BEEP BEEP BEEP

Astro / 20s / mdni / art tag: astro's art

[majoryeager104]

Every time malleus kisses you, he always asks first

Like that very first time when you’d been chatting in the yard for what felt like hours after dark, and he’d fallen silent with a small smile on his face as he listened to you ramble about your studies. He tucked your hair behind your ear and dared to lean in closer as he suddenly asked “may i give you a kiss?”

it was a kiss on the cheek, nothing more. He didn’t want to push. The next time he was a bit bolder

“I’m relieved you’ve returned. May I?” He said the second time as he made a vague gesture when youd returned from Styx, pulling you away from your friends to kiss you on the corner of your mouth. If you were surprised by the proximity, he’d feign that he’d meant to kiss your cheek, but oh, he must’ve slipped (*´ω｀*)

even when you finally begin to date (because how could you escape his lovesick clutches now that hes been nothing but obvious?) he would ask each time in gentle whispers, taking both your hands and trying to contain his giddiness behind a small smile, but the way his eyes softened when you’d nod said it all.

For certain, malleus would want to spend every waking moment of the day kissing you. One kiss never feels like enough for him, wants to shower you and be showered in the deepest affections either of you could muster, but he’s a gentleman after all, so he must be patient.

so he asked like it’s an honor. Practically begged sometimes. Even when you’re mad- especially then- he’d ask in the softest voice and then kiss your temple as he pulled you into his arms and wrapped you up in his cloak.

the only time he didn’t ask first was when he kissed you on your wedding day

[venuscrashed]

How cruel indeed....

In a world, in which the red string of fate exists and mocks him so cruelly...

Warnings: 2nd person pov, basically the first encounter, slight angst, brief mentions of religions, not proofread, gargoyle yap in the middle

Wordcount: 1.8k+

...part 2?

It was funny. Cruel, yet funny. For years–millineums–Malleus had repeatedly heard about the story of the red string on one’s finger that led to their soulmate at the other end. A single string tied to their pinkie that only the two of them could see. The string that appears once you turn eighteen and leads you to your fated lover. Then, when he turned eighteen–in the dragon equivalent at least– he waited for the red string to appear but…it never did. 

He thought it would, that's all he was told for his whole life. A million thoughts and theories went through his head on why his soulmate wouldn’t be attached to him. Were they not born yet, that would be a weird age gap? Were they dead? Or was he supposed to be alone forever? It wasn’t until Lilia saw the look on his face did he speak up from the other side of the ice cream tubs he had set out for the occasion, “Don’t worry about it. Sometimes it doesn’t appear until both turn eighteen! It’ll appear soon, just wait.”

So he did. For years, that’s all he did: waited. It got to the point that Malleus had come to terms that he wasn’t supposed to be in love. It pained him, sure, seeing all the other couples in both stories and real life having what he was always told would once be his. Hearing of stories from his family members and theirs on how they meet their soulmates. Living through the many times Lilia had gotten in way over himself and flooded Malleus’s ears with tales of rendezvous and fleeting nights. It hurt, but he was a prince. A future king. The chances of him actually ending up with his soulmate was slim, he had to keep the bloodline going and all. 

So, why was it that the string had appeared now? 

And attached to you off all people?

Malleus thought it was a cruel joke. His soulmate, the magicless prefect that came from another world that had nothing of the sorts that his world had? A mere human who couldn’t perform any trick better than a magician pulling a rabbit out of his hat, and that was real magic there. Years and years of waiting only for his soulmate to appear from a fated encounter that was caused by the horses of Night Raven College to take them from their world to his. Cruel, that’s what it was. 

—

It was the first night that you were there. The barren and broken down walls of Ramshackle greeted you like a forgotten home. The ghosts were off with Grimm, scouring around the torn down dorm as they tried to find a suitable sleeping spot for a human and a beast. “This can’t be real,” you told yourself repeatedly. Blinking over and over again with deep breaths, hoping that you would somehow wake up and appear back in your bed in your home. Only, you never did. You had no feeling of being in a dream. Only a feeling of an invisible tug on your pinkie, the urge to follow after it. You had assumed you fell on your hand when coming out of the floating casket, assuming that's what the tingling feeling was even if it was only in one of your fingers. Strange, you thought. 

