remember what you said. I was too busy panicking.”

There were still days when he was called to perform his duties as the Deliverer, but every night, without fail, he returned to you. Sometimes late, sometimes exhausted, but always with the same gentle smile and whispered “good night” against your hair.

Tonight, he returned to you in his divine form.

Though he carried himself with his usual solemn dignity, there was no denying the weight on his shoulders. His movements were slower, the glow of his halo a little dimmer, and the golden lines within his fractured marble skin shimmered less brightly than usual. 

Phainon rarely used this form in your presence, always quick to shift back to the human face you had grown familiar with. But when he moved to do just that, his hands already glowing with the telltale light of transformation, you stopped him with a hand on his arm. 

“Wait,” you said gently. “Stay like this. I want to see you… Really see you.”

His glowing eyes flickered with hesitation, but after a long breath, he nodded and let the light fade. Then, without a word, he lowered himself onto the floor, sitting cross-legged so that he could be closer to your eye level. Even so, his form was enormous, vast in its presence.

You reached forward, both hands rising to cradle his face. You have to admit it took you effort to do so. The moment your fingers made contact, Phainon closed his eyes. His expression softened, almost like he was savoring the contact.

You marveled at the texture of his skin — it was pale gray like the statues in the public garden, but far warmer beneath your touch. Your fingers traced one of the fine, golden cracks that ran along his shoulders.

“Do the cracks hurt?” you asked.

Phainon opened his eyes halfway, a breath escaping him.

“No,” he replied quietly, “They don’t.”

“Ah, okay. That’s good.” You murmured. “They kind of look like they did.”

Your touch wandered, now to his fingers. His claws were long, sharp, and metallic gold. You turned his palm upward and traced the ridges along it with your thumb. He watched you in silence until a soft chuckle broke free from his chest. 

You looked up, narrowing your eyes at him. “What?”

His smile was small but sincere. “Nothing. It’s just… It’s endearing — you asking if the cracks hurt.”

You huffed and looked back down at his claws. “I’m comparing you to a human body. If a human cracked like that, they’d be in excruciating pain.”

He hummed in amusement, eyes glinting with affection. You let your touch travel again, to the base of his wings. They were breathtaking—wide, arching structures of gold and violet. From afar, they looked feathered, but up close, you saw the sharp, blade-like edges to them, each feather-like sliver layered with precision. They shifted slightly under your hand, fluid despite their rigidity.

He noticed you staring and shifted awkwardly, eyes flicking away for a moment.

“Am I… scary?” he asked, voice low, uncertain.

You smiled at him, fingers tucking a strand of glowing hair behind his ear.

“When you appeared to me during the storm? Absolutely.” You laughed softly. “But now? You look absolutely divine.”

He stilled under your touch, eyes widening slightly as you leaned forward. With careful intent, you pressed a kiss just beneath his left eye.

Phainon froze.

He blinked as you pulled back, your cheeks warming as you began to mumble an apology. “Sorry—I just couldn’t help myse—whoa!”

He tugged you gently forward, hand firm around your wrist. You gasped at the sudden closeness, your face just a breath away from his.

“Do it again,” he said. His voice was quiet, but filled with something desperate and hungry. His eyes searched yours, filled with longing and disbelief, like he didn’t think he was worthy of what you’d just given him.

Your heart raced. Still blushing, you leaned forward again and placed another kiss on the other cheek.

“Again,” he whispered, his grip steady.

So you did. You kissed his forehead. Then the bridge of his nose. Then the top of one of his ears. Each touch was soft, reverent. You moved slowly across his face, offering gentle affection like a balm over wounds unseen. As you kissed the curve of his jaw, you swore you heard his wings flutter. 

You stopped just short of his lips, both of you breathless now. His eyes were locked onto yours, wide and filled with quiet pleading. Your gaze dropped to his mouth, then back to his eyes.

And with a quiet courage, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his.

It was quick. Soft. Awkward in the way all first kisses are. You pulled back, your cheeks burning, and your hands covered your face.

He chuckled.

You peeked between your fingers to see what he was doing, but before you could say anything, he moved forward, his voice brushing your ear like wind across a harp string.

“My turn.”

In a blink, you felt the world around you shift.

You barely had time to gasp before you felt yourself being cradled by the familiar softness of your bed. The linens cushioned your fall as your back met with the mattress. And above you, Phainon — still in his divine form — hovered.

His immense body caged you gently, one hand braced beside your head, the other reaching up to brush your cheek with a touch so impossibly careful, it made your heart ache. His golden eyes were darkened by something deep and unreadable as they scanned your face, searching every inch like he was trying to memorize you all over again. 

You swallowed, your breath catching when he tilted your chin up with his clawed finger, nudging your gaze to meet his, and then he leaned in and kissed you. 

It was different now.

Even though he was careful, his lips dwarfed yours, overwhelming and unfamiliar in their shape and weight. You tried to match him, but it was clumsy, the angles imperfect. You shifted under him, trying to adjust, but it only made your nerves more jittery.

Phainon must have noticed. With a soft hum of understanding, he shifted course. His lips trail down the curve of your jaw, then to your neck, his breath warm against your skin. You gasped when you felt his mouth on the delicate spot just beneath your ear. 

He kissed slowly, reverently. That is… until your reaction changed him.

Your gasp made him pause, then lean in again, this time with more intent. His lips pressed firmer, then parted. His tongue brushed your skin.

And then, he bites.

It wasn’t harsh, but it sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through your body, so unexpected it drew another sound from you, softer this time. Phainon exhaled against your throat like he’d found something precious. And then he began again, mouth moving along your neck with a hunger that wasn’t just physical; it was need, longing, the weight of months unspoken and untended. 

But he was heavy. His divine body, though restrained, pressed down on you with weight you hadn’t realized until now. Your arms trembled beneath him as his kisses grew more intense, and you could barely catch your breath between the sensations.

“P-Phainon…” you managed, your voice small, but he didn’t stop. He was lost in you, in the way you sounded, the way you felt under him. His mouth grazed lower, teeth brushing your collarbone.

“W-wait!” you finally gasped, louder this time, your hand pressing gently against his chest.

He froze immediately. He pulled back with a worried expression, his clawed fingers rising hesitantly as if afraid he’d broken you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice quiet, eyes flicking between your face and the red marks blooming along your neck. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, It’s—”

“Then… do you not want to…?” He asked again, voice careful.

“No!” you said quickly, your cheeks burning as you turned your face away in embarrassment. “I just… I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to… It’s just — your size…”

For a moment, he didn’t understand. Then, realization dawned in his eyes. He blinked once, twice, and then looked down at himself, still in his celestial form.

“Oh,” he murmured, “Forgive me.”

In a pulse of golden light, his form shimmered and then shifted.

Where divinity once loomed, now sat Phainon. He was still radiant, still beautiful, but wholly human. He was shirtless, his skin glowing faintly from the residual of the transformation, the muscles of his chest rising and falling with each breath. 

There was a flicker of nervousness in his blue eyes as he glanced at you.

“Better?” he asked softly.

Your gaze had wandered without permission, drawn to the definition of his chest, the lines of his collarbone, the familiar face now so close. You met his eyes again, your breath catching in your throat, unable to hide the flush on your cheeks.

Phainon picked up where he had left off, his touches reverent, slow, as if trying to memorize every inch of you through the warmth of his hands. His fingers traced along your sides with care, learning the curve of your waist and the rise and fall of your breath.

He leaned in again, placing kisses along your collarbone before slipping the fabric of your nightgown off your shoulders.

You felt the cool air brush your skin, but it was his mouth that truly made you shiver. He pressed his lips to the swell of your chest, then just above your heart, each kiss more deliberate than the last. His mouth moved lower, a soft sigh leaving your lips when his tongue flicked across your bud teasingly.

Your fingers slid into his hair, gently tugging when he bit down with a soft pressure. Your breath hitched, a quiet moan slipping free, but you instinctively held back.

Phainon noticed. 

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression pinched with confusion, and just the faintest trace of a pout on his lips. “Why are you hiding your sounds from me?” he asked, voice low and tender.

You averted your gaze, cheeks flushed. “I just… I don’t want to be too loud.”

His frown deepened. “Why?”

You hesitated, then whispered, “What if someone hears?”

Phainon’s gaze softened at your words, though there was still a flicker of amusement behind it. He leaned forward and placed a quick kiss on your lips.

“They won’t,” he said with a chuckle. “We’re far enough from the temple for that. And even if someone did…” He gave you a teasing look. “This is my temple, isn’t it? Shouldn’t I be allowed to do as I please in my own domain?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, his hand had dipped lower, fingers skimming along the soft flesh of your center. The sudden sensation caught you off guard, and a moan escaped your lips, sharper than before and unrestrained. 

Phainon paused, smiled against your cheek, and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“There it is,” he murmured. “That’s the sound I wanted to hear.”

He didn’t stop. His movements now grew more assured, guided by every breathless sound that escaped your lips. Each time you gasped, his gaze flickered to your face, watching your expression. When your body would jolt, reacting to a particularly sensitive spot he had touched, Phainon would smile softly. A feeling of pride bloomed in his chest as if he had just uncovered a secret.

He leaned down to drown your voices in him, and slowly, he pushed his fingers in. His fingers moved with a pace—long, steady, and unrelenting. Each touch sent a pulse of warmth coursing through you. One had gripped his arm, while the other found its way into his hair, fingers curling just enough force to draw a low breath from him. He leaned closer, welcoming the contact as though your need anchored him just as much as his touch unraveled you. 

“P-Phainon…” You whined, and he answered with a kiss to your forehead.

“Hm? Does it feel good?” He asked, still pushing his fingers in at a slow pace.

You nod your head, “I–I need, mmh, more…” “More? Are you sure?” Phainon asked as he adjusted his position, resting on his side while his other hand lay beneath you, hugging you closer. 

“Yes, p-please…” You managed to voice out.

Phainon let out a breath before inserting another finger in. Your body arched towards his chest, and a high-pitched, strangled moan escaped you. 

“Does it hurt?” He asked, planting kisses on your face.

“I’m okay…” You huffed, “Keep going.. Just… go slow…” You said.

“Okay,” he whispered, following your directions. 

He moved his hands slowly and sensually, carefully checking your reactions to see any signs of discomfort. Then, after a few minutes, you nod your head. 

“Okay… you can go a little faster.”

With that, Phainon picked up the pace of his fingers, curling them when he was deep enough. The rhythm of his fingers sent warmth blooming to your core, a rising tide sensation that left your breath stuttering.

You could no longer hold back the soft, broken sounds that spilled from your lips. Your fingers clenched tighter around his arm, nails digging into his skin in a desperate bid to stay grounded.

But Phainon didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned into your closeness, entranced by the way your face contorted with unguarded pleasure. 

With Phainon’s quick fingers, your body finally gave in to the building tension. The knot inside you snapped with a wave of release, your breath catching, his name escaped your lips in a cracked whisper. He watched you ride your high, his gaze filled with wonder, as though your unraveling was the most sacred thing he’d ever witnessed. 

As you came down, your lashes fluttered open. Phainon leaned in, peppering your cheeks with gentle kisses, his hair brushing your skin and drawing a quiet giggle from you.

“I take it you had a good time?” he asked, voice playful but laced with affection.

You rolled your eyes at him fondly and reached up to trace his cheek with your fingers. “I did… thanks to you,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth.

Phainon moved to hover over you again, deepening the kiss with growing need. His hips moved slowly against yours, his breath growing heavier. You gasped as he pulled back slightly, eyes searching yours.

