sienna âŚď¸ back to you âŚď¸ yin to yang âŚď¸ sparks âŚď¸ baile inolvidable
â.Ë caleb
cardigan âŚď¸ deja vu âŚď¸ not the only one âŚď¸ my turn âŚď¸ telephones âŚď¸ fuck you heather âŚď¸ lost love letters âŚď¸ why not me âŚď¸ lonely touch âŚď¸ the way things go âŚď¸ don't talk about you
â.Ë xavier
i thought i saw your face today âŚď¸ jâs lullaby (darlinâ iâd wait for you)
â.Ë sylus
back to me
â.Ë zayne
cardigan
â.Ë multi
the marias x li
â.Ë drabbles/au's
la canciĂłn âŚď¸ corpse bride au âŚď¸ we hug now âŚď¸ tsitp au
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Imagine after four whole years with Caleb, not once had he ever made you questin whether he loved you. Maybe that was what made this hurt so much. Because the cruelest part wasn't the possibility that Caleb stopped loving you. No. You knew him too well for that. Even now, even later, even after everything that would happened tonight, you knew Caleb loved you.
Imagine you knew it with terrifying certainty, you knew it in the way he always reached for you first in crowded rooms. In the way he memorized your routine better than you did. In the way exhaustion never stopped him from driving hours just to spend a night beside you. In the way he still kissed your forehead absentmindedly while half asleep.
Imagine Caleb loved you. Which was exactly why your chest hurt so badly these past few days. Because something was wrong and you could feel it. It was not obvious enough for accusations. Not dramatic enough to start fights. It just felt wrong. Tiny things, small pauses in conversations, moment where Caleb looked distracted before immediately covering up. How he checked his phone more often lately, and sometimes went quiet in the middle of your conversations like he was thinking too hard about something.
and Imagine every single time you noticed it, he would pull you closer afterwards, kiss your temple, then ask about your day. He looks at you with so much warmth it made you feel guilty for doubting him at all. Which only made your anxiety worse. Because if Caleb had been cold, distant, cruel... This would have been easier, but he wasn't. He was still loving you exactly the same. Still calling you endearing nicknames in that soft voice that always melted you. Still showing up at your apartment carrying your favorite food after long shifts. Still sleeping with one arm wrapped tightly around your waist like he physically couldn't rest properly otherwise. Still loving you.
so Imagine, why does your chest feel so heavy? You hated yourself for overthinking. Hated the way old conversation started resurfacing in yout mind again. Military wives whispering warning during gatherings years ago. "Distance change people." "Sometimes they stop telling you things first." "Men stationed far away get lonely." You used to brush off those comments confidently because Caleb wasn't like that. Your Caleb wasn't careless with hearts.
Imagine he loved too deeply for that. Still, the anxiety stayed. Quiet and persistent like your instincts were trying to warn you about something your heart didn't want to see. For an entire week, sleep became difficult, finding yourself rereading old text at night like reassurance, listening to his voice messages repeatedly, trying to convince yourself everything was fine. And maybe, maybe if you had just stayed home that evening, maybe things would have been fine, maybe ignorance really woud have been kinder. Because a part of you would spent the rest of the night wishing desperately that you had never gone there at all.
Imagine the way you just wanted to surprise him. That was all. Caleb had been stuck near base almost nonstop lately because of his transfer to the new unit and you missed him terribly. So after work, you bought dinner and drove toward his apartment near the base with the spare key he once pressed into your hand months ago.
"For emergencies." He told you back then and you laughed. "What counts as emegency?" "You missing me." God, you almost broke down just remembering it.
Imagine the drive there felt normal. You even smiled stupidly at red lights thinking about how surprised Caleb would look seeing you unexpectedly. Maybe he would pull you into one of those crushing hugs you secretly loved. Maybe he would complain dramatically about how exhuasted he was until you played with his hair. Maybe the anxiety would finally disappear once you saw him again. You wanted that desperately, wanted assurance. You wanted your Caleb back.
Imagine the hallway outside his apartment was quiet when you arrived. You balanced the food carefully in one arm while unlocking the door. And then your entire world titled sideways. Because there, right there was a woman sitting inside his kitchen. Wearing Caleb's shirt. For one horrible second, your brain genuinely failed to process what you were seeing. She looked comfortable there. Too comfortable sitting casually at his dining table with coffee in hand like she belonged in that apartment. Like she belonged in his space. In your space. The oversized shirt hanging off her shoulder was unmistakably his too. You knew it immediately becasue you bought that shirt for him last winder after he complained about the old one fading.
