mr big scary let me ask my wife firelord who always has to run things by you not because you’re controlling or demanding but because he wants you to know what he’s doing, wants you to be included and wants you to approve of his decisions because when you’re happy, he’s happy.
“ fire lord zuko, the earth emissary would like to have a dinner. when is suitable for you?”
“let me ask my wife and i’ll get back to you.”
“lord zuko, the festival of fire is coming up, will you be in attendance?”
“not sure. let me ask my wife.”
“sir. the avatar has requested your help. will you be going to lend aid?”
“if my wife grants me permission, yes.”
“my wife said we need more opportunities for women in government. lets look into that.”
“i cannot attend that meeting. i have lunch plans with my wife.”
even when doing the most mundane and tedious things like new gowns or new stationery for royal decrees, you’re there to give your opinion.
“does my wife like it?”
“what does the firelady think?”
“ask my wife, she has the final say. whatever she wants, goes.”
big scary i worship the ground my wife walks on fire lord
❝ in which, you underestimated just how deeply you still felt for the hot-headed fire lord.
( or where you're both idiots and you've finally gotten a potential chance. )
pairing : adult!zuko x reader
genre : a little angsty, yearning "friends" to ??
warnings : your honour they are both idiots, talks about marriage, maybe very ooc because it's been years since i watched atla and this was purely fueled by seeing adult zuko and my #thirst for him...this arose after me being in the trenches on not opening a draft since YEARS.....i am not even sure abt this one pls read with a grain of salt </3 also inbox is open for ideas and thirsting :D
w.c : 4k
You contemplated whether or not you’d made the right choice showing up at Republic City.
It totally wasn’t because you were obligated to show up, having been personally sent an invitation by the Avatar himself.
The Avatar who was one of your closest friends, along with the rest of them. And honestly, a huge part of you wanted to see them in person once Aang had mentioned how everyone else was also going to come. It had been years alright, since you saw any of them, since you’d last seen him.
Your friendship went back to your pre-teen years, when you’d met them at the tender age of twelve back when they were passing by your village. It was not like you were some extraordinary kid, in fact, you were a non bender. But somehow, friendship struck with Katara when she stumbled into you at the market looking lost and soon enough, the rest of them even warmed up to you.
Needless to say, you knew you were always the type to want to travel and never settle in one place, that part of your life still being evident when even after you finished the whole journey of bringing peace into the world, you still had the desire to continue going beyond and learning more from everywhere.
And maybe perhaps, this was one of the reasons, you never really acted on your feelings.
“You made it!” It wasn’t even a few minutes since you’d step into the city, which flourished with all kinds of things happening all at once, perhaps it was because of the occasion of the ‘reunion’ but nonetheless, you had a hunch this was just how it was even on the tamest of days, when you heard her.
You didn’t even try to stifle the wide grin on your face as you spun around to face Katara. Before you could even say anything, she embraced you in one of her hugs. Still the same, you thought as she hugged you tighter which made you giggle as you both stumbled a little.
“ ‘course I did, you did threaten me afterall. But always a delight to see you Tara.” You pulled away gently, standing a tad bit taller than her, even though there was a time she was taller than you. She looked as beautiful as ever, the years really making her even more beautiful than you remembered as you scanned her face. She had that glow on her face which made you grin even more when you realised who might have caused that.
“Where’s your little boyfriend hm? Didn’t even care to come and welcome me?”
The blush on her cheeks made you chuckle even more, these two had been together for years and yet you could still tease her about it and she would still be blushing, it was cute.
“Of course you expect that of me.” You heard him before you saw him, as you turned around to face Aang who had a playful scoff on his face. No longer stood the scrawny short boy who was just a few inches below your shoulder. Aang looked as if puberty decided to reward him in the best ways possible as he now stood taller than you, and somehow looked broader as well? Maybe it wasn't just that, perhaps a certain someone *cough* Katara *cough* also was a reason he'd aged gracefully.
“I wonder how you are taller than me now, shorthead.” The nickname still stuck as he also embraced you in a hug and despite knowing he had definitely matured, the mischievous sparkle in his eyes showed that there was still that Aang you'd known within.
“You know, the nickname doesn't really work anymore? Considering I am now WAY taller.” To add to his statement, he pointed out the difference by waving his hand above your head to which you rolled your eyes and flicked his forehead, “Yeah not happening, you're still the same to me.”
Katara chuckled at your antics and shook her head. She was just glad she could finally meet one of her best friends who she had been wanting to meet for so long. Even when she remembered, trying to make you stay behind with her and Aang, deep inside she knew you were someone who wanted to go way beyond. She had that sense since the minute she met you. And more so, when you agreed to come with them during that time so readily.
“How's gran doing?” She recalled your grandmother, the one who actually was the reason behind the way you were. It was in fact, her stories of the world and the very many tales of people and places that made you want to go and see these fantasies in real life.
“Oh you know, same old, same old. I told her to come with me here but she insisted that you all come and visit her.” Katara nodded at your words and chuckled again, knowing how the conversation probably played out.
“Is that who I think it is?!” The scream already said enough as to who it was and before you could even look at him, he jumped right onto you. “I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU'RE ACTUALLY HERE.”
And classic Sokka, who completely forgets that he's not the same as he was when you could handle his hugs without toppling over. So, as he did come to hug you, you both toppled over to the ground. Groaning you tried your best to wrap your arms around him, but again it seemed puberty also somehow managed to make him even more buffer.
“Oh Go- can’t- breat-” You could hear Aang and Tara laughing as you glared at the two when you could feel your neck getting wet from Sokka…crying?
“Are you crying??”
“n-No!”
“I'm still alive and here and I feel that might just change in a few moments.” Your last few words came out in groans as you tried to not feel crushed.
Sokka was probably the one who you got along with the most, one of the main reasons being of course, that you two were both non-benders. So a lot of your own thoughts and feelings are aligned in those matters. But despite that, you'd still have your own differences, even then so you managed to get along the most with him.
“You're literally crushing her, stupid.” And there were only two people who you knew that would sound both rude and concerned at the same time.
“Sorry!” You looked at him as you both got up, dusting off whatever had stuck to you in the process and somehow, you think that he was the one who remained the most unchanged.
“It's fine, I missed you too idiot.” You laughed as you pulled out a handkerchief that was tucked in your pocket, which he gladly took and you shook your head. The other two came over and helped him compose himself as though he truly couldn't find better words. It had been way too long since he talked to you, and somehow he couldn't find the words.
“Nice to see you too Toph.” You grinned even more as you stopped closer to her, and even knowing how much physical touch was a bit of a hit or miss with her, you went near her, to which as she could sense you closer, she showed one of her rare smiles and opened her arms.
Damn I did really miss out on their glowups huh?! And where did mine disappear too?!
Despite Toph also being shorter and way lankier as a kid, she has gotten quite buff and now stood at a similar height to you.
Even though you didn't feel that different physically, the rest of your friends thought quite the opposite. Afterall, doing something you truly desire and doing it for a long time does change you mentally but physically as well. You glowed and carried that sort of confidence that only comes when you're truly someone who's grounded within yourself. It came off from your whole body language and even as Toph hugged you, she sensed a whole different yet same being from the skeptical but brave little girl she'd known.
You pulled away and finally looked at all four of them, their happiness radiating as they finally got to see everyone back together. Well not everyone. At least not to you yet.
Having met the four of them, there remained only one. And somehow, you had very mixed feelings for this one. Not because you didn't like him or so but it bordered on quite the opposite actually.
Even after all the years of being away, it seemed you were back in your pre-teens, harboring the crush that bloomed over time for Zuko as even the mere thought of him, even at that very moment, seemed to quicken your heartbeat more than ever.
This time, you saw him before he even said a word, your eyes scanning over the others and landing on him before he saw you.
The rest of them were talking, to you, to each other but your attention was forcing you to find him and then you finally did.
And Oh Dear God.
Back when you were that daydreamer, you thought your crush was solely on the fact that Zuko was probably one of the most attractive guys you'd ever interacted with. Sure, he had his own fair share of…issues, yet somehow as you grew up with him in that time, you could see him change. And that change itself made him more and more attractive to you.
You didn't think it was possible for him to get even more fucking attractive but there he stood.
He looked way taller, broader, more well kept with his hair even longer. His scar added just more awe to his whole being as you scanned him head to toe. He always had that authoritative aura and it seemed being Fire Lord was really working out for him, after all he was born for this. It didn't really go unnoticed as Aang and Katara gave you a side-eye to which Toph only raised her eyebrows in amusement as she picked up your racing heartbeat.
“And did you finally spot your true love?” Your attention turned to Toph as she held that knowing smirk on her face to which you glared and side-elbowed her.
