#i wish i had even a fragment of that confidence

[valkyrieofblue]

Joey’s determination to duel against Marik in the semi-final is..admirable. He deliberately wants to duel the scariest duelist amongst the four of them - so that he can keep the promises he made to Yugi and Mai.

He deliberately puts his life at risk - which might seem foolish but, considering how far he’s come and how much he’s grown as a duelist, it’s also very brave.

He believes in himself and his abilities. He believes in himself to accomplish whatever he sets his mind to - and that really makes him one of the strongest characters.

[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.”

[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!

[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?" 

[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.

[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!

[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˗

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

Hi I wanna know how would the tfa bots elite guard and cons react to meeting a female bot who is like Barbie who came to life by an allspark fragment and developing a crush on her

-Optimus feels ashamed of his crush because he doesn't think he's worth her. She's just so... so perfect. Beautiful, kind, funny, intelligent. She's got it all and Optimus doesn't. He'll probably try to avoid her for some time after realizing how he feels about her.

-If Optimus feels ashamed then Ratchet feels embarrassed. He's an old mech, past his best years and he's not supposed to go after some young, pretty bot that's just started figuring out life. Not to mention that he's long since given up on having a love life. Like Optimus he'll probably avoid her if possible in an attempt to smother these feelings.

-Despite his claims, Bumblebee don't have a lot of experience with lady-bots. You know what, scratch that. He's got ZERO experience. That doesn't mean he'll dive right in and do his best to impress her. Super nervous about making a fool out of himself but he masks this with false confidence. Starts stumbling over his words whenever she smiles at him though.

-Bulkhead in love is just so wholesome. He realizes he's got a crush on her when he finds himself painting nothing but portraits of her. Tries to woo her the old fashioned way, with flowers and poems about how pretty her optics are. Will ask her to model for his paintings as an excuse to spend time with her.

-For Prowl, him having a crush is divided in two parts. First, he ignores it. Ignores her. Tries to be smooth about how he leaves when she shows up but he's just desperately trying to avoid her so he won't fall deeper in love. But he can't focus on anything, all his thoughts keeps drifting back to her so eventually he accepts it. Now he's determined to woo her though he feels intimidated by how amazing she is. How is he supposed to prove himself?

-It's been centuries since Ultra Magnus last had a crush but he just can't help it with this bot. She's everything he looks for in a conjux. Graceful, gentle, determined, intelligent, kind. She would make a perfect First Conjux (cybertronian version of First Lady). Now, he's not been in the dating game since he was a new frame but he's still confident that he can muster up the old charm.

-Fuuuuuck, Sentinel is so damn annoying about his crush. He flirts, says a million different pick up lines that makes everyone else cringe yet he fails to notice how hard he's failing. In his mind, a perfect mech like him deserves nothing less than a perfect bot like her. Thinks she's got a crush on him just because he can't imagine otherwise. Tries to impress her all the time.

-Jazz, just like Sentinel, flirts, but he's so much better at it. At first the flirting is mostly playful, trying to test the waters and see if she's interested, and once he's more confident then he'll lay it on real thick. Loves coming up with improvised love songs on the spot, singing about her many amazing qualities.

-The jettwins, Jetfire and Jetstorm, are like two puppies the way they follow her around, desperate for any scrap of attention. Like, they are down BAD. They hang onto her every word and think she's the most incredible bot in the world. Desperately try to impress her.

-Every lord needs a lady and that includes warlords so of course Megatron is determined to make her his. While she's a little too kind for the position as Lady of the decepticons he doesn't mind it. Her intelligence and charm more than makes up for it. Super suave with his flirting.

-Starscream tries so badly to impress her, be it with his intelligence, power or by flying. He tries to to act confident and suave with her but the moment she does anything he feels completely lost because she does everything with such ease. She's naturally graceful, doesn't even have to try to make people like her and that's everything Starscream wishes he had.

-She's got Blitzwing's personalities rapid switching because they all want to spend time/look at her. Hothead's usual anger and bravado turns into a blustering mess around her and all he can say are simple sentences like "You're pretty" or "I want to hold your hand so badly". Gets so flustered by his admissions that he willingly switches out. Icy is better, he is calmer about his crush and tries to woo her by being a gentleman. Too bad Random suddenly switches in and ruins it by saying that he wants to eat her so they can be together forever. Awkward.

-Look, Lugnut already got a conjux that he loves and adores so he feels super guilty about his crush. Whenever he sees this bot he will shout at them to stay away, calling her a temptress. Secretly though he's wondering if Strika would like to meet her. He's pretty confident that she'd like this bot and she's always been up for a third.

-Shockwave is torn between acting professional and ogling her like an idiot. She's perfect in every way, sense and form and he'd be an idiot to just ignore her. But because she's so perfect he finds himself so taken off guard that he doesn't know how to react.

-Yeah, Blackarachnia feels terrible. She's got a crush on her bot at the same time she's super jealous. This bot is beautiful and highly sought after by everyone and she feels so lacking in comparison to them. Might try to flirt but honestly don't think it will go anywhere, even if they for some reason were interested. Blackarachnia simply couldn't bear constandly comparing herself to this perfect bot.

[couldsewyouastitchandsavenine]

Dancing In The Dark [Javi Peña] 01

summary: Javier Peña knows all the answers to all questions but one... what if? pairing: javier peña x fem!reader  word count: 3.7K a/n: my first Javi fic. feedback is appreciated.

warnings: language, mention of self-esteem issues,

Part 01 Part 02 Part 03

Javier Peña was no friends with sleep.

To him, sleep was a dance he would consciously opt out of, never quite catching the rhythm—perpetually a step behind.

Throughout the years, Javier Peña had mastered the skill of pretense; with his eyes shut and body appearing relaxed and at ease, yet sleep remained a territory he intentionally steered cleared from.

For Javier Peña was all too aware of the things that lay in wait when he’d close his eyes.

The harrowing memories of what he had seen, all the horror he wished he could unsee, and the lingering cries that never seem to fade. Every ally he had lost, every enemy that had been born, and all the innocent lives entangled in the web he helped to weave.

The irony of it all was almost laughable.

By day, Javier Peña was the epitome of unwavering strength. His bravery unchallenged. Yet, when the night draped the world in darkness, he allowed himself a different truth; he was afraid, too hesitant to welcome the vulnerability that came with being asleep.

Thus, Javier chose to stay awake, inhabiting a space where he could maintain a safe distance from his inner demons. It might have been the easier choice, the lesser evil, so to speak. But, in his mind, it was still better than facing the ghosts that sleep would so easily usher in.

And it was in the midst of his self-imposed insomnia that Javier’s attention was abruptly drawn to an unusual sound that night. A strange, distinct rattling, right outside his door, slicing through the noise of the city’s distant hum and the intermittent barking of a stray dog that echoed from a few blocks away.

Rising from his seat, Javier’s hand instinctively reached for the cold metal of his weapon, buried amidst the chaotic sprawl of reeking dust and aged ink that had consumed his days, perhaps weeks.

Each scribbled one, every photograph and file, all the tapes and transcripts, they all blurred the lines between his duty and existence, between the man that Javier was and the role he had assumed.

Advised to never bring his work home, Javier had not only brought it, but allowed it to become a tangible reflection of his overburdened mind. So much so that his modest apartment had long since ceased to be a sanctuary, but a vast repository for fragments of his professional life, making his few personal items seems almost foreign.

Moving with the kind of stealth and silence born of experience, Javier cautiously approached the door—the gun in his hand providing a near-comical sense of comfort. It felt like shaking hands with an old friend; familiar and oddly comforting in its solid presence.

Javier paused. Held his breath. Took a moment to collect himself before leaning in to peer through the peephole. As he did so, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly—a flicker of recognition flashing across his face.

With a swift, deft motion and a heavy exhale, he slid the lock open, pulling at the door-handle with more force than intended.

"¡Hijo de puta!" Javier exclaimed instinctively as his gaze fell on your figure on the other side of the brassy chain. "What are you doing here at this hour, nena?" he blurted out, stealing a quick glance at his watch while subtly tucking his gun behind his waistband. Even though he knew you were no stranger to the constant presence of his weapon, brandishing it now felt strangely out of place. "How did you even get here?"

Your response was a broad, unabashed smile, radiating a confidence that you half-suspected might annoy him.

"I biked over," you declared, stretching up on your toes. It was was as much an attempt to diminish the height difference between you and Javier as it was a reflection of your restless energy.

"You biked over?" Javier echoed, his tone a mix of disbelief with a touch of concern.

"Yes, I biked," you affirmed calmly, observing his eyebrows knit together in a frown. Then, with a quick motion, he unhitched the chain and opened the door just wide enough for you to sidestep into his world.

As you moved past his shirtless figure, Javier instinctively leaned forward in order to scan the dim corridor. Gripping the door frame with firm assurance, his gaze shifted right, then left before  eventually settling on your old bicycle, chained to a metal pipe outside. The racer, adorned with rust streaks, appeared strangely out of place in this setting—a seemingly uninviting target for theft, yet it was secured with a robust, heavy-duty chain as though it were a rare jewel.

Javier mentally noted to have a word with Murphy about giving you the bike. It was a foolish decision on Murphy's part, rivaled only by your own eagerness to accept it without hesitation.

"There's nothing wrong with biking, Javi," you called out with a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders as though navigating through the streets of Medellín in the middle of the night were nothing more than a casual evening adventure, rather than a flirtation with potential danger.

Javier reacted instantly to your casual demeanor. He closed the door with a resounding thud, a sound that echoed in the cramped apartment and made you flinch. Locking it quickly, he followed after you—his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in either an attempt to fend off a headache or to perhaps stall his rising irritation.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to be out at this hour?" he asked, his tone stern. "You could've been followed, robbed, or worse—"

"—Javi, please, look at me," you interjected, a blend of humor and seriousness in your voice as you gestured towards yourself. "I seriously doubt I'm anyone's top target for kidnapping."

Despite giving your best, your attempt to lighten the mood didn't seem to alleviate the concern etched deeply in Javier's features. If anything it only made him more annoyed with you—his posture rigid with unease.

Deciding to shift the conversation, you effortlessly took off your backpack and began unzipping it. “I thought you might want some food.”

Javier's expression then morphed into something almost humorous—a mix of annoyance and disbelief, tinged with a reluctant smile at your boldness.

"You brought food?" he echoed, his voice laced with surprise. "At two in the morning?"

“Empanadas,” you clarified, presenting the plastic container wrapped in a crinkled bag, as if the unconventional timing was an insignificant detail.

He opened his mouth to say something, perhaps to protest, but then as if realizing that it wouldn’t make any difference to you, he wordlessly accepted the food from your outstretched hands.

With the container now in Javier's hands, you slipped your own into the back pockets of your worn, stain-splattered jeans before following him to the kitchen, leaning against the chipped counter near the sink—its door hanging off one hinge.

"Thanks," he mumbled, breaking the quiet before opening the refrigerator, which gave a angry, buzzing hum. As he placed the container on an upper shelf, you noticed the rows of similar, mostly untouched containers inside, resembling abandoned relics in a museum dedicated to his usual diet of nicotine and alcohol.

You've seen those containers before. After all, it was you who meticulously packed them.

Strangely, the fact that he, more often than not, ignored the food you brought him, didn’t bother you. At least, not anymore. If anything, your tango of offering and overlooking has become an accepted, if not slightly amusing part of your friendship.

“Looks like Steve hasn’t been dropping by much lately,” you commented lightly, a teasing tone in your voice. "He's always had a thing for Lupe's lentejas.”