The pulling sensation on your finger only grew stronger as the night grew darker. You turned towards the front doors of ramshackle that creaked with every gust of wind. “What,” you made your way to the door, pushing it open before looking around at the barren lawn to the pointed gate. “Wait,” you froze as you saw the figure. 

A tall, dark figure that seemed to glow under the moonlight. With what appeared to be horns that rose above his head and eyes so green that they shined in the night. It took everything in you to not run away and scream right there and then. You were seeing another strange being, and he saw you.

For whatever reason, one you questioned yourself later on, you made your way over to the gate. “Hello,” you called out under the wind. Stopping a few feet away from the gate, you looked up at the unfamiliar and unhuman figure. “Can I help you…?” He looked up at you, and it was at that moment that the universe seemed to change. A strong, crashing feeling washed over the both of you, like a string ringing before pulling taut. The two of you stared at each other in shock, eyes wide and mouth agape. It felt like forever until he finally spoke, “It’s you…”

“What,” you paused at his words before coming back to reality. “It’s you? What do you mean by that?”

Malleus’s breath seemed to leave him at that moment. Quickly, he glanced down at the red string attaching the two of your pinkines, glowing red and hungry. Do you not see it? He thought to himself, it was then did he remember your magicless origin. Slowly, he looked back up to you or he looked over you. Ears round, teeth duller, unmistakably human. Oh how his grandmother would die hearing this. “Pardon me,” he excused his throat before bringing a hand up to his chin in a thoughtful gesture. “I didn’t know that this place was inhabited. I had always though it was…abaondon.”

Suddenly, the realization of your sleeping situation became more embarrassing. Glancing back at Ramshackle you couldn’t help but stare at the obvious holes in the walls and the cracks in the foundation. The whole dorm seemed to creak and groan with every gust of wind, moaning in pain as it stood on its last limbs. “Oh well,” you muttered quietly before turning back to him. “It’s sort of a fixer-upper. I just moved in…sort of.”

“Hmm,” he hummed quietly as he looked from the wreck of a building to you. “How unfortunate, I would come here often to admire the gargoyles. Such a shame it’ll be changing soon.”

“Oh,” you looked back over at the building as he mentioned the added detail. It was then did you notice the large and monstrous looking gargoyles that adorned the outline of the dorm’s roof. There was something about them that gave the building charm, which could be bad depending on how you looked at it. “I hadn’t noticed them,” you looked back and saw his rather disappointed expression at the comment. “Actually…did you know they added gargoyles to ward off evil spirits? That’s why they were placed in more religious settings, but actually they acted as rain spouts for the building so they were functional and-”

Your words slowly got tuned out by Malleus. A sense of shock and an undercurrent of longing washing over him. Gargoyles, the one thing he hadn’t expected anyone else to know about due to past experiences. Interesting, he thought, I knew there was something mentioned about shared interest but this…slowly, he came back to reality as he realized you were still talking. He didn’t know if it was the topic or the way you spoke but you sounded melodic, heavenly even. “Intersting,” he slowly smiled, his sharp teeth showing. “I didn’t think anyone else shared the same passion for gargoyles as I did.”

His words made you freeze, embarrassment crept up into you as your cheeks reddened. “Sorry,” you laughed nervously as you ran your hand on the back of your neck. “I just thought they were cool so I did some research when I was younger and I guess I remember some stuff.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he chuckled softly before looking down at you with a growing smirk, “I find it rather amusing that you know all this information.”

“Oh,” you muttered quietly with a smile. Suddenly, the strange pulling sensation came again. The urge to step closer to him grew stronger as you two spent more time together. Weird, we only just met. He seemed to notice your thinking, judging by the way his face turned. It feels as if we’re on the same wavelength…”So, uh…what’s your name?”

Names, he forgot. You two are essentially strangers and he’s already seem to fall in love with you. “My name,” he muttered quietly. If only it was so easy. He knew he wouldn’t imprison you or force you to be his pet but he doesn’t know if the feeling is the same visa versa. If only you were a fae like him, or…if only he was a human. “Unfortunaly,” he started quietly, “I can’t give you that. For names have power.” He noticed the slight drop in your expression, clearly it wasn’t a response you were expecting. “But…we could exchange something else.”

