A Cyran x Merlin fic (uses she/her pronouns for merlin)
There's this certain kind of beauty in life that Merlin couldn't quite put her finger on. Maybe it's the way the wind blows in a direction that feels just right. The way the sun shines to bring light to the world around it. Or perhaps the capability of the unknown to give her the power of artistry and create something beautiful with a stroke of a brush. In the end, Merlin still couldn't explain why she viewed the world with the same wonder children carried in their eyes. Maybe that was simply how life was meant to be seen.
Nevertheless, Merlin still couldn't remember the man from her dreams.
And Dura above, the ache in her chest every time she thought of him certainly did not help.
She scribbled on her sketchbook, frustration piling up in her chest as she threw the pencil away. Merlin just couldn't get his face right. There's always something missing and worse? Merlin had no idea what it was. She doesn't even know who she was sketching. She heaved a deep breath, her hands clutching the book a little too tightly; with a little more strength, she might tore off a page. It's frustrating, really. But the more she stops, the more the curiosity eats her up like a pest.
She wants to remember this man, but Dura above; her brain doesn't seem to like that idea.
"Magister!" a voice rang out from behind her.
Merlin, with absolutely no intention to explain herself to her lovely familiar, quickly closed the book at a thunder-like pace. Had she been a few milliseconds slower, her 'hidden' book would've been seen by the familiar dressed in mage-like clothes, her little witch hat dangling above her head. Hammie smiled at Merlin, though she noticed the slight surprised look in her eyes.
"Magister Merlin… is everything okay?" Despite the attempt to make her familiar not worry, it seemed like the little hamster knew Merlin too much for her acting prowess to work… Funnily enough, she doesn't even think that she has those said acting abilities. Alas, she cannot give up! After all, she is the great and amazing Magister Supreme!
"Oh, absolutely! Totally fine and cool!" The mage spoke up without missing a beat, quickly standing up from the tree she was leaning on. Might not be the best idea since Merlin nearly tripped, both her feet not landing in the right direction; causing Hammie to look to the side, finding the very pencil she threw just a few moments ago. It didn't take long for her to put everything together.
"Did you try drawing him again?" The moment those words left Hammie's lips, Merlin knew she couldn't hide it anymore. She tried to look away at first, her lips pursed into a thin line. It's no secret that Merlin isn't one to talk a lot about her missing memories. Sometimes she thinks it's a blessing, but at moments like these, Merlin believes that she must've been cursed by some sort of deity because why else would her chest ache with such ancient longing every single time she tried to capture his features on paper? Features her mind could barely remember, yet her heart seemed to know by instinct alone. A presence her heart knew far better than her mind ever could.
Merlin sat back down once again, her back leaning against the rough texture of the tree. She wanted to slam her head to the wood but Merlin knew that doing it wouldn't magically bring her memories back. It was this kind of hopeless feeling that drove her to make herself busy the past few months. They don't really talk about the difficulty of losing the life you've built for years. Everyone knows you but you don't even know yourself. How is she supposed to live with that?
So much for finding life beautiful.
Worse? There's this mysterious man who keeps haunting her in her sleep. But Dura above… feeling safest whenever he appeared in her dreams, terrified her more than she cared to admit. The knowledge of not knowing him, while some deep and desperate part of her soul reached for him anyway, felt unbearably cruel.
Hammie walked towards the lone pencil that was thrown earlier by its owner, gently picking it up whilst being careful not to stain her green gloves with dirt. She then quietly sat beside Merlin, the grass shifting softly underneath her tiny frame. For once, the familiar did not rush to fill the silence with chatter. She simply stayed there, close enough for Merlin to feel the warmth of her presence.
"I'm scared," it was Merlin who spoke first, her eyes darting at the sky above. The day was about to end, thus the sun beginning to hide away to the other side of the universe and with it comes the darkness, or perhaps, the loneliness that has been creeping up inside the Magister's chest ever since she woke up after 20 years of sleep. "Don't you think it's strange?"
Hammie tilted her head. "What is?"
"Feeling this longing and frustration over someone I had never met." She pulled out the sketchbook she desperately tried to hide a few minutes ago, gripping the side of it's worn out pages a little too tightly, as though loosening her grip even slightly would make her lose him entirely. Or this idea of him that she has in her head.
She doesn't even know his name.
Hammie didn't reply. The familiar had always known that this person is a sensitive topic to the Magister. She remembered waking up in the middle of the night and finding Merlin at the Mystical House, the sound of her frustrated scribbling echoing in the four corners of her room. Everyone knows to not disturb the Mage at moments like these. Sometimes, Dolly had to make sure that Merlin was left alone the entire night. But that never stopped Hammie and Chippy from feeling the pain. Their master is hurting and they couldn't do anything about it.
Merlin opened the sketchbook, a sketch of his unfinished face greeting her. He looked younger here… it was one of her attempt to memorialized the first dream she had of him. She didn't quite see his face, his visage slightly blurred out and only a patch of darkness to where his eyes was supposed to be. It was imperfect but it was one of Merlin's first sketches of him. Still, she managed to capture the way his hair look, his cheeks, and the way he frowned upon seeing her.
