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damn-stark · 5 months ago

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Chapter 10 Heart of Ice

Chapter 10 of Moonlight

A/N- I was giggling and kicking my feet tehehe ;)

Warning- some swearing, talks of miscarriage and death, ANGST!, FLUFF, mild NFSW, SPOILERS, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- 2x01

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

There it is, standing so tall that it looks like it’s touching the sky. It’s mesmerizing no matter how many times you’ve seen it, and it never fails to steal your breath.

Yet the wall is at its prettiest when it weeps when the sun hits it just as it rises from the ground. Right now all it does is bring forth an icier chill as the wind blows, making you hold onto your cloak for warmth.

You can only imagine how Jacaerys is fairing, this is his first time at Castle Black.

“How are you holding up?” You make sure to ask your brother as his eyes stay stuck on the towering wall.

“My balls are about to freeze off,” he makes no effort to talk properly in front of you, nor do you remind him to.

You smile at him and look at him with a soft endearment only reserved for those you deeply cherish. “It will be worth it, I promise. I cannot wait for you to see it,” you muse and cup his shoulder.

Jacaerys finally takes his eyes off the wall and meets your gaze with such a warm smile that it’s capable of melting the thickest sheets of ice.

“It better live up to everything you have said,” he remarks lightheartedly, making you drop your head to laugh softly at the ground.

“It will pass your expectations,” Cregan interjects as he finally rejoins you and leads the way to the lift that looks a bit unreliable, but all the people at Castle Black use it, and you have survived after using it so, you walk in. Slowly of course, and you don’t dare pay too much attention to the sounds it makes as it starts moving Jacaerys, Cregan, and you to the top.

“You know,” you take the attention of the rackety noise. “Perhaps one day I will send one of my children over here to take up a role as guardian of the wall.”

“Is that so?” Cregan probes.

“One of your seven?” Jacaerys jokes and you laugh softly but don’t take back what you said, catching him by some surprise.

“It’s a rare thing for a Targaryen or Velaryon to come be a brother of the Night's Watch,” you explain your thought process to the curious men. “But we are the families the people look up to. I mean I understand the sacrifice, but I believe that for us to have a good relation with the North, and for us to protect our realm against what may be out there, we too should be here with a dragon or two.”

Cregan briefly meets your gaze and hides well those emotions you stir up inside since your brother is standing at his other side, but he doesn’t stay quiet, he takes a deep breath before he parts his lips.

“You are right, the sacrifice one must commit is great, but duty is sacrifice,” Cregan begins to say. “It eclipses all things, even blood. All men of honor must pay its price. The North owes a great duty to the Seven Kingdoms, one older than any oath. Since the day of the first men, we have stood as guardians against the cold and the dark. Through its long tradition, the Night's Watch cultivated its strength from doomed men who had their life as their only possession. But my ancestor, Torrhen Stark began a tradition by making an offering at the onset of winter; one in 10 men from our household was to be chosen to fortify the Watch. This is not a sentence but an honor. A duty embraced by all who serve the North. Even by mine own kin. Thus I respect your decision, My Princess.”

He talks so well that even these long comments captivate you, and that’s hard to do because you get so easily bored.

“The North must stand ready,” Cregan adds without losing a breath. “Winter is coming.”

“Coming?” Jacaerys interjects. “What is this, then, that falls from the skies and shivers my bones?”

You roll your eyes away and scoff softly.

He thinks he’s so funny.

“This is only a late summer snow, my prince,” Cregan says something he’s already mentioned once before. “In winter, it will cover all you see and all memories of warmth will be forgotten.”

You look through the gaps on the wooden walls but the lift then shakes so you step back and stand closer to Cregan.

“It pleases me to think that over a century ago our ancestors treated in this very place,” Jacaerys mentions with a lighthearted look on his face. “The Conqueror and the King in the North.”

You can’t help but smile at the thought and the history the Starks share with your ancestors. It’s so bittersweet. But it’s all so corny of Jacaerys to say, he sounds just as infatuated as you.

You would tease him, but now doesn’t seem like the time so you just smile wider to yourself.

Cregan’s gaze wanders to you after your brother's words, and you share some of that sweetness with him because regardless of it all, you are happy Jacaerys expressed his fondness for Cregan.

And when Cregan does see your smile some of that hardened demeanor melts.

“You, at least had the mercy not to threaten me with your dragon,” Cregan quips at your brother jokingly, leaving him silent until he queries.

“Did my sister threaten you with her dragon?”

Does he think of you as some wild beast or something?

Regardless, Cregan's eyes soften before he shakes his head and tells him what you did do. “No, but she did threaten to go over the wall and escape when she first got to Winterfell six years ago.” He says and tilts his head over to you, but you look out the window and shake your head.

“I was having a hard time adjusting,” you remind him. “And I did not end up going over the wall.”

“No,” he mutters softer as if speaking with admiration. “You did not.”

You lift your eyes off the icy wall and let yourself meet and hold his gaze with a soft look just until the lift finally lands on the top because when it comes to a sudden halt the wooden lift shakes, and you’re reminded why you hate coming to the top this way—You almost reach out to Cregan to keep yourself balanced and safe, but you stop yourself and just stand stiffly until finally he opens the door for you and your brother, letting you feel like you can breathe again when you’re on stable ground.

“My Prince, My Princess,” one of the brothers greets you while you slip your arm around your brothers to hold onto more warmth as the coldness nips at your skin.

“My Lord.”

“My Lord,” other brothers greet Cregan while he walks after you until finally he catches up and leads you to one side.

“Surely the great Torrhen Stark would’ve sooner died than bent the knee,” you chose to return to the previous topic as you watch Jacaerys’ eyes fall on every single detail you pass by. “Unless he believed the Conqueror could bring unity to the Seven Kingdoms.”

Cregan nods. “You are right in that,” he agrees.

“That unity is now threatened,” Jacaerys goes on for you with another clever workaround to the subject at hand. “The realm will soon tear itself apart if men do not remember the oaths sworn to King Viserys and to his rightful heir.”

Again you can’t help but be proud of the way he speaks. But you also know this second attempt won’t mend Cregan Stark’s choice.

“Stark’s do not forget their oaths, my Prince,” Cregan reminds him proudly. “But you must know that my gaze is forever torn between North and South.”

Jacaerys glances over at you with discreet disappointment, and you press him an, ‘I told you so’ look right back.

“In winter, my duty to the Wall is even more dire than the one I owe to King’s Landing,” Cregan strengthens his argument. “I need my men here.”

You swallow thickly as you come to a halt just under a post, and Jacaerys turns you around with him to pass Cregan a hard look that furrows his eyebrows. “Whilst your men guard against wildlings and weather the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne,” he remarks.

You grip onto him as a warning for him to calm down, but he doesn’t understand.

“If my mother is to defend her claim,” Jacaerys presses while Cregan guides all of you up the stairs. “To hold the realm united she needs an army. War is coming to the whole of the realm, my lord. We cannot wage it without the support of the North…” Jacaerys trails off when he reaches the top and finally sees with his own eyes the never-ending land beyond the wall, the beauty that you promised, and what you could never fully describe in words.

He moves toward the end of the post and you let your arm slip off his to let him admire for himself the beauty and the mystery that is the North, and the freedom it holds in its cold wilderness.

You can now honestly say you know the pride Cregan felt when he first brought you up here because you feel it. You are not from here, but seeing your brother be so captivated by what’s beyond the wall makes you fill with excitement that you can’t put into words, you can just express it with admiration and awe in your eyes.

Cregan notices and admires you while your brother's attention is far away, and to his surprise, you feel his stare and return his soft gaze while you also let your gloved knuckles brush against each other as you let yourself be swooped up once again by the comfort you have been fighting to feel.

Yet you don’t let yourself get completely carried away, nor do you cross the line by letting your fingers touch, you keep your smile and join your brother's side.

“Was it everything you expected?” You ask before you’re brought back to the cruel reality.

Jacaerys laughs softly and nods. “It was everything you said and more…it feels like I could stay here and admire this forever.”

“It would get cold,” you joke, making him chuckle.

“It would be pleasant,” he murmurs.

You nod in agreement and dread returning to the sore subject, but you will lose yourself.

“I brought your sister, and my father brought King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne to see the Wall,” Cregan finally rejoins your company. “His Grace stood at this very outlook and watched as their dragons the greatest power in the world, refused to cross it.”

Jacaerys snaps his head to you and probes for more. “Even adventurous Astraea?”

You look out and nod. “Yes. She perches herself on the wall but never once does she fly over, nor does she dare fly over just to turn. I tried to command her to cross but she disobeyed me,” you back up Cregan's argument and feel a chill crawl down your spine at the reminder.

“Do you think my ancestors built a 700-hundred-foot wall of ice to keep out snow and savages?” Cregan presses your brother in a colder tone that almost works to frighten you.

“What does it keep out?” Jacaerys asks.

Cregan leans in closer to your brother and speaks one word. “Death.”

You swallow back nervously and share your uneasiness with your brother with a simple look that actually helps him let go of some of that tension and ignorance he held.

“I have thousands of graybeards,” Cregan finally offers and breaks the speechless moment between Jacaerys and you. “Who've already seen too many winters. They are well-honed.”

You loll your head to the side and snicker, while Jacaerys says what you were thinking. “So they’re old?”

“I can ready them to march at once,” Cregan assures him and you.

Jacaerys breathes out and accepts the offer. “If your graybeards can fight, the Queen will have them.”

“They will fight hard,” Cregan states with a hint of pride and some faint smugness. “Like Northerners.”

You glance over at him and catch that smugness on his usually serious face and you can’t help your heart from skipping a beat when he glances at you with the same look.

“My Lord,” a man calls for Cregan’s attention, making his face fall hard once again. “A ravens arrived.”

The man approaches the post breathing hard as if in a hurry and hands Cregan a scroll. “Urgent news from Dragonstone,” he announces, making you understand his urgency, and causing you to fall serious and nervous yourself.

But if it is bad news wouldn't it be sent directly to Jacaerys and you?

Maybe?

Unless—

You can’t let yourself think the worst, but you still share your worry with your brother before you watch Cregan unravel the scroll to read what the news is.

He doesn’t take long to read, but it feels like he is reading for eternity in the waiting silence until finally he puts the scroll down and meets your gaze. This time when you lock eyes your heart skips a beat out of worry instead of awe, this time a smugness doesn’t play in his eyes or tug the corner of his lips up, his eyebrows are furrowed and his jaw is clenched like when he makes his face hard, but you can read him clear as day as you simply hold his gaze.

You can see the pity pulling his lips down, and a soft apologetic look in his grey eyes that makes them appear darker. He doesn’t need to say anything for you to know that what he read wasn’t a simple warning or a call home, they’re dark words that he almost but says.

You want to ask, he knows that, he sees your worry heighten in your furrowed brows and parted lips, so with a simple blink his face softens as he gives you sorrow, making your eyes immediately cloud with tears. While in the back, Jacaerys sees it, your shared past. He figures it out in the exchange that is far more complex than one friends should share, but it all makes sense now.

Your friendship always slightly caught his attention, it bugged him in some way. Not because he felt bad for Aemond that you were so sweet on another man, but all your interactions were always weird he just didn’t figure out why until this very moment as Cregan fails to look over at him after what he read, as he watches this speechless interaction and sees the deep aching softness on the Lord's face and a deep set heartache in your eyes.

He had only seen such a speechless complexity in his mother and Ser Harwin. He was too young to realize it then but as he got older he understood what happened around him, and doesn’t fail to understand now.

Yet as much as he wants to give into this anger he feels boil within him at the thought of Lord Stark taking advantage of you in your five years in Winterfell, the news that awaits him helps him stay collected. Thus he steps forward without causing a scene and finally, Lord Stark drives all the attention to him, letting him finally receive the scroll, and leave you waiting longer without focusing on Cregan any longer. Now you turn to face your brother as he reads what was sent.

Once again it feels like what was written is getting read at an infuriatingly slow pace, but now you’re not impatient to know. You’re scared to know or read Jacaerys' face now. But you keep your eyes on your brother and watch his jaw unclench and his lips part to let out a soft gasp, while his once steady hands begin to tremble, and his eyes…water.

“Jacaerys,” you almost plead his name out.

That anger he had at the waiting completely disappears and he slowly looks up at you with a loud and heartbreaking sorrow.

“Jace,” you mewl.

Said man licks his lips and sniffles before he grabs your arm and gently pulls you aside.

“Listen to me,” his voice quivers and only makes your heart race faster than it’s already beating.

“Is it…” you trail off to catch your breath. “A-Aerion?”

Jacaerys shakes his head and keeps in those tears that fill his eyes. “No, Aerion is fine,” he assures you but you don’t feel relieved.

“What?” You beg for an answer and reach for his hands, but he lifts them and tucks loose strands of hair behind your ear.

“When,” he says shakily. “Lucerys was in StormsEnd, Aemond…”

You start to shake your head and his bottom lip trembles.

“Aemond killed Lucerys,” Jacaerys finally reveals quietly.

A cold breeze hits you and all that you had been feeling gets lost in the wind, leaving you numb.

Jacaerys calls your name but you stare ahead blankly. Theres nothing that crosses your mind, there’s nothing you feel that makes you react. You know it’s heavy and painful news, you knew they were dark words when Cregan told you speechlessly, but you can’t accept the truth that’s given. You don’t want to, you can’t because if you do then it means you will accept that your husband, the man you love…did what was written, and you don’t want to accept that.

However, Jacaerys calls out for you again and this time he grabs your arms and steals your attention, forcing you to once again connect to what you refused to feel.

“No,” you blurt and push him back. “You’re lying. You’re a liar.”

Jacaerys shows you the scroll as he gets close again. “You can read it yourself. It’s the truth, Lucerys…he’s,” he strains to say. “He’s…dead.”

Your heart drops and a flood of emotions rams through you, knocking the air out of your lungs, and making your legs weak.

Jacaerys grabs your arms and holds you up before you can fall and pulls you to him, letting you see how red his eyes are, and how drowned they are with tears he’s holding back.

“Jace,” you mewl and cover your mouth to sob.

Your brother nods in understanding without you having to express the rest of your sorrow. “I know,” he whispers. “I know.”

“Oh gods,” you gasp and drop your head while grabbing at your chest as you can’t seem to catch a breath. You can’t breathe. There’s so much air where you are, it’s so crisp but you can’t manage to take in any which in return only lets you feel the pounding of your heart, the rushing of your blood, and a rush of memories of your little brother Lucerys.

All you can think about is Lucerys, you imagine his last moments, and with every memory and every fake scenario the more you fail to grasp for air.

In the distance, Cregan watches how you’re breaking down, but no matter how much he wants to, he has to stay put even if it hurts not being able to help you when you need him the most. He does get close to trying something small since you are in so much pain trying to breathe, and your brother seems a bit lost on how to help you, but Jacaesys then does the first thing he thinks of and pulls you into an embrace.

Thankfully right away, at the feeling of your brother's weight, and at the feeling of his warmth, all those rushing memories slowly disappear, letting you draw in a deep breath. You pull him closer and bury your head in the crook of his neck whilst you wrap your hand around the back of his neck, and push his head down to let him bury his face on your shoulder so he can express everything he refuses to show to the public.

When he clutches onto the back of your cloak your heart comes to a slow pace, but it doesn’t stop weeping. With every ba-dum, you feel an aching pain in your chest that doesn’t go away.

Eventually, after a short time, Jacaerys pulls back and gives his back to Cregan to wipe away his tears before facing him with a sorrow that isn’t able to wipe off. “We need to go, my Lord. You’ll have to forgive us for not accompanying you back to Winterfell, but with our dragons here we need to make haste to return to Dragonstone.”

You grab at your chest and gently caress it as if that would cure you’re heartache while Jacaerys shares something you agree to without the need for a discussion.

Albeit Cregan is the one who protests. “It will get dark soon, why do you not wait until first light to take flight? Wait until you both have collected yourselves so you don't do anything rash in the heat of the moment.”

You shake your head and interject in a broken voice. “The storm won’t pass, Lord Stark. We’ll just face it head-on and leave, our mother needs us.”

Cregan steps forward, gaining a brief glance from you. “Just eat, and rest…I know the pain of losing a brother, I understand your grief, my heart is with you,” he tries to relate so you would listen. “I have lost many others too, I know the anger, please just let yourselves calm down before you return home. I will stay with you here.”

You know your brother too, you know how angry he can get. You know that once your grief really settles you’ll also start thinking of what happened and you’ll get upset too. Thus you don’t hurry to answer, you look at your brother and he looks at you. And without a word, you come to the same conclusion.

“All right,” Jacaerys says for the both of you. “We will stay, but leave at first light. Thank you, my Lord.”

——

*LATER*

Nothing makes sense.

Why? How?

Those questions are what runs around and around in your head accompanied by different terrifying scenarios that could’ve led to the act. A lot of it points to an accident, you want to believe in your heart of hearts that what…Aemond did was an accident. You don’t want to believe that this remorse got the best of him, he’s supposed to be better, he’s supposed to keep it in for your sake.

He knows how much you love your brothers, he knows he can hate them all he wants, but he can’t hurt them. And yes! You know that war was going to happen no matter what, and violence was going to be dragged in between your families, but Aemond went out of his way to…kill Lucerys when all he was was an envoy.

He killed your brother. Your husband killed your brother, and in turn, betrayed you in the worst way possible. He tore your heart out, and what hurts more is that he hasn’t said what he did in the multiple ravens he’s sent! Just like always, he never tells you a thing!

What are you supposed to believe, but the worst? You want to believe he’s good behind all that hard demeanor, you defend him against your family when they say something bad because you want to believe he has a good heart, but what does killing Lucerys prove? That you’ve been wrong all along?

Gods!

Damn it! Why did he have to do it? Why did he take Lucerys?

A knock raps on your door, but you’re so drowned in your heartache that you don’t hear the sound. It’s not until you hear your name being called out softly behind that door that you almost wake up from your stupor.

“It is I, Cregan,” he announces without the need to, you knew who he was the moment he uttered the first word. “Can I talk to you? You didn’t come for supper.”

You blink repeatedly to relieve the dry spell in your eyes after not blinking for a few seconds and clutch onto the ring you were fiddling with before you get up and unlock the door. You don’t proceed to say anything, you walk away from the door and stand against the fireplace, but Cregan takes the unlocked door as an invitation and walks in, finding your food untouched, you in your nightgown, and your head down.

“I came to check on you,” he says softly as if careful not to hurt you even more with his voice. When he gets no response or even a small breath, he walks in further and notices now how unkempt you are; you’re usually so precise with the way you keep yourself, you always look so clean and tidy, it was only in the morning when you first woke up that he would catch you off guard, but now it’s like you don’t care how you look.

“I hope you are not going to bed with your hair down like that,” he tries to be lighthearted. “You hate having your hair tangled in the morning.”

He waits for a reaction, a soft ‘oh’, but you stay quiet and it just deepens his concern.

“Darling,” he uses your pet name and you finally break from your stupor and turn partially to face him.

He expected a sweet look just out of instinct, but those usually wonder-filled eyes are clouded by agony and tears that can’t even fall down your cheeks anymore; while the fires fierce light brings clarity to your deep set frown, knitted brows, and puffy face worn out from crying.

“Here,” he breathes out and catches a gleam coming from in between your fingers. When he fills his curiosity he notices that the firelight is dancing on a sapphire ring you cannot stop fiddling with in between your fingers; a ring he had not seen you take off once since he saw you. Which must mean your husband gave it to you.

He doesn’t want to ask for many reasons, so he approaches you from behind and gently starts braiding your hair in silence you cannot seem to fill. It’s almost like there was no one inside your body, you were a hollow body left soulless.

“I understand why you locked your door,” he mentions in hopes that would get him a simple reaction. “However, it does not seem necessary, your dragons are restless and it stirs up fear in the brothers. And I am here as well.”

Your back raises as you draw in a deep breath, but rather than filling the silence with a dry response, or some remark, you just breathe out, making him steal a glance at the side of your face that he can see from behind you, before he pulls out the leather strip that keeps half of his hair out of his face to keep your own braid in place instead. He then proceeds to shuffle to your side to grab your arm.

“Sit down, Princess.” He commands softly.

You don’t fight him, you let him guide you down to your seat, and once he’s feeding the fire more wood your hoarse voice finally fills the room.

“I should have gone back to King's Landing…A—He sent me a raven the day after when my grandsire the King died. He didn’t tell me of course, but he told me to go back…I should have listened, I…” you pause to catch your breath. “Maybe then Lucerys…” you trail off and whimper whilst you drop your head in your hands.

Cregan leaves the last piece of wood in the fire and then wipes his hands on his shirt while he stands up to close the gap between you.

“Don't,” he says firmly and crouches down in front of you to grab your hands and pull them down so you can meet his gaze. “Do not blame yourself for your brother's death. What happened is not your fault to carry. What happened is dealt with, don’t dwell on things that can no longer happen.”

You hold his gaze while you process his words for a second and then look down at the ring you still hold.

“I’m sorry,” he says sorrowful words that bring your heart some comfort, but also make your body tremble while those tears that you once couldn’t muster, come rushing down your already stained cheeks.

Nothing else is spoken, and nothing is asked of either of you, but out of instinct your arms slip around his neck, and he returns the embrace and follows you to your feet where he keeps holding you and lets you cry on his shoulder; for hours? For a few seconds? You don’t know, you dwell in his comfort that you missed and relish in it until you stop crying.

He probably should have been the one to pull away, but he doesn’t complain, not once. He lets you pull back on your own time, and even then he grabs your arms to keep you close so he can cup your cheeks and caress them for a final piece of comfort to your aching heart.

Yet that proves to be a mistake because as you linger in his proximity, your eyes fall on his lips and you’re overwhelmed with a passion-filled heat that pushes your lips against his.

At first, Cregan is so stunned by the warmth of your lips on his, and then he’s taken by the excitement of feeling your lips reconnecting that he closes his eyes and kisses you back, but when his lust begins to rush through his blood he pulls back and groans.

“No,” he shakes his head and slides his hands down your face to grab your shoulders, leaving a burning trail down your skin. “You are married. No matter what happened you are still married, and you’re grieving.”

You want to forget your pain for a moment and be consumed by the comfort, bliss, and excitement he provides, but he’s also right. And how can you do that to Aemond…

But…

Maybe you don’t care if it hurts him because he hurt you. He won’t know either way—But you will know, you will know that it’s something that can hurt him, and you…don’t care. But Cregan…is right.

“I’m sorry,” you throw out and step away from him, feeling a chill hit those parts of you that he kept warm with his touch—“you are right. I’m sorry.”

Cregan turns away and swallows back thickly, feeling somewhat disappointed that he has to turn down this heat of the moment. “Perhaps I shall bid you a goodnight now.”

You swallow back to hide your disappointed sigh and nod. “Yes, goodnight Cregan.”

Said man avoids looking at you when he turns. It makes it easier to walk away from you. But when his hand touches the door handle he doesn’t turn it to open it, he stands there frozen with his back turned to you as he feels his honor start to slip.

He turns his head but doesn’t peek over right away, he fights himself but quickly falters when he feels the ghost of your wet lips haunting his. And when he fully looks back and sees the shadow of your sculpted figure in your white nightgown his inner battle is lost. He only proves his loss by locking the door and turning completely to face you, turning around as well.

“Cregan?” You query, puzzled by his presence.

Said man draws out a deep breath before he strides back to you with determination in his step and surprises you by grabbing your face the moment he can. You want to utter his name, but a small gasp is all that goes past your lips whilst you drop the ring that Aemond had gifted you.

“I pride myself in my honor,” he says while his eyes flicker between your parted lips and your shocked gaze. “But when it comes to you it’s turned to ash, nothing stops me from wanting you, from…” he trails off and leans forward, but you don’t allow your lips to touch. You shift your head away, but he follows you to keep your breaths unfurling over each other's lips.

“…desiring you in every way a gentleman shouldn’t. I burn for you when you’re far, and even when I dream of you. It is wrong.” He nods, and you nod too without much effort. “But you are my weakness, you have always been my weakness. You’re my joy, the reason I laugh, and also the reason I don’t march to King's Landing and bring you to Winterfell to make you mine,” he whispers against your lips, making a smile make an appearance on your saddened face.

“Tell me this is wrong, tell me to leave now,” he tells you and drags his eyes up to meet yours so you can know he’s being serious. “And I will. I will leave your chambers and when morning comes I’ll bid you farewell with no remorse and as nothing more than friends.”

As if being hypnotized to his lips you lean forward, but only let your lips brush, leaving your heart pounding as it screams for you to connect.

“I still have to leave,” you make it known while you gently cup his jaw to touch some part of him. “I have to return to Dragonstone no matter what.”

Cregan’s eyebrows pinch together and he hesitates before he nods. “I understand,” he mutters and glances at your lips again. “But that doesn’t change a thing if you tell me to leave.”

You should. You're still married even if Aemond betrayed you by killing your brother. And deep deep down a lot of your conflict comes because you don’t know if you did stop loving the man who killed your brother, but that reason is also why you want to give in to your deepest burning desire.

That reason is why you’re selfish and don’t resist Cregan or stop your heart from swooning at his confession.

“Don’t leave,” is all he needs to hear to smile widely before he finally feeds your desire by kissing you slowly, fueling that passionate heat that completely takes over your body, and leaving you still and breathless for a moment as you relish in the sweet taste of his soft lips melting with yours, guiding your every movement, and driving you mad with lust.

You had forgotten this dream-like feeling, you had forgotten how fast he makes your heart race when he’s kissing you, and you forgot how hot you burn when his fingers explore the perimeters of your body. Furthermore, you forgot how eager he can get until you feel his grip on the back of your gown.

You pull away quickly and protest. “No, no, wait, do not rip it.”

Cregan fingers loosen and you start to giggle. “Why do you always want to rip my gowns?” You bring up, making his lips lift to a smirk.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers between heavy breaths.

You press a kiss on his lips and then tell him, “gently.”

He breathes out deeply and nods once before he slides his fingers back to the ribbon tying your gown together, and slowly begins to untie it while you drift your lips to kiss the corner of his mouth, and then kiss his jaw before you graze your lips up and kiss the corner of his jaw.

Cregan lets out a groan from the back of his throat, making you feel chills grow on your skin.

“I hate all these layers,” he musters while you continue to leave a trail of kisses down to his neck. “They are so infuriating.”

You smile against his neck, causing you to feel his nails dig in your skin.

“It keeps me warm,” you tell him and lick a stripe up to his lips. “Your North is cold, my Lord.”

Cregan clenches his jaw and shakes his head. “A little less with your presence,” he completely wins you over, making you grin and look at him in awe.

“I missed you,” he finally lets himself confess to you. “My darling love.”

You sigh and whisper back. “I missed you too.”

His eyes gleam brighter and that short absence is filled once again with your lips while he finally slips off your gown, leaving you under a simple sheer gown that he slips off with ease.

“You’re beautiful,” he says with awe, and his eyes dark with lust.

“It’s no fair,” you argue between kisses and slowly drag your hands down to help him pull off his layers. “And you say I wear a lot of layers,” you comment, making him scoff.

You finally end up pulling the last one off and throw it to the side mindlessly as you’re captivated by his toned torso and those thick arms that he unfairly hides under all those garments.

“Kiss me,” you command in a voice oozing with honey.

“Gladly,” is all he says before capturing your face to smash his lips on yours and this time make out more roughly as he’s filled with a much more hungry need.

Your own need lets you multitask by unbuckling his pants and tugging on them so he can pull them off in the brief pause you have between devouring each other. Yet when his member is out for you to see, you take a moment to admire how girthy and hard it is, and how perfect every vein is on his length.

You can’t help but start to go on your knees, but he grabs your bicep and pulls you back up to drift you away from that need.

“No,” he says out of breath and instead wraps his arms around you, and presses his lips on your neck to start leaving wet kisses on your flesh while he also slides his hands down your body, making you shiver at the feeling of his warm hands caressing you gently.

Without lifting his mouth off your neck he drifts his hand behind your knee, and with no explanation, he pulls your leg up to help you climb up and wrap your legs around his waist so he can walk you back to the edge of the bed, and gently put you down.

Once you’re lying on your back he pulls back but leans down to press his hands beside your head, and simply hold your gaze with this endearing look that makes his eyes smile.

“I'm going inside you,” he warns you, making you shiver and swallow thickly as you already imagine the stretch. “You need to be quiet.”

You part your lips but utter nothing, instead, you lift your head and he responds by giving you what you wanted, a deep kiss, while he grabs his length and aligns himself with your hole. When his tip touches you you gasp and he grins before taking your lips again to distract you while he slowly penetrates you.

Albeit the stretch is so wonderful and filling that you claw your nails on his back and scratch his back as he keeps going in deeper. Once all the way inside he finally pulls his face back to whisper. “You were made for me. You belong with me.”

You don’t respond with words, you cup his cheeks and brush strands of his hair behind his ears before you slide your hand to the back of his neck to gently pull him down. “Cregan make me yours,” you finally fill the silence, feeling as if his cock hardens even more before he finally starts moving his hips, filling you with a blinding ecstasy that heightens this passionate moment, and makes you only think about him and the pleasure he feels and gives you. You forget your sorrows and the grudge. You forget the war and the responsibilities you have.

You’re selfish in the lust-filled night and remain ignorant even before it's time to get out of bed. You just relish in Cregan's presence for a bit longer.

“Cregan…” you whisper, and the man hums in response letting you sigh before you share what’s been bothering you. “I do not like that I am the reason you disregard your honor. I do not like putting you through that.”

The hand on your back stops moving and a small huff rolls out of his nose. “I think it’s late to start thinking about that.”

You blink repeatedly with discontent and abruptly sit up to face him. “I am not jesting,” you press sharply. “I’m being serious. You hold your honor in high regard, I hate to be the one who makes it falter.”

A faint smile tugs on his lips without regard to your comment before he leans forward and assures you. “I have my honor, I never forget it, but I love you more. I’m being selfish without disregarding everything to be it. I know how to hold myself back,” he says firmly and cups your cheek to bring you closer to him. “I know where I stand, I am just choosing to have a taste of happiness. You, my darling, are my happiness.”

Your eyes water and your heart swoons, there’s nothing you can say that would measure up to the kind things he just said, all you can do is press a lingering kiss on his warm lips before you lay your head down on his chest, and hold onto him like he’s your security blanket.

“I…could offer you and your Aerion refuge here,” he offers and makes your pounding heart hurt.”

“Here? In Castle Black?” You tease without sounding too amused.

Cregan scoffs and starts to caress your arm. “Not here. In Winterfell,” he clarifies without a hint of falter at the mention of your son who is fathered by someone else who does bring him pangs of jealousy every time he remembers you’re married, and when he hears his name. “I would make sure no one could touch you and your boy there. He wouldn’t have to grow up around so much violence and you would not have to worry.”

You tilt your head down to kiss his shoulder before you give his offer an answer. “It's a nice offer, but my place is not hiding in a cage like some frightened bird. My place is out there, with my mother, with my brother, and the rest of my family fighting with the dragon I have. My mother needs me and I don’t want to leave her alone.”

Cregan doesn’t interject with anything, his chest rises and slowly falls back down, letting you know your response slightly wounded him.

“Instead of having her husband with her when she lost my sister,” you begin to say quieter but filled with frustration. “Daemon was out leading her council. I was the one who held her when she cradled my sister's lifeless body. I…have to be there for her now.”

“I understand,” he doesn’t falter to assure you. “But you must know if you ever find yourself needing somewhere to go, Winterfell is yours. You and your son are welcome.”

You lift your head off him to face him in the little space left between you. “I will always remember that. Thank you,” you say from the bottom of your heart.

A smile twitches on his serious face, and he proceeds to press a feathered kiss on your lips before he grins and says. “Sing for me? Just for me.”

You giggle and gently smack his shoulder. “No,” you answer bluntly and lay back down basically on him.

“Why not?” He chuckles. “It's not like you have to fear enchanting me with your song, you already have.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up. Anyway!” You change the subject. “I was supposed to stop writing to you. I had already planned it.”

Cregan sighs and his chin rests on the top of your head. “I know,” he mutters. “You stopped writing as much as you would recently.”

Your smile falls but you grow desperate and hopeful. “But…you will answer me when I write to you in the weeks to come, right?”

He shrugs and interjects. “If that’s what you want, I will.”

You nod softly. “I do.”

You lift yourself up again to face him so he knows you’re being sincere. “I do.”

He grabs your cheek and his eyes soften. “Are you frightened?” He makes sure to ask.

You swallow thickly and shake your head. “No. Nervous, but not scared.”

He smirks and slides his hand down to caress your chin. “That’s my girl. You know how to fight, use that.” He tells you.

You laugh nervously. “I’ve never had to actually use my skill for violence.”

Your swordsmanship and your skills with archery were never for the intent of being some warrior, you like the idea of being like Queen Visenya Targaryen, and Princess Alyssa, but mostly your need to be trained with a sword and with archery was because you took it as a challenge. They said you couldn’t have it and you challenged them. Thus now that you’re having to face this war and the potential of having to use your skill, you’re honestly quite nervous.

You’ve never admitted that. You don’t want to admit it to anyone but him so they don't feel like you aren’t reliable.

“It won’t be easy,” Cregan says the truth. “But when you face your enemy, do not hesitate. Think quickly but be smart and do not let them gain the upper hand. You have a dragon, use her, and you have skill, good skill. Use it.”

You let out a shaky breath and nod in comprehension. He offers you a gentle smile and pulls you down to press his forehead against yours.

“You must know I will wait for you. Just a while longer.”

Asking what will happen after a while passes scares you, so you leave it be and just give him an honest response. “If fate ends up letting me choose, I will finally come home to you.”

He flashes you a charming smile that eases that worry in your heart and only works to sink you further down into this little escape.

“Now,” he coos against your lips. “Will you sing for me?”

You roll your eyes with a flattered smile featured on your face before you pull away to lay back on his chest and finally do as he asks of you as a parting gift where there aren't multiple people watching you, and pushing you down to hide or pretend that you’re nothing more than friends. You sing him a song for only him to hear before you take your leave and face reality once again.

——

*SOMETIME LATER. DRAGONSTONE*

What good is actually facing reality? Facing a dead beloved brother, and the fact that it was someone who you loved that killed him?

Dragonstone is a painful reminder of what happened while you were away. Only now that pain in your heart is tenfold and you don’t think anyone can actually know the pain that plagues you. Who can truly understand what it is you carry? No one is married to the man who killed Lucerys. They can hate him with ease, but you?

You want to despise him, you fought yourself the entire flight back to Dragonstone to hate him and view him as another enemy, to view him like you view Aegon, but as much as you think you hate him, your heart fights hard to try and tell a different tale. And that’s what makes it worse.

Thus it's easier, it was almost healing, having an escape with Cregan, but now there’s no one who will silence your cries. And what makes matters worse is facing your heartbroken mother. You don’t like seeing her cry or be hurt, when she lost Visenya your pain could never equate to what she was feeling, but you hurt too with every groan, with all the blood that she spilled, and every sob. Now you’re moments away from her and your heart and soul are already shattering.

However, after you watch your dragon disappear into the caves with Vermax, and take a step inside the castle, a hand wraps around your forearm and you’re pulled into a dark dead end where there aren't prying eyes or nearby ears.

“<Tell me the truth,” Jacaerys spats in a whisper so no one would hear the sound of his words also protected by High Valyrian. “About you and Lord Stark.>”

You can’t help yourself, you blink repeatedly in disbelief and gape like a fish out of water.

“< There's no point in lying,” he only further surprises you. “I figured it out when he got the letter from Dragonstone. I would see it every time you would talk but I never pieced it together until yesterday. It all made sense then, the glances, what you would tell each other, and every story you told about him.>”

Tears fill your eyes and your heart echos in your ears as you’re struck with shame. Not for loving another man, but that Jacaerys found out.

“<He touched you?>” He proceeds to ask in your shocked silence.

And it’s in that silence where he figures out your unspoken response and finally lets go of your arm to turn away with a scoff.

“<He never forced himself on me,” you defend Cregan. “Everything we did was because we wanted it to happen. We love each other.>”

Jacaerys turns on his heels with frustration and clutches onto your arms to sneer. “<You saw how much mother suffered because she was with Ser Harwin. Did you not learn anything?>”

You know he’s remarking all that stuff to your face because he cares. He’s being thoughtful in his way but it doesn’t stop you from crying, and when you shed tears you hit a cord in your brother's heart and he lets go of you with a sigh.

“<If you weren’t already married I would turn back and force him, but alas,>,” he mutters and sighs again before turning and dropping his head in his hands.

“<He would’ve too,” you defend his honor. “But I did not want Aemond to hurt him with Vhagar. I choose not to marry him, please don’t blame him. He’s a good man.>”

Jacaerys shakes his head in disappointment and turns to face you with his eyes narrowed into a fierce glare and his lips curled in a snarl. “How am I not supposed to blame him?” He remarks in the common tongue. “He had his way with you and did not do what he was supposed to do! What an honorable man would do!”

“I told you already, I told him not to because of Aemond.”

Jacaerys grabs his face and rubs the bridge of his nose, so you continue to try and calm him down.

“He was always respectful and kind. And…” you pause and lick your lips before you utter the reality. “There’s nothing you can do about it now. There's no use in being upset, I am married and that won’t change even if I love him unless Aemond dies. So please,” you plead softer and step towards him to grab his arm so he can face you. “Please Jace, keep it a secret. No one must know. It’s in the past. Please don’t tell a soul.”

Jacaerys eyes snap to you and he clenches his jaw as he looks at you thoughtfully for a few agonizing moments before he sighs and whispers. “Fine. I will not tell anyone only because there’s nothing I can do now.”

You sigh with relief and wipe away your tears before you offer him a thankful smile and a sweeter comment. “Thank you so much. Thank you, Jace, really. I love you.”

Jacaerys lets out a deep breath and his face slowly lets that frustration go, and instead slowly falls to express a soft sorrow. You slide your hand down his arm to cup his hand and slowly mirror that grief as you remember what you lost and that pain you both now harbor.

No matter how hard you wish, there’s nothing in this world that can change what happened, no one can bring back your fallen brother. And what’s even crueler is that no matter how hopeful you were for the news to be a lie, you’re home now and that hope lies with Lucerys.

You both come to the same realization and speechlessly exchange it, bringing you both into each other's embrace to cry now without care.

And deep down you both want to stay close in just the way you are so neither of you run the risk of losing each other the way you lost Lucerys. It’s a foolish thought, but it’s one brought by grief, and a new fear set in both of your hearts because no matter how much you love your little brothers, nothing can compare to the bond the three of you had. A bond that now consists of Jacaerys and you. Just him and you.

“Jacaerys,” your moment is interrupted by a feminine voice that also speaks your name but does not belong to your mother. And when you both break away and look over you see Baela stand at the end of the hall with her hands clasped together and a pitiful look in her eyes.

“Baela,” you greet and wipe your tears away while Jacaerys turns to wipe his own tears away.

“Welcome back home,” she speaks sweetly.

You offer her a thankful nod before you walk over to her and meet her halfway with an embrace.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly.

You nod and then interject. “Thank you.” You pull back and glance around in search of her twin. “Where’s Rhaena?”

Baela sighs. “In her chambers.”

You wished to greet her just as you returned home, but now you’ll have to speak to her after you speak with your mother.

“And what about…” you trail off and hesitate. “What about my mother?”

Baela glances behind you as Jacaerys approaches you and then gives you the answer you wanted. “I’ll take you to her.”

You offer her a thankful smile and watch her walk to Jacaerys to wrap her arms around him and offer him sweeter condolences. When the moment passes she guides you to your mother and your heart begins to pound, while your stomach twists and makes you feel almost nauseous at the anticipation. You already know you’re going to break even more, but there’s something about thinking about your mother being heartbroken that already tears you apart.

And maybe a part of it is because…it feels like you had a hand in her heartbreak because it was your husband who killed Lucerys.

It was not really you, you know that. You were oblivious to your husband's affairs, but no matter what anyone says, yes, that’s what is dwelling within, your guilt. It rattles you to the point you can’t be comfortable in your own skin.

As you get closer to your mother's quarters breathing gets hard once again, and your surroundings begin to dim, leaving only the narrow path ahead visible. You want to run away and not face the pain you’ll see. But when the doors to your mother's quarters open and you see her sitting across the fireplace, alone and in the dark, that panic settles as if she was the fresh air you needed to calm down, leaving you with the need to be embraced by her warmth and comfort, while also giving the same in return.

“Your Grace,” you greet her softly once Baela clears the room and leaves only you and your brother with your mother.

Your pounding heart starts racing once again, but it’s not out of fear, it’s racing out of a need to ease your pain, and the pain you clearly see on her delicate face. Yet you hold strong with tears stinging in your eyes already.

“Lady Jayne Arryn has pledged her support,” Jacaerys breaks the emotional silence to share the support you both gained when you were away on a mission. “…In exchange for a dragon to guard the Vale,” you hear the tear in your brother's voice, and when you glance over at him you see him fiddling with his hands while his eyes grow more and more teary, making your already weak hold, falter.

You still want to continue for him, but when you part your lips you can’t utter a word, it’s all lost in your grief that heightens the longer you watch your mother.

“And,” Jacaerys continues sounding even more brokenhearted by the second. “Lord Cregan Stark,” he pauses and takes a deep breath, but doesn’t seem to find the will to finish. He falls breathless and that wall he usually has up to be perceived as strong, and a protector crumbles, leaving him shaky.

You reach over to grab his hand while tears start to roll out of your eyes as you trail on for him. “…Lord Stark…promised 2000 men,” you manage to share with all the might you can muster.

Your mother doesn’t respond, she instead stands from her seat with her face contorting with grief and approaches the both of you, making you completely lose the faltering hold you had on your emotions.

However, when she’s close, Jacaerys reaches out first and she welcomes him in her arms. You want to do the same, you’ve been aching for it, but your guilt hits you and you stand there frozen with your head down.

“Mother,” you mewl with streams of tears. “I’m…sorry.”

Your mother pulls away from Jacaerys just slightly, leaving her arm around his neck to approach you and caress your cheek with no disdain in her eyes; nor does she look at you like you were the one at fault, her eyes are sad, but she expresses her reassurance before she slides her arm around your neck and pulls you in her gentle embrace and confirms that she doesn’t hate or blame you.

