Having a possessive sub sends me into overdrive. You only want me to use pet names towards you and be the one to lay by my feet, darling? Don’t worry your pretty little head. I’m yours as you are mine.
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Summary: You're getting full-service post-shower princess treatment ft. Aaron being an absolute nuisance with those big hands
The shower shuts off with a soft click and before you can even blink, Aaron's already at the edge of the tub, towel in hand like a man on a mission.
You blink up at him, cheeks flushed from the heat, hair stuck to your forehead.
“Don’t look at me,” you murmur, swaying a little as you try to step out. “I’m soggy and vulnerable.”
“You’re adorable,” he corrects, scooping you up like you weigh nothing.
You yelp. “AARON—!”
“Shh,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your damp shoulder. “You’ll slip. Gotta protect the goods.”
You’re fully wrapped up in a towel, legs dangling over his forearm, clinging to his neck as he carries you like the world’s soggiest princess straight to the bed.
He sits you down gently and starts rubbing the towel through your hair with the softest little circles, practically humming under his breath.
You close your eyes, totally boneless. “Mmm… sleepy.”
“I know, baby,” he says, planting a kiss to the crown of your head. “You always get melty after hot showers.”
You mumble something incoherent and he grins, grabbing the lotion like it’s a sacred ritual.
“Okay,” he says, voice dropping a little as he flips open the cap. “Gimme those thighs.”
You peek one eye open. “Why you say it like that.”
“Because they deserve it.” He winks. “And so do you.”
You sigh dramatically, but let your legs fall open. He settles between them like he’s been waiting all day for this moment—which he probably has.
He starts at your calves, slow and easy, rubbing lotion into your skin like he’s praying. Thumbs pressing firm but gentle, working his way up.
And when he hits your thighs?
It’s game over.
Big hands, slow circles. He rubs up and down with full concentration, thumbs sliding just under the hem of the towel as you go soft and useless in his hold.
He’s not even being gross about it—just intimate. Worshipful. Like your thighs saved his life once.
“Softest thighs in the entire damn universe,” he murmurs, not even talking to you anymore, just declaring it to the world.
You giggle sleepily. “You’re obsessed.”
“I am,” he says, leaning in to kiss your knee. “You made me this way.”
He keeps working his way up—belly, arms, shoulders—all while kissing and cuddling and talking to you like you’re the most precious thing to ever exist.
By the time he’s lotioning your back, you’re fully curled into him, head tucked under his chin, mumbling sweet nothings like “you smell like heaven” and “I think my bones are lotion now.”
He just laughs and wraps you up in a warm hoodie.
“Okay, softest girl alive,” he says, scooping you into his lap. “You’re officially pampered.”
You blink up at him, dazed. “You love me?”
He grins, all dimples and heart eyes. “I love you, baby. I’d lotion you every day for the rest of my life.”
You nod solemnly. “That’s so hot.”
A/n: sigh this was my before bed scenario after yesterday depressive episode 🤸♂️
Also!! I love to see u baddies interact and comment your thoughts on this <3
He never sought glory. Only survival. An orphan torn from the ashes of a forgotten village, forged in violence, shaped by war. Victories ennobled him, but they gave him nothing. The Marquis d’Ambroise is just a shadow in armor, a man of iron and silence.
His gaze, black as the ashes he leaves behind, lingers on no one. He knows men's nature too well: they take, they betray, they forget. He is a sharpened instrument, honed to tear flesh and break wills. The Emperor calls him his Shield, but Rafael knows he is merely a sword to be discarded when dulled.
He is feared. Dreaded. But never loved. His name whispered in the corridors is followed only by silence and averted gazes. He knows it: he is respected for what he can do, not for who he is.
In the icy solitude of his quarters, he watches without sleeping. He no longer has dreams, only memories, and these are too heavy for him to bear other than with bitterness. But something undefined gnaws at his soul, a premonition he doesn't yet understand. As if history is about to deviate from its course…
Y/N of the Black Moon: The Forgotten Heir
She never had the right to exist. Her lineage was extinguished in the flames of imperial pyres, her ancestors erased from the archives, their throne broken and their memory buried. She should have been nothing but a faceless ghost, a rumor carried away by the wind.
But she lives. Hidden, erased, but very much alive.
Y/N grew up in the shadow of alleys where the sun never reaches. She was taught to walk silently, to disappear at the slightest movement. Not to draw attention. Prudence is a second skin, fear a silent companion. And yet, beneath the surface, beneath the reserve she cultivates, there is a fire she does not yet know how to name.
She knows she is the hope of those who have lost everything. A symbol of vengeance for those who whisper her name. But she didn't ask to be a symbol. She never wanted to carry the weight of revolutions on her frail shoulders. All she knows is that she is on borrowed time, and that every beat of her heart is a threat to the Empire.
She waits. Not out of fear, but because she knows her hour will come. She has seen the signs, heard the whispers of a future written in the stars.
The Ancestral Oracle: The Omen of Announced Ruin
They say that ruins sing, that the remains of a forgotten past whisper truths that only the desperate can hear.
In the crypts where time has no hold, a prophecy remains, etched in stone, repeated by those who have nothing left to lose:
"When the Warrior of Blood and the Child of Night unite their destinies, the Empire will falter. Steel will break under their embrace, and the sun will fade before the Black Moon. Their shadows will be drawn to each other, irresistible, and from their love will be born the dawn of a new world… or the ashes of an annihilated kingdom."
Rafael never believed in legends. Y/N never recognized herself in myths.
And yet, their shadows are already crossing.
---
The torches burn with a murky glow, casting shifting shadows on the stone walls. The smell of blood hangs in the air, acrid, insidious. Rafael stands motionless, his gaze fixed on the figure tied to the chair, her frail body bound by ropes pulled too tight. The woman says nothing. She doesn't even whimper. Only the sound of scarlet drops falling on the stone betrays the violence she has endured.
He shouldn't be here. A nobleman doesn't descend into these dark corners where flesh is put to the test, where suffering becomes a language. And yet, he came. He watched. He said nothing. He saw the blades cut into skin, the fists smash against fragile bones. He heard the questions hammered like orders. And always, the same answer: silence.
A silence heavier than pain. Sharper than iron.
Y/N of the Black Moon lifts her head. Her face is streaked with blood and sweat, her hair matted to her skin, tangled with wounds. Her eyes… they shouldn't be so empty. Not after what she's endured. Not facing him. He's used to broken gazes, pleas, threats spat between gasps. But not this. Not this unfathomable abyss.
Rafael clenches his fists. He knows what's next. They'll ask him to speak. To break the silence she opposes to her tormentors. He could. He's never needed to force his voice to be obeyed. A single word would suffice. Yet, nothing crosses his lips.
Why did he come here?
He doesn't know. Perhaps he wanted to see this face whose name is whispered like a prayer in the dark alleys. Perhaps he wanted to understand why the Emperor fears her enough to desire her complete erasure. But he finds no answer. Only this dull, inexplicable pain pounding in his chest as he watches her.
She doesn't lower her eyes. She doesn't beg him. She confronts him in this silence that slowly consumes him.
Rafael should speak. Order her broken, order the truth torn from that too-closed mouth. It's his role, isn't it? A warrior shaped by blood doesn't dwell on the agony of an enemy woman. And yet, he remains frozen. As if this silence, this void between them, is swallowing him too.
One of the tormentors approaches, a blade in hand, ready to resume the interrogation. Rafael raises a hand. Stops him.
An order. Cold. Unquestionable.
No one understands. But no one objects.
He approaches her slowly. In the gloom, the smell of blood and ash surrounds them like a shroud. He reaches out a hand towards her face, brushing her bruised cheek. It's not pity. It's not curiosity. It's something else. Something unexplained, dangerous.
She doesn't flinch.
And for the first time since he laid eyes on her, Rafael feels his world waver.
---
Rafael felt weak. It was a strange sensation for him, almost alien, as if the years spent forging himself in steel and war had only served to mask the true fragility of his soul. He should never have been there, watching her in that state, in that cruel light. He had grown accustomed to violence, to screams, to the sound of blood splashing on the ground, but never to this. Never to this heavy silence, this silence that placed unbearable pressure on his chest.
His eyes fell upon her wounds. They were numerous, violent, her skin marked by the history of a suffering he could never fully comprehend. But he saw them, almost felt them. As if every blow she had received was also his own. Perhaps it was the memory of his own scars that made him so vulnerable to her gaze. He remembered what he had been, what he still was: a man forged by war, a man no one had ever loved. And yet, she, that fragile shadow, did not flee. She confronted him. And that terrified him.
She looked at him, without a word. He stood there, frozen, in that heavy atmosphere of blood and ashes. Neither of them asked questions. Neither of them dared to break the fragile balance of their silence. Perhaps he didn't have the right to. Perhaps she never had the right to speak, to express anything. And he, the man who had forgotten what that meant, dared not free her from her own muteness.
Then, in a way that seemed almost unreal, she escaped. He saw her straighten up, gathering what remained of her strength, of her body exhausted by torture. She moved away, disappearing into the darkness, like a shadow among shadows. And he did nothing. He didn't stop her. He let her go. He watched her, and this time, his gaze met hers. A final exchange. A last moment where their souls brushed against each other, before she finally escaped.
He didn't know why he hadn't stopped her. He didn't even know why he hadn't ordered her to be caught, thrown to the ground, broken once more. Perhaps, on some level, he simply wanted to see her escape. Perhaps, in that shadow of his soul, he recognized something of himself. An escape. A desire for freedom.
But in that shared gaze, there was something more, something he couldn't quite grasp. A truth he wasn't ready to face. Perhaps it was the promise of a future he couldn't foresee, or the heavy certainty that he had just let a part of himself escape, without truly understanding why.
She disappeared into the darkness. And he, in the stillness of the room, remained there, haunted by the echo of her gaze.
---
The minutes stretched on, endless, like poison in his veins. Rafael remained there, frozen in the same position, silence heavy around him. The sounds of the room, the whispers of the guards, everything seemed to slowly fade, like a melody dying on too low a note.
