Prompt: After the Spade War, Noelle and Asta enter a secret, hollow arrangement—her heart clinging to hope, his running from connection. But when he finally confesses his love, she meets him with cold fury, revealing the irreversible damage he left behind.
—
The first time was an accident. Or maybe it wasn't.
Noelle wasn't sure anymore.
The Spade War had ended, but the wounds hadn't. Not really. Not for her, not for Asta. They were both just good at hiding them—she behind training, him behind his usual bravado. But at night, when the others had long since gone to sleep, when the castle was quiet and the weight of everything settled on their shoulders, they found themselves here.
Alone.
The common room had been empty, save for the dying embers in the fireplace. Asta had been sitting on the floor, arms resting on his knees, staring blankly at the flames. He hadn't even reacted when she entered. Normally, he'd light up, grin that stupid grin, say her name with that unwavering warmth that made her chest tighten.
But tonight, he just… sat there.
Noelle hesitated. She could have left. Should have, maybe. But something about the way his shoulders slumped, the way his fingers curled into fists against his legs, kept her rooted in place.
"Asta."
He blinked, as if just realizing she was there. "…Noelle." His voice was hoarse, almost foreign.
Her grip tightened around the hem of her nightshirt. "You should go to bed."
He huffed a quiet laugh. "Can't sleep."
Neither could she.
Minutes stretched between them. Silence thickened, not awkward, but heavy, like a blanket soaked in rain. Noelle exhaled, walking past him, sitting on the couch. Not too close. Not far, either.
"…You?" he asked after a moment.
She didn't answer. They both knew.
They sat like that for a long time, the fire cracking softly, casting flickering shadows on the walls. It felt fragile—this moment, this quiet. Like if she breathed too hard, it would shatter.
Then, he moved. Just barely. His head tilted back against the couch, his eyes slipping shut. The lines on his face were deeper than they used to be. Asta had always been tireless, unshakable, like nothing in the world could bring him down.
But something had. And Noelle understood why.
Lucifero.
The monster Asta had fought with everything he had—the thing that had nearly crushed him, body and soul.
She knew what that kind of fear felt like.
Because she'd felt it too.
Megicula's and Vanica's voices still echoed in her head sometimes. That horrible laugh, the suffocating helplessness, the way she had nearly lost everyone—Lolopechka, her mother's soul, her squadmates and friends—just because she hadn't been strong enough.
Even now, the shame burned.
Noelle swallowed. Her hands curled into her lap.
"…Asta," she said again, quieter this time.
He opened his eyes. Met hers.
And suddenly, she was moving before she could think. Shifting forward, reaching out—stopping just short of touching his face.
He didn't flinch. Didn't pull away.
Noelle's fingers trembled. She'd spent years longing to touch him. To close this distance. And now, he was right here, watching her, waiting.
She didn't know who moved first. Maybe it was her. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was both.
But then his mouth was on hers, and the world fell away.
It wasn't sweet. It wasn't gentle. It was desperate, messy, teeth and tongues and something raw bleeding into the space between them.
Asta's hands gripped her waist, hard enough to bruise. Noelle gasped, arching into him, not caring that this wasn't how she imagined it—not caring that there was no love in the way he kissed her, only need.
That was fine.
For now, that was enough.
Clothes disappeared. The couch creaked beneath them. The fire burned lower.
And when it was over, when her skin was still tingling and her breathing was still uneven, she whispered, "Stay with me… just for a little while?"
Asta was already dressing.
He didn't answer.
A moment later, he was gone.
Noelle stared at the empty space where he'd been.
The fire died completely.
—
Noelle hadn't expected love. Not really.
But she had expected… something.
She told herself she was being foolish, that Asta had never promised her anything. That the way he touched her, the way he took her, was never meant to be tender. And yet, some stupid, naive part of her had still hoped—hoped that, over time, he'd change. That maybe one night, when it was over, he'd stay. That maybe he'd run his fingers through her hair and hold her like she mattered.
But Asta never stayed.
And that hope withered a little more each time the door clicked shut behind him.
—
At first, she tried to ignore the ache, shoving it down like a sickness she refused to acknowledge.