“Do you want to continue?” he asked, voice thick with restraint.

You nodded, more than ready, and pulled him close once more. Somewhere in the haze of kisses and wandering hands, you noticed him fumbling with his pants—an amusing contrast to his usual effortless elegance. But before you could comment, his body pressed against yours in full, his form settling into yours with a heat that stole your breath.

He paused, eyes locked with yours. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” you whispered, heart pounding.

Phainon leaned in, resting his forehead to yours, breathing with you, grounding both of you. He finally pushed his hips forward slowly and measured. You held onto him tightly, overwhelmed by the stretch. Phainon let out quiet sighs against your neck, he pulled out before pushing back into you.

Your tightness around him was heavenly, and he’d been to heaven before. 

As he rocked his hips into yours, you’d open your eyes to look at him. Small flickers of golden light danced around the corner of your vision. Every now and then, his divine form would slip through — his eyes would shift from sky blue to golden ones, even as far as only turning golden in one eye.

Soft golden flames would appear on his shoulder every time he reached a certain spot inside you, his hair would pulse from his usual white ones to his blonde ones. His voice, once deep and steady, faltered into quiet groans and murmurs of your name. Praising you, telling you how good he felt.

You kissed him again, anchoring him to you. “I love you, Phainon.”

His breath caught, but his hips still moved. When your eyes met, there was nothing hidden in his gaze. Just awe. 

“I love you too,” he whispered, voice almost breaking. 

With another kiss, he quickened his pace to chase your highs. The world around you blurring into quiet gasps and muffled moans, until nothing remained but warmth, closeness, and the stars flickering in his eyes. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

It was unusual to wake up to Phainon still beside you. 

His body was warm against yours, his arms resting loosely around your waist in a quiet embrace. Before this, you would open your eyes to find him already sitting at the edge of the bed or by your desk, greeting you with a quiet “good morning,” already dressed.

But not this morning.

This morning, the golden sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, touching his bare skin like a blessing. The light kissed the curve of his shoulder, the gentle line of his jaw, illuminating the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. You took in the sight carefully, as if afraid that moving too quickly would ruin this rare moment.

You turned on your side to face him, your body still aching from last night. You gaze across the angles of his face. His lashes were long, shadowing his cheeks with each breath, and you caught yourself smiling, well, perhaps a little jealous of how effortlessly beautiful he was.

Your fingers reached up, slow and gentle, to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear. The softness of his hair against your skin made something tighten in your chest. It was the feeling of the weight of everything it took to reach this moment. The silence, the missteps, the months of loneliness, of sleeping on this very bed with nothing but questions in your heart.

And now, here he was. Real and warm. Sleeping beside you like he belonged there all along.

His brows twitched slightly, and then, with a small breath, his eyes fluttered open.

Those familiar blue eyes looked at you now with a different softness. They locked onto yours, and he didn’t say anything at first, as if trying to convince himself this wasn’t a dream.

From where he lay, the morning light behind you framed you like a painting. Your hair was still tousled from sleep, your eyes a little puffy, the wrinkles of your smile faint. To him, there was no sight more divine than this. Nothing could rival the simple beauty of waking up to you.

“Good morning,” you whispered, your voice soft.

“Good morning,” he replied, his voice still hoarse with sleep but still laced with the same tenderness he had shared with you last night.

You reached for his hand beneath the covers, and he met you halfway as he curled his fingers around yours without hesitation. 

The silence stretched between you, but this time, it was warm. It was the sound of reconciliation, of finally being seen. 

You rested your forehead against his and closed your eyes. You know there are still roads you’ll need to go through in the future. There would still be moments of misunderstanding, of learning how to love each other more. But now, you weren’t afraid of the road ahead.

You had found him, and he had stayed.

For now, that was enough.

©salmonmakiii, do not steal my work or feed it to AI.

[slutdge]

squint for me real quick

[tartrazeen]

Jumpscare?

Penis?

Loss?

What exactly are you presenting me with, OP? 🤔

[tartrazeen]

i mean alright, might as give that a

OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE

[fear-is-nameless]

How dare you.

[monstersholygrail]

“Why do I have to do this?” You whine as you blindly reach behind you, desperately trying to grab an arrow from the bag on your back for the umpteenth time without luck. It’s just so farrr behind you.

When you went to the Angel Agency looking for work, the last thing you expected was to be assigned as a Cupid. At most you thought they’d out you in, I don’t know, customer service or something. Not whatever this was.

The Grumpy Cupid training you wasn’t having that much of a good time either. If his face said anything to say about it. Out of everything he was doing (ei: scowling and crossing his arms) the one thing he wasn’t doing was helping. He’s just standing there watching you struggle helplessly.

With another whine and a huff of frustration you drop your arms. They’re tried. And you look at him with that little pout of yours, silently asking for help. Of course he doesn’t take the bait, watching you blankly.

“Aren’t you gonna help me? Or at least answer me,” you grumble under your breath, attempting to look over your shoulder where the arrows sit so innocently. Yeah, right. Innocent your butt.

“Because it’s what you asked for. You wanted a job and you got one.”

You only got this stupid job was because you were so painfully bored. No one ever talks about how dull the afterlife is. Paradise is pretty subjective turns out.

“I didn’t know it was gonna be like this though! The movies back on earth never said cupids were supposed to be some master archers,” you ramble on, complaining without caring if he was listening.

Gosh, you missed earth. That’s the one thing about being a Cupid you suppose. Being able to go back to earth and help people find love. Grumpy Cupid disrupts your thoughts with a sharp sigh. Refusing to meet your eye he stomps over and nearly yanks you in the air with the force of him pulling an arrow from your sling.

“When has life ever been like the movies?”

“But this is the afterlife.”

“Don’t be smart,” he snaps, shoving the arrow into your chest, letting his hand linger there for a beat too long before jerking away as if he’s been burned.

Your pout returns with a vengeance as you scramble to hold the arrow before it falls. That touch didn’t feel too bad. You wouldn’t mind more of it— no! Don’t think that way. Focus.

Forcing your attention back on the arrow you fumble around, trying to notch it in place on the bow. Low grunts escape from you as you literally turn in circles trying to keep it in place. Frustration growing by the minute till you’re sure you’re about to explore.

A delighted gasp instantly cuts you off from your subtle complaining as you finally get the arrow in. Yes, you did it! One step down and a million more to go to become a professional Cupid. In order to properly celebrate your hand lifts in the air to cheer but the release causes your arrow to fly… right into your leg.

The silence is deafening as you refuse to meet Grumpy Cupid’s eye. It takes a moment to gather your courage so you’re not surprised that when you do look you see him staring at you with a knowing disappoint. Wanting to snap back at him your mouth opens to shoot out some clever retort when all words die on your tongue, a sweet scent gracing your senses instead.

Soon after the nerves in your body begin to hum with a burning warmth, spreading throughout your body and shooting straight toward your glistening cunt. More and more slick begins to gush out of you, making a mess of your thighs, preparing your body for what’s to come.

“S-something’s— hah!— wrong,” you stammer out, breath heavy, your pussy clenching around nothing and aching to be filled.

Grumpy Cupid’s eyes start to widen as they flicker over your frame, realizing that indeed something isn’t right. That’s when it finally clicks and he notices the color of the heart on the arrow. You let out a squeak when he curses under his breath, already making his way toward you.

“I must’ve accidentally picked up an aphrodisiac arrow— dammit!”

“Accidentally?” You ask, full of innocence. Not noticing the brief flash of uncertainty that moves across his face.

“C’mon, lemme take care of this for you. Consider it part of your training as a Cupid,” he all but purrs, the rasp in his deep voice causing the pressure at the bottom of your belly to tighten already.

Can someone make you cum just from their voice alone? If so you may be about to because it’s doing things to you that you didn’t even know were possible.

All it takes is your meek little ‘please’ and he’s pouncing on you quick for someone you thought hated you a moment ago.

Thats how you find yourself a few moment later, cheek smushed against the practice room floor, his steadying hand curled gently around your throat to feel your every moan. Your uniform was practically torn to shreds to make room for the pounding flesh of wet hips smacking against each other with a loud crack!, the brutal pace of his cock driving into your plush frame shakes you to your very core. Only making you burn that much hotter till a thick squelch meets your ear every time.

You try and release a soft mewl but his fist merely tightens around your throat, blocking off all air. Rolling your eyes back he fucks all of your thoughts right out of your head, leaving you deliciously wrecked and slobbering all over his cock, your essence dripping down between your bodies and creating a puddle beneath you.

No matter what you were doing or how many times he’s fucked you to completion, the burning needy sensation of the aphrodisiac refuses to leave your body. Not even a body anymore, you’re nothing but a mush of limbs to be used for his pleasure. And you want it that way, to be thrown around and manhandled while his throbbing tip make-outs with your poor bruised cervix.

“Thought you were pretty before. But like, mmph, like this you’re perfecttt,” he growls, watching the way your body presses into his touch as he caresses every shape of you.

Grinding his teeth from the force of holding back he slides one hand against your hips, dipping it into the small of your back, angling you down to take him even deeper. You cry out, body jerking forward as if to run away despite the desire ravaging through your system.

“W-where the— fuuuuuck, yes— d’you think you’re goin’? Ya asked for this ‘member?”

He doesn’t let you get far, using his hold on your back and your throat to bottom out inside you in one solid snap of his hips. You can’t even catch your breath as he rolls his cock deeper and harden inside your molten hot cunt, every swirl of his length mixing up the loads of cum sloshing around inside you.

If you could talk or do anything besides take what he’s giving you while you sob out your gratefulness, hiccups and sloppy blubbering pushing past your lips, you’d do it. If only to push back harder into every smooth slippery glide of his veins brushing so perfectly along your sloppy chubby pussy.

Truly, Grumpy Cupid had never seen a more beautiful creature than when he first saw you. And now he’s never felt anything like you either. He thought he knew what heaven felt like but he had no idea. This was so much better— true paradise.

For the both of you it felt like the beginning and the end, your entire worlds shifted on their axis as he slams his cock inside you like he wants to live there. Maybe he does, maybe he wants to live within the warmth of your cunt and never leave. Spend the rest of eternity filling up your greedy little fuckhole.

Your jaw drops as he starts driving his length right into that special spot inside you again and again, aiming to demolish you— mind, body, and soul. He simply laughs like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you and relishes in it. At least you’ve found something you’re good for.

“Look at you, you’re meant to be my pretty fuck doll, huh? Keep you stuffed with aphrodisiacs all day and leave you tied to my bed all day just waiting for me to give you the relief only I can provide,” he growls hotly in your ear and you shiver from head-to-toe, body curling into his in agreement.

It’s nearly impossible to speak through his grip on your neck that sends you soaring toward your peak. But you choke on every moan, whimper, and sob he brings out of you.

With one more steady pounding of his cock right where you need it most you’re thrown for a loop, drowning in pleasure as you cum. Every inch of you convulsing as it wracks through you and takes control, your essence painting his cock with even more of your precious cum. He’s not far behind you, burrowing as deep into your cervix as he can reach before flooding your tight silken channel with as much of his release as he can manage.

Finally it seems as with this last orgasm the heat that has been consuming you all afternoon pours out of you with your climax. Taking all the remaining crumbs of your energy left with it and you melt into the floor, landing in your own combined fluids with a wet plop.

“Lesson one: don’t mix up your arrows,” he whispers in your ear a moment later, chuckling darkly and pushing out you, giving your ass a small slap on the way out.

His words leaving you even more confused about his feelings toward you than when you first started training. Eh, who cares so long as he keeps fucking you like that. And maybe that’s the real first lesson of whatever is going on between you two now.