It’s such a relieving comfort that it works to lift some weight off your chest. Weight Cregan couldn’t ease when he talked to you.

Now you can ease in your mother's embrace without feeling like she hates you. Now you can caress her back without the fear of getting rejected.

Soon thereafter, neither Jacaerys nor you attempt to leave your mother's comfort. Nor does it feel like your mother wants either of you to pull away from her embrace that protects her two eldest from the cruel reality that took her third child.

You stay interlinked and weep on each other's shoulders until she pulls away to face you both.

“I have been waiting for your return to light…Lucerys pyre,” she shares. “Is it fine if we light it tonight? The sun is setting and the winds are calm.”

You and Jacaerys don’t find a reason to push the funeral back. You also know there are other matters to attend to that don't give you the luxury of sitting in your grief.

But, oh wouldn’t that be nice?

You don’t want to ignore what happened, no, that’s not what you want. You just want to take a moment to process what happened, and who did it, and tell yourself that you will no longer see your little brother Lucerys.

But no, war forces you to face reality and deal with your grief harshly on the same night you arrived from Winterfell, and at the same spot where your baby sister's funeral pyre was lit.

This time the crowd is smaller though, more intimate. Daemon isn’t even here, which isn’t surprising, but it is also disappointing that he can’t be at his wife’s side as she deals with the death of her son, and lights yet another funeral pyre. And what grows your hatred for him even more is that he can’t seem to be bothered to be a father to his daughter who just lost her betrothed. It’s a good thing Baela is at her side.

It’s also good that you can be with your family this time, dealing with your father's grief alone was devastating. There was no one besides your handmaiden Vanessa to hold your hand and embrace you when you wept. Comforting letters could never measure up to the comfort of your mother's arms or that of your siblings and your grandparents.

Now though, you stand amongst them around the fire that will burn away the only pieces you have of Lucerys, which are his things. There's not even bones to turn to ash, nothing was found of him but his cloak, and a part of his dragon's wing.

Thus Jacaerys steps up first and throws in a soft red blanket along with a piece of his clothes. Besides a few tears rolling down his face, he holds strong now, unlike before when he was in the privacy of just you and your mother, which is assuring. He definitely seems to comfort Joffrey, who throws a wooden horse in the fire, leaving you to step up next.

Yet when you step up and lift a small wooden ship you sob for the brother you’ll never be able to see grow into a man. You’ll never be able to see him marry, or see him command his fleets. You’ll never be able to watch him build a family of his own, nor will you be able to dance another song with him, he’ll be gone forever.

You throw away all those possibilities you’ll never get to see in the fire, and watch the flames eat away at the small wooden ship, and turn to ash everything you couldn’t watch your brother do.

Thick smoke rises, it infiltrates through your nose and stings your throat and eyes while also helping you realize something through the stinging pain, that being your hate for Aemond, your husband, and best friend. You were clouded with confusion before, you couldn’t let go, but you see it clearly now in the thick smoke, you hate him.

And it’s because of your realization that you don’t realize your mother is next to you until you catch her throwing in a piece of Lucery’s clothes with agony contorting her face and clouding her eyes. She lingers by the fire for a moment and you watch her shoulders shake before she steps back. You fall by her side and glance down at her empty hand before you reach over to grab it and once again be the comfort she needs in her moment of pain.

A need to go to Rhaena’s side does grow. You feel called to her side to comfort her, but once the fire starts to lose its power, and all the wooden logs turn black, you step away from your brother and mother's side, but come to a stop right away as you feel guilt again. Your mother might’ve speechlessly assured you, but Rhaena’s anger and grief is different, what if she does blame you for what Aemond did?

If you weren’t away you probably could’ve stopped Aemond, but you weren’t with him. What if she blames you for Aemond taking her betrothed?

You don’t want to be the source of more pain for your cousin, so out of fear and guilt, you don’t approach her. You avoid her and instead, let your grandfather give his condolences before embracing your grandmother.

“I heard the Queen made you her hand,” you interject and pull back to face her with a proud smile. “Congratulations, grandmother, I could think of no one more capable than you.”

Your grandmother caresses your face and offers you a sweet and thankful smile. “Thank you, my Sweet. How are you doing?” She asks with a concerned gaze.

You sigh. “I’m dealing with all my emotions, but I’m relieved that I at least don’t have to go through my grief alone this time,” you share, earning a faint smile.

“I was wondering…” you roll out hesitantly whilst you hook your arm around his to head back inside together. “…does anyone accompany you on your patrols?”

Without needing to hear the rest of what you wanted to ask, she figures out the direction you're taking this conversation.

“No,” your grandmother assures you.

“Oh, well I was wondering,” you finally get to your question. “If I could accompany you? The sea is large, together we could cover more ground. Besides,” you sweet talk her to persuade her. “Astraea is fast, and she’s grown large from her time at Winterfell. She’s good at sea. She likes to dive with me on her. And I am a good archer on Dragonback. We could help you.”

Your grandmother scoffs and flashes you a smile. “Well as much as I would like your help, we would have to ask the Queen first. Bring it up with her and if she accepts I would love to share patrol with you, it would relieve me of some work.”

You smile excitedly and nod eagerly. “Good, I’m glad. I’ll ask her at the next council meeting.”

Your grandmother offers you an encouraging smile and helps you feel some joy in the dark storm that casts over you.

Of course, no one or nothing brings you more joy than your little one, your beloved Aerion. When you see him fast asleep in his cradle your dim world lights up and you muster a happy grin.

As much as you want him to wake so he knows you’ve returned to him, you let him be and just crouch by the cradle to admire him as he sleeps.

You admire his cute round cheeks, his tiny little hands balled up to fists over his head, his thin eyelashes he got from his father, and those pink thin lips he also got from

Aemond. But most importantly you watch his chest carefully to make sure he’s breathing.

You could watch him sleep for hours on end and never tire. Especially because sometimes, just like now, you catch him smiling in his sleep and you just can’t help but swoon.

You always wondered what it is they dream about, fairytales mayhaps? Food? Their parents?

Does he dream about his father now that they’re apart? A father who loves him, and takes pride in his son? A father that you hate and…cheated on…

He killed your little brother, and you lay with Cregan because you wanted to, because you missed him, and you were upset and selfish, but now that you’re looking at your son sleeping away a different pang of guilt punctures your heart.

A guilt you shouldn’t feel, Aerion is young, he won't remember this conflict, but he will feel shame if he ever finds out you cheated on his father.

Yes, his father hurt you first, Aemond betrayed you first. He hurt you in one the worst ways possible! But…now…

Now you’re looking at Aerion and you think of how this could also hurt him. He’s young, a baby turning five months old soon, he won’t remember his life as an infant, but your secret won’t be forgotten, especially if in the future Cregan and you aren’t together.

It would hurt him so much if he ever found out. That’s what makes you cry with guilt. Not regret, you don’t regret your night with Cregan, he made you happy, but you do feel guilt and shame.

——

*THE NEXT MORNING*

Does Aemond’s crime justify what you did?

You can’t help but think of that, you can’t help but think of the hate you harbor, but you also can’t stop thinking about him. About the way his family doesn’t show him the affection you do. He protects them and takes care of them, but they will never return it in the same amount.

He’s probably lonely, and brooding. He’s probably silently just lurking in his brother's council, and breaking his fasts alone.

You always tried breaking fast and eating dinners together. He always smiled when he saw the way you were dressed, especially when you wore purple. He always gave you a kiss before you drifted apart for the day, and when you saw each other he kissed you with need as if you had gone years without seeing each other.

When night came, or when you found yourselves just in a calm moment, he let his guard down and let himself be vulnerable. You loved those moments the most because it felt as if only he and you existed in this world.

Actually, he treated you like you were the only person he has ever loved. You came first all the time, even before your son. Which is selfish, but you never minded because who could treat you the same?

Cregan’s people come first, the North comes first no matter what he says. That’s why he’s not marching over here to fight himself because other priorities come first, but with Aemond, he may have his goals and his pride, but you were never held lesser than something. His anger got in the way. It’s blinding but you understand why.

You understood at least…because the truth is you can’t defend him now…

He deserves his solitude. You hate him for taking Lucerys away. That much is true and you put that over everything.

“Princess,” Vanessa’s sweet voice cuts through the blowing breeze of the sea, making you pick your eyes off your son to look into the distance.

“Vanessa,” you entertain your handmaiden with what you know she’s leading up to.

“I was wondering,” she parts her lips, but before she can finish her thought the sound of your name coming from someone else’s lips interrupts the conversation. You look back and smile faintly when you see your grandfather Corlys.

“Grandfather,” you greet sweetly as you stand up to watch him approach you at shore.

“I’m surprised to see you out here so early,” he mentions, making you scoff softly and look down at Aerion watching your grandfather carefully.

“When I saw Aerion he was sleeping, so I wanted to make up for it and spend as much time as I can before I’m called away,” you tell him and study him, noticing he’s standing up a lot straighter than before, and still using a very nice wooden cane. “I wanted to apologize for not going to visit you when you were abed. I’m more than glad to see you up now and attending to your fleet.” You smile brightly and watch him get close to watch Aerion in your arms.

“It's quite all right,” he assures you and meets your gaze. “You are a dragon rider, and the Queen's daughter, there’s a lot to do. I'm happy to see you safely returned, I know Aerion has missed you.”

You glance at your son, and as if he knew you were admiring him he glances at you and smiles before laying his head on your shoulder.

“Rhaenys and I would take him on strolls when the day gave us time,” your grandfather catches you by surprise. “The poor lad would be cooped all day with your mother gone.”

Considering Aerion the son of Aemond, you didn’t think your grandparents, especially your grandfather would much care for your son, but hearing his report really brings a warmth to your heart.

“I noticed that young Aerion quite enjoys being by the water,” your grandfather adds, making you grin and nod.

“Yes, he loves it when the waves roll over his feet,” you share giddily and caress your son's head as you return your gaze to your grandfather. “And he gets lulled to sleep by the sound of crashing waves.”

“He’ll be a fine sailor in no time.”

You hum happily at your grandfather's comment and then watch him glance out at the never-ending sea before he sighs softly, and then looks back at you with a faint smile that lets you catch a look in his eye that makes you think he’s up to something.

“Why don’t you and Aerion accompany me to Driftmark? It’s still early, and you can come back by dragonback before you’re needed,” he suggests.

You have been meaning to keep your mind off all the racing thoughts that kept you up at night, and well, you are extremely curious. It’s not common for him to invite you to accompany him anywhere. That’s what your grandmother does.

“Vanessa,” you address your handmaiden, and give your grandfather an answer. “Return inside, if anyone asks for me tell them where I am and that I will return soon.”

Your handmaiden offers you a comprehensive nod and goes off to do as you asked, letting you walk with your grandfather toward his boat under the morning sky pampered with fluffy white clouds that make you feel a smidge of joy as certain memories infiltrate your mind.

“On nice days like these my father would take me sailing,” you muse with your grandfather. “I’m pretty sure the septa giving me lessons would despise when he would pull me from my lessons since I was a princess and had no business doing boy stuff, but,” you grin softly. “He was the prince consort, he did as he pleased and my mother never minded. Besides, I encouraged him,” you pause and feel your eyes begin to sting without much warning.

“He taught me a lot of ships…I miss him,” you finish in a whisper.

Your grandfather lets out a deep sigh and you see him nod along with you from the corner of your eye.

“Did he teach you how to read maps?” Your grandfather wonders.

You nod. “Yes, and star charts. I could learn more about those, but I could follow the stars North and to King’s Landing with no map. He…never tried to leave anything out, he was always so excited.”

Your grandfather hums and you glance over at him to address something else on your chest. “I’m glad you decided to side your fleet and Driftmark with my mother.”

His dark eyes meet yours and he quirks a brow. “Why would I side with Aegon?”

Well besides him being a man, there’s also the fact that it’s highly theorized Daemon killed his son. You believe and hate him for it, but no matter how much you want to share that belief, you bite your tongue and shrug as if it was just a concerned-filled thought.

Your grandfather understands your speechless response and holds your gaze as he gives his vague response. “I had many reasons to side with your mother.”

You offer him a simple proud smile and reach his boat in a peaceful silence only filled by the crashing waves and the cawing of seabirds. You had hoped to feel a hint of those exciting and tender feelings you oftentimes felt with your father when you were out at sea, but even if you walk with his father, those feelings you ache to reconnect to aren’t anywhere close, reminding you that you’ll never be with your father ever again, or have a bond with any father-figure.

Albeit your grandfather does let you sail the boat to Driftmark, but as excited you do feel to show off your skills and once again maneuver a boat, you still feel empty within.

“My dragon loves the sea,” you begin to say with the intention of persuading him to use your aid at sea whilst you keep an eye on the distant waters. “And I have learned how to use a bow and arrow on dragonback, perhaps I could be the dragon rider to protect your fleet when battle hits our shores, or we attack theirs,” you finish and peer back at him with a sly grin, unknowingly reminding him of his son when he was your age and eager to prove his worth. You even wore the same sly smile Laenor wore when he was proving himself a fine sailor and dragonrider.

“That…” he starts off quietly but then clears his throat and sounds as mighty as ever. “That would honor me.”

You offer him a happy smile over your shoulder and then let your gaze fall on Aerion strapped on your chest, noticing him watching the waves with his eyes wide and full of wonder.

However, the wonder slowly gets lost as he starts to get lulled to sleep. He tries to fight the sleep to keep watching the moving waves, but he’s outmatched and loses himself to sleep not long before you arrive at Driftmark’s shore.

Unlike Dragonstone, Driftmark is more lively with people; both townspeople and soldiers from the fleets as well as those who work on your grandfather's massive ship. Some seem worried that something could happen at any given moment, while others seem to be happy just mindlessly living.

You begin to wonder about that happiness, you don’t envy their joy, a part of you resents all these people being so happy and living their lives unaffected by the death of Driftmark’s Heir. You wonder why it is they don’t feel what you’re plagued with, you want them to feel your sorrow.

But then you do realize that you’re just letting your pain cloud your judgment.

“Besides having you accompany me,” your grandfather interjects, pulling your attention away from the large ship. “I wanted to share something I have been thinking of as of late.”

You clasp your hands together and out of instinct reach out to fiddle with the ring Aemond gave you, but you’re then surprised when you feel that your ringer finger is bare.

You spare a glance at your finger and drift your gaze to the ground, but you’re then reminded of the fact that you left your ring behind in your borrowed quarters at Castle Black.

You probably won’t ever see it again…

“…I was hoping that when Aerion is older he could be my ward,” your grandfather catches your attention and makes you furrow your eyebrows and look at him with disbelief, and slightly bothered.

“Of course,” he continues, “he won’t have to join me until he’s much older, but he is Laenor’s grandson, I want him to know the sea, and I want to teach him about ships and how to command fleets like I taught your father.”

You glance at your sleeping son and cradle the back of his head as if protecting him from being parted from you.

“He’s the son of a second son, he won’t inherit a crown or a castle from his father, but he could inherit…my title.”

You snap your eyes over to him and come to a slow stop as you’re overcome with surprise. You want to be filled with pride and joy, but there’s an obstacle that stops you. “But,” you mutter your thought out loud. “He is Aemond’s son. A man who opposes us. A man who killed your heir.”

Your grandfather turns away from his ship and faces you, and doesn’t fail to nod in agreement. “Aye, he is the son of Prince Aemond, but Aerion has salt-littered blood. He is the grandson of Laenor Velaryon, my son.”

Aerion is also your son, and you are also your father's firstborn, and only biological child, but he doesn’t seem to ever mention that! What are you, a painted portrait?

You would’ve loved to inherit Driftmark and his title of Lord of the Tides, but no!

You would ask about Rhaena getting that chance before Aerion since she is the daughter of his only daughter, but you don’t see that having a good answer, so you don’t even waste your breath.

“What of Joffrey?” You bring up. “He should be your heir.”

Your grandfather sighs and nods stiffly but quickly counters you. “Perhaps, but I want it to be Aerion. The grandson of my son.”

It’s not hard to realize the actual truth behind his response; Joffrey is the bastard son of your father. With Lucerys gone, he can actually name an actual Velaryon his heir. It doesn’t seem fair, your father loved your brothers whether they were his or not, but who are you to deny Aerion of a fruitful future?

He comes first now, and it doesn’t seem like your grandfather is actually asking your permission or for your actual thoughts, his mind seems mind up, so with a deep breath and a hesitant smile you accept what he brings up. “That…would make me happy. And I’m sure it would’ve made my father happy.”

Your grandfather offers you a smile and surprises you by patting your shoulder as an endearing gesture that brings a…silence where you smile faintly out of pride, but you can’t help but think what next. You’ve never actually spent so much time with your grandfather, and if you do your grandmother has always been with you.

“Why don’t you show your knowledge on the ship,” your grandfather luckily drifts the attention over.

However, just as you approach the plank resting on the dock, he stops you by grabbing your shoulder and interjecting loudly. “Alyn!”

You follow his gaze and blink repeatedly in surprise when you see the same Addam of Hull who fought in your engagement tourney.

When the man’s eyes fall on you beside your grandfather his lips part in surprise, but when he reaches you he closes his mouth and bows his head. “Princess,” he greets you properly right away.

“Ser,” you greet him quite excitedly.

“Good,” your grandfather cuts in and steps back. “You remember each other.”

You drift your gaze to your grandfather and express your confusion with knitted eyebrows that he helps ease with a quick response. “I sent him to check on you for me when I was fighting in the Step Stones.”

Instead of going to you himself?

Whatever.

“Really?” You ask with more surprise. “Well thank you, he was a very excellent jouster who brought Driftmark and me great pride.”

Alyn offers you a stiff smile and bows his head as a thank you.

“Good, I’m glad to hear he can’t show his skill,” your grandfather fills the man’s silence. “Why don’t I let you get reacquainted.”

Without room to argue he walks away and leaves you alone with Ser Alyn—or is it just Alyn since it was your grandfather who sent him?

“Seeing you again makes this world feel small. I never thought our paths would cross again,” you fill the silence to avoid awkward silences.

“In truth neither did I,” he admits. “But it is an honor.”

You offer him a smile and notice how much more muscular he is now compared to before. He’s also a lot more serious too.

“Who—”

“Alyn!”

You both turn your attention to the caller, and you see a tall and thin man with long dreadlocks approaching with a bright and charming grin that immediately works to intrigue you.

Albeit when he notices your unique white hair, your long and elegant red gown finer than any material he’s touched; accompanied with shiny gold jewelry on your hands and neck, he realizes that you are no ordinary woman. The man’s grin slowly disappears at the realization and he slows down towards Alyn. Once he’s finally nearby he straightens up and doesn’t fail to bow when he joins you and Alyn.

“My Princess,” the mystery man greets you with a nervous but charming smile that actually serves to completely get rid of any tension or awkward atmosphere he could’ve brought.

“Princess,” Alyn interjects and looks at the man in blue beside him. “This is my brother Addam. Addam, this is the Princess, granddaughter of Lord Corlys Velaryon.”

You and Addam meet each other's gaze and that snobby princess Addam already imagined you’d be upon laying eyes on you completely falls apart when you offer him a bright smile in return. You perhaps are one of the most majestic beauties he’s ever laid his eyes on, he can’t help but think. Even from afar you were luminous and almost like an illusion, but from up close he could see your beauty was no illusion, he could see a sadness in your eyes, but so much more that intrigued him.

You give him your name and Addam’s eyes proceed to fall on the sleeping infant strapped on your chest. “Who is this?”

You cradle your baby's head and introduce him to Addam and Alyn. “This is my son, Aerion Targaryen.”

“Hm, not one to care about first impressions I see,” Addam throws out boldly, making his brother shoot him a warning glare. You, however, laugh genuinely in return, which is something that surprises even you. You didn’t think you could ever laugh the way you just did again.

“He takes after his father,” you mirror his humor.

“Well, we’ll let this lad get away with it this time.”

You scoff and nod. “I’ll make sure he’s more prepared next time,” you remark lightheartedly.

He hums and glances over at his brother. “Could I ask how you met?”

“At a tourney,” you answer for Alyn. “Last year. Apparently, he was sent by my grandfather.”

“Tourney?” Addam asks as if it’s the first time hearing of it. “Aren’t you supposed to be a knight?”

“Actually I was trying to get to that too,” you share and both wait for a response from the serious man.

“Well I was surprised to see what money could buy,” he remarks. “I was deceitful when I entered. I am no knight.”

You hum and ease his growing worry right away by assuring him. “Well, I would say you were actually quite entertaining and impressive. You fought well and won.”

Addam pats his brother's back and whispers, “I’m proud of you.”

You watch Addam offer his brother a very faint smile and you can’t help but remember the grief you had pushed aside as you remember the brother you lost.

“I was hoping to have some early brunch with my brother,” Addam now directs at you. “But it seems insignificant now that you have graced us with your presence.”

You can't help but smile with amusement and feel slightly flattered. Addam is surely more outgoing than his brother in a way that doesn’t fail to catch your interest and actually helps bring attention to his fierce spirit that you can’t help but feel the need to get to know.

Actually meeting him makes you feel like you found something you had been in search of your whole life.

A/N- romantic or platonic? (For those who have read moonlight before already know but please don’t spoil it for the rest heheh :)

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638

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cno-inbminor · 2 years ago

Text

repertum (pt. 2 - final)

summary: no matter how much you want alhaitham, you don’t think you can ever have him. he may or may not try to prove otherwise. // cameos from lumine and nahida // wc: ~15.1k

a/n: well, here it is! many, many thanks to @allsaiint for being my beta once again, especially for this monster. i love her to the ends of this universe. fair warning though, the smut at the end is un-beta’d so you’ll probably come across many grammatical/syntax errors. sorry, in advance.

cw: afab!reader, fem!reader, more angst (but with comfort), 3.4 spoilers, probably some incorrect game lore and timing/mechanics, smut (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

smut tags: derogatory/degrading terms (slut, cocksleeve, cumslut, cockslut), referring to alhaitham as ‘sir’, size kink, twinges of dacryphilia, one (1) pussy slap, some overstimulation, light bondage (reader’s wrists get tied together), blowjob, cunnilingus, hints of reader entering subspace (dom!alhaitham, sub!reader), will add more if i remember later but i think those are the highlights lol

please read part 1 for context! | AO3 Link for better viewing if the app is being a bitch

As agreed upon you meet Lumine and Paimon on the walkway leading up to the Sanctuary. The traveling duo go inside first, as you’re sure they have much more private and serious matters to discuss. While you wait outside, you gaze over the ledge at the breathtaking view of Sumeru in the direction of the Lokapala Jungle, and its waterfalls still bright even in the darkness of dawn. Taking in everything around you— the breeze and the stars— you feel some peace in your heart knowing you have a place to call home and return to.

The doors swing open with Lumine looking a little less happy than earlier. Paimon mutters – or at least attempts to – under her breath, while a man with a wide-brimmed hat trails out after them. The traveler provides no explanation,and instead informs you that Lord Kusanali wishes to speak with you for a minute. Perhaps the time together will let you know more about this mysterious man – child? – and why he seems to have put Paimon in such a bad mood.

“Y/N,” the Dendro Archon greets you warmly. Her voice is gentle as ever and full of compassion. “Thank you for coming here. I simply wanted to see if you had everything you needed for your travels and research.”

You show her your bag with thinly-veiled enthusiasm. “Thank you for the opportunity and your consideration of my proposal. The fact that you took the time to read through it and ask me about it really means a lot to me. It was luck that the traveler happened to be heading in that direction as well.”

“She will be a good companion. Please watch over her whenever you can.”

“Of course, though I imagine she’s going to watch over me more than her,” you jest and Lord Kusanali shares your amusement. “Is there anything else you needed?”

“No. May you have safe travels, and please visit whenever you return. I look forward to your findings.”

You bow with as much reverence as possible before waving goodbye to the Archon and heading out the doors. The man from earlier is nowhere to be seen, and Lumine appears more relaxed.

“Everything all good?”

“Yes! Should we head out then?”

“Very well.”

Those with Visions have always fascinated you with the way they could make their weapons appear and disappear, and materialize things in midair. Lumine does so with what appears to be a map of Teyvat, humming to herself as she pinpoints a location. She waves it away with dainty fingers and holds out her hand.

Though confused, you trust she means no ill will and Lumine grips your hand tight when you take hers.

“Teleportation is always a little rough for first timers. Just hold on and you’ll be okay.”

“Teleporta–”

You disappear in a flash of blue light. For a split, disorienting second, you see nothing, and in the next you’re greeted with a view of what appears to be part of the Mawtiyima Forest, if the luminescent treetops are any indication. Slight nausea overcomes you and your stomach does a small turn – shit, she wasn’t lying.

“Are you alright?” Lumine asks with concern, searching through her pack for a remedy..

“Do you want a cold towel?” Paimon adds on and flutters around you to search for any signs of injury.

“I think I just need to breathe for a second,” you say, collapsing against the cliffside. “And sit for a minute.”

“Take your time. We’re quite close to the border. I would’ve taken us straight into Fontaine, but since I’ve never been before, none of those teleport waypoints have been activated.”

You point towards one in front of you. “You mean these?”

“Convenient, right?”

“...very.”

Distraught, perhaps, is one way to describe Alhaitham’s current state of mind.

By all means, it makes no sense. Did he get to know you well in an alarmingly short amount of time? Sure. Did he really look forward to those initial 36 hours passing, to the point where he felt time was crawling by at a turtle’s pace? Perhaps. Was he trying to satiate a curiosity that he had never really felt before and attempting to answer a personal unknown? In some way.

The attempting-to-resign Acting Grand Sage has read his fair share of historical texts – especially conflicts driven by love and lust. A force so powerful that it could twist the minds of even the brightest and most logical – what was that like? From a young age, he was only ever introspective in an academic sense, and the scholars touted him to be a genius. But feelings, emotions, felt abstract and out of reach as he grew up. He only ever understood his lust as a byproduct of his development as explained in the textbooks. A branch of psychology mixed with biology described everything from why humans feel attraction and the need to copulate to what is deemed healthy and alluring in a potential partner, all in the name of posterity and evolution.

Alhaitham first concluded his initial draw towards you could be explained away by all of these findings.It didn’t quite fit all the checkboxes, but enough for him to deem it understandable and valid. Those checkboxes had been visited once before when he lost his virginity, but that was all there was to it. He wouldn’t be blind enough to deny that it was a pleasurable experience, but there were other, more pressing matters at hand. Yet, even after drawing his conclusion, nothing academic could help explain why his desire to be near you was so strong. The more carnal desires took a backseat to his need to pick your brain, to make you laugh, or to have you challenge him. He learned as many of your little mannerisms as possible, all the while pretending he was completely unfazed by your presence. Your different smiles, your nervous movements, your stressed looks, your interests and dislikes – he wanted to know all of them, and not so he could store it in his brain for cautionary purposes. It was all for the sake of getting to know you.

And then he became greedy.

Another sin Alhaitham didn’t quite understand before meeting you was the growing, bubbling pit of a constant want want want for you to be by his side. To have the fantasies of coveting your soul, retching on the inside at the mere thought of others seeing you the way he did you – he was starting to see why individuals were so often thrown into a fit of rage over their loved ones and why the law has separate stipulations regarding “crimes of passion.”

And even as he sits at his usual table in his usual seat (especially on days when he really doesn’t want to be in his office during work hours), sending glares to anyone who dared to approach him or even come near your seat (which was very much not your seat by any legal means), he finds himself buried in books of philosophy. Not that they are so far out of his usual reading, for they typically align with his understanding that there are universal questions that will never be answered yet should be stated, but he has never felt the need to dive deeper than the tip of the iceberg on different schools of thought. One line in particular catches his attention, however.

“Reason is, and ought only to be the slave of the passions.”**

Moral philosophy, the area where this statement hails from, was intriguing, yet Alhaitham knew the respected experts could talk in circles for days and do their best to argue their reasoning. This particular philosopher suggests that passion is the cause for reason, for understanding why humans do the things they do. And as the word connotation suggests, there is no room to discuss whether or not this line of thought is rational. Just as passion drives reason, reason can also serve as the breeding ground for the passions.

Abstruse to several, esoteric to many, ambiguous to the masses – Alhaitham wonders if he’s found some sort of solution to his internal dilemmas. To have it all summed up in a single sentence resonates deeply with him. Simple and succinct, yet speaking volumes to the implications; finally with a deep breath.

The next day in his office, he leans and falls back into his seat, gaze focused on the domed ceiling above. He’s always hated this chair; far too grand and impractically large. One thing he doesn’t mind is the proportionate size of the desk, as he’s learned over the years that if you give him the space, he will inadvertently cover every inch of it with his materials. Even with their dwindling number of research applications, he manages to fill the voids with his own research, books laid open and aged parchment collecting dust. For being so far above the ground level of the House of Daena, it makes sense that silence is usually his sole companion, as he tends to ignore the other researchers and matra milling around. But there must have been some memo sent out because no one is there today, and no one has come up in hours.

Surprisingly, he finds the quietude and quiescence unnerving rather than welcoming, so much so he removes his treasured earpieces and places them in his lap. The white noise he’s often found bothersome is… comforting?

A distraction, perhaps, from the absence of you.

A long, heavy sigh leaves his chest as he pulls himself up and ambles over to a locked filing cabinet with all the approved research project applications. Before he became Acting Grand Sage, the remaining applications had been split between him, Lord Kusanali, and a few other individuals. First sorted by subject area and then by last name, he rifles through with an absent mind until he catches your name on a tabbed folder. Alhaitham wastes no time plucking it from the confines of the drawer and opening it, taking care to make sure the stacks of reports and research diagrams don’t spill out onto the floor. Kaveh would have a field day if he knew just how enraptured he was by the mere sight of your handwriting. He may even take him to Lord Kusanali herself for psychological treatment or interrogation because there was no way this Alhaitham was his same sarcastic, scathing, infuriating roommate – and despite the slight amusement the thought gives him, he cannot ignore the painful pull in his chest.

It’s been five weeks since you were last seen in Sumeru, and five weeks since he had knocked on your apartment door only to be greeted by your next-door neighbor, who announced you’d left early in the morning with no definitive time of return and no mention of your destination. You would be back eventually, but would it be in six days or six months? Nobody seemed to be the wiser.

He had had half a mind to reach out to Cyno and call in a special favor to track you down for his own internal peace, but he knew the request would be irrational and unnecessary. So once a week, he stops by your apartment to see if you’ve returned, and with each unsuccessful visit and your doormat collecting more and more dust, his heart sinks just a little bit lower. If he wasn’t in his current position, he’d be halfway across the desert by now (and ultimately in the complete opposite direction) under the guise of searching for ancient ruins. Merely searching for facts and truth; nothing more, nothing less.

All to say, Alhaitham wishes he had looked through this filing drawer earlier because the file on his desk contained all the answers to his questions of your whereabouts.

The relief of knowing you were safe in a nearby nation surges through every vein in his body, tension in his muscles disappearing with the rays of sunlight beating down from the stained-glass window above. He would’ve been much more concerned if you’d gone to Inazuma – even if this Captain Beidou that Lumine spoke highly of was more than adept at crossing the treacherous seas from Liyue, the mere possibility of you falling overboard or being forced to stay in the nation was still unsettling, to say the least.

Leaning his weight onto the desk, Alhaitham drinks in everything your research has to offer. There are a few mistakes and edits that could be rectified here and there, but nevertheless, it is well done. He remembers now seeing some of these papers before, as notes you had been scribbling down on some early afternoons in the cafe. Pleased isn’t enough to describe the hum in his chest when he notices some of his suggestions incorporated into your application, fondly recalling the moments when you had picked each other’s brain regarding the topic at hand. Never once did you mention that any of this had been in preparation for your big research journey, but he would be remiss not to believe recent events had served as the catalyst for your sudden departure.

“Do come back to me,” he murmurs to no one. As he lifts his head, the cosmical, automated orb— reminiscent of an Auspicious Branch— just above the elevator platform seems to mock him. It’s An inaccurate teller of time as it spins and spins in its orbit, and Alhaitham yearns for the day you return home.--

The day you return to him.

Traveling with Lumine is fascinating, to say the least.

Ignoring the fact that feeding Paimon is like feeding three grown adults, watching the Traveler gather and store every fruit and herb and loot in sight makes you wonder what kind of life she had led before all of this. The way she takes down some wayward Treasure Hoarders is a sight to see, like a well-rehearsed dance. It lends to your understanding of why the term is “martial arts” because the way Lumine maneuvers around the enemies and her sword is, very much so, an art.

But more time together means more time into probing the real reason you’ve decided to come to Fontaine with her, and for whatever reason, she is really good at getting you to spill the beans. Lumine’s heard most of your life story at this point.

“Who are you running from?” she asks one night. After checking in with the Adventurer’s Guild in Fontaine’s capital, you’ve joined Lumine in her journey around the nation to activate the rest of the teleport waypoints. You send her your sheepest look, begging with your eyes for her to not ask anymore. But you’ve skirted around this topic the last few weeks and you figure it’s time for her to know.

With a heavy breath, you set down your bowl of biryani on the grass. “Promise you won’t judge?”

“Promise.”

“...it’s Alhaitham.” The crackling of the little campfire Lumine had put together is deafening, even louder than the ripples and waves of the river crashing onto the sand in front of them.

Naturally, Paimon speaks up first, though speaking is an understatement. “Alhaitham?! You mean that– that super mean Acting Grand Sage? The know-it-all? Can’t really care less about others? Condescending?”

“That’s a pretty big word there, Paimon–” Lumine cuts in.

“Hey!”

“See?” you respond, the smile on your face small, awkward, and bittersweet. “Things happened and well… I thought it’d be better if we stopped seeing each other.”

“You were seeing each other?!!”

“Paimon, stop!” Lumine interjects and shoots the floating fairy a disapproving glare.

You really wish you had some alcohol with you right now.

“Well…”

For the next several minutes, you provide a detailed summary of how you came to meet and learn more about Alhaitham, the nature of the budding relationship, how all your insecurities came to a head on that night, and how you ended up here. Lumine remains silent when you finish explaining everything, clearly thinking through all the information and trying to find the right words to say.

“You know,” she begins, “Alhaitham may be one of the most infuriatingly logical men that I’ve ever met. And a really good actor, too. Remind me to tell you the details of what he did when we rescued Nahida.”

“...I don’t think that makes me feel any better.”

“I’m just saying, but I also think you know by now that Alhaitham isn’t someone who does anything that isn’t for his own benefit, in some way.”

“Again, not helping.”

“What I’m trying to say is if he just wanted to get his dick wet, I’m sure there are plenty of other people who would agree to help out in much less time.”

To which, Lumine has a point. A very good point. But still you say, “He’s super picky though, I don’t think he’d just sleep with anyone regardless.”

“Which brings me to my original point: he picked you for a reason.”

“Because I’m easy?”

Lumine flicks your forehead before you can even blink, and with a decent amount of force as well. Your resulting indignant yelp pierces the atmosphere as you rub the sore spot. “What was that for?!”

“For being unreasonable. I’m trying to say that you must be special to him, that’s all.”

“... but what if he didn’t want to see me again after sleeping together? Sure, let’s say that I am ‘special’, heavy emphasis on my air quotes right now, but I want more, an actual relationship. How do I know that’s also what his end goal is?”

“You don’t,” Lumine affirms. “But there’s no use in wading through the what-ifs. You know what you want, and I think you’re allowed to communicate that to him, regardless of what he says.”

It’s hard to come to terms with the underlying implication that you’re being something of a coward, with not a whole lot of reason to be. You’re grateful for the open water before you, its lullaby comforting with the breeze it brings. Years of academic research have made you painfully familiar with the concept of trial and error, but to apply it to human relationships? It leaves much to be undesired. Five weeks, in the grand scheme of things, are certainly nothing more than a miniscule blip of time. But in your limited life with the overhanging unknowns of the world, it was a sizable enough amount of time filled with passive rumination and downward spirals.

“You’ll figure it out when you get there. But I’m warning you, we’ve still got a lot of ground to cover.”

You can’t help but laugh in relief. “That is completely okay, I promise you.”

Running away might as well be your newly developed skill at this point.

A few weeks later

“I mean, I could stay with you there in Fontaine, right? You know, extra set of hands and all?”

“You’re not getting out of this.”

“Lumiiinneee,” you whine, petulant pout making itself known.

“Just talk to him – whatever happens, happens. If it’s not meant to be, then it’s not meant to be. But you owe it to yourself to say your piece, as well as to him for an explanation that he needs to hear. Now go.”

She all but (gently) shoves you into the Akademiya, watching over you with an encouraging wave of her hand. When you’re less than five steps away from the door into the House of Daena, you look over your shoulder once more for any signs of escape. As expected, the Lumine-shaped obstacle stands firm in her spot.

You clutch your final report to your chest, mind racing with a thousand thoughts per second, and don’t even realize you’ve already made it to the elevator platform. And once it gives a mechanical shudder and starts to go up, you want to scream and simultaneously steal a glider to jump off and land safely back on the ground level.

Is it good or bad luck that no one seems to be around? Maybe he won’t be at his desk and you can just leave the report there and fucking bolt. Maybe it’s not even Alhaitham in the Grand Sage’s chair. Maybe the man is gone altogether and is somewhere in the desert looking at ancient runes.

Maybe he just doesn’t care anymore and has forgotten about you. Maybe he told himself to let bygones be bygones, and that you were simply another scholar in the Akademiya. No one special.

Your initial hopes of his coincidental absence are dashed as you walk up the stairs. His silver hair stands out among the sea of azure and viridian, and he doesn’t even bother to look up from the stack of papers in his hand. Not that you were a bull in a china shop by any means, but the man would even notice with his eyes closed if there was a fly on the complete opposite side of the office. Your heart is ready to burst from your chest with each shaky step, and too soon, you stand in front of his sprawling desk.

“My office hours will be ending in a few minutes,” he states in a matter-of-fact tone without looking at you. You risk a sharp inhale at the sound of his voice, an all too familiar mix of gentility and sternness. “If it’s something that requires more than that length of time, come back tomorrow.”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck – “I’m just, um, turning in a research report?”

At the sound of your voice, Alhaitham doesn’t even bother to amuse himself. He’d much rather not look and not be disappointed, than to do so and become reacquainted with dashed hopes. “...And the necessary cover sheet is on top? Does it have your name, project number, and corresponding title?”

“Y-Yes.”

Still perusing through the paperwork in his hands, he frees one hand to point it at a basket on his far-right corner. “Leave it there. Your advisors and I will be reviewing it within the next two weeks.”

“Oh, o-okay.”

You do as instructed, but with each second that passes without any eye contact or direct acknowledgement of your presence, you begin to wonder if he’s purposely ignoring you. Or maybe he forgot about you entirely and wrote you off as a failed pursuit. Perhaps that would be the best-case scenario and you could hole up in your apartment for the rest of… eternity. Maybe. Lumine can come and scold you later and you can take it like a champ.

But your heart, ever so fickle and occasionally diabolical, plays one last card and causes you to stop at the top of the stairs. “Have a good night,” you muster out. “Thank you, Alhaitham.”

The rustling of his papers ceases as you turn and hurry down the steps, taking extra care to not trip over your feet. Just before you can activate the elevator, a frazzled “Y/N?” is called from above. With sweaty hands, a sullen heart, and a leadened brain, you nervously orient towards the scholar inhabiting your dreams, who stands on the edge of the platform above and peers down to confirm his suspicion. His stance looks as if he had leapt over his desk and sprinted at top speed towards you.

You’re not sure how to take it all in, how to take him in – the “feeble scholar”, for once, appears as such. If possible, his cheeks seem a little more sunken in, further accentuating the sharp edges of his jawline. His hair looks mussed, as if he’d run his hands through it several times too many. The cloak around his shoulders rests askew from his sudden movements.

But his eyes—

Those seafoam irises and amber pupils pierce through your soul, but not in an inquisitive and calculating manner. In fact, it’s quite the opposite – he looks unsure, disbelieving, and hesitant. To elicit such a reaction from this man should be recorded in the most prominent historical annals, but you do have to admit it’s a bad look on him.

When you open your mouth to say something, anything, the elevator begins its descent. Any words you had are wiped from your mind, and you do everything you can to maintain this staredown. Weeks ago, you couldn’t even begin to guess what this man would be feeling based on his eyes, but now? His heart is on his sleeve, and you can’t help the green envy in your veins at the possibility that others have seen him in such a vulnerable state.The constant battle between an illusional desire to be his everything and knowing that you never could and never should be, rages on.

You’re the first to look away. Sorry, Lumine, you think, as Alhaitham’s figure disappears from view. All you’re left with is the rotating orb above, spinning and spinning until it makes you sick to your stomach. You just want to get back to your apartment and start sweeping the dirt away, to return to some sense of normalcy before all of… this appeared. You never should’ve indulged in your whimsical desires.

Alhaitham hovers in a state of shock as he watches the elevator take you back down – after weeks of catching a glimpse of who he thinks is you at the cafe, hearing your voice in his head as he scribbles away on paperwork, or dreaming of escaping his duties to find you in Fontaine, he’s not sure if he really believes you were here or if it was some effective lucid dreaming. But the sudden pull, the impulsive need to just check the cover sheet when his name left your lips, was far too strong and he had dived right in without a second thought.

And there in your handwriting, in all its glory, was your name printed neatly at the bottom. One second, he was at his desk and the next, he was at the edge of the outer office ring for confirmation.

The last few minutes of his workday have never gone slower as he paces back and forth in front of his desk. He’s doing his best to stay calm and formulate a plan, but even that has become difficult for him. There are too many extraneous factors at play, several he can’t be sure of – did you meet someone new in Fontaine? Were you going to leave again?

Did you even want to see him?

You could’ve left without another word once your research paper landed in that return basket. He would’ve been none the wiser until he physically picked up the report, which probably wouldn’t have happened for another few days, what with all the cleaning up he’s trying to do before his resignation is official. All that lost time in between would have left him even more distraught.

But the fact that you had stopped and made a point to thank him, to call him out by name, means something. Like him, it seems you are just as unsure of where the two of you stand.

And that’s all he needs to move forward.

