#🪄— milky writes

[milky-aeons]

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑

౨ৎ  . . . in which JEAN KIRSCHTEIN finally gets that idyllic little home in the interior, reminisces on the echoes of war, and can't seem to keep his hands off of his pregnant newly-wed wife.

warnings: swearing, sexual content, pregnancy, depictions of violence, memories of war/ptsd, mdni, w.c 2.4k

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐘 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐓, clinking against the crystal glass that reflected the light.

It jostled Jean from his dark musings — calling him back from the battlefield within his mind.

He glanced over at it, blinking. Reaching towards the little glass, he picked it up and swirled the contents around. It was a fine whiskey — brewed and stored in Ashwood barrels to give it that intoxicating flavour. During his soldier days, Jean had only been able to dream about touching such expensive whiskey to his lips. And yet here he was, on a bright afternoon deep into autumn, drinking a glass like he had an endless supply of it on his home terrace in the Capital.

It was everything he could have ever wanted.

And yet, it did nothing to quell the screams and cries, the memories of bloodshed roaring up to wash over him.

To drown him.

From the moment he had woken up next to his snoozing wife that morning, Jean just knew today was going to be tough. There were many of them ever since the war ended — days where he could not get out of bed, where he couldn't even will himself to step into the shower without feeling like he was choking. The scars left from the war were deep and corrosive, and perhaps, they would never heal. But he owed it to each and every one of his fallen comrades to continue on. To build something beautiful out of the ashes left in their wake.

Jean winced suddenly — his fight or flight kicking in. In his ears, there was not the gentle din of shoppers from the Mitras street below or the chirping of bluebirds. There was carnage. There was the sounds of screaming orders, of ripping bodies and explosives. In one fraction of a second, he was back on that airship — he was getting ready to dive with his comrades onto the back of the Founding Titan with a slim chance that he would make it out alive—

"Morning, darling," An angel spoke to him, slicing through the clouds, and he felt something warm and comforting sliding down his taut chest. "You're quiet. Is everything alright?"

Slowly, so agonisingly slowly, the images of their last battle dissipated like departing smoke. In its remnants; the sounds of the markets below, the sweet-smelling breeze touched by autumn leaves, feminine arms reaching over his shoulders and playing with his frock.

Feminine — the scent of lilies and warmth. His wife. His beautiful, beautiful wife.

Jean inhaled, his chest expanding almost painfully, and fashioned his face into something composed. He craned his head back to meet your eyes. They were haloed in the tumbles of [h/c] hair that cascaded down to hide him from the outside world.

He flashed you a signature, cheeky grin. "All good. What are ya doin' up this early though?" He fired back at you, his eyebrows pinching with tender concern. "You should be resting."

It was true — and every time he saw the evidence of the life swelling in your belly, Jean felt the need to slap himself. Really, really hard, just to be sure. There was a bright glow that touched the tips of your cheeks, your breasts has swollen and become heavier, readying for the child who would be born within the next few months. A father, he was going to be a father. What were the fucking odds that they had made it this far, you and him, that you were bringing life into this new world. Something he originally believed would have been impossible.

You narrowed your eyes at your husband. There was a familiar look on his face, one which caused you to reach up and brush the curve of his brow.

"You have nightmares in your eyes, my love." You whispered.

He didn't contest, didn't say anything. But he didn't need to. Instead, he closed those honey-coloured eyes and sighed. Jean nudged into your touch — a silent ask — and you continued to rub soothing arcs against his skin. Smoothening out the wrinkles of his bunched expression.

"Shh, it's okay," You murmured in a calming tone. "You are safe. You are here, Jean. We made it. Nothing is going to hurt us, anymore."

Your husband took in deep breaths. First, quick and shallow, which then levelled out into a pace more even. From stroking his face, you let your deft fingertips dance along his skin and sink into his unruly hair, still unbrushed and tousled by sleep. It was past his ears now, you noticed, curling against the nape of his neck in soft sweeps.

"Your hair has gotten long again." You remarked, playing with their ends.

"Hmm," Jean responded. "Suppose so. Kinda like it." He then opened his eyes to look at you once more, and when he did, you were delighted to find they were their bright whiskey-gold, just like the bottle on your terrace table. You smiled softly down at him.

"You have come back to me."

Jean stared at you with those unyielding, clever eyes. He then reached up to catch your caressing hand and turned his face to place a kiss in the palm.

"Always." He whispered.

You would have spent that tender moment just basking in the sunlight with him there, thankful that you both had this time together. Your husband, however, seemed to have other plans. First, it was a wicked little glint that flashed across his eyes — and in the next moment, he was up, using the hand he had clasped to spin you around and hoist you up into his arms.

"J-Jean—!" You choked down a laugh. He scooped you up effortlessly into a bridal-style hold, walking through the terrace doors and into your shared little kitchen.

"Well, my wife is just lookin' extra beautiful this morning!" He chirped, and spun you around and around. Your giggles became a loud, playful scorn, calling him a silly man and demanding that he set you down before he made you and the baby dizzy.

"Our baby will come with a perpetual issue of poor balance!" You cried when he finally stopped, holding you close to him.

"If he's anything like his old man," Jean said. "He will have no problems. In fact, he'll be a damn master at all things balance. You know what they called me in the cadets, right?"

"Yes, yes. Mr. Genius at ODM Gear." Your faces were close, and you nuzzled into the strong column of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. "I just hope he will not be as big-headed."

"Hah? What did you say?"

Jean was peppering kisses starting from the very crown of your head, following a path of heat down your forehead, your cheeks, then finishing at your neck and giving you a playful nip.

You yelped, swatting at him. It only spurned him on, his broad shoulders that you held onto for support rumbling with his deep laughter. His butterfly kisses against your neck became a frenzy, tickling all of your sensitive spots, murmuring in his low voice who are ya makin' fun of? Hm? He both made you giggle and sparked a familiar heady feeling low in the pit of your stomach.

Your chuckles deepened in time with your quickening breath. It became thready and shallow, increasing in time as your heartrate picked up. Still in his captive bridal hold, you slid your hands from his shoulders to around his neck, tugging at his hair in that way you knew drove him wild.

His kisses tripped over your skin when you did so, his breath caught. Pleasured need rippled throughout your body. The kisses he placed on your neck became messier, changing from swift and teasing to hot, open-mouthed. You craned your head back to give him better access and he wasted absolutely no time — dragging the flat of his tongue from your collarbone to your ear, humming when you arched up in his hold.

Jean hoisted you up a little so he could move swiftly through the apartment. His long legs ate up the distance, gliding through the little one-storey terrace you had both made your home in the interior. You leaned up to him while he moved, kissing him sweetly, tenderly. Speaking in words you said so many times and would continue to say again; I love you. Now and forever.

Your second kiss, however, was meaner — you clamped your teeth on his bottom lip and he growled.

When he reached the bedroom you both shared, you felt Jean kick the door shut behind him, before walking you over to the unmade bed and placing you down. So gently, so caringly. The fragility of how he held you was almost enough to shatter your heart. The mattress dipped when he kneeled over you, encouraging you to lie down flat.

"You're gonna pay for doing that." He murmured in a rough voice.

Innocently, you bat your eyelashes. "For what, my dear husband?"

He leaned down so that your foreheads connected and closed his eyes, sighing hard through his nose. "For being so fuckin' irresistible."

Every inch of you was set alight as he leaned over you, caging you down to the bed with his larger body. You tried to surge up — to feel his mouth on yours and never stop, but he rose, kneeling so he could look down at you.

He was still in that light cotton sleeping shirt he wore to bed — hanging loosely around his neck, throwing his tanned skin into sublime focus. His golden eyes shadowed into a deep whiskey followed from your face, to your aching breasts, to your belly. The little swell there made his expression soften. He placed a hand onto your warm stomach and held it still, feeling the child you will soon share and raise together, his newly polished wedding band catching the morning light.

You felt like you were going to burst with the sheer force of love you felt for this man, Jean Kirschtein, your husband, for now and always. The longer you stared at him, the stronger the low pulse between your legs became.

"Jean." You whispered, and he looked up from under his fair lashes, understanding the plea in your voice.

Jean took his time undressing you, like the wicked little thing he was, delighting at how you wriggled under his touch like a trapped and desperate butterfly. When he had stripped both of you bare, you marvelled at the strong planes of his chest and tight, defined abdominal muscles. You traced each and every little scar he wore proudly, feeling those muscles twitch underneath your touch.

He was perfect. He was yours.

"Come here." You crooned, looping your arms around his neck and pulling him over you.

"Yes ma'am."

Your arms did not fit across the large expanse of his back muscles — you sunk your nails into the curves of his shoulder bones, feeling as they shifted when he crawled on top of you. His head dipped down to catch one of your sensitive nipples in his mouth and he sucked — nibbling softly. Your head knocked back. When he lifted his hand and closed the entirety of his palm over your unattended breast, the moan you let out was long and broken.

"They've gotten big, hm?" He whispered against your chest, chasing his words with loving kisses. "So pretty."

Impatient, lust racing through your bloodstream, you grabbed his wandering hand and guided it to where you ached between your thighs. So slick and swollen, Jean's eyebrows raised, his expression becoming incredibly smug.

"Oi, you've gotten impatient, have you?"

"Oh—yes, yes." You groaned when his fingers curled against you. He knew all the right spots to push, to rub, to make you sing for him.

"Come on, sweetheart, tell me what ya need."

"I need—oh, I need you!"

"Like this?" He cooed, pushing two fingers into you with such tender slowness. It felt exquisite, it felt so filling when you were hot and aching — but not enough.

To urge him, you hooked your leg around the strong curve of his lower back and pulled him into you. He made a sound of surprise, releasing his fingers from you to catch his weight by bracing his hands on either side of your head.

His wide eyes collided with your fierce ones. The intensity you were looking at him with made this ex-soldier's cock give a painful twitch.

"I need you. Inside me. Now."

Pleasure exploded down Jean Kirschtein's spine in a thousand lightning bolts. He hung his head forward, groaning, before reaching down to push your thighs gently apart to allow for his body to slot neatly with yours.

"Well, what typ'a husband would I be if I denied you?"

His cock slid inside you in a way that always felt so mind-numbingly perfect, like he was made to be there, to be yours. Jean let out a ferocious sound and buried into your swollen breasts. You moaned, deep, relieved, bucking your hips up to grind into him.

Jean resurfaced to connect your shining foreheads, once more. He reached down to cup your hips and drew out — pushing back inside with such concentration. He was being careful with you, he was handling you like you were the most precious thing in the entire world. You had become attuned to the monstrous power Jean Kirschtein housed in his toned body, honed from years of battling for his life. You had felt it. Even now, you could feel that hum under his skin — the strength he had used to fuck you against tables and walls, the marble tiling in the shower, the balcony in the deep hours of the night.

But now — he was a gentle, caring lover. He pulsed into you in at a steady pace. Both of you gasped each other's air. You clawed at him. His mouth dropped open to pant as he thrusted into you again, again, again.

When his movements started to become messier, less co-ordinated, did he reach down between the both of you and thrum his fingers against where you were most sensitive. You barked out a cry. The bed began to rock and whine with the force of your love-making.

"Come with me, [Name]." He growled against your shoulder. "Come on, sweetheart, come with me, come with me."

In a delirious haze of ecstasy, you nodded your head, again and again until the apex of your pleasure crested and swelled. Your nails dug into his skin. Jean's breaths quickened until they became choked, gasping moans, and his release smashed into him. You fell, too, crashing through the wall of ecstasy with him until all you knew were his body and his scent and the clasping of his be-ringed hand in yours.

It was all he had ever wanted.

[tojisprettywife]

Your Fav fairies and their wands

{note: this is the so called 'surprise' hahaha💀. i'll be describing men of jjk's copulation wand🪄 (according to me). it's my first time doing it. hopefully, it's fine and makes some sense. the basic drill, unedited, not proof read. minors DNI.}

< @jkumiplace here u go, what i was talking abt 😭.>

warnings: heavily 18+, idk copulation wand and its components explained. nsfw under the cut.

First let's talk about the man, i write the most about.

Toji Fushiguro

everyone attaches 'big cock' with him for a reason, bc it is big. and this man is in his 40s so def, he's uncut. with two prominent veins running along the length, the tip is red but it is in between his skin tone and red. the tip may be slightly curved, so it perfectly grazes your sweet spot. he's so thick and girthy, he stretches you out so well. def a shower. the shaft's skin tone is two shades darker than his skin tone, and has a bit of a brown hue. again, heavy balls, so round, so cute. breeder balls, that are heavy and slap against your clit each time, so harshly during backshots. his precum is salty but cum though, viscous, literally thick, white, and salty plus bitter makes you gag each time you try to swallow it, but fills your pussy so full, gracefully dripping out your tight hole as he pulls out. his pubic hair is not trimmed, unkempt for sure, but when he starts dating you, he might think abt it twice. also has a very visible happy trail.

6.5 inches in length, 5 inches in girth, uncut.

Nanami Kento

more of a grower, than a shower. 6 inches. perfect. what you want need he has it. def cut, pinky aww and has a mushroom tip. has a dick, you wanna worship, bc he trims, it's perfect. hygiene? 20/10. his shaft is the same color as his skin tone, the base might have a slight red hue. precum is clear, slightly salty but with a hint of sweetness, cum though is milky white, not so viscous, tastes salty yet with a hint of sweetness and a pinch of tanginess. takes good care of himself, and has well kept nails, so he doesn't hurt you while fingering you. eats fruits, and drinks adequate water, so he doesn't taste like battery acid, rather sweet and nice. i know he has something addictive in his cum. and yes balls <3, round and soft, loves it when you suck on them.

6-6.2 inches in length, 4.5 inches in girth, cut

Geto Suguru

another big dick attached behind his name. he def has a size that you can't fit easily, your jaw would hurt. loves it when you choke on it. shower, not much of a grower. uncut, no one can convince me otherwise. he has a slight curve upwards when erect, slightly, again bruises and brushes against your g spot so well, a red-ish-pink tip, and quite a few veins running along the length, the skin color of the shaft similar to his skin tone, with a hue of brown. precum is salty and sticky; cum whew is slightly clear yet milky white, not much viscous viscosity of mango juice tastes salty and slightly bitter and can be sweet at times. well kept and trimmed if he is in a relationship, otherwise unkempt. his balls are not so big, but sensitive. a light happy trail! when he stretches his arms above his head, his tee lifts up giving u a small peek of his happy trail. (he might do this on purpose lol)

6.4-6.6 inches in length, 5.01 inches in girth, uncut

Gojo Satoru

ah yes, the lover boy. his dick is pretty. like he doesn't have much pubic hair, it's super light, so he doesn't need to do much work. cut, pinky tip, leaks a lot of precum. the shaft is the same skin color as his skin tone but has a pink tint to it, with two veins running along the side of it. weirdly enough, this man takes care of himself pretty, as counterintuitive as that sounds. his nails are done in a nail salon, drinks water adequately, eats fruits, and he smells amazing. i bet when he sweats, it doesn't even smell. hmm, his cum is less viscous, pretty easy to swallow, and sweet! a little salty. he has very sensitive balls, loves it when u fondle them and ride him plus loves it when u suck on them while giving him a head.

6.8-7 inches in length, 4.2 inches in girth, cut

Higuruma Hiromi

im pretty sure he is cooped up in his office all the time yet i'd say he is more of a grower than a shower. uncut, again no one can convince me otherwise mushroom tip, is darker than his skin color, shaft is a bit lighter compared to his tip. his length is quite average but girthy, you can't take him without prior prep, fingering. he doesn't leak precum much, it has a more mucus texture, slightly salty w a pinch of tanginess; his cum though, is thick and milky white, bitter at times can be sweet depending on his diet. it's hard to swallow his cum, leaving a slightly bitter, acidic aftertaste on your tongue. his balls def small but heavy, likes how it sounds when it slaps against your ass. takes care of himself better when he is in a relationship.

5.7-5.9 inches in length, 5.56 inches in girth, uncut.

(hint. hint. the names!)

[milky-aeons]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑

౨ৎ . . . RANPO EDOGAWA was notoriously brilliant at solving riddles like they were mere child's play. there had never been a puzzle he could not solve — until, of course, he met you.

warnings: sexual content, swearing, criminal themes, female reader, mdni, w.c 1.6k

♪ . . . ˗ˏˋ ꒰ glitter in the air — p!nk ꒱ ˎˊ-

: ̗̀➛ The very first time you had met the enigmatic heart of Yokohama's Armed Detective Agency — Ranpo Edogawa, you had not expected him to be short and youthful, dressed in a funny looking detective's uniform and brimming with pride. You also did not expect him to insult your intelligence and tell you that your interview dress was ugly.

: ̗̀➛ Yet there was something about him that always caught your eye every time he stepped into the office. A type of magnetism. You would wonder to yourself what it was that wouldn't permit him to leave your mind — his brashness, that cap, the clink of marble in a glass whenever he was near? You were new at the ADA then, merely an accountant of ledgers, and were not around the main floor that often.

: ̗̀➛ So of course, you were beside yourself with shock when the short man came barging into your quaint office one day completely uninvited. Introducing himself not with an apology, an explaination, but a question that had made your head swim;

"You there!" He pointed at you. "I bet you have never solved Aristotle's Puzzle, have you!" Blinking, you gawped at him. "I—?" "I thought so!" He cut right across you, then lifted his hand to produce a small wooden board that held a grouping of hexagonal blocks, all with different numbers on them. You remembered his delighted little grin — almost like a child, desperate to show off — because it winded you so hard it made it difficult to breathe. "Want this great detective to show you how?"

: ̗̀➛ You had thought it would be the end, after that little encounter. That perhaps it had just been an extremely strange incident, an outlier, never to occur again. And yet the next day you arrived into work, you dropped all of the files tucked underneath your arm when you saw him there — perched on your table, kicking his legs.

"You're late!" He moaned, fixing you with an accusing stare. "I've solved and resolved this silly metal wire puzzle in the time it took you to climb the stairs."

: ̗̀➛ It became a routine for you to open your small office door to see the curious detective already there, fiddling with something or other to entertain himself and his quick mind. Days passed, weeks, and you grew accustomed to his presence. To the way he clicked his tongue, how he scratched the crown of his head that tousled all those ebony strands, how he poked your cheek when he wanted your attention. Sometimes, you would go to the coffee shop upstairs together. Sometimes, you would listen to him. You found that for hours, you could listen to him, you would listen to him until you couldn't, anymore.

: ̗̀➛ The day you realised you were in love with Ranpo Edogawa was also the day he looked at you, really looked at you. You must have been especially ticking him off — averting your eyes, avoiding his presence, offering to send kind-hearted Atsushi in your place when he asked you to come get confectionaries with him. He had cornered you before closing time, he had come right into your personal space with little warning and opened his eyes to look at you.

"You're acting super weird today — what's—?" And he trailed off, going very, very quiet. As if he had just realised something.

: ̗̀➛ You never got his eyes out of your head. They were special rarities — all the shades of green smashed together. You would catch them staring at you from across the office and feel your heart play a quick-step. You would lay in bed at night, tossing and turning, feeling your skin stretching tight and hot as they continued to watch you inside your dreams.

: ̗̀➛ The first time Ranpo kissed you, you could have sworn it was a fabrication, a construct of your deluded imagination. A formal ball held for the Armed Detective Agency and other affiliate associations committed to the peace of the city. He looked divine in his smartly tailored suit and mused hair he let fall boyishly. He was also right where you thought he'd be — helping himself to the refreshment's table like it was nobody's business.

"You look happy." You had mused after joining his side. He slid his emerald eyes to you — open, always open to see you. It made your pulse hammer at the base of your neck. "Your dress reminds me of the one you showed up to your interview in." He teased you. You gawked. "That's cruel! I got the job, didn't I?" You had sampled some of the cream cake he was making quick work of by himself, popping a little morsel into your mouth. It melted on your tongue, soft and sweet. When you turned to face him, Ranpo was already watching you. Too intently, like the air held an unspoken sentence hanging between you both. "What?" You wondered, wide-eyed. His face and his attractive features and his scent and him, all him, had swayed close to you faster than you had the ability to register. Soft and sweet, just like the cream cake, that was how Ranpo Edogawa tasted when he placed his lips on yours. Quick. Chaste. A whisper of a kiss that ended when he licked the cream from the corner of your mouth. You were burning when he pulled away with a grin, murmuring, "'Spose you did."

: ̗̀➛ Being in a relationship with Ranpo was a strange affair, at first. It did nothing to interrupt the balance of the agents in the ADA, of course, but it did teach you a lot about the short detective at the heart of it all. He was not silly, but childish. He had a short temper, he liked his coffee with six spoonful's of sugar. But you also learned that he was kind, he remembered silly little things about yourself you did not even recall telling him. He left notes echoing to his greatness under your files to cheer you up on bad days. He balled up bits of paper and used your trashcan as a net. He would tell you that even though you were no match for his mind, that you were amazing, in your own way.

: ̗̀➛ You and Ranpo took some time to approach the topic of sex. Your relationship was a unique one that blossomed from a bond between two humans, yet there was no denying the need that burned brighter the more your relationship progressed. He'd catch you biting your lip while looking at him. You'd feel the heat between your legs in the lonely hours of night. There would be instances when you were both alone and the air became heavier, thicker, alighting with sparks that did not quite catch flame. Not yet.

: ̗̀➛ Until that night, when you both returned from a date at a drive-by amusement fare that had set up near the river. It was not planned, it was not spoken of until you had arrived to your door and realised you did not want him to leave. It was harmonious — the right moment, as you pulled him inside by his striped tie and he was more than willing to follow.

: ̗̀➛ Ranpo had paid little interest to intimacy with women until he had met you. He had little experience, but was a fantastically quick learner. His observant eyes flashed every time he touched you and your eyebrows scrunched. When he'd reach down and squeeze your breasts and watch you shake.

: ̗̀➛ Ranpo needed you to praise him. He needed you to tell him where you liked to be touched, if you wanted two of his fingers or three, if he was touching you just right and how he could be better. Only for you, he would ask. He'd kiss and taste your skin and liken it to the sweetest of treats. He'd come up to brush your hair from your eyes and gaze at you. Would never break it as he slid inside, slowly, hesitantly. His lips parting to gasp. Your head knocking back at the feel of him, of finally having him and you as one.

: ̗̀➛ It was messy and uncoordinated; the first night you spent together — but you would never forget it, so long as you continued to draw breath. Especially how he pitched forward when he found rhythm, snapping his hips eagerly, frantically. How he whispered strings of incoherencies into the crook of your neck, how you wrapped your legs around his lean back until they shook with the mounting pleasure of it all. And when you climaxed, you did so together, choking on air and groans and a sentence you were not sure you had heard correctly.

: ̗̀➛ You had asked him again moments later. When you were still catching your breath, connected by bare skin, listening to each other's racing heartbeat.

"What did you say? Into my neck, a few minutes ago?"

: ̗̀➛ Ranpo went quiet at your question, before raising to fix you with an incredibly vulnerable look. It made your heart lurch painfully in your chest, especially when he looked so disarmed, his hair sticking up at every angle and his cheeks still flushed red.

: ̗̀➛ Then, he had smiled. The same smile that stole your heart on that very first day in your office, and said;

"A great detective never reveals his secrets."

[milky-aeons]

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄

౨ৎ  . . . he's always been cocky. It was that self-righteous bravado JEAN KIRSCHTEIN had which drew you towards him in the first place, like a moth to flame, too curious to look away. It was your own damn fault for getting burned.

warnings: swearing, sexual content, emotional dysregulation, reader is bad at feelings, Jean is no better, enemies to lovers, mdni, w.c 3.9k

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐗𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, at first.

A mindless curiosity. If you were being honest, what really piqued your initial interest in Jean Kirschtein was that ridiculous way he wore his hair.

At least, that was what you liked to tell yourself. On those nights where his golden eyes wouldn't leave your mind while you tossed and turned. Feeling your body heat, your skin stretching too taut across your bones, aching.

It had morphed into something more mind consuming, more tangible, at a speed and stealth you couldn't keep up with. You were always a woman who liked to have a decent reign on her emotions. In a world like this, where you had all been thrown into war and shattered beyond repair, it took only the strong to pick themselves back up and keep going. For so long, that had been your only objective. To keep moving. To never stop, to make it to the other side.

And here you were. The Rumbling had decimated over eighty-percent of the world's population, was the number plastered across every newspaper in Eldia. You had made it. There was no reason to push it all away now in favour of those survival instincts. And in its wake, all your thoughts left untouched, those feelings left unfelt, came roaring up to the surface with a one sure goal of swallowing you whole.

You were going insane.

The first time you had saw him since the War broke out, you almost did not recognise him. Standing there at a newspaper stall at such towering height. He rose above any other male around him.

When you were teenagers, you used to delight in the blush that raced across his cheeks when you teased him about his silly undercut, how it reminded you of the mane of a horse. He would splutter, like a wounded thing, and shout at you in a high, offended voice. You would laugh, and laugh, until his tanned skin coloured the same shade as the roses you collected in your basket.

