#i wish i had even a fragment of that confidence

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

how about (webseries + dream bbq? if it's no problem) ena with an s/o who has a child?? like ena discovers they have a child and when they become a thing, they introduce her to their child?? i'd also love to see mother ena <33

Yes oughh. She could be a good mother :(( /ref

Gonna put the hcs under a cut because I think I locked in a little too much haha

.........

Webseries!Ena

Above all things, your kid was your pride and joy.

They were basically a mini version of yourself. Boundless. Full of energy. Ever curious about the world around them.

They just spawned in one day while you stood around pondering what having a child would be like. It was only a fleeting thought, a small wish you kept in the confines of your heart, convinced it would never come to fruition.

But it seems like the Great Runas heard you and was feeling particularly generous.

Now you have someone who looks up to you for guidance and love, and for years it's always been that way. Just you two against the world.

Then Ena walked into your life, and she hasn't left since. She claims to have seen a "mini you" running around recently and thought you had shrunk in size, being disappointed she couldn't catch you.

Only then do you realize she's seen your kid but didn't know...

So after building up a close relationship with her, you figured now would be a good time for a proper introduction. You invite her over to meet them, and you explained to them beforehand about her arrival.

Untimely as ever, she walks in, but before you could say anything, she's rambling excitedly. "Salutations! So you're the little fragment of joy I saw running amok the other day. If not a clone, what's your relation to my beloved partner? Sister? Nephew? No, no, wait..you're their third cousin twice removed!" She grins, crouching down to their eye-level.

"Ena..this is my child."

"...ohh, I see. I see." Something in her tone shifts as her gaze meets yours. It's subtle, but she looks disheartened. "Dare I ask..who's the father? Or mother? Or...alternative parent?" Each question is laced with more dread than the last, her hands fidgeting with the fabric of her geometric skirt.

Of course, you should have known...

"There's nobody else. I promise. It's always been just us." You reassured her, before looking at your kid with a smile. "This is Ena. The one I was talking about earlier. Don't mind her fancy words. She's been good to me."

"Woah..you're Ena??" They seem astonished, at first, but then a skeptical look crosses their face. "My friends say you guys are bad luck, and trouble always comes from you."

Your girlfriend's yellow half still smiles, but inside she could hear her cubic heart crack. Yet she maintains her composure. "Ahaha! Not to worry, little one! I have been your parent's most loving other-half for....3.5 consecutive months! The follies you hear are just that! I'm most confident that we'll get along!"

After that initial meeting, Ena tries spending more time with your kid...although they still seem nervous around her, which she chalks up to them listening to the rumors and utterly despising her presence.

She wants to set a good example, and she's been great at warning them about falling rain rocks, stopping them from taking blood samples/IDs/files from strangers, and making sure Moony (who gets the "fun aunt" designation) isn't being a bad influence.

Yet it never feels like it's enough, stressing as though she's the mother herself, even when you remind her she's not.

That crack in her heart has only gotten bigger. Like a neglected pebble that was lodged into a car's windshield last week.

Her Sad form had one major breakdown when she discovers your kid warmed up to Moony quicker than her, but you reassure her that they will. It'll just take some more time.

"Bu..But what if *hic* we wun out of tiiiiiime??????"

"We won't, Ena. I promise."

One night, while your kid was at a friend's sleepover, you and her went out to a party to celebrate an anniversary. She got Drunk and had to be carried back to your place, where she kept giggling and babbling nonsense about motherhood (yet somewhere in her nonsense, you could hear her sadness, deep longing, and desires for acceptance)--and she promptly passed out.

Your kid came home earlier than expected, saw her Demon side for a framerate or two and got scared, running to hide underneath their bed.

The next morning, you tell her what happened, and you wish you didn't.....because now she's facedown on the couch, sobbing her eyes out. "I give uuuppppp," she wails, hitting her fists against the cushions. "I-I'll be nothing morwe than a..a-a stwanger to them! They can bawely even look at me!!"

You only understand half of what she's saying, but as you try comforting her, your kid suddenly walks in, looking very confused.

"Oh hey, um...." You panic a little, although they see your girlfriend crying and quietly go over to her, their gaze full of worry.

"Mom?"

Immediately she falls silent and looks at them in shock, wiping away her static tears. "Wh-What...did you just call me?"

Even you're astonished.

After months of being referred to as "Miss Ena" and "My Parent's Girlfriend of 3.5 Months"....they finally call her "Mom".

She looks at you, then your kid, then you, and back to them, eyes still wide.

"I-I'm sorry. I was just nervous." They explain, feeling a little guilty for waiting this long. "It's only been us two for a long time. But I know you love my parent, and they love you, too. I want you around more often. So...I-I'm ready to call you "mom", if that's okay."

"Bu...But what about your fwiends?" She sniffles. "Y-You still believe them?"

"Nah, they were actually real jerks. So I left them. That's why I came home early last night."

"What? But..you've known them fowever...and now you're lonely because of me..." She mumbles, feeling sad that she's the reason for yet another ruined friendship. She's ruined a few of your past ones simply by existing...and now your kid's.

But they don't seem bothered by it at all. "I'd rather be lonely than have friends who talk bad about my mom all the time."

Hearing that word makes her cry again, but now her blue side is actually smiling for once. She sits up, allowing you kid to climb onto the furniture and into her lap, embracing her tightly. "Thank you..." She whispers. "Thank you so much."

Never before has she cried happily. It's a new feeling.

But she welcomes it. Just like she's ready to fully welcome your kid into her life.

All the while, you smile too, nearly tearing up yourself.

You couldn't be prouder.

Dream BBQ Ena

It's just another day at the office, where Ena eavesdrops on a conversation between you and Froggy.

"Ughh, fine. You can go home early. But you know...you should bring that duplicate of yours to work sometime! We could always use the extra-!"

"Hell no. My kid's not gonna get wrapped up in all this mess. And that's final."

"Ehh???? You get the final say??? Remind me again who hired you?"

"Um...Ena?"

"....right, erm...okay. You can go on, I guess. But I expect you back here early tomorrow." Froggy grumbles, suddenly getting the suspicion that you two are being watched, and promptly calls out to his coworker. "Oi! Ena!! Stop being a creep and come talk to us!"

Her head peeks around the corner, followed by the rest of her body. "Sorry to intrude on this private board meeting, fellow associates." She pretends she didn't hear anything about your kid--being unaware of their existence until literally right now.

Yet you know that she knows, as it's obviously bugging her when she walks you home (after promising Froggy that this is an escort, not an unmandated break). Salesperson is chatting away about tomorrow's goals and yesterday's deadlines, but you haven't heard a word out of Meanie yet.

She always found it odd that you didn't work the longer hours like she did, as though this job wasn't the core focus of your life. It wasn't in your blood. In your veins. It didn't define you. Consume you--unlike her.

Oftentimes she wonders what kind of life she'd lead if not burdened by her duties.

Today, she discovered the reason why you randomly asked if this job had paternity leave.

It's your kid, who just spawned into this world one day and hasn't left your side. They've grown some, but still they run to greet you after work like always, and you'd pick them up with a smile bigger than the sun.

However, this evening's routine is different because of Ena's presence, as she awkwardly stands in the doorway.

"Who's that?"

"Oh!" You set them down, clearing your throat. "I think it's high time that I introduce you to Ena. We work together, and we are together, if that makes sense."

"Ohhhh...so does this mean she's my mom now?"

The question is innocent, blunt, and unassuming, holding a twinge of excitement and hope, even.

Your kid adores you, but every now and then has wondered what it'd be like to have two parents. They've seen different media about it, and heard about it from friends, too, so you knew this subject would come up eventually.

While you've entertained the idea, you weren't sure about Ena's feelings towards motherhood, considering her job and all.

In embarrassment, you lightly scolded them and turned to apologize to your girlfriend...only to see that she's frozen on the spot, like a TV segment somebody forgot to unpause. Her geometric claws twitch at her side, and her eyes are hidden beneath her hat. It's like some uncomfortable memory had resurfaced...triggered simply by saying the word "mom".

You wonder what's wrong, but her Salesperson side slaps her out of the trance, and she teleports into the middle of your living room space, scooping up your kid. "Ah! I see we have a CEO in the making! Coming soon to a dying business near you! Do you plan to step into my beloved associate's shoes once they retire? Are you investing wisely?" She puts them down, and kneels, grinning from center line-to-ear. "What's your evaluation of my work-life balance, little entrepreneur?"

"....um. Good?"

"Thanks for your feedback."

Least to say, it's not the best introduction...but not the worst, either. You'll try again tomorrow.

When tomorrow comes, you decide to bring your kid to the Hub to meet your coworkers (after they've been practically begging you to), making sure they didn't go down into the casino.

While they play with Kane, you're sitting on the pier, overlooking the bloody ocean. Ena shows up and sits beside you, but her movements are rigid. She's not chipper. She looks uncomfortable, and her Meanie side seems to crave conversation. An explanation.

So you talk.

"Darling..I'm sorry I didn't mention them before." You frowned, your hand resting on hers. "I wanted you two to meet a lot sooner, but-"

"Is there someone else?" Her voice is flat, although you detected a slight tremor in its tone.

Sure, Meanie would yell at people if she even thought they were trying to flirt with you....but this was different. This was insecurity at its core, and it's understandable for her to feel that way. If it was reversed, you'd get insecure too.

"No. It's only been [Child] and I. I'd never do that to you."

"......."

"Look, I know what they called you was a little..awkward. I'm sorry. I already talked to them abou-"

"They're your reason."

"Huh?"

"They're your reason for what you do. Everything you do, you do for them. But...where's mine?" Tiny cracks and vines begin to creep along her body, and her hands tremble. Salesperson doesn't interfere this time. "Wh-What..am I even doing here, [y/n]? I take the stupid jobs I'm given...I clear the smoke....and for what? Myself?! WHAT AM I EVEN FIGHTING FOR ANYMORE?!! A MINIMUM WAGE??? A POINTLESS EXISTENCE???"

"Ena. Hey. Hey."

She suddenly looks at you, static tears falling freely from her eyes. But you bring her into your arms before she could think of drying them. And she buries her head into your chest, clutching at your uniform, desperate for grounding.

Ever since her flashback when you two met the vending machine entity in the Lonely Door...you've been worried sick for her well-being. You didn't wanna see her fall apart like that again. Especially not after the rain rocks consumed her in the white and barren Uncanny Streets, and you thought you've lost her forever.

Your biggest regret would've been that she never got to meet your child...

"If you want...my little entrepreneur could be your reason, too." You suggested, and she looks up at you with wide eyes, as though you've just forgiven her of all sins. "When we get to the Boss, we'll take them down, for their sake. All the work we do along the way? It'll be for them, too. We can both parent them. It might be hard with our job and all, but...we can make it work."

"...you'd...let me to be their mother?" Her voice breaks. "You trust me with such a sacred task? But before you said...you didn't...wh-what if I-?"

"Nothing bad will happen to them, my love. We got our coworkers here to look out for them." You brush away her tears, removing her hat so you could kiss the top of her head. And she cuddles back against you.

Seeing her react this way made you wonder if, maybe in a past life, she was a mother at some point...or perhaps, more tragically, she had a child and lost them during the war, and only Meanie was left to carry the burden.

It's no wonder she was falling apart in your arms at the prospect of helping you raise your kid. She didn't want the same tragedy to befall them.

"Don't think of it as an "assignment" or "task" I'm giving you. Something tells me you really, really wanna be in their life. So...do you?"

Before she could give you an answer, your kid comes over, oblivious at first. "Kane is funny. He wants to invite me to a party! Can I.......Miss Ena?" They look at your girlfriend in worry. "Are you..okay?"

She manages to compose herself and sniffles, before Salesperson takes the reigns again. "I'm..operating at a sufficient level." Her smile is gentle as she sits up, her eyes warm as she looks at them. "After much discussion, I am open to being your co-parental unit. Complete with a lifetime supply of love and protection protocols." She extends her clawed hand to them. "Starting today, you may address me as "mom", "mother"....whatever fits your budget."

Your kid takes her hand, but is quick to turn that handshake into a full embrace. "Sounds cool, mom. "

It felt extremely foreign to Ena, to receive physical contact from an entity besides you that's not violent in nature.

But this one is related to you. Made of your own flesh/blood/code/etc. So in a way...you were the one embracing her. And in that way, it made her feel comfortable enough to wrap her arms around them.

Something about this moment brought her peace, as though GØD finally decided to give her a break.

For once, everything was quiet...

Only for it to be disturbed by Kane's yelp of fear and the sound of a meteor crashing.

But right now, none of you were worried about it.

[dreamwavesexploringreality]

A life worth living:

Niragi x reader

Requested: Before Borderlands, Y/N and Niragi were close, but during the King of Spades' attack, the reader is gravely injured.

----

"If only everything had stayed as it was. If we were still at The Beach, or back home. Yes. I wish we were home. Or at school. Maybe we could still be at school. That's where everything began to unravel, wasn’t it? When those boys first harassed him in that alley behind the school. When they attacked him with baseball bats for the first time. Or maybe it was when they took his textbooks and rolled them through the mud. I couldn't even remember... If only... if only everything had stayed the same..."

Y/N felt the searing pain in her abdomen long before she heard the gunshot. By then, the blood was already flowing freely from the wound, threatening to end her life. She had collapsed to the ground when her legs gave way, scraping her knees against the rough asphalt. She hadn’t even noticed it, and now, lying there on the cold ground, her hands pressed desperately against her abdomen, all she could think of was him.

Niragi had been her confidant, her friend, her refuge. He had been everything to her, and in her selfishness, she liked to believe she had been everything to him, too.

She gazed up at the blue sky, not a cloud in sight. She squinted against the blinding sunlight, its heat warming her skin, though perhaps it was the blood that was bathing her body in warmth.

Niragi had been with her in her darkest moments, and she had been with him in his. By fate, or perhaps coincidence, they had found a shoulder to lean on during the bleakest chapters of their lives. And then, when life finally began to smile on them again, they were hesitant to sever that bond. They had stayed in touch during the early months of their university years. Maybe it was the distance, or their conflicting schedules, but inevitably, their connection had cooled. Though... upon reflection, perhaps it was also because of Chishiya. But that was much later, wasn’t it?

Y/N brought one bloodstained hand to her forehead, attempting to rearrange the fragments of her memories. Thick red liquid trailed down her cheek.

Yes, Chishiya came later, after arriving to Borderlands.

The day the people of Tokyo vanished, the day she played the deadliest game of hide-and-seek of her life, was the day she met him. That man with white hair and a hood, more intelligent than the rest, with an aura of mystery that stirred something deep within her. Oh! It was also the day she ran into Niragi again. She remembered it as it was yesterday, though weeks had passed. Months? Perhaps even years? Yet, it was all so vivid, so clear. He was so... different.

He was no longer the Niragi she had left behind years ago in high school. This one wore piercings and had a sharp tongue. Of course, he melted when he saw her.

Y/N stifled a small laugh at the memory, which was quickly drowned by a cough and a sharp, stabbing pain in her stomach.

Niragi had stared at her as if seeing a ghost. She recalled how he grabbed her wrist, nearly dragging her without hesitation to his room, and there… there, he embraced her. A hug she had waited years for, one reserved only for someone very special.

She closed her eyes. She could still feel that embrace, still remember the sensation, his scent... she could almost feel it again now.

"Y/N! Y/N! No, no, no—don’t fall asleep! Don’t close your eyes!"

She could even hear his voice.

"Y/N, damn it! Look at me! Look at me!"

It was so cruel, so perversely cruel of fate, that in what she was certain was her deathbed, her thoughts uncontrollably turned to him. To his voice, his scent, his very essence.

A smile tugged at her lips, and suddenly, the pain in her abdomen seemed almost insignificant. Was this what it felt like to die? If Niragi were here, he’d call her stupid. He would say it in that irritable, frustrated tone of his, the same one he used when explaining math homework in high school and she couldn’t understand a thing. But wait, why would he call her stupid? She didn’t want to die, not willingly… So why had she jumped in front of that bullet? No. She hadn’t jumped. She had run. She had run and pushed someone else aside. She… she had thrown herself in the path of the bullet. In the path of the bullet… meant for whom?

"Y/N, I swear, if you die now, I will never forgive you. Do you hear me? Never!"

Niragi.

It was almost as if some otherworldly force compelled her to open her eyes, and there, eclipsing the sun, was a face, contorted in anguish, backlit by its harsh light.

“That’s it, Y/N. Open your eyes. Open them! I’m here, I’m with you… You’re so stupid, do you know that? What the hell were you doing jumping in front of that bullet? It was meant for me! You are so damn stupid!"

Y/N stretched out one trembling hand, trying to touch the face that hovered over her. Her arm felt weak, as though it could hardly bear the effort, but she needed to touch him, to feel him, to be sure that it was truly him and not her imagination playing tricks.

"N-Niragi," she heard herself whisper, her voice low and cracked, rougher than she remembered.

"Shh, shh, don’t talk. Just stay calm. I’m here," he said, taking her hand and guiding it back to her abdomen, pressing down to try to staunch the bleeding. Y/N writhed in pain as another wave surged through her body.

"Where’s your idiot boyfriend when you need him, huh? Isn’t he a doctor? I told you he wasn’t good for you, that I didn’t like him, but you just had to go after him anyway, didn’t you? When do you ever listen to me, huh? Not even when we were kids, and I swore up and down that six times nine was fifty-four! That’s why you failed math!" He kept ranting, but Y/N had stopped listening.

Her eyes remained fixed on him, on the figure leaning over her. She could barely make out his features, swallowed by the backlight that surrounded him like a halo. Her vision was growing blurry, and as her eyelids grew too heavy to keep open, and a high-pitched ringing filled her ears, another voice entered the mix.

"Were you looking for me?"

© 2024 [@dreamwavesexploringreality]

----

I hope you enjoy it, and to the person who requested it, I really hope it’s exactly what you were hoping for... or even better!✨

[sukirichi]

[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 016 ]

“we who bear the burden of the crown do not need to love. you only need to stay here, with me, in power, in greed, in lust – in victory.”

cw. angst. infidelity. manipulation. lying. mentions of kidnapping. blackmail. sex tapes.

notes. this chapter is dedicated to the lovely @shhh-anon who drew me a lovely naoya piece for some omi crumbs (but i have no self-control and wrote a whole chapter with the long awaited kiyoomi pov!) thank you again shhh anon for that scrumptious naoya art <3 also, please read carefully as there will be lore drop in this chapter!

wc. 11.3k

series masterlist 

[ SIXTEEN ] feels like we had matching wounds but mine’s still black and bruised and yours is perfectly fine now, feels like we buried alive something that never died, so God, it hurt when i found out.

Kiyoomi stood alone in the waiting room of the Yuzuru Estate, surrounded by the fragments and echoes of your past.

The walls were adorned with your childhood photos, each frame capturing the moments of innocence and joy that he now yearned to be a part of. Tracing the contours of your smile in those pictures, his fingers hovered the glass as if he touched the memories themselves. Each image had perfectly captured the bits of your soul, a glimpse into the life you had before he knew you, and he felt your presence in every corner of the room.

The scent of petrichor lingered, mingling with the faint aroma of blooming flowers from the garden outside. The Yuzuru Estate smelled just like you – of innocence, unbridled happiness, and untainted purity of heart.

He could picture it already – you as a little girl, running through these halls with unabashed laughter, your joy as light and delicate as gossamer threads dancing in the breeze.

His heart ached with the knowledge that he had missed those moments, that he had come into your life too late to share those memories. Often, he wondered... if he’d met you as a child like Tooru did Maiko, would the Queen have arranged a marriage between you two?

He figured if he did, then it was a wedding neither parties would be opposed to.

As Kiyoomi waited, the silence of the house seemed to make the voices in his louder, each one a bittersweet reminder of his unspoken affections. Your smiles, so radiant and pure, were the cynosure of his existence, yet they were never meant for him. He wished, with an incendiary intensity, that he could be the one to bring that joy to your face, to be the one you looked at with those pretty, sparkling eyes.

Instead, those eyes were filled with crystalline tears, and your smile was always pulled at the opposite direction.

Kiyoomi studied your photos as he roamed the waiting room, seeing not just the girl you were, but the woman you’d become. The depth of your soul was evident in every image, your very essence woven into the fabric of the house itself. It was as if you’d been molded by graceful hands with the utmost care. Carved to perfection, adorned with elegance, and draped with dignified regality. You would’ve made the perfect Princess if you weren’t tied to their worst Prince.

And so he’d asked himself... what if he’d been yours?

Had you been his wife, his Princess, would you have been happier? It was a silly question, that he knew. Nothing but fleeting musings. Because he knew the Crown never made anyone happy, and the Palace was not a place where childish concepts such as ‘love�� existed.

Yes, he longed to hold your hand, to feel the warmth of your touch, but he knew that such moments were only dreams. You were terribly in love with your husband despite all his wrongdoings. And as much as he hated it, Kiyoomi couldn’t bring himself to convince you otherwise. Even that felt unfair for him. He wanted to be loved because he’d been chosen as the one you loved, not simply because he was the better one. For now, he would remain your steadfast friend, your confidant, and ultimately would find solace in this unspoken connection you shared.

He’d already made a vow to himself to cherish every moment he had with you, even if it meant hiding his true feelings. Being your friend was better than being nobody at all, and he would hold onto that role with all the strength he had. Because his love, a constant and silent force, would be there for you always – even if you never knew the depth of his longing.

“Your Highness!” a feminine voice interrupted his thoughts. Kiyoomi turned away from your framed photographs, greeted by the sight of your parents descending the stairs. “What an unexpected visit. Oh, please do sit down, we’ll have some tea served shortly after.”

Kiyoomi did as he was told.

Your parents, even with their faces lined with crow’s feet and prominent smile lines, were still exactly the same as he’d met them from years ago. Kind, genuine, and compassionate – he briefly recalled how generations ago that there’d been talk spreading about how the Yuzuru Clan would’ve made great country leaders. That if ever the Suna Clan failed and continued with their frivolous endeavours and the Kingdom was plunged into poverty and hunger, your clan would be next to take over.

It had all been nothing but word of the mouth, however. The Suna Clan, if anything, was annoyingly persistent and remained in power for the next years to come. Whilst you, the Yuzuru Clan, remained perfectly content being the Kingdom’s spear.

The tea arrived not long after. The three of them settled into the plush cushions of the settee, the sounds of the teacups clinking against porcelain filling the room.

“Lady Yuzuru, Lord Yuzuru,” smiled Kiyoomi as he gestured to the room, unable to take his eyes off one certain photograph – the one of you and Rintaro, taken during the courtship phase, with his hand wrapped around your waist and you leaning into his chest. He’d placed a white gardenia at the crook of your ear, both your smiles wide and untouched by reality. With a clench of his jaw, Kiyoomi plastered a polite smile on his face and tore his gaze away from it. “You have such a lovely home.”

“Oh, you flatter us too much,” your mother waved her hand, dabbing a handkerchief at her bottom lip before intertwining her hands at her lap. “May I ask what brings you here, my Prince?”

Straight to the point, just as he’d hoped. Setting his tea down, Kiyoomi leant forward. “I’m inclined to say royal duties; Her Majesty has insisted that Her Highness make herself known in the Palace. However... I am here for more personal reasons,” he confessed, his composure finally falling as he dared sneak a glance upstairs, where he hoped your room would be. It’d been three days since you all left the beach house, three days since Rintaro returned to the palace alone.

“I’m very worried for your daughter. How is she?”

Your parents shared a look with each other before your mother sighed, the sound disappointed and crushing him by the core. “So you know about the affair as well.”

Kiyoomi kept his head down. “Yes. It is with a heart heavy with regret that I admit I kept it a secret, too.”

“Pardon me, Sir, if I may be overstepping but... why couldn’t you warn out dear girl? You’ve met her. Your mother knows us and our daughter – you know our girl a sweet, innocent one. She didn’t deserve any of this,” cut in your father, his more-than-salt and pepper hair glinting under the chandeliers. “If you knew, if any of you knew all this time, why didn’t anyone say anything against the Crown Prince’s courtship?”

“I’m sorry, my Lord. I don’t have any excuse for my behaviour,” Kiyoomi sighed, “But I am hoping that you would give me another chance to repent for what I’ve done. I can no longer stand watching the Princess suffer at the hands of my brother and my wife. And I assure you, I have nothing but pure intentions. I simply... I simply want the best for her, my Lady. That is why I am here today – to offer my sincerest apologies, and to see for myself if Her Highness is doing well.”

Lady Yuzuru stood up and threw her handkerchief on the ground. Tears brimmed her eyes.