Granted, moving forward didn’t initially involve climbing up the fire escape ladder behind your apartment building.

With a takeout bag of your favorite foods from Lambad’s Tavern, he was originally going to knock on your front door like any other individual. But before his knuckles could rap against the Adhigama wood, he thought, why not check to see if you’re even home? That would eliminate the possibility of you seeing him through the peephole and then pretending you’re not home – or worse, you opening it and then slamming it back in his face.

His unparalleled logic led him to skip the ladder and jump onto the first floor. It’s not that he wouldn’t be able to climb it with one free hand – the food would’ve gotten messy with all the jostling around. He ignores the sound of laughing children as he ambles past, but allows the semblance of a grin to dawn his face when he hears, “Whoa, look at that mister!” Alhaitham looks above him as he climbs the next set of stairs, noticing a light peeking through the living room window. That’s one good sign, at least, because it means you’re home, right? He peers past the half-open curtains when he arrives at your floor. He’s just checking. Nothing suspicious or untoward. Yet all of that is scrapped— another deviation from his initial plan— when he sees you sitting on your couch, sorting through a pile of mail on your coffee table. With a mind of their own, his knuckles knock lightly against the glass and he can’t help but let a humorous snort slip out when your body jerked with a visceral startle, head whipping towards the source of your adrenaline spike.

You don’t need to verbally question his sudden appearance when it’s written all over your face. Your eyebrows are knitted and arched, mouth turned down in a slight frown, hands clenched in fists with visible tension and unease. “Alhaitham, what– I mean–”

He holds up the food behind the windowpane for you to see. “I wanted to bring you dinner since you probably don’t have anything prepared on your first night back.”

Without another word, you slide open the window, letting him clamber through as you take the bag from him. He retrieves it as you lock the window and yank the curtains together, setting it on the table away from a mound of what he presumes to be junk mail. You scramble for words and coherency as you search for clean plates and utensils, but the effort is fruitless. There’s a trapped shriek in your chest and you don’t know how to snuff it out.

Dinner is a quiet affair, save for some awkward small talk here and there. He makes it a point to give you extras, whether it be a little more mint cilantro or tamarind chutney for the samosas (despite it being his favorite) or more of the lamb from the biryani. Each little morsel pushes your heart further up your throat, further sending you into a downward spiral. Why is he so kind and caring when you had essentially kicked him out last time? Why is he going out of his way to make up for a wrong he never committed?

Alhaitham basks in your company, taking in every detail of your outward appearance. You seem skinnier than before, hair just a little bit longer. A few fresh, healing cuts on your hand stand out to him and he hopes they were all accidental and not intentionally created by another human being. There’s so much he wants to say and question, but for once he cannot find the right words. Rarely has he ever felt as though he was skating on paper-thin ice with someone – years of not caring or sparing thoughts for how others might perceive him lends nothing to resolve his state of incertitude. So the only way he can currently try to communicate is through actions, hence the extra foods and your favorite parts of them, making sure you have a usable napkin at all times, refilling your cup of water when it starts to look low, and more.

With a full belly, you sigh with satisfaction, a breath that appeases Alhaitham just the slightest bit. “That was good. Thank you for bringing it.”

“You’re welcome. Was the food in Fontaine not to your taste?”

You hum in thought. “A bit bland, honestly. Not as many spices are used in their foods like they are here.”

“Ah.”

The two of you sit silently for a few moments. You’re looking anywhere and at anything but him, your knee bouncing and hands wringing together. Is he trying to let you down easy? Soften the blow? What is his end goal?

His fingers tap the table in a silent rhythm, noticing that despite the small talk, the tension in the air is still viscous. He ignores the gnawing desire to hold your hand and squeeze it tight, to graze his thumb over those scabs and kiss them. He’s not ready to leave yet, which is why he juts his chin towards the only unopened bag on the table and says, “I also brought dessert. Would you care to have some now?”

No. Yes. I don’t know. I can think of something else I want for dessert but that’s not the point right now, is what runs through your head.

“Sure. What is it? I might have something to go with it.”

“It’s baklava.”

For him to remember that baklava from Pupusa Cafe is your preferred dessert when eating your favorite dishes is even more mind-boggling in this whole situation.

You stand on shaky legs and walk towards the pantry. “Does wine sound okay?”

Alhaitham ponders your last mutual experience with alcohol, which had ended in a disaster, even if he knew full well that it wasn’t a cause by any means; an unintended catalyst. As long as neither overindulged, it would be harmless. Right?

So he nods. “That sounds good.”

You return with a corkscrew opener, two stemless wine glasses, and one of your better bottles of aged wine. Alhaitham remains silent as he takes the opener from you and drives it into the cork, hand twisting the top knob with ease. You feel shameless in the way you stare at his arms, watching his muscles flex. The veins in his hand become more visible and you can see the tension in his forearm through his arm guards, all the more when he pushes the levers closed and wiggles the cork out of its confines. He takes good care to tactfully remove the cork and place it on the table, and pours a glass for you first.

“Thank you,” you murmur as you take it from him with both hands, ignoring the way his fingers seem to linger after making contact with yours. You portion out the baklava as he pours a glass for himself and he voices his gratitude in turn.

As you nibble on the delicacy, the silence weighs heavily on your chest, both a burden and a source of comfort. “Did you find everything you needed in Fontaine for your research?” he asks, once again attempting to make some neutral conversation. Alhaitham has never been one for sweets, but he’s willing to eat it for and with you. The cafe’s baklava is one of few desserts he can handle, as it’s not as sickeningly sweet as some other places’ when they’ve added too much syrup.

You chew slowly as you think of your answer. “I think so. I feel pretty good about my report.”

“I’ll be sure to read it soon,” he responds. After all, he is a pretty quick reader, and with the dwindling number of research project applications, he can efficiently get through the other reports to make sure he reviews yours before he goes back to being the Scribe.

“You know, there’s no need to rush on my account,” you say. Honestly, that’s the last thing you need because it would confirm your worst fears and assumptions. Everything discussed with Lumine would’ve been tossed violently out the window, and you so badly don’t want it to manifest.

“...I won’t,” he assures you. Alhaitham understands your research paper needs to be treated like every other one passing through the Akademiya, especially if he is going to be one of the formal reviewers.

You feel your lungs losing air, your heart rate soaring through the roof. With a stroke of luck, your glasses of wine are finished off and the plates hold nothing but crumbs, which provides a perfect excuse for you to get up and get away.

“I’m gonna wash the dishes,” you announce, voice doing little to hide how nervous and shaky you’re feeling. It’s another miracle that you don’t drop anything on the trek from the dining table to the sink as you wonder if you’ve killed any chance of being with Alhaitham. Where was the confidence you possessed when you first met the man?

Even being mere meters away from him becomes painful. His presence alone provides a sense of security, strong and silent. The lack of warmth, the string between you two pulled taut, ignites an obdurate yearning – the very same yearning experienced when you spent days avoiding the man prior to your departure for Fontaine. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, as they all say, and there certainly was some merit to it.

The silence remains suffocating, in some ways, but also comforts you with its deep pressure, distracting you enough that you fail to notice Alhaitham moving around. He removes his cloak and earpieces, draping them neatly over the couch armrest before he comes to stand next to you at the sink. He grabs a towel and is ready to dry when you’re done washing the dishes. Your muscles begin to relax, that earlier frost of loneliness gradually dissipating with his presence nearby. He dries everything with the utmost care and lines them up neatly as you hand them over, and you ignore the little brushes of his fingers against yours with each relinquished plate. You can’t help but wonder if he can feel the heat emanating from your cheeks because honestly, you feel like your face is on fire.

Alhaitham finishes drying off the last item – the second stemless wine glass – and turns to lean his back against the counter with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He waits as you rinse down the sink and passes you the towel to dry off your hands. Your timid smile leaves him hopeful that you’re not visibly shying away from him— not visibly, at least. Seconds pass, and now there is nothing left for you to do or keep yourself busy. He waits for you to gather your bearings and settle to show that you’re ready to talk about… whatever this is.

Those haunting irises suddenly meet his with an alarming amount of determination, holding steadfast and searching his for something, anything. He can’t bear to lose and look away, not that he wants to. Yet you remain quiet, and Alhaitham leans into his impulses.

With firm, sure hands, he pulls you toward his original spot and lifts you up just enough so that you’re sitting on the counter. Alhaitham plants them by your waist and bends down to be level with your gaze, which now holds hints of fear and surprise. They’re open wide, your pupils slowly dilating, and he catches a glimpse of your fingers curling around the edges of the counter. He so badly wants to cradle your face in his hands, to feel your physical presence and prove to himself that you’re really here before him. But that is intimacy he hasn’t quite been granted yet and he can’t mess this up. He must’ve done something wrong the last time he was here, and he most certainly doesn’t want to risk the same outcome again.

“I like you,” he proclaims with a resolute tone. Alhaitham has always hated beating around the bush when unnecessary, and at this point he needs it said out loud for you to know. “I have been attracted to you since the moment we met, and I used to believe that it was purely a biological response. But then I wanted to know more about you. I wanted to learn more about who you are and how your mind works. To be quite honest, I can’t stand the thought of anyone else being in my position right now. I will not hide the fact that I am selfish and want you all for myself, if you would have me.”

You are struggling so hard to keep the smile off your face, your mouth pursing while your teeth dig into the inside of your bottom lip. Three months ago, you would never have seen this coming, and you would have laughed in anyone’s face if they had suggested it.

“If you need time, I can wait. I am not always the most patient person, but for you, I am willing to do so. And–”

“I was worried that you wouldn’t want to see me again after having sex,” you interject and confess. The embarrassment of your thoughts and actions quickly becomes a heavy weight in your chest. Your nerves strain to get the better of you and shut you down before saying more, but you force yourself to push past them. Alhaitham provided you with honesty and transparency, and he deserves the same from you. “We had so much tension between us and I was worried that once it was all resolved, you wouldn’t feel the need to see me again.”

Alhaitham takes a moment to process your words, but he can still see the tension in your shoulders. You won’t meet his gaze as you look past him or at other parts of his body. “There’s something else, is there not?”

You look down at your hands in your lap, your fingers intertwined and fingertips applying pressure where they land. With how forthcoming he has been, you owe it to him to extend the same courtesy, despite how silly it feels now.

“I couldn’t understand why you would even like me,” you say, voice soft and barely audible in the silence. You’re unable to mask the melancholy in your tone when you remember how it felt to internally question his affections and assume the worst. A quiet chuckle slips past your lips, but it’s derisive and bittersweet. “I’m just another scholar and you— you were the Scribe and later Acting Grand Sage. I thought maybe people would accuse me of… providing sexual favors, to put it lightly, if you showed me any leniency or favoritism in my academic career.”

The back of your knuckles brush against his cheek as you lift your head up to take him in. “You could have anyone in the world and you deserve nothing but the best. So why me?”

“I would need a few all-nighters and several pieces of paper to pen down every reason why.”

His quick reasoning with all indicators of certainty – his tone, the lack of any dishonesty in his eyes, the way he holds your eye contact – takes you for a loop. You’re only able to let out a soft “oh” as you let the implications of his words swim in your brain, leaving you helpless to find a suitable response. How do you follow up on an answer like that?

When he feels your fingers slipping down his jawline, he stops it with his own to press his cheek into your palm. “If it provides you any comfort, I will no longer be the Acting Grand Sage by next week. You know how long I’ve waited for them to process and approve of my resignation. And as the Scribe… it still does not matter. People who would assume something so salacious are simply capitalizing on their own insecurities, and they do not deserve a second of your time or an ounce of room in your thoughts. I do my best to exercise fairness and reason in all matters for the Akademiya, and even as my partner you would not be safe from that.

“I’ve never shied away from telling you how things are and you know this. I can ensure you would not earn any favoritism or leniency within the boundaries of the Akademiya, should my presence be involved in your research.”

The smirk that creeps up at the corner of his lips ignites a small flame in your belly – thrill and heat and trepidation all melding together. “Now, outside of those boundaries, it’s a different matter. If I may pry once more, what is your answer?”

Liquid fire pumps from your heart and into your veins, further fueling the heat in your core. Just as it dips dangerously lower, so does your hand, and the other joins in lightly scraping your nails down his abdomen. You feel him jump beneath your touch and relish in the sound of his swallow, and how his breath hitches when your fingertips dip into the band of his pants. They tug him forward until he’s standing between your thighs, just centimeters of nothingness between you two. Even as close as he is, Alhaitham can’t help but think there’s still too much space unoccupied.

Your eyes scream, beseeching him to understand your actions and for him to respond in kind. It can only mean one thing, but he wants to hear those words. He wants it engraved in his memories for the rest of time, despite the desperation to give in and give you both what you desire and need. Alhaitham grasps your chin between his thumb and curled index finger, leaning forward closer and closer until his lips barely touch yours.

“Use your words.”

Arousal seeps through your underwear as the subdued tenor of his voice sends shivers down your spine. Wholly unfair, this man is. Devilish, demanding, teasing, controlling – but most of all, he is yours.

“Please let me have you, if you will have me,” you whisper against his lips, eyelashes fluttering closed at the faint touch.

No sooner when you are greeted by darkness does he fully slot his mouth against yours, hands gripping tightly on your hips to pull you against him. A groan slips past and into you because gods, he’s missed this so much. After nights of waking up with the ghost of your kisses, he never wants this to end and longs for a reality where time can stop and he can take his sweet, sweet time to worship every millimeter of your body with his lips, and then some. Excitement electrifies his whole body when you reciprocate his desire ounce for ounce, and even more so when you let out a pretty little whine, just for him.

When he pulls back for a chance to breathe, he doesn’t move far. “Good girl,” he praises so sweetly, the words washing over you in something akin to pride for eliciting his approval and pleasing him. Alhaitham slides the tip of his nose against yours, moving to kiss your forehead, then your cheeks, your jawline, and the pulse point on your neck. Even the slightest pressure has you tilting your head to the side, granting him permission and room to do as he pleases. Alhaitham bides his time to press whispers of kisses onto your skin until he nips a sensitive spot. A sharp inhale pierces through the kitchen when he sucks on the patch of skin caught between his teeth, taking the utmost care to break the little capillaries underneath. He wants you to experience his phantom touches on these spots in the hours when he’s away from you, a constant reminder that you are his and his alone.

Your fingers dig into Alhaitham’s silver locks, torn between pressing him further into your neck and pulling him away. “Haitham,” you plead and tug on his strands, which only prompts an even harsher abrasion from him. “Wanna kiss you.” Your voice is breathy, and you feel as if you’re on the verge of tears. Who is he to deny such a reasonable request?

Though instead, he pulls you off the counter and rushes to your bedroom with you in tow, granting your wish as soon as you enter. The back of his knees hit the foot of your bed and Alhaitham drags you with him when he sits on top of your blankets. Despite your eagerness to clamber over and straddle him, he disapproves when you attempt to exercise a modicum of control over the situation by leveraging some height over him, utilizing gravity to lean into his embrace and kisses. His palms slide up your thighs with reverence until they dig into the crevice of your hips and yank them down. To have you pressed fully against him is most certainly a blessing, and there’s no way you don’t feel his growing arousal against yours.

When he feels his bottom lip stuck between your teeth, Alhaitham smiles. It still seems you’re not fully understanding the position you’re in. Perhaps, he might need to remind you of just who exactly is succumbing to who.

You keen when his hands dip underneath your shirt to draw meaningless patterns into your waist, but also to make his mark as he holds tight enough that you think you would feel some internal bruising tomorrow. They dance higher and higher, until they meet the bottom seam of your bra, and you nearly choke with the arousal suffocating your lungs.

“Can I?” Alhaitham almost begs, but watches for any sign of hesitation.

“Yes,” you breathe back. You lift your arms up, waiting with thinning patience, and he wastes no time in following through, tossing the shirt to the side with one hand as the other busies to unhook the metal clasp of your bra. Soon enough, your upper body is bare for him to see, to touch, to love – and his breath is taken away because you are so, so beautiful; perfect breasts with hardened nipples, an empty canvas all for him. He made a mistake last time for not seeing them properly, having been too focused on the way they felt against his chest instead.

“Fuck me,” he murmurs. His subsequent scoff feels derisive, sardonic, self-destructive, and his thumbs ghost over your areolas. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous – this is unfair.”

“You’re the one who’s unfair,” you retaliate with a shaky breath as you nearly tear off his shirt. One look at his muscular and toned frame, and it takes everything to stop the drool from spilling past your lips. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

“Be careful,” he warns, his fingers digging into the flesh just underneath your breasts. Alhaitham holds onto you as he scoots further back onto the bed, and once he deems there’s enough room, he rolls over until he’s hovering above you, panting and hair splayed and lips swollen. “I’m just a feeble scholar.”

When you roll your eyes with an excessive amount of sass, he dips down to capture your right nipple in his mouth and gives a harsh suck as punishment, satisfied when all defiance on your face morphs into pleasure. Pretty, responsive, little angel, all for him, so sweet, so delicate, so adorable when your spine arches into his mouth and continues to suspend itself as he pays his respects to your other breast. You feel your conscience become fuzzier and fuzzier, dissolving into mush as the tendrils of overstimulation begin to grow, and once again, you find yourself torn between wanting to let him continue and wanting him to stop.

He decides to grant you some mercy when you can’t help but twitch and shy away. Alhaitham’s primal desires begin to crest and wash away any rationale, desperate to keep the taste and feel of your skin between his lips and on his tongue. He doesn’t quite understand this newfound desire to nip and bite, but all he knows is that when he does, his arousal pulses and nearly threatens to break past the seam of his pants. Alhaitham moves lower, lower, ghosting past your stomach, nudging past the band of your bottoms and underwear to tug them down all the way. Those are thrown out of view and he finally, finally, gets to continue from where he last left off, taking no time to push your legs away towards your chest and give a lascivious lick up the length of your cunt. The tip of his tongue meets your clit at the end of its journey, and he firmly holds you down when your hips buck into his mouth as it circles the nub.

It’s game over when he takes it fully in his mouth.

Your hands twist themselves once more into his silver hair, expletives slipping off your tongue as you chase your high. You feel your pussy clench around nothing the higher you climb, the coil in your core winding tighter and tighter. He eats you out like a man starved, enthusiasm unveiled and clear. His passion unbridled and sending you further into the clouds, you feel tears in your eyes begin to well up from sheer bliss, so sensitive and so unbelievably unprepared for everything this man was going to give you tonight. “Haitham,” you cry over and over, his name a mantra and prayer.

When he leans back, you catch a glimpse of the sheen on his chin and the way his eyes remain focused on your arousal, pupils blown. “You taste so good,” he compliments, his voice somehow having dropped an octave lower. “Could eat you out for hours. So good for me, fuck.” It’s dangerous how much you love to hear him curse, knowing that you are the reason why. The rational, feeble, well-spoken scholar, his prose extending to situations such as now, is almost reduced to such crude and filthy vocabulary.

Alhaitham would need to be blind to miss your sticky precum practically spilling from your core after what he said. It’d be a shame to let any of it go to waste, he muses, as he drags his tongue up the length of your cunt and pays attention to your clit again. He watches for every reaction, what makes you tug him closer, what makes your body twitch and convulse, what causes the shakiest exhales from your lungs, what contributes to your squeals and cries – he wants you to get a taste of just how unhinged he becomes in your presence.

Each moment of friction, so wet and slick, against your core seems to send you further and further into oblivion. Tears overflow when your heart bursts and Alhaitham doesn’t miss them – the sheen sliding down the sides of your face shines in the moonlight and he knows there is no reason to fear you’re in pain. He drinks in your moans and feels your fingers tangle further in his silver strands, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, your hips with a mind of their own as you grind against his tongue and nose to chase your release. Alhaitham pays no mind to the way his cock twitches once more in his pants or the unmistakable wet spot that’s formed from his own precum.

The coil in your abdomen wounds tighter and tighter. There is nothing on your mind but the man between your legs and your impending orgasm, one with an intensity you haven’t experienced in ages. “ ‘m close,” you gasp and meet his burning gaze. “Please, wanna cum – yes – please, sir–”

How he doesn’t cum in his pants at the title is beyond his comprehension, but the stroke to his ego is welcoming, to say the least. Alhaitham never felt any type of way when others addressed him as so, sometimes annoyed even, but from you? It is everything. A verbal indication of relinquishing your power to him, your existence at its highest vulnerability, the underlying respect, the implicit trust hidden between three letters – only has him pushing down harder against your thighs, leaving no room for you to fight. The resolve and determination to have you cum on his tongue only increases and his thoughts plunder further into hell. Cum for me, cum on my tongue, let me taste your release that I give you, so fucking addictive – his silent commands painted on your tight bundle of nerves.

With Alhaitham exercising a dizzyingly sinful strength against you, leaving you helpless and defenseless, you let yourself succumb as your heart rate increases. Your breathy warnings and pleas, the oh fuck!s, the whimpering sir!s, confessions of love on the tip of your tongue – you have one minute, moment of clarity when your body freezes, and the coil snaps.

You don’t think you’ve ever cum so hard before, reality-shattering, nerves on overdrive, your body trembling beneath his palms as you ride out the pleasure for as long as you can. The quiet scream from your lungs is inevitable as it dissolves into sobs and Alhaithm follows you when your hips buck. There’s not enough oxygen for you and you can feel the visceral clenching of your abdomen as you fight for air and some semblance of control again – but that flies out the window when, for the first time tonight, Alhaitham slides his tongue inside your quivering cunt.

Said Scribe cannot help but groan, and he wishes he’d done this earlier. To feel your creamy walls squeeze as his taste buds slide amongst them, your keening ringing in his ears, the shaking of your thighs a prisoner between his fingers, the intoxicating taste of your cum – all of it is more than he could have ever dreamed of. Right where he wants you, and all his, his, his.

The incessant tugging of his hair tells him to stop for now, as much as he doesn’t want to. If it were up to him, he’d have you cumming on his tongue for hours, his hard cock be damned. But your convulsions of overstimulation manage to generate the slightest bit of sympathy and he laments when pulling away. His eyes hone in on the way your pussy contracts around nothing, almost begging for something to fill you again. “Good girl,” he praises, tenor delicate and charming, as he rubs gentle circles on your abdomen in an attempt to ground you. There are stars in your eyes, and he waits for you to come back to him.

You barely register Alhaitham’s hand on your body as you stare up at the ceiling, brain and soul somewhat disconnected due to the high of your orgasm. So good to me, your thoughts coo. Haitham, sir, how can I show my gratitude to him?

“Y/N,” and at last, you make eye contact with him. He preens at the blissed out look on your face and moves forward until he’s lying next to you, his weight supported on one arm while the other brushes away your baby hairs. A dreamy smile graces your lips, and he can’t help but lean forward for a soft kiss. Languid, sensual, pliant – several minutes fly by as you bask in each other’s presence until the need for more begins to bloom again. Alhaitham lets out a chuckle when he feels your hand wandering down his frame until it rests on his crotch. Making out with you has kept him semi-hard, and he’s happy you’re taking the initiative. Not that you’re in control, by any means, but it’s cute that you might think so.

Your mind reels from just how big he feels beneath your palm. You can’t deny the times when you’ve sneaked glances at his crotch, his tight pants outlining a slight bulge from day to day – but you never thought your fingers would be splayed so far apart, and you just know they would struggle to meet when gripping his length. Your whines reach his ears as you fumble with the clasp above the zipper, and Alhaitham is so kind, kind enough to take over and do it for you. Seconds later, his pants and underwear join the pile of forgotten clothes, and you immediately look down at what you’ve been waiting for.

The instant pooling of saliva in your mouth is embarrassing, shame and lust spilling into your chest and through your veins. Alhaitham’s cock is so beautiful, just like the rest of him, and you’ve never wanted something in your mouth so bad. It twitches under your reverent gaze, and the tip glistens with his precum. Even the noticeable veins drawn along his length are beautiful, and his balls seem to be engorged, heavy with cum. You prove your earlier hypothesis when you hold it in your hand, and your fingers truly do not meet around the circumference. A gush of slick leaks and paints your inner thighs, your hand seemingly tiny in comparison as you slowly stroke him.

Alhaitham hisses at your touch, so cold against the heat of his cock. There’s a passing thought of wanting to keep that fawning look on your face at all times, the metaphorical hearts in your eyes with his dick in your hand. In a moment of weakness, the thought begins to spiral into darker fantasies, how to keep you hooked and dependent on him, his cock, his mouth, his touch. A flash of a daydream crosses by of him sitting in his office chair, you on your knees between his legs, his shaft bullied deep in your throat as you keep it warm for him, drool and spit spilling from the corner of your lips, so submissive and desperate for him to fuck your face–

Your thumb glosses over his frenulum and he is ripped from his reverie. At risk of cumming too quickly, he thinks of how to keep your soft hands away for now. What can he use? How can he restrict you?

Ah.

Confused whimpers follow after him when he abruptly stands up from your bed and walks over to the pile of discarded clothes. You miss the warmth of his body next to you, goosebumps from the sudden chill rising on your skin. But before you can begin to chase after him, he returns to sit on the bed and beckons for you to sit up for him.

He loves how willing you are to obey him, your eyes wide and a little awestruck as you follow his gesture – almost as if he were your puppeteer. Alhaitham holds out his hands in front of him, palms facing the ceiling, and you match the posture with intrigue painted across your face. As you wait, clarification comes to you when he reveals the patterned, teal sash that usually encompasses his hips. Slow, deliberate movements as he wraps the cloth around your wrists (in case you don’t want it because he would never force you to do anything you were uncomfortable with), indicate this uncharted territory. And when the tie is made and the knot is pulled tight, you look up at him.

“Is this okay?” He asks. When you give a mute nod, he clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Words, Y/N.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer. “Yes, sir, it’s okay.”

Alhaitham watches as you lay back until your head meets the pillow, and your bound wrists lay prettily above your head. Your constrained and exposed body greets him. He sees your eyes strain to catch another glance at his cock, and the smirk on his lips is nothing but smug as he gives it a few quick pumps as a gift to you.

“Can you come here?” You plead because you know there’s no room to make any demands, and it’s his turn to be curious. Nevertheless, he resumes his original position by your side, but you shake your head. You can tell he doesn’t know what’s happening, but you are feeling shameless and powerless, at the mercy of this man, and you want him to really, really, drive that point deeper.

“Can you…straddle me? Like above my chest though?”

If this is going where Alhaitham thinks it’s going, he might just abandon the Akademiya altogether, whisk you away to his house, kick out Kaveh and have him live in your apartment instead, and keep his own doors locked for eternity. He does as you ask as he thrums in excitement, his cock weighty and leaking when you’re satisfied with where he is.

Time slows to a crawl as he watches you lift your head up with your pretty mouth open and take the tip of his cock between your glossy lips.

The tight heat is maddening, a strangled “fuck” falling off his tongue, and you push forward to take more of his length in your mouth. So dutiful and loyal, you have proven yourself, as you suck his cock with your eyes closed and moans vibrating around him. Given certain physical limitations, there’s only so much you can take in, which is where he believes it’s his time to act his part. He places a hand on the back of your skull to provide you some relief, but also to sink deeper down your throat. Naturally, you fall back until it’s just the head between your lips again, but he is right there to drag you back towards him and fill your depraved mouth.

“Look at you,” he hisses, controlling your pace. Such a good little fucktoy, no? “Who knew you would want my cock so badly? For me to sit on top and watch as you struggle to even take half of it in your mouth? I don’t think you have any idea of what you’ve started. Your lips are stretched so wide, but just wide enough for me to fit perfectly in between them, like it was made for me. Maybe that’s what it is.” His perverse thoughts run wild without any composure or filter, and he is unable to hold it in. “You were made for me and my cock, and– oh fuck – it seems like you love the idea of being my personal cocksleeve.”

Your eagerness to please him increases as you strain to take more in, his tip slipping into and catching the back of your throat. The sound of you choking on his cock rings in your ears, sending you further and further into oblivion. Every word from Alhaitham sounds true, and he’s right – right that maybe you were specifically made for him, his own blessing from the Archons, and right that you deeply, painfully, love the idea of letting him use you as he wishes. A garbled cry, followed by more sticky release dripping from your cunt, doesn’t go unnoticed when his voice sounds ragged on the word “cocksleeve.” It’s a lascivious tone of accord and approval, and your tears flow when he pulls you as far down his length as your quenched throat allows, your chained wrists resting atop your skull, and he keeps you there.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” He asks with a teasing lilt in his voice. “I have no objections to fully commit to being yours, your sir. But you must understand I expect the same commitment in return. This cock is yours,” Alhaitham promises, relishing in your muffled whimper of agreement. “And you are mine. My,” – a pause – “personal, depraved, slut.”

At first, he worries he might have gone too far with such a derogatory term, but they are all dashed aside when he watches your eyelids flutter closed and eyes roll into the back of your head. A long whine sends him into overdrive, and even more so when you try to fit more of his cock down your throat. Expletives slip from his tongue as he pulls you away completely, a tendril of saliva connecting your lips to his tip, your mouth still wide open while gasping for air. He sees your own tongue peek out and rest on your bottom lip, pliant and waiting for him to return.

Alhaitham lets go of your skull and watches you fall back to your pillow. He moves your tied hands above and over your head until they settle right above your belly button. The position allows him to trap your arms beneath him and move just a little further up the bed for the bottom half of his length to weigh heavily on your eager mouth. It remains open as he drags his shaft along your tongue, teasing you by slipping the head of his cock in your mouth. Your lips immediately close around it, but they are no match for when he pulls away, and you’re left empty once again.

“Truly a cockslut,” he chides as his hand takes a hold of his length and smacks it against your tongue. “You’ll take everything I give you, won’t you?” And he smirks when you nod, still beckoning, still waiting. “You’ve done well for me so far. Perhaps I should give you a gift.”

There’s little time to regain your senses when he shoves his length in until it hits the back of your throat once more and grabs onto your headboard. Just that angle gives him enough leverage to fuck your face as he pleases.

“If your mouth is this tight, I can only imagine what your cunt will feel like on my cock,” he grits out. Your brain goes numb as you take it all in, content and satisfied to please Alhaitham. You focus on making sure your teeth don’t drag against his skin, tongue swiping patterns and circles around his cock when possible. “I’ll need to take my time stretching out your tiny pussy, won’t I? Fuck, need to make it fit inside you. Isn’t that right?”

Alhaitham pretends to be dissatisfied with your moan, all garbled and thick with drool. “How many times do I need to tell you to use your words?” He teases, knowing full well there’s no way for you to form any right now. But a wicked, joyous laugh rings in your ears when he can tell you’re attempting to do it anyways. It goes straight down his dick and into his balls, and as they tighten further, he knows he’s close.

You don’t know how it’s possible for him to grow any thicker, but somehow it happens when his pace increases, and he tells you, “I’m going to cum, okay? Going to give you all my cum, make you my cumslut. You want to be my cumslut, you’re doing so well, so perfect, letting me fuck your mouth. Shit, cumming, cumming –!”

At the very last second, he pulls out and furiously pumps his cock, shifting back just in time for his cum to paint your breasts. “Fuck!” He growls and rides out the high until there’s nothing left to give you, blinding light beneath his eyelids before he snaps them open so he can watch you become covered by his release. Viscous, white ropes paint over you, some even landing on your cheek and neck. His chest heaves and his eyes remain unfocused from the fog in his brain.

That is, until he watches you swipe his cum from your neck with your fingers before it drips onto the bed, and place them in your mouth. Your sigh screams content as you lick them clean, and as far as he can tell, you’re enjoying the taste of him – as if he was the one to sate your thirst rather than the other way around. In a trance, he joins you in your meal by feeding you more with his own appendages, and his dick returns to half-mast once all the cum is visibly gone and slid down your throat.

“Thank you for your cum,” you say, your voice dreamy and euphoric. Alhaitham pulls you by your bound wrists again until you’re sitting up close enough, and buries his head into your shoulder, embedding his own kisses of gratitude into your skin. It doesn’t matter that there’s dried spit on your chin and your hair is a mess – you’re still so incredibly stunning to him.

To look into your eyes, to cradle your face in his palm, to ghost his thumb over your cheekbone, how lucky he is to be in a position to even ask you, “Was that okay?”

“Very,” you smile, unabashed and clearly happy with everything that had just happened. A small giggle slips out as well.

“Good,” he murmurs after kissing your forehead. “Would you be open to one more round? It seems I haven’t gotten enough of you.”

You see the evidence of his claims, how his cock gradually grows and rises under your watchful stare. His earlier words of needing to stretch you out before he can fuck you play in your head, and they remind you of just how wet you are. Still tied up, you scoot back away from him until you can stretch your legs out, parted to reveal what you so desperately wanted to touch as his dick was lodged in your mouth. Alhaitham’s pupils dilate and zero in on the mess between your thighs, and he chases after you to spread your legs farther.

“You became this wet from me fucking your mouth?” His fingers slide against the folds of your puffy cunt, your clit peeking out and swollen. “Tsk, all this pre gone to waste,” and you whimper when his nails barely graze that bundle of nerves, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. There’s no resistance when he works his middle finger inside you and your breath hitches. He turns his wrist as he fingers you, creating more and more arousal coursing through your veins. Alhaitham is proud that one finger of his affects you so. You whine and reach for him with grabby hands, managing to latch onto his wrist so he can keep his appendages buried inside you. “My my,” he teases, and his fingers curl, searching and searching until his fingertip taps against the exact spot that makes your back arch.

“You’re so eager to be filled,” Alhaitham taunts as he lubes up his ring finger with your slick. You feel even tighter when it slips in with his middle finger, and he finds that spot again in no time, already having memorized where it is. “You don’t have my permission to cum yet,” he warns, a decision just made when your walls are really beginning to clench around him.

“B-but–”

A third finger joins in, cutting you off from any protesting. “You either cum on my cock or not at all,” he offers and you think it’s beyond cruel. Why can’t you cum on his fingers and his cock?

With every last thread of your existence, you stamp down the growing desire to cum again. It feels like hours have passed, your sanity barely intact, when Alhaitham hums, just loud enough to be heard amongst your moans and whines. “I’m beginning to question whether I truly am too big for you,” he contemplates out loud. “What do you think, Y/N?”

It’s so hard to answer his question when you’re using everything else inside you to not break around his fingers. The depraved squelching of your slick only adds fuel to the fire in your core, and you’re trying to think, you really are–

The friction ceases, and before you can even address it, there’s a light, punishing slap across your clit. “Fuck,” you whimper, throat dry.

“Answer my question. Do you think I might not fit inside you?”

You know what answer he’s looking for. You know he wants you to surrender to his hidden intentions, that, “It doesn’t matter,” and you swallow. “I will…make it fit.”

In turn, he removes his fingers with care, but leaves you horribly empty with the void expanding into your chest. “Do you have a condom?” Alhaitham asks while looking around your bedroom.

“The bottom drawer on the right in the bathroom.”

Your sir leans forward to place a gentle kiss on your stomach. “I will return soon.”

For the seconds that you try to catch your breath, to calm your beating heart, to ignore the vacuity between your legs, you realize just where you are and who you’re with. You haven’t had much of a clear mind since the second he knocked on your window, caught up in the whirlwind of your nerves and paranoia – and then to have it turned on its head where you now lay in your bed, free of any prior anxiety, and drown in your lust.

Alhaitham wanders back into your room, focused on the package in his hand. Shameless and perverse, your eyes drink in his length, bobbing with each step. Even you’re beginning to doubt your ability to take him all in, but the anticipation, the threads of excitement that you may be filled again clouds over everything else.

“Hold your legs for me,” he commands gently, and you obey once he unties the sash around your wrists. Your arms hook beneath your knees so that everything is displayed and exposed to him. He sets the condom to the side when he shuffles closer so his hips meet the bottom of your thighs. Your breath hitches when he presses his cock onto your abdomen, and it pleases both of you so much to see that his tip just about reaches your belly button. “Look at how deep it’ll be inside you,” he coos, your whine following. “But it’s okay if you can’t take it all, you can’t help it that your little cunt is so tight.”

There’s a twinge of faux disappointment in his words. As if on instinct, you shake your head in vehement disagreement. “I’ll make it fit, sir, I promise,” you gasp and pull your legs closer to you. “We have to make it fit.”

“Mmm, my eager cocksleeve,” he responds with mirth, his regales washing away the panic from your system. You wait with bated breath as he grinds the underside of his entire length against your glistening folds, purposely catching onto your clit when possible. You’re not sure how much longer you can stand the torture, becoming wetter and wetter with each glide. “The color system is okay to check in with you?”

“Yes.”

He nods and leans back so the tip of his cock is just outside your entrance. His fingers roll and stretch the condom down his length. It takes a tremendous amount of effort to tear his gaze away from your core so he can obtain your consent to start, and the determined nod he receives sets his heart aflame.

A sinful perversion enters his mind as he watches your messy cunt split open and stretch over the head of his cock. He thinks about the future and wonders when the day will be for you to be in his lap and sink down his cock with no hesitation. His thumbs spread your folds further apart so he can get a better look, his lustful illusions from many lonely nights finally coming into play. Your breathy gasp when the head pops in is alluring, and he craves more of it. That perversion echoes its lack of satisfaction, that this is not enough, and he needs it all. Pride fills his chest as you take the first few inches with no problem, trying to take deep breaths as he continues to bully his way into your pussy.

Though internally, your mind is on the verge of breaking from how thick Alhaitham is. The emptiness from earlier has long been fulfilled, and you take a look to see that he’s barely fit half oh him inside you, and you already feel so full.

You were made for me.

I was made for him, you remind yourself, rationality thrown out the window because serving Alhaitham is all that matters in this moment. He’s giving you his cock, taking his time for you, providing a subtle reminder of just who you will belong to from here on out. Alhaitham has been so kind to you, you think. The least you could do is to be his good little slut, so eager and always yearning for him.

“You’re doing so well,” Alhaitham praises, though his voice chokes. You’re terribly tight around him, so much so that he wonders if he would even be able to pull out once he’s buried all of himself inside you. It wouldn’t be much of a problem, he thinks, to have you stuck on his cock for eternity, fucked dumb with nothing on your mind but him and pleasure. His hand puts the slightest pressure on your abdomen, but it’s enough for you to break with an “oh!”

“Fuck, I can almost feel myself inside you,” he marvels. “Color?”

It takes you a few seconds to process his question. “Green,” falls off your tongue with a whimper. But the bit of hesitation is enough for Alhaitham to stop in his tracks.

“Y/N, look at me.”

A dreamy hum on your lips, your blown out eyes meet his, and he realizes how far gone you are. “We can stop, it’s okay if we do.” But that may have been the wrong thing to say because your face falls, tears prickling your eyes. “I can do it,” you sniffle. “Please, sir.”

There is no way for him to remain unaffected by the way you address him, but he ensures to take extra care for the last few inches.

“You’re doing so well, taking all of me in. You’re keeping your promise, I’m so proud of you,” Alhaitham coos. The bottom of his shaft is just a little bit thicker, and you let out a happy squeal when your cunt stretches as much as it can to accommodate him. His tip barely grazes your cervix, and through your floaty thoughts, you almost wish it was deeper. The groan from Alhaitham as he bottoms out provides you comfort. It can only mean that you’re making him feel good, and that you did manage to have him fit inside you. So pleased with yourself, your pussy clenches around him and coaxes for more, for his cum.

If Alhaitham didn’t have better control of himself, he would’ve cum right then and there. Buried deep inside you, warm velvety walls sucking him in – it’s hard to believe that this is really happening. The person he loves is in his arms, joined with him in the most intimate way known to mankind. He never wants to leave you, leave this, yet his cock begs for friction. Your adorable whine of protest as he slides out a couple inches beckons him to return, and return he does as you let out a sound of pure satisfaction.

“Loveyou,” your words slurred together and fuzzy. “Love, love your cock, please, wan’ more, please?”

Archons, how are you so perfect for him? Alhaitham sets a steady, moderate pace and focuses on you, ensuring that you’re okay and pleased. It seems there’s a permanent grin on your face, even when you gasp or scream, and he’s determined to keep it there. When you seem completely accustomed to his pace, his strokes become longer and more indulgent. “Fuck,” you cry each time he fills you up with more and more of his cock with each stroke. His thumbs rub circles into your clit and drive you closer to your peak – you don’t know if you’re ready to cum yet, or if you want this to end. You don’t, but you’re so close–!

“Such a good girl for me – your little cunny was really made for my cock. There’s no one else for me, just you, pretty girl,” he breathes, seeing the hesitation on your face as your walls clench tighter than before. “I know you’re gonna cum soon, I want to see you cum on my cock. Can you do that for me?”

Anything he asks for, you would go to great lengths to give him what he wants. So if he wants you to cum, then you have to. You nod with a pout on your face, but Alhaitham leans forward, pushing your legs back further as he reaches to kiss the pout away. “That’s my good girl, so perfect.”

He pulls out completely, but why?

Alhaithm grabs and maintains eye contact with you for two agonizing seconds, and then commands you to, “Cum for me.”

And you do just that when he slams his entire length inside you as soon as those words leave his lips.

Alhaitham basks in your scream and sobs, your body convulsing and trembling beneath him, your walls an impossible vice around his cock. He grinds against you to go as deep as he can, “fuckfuckfuck”, and a growl buried in your neck as he cums. In your high, you think you can feel the heat and its spasms of it all, passively wondering what it would feel like to have him cum inside you without a condom. Perhaps one day you’ll be granted a nice little breeding session, but that is neither here nor there.

Alhaitham plants pecks and kisses all over your face, neck, and shoulders, smiling when your little giggles reach his heart. If anything, he’s just happy that everything turned out okay and didn’t end up in a disaster like last time. As he observes the serenity gracing your complexion, he cannot contain his affection any longer.

“Thank you…for having me.” I love you.

Another giggle. “I love you, too, Haitham. A lot.”

You’re kindly gifted a most adoring eskimo kiss. “I need to get you cleaned up, so I need to pull out, okay?”

The pout returns despite your agreement, and Alhaitham spends much needed time to pull out without you breaking. The devil on his shoulder protests otherwise, as it attempts to coax him into keeping you speared on his cock for the night, or more. Your whine of loss tugs at his heartstrings and feeds into his greed, and he embraces you once more to keep you grounded. Slowly, but surely, you return to your senses. Alhaitham is heavy and sweaty against you, but it’s more than you could ask for. A few taps on his shoulder are enough to tell him that you’re back on the same plane of reality with him, and he dives in to kiss you again, painting compliments and praises of how amazing you were along your lips.