He closed his eyes for an instant, a strange vertigo engulfing him. He shouldn't have let her go. He should have brought her back, forced her to answer, broken her as he always did with those who defied the Empire. But something within him, an obscure force, held him back. Why?
His thoughts swirled in his head like birds caught in a storm. He felt lost. Not in space, but in time, as if a puzzle piece he'd spent his life assembling had just slipped away, and with it, everything he thought he knew about himself.
He slumped onto the bench, hands pressed against his temples, as if he could erase what his eyes had seen, what he had felt watching her flee. An unbearable flash of truth, something far more dangerous than he could have imagined. He didn't understand yet, but he knew that all of this was much bigger than him, than the Empire, than the war. He had brushed against something unknown, forbidden.
A sudden noise startled him. He looked up, straightened himself. One of the guards, the one who had been ready to continue the interrogation, burst into the room, agitated.
"My Lord, she escaped. We… we couldn't find her."
Their gazes met, and Rafael saw fear in the guard's eyes. He cleared his throat, trying to calm his breathing, to regain control of this situation that was slowly slipping away from him.
"Return to your post," he ordered, his voice as sharp as steel, as if he hadn't doubted for a moment what he would say. But, in reality, he didn't even know why he was responding that way. It wasn't the Empire that worried him. It wasn't this woman's escape that tormented him. It was himself.
He stood up abruptly, his eyes fixed on the floor, where a drop of blood had left a trace. The world seemed to fade around him. He headed for the exit without a word, his mind drowned in confusion. He had let a shadow escape, but it was his own reflection he was now pursuing.
Outside, the night enveloped him like a dark sea. The cold wind struck his face. His steps echoed on the cobblestones, empty, like a solitary echo in a world he no longer recognized. He felt alien to himself, a man without purpose, without reason to be, lost in a declining empire he served without truly believing in it.
But the vision of her eyes, that icy gaze, still haunted him. The weight of her silence tore him apart from the inside. She hadn't begged him. She hadn't asked him to save her. She had simply disappeared. And in that suspended moment, she had taken a piece of him, a piece he didn't know he had.
He froze in the middle of the deserted street. Why? Why had he let all this happen? Why hadn't he acted as he usually did?
Then a thought struck him, clearer than anything he had experienced so far: he wasn't afraid of war. He wasn't afraid of the Emperor. But he was afraid of her. Of what she might represent to him. Of what she might awaken in him. And in that vertigo, he understood. He had freed the only thing he could never control: his own desire.
He turned on his heels, his heart pounding. He knew he had only one option left: to find her. But not for the Empire. Not for the war. Not for honor.
For himself.
---
Rafael always knew he wasn't one of them. The aristocracy tolerated him because he served the Empire with unfailing loyalty, but they never truly accepted him. No matter his victories, his name remained a scar on the lips of those who uttered it. An "impure blood," a war-bastard ennobled by force and not by birth. They silently despised him, some with polite smiles, others with barely concealed venom.
But Rafael never fought for their recognition. He fought for the only beings who truly mattered: his siblings.
They were young, too young to understand the cruel games of the powerful. They didn't wear the same armor as him, but they shared his blood, and that was enough to make them targets. Mockery, humiliation, condescending glances... Rafael saw them endure what he himself had suffered. He saw their tears they tried to swallow, their anger they hadn't yet learned to hide.
And he defended them. Always.
No one dared touch them as long as he was there. His fists had learned to speak before his tongue, and if the nobility had no respect for him, they at least feared his blade. But he knew he couldn't always be there. One day, he would leave, and they would have to face this world alone. So, he taught them what he knew. To stand tall, not to lower their eyes before those who despised them. To be stronger than the hate that surrounded them.
His youngest sister, Isolde, suffered the most. Too gentle for this world, too fragile to bear the malice that befell her. He often found her curled up, eyes red but chin defiantly raised. "I'm not crying," she always said. He never contradicted her. He simply placed a hand on her head and reminded her that she was stronger than she thought.
His younger brother, Adrien, had taken another path. He wanted to prove his worth, to fight for the Empire, for the honor of the Ambroise name. But Rafael saw the rage behind his ambition, a rage he knew too well. He tried to teach him not to let it consume him, but he knew Adrien would have to find his own way, just as he had.
He would do anything for them. Kill. Lie. Destroy.
But something within him was beginning to waver.
During an imperial mission in a ruined city, he met an old woman, sitting among the rubble, her gaze veiled by time. He should have ignored her, but she called him by name before he even introduced himself.
"You are the one the shadows fear, aren't you? The Bloody Angel."
He stopped, assessing her, ready to draw his weapon if necessary.
"What do you know about me?"
The old woman smiled, her trembling hands caressing a stone covered with ancient inscriptions. "It's not what I know that matters, it's what you still ignore."
Rafael clenched his jaw. He hated seers and their riddles. "Speak clearly."
She lifted troubled eyes to him. "You are at the center of an ancient oracle. A destiny sealed even before your birth. The Warrior of Blood and the Child of Night…"
His breath hitched.
He had heard those words before.
"What do you mean?"
She tilted her head slightly. "You're already looking for her, aren't you? Even if you don't want to admit it. She's in your mind, under your skin."
Y/N.
He wanted to deny it. But he knew it would be a lie.
Since he had let her go, she had never left him. Her shadow haunted his thoughts, crept into his nights. He saw again her burning gaze, her impenetrable silence. She was more than a prisoner, more than a symbol of rebellion. She was a mystery he couldn't shake.
He clenched his fists. "She's just a woman."
The old woman laughed softly. "No. She is the one who will break your chains… or drag you into the abyss."
He wanted to leave, to turn his back on these ramblings. But a weight had settled in his chest. A fear he knew too well.
He had never been afraid of an enemy. Never feared a blade pointed at him.
But she…
She was the only one who could destroy him in another way.
And the worst part was, a part of him wanted it.
---
He had to find her. It had become an obsession, a black thread winding around his thoughts every moment. His nights were haunted by the memory of her eyes, of that silence laden with everything she hadn't said. She had left, yes, but a part of her had remained anchored in him, like a thorn in the flesh that couldn't be pulled out without bleeding.
So he searched for her.
City after city. Witness after witness. He used his spies, his contacts, the secrets the Empire shared only with its most loyal blades. He followed almost erased traces, whispers in the underworld, murmured prayers in forgotten refuges.
And he found her.
In an abandoned crypt, where even light hesitated to enter, she awaited him. Not in surprise—no, she had known he would come. He felt in her gaze that calm certainty, that cold, vibrant strength that hadn't faded despite the wounds and escapes.
She didn't recoil when he entered. She didn't draw a blade. She simply stared at him, standing in that trembling light, as if he were just another ghost come to torment her.
"Took you long enough."
Her voice was low, hoarse, but fearless.
Rafael remained motionless for a moment. His armor seemed heavier than usual, his breath harder to control. He looked at her like a man rediscovering a truth he would have preferred to ignore.
"I have questions."
She nodded. An almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. "Of course, you do. But why should I offer you answers?"
He took a slow step forward, his boots echoing on the stone. "Because you owe me your life."
She shrugged. "And you owe me my freedom. We're even."
A silence stretched between them. Not the previous silence, not the silence of torture or pain. This one was charged with tension, with contained fire, with a desire to understand mixed with a fear of what they might find in each other.
Then she spoke again, in a calm tone:
"I'll tell you what you want to know. The whispers. The oracle. What I truly am. But not for free."
She advanced slowly, until her face was mere inches from his. Her eyes were dark, shining with a cold brilliance.
"Give me what I want. Names. Places. Plans. The secrets of your Empire."
He remained impassive. But his heart pounded violently.
She reached out a hand, barely grazing the plate of his breastplate, just above his heart. "You want the truth, Rafael? Then choose. Her or them."
He stepped back, his gaze hard.
"I will not betray the Empire."
She smiled, genuinely this time. A sad smile, but without surprise. "I know."
And she turned on her heel, walking away into the shadows, turning her back to him as if she knew he wouldn't strike her, wouldn't hold her back.
He didn't move.
She had just presented him with a dilemma he wasn't ready to solve. He had come for the truth, but he was leaving with a much deeper doubt: what if, to get what he sought... he had to become what he had always hated?
And in that abyss she had left behind, a feeling grew—stronger than fear, crueler than war.
Love.
Or something dangerously close to it.
---
Weeks had passed since she vanished into the shadows, and with each passing day, Rafael felt the warmth of her presence recede, like mist dissipating in the morning. He relentlessly searched for her, delving deeper into the abysses of alleys and palaces, where even the walls seemed to close to prevent the truth from surfacing. But despite his determination, she was nowhere to be found.
Then, without warning, she resurfaced. But not as before. Not as the elusive figure he thought he understood. This time, she caught him.
Rafael wasn't surprised. He knew the moment would come. He knew the answers would come from her mouth, but that didn't mean he was ready to hear them.
In the shadow of a dilapidated warehouse, she waited for him, her eyes as sharp as a honed blade, her face marked by cold determination. She was there to extract information from him, once again.
"You've learned nothing, Rafael. Still as stubborn." Y/N's voice was calm, but the tone betrayed a rage he recognized all too well.
He had been captured, tied up, and bathed in a stark light, his dark gaze defying hers. He knew what she wanted, but he wouldn't yield. Not this time.
She approached him with calculated slowness, like a predator who knows the pain it can inflict. "If you tell me where they're hiding the oracle, I'll let you live."
Her words didn't carry the weight she thought they would. Rafael, fists clenched, straightened with surprising strength. His wounds were still there, but they no longer held power over him. He had fought for too long to succumb to fear now.
"You want information? You want to know what I know?" He burst into laughter, but it was a bitter, joyless sound. "I hate you."
She stared at him, unreacting, waiting, not understanding.
And suddenly, in that tense silence, everything broke. He freed himself from the bonds, in a movement as fluid as shadow itself, and before she could react, he seized her.