A small giggle escaped her lips. She had always wondered how her past self reacted to his snobbish demeanor. How did they end up being close? It's still a question that Merlin holds no answer to. She flipped through the pages, her hands slightly shaking but that didn't stop her mind from remembering bits and pieces of dreams that inspired her to draw certain moments. Some were of him fast asleep at a desk, his head making the open book its new pillow. Others were of him looking at her with a smirk, like challenging her over something for the umpteenth time. It was flashes of memories that Merlin struggled to hold on to.
Every single sketch remained unfinished.
Fear always gripped her heart whenever she tried to add the final touches. Some irrational part of her believed that the moment she completed his face, he would disappear from her dreams entirely.
And Merlin could not bear losing him a second time.
As she stared at the portrait of him scribbling something on his notes, she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. Merlin turned her head and saw the pencil she threw a few moments ago being handed back to her by Hammie. "Here you go, Magister. Why don't you try sketching him once again?"
Merlin smiled, albeit a pained one, and shook her head. She closed her sketchbook before placing it gently on her lap. The cold wind blew her hair, the leaves gently swaying as she took a deep breath. "Maybe not today, Hammie."
"Why not?"
"Because…" Her voice faltered for a moment. "I feel like the moment I finally finish drawing him, he'll slip through my fingers all over again."
She looked back down at the unfinished sketch, her expression softening into something painfully fragile.
"And right now… I don't think I can survive losing him twice."
It took a few months for Merlin to realize why she felt that way. Because within the fragments of her memories, they always seemed to find each other.
Reality, however, insisted on placing them on opposite sides of the chessboard.
Cyran examines himself in the large mirror of his dorm.
It was true that having noble blood inflicts a burden that many of his age could not carry. But the very same blood also grants privileges that those of his age could never have. The single occupancy dorms were reserved solely for noble families and distinguished students, as is the larger-than-standard mirror and the ability to dress in silk and velvet.
He flicked lint off his new robes. Lint didn’t deserve to exist on his new uniform.
Students at the Lyceum are required to don the academy uniform: robes of purple and gold, shirts with a ribbon and bottoms, and gloves paired with boots. From a distance, it creates a beautiful picture of unity. A closer glance reveals the stark difference between cotton and silk robes, or kidskin and roughout leather gloves.
As a noble, Cyran could not have worn anything else but the finest.
He was outfitted with new clothes at least once a year, or when damage called for it. His new robes were always dyed with the purest pigments and embroidered with gold thread. Inside his robes was a silk shirt and bottoms of the finest wool, topped off with kidskin gloves and boots. Small gems were placed discreetly on his clothing, a reminder of his identity.
A slow turn in the mirror showed no imperfections. Satisfied, Cyran stepped out of his dorm to greet the new year in his new uniform.
Students were already up and about, catching up with each other or hurrying around to find their classrooms. Most gave him a wide berth. The few born to nobility like him greeted him with well practised smiles and oiled courtesy. As if it could mask the way everyone was eyeing up everyone’s uniforms for any slight imperfection.
“Cyran!”
The small group parted ways to reveal you waving at him. They tolerated you; the student with no noble blood but with enough talent to beat them all. It didn’t stop them from giving your uniform discreet glances and hushed whispers though. And they made little effort to conceal their disdain.
Something in Cyran’s chest tightened. He let you tug him free from the group and down the hallway.
“Wow, you look dashing in your new uniform.” You examined a gem on his collar. “You know, this would make a fine magic reservoir if it were a little bigger.”
“Don’t you have anything newer to wear?” Cyran asked abruptly. He already knew the answer.
“What?”
He gestured at your uniform. Your shenanigans invited accidents far too easily, and those accidents left marks on your uniform. Thanks to your talent in magic, your uniform remained intact, but sported a variety of stains and patches.
It screamed at the nobility.
“I mean, no point getting a new uniform, if I’m only going to damage it…where are you taking me?” You quickened your steps to match Cyran’s pace.
“You weren’t going to attend class anyway.”
“I…well, yeah, but don’t you want to attend class?”
“It can wait.”
Cyran pulled you into his dorm and locked the door. It’s not your first time here, and it’s not the first time the door had to be locked. But it was always you that insisted on locking the door.
“Uh…did you learn some fabric renewing spell?”
Cyran turned back to you with a tape measure in hand. “Stand still.”
You watched in baffled silence as he circled you slowly. The tape measure went around your neck, down to your shoulders and arms, and then around your chest and waist.
“Uh, Cyran, let me do it-”
“I said stand still.”
That tone of voice rarely worked on you, but in this moment, it did. You held still as Cyran lowered himself to the ground, wrapping the tape measure around your hips and down your legs. You were smaller than him, of course. But today was a testament to how much smaller.
By the time Cyran finished his measuring, your face was a delightful shade of red.