Alhaitham then sweeps you off the bed, into his arms, and takes hurried steps towards the bathroom. You’re like a delicate flower with the way he places you on the toilet, and he reminds you of the importance of peeing after sex. Your privacy is granted when he leaves to remove and tie off the condom to discard it in the kitchen trash can, and later returns with a warm, wet towel. He waits until you’re back in bed and comfortable before he tenderly wipes away any excess fluids and leaves it on your nightstand before cuddling next to you. You turn towards him and burrow into his chest, content as his arms embrace you with an air of security and protection.

He mumbles something into your hair, but you’re out before you can even think to ask what he said.

When you finally come to, you can’t remember the last time you slept so well. No tiresome dreams, no sporadically waking up in the night – weeks out in the nature with Lumine had turned you into a light sleeper, and you missed this feeling of being so well-rested.

But the soreness in your thighs screams otherwise, and you wince when they refuse to cooperate. A muscular arm rests around you as if it has always belonged there. At first you question why it’s there, but then your brain decides to wake up and remind you just exactly of what transpired last night. Despite the mixture of shock and embarrassment (mainly at just how wanton you acted), you look up from where you are buried into Alhaitham’s chest. Somehow, you’re surprised to see him already awake. Well, surprised may not be the right word. But the clear adoration in his eyes is unmistakable, seizing and pulling on your heartstrings.

Alhaitham quite enjoys watching you think and process, imagining the fine-tuned gears and cogs in your brain working in overdrive. He remains silent as he smooths out some of the tangles in your hair, and he patiently waits to hear from you. You two had already experienced many hours of quietude before, so this was nothing new for him. There are very few moments in his life when he’s felt this serene and content, half-naked and you pressed against him, both drinking in each other and the light of day coming from your window. He could get used to this. He wants to get used to this.

“You’re making me breakfast in bed,” you decide with your first words of the day, grumbling with a pout on your face. “I don’t think I can walk properly.”

The former scribe arches a perfect silver brow, but the shit-eating smirk stretching along his face is anything but confusion. He knows exactly what you’re implying, and he’s quite satisfied with himself for causing such a situation. Perhaps he should do it more often.

“That I can do,” he agrees, his morning voice deep, yet full of mirth. After a quick kiss on your forehead, he rolls out of bed to do just as you command.

The growl from your stomach prevents you from calling him back because you’re cold now. A shiver runs down your spine as you tighten the blanket and sheet around you, tucking some beneath your chin in an attempt to trap whatever warmth you have left. But when you catch a hint of Alhaitham’s lingering scent, you feel yourself immediately calm down and breathe evenly. The gentle cluttering from your kitchen provides another layer of security as well.

Lost in your basking, you’re quite startled when you feel Alhaitham’s lips on your cheek, a tray in his hands with a light, yet nutritious breakfast arranged. But as you continue to lay there, he can’t help but laugh.

“Do you need help sitting up?”

“No.”

“Don’t be stubborn.”

You do, in fact, need his strength to sit up comfortably against some pillows. The embarrassment hasn’t quite worn off by the time he slides back underneath the sheets to sit next to you, an arm slung over your shoulders as you eat. But in seconds, it dissipates, and is replaced with something akin to love. For you both to finally be here, together as if you two have been dating for years, is exactly the outcome you have been wishing for.

“You know,” he starts before being interrupted by a forkful of food shoved into his mouth, courtesy of you. “You’re a perfect reason why I can finally kick Kaveh out of my home.”

You swat his shoulder with your free hand. “That’s so mean!”

“He can just move in here. I’m not that heartless to leave him homeless. Is that what you think of me?”

You answer without hesitation, “Yes.”

With the hand hanging off your shoulder, his nails scrape lightly in retaliation against the skin beneath your collar bone.

“If I recall, I was pretty fair with you last night,” he murmurs into your hair. “Perhaps I need to remind you just how fair when you’re done with breakfast.”

And you’ve never finished a meal so quickly.

fin.

#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact

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fangsandfracturedhearts · 10 months ago

Text

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 7: Rogue Desire

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.5k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

The library is dim except for the oil lamp casting its snug ochre radiance, illuminating the page you’re reading. The window here is forever shuttered and draped to keep the sun off the assorted books and tomes, making you feel safe. Well, as safe as you can feel while sharing quarters with Astarion. Your fingers rub the harsh, bumpy surface of the book's old cover as your eyes feast on page after page.

“What are you reading?”

You close the book momentarily to let Astarion get a look at the cover.

“Ah,” he smiles, “I lent you that some time ago. Did I not?”

You nod, “I never got to finish it.”

Astarion lays on the lounge beside you, “Well, what do you think of it so far?”

You cock your brow at him, and your nose crinkles, “It doesn’t exactly strike me as the type of book you would read.”

He laughs, “Why’s that?”

“It’s well written, and there are gory bits, but it seems to boil down to a love story, and I can’t imagine you reading romance.”

“Do you think me incapable of romance, my dear? I was romancing people before you were alive.”

You smirk at him, “I’m positive you can feign romance exuberantly. I can’t imagine you being truly romantic, though.”

He waves dismissively, “What’s the difference? It’s all a show, isn’t it?”

“I suppose, but one has true feelings behind it, which makes it romantic. It’s not the “show,” as you say.”

He chuckles, “This is starting to sound an awful lot like a challenge, and I do love a good challenge.”

You frown, “I’m sure Elowyn would love a demonstration.”

He scoffs, “You said there must be true feelings behind it.”

What does that mean?

Does he even feel anything anymore?

Questions you want to ask him but choose not to because you don’t want to know the answers.

Astarion looks around the room, “Why do you read in here all the time? I thought you would be out in the courtyard, or at least in a room with a window. You used to love the sun,” he muses with a dreamy, faraway guise.

“I liked the sun. No one loves the sun more than you do."

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” his mouth twitches, “You and I used to watch the sunrise together often.”

“That was before,” you sigh at the memories, “This is now.”

He looks around anxiously while rubbing his hands together, “We could again if you wanted to.”

“I’m frightened that you will get angry with me, and in that rage, you’ll cease protecting me,” you retort bluntly.

His brows furrow with a resigned sigh, “Do you think you will ever trust me again?”

“Do you want me to?”

He sits upright and looks at you intensely, “Indeed, I do.”

Why? Why does it matter to him if I trust him or not?

Trust is a luxury I can’t afford.

“You have your work cut out for you then.”

He chuckles, “It’s a good thing we have an eternity ahead of us.”

Unless you kill me.

Biting your tongue, you swallow that retort. Astarion has been remarkably pleasant for several days and seems more himself than you can recall since he became the Vampire Ascendant. You’re not keen on upsetting him for something so silly and becoming reacquainted with the version of him that lurks in his ire.

“Why did you recommend the book to me?”

He glowers at you playfully, “I have no doubt you will figure it out sooner or later.”

So, there is a reason.

“You could just tell me,” you purr.

“Darling, where is the fun in that?”

Astarion stands and kisses the top of your head. Running his finger along the books, he picks one, “I will be reading in the courtyard, in the sun I love so much according to you, if you would like to join.”

You give him a curt nod, but once he’s left the room, a small smile meanders its way across your lips. Astarion having the ability to walk in the sun safely for the rest of his days after living centuries in the dark was one of the reasons you had helped him with the ritual. You didn’t want to be the one to damn him to an eternity of darkness as a spawn. As far as reasons go, you know it wasn’t a good one compared to the cost, but what’s done is done, and the reasons, good or bad, don’t matter now.

Letting your eyes roam the page of text, you try to distract yourself with the story, but your mind keeps drifting to Astarion, the courtyard, and the sun. Astarion asking if you could ever trust him again confuses you, and admitting he wants you to only mystifies you further.

Why does he want or care about my trust?

Could I ever trust him again?

You’re surprised by how much you long to trust him again. There had been significant trust between you at one point, but that utter conviction got you to this spot. When Astarion had Cazador kneeling before him, he said he knew what he was doing and asked you to trust him, and you did so blindly. Thus, assisting in turning him into whatever it is he is now.

I should have known better.

Closing your book, you descend the staircase on shaky legs. The mere thought of going and sitting in the sun still strikes terror into you. You’re still adjusting to having windows again. More than once, Astarion has caught you attempting to slink past the window, staying out of the sun as much as possible, or just standing there staring at it apprehensively.

He would giggle at you and make his silly, taunting quips, but he would also comfort you and tell you that you were safe with him, at least when it came to the sun.

As long as he’s not angry.

The door to the courtyard is open, and the bright mid-morning sun washes over the dark wooden flooring. Astarion sits on a bench bathed in the golden light, eyes down, skimming the page of the tome. He looks at ease and happy, and you can’t help but smile to yourself and cherish that view. Glancing at the rays warming the floor, you swallow your growing doubt.

Trust has to start somewhere. He will have no chance if I never give him one.

“You’re safe, sweetheart,” he coos without looking up from the page.

“Promise?”

Astarion stands, puts the book down and comes to the doorway with a tender smile, holding his hand out to you, “I promise. Come.”

Biting your lower lip, you slide your hand into his. Astarion coercers your body to move forward out into the courtyard with gentle force. Paving stones warm your bare feet as they pad along the ground, and the sun’s heat permeates your cold skin.

This is the first time you’ve seen this place in daylight, and it looks substantially less foreboding. At night, the courtyard’s high stone walls cause it to appear small and closed off. In this light, it seems open and pleasant.

A well-groomed tree towers off in one corner, providing some shade. The green leaves flutter in the slight breeze. Another bench sits under the willowy branches.

Astarion gently twists your arm, forcing you to pirouette as if you were dancing an elegant courtly dance, and you giggle at his playfulness.

He rests his forehead against yours, “Thank you for trusting me.”

Gods, he’s so close.

As it often does around him, your ability to be rational and keep yourself grounded slips at his proximity. You can hear his heart beating and smell the bergamot, rosemary, and a hint of aged brandy you’ve come to love.

You’ve felt frozen inside, numb, for so long, but his touch reawakens your purpose and thaws the ice that has solidified your fiery spirit and kept it subdued in the void his absence left.

“I missed you, you know. When you left,” he whispers.

Tears threaten to spring to your eyes at the authentic vulnerability, and your hands grasp Astarion’s arms. Inhaling a long, shuddering breath, you attempt to regain the plummeting authority over your body.

Astarion holds your waist tenderly with the same firm protectiveness you remember. You keep trying to convince yourself the man you loved died that night, that Astarion is gone, but here he is, standing before you.

Is this him, though? I still don’t know.

Astarion uses his index finger to bring your eyes to the vivid scarlet of his, which are staring at you with a searing ardour. You’re paralyzed by that gaze, carried away by the deluge of instinct and longing coalescing.

“Can I kiss you, Astarion?”

He smirks, “Little love, I thought you would never ask.”

His lips meet yours, and your eyes flutter shut. Your body wilts into his as if drawn in by his gravitational pull. You let yourself drown in him. Your senses scatter, and you’re swept up in his undertow.

His tongue persuades your lips to part, and he skillfully traverses your mouth. You purposefully find one of his fangs, and you run it delicately over your tongue, causing a shallow wound that weeps blood. He growls as the taste of you detonates his hungering desire.

“Fuck,” he groans, “I love it when you do that."

You smile against his lips. You know it drives him crazy, and that’s precisely the point. You want to fill him with you; claim him as he has claimed you. You want him to be addicted to you so he can think of no one else.

Astarion bucks his hips into you, and you grind yourself against his hard length greedily. You clench at the delicious friction against your swelling flesh and whimper demandingly. A deep growl in his chest vibrates against you as his hand ravenously roams over the contours of your body.

You let your splayed hand coast from the taut muscles of his abdomen to his chest lazily, savouring his silky, soft skin on your fingertips. His chest heaves under your hand, and you can feel the rapid, excited thumping of his heart.

Astarion grabs your thighs and hauls you up. Reflexively, you wrap your legs around his hips, securing yourself to him.

“Perhaps we should take this indoors, yes?”

You giggle, “Astarion, are you shy? I thought you enjoyed being the centre of attention.”

He kisses your neck, “I plan to make you scream my name until your throat is hoarse. Would you like everyone to hear your wanton incoherent cries?”

Even though you’re more than accustomed to his alluring taunts, you still feel the heat rising to your face. Thankfully, you’re dead, and your skin can’t redden.

“And if I did? Perhaps they would learn something,” you tease flirtatiously.

He chuckles while putting you down once you’re safely hidden in the manor, “Darling, the prudes of the upper city would surely perish on the spot if they saw what I’m about to do to you.”

Gods, yes.

Your walls spasm and clench at the carnal depravity that courses through your thoughts in vivid splendour. You tug his shirt out of his breeches, and he pulls it off, anticipating your request. His fingers undo the ties of your shirt, and he slips it off. Those hooded red eyes brimming with lust consume the sight of you gluttonously.

“You’re perfect,” he purrs deeply.

Your chest swells and falls as you pant purposeless air. For so long, you’ve felt fear, loneliness, hunger or nothing at all, but right now, you’re high on the love and desire overflowing in you, and you refuse to give it up.

You throw yourself at him in desperation to keep this moment alive. His lips meet yours with the same dire need. Your fingers curl into the white curls at the nap of his neck while your other hand undoes the ties that keep his pants secured to his waist.

His thumb traces the lower curve of your breast, and you groan, feeling your nipple already harden in anticipation of his touch. His fingers graze the sensitive peak. Your body quivers, nerves humming as liquid lightning rolls down your spine, and your clit pulses in tempo with his teasing fingers.

“Needy thing, aren’t you? How long has it been since you’ve been touched, tasted?"

You were the last one to touch me.

This isn’t something you would like to admit to him. You don’t want him to know how hopelessly in love and devoted you are to him. Astarion knows love, and he knows how to play with it, and you don’t want to give him more ammunition to play with you like a toy.

Reaching into his pants, your fingers find them wet with pre-cum, and your mouth waters at the thought of tasting him again. You grasp his cock, and his hips jerk with a panting grunt.

“Needy thing, aren’t you,” you taunt mockingly.

His eyes narrow, hypnotizing and brimming with lust, “I know you’re skirting around the question, darling.”

Astarion’s fingers glide past your waistband and trail down in an anguishing slow progression that makes a whine slip from your lips. He parts your wet folds, skillfully avoiding the bundle of nerves that is howling for his touch.

“Hells,” he kisses your cheek, whispering in your ear, “I bet they didn’t make you this wet.”

You sag into him and sigh, “Astarion…”

He teases your swollen flesh, circling the aching border, “Did they make your body shake with need?”

The first direct touch sends a shockwave rocketing through you, and you whimper, knees buckling. You are forced to let go of your grasp on his cock and secure yourself by holding onto his arms. Astarion smirks proudly. The pads of his fingers stoke and massage, and you moan loudly. The coiling tension builds and intensifies as his tempo does.

A knock on the door startles you, and you try to jump away from him, but his arm wraps around your waist, holding you in a steadfast grip.

“Ignore it,” he barks, “we’re busy.”

Another hammering rap on the door makes Astarion growl in frustration. His brow pinches in a dark scowl.

A pleading voice muffled by the door arises, “Master Ancunin! Master Ancunin!”

Pulling away from him, your body mewls in dejected objection at the discontinuation of sensation, “I think it’s for you.”

He groans and grins seductively at you as he sucks your arousal off his fingers, and you choke in a quick breath.

“As sweet as ever, my dear. My memories did not do you justice.”

The banging on the door resounds through the manor again with the same pleading shrieks from outside. Astarion rolls his eyes while he does up the ties of his pants. Not bothering to put his shirt back on, he moves to answer the door. You take quick steps backward to remain out of sight of the visitor.

“What is it?” Astarion sneers.

“Master Ancunin. Please forgive my intrusion, but your presence is urgently required.”

“We are not set to convene until tomorrow night,” Astarion snarls with an intensely domineering inflection.

“I know, saer. I am dreadfully sorry about this violation. I throw myself at your mercy.”

Astarion sighs, “And what exactly is so urgent?”

The man’s voice hushes significantly, and you can only catch small snippets here and there, but not enough to put together what’s happening that seems to require Astarion’s attention immediately.

“WHAT?” Astarion thunders.

Despite the booming shout, the intonation in his voice is dispassionate and unexpressive. You slink further back, knowing that whatever he was told has provoked his rage.

“Go. I will be there momentarily,” he slams the door harshly, cursing under his breath, “Fuck!”

Glancing around the room, you try to find a place to hide from him. You could go back into the courtyard, but if he’s angry and he decides you’re an easy target to take it out on, he might just let you burn. The stairs to your room lay too far away and would mean crossing paths with him.

Astarion turns the corner and jumps as if surprised to see you there. His eyes meet your face, and you’re relieved the crimson pools remain warm with liquid affection.

He must see the terror illustrated on your face because he frowns sadly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re angry.”

He nods curtly, “Yes, but I am me, for now - you have nothing to fear.”

You gulp, “For now.”

Astarion runs his fingers through his hair. Whatever that man told him, it agitated him significantly.

He clears his throat, “I must go deal with this.”

He bounds up the stairs quickly to his room and must dress at a breakneck pace because he returns rapidly, fully dressed in his overelaborate coat, looking mouth-wateringly dashing.

Astarion heads for the door and tugs it open but hesitates, pivots and takes long strides toward you. Reflexively, you step back, frightened that the anger won.

Astarion kisses your forehead and the back of your hand, “I will try to be back for your lesson tonight.”

You nod, “It’s okay if you aren’t. Be careful, Astarion.”

He smiles, “As you wish, my love.”

Once Astarion is gone, you quickly run around and close all the heavy curtains, plummeting the manor into darkness. Sitting on the floor with your back against your bed, you close your eyes and reprimand yourself for letting things go so far.

Your role here is to try and figure out what’s ailing him and see if you can help him remedy it, not to continue getting closer to him, falling more in love with him.

If that’s even possible.

You wonder, though, if, by some miracle, you can find a way to conserve whatever remains of the old Astarion. Would you want to be with him then, or has the damage been done, and your relationship is doomed and wrecked beyond repair? Could you ever trust him again?

Gale is out looking for the Wish spell for you, but you ponder if you could use it to save Astarion from whatever evil plagues him. Could it be used to restore him to his previous self completely? Could it be used to turn back Ascension entirely? Would you do that to him even if it could?

Would I give up my one chance to be alive again if it meant restoring him?

You need to gather more information on what’s ailing Astarion. As well as the capabilities and limitations of the Wish spell, but you can’t tell Gale or Shadowheart that your motivations may have changed.

Where is Withers when I need him? He knew everything there was to know about souls.

You have a theory about what happens to Astarion, but it needs to be confirmed. You wonder if the Rite may have stripped away some of his soul, whether unintended or on purpose, and now the soulless part of him wars with the version that still retains the remaining bit of his soul, each contending against the other, vying for control.

You imagine the only way to figure this out is by talking to someone who deals in souls, but who? You’re still trying to work it all out.

With Astarion gone, you can finally let yourself get some much-needed rest. Laying down on your bed, you succumb quickly to your meditative state and slip into the tributary of your trance.

The walls of the Crimson Palace moan as they settle, cooling off after the hot sun beating down on them. You’ve been locked in your room all day, and those solemn whines are the only indicator you have of time.

The door to your bedroom snaps open, but you don’t even bother to look. You’re lying in bed motionless, staring at the ceiling of your pitch-black room as you have been doing since he locked you in here in the first place. Astarion keeps you corralled in here like an animal. You are not to leave without his approval, and if you do, the consequences are dire.

“My consort,” he drawls as he lights a candle.

“What do you want,” you say monotone.

“Get dressed, darling. I have need of you tonight.”

“No, thank you.”

“This is not a request,” he sneers, “You will come.”

“What are you going to do? Drag me there?”

“Oh, pet, I will do so much worse.”

“I’m not going,” you mutter scornfully.

Astarion grabs you harshly by the arm and drags you down the hall to the kennels, “You do remember this room, yes? Do not make me put you in here, strap you to that device, and teach you why you will obey me.”

He drags you back to your room as you pull and fight him with everything you have, but he merely laughs at your pathetic attempts. He throws you onto your bed.

“Get dressed,” he commands, “Wear the blue one I have laid out for you. We are going to a party, my treasure.”

Your fingers linger over the silky blue material he laid out for you. The dress is glamorous, you suppose, but nothing you would ordinarily adorn. The gown is far too low in the front and back and leaves very little to the imagination.

Whatever he has planned for you tonight, you don’t want to know, but if you disobey, he will put you in the kennels, and you don’t want to visit that place again.

You pull the dress on. The neckline hangs down below your belly button, and the back is just as low. A long slit up one side allows a view of your leg. You cringe at the idea of wearing something like this in public.

Astarion returns promptly, dressed lavishly and looking far too handsome, “You look exquisite. This will do perfectly.”

Astarion escorts you to some overly sumptuous estate in the upper city. The ballroom is packed full of the city’s nobles and high-ranking officials.

“Remember to smile, pet. They need to believe we’re a happy couple."

You scoff at him, “I don’t care what they think.”

Astarion grabs your face harshly, “You WILL smile, or you will be punished. Do I make myself clear?”

You rip your face out of his hand and glower at him, “Fuck you.”

"Maybe if you’re a very good girl tonight, I will permit it.”

He introduces himself around the room, using his practiced manipulations to make connections, but he never introduces you unless someone pays you any attention, which they generally don’t. The only attention they pay is practically undressing you with their ogling eyes, and it makes your skin crawl.

Astarion directs you to a quiet side of the room, “Do you see that man in the maroon jacket?”

“What about him?”

Astarion grins sadistically, “I need you to go over there and distract him by any means necessary.”

You gasp, “Excuse me. What?”

He snickers, “You will distract him by any means necessary. Take him to a bed for all I care, as long as you get him out of the way.”

He wants me to do what?

“I will not!”

You yell it loud enough to gain the attention of some of the partygoers nearby, who give you awkward glances.

Astarion scowls at you, “That was very naughty, pet. Go now, do as I ask, and I will consider letting that little display slide.”

If I refuse, it’s the kennels.

You lean close to him and whisper, “If you try and make me do that, I’m going to make a big scene and embarrass you in front of all your new, very important friends.”

He leers at you threateningly, “Last chance.”

I choose the kennels over my body offered in exchange for whatever he’s planning.

You scream, loud and resounding, “No!”

The high pitch of your voice echoes through the entire room, thanks in part to the absurdly high ceilings. The once loud laughter and voices cut off into an awkward, hushed silence as all eyes in the room snap to you and Astarion.

Astarion plays it off perfectly with a warm smile, “Of course, my love. If you do not wish to go, we won’t.”

He’s going to have to do damage control later.

Astarion grabs your hand and squeezes it so hard you whimper while he walks you out of that damn party with the excuse that you are not feeling well. He trembles with anger, and you know you’re in for it when he gets you back to the kennels.

Back in the safety of the Crimson Palace, you burn him slightly and try to run to your room, though you know it’s little use. He disperses into gas and appears in front of you before you can make it even halfway there.

He grabs you, screaming in your face, “You dreadful little wretch! Now, I am forced to have to teach you a lesson.”

“Astarion, stop. You don’t have to do anything!”

He laughs like someone deranged, “How else will you learn to obey?”

“I will never obey,” you spit hatefully.

“We will see about that, my unruly, little spawn.”

He drags you through the halls while you scream, cry and beg him to stop. Your sandals skid across the wooden floor, shrieking as your feet try to find purchase.

The kennels smell like fetid blood, and you cringe as the scent assaults your nostrils. Astarion chains you to the wall, so you have no choice but to stand while he strips you bare.

He laughs menacingly, “You will learn to obey me, my consort.”

Astarion’s crazed laughing resonates through the room as he blows out all the candles, submerging you in pure, inky darkness. The door closes, locks and you’re left in silence.

You know you could get yourself out of these chains, out of this room, but the consequences if you do would be far more dire than being left in this miserable place naked and alone.

If you spend days, weeks or months isolated, starving, and stripped in the dark, you have no idea.

The sound of a beating heart starts to pulse on the outskirts of your trance, and the side of your bed depresses, rousing you from the memory. Your pillow is damp from tears shed as you were forced to relive that barbarity.

“It’s just a dream,” Astarion soothes, rubbing your arm.

No, a memory.

Does he even remember doing that or the many other similar atrocities he committed against you? If he does, he’s made no indication of it. One day, you will have to ask him, but you don’t feel like exploring that particular abyss of suffering with him right now.

You nod, “Yeah, just a dream.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” Astarion glances at the wet spot on your pillow, “It seems to have upset you.”

“No, that’s not necessary. Did you deal with whatever you were summoned for, Master Ancunin?"

He smirks at your teasing, “In a manner of speaking, I suppose I did.”

That doesn’t sound good.

“You killed someone, didn’t you?”

He shakes his head and shrugs, “Perhaps multiple people. I cannot be sure."

“You don’t remember?”

He stares at his hands, “No. More often than not, I recall nothing.”

Does that mean he doesn’t recollect the kennels or the other horrid things he did to me?

“You lost yourself again?”

He sighs, running his hand over his face, “I think so.”

Glancing at his clothes, you register that he’s not wearing the same thing he left in, “You changed?”

“I did.”

He must have been drenched in blood if he bathed and changed before coming home.

“Are you okay right now, or should I be throwing myself at you?”

He giggles, but it has a crestfallen ring, “You can always throw yourself at me, love. But I’m fine. I’m not angry anymore.”

You wrap him in an embrace anyway. His demeanour is melancholic and subdued, and you wonder just what in the nine Hells happened when he was out to have him coming home so miserable.

Astarion leans into you, the corner of his mouth quirking in a small smile and sighs, “Thank you. Should we go out and continue your lessons?”

You rest your chin on his shoulder, “I am rather hungry.”

He pats your leg, “Well, we can’t have that, can we? Get dressed and meet me downstairs.”

The forest is tranquil, with nothing but a light wind rustling the canopy of the lanky trees. A crescent moon hangs high in the sky, but not much of its light makes it to the ground, making the colours of the forest appear more subdued than usual.

“Gods,” Astarion clicks his tongue disapprovingly, “your footwork is truly an atrocity.”

You roll your eyes at him, groaning, “I’m trying!”

“If this is you trying, darling, the realm will end before I can even teach you this.”

“Well, maybe if I had a better teacher!”

He inspects his nails absently, “You’re more than welcome to try and find a more adequate educator.”

Ugh.

“Can you just tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

“It would be shorter to list the things you’re doing right,” he quips.

“Astarion!”

He strolls a slow circle around you with his fingers on his chin. His studious gaze is so intense you can virtually feel his eyes stroking your skin. Shadows skirt handsomely, if a little forebodingly, across the angular planes of his face.

You watch him heedfully, eyes tracking his course as he stalks around you. You’re always on alert with him. It’s hard to know what will set him off and what won’t, and you can’t afford to be caught off guard. Even so, a part of you luxuriates in these moments with him, and you admonish yourself for it.

“Where did I say you should keep most of your weight?”

“In my heels.”

“Ah, so you have learned something,” he tuts, “and where is your weight now?”

Your eyes cast heavenward, and you sigh, “I’m guessing not in my heels.”

“Correct. You’re tottering on your toes. Again,” he scolds, “Shift your weight. You’ll have far superior balance.”

You focus on your body and how it’s positioned. Your centre of gravity is displaced, and you’re rocking slightly from your toes to the balls of your feet and back like a blade of grass in a gentle wind. With effort, you manage to transfer your weight into your heels. The stance feels unnatural to you, and you struggle to keep yourself in it.

“Good girl,” he purrs, “Now, lower your hips. You’re still standing too tall. Everything will see you coming a mile away.”

The muscles of your thighs groan as you try to descend further into the crouch. You’ve been at this for hours, and your body is starting to drone fatigue.

“Lower.”

“Hells, Astarion! How much lower?”

Astarion crouches behind you and places his hands on your hips. Applying a gentle force, he pushes you further into the crouch. The muscles in your legs begin to twitch and tremble, and your balance starts to wobble.

He rises and walks around you again before crouching down in front of you with a cocked brow, “You’re very unsteady.”

Astarion reaches out and pushes your shoulder, causing you to overcorrect and fall forward onto him, knocking him over in the process. Something tells you he allowed you to push him flat to his back on the ground. He could have easily moved out of the way and watched your face grind into the earth.

Regardless, you find yourself sprawled out on top of him while you laugh loudly.

“Are all Sorcerers this unlawfully graceless?”

You smirk, “Do all Rogues possess such a smart mouth?”

He lays his head on the grassy ground and rolls his eyes at you with a grin, “Sassy girl.”

You move to push yourself up, but his arm comes around your waist, bracing you to him, and Astarion pushes the hair out of your eyes, “I really did miss you when you were gone, you know.”

Can I believe him? Can I afford to let myself believe him?

You swallow your rising sorrow, “Do you still feel emotions, Astarion?”

His vivid scarlet eyes impale you and imbue you with a profound solace that spreads through your body like a cascading wave of warmth, prickling your skin.

“You make me feel,” Astarion’s sombre, earnest intonation causes a breath to hitch in your throat.

Feel what - Obsession? Possession? Dominance? You want to ask him, but you don’t, unsure if you’re ready to hear the answer.

His thumb traces your lower lip, and that familiar rush of electricity jolts through your body and twists into your stomach. You trace his jaw with your index finger, leaning in and ghosting the velvety smoothness of his lips with your own.

Gods. I’m losing it.

Astarion presses into your invitation, and your lips mould together, charged with impassioned longing. His hand meanders into the back of your shirt, and you bask in the lazy, comforting strokes of his fingers against your skin. Using your tongue, you coax his mouth open, and he groans, giving you the access you crave.

You can feel your walls spasm and flutter eagerly, silently imploring him to fill you. Gyrating your hips into his bulging erection, he hisses as your swollen, aching clit, gorges on the mouthwatering friction. You whimper against him as your body cries for the release you were denied earlier.

Your eyes pop open momentarily and take in the forest that surrounds you. Memories of the forest the first time rush forward, and you push yourself back abruptly.

Astarion sits upright quickly and scans the surroundings, confused with your retreat, “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“Not here,” you pant.

His brows furrow for a second, and he looks around. Comprehension eases his features, “Oh, come now, was I that bad in the forest last time?” he pouts dramatically, “I didn’t hear any complaints at the time.”

“Bad?” You shake your head, “No, Astarion. Those memories are sad.”

His brow cocks, “Sad?”

You run your fingers through your hair, “I should have known what you were up to.”

Once it rolls off your tongue, you wonder if you will regret telling him this. You’ve carried this guilt around since he confessed in the first place. He manipulated you because he felt he had to secure your devotion, thus establishing his safety.

If only you had been less infatuated with him, you might have seen through that guise and been able to stop him from putting himself through that again.

Astarion stands, concern creasing his face, “Love-”

I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.

You cut him off, “Not here, Astarion.”

He nods curtly, and you begin the walk back to the estate. Once you get to the Lower City, Astarion offers you his hand to hold. It comforts you that he will stop you if you try to hurt someone. You’re not sure if he does it for your benefit or his. After all, if you did lose it and kill someone, you could end up exposing him, a risk he is unlikely to take.

The city streets are mostly quiet at this hour. The only sound you hear is your footsteps thwacking on the rigid ground until a random heartbeat starts repeating in your ears. You don’t give it much thought until her voice drifts out of the darkness. You recognize that repulsively sweet, harmonic tone.

“Astarion, darling! It’s been ages!”

Elowyn.

The woman saunters from the outdoor sitting area of a nearby inn. Her mulberry hair is pulled back, revealing her dainty face and ever-so-increasingly tempting neck. She wears a green dress that makes the sapphire of her eyes stand out.

What is she even doing out here at this time?

You clench your jaw. Something is off about her, but you can’t quite put your finger on what. She has an air about her that makes your skin crawl, but it could be the utter loathing you feel for her playing tricks on you.

Astarion smiles pleasantly, “Elowyn. How lovely to see you.”

Elowyn’s eyes fall to your hand clasping his, and her eyebrows pull down into a slight, barely noticeable scowl. She leans in close, puts her hand on his chest and kisses his cheek, lingering there for far too long.

Your palms warm, and your muscles tense as your jealousy ignites the raging inferno of your temper. Elowyn smiles at you sweetly, but a hint of hostility in her eyes makes you want to relieve her of sight.

“How nice it is to see you again,” she grins brightly, “You appear to be in better shape than when I saw you last.”

Astarion’s brows pull down, “Better shape? My dear, whatever are you talking about?

Elowyn’s cordial laugh fills the air and makes you want to rip her vocal cords out, “Yes, last I saw her, she was quite drunk and heading to see you.”

Astarion thinks for a second and then chuckles, “Yes, she was quite drunk.”

He shoots you a glance and squeezes your hand, telling you to play along. You roll your eyes and scoff contemptuously as if you were going to inform this weasel anything about you or your life.

“She was quite rude to me that night, Astarion dear,” Elowyn sighs dramatically.

Is this bitch seriously trying to get Astarion to hurt me?

Will he?

He smirks dubiously, “Was she? How utterly awful.”

Elowyn pouts, “I do hope you will teach her a lesson. She threatened to kill me after all. She must learn respect.”

Respect? Her? HA! Never.

The notion is so entirely ridiculous that a snide snicker escapes your lips as your face contorts into a threatening grimace.

Astarion stares at her, scowling, “Watch yourself, Elowyn. Do not make me remind you of your place.”

Elowyn’s carefree demeanour falters to concern at the warning intonation of Astarion’s voice. She swallows hard and forces her dainty face to dress in an overjoyed smile, and she’s back to her usual flirtatious facade.

I wonder if she’s gotten him angry yet. If she has, how did she live through it?

Her hand is splayed on his chest, and she presses herself further into him, “I have missed you so. I came by the palace the other night to see if you wouldn’t like some company .”

Company? Ugh. As bad as entertainment.

You scoff at her loudly and try to pull out of Astarion’s grip, but he only holds on tighter.

You frown at him, “Let me go, Astarion. I wish to leave."

“No, you stay.”

“Let. Me. Go,” you growl threateningly.

This is not a request. It’s a command. You may pay dearly for taking this tone with him later, but right now, you don’t care; you would rather endure his wrath a thousand times over than spend another minute in the company of Elowyn.

Watching her put her hands all over him stokes the fire burning in your blood to unfathomable temperatures. As your fury increases, so does the likelihood that you reduce her to a pile of ash.

Why do I care so much?

I left him.

“It seems your pet spawn would like to give us some privacy. Let her go, my sweet Astarion.”

Pet spawn?

Thank you to everyone who reads/likes/comments/reblogs!

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

AO3 [Crossposted]

PS: I hate Elowyn - excuse me while I go break something to get over writing her.

#astarion x reader #ascended astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfiction #astarion #bg3 #astarion x you #astarion smut #fangs and fractured hearts

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aspiringtrashpanda · 1 month ago

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I LOVE OUR COLLECTIVE SON. Find the prompt list HERE.

── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

DAY 17 Prompt: Luke Additional tags: Introspection, plant care, super vague hint to spoilers

“How are you doing today?”

Luke checked the soil of the potted scorching sunflower on his bedroom windowsill. It was dry to the touch, ready for its daily sip of water. As Luke pushed his curtains to the side, positioned the plant’s flower facing the full moon, he checked all of the deep green leaves for any hint of decay.

“A little thirsty,” He acknowledged, “But you still seem healthy.”

His fingers pinched one of the velvety golden petals, humming in satisfaction as the heat that thrummed through the flower seeped through his skin. The fastest way to measure a scorching sunflower’s health was to ensure it was still converting moonlight to warmth.

“It’s funny to think that talking to you has become a routine for me,” Luke murmured, propping the pot onto his homemade drainage system (a tupperware with holes poked in the bottom, turned upside down in a shallow bowl) and gently pouring a small stream of fresh water into the soil. “It feels like just yesterday that Beelzebub was passing on Mammon’s tip.”

“You are a lot happier since I started talking to you, huh?” With a smile, Luke carefully preened any dead leaves from the plant’s underside. “I do wonder why Mammon knows anything about plants, though.”

He giggled, pausing his ministrations to consider, “Maybe he tried to grow a Grimm tree.”

With his sunflower care complete, Luke allowed himself to sink down onto the bench that lined the bay window, placing his chin atop his knuckles as he peered out at the Devildom street just past the glass. He had grown to like the location of Purgatory Hall. Off the beaten path, but not too far removed from the stores downtown. They were close enough to the hustle and bustle that demons–most often couples and those taking their curious beasts on an evening stroll–still passed by.

Tonight was nothing out of the ordinary. Luke’s eyes traced the path of a young demon who looked roughly his own age. They laughed, tugged along by an overeager hellhound puppy. Luke felt a familiar squirming in his gut.

“When I first came to the Devildom, I hated demons. I thought they were bad. Evil and immoral.” He sighed, his fingers absently playing with the scorching sunflower petals, “But now, I don’t think they’re so bad after all.”

“I don’t like to admit it, but… I think they’re my friends,” Luke’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper. On the other side of the glass, the hellhound skidded to a halt, turned around, and tugged the young demon back the way they came. The dog’s nose never left the pavement, clearly tracking some scent.

“At least, Barbatos and Beelzebub. Barbatos helps me with my baking, and I know I say that I want to be a better pastry chef to please Michael, but I’ve started to notice… Well, I look forward to giving my sweets to Beelzebub, even if he is the worst taste tester in all three realms. His praise is nice, I guess.” Luke shut his mouth, let the confession sit. When nothing bad happened, he added, “And I don’t mind Leviathan and Satan much, either. Leviathan is always happy to tell me about new games he thinks I might like, and Satan isn’t as scary as I thought he’d be. He’s nice to cats. Cats wouldn’t like a mean monster.”

The demon with the hellhound was trying to wrestle an unknown object from the dog’s mouth. Luke could hear the demon laughing, cooing at their puppy and begging it to drop the stick! The dog’s tail was wagging so swiftly, Luke thought for a moment that it had two tails. The pressure grew in his stomach, a hole opening up in his chest. Why would such a wholesome scene make him so very sad?

“Does that make me a bad angel?” Luke asked his flower, “Raphael says that showing kindness to all beings is necessary for maintaining a pure soul, but Simeon did that and…”

He slammed his mouth shut, hesitated, and then whispered so softly, he could barely hear his own words,“Would it be so bad to fall?”

Yet the demon and their hellhound moved past Purgatory Hall, and the moon remained as silent as ever. Luke sat in the quiet, in the dark of the Devildom until a ding from his D.D.D. lit up the device’s screen. It was a message from Mammon, asking if Luke wanted to go hunt faeries in the human world.

“Why can’t we all live in harmony, together?” Luke muttered, and this time he thought his scorching sunflower tilted its head towards him.

“It doesn’t feel very kind to keep everyone apart.”

── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

OBEY ME! MONTH MASTERLIST

#obey me month #day 17 #yes i'm going to start tagging these with the days more than halfway through come at me #obey me luke #obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #obey me fanfic

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misaverawrites · 1 year ago

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In the Heat of Your Electric Touch

((johnny silverhand x reader))

summary: you're the manager of SAMURAI, johnny talks to you about changing his image after some reflection since Alt died, you decide that he can do what’s best for him… and you might be it.

tags: no arasaka tower bombing, johnny is a good person, johnny has a body, rockerboy johnny silverhand, samurai stays together, fluff, alt’s death (mentioned), cursing, fluff, forehead kisses, NO PHANTOM LIBERTY SPOILERS

a/n: uhhhh, your honor, i am a 20 year old silly goose with a love for this man.

You stare out over the crowd from backstage, with wide smiles, music amplified by their singing as the bass vibrates through your teeth. You run a hand through your hair, just for a second, pushing away a rogue strand. You take a look at your phone, then back at the stage, where you find Johnny, looking at you with a wide and almost uncharacteristic grin, only to flash it back at the crowd, brandishing horns on his hand, the loud cheers from the crowd egging him on, bringing a small, but not, unwelcome smile to your face. Johnny loved what he did, no one could deny that, even if it seemed he only did it to further his own agenda at times. You knew better though, you and Johnny had spent too much time together on this tour for you to think too far against him.

“Alright, and we want to dedicate this encore to every single one of you!” You hear Kerry say from the stage, the wild roar from the crowd amplifying itself, you tend to watch the crowd more than anything during these shows, it was therapeutic, these people were the lifeblood of bands similar to SAMURAI , and you intended to keep them happy. As SAMURAI closes out their set, as well as Henry’s tab, some of the people start their slow, exhausted post-concert shuffle back out onto the streets of Night City, bags of SAMURAI merchandise in hand, you begin your clean-up, helping stage-hands move everything back onto the van.

“Hey, take a load off, they’ve got it.” You hear Johnny, and you shake your head. “Shouldn’t you be getting under the skirt of some barely-legal SAMURAI fangirl?” You joke and he rolls his eyes, “Fuck off,” he justifies himself, playfully all the same, until his tone gets a bit more serious in nature, “Besides, thinkin’ that’s not all too much my scene anymore.” You laugh, almost dropping the set piece in your hands. “Alright, I’m gonna hear you out, but it sounds like you just started talkin’ like one of those Maelstrom goons after they’ve had one too many implantations, what do you mean ?”

Johnny scoffs and takes the set piece from you, setting it down as he sits you down on the stage, the lingering fans vie successfully for Kerry’s attention, less so successfully for Johnny’s, his attention is all on you.

“I’m just… Fuckin’ sick of it, since Alt, since fuckin’ Arasaka, I don’t wanna ramble in those streets to a God who ain’t listenin’. Y’know?” You sigh and he puts his hand on top of yours, “I just want somethin’... Someone , even who makes me not want to shove an iron in my fuckin’ mouth.” You look at him, just for a second, as if he’s grown two heads, until you realize, from the way he’s looking at you, for once in his life, he’s serious . Your eyes widen a bit, does he mean you ? “It’s not your scene,” You say simply, it’s almost matter-of-fact in delivery.