Back then, you were just an ordinary towns girl, making fun of a trainee soldier because you thought them all the same. Stuck up, boorish, common things for a youth to entertain. You never knew about the frequent encounters you would soon find yourself with the soldier who graduated in the 104th's Top Ten. Who, despite everything he boasted, joined ranks with the Survey Corps and ventured where you could only hope to dream. Who would bump into you on quiet, serene nights as you returned from the flower fields, and offer you a suave smile.

"Never thought I'd see you again. You're still goin' round with those flowers in your basket, huh?"

"Indeed, I am. Would you like me to fashion you a flower crown? It would do well to hide that ridiculous haircut you seem to still wear."

The boat rocked against the lull of the waves. Your vase skidded across the wooden worktop, and you gasped, holding it in place.

You had become distracted, again.

Being one of the best florists within all three walls, and after taking up the family business as your father's prodigy, you were not surprised when a group of militants showed up at your studio a few days hence. Informing you of a campaign to visit the nation of Marley, and that your services would be of great use. Many ceremonies, they had said, a great many. We could use a florist's touch such as you.

And that was the day you saw him again. At the newspaper stand. His hair was longer, his eyes sharp and always cunning. From your workroom here on the boat destined for Marley, you were certain the smooth baritone of his voice had become one with the walls at this point, you seemed so fixated on it.

Insane. That man was driving you insane.

Huffing, you picked up a smooth satin ribbon from your sewing box and fashioned it around the bouquet you had taken longer than usual to put together. The first of many you had been asked to create for a cordial tea that was scheduled for when you first arrived there. Bittersweet, for truth, Calla Lily, to show justice, sharp pops of colour from Gladioli, for strength of their new nations. You sat back in your chair and regarded the arrangement.

It was the need to speak to the Commander about the debrief of events that sent you standing from your chair and meandering down the ships hallways in search of your company. It was not because the soft tongues of pollen from the lilies were just the same shade as his watchful, watchful eyes.

"Excuse me," You spoke after knocking on the door of the main cabin. Armin Arlert's cordial tone beckoned you inside.

All of the main players of Paradis' military were gathered around a small tea service; the Commander and his partner, Annie Leonhart, along with the strong presence of Reiner Braun, sitting at the round table. Armin smiled warmly at you when you introduced yourself into the room with a small bow.

He, was furiously fixing his long hair in the reflection of a wall mirror in the corner of your vision. You refused to look his way. Out of sheer stubbornness, you would not. To prove something to yourself, you would aptly ignore the soldier.

Yet you did notice how his comb suddenly froze in mid air when you entered the room.

"Miss [Name]," Armin greeted. "Can we help you with anything? Is everything to your liking?"

"Everything is just perfect, Commander." You said, smiling warmly. "I have come to tell you that I... have been within two minds about what flowers I should use for our opening ceremony. Would strength imply hostility to the already wounded Marley nation, if I were to use Galdioli?"

Armin tilted his head to the side, his golden hair sliding across his forehead. "Hm. No, I think it's good to be a bit bold, actually. I'll trust your judgement on it, [Name]."

You were surprised that you had asked such a convincing question, after coming to the cabin on a shaky basis. Feeling his eyes on you through the mirror, your cheeks pulled into a tight smile, and you were just about to thank the Commander, when—

"All this talk about flower crap, what ones to use, what ones to stick in your hair," Jean Kirschtein's voice piqued up, and you roiled at the way it slinked across your skin, how it called all your senses to high alert. He chuckled in a smooth timbre. "Really, [Name], you haven't changed a bit."

Stiffly, you slowly turned your posture until you could fully face the soldier in the corner of the room. He had gone back to his task of combing those auburn locks to sit neatly swept, his eyes not looking at you.

Connie Springer, who had previously been leaning out of the cabin window, turned to his comrade with an accusing face. "Says the guy who's been fixin' his damn hair the last hour. What are you even doin' that for, huh?"

In his reflection, you saw how Jean's lips stretched into a cheeky, heart-breaking smirk. It made the flutter of your pulse hum erratically, made every sharp remark you wanted to throw at him bottom out from your mind.

"Because," Jean boasted. "I gotta look good for all the Marley ladies we're gonna bump into, don't I?"

And just like that, your heartbeat stilled in your chest.

It hadn't occurred to you until then, how acutely tangible that feeling inside you had become for the golden-eyed soldier. When it had made that shift from curiously interested to all-encompassing, ravaging, when it had become a need of yours to have him in every way you could. And standing there in the doorway of that small cabin, on that boat destined for Marley, you had felt the weight drop deep against your shoulders.

You were in love with Jean Kirschtein.

It was a barrage of emotions, one coming in torrents after the other. Shock. Longing. A foolish, giddy elation. And then; anger. Brewing, boiling, furious anger.

You were in love with Jean Kirschtein.

"Miss [Name]?" Armin called you softly, his tone edged with concern. You blinked, coming back into the room, only to realise that every pair of eyes were gazing at you curiously. "Are you feeling okay?" He ebbed.

An impressive reign on your emotions you had, indeed. But these emotions were never there before — and you had realised that, all this time, this is what had been trying to rise up and swallow you down. Yet anger, you were familiar with anger, you could shield yourself with that and use it to escape, just like you have always done.

"Yes—Yes, I am quite alright," You smiled, but it was razor-sharp. Then, directing it at him, the man of all your desires, you said, "I have heard there are some interesting technologies in Marley, Kirschtein. One of them namely being the light camera. Perhaps, you should ask them to take a photo of your face, so you can stare at it as much as you want."

Jean's honey eyes went wide. Connie coughed, which turned into a deep throng of laughter that had him falling from the window and into a chair. Perhaps his comrades had joined in on the chortling too, but you did not stay long enough to find out. The moment the sharp words left your tongue, you had whirled around, shutting the cabin door behind you.

The scent of the Calla Lilies were sweet and cloying, and even as you cradled your face in your shielding hands, their pollen still found a way to reach you. Dizzying, half-maddening, just like your thoughts as they spun without mercy in your mind.

You loosed a breath and leaned up so your hands, still clasped, pressed against your mouth. You could feel each pound of your heart, as if it were a hummingbird trapped in its cage within your chest. Any moment now, you were sure it would burst free and fly far, far away. You wished it would. In fact, you wished you yourself could just burst into a thousand little pieces and soar through the cabin window and be scattered within the waves if it meant you did not have to feel like this.

Hot. Angry. Yet scared, upset, mortified at yourself and how you had exploded at him. He—Jean, he did not deserve such remarks. He did not deserve how you had taken your insecurities and made them into swords to fling back at him. Of course, you knew this, and that rational tender part of you wished to corner him in some private area of the ship and apologise. Another part warred with that thought, wishing to grab him by the lapels of his brown suit and shake him back and forth, screaming, furious that he was eliciting such feelings from you.

And yet, a smaller side of you, a dangerous, heated area of your heart also wanted to grab hold of his lapels, but only to rip and rend them from his body. Exposing his smooth, strong flesh that he held himself so proudly with underneath—

You stood up with the intention to pace around your room until you could will yourself to calm down.

That was when you heard the thundering footsteps outside.

They were quick. They were determined, rapping against the wooden floorboards that connected all corners of the ship. Startled, you felt every inch of you still, your senses on sudden high alert. They were close by. Were they coming from—?

The door to your work room suddenly flew open, the force of it strong enough to crack the door against the wall as it did so. And there he stood on the other side of it in all his maddening glory, his large hand outstretched from where he had impacted, his shoulders moving up and down with effort. Before you could even protest, Jean had invited himself into your quarters and slammed the door behind him.

His eyes, wild and stern, found you and locked you in place. Rudely, he jutted his finger in your direction and spat, "Just what the hell is your problem, huh?"

So taken aback at the sudden intrusion of the man you had just been agonising over now standing here, panting and furious in your bedroom — it had taken a second for your mind to really catch up. But when it did, your first reaction was obvious defence, causing you to straighten your spine and gawk at him.

"I beg your—!"

"Oh, don't fuck with me, [Name]. I think it's time we sat down and had this damn conversation." Jean snarled, the muscles in his cheek jumping as he spoke. "Ever since we were kids, you've had this weird hate against me, and I've never understood why. The hell have I ever done to you, hah?"

Heat was quick to rise up the column of your exposed neck and onto your cheeks. He was angry, you could see it in the way his eyes blazed, his broad shoulders bunched and tight. You mirrored him, your eyebrows knotting at what he had just said.

Hate him?

"Don't be dramatic, Kirschtein. I've never—!"

"Oh yeah?" He goaded, his expression mocking. "Bullshit. What was that back there, then? Or yesterday? Or at the newspaper stall before we left? Is that your weird sycophant way of being nice, or are we just living in a backwards world all of a sudden and I didn't get the memo?"

"We've always mocked each other, that doesn't mean I hate you—!"

"Well you damn well make it believable, sweetheart—"

"Will you please, just, calm down for a moment—"

"And you've been more prickly than usual, these days! Getting all riled up over things you usually don't, hell—you won't even fuckin' look at me anymore!"

"Well—that—that—!"

"If I've fucking done somethin' to ya, have a damn back bone and say it to me!"

"Jean—"

"And another thing—!"

"For the love of the Walls, it is because I am in love with you, you foolish man!"

The silence that cut into your argument was so deafening, you could almost hear it ringing in your ears.

Whatever angry words were about to leave Jean's open mouth died on his tongue. It almost looked as if they had been forced right back down his throat, he looked so strangled for air.

None of you dared say a thing. The only sounds that existed within the room was the echo of your laboured, angry breaths, mingling with the sudden inhale of air he took that expanded his chest. He moved his mouth, as if to say something, but nothing came out. His dark brows knitted together. He opened his mouth again.

"What... did you just say?"

It was like a bucket of water had been decanted over your head, shocking you into realising what had passed from your lips. You stood there, dumbfounded, exposed, watching the emotions play across his face. The anger melting into shock, which bled into a distortedly humorous confusion.

He took a step forward, and asked again, "Oi, what was that last thing... you just said?"

"Nothing." You bared your teeth at him. "I said nothing. Get out."

He was eating up the small distance that existed between you two until he reduced it to that of a few steps. On his face there was an expression you couldn't decipher, could not sift through the emotions which held it together. Perhaps the uncertainty of it was what sent you retreating until your back hit the far wall of your bedroom. Perhaps it was the shattering of your defences, your walls you kept up so effortlessly, that fuelled the glare you threw his way when you craned up to see him.

When you saw something simmering in the eyes that haunted you in the deepest, darkest hours of the night, you thought — perhaps it was the realisation between the two of you, that the shift from fun to tangible had taken place long, long ago.

"Leave, Kirschtein." You whispered, but it came out hollow, broken.

He narrowed his eyes, leaning down so you shared breath. "Do you want me to?"

Every aspect of him invaded your senses, made it so frustratingly hard to think, to breathe. With him so close, barely millimetres from brushing your nose with his own as he levelled your faces, you could see the smatter of freckles on his high cheekbones. Could breathe in his scent of musk and sea breeze, quickening your breaths, your pulse. Your fingers clawed into the wood behind, restraining yourself from reaching out to him. Because you were afraid that if you did touch him, that you would never be able to stop.

He shifted to press his hand to the side of your head.

"Do you," Jean murmured, whispering so as only you could hear. "Want me to leave, [Name]?"

Instinct was roaring at you to press into him, crying for a release to an ache deep within your belly that curled low and heady.

Insane. He had already drove you insane.

"Damn you, Kirschtein." You hissed, before reaching up to fist your hands into his stupidly fixed hair and crashing your lips with his.

There was a moment of surprise on his part, as if he wasn't expecting you to be so bold. His lips remained frozen underneath your own, unyielding, a perfect statue of human discomposure. Jean, however, was a never a man who was slow to adapt to any situation, give it in the midst of battle or when the woman he has been pining after for years — who, he was convinced, hated his guts — had decided to smash their lips together.

And this sound escaped from the soldier. Akin to that of a wounded animal, a tortured soul, it rumbled down your throat and you swallowed it greedily. Jean's hand flew to cradle the side of your face, pushing back against your kiss, his fingers steepling into your hair and craning your neck back. Your shared kiss started off as something chaste and unsure — releasing each other before coming back for longer, scared to stop for too long lest they woke up and realised it was all a dream.

Jean grew impatient, he grew desperate for you. In one movement he had snaked his hand behind the small of your back and hoisted you against him — almost short-circuiting at the feel of your body pressed so close, like he had thought about so damn frequently. Every time you passed him, every time he watched the strong swish of your hips as you walked through the market on a sunny afternoon. He'd bite his lip, he'd put his fist in his mouth, anything to distract himself.

But this — right here, right now. This couldn't be real.

And yet, he wanted more. He needed more, he needed you.

A moan tore up your throat when he tilted your head just right to deepen the kiss, his large hand fitting to the back of your neck. You felt his tongue explore your mouth, eager and willing, so ravaged at tasting every part of you. It occured to you that you needed his tongue on other areas of your body. Between your breasts, your thighs, you needed to fist your hand in his hair and tell him where to go.

You let out a small shriek when he suddenly hooked two hands underneath your thighs and hoisted you up against the cabin wall.

The ship rocked as you clawed at one another, unravelling folds of clothing and facets of bravado until you were just two souls, two humans, who had survived it all and were allowed to live, without fearing that tomorrow could be the last. He had fisted the ribbons of your working dress in his hands and ripped them in one pull. You gasped when the air slid across your smooth skin, now exposed, hidden behind nothing but a camisole that peaked where your taut nipples were.

Suddenly, Jean paused. He stared at you as if he were seeing you again for the very first time.

"Fuck," He gasped, holding you tighter, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your sensitive thighs. "Fuck, sweetheart, I'm—do you—?"

You grabbed the knot of his tie and pulled him back into you, kissing him with a wild, chaotic passion that caused him to unfold underneath your fingertips.

It was in that chaos that he held you up fluidly to his body and walked you over so he could splay you against the work table — where the lilies and gladioli and bittersweets lay. He had shoved them somewhere off to the side, muttering something about stupid damn flowers and how they were always in his way.

And you had laughed. In that way which Jean secretly adored, as it upturned your eyes and made them crease at the sides. Like little curving moons in the night sky.

He shucked off his suit pants in a flurry of clumsy movements, palming at your breasts hungrily as he did so. You were driving him half mad with how good you looked, you smelled — fresh daisies and honey, intoxicating him, making his head spin. He splayed his entire hand onto your stomach and asked;

"You sure?"

Something broke inside of you at his vulnerable expression, always the gentleman. You sucked you lip between your teeth and nodded your head, adding, "I believe I will go insane if I cannot have you."

"Well, that makes fuckin' two of us."

The first stroke of him inside you was incomprehensible.

The second ignited your nerve endings and made you bow up and off of the desk, pulling you taut like a bow string and releasing you when he pulled back. There was something harmonious in the ryhtmn you two found, Jean keeping a hand on your stomach while he pushed into you hard and fast. At one moment, he lifted your leg underneath the knee and spread you wider, groaning ferociously as he buried to the hilt.

He kept going until he had fractured your universe. Until the little spots in your vision were like constellations. He was placing tender kisses along your body when you came back down to him, so raptured by pleasure it was hard to move. You could feel the pulse of him still inside you and he too, rode his release.

He swept your hair from your shining forehead and placed a long, lingering kiss.

"I said," You panted, leaning up to nip at his bottom lip. Oh, but you will have him again, and again, and again, until you made no use of your legs and the boat docked on Marley. Perhaps you would not even leave this room. Perhaps they would have no flowers for their ceremonies, after all. "That I dislike your hair even more that way, I'll have you know."

Jean's honey coloured eyes — dazed with pleasure — flickered to you when you said those words. Then, he chuckled, and you felt it vibrate against your chest and deep within your heart — where he had been, all this time.

He leaned down to nuzzle into the crook of your neck and said, "I love you too, idiot."

[milky-aeons]

𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑-𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇

౨ৎ  . . . following a mission that could have gone perilously wrong, you decided you have had just about enough of DAZAI OSAMU and his manipulative tactics.

warnings: criminal themes, sexual content, arguments, unprofessionalism, swearing, manipulation, emotional dysregulation, pet-names, slight toxic!dazai, power-play, love-biting, female reader, mentions of sociopathy, mdni, w.c 6.2k

♪ . . . ˗ˏˋ ꒰ bloody valentine — machine gun kelly ꒱ ˎˊ-

𝐍𝐎 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐃 between you two during the walk back to his agency apartment. Mainly, because you made it your mission to walk at least ten steps ahead of him, stubbornly keeping your eyes fixed forward and hands balled. You couldn't believe him, but the thing was, it was so typical of a man like him that you cursed yourself for being so surprised.

What did you expect? Dazai Osamu was a high-functioning sociopath who didn't take human empathy into consideration when making decisions. There was a brief moment where you tried to make an excuse for him — to give him the benefit of the doubt, even though you knew Dazai only made a decision when certain that he was ten steps ahead.

If you made the different choice during the mission today to stop the train, those people would have lived. He did not gamble dozens of human lives on a split-second decision you would have to make.

He did not lie to you about the severity, the stakes at play.

He did not wager human lives like they were mere toy-things, variables in his grand scheme that always worked out so perfectly.

Only that, he did. He absolutely did.

You were sure to slam the door in his face when you reached the apartment before him to show how angry this had made you. No, anger wasn't the word. It was too shallow and weak. The emotion making your chest physically heavy was akin to devastation. A brother so close to betrayal. You were pacing his sitting room with your hands buried deep in your hair when he came in and closed the door softly.

Scream, strangle him, do something, you pleaded with yourself. But everything was racing and your heartrate was speeding just as fast with emotion, so all you could do was continue pacing and breathing, attempting to keep it from crashing down on you.

You could have let them all die.

How was he so sure you would stop the train?

How could he make a gamble like that, only to hinge it all on you?

"Will you allow me to explain?" His voice cut the tense air from far away. It was like the key pulled from a grenade, enough to make you wrench your hands from your hair and pin him down with a sharp look.

"I should." You hissed. "I should demand an explanation from you and nothing short from it. But the thing is, Dazai — I don't know if I can trust anything coming from your mouth right now."

He didn't like that. There was a dark storm in his eyes. Those intelligent, cold and calculating eyes. You wanted to gouge them from his pretty face.

"Perhaps, it would be better for you to calm down first—"

"Calm down? You've been lying to me this entire time and you have the audacity—!"

"I was not lying."

Shock slapped you hard against your face. You openly balked. "Are you seriously lying to me now, of all times, too?"

Calmly, as if you were the only one having a heated argument, his eyes slipped closed and he sighed.

Sighed.

"It is true that the mission today held a certain level of danger, and that the heart of the plan ultimately teetered on what choice you would make." He spoke quickly before you could combust in emotion at that blatant declaration. "But I don't believe I have ever told you that it did not."

"No. You withheld that it was." There was a sneer to your lips. The words you spoke with were a caustic brew as you began to stalk to him.

"That's the thing with you," Both your hands came up to the side of your face in a squeezing, frustrated gesture. Like you could curl your fists and punch him and his impassive stare. "You keep things from people. It's like you figure everything out and get joy from watching everyone else struggle to do so. The information you keep is how you're so indestructible — to the Agents, the Higher Brass, the Police Force, the fucking Port Mafia, Dazai. It's because you leverage information they don't think you know in times where it benefits you!"

A pause as he stared right at you and didn't even flinch. You wanted to shake him. You wanted to scream.

"Is that what you wanted to do to me?" Such a careful question you asked in a shaky, barely controlled whisper. "Have this information over my head until it benefited you? So you could just use me as some—some sort of—!"

The question was a snap that made him move. Walking forward, devouring the distance with his long legs. Startled, you took a few steps back, but you didn't back down.

"[Name]-chan — Bella," He said evenly. You hated that nickname. You hated how controlling he sounded when you were about to lose it. "Listen to me."

"Don't you dare order me around right now."

His hands lashed out until they gripped the sides of your face. He was forcing your eyes forward, the touch not overly painful but enough to make you snarl at him.

"If you would just—"

Your hands came up and you slapped his from your cheeks. The echo of skin was treacherous to a conversation taking a devastating turn.

"I don't think you understand." You said in a tight, shaky voice. Hysteria was moments away from gripping your heart. "You wagered lives and the safety of others like they were inanimate things—"

"Risks are probable with all calculations, [Name]-chan—"

"But you still lied!" The talent he had for reasoning his way to justice even when he was sorely in the wrong was making heat claw at your face. A searing one of frustration and anger. "You lied to me this whole time and made me believe in you. I could trust you with my life Dazai, and now I find out you've been lying to me about something as important as this!"

Dazai subdued to silence, but never once did he look away from you. Arresting you with his intense stare, like he was figuring out just what words he could say to calm you right down. But you wouldn't let him. For once, you wouldn't be on the receiving end of his manipulation when he was putting all his effort into it.

But what he said next was so unexpected it knocked all the wind out of you.

"I suppose, if we are discussing with-holding things from each other to keep the other safe," It was a smooth murmur as he cast his eyes to the side. "I don't believe you are entirely innocent in that regard either, [Name]-chan."

Your mouth threatened to fall open. He knows. Even though the phone right now is in a cabinet in the bathroom, off and untouched, he knows about the blackmailing texts you have been receiving about him. Knowing you were a co-worker of his, these crooks from the underground threatened his very life lest you co-operated to give him up. Not that you ever would. But you had also declined to tell him about it, taking the issue on yourself, intent to shield you co-worker from harm above all else.

You didn't even have to ask him how, or what he knew. He was Dazai freaking Osamu who leveraged information in times where it benefited him.

One tight swallow and you raised a hand to point at him. "I didn't gamble with lives."

"Yet you gambled with your own~" He shut you down. "Your safety, your wellbeing, all because you believed holding the information to yourself would keep me safe."

Instead of being caught red handed and admitting to it, you felt your lips crack into a grin. Your tongue poked at your cheek and you began nodding your head.

"Alright," Spoken like you were engaged in a battle with him. One of wits and emotions and secrets. "You want to play this game? Share things we keep to ourselves to quote on quote benefit each other? Then explain to me why I also met a lady today who you slept with last week. A damn lawyer on one of our cases, Dazai!"

It made the air drop in temperature, the turn this blow-out was taking. Dazai leaned back and put his hands in his pockets, breathing in a way that told you he knew this conversation was coming. You were not in a relationship, had never been intimate with the brown-haired detective before you, yet would be lying to yourself if you said your feelings for him weren't driving you absolutely fucking insane.

"Truly? What was her name, remind me?"

"Oh, you fucking asshole."

"Such vulgarity, [Name]-chan! Now I'm sure she'd never speak like that~!"

That was a low blow. You wondered if he was trying to hurt you. So you did it right back. Without stopping to think of its consequences.

"So we're deciding to say fuck it to professionalism, then? Fine. I kissed Kunikida-kun."

If atoms could physically freeze in the air, they would have in that moment as Dazai suddenly went still. Statue-still, and you knew you shouldn't have said it when you did. Caught up in a moment where you two butted heads, each of you were getting nowhere with this conversation. But the damage had been done. Slowly, almost perilously, he craned his neck to the side and locked you in place with that stare. The one he had crafted when Mafia-black blood ran hot and thick in his veins. One eyebrow arched.

"Oh?"

Suddenly, you began fearing for your friend's stability in his job. Because who knows what a pissed off Dazai Osamu could do when he was angry. And you knew he was becoming agitated because he looked like he wasn't. Concealing anything with that mask he threw up to deceive everyone but you, who could read how the storm in his eyes took a violent, turbulent turn.

"But why should you care?" You spat at him. "You slept with our client just fine, so what if I kissed someone else on the case? Newsflash, Dazai, but we're not in a relationship and we never fucking will be."

Dazai was eating up the distance between the both of you until your chests barely touched. You were breathing heavy, felt tears threaten to fall down your cheeks. Through it all you noticed that his breaths were shallow and a little quicker, like he was keeping his emotions under check with everything he had in him.

"Stubborn woman." He breathed. "Why don't you see reason?"

You looked into his eyes with as much strength, as much sincerity as you could after an exhausting shouting match with him. Into their bottomless depths. Seas of chocolate and whiskey and so, so guarded. You wanted to reach into his soul and tear his guards down. Make him see your reason.

"Don't lie to me." You shook your head slowly without breaking eye-contact. One single, fat tear rolled down your right cheek against your will. "And I won't have to dig past all of them to find the reason, dammit."

"I told you," He urged in a softer tone. Reaching up, he brushed the tear that he caused against your cheek with a tender touch. Pull away, you said, but hadn't the strength to. "Everything I do or said was to help you along your path, [Name]-chan. I knew, out of all of the agents, that I could rely on you the most."

Is he lying right now? How could you know?