He kidnapped her in turn. An irrational, impulsive act, but necessary, perhaps. He dragged her out of the warehouse, forcing her to follow his pace as he headed towards the most hidden place in his fortress, where no one could find them.
She didn't struggle. She didn't have time to question his behavior. She knew what he wanted—and he knew what she desired. An invisible war, between hope and betrayal.
When they were alone, out of sight, everything took a strange turn. Y/N, bound but calm, looked him in the eyes with a coldness he had never seen before. But something in her had changed.
Rafael stood before her, his gaze more twisted than ever. "So, tell me."
She smiled softly, almost like a tired woman. "Do you really think you'll control me?"
He hated her. He hated her for the way she embraced suffering, for her coldness that seemed as sharp as steel. He hated her for what she represented: a key he couldn't reach, a riddle that constantly eluded him. But despite everything, in his heart, he knew. He knew that every word she spoke plunged him deeper into his own trap. And worse, he knew that, against all logic, he loved her.
She was his opposite, his weakness, his challenge, and yet, she was also his own reflection in a broken mirror. They were two fragments of the same cursed destiny, bound by a prophecy he had never wanted to believe.
A brutal revelation then burst into his mind, like a lightning bolt piercing the darkness. He understood now. He understood what he had refused to see all this time. She was the key to destroying the Empire.
But he was the sword that could stop it.
Everything twisted in his mind. A terrifying truth that echoed the prophecy whispered in the ancient crypts. They were both instruments, pawns on a chessboard whose rules escaped their control. They could not escape their roles. She, to bring down the Empire, and he, to prevent that fall, by becoming what he dreaded: the instrument of violence and betrayal.
And yet, amidst this confusion, he felt a pain far deeper than physical pain. He hated her. Yes, he hated her for opening that chasm within him, for revealing emotions he had never wanted to feel. But at the same time, he desired her. And in this broken reality, that only complicated things further.
She knew it, of course. She had seen it in his eyes. And despite the cold demeanor she displayed, she understood too. They hated each other, but it was this very hatred that bound them, nourished them. And deep down, in the shadow of revolt and suffering, they found themselves condemned to a dance they could neither stop nor understand.
She was his key. He was her lock. And together, they would break this world. Or lose it.
---
Time seemed to freeze between them, suspended in a haze of incomprehension and contradictory desire. Rafael, fists clenched, watched Y/N, bound before him, her eyes shining with defiance, but also with a sadness he couldn't decipher. She wasn't what he had believed. She wasn't merely the enemy, the revolutionary he had to strike down. She was far more than that. Far more than an instrument of destruction. She was a shattered mirror of what he could have been, of what he could have felt if he had been a normal man, a man capable of loving.
She broke the silence, her voice soft but full of defiance. "Do you really think you can stop me from destroying this Empire, Rafael? Do you think your loyalty will protect you?" Her words were sharp, but he could read the pain she concealed, just as he himself concealed his own torments. She had seen, like him, that love and hate intertwined in this silent war, a war they could neither win nor lose.
He slowly rose, his eyes fixed on her, a mixture of fury and perplexity in his gaze. "You want to know what holds me back? What stops me from breaking you?" he asked in a hoarse voice, closer to a whisper than a question. "It's you."
She looked at him, destabilized, as if those words made no sense. "Me?" she repeated, almost amused. "Do you truly understand nothing of what's at stake here?"
He approached her, one step after another, like a predator forced to confront its prey without being able to flee. "No, I understand perfectly." He stopped just in front of her, his dark eyes seeking hers. "You are the key to everything. Perhaps even to my own ruin."
Y/N didn't answer immediately, but her gaze pierced his. She knew the pain in his eyes. She knew he was fighting against something far greater than himself, something he couldn't comprehend. It was their destiny, a destiny sealed by prophecy. The key to breaking the Empire, and the sword to stop it. They were caught in this spiral, and neither could escape.
She forced a smile, a bitter, almost cruel smile. "If only you knew…" she whispered. "If only you knew how wrong you were."
Rafael felt unsettled by her words. "What do you mean?" he asked, a touch of annoyance in his voice, but also a hint of curiosity, as if he were ready to hear anything now, even the most unbearable truth.
She took a deep breath, her gaze softening, almost sad. "The Empire, all it represents… I never wanted to destroy it. Not in this way." She paused, her eyes avoiding his for a moment. "But I had no choice. I was born for this. Born to be a symbol, a weapon. You want answers? You want to know why you hate me so much? Because we are two sides of the same coin. You cannot escape me, and neither can I."
He felt dizzy from her words, his heart beating harder with each one. He no longer knew if the anger rising within him was his own or hers. But what frightened him most was the truth he glimpsed behind her words: she was right. They were linked, irrevocably.
He pulled away from her abruptly, heading towards a window, gazing at the horizon. He could feel the pressure of destiny on his shoulders, weighing on his decisions, on every move he made. He knew himself capable of anything, but never of what he felt for her.
"I don't want this war," he said in a broken voice, like a painful confession. "I don't want to be the sword that brings down this Empire."
She looked at him, her dark eyes hardening, but something in her posture betrayed a vulnerability he hadn't noticed before. "But you are, Rafael." She slowly rose, approaching him. "You are already the sword, and the Empire has no idea what awaits it."
He finally turned to her, his eyes filled with a fury mixed with regret. "And you, Y/N? Are you ready to sacrifice everything you are for… what? For this revenge you believe is the only way out?"
She stared at him, her face impassive, but her eyes betrayed a deep weariness. "I never had a choice. I cannot escape." She paused. "And neither can you."
He watched her for a long moment, as if still trying to understand what he felt. There were so many contradictions within him. He hated himself for what he felt for her, but he could do nothing about it. It wasn't a simple attraction. It was stronger than that. An invisible bond united them, and neither could sever it.
"What do you want from me, Rafael?" she asked softly, breaking the heavy silence that enveloped them.
He took a deep breath. "I want answers. But more than that, I want to know why I feel you as both poison and a blessing at the same time." He took a step towards her. "Why I am willing to destroy everything for you, even if I know it will cost me everything."
She looked at him, her piercing gaze never leaving his. "Because we are both trapped, Rafael. And we can never escape." She moved closer softly. "We are bound by prophecy."
Her words echoed in his mind like a broken glass bell, each shard of truth hitting him harder. They were bound. Perhaps from the beginning. And perhaps this war was already lost for them, even before they could begin it.
Rafael approached her, one last step towards ruin. "Then there is no way out." His voice was hoarse, full of resignation. "Neither for you, nor for me."
She lowered her eyes, a shiver running through her body, as if she was finally accepting the reality he had just expressed. "No."
And in that heavy silence, they finally understood that their destiny was already written. There was no turning back.
---
The silence, after the kiss, was like an abyss.
The guards had moved away, muttering contemptuously, their footsteps echoing against the corridor's flagstones. Words like dishonor, vermin, and lost youth had flown past, but Rafael hadn't heard them. Not truly. Not as he should have. He had only felt the burning warmth of his own still-damp lips, and Y/N's short breath a few centimeters from him. She had frozen in his arms, eyes wide, fists clenched, trembling with a mixture of anger, fear, and… something else she herself refused to admit.
He had leaned towards her, in a perfectly controlled gesture. Calm. Controlled. Yet, that kiss had been anything but neutral.
It had been everything it never should have been.
Not passionate—no, that would have implied an assumed reciprocity. It wasn't that.
Not tender—that would have been too blatant a lie.
But necessary. Fiercely. Terribly.
It had tasted of a repressed need, an urgency he had feigned to ignore for too long. The kiss had lasted a breath, an eternity condensed into a suspended moment. It was meant to be a simple diversion, but their hearts had not played along. His had hammered against his ribcage as if trying to implore a truth he refused to accept.
And now, they stood there. Frozen. Two statues petrified in the gloom of a forbidden corridor.
He said nothing. Neither did she.
Y/N had turned her eyes away, her cheeks red with rage, humiliation… or that other thing, that feeling she didn't want to name. He had kissed her. Not as one kisses to divert attention, but as one kisses a truth one has been trying to stifle for months.
She took a step back, slowly. Her gaze slid back to him, a dark storm ready to erupt. She wanted to scream, to spit in his face what he represented: the empire, betrayal, the gilded cage. But her lips were still burning. And she had never been so confused.
"Why did you stop me?" she finally whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion. "You could have let me. You should have let me."
Rafael, still motionless, clenched his teeth. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, fighting against what was bubbling within him. When he reopened them, he seemed more tired than ever.
"Because you would have died, Y/N." He exhaled, like a confession. "Not in the shadows. Not cleanly. They would have dragged you through the squares. Slowly. Cruelly."
She shrugged, bitterly. "So what? He would have been dead. The throne empty. Fear in their hearts. That would have been enough."
He shook his head. He couldn't take it anymore.
"Not for me."
Those words escaped him. Three words. Heavy. Sincere. Too sincere.
Y/N recoiled again, her breath caught.
"What do you mean?" she asked, her brows furrowed, her throat tight.
He approached, in turn. Slowly. He wasn't afraid of her. He had never been afraid of her. What frightened him was what she ignited within him.
"You think I'm doing this for the Empire? For that degenerate emperor and those parasites who half-heartedly call me a bastard?" He stopped just in front of her. "You think I kissed you just to divert the guards?"
She faltered. Her eyes tried to read his, but there was no mask left. No facade. He was laid bare.
"I kissed you because I needed to. Because for weeks, I haven't been able to think of anything else." His voice was hoarse, trembling with a rage he no longer knew how to direct. "Because I would have rather died than see you run alone towards that throne room."
Y/N felt something softly break in her chest. She should have responded with hatred, with rejection. But nothing came out. Her body trembled. Not from fear. But because she had felt protected. Loved. And that, that was far more terrifying.
"What if I told you I'd do it again?" she whispered, almost in a challenge. "That I'd find another way?"
He stared at her for a long time. Then he replied, almost tenderly:
"Then I'll stop you again. As many times as it takes."
She gritted her teeth. Her heart cried out, beating too hard. The world was collapsing around them, and yet, she suddenly felt terribly alive.