“Something else,” you repeated softly, curiously. You thought quietly to yourself before suddenly getting an idea. “How about nicknames? That way we could still call each other something!”

“Nicknames,” he mused quietly before smiling and nodding. “I like that. What ideas do you have?”

“Uh,” you suddenly quieted down after being put on the spot. Looking around for ideas you were met with nothing but natural beauty of the world around you and soft silence. If only you two had known each other earlier, that way it would have been easier to come up with some nicknames. “How about…hornton? You know,” you looked up at him before putting two fingers on your head, mimicking horns. “Because of those.”

The answer only seems to humor him. Chuckling softly, he brought a hand up to his mouth to hide his smile. “How amusing,” he hummed quietly before crossing his arms and looking down at you. “Well if we’re going with things that are obvious then how about I call you Child of Man? Because you’re…”

“Human,” you mused quietly with a growing smile. It was as if the air between the two of you shifted into something lighter, lovelier. You two were so caught up in the topic that you hadn’t noticed the strange pulling session growing stronger…or the two approaching figures in Diasmonia uniforms. 

“Lord Malleus!” A sudden voice from afar called out frantically.

Malleus sighed as he looked towards the voice before back down at you. “Seems I have to go, I hope we meet again.”

“Me too,” you smiled and looked over at the area the voice had come from. “Maybe we could-” you turned back to him only to see he was gone. Nothing but a cloud of glowing green fireflies stood in his place. It was as if he had suddenly vanished, and so did the sensation…

–

“How cruel,” Malleus muttered to himself as he sat near the window of his dorm room. Looking down at the red string so melodiously tied around his pinkie that only seemed to grow in the moonlight. “How cruel indeed….”

Lilia watched from the doorway, arms crossed and mouth shut. His lips pursed together as his brows furrowed. Never had he once seen Malleus so distraught, it was as if the sky started to turn gray and gloomy, the clouds storming overhead. Slowly, he closed the door and turned back to walk down the hallway. “His grandmother needs to hear about this…”

[venuscrashed]

How cruel indeed....

In a world, in which the red string of fate exists and mocks him so cruelly...

Warnings: 2nd person pov, basically the first encounter, slight angst, brief mentions of religions, not proofread, gargoyle yap in the middle

Wordcount: 1.8k+

...part 2?

It was funny. Cruel, yet funny. For years–millineums–Malleus had repeatedly heard about the story of the red string on one’s finger that led to their soulmate at the other end. A single string tied to their pinkie that only the two of them could see. The string that appears once you turn eighteen and leads you to your fated lover. Then, when he turned eighteen–in the dragon equivalent at least– he waited for the red string to appear but…it never did. 

He thought it would, that's all he was told for his whole life. A million thoughts and theories went through his head on why his soulmate wouldn’t be attached to him. Were they not born yet, that would be a weird age gap? Were they dead? Or was he supposed to be alone forever? It wasn’t until Lilia saw the look on his face did he speak up from the other side of the ice cream tubs he had set out for the occasion, “Don’t worry about it. Sometimes it doesn’t appear until both turn eighteen! It’ll appear soon, just wait.”

So he did. For years, that’s all he did: waited. It got to the point that Malleus had come to terms that he wasn’t supposed to be in love. It pained him, sure, seeing all the other couples in both stories and real life having what he was always told would once be his. Hearing of stories from his family members and theirs on how they meet their soulmates. Living through the many times Lilia had gotten in way over himself and flooded Malleus’s ears with tales of rendezvous and fleeting nights. It hurt, but he was a prince. A future king. The chances of him actually ending up with his soulmate was slim, he had to keep the bloodline going and all. 

So, why was it that the string had appeared now? 

And attached to you off all people?