They kept their arrangement hidden. There was never a whispered word of it beyond those late hours, never a stray touch in daylight, never an indulgent glance that hinted at anything more.
And Noelle convinced herself she was fine with that.
But then she started noticing things.
How Asta trained with almost everyone but her. How he used to seek her out for spars, for missions, for anything—but now, he never did.
One morning, after another sleepless night spent staring at her ceiling, Noelle gathered her courage.
They were in the dining hall, breakfast winding down, squadmates chattering around them. Asta sat across from her, finishing off his third plate of eggs, blissfully oblivious to the way her heart was hammering.
She gripped her cup a little tighter.
"Asta," she started, voice steady, casual. "When we go to the capital next week, maybe we could—"
"Oh, sorry, Luck already asked me to train. Maybe another time."
A brush-off. Simple. Effortless.
Noelle forced a smile. "Yeah. Sure."
But there was no another time.
—
The squad noticed.
Not the truth, of course—Noelle doubted any of them suspected what was really going on. But they noticed that something between them had changed.
"You two used to spar every day," Magna remarked one afternoon, his head cocked, eyes unblinking. "Did ya fight?"
Noelle laughed. Too brightly, too quick. "Of course not! Asta's just busy. He's going to be the Wizard King, you know."
Magna hummed, unconvinced, but let it go.
Noelle wished she could do the same.
—
She should have stopped. Should have put an end to it before it broke her completely.
But some nights, when she couldn't sleep, when the cold finality and truth of everything pressed too heavily on her chest, she still found herself at his door.
And he never turned her away.
She didn't know which hurt more—the way he always welcomed her at night, or the way he barely acknowledged her in the morning.
At first, she tried to pretend it was enough. That the physical closeness could make up for the emotional distance.
But it never did.
Not when Asta never looked at her, even when he was inside her. Not when he never kissed her outside of those nights, never held her afterward.
Not when he left the moment it was over, as if she was something to be used and discarded.
And the worst part?
She let him.
—
One night, she finally snapped.
It had been a rough mission. Asta had been reckless—more than usual. He'd thrown himself into battle without care, without hesitation, and Noelle had spent the entire time terrified.
She was still shaking when they returned to the base. She hadn't meant to go to him. She'd told herself she wouldn't.
But the next thing she knew, she was pressing against his door, her fingers curling into fists as she forced the words out.
"Let me in."
He did. Of course he did.
And as soon as the door shut behind her, she kissed him. Fiercely. Desperately. Hands gripping his shirt, pulling him close.
She needed to feel him, to remind herself that he was here, that he was alive.
Asta let her.
He always did.
But when it was over, when her skin was slick with sweat and her body was pressed against his, she whispered, "Stay."
For the first time, he hesitated.
Noelle's throat tightened. She sat up, clenching the sheets around her.
"…Why won't you ever stay?" Her voice was small, almost fragile.
Asta's back was to her. He was already pulling his pants on, already reaching for his shirt.
"Noelle, don't—"
"Don't what?" The words burst from her, sharp and raw. "Don't ask for anything? Don't expect you to treat me like—like I matter?"
Asta stiffened.
Noelle laughed, bitter. "Gods, I'm an idiot."
"Noelle—"
"Forget it." She ripped the sheets off, standing abruptly, grabbing her clothes. Her heart was pounding so violently it hurt. "This was a mistake."
He didn't stop her.
Didn't reach for her.
Didn't say anything.
Noelle swallowed against the burn in her throat.
Then she walked out.
The next morning, Asta smiled at her like nothing had happened.
And Noelle smiled back.
Because that's what they did.
They pretended.
Even as the chasm between them grew wider and wider.
—
Noelle stopped crying after he left.
The first few times, she'd let herself break, burying her face in the pillow, trembling in the dark as her hands curled into the sheets that still held his warmth. But eventually, the tears dried up.
Eventually, she stopped expecting anything at all.
She knew the routine now. He'd kiss her when she came to him, but only when they were already undressing. He'd hold her, but only in the moments before release, when his grip tightened and his breath hitched against her skin. He'd whisper her name, but only in the dark, never when the sun was up, never when there was a chance of anyone else hearing.