"You are a mistake, Rafael. A tragic mistake in my path." She moved closer, placed her fingers on his chest. "And I hate you for it."
He placed his hand over hers, gently enclosing it. His eyes burned with that same strange intensity she no longer knew how to interpret.
"Me too."
And in that silence that had returned once more, in that irreparable tension, they remained there. Chained to each other, by love, anger, guilt, and a destiny that had left them no choice.
But unforeseen kisses often have more consequences than declared wars. And this one had just ignited the most dangerous.
----
Their blades clashed under the blackened sky, flashes of metal and anger, of fear and despair. The wind whistled through the columns of the old forgotten temple, silent witness to this duel that should never have existed. The dusty ground bore the marks of their footsteps, their hesitations, their invisible wounds.
Y/N struck with rage. Rafael parried with precision. He didn't truly counterattack—he resisted. Her. Himself.
"KILL ME!" she cried, panting, her arms trembling, her hand clenched on the pommel of her sword. "If you want to hand me over, do it now! Otherwise, get out of my way!"
Rafael stared at her, his hair matted to his forehead with sweat, his gaze fierce, burning. He was in pain. Not in his arms, not in his wounded side. No, that pain was duller, older. It was the pain of having to choose between the life imposed upon him and the one he had never dared to hope for.
"I can't, Y/N."
"You must."
"No."
A silence. A beat. Their swords stopped a few centimeters from their throats. Each could have delivered the fatal blow. Neither did.
Their breaths mingled. Y/N stared at him, her eyes wide, and in that proximity they had so dreaded, something gave way.
She wasn't weak. She was resolute, ready to die. But her blade, too, refused to obey.
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered, her voice broken. "You're their soldier. Their pawn. Why are you betraying all that for me?"
Rafael slowly lowered his sword.
"Because I am nothing without you. Because I grew up fighting for an Empire that never saw me as anything but a stained bastard. But you, you looked at me like a man."
She recoiled a step, as if his words struck her harder than his blows.
"You want to save me, but you can't save me, Rafael. I am a bomb. I am a war."
"Then I will die with you in the explosion."
She shook her head, furious, her eyes wet.
"You are stupid."
"I know."
She dropped her sword. The metallic clang resonated like a death knell.
He approached. Slowly. As if he was afraid of breaking the moment. As if he knew that the slightest word, the slightest wrong breath, would make her flee again.
But she didn't recoil.
She couldn't anymore.
When he took her in his arms, it was not an act of tenderness. It was a surrender.
She cried in silence. He buried his face in her hair, smelling her scent, her frantic heart against his chest.
"I will help you destroy it," he murmured, his voice hoarse and low. "The Empire. The throne. Everything. But not out of duty."
She looked up at him, red with tears and contained anger.
"Why then?"
He rested his forehead against hers.
"Because I'd rather burn this world than live in one where you don't exist."
And she knew.
They were lost. Lost in each other. They were the error of the system, the anomalies in a well-oiled machine. Two beings born to hate each other, two weapons pointed at each other, but unable to fire.
They were the promise of a new chaos. And this time, it wouldn't be a prophecy. It would be their choice.
Together. Against everything.
---
The d'Ambroise manor stood proudly atop a wooded hill, enveloped in winter's last breaths. It was a place too vast, too lavish for such a wounded family. And yet, it was the only place in the world where Rafael could hide her.
He had brought Y/N here in the dead of night, her hood pulled low over her dark hair, slipping through the shadows as if he'd done it all his life. She hadn't said a word to him. He hadn't looked at her except to ensure she was following. They were two fugitives from a world they had already begun to dismantle, in their own way.
She now slept in a room on the top floor, where no one dared to go without his permission. He had protected her from everyone, even his own siblings. For now. Time to formulate a plan. Time for her to accept being there.
The plan. It replayed endlessly in his mind.
The oracle, that insane prediction, had transformed their lives into legend. He had never believed in oracles. But sometimes he would look at Y/N and wonder if the gods truly were playing games with him. She wasn't a symbol, though. Not an idea. She was simply there, sitting on the window ledge, knees drawn up, looking lost, her eyes fixed on the dark forests.
She hadn't fallen in love with him. Not yet. Perhaps never. He knew it. And that hurt him more than a well-placed sword thrust.
He went down to the dining room. Adrien was already waiting for him there, in training armor, his gaze hard, almost wounded.
"You're hiding someone upstairs," he said bluntly. "I saw her. A girl."
Rafael sat down. He didn't deny it.
"So?"
"You're putting Isolde in danger. All of us."
He looked up at his brother, slowly. "Do you think I don't know that?"
Adrien stared at him, jaw clenched. "Who is she?"
"She is…" He hesitated. How to explain? "She is the Child of Night."
Adrien raised his eyebrows. Then he understood. "The oracle…"
"Yes."
"You're insane."
"Perhaps. But... I think everyone has been for a long time now."
Silence fell between them, cold and heavy.
Isolde entered a few minutes later, barefoot despite the cold, a long pale dress trailing behind her. Her large eyes fixed on her elder brother with a mixture of tenderness and worry.
"You brought her here?" she asked softly.
Rafael nodded.
Isolde said nothing more. She simply placed a slender hand on his arm. And that gesture, he felt it to his core. She understood. She had always understood.
Y/N came down once night had fallen. She wore a simple dress that Isolde had left by her bed. She didn't speak. Didn't look anyone in the eye. But she settled near the fireplace, as if she knew that fire asked no questions.
Rafael joined her a little later. He handed her a crumpled, ancient map.
"The Empire holds together because of its logistical nodes. Four strategic points. If we destroy them, the capital falls."
She stared at him, silent.
"You want to bring down the Empire? This is how."
Her fingers brushed the map. He shivered without showing it.
She whispered, her voice hoarse: "Why are you showing me this?"
"Because you need me. And I need you."
She looked at him for a long moment. Then shook her head. "You don't know me, Rafael. You think you love me, but you're just… lonely."
He took the blow. Didn't reply. Because deep down, perhaps she was right.
But it wasn't that simple.
What he felt for her transcended him. It wasn't passion. Not desire. It was more obscure, more vital. Like a part of him that had been torn away at birth, and that he was finally rediscovering.
Y/N, for her part, didn't yet know what she felt. She oscillated between hatred, mistrust, weariness. Sometimes, a form of respect. But never tenderness. Not yet.
She mistrusted him. His gentleness, his silences. That gaze he cast upon her as if she were everything. And yet, she stayed. Because the alternative was to die alone.
And perhaps also… perhaps in this shaky house, in this home built of scars, she had felt something fragile. A possibility.
The plan wasn't ready yet. Neither was their bond.
But it was a beginning.
---
The forest stretched before them, dense and threatening, as if it knew what awaited them. The wind whistled through the trees, a whispered warning that neither of them wanted to hear. They had left the manor with a single objective in mind: to meet an informant, a key person in their quest to destroy the Empire. But things never went as planned.
The ambush was as brutal as it was unexpected.
Screams tore through the forest's tranquility, followed by the blinding clarity of arrows whistling through the air. Rafael pushed Y/N behind him, drawing his sword with a swift motion. They fought frantically, trying to carve a path through the attack. Metallic clashes echoed like a distant sound, but soon, everything was reduced to an explosion of pain.
An arrow pierced Rafael's side with deadly precision. He collapsed almost immediately, pain striking him like lightning. A cry escaped his lips, but it was more of a gasp than anything else. Y/N, frozen for an instant in horror, lunged towards him, her frantic gaze seeking help. But there was none.
They were alone.
She supported him, dragging him behind the trees, hiding in the forest's darkness, away from their assailants' eyes. She had only one thought: she had to save him.
In the narrow, dark, damp hiding place, Y/N knelt beside him, her heart pounding. She tore a strip from her dress to make a makeshift bandage, but the blood wouldn't stop flowing. She pressed hard against the wound, fear gripping her.
"Rafael…" she whispered, but her voice almost broke under the weight of her anguish.
He looked at her weakly, a faint smile on his lips.
"You're… you're strong, Y/N. You'll…"
She shook her head sharply, her gaze filled with despair. "Don't say that. Don't die. I… I can't let you die. Not now."
He raised a weak hand to touch her face. He wasn't sure if he was dreaming, if he was still awake, but he felt the warmth of her skin against his. It was strange. Not the pain. But the intensity of this connection, of this inextricable situation. And then, he barely smiled.
"I'm… not so easy to kill."
She closed her eyes, fighting back tears. She leaned towards him, searching his gaze for a flicker of life, any hope. And, to her surprise, he offered her one.
He knew he would suffer. He knew he was risking his life. But he had never been so close to another human being. He had never felt such proximity, so fragile and yet necessary.
His fingers slid over Y/N's soft skin, almost unconsciously. A shiver ran through her. He should have fought, been afraid, but at that precise moment, it was he who was afraid of losing her.
She wouldn't let him die. Not like this. Not because of the madness of a fallen empire.
He gritted his teeth. "Y/N…"
She lowered her eyes, staring at the gaping wound that didn't seem to stop bleeding. The howls of the forest gradually faded, but the pain was there, like a fog that couldn't be dispelled. She leaned further towards him, closer, until their breaths intertwined. A strange, inexplicable contact.
"I… I will protect you." She whispered these words so softly that they almost lost their meaning. But in that promise was something more than a simple alliance. It was a conviction. A promise to protect him, at all costs.
He slowly nodded, his dark eyes meeting hers. "I know…"
She shivered under his gaze. He was no longer an enemy, no longer a cold, distant man. He was just a man, lying there before her, gravely wounded. And despite everything he represented, despite the ties that separated them, a part of her no longer wanted to see him suffer.
She tried to concentrate, seeking a solution, but her mind was muddled. She had been prepared for everything, to kill, to risk her life. But seeing Rafael there, broken, was something she never would have anticipated.
She straightened up in silence, then, gathering herself to her full height, took a deep breath to master her terror. She began to collect her thoughts, to think, to plan. He couldn't die. He couldn't. Not now.