Imagine the way your stomach dropped so violently it hurt. The woman looked up at the sound of the door opening. Then blinked in surprise seeing you. And somehow, seeing her expression looked more curious than guilty like she genuinely didn't know who you were. That made your throat tightened painfully. No. No no no no. This didn't make sense. Because Caleb loved you. He loved you. You knew he did. So why? That was when you noticed the marks near her neck. Your vision blurrred instantly. Love bites, fresh enough to still look angry against her skin. Your breathing became uneven immediately. The room suddenlt felt too small. Too hot. Too loud despite the silence.
Imagine the way the woman slowly lowered her coffee cup while studying you carefully. "Caleb didn't tell me a friend was visiting." Friend? You open your mouth. Nothing came out. Because your thoughts were crashing too violently against each other. Who is she? Why is she here? Why is she wearing his clothes? Why does she look so comfortable? Why are there marks on her neck? Why... Why? Why?! You wanted Caleb to walk out right now and laugh. Tell you this was ridiculous. Tell you there was explanation. Because there had to be. Then the bathroom door opened.
and Imagine there he was, fresh from the shower, hair damp, towel around his neck, relaxed, domestic, comfortable. The exact imagine of a man at home with someone. Then his eyes landed on you and you watched everything change instantly. Shock, real shock. Then immediate panic, not guilt, not exactly. Panic. You knew Caleb well enough to recognize it immediately. His eyes widened sharply as if his brain was calculating too many things at once. You saw him realize what this looked like and saw the fear hit him in real time.
"Baby-" something inside you snapped. Because innocent people explained immediately. Innocent people didn't look terrified like that. So you turned and ran before he could say another word. "Baby!" You ignore him. Your chest hurt so badly it felt difficult to breathe. The hallway blurred around you as tears burned instantly behind your eyes. You heard the apartment door slam open violently behind you. Then footsteps, fast, panic filled. "Baby wait!" Your thoughts spiraled uncontrollably. All those insecurities you thought you outgrew suddenly came flooding back at once.
Imagine he's handsome, successful, and surrounded by people constantly. Maybe eventually someone better caught his attention. Maybe distance really did change things. Maybe those women years ago were right. But no... Because even now, even while running away crying like your heart was being ripped open. You still couldn't fully believe Caleb cheated on you. That was the worst part. You didn't think he stopped loving you. You thought he was hidding something. Something big enough to hurt you anyway. And somehow that pain felt deeper. Because if Caleb cheated, at least the betrayal would make sense. But this?
Imagine this felt like watching the person you trusted most slowly drown while refusing to let you help him. Then a hand suddenly grab your wrist. You spun instantly and slapped him hard on the face. The sound cracked violently through the parking lot. Your nails scratching his cheek deeply enough to leave blood behind. Your own palm burned afterwards. And Caleb barely reacted. He didn't even defend himself, he just held your wrist carefully, breathing hard like he had run after you without thinking. Purple eyes frantic, devastated.
"Listen to me." He said immediately, voice rough. "That's not what it looked like." Your laugh came our broken. "Then what is it?" Silence. Not long, but long enough to destroy you. Because you watched Caleb struggle, actually struggle. Like the truth physically sat there inside him clawing to come out. "What is it, Caleb?" His jaw tightened painfully. "Tell me." Nothing. Tears finally spilled fully down your face. "Tell me!" Your voice cracked violently. "Because right now it looks like you've been lying to my face for weeks while hiding another woman in your apartment!"
"It's not like that." "Then explain it!" His expression twisted. God, he looked horrible. Not defensive, not angry. He was horrified. Like every second of this conversation was killing him too. "I can't." Your entire body went still. Not I won't but I can't. And somehow, that hurt worse. Because you believe him. You believe he physically could not tell you. And that realization shattered something inside your chest completely. You stared at him through tears. "Do you understant how much that hurts?" Caleb's face crumpled slightly. "Bab-" "You're hurting me." Your voice came out smaller now. Broken. "And you know you're hurting me."
Imagine that made his grip on your wrist loosened slightly. Like the words physically wounded him. You cna see it all over his face. That was the cruelest part. You knew Caleb loved you, even now. Even standing here bleeding from the cheek after you slapped him. Even now while watching your heart break apart in front of him. Because of him. He still loved you. You could see it so clearly. Which only made this unbearable. Because if he loved you this much. Then whatever secret he was protecting had to matter more than your relationship right now. And that thought destroyed you.