"Why do you have to go about everything in such a round about way?" You asked quietly.

Dazai's hand was hovering in front of where he wiped your cheek. Perhaps he didn't want to touch you as you gave the impression that you didn't want to be touched right now.

Perhaps you're both as bad as each other, sacrificing parts of yourselves and keeping secrets because you thought it'd be for the better.

"What are you looking for?" Dazai asked when you continued to study him.

You shrugged. "An answer."

"To?"

Tears glistened on your lashes as you looked down. Crushed crystals that glittered when you found words. "To why, even after you're such a big pain in my ass to deal with," You took a sharp inhale. "I still can't see myself anywhere but at your side."

He saw an opening to exploit in order to get you to forgive him, probably. That, or you had given him a confirmation he had been seeking right after you told him why would you care if I kiss another man? Because one searching flicker of his eyes across your face and he suddenly swooped in.

At first, you were unwilling to take his kiss — was about to pull away, because he was wrong to think he could manipulate you physically if he couldn't mentally.

"Forgive me," He whispered against your lips softly. "I didn't think keeping it from you could affect you this deeply."

Next, you watched as he tilted his head against yours to touch your foreheads. Maybe it was Dazai's way of showing emotions he had trouble displaying like most humans did. Instead, he attempted to connect your mind with his — that wicked mind that was capable of things humans believed impossible. "I will admit that emotional impact on others is not dominant when I make decisions for a grander picture."

You didn't pull away. At the very least, he was trying to show you an emotional side of him. Remorse, God help him. You could see it in the way he formulated a riddle for you to solve, didn't show any feeling on his face but did something as intimate as tipping your forehead to his and brushing his lips against yours.

Dazai Osamu had the tendencies to do things just because he knew, logically, it was the best thing to do. He promised to keep those people safe on the mission today, you locked eyes with him, and he had done that. Although not in the way he made you believe he would.

"Good." You whispered. "As long as you're aware of how much of a problem you can be."

His chuckle was low and shallow. Dark in a way that told you a lustful side of him was stirring at the proximity of you both, but the sound was a little warmer. Shared between two people attempting to build a steady connection with each other when both their lives had, at some point, been hit with chaos.

And maybe that was why you let him kiss you again. It wasn't an admission of defeat, it wasn't your way of saying you forgave him. But you could accept the fact that you had made the Dazai Osamu find fault in his sociopathic reasonings. He had went as far as to administer an apology, in his own way, and didn't lie to you when you asked him not to. That and the bastard already had his place in your heart. Kissing you with a tenderness and care not typical to him was bound to have you swaying, wanting to believe he was being serious, sincere.

"Don't lie to me again," You said when he pulled away. "Promise me you won't."

"Hmm?" He brought his lips to kiss your cheek. "I don't have a good record with keeping promises."

"Then give me your word."

Give me your word. It brought you both back to when you first met in a shadowed alleyway bar — when he had sought you out for that interesting Ability of yours. Months upon months ago that felt like an aeon. He had told you that his word was something he never broke. And he knew what you were asking, because his whiskey eyes that swam with speckles of stars underneath his pale spotlights flickered to yours.

"Is my word held at such high value?"

"It's how you managed to sway me in that shitty bar to join your group of misfits."

Another hum against your skin. He attempted to attack your neck, probably because he knew that was the area in which you fawned the most.

"Dazai." You warned, and he drew back. "Give me your word that you won't lie to me again." It was nothing short of a final order.

He eyed you for a second. And surprisingly, "You have my word."

It was the finalisation of his apology. Or, the very best you were going to get. In some way, it was also your admission to allow him to kiss you again, as if a reward for being reasonable with you. And he took up his reward by claiming your lips in a kiss that was longer than the last. It was hot and in some way raw, breathing through his nose and slanting his mouth against your own in a lip-lock you were a little overwhelmed by.

His hand came up and dug into your soft hair to cradle your head as he teased your lower lip between his teeth. Unwittingly, you sighed into his mouth and pushed against him. Melding your curves with his lean build and grasping at anything you could ball your hands into. Be it his shirt, his shoulders, sighing deeper each time. A tongue licked at your lips, his hands were locked on your hips with a searing message, everything he was doing right now was oddly rushed and coming at you all at once. As if to prove something. To translate a message.

"Tell me," He rasped in a throaty voice. "When was it that you shared such an intimacy with Kunikida-kun~?"

Oh, you should have known. But instead, you contested him. Your hands came up to bury into his deep hair and you played his own game.

"How about," Your lips attacked his face, barely getting any words in as you attempted to prove your own point. "You tell me when you decided sleeping with some random lawyer was a good idea?"

Both of you began breathing a little shallower, a little more urgent with need. Perhaps the need was on your part mostly, but there was an uncoordinated jerkiness to the way Dazai began tugging at his coat sleeves. As if he was slipping out of control. You were helping with your own messy movements to push off his coat when he asked a lawyer? with a tremor of amusement.

"That woman. The one last week. On our case." Smooth warmth underneath his shirt when your palms glided down his shoulders. Why were you both so hot?

"Ah," He helped you shrug his jacket to the ground. It fell with a heavy sound. "She was a lawyer, wasn't she~?"

"Sophisticated, beautiful, the whole package. You just couldn't resist, could you?"

Dazai, when free of his coat, reached up to gently undo your blouse. One button at a time, and you allowed him to. Your chest heaving, his fingers warm. 

"Well," His eyes were locked on the skin you've never shown him as it became increasingly visible the more buttons he popped. Leaning in with hooded eyes, his voice was a dark and sinful whisper against your skin. "If you must know," A searing kiss to your temple. "I didn't think she was that sophisticated. But she was beautiful," Your cheek. "Beautiful, because she reminded me of you."

Your heart, which was busy slamming against your ribcage, stuttered for a second. Dazai was teasing your face with his mouth and almost done your blouse when he sent pleasure shooting down to your core with mere words; 

"And I, poor little I, finished before her. Because in my head, it wasn't her that I was fucking underneath me."

And then he kissed you. Hard and messy and unlike his calculating nature. Using his tongue to lick at your teeth and send you moaning into his mouth, there was a passion in the way he intensified the kiss. Your blouse was open now, and you couldn't help the subconscious aged fear that was always there due to insecurity when he splayed his fingers on your abdomen. As if sensing your apprehension, he didn't look down, kept kissing you with such a wild fever that was driving you near senseless.

You felt his palms scrape your sensitive skin on your torso with coarse bandages. An almost welcome feeling unique to him alone. They lightly tickled your skin, eliciting a shiver, a reminder that this was real. That you were ravaging Dazai Osamu in the heat of a moment that was so intense you thought you would burn.

Your breathing hitched when his hands smoothened across your sensitive ribs to palm your breasts through your bra. Your skin was tight with anticipation, pulled taut over your body that he massaged — making you arch into him. A moan, startled and raw, ripped from your throat. He chuckled, increasing the pressure of his rough palms over your skin, pleased he was the one making you feel this way and no one else.

You decided to give him the peace of mind he wanted.

"He kissed me," You told him when both of you broke for air. "Kunikida— before our Christmas Party. He kissed me, beforehand."

"My, my. Such a passionate Idealist." Dazai commented with an edge to his voice.

"Would you like to know what I thought of when he did?"

His palms were inching around to the small of your back. "Do tell." Was all he said. Slowly, dark as the colour of his dilated eyes. 

"You."

Pull, he hauled you against him when you let the word fall from your mouth.

Skin on the fabric of his shirt, your skirt the only thing between you and the obvious readiness of him that was an unbearable pressure between your legs. It was a point where words were not needed anymore. Instead, you kissed him with as much neediness you convinced yourself he showed you — your fingers fluttering against his waistcoat to get the infernal thing off. Because right now there was a wild, strange thing so powerful it must have been held back for too long fluttering in your chest. It wanted nothing more than to feel him, see what he hid under his clothes, bite at his skin until no other woman touched him.

He helped you, with a laugh of course, until you were now making clumsy work of his shirt. Clumsy, because he was placing provocative open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive column of your neck and threatening you to your very knees.

You shrugged his shirt off his shoulders after a second and took a step back to look at him. Truthfully, you didn't exactly know what it was that you were expecting to find under all his clothes, or to what extent his bandages ran. Although you weren't very surprised to find that his abdomen and chest had a layer of bandages just like his neck and arms, but sparser and less covered up. It allowed the pale skin of his chest to catch your eyes, and his own scars that snaked between cloth that didn't cover them.

Scars.

One careful, hesitant step forward with your eyes locked on skin you've never seen before, and you reached out. First you trailed a curious finger against the lithe muscle of his stomach that flexed at your touch. Then, you placed your entire palm flat against his warm skin and glided it up to his chest. It was rising and falling quickly when you did, shallow breaths of anticipation that quite matched your own.

His eyes were a blaze of molten coffee when you looked up at him.

"Are you a tempting siren?" He asked you. Your colleague who could drown you, but at that point, all you could think about was the heat punching you from his body and the desperate ache between your legs.

So for once in your life, you decided that a risky answer was better than overthinking. Your tongue jutted out to your bottom lip and you answered him honestly.

"If we were still in that bar," You said in a small, wanton croak. "And you asked me again if I should come home with you. I'd say — yes."

Dazai went for you. 

He was kissing you the moment you gave him the permission he was searching for. You felt his fingers skating up the side of your legs and under your skirt until he teased one god-awful touch against the damp fabric of your underwear. A jolt of pleasure exploded through you and you reached behind to get the skirt off, desperate for more. Fabric fell to the floor with a heavy thud and you bore down onto his fingers with no shame, no resolve except to give into him and all his sinful talents. Hooking your leg up and around his waist as he worked his touch up and down, hiking your pleasure to high points only he could find.

You hummed and kissed him deeply, encouraging and urgent. If anything, your responses were fuelling that male ego he had about him. Every time your moans became that bit higher, he'd have the spot that did such a thing to you memorised, and he's hit it again. And again, and again, until you were rocking into the palm of his hand through your soaked underwear and whispering his name like a lost prayer.

Fuck—Fuck, he was too good at this. He was—!

He curled his fingers just right and you swore.

The winding in your gut snapped in an intense wave of climaxing pleasure so sudden it caught you unawares. You moaned a sound that could have been a scream, it was so overwhelming. All your sighs and shouts were lost in his mouth, and to show your gratitude, you kept tugging and scraping at his hair. Perhaps it unfurled the last seams of his control; your moans, your scent and your tugging you would fantasize he liked. Because he hooked your other leg up and around his waist with no warnings until he held you up against his body.

"You'll drop me, you idiot." You giggled deliriously. Dazai was walking you to the nearest upstanding object to trap you against. In this case, it was his bookshelf.

"I'd never drop you, beautiful Bella~"

You lapped at the skin of his neck, just below his ear. Possessed by some intense, primal part of you, your teeth sank into his neck and you sucked just enough to leave a bruise. The bookshelf rattled when Dazai locked you against it, and you could feel how he ground his jaw in rigid control when you marked him in such a possessive way. No woman, clearly, had ever placed intimate bruises on his body, and you were happy to be the first. That and, your teasing and tasting only looked to charge Dazai more with that same insatiable need to take you here and now.

Without any questions asked but a mutual understanding hanging in the charged air that this was well overdue, he reached down to remove his own pants. When he did, he repositioned himself so he could angle you better with his body.

His head bowed in front of your black bra decorated with notes of lace and he bit down on one of your stiff nipples through the fabric. The shock and pain that quickly raced into pleasure soured through your blood, making you wrap your hands around his head and push your chest against his face proactively. He kept toying with your nipple between his teeth through the black fabric, truly a man who knew all the pressure points to drive a woman wild. 

It was through delirious pleasure, but you were at an angle where you could shift your hips to press on the rigid outline of his length with your damp, aching core. Dazai's lips stilled on your chest when you rubbed your heat against him; a provocative tease up and down that had you receiving a punishing nip on your clavicle. A bruise of his own, you'd find out, but not in that moment. Not when you gave one final roll of your hips against his and your colleague's unfurling control wore too thin.

His hands came down to pull your underwear off you while he still kept you pinned up against a bookshelf. Through it all, he never let his bottomless gaze falter from our face. Not once. Not even when he had to free himself from his last piece of clothing and take measures of protection. The way he looked at you, like a treat he'd been saving for a very long time, was enough to have another knot of pleasure coiling in your gut.

"Are you ready?" He asked you.

You nodded. "For a while."

"Such a tease~"

And then, with his warm hands on your hips did he guide himself into your entrance. It was slow at first, tasting you almost, but the moment he edged the tip of himself into your damp, twitching heat did he snap his last thread of self control and thrust long and deep. You cried out in ecstasy, and he dropped his head into your shoulder with a broken sound of overdue pleasure, bracing a hand on the shelf behind.

You breathed out shakily, running your hands through his wild hair to communicate that you were comfortable for him to move.

He drew out, and slammed right back into you — the depth of him this time making little white stars appear at the sides of your vision. There was no patience, no savouring on Dazai's part as he kept a heavy rhythm of thrusting into you until the bookshelf was rattling with your movements, some falling to the ground. He was devouring you, taking from you a pleasure he'd denied himself for so long because you were unwilling to give it to him.

And you regretted not doing it sooner. Because the way he felt sliding in and out of you, the way you connected that felt so unfathomably perfect— 

"Could anyone else do this for you?" His voice was heavy with panting in your ear. You were too high to scold him on the blatant controlling way he said the words; "Hm? Could any other person," A particularly heavy push of his hips into you that made your mouth fall open silently. "Make you feel this way?"

Caught in your daze, you shook your head. It was the truth, of course. But you also didn't lose all of your wit.

You locked your ankles together at the dip of his back and took his face in both hands. "Could your lawyer make you… act so… wild?"

"Wild? Me?" His voice broke in a thick laugh as his thrusting became sharper and faster. Your back kept hitting the shelves behind with every one, but your hands stayed against his cheeks so as you could see him in the height of pleasure you caused. That beautiful face of his sheaning a little with exertion smirked. "I'm not wild for anyone, [Name]-chan."

"Then fucking put me down." You teased with a dazed smile of your own.

"Not a chance~"

His smooth, deep thrusts became slightly more jerky when you were just about to topple over the edge — but you wanted to take him with you, so you resisted for as much as you could. His mouth bit down against the side of your neck and he gave one, two, three long rocks of his hips before he was groaning agonisingly deep against your skin.

The very sound was enough. Your walls clenched around him and you too, hit a climax like no other. One that made you feel like a star — imploding in such a dazzling light show as you fisted at his hair and arched your body backwards. Or a mirror, magnificent in its beauty that he cracked into a trillion tiny pieces. Each fragment reflecting how you held onto him and cried his name out loud and desperately, like the world was ending and he was your very last salvation.

[milky-aeons]

𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓

ᯓ★ 𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐲!𝐀𝐔 Dazai Osamu x fem!Reader

synopsis:

"It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves." જ⁀➴ William Shakespeare

He was as feared as he was adored. The Demon Prince of the Yo Kingdom was an enigma to be reckoned with. Men would not admit the nightmares they had of him, women would fawn over the deep whiskey of his eyes. But no one could see the world the way he did; viewing humans as mere toy-things, Castle affairs as an amusement, life as an endlessly bleak existence. He was born into royalty, yet he was dying to disappear.

A particular common woman who was thrust into Castle business, however, was of the opinion that royalty was a mere social construct. That no one was better than the next. She would lift the crown from his head and cast it to the sky; letting it explode into nothing but incandescent star-stuff to fill the empty part of his soul. 

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 . .

[milky-aeons]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄𝐑

a/n: i wrote this story years ago! and while i was rereading it out of pure boredom, i decided i wanted to breathe some life back into it again. this shall be multi-chaptered! take your time with it, and please read the warnings before you embark, loves!

warnings: class differences, oppression of women, mentions of illness, mentions of death, depression, violence against women, mentions of abuse, mentions of rape, superstitious natures, spoilers, mdni, w.c 7.4k

౨ৎ . . . chapter ONE of CROWNS OF STARDUST

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚜.

— Grace Willows, To Kiss a King.

𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆. Dotted studs of white fire, splattered over a glassy night sky that sometimes bloomed with purples and indigos of rare supernovas, if you were lucky enough to see them.

You could lie here for hours, like this, gazing at the wonders above. Counting as they winked at you from far away, feeling the evening breeze nip at your cheeks and whisper through the field. And above everything; allow yourself to imagine. To think, secretly, what it would be like if everyone thought like the stars did.

They didn't discriminate, stratify, hate or detest. They simply shined brightly, each of them made of that very same material everyone in the world was also made up of; incandescent, special speckles of stardust.

If only they could see that. If there could be some way to force through the social ladders of your society, to break away from the labels placed upon you. Perhaps the world would be a better place if we thought how the stars did — believed that everyone, no matter how rich or poor, was the very same on that fundamental level.

Intertwined within our souls was the stuff of stars that made us no better or worse than the person next.

Perhaps the world would be just as beautiful as a sky on a peaceful, undisturbed night when every person was allowed to shine just as brightly as the stars above. But this stargazer locked that thought up deep within her heart, just like all others that expected too much from her rank, her social label, and staggered to her feet with a heavy sigh.

The Village of Yo, January, 1831

A chipped, wooden horse came down hard against the worn chess board with a force that rattled all the other pieces. Hand-carven, they were fragile and you should have been a little less vigorous. But caught in the grips of victory, you had little room for such caution.

"Checkmate," You smiled giddily, knocking the King piece off the board. "I win."

Your opponent; a willowy old man with lines streaked across his forehead and an impressive beard grumbled with narrowed eyes. Reaching up, he rubbed a hand down his face. "My, lass. I knew one day you'd catch up to me, but I didn't think it'd be this quick."

Still smiling, you reached down to pick up the King from the floor where it'd landed. You brushed off the delicate carvings on the piece with care, hoping you hadn't damaged it any more. A terrible habit of yours it was; becoming too excited about games and strategy. It was bad enough that one of the castles was missing its parapet because you had become angry at a sneaky strategy your teacher had used. And hurtled the poor piece across the room.

But now, you placed it carefully back, it looks as if said teacher has been bested by the student.

"You should take pride," You assured through a grin. "It means you're a great teacher."

"Teachers don't teach to be bested by their students, lass. Maybe it's my eyes. I didn't even see your counterattack in place, at all."

"Ah, I see. Go on, then. Blame your eyesight." Your lip jutted in a playful frown. "God forbid that a woman beats you at anything. What will the village think? You'd be locked up and subject to a shower of rotten fruit."

"[Name]!" The wood whined as he rapped on it three times. Superstitious to an art form, your Grandfather has always been. Which of course, was why you spoke so loosely to him in the first place. Receiving a rise out of him was one of the ways you loved to keep entertained in this small, handwoven cabin typical to that of common folk.

His cheeks tipped rose when he exclaimed, "You mustn't feed the air with talk of such events!"

You, the victorious Chess Champion, stared your Grandfather in the eye. The pair of you didn't reach the third second before a low chuckle escaped the older man. It was hoarse in a way that spoke of his age, an obvious hallmark of his weakening health you didn't think about so much.

He shook his head. "Aye, my Granddaughter has bested me. Are these lungs of mine finally getting to my head?"

Three consecutive knocks rang through the air. This time, it was you who had copied your Grandfather's superstitious habit and tapped the table. "Now who is feeding the air with bad thinking?" You asked him softly.

"Not bad thinking, lass. Pure truth."

"Grandfather." You frowned even more. Talk of your Grandfather's weakening health sent a thousand small stabs through your heart, opened doors to thoughts of an empty cabin without him there. You couldn't bear to entertain anything but the thought that the new medicine you've received would work. No, it had to.

It must.

The man gave another rattling cough, followed by a scowl. "Rather than wasting money on all that fancy apothecary, why not more food? You're an awful liar, [Name]." His eyes similar to your own — that clear tone which rivalled the smoothest of glass — riveted into you. "You believe you hide your stomach growls, but you doubt the hearing of an old man with poor sight."

On instinct, you placed a hand to your stomach, pressing hard. Through the simple dress tied off at the waist, you could feel the tight skin, the lumps of your protruding ribcage. The hunger spasms had drawn your muscles taut, but the pain was tolerable. Grandfather needed the food more than you, after all. He needed to get better.

"It is nothing," You mumbled. "There has been drought throughout the summer. You know that. Food is sparse. I'm young, I'll live."

The older man studied you with a shaky hand stroking over his beard. It was a long moment before he let out a chuckle. "You've got your Mother's selflessness and your Father's poor deceit. Really, what'll I do with you?"

Images of the young couple that birthed you were gone as quickly as they came. It didn't hurt as much to think about them anymore, as you knew they too, existed in the stars that looked down upon you all. [Name] of the Willows family was strong and always kept her backbone in check, but would be lying if you said you were ready to be completely alone. Not after the sudden passing of your parents.

Even if you had to work in a farm trudging through mud picking up weeds and other unpleasantries, you would keep your Grandfather here on this earth. Your only living relative — one you couldn't bear to let go.

It did not help in the slightest that this drought was financially crippling not only the farming community in the village, but the whole Kingdom of Yo as a nation. They were mainly an agrarian province that got most of its income off of produce. Drought of any kind, especially one lasting this long, was bound to cause chaos in every aspect of the Kingdom. And it had — chaos that was quickly balanced by raising taxes in order to stabilize the economy.

An idea offered by the Royal Family of the Yo Palace.

You ground your teeth every time you thought about the monarchs all were meant to bow down to, to marvel and respect. When they were treated like nothing but cattle to be milked of everything they had? The Miyazawa farm you worked on hardly has any money for themselves in this current climate, not concerning your wages, which had been shaved down as of recently. You had no reason to blame them. No, the people you directed such distaste to were the money-laundering aristocrats that stood on top of it all.

If anyone was responsible for your forced fasting in order to afford basic medicines for your Grandfather's health, it was them.

You were unsure about many things in life; marriage, family, food, but if you could count on one thing; it was that you hated the Royal Family. With everything you could possibly gather within you.

"It's a terrible thing you can't get rid of me," You continued with Grandfather's remark, trying to distract yourself from the depravity of it all. You carefully set up another chess game with the delicate, whittled pieces. Your favourite game. "Who would wake you up in the morning, then?"

"The taxman at the door, that's who." He scoffed.

Whatever water you had in your stomach went sour. "The Royals ought to be ashamed of themselves, taxing us like we have it all to give. Do they not know the people they rule over? How we're struggling?"

A sigh filtered through the air. "Don't be quick to blame the Royals for everything, [Name]. Running a Kingdom is not often black and white. If I had to guess, I believe they don't have a choice."

Suddenly very taken aback by your Grandfather's point of view when his very body was wasting away because of the people he was defending, you shot up. Eyes blazing a bright inferno, neck tight. "How could you defend them?"

"I'm not defending them, lass. But it is wise to think before you project." He rounded his own clear eyes on you. "How would you save a Kingdom if it was falling apart?"

You were about to give into that same habit of reacting when worked up and lash out. They tax us silly, uncaring of how many lives they leave in ruins! But before you barely got a word out, there was a loud commotion outside.

An explosion of high, excited chatter that caught both your attention. Cautiously, you left the chessboard and Grandfather's company to venture to the front door and peer outside. What could it possibly be at this early hour? You wondered with a huff, blinking the sunlight from your narrowed eyes. It was midday; the time of lunch, if one was lucky enough, and perhaps quiet work.

Not an entire gaggle of women hurriedly knocking on doors and running around with their skirts gathered up in their fists.

Wary, you almost scowled at the lady who scurried towards you. The lady was too excited to notice, it would seem.

"Oh, darling!" She gushed, taking you by the hands. "Oh, it's amazing! A miracle!"

"What is?"

The lady shook her clasped hands. "You truly don't know? You have not heard?"

I would have not asked if I did, you wished to remark. Women such as these who were nothing but charm and gossip unnerved you the most. But instead, you remembered basic propriety. "Pray tell? For I have not."

"The Royals, my darling! They've smiled down on us and heard our cries! Recruitment, they have just promised, for all young women under forty and unwedded. With a promised wage! They wish to help those in need in these taxing times! Oh, we've been saved. Saved, my darling!" 

Your twitching brows knitted. You were having serious trouble understanding what you had just been told. "Pardon, Miss?"

"The day is wonderful, my Darling!" The lady took her hands away from you and twirled happily on the spot. Her cheeks were stained a delicate rose when she stopped. "I'd place my name down quickly with the Registrar, [Name] Willows! Unwedded and in these troubled times, a servant's job will be a blessing to you!"

Servant's job?

The woman was already scurrying off to the nearest house ready to spill the news when it caught up to you. Your mouth parted to draw a shaky, disbelieved breath. No, this can't be. You turned to look at the other houses along this path. Each and every one of them looked busy, some already ushering their daughters out the door so they could place their names down and help the family income. 

Hold on a moment, the Castle is suddenly accepting women to become servants for the Court?

In this financial climate? 