“Expect to receive a new uniform in a week’s time.” Cyran informed you like it was just another Tuesday.
For once, you were speechless, and he found himself liking it. Very much. As much as the way your face could redden.
“We-um-we should go to class.”
Inviting him to attend class? This was new. The corners of his mouth lifted. He watched as you unlocked his door and fled his dorm. Cyran followed behind you at a leisurely stroll.
Y/N waiting for Alastor to get to Heaven only to find out he’s in hell all this time.
A/N: wohoo, it's been a while since i wrote something and Alastor has been my hyperfixation for a while now. A part two might come if requested but here it is!
It was almost laughable, in the cruelest way imaginable—waiting on someone for so long, only to learn that the world had never intended for you to meet again. Time, once so carefully counted, had become a blur. How long had it truly been? A decade? Two? You could no longer say. Days folded into years, years slipped away like river water through open fingers. One moment you were standing faithfully at the gates, every single day after your death, watching new souls pass through while you waited for your own… and the next, you were simply tired.
Tired of hoping.
He couldn't be… down there… could he?
But it had been over a hundred years. To believe he still lived would make you a fool—or perhaps a widow clinging too tightly to ghosts. And yet, doubt lingered. Alastor had always been stubborn. Tenacious. What if he had lived that long? What if he'd slipped through death's hands longer than most?
"Y/N? Everything okay?" You turned your head and found Molly hovering nearby. She'd been your friend ever since she—well—died. An odd meeting, really. One moment, you'd been lingering near the gates as usual, and the next, a cluster of sheep-like cherubs had shoved Molly gently but firmly in your direction, murmuring something about "urgent matters in the human world."
Eh, you really couldn't care less about it.
"Mm, I'm fine, chère," you said, lifting your chin with a practiced smile. It was thin, worn from overuse… but a smile all the same.
'Smile, mon amour. It's the sharpest blade a soul can carry.'
You used to scoff whenever he said that, teasing him for his dramatics. Now, the words felt carved into you.
"You sure?" Molly asked gently. "You've been miles away since yesterday. Is it because… well—your anniversary with Alastor's coming up?"
The air vanished from your lungs.
Your wings faltered, feathers locking stiff as marble. For a heartbeat, Heaven itself seemed to forget you were meant to fly. Gravity seized you with merciless hands, dragging you downward. You barely registered the fall—only the sudden jolt of Molly's arms wrapping around you, her spider-like limbs anchoring you before you could meet the ground.
She guided you down gently, though her eyes no longer held their earlier light.
"Okay, sweetie." Molly started, hands on her hips. "This is getting a little out of hand. I knew death wasn't necessarily a thing here anymore, but you could've gotten yourself hurt."
A long sigh slipped from your chest before you could stop it. Molly studied you for a moment, then reached for your hand, her grip gentle but firm. She guided you toward a quiet, empty bench nearby and sat beside you.
"Now," she said softly, "tell me what's weighing so heavy on that heart of yours."
You hesitated, fingers tightening in your lap. "I—" Your voice wavered despite your efforts. "I'm… frightened, Molly. Proper frightened." You swallowed hard. "What if he truly is down there? What sin could my husband have committed to deserve such a fate?" Your breath hitched. "It's been nearly ten decades. I am no naïve girl—I know what that means, and yet…"
Your voice broke. Tears slipped free before you could stop them, and you pressed your lips together to keep from sobbing.
"I beg your pardon, I just—"
Molly pulled you into a hug without another word. "Hey now… it's alright, darling," she murmured. "I know it's been hard." She paused. "I told you about my twin, didn't I? My Anthony." Her arms tightened slightly. "I miss him every day. I know he won't be here after… everything. But knowing where he is... knowing he still exists... that matters. Even if it hurts."
"I miss him, Molly."
It took a few seconds for you to process Molly's words and pull out of her hug. You wiped the remaining tears off your face before taking a deep breath. "Yeah, you're right. No matter what happens, I should face it."
"That's my bestie." You chuckled.
"Come on, Abel might be waiting for us. It took me a while to convince him and Emily to get us a small amount of time with the Princess of Hell." Molly explained, her wings flapping once again as she slowly elevated from the ground, you following after her.
"Do you truly believe she would know him?" you asked softly. "I imagine Hell holds more sinners than stars."
"Well," Molly said, gaze drifting, "I'm hopin'... and I meant to ask her about Anthony, too."
"We'll get some answers, I promise."
-
It took about an hour of flying before you both arrived at the building near the Heavenly court. At the door stood Abel, chatting with St. Peter. Molly quickly flew towards the two, you following behind her.
"Molly, Y/N!" It was Abel who first noticed the two of you. He raised his hand and waved. A warm smile on his face.
"Abel, thank you for this!" Molly quickly said. "I know it's a really big ask and-" Abel cuts her off.
"It's fine! Totally fine! It's the least I can do after you got me out of that sticky situation with my dad."