Javier acknowledged your comment with a grunt that seemed to carry more weight than a simple throat-clearing as he delved in the fridge, emerging with two bottles of cold beer. Using the edge of the kitchen counter to pop them open, he held one out to you, his lips curved into a half-smile, tinged with irony before walking towards the living room.

You grinned to yourself before following, navigating the path to the seating area with familiarity, only taking a halt once Javier paused to casually put on a crumpled tee.

As his muscles shifted under his tanned, taut skin, a routine gesture of always making sure to be dressed in front of you, turned into something more.

Something that made your gaze linger. Something that made your eyes trace the lines of his form—a reaction that hadn’t occurred before, leaving you momentarily unsettled.

The moment stretched, filled with the uncomfortable ripple that made waves inside your chest, before you quietly cleared your throat and looked away, a slight warmth rising to your cheeks.

"I was actually asleep," Javier said suddenly, turning to face you as he reached for his Marlboros on the cluttered coffee table.

His words seemed to hang in the air, their lack of conviction almost making them seem like an afterthought. They floated, as if trying to find a place to land, yet they never quite did.

You could tell he was lying.

Over time, you had come to understand Javier Peña in a way he might not fully realize himself.

However, you chose not to confront him about it. Instead, you opted to play along to his charade. "Oh, did I wake you? Should I leave?" you asked, injecting a hint of feigned concern into your voice.

Javier responded with a casual wave of his hand, brushing aside your question as he focused on retrieving his cigarette.

In his eyes, though, there was a resigned but silent invitation, a non-verbal cue suggesting you should stay. So, you obliged, sinking into the armchair that carried the familiar scent of tobacco and an unmistakable trace of Javier himself before letting the silence settle between you.

—

After over a decade of wandering through Colombian cities, it was in Medellín where you unexpectedly found yourself pausing, staying longer than in any other place you had considered home as an adult. Initially, you had no plans to stay beyond a few months. However, the deep, lingering sadness from your father's passing and a life that seemed to drift aimlessly compelled you to seek solace and stability with your Aunt Lupe.

Her declining health was another reason; the thought of leaving her to fend for herself while unwell was something you couldn't bear, had only further anchored you to Medellín.

In the warmth of her presence and her offer of a permanent roof over your head in exchange for some care and company, you found reasons to stay, to find some solid ground once more. Part of that plan involved attempting to re-enter school—an effort to piece back some normalcy and purpose. However, instead of classrooms and heavy textbooks, you ended up behind the bar of a local spot, nestled just a stone's throw away from the DEA's imposing presence.

The bar was like any other slightly rundown establishment in the area, with its chipping paint and a jukebox coated in a layer of dust. Yet, in this unassuming place, you found an unexpected sense of belonging. It wasn't just your haven, but also a refuge for the regulars who frequented it, and a slice of respite for those burdened by the weight of their badges—their holsters as much a part of their attire as the deep lines of worry, etched across their faces, narrating the tales of silent worries. Stories that were perhaps too deep, or simply too raw too be voiced

Among them was Javier Peña — a man as intricate and tough as the streets of Medellín themselves.

You quickly became acquainted with the rumors, swirling around him. Tales of his sharp intelligence, relentless determination, and a certain ruthlessness in pursuit of his professional goals seemed to float through the dimly lit bar, much like the cigarette smoke, lingering in the air. Then, there were other rumors; whispers about his private life—open secrets, passed in hushed tones from one patron to another, or shared among his colleagues in a blend of admiration and disdain.

A smooth-talker and a maverick, an enigma to some and an asshole to others.

Unpredictable.

A living, walking paradox.

Straightforward in his professional dealings, but layered in his personal life.

Tough, yet had a charm that was hard to ignore. And he wasn’t shy to use that charm whenever he pleased, especially with women who unabashedly flocked towards him as if he was the the flame to their moths.

The kind of man whose activities in both business and pleasure often took him to the darker corners of the city, the parts where questions were seldom asked and answers were rarely needed.

From the very beginning, your resolution had been firm and clear: maintain a respectful, cautious distance from Javier Peña, consciously steering clear of the seemingly endless procession of the lonely, the lustful, and the longing that perpetually trailed in his wake.

However, on a particularly quiet Wednesday evening, breaking this self-imposed rule felt as natural as pouring a glass of aguardiente: smooth, effortless, almost instinctive.

That night, he appeared different, enveloped in a visible weariness — his gaze distant and unfocused. It was a sort of melancholy that seemed to weigh heavily upon him, a kind of sorrow that the parade of drinks sent by hopeful women – who had become almost as much a fixture of the bar as the stools they perched on – could not dispel.

And that caught your attention. It stirred something in you, a sense of understanding. You knew what it was like to feel that kind of loneliness; it was a feeling you had become all too familiar with.

Without a second thought to the why or the what-ifs, you reached for another tumbler and the familiar bottle of amber whiskey. Weaving through the crowd, you moved with determined steps toward him, where he stood as a lone figure by a high table near the entrance.

“You know,” you started, your voice carrying a light, almost teasing tone as you poured whiskey into the glass you set down in front of him, “even without ordering anything yourself, you’re surprisingly good for business tonight.” The fact that his eyes only briefly met yours before drifting away again didn’t deter you. “Seems like you’re a bit lonely tonight.”

"For someone who needs a step stool to see over the bar, you sure keep tabs on everything," he shot back, a flash of sarcastic amusement in his eyes meeting yours for just a moment before he lifted the glass he was drinking from to his lips.

You grinned in response, casually gathering empty glasses with your free hand—their clinking a familiar tune to your ears. “Not here to force you do anything, but maybe a bit of appreciation for your admirers could lift your spirits,” you suggested playfully, hoping to break the awkward silence.

"Tonight, it's just me and the drinks," Javier responded, his shoulders dipping in a faint but unmistakable gesture of resignation. He took a moment, seemingly lost in thought as he studied the cigarette smoldering between his fingers before continuing, “Though, I might reconsider this one,” he mused. “So, whose generosity am I indebted to this time?” he asked, casting a half-hearted glance over his shoulder.

Briefly, his eyes, met those of a tall brunette at the other end of the bar. She held his gaze for a second longer than necessary—a playful, inviting smile playing on her lips. But his interest seemed to wane as quickly as it had been piqued.

He turned back his glass, seemingly unperturbed by the brief flirtatious moment.

"Oh," you responded with an easy shrug, noticing out of the corner of your eye a group at the bar trying to catch your attention. With a quick and familiar gesture of your free hand, you signaled that you'd be right with them, then turned your focus back to the brooding agent. “That one’s on me.”

Without missing a heartbeat, Javier’s gaze returned to you, less subtle this time, searching. His eyes dragged themselves over your silhouette and your hand-me-down outfit, as if trying to see what might be hiding underneath the layers of denim and plaid. There was a brief pause where he seemed to contemplate something, finally settling on whatever answer to his unspoken question.

And when his eyes met yours again, they carried an unmistakable glint—lips curling into a smile that held more than just friendliness. It was suggestive, loaded with charm that brought out his right dimple.

"And what's in it for you?" he asked, his voice a blend of curiosity and cautious probing—eyebrow arching in a silent, questioning challenge.

Your response was calm, accompanied by a small, knowing smile as you turned around, ready to walk to tend the rest of the bar. “Nothing, really. It’s just a drink, agent Peña.”

—

“C’mon, nena, out with it. Why are you really here?” Javier’s voice cut sharply through the quiet of the room, scattering your thoughts like fallen leaves. You made a mental note to collect them later, lifting your gaze to meet his. “You didn’t cycle all this way just to drop off empanadas,” he pressed, fixing his gaze on you.

Your reply came with a casual shrug as you rested your eyes on the bottle you were holding—your fingernail absentmindedly picking at its peeling label.

“You just haven’t been around much lately,” you said, not quite sure what more to add.

“Sounds like you missed me?” Javier teased, a hint of fatigue lacing his smirk.

Leaning back slightly, he took a long drag from his cigarette before languidly reaching over to tap the ash into a tray on a nearby table. His movements were unhurried, characteristic of someone who was comfortable in his own skin yet weary from the world.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Peña. Just got me worried, that’s all,” you grinned, setting your beer down on the table as your eyes caught a sight of a pair of women’s underwear, poking from underneath the coffee table. “But it looks like you’ve been managing just fine,” you added with a suggestive smirk.

“Sharp as ever, aren’t you, nena?” Javier shot back with a hint of admiration.

"Doesn't take a detective to notice, Javi, especially when you don't clean up after your... 'girlfriends'," you said, the word 'girlfriends' lingering a bit sourly on your tongue even as you managed a grin. Standing up quickly, you leaned over and deftly hooked the garment with your index finger, lifting it with a combination of amusement and feigned surprise. Settling back into your seat, you held up the red fabric, examining it. “Wow,” you breathed out, “this doesn’t exactly leave much to the imagination, does it?”

“That’s the point, nena.” He quickly reached over before smoothly taking the underwear from your hand, flinging it to the other side of the room with an effortless gesture—his demeanor unfazed and confidently indifferent. Looking back at you, he pinched the cigarette between his thumb and index finger as he leaned into the seat again. “Tell me.”

You started hesitantly, attempting to maintain a casual air. “It’s probably nothing,” but your voice betrayed a hint of uncertainty.

“It never is,” he countered, his voice holding an edge of seriousness.

You hesitated for a moment, feeling a knot of apprehension in your stomach. Taking a deep, subtle breath to steady your nerves, you glanced down briefly, gathering your thoughts. When you looked up again, your voice was casual, but your eyes were intently focused on the faded print on Javier tee, unable to face him.

"There were some people at the bar the other night. Not our regular crowd. They seemed... out of place, a bit shady."

Instantly, Javier's relaxed demeanor shifted. He straightened up, putting his cigarette out with a deliberate, careful motion. "Shady how? Did they talk to you? Did you interact with them?" His questions came quickly, his voice laced with a newfound urgency, the usual weariness in his eyes replaced by a piercing focus.

"They just made small talk, nothing noteworthy," you responded, maintaining a casual facade. "They seemed more interested in observing the crowd than engaging in any deep conversation. I ended my shift early, and Chema took over. That's about all I saw."

Javier’s expression hardened, mirroring his deepening concern.

“Listen, you need to stay alert. Those guys might be involved with the cartel, even sicarios.” His expression was growing more stern with each second as he looked at you intently. “You shouldn’t be talking to those types of people or getting involved in conversations with them,” he cautioned, his voice heavy with concern.

“I was just doing my job, Javi. I’ve been at that bar long enough to know how to handle different types of customers,” you interjected, a touch of annoyance creeping into your voice at his overprotectiveness.

"You know that it isn't that simple. You're in a prime spot to overhear things, see things. This isn’t about your experience at the bar, it’s about the dangers you might not see coming—"

"—I'm fully aware of the risks," you snapped back sharply, interrupting him.

Javier's jaw clenched in response, his eyes reflecting the deep-seated concern of someone all too familiar with loss and danger. "If you truly understood the risks, you wouldn't be so casual about this," he shot back, his tone edged with frustration.

Reacting to his words, you leaned back slightly, as if physically distancing yourself from the gravity of his concern. Your eyes momentarily shifted away in a silent display of rebellion, then returned to meet his gaze. You crossed your arms, not so much defensively, but as an instinctive effort to compose yourself under his intense gaze.

The room was then enveloped in a heavy silence, charged with words left unsaid. Javier’s intense stare didn't waver from you, betraying the whirl of thoughts behind his stern facade. After a moment of palpable tension, he broke the silence with a firmness unusual in your interactions.