And Noelle accepted it.
Because what else was there to do?
It was easier this way.
So she learned to quiet the voice inside her that still wanted more. She learned to move the way he liked, to give him what he needed without asking for anything in return.
She learned to go numb.
—
She barely reacted anymore.
The first time Asta noticed, he hesitated. Not for long, but long enough for Noelle to catch the flicker of something in his expression.
Doubt? Regret?
She didn't know. Didn't care.
Because he said nothing. Just kept going.
And she let him.
—
When Asta was killed, Noelle felt nothing at all.
It happened fast. One moment, he was there, standing tall and grinning like always, battered and bleeding but alive. And the next, Lucius was there—white robes, cold smile, hand outstretched.
Then Asta was gone.
Just gone.
Vanessa had screamed. Magna had rushed forward before Nacht held him back. Everyone had reacted.
Noelle had just stood there.
Staring at the empty space where he'd been.
There should have been something—grief, rage, despair, anything. But there was nothing. Just a dull, hollow silence.
And when she returned to the Black Bulls' hideout, all she could do was stare at his abandoned cloak, still draped over the couch in the common room.
I should feel something.
But she didn't.
—
The world moved on. Battles were fought. Blood was shed. The war raged on.
And then, just as suddenly as he had vanished—
Asta returned.
Alive. Breathing. Smiling.
Noelle watched the others rush to him, embrace him, cry for him. She saw Yami pat his head with something dangerously close to affection, saw Secre mutter something under her breath before smacking him upside the head, saw Vanessa pull him into a hug that was almost maternal.
And Noelle…
She turned and walked away.
She didn't say a word to him.
Not when the celebrations began, not when the feast was laid out, not when the others clamored for stories of where he'd been and how he had survived.
She ignored him the way he had ignored her for months.
And yet—
When the night wound down, when the revelry softened and people began retiring to their rooms, Noelle felt the heat of his gaze on her.
She didn't turn. Didn't acknowledge it.
But then—
"Your room. Tonight."
His voice was low, firm.
A command, not a request.
Noelle clenched her fists.
And without looking at him, she nodded.
—
Noelle sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the door.
She should have refused. Should have looked Asta in the eye and said no. Should have turned away, left him standing there, let him taste the same emptiness he'd fed her for a year.
But instead, she'd nodded. Like she always did.
Because she was weak. Because some part of her still wanted him. Or maybe—maybe it was just habit now. Just a script she was too exhausted to change.
Footsteps stopped outside her door. A brief silence. Then a quiet knock.
Noelle swallowed, feeling the loss of a thousand sleepless nights settle over her chest.
She didn't tell him to leave.
Didn't tell him to come in.
She just sat there.
The door creaked open.
Asta stepped inside, closing it behind him.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Noelle didn't look at him, didn't move, didn't breathe too hard. Just waited.
Waited for him to undress, to push her down, to take whatever it was he wanted from her this time.
But Asta didn't.
Instead, he walked forward and dropped to his knees in front of her.
And that—that—made her look at him.
His hands were clenched at his sides. His shoulders stiff. His mouth opened—then shut again, like he was struggling with something too big to force out.
And then, finally—
"I was scared."
Noelle blinked.
Asta exhaled shakily. "I was scared of losing you. Of—of needing you too much. Of getting in too deep and realizing I couldn't come back from it." His fingers twitched. "I thought… if I kept my distance, if I didn't let myself want you too much, it'd be okay. That I wouldn't—" He swallowed. "I wouldn't fall."
Noelle stared at him.
Waiting.
Dreading.
And then—
"You're my greatest treasure, Noelle." His voice was raw, aching. "I'm ready now. I want to be yours."
Silence.
Noelle let the words settle, let them sink into her skin, into her bones, into the hollow, empty space where her heart used to be.
And then—
She laughed.
It was a sharp, bitter sound. Like glass cracking under too much pressure.
Asta flinched. "Noelle—"
"You don't get to say that," she said, voice razor-sharp, "after using me like a damn fleshlight for a year."
Asta paled.
Noelle stood, forcing him to look up at her.