You noticed St. Peter heading towards your way. The two of you aren't that close but had formed some sort of a acquaintance after your almost every day being at the gate every time there's a new soul, waiting for your husband.
"Hey… Y/N," St. Peter greeted a little awkwardly, hands scratching the back of his head. "I'm really sorry about this entire thing. I wish I could tell you that 'hey, your husband's here!' but I know things aren't as simple as it would've been."
You shook your head, a small and yet sad smile on your face. "It's… fine. Still, thank you for keeping up with all my insistence back at the gate."
"Pshh! It's totally cool!" He chuckled.
-
"This is their room." Abel pointed out at the door. "I can, unfortunately, give you only a few minutes. I'll stand by to watch just in case Sera comes back. Goodluck, girls." With a brief nod, he folded his wings and took off down the corridor, his footsteps fading into the hush of Heaven.
Molly turned to look at you. "You should go first, I'll stand by here."
You nodded, though your throat felt too tight to speak. Molly stepped away, giving you space... too much space. The silence pressed in, thick and heavy, like the moments before a summer storm back home. You drew in a slow breath, the way your mother once taught you—steady now, chère, don't let the world see you shake—and lifted your hand to knock.
The sound echoed far louder than you expected.
A few seconds passed. Then the door opened.
A young woman stood before you... golden-haired, red-eyed, her expression bright with a hope so open it almost hurt to look at. There was something unsettling about it. That much light had no business blooming in a place born of sin.
"Hi! I'm Charlie!" She greeted enthusiastically, one that reminds you too much of a certain seraphim. "Are you here for me? Or—oh!—did you knock on the wrong door? Maybe you're looking for Vaggie, she's out right now—WAIT, IS THIS ANOTHER TOUR?"
Good Lord above.
You inhaled slowly, smoothing your gloves. "Darlin'," you said softly, voice carrying that gentle Creole lilt worn by time and sorrow, "if you would be so kind… please calm yourself."
Charlie froze.
"Oh!" Her eyes widened as realization struck. "I'm sorry! Was I being too much? I just get excited sometimes and—" She stopped herself, closed her eyes, and breathed in deeply. "Okay. I'm calm. Cool as ice. What can I do for you?"
"I am Y/N," you said, inclining your head politely. Your gaze drifted past her shoulder, into the room beyond. "Might we speak inside? This is… a delicate matter. Not one fit for the hallway."
The brightness in Charlie's smile dimmed but softened. "Oh. Serious stuff." She stepped aside at once. "Yeah. Of course."
The door closed behind you with a soft click.
Charlie sat on the edge of her bed and patted the space beside her. You hesitated only a moment before joining her, folding your hands neatly in your lap, lace brushing lace.
"So," she said gently, eyes warm and patient. "What's on your mind?"
You did not understand her… how someone so full of light could rule a realm Heaven condemned. It felt wrong. Like magnolias blooming in ash.
Your gaze fell to your hands. They trembled despite your efforts to still them. Your heart thudded loud in your ears.
This was it.
All those years at the gate. All those prayers whispered into empty skies. Every anniversary marked alone.
Say it, you scolded yourself. Do not be a coward now.
Charlie noticed. "Hey," she said softly. "It's alright. Take your time. I ain't goin' anywhere."
You drew in a breath, deep, shaking.
"It is about my husband," you said at last, voice barely above a whisper. "I have… waited for him a very long while. Years. Decades." Your accent thickened with emotion. "Each soul that passed through them gates, I searched their face, prayin' to see his."
Your fingers curled into your palms.
"He has not come," you continued. "And I wondered... if perchance... you might know of him."
The words felt crude the moment they left your mouth. Too direct. Too desperate.
"I beg your pardon," you added quickly. "I do not mean to impose—"
"Well," Charlie said carefully, "I can't promise anything." She tilted her head. "But… what's his name?"
Your breath caught. You closed your eyes, as though bracing yourself against a blow.
"Alastor," you said softly. "Alastor Hartfelt."
The room went still.
You waited for the princess to respond, to say something… anything… maybe along the lines of the name being not familiar or maybe he hasn't die yet.
Perhaps because the idea of him being in hell not being confirmed is better than the thought of him actually being there.
Because uncertainty was kinder than truth.
Slowly, you lifted your gaze.
And you saw it.
Charlie did not need to speak.
Your heart shattered all the same.
So it was true.
Your Alastor—your husband, your heart, the man you loved beyond life—was in Hell.
The realization settled into you like cold water, seeping into every crack. Your chest ached, breath coming shallow and uneven.
In Hell.
You did not know what hurt more... that he had sinned enough to be cast down… or that eternity itself had drawn a line between you that even death could not cross. Forever beyond your reach.
You pressed a hand to your chest, guilt coiling tight.
And God help you—
You felt as though it were your fault.
-
"Alastor!"
Your voice tore through the night like torn silk.
The street smelled of damp stone and cigarette smoke, gaslight flickering overhead. Jazz drifted faintly from somewhere down the block—too cheerful, too alive for the terror seizing your chest. You didn't think. You didn't pray. You moved.