It wasn't exactly hidden, your feelings for Zuko, at least not from everyone but him. Somehow you had been able to disguise them whenever he was around but the others did figure it out eventually. Even Sokka for that matter.
Speaking of, he came up next to you and immediately pulled you in another side hug, “I still cannot believe you finally came. We all thought you were probably somewhere very far away considering you didn't reply to any of our letters in the past few months.”
You let him be clingy, because well, really you missed it a lot. Nodding you replied, “I do have all your letters, and I figured it would be better to surprise you instead.”
Over time, you'd send them letters with the places of where you'd be staying so they could also send theirs and you kept every single one of them.
As you turned to face Sokka as he rambled on about how much you'd missed out on, while Aang and Katara filled in between the conversation with Toph also giving her inputs occasionally, you didn't notice another person walking over.
Zuko stood a few feet away and just waited. As he waited, he really looked at you. It had been so long since he's seen you, he didn't even realise just how much he…missed you.
You'd changed. You'd changed in ways he didn't even think you would but you were still as…beautiful as ever. You looked happier and it was very much visible with the twinkle in your eyes as you spoke and gestured.
His own heartbeat picked up in pace as he realised the stupid infatuation he felt for you as a teen, wasn't actually ever gone. Over the years, he felt it likely faded away, despite the fact that whenever he did get a letter for you, he treasured them and kept them in a box hidden away in his chambers. Despite the fact that it was what he always looked forward to and made sure they were given to him privately. Despite the fact that he never took off the necklace you'd gotten him as a departing gift from before you all split, because it felt you were always there with him.
Oh he never really got over it.
“Ah you creep, stop staring and come greet her.” It was Toph who sensed him first, everyone's attention going to Zuko while you looked up and slightly froze.
Embarrassed to have been caught like this, he walked a few steps and glared at Toph, scoffing, “I was coming over.”
“Sure you were, you were totally not star-”
“Hi.”
You didn't think one word would have such an effect on you but you blinked twice before clearing your throat.
“He-hey.”
“How have you been? It's uhm- great to see you again.”
In that moment, you cursed at yourself internally for not being able to simply speak. You were mortified because it felt like all the feelings that you'd been harbouring were clogging up your throat and really you wanted to just go to him and ki-
“Great. Good. I've been well. And you?”
I can't believe I am seeing you again, I didn't realise I'd been wanting to see you this badly and now that you're in front of me, I cannot find the words.
“I've been great too.”
I wish I told you everything, but I couldn't because it would mean making a choice and I can't do that to you. I thought I was over you, I thought I could be over you, but I simply can't. I missed you.
Honestly to an outsider it was very much obvious. Your flushed faces, the awkward body language, the darting eyes. You clearly never got over each other and indeed, in idiocy, never even told each other.
Sighing, it was Sokka who broke the 5 second awkward silence, “Alright you two love birds-” Standing beside him, you also gave him a hard hit to his side with your elbow while Zuko glared at him hard enough to almost send a fireball at him.
“Right! So now that we've all met! Why don't I show you your chambers so you can rest a bit before dinner?” Of course, the ever considerate host that she was, Katara grabbed your hand and pulled you away, your luggage already being taken care of as she took you to your temporary chambers.
As you walked away. Zuko stared off in your direction while Aang came closer to him, "I've never seen you so speechless. It's kinda hilarious.”
Rolling his eyes, he folded his arms and looked at him, “Shut up.”
“You sooo still have a crush awww, wittle Zuko never got over his teenage crush awww~” Sokka ducked as he laughed when a fireball was thrown in his direction. He knew the risk of teasing the ever so hot headed fire bender but he took it.
It wasn't like they didn't try to set you both up. In fact, it was a major agenda once they all figured out everything was mutual. All they had to do was set the final stone. However, it was rationally decided that you were both adults (Katara and Toph mostly.) and there was only so much a third party could intervene. Clearly whatever it was, it would be up to you both to figure it out.
“You're still not over him, are you miss ‘I left it all in the immature years of my life.’?”
You couldn't even find yourself to feel annoyed, still in a haze at having encountered him.
And oh boy was this gonna be tougher than you thought.
[ time skip to dinner ]
You didn't want to admit you'd gotten a bit more dressed up than usual. It was definitely for the occasion of celebrating and not because of well. Yeah, the symbolic colours of different shades of red and orange weren't…a sign, you didn't exactly pick it out yourself. It was more of Katara.
“I hope I'm not too late.” You stood beside your reserved seat, in between Toph and Sokka with Katara beside Aang and Zuko in front of you. You greeted everyone with a skeptical smile, trying not to let your nerves get the best of you, sitting down and pulling your gown along.
And as usual, he looked finer than ever. His hair is styled perfectly with his gold emblem on top. You didn't think long hair would ever suit a guy this well but then again this was Zuko.
And the colours didn't go unnoticed, Katara beaming at you as you sat down with Aang and Sokka side eyeing you in suspicion as they looked between you and Katara. It was definitely her idea alright. Zuko couldn't keep his eyes off you the moment you walked in, having to blink several times to make sure this wasn't some dream, because it indeed felt like the ones he had when the small part of him that always yearned for you, that he tried to suppress, was vividly imagining you being in front of him.
He never truly appreciated red, until he saw it on you at that very moment.
“Now that you're here, we should eat!” Clapping her hands, she pointed out the various foods, plenty of them being everyone's favourites. Your eyes lit up even more when you spotted your favourite foods, Zuko who hadn’t looked anywhere else also smiled a little as he pushed the dish in your general direction.
And as usual, it was unnoticed by you but noticed by all.
“So, what have you truly been up to?” It was said by Aang after a while, when you had a somewhat flow of eating and coordinating the food around.
“Oh you know, going from here and there, learning, seeing mostly.”
“Seeing others, hm?” Sokka nudged you, wanting to know the actual tea that he’d been anticipating, but also wanting to slightly stir things up.
Slurping the noodles, you turned towards him and narrowed your eyes, “No…not exactly but also like,”
Pausing, you realize maybe it wasn’t truly the best idea to spill about your…existent slash none existent love life in front of the one who unknowingly caused it to be all over the place in the first place.
Zuko tried to act normal, but if looked at a bit more closely, you could see the discomfort in the usual composure he had going on. He definitely needed more alcohol for wherever this conversation was heading towards.
“Like?”
“Well..you see it’s just,”
Toph insisted in between, picking up your spike in your heart pace, now suddenly even more intrigued.
You contemplated if this was truly the right point to say what you didn’t mention to them, even in your letters and since you met them. It wasn’t exactly all of them the problem, the problem was in front of you, as he gazed at you in curiosity which you tried to ignore.
Sighing, you figured it was better to let the cat out of the bag sooner than later and from you rather than anyone else, “I wasn’t exactly dating, it was more of me seeing…suitors. So I wouldn’t really count that as you know, dating.”
You avoided eye contact with everyone as Sokka gasped in his weird dramatic way as if you just told them life changing news. In a way it was, because this was never mentioned to any of them. You didn’t notice how Zuko suddenly got tense, his lips twitching into a slow frown.
Clearing out your throat once more, you explained, “It is more of gran’s wish really, she insists I settle down and get married, because she somewhat wants to see me getting married before eventually her age catches up to her. And i- i mean i guess I sort of agree? I- i am not gonna get any younger anyway.”
Marriage wasn’t something you considered a goal, it was more of something you would do in life once you felt like it. And over the years, you decided you wouldn’t settle for just about anyone. Hence, you also didn’t see any harm in seeing the type of suitors that existed, most of them being thrust upon by your grandma.
But also, it felt even more like a joke seeing that you looked in them for traits that were his. Too arrogant, too scaredish, too shy, too boring. None of them till date fit any of the so-called standards you mentally had. None of them were Zuko.
If you couldn’t have him in this lifetime, maybe you could have the closest version to him. Yet, no one was even close. This was a feeble attempt to actually get past it but it failed severely.
He took another shot of whatever alcohol was in front of him, the burn in his throat going in parallel with the burn that slowly crept in his chest. Meanwhile, you continued to avoid his line of sight. Katara’s eyes darted between you two, and had an…idea. Maybe it was finally time to push you both somewhere.
“Oh, ooh, I know- you can totally see suitors from here!”
“What?” “What.” “Uh-”
“Oh come on, this city has plenty of great guys! Heck, probably better than whoever you have seen so far, so what’s the harm?” Okay, maybe a bit of a stretch. But she knew if she wanted to kill two birds with one stone, she’d have to exaggerate perhaps a little. Or a lot.
With a questioning gaze, you momentarily forgot about your food, “Really?”
“Duh of course! In fact, I shall gladly introduce you to a few tomorrow.”
You did not really like the scheming that was going on, you could tell it was scheming just by looking at her. You narrowed your eyes further in suspicion.
Before you could speak up, Zuko cleared his throat loudly, “I- I uh think, I’ll call it a night. It was good catching up but I think I should go now.”
