Angst is my specialty but I can also write smut, fluff, etc!
Requests are open !! ↑
Masterlist Below !! ↓
Follow my socials !!
Wattpad : @kazumiq
↑
@ WONDERMILKA 2023 — all rights reserved. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or share my work on other platforms without permission. reblogs are welcome. thank you.
This is nearly 8k of fluff, some mild angst mixed in with a happy ending. All the characters in this show exist in this fic and are present, but this is x reader cuz I love Kit and I write what I want lmaoooo. Hope the two people who might read this will enjoy! @pixelcafe-network
Kit was always Catherine’s; you never even imagined there was a version of Kit that wasn’t Catherine’s until you met the Kit that was Lili’s. You’d known him since you were both children, shared more passions than he did with Catherine, shared more secrets than he did with Lili, and yet, you always knew that there was no version of Kit that existed for you and only you. You never even kid yourself into thinking there was. But…sometimes, you imagined the Kit that would go horseback riding with you when there was energy needing to be expended, the Kit that would run to you when your father was sick and there were tears needing to be shed, would one day turn into a Kit whose eyes lingered on you for a second too long, whose heart beat for you just a second too fast, who met you in his dreams for as long as he could before he opened his eyes to reality. Because you were always the version of you that loved him so deeply and desperately.
If you were honest with yourself -something you had trained yourself never to be- you’d loved him since the moment you met. Since the moment you were introduced to Catherine and Kit at a social function. Since the moment you noticed his eyes drifting to a vase filled with exotic flowers that your mother had offered as a gift to the host. Since the moment you whispered in his ear when his fiancee wasn’t looking, “They’re pretty, aren’t they? I heard that just being around one is enough to make any sickness all better.” His eyes had widened, and though his feet stayed planted on the ground, hand still curled into his mother’s, you had known then that he was a boy filled with curiosity and awe. When the adults were busy exchanging pleasantries, you had climbed onto the table on which the vase sat as its centerpiece, and stolen the smallest of flowers, the flower that nobody would notice missing from its arrangement, and then rushed back to Kit’s side, eager to slip the stem into his open hand. “Are you sick? Your eyes got really big when I said it makes anybody feel better. I hope this helps.” Kit had taken a moment to admire each petal lovingly, fingers twitching as he resisted the urge to pull out his sketchbook. But then, to your surprise, he tugged on his mother’s dress, and when she bent down, he tucked the flower behind her ear instead. That was when you knew, for you, it would always be him. The boy who sacrificed an object of wonder, of value, of rarity, for a moment’s peace, for a mother’s smile, for a heartfelt wish. And it was your wish to be by his side ever since.
You had your first rude awakening after his mother died. The adults had whispered, as adults tend to do, about the fate of the Churches. About who would take on what role, about how the sons would live up to their mother’s example, about how their youngest son, in particular, was sure to disappoint. He had a tendency to run off on his own, to spend more time with the flowers and the animals than people. He never showed up properly dressed. He always had his shoes or his hair or his tie undone. He barely made eye contact with anyone at all let alone greet them with the dignity that someone of their status was owed. He doodled in his textbooks, doodled on walls, he even doodled on himself when he had no other surface available. How had a woman of such grace and elegance given birth to such a wild creature? He didn’t even cry at his own mother’s funeral. Didn’t utter a sound. What a strange child, they said.
It was then that you decided to run away with him. You took his hand, not caring who was watching, and let your feet carry themselves to the edge of his estate. Only when you were properly lost in the forest did he finally cry. You had rushed to wipe his tears away, swearing to him repeatedly that you’d find the way out if it killed you, only to realize he wasn’t crying about being lost. You let him soak your dress with tears, holding him until the sun started to sink in the sky. When the two of you finally made your way back to the main house, you got an earful from your parents about knowing your place. You apologized until your voice went hoarse. It didn’t matter that you had finally managed to get him to crack a smile when you taught him how to skip rocks in the river that day, it didn’t matter that you stuffed yourselves so silly on berries and mushrooms that you laughed to each other about your protruding bellies. Nothing mattered except for the fact that it should have been Catherine at his side.
Every day after that was a calculation. How loud could you laugh at Kit’s jokes before it became inappropriate? How long could your gaze hold his from across a room? How many dances should he have with Catherine before you were allowed to ask for one of your own? How far were you allowed to follow him?
When he left for London, you were conflicted. Part of you was happy he’d found a way to escape from that stifling life of his, even if it was only for a few years. Part of you wished to escape with him. To plop down at a desk beside him, get lost in a completely different world together, and never look back. It was for that reason that you made your excuses to visit London as often as was socially acceptable. You’d meet him for lunch, for a walk, for whatever he had the time for, for whatever he had the energy for. You’d snoop through his sketchbook, he’d challenge you to add to a page, and then he’d laugh at your lame attempt to draw his portrait. He’d ask if you were still writing, you’d give him a look that said your parents still disapproved, and then he’d ask you to write him something, reading over your shoulder even when you attempted to shoo him away until you’d finished. And then he’d praise you, like he always did, and it never failed to make your heart soar into the sky. Sometimes you’d go to a museum together; you always tried to pretend you were more interested in the art than him, but your eyes always strayed to his, to the way he gazed in awe at every piece, no matter how many times he’d seen them. But, even then, on his best days, on his worst days, he remained Catherine’s. No amount of distance between you and the aristocracy could change the fact that he was destined to be hers, and you were destined to be married off to the next best suitor.
You thought you had finally made your peace with it. That is, until you met Lili.
You met her artwork first, and knew you were screwed. To you, all she’d painted was a blue sky. Something you thought anyone could do. But to Kit, it was his whole world. You’d never seen his eyes so mesmerized, in all the years you’d known him. You always thought he was Catherine’s until he was Lili’s. You knew he wasn’t particularly fond of his engagement to Catherine but he had never been all too vocal about dismantling it either, so you thought that eventually he’d succumb to his fate. Turned out fate had a brush and was painting another path for him.
You met Lili at a bar. You’d already been to this bar a few times with Kit when he’d previously introduced you to Peter and Joffrey, but you were surprised to find that the artist of the blue sky he was so completely enamored with was in attendance this time. You wanted to question her, to find out exactly how close she was to him and what she felt for him. It didn’t take much effort on your part. She must’ve been nervous, and she was a lightweight. Within a couple drinks, she was telling you everything you would’ve wanted to know and more. But it only served to sink your spirits. She was completely ordinary. She had no thoughts of him whatsoever. And that was the most dangerous thing about her. She came with no hidden devices or motives; she came equipped with only a passion similar to his, and it was enough to unravel your entire decade of knowing him.
For once in your life, you were glad to have been ill during the ball that had gotten Catherine so completely worked up. You might not have recovered had you been present to see the way he’d looked at Lili when she’d donned the Silver Lily. You had never felt particularly close to Catherine, seeing as how you’d both been vying for the same person your entire lives, but as she described that night’s events to you, and you watched the cracks in her usually-flawless composure began to form, you couldn’t help but see her as a reflection of all the parts that you had worked so hard to hide yourself. Who was this woman who had come brewing a storm and upending everything you thought you knew? At least, with Catherine, if he married her, you knew his heart would never belong to her. His heart had never belonged to anyone but art. But here Lili was, a literal embodiment of all things artistic and whimsical and beautiful; of course he couldn’t help but fall in love. It terrified you to no end.
Even when his father died and you were there to console him through yet another death, you couldn’t help but wonder if it should have been Lili at his side. If Lili would’ve banished the look on his face, the sadness from his sagging shoulders. If Lili would’ve been a lifeline when all you were was an anchor.
But there was nothing like war to make your worries feel juvenile. All it took was one news article for you to understand that you had never truly known fear until this very moment. In the past, your biggest concern was Kit’s future. Who he’d end up with. If he’d take off running, travel the world, become a painter. If he’d stay home and uphold his family’s name. If he’d always be the Kit you knew, or if he’d become someone else entirely. Now, you saw there was a chance he might not have a future at all. You might not have one. You might not live until sunrise. The fear you’d felt in the past was a pinprick; the fear you felt now was a poison, seeping into your veins, slowly corroding away at the life you once knew, at the love you held dear. The newspaper had barely fallen from your hands, before you were rushing out the door.
Kit. Was he okay? Had he heard?
Lili. Shin. Did their country know? How would their country respond?
Kit. Where was he now? What was the fastest way to him?
Peter. Joffrey. Dorothy. Why, why, why? Why would this happen at such a pivotal point in their lives? They were so close to graduating. Would they be safe? They didn’t have the resources that you and Kit did.
Kit. Kit. Kit.
WHERE was he? HOW could you protect him? HOW could you be of use to him? WHY was he so far away? WHY hadn’t you simply moved to London, ignored everyone’s remarks, and stayed by his side? WHY hadn’t you told him how you felt? WHY was there suddenly so little time left?
You had never much liked being an aristocrat. Much like Kit, you found it restricting. If it wasn’t for societal rules, you would’ve had him in a church already. If it wasn’t for societal rules, your whole past and future might’ve looked different. But, now, as you desperately inquired on Kit’s whereabouts, you found that being a high ranking member of society had one significant upside. You were privy to information that other classes weren’t. And that was how you discovered that Kit had volunteered himself as a diplomatic assistant.
Your suitcase was packed before you even recalled clicking it shut. Your pen was moving before you even remembered grabbing it. You’d always loved writing, always wanted to be a writer. You just never thought writing would be of use to you the way it was now. You wrote the entire way to Drunnheim Hall. Richard was the only one home, but that was fine. Kit might’ve protested had he heard you were here. Richard was all you needed. You presented him with the series of letters you’d written to prove your value as a diplomatic assistant. And then, before he’d even read them, you presented him with the letters to give to your parents to tell them of your plans once Richard inevitably approved. He lectured you thoroughly on your brash behavior that was unbecoming of a lady, and the dangers you might face, dangers you’d never even dreamed of, growing up as sheltered as you had. But, from the moment you met Kit, you’d already been prepared to walk through fire and water for him. Today would be no different.
“Lord Richard- no, Richard.”