The gunshot cracked the air.
You threw yourself forward, skirts tangling, arms wrapping around him as though you could shield him with nothing but love and bone. The impact hit you a second later... white-hot, blooming across your chest like fire.
Alastor's laughter died instantly.
"Mon amour-?" His voice broke, panic slicing through the smooth tone you knew so well.
You gasped, breath stuttering, warmth soaking through silk and lace. Your knees buckled, but he caught you, hands trembling as they pressed uselessly against the wound.
"No-no, no, no," he whispered, horror naked on his face. "Stay with me, darling. You hear me? You stay."
You smiled up at him, blood on your lips, vision dimming.
"Ah… do not fuss so," you murmured softly. "A lady must mind her husband… even in foolish moments."
Tears streamed down his face.
"You promised," he choked. "You promised you'd dance with me tomorrow."
You found yourself unable to answer as everything went black.
amphoreus was waiting for you, but you didn't know that. nor did you expect someone to greet you with such warm and welcoming arms. only to tighten like a vice grip on your already torn heart.
word count | ~2.1k
cw | blood + injuries , yandere!phainon , y/n gets injured , 30 million cycles , grammatical errors , etc.
note | i intended this story to be 3 parts 😭 this story isnt going to be 3 parts to say the least 💀 looks like itll be a little longer than expected-
Penacony was neither fun or relaxing. Except for like the first thirty minutes, but it had only gotten worse from there. Luckily, however, Welt and Himeko exempted you from helping save the world, so you mainly sat back and watched everything unfold. Then there was the mess with Hoolay on the Luofu during some festival while also learning that Dan Heng came from there – mannn, you had missed so much while you were gone. But thankfully everything started to settle down as you all had made it back to the express in one piece while also gaining a new passenger. Sunday. A man who had been one of the main villains in Penacony.
“Amphoreus, huh,” you wondered aloud as you all had gathered in the main car. Black Swan was also there, a lady who you all had met up with in Penacony and who had helped Stelle out a lot in the dreamscape.
“Something wrong, y/n?”
You looked to Himeko, “don’t know… but that place sounds familiar.”
You closed your eyes for a moment before turning to both Himeko and Welt, “if’s it not too much to ask, once we get to Amphoreus I would like to be apart of the Trailblaze mission.”
Welt and Himeko looked at one another before looking back at you, “are you sure,” Welt asked. You nodded, “I feel like I’ve been there before.”
Black Swan tapped a finger to her chin, “I don’t see how that is possible though considering what Amphoreus is like.”
You shrugged, “I know it sounds stupid and everything, but I’m being serious here.”
Himeko smiled at you, “as long as you feel alright, then I don’t see why not.”
Getting to Amphoreus was another thing entirely, but when you all did find it, it was decided that you, Dan Heng, and Stelle would be going since March (for some reason) couldn’t wake up as ice started to form around her. If you were being honest, ever since you came back everything has been going wrong. But maybe by going to Amphoreus everything will become clear. You would get your lost memories back, March will wake up, and the Astral Express can keep moving forward.
However, getting blown from the sky was not apart of your bucket list as three of you in a single train car went in for a crash landing…
“…Dan Heng…Stelle?”
You blinked a few times as you sat up. Everything hurt. Your back, your legs, your arms. You were sure you cracked a few ribs too. And as you went to stand, you felt a giant pang erupt through your heart as it sent you back to your knees with you clutching your chest. Welt and Himeko did warn you back in Penacony that you would still feel the affects of getting your heart ripped in half.
Coughing a little, you looked around. There was only a half of the train car next to you and no friends in sight. Were they in the other half of the train car? If they were, then that means they landed elsewhere.
You shakily stood back up and bunched a handful of fabric in your hands right over where your heart was as you tried to still yourself and will the throbbing pain to go away. It took about ten seconds for the pain to dull into a light pang in your chest – though your other injuries were still very prominent, but … you’ll have to worry about that later. For now, you need to find Stelle and Dan Heng.
Stumbling a bit before getting your footing, you made your way out of the wreckage while also summoning your weapon, a simple sword.
“Now, if I were the other half of the train car, where would I land?”
In the distance, you could hear a few people screaming which made you falter for a moment. Find your friends or… You closed your eyes and lightly cursed to yourself before going to where the screams were coming from. Dan Heng and Stelle can handle themselves in a fight – you saw that for yourself in Penacony. The people who were screaming, however, not so much you imagine.
“Please- Please help us!”
When you got to the scene, someone had grabbed you. Their face was bloody as they pleaded for your help. You looked to where they were pointing.
“Shi-!”
You wrapped an arm around their waist and pulled the woman close before jumping away. Your sword coming up to block a strike coming down on you both. The enemy was decked out in black armor, it’s attacks were fast and calculated. It’s appearance – though different, reminded you a lot of the legion.
“Get behind me!”