Such a handful of women who were desperate for income, like you, were currently taking to the streets with hastily wrapped scarves around their heads. It was a sea of excited commoners, close in age and status to you. Some of which, you were close friends to.

The sight of it all made you suddenly take the severity of what was happening seriously and gather your skirts to turn back into the house.

"Grandfather," It was a hurried whisper on your tongue. "Grandfather, where are you?"

The older man was already standing at the small kitchen you shared, his back turned. Unbothered, he never really was one for dramatics when they arose in the society. "Why do you sound like you've seen a ghost, lass?" He asked while pouring a shaky cup of water. "Don't bring any of that societal malarkey into this home."

"No, Grandfather, this is not—this is," You were having trouble getting coherent words out. Because surely, this couldn't be true. "The Castle—they're—?"

"Use words correctly," A small tap on your forehead that made you blink. You hadn't been flicked as such since your teenage years. But it seemed to do the trick — because your were shaken right out of your startled haze. One tight swallow and you were right back in the room.

"The women," You began quickly. "They've come saying that the Castle is looking for new workers. Servant women, able and unwedded. They promise of a wage, Grandfather." Your expression suddenly grew tight. "Do they mean to mock us? First they take away our taxes, now they take any women who are able for a family?"

Silence followed your obvious open question. It made you frown when he stared into the murky water with quiet contemplation.

"Grandfather?" You pressed, now confused. 

It was a few more moments of a now heavy silence before he tipped the water down his throat, followed by a rattled cough. "So, what are you waiting for?" He suddenly piqued, irritated. The cup came down heavily onto the kitchen table. "Where is your scarf, your bags, your birth papers? You'll be a fool to think that they will accept just any woman who doesn't get there first!"

Warmth spread quickly from your chest up to the top of your neck. Like a slap to the cheek, the words from your Grandfather were hard and unexpected in their impact. Your hands clasped into shaking fists at your sides.

"What are you saying? Do you honestly believe I would work as a servant woman in their Castle—?"

"Better a servant girl than pulling weeds up in that Miyataza farm you work on."

"Miyazawa farm, Grandfather. It is the Miyazawa family."

"Does it matter, lass? I could bet a Castle job would pay you far more generously than weeding. Servants are treated well. They are fed and warm when they sleep."

The heat was creeping into your cheeks now. How dare he try to send you away? How dare he even think you would consider being sent away?

"I'm not leaving you." Was the hard-line, final statement. You stood straight and taut, daring your Grandfather to wish you away.

Truthfully — due to the mechanisms of this time and the harsh needs of society; you really couldn't stand in the way if Grandfather truly wished to send you to the Castle. Because you were a woman, and he led the house as a man. Misogyny was the only thing a tomboy, unwedded woman like you could not break down with nothing but her soul and stubbornness. 

But you could damn well try. Every day, you could try.

"Grandfather," You put every emotion into the soft plea. Begging him to understand that this would rip a hole in your heart. That you would better uproot weeds from a farm with your skirts bunched than polish a lavish Palace hall. Would rather feel the pang in your stomach from days of foodless meals than not see him every morning and night. "Please, don't send me away."

The answer which greeted you was icy and so unlike the man who cared for you. "That's enough, lass. You're going. It's an opportunity not to be missed."

"I don't want to leave you!"

At that, Grandfather glared at you. But it was softer around the edges — the glass of his eyes now a gentle powdery colour. For a spared moment, you were hopeful that guilt had finally swayed him. Even more so when he reached up to pet your hair; an affectionate gesture of his own. You dropped your eyes and leaned into the pat, knowing that the hope would crackle and burn around you. Like everything else in your miserable life you continued to struggle against.

"Servants of the Castle are permitted to return once a month. You won't miss this ol' shack that much, lass. Tending to me and my rotten coughing. Your parents would have wanted it for you," He spoke softly. The gravel of his lung condition made the words a raspy wheeze. "A servant woman of the Palace. You couldn't ask for anything better when we're all drownin' in poverty."

A choked sob was steadily rising in your throat, but you pushed it down and averted your eyes. In a shaky whisper, you attempted one last time, "The Royals are the last people I would ever serve, Grandfather. Even if they promise of a wage."

You could hear it in his chuckle — the knowing grin he always wore. Oftentimes, it reminded you vaguely of your Father.

"Remember, [Name]. If your Kingdom was in ruins, how would you save it?"

The village of the Yo Kingdom was still buzzing with excitement hours after the news was relayed to every single door. Mothers and Grandmothers alike who did not meet the criteria for work waved their younger daughters off, some with cloths up to their mouths to hide the tears. Of elation or despair, you didn't know.

It was with a heavy heart that you packed your things in the small area you and Grandfather shared for sleep; him on the bed while you took to the floor most nights. Not that it ever bothered you. Something about the musty scent of oakwood and the tuft of hay you treated as a pillow stayed with you as you wrapped the scarf around your head. Home, you thought with lines bracketing your frown, this was your home and you were only permitted to return once a month.

Could you truly serve the family you hated so much?

You didn't let the hope in your heart dwindle. Having spent a generous deal of time arguing with Grandfather while getting ready — perhaps the Registrar was no longer there. Maybe a good number of women had beat you to it first and you were too late. With a deep breath did you continue your walk across the small village street — following some stray women as they hurried along the same route. Constantly, you turned around to look at your Grandfather once more. But you had ventured far into the city now — your home was around the bend and well out of eye's view.

If the Gods smile down on you, then perhaps you wouldn't have to leave for too long. The Registrar will be full, and you could return right back to where you wanted to be.

Perking a little, you entertained how you would laugh right in his face when you returned home. Ha! Would you look at that, you senile old man. It just wasn't meant to be! A servant woman is not where the Heavens want me to go! A small giggle rushed through you, lifting your spirits ever so. It seemed more probable now the more you walked; there was a high chance the Palace would not accept any more applicants after the previous sea of women bombarded them.

Yes, you told yourself, that's right. And then I can think of what to make Grandfather for dinner tonight. No more will I have to entertain the thought of aiding that horrid, despicable family—

You rounded the sharp bend, only to feel your stomach plummet to the floor.

Sitting in the middle of the cobblestone pave-way was the table you were desperately hoping would not be. Women flocked around it; an ocean of scarfed heads and chattering voices. If it wasn't for another lady brushing passed you would have stayed there frozen and allowed the small sack to fall through your fingers. The Registrar, you quickly realised with dread, he's still here.

You hadn't been too late, after all.

The Gods continued to hold their frown on you.

"Oi, you!"

You snapped to attention when someone singled you out. A burly man, dressed in robes of blue and pure white with a sword at his hilt. The Palace colours. Everything about his demeanour told you swiftly that he was a Royal Knight.

And this Royal Knight was glaring at you intensely.

"I asked you to move into line!" He thrust a gloved hand to the suddenly startled row of women, whose eyes darted frantically. "You block any woman attempting to come through standing there!"

Survival instincts instructed your body to move on command, knowing full well a Royal Knight was not a man to be trifled with. Especially one twice your size and brandishing a terrifying sword. But because you had a stubbornness that could border dangerous in the wrong situations, you projected a tempered glare his way.

"Forgive me, my Lord." You said through tight teeth.

The Knight bared his own teeth and opened his mouth — obviously, he was unused to common village girls who didn't bend underneath his command. Damned Knights, it was a bitter thought quick in your mind as the Knight brought his hand up, everyone attached to those Royals believed they were above everyone else!

Bracing for a crack to your cheek — like so many others you had witnessed, especially when commoners were loose-lipped with those in high command — your eyes snapped shut. Women shrieked and moved away from the scuffle. Your whole body tensed in expectation.

"Sir Francis!"

It was a strong, steely voice that sliced through the air. Because it was taking too long for the pompous Knight to impact, you risked opening one eye. Then the other when your possible assailant wasn't looking your way any more. What in the world...? 

The Knight was staring over to where the table was when you trained your eyes there, following every other woman's gawks, also. Seated at the table and the obvious owner of the words was the man that took the names down of possible servant candidates. 

The Registrar.

His grey eyes gleamed impatiently underneath the square glasses he donned, mouth stitched.

"—disrespectful, my Lord." You caught the tail-end of what the Knight was saying. "I was teaching her a lesson."

"A lesson, huh?" The Registrar wondered. If you could believe, it looked like he was displeased with the Knight's actions. Surely not, you shook your head minutely amidst the surprise, it was common knowledge that most Knights mistreated commoners. Slapping women was not the worst they could do.

The Knight nodded stoically.

"Bring her here." The Registrar asked with a quick flick of his wrist. "Quickly. Hindrances will only delay the schedule."

"M-My Lord?"

"Are you wasting my time, Sir Francis?"

"A-Absolutely not!" The Knight exclaimed. Then before you could react, he wrapped a strong hand around your frail arm and roughly hauled you forward. Your habit kicked up again on reflex, hurling every disrespectful word you could at the Knight — even attempting to kick him in the shin. But he was Palace trained and you hadn't eaten in days. Any attack you attempted would have been laughably akin to a toddler's in your state.

An unhinged, furious wreck; you were thrown before the Registrar's small table. Your hands flew out to brace yourself against the wood so you wouldn't sink to your knees. No man would make you result to your knees; Royal Guard or the King himself.

But your fumble did result in an ink bottle tipping over and spreading a river of black all over the parchment of names. 

"Ahh! T-The names!" One voice wailed. Another Royal Guard. His tone quickly became seething when directed your way. "You useless cur! You'll atone for this with a whipping—!"

"There will be no whipping." 

Blinking, you shot up to see the face of the Registrar staring you down. Tall and faintly handsome; he had smooth skin of porcelain that threw his grey eyes into sharp focus. A mane of golden hair was kept neatly in a tail at the back of his head — not a piece out of place. You hated how his heavy stare made you gulp. Especially when there was an irritated tick to his jaw.

But then, he sighed. "Fetch me another bottle of ink," He spoke to the Knight over his shoulder. "There should be a Craftsman nearby. You have two minutes."

"My Lord, this behaviour is uncanny. You should not allow her to—!"

"Whipping is a sore waste of time when we have so much women to get through." The Registrar hissed in a tempered whisper that could very well be a chilly breeze. He tossed his eyes back to the Knight, and you noticed the bob of his throat. "Are you attempting to tell me what to do?"

It wasn't a question. It was a careful, dangerous threat.

And the Royal Knight answered him correctly. "N-Never, My Lord!" And with that, he was spun around and off he scurried to find the ink bottle. You noticed the barest droop in the Registrar's tense shoulders, and couldn't help it when the words came tumbling forth;

"You saved me from a beating." 

The Registrar slid his eyes to you. You knew you shouldn't have said it — not because it was improper and lacked propriety, because it did. You had no care for that. It was because he was looking at you now as a human would stare at an insect, and you were reminded of why Royal Court Members were people you'd never show gratitude to.

Straightening, you steeled your spine and hardened your glare. "I don't know what I can offer you." You hissed.

The Registrar may appear as if he is looking at a bug, but now his eyebrow raised. An interesting bug, perhaps. "I do hope you don't believe you can become a servant with no etiquette."

"Oh, I don't want to be a servant." You said proudly. "It was my Grandfather who sent me."

"Surely, he does not place the hopes of income on you?" The faintest ribbon of amusement in his tone. You caught it, and grinned.

"Better on me than a useless airhead woman who has no backbone when expected to serve in a Castle of Thieves."

Were you purposely attempting to jeopardise your chances? Perhaps. Your sharp tongue was more to do with the gleam of jest in the Registrar's cool grey eyes. It rubbed your nerves wrongly, how the Royal Workers thought the people they ruled were amusing little rodents; only to give money and anything else material. 

"The Castle of Thieves?" He ventured, albeit lowly. It would surely be odd if the Registrar repeated such accusations of his place of work. You couldn't help but be taken aback by his curious manner, but hid it well.  

The Registrar leaned back. No longer an insect, you thought as he regarded you with indifference. You had upgraded to a comical animal. The barest smile on his lips gave it away.

"You speak boldly." Was all he offered.

"Someone in this village has to." You countered.

"Speaking boldly in the Palace will result with your skin being littered with scars. Court Members are everything but lenient."

"Well, then that's that settled! I'm just too improper to be a servant woman. Truly, a shame." Secretly elated, you were preparing to turn right around. "I thank you for listening to me, My—"

"Wait."

Your bones and muscles snapped, froze. With an uneasy feeling in your gut that your habit had just upset the Registrar, who commanded the Knights around him, did you hesitantly look over your shoulder. When he said nothing but stared did you hold back a sigh and turn right around.

"Yes, My Lord?" You got out. A beating? Or perhaps you will be forcefully robbed of your innocence? It was unwise to question the extent of punishment a high-standing Official could mete out. But were you sorry? You grit your teeth, never in an aeon of existence.

The Registrar was quiet for a second, only studying you with everything but a livid expression. It not only made you perplexed, it also made you more nervous than what a glare would do. "Do you have your birth papers?" 

You blinked. "Pardon?"

"Your birth papers. I expect you have them on you?"

Indeed, but you weren't about to give them up to this man. Although two Royal Knights had suddenly flanked either side of you — attracted by the commotion and why you were taking so long. So, with a jaw locked and eyes daggering into the man before you, did you reach into your sack and produce the heavy parchment. 

He took it in his long, nimble fingers. Studied it with eyes downcast under his peculiar frames.

"[Name] Willows. Of childbearing age," He glanced up. "I assume you are unwedded?"

He assumes. You forced the annoyance down into your gut. Right where the other hatred for the Royals and their henchmen resided. "No." The Royal Knights and their weapons made you spit, "My Lord."

You and the grey-eyed Registrar didn't break the stare-off, not even when the Knight came stumbling back with the fresh ink-bottle in hand.

"My Lord!" He yelled breathlessly. "My Lord, I have fetched the ink. Some new parchment too. Courtesy of the Craftsmen Charlisle."

"He has my thanks," The Registrar opened his palm behind so the bottle could be placed there. When it was, did he spread the new parchment out and dip a fine quill in. "[Name] Willows," He said the name like a condemning sentence. The very end to all of your happiness. Your wide eyes tracked each swirl of the quill, every dot and dab. No way —

The Registrar sat up and smiled at you. It was that unnerving half smile. One that set all your nerves alight and spread fire coursing throughout your bloodstream. "Congratulations. Starting today, you shall be a training servant woman. May you enjoy your stay in the Castle of Thieves."

You let every bit of your pride go in the moment of shock. Mouth gaping, eyes widened. Surely there had been a mistake. There was no way the Castle accepted women who didn't keep their thoughts, voices and tongues to themselves. It was a matter of propriety, and in the Castle — propriety was held at the highest value. The Registrar was still studying you when the red cleared from your vision.

"Miss [Name]," He questioned. "Did you hear me correctly? There are others we must see to."

This damn Registrar, your fists clasped at your sides, practically vibrating with rage, this man was messing with you! He had to be!

"You can't be serious." You whispered. "The Castle would never allow it."

"I'm the Registrar. My duty is to choose what women I believe will make the most able servants. And perhaps, dare I say, you've enlightened me. It's true. Women who, as you say, 'have no backbone' will never survive serving under the Prince and King of the Yo Court."

The sentence was sealed in stone. Due to your habit, your humanly need to not be treated as scum by the higher-ups in society had just landed you in your worst nightmare. A job at the Caste, serving under the monarchs you hated the most. Being given a wage made from the taxes these villagers were being squeezed of. And there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.

Already plunged into hell, you figured you may as well go out with a bang while you descended.

"What is your name?" You whispered to him. 

His golden brow cocked. "I'm the Registrar."

"You mean to tell me your Mother gifted you with that name?"

A beats silence. The Registrar stayed still, contemplating long enough to deceive you into thinking he would not answer. Of course he wouldn't, pompous Court Official that he was. But after the silence was up, he leaned over the table. This wicked grey-eyed man who had just sealed your fate under lock and key.

"Kunikida Doppo," He said to you. "Secretary to The Throne. I will also be controlling your wages, Miss [Name]. I do hope your time-wasting habit does not carry over to your work."

You met him with a challenging smirk. "My Lord, Kunikida Doppo. How grateful I am to be granted this chance. Of course, I won't waste my time." Then, your voice dipped into a deadly whisper. One that was uncanny to any woman of society. Or any woman who wished to keep alive, period. Yet you, in that moment, couldn't find it in yourself to give a damn. "But I can promise you that I'll do everything to waste yours."

Outside the Throne Room, the Royal Palace of Yo

Court Officials; dressed in their beautiful garments of fine silks and studded gems, waited cautiously outside the Throne Room. The women with fans open in front of their faces to hide their frowns. Frowns, after all, stressed the skin to a point of wrinkles. No woman of the Court should be caught doing such a thing. The men had their hands of the hilt of their swords, swearing under their breaths and chattering in low voices.

"What do they think the Prince will do? If none of us could crack 'em, why do they think a pampered Royal can?"

He was met with violent shushing of another man. This one was a lot older and therefore, not as arrogant. Arrogance in the Palace of Yo got any man killed.

"Idiot!" He hushed. "Don't speak so easily of the Prince! Have you not heard his name in the halls?"

"His name?" The other man wasn't impressed. "'Course I have. It's common knowledge to know our Prince's—"

"No, his nickname. 'Demon Prince' is what the walls call him! You would be wise not to doubt his abilities of cruelty. Especially during interrogation."

The nickname of the Prince, the only Prince of Yo and heir to The Throne, sent violent shivers down each spine in the room. Women recoiled further behind their embellished fans, men cast their faces to the shadows with thin lips. It was all except for the gaudy original man, who had recently only joined the Court and was foolish in his thinking.

"Pwah!" He scoffed. The soft whisper of metal as he took out his sword. "I don't believe for a second that a spoiled Prince could do what actual Guards couldn't do! He was a lapdog his whole life — an only child!" There was an arrogant smile on his face. Perhaps the reason why he didn't notice the heavy sounds of doors opening behind him, or the desperate quiet pleas of the Court Members, was because he was so caught up in his bragging.

Whoosh, his sword sliced lazily through the air and he declared loudly, "I wager I could knock the brat on his behind with just one match!"

"Truly?"

It was a new voice that filtered through the air, stiffening everyone's bones in the hallway. Soft and mellifluous, the tone of the Yo Prince was rumoured to send men to their knees, women shaking with uncontrollable sobs, and government officials to tighten their jaws.

Today, his voice was echoed by the hiccups and tears from inside the Throne Room. The man that every Guard was interrogating without success was resulted to a blubbering, pathetic mess with just ten minutes alone with the First Prince.

The man brandishing the sword swivelled right around.

It wasn't only his voice that could break even the most hardened souls with wicked words. Rumours circled that it was his eyes — the shade of mahogany, of whiskey mixed with deep coffee. They bore into your spirit. Scanned deeply until you were stripped bare of everything you attempted to hide.

There was a sudden clang of metal on the tiles. The Prince didn't even flinch. He continued to stare at the now defenceless man, who was shaking in his boots.

The Prince cocked his head. "Would you be so kind to repeat yourself? I don't think I heard correctly."

Perspiration broke out everywhere along the man's skin. He was shaking so much now that he was sure of collapse. No one in the hallway was surprised, and braced themselves for the fate of the arrogant Court Official. He barely had lasted a week, and proceeded to insult the Prince to his face. Death, or something far worse, was imminent.

"N-N-Nothing—Nothing, My Liege." The shaking man regurgitated the words. Unashamedly, there was a growing patch of wet taking form in his tights. "I-I-I assure you."

 The Demon Prince let absolutely nothing change in his expression. Silence befell over them, heavy and thick, coating everyone in a layer of sticky oil. No one dared breathe, blink or even move. Not when an execution was about to be sentenced.

But the Prince did something more than that, and objectively a lot more terrifying.

He smiled.

"Ah, is that so? Forgive me, Guard-san. It appears the interrogation has left me tired~" His eyes blinked once, twice, and the dark coffee was now a bright whiskey. That was the other rumoured thing about the Demon Prince; his usual persona was calm and silly, yet underneath there housed a terrible monster no one should get in the way of.

He turned to another Guard. "Officer-san?"

"Y-Yes!" The older man stood to stoic solute.

"He's a spy of the Ko Kingdom," The Prince said easily, gesturing to the man who was crying on the floor in the Throne Room. No doubt his soul had ben fractured into thousand irreparable pieces. "Was sent to gather information on our economy. Word is spreading quickly that our drought is near crippling. He was due to report back to the Kingdom yesterday," He let out a light, almost playful sigh. "But you see, the man got greedy and enjoyed himself too much in a brothel house last night~! Spilled his entire guts to a lovely whore he was accompanying. What do you say to that, Officer-san?"

The man almost turned green with pressure. "I—I have nothing to offer, only that it was a life threatening mistake on his part, My Liege."

"Ehhh, you think brothels are 'life threatening', Officer-san?"

"T-That is not at all what I was—"

A peal of perfect laughter rang out when the Prince threw his head back. His mass of brown curls fell perfectly over his eyes when he straightened, those eyes decorated with long dark lashed were shut in happy moons. Deceitful, that was the First Prince of Yo, and God love anyone who fell for his blindingly attractive charm.

"My, my, Officer-san. You're like an innocent school-girl! How about we go to a brothel and find a lovely lady to not tell your wife about~?"

"M-My Liege!" 

"Come now, don't be nervous. Life if all about new experiences."

"I can assure you that I have—I have—!"

The atmosphere around the hallway was gently eased until the air was at least breathable again. Some brazen women snapped their fans shut now that their lips were upturned into a smile. Many of the men engaged in the Prince's easy banter. It was no small secret that, when he was in the correct mood, that the Prince had his way with people. Those who never touched or saw the other side to him naturally flocked to his presence.

The only remnants of his commanding, terrifying side was the sounds of wails in the Throne Room; a spy who stood no chance against the Prince's careful questions that everyone decided to stay ignorant to.

That and the shaken man who had been on the receiving end of the Prince's stare. The man who stared death right in the face through eyes of the darkest brown, and escaped, but was now resulted to a soiled, sword-less mess. Frozen to the spot, staring at the open Throne Room and unable to escape from the nightmare the Prince has traumatised him into.

"Were you successful?"

The Prince of Yo, nicknamed the 'Demon Prince'  by many of those who were unfortunate enough to encounter that side, strolled into the Quarters he was summoned to. This room was laved in gold and expensive jewels, silk bedsheets and grand oil paintings. In those paintings was the man who ruled over the entire Kingdom of Yo. And, the owner of the voice that called to his visitor.

The King of Yo; King Dietrich. He rarely uses his family name, although the house they lived in was brandished with the surname Dazai.

With a sigh, the Prince waved his hand. "The man was like an open book. Too easy to read, I got him to talk within a minute."

The King turned from the window to gaze at his son. His only son, and yet, there was a rift between them that was too cold to be one of family. They were simply King and Prince, and their fondness never extended past those titles. 

He raised a brow. "Officer Hijikata told me you were in there for ten minutes."

At that, the Prince smiled. It was a bone-chilling smile, one that sucked the light from his eyes. "There are other things to do to a man's mind when you take away all his secrets."

The King regarded his son for a long moment, through the brown eyes so similar to his. Then, let out the most regal of sighs. "Such an unsightly habit you have, Dazai. You'd be careful not to terrorise the new servants being trained. It's taxing enough that your branded with a nickname."

"Nicknames are commoner games. Do you think they use them to feel power? That brandishing another with labels is how they humanise?"

"There you go again, speaking so unsightly. These manners will slip out to the public."

Dazai Osamu, the Prince of Yo and Heir to the Throne, waltzed lazily over to his Father's desk and picked up a tumbler. It was gorgeously carved out of magnificent glass, intended truly to be a gift for the King.

He poured himself a healthy serving of whiskey and downed it in one go. Alcohol never did much to fill the indescribably gaping hole in his existence, but it made him feel something.

"Then let them. It'll only produce more labels. More ways of pointless humanising," He brought the empty glass to his lips and stared distantly. Through those eyes that broke men down, that instilled fear into those older than him, that yearned for amusement to distract himself from his outlook on life. "It matters not. I don't deserve the title of human, any way."

ྀི. Chapter Notes:

↣ "The Registrar" is a title I gave to Kunikida as he was taking names from the women who were registering to become a servant of the Castle. It's not his official title, however. His official title is The Secretary of the Palace.  ↣ A "Secretary" to a Throne is someone who supports many aspects of a monarch's private affairs; such as finances, schedules and correspondence. The main duty of The Secretary is to communicate the monarchs wishes to different areas of Government. Sometimes, a Court Secretary can also be The Secretary of State. ↣ Prince Dazai's nickname; "The Demon Prince of Yo" is a direct play on his nickname "Demon Executive" of the Port Mafia during the Dark Era arc of the anime. And the Fifteen Light Novel arc, I think? I tend to mention these plays throughout the book as I don't want to discredit Asagiri and make it clear what are my ideas an what is parody. ヾ(≧▽≦*)o ↣ Dazai's closing dialogue of; "I don't deserve the title of human, any way" is drawn from both Osamu Dazai's book No Longer Human and his ability in the anime, No Longer Human.

