#naoya angst

[scythe-art]

Bewitched ACT VI scene illustration

Naoya wept as he had never wept in his life, begging his once affectionate and kind-hearted wife for even a sliver of love to be given unto him. You couldn’t bear to hear his cries without succumbing to them and gently pried his hands off your yukata.

-

based on a fan fiction, "Bewitched" by @lalunanymph

[kamotoshi]

coffee+ a yummy-looking but inedible cake topper + zen’in naoya

order: “mind if I join/wanna join?” + angst + zen’in naoya

pairing: zen’in naoya x fem reader

warning(s): none!

Naoya is met with darkness when he slips into his lavish living quarters in the Zen’in family estate. Odd, he thinks, since you always leave a light on for him on nights he comes home late. But maybe not so much so, since he’d broken his promise of being home early to spend the evening with his beloved wife, whom he’d been unfortunately neglecting due to a busy schedule.

He knew you’d be upset, which explains the flowers in his hand, along with two takeout boxes holding a meal your favorite treat from the nearby bakery, and he’s fully prepared for whatever he’s to face when he enters the bedroom.

What he isn’t prepared for, however, is your absence.

The bed is neatly made, everything in the room in its place. The pillows lack impressions from your head or body made after holding them close while you sleep without him. Each light he flicks on throughout your home reveals another empty room.

His heart drops into his stomach and his hand immediately reaches for his phone to tap on your smiling face in his contacts and call you.

“Hello?”

You sound exhausted and fed up, both of which are to be expected, given the situation.

“Sweetheart, where are you?”

“Out.”

He swallows thickly and sits down on the bed before offering, with as much hope in his voice as he can muster with knowing how horribly he messed up, “Well, I just got home and I brought dinner and your favorite dessert. Wanna join me so we can eat together?”

A long, heavy silence ensues, during which he swears he can hear you sniffle faintly.

“Do you know how long I waited for you?”

He props his elbow on his thigh and combs through his blonde hair before pressing his forehead against his palm. “Longer than you should’ve had to,” is the response that leaves his mouth in a deep sigh.

“Mhm,” you agree and add, “And too long for dinner and a pastry to smooth this over.”

“Are you safe? I’ll come pick you up.”

“I’m staying with a friend tonight, but I’ll talk to you whenever you can fit me into your schedule tomorrow, I guess.” The bite of betrayal in your voice is unmistakable. And before he can answer, you say, with finality, “Goodnight, Naoya; I love you,” and hang up the phone.

One of his hands clenches into a fist out of frustration towards himself, making the cellophane around the flowers crinkle loudly. Though his phone beeps, alerting him to the disconnection, he still holds it to his ear and utters the words he would’ve spoken if you’d given him the chance:

“I love you so much.”