“She isn’t. Of course she isn’t. She has been locked up in her room for days, refusing to eat, or-or to speak to us. She is heartbroken and won’t even let us comfort her,” she clutched at her chest as if it ached, and immediately, Lord Yuzuru was beside her. His arms wrapping around her shoulders for comfort. “Your sincerity is flattering, but what can you do for her? You cannot take away her pain. She is married, and divorce is not an option. Tell me, my Prince, what can you do for her?”

Kiyoomi sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He’d already braced himself for this – to have your parents’ fury be directed at him. He told himself he would take it all with stride, but even he knew his honest answer was not the most acceptable.

“I’m afraid this is a battle in which she has to learn the way out for herself. Although I give you my word, I won’t let her face any of this alone. I already promised the Princess I would be by her side at all times, and I don’t intend on backing out anytime soon.”

Your parents exchanged another glance, their brows drawn together in worry. He couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t an easy decision to make – trusting the Crown Prince only for him to break their daughter’s heart, and now having to place that trust on another Prince, the husband of their ‘son’s’ mistress, no less.

“Then we will trust you on this,” they said, and Kiyoomi raised his hands in surprise. It’s enough for him to shoot up in his seat, your mother immediately raising her hand to warn him. “Please, Sir. Don’t make us regret welcoming you into our home.”

Kiyoomi was speechless.

“Thank you, my Lord, my Lady. I promise I won’t waste this opportunity.”

Lord Yuzuru nods, albeit still hesitant. “Can we trust you to look after her for now? I’m afraid duty calls, and we’ve already missed out on a lot because we were too worried over her.”

“She is in safe hands. I promise.”

Your parents left shortly with a quick farewell. Lady Yuzuru needed to attend to the family business as it expanded every day, and Lord Yuzuru spent most of his time in the Palace – always on guard, always prepared for a war that loomed overhead as the surrounding nations turned their backs on Inarizaki. The war never happened, of course. A false sense of security still loomed over the Kingdom thanks to the Queen’s tireless efforts. Still, it was only a matter of time. With the throne losing its power and the Kingdom one scandal away from damnation, one couldn’t be too lax.

Not that any of it was Kiyoomi’s concern. He had more pressing matters in hand. Racing up the stairs, he quickly found your room after being guided by a servant, and softly rapped his knuckles on the door.

“Princess? It’s me, Kiyoomi. May I enter?” No response, not even a stirring groan or a shaky breath. Complete but utter silence. His worry deepened, and Kiyoomi dared to push the door open, his eyes adjusting to the darkness enveloping the room. “Princess?”

You are nothing but a curled-up lump in your bed, your form shivering as you were swathed in heavy blankets. And your face was pale and clammy as the dim lights danced off of your skin. Breaths shallow and labored, your eyes fluttered weakly as you stayed conscious – your head turning in his direction.

Seeing you in such a fragile state when you’d been alit with joy days ago... Kiyoomi’s heart clenched. Something dark pulled and tugged at his very soul.

In quick strides, he’d already crossed his way to your bed, the mattress dipping beneath his knee. He pulled you into his lap without another word, his hands coming to rest at your forehead as you groaned with each movement. As if scalded, he retreats his hand. “Oh, God. You’re burning up.”

Taking care of you does not come as a second thought to him. It is the first, as your safety and well-being was his concern. In the next moment, he’d gently laid you back down on your bed and darted out of the room, searching for water, medicine, and politely asking the resident cooks if he could prepare some soup for you. He didn’t doubt the cooks knew how to, yet he also couldn’t fight off this urge that he had to take care of you. Not the estate staff, not the doctors, not anyone. Quite frankly, he didn’t trust anyone anymore to lay their hands on you. It had to be him, even if it meant running back and forth to dampen towels and changing it every hour to lower your temperature.

Around the third towel, when the sun has begun to set and his phone went off with multiple ignored messages, you finally stirred awake. “Rin? Is that you?” Your voice is weak, throaty and scratched. Your eyes fluttered open as you gazed at the figure beside you, nestling into the warm palm that’s dabbing a damp towel onto your face. “I thought you would never return.”

A sharp of pang pierced his heart. It was a humbling experience – to know that even in your weakest moments, you sought out a man that wasn’t him.

“Rest, Princess,” he muttered, caressing your cheeks as you sighed into his touch – or your husband’s touch – and slowly went back to sleep. I won’t leave you.”

As you drifted back into a peaceful sleep, and your breathing finally began to even out, Kiyoomi told himself to relax.

He stayed vigilantly by your side, his eyes never leaving your pallid face. He feared that if he dared look away for even the briefest of moments, you would wilt before him, and it’d be too late for him to catch you. So he checked your temperature periodically, the gentle press of his hand on your forehead filled with a tender concern. Once reassured your fever was going down little by little, he meticulously arranged the medicine prescribed to you on the beside table – ensuring everything would be within your reach for when you wake. Not that he’d leave your side until you’d woken up. The Palace Guards would have to break down the door to your room and have a fleet of them personally drag him away from you before he even thought to go someplace else.

However, he was only human, and he’d never experienced having this level of worry and anxiety over someone’s health before.

Soon, exhaustion crept up at him, tugging at his eyelids and his muscles aching. He fought against the need to sleep, determined that he would remain awake in case you called out for him. Him, not Rintaro, because he foolishly hoped that you would realize it was never your husband who cared this much for you.

Each time his head dipped forward in weariness, Kiyoomi shook himself awake, unwilling to leave you unguarded for even a moment. Your parents had entrusted you to his care, and he wasn’t going to let them down now.

The hours passed by slowly, the quiet of the night filled with the steady rhythm of your breaths and the occasional rustle of the sheets. In those still, lonely hours, Kiyoomi watched you as he sat across the room – his cheek in his hands, his eyes half-lidded. Much like the flickering candles, his love burned brighter, interweaving with his own fatigue and heartache. His emotions stormed around his soul like a typhoon – his affection for you battling with the hatred he began harbouring towards his brother.

How could one call himself a man when he put his wife into such a weakened state? Your name and the word ‘weak’ shouldn’t even be in the same sentence. Yet Rintaro had a penchant for making the impossible possible, and he’d reduced such a great woman – a great Princess, even – into the battered, bruise-hearted, and shivering person that you were now.

Kiyoomi is nodding off moments later when he heard a slight groan. His eyes shot open, his body lurching forward as if your presence tugged on him like a rope. He’s knee-deep in your bed and cradling your head when you finally turn to him, and realization sinks in.

He waited for it – held his breath and soothed his heart for the hurt to come should disappointment ever cross your face that he hadn’t been Rintaro. It seemed, however, that the Gods decided to grace him tonight, because you never did. Instead, your face lit up, and your chapped lips tugged into a smile as best as it could. And he still found you to be the prettiest thing he’d ever laid his eyes on – even with sleep-crusted eyes and smelling of sickly sweat.

Just the sight of you, so wholly trusting and happy to see him, made him want to engulf you in his arms and never let you go.

Kiyoomi never does. He didn’t have the right, because friends didn’t go around kissing their friend’s foreheads. That wouldn’t be what companionship meant, at least not in his book. He simply holds you, and lets you crawl into his lap as he reaches for the soup he’d made prior. “You’re looking better,” he commends, placing his hand on your forehead one last time as pride fills him with each spoonful you ate. “Is the soup good?”

“Yes, thank you. It’s delicious,” you beamed at him, and placed the bowl back to your bedside table. Kiyoomi had expected you to move away and slide off his lap, yet made no complaints – because why would he? – when you remained on his lap, legs tucked beside his knees and nimble fingers toying with the strings of his shirt. “I didn’t know you knew how to cook.”

“Kanami made me learn all sorts of things. She said, uh...” shyly, Kiyoomi scratches the back of his neck and looks away. “...That women like it when a man was a great cook.”

Your giggle was instantaneous, airy. “She would be right about that,” you agreed, the smile on your face softening as you placed your palms on his chest, right above where his heart lay. He prayed desperately to the Gods you wouldn’t notice how fast his heart raced at the contact. Gazing up at him from under your lashes, you tipped your head to the side. The straps of your nightgown slipped on one shoulder at the motion, revealing smooth, bare skin and the lack of anything else underneath. “Were you... the one who nursed me back to health?”

Kiyoomi shifted you on his lap as to not let your knee accidentally graze his groin. “Yes,” he croaked out, finding it hard to speak when you were so... defenceless like this. It makes his throat dry up, and as subtly as he could, uses a finger to hook your strap back to your shoulder.

“Thank you,” you pat his chest, completely unaware of your hold on him. “And I’m sorry too, that you had to see me in such a state. I swear I didn’t mean to be a burden.”

His eyes darted to your face, offended that you would even imply such. “You are never a burden.”

You smiled at him like you didn’t believe his words. It strikes the dagger of hurt an inch deeper, a pain which he told himself to not take personally. He reminds himself you’ve trusted, over and over, and have been betrayed, over and over again. It must be a reflexive response by now.

“What brings you here, Kiyoomi?” your voice fills the expanse of the room as dread paints your face. “Did something bad happen?”

Kiyoomi swallowed. He’d been so engrossed in looking after you he’d momentarily forgotten why he was here in the first place. It suddenly weighed on him now – the Queen’s wrath at Rintaro’s sudden announcement to divorce you, her orders to bring you back immediately, and the flashing of the muted calls he’d deliberately ignored.

“I believe we should talk about that somewhere else. You could use some fresh air.”

+

You and Kiyoomi wandered through the sprawling gardens of your family estate under the tender glow of the moonlight, your footsteps whispering softly against the dew-kissed grass. The night air was crisp and invigorating – which you welcomed happily, as it was a great change from the stuffiness of your bedroom.

With each step taken, Kiyoomi’s hand brushed against yours, your fingers occasionally intertwining as he offers his silent gestures of comfort. There was a palpable sense of dread now that reality demanded your full attention, an undercurrent of foreboding that neither of you dared to voice, yet it was tempered – even slightly – by the solace you found in each other’s presence.

You told him everything that transpired at the beach house – the ‘romantic’ dinner date, Rintaro’s odd behaviour of acting like Iris never existed, Iris’ sudden appeal for peace. The entire time, Kiyoomi listened without interruptions.

You moved slowly, as if savouring each moment, knowing very well the fragile peace of the evening was fleeting like everything else.

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoomi spoke after a while, his head ducked down.

“What for?” you grinned, “That my husband, who never loved me, finally decided to leave me after all?” you waved a hand in the air. “It’s nothing. It was bound to happen. If anything, I feel a little relieved, you know? It’s like... I’ve wanted to end everything all this time, but I just wasn’t brave enough to call it quits. I was afraid that if I said goodbye, then I would be admitting that he’d made a fool out of me,” you released a shuddering breath, watching as Kiyoomi lifted his gaze and his piercing eyes looked at your soul, through your soul. You found that his penetrating and intrusive gaze didn’t feel... unwelcomed. It was as if you knew that you could show him your worst and everything that made up your flaws, and he would still find a way to notice what was beautiful instead.

He looked at you the way you wished your husband did.

Just like that, Rintaro’s betrayal returned to you in full force, and your smile wavered. “But now that he’s the one who’s decided it, it’s like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I never knew how difficult it was – deciding when or how it had to end.”

“You’ve been brave and strong. Don’t undermine yourself.”

“Was I strong, though? I thought I’d been nothing but a fool.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes darkened with something unreadable. “You were in love. It happens to the best of us.”

You couldn’t help it – your smile was genuine, affection pouring out of your every pore. “You know, Kiyoomi, that’s one of my favourite things about you,” you softened at his taken-aback expression, mustering up the courage to close the distance as you loop your hand around his bicep, and giving it a firm squeeze. “How you always know what to say, and always at the right time. You’re charming without having to try. And when I’m with you... I feel like everything is going to be okay. Is that weird?”

With nothing but the moonlight to illuminate his face, Kiyoomi’s reddened cheeks were partially hidden. “Not at all. I’m honoured I could be a source of solace to you.”

“I hope you feel that way with me too,” you tell him, “I’ve thought about it the entire time I was here – how Rintaro sounded so determined to divorce me. When I asked him about the pregnancy, he looked... mortified, and I couldn’t fathom if it was because he never wanted me to find out. He didn’t look happy about it, but why wouldn’t he? Isn’t that what he always wanted? To have a future with the one he loves?” your brows furrowed as you said it aloud. Moving forward, you walked with your hand still clutching Kiyoomi’s arm, the both of you content enough to not pull away. “Although it struck me as odd... we’re a royal couple. Divorce is impossible. But he’d been so confident, so sure. Like he knew something could tear us apart and it’d be acceptable in the eyes of the law.”

Kiyoomi hummed in thought.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what he was thinking about either. I never really understood my brother, and I’ve long given up on trying,” he shrugs, “He’s a complicated man. That’s what happens when you’re lost and have no true sense of self.”

“He is lost, isn’t he?” you agreed, lifting your free hand to stare at the wedding ring you found so difficult to take off. “I don’t know what happens next now, but it seems as if I’m getting divorced soon.”

“That is good news, is it not?”

“Perhaps,” you mused, “Perhaps it is.”

You couldn’t ignore the call of your duties. It was often an upsetting reminder, the knowledge that being a Princess meant more than wearing frilly gowns, attending balls, and kissing your Prince Charming as you awaited a happy-ever-after.

If you’d known sooner that being a Princess meant being the Crown’s property as well... a small part of you might have hesitated. Might have.

It felt gruelling having to tear yourself away from the safety of your parents’ embrace. For the past few days, you’d been coddled, kissed over by a hundred soothing words. Something a Princess shouldn’t be doing or wanting, to be precise, especially not when you were expected to lead the country someday. It was a show of weakness, an act of incompetence. The Queen never failed to remind you that you weren’t your parents’ child anymore. You were of the Crown, and therefore had to act as the Crown – with dignity, with poise, and quite frankly – with very little heart.

With much hesitance, you bid farewell to the Yuzuru Estate. You left everything behind – the warmth and safety of your bed where no one could taint it, the reassuring and comforting smiles of your parents, and the unwavering support of your people. You headed straight for the Palace not long after, the feeling akin to a lamb walking into slaughter.

Still, you couldn’t deny – Inarizaki struck you mute with its orphic allure.

The cityscape shimmered under the glow of twilight as the royal convoy wound its way through the bustling streets. People of all kind waved and cheered at your arrival. Their smiles, innocent and genuine, sparked all the way from outside the vehicle. Silently, you waved back, hoping that it seemed real enough and no one would be able to tell the tracks of dried tears behind your makeup. And there, the palace loomed ever closer in the distance.

You watched as the grand edifice grew larger with each passing moment. Its towering spires and intricately carved facades were bathed in a golden hue, showcasing its storied past and enduring presence.

Like heaven on earth, a former devotee had once said, their arms gesturing all throughout the Palace grounds. Here where is the light touched us from the skies above, where the Gods have blessed us with their mercy and gave us their angels in the skins of Kings.

As a child, you’d gazed upon the palace with wide-eyed wonder, picturing the Palace as a bastion of wisdom and power – where the rules of the country made decisions that shaped the lives of the people they ruled upon. It had seemed almost holy, a symbol of reverence and awe. But now, as you approached the gates once more, you felt a deep, unsettling sense of selcouth – a strange, eerie unfamiliarity with the very place you had to call home.

The limousine glided through the ornate iron gates, flanked by guards in crisp uniforms.

The grandeur of the palace grounds, with its meticulously manicured gardens and majestic fountains, should have felt welcoming, but instead, it loomed with an imposing majesty that sent a shiver down your spine. The towering walls and endless corridors, once symbols of security and strength, now seemed to whisper secrets of a bygone era, of lives and stories woven into the very stones that built this palace brick by brick.

Stepping out of the car, you were immediately greeted by a retinue of attendants – their faces polite yet distant.

A lamb walking to its slaughter, indeed.

You knew exactly why you were called to return. The Queen had been insisting to speak with you, a call you ignored as you buried yourself into your sheets at the Yuzuru Estate. To say that you’d made Her Majesty livid would be an understatement. That much was clear from the staff’s expressions, their eyes hollow and lips set into a thin, grim line.

If you looked hard enough, maybe one of them would even look at you with pity.

Carefully, you made your way up the marble steps, each click of your heels on the carpeted floor echoing in the silence of the evening. It was eerily silent, like a predator lurked around the corner – simply waiting for the perfect opportunity to lunge for its kill.

The palace doors opened before you, greeting you with its bright, golden beams. Crystal chandeliers shimmered against the polished floors, the opulent decor speaking of centuries of wealth and power. The floors were too clean, too polished, like even a speck of dirt would be considered offensive.

At the back of your mind, you wondered if that held true for the monarchy as well. If the Queen scrubbed everything clean that is shone hard enough to deceive people into thinking that’s what they were – without fault, without flaw, without sin.

As you walked through the cavernous space, alienation blanketed you. The palace, for all its splendour, remained a mystery to you. You knew its rooms and corridors, its hidden passages and secret gardens that Rintaro revealed, but you didn’t know its heart. It was a place built on power and legacy, all with the might of a single family that had ruled for generations.

Your footsteps led you to the grand staircase leading into the Queen’s hall, its balustrade intricately wrought with gold and marble. You paused, your hand resting on the cool stone, and gazed ahead at the looming double doors of Her Majesty’s office.

How many had walked these steps before you? How many lives had been shaped by the decisions made within these walls? The weight of history pressed down on you, and you couldn’t help but ponder the immense responsibility that came with such power. You understood it a little better now – the Crown was not to be taken lightly. Heavy is the head that held the Crown, but heavier the heart might be for all the sins it concealed.

With a final sharp breath, you rapped your knuckles on the door and pushed open.

Her Majesty did not seem to age. She looked as she did on all the official royal portraits plastered on the tabloids and daily mail – elegant, beautiful, with dark eyes that read your every movement, and blood-red lips that dripped venom from each word.

Once, you’d considered her your second mother.

Now? She was nothing but a lonely figure, a formidable individual who you could barely recognize.

“Princess,” she greeted, her smile perfectly practiced and pristine. “I hope your temporary retreat to the family estate has been well.”

There was no ill behind her words, but neither did it carry sincerity. The Queen spoke like a recorded message, straight to the point and lacking of weight. Curtsying, you returned the gesture. “It was, Your Majesty. Thank you. I missed my parents dearly.”

“Sit down, child,” she spoke after a moment, and gestured before her. “Indulge your queen with a quick round, and then we shall discuss everything.”

The ornate shogi board, with its polished wooden surface and delicately carved pieces, was laid out between you both. The setting sun cast long shadows across the room, its golden light filtering through the tall, stained-glass windows, illuminating the intricate patterns it. Timidly, you sat down, pressing your skirts underneath you. You did play shogi, but it’d been a while. You had an inkling that this was one of those times you had to win, as nothing ever was a casual interaction with the Queen.

“...What did you want to talk about, Ma’am?”

“Firstly, your marriage. How is it? On second thought, don’t answer that. It’s written all over your face – you’re unhappy and miserable. Now, we can’t have that can we?” she teased, though her calm composure revealed nothing of her strategies – the tricks she’d hidden under her sleeve. “You are lucky the press has been quiet lately and they didn’t get a photo of your frown. Imagine how that would be interpreted by the people. ‘Princess returns from getaway vacation with her husband and comes back depressed. Could the cheating scandal be true, after all?’”

“It is true.”

“Indeed, but the public doesn’t need to know that,” she quickly retorted, gesturing for you to make your move. “What exactly are your thoughts on marriage?”

You moved your rook forward, aiming to control a vital column.

“Marriage, to me, is about finding a partner who becomes not only your greatest love but also your closest friend, someone who understands your heart and supports your aspirations. I believe marriage is built on a foundation of trust, respect, and unwavering commitment, where two souls come together to create a life filled with joy, love, and endless possibilities. It’s a bond that grows stronger with each passing day, a promise to cherish and nurture each other through all of life's adventures,” you answered, ensuring to meet Her Majesty’s gaze. “That was how my parents’ marriage has been. Beautiful, and enduring. That is how marriages should be.”

The Queen remains unfazed. Responding with a calculated advance of her knight, her move blocked your plans – forcing you to reconsider your strategy. Cornered, you bit your lip, realizing a little too late Her Majesty’s subtle yet effective intentions.

“Your parents married for love. They were both born with a silver spoon in their mouth, a great amount of wealth, and a high-ranking title that granted them the freedom to do anything as they pleased. And I am willing to bet it has never occurred to you that marriages outside your fantasy-like bubble could be different than that.”

You found yourself on the defensive as the game progressed. “There is nothing wrong in hoping and believing that love exists.”

“You are correct,” she nods, her gaze not once leaving the board. “But you are a lot more childish than I expected if you truly thought royal marriages would be the same. You see, child, civil marriages are mostly done out of love, and a commitment to one another. In certain cases, people marry because of unexpected pregnancies, for the need of companionship, or for the combination of assets. It’s easy, straightforward, and like the rest of us in our glorious Kingdom – a commitment. Divorce is not an option for anyone, but do you know what truly separates royal marriages from common ones?”

“That we are bound with more duties?”

The queen’s pieces moved with a graceful precision, each step tightening the net around your poorly drawn defences.

“It is that royal marriages are symbolic. Why is it that the royal family, despite being humans like everyone else, is worshipped and glorified?” she tapped her nail against the board, before leaning back into her seat. The sun’s glow hit her just right, and bathed her with an ethereal gloom. “It is because we offer an ideal, an escape to the bleak, miserable lives of the common folk. We are unlike them. If we lived like everybody else, then these people would have nothing to strive or look up to.”

You gritted your teeth. “But we are just like them. We cry and experience difficulties in marriages like they do. What good does it do the Crown when there is a clear distinction between us and our people? They will find us inscrutable, and out of their reach. How could they trust us to lead them when we live such different lives? How could they believe we would understand their struggles and listen to their cries of help if we do not show our true selves?”

“Because we as people are not perfect, and our true selves are cruel, immoral, and sinful. The Crown is not. The Crown is always flawless, shining like diamonds and standing out amongst the rest,” gesturing to the ornament on her head, the Queen continued. “We represent the Crown. We must mold ourselves into perfection. How could our people find us worthy to lead them if we are just as faulty and miserable as them?”

“So you are telling me to lie about my marriage.”

The Queen snorted. “Oh, I don’t need to tell you to do that, my dear. You’ve done that already by having that journalist write lies about how the scandal is nothing but a hoax,” at your widened, eyes, Her Majesty’s chest rumbled with laughter. “Oh, don’t be surprised. I am the Queen. Nothing you do in my Kingdom will ever be a secret from me.”

“If you knew all this time, why didn’t you stop me from releasing that article?”

She shrugged, turning her attention back to the board and grinning at the pieces – already, the pressure was getting to you. “Simple – because you did all the dirty work for me already. You cleared up the allegations that your husband is innocent, and effortlessly won the people’s trust back. As Queen, I will never stop you from doing things that benefit me, even if you must take a suspicious hand to do so.”

The Queen’s relentless advances pushed you back to desperation. Hoping to create a barrier against the impending threat, you moved your bishop to a defensive position once more. “I didn’t have it written for you, or the Crown. I did it because I couldn’t stand my husband beat himself up after his own people turned against him.”

“And that is exactly why you’d make the perfect Queen for him,” she advanced her gold general, its path clear and purposeful. “I’ll be honest with you. My marriage with the Late King hasn’t been a fairytale.”

Now, it was your turn to snore. “I can figure. He’s done worse than what Rintaro did.”

“Indeed. Eight bastard sons, and a dozen of mistresses he couldn’t even bother to hide from me,” she hummed, and for the first time since meeting with her, the Queen’s mask slowly slipped off.

Gone was the regal woman who everyone worshipped. Sat before you now was an older, more mature reflection of yourself – a woman who’d been torn, ripped apart to pieces, and forced to stay in a marriage she badly wanted an escape from.

“I was useless to His Majesty unless I bore his son, and three miscarriages later, he’d given up and turned to other conquests. With each son born, my title as his wife was threatened, and the Kingdom was slowly growing unstable as his scandals became uncontrollable. Before I knew it, the Crown was falling apart. The people were beginning to hate us. Our allies stopped reaching out, and the whole world thought we were nothing but a joke.”

You were too young to remember everything in detail, but you could recall those days when your parents ran around the estate, their frowns permanent and their voices hushed during dinner. Something about the Crown becoming fragile, no thanks to His Majesty’s endeavours.

“It was a difficult time for Inarizaki. I was growing desperate, and when one was desperate, one would take desperate measures,” mumbled the Queen, “And so Rintaro arrived, and I thought... this was it. This was my salvation. I could restore the glory of the Crown back to the way it was. This boy... he would solve all my problems. So I did, one by one. I arranged the marriage of Maiko and Tooru, feeding a story to the people of childhood friends turned to lovers – the symbol of love. And then came Iris and Kiyoomi’s wedding, to fortify our alliance to Itachiyama by having locals as their representatives. We had to make them feel seen, heard. And then, there was you,” her icy-cold glare met yours, something dark and sinister flashing through them. “When Rintaro told me he wanted to marry you, I couldn’t decide yet if you were going to be a blessing or a curse.”