ʚɞ . . . 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

ʚɞ . . . 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄

[milky-aeons]

𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑

a/n: here we are with part two!! i hope you guys enjoy. ofc, if you'd like to be tagged or removed from the taglist do shoot me a message/comment! just to preface, i don't condone any incestuous relationships, any comments naomi makes of her brother will never be explicit and i only wish to stay true to her canon character!

warnings: naomi typical mentions, misogyny, mentions of death, swearing, mentions of rape, mentions of violence against women, themes of depression, mentions of suicide, mdni, w.c 6.7k

౨ৎ . . . chapter TWO of CROWNS OF STARDUST

𝙼𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚎. — Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍'𝐓 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐃. But what you did know, was that after the anger towards a particular Registrar, or more so; Secretary to The Throne, subsided, you were no longer standing alone. Around now were a group of ladies — similar in age to you and unwedded. However unlike you, their faces were stretched into broad smiles. Cheeks tinted pink, each of them were bouncing up and down on the spot with glee.

You repressed the agitated sigh, they must also be worthy candidates for the Castle.

Truly an honour, you thought dryly, why is it that they look so excited? Besides the promised wage, why would they wish to serve the family causing their poverty? You just couldn't wrap your head around it. Although, looked at objectively, morals and feelings were probably swept under the metaphorical rug when an income was promised. Especially an income from Royalty, when in the village money was hard to come by. 

You thought the women shallow. But then again, [Name] Willows never was one to think like a normal commoner. Opinions that spoke higher than your status usually got you in trouble — perhaps, it was you that had been in the wrong this whole time.

Although, there was one woman that caught your eye. 

She wasn't smiling like the rest of them, nor was she rosy-cheeked and foolishly giddy. This girl was standing still in a daze with her eyes trained to the distance. If it wasn't for her slack expression, a frown would have surely tugged at her lips. The grey in her eyes spoke of such unbidden sadness.

Perhaps there was a woman with a brain here, you thought, manoeuvring over to the girl quietly so as not to startle her, could she feel just like I? Devastated that she was forced into a life of a servant by the man in her house, too?

When close enough did you place a careful hand on the girl's shoulder. Immediately, she jumped. 

"Ah—I didn't mean to startle you," You apologised quickly when her grey eyes darted to you; wide and afraid. They instantly relaxed when she realised you were just another common girl and not a Royal Guard ready to shake her from daydreaming. "You just looked troubled." You finished, retracting your hand slowly.

The woman blinked once, twice. It was with a ragged intake of air that her daze was shattered and she completely broke down. If broke down was characterised by her clasping her hands to her heart and bowing her head.

"Oh—Oh it's terrible!" She cried, straight ebony tresses and bangs hiding how her eyes screwed shut. "Terrible, so terrible!"

Suddenly, you felt a small connection spark to life between you and the smaller woman. Because yes, it was terrible, and apparently only you and this lady knew it.

"It is. A terrible thing has happened to us," You whispered, bending so that the other women couldn't hear. "First our taxes, then our livelihoods, and now the Royals wish to take us. We seem to be the only ones that can see that."

The despairing girl suddenly snapped her head up. In her grey eyes there glittered tears and something hopeful. She reached up to hold your shoulders softly. "It happened to you, too?" It was an awed hush. "Were you sent away from your beloved brother too?"

And just like that, the connection faltered.

"Pardon?"

"You were, weren't you?" The lady came to the conclusion herself. With a whine did she straighten and look up longingly to the sky. "When our Father heard the news, I was ushered out of our bakery home with no opinion of my own. Away from my beloved brother! I can barely stand it, how will I last a week? A month? I fear I'll go insane from being apart from him for so long!" 

You stood and stared at the lady with eyebrows raised, absolutely taken aback. And a little offended, but only at yourself for believing — even for a moment — that another woman felt like you did. But instead, your fear was affirmed that all around you stood absolute prattling lunatics.

And you were expected to work with them for an entire month. 

"—eyes just like mine and wild red hair." The girl was still ranting on. With a dreamy sigh that made you very uncomfortable, did she turn back with a swoosh of her skirts. "What is your brother like, then? Did he despair upon your departure?"

Still busy coming to terms with the fact that maybe you would go insane before the first break was up, you didn't answer the woman right away. "I... I don't have one." You said then, a little unsure. "I'm a single child."

Her grey eyes slanted when she frowned. "Oh? But you must do. You appear to carry the same sadness as me."

"Yes, probably because I wish to be anywhere else but here."

"... I see," The girl's tone sounded slightly more crestfallen, but didn't turn cold. Instead her own face lit up with a friendly smile. "Then, we have that in common." She took both of your hands up in her smaller ones. "My name is Naomi." 

Naomi, you placed the name to the face. A delicate one with pale skin and long, jet hair. And also; the strange woman that spoke of her brother a little too fondly. That wasn't something you wished to dwell on too much — for you lived in a village with strange women sometimes, after all. But you could appreciate the needless warmth she was showing.

"[Name]," You greeted back, smiling softly. "From the Willows family."

At the sound of your surname, recognition, followed by a shadow of pity flickered across Naomi's face. The village of the Yo Kingdom was small and almost everybody could pinpoint each other by face. News, especially news of tragedy spread like wildfire through every home. It was no big surprise that attached to the Willow name was a reminder of the death your parents faced. Ravaged by such a deadly disease no one knew the cause, nor the name of.

"I offer my condolences." Naomi whispered; polite etiquette for those of the dead. You always hated pity, but in this moment, knew the girl was merely expressing manners.

"They're received by grateful ears." You assured her with a small head nod. Eager to veer the conversation away from your late parents, you passed the question back to her. "And, what is your family name, Naomi?"

"Oh!" The girl gushed. "Tanizaki. A small family of four we are."

Naomi Tanizaki. You knew the Tanizakis; they were kind folk who owned a bakery deep in the village square. Now that you thought back, this girl with the straight black tresses reminded you of the older lady who ran said bakery when you dropped by a handful of times. Grandfather tended to enjoy their lemon bread when it was available, which was seldom in these taxing times. With her grey eyes and bubbling personality — Naomi was a stark, close copy of her Mother. Although you had never bumped into the brother of the Tanizaki household.

"A family of bakers." You smiled at her. It was easier to smile now when thoughts of home filled your mind. "My Grandfather is fond of your lemon breads."

"And my Mother always makes him extra when his order comes through! She knows he does."

"Is it you who bakes, also?"

And off you both went down a road of conversation that zoned everything else that was happening out, at least for a little while. You were apprehensive to talk to Naomi, thinking she was just another airheaded woman who spoke only of men and manners. Turns out; Naomi of the Tanizaki household spoke at lengths of things that a girl her type wouldn't usually know; like currency, horses and market affairs. You found your shoulders losing a little tension when talking to the lady just a year under your age. It made you feel that perhaps, if you could bunk with Naomi, then maybe you could last a month. 

That maybe — you would not be driven to complete madness.

It sounded like the girl had at least her head screwed on properly. For the exception of the few that were loose when she spoke at lengths about her sibling.

"Tell me, [Name]," She spoke as they began to walk towards the main Kingdom Square. You flitted narrowed eyes from the Royal Knight's burly shoulders to her. "Why is it that you don't want to work as a servant?"

Clearly not because of a fantastical brother, you hid a smile under a sigh. Then, flickered your attention to the huge Castle Walls that were visible even from this far away. It was like a prison, a paradise kept locked and secure from the dying outside population. Your stomach threatened to roil in disgust.

"I am not overly fond of the Royal Family." You whispered.

Naomi gasped. "Why? The Osamu Household does everything in their power to keep us safe. And—And King Dietrich! He is so generous with the poor." She spoke just like all the other commoners in the Yo Kingdom who idolised the monarchs above everything else. And you couldn't blame her. On the outside, the King was a marvellous leader. He built defences higher then everyone, put money into healthcare cabins, allowed poorly children to go to volunteer schooling. 

Truly a picture-perfect Kingdom with the most beloved King. But you saw differently. Perfection was a perception that never really sat right with you, after all.

You could bet that the Castle's walls were caked in rotten, shameless lies. And it would be those walls you would be scrubbing every single day. Forced to make spotless something that is forever stained.

"[Name]?" Naomi sounded frantic.

"It is a personal dislike," You finally answered. For a matter of propriety, you couldn't unload such uncanny thoughts onto the younger girl. She knew that her soft nature wouldn't be able to bear it. Bad-mouthing the Royals when everyone adored them was akin to social suicide. "A complex, personal dislike. You need not worry."

"Oh. That's it, then? I see." She sighed. A personal, complex dislike could very well be taken as a 'you shouldn't get mixed up in my troubled affairs', and innocent Naomi was very thankful for it. Although, you were learning quickly, that this curious girl was also naturally nosy. "Does this dislike extend to the First Prince, too?"

The First Prince.

You had never seen the current heir to the Kingdom's Throne. All you had to go off of was the rumours that one heard float through the town. About King Dietrich, there were little. But the ones of the Prince—

A shiver skated down your spine. You hated that mere words from drunkards late at night had such a reign on you, hated that any man could make you feel actual fear. But the voices those drunkards spoke in; the pure, unhidden terror in their words—

"A scabbard, I tell ya. Right through the heart."

"Ha! You're away with the Fairies, lad. You won't scare me."

"You'd be right to be scared! That Prince has a soul of black. If he can execute one of his maids who raised 'im, what'll he do to us commoners? We're nothin' but cattle!"

"He's a Demon." Another shaky voice late one misty night. She spoke quickly, like the houses had ears. "The Devil incarnate. He's the face of a fox. But let me tell you, the way he treats those under him—"

"How dare you speak so easily of the Prince! He must not be lenient. He is due to run a Kingdom!"

"And you'd be foolish to think he is merely being firm," The older lady reprimanded the dreamy younger. "One can't run a Kingdom when their soul is pure black. The Guards have seen it; the twinkle of pleasure in his eyes when he watches men grovel. No man will ever be my King. Such a man is fitting of the title 'Demon Prince'."

"... Demon Prince."

"P-Pardon?" Naomi's startled voice.

You blinked rapidly out of your thoughts, then brought a hand up to your mouth. You must learn to not be so easily distracted, you inwardly berated. What would happen if a Guard hears such a slur from your lips? You may have a deep hatred for these pompous people, but also had a Grandfather to return to after a month is up.

"Forgive me," You said to Naomi. "Forget I said anything."

Naomi kept walking with her eyes watching you for a few seconds. She turned forward with heavier lids, keeping her silence for a little while longer.

"I've heard that title before." She said, affirming any suspicion that she had actually heard you. But she wasn't offended, appalled, or going in search of a Knight to reprimand your ideals. Instead — this woman proved herself to be different than the rest after all when she sighed and leaned to whisper in your ear;

"You'd be wise not to use it in the Court. I've come to believe we can be good friends," Her tone softened with worry. "I'd hate to see you succumb to an unfortunate fate."

You were the older of you both and yet, Naomi was more than correct. Your habit — it would be the death of you in this Castle. The literality of that was something you were unwilling to test. But just before you ducked under the draw-bridge and entered into the Castle Grounds, you had to ask;

"Do you believe it?"

Naomi didn't need to be told what you were asking. Do you believe our future monarch truly is a demon? What the woman did do was give you a very heavy look. If you could study it long enough, you'd catch the intelligence in her eyes. The unknowing perception this sometimes dreamy, bubbly girl carried with her. She had heard the rumours, too. She also felt the shivers play a jig up her spine when the First Prince was brought up in conversation.

"We are servant women now, [Name]." The drawbridge was drawn up. "Our opinions are our own to keep. Serving the King and Prince is our top duty now," Her voice hushed so low that you ducked to hear it. Against the sounds of rusted chains drawing, of men's shouts and women's excited squeals, Naomi gave her opinion of the Prince in three mere words; "Demons or not."

"So," One menacing syllable echoed through the Throne Room. In the Kingdom of Yo — their preferred colours against the walls were white and blue. This Kingdom thought those colours sickeningly pure, fake to the highest degree. Along the walls of this Throne Room was blacks and reds. 

The Kingdom of Ko were honest in their shady business deals. To them, a Kingdom such as Yo who hid their affairs underneath false smiles and innocence. The two Provinces were bound to butt heads every time they could. 

Smooth and sharp like a honed blade — that was the voice of the man who rounded the table. The King of Ko, always sharp and deadly in his nature. "The Spy-man has not returned to us. We shall assume he has been killed, then?"

The man he was addressing, and the only one in this huge room, was the Captain of his Cavalry. With his bright red curls kept in check under a foreign looking hat, eyes of sharp sky-blue and nerves of absolute steel — he was truly, a fitted man for the title Captain. Because if he wasn't, then he wouldn't be able to withstand the cold anger of the Ko King while standing with his gloved hands clasped at his back.

"Probable, my King." He replied. The Captain had a voice of gravel — sometimes, when angry, resembling a growl. It was a stark contrast to the venomous tone of the King who coated his words in sugary honey when he sang;

"Well, it can't be helped. It was never obvious that the Yoliens would be easy to break." Between impeccable gloved fingers, the King picked up a small letter-opener. It was embellished in golden filigree and dainty black diamonds. The Captain knew his King better — he knew he'd prefer the dangerous dagger to be coated in a fine layer of blood, instead. White-clothed fingers tightened around the blade. "If only the Prince stayed on our side. His co-operation would have tipped the scale in our favour."

The Captain had to forcefully ground his teeth at the bare mention of that Prince. The curly-haired, brown-eyed bother he'd much rather see dead than ever again. "You believe we need him to conquer territory, my King?"

"Careful, Chuuya~ You may be my best Captain, but I'm exceptionally displeased and also holding a dagger."

Captain Chuuya of the Ko Knights closed his eyes briefly and collected himself. There was a special way his image could dig under his skin and make him forget himself. "Forgive me," He said seriously to the older man. "I meant to disrespect."

Sleek, bone-chilling laughter. "I know, and I was not serious in my threat." The King sauntered over to his round table once more and placed the letter-opener back in its spot. The jewelled handle caught the light and bounced off his face, through his long dark hair that he pushed off his face. "There is no denying his mind is wicked. We'd rule over Yo and Ko if he was still co-operating with our Informants."

Even though every cell in his body rebelled, Chuuya couldn't deny that his King was correct. And not because he felt like giving the Prince of Yo some credit, but because his mind was a thing so other to humans. It was a hard-cut fact that, if he wished to, that man could burn an entire Kingdom down until it was mere embers and cries of ghosts. He was just that type of monster.

"Do you wish to coax him back?" Was all the Captain offered his King, hoping to the Gods it was negative. He received another laugh.

"I've already offered. He declined."

The words "arrogant bastard" almost slipped from Chuuya's mouth, but he remembered to whom he kept company. "Does he mean to insult you?" Was how he worded it softer.

"If the Prince meant to insult me," The King said in a lazy tone untypical to those who stood in the highest position of a Royal Court. He couldn't be faulted for it — for this man with the long black hair and eyes of pure magenta didn't have a speck of Royal blood in him. "He'd do it in a much grander way. He's genuinely serious." A cold smile split his lips. "Do you believe we bored him?"

"What I believe matters not." Chuuya hated using Court-language, but without it, his head would have rolled long ago. The King pouted at his unamusing answer. 

"My, my. Talk of the Prince really does turn you into a proper Court Official. Now, isn't that fun?" The King jested. "Maybe I should speak his name more often. It would definitely lessen your temper somewhat."

"If you'd be so kind," Chuuya's whole body was physically rebelling at the thought. It wouldn't just dampen his spirts, it'd transport him into his worst nightmare if he had to listen to talk of the brown-eyed bother every single day. He was unsure if he wouldn't kill a man purely out of agitation, either. "Please refrain, my King."

"Only if you buy my Elise another dress after you finish with recruits today~"

Captain Chuuya didn't sigh at the thought of entering yet another seamstress shop this week to purchase yet another dress for the current Princess of Ko. Spoiled, respected and sometimes feared with that wild childish temper, Princess Elise was everything a Royal but in blood. Just like her King.

No one in the Kingdom dared question the passing of the late King. It was a peaceful death, the Doctor tending to him assured. He had been enraptured with mania and yearned for peace in the clutches of God. But before he passed, he named his Doctor as his successor and that no one else could fulfil the role just like he could. That Doctor was General Practioneer of Ko; Mori Ougai. Who now held the sceptre of royals and commanded every aspect of the Ko Kingdom with a bloodied fist that entrenched the Palace in shadows.

And the people of Ko would have it absolutely no other way.

"Ah, and a strawberry cake too!" King Mori Ougai exclaimed in that very un-Kingly way once more. Captain Chuuya knew better than to be fooled; his respected King earned his trust and allegiance in ways that didn't involve cakes and dresses. His childish manner was warranted at times. "She'll have my head if she doesn't get one."

"A way to be executed, I'm sure." Chuuya mused. His King appreciated the joke and chuckled, although the humour quickly drained from the air when his chuckling quietened.

"Chuuya?"

"Yes, my King?"

Magenta eyes that refracted no light, no matter what chandelier hung from the ceiling or how strong the moonbeams were, slid to him. Captain Chuuya tightened his hands behind his back and felt his spine snap taut, although he never once faltered. Because this stare was weighted — an expectant, almost dangerous message in the King's eyes directed at his subordinate.

"Ready another Spy-man. Or perhaps, a Spy-woman." The King said. "I hear the Yo Palace is training new servant women. She'd blend right in. What do you reckon, Chuuya?"

Chuuya saw the cold-cut logic in his King's words. A woman would be much easier to manoeuvre into the Yo Palace, but also — would be a lot more defenceless and in danger. Servants were often mistreated, sexually by drunk Guards and physically by stronger, older women when they messed their jobs up. 

Chuuya has been subjected to sights as such, which lead to two dead Guards through his red vision and his Cavalry being drilled on what would happen to them if they even thought of raping another maid. Such behaviour from a man was disgusting in the Captains eyes, although he wouldn't be there in the Yo Palace where such acts were covered up by their sickly lavish walls and false smiles.

He had just the woman capable of the task.

"I'll see that it is done."

"I have a funny feeling I know what woman you will send~" The King sang. "Are you sure? With her blonde hair and large eyes, she'd be a target for many Guards."

The corners of Chuuya's lips twitched into a smile. No member of the Ko Court will ever be defenceless before a man. Even the maids. He made sure of that a very long time ago.

"And if she is," He assured his King. "I imagine that Guard will not be able to bear children ever again."

Two pairs of eyes contested with one another's. Powerful, sharp greys clashed with ones of deep [e/c]. A man and woman; the male leaps and bounds taller and towering over her — but it mattered not. The lady would back down for no one. Not even Naomi frantically tugging at her gown with rushed apologies to the male and curt, cross words for her. Nor the sudden back-up of women due to the stare-off occurring in the doors leading to the servants chambers.

"Miss [Name]," Kunikida Doppo greeted, the male with the grey eyes. "What are you doing?"

You didn't move an inch. The cool whisper of his tone sent every hair on your skin stiff, but you had half a mind to care. "Why, I'm standing here, My Lord."

"Pray tell, why you are doing such?"

"Hm, who knows? Contemplating the good God's creations? Thinking of the best ways to waste time? The list in endless, really. And non-disclosable."

Kunikida's jaw locked with a twitch in his cheek. His annoyance made a large, vulpine grin stretch across your face.

"I do hope I'm not hindering you, Lord Secretary to The Throne. Or God forbid, wasting your precious time." You whispered in a saccharine-sweet voice.

Naomi, who had no idea why you had suddenly broken your promise to keep tight-lipped in the Castle for the sake of your life when the tall blond strode out to greet them formally, offered The Secretary of the Castle another apology. Another harsh tug, yet again a plea for you to behave, like you were some abhorrent dog. What was she doing? The girl wanted to shake you, trying to get herself whipped? Thrown out to the wolves? This was The Secretary! The Secretary to the Yo Throne!

"[Name]," She attempted without success to push you aside. Alas, like everything else, you refused to break eye-contact with him. "[Name]—I beg of you."

 "My Lord?" The voice of a tall, lanky Royal Guard appeared to the right. Obviously, he had been attracted by the sudden, unprecedented back-up of maids in the hallway. Not only was it chaotic, but a sore waste of time. And if there was one thing Secretary Kunikida Doppo did not tolerate, it was wasted time. "My Lord, does there seem to be a problem?"

Naomi's tugging stopped suddenly, all colour draining from her face in fright. Like a startled sea of sheep, the women stumbled back to allow the flank of Guards to reach their Lord in trouble. Only that he wasn't in trouble, but dealing with a very stubborn lady he was beginning to regret bringing into the Palace Walls. The tapping in his foot gave that fact away very quickly.

Surely, you wouldn't escape a serious beating this time. You were directly — and very publicly — shaming a Royal Official yards above your social status. Steeling your spine, you forced yourself to remain strong and accept the fate that would meet you. Hell if you were going to be pushed around in this place. You'd better take a beating if it meant you could give these large-headed Officials a piece of your 'puny commoner mind'.

Secretary Kunikida Doppo, however, was playing Court Games a lot longer than you. Although he had never dealt with a woman this chaotic, his skills at reading people were honed exquisitely from dealing with years of messengers from the other two Provinces. He regarded the Guards calmly, the annoyance now buried under his demeanour.

"There is none. This maid is just particularly excited to begin work that she froze on the spot." Greys slid to you. "Correct, Miss [Name]?"

You were about to open your mouth and tell him to shove his words where it hurt the most. This man was a right fool to believe you would accept continually being placed in his debt by warding off Guards that could beat you senseless for rude behaviour. You knew, just had a gut feeling he was doing it purposely. But Naomi was quicker, jumping in front of you with a whoosh of black hair and frantic words;

"Yes! Yes, she just won't stop speaking of her excitement. All the way here, she prattled on about the gorgeous halls and paintings!" You looked appalled, but Naomi's iron-grip on your arm told you to keep quiet lest you wanted nail-imprints for the remainder of your days. "Please, forgive her M-My Lord! She is not herself with all this excitement!"

Kunikida warded Naomi's head incline off. "It matters not. Fifty-six seconds have been wasted already, let us not waste anymore," He turned sharply on his heel. "Come, you'll soon meet your Head Maid. Do keep your friend in check around her, she is no less lenient than the King himself."

Naomi was dragging you along. "Y-Yes, My Lord!"

The Servants Quarters were soon flooded with excited women who buzzed and chattered, forming small cliques when Kunikida exited the room in search of whoever the Head Maid was. You were too busy cursing the man out in your head to feel Naomi dragging you behind a huge vase of palm leaves, only being shaken when you received a hard thwack on the head.

Your eyes snapped wide. "Ow!"

"You deserve it!" Naomi was so annoyed that her cheeks were a bright crimson against her papery skin. Her teeth bared in a venomous hiss. "Are you actively attempting to get yourself killed?"

"I'm starting to believe that it would be better than this hellish place—"

"[Name]!"

"Oh—he started it!" You spat back at the girl. "Placing me through to the job just to spite me. He listed every reason why I would fail here, and proceeded to give me a place just because I insulted them!"

"Insulted who?" Naomi asked carefully.

"The Palace."

"Oh, [Name]." She slapped a hand to her eyes. Repressing her wail, she asked, "What did you say?"

For some reason, the way Naomi was scolding made you feel a tad embarrassed. At your adult age, you did not enjoy being talked to like a disobedient child. 

"I said," You began, folding your arms hard across your chest defensively. "That a servant should have a backbone if they would work in the Castle of Thieves."

Naomi took her hand away from her eyes and stared at you. Gobsmacked, her mouth gawping and lashes fluttering in rapid blinks. "You spoke those words?" She asked, head whipping around so no Guards were in earshot. Red pooled around her neck in mortification when she returned back. "You said such a thing to The Secretary of Yo? Who is the person who deals with taxation?!"

"A complex, personal distaste." You countered.

It was three steps and Naomi took your face in her warm hands.

"[Name]—[Name], listen to me. You must! I fear I may only say this once," Grey eyes hard, eyebrows stitched and throat constricting, Naomi threw everything she had into these few words. "I have no idea where this hate in your heart comes from for the Royals, but it is a dangerous thing. A miracle smiled upon you that Sir Secretary did not wish for your beating today. A baffling miracle! But Court Officials are not lenient, [Name]! You'll be a bloody mess by the months end!"

Your blue eyes flickered left. "Better a bloody mess than a spineless, brain-dead common-woman with no opinions—"

"Do you wish to return to your Grandfather with blooded scars?"

At that, you stiffened. Naomi knew she had tapped into the nerve she needed to in order to keep this opinionated, loose-canon of a woman safe in the Royal Court.