“What if I wanted it to be?” He asks, that genuine tone of voice still there, he’s still Johnny, he knows what he wants, and he’s pushing for it. Not too hard, lest he drive you away, which is a change all in itself. “I’m the band’s manager, Johnny.” He rolls his eyes a bit, “You’ve been around Corpos a bit too long, babe,” You can’t help but love the way it sounds coming off his tongue, when it’s aimed towards you and not at another girl, “You know the fans don’t care, hell, they live for this stupid drama.” You can’t deny that. Your miles-long social media inbox, brimming with fans begging for any bit of gossip, said that all on its own. You smile a bit, “I mean, if you’re saying it could be your scene, then who am I to fight that, Johnny?” He grins, it’s a big, goofy grin unlike you’d ever seen before from him, “Shit, if you’re willing to allow it, then I guess I’d better not fuck it up.” You and him pause for a moment, not realizing how close the two of you are to one another, bodies pressed tightly against one another, you feel his eyes flicker to your lips for just a moment, until you, for once decide, fuck it . You pull Johnny in and kiss him, he’s warm, warmer than you’d expected whenever you thought about this, his hands meet your elbows awkwardly, he doesn’t know what to do here, and neither do you, really. His lips are chapped against yours and he tastes of cigarettes and tequila, a dangerously addictive combination that makes you want him more and more. You feel his hand suddenly brush against your hair and support the underside of your mouth, giving him more access to your mouth as he deepens the kiss, and everything else is simply null and void, besides him and you.

Until you hear the familiar sound of Kerry, clearing his throat, “Hey, both of you!” He calls, actually subtle for him, as the two of you pull away awkwardly, as though the two of you are teenagers, trying to act cool after being caught getting hot and heavy in a dark movie theater. “We’ve gotta go, bar wants us out, but you two can keep going on the tour bus, cool?” Your skin flushes and you avoid direct eye contact with Kerry, as Johnny chuckles awkwardly, despite himself, trying to keep any sense of his usually un-poised yet still collected poise. You nod, turning to look back at Johnny, who does the same to you, as you both share a small laugh with one another, you playfully push him without any real force, as he wraps his ‘ganic arm around you, kissing your forehead softly as the two of you get onto the tour bus together.

#johnny silverhand x reader #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2020 #cyberpunk red #cyberpunk 2077 fanfiction #johnny silverhand #keanu reeves #fanfiction #fanfic #writers of tumblr #ao3 fanfic #fanfic writing #ao3 writer

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sanjisluvbot · 2 years ago

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Spending time with Yandere Strawhats x Black Fem reader

AN: Hello and welcome new readers, this is slightly a part three to my Isekai series and as I publish this I am thinking about creating separate fics for each of the characters below. If you want to be on a tag list I’ll add you 🫶🏽🫵🏽

MINI SPOILERS BTW

Luffy was the main source of light for your adventure. You hung out with him mostly in the middle of the day when the sun was at its peak. Other times it’s at the end of the day just before Sanji calls you in for the last meal. Those are your favorites, words don’t need to be spoken when you and Luffy are sitting on the head of the Sunny. At least not the words either of you want to hear at the moment. So you both sit in silence enjoying the false sense of bliss.

Luffy sits next to you in all meals, since you’re the favorite, he wouldn’t dare steal food from you.. most of the time of course. The first mate will always be to the other side of you as well neither taking their gaze off of you as if you were nothing but prey.

When you’re all on islands only few are assigned to take care of you and watch you. Nami, Robin, Zoro, Sanji and Jimbei, the rest couldn’t be trusted to not fall for you in their naivety.

When you were able to go adventure with Luffy you had more of a chance to escape when he was distracted by surroundings. However that didn’t last long, it was as if he had eyes on the back of his head. He would know exactly where you were hiding no matter what.

You got better at hiding behind a fake smile the more you hung out with Luffy. It was never a pretty sight with any of the crew when you angered them by mentioning your “ home”

Luffy would usually ignore you when you’d talk about home, he didn’t care about the past he just wanted to enjoy the present with all his friends. But those times you got under his skin he made your life a living hell.

Zoro wasn’t one to really welcome most with open arms especially with the way you ended up with the crew.

Zoro was one who put you in edge the most because even having one eye shut the man’s gaze makes one fully understand that if he wanted to he would end your life.

However that barley lasted a full week, after he found out you both had a love for drinking he made it a mission to get under your skin in the best ways he could. Always checking up on you, rescuing you when you’re in danger, wanting to play drinking games after dinner, and napping on the deck with him on warm days.

On new islands you would go pair off with Zoro, in order to fall into the shadows and disappear from the strawhat crew forever. However, Zoro was resilient, he always held your hand and never took that menacing eye away for more than a second.

You’ve tried to reason with him once when you both were drunk off your asses in the aquarium. “ I want to ask you something.. Zoro” with a heavy sigh he turned to face you from his spot on the floor. “ Why do you like to bother me when we are like this? You’re gonna ruin a good time”

His gaze was so intense making you gulp and turn away while his eye burned into your skull. It’s very unfortunate that this man is so attractive. “ I know it’s a lot to ask but-” “ Then don’t ask me I don’t have an answer to satisfy you y/n” you could tell when he was really inebriated, his hard exterior was down and he spoke to you with such a soft voice.

You and Nami spent most of your time together in her office. You liked to write and paint and she had tons of paper and ink.

Tanning on the Sunny was an essential it felt like you had a real girlfriend, you did your spa days together and talked about anything to come to mind. Sharing baths always made you blush since she would take the time to pamper you and scrub your scalp when it was wash day.

Nami had always been a great actor, that’s how she was able to survive those many years alone and ostracized from her family and friends. Bringing up home around her means waterworks.

It also means being punished by the whole crew because she told everyone you were thinking of an escape.

She loved taking you shopping, you were her little doll she wanted to dress up and take care of. She didn’t want to loose anyone else close to her which is exactly why she would go as far as getting you punished for a few days in order to make sure you can stay with her forever.

Ussop was the one you could relate to the most. You both were very similar in terms of being considered the weakest onboard and among other things.

Spending time with Ussop meant sometimes spending time with Chopper and Luffy playing games and pranks on crew members.

You learned about his garden and eventually started helping him take care of that. He spoke in depth about what he learned over the last two years and how his new seeds worked.

He turned you into a little inventor, bringing you under his wing and you were willing to learn anything and everything. You almost felt bad knowing the real reason you wanted to learn from him.

Sanji was enamored with you to the fullest extent. He is usually head over heels for anything that walks his way with boobs but you, you sparked something in him.

Spending time with Sanji meant you didn’t have to lift a finger because he waited on you hand and foot.

Sanji loved to have you perched on his side when he was cooking so you can taste everything and stroke his ego. He was such a charmer and you both got along so well since it was obvious you both had a soft spot for one another.

One islands like water seven you would pair off with him and go and explore the city and help him buy groceries. This is one of the main reasons out of all the Yandere Strawhats Sanji is the most obsessed. To him, those times were dates and godforbid something happened to you or you decided to leave him he would spiral.

When you used to talk about going home or one of the other crew members would tell him about things you been doing ( escape attempts ) he would get so angry his eyebrow going from left to right. This would cause Zoro and him to fight more often due to him wanting to take his anger out on anything.

Robin was the main one to keep you on your toes. Her eyes always let you know when to stop talking.

Spending time with Robin meant you were able to read a variety of books and inhaling knowledge just as she does. When you looked at books that resembles your situation she was always over your shoulder or had an eye pop up somewhere on your body.

“ Interesting book there y/n would you let me read it when your done?” Her smile never fully reached her eyes on most occasions which always left you drenched in a cold sweat because you knew.

You knew that escaping with someone like Robin on the crew was more than difficult, but you pushed that past you when you hung out. Sanji would bring tea and treats to the library and there would be soft music playing in the background.

Robin was serenity when you ignored the silent threats.

Spending time with the whole crew was usually meal times or when you had important business on an island.

Everyone bounced off each others conversations they truly stuck together like glue which is the main reason you’ve been with them so long.

No matter what the conversations always gravitated towards you. Each sharing their stories of time you spent together or future plans they had with you. Some of which you hadn’t even agreed to ( yet ).

It is hard to escape from a crew that you already ran away from once, they’d be damned if they let it happen twice.

#zoro x black reader #x black fem reader #platonic yandere #yandere strawhats #mugiwara crew #luffy x black reader #ussop x reader #one piece x reader #Nami x black fem reader #nico robin #Nico Robin x black fem reader #sanji x black reader #one piece headcanons #straw hat pirates

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writefullyrobin · 6 days ago

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No spoilers past 2x10 if possible folks!

2x04 – Stuck thoughts

I have a feeling I’ll be saying this a lot but Christopher is seriously the cutest kid! That opening morning routine scene with him and Eddie was so sweet I think it gave me cavities.

I love when drunk people get ideas. They come up with the weirdest, most random things. Like sticking your dead in a truck’s tail pipe!

Athena’s plot was interesting. I think everyone whose been in the same job for a long time can empathise with the career choice dilemma. Do you stay where you’re comfortable or risk some changes? We’re always told to aim higher but sometimes higher isn’t where you’re meant to be and can actually restrict you doing what you enjoy. I think she made a good choice. She needs to be out there doing stuff. Plus, can you imagine Athena with a partner? I can’t.

How did Chimney get his name? I’m assuming an actual chimney was involved in some for or another. Is this one of those pieces of lore that just never get explained and are a permanent mystery because I would be OK with that.

I’m very relieved Chim has no lasting consequences of the rebar through the brain. Hilarious he ran into his ex at this hospital. His very pregnant ex. You could literally see the maths running through his head when he realised that. I’m with Hen though. Chim can be the bigger person and forgive her. I’m going to hold a grudge for her being a cold hearted bitch.

Ah, Chim does remember the accident. I had wondered because he was very, very conscious throughout. Super sad he’s been holding onto all that grief – only word I can think to use that represents his reaction. I hope now he’s started to process though he can move on with.

Like Buck needs to start doing with Abby! I mean, seriously, I liked Abby well enough in season 1 but she’s practically ghosting him now. She sounds like she’s moved on, he needs to too.

Carla’s back!! Oh I missed that sunshine smile of hers! And she’s going to be looking after Christopher? Awesome!!

Do I dare ask this because I’m really not sure if I’m jumping the gun or misreading considering it’s only ep 4 but Buck helping Eddie out like he did with Chris, arranging it with Bobby so he can come to the station for the day, arranging a meeting with Carla… is this Buck stepping into it with Eddie, like he tried hard to for Abby and her mom last season after that chat with Bobby?

And Maddie directly called out Buck for his boy crush! Firstly, that is such a big sister thing to do (I know, I’ve done it myself) and secondly, this is TV. They’re not going to waste a second on pointless dialogue banter if they didn’t want it to be relevant. It’s not a novel.

Screw it. I had my friend look up the ship name for Buck and Eddie (Buddie – I like it!) so I didn’t accidentally see any spoilers and I’m tagging it going forward because its been 4 eps and these two are already ridiculous and living in my head rent free. You don’t want to read me gushing, block me.

#robin watches #911 abc #911 fox #911 season 2 #athena grant #bobby nash #chimney han #evan buckley #hen wilson #maddie buckley #eddie diaz #bathena #henren #911 buddie #buddie

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dnpbeats · 29 days ago

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everything they've said so far regarding the subject has been that they don't wanna breech that line and jeopardise their privacy. every night on tour they talk about the importance of privacy and even though its kind of their brand and we know you know, they don't want to go that far. they've said it so many times so I don't know why everyone always thinks they'll hard launch

I was gonna make a joke about TIT but it’s a spoiler so I won’t bc I don’t wanna have to tag this whole post lmao

but anyway lol I understand what you are saying, I used to think the exact same thing. But I also think in the past year since the gaming channel comeback things have changed. Like, a year ago, did you think they’d ever play a game explicitly made for couples at all, let alone play it without being all like “🤪 we’re playing it as friends 🤪”. Did you think they would tell somebody asking for breakup advice that they “missed the memo” and say they aren’t qualified to give advice on that? I also think it’s important to remember that what dan said in BIG (and phil said in one of his q&as, I think in 2021) about not divulging any information about their relationship was like, more than a couple years ago at this point, and before they brought back the gaming channel and entered into this new era. I know recently they have said “no that’s private ❤️” in that interview but that doesn’t really count because if they are going to hard launch they of course aren’t gonna do that in a random magazine interview

I also said this in another post (I think when I was talking about marriage hill 💀💀 lmao) but I think too that the way they have talked about keeping their private life private is very indicative of the relationship they’ve had with their fans and the internet as a whole. Dan said in BIG he didn’t want to talk about his relationships bc he wants to be able to fuck up in private, and phil said that he wants to keep that to himself bc it’s hard to close that door once it opens. Those are points of view that come from years of fans and other ppl alike constantly trying to prove this and that about you and your relationship. I don’t mean this in a disparaging way, because I think it was accurate for the time they said these things, but it’s a view that is formed by poor boundaries with your audience. I think it’s obvious (to me) that in recent years but especially the past year, they really have gotten a grip on like, how to create boundaries btwn themselves and their content, their fans, the general public, etc. because they are more in control now of their public image than they ever have been, I wouldn’t be shocked if some of their fears they had before have dissipated. I think now they’ve figured out to share what they wanna share and how to be like “no stfu” when people come digging for more

so that’s all to say, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if their opinion on being explicitly out about their relationship has changed, because even if they come out with that they’d still feel like they can control how much of it they share

(also let’s say theoretically they actually are for real getting married, that’s public info, so if they wanted to come out on their own terms (i.e. not have their marriage leaked) they would have to hard launch before it)

#anon #ask #dan and phil #d&p #phan

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aerequets · 2 years ago

Note

Hello again!

I was wondering if you had any spy x family fic recs that are twiyor centric? AUs? I’m having trouble finding ones that are what I’m looking for. Ratings don’t matter. Anything from G to E would be appreciated! Thank you!!

boy oh BOY do i have twiyor fic recs !!!! it's like basically all i read LMAO and i am always on a hunt for more. i feel like i have read through a good chunk of what's on ao3 and i still feel starved. there's always my bookmarks you can sift through for twiyor fics, but for some more curated recommendations (and this is not gonna include all the ones i've lost my mind over, that's far too many, this is just what i can remember off the top of my head):

the living blues by @nire-the-mithridatist

GOD it would be such an understatement to say i am a huge fan of not only this work but EVERY WORK by this author because SHE HAS A WAY WITH WORDS OKAY. i avoid angst like the plague but i saw the happy ending tag to this fic and IT DIDN'T DISAPPOINT (chapter 6 is gonna be an epilogue)!!!!!!! AUGHHH this isnt even a good review im just yelling but yeah this is really good and also pretty much everything else by this author, i'll say it now so this list doesn't have numerous fics by the same person just do yourself a favor and read through what she's got if you haven't already

rated T, 5/6 chapters, currently 14k words

(edit: completed!)

With Kid Gloves by crownofrosegold on ao3

4 words: Mr Darcy Hand Flex

rated G, 1/2 chapters, currently 2.5k words

(edit: completed!)

the most yearning, pining, longing fic ever with the least physical touch ever. loid traces yor's gloves in his pocket with his thumb and its somehow intimate. yeah

it's been a hot minute since it's updated but the first chap can kinda be read as a standalone (to me) which is why i rec, even though i personally only go after finished fics for my own sanity :^) also its just too darn cute how can i not

How to Be a Supportive Husband by @nemaliwrites

rated T, 1/1 chapters, 910 words

short and sweet drabble of the most simpiest loid post reveal. what more could you want

MISSION: Bottom Feeder by SilverSupa on ao3

rated T, 2/4 chapters, currently 9.5k words

this one is just too good and funny LMAOO yor and loid are Peak Stupid and also Peak Attracted To Each Other so it's just. mm good mix. this one's also been a hot second since it's last update but i love it too much so its on this list

even when we're not together (will you stay with me?) by JaMills on ao3

rated T, 1/1 chapters, 4.5k words

gosh this is another one of those super good reads that make you sit and think after you're done. soulmate AU where they swap bodies as children until they meet. personally i'm not the most dedicated reader of aus where yor and loid meet as kids, but the way its handled here is just so good and adds to the story. it's also part of a series and the next installment is equally as good. this is another one of those authors that has a lot of quality stuff (although there's a good dash of angst which i keep my distance from JKFHISDH) so look through their page!

Enough by Frotu on ao3

rated T, 1/1 chapters, 4k words

EHEHE THIS ONE HAS ME GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET FR it is soooo cute. typical thing of yors coworkers getting into her head, she asks loid if what they have is enough, and... well.... you can read what happens from there ;] (spoiler: it's very cute)

a dream in charmeuse by selfetish (@selfetishizing ) on ao3

rated T, 2/2 chapters, 12k words

oh gosh, the prose in this is just?? so insanely good??? its such a pretty read. this is twiyor, yes, but it's also a deep dive into femininity and yor's understanding/rediscovery of it. i remember the first time i read it the opening scene of the first chapter was just so GOOD to me, i was like OMG i am not gonna forget this this is so iconic AND IT IS!!!!! i love me a good yor centric fic. we usually get more of twilight contemplation (i mean he has got the whole mission thing going on and hes our resident overthinker so, understandable) but this was such a nice look into yor's..,, like, fundamental building blocks?? if that makes sense?? its just good ok read it

"The Five Times Loid Forger Went Topless In Front of His Wife and the One Time She Reciprocated" Or “Bare-Chested in Berlint” by Talik_Sanis on ao3

rated M, 6/6 chapters, 17.5k words

that title should tell you all you need to know right LMAOOO it's just yor being incredibly horny, like embarrassingly so. she lacks a grip

again this is just 8 fics, where my bookmarks list are over 200 (yeesh) so feel free to look through those. i've also got some fics, most of which are twiyor lmao (brainrot i told you). and don't forget to show these awesome authors some love!

#fic recs #sxf fic #spy x family #sxf #spy x family fic #fanfic

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damn-stark · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 8 The worlds a little blurry

Chapter 8 of Sugar

A/N- I’m not saying to keep the training scene with Satoru in mind, but do it because it will come into play later?

Warning- Swearing, fluff, ANGST!!!, VIOLENCE, Blood and gore, death, spoilers, long chapter.

Pairing- Suguru Geto x Gojo!fem-reader, Choso x Gojo!fem-reader

Episode- Half of 2x05

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

*A YEAR LATER. 2007*

“Here we go!” Shoko exclaims before she and Suguru hurl school supplies at your brother. And of course, only the eraser hits his forehead, whilst the pencil Suguru threw stops because of Satoru’s infinity.

Which is ridiculous by the way, he’s much harder to torment with his infinity on all the time nowadays.

“Yeah, it’s working,” Satoru says as he grabs the floating pencil.

“Ugh,” Shoko groans. “What the heck was that?”

“Automatic selection of targets for your Jujutsu technique?” Suguru questions from behind you.

Satoru nods. “Yup. Though, to be precise I’m the target for the technique,” he explains, making you sigh out of boredom and lean back against Suguru’s legs.

Why does your brother want you here again? To watch him show off? It’s really annoying when he doesn’t explain things right off the bat.

“I’ve automated what I used to do manually,” he continues to say. “Now it can discern an object's danger level based on the strength of its cursed energy, its mass, its velocity, and its shape. I’d like to get it to discern poisons, too, but that’s still proving to be difficult. This will allow me to keep my Limitless technique active almost perpetually with minimal resources.”

“Having it perpetually active will fry your brain,” Shoko points out exactly what you worried about when he told you a couple days back.

“But I can also keep running the reverse cursed technique with the energy I generate on my own,” Satoru explains to her exactly what he told you. “So I’m constantly giving it a fresh brain to work with. I’d already been working on shortening my hand seals. That’s nailed now, too. So I can also activate multiple instances of Blue and Red simultaneously. The only remaining hurdles are Domain Expansion and teleportation over long distances. I should be able to get that down if we set up some courses without any obstacles in Jujutsu High. Shoko,” he calls out and leans forward. “Could you lend me some lab rats?”

“Uh…” she questions. “Well, you have y/n here.”

You furrow your eyebrows and throw your hands up slightly to retort. “Hey!”

Shoko snickers and you roll your eyes before you then shoot your brother a smirk. “What about my cursed technique? Will you learn to protect yourself against me?” You tease him. “With the right amount of power I could definitely break through your infinity.”

Satoru turns his head towards you and tilts his head down before he scoffs. “As if,” he counters smugly. “You’d never be able to hurt me.”

You don’t let that tear you down, you actually grow smug too. “I don’t know man, the air definitely can. I am getting stronger.”

So much so that just last week you got assigned to a mission with your brother, and Yaga says you’ll get assigned to more together because he says your techniques work well together. Which must mean something because the only way your brother and you get assigned to missions together is for the rare group missions you get assigned to.

You still are getting assigned with Nanami and Haibara because you are in the same class, and your teamwork is absurdly well. But it does seem like you’re finally growing strength wise.

It makes you wonder what your parents think about it?

“Well we’ll see won’t we?” Satoru counters your comment. “That’s actually why I asked you to be here,” he finally reveals. “I need you to hit me with your cursed technique.”

You pull your shades down and grin at him. “Oh? You should’ve said that from the beginning!” You exclaim and push yourself away from Suguru to summon air to your hand as you raise it to get ready to lash at him.

However, he throws the eraser at you as he interjects. “Not yet, idiot.”

You pout with disappointment and watch the eraser fall at your feet.

“Suguru,” Satoru calls out next. “Have you lost weight? You okay?”

Your smile fades at the sound of his comment, and when you peer back at your boyfriend you frown with pity. He looks exhausted—well you’ve noticed that he’s looked exhausted for a while now. Just like you’ve noticed that he’s lost weight too.

You like to think it’s just overwork, getting assigned to missions alone must be exhausting, but the truth is you’ve noticed that something has been wrong with Suguru a couple of months after Toji Fushiguro killed Riko; after you entered that damn non-sorcerer cult who cheered over the death of an innocent girl. At first it was subtle signs like sleepless nights, things that you told yourself not to worry about, stuff he told you not to worry about. But he then began to grow distant with your friends, with you. He often lacked motivation, he didn’t show affection, and if he did it almost felt forced, like it cost him a lot of energy.

Suguru also smiled a lot less, and his eyes…his dark eyes have begun to look dull. You try and try to make him feel better, you try to help him in any way you can without pressuring him, but he keeps pushing you away. He’s like a…fading light at the end of a tunnel, no matter how much you want it to reach it, the light grows smaller and smaller.

It hurts, it really does, but he’s not accepting help, so you’re respecting his choice and just trying your best to be there for him in the best way you can. You love him after all. You don’t want to give up on him.

“It’s just heat fatigue,” Suguru assures Satoru. “I’ll be fine.”

“Did you eat too much somen?” Satoru asks cluelessly. Which leads you to wonder if he’s finally noticed Suguru’s distance too. You have brought up your concern for Suguru, but Satoru brushed you off saying Suguru was just exhausted. You’ve never tried since. Especially because as of late Satoru is often busy. Being the strongest comes with a lot of responsibility after all.

You just hope Suguru will feel better soon, that he’ll let you help him at the very least.

“Anyway, y/n, hit me.” Satoru calls for your attention, but you let your eyes linger on Suguru.

He seems to notice and meets your gaze, so you offer him a soft smile. Suguru blinks in surprise before he gives you a faint half smile before he looks away again and loses his gaze on Satoru.

It makes you want to embrace him, give him a small peck, or pull him aside, but your brother steals your attention again. “Hit me with something small, something normal.”

You swallow back before you sigh and return your attention to your brother. “Define normal?” You pick on his comment since it makes no sense.

“Just hit me with your air whiplash,” he explains in annoyance. “Something not too strong, just something you use on, uh, low curses.”

You blow out air and effortlessly summon air to form on your palm, causing the dirt and dust on the ground to pick up softly.

“Okay,” you warn your brother. “Here it goes.” You then proceed to fling your wrist. And just as the orb leaves your hand you manage to maneuver it into a curved line that you lash out at him instead.

But of course the air doesn’t even touch him, it breaks apart around him and flutters away.

“See you can’t touch me,” Satoru rebuttals with a cocky smirk.

You scoff with discontent and stand up. “Okay, all powerful sorcerer, let me hit you with all I got,” you challenge him as you begin to summon more air to your palm.

Satoru snickers and lifts his chin. “Hit me with all you got sis.”

You shoot him a grin and make the still air turn to strong gusts of wind that make Shoko shield her head from the dirt you pick up. You then shift a foot back and draw in a deep breath as the orb in your hand grows.

Satoru places a hand on his hip and looks at you with nonchalance which gets you fired up.

“We are in a courtyard you two,” Shoko points out loudly so she can be heard over the howling wind. “Whatever you break you have to replace—then again it’s not like it’ll make a dent in your money.”

“Ready?” You ask Satoru.

Your brother nods, but just before you can hit him you get a message so you check that first and actually lose all concentration as you see that it's an old non-sorcerer friend.

“Oh my god!” You exclaim. “Satoru guess who just texted me?!” You run over to him and show him the name on the phone. “It’s Suki!” You face your friends and grin. “Suki is Satoru’s ex-girlfriend from our junior high days.”

“Oh right!” Your brother exclaims. “She was your best friend, I completely blanked.”

You roll your eyes and scoff. “Yeah, my best friend, I told you not to date.”

Shoko slouches as she snickers. “Please tell me you got him back for that.”

You flash her a grin and skip back to her. “Oh totally, I dated this rival he had, he was—”

“An asshole,” Satoru finishes for you, which you agree to.

“But,” you add. “He did have long dark red hair he’d dye all the time,” you say thoughtfully whilst you put your phone away.

“Long hair?” Shoko questions. “Oh so it’s like that?”

You blink in confusion and query. “What?”

Shoko glances back at Suguru and snickers. “Oh nothing. Just an observation.”

You look at Suguru, and he meets your gaze to share the same confusion. Albeit his confusion isn’t so prominent on his face.

“I don’t understand,” you mutter and glance back at Shoko. “Elaborate.”

“Well isn’t it obvious you have a thing for guys with…” before you can finish hearing what she had to say her voice trails off as you get startled by an arm thrown around your throat.

There’s only one person not accounted for in front of you; your fucking brother. So it isn’t hard to guess who it was.

“Get the fuck off me you psycho!” You grimace as you grip his arm to try and pull it off.

Your brother chuckles. “You said you wanted to train more. I have time, we’re training.”

You try to kick back, but he easily evades your kicks.

“Satoru,” Suguru finally breaks his silence.

Said man groans. “Don’t worry, Suguru, I'm just helping her because an enemy will never announce when they’re moving against you now will they—“ he comes to a sudden halt as you bite down on his arm after you realize his infinity is off.

It’s the only way his arm would actually touch you.

“What the hell?!” Satoru exclaims and lets go of you to walk back in disbelief. “Did you bite me?”

You do what he wanted this time and summon fast and strong gusts of air to your hand quicker than before. You then spin around without warning and lash it out at him.

You can’t tell if it hit him at all because you proceed to charge at him.

Just before you can reach him though you jump up high above the buildings that surround you. Satoru doesn’t hesitate to smirk before he steps back and jumps up too to try and meet you halfway in mid-air. However, before he can reach you, you counter him by spinning around in the air as you summon wind to your foot to lash out a sharp and strong curved line of air from your foot.

And it seems that some gusts of wind seem to travel through the infinity because he falters in the air.

Nevertheless, it’s not enough to knock him back to the ground or catch him completely off guard because just as you’re turning your body to face him again in the air, your brother grabs ahold of your ankle and quickly flips you around to throw you back to the ground.

And since he is a lot stronger and faster you fail at landing on your feet and land on your back.

The impact hurts, but you muster a playful smile before he lands over you and immediately grabs you by the collar of your jumpsuit to lift your head off the ground.

“Satoru,” Shoko calls out with worry while he raises his fist over you.

Neither of you try to assure her, you look into each other's eyes with no ill feeling, just playful undertones as you wait for him to land a finishing hit.

He doesn’t however, he hesitates, so you take advantage of this moment and gather air to your hand before you slam your hand on his throat, causing him to be thrown back whilst the air in his lungs is knocked out.

“Fuck,” you chuckle and push yourself up, seeing that your brother only landed a foot away from you since your techqinue isn’t strong, and well, he is strong.

“That was a rush. You like that move though?” You ask as you walk over to him. “I call it a knockout. As long as I can touch your throat I can use my cursed technique to throw you back and manipulate the air in your body to knock it out of your lungs.” You chuckle. “Of course, it only works if that person or thing has cursed energy. Otherwise, pft.” You stop and see your brother catching his breath.

“You hesitated,” you point out smugly before you offer him your hand.

Satoru sighs with defeat, but he doesn’t hesitate to slap his hand on yours to let you help him up.

Once he’s on his feet his frown breaks into a proud grin. “Are you okay?” He asks as he slaps his hands on your shoulders.

You nod. “Nothing RCT won’t fix,” you assure him, and instinctively put your hand back so he can give you a high-five.

“Nice work,” he compliments you. “Of course sloppy but good thinking. Plus some of that air did touch me.”

“Well,” you point out as you begin to walk back to your friends now standing on the stone steps. “Air travels fast. So I'm not surprised some gusts of air did touch you. I mean I know it’s not much, but it is some.”

“Keep working on that,” he adds. “And you’ll actually be able to knock me down.”

You smile and turn around to walk back and face him. “Don’t make yourself an easy target though,” you tell him. “It doesn’t matter if I’m your sister.”

Satoru laughs softly. “Trust me I won’t,” he rebuttals.

You reach the step below Suguru and spin around on your heels to face him. However, you notice that he’s on his phone so you wait to speak to him.

“I’ll just say this,” Shoko interjects. “I'm sure a lot of people would pay a lot of money to watch you two fight.”

You lean towards Suguru to press your cheek against his shoulder as you respond to Shoko. “If I were to win, would you quit smoking?” You tease her.

Shoko narrows her gaze on you for a moment while she thinks.

“If you lose, would you smoke?” She rebuttals.

You laugh. “You sound like an addict. Answer me first.” Because jokes on her, you've already smoked with Suguru. You didn’t like the smell it left on your fingers, but you didn’t feel as disgusted that time.

“Fine,” Shoko says with a sigh. “If you were to win I would quit smoking.”

You smile at her brightly. “Ah, good then I’ll make sure to win,” you assure her. Which probably is no comfort at all to her, but you still do so confidently.

“I’d like to see that,” Satoru taunts.

“You will,” you remark. “I’ll beat you. One day.”

Satoru laughs softly and nods. “All right I like the sound of that.”

You smile softly and then back up to look at Suguru.

He has his phone down now and looks at you this time around. Albeit there's something off about the way he looks at you right now that makes your heart jump with gut-wrenching worry.

“I have to leave for my mission now,” he announces to you and the others.

You sigh sadly. “It’s already time?” You complain.

Suguru hums in agreement softly and focuses solely on you now. “Can we talk before I leave?”

Your smile falters as you detect how much colder his voice is. “Yeah, sure,” you answer hesitantly.

Suguru nods softly before he takes your hand and begins pulling you away gently.

“Be careful, Suguru!” Saturo yells out. “Text me!”

Suguru throws back a wave to his friend and doesn’t bother to look back. He doesn't bother to make conversation with you either, and since you feel worry grow within you, you stay quiet too.

It’s only once you're in the tunnel exit that he finally stops walking and faces you with that same gloomy look. Albeit now he can’t even meet you in the eyes.

“Is everything okay?” You ask softly as you grab ahold of his bicep.

Suguru nods stiffly. “Yeah,” he mutters.

You don’t believe him, but you know you won’t get anything else, so you move on. “How long is your mission? You didn’t tell me. Maybe we can do something when you come back home?” You ask.

Suguru swallows thickly and shakes his head. “Y/N...I don’t think this going to work.”

You scoff softly. “I can go to your room, that’s fine. I can even have some food waiting for you. Hm?”

“No,” he counters softly and slowly lifts his gaze to look at you with a long frown and a sorrowful look. “I mean, we have to break up.”

The smile on your smile immediately falls, and your heart sinks. You know you heard him right, there’s nothing going around you to make you mishear him, but you still don’t want to believe those tragic words that just came out of his mouth. “I,” you gasp and let go of his arm. “I don’t understand.”

Tears fill your eyes, and your mind itself begins to race, leaving no room for coherent thoughts.

“D-did I do something wrong?” You ask as you fight the need to cry. “I know things haven’t been the same but Suguru I can help you, just let me help you, please.”

Suguru let’s out a deep breath and looks at the ground to shake his head. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong, y/n

I need you to understand that,” he says and meets your gaze. “You were good, I just…I can’t do this anymore. You deserve better than me.”

Better than him? What does that even mean? He is good, he’s the best, he’s your world.

“No,” you argue and step forward to pull his hand out of his pockets. “I don’t want anyone else, I just want you. Suguru…please talk to me, I’m right here, please.”

Suguru steps back and sighs. “I can’t,” he continues to say. “I can’t drag you along with me anymore. I’m letting you go, y/n. It’s for you own good.”

Tears slip out of your eyes and frustration begins to grow within you over his vague explanations. “You’re being selfish,” you remark. “What do you know about what I need? You keep pushing me away. Everytime…every single time I-I try to get close you push me away. So you can’t tell me what I need.”

Due to your upbringing, it’s hard for you to express yourself in any way, anger, happiness, sadness. Satoru has kind of changed that because he lets you talk to him, but even then when you get frustrated expressing yourself is hard and usually turns to tears. So to express this kind of anger without breaking into a sobbing mess is truly significant. It even surprises you, but anger is all you can feel at this very moment as you face the man you love, as you try to progress the words he’s using to break your heart, as you look into his dark eyes that hide sorrow behind that hard serious expression.

“What I need,” you mutter and step forward with more tears. “Is for you to give me a good reason. We said we’d be honest, please be honest with me.” You clutch your chest and look at him helplessly and hurt. “Please, Suguru.”

Said man holds your gaze for a second before he averts his eyes and nods stiffly. “I did tell you the truth. That was it. I can’t be with you, and you can’t be with me. Not as I am, so please just let it go. For your own sake, y/n.”

You feel physically ill, like you’re going to throw up, or have some kind of attack with the way your heart is racing.

“So that’s it then? That shitty ass excuse?” You cry softly and step back. “Look at me,” you whisper as if you’re out of breath.

Suguru blinks and does as you ask.

“Is that it?” You ask whilst you begin to hear tires approach at the end of the tunnel.

Suguru doesn’t say anything, but you leave him space to explain himself, to give you something better than what you got. You deserve something better, no? All the love you have, the memories you share, the moments you lived need to mean something, no?

You express that all with your watery gaze and with your lips parted ready to fight back. And you know he knows that.

But even still, he leaves you just like that.

“Okay. I…” you try to find something to say but all your anger disappears now just as fast as it came. “I,” that’s all you can muster in your disbelief and growing ache.

“Y/N,” Suguru whispers.

You sniffle and look to see the manager pull up to take Suguru away to his mission, so you step back with your lips parted and your hands trembling.

Suguru steps forward to try and what? Assure you after he broke your heart?

Fuck him.

You turn around and storm away without letting him say anything else, without saying anything else yourself.

You just can’t think anymore, it all hurts, this pain like no other completely overwhelms you to the point you can’t even shed another tear.

You know he’s struggling with something he doesn’t want to say, but you thought he’d be someone who didn��t give up regardless. You thought he’d be someone to give you something more than some shitty excuse, but he wasn’t, he isn’t.

He ended it just like that, everything, a years worth of a relationship is over because of something you don’t even know about. Some selfish reason.

It’s all over…

So what do you do now? You don’t know what to do. You can’t go back to where Satoru is, you’ll break and you don’t want to break and start drama. You can’t go on a mission today because you didn’t get assigned to one. You need to do something…

“Y/N!” You hear Shoko shout.

Shit, shit.

You stop just before you can reach the dorms and draw in a deep breath to try and hide your agony. You can’t cry, so it should be good. Right?

“Back already?” Your friend laughs as she catches up to you. “I’m surprised.”

You exhale and slap on a nonchalant look before you turn and face her with a tiny smile. “Yeah,” you breathe out. “I’m back.”

Shoko stops before you and meets your gaze with a smirk. You smile at her but as you look into your friends eyes your smile begins to tremble and those tears that dried up due to your disbelief come rushing back.

Shoko notices right away and her face falls with concern. “Whoa, is everything okay?” She asks right away and reaches her hand over to grab your arm.

You part your lips and fight your tears as you nod. Shoko scoffs and holds your gaze to try and read what has you on the brink of tears after you saw someone who never fails to make you smile.

She struggles a bit but she then understands what happened without needing you to explain. You wouldn't be crying otherwise.

“Oh,” she breathes out and doesn’t fail to throw her arms around you, causing you to finally break and sob—“he’s an asshole. He is.”

You try to speak, but nothing comes out but a soft whimper as you hug her back tightly.

“Come on,” she whispers and pulls back with her hand sliding down to grab yours. “Let’s go inside. I have all your favorite things in there.”

You’ve had girl friends before, you have cousins, but never one as important as Shoko. Out of everyone, she’s the only one who's touched your heart, the only one you’ve grown to love.

“Here,” Shoko mumbles and sits you down on her bed. “I'll bring the fuzzy socks and the cigarettes? No,” she scoffs to herself. “Alcohol? Fuck…” she trails off and walks to her drawer full of snacks and other things you both may need when you sync up on your periods.

“Ah, never mind, I found just the thing.” She pulls out a pack of your favorite snacks and throws them on the bed along with other things she has stored inside.

“I will take a beer,” you mumble as you put the fuzzy socks on your feet. “And maybe…”

Shoko swipes baggy shirts off her rack and throws them on the bed, making you smile softly over the fact that she already knew. It makes you grateful for her.

“So,” you interject as you put the baggy shirt on. “Have you decided to go on another date with that guy from Kyoto?” You ask her.

Shoko walks over to leave the beers on the bed while she also begins to change. “Yeah,” she mutters. “I decided I’ll go for it, I mean why not? He was a lot of fun.”

You sniffle and lay back on the bed with a pack of snacks and a cold beer in hand. “That’s good…dates are a lot of fun…” you trail off and feel tears fill your eyes all over again.

Now you try to hold yourself back, try to think of something else, but you can’t help the emotions from coming out like word vomit. “Do you think he stopped loving me?”

Shoko hops around to face you whilst she puts shorts on, and proceeds to sigh deeply before she responds with a reassuring tone. “No, I don’t think so. I just think there’s more going on with Suguru. But I don’t think he stopped loving you.” She finishes changing into her comforting clothes and jumps on the bed beside you with her beer and savory snacks.

“Maybe you were right,” you bring up as you drag yourself to sit up and lean your back against the wall. “Dating people you see everyday was a terrible idea. I’m going to have to see him all the time now…it’s going to be so awkward.”

Shoko sighs again and opens your beer can for you since your manicured nails get in the way. “Well,” she says. “I don’t know, maybe I wasn’t right.”

You take the beer and look over at her. “You were,” you correct her.

Shoko grabs her own beer and then meets your gaze. “Well, it depends, doesn't it?” She asks as she opens her own beer.

You sniffle and look at her puzzled. However, you don’t get to ask before she explains herself. “I just mean, Suguru looks like he’s going through something, you can’t blame him for that because some people like that just think it’s for the best.”

You blink in confusion. “People like what?” You probe. “Depressed?” It’s not hard to guess or identify on Suguru, it’s the only explanation for his sudden change.

“Yeah.” Shoko nods and takes a long swig from her beer before she continues on. “And knowing him he thinks he’s dragging you along, that he’s not, I don’t know, enough? I mean you met him when he was confident about his strength, now so many things are changing, and he’s taking that hard and doubting himself.”

With the way she acts so nonchalant and carefree you forget she’s studying to be a doctor, so she always impresses you when she behaves all doctor-like.

“I don’t care if he’s the weakest,” you say shakily so you take a drink of your beer before going on. “He’s enough for me in any way. So I don’t get it…he really hurt me.”

Shoko takes a long drink before she leans back against the wall and wraps her arm around your shoulders to pull you against her. “I know,” she whispers. “I'm sorry.”

A soft sob escapes past your lips, making Shoko hold onto you tighter.

“Look, I’m going to say this completely unbiased,” she interjects as she rests her head on yours. “Fight for him. I know it sounds super cheesy, but do it. You guys make each other happy, and you know fighting for someone doesn’t always have to mean the guy, you can fight too.”

You nod. “I know,” you whisper. “But what if I try and he gives up completely?”

Shoko exhales deeply. “Then you let him go. But I think you should try, and maybe try and reach him too. He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Or me.” You sigh and pull back to take a sip of your beer. “I’m just…scared.”

Shoko nods. “I understand, but won’t trying at least satisfy you? If it doesn’t work at least you can say you tried—my parents,” she begins saying and averts her gaze. “They went through a rough patch when I was young, but they fought for each other and came back stronger. Now they’re all sappy and hardly ever apart.”

You laugh softly. “Are you comparing me to your parents?” You ask.

Shoko rolls her eyes. “I'm giving you an example,” she quips. “Fight, or don’t and you’ll find someone else with long hair.”

You tilt your head in confusion whilst you take a drink. “I don’t get it,” you mumble.

Shoko snickers. “You totally dig guys with long hair,” she points out.

Your ex had long hair, Suguru has long hair now and it was also longish before. And all your celebrity crushes—oh. You get it, maybe you do have a type.

“That’s so stupid,” you say breathlessly. “And who knew you’re such a sap, Shoko?” You giggle.

She shrugs nonchalantly and surprises you by downing the rest of her drink in one last go. When she’s done she throws her can to the ground and lays back on her bed.

“You tell anyone I’ll tear your closet,” she threatens, making you drink the rest of your drink so you can lay beside her.

“Besides,” she adds and slides her hand over to interlace her fingers with yours. “You're both my friends, and you’re my best friend. We live together, so I see more than you do, more than anyone, and I know that it’s worth fighting for. If it wasn’t, trust me I would tell you.”

Rather than smiling you frown as that fear that always accompanies you makes you think of the worst. “And if it doesn’t work?” You ask as if she actually knew that answer. After all it seems she had loving parents, it’s why she’s giving you this advice. But you? Your parents are the complete opposites from her parents, they never fought for each other, you never saw them being any kind of affectionate. So this doubt creeping inside you isn’t out of the blue, it's a real terrorizing fear you have experienced.