You moved your knight in a desperate attempt to divert the queen’s attention. “I’ve been your daughter in law for four months now. Have you decided?”

“The decision of whatever you will be is all in your hands,” when the Queen faltered at your movement, you felt a glimmer of hope as she paused, considering the development. “I’m aware Rintaro wishes to divorce you. It’s impossible, but I think you know that already.”

“I don’t know, actually. He sounded pretty convinced we could be separated.”

The Queen’s eye twitched, her free hand gripping the edge of the table. “He is an idiotic child. You cannot divorce him. If you let him do as he pleases, he will marry that whore of his. I cannot risk destroying our already fragile relationship with Itachiyama by hurting their dear, darling Prince.”

“Kiyoomi wouldn’t be hurt. He doesn’t even want Iris.”

“Nobody knows that. All they will see is that his wife was impregnated by our Crown Prince, and chose to leave their Prince for ours. Itachiyama is not to be messed around with, child. They hold a majority of our country’s natural resources. Think of fuel, livestock, and produce. All of that will be withheld from us. Our people will starve. This is why you need to make this marriage work, and let Rintaro take the throne.”

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you gestured for the Queen to make her move. “Ushijima can take the throne. He has proven himself to be reliable.”

“The first Prince cannot be King. I forbid him to.”

“And why is that?”

Just as the hope appeared, the Queen mercilessly crushed it. She’d seen right through your ploy, continuing her methodical advance as she devoured you in one move. “Because he is a good, honourable man. The moment he wears the Crown and finds out the dark secrets of what has made the royal family so powerful, the cruel things we’ve done to ensure we stay in power, he will expose it and push for democracy. I refuse to let my life’s worth of suffering to be wasted over a man with too big a conscience.”

You faltered, your grip on your piece loosening. “Secrets? What are you talking about?”

“The King, my dear. Did you really think a young, healthy man like him died from a heart attack?” throwing her head back in laughter, the Queen clutched at her stomach and wiped away a stray tear. “I killed him. A woman can only endure so much abuse from a man who does not love her.”

Your face fell.

Undaunted, the Queen leant forward to place her hand on yours in what seemed to be an attempt for reassurance. It is anything but, not with the Queen’s cruel smile. “It’s scary. Trust me, I know. I have been in your shoes and experienced far worse. But do not be scared, Princess, because you have me. So let Rintaro become King, and once you have gotten all the power from being Queen, then you can make Inarizaki flourish. And when the time comes that you grow sick of that boy... you can always tell me. It wouldn’t be the first time this Kingdom lost their King at the hands of their Queen.”

Your mind conjured up of the most horrid of images. Of Rintaro perishing at the hands of his own mother, of your husband’s eyes slowly losing its light.

And to think she was someone you’d once thought of as your own family.

“You are insane. Yes, he has hurt me. Yes, he has crushed my pride with his fists, but to kill him? To take the life of my husband? I could never be so cruel. And what makes you think Rintaro would want to be King, anyway? He already plans on divorcing me!”

“He will be King if I tell him to. He has no choice. He is the Crown Prince–”

“You cannot force him–”

“Yes, I can, because I am the Queen and I am all he has! He will do as I say unless he wants to be exiled!”

“Exiled?” you echoed, laughing in disbelief. “Why would he be exiled?”

The Queen suddenly shot up, and slammed her hands on the table. “Because he isn’t my son, or the King’s! He is a nobody. He’s just a random gardener’s boy. I took him from his parents to secure my title. If he refuses to be King... then you leave me no choice but to exile you both.”

The revelation struck you like a bolt of lightning.

Breathless and trembling, your world tilted as the truth unfurled before you – your husband, the man who you believed to be a true Prince, the only and treasured Crown Prince, was nothing more than an imposter.

Your heart pounded in your chest as betrayal and disbelief clouded your thoughts. You sat there frozen, eyes wide with shock, unable to process the enormity of his deception. The lavish room around you began to blur and fade, your once cherished memories of being the chosen, the lucky one for being the Crown Prince’s wife, was now tainted bitterly by his lies.

Could it be... that he knew all along?

It all made sense now. His insistence for divorce, his need to push you away. Divorce, or annulment, would be possible once you’d revealed it was never a royal marriage.

Your throat ran dry. Nevertheless, you remained seated, refusing to give in to the Queen’s baits as you drew out a shaky breath. “Go ahead. Exile us. I don’t care. Ushijima will still be King even if Rintaro refuses–”

“There is one more Prince who could be King, one I am confident I can control, and one I am certain will do well in hiding my secrets,” she smirked with a triumphant and wicked glint in her eye. “All I need to do is have him marry that actress, threaten him with the sex tape, and he will happily be King if it means he could have all that he wants.”

Your stomach dropped. It was impossible – Kuroo had deleted all and any traces of that tape. But truly, what did you know? This was the Queen you were up against. This was her kingdom, her playground. As she’d said, nothing could be hidden from her, but to think Atsumu would and could be King... “No. H-He can’t be...”

“Oh, but he can,” her smile grew sharp, malevolent. “And you have no idea the things Atsumu would do to Rintaro once he learns that your husband is nothing but a no-name lowborn nobody.”

“How could you do this to him? You robbed him of his life!”

Scoffing, the Queen reared back. “It was hardly a life. His parents were both poor and starving to death. I saved him from that fate and offered him the luxuries of a royal,” she spat out, shifting her skirts behind as she plopped down on the seat before you.

As you looked back at the game, the reality of your position became undeniable. The queen’s pieces were everywhere, controlling the board with ease. You could see your end approaching, your king cornered with no escape. The Queen knew this, too, an air of triumph surrounding her as she chuckled.

“You see now, don’t you? Everything was already set in stone. Rintaro will be the King. It’s the only way he can remain alive and breathing. If he dares to go against my will and my word, I will not hesitate to kill him. And when he dies, no one will mourn him. He will be remembered as an adulterer, and a new, better, rightfully deserving King will take his place.”

The queen moved her rook into position, the final piece in her flawless strategy.

You stared at the board, recognizing the inevitability of your defeat. As much as you hated to admit it, you could see the beauty in Her Majesty’s play – the way each move had been part of a larger plan, a dance of strategy and foresight perfected through years of manipulation.

“Make your marriage work,” the Queen warned, leaning back against her seat. She knew she’d already won. “It’s the only way you can stop this Kingdom from being burnt to ashes. And if you wish to make a difference? Well, my dear. The Crown is all you need.”

With a deep breath, you moved your king as you acknowledged your defeat.

The Queen’s face lit up in pure joy. “Checkmate.”

You promptly left the queen’s office, your steps slow and heavy as if each stride carried the weight of the world.

Around you, the palace corridors seemed to close in around you. Your mind churned with the devastating realization that all your foolish hopes of escaping the royal confines and finding freedom now slipped through your fingers.

The conversation with Her Majesty unravelled the last threads of your resolve, revealing a cruel ultimatum that nearly drove you mad – stay and sacrifice your dreams of peace, or abandon the kingdom to ruin.

The queen’s words echoed in your mind with each step, her words like a dagger effortlessly piercing any fragile hope you clung to. It wasn’t an easy decision either – if you stayed, you would be bound to a life of duty and subjugation, your own desires forever stifled beneath the weight of the Crown’s expectations. Yet, the alternative was even more harrowing – to leave would be to condemn the kingdom, your people, to chaos and despair. You couldn’t do that; couldn’t be so cruel to let the Kingdom fall under the rule of the heartless Miya Atsumu.

The gravity of having that decision placed in your hands left you reeling, your heart caught in a vice of impossible choices. It was only a question which was more important now: your freedom, or this country’s downfall? Was the price of your divorce really worth the suffering of millions of innocents?

The palace, with all its grandeur and beauty, was no more than a prison now. The one you would spend a lifetime locked in should you choose the right thing to do.

As you walked back to your chambers, your gaze remained fixed on the floor, where the marble tiles glistened coldly beneath you. How could you notice only now? The Palace had always been this way – cold, unfeeling, and empty. It was impossible to find love within these walls, not when dark secrets lurked at every corner, and blood was spilled to remain in power. But innocent you were not, because regardless of the Queen’s sins, you couldn’t blame her for it.

When one’s humanity was constantly tested, monstrosity would soon break through the skin.

If you truly wish to make a difference, the Crown is all you need.

The Queen was right.

Long before you stepped into her office, she’d already read your mind, known what it is you would say. You would advocate for peace, become a paladin to pave a better way for the people. But to do such would mean to hold power greater than everyone else. And if one did not wield that power properly, territories would be split apart, cities would fall, and your Kingdom would be nothing more than a tragedy that went down in history.

The fate of your people was now all up to you.

With that in mind, the air around you seemed heavy with the weight of impending doom. You moved with a sense of numb resignation, each step a reminder of the bleak future that awaited you.

Before you knew it, you’d arrived at your chambers, emptily staring into the mahogany double doors. Behind these doors... there’d be no more Suna Rintaro. Just Rintaro, you told yourself. The son of a nobody, a man who is a nobody. To think that he’d known all this time, and still dragged you into the belly of the beast that was the Crown... it was difficult to fan the flames of your hatred. You had to remind yourself to keep it down – to not let it consume you. If it did, then you wouldn’t be any better than the Queen. If you hated him more, then you might risk it all and leave Inarizaki to its own damnation.

If I loved him less, you gripped the doorknob, biting the inside of your cheek as memories of your husband flashed in your mind, I could save this Kingdom.

“Princess, you’re back!”

Your eyes shifted to the bumbling figure before you. Airi scuttled towards your way, her eyes wide and nervously fiddling with the way your hands hovered over the doors. The gesture made you frown, and you dropped your hands to soothe her. “Hello, Airi. How have you been?”

“I’m good, but... I should be asking you that, Your Highness.”

“I am well. I just want to rest now,” you told her, brows pinching together when she suddenly stood between you and the door, her gaze planted at her feet. You sighed. “Airi, why are you blocking my way?”

“Uhm, you see...”

You’d been in this situation countless of times before – around wary maids with their gazes bouncing between you and the doors. It didn’t come as a question anymore. Those looks only ever meant Iris. This time, however, the thought no longer squeezed the life out of your heart. You merely sighed and pushed past Airi, her protests falling on deaf ears.

And truly, it shouldn’t come as a surprise anymore that it would involve her, but you couldn’t fathom this happening even in your wildest of dreams.

Your bedrooms had been stripped bare. Gone were all your clothings, your shoes, your perfume and makeup on the vanity table. The heady scent of vanilla cloaked over the room so heavy it felt suffocating. Iris was everywhere – her wristwatch on the table, her folded nightgown on your bed, her fluffy slippers right next to your husband’s. On the coat rack before your bedroom were their coats hung together, his necktie delicately intertwined with her scarf.

It was as if you never existed in the first place.

Your jaw clenched, fists balling at your sides. You deliberately ignored Airi’s desperate pleas after you, and stormed right into the bedroom. Iris was nowhere to be seen, but Rintaro was there. Sleeping on the couch without a care in the world, a book covering his face as his chest fell with his steady breaths.

“Rin. Rintaro,” you poked his chest, your irritation further fuelled when he didn’t budge. Gritting your teeth, you swatted his book to the side, careful to not let the hard-bound edges nick his nose. “Suna Rintaro!”

Your husband’s eyes shot open. Panic flooded his gaze upon the sight of you, until he groaned, falling back into the couch as he went back to slumber. “Oh. You’ve returned.”

You tried to ignore the way he’d sounded so disinterested, like you were nothing but a bother. You crossed your arms against your chest instead, and demanded for an explanation. “Why is Iris’ belongings here in our room?”

“It’s our room now. I had your things moved.”

“Moved where?”

“Belleview Manor.”

Your jaw dropped. “You – you can’t do that! You can’t move my things around without my permission!”

“I just did,” came his bored reply. Then, he sat up, resting his arms on his knees as he lazily rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Odd, considering he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “Listen, could you... could you stop screaming? It was the doctor’s orders. He said as the father of the child, I needed to be by her side at all times. She might feel sick in the middle of the night. I have to be there for her.”

The weight of the harshness of his words pressed onto you like a physical force.

You detested it – the way he looked at you, or through you. Three days he did not call. Three days he did not bother to even leave a text. Three days since he’d left abandoned you like he did a hundred times before, with not even a trace of guilt present on his face.

“And what about me?”

“What about you?” he raised a brow, challenging you as he stood up to his full height and turned his nose down at you. “I told you already, didn’t I? I don’t want you anymore. So go. Don’t make yourself look even more pathetic by staying around and hoping I’ll change my mind.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Rintaro’s cold rejection struck you like a slap. Your heart clenched painfully at the cruel finality of his command, rendering you frozen and unable to grasp reality. Time itself had fractured. The room around you seemed to dim, the deepening shadows darkening the hard features of his face.

Your vision blurred with unshed tears as you felt the ground beneath you sway, the emotional blow rendering you unsteady. With a last, fleeting look at the man you had once adored, you turned away.

“Fine.”

You spun on your heel and ran out of the room. The sting of his rejection propelled you through the grand corridors of the palace. Tears blurred your vision, and you furiously wiped them away, each swipe a desperate attempt to not drown in the flood of sorrow.

You could hear the final pieces of your marriage crumbling, the sound a haunting melody of betrayals that echoed within your soul. This was it. You wouldn’t tolerate anymore of his cruelty. You’d had enough – your chest aching with a numb, all-consuming hurt. You longed to scream, imagining the echo of your agony bouncing off the empty hallways of the palace, but no sound escaped your lips. It was as if your lungs had exhausted its air, just as your heart had lost all its will to beat again for the man you married.

As you burst through the palace doors and into the open air, the sky mirrored your inner turmoil, the dark clouds gathering ominously.

The first raindrops began to fall, mingling with your tears. You couldn’t focus on anything but to run, run as far away from here possible, to keep running until your legs could no longer.

You suddenly stumbled upon the length of your dress, your steps faltering on the slick ground. You tripped over your own feet as your strength failed you, and you fell on your knees, your hands plunging into a cold puddle. It soiled the ends of your pristine dress, with mud caked on your shoes and your knees scratched from the pavement.

The rain poured down harder, a relentless deluge that matched the intensity of your sobs.

You cried so hard it felt impossible to breath, your body wracking with despair. Each thunderclap overhead felt like the heavens themselves roaring in sympathy with your agony.

Your mind whirled with thoughts of broken promises and unfulfilled dreams. The life you’d envisioned with Rintaro – his promises, the beach house, the dogs, the children to be had and loved, the life to have been lived – it was now nothing more than a shattered illusion. And the pain? It cut deep, leaving its mark until it embedded itself into your bones. You could die and be buried and the remnants of your hurt would remain carved up in your carcass, never to be healed, never to be withered, never to vanish even long after your death.

You felt lost in a cosmogyral spiral, the universe spinning with your loneliness as its epicentre – your existence reduced to a solitary point in an endless void.

You wanted to run, to hide from the pain he had caused and inside. To scream and cry until the hurt faded, yet it remained, a stubborn shadow clinging to your soul and refusing to let go. You aimlessly clawed at your chest like you could rip out your broken heart, and throw it to the next clueless person to come across you.

Through the curtain of rain, a dark silhouette approached.

You looked up, and the onslaught of rain suddenly ceased above your head, replaced by the soft patter of raindrops on an umbrella. The dark figure finally bent down his legs, his face illuminated by the gummuservi on the puddles.

Kneeling before you was Kiyoomi, his eyes filled with a sorrowful kindness that pierced through your pain like a cold balm on a cut. The umbrella he held cast a protective halo over you, sheltering you from the storm.

You felt... protected. Shielded from the world with nothing but his umbrella, warmed by the heat of his body. He studied you with an intensity that made you feel seen, truly seen, for the first time in a long while. His eyes traced the contours of your face, absorbing your pain as if it were his own. And when he tenderly said your name, the rain became a mere whisper, the world fading into the background as a silent understanding passed between you.

He didn’t speak anymore, but his actions conveyed what words could not. Gently, he took your hand and guided you to your feet, his grip firm yet tender.

“He made you cry again, didn’t he?”

In that moment, the storm seemed to lose its ferocity. The thunder rolled away in the distance as if giving you a moment of respite.

“It hurts so much, Kiyoomi,” you cried out to him, eyes closing when his thumb reached over to swipe at a fallen tear. “What... what did I wrong? What did I do to deserve this? How could he keep doing this to me? He-he pushes me away, betrays me, and then says he loves me and each time I think that maybe I’ve changed his mind – because I’m nothing but a fool – he reminds me, time and time again, that I hadn’t done a thing at all! I couldn’t... I could never change his mind. He is never going to love me. And it’s entirely too late but I think – I think that I no longer love–”

“–You’re right. He will never love you,” Kiyoomi’s eyes darkened, tentative as he takes two steps to close the distance. “But I do.”

“What?”

Your eyes widened as Kiyoomi’s sudden confession fell upon your ears. The world around you seemed to momentarily freeze, the vibrant colours of the garden blurring into muted hues. Your hand instinctively flew to your mouth, stifling the gasp that escaped you.

The serene beauty of the surroundings, with its delicate flowers and tranquil fountains, froze in the passage of time.

“I love you,” he says, sounding broken and wholly unsure. “I always have.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you loved him, and I had to live with the fact you would never look my way,” just as the moment started, it broke – Kiyoomi took a step back as if needing to distance himself away, but still with his umbrella hovering protectively. “My apologies, Princess. I did not mean to add more on to your burdens–”

You didn’t let him finish speaking.

Without another word, your hand moved with a swift and determined grace as you reached up, grasping Kiyoomi by the collar. The fabric, cool and smooth beneath your fingers, was tugged gently but firmly to draw him closer – needing more of him, wanting more of him. You could breathe him in and consume him whole, and it still wouldn’t be enough. He had to be certain of this, too, and you kept your touch tender and insistent, a silent command that left no room for hesitation and argument.

Kiyoomi’s breath caught in his throat as he felt the heat of your proximity, felt your breasts crushing his chest, the racing of your heart against his. The world was entirely bending to your will as it narrowed to the space between you and him.

In a single, fluid motion, your lips met his.

The kiss was a fierce, passionate declaration – charged with all the emotions that had been restrained and unspoken. It was a melding of fervor and tenderness, every unvoiced feeling poured into this single, electrifying contact that set your nerves alight.

Kissing Kiyoomi was akin to being in a comic explosion.

The kiss ignited a cascade of feelings, a burst of heat that seemed to set the very air around you ablaze. It was as if a thousand fireworks had been set off in the quiet of the night, each spark and burst of light a vidid expression of all the affections you’d held back. Because by the Gods, how long have you thought about this? How many kisses had you played in your mind before it finally took place? The initial contact was electric, a jolt of fervor and longing surging through you, ripples of euphoria cascading through your entire beings.

And when he finally kissed you back, his moan soft and nearly muted like a secret he’d whispered, Kiyoomi unfurls like a blossom in bloom.

It was an ardent embrace of sensation that led to intoxication, a symphony of fireworks that ignited every nerve, flooding your senses with an addicting blend of his heat, sweetness, and the stray drops of rain.

In that fleeting moment, the world around you ceased to exist. The universe only held you and Kiyoomi in this ephemeral moment, his face now cradled in your palms, along with his soft, sweet moans swallowed and kept at the back of your mind. Time stood still, as your hearts and lips intertwined in this dance of longing acknowledged.

The need to breathe caught up eventually, forcing the two of you to slowly draw apart. Gazes locked, reflecting the hungering and unsatiated desire born from that first explosive contact.

Kiyoomi’s arms encircled you not a moment later, drawing you closer as if to hold onto the fragile, precious connection that had been forged. The intensity in his gaze softened, and you smiled up at him, frightened – realizing a little too late at what you’d just done.

You’d kissed Kiyoomi.

You’d kissed a married man.

Frantically, you scrambled away from him, ignoring the dejected look on his face when your actions caused his umbrella to drop. He, too, began to be soaked in the rain. His shirt clung to his skin, his curls now plastered against his face. Yet, he made no move, and remained where he stood – his chest rising and falling with each, staggered breath. And god, he looked ethereal like this – face flushed, lips bruised from your kiss, and his hands twitching by his side with the need to pull you close.

But he never does. He’d let you be the one to decide on that. His submission, his decision to give up and place all the power in your hands, was written all over his face.

If we are to kiss, it would have to be me instigating it.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“–It’s not a mistake, and I don’t regret it,” Kiyoomi declared, his gaze hard and firm. Then, he makes a show of slipping of his ring and throwing it to the side – the gold band swallowed up by the puddles. He’s in your space the next moment, his eyes closed yet vulnerable as he takes your palm, and rests his cheek there. “Use me. If you need me to forget him, if that’s what it takes... then use me. I am yours.”

[rottenpumpkin13]

tf when "Sane!Sephiroth" is still a complete psycho sometimes

Sometimes. There's things he does that his friends find mildly questionable.

• Judges people in silence. He's not vocal about it but will grace them with a side-eye or a critical "hm" as he stands there with his arms crossed. One time he watched Zack tie his shoes. He said "interesting" and Zack suffered -3 confidence.

• Maintains a precise 7-foot radius of personal in public. Has been spotted using Masamune to measure distance between himself and others.

• Keeps exact inventory of his stuff. Any attempt to borrow, move, or touch his things is instantly detected. Genesis once dropped off some forms for him while he wasn't in his office. He adjusted a pen on his desk. Sephiroth appeared moments later to silently set it back.

• He talks to Masamune. Occasionally whispers to it during training. One time, he seemed to laugh at its "response." Angeal pretended not to notice because he already had enough on his plate.

• Doesn't hold elevators, which one might think is a sign of rudeness, but his reasoning is "if the elevator wishes to close who am I to disrupt its command?" Doesn't matter if he's friends with the person. He'll stare down Zack running to catch up as the doors close.

• Terrifyingly good memory and weaponizes it. Genesis accidentally knocked over his coffee during a strategy briefing in 1997. In 2000, during a completely unrelated argument, Sephiroth casually began his rebuttal with "This reminds me of when you ruined my coffee three years ago" Genesis hasn't known peace since.

• He takes a lot of things literally and it drives Angeal insane.

Angeal: We need a way to break the ice with the new recruits to ease them into things. Sephiroth, summoning Blizzard: Understood. Angeal: NO.

• Never uses an umbrella, refuses to wear a coat in winter, is unbothered by the wind. Somehow his hair remains perfect even during blizzards. Zack asked him how he does it, Sephiroth said "The weather does not control me."

• There's a rumor going around at Shinra that he can teleport, because he's always somehow in two places at once. Lazard swears he saw him calmly reading reports in his office, and five seconds later Sephiroth was delivering a lecture on swordsmanship to the new recruits in the training room.

Lazard: Sephiroth, how are you doing that?? Sephiroth: The human spirit can be split across space and time. Some fragments fight. Some observe. Some exist simultaneously. Lazard: That's terrifying information, go lay down.

• Hates small talk. Hates it.

Tseng, in the elevator: How are you? Sephiroth: Small talk is a psychological warfare technique designed to destabilize strategic communication. Tseng: Sephiroth: Not well.

[familiarscars]

Drive You Insane | Noah Sebastian 04

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Noah Sebastian X psychiatrist!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. A mysterious new patient arrives at the Grimshade sanatorium and you have been tasked with taking care of his case.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). disturbing environment, violence, unconventional treatments, manipulation, questionable relationships, explicit sex and profanity.

I really need your reblog! On Tumblr, the content reaches more views and is delivered more through reblog and I really wanted more people to be able to read what I write. I'm counting on you from now on, ok?

A tour through the Hidden.

How exciting.

On your activity schedule, a visit to the red-wristband patients first thing in the morning—before the sky had fully lit up—was the first item on the list. They rarely left the Hidden due to the high level of risk involved in being in the same environment as them. And, of course, you had already experienced firsthand what it was like to deal with one in your office recently when you had to attend to Tom Harrow.

Even if you were surrounded by a legion of guards, the feeling would be the same as walking through those rusted gates that creaked as they opened. The darkness that dominated almost caused a strange sensation, with flickering spots before your eyes. The lighting in the Hidden was scarce, and the dim, flickering light from the cells forced you to strain your glasses.

You thought about how Travis was a rather questionable friend, considering he didn’t even offer support or company during the tour—he simply wished you “good luck” and left for his morning walk. Over the past few days, you had gotten to know more about your colleague. He wasn’t the helpful type, nor was he empathetic, no matter what kind of relationship he had with another person.

Not that you expected anything from him after you’d slept together that one night after happy hour—especially since you suspected he didn’t even remember, given how little importance he seemed to give the moment—but you had at least hoped he would be less… of an asshole.