[beardedmrbean]

[theman]

I GOT A FUCKING RAISE THE POTATO WORKED WTF

[tattooedzombigirl]

This potato works. Every. Fucking. Time.

[secondlina]

Reblogging because it’s a damn potato and I want to encourage people to assume potatoes are magical.

[sinksanksockie2]

w-what if potato is actually lucky

[dontsteponthe-momeraths]

i need a lucky potato

[thoughtportal]

5 simple exercises to awaken dormant muscles

{source}

[onemillionwordsofcrap]

I appreciate this video a lot--people don't realize how important it is to start slow if you're trying to come back from a completely sedentary lifestyle, and they get really hurt as a result. Straining your muscles too much, too suddenly can land you in the E.R. and the wrong joint injury can permanently affect your mobility, so please start with absolute basics and easy stretches!

[sheepispink]

“Hi Lieutenant Riley sorry to disturb your precious time, could you please take these documents because I am very terrified of getting yelled at and I cant be in two opposite sides of base at once!” You pace at your small little desk, trying to work out the wording of your request.

Well that just sounded like you had a grudge against everything— you couldn't possibly say that. And wouldn't you waste more of his time by yapping on for that long? No you needed convincing, maybe a sob story, potentially a tragic tale. Anything at this point, you just needed to get through this on time.

It’s so close to the deadline and you’ve completed every task so far except delivering them on time. They needed to go to three places, two on the western side of base and another all the way on the east side. Both were due for briefings in fifteen minutes. There was no way you’d make it in time.

No one else was free to help either, busy with their own things, and any soldier coming by refused to even spare a glance at the new girl in admin. Although, they all were perfectly happy to smile at the secretary on the other side, offering to grab her coffee. Oh to have pretty privilege.

Your last hope was Lieutenant Riley, who’d walk through admin the same time he did every morning. It was the fastest way to his corner of base, so you naturally remembered every time he passed by. Still, he was a Lieutenant with probably a million other things to do, and you’ve seen him snap at younger soldiers in the corridors or on the field outside the windows. Besides if any of the other soldiers wouldn't help you, why would he even?

The doors swing open and you realise he’s early by a few minutes— how has that happened? You’re not even prepared!

“Hi Lieutenant Riley.” You squeak out before you can think twice and he slows his steps to nod at you.

“Morning..” He replies, though stopping to look at you strangely. “Do you.. need something?”

“Well uh— the thing is— the documents- two on the west side- one on the east and well—“

“I’m going to the east, i’lll take those.”

“Yes well the problem is I cant be at two places so if you could even just warn them that im late or not thats totally okay dont worry— wait, what?”

He reaches forward, easily plucking the documents from your hands and reading the location you scribbled on the post it note. “I’ll take them. You just had to tell me to and i would’ve.”

And then he’s gone, walking off in his usual direction and disappearing. No questions, no groans or complaints, not even blinking twice.

What?!

—

‘Lieutenant, I’m so sorry the timetables got mixed up do you mind..”

“The power outage caused a small loss of data if you could resend the files..”

“Ugh.. these boxes are so heavy, wait— Lieutenant?”

Every time without fail, he’d follow your orders like you were his captain, and even if he couldnt immediately help he would he back later that day. You couldnt believe it; there was no need for any convincing or elaborate stories to make him pity your unfortunate life. No— he just did it.

And it wasn’t like he had a thing for you either, bloody hell barely gave you more than a gruff nod most days, a few words on the rarer times.

It was so.. so strange.

“Whose this for?” He looks up at you in surprise when his outstretched hand is met by a gift bag instead. He was expecting another stack of documents, or heavy equipment that was just delivered— anything but the frilly bow and tissue paper. Why would you be giving this to someone?

“Well, read the tag.” You hum, and he flips over the little paper heart, not realising the flush on your cheeks.

“For Lieutenant Riley.” is written in curly cursive letters. Confused, he opens the package inside, revealing two neatly packed boxes. Placing the bag on the nearest table, he opens one of the boxes, revealing different pouches, dark grey like his usual uniform and velcro.

“You always fumble for your id cards in the morning and I saw this online. You can just clip it onto your belt and it blends in!” His eyes widen as you demonstrate for him, clipping the pouch onto him. It’s barely noticeable as well, looking just like a style of cargo trousers if anything. There was even a large one for him to fit a water bottle.

“Thanks..” It slips out quieter than he intended, eyeing it as he moves some stuff from his overfilling pockets into his brand new pouches.

“Aren’t you going to open the other box..?” You remind him and he realises he completely forgot about, turning back to grab it. He clicks open the little box, revealing two iron on patches. One that has his full title, and the other smaller, bearing a similar pattern to his mask. A skull.

“The one on my jacket has been rubbing off.” He mumbles, and you nod, having seen it get noticeably worse as the weeks passed. There was barely the rest of his name left. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing- really. I just wanted to say thanks.. for everything you’ve done. No one else ever helps me as much as you do and—“

He’s staring at you like you’ve grown two heads, confused. “What?”

Huh? Was this all a hallucination or something? Damnit, did you need a psych eval or—

“That was the bare minimum, i’d barely call that helping i mean-“

“But no one else is willing to..” You sigh and he looks genuinely disgusted by that thought, his narrowed brows making the mask scrunch up.

“Promise you’ll always call me when you need help.” He suddenly says, so firm and insistent, stepping right forward to look you in the eyes.

Slowly you nod, before doing a firmer one when his eyes narrow. “Y-yes sir.”

He eases, holding up the patch a bit higher, so he can look at the little details in the mask. It looks exactly the same, he doesnt know how you managed it— bought or crafted.

You’re sure he’s busy now, and will probably leave you for the remainder of the day until he leaves towards the barracks. That’s how this usually goes, everyone does that.

“Can you help me attach this tonight? I’m not too good with an iron..” He admits having been staring at it intently before glancing up at you. Surprised, you nod quickly.

“I will!”

“Alright. I’ll order dinner.”

“O-oh, it wont take that long—“

“Hm, guess we’ll just have to do it extra slow then.”

Without another word he walks off, the patches still cradled in his hand, keys silent now they're contained in his pouch. You have no idea how happy of a man you made him.

————————————-

buy me a coffee!

A/n: have some plans for another fic with this prompt. I thought this wass cute too tho

More works on my masterlist!

[sheepispink]

i revived moth guys life is complete

[aru]

Tumblr Code.

[geekishchic]

If I ever see any of you in public, the code is “I like your shoelaces”

that way we know we’re from tumblr without revealing anything

I’m just going to say this to strangers until i find a tumblr person

must keep reblogering!! Im going to be so suspicious if any one tells me this now!

Remember the answer is: I stole them from the president.

always reblog tumblr identification

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

good god this just crossed my dash in the year of our lord 2023

[jeremysknoxes]

I LIKE YOUR SHOELACES??? IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 2024??

[asteroidtroglodyte]

Let’s take it to 4 million, folks!

[alt-menu]

almost there!

[sociallyodd260]

TO 4 MILLION!!!!!!!!!

[snarky-wallflower]

THE ORIGINAL SHOELACES POST?? ON MY DASH IN 2024??

[thedeadskincellsonyourpillow]

so

[friendlynoodles]

Deli Department is the LAST CAT to be added to The Sillies!! :3

[skaye44]

The Games we Play

Bucky A/U - CEO/Billionaire Bucky, EA reader

Summary: James Barnes, Billionaire CEO has a little bet going. He insists you use his black card that comes with an unlimited budget, not knowing what the implications are or what his intent is. 

Content warning: Language, somewhat snobby James, flirty man-whore Steve, mean and spoiled Nat (Sorry, I made her mean in this one), slight class segregation and insecurities by the reader, doggos/animal shelter volunteering.

Part 1/2

Read Part 2 Here

James sat and swirled the honey brown liquid in his crystal glass, staring at the twinkling city streetlights and sighed. It was well after 10pm and he still hadn't left his office. 

"You busy?" A voice sounded at the entrance to his office. 

"No Steve, come in." 

Steve sauntered in and flopped down on the couch across from him. 

"Rough meeting?" James asked over the rim of his glass. 

"You have no idea..." Steve shuddered and undid his tie. 

"So, you're earning that exorbitant salary I am paying you then?" James teased his VP who flipped him the bird. 

"Meeting went late, and as a result, I lost out on the night I had planned with Carli and Candi." 

James snickered over his glass of whiskey and placed the empty glass down. 

"Did you manage to get the deal done?" 

"Done and we came out better than we had thought." 

"Good." 

They both sat in silence, relaxing in the quiet office.

Steve looked at his friend and noted the dark circles under his eyes. 

"Sleeping well?" 

"Well enough." 

"Need a night with Nat to tire you out." Steve winked at his friend who only half smiled. 

James had an on again and off again relationship with Natasha Romanoff, adopted daughter to one of his associates. They had been dating on and off for a while, but James was getting tired of it. 

Sure, she was a good time when he needed a release, but lately, she had gotten a little too comfortable in his life. She'd stay a few nights at his penthouse, request expensive dinners, and demand he pay for her wardrobe if she was required to be on his arm at any public event he had to attend. Her ridiculous spending and overall attitude are exhausting, and he is contemplating whether to continue their arrangement. 

"No, I think I'm good." 

"You have that charity gala coming up she was looking forward to attending with you." Steve reminded him of. 

"Fuck." 

James ran a hand through his trimmed hair making Steve snicker. 

"I'll figure something out."

<knock knock>

"Everything in order Mr. Barnes?" You asked your workaholic boss. 

James' head snapped to the doorway and his eyes quickly raked you over before settling on yours. He must have forgotten you were still working. 

"Yes, you can go home now. Thank you for your time today." James flashed you a smile before you left his office. 

You had been there since six am and were exhausted, but the life of an executive assistant to the CEO of a global media company was tiring but rewarding. James paid you well enough, you had great benefits, treated you with respect, and provided you with a driver on call whenever you needed it, so it wasn't too terrible. Although you never used the driver service since you preferred to walk or bus it to work. 

"Goodnight then." You nodded at both men and closed the door.

Steve eyed you through the small glass window next to the door and James cleared his throat at his friend to get his attention. 

"What? She's hot." Steve shrugged, got up from the couch and poured himself a glass of whiskey. 

"She's off limits." James glared at Steve who held up his hands in surrender. 

"Oh, I know." He chuckled and sat down opposite his friend. 

"Why haven't you ever gone after her?" Steve asked, sipping his whiskey. 

"Because it's highly inappropriate." James deadpanned. 

While true, James always thought there was something about you. Something genuine and honest, but when he hired you, he wasn't in the right headspace to do anything about it. He was having fun and working to get his company to where it is today which meant deals, parties, and doing whatever it took to grow his empire. 

He values your hard work and if he's being honest with himself, he didn't want to see you as a potential partner for him even though a part of him thinks you would be most ideal for him. 

"Didn't stop me with mine." Steve shrugged. 

"You've gone through seven EA's in nine months." James deadpanned. 

"None have been good enough." Steve pouted making James snort. 

"You mean, you slept with them then got bored and fired them?" 

"I did no such thing. They did that willingly, but most couldn't figure out our 'apparently complicated' phone system." Steve shrugged and placed his glass down.

James sighed and leaned back, closing his eyes. 

"Seriously, are you ok?" 

Steve leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. James kept his eyes closed and gave a half shrug. 

"Just bored. Restless. You know...the other night at the shareholder dinner...Everyone there were all couples." 

"So?" 