It was very abrupt as he stood up, one of his fists clenched up as if he was trying to control himself. His emotions.
It wasn’t just the alcohol getting to his head, it was also how his stupid thoughts drifted off to imagining you with some other guy, getting married and all that stupidness. He needed to breathe.
And with that, he left the table and wandered off, preferably somewhere he didn’t have to hear about your potential husband, or whatever.
How could you even prefer him? He was…difficult. He had several issues and it took him years just to accept that it just made him into who he was. And it wasn’t like you could ever look at him in that way. He was one of your close friends. He had a chance to spill it all, way long ago but alas his own cowardness got in the way, and he came to a realization that he did not want to ruin your friendship for a fickle crush.
You continued to look in the direction Zuko went. It was so spontaneous and even more weird that you felt…guilty about it.
“Go!” You didn’t even grasp that you’d been frozen until Toph shook you. “You should go after him.”
You turned to face them, Katara looking at you with encouragement as Aang and Sokka also got a realisation that this was somewhat a set-up. Well by Katara atleast.
Taking a deep breath, you stood up. Wondering if you were making the right choice.
How easily some moments could change the simple trajectory of your existence.
a/n : THERE WILL BE A PT 2 I PROMISE THERE IS A CLEAR VISION TO IT. IT IS THERE AND IT WILL BE POSTED. i cannot lie, i have gone through all stages of grief as i wrote and contemplated publishing this so if this is ass pls do not tell me <3 (im kidding hahahhaahah) pls lmk if this made any sense tbh because once again, this is purely fueled by me thinking about zuko on a daily basis once i saw the leaks of the movie and ohmygosh they all look so fine i cannotttt. i have an idea for a modern au but i have never really even written for this fandom so....urm lmk what you think now i shall go back to studying for my finals which is legit in 3 days mind you :D kay bye love you <3
all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.
writingmeraki Ⓒ 2026
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in which : you marry the ruthless prince of kremnos, and everyone says you'll never thaw his heart. but you’re nothing if not stubborn. surely all you have to do is win him over right? how hard can that be?
wc 8.7k (it’s worth it trust me), historical au, marriage of convenience, sunshine x grumpy, strangers to lovers, you fell first + he fell harder, fem reader referred to as “princess” / “milady”, ts burns so slow u might rip ur hair out sorry, heavily ib how to get my husband on my side. art by @/kannbergri on x.
there was no love in the arrangement, no romantic vows exchanged beneath moonlit skies, no promises of forever whispered in soft voices. just firm handshakes and signatures inked on parchment.
it was a straightforward agreement: kremnos would protect your people in exchange for a union, and you were sent to marry the crown prince, mydeimos, to solidify the alliance.
you had heard his name long before you ever saw his face. prince mydeimos of kremnos —a name whispered with reverence, with fear, with awe; carrying the weight of countless victories carved into the blood-soaked chaos of battlefields.
but none of those stories prepared you for the reality of him.
the grand hall of kremnos' palace feels colder than you imagined.
marble floors stretch endlessly beneath your feet, polished to a gleaming perfection that seems to reflect the distance between you and the life awaiting you here. the walls, adorned with banners of deep reds and golds, do little to warm the oppressive air.
servants pass by in hushed movements, their heads bowed, their whispers inaudible. the air carries the faint aroma of polished wood and lingering incense, yet there is no warmth to be found —not in the hall, not from the people, and certainly not from the man standing at the far end of the room.
you bow slightly out of instinct, a gesture of respect, though you feel foolish doing so in the context of your marriage.
dressed in the royal garb of kremnos, a deep red cloak embroidered with gold thread draped over his shoulders, his marigold eyes lock onto yours with piercing intensity.
“princess,” he greets you, his words polished to a fault —exactly what you’d expect from a prince.
“your highness,” you reply, matching his formality.
“welcome to kremnos, i trust the journey was not too difficult.”
it’s not a question, you realize. merely a statement to acknowledge your presence. you offer a polite nod, “the journey was smooth, your highness,” you reply, your voice steady despite the unease creeping into your chest. “thank you for your hospitality.”
you watch as he takes a glass of reddish liquid from a servant standing nearby, lifting it to his lips with ease, the vibrant color catching your eye.
the rich crimson hue seems too unnatural for something as mundane as wine. your gaze fixes on the glass as he drinks, a chill running down your spine as an unsettling thought creeps in.
is he drinking... blood?
your heart skips, a sudden nervousness, and you quickly avert your gaze, unable to meet his eyes.
he catches your stare however, “what is it that you find so fascinating?”
flustered, you lower your head, stammering, "i... beg your pardon, your highness.”
you can feel your pulse quicken, the heat rising in your cheeks as you panic. the weight of his cold gaze is almost unbearable, and you fear you’ve already made a fool of yourself.
for a moment, you dare not look at him, the silence stretching uncomfortably between you.
the prince casually wipes the red liquid from his lips with the back of his hand, as your eyes drift involuntarily toward the glass once more, still questioning its contents.
his eyes flicker to you as they narrow, “still curious?”
you freeze, wrecking your head for a sensible answer lest you further embarrass yourself.
with a sharp sigh, he places the glass down on the tray. “it’s pomegranate juice, nothing more.”
you blink, stunned for a moment, the absurdity of your previous assumption crashing down on you.
“pomegranate juice,” you repeat softly, as if testing the words to see if they make sense.
“yes. is that so difficult to believe?”
that night, you lay on the luxurious bed in your chamber, the events of the evening swirling in your mind. you shake your head, embarrassed by your own overactive imagination.
you turn onto your side, pulling the heavy blankets tighter around you, but sleep evades you.
yes, your husband is a man of few words, fewer emotions, and absolutely no warmth when it comes to you. yet within that frost lies a heart, waiting for the right touch to thaw it.
ACT I: HOW TO DRAW HIS ATTENTION
over the weeks, you've learned many peculiar things about your husband.
you’ve noticed, for instance, that he always rises before dawn, and spends hours in the training grounds perfecting his form —an unyielding warrior at heart. or how he has an unusual preference for adding goat's milk to his pomegranate juice, a combination that strikes you as strange yet somehow fitting for him.
you’ve also discovered that, contrary to expectations, he favors the color pink —an oddly delicate choice for a man so rigid in his demeanor. and while he is undeniably polite, he also remains stern and is not one to easily open up, not even to those closest to him.
all that you've learned, you’ve used in an attempt to earn his favor, though your effort often feels like trying to breach a concrete wall.
(one day, you deliberately rise early, before the sun fully breaks over the horizon, and make your way to the training grounds.
there, you find a concealed spot in the shadows, watching him spar with the guards. you’ve gone, in part, because you want him to know you care, but also because of the impressive display of his skill that subconsciously draws you in.
it’s not long before he notices your presence; his expression remains impassive, but his gaze hardens, narrowing slightly as he observes you making your way to him from across the field.
as you finally reach him, you extend the water in your hand. but just as you take a step closer, your foot catches on an uneven stone. you stumble forward, crashing into him, and spilling the cold water across his chest.
the gasp that escapes you is quickly followed by frantic apologies.
"princess," he says coolly, the water dripping from his toned muscles, tracing the lines of his broad shoulders and down his chest. "...are you always this clumsy, or is today a special occasion?"
ah.
well at least he has jokes..?)
or after noticing how he often stays silent during meals, you decide to change the pace.
(at the dining hall, you ask about his interests, but he only gives brief, impersonal responses; his attention fixed on his plate, quietly indulging in the honey-drenched pancakes. you try to make a lighthearted joke, but he doesn’t even look up, offering only a polite “i see” before the silence drapes over the table again.
so, you finally decide to try a more… direct approach —flattery. surely, no man can resist a little charm, right?
you lean close as you gather all the courage you can muster, batting your eyelashes at him hoping you appear as endearing as you intend.
"i must say, my dear husband, you —uh, you are unmatched in your… strength and wisdom. it’s no wonder my heart can’t help but be drawn to you..?”
well that didn’t exactly sound convincing.