Honestly, you even found him a little mysterious beneath that impeccable scowl he carried most of the time. Always clean clothes, neatly combed blond hair, a perfectly aligned smile, and flawless diction, never hesitating over a single word. He never seemed unsure about anything. On the contrary, Rune exuded an unshakable confidence, something you could hear in the tone of his voice and see in the way his posture was always elegantly upright.

And so, he planted a seed of doubt in your mind.

Who was Dr. Travis Rune?

Your seemingly perfect, routine-obsessed colleague who didn’t stay in the staff quarters every night. If his father didn’t approve of his chosen profession, then he didn’t live on the island. So where did he stay when he wasn’t sleeping at Grimshade?

The stench of old disinfectant and mildew clung to your throat as you snapped back to reality. Your feet stepped onto the cold, cracked floor of the Hidden, and the sound of your own breathing felt out of place, muffled by the screams echoing through the corridors like the wails of a personal hell.

The lights flickered from the high ceiling, buzzing like flies over rotting flesh, casting erratic shadows that made everything seem even more distorted. The walls were a filthy white, peeling in several places, revealing concrete stained with rust—and something far too dark for you to want to identify. With every step, your shoulders tensed further, as if the oppressive atmosphere of screams and grinding teeth was coiling around your body.

The patients were there, locked in their narrow cells with thick, rusted bars. Some rocked back and forth, staring into nothing with glazed eyes. Others followed you with hollow gazes, whispering fragmented words, laced with something that burrowed under your skin like invisible splinters.

“I see you…” one of them murmured, voice thin and sharp like a knife scraping against glass.

Your hands tingled. Your stomach turned.

Another laughed—a hoarse, broken sound—as pale fingers stretched out between the bars.

“You smell like blood…”

You swallowed hard, forcing your feet to keep moving, ignoring the cold wave that crawled down your spine. With every step, the whispers grew, indecipherable phrases, words spat into the air, as if the very ward was trying to consume you.

And then, you stopped.

Right in front of his cell.

Tom Harrow.

Your body tensed before you even forced yourself to look.

The memories of your last encounter hit like a punch. The way he watched you during the session, as if stripping you with his eyes. The way his mouth shaped every filthy word, every malicious insinuation, trying to unnerve you. The anger in his lips when he realized you wouldn’t give him the control he craved.

But now… now you were here, frozen.

And he knew it.

“Well, well… look who came to visit.”

His voice oozed through the bars like rotten honey—thick, immersive, dripping with a slow drawl that seemed to savor your presence.

You swallowed down the acidic taste in your throat, but said nothing.

Tom rose from the bed with a lazy movement, like a predator stretching before the hunt. The flickering light illuminated his pale face, the deep-set eyes gleaming with something that made you want to run. He smiled. A slow, arrogant smile that knew exactly the effect it had.

“Did you miss me, doctor?” He tilted his head to the side, fingers dragging along the bars. “That heat on your skin? That shiver?”

Your lungs tightened.

“That chill down your spine that wouldn’t let you sleep after our last conversation…”

You wanted to move. You needed to move. But his words held you in place.

“I bet you dreamed about me.”

The distant screams blended with the sound of your own blood pounding in your ears. The air in the Hidden was suffocating, viscous, and you could feel his eyes crawling over your skin, sensing every minuscule detail of your reaction.

“I wonder…” He slid his tongue across his lips, letting the sentence hang in the air like a venomous invitation. “What exactly did you feel?”

The floor seemed to sink beneath your feet.

And still, you didn’t move.

Tom let out a low, drawn-out laugh, as if relishing your stillness. He stepped closer to the bars, long fingers curling around the cold metal, his knuckles turning white with the pressure. His eyes were locked onto you—heavy, invasive, drinking in every tiny reaction.

“You’re trembling, sweetheart.�� His voice was sweet poison, slipping out lazily. “Were you like this last time? When you lay in bed, when you closed your eyes and tried to forget what I said?”

You tasted the bitterness of your own fear in your throat.

“Tell me… was it quick? Or did you lie there, in the darkness, feeling your breath hitch, your body heat up, your mind drifting back to me as your hands slid between your legs?”

Your stomach twisted.

He laughed, eyes narrowing in sheer amusement.

“Ah… that’s it, isn’t it?” He whispered, the words laced with something close to a moan, like he was sharing a dirty secret. “That feeling of your skin prickling, heat spreading, that tightness between your thighs.”

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palm. No. You wouldn’t react.

But he knew you were listening. He knew that, no matter how hard you fought it, his words were already inside you.

“Tell me, did you try to resist? Or did you give in? Let your mind play a little… let your fingers explore that tight little pussy of yours?” He paused, letting the word drip from his lips like an unwanted touch. “You know, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it… I imagine it swallowing my cock every single day, doctor.”

A wave of nausea crashed through you.

His smile widened, something wicked and triumphant glinting in his eyes.

“I bet you tried to convince yourself it was hate.” He knocked his head lightly against the bars, closing his eyes for a second, inhaling the air like he could breathe you in. “But deep down… you liked what I said. Sluts like you always do.”

You took a step back.

He moved instantly, pressing closer to the bars, shoulders tense, his expression shifting into something animalistic.

“That’s it… back away. Pretend you’re running.” His tongue swept over his cracked lips. “Don’t forget—that’s what I love most in a woman, doctor. The ones who resist.”

The corridor around you felt like it was shrinking. The Hidden was breathing around you, pressing closer, heavier, suffocating with every second. The screams in the distance seemed too far away, too muffled, like the world had narrowed down to just his cell. Just him.

And you couldn’t move when something warm and viscous splattered onto your hand.

Your eyes widened, needing to confirm it was real—that on the back of your hand, seeping from the pocket of your coat, was a splatter of Tom Harrow’s semen.

While he had been saying those vile things, he had been masturbating in front of you.

Your mind spun, confusion tangling with shock as your gaze locked onto the stain on your skin. The guards rushed toward his cell, and the only thing you managed to do was stumble backward, desperate to get away from that place as fast as possible.

Your ragged breathing quickened as your back collided with something firm in your frantic attempt to escape. Like an unyielding concrete statue, he halted your steps in place, and instinctively, your eyes lifted—meeting Noah’s apathetic face, his expression undoubtedly irritated by you crashing into him.

The thought that he might have seen what that man had just done sent a wave of automatic heat rushing to your face, and something damp welled up in your tear ducts. Shame coiled inside you, making you feel filthy, unprofessional—completely exposed in front of a patient like him.

And then, he did something entirely unexpected.

Without saying a single word—obviously—Noah wrapped his hand around your right wrist and wiped the back of your hand with his own shirt.

Stunned, you let him do as he pleased. He seemed to… want to comfort you through an act of service? This wasn’t the time for analysis. Not when your skin burned from his touch, as if Noah carried embers between his fingers.

Expressionless, still not releasing your wrist, he guided you slowly toward the gates of the Hidden. The guards were too occupied with restraining Tom’s outburst to notice your absence—nor the fact that you were being escorted by the most dangerous patient in the custody ward.

When you reached the exit, Noah let go. The cold air rushed in to replace the warmth he had held onto so firmly as he led you out of that wretched place.

You couldn’t thank him for what he did.

You couldn’t look at him again.

You couldn’t cling to those fleeting sensations, hoarding the comfort of this moment for the days when agony would come.

Noah turned his back and shut the gates of the Hidden, leaving you on the other side.

"Of course, Mom, I couldn’t be better!" you said, holding the phone with a grimace that didn’t match the tone of your voice.

"I’ve known you since you were a child, girl! You came out of me, and I know when something is wrong!" your mother said, hardening her tone.

"I’m just tired and really eager to find a better job."

"We warned you that dealing with so many lunatics wouldn’t be good for you, sweetheart. You were never all that right in the head yourself… I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: it’s time to come home and find something more normal to do." she threw out, alarmed. "I won’t accept you ending up as a patient in that madhouse! Visiting you in Grimshade would be a disaster for our finances."

"Thanks for your concern! Don’t worry, I’ll keep your bank account intact." Impatient, you slammed the phone onto the receiver, hearing murmurs of joy from the never-ending line behind you.

"Mom missing you?" Rune teased, nudging your arm lightly as he adjusted his sunglasses.

"Despite her progress in therapy, her narcissistic traits always find a way to surface. But overall, she’s a good mom."

Returning to administration still shaken, the first thing you did was take a shower, washing away any lingering trace of the Hidden from your skin. Travis suggested you accompany him into town as a distraction, and you agreed.

A little fresh air actually did you some good. The town had little transportation movement, keeping the sky clear and the air breathable. The people weren’t as welcoming as one might expect from such a small Victorian-style place, but maybe that was your fault for expecting otherwise. They were direct, rarely using words of gratitude, and you figured their curt manner must have been cultural.

"It’s not exactly narcissism if it’s a mother. Seems more like something that comes with childbirth and follows them for the rest of their lives," he commented, not exactly offering comfort.

"An interesting analysis, Dr. Rune…" You arched your lips in a brief smile before adding, "Did your narcissistic mother also try to choose your profession like she picked your girlfriends until you turned eighteen?"

"My mother was always easygoing—submissive, even—but easygoing. That title belongs only to my father."

"You rarely talk about your parents. Do they live on the island?"

"Yes, we’re from here." He responded without enthusiasm, twirling his keys around his index finger.

"And you don’t visit them when you come to town?"

"Homesickness isn’t something I tend to suffer from."

From the side, you glanced at his unchanged expression, and for a moment, you almost felt like he was throwing a jab at you for coming into town just to call your mother.

Yeah, despite the narcissism, she was still your mom, and you two got along. Maybe Rune thought you were a little naïve.

Or maybe his parents were simply people he had no desire to be around, no matter how strong their personalities were.

"If you’re from here, then you studied at the only university in town," you concluded, piecing together the obvious but realizing that learning more about him was helping push your mind away from the previous chaos. "So you studied with Noah. His file says he was in medical school."

As always, mentioning Noah made Travis roll his eyes, especially since this was happening outside the asylum. He seemed determined to spend the afternoon eating ice cream and feeding birds, ignoring whatever else was going on.

"Yeah, I was about to graduate when we had a few classes together," he replied, carefully eyeing the ice cream flavors displayed in the glass case. "Chocolate and mint, please!"

"So your issue with him started at university?"

"At university, I didn’t even know he existed. Everyone lived in their own little bubble. Who would’ve thought he’d end up becoming my patient, huh?"

"That’s quite the coincidence…" you murmured, lightly biting your lower lip. "I’d even say it’s convenient."

Rune took the ice cream the friendly attendant handed him over the glass counter and—showing off his impeccable manners—walked straight to the nearest available table without offering you anything. You followed him and took the seat across from him.

"Are you implying that I made Noah my patient for personal gain? Or maybe as revenge for my ‘grudge,’ since, from day one, you’ve assumed that just because I treat him like any other patient?" he asked mockingly, holding the spoon between his teeth.

"I heard his parents have a lot of money and that he has a certain… protection. The kind that got him into the asylum instead of serving a prison sentence."

"And what does that have to do with me?" He shrugged. "Hate to disappoint you after all your investigative effort, but my salary hasn’t changed a cent since he arrived. I don’t need to protect him or make his life harder. To me, he’s just another file, another patient whose brain will be fried by meds and electroshock therapy… That is, if he doesn’t end up offing himself first."

"I don’t think it’s ethical of you to talk like that."

"You wanted to know, and I simply answered, doctor. And I believe that’s the most you’ll get out of this story that intrigues you so much. But if you’ll take some advice, I’d suggest you find another hobby… Maybe work, what do you think?"

Your neck prickled, and your fists clenched on the table.

"As punishment for this unpleasant conversation, you’re paying the bill," Travis announced before getting up and leaving the ice cream shop.

You blinked a few times, processing his audacity.

Bastard.

On the way back to the asylum, you opted for silence. After what happened at the ice cream shop, the ideal thing would have been to refuse Travis’s ride, but what other choice did you have? The next taxi wouldn’t pass for hours, and by then, the sky would likely be dark. You weren’t about to test your luck wandering around an unfamiliar place at night.

Travis turned on the radio, the sound crackling slightly as they climbed the hill, getting farther from civilization. The song playing sounded like a creepy opera or something you couldn’t quite place, but listening to Dr. Rune hum along in his undisturbed peace as he turned the steering wheel—

It bothered you.

It bothered you a lot.

The night at Grimshade was never truly silent, but the sound that woke you cut through the air like a blade. A muffled, deep, hollow thud—like something heavy hitting the ground.

Your eyes snapped open, your heart already slamming against your ribs. For a moment, you just lay there, listening to nothing but your own breathing and the distant ticking of some old clock. Maybe it was just another one of the strange noises that place emitted all the time—old pipes, doors creaking under the whim of the wind.

But then came another sound. Lower this time, a rough scraping, like something being dragged.

A shiver ran down your spine, and you felt the weight of fear settle onto your shoulders.

You hesitated. But you couldn't ignore the urgency swelling inside you.

With a sudden jolt, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet meeting the cold floor. The thin nightgown clung to your skin, still warm from the bath, but the hallway’s chill wrapped around you like a warning.

You followed your instincts.

The asylum looked different at night. The emptiness of the corridors was suffocating, as if the walls were closing in, swallowing every sound, every breath. The dim light flickered, casting long shadows that seemed to shift on their own. Each step echoed against the floor, a muffled whisper that trailed behind you.

The air was thick.

Wrong.

Your feet carried you through the garden, where the icy wind brought the scent of damp earth and something else—something metallic, which your mind refused to name.

The Hidden’s gate was slightly ajar.

Your body locked up.

It was like reliving the horror from hours ago, Tom Harrow’s voice still clinging to your skin like a filthy touch, his eyes still hanging in your mind like hooks.

But you kept going.

Your steps were firm but dragging, as if some invisible force were pulling at your ankles, trying to hold you back.

The Hidden was darker than usual. The shadowed cells gaped like open mouths, starving. Something seeped from the bars of some of them—mumbled words, raspy laughter, incoherent sounds bleeding from the blackness within. With every step, the cold sharpened, crawling up your spine, digging invisible claws into your skin.

And then you saw it—and froze instantly, your body locked as if torn from time itself.

The blood.

Black under the flickering light, thick and heavy, pooling from the last cell in the first corridor.

Your heartbeat pounded like a frantic drum.

The same cell.

The one that had made your body recoil earlier, as if something had been wrong from the start.

Swallowing down the panic, you forced your legs to move, each step heavier than the last. The scent of iron flooded your senses now, nauseating, thick like smoke.

And then you saw him.

Tom Harrow.

His body lay carelessly on the floor, face turned upward, lifeless eyes fixed on the ceiling as if still staring at something unseen. His throat was torn open in a jagged, grotesque cut, the edges of the wound shredded as if the blade had chewed through his flesh.

And there, embedded in the still-warm flesh, was a pair of gardening shears.

A dry shiver shot down your spine.

For a long moment, nothing moved.

The Hidden held its breath with you.

The shock struck like lightning.

Large, strong hands emerged from nowhere, clamping over your mouth and waist in a vicious surge. The world tilted violently as your body was yanked backward, feet scraping against the cold floor of the Hidden, darkness swallowing everything before you could even react.

The scream died before it was born, smothered beneath the hot, calloused palm silencing you.

You struggled instinctively, but the strength holding you was like iron. Your heart hammered, so hard that the pain echoed in your chest, your skull, the tips of your fingers. The scent that enveloped you was overwhelming—something between wood, metal, and a trace of smoke.

The flickering light in the corridors revealed only fragments of his face. Deep brown eyes, burning with fury. A clenched jaw, teeth gritted tight. The tattoos winding down his forearms, shifting like living shadows.

Then, in one swift motion, he slammed you against the cold wall. The air fled from your lungs in a single, choked gasp.

The temperature in the room shifted—the icy shock of the concrete at your back clashed violently with the solid, burning heat of his body pressing into yours. Every muscle beneath his fitted shirt was taut, as if holding back a storm on the verge of breaking.

The silence between you was electric, heavy as lead.

Your eyes traveled upward, slowly, meeting his in the narrow space between your faces.

Shadows danced over the sharp angles of his jaw, his gaze locked onto you like a blade—dripping with anger, warning... and something else. Something so raw, so feral, that it sent a shiver down your spine.

Then, his voice came. Low, rough, thick with menace.

“Which part of ‘I don’t want you here’ does the doctor still not understand?”

Noah spoke.

⭑ @bloody-spades ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lacy1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline​ ; @just-randomm-stuff ; @do-it-jakey-baby

[k-nayee]

Fallen Hazbin Hotel i

wc: 3.3k a/n: this will be a slight au goes cause ngl i never really made it past episode 2💀

Traveler M.List

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ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

The creation of your soul was unlike any other.

In the hallowed space where human souls were molded, Seraphim Sera worked beside the successor of Lucifer in the celestial sanctum dedicated to new life.

Though Emily had grown adept at forming souls over the eons, she still found herself studying Sera's technique with curiosity and deference.

This time, however, she noticed an unusual stillness in Sera. There was a hint of sorrow in her—deeper than any Emily had seen before.

The state of humanity weighed heavily on Sera's heart. It was something even the sacrifice of Jesus had not remedied.

Where she had hoped to see more unity and compassion, humanity continued to stumble.

Devoted to creation and guidance and yet here she was: moved to a grief that seemed to reach even her divine powers.

Without Sera's knowledge that sorrow imprinted itself on the soul she was forming.

As her fingertips hovered over the amorphous light, her unspoken worries and heartache transformed it, seeping into the essence she shaped.

You were different from the start—a rare blend of purity and compassion, a hope born from despair.

No other soul had quite the same resonance as yours. It was as if each fragment of light carried Sera's lingering wish for humanity's redemption.

Emily remained silent as she observed. For all the thousands of souls she had seen, none had been like this. She could sense Sera's guarded admiration as well.

Though Sera (ever the professional) did not show overt favoritism, there was a lingering gaze—a brief stillness, every time her eyes fell upon you.

And then, just as quickly, she'd retreat to her disciplined demeanor as though she could not allow herself the luxury of attachment.

Once your formation was complete, you were sent to Earth with no knowledge of the watchful presence behind your existence.

From the beginning the world proved to be harsh and unforgiving.

Abandoned as a child and abused by those who should have protected you, you were thrust into a life of struggle.

And yet in spite of it all no bitterness clouded your heart nor did hatred take root; instead you grew wise to life's difficulties, meeting each day with a kindness that was resolute.

Each act of goodwill, every kindness you extended, seemed to spark a subtle ripple effect—something that shaped the lives of others and sent positive changes flowing into places you couldn't see.

Having never grown hard or cynical to life, you were granted angelic ascension upon your death.

Upon your arrival Sera awaited you at the gates, a subtle smile softening her usually serious expression as she guided you to your new position before going off to her own responsibilities.

Life in Heaven felt nearly surreal.

Though the celestial realms were as awe-inspiring as they were vast, you felt a strange pang of loneliness among the hierarchy of angels—most of whom seemed untouched by the hardships you remembered from Earth.

Your days was spent in quiet work under higher-ranking overseers with often yourself as company in the towering halls of Heaven.

That was until you were summoned to Adam's chambers.

You had heard much about him from other angels beyond his legacy as the first man. He was someone who had a commanding presence—sharp wit.

But as you stood before him, despite his evident authority, he exuded an oddly modern charm—a confident, slightly arrogant air that might have been more suited to a CEO than an Archangel.

He looked you up and down, his piercing gaze sizing you up as if deciding whether he could work with you at all.

In those first weeks Adam had made his displeasure known. He rarely missed an opportunity to grumble about the favor he was doing for Sera.

You were a lower-ranking angel after all. And Adam made no secret of his annoyance over this fact. It was shown through your tasks.

They were menial at first: simple records and errand-like duties—which unbeknown to you, was actually ordered to test your resolve rather than develop skills.

He was meticulous and unyielding, a mentor who would not accept anything less than perfection and barely acknowledged your efforts even when they met his exacting standards.

But as the days weeks turned to months there were subtle changes. Sometimes he would sit back and watch you with a look that lingered a bit longer than he intended.

You'd catch him softening in brief moments when he thought you weren't watching with a slight curve of his mouth when you managed something especially well.

And over time his critiques mellowed into an almost playful teasing. The conversations once clipped and formal took on a different tone.

He would linger after giving you a task—recounting stories of the early days of humanity, speaking of his own creation and the burden of his role with a tone that almost resembled confession.

Then one day he invited you to walk with him in the gardens—an invitation that you knew wasn't extended to just anyone.

As you strolled among Heaven's flowering vines and ethereal fountains he casually asked about your Earthly experiences, or as he put it, the "domino effect" Sera mentioned in your file.

You told him of your life as a human and the trials you faced and the choice to meet the world with kindness despite its many hardships.

Then, for the first time ever, a full fledged smile graced his face. Its tenderness filled the stillness around you.

That unspoken bond grew. 

Even the other angels began to notice Adam's (in all his aloofness) distinct warmth that was reserved only for you.

He still carried himself with that familiar arrogance and exuded his usual authority, but his eyes softened when you were near.

His usual cutting words now had an underlying fondness that only the two of you fully understood.

You didn’t speak of it—didn’t dare name it. But when you were alone there was an undeniable closeness.

It went beyond his usual dismissive flirtations or occasional compliments. His hand would linger on yours a moment too long, his touch warm and grounding as he guided you through the grand halls.

You still felt the guarded edges around him even as he allowed this closeness. Almost as if he were keeping a part of himself hidden.

Though you yearned to know more, knowing the gentleness Adam has for you was reserved for no one else made up for it.

For now that was enough.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The revelation came upon you like a sudden storm.

It seemed ordinary enough—one of those rare quiet days where Heaven’s peace felt genuine and untouched by schemes or whispers of unrest.

You had been looking for Adam, searching the grand halls where he often spent his time in secluded contemplation or strategy.

Upon entering his quarters you stumbled upon a series of records and texts you hadn’t seen before—drawings, schematics, plans filled with the details of an endeavor you could hardly comprehend at first.

Shock locked you in place as your eyes darted over the pages, the full picture beginning to take shape.

Adam was planning to eradicate all of Hell in a brutal purge. His intentions scrawled out plainly with plans to make it a bi-annual devastation.

His motivations seemed focused—almost obsessive: he desire to destroy Lucifer for corrupting both his wives and damning humanity to sin.

The righteousness of it felt  sinister in a way that clashed with everything Heaven should represent.

It was the sound of footsteps that pulled you from your horrified trance. You look up, catching Adam’s steely gaze as he entered the room.

He stilled, his eyes narrowing as his lips twist into a brief condescending smile before disappearing just as quick. “Eavesdropping now are we?”

“What...is all of this?” your voice shaky but resolute. There was no hiding your distress nor the raw betrayal evident in your tone.

He watched you carefully, his silence stretched painfully long with each passing second drawing his gaze sharper.

“It’s necessary,” he finally replied, each word precise and calculated. “You of all people should understand that.”

You shook your head with disbelief flashing in your eyes. “Necessary? Adam you’re talking about genocide. A-an endless cycle of destruction! How can you say this is the right thing?”

His expression darkened.

“This is for the greater good. Lucifer’s actions have damned humanity, cast shadows over Heaven itself.” Irritation seeped into his voice. “The world would be purer without his influence infecting it, without Hell festering beneath.”

The certainty in his tone left no room for negotiation and you felt the depth of the chasm between you.

You shook your head, taking a step back. “I can’t be a part of this Adam. I...I won’t.”

He watched you as a flicker of something like disappointment shined in his eyes, though it quickly cooled to an unnerving calm.

“Perhaps you’re just not seeing the full picture,” his voice smoothed as if he were offering comfort. “Meet me at our usual spot. I’ll explain everything. Trust me.”

There was a note of gentleness in his words, a familiar echo of the kindness you’d come to know.

Against the shadow of doubt that churned in your chest, you wanted to believe him. You wanted to think that somehow there was something you’d misunderstood.

And so you went to the place that had become yours over the years—a quiet grove within Heaven’s gardens where the two of you spent your time together.

The serenity of it now felt almost mocking.

As you waited you searched for a sense of reassurance, for the feeling that this was all some awful misunderstanding.

That Adam would arrive, put a hand on your shoulder, and explain everything away.

But instead when Adam appeared, his presence felt cold—almost mechanical. There was no trace of the man who had once softened around you nor a lingering warmth in his gaze.

“Adam...” you began only for your words to die on your lips. He raised his hand, and suddenly you felt an unfamiliar pull.

It was as though gravity itself had turned against you. Your wings flared instinctively, but they were useless against the force drawing you downward.

Realization gripped you as you looked up; this wasn’t an explanation. This was a sentence.

Adam’s face was the last thing you saw before the Fall: a sharp tooth grin stretched across his lips.

He raised his hand in a mock salute, almost playful as if he were bidding farewell to an old friend rather than sending you into damnation.