He raised an eyebrow at you, but you continued regardless. “I understand that with your father gone, you are needed here more than ever, so sending Kit alone is your only option, but I’m sure that even as stubborn and as strict as you are, you do not wish for your only brother to potentially find his demise at sea or in some unknown country without so much as a familiar face at his side.”
“He will have attendants-”
“He will have no one to truly lean on. He has never shouldered a burden like this before; please allow me to shoulder it with him.”
“You have never shouldered a burden like this either. And why would you? He is bound by a sense of duty, you are not. You should not even know about this war. You should be at home, with your pretty dresses, and your fancy teacups, and leave this to us. I cannot understand why you would willingly put your life at risk like this.”
“Richard, I refuse to utter the words to you before I have yet the courage to confess them to Kit, but you should know that I am willing to crawl through Hell and back for your brother, pretty dress or not. You talk about a sense of duty? I have a duty to my heart and that should be reason enough. If Amelia were going in Kit’s place, and I were you, would you not also be begging me to allow you to run to her side?”
Richard was silent for a moment, eyes traveling down the papers you’d given him. In truth, you hadn’t needed to convince him. The moment you’d barged through his doors, with that look in your eyes, he’d already known what you’d do for Kit. As prim and proper as Catherine was, you’d worked equally as hard to become a remarkable member of high society. You wouldn’t drop titles for nothing. You wouldn’t abandon a life of luxury, no matter how stifling it was, if it wasn’t for something of more value. Of the most value. In hindsight, Richard should’ve seen how you felt from the beginning. If you weren’t literally in wartime, Richard might’ve scolded you for your audacity. But Catherine was a proper lady. Even if she had a talent for diplomacy, which she did not, and even if she had the courage that you did, which she did not, her circumstances were more restrictive than yours. She was the only daughter of one of the most high ranking families in all of England. She could not simply board a boat and leave with Kit to god knows where. And as much sway as Lili had with Kit, she had nothing else. No useful skills for such a situation, no family pull to convince him to let her go. As far as he knew, she wasn’t even aware Kit was leaving. But here you were, knocking on his doorstep (more like banging down his door), and you had a knack for words, and you were well versed in politics. And you were one of many daughters from your household; you could be spared. And you were begging him -demanding him- to let you go. To let you save his brother from solitude. Of course, his duty told him he could not sacrifice the lives of any of his people just to ensure his brother had a moment’s company, but as hard as he’d tried, he knew he’d never been the big brother that Kit needed him to be. Maybe now was when he could start.
“Get in your car.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Richard, I’m not done tal-”
“Yes, you are. Get in your car. His boat leaves in a couple hours. And when you get to the pier, you better run like you mean it.”
Tears began to pool in your eyes. “Thank you, Richard- I mean, Lord Richard.”
He scoffed lightly, but a smile tugged at the edges of his lips. “It’s a little late for titles now, don’t you think?” He tossed you his family ring. “When you get aboard, show them this, tell them I sent you.”
You were already halfway to the door. “I understand. Thank you again.”
“When we meet again, I hope it will be to toast peace.”
Your thoughts and feelings were in such a jumble that you barely recalled your car parking, let alone you stumbling out of it. And then, suddenly, you were at the pier, running. You ran as if your life depended upon it, because it did. Your entire life, your entire world, was waiting aboard a boat, ready to set sail, and you’d be damned if you let the boat leave without you. As you ran, you wondered if Catherine and Lili had the same idea as you. If, at this very moment, they were also hoping they might sprout wings to carry themselves to him, instead of begging their legs to move faster. Catherine had always been more poised than you, more graceful. Lili had always been more creative than you, more free spirited. But, at this moment, you swore you loved Kit the most and that was all that mattered. Screw being the prettiest girl in the room. Screw being the most well mannered. Screw being the most artistic. None of it mattered if you weren’t the girl by his side when he needed it most. So you would get to the boat. And you would get to it before them. You would get to it before he even had the time to open his mouth in protest of your reckless behavior. You would get to it because you loved him more than you loved the comfort of your lungs, or the comfort of your bed, or the comfort of your own life. If you had two broken legs and a collapsing windpipe, you’d still make it onto the goddamn boat.
You collapsed on the deck, gasping out your explanation to the deckhand in between panted breaths, waving the ring Richard had given you as proof.
Kit rushed to your side in an instant. “You idiot! What the hell are you doing here??”
You didn’t answer him. Your chest heaved so much, you were worried you’d rock the boat.
He sighed, exasperated, and asked the deckhand to help him carry you to a spare room below deck. As you were about to reach the stairs, you heard Lili scream his name from the pier. You almost wanted to laugh. So she had the same idea as you after all. You wondered if she’d fling herself aboard. Then you could both collapse below deck together.
You waved him off to go see what she was saying. You leaned against a wall to catch your breath. The jealous part of you knew that you should’ve pulled him downstairs with you the second you heard her voice. You could have insisted you were too weak without his support. Maybe you could’ve even convinced him to stay by your side. But you loved him too much to be selfish. The woman he loved was calling for him. The least you could do was let him go to her. After all, the two of you might not return. Hell, the three of you might not return if she decided to jump aboard.
Letting your curiosity get the better of you, you trudged forward slightly, craning your neck to hear what she was saying. You were shocked to find that she was not, in fact, demanding to board the vessel. She was calling him an idiot. Multiple times. Screaming it, actually. You couldn’t exactly blame her; if you’d had a functioning lung left, you might’ve lectured him too. But the only thought you’d had in your mind, the only thought you’d felt was logical at the time, was to get on the damn boat with him. It was only natural when you loved him so. Even when the boat began moving, you still expected her, as your rival in love, to find her way on. At the very least, you expected her to yell that she loved him. He might have been sailing to his death. There was no way she would let her last words to him be filled with fury.
It wasn’t until the boat pulled out onto open water that you realized she hadn’t confessed a damn thing. And he was shaking. Ignoring your aching limbs, you reached out to him and grabbed his arm. He seemed to remember that you had just collapsed only moments ago and instinctively reached out to steady you, his brow creasing with worry.
“What the hell are you even doing on this boat?” He demanded.
You wanted to say, “That should be my line.” You wanted to scold him too. For not telling you. For not telling anyone. For making this decision alone. For being stubborn. For being stupid. For sheltering things alone like he always did. But Lili had already done that. And, from the sounds of it, this wasn’t the first time she’d done so. And it wouldn’t do a damn thing to change his mind, not when he was like this. There was no point in you saying it too.
So you smiled. “I’m giving you some company, of course.”
He scoffed. “Company? Are you crazy, woman? Do you even realize where we are headed?”
You tapped your chin in thought. “Tropical vacation, maybe?”
He turned to the deckhand. “Turn this boat around, we’re dropping her off.”
Before you could complain, the deckhand spoke up. “Actually, my lord, she’s here for the same reason as you.”
Looking smug, you held up Richard’s ring. “Looks like you’re stuck with me, Chrissie.”
His nose wrinkled up. “You know I hate when you call me that.”
“And you know I love when you scrunch up your face like that, just like when we were kids,” You teased.
He huffed. “I will drop you. I’m not joking.”
“You won’t-”
The second Kit let go, your knees buckled and the world started spinning.
“Damnit! You seriously did a number on yourself, you idiot.” His arms found their way around you again, pulling you against him before you hit the ground. “Why the hell did you run so hard??”
“You…would’ve left…without me.” You groaned out.
“Damn right. This is no place for you.” He muttered.
You flicked his forehead. “My place is wherever you are.”
He shook his head in disbelief, but his eyes softened. He hooked an arm underneath you and began carrying you to the lower level. “Hold tight, or I will drop you.”
“You already dropped me, jerk.”
“I’ll drop you again.”
Once you got below deck, the deckhand went in search of a spare room for you only to come up empty. They hadn’t planned for a last minute addition. Whatever spare rooms they’d had, they used to stock up with supplies for the long journey ahead.
Kit cursed under his breath. “This is why you have to think before you rush ahead.”
“I was thinking about you, stupid.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have. I would’ve been fine.”
“No, you would not have. Do you think I don’t know you well enough by now, Kit? You don’t know the first thing about diplomacy.”
He glared at you. “I took the same damn classes as you-”
“Yeah, and who was always better at them? Me. Admit it, you’re just here because you feel bad for Richard and you wanted to lighten his load. That’s all well and good, but it doesn’t mean you’re not scared shitless. You hate public speaking. You hate crowds. You hate sweet talking people. You hate being Lord Christopher.”
“Regardless, I am a lord and it is my duty-”
“And I’m a lady and it’s my duty.”
“No, a lady should be at home, safe and sound, right now.”
“We’re at war. Nowhere is safe.”
“Anywhere is safer than being on a ship that’s sailing right in the middle of it!”
You huff. “Will you just shut up, and say you’re really just worried because you care about me but you’re actually glad that I’m here?”
His eyes narrowed. “I’d rather you not be here. I don’t understand why the hell you’d choose to be here.”
You pulled away from him, finally tired of his complaints. “Because I love you, you thick-skulled, stubborn-headed, jack-assed, idiot!”
He froze in place.
You didn’t wait to see his reaction; you stormed off, muttering to yourself that you’d just sleep in a storage room.
“Wait…” Kit murmured quietly. Panic began seizing through his veins but he couldn’t bring his legs to move. “Please, wait…”
But you were already gone.
The moment you found a solid surface, regardless of the fact that it was just a supply crate, you hunkered down, and started writing. Writing was all you could do when you were in a mood like this. At first, you wrote diplomatic letters, trying to make use of your time. But then, eventually, you started writing anything and everything under the sun. Stories that would make Kit laugh. Stories that would make Kit smile. Stories that would make Kit blush. At some point, you passed out on top of your papers. You were so deep in sleep, you didn’t even hear the door open.
When you woke up, you were in a bed, and Kit was sleeping on the floor. You scrambled to wake him up.
“What the hell are you doing on the floor??” You hissed in disbelief.
He rubbed his eyes, groaning. “What’s it look like I’m doing? Sleeping.”
“Yeah, I know that, idiot! But why on the floor??”
“You’re in my bed.”
“I can see that!! Why aren’t you in it, though??”
For the first time today, he took a moment to truly look at you. His silvery blue eyes pierced yours as he gazed at you, deep in thought. You wanted to kiss him.
You looked away instead. “Why are you staring?”
