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to-the-stars8 · 9 months

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Until the Moon Stops Chasing the Sun

Julian Devorak x MC/Reader Summary; Julian admits that he loves you, and always will-Even when the feelings aren't reciprocated.

A/N: Hey guys! I've actually had this fic held up in my vault for a little while. You just gotta excuse the mess. This was actually one of the chapters from my really old story of Lamentation of the Apprentice before I just straight-up abandoned it. I've rewritten it from first person because that just fits my style better and makes it more flexible for you guys. This, obviously, takes place before mc's death. Also, there is smut, so 18+ and MDNI

You turned at the sound of your name, knowing it was Ilya before seeing him. His voice was thick with a Nevivion accent that had your name feel like a brush of soft wind. Ilya, though, did not look as he sounded, he was lean and moved with little grace. He stumbled toward you as he arose from his spot at the desk, long legs likely tired from sitting too long. Even in the candlelight and days without washing, his hair seemed like a soft fire that curled in perfect licks of flame upon his head.

You reached out to touch it as you handed him some papers he had asked for, noting aloud that he needed a bath soon. He sheepishly said that it was a consequence of working too much.

“A break would suit you,” You commented over your shoulder, disappearing behind the maze of bookshelves.

“I…I return the sentiment to you, beauty,” His voice was distant, becoming louder as he drew closer. He found you with a smile, sliding behind you as you looked up at the towering shelves. You tried not to pay attention to how he smelled of sweet cider.

For a moment, you let yourself get lost in the memories, thinking of the time Ilya had confessed that he was smitten with you and gave you a kiss. At first, you were nearly nauseated by the feeling of someone else’s lips as only Asra had ever kissed you. It was a pity that when he kissed you for a second time you only thought of your white-haired magician. It had taken nearly all your concentration as he and Asra felt completely different. Asra’s lips were plump and warm, and his hands, like him, always wandered. Ilya’s kiss was a stiff wildfire that dared not spread too far for fear of being put out.

You had pulled away out of guilt, telling him that there was no room in your heart for him. Ilya understood, saying that when there was room he’d be there waiting. From that moment on, it had been the little touches and assurances on the worst days that started to clear Asra from your mind. It caused some internal torment, but, like always, Ilya was there to comfort you.

What brought you back to the moment was finding the book, and you shook off the thought as you started to reach for it. Ilya was quick to intercept it, reading the title aloud with a mischievous smile.

“The science of dreaming,” He seemed amused. “I, uh, did not think you took to the more…factual parts of the world.”

You laughed as you took the book from his hands, smoothing your hand over the cover. When the laughter died on your lips, you thought of how to respond that would not have Ilya fussing over you. “I just keep having the same dream is all.”

There was a pause before a quiet question hit the silence between the bookshelves. “What of?”

You finally looked up to meet Ilya’s eyes, answering just as softly, “You.”

It pained you to say it aloud because, as much as you dreamt of him, Asra was like the ghost haunting every aspect of your life. You had spent too long loving him to let go of the rotting love deep in your heart.

Yet, there was Ilya, so fresh and kind. All he’d ever shown you was kindness, even when faced with rejection. He harbored no ill will toward you, accepting everything you had given him so happily.

Ilya said your name and it sounded like a stone skipping on water. When he started to lean down to kiss you, you did not fight his affection this time. Perhaps, it was selfish of you to take what he was giving with Asra still there in your heart. Yet, you could not stop the fire Ilya had started lit against your skin.

His lips followed the same patterns as Asra’s once did, down your jaw, up the hollow of your neck, and just about everywhere you would let him. As he did, you let the book drop from your hands to thread your fingers into his hair to see if the locks would burn you.

Before you knew it, his hands were finding their way under your clothes, desperate touches that he had yearned for since before you had turned him away. You returned the feeling, relishing in the touch of a lover after so long, quickly undoing the buttons on his shirt to feel up his chest as the two of you backed up into the bookshelf. His skin felt hot, and you were not surprised by it as he burned with every ounce of passion that he had.

All of it you knew should have been spent on someone else. Someone better.

When he had lifted your skirts up around your hips, revealing all the parts you had shown only one other person, Ilya’s eyes admired your nakedness. He took in every part of your body like you were a breath of fresh air after he’d been drowning. His eyes flickered back up to yours and you found yourself terrified to look at him, too ashamed of yourself for taking something that should have not been yours to begin with.

“Ilya, perhaps we should—”

His fingers were ghosting over your sex, barely touching before pulling away at your words. The smile he gave you was full of heartbreak, and he whispered, “I know you do not love me.”

Somehow, you found yourself unraveling under his gaze just as you did Asra’s once. “I do. As a friend.” You assured him and yourself.

Ilya nodded his head and squeezed his eyes shut to keep tears from falling out. “I know. I know.” He looked away and sniffled. “But, may I say this?”

No, you wanted to say, do not say it, Ilya. You were holding onto your constraint by a string. At that moment a thousand thoughts rushed through you. Usually, when you were overwhelmed by this, it was Asra who you thought of. It scared you when the only name that came to mind was Ilya’s.

“Yes, you may,” you whispered.