"So...it got me thinking..." 

"Here we go..." Steve sighed and sat back on the couch. 

James opened his eyes and scowled at him. "I'm being serious here..." He grumbled. 

Steve urged him to continue. 

"Anyways...It got me thinking." 

"Didn't you go to that with Aria?" 

James nodded. "Yeah, and that turned into a disaster. She primped her hair and makeup throughout dinner and whined when the conversation was 'too boring'. It was like I was dining with an immature child." 

"Well, she is younger than you by about 10 years. So, what's your point?" 

James glared at Steve. 

"My point is...It was embarrassing and when I looked at the other ladies around the table, they were polite and classy. They respected their partners enough to listen to the conversations, but their opinions and thoughts were taken into consideration and were respected when they added to the discussion. No way would my date ever know what was going on. After I dropped her off, I got to thinking that I'm alone. Like utterly alone. I don't have anyone to come home to." 

Steve ran a hand over his chin and scratched at the stubble. 

"And? You could have taken her home and had some fun." 

James glared at his VP. 

"That's not what I want anymore, I only have myself." 

"You have me. Sam who's the best financier and wingman out there. The company. Billions of dollars. Planes, properties, chefs at your disposal, and celebrities in your contacts. Beautiful women throw themselves at you whenever you look at them and you can get a hot date with the snap of your fingers. What's more to want?" 

"You don't get it." James snorted. 

Steve was looking at him like he grew another eyeball. 

"I want that stability of those couples. Someone only for me. Someone real, classy, and smart. Someone who isn't into my money or connections. It's been hard trying to date lately so I've avoided it. I only asked her because I was desperate. All my past dates saw has been dollar signs, or what I could do for them in the industry like getting them modelling contracts or influencer status with free products and food. Shit like that." 

"What about Nat?" 

James shuddered at the suggestion. "No. She's just an arrangement." 

"You're taking her to the gala?" 

James shrugged. "I haven't decided." 

"You went with her last year." 

"Maybe not this year."

"So, what are you going to do about it?" 

James sighed and looked around his office. 

"Nat is fine and all. She's certainly beautiful..." 

"But?" 

"Is it ok if I say she's shallow?" 

Steve snorted and finished his drink. 

"Then find someone who isn't." Steve replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

"I'm trying." James deadpanned. 

Steve plunked his feet on the coffee table and stretched back. 

"Like you have to have a competition or make them go through an obstacle course to be with you." He muttered. 

James' ears perked up. 

"What was that?" 

Steve sighed. 

"I said, it's like you want them to compete for you or some shit."

James thought about what Steve said and looked over out onto the city. The lights sparked and shimmered from the vehicles on the roads, distant honking from traffic was heard as an idea popped into James' head. 

"What?" Steve eyed him from the couch. He knows that look. 

"I'm thinking..." 

James tilted the empty glass back and forth in his hand. Steve sat up and watched his friend. 

"About..." 

"Well...the women lately have been a challenge to deal with. They're just after my money and connections. I want to see if any of them can be genuine. Real." 

"And?" 

"And...I don't know. Maybe see what they would do if I gave them something." 

Steve waggled his eyebrows and said, "Like sleep with them and decide who's the best at it?" 

"Fuck no. Jesus Steve." James scowled. "I mean..." 

James' mind was racing at the possibilities then one popped into his head making him smirk. 

"Like I could give them a credit card. Unlimited use for a week. See what they do with it." 

Steve's mouth popped open. 

"You're a billionaire. Are you sure you want to unleash that to a bunch of Nat's into the world?" Steve shuddered making James chuckle. 

"Maybe." 

He plunked his glass down once more. 

"Let me think on it overnight and I'll let you know. Now, get the fuck out of my office and go home or to some club or some shit." James waved his friend out so he could think about things. 

"Fine, I'm goin'" 

Steve got himself up from the couch and saluted his friend before leaving. 

"See you tomorrow." 

"See you." 

James got up and poured himself another glass. He smiled thinking about what Nat would do with unlimited funds. Well, he KNEW what she was going to do. Spend his money like a drunken sailor, that's what. He just needed to find someone else, to compare with. Someone sensible, someone he wouldn't normally be with, someone regular, plain with no interest in his connections. 

He looked around the office and smirked to himself. 

He knew just the person to compare Nat with. His mind was racing with this new challenge he was going to plan.

🐶💰

"Fuck it." You kicked the door to the shed, but it didn't budge. 

"Are you ok over there?" Wanda asked from the other enclosure. 

"This damn shed. Its door is stuck again." You glared at the offending door and sighed. 

"We don't have money for a new shed." Wanda reminded you, then leashed a small dog to take it out of the enclosure. 

"I know. Maybe I can fix it." 

You jimmied the door so it would properly line up when you locked it but no such luck since it fell off its hinges. 

"Oops." You just made it worse. 

"I can see if Pietro is available after work. He has some tools." 

"Thanks Wanda." 

"Maybe that rich billionaire boss will open his wallet for this place." She muttered while walking into the shelter.

"Nice try. He's only concerned with media related charities and his semi-regular fuck buddy." You called over your shoulder, chuckling at the spunky shelter manager.

 "He still seeing her?" Wanda asked. 

"I guess. Haven't had to set up dinners or drivers for them in a while and she hasn't shown up to the office in well over a month." 

Come to think of it, James hadn't been out with someone in a while. Odd. 

"Maybe he's realizing what a douchebag he is." Wanda sing-songed over to you making you snort. 

"He's a good man Wanda." 

Your boss may be a douchebag bro at times, but he's always been respectful to you and has never made a move on you, unlike Steve who's been through the rolodex of EA's. 

"Sure, he is." You chuckled at her. 

"I'm serious. He isn't that bad when you get to know him." 

"He could stand to donate a few million to us. That's pocket change to him." She sighed and looked around the outdoor enclosures. 

You had helped her re-do them for the last few months and the shelter was looking better each day, but it was still a struggle.

You had been volunteering your time at the Wags and Tails animal shelter located in your neighbourhood. It wasn't a large place, but Wanda ran it well with a good number of volunteers, foster families, and hard work. 

You were over there often both to relax from you're your stress filled days and because your apartment didn't allow for any pets, so you had to get your furry snuggles in somehow. Lord knows you're single as hell and have no proper social life outside of work, so you visit the furry four-legged beasties to keep you grounded and give them much needed attention and hope.

"He's hot as hell though." You blurted out making Wanda snort.

 "What? It's true. His expensive suits are well tailored to his incredible body. Many times, I've caught myself staring but I have to remember to be professional. Plus, he would never look at me over the models, celebrities, and influencers he's usually seen with, especially Nat because she's gorgeous. I mean, I have a decent job, sure I work stupid hours, put up with snobby executives and CEO's, but I've gotten to travel lots and..." 

"You have no life and pining for your hot rich boss isn't a way to live." Wanda interrupted you. 

You slumped a little and sighed. 

"You're getting older. Don't you want to leave and come home at decent hours? Have someone to come home to and share your life with? Aren't you getting sick of making someone else's arrangements, picking up dry cleaning, and booking dinner reservations that aren't for you? I'd love to have you work full-time here you know." 

You thought about it and shrugged a shoulder. 

"I know Wanda, but my job is a lot more than that and I really don't mind. I knew what I was signing up for when I applied. I have lots of experience and am organized, and we work well together." 

"You mean, he tolerates you, demands things from you at all hours of the day and night, then shrugs you off like it was no big deal when you've practically bent over backwards for him to get the job done." 

"Maybe?" 

Your job sounded worse when she said it like that. 

"I'm not trying to job shame you." 

"I know and I appreciate your concern. I'm just glad you're here so I can get in my walks and playtime with the pups." 

You smiled as another volunteer walked Tiny out to you. Tiny was a two-year-old Saint Bernard who was recently surrendered seeing as how his owners didn't appreciate the drool and dog hair in their brownstone. Sometimes, you wanted to slap people for having a dog they couldn't bother learning about before they bought it. 

"Hey Tiny." You scratched behind his large soft ears. 

He flopped down at your side and leaned into you, tongue lolling out of his drooly mouth. 

"We'll be back Wanda. Come on Tiny." You left the shelter and headed out on the street for a walk.

When you got back, Tiny was well exhausted from the walk, and your day was coming to an end. 

"How did Tiny do?" Wanda asked. 

"Doing well. Walking better on the leash and isn't as reactive to other dogs." 

"Good to hear." 

Your phone dinged in your pocket, making you look at it. 

"Let me guess, important bossman?" Wanda teased. 

"Yeah." 

You read his message telling you to pick up his dry cleaning and to make sure the boardroom has the catered meal delivered at 12pm sharp. 

"Just work stuff for tomorrow." 

"Uh huh..." 

You wanted to slink away under Wanda's gaze, but you didn't. 

"Later Wanda. See you in a few days." 

"Have a good night." Wanda waved as you left.

🐶💰

You arrived at the dry cleaners and stood in a lineup to get your boss' suits and shirts. While waiting, you managed to confirm the food delivery for noon and sent a bunch of emails sorting through meetings to be scheduled and dinners to book, sighing when you put your phone away and grabbed the hangars of shirts and suits that were handed to you. 

You walked to the office with Wanda's words hanging over you. It would be nice to work normal hours and not have to schedule someone's life but your own. 

You made it to the building and headed up in the elevator, greeting people as they got on and off their respective floors.

You worked for several hours, getting your inbox down to a more manageable level when you saw Mr. Rogers saunter in from his side of the executive floor. 

"Afternoon, Y/n." He sent you a flirty wink before opening James' office doors and closing them. 

His new EA was trailing behind with a notepad and pen, looking haggard for her first week on the job. 

"Hey Peggy." You handed her a bottle of water. 

"Hey." 

She took the water and opened the cap, taking a long sip. 

"Doing, ok?" You asked. 

"I-I don't know..."

She was almost on the verge of tears, so you got up and offered her a tissue. This was Mr. Rogers' eighth assistant, and you were hoping she would stay. Peggy was new in the city, and you had sent her some suggestions on where to go for things when you met her a few days ago. You thought she was a good worker, but who knows with the VP and his revolving door reputation. She gave you a soft smile and composed herself, clasping her notebook tight.

"Do you know what's going on?" She whispered. 

James' door was closed, and you could hear them talking but their voices were hushed. 

"No idea." 

 When you arrived in the morning, James had blocked some time in the calendar. He hadn't done that himself in a long time, so you had to ask if it was a mistake. It wasn't. He said he had an important meeting with Steve and wanted you to attend. 

"I'll send you that cheat sheet document I made for the phone system." You clicked away on your computer. 

"Thanks." Peggy practically fell down with relief.

Once you emailed her the document, you looked through laptop to check the schedule again. 

"Ladies." Steve opened the door and smirked at both of you. 

"Mr. Rogers." You nodded at him. 

"You can come in, Peggy, you can wait for me at my office." He said, sending her away while you headed in the office.

You saw James sitting at his desk, leaning back in his chair and was watching you enter. 

"Sir." You stood in your usual spot where he liked to bark orders to you. 

"Please, sit." He motioned to the chair in front of his desk.

Steve stood to the side holding a mug of coffee. 

"Am I getting fired?" You blurted out. 

James raised an eyebrow at you, and you heard Steve choke on the sip of coffee he took. 

"No, absolutely not. You're way to valuable to me." Something in James' eyes seemed to sparkle but he quickly cleared his throat. 

"Ok." You exhaled from the sudden rush of weird energy you had surge through you. 

"I have you here as a...proposition...of sorts..." 

You were confused. 

"A what?" 