"Just tell me the truth." You whispered desperately. "Please." Caleb looked wrecked. Actually wrecked. Like he wanted to say it so badly. But instead he just whispered again. "I can't."
Imagine the way something inside you gave up. Not angrily, not dramatically. Just... Collapsed. "I see." You tried pulling your wrist away but he still held on weakly, desperately. Like if he let go now, he would loose you forever. And maybe he would. Your hans trembled violently as you reached for your engagement ring. The second Caleb realized what you're doing, real fear crossed his face. "No." You pulled the ring off slowly. The skin beneath suddenly felt enbearably empty. "No- baby, please-" "What am I supposed to do?!" You asked shakily. "Stand there pretending I didn't see another woman wearing your clothes?" His breathing became uneven.
"This isn't what you think." "Then what is it?" Silence again. And God, that silence hurt more than screaming would have. Because you knew Caleb was choosing this silence for a reason. Which meant he believed he had no choice. And maybe that was what truly broke your heart. Not betrayal. Not cheating. But that there was a wall between you neither of you knew how to cross. You shoved the ring weakly against his chest.
"Get out of my way." He looked destroyed, but eventually stepped aside. You got into your carnumbly. Your shared car. Everything suddenlt felt shared, painfully. Outside, you watched Caleb paced near the vehicle helplessly, back and forth. Hands shaking slightly. The cut on his cheeks still bleeding. He looked like he wanted to drag you into his arms and never let go. But he didn't, maybe because he no longer had the right.
Imagine you looked at him through blurry vision and somehow, even now, you still loved him so much it physically hurt. Which made everything even worse. Because a part of you desperately wanted to rewind tonight entirely. Wanted to unknown what you saw. Wanted to go back to his morning before anxiety pushed you here. Because if you never visited, maybe you and Caleb would still be happy right now. Maybe tonight would have ended with him holding you in bed enstead of watching you leave him behind. Maybe ignorance would have sabved you both. That thought haunted you the entire drive home.
and Imagine, later that night, as you curled motionless in your shared bed, staring blankly into the darkness while his scent still clung to the pillows, you phone buzzed.
Apple: I love you.
Apple: Please trust me.
Imagine the way you chest caved inward. Because the thing is you did trust him. Trusted that he loved you. Trusted that whatever happened tonight wasn't a simple betrayal. Trusted him enough to know he was suffering too. And somehow that made this infinitely more painful. Because you knew love wasn't enough to fix this. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. Tears blurred your vision completely. Hands shaking violently, you blocked his number. Then buried your face into the pillow and cried until breathing hurt.
: advance happy birth day my loveeee! This is one of my bday gift for you :)
: hearing Hawks talk give me flashback of both my exes and lovers lmao all i can hear is, and i need you now tonight edit on tiktok. Ps. Sorry for the typos :( i think i cant spell XD
some people really do need to start reminding themselves that the answer to "why didn't the character just do [something entirely different]" is often simply "because then there wouldn't be a story"
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
baile inolvidable. rafayel x non!mc reader part three
part one
you waste no time accepting rafayelâs offer.Â
and at first, itâs the small things. like a favor here, and a pickup there. a quick opinion over the phone about a specific photo of you and damien that should be displayed at the entrance or near the book signing table, or whether seashell-shaped place cards with calligraphied writing of each guests name for the tables would be elegant enough.Â
then somehow, those little favors turn into entire afternoons spent wandering through craft stores, rafayel trailing after you, pushing the shopping cart while you search for the finishing touches you need to add to your centerpieces.
for you, heâs being helpful. his expertise as one of the countryâs most renowned artists really shines in moments like these, and without him, youâd be lost.Â
but for him, every moment is both a mercy and a quiet torment.
watching your eyes spark over lace decals, silk ribbons, and the delicate treasures on your endless list is another second he must pretend it isnât breaking him apart.
he does his best to wear that well-rehearsed smile. he nods at the right moments, offers a gentle chuckle when needed, and sometimes tilts his head with mock seriousness as you hold up two swatches of lace, asking which belongs on the gift table and which should be saved for the dessert display.
âthis one?â you ask, lifting the first piece. then the second. âor this one?âÂ
the colors might seem identical to weak human eyes, but to yours and his lemurian ones, the difference is quite obvious.
he taps his finger against his chin, brows furrowed as if the choice were a matter of life or death.