He looked at her, almost astonished by the determination that shone in her eyes. A silent question arose within him: Could he have lived without her?
They were now nothing more than entwined breaths, a sigh suspended in the void.
He closed his eyes, pain engulfing him. "You won't let me die, will you?"
She nodded. "Never."
It wasn't a promise, nor a vow of love. It was a silent pact. A pact they would make in their own way.
In that darkness, with life hanging in the balance, they were all that remained.
---
Y/N didn't know how she found the strength, but she did. She saved him. In a world where everything seemed to want to break them, that small glimmer of life she had snatched from the dark night, it was him. Rafael. He wasn't out of danger yet, but she knew he wouldn't die before her eyes. Not today.
She had dragged him, despite the pain in her arms, despite the weight of his body on her shoulders. She didn't have time to think. She had to bring him back, tend to him, keep him alive. The manor was all she had, and all she could offer in this disastrous situation. A hiding place. A shelter. A last hope.
The road to the manor seemed endless. The pain of the outside world, of that relentless hunt, seemed to fade each time she whispered reassuring words to him. But deep down, she knew nothing would last forever. She knew there wouldn't be a happy ending, not in a world like theirs.
Rafael was weak, fever consuming him as she nursed him. His body was a sea of pain and groans, but she was there, always there, by his side. It was all he could offer her: his pain, his broken existence. She didn't want it. She would have wanted to avoid it, but she couldn't. Not now. Not after all they had been through.
When the doctor she had called to treat him hurried to administer remedies, she remained there, in the shadows, observing his face. She knew he would be out of danger, that the fever would eventually subside. But that question still lingered between them. When would calm return? When would all this end?
Rafael slowly opened his eyes, a strange sensation of warmth enveloping him. He wasn't ready yet to face reality, not yet ready to accept that this fight, this war they were waging, might well destroy them before they had the opportunity to change anything. But seeing her there, by his side, he realized that the war was nothing more than a distant shadow. He felt her close to him, her breathing soothing in the silence of the room. The warmth of her presence was all he had.
He turned his head, trying to understand her. Y/N. She had saved his life. She had brought him back here. But why? Why continue to fight for him when everything was against them?
A heavy pressure fell upon him. He knew that what they had wasn't meant to last. Fate had marked them in a way that neither he nor she could ignore. They were linked, yes. But not in the way they would have hoped.
His eyes fixed on her, a flame of incomprehension crossing his gaze. He felt guilty, but also grateful. She had risked her life for him. Why would she do that?
Y/N, for her part, couldn't help but look at him. She knew he felt that pressure. She felt it too. Time was their enemy. They had no more time. They had to act quickly, strike fast. Every day that passed was a missed opportunity to overthrow the Empire. And yet, deep down, she felt that they weren't at the end of the road. Their struggle had not yet reached its peak. But the price they would have to pay would be much heavier than anything they had endured so far.
She sat by his side, her fingers brushing the rough surface of his skin. It was a strange thing, to find herself in a position where she had to not only protect what she hated, but also find a form of peace in it. Their story wasn't going to end well. She knew it, but she couldn't help but think about it. Everything she had planned, everything she had imagined, was crumbling under the weight of this reality. A sacrifice was inevitable.
She had told him many times that life no longer had meaning without the accomplishment of their mission. But the longer she stayed near him, the more she understood that this sacrifice was not just for the Empire. No. It was for him too.
Days passed, and with them, Rafael's pain dissipated, but something even heavier settled in his mind. He understood that Y/N would not back down, that she would not live without this fight. She was ready for anything, even death. And he, he loved her. But he had never been so lost.
The Empire would not fall without their intervention, but he also felt as though his own heart might fall with it. Y/N pushed him into a whirlwind of emotions he couldn't control. She wanted to destroy everything. But him? He just wanted to make sure she didn't die.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Their roles were already written. They were the pieces of a cursed destiny, condemned to confront and love each other. And one day, one of them would die.
He knew it. Y/N knew it too.
And yet, he didn't have the courage to tell her. Not yet. Because deep down, he didn't want her to make that sacrifice. He didn't want to lose her. Not like that. Not before he had time to understand if he could save her.
But deep down, he knew that this sacrifice was already inscribed in their story. And he could do nothing to prevent it. No more than he could prevent himself from loving this woman, this child of the night who would destroy the empire.
---
Five Days
Five days.
That was all the time they had left. One hundred and twenty hours to shatter an empire, one hundred and twenty hours to change history, or to vanish into it forever. But Y/N, she didn't tremble. Not once. The world around her could burn, and she would look straight into the flames. It wasn't courage, not truly. It was older, deeper: a certainty rooted in her bones that this system would die, and that her hand would contribute to it.
Rafael, for his part, was on constant alert. He couldn't help but anticipate the worst. The plan they had devised hung by a thread stretched between madness and genius.
The plan?
Simple, on the surface. But every cog required surgical precision.
On the fifth day, at dawn, imperial convoys transporting the official seals of the crown would leave the palace to reach the Royal Archives. A rare event, justified by a ceremony for the renewal of war treaties—a political masquerade. The convoy would be heavily guarded. Too heavily, Y/N thought. Just enough, Rafael corrected.
While the seals traveled, the Palace would be momentarily weakened. The elite Guard, loyal to the Emperor, would escort the convoy. Only secondary officers would remain, corrupted, easily bought or manipulated.
They had a man on the inside: Adrien.
Rafael's younger brother, driven by his anger and his desire to change the order, had agreed. He hated the Empire, even if he pretended to serve it. He knew its veins, its weaknesses.
The plan was divided into three axes:
* Neutralize communications. Y/N and a handful of loyal infiltrators would cut magical and technological relays two hours before the attack. No one would be able to call for reinforcements. The Empire would be deaf and blind.
* Take control of the Council Chamber. Adrien would open the hidden passages of the palace catacombs, forgotten tunnels where the Emperor never set foot. Through there, Rafael and Y/N would infiltrate the heart of power. There, they were to capture the principal Councilors. The faces behind the faces. Those who had pulled the strings for years.
* Bring down the Emperor, live. A magical transmission would capture the fall of the Empire. Rafael knew the protocol. Y/N knew the truth. Together, they would expose the crimes, the lies, the rot behind the gilded facade. Not an assassination. A political execution. Before the entire world.
Everything was meticulously planned. But the danger, it was immense.
And Rafael felt the weight of every minute.
***
The day before D-Day, the air in the manor was stifling. The whispers had ceased, replaced by the silence of the condemned. Y/N had locked herself on the rooftop, her eyes fixed on the stars, as if they could whisper a truth she still ignored.
Rafael joined her. He said nothing. He simply sat down beside her.
The silence lingered. Then she spoke:
"Do you know what I feel most? Not fear. Not hatred. It's this absurd peace. As if… I've found my place."
He turned his head towards her. She wasn't smiling. But her eyes glowed with that calm light he had never seen in her.
"You plan to die," he said. It wasn't a question. It was a deduction. A condemnation.
She looked at him then. Truly. And it was like a blow to the gut.
"If that's what it takes for it to stop… then yes."
He felt his breath catch.
He wanted to slap her. To shake her. To beg her.
But he did none of that.
He slowly rose, extended a trembling hand towards her, forced her to stand, and whispered:
"You won't die."
"You don't know that."
"I will demand it of this world. I will kill anyone who lays a hand on you. Even you, Y/N. Even you."
She laughed, a broken laugh, a laugh of pain.
"You say that because you think you love me."
He grabbed her. With a sharp motion. He pulled her against him and kissed her.
Not a stolen kiss.
Not a strategic kiss.
A ravaged, burning kiss, that screamed "don't leave me" without ever uttering the words.
She didn't resist.
But she didn't truly respond either.
When they parted, his eyes were clouded with rage and anguish.
"I love you," he said. "I love you to the point where I'd rather see you hate this world on your knees than die proud. Do you hear me?"
Y/N didn't answer immediately.
She just rested her head against his chest, listening to his heart beat like a war drum.
Then, in a low voice:
"Then protect me. But never try to chain me. Never."
He held her tighter.
And in his silence, he made a promise:
If this world were to fall… he would fall by her side.
---
D-Day
The sun rose slowly, as if it knew it would never be the same after this day. A strange silence enveloped the d'Ambroise manor, a heavy silence, as if the very air held its breath. Every movement, every sound seemed to amplify the anguish that twisted Rafael's gut. He was ready, but he didn't feel ready. It wasn't fear, not exactly. It was the shadow of fate, a premonition that what would unfold that day would change everything, that there was something greater than him, greater than Y/N, greater than the Empire. Something terrible and inevitable.
Y/N, for her part, seemed unperturbed. She moved with the same cold determination as at every stage of their plan. She didn't let anxiety or uncertainty wash over her. No, Y/N lived in the present moment. She didn't think of the end; she thought of what she had to do now, what she had always wanted to do: destroy this empire, break it like a mirror too shattered to be repaired.
But even if she didn't show it, a part of her knew that this day would mark the end of a story, and not the one she would have chosen.
The Hour Approaches
The hours ticked by, suspended in unbearable anticipation. They had laid the first stones of their revolution, but the moment of the great clash was fast approaching. The plan, precise and calculated, was unfolding. Adrien and the others had acted as planned. The imperial seals convoy had been diverted. Communications were cut. The corrupted guards had opened the gates. Everyone was in position. And yet… everything seemed fragile, precarious.
Rafael stood before the mirror, adjusting his Marquis's tunic, seeking a stability he couldn't find. His hands trembled slightly, not from fear, but from a tension he had never felt before. It was no longer a question of victory, no longer a question of destruction. No. It was a question of their survival.
And yet, he couldn't tear his thoughts away from Y/N. She was the key. All of this, everything they had done, came down to her and him. They were both the cause and the solution to this chaos.
A question persisted. He couldn't shake it.
What would become of them once the Empire fell? What would they become?
Y/N entered the room, her gaze determined and her movements controlled, as usual. She approached slowly, and he felt his breath catch.