“Do you want me to sleep beside you?”
Your cheeks burned with every shade of crimson. “I’ll just sleep on the floor!”
He turned back to curl up in his sleeping spot. “No, thanks. I’d rather you be comfortable.”
“Fine, fine! Then get in the damn bed with me!” You exclaimed, tugging at his shirt before he could get comfortable (not that you really thought he could be that comfortable on the floor).
He settled onto one side of the bed and you felt the weight of the mattress shift beneath you. You inched towards the edge of your side. This was insanely improper, even for you. You felt like sinking so deeply into the mattress that it just swallowed you whole. Anything to avoid accidentally brushing up against him. In his sleeping attire.
“The second the boat rocks, you’re going to fall off the bed.” He mused matter of factly.
“Will not.” You grumbled to yourself, crossing your arms.
“You will too.”
“Will not.”
He reached over and tugged you to him. “Stubborn girl.”
“Kit!” You hit him with your pillow.
Beneath your pillow, he’d started to laugh.
You were mortified. “What? What on earth is so funny?” You demanded, flames roaring in your cheeks.
He pulled the pillow away from his face to smile at you mirthfully. “It reminds me of when we were kids and we’d break into the chocolate stash, and then pass out together when we ate too much.” He chuckled.
You bit your lip.
“Go on, you can laugh. It was funny.” He nudged you with his elbow.
You snorted and plopped down beside him. “Whatever, Kit. You remember the strangest things.”
He propped himself up on his side to get a better look at you, and your eyes suddenly found the ceiling.
“I know you remember it too, because you remember everything.”
“I do not.” You grumbled under your breath.
He huffed, amused. “How many times are we going to argue today? I’ll have to start keeping count.”
You tensed up. “Sorry. I don’t want to argue.”
“Me either.”
You grew quiet.
“Hey. About earlier. What you said-”
“I’m tired, okay? We don’t have to talk about it now. Let’s just… talk about it later, yeah?” You knew your argument was weak, but you’d never get to sleep if you had to listen to his rejection. You were sure, as it stood now, the only person he saw was Lili. You hadn’t intended for him to return your feelings when you had confessed. You hadn’t intended to confess at all. But now that you had confessed, all you wanted was to let it sit in the air and stay in the air. At least, in the air, it didn’t have to come crashing down.
He didn’t respond, and for a moment, you thought he might have fallen asleep. And then, quietly, he murmured, “Okay. Goodnight.”
“...Goodnight.”
The next day, you made sure to leave before he woke up and come back after he’d already fallen asleep. The day after that was the same. After the third day of being avoided, Kit decided to follow you to see what it was that you were doing that took an entire day. He was surprised to find you’d already memorized the names of most of the crew, and had been helping out where you could. Sometimes, you were cleaning, sometimes, you were cooking. Today, you’d been asked to help teach writing skills to some of the less educated staff.
Kit watched from the doorway, eyes following the path of your pen, mesmerized. He’d always loved not just reading what you wrote, but watching how you wrote. You wrote so smoothly and elegantly that it was like its own artform. If he had to pick out your handwriting from a mound of letters, he’d know your penmanship anywhere. Listening to the crewmates remark to each other about your skill only made him feel all the more prideful on your behalf.
“If you think her writing is pretty, you should hear her stories,” He declared to the class suddenly, pulling out papers from his pocket, which you recognized as the stories you’d begun penning aboard the ship. “This one’s funny-”
“Kit!” You snatched the papers from his hands in a hurry.
“What? I wasn’t joking. I really do like them.”
You sighed, “I know you do.”
“So, what’s the issue? They need good learning material, you have good learning material.” He held out his hand to recover the papers you’d stolen from him.
The expectant, hopeful eyes of your students made your shoulders sag in defeat and you surrendered your stories to Kit. To your surprise, he began reading them aloud and even encouraged people to chime in. It was like a dream of yours come true, to have the love of your life showering your works with love, and to have your works read aloud and admired. Even if they were just silly, short stories, it brought you joy to bring them joy.
Once they had filed out the door, and it was just you and Kit, you made sure to thank him.
“What’s there to thank? It was your work that deserved the praise. I told you I wasn’t just flattering you.”
“I know. I’m still shocked you read it out loud though. You don’t like public speaking.”
“You said that before.” He shrugged. “I guess I figured I should get practice in before we arrive.”
Before your nerve could leave you, you blurted out, “I like having you read my stories. It sounds better coming from you.”
He cracked a smile. “It’s only because I know the emotions you intended to convey.”
“A good writer should ensure everyone understands the emotions they wish to convey.”
“A writer is like an artist. You can make a masterpiece, and some will understand it, and some won’t. It’s okay. The people who can appreciate it will cherish it long after they’ve finished reading.”
You blinked. You hadn’t expected him to say something so profound. “You think writing is like art? That must be high praise, coming from a genius artist like yourself.”
“I think if writing is an art, you’re my favorite artist.”
Your heart tripped on its own beat. You knew he meant every word that he said. That was one of the things you loved about Kit. He was always genuine, always honest, always true to himself. If he said you wrote well, then you wrote well. If he said you were his favorite, then you were his favorite. He didn’t feel the need to coat his words in sugar to make them easier to swallow. He didn’t feel the need to break himself down to fit in a box. He simply said what he said, liked what he liked.
That must be so freeing, you thought to yourself. To be able to say what you feel and mean what you say. If you were like him, you’d have told him you loved him a decade ago. You’d have told him how every time he encouraged you to write, you felt like escape from the life of a house wife might be just around the corner. You’d have told him how every moment you’d spent with him, you’d bottled up, like a firefly in a jar, to bring you light when you felt the darkness closing in. You’d have told him how you’d danced with dukes and princes, men from near and far, and not a single soul came even close to reviving you the way he did. But you weren’t him. You were just some girl who’d stowed away on a boat, knowing her love would never be returned, content to merely die by his side if death was what lay in the cards.
“How’s your drawing?” You inquired, eager to change the subject.
He shifted his weight. “I quit. Art was simply a way for me to waste time, anyway.”
You laughed, but the sound was cold, like frost from your lips. “No, it wasn’t. Draw me something.”
He straightened defensively. “I told you, I don’t draw any-”
“That’s a lie; you and I both know it. You love art.”
“I don’t have the time to waste-”
“Christopher Church, you have got nothing but time. We are stuck on a boat, lord knows when we will arrive, so you will draw me something and you will draw it now. It doesn’t have to be a masterpiece; it could be a loaf of bread, for all I care. But don’t you dare tell me that you haven’t got time when you’ve still got breath in your lungs and vitality in your hands, and don’t you dare tell me that art was a waste of time when it was the first thing you ever put your heart into. You can lie to Lili and you can lie to Catherine and you can lie to Peter and Joffrey and Shin and Sakura, but don’t you dare ever lie to me.”
“Bread it is,” He mumbled under his breath, sinking into a nearby chair to pull out the sketchbook you knew was in his pocket all along.
And then, it was just like old times all over again. You’d peer over his shoulder, entranced with his lines and shapes and shading. He drew as if he had the power to command the art to rise from the pages. You could almost smell the loaf he was sketching. And then, when you thought he was finished, he tilted his head in thought and began to draw something beside the bread.
Your brows furrowed. “What’s that? What’re you drawing?”
“It’s your big mouth, gobbling down the bread.”
You tugged on his hair with a huff.
He let out a whine of protest, but he smiled in the end.
Everyday going forward was like this. You’d find yourself immersed in differing activities- you’d write more diplomatic letters, he’d trace the ship’s map as he discussed the route with the captain, you’d clap your hands as the ship’s crew took a break to dance, and he’d stand out on the deck and watch the sun rise and fall. But at some point during every day, you’d make it a point to seek him out and have him draw something for you. And it may have annoyed him at first, but eventually, it became his saving grace. Eventually, he’d search for you to show you what he’d already drawn. He knew it didn’t matter if he’d drawn a seagull or a window; you’d encourage him the way you always did, with that smile you always had, with that tone of voice you saved for him. And he’d do the same for you. He’d tell you to write him a story. A sad one, a happy one. Anything at all. Even if the ship sank and your stories fell to the bottom of the sea, his ghost would dive into its depths and finish reading every last word. He was grateful to you. For filling his days and filling his nights. For filling him with purpose, with joy. For reminding him what wonder and awe were. For keeping him company when he needed it or giving him space when he wanted it. And he’d repay you even to his last breath.
Even once you reached the shore of a new land, though you were just as wary and anxious as he was, in an unfamiliar land with unfamiliar people during unfamiliar times, you stood your ground. You supported his proposals, and encouraged him when his spirits were low. You took over the conversation when he felt his confidence waning, and you brought him back to life when he felt his energy drained. You were his anchor. You always had been.
“You do realize that this country is even more opposed than England is to two unmarried members of the opposite gender being alone in the same room together,” He teased when he saw you slipping into his room.
“Then you’ll be a good boy and not say anything,” You laughed as you approached him. “I just had to bring you these. Can you believe they have them here? I thought I’d die before I ever tasted one again. They’re heavenly.”
He raised an eyebrow at your exaggeration, but promptly agreed with your assessment once you’d shoved the pastry in his mouth. “You should’ve brought another.”
“You’re so greedy! It was bad enough I had to sneak into your room after hours; now you wish I would’ve brought an armful with me?”
He shrugged playfully. “Something to keep in mind for a later date.”
You snorted at him, wiping the sugar from his chin, before waving goodnight. “Sweet dreams, Kit.”
You were his anchor. You always had been. You always would be.
He was never more grateful for that when the ship sank. And he was never more grateful to the gods when you somehow washed up on the same island as him. He had exhausted his limbs nearly to extinction trying to fight the current to get to you when he saw you sink beneath the waves. Despite the pain ripping through his muscles, searing into his every cell, burning itself into blood and bone, it was nothing compared to the agony of possibly never seeing you again. Of never feeling you fall asleep on his shoulder after another night of running through plans. Of never hearing you imitate his brother when you attempted to make him laugh. Of never smelling the scent of your perfume seeping into his clothes when your hugs lingered a little too long.
A mouthful of water or two later and he was waking up on a beach without you by his side.