“and… your arms, they’re quite impressive. i mean —wait, that’s not what i meant—”
and that certainly didn’t make it any better!
you brace yourself, expecting a sharp rebuke or, at the very least, some irritation. but instead, he simply nods, offering a brief, detached “thank you” before turning his attention back to his meal.
you immediately avert your gaze, feeling a pang of relief. though it’s strange to think that at any moment, your husband might decide to chop your head off for being so foolish (...if he felt so inclined) he is the crowned prince, after all; and while his politeness is unsettling, it’s still better than his wrath... right?)
either way, it’s clear that your efforts have made not the slightest dent. better luck next time!
today will be different.
failure has never sat well with you, and after last night’s mortifying attempt at charming your husband, you refuse to let things end on such a dismal note. if words fail, then perhaps actions will speak louder.
so, with a woven basket tucked under your arm, you wander through the palace gardens first, where roses and marigolds flourish in a riot of color, their petals unfurling like delicate silk under the afternoon sun. honeysuckle vines twist gracefully around the trellises, their sweet fragrance lingering in the warm afternoon air.
you kneel amidst the blooms, fingers brushing over soft petals, feeling the gentle give of each flower beneath your touch. carefully, you pluck a few of each, tucking them gently into your basket, mindful of their fragile stems. you arrange them just so, already picturing the bouquet coming together in your hands.
but as you wander further, you find yourself drawn toward the edge of the estate. past the hedgerows and beyond the garden’s stone pathway, you notice something that catches your eye, a cluster of wildflowers —soft pinks and gentle whites.
perfect! these will be the finishing touch to complete your bouquet for mydeimos.
pleased with yourself, you smile and make your way toward the water’s edge. leaning forward, you stretch out to pluck one, your body lowering toward the ground, shifting your weight slightly, when—
a sudden force slams into your back.
the breath is knocked clean from your lungs. there's no time to react as the world tilts violently, and before you can even scream, the cold shock of water swallows you whole.
it’s deeper than you thought.
icy water rushes into your nose and mouth, sending a searing burn down your throat. panic grips you as the world above fractures into shimmering light, distorted by the rippling surface. you try to push yourself up, but alas, the weight of your dress still drags you down.
as you thrash around uselessly, your limbs start growing heavier. the surface above you slips further away; and the last thing you register is the sensation of strong arms wrapping around you —with a final strained breath, your vision dims to nothingness.
the next thing you feel is warmth.
your head rests against something solid, a steady rise and fall beneath your cheek .a firm hold keeps you close, one braced securely around your back, the other hooked beneath your knees.
you blink sluggishly, your lashes heavy with water. that’s when you realise, you’re in the arms of your husband.
his hair clings to his forehead, damp strands framing the sharp angles of his face. droplets trace slow paths down his jawline, soaking into the dark fabric of his tunic —leaving nothing to the imagination.
for a moment, disoriented and breathless, you can only blink up at him.
did he jump in after you..?
“why did you wander off alone?” he chastises, snapping you back to reality.
your throat feels tight, your heart hammering in your chest. "i-i just wanted to do something for you!" the confession spills from your lips, desperate, your fingers clinging instinctively to the soaked fabric of his sleeve.
it’s foolish, maybe, but you’re still reeling —from the near drowning, from the fact that mydeimos saved you.
he exhales sharply, exasperation heavy in his breath. "why are you like this…" his grip tightens on you, but there’s a tension in his voice as if he’s swallowing something he can’t quite put into words. “didn’t i say there’s no need to attract attention this way?"
the accusation stings, your brows knit together as you shake your head, droplets of water slipping down your temples. "i just… thought you’d like some flowers."
his fingers, still curled beneath your back, twitch slightly, his hold unconsciously steadying you.
“you don’t need to do anything reckless just to get my attention," he murmurs at last, his voice softer now, no longer edged with frustration. then, almost hesitantly, he adds, "...if you want something, just come to me."
mydeimos shifts, adjusting his hold on you before finally rising to his feet. the movement is effortless, but even so, a sharp chill runs through you as the air bites at your damp skin. before you can fully steady yourself, he places you down, his hands lingering for a second longer than necessary before withdrawing.
your dress clings uncomfortably to you, heavy with water, and when you glance down, you spot the basket lying a short distance away, half-tilted on the grass. the flowers you so carefully picked are scattered around it, petals crumpled, stems bent.
a pit forms in your stomach. all that effort, and now—
a shadow moves beside you. mydeimos steps forward, the hem of his cloak grazing against the fallen blooms. he considers them for a moment, then looks back at you.
“well?” his voice is steady, and you can’t quite grasp the intention behind it. “you went through all that trouble to gather the flowers… aren’t you going to give them to me?”
sure they're not nearly as perfect as they were when you first picked them. still, you kneel, fingers brushing over the damp grass as you carefully pick up the least damaged flowers, smoothing out the crumpled petals as best you can.
“…here.” slowly, hesitantly, you extend the bouquet towards him.
his fingers brush against yours as he accepts the flowers. “sorry they’re ruined,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.
he shakes his head, unbothered. “they’re mine now, so i’ll take care of them.”
there’s no mockery in his expression, no disdain for your failed efforts. if anything, there’s something almost unreadable in the way he looks at you, something that makes your heart lurch against your ribs.
he spares you one last glance, then turns. “come. you need to get changed before you fall ill.”
and just like that, your husband walks ahead, idly twirling one of the flowers between his fingers. hardened steel and soft petals, strength and fragility; it doesn't look out of place.
somehow, it fits him too well.
ACT II: HOW TO CARE FOR A WARRIOR
once a year, the empire erupts into feverish anticipation for the annual gladiatorial tournament. a traditional competition of strength, bloodshed, and sheer willpower.
held in the heart of the capital, within the city of kremnos; warriors from across the kingdom —such as knights from noble houses, seasoned mercenaries, and ambitious upstarts, all gather within the grand coliseum, each vying for glory, honor, or a place in history.
and three weeks from now, the coliseum will roar with life, filled to the brim with nobles and commoners alike, all eager to witness the blood and glory that’ll unfold within the arena.
the tournament may be weeks away, but mydeimos knows better than to grow complacent.
within the castle training grounds, the clash of steel echoes through the air, each strike reverberating like a war drum. two figures move in relentless rhythm, locked in a sparring match that is as much a dance as it is a battle.
mydeimos meets his opponent’s strike head-on; phainon, captain of the royal knights, his equal in skill if not in strength, matches him blow for blow. the force of the impact ripples through his arm, but he does not waver. instead, he swiftly pivots, forcing mydeimos onto the defensive.
the crown prince presses forward, his sword carving ruthless arcs through the air, a feint —then a sudden, brutal swing aimed at his opponent’s side.
phainon barely manages to parry, their blades grinding against each other in a fierce deadlock. exhaling sharply through his nose, he holds firm against the pressure. “mydei,” phainon mutters, breathless. “don't hold back."
mydei’s gaze remains unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something —amusement, perhaps, before he abruptly shifts his weight. with a sharp twist, he breaks the deadlock.
“HKS,” he counters, shoving forward with enough strength to force phainon back a step. “getting tired?”
phainon lets out a short laugh, adjusting his stance. “not in the slightest.” he disengages, spinning his blade in a quick counterstrike.
alas, the fight reaches no clear victor, ending in yet another stalemate.
exhaling, phainon lowers his blade. “not bad.”
but before mydei can respond; a slow, warm trickle down his arm draws his attention. his gaze flickers downward —a thin slash mars his bicep, blood welling along the cut.
the knight’s expression shifts, eyes catching on the wound. “heh looks like i take the win this time,” he gloats, though there’s a slightest hint of concern in his tone.
“...though i do apologise, your highness,” phainon says, eyeing the wound with a tilt of his head.
mydei rolls his shoulder, testing the ache, then huffs. “nothing to be sorry for.” his lips curl slightly, eyes flicking back to phainon.
“but don’t think this means i’m letting you off easy. we’ll settle it properly next time.”
“oh? and here i thought you’d take the loss with dignity for once,” phainon snorts, sheathing his blade in one smooth motion. “but i suppose i wouldn’t want you growing too accustomed to losing.”
“you land one lucky hit and suddenly you’re talking like you’ve dethroned me.” mydei scoffs, already turning toward the weapons rack. phainon watches him go, shaking his head to himself before following suit.
mydei doesn’t know why you’re worrying so much.
the cut is insignificant, to him at least. within hours, it’ll be gone —his body already stitching itself back together. he doesn’t need tending to, least of all by you.
and yet, here you are.
as you sit beside him, your hands deftly press a cloth soaked in cool water to his wound, cleaning away the dried blood with careful strokes. for some reason, seeing you like this —fussing over him with a tenderness he’s never quite experienced before —renders him quiet.
“…you’re frowning,” he murmurs.
“because you’re hurt,” you say as a matter of factly, setting the cloth aside before reaching for a bandage. your fingers are gentle as they smooth it over his skin, lightly tracing the curves of his biceps.
he watches the way your lips press together, tying the final knot with a delicate tug, patting the fabric down as if to reassure yourself that it will hold.
something tugs at the edge of his mind.
you’ve pretended to love him ever since you stepped foot in kremnos; he thought he knew every expression you wore, every feigned tenderness. but this —this time, it’s different. there’s no audience here, no need for the carefully crafted role of the adoring wife.
so why do you still look at him like that?
his breath stills. he doesn’t know what to make of this.