Malleus thought it was a cruel joke. His soulmate, the magicless prefect that came from another world that had nothing of the sorts that his world had? A mere human who couldn’t perform any trick better than a magician pulling a rabbit out of his hat, and that was real magic there. Years and years of waiting only for his soulmate to appear from a fated encounter that was caused by the horses of Night Raven College to take them from their world to his. Cruel, that’s what it was. 

—

It was the first night that you were there. The barren and broken down walls of Ramshackle greeted you like a forgotten home. The ghosts were off with Grimm, scouring around the torn down dorm as they tried to find a suitable sleeping spot for a human and a beast. “This can’t be real,” you told yourself repeatedly. Blinking over and over again with deep breaths, hoping that you would somehow wake up and appear back in your bed in your home. Only, you never did. You had no feeling of being in a dream. Only a feeling of an invisible tug on your pinkie, the urge to follow after it. You had assumed you fell on your hand when coming out of the floating casket, assuming that's what the tingling feeling was even if it was only in one of your fingers. Strange, you thought. 

The pulling sensation on your finger only grew stronger as the night grew darker. You turned towards the front doors of ramshackle that creaked with every gust of wind. “What,” you made your way to the door, pushing it open before looking around at the barren lawn to the pointed gate. “Wait,” you froze as you saw the figure. 

A tall, dark figure that seemed to glow under the moonlight. With what appeared to be horns that rose above his head and eyes so green that they shined in the night. It took everything in you to not run away and scream right there and then. You were seeing another strange being, and he saw you.

For whatever reason, one you questioned yourself later on, you made your way over to the gate. “Hello,” you called out under the wind. Stopping a few feet away from the gate, you looked up at the unfamiliar and unhuman figure. “Can I help you…?” He looked up at you, and it was at that moment that the universe seemed to change. A strong, crashing feeling washed over the both of you, like a string ringing before pulling taut. The two of you stared at each other in shock, eyes wide and mouth agape. It felt like forever until he finally spoke, “It’s you…”

“What,” you paused at his words before coming back to reality. “It’s you? What do you mean by that?”

Malleus’s breath seemed to leave him at that moment. Quickly, he glanced down at the red string attaching the two of your pinkines, glowing red and hungry. Do you not see it? He thought to himself, it was then did he remember your magicless origin. Slowly, he looked back up to you or he looked over you. Ears round, teeth duller, unmistakably human. Oh how his grandmother would die hearing this. “Pardon me,” he excused his throat before bringing a hand up to his chin in a thoughtful gesture. “I didn’t know that this place was inhabited. I had always though it was…abaondon.”

Suddenly, the realization of your sleeping situation became more embarrassing. Glancing back at Ramshackle you couldn’t help but stare at the obvious holes in the walls and the cracks in the foundation. The whole dorm seemed to creak and groan with every gust of wind, moaning in pain as it stood on its last limbs. “Oh well,” you muttered quietly before turning back to him. “It’s sort of a fixer-upper. I just moved in…sort of.”

“Hmm,” he hummed quietly as he looked from the wreck of a building to you. “How unfortunate, I would come here often to admire the gargoyles. Such a shame it’ll be changing soon.”

“Oh,” you looked back over at the building as he mentioned the added detail. It was then did you notice the large and monstrous looking gargoyles that adorned the outline of the dorm’s roof. There was something about them that gave the building charm, which could be bad depending on how you looked at it. “I hadn’t noticed them,” you looked back and saw his rather disappointed expression at the comment. “Actually…did you know they added gargoyles to ward off evil spirits? That’s why they were placed in more religious settings, but actually they acted as rain spouts for the building so they were functional and-”

Your words slowly got tuned out by Malleus. A sense of shock and an undercurrent of longing washing over him. Gargoyles, the one thing he hadn’t expected anyone else to know about due to past experiences. Interesting, he thought, I knew there was something mentioned about shared interest but this…slowly, he came back to reality as he realized you were still talking. He didn’t know if it was the topic or the way you spoke but you sounded melodic, heavenly even. “Intersting,” he slowly smiled, his sharp teeth showing. “I didn’t think anyone else shared the same passion for gargoyles as I did.”