“If it doesn’t work?” Shoko responds and lifts her head to look at the same time you tilt your head down to look at her. “Then you let it go, plain and simple. I’m sure it’ll hurt, but you’ll get over it, plus I’ll be here, your brother is oddly good at comforting you. We’ll all be here.”

You let out a shaky breath and show her your thanks and appreciation by resting your head on her shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you tell her softly.

Shoko rests her head on yours and sighs softly. “I’m glad you’re here too.”

You rest your eyes and try to stop crying as you do feel some kind of reassurance, but those tears still come out since the wound didn’t actually heal. No matter what resolve you figured out, that doesn’t actually change what happened. Suguru and you still are broken up—

That’s so weird to think about. So weird to say in your mind. It’s…unbelievable, and painful.

But at least you have Shoko.

——

*A COUPLE DAYS LATER*

So much for the hope of it all. So much for more than anything. So much for it all. You tried so hard to date around your brother, you didn’t fight much but you fought against his protests. And just as he was barely getting around to fully accepting it, Suguru ruins it.

Now, you’ll have to live on awkwardly because what’s the point in trying? He broke up with you, he left you, he hurt you. Why should you try to fix things? Why risk getting your heart torn and stomped on again?

“Right?” You ask yourself while you cover the fireball you make with rocks and dirt you summon off the ground with your cursed technique.

You do miss him, and yes, he was rather distant for the past couple of months, but you still had each other. He still made your day complete even if there were days where you’d only see each other for a few minutes. He still listened and helped you when Satoru was busy. Suguru…was always there, and now even if you live in the same place he’s never with you.

It’s so fucking lonely. It’s so weird. Plus at night it’s even worse, you didn’t sleep together a lot because you’d get in trouble, but you’d sleep with his shirts or his sweaters and you’d be content with his scent that clung onto it. Now it’s just a cruel reminder that he broke your heart.

So it begs the question, should you fight?

Part of you wants to more than anything, but the other part is filled with anger, and fear that he won’t want to fight with you, that he’ll reject you. And yes, you know that if you don’t ask him you’ll never know, but telling him you loved him took so much time because of your stupid fear—or anxiety as Shoko likes to call it (you don’t believe that.) So now telling him to fight for another chance with you will only take even more time to express.

Fuck. Fuck…

You sigh and drop your head, realizing you’re still holding the dirt covered fireball without concentrating it.

At least that’s a plus. But regardless, you’ll keep torturing yourself by overthinking rather than going for it…

As of now though, you let the dirt fall and collect the fire back through your dragon mark before you stand up and exhale deeply.

No more thinking of Suguru. No more thinking of the anger you feel over this breakup. No more thinking of the building up stress you feel over an upcoming mission that you’ll have to travel far for.

Just focus on calming your breaths, on your leg as you slide it forward while you move the other one back. You focus on one arm as you stretch it out to use your cursed technique, and summon some water over to you to cover your arm in its wet body. You use your other hand to tap into your fire and have that begin to twirl around your body, along with the water you move off your arm.

You proceed to take another deep breath and listen for the wind. When you hear it howl by your ear you smile as it seems that it’s calling out to you specifically. You then easily gather some of it and make it twirl around your body along with the fire and water.

Now all that's left is earth, but that’s harder, rougher, and heavier than rest to manipulate, so you save it for later. Instead, you shift to different forms with a peaceful mindset, ending up balancing on the ground with one hand.

Once you're confident with your form you then try to pick some dirt off the ground to have it dance with the rest of the elements around your body, but it’s fucking hard. You can mix your cursed energy well with the dirt and the rocks, so it begins to falter as you lift it off the ground. It makes you lose focus on your calm breaths. And the strain to keep it up makes you open your eyes and causes your body to begin losing balance.

“Hey! Don’t think too much about it!” Someone you don’t recognize yells out, causing you to lose concentration and collapse on the ground.

“Sorry!” They yell out.

That’s so embarrassing. Tsk.

You slowly push yourself to your feet and dust the dirt off you first before you look up and see an impressively tall blond woman with the kindest brown eyes you’ve ever seen.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N Gojo!” She exclaims with a smug smile when she reaches you by the pond.

Albeit you step back and look at her with confusion. “Uh, pleasure I'm sure, but who are you?” You quirk a brow and study her to check if it’s someone you’ve actually seen before. But no, she isn’t.

“Oh,” she breathes out with disappointment. “I’m Yuki Tsukumo.”

Your eyes widen with awe and a smile breaks on your face. You see her part her lips to add on but you cut her off excitedly, like a fan girl seeing their idol. “Oh my gosh, you’re her!”

Tsukumo’s lips pull to a wide smile and she grows smug again. “Oh, I like the sound of that,” she interjects.

You grin. “You’re the sorcerer who’s always out and defies the higher ups, it’s so cool to finally meet you. I’m a big fan.”

Tsukumo rests her hand on her hip and tilts her head down as she flashes you a sweet grin. “That’s so nice to hear. I didn’t know I was so well known amongst one of the Gojo’s. I’m flattered.”

You scoff. “You’re acting as if I’m royalty,” you quip.

“Well,” she sighs. “You kinda are.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head. “Far from it.” You step forward and continue to look at her with awe. “I need to ask…how did you do it?”

Tsukumo straightens out and looks at you with a confused look. “Do what?” She probes.

Your smile falters and a sigh escapes your lips. “Get strong,” you clarify. “I mean how did you do it all by yourself? You don’t come from one of the big three. I mean I know you came to school, but your reputation? You’re overall poweress? You did that all by yourself, so how? I have the privilege to be born a Gojo, to have a strong brother teaching me, but no matter what I do I continue to struggle.”

Tsukumo's smile turns soft, and her gaze falls on the ground for a moment before she lifts her eyes to meet your gaze with a soft look. “Little by little,” she shares, “I didn’t get strong overnight, I learned and learned. I exhausted myself, but I pushed myself to learn. I for sure as hell didn't listen to any of the old geezers who kept trying to make me hold back.”

You smile softly at that comment.

“But,” she exhales slowly and smirks at you. “I didn’t listen to my head, I trusted myself. I didn't get strong for anyone. I get strong for me. That’s the trick.”

You admire her for a moment before you smile at the ground and nod in comprehension. “I understand, thank you,” you mumble.

“You can be strong and still be a woman, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” she adds. “A lot of people, those old geezers included, only look at you one way. Not both. Prove them wrong every step of the way.”

You chuckle softly. “Oh, trust me I know.” You meet her gaze and shoot her a smirk. “Fuck the higher ups.”

Tsukumo grins. “That’s what I’m talking about! I like you!” She throws her fist out, so you gently tap it with your fist and cause her to shoot you wink that gets you all flustered.

“Hey, we should hang out,” she adds. “We’re both special grade and women at that, we’re a rare pair. So we should get to be friends, don’t you think?”

This is like a dream. This is so cool!

But you need to play it cool. Play it cool.

“Yeah I think so,” you hide your excitement. “That would be cool.”

Tsukumo hums softly before she whips her phone out and offers it to you, making you do the same to trade contacts.

“Anyway,” you bring up as you type in your number. “What brings you around here? Are you picking up a mission?”

“No,” she says. “I came back from a trip so I wanted to meet you and the other special grades.”

You hum before you add in, “well Satoru is on a mission, but,” you pause and exhale slowly. “Geto is here. Somewhere.”

This is the longest you’ve gone without thinking about him. It sounds pathetic but its true. And weird.

“I can…find out where he is so you can meet him,” you suggest hesitantly whilst you return your phones to each other.

“Yeah, that would be great, thank you!”

You hum quietly and look at your phone to go and click on his contact.

It’s been a while since you texted him—will he even answer?

You to Suguru: Where are you?

Your heart begins to race as you grow nervous.

“So,” you interject while you wait. “If you don’t mind me asking, Tsukumo, where were you before returning home?”

“Yuki,” she cuts in bluntly. “You don’t have to be formal with me, call me Yuki.”

You smile softly and nod. “Yuki,” you correct yourself. “Where were you before?”

“I was in Singapore.”

Your eyes widen and you can’t help but grin. “Really?” You probe. “I love Singapore.”

Yuki shows off a grin and nods slowly. “It’s beautiful, and the nightlife is great!”

You part your lips to fangirl over her but a message comes in so you keep quiet and feel your heart jump. When you check you inhale deeply.

Suguru: Hall B, why?

You exhale and leave him on read to offer Yuki a feigned and nervous smile. “Geto answered, I can take you to him.”

Without hesitation or wasting more time you walk her to where Suguru is. You’d prefer not to see him at the moment, it just won’t make things any easier, but…you also miss him. So this is just a small excuse.

“Hey,” Yuki interjects. “About your previous question about strength, does your brother train you?”

You sigh and shrug. “He does but he’s busy a lot now so not as much anymore. I have other friends who help me though, and school of course. But that’s about it.”

She hums and stays quiet for a moment. Once you reach Hall B, she stops before you can walk inside, making you stop along with her.

“In here,” you point to the door.

“Look,” she changes the subject. “I don’t stay in one place long, I like to travel, and I know that it’s not ideal for a lot of people. But if it’s something you’re okay with, then you should consider letting me help you.”

You blink in disbelief and can’t think of what to say through that shock that begins to grow.

“It can be once you’re out of school, or if you decide that being here isn’t for you then you can come along and I’ll help you train,” she adds and doesn’t help ease you whatsoever. “Whatever you decide, I want to help you. We girls have to stick together, especially us because we’re a rare pair.” She smirks.

“Yeah, I agree,” you muse. “Just,” you pause and think about your brother and your friends, they’re all here. Whatever happens with Suguru won’t change the fact that you like living with your friends and your brother.

But you also want to get strong for yourself, for your dream of helping other sorcerers, for those friends you cherish so deeply. So that’s where you get stuck, you can go with her, let her train you, and get strong a lot quicker. Or you can stay here with everyone and gain your strength a lot slower. Hm.

“…just give me time to decide,” you tell her. “I’m honored by your offer though. I really appreciate it.”

Yuki grins. “Don’t sweat it, the offer will be open for you. Until then we can still get to know each other.”

You sigh with relief and nod softly. “Yeah I like the sound of that. Thank you again.”

With nothing else to add you continue to walk inside the building. And now your shock gets replaced with that nervousness all over again. You almost want to run away before you can lay your eyes on him, but that’d be immature. After all you do live with him which means you can’t hide from him forever. So now is better than later….

You repeat that to yourself as you approach the corridor. It’s all going to be fine, you assure yourself—no, you’re gonna be sick.

You lead the way past the vending machines and the first person you lay your eyes on is him. Your breath hitches as if this is the first time you’re seeing him. Your heart pounds faster as his dark eyes find your gaze. Your eyes widen slightly with awe as you see that his hair is down. And even through all the hurt he made you feel, relief is all you feel wash over you.

Does he feel it too? He sits up and you notice his Adam’s apple lift up before it slides down.

“Y/N!” Someone else exclaims.

You break from your stupor to notice that Haibara is next to Suguru. You didn't take note of that before.

“Hey Haibara!” You greet as if you hadn’t just seen the guy a couple hours ago.

“Is everything okay?” Suguru’s voice surprises you, causing you to look back at him with that surprise expressed on your face.

He’s acting as if nothing happened while you’re slowly dying inside, how is he so good at that?

Regardless, before you can answer, Yuki finally enters the corridor and steals the attention of both guys, letting you notice that Suguru’s eyebags have only deepened.

“Are you Geto?” Yuki interjects boldly. “What kind of woman is your type?”

What kind of question is that?

You can’t decide if it’s cool or weird upon a first interaction.

“Who are you?” Suguru avoids the question, leading you to wonder if he’ll actually answer it. He is single now so his answer may vary.

“I like girls who eat a lot!” Haibara exclaims, causing you to snap your eyes to him, and giggle.

“Oh?” Yuki probes, whilst Suguru scolds him softly.

“Haibara.”

“It’s okay,” said man brushes Suguru off. “She’s not a bad person. I’m a great judge of character!”

You smile wider at your friends comment.

“You say that while sitting next to me?” Suguru interjects, causing your smile to fall right away, and your concern to grow.

What does he mean by that?

“Yes!” Haibara agrees without hesitation.

Yuki laughs. “He was being sarcastic, you know,” she tells Haibara, but you know she’s wrong, you can see it in the way Suguru’s averting his gaze. So what does he mean? Why can’t he talk to you?

You want to know, you need to know. So that’s what you’ve decided, you’ll talk to him. You have to, if not for your relationship, then just for him. He looks like he’s in pain and you can’t just sit by and wait for him to come to you. You’ll just wait until after you come back from your mission.

You’d do it now, but Yuki did say she wanted to know him, so your talk will have to wait.

“Anway,” you interject and look at Yuki. “I’m off now, it was nice to finally meet you.”

Yuki pouts. “You’re leaving already? I thought we could hang out together a bit longer.”

You briefly glance at Suguru, and he looks at you, so you look away and then respond to her. “I’d love to but I am going on a mission far from here tomorrow, so I need to finish some work before I leave, or else my teacher will have my head.” You giggle. “But hey, when I come back and you’re still around we should go out to lunch or something, hm? I would love to know more about your trips.”

Yuki nods. “Absolutely! And think about my offer, I don’t give them to everyone.”

You flash her a smile and nod. “I will!” You look away from her and look at your friend. “Haibara you want to come help me with my work?”

Your friend pushes himself off his seat right away and nods. “Sure! But I won’t do it for you.”

You pout and watch him meet up with you. “That’s so mean,” you whine and throw your arm around him. “Not even a little?”

“Nope.”

You groan and roll your eyes. “Boo,” you whisper before you look over at Yuki and flash her an excited smile. “Bye Yuki!”

“Bye Y/N!” She gives you the same excited energy.

You lastly glance at Suguru and see that he was already looking at you, so you quickly avert your gaze and pull Haibara away with you.

“Excuse us!” Haibara exclaims as he pulls back to take one last glance at both Suguru and Yuki, making your hand slide off his shoulders.

Silence then follows and once your friend catches up to you down the hall, he immediately finds the chance to question your fading smile.

“Are you okay? You look upset—or actually you’ve looked upset for the past couple days, is everything okay?”

He knows you well, but you don’t want him or anyone else to know about Suguru and you breaking up yet. You do want to work things out so telling everyone, (escpaully Satoru) will create unnecessary tension you don’t need. So you’ll keep quiet for now and hide your anguish.

“I’m fine. Just…tired is all.”

Haibara opens the door for you, letting you walk out under the cloudy sky. “Are you okay?” You redirect while you spin on your heels to look at him.

Your friend nods. “Yep, just getting mentally prepared for tomorrow.”

You hum and sigh dramatically. “Yeah, that’s a real pain in the ass. But hey, after the mission, Nanami did promise that he’ll come with me to the shops, so I’m excited for that!”

“Really? Great, I'll come with!” He interjects.

You scoff softly, and happily hook your arm around his. “I didn’t expect it any other way,” you say with a growing smile.

——

*2 DAYS LATER*

Suguru: Be careful

Even if it’s just through text those words have been ringing inside your head since he sent it.

You hate it for one, he just sends you the message as if nothing, without even talking anything out first, it makes you mad. But two, you appreciate that he thought of you, it makes your heart flutter. Yet, third, you’ve been stuck between answering back or not. Should you be petty and not answer, or be nice and write back something super simple?

Something that can lead to ‘hey let’s talk when I get back.’—no. Not now. You should concentrate on the mission in hand. But…

No! No, you cant.

Actually he shouldn’t be sending you these messages. It’s so hard on your overthinking mind.

“Should we put a curtain?” You ask as you put your phone away.

“I doubt we’ll step outside,” Nanami says. “But let’s do it just in case.”

You both turn to look at Haibara, and he sighs before he steps forward and raises two fingers. “Emerge from darkness, blacker than darkness,” he chants. “Purify that which is impure.”

Within seconds the cloudy sky is covered by a black growing veil that drops over the property you were sent to, adding ominsity to a rather easy mission; exorcizing a second-grade curse.

“If you want, y/n, you can go in alone, we'll wait for you here,” Nanami remarks as you walk past an arch.

You roll your eyes. “It doesn’t work like that Nanami. Special grade—”

“Means you have the power to take over countries,” he cuts you off. “That’s what you are, and it’s what you have the possibility of doing.”

You scoff. “Sure, it’s a possibility, but I can’t do that now, you know that,” you argue the same old fight. “I need to work to get myself strong. I…” you pause and hum in disappointment. “I’m not strong like that yet. I'm working to it.” You fist your hands eagerly and then look back at him with a smirk. “And when I am, don't start missing me, Nanamin.”

Said guy rolls his eyes, making you smile at him.

“Don’t worry y/n,” Haibara cuts in, drifting your eyes over to him. “Take your time, we like having you come with us. We’re a team after all! We work great together and Nanami knows it, he’s just giving you a hard time.”

You chuckle and walk back to fall beside Nanami and pat his shoulder. “Oh, I know. It’s all tough love.”

As you reach the entrance of the red-roof building you let Nanami go and frown. “Sense that?” You ask and come to a stop with them before you can climb up the red stairs.

“It’s not even trying to hide,” Haibara points out.

You crack your knuckles and let out a deep breath, while Nanami pulls his blade out, and Haibara rolls his shoulders back.

“It should be easy,” you try to assure them and yourself. “We go in as practiced.”

Nanami nods stiffly, and you let out one more deep breath before you take a step on a red stair and begin ascending them. When you’re on the porch, both guys hide behind the wall, while you open the door and slowly creep inside the softly lit parlor room.

Right away you notice the curse you’re after; it’s tall, built like a man with tightly toned muscles, but green and twisted. It notices you right away and turns around, showing off its one eye on its face, and the snake like tongue that it sticks out at you.

It’s gives you the creeps, but you ignore it and lift your chin to show it a smirk and show it that you’re not afraid.

You don’t think it actually senses that, nor do you think it has any emotions besides the instinct to cause terror, but almost as if you did hurt its ego, the curse wails out before it charges at you.

You don’t move though, you confidently stay where you are, and just before it can even reach you, Nanami and Haibara come out of hiding and run at it too. And since the curse is tall, you manipulate the air from outside to come to your hands, and then push it towards Nanami. And without the need to say a word, just like you have done dozens of times before, you use the air to give him a boast.

Nanami uses the boast to his advantage and flips in the air. The curse looks up and twists around to follow Nanami, it tries to reach out for him with its long arms, but Nanami swings his blade while in the air and manages to cut one of its arms off with a single swing. When he’s falling back down, he manages to kick the curse towards Haibara before he lands swiftly on the floor.

And since the curse is stronger it’s harder to take down, you need to use a lot more strength and power. So when Haibara punches its eye out with his cursed energy, the curse still stands up and comes stumbling towards you.

Now depending on the curse, you can land the finishing blow, but you see and sense this one is more durable. Thus you tap into your dragon mark wrapped around your arm and make flames bask your entire arm, causing your growing smirk to be brightened by your flame's hue.

The curse wails loudly at you, but you don’t flinch, instead you manipulate the air that lays outside on the courtyard behind the curse, and have it burst through the doors to shove the curse towards you. You then lunge forward as you pull back your fist covered in flames, and smash it through the curses gut so hard your fist burns through the other side.

Yet it still doesn’t get exorcized. The curse falls on its knees and bleeds out from its wound.

“You really are annoying,” you grumble before you raise your foot, and use the air to kick out a mighty blast that sends the curse flying out to the courtyard.

“Let’s end this,” you tell your friends coldy.

Haibara and Nanami both nod before the three of you walk out to the back porch. The curse finds strength to stand up so that motivates the three of you to continue on stronger.

So as Nanami runs to the curse head-on, Haibara jumps off the porch's railing and runs to its side. You step off the porch and watch as Nanami slides down and slices the curses legs off with his cursed technique, while Haibara hops on the curses arm to rip it out of its body, giving you your cue.

And so forth before the curse can continue to irritate you, you pull gusts of air to your palms and form it into a long and thin curved line. You then proceed to lash it out, and manage to cut the curses head clean off.

“Finally,” you pant and drop your shoulders as you let out an exhausted sigh. “Good job guys!”

“Right back at you, y/n,” Haibara redirects, making you smile at him softly.

“Uh, I hate to burst your bubbles but the veil hasn’t come down,” Nanami points out.

You snap your eyes up and see that the black veil still in fact remains intact. Is there another curse here?

Nevertheless, before you can ask your question out loud you hear thumping. When you look down you see the curse begin to convulse violently.

“Uh,” you breathe out in horror and step back.

The curse then suddenly stops, making you squint your eyes on the curse to wait with a racing heart. You then lift your head and at that moment see the curse regrow its limbs, including its head. Its already toned body grows larger, and with more muscles as if it had just pumped itself with fucking steroids. Two arms then grow to four, and from one neck grows out two more heads longer than the original.

This isn’t a second-grade curse, but it’s also something you can't run from, you’ll have to fight your own fear and give it your all.

“We got this,” Haibara uses words of encouragement.

You clench your fists and nod stiffly, whilst you also begin to feel regret for not texting Suguru back. After all, this has turned for the worst, what if you don’t make it out? And the last thing you told him was…a bunch of sputter.

You want to talk to him again, you do. You want to tell him you miss him, that he’s worth walking through fire for, that he’s enough for you. But most of all you want to tell him that you love him more than anything in this cursed world.

So to whatever divine being that is up there don’t let this be the end. Please.

“I’ll get rid of the arms,” Nanami says. “Haibara try and get his legs so y/n can try and exorize it.”

You nervously swallow back but nod in understanding, but you also look over at Nanami and can’t help your worry. He sees that and drops the hardened expression to offer you a soft smile to try and assure you.

You draw in a deep shaky breath and mirror his smile before you look ahead. Now before any more time can be wasted you summon air and blast out, Nanami sprints over and jumps, letting you use that same air to boast him.

You then follow by growing a raging fireball and throw it at the curse, causing it to shift back. Haibara uses this slight distraction and charges it, whilst Nanami flips down and tries to swing his blade.

However, this time the curse is more prepared, it twirls around and swerves Haibara's attack before it proceeds to swat Nanami away as if he were nothing but a fly.

“Nanami!” You cry out while his body slams into the wall behind him and goes unconscious.

The curse turns back around and wails out at Haibara and you, but you don’t cower, you dig your heels in the ground and glower at it.

“Cursed technique,” you seeth. “Fire dragon.”

The dragon mark on your arm begins to glow brightly, whilst the veins on your other arm begins to glow with the flames that travel down to your palms. Your hands then glow from the fires light before you throw your arms out and blast large flames from your palms. The fire quickly takes form into a large fire-made dragon that flies towards the curse.

This time your fire-made dragon is much larger than last years. Now it contains a lot more power.

Alas, just as you think you see the fire-made dragon grab the curse with its jaw, the fire-made dragon crashes through the wall, and what you see before you now are two curses in front of a building that begins to feed the fire that the fire-made dragon left behind.

Two bodies now join the fight. They’re the same build, they have the same green skin, but now both bodies just have two arms. One body even has two heads, while the other only contains one.

It split itself into two.

“Haibara!” You bellow and don’t take your eyes off the curse with the one head watching you, waiting to attack. “Get Nanami!”

You only catch a glimpse of Haibara running and the second curse running after him, so you try to blast fire out at it to try and distract it, but the curse that had been watching you like you were it’s meal, catches you off guard and slaps you down to your knees.

You quickly try to counter but it lunges at you to grab you by the throat and pick you off the ground with its strength.

You can’t let that stop you though, so you try to blast air at it by kicking your foot, but the curse hurls you back towards the parlor room.

When you hit the floor you yell out because of the pain, but you also try to quickly get up so you can counter. However, the curse is fast and catches up to you right away. It doesn’t let you catch your breath before it kicks you to your back and begins throwing punches over and over again on your face.

You try to move your arms to hurl air or fire, but each punch is like getting stabbed by sharp needles so the pain is agonizing and paralyzing.

It’s not the same as before, either because it was holding back or because it got stronger when its head got cut off, like the monster from Greek Mythology, The Hydra. Which would make sense with this curse being born from the Ubusunagami faith. One head falls and multiple are born in its place.

But why wasn’t this identified before? Why weren’t they more careful? This is a grade 1 case, you might be special grade but that’s only because no one knows how dangerous your technique can be, they based you off possibilities, if it wasn’t because of that you’d be a grade 2 just like the others. And they know that too, so why? Why weren’t they more careful?

Now you can’t even lift a finger, all your mind is filled with is pain. You try to think of some strategy to get out, to outsmart the curse, but you can’t even move. Every hit brings you closer to an eerie darkness.

Until there’s a voice.

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

It’s your brother's voice from a memory of the day you got the scar on your torso. You were only a little girl who was scared of many things, he had been gone all day because your parents wanted him away from you, so when he came back the trauma was already engraved and the scar was already stitched.

He came after the fact, but he was such a relief to see. He was a light in the sea of darkness.

“It hurts,” you complain with fresh tears in your eyes.

“I know,” he whispers. “I'm sorry.” He sighs and turns around to give you his back and crouch.

“Come,” he says. “I'll help you get to your room.”

Satoru was told many times not to spoil you the way he does, ‘it’ll only make her weaker.’ they’d say, but he never listened and they never corrected him because of who he was.

“We can watch a movie and give you something for the pain.” He adds.

You wipe your tears away and stand up to step towards him, but you stop and bring up your concern. “But mother said no.”

Satoru peers back and confidently counters. “I don’t care. Now come on, get on my back.”

You smile softly and don’t think twice about accepting his offer now. You get on his back and wrap your arms around his neck before you rest your head on his shoulder, and let him give you a piggyback ride to your room.

Now you don’t know why that certain memory came to mind, there are so many other ones where he was that light in the sea of darkness, so why this one? It's only a reminder of the pain your family made you endure.

So why now as this curse is beating you to a bloody pulp?

Why? You ask yourself as the curse hits you again and strikes your body with more pain.

Why?

But then, in that brief moment where it’s fist is off your face you know why, because you see a vision of brother appearing through the darkness. Not Suguru, not Shoko, or your other friends, but your brother. He’s the sudden burst of energy you need to regain your consciousness and find that strength to pull your leg back and direct a cluster of your cursed energy and fire to your foot.

The curse hits you again, but you don’t falter, you counter by kicking your foot out and blasting fire at it from your foot.

The curse gets flung back, but it doesn’t go far, instead it falls under the doorframe. You still get up though and fist your hands whilst you shift your feet into a fighting stance. The curse gets back up and immediately wails out at you.

“Fuck you,” you grimace and run at it with your arm getting basked in flames. Before you reach it you jump up to swing your fist down at its face, but the curse isn’t weakened by injuries like your bruised and blood-covered face, it’s stronger and manages to throw its arm out and capture you by your throat.

You try to kick, but the lack of air running to your lungs immobilizes you. All you can think about now is wanting to breathe. All that there is is fading consciousness until you hear a scream coming from the courtyard.

Nanami was unconscious, he could have woken up but it’s unlikely, so the person screaming was Haibara. He’s in trouble. He needs help!

As if hit with another burst of energy, you manage to slap your hands on the side of the curses head and instantly blast fire out of your palms,

The curse wails as the flames burst through its flesh and begin burning it from the inside out. It lets you go to try and escape, but you wrap your legs around it and dig your fingers in its head while you blast more fire in its head.

You cry out of anger and the curse stumbles back, it claws at you, but you use more of your cursed technique until the curse finally explodes and dies, causing you to fall on your ass and finally gasp for more air while you push yourself to your feet.

Haibara doesn’t scream again, but you still run out to the courtyard. And immediately as you do you see the curse holding Haibara several feet over the ground by his head. You gasp in horror as you see Haibara’s entrails hanging out of a long and deep gash.

“Haibara!” You cry out louder than you thought possible.

The curse snaps his head towards you, and you quickly lift your hands off your sides and begin gathering air into a orb in between your palms.

“Cursed technique,” your grimace with tears already forming in your eyes. “Air manipulation, lashing wind!”

You proceed to throw the orb made of air out. And while it’s flying towards the curse you form it into a curved line that slashes both of the curses heads off the moment it cuts through, causing it to let go of Haibara.

Before your friend can hit the ground you sprint over and manage to catch him in your arms. However, he’s heavy so when you catch him you collapse to the ground with him.

“It’s okay,” you mutter shakily. “It’s okay,” you assure him even as his eyes are rolled back. “You’ll be okay, Haibara.”

You don’t see his chest move anymore, and his blood is spilling out of his gash and staining your body, but you still refuse the truth and carefully put him down. You then rip the white skirt off your waist and carefully wrap it around his bleeding wound.

“It’s okay,” you tell him again. “You’ll feel a little bit of pressure, but Shoko and that first aid class told us to do this, remember?”

Haibara remains unresponsive, but you continue to tighten the white skirt over his wound so it could stop bleeding.

“You’ll be okay,” you whisper and look at his face. “Haibara? I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just please hold on a while longer okay? I…I can call Shoko, she’ll know what to do.” You pull your phone out and desperately find your friends contact. As it rings you look back and see the curse is beginning to shake like last time.

“Shit, shit,” you grumble.

The phone rings a couple more times before you get sent to voicemail. “Damn it!” you exclaim.

You peer back and see that the curse grows four heads now and grows taller, bigger.

“I—I’ll call Suguru, he’ll know where she is,” you tell Haibara as he continues to lay still.

This time when you call Suguru, the phone rings only a few times before he thankfully answers. “Hello?”

You sigh shakily with relief, “Suguru.”

“Y/N, what's wrong?” He asks the moment he hears your shaky voice.

You look at your friend and hold your phone to your ear with your shoulder as you press your hands on Haibara's wound to help the bleeding stop.

“Suguru, where’s Shoko? She doesn’t answer her phone, I need her help, please.” You say quickly.

“Shoko isn’t home,” Suguru says. “What's wrong y/n, are you okay?”

You groan and look back to see Nanami up now and trying to distract the curse.

“It’s Haibara,” you say shakily. “I-I don’t know what to do, I’m trying to stop the bleeding, but the gash won’t stop bleeding. And he—Suguru…he’s not breathing. I need Shoko, please, I need her.”

“Y/N,” Suguru mutters through the phone. “Haibara’s gone. I need you and Nanami to get out of there—”

It’s not the solution you want so you hang up the phone and shove it back in your pocket to focus back on your friend and begin CPR.

“Come on, come on, COME ON!” You yell out in desperation.

Your attempts are futile though, he doesn’t wake up, he doesn’t gasp for air, he continues to lay still, adding to your anguish.

“Nanami!” You call out. “I need help! Please come help me…someone please help me…” you trail off and pick up Haibara again to cradle him in your arms. Your phone begins to ring but you ignore it and put all your attention on Haibara.

“You have to fight, okay? We still have so much to live for, and you—you have to become a teacher just like you wanted,” you tell him as you hear wailing in the back. “We have to graduate next year and do so much more, please Haibara. Please.”

“Y/N?”

You look up and see Nanami panting in front of you.

“Nanami—”

He cuts you off and grabs your arm to try and pull you off the ground. “We have to go!” He bellows out at you while his eyes are on Haibara’s body.

“No,” you argue and shove his arm back. “I’m not leaving him behind!”

Nanami glances past you before he crouches down and grabs your arm. “Y/N, Haibara is…” he pauses and lets out a shaky breath before he finishes breaking the truth to you. “He's gone. We have to go or we’ll die next.”

You look down at Haibara and finally notice how lifeless he looks, you finally notice how fatally deep his wound is. And as if slammed by a rough wave, you finally grasp the truth and feel a deep agonizing pain clench around your chest to the point you can’t breathe. You can’t think, or cry, all that there is, is the cruel truth and pain.

The phone's incessant ringing doesn’t tune in, Nanami’s desperate pleas to leave don’t register. Nothing snaps you from that stupor but the sudden wail of the damned curse.

Anger then follows after that sound, a raging anger that only tightens that grip around your chest. No matter how much you want to let it go and leave, you can’t, it doesn’t feel right or like it will let you breathe, so you put Haibara down and twist around as you remain on your knees.

“Y/N,” Nanami warns as the curse begins to storm over.

You ignore him though and narrow your glare in the curse. The ground then begins to shake beneath you as you focus on doing something new and without thinking. Cracks grow on the ground, and you lean down to press your palms on the surface.

The curse jumps off it’s feet and tries to tackle you, but in that moment you let out all the emotions that had been plaguing you, and finally breathe.

All your life you’ve been taught to control your emotions to work with your cursed energy, but you’ve never felt more in control over your emotions than at this very moment after Haibara’s death triggered something off inside you. Something so monumental that lets you blast out a tidal wave of fire from the cracks on the ground to slam the curse back.

Up until this moment, you’ve never felt that rush of excitement from a fight, Satoru always talks about it, but it’s something you could never relate to. The only excitement you felt was last year, but that was met with regret, and you never felt it again because missions and fights were always such a burden or terrifying, but right now? As you use Yuki’s advice about not giving it too much thought, all you feel is excitement. And it grows as you use your cursed technique to lift pieces of the earth around you to blast it out at the curse and everything that stood around you, like a second wave. Leaving nothing left standing, but dust. And proving Nanami right.

Now you would have taken this time to leave, but Nanami doesn’t even attempt to move after what he saw. You can’t move after you realize what you did.

That rush of power was new, that technique was new. All born from a change inside you that Haibara’s death brought.

Yet you know that it’s a power you haven’t fully tapped into, it was only a taste. But that’s enough to cause your eyes to flicker between the familiar color of your eyes, to a deep red color that Nanami notices when you turn back around to face him and Haibara’s body.

“It’s over,” Nanami says through heavy breaths.

You hum softly in agreement, and then gently wipe your fingers down Haibara’s face to close his eyes.

“It can be once you’re out of school, or if you decide that being here isn’t for you, then you can come along and I’ll help you train. Whatever you decide, I want to help you…”

You were unsure before about accepting Yuki’s offer and leaving, but after this happened. After you tapped into some depths of your power you didn’t know you had, your mind finally comes to a conclusion.

A/N- Will Suguru and you work things out? Are you really going to accept Yuki’s offer? Ahh! We have to wait for the next chapter to know.

Tagged- @deniseabad1928

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jjkeremika · 3 months ago

Text

701

description: Armin finds Eren at a bar in Marley. Eren convinces Armin to play darts. Armin plays under one condition: A round for a question.

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Armin scoffed, shook his head. “Is this where you’ve been all this time?” He ignored the interrogation in favor of his own. “Alone at a bar in a foreign country?”

Eren rubbed his thumb against the side of the glass. “I’m expanding my horizons. Isn’t that what we always dreamed of?”

There was a beat of silence. Eren pointed towards the dart board across the table. “Do you want to play darts?”

“I’ve never played.” Armin crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re deflecting my question.”

Eren gave him a false smile. “As you are with mine.” He stood up. “It’s easy. If I know you, you’ll catch on quickly.”

If. Armin rolled his eyes. He could practically hear Eren’s train of thought. It has been a while, hasn’t it? If you’re still the same as I knew you—if you haven’t changed significantly after all these years. Do you still have that quick wit, that quick comprehension? Do I still understand you? Do you still know me?

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Tags: slight canon divergence; s4 spoilers kinda not sure?; pre-rumbling; post-Eren leaving Paradis; pre-Marley attack; Eren’s been gone for three years; Armin and Eren run into each other in Marley and strike up a conversation; angsty maybe?; heart to heart a little?; very ‘armin is the only one eren can be honest and vulnerable with’ vibes

It was a noisy bar. Eren almost paid no attention to the ascending heavy footsteps, a familiar trot from former life. “Mind if I join you?” A chair pulled out, the noise of the legs scraping against the scarred wooden floor catching Eren’s full attention.

A familiar face. An anticipated, unexpected face.

Eren raised his hand, gestured loosely towards the already pulled-out chair. “By all means.” He glanced his friend up and down, reconciling the grown man’s features with the childlike features in his memory. He looked away, took a swing of his almost empty drink. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Have you, then?” Armin asked, light amusement seeping into his larynx. The extent of this truth was lost on him. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Do you want a drink?” Eren asked nonchalantly, still holding his glass despite its relaxed position on the table. “My treat.”

Armin airily laughed. “Well, if you’re buying—How could I refuse?”

Eren flagged down the waitress, her armband on blatant display over her white shirt. Armin couldn’t take his eyes off of it. Still adjusting to the sight. To the culture shock of it all.

Eren nasally expelled air in a twist of amusement and disgust at his friend’s observation. His lips curled into a cynical smile.

Some things never change. A haunting, innate curiosity. A painfully observant nature. An ability to see all sides to every coin, even the in-between.

Especially, the in-between.

“What do you think?”

Armin’s attention shifted to Eren. He narrowed his eyes, squinted to really observe his abandoned friend. The long hair, the scruff, the desolate gaze. He’d changed. There was a life lost in his eyes. His gaze settled on the armband presented on his bicep. “Of what?”

He raised an arm. “Of this place.” Eren glanced around the dark room. The waitress returned with two drinks, dismissed herself when there were no further requests. “This country.”

Armin shook his head in disbelief, took a small sip and restrained the recoil. “You don’t even want to ask how I am first?”

Eren smiled, yet it didn’t reach his eyes. “I thought I was.” Bland. Lightless. Shallow. “Are you not your own thoughts? Your own beliefs?” Eren matched Armin’s stare. Armin could see it in his eyes. Cold. Lifeless.

Armin scoffed, shook his head. “Is this where you’ve been all this time?” He ignored the interrogation in favor of his own. “Alone at a bar in a foreign country?”

Eren rubbed his thumb against the side of the glass. “I’m expanding my horizons. Isn’t that what we always dreamed of?”

There was a beat of silence. Eren pointed towards the dart board across the table. “Do you want to play darts?”

“I’ve never played.” Armin crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re deflecting my question.”

Eren gave him a false smile. “As you are with mine.” He stood up. “It’s easy. If I know you, you’ll catch on quickly.”

Eren was unsightly now. Haggard and alone, blasé and tired and distraught. Before, he always wore his heart on his sleeve, always expressed and showed what he was thinking, who he was. His stable instability. Was this who he became once he’d left? Was this who he was destined to become? Or had he changed into a deliberate façade, fabricated a new reality to deceive those of this country? Deceive his friends?

The question nagged at him. Did Armin still know him? A friend he’d assumed he’d know for life. A relationship he’d perhaps taken advantage of. Assumed to be forever.

The rules were easy enough to understand. Maybe Eren did still know him. Maybe Armin just didn’t know Eren.

“I know you like a challenge,” Eren spoke, and Armin noticed a depth to his voice, beyond that of mere puberty and maturity. “Let’s do 701.” Armin could hear the unspoken: Let’s draw this out. Let’s get to know each other again. Let me see if you are who I remember—who I think you’ve become.

Eren, who have you become?

“I’ll play under one condition.” Eren glanced at his friend from across the table as he sorted the darts, placed three on the high-top table. “A question per round.” Eren smiled in humorless amusement. “An answer per round.”

“If it convinces you to play.” Eren took another sip. Armin watched as it effortlessly slid down his throat, glanced at his own drink in slight disgust. He wondered how frequently Eren spent his lone nights here, how many of these bitter ales Eren has consumed over this year alone, let alone the past three. “Let’s do five rounds.”

Eren stepped to the side and gestured to Armin with his hand, indicating that Armin should lead the first round.

Armin took a deep breath and closed one eye. Focused carefully and threw his first dart. The sound of the dart colliding with the board echoed. Double 16.

Eren hummed in consideration. “Figured as much,” he muttered with a grin.

He expected Armin to be a natural. Hand-eye coordination and a focus beyond skill. A talent, a birthright. To be accurate and precise and knowing.

Armin ignored the comment and tossed the second dart. Double 20.

“Why are you here?” Armin asked, focused on the board ahead, the third dart steady in his hands. He narrowed his eyes, focused on the target. “In Marley,” he clarified. He threw the dart. Double 20.

Eren stood up, loudly placed his glass back on the table. “I told you,” he answered vaguely, picked up his own darts from the table as Armin collected his pieces off the board. “Seeing the world. Observing. Exploring.”

Armin narrowed his eyes at Eren, dissatisfied. Disbelieving.

Eren continued, almost like he could feel the disapproval from Armin’s stare. He stood in position. “What else can I say? I’m a scout at heart.” He threw his first dart. Bull’s eye. “Surveying is what we do best.”

He narrowed his eyes at Armin, returned the scrutinizing stare. “Wasn’t that what we always talked about?” He threw the second dart. “Seeing the world beyond the walls.” Bull’s eye.

It was almost like a display of skill. An intentional taunt. Look how good I am. Look how much better I am than you. Without you.

Armin leaned back in the chair, tilted his head to the side. “Is that your question?”

Eren glanced at him briefly. “Do you want it to be?” He chuckled loosely, blandly. Eren continued before Armin could answer. “I find it ironic that we always imagined beyond the walls, yet here we are, still trapped within them. Maybe we seek what we already know.”

Armin raised a brow. Eren’s face twisted into a light scowl.

“Confinement.”

Bull’s eye.

“The world beyond our walls is more walls,” Eren continued, collecting his darts. “Borders and imaginary lines in the sand. Beauty and blood in the stone. Divisions between countries and people.”

Armin laughed out of discomfort. Though Liberio and Marley harbored more walls, they were made of different stone, of different values. It was a different life here than in Paradis. Armin decided there was beauty in that difference, more meaning in the detail. “That’s what you came here to see?”

Eren lightly scoffed, took another sip. “That’s what I’ve concluded. We are cattle wherever we go.” He made eye contact, a fire finally lit beneath the irises. “We seek what we already know.” Armin stared in disbelief. Eren pointed to the board. “It’s your turn.” The phrase was duplicitous. “What brought you here?”

Armin stood, took a brief sip of the revolting drink to diffuse the shock on his face. Was this who Eren had become? Was this who he always was?

“Well, at first, to look for you,” Armin answered honestly, twirling the dart between two fingers. “Mikasa and Levi went to Hizuru.” The dart pierced the board. Triple 12. He threw the second almost immediately after. “Jean and I came here.” Bull’s eye.

Armin paused, briefly glanced over at Eren and noticed the glaze over his eyes, the vague stare at the floor.