He almost dove back in. Without a second thought of where you might be, of where he might look, he almost ran right back into the unforgiving waters. And then he heard you cough up a lung a few meters away. He’d never run so fast in his life. He was entirely unaware he even had the capability to move his feet as fast as they’d taken him to you. But he was grateful he had the strength to move at all. If he couldn’t run, he would’ve crawled to you.
“Hey, hey, hey! You’re okay. You’re okay.” He pulled you into his arms, patting your back until you’d expelled all the water that you could. He rocked you as you shuddered your way back to sanity, blinking back salt and shock. “Thank god, you’re okay.” He whispered as he rested his head against your temple.
“C-cold…I’m cold.” You murmured at last.
“Take my jack-”
“It’s wet.” You gave a weak laugh. “Come on. Let’s go find shelter together.”
How two nobles ended up making a fire, you were not sure. Maybe some god somewhere took pity on you both. Or maybe they wanted a good laugh. Either way, you’d found a cave and you’d conjured up some warmth. It was good enough for now. It was good enough to simply have him tightly pressed to you, exchanging heat and comfort and promises to get through this.
Finally, Kit spoke. “I thought you might’ve died.”
You nodded. “I thought I was going to.”
He remained silent for a moment as he rested his head on your shoulder. “I never gave you a response.”
Your brows furrowed. “Response? To what? What you wanted for dinner?”
A hint of a smile poked at his cheeks. “Not that. On the boat. That very first day. When you told me…I never gave you a response.”
Suddenly you didn’t need the fire for warmth any longer. The heat seeping into your cheeks and spilling across your neck and ears was warmth enough. “You, um, you don’t, ah… you don’t have-”
“I should’ve responded sooner.”
“It’s fine, really-”
“Do you still think I’ll reject you?”
You stilled. “We almost died. It’s natural to cling to the first person that you-”
“Then I’ll wait longer. As long as it takes for you to believe it’s not just a near death experience talking.” He declared resoundingly.
You bit your lip.
“But I should’ve told you sooner. In the past, it always felt like enough to simply have you beside me. We didn’t need words. But then I saw you disappear and I couldn’t reach you.”
“I saw you reach for me.”
“I’d always reach for you.”
Your fingers tightened around his shirt.
His thumbs traced circles along your back as he held you close. Then his nose brushed against your ear. “You’re the only thing grounding me. Reminding me who I am, reminding me where home is. You’re my anchor.”
You buried your face against his neck. “Don’t anchors just hold you back?”
He shook his head. “You can take an anchor with you wherever you go, you know. But anchors let you know where to stop and rest, where to enjoy the scenery. Anchors weather the storm.”
“Maybe you should be the writer-”
“I love you.”
Your heart clanged against your chest, like bells in a church. “I thought you were going to wait longer to tell me.”
“I’ve waited enough.”
You clenched his shirt tighter. “You idiot, Kit Church. I… I love you-”
His lips found yours like a key in a lock. With every press deeper, he unraveled all the parts of you that you thought you had to hide. All the stolen glances, all the lingering touches, all the memorized words. His warmth seeped into your very being until time itself was lost to the feeling of his lips against yours, to the feeling of his hands cradling your face, to the feeling of his heart beating to the rhythm of yours. He kissed you like you’d been the flower to save him from his ailment, all those years ago. He kissed you like he’d turn one flower into gardens. He kissed you like he was always and would always be the version of himself that belonged to you and only you.
You pulled away and his eyes searched yours curiously. You caressed his cheek encouragingly. “I know it’s not much, but I felt it might be the right time to give you this. Maybe it can be a good luck charm of ours. A promise to fulfill once we make it back home.” You took the ring off your pointer finger that had been given to you from his brother (that you were honestly surprised had endured the typhoon with you), and slid it onto his ring finger.
His eyes widened before softening into stardust. He brought your bare ring finger up to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. “It’s a promise then.”
From that moment on, it didn’t matter what he had to face. He had you with him to weather the storm.
When he nearly got attacked by a poisonous snake, you panicked and caught the snake’s tail by the bare hand, whipping it back and forth until he was sure you’d given it whiplash. He’d swallowed down his laughter, shoulders shaking, as he tried to comfort you while you wailed about how disgusting it was and how you’d forever be traumatized. When he caught an infectious disease and commanded you to stay away from him, you nursed him through it all, enduring his sickness and yours. When he stumbled upon a group of villagers who didn’t speak his language, you quickly picked up on the patterns in their writing and used it to communicate in broken sentences, encouraging him to draw out whatever else you needed to explain.
By the time you made it to the shores of England, you’d both been to the gates of death and back, hand in hand. By the time you made the trip to Drunnheim Hall, you both had the rings to match. And by the time you sat down for dinner, Richard was toasting you both to love and peace.
Loving Gojo Satoru always felt like loving the sun.
Brilliant. Dazzling. Impossible to ignore.
But no one warns you what it’s like when that sun starts to dim. When the warmth disappears and leaves only a cold, golden memory behind.
And the truth is: you saw it happening. You just kept pretending you didn’t.
---
The first crack appeared the day Suguru died
Not a loud, devastating break—no, that would’ve been easier. Cleaner. This was quieter. More intimate. A soft fracture running through the heart of a man who had already been carrying too much.
You remember the way he returned—face blank, soaked in blood that wasn’t his. His hands trembled slightly at his sides, clenched like he was trying to hold something together.
You reached for him, but—
He didn’t let you touch him.
His Infinity didn’t come down. Not even for you.
---
Now, months later, you sit across from him in a bar that hums with low conversation and neon shadows. He doesn’t like places like this. Used to call them “depressingly human.”
But now?
Now, he just stares into the amber in his untouched glass like it holds some long-forgotten answer.
You look at him. Really look. And what you see isn’t the man you fell for. Not the insufferably charming sorcerer who lit up every room like he owned it. Not the man who held your face and whispered that he loved how you never looked away from him—even when everyone else did.
What sits across from you is a shell. A silhouette wearing a smile that feels counterfeit. Exhausted eyes hidden behind designer sunglasses. A man so far away he may as well be on the other side of the universe.
Still, you try.
You always try.
“Satoru,” you murmur, the name fragile on your tongue.
His eyes flick to yours. Briefly. Like a reflex.
“Do you ever miss who you were before all of this?” you ask, your voice barely rising above the music playing somewhere behind you. “Before everything went to hell?”
A beat of silence.
Then, he chuckles—a low, bitter sound that scrapes the back of his throat.
“There’s no ‘before,’” he says quietly. “There’s only after.”
The air between you turns heavy. You can barely breathe through it.
Your fingers curl around your glass. You don’t even remember what you ordered. It doesn’t matter.
“Then what about us?” you whisper. “What are we now?” A subtle crack in your voice
He finally looks at you. And it’s cruel, how much hope that brings.
But his gaze is calm. Detached. Like he’s reading the end of a story he already knows.
“There’s no us,” he says.
And just like that, the air in your lungs turns to glass and shatters.
---
You walk home alone.
You don’t even remember how you left. Whether you said goodbye. Whether he watched you go. All you know is that the streets are cold and your hands are colder. Your breath fogs in the air like smoke, and the world around you blurs, distorted by unshed tears that cling stubbornly to your lashes.
You pass the alley where he once kissed you after a mission. You’d been bruised and bleeding and exhausted—but he cupped your cheeks and pressed his forehead to yours like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.
Now?
You’re not even a thought.
---
Your apartment feels like a tomb.
The kind you build around yourself when you’re too tired to hurt out loud.
His hoodie still lies on the back of your chair. His sunglasses sit crooked on your shelf. There’s a packet of sweets half-forgotten in your kitchen drawer—the ones he always insisted weren’t his, even though he ate every single one.
You sit on the floor.
Your phone lights up beside you.
A message. Not from him. Of course not.
You scroll, desperate. Pathetic.
“Be safe. I’ll see you when this is over.”
A message from a week ago. The last thing he ever texted you.
And he never came back that night.
Not to you.
---
At 3:27 AM, your apartment is quiet enough to hear your heartbeat—and the soft, traitorous whisper in the back of your mind that asks:
Was I not enough?
Was I never enough?
You clench your fists so tightly your nails dig into your palms.
You want to scream. Break something. Set the world on fire just to feel like you exist again.
Instead, you sit there. Still. Unmoving.
Drowning quietly in everything he left behind.
---
Gojo doesn’t sleep.
He walks the city with hands in his pockets and silence in his throat.
He thinks about you. He hates that he does.
You were the last real thing he had. The only person who saw past the jokes, past the fame, past the mask. And now, you look at him like he’s a stranger wearing the skin of the man you once loved.
You asked him what you were. And he told you the truth.
Because what’s the point in holding onto something beautiful when everything he loves turns to dust?
He’s tired of watching people die in his arms.
So he let you go.
And now, he doesn’t feel lighter.
Just emptier.
---
The next time he sees you, you’re standing across the training hall during a mission briefing. Your voice is steady. Your expression unreadable. You wear your uniform with pride, your posture straight.
You don’t look at him.
Not once.
And when the meeting ends and you brush past him without a word—without even flinching—he tells himself he deserves that.
Maybe he does.
Maybe this is what safety looks like now: you, alive and distant, and him pretending not to miss the warmth of your hand in his.
---
You never told him how you used to wait up for him every night, just in case he came home.
How you stared at the door until your eyes burned.
How you cried into his hoodie when he started pulling away, convincing yourself you could love him enough for both of you.
But Gojo Satoru doesn’t need love.
He needs a reason not to break the world apart.
And you were never going to be enough to stop that kind of pain.
A/N: Just a short fic inspired after a wattpad kurooxreader angst fic that left me awake the whole night lmao
—
You stood outside the gates of your childhood home, fingers twitching as they gripped the sleeves of your coat. The breeze smelled of salt and memory, and beside you, Zoro stood with his usual unreadable expression, arms crossed and swords heavy at his waist.
“You sure about this?” he asked.
You nodded. “Yeah. My parents want to meet you.”
Not exactly true. They barely remembered to ask about your life unless it involved your sister. But this—this was a desperate attempt to prove you had something they couldn’t take. Not even S/N
Zoro grunted and followed you up the steps.
The door opened before you could knock.
And there she was.