"Proposition." Steve blurted out. 

You saw James give him a scowl then look back to you. Just as he was about to continue, the doors to the office burst open. 

"Isn't there supposed to be a doorman or something?" A woman's voice sounded. 

You turned to look and saw Nat standing in James' office. 

"James." She smiled wide and walked over to him. She wore a black cocktail dress, sky high heels, and her hair and makeup looked flawless as usual. 

"Darling, we have to try that new sushi restaurant..." She stopped when she saw you. 

"Oh, YOU'RE here." She looked you up and down and snorted. 

"Hi Nat." Steve said from his spot on the couch. 

"You too? James, what is this?" 

Nat came around his desk to give him a kiss on his cheek, but he quickly stood to block her and ushered her to the chair, next to you. 

Interesting. 

She pouted, but sat, sighing as she took out a compact and fluffed her hair.

"Ladies. I have you both here for a reason." 

"Pfft, she works here and has to be here, so why am I here?" Nat waved to you. 

James perched himself on the edge of his desk right in front of you. 

"Yes. Anyways, I have a proposition for the both of you." 

Nat perked up and eyed James carefully. You started getting your notebook out, but James waved you off. 

He took out two black envelopes from his jacket pocket and handed one to you then Nat. Nat snatched it and immediately opened it, her eyes widening in surprise at what was inside. 

"What is this all about?" She waved the black card in James' face. He gestured for you to open your envelope, so you did. It was the same thing as Nat's. 

You must have looked confused, so James continued. 

"You get this for one week. Unlimited personal spending. Do what you want with it." 

James shrugged. Your mouth popped open. 

"Wh-what?" You looked over at Nat, and you saw her eyes widen, and an almost feline smile took over her face. 

"You're finally coming around to us being together." She leaned over and patted his knee. 

James inched away from her hand and leaned back on his desk. 

"Anything? Sir, I'm confused. Do you need me to get you something with the company card?" 

James chuckled and shook his head. 

"No. These are yours to do whatever you want. Buy whatever with, for yourself." 

You were so confused. 

"Is that all?" Nat looked between James and Steve. 

"Uh, yes?" 

"Great, I'll text you later babe." Then she took off, already making plans for her driver to take her shopping. 

The doors closed, leaving you in James' office with Steve. 

James peeked over at Steve who sat and watched in amusement, but also with keen eyes. Your reaction intrigued him.

"So, let me get this straight. I have access to the company card, I don't understand why I have this too." 

"This is for personal reasons." 

James sat back down in his chair and brought his hands together. 

"Personal?" 

"Buy whatever you want." Steve piped up from his spot. 

"Whatever I want?" 

Your mind was racing. 

You really didn't need anything. 

Your salary was generous for the work you were paid for since James was always insistent for paying you properly, compensating for weekends, evening work, and early mornings. 

You had no idea where this was coming from. 

"Enjoy it." James shrugged, a smile appearing on his face. Your heart skipped a beat seeing it. He hasn't honestly smiled like this in a while. 

"Well...ok." 

You put the card back into the envelope and placed it on your notebook. 

"Is that all?" You looked at James, then Steve. 

"Yes." 

James stood while you got up and left the office, closing the door behind you.

"That went..." Steve inhaled deeply and chuckled. "...Exactly how I thought it would." 

James typed a few things on his laptop and rolled his eyes. 

"Already spent $6,000." He pointed at Nat's account. 

"On what?" Steve narrowed his eyes at the screen. 

"Some shop down the street." James rolled his eyes and closed the lid.

 "I hope you know what you're doing." Steve shook his head in disbelief, then left the office. 

James eyed you working diligently from the window by his door and noted the envelope was sitting on your desk. He already made up his mind about his next steps and hopefully, you would be a part of them.

🐶💰

"It's been a few days. How's the spending going?" Steve asked James. 

James sighed and logged into the accounts and showed Steve. 

"Holy shit." 

"Yup." 

"Does that say $250,000?" 

"Yup." 

"A helicopter company? In Greece? Did one of the cards get hacked?" 

"Nope. Nat booked herself two weeks in Greece at some resort. Guess she's doing some sightseeing."

"She wasted no time." 

Steve wasn't surprised at what she was buying, just that she did it without thought. 

"And the other?" 

"$980...for dog food." 

"Dog food?" 

Steve was confused. 

"Not sure, but it's dog food and another $4,200 at some vet." 

"Does your EA have a dog or ten?" 

James thought about it and froze. 

"I...I don't know?" His brows furrowed in thought. 

Did you? He really didn't know too much about you to be honest. 

"You don't know?" Steve teased. 

"No, I don't."

 "Bet you feel like a jackass." Steve teased making James give him the finger. 

"Wonder why she spent this." 

"Just ask her." 

"I can't." 

"Why not?" 

James thought about it. 

"You can follow her." Making James snort. 

"You mean stalk? Yeah, no." 

"Not stalk per-sey...but you can find out where the charges went. From the bank. They should be able to tell you."

🐶💰

The following day, you were off and decided to spend it at the shelter. 

"Morning Wanda." 

You hung your jacket in the closet and looked around. 

"Wanda?" You called. 

Her office door was closed, but quickly opened revealing... "James?" You blurted out. 

"I-I mean...Mr. Barnes." 

James stood in the doorway and leaned against it. He was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, something you hadn't realized he owned since you had only ever seen him in suits. 

"James, please." He insisted. 

Wanda stood behind him with a slightly confused look on her face but was smiling. 

"Mr. Barnes here has decided to become a volunteer." 

"What?" You blurted out. 

"Volunteer here. He's going to volunteer here." Wanda said louder and slower like you were hard of hearing. 

"Figured I would check out the place."

 You were utterly confused. 

"Where are the dogs?" James asked. 

"Right this way." She gestured for him to follow her. 

You stood frozen in place. 

"Do you want to come and show James around the place or stand there like a statue?" Wanda asked. 

"Uh...sure." 

There was no way your boss would be caught dead volunteering, let alone at an animal shelter. You're pretty sure you walked into another dimension.

You showed James around the shelter, pointing out the animals, where supplies were, and Wanda stressed the things that were broken and needed fixing knowing he's a potential donor with deep pockets. 

You chuckled when she went on and on about the dogs and how they have to make tough decisions because of space. The shelter was no-kill but you're pretty sure your boss doesn't know that with his widened eyes that seemed somewhat panicked. 

"We managed to get some updated shots and medical care for our residents thanks to Y/n and a few months of food stocked, so we're happy about that." 

Wanda praised you and your new unlimited black card. She wanted to ask you for a few more things, but you felt weird you weren't spending it on yourself like James had insisted. You knew there were a few more procedures some of the dogs and cats needed and was going to set that up with the veterinarian in another day or so.

"Here." Wanda handed James a shovel and garbage can then walked away. 

"Um..." He looked at the shovel like it was a poisonous snake. 

"For the outdoor kennels. They need to be cleaned, and Tiny was just taken out of an enclosure." 

You snickered at Wanda and showed James the enclosure. 

"Judging by Tiny's...deposits...He's...not tiny, is he?" James scrunched his nose up at the ground making you snort. 

"Come on, I'll help you."

🐶💰

"There, all done." You wiped your hands on your thighs and sighed, looking over at James. 

He usually looks so polished and put together in his perfectly tailored designer suits. Seeing his hair ruffled and his jeans and shirt stained with whatever was in the kennels, made you hide a giggle before composing yourself. 

"So, you volunteer here?" James asked. 

"As often as I can."

"I see." 

He looked around and blurted out, "why?" before he cleared his throat and apologized. "Sorry, that's not what I meant...I meant..." 

"I know what you meant." You shrugged. 

"I've always adored dogs and cats. I can't have them where I live, so I found this place. I get to walk them, take care of them, and give them love. They also help with any stress and make me feel better." 

You said that last part quiet. You didn't want to tell him you can get stressed every so often, but it happens with working long hours, tending to his every whim. 

"I see." James cleared his throat.

You heard the commotion of a bark and thundering paws on the ground. 

"Tiny!" You turned and were almost ran over by the charging beast. 

"THAT'S Tiny?" James sputtered at the dog's size. 

He knew Tiny was big, but not horse-like.

"Yup." You smiled proudly at the dog and scratched his large head. 

Tiny spied James and bounded over and before you could warn him, he jumped up on James' chest and licked his face clean. 

"Tiny, down. Mind your manners." You scolded. 

Tiny obliged and flopped in front of James, leaning against his legs. James wiped his face and coughed a little but bent down and petted the giant beast. 

"Hello." He patted his head. 

Tiny adored the attention while you watched them interact. You hadn't seen James smile like that in a while, it was nice to see. 

"What's his story?" 

"Owner surrender. Didn't realise it's a lot of work looking after a dog this size." 

James nodded and scratched the dog's thick neck.

 "Are you back next weekend?" Wanda asked. 

You looked at James and shook your head no.

 "We're on a business trip. But I should be in sometime during the week." You assured Wanda. 

"Oh, I think that trip is cancelled." James looked at you. 

"Really? I didn't get the notification." You frowned and looked at your phone. Another volunteer came and took Tiny inside. 

"It just happened today. I'll email you tomorrow." 

"Oh, ok." You shrugged. "Well, in that case, I'll be here then." You smiled at Wanda. 

She looked over at James as if to say, 'and you?'. 

"I'll have to check my schedule." 

Wanda eyed him up but nodded. 

"Goodnight, Wanda." You waved to her and went inside to get your jacket. 

"Can I drive you back?" James' voice sounded behind you. 

"Oh, that's ok, I can walk, thank you." You assured your boss. 

You were a little uneasy he was at the shelter you volunteered at in your downtime since you see him everyday at work. 

"How far is it? My driver is here." James pointed over his shoulder. 

"Umm...well...a few blocks." 

You didn't want your billionaire boss seeing where you lived. You lived in a relatively decent place, but you felt awkward since it was in an older building that needed painting and was nothing like his penthouse or mansions. 

"Ok." 

You walked with James to the car, and his driver opened the door for you. 

"Thank you." You politely smiled and sat in the soft leather seat with James following. 

You gave the driver the address and you were off. James' entire left side was pushed up against you, making you feel his warmth through your clothes. You had to stop the urge to rub yourself all over him and snuggle into him seeing as how it was cooler out. That, and he was you boss, so that would be highly inappropriate.

James watched out the windows as he took in your neighbourhood. 

"Do you like living here?" James asked. 

"Yes." You really did like living where you did. The building was older, but it only had a few units that were somewhat newly remodeled, and the resident managers were a nice older couple. 

"Hmm." 

The corner of James' mouth was turned down in thought. The car pulled up to your building, and you thanked the driver before thanking James. He too got out of the vehicle as the driver helped you out. 

"Is everything ok?" You asked. 

"Yes." 

"Then why are you following me?" 

"I..." James was at a loss and didn't know what to say. He'd never gotten out of a vehicle and walked a lady to their door since his driver would do that, but he had the urge to do so with you, and he wasn't sure why. 

"I just want to make sure you get home safe, that's all." 

"Oh, ok." 

You walked to your apartment entryway and opened the main door with your key. 

"Safe and sound." You assured him. 

"Ok. See you." James took a few steps back before he turned and headed back to his car. 

"So weird." You muttered and went up to your apartment.

🐶💰

"So, what's the spend count at?" Steve bent down and looked at the laptop screen that was open on James' desk. 

"Nat is at $900,000." 

"Yikes." Steve whistled and shook his head. 

"On what?" 

"Vacations, few cars, clothes, jewellery, shoes, spa treatments, and a private chef." 