"the softer one,â he finally says. âit fits better."
your head tilts, eyes darting between the two fabrics, and after a moment, you nod as though heâs just shared some artistic wisdom.Â
âof course. why didnât i see it.â Â
he likes this.Â
likes how easily you trust him with things like this. with the details and the decisions, with the small, precious fragments of a future youâre unfortunately building with someone else.Â
and rafayel has become alarmingly skilled at standing beside you, pretending that itâs not tearing something from him.
he doesnât think this could ever compare to his previous tragedies. this oneâthis one is somehow worse.
you never notice his grip tightening on the basket when you mention ceremonial florals and you miss the way his smile wavers when you talk about the first dance or your chosen song. oh, and he forces his gaze to find the window, searching for solace in the distant ocean just outside.
all of this, and you never notice.Â
or heâs simply has gotten better at hiding it.Â
he likes to think itâs the latter.Â
by the end of the day, your arms are full and your mood is somehow brighter. rafayel follows you back to your apartment just a few stops from the shops with bags of supplies balanced between his hands.Â
you unlock the door and step inside, already moving.Â
he unloads everything onto the dining table, exhaling softly as his fingers hover over the handles a moment too long. the dayâs tension finally beginning to unravel from his chest.
you, on the other hand, donât stop.Â
you dive into the bags, sorting ribbons from glassware, candles from strands, your hands moving with practiced purpose as you tuck each item into neatly labeled boxes for the venue.
and rafayel just watches, silently.Â
his eyes track your every step as you orbit the kitchen, words tumbling out, arms full, carrying more than you ever let on.
âthe coordinator was impossible,â you say, barely pausing long enough to breathe. âshe kept insisting ivory linens instead of white. can you believe the audacity?âÂ
he letâs out a quiet huff, something akin to amusement.Â
âjust unforgivable.âÂ
you grin at him from across the table, missing the way his voice dips at the edges.Â
âand donât even get me started on the seamstress,â you continue on, moving back to the table to grab another glass container. âshe said the pearls detailing my veil might be too heavy, but i told her-âÂ
âyouâll make it work,â he finishes for you, a little quieter this time. âyou always do.âÂ
you pause for a heartbeat, hand lingering on the glass, only noticing too late how your lips betray you with a small, upward curl.
âyeah. i guess youâre right.âÂ
a veil decorated full of pearls.Â
rafayel almost laughs at the cruelty of it.Â
lifetimes ago, your tears had turned into them before they could touch the ground. lifetimes ago, he watched you hold yourself together in that sacred temple while he walked out with someone elseâs hand in his.Â
now you stand in front of him, complaining about pearls sewn into a wedding veil, unaware that the idea alone is enough to tear him open.Â
he canât even gather his thoughts as the image of you in a dress made just for you flickers through his mind.
and just picturing you draped in white, adorned with touches from your homeland, traditions woven from your memories and those of lemurians who now share the surface world.
he says nothing.Â
he only watches the way your eyes continue to glow with excitement as you speak, your hands moving through the air as you explain every detail.Â
you move so easily within a future that leaves no space for him, at least, not in the way he aches for.
then a thought occurs. dangerous and alarming.Â
he could stop this.Â
would he stop this?Â
he could ruin it all?Â
would he ruin it all?Â
the thought returns. a repeating one that has never left him since that day.
he could tell you that this is the lifetime where youâre supposed to get it right. that he remembers every version of you, and he knows no amount of apologies could ever amount to how much heâs missed all this e versions of youâhow much he regrets allowing you to love him silently from the sidelines while he obliviously chased after something doomed from the start.
he knows crossing heaven, sea, and earth for her before was no issue, and he swears heâd it again, but just for you, if you asked.Â
and he can tell you his soul, his bond, every piece of himself that sill knows how to worship, belongs to you, and only you.Â
these thoughts are too selfish...
worse than that, theyâre unfair.Â
because he didnât deserve you then, and he doesnât deserve you now.Â
...
yet a selfish, terrible part of him aches to demand ruin to everything anyway.
he wants to say the words that would finally make you see him as you once did. he wants to be cruel enough to ask if the promise you made to him truly means nothing compared to the vows youâre about to makes to someone else.Â
he almost says something.Â
â...rafayel?
he blinks, and his thoughts shatters.
youâre turning back from the counter, two familiar envelopes gathered in your hand.