"Okay, that’s it. No more biking around Medellín, not day or night. It’s too dangerous."

Raising an eyebrow, your independent spirit surged, laced with a touch of sarcasm. "Really, Javi? And what do you suggest I do instead? Are you going to be my personal chauffeur around town? Maybe drop everything mid-mission because Lupe needs her asthma medicine?"

Javier didn't respond, and you gave a self-assured nod, almost rhetorically confirming your point.

Of course, he wouldn’t, couldn't do any of that.

For a moment, Javier just looked at you, his expression a blend of concern, frustration, and a deep-seated sense of responsibility. But then, abruptly, he stood up—his movements decisive, cutting through the tension like a sharp blade.

"You're also staying here tonight," Javier declared firmly. "It's not safe for you to go out alone at this time."

The seriousness in his voice left no room for argument, you knew that, but you still immediately began to shake your head, ready to refuse his directive. However, his stance was serious.

“This isn’t up for discussion, nena. It’s too dangerous out there right now.”

“I can’t stay here,” you insisted firmly, hoping to assert your independence, but quickly softened your expression and your tone. “Can’t you just… drive me home?”

“No, I can’t,” he answered as he took a few steps towards the window, peering out into he darkness. “This isn’t about me being controlling. It’s about what I know, what I've seen out there. You may not be used to taking orders, and I’m not the type to give them, not to you. But when it comes to these things, I can’t compromise.”

You watched him, his attention still captured by the world outside the window. His usual confident posture was now replaced by a hint of weariness, revealing a seldom-seen vulnerability beneath his tough exterior.

"So, this is your 'saving the damsel' moment, huh…,” you trailed off—the dry response sounding harsher than you wanted it to be.

“Think what you like, nena,” he said, definitely done with conversation as he moved towards his bedroom. “The couch is yours for the night. You know where the blankets are.”

[locallixie]

hi!

can you do a chan angst but with fluff ending?

love your work 🫶🏻

us first — bang chan

> summary . it wasn’t just your fault, it seemed the both of you were in the wrong for lashing out at each other the way you did that night.

> genre . angst, fluff, domestic au, married life, husband!chan, gn!reader.

> warnings . argument, minor language.

(wc) > 3.1k

(sunny's note) ☆ oh my god is this angsty, the playlist i had playing the background when i was writing this really got me in my feelings.

It was one of those nights again, one of those nights where you had to go to bed by your lonesome. It has been like this for the past couple months, he hasn’t been coming home for a long long while now. You didn’t think you could even recall the features of his face anymore. You could not remember how his cologne smells like, or how his stature stood beside you. It almost felt as if you were never married at all.

Gazing at the silver wedding band that wrapped neatly around your finger, has this thing lost its meaning? It supposed to be a union, not a separation. Without him around, the ring you wore was just another random accessory that carried no significant. It came in a pair, did it not? The rings from a velvet box, it tied his soul to yours.

You knew to give up hope earlier than you expected, sat yourself straight with the reality that he was not coming home anytime soon. Chan has always been a workaholic, he would sometimes canceled dates ‘cause of how much work he had. You understood, or at least tried to. He only did it on rare occasions though, and if he did, he would make it up to you. However, that was during the time you two were still young and filled with passion. You were too in love to foresee the future when he proposed.

Now that you were in this situation, you couldn’t help but regret a bit. Overjoyed, you said ‘yes’ too fast. Was this what you really wanted? Or did you simply not want to embarrass him? You were sure with your feelings for each other, you were confident with your relationship. But sometimes you wished you spent a little more time thinking about your decision the day he proposed to you, if you didn’t let your heart fully speak for you.

Won’t be home ‘til two, don’t wait up. | 11:45pm

“You're always making me wait, you jerk.” You sighed, having some sadness peaking through your voice. You held no resentment for your husband, but in this case, you sure did have some hatred. He had forgotten you, where were his priorities? You didn’t want to be selfish, but you were his spouse, you should have a say in this relationship too. The 'your' was plural, it wasn't singular.

You couldn't sleep tonight, tossing and turning in your bed in distress. Your mind was in a disorder, thoughts kept flying across your head, thoughts that you repelled wholeheartedly. His warmth, you missed. The bed felt cold, a bit too cold for your liking. You knew your husband haven't even been coming into bed with you, he slept on the couch outside in the living room. At least it was the couch, and not the bed of another.

Where was he? At this late of a time? Please come home, you needed him. In desperation, you could only called out to him with your aching chest. No missed calls, a simple text message hurted so much more. You didn't feel like picking up your phone, it was all hopeless. Whatever he was working on, his total focus would be on that. But if he could just check his buzzing phone for one second, would he remember about you?

You couldn't help the tears, it had a mind of its own but a fragment of yours came along. The fabric of your pillows was the only thing wiping away your tears for you, wetted with the woe of yours. This bed was now too spacious for you, you hated how much space he left you with.

Crying to ease yourself to sleep, you felt light-headed enough to pass out. This sleep felt forced, felt like a distraction for you to forget momentarily. It seemed that you were going to miss his arrival once more, why did you try to stay up in the first place? Oh, it was the fact you had to constantly remind yourself that he loved you, he was busy and couldn't get home in time.

The clock told you it was the middle of the night, you awoken unwillingly with your head banging painfully. The door to your bedroom was still shut tight, but you saw a small ray of light peaking in through the cracks. Putting on your cardigan that you had threw on the floor earlier in a fit of silenced rage.

You got off the bed, leaving your shared bedroom. Despite how heavy your eyelids were, you could still make sense of the figure sitting on the couch. The T.V wasn't on, his bag was on the floor as well—he probably got back not too long ago.

"Hey, did I wake you up?" His voice sounded odd, deeper and tired. Not just that, you couldn't register in your head that that was the voice of your husband.

You sat down beside him, "Why are you not in bed?"

Chan looked at you, hesitant at the sudden question. You didn't bother to answer his. "I just got back a minute before, don't worry about it, I'll just finish a few things then I'll come—"

"You still have work?" You cut him off, not sensing the anger that was building up inside of you. He was pushing your limit and your patience, how longer must you wait to have one night with him just in bed with you?

Chan stopped for a second, the tone that you chose to deliver in was unlike you. “Yeah, why don’t you go back to bed, okay honey?”

After all that working, making you wait for God know how long, and he still have shit to do? He wasn’t just a workaholic like you thought he was, your husband was literally work obsessed. At this point, all he could think about was work, work, and work. In the span of the couple months he spent being away, the only thing occupied his mind would be his work. The songs he had to produce for his company’s artists, the meetings he had to attend, the ludicrous amount of paperwork about copyright infringement that he has to resolve. Not one second did he stop and think of the one waiting for him at home every night and day.

“You haven’t even been in bed for the past couple months, why are you telling me to go back?” Asked, the disappointment he left you was unbearable. He kept playing around, toying with the tiny bit of hope left in you that he would be back home early for once. Ever since you two got married, he has been working more and even overtime. As long as you remembered, you two haven’t went on your honeymoon yet. Did he put a ring on your finger and left as if your title as his spouse was a mere status symbol?

“Honey, let’s not do this. I’m stressed out and exhausted, and I don’t want to pick a fight with you right now.” Chan sighed, rubbing his face into the palm of his hands.

It had been too long, you were done with the stupid mind games he put you through. You wanted to pick a fight, wether he like it or not. You didn’t care about anything else, you would rather argue with him than not seeing him at all. You would happily pick a hundred fights with him if you could, as long as you’d get to be with him.

Your volume started getting louder, “And what if I want to? You don’t fucking care about me anymore! Is this the only way I can get you to pay some attention on me?” Tearing up, throat becoming tighter as you continued to force your words out.

Before he got a chance to reply, you interrupted him once more. “Shut up, you’re always telling me to wait, how about you wait until I’m finished saying what I got to say?”

You agreed that was quite rude of you, out-of-character might you add. But gosh were you angry, it has been sitting on your chest and making it hard for you to breathe for a while. There were many things you wanted to say, the only problem was that he was simply never home for you to do so. Until now that was, on the rare chance of having him in the same room as you. You were face-to-face with your husband, screaming and crying while he sat there without a clear emotion.

“The only thing you’re concerned about now is your work! What am I to you then, an after thought?! If you’re so interested in your work, why don’t you just leave me and go marry it already?!” You told.

“Can’t you see that I’m working to support us? I’m trying my hardest to put food on the table and shelter over our head, so what if I come home late or not at all, at least you’re not waiting for me on the cold fucking street!” He instantly retorted.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you tried wiping away the tears falling from your eyes but they kept coming nonstop. “Fuck you, Chan! I’m working too, it wasn’t my idea to move in together when we had nothing to our names!”

You deserved credit too, you were dealing with your full-time job to bring money in for both you and him. You weren’t a housewife, depending on Chan to survive. Instead, you were out there fighting for your life in a crazily competitive industry. Yes, you must admit that Chan contributed the most in your relationship, but that didn’t mean that he could throw you away along with your accomplishments.

You two were both broke college students when he popped the question, it was a risky decision back then. Everything that weighted heavily on your blossoming romance was the harsh reality, student loans, rents, and the debts that you both were in from your marriage. Young and dumb, what an era to be dead. What if you didn't say 'I do'? What if you told him to wait a bit longer? Then you two wouldn't be in this position, screaming at each other's faces with venom and knives.

"My mother was right about you! That I shouldn't have settle down in a rush like that! I had my whole life planned out ahead, but you came and ruined everything I have ever worked for!" You yelled at him, the plans you made didn't include him. He, was the part of the story in which you did not plan to write in the beginning, out of the blue he appeared in front of your eyes.

"Oh yeah?! You don't think that I want better things for my career? But I agreed to step down just because I didn't want any fame to get between us, if I haven't asked you to marry me then I would be out there making millions in a foreign country!" And he too was crying with you, his eyes and ears was flushed red in regrets.

"You know what, Chan?" You had enough of him, you couldn't stand another day living this soulless life in a house where it was cold and woeful. Taking off the ring that bind you two together, you threw it at him. "Let's end this, let's get a divorce."

Running away in tears, you locked yourself in your bedroom. No matter how many times he was going to knock or call out your name, you weren't going to open yourself any time soon. This time, you would be closing it off for good. So was this the end? That was it? You wished you and him could have a different ending, but from how you both acted, there wasn't any chance it seemed.

Like you expected, as soon as you opened the door, he was no where to be found. This house felt nothing like home, the shades of blue you two painted it with. For the next few days, he was not going to be home. You did not receive a single text, much less a call from him. He didn't tell you where he was, or when he was going to be home. The line has gone quiet, and you had no idea of how to fix it—or if you should even fix it at all.

A cold war between spouses, neither of you were ready to apologize to the other. Of course you were mad at him, furious even. However, you were at fault for lashing out at him the way you did, how could you? The words you spoke were totally out of anger, you didn't mean it. No, maybe you did a bit—and you guilty of it. As far as you knew, you messed up big time.

Stubborn, you wanted to be, kept waiting for him to finally break off this foolish war that you started. You admitted that you were quite embarrassed and scared to face him again, you were such a coward with your true feelings that you would rather hide and wait for the other person. You were wrong, but you were not ready to face that truth yet. In the back of your mind, every part was building up the courage to tell him that you were sorry. Sorry for a lot of things, or sorry for everything. Because you knew, if you kept up with this recreant act, you may not see him ever again.

That pain in your chest, between your ribs kept aching. Day after day, the absence of him slowly broke you down little by little. It started with the thoughts of him, how his image and the happier moments you made together began replaying in your head without a stop. It had gotten so bad to the point you were desperate, hugging the clothes he left in the closet. Anything, you would give anything! If it meant that Chan would be back home, you were ready to give up so much for him.