That look—that chillingly gleeful expression was imprinted itself in your mind; searing a deep wound of betrayal that would never fully heal.

Your voice caught in your throat, eyes wide with disbelief as you fell. He hadn’t wavered. Didn't hesitate.

The one who had been your confidante, who had once looked at you with something like love, has casted you down without so much as a flicker of remorse.

Tears escaped and scattered into the wind around you. Just as Heaven faded from sight, darkness fully enveloped you and your world went black.

.*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

You plummet from Heaven like a comet; a streak of searing light tearing through the thick red skies of Hell.

Your form was enveloped in flames as you crashed down with a force that made the very ground tremble.

The impact was like a small explosion—flames erupting, leaving a crater scorched and steaming as debris scattered for yards around.

Slowly you regained consciousness, faint prickles of pain tingling at the edges of your senses.

Your entire body felt heavy. Every inch of your body throbbed with the reminder that you’d been ̶b̶̶e̶̶t̶̶r̶̶a̶̶y̶̶e̶̶d̶ casted down by the very person you trusted most.

Suddenly, you feel warmth pressing against your cheek. You blink, finding yourself face-to-face with a strange malformed creature—a bird if you could call it that.

It had way too many eyes that blinked in eerie unison with a beak far too sharp as it pecked at your face.

You instinctively swat it away with more force than you intended. The creature squawked in protest before flapping its leathery wings and vanishing into the smoky distance.

Looking around you find yourself lying in the center of a deep crater as steam rose from the ground. For a second your mind struggled to reconcile where you were.

Then realization crept in slowly along with a numb sort of disbelief. Hell. You were in Hell.

As you shifted to sit up, soft murmurs above made you snap your head upwards. There on the edges of the crater stood  gathering figures— Hell denizens that drawn to the commotion.

Sinners and demons, the curious and wicked souls damned to this place, they all watched you in curiosity.

That is until they caught sight of the faint remaining glow of your halo and pure white wings.

Their gazes turned alarmed before they scattered away in screeches and shrieks, stumbling and tripping over each other in their desperation to flee in the mistaken belief that your arrival was the start of an unexpected purge.

The silence that followed was almost jarring, leaving you alone in the crater as the echoes of their hurried footsteps faded into the distance.

Your body screamed in protest as you slowly rose to your feet.

You try to open your wings in attempt to take flight, but the moment you flexed them, a searing pain flared down your back making you clamp your wings shut with a wince.

It seems flying wasn't an option right now.

With painstaking effort you hobbled toward the crater’s edge, eyes fixed on the steep walls.

Your teeth grit from the pain when you reach out and grasped a jagged piece of rock jutting from the crater wall.

'Okay,' a grim look of determination cross your face. 'Guess I’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.' 

.*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

With a weak but firm grip you grasped the edge of the crater, using every last ounce of strength to pull yourself up onto the cracked pavement.

A heaving gasp tore from your throat as you collapsed onto solid ground before scooting yourself away from the crater’s edge.

It had taken longer than you’d hoped, but you’d done it. You were out.

Lying back, you let your head fall against the pavement to stare up at the crimson-tinted sky above.

Clouds churned in dark ominous shades of red as a massive pentagram symbol loomed high above—it glowed sinisterly, slicing through the swirling clouds in sharp precise lines.

Hell’s “moon” hung beside it—a twisted scarred orb that looked as though it had been dragged from the depths of something far darker than night.

And even higher in the distance, just barely visible against the hellish skyline, was the faint shimmer of Heaven’s gate. A cruel and unreachable mirage.

You closed your eyes, letting out a long shuddering breath as you try to gather yourself before reluctantly forcing your exhausted body to move once more.

Just as you managed to stand a strange warmth flickered above your head. Your fingers reach up to touch your now sputtering halo.

The steady glow dimmed as it pulsed weakly—and before you could fully process it, the light extinguished altogether.

The once radiant halo fell and clattered to the ground with a hollow metallic ring.

You stared down at the cold dull metal lying lifelessly in the dust. Your legs buckled and you sank to your knees, reaching out with trembling fingers to pick it up.

The weight of it felt foreign now, devoid of the light and comfort it once radiated.

A sad hollow laugh bubbled up from your throat; a weak attempt to mask the sharp ache of loss.

“...and it was such a good reading light to use,” you murmured, voice barely a whisper.

The familiar warmth of Heaven was gone and replaced by an oppressive heat that clung to you as the air around filled with the bitter scent of sulfur.

The betrayal, the Fall, and now your halo—each piece hammered at your heart, leaving you grasping at the edges of your composure as the weight of this new reality pressed in on you.

Fortunately you didn’t have time to dwell on it for long. 

“Hello!” A voice cuts through the stillness.

Startled, you look up to see a young girl standing at the edge of the abandoned street, her bright eyes wide with wonder.

She was small, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders as she wore a frilly red dress that looked almost too pristine for a place like Hell

She moved before you could process her intentions, darting toward you with surprising speed.

You instinctively opened your arms, catching her as she flinged herself into your embrace with childlike trust.

Her weight was slight with a warmth to her that felt strangely comforting. She nestled against your side, tiny hands exploring your feathers as her eyes sparkled with awe.

“Oh wow!” she squealed, brushing her fingers lightly over the downy feathers of your wings that had unconsciously curled around her as if to shield her from the world. “Your wings are so pretty! They look kinda like my dad’s!”

You blinked, still processing the fact that a child was not only here in Hell but clinging to you like you were an old friend.

Her innocent curiosity and lack of fear threw you off guard. For a moment faint memories of the children you had in your human life resurfaced and a bittersweet warmth filled your chest.

“Who might you be little one?"

The girl looked up at you with a giggle, eyes wide with innocence. "My name's Charlie, Charlie Magne!"

You couldn't help but smile. She reminded you of them in a way—of the tenderness you’d once known.

"And why are you out here alone?” concern was heard in your words. It was dangerous even for a child who clearly belonged here.

“I just wanted to see if it was really an angel causing all the fuss. I overheard my dad talking about it and well...I got curious! So I snuck out and—bam! I found you!” She gave you a triumphant grin as if discovering you were her own special accomplishment.

“Your...dad?” you echo softly causing her to frantically nod.

“Charlotte!” A booming voice calls out sending a shiver down your spine. Charlie looked over her shoulder, her eyes lighting up even more.

“Oh! There he is!” she chirped. Wriggling out of your arms, she hops down and began waving enthusiastically in the direction of the voice. "Over here!”

You quickly got to your feet, bracing yourself as you saw him: Lucifer Morningstar—The King of Hell himself striding down the street with an air of authority.

His softened gaze was locked on Charlie as she ran to him. But the moment she pointed back at you and exclaimed, “Look Daddy! I made a new friend!” his expression shifted.

The smile he’d given her vanished and was replaced by something far darker. In a flash he was in front of you, his crimson eyes piercing through you like twin blades.

You barely blinked before you were slammed to the ground.

The impact stole the air from your lungs, you were left gasping as his weight pressed down on you, a foot planted firmly on your chest.

Charlie's pleads of Daddy stop! seemed distant, almost muffled as you struggled to catch your breath.

'Geez...What s up with this family and tackling?'

Your dry thought is interrupted by the cold bite of metal on your throat. The sharp blade is pressed against the skin of your neck making you give a wide-eye stare up at the man towering over you.

His expression hard and unforgiving with an air of suspicion around him.

"Who sent you to the land of the Damned?" 

[girlgenius1111]

sweet dream was over

chapter 1

r struggles in the aftermath of her breakup with alessia. until a certain brown eyed spaniard makes her chest go from heavy to all fluttery. it was just the breakup talking though, right?

Waking up was painful. Your eyes were swollen from crying, and your chest ached, the cause of which was not physical.

You'd known that you and Alessia weren't doing well. In fact, you were fairly sure you were going to break up the next time you saw her. Things had been different with her since the world cup, and it seemed to you that the relationship had run it's course. It made you sad, of course, because you loved Alessia. You were just no longer in love with her.

Maybe it would have been easier if you didn't love her anymore, maybe it would have hurt less. When you picked up the phone 2 nights ago, the last thing you were expecting was for her to be on the other end, in hysterics. It had taken you a while to piece together what she was trying to say, her sentences fragmented.

I didn't mean to.

I just got caught up in the moment.

You're so far away, and I never see you.

It was a one time thing, it didn't mean anything.

You weren't even mad at her, not really. Because cheating, even once, was so unlike Alessia. She was a fiercely loyal person, and this behavior was nothing short of alarming. You'd known she'd been struggling, and you'd hoped her move to Arsenal would help. It had, you think, but only so much could improve when she refused to take the time to care for herself and her mental health in the way that she should. Her actions were a red flag that she wasn't doing well, but it didn't mean you felt any less betrayed.

It didn't matter that the relationship was clearly on it's last leg, you hadn't broken up yet. Alessia had made you feel loved, really loved, for the first time in your whole life. More than that, she'd made you feel worthy of her love.

Perhaps that's why you were so upset- in an evening, she'd undone all the progress you'd made with yourself, completely destroyed the confidence you'd had in yourself. It didn't make complete sense to you, but you didn't have time to dwell on it. You had to get up, get dressed. Hopefully do something to hide the fact that you'd been crying and get to practice. You wished you'd tried harder to pull it together yesterday; you'd had a few days off, which ended up working well for you. You'd had time to be upset, but clearly, you hadn't stopped crying soon enough.

-----

No amount of makeup could hide the puffiness around your eyes, and you knew your efforts had failed when you walked into the locker room and hour later, and felt several pairs of eyes on you right away. If there was anything you were sure of, though, it was that you absolutely did not want to talk about it.

Your locker, though, was set right in between Alexia and Irene's. They liked to keep an eye on you, which was normally fine, but today, you didn't want your captains' attention on you, not at all.

You kept your head down as you pulled on your training kit, lacing up your boots carefully, pretending not to feel the stares of the girls on either side of you. Your attempts to become invisible didn't work.

"What's up?" Irene said, sitting down next to you. You didn't turn your head to look at her.

"Nothing. Why?" You asked. Alexia responded from your other side.

"You don't look so good, amiga. What happened?"

"Nothing happened," you said, doing your best to keep your voice emotionless. You didn't have to look at the older Spaniards to know they were exchanging disbelieving looks. Before they could say anything else, you stood up, heading out to the pitch without another word. You would have made it without any extra conversation, too, if you hadn't almost knocked Ona down when you came rushing out of the doorway.

"Shit, sorry Ona," you said, steadying her with a hand to her shoulder.

"Are you alright?" she asked, instead of responding to your apology, as soon as she got a look at your face. You rolled your eyes, annoyance with yourself for crying so hard only growing.

"Long weekend," you told her, for some reason unable to lie to the inquisitive brown eyes looking back at you. You watched as they crinkled in concern, and inexplicably had to blink back a couple tears that gathered in your own eyes. Something about the way Ona was looking at you, full of care and worry really got to you. It completely surprised you, how concerned to seemed to be.

"What happened?"

You paused for a moment, seriously confused where you insistence that nothing had happened had disappeared to. The truth was suddenly itching to get out.

"Less and I broke up," you told her quietly. Ona had obviously played with Alessia in Manchester, and she'd known you as a couple well. You'd decided this morning on your drive that when people inevitably found out about the break up, you wouldn't mention what Alessia had done. She wasn't herself, and she shouldn't have to deal with the entire team suddenly hating her guts.

"I'm sorry, y/n. That's really tough. We're all here for you though, okay?" you nodded in response, and she smiled at you, before continuing on into the locker room.

You thought about the conversation all the way onto the pitch, waiting for the rest of the team, and through the first round of drills.

Why had you told her? You and Ona got along well, were friends, but you were friends with Alexia and Irene, too. That hadn't stopped you from lying to them.

You couldn't stop thinking about the look on her face, just briefly, after you'd told her it was over between you and Alessia. It was... excitement, if you weren't mistaken.

You managed to shake off your confusion 20 minutes into practice. You were just upset about Alessia, the breakup. Your brain was all over the place, not to mention your emotions.

-----

You should have known Keira and Lucy would find out. It was a testament to how scrambled your mind was, that you didn't think to factor in Leah.

You were just about to leave after training, just tying your shoes, listening to the lively conversation around you. The locker room was still pretty full, and you didn't think much of it when Lucy and Keira came to stand in front of you. You looked up expectantly, expecting them to ask you to get lunch or something.

"What happened with Alessia?" Lucy asked, not quietly. She seemed upset, and your teammates around you both didn't miss it, conversations fizzling out at the way Lucy was standing, arms crossed, in front of you. If you hadn't known her so well, you would have thought she was mad at you. You knew, though, that she was just being protective.

"What do you mean?" you asked, looking between her and Keira.

"Leah texted me and asked if I knew why you guys had broken up." Keira said, looking closely at your expression. Your teammates began to chime in.

"You and Alessia broke up?"

"When?"

"Why?"

"What'd she do?"

"What'd YOU do?"

Pina got a smack to the back of her head from Patri for that last one. Sighing, you decided to give them as few details as you could before making a break for it.

"Yes we broke up. It was a few nights ago. She didn't do anything, no one did anything," you said, wishing you were a better liar. Everyone clocked that one, seeing how your eyes dropped to the ground, and then back up as you continued talking. "Sometimes relationships don't work out. It's fine, I'm fine," you finished.

"Is that why you walked in looking like you cried yourself to sleep last night?" Keira asked and you pulled a face.

"Thanks, Kei. Seriously, I'm fine," you insisted. Everyone in the room looked like they had multiple more questions, but someone else was calling your name before any of them could.

"Y/n, the social media team has a scheduling question for you," Ona said, peaking in through the door. She'd stopped training early to treat a sore muscle, and was already showered and ready to go. You bid your teammates a goodbye, walking out of the locker room as fast as you possibly could, ignoring the questions that followed you out the door.

You walked with Ona down the hall, turning to head down to the social media office.

"Oh, they didn't actually need you. I just figured you could use an escape," Ona told you, stopping you with a hand on your arm. You turned to look at her, picking up on the way her eyes were fixed on your face, as if worried you'd be mad.

"Thank you, Ona. I appreciate it." She nodded. It was quiet for a minute as you resumed walking to the parking lot, before she spoke again.

"Why'd you lie to everyone?"

"What do you mean?"

"I texted Tooney, to ask if Alessia was doing okay with the breakup," Ona said, blushing slightly. "She told me Alessia was really torn up about it. Because she felt guilty. For cheating on you."

You always forgot to factor in Ella Toone and her big mouth. You couldn't be too mad at her, though, because you'd woken up to a text from her the other day, telling you she was furious with Alessia, promising you that if she'd known it had happened, she would have told you.

Now, though, you had to deal with Ona knowing what had really happened. And the way she was looking at you, like she wanted to give you a hug. And the way the freckles splashed across her cheeks; briefly, you wondered if you could count them all.

You'd clearly gotten distracted, because Ona took your lack of response as annoyance.

"I didn't mean to find out anything I wasn't supposed to, I just wanted to make sure-" Ona rushed out.

"It's okay, it's not your fault. I just didn't want anyone to be mad at her, she's having a hard time. It's complicated, and everyone would have been insanely protective, and I don't need that," you explained.

Ona only raised her eyebrows at you in response.

"What?" you asked, upon seeing the look on her face. She shook her head, blushing again. Did she always blush this much?

"Only you could defend someone that cheated on you," Ona said.

You tried to defend yourself, thinking it was an insult. "I'm not defending her, I'm just saying-"

"No, I didn't mean it's a bad thing. It's just a you thing. You always look for the best in people." Ona explained casually, as if she hadn't just made an incredibly kind judgement of your character. You did try to do that, but you hadn't realized she'd been paying close enough attention to notice.

"Anyway, I won't say anything, but if you want to talk..." she trailed off, suddenly looking insecure.

"Thank you, Ona. Really. I might take you up on that," you told her, suddenly overcome with appreciation for the girl walking next to you. The incredibly pretty girl walking next to you. You pushed the thought away as you reached her car.

"Bye, y/n. See you tomorrow," she said, flashing a real smile, a big smile, at you this time.

"See you, Ona." you replied, continuing to walk to your car. You felt the familiar return of sadness to your body, settling heavily over you. You hadn't realized that it had disappeared while you were talking to Ona. You found yourself looking back at her car, before you caught yourself, shaking your head.

What the hell was that? You and Alessia had been broken up for half a weekend, and suddenly you were acting like a lovestruck teen around one of your teammates. What was wrong with you? You didn't need this, not now, not with a teammate. Still, as you drove home, your thoughts were filled with the kind words of a certain Catalan woman.

-----

let me know if you guys like it / want to see what's coming next :) i'm honestly not super sure if people will want to read this, or are interested at all, so tell me if you are!

[sculptorofcrimson]

Yandere! Valdor

Valdor, the most loyal, the greatest of the Custodes, a Primarch in all but name. Who else can obsess more than him, whose every function besides loyalty was beaten out? A/N: Playing “fucked up obsessive twinks” on easy mode here, aren’t I? I’m sorry, SCP-XXXX who requested this, but you told me Valdor was a twink, and evil twinks are the best kind of men, so therefore this is your fault! Full throttle ahead, let us be damned together! ψ(｀∇´)ψ

Relationships: Valdor/Gn!Reader, mentioned Valdor/Emperor Mentions: @kit-williams would you like some food?

Valdor does not love. 

The Custodes simply can not love. Their love perished beneath treachery and fire, ten thousand years ago, and they simply cannot piece the remnants that was a heart back together again. 

The Emperor took away their ability to love any but Himself, and what else could be left but a hollow void, an immortality without substances, a heart that beats while it lacks its other half? 

There was simply nothing left of him to spare when the Emperor had brought down his claws. His love, his joy, his dreams, all gone, wiped away like sand upon the sea. Leaving behind nothing more than a hollow without sustenance, a phantom vestige of a dream crushed long ago, its corpse entombed within perfected flesh and bone and blood. 

He loves no one, not even himself. When the Emperor died ten thousand years ago, he lost his way. He lost his tether to life itself. And for ten thousand years he wandered for the corpse of his master. There was a poem once, a poem so long ago about the loyal dog that stood guard before his master’s bones, who licked the once-petting hand once, and laid down to die. 

Valdor’s loyalty is no weaker than that dog’s.

He loves no one, not even himself. But he loves the Emperor. He loves Him, so brokenly, so obsessively, so utterly insane in his adoration, the First Custodian would have let Him tear him apart if He wished. 

He loved the Emperor. 

And that is why he loves you. He thinks you to be his Emperor. If not Him, then at least a shard.

He doesn’t care who you were, he doesn’t care whether you were once a captain, a Chapter Master, a Thunder Warrior even. He thinks you to be his master, back from the dead, one of His shards caught in life and flesh. 

He thinks you’re Him. Or, if not Him, at least a fragment of His former glory.

Valdor calls you his Emperor, his shard, his beloved, he ignores any name you had once in favor of calling you his master. A name is only a word, after all, and you are nothing but his Emperor reborn, in his mind. A guardsman, an Astarte, a Thunder Warrior, you are all mortal beneath his eyes. He only smiles that cold, humorless smile of his when you attempt to correct him, when he brushes off your words with the same cold, humorless disinterest. 

Valdor thinks you to be his Emperor. And he doesn't care that you were once someone else, you were not always his beloved, you were not the master he imagined, that you are not the master he built from memories and bones. 

You were nothing before his master, he reasons, you will be nothing after his master, and you were his Emperor once upon a time. It is doubtful if he can even know love, if he had not projected his own delusions of his Emperor upon another. Valdor failed Him once and only now the fates have judged him fit enough to protect a shard of Him, one that is so frail compared to himself, so unspeakably mortal, his atonement for the master he failed so long ago. 

He failed the Emperor once, and watched Him die. He will not do so again.

Protection. You will never walk free again, never without his cold presence by your side, that effortless, confident stride as he accompanies his master. You will never know the taste of sunlight, the easy voice of another conversationalist before their words taper off into uncertainty, and then fear, beneath the jealous glare of your bodyguard. How their sentences trail off, how Valdor looms like some ancient, murderous harpy, his shadow constantly overcasting yours.

He knows nothing of love, of human emotion. But he knows protection. And he knows obsession. 

Valdor is not a passionate man. But he is neither a cruel one either. Of course, Valdor will never raise a spear nor blade against his adoration, to strike his master would certainly mean death, but he will slaughter your loved ones without even horror. He will whisper litanies of loyalty on his knees while his Custodes sink in the knives. He will speak ironclad promises and gilded oaths when they label your soldiers traitors and slaughter them upon the snowfields, when they hail for unity, and hear the blade fall. 

He seems to like walks in wintery fields. It reminds him of what he lost long ago, when the Emperor took him atop Ararat, and he enacted His first vengeance upon the Thunder Warriors. He sometimes brings you there, to altitudes higher than even what a Space Marine can withstand, and gathers you beneath his cloak, whispering memories that were never truly yours, asking for your orders, asking for your forgiveness, asking if you can remember what it felt like ten thousand years ago.

(Sometimes, you can nearly believe him when he says you’re a shard. It’s flattering, almost, to be under the eye of the captain-general.)

He can kill. There is nothing left of him if he could not. Nothing but the Emperor’s spear, a sharpened tool meant to kill and to serve, and to be cast away when its function is complete. You have nothing to fear from him, of course, he would rather end himself than raise a blade against his master. But he loves no other. He does not know how to love. And that makes him dangerous. You know it when you gaze into his eyes, you are sure you could imagine him covered in the blood of your loved ones, guardian spear flashing as he hacks through them without even the shadow of hesitation. He will take no fear, no regret, no relief, barely even satisfaction in the grim act, and yet that is somehow more profane than joy in slaughter. Not even a single hint of joy, wild and unfettered in the sheer cruelty, not even a single hint of an ambition for why he would lay such altars of blood before his master’s feet, only simply because He wanted it to be so, and simply because he loved Him. 

In his eyes, you are his Emperor. But he does not always obey you. He does not kneel as he would’ve knelt before his master. Because he knows, Valdor knows that to protect Him, to serve Him properly, sometimes he must smother Him for His own good. It’s the twisted rationale of a dog who has lost his master, whose death had rocked him so thoroughly he was willing to kill to save Him again. 

Valdor kneels, of course. He’ll kneel before you and speak his words of loyalty, he’ll give you his names one by one if you only ask. Valdor has never considered himself eloquent with words, but he’ll listen to you, he’ll even let you command him as the Emperor would have done. Rank be damned, he cares not if his Emperor had been reborn as a guardsman or an Astartes or even a Thunder Warrior. 

But he does not hide his obsession. To obsess is the only way he knows to love, after all. He’ll smother his beloved with his protection, with his adoration. He’ll hack his way to be their only protector, their only bulwark before the madness, the only man they can trust to defend them. Gaze upon his Emperor once, he’ll tear them apart. Love the Emperor more than him, and he’ll bury their bones beneath the snowfields. 

And be loved by the Emperor more than him….and he’ll betray them as he had betrayed the Thunder Warriors. He’ll sink in golden knives and golden spears in turned backs without even the hint of remorse, Valdor will remind his beloved that it is he who is the servant, it is he who serves to be praised for his duty. Valdor can take you from your family as the Emperor took him from his, he’ll so effortlessly ensure the utter protection of his new Emperor, all for himself. 

No one will protect you more than I, my liege. 

It is he who should be the favored servant.

No one can love you more than I, my Emperor.

He’ll croon those litanies of loyalty to you. He’ll whisper those promises of protection, of ambition, he’ll promise you an eternity while standing atop the frozen ashes of your loved ones. He’ll promise you a throne if you don’t cry, if you’ll love him as his master did. He’ll bring you a crown of gold, he’ll strangle the living storm for you, if only you promise to let him protect you, if you promise if you’ll be his Emperor. 

You died once. I will not let you do so again, my Emperor.

And his obsession would never be checked, and much less ended by the true power behind the Imperium.

You are his Emperor. In that mind He broke so thoroughly long ago, you are the Emperor, reborn. Heavy is the head that bears the laurel, bloodied is the hand that holds this mad dog’s leash.

It is Valdor who should be the favored servant. 

No one will protect you more than I, my liege. 

He will protect you. 

He will protect you, obsess over you, guard you with the hollow that is a heart. He’ll bring you a throne, a crown, an army, an eternity, if only you promise, if only you’ll be his Emperor. 

The Emperor died ten thousand years ago. And in turn, he casted you in His corpse.

[quidell-fics]

Here's a snippet of my Black Myth: Wukong Fanfic! I have a lot of it outlined...the reason why the OC got sent (isekai lol) into the world, her purpose, the small changes her presence will bring about, as well as...the ending of the game. Everything in between, I'm still outlining, but here's a rough draft of the first beginning part of chapter 1.