Ilya smiled and stared down at the book before giving it back to you. He looked at you like he was expecting something, perhaps for you to stop him. “You, uh, you are one of the most beautiful people I have ever met. I…I still find myself thinking of you daily, in so many ways—That is, um…Perhaps I should—I love you is what I am trying to say, damn it all!”

I love you. It was the first time anyone had ever told you that before. Asra never did in the six years you had known him, nor in the three you had been together intimately. You hated yourself for not saying it back, for just not feeling the love for him as much. I love you. I love you, Ilya. You begged your heart to say it, but it was unrelenting to let go of Asra.

Ilya studied your face for a moment as a doctor would then let out an airy chuckle. “I wanted to tell you this because, in case anything happens to me, I needed you to know.”

In case anything happens to me. The plague had gotten worse, and you knew Ilya was more aware of how severe it truly was yet that did not stop his determination to help. Truly a doctor through and through.

“Ilya,” The string had turned into a thread and you were leaning up to kiss Ilya again. He kissed you more passionately this time. His tongue found its way into your mouth, and you enjoyed it.

Finally, the thread snapped.

Hiking up your skirts again, Ilya delved into feeling every part that would only be known to the two of you. You gasped into the kiss as his long, slender fingers prodded through your folds before finding your clit. As he worked circles on you, you worked on his trousers, pulling at them until his cock sprung free. Ilya moaned against your mouth, thrusting forward when your hand touched the already leaking tip.

When your eyes met Ilya’s, you nodded your head lightly before taking your hand away from him as he did the same. He gave himself a few pumps before aligning himself up to your entrance. After ensuring that you were okay, he thrust forward, making you gasp.

Within a moment he was inside of you, making you feel whole for the first time in so long as well as different, too. Never before had you had sex with anyone other than Asra, so it was foreign to you to get used to someone else’s touch. Ilya was just as gentle, though, as his thrusts were not hastened, but slow. It made you feel longed for as he felt up your thighs and placed wet kisses over your face.

He said your name again and again like a mantra. A prayer. A title of a book that he wished to never forget.

You did not say his name back. You were terrified that if did Asra’s name would fall from your lips in habit and break Ilya’s heart further. Or worse, and somehow summon the magician to see you in such a state. Not that you would much care. All you could think of was how good Ilya had made you feel. It was like a spell that had you melting in his arms.

“I love you—gods, I love you,” Ilya whispered desperately as he pushed into you deeper. When you started to cry out, he captured your lips in a kiss, only pulling away to whisper some assurances.

With one hand on his shoulder, steadying yourself, you used the other to slip between your bodies and over your clit. You whined, turning away from him so he would not see the way you had started to unfold.

Ilya shook his head as he mumbled so pathetically, “Please, let me see you.”

You couldn’t, not with the image of Asra suddenly dancing in the back of your mind. By the gods, Ilya was far too good for you and you found yourself loving him for it. Burying your head into his shoulder when your orgasm tore through you, you grabbed at his arms, desperately trying to hold onto that fleeting love you had felt for him.

Ilya whined against your lips, mumbling too late about how he was going to cum before spilling inside of you. You soothed him as he said something in his native language into your ear.

“Ilya,” You whispered when he had recovered, and he looked at you.

He already knew.

He knew that it would be the last time. Still, Ilya took you into an embrace. His hands anchored you to him, and, in turn, you laid your head on his chest. Just a moment longer, it said. Pretend to be in love with me just a moment longer. And, you did. You played the part of a reciprocating lover, as much as it broke you to do so. Nothing in the world mattered. Not Lucio, Asra, Muriel—No one, but him. Your Ilya.

When the embrace broke and you fixed yourselves, it was back to being nothing more than friends. Ilya swooped down to pick up your dropped book, handing it off to you.

“I…I should be getting back to work,” He said sorrowfully, eyes not meeting yours. “I, erm, I will see you again? As friends, of course.”

You smiled at him. “Yes. Always, Ilya.” Before he could step away, and out of curiosity, you called out to him again. “Wait, what did you say?”

“I do not follow your meaning.”

“A few minutes ago.”

His eyes widened in understanding and he was quiet for a few moments before finally saying, “It, uh, is something we say back home in Nevivion. It means nothing of importance.”

You pushed the subject no further, but, still, were curious enough to jot it down in a folder of notes. It was a topic to dwell on for a rainy day so you thought nothing of it. Ilya left without another word, and you went back to my room the same way with your book in hand.

After that night, the two of you started to drift apart. The plague had gotten worse, and you eventually found yourself sick as Ilya drowned himself in work. It pained you to see him neglect himself, and angry that Lucio relished in it. Pushing and pushing Ilya until there was no more than the shell of a beautiful human being.

Before the beginning of the end, you wondered what would have happened if you had fallen in love with him. You pictured yourself running away from Vesuvia, going to his homeland Nevivion. Perhaps the two of you would visit the salt baths that he always said had healing powers. Your heart swelled at the thought of him talking of home as he always got a hopeful, starry-eyed look that had your heart fluttering.

With your death, you hoped that Ilya would stop falling for you, and for a time, he did. Asra, the same person who had such a hold on the love of his life, took your place. Ilya tried to find your touches in him, to recreate what he had felt that one night in the library with you, but it all had turned cold.

Asra had found your notes and asked him what some piece of Nevivion gibberish you had written meant. Reluctantly, he answered.

I will love you until the moon stops chasing the sun.

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