You haven't eaten much these recent weeks, your body was weak and slowing down from the lack of nutrients. The silenced conflict you had gotten yourself in has taken quite a toll on you, missed one or two work days, shed some tears here and there. Still holding onto one of his black hoodie, the scent of his perfume was beginning to fade away already. The only thing that was never going to disappear from your grasp was the music he wrote, all his wonderful songs that his artists blew life into. You couldn't stop listening to them, even if his sweet voice wasn't present, the lyrics had a piece of his heart and half a piece of his soul.

The sad love songs he wrote lured you to sleep, the lullaby of a devoted husband. One more time, you begged with the entirety of yourself for him to come back home. You were raising the white flag, you were backing down and asking to restore peace. No more fights, your husband was enough for you, you would not ask for more.

As you awoken for tomorrow, there were no life left over for you. Immediately closing your eyes to shut out everything, at this moment, it felt as if everything was going to hurt you. A cold feeling kissed your skin when you went to wipe your wet eyes, it contrasted drastically on your warm cheeks. Your sight fixed itself on the wedding band around your finger, it took a minute for you to realize that it was physically there in front of the shock on your face.

The weight on your stomach wasn't just the blanket, a whole arm laid over your body. Nothing could describe the feeling you were going through, finally seeing your husband soundly sleeping on the same bed as you. Every time you tried to move, he pulled you a bit closer to him. The touches of his rough calloused fingers brushed appreciation upon your skin, worn out from working, to you were gentle nonetheless.

This life would be nothing without him, sometimes the rain will be falling and the sun will hide away. Although, it was terrible, especially when you were out there wet with no umbrella. After the gods stop crying, something wondrous was bound to happen. Either it was sunlight pouring upon everything, or him running to you just as wet with a coat in hand.

I love you | 2:45am

You were his person, his desire, and his pride. He too, would be a nobody without you. This life that you created together from nothing to something. The doors wouldn't have to close as long as he was here beside you, he would polish your lock and share the keys with you.

Lowering your ego, pressing your lips on his forehead. It wasn't worth it to fight, everything got blown out of proportions. Let's both agree to come home and see eye-to-eye again. In a weak voice, you spoke to him. "I'm sorry."

In answer, you received his soft lips on yours. Pulling you to him, his hand holding you nape. When was the last time he kiss you? Too long to remember. A hazy memories yet you wanted to live in the present. Reminiscence held no meaning, 'cause it felt every emotions you once felt and every thought you once had was happening right here right now. If he could hold you forever and never have a single thought of letting you go, you were ready to see the end with him.

"I'm in the wrong, honey, don't you say sorry." Chan replied, wrapping his arms around you once again. Holding you sweetly as he pulled the covers over your body. Whatever time of day it was, you two would happily miss works for your reunion.

"Chan, but it was not right of me to blow up on you like that. If I could have been a little nicer, and have a bit more patience—"

Chan interrupted, "Stop talking, I love you, okay? I don't care what happened or is going to happen, I just care about you." He held your left hand to his lips, kissing it with all the love and adoration he saved in him for solely you. "From now on, I'm putting us first."

For once, this house actually felt like home. The warmth that now arrived from its long hiatus, may it co-exist with you and your husband for eternity. Yes, you would be having many more fights in the near future, but for only this moment, you were going to live in the present in his embrace.

[call-sign-shark]

Or 3 and 7 with our perfect Cold Iceman… can’t choose Shark 🥹

Why choose when I could add both? Sorry for the long wait, I hope you'll like it my sweet little Fox. 💚

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✨Take My Breath Away✨

Summary: Valentine's prompt Flowers (3) and Dancing (7) -- Iceman x Reader

Words: 1.7k

Tags: pure fluff !! Ice being super awkward with feelings. No proof reading.

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From the beginning of your training as the first female pilot to today, hiding your weakness had become a habit. Feeling sick or tired? You would double your efforts and work even more than on a normal day. Feeling depressed? You would reply to the constant teasing with a sharp and confident smile as if you were ready to eat them alive. Especially Hollywood, who you could not put up with. Even when your period cramps were tearing your uterus and the hormones would rattle your nerves, you kept working hard, your face was always hidden behind a mask of total indifference. Maverick and Goose often joked about your frozen demeanor, comparing you to Iceman when it came to expressing emotions. But contrary to Kazansky, no one had given you the choice. The slightest weakness shown could be used against you by the pack of ferocious and macho pilots, whose only wish was to see you fall.

The black tea you had let cool down on the coffee table had stopped smoking. An unpleasant chill ran down your spine, which made you snuggle a bit more in the heavy and warm blanket you wrapped yourself with when you came back to your bedroom. Your fingers reached for the cup’s handle and brought the tea to your lips. The first sip warmed your whole soul. You felt like you had just swallowed a little fragment of sun, which lit up you from the inside. A sigh of relief escaped from your mouth, soon followed by your eyelids slowly closing. Finally, you thought, you could finally rest and forget about Valentine’s. A hot tea, a blanket, and music coming from your radio were all you needed. The sights of pilots gifting flowers and chocolate to girlfriends almost made you sick. Men… They were all the same. You did not always hate Valentine’s Day though. There was a time you could not wait for your boyfriend to come home with the cliché but oh-so-romantic box of chocolates et flowers. Cheesy, but absolutely heartening. You remembered how your expression would suddenly become cheerful at the sight of the handsome soldier with gifts in his hands, waiting for you in the middle of the door’s frame. There were Valentine’s Days with John and now, those without him. You clenched your jaw at such bittersweet memories: you had loved him so much… Until you found him in bed with another woman.

Another sip of tea, another wave of warmth coating your frozen heart with its delicious aroma. It was not particularly late but you decided to go to sleep, after all, it was not like you had a date or something. You had barely got up from the couch when you heard someone knocking at your door. Your brows furrowed for you were not expecting visits. At first, you hesitated: what If you just didn’t answer? Your social battery was so empty that the last thing you wished for was to hold a conversation. Nevertheless, you still dragged your exhausted body to the door and opened it.

“Listen, I’m fucking tired and—“ You cut mid-sentence.

“And?” A calm and cold voice retorted.

You looked up and your eyes were met with freezing blue irises. Tom “Iceman” Kazansky was standing fiercely at your door, hands crossed behind his back and his whole posture screaming military discipline. You had expected anyone knocking at your door, anyone except Iceman. The corner of his mouth moved in a quick and faint smirk, betraying his emotions: he was amused by how you reacted to his presence. While you could easily make men shit themselves, Kazansky was the only one who would face you at the slightest inconvenience. He was harsh, he was scary, but he also was the only one who never made inappropriate comments about you. He was difficult to prove, consequently you never knew if he liked you or hated you — or if your presence was just insignificant to him. Coming back to your senses, you took a step back and crossed your arms on your chest.

“What do you want, Kazansky” Your tone was suddenly less impetuous now that Ice was towering over you. He remained silent for a little while, his cerulean eyes observing each trait of your face as if the answer to all his worries was hidden somewhere on your skin. He finally blinked, realizing that he was probably staring at you for too long and that it was awkward.

“Take.” Stern tone. No extra words. Ice was the kind of man who liked going straight to the point. Maybe that was why he handed you the charming bouquet of red roses he had hidden behind his back without utterly the slightest explanation. You opened your eyes wide:  he took your breath away as if he had just thrown you a punch right in the guts. Tom “Iceman” Kazansky was standing at your door, roses in his hand and they were for you. Blood rushed to your face.

“Are you gonna take them or not?” The tall blonde pilot said, raising an eyebrow. His jaws were moving for he was chewing gum — he always did since he quit smoking.

“Oh, yes!” You shook your head, his attractive voice snatching you from your thoughts, “Yes!” You repeated before taking the flowers from his hands and burying your nose in their delicate petals to sniff at their pleasant scent. It was the first time Ice saw a genuine smile flattering your juicy lips and, to be true, it made him melt. Even though he did not let it show.

“Thank you Ice, this is very nice.” You said, nose still hidden among the red roses.

“Well,” He cleared his throat, not really sure what to do now. Slider told him to take off his shirt and show his abs, but he was not sure about it. Bradshaw and Mitchell would have sung you a ridiculous love song, but doing so was absolutely out of question. And concerning the florist, she only told him to offer the bouquet and wait for his lover to make the first step — but you were not having any peculiar reaction. What did he do wrong?

“See you tomorrow, I guess.”

“Ice?” Raising your face from the bouquet, you offer him a shy smile with glimmering eyes. Your face was dressed in a look you had never given to a pilot since you broke up with John.

“Yes?”

“Come in.” You winked and let him come into your bedroom. Then, you put the red roses in a little flower pot you had brought from your mom’s house. As you took care of the bouquet, the blonde pilot stopped in the middle of the room and looked all around him. To be honest, He believed that a bedroom could tell a lot about someone. For example, his was neat, clean, and completely impersonal. No family pictures, no letters, no plushies, nothing. Sometimes you wondered if Tom Kazansky could be anything else than Iceman. You could not picture him being a father, nor a son, nor a casual man. He was just… Ice.

Yet, a small grin stretched the corner of his lips. He had just spotted the adorable family picture you had on your nightstand, displaying a little Y/N piggybacked by your father. Behind you was standing an impressive Biplane straight from World War I. He knew you came from a family of pilots, but he did not expect your father to own such an incredible machine.

"You look so happy." Ice stated, his voice softer than usual.

"I was. My dad would often take me with him when he flew the Fokker. I think there are my favorite memories of him. He would tell me that, one day, I'll be ready to fly it by myself." 

When Iceman noticed the tint of melancholy in your voice, he could not help but gently bring his hesitant fingers to one of your shoulders. He, who was always confident, felt like a shy kid. Even though he already had relationships, they were all one night stands. Which did not help him to understand the mysteries behind social interactions.  The unexpected physical contact sent a shiver down your spine -- You never realized how eager you were for him to touch you until today. You both remained silent for a while, Ice gently caressing your shoulder with his thumb as the first notes of Take My Breath Away by Berlin echoed in the room.  The blonde pilot took a deep breath and glanced at you, his frost eyes enjoying the sight of your delightful silhouette. 

"Hey." 

Surprised when he broke the silence, you turned to him with a questioning look on your adorable face. Ice's smile grew bigger, showcasing his perfect white teeth in a surprisingly tender grin.  His blue eyes left yours only to fall on your lips, which immediately made your whole body heat up. Why the hell were you reacting like that? Of course, you had always thought Kazansky was a handsome man but not a handsome potential boyfriend. At least, that was the case until he smiled.

"I really love this song."  He said, always uttering a sufficient amount of words.  Gathering his courage, he wrapped your waist with his strong arms with an indescribable softness. Then, he brought you closer.

"Ice--" You locked yours around his neck, not really knowing what you were doing.

"Shhhh."  The way your expression shift when you were surprised sent a jolt of arousal through his body. He let out a long exhale through his nostrils and, with small and slow steps, he pulled you in a slow dance. Your whole being faltered at his touch as well as at his freezing eyes diving into yours. The first hesitant movements were soon swept away by more confidence.

Watching, I keep waiting, still anticipating love Never hesitating to become the fated ones Turning and returning to some secret place to hide Watching in slow motion as you turn to me and sayMy love, take my breath away

You closed your eyes, your head now gently resting on his chest while you were still slowly swirling on the song's rhythm. As the soft melody of his beating heart lulled your broken soul, you finally found peace.