You let go of the woman’s waist as she was quick to do as she was told and scrambled to get behind you as you blocked another attack. The weight of the hit sending you to your knees as your heart erupted in pain again making you wince as you tried to hold your blade steady. The enemy pulled back, readying another strike making you tsk. How annoying. You definitely had warmer welcomes.
Before it could make a move, however, another blade had beat the monster to it as a sharp, almost blinding edge, cutting it right down the middle. The enemy didn’t even have time to flail about before it disappeared.
You blinked a few times, somewhat dumbfounded before a hand came into your line of view. Grabbing the hand without thinking, you let this person pull you up.
“Thank you…,” your voice trailed off as you looked up.
“Phainon,” the man said while still holding your hand, his grip tightening ever so slightly, “my name is Phainon, and you?”
You were at a loss of words for a moment, his pretty boy visage knocking the wind out of you for a moment before clearing your throat, “o- oh, uhh,” you gave him your name, “thank you for saving us, Phainon. I wouldn’t know what we would of done if you hadn’t shown up,” you laughed a bit sheepishly. The warmth of his hand in your own becoming all to present as he still didn’t let you go.
“More like what you would have done… looking at you I can tell that you’re injured as well…, and what do you mean by we?”
“Huh?”
You frowned as you looked behind you, the woman from before nowhere in sight, but her footprints in the dirt were still present, “it seems the lady I was protecting made a run for it,” you said.
“Tch, of course she did, worthless ingrate,” Phainon muttered.
“Hmm,” you looked back at him, “what did you say? I didn’t hear you.”
“Nothing,” Phainon said as a smile crossed his lips, “she probably ran to somewhere safer.”
“Yeah,” you said as you scratched the back of your head with your free hand, “you’re probably right about that.”
You wondered briefly why it was so easy to talk to him. Then again, he seemed like the type to have that sort of charm and charisma. You looked down to your still connected hands which he finally let go of, “sorry,” he said while the tips of his ears started to turn a faint pink.
“Don’t worry about it…, hey, uhm. I know this is a lot to ask since we just met and you had to trouble yourself with saving me and all, but can you-“
“Sure thing!”
“Huh? But I didn’t even say-“
“You want me to escort you to Okhema, right?”
You shook your head, “where? Nevermind, I was actually going to ask if you could help me find my friends. One of them has grey hair and likes trashcans for some reason and the other looks tired of everyone.”
“You mean Stelle and Dan Heng?”
You immediately brightened at his words, “you know them?!”
He nodded, “I actually escorted them to a nearby camp. They said their friend was still missing, so I offered to look for them. I didn’t know it would be you though,” he muttered that last part where you couldn’t hear him.
“Can you take me to them?”
He nodded, “of course, follow me.”
When he turned to walk away, you went to follow after him, but the pain in your heart refused to subside as it sent another electrifying pain through your chest making you wince and fall to your knees again.
“Y/n!”
Phainon, despite having just met you, was knelt by your side in an instant.
“Where are you hurt? I don’t have any medical supplies on me, but I know first aid-“
You shook your head, “thanks for your worry, but…,” you rested a hand over your heart, “awhile ago I had woken up in an infirmary with my friends explaining to me that I was floating through space with my heart cut into two. So, I’m afraid if I want this pain to go away, then I’ll need a miracle.”
Phainon immediately thought of Hyacine. She couldn’t heal you because you were already dead then, but now that you’re alive and your wound has mostly healed, then she should be able to fix the pain in your chest.
“Luckily, we have a really good healer,” Phainon said.
“Good to know,” you said with a smile before taking a deep breath and exhaling, “please give me a moment… I’ll get up once this pain- h- hey!”
Before you could stop him, he was already pulling you close and lifting you into his arms in a bridal carry. One arm was hooked under your knees while the other supported your back.
“You're injured, I’m not forcing you to walk anywhere.”
You looked up at him to find him already looking down at you. He was so close, you decided not to argue and shut your eyes tight while you decided to just rest your aching head against his chest.
He seemed like the stubborn type anyway, so fighting with him seemed like a pointless endeavor. You just hoped he would set you down before Dan Heng or Stelle saw. Mainly Stelle cause throughout Penacony she was relentless when she saw Aventurine flirt with you. You had to explain to her that he was not flirting with you and was just trying to get information out of you. (Aventurine was, in fact, flirting with you. You were just too oblivious to notice. But that was a story for another time.)
Phainon, all the while, was trying his best not to squeeze you too hard while also gushing over the fact that he has found you again. You not being from his world and not being a part of the other cycles made so much more sense, and now that you were back again (albeit with missing memories it seems) he was determined to keep you. Gods he wanted to kiss you right now, but he can wait. Even though it was already pretty far into the current cycle – he was sure he can still win you over.
"Thank you again, Phainon."
He was brought out of his thoughts as you finally managed to say what was on your mind despite the stutter in your voice that almost made your words seem small as you looked back up at him. Your lips almost forming a small pout as you felt incredibly helpless in his arms. If only you weren't so injured, you wouldn't have to burden your new friend like this.