"You think you can just decide you love me now?" she snapped. "Now that you're ready? Now that you've finally gotten over your little commitment issues?" She let out a harsh breath, shaking her head. "You spent a year rejecting me. A year taking whatever you wanted and leaving me with nothing. And now you suddenly want to act like I'm the love of your life?"
Asta's mouth opened, but she didn't let him speak.
"No." Her voice trembled. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to change your mind and expect me to just—just accept it."
She saw the hurt flash across his face. The way his fingers clenched, like he wanted to reach for her but knew he had no right.
Good.
She hoped it hurt.
She wanted it to hurt.
Because she had hurt. For months. For years.
Asta inhaled shakily. "I know I messed up. I—I know I hurt you. And I'm sorry, Noelle. I swear, I—"
"How many abortions did you think I had?"
The words left her lips before she could stop them.
Asta froze.
Noelle clenched her fists. "Three." Her voice was a blade, slicing through the air, through him. "Because you couldn't be bothered to pull out."
Asta's face went white.
His mouth moved, but no sound came out.
And Noelle—Noelle just stared at him, at the sheer, unfiltered horror in his eyes, at the way his entire body seemed to lock up, like he was trying to process something too terrible to comprehend.
"I—I didn't know," he whispered. His hands were trembling. "Noelle, I—I didn't know."
Noelle exhaled, slow and even.
"I know," she said. And that was the worst part.
Because he hadn't cared enough to know.
Had never once thought to ask.
Had never once noticed that something was wrong.
She swallowed back the sting in her throat, the rising heat behind her eyes.
And then, with deliberate, aching slowness—
She slapped him.
Asta barely reacted. Didn't raise a hand to defend himself, didn't even flinch.
So she slapped him again. Harder this time.
And again.
And again.
She hit him until her palm stung, until her arm ached, until the dam inside her finally broke.
And when the last of her strength gave out, she stepped back.
Chest heaving. Hands shaking. Heart—
Heart long since dead.
Asta didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Just sat there, kneeling on the floor, head bowed, face red from where her hands had met his skin.
Noelle exhaled.
And then—
She turned.
Walked to the door.
Didn't look back.
Didn't hesitate.
Didn't slam it.
Just let it close behind her with a quiet, final click.
—
Asta didn't move for a long time.
Didn't stand. Didn't breathe too hard. Didn't wipe at his burning, stinging cheeks.
The air in the room was suffocating. The walls felt too close. The sheets beneath him—where she had lain so many nights, waiting for him to stay—felt like they were swallowing him whole.
He lowered his head, pressing his forehead against the mattress. His body trembled, the weight of everything crashing down all at once.
And then, finally—
The first tear slipped free.
Then another.
And another.
Silent at first. Then wracking. Then ugly.
Asta sobbed into the mattress, fingers clutching the fabric, nails digging in as if he could somehow hold onto the past, hold onto her—but there was nothing left to hold.
She was gone.
For good this time.
And no amount of strength, no amount of resolve, no amount of regret could ever bring her back.
—
You deserved that.
Liebe's voice rang sharp in his mind.
Asta didn't respond.
Didn't have the energy to.
Even a devil knows you don't treat someone you love like this, Liebe said, his tone uncharacteristically quiet.
Asta let out a choked breath. "I—" His voice broke. "I didn't mean to—"
But you did. Liebe's words were cold. Final. You hurt her. Over and over again. And when she finally stopped hurting, it wasn't because she healed—it was because she had nothing left to feel.
Asta squeezed his eyes shut.
Because he knew.
He knew.
Liebe sighed. She gave you everything. And you threw it away. A pause. Then, softer—And now she's done.
Asta curled in on himself.
Because there was nothing else to do.
Nothing else to say.
Nothing else to fix.
Because this wasn't a battle he could fight.
Not anymore.
This wasn't a wound that could heal.
This was a scar. A deep, permanent mark left on both of them.
And Noelle—
Noelle was never coming back.
—
This is the story of how Noelle Silva fell out of love with Asta.
This is the story of how she ended everything with him.
—
Note: There will be a part two with a slightly brighter ending.