There had been Valentine's days with John and those without.  But the more important ones were those you spent with Iceman. Because since winter 86', he would keep bringing you red roses and still make you slow dance with him in the living room each Valentine's Day.

Even after you became Mrs. Y/N Kazansky. 

[mononijikayu]

time after time ━ gojo satoru.

He could feel the warmth of the sun as he and his beloved darling laid onto their backyard to sit upon the white brim chairs, while his lover read aloud to him. He could remember laying down in the grass with him, during a meteor shower as they embraced and spoke of the most useless things and marveling at the wonder that they are living a dream - being able to have the opportunity to see those wide skies.

note: i wrote this, remembering that december 24th was when satoru gojo faced sukuna and got nerfed by gege akutami. GEGE WHEN I GET YOU GEGE??? anyway, happy christmas &lt;3

Genre: Astronaut AU, Interstellar-esque;

Warning/s: Angst, Hurt and No Comfort, Death, Grief, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Lovers to Marriage, Mentions of Space, Mention of Technology Failure, Possible Trigger to Astrophobia;

masterlist

play: time after time by margaret whiting

IT WAS HARD TO WATCH WHAT WAS HAPPENING. But it was even harder to comprehend that there was no more hope. Whatever he did, Gojo Satoru knew that the chances of survival were too good. As he peered through the glass of the oxygen meter, there was give or take five or ten minutes left of oxygen. Maybe even less than that.

The power station malfunctioning, soon enough going out of action, would not be able to tell. Satoru was certain that it was as if time had taken to slowing down on its own. Life flashed before his eyes as he pushed through the miniscule halls and into the outer chamber, where the escape pod readied for a venture for survival. 

He looked through the pod, making certain that the sleeping form within was still in the state of slumber. Satoru didn’t want to wake his lover up, he wished they wouldn’t wake up until the pod had already left. That’s all he could ask for. After all, Gojo Satoru did not have the heart to say goodbye.

As Satoru struggled to grapple with the harsh reality unfolding before him, the enormity of the situation pressed heavily on his shoulders. The dimly lit chamber, once filled with the hope of escape, now seemed like a confined space echoing the impending doom. Time itself appeared to slow down, each passing second carrying the weight of irreversible consequences.

He bit his lip, turning away as he tried to not let the tears fall. Satoru had always joked that he would not cry at partings. He’s never one to be willing to let his tears fall. They loved his smile more than anything. He knew that too well. He took a deep breath, gathering all the strength he had left in him.

Nodding his head, he looks at his lover with all the devotion that stemmed from his soul. He looked at them, as though they were everything he could ever dreamed of. As if they were all that sustained whatever is left of his being. His lover was life itself to Satoru. This was all he could ever have, this parting. He cherished each millisecond as though they were the treasure of the world. 

The white haired man couldn't shake off the bitter irony that lingered in his mind. Memories of his youth, spent in the embrace of his wonders of the universe and beyond. All the knowledge of his training had come through to him in fragmented pieces. During their training, they were assured that the escape pod would have little use.

There would be no need for it, rather it was precautionary. A chance of one to thousands of impossibilities. Gojo Satoru, with unwavering confidence, had embraced this belief. He had no reason to distrust those that had more knowledge in the infinity and limitless than he. Yet, little did he know that this conviction would become the bitter catalyst for their undoing.

The experts and the scientists who had designed the now-crumbling spaceship had boasted proudly of its indestructibility. Their vessel was hailed as impervious, capable of withstanding any cosmic debris that dared to threaten it.

The advancements in technology, the pinnacle of human achievement, had seemingly fortified their journey into the vast unknown. Yet, in the silent void of space, reality unfolded with merciless clarity. He can no longer contact them. But Satoru was certain that they could not offer any other remedies now. 

Technology, for all its progress, couldn't defy the fundamental truth of existence—nothing is truly reserved from destruction, and nothing can endure forever. The spaceship, once deemed the most indestructible, the most invincible of its kind, now succumbed to the relentless forces that governed the cosmos.

As the vessel disintegrated, it served as a stark reminder that even the most advanced creations of humankind were subject to the relentless passage of time.

The echo of history reverberated through Satoru's thoughts as he remembered the tragic tale of the Titanic. His lover had shared this piece of history during their shared days in the dormitories with fellow trainees at the space center. They often borrowed books from the space center’s library.

Often, they brought it back and read it to him and Suguru. At rare times, Shoko would come by and share a smoke with them. Satoru enjoyed the tone of his lover’s voice, narrating days gone by. Even the sound of their voice as they read through tragedy, he treasured it all. 

The voice of his lover echoed hauntingly in Satoru's mind, a relentless loop that reverberated against the confines of the escape pod. The imagery painted by their words unfolded like a vivid scene—a moonless night, an unforgiving sea, and the chilling embrace of hopelessness in the dark. The parallels between their current plight and the tragic history of the Titanic became an inescapable reality.

The hubris that had surrounded the belief in the Titanic's strength now cast a long shadow over Gojo Satoru's thoughts. The ship, deemed incredibly infallible, had dared to challenge the heavens and the mysteries beyond. It had arrogantly positioned itself as greater than the enigma of life itself.

As Satoru grappled with the impending doom of their own spaceship, he found himself drawn back to a time when he, too, had dismissed the notion of facing a catastrophic fate.

The echoes of shared laughter and camaraderie reverberated in Satoru's mind as he confronted the undeniable truth—their spaceship, once believed to be beyond the vulnerabilities of the past, now succumbed to the harsh realities of the cosmos. The comfort derived from the confidence in technological progress now stood shattered, replaced by the cold, unforgiving expanse of space that surrounded the escape pod.

As the remnants of their once-invincible spaceship drifted away, Satoru found himself grappling with the harsh reality that their journey had become a poignant testament to the consequences of blind faith in the face of the unknown. The escape pod, once an afterthought in their preparations, now bore the weight of their diminishing hopes—a fragile vessel adrift in the cosmic sea.

The memories of reassurance that Satoru had offered to his lover resurfaced. They had been each other's longest friends since youth, their bond stretching across shared dreams and countless hours of training. Satoru's conviction that there was nothing to fear had been a source of solace for his friend turned lover. It was a belief rooted in the collective dedication of years spent in rigorous training, relentless work, continuous learning, and dedicated study.

The commitment extended beyond personal aspirations; it was a collective endeavor for the betterment of humanity. Their sacrifices, the toil, the shared vision—they were all invested in the pursuit of excellence. The pursuit of adventure, of exploration. Of seeing the stars from where they sat in the vast vacuum of space. His lover smiled at the thought of doing it together.

Hand in hand, The exchange of love for the sight of the big blue sphere from afar. The spaceship, once conceived as a symbol of human achievement, the big wide wonder that his lover had given their devotion to, the home they had found themselves wrapped within, now stood as a testament to the inherent fragility of such endeavors.

Yet, in the face of impending doom, Gojo Satoru couldn't help but question the cosmic order that allowed the dissolution of their dreams. The once-sturdy vessel had become a victim of the unpredictable forces of the universe. The weight of hope alive bore heavily on Satoru's shoulders, burdened by the realization that his efforts, however earnest, couldn't shield them from the capricious whims of fate. 

Satoru's gaze lingered at one of the small window panes, the infinite expanse of space stretching out beyond it. The vision of stars, once a source of wonder and inspiration, now served as a backdrop to the unraveling tragedy. The space ship, with its precious cargo of dreams and love in one capsule that fit only a soul, floated aimlessly in the cosmic abyss—a stark reminder of the impermanence of human endeavors and the relentless march of time.

Life, with its unpredictable twists, can transform into a relentless adversary, especially when one basks too blissfully in the illusion of security. He realizes that he took too much for granted. The irony of this reality provokes a bitter laugh in Satoru, reminiscent of their friend Suguru.

Geto Suguru, a crucial part of the team responsible for calculating the intricate details of the space flight, had often navigated the delicate balance between optimism and the harsh truths of their mission. Satoru wondered if he was still asleep. Or if he was panicking that they couldn’t get any communication from the ship. He would have known by now that something was wrong.

"You’ve got to learn how to forgive me, Suguru. It seems I won't be joining you guys for that beer run." Satoru murmured into the air, surrounded by the slow and steady swirls of smoke within the chamber housing the escape pod. The power chamber overheated, he knew. Barely any time now.His words hung in the weighty atmosphere, a testament to the somber acknowledgment of an unfulfilled promise. 

“Man, you still owe me for that tab, don’t you? Pay that up! Don’t you dare let my darling pay for it, stingy bangs!”

Satoru coughed for a moment, feeling the pressure in his lungs. He felt a sense of gratitude that the remaining oxygen still allowed him to breathe in the shrinking confines of space. He was sure that Suguru would see it somehow. The ship records everything. With what power it has left, it would record. Suguru would see it. He laughs for a moment. At the very least his lover wouldn’t have to pay for more of the beer when they get back.

]However, the cruel reality persisted—the lifeline he clung to had an inevitable expiration point. His gaze fixed upon his partner, securely strapped into the chair within the escape pod, and Satoru's eyes, hollow and fatigued, conveyed a poignant mixture of regret and an unspoken farewell.

Prior to their departure, Satoru took meticulous care in ensuring his partner was securely fastened for the challenging journey back to Earth. Doubts lingered about the adequacy of the fuel gauges for the trip, but amidst the uncertainty, Satoru clung to the necessity of hope—that the escape pod would reach safety, anywhere but here.

"Sorry, darling. I’m really sorry." he murmured, his once-confident voice now laced with pain, his lips forming a small frown. Satoru's eyes shifted to a picture on the wall, a repository of precious memories shared between him and his partner.

While many of these memories had been stowed away in the escape pod beside his partner, a select few remained with him—a snapshot from their wedding day, another with their dogs, one with their families, and a cherished moment with Suguru in the training hall at the space center. “I hope you learn to forgive me again. Learn to live and forgive your loving fool."

Turning his attention to the pod's facets, Satoru meticulously checked every detail. He ensured an assortment of food, refreshments, and books awaited his partner upon their awakening, once all the protective measures were removed. Swiftly, he placed his partner's earphones and music player within reach. The cerulean eyed man looks at the music player for a second longer. He thinks if his lower will listen to the music and think of him. Of how they used to dance in the ship’s kitchen and laugh together. 

He shakes his head as he takes his lover’s hand. His  thumb threads through the familiar etches, the lines across each finger, of the palm of their hand. Gojo Satoru stared at the metallic sphere on their left hand. He huffed a laugh, tears falling tenderly, as he secured their wedding ring against his touch. Trying to breathe against the grain of space’s pressure, he started to take off his own ring and carefully placed it on his lover’s other ring finger.

Parting from the ring was the most painful part of all of this; His beloved lover had gifted it to him during a moment of unexpected revelation. All those happy years, his darling had out of the blue blurted their love for him. The scarlet blush upon their cheeks, the bright beam of love echoing in shaking eyes. Winter snow fell all around them. Satoru was beyond surprised, his clutches were all that was keeping him still and balanced. They never even dated before. Yet, they knelt beside him with all their might in their heart and soul, defying convention to be honest about love.

Gojo Satoru did nothing but laugh in the most beautiful of manners. That’s what his darling had told him. Under the pale bright snow, the beauty of his blue eyes shined the most. Almost like stars themselves. Satoru leaned forward to lean for the most passionate embrace. Their lips intertwined. He could taste wonder from the strawberry mochi, the smell of lavender perfume. Most of all, there was warmth. There was warmth in being so truly loved.