S/N L/N. The golden girl. All beauty, laughter, and attention without even trying. Your older sister.
“Oh?” she blinked, eyes flitting between you and the swordsman behind you. “You brought a guest?”
Before you could speak, she stepped forward with a radiant smile and extended her hand. “S/N. And you are?”
Zoro gave her a nod, ignoring her outstretched hand. “Roronoa Zoro.”
“Hm. Strong name,” she said with a teasing lilt. “You a pirate or something?”
“Pirate hunter,” you answered, stepping in quickly. “He’s my… friend.”
The word sat heavy on your tongue. Like swallowing glass. But you weren’t ready to fight for more.
She blinked once, then smirked, as if reading between every line. “A friend, huh? You never bring those around.”
You smiled tightly. “Well. First time for everything.”
---
Dinner was worse.
The dining table was filled with your mother’s finest china and your father’s deep sighs of pride—none of which were for you.
“So, Zoro,” your father asked, slicing through his steak. “What do you do exactly?”
“I hunt pirates. Travel. Train,” he replied with a shrug.
“Dangerous job,” your mother added, clearly intrigued. “And how do you know our Y/N?”
“She’s smarter than most people I’ve met,” Zoro said simply, eyes not leaving his plate.
That was all he said. But it meant the world to you.
S/N laughed lightly. “Smarter? Please, she used to cry when her books got bent.”
You looked down at your plate.
“So,” your father turned to you now, the attention suddenly sharp, “how’s school?”
You straightened up. “Perfect. Top of the class. Professors said I might graduate early.”
“Might,” your mother echoed. “Your sister already did, remember?”
You forced a smile. Of course, they remembered. They always remembered.
Zoro shifted beside you, but he didn’t say anything.
Instead, he was laughing—laughing with her.
With S/N.
You were the one who brought him. You were the one they ignored.
And it wouldn’t be the last time.
---
Months Later
You didn’t expect her to join.
You really didn’t.
But there she was, standing on the dock with a bag over her shoulder and a letter of invitation from the Straw Hat crew.
“She’s got useful skills,” Zoro had told you when you confronted him later. “Can’t stop Luffy.”
You stared at him, stunned. “But… we promised. You said it would be just you and me. Letters, remember?”
“I’ll still write,” he said simply.
And you believed him. Even when something in your chest started to hurt.
Even when S/N flashed that charming smile at the crew and said, “Guess you’re stuck with me now, Zoro.”
Even when he didn’t look away.
---
He kept his promise—for a while.
The first few weeks, the letters were long and careful. Descriptions of their journey. Tales of close calls. He ended every letter with: “I miss you. I’ll come back.”
But then the letters got shorter.
Then fewer.
Until finally…
One letter came with her handwriting on it. S/N.
“Zoro’s been busy” she wrote. “So I thought I’d update you for him!”
Your hands trembled as you read. Zoro didn’t mention you at all in the attached note.
---
A year passed.
You waited. Like a fool. You built a life around the sound of the mailbox creaking open. Around one name: Zoro.
When he returned, finally—standing taller, with new scars and an air of silent weight—you thought maybe things would go back to how they were.
But then S/N stepped off the ship too.
Right beside him
“Y/N!” she squealed, hugging you like she hadn’t stolen years of your life. “Guess what! Zoro and I fought side by side against an entire marine fleet. He even saved me—”
You tuned her out.
Your eyes were on Zoro.
“Did you miss me?” you asked quietly, not even expecting much.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
But something about the way he looked at your sister said otherwise.
---
It happened during a town festival.
You had invited Zoro to walk with you under the lanterns. Just the two of you.
He said yes.
But he never showed.
Instead, you found him with S/N near the lake, her head thrown back in laughter, his usual stoic face softened by something you hadn’t seen in a long time—something gentle.
Something that used to be yours
He didn’t even look guilty when you saw him.
Just… quiet.
“I was going to come,” he said later, when he noticed you weren’t going to speak
“Then why didn’t you?”
“She looked tired. I didn’t want her walking alone.”
“And I did?” you snapped.
Zoro looked at you, eyes unreadable. “Don’t do this.”
You laughed, hollow. “I didn’t do anything. She just takes, and takes, and you let her.”
He didn’t deny it.
He didn’t say you were wrong.
“Why do you hate her so much?” he asked suddenly. “She’s your sister.”
You froze.
And then… you snapped.
“I don’t hate her,” you whispered. “I hate that no matter how hard I try, I will never be enough. I hate that she walks in a room and I disappear. And I hate that you— the one person I thought would see me.”
Zoro went silent.
And when he still didn’t say anything, when he didn’t reach out, didn’t fight for you—
You turned away.
“We’re done.”
---
The dining table was loud with celebration.
You sat at the edge, forgotten, just like always.
S/N stood up with a glowing smile. “Everyone, I have something to announce—Zoro and I are together.”
Your mother squealed. “I knew it!”
Your father clapped Zoro on the back. “Took you long enough, son.”
You didn’t say a word.
You just stood and left the room.
That night, you packed your bags.
No announcement. No anger. No letter.
Just a decision.
You applied to the Marines the next day. You didn’t tell anyone.
Before the world turned to stone, Y/N and Stanley Snyder were two sides of the same coin—one sharp and methodical, the other a quiet spark of warmth that managed to break its way into the elite sniper's steel-forged heart.
They weren’t lovers. Hell, Stan barely knew what to do with feelings outside of tactical evaluations. But Y/N? They were different. Clever. Brave. Always challenging him with that smile and a teasing joke that lingered long after they were gone. They were friends, or so he told himself. Just friends.
Even if he watched their six like a man possessed.
Even if he’d memorized the exact pitch of their laugh.
Even if he dreamed about a future where they’d both come back alive.
Then the world shattered into stone.
The forest was quiet—too quiet.
Stanley Snyder was a ghost in the trees, his sniper rifle ready in hand. His scope fixed on the boat floating above the river, he had the perfect angle on his target: Senku Ishigami.
His finger tensed.
“Three seconds to impact,” he muttered into the comms.
But Xeno’s voice crackled in his earpiece, cold and absolute. “Don’t miss. We end this now.”
Stanley's eye narrowed, breath slow and even. One squeeze, and the mission would be done.
And then—
Movement.
Too fast. Too close.
A blur of familiar color threw itself between Senku and the bullet’s path.
The gun kicked back. The shot rang out.
Stanley's heart stopped.
“…Y/N?”
The bullet hit you in the shoulder, and blood poured out fast, soaking your chest as everything around you seemed to stop.
Stanley was frozen. Breath held. Vision narrowing.
“Target hit,” came the garbled voice in his ear.
But it wasn’t the target
“Y/N, what the hell are you doing there?” he hissed, as if you could hear him. As if screaming across the distance could pull the bullet back.
He watched as Senku and Gen scrambled to drag you away, their limp body leaving a dark trail in wooden boards.
The sniper's hands shook.
Not from the kill—he’d killed before.
Not from the mission—he’d lived through worse.
But because this time, it was you
You faded in and out of consciousness, pain blooming like fire beneath their skin.
“You’re gonna be okay,” Senku said, his voice tight, strained, and completely unconvincing.
You tried to speak. Your mouth tasted like iron.
Night fell.
Stanley sat in the dark, gun at his side, heart in his throat.
He should feel like he did the right thing. Xeno would praise him. The threat was neutralized. But all he could see was you—eyes wide in surprise, not fear. Like you chose to take the hit. Like you knew.
“Why?” he murmured into the darkness. “Why would you do something so damn stupid?”
He knew why.
Because you always tried to save everyone. Even him.
When word came back that you were alive—but barely—Stanley didn’t know if he should feel relief or dread.
He wasn’t there when you woke. Couldn’t be. Wouldn’t be.
Because if he saw you—bandaged, pale, hurt because of him—he might break in ways he’d spent a lifetime avoiding.
You replied, "It's the only path, Neuvillette. Fontaine deserves a chance to prosper without the burden of the prophecy"
"But death isn't the solution! There must be another way," Neuvillette urged, his form flickering with worry.
Your gaze remained firm. "I've seen the threads of destiny, Neuvillette. This is the only way for Fontaine to truly heal."
Neuvillette persisted, "I can't let you throw your life away! We can find another way together."
Tension filled the space as you shook your head. "It's my duty as the Archon. Fontaine needs a future free from this prophecy.."
Neuvillette pleaded, "Y/N, please reconsider."
But you, with a soft smile, whispered, "Thank you for everything, Neuvillette," preparing yourself before you were hit by the sword of judgement, embracing the sacrifice that will free Fontaine.
As your essence faded, Neuvillette, now alone in your consciousness, whispered, "Rest well, Y/N. Fontaine will flourish, but at the cost of your noble sacrifice."
In the world of Fontaine, a renewed energy blossomed, and Neuvillette, now the guardian of Hydro, ensured the archon's sacrifice was not in vain.
Your heart pounded with anticipation as you sat by your phone, waiting for a message from Kaveh to appear on the screen.
It had been days since you last spoke, and the once lively connection between you now felt like a fading echo.
The long-distance relationship had taken its toll, leaving you with a never ending sense of doubt and insecurity.
One evening, your friends gathered around you in the living room, trying to cheer you up. But their smiles masked the worry they felt about the situation.
It was then that one of your friends, Sara, hesitated for a moment before showing you her phone.
On the screen was a picture of Kaveh, laughing and having fun with a group of people, including a girl who seemed to be getting a bit too close for your comfort.
Your heart sank as you stared at the photo. Your mind raced with questions and doubts. Why hadn't Kaveh mentioned this outing to you? Was he hiding something from you?
The photo seemed to confirm your worst fears – that Kaveh was growing distant and maybe even interested in someone else.
Trying to fight back tears, you excused yourself and locked yourself in your room. You didn't know how to confront Kaveh about the photo, but you couldn't keep the unease inside any longer.
Late at night, when you no longer could hold back your emotions any further, you finally mustered the courage to call Kaveh. As the phone rang, your heart trembled with fear of what you might discover.
"Hey, Y/N," Kaveh's voice greeted you warmly.
"Hey," You replied, trying to sound calm despite your trembling voice. "How are you? I saw a photo earlier today... with you and some girl. You never mentioned that to me."