"See? He'd be appalled," She pushed. You refused to look back at her, but by the brackets around your mouth, Naomi knew this was what she must say. "An old man of his years couldn't take it. You know that. My dear brother would do despicably unspeakable things if I was beat — no doubt he'd feel guilt in his heart. So please—for your Grandfather, keep it inside. It's difficult not to allow hatred to consume you, I can only imagine, but for the sake of him, you must withstand. You must survive!"

You felt a war rage on inside your heart. Mixed with the hatred, there was this unrestrained frustration banging against your ribcage. It cried out, made your skin stretch too taut, hating everything about societal status and how women like you needed to survive rather than live in the first place.

Grandfather...

You took a deep rattling breath, and collected what you could. Attempted to listen to Naomi because the girl was, yet again, very correct. Sure, she would take a beating — but would Grandfather forgive himself if your skin was maimed with scars?

"[Name]?"

Naomi watched as the taller woman reached up to her hands, took them in her own, and slapped them against her face. Once, twice.

"[N-Name]!" Naomi cried again, suddenly terrified that the lady really had chosen to snap. But after a moment, she pulled away. With red marks against her cheeks, you sighed and opened your eyes.

"Forgive me once more, Naomi." You said with a tight voice. A rush of breathy laughter followed. "I fear all I'm dong is asking for forgiveness today."

"I matters not..." Naomi assured quietly. Her cheeks puffed when she said, "Ask for forgiveness all you like, but I won't hesitate to reprimand you if it means you won't needlessly throw your life in the balance."

You continued to chuckle dryly, looking away. Over your eyes swept to the crowd of women waiting anxiously to work. What world was this that you lived in, where throwing your life in the balance could be because you merely stood up for yourself and spoke your mind?

Suddenly, the women hushed around them when commotion occurred outside. It was Kunikida's voice, conversing swiftly with a stern woman who sounded like she tolerated nothing but perfection. Naomi gasped, next taking you by the hand and hurrying into place. Such a voice could only belong to one that lead all Maids in the Royal Palace; the Head Maid, and she would not like to know what occurred if the Head Maid found you out of place on day one.

Although, as you found a place on the floor and copied everyone's folded hands in front of them, you would not unstick from the question in your mind. How you pondered on the fairness of it all. How you wished, in that moment, to be nothing but a burning star. To ignite in a gorgeous show of colours and show everyone in the palace just how beautiful each of us were if one took the time to look hard enough.

No. 6, Freedom Rice House, 

Port Side,

The Kingdom of Ko.

4th Jan, 1831

Odasaku,

     I'm writing to you yet again with the thought that the walls are continuing to drain of colour. If we were sharing a drink in that curious Rice House of yours, years into the past, you'd surprise me with an equally curious remark to my thinking. How long has it been? I'm beginning to forget the taste of Commoner rice-milk, or pigs-trotters, or even ginger-beer. I'd be brandished with more funny labels, if my people discovered I have a taste for Common Ko Food. Perhaps it could start a war? How amusing that would be.

     Do you still play Father for those children in the Rice House? I could wager my neck that you do, although I can't fathom the reason why. After all, I have never truly had a Father, but a King. Parenting is taxing, yet you do it willingly. An interesting man indeed you continue to prove yourself to be.

     I look forward to the day we may drink again. I fear it won't be soon. In my meantime, I have been enthralled with the idea of attempting the most unreligious of deeds. If you are familiar with Grimm's Fairy Tales by Brother's Grimm, you will also be familiar with the story of Snow White. Do you believe it beautiful, how she died? Its widely accepted that she was murdered. I prefer to think she wished to bite the apple and fall into a peaceful slumber instead.

     Apple Suicide. An enrapturing idea. But surely, they wouldn't dare but such words into a children's book.

     I truly wish this letter reaches you in good health. Your curious mind is one of the only amusing things in these Kingdoms that paints the walls with colour. Never let that talent of yours fade. My good fortune to the children and their carer.

     You have my fondness,

     Osamu Dazai.

     First Prince, The Kingdom of Yo.

"These are the women I'm working with, hmm?"

As a matter of principle, you thought it wise not to have any expectations of the Royal Officials. Although, you couldn't help but give into stereotypes and believe the Head Maid to be an old, stern lady with fierce eyes and a tolerance for nothing short of perfection. 

But the woman Secretary Kunikida brought with him was nothing like the image you had in her head. Anyone had. Her face was not lined with wrinkles, but smooth and youthful. She had eyes of bright fuchsia instead of watery with age, shadowed by the thickest of lashes that echoed her shoulder-length hair. Her lips parted to yawn, followed by, "Not the strongest looking bunch, are they?"

"Perhaps by outward image." Kunikida stated, next sliding his eyes right onto you. You glared right back at him although kept any thoughts to yourself. "Although I assure you, Miss Yosano, that there are interesting candidates under your care."

Yosano — the Head Maid, flicked her hair quickly behind her shoulder. Keeping the violet strands out of her face by a lusturous golden butterfly brooch that spoke of her standing in the Court. Her smile was beautiful, worn by a woman who was probably feared by men and women alike. "I don't doubt your skills as secretary, Kunikida. Although, will you allow me to medically examine you if it turns out you're wrong? You've missed yet again your scheduled checking."

Kunikida didn't answer her. Instead, he directed his attention purposely to the outstanding women in the room. "Meet your Head Maid; Miss Yosano Akiko. She is both the General Practioneer of The Palace and an overseer of recruits. You may look to her if you have any problems, medical or of Palace Affairs. I will be overseeing your wages each month, which will be based off of Miss Yosano's reports of you and any other Palace Official's words of your work." Stoic and with squared shoulder, Kunikida gave a sharp incline of his head before turning on his feet and making his way back from which he came. "Do enjoy your stay at the Palace of Yo."

You kept your eyes on him as he left, watching as his broad shoulders didn't once falter. Not only was he a right thorn in your side, but he was also a direct opposite of yourself. Stiff, cold and a Royal Official — you knew your rivalry would not die down by merely keeping your mouth shut. Yet you could try your best to stay out of trouble. For both Grandfather and new found friend Naomi, you could keep your talons in for now.

"Right!" Yosano's voice, powerful and jolting. She clapped her hands hidden in black gloves together. "I assume none of you have had a medical examination before?"

A quiet, somewhat apprehensive chorus of negatives hushed around the room. It caused Yosano to frown.

"What is this? Have you all decided to have faulty vocal chords?"

A little louder, the litany of negatives repeated.     

Yosano still wasn't impressed. She made a short huffing sound, folding her arms tightly.

"Oh dear, it looks like I may get to examine Kunikida after all. Mice would have more of a presence than you lot."

You gnashed your teeth at the back, jaw locking in place. It was evident that the moment Yosano had put them down, Naomi looked frantically back at her friend with pleasing eyes. She relaxed, however, when she saw you were being true to your promise and breathed deeply through your nose. 

Survive, Naomi whispered in your head, survive, [Name]. That is all you must do.

"I suppose it is time for your first lesson, then." The Head Maid mumbled, albeit quiet enough for every woman to hear. Her eyelashes lowered into a quiet blink. When they opened, there was a change to her demeanour. Soft magenta eyes sharpened into perilous daggers, her shoulders squared and she boomed loud and clear, "If I ask a question, I expect to be answered! Not whispered to! Now, I will ask again; I assume you all have never had a medical exam before?"

Rookie maids, brother enthusiasts and Royal haters alike had half the wit to understand disobeying this woman couldn't lead to anything good.

"We have not!" The room was an explosion of shaky, yet louder voices.

"We have not, who?"

"We have not, Miss Yosano!"

Yosano sighed. "Now, isn't that a little better? Well, we know our first step to take in your training." The smile that suddenly stretched across her beautiful face could only be seen as deranged. You swallowed, understanding that truly, the Royal Court was also compromised of absolute lunatics. Magenta eyes gleamed. "So, what is it that you are waiting for, ladies? Undo your corsets! I will first be conducting your medical examination!"

Chapter Notes

↣ So, the story is underway. I'd adore to know what you think. Just a few things I thought to mention. Naomi is canonically 16, although in this story I've moved her up to 19. Which also means Tanizaki is 21, although we haven't met him yet. It's not a huge issue I know, just thought to clear it up in case anyone is confused. The minimum age to work in the Palace is 18, so that's the main reason.  ↣ Kingdom Yo is the Kingdom led by King Dietrich and Prince Dazai, while Kingdom Ko is led by Mori. Can you see the pattern here? Points if you can! ↣ "Freedom Rice House" is a play on the favourite restaurant of Oda Sakunosuke "Freedom" situated in the Ko Kingdom. This is where the five children stay. ↣ Grimm's fairy tales was published by Brother's Grimm, a collection of Fairy Tales published in France in 1812. It has the early version in Europe of Snow White and Cinderella (although those stories date back to ancient times, this is the publication I went with!)

ʚɞ . . . 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

ʚɞ . . . 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄

[milky-aeons]

𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

౨ৎ . . . would you like to be part of my taglist? interact with this post and let me know which fandom you would like to be notified about!

PLEASE ENSURE YOU ARE OVER EIGHTEEN BEFORE REQUESTING, thank you!

𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐒 𝐈 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑

ღ . . . bungou stray dogs

ღ . . . attack on titan

ღ . . . jujutsu kaisen

ღ . . . boku no hero academia

ღ . . . tokyo revengers

[milky-aeons]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐊

a/n: i wrote this story during a very tough time of my life, and reading back over it brings me so much bittersweet joy. i hope you guys enjoy chapter three!

warnings: female reader, sexual content, toxic!dazai, mentions of misogyny, mdni, w.c 7.5k

౨ৎ . . . chapter THREE of CROWNS OF STARDUST

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗. — Pablo Neruda

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐔𝐏 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄. Needlessly. After Doctor Yosano had seen to the last maid, who was white in the face with fear and confusion at everyone else's reactions to being checked over, each woman was sent to the servant's bathing area.

Two girls who were unfortunate enough to be the first the Head Maid seen to were plastered up against the side of the huge bath. Steam rose in heavy clouds, curling their hair and warming their bones, but nothing could stop them from visibly shaking with trauma.

"[N-Name]," One of them chattered. "Was it the General Practioneer of Yo we were seen by or a worker of the Devil?"

You swallowed beside Naomi, attempting to force your fright to relax. It made your spirit rebel — how a Court Official had this much of an effect on you. But that woman, the Head of all Maids, was no regular Court Official.

"Let us hope..." You said in a quiet whisper. "Let us hope that we do not run into medical troubles while we're here."

Naomi gave a curt nod. "Lets."

At least you weren't totally alone in your terror — every single woman in the baths seemed to have a similar reaction. The heat did nothing to tame the violent shivers breaking across their skin after a medical examination by Doctor Yosano Akiko. Each of them were checked over for any obvious diseases and given a necessary smallpox injection to protect the Royals if it was true they hadn't been vaccinated before. Which, coming from a commoner's background, it was likely they had not. 

Whatever other examinations apart from those, you believed, was unique to each and every one of you. And just as terrifying.

It was obvious that now; every training maid of the Yo Palace would think twice about overstepping boundaries. Not when they witnessed just how easily the Head Maid handled a silver scalpel, or the smile on her face as she did so.

"When you were being checked over," Naomi whispered in a small, shaky tone. "Did she—?"

"I think it best not to speak of it." You shot her down. Apparently, the Head Maid had left lasting fear in her recruits that would follow them throughout their time in the palace. And, perhaps a lifetime. "If she is a worker of the Devil, then recounting her actions will only bring about misfortune."

Naomi made a small squeak followed by a rush of water when she slapped a hand to her mouth.

You were beginning to think that simply surviving Palace Life would be a lot harder than you thought, and not at all because of your habitual loose tongue.

"Are you aware of your duty?"

Even though it was not the Captain of the Ko Cavalry asking her the question when the King had assigned him with this task, the severity of it was no less. If she could offer some input, hearing such a question from this man made her wish to be successful even more. Although maybe that was a matter of her heart. 

"I am." The blond Spy-woman answered. Dressed to pose a Yo Maid, she wore colours of white and black with a blue ribbon tying her hair securely. Standard servant attire for the Castle of Yo. How these two members of the Ko Court knew as such would be down to the man she was speaking to 

Dressed in nothing but black save for the white tips in his hair, he commanded every Spy in the Ko Kingdom as a Spy-Master. His duty was to collect and listen to secrets. And occasionally reprimand those who choose unwisely not to provide them.

"Tell me again what your orders are." He asked her in that smooth, toneless voice.

The Spy-woman steeled her spine. Like an automated machine, she spoke the words; "I am due to arrive at Yo as a servant woman. My duty is to infiltrate the Castle and confirm if Yo really is struggling financially due to a rumoured drought. Once I affirm this, I am to return. Without being caught or discovered."

The deep grey eyes of the Spy-Master, akin to thunderclouds in a vicious storm, regarded his subordinate for a moment. She had a bright and intelligent crimson gaze, fair skin and a neat cut of blonde hair she trained into a knot. If he was an average man of the Court, he would surely be of the popular opinion that Higuchi Ichiyou was a rare beauty. Unfortunately, Ko's Spy-master was nothing but a hollow husk of a man that did nothing but obey what his King asked of him.

It was why he was so good at his job.

It also enabled him to say such unemotional, practical words to his most enthusiastic of subordinates.

"Prove that your useful, Higuchi. If you are caught and executed, then that will be all you were worth."

Higuchi was a trained Spy of the Ko Court, honed like a steel blade and fierce in her work. Although she was a young woman with a huge secret no Spy-woman should have. And it was that secret that allowed the words of her Commander to turn into icicles and pierce her heart. But being a Spy-woman came with the perks of hiding inner-pain, so she simply nodded her head and quietly memorised his pale face and large, dark eyes so she could visit them in her dreams a Kingdom away.

"I will be successful," She assured. "Akutagawa-senpai."

There were three ruling Kingdoms in this mythical land. Each Kingdom decided upon their own colours; Yo preferred neutral colours of blue and white, Ko was obnoxious in their affairs with shady black and reds decorating their hallways. Hama was the largest and most influential Kingdom of all and took a lavish liking to gold and gentle pinks. Together, the Yo-Ko-Hama country was a melting pot of colours and interests to anyone wishing to visit.

You did an experimental twirl in a cracked mirror stationed above your bunk. After the baths, the maids were dried and each given a designated bed inside a drab sleeping chamber with little light and life. Not that you particularly minded, as to your right was, miraculously, Naomi's bed. Your luck was looking up somewhat, you had thought with a sigh upon hearing the news.

The girl was dressed in the same uniform as you, although she was somewhat more ecstatic.

"Oh, [Name]!" Naomi gushed. She took the black skirts up in her grasp and twirled it as you would a ballroom dress. "Isn't it wonderful?"

You pursed your lips and turned back to the mirror. Caked in dust and not at all what you'd expect from Royals, but at the same time, would in a commoner's sleeping room, you inspected your own reflection.

Placing your ongoing spat with the monarchs that ruled over you all aside, you could admit that the Seamstress had a magic touch for fittings. 

The basic black dress that collared at the neck and reached just above your ankles was not too heavy nor scratchy, like you had imagined. In hindsight, it was rather comfortable. Paired with the simple white apron typical to maid-wear and the blue ribbon tying your hair back, you could admire that you looked the part of a working woman. 

Just not in the job she wished to be in, the thought came to you with a sinking feeling. You found some happiness in Naomi's glee, though. Who had abandoned spinning like a dancer and was attempting to tie the ribbon in her hair. It was with little success.

"Here," You said with a small laugh. Naomi immediately yielded and passed the blue silk over to you. 

"It is not as easy as it looks." She muttered with a pout.

"No, it is not."

"Says you! Your bow is perfect."

Stationed in front of Naomi's mirror which was a little cleaner than your own, you carded your fingers through the long tresses. They came easily into a half-up hairdo, making the delicate features of her face more prominent. You smiled at her in the reflection. "I have been tying bows all my life."

"Truly?"

"Truly." You slipped the blue ribbon in place. "I used to work for the Miyazawa Farm. Skirts are not what a woman should wear when uprooting weeds but alas, that is all I had. So, I improvised. A strong bit of ribbon and my skirts became shorts."

Naomi's grey eyes that sometimes appeared violet blinked rapidly at you in the reflection. Her brows shot up, and all at once, she was in a fit of giggles.

You tied the bow with a frown. "What?"

"No, I mean no—no offense, but," Her giggles quietened and in their place was a bright smile. A talent of hers, you were noticing. You were fairly certain Naomi's warmth could ignite even the coldest of hearts. "It's just—Gods, you are the strangest woman I've ever met."

One brow raised at Naomi. With fingers still on the bow, you gave a tug and the ribbon came undone.

Naomi cried, reaching up like a bucket of water had been tipped over her crown. "[Name]!" She whined with fingers digging into her bangs. "You cruel woman!"

Despite it all, there was a smile on each of their faces. A mischievous upturn of your lips and the same sunshine grin on Naomi's, both of you contesting with silly stares. There was a shift in the relationship now; an upgrade from common acquaintances to budding friends. Inside these lying Palace walls and arrogant, sometimes insane Royal Officials, you were glad that at least something good was coming out of this job.

Perhaps it would make surviving that bit easier.

However the friends weren't fortunate enough to continue with their jests. In a second the radiance was shattered with a handful of words;

"Look! The Prince, it's The First Prince!"

The air took a steep fall in temperature once the title was said in an excited, womanly shout. You and Naomi locked eyes at the same time in the mirror, only moving when every other maid did so.

The lady who had spotted him apparently did so from the window — which was where a gaggle of women now squashed into. You secretly slipped your hand around Naomi's arm. You were never one to be overly affectionate, but after the sudden passing of your late parents, protectiveness came fiercely and uninvited into your personality.

Naomi didn't mind. If anything, she brought a hand to yours in quiet thanks.

"Oh, look! There he is!"

"Such a dream, isn't he?"

"A dream? That's too weak a word. Our Prince is a mythical being incarnate! Strong and brave and handsome."

"Ow — do not push!"

"If you were not so selfish, Cathryn, then I could gaze upon him easily also!"

The sickly, almost indoctrinated words of those who were star-struck by the Prince of Yo almost made you feel sick. Prince-struck, you decided upon while watching the maids fight like schoolchildren to get a look at him. Completely unable to help your curiosity, you found a pocket between the bustling bodies and peeked out. With just enough space to see clearly down into the Palace courtyard—

The Prince of Yo.

You had truly, never before seen him in person. As an only child, the First Prince was labelled with the Throne's Heir since he was but a babe. His fate was set in stone before words could come out of his mouth. So ever since then, he has been pampered with extra care and kept moderately inside the Palace Walls. There were rumours that he spent some time in the Kingdom of Ko in his earlier years, but you knew little of those wonders.

He was not what you expected.

The fierce nickname Demon Prince of Yo had some serious connotations. In your imagination, this enigmatic Prince who instilled the fear of God into the hearts of his people was a large, terrifying looking man. Perhaps with facial hair and an eyepatch.

However this man you were looking at was a stark opposite. He wasn't large, he was fairly slender, however towered over the two Guards he was sharing a joke with. You could not see his face as he was turned away and facing the far Gardens, was only greeted by the curly mass of brunet hair that was tossed when he laughed. With Royal attire of blue and white accompanied by golden embellishments that gave his status away, he looked every bit a pampered Royal Boy of a sheltered court.

In summary; not at all what you expected. Which made confusion dampen your nerves, because why did those men sound so afraid of him? Why was he named after a servant of Satan?

Outside the lancet window, you watched as the Prince stiffened slightly. Then turned right around to look up, and smiled at the attention he was receiving. A chorus of excited squeals erupted when he waved at them. That was right when you stumbled backwards thanks to the hip of another Prince-struck maid and your vision of him was cut short.

Naomi was there to steady you, hissing at the rude woman who cut across you so quickly.

You weren't paying attention, too busy analysing the sheer impact of seeing the Prince's face to care that a maid had near sent you to your behind.

Normal.

It was the first adjective that came to mind; his smooth skin flawless and evident of a spoiled life, curved eyes that tugged his smile up, generous thick waves framing his face. Everything about him is so normal, you thought, beside yourself with shock. All this time you entertained the thought that the First Prince was a terrifying man. That, with one look, you'd feel your heart still and skin freeze.

But you felt none of that. None of that at all.

Could it be that the Heir she naturally hated was just an innocent Prince laid victim to delusional drunkards and their nicknaming?

"[Name]? [Name]." Naomi was shaking you hard when you came back into the room. "Oh, [Name], what did that brutish woman do to you?"

Quickly to assure her and stop the said brutish woman from feeling Naomi's wrath — you looked down to her.

"I'm fine. It was nothing." Squeals and frantic waves from the maids were filling the quiet room still. Obviously, The Prince was one for attention and still waving at his new maids.

Naomi's bright eyes were wide with worry. "You were away for a moment. I feared that—" Slow recognition flitted across her face. "The Prince." Was all she said, although it held the weight of a million questions. "Did you see him?"

Partly because you wished to speak of something the other maids didn't agree with, and because said maids were becoming agitating with their over-zealous mewls, you ushered Naomi far to your original beds. The shorter girl didn't at all complain.

You told Naomi to sit back in front of the mirror so it could appear your were just doing her bow.

"Yes." You breathed after a moment. "I did."

Your friend strongly resisted the need to whip right around with a million questions on her tongue. Naomi waited until the maids quietened into a dreamy din when the Prince stopped waving to let her nosiness come through.

And the first question was; 

"Is it true?"

Your lips thinned at the obvious loaded question. You were still wondering of the answer to that question, yourself.  

Is our Prince truly a Demon? 

And all you could offer Naomi was the truth.

"That's the thing," A sharp silence as most maids came back to their beds, many with stars in their eyes. You were careful to lean down to Naomi with a quiet tone. "It... outwardly appears... that it is not?"

This time, Naomi didn't hesitate to swivel right around. The ribbon fell from her hair and framed her saucer-like eyes with wild strands of black. "It is not—!? Mm!"

You had slapped a hand across her loud mouth.

And warranted the attention of a maid with bright red hair and a deep, confused frown. Desperately, you stretched your lips into a false smile that physically hurt and hitched your tone high. "Excited, isn't she? I'm afraid seeing the Prince has left her star-struck."

You had said it with the hopes that this red-headed maid was another Prince Worshiper like the rest of them. Thanks to some heavenly power, your hope was in the right place, because the maid smiled in genuine understanding.

"I can understand," She assured, reaching up to run her hand through her long ribbon-kept tresses. Both eyes glazed. "Our Highness has that effect on people. Especially us. Oh, how I wish to serve him in his room!"

Your laugh was strained and had every possibility of turning into a wheeze. It was a wonder it didn't. When you were sure the maid was whisked off someplace far away, you returned your attention to Naomi and took the hand away from her mouth.

"F-Forgive me." Was the first words off her tongue.

"I never thought it would be me scolding you to keep your tongue in your mouth."

Blush exploded across her cheeks. "I was just—just surprised. You think he is not?" Her brows dipped. "You, [Name], are telling me the rumours are fake?"

"I said no such thing." You countered with a haughty whisper. Your own confusion was taking an agitated route, which was not warranted nor what Naomi deserved. So you stopped, took a deep breath, and carefully turned Naomi back around.

"I said it appears that the Prince is not what those rumours say." You continued quietly while gathering her hair back up once more. "I'm just as shocked as you."

"I'm more relieved than shocked," The shorter woman said. With that confession was an obvious sigh that dropped her shoulders. "But what makes you say so?"

"I'm more relieved than shocked," The shorter woman said. With that confession was an obvious sigh that dropped her shoulders. "But what makes you say so?"

You took a little more time to answer, trifling it out with the very normal image of the rumoured Prince of Demons as you tightened the blue bow.

Mannerly brown eyes, a smile that was polite and loving to the maids, the Guards who laughed with him about a jest.

Naomi looked at you expectantly in the mirror. You sighed tightly.

"On first look," A beats pause. Your brows clashed. "He appeared... everything a Demon's opposite. The Prince was all a spoiled Prince was meant to look. And his smile," You didn't know why your teeth gnashed. It was the confusion, perhaps. "It was kind and warm towards his maids. Deserving of their desperate waves in its genuineness."

With every word, it was as if Naomi's own brows raised higher and higher until they had no room left. When she digested it — a lot better than how you had, very evidentially — she said; "Why is it that I don't feel at all reassured?"

It was a question you had no answer to. And even if you had, wouldn't have been able to, because a sharp bell tinkled through the air which signalled every new maid to duty.

You constructed a faux smile that hid any new found confusion around your Heir and took Naomi's arm to come with you. The girl knew that looking into it would only cause unwanted stress when she was expected to tend to the Castle.

Wonders and worries were reserved to the late nightly hours. Now, they were expected to smile and move ahead.

Although you had an odd feeling in your gut that you knew would stay throughout the entire shift. Confusion and dislike were not a fond mix. It made you constantly revisit The Princes short, snapshot image in your mind for some confirmation. How his smile lit his face up, how he waved in appreciation, the Guards laughing. Not all all the man who made drunk men confess their deepest fears or women tuck their children up safely at night.