âi was asking if you wouldnât mind delivering talia and miraâs invitations.â your voice softens, almost hesitant. âi know you mentioned something about visiting talia later, and iâm sure mira will be at her show, so if you couldââ
âof course i can.âÂ
he doesnât hesitate, not with the way the forced answer leaves him too easily.Â
he smiles before you can feel guilty for asking, reaching out to take the invitations from your hand.
itâs familiar beneath his fingers. more specifically, the seashell motifs and the pale blue ribbon. the careful, delicate lettering.Â
it is the same kind he held weeks ago in his studio, the same that curled into ash between his fingers as thunder echoed in his ears.
this time, he canât even think of burning it, not with you standing right in front of him.
this time, he tucks them safely away, only because you asked him to.Â
and lately, that alone is enough to unravel him completely.
in the weeks that follow, rafayel learns the shape of your absence through the glow of text messages.
he learns you are always somewhere: linkon, skyhaven, chansia, whitesand. the bakery, the tailor, the venue, the florists, the apartment, back to the venue again because someone forgot to confirm the delivery window and, apparently, humans require endless confirmation for everything.
unlike before, you now find solace in complaining to him more often.
you always call him in the late afternoons, when the sun is already setting and damien texts to say he will be home late because of a new intern's mistake.
you complain about the linens and the seating chart and about damienâs relatives whoâll be arriving at least a week before the wedding. about the dance instructor who keeps rudely correcting your posture but never damienâs, and the seamstress who still thinks the pearls are still too heavy, and frankly too much to go with your dress.Â
and every time you send another message, every time he swipes right to your call asking if he is free, every time you say, âraf, i need a small favor,â he answers.
he always answers, telling himself itâs because you need help, and heâs the only one who can give it.
because youâre tired. because youâre basically carrying the entire creation of your wedding on your own. because you insist on working yourself to the bone with work and doing all this, because youâre skipping meals and your sleep schedule is all skewed.Â
he tells himself heâs easing your burdens.Â
but rafayel knows better.Â
the selfish truth is that by offering his help, by dropping everything, by making himself available, itâs become his only excuse to stay close to you.
every errand is a borrowed moment. every box he carries is another reason to walk beside you. every ribbon he ties, every invitation he delivers, every opinion he gives about table runners and desserts becomes proof that you still reach for him when the world overwhelms you.
he is someone you trust, someone you need. someone who once depended on you for a millennium. and now, here he is, returning the favor.
and because rafayel is greedy, just as he is stubborn, and has been since his first lifeâsince he was the god of tidesâand has spent too many lifetimes almost having you, he takes whatever you are willing to give and receive.
and in those moments, when youâre not looking, too distracted by the hundreds of other things running wild through your mind and checklist, he lets himself pretend.
he pretends the wedding is something youâre preparing together.
that when you say, âwe need to decide on the centerpieces,â the we means something more. so much more.
that when you ask if the pearls have become too much trouble and if you should settle for something simple and sincere, youâre asking because heâs the one whoâll see you wearing the veil first.
itâs cruel and a little pathetic, but itâs almost enough.
almost.Â
but not quite.Â
rafayel is really starting to despise that word.Â
itâs exactly one week before the wedding when you arrive at his beachside studio, knocking three times on the door, a wagon behind you stacked full of tall glass cylinders.Â
youâre breathless, hair tousled by the swirling breeze, and you smile as if you already know he could never turn you away.
heâd have to be out of his damn mind to refuse you.
he swings the door open wider, leans against the frame with a theatrical sigh, sunset eyes drifting down to your wagon.
âwell...look what the tide dragged in.âÂ
you roll your eyes.
âyeah, yeah. so are you going to help me or just insult my centerpiece transport system?âÂ
âboth, obviously.âÂ
you fight back a smile, but he catches it anyway.
for the first time in days, the ache in his chest softens into something bearably gentle.
the first hour passes by easily, just like it always does when heâs with you.Â
thereâs something simple and easy about the way you two fall into rhythm, sitting cross-legged on his studio floor, sleeves rolled up, supplies in neat little piles, your tongue poking out in concentration as you try to coax the ribbon ends to behave just like the youtube tutorial promised.
outside, the ocean breathes against the shore. inside, bachâs well-tempered clavier hums softly in the background. one of rafayelâs favorites. and for now, everything feels peaceful.
but you on the other hand, are squinting down at your phone, attempting and failing to follow a new tutorial on tying the ribbon around the glass.Â
rafayel pauses, letting his gaze linger on your focused face a moment too long before forcing his attention back to the ribbon in your hands.
he clears his throat, but you donât look up.Â
âyes, rafayel?âÂ
he leans a bit closer.Â
âyouâre tying that wrong,â he says.Â
you raise your eyes to peer at him. âno iâm not.âÂ
âyes, you are.â
he lets out a soft huff, already moving to reach over, and his fingers brush over yours as he takes the ribbon from you.Â
âlook,â his voice soft. âlike this. you gotta loop it here, and then pull this side under. see? easy peasy.âÂ
for an artist, heâs always been skilled with his hands. too skilled maybe. his fingers glide over yours, adjusting and guiding, fixing what you stubbornly claim isnât broken. when heâs done, he takes the glue gun and presses the bow perfectly onto the glass.
done. finished. easy as that.
you stare at it, amazed.Â
then you look at him, and before you can stop yourself, your lips form a pout.
he canât help himself. your adorable actions makes him fight back a laugh.