“…please be more careful next time.” mydei glances at his arm, the ache is already fading.
you don’t know how pointless all of this is. by morning, there won’t even be a scar.
you exhale softly, your brows still furrowed in concern. then, as if unable to help yourself, your fingertips ghost over the bandage, smoothing it down with a tenderness that makes his chest tighten.
“does it still hurt?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.
he should say no. he should tell you it’s nothing.
but when he looks at you —sees the way your eyes linger on him, so earnestly unguarded. he falters.
“…not much,” he admits instead. “you act as if i’m on death’s door.”
“and you act as if you’re invincible,” you retort softly.
he freezes.
he almost laughs at the irony of it —because in some ways, you aren’t wrong. his body will always mend itself, his wounds never lasting long enough to be of real consequence.
but his darling wife doesn’t know that.
and perhaps that’s why he lets you worry, lets you dote on him with such sweet, unknowing devotion. because, against all logic —against everything he’s told himself, he finds that he likes it.
your touch finally retreats, hands settling in your lap. “i’ll leave you to rest, your highness.”
you rise from your seat, and as you turn to leave, mydei catches himself watching the space where your hands had been, the phantom warmth still resting against his skin.
for a wound that’s already gone, he finds it strange —how reluctant he is to let it fade.
ACT III: HOW TO AVOID MISUNDERSTANDINGS
"sir phainon, thank you for showing me around the city," you say, offering the man beside you a faint smile as you step around a corner.
the knight dips his head, “of course, milady. the pleasure’s all mine."
you’re glad phainon took time off to accompany you —wandering the city alone would’ve definitely left you lost and stewing in your own thoughts.
phainon glances at you, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. "but i’m surprised his highness let you wander the city with another man," he muses.
you let out a small laugh, running your fingers along the petals of a flower display as you pass by. "well, i don’t think he cares."
phainon’s steps slow, his brow lifting ever so slightly, as if he isn’t sure whether he misheard you or if you’re simply playing coy. "you don’t think he—" he exhales a sharp chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "hah. now that’s funny."
you shoot a puzzled look at him,"what is?"
to phainon, who’s seen the way mydei looks at you, heard the way he speaks of you; your words make no sense at all.
—but he holds his tongue. "nothing, milady. let’s keep walking before i say something i shouldn’t."
the warmth of the moment sours when you round a corner near the market square. there, just past a cluster of gossiping nobles, mydei stands stiffly, arms crossed as he listens to a young woman speak.
you recognize her —a lady-in-waiting that serves in the palace.
“…always playing the victim,” she sneers, voice pitched just loud enough to draw attention. “everyone pities her, but really, she’s just an outsider to kremnos—”
your steps falter, confusion flickering across your face. is that lady… talking about you?
“she was never worthy of standing by his highness’s side!” the lady continues with simpering disdain.
beside you, your companion stiffens, his fingers subtly curling at his sides. he’s noticed, too.
but before you can fully process the words, she lets out a haughty laugh. “she tripped herself that day. i only gave her a little push and—”
“what?” mydei’s voice cuts through the air, his eyes narrowing.
the lady startles, whipping around to face him, but quickly smooths her expression into one of feigned innocence. “y-your highness…” she lowers her head just slightly. “i only meant that a mere nudge shouldn’t have been enough to send her stumbling so helplessly.”
she offers a small, demure smile. “unless, of course, one lacks the grace befitting a princess.”
“it was unfortunate that your highness was troubled because of—”
her words trail off as her gaze flicks to the side, right where you stand.
and in that fleeting moment, mydei follows her line of sight.
your breath catches. you hadn’t meant to be seen.
a small, almost imperceptible smirk forms on her lips; just as mydei glances to your side, his attention diverted for a split second; she falls toward him, her body angling toward him in a way that all but demands he steady her.
you feel a jolt of realization —her intentions are clear as day towards you.
mydei’s eyes barely flicker as she topples toward him, but his hand moves —not to steady her, as she so clearly intended, but to seize her wrist in a firm, unyielding grip.
with a sharp tug, he wrenches her upright, the motion not even close to an act of chivalry.
a startled gasp slips past her lips, her wide eyes darting up, stunned by the strength of his hold. the gathered onlookers murmur amongst themselves as the prince fixes her with a cold, unreadable stare.
“tell me. are you purposely trying to cause a misunderstanding between me and my wife?”
the lady blanches, her mouth opening and closing as she scrambles for a response. “y-your highness, i would never—”
“spare me the excuses.” his fingers uncoil, and she stumbles back, barely catching herself. she cradles her wrist as though burned, whether from pain or humiliation, it’s hard to tell.
“guards.” mydeimos doesn’t raise his voice, but the command rings clear. two armored figures stationed nearby immediately step forward, “take her away.”
“y-your highness, i only—”
mydeimos doesn’t even spare her a glance as he delivers the lady’s fate. “for daring to put her hands on the princess, she is to be punished accordingly. let this serve as a reminder, such conduct has no place in my court.”
the color drains from her face as the guards seize her by the arms, her protests falling on deaf ears. the onlookers part to make way, some exchanging knowing glances, others whispering amongst themselves.
then mydeimos’ gaze softens —only slightly, in your direction.
phainon leans in, “and yet, milady insists that his highness does not care?”
but you don’t respond, heart fluttering traitorously in your chest as mydeimos turns on his heel and strides toward you.
with a small tilt of his head, he nods to phainon before finally speaking.
“she was desperate,” he remarks, voice edged with dry amusement. “did you see how she threw herself at me? pitiful.”
he studies you for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. “...you weren’t fooled, were you?”
you blink, caught off guard by his question. “of course not, your highness.”
ah. was he worried you’d misunderstand?
his lips part slightly, but no words come, instead he just exhales softly, as if to himself. “good.”
phainon, ever perceptive, arches a brow but says nothing of it. instead, he steps back with a knowing tilt of his head. “well then, i shall take my leave. duty calls, after all, milady, your highness.” with that, he turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd, leaving just the two of you.
mydei’s eyes linger on you —searching, almost reluctant, before he finally tears his gaze away. “we should go.”
he starts walking, and you follow, the quiet rhythm between you shifting in a way that's hard to place. it’s subtle, so subtle that if you weren’t paying enough attention, you might’ve missed it.
the way his steps fall in sync with yours, slowing his usually large strides ever so slightly, as if unconsciously matching your pace. the way his hand hovers near yours, close enough that if you swayed even slightly, your fingers might brush.
it doesn’t feel intentional, and yet, it doesn’t feel like an accident either.
the marketplace hums around you both; vendors calling out their wares, the scent of fresh bread and spices curling through the air. but your mind is elsewhere, lingering on the man beside you, on the things left unsaid.
at some point, curiosity gets the better of you. “your highne—”
“mydei.”
…would it be foolish of you to think of it as a plea? that, beneath the indifference he wears so well, he cares how his name sounds when spoken by you?
(because with you, he doesn't need to be the prince of kremnos, nor the valiant warrior they call mydeimos. he’s just your husband, mydei.)
you glance up at him, but his gaze stays ahead. he doesn’t offer an explanation; your thoughts linger on that single word, and maybe that’s why, after a moment’s hesitation, you decide to give it a try.
“mydei… what were you doing in the market today?”
he doesn’t answer right away. a terribly fond smile tugging at his lips.
he looks good like this, you think.
with a glance to the side, he replies, “nothing of importance.”
a half-truth, at best.
your thoughts drift back to the last time you were here —the flowers you had given him, bright and delicate in his hands. an odd sight, perhaps, yet somehow, they suited him.
a ridiculous thought takes root before you can stop it.
could he have been looking for ways to take care of them? …surely not.
but any doubt vanishes the moment a florist calls out to him. “your highness! you’ve returned! here, this is the care guide you requested, along with the special fertilizer. it should help the flowers bloom beautifully.”
mydei takes the offered items with a nod, thanking the florist who beams, clearly pleased to be of service.
"you must truly cherish them, your highness," they remark. "not many would go through such trouble for a simple bouquet."
mydei only hums in response, tucking the items away as he turns back to you. for a moment, it almost seems like he might explain himself, but instead, he merely lifts a brow, as if daring you to say something about it.
warmth unfurls at the edges of your chest, spreading slowly, irresistibly.
you press your lips together, fighting the smile threatening to surface. "so," you muse lightly, "you’ve been taking good care of my flowers?”
mydei exhales, the ghost of an amused smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "it would be a shame if they wilted so soon,” he says. then, as he starts walking again, a quiet afterthought —so soft you almost miss it.
"especially when they were a gift from you."
and this time, when his hand hovers close to yours, you don’t resist the urge to let your fingers brush.