His words made you freeze, embarrassment crept up into you as your cheeks reddened. “Sorry,” you laughed nervously as you ran your hand on the back of your neck. “I just thought they were cool so I did some research when I was younger and I guess I remember some stuff.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he chuckled softly before looking down at you with a growing smirk, “I find it rather amusing that you know all this information.”

“Oh,” you muttered quietly with a smile. Suddenly, the strange pulling sensation came again. The urge to step closer to him grew stronger as you two spent more time together. Weird, we only just met. He seemed to notice your thinking, judging by the way his face turned. It feels as if we’re on the same wavelength…”So, uh…what’s your name?”

Names, he forgot. You two are essentially strangers and he’s already seem to fall in love with you. “My name,” he muttered quietly. If only it was so easy. He knew he wouldn’t imprison you or force you to be his pet but he doesn’t know if the feeling is the same visa versa. If only you were a fae like him, or…if only he was a human. “Unfortunaly,” he started quietly, “I can’t give you that. For names have power.” He noticed the slight drop in your expression, clearly it wasn’t a response you were expecting. “But…we could exchange something else.”

“Something else,” you repeated softly, curiously. You thought quietly to yourself before suddenly getting an idea. “How about nicknames? That way we could still call each other something!”

“Nicknames,” he mused quietly before smiling and nodding. “I like that. What ideas do you have?”

“Uh,” you suddenly quieted down after being put on the spot. Looking around for ideas you were met with nothing but natural beauty of the world around you and soft silence. If only you two had known each other earlier, that way it would have been easier to come up with some nicknames. “How about…hornton? You know,” you looked up at him before putting two fingers on your head, mimicking horns. “Because of those.”

The answer only seems to humor him. Chuckling softly, he brought a hand up to his mouth to hide his smile. “How amusing,” he hummed quietly before crossing his arms and looking down at you. “Well if we’re going with things that are obvious then how about I call you Child of Man? Because you’re…”

“Human,” you mused quietly with a growing smile. It was as if the air between the two of you shifted into something lighter, lovelier. You two were so caught up in the topic that you hadn’t noticed the strange pulling session growing stronger…or the two approaching figures in Diasmonia uniforms. 

“Lord Malleus!” A sudden voice from afar called out frantically.

Malleus sighed as he looked towards the voice before back down at you. “Seems I have to go, I hope we meet again.”

“Me too,” you smiled and looked over at the area the voice had come from. “Maybe we could-” you turned back to him only to see he was gone. Nothing but a cloud of glowing green fireflies stood in his place. It was as if he had suddenly vanished, and so did the sensation…

–

“How cruel,” Malleus muttered to himself as he sat near the window of his dorm room. Looking down at the red string so melodiously tied around his pinkie that only seemed to grow in the moonlight. “How cruel indeed….”

Lilia watched from the doorway, arms crossed and mouth shut. His lips pursed together as his brows furrowed. Never had he once seen Malleus so distraught, it was as if the sky started to turn gray and gloomy, the clouds storming overhead. Slowly, he closed the door and turned back to walk down the hallway. “His grandmother needs to hear about this…”

[ryllen]

kh when it leaks to twisted wonderland

[alice-everafter]

“in the bowels of a mountain, you learn what devotion means when done of your own volition.”

<<< pt. 1

word count: 7.3k tw: overall dark themes, extreme depressive episodes, suicidal language / mindset, gore, acts of violence (animal death, rough handling, biting), mentions of force feeding (but like not in a kink way, in a "you're depressed and he's not the best person for the job" way), mentions of vomiting, background character death, promiscuous undertones.

The sky above that can be seen through the opening at the top of the cavern is a mix of deep blue and fading orange. You can feel the start of winter taking shape now that the sun’s warmth barely reaches the stone floor at the bottom. It leaves your fingers more numb than not. Your teeth more clenched than usual. Your skin drier than it should be.

Most of your very limited energy supply goes into huddling in on yourself and getting up to use the bathroom.

You haven’t spared a glance at the berry bush he has brought in today. It now sits off to the side, stinking with the sickly-sweet beginnings of rot.

He sleeps away the day like you sleep through the night. You are surrounded by his scaled body to keep the cold at bay. You do not know what he will think of the mess, what he will do to you when he sees it. Maybe he already knows and is merely waiting for the cover of night to act on his verdict.