Phainon, on the other hand, was completely and utterly awestruck as he looked back down at you. You were as beautiful as the day he lost you. His lips were slightly parted as, his breath caught in his throat, and his heart hammered loudly against his ribcage - he was sure you could feel it since you still had your cheek pressed against his chest. He could already feel his face start to heat up.
And he intended to blurt out what he wanted to be a "no problem" or "anytime" or even a "I'm just glad I made it time."
Instead, he said something completely different. His knees wobbled, his legs felt like jello, and his whole body broke out into a heated sweat.
Endless Solo of Solitude - Hazbin Hotel x Furina!Reader
You are a dramatic person, always looking for the most interesting thing to be the focus of the moment. And people love it, people want your performances, people want to see you.
A/N: Here we are, it should be noted that I am not an experienced writer, so if there are errors, I apologize!
CW: SPOILERS for Fontaine’s Archon Quest. GN!Reader. Use of Maistel as a Gender Neutral term instead of Mister/Miss. Big ass wall of text. Bulleted list format. Use of (Name). No beta, we die like Focalors.
Word count: 1.4k (1.444)
(So interminable… So lonely… Just… how much longer?)
The red moon shone beautifully over Hell, while applause could be heard at the Opera Epiclese. It was a normal night like any other in that Opera House, with its Overlord's show about to end.
“Thank you all for coming here!” You and the other “actors” bow to the audience with a smile and the curtain closes in front of you. You can still hear the applause and the voices of the demons as you and the actors head to the dressing room.
With every step you take, every actor following you disperses into the shadows, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
The door closes behind you, completely silencing the voices of the inhabitants and making your smile disappear completely, leaving in its place a tired expression. You sit in front of the mirror, leaving your hat on the table as you look at your reflection, you feel your cheeks hurt and your eyes heavy.
“How much longer will I have to do this...?” is a question that was never answered, your hands instinctively going to your neck, feeling the extra joint around it and the cold invisible blue collar. You flinch at the sensation beneath your fingertips. You run your hands through your long hair, feeling the tears fall onto the table.
80 years. 80 years have passed since this whole Overlord facade started. 80 years since you made the deal with that Overlord because you didn't know any better.
You really didn't know any better. It was clearly a trap that your 18 year old self didn't see or sense.
“You will take my position as an Overlord, or rather, pretend to be "me." Act how people feel an Overlord acts, be what they want to see. And in return, I'll help you when the time comes. An equivalent exchange of sorts, does that sound good to you?”
You really didn't know any better when you took their hand.
If people realized that you were not an Overlord, that you were a simple sinner pretending to be one, everything would go down the drain, everything you have worked for, the life you have sacrificed to make this work.
You, the Overlord of the Theatre and “Owner” of the Opera Epiclese, your performances reaching everywhere in the Pride Ring. People pay thousands just to see you perform. Or rather, the perfect mask they created for you.
The perfect mask that took you 80 years to perfect to fit on your face. The perfect mask that you were forced to wear.
Before your mind continues to torment you with gloomy thoughts, a knock on your door snaps you out of them. “Oh? Come on in!” you say, as you put on your hat at the speed of light.
“Maistel (Name)?” Your employee's voice entering the dressing room made you put your mask back on.
“Tell me, dear employee, to what do I owe the honor of being interrupted here?” you say in your best passive aggressive tone, wincing internally at your employee's discomfort.
“Uhm, it's about the Exterminations, Maistel (Name).” Your employee looks to the side, avoiding your gaze, and thank Lucifer they did, because if they hadn't they would have seen the nervousness on your face for a moment.
You look at him carefully, putting one of your legs on top of the other and crossing your arms. “What is it?”
“They have moved up the Extermination. According to 666 News, it will be in 6 months, Maistel (Name).” You can feel the nervousness in his voice, making your grip on your arm tighten.
The deer ears protruding from your head flicker for a moment, moving backwards. You shake your head, shaking your ears in the process. You look at your employee with a smile, forced, but it's a smile.
“Oh, what an unexpected turn of events! Who would have expected it...?” Certainly not you. The Extermination ended a few hours before your performance, why would they want to advance it? What happened? “You can go home, dear employee. Enjoy.”
“Thank you, Maistel (Name).” When your employee leaves the dressing room, you let out a big sigh and look in the mirror again. Your hands go to your head, gripping it tightly, your forehead hits the table and your hat falls to the floor.
“Why is all this happening...? Why?” You feel like screaming, yelling to someone about all this, but when you feel the cold of the invisible collar on your neck, you are left speechless. As if your vocal cords were clogged and burned under the cold of the collar.
You don't know what to do. You never did.
During the Exterminations, you always stayed in the comfort of the Opera Epiclese, knowing that you couldn't do anything. Knowing that you were just a simple sinner, nothing more.
You sigh in frustration as you stand up, walking towards the exit of the dressing room and on your way to your own bedroom, wanting nothing more than to sleep and rest from your thoughts.