Please note that this might change slightly when I finish the chapter and edit the crap out of it, haha. I'm also trying to get the tone down. Still not 100% sure how I want to write the OC.

Still trying to decide on a name for this fanfic 🤔

"This simply won't do. You're soul…” I was paralyzed, as if ice had seeped into my veins, numbing me without its familiar sting. The world around me blurred, lost to the creeping dread that curled around my thoughts. The voice that had shattered the silence dripped with venom, a dark melody of displeasure that echoed through the emptiness, leaving me hollow and unsure. "But perhaps this will suffice, though it seems even beyond my understanding.” He was close, his voice brushing against me like a whisper on the wind, yet I couldn’t see him. The darkness pressed in, so deep, so consuming, that it swallowed everything, leaving me stranded in its suffocating void.  “But this,” he said, and I felt something slip from my grasp, the only sensation in the endless void. It was something I hadn’t even realized I was holding, “must be set aside for now.” A pause. “I'll return it to you once you've aided,” another pause, this one heavy with contemplation, a silence that lingered like a held breath, “him on his journey. And if, in turn, he helps you... well, should that come to pass, everything will change. Truly change. And at long last, his wish will be fulfilled." His words drifted past me like smoke, their meaning lost in the haze of my confusion. I couldn’t piece together who he was talking about, or what any of it meant. But my mind clung to the last fragments of what I knew—my bakery, the comforting warmth that lingered as I retired to my room for the night. And then... then, the world slipped into nothingness. No. Not into nothingness, but into a descent, a slow, inevitable fall. Now, I had found myself suspended in this void, floating in an abyss where sound, other than this voice, was swallowed whole and movement was a distant memory. My voice was silenced, my limbs were bound by unseen chains, and the darkness stretched on, unbroken and all-consuming. But despite the emptiness pressing in on all sides, I was unnervingly calm. Hollow, yes—adrift in this sea of uncertainty—but calm, as if this strange, bleak serenity was the only thing keeping me tethered to whatever was left of myself. "Do not disappoint me, little one. You’ve been granted a rare chance, but if you falter, the cycle will continue unbroken, and Reincarnation will not grace an outsider such as yourself. You will be lost to the void, your existence erased. Do you grasp the gravity of this?” No. I really didn't. "If yes, then perhaps there's a glimmer of promise in you after all. But don’t grow too confident—the true trials are only just beginning.” And then, the darkness swallowed me whole, and in that suffocating void, it felt as though I truly ceased to exist, because I no longer knew anything.

[fatgirlonadate-blog]

21 Days - Day 15

Something inside of Xavier has shifted. You can’t quite define it or give it a name, but you can sense it, see it in every glance and feel it in every touch. He is not the same man he was yesterday.

What a difference a day can make.

The change isn't anything obvious—most things haven't changed at all. He is as shy and sweet and earnest as he has always been. He still blushes when you touch him, he still pouts when you tease him, and he is still playful and warm.

But the shadow behind his eyes, the hint of sadness in his smile, is disappearing. There is a growing certainty in him that was not there before, as if he has made a choice -some choice- and it has freed him in a way that seems to extend beyond just his secrets.

It's absurd, but you can't shake the thought that he chose you yesterday—that, somehow, you were always a choice he had to make. You don’t even know what the alternative might have been, but now, when he looks at you, the affection in his eyes feels complete, as if it’s here to stay.

Maybe his fevered promise not to leave again was truly meant for you after all. But that only raises more questions—had he been planning to leave you? And when did he leave the first time?

If you were the choice, then what was the other option?

He has remained tight lipped about this particular detail - unwilling to share any part of it. Other small secrets about his past have trickled out in fragments over the past 24 hours—never fully explained and always a little vague, but still unmistakably genuine. He’s trying to open up, and you’re trying your best not to push him. The rest will come later, you tell yourself.

In the meantime, you have a much more immediate issue to deal with.

There is no other way to put it - Xavier has become adorably, maddeningly clingy. He hasn’t let you stray more than an arm’s length since yesterday, and if he weren't so infuriatingly old fashioned, you're pretty sure he'd have slept with his cock buried deep inside you last night. Instead, he’d settled for holding you close, your back pressed firmly to his chest, with his hand resting possessively between your thighs.

It’s not exactly a bad thing; in fact, you love him even more like this. Every time he teleports to your side instead of walking, you can’t help but laugh, as if the seconds saved are simply too precious for him to waste. You marvel at the confidence in his touch now, the way he explored your body this morning like he owns it. And you fall even deeper for him every time he willingly gives you some crumb of information about who he really is.

You're savoring every moment with him and wish you could pause time and stay like this, just the two of you, forever. But you have a plan today - one that he cannot be a part of because it would spoil the surprise.

"Xavier," You whisper, trying to pull away from his insistent kisses, "I really do have to go soon. I have to check in with Jenna. In person this time. You know how she feels about being kept waiting."

Xavier acts as if he didn’t hear you, keeping you pinned firmly against the front door. His lips find a sensitive spot on your neck, biting gently before soothing it with a warm flick of his tongue. By now, he’s already delayed you at least ten minutes with those distracting, lingering kisses—reminders of just how skilled he is with his mouth.

"Xavier," you say more firmly.

He huffs as he pulls back just far enough for his blue eyes to lock onto yours, and the pout in them is nearly enough to break you.

"Why are you calling me that?" He asks, his forehead dropping to yours as he holds you to him, his nose rubbing against yours.

"What?"

"You usually call me Xav now. Or bunny."

A soft laugh escapes your lips at his confused, slightly pouty tone. "Xavier… Xav, I really need to—"

"But...," He protests, ducking his head to nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck again. "Let's go together. We're partners. I go where you go."

"It's supposed to be 24-hour surveillance, Xav. You know we both can't go. We already agreed on this yesterday."

"Yesterday was yesterday. Can't we make a new agreement today?"

The whine in his voice is killing you, but you really do want to surprise him. This birthday needs to be special; he deserves to feel special.

"Not this time, Xav."

Xavier's mouth trails down to your neck, each kiss sending a spark through you as his hands tighten around your waist, pulling you firmly against him. You have to bite your bottom lip to keep from moaning as you feel the insistent press of his hardness against you, even through the layers of clothing.

"Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider?" he murmurs, his voice a low, promising whisper.

His mouth is pure temptation against your skin, making it hard to remember why you need to leave. But there will be time for this later—hopefully endless time, forever, if you have anything to say about it.

"Bunny, please." You breathe out, threading your fingers through his hair to gently tug his greedy lips away from your skin. "I have to get going. I'm going to be late."

Xavier pulls back and fixes you with the saddest puppy dog eyes that have ever existed. "I can't believe you'd actually...leave me alone in this house."

"I'll make it up to you when I get home, I promise. And I won't be gone long."

Xavier sighs and nods as his arms tighten around your waist. He lets out a defeated groan, and mumbles, "How long?"

"It's just a few hours. I'll be back before you know it." You smile gently at the boyish sulk that has spread across his face as he continues to mope and press small kisses along your jaw.

Finally he gives in and lets out a heavy sigh that fans out along your skin. “Alright,” he grumbles, releasing his hold on your waist and taking a step back.

The small bit of distance clears your head just enough, and you shake it slightly, trying to dispel the lingering desire coursing through you. God, this man has you so wrapped around his finger that you can barely think straight.

You flash him a quick smile and turn to open the door, but pause, throwing him a puzzled look as he moves to follow you.

"Xav, you know you can’t come with me, right?" you say, a mix of amusement and exasperation in your voice.

He nods, pulling the door open and gesturing for you to go ahead, slipping an arm around your waist as he guides you through. "I know," he says with a grin. "I’m just escorting you to the station. I’m allowed to do that, aren’t I?"

It’s hard to believe that the man who used to vanish for days, even though he was just next door, now can’t imagine being apart from you for more than a few hours. It’s a clinginess you’re not used to—not from him, not from anyone—but oddly, it doesn’t bother you. There’s something deeply comforting about being wanted this much, and you can’t help but hope it never changes.

"I’ll miss you," you say, rising on your tiptoes to press a kiss to Xavier’s cheek as your train pulls into the station. "And try not to blow up the house while I’m gone, alright?"

He looks like he wants to argue, his hand tightening around yours, but then his eyes soften, and he gives you a gentle smile, slipping into his practiced, fake-husband role. “Come back soon, Mrs. Shen. Stay safe.”

He’s an exceptionally good fake husband. So convincing, in fact, that the word itself—fake—irritates you as it echoes in your mind on the train ride into the city. Your marriage to him is fake, yet with each passing day, it feels more real. The thought of it ending… It's almost unthinkable.

As soon as you step off the train and into the city, your plan for the day begins to unravel. The check-in with Jenna is mercifully brief, but her urgency to wrap up this mission leaves you tense and uneasy as you navigate sidewalks that are already too slick for comfort.

Snow in October is a rarity in Linkon, but here it is—thick, heavy flakes falling from the sky, dusting the sidewalks in a thin layer of white. It’s beautiful, but bitterly cold, and you're not dressed nearly warm enough for it.

You shiver as you wander from shop to shop, collecting things for Xavier’s birthday. A surprise party had crossed your mind, but inviting a bunch of fellow hunters to your covert mission apartment didn’t exactly scream discreet. So instead, you’ve opted for something simpler—something you hope he’ll love, even if it has the potential to set the place on fire.

But if it makes him happy? It just might be worth the risk.

The cake ingredients were easy enough to acquire, but the decorations were trickier, the items scattered throughout the city, rather than all together in one single shop. By the time you finish collecting everything for the perfect birthday cake, you're freezing and damp with snow. 

The warmth of the nearby cafe and the promise of something sweet was impossible to resist, and you sigh with relief as you dump your shopping bags onto a table and strip off your cold, damp jacket. A steaming cup of hot chocolate and three macarons later, your phone buzzes in your purse. You dig through the clutter of your wallet and keys to find your phone. It vibrates in your hand again as you pick it up and the screen glows with a notification:

(4) Voice Messages from Xavier

Xavier: Is it snowing there?

Xavier: We ran out of vinegar. Can you get some on your way home?

Xavier: Are you on your way back yet?

Xavier: Are you talking to someone outside right now?

You try not to smile at your phone like an idiot, but you fail as warmth floods through you at the sound of his voice. It’s amazing how a handful of words can make you feel so secure. There's something foreign but comforting about having someone care for you like this - someone waiting for you to get home. It's been a long time since you've had such a simple luxury, and you hadn't realized how much you've missed it.

You: I have to stop and pick up a few more things. But I'll be home soon.

Xavier: What do you want for dinner?

You're contemplating the least disastrous option as footsteps approach your table, and you glance up just in time to see a familiar face.

"Fancy meeting you here, miss bodyguard. There are easier ways to find me, you know. You don't have to stalk me." Rafayel smirks.

He slides into the chair across from you, meeting your wide-eyed gaze as he casually plucks a green macaron from your plate and takes a bite.

Has he always looked like that? you wonder as he flashes you a playful, disarming smile.

Seeing Rafayel is like looking at a masterpiece—he’s almost too perfect, so striking it’s hard to believe he’s real. You thought you’d grown used to his looks ages ago, that you had built up a certain immunity to it. But a few weeks apart have undone that, leaving you vulnerable to his effortless charm again.

Xavier is undeniably handsome, but Rafayel—even dressed simply in a sweater and dark pants—is goddamned majestic.

"Raf! Hey! Uh, what...what are you doing here?" You manage, surprised.

He's wearing his signature look of lazy amusement. His inky purple hair is slightly damp from snow, and he runs a hand through it as he takes another bite of your dessert.

"What do you mean? I come here all of the time. Shouldn't I be asking you that question? You're supposed to be locked away somewhere trying to catch a bad guy, yeah?"

"Oh, shut up. I haven't been locked away; the mission is just taking a while. I came into town today for a mission update." You say, and wave toward your bags, "and some shopping."

His eyes flick toward your bags, narrowing on the pastel letters spelling 'Happy Birthday' across the card that's peeking out.

"Mission update, hm? Interesting," he drawls as he pops the remaining bit of macaron in his mouth. "I'm surprised you escaped your tower, your highness. You haven't really bothered to respond to my texts for the past week. I was starting to think you'd been captured or that you got possessed by Wanderers or something."

"Uh," you stammer, quickly sliding another bag over the one he's eyeing, shifting awkwardly in your chair. "Sorry about that. I’ve just been... really busy."

Though his tone is playful, there's a hint of hurt beneath it that tugs at your heart, just as it always does. He’d deny it until he was blue in the face, but you know he can’t stand feeling ignored—and it sucks to know you're the reason for it this time.

He shrugs and leans back, draping his arms across the back of his chair as he casually crosses an ankle over his knee. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Secret missions and saving the world and whatever. Same as always."

The tired sound of resignation in his voice makes your smile falter, and you can only guess at what's really going on behind those galaxy eyes of his.

After countless late-night phone calls, you used to wonder if there might be something real between you and Rafayel. He was a flirt—that much had been clear from the start—and you’d brushed off his advances, wary of reading too much into them. But sometimes, when it was just the two of you, when the flirting grew a little more heated or the light touches became bolder and hungrier, you were almost certain there was something more. That he felt it, too.

But he never took it further, and the moment would fade as if it had never happened at all.

It doesn’t matter now, you remind yourself, tearing your gaze away to stare out the window. The sky has darkened, snow falling steadily against the glass, and your train will be leaving soon. Whatever might have been between you is just a memory now—one you are scared to dwell on any longer.

"We'll catch up when my mission is over, okay?" You swear, rushing the words as you stand up and shove your jacket on, reaching for the bags on the floor. "I'll come over, you can tell me all about your newest exhibit, and we'll make fun of Thomas together. I pinky promise."

"What?" His eyes widen, and he quickly stands, reaching out to still your hand as you go for another bag. "You’re leaving already? You just got here."

"Raf—" You sigh, guilt gnawing at you for more than one reason. Xavier is waiting. "I really do have to go. My train leaves soon."

His grip tightens around your wrist, his warm hand almost scorching hot as he stares at you with a rare flash of desperation in his eyes. It makes him look vulnerable for just a fraction of a moment, and something inside you tightens, torn between the urge to ease the ache you've caused in him and the need to put distance between yourself and old feelings you’d rather not think about.

"Let me walk you to your stop then," he says, his tone light and easy, but he's still holding your hand prisoner. His suggestion isn’t really a suggestion—it’s more of a demand.

"Fine," You say, rolling your eyes dramatically even as a smile forces its way onto your face. "But make yourself useful. Help me carry this stuff."

Rafayel grins and lets go of your wrist, bending to scoop up most of the bags. "Jeez, these are pretty heavy. I better get some kind of awesome reward for all of this labor."

A chill wind and swirling snowflakes greet you as you step out of the café, making you mutter a curse under your breath. If you’d known it was going to snow, you’d have worn a real coat.

"I hate snow," you grumble as you fall into step beside him.

"What do you mean?" he grins, bumping your hip with his. "Snow is like magic. Look around!" 

He gestures to the snow-dusted trees and buildings blanketed in white. "Each flake is unique, perfect in its own way, turning everything ordinary into something miraculous, if only for a moment. And...it also looks really pretty in your hair."

His enthusiasm is infectious, and his words make you feel warm despite the chill wind cutting through the thin material of your jacket. Maybe you don’t actually hate snow after all.

The walk to the station goes by in a blur as you catch up on the last two weeks: gossiping neighbors, Thomas, how cold the city is this year, his new exhibition, your boring surveillance work—keeping it light and casual.

It almost feels like nothing has changed—the two of you chatting, him cracking jokes and teasing you to get a reaction, and the way your stomach flutters every time he brushes against you. He doesn’t do that by accident; you're sure of it.

A pang of longing hits as you realize just how much you’ve missed this. Despite how he gets under your skin like no one else, his friendship means more than you’d ever care to admit. 

Yes, he drives you crazy, and your feelings for him are confusing—but he’s always had this way of making the world seem brighter, lighter, and somehow more beautiful than you could ever see it on your own.

"It's so cold. I’m frozen solid," you declare, setting your bags down on the bench outside the train station. You’re about ten minutes early, and the air is only getting colder. Your fingers sting with the chill, and you blow on them in a vain attempt to warm up.

Rafayel sets the rest of the bags beside yours with a chuckle, shaking his head, "You're right, it is cold. Too cold for my delicate hands." He pouts, his brows knitting together as he exaggerates a shiver and opens his arms wide. “Hold me.”

"Raf..." You laugh, amused and exasperated.

"Come on, cutie. Don't you know how body heat works?" He quirks a brow, stepping toward you. "You wouldn't let me freeze to death, would you?"

His smile is dazzling, effortlessly charming, and completely irresistible—the kind that melts your resolve into a mushy mess. It’s the sort of smile that can't be refused.

You reluctantly return his smile, already mostly deaf to the alarm bells ringing in your ears, and step into his embrace. “Okay, okay. Just for a little while.”

Rafayel laughs, a warm sound rumbling through his chest as he wraps one arm tightly around you, pulling you close. With his other hand, he tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, his cold fingers brushing gently over your cheek and neck. The sharp, clean scent of him—citrus and sea salt—fills your senses as you lean into him, soaking in his warmth.

The alarm in the back of your mind grows louder, more frantic, the closer you get. Yet the soft thrum of his heartbeat, syncing with yours, drowns it out, and the warmth of his breath against your skin is enough to silence the knot of warning you feel in your stomach. The familiar scent that clings to him wraps around you like a shield, blocking out even the smallest of doubts.

"Hold still," he says softly, his fingers threading through your hair as he gently combs it out. "You've got snowflakes in your hair."

A sarcastic remark hovers on the tip of your tongue—of course you have snowflakes in your hair, he does too, it's snowing—but the warmth in his eyes as he strokes your hair holds you silent. His fingers are gentle as he carefully smooths your hair back even as more snowflakes continue to fall, and he leans even closer to see his task clearly in the dim evening light.

Your cheeks flush as he moves closer, leaning into you, and a familiar warmth builds inside of you, making it hard to breathe evenly. You turn your head away from his hand, but he frowns and gently cups your cheek, tilting your face up to his.

"Hey," he scolds gently, "I'm not done. Don't move."

But his hand doesn’t return to your hair. Instead, he gently caresses your reddening cheek, a soft smile spreading across his face. "You're being pretty shy," he murmurs.

And you are. No sarcastic remarks or witty comebacks come to mind, not with the way he’s pressed against you, the softness of his touch on your cheek, and with his face so close to yours. The only sound you can make is a quiet hum that doesn't mean anything at all.

His eyes roam from your cheek to your ears and down to your neck, and he slides his hand along the same path. "Hmm. Your cheeks, and your ears, and even your neck...are all so cold. Do you want me to help warm you up?"

It’s not just warmth in his eyes anymore; it’s heat, and your stomach flips as he drops the tone of his voice to a low purr. The feel of his warm breath against the side of your neck makes your pulse quicken and your own breath catches in your throat.

"Is it working?" He whispers, his lips brushing against your skin as he speaks.

You nod, barely breathing, as the heat that has built inside of you threatens to ignite into a blaze, your body trembling as you press against him.

“What about here?” Rafayel asks, shifting to the other side of your neck. His warm breath caresses your cool skin before he nuzzles close, trailing slow, lingering kisses from your ear to your neck.

He’s never kissed you before; of that, you’re certain. Yet somehow, in this moment, it’s as if you’re reliving a memory. His warmth, his scent, his touch, the way his body presses against yours—it feels natural, achingly familiar, as if you’ve known it all along. You could lose yourself here, drown in the sensation, and never surface again.

You’re trembling, but not from the cold, as Rafayel pulls back, his hands gently cupping your face. “You’re so quiet,” he says, his voice laced with curiosity. “I haven't the slightest idea of what’s going on in that head of yours. Have my awesome heating skills truly rendered you speechless?”

All you can manage is a shaky laugh, more like a breathless gasp, unable to form a single coherent word as a wave of déjà vu hits you, overwhelming and intense.

"Looking at my bodyguard..." He pauses, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "I can't tell if she's happy right now..." Leaning in, he brushes a soft kiss against the corner of your lips, then locks eyes with you. "Or maybe she's not?"

You stare, wide-eyed, unable to break free from the grip of the dizzying familiarity of this all— frozen in place by how deeply, unexplainably right it all feels.

"Raf, I..." You trail off, lost for words, unsure of what you're trying to express, but knowing you have to say something. Anything. That you can't do this with him, or that you need more of him. Or that, sometimes, two things can be true.

Before you can untangle your thoughts or find the words to express your conflicted feelings, he silences you with a kiss. It’s gentle at first, tentative—his lips brushing softly against yours. Then the kiss deepens, his mouth pressing to yours with an intensity that feels raw, as if the longing comes from the depths of his soul.

You’re drowning now, clinging to him as if he’s your anchor amid the waves of emotion and memory crashing over you. For a moment, time and space collapse, and it feels like this has always been your life, as if this is just one second in a lifetime spent with him like this.

But the brush of his tongue against yours snaps you back to reality, and you tense in his arms, your hand moving to the back of his neck to gently pull him away.

"What?" he whispers, breaking the kiss as he rests his forehead against yours. "Do you want me to stop?"

His voice sounds so tender and hopeful that it breaks your heart a little, and your stomach twists with guilt as you lean away from his embrace.

In another life, you’d beg him to keep going. In another universe, you’d be his completely—mind, body, and soul. You can feel the way his heart calls your name.

But not this life; not in this universe. In all of the world, there is only one call your heart answers to, and it is Xavier's.

“Raf,” you whisper, your voice soft and aching, “I’m so sorry, but—”

"I know what you're going to say," Raf cuts you off before you even finish, hurt replacing the warmth in his eyes, "Sooo you don't have to say it."

He drops his hands from your face and steps back, and the cold wind that cuts through you is nothing compared to the burning ache flaring to life in your chest.

He runs a hand through his hair, shaking loose a few snowflakes, and lets out a bitter laugh. “I guess things with the ‘fake’ husband aren’t so fake anymore, yeah?”

"I love him," you admit, the words escaping before you can stop them, leaving you stunned. You’d never said it out loud before, never dared to voice what you felt. But now it’s out, and there's no taking it back.

Rafayel laughs again, a choked sound that gets stuck in his throat, and looks up at the sky as if searching for an answer there. After a moment, he groans softly before his eyes return to yours, "Oh, that intense, huh?"

You nod, silent, unwilling to say anything more for fear of deepening the hurt in his eyes. The few feet of space between you feel insurmountable, and you itch to close the distance, to reach out and comfort him somehow.

Rafayel sighs, his hand motioning toward the empty air, as if Xavier were standing here, too. "Is he... is he better than me?"

"No, Raf," You groan, the ache in your heart burning even brighter, "He's not better. It's just...different. I can't explain it."

Rafayel looks away again, his lips pressing together in a tight line, before turning back to you with an uncharacteristic seriousness in his eyes. "Just...promise you won't forget about me, okay?"

Tears sting your cheeks, and the hurt, desperate sound of his plea is all the proof you need to understand that a broken heart can keep breaking.

"Oh, Raf, I could never forget about you," you promise, stepping closer. You reach for his arm just as the train pulls into the station, the loudspeaker announcing its arrival.

"I won’t," you swear, ignoring the blaring sound. "Never."

He steps back from your outstretched fingers, and his voice and eyes harden as he replies, "You will. You always do."

The train stops, passengers streaming past, and you open your mouth, trying to reassure him—but no words come. A wave of uncertainty hits as his cryptic words echo in your mind, and you fail to make sense of them.

The option to reach for him, to pull him close and comfort him, is stolen from you as he turns around and starts walking back in the direction you came.

"Get on the train," he calls over his shoulder, "Don't keep Romeo waiting."

You hesitate, your fist clenching as your heart and mind fight for control. Watching him walk away feels like losing a part of yourself, though you can't quite understand why.

You board the train with tears in your eyes, and search through your purse for your phone. You send a quick message to Xavier to let him know you'll be there soon, and try to collect the pieces of your heart as the train speeds toward home.

Xavier chose you yesterday. And today, you chose him.

This star isn't going anywhere. 

[kurishiri]

25 . . . alfons main story — mad love finale

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— cw: none; i hope you enjoy 🪞🤍

—— Alfons’ POV ——

If life were a fairy tale, finding happiness would be a simple thing.

As long as you were gentle and kind, someone positively brimming with love, that was enough.

Such were often the protagonists of these stories... and this very role would usually find their happiness, as they were meant to be.

But, what if you were a villain, the worst of the worst?

What would happen if the one you fell in love with, then, was that very ‘protagonist’ in those fairy tales——?

Perhaps, the chance of finding that ‘happiness’ for yourself in the end would be ceaselessly low.

What about me, you ask?

——Hehe, that is a good question indeed.

Which would you say is the answer?

—— Kate’s POV ——

——After the promised month...

I turned in my final report to Victor, who looked up with a satisfied expression.