“We stopped looking. Of course, that’s when I found you.”

“And here you are.”

“Here I am,” Armin repeated blankly, “and here you are.” He pointed to Eren with the back end of his last dart. “In a random bar drinking bad beer.” Armin turned back to the board, prepared to throw the third and hesitated. “Did you… think of us before you left?”

Armin aimed carefully and let the dart hit the board. Triple 18. He turned to Eren, noticed his fixed intensity on the board. Noticed the blank stare, his sunken features, his deflated stature.

The blond collected his darts from the board and returned to his seat. Witnessed the unchanging state of his friend.

“Yes,” Eren answered after a few moments, stood up to take his place in front of the board. He rapid-fire threw two darts, gripping them tightly between his fingers. The ligands and veins arched out of the skin in his hands and wrists from how tight he held them. Two bull’s eyes.

He went silent. Armin observed him curiously. Witnessed the truth flooding into Eren’s face, the suppressed misery caressing his demeanor. Like a tight hug from his late mother, the sunken memories came back to the surface, encompassed and swallowed him whole.

Eren’s body tensed, his muscles flexed, his veins surfaced. He swallowed tightly.

The noise of the third dart hitting the board echoed. Bull’s eye.

“What do you think of Marley?” He sat down in the chair, dropped the darts onto the table and finished his drink.

Armin threw his first dart as he debated his answer. Triple 19.

How he felt was conflicting and contradictory. The mountains and hills and grasslands and lakes were beautiful and beguiling. The different nation and its rulings were interesting. The art and the concept of history preservation were foreign and exalting and challenging. The walls and armbands were oppressive. The people were depressed and unpleasant, reluctant to converse with those they were unfamiliar, with those who didn’t present a certain way. The people were determined to follow routine, obsessed with status quo and normalcy.

The similarities to Paradis were striking. The differences were stark and thought-provoking.

He threw his second dart, still debating his answer. Triple 18.

Eren hummed. If there were one takeaway from his thoughts, his memories: silence was, in itself, an answer.

A loud one.

“I have many thoughts.” He faltered in the final throw. Double 20. “Too many to verbalize.” Armin sat down in the chair, leaned into the back.

He considered his next question while Eren prepared his first throw. There were so many things he wanted to know, so many questions he wanted to ask. Did you really have to leave? What are you doing here? What are you planning? Why do you always have to do it all alone?

He asked the question that’s been eating him alive the past three years. The question he and Mikasa have debated a thousand times. There had to have been a reason—a good reason. He stared at his once close friend—the friend who now seemed so far away; the one who fell from the edge of the earth. Why did you abandon us now? After everything we’ve been through together?

Armin asked during Eren’s first throw. “Why did you leave us behind?” Bull’s eye. “You could’ve told us.” Armin leaned over the table, the sadness weighing down his voice. “You should’ve trusted us.”

Eren sighed heavily, aimed for his next toss.

Could he have? Were you prepared to bear the weight of the world? The burden of past, present, and future sins? The responsibilities of generations before and after? Of people you’ve never met, but you’ve never felt more connected to?

Carving angels into demons. Demons out of angels. Was it ever a task to be done as a team? Wasn’t he always meant to do it alone?

“I miss her,” was his answer. Quiet. Honest. Off beat. Off topic. “It was not an easy decision to make.” He glanced over at Armin, a straight face with complicated eyes. “If you tell her that, I’ll kill you,” he continued, deadpanned, staring right into Armin’s soul as he tossed the dart. The contact with the board echoed, resonated with his words. Bull’s eye.

Eren didn’t break eye contact with him. He held the final dart tight in his grip. “In this lifetime.” He briefly looked towards the board, did two quick adjustments and threw the torpedo. Triple 20. He looked back to Armin. “And the next.”

There was darkness in his eyes. A myriad of emotions that Armin didn’t think he could name. Despair? No—despondence, maybe. Detached and resolute, depressed and concerned. A solemn resignation to a fate he couldn’t share. A solid determination to a future he swore to create.

Did you have to do it alone? Do you still?

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Eren shrugged as he gathered his darts from the board. Nonchalantly walked back to the chair.

Because I had to.

“There isn’t a good enough reason.”

I need to.

He glanced at nothing in particular. The same abandoned, withered expression he’d worn all evening plastered on his young face. “That you can tell her.”

He glanced up, gave the semblance of a smile, a grin that triggered memories of when they were younger. Armin stared at him. It was hard to believe they were still so young after all they’d been through. After all they’d done and learned. After all the death and excitement and turmoil and cruelty they’d endured.

“Do you believe we can define ourselves?” Eren asked, so uncertainly that Armin wasn’t positive the question was directed towards him at all. “Or are we born pre-defined? Pre-destined. Like it’s all by design.”

Armin positioned himself with the first dart. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to throw it.

Their time together was waning. The rounds were coming to an end, and he had a sinking suspicion this would be it for quite some more time.

Until Eren was ready to let them in. In on his plan. In on his life. Were they always so separated? It hadn’t felt like it before now.

He threw the first dart. Bull’s eye.

Maybe we always were. Maybe under the surface, it was never there. Always superficial, you and I.

“You said it yourself earlier,” Armin answered softly, lining up his next throw. “We are defined by our experiences, our beliefs, our thoughts, our memories.” Bull’s eye. “Though I don’t think it’s permanent or set in stone. We are influenced by these things. We are fluid. Our decisions can be as well. Who we become can change if we will it, if we try.”

He heard Eren scoff, checked over his shoulder to see the brunet finishing Armin’s drink.

“What if you’ve always been this way?” Eren followed. “What if you’ve always believed that, so that’s just who you are? That never changed. You never changed.” The glass slammed against the table, the reverberations shaking the other empty one.

The dart hit the board and Eren glanced up. Bull’s eye. “You’re the same Armin I always knew.”

“You’re different to the Eren I always knew,” Armin responded. “I’m different.”

He shook his head. “We are just more committed to who we always were. Became more of who we were always meant to be.”

Armin stared incredulously. Did he even recognize him? Is he overthinking it? Over-analyzing? Like he always did?

“What are you planning to do here, Eren?” His question felt too vague, so he immediately followed up with, “What is your purpose in being here?”

Eren smiled in amusement. “Get three bull’s eyes.” He dropped his smile, faced the board. “Win in the end.”

First dart. Bull’s eye.

Armin rolled his eyes. “Did you always picture yourself here? In a damp bar playing darts? Is this the ‘you’ you’re leaning into? The ‘you’ you can’t change?”

Second dart. Bull’s eye.

“Did you ever picture a life outside those walls?”

“Don’t answer my question with another question.”

“I know you did.” Eren aimed carefully. “Did you ever picture it like this?”

Third dart. Bull’s eye.

Armin stood, replaced Eren’s position. “What are you implying?”

He shrugged callously. “I always pictured something grander. A world uninhabited. Empty. Free.” He played with the empty glass. “Just the three of us.” He made eye contact. “Free from everyone and everything.”

Armin threw his first dart. Triple 17. “What are you planning to do, Eren?”

He shrugged. “I’m building towards my destiny.”

Armin laughed lightly. “Have you become religious now?” Second throw. Triple 19. “All this talk about fate and destiny. Is this what Marley has done to you?”

He expected a chuckle or a bemused breath, but received only a soft hum. “Yes, you could say that.”

Final throw. Double 20. “That’s 0.”

Eren nodded. “Well done. You’re a natural.” He didn’t move.

“It’s your turn.” Armin placed his darts back in the holster. “You have 91.”

Eren threw the first dart quickly, like he were trying to finish before Armin could interrogate him further. Delve deep into his mind and discover his thoughts. Double 20.

“I’ve enjoyed this game with you, Armin,” Eren said sincerely, “I mean that.”

Second throw. A 1.

“I meant all of it, you know.” Bull’s eye. “It was a good game.”

I did it all for you. All of you.

“For a minute there I thought you’d let me win,” Armin joked, taking Eren’s darts off the board for him and placing them in the holster.

Eren put on his trench coat while Armin was preoccupied. “This isn’t the battle you’re meant to win.”

Eren paused before walking away, before intending to disappear into the foreign nation again. “Take care, Armin.” He waved without turning around, started to walk into the crowd. “’Till next time.”

#eren jaeger #eren yeager #armin arlet #armin arlert #armin artlert #eremin #friendship eremin #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #jjkeremika #attack on titan eren jaeger #attack on titan eren yeager #attack on titan fic #attack on titan armin #attack on titan armin arlert #attack on titan eren

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suguwu · 2 years ago

Text

lover be good to me: part two

You meet Kita Shinsuke on a rainy summer day, with a sea of hydrangeas swirling at your feet. You know him instantly, as only a soulmate can. He seems like a good man. Like a good soulmate.

But it’s your wedding day.

minors and ageless blogs do not interact.

<- part one - part three ->

pairings: kita shinsuke x f!reader, oc x f!reader

notes: and part two is here! i am once again so excited to be able to share this fic with y'all. thank you again to everyone who has sat thru me yelling at them about this fic—it means the world! and a special thank you to my beta for getting through this beast and getting it into tip-top shape <3

title and part title are from hozier’s “be” and “nfwmb”

tags for this part (contains spoilers for fic): soulmate au (first words), this is a very reader-centric story, slow burn, pining, hurt/comfort, reader and kita are implied to be around their 30s, non-graphic partner death (not kita), anxiety, borderline panic attack, food consumption, love as a choice.

wc: 16k

Shinsuke almost catches you.

You’re still whirling around to run, a jewelry box ballerina wobbling in place desperate to stay on her feet, when his fingers graze your wrist. They’re warm. Callused. They trace along the delicate skin there, sending sparks skittering beneath your skin.

His fingers flex, start to close around your wrist.

But they don’t.

They fall away, until there’s only the ghost of him lingering on your skin. He speaks too, his steady voice almost pleading, but your thrumming heartbeat is filling your ears and echoing inside you, a wild hymn of instinct.

His touch falls away and you’re through the shoji before you realize where you’ve gone. You whip past your friends, their shocked expressions blurring at the edges like watercolors, and into the hallway.

It hurts to breathe.

You dart into one of the shrine’s empty tea rooms, chest heaving. You slam the shoji shut behind you and sink to the floor, your shiromuku pooling around you, gleaming like moonlight in the dim. You knot your fingers in the fabric. Your fingertips brush over the heavy embroidery, over the graceful sweep of a crane’s wing, and your grip tightens.

Your chest aches, a bruise of a thing; the red string of fate wound fast around you, your ribs its spindle, cinching tighter with each passing moment. The world wavers.

You come back to yourself on the other side of the room. You’ve shed your shiromuku; it’s in the middle of the room, an empty husk; a cocoon broken open too early. Your next breath is shaky.

Faintly, you can hear people rushing through the hallway. Their voices wash over you like waves on a distant shore. You bury your face in your hands.

You don’t look up when the door opens. Abe and Yoshikawa have always been able to find you, no matter where you hide.

The door shuts, and then—

“Hi,” Takao says.

You go stiff.

“Hi,” you say, refusing to look up.

You feel Takao settle next to you; the fabric of his kimono is soft against you. He sets his hand on your knee. He’s warm, as always. It’s the soft heat of freshly washed sheets, of the spring sun’s tender touch. You curl into him.

It feels like home.

Quiet falls. It settles between the two of you like the night, a shroud of your own making. Takao leans back. He sighs; it sounds like it comes from between the gaps in his ribs, from the very depths of him.

It sounds like saying goodbye.

“Please don’t leave me,” you say, and you sound small even to yourself.

“I think that’s my line.”

You wonder if the words taste as bitter as they sound. If they linger sour on his tongue. Takao seems to realize it at the same moment, but he doesn’t apologize, and you don’t ask him to.

“I’m not going to leave you,” you say.

He hums skeptically, low and resonant, and it chips away at your bones, scrapes you down to your very marrow.

“I’m not,” you insist, low and desperate. You barely recognize yourself. But you want to keep Takao, to keep this man you’ve spent years learning, spent years loving. Leaving him would carve you open and Kita may be your soulmate, but even the most careful stitches can’t always keep a wound shut. “We said it didn’t matter.”

“We did,” he says. “But I think it might.”

“He’s a stranger, Aoshi,” you say. “I don’t know him, not the way I know you. Not the way I love you.”

“It’s different, though, isn’t it?” he asks. “With soulmates.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“But it is.”

You swallow down the sob.

He shifts next to you, giving you more space to curl into him. You take it, burrowing into his side and pressing your face against the soft fabric of his haori. He sighs.

“Do you feel—” he starts. You can feel the way the words rumble in his chest. He stops and runs a hand through his hair; he blows out a big breath. “Do you feel connected to him?”

You bite at your bottom lip. You remember Shinsuke in the sea of silken hydrangeas, the deep blue of them eddying around his legs like the tide as he moved through them. You think of how your eyes had caught on him then. How his companion had faded into the background.

How well you’d known the taste of his name on your tongue.

“I don’t know,” you say.

“Yes, then.”

“I don’t know, Aoshi,” you snap. “I don’t know anything except that we were supposed to get married today and now it’s all—”

“Fucked,” he says when you trail off. “It’s all fucked.”

You nod, sniffling miserably.

“I think we need some space,” he says.

“From?”

“Each other.”

You pull away from him.

“What?”

“I think we need some space from each other,” he repeats. He’s not looking at you, his dark eyes focused straight ahead, as if he can see through the shoji and find all the answers right there.

You want to shake him.

“I don’t need space from you,” you bite out. “I need you.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he says. “I need space from you.”

“Aoshi, what? Please, I don’t understand.”

He blinks. His eyelashes are wet; they’re clumping together. There’s a stray one caught on his cheek like a dandelion seed. You catch yourself before you reach for it.

“You have a choice to make,” he says. “And I don’t think I can watch you do it.”

“My choice is you!”

He looks at you, then. He looks at you, his eyes night-sky dark, and there is something terribly tender to him when he says, “I don’t think you know that yet.”

You sob.

It’s pulled from somewhere deep inside you, an animal sound that you didn’t know you were capable of making, something that lives behind your bones. It guts you, that sob, flays you open from neck to navel.

Takao sucks in a sharp breath. His hand flexes by his side. You sob again, softer this time, but no less wounded for it.

“You’re not being fair,” you tell him.

“Neither are you.”

You grit your teeth, wondering if there’s such a thing as fairness, in a moment like this. You think it’s unlikely.

“You don’t get to make my choice for me,” you snap.

“There are no choices being made today,” says a new voice, and you close your eyes as your mother’s perfume wafts around you. She smells of summer irises and the honeyed earth of saffron, and you breathe her in as she gathers you into her arms.

You curl up into her, a child once more, and start to cry in earnest.

“Go,” she says to Takao. If she says anything else, you can’t hear it over your own sobs, over the great, gasping breaths wracking your body.

You feel Takao leave, the warmth of him fading away, and it takes everything you have to not reach out to him. You sob again, choking on his name.

“Oh, tadpole,” your mother says. She presses a kiss to your temple. “Let him go for now.”

“I’m supposed to be getting married,” you tell her.

“I know, tadpole.”

“Why is this happening?”

She cradles you close. “I wish I knew.”

“You said—”

“I know.”

“Mama,” you murmur. “Mama, what do I do?”

“I don’t know, tadpole,” she says, and you feel one of her hands shift to press against her stomach, to cradle her own soulmark’s blackened kanji. “I don’t know.”

You turn your face into the crook of her neck and cry all over again.

She hums to you, soft and soothing, but lets you cry your fill. She pets at your back, her strong hand firm, keeping you grounded in your own skin.

Your sobs have just started to abate when the phone rings.

It cuts through the heavy air of the tearoom like a knife. Both of you jolt with it, and you furrow your brow. It’s a classic ringtone, the one all phones come with, and you immediately know whose phone it is.

You push yourself up and out of your mother’s arms glancing to where your shiromuku still lays, a collapsed chrysalis. You chew on your lower lip but go to it, kneeling in front of the beautiful fabric and picking it up carefully until you can see Shinsuke’s utilitarian flip phone. It jingles, the ringtone continuing, and you reach for it with trembling fingers.

Miya Osamu, the lit screen reads.

You sit with the phone cupped softly in your hands, your pulse thrumming. You trace a finger over the edge of it.

You flip it open before you can convince yourself otherwise.

“Hello?” you ask.

“You picked up,” Shinsuke says.

You suck in a sharp breath. You had known, but it’s so different hearing his voice. The steadiness of it, even though the edges of it sound worn down.

“I did.”

“I wasn’t sure you would.”

“Me neither,” you confess.

“Are you alright?”

You close your eyes. This would all be so much easier if he wasn’t good. But you know he is—you can hear it in his voice, in how earnestly he asks.

“Not really,” you say. The least you can do is give him the truth. “I assume you need your phone back?”

He goes quiet. You listen to him breathe and something in you aches, like a healing bruise being pressed. You wish you were better, that you were kinder, that you could handle this with grace instead of inelegantly side-stepping it.

“Yes,” he says. “And I’d like to talk.”

You bite your lip. “Yeah,” you say. “We probably should.”

The two of you agree to meet in the tearoom in thirty minutes which is good, because even with your shiromuku shed, the kimono you wear is clearly wedding garb. It’s beautiful in its simplicity, stark white and painstakingly stitched, and you desperately need to be out of it.

It’s your mother who helps you disrobe, her fingers careful as she unwraps the pristine obi, the gossamer fabric as delicate as a spider’s web gleaming in the low light of the room. You stare out the window as the attendant takes it and folds it up for storage. She’s glancing at you occasionally, her dark eyes wide, and you wonder what she’ll tell the people she knows. How she’ll spin the story of your misfortune. If she will tell it as a blessing instead.

The obi is followed by the kimono itself slipping from your shoulders like water, and your mother brushes a hand against your cheek before she hands you your street clothing. She and the attendant leave you to remove the rest yourself. You leave the nagajuban pooled on the floor as you dress.

Once you’re dressed you wander over to your kimono, carefully hung next to your shiromuku. The attendant has smoothed most of the wrinkles from the silk, and you trace a finger over the long lines of it.

You wonder if you’ll ever get to wear it again.

By the time the attendant returns to retrieve the garments you’re sitting by the window, staring out into the pouring rain. The lush plants of the courtyard—heavy, ruffled ferns with massive fronds and vining shrubs with blossoms like little stars dotted between verdant leaves—sway under its touch, dancing to a tune that only nature knows.

Behind you, the shoji clicks open and shut.

You turn around.

Shinsuke gives you a soft smile. It’s wan, but there’s still a sweetness to it somehow. His hat is gone; his gray hair gleams silver in the light, the black tips all the darker for it, and you think again of thunderclouds.

“You’ve been crying,” he says, his brow furrowed, and that almost sends you into a fresh wave of tears.

You let out a watery laugh. “A bit,” you admit. “It’s fine, though.”

He watches you, those vulpine eyes shining. He clearly doesn’t agree.

“Here,” you say, reaching out. “Your phone.”

He moves closer and takes it from you with quiet thanks. He lingers there and you bite your bottom lip, trying to figure out what to even say to him.

“I’m sorry for running,” you say.

He smiles, soft and sad. “I understand.”

“I just—I don’t even know where to start.”

“That’s alright,” he says calmly. “We have time.”

We. He says it so easily. Your stomach roils.

“I can’t,” you say. “I can’t do this.”

Shinsuke’s expression doesn’t change, but he’s different suddenly, like a guttering flame finally blowing out. You swallow down a sob.

“I understand if you need space,” he says. It’s barely there, a wisp of a thing, but there’s pain in his voice. “I know this isn’t easy.”

Your laugh is wild at the edges, an unraveling stitch. “If we’d met an hour later, I would have been married.”

His fingers flex.

“I just—” you catch yourself as your voice cracks. Your lips are tingling; you bite down on the bottom one to make it stop. “I can’t do this right now. Please. Shinsuke, please.”

The tilt of his lips is edged with sorrow. “It’s fine,” he tells you. “We’ll trade phone numbers for now.”

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

He nods. You trade phones, his fingers sweeping over your palm. They’re callused, rough against your skin, and you feel the ghost of them long after he’s drawn back. When you take your phone back, you’re careful to keep from touching him.

Kita Shinsuke, his contact reads, and you can’t help saying it aloud, letting your tongue roll over each inch of his full name now that you know it.

Shinsuke—no, you think, he’s Kita, stranger that he is to you—smiles. He says your name too, his voice soft like the spring sun. Your stomach churns.

“Thanks,” you say, drawing back into yourself, curling up like a fern frond. “We’ll—we’ll talk soon.”

He looks like he wants to say something else, but he must see something in your face because he simply nods. There’s something you can’t quite understand tucked up secret in the corner of his mouth.

“Alright,” he says. “Soon.”

He glances back at you once, just before he disappears into the hallway.

The shoji has barely clicked shut behind him when it’s opened again and Abe and Yoshikawa tumble into the room. They sweep you into their arms without a word and your knees give out. They cradle you as they lower you to the floor, and Yoshikawa hums quietly as you knot your fingers in their kimonos.

“C’mon,” Abe says, the gentlest you’ve ever heard her. “Let’s get you home.”

“Aoshi’s not there,” you sob.

Yoshikawa’s grip tightens.

“That’s fine,” she says, as steady as the sun’s rise, “because we will be.”

***

You wake to sunlight streaming in through your window. It cradles you like a lover, plays gently over your face, and you wrinkle your nose.

“Aoshi,” you grumble, “you forgot to close the curtains last night.”

There’s no response.

You crack an eye open, peering to the other side of the bed only to find it empty. When you press your hand against the worn cotton sheet, it’s cold.

It all comes pouring back in, a riptide of memories washing over you like a stormy sea.

“Oh,” you say quietly, curling up so that your knees are pressed against your chest. You blink back the tears. “Right.”

The sunlight thickens, pools like molten gold around you, and you turn your face up to it, a winter flower searching for warmth. You don’t know how long you stay like that; you’re only roused by the faint sound of clattering in the kitchen followed by the purr of your coffee maker. The scent of it fills the house, and you put on your house slippers.

When you enter the kitchen your father is snipping away at your neglected bonsai, trimming the needles back with careful, sure hands. He glances up at you.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi,” he says. “You’re terrible at taking care of this.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, putting down the pruning shears. “Did you sleep?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Good.”

“Yeah,” you say, and quiet falls.

His lips have a faint downward tilt as he watches you, like a waning moon. He sighs, thumbing at the soil of the bonsai. There’s a flash of his soulmark, blackened into a charcoal smear, a gravestone all its own. Your eyes catch on it.

“Did you love your soulmate more?” you ask. “Was it better with her?”

“Oh, tadpole,” your father says. He comes over and takes your hand, squeezing it lightly. “It was different. Not better, not worse. Just different.”

“But did you love her more?”

“I loved her differently.”

“You keep saying that, but what does it mean?” you ask, pulling away from him. “Either you loved her more or you didn’t!”

He sighs. “It isn’t that easy,” he tells you.

“It is!”

“It isn’t, tadpole.”

“It has to be.”

“It’s not black and white when it comes to soulmates,” he says gently. “You know that.”

“I want it to be,” you whisper. “It’d be easier.”

“It would be,” he agrees. “It would be.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

He sighs. “You don’t have to know, not right this minute.”

“What if I never know?”

He hums, picking up the pruning shears again. He brushes a soft hand over the bonsai tree, tracing over a winding branch, his fingers reverent against the old bark. A few blue-green needles come loose, pattering down to the counter. He sets the pruning shears against a branch and the blades flash, catching the light as they come together. He catches the little branch as it falls.

When he looks up, he looks right past you. You think of early morning mist, how it swallows a person down.

“You will,” he says.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. His gaze flickers to you and when he smiles, it feels like something you aren’t meant to see.

The coffee pot gurgles. It breaks the spell and your father’s smile warms at the edges, smoothing out the tender gash of his mouth.

“I made it the way you like it,” he says. “I thought you might need it.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I think I do.”

You’re halfway through your first cup when your mother emerges, already fully dressed for the day. She looks you over from head to toe and her face softens, goes sweet at the edges.

“Did you sleep?” she asks.

You nod.

“Good.”

“Where are you going?” you ask.

“The shrine,” she says.

You wince.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Take care of what?”

“There’s a soulmate clause in the contract,” she says carefully. “They’re required to refund you. Mei is meeting me though, and she thinks the clause is loosely worded enough that she can get them to hold a different day for you instead, if you’d like. It’ll likely be a less auspicious rokuyo day, but—”

“But if I marry Aoshi, it might be the best I can get.”

She nods. “At least you’ll have options.”

“I guess. Mei’s going?”

Mei is an old friend of your mother’s and one of her prime sources for her study, a veritable treasure trove of data. She’s made for the courtroom, tiny and calm and whip-smart, and her grasp of soulmate law—tricky at the best of times, highly scrutinized as it is—is unparalleled.

“Yes,” she says. “We’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you.”

She comes over to you and cups your cheek. You lean into the touch, into the saffron scent lingering on her skin. “You aren’t alone, tadpole,” she murmurs.

You close your eyes. “I know.”

She pats your cheek lightly. “Good,” she says.

You miss her warmth when she pulls away.

She takes her purse from your father; they murmur to each other. Your father leans forward to press his forehead against hers and you look away.

The door clicks shut behind her, and your father starts to hum, low and off-key. The quiet, off-beat snick of the shears accompanies him. It’s like being a child all over again, and you settle into the hazy familiarity of it.

The morning stretches on. Yoshikawa and Abe appear during your second cup of coffee, and they drag you out to the new cafe you’ve been meaning to try. It’s a creperie filled with hazy pinks and soft greens, the warm air scented sweet. The three of you squish into a small booth as you have so many times before.

They keep you busy, plying you with sugary crepes dipped in rich, thick chocolate and decorated with fresh, perfectly red strawberries. They’re cut into little fans, pressed softly into the chocolate, almost like small flowers in the dough. The three of you peel them out of their paper cones, licking at your fingertips like little kids. You swap flavors, trading bite for bite.

You close your eyes as you reclaim your own crepe from Abe, sinking into the taste of it, letting the sugar wash everything away. Abe laughs, loud and bright, accompanied by the low purr of Yoshikawa’s voice. You let the sound of them encompass you and wonder how you ever got so lucky.

You check your phone as you leave the creperie. You bite at your cheek as your phone screen comes to life, Takao’s little smile carving out a piece of your heart. It’s an old photo from when you first got together, and it’s still a favorite even after all these years.

Abe takes your free hand and squeezes it softly. She doesn’t say anything, but then again she doesn’t need to.

There’s still no message when you go home. Dusk is falling, the last fingers of sunlight playing across the horizon, and you hesitate on your own doorstep. Yoshikawa coaxes you inside with a firm hand on your back. When you glance back at her, her dark eyes are sharp but kind.

Once you’re inside, you can’t decide what is worse: Takao not being home, or the fact that he was. His favorite jacket is missing from the closet; his to-go mug isn’t by the coffee machine. One of the dresser drawers is still cracked open.

Yoshikawa and Abe talk to you, but you can’t quite hear them. They bundle you onto the couch and stay until late, when you finally shake the cobwebs from your thoughts. Abe bites her lip when you shoo them out the door, but she goes without a fight.

The house is quiet as you get ready for bed. The bed feels vast, too big for just you. You reach for your phone perched carefully on the nightstand, untangling the charger from the trailing vines of the pothos it’s by so you can pull it closer. You squint against the brightness, texting Takao a simple good night.

He doesn’t reply.

You hadn’t known the living could haunt, but you go to sleep curled up around a ghost.

***

You go back to work.

There’s still days left of your soulmate leave, but you need the distraction. You ignore the quiet whispers and bury yourself beneath a new project. Caught up in your work you float through the day, only coming up for air when your phone vibrates. You snatch it up each time, but it’s only stray notifications—a news alert; a pop-up saying that the recipe blog Yoshikawa likes updated; your IC card balance.

It’s never what you want it to be.

It carries on for two days; each day you wait for the ping of Takao’s text, but you receive nothing. On the second day you wrap up your day late, staying behind to finish off a few notes on the new project. It’s not as if you have anything better to do.

The sun has set by the time you’re on your way home. The city has bloomed into a neon wonderland, little shocks of color blazing through the night. You watch a black cat scuttle across the sidewalk, its fur glinting fuschia from the nearby izakaya’s sign.

Your neighborhood is quieter but it still has the hum of the city to it, a familiar song. There’s a sweet scent on the breeze, courtesy of the night-blooming flowers that coat the building next to yours. You trace your fingertips over a delicate petal. It’s silken against your skin, and you sigh, turning to your home before coming to a quick halt.

Golden light is slanting out your kitchen window. It pools warmly on the ground, and you suck in a harsh breath, almost running to your door. It opens with a click. You step inside and for a moment, the genkan looks undisturbed. But then you see Takao’s shoes tucked carefully into the getabako; his house slippers are missing. There’s a quiet rustle from the kitchen’s direction.

You slip off your shoes and drop your bag into its place.

“Hello?” you call out, wincing at how timid you sound.

The rustling stops. It starts again, and Takao rounds the corner just a few seconds later.

“Hi,” he says shyly. “You’re home late.”

“Worked late,” you say. “You’re back.”

“I am.”

You’re across the room in seconds, and he wraps you up in his arms as you barrel into him.

“Please stay,” you say, knotting the soft cotton of his shirt up in your fingers. You can feel the slow rise and fall of his chest. Something in you warms. “Please.”

He cups the nape of your neck, the warm span of his palm soft against the tender flesh there. You breathe him in, still nestled in tightly against him.

“You didn’t respond to me,” you murmur.

“I said I needed space.”

“It was just a good night text.”

“Let’s not do this,” he says.

Something in you wants to drag it out. To make him hurt the way you hurt. But you bite back on that part of you, swallow the poison down.

“Are you staying?”

He sighs and you go very, very still.

“I am.”

You slump into him with a sigh of relief. He cradles you close.

“You scared me,” you tell him.

“I know.”

“Don’t do it again.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“Good.”

“You know, this is what I was afraid of, all those years ago,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss against your hairline. “That I wouldn’t be able to let you go if your soulmate came. And that I’d have to worry about you leaving me.”

“How many times are you going to make me say it?” you ask, gritting your teeth. “I’ve told you, I’m not leaving you.”

“You might.”

“We’ve been together for years,” you say, pulling back so you can meet his dark eyes. “He’s a stranger. He wants an idea, not me. Not really. So no, I’m not.”

He sweeps his thumb over the apple of your cheek. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to.

You kiss him then, a featherlight brush of your lips that lasts for just a breath before you pull back. He cups your jaw and chases you. He kisses you again. Deeper, more solid. When he pulls back, you open your eyes and look at him.

“I’m not, Aoshi,” you say. “I know. Trust me.”

He watches you. His eyes remind you of a summer’s night, encompassing and pitch-black, but warm. Always warm. He searches your face, his gaze so intent that it feels physical.

He nods.

You let out a low, soft breath.

Now you have to talk to Kita.

***

It takes time.

Your work’s soulmate leave is generous, but Kita is at the whim of his farm. The rice paddies don’t care about soulmates nor do they pay attention to weekends. And devoted as he is, he heeds their call, nature his kindest mistress.

It makes you think of Toyooka. You know the song of the fields, the rustle of the rice in the countryside breeze, an age-old tune that’s sunk into the soil. This close to harvest the verdant fields go Midas-touched, gilded with the sweetest hint of gold.

You wonder what Kita’s farm looks like. If it looks like the summers of your youth. If he sits on the engawa in the hot months, eating crisp watermelon down to the white bone of the rind, juice dripping sticky down his fingers. If the taste curls thick on his tongue, sweet with the countryside’s unique freedom.

He’d offered his farm as a meeting point early on, but without a car it’s too far. It’s too personal as well. He’s sown into the soil there, living in each grain he’s tended to. You think his hands were kind against the rice shoots, his long, thick fingers careful as he planted them.

It’s too much, the idea of being surrounded by him.

Your home is out of the question because it’s not just yours.

You couldn’t do that to Takao, not when he’s stitched into every seam of your home. He’s in every atom of it—the slight imprint of his form in the memory foam mattress; his toothbrush, half-flattened by how hard he brushes, tucked neatly into a cup by the sink; the photos that line the walls, a tapestry of silken years woven together.

It’s also the one thing Takao’s asked of you.

(“Don’t bring him here,” he says one night, his voice flat.

You pause in the middle of drying a dish. He holds out the next, still soaked to the point that it’s dripping on the floor, and you hurry to finish. It almost slips through your fingers when he lets it go.

“I wouldn’t,” you say fiercely, even though you’d thought about it for one brief second. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Okay.”

“Do you think I would do that to you?” you ask him, setting the dish onto the rack. He hands you another, and you take it without thought.

Takao blinks. He turns to look at you, and his expression is beautiful and terrible, a tender underbelly flayed open.

“No,” he says. “I don’t, not really. I just want this home to have always been ours. Just ours. I just—wanted to be sure, I guess.”

You reach out and cup his face, cradling it between your palms. “It is,” you tell him. “It’s just ours. It’ll always be ours.”

He considers you. “Good,” he says, and he catches your hand in his. He turns his head; he presses a kiss against your palm. It’s devout, that brush of softness from his lips against the ley lines of your skin, as if he’s an acolyte at your altar, laying offerings at your feet.

The two of you press together for a moment, the warmth of his lips searing through your skin to settle in your bones. You take up his hand and press your own kiss to the center of his palm. His eyes go half-mast, and you can feel his smile against your skin.

He pulls back. Squeezes your hand softly, and then he’s turning back to the sink, already reaching for another dish.

You stand there for a moment. Your hand has gone cold without the heat of his skin. You flex your fingers, trying to make sense of the dread creeping over you.

Takao glances at you. He smiles, sweet and fleeting, a dandelion tuft caught in the breeze. For a breath, you’re in high school again, gazing at a boy you’ve never spoken to but spent hours with, the two of you balanced on a precipice. And then the past fades, until you are left with who Takao is now. With who he has become to you.

You smile back, and then take the next plate he hands you.

It’s easy, after that. He washes, and you dry, a rhythm you’d know anywhere. Takao is swaying, humming along with the radio, and he laughs when you start to sway with him, your hips bumping each time.

He doesn’t bring Kita up again.)

With both your homes off-limits, you’re back to square one.

Finally, Kita decides to drive to you.

You choose a little coffee shop on the outskirts of the city, both to shorten the drive for Kita and for its familiarity, a cradle of comfort for a conversation you’ll never truly be ready to have.

It’s a charming place, more rustic than modern with little wooden tables and shelves draped with plants, their lush vines hanging down behind the counter. It’s always warm, the sunlight streaking through the windows to paint the counters golden. The shop is studded with flowers too, bright buds spilling over the lip of water pitchers in a froth of color. Coffee is heavy on the air but a note of sweetness threads through it, a sugary bite of fruit. The pastries are made in-house and you know they’re sinfully good, little melt-in-your mouth slices of heaven.

You’ve eaten three since getting here. You’re on your second drink too having gulped down the first one—scalding your tongue in the process—so quickly that even the barista had seemed surprised.

It’s your own fault, really—you were almost a full half hour early. With nothing to do but wait, you’re all tangled up in yourself.

The woman tapping away on her laptop in the corner pauses to eye you warily as you shred another napkin. You’d folded this one into a lopsided origami bird before beheading it. You send her a polite smile; she turns back to her laptop without a word.

You try to make another origami animal but you can’t remember any other patterns. You could make an army of birds you suppose, but after the fifth one you run out of napkins. When you consider getting more, the look on the barista’s face keeps you in your seat. You slouch down into it, your cheeks warm.

You look up just as Kita enters, the little bell at the top of the door chiming quietly. He finds you instantly, his amber eyes settling on you as soon as he’s through the door. He smiles, warm like the spring sun, his eyes crinkling with it.

He’s as handsome as you remember, leanly muscled with broad shoulders and casually graceful as he walks to your table. In the cafe lighting his gray hair goes silvery, bright against the black tips of it, and you think of a moon being eclipsed.

“Hello,” Kita says, holding out a hand when you start to get up. “S’fine, you don’t need to get up.”

“Oh,” you say, caught awkwardly between sitting and standing. A smile drifts across Kita’s face like a summer breeze, a quick, soothing thing. You cough and sit back down. “Hi.”

The two of you are quiet for a moment. He’s watching you, drinking you in, and his eyes remind you of a sunlit forest, of the way the sun’s rays drip down between the trees like honey. It aches, the way he looks at you. It’s soft and sure. Steady and open and earnest.

Kita looks at you like you help make the world make a little bit more sense.

His gaze flickers down to the tabletop, and that same small smile blooms on his lips.

You suddenly remember your mini-army of origami birds, including their headless leader. You fight the urge to close your eyes in mortification.

“You should order something,” you say, fidgeting with your cup. “Their coffee’s nice.”

“Alright. D’ya want another?” he asks. “I’ll get it for you.”

You shake your head. “No,” you say. “Thank you, though.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you say, and he nods.

When he goes to the counter to order you hurriedly sweep the remains of your shredded napkins away, wincing as they flutter into your purse. Some of them stick to your sweaty palms, and you rub them vigorously against your thighs until they curl up into little paper pearls. They patter to the ground quietly. You send out a quiet mental apology to the cafe workers.

“You alright?” Kita asks. He settles down across from you and you envy his assuredness, how serene he looks.

You nod, not trusting your voice.

He eyes you for a moment, those golden eyes all too knowing. But he doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to wind his hands—lightly tanned and slender, with a constellation of small scars scattered over his skin—around his cup.

It’s tea, you think, the faintest hint of it reaching your nose, and it fits him in a way you can’t quite put into words. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips as he takes a small sip and you look away.

“I’m glad we could meet,” he says.

“Yeah,” you say, already wishing you had another napkin to shred. “I think it’s important to talk.”

“It is, but I just wanted to see you.”

He says it so simply. Kita speaks with the surety of the sun’s rise; he means every word he says. There’s a sweetness to him that could only come from earnesty. He leaves no room for doubt.

You break in the face of it.

“I can’t be with you,” you blurt out.

He goes still. The smile on his lips fades. “What?”

“I can’t be with you,” you repeat.

“We’re soulmates,” he says, and it’s the most rattled you’ve ever heard him. His fingers flex. He looks lost, those amber eyes hazy, and you think of the morning mist, how it swallows down the sun. There’s a tiny quiver to his lips.

“I know.”

“We’re supposed to be together,” he says.

You ache for him.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out. “But that’s not enough. I can’t leave him. I don’t want to leave him.”

Kita’s quiet. The silence stretches on. And then—

“You love ‘im,” he says softly.

You nod.

“You’re happy?”

You nod again.

Kita leans forward and cups your cheek. He skims his thumb over your cheekbone, a careful glide. It comes away wet, his skin salt-kissed, and you lean into his calloused palm.

He wipes away another tear. His touch has the same aching tenderness of a fresh, swollen bruise.

“Okay,” he says. “I can live with that.”

That quiet, easy capitulation makes it worse. You can see he means it; it’s reflected in his eyes. If you’re happy, that’s enough for him.

Your stomach hurts.

You sniffle, pulling away from his warm touch and wiping at your eyes. Your cheeks are hot, and they get hotter as you see a few people glancing your way. Kita lets out a slow, deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” you say, staring down at your coffee cup. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know.”

It’s not an “it’s okay,” but you suppose that would have been asking for a lot from him. You look at him from underneath your eyelashes and find that his amber eyes are distant, like the sun at the very edge of the horizon.

You wonder where he’s gone, and then think that perhaps it’s best that you don’t know. You fidget with your cup. The porcelain of it scrapes against the table, and Kita’s eyes clear. Still, they’re not as keen as they usually are, and you shift in your seat. He takes in a soft breath, a whisper of a thing, and then his eyes flicker to you.

“I’d like to stay in contact with you,” he says.

You jolt, almost knocking your cup off the table. “What?”

“I would rather have you in my life.”

“Shin—Kita, that’s not fair to you.”

“Please call me Shinsuke.”

You ache for him, something bone deep that no salve will help subside. “That’s exactly why this isn’t fair,” you say gently. “You’re going to want more than I can give you, and we both know it.”

“I know,” he says. His eyes are keen as they flicker over you; the tilt of his mouth makes you look away. “And I’m sorry. But I won’t ask anything of you, except for this.”

“Kita—”

His fingers flex, but he doesn’t correct you.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” you ask. Your hands are trembling; the words are sour on your tongue, the lemon tang of a promise that’s going to hurt.

“Yes,” he says, steady as stone.

You sigh. “Okay,” you say. “Okay.”

“Thank you.”

You nod, toying with a sugar packet as he sips at his tea. You fold and unfold the edge of the package, until the paper starts to wear thin, a few tiny crystals of sugar spilling loose to plink against the table.

The silence that falls is heavy, weighing you down like an anchor. There’s the quiet background noise of the cafe: the chatter of the barista and other customers, the soft tinkle of the bell as someone else enters, the hiss and purr of the espresso machine, but it seems distant.

“I’m gonna go,” you say abruptly. “I think that’s for the best.”

You’re already starting to gather up your things when Kita stands. “It’s okay,” he says. “You should stay. I need to be gettin’ back to the farm anyway.”

“You just got here,” you say helplessly. “You drove all this way.”

He glances at you. His expression is complicated; you can’t quite parse it.

“I drove here for you,” he says gently.

You open your mouth and close it again, a koi-like gape. You sit down slowly, settling into the booth again. He picks up his cup of tea—still piping hot, little wisps of steam rising from it like smoke—and gives you a little smile that doesn’t quite reach his striking eyes.

“Get home safe,” he says.

“You too,” you say faintly.

You watch him leave, the way each of his steps is steady and sure. You don’t think you’ve ever known someone so at home in their own skin. But there’s a curve to his shoulders now, the broad width of them collapsed inward. It’s minute but it’s there, and your stomach roils again, a sour brew of emotion welling up in you.

He pauses to ask the barista something; she gives him a to-go cup and watches as he carefully pours his tea into it. He hands back the other cup with a little nod of his head.

The cafe door clicks shut behind him, bell chiming, a clear, porcelain sound that cuts through the chatter of the cafe. You resist the urge to bury your face in your hands, choosing instead to look down into your nearly-empty cup. The dregs of it are dark, and you wonder if your future is written out in them.