Later

Water sloshed about in the tin bucket when you dumped another rag inside. A little too forcefully, but with annoyance steadily brewing in your gut and knuckles rubbed raw with dehydration, you were surprised you hadn't cracked what it was that you polished.

For the worse half of the afternoon, you had been stationed in an expansive hallway in the West Wing of the Palace. Given completely unique duties independent to Naomi, you were in her own company surrounded by the distant murmurs of Guards and consistent, maddening scrubbing of polish against wood.

"Royals, Royals, Royals." You hissed with every scrub. Trust the pompous family to have a simply random cabinet holding nothing but China in the middle of an unused hallway. "They just have all that—that tax money to waste on fruitless things, don't they?" You asked the spotless wood, albeit quietly, as the walls had ears. "What needs does a hallway have for fine China?"

Your reflection answered you. Wild and untamed thing that you were; your hair coming undone from the bow and cheeks dusted rose. Well, if you were to actually succeed as a housemaid for a month, you thought with a huff, reaching to tie the bow neatly again, you should learn not to scrub forcefully enough to shake your hair loose.

When the bow whispered and tightened did you drop your hands into your apron pocket and produced the small notebook every training maid had been gifted. Most women coming to the Castle had very little, if not no educational background. So, for the first few weeks they were permitted to take down their daily tasks instead of memorising them. Whether it was through sentences or broken pictures if they were illiterate enough, Miss Yosano did not mind.

What she did mind was that every task was finished at the time of the last bell. And if it wasn't — a bead of sweat came down your spine at the notion — you didn't want to imagine what punishment could possible await.

Fortunately, despite being against it all, you upheld your promise to Naomi and got every job done. Now, there was only one left;

Rake ashes from Guestroom One. Polish fireplace in Guestroom One. Think of how useless it is to have ten Guestrooms. Perhaps sweep the ashes under the pillow. Pray for strength. Card, beat and straighten Guestroom One's mattress. Check for mites behind Guestroom One's mirrors. For Naomi, for Grandfather. Empty chamber pot in Guestroom Five. Tend to the Guestroom guarded by too many men.

The last task was taken down in a haste, hence its apparent vagueness. A poor, appalled [Name] heard the words empty a chamber-pot come from the Head Maid's mouth and zoned out with shock. It was degrading enough that you were serving under a House of Royals that had no respect for their people, so you were beside yourself upon learning maids dealt first-hand with their utmost private waste, too. 

For those curious individuals; you had not a pleasant experience, and secretly used the Guestroom's sink to rinse your hands until the waxy soap began to sting. 

Yet you had snapped out of it enough to hear the warning that the room would be "guarded by many men", so that was all you scribbled down. A Lord, perhaps. Most of the Guestrooms you had been tending to today were kept in check by one outstanding Guard. Sometimes not even that. These West-Wing rooms were not used too often, you were told by Yosano before setting off. 

However, the East-Wing of the Palace was. And you were also warned to be especially careful of your manners. 

Let me see how long I shall last, the amusing wonder came as you walked bristly with the can of water. You thought herself fortunate that you had not bumped into any Royal Officials or — God forbid, the Royals themselves — while on duty. But now, you were entering an area that was apparently crawling with them. 

Keep your tongue in, [Name]. For Grandfather, for Naomi.

You considered your execution if you snapped at a Palace Dweller, and then saw an empty bed beside a broken-hearted Naomi. It was what made you swallow tightly and try the damnedest to get this task done quickly as possible. For it was almost dusk; the sky outside the lancet windows was bleeding orange and blush.

The Castle of Yo was situated on a small incline in the Kingdom, far above any village houses or common squares. But you knew everyone existed under the same sky, and wished your Grandfather could see the same gorgeous display of twilight.

Do you miss me, you old wart? 

"You better do." You answered, although a smile was on your face. "Who will you play chess with now?"

Images of the chipped board and hand-crafted pieces came with voice and laughter — all trinkets of the past. You were not given the liberty of reminiscing, because you had now turned a corner east. A new Wing of the Palace was where you found yourself. And Yosano had not been kidding, but she had also not been firm enough with her warnings, either—

The place was crawling with Royal Guards!

Everywhere you looked; beside the lavish paintings against the walls, potted plants watered by housemaids more experiences than you, lining every single doorway, there was men with swords and the hilt and hard expressions. Your hands tightened on the bucket, not feeling the nicest with so many eyes suddenly lasered on you. What, am I that threatening? You wished to ask. I'm carrying a bucket, for Gods sake! Hardly a weapon of destruction.

Alas, none of them would take their eyes off of you as you made way to the most protected room of all. An impressive diplomat, he must be behind those doors. With golden lining the wood and four men on each side, you couldn't help but wonder if he was a visiting Guest or a permanent resident. Or just a high-standing man of society who wished for more Guards than he needed.

You would not be at all surprised. 

You came to a stop right before the Guard who looked wildly different than the rest of them. He was tall and fierce looking, with grey hair let fall around his shoulder and silver eyes. A wolf, was the first thing you named him while taking in his strange dress. They were definitely not Palace colours. No, this stranger wore a robe of murky green and had a thinner, longer sword sitting at his side.

A foreign diplomat, the man he's guarding must be. The Guard looked at you and you had to straighten your spine. This Guard is not from here.

"What business have you here?" Was the only question he asked you. A level, strong voice. Not commanding, like you initially expected. The aura around this man, the very way he stood. You were quickly understanding that perhaps this foreign man did not command for anything. He simply received it.

Resisting a huff — what do you believe my business is, Guard? I'm in maid's clothes with a maid's pale, you shook the bucket in your hand. "I am to tend to this room, My Lord. It is almost time for the bell and it's the last on my list of duties."

Cool grey eyes slipped down your form in inspection. The Guard deemed you acceptable with a short nod and a step aside.

Although before you entered; "I am no Lord."

Water sloshed dangerous in the bucket when you backtracked to look at him. "Pardon me?"

"You addressed me as a Lord. I am none, nor have I ever been."

Your brows pinched. Truly, such bizarre words from a man of a Royal Court. Perhaps he was not from this Court, but still — it was common to address those higher in society with the appropriate label.

"Then..." You ventured with an unsure, albeit curious tone. "What shall I address you as?"

The strange Guard had his eyes closed now and returned to looking ahead. "Fukuzawa." Was the name he said, a unique one not from this Kingdom. 

Was he asking you to use his name? In a Royal Court? Or was this a test?

You thought it probable that this man could be messing with you just to see a poorly maid whipped. In a Palace, no sort of deceit would surprise you. "If that is your name, my Lord, I cannot use it. It is improper."

"Then you may address me as Wolf."

"... Truly?"

"Indeed."

So he does not intend to whip me. He is just another outlier of the Court more stranger than the rest. Although you chose not to protest further with the odd Guard and pushed your way into the room. After all, you were still a training maid, and the time of sunset was almost upon you.

"Wolf. Honestly." You chuckled quietly once inside. Shaking your head, you set the bucket down on the floor. "What type of title is that?"

Although it could not be disputed that he didn't give you the same agitation other Royal Guards did. It was a thought you placed quietly aside, right where the ones of the Prince were to mull over later. Because now it was time for tending—

The wind was knocked right out of your empty stomach. 

Gold. Everything in the Guestroom you stood inside was tipped and coated in the finest notes of gold; from the walls to the tables. A huge poster bed with the sheets only creased and not slept in took up most of the room's decor, its silk complimenting the curtains that tossed delicately in the wind. Painted a pale blue with intricate arts of white, the walls were embellished with paintings and the ceiling was high. From there, a chandelier glittered and danced with the settling sun.

 You swallowed, having never seen such an obnoxious display of wealth. And then, the wonder and awe soured into sharp anger.

The Royal Family have this much money to spend on Guestrooms when their people are wasting away? Just for a foreign diplomat? A diplomat that didn't even sleep in his bed, but merely lay on top and turned just a few times. Nor did he touch his food tray. The silver platter had a delicious display of cheeses and breads, fruits and candied oranges, cracked eggs that were collecting grey with how long they have been left.

The shamelessly wasted food made your stomach growl and rage thunder. Whoever this man was that lived in here, he ought to be ashamed. To the highest order. Wasting a platter of breakfast and not appreciating a warm bed. But truly, what had I expected from Royals and their contacts? They would throw food and wealth at others to impress, do anything to cover up the breaking pegs of the Kingdom that held it up.

With a new-found shame and disgust at your monarchs, you busied yourself with everything you had conducted in the other Guestroom. Fixing the bedsheets, carding the mattress, polishing even specks of dust on the mirrors, however in this place you did it with a genuine snarl on your lips. Especially when you picked up a full entrée of food you hadn't even tasted before, much less seen, and dumped it right into the waste bucket. 

Such a shame. Grandfather would be appalled when she told him. Or perhaps he'd attempt to defend them.

But how could you defend this? Wealth slapped against the walls and wasted food? You saw absolutely nothing but guilt in the action, making your frown deepen.

Although one part of the room that made your skin physically tight with anger allowed the frown soften somewhat. 

A chessboard.

Situated on a table of its own with two plush chairs, there sat the most beautiful chess board you had ever cast your eyes upon. It was not out of place in this room of gold, but fond memories of your Grandfather made you look upon this ornament not with hatred, but gentle curiosity.

Oh, but you could not help yourself. You had such a soft spot for the game and the memories it held. Carefully walking over to the table right at the window, you reached out to finger some of the tiles. The stone was cold to the touch — pure marble, and not wood. The pieces were akin to crystals. Glossy, cloudy glass for the white and murky black for the opposing side. You knew it was just another ornament, another gaudy display, but you picked up a piece in anyway. 

A pawn. Your lips kicked up when Grandfather's words echoed in your mind;

"My favourite piece? That's easy lass. A pawn."

"A pawn? But—But they're the weakest piece on the board, Grandfather."

"Aye, they may be considered weak. And they are. But at least they never back down."

"They never back down..." You parroted quietly. A steady ache bloomed in your heart when you turned the smooth piece over. Unsurprisingly, you found yourself preferring Grandfather's chipped wooden counterpart; those pieces never felt so cold and unloved.

A sudden creaking of a door behind you.

Your heart slammed against your ribcage and you snapped around — placing the piece blindly back onto the board.

It was the peculiar Guard. Wolf, per his request. He was looking at you with calm eyes, although one brow was raised ever so slightly.

"Miss Maid," He began. "Your service is appreciated, but I thought it worth mentioning the sound of a bell I just heard."

A bell? You frowned, wondering why that applied to you. Although realisation of why it did hit you with the terrifying force of a freight train.

That bell!

"Oh!" You gushed. Then quickly gathered composer with a tight cough. Acting ladylike in front of a Guard, even a strange Wolf Guard, who were you really? "I am done." You affirmed.

Gathering your skirts and rushing to take the bucket, you brushed quickly passed Guard Wolf and into the hallways. This was the first day and you were already behind time. Any other Royal Official and you would have went out of your way to be late. But the overseer of maids in this Castle was a terrifying woman who sent shivers up your spine. You pushed harder, only noticing that you failed to check over the room one last time before leaving.

One final check. Always. Don't you dare leave without it. Yosano's voice in your head. It was obvious that it was more a threat than friendly advice. No matter, you dismissed quickly. That room was untouched enough. You could wager your neck nothing was out of place even without it.

Unfortunate it was for your neck. What this particular training maid failed to consider that in her haste, she had left one item out of place in the room of gold and diamonds.

High, pleasure-riven cries were what filled the small room that the Prince of Yo was wasting some of his time. At present, it was with the most stimulating of distractions; sex. 

He steadily eased his long fingers in and out of her — this high-standing Lady-in-Waiting who was becoming a little too frequent for his liking. Attachment of a woman such as herself could indeed prove a headache. But no matter — they were future worries that had no worth in the present. With long, luscious waves of deep red that matched the blush spreading across her cheeks, Rosette was the most impressive Lady of his Court. 

He's be foolish, however, to think her anything but the venomous viper that she was.

"Oh—Oh, My Prince," She mewled for him. Rocked her hips into his skilled touch greedily. "There, it's there."

Dazai raised a brow and moved his quick touch to everywhere that wasn't there. "Hmm? Giving your Prince orders, Rosette?"

With a wicked grin unlike the smiling Prince his maids knew him to be, he listened at her agitated cry. It was followed by a rushed apology, of course, and then a desperate plea for him to spare her. That was the one thing Prince Dazai was always sure of - he'd never enjoy his maids in a sexual way. It was, as his Father would reprimand him, an unsightly display and encourager of more labels. Maids had loose tongues when not in Court. But Women-in-Waiting.

He felt her hands on his broad shoulders — a quiet beg, another shift of her hips into the hand underneath her immaculate skirts. 

Women-in-Waiting tended to keep their love-affairs to themselves, unless it was to make other Women of the Court jealous. It was, in their minds, a race for the throne after all.

"My Prince—!" Rosette's whine was wanton again. It was becoming irritable, Dazai was noticing. Laced in a false tone that hid her want to cage him, lure with her charm so she could one day be Queen. With her strongly-scented perfume and painted lips, Dazai looked her right in the eyes and lowered his voice.

"You will never be Queen."

Rosette's equally red brows clashed in confusion. Bright, hazel eyes became wide. "My—?"

Although Dazai gave her no time to finish. In a frenzy, and partly because he wished her to silence, he attacked her lips with his and manoeuvred his touch back to where there was. He had it memorised, and whatever confusion was tightening Rosette's muscles melted away. She eagerly returned his attention with quick, tiring movements of her tongue and encouraging moans. 

Her hips snapped harder into his touch. He pressed, twirled, sunk his teeth into her bottom lip and her movements stuttered.

"Hah—ah!" The Lady-in-Waiting came undone underneath him. Pressed up against the wall, her hands fisted into his shirt and she threw her head back. "Oh, My—My Prince! Ahh...!"

Dazai removed his fingers from her when she was finished and completely released her. He was cruel in that regard; sex was a passer of time, not an intimate act. Reaching for a cloth in his pocket, he cleaned his hand and hid the strangely cold smile playing on his lips.

Prince Dazai of Yo did not believe in intimacy. Love was difficult for him to feel. Wicked and intelligent, he was given constant praise for being it, so he could comprehend why humans would want to feel love. They were lonely, wishing for a deeper meaning to life than simple existence. 

One thing he did not understand, however, was the want to look for a deeper meaning in existence. Sometimes, Dazai felt as if he was the only truly awake one in the room. Life had no meaning, existence was bleak as it was taxing. Humans only felt truly released when they allowed themselves to die, and that was where his opinion ended. 

Perhaps that was why he kept seeing such dull, grey walls. 

"My Prince?" Rosette called his attention back. Although he did not look to her, he heard how she smoothened down her gown and fixed her mused hair. Happy after-pleasure made her words light. "If I could ask, what was it that you said to me? A few seconds prior? I'm afraid I was too... preoccupied, to really understand."

Clever. Dazai fixed his expression back into Princely charm and lifted his head. Such a bright smile, his eyes closed and curved with it. "Forget it. I was too preoccupied too, it seemed. You do have that effect on men, lovely Rosette~"

The barest flicker behind her soft, hazel eyes. No one except for the Prince of Yo, who was perceptive to a point where it bordered unnatural, could catch it. Sadistic glee raced in his bloodstream — she had heard him. Loud and clear. 

And she was far from happy.

It seemed that the most beautiful Lady-in-Waiting was not used to being denied. But he was her Prince, so she was cautious with her wording. "Oh, but allow me to beg you," She reached up to clasp her hands and rest them on her generous breasts. "For it'll haunt my dreams to know. I do respect everything you say, My Prince."

Dazai didn't allow his smile to drop, nor his tone to deepen. Although he made a quick decision that this little triste was coming to its close, and he needed to make himself clear. "Will you insist if I keep my secrets?" He sang with ribbons of playful tease.

"I believed we were past secrets."

There was his reason. Nail stamped in the coffin. "Well, how could any man resist you, Rosette?" The barest tilt of his head left. "I said we should stop seeing each other."

Rosette's face was like a mask had just collapsed right from it. Her false smile went from bright to completely slack, her eyes let their walls down to show nothing but intense hazel fury. "M-My Prince?" Although she could be given credit, for her tone was the same sugar-poison as always.

Dazai opened his eyes and all of a sudden, gone was the happy Prince many in the Court knew him to be. Now, he was appearing how he did to only a handful of unfortunates in the Palace. Blank, deep brown eyes. An uncaring smile. The Demon Prince of Yo saw the fractures in Rosettes plan and decided he'd tear it down until it existed as mere broken shards.

"I said; our triste has gone on long enough, and I wish to end it. I don't particular wish to be collared, and yet you are attempting to collar me. Perhaps there are men of the Court who wish to sleep with a viper who'll bite them after they do, but I am not one of them." Cold, amused laughter. "To answer you properly, I said you would never be Queen. Queens of snakes belong in a small burrow and not a Kingdom's golden throne."

Finding immense pleasure in the way Rosette's skin had drained in shock until it was mere rice-paper, Prince Dazai lifted a hand to the door. "You are free to leave." Was how he ended this distraction, his tone a teasing lilt. 

Quiet amusingly, Rosette's ashen complex heated until it was the colour of her hair. With no words to her Prince, because after all, she was a Lady-in-Waiting and he a King's Son, she furiously gathered her skirts and rushed from the room. Leaving behind an unamused Prince who watched her go with unfeeling eyes. The Demon Prince of The Yo Kingdom. A man who cared not for other humans emotions and say everything in life through a lens of grey.

ʚɞ . . . 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

ʚɞ . . . 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄

[milky-aeons]

𝐁𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒

ღ. 𝐝. 𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

crowns of stardust ➺ in which a prince with no reason to live finds one in the most unlikely of people (!)

fever-pitch ➺ you and dazai have a disagreement after a dangerous mission ✔(!)

reason living ➺ fatherhood!dazai osamu headcanons ✔

ღ. 𝐧. 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐮𝐲𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

shameless ➺ chuuya nakahara nsfw headcanons ✔(!)

strip poker ➺ following a successful mission, you and the general try each other's skills at a game of poker ✔(!)

dear theodosia ➺ fatherhood!chuuya nakahara headcanons ✔

pretty, pretty boy ➺ convincing chuuya to wear a maid's dress ✔

he's mine ➺ chuuya nakahara relationship headcanons ✔

make a wish ➺ chuuya notices there's a particular day of the year you hate to celebrate ✔

wild ones ➺ alpha!chuuya nakahara is not fond of the attention you've been giving one of his subordinates ✔

ღ. 𝐞. 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐩𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

you called me sugar ➺ how you and the famed ada enigma fell in love ✔(!)

ღ. 𝐟. 𝐝𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐬𝐤𝐲 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

my little angel ➺ fatherhood!fyodor dostoevsky headcanons ✔

ღ. 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

'till death do us part ➺ the bsd men on their wedding day ✔

fly away with me ➺ the bsd men on their honeymoon ✔(!)

[milky-aeons]

𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒

ღ. 𝐤. 𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

we can't be friends ➺ in a tug-of-war between an undercover cop and one lethal eight division captain; it was only a matter of time before the bounds of restraint snapped. (!)

[milky-aeons]

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

#🤍 — milky mutters : random thoughts, silly posts, milky incoherency and brain dumps.

#🎐— asks : answers to my inbox that are not writing requests!

#🎋 — writing requests : answers to both my writing requests and the stories themselves!

#🪄— milky writes : pieces i post that have not been requested specifically!

#🫂 — moots : my beloved mutuals.

#🎈— tag games : games, taglist prompts, questions!

#📖 — milky's must reads : reading recommendations!

#🔖— milky's reblogs : reblogs of posts, arts and fanfictions!

#💓— thump : posts, reblogs and works intended for 18+

#‼️— spoilers : any content which contains possible spoilers!!

[milky-aeons]

𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍

ღ. 𝐚. 𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

bend until we break, then bend a little more ➺ he, who convinced you that humanity is worth fighting for ✔(!)

trapped ➺ in which jean and connie take matters into their own hands concerning you and armin's mutual pining ✔(!)

by a commander's side ➺ commander!armin arlert headcanons ✔(!)

ღ. 𝐣. 𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

take a picture ➺ you and post war jean have been ignoring your feelings for each other for far too long ✔(!)

in the interior ➺ in which you and jean get that idyllic little life in the interior ✔(!)

[milky-aeons]

𝐉𝐔𝐉𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐍

ღ. 𝐠. 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐱 𝐨𝐜

hope is the thing with feathers ➺ gojo satoru meets his match in a divinity unlike any creature he's ever had to exorcise ✔(!)

night of our lives ➺ a satorelia nightclub!au ✔(!)

to walk amongst the stars ➺ a satorelia side story ✔(!)

ღ. 𝐠. 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

heart thief ➺ before you knew it, he had your heart right in his thieving hands ✔

taste ➺ now that you've tried it, you knew you would never get used to the taste of gojo satoru ✔(!)

traitor ➺ gojo satoru promised he would burn the world for you, even if you were determined to burn yourself ✔

sing a soundless song ➺ in which prince gojo satoru must keep quiet in lieu of his partner's surprise guests ✔(!)

[milky-aeons]

𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒

˗ˏˋ Gojo Satoru x Original Female Character: A Satorelia Story ˎˊ˗

౨ৎ . . . aurelia, being the dutiful teacher she prided herself to be, was content to spend her evening pouring over her student's assignments and providing them with helpful feedback. yet satoru, of course, always had other plans.

warnings: swearing, sexual content, mentions of vertigo, heights, pet-names, slight angst, mdni, 6.1k

♪ . . . ˗ˏˋ ꒰ we don't have to take our clothes off — ella eyre ꒱ ˎˊ-

part of the HOPE IS THE THING WITH FEATHERS collection.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐖 of her gas-lamp washed the student reports in a wave of gold as she sifted through them, diligent and hardworking as the miracle always was. She should be asleep, by a human's standards, and her motherly cat-Shikigami's as well. The latter of which was curled up in a comfortable ball in the dip of her sheets, unaware that Aurelia was still awake after he had bade her goodnight. 

You are changing, Aurelia-sama, he had urged one night after catching her still awake past midnight, writing detailed notes on the margins of her student's submitted homework essays. She had glanced up at him with feigned innocence in her doe eyes, and he'd only blushed slightly before remembering himself; you are not how you once were. Getting adequate amounts of sleep, even though it's a foreign concept to you, is paramount. Especially because you are becoming more mortal with every passing—

He had caught himself when he had said that word; mortal. She was becoming mortal. It didn't make her baulk, as it undoubtedly should have. Any being of immortal power and age would react as if they had just been slapped in the face at the insult. It would be akin to likening a queen to a sewer rat. But not Aurelia, she did not think like other curses, other immortal beings. She looked at her outstretched palm in the glimmering golden light and contemplated on what that meant — that she was turning mortal. To be mortal.

Hundreds of years has passed since her creation day and still, Aurelia had no concrete answer to that question. One of life's great mysteries, she let her hand drift to thread through Hotaru's silken coat, perhaps it is not meant to be universally answered, but discovered for each and every human themselves.

Tap, tap.

The rapping cut through her contemplative thinking. Aurelia snapped her head to the bedroom window, alert and lethal, only to feel her muscles melt at the familiar face that grinned right back at her.

His smile was contagious, that Gojo Satoru, and Aurelia felt the corner of her lip trying to mirror his goofy show of teeth. She angled her head, a silent question. He gestured at her to come and unlatch the window.

Aurelia pointed to a sleeping Hotaru on her lap, frowning, I'm sorry, I have company I mustn't disturb. He is sound asleep.

Satoru's brows bunched, his bottom lip protruding in a pout. The way he put his hands on his hips said, even for me? Little old me?

She didn't move, no matter how imploring Satoru schooled his face to look. Shoko had told her he mastered the 'pitiful puppy-dog look' ever since they were young and still in school uniform. Aurelia entertained the thought of a puppy as she knew one, then Satoru, and then the two images merged and produced an output of him with two little white ears and a furiously wagging busy tail as she scratched his head. She hid her giggles behind a shielding hand.

"I'll have you know it's extremely cold out there," His voice whined from over her shoulder. "And what gives? You're laughing at my misery? Incorrigible. Despicable! The punishment is five cream and zunda flavoured kikufuku, warm, no cream."

Mirth danced in her eyes when she regarded him, mockingly inclining her head. "And good evening to you too, Gojo Satoru, strongest sorcerer and gifted shaman. Tell me, what are you doing in a lady's house at night? Teleporting inside, no doubt?"

Satoru raised a finger and leaned down, keeping it just above her lips. "And this respectable lady seems to have trouble sleeping, so I came to rescue her."

"How did you know I was not sleeping?" A genuine wonder.