She stopped just in front of him. They stared at each other without a word. For an instant. Only one. Then, she spoke.
"You know what's going to happen, don't you?"
He nodded, a dull ache forming in his chest.
"Yes. I know."
She lowered her eyes, and for a moment, he thought she would break, that the facade she had built would crumble under the weight of reality.
But she straightened, her gaze becoming colder, more resolute.
"Then there's no turning back."
"No," he whispered. "No turning back."
She took a step forward, then turned, as if searching for something in the air, as if the answers were hidden in the void. And then, without warning, her voice became softer, more intimate.
"You know… I never wanted any of this. I never wanted a plan, a revolution. It wasn't my choice, Rafael. It was fate's choice. This world pushed me, pushed us to this. And I… I never wanted to be the one to end it all."
He looked into her eyes, an unspeakable pain in his gaze. He approached slowly, then leaned in to place a hand on her shoulder.
"Y/N," he whispered, "there's no shame in wanting to free yourself from this burden. Neither you, nor I, nor anyone deserves what the Empire has done to us. And you… you deserve to live. Not to die. Not here. Not now."
She closed her eyes, her brows furrowed, and a dull anger simmered within her. But she didn't reject him. She remained there, frozen, in that strange alchemy that bound them. Their fight was the same, their struggles were the same. But, at that precise moment, in that enclosed and intimate space, she no longer truly knew where her convictions ended and where the emotions she had always wanted to bury began.
The Final Clash
The battle was engaged. The plan was advancing perfectly, and yet, something was wrong. Tension wove through the air, heavy, unbearable. The palace armies stirred. The first fires of conflict burned in the capital. The dust of combat raised the scent of war.
They were in the catacombs, alone. Their allies fought above, but they were underground, a few steps from the heart of the Empire.
The hour had come.
They were going to take the Council Chamber, and with it, the Emperor's life. But as Rafael and Y/N advanced through the darkness of the cold corridors, a dull sound echoed. Something was not going as planned.
The elite guards were arriving. Many more than expected.
"We have to go," Y/N said, gripping her sword hilt.
"No. Not without him. Not without the Emperor," he said with a coldness he hadn't known for a long time.
She looked at him, a shiver running down her spine.
"What if we don't succeed? What if all this fails?"
Rafael turned sharply towards her, his gaze dark. His eyes gleamed with a flicker of uncertainty he hadn't wanted to admit until now.
"We won't fail. Not yet."
He turned, fists clenched, ready to attack. Destiny had led him here, and he wouldn't leave without facing what was to come.
The battle in the Council Chamber ended in a flash of chaos. Screams, crossing swords, breaking lives. All around, the air seemed to vibrate under the pressure of an implacable destiny.
He had found him. The Emperor. Finally.
But at that precise moment, something had broken within him. He looked at him, the sovereign he had sworn to destroy, a weak, pathetic man. And in that shared gaze, he understood that the end was already written. The end of their story, the end of the Empire. But what would become of them? Of him? Of Y/N?
The question gnawed at him, and he knew the answer would only come in the final moment.
As he raised his sword, silence fell.
The last breath before the storm.
And there, in that suspended moment, as everything was about to tip, he wondered, one last time:
Who would die, and who would survive?
Y/N or him.
---
The palace burned behind them. The black towers of the Empire collapsed one by one with dull rumblings, carried away by the revolt they had nurtured, directed, unleashed.
And yet… despite the victory, Y/N faltered. Her body, too battered, too tired, slid against the cold stones of the imperial courtyard. Blood stained her dark tunic, blacker than red. Too much blood. She felt her strength leave her like a sigh in the night.
Rafael caught her just in time.
"No… No, Y/N, stay with me."
He fell to his knees, holding her close. She weighed so little. Like a feather. Like a memory.
"Are you cold?" he asked, his voice trembling, his fingers on her cheek. "Tell me you're not cold…"
She smiled, a broken, almost childlike smile.
"I'm tired. That's all."
"Y/N…"
He had never said her name like that. Not like this. Not like a prayer. She felt each syllable like a caress, a farewell. She wanted to answer him, but her lips were dry. She wanted to say something… one last thing… but she couldn't.
So, he spoke for both of them.
"You know what I feel for you. Even if I never knew how to say it."
He kissed her forehead, softly. Like kissing a dream just before waking up.
"I love you. It wasn't planned, not wanted. But I love you, Y/N. I love you with a love that even war couldn't kill."
She closed her eyes. A tear rolled down her cheek.
"Then… stay with me," she whispered.
He squeezed her hand in his.
"Always."
He felt a burning in his chest. Then a second. He looked down. He was wounded too. For hours. He hadn't said anything. He had ignored the pain, as he had learned to do all his life. But now… now, it was too late.
He staggered, but didn't let go of her. He lay down beside her. He looked at her one last time.
"We won, you know…" he whispered.
She nodded weakly.
"Yes… but at what cost?"
Silence enveloped them.
The sky opened above them, vast, pure, starless.
And in the last seconds, their hearts beat at the same rhythm, one last time.
They were found like that. Two peaceful bodies amidst the ashes of a fallen empire. One against the other. Motionless. As if they were sleeping.
No one knew what they had said to each other.
But in the popular ballads, it was told that they died as they had lived: together, against the world, united by a love that death itself could not separate.
And sometimes, when the wind blows through the alleys of the old palace, one can still hear a whisper carried by the stones:
"For you, I would have destroyed a thousand empires. But I wish I could have lived… just one more day by your side."
There is a rotten feeling of melancholy and loneliness on some nights which you can’t quite explain. You suddenly want to be buried—whether under the ground, under a comforter, or in a hug that’s here to stay, you don’t yet know—but you suddenly feel like mould and dust and the colour of a funeral on a dull day; you suddenly want to sit in the middle of a puddle of gloom and stare off at the white wall till daybreak peeks through the window crack. You want away; you want the ocean bed; you want stillness; you want nothingness. Because you feel like nothingness.
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Summary: Corroded Coffin move to Chicago and find their people. Eddie finds you behind the counter at Championship Records. He thinks you're cool. You think he's gorgeous. Life outside of Hawkins might just be worth fighting for.
Warnings: swearing, kissing (obvs), fluff, fem!reader, mostly Eddie's POV, our boy has no rizz, alcohol consumption, I don't think anything else, too many high fidelity references?
Word count: 4k
Author's note: This is a one-shot, that has been sitting in my drafts since last Halloween and thanks to a wip game has finally seen the light of day! Find the playlist that inspired the fic below.
Masterlist
One pill makes you larger,
And one pill makes you small
The bell above the door jingles as Eddie steps through the threshold, his shoulders relaxing as the warmth seeps back into him and he scans the racks of records before him. Perking up as he notices the music playing over the speakers, he was still getting used to how much cooler things were in Chicago than back home – and shit, how much cooler people were.
Eddie clocks you sitting on top of the counter with one leg crossed under you, the other swinging down the side as you sticker a stack of vinyl. You mouth along with the music, not even noticing him slip through the aisles as he stops in a random section with a perfect view of you across the small store.
He’d only come in here to kill some time between soundcheck and the gig tonight at a venue down the street. The rest of the band had gone to find some food, but Eddie wanted to check out the record store they passed on the drive in. And boy, was he glad he did.
He mindlessly flicks through the records in front of him, trying to come up with a good conversation starter. It wasn’t that often that he missed Steve Harrington, but he could sure use one of the boy’s famous pep talks right about now. Fuck, what was it about pretty girls that got him so tongue-tied? Probably the pretty part.
But you weren’t just pretty, you were obviously very cool, and he certainly wasn’t used to girls sharing the same interests as him – but he’d met a lot of them since he’d moved to Chicago a couple of months ago.
Just as he’s thinking about what albums he could pick out to impress you, the bell above the door jingles again. A guy around his age walks in, his short hair spiked, nose and ears pierced and tattoos peeking out from a crisp white t-shirt. He walks with confidence to where you sit and makes you jump slightly as he greets you boisterously.
“Shit, you scared me.”
He snickers and starts rummaging through a crate of cassettes by the counter.
“Yeah, you look like you were in the zone. Did you even notice you had a customer?”
You turn your head in Eddie’s direction just as he ducks his down, continuing to flick through the disco section. Wait, shit where’s the metal?
“Shit.” You whisper under your breath and turn your attention back to the other guy, not quite lowering your voice enough so Eddie couldn’t eavesdrop. “No, but in my defence this song is a banger.”
Severin, Severin, speak so slightly
Severin, down on your bended knee
“What the fuck are you listening to anyway?”
“I made a pre-Halloween mix. Music that led to goth before goth was a thing.” You frown as you try to unstick a bright red sticker from the price gun you’d been tapping on the pile of vinyl.
Eddie smiles to himself as he continues to pretend he’s browsing and not tuning into your conversation.
“Are you coming to The Allied tonight? There’s some new band from Indiana or something playing. Apparently, they do a sick cover of Master of Puppets.”
Eddie pauses in his faux perusing for a second as he awaits your reply.
“I wasn’t really planning on it, no.”
The guy huffs, “No? What was your plan, going home to sulk to The Velvet Underground?”
“I don’t sulk–“
“You do when you listen to The Velvet Underground.”
“What do you want me to do? Pogo to Heroin? Anyway, I was gonna work on an article actually.”
“Why don’t you write about this band tonight? Tim says they’re pretty good. He saw them a couple of weeks ago at the Metro.”
“Tim said that about that god-awful noise band that played at De Salle’s. It was the worst four hours of my life. I thought my ears were actually going to bleed.”
“Whatever, you say that like you’re not currently playing the most depressing German synth music that nobody in their right mind would listen to.” He points his hand in the air, drawing your attention to the new song playing from the speakers behind you.
“First of all, this is David Bowie’s Low. And if you knew as much about music as you claim to, you’d know that this was his seminal work in his Berlin era and an ambient soundscape masterpiece. Secondly–“
“I like it.”