Satoru vividly recalled the disbelief etched on his beloved darling’s face as he later proposed. His darling was not one to hastily reveal their feelings, and yet, they had summoned every ounce of courage to express their love for Satoru. Their smile was everything to Satoru. It was almost like the sun, so wide and radiant.

It brought him back to life again. Just as much as the moment when  they accepted his marriage proposal. Their response became the confirmation of their love, and tears of happiness flowed freely as his beloved darling admitted that, since meeting Satoru, their entire being had been consumed by love. In that moment, His smiling love became all Satoru ever needed.

Their marriage, officiated by Suguru in a simple office setting, marked the beginning of a shared journey outside the space station. Shoko was there to be a witness, and she brought Nanami and Haibara with her. Though Nanami complained that he would be late for the training at the gravity center, he seemed happy enough to stay.

Haibara was the one that pointed that out, though. Suguru, having keenly observed their profound love, eagerly supported their union and played a pivotal role in navigating bureaucratic hurdles. Once the paperwork was signed, they relocated to a different place, just outside the space center.

Suguru diligently advocated to higher-ups that their commitment would not hinder their work. Satoru could have done it himself, with his connections and all. But, he was too enamored in his new found status as a married man to want to worry about the rest of the world. 

They had built quite a wonderful life together. That’s all he could think about. Those happy, fulfilled years sustained Satoru, he could feel the tears pour down the blinking screens. He longed for those days again. To have all those bright beaming echoes of the mundane life, of the white picket fence. Those dance parties, those late night drives, those meaningless banters. He wanted it all back. 

He could feel the warmth of the sun as he and his beloved darling laid onto their backyard to sit upon the white brim chairs, while his lover read aloud to him. He could remember laying down in the grass with him, during a meteor shower as they embraced and spoke of the most useless things and marveling at the wonder that they are living a dream - being able to have the opportunity to see those wide skies.

The playful times with their dogs down the park across their lovely home. Taking a small run around their neighborhood, even if his lover would complain about how hot and painfully long the trail was each time, they still did it and when the walking time gathered.

As long as Satoru smiled, it was all worth it. In all that moment, they held Satoru’s hand tightly. The small moments of talking about what they should eat for dinner, the pout on his lover’s lips at each imagining of their food. It was the wonder in his lover’s face which made him giggle every single time.

There were those wonderful weekends when they hosted barbecue parties for their family and friends, drowning in joyous feasting. His beloved darling, going around talking to everyone and socializing. The bright echo of the playing music kept everyone in a light mood. Suguru and Shoko looking around at the guests, enamored in guessing games. Nanami diligently manning the grilling station, Haibara pulling out the piles and piles of meat from the fridge. Satoru smiled at everyone he passed as he greeted them with drinks.

Every moment spent lazily making breakfast after a long tiring night at work, the loud laughter that could only echo between the two of them. The dogs kept them entertained as they played against the chair’s shadow in the morning rise. Satoru made faces as he followed up their play with a game of chase in the backyard.

His beloved darling would laugh at how silly it all was. For years, Gojo Satoru had pride in the idea that he was the only one that could make his lover laugh that way, that bubbly wondrous manner and each and every time, he was certain that it made him feel alive over and over. It made him fall in love over and over.

Every passing compliment spoken tenderly as they let the night drift in without complaint, their hands joined together in a way that made a whole of the world in their touch. Walking hand in hand on the boulevard, his shaded eyes full of devoted love as they walked towards the restaurants.

In those small impromptu dates that he would arrange for his darling, there was so much joy in seeing them so excited to try the new food. Satoru would stare so longingly, full of endless adoration and their eyes would meet. He would be watching his lover partner blush ever so shily, saying such words in return to him. 

Satoru's realization struck him like a harsh awakening, a sudden understanding that he had taken precious moments for granted, assuming an endless supply of time. He had often proclaimed with pride that he would age gracefully, enjoying the luxury of more years.

However, Satoru's proclamation proved futile; time slipped away inexorably. He wiped away tears, the wailing sirens from the main deck serving as a mournful backdrop. Warning messages blared from the ship's screens, each echoing the demise of the once-invincible features. Despite the rapid deterioration, Satoru strained to expedite his coding efforts, knowing that the salvation of his beloved darling depended on his speed.

Amid flickering lights and shattering electrical wiring, Satoru raced against time to enter the final codes. The engines sparked and caught fire as the ship's structure began to rupture. Fear gripped him—the fear of not being fast enough, of the coding for the red button lagging, risking the collapse of their ship into chaos. Satoru's determination surged; losing was not an option.

The sequence of calamitous events unfolded with the stealthy intrusion of an unseen dark asteroid rock, cruelly striking the side of the once-sturdy spaceship. In the initial aftermath, his cherished partner nonchalantly brushed off the impact, deeming it minor, while the ship maintained an ominous silence regarding any substantial concerns. In the eyes of his beloved, it appeared to be nothing more than a superficial scratch, evoking shared laughter and a tender kiss—a testament to their enduring bond.

Amidst the laughter and exchanged affections, plans were hatched to entrust the ship to autopilot, allowing the wearied couple to retreat to the embrace of their sleeping quarters. Bright tones of reassurance filled the air as promises of a peaceful night echoed through the dimly lit corridors.

Yet, the tranquility was abruptly shattered as his beloved left the lush confines of the greenery. An urgent alert pierced the air, thrusting their attention to a critical issue that demanded immediate intervention. The collision had wrought havoc on the ship's delicate equilibrium, compromising oxygen levels in the vicinity of the main power station. Responding with swiftness and determination, his beloved donned an oxygen suit and hastened to the scene, driven by an impending sense of foreboding.

The scene that unfolded before them surpassed the realm of nightmares. The asteroid's impact had ravaged the core of the ship, tearing apart the main power station with ruthless efficiency. For Satoru, the realization of this devastating development crystallized a long-dreaded nightmare, an eventuality that he had hoped would never materialize. As chaos and urgency enveloped the ship, the gravity of the situation bore down on them, leaving no room for denial or escape from the impending catastrophe.

Realizing the inevitability of the ship's impending shutdown, Satoru grappled with a profound sense of helplessness. Whatever actions he contemplated seemed futile in the face of an unstoppable, self-inflicted catastrophe.

That’s why he made a choice.

The love of this life had to survive.

Even without him.

But then that red button lights up. 

Satoru felt a glimmer of warmth return to his face as hope illuminated his eyes. Laughter, almost manic in its intensity, erupted from him—the kind of laughter borne out of sheer relief. There was hope. There was still a chance.

However, the sedatives that were meant to maintain his beloved darling's unconscious state seemed to have lost their grip. Their eyes fluttered open, dazed and confused, as if emerging from a foggy, drunken stupor. Satoru, taken aback, wondered if he had miscalculated the dosage in his panicked state.

Satoru had hoped to spare his beloved from the heart-wrenching farewell, to let them slip away peacefully in their sleep. But fate had other plans.

"Toru," his beloved murmured, their eyes struggling to focus. "Where...?"

Satoru hesitated, his finger hovering over the mic button, torn between the desire to shield them from the harsh reality and the need to be honest.

"My love," Satoru finally spoke, summoning every ounce of courage amid his own tears. Their partner's voice triggered a full awakening, their body straightening with a sudden realization. This wasn't their bedroom. Something was amiss.

The truth hit them, and Satoru saw the dawning comprehension in their eyes—the escape pod.

"Toru, why am I...?" their partner's voice wavered with worry as they looked at Satoru, who struggled to maintain composure. A sad smile, an anomaly on their usually joyful features, played on his lips. He was always smiling, a trait his beloved cherished.

"There's a lot happening, my love," Satoru said, trying to steady himself. He couldn't bear to see the worry etched on their partner's face. "I'm sorry you had to see it."

As the reality of their situation sank in, his beloved pleaded, "Satoru, why are you there? Why am I here?"

The anguish in their partner's voice tore at Satoru's heart.

"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," Satoru whispered, his own tears mingling with the weight of the impending farewell. "I was so glad to have met you that day when my ball went into that tiny broken corner of your house fence."

Their partner's eyes started to well up, realizing the gravity of the situation. Desperation laced their voice, urging Satoru to join them inside the escape pod. But Satoru knew they couldn't.

"You kicked the ball and motioned for me to kick back! You never really liked to speak then, but I guess I changed that, didn't I? I made you a chatterbox," Satoru reminisced, laughter tinged with pain. "I love you so much, so much. Ever since that day. I just never realized it then. But I do. I did. I love you. You are and always have been my world."

His beloved sobbed, their hands desperately working to break free from the constraints. Time was slipping away, and Satoru knew he had to act quickly. The ship was tearing itself apart, and their partner needed to leave now.

"In another life, there would be no fault in our stars," Satoru promised, a shaky breath escaping their lips. "I want you to live on and grow old, even without me. Find love again. I will find you again. I will meet you again. I will love you again."

The anguish in their partner's voice reached a crescendo as they pleaded, "I can't live a long, empty life without you."

Satoru felt the heaviness in his chest, choking on his own emotions. "I know," he whispered.

Finally free, his beloved forced their way to the door, pounding on it in a desperate attempt to override the programmed controls. Satoru maintained eye contact, their hands poised above the red button.

"We'll meet again," Satoru said tenderly, offering one last parting smile. The escape pod separated with finality, and as his beloved screamed in despair, Satoru walked away toward their inevitable fate. “I know we will.”

“Don’t do this to me.” His lover cried out, tears pouring faster than they could blink. “Don’t you dare.”

“I love you.” Gojo Satoru turned around, smiled tenderly. “I love you.”

In the dwindling moments, Satoru found himself standing at the threshold, caught between the vast expanse of space and the memories of a life abruptly cut short. With a heavy sigh, he cast a last lingering look at the escape pod, where his beloved darling looked at him ever so helplessly, banging through the glass. 

Once more, Satoru Gojo turned to face the cold reality in the ship.

The vessel, once a titan sailing through the cosmos, now surrendered to the inexorable grip of destruction. It groaned and convulsed, a lamentation echoing through the void—a symphony of demise composed in anguished creaks and shivers.

Satoru, on the precipice of the abyss, inhaled deeply, savoring the acrid cocktail of fear, remorse, and an unwavering resolve to carve a slender lifeline for his cherished one. His only one. The only one that was ever meant for him. Time unfurled like an eternal scroll, each moment an agonizing tapestry that Gojo Satoru faced with stoic acceptance.

In those final heartbeats, he imbibed another breath, a silent requiem woven into the vast emptiness of the cosmos. With a heart weighed down by the gravity of farewell, Gojo Satoru traversed the threshold and sealed the door of the command center—a poignant adieu etched in the frigid embrace of metallic confines.

He closed his cerulean eyes, humming that song. The one that played at their wedding. He couldn’t remember the title. But the thought of remembering the lyrics gave him strength. Because they were here with them again. They were together, always together.

“I only know what I know,” He sang softly, imagining they were beside him. As though they were just under the tree in their backyard. “The passing years will show, you've kept my love so young, so new.”

Amidst the desolate hush of space, Gojo Satoru knew that the escape pod was safe. He knew it had disentangled itself from the disintegrating vestiges of the once-mighty spaceship. His soul would survive with it, as much as his heart will. It embarked on a solitary journey, carrying with it the echoes of a life that had blossomed within the cosmic expanse. The most precious of all cargo in the world, in the universe. 

The universe, now a silent observer, bore witness to the tragic odyssey of Gojo Satoru, who, in the name of love, relinquished everything. Thus, he left behind a legacy, a poignant resonance that rippled across the celestial tapestry, eternally echoing in the cosmic winds.

“And time after time,” He grins in his final moments, opening his cerulean eyes.