As always, Satoru seemed to have an aversion to straight and clean-cut answers. He just stuck out his tongue and pointed to his dark blindfold, and Aurelia realised that it was all she was going to receive in response to her query. Although perhaps it was as good as he could possibly give her. The Six Eyes worked in strange, unfathomable ways even an immortal would fail to understand.

She sighed, closing her eyes, before turning back to the reams of pages. "Oftentimes, I have no trouble laying to rest, but on some nights it does not come to me." Tribute to how the very essence of her ripped itself down to make something new, she guessed. Her body still tittered between one of a graceful immortal and one of a woman, confused sometimes as to which one it should fall to. She returned her eyes to his. "One of those nights seems to be upon me now. Which is why I am using my time wisely." A hand gestured to her ocean of reports.

Satoru frowned, tilting his head. "But that's boring. You're on nocturnal mode tonight and you're planning to spend it reading a bunch of lousy reports?"

"They are not lousy, mind you. They are trial essays written by my students. The topic being Jujutsu Curses that reside in unfamiliar areas, like ponds and attics. It is actually rather interesting."

"See, when you have to end a sentence with it’s actually rather interesting, it ain't, Feathers-chan. As a matter of fact that ups its boring rating on the boring rating scale by about twenty percent."

"I have never heard of such a scale?"

"Well you've a lot to learn. Also, you've got somewhere to be tonight. With an extremely good looking man with extremely good taste and knowledge about what to do when you can't sleep."

Unimpressed, Aurelia levelled him with a look. Fully not expecting him to reach out and place a sneaky hand on her shoulder. "Tell me, what would you have me do, instead of being a responsible educator and overlooking my student's hard work?"

A wolfish grin stretched across his face.

Then they were teleporting.

Aurelias hiss of protest was cut off when the familiar feeling of being stretched, stretched, stretched over rode her senses and all she could think about was her being — was she still there? Had time and reality collided together and smashed her to pieces in the process? But then mint and sandalwood and sweetness wrapped around her and Satoru’s mouth was at her ear, grounding and mischievous, wicked and wild, when he murmured;

"How 'bout you take a walk on the stars with me, angel?"

There were not many things in this existence that could bring a being such as Aurelia to her knees. But the way Gojo Satoru so effortlessly ripped holes in the fabric of spacetime was a feat the miracle would never, ever become used to. The moment his mischievous arms had flew out to grab her, she knew exactly what he was about to do, and latched onto his body as tightly as she could.

The rumble of what was most definitely the Shaman's teasing laugh echoed around her, inside her, his voice mixing with the very cells she was made up of as the warp tore her apart, then shoved her right back together again.

Frigid, unexpected nightly air threaded its fingers through her hair. Her night dress was no match for it. Something rough and cold as her bare feet were set down on a concrete surface.

Lips at her ear, warm and wicked, sinful and so very Satoru, "Man, I love it when you cling to me like that."

Her quick temper sparked up above the lust he elicited deep within her. Aurelia shoved him, not overly hard, but just enough for the Shaman to realise she did not appreciate being forcefully warped when she had told him time and time again how much she disliked it. Satoru took one step back, his hands up in a defensive gesture.

"Easy there~"

"You know how much I don't favour your Teleportation Technique." Aurelia bared her teeth at him. "Especially when I do not anticipate it."

Satoru brought one of those strong fingers to his chin in a thinking gesture. "Hmm, now that you mention it, I do have a vague recollection of you sayin' somethin' like that."

"Evil mortal."

"Only for you, Angel."

After levelling a few impatient daggers his way, Aurelia rescinded with a huff. Her sorcerer kidnapper-come-company had left his signature blindfold back at her apartment, it must have been, because he studied her with those beautiful eyes. When he tilted his head, soft tendrils of white slid across his forehead. The miracle had to repress the ballooning urge to run her fingers through them — she was cross, after all, and they were—

Where were they?

Finally looking around to study her surroundings, Aurelia found her eyes narrowing at the unfamiliarity of it. A brush of cold, nightly air, making her reach up to rub the exposed areas of her forearms. "Where have you brought me, Sato?" She asked, turning back to him. He was already eating up the distance that existed between them until the invading press of his body heat sent shock-waves across Aurelia's skin. Always did he disable his Limitless Technique when it was just the two of them — so he could do things like reach his hands out and cup them around her forearms. He began to rub soothingly up and down, up and down, in a dizzying way that left Aurelia wondering if he was, in fact, trying to seduce her or innocently warm her up.

Knowing him, there was only one obvious answer.

His moonlight eyelashes were downcast, focusing on his touches. He smirked. "Maybe I stole ya away and brough you to this rooftop so we could have some super hot, super loud sex that wouldn't disturb your neighbours."

Such a crass promise sent heat pooling in between Aurelia's legs, sinful scenarios of naked bodies and the stars above them, his slick skin and deep, guttural panting in her ear as she arched up off of the concrete. Deities, but she was so malleable for this mortal. But as she had stated before, this miracle was cross with her Shaman tonight, and feeling especially in a challenging mood. Two could play at this wicked game of tease. It never took long for one of them to fail.

Rising on her tippy-toes, Aurelia hooked her finger into the collar of Satoru's shirt and tugged him close — almost until their lips were touching. A deep, sinful satisfaction purred within her when she felt his breath hitch. She tilted her head, as if to kiss him, and Satoru was more than happy to follow.

But before he could— "If it is your goal to seduce me, Sorcerer-mine, then you are doing a very poor job indeed."

"Oh?" Satoru challenged in a deep voice. One of his eyebrows arched, his arm flew behind to trap against the small of her back and pull her close. Aurelia gasped at the delicious friction the hard swell of him right in line with her core provided. Satoru leaned down to trail his teeth across the heating skin of her cheekbone. "You sure about that, baby?"

"I—" Damn him. The wicked man was right in familiar territory with her, having committed to memory all the curves of her body and points she loved to feel his mouth and hands on. Aurelia's eyes fluttered, growing heavy with desire, and she almost arched up into him with open invitation—

Until he pulled away.

Frazzled, aching, so much more cross, Aurelia's wide eyes stared at him imploringly. Satoru's face split into a teasing grin. He began taking a few steps backwards, beckoning her to follow him with a curl of his palm.

"As much as I'd love to fuck the shit outta you up here, Angel, that isn't the main reason I brought you out tonight." His boots hit the edge of the building, and without even glancing back — never taking his eyes off of her, Satoru stood up onto the little ledge. "I know — a tragedy. A crime amongst all men. And by all men, I mean just me." He spread his arms wide, as if he were stretching up, taking flight, and the mysterious twinkle that danced across his face turned into something a lot more sly. "Come on, come on~ I don't wanna be late."

Aurelia's lips dipped at the sides. "Late for—?"

He fell.

A choked inhale of air lodged into Aurelia's throat at the sight of Satoru falling. She raced forward, adrenaline mixing with the blood in her veins, throwing herself over the ledge so she could—

"Boo."

His face was what she saw first, then he was jolting up, colliding their faces in a messy kiss that lasted not long enough. When he pulled back, Aurelia cursed herself for being so worried in the first place — because there he was, floating away in mid air like he stood on some invisible pave of glass. He skipped backwards with his hands in his pockets, a big wide grin stretched against his face.

"This just in!" He exclaimed, deepening his voice and holding an imaginary microphone. "Crazy mountain cat lady spotted leaping over to save who she believed to be a helpless man in danger. How valiant of her, how truly soul touching! Ah, turns out she was completely tricked again by the Spectacular Gojo Satoru. April Fools!"

The miracles deadpan was so severe it resorted her eyes to a deep mauve.

"It is October."

"Your point?"

"Sato?"

"Yes, dear!"

"While it may not occur to you that I am an immortal currently transitioning into something un-immortal," Aurelia said, reaching up to rub her shoulders pebbling in gooseflesh. "This camisole is offering me no protection against the night up here, and if we were somewhere warmer," She added, raising her eyebrows slowly, the sting of his kiss still a brand on her lips, "It would give me very little protection from you, too."

Satoru's eyes darkened at the implications behind her words. The minx was getting a little too good at teasing him these days, he was noticing, but there was no way in hell he was going to get her to stop.

All six of his eyes roved down the curves of her body, the swell of her breasts and pebbling of those rosy nipples. "Damn right, it won't. But first,"

Wordlessly, Satoru held his hand out to her.

Confused, Aurelia's lavender eyes flickered from Satoru, to his hand, to the space that that existed between the rooftop she was on and him. He was floating roughly three feet away from her — even if she utilised all of her agile prowess and stretched, she still would not be able to reach him.

Her unbound hair tumbled across her shoulders when she tilted her head. A silent question.

"C'mon." Was the only amount of encouragement Satoru was going to give her. But just because he was him, added, "Don't be a Scaredy Cat~"

Aurelia believed that to be a very untrue statement — any cat she had come across in her lifetime had rarely been scared, especially Hotaru, however she let it drift to the back of her mind for later pondering.

"Deliciae meae..." She whispered his pet-name, unknowing how the sound of it sent shivers breaking out across Satoru's skin. Aurelia tightened her arms around herself and peered over the edge, noting the severity of the drop. "I do not have the ability to manipulate my—"

"Do ya trust me?" He cut her off.

She glanced back up at him — of course, the reply was instant, automatic, like she had known it for her whole life, with my entire self.

So she swallowed.

She breathed.

She gazed into the boundless blue of his eyes, wondering that if she stared for long enough, would she find the solutions to all of the universes unanswered questions in them.

She trusted him.

Not breaking eye-contact, Aurelia reached down to gather up the swishing ends of her night-time camisole until it was bunched at her knees. She lifted one leg onto the ledge that seperated her and the thirty-foot drop below, then her other, until she was standing up on the edge like he had done moment before.

Her hair danced behind her as the wind played its fingers through it — like Satoru would, on those mornings they'd wake up together and didn't want to start the day, not yet. He wondered if he could be jealous of the wind as he kept himself levitating, watching as Aurelia sized up the distance between him and where she stood, sucking in her bottom lip to worry it between her teeth.

She was so fucking cute when nervous, he chuckled. Aurelia narrowed her eyes at him.

"Are you laughing at me, Sato?" Her honey-sweet voice asked, hiding the bite underneath he liked her for. "A mere peon who balks in the face of walking off a building ledge?"

"Yep." He popped. "Pft, I've been doin' this since I learned to walk. But not only that." Satoru manipulated his Limitless so he could drift forward, coming to position himself in front of her. When he peeked up at her, it was from underneath his white lashes. "You look freakin' adorable when you're all strung up like that, lookin' to me for help."

The miracle didn't look too happy at the tease he threw her way in the form of a suave compliment. Her cheeks, however, began to heat the longer he kept their eye-contact. Until they were the colour of crushed roses.

Satoru's wolfish grin told Aurelia that he could see it, too.

He took both of her hands and began to pull.

His hands, callous and warm, so much larger than hers, were Aurelia's only support as he pulled her out into the open. She felt an unfamiliar, leaping feeling in her stomach when her balance tilted. Her bare feet stepped out and had nothing to land on — simply the large, gaping maw of the drop into the alleyway beneath. On instinct, a very human one at that, her eyes screwed shut. She balled her fists into those warm sturdy hands and waited for the rush of air, the ripping of gravity through her hair, her clothes. Waited for the unforgiving pancake she would become when she hit the ground.

Only that, it did not come. None of it did.

The ball of her foot did not flounder and flap in search of some stability — it had it, in the form of an intangible smoothness, a feeling of nothing but as firm and solid as a boulder, a cliff. Her foot flattened out onto that strange surface, and then her other, until she was balancing on some type of invisible tight-rope she could not comprehend. The wind whispered around her while she kept her eyes closed. Afraid to open them, lest the strange balance she had found in the air would disappear if she dared.

That wind carried his low, deep chuckle that was intimate to just them.

"Open your eyes, Aurie," Satoru hummed from close by. "Look at me."

"I... I cannot." Aurelia confessed, not used to the sound of her voice so small and unsure. She was a being of a thousand, had fought in battles and uprisings, trained with the most seasoned of generals, and yet here she found herself. Shaking, gripping onto a human shaman as if he were her lifeline, unable to open her eyes.

It was a new emotion that wracked her body — this catastrophic overwhelming of her senses. She knew what it was, yet felt her cheeks heat just a little when admitting it. "I... I am scared, Sato."

Satoru, from the opposite end of their conjoined hands, watched the sorceress through every pair of eyes he possessed. There was no way she'd fall — he wouldn't let her, had made sure to stretch his Limitless so far that even if she were to go tumbling backwards screaming, she would be cushioned by the gravitational manipulation all the way to the roof. Her whisper of a voice, like music through a cracked flute, had a tremor of urgency so unlike her to it, that it set every single one of the Honoured One's senses alight. This instinct to rush forward and swoop her up in his arms, safe and warm and his, roared in his ears. It was so intense it almost burned, but he lassoed it into submission. Wrestled it down, unused to its presence, unwilling to pick it apart and analyse it now.

Besides, he flashed his soft, heart-breaking smirk that she could not see — this was his Aurie. She wasn't going to go down without a fight.

He decided to tease her, instead. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that? But louder. And, maybe, a little sweeter, so I can record it and—"

"Satoru." Aurelia hissed, her teeth flashing. "This is not the time to be playing one of your games. Whatever you have done, release it. Immediately. I—!"

"You what?" He challenged, then took a step forward and leaned down. The white of his loose bangs brushed across her forehead, causing the tense, scrunched-up lines to gently smoothen at the familiarity.

Satoru's eyelids dropped as he rubbed their foreheads together, breathing in the honey-suckle and lavender scent of hers. He'd never get enough of it, would wrap the scent of her around himself wherever he went, if he found a way. "Hm? You what, Aurelia?" He whispered, his own voice coming down to a gravel as he traced the edge of her brow, her temple, the shell of her heating ear with his lips and nose.

"I—" Aurelia huffed, resisting the urge to crane her head back to give him easy access. Her brows clashed together, trying to regain her temper when he made her melt. "I—!"

Her breath came out quicker, softer, less harsh and jagged. She gripped his hands tighter but for an entire different reason. Satoru's inner pride keened at the idea she was so affected by him, that he held some sort of reign over this divine being just as she did him. His lips parted, fanning the barest brush of breath across her flushed skin as he moved lower, lower, whispering across the strong column of her neck that flexed as she swallowed. He noticed, his grin spreading wide and wicked.

When he lifted his head so that they were once again eye-level, Satoru flickered his eyes across her face, noticing that the wrinkles had melted away, that some of that immortal life-blood of hers had returned and heated the colour of her already sun-kissed skin. She no longer scrunched her eyes shut, they were fluttered closed, long dark eyelashes creating spider shadows against her cheeks.

Satoru stayed there for a second, just observing her, his mind trying to form coherent thoughts amidst the chaos that usually resided in there he was so easy to hide. He was compelled, leaning in just a fraction, as if he would kiss her, but drew away just when Aurelia tilted her head up on instinct.

She leaned forward to follow his warmth, wondering where he had gone, and opened her eyes.

They were floating.

She—She was floating!

Immediately, Aurelia's hands flew out to stabilise herself as she wobbled, her body uncertain and clumsy. "Satoru!" She yelped, looking down to see that she were suspended in the air and standing on nothing but open space.

"There ya go!" He triumphed, opening his palms in a look at you, gesture. "You're a natural! For, maybe, a baby giraffe."

Aurelia threw a very cross look indeed his way. Her blood thumped harshly in her ears, adrenaline working thick and fast through her veins as she kept looking down. It was as if her bare feet stood on the smoothest, most clear bridge of glass ever created — not a speck could be seen through it. Or, as if the air had hardened into something malleable under her body. She looked over to Satoru, imploring, furious, in awe, all at once. He stood just a few inches away with his hands crossed, looking wholly amused.

"You," She hissed, yet could not ignore the tugging at her lips when she looked down again, realising that she may not go tumbling to her demise, after all. "You are a menace." And then, she was laughing. This deep, belly-filling laughter that came only when fear and ecstasy were mixed together. "An absolute wicked, trifling, menacing man!"

Satoru glided forward with ease. "Among other things." He flashed her a cheeky wink, then came to squat down on the air that bended to his will. "How'd ya feel?"

Terrified. Marvellous. An impending sense of doom. Euphoria. Aurelia would wonder sometime in the future if humans were faced with this predicament often — feeling so many conflicting emotions at once that she wished to mash them all together and christen it with a new title. Instead, she was wordless, marvelled once again by the Honoured One and the many talents he had — regardless of if he used them to further the society of Jujutsu, or not. Aurelia straightened, focusing on breathing, listening to the air fill her body, keeping her eyes riveted on the way her feet glided beneath her.

Unsure, but so enamoured, so curious, as it were she always was, one of her feet stepped out to test the precarious nature of this invisible walkway above the buildings. It was still smooth, still firm, holding both her and Satoru up in the night sky.

"I like to think it one of my many amazing attributes." Satoru said, strolling beside her with ease as Aurelia took a few more strides, her hands still spread out to balance herself. As if she were a baby, learning to take her very first steps. He made sure to wordlessly spread the influence of his Limitless before her every move, not missing a beat, not daring to.

"When I was a kid," He went on, looking up to watch the stars. "I was always cooped up in that stupid house, not allowed to go anywhere, to do anything without those geezers being up my ass about it. Seriously, I couldn't even take a damn piss without them escorting me there. Thing is angel, trap a bird for too long and all it wants to do is fly." After saying those words that touched an intimate part of her, Satoru tipped his head to the side and gave her a sly look. "But you knew that pretty well already, didn't ya?"

Her lavender eyes — a pretty pale pink in the moonlight — regarded Satoru for a moment as they continued their walk between the buildings and houses, above the tips of trees and over the heads of oblivious night-walkers.

Aurelia's tongue darted out to wet her lips, and she went to speak, to contest with his eyes that could see through to her very core, to know her so well, before he beat her to it.

"So," He reached to take her hand, holding it with a gentle tenderness between them as if he were escorting her onto the ballroom dancefloor, once more. "I learned how to fly."

And he did.

But he took her right with him.

Aurelia wasn't fully aware of the speed he was moving at nor how, as he gripped her hand and dragged her along. They were no longer walking anymore, nor were they really running. They were flying. Well and truly, soaring through the air as if Satoru had a monstrous pair of wings on his back and was encouraging her to do the same. The miracle fought for coherent thought — she had not enough time nor capacity to feel, to think, to comprehend. His grip was sure and tight on her hand as he dragged her through his course; ducking underneath the shadowed arch of a railway passageway; chasing a bird as it raced them up the curved face of a glass building. They were going at a speed so unimaginable that Aurelia could only catch the barest glimpse of them in the windows, her hair whipping up and around her face, Satoru's pushed back as the wind was his only enemy. Up and up and up he dragged them, until the air felt cooler, until the wet spray of a cloud coated their skin when they broke through the cloud-cover of the city.

And then, they stopped.

Aurelia gasped at the sudden trajectory shift, at the air being forced harshly from her lungs only to be replaced by an inhale of icy plume. She was spun, a quick, unexpected twirl by the hand that always held hers, that did not let hers go, until she came chest-to-chest with the shaman. To keep her balanced, Satoru slipped an arm to the small of her back, arching their bodies in line.

On her face; a look of shock, of a deer caught in the headlights, her body here but her mind a couple of seconds behind.

On his; a look of feral excitement, of pure, childlike mischief as his grin stretched wider and wider.

Aurelia and Satoru stared at each other, the seconds not passing as they usually would, for time did not exist in this pocket they had made with each other, high up in the concealing clouds of the night-sky.

She schooled her expression to appear underwhelmed, but there was mirth dancing in her eyes like little licks of flame. Satoru did not miss them.

"You," She whispered, the sides of her mouth kicking up. "Are the bane of my existence, Gojo Satoru."

"Heh?" He fired right back. "Will you still be callin' me that when we get back to your apartment?"

With him so close, pressed right into her soft curves, feeling the splay of those strong fingers on her back and remembering just what he could do with them — Aurelia felt the most delicious shiver cascade across her skin. Instead, she placed her quick palm smack in the middle of his smoulder and gave him a playful shove.

His resulting laugh was a deep, rich sound. A new type of thunder roiling through their covering of clouds.

Remembering his words before he had fell ever-so gracefully from the building ledge minutes ago, Aurelia tilted her head, regarding him. "So tell me, Shaman-mine; what were you so preoccupied with being on time for?"

"Ah! You're right!" Satoru chirped, glancing up towards the sky above. Aurelia followed his gaze. "We should be just on time~"

Aurelia's eyes fluttered across what was merely a watery grey backdrop, the clouds obscuring the actual velvety colour of the night sky. She wondered, was she missing something? Something his otherworldly talents could envision that he thought perhaps she could see, too? The expanse of impenetrable cotton provided no hint as to what Satoru was trying to get at.

Narrowing her eyes, she gave it but a few more moments, paying extra attention to any miniscule shift or show.

"You have brought me to observe how the clouds pass over the sky?" She hummed, arching an eyebrow.

The click of his tongue next to her ear. "So impatient. A hag like you should know that good things come to those who wait, hm?"

Aurelia was just about to subject him to a scornful look when he suddenly pointed forward. "Look." He ebbed. "It's starting."

So she did, a frown slanting her full lips down when she did not understand. Yet it didn't take long; a small crack in the gloomy autumn night parted those concealing clouds; drawing them away from each other like the seam of a gaping wound, revealing rich dark underneath. Only that — such rich darkness was shot through. A beacon of light, a shooting star, perhaps? Aurelia's eyes went wide with delight at the thought. But then, there was another, arching through the sky at a speed only falling comets could travel at. Before long, there were hundreds of them, all at once, each leaving its mark against the ink, a brilliant shimmering streak of stardust so different to the one that had come before it.

This miracle was arrested in place when she indeed realised the spectacle she was looking at, why this cunning shaman had decided to kidnap her from the warmth of her own bed tonight.

"A meteor shower..." Aurelia whispered, not daring to miss even a single one as they all raced across the sky.

Satoru, too, had his eyes fixed on the show. "Are you one of those sentimental people who like to think they're the parting souls leaving the world? I bet you are."

His tease was met with silence stretching between them. Curious, he glanced over at her.

There were moments in ones lifetime; mere seconds in the making, perhaps a mindless gaze, the barest brush of skin on skin, but no matter — because whatever those moments were, they imprinted on a person's mind. And, perhaps, that was for a reason they would not come to realise in said moment. Indeed, they could never come to realise it, not until the last breath of life left their lips, when the world was fading away and they were in their final hour — that moment, that image, that touch, that feeling, it would return to them. It would comfort them. Out of each and every one of the many experiences that person had lived, if they could choose to go back, to stay here for just a second longer — it would be to relive that moment, one more time.

Every muscle in Gojo Satoru's body tensed up. Because in that moment, when he looked over at her, for the very first time in his life, the Honoured One felt at a loss. His mouth went dry at her awe-stricken expression filled with such child-like wonder. Her lavender eyes reflected each meteor, lighting them up, lighting her up, like she belonged among the stars with them. He had never felt inferior to anyone. But in that moment, something shifted inside of him. The terrified, broken part of his soul she could see within him so clearly on the first day they had met turned towards her and opened its arms, beckoning, ready to give himself up to her if she had asked him.

It was in that moment, that Gojo Satoru realised two things.

That one; he was in love. He was so fucking in love with her.

And two;

'Fuck. I love her. I love her and I can't even tell her.'

"Oh, but it is just wonderful, Sato! Don't you—?"

When Aurelia turned her head to gush — experiencing such light, bubbling emotions in her chest she wished to explore — she was startled to find that Satoru was already looking at her. She stopped short, her words dying on the tip of her tongue when she tried to decipher what expression the shaman was making. His eyes distant, intense, brows drawn to harden his beautiful face into stone.

"Satoru?" Aurelia whispered in question. When he seemed too lost in his own thoughts did she reach up to cup the side of his face, coaxing him back from wherever he had gone. "Deliciae-meae?"

He refocused. Yet was not as quick to throw up the walls in his eyes.

"I—" He started, and Aurelia nodded, patient and encouraging.

Yet that is how the old saying goes; that old habits do indeed, die hard. Because in no time at all did Satoru's vulnerable, almost pained expression morph into something a lot more radiant. He grinned that quick-silver smile and reached for her. Two strong forearms came to cage around the curve of Aurelia's back and drew her into him, barely giving the miracle enough time to stabilise herself through two anchoring palms on his shoulders. Because he was spinning them. A slow pace at first, merely a playful twirl of two dancers who walked amongst the stars. Then, much quicker, whipping them around in such a speed that the clouds themselves were caught up in the trajectory, that Aurelia's loose hair slapped him in the face a couple of times, that their laughter was a combined thing so joyful and real that it birthed the plea deep within Aurelia's immortal mind;

"He is perfect. Utterly, well and truly, perfect. I beg that all the Gods and Goddesses allow me to be by his side, just for a little longer."

➺ Deliciae-meae ; of Latin origin, to mean "my darling, my loved one."