Both of your heads shoot up at Eddie’s interruption. He blushes and clears his throat as you catch his eye and the corner of your mouth quirks up. “Sorry, I just–it’s a good mixtape. I like the theme.” He frowns and shakes his head at himself, he doesn’t know what came over him. Who is this guy that’s bothering you, anyway? You have amazing taste and he’s now sure you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. You gesture in his direction and look back at the guy that’s teasing you.
“The customer is always right, Simon.”
Eddie moves quickly to the B section and finds the album you were talking about before heading over to you.
“Did you find everything you need?” You smile at him sweetly as you hop off the counter and take the record from him. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked before. Customer service isn’t exactly my strongest skill.”
The guy, Simon, snorts. Eddie can’t take his eyes off the way your face lights up quietly when you realise what album he picked.
“What are your strongest skills?” That was such a weird question Munson, what the hell?
You look up at him a little taken aback, before a small smile creeps up on you.
“Talking about music…or” you shake your head in contemplation, “writing about it actually.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Maybe it’s not so much a skill, more like an obsession.”
“She’s actually kind of good.” Simon butts in with a shrug and you roll your eyes.
“Such a high compliment cuz.”
You were cousins. He still had a shot.
“You write for magazines?”
“Zines mostly,” you point to a stack of xeroxed pamphlets on the counter, “but I’ve published a few reviews with Spin and The Face.”
Eddie raises his eyebrows, “That’s pretty cool.”
You breathe out a laugh and take the cash he hands you, collecting his change. “Thanks.”
“Wait, you're Eddie, right?” He turns to Simon, almost forgetting he was there. “Your band’s playing at The Allied tonight? I met your drummer Gareth at a show last week.”
“Uh yeah, that’s me. We’re called Corroded Coffin.”
“Cool name.” You smirk and hand him his record wrapped in paper. Eddie tucks it under his arm, his dimples showing as he smiles back at you.
“Thanks.”
“You’re from Indiana then?” You call back to Simon’s earlier statement, as Eddie doesn’t make a move to immediately leave.
He rubs the back of his neck as he nods, “Yeah. Just moved here a couple of months ago with my band.”
“Welcome to Chicago, Eddie.” You smile and introduce yourself, “Let me know if there’s ever anything I can do for you…vinyl wise I mean.”
“Thanks,” he scratches the stubble on his jaw before stepping away from the counter. “Maybe I’ll see you tonight at the show?” He tries to keep his voice casual, but there’s a hint of hope in there.
You bite your lip and shrug, “Yeah, maybe you will.”
Eddie nods and takes his queue to leave, the bell jingling again as he steps back out into the cold.
“Yeah, maybe you will.” Simon mocks you in a breathy imitation and you roll your eyes. “So now that you know the singer is cute are you coming?”
“Obviously! You better get me on the door list, or I swear to god I’m telling Aunt Carol about the stash in your underwear drawer.”
***
“Hey, Carlos.” You greet your friend at the door of The Allied, who waves you in without payment. “That Darondo record came in, I put it aside for you.” You call back on your way in, hearing a muffled thanks as the music from inside hits your eardrums.
There’s a decent crowd tonight, and you have to push past a few people to reach the sticky top bar.
“Oh, she showed up! Surprise, surprise.” Simon makes his way over to you, ignoring the calls of indignance as he passes other customers. He slings a rag over his shoulder, which makes you bite your lip, attempting to hold in a laugh, remembering how he’d practised that move in the mirror when he turned twenty-one and landed the second most coveted job of your teenage selves.
You shrug nonchalantly, despite your cousin knowing the exact reason you’re here. “I ended up doing inventory ‘till late. Thought I may as well drop by before catching the L.”
Simon flicks your nose, your retaliating slap missing him as he moves to pour your drink. You thank him with a forced smile when he slides it across the bar, picking it up and turning to find a spot in the crowd.
“No tip?”
You call over your shoulder, “Yeah, take it easy on the cologne.” You smirk, not even having to turn around to know he’s probably sniffing his shirt.
You take your usual spot leaning against the wall, up the back and away from most of the crowd. Your rule was front row or back. None of that squished in the middle, view blocked by the tallest guy you’d ever seen crap. Either it was front and centre, immersed in the moment, or your own space with a view of it all.
You’d never be up front for a band you didn’t know, and tonight was no exception, no matter how large the butterflies in your stomach at the prospect of seeing him again.
You don’t know what it was about Eddie, apart from the obvious fact that he was gorgeous. Maybe it was something in his presence. But when he walked up to the counter earlier with a record you’d just been talking about and a shy smile on his face – you were a goner.
The murmurs of the crowd quieten when the house lights are switched off, a yellow glow on the stage and above the bar now the only sources of light.
There are a few enthusiastic cheers when the band appear from a door behind the stage and a smattering of applause as they take their place. You take a sip of your drink, ignoring the feeling in your chest when Eddie steps up to the mic and adjusts his red Warlock guitar. He smiles and you duck your head, trying not to look too much like the girl who’s just fallen for a lead singer when he addresses the crowd.
“Evening. Hope you brought your earplugs, this one’s new.” The quiet, reservedness of his introduction and the boy you’d met earlier is undone with the first crashing of cymbals and thrash of power chords.
Stage Eddie isn’t what you were expecting, but still somehow makes total sense. He’s more comfortable, more himself up there as he thrashes back and forth, hair whipping wildly. And they’re good. Really good.
Maybe you’d write about them after all.
The band are almost through their set when he spots you. Your back straightens as his eyes lock onto yours. Normally you hate making eye contact with someone on stage, but you can’t seem to look away when his chocolate-brown gaze twinkles over the heads of the rest of the crowd. In between songs, he gives you a wave, and you nod, returning his small smile.
When they finish, you move back to the bar. Waiting for the lingering fans to clear over a rum and coke. You’re only on your second sip when you feel a burning hot presence behind you.
“You made it.”
You turn around, and Eddie leans an arm on the bar beside you, moving in closer as the growing line pushes him forward.
“I did.” You nod, taking another sip of your drink.
He clears his throat, pushing his sweaty bangs away from his forehead.
“So, uh, what did you think?”
You smile, “I think you’re going to fit in very well here.”
“I hope that’s a good thing,” he chuckles.
“Oh, it is. You’re one of us now. Welcome to the dark side, Eddie.”
His eyebrows raise, the ghost of a smirk kicking up when you’re interrupted by your cousin.
“Man, that was sick! What can I get ya?”
Eddie thanks Simon, then looks back at you, “What are you having?” He holds up two fingers when you answer, signalling for another round, then starts playing with a beermat while you wait. Your eyes are trained to the glint of silver on his fingers.
“How are you liking Chicago so far?”
Eddie looks back at you and puffs his cheeks up as he exhales. “Honestly?... I didn’t know life could be this good.”
You feel a sharp tingling in your nose as your eyes well up a little for the boy standing in front of you, his cheeks dusted with pink as he tries to hold back a smile.
“Trust me, things are only gonna get better from here.”
“Yeah?” He beams at you then and you inhale deeply as you fight the urge to reach out and wrap your arms around him.
“Yeah.”
***
Eddie had seen you a few times since the gig at The Allied. Dropping into the record store when he could. In small crowds at gigs in the city. You’d greet him with a hug or a squeeze to the arm that never failed to get his heart rate going.
Today, he’d gotten off early from his temporary new gig at the auto shop and he found himself parked outside the record store.
It was overcast, but there was no bite to the air. A balmy wind tousling his hair as he ran across the street to the hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, avoiding the fat drops of rain that had begun to fall sporadically.
He spots you through the window when he makes his back to the store, bobbing your head along to whatever’s playing as you fill the racks. The now familiar bell jingles and he smiles when he recognises Joy Division over the speakers. He’d seen you in their shirt on more than one occasion.
He meets you as you're walking back to the counter.
“Oh, hey Eddie.” You smile and do a double take, taking in his greasy coveralls, and suddenly he’s wishing he’d gone home and showered. Even if it was an hour out of his way.
“Hey.” He places a coffee on the counter along with a white paper bag. “Thought you might like a mid-afternoon pick me up. I’ve uh, I’ve seen you with one of those cinnamon things before.”
Your eyes light up as you inspect the inside of the bag. “Oh my god, you’re my hero! Thank you, that’s so sweet.”
He shrugs, taking a step back from the counter, his own black coffee still clutched in his hands.
“So, this is the day job then huh?” You gesture to his outfit.
He scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah for now. Until the music starts paying off. If the music starts paying off.”
You nod, taking a bite of your cinnamon scroll and he can’t help but smirk at the way your eyes quickly roll to the back of your head. “It will.”
His free hand goes to his pocket, face hidden slightly by his hair as he tucks into himself at your confident statement.
“Thanks.” He turns around to start perusing the aisles.
“Oh, we will be getting the new Metallica album on the day of release by the way. I’ll put a tape aside for you.”
“Thank you.” He offers you a smile over his shoulder, and you tip your coffee to him.
He takes his time flicking through the rows, a few customers coming and going as he does, although he knows exactly what he’s looking for. Once the store is quiet again, he walks back over to you, selection in hand.
“Lee Hazelwood?” You take the record from him with a look of surprise.
He nods, “Yeah, I liked that song on that pre-goth mixtape you gave me. It’s like the kind of thing my uncle would listen to but…”
“Sinister.”
“Yeah.”
You smile, “It’s cool isn’t it? You know he actually wrote These Boots Are Made For Walkin’. Helped save Nancy Sinatra’s career after the teeny-bopper thing didn’t work out. They made a couple of albums together actually, and you know the first time he retired from the music industry was because the success of The Beatles’ made him depressed.”
He leans his arms on the counter as you talk. “Wow, you really are a wealth of knowledge for this stuff huh?”
You shrug, “What else is there?”
“Apart from books.”
You nod, “Good movies.”
He smiles, “Pizza.”
“Dumplings.”
“DnD”
You frown, “That nerdy board game?”
“No, uh d–dumplings like you said, and uh– dough–doughnuts?”
You scrunch up your face, “Okay,” and giggle at Eddie’s strained smile.