"And Y/?" James smirked and pointed to your charges. 

"$9,000" 

Steve looked at James for more of an explanation. 

"Dog shelter. Spent a bit of money at a vet, then went to a few stores and got new supplies, paid for a few advertising campaigns, new website, and a pair of new shoes." 

"Just one pair?"

 "Rubber boots or something..." 

Steve chuckled and was amazed at the two differences in what each woman spent. Well, he wasn't surprised, just amazed at your controlled and level-headed spending, or lack of it. 

"What has she bought for herself besides the boots?" 

"Nothing." 

"Huh." 

"It's weird." 

"Why?" 

"I keep expecting to see more, but no. I mean, she's here today with a bagged lunch for herself. Not ordering in or going out to a restaurant."

"She usually goes out?" 

James thought about it and said, "I don't know." 

Steve scoffed at his reply. 

"Well...I'm usually busy and don't notice those types of things." 

"Right. Well, you should start. Looks like you need to take Y/n shopping yourself then. For the gala." 

James forgot about the gala, but he had to tell Nat he wasn't taking her like she had implied. She has been texting him her dress options and he hasn't replied to a single one. He grabbed his phone and replied to the latest text she sent from LA and told her she wasn't going as his date. 

"There." 

James placed his phone on the desk and ran a hand over his face. 

"Now, all I have to do is get Y/n to accompany me." 

"Good luck with that pal." Steve slapped him on the back. 

"Yeah, yeah..." James muttered and looked over at you through his side window. 

You were typing and answering calls. Steve left the office and James scowled at his little wink he sent you but chuckled when you nodded at him then rolled your eyes at his back when he turned to leave down the hall.

"Had another enquiry about Tiny, but they decided not to follow through with him." Wanda sighed while you brushed his fur. 

"Really? That's like the fourth one in a week." 

"I know." Wanda gently scratched his ears. 

"Well, there's someone out there for him, I know it." 

You were hopeful his person would be by soon with the new website you had gotten made. Because of it, more foot traffic, donations, and foster families have signed up so Wanda was grateful for the boost of visitors, even though they were passing on taking him. 

"There, so handsome." You smiled and patted his head when a strong arm reached over and took the furry brush from you. 

"I can clean that." 

"James?" 

"Hi." 

He emptied the fur from the brush and handed it back to you, then he reached over and petted Tiny who enjoyed all the attention. 

"What are you doing here?" 

"Volunteering." He shrugged, then grabbed a broom and started sweeping the outdoor cages. 

"Looks good here." He noted the new fencing and door you had fixed. 

"Thanks." 

You were still getting used to seeing James at the shelter, especially in jeans and a plain t-shirt. 

"Here's his leash." Wanda handed you Tiny's leash which you clipped onto his collar. 

"Thanks Wands. We'll be back soon." 

"Where are you going?" 

"Just for a little walk." 

"I'm coming. You shouldn't be alone." James seemed concerned you were going to walk Tiny alone. 

In the years you have worked with him, he has never really shown you any sort of concern. 

Does he not know I take the bus or subway to work everyday? 

"I think we'll be fine; besides, I have this beast to protect me." 

You both looked down and saw Tiny lying on his side, tongue out, tail thumping at your attention. 

"Yeah, such a scary guard dog." James deadpanned. 

"Whatever." 

"James, go with Y/n and she can show you where she usually walks the dogs." Wanda called over her shoulder. 

"Ok."

You headed out on the route with James at your side while Tiny led the way. 

"How long do your walks usually take?" James asked while you passed people on the busy sidewalk. 

"It depends on the dog. The little ones we have don't need as much exercise, but some of the larger ones, I like to take on longer routes. Tiny here, well, don't tell anyone else, but he's kind of my favourite, so I tend to spoil him on a longer route. I also stop and give him a small t-r-e-a-t when we're out like a piece of chicken, or bite of doughnut, something like that." 

"T-r-e-a-t?" 

"Have to spell that out or he'll lose his mind." 

"Got it." 

You wandered the streets, heading to a small park full of trees and squirrels. 

"Huh." James looked around and noted the other families taking advantage of the nice weather who were hanging out in the park as well. 

Whenever you walked Tiny, you got a lot of stares and whispers while you passed due to his overall size. Many people stopped and asked if they could pet him, and you always obliged since Tiny adored attention, and it was good for his socialization. You also made sure to tell them about the shelter in case they were looking for a furry companion too. 

"You do a lot of work there." James observed. 

"I guess." You thought about it.

"Want to take his leash for a bit? My arm needs a break." 

Tiny walked good, but he sometimes would pull if he saw something he wanted to sniff or investigate further. James took the leash and was instantly jerked when Tiny spotted a squirrel scampering up a tree. 

"Hang on!" You advised while James and Tiny hurried along. Seeing your fancy billionaire boss being jerked around by a massive dog made you giggle while you watched them maneuver through the park. 

You came to your favourite food stand and got Tiny to sit while you paid for a few small treats you could give him. James immediately took out his wallet and paid for the order, much to your surprise, but you accepted it. If he wants to spend money on a few small treats for a shelter dog, then you wouldn't stop him.

"How's your arm?" You asked while you placed Tiny back in his kennel. 

"It's fine." James winced when he lifted it and stretched it. 

He had never had his arm yanked on by a horse-like dog in his life. In fact, he has never owned any sort of pet since he was never allowed one growing up. He was thinking his building didn't accept pets, but that wasn't the case when he remembered one of the other tenants walking a large poodle through the lobby. 

"Anyways, I should go." 

You grabbed your bag and put your jacket on. 

"Right, well, I can drive you like before..." 

"Ok." 

You didn't want to argue with him and besides, the weather was starting to turn a little suspect. 

"See you Friday." You called out to Wanda who waved over her shoulder at you. You headed down the steps and to James' waiting car, thanking the driver for opening your door. 

"Wait, this Friday?" James got in after you. 

"Yeah...I thought I would come by that night?" You were confused at his tone. 

"It's the gala." 

"Ok. And I'm not going?" 

"But you are." 

"What?" You looked over at him in confusion. 

"I have a ticket for you." Your eyes bugged out of your head seeing as they cost $10,000 each. 

You have never been to the gala in your life, what would possess him to think this year would be any different. 

"I-I..." You didn't know what to say. 

"I want you to use that card I gave you and buy a gown for it. Shoes too and whatever else you need. Your invitation will be delivered to you tomorrow." He insisted. 

Where was this coming from? Last year, Nat accompanied him and the years before that, he's had models and other dates on his arm. 

"I guess I could meet you there?" 

"I'll pick you up. We'll go together." 

Your eyes snapped over to his. 

"Together?" You saw the corner of his mouth twitch. 

"Together." He confirmed while the driver stopped outside your building. Your throat went dry as James looked you over.

 "I-I..." You were at a loss for words while your door was opened. 

James got out and accompanied you to the main entrance. You stopped and opened the door, turning to face him. 

He leaned in close and said, "You have my card, I want you to use it. No excuses. Gown, shoes, whatever else you need, you understand? As far as I'm concerned, you should use it for more." His breath warmed your face while you nodded. 

"O-ok..." You nodded and went inside the lobby of your building. Your heart was racing while you watched him walk back to his car, get in, and drive away. 

"What the hell was that?" You walked to your elevators and headed to your apartment, apparently in search of finding a gown for the gala.

🐶💰

You sat in front of your computer and scrolled the endless abyss of gown and dress options, unsure of what to get, what colour, or where to go. Since it was short notice, you had no idea what you were going to do. For the gala, there was no way you could walk into a regular store and buy a dress. It had to be something fancy, a designer of some kind, but what and from where? 

You tried going into a store after work the night before, but you felt weird and awkward seeing as how you got some looks sent your way. Looks that made you feel like you didn't belong, like you were living your own Pretty Woman shopping incident. You left that store and went to another, where you were helped, but nothing fit, then you went into another and the same thing, there were people there to help you, but you felt self-conscious on what to choose, so you gave up and went home. 

You scowled at your screen when you were called in to James' office, no doubt to go over the latest contract you had just sent him.

"So, if you can resend Stark the newest offer by the end of the day, that would be great." James said back from his desk. 

You wrote his requests down and looked up at him. He was watching you close and said, "Did you find a gown yet?"

"Uhh, well..." 

"The gala is in two days." He lifted one of his eyebrows up at you making you squirm a little. 

"I went shopping a last night..." You mumbled. 

"And?" 

James hadn't seen any charges on your card since the weekend, so he knows you didn't buy anything. 

"I didn't find anything. I'll go tonight." You assured him before you stepped back to leave. 

"I'm going with you." 

You stood rigid and turned slowly back to face him.

"What?" 

"Have the driver waiting at 3. We'll call it an early day." 

"O-ok..." 

You turned and left his office, sitting back at your desk. He's never once sent you home early let alone send you home after using company time to go shopping. 

You made arrangements with his driver for you to shop for a gown. 

With your boss.

🐶💰

You pulled up in front of a designer store and your mouth popped open in shock. 

"Um...I wasn't expecting to shop here." 

You took in the bright shop lights and perfect window display of the newest exclusive fashions. When you went earlier, you thought you were at stores that would be ok to shop at, but James had brought you to the more exclusive part of the city. You got out of the vehicle and James came to stand next to you when the doors to the store opened and you were greeted by the staff. 

"Mr. Barnes, welcome." An older woman smiled kindly at the two of you. 

You walked towards her and felt James' large warm hand on your lower back, guiding you inside the brightly lit store. 

"You can lock up now." The woman called over her shoulder. 

You must have looked confused when James bent down and whispered, "Booked the whole store for us." 

Then he left your side to look over the racks of gown options. 

He booked the whole store, for you. To shop. 

What the heck? 

You were ushered to a cozy fitting room where you were handed a silky purple robe to change into. 

"We'll bring you options to try on." Then you were left alone to stare at yourself in the floor length mirror. 

"Ok." You whispered to yourself, changing out of your office clothes and into the robe.

"Something like this, and perhaps that one over there." James pointed to a gown on another rack. 

He had a rack full of options while directing the staff every which way. You peeked out from the fitting room and saw him looking over the gowns with intense scrutiny. You looked over the rack and had to swallow hard. There were gowns on there that you would never have chosen for yourself, but somehow, he thinks you can pull off.

A few moments later, the rack was wheeled to you where your options awaited. 

"So, which one should we try first?" You pointed to a simple black one that stood out to you. 

"Excellent." The saleswoman smiled and helped you.

"Wow." 

You looked over the gown which fit you like a glove. You ran your hands over the fabric and looked at yourself in the mirror. 

"I like this one." 

"Good, but there are more to try." 

"Ok." 

You went to pull the zipper down when a deep voice sounded outside the curtain of the fitting room you were in. 

"Aren't you going to show me?" 

You bit your bottom lip and looked at the saleswoman who gave you a tight smile and shrug before she stepped aside. 

"Um, ok." 

You turned and pulled the curtain back revealing James sitting on a chair right in front of you. When you stepped out, you saw his eyes widen before he straightened, looking you over. 

"I like this one." 

"You do?" 

He stood and stepped towards you, scanning you from head to toe. 

"Hmm, it's an option but there are others." 

He turned and sat down, crossing his leg over the other. 

"Ok." You turned and headed back to try on more.

James had to fight the urge to run his fingers over your bare skin and up to your neck when he stepped close to inspect the gown. He had never seen your full body before since you usually wore sweaters and more conservative clothing while at work. He liked what he saw and wanted to see more of your skin on display. 