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, and you were holding on to the last hope you had.
"Oh, that," Kaveh finally spoke, his tone unsure. "She's just a friend. We were hanging out with a group, and someone took a picture."
You didn't want to jump to conclusions, but the lack of communication between you had fueled your fears.
"Kaveh, I miss you," You admitted, tears streaming down your cheeks. "But it feels like we're drifting apart, and I don't know what to do."
Kaveh's voice softened, "I miss you too, Y/N. The distance has been tough on both of us, but it doesn't mean I don't love you. I promise I'll make an effort to communicate more, and we can work through this together."
. . .
But as the days turned into weeks, the communication between you and Kaveh didn't improve as you had hoped.
The insecurities and doubts weighed heavily on you, and your once passionate love began to die out.
You mustered the courage to bring up your concerns again, only to be met with a dead end from Kaveh. The message went unreplied, and the silence continued on for days.
Your heart shattered, realizing that Kaveh had grown tired and had given up on the relationship.
Unable to bear the pain any longer, you made the difficult decision to let go.
You sent Kaveh one final message, pouring your heart out, but it was left unanswered like so many before.
TW : angst, mentions of pregnancy, one night stand
It was a party that brought you and Scaramouche together.
The night was filled with laughter, flirting, and champagne, blurring the lines between what was real and not.
Amidst the chaos of the ballroom, you found yourself in bed with a man you just met. Leaving you feeling intoxicated with desire and burdened with regret.
Terrified of facing rejection, you decided to keep the pregnancy hidden, not wanting to burden Scaramouche with a responsibility he never asked for.
Weeks passed, and the consequences of that fateful night became clear. You discovered you were pregnant with his child.
It was just a one night stand, no strings attached.
You sought comfort in your own world, preparing for the baby's arrival while keeping the truth concealed from everyone, including Scaramouche.
As the months went by, the weight of the secret became almost unbearable for you to carry.
You yearned for Scaramouche's love, but deep down, you knew it was an impossible wish.
You had willingly fallen for a man who thrived in shadows, a man who never had any intention of staying.
The baby finally arrived, a beautiful and innocent reminder of that night of passion.
Your heart swelled with love for the tiny life you held in your arms, but it also ached with the knowledge that the baby's father would never be a part of your lives.
One day, fate played its cruel hand, bringing Scaramouche back into your life unexpectedly.
He had come to the same city on a mission, and by sheer chance, he crossed paths with you. You couldn't hide the truth any longer, not when the evidence was right in front of him.
Scaramouche's eyes widened as he looked at the baby in your arms, connecting the dots in his mind.
He felt a mix of shock and confusion, realizing the gravity of the situation he had unknowingly become a part of. But Scaramouche was not the type to be tied down by responsibilities or emotions.
"I can't be a father," Scaramouche said coldly, avoiding your pleading gaze. "I never signed up for this. It was a one-night stand, nothing more."
Your heart shattered into a million pieces, your worst fears confirmed. The man you had fallen for was not the knight in shining armor you had envisioned, but a callous figure who only cared for his own desires.
"I never asked you to be," You replied, your voice breaking. "But this baby deserves to know their father."
Scaramouche shook his head dismissively. "My life is not meant for family and commitment. I live a dangerous life, and I won't let a child be a burden to it."
With that, Scaramouche turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, holding your child, feeling utterly abandoned and heartbroken.
Summary : you are in an arranged marriage with Alhaitham.
TW : angst, no comfort.
→ royal era
a/n: im back and with angst ;)
At the break of dawn, you were awoken and the maids immediately came to prepare you for an important journey to the royal palace. She explained that you were to be married to Alhaitham, the sole heir to the throne.
The reason behind this arranged marriage was that the present king insisted Alhaitham could only ascend to the throne after getting married.
Although he had two more years before taking on the responsibilities of rulership, the king struck a deal with your parents.
Due to your family's unwavering loyalty to the royal family for generations and their status as the strongest noble family in the kingdom, they readily agreed to this arrangement without hesitation.
This decision was made even though your parents had little regard for you, their youngest daughter, as you didn't possess the same talents as your older sister.
Despite that, you were sent off to the palace with no possessions, expected to bring nothing but yourself for this union.
Upon meeting Alhaitham, it became evident that he embodied qualities of duty, honor, and responsibility. He had earned high praise for his leading skills, making him the ideal candidate to ascend to the throne.
Due to the demands of his royal responsibilities, Alhaitham often had to leave you behind in your luxurious yet isolated residence, leaving you little time to truly get to know each other.
From the very day of their wedding, Alhaitham showed no regard for you. Viewing your marriage as a mere political alliance, he paid you little attention, if any at all.
Understanding the situation, you yourself recognized that your marriage was a legal union rather than one rooted in love. You knew better not to expect anything more from him.
After all, you were nothing but the despised daughter of your family, sent away to wed the heir without your will.
. . .
But despite's Alhaitham's cold and harsh demeanor, you refused to give up on your marriage. You spent your days learning about your husband's interests, hoping to find some common ground that would connect you. You tried to be the perfect wife, preparing his favorite meals, and making sure the palace was a welcoming place for him to return to.
Yet, every time Alhaitham returned from his official duties, he would greet you with a cold nod, barely acknowledging your efforts. It was clear that his heart was elsewhere.
Alhaitham's friend, Kaveh, who was also his trusted advisor, noticed the growing rift between the couple.
He could see the pain in your eyes, hidden behind a forced smile, and the emotional detachment in Alhaitham's actions.
Kaveh confronted Alhaitham, urging him to give their marriage a chance, reminding him that you were a worthy partner who deserved love and respect.
However, Alhaitham remained unwavered, shutting himself off from his emotions. He could not bring himself to love you, and he didn't wish to deceive you with false affection.
He believed that fulfilling his duty as future king was enough, even if it meant living a marriage devoid of love.
He told himself that he must get divorced once he settles down on the throne. But for the meantime, he'll have to hold on for the remaining 2 years.
As the months turned into years, your spirit slowly faded. You continued to put on a facade of happiness for the sake of the kingdom and Alhaitham's reputation, but inside, your heart was breaking.
The once lively and spirited woman was now a shadow of her former self, worn down by the unrequited love and loneliness.
One fateful evening, Alhaitham returned home with a heavy heart. Kaveh had advised him to reconsider his stance, but Alhaitham remained firm.
As he stepped into the palace, he noticed you sitting by the window, tears streaming down your cheeks. The sight pierced his heart, but he couldn't bring himself to console you.
"I'm sorry." Alhaitham whispered as he walked past you without a word, retreating to his study.
You knew that nothing would change; your hopes of gaining his favor and trust were shattered.
You understood that you were simply a pawn in a political game, and Alhaitham's heart had no interest for you.
Synopsis : Zhongli sacrifices you for the sake of his nation.
Warning : angst, no comfort ,death implied
" My nation is very dear to me "
" Dearer than I? "
" Yes. "
With your remaining strength, you desperately reached out your bloodied hand towards the man before you.
His gaze was lacking of warmth, his face displaying an unyielding expression as he held your fading body.
The icy pierce in his eyes is enough to shatter your heart into countless fragments.
Zhongli, the man you had loved with all your heart, had made the unimaginable choice. He had chosen his nation over you, over your love.
With each labored breath, he managed to whisper, "My nation is very dear to me." His grip on you tightened.
Your voice laced with regret as you replied, "Dearer than I?"
The pain in his eyes matched the ache in your voice as he mustered the strength to reply, "I'm afraid dearer than you."
Tears cascaded down your cheeks, mixing with the blood that stained your trembling hands.
"I love you," you choked out, the words weighted with both heartbreak and understanding. "But I cannot bear witness to this. To the sacrifice you're willing to make."
Zhongli's grip loosened slightly, his face etched with a mixture of anguish. "Please understand, my love," he pleaded. "The burden I bear is not one I choose, but one that destiny has placed upon me."
Knowing that his duty demanded a sacrifice shattered the illusion of a future you had once envisioned together. In that moment, love and sorrow fought a battle within you, tearing at the fabric of your soul.
With the last of your strength fading away, you reached up to gently cup Zhongli's face, tracing the lines etched by the weight of his responsibility.
"I understand" you whispered, your voice barely audible.
Zhongli's eyes, filled with anguish, locked with yours. "I never wanted to hurt you," he murmured, his voice heavy with regret.
"I know," you replied, your voice filled with a mix of sadness and acceptance. "But you have made your choice, Zhongli. And I have made mine."
With your final breath, you whispered words you hoped would find solace in his wounded heart. "May your sacrifices bring prosperity and peace to Liyue. Farewell, my love."
As your life slipped away, the weight of your sacrifice settled heavily upon Zhongli's chest. He cradled your lifeless body in his arms, the weight of his decision consuming him. The cold winds that swept through the landscape echoed the void left by your absence, leaving behind a somber reminder of the price paid for the sake of a nation.
Synopsis : Cyno unintentionally neglects reader due to being busy.
Warning : angst, no comfort, no closure
You knew better that dating General Mahamatra came with its dangers and risks.
However, you still chose to continue dating him, even though you were well aware of how dangerous his job can be.
For instance, if his enemies were to find out about you, they might be bold enough to break into your house at night, especially knowing that Cyno is busy and won't be there to protect you.
Yet, you loved Cyno and were willing to endure all the dangers just to continue loving him.
He was a man worth loving, even if he was initially reserved. All it required was patience, and he would eventually warm up to you.
However, you couldn't deny how much you hated his job. It took away all the time you could spend with him.
When was the last time he came home to check up on you, saying he missed you? It felt like months had passed, and you missed his warmth.
You also stopped receiving letters from him, with the last one arriving three months ago. It felt like an eternity since then.
You heard that a friend of his, Tighnari, had been receiving letters from him, but when you visited Tighnari and asked about them, he refused to disclose any information.
This made you feel restless and worried.
"When is he coming back?" you questioned the fennec fox, whose long ears perked up upon hearing your question.
"Time will tell," he bluntly replied.
You sighed. "What about that letter he..."
"[Name], we've had this conversation several times, and as I've already told you, I cannot disclose any information."
"But why not? He's my lover, isn't he?" you said, feeling annoyed and anxious at the same time.