ACT IV: HOW TO TAME HIS JEALOUS HEART
it’s late —past the hour most would retire, yet the training grounds remains lit by torches that flicker against the cool stone walls, their flames casting long, dancing shadows. mydeimos leans back against the walls, arms loosely folded across his chest as his gaze follows phainon sharpening his blade a few paces away —though, truthfully, his thoughts are elsewhere.
it’s phainon who breaks the silence first.
“you know,” he starts, glancing up without looking directly at the prince, “you’re awfully quiet these days, your highness.”
he wipes his sword down lazily, throwing a glance over his shoulder. "...say, mydei."
mydei doesn’t look up, but his posture shifts, "what?"
phainon lets the silence drag for a moment, almost like he’s weighing his next words.
“do you have genuine feelings for [name]?"
the words land like a blow in the silence between them; he doesn’t bother to wait for an answer.
“because if you don’t, i was thinking maybe i’d give courting her a try.”
ah. that does it.
mydei’s eyes flick to him, and if looks could kill, phainon would be six feet under —and the former wouldn’t even spare the effort to toss dirt over his grave.
phainon laughs quietly under his breath at his comrade’s reaction, not bothering to hide the tilt of his mouth.
“don’t cross the line.” the words fall from mydei’s lips, low and clipped like a warning.
phainon laughs —the kind of laugh shared only between men who’ve known each other long enough to grow used to the other’s sharp edges.
“relax,” he drawls, sheathing his blade with a lazy flick. “i was just joking, you can stop glaring at me now.”
“i’m not mad i—”
“you’re not mad because you think i meant it,” he cuts in. “you’re angry because you know i’m right. you’ve been walking around pretending like she doesn’t mean a thing to you, bottling up every damn thing you feel for her. if it were anyone else, they’d have given up by now.”
mydei looks away. “she’s not anyone else,” he mutters.
phainon smiles. “then tell her.”
mydei stays uncharacteristically silent as phainon steps past with a clap on his shoulder. “you're lucky she’s patient.”
the sour look on your husband’s face whenever phainon’s name comes up is a recent development.
you first noticed it in passing: an almost imperceptible downturn of his lips, a restrained (but still noticeable) eyeroll or the press of his lips into a tight line. at first, you thought nothing of it. but lately… it’s been happening a lot.
right now, you’re seated in the castle’s sunlit tea room with someone you can now call a friend —phainon. the scent of fresh brews curls in the air, warm and comforting, but it does little to soothe the frustration tightening in your chest.
phainon leans back in his seat as you lay your troubles before him. surely, as one of mydei’s closest friends, he could offer some worthwhile advice on how to win the latter’s heart.
because at this rate, if you don’t manage to win him over before your contract runs its course, you wouldn’t be surprised to wake up with his sword cold against the nape of your neck.
“so… what do you think?” you ask, poking at a pastry with your fork.
phainon hums, tilting his head in thought. “he’s a reserved man —you’ve probably figured that out by now. give him some time, he’s the type to take forever to realize what’s right in front of him.”
he shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “though, i do hope milady won’t give up on him just yet.”
you nod, committing his words to memory, but then he suddenly straightens, that familiar glint of mischief lighting his gaze.
“actually,” he muses, glancing down at his hands, now dusted with crumbs and icing, “my hands are a bit of a mess from this cake. mind doing me a favor?”
he lifts his sugar-coated fingers in emphasis.
you eye him suspiciously. “...what kind of favor?”
phainon tilts his head, his smile just sly enough to make you wary. “feed me.”
narrowing your eyes, you scoff at his request, “look, buster—”
“just this once,” he interrupts, grinning. “think of it as repaying me for my advice.”
there’s something almost too innocent about the way he leans in, like he’s well aware of what he’s doing… or rather, what exactly might happen if a certain someone were to walk in.
still, with an exaggerated sigh, you pick up a piece of pastry and lift it towards him—
only for a firm grip to catch your wrist before you can.
just your luck.
mydei smoothly takes the sweet straight from your fingers, his lips brushing against your fingertips in the process; his gaze locked onto yours as he takes a bite.
and before you can pull away —the barest hint of his tongue swipes against the sugar-dusted tips of your fingers, licking away the faint trace of sweetness left behind.
did he just—?
heat rushes to your face. your mouth parts, but no sound comes out.
phainon whistles lowly. “oh yeah i forgot to mention,” he says, far too amused.
“the prince has a sweet tooth.”
for a moment, the only sound in the room is the soft clink of porcelain as phainon sets down his teacup, watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled amusement.
all you can do is stare —frozen, pulse skittering in your throat.
mydei, on the other hand, is utterly unbothered. if anything, he looks as composed as ever, chewing leisurely, as if he didn’t just—
your fingers twitch in his grasp. finally, he releases your wrist, his touch lingering just a second too long before he pulls away.
you snatch your hand back like you’ve been burned, curling your fingers against your palm as if that will erase the phantom heat of his lips, the fleeting press of his tongue.
phainon wonders if he’s about to be thrown out of the castle with the way you and mydei glare at him (for different reasons, respectively)... but judging by his smirk, he finds the risk well worth it.
the annual gladiatorial tournament is only days away, and kremnos is already stirring with anticipation. you’ve heard the chatter in the halls, the wagers placed on champions, the hushed whispers of which warriors will rise and which will fall.
seated on a bench near the training grounds, you let the rhythmic clash of weapons fade into background noise, your focus trained instead on the fabric in your hands. a delicate handkerchief, its edges carefully stitched, the embroidery thread gliding through with each careful motion of your needle.
you had learned from a few noble ladies: it’s tradition for warriors to receive tokens of fortune from their beloveds —most commonly, a handkerchief embroidered with care to carry into battle as a reminder that someone’s waiting for them to return.
before you, the clash of steel rings out as two men spar. you glance up just in time to see phainon nimbly dodge a particularly heavy swing, a grin tugging at his lips. “feeling a little aggressive today, aren’t we?”
mydei doesn’t respond. he simply readjusts his grip on his sword, his expression unreadable.
(if you had to put money on why mydei was more aggressive than usual, you’d wager it had something to do with that stunt phainon pulled a few days ago that had left the former in such a foul mood.)
you return to your stitching, pretending not to notice the way your husband’s eyes flicker toward you between exchanges. unknowingly, a small smile tugs at your lips as you press the needle through the cloth once more.
rumors had circulated for years that prince mydeimos had never once accepted a handkerchief from anyone. not from the ladies who fawned over him at court, not from the admirers who sighed at the sight of his swordsmanship, not even from those with the highest of pedigrees.
it was said that no handkerchief had ever found its way into his hands, let alone remained in his possession. you weren’t sure why; perhaps he found them frivolous, or maybe he had no interest in sentimental keepsakes when he relied on skill alone to survive.
…which didn’t exactly bode well for the one currently in your hands.
so as you carefully stitch your embroidery, you don’t hold out much hope that he’ll accept yours either.
still, it wouldn’t do for the beloved wife of mydeimos to be the only one who hadn’t even offered her husband a handkerchief. whether he accepted it or not was secondary —your duty was to at least play the part expected of you.
as the sparring match winds down, mydei steps off to the side, catching his breath. you discreetly watch as him roll his shoulders, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow.
you glance back down at your embroidery, but before you can add another stitch, phainon strides up to you, shaking out his arms with an exaggerated sigh. “ow… you saw that, right?” he whines, flopping down beside you with an exaggerated sigh. “he’s being so rough with me today!”
you arch a brow, biting back a laugh as he leans against the edge of the bench. “poor thing,” you say, amused. “what did you do to deserve it?”
phainon grins. “absolutely nothing, milady.”
you shake your head, obviously unconvinced —but then, just like that, his playful pout melts into a coprophagous grin that spells nothing but trouble.
oh no.
“if he wants to be mean,” he muses, tilting his head, “then maybe i should give him a reason for it.”
you frown. “phainon—”
he says, far too casually, “i think i’ve got an idea.”
he leans in slightly, a wolfish grin on his face. “just play along, alright?”
“huh?”
"here, let me show you something." before you can react, phainon takes your hand, pulling you up from your seat with ease. a moment later, a wooden practice sword is tossed into your grasp.
you barely have time to protest before he’s already behind you, his hands resting lightly over yours as he adjusts your grip.
"see?" his voice is low, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath near your ear. "you hold it like this, and—"
“that’s enough.”
both you and phainon turn to see mydei standing a few feet away. he doesn’t look outwardly furious, but there’s the tension in his shoulders says enough.
phainon merely raises an eyebrow. “oh? something wrong, your highness?”
the air thickens and you can practically feel the sparks flying. sensing the storm that’s about to break, you quickly slip out of phainon’s grasp and rush toward mydei, practically throwing yourself into his arms.