âi feel like you shouldâve been the one doing the tying while i glued.â you say.Â
âthat would've been the better plan, yeah.âÂ
âthen why didnât you say anything earlier?â you bite back.Â
âbecause you looked so cute in your determination. who was i to crush your indomitable spirit?âÂ
you glare at him, but it doesnât last long. not when he chuckles this time and takes the remaining pieces of ribbons you had already pre-cut, already moving to tie each one expertly.Â
and for the next forty minutes or so, you spend the rest of the time gluing them down, nodding when a centerpiece is finally completed, decorated just like you envisioned, and placing it carefully to the side.Â
he canât take his eyes off you.Â
not even when a bead of hot glue slides dangerously close to your thumb, making him murmur your name in warning before you notice.
even now, after everything, youâre still pretending you donât need help.
but once you accept it, everything becomes so much easier for you. he wishes you could see that.Â
and he wishes he could tell you without it sounding like heâs asking you to need him more.Â
time drifts on, each minute quietly slipping away, and as he finishes one centerpiece and starts another, he notices how your words fill the room more than usual tonight.
or perhaps heâs simply listening more carefully, taking in all the details youâve shared over the past few weeksâthe last things needed, the finishing touches, and damienâs insufferable mother with her insistence on details you canât bring yourself to stress over anymoreâbut he lets you repeat them, nodding along as though each piece of information you shared is something new.Â
maybe itâs the comfort in your voice that calms him, or the way your laughter bubbles up when he cracks a joke about your complaints, easing the ache in his chest for a heartbeat. maybe itâs the gentle look in your eyes, the furrow of your brows, or each exasperated sigh you let slip.
whatever it is, he wants to remember every detail.
because soon, he wonât be the person you call first when something goes wrong.Â
âdamienâs mother said sheâd pick up the flowers the morning of, which is good because itâs one more thing off my plateââÂ
you pick up a seashell that you had collected yourself from the last time you journeyed beyond the depths, turning it between your fingers with a frown.Â
âbut what if she picks up the wrong ones, rafayel? or the florists messes up, and i end up with lilies?â your eyes lift to his, your demeanor shifting to something more serious. âdo i look like a lily bride to you?âÂ
he always thought a flame lily would look lovely tucked behind your ear.
but its too late for that now.
for a moment, rafayel forgets to answer.Â
you tilt your head. âwell do i?âÂ
the thought vanishes.Â
âabsolutely not,â he finally answers. âeveryone knows youâre more of a sea lavender kind of bride.âÂ
âexactly!â the expression you had moments ago washes away, and you point the seashell at him like heâs just proven your case. âthank you.âÂ
the conversation loops back to the dance coordinator, the same woman youâve doubted since your very first lesson. then itâs the seating chartâwould the lemurians prefer to cluster together, or might they share a table with the humans? youâre still not sure.Â
âoh,â you say suddenly, placing the seashell down as you pick up a candle to drop inside the glass, âdid i tell you i finally got the seamstress to stop arguing with me about the veil?âÂ
rafayel glances up.Â
âwell, partially.â you begin, lips pursed in concentration. âi think she gave up and decided to accept it. so i guess my stubbornness does pay off.â
rafayel ties another ribbon, allowing the corner of his mouth to lift.Â
âwell, well. who wouldâve thought.âÂ
âsee, i knew it was good for something.â a pleased smile lights up your face before you go on. âbut anyway, i canât wait to show you how it all looks together.â
rafayel feels his mouth grow dry, and he tries not to think about the aisle or the flowers or the pearls or theâ
âi canât wait to see you walk down that aisle.â the words slip out before he can stop them.Â
you still, and rafayel realizes how it sounds a second too late.Â
especially when your eyes flicker, something unreadable passing behind them.Â
so he forces a smile.Â
âfrom where iâll be standing, i mean,â he adds just as quickly, lifting his right shoulder in a lazy shrug. âat the front as your man of honor.âÂ
your expression softens, though thereâs confusion that still lingers.Â
you quietly huff. âright.âÂ
he expects the next words to leave your mouth to be something playful, maybe teasing. perhaps about him being dramatic, or how you hope he doesnât cry and ruin the photos, or get drunk off two shots of whatever theyâll be serving, considering he was such a lightweight...
he waits for it, for you to say something, heâs preparing to answer with something equally as ridiculous, something thatâll turn the conversation light again.Â
but you donât.Â
instead, your eyes drop to his hands, his fingers frozen around the last bits of ribbon, and when you look back at his face, your smile lingers, but itâs not quite right.