Victor: Thanks for this, Kate. For keeping our secrets to the end, and for recording their sins.

Kate: It’s a relief that I was able to manage this job you entrusted me with.

K: I wanted to record all of what I honestly could say were sins, taking laws and morals into account.

Victor: So you did. And the things you specially mentioned were also quite an interesting read.

Kate: I just really wanted to write down what I could about what I felt of the things I saw before me.

I couldn’t make a clear-cut claim that such deeds ‘were not a sin,’ as those were simply my personal feelings,

but I also couldn’t set aside all personal feelings and make a confident claim on all fronts that such actions ‘were a sin.’ It was a last resort, so to speak.

In reality, the things that Alfons did were much like facing a mirror: ‘good’ and ‘evil’ were but two sides of the same coin.

He would show others illusions, drive others to the brink of madness——but some people sought salvation in that very deed.

His job, where he took the lives of others, was without a doubt a sin to be sure——but there were lives that couldn’t be saved without taking those of others as well.

Victor: Well, if you ask me, I’d say these notes of yours are actually essential and valuable things.

Kate: Huh...?

A little surprised, I stared at Victor, who narrowed his eyes fondly.

Victor: I said this from the start, didn’t I? That I wanted you to write what you thought were sins.

V: And in your eyes... they were not people who were cursed to commit sins,

V: but rather another individual like yourself. I could clearly see that as I read your reports.

V: And you did not make assumptions based on statuses, titles, and superficial impressions... rather, you tried to face them before your eyes.

V: It’s that part of you that I truly do believe will lead England to a better place.

With a hint of affection, Victor looked down at the words.

It was the same expression he would occasionally give to everyone in Crown and me.

Kate: Can I ask... why did you and William start Crown?

Victor: Hm? Let’s see...

V: Just as we held the same wish for our country to become a brighter place to live in for everyone,

V: we had also wished for those who could only live within the darkness to freely spread their wings... I would say.

Perhaps I still only knew a fragment of the darkness of the world that spread before them.

But, even so, I had no qualms stepping into that very world.

Victor: Now then, with this you are free to do as you like.

V: So, if you don’t mind me asking, what do you plan to do from here on out?

Kate: Of course you can ask.

I raised my chin in response.

Kate: I would like to continue working as fairytale keeper.

K: Because I want to spend my life fighting against Alfons’ fate.

Much like a swaying illusion,

the Alfons before me slipped between my fingers so many times I had long lost count, leaving my heart a wanderer without a place to call home.

But, every time that happened, hope would once again show up before me.

Kate: I tried looking into it with Roger, and I felt then that there was something even I could do.

K: And besides... the more we relive our memories, the deeper they become a part of us.

K: So, just maybe, if my body — from my eyes to my ears to my nose, and everything — were to take that all in deeply, there could be something left behind in the end.

Victor narrowed his eyes with a smile before nodding.

Victor: ...That’s wonderful to hear. You have my full support.

Kate: Thank you.

Victor: Well then...

V: Have you told all this to the person in question himself about it?

Kate: About that——...

—— Time skip ——

Kate: And with that, I look forward to working with you from now on.

Roger: Same here.

In the report to Her Majesty the Queen, I had written in there about Alfons’ Curse and his ability,

and so, I summarized everything I knew and gave it to Roger, the corners of his lips quirking into a smile.

Roger: But aren’t you a bad lil lady, sneaking part of the report meant for the Queen.

Kate: Well, I would say such reports find their value when handed to a highly competent researcher.

K: I’m sure even if I searched every nook and cranny of England, I wouldn’t find another researcher as earnest about Curses as yourself.

K: So, I was thinking if this could help research on Curses make even a bit of progress,

K: then this would benefit Her Majesty the Queen as well, seeing as she uses Cursed ones for the good of the country, right?

Elbert: ...hehe.

Hearing a laugh that resembled the sunlight filtering through the leaves from beyond a light lace curtain, I looked up.

There, I saw the smile of a beautiful person, who was on a simple bed for an examination, looking at us.

Kate: Did we say something strange...?

Elbert: No... it’s just, I was thinking how the way you speak has come to resemble Al a little.

Kate: Huh?

(Did it really sound like him...?)

I felt heat rising on my face suddenly, and in haste I tried to change the subject.

Kate: Uhm, so what brings you here, Lord Elbert? Did you get injured anywhere?

Roger: He was staggering on his feet from sleep deprivation, so I just gave him some sleeping pills to put him to sleep.

Kate: A-are you alright...?

Elbert: Yes. It happens quite often... so it’s nothing to worry about.

E: ...If there is anything troubling you, though, you can tell me. I will do anything I can to help.

E: So that this time, for sure... this happiness will not shatter for the both of you.

(‘For sure’...?)

His words made me feel a bit uneasy, but seeing a bit of sadness in Lord Elbert’s eyes, I didn’t prod further.

Thinking back, it felt as though until something that could bring about the end happened, like Alfons leaving behind a will and disappearing,

Lord Elbert had always been watching over us from a bit of a distance.

(Maybe someday... I will come to understand what the words just now meant, and why his eyes seem so sad.)

Kate: ...That goes for you too, Lord Elbert. If there’s anything I can help you with, please let me know.

Elbert: I appreciate it. ...But, if you and Al are happy together, I couldn’t ask for anything more... I think.

Roger: So basically, you’re gonna continue being Al’s exclusive fairytale keeper.

R: ...So, that leaves us with the question: where in the world is the person in question on the day that marks the anniversary of your contract renewal?

Kate: That——...

K: You’re right, he isn’t here... or anywhere...

The things I had talked about with Victor, and everything else too... I had not yet talked about any of it to Alfons.

It was all because Alfons had gone out somewhere on some whim of his, and had yet to return.

—— Kate’s room ——

Kate: Just where did he head off to...

I knew he knew that today marked the promised day.

(Isn’t he even a tad curious about whether I’ll stay in the castle or return to the city...?)

While I did feel a bit blue, when I returned to my room, I saw an envelope I never seen before on top of the bed.

(I-I can barely read this messy handwriting... it’s Alfons...!)

I opened the envelope in a panic——and on it only the words ‘post office’ were written.

Kate: W-what in the... is he telling me to go there? What is going on——ahh, jeez!

Nothing would come out of me just standing around, so I bolted out of my room.

—— Post office ——

Director: To think not only would you turn in such a formal resignation, but also come greet us in person, that makes me happy.

Director: For the record, if you ever find trouble at your new workplace, you’re always welcome back here.

Director: Oh, yes, that’s right. There was someone who came in telling me to hand you this envelope if you came by.

This time, I was sent to the pub——

—— Pub ——

Pub owner: Hey there, it’s been a while, miss. Did Al make you cry again?

Pub owner: If he does something to hurt you, you let me know. I’ll give him a good blow with the bottle he keeps here.

Pub owner: Oh yeah, before I forget. Here, Al said to give this to you if you came.

And then after that, I found myself in the market that the boy we had saved from the Docklands arson was working at.

—— Market ——

Boy: Ah... m-miss...

Boy: Uhm, at the docks... I wanted to, uhm, thank you... for saving me...

Boy: R-right now, I... I was referred to by the one who got me in the hospital... and so now, I’m working here...

Boy: I didn’t know life could feel this warm till now.

Boy: Ah, and this... the mister from that time told me to give this to you if you came, miss...

—— Kate’s room ——

Kate: Haa... haa... jeez, all that and I’m back where I started...!?

Being sent here and there thanks to those letters, by the time I returned to my room, the sun had already long set.

The final envelope was placed on top of my bed, just as the first one had been——

“Welcome back. I am aware you must have been run ragged the entire day, but if you so fancy, how about a party tonight?”

“If the answer is YES [1], then please dress up and come to the dining room.”

Albeit unreasonable, I still did as the message told, in the end having dressed up like the fool I must have been.

Even the Alfons in my mind was laughing mockingly at me, saying, ‘You truly are so foolishly earnest,’ as I ran for the dining room, and...

Kate: Alfons, what in the world were you trying to do—— ...!?

The sight of the dining table decorated with an extravagant dinner took my breath away.

Alfons: To think you were just run sooo very ragged, and yet you ended up still coming here...

A: You truly are a fool, aren’t you.

Alfons, who was sitting leisurely in a seat,

stood right up and walked toward me, respectfully extending his hand.

Kate: Did something happen? ...Ah, did Victor prepare all this...?

Alfons: No? The one who prepared all of this while you were running all around London was none other than me.

A: Well, how about it? Doesn’t it take your breath straight away? By all means, please praise me with the most colorful words you can muster.

Kate: Wait, you prepared... all of this...?

Alfons: Oh dear, had it slipped my mind? It just so happens I am quite proficient at cooking.

Alfons flashed me a wink as he said so.

Alfons: You may perhaps call it the result of having eaten rubbish for meals, but I can hardly resist anything delicious, you see.

A: It’s a surprise for you.

And with that, he escorted me, still in a daze, to my seat.

Alfons: Say, Kate, how was it, taking in the outdoor London air today?

He spread a napkin on my lap, his breath as he giggled brushing my ear.

Kate: Huh...?

Alfons: I do imagine the post office must have been a nostalgic trip. And seeing as you’re so very honest and earnest, so it must have been a place you hold close to your heart, no?

A: And I reckon you don’t hold many great memories from the pub. Well, anyhow, the place in and of itself isn’t bad.

A: And see, the boy you saved is now living a fine life in the lively parts of London, I would think.

A: ...Did you ever feel like going back?

This man beside me wore the devil’s smile.

It would seem that the real goal behind making me run all around today was not to buy time for a surprise.

——Would going back not make you happier?

He had me go all around the entire day just to allude me to the devil’s whisper.

Kate: You are the utter worst, I swear.

Alfons: Oh my, your words do vex me.

Kate: I guess I will leave the castle and return to my normal everyday life... if I said such a thing, what would you have done with this feast?

Alfons: Why of course, I would eat everything here by my poor little lonesome in tears.

A: You would be free from getting yourself tangled in this tragedy, and I would dance upon this amusing stage, just as I always had been until now. That’s all there is to it.

Kate: Is that so...

K: In that case... here’s my answer.

Returning his look, I pressed my lips on his.

When I bit his lips sweetly, Alfons narrowed his eyes.

His lips wore a smile that looked as though he was looking at a kitten playfully clinging onto his fingertips with its fangs.

Alfons: ...I hear you, loud and clear.

His whisper fell between our lips before my breath was stolen once again.

Kate: Mn... ——ah!

Alfons held me in his arms and lifted me up like I was a child,

and he set me on top of the dining table, causing the napkin that was on my lap to flutter down to the floor.

Alfons: I will return your kiss, directly on your body.

[1] After a bath.

[2] You have bad manners. (+4 / +4)

[3] After we move rooms.

Kate: ——But, doing this on top of a table... it’s bad manners...

Alfons: Dare I say, though, you are not much better in that department, seeing as you’ve tempted me with such a sexy dress, no?

He ignored my protests as if it was the most natural thing, and holding my hand, he pressed it on the table.

Alfons: Heh...

Kate: mngh...!

The palm of his hand slipped in the slit of my dress, slowly crawling up my thighs,

causing my body to jump and the wine glass to fall with a clang.

Alfons: And anyhow, I’m more than sure you have long known by now——

A: I hardly have the sincerity to honor things like manners, no?

Looking down at me, collapsed on the table, Alfons smiled mirthfully,

before he stood up, taking off his coat and gloves.

Seeing him do so, I forgot about where we were as I felt a heat rise within me.

The whole day, I missed him so, so much... and that feeling burned within my heart, to the point it hurt.

Kate: ...This whole day, while I was walking around the city, I couldn’t think about anything but you. You were the only one in my mind.

K: I kept thinking to myself, oh, maybe the next place I’ll see him and whatnot... that was all I could think about...

As my feelings swelled——I took his tie, pulling it toward me.

The feeling of his weight on me was so endearing, I wanted to cry.

Kate: There’s no longer room anymore for something like my old life... everything is just positively filled to the brim with you.

Even if I was made to dance in the palm of his hand, and toyed around with... before tragedy awaited us in the end...

Kate: So what if all of it is a tragedy...?

K: I will see to it that you have so much fun you fall off the stage——

K: And I will show you the world’s most amusing tragedy.

Alfons: ...Hehe, so I see. An ‘amusing tragedy,’ you say...

A: Indeed, if the one playing the role of my dance partner is you, that does hold a charming ring as well.

A: Say, Kate... actually, all of today was exactly for this.

The memory of the night we had first met seemed to overlap and melt together with our connected gazes.

Kate: And what is ‘this’...?

Alfons: Your words, and the way you looked so very angry as you burst into this room,

A: and how I expected you to dress yourself up for this very party, despite how angry you were...

A: It was all to reveal your true love through those things... and relish in that.

Kate: ngh, ah...

Those naughty fingers tickled my skin, lighting a flame in my core.

Heat throbbed where his waist was pressed against me, my legs spread.

Just as he said... even though he was like an illusion who slipped between my fingers, if he sought out my love so greedily...

Indeed, if he were to do something as folly as this,

——I felt my heart might burst from fondness and happiness.

(Tell me more. And carve more of yourself in me.)

(Your words, your heat... and your truth.)

Alfons: ...I see that you are not bringing up anything about the dinner tonight, unlike the cupcakes.

Having seen right through me, my words caught in my throat, and he looked down at me in delight.

Alfons: My, just where did that spirit from earlier go? Come now, tell me, won’t you?

A: In times like this... what do two people who love each other to the fullest do?

My heart pounded in my chest so hard, it was a bit hard to breathe.

After all, beyond the mirage that had vanished, I could now see your true smile.

Kate: ...Dinner can come later.

K: At times like this... we should make a mess of each other and make love.

His thin lips slowly curved up.

Alfons: ——Ah, thank goodness.

A: Truth be told, the menu is all foods that taste good even while cooled.

(Wh...)

Kate: Wait, was this what you were aiming for from the beginning...?

Alfons: Ahha! Mind not phrasing it as though I’m only after your body? It’s quite scandalous, you know.

Kate: I am pretty sure I’m half right though at least...

Alfons: And perhaps the other half, then, may be something like a sincere heart, love, or something of that nature, no?

A: Whatever you wish to believe is the truth itself.

Utterly ridiculous and a good-for-nothing; villainous and insincere at best, he was much like a nightmare.

He loathed tragedies, and he liked cats.

Oh, and he liked delicious things... and probably, me as well.

That was the Alfons I knew——the truth I never, ever wanted to forget.

Alfons: You won’t say something like how you are already at your limit now, will you?

A: ...After all, you will entertain me more, won’t you?

The end awaiting us——would it be a tragedy? Or a comedy? There is no way to know.

But is that not what makes a story interesting?

The characters in the story can only venture onwards, believing in the ending that they themselves wish for.

This love may prove to be the spice that heightens the cruelty of a tragedy,

Or, perhaps, it would become the key that will turn this into a comedy——

But regardless of whichever it turns out to be, the ‘truth’ I want to believe in... had already long been set in stone.

Fin.

Act 3 • An amusing dinner party

← prev fin. epilogue → his side

masterlist🪞 ╱ ko-fi ☕️

NOTES:

[1] The original Japanese text quite literally says [YES] on there, in English letters and all caps. This may have a hidden meaning, so to speak, of Alfons inviting Kate to have sex. At least in Japan, couples may be gifted with pillows where one side says ‘YES’ and the other ‘NO,’ basically to indicate whether you want to do the deed, so it may be a sort of small subtle reference to that.

END NOTES: oh my gosh i half can’t believe i managed to translate an entire main story branch, i feel proud of myself for that 🥹🤍 i feel like this route as a whole was just such an emotional roller coaster, haha. i like how the last part is sort of left on an open-ended note, sort of like how they don’t know what the future will hold, but for now — in this moment — they are happy. i think for them, that is the best thing.

also i really like how kate was even able to get some closure with side characters here too. just the way they put in all the side characters in this chapter, it’s like the things you do will come back to you, you know.

i hope i could do alfons some justice and that you enjoyed the main story of his mad love branch!

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ tags🏷️ ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ @drachonia @.comment, send an ask off anon, or dm to be added or removed!

[not-5-rats]

Dork had been feeling alot of things recently, mostly towards Ray...but these feelings weren't 'love', no, they wouldn't love a guy like that!

I mean they used to have some stupid teenage crush on this asshole, surely these were just lingering fragments of those ancient feelings...right? obviously! I mean what else could it be?

They refused to believe these feelings were new, they sat up at night, staring over at the sleeping form which lay at the other end of the room, they didn't like him, well they liked being around him. He wasn't the same as he used to be, he was...easier to be near, his presence used to make them quiver, scare them into fleeing but now? Now he made them feel warmer, being anywhere near him made them smile. But still they didn't like him

...fine maybe they liked the way he looked, but he was just lucky like that! Look at him! He was...God he was textbook gorgeous, not just because he was pretty but also because of how he carried himself, that confidence, the way he didn't really seem to care...some may call it arrogance but for some reason Dork saw it as endearing

Still!!! They didn't like him, not anymore. They were friends...sorta. He didn't seem irritated by their presence, sometimes they even thought they noticed him looking at them when they were busy. But everytime they pushed it to the back of their mind and ignored it, convincing themself it was just a trick of the light, he wasn't looking at them...but secretly, in the depths of their heart, they wished it was true, they wished he was looking at them, they wanted to see him looking, they wanted to be the focus of his attention...wait

...oh no

...shit

...maybe they did like him-

[kikyoupdates]

Leave Your Mark ⭑˚🧪⭑ 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑏𝑖𝑔 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟

bnha x f!reader

reverse harem, isekai, my hero academia x fem!reader, slowburn

You didn’t accomplish anything in your previous life. Looking back on it, you feel nothing but regret, and you yearn for the chance to do things differently. As it turns out, your wish is answered, and you are reborn into your favorite fictional world. This time, you resolve to make a change, and you have the means to do it. You won’t be content with just sitting on the sidelines and letting life pass you by. You will live boldly and vibrantly, as if every moment is your last. No matter what it takes, you are going to leave your mark.

previous | story masterlist | next

Despite the concerning interaction you had not long ago, you try not to let Chisaki discourage you. It would have been unrealistic for his entire personality to have changed overnight. You need more time to help him see reason, and besides, it’s not like he’s already a villain. He just needs a bit of a change in perspective, that’s all.   

Now that you’ve officially obtained your Quirk, you’ve been doing your best to get used to using it, and so far, you’d like to say it’s going well.  

You can only create those star fragments within the palms of your hands. It’s hard to describe exactly what they feel like, but it’s almost as if they flow between your fingers, like some sort of energy. You’ve mostly been practicing with moving them around and getting the hang of changing their shape, but just yesterday, you pulled off a rather impressive feat.   

If you direct the fragments in a particular direction, they can pick up small objects and interact with them. It’s like telekinesis, to some extent, although you’re very young and not that good at using it yet. But you have more than enough time to practice, and with a power like this, you feel confident about taking the necessary steps towards becoming a hero.   

Even if your Quirk isn’t outlandishly strong by default, you will make it strong. You will turn it into something of your own and use it to protect the people you care about.   

Plus, it’s also quite pretty to look at. You doubt you’ll ever get tired of staring at the shimmering star fragments, little mouth hanging open in awe.   

Testing out your Quirk takes up a lot of your time, and since you’ve very much still a little kid, you end up depleting quite a bit of energy along the way. You’re happy, though. You feel like your prospects so far are good, and you’ve got the potential to make a real difference at some point.   

Everything is going well— too well, as a matter of fact.   

Perhaps that’s why the world feels compelled to remind you that life isn’t always sunshine and rainbows.   

It happens while you’re playing just outside the Shie Hassaikai complex. You haven’t strayed far from home, and Pops has tasked Chisaki with the responsibility of looking after you, so you have no reason to be on high alert. Instead, you scribble on the pavement with the colored pieces of chalk Pops gave you. Even though you’re a teenager, you have to admit that it’s a fun way to pass the time.   

Suddenly, some asshole decides to shove you to the ground. Hard .   

You’re not sure what the hell is going on, so the most you’re able to do is look up at him in disbelief. The person who pushed you is a man, a young adult, by the looks of things. He’s grinning crudely, and it seems like he takes great pleasure in bullying children.   

“What’s a snotty-nosed brat doing around here?” he sneers. “I guess the old man has finally lost his marbles. What, he’ll kick me out of the group, but he’s happy to look after a fucking toddler? Give me a break.”   

You’re starting to piece things together. It sounds like this man used to be a member of the Shie Hassaikai, and at some point, Pops must have kicked him out. Given how scummy his personality is, it honestly doesn’t surprise you.   

You’re not an actual child, so instead of crying, as he probably expected you to, you merely furrow your brows at him.   

“Bullying a kid,” you mutter, shaking your head disappointedly. “That’s so lame.”   

It turns out that was the wrong thing to say, and he really doesn’t seem to care for your precocious demeanor.   

This time, he grabs fistfuls of your hair and drags you closer to him. “Shut your fucking mouth,” he hisses. “I could give you one hell of a beating if I wanted to. Is that how you want to play this? Hm?”   

You wail out, because it’s starting to hurt a lot . Your mind may be advanced, but your body is still that of a child, and you’re a lot more fragile than you would like to be.   

The man cackles in delight, then raises his hand, as if he’s about to smack you, but before he can, someone grabs his arm and pulls him back.   

“Stop it,” Chisaki glares. His eyes are cold, almost devoid of any emotion. “Let her go. If you don’t, you’ll seriously regret it.”  

“Ha! Another fucking kid? Man, this place is full of you all of a sudden. The Shie Hassaikai has really gone to shit.”   

Despite Chisaki’s warnings, the man has no intention of letting you go. His grip on you remains tight, painfully so, and he shoves Chisaki back with his elbow.   

That’s a big mistake.   

“Fine,” Chisaki says coldly. “You asked for this.”   

Less than five seconds later, the man is screaming at the top of his lungs. Chisaki uses his Quirk on him, and several of his fingers have now been disassembled into bits. Blood splatters onto the concrete, and you take several steps back, horrified by what you’ve just seen.   

The man gasps for breath, clutching at his mutilated fingers. Tears are streaming down his cheeks, and all the while, Chisaki just stands next to him with a passive, unfazed expression.   

He’s barely ten years old, but violence doesn’t scare him in the slightest.   

“I did warn you,” Chisaki sighs. He walks over to you, then pats your head a few times. The gesture is far from gentle, but you suppose it’s his way of making sure you’re alright. “She’s just a little kid,” he says, glaring at the man—who is still keeled over and wailing from the pain. “You’re such a degenerate to attack her like that.”  

You’re glad that he protected you. Having known each other for a while now, Chisaki has come to care for you, even if he doesn’t openly admit to it. And it’s true that the man was about to hurt you just then. He deserved to be punished to some extent.   

Still. You can’t help but feel like this is too far, and it’s setting a terrible precedent for the future.   

Taking a deep breath, you pull on Chisaki’s shirt. “Kai,” you mumble softly. “Thank you for helping, but... he’s hurt really bad. Can you please fix him? I’m sure he knows not to do this again. You can fix him, right? I don’t want you to get in trouble. It isn’t good to hurt other people.”   

“But he hurt you first,” Chisaki blinks. “He deserved it.”   

“I’m okay now. Can you just fix him? For me? Please ?”   

He hesitates for a while longer, and you can’t stop glancing towards the injured man, who is losing blood at an alarming rate. Chisaki is only a child. You don’t want him to carry such a heavy burden already. You refuse to let him turn down a dark path this early in his life—or at any point, really.   

Apart from the man’s screams, the street is silent, but eventually, Chisaki lets out another sigh.  

“Fine,” he frowns. “But I really do think he deserved it. Bad people shouldn’t get away with doing this stuff. Still... since you want me to fix him, I will.”   

Relief floods your chest, and you watch as Chisaki walks over towards the man and restores his fingers back to the way they used to be.   

The man stops screaming. His mouth is left hanging ajar, and he just stares down at his hand, as if he can’t believe what just happened.   

Then, he jerks away in a fright.   

“G-Get away from me!” he cries out. “You... you fucking monster!”   

He runs off after that, with his tail quite literally in between his legs. His fingers have been fixed, but there’s fresh blood next to the chalk drawings you made earlier. You can hardly bear to look at it.   

That was a close call. Things almost got really, really bad, but you’re proud of Chisaki for listening to you.  

“Thank you, Kai.” You’ve already thanked him, but you do it again. This time, you hug him and press your tiny face against his chest. “I... I don’t want you to hurt people because of me, or for any other reason. Please promise you won’t do it anymore. If this ever happens again, we can just run away and get help instead. Okay?”   

Chisaki makes no attempts to push you back. He doesn’t say anything, but eventually, you feel his arms wrap around you.   