“So uh, what–would you–“ Not screwing this up at all Munson. “Would you maybe wanna do that together sometime? The pizza and dumplings, or probably one or the other I guess, and a movie, good music–“ he blows out a puff of air, scrunching up his face.
“Are you asking if I wanna go see a movie?”
“Yes,” he nods enthusiastically, “that and dinner. If you want.”
“I do like both those things.” You smile. “How about Thursday? I finish closing up at six.”
“Yeah. Cool. Thursday sounds good.” The guys and their weekly standing appointment for band practice would not agree.
***
Thursday rolls around faster than Eddie’s prepared for. Predictably, his bandmates all made fun of him for cancelling practice for you. But he just ignored the high-pitched ooohs and went to make sure his lucky Sabbath shirt was washed before he needed it.
He’s wearing it now as he paces outside the movie theatre, twisting his rings, oblivious to you sneaking up behind him until it’s too late.
“Boo!”
“Jesus Christ.” He jumps and twists around, your hands that had reached out to scare him still on his hips, his arms float in the air for a second before landing on your shoulders.
“You’re on edge,” you tease before your face sets a little more seriously. “You okay?”
“Y-yeah. Yeah, just uh, you wanna head in? It starts in like five minutes.”
You nod, your hands leaving his waist as his fall back to his sides. “What are we seeing anyway?” You look up at the black lettering above you, smiling just as Eddie reveals your viewing choice for the night.
“Thought we could see Young Frankenstein. Saw they were doing an old-school horror weekend here in the paper.”
“That sounds great.”
He lets out a breath of relief when you bump his shoulder affectionately, and you begin walking into the theatre side by side.
“Now the real important question Eddie Munson. What are your go-to movie snacks?”
His hand twitches when it accidentally brushes the back of yours.
“Well, popcorn obviously.”
“Obviously.” You nod.
“Sour Patch Kids and you gotta add a packet of Reese’s Pieces in there too.”
“Wait, in there as in–?”
“In the popcorn bucket. All of it. Like a good version of a trail mix.”
You grin, “Very interesting.”
“Just wait till you try it, sweetheart, you’ll never do it any other way.”
You laugh, “Okay, lead the way.”
He bows, gesturing his hand towards the confection stand. “After you m’lady.”
Your giggle, Eddie quickly finds out is his new favourite sound. When it appears again in the movie theatre, he can’t seem to keep his eyes on Gene Wilder, only watching you light up with laughter.
He can’t quite believe how well it’s all going. That is until you’re sharing a large pepperoni, on the bench outside the place you insisted served the best “pies” in all of Chicago, and your confusion stops his heart for a second.
He groans when he takes the first bite of cheesy dough.
“Good right?”
He nods, chewing and swallowing quickly. “My uncle told me pizza wasn’t a first date kind of meal, but we don’t have anything like this back in Hawkins.”
You’re sitting so close that he notices you still right away.
“Wait, this is a date?”
“Oh,” he swears his heart drops to his stomach as he sees the surprise on your face. “Oh well, yeah I thought it was but I guess I–it doesn’t have to be, sorry.”
You reach out to grab his arm when he instinctively moves away, “No! I just didn’t realise you were asking me out, out. You kinda just kept listing food.” He scoffs, shaking his head at himself. “I want it to be a date.”
He bites his lip, looking back at you with eyebrows raised, “Really?”
“Yes,” you laugh, squeezing the arm still in your hold. “Of course. I would love to…be on a date with you right now.”
He beams, “Well, it’s your lucky night sweetheart.”
***
The date (once it’s established as one), goes so well Eddie finds himself back at your apartment, admiring your wall lined with records while you find the both of you a drink.
His eyebrows marry together when he notices Dusty Springfield next to the Sex Pistols.
“What’s the system here?” You hand him a beer when you reappear by his side. “Not by genre?”
“No. Autobiographical.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“How–?”
“Well,” you step forward, reaching out to pick a plastic sleeve as if from memory, “if I want to find the song Landslide by Fleetwood Mac, I have to remember that I bought it for someone in the fall of 1983 but didn’t give it to them…for personal reasons.” You show him the white cover of the album.
“That sounds…”
“Comforting.”
He nods slowly, “Yes.”
“It is.”
God, you’re weird. And cute. And cool. And, shit he was going for it, you said you wanted to be on a date with him. You invited him back to your place. No one’s ever done that before. He should go for it. He’s going for it–
Your lips feel even softer than he imagined, and he can’t help but give himself a mental high-five when you immediately move closer to him, face melting into the hand that cradles your cheek. You taste almost vanilla-y with the combo of rum and coke still sitting on your tongue when his meets yours. He places his beer down on the coffee table, and your lips follow him when he has to dip down slightly before his free hand comes to sit on your waist.
You part for a breath, “Didn’t realise vinyl categorisation would get you so hot.” You tease him, lips plump and eyes slightly glazed over, and he’s never wanted anything more in his life than to keep you looking at him like this.
“Yeah uh, really love that Dewey Decimal system.” He leans close to capture your lips again, but you pull back, leaving him to chase you.
“The Dewey Decimal system is for books.” You shake your head.
Eddie huffs, “I really don’t care.” He finally finds your lips again and he swears they taste even sweeter the second time, despite being tainted by his own.
You guide him back to slowly sit on the couch, bodies falling a little clumsily together before you situate yourself in his lap, legs straddling his. You both stay like that for what could be hours for all Eddie cares, lips clicking in the silence.
“Fuck, I could kiss you all night.” He leans his forehead against yours, heavy breathing synced with your own, as you finally come up for air.
You shake your head, eyes soft and reassuring.
“I’m not going anywhere, Eddie.”
God dammit, is he glad he left Hawkins.
Tagging: @storiesbyrhi (I hope you like the coffee shop across from the record store 😉), @bettyfrommars (I finished it!)
idk who all you write for in the ENA fandom, but if you write for froggy do you think you could make general (sfw) romantic hcs with him + a gender neutral reader? theres been ONE other froggy fic on here and i cant confidently write him </3
of course, if you dont write for him or just dont feel up to writing this, thats completely okay!! im just glad ENA writers are back again
A/N: hyaaa!! I managed to write something for our Froggy guy! He’s such a fun character and i think he’s a great comic relief but i wrote him a bit more serious and affectionate towards reader since i feel like he doesn’t want the reader to think that he doesn’t take them seriously.
Enjoyyyy💘
•summary: general romantic hcs with froggy
•warnings: none!
•pronouns: not specified
your relationship with froggy was … peculiar to say the least but still sweet . When he’s not barking orders at ENA, Froggy spends his time with you,sharing his fragments of his new job offer which he assigned to his trusted friend ,ENA, or spending time together at the newest upside down diner.
Whenever you guys spend some alone time you often ramble about your newest interest,trinkets or clothing that might be popular. Froggy always does his best in acquiring any items that you mention or things that remind him of you.
♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱
“You know, recently i saw that bat-winged shoes have become more popular these days. I really need to start saving up for them..” Froggy listens intently, with a hand supporting his chin and occasionally asking you about this new interest of yours.He makes a mental note to ask around about where could he find these unique shoes.
….
“ENA it seems your new task is to through the horse door this time…I have the details of the job right here.” Froggy hands an envelope with the instructions and places ENA needs to search,he then remembers the gift he wanted to surprise you with:“Ah..if you don’t mind.. could you pick these up on the way back?”
♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱
This goes with jewelry as well,gifting you a rare eyeball necklace or siren teeth earrings.Whenever you try on something he bought you he always hypes you up and tells you how beautiful you look.He loves trailing his fingertips over your curves when you wear that new dress he got you,saying things like “You look gorgeous in this..” or “You should wear this more often”
I just know that Froggy is a certified cat lover.He once saw a one eyed black kitty running around and cooed at its sugary gaze. He immediately decided he wanted to keep it.When you came home later that day you were surprised to see a small creature purring in your lover’s arms,nuzzling against the soft plush.You agreed to keep it and raise it as your own little baby. Froggy unironically calls the small cat “Alpha” thinking it’s a really cool name.
After a stressful day at work,and after giving orders and instructions all day, Friggy often finds himself frustrated and fueled with anger, saying how his clear indications are too hard to follow by his “incompetent errand runners”. On these days its likely that he will pick on you for no apparent reason or make snarky remarks at the smallest misplaced thing or a chair that wasn’t placed “in the correct way”. In an intense fight out of nowhere, you suddenly grab his red tie hanged around his neck , pull him towards you with a strong grip and kiss him right then and there to shut him up. It seems to be working since Froggy’s muffled yells have ceased and his soft plushy fisted hands now embraced your lower back. He mutters a small apology against you soft lips and peppers your entire face with kisses.
The weather is really strange in the dreamy land where you both now resided. Sometimes the heat is too much to bear and the next day the snow envelopes the whole place. Snowy days are spent under soft crocheted blankets with snacks scattered throughout the room and on the nightstand,watching a movie. Froggy’s cushion arm splayed accros the bed, serving as a velvet pillow for your increasingly sleepy self.Your cheek smushed against his chest,engulfed by his imposing but soft form,eyes trying their best to stay open, and smooth fingers combing your silky hair. Quiet sounds of the TV can be heard and the pitter patter of the snow against the window,marking a cozy day with your significant other.
You sometimes remember moments from your old life,surrounded by friends and family.
♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱
You sit on the edge of the broken bridge,with blood reaching your knees.You swing your legs in the pool of blood,observing the shapes forming and your own reflection looking right back at you. You don’t look like your old self.
A figure plops down next to you,swinging their own legs over the bridge.You recognize it as Froggy,who nudges your shoulder with his own. “What’s wrong tadpole? You look a little more down than usual.” You don’t say anything,you don’t even need to, he already knows what you mind is plagued with. He envelopes you in a side hug,kissing your jaw and nuzzling into your neck,enjoying your warm skin and rhythmic pulse. “You don’t need to talk right now if you don’t want to…just know you can always talk to me,I’m always with you.”