ârafayel.âÂ
thereâs hesitation laced in your voice, something heâs not used to, something he hasnât heard sinceâŚ
âi think itâs for the best, my dear sea god.âÂ
he blinks a few times, blueish-pink hiding behind long lashes, avoiding your gaze.Â
he lets the silence stretch, but he can feel your brows knit together, your eyes dropping once more to the seashell you now turn over and over in your hand, fidgeting with it anxiously.
âeverythingâs going to change, isnât it?âÂ
there it is.Â
the truth.Â
the one that finally seeps through the cracks of a promise youâve both been pretending is strong enough to keep everything from falling apart.
a breeze drifts in from outside, and somehow the sea mist finds you, ruffling loose strands of your hair, and he canât say how it manages it.
âi keep saying it wonât, or that it wasnât going to,â your voice drops, much quieter. âi kept telling myself that weâll stay the same. that nothing between us has to be different because iâm getting married, but..."
âit wonât ever be the same, will it.âÂ
rafayel has always known the answer.Â
he has known it since the day you came to him with guilt riddled tears in your eyes.Â
when you summoned that little pink flammula and it glowed between your palms.Â
and if he hadnât known it then, or had pretended or ignored it, it wouldâve resurfaced when your calls became shorter, and your visits became less frequent.
he could no longer escape it when the invitation arrived, and when his name was nowhere beside yours.
when the invitation burned because he couldnât bear to keep holding on to proof of a future he'd lost.
human life will always demand more of you than a promise made to a powerless sea god.Â
it already has, after all.Â
but you look so afraid, teetering on the edge of tears, and he canât bear to see you cry. not with the answer he canât bring himself to give. not now.
so rafayel lies.Â
ânothing will change,â he says, voice dangerously low enough to be mistaken for truth.Â
âwe made a promise, didnât we?âÂ
your eyes flicker toward him, and he lifts his right hand to gently wipe away the tear that slips down your cheek, catching it before it can become a pearl.
for a split second, he thinks you might see through him. youâve always known him too well.
and just as he sees through you, you see through him. you know every tell and every mask he carries.Â
but when your expression softens, he wonders if maybe you cannot read him as well as you once didâlike you previously could in every other lifetime.
âyeah, rafayel. we did.âÂ
he gives you a reassuring smile while bringing his hand to the top of your head to lightly ruffle your hair. just enough to ease the moment and elicit a giggle from you.
âthere she is,â he articulates as he mimics your laughter, âthereâs my silly girl.âÂ
âno. donât call me that,â you groan jokingly, moving to take his hand off your head.
âalright, alright. câmon. sulking time is over. weâre so close to being done with these.âÂ
and with that you nod, already reaching to grab the next glass to place in front of him while he reaches to tie another ribbon.Â
by the time the clock slips past two, the last centerpiece is done and youâre half cleaning, half laughing, debating whether the very first one you decorated deserves a place among the rest, since, according to rafayel, your ribbon tying was "absolutely atrocious."
and despite his insult, he makes you laugh, hand pressed to your stomach, eyes shining with a kind of joy he wishes he had the right to keep.Â
he memorizes this, commits every aspect of it to memory. your addicting laugh, your adorable smile, the way your head leaned against his shoulder just as youâd done in that underwater cave from your very first life.Â
and again, that stubborn confession rises to the tip of his tongueâthe words that could ruin everything.
he almost says it.Â
rafayel wants to say he loves you
or rather, heâs in love with you.Â
he no longer wants to be just your sea god, or your closest friend, or the one you call when the world becomes too much.
he wants to be yours, the way you were once so completely his.
but the moment passes the second you yawn, pulling yourself away from him and taking all your gracious warmth with you.
as you rub your eyes, he swallows the words before they can become another weight for you to carry.
so the almost lives on.Â
and rafayel, as always, lets it.Â
âžâ.Ë
a/n: i think i've gotten a total of like, 12 hours of sleep in the last 72 hours. i am not built for the 9-5 corporate office life.