Everything is alright. He listened to you. He listened, and you’re sure that he’ll continue to listen. He won’t ever take things too far or stray from the right path.   

There’s no reason to be afraid.   

Several months have passed since that incident, and Chisaki appears to have grown more protective of you ever since, because he insists on escorting you pretty much everywhere .   

“Where are you going?” Chisaki asks one day.   

You blink. “Um... the bathroom?”   

“Okay. Be careful,” he says, then proceeds to wait in the hallway until you’re done.   

Does he think you’ll get sucked into the toilet or something? It’s kind of ridiculous, but you suppose it’s nice to know how much he cares.   

Anyways, long story short, that moment has clearly had a lasting impact on him, and since Pops has told him time and time again that he needs to look out for you, that’s exactly what he does. He’s eleven years old now, hardly old enough to be someone’s bodyguard, but since he’s always been especially mature for his age, Pops doesn’t have any qualms about leaving you in his hands.   

Any time you want to take a trip into the city, Chisaki is the one who goes with you. In fact, you’ve just spent a fun day together, getting pancakes at a nice family diner. Chisaki made sure to wipe all the syrup off your face, but not before remarking upon what a sloppy eater you were.   

You’re heading home now, and Chisaki holds your hand firmly in his. For all his aversion to germs and touch, he doesn’t seem to mind touching you or Pops. You assume it’s because he considers the two of you to be special to him, a thought that makes your chest swell with pride.   

Chisaki told you not to get distracted or leave his side, but when your eyes happen to land on a familiar face, you can’t help but break free.  

“[Name]!” he cries out. “Get back here!”   

He chases after you, of course, but you’ve already made contact with the person that caught your interest. A little boy with ash blonde hair and striking crimson eyes, who is grumbling to himself as he tries to get a toy capsule from a vending machine.  

“Not this one either,” he mutters irritably. “ Ugh ! I keep getting everyone but All Might! And now I’m out of money...”   

This boy is Bakugou Katsuki, the protagonist’s main rival, and once again—you are fangirling.   

“I told you not to run off,” Chisaki scowls, immediately grabbing you and trying to pull you away. You put up a fight, though, stubbornly rooting your feet into the ground, and it’s only when you speak up that Katsuki takes note of you.  

“Kai,” you say, looking up at him hopefully. “Can we lend this guy some money? He’s trying to get a toy, but he keeps striking out.”   

You expected as much, but Chisaki refuses.   

“Why should I give out money to a total stranger?” he snaps. “Pops gave me this money. Everything we have left over from the diner, I plan on giving back to him. I’m not just going to waste it.”   

“But it’s not a waste,” you insist. “He really wants the toy, and I want to help!”  

“No. I’m not handing out money. What are we, some kind of charity?”   

Ah. So, it’s finally come to this. Fine, then. You still have one last trick up your sleeve.   

Special move: begging and whining until you get what you want.   

“Please, please, please ! I want to do this, I want to do this, I want to do this—”   

This carries on for quite some time, and you can see how Chisaki is becoming progressively more horrified, especially with all the attention your tantrum is drawing. Katsuki just stands there in disbelief, no doubt wondering what the hell is wrong with you.   

“Alright, fine !”   

Even Chisaki, for all his strength and intelligence, can't seem to handle you when you’re annoying him at full force. He angrily shoves several coins into your hands, and you giggle in delight before inserting a few into the vending machine.   

It turns out that your luck is a lot better than Katsuki’s, and you end up getting the All Might figurine on your very first try.   

Katsuki watches with wide eyes, obviously jealous. If you really wanted to, you could probably tease him a bit, but you choose to act your age this time.   

“Here,” you say, grinning widely and handing him the figurine. “I like All Might too, but it seems like you really wanted this, so you can have it!”   

Katsuki is silent for a few moments, but he soon turns awfully red and reels back.   

“I-I don’t need it!” he insists. “I can get it by myself! I don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me.”   

“But you ran out of money, which means you can’t get it anymore. It’s not because I feel sorry for you. Just consider it a gift!”   

You know all too well just how stubborn Katsuki can be, and how he prefers not to accept help from anyone else. Still, he’s only a little kid right now, and personality-wise, he’s nowhere near as angry as his future self.   

He’s also itching to take the figurine for himself. That much is painfully obvious.   

“I want you to have it,” you say again, then go as far as to grab his hand and place it into his open palm.   

Katsuki blinks several times. He’s struggling to make sense of what just happened, but despite his tiny budding ego, there’s still no mistaking the smile that forms across his lips.   

He grips his new All Might figurine, eyes glossy as he gazes upon his biggest role model. His lips part slightly, and for a second, you’re wondering if he might thank you.   

Then again, this is Katsuki you’re talking about.   

“You didn’t need to give it to me,” he huffs. “I would’ve gotten it eventually. I would’ve come back another day, with more money.”   

You keep smiling. “Sure, but this way, you get to have it sooner. I hope you like it. All Might is really awesome, huh?”   

This time, Katsuki replies without sparing a breath.  

“All Might is the best ,” he grins. “I’m gonna be just like him when I grow up! No—I’ll be even better!”   

You let out a soft, happy giggle, but before you can say anything else, Chisaki starts tugging on your arm impatiently.   

“[Name],” he mutters. “We’ve wasted enough time. Let’s hurry up and leave.”   

“Oh, okay.” You suppose he’s gotten tired of waiting around for you. From his perspective, it must be quite mind-numbing to stand by while two four-year-olds converse. You glance back at Katsuki one last time, still smiling. “Well, I have to go now, but I hope you like your new toy! And I’m sure you’ll be able to do it. Become a hero even cooler than All Might, I mean.”   

Katsuki doesn’t know how to respond, and by that point, he’s already watching you walk away while holding onto Chisaki’s hand.   

As he glances down at his All Might figurine, he can’t help but frown a bit.   

I didn’t get to tell her my name, but I know hers. Maybe... I’ll see her again?   

For the second time that day, his face turns unspeakably red.   

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[thedrownedsiren]

The moonlight seeped through the cracks of the dirty window in the tiny room Peter Pettigrew had rented. The space was a reflection of his inner state: chaotic, empty, and covered in dust. Years had passed since he betrayed his friends, and though he had managed to survive the war, the price had been his soul.

He sat on the bed with a bottle of cheap whiskey in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other. His reflection in the cracked mirror before him returned a gaze he no longer recognized. “Me, myself, and I,” he murmured bitterly, recalling the words he used to tell himself when trying to justify his decisions. He had believed it would be worth choosing survival over everything else. He thought loneliness would be a small price to pay for staying alive. But now, that loneliness was a monster devouring him from the inside.

The first time he convinced himself he had done the right thing was the night he gave away the Potters’ location. “I had no choice,” he had told himself as his heart pounded wildly. Voldemort had promised him power, protection, a reason not to fear. And for a time, he clung to that promise like a drowning man to a piece of wood. But each day that passed without James, Lily, and Sirius, the weight of his betrayal grew more unbearable.

“You’re a coward, Peter… a miserable coward,” the voice in his head told him. The same voice he had tried to silence for years, burying it under lies and excuses. But tonight was different. Tonight, he couldn’t hide. All he had left was himself, and that was no longer enough.

He staggered to his feet and dropped the bottle to the floor. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces, reflecting the moonlight like fragments of fallen stars. Peter looked at the mess and, for a moment, wished those shards would hurt him, that something would make him feel anything other than this crushing guilt.

He had believed his loyalty to Voldemort would give him purpose, a place to belong. But he had been so wrong. He had traded the love of his friends for fear, and now he had nothing. Not even death wanted him. Every time he thought about ending it all, something stopped him: fear, guilt, or maybe that small part of him that still hoped for redemption.

“Me, myself, and I,” he repeated, letting out a hollow laugh. “That’s all I’ve got.” But the words sounded empty even to him. He sank to the floor, leaning his back against the wall, and closed his eyes. In the darkness, the faces of James, Lily, and Sirius haunted him like specters. James with his confident smile, Lily with her kind gaze, and Sirius… Sirius with the fury he had felt the day he discovered Peter’s betrayal.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, though he knew no one would hear him. Not them, not the universe, not even himself. Because deep down, he wasn’t sure his apologies were real. There was still a part of him that clung to his choice, justifying it with fear and the need to survive.

But another part… another part wished he hadn’t done it. Wished he had stayed and faced death alongside them. Because now he understood that death, though terrifying, was infinitely less painful than living with the weight of his decisions.

The moonlight continued to shine into his tiny room, but Peter didn’t move. He remained there, alone with his thoughts, facing the only truth that remained: he had chosen to save himself, but in the process, he had lost who he was.

[lunarw0rks]

Hi!!! I just wanna start by saying I love your writing so much. I always look forward to seeing what you share next!

Can I request a little something about reader who grew up never really having their birthday celebrated/they always downplay it. Then here comes Soap who loves nothing more than to celebrate his loves ones and reader is touched and basically almost sobs at how he genuinely enjoys making their day special🥺

This is totally not a self-indulgent ask whatsoever. If you can get to this, that'd be sweet but if not that's ok too! Have a great day💗

warning(s); sfw, fluff, hurt/comfort, pining? but still platonic by the end, military!reader, gn!reader, no use of y/n word count: 1.6k // not proofread

TRADITIONS | SOAP MACTAVISH

birthday celebrations were never on your radar, and especially not after choosing such a rugged career.

there often wasn't time for streamers and light conversation; it was anything but those things. throughout your childhood, there weren't momentous parties or cheery wishes thrown your way. it was... not much of a celebration at all.

after you grew out of your innocence, the sting of it disappeared over time. or you learned to ignore it. either way, you never expected parties, gifts, or anything alike.

it was better this way; you'd repeat to yourself.

yet, when passing a park and seeing a child's entire kin gathered to celebrate the milestone—you have that same cramp in your chest as if you hadn't aged at all.

today was akin to any other; exhausting. long hours of PT and drills, paired with new material to study, courtesy of Price. the busier the better, though, because it was less chance of your captain mentioning the big day, even in passing.

thankfully, he hadn't, nor did the rest of them.

it was the peaceful hours before official lights out, when every soldier retreated to their quarters and occupied themselves with something, or simply slept early. you sat down on the thin cot with a beat sigh, unzipping your tight boots and setting them aside—procrastinating shining them by morning.

through all the uncertainty, there's one thing you're sure of—a steamy shower. the hot beads of water cleanse you of the dirt and grime of today and its meaning.

you figure that once you get into bed and tomorrow rolls around, it'll be another birthday stifled and forgotten.

one moment, you're sitting on the edge and applying lotion to your dry and cracked hands, and next, you're startled by a knock at the door. you gazed at the digital clock on your nightstand;

10:38 PM

at this hour, what could it possibly be? with this task force, you'd been conditioned to expect anything, at any time—and that did not inspire confidence at the moment.

"it's open," you replied reluctantly, not wanting to get the doorknob greasy with lotion remnants. with a few struggling grunts, the door finally opened and closed.

his hairstyle, as recognizable as ever. "there ya are." he said with enthusiasm, in the likeness of an over-excited detective that solved a tough case.

"c'mere for a minute," he curled his fingers. despite his cheeky smile, you indulge his request. slipping off the edge, you approach him and supply only a perplexed look.

you were quickly running out of guesses, "Mactavish, what is—"

an explosion; tiny fragments falling like ash all around your body. some landed in your hair, others on your shoulders, and most on the leaden cement floor of the barracks.

you opened your eyes after they squinted from the startle. you grabbed the dainty rain, looking down and seeing rainbow confetti pieces. soap's palm was open, and he was actively chuckling at your shocked expression.

"hello, you in there? happy birthday?" he says, as a question, because you haven't had much of a reaction. to him, it probably looked like you hated the surprise.

a rush of emotions pumped through you; disbelief, gloom, and overbearing all—consolation.

warmth spread over your chest and cheeks, and you're suddenly overcome with all the feelings at once. you fumbled through a sentence, "oh, you didn't have to— really, Soap, it's... wait, how did you do the...?"

"—the confetti?" soap sneers, as if he'd been waiting for you to mention his party trick. "trick o' the palm, i can't tell ye more; it's classified."

for a few moments, you stare at one another. his beam is genuine, but yours is unsure and borderline awkward. when you're literally smacked in the face with surprise, everything feels unrefined and alien. especially birthdays.

"don't be daft, had to help you celebrate. besides, you didn't say anythin' today." lightly, he smacked your shoulder, knocking the silence from your throat.

"I just don't see the point, I guess," you reply, and soften your expression to make it known that you still appreciate the kind gesture. following, you shook off some of the confetti from your shoulders as if ridding your body of the festivities.

soap furrows his brows with genuine confusion, "in what? confetti or my presence?"

"in birthdays." you assert, a stark contrast to his playful nature. "never really celebrated one before."

his shock was authentic and obvious, pulled together with slightly agape lips, "you can't be serious— never?" you nodded, sticking to your story, because it wasn't a story at all. it was your truth. "don't you want gifts? all the attention? what about the cake?"

"it's not from a lack of trying, MacTavish. you can't exactly... want something you've never had." you scoff, looking the eager sergeant up and down.

he does the same, and his heart sinks when he senses no lies. you really aren't lying, and you really are this indifferent about your own birthday.

to him, it's completely unheard of. birthdays were some of his core memories, his own and his family back home. how could you have been deprived of that for so long, and be so... collected?

"doesn't matter where you came from, or why; you deserve a celebration."

his merriment wasn't posed as a question anymore, and you didn't want it to be either. part of you—so deep down you hadn't felt it right away—wanted to be celebrated on your special day.

all of it caught up with you at once, and without any strength to conceal it, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes. a glimpse of your damaged and long-deprived inner child, presented through a grown soldier's body.

he brought you closer, a supportive hand on the nape of your neck as you clung to him tightly. "thank you." you muttered, chin resting on his shoulder.

"aye, but it's nothing." soap pulled you back, forcing you to stare at him head on. a thumb reached up and wiped the salty tears, then smoothed over your cheek. "y'know what, I know what we've got t' do." he breathes, voice dropping to a whisper, as if concealing his idea from the world.

your face scrunched in confusion. "we?"

as if ignoring your question, he kept rambling, "you have holiday coming up. request time off, and i'll take you all the way home with me."

"all the way home?" you queried, unsure of what kind of holiday to be picture. with him, it could be anything under the blazing sun.

he slowed down his speech and affirmed, "all the way home." it dawned on you what he meant, but nothing sour arose from that idea.

"Nana, she'll put on one hell of a party for you, trust me." finally, his rambles had calmed, awaiting your reaction. it was near impossible to refuse his puppyish demeanor, the one he shifted into when he wanted something the most.

"cake?" you questioned, surprising him with almost no argument. the nonchalance had to look uncanny, considering your cheeks were still stained with streams.

he grinned with satisfaction. "aye, 'course there's cake. can't forget the streamers, and best of all—the MacTavish rugrats, and brood, in one place."

well, now that sounded more like a nightmare; your mind filled with the image of a hundred little mohawks reaping havoc on your birthday party. but in the middle of the chaos would be you and soap; the only mildly convincing part of this scheme.

"i can't expect your whole family to gather and plan a party for someone they've never met. let alone m—"

"well, actually, that's the kicker," he interjected, unveiling a new layer to his little birthday scheme. one he could've been planning for god knows how long. "Nan is having a get-together around that time, it won't be a fuss f' her."

you would be nearly stunned if it weren't for a few pressing questions. what he'd said early hit you like a ton of bricks, and now it was full-on suspicion. "wait a minute, johnny. how did you know i had holiday time?"

it all seemed too much of a coincidence. and that's because, it wasn't.

for a man trained to endure the worst kinds of torture, he cracked under the pressure almost instantly.

"may have... done some digging in Cap's office. that's how i figured out your birthday." he figured it better to rip off the bandaid preemptively than have deflected now and have you throwing him out the airplane window.

you gasped slightly, "christ, is privacy illegal in this place? actually, that probably is illegal, MacTavish, i could have you—"

"—are ye goin' with me or not?" soap interrupted.

it wasn't like you said no. just like it wasn't the first time he'd mentioned you to his family. but that was a skeleton to uncover on another day, and hopefully not during the plane ride.

you outstretched a hand, "if you're paying? a deal is a deal."

"see? wasn't so hard. besides, i know i'm hard to deny." he ran an arrogant hand through his hair, instead of shaking your hand proper.

instead of complaining, you knew just how to press his buttons. "come to think of it, johnny." you tilted your head, reading to have the last laugh.

"you have any embarrassing juvenile stories? or better yet, does Nana have any baby pictures i might like to see?" you continued, watching his haughtiness fizzle instantly.

he took a few steps back, cheeks rosy, "you know what— in two hours that birthday of yours will be over, and you know what happens then? first dibs on my knuckles, soldier."

that tells you the answer was yes.

on second thought, this was going to be a very fun excursion.

˗ˏˋ divider cred. - cafekitsune ˎˊ˗

[chronicallyonline101]

THIS IS A SUPER SPECIAL REQUEST DONE FOR: @thecavesystem :D I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!

THIS IS THE FIRST OF THE TWO REQS i'll start the next one PRONTO! i really enjoyed writing it so i REALLY hope u like it!! if not JUST TELL ME AND I'LL REDO THE ENTIRE THING

---

Settled beneath the dark Italian sky, on thin concrete pavements, within dark abandoned houses; Napoli's criminal underworld flourished - Passione, flourished. Puppeteered by the powerful, disgruntled youths would roam the streets, with trembling fingers and chattering lips, passing plastic sacks back and forth in exchange for finely printed lira. Lira that, if they wished for a slithering chance of survival, would be shot toward their Capo. 

Their Capo's praise was hardly worth the reward when they would return home to starving teams, but none would ever dare to step out of line. Passione ran a cruel hook, dependent on the vulnerable; people with nothing to their name, no family, no money, no where else to turn. 

One shithole to the next, Ciro sat alone. Like most days, the hideout had been dark; flickering fluorescent bulbs hung from the ceiling of the main room, hardly holding enough electricity to keep the place alight. Strangely, it was silent. She was unused to such a quiet environment, but nothing was more strange than how unfamiliar the entire place felt - it was almost suffocating. Riddled with tears and holes, the green couch she sat atop of was uneven beneath her rear, but that wasn't the only thing she could focus on - the whole place was a mess, strewn through with careless destruction, all rounded together by the subtle click of the clock on the wall. 

Time felt like it was dragging on slowly, leaving him alone for far too long with his own unsteady mind. The only thing that could keep him grounded was the warm mug settled atop of his lap, but even it's comfort was swiftly dwindling; floating upward in a puff of steam that warmed his face and dampened his long, blonde hair. 

Thoughts swirled like a violent storm, broken fragments of a past that had only recently passed by catching his attention and refusing to let go. Something inside him felt fragile, unsure, and upset. It was all so overwhelming.

She ran her fingers over the edge of the cup, wincing when it's scorching contents nipped at her fingertips. Something inside her deflated at the notion, a reminder that even something inanimate could harm her - what she was doing on this team, she had no idea. A loud sigh tore through her chest, lifting a hand to run it through her hair, she found her head perking upward in curiosity - the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the hideout, growing louder with each second that passed by. 

He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Risotto was deliberate and confident in everything he did, anyone could hear him from a mile away - he held an authority that could be recognised by even strangers. Ciro knew this authority well. He had been kind to her, but still, she found unease settling at the pit of her stomach. 

“Santino,” Risotto's voice was calm, almost detached, but there was a subtle warmth to it. Lifting his head, Ciro offered Risotto an unsteady look. The older of the two faltered. He cleared his throat: “Ciro. You’ve been quiet.”

Ciro swallowed thickly, trying to shake the fog from his brain. He had only recently joined the Hitman Team, and while he respected Risotto's leadership, there was still a sense of alienation he couldn’t quite shake off. She wasn't as strong as the rest of the team; untalented with her stand, unsure of herself and her own abilities, a stuck at the top of the tank while the rest swam and played down at the bottom. 

He eyed Risotto sceptically. There was something about the way the older man carried himself - something stoic yet approachable, distant yet grounding. To anyone else, it would seem uncanny that such a hardened, fearful figure cared so much, but Ciro knew better. Risotto had offered him a chance where no one else had, if it weren't for him, he would probably be dead, and that was something Ciro just couldn't let go. 

“Just thinking,” She replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t want to admit how much doubt plagued her mind. How much uncertainty she felt about her place here. "I didn't realize how much..." She paused, unsure of how to finish the thought.

Risotto stepped further into the room, the dim light catching the edges of his sharp features. He observed Ciro for a just a brief moment before moving toward the small table in the centre. Though, he didn’t sit. Instead, he stood, watching Ciro with a crimson glare that felt both comforting and intimidating at the same time.

"You're worried," Risotto huffed out, his tone more a statement than a question.

Ciro didn’t respond immediately. He couldn’t. How could he explain the storm inside his chest? How could he tell Risotto, the leader of the team, that he wasn’t sure if he belonged, if he was even cut out for this? He was sure Risotto would say the same thing he had said before, that there was a 'resilience' deep inside him that would benefit his team, but that wasn't enough, Ciro knew he wasn't enough. 

He let out a deep sigh, his shoulders sagging as he leaned back in his chair. "I guess I'm not used to this," he admitted. "The team, the pressure. You. I don't know… how to fit in."

It was an understatement, certainly. No words could quite describe the storm that ate away at her insides. 

Risotto’s eyes softened just slightly - almost imperceptible - but enough for her to notice. He was a master at hiding the way he felt, a master at waxing his face in a mask of what he needed to be and not who he truly was, but Ciro knew that, despite the lack of outward warmth, Risotto had a sharp sense of empathy, one that she couldn’t always grasp.

“You don’t need to fit in,” He murmured quietly, his voice carrying a certain weight. “You need to stand on your own."

She looked up at Risotto, confusion mixing with the lingering weight in her chest. “But… don’t you want me to be like the others? To be more… like you?”

Her unease settled for only a moment. She wasn't quite sure what Risotto wanted from her; he told her she could be a hitman, that she would fit in with his team, and yet, she was here and still felt just as unwanted as she had all those weeks ago. Her brow furrowed, lip quivering when all Risotto did was hold his silence. 

His glare was unwavering. Slowly, he shook his head. “No. I don’t want you to be like me. I want you to be better than me.”

Ciro blinked, startled by the sincerity in Risotto’s words. Better than him? What was that supposed to even mean, Risotto was the leader; the one who had proven his strength, his resolve, his unshakable will. He was supposed to be the strongest on the team, there was no way Ciro could ever be better than him. He felt the weight of his doubt return, but this time it wasn’t so crushing.

“I don’t know if I can be,” He admitted. “I’m not like you. I’m not like them.”

Finally, Risotto took a seat opposing Ciro. The couch whined beneath his weight, sinking dangerously, but he paid no mind to it. His empathetic glare softened to something more genuine, and it felt as though for a brief moment, the walls between them seemed to lower, and Ciro could see something in Risotto’s eyes - something that was rare for the man to show, even to his team.

“Of course you're different,” Risotto said quietly. “That's what makes you strong. It's what makes me strong, and it's what makes them strong - if you spend all your time trying to be like them, then you'll never discover how to become yourself.”

Gasping, Ciro looked down at his hands, still gripping the cup. His fingers trembled slightly as the weight of Risotto’s words sank in. Risotto didn't expect perfection. He didn't expect him to wake up one day a cold blooded killer; and though he was harsh with his words, he conveyed his point well. The thought had Ciro soothed, but only by a bit. 

“But what if I fail?” He asked, his voice small. “What if I’m not good enough?”

Risotto’s response was simple but profound. He leaned forward slightly, his voice steady and calm.

“Then you try again. And you learn from it. That’s all anyone can do.”

For the first time in what felt like her entire life, Ciro felt a sense of warmth, a sense of belonging. It wasn’t from the others or from the accolades of being part of the Hitman Team. It was from Risotto - the one person who had seen through the layers of uncertainty and had given her something she hadn’t known he needed: understanding.

“I’ll try,” She murmured quietly, looking up at Risotto, her teary-eyed gaze met the hardened mask of her team leader. “I’ll try to be better. For the team. For you.”

Risotto nodded, his expression unreadable but softening ever so slightly. "That's all I ask."

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was peaceful. Ciro felt his heart slow, his breathing even out. Risotto’s presence was grounding, something he hadn’t realized he needed until now. As the weight of his doubts began to lift, Ciro found himself smiling, if only a little.

“Thanks,” She muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Risotto didn’t say anything else, though, he also made no effort to leave. He recognised that Ciro was in no place to be alone, and made an effort to remain where she sat. A comfortable silence weaved itself through the room. In the quiet of the safehouse, with only the ticking of the clock to mark the passage of time, Ciro allowed herself a moment of peace. She wasn’t perfect, and she wasn’t sure what the future held. But for now, she had a place among these people. And that was enough.