“mydei!” you call, mustering the sweetest voice you can manage, hoping to calm him down (before phainon gets his ass kicked again). “y-you must be exhausted after all that training today… why don’t we head back and get some rest?”
a warm hand brushes against your temple, fingers gently threading through your hair as they tuck it behind your ear.
even though you were the one who threw yourself at mydei, you find yourself frozen, heart hammering at the unexpected tenderness in his touch.
his gaze is so unbearably soft.
after a moment, mydei exhales and nods before leading you away.
you steal a glance back at phainon—who only winks and flashes you a thumbs-up.
(mydei lets out a quiet sigh of relief, watching as you do everything in your power to avoid meeting his eyes. if he had stayed any longer and if phainon had caught sight of the faint flush dusting his cheeks —he’d never hear the end of it.)
ACT V: HOW TO EARN HIS DEVOTION
the sun hangs high above kremnos, casting a golden blaze over the arena as the city wakes to the sound of distant drums and the clang of steel. colorful banners bearing the insignias of noble houses flutter from towering spires, while anticipation clings thick to the air.
all of kremnos knows what day it is. the long-awaited gladiatorial tournament has finally arrived.
from the highest nobles draped in silk to the lowest commoners pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the stands, all eyes are drawn to the bloodstained sand at the heart of the arena.
the rules are simple, brutal, unforgiving: fight until your opponent yields, or until they can no longer stand. and of course, there's no word for “mercy” in the kremnoan language… as mydei would say it.
the air in the holding chambers, hidden beneath the grand coliseum, is heavy with the scent of iron and sweat. you step inside with your small offering in hand: the handkerchief you embroidered, each stitch woven with thoughts of him.
and today, you see you’re not alone. the corridor is packed with people, mostly noblewomen, some nervous sweethearts, all fluttering around their chosen champions, many bearing the same tradition in their palms.
you catch sight of more than a few stretching their handkerchiefs out to mydei, vying for even a small glance. a small crowd trails him like petals in a storm, calling his name with saccharine lilts, each desperate to be noticed.
with the way he’s being swarmed, you resign yourself with a small sigh, clutching your own handkerchief, fingers curling gently around the cloth you spent the last few evenings stitching.
nevermind. maybe you’ll give it to phainon instead. he always appreciates the gesture, and at the very least, you’d get a smile out of him.
so your eyes scan the crowd instead, searching for—
only to freeze when you look up and see someone else already standing in front of you.
without a word, your husband takes the handkerchief from your hand, presses it to his brow, and dabs away the sweat collecting at his temple; then folds it neatly and tucks it into his belt where everyone can see.
you blink, momentarily startled.
warmth spills into your chest, it’s strange. he never accepts handkerchiefs from anyone. not a single soul has ever earned that privilege. but today, in front of all these people, he’s taken yours without a second thought.
it’s a light gesture, but it says enough coming from the kremnoan prince.
and if he’s going to make such a bold move, you might as well tease him a little.
you tilt your head, a mischievous smile playing at your lips. “that’s sir phainon’s, you know.”
he stills for a moment, a flash of annoyance crossing his face before he furrows his brows in an almost adorable pout.
“then he’ll just have to go without,” he mutters.
you’ve never seen him look quite like this before —caught off guard and... flustered?
“... and i wanted one today.”
“well, since you’ve gone through all that trouble,” you say with a grin, “i suppose i’ll let you keep it.”
as you study him, a thought crosses your mind. you raise an eyebrow, “are you nervous about the tournament?”
his eyes flick to yours, “there is no word for ‘fear’ in the kremnoan language,” he replies, his voice low and confident.
it’s the kind of thing only mydeimos would say. and yet, something about the resolve in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat.
you manage a soft smile. “then bring back the victor’s crown for me, will you?”
honestly it's more of a vow than a request, you’d be content just seeing him return in one piece. but he takes it seriously anyway.
“if it’s for you,”
his expression softens for just a moment, and without missing a beat, he nods, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“i’d do anything.”
ACT VI: HOW TO BE VICTORIOUS
from your seat among the nobles, your gaze searches for him. the threads of your dress pinched between trembling fingers, creased from how often you’ve clutched it.
ever since you’ve come to kremnos, you’ve grown used to the sound of battle, but today every strike echoes a little louder in your ears.
your heart clenches every time mydei stumbles or blood splashes across the sand. even knowing how strong he is, how capable, there’s a twist of worry that doesn’t loosen its grip.
the kind you only feel when the person you care about is the one walking straight into danger.
you’d heard stories of what the tournament demands, but seeing it for yourself… it’s surreal.
the crowd cheers for violence.
warriors enter the arena one by one, facing off not only against each other, but against beasts dragged from the darkest corners of the empire —corrupted titankins, two-headed hounds, massive golems wreathed in flame; just to name a few.
and each time, the gates crash open with a deafening clang, releasing something more vicious than the last. still, he doesn’t falter. when a snarling beast lunges for his throat, he drives his sword deep into its ribs without a second thought.
the nobles cheer and holler around you, drunk on spectacle. but your eyes don’t leave him, not for a moment.
because while the crowd may be here for blood, all you want…
is to be the first thing mydei sees when it’s over.
the last of the other competitors lie in heaps of blood and sand, either devoured by the beasts or incapacitated by the prince. there’s no one left to challenge him except the creature before him.
the towering beast staggers toward him; your pulse spikes, hands gripping the edge of your seat as you hold your breath. every step it takes sends tremors through the arena floor, snarls echoing off stone as it bears down on him with a murderous roar.
the beast lunges, jaws snapping wide, but mydei meets it with unyielding resolve. his sword arcs through the air, a flash of silver against the blood-soaked dusk. the beast jerks, a guttural screech tearing from its throat as it rears back.
for a heartbeat, you can't tell who’s fallen.
then, through the settling haze, you see mydei standing, blood splattered across his armor, chest heaving with exertion. the beast lets out a final screech —and then crumples to the sand in a thunderous collapse.
for a heartbeat, there’s silence. and then the crowd erupts into a deafening cheer.
“mydei!” you cry out, your heart racing as you push through the sea of people to get closer.
he lifts his gaze, and it’s you he finds.
the victor’s crown, gleaming beneath the sun, is placed into his hands. and he raises it high above his head for all to see.
a roar erupts from the coliseum, the crowd surging to its feet as the name mydeimos echoes from every corner, chanted with unrelenting fervor.
and without hesitation, he strides toward you, his face softening as he approaches.
in a flash, he wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. he spins you in a wide, sweeping circle before drawing you close. his eyes locking with yours, a triumphant grin playing on his lips.
with a tenderness that belies his warrior's demeanor, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.
"yours," mydei whispers. he lifts the victor’s crown in both hands, and with all the devotion of a man offering his heart, places it gently atop your head.
you reach up to his bloodied face, your hand trembling slightly as the warmth of his skin seeps into your fingers. your palm comes to rest against his cheek.
“you came back to me,” you murmur.
he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment —like he’s been waiting for this, aching for it.
“i always will.”
you rise onto your toes, closing the distance between you.
at the end of the day, all mydei seeks is not victory or glory, but the soft sound of his name on the lips of his beloved, wrapped in an embrace that makes him forget the harshness of the battlefield.
EPILOGUE: HOW TO WIN HIM OVER
the question that once haunted your thoughts —how could i ever win his heart? —feels like a distant memory now, an answer long since found.
mydei looks at you with a softness in his eyes that you’ve come to know as a rare gift. his hand, calloused from battles fought and won, reaches for yours, his fingers brushing against yours before entwining it.
“by the way, i’m actually… immortal. my injuries heal up after a while.”
you blink at him in confusion, and he chuckles softly, the sound warm and fond.
“wait, then that time when you—” you pause, recalling the night you carefully wrapped up his injury.
he grins, a small, playful glint in his eyes. ”i just like the way you worry over me.”
the admission leaves a flutter in your chest as his thumb gently strokes the back of your hand.
you huff, pretending to be upset, though your heart races at the softness in his words. “you mean to say all that time i was worried sick over you for nothing?”
he tilts his head, feigning innocence. “it wasn’t for no reason,” he says, clearly trying not to smile. “i liked it. still do.”
you narrow your eyes, lips tugging into a pout. “well, you could’ve told me sooner! now i feel ridiculous.”
with a soft chuckle, mydei’s fingers brush through your hair in a gentle, almost apologetic gesture. he ruffles it lightly, his touch surprisingly tender. “you’re adorable when you’re upset,” he murmurs, his voice holding a sweetness that makes your heart skip a beat.
you can’t help but soften, the playful anger fading as his hand lingers for a moment longer. he pulls you a little closer, his forehead gently resting against yours. “don’t be mad. i’ll let you fuss over me for as long as you want, as long as you’re by my side.”
“you better mean that! i’m holding you to it.”
he hums, the sound low and content as he presses a kiss to your temple. “i do,” he whispers. “if there’s one thing i’ll always be sure of, it’s you.”
you think back to every hesitation, every guarded glance, the walls he built high around his heart. and now, that same heart rests in your hands.