but beside that, this chapter was sponsored by a redbull, 3 iced coffees, and listening to after all (piano version) by sarah kinsley!
looking back at my screenshots and⌠oh, this broke my heart âšď¸ remembering how I felt watching the main story, then having him back again⌠OH PEAK
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there's no way you would've guessed he'd be back in linkon. not after he'd been doing so well in skyhaven at the daaâat the top of his class and exceeding the curriculum, soaring higher and farther than the rest, just like mckayla had briefly mentioned.
it's been two years since you last saw him, back on the college campus where he left you, broken and crying when he broke things off, permanently.
told you that the relationship could never work. you were too different, priorities too scattered, even accused you of loving zayne more than him.
that the entire summer, you had trailed around zayne like a puppy, more infatuated with him than you ever with caleb.
and when you denied itâshouting he was wrong, begging him to give you the chance to work things out, insisting you loved him more than anything in the worldâhe only scoffed and rolled his eyes.
but with caleb, it's as if breaking your heart wasn't enough.
the final blow came when he tilted his head, eyes narrowing, as he told you that you and zayne deserved each otherâthat everything would be so much easier, that he'd be happier if you just made it official. it would lift the burden of your love from his shoulders.
and that was that.
what you didn't know was that he did it to protect you. because caleb xia didn't think he deserved you.
he thought that in you choosing zayne, everything would be better.
zayne could love you fullyâwithout fear and without restraint. he wouldn't hurt you the way caleb might.
he was more mature, more emotionally available.
zayne could give you what caleb never could. he could be what caleb was too afraid of being.
now, drawn by the distant shouting and sharp clatter of a spoon against glass, he cautiously makes his way deeper into his grandmother's summer home, each step slow as he follows the noise down the hallway and through the arched doorway toward the living room.
that's when he sees you, eyes fixed on the television, absorbed by the drama of contestants he's vaguely familiar withâonly because mckayla had ranted about it to him over call weeks ago.
you turn as you notice him standing in the doorway, hastily rising to your feet, blanket slipping from your lap and landing on the floor, your face twisitng into something he can only register as shock.
and for the trillionth time, his decision comes back to haunt him.
the candy cane slips from his mouth the moment he whispers your nameâsomething he hasn't said in what feel like a century. it hits the floor, shattering into pieces. much like the composure he's barely holding together as he takes you in.
you're tad bit older now, shaped by both time and by life. by everything he wasn't there to see.
you must hate him. hate what he did two years ago. you have toâhe hates himself for it. for making you cry. for making you believe your love was too much.
now, it's all he has craved. from the moment he watched you turn your backâ27 months, 821 days, 19,704 hours, 70,934,400 seconds agoâit became the only thing that mattered.
but when the corner of your lips twitches upward and that familiar sparkle returns to your eyesâthe one he grew up memorizing, knowing that it only ever appeared when you looked at him like he hung the stars in the night skyâhis stomach drops, breath catching as you move slightly toward him.
you take a hesitant step towards him, almost second guessing yourself. like the words he said two years ago are echoing in your head, making you cautious.
maybe you still think he doesn't want your love. maybe you think he never did.
so he closes the distance for you, bringing with him the cold he has carried, both from the storm outside and from his own emotions he has held onto for so long.
he doesn't stop there.
he breathes you inâyour scent, so familiar, so achingly reminiscent of home. not the place he's standing in now, but the one he found in you.
he sways you so gently, side to side, a grin breaking across his face, completely unfiltered and helpless. it's full of something he hasn't felt in years, and you let him have it.
you grant him this small, fragile chance to hold you again, just like before.
and yet, all he can do is mourn it. mourn the way it'll be over in seconds and those walls you both built will return.
and as the realization sets in, he knows he's right.
you clear your throat, tapping his shoulder to ask to be let go. he abides immediately, loosening his grip and lowering you until your feet touch the cool wooden floor.
"it's been a while, huh?" you say, taking a step back, creating distance between you and him.
for a moment, it takes everything in caleb not to reach for you againânot to reach out, to hold you in his arms once more. this time, he swears he won't let go.
he refrains from doing so, hands staying at his side, curled into fists.
"yeah...yeah. it has," he replies, words just barely leaving his lips.
it would be a lie to say it doesn't feel like the air has been ripped from his lungs, but you've always had that effect on him.
and you still do.
a/n: on that tsitp au brainrot again and imagining caleb and n!mc as bonrad in that one christmas episode. that is to say, this calebn!mc coke drabble isn't over. more later