Just outside the Opera Epiclese, a couple were walking towards the building, one more lively than the other.
“Are you sure it's a good idea? We are in an Overlord’s territory!” one of the voices said, worried about her companion, while the girl next to her smiled happily. The blonde clutches her papers tightly.
“Don't worry, Vaggie! I'm sure someone like Maistel (Name) would be interested in the hotel, I feel it in my soul!” The blonde smiles confidently, and her partner, Vaggie, sighs, smiling slightly.
The truth is that they had been trying to talk to some sinners for a while to get them to join the Hotel, without having any luck. Of course, until the blonde saw that Opera House in the distance, her spirits rose rapidly.
“Just be careful, okay? They’re still an Overlord, no matter how much you admire them.” The blonde nodded confidently, and opened the large doors of the Opera House. Blue and black walls were elegantly seen in that reception, some Demons were emerging from what seems to be a recent performance. Charlie smiled at seeing an atmosphere so... calm, for hell.
They both walked towards the reception, where the receptionist was looking at some papers a little nervously, her gaze rising from the white mountain in front of her to look at the new faces. “Oh, uh, welcome to the Opera Epiclese.” The receptionist searched through her papers. “Names? What are you here for?” she said, pen in hand.
“Oh, Charlie Morningstar! And she’s my partner, Vaggie!” Charlie could see how the imp immediately fell silent. The blonde looked curiously at the demon, seeing her better. She’s an Imp. Her clothes are elegant and blue, her hat adorned with black ribbons. A strange color palette for Hell, where everything was red.
“C-Charlie Morningstar? As in… Lucifer’s daughter?” The imp quickly looked at her papers, feeling like she was going to faint. “Why does this happen to me...? And it's my first day... I should have gone home when I could...” the receptionist was muttering to herself as she searched through a large book with golden details. Charlie looked at her worriedly while Vaggie raised an eyebrow.
“Are… you okay?” Charlie asked and the Imp flinched at her voice.
“Y-Yes, Your Majesty! Just… searching, give me a moment, please!” The imp continued muttering to herself, something about 'wanting to go home'. “Uhm... okay, it looks like you're not on the recent guest list, Miss Charlotte…”
“Charlie is fine! And no, we’re not here for one of Maistel (Name)’s performances, we’re here to talk to them!” Charlie explains with a smile, and the imp smiles nervously.
“I-I see… Gimme one second, Miss Charlie…” The imp turns around in her chair, heading towards one of the phones. Charlie looks at Vaggie excitedly.
“Maybe we have a chance, Vaggie! How exciting to meet Maistel (Name) in person!” Vaggie could only smile softly at her partner's enthusiasm. Any normal person would say that it should be the other way around, you know, meeting the Princess of Hell.
The imp turns around in her chair again, looking at the pair. “Uhm, Maistel (Name) should be available in a few minutes. If you want, you can wait in their office.” The receptionist smiled nervously, and Charlie, grabbing her hands and shaking them up and down.
“Thank you so much! Let's go, Vaggie!” Charlie released the imp's hands and walked towards the door on the left. Vaggie let out a soft laugh and approached the imp, who was bewildered.
“Where’s Maistel (Name)’s office?” she asks, and the imp mutters.
“It's in the door on the right…”
A/N: This is part 1 of this miniseries, hope you enjoy this, muehehe.
The both of you actually grew up together. Despite Ayato being the embodiment of a bowling ball, tough exterior but ni emotions inside, that didn't stop you from bugging him all the time.
You were smart.
You were able to ran up to his level when it comes to studies. Sure, he's still at the top, but you're mostly at the second or at least third in line.
He found you annoying at times.
There was one moment when Ayato thought to just kill you for being too nosy of him when he's trying to follow his senpai. It's like you're always trying to get his attention. But he quickly shoot that thought away from his head when he realized that he wouldn't have someone to use as an excuse if you're gone.
You're always there for him.
You always cook a bento for him, it got to the point that he didn't even bother to bring his own because he knew that you always have a spare one for him.
When someone was trying to bully him, you didn't think twice to smack them in the face, earning you a warning from the councilor. You also earned a two minute scolding from him, saying that he doesn't need your help but you were having none of it.
For some reasons, it affected him a lot when you started to avoid him.
It started when he told you about his senpai, Tara Yamada. He continued to chat about her for a week, thinking that you'll be fine with it, but you weren't. You usually just nod, and never react more than necessary at any of his statements.
It drove him crazy.
He wasn't supposed to feel like this. He only have one senpai, heck, he even killed for her. But the moment you started to avoid him, you took something huge away from him. Every time he tried to reach out to you, you always manage to get away.
He can't live without you.
Weeks passed and he already started to follow you. He already know everything you do, ever since the two of you were kids, so it wasn't hard for him to sneak up. He knows you like the back of his hand.
You can run from him but you can't hide.
Ayato is going to make you his. You don't have a choice.
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