You blow out a soft breath and scrub at your face with your hands. When you glance up, the barista is carefully not looking your way. To avoid seeing the way her lips have twisted, you glance out the window into the haze of the mid-morning sun, still spilling golden over the tiny parking lot. You immediately balk.

Kita’s still there.

He’s in his truck, half-hidden by the glare of sun against the windows, but you know it’s him. You can’t see his eyes, but you can tell he’s staring straight ahead. His mouth is a thin, tight line. You chew on your lower lip.

One hand comes up to scour beneath his eyes. It comes away with a wet sheen catching the sunlight and shining bright. You wince, glancing away.

You stare down into your coffee cup again. When you down the last of it, the dregs of it, it’s sharp and bitter on your tongue.

It almost erases the heavy, metallic tang of guilt.

Almost.

***

Your phone pings.

You grab it without looking away from your monitor, typing in your passcode one-handed as you mutter the last line of the email to yourself. You flick the notification to pull up the text without checking the name and pause.

It’s a picture of the rice fields, rippling in the breeze like a current, the stalks going gilded as harvest draws closer. Beyond the sea of them there are rolling hills of green with only a few power structures—standing tall on their metal legs as they reach into the sky—to mark a human presence. It’s all framed by the bluest sky you’ve ever seen, filled with puffy white clouds that you think are likely being whisked along by the breeze.

It’s so vivid you can almost smell the fresh air.

There’s also only one person that could have sent it to you.

Trying to keep in contact with Kita has been an exercise in awkwardness. You feel bad but you’re trying to figure out how to temper it, since you’re caught between what you know he wants and what you’re capable of giving him.

To his credit, Kita never pushes. You suspect that he prefers calling—he seems the type—but he mainly texts, following your lead.

(“I feel like I owe him this much,” you tell Takao one night, when Kita has texted you while the two of you are curled up on the couch watching a movie.

“I don’t think you owe anyone anything,” he says, but he never asks you to stop.)

There’s still a hint of stilted awkwardness to it, but it has gotten better than it was.

It’s stunning, you text back. It reminds me of summers in Toyooka.

He doesn’t reply until dusk is settling, but that’s not unusual considering how diligent he is with his farm. You reply quickly, bored with the TV show you’ve been watching as you wait for Takao to pick up dinner, and the two of you fall into conversation.

He asks about Toyooka and you tell him. You tell him about catching summer fireflies and playing in the fields with Abe. You’re about to tell him about Abe’s duckling that followed her everywhere one summer when you realize exactly how long of a paragraph you’re sending.

Before you can second guess yourself, you delete the paragraph and send a different message: I think this might be easier as a call.

I’d like that, Kita replies.

You hit call, knowing you’ll balk if you give yourself time to think.

He picks up instantly.

“Hello,” he says.

“Hi,” you say, a little awkwardly. “How are you?”

He chuckles, but it’s kind. “I’m good,” he says. “How are you?”

“I’m good.”

“That’s good,” he says. Silence falls for a moment. It’s not a comfortable one, and Kita shatters it by saying: “You were talking about your summers in Toyooka?”

“Yes,” you say, and you launch into the tale of Duck (“She named the duckling Duck?” “We were six.”) and how he’d followed Abe through the sea of paddies, all the way up to the genkan of the rented house each and every day.

Kita is a good listener. He seems happy to let you chatter away. He asks questions here and there and tells a few stories of his own, but mostly he’s quiet, just the soft whisper of his breath echoing on the line.

The two of you talk until you hear the door to the house open. Takao calls out a greeting, a familiar song, and you call one out in return. Rustling accompanies him and the faint scent of spices starts to waft into the living room.

“I should go,” you say into the phone. “Dinner’s here.”

“Alright,” Kita says softly. “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

Takao comes into the living room as you hang up; he presses a quick kiss to your lips. He tastes suspiciously like your favorite appetizer.

“Hey,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him. “Did you eat some on the way home?”

“Yup,” he says cheerfully. “A toll for my labor.”

“You haven’t finished your labor yet. I set the table, so go unpack the food.”

“Yes ma’am!”

You bat at him; he dodges with a little laugh. He leans down and gives you another quick kiss, this time at the corner of your lips, sweet and fleeting. When he pulls away he heads towards the kitchen, lightly swinging the bag of takeout as he goes.

You’re getting to your feet to follow him when your phone vibrates in your hand, buzzing along your skin. You glance at the notification and see that it’s Kita. You flick it open.

It was good to talk to you, he’s texted.

You pause for a moment, chewing on your lower lip. You can hear Takao humming to himself in the kitchen.

Yeah, you reply. It was good to talk to you too.

It’s easier after that. You stop agonizing over each word. It doesn’t completely fade; you will always be more careful with Kita than you are with anyone else. It’s the kindest thing you can do for him.

The two of you start to text more, each message a string drawing you closer to each other. He texts you photos of his ducks. You repay him with photos of the conbini’s cat, a spoiled little thing often found lounging in the front windows, little face turned up to the sun.

You start to call too. It’s sparse at first, often a continuation of a text chat that simply would be better on the phone, but it grows more frequent as the weeks pass. Some nights it’s short; other nights, you feel lost in time, as if only seconds have gone by when you’ve talked for much longer.

You grow used to seeing Kita’s name pop up on your screen. It’s nice, if you’re honest. You like talking to him.

“What’re you makin’?”

You glance towards where your phone is propped up. At some point, today’s call became FaceTime, mainly so you both have your hands free to make dinner. It gives you a glimpse into his kitchen; a glimpse into him.

His kitchen is meticulously clean and inherently practical. Everything seems to have its space, whether it’s a row of well-maintained pots and pans or a knife block with an assortment of handles jutting out from it, a sharpener carefully tucked in beside it.

But there are other little touches of Kita scattered about: the apron hanging from the rack is embroidered with tiny rice paddies, each stitch painstakingly made by his grandmother’s steady hand; the strawberry plant in the window is heavy with small, glistening berries despite the season; there are neatly folded handkerchiefs tucked loosely into a drawer by the cleaning supplies.

Even through a phone screen it feels warm. Homey in a quiet way.

Kita moves back into frame with a bowl in his hand. He’s got a brow raised, and you remember he asked you a question.

“Nikuman,” you tell him, gliding the cabbage over the mandolin’s shining blade. You work it carefully, watching the ribbons of white-green flutter down onto the cutting board. “Oyakodon too. You?”

“Tofu hamburger.”

“That’s your favorite, right?”

A small smile blooms on his lips. “You remembered.”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“I’m not,” he says. “It’s just nice.”

You hum, finishing up with the cabbage and dumping it into a bowl. Kita keeps chopping as you pour rice into a pot and start to wash it. “Ugh,” you murmur to yourself. “Almost out of rice.”

“What rice do you use?” Kita asks.

You point at him with a wet hand. “No,” you say. “You’re gonna judge me.”

“Over rice?”

“You’re a rice farmer!”

He chuckles. “And?”

“That means you know rice secrets. Like better brands.”

“I could always give you some.”

“Some rice secrets?”

“Some rice.”

You hum. “Thanks, but I don’t want you to have to go out of your way,” you say. “Shipping it seems inconvenient.

“I was thinkin’ I could bring you some. I have a delivery in the city soon.”

You pause. Kita’s stopped preparing his dinner, instead turning his gaze on you. Even through the phone, his amber eyes almost glow. You think of the last vestiges of a sunset, of the deepest sheen of gold threading across the horizon.

“Kita…”

“You can say no,” he says quietly. Quietly, but no less steady for it.

You sink your hand into the rice that’s settled at the bottom of the pot, still covered by water. When you flex your fingers, the grains slip through them like darting little fish. You do it again. The water ripples around your wrist.

“I can’t, Kita,” you say.

He nods, his gray hair a lightning strike gleam. “Alright,” he says. His shoulders dip low, an exhausted Atlas, and you sigh.

“Not yet,” you say. “But one day.”

He nods again. For a moment you think he’ll say something else, but he simply gives you a crooked little smile. When you change the subject, he doesn’t fight it. The two of you settle back into conversation as you cook.

You hang up as Takao returns home. Dinner has just finished cooking, the oyakodon perfectly golden, the scent of it lingering savory in the air. You settle in at the table, talking about your day as you eat, until you finally put your chopsticks down.

“Kita asked me to meet up.”

He puts his chopsticks down as well.

“I said no,” you say, meeting his gaze. “Well, I said not yet.”

“Not yet? You want to see him?”

“I think I’d like to,” you tell him, because you will always be honest with him about this. “But I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t want to stop you from doing something you want to do.”

“I will, though.”

He runs a hand through his hair; it flows through his fingers like water, little rivulets of dark hair catching between his fingers. “I know,” he says.

“I’ll choose you, Aoshi,” you tell him. “As many times as it takes.”

He reaches over and cups your cheek with a warm hand. “I know,” he says. “It’s not my favorite thing, but if you want to see him you should.”

You cover his hand with your own and turn into his touch. You press your lips against his palm, against the leylines that are carved there, a future you don’t know how to read.

You press another kiss to his palm, a quiet gratitude for his trust.

He leans over to brush a whisper of a kiss to the corner of your lips.

As you turn back to your meal you think of the waver to Kita’s smile, like the sun hidden behind passing clouds.

One day, you promise him. One day.

***

One day comes quicker than you’d thought.

It’s early, the sun still hovering over the horizon as the blue of dawn fades away into something brighter. The sunlight catches on the city buildings, the windows shimmering like a mirage, a promise of what’s hidden behind them. The streets aren’t empty—they never are—but the frantic pace of them has slowed to something leisurely, as if the city is still waking up too.

You weave your way through the streets. The route is familiar and you pay little attention to where you’re going, choosing instead to watch the vendors begin to open their stores. The florist is already putting out buckets of flowers, a riot of color from the dawn hues of a ruffled ranunculus to the deep purple of the elegant, leggy irises rising over the rest. He’s half-lost in the blossoms, pushing his way through petals to lay out more of his wares. Some of them catch in his hair.

Next door, the conbini is still aglow. It’s always a beacon in the night, but it’s softer in the day. You head in and grab a quick snack for later, giving the half-asleep cashier a little smile.

The bustle of the street has grown when you leave the conbini, the stream of people burgeoning into a river. But you still hear it when someone calls your name.

You glance around and find Kita just a door down from you, coming out of a small grocer’s. He smiles at you softly and you almost duck back into the conbini.

He waits there, leaving the choice of approaching up to you, but you’ve run from him enough. You slip through the crowd and join him by a flat of dusky peaches, the air around them faintly sweetened.

“Hi,” you say. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

He nods towards the inside of the grocer’s shop. It’s small, clearly family owned, but it’s well-stocked. There’s a kid—no more than ten, you think—carefully putting shining apples into a basket, their face scrunched up in concentration.

“Tsukada stocks my rice,” Kita says, and now that he’s said it, you vaguely remember him mentioning this neighborhood when you’d talked about his delivery route a few weeks ago. “I’m very grateful for it.”

A scoff comes from behind the register. An older woman peers out, her brow raised. Her eyes are wrinkled at the edges, her crow’s feet papery, but the thickest line is clearly a laugh line.

“It’s good rice,” she tells you. “Simple as that.” She eyes you curiously, tilting her head to the side. Her thick black braid thuds against her shoulder; it’s streaked with gray, like pebbles just visible through a river’s darkened waters.

Kita inclines his head to her, a small smile on his lips. “You’re kind,” he says.

“Just tellin’ the truth.” Tsukada settles back, disappearing behind the register again. “Take some fruit with you when you go. I know your granny likes peaches this time of year.”

“I will,” he says. “Thank you.”

She waves him off with a gnarled hand, barely visible from your vantage point.

Kita returns his attention to you. “It’s good to see you,” he says, all summer warmth. “I don’t suppose you have a little time? My next delivery isn’t until later.”

You purse your lips. He tracks the movement, his eyes dimming, and you sigh.

“I have a little time,” you say. “Coffee?”

He lights ups. “Perfect,” he says. “D’ya know a place near here?”

You nod. “I think it has tea, too.”

He smiles at you. Then he’s calling a respectful goodbye to Tsukada, gathering a few of the peaches to put in the bag slung over his shoulder. You watch him pick them, his long fingers tender against the soft flesh. He brushes his fingertips along a stubborn leaf still attached to the stem. You half expect him to tear it loose, but he leaves it in place.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

The two of you wind through the streets. He stays by your side but gives you space, only pressing close when the stream of people on the sidewalk thickens to a river.

The coffee shop isn’t far. When you duck inside the scent of coffee billows over you, sharp and thick and a little bit bitter. You both order—Kita offers to pay, but he doesn’t look surprised when you decline—and then find a little booth tucked away by a small window. The sun has warmed the seats. It streams through the glass in whirling colors, catching in the stained glass decal pressed close to the window. It dapples Kita with pink like he’s been flecked with sakura petals, and you hide your smile in your coffee cup.

He seems to notice, an answering smile tugging at his lips, but he doesn’t mention it.

“How’s the farm?” you ask.

“S’good,” he says, taking a sip of his tea. You can smell it faintly, even through the coffee, an earthy kiss. “The ducklings are fully grown now, since I know that’s what you really want to know.”

“You caught me,” you say with a laugh. “Can you blame me? They’re so cute!”

“Yeah,” Kita says, his gaze steady on you. “They are.”

“And you’ve been skimping on the pictures.”

“I sent you one just yesterday.”

“Yes, exactly! Just one!”

He chuckles softly. “I’ll do better,” he promises.

“Good.”

“And how’re you?”

“Working a lot,” you say. “It’s starting to feel like it’s all I do, but my project should be done soon so I can have a bit more time. I want to meet Abe’s new girlfriend, but I haven’t had a chance yet.”

“I’m sure you’ll meet her soon.”

“Hope so. How are your Olympians? This is what, their second one coming up? I’m looking forward to it.”

He grins. It’s broad and bright, brimming with pride and joy. “They’re not mine,” he protests, but his grin doesn’t falter. “But yes, their second, and they’re good. Workin’ hard. It’s off season, though, so hopefully they’ll come ‘round to visit.”

“I’m sure Aran will.”

“He doesn’t have a choice,” he says. “Granny’ll go get him herself if she’s got to. He’ll get an earful about it, too.”

You smile into your cup. “I’d like to see that.”

“It’s sure something.”

“I can only imagine.”

Kita takes a sip of his tea. Not for the first time you’re struck by the way he moves, the careful surety of it, steadiness edged in grace. You wonder if it’s from his time playing volleyball or if he was always like this.

“Do you ever miss it?” you ask.

“Sometimes,” he says. “It made sense, y’know? Learning something, repeatin’ it, then using that repetition to move forward.”

“It doesn’t sound that different from farmwork.”

He chuckles. It’s low and warm, like the first true rays of light pouring over the horizon. “I suppose they have similarities.”

“Seems like it to me.”

The two of you keep chatting. It’s easy to pick up the thread of the last time you spoke, and you weave it into today’s conversation.

You bask in the glow of the morning sun as it streams over the booth. Under the sun’s warmth the world goes honeyed, a slow, sweet drip of time. You shift sleepily. Kita breathes out what could be a little laugh at the sight, but when you look at him he’s got his face tilted up into the light. It gilds him, his half-closed eyes going from amber to pure gold, as if he’s Midas-touched.

You sigh.

He blinks, the fan of his long eyelashes casting a soft shadow on his tanned cheeks.

“I have to go,” you tell him. “But this—this has been nice.”

“Very nice,” he agrees.

“Let’s do it again sometime.”

His breath catches briefly. You pretend to not hear it.

“Yes,” he says, a quiet hope lining his voice. You hate yourself a little. “Let’s.”

You give him a little smile as you rise to your feet. He gets up too despite his unfinished tea, and the two of you head out the door together.

The humid air rolls over you; you can already feel the heavy stickiness on your skin. You huff, rolling up your sleeves, and a tiny smile appears in the corner of Kita’s mouth. He doesn’t say anything though, and you bid him a quiet goodbye.

He returns it, his eyes soft, and you head down the street.

When you turn the corner, you can’t help it. You glance back at where you left him.

He’s already gone.

***

Autumn makes itself known.

It encroaches on the hazy, honeyed nights of late summer slowly, a creeping first frost. The cold is soft edged, more a kiss than a bite. Still, the hydrangeas that line the path to the municipal office have faded under its touch, the blossoms leeched of color and gone brittle at the edges. They rasp out a dry, harsh song as the breeze picks up.

You shiver and lean into Takao’s warmth as the two of you walk to the office, your kon-in todoke clasped tight in your hand. The ink of your seals is still fresh, done hurriedly at the kitchen table when you realized that you were going to be late for your appointment. Abe’s seal is almost too far out of the witness’s section to count; she’d still been bleary-eyed, her first cup of coffee only partially drunk. Yoshikawa’s seal is perfectly in the box for it. She was still teasing Abe when you and Takao left.

“Nervous?” Takao asks, twining his fingers with yours. His palm is slightly sweaty; you hide your smile in your scarf.

“A little. You?”

“Who wouldn’t be?”

“Yoshikawa,” you say promptly. “I don’t think marriage would rattle her at all.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I can see that.”

You slip inside the office; the chatter of it settles over you. You shrug off your scarf as you orient yourself, reading the signs plastered all over to figure out where the two of you need to go.

The clerk who processes your kon-in todoke is young. She has a kind smile, and she flashes it as she takes the form from you, along with your koseki tohon. She holds out a hand for your IDs and her nails are baby blue, dotted with tiny white clouds, a perfect summer sky. You can’t help your smile.

You lean into Takao as she scans your forms. He gives your hand a little squeeze; when you glance up at him, the tips of his ears have gone dusty pink. You almost laugh. He seems to realize it, delivering a nudge to your side that makes you pinch at him.

“Everything looks in order,” the clerk says. “You have your soulmate form as well?”

“Yes,” Takao says. He hands it to her; you stare at the bulletin board behind the clerk’s head so that her face is blurry. Her keyboard clicks away, but she doesn’t say anything, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

She examines your forms again, her eyes sharp as she reviews them, and then she’s shuffling them together and forming a neat stack. She flashes that same sweet smile.

“Congratulations,” she says. “You’re officially married.”

Takao squeezes your hand before letting go. He turns to face you and he’s glassy-eyed, his lower lip trembling. He cups your cheek and pulls you close to brush a barely-there kiss against your lips. You chase him when he starts to pull away, deepening the kiss for a brief moment.

“Hi,” you say when the two of you break apart. “Husband.”

“Wife,” he replies. There are roses blooming in his cheeks, the blush spreading from his cheekbones up to his ears. He nuzzles his nose against yours.

The clerk coughs, but when you glance at her, your cheeks heating, she’s still smiling.

“Thank you,” you tell her.

She nods, gathering the rest of your paperwork and handing the small stack to you. You collect them carefully before handing them to Takao so he can put them in the small folder he’d brought.

The entire trip home feels unreal, the cityscape swirling together in a watercolor blur, neon melting into the harsh sheen of metal, softened by a hint of greenery. Takao’s touch is grounding though, and you squeeze his hand from time to time, as if making sure he’s still there.

He always is.

The two of you exchange rings in your sunwarm kitchen. You have no vows, but you think you don’t need them. It’s enough to see the look on Takao’s face as he slips the ring into place; it speaks a language from long ago that you still know by heart. Abe and Yoshikawa cheer when you’re done, and then the rest of the day rushes by, filled to the brim with mini-celebrations. Your friends have gone out of their way to provide what the shrines will not, and you once again wonder how you’ve gotten so lucky.

Dusk is falling when the last of your guests leave, the sunset spilling over the horizon like fire. The last dregs of light fade as you curl up next to Takao on the couch. He presses a soft kiss to your hairline; you chase him for a real kiss. You lace your fingers together when you break apart. You thumb at his wedding ring idly, the metal warmed by his skin.

“We’re married, huh?” you say.

“Seems that way.”

You laugh. “Don’t sound too excited, now.”

He pinches at you. “I’m not excited,” he says, deftly avoiding your return pinch. “I’m happy. There’s a difference, you know.”

You lean into him. “I think you’re right.”

“It happens sometimes.”

“It does?”

He pinches at you again. You shove him away, but he pulls you back in and cradles you close. You play-struggle for a moment and then finally relax into him when he tightens his grip.

“Are you?” he asks softly.

“Am I what?”

“Happy.”

You turn in his arms, reaching out to cup his jaw. You stroke your thumb against his cheekbone.

“Yes,” you say. “I am.”

He kisses you then, his mouth soft and sure. You would know his touch anywhere, you think. It settled beneath your skin long ago.

“Good,” he says. “Good.”

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, tasting the salt of his skin on your parted lips. His breath wavers. You press a kiss to his pulse.

“I have a phone call to make,” you murmur into his skin. “And I need to do it soon. It’s important.”

He tugs you back up so that you’re looking at him. His eyes—as deep and dark as the night sky—flicker over you. You wait. His brow furrows for a moment and then understanding blooms on his face. He leans forward to press a ghost of a kiss to the corner of your lips.

“Okay,” he says, letting you go and getting to his feet. He pauses, as if he wants to say more, but he heads to the kitchen without a word. You watch him go before grabbing your phone and dialing.

You take in a deep, slow breath as the line rings.

Kita picks up quickly. The two of you exchange pleasantries for a few minutes, catching up with each other briefly. There’s an easy flow to it, but he pauses after a moment.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

You bite at a hangnail.

“I got married today,” you say softly. “I—I thought you should know.”

He’s quiet. It reminds you of the deepest parts of winter, when even the air is still. You ache with it. He’s a bruise that will never quite fade, you think, and you can only imagine what it’s like for him.

“Thank you,” he says eventually, his voice soft but steady. “For telling me.”

“It didn’t feel right to not,” you confess. “I’m sorry, Kita.”

“I know.”

The call doesn’t last much longer. There’s not much left to say after that, and your husband is patiently waiting for you.

Once you’ve hung up you head into the kitchen and find Takao slicing up a small cake. It’s a froth of delicate frosting topped with crystalline spun-sugar flowers. Abe had insisted that you have a wedding cake and you hadn’t bothered to argue.

He glances up when you wander in. His smile is incandescent, a starlight thing, and you go to him with a matching smile tugging at your lips. You kiss him once, then again, and then a third time still. He laughs.

You wind your arms around his waist as he finishes cutting the cake, pressing your forehead between his shoulder blades. He smells of home; there’s the faintest hint of his cologne under the scent of your laundry detergent. You press closer.

“Hard call?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say, muffled by his shirt.

“It’s over now.”

“So it is.”

He puts down the knife and turns around in your arms. He draws you close. “I love you,” he says. “Enough that I’ll even share this cake with you.”

“Oh, wow.”

“I know.”

You laugh. “You’re ridiculous,” you tell him, knowing you sound terribly, disgustingly fond. You start to pull away but he tightens his arms around you. “Aoshi!”

“You gotta say it back.”

“I love you,” you tell him softly. “I really do.”

His smile is tender and fleeting, a dandelion seed caught on the wind. You kiss it from his lips. His hands come up to cup your jaw; you feel the metal of his wedding ring against your skin.

It feels incredibly ordinary.

You hope it always will.

***

You shiver as you pull the door to the onigiri shop open, burying your face in your scarf even as you step into warm air. A gust of wind whips in behind you, carrying a few rare snowflakes—fat and fluffy, a perfect pure white—inside. You pull the door shut behind you quickly.

It’s blessedly warm in the shop and the air is spiced with enticing, savory aromas. For a moment, you think of your father’s kitchen: the clutter of ingredients spread across a chopping board, an organized mess; the weight of a worn soft apron; the warmth of a heating stove. You open your eyes, not realizing you’d closed them as you breathed in.

It’s a cozy shop. There are plush looking booths and a few small tables, plus a handful of stools at the counter the chef is working behind. He’s a broad man, his forearms flexing as he shapes an onigiri. He snaps something at one of the men sitting on the stools, reaching out to smack the blond’s hand as he tries to grab something behind the counter. The blond squawks, pulling back and looking deeply offended.

You cough out a laugh.

Both of them snap their gazes to you. They’re twins, you realize, encountering two identical faces. The chef’s furrowed brow smooths out into something placid. He pushes the blond back into his seat with a big hand.

“What can I get ya?”

“Oh,” you say, caught off guard with how easily he’s switched up. “I’m not sure yet, I’m sorry.”

“Menu’s over there if you need one,” he says, pointing to a stack you hadn’t noticed. “Sit wherever you like.”

“Thanks,” you say, and suddenly, the man next to the blond looks up. He’s handsome, tall even while he’s sitting down, his shoulders just as broad as the chef’s. He’s also oddly familiar; he says your name and you blink.

“Aran?” you ask.

He beams. “It is you! It’s been a while. Are you staying to eat?”

You glance between the three of them. The twins are staring at you now; the chef has a brow raised but is otherwise placid, while the blond gapes. You put two and two together and realize that they must be the Miyas. No wonder the name of the shop sounded familiar.

“You’re Kita’s soulmate,” the chef—Osamu, you remember—says. He sounds bland, but there’s a bit of a sneer tucked into the corner of his mouth.

“That’s her?” the blond—Atsumu, then—says. He looks you over from head to toe, his honey-brown eyes shining in the low light. His mouth twists into something lemon-edged, a faint hint of sourness lining his whole form.

Osamu ignores him, looking at you instead. “Kita’s here,” he tells you. “He’s droppin’ off some rice in the storeroom.”

You glance at the door of the shop.

“Dontcha want to see your soulmate?” Atsumu asks, a little bit mean.

You wince. You twist your scarf around your fingers, spooling it around your knuckles.

Aran sighs, looking very, very pained. “Don’t be rude,” he chastises.

“M’not being rude! I’m just asking! She’s not—”

“Atsumu.”

Kita emerges from the back, coming up behind the counter. His sleeves are rolled high on his forearms; there’s a light sheen of sweat on his brow. It turns his hair to the dark gray of a summer storm cloud. His mouth is drawn taut, a gash of a thing.

Atsumu goes pale.

“I’ll have the other part of the delivery for you later this month,” Kita says to Osamu. The dark-haired twin nods. There’s a little smirk on his lips, the bitten down delight of watching a sibling get in trouble.

Atsumu’s fidgeting, tugging at the hem of one of his sleeves with long, strong fingers.

“Hey,” Kita says, turning to you. “S’good to see you.”

“Yeah,” you say, still looking at Atsumu, who looks like he’s waiting for a death sentence.

“I didn’t realize you came here, I would have told Osamu to look out for you.”

“It’s my first time. A coworker suggested it.”

Atsumu’s shoulders are slowly lowering. There’s the slightest twitch to Kita’s lips, a little half-smile that you recognize. There’s a layer of mischief to it that you’re still getting used to.

“By the way, Atsumu,” he says, and the blond chokes. “Didya have something you wanted to say?”

Osamu snorts as his brother wildly shakes his head. It’s quiet but obvious and Atsumu scowls at him. Kita clears his throat and both brothers snap to attention.

Next to Atsumu, Aran looks like he’s holding back laughter. It’s a good look for him—he glows with it, his barely contained smile bright and true.

“Ya sure?” Kita asks, that same little mischievous tilt to his lips. Atsumu nods. “Alright then.”

He rolls down his sleeves as he steps out from behind the counter; he comes over to you and gives you a crescent moon smile, soft and sweet. The two of you step away from the group slightly.

“Hi,” you say, quieter this time, something just for you and him.

“You stayin’?” he asks. “You should join us.”

You shake your head. “I have to get back,” you tell him. “Another time?”

“Of course.”

Kita stays by your side as you order; he radiates a gentle heat, like the bricks of a hearth long after the fire has died down. You watch Osamu make the onigiri, placing each filling carefully. His big hands are gentle as they mold the rice. There’s care and pride in each movement and it lives in his face, too, in the swell of his smile as he completes each one.

They’re a lively group—Atsumu is growing louder and louder as he argues with his brother, something like a pout on his expressive face before it’s wiped away by indignance.

“Oi!” he says, pointing at Osamu, halfway out of his seat. “Take that back!”

“Nope,” Osamu says.

“You—”

Aran grimaces as he pulls Atsumu back into his seat. “You’re so loud.”

“Am not!”

“Ya are,” Osamu says. “Now shut up, you’re bothering the customers.”

Atsumu makes a noise that reminds you of a cat that’s fallen into water as Osamu hands you your order. The box is rather simple, with Onigiri Miya stamped onto it in a deep, rich ink, but it somehow reminds you of the bentos of your childhood. You think it might be how carefully the onigiri are tucked into it, each one nestled close to the next, a little mountain range of rice.

Kita walks you to the door after you say your goodbyes to the rest of the group. He holds your onigiri box as you put your scarf back on, looping it around your neck.

“Sorry you couldn’t stay,” he says. His fingertips linger when he hands the box back. “I promise my friends don’t bite.”

“Maybe not Aran.”

He laughs softly. “The twins are all bark and no bite,” he says. “Besides, I can keep ‘em in line.”

“I noticed.”

He smiles. “See you soon?”

“Yeah,” you say. “See you soon.”

He holds open the door for you; a gust of wind sweeps over you, tugging playfully at the end of your scarf. You carry his warm smile into the cold winter afternoon.

You’re almost halfway down the street when you hear a familiar voice.

“Hey!”

You glance back over your shoulder. Atsumu is powering after you; he catches up to you in an instant, tugging you back until you’re both out of the way of other pedestrians. You’re halfway into an izakaya’s doorstep, the winter peonies surrounding it swaying around your ankles. A few early customers peer out the door at you, but Atsumu pays them no mind.

“What’re you doin’?” he asks, a little too loud.

“Miya—”

“Kita’s traditional,” he says roughly. “It’s only ever gonna be you for him. You know that, right?”

Your stomach roils.

(I’ve been waiting.

He still is.)

“I’m married.”

He throws his hands up into the air. “He’s still your soulmate!”

“I don’t love him!”

“It’s Kita,” he shouts, startling a few passersby. “Everybody loves him!”

“I’m not in love with him,” you say, the words bitter on your tongue. You are so, so tired. “I’m married. I’m happy. Kita’s accepted it, so why can’t you?”

He snorts, honey-brown eyes narrowing. “You really think he’s accepted it? Or is that what you tell yerself so you can sleep at night?”

“Fuck you.”

The words snap out of you, brutally frigid, like river ice cracking beneath its own weight. To your utter horror, there are tears pooling hot in your eyes, threatening to spill over. Atsumu looks almost as horrified as you feel, but it’s of little consolation. You can feel a sob welling up inside you, rippling through you like oceantide.

You manage to bite down on it when it leaves you, muffling it just enough. Then the tears finally fall, carving their way across your cheeks like snowmelt, already bitterly cold from the winter air. You rub them away with the back of your hand.

“I didn’t mean ta—”

“But you did,” you say, knife-sharp and drawing him up short. “You did. Goodbye, Miya.”

He doesn’t follow you when you walk away.

***

The neighbors’ little girl loves the summer rains. She spends them running around outside, the murky puddle water splashing under the soles of her banana-yellow boots. She has a matching umbrella and sometimes you and Takao can see it from your bedroom window, whirling like a top.

“We should do that,” Takao says, his chin hooked over your shoulder. It’s pouring out. The rain hums against the roof, nature’s oldest song, and the neighbors’ girl—Aiko, you think—is dancing to it. You can just make out her long braid bouncing as she hops from puddle to puddle.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, getting to his feet and tugging you with him. “Let’s go.”

“Aoshi, it’s pouring.”

“Yes, that’s the point.”

You laugh and let him drag you through the house. He shoves your raincoat at you, shrugging on his own before the two of you race to the genkan, giggling as you go. You slip your boots on and run outside.

The rain sluices down on you, the humid summer heat already sneaking its way beneath your raincoat, the beginnings of sweat starting to gather. You pay it little mind, sucking in a deep breath instead, taking in the scent of the wet concrete as Takao grabs your hand. He tugs you towards Aiko.

Before you know it, the two of you are swinging her back and forth between you, her little wrists clutched tight in your hands. She shrieks with delight each time she comes up off the ground; each landing creates a tidal wave in the puddle she crashes down into.

Takao is laughing, low and sweet, and when you glance at him, he’s already looking at you. His dark hair is plastered against his forehead. Water droplets are beading on his long eyelashes before he blinks them away.

Your breath catches for an instant. And then Aiko is tugging on your hand, wanting to go again, and you glance away from your husband with a little smile.

You stay outside with Aiko until her father calls her in. Then the two of you tumble back into your house, stripping off your wet clothing with groans.

Takao cooks dinner as you lay everything out to dry. You’ve just clipped the last clothespin into place when he calls to you; you take the extra clothespins and clip them along the little storage space you’d added to the balcony for them, a short length of bright blue twine.

He’s made curry, the type that warms even your bones. The two of you curl up together on the couch to eat. You lean into him, ignoring his groan as you accidentally elbow him in the stomach.

“We should go on our honeymoon,” he says after a moment. “It’s almost been a year and we still haven’t gone.”

“We should,” you say, scraping your bowl clean and licking the last of the sauce off of your chopsticks. “Where do you want to go?”

“Haven’t thought that far.”

You snort. “You’re the one who brought it up!”

“It’s a step by step process, you know. First we have to decide to actually go, then we pick the place.”

He easily evades your little pinch.

“It’s gonna be hard to pick,” you tell him.

“Maybe.”

“We’ll figure it out, I guess.”

He leans in and presses a kiss to your temple.

“We always do.”

He’s right, you think. You always do figure it out.

Together.

***

The farm is dusted with snow.

It reminds you of powdered sugar, light and fluffy and easily blown away in the slightest breeze. It’s the first snow according to Kita. The true frost set in over the last week; the paddies have iced over, a cobweb of winter. You listen to the crackle of it settling and shiver, pushing deeper into your scarf.

“Ya warm enough?” Kita asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “It’s just a little more mild in the city.”

He hums his agreement. The two of you keep walking along the worn dirt path, weaving through the slumbering fields. The snow crunches softly underfoot. In the distance, you can hear the rumble of a truck; it purrs and groans as it putters down one of the other roads.

“I’m glad you came,” Kita says softly.

He’s invited you several times, never pushing, but you’ve always said no. You don’t know why this time had felt right, but it had. You watch a crow circle overhead before it lands in a bare tree, a spot of darkness against the pale blue sky.

“Me too,” you say. “I’ve never been out here in the winter.”

“Pretty, ain’t it?”

“It is.”

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence as you wander further. You pass another farmhouse where two small children are playing outside, both of them bundled up to the point that they’re waddling more than walking. One of them has a crimson scarf, the deep color of poppies at night, the ends of it fluttering in the gentle breeze.

They’re sliding a puck back and forth on ice that’s creaking ominously. They wave to you with the branches they’re using for hockey sticks.

“Should we stop them?” you ask, waving back.

Kita shakes his head. “There’s only an inch or so of water, this time of year. They’ll be fine.”

“Okay.”

“Did you ever do that?”

He laughs. “Course.”

“Play or fall through?”

“Both, actually,” he says. He takes hold of your arm as you slip on a patch of ice, keeping you upright with ease. “Careful now.”

He waits until you’re steady before he lets go. He presses a bit closer after that and you let him. The wind is too constant to really feel the heat of him, but you think you feel it anyway.

You fall back into comfortable silence. The wind is whistling softly through the bare trees, stirring the last clinging remnants of the leaves. You watch one of them tear free and blow away. It carries across the fields, which stretch as far as the eye can see.

You turn back when you get to the edge of the paddy you’re walking next to. By the time you’re back to the farm, you’re chatting about what to make for dinner. Kita had taken you to the local market earlier in the day letting you browse through the piles of daikon and leeks, each of them fresher than anything you would see in the grocery store.

“Oden?” Kita suggests as you enter the genkan and you nod.

“Sounds perfect,” you say, using the wall to balance as you start to take off your boots. Kita stops in the middle of taking off his jacket and kneels down in front of you to get the buckle you’re struggling with. “Kita, you don’t need to do that.”

“Already down here,” he says with a smirk. “So I might as well.”

You sigh. “Thank you,” you say, slipping off your jacket and hanging it carefully.

He nods, tucking his outerwear away neatly before getting to his feet. After he’s sure you’re all set, he heads down the hall, turning on the small kotatsu that sits in his living room. It’s an older one, the blanket slightly worn, patterned with white cranes. It was his grandmother’s, you think.

“Get warm,” he says. “I’ll start cooking.”

“I should help—”

“You can after you’ve warmed up a little bit.”

“Fine,” you say, ignoring the little smile on his face as you pout. You sit at the kotatsu and melt into the warmth as he heads into the kitchen.

You join him not long after. He gives you leeks to chop as he peels daikon; you spend a few minutes at his pristine kitchen sink, washing the grit out from between the leaves. The two of you chatter as you cook. The kitchen is slowly heating, until it’s like a banked fire.

His kitchen is small but set up well and the two of you move around it easily together. You rarely bump into each other and hand off ingredients as the other needs them. It’s seamless and it doesn’t take long before the oden is done.

The two of you settle at the kotatsu to eat. Kita hands you a pair of well-worn chopsticks.

“You should come for longer next time, if you can,” he says.

“I’ll try to,” you say, knowing that you’ve only touched the surface of the farm. Of the life he’s built here, in the wide expanse of the countryside.

He smiles warmly. “Good.”

Time flies by until Kita has to get up to turn on another lamp as night encroaches. When you peer out the window, the night sky sprawls endless above you, softly lit by the tender touch of the waning moon.

“I should go,” you say. “It’s late.”

He hums an agreement. The two of you bundle up in the genkan; Kita lends you a too-long scarf that’s messily knitted. You wrap it around your neck several times before you are willing to brave the cold.

The snow glistens under the moonlight as you trudge to Kita’s truck. There’s a stillness to the night, as if you’re on the cusp of something unreal, something otherworldly. You tilt your head back and gaze at the stars, scattered throughout the plush darkness, glinting like ice.

Kita cranks the truck’s heater to high as it rumbles on. It blows out a gush of cold air that makes you shudder, but it’s already warming by the time you’re pulling out of the driveway.

“Where does your farm end?” you ask.

“Just here,” he says, flicking on his blinker as he makes a turn down the road towards town. “Then it’s Suzuki’s place.”

“Do they—”

“Have ducks?”

“...Yes.”

His eyes flicker to you, the amber of them aglow in the silvery moonlight. “He does.”

You must look pleased because he laughs, the sound low and warm, filling the cab of the truck like billowing smoke. The smile on his lips is wide and you think of the horizon, how it never ends, and hope that his joy never ends, too.

“Kita,” you say, unable to help yourself.

“Mhm?”

“I’m glad we’re friends,” you say softly.

Kita’s smile dims, the summer sun hidden behind thin, wispy clouds.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment. He sounds a little sad. “Me too.”

The rest of the ride is silent.

***

Winter melts away in the face of spring’s burgeoning warmth. The crocuses come early this year, pushing up through the dregs of frost, unfurling quietly, steadily. Yoshikawa paints them; they’re bruises against the soft white of her canvas, the yellow stamen cradled between petals like golden treasure.

She gives you and Abe the paintings one day at the park. They’re carefully wrapped, no bigger than your hand, tied up with a piece of twine that you think she sniped from your gardening supplies.

“What’s this?” Abe asks.

“Find out for yourself,” Yoshikawa says, as if Abe isn’t already tearing into the paper. She hands you yours as you sit up from the pile of blankets you’d laid out on the grassy knoll of the park. You pull it open carefully.

“Pretty,” you breathe, tracing a finger over the long, elegant curve of the stems. “Are these the ones behind the house?”

She nods.

“These aren’t your usual style,” Abe says.

Yoshikawa shrugs, laying down on the blankets and shielding her eyes against the sun. “I’m trying something new.”

“It’s nice,” Abe says. “You should do more like it.”

“Maybe.”

“When are you going to paint me?”

“I already painted you,” Yoshikawa points out.

“That was in high school!”

“It’s still painting you.”

You tune them out and lie back down. You curl up so that you can pillow your head on Yoshikawa’s stomach. She shifts to give you more room. She smells like sweet, wet earth. You think of a garden after rain, when it’s gone lush and green. You sink into the oasis of her.

Abe wakes you up as the sun is starting to set. You groan but let her coax you up. The three of you gather your items plus a few things you hadn’t had at the start of the day: a heart shaped rock Abe tripped over; a box of okonomiyaki that’s perfuming the air with a savory, spicy scent; a few golden wildflowers, tied carefully together with a hair elastic.

You know the walk home by heart, so you spend your time looking at the city as it comes to life, a night-blooming flower. Next to you, Abe is chatting merrily at Yoshikawa, who is looking at her with a smile you know well. She glances at you and drops you a sly little wink.

“What was that?” Abe asks immediately.

“Nothing,” Yoshikawa says, taking your keys from you and opening the front door.

“It was something!”

“It really wasn’t.”

“Yes it was!”

You listen to them bicker all the way to the kitchen, trying not to laugh. Abe whirls on you. “Tell me,” she whines.

“It really was nothing,” you say. “She’s just winding you up.”

Abe huffs. “I hate you both.”

“You love us,” Yoshikawa says, opening up the box of okonomiyaki and grabbing three of her favorite plates.

“Sadly, I do.”

Your phone rings; when you glance at it, it’s an unknown number. You silence it and grab a plate from Yoshikawa. The three of you eat and chat, swapping bites here and there since you all got different fillings. The sun sets; the golden light pours in through your kitchen window and haloes your friends.

Your phone vibrates and you pull it out of your pocket, expecting it to be Takao. Instead, the same unknown number is calling you again. You frown and pick up.

A woman says your name. There’s something to the way she says it. You let out a soft, shaky breath as you listen.

You hang up. Your phone sits heavy in your hand.

“That was the hospital,” you say, sounding too calm even to your own ears. “Aoshi was in an accident.”

Abe and Yoshikawa’s heads come up.

“Is he okay?” Yoshikawa says, blade-sharp.

Your vision is going black at the edges, a slow, steady swallowing. You sit down carefully, the wooden floor cold even through your clothing.

Abe says your name.

She sounds scared.

“No,” you say evenly. “He didn’t make it.”

#bee writes hq!!#kita x reader #kita shinsuke x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq!! x reader #.lbgtm

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