“looks like i managed to win you over after all,” you tease softly.
the way he looks at you says more than words ever could —as if you’re the only war he’s ever been glad to lose.
his fingers stay curled around yours; his heart laid bare with the quiet, breathtaking certainty that he is yours, as much as you are his.
"i love you, [name]."
and if this is victory, it’s the sweetest one yet.
thank you for reading!! reblogs are appreciated <3
you, intentionally trying to be offputting: where I'm from, there was a video of a guy moaning and whimpering in pain I used to play whenever I was studying. I miss that. if you want me to tolerate you, make one featuring yourself for me
yan:
you, internally: phew ok. that'll get them to leave me alone for a while
yan coming back to you the next day with big hopeful eyes: here's your study playlist. is there anything else you want me to do for you?
you:
yan: I can give you a live session too if you want
& yet another sneak peek of how the new guys would react to you asking for something like this bc i'm still working on their intro hcs but want to share more abt them so bad. and i think their reactions in particular would be funny
1: you haven't even finished the sentence and he's already clambering under your desk and asking you whether you'd prefer to use your foot or his hand for the live service "studying noises". doesn't care if anyone sees. has no shame and takes your request very seriously—he lives to serve you. literally. this isn't in his job description but when has that ever stopped him
2: uhh… okay… sure. he can do that. incredibly embarrassed about it and doesn't want to be seen or caught by others, but refuses to stop when you tell him you were joking. his dignity is going to take a huge hit if he doesn't follow through now, okay? more whimpering and whining and breathy noises than what you were hoping for and at that point you might as well do him
3: combusts and can't talk to you for a good bit. on one hand, something like that should be reserved for private and intimate moments, not something like studying background noises. on the other the idea of being used like that by you specifically is… don't look at their pants. a bit too shy to go through with it unless you really corner them though
4: turns back your joke and offers you a different service—aren't you tired of all this studying and working hard? don't you want to wind down? don't you deserve a reward? let her go down on you. 100% serious and will do this in your study without bothering to lock the doors. and then also by coincidence the next time she visits she's brought you the newest model of gramophone with a special disc recorded just for you
5: covers his mouth daintily to pretend he's not outright salivating at the thought (it's obvious anyway). he doesn't even think twice about it, just goes straight to asking how and when do you want him? he's more than happy to provide you live service all day long, and even to clean up his own mess afterwards! you can even slap him when he's being too loud. it won't make him quieter but it'll feel good for both of you
6: calls you a pervert and sends you an exact replica of the whole video you're referencing with his own voice that evening. and then asks you what sort of changes you'd like him to make for the next recording. somehow sounds way better in the borderline porno he sends you of himself than when he's recording in the studio…? he'll do better if you give him a kiss for good luck each time, you know
7: understandably takes the request as a joke, but just in case takes several different recordings. just in case. finds the whole thing incredibly dirty and can't listen to his own moans and whimpering, but the taboo aspect just makes him all the more sensitive. edits them properly and everything. is about to delete his text message when he accidentally sends them to you instead and dies on the spot (will send you more if you heart react to his message)
— ooh for your event, can i send a box of homemade chocolate and a dagger for The Servant? and also pls tell him to take care of himself.
Have a great day <33
he’s never going to use this, he thinks.
the dagger you’ve given him is intricately crafted, small regal-looking designs carved into the metal. it’s one he’d picked out together with you a couple weeks ago. you’d been browsing through a local seasonal market with him when a particularly decorative weapon stall had caught your attention. you’d asked which pattern he preferred and he’d felt proud you were considering his opinion. he didn’t realise you were asking because you were getting it for him.
in the end, he’s glad he picked the pattern he thought you’d like most. if it’s a gift from you, then it’s only fitting that you decorate him and everything he owns to your tastes.
no, he could never actually use this and stain it.
he’ll frame it on his bedside table, that way he can always be reminded of you and your care for him. perhaps he could sleep with it, even… (sheathed, of course—he would take any injury you wish to bestow upon him, especially with something you’ve taken such care to give to him, but that should be by your hand, not his own.) or—
"so," you draw out, shaking him out of his thoughts, "do you like it?"
from the way you’re grinning at him, self assured and beautiful and pleased, he thinks you know the answer.
but you’ve asked him a question, and it’s his duty to answer. "I will treasure this forever. thank you, master."
you laugh. his cheeks feel warm.
"I’m glad! I also made you some chocolate." you remove your hands from your back and hand him a small, handwrapped package. the ribbon holding it closed is messily tied and the fabric is crumbled. out of the corner of his eyes, he can see you avert yours. "that one, uh, didn’t come out so well though."
"I would love anything you were to give me." and he means it. even trash would be something worth delighting in if it comes from you.
you smile at him again and he thinks he could keep up the hard work for another week without rest.
he’s about to open his mouth to ask when you beat him to it. the thought of you just knowing him that well fills his chest with butterflies. "it’s not celebrated here I think, but where I’m from today’s a holiday… it’s kind of tradition to confess your feelings with chocolate today. though more recently it’s also shifting into giving your loved ones chocolate in general."
his mind completely skips over how you’d never told him this in the past.
are you… are you confessing to him? is he dreaming?
"so!" you clap your hands and clear your throat before he can say anything. "I feel like you’ve been overworking yourself a lot lately. take care of yourself, okay? I care about you a lot."
something in his heart twinges.
instead, he smiles pleasantly.
"your gift is all the motivation I would ever need." you don’t look convinced, but he continues before you can insist. "are you handing out chocolate to anyone else?"
you nod, seemingly distracted. "yep, you’re the last one."
ah.
of course.
his smile stays the same, his eyes crinkling in a way that he hopes is convincing. "thank you, master. I’m honoured you would think of me amongst those you care about."
you’re halfway through your own grin before you seem to remember something and frown again, trying to look stern. "don’t switch the topic like that." you jab an accusatory finger in his chest. his chest flutters at the contact. "you’re going to take care of yourself even if it means I have to drag you to bed by your hair, you hear me?"
his heart throbs again.
if it means keeping your attention on him, perhaps you pulling him by his hair through the halls wouldn’t be so bad, even if hurts, even if it should be him taking care of you.
but the smile that pulls at his cheeks is a bit more soft, a bit more genuine this time. "of course, master. I’m yours to do with as you please."
back on my "if nobody's going to write abt this then i am" streak. you need to do some decent amount of walking but either there's no wheelchair available or a wheelchair just isn't feasible to use (lots of stairs, the terrain, or etc)... so your half of your harem starts arguing about who should get to carry you (the first and second heroes, vampire, werewolf, playboy, immortal, disgraced god, servant) while the other half stands off to the side seething in jealousy because they're not strong enough to carry you (the first prince, living doll, lab experiment, mage's apprentice). the playboy is the only one who doesn't seriously join the argument, so he ends up being the one getting the privilege of carrying you. make no mistake, he WILL be rubbing this in everyone else's faces for a long, long time. the second time this happens, you suggest drawing lots to avoid the argument from last time, but this idea is scrapped after the disgraced god wins for the fourth time in a row despite their lot being removed from the pile since they won last time (and the time before that. and before that one).
꒰⚘݄꒱₊__ yza's notes! “ 💭 „ just a short writing yk- we need more academic rivals to lovers shiz ;) anyways im not knowledgeable enough about academic things so uh be warned ig
︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶˗ˋ .*ೃ✧₊˚.❁ ↷
Everyone knows that the final exams are coming at RAD. And everyone knows that two people are fighting to win the highest score, you and Satan.
It was academic rivalry ever since you came into the Devildom. What human would dare challenge the avatar of wrath for the highest scores in RAD? You would. So here you are cooped up in your room, coffee cups littering the floor.
Sheesh, exams aren't even that important! At least that's what Mammon says which resulted in punishment from Lucifer.
Today was finally the day of exams, students stressing out, the sound of pens writing on the paper, and the two rivals were going head to head. Students from other classrooms watched as you and Satan answered the questions on the test paper.
Time skip to when the scores were getting passed out. Disappointment flooded through your eyes, you got 4th place. Belphie and Lucifer managed to get higher than you, and Satan was sitting comfortably with a perfect score.
You wanted to cry in all honesty, after all those days studying and not even getting to the top three, other people would be content with that, but sadly not you. You tried your best but it hurt seeing your rival being all smug about it. You felt jealousy for him.
Satan decided to be boastful about it, wanting to show off his perfect scores to you. Would you congratulate him or would you just end up getting mad at him? Though his mind would like to disagree with the first option, his heart wanted to hear you compliment him.
But when he heard the sobs coming through your room, he stopped. Of course, after seeing your ranks it was honestly saddening for a top student like you.
Rivals be damned, it wouldn't hurt to comfort them for a while, right?