He was about to say something, but when he looked up to address you, you had already left.
That night, you cried yourself to sleep. Was he cheating? You didn't want to believe it, but it might be true.
Especially since he chose to send letters to Tighnari instead of you, his lover.
You had been waiting for months, your patience firm until now. You grew tired of waiting for him, feeling completely exhausted.
As far as you knew, all you could do was hope that he was happy, even if it meant you weren't by his side.
Synopsis : Your relationship ended when he was bound to marry another for the sake of his clan.
TW : Angst, no comfort.
---
You glanced nervously at your watch, your fingers trembling slightly as you stood in the dim alleyway, hidden beneath the shadows of a sleeping city. The silence stretched on, broken only by the distant hum of lanterns and the slow, deliberate rhythm of your heartbeat.
You were waiting—again—for him.
For Ayato.
For the man who shouldn't love you, but did. The man who had carved a place for you in a world that had no space for your kind.
For months now, you had been living on borrowed time—sneaking around, stealing fragmented moments stitched together by desperation and desire. Your love had bloomed in the shadows, fragile and forbidden, a flame caught between two opposing winds.
He was Kamisato Ayato—the heir to a powerful political dynasty. You? Just a name without weight. An ordinary civilian with no titles, no legacy. No place beside someone like him.
But none of it mattered when you were with him. In those secret hours between dusk and dawn, he wasn't the face of power or prestige—he was yours. All yours. You had lived for those stolen glances, those whispered promises laced with trembling hope. Every secret meeting brought you closer… and yet, the danger never left. It grew, heavy like a storm cloud, waiting to break.
And tonight, it did.
From the corner of your eye, you saw movement. Ayato emerged from the shadows, his usual poised demeanor replaced by something unfamiliar—something that made your heart stumble in your chest. He looked tired. Haunted.
He approached with hesitant steps, his eyes unreadable, and for the first time in a long time… he didn’t smile.
"Y/N," he said softly, your name on his lips like a prayer and a farewell all at once. His voice cracked slightly, betraying the war waging within him. "We need to talk."
Your breath hitched. You didn’t need to hear the rest—you already knew. But you nodded, blinking rapidly, trying to stop the tears from coming too soon.
You moved to a secluded spot, where only the moon bore witness. The city's noise faded, replaced by a suffocating silence. Every heartbeat between you echoed like a drumbeat of something ending.
"I can't do this anymore," Ayato whispered, his voice trembling beneath the weight of regret. "I've made the decision."
Your lips parted, your voice barely audible. "What… decision?"
He looked away, unable to meet your gaze. He inhaled shakily. "I'm going to marry someone else."
The words struck you like a physical blow. You felt your knees weaken, your breath stolen from your lungs.
"For the sake of my clan, for the greater good, I have to let you go."
You stared at him, disbelief rippling through every fiber of your being. The words echoed, over and over, until they were carved into your bones.
"No," you whispered, shaking your head. "No… Ayato, we love each other." Your voice cracked, and the tears finally broke free. "Can’t we fight for this? Can't we find a way—"
"Y/N." His voice faltered, his jaw tight. He finally looked at you, and it almost hurt more than the words. Because he meant it. Because he hated himself for it. "You don’t understand. This isn’t just about us. The expectations… the duty I was born into—it’s not something I can run from. Marrying her means alliances, peace, stability for the clan. It’s not just love I’m giving up… it’s you. And I hate that I have to choose."
You were crying now—quiet, broken sobs you couldn’t hold back. You had always known this love came with risk, but this? This was ruin.
"But we were real," you whispered. "Weren’t we?"
Ayato’s eyes glistened. "You were the most real thing in my life."
And with that, he turned.
No final kiss. No last touch.
Just the sound of his footsteps retreating into the night, each one dragging a piece of your heart with him.
You stood there long after he disappeared, cold and hollow. The world didn’t pause for your heartbreak. It never did.
Your love—bright and reckless—had been swallowed by duty.
And you… you were left to mourn a future that would never be.
(Y'all can decide whether this is platonic or romantic for you guys)
Sypnosis : Muichiro finally remembered your name.
TW, AI : Angst, wholesome ending, post swordsmith village arc, reader is around the same age as mui!
A/N : I just could not refuse myself to write for him after I watched the Swordsmith Village Arc. 😭😭 This ain't angst because Mui has been through enough 💪
!! NOT GENSHIN RELATED !!
Muichiro caught your attention from the moment he arrived at the mansion. Lady Akane had brought him when he was just 11 years old, wounded and bleeding. You were given the responsibility to care for him during that time.
"What happened to him?" you ask.
"Based on the situation I found him in, it seems they were likely ambushed by a demon during the night. He was fortunate to survive, but sadly, his brother didn't make it," Lady Amane responded.
"I understand. So, he's alone now," you muttered as you softly touched his hair.
"Not entirely. We're here for him," Lady Amane replies, trying to reassure you.
"What's his name?"
.
Muichiro, the Mist Pillar. He wasn’t much of a talker. Everyone who’s met him knew that. He always had a cold and distant demeanor, with an air of mystery surrounding him.
Despite his dull personality, you found yourself captivated by his presence.
Every day, you would care for the injured, ensuring their wounds were properly treated. That was your job as a helper of the mansion.
On numerous occasions, you found yourself assisting Muichiro after his battles, tending to his injuries and nursing him back to health.
Yet, each time you did, you couldn't help but notice Muichiro's forgetfulness when it came to remembering your name. You had to constantly introduce yourself each time he gives off a confused look whenever you approach him.
"it's Y/N. Don't forget next time okay?."
You believed that perhaps one day, your presence would make a lasting impact on the cold Mist Pillar.
Though it saddened you that Muichiro would forget your name constantly, you chose to let your feelings of affection grow.
News arrived that Muichiro had embarked on a journey to the swordsmith village. You worried for his safety, and found yourself longing for his return. You continued your duties, missing the familiar sight of Muichiro's cold but comforting presence.
You refused to leave Muichiro's side, keeping vigil by his bedside every day. You talked to him, sharing stories of your time together, desperately hoping that your words would reach him. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into a month. Your dedication never wavered.
Time passed, and finally, the day came when Muichiro returned to the mansion. However, he did not return unscathed. His injuries were severe, and he fell into a deep coma upon his arrival. You stuck by his side, tending him.
Your eyes widened and your heart leaped with joy as you entered the room. You approached him and held your breath, waiting for him to speak.
One early morning, as the sun cast its warm rays into the room, Muichiro stirred. His eyes fluttered open.
"Y/N," Muichiro whispered, his voice weak but filled with recognition.
A wave of disbelief washed over you. Muichiro had remembered your name. Your eyes welled up with tears of happiness as you embraced him gently.
"You remembered," You murmured, your voice filled with tenderness.
Muichiro's eyes met yours, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "How could I forget? he replied softly.
Your gentle presence brought warmth to Muichiro's life, and in turn, he learned to appreciate the beauty of love and friendship.
Sypnosis : What if i tell you, a man from 1997 can comunicate with a woman in 2000 via mailbox. But then the woman suddenly stopped receiving his letters, only to find out he was long gone. He passed away before they could tell eachother how they felt, but they were never meant to be together from the start, their difference of timelines blocked through their path of love.
TW : Angst, modern era
A/N : I wanted to try something new, hope y'all enjoy! : )
Once upon a time in the year 1997, there lived a man named Albedo. He was an introverted artist who found solace in expressing himself through his paintings.
He stumbled upon an old mailbox while exploring the attic of his ancestral home. Curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to write a letter, just for the sake of nostalgia.
Unbeknownst to Albedo, his letter had somehow traveled through time and found its way into the hands of a woman named Y/N in the year 2000. Y/N was a lover of history and had great fondness for handwritten letters.
She was confused when a mysterious letter suddenly appeared in her mailbox. Adding to her confusion was that the letter was dated back to 1997. Did someone send her a letter from the past? Or was someone playing a prank on her?
Anyway, she decided to open the letter and was amazed by what she found inside. It was a heartfelt message, written in elegant handwriting, that talked about special memories and dreams from a long time ago.
Reading it made her feel a deep connection with the writer, like their words were reaching out to her from the past. It made her really curious to know who sent the letter and why it ended up in her mailbox after all these years.
The bottom part of the letter was signed by a man named Albedo.
As time went on, the frequency of letters she received from Albedo increased. They both developed a habit of writing and exchanging letters with each other.
It became a regular occurrence for Y/N to discover a letter from him, and she was always filled with excitement to read its contents. Awaiting for his letters became a normal part of her routine.
She cherished each letter she received, as they were filled with his hopes, dreams, and artistic visions.
Over time, Albedo and Y/N formed a deep connection through their letters. They shared stories, emotions, and even their innermost secrets.
Albedo felt free as he expressed himself through his words and drawings. Y/N, on the contrary, was deeply fascinated by Albedo's passion for art, and she motivated him to take his talent more seriously.
As time went by, Albedo and Y/N kept writing to each other. They both looked forward to each new letter, treasuring the words that connected their different lives.
But then, Y/N found her mailbox empty. Weeks went by, and still, no letter arrived. She grew restless. Worries filled her head.
Y/N couldn't handle not knowing anymore. She desperately wanted to find Albedo, but she had no clues about his whereabouts.
In her search for answers, she stumbled upon a museum known for its collection of stunning artworks. As an art lover, she couldn't resist the allure of exploring the exhibitions.
Walking through the halls, Y/N found herself drawn to a particular painting. It was a masterpiece that seemed to reflect Y/N unique artistic style. She stood before the artwork, her eyes fixed on the signature at the bottom. It was unmistakable. Her heart raced as she recognized the signature — the artist behind the painting was none other than Albedo himself.
Y/N's excitement knew no bounds as she hurriedly looked for the current owner of the painting. When she finally found them, she shared her story of the mysterious letters and the connection she had forged with Albedo. The owner, moved by her heartfelt tale, revealed the tragic truth.
The painting, he explained, was one of Albedo's last works — a labor of love created for the woman he cherished. Sadly, Albedo had passed away, unable to deliver the painting personally or continue their correspondence.
Y/N felt a rush of different feelings — she was sad about Albedo's death, but also grateful for being there to support and uplift him during his time.
