𝐉𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐓 ↷ childe x reader [✓]

CHAPTER SEVEN . OF FIRE AND RAIN

"Consuetudinis magna vis est"
old habits die hard

—

IN WRETCHEDNESS AND defeatism, you stood there in condemning silence. Failures after failures, you've seen hell a thousand times over. But the greatest failure was your own sentimentality. Love was not an emotion you expressed openly and to the man before you, it did not come naturally. A transactional relationship; one of pure merit for both parties. No strings attached, just business. Yet you couldn't help but feel drawn to him.

(Perhaps it was because he was the only person to ever fully open up to you. Perhaps it was because he too could understand how you felt about your family. Perhaps it was because he was your better half.)

Questions and variables danced in your mind, none of which made any sense. Love wasn't made to be black and white. Relationships weren't this monochromatic formula you believed them to be.

In a collective decision, you threw your life aside to slave away your childhood for your kins. Torture, killings, assassinations, death— you bore witness to the most gruesome of atrocities seen by mankind over and over again.

(What deliverance of love did you deserve for the sins you've committed?)

Truth was condemning and a liability. You turned a blind eye to the sins you painted with your own hands; blood staining your skin and screams echoing in your mind. You didn't believe you were deserving of love. You didn't believe yourself to be deserving of anything.

True punishment in crime came in the form of the torment of living.

(Perhaps that is why the Gods took the innocent lambs to the slaughter and not you.)

"I can't afford to risk your life for this foolish game of charades, Ajax.... So let's end it here..."

Your heart was racing, thrumming in your chest as deafening silence filled the room. The words had slipped from your mouth before you could really weigh out the consequences but it was already too late.

"Foolish game? You perceived this as a mere game, (y/n)?"

You hated the tone in which he said your name. It was heart wrenching to hear the subtlety of disappointment, anger, and bitterness in his voice. Saying your name only made things more personal rather than transactional— that you hated too.

"I..." Your voice faltered, failing you. "No... I—"

"Whether you see this as a game or not, it doesn't change my thoughts and feelings." Childe confessed, his eyes softening.

In the back of your mind, you sought to reason with him.

(What could he possibly gain from this?)