If you were going to be on his arm for the gala, he wanted you to look your best, and this first dress was a good option, but he thinks there could be another that could work.

"Woah." 

You looked down at the deep cranberry coloured dress. You felt amazing in it while you looked it over in the mirror. 

"I think this is the one." 

You noted the higher slit, lower back, and details it had that were better than the others you had tried. Plus, the dress had pockets, and the fabric was buttery soft on your skin, something that was important to you. You turned and headed out of the room to face James. When you walked out, he was scrolling on his phone but stopped and you saw him fumble with it before he placed it in his suit pocket. His eyes raked over you, lingering on the slit showing a little leg before he brought them higher to your eyes. 

"I think this is it." James stood and motioned with his fingers for you to turn around so he could see the whole thing. 

You did and heard him step closer. You peeked over your shoulder and saw his eyes move up and down your back while you turned, facing him once again. 

"I think you're right." 

His voice sounded slightly deeper than before, which he cleared and straightened himself. He looked over at the saleswoman and nodded his head indicating it was the one. You had no idea how much this dress was since there were no tags on anything in the store. 

He turned and left you standing in front of the mirror without saying anything. You were just about to head back into the room to change when he brought you a pair of black high heels. 

"These." He said, handing the shoes to you. 

"Umm, they're like super high?" was your lame response. 

There was no way you were wearing these stilts. Your toes and feet were going to hate you for a long time if you did. 

"Not up for discussion. These. Put them on, you'll see." 

You looked them over and noted the bright red bottoms of them. He must have gotten impatient when he huffed out a breath and knelt before you, shifting you slightly so you were closer to him. 

"Oh, James..." 

He looked up and smirked at you before he gently tugged the fabric of the dress aside. He reached over and gently took your foot, placing it into the shoe, then the other. His hands were warm and strong on your feet, sending shivers up your legs, then all over while he helped you in. You reached over and held his shoulders while he got your other foot into the shoe, doing up the straps. His shoulders were broad and sturdy making you swallow before he stopped and looked up at you. Your boss was kneeling before you and it did some things to your mind.

 "There, see?" 

He turned you to face the mirror while he stood behind you and watched you check out the shoes. 

"I guess you're right." 

They fit you perfectly and were surprisingly comfortable, for high heels. You weren't the greatest in them, but you weren't an awkward goat either. 

"Ok, well then, this will do." You said then headed into the fitting room to change back into your work clothes.

When you were done, you headed to the front of the store where James was waiting and met him. 

"I took care of it." Were his words before he turned and faced an associate who opened the door for you. 

The car was waiting out front for you. 

"I-I could have, with the card you gave me..." You said while getting into the car." 

"I know, but I wanted to." He said, then grabbed his phone and started replying to messages. 

You rode back to your apartment in silence, wondering why he insisted on paying for it when he told you to charge it to the card he gave you. Oh well, more available space for you to make a few more purchases for the shelter. 

There were a few things you were going to order for yourself like a new laptop, some clothes, and some basic everyday things, but you wanted to give him his card back as soon as possible. You didn't want it anymore and were wondering why he even gave you it to begin with so perhaps he will tell you after the gala. 

"Are you hungry? We can stop at The Raft, or maybe Lux?" 

Those were the fanciest places in the city. 

"Umm...I...Those places are..." 

"What?" 

"Too much, I'm not dressed for them." 

You looked down at your black skirt and adjusted the hem of your beige blouse. 

"I can get a table anywhere in the city Y/n. Where do you want to eat?" 

You were almost at home when you blurted out, "Tito's." 

James' face scrunched up in thought. He went to his phone and scowled at it. 

"Where? I'm having trouble finding it..." He was scrolling and typing on his phone. 

"It's a taco truck a block from my building. He usually parks there until 9." 

"Oh." 

You directed the driver to where Tito's would be and sure enough, the old beat-up taco truck was sitting in front of a park. You smiled at the truck and looked over at James. He was scowling at it, but his face softened once he looked at you. 

"His tacos are amazing. Trust me." 

You were helped from the car by the driver and James walked by your side to the food truck. There were a few people in line ahead of you and when it was your turn, you ordered a bunch of options you could share and paid for them using the black card from James. 

"There we are."

 You brought the containers to a small table. James looked at the containers like they were going to jump off the table but sat when you handed him a fork. 

"They have all my favourite ones. I usually grab a few tacos every other week or so." 

You pointed to the tacos in the tray. 

James had never eaten street tacos in his life. Even when he is in Mexico at one of his villas, he always has a private chef who cooks for him in his kitchen. 

"It won't kill you." You teased noticing the stink-eye look he was giving the containers. 

He cleared his throat and said, "I know..." 

You snorted, then dug into the food. 

"It's so good." You praised the little hand-held tacos of delight. 

James picked up one and took a bite, eyes widening in shock. 

"Told you." You rolled your eyes at your rigid boss but smiled when he agreed. 

"Holy shit." He wiped his mouth with a napkin and dug into the next one. 

He wanted to text Steve and tell him where he was but decided he didn't need the teasing. You both finished and put your empty containers in the trash can, then he walked you the block to your apartment, his driver was going to meet you there. 

"Thanks for supper. I would never have known about that truck if it not for you." 

"Would you eat there again?" 

James thought about it and smiled. 

"Yeah, I think so." He smiled and watched you open the door. 

"Goodnight James." You smiled, then headed up to your apartment.

🐶💰

The following day, you were sitting at your desk when you heard some commotion coming from the elevators. 

"I need to see him, it's important." Nat's voice echoed down the hallway. 

You looked into James' office and saw he was on a conference call. You waved at him to get his attention, but he wasn't looking when you heard high heels clicking on the floor. 

"He better be in." Nat demanded. 

"He is but he's on a call. He should be finished shortly if you wanted to have a seat. I can get you some tea or coffee while you wait?" 

She glared at you and snorted and said, "Does it look like I want tea or coffee? Besides, I don't wait." 

Then, she barged into his office, leaving the door open so you could hear what was going on. You watched from your desk and saw James' death stare at her before he quickly ended the call. You saw him look over at you and you wanted to hide under your desk for not being able to stop her or at least warn him she was coming.

"I can't believe you." 

"I texted you a few days ago, it's not my fault you were too busy to respond." 

"But we always go." She whined. 

"We went once together last year, that's it." 

"But I picked out a dress and everything." 

"Which you can still wear, but not with me. Find someone else to go." 

You watched James sit at his desk while she pouted and stomped her feet like a spoiled child, which she kind of is anyways. 

"Who are you going with? Is it Kelsey? Mariana? I'll bet it's Isabella." Nat spat those names out. 

You felt bad you were listening, but you couldn't help it. The door was left wide open so if you got up now, they would know you are listening, so it was awkward. 

"It's nothing to concern yourself with. I'm going with someone else, our arrangement is over like I told you so, please leave." James said with zero emotion. 

You saw Nat spat and sputter at his final words. 

"And you are no longer welcome here. I'm telling security they have the power to remove you if they see your face here again." 

"You can't do that!" Nat protested. 

"I can and I just did. My building, my rules. Now, get out." James pointed to the door which Nat turned to watch.

Her eyes narrowed on you when she saw you were watching. You heard footsteps from security since James had already called them to remove Nat. 

"Whatever." She turned around to face him once more. 

"Oh, and I'll take my card back." 

James stood and held his hand out. You could see Nat's gaze turn to ice as she rifled through her purse, pulling the card out and tossing it on his desk. 

"Whatever, you'll be back, you always come crawling back to me." Nat rolled her eyes and turned to leave on her own before security could escort her. 

You watched the commotion from your desk with interest. In the time you have worked for James, he has not once removed anyone from his office, let alone from his entire building, banning them. 

This was new, and you didn't know how to react as she made her way down the hall, flanked by the security team. 

"You'll hear from my father about this!" She yelled over her shoulder to which James replied, "I look forward to it" before she turned the corner and left. 

You slowly turned and faced James who was watching you close. 

"Umm, here." You held out James' black card he had given you. 

He looked down at it, then turned to head back into his office. 

"Can you reschedule the meeting with Lang and Associates from Monday to Wednesday?" 

"Ok..." 

"And can you confirm the timing of the car for the gala tomorrow? I think you should add extra time because of rush hour," then he closed his office door with you still holding onto his card. 

"Ok." You said to the door before you turned to sit at your desk, opening the calendar. 

You had no idea what you just witnessed, but you did as you were told, wondering what the hell you had gotten yourself into. 

The gala was going to be interesting you thought to yourself.

🐶💰🐶💰🐶💰🐶💰

[mckitterick]

[rip-quizilla]

[iwritestuffk]

i see grey hair, and children that look like you | bucky barnes x reader

AO3 | Word Count: 2.8k

Bucky is at a desperate crossroads. The life he is leading is unsustainable and any sense of purpose or direction still eludes him. When he enters The Void, he is resigned to his fate. But what if, instead of just seeing his nightmares…he also catches a glimpse of his future?

Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Domestic Fluff, Married Couple, Slice of Life, Married Life, The Void Shame Rooms, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Thunderbolts!Bucky

Memories plague his senses one after the other.

Of torture. Of demons. Of iron on his tongue and fury crowding his lungs. Bucky charges through them all like a bull.

But he lands in a room he doesn’t recall. His former self is nowhere to be found.

A bedroom. The bed is made, more pillows than blankets. Piled on top of the blues and seafoam greens of the comforter, the fabric lays wrinkled like it knows it will just be mussed again in a handful of hours. Matching bedside tables flank the headboard, littered with personal effects and a novel each, one in near perfect condition, the other weathered and worn with its cover detaching at the spine.

There are photographs. Some faces he knows, some he can’t identify. He finds himself in many. Candids he doesn’t remember being taken. Achievements he has yet to attain. In the centre of them all, wearing a tuxedo, holding a woman draped in white. Hair shorter, grayer, his beard more salt than pepper. His smile lines deeper.

The space is tidy, but lived in. A sock or two left on the rug from a missed toss to the hamper, the closet door left slightly ajar. The rocking chair in the corner with the handmade blanket draped over the back still smells of pine, a bassinet tucked close to the side of the bed. The top of a dresser pushed against the far wall has mostly been converted into a changing table, diapers and wipes stacked next to a jewelry box and some fragrances.

A perfume bottle sits next to his usual cologne.

Bucky tears open the drapes and recognizes nothing of what he sees. A backyard on a rolling hill that sweeps down to an inlet, water sparkling where it laps lazily against the rocky shore. Garden boxes overflowing with flowers, sweet potato vines spilling over the edges, their bright green heart-shaped foliage bringing the world outside further into technicolor. If he craned his neck, he could just see the arm of a porch swing, just hear the chains creaking in the gentle breeze and the wind-chimes hanging from the rafters.

Not a soul in sight. Just the silence of open land and old bones.

Until he hears a voice.

A soft humming coming from somewhere else in the house.

The words are muffled, the accent one he can’t quite place. It’s a voice he swears he’s never heard before, but it settles into his bones like it belongs there, his pounding heart rate slowing to near-resting.

The sound draws closer with the groan of the floorboards until it is right on the other side of the door and he freezes, head snapping to watch as the brass knob turns and the woman from the photographs materializes in front of him.

Bucky’s heart hasn’t skipped a beat like that since 1942.

She wears faded blue jeans and a ratty old t-shirt with a baby nestled into her hip, barefaced and hair messy. There are bags under her eyes, but she smiles brightly.