Y/N suddenly understood how important she was to Albedo. She realized that her support and appreciation had made him believe in himself and his art.
It was because of her that he had the courage to share his work to the world, even while sending messages through mailbox.
With a renewed sense of purpose, Y/N dedicated herself to preserving Albedo's memory and sharing his artwork with others. She organized an exhibition at the museum, showcasing his paintings to the public. The event was a success, with art enthusiasts and admirers coming to witness Albedo's extraordinary talent.
Y/N's love for Albedo and his art transcended time. She continued to honor his legacy, and in the depths of her heart, she knew that Albedo's spirit would forever be intertwined with her Own — a testament to the power of their love, art, and the beauty of human connection.
Y/N understood that their paths were destined to cross, they were bound to meet but not to be together, being in different timelines was the border of their undying love. Maybe in another lifetime, they were bound to meet again.
Y/N understood that their paths were destined to cross, but their circumstances prevented them from being together. The barrier of existing in separate timelines restricted their eternal love. Perhaps in another existence, they were fated to reunite once more.
Synopsis : You and Kaeya has always been inlove. But was that still the case when he met a particular girl in the tavern?
TW : Angst, no comfort, kaeya has fallen out of love, breakups
You and Kaeya had always been that couple—the kind people admired from afar. Effortlessly in sync, always laughing, always so deeply in love. His charm was magnetic, his smile disarming, and his heart, you believed, belonged to you entirely.
Kaeya was your light, your lover, your home.
You had grown used to his nights at the tavern. It was part of who he was. After long days of work, he'd loosen his tie, step into Angel’s Share, and drink away the stress. You trusted him—completely. He had always come back to you. Sometimes drunk, sometimes late, but always yours.
Until one night, he came home later than usual.
His boots clumsily hit the floorboards, keys dropping with a loud clang. You rushed to him like always, catching his weight as he stumbled forward, eyes glazed, breath laced with alcohol and something you couldn’t name.
You helped him into bed, brushing the hair from his face.
But something caught your eye.
There—on the collar of his shirt. A faint smear of lipstick. Red. You don't wear red lipstick.
You hesitated.
For a moment, your heart paused. But then you pushed the thought away. No. You told yourself. It means nothing. You trust him. He would never—
Would he?
You decided not to ask. You let it go.
Until the next morning.
You were out running errands when you crossed paths with Diluc outside the tavern. His face, as always, was unreadable, but there was something in the way he looked at you that made your stomach twist.
“Has Kaeya told you about the girl?” he asked suddenly, voice low.
You blinked. “What girl?”
He was silent for a moment, as if weighing whether to speak.
“I didn’t want to be the one to say it. But they’ve been seeing a lot of each other at the tavern. Talking, laughing. It’s… obvious.” His tone was firm. Not cruel, just honest. “He told me it was nothing at first. But it never looked that way.”
You felt the air leave your lungs. The world tilted.
Diluc continued, “You didn’t hear it from me.”
But you already had.
You walked home with trembling hands and a heavy heart. The image of the lipstick on his collar returned, now etched into your memory like a scar. You wanted to scream. To cry. To beg for it to be a lie.
But your heart already knew the truth.
That night, when Kaeya returned home, you were waiting.
He walked in like nothing had changed. Like the world wasn’t shattering around you.
You stood up slowly. Your voice was quiet, shaking. “Do you love her?”
Kaeya froze.
“What?” he asked, his voice low, guarded.
“The girl at the tavern,” you said, tears welling up in your eyes. “Do you love her?”
He didn’t answer.
And silence, you realized, could be more devastating than words.
“I trusted you,” you whispered, voice cracking. “You were all I had.”
Kaeya swallowed hard. He couldn’t meet your eyes. “I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he admitted, and it was then you saw it—the guilt. The pain. But not regret strong enough to make him stop before it was too late. “It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. I got caught up… the drinks, the talking. She was—comfort. A distraction.”
A distraction from what? Me?
Tears streamed down your cheeks.
“Do you even understand what you’ve done?” you sobbed, voice shaking with pain and rage. “You’ve ruined everything. I gave you everything.”
Kaeya stepped forward, reaching for you, but you stepped back like his touch would burn you.
“I never stopped loving you,” he whispered, more broken than you’d ever seen him.
“But you stopped choosing me,” you said. “And that’s what matters.”
There was nothing left to say.
No apology could mend what had shattered between you. No explanation could rewind time and erase what he had done.
Kaeya looked like a man unraveling, like he was trying to memorize you one last time.
You packed your things that night. Quietly. Without ceremony. There was no yelling. No begging. Just the sound of broken hearts trying not to collapse under the weight of goodbye.
Synopsis: Your lover, Childe who became distant and cold ever since he had come back from a long mission. But then you find out that he had been acquainted with Lumine.
TW : angst, no comfort, Childe cheats, lack of communication, sad ending, and mentions of Lumine.
You were a lucky woman—at least, that’s what everyone said.
And for a while, you believed it.
Being loved by Childe—Ajax—was like holding a piece of the storm in your hands. Unpredictable, wild, and dangerous, but warm enough to feel like home. Despite the risks of his life as a Harbinger, your love had bloomed in the shadows of uncertainty. And somehow, it had lasted.
You grew used to the constant goodbyes and the weight of not knowing if he’d return. You didn’t flinch at his bloodied gloves or the haunted look in his eyes after a mission. Because no matter how dark his world was, he always came back to you with a smile and arms wide open.
He was good at his job. But he was better at loving you.
Romantic dates. Late-night walks. Candlelit dinners in the privacy of your home. He’d spoil you every chance he got, whispering promises into your hair about the life you'd build once the fighting stopped. And when he was away, he never failed to find ways to make up for it.
You thought you were unshakable. Until the day he came home, and everything changed.
You had waited for him eagerly, heart fluttering at the sound of the door unlocking. But when Childe stepped inside, it was like a stranger had entered your home.
“Ajax, you’re home,” you greeted, eyes lighting up. “How was the mission?”
He barely looked at you. A short nod. A faint hum.
“You don’t seem well... Is everything alright?”
A pause. A cold breath. “I’m tired.”
That was all he said before brushing past you and disappearing into the bedroom.
You told yourself it was exhaustion. Give him space, you thought.
But days passed. Then weeks.
And the man who used to worship the ground you walked on now refused to meet your gaze. He turned his back on you in bed. Shrugged off your touch. Recoiled when you leaned in for a kiss.
The silence between you stretched like a canyon. Conversations were hollow. Dinners felt like obligations. You were strangers living under the same roof.
You cried yourself to sleep more nights than you could count. Whispering to the dark, please let tomorrow be different. But the mornings were always the same. Cold. Distant. Loveless.
One night, as you sat alone at the dinner table, staring at your untouched plate, your gaze fell on the wedding ring wrapped around your finger. The weight of it felt heavier than ever before.
You needed answers.
Desperate for warmth, for familiarity, you paid a visit to his family. It had been months since you last saw them—months since the laughter of Teucer and Tonia filled your ears.
They were surprised to see you, but their faces lit up with joy. You were still part of their world, even if their son was slipping out of yours.
“Big sister!” Tonia squealed, running into your arms.
Teucer followed close behind, hugging you tightly. “I missed you!”
Childe’s mother welcomed you in warmly, the scent of her cooking already filling the kitchen. “We didn’t expect you, dear. Ajax isn’t with you?”
You hesitated. Smiled. Lied.
“Yes, he’s just been busy lately. Everything’s fine.”
You didn't have the heart to tell her the truth.
Before the conversation could go on, Teucer tugged on your hand. “Come play with us!”
For a while, you did. And for the first time in weeks, your heart eased. The children’s laughter made the walls feel less hollow.
“Sister, when will you and Brother come for dinner again?” Tonia asked, voice innocent.
“Soon,” you lied again. “He’s just busy, that’s all.”
She nodded, satisfied. And the games resumed.
“Mr. Cyclops beat the hilichurls again!” Teucer cheered, waving the plush in his hand.
“No! Big Brother beat them!” Tonia argued.
You chuckled at their little debate. “Okay, okay, bedtime now.”
Teucer protested but eventually climbed into bed after you promised a story.
As you read to them, your smile was faint but real. When Tonia drifted off, Teucer turned to you, whispering:
“Big Sister… it wasn’t Mr. Cyclops who beat the hilichurls.”
You blinked. “Oh?”
“It was Lumine. The girl from the storybook! I saw her name in Brother’s letter.”
Your breath caught.
“Lumine? You mean the hero of Mondstadt?”
He nodded enthusiastically. “Brother fought her! He said she was really strong. He wrote about it four months ago.”
Four months ago…
That was when Childe had gone to Liyue. He had written you a letter too. But he never mentioned her.
Why hide it?
Maybe it was innocent. A battle. A passing encounter. But doubt began to creep into your heart, slow and unforgiving.
You left his family home with a soft smile, pretending everything was fine.
But as soon as you stepped back into your own house, you confronted him.
“Ajax… have you fallen out of love with me?”
The question hung in the air like a sword suspended above both your heads.
He looked stunned. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb,” your voice cracked. “You’ve been distant, cold. You push me away like I’m a stranger. You won’t even you to me. I don’t care if it’s painful. I want the truth.”
A long silence.
Then, in a voice so low you almost missed it, he said—
“…I’ve developed feelings for Lumine.”
You stopped breathing.
“I didn’t mean to,” he said quickly, his voice raw with guilt. “I didn’t even know what I was feeling at first. I tried to push it down, but—I'm sorry. I wasn’t sure if I was in my right mind.”
The room spun around you.
This wasn’t a mission. This wasn’t a fight. This was your marriage. And it was slipping through your fingers.
“I see,” you whispered. “Then I guess… we both know this relationship is over.”
Your voice wavered, but your decision didn’t.
Childe’s expression crumbled. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
“But you did.”
A beat of silence. His hand reached for your arm.
“I’ll respect your decision,” he murmured, eyes full of regret.
You nodded, blinking back tears. “I’ll have my things packed by morning.”
And just like that, you turned and walked toward the bedroom—once yours and his. Now just yours. One last night under the same roof.
By morning, you were gone.
No note. No sound. No trace.
Just an empty ring dish on the nightstand. And a silence louder than war.