He sees them, standing in front of him one last time, returning his grin with a bright beam.

He held out his hand. “You'll hear me say that I'm so lucky to be loving you.”

[bonefall]

do you have any plans for willow tail?

No solid plans, just little fragments that I'm fond of.

I do actually like the bunny bone idea, in some ways. I like how it starts. She sees Red Claw just sunbathing on the moor, can't stand the idea of seeing his ugly mug around, and comes up with a way to get him in trouble. It's so petty!!

"Ohh I'll get my revenge on him! First I'll eat my lunch, and then I'll CLEAN my lunch, and put it on the border, and say that he is eating our rabbits. That will make Wind Runner yell at Clear Sky, and he will yell at Red Claw, and he will never sunbathe here again aha HA HA it's BRILLIANT, BRILLIANT, BRILLIANT!" Ok Yzma. I love you.

Mundane bullshit I love it so so much. She just ate her lunch for the drama.

That's such an interesting idea for a conflict, y'know? I love it so much more than "IT WAS ALL FOR REVENGE." What starts as petty, easily resolvable drama escalates because Clear Sky is SO easy to offend, which makes Wind Runner dig her own heels assured that she's right, and then eventually Willow Tail can't back down because it's gone too far and she hates Red Claw too much.

And even Moth Flight. I wish they did more between Willow Tail and her, as friends and allies. They both hate Red Claw for getting people they love killed, it would have been a lot more interesting seeing the two of them commiserate and confide in each other.

(but if moth had friends, then you can't do the stupid celibacy rule because then the clan would. like. help her babysit a little. which they offer to do, btw, canon moth flight is just such a freakazoid that she rejects all help. its a bad book, brent)

It's also interesting the way that Clear Sky is, again, a monster in this book. He clawed her eyes out, for the crime of "stirring up trouble." Then he stepped aside and told Red Claw he could do whatever he wanted with her. It would be a shockingly violent thing even for someone who earned that level of brutality. I really expect no less from the SkyClan tyrant.

(it's not lost on me btw, that the writers will go to bat for Tom the Wifebeater and give him a redemption death but then show Willow Tail suffering and dying slowly on screen for Clear Sky's vindication. They don't see him as the demon they wrote him as.)

Anyway... time for Fragments Proper.

BB!Willow Tail

TO BEGIN WITH: BB!DOTC is the one arc that I have no intention to stay faithful to. I do not value "sticking close to canon" the way I do with the others, it is not a consideration. It's a total overhaul-- with Gray Wing being killed in book 1 and xeir roles taken by Thunder Storm's mother, a language barrier between Park Cats and Tribe Cats, and a totally different order to the formation of the Clans.

Moth Flight's Vision is now Moth Flight's Vow... and there's no room for Willow Tail's bunny bones drama anymore. It's a completely different story with a brand new origin for the Cleric's Vow.

So if the Bunny Bones drama remains, it'll have to go somewhere else

Though I do like it, I'm also nonplussed about losing it.

I feel like the Bunny Bones plot works best with Skystar as the antagonist, because no one else is nearly as easily offended as him... but at the same time, I have a really solid plan for him losing 8 lives to Star Flower's Ritual, and then his final picking a fight with the River Kingdom, winning a significant amount of territory.

But, it would also be VERY cathartic to have Skystar's final death be just after gouging Willow Tail's eyes out, with someone deciding ENOUGH IS ENOUGH and even if Willow Tail did lie, she doesn't deserve to be tortured.

I'd be inclined towards doing the Bunny Bones plot the way I described liking it; as petty drama that got out of hand, but really revealing Skystar's true colors.

Hmm... maybe I'll make it a Tiger Sky novella, and have this be the story about her deciding to leave SkyClan.

(INFO for those who don't recognize the name: Tiger Sky is the BB version of one of the Angel Fetus Children they gave Clear Sky. She is the daughter of Falling Feather, and half-sister of Thunderstar.)

Anyway-- depending on if Willow Tail ends up being a Park cat or a Tribe cat, her name could be very different. The Wind Coalition is Park-culture, so they're born nameless and earn titles over time.

It's likely she won't end up with Willow Tail as her name, but something more like Willowbark Weaver, or Willow Flayed Bare. Willy for short.

Windstar's Revelation, a direction given by Gray Wing the Wise in the aftermath of the First Battle, is to begin innovating and moving away from violence. So I can see Willy earning this title after demonstrating excellent uses for willowbark.

Her childhood name was different. The first name a Park Cat wears is [Mentor]'s Paw, and before that, they have a simple physical descriptor.

So first of all I need to pick a mentor for her, and I'll only figure that out after making a loose allegiance list

And second of all, her baby name was probably Tabby, and her brother's was Mottle.

Speaking of her brother, though...

I don't like how they broke Frog's back and then just had him die on the way home. I dislike the trend in this arc where several cats get disabling injuries (Moon Shadow, Frog, Tiny Branch, Willow Tail), only to die of them shortly after.

So I think I will be keeping Frog alive, especially to point out how they dealt with a paraplegic cat in ancient times in contrast to modern times, with Wildfur and Briarlight.

Which means he will also need a new name and chosen mentor, if he's a Park cat. But anyway...

Their ages might get shuffled, but at their very oldest, I want them to both have been young during the First Battle.

And that's what I've got, so far!

[kkl1nch0r]

title: woes of an immortal (blade x gn!reader)

angst. this is angst guys. i was feeling emo. please don't come for my throat if your soul is shattered like mine was when I typed in the last words LOL!

-------

Since when did once an abomination seek and find its inner beauty?

Since when did a monster find their claws worthy and able to cradle the body of their dead love gently?

Since when did a beast, its fangs eternally stained with the slaughterous voices of its sin, bound and sliced cleanly from its vices, learn to find itself worthy of affection?

Blade was the first to be.

Once his weary eyes, deprived of desire, gazed into yours– the savage tamed by the saint– everything prior to his misery (as well the whole of his suffering) had been snuffed out. Much like the blowing out of a candle with its constant need to burn, all there was left was the stub of wax. Unhealed scars, bleeding wounds, a wailing soul.

I’ve changed, repeated the immortal abomination. I’ve changed.

You had held his cold cheek firmly and told him things you alone cannot remember– only a man who had lived so mundanely could recall the very words you had uttered.

But at the merciless hands of death, who can blame for one to forget? Even those who have lived with such purpose and ambition cannot remember every word they have spoken on their deathbed.

Your deathbed was his lap, your pillows were his trembling hands, and your last breath was just as shaking as his. Your vision faded, coming into focus to see blades ugly ass eye sigh this is shit

I bring misery, he says, his voice sounding like a cry heard from the other side of a wall. I have brought this upon you.

“Do not blame yourself,” you whisper, and he begins to cry– it's a mourning howl. He’s wailing; there are no signs of him stopping, as his tears come down upon your face like rain. A scarred, quivering hand clutches yours, and your heart breaks– as much as you wish to squeeze back reassuringly, there is no strength left in your body to reciprocate his gesture. No more energy to dispel his worries.

Blade tires himself out by crying; he lets out a choked sob, having lamented so hard his voice is broken, scattered like his essence. He had been begging for death just then; why did he wish for life now?

“Blade,” you whisper weakly, and it brings another wave of sobs. Blade doesn’t know he torments you with his sorrow. You lie in his arms helplessly as the man strangles himself with his cries.

Oh, it sounds so sad. So terrible, to know that you are about to pass on and he, immortal as he is, can do nothing about it– can do nothing about his death, nor yours, and can only watch as time flies by; to wait for a person who will never come back, nobody to answer his calls. Nobody to return to; nobody to look for in the bustling crowds of the Xianzhou.

Nobody to confide in, love, protect– Blade brings your hand to his lips– a gentle kiss placed on your knuckles as you manage a weak smile, lifting your hand to hold his cheek. He so desperately presses into your touch, tears trickling down his cheeks, barely able to hold back his grieving cries.

“You…” Swallowing thickly, you try to form a coherent sentence. “You haven’t changed.”

Not one bit? Blade asks sadly, pressing his lips against the palm of your hand. The shake of your head answers him, and Blade breathes in deeply, but it hitches, and he shakes with an effort to control his silent crying.

“Not one bit,” You reply with effort, and it's surprising how such a simple phrase seems to take the breath from you. Blade nods, and you exhale resignedly, bits of the world blurring into one. They say death is peaceful, but the man looking at you tells you otherwise.

“Remember me,” You say finally, and the last fragmented vision of Blade’s face blurs into nothing. Your body scatters, fading to ashes of what remains:

You are the ghost of a memory– sometimes Blade will see your figure standing in the midst of a parting crowd– there are times when you are there and moments when you aren’t. As Blade gazes at his empty, bloody hands, he begins to wonder if you were merely a fleeting dream.

But there is nothing he can do to change about it. And so his piercing wail reaches the sky, the rumble of thunder in the rushing of gray clouds, the rain purging the very essence of what made up just a fraction of his life.

Never has Blade felt so insignificant, as he recalls the words you had whispered once before.

I’ve changed, he’d repeat. I’ve changed.

You are just the same, you had said. When one’s life changes, the soul remains as is. You are better now– better, but just the same.

Blade kneels in the dirt.

Just the very same, Blade thinks, but without you, I feel truly different.

[lirotation]

I Hail from Silverymoon: The Confession

Pov my little fanfic: Astarion x Amaara (my wizard Tav). Fellow Tavs gave me feedback on how mean my Astarion was. hahaha. Well, in this part he became pretty pathetic. These stories were drafted during my first playthrough so the mood of it really reflected how I perceived the game. And damn my first playthrough was rough.

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Astarion's gaze followed Amaara as she bid goodnight to Lae'zel, having finished another evening listening to the fighter reading legends from a githyanki plate. As she walked past his tent, she didn't even glance his way.

Stung, Astarion melted into the shadows and trailed her unseen as she made her rounds about camp. His eyes tracked her every movement - the enthusiastic hug she gave Karlach, the warm smiles exchanged with Shadowheart. She crossed to the far side of camp, placing a gentle hand on Wyll's shoulder as she reported the day's findings to Halsin.

A bitter seed lodged in Astarion's throat as she then approached Gale's tent. Scowling, he watched the two wizards leaned in close and started an intense, hushed conversation. Astarion strained to hear. He made out "dreamscape" and “future” amidst arcane terms beyond his understanding. Amaara's eyes were wide with concern as she confided in the wizard.

She grasped Gale's hand urgently, her obvious distress rousing an unwanted pang of concern in Astarion's chest. What plagued her so? Gale enveloped her hand between both of his, murmuring reassurances. For a moment it seemed Amaara was ready to collapse into his embrace.

Jealousy flared in Astarion. Driven by an impulse he could not name, he stepped out of the shadows, interrupting them.

Amaara whirled around, surprise flashing across her features before shifting to weariness at the sight of him.

Gale raised an eyebrow. "Did you need something?" Though polite, his tone held an edge.

"Just...passing by," Astarion muttered lamely. In truth he had no reason to intrude.

With a resigned sigh, Amaara turned back to Gale. "I should rest. Please do consider what I said." She left them with an inscrutable glance at Astarion.

In the uneasy silence, Astarion swallowed his pride. "How do you do it?" he asked Gale grudgingly. "Get her to...be so at ease around you?"

Astarion's question was met with stony silence. Gale's eyes bored into him, jaw set sternly.

When it was clear Astarion expected a response, Gale let out an irritated sigh. "Why should I help you worm your way back into her good graces?"

Astarion bristled at the hostility. "I merely thought you might...offer some insight," he muttered, "after last time we talked."