She is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

“Oh, honey! You startled me! You must have snuck past, I didn’t even hear you come in!” She slips past him into the bedroom, and as she does, places a kiss on his stunned shoulder. “I had no idea you had a half-day today. I would have booked us a sitter…” She was talking more to herself than to him as she dug through one of the drawers of the dresser, paying no mind to the gaping hole in the drywall where he had crashed through, pulling out another old shirt that looked suspiciously like one in his wardrobe at home.

Her bare feet planted, Bucky follows with his eyes as she looks him over from head to toe and back again, then sets the baby in the cradle and rounds the bed to the ensuite bathroom. “Keep an eye on her for a minute, please? Just going to change, that girl’s spit-up is no joke.”

And she vanishes again behind the rumble of a barn door, like all of the skeletons he kept locked away so tightly hadn’t just been ripped from the closet moments before.

She reemerges in seconds, hair loose and…yup, that is definitely his shirt. “Well, this is a treat. You look weary, love. It’s good you’re taking a break. I just put a fresh pot of coffee on, so you have perfect timing. Isn’t that right, little one?” she coos, tracing her pointer finger down the bridge of the baby’s nose before scooping her up again and resting her against her clavicle.

Against his better judgement, Bucky follows her like a rip current down the picture-lined hall, through a door that leads, not into another nightmare, but further into the house.

“I hope Bob didn’t give you too much trouble trying to get here,” she rambles, rounding the kitchen island and pouring a cup of coffee onehanded. “He’s a really sweet boy. Still got some things to work through, I think, but he has a good heart. They all do.”

Bucky blanches. “…How do you know about that?”His fingernails bite into his palm, shoulders creeping up toward his ears.

Her mouth curls into a lowercase ‘o’ in a flash of panic. “It’s alright, James. You’re safe here. This isn’t one of your bad memories.”

“No, this…This isn’t my memory at all, it’s…”he breathes. “I’m not supposed to be here. I’m sorry, but I don’t know you.”

She just smiles expectantly. “You will someday. Not long now.” She presses the mug into his palms, prying open his clenched fingers and wrapping them one after the other over the porcelain. Bucky’s brow tightens. It was made just like he always drank it: a heap of sugar and just a dribble of cream.

Bucky looks down at his trembling hands for the first time since he got here. Really looks. The skin around his fingernails isn’t inflamed and peeling where he usually picks at them from the compounding stress. His knuckles aren’t bruised or cracking. Etched right into the vibranium is a wide gold band that’s new, tucked up against the joint of his fourth finger.

“Those…The pictures…This can’t...”

A gust of wind in his general direction could have bowled him over as the pieces come together. Bucky braces himself on the closest chair back. His head swims, heartbeat in his ears and thoughts dying on his tongue. He shakes his head, drilling his eyes shut to make sense of what he is seeing, whether it would all disappear when he opens them.

It doesn’t.

A hand finds hold of his wrist. Featherlight. Steadying. He can feel her pulse hammering through her fingertips.

“Breathe, James,” she appeases. “Come sit down, alright? I’ll explain. Answer as many questions as you have.”

She manages to coax him into the open living room and places the infant into a baby swing, colourful rings and things dangling from the top bar. The little girl snuggles into the cushion beneath her without a fuss and shakes her soft toy contentedly, cooing to herself as it rattles in her miniature fist. The woman then settles at the far end of the couch with her legs tucked beneath her, inviting but granting him distance.

Bucky still hesitates.

The sofa looks like it will swallow him whole, the cushions plush and deep. Another blanket is bundled in a heap on the armrest (there were blankets everywhere in this house it seemed). He reaches out to run the fringed edge between his fingers.

“This is all very strange, I know,” she breaks the silence. “We’re not sure how this happened, just that it did. It took you a long time to believe even that much. I wish I had a more satisfying answer for you. Bob is still getting a handle on his powers, but even now he has no idea.”

Finally. The first thing she’s said that’s made any sense. Bucky tries to rationalize it, but he’s grasping at straws. Time travel is not a new concept to him. He knows the consequences, that the past can change the future. Knowing too much alters the course of history or leaves it shattered in its wake. One small deviation and the world shifts on its axis. His head spins instead.

“There’s probably nothing I can say that will prove it to you, but you are supposed to be here, James. I was starting to wonder when you’d come around, but time’s been a little relative to me these days. Jamie asked me not to spook you when you arrived, though I think I kind of failed at that. It took me a second to realize that you weren’t…you.”

Jamie. He’s hung up on that. Nobody has called him that name in decades, and he can’t help but like the way it sounds when she says it.

“You knew I was coming?”

“Eventually. You and I talked about it not long after we met; what you saw, what it changed for you. Could never pin down what the date was so it was always going to be a waiting game, but I’m glad you’re here now. You look like you could use something peaceful.”

He continues to tread carefully. “Where is this?”

“Our house. Upstate New York. We bought this old fixer-upper on the bay and did all the fixing ourselves. Well, mainly you. I picked paint colours, watched you tear down walls and told you when you screwed cabinet doors on upside-down.”

The room they occupy has a wide bay window that spans almost from floor to ceiling, flooding the space with light. Houseplants thrive in every corner, nook and cranny. A cat tree is set up overlooking the front yard, a fluffy white tail swishing over the edge of the highest perch, unfazed by whoever this strange visitor is in the feline’s house. Bookcases are built into one wall, filled with sci-fi and fantasy and romance novels. More photos are displayed in small frames dotted across the shelving, between alphabetized authors and mementos. His turntable, the only real luxury he owns in his bare-bones DC apartment, sits proud on its shelf, worn by years of use but otherwise exactly the same. A collection of vinyls he could only dream of occupies its own shelf below.

“You built those bookshelves from scratch. I always tell people that we were sold on the house when we saw that wall because it was the perfect place for them, where we could start our library. Felt like we looked at dozens of houses but this place just felt right. Perfectly imperfect.”

“I’m reading again?”

“When you have the time. Right over there,” she points with her sightline to an armchair with a floor lamp curving over it, “with a cup of tea and your little old man reading glasses.”

Bucky huffs out a laugh through the fog.

Oh, her smile. “It’s a good life. Quiet. Your favourite thing to do is take a nap on the couch in the sun with the baby scrunched up on your chest. I want to say that we sleep through the night, but that’s kind of changed as of late. We smile. Laugh a lot.” The list keeps growing. Going to farmers markets on the weekends. Board game nights. Beach days in the summertime. “We try a new recipe every week for dinner and dance in the kitchen. I still step on your toes sometimes. We’re working on finishing the nursery for when this big girl grows out of her bassinet.”

“What’s her name?” he nearly pleads, voice so soft.

“That would ruin the surprise, Bucky!”

“How old is she, then?”

The woman absolutely illuminates with pride. “Almost 3 months now. Runs this whole house. You cried when you held her for the first time. She’s had you wrapped around her finger from the day she was born.”

“…Wasn’t sure if…they did something to me. Never knew if I’d even be able to have kids.”

“Neither did I. She’s our little miracle.”

His daughter’s bright blue, undeniably-Barnes eyes peer up at him without an ounce of fear for the man crusted in dirt and dust. Bucky doesn’t need to know her name to know that he’ll adore her, can’t take his eyes off of her. Something so small, so fragile, yet trusts him completely. To his daughter, he isn’t a soldier or a vigilante. He’ll just be Dad, when the only thing he’ll have to fight is the monster under the bed.

Bucky swears he sees her smile at him, and his ribs cave in.

“She just started doing that last week. All gums, smiling up atcha like you’re her whole world. I hope she never grows out of that.”

Neither does he.

Bucky marvels in it, this place, this safe haven that he had supposedly helped build, helped make warm and comforting and whole. Someone wanted him. For all the hurdles he crossed, all the evils he fought, someone saw this shell of a man and chose him. Built a life with him. Had a child with him.

But the more he looks around, he sombers. Shrinks.

“Hey, I know that look. What is it, James?”

“…I feel like I don’t deserve this.”

“Hey, none of that. You’re wrong. You have earned this and so, so much more, but for now this is what makes you happy. I’ll remind you as many times as you need me to.”

Tears begins to leech into his five-o’clock shadow as his shoulders begin to quiver.

This woman, this incredible woman, had been trying to keep her distance not to spook him. He saw how her fingers twitched, how she wanted to reach out and stopped herself. This time she couldn’t. The couch cushion to his side sinks as she gathers him in her arms.

And he lets her.

Bucky lets out a whimper like a wounded animal into her neck, his hands finding solace loosely on her hips. “I want to stay,” he whispers, any louder and his voice would begin to crackle. “I want to hit fast-forward. It’s selfish, I know, but I’ve spent so many nights wishin’ for a life like this.”

Her hold tightens around him. “And I would let you stay here forever if I could. You’ll have the rest of your life to enjoy this, but I can’t keep you right now. Your ragtag team of hellions still needs you. Yelena would never forgive me.”

He turns away from her, cheek pressed into her shoulder so she can’t see the contorted expression he makes to prevent a sob from leeching out, nose scrunched and teeth gritted, his hair falling into his face.

“You have more memories to go through to get to the others. Be brave, just a little longer.”

Bucky wants to get on his knees, to beg, plead and pray to any god he could conjure that this would in fact be real someday, that his life would turn out just like this. That all the pain, suffering, blood and sweat wouldn’t have been for naught. “What do I have to do to see you again? To make it real?” he croaks.

“Look at me, James.” She is so tender as she guides him to meet her gaze, pressing her forehead to his. “It’s already real. It’s already set in motion, just be patient. Keep doing what you feel is right. Until then, you’ll dream. Of what you want to call her, what she’ll call you one day. Of what you want to plant in the spring and what new project you’ll tinker with. Of me,” she titters, “if you want. Whatever it takes. And when it’s time, we’ll find each other. Don’t forget about us, okay? About this.”

He takes deep cycled breaths, in through his nose, out through his mouth to the rhythm of her hand skating between his shoulders. “…They really need me?” he murmurs.

“They do.”

Bucky flicks away the lingering tears with his thumb, pulling back enough to just…look at her. Memorize the curve of her lips and cheeks, the colour of her eyes, the texture of her hair. Taking the moment to lock it away where no one could ever take it from him. His wife.

“…Okay.”

“You will be,” she assures him.

It takes every ounce of strength he has left to pry himself from her steadiness, but the floor feels solid beneath his boots.

The front door remains the only obstacle.

She hugs her torso and trails a few steps behind as he stalks up to it, whatever horror that waits on the other side suddenly not as daunting. The oak is solid, but the doorknob threatens to crumble under the vibranium. Bucky turns back for one last glimpse and inhales with a shudder.

“Thank you.”

With glassy eyes, she blows him a kiss.

He rolls his shoulder. Readjusts his grip. Turns his wrist a beat after the exhale…and puts one foot in front of the other.

A/N: Had to release this before Doomsday ruins me…Started writing this before the new trailers, but in light of the parallels, why not include a Chris Evans-inspired title anyway?

[animentality]

[fox-moblin]

Wouldn’t leave my mind sorry

[spazzdhn]

[frogkenny]

I FOUND IT GUYS I SPENT HALF AN HOUR LOOKING FOR THIS VIDEO AND ITS HERE

[tristikov]

Always reblog peent.

[videodromefag]

*before clicking play*: IS THIS WHAT i THINK IT IS???

*clicks play*: IT ISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

[rgr-pop]

omg!! omg

[ladimcbeth]

Forever reblog.

[thegreenwolf]

Heaven let your eent shine down.

[jehovahhthickness]

Praying that $1500 randomly comes to you when you need it the most this year.

[jehovahhthickness]

Okay inflation is crazy.

We bumping up the price to $15,000 for 2026.