#affectionate darling

You interrupted his thoughts by appearing in the doorway, arms full of steaming tea and a soft smile that somehow felt like forgiveness for sins he never told you about.

“Dan Heng?” you asked gently. “You’ve been holed up all day.”

He hesitated. You were so warm, so soft, so trusting—it made something dark stir inside him. Something old. Something he buried with Cloud-Piercer in blood-soaked memory. But when you looked at him like that, like he wasn’t a monster, how could he not want to keep you forever?

“I... didn’t want to leave you unguarded,” he murmured. “There are still people who’d take you from me.”

You set the tea down and stepped into his space, fingers ghosting over his arm.

“I know. But you’re here now. And I’m safe when I’m with you.”

Dan Heng’s eyes lowered to your hand. You didn’t flinch from his touch. You never did anymore. His breath shook as he cupped your face.

“I don’t deserve this,” he whispered. “But I won’t let anyone else have it.”

Then he kissed you—deep, protective, desperate—like it would anchor him to the present and drown out the ghosts.

You only smiled afterward, tugging him closer.

“Then don’t let go.”

And Dan Heng didn’t. He wouldn't. Ever.

Phainon had always believed in duty. That the Heirs served Amphoreus, that sacrifice was noble, that love was a luxury warriors couldn’t afford.

Until you shattered that belief with your gentle touch.

He watched you laugh with Tribbie, sunlight catching in your hair. He should have kept his distance. He meant to. But when you had run to him after the siege, face smudged with ash, tears glistening but voice steady—“Phainon, I’m here. I’m not leaving you.”—he knew.

You were the one thing he couldn’t burn for the mission.

Now, you sat with your head in his lap, humming as he braided golden threads through your hair—just something he liked to do to remind himself you were his.

“You never flinch when I’m near,” he murmured.

“Why would I?” you asked, reaching up to hold his hand. “You’re warm. Safer than any armor.”

Phainon smiled softly, though his grip on your hand tightened. “If others knew what I’ve done to keep you near... would you still say that?”

You only tilted your head and kissed his palm.

“I already know.”

He stilled. “And yet you’re still here.”

“I’ll always be. Even if the whole world burns down around us.”

His heart swelled with something dangerous and beautiful.

“Then let it burn,” he said.

And in his arms, you felt the heat of both divine power and undying love.

Sunday had always been afraid of touch.

Not because it hurt, but because it healed too much.

When he let you into his room—bathed in the glow of floating sigils and soft ambient music—you didn’t ask questions. You simply walked to him, wrapped your arms around him, and let his halo hum in quiet rhythm.

“You’re warm tonight,” you murmured, fingers brushing the wing behind his ear. “Were you thinking of me again?”

He chuckled weakly. “Always. You’re the only thing I haven’t exiled from my dreams.”

You leaned in, eyes reflecting his own. “That’s good. Because I want to stay. Even in the parts you think are too broken.”

He closed his eyes, burying his face into your shoulder, wings fluttering softly.

“I’ve watched utopias collapse for the sake of mercy. Let people sleep forever rather than face pain. But you...” His voice trembled. “You make me want to stay awake.”

You kissed his forehead, fingertips curling over the white strap on his waist.

“I love all of you, Sunday. Even the pieces you think are too dangerous to share.”

His halo pulsed.

And he whispered, voice so quiet only your soul heard: “Then I’ll destroy anything that tries to take you from me.”

Your smile was serene. “I know.”

“You know,” Aventurine drawled, lying upside down on the couch with you lazily sprawled over his chest, “most people run when they figure out how deep my claws go.”

You giggled, finger tracing the curve of his spade cutout. “Lucky for you, I like dangerous things.”

A grin bloomed across his face, wide and wolfish. “Gods, you’re perfect.”

His hands, adorned with rings and sin, stroked your back possessively. “You’re not scared of me?”

“Why should I be? You’re soft with me.”

“I’m obsessed with you,” he corrected, voice dipping dangerously. “I have blackmail on half the IPC to keep them away. I’ve poisoned deals that dared try to involve your name.”

Your lips brushed against his collarbone. “And I love how far you’ll go to protect what’s yours.”

He froze.

No one had ever called him protection. Just a parasite, a gambler, a liar.

But you curled into him like he was sanctuary.

He cupped your face, eyes glinting with something manic and pure. “You’re mine, sweetheart. The house. The jackpot. The endgame.”

You kissed him hard, tugging his hair.

“Then bet on me.”

He laughed—giddy, dangerous, enamored.

“Oh darling. I already rigged the game in our favor.”