"My insight tells me to let you reap the consequences of your vile behavior," Gale snapped.

But seeing Astarion's crestfallen expression, his rigid posture softened slightly.

"However...Amaara would wish me to take the high road." He pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. "I treat her with the same empathy she offers me - with kindness, respect, and honest counsel." 

Gale's gaze became thoughtful. "Lae'zel gives her the unguarded companionship she shows no one else. Karlach offers easy friendship. Shadowheart provides healing and care." Gesturing around the camp, Gale asked pointedly, "So what do you give in return for her compassion and devotion?"

The question rang in Astarion's mind as Gale left him alone with his thoughts. What could he possibly provide this mage who had treated him with such tenderness and love?

The others gave their best selves to Amaara. But he had offered only manipulation. For the first time, he wondered if becoming someone worthy of care was possible, or if his soul was too poisoned by cruelty. Perhaps if he dared to open himself to sincerity, he might find some fragment of goodness to share. But it would require relinquishing all control. A daunting prospect.

Like a dog rolling over and exposing its soft underbelly in a desperate plea for affection.

And in that moment, he realized that he was willing to do just that. He was willing to roll over and expose his own vulnerabilities, to show the parts of himself that he had kept hidden for so long.

Because he knew, deep down, he would do anything to have her. To have her genuine affection, to be worthy of her care. He wanted to be more than a manipulator, more than a predator. He wanted to be someone who could love and be loved in return.

Astarion mustered the courage to approach Amaara. But this time, his presence didn't elicit the warm smile and adoring gaze that had once been his reward. Instead, he was met with a tension that radiated from her very being. Her stance was poised and alert, legs positioned for stability, fingers flexing almost imperceptibly as if eager to close around the grip of her staff. He could practically hear the gears of her mind turning, calculating, assessing.

It was the battle stance he had stood beside countless times. But now, it seemed directed at him. He had become the source of her wariness.

Astarion's heart sank as he realized the depth of the chasm he created between them. The connection they had once shared had been replaced with caution and defensiveness. He was no longer the recipient of her trust and affection; He is entirely unsure if this could be remedied, but he had to try.

"Do you have a moment? I think we need to talk," Astarion's voice trembled with anxiety, his vulnerability exposed in the slight quiver of his words.

Amaara paused, She could sense the unease radiating from him and couldn't help but feel a twinge of concern. Her posture relaxed as she questioned, "Are you alright?"

A nervous laugh escaped Astarion as he shifted uncomfortably. Bracing himself for what was to come, he began his confession, "Oh yes, I'm fine. I just...feel awful." His gaze met hers, a mixture of apprehension and sincerity. "Look, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan - seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you'd never oppose me." He chuckled nervously, a self-deprecating edge to his amusement. "It was easy, instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do was not fall for you...which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart."

Before he could gauge her reaction and say more, Amaara's voice cut through, laced with anger and hurt, "That's quite enough!" Her eyes opened wide as she regarded him. "What is this, more of your theatricals? I'm not blind. Last time we were intimate, I sensed your disgust and loathing. I now understand why you see me as your leash, you hated the fact that you couldn't fully control me! Fall for me? Truly?" She shook her head, her frustration evident. "What is it that you wish to accomplish with these lies?"

Astarion’s eye widened. He had been so overconfident in his "skills" that he had completely overlooked how insightful Amaara could be. He scrambled to explain himself, to lay bare his wounds and scars as he had intended. "No, wait, Amaara, let me explain! Being close to someone - any kind of intimacy - was something I performed to lure people back for...him." He paused, his gaze filled with the weight of his past, "Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels...tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing. What you perceived as revulsion was truly my own self-hatred."

He closed his eyes, "I don't know how else to be with someone. No matter how much I'd like to."

Amaara's scholarly mind processed this newfound insight. Understanding flickered across her features, followed by a tinge of embarrassment. She had never been adept at the matters of the heart, but honesty had always been a principle she held dear. If she had spoken up, voiced her doubts, this misunderstanding might have been avoided.

But their problem was more than that, wasn't it? She lowered her voice, "So much for my prided intellect - you thoroughly used me from the start. Our late night conversations, those tender words, my first night...none were real. I must have been very entertaining."

Amaara's blunt words hung in the air like a verdict. Panic began to claw at Astarion as he gazed into Amaara's eyes. There were no tears, no fiery anger, just a calm and piercing gaze that seemed to lay bare every deception, every manipulation he had woven into their tangled web of emotions. He’d have preferred for her to shoot another magic missile at his gut.

Astarion knew he had to tread carefully now, choose his words with utmost precision, or risk losing her forever. Instinctively, he turned to his silver tongue, the very tool that had ensnared her heart in the first place. It would be so easy to deny her accusations, to profess his undying love and devotion, but deep down, he understood that if he uttered those words now, she would turn and walk away.

He scrambled for the right words, some way to undo the damage. But without his seductive façade, he was stripped bare. How could he articulate something so unfamiliar as real affection? Romance had only ever been a gambit, passion a parody.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to blunt honesty. "Amaara," he began, his voice softer, stripped of its usual veneer of charm and guile, "I won't insult you by denying the truth. For centuries I was but a means to an end, and I would treat everyone as tools, you included.”

"But the more time we spent together, the more I found myself caring, though I didn't understand it. I was such an idiot. So caught up in familiar habits I couldn't see the truth.”

"I know I don't deserve your trust," he confessed. "But I swear, it stopped being a ruse long ago. What we shared meant everything to me. For centuries I existed only to serve my old master's thirst, and I had nothing to call my own. But then I had you. For the first time, I had something just for myself. Someone who saw me as a person, not a tool or monster. I tried to bend your will in my favor…merely a pathetic way to gain reassurance that you cared about me. The truth is...you terrify me."

Amaara's eyes widened in surprise. "I terrify you?" she asked incredulously. "Why? Have I ever given you cause to fear me?"

Astarion gave a shaky laugh, raking a hand through his hair. "I know, it's madness. The brilliant, compassionate woman who tended my heart with such care somehow became a threat in my mind.” His voice grew fervent. "Because you had such power over me, power to hurt me like no blade ever could. It reminded me of Cazador's control, and it terrified me. The more you gave, the more I cared, the more terrified I became. I handled it wretchedly. The venomous words I spewed your way originated from fear. Fear that you were too good to be true, that the vulnerability I felt around you would be my ruin."

Astarion's voice trembled with emotion. “So I tried to manipulate you, stoke your physical desire to secure your lust, use your body for my own reassurance and gain an illusion of control. I told myself that if I could make you want me carnally, you would never leave."

Astarion's confession left Amaara reeling. She struggled to comprehend the logic behind his words.

"I offered you my heart, yet you treated it like dust," she said, bewildered and hurt. "After everything I did to get through to you, you thought I was no different than Cazador?” The absurdity of this made her realize the extent of the trauma that had corroded Astarion, her tone softened,” My heart saw someone worthy of care, but you chose to see a master to appease. It never occurred to you that I wanted you for you?"

Astarion looked down, the self-loathing in his eyes palpable, "I couldn't fathom why anyone would want me, as I am, for anything but use. And you are not just anyone. You...you're incredible. Why would someone like you care for someone like me? I was certain you'd turn cruel if I lost my grip.”

Amaara folded her arm, “I see. You didn’t trust me. You know, what you are saying is really not helping your case.”

Astarion realized how horrible this all sounded, but it’s the painful truth. He lowered his head, “Trusting another goes against every instinct I have. I betrayed your trust, sneered at the depth of our connection, and inflicted pain upon you out of fear and confusion." His voice trembled with sincerity. "I... I am truly sorry."

He looked up at her eyes again, “I may have started with my usual tricks, and it took forever for me to realize that I can trust you, that what I felt for you was real. But when I finally realized it, you cannot know how profound that was."

As he peered into her steady gaze, he found no immediate forgiveness there, only a quiet understanding. Closing his eyes, his heart sank. Desperation slowly gave way to acceptance. "You cannot know how profound that was." he repeated, voice thick with emotion, "I will always treasure the feeling. It's foolish to think I can win your forgiveness. I suppose it is for the best. I don’t have anything to offer you, only more burden to share."

Despite the complexity of her emotions, Amaara found herself compelled to offer comfort, even if it was just as a friend, as a companion. She spoke gently, her words carrying a sincerity that surprised even her, "I care about you. Deeply."

Astarion's shoulders slumped, her continued rejection weighing heavily on his mind. He was trapped in a cycle of self-doubt and uncertainty. He sensed her response was out of sympathy rather than genuine affection, and he couldn't help but feel dejected. "Really?" he asked, his voice low, as if he couldn't quite fathom that someone might truly care for him.

Amaara looked at his pained expression. Her own anger and frustration faded. Sune preserve her! she could never resist him when he acted like this! How did she get herself into this mess? Sure it hadn't been a meaningful connection from the very start; no, it was something far more superficial. Amaara’s mother was a cleric of Sune, so she was influenced by Sune's teaching at a young age. Astarion's beauty called to be loved. His palpable loneliness begged for companionship. Then there was his undeniable skill in the arts of passion, as if he had been taught by Lady Firehair herself. She was captivated after denying herself such pleasure for years. To her, it was as though their connection was fated, meant to be explored and experienced.

Right at this moment, when the ugly truth of his manipulation had come to light, when he had revealed his deceitful and self-serving nature to the world, any true follower of Sune would have walked away without hesitation. But for Amaara, it was an impossible feat.

Deep within her, a resilient fire burned, a fire inherited from her resolute father who despised fickleness in all its forms. Stubbornly, she clung to the belief that beneath Astarion's cruel façade, beyond the layers of deception, there still existed a lonely, beautiful soul yearning for understanding. Her heart, loyal to a fault, refused to let go. 

Standing in front of Astarion, Amaara knew clearly - it was no longer a matter of doctrine or stubbornness. It had transcended such excuses long ago. She loved him with a depth that defied reason, a love that outshone every flaw and failing.

She recognized that his manipulations stemmed from deep wounds no one should have to endure. She should never judge him by conventional standards.

The scholarly part of Amaara yearned to dive into books on the illness of the hearts, to understand and help heal his scars. But she knew intuitively that Astarion required more than just academic insight - he needed patience, care, and light on his darkest days.

She was weary of burdens already, but she would find strength to bear his too. The horrific future she had glimpsed in her nightmare, where Astarion had lost himself and emerged as a monster, still haunted her. That chilling vision fueled her conviction to guide him down the path of healing, even when he struggled against it.

There would be times she needed respite. Times his volatility left her shaken. But she would return with warmth, not judgment. His faults were not flaws of character, but corrosions of trauma. She hoped to slowly dissolve the hurt that led him astray. 

With emotions overflowing, yet mind resolved, Amaara took a trembling step toward her damaged love.

She sensed the surprise and uncertainty as she embraced him. His arms hesitated before slowly wrapping around her, returning the embrace. They held onto each other, a mixture of comfort and understanding passing between them in that simple touch. He looked down at her, a genuine smile forming on his lips, the tension from before replaced with a sense of ease.

"You are full of surprises," he remarked, his voice filled with fondness. In that embrace, he could feel the familiar warmth of her affection for him, a balm to the doubts that had plagued him.

"Honestly, I have no idea what we are doing. Or what comes next," he confessed, his gaze meeting hers with a mixture of vulnerability and hope. He extended his hand towards her, his palm upturned, a silent invitation. Amaara's hand found its place in his, and he enveloped her hand with both of his own. "But I know this… this is nice," he said softly, his voice carrying a sincerity that resonated deep within both of them.