Because how could you. You should be ashamed of yourself for not taking the gift so easily given by a being so much greater than you. But you don’t. More so, you can’t. It is like your emotions sleep just as much as you do. That should panic you, but there is little of that left too.

Your body urges you, as it always does, towards unconsciousness. Where you know no dreams await. Only pitch-black silence. You go willingly, almost eagerly.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You awaken to the dark, but not the one behind your eyes. It must’ve not been very long since you closed them.

“Why haven’t you eaten?”

Uncomfortably slowly, your eyes refocus on your destiny in its human skin. Gazing down at you with no particular expression. It feels like déjà vu.

You should answer him. Your lips ache when you attempt to open them.

“Tired,” Is what you manage to croak.

He blinks, then turns away.

You think that’s it; he will leave you here to rot like the gift he gave you. It is what you deserve but you still have to swallow down what feels like vomit settling in your throat.

Between one blink and the next, he’s back with a cup. Your cup, the one he’s been using to give you water from the large cauldron.

He doesn’t ask before he cradles the back of your head, pulling you up and pushing the cup to your lips. You drink only because your body acts for you. His grip tightens and you instinctively fall limp. He continues to stem the enthusiasm behind your desperate sips with firm clenches of his hand.

When your throat no longer feels as dry, he pulls away. But he doesn’t release you. He picks you up like you weigh nothing, which you’re sure you do. Still, embarrassment warms your cheeks.

“You do not have to,” you mutter, letting your head roll back against his solid human shoulder. He doesn’t respond. He leaves with you in his arms.

You’re not sure where he is taking you. Maybe to drop you off deep within the forest, where he will not have to see your sorry state. The night is bitterly cold, but his chest where you’re pressed against is still warm. You lean into him, thinking it’ll be your last chance to soak it in.

Then he stops, as still as a statue, so abruptly you brace for some form of impact. He lowers himself to the ground—shifting your weight to one of his arms—to grab something off the forest floor, then throws it. Whatever it was cuts through the air with an audible sound, sharp like an arrow. Yet he barely moved his arm enough to jostle you. He must’ve hit something, for you can hear the faint thud of the object hitting its mark in the distance.

He continues walking while you wonder if this is a dream, even though you haven’t had one in a fortnight.

The smell of metal abruptly cuts through your daze. Your eyes are drawn toward the ground, where what looks like a large rodent lies on its side. It isn’t until he crouches down that you realize that coppery smell is blood. Blood from this animal that’s missing a chunk of its skull. Blown clean off along with one of its long ears. You think you see its back legs momentarily twitch when he grabs it. You turn your face into his shoulder to smother the panicked noise that almost leaves your throat.

“Will this suffice?”

Shaken, you’re not sure what he means at first.

“Will you eat this instead?”

“… Oh,” you breathe, truly wondering if you are dreaming. “I… I can, yes.”

He nods, then sets the limp carcass in your lap.

You think your heart stops beating for a second. Then you’re certain it does as the whole world turns black.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You open your eyes and you’re back in his cave. It still stinks of overripe fruit and it’s still dark.

“You said that you could eat it.”

He is in his human form, and there is a dead hare with half a skull next to him where he sits.

“… It wasn’t a dream…?”

He gives you a look that you’re almost proud to describe as bewildered. Then you remember your place.

“I mean,” you stumble. “Yes, I can eat it. I didn’t lie to you. But… not raw.”

“Oh,” he vocalizes, face returning to its typical blankness. “Then how can you eat it?”

“With… um, by cooking it. With fire.”

He reaches for the body and inhales, deep and low. Until your nose can pick up the beginnings of brimstone and the air seems to quiver with heat.

“WAITwaitwait—” You choke on your own frantic words, hard enough to make your vision swim. By the time you get your breath back, you hesitantly crack open your teary eyes. Relief makes your shoulder sag when you see him held still, the hare still hanging in his grasp but thankfully uncharred.

“You can’t… You have to get it’s fur off, I believe. Before you cook it. Nor can you just burn it. It needs to cook slowly over a steady flame.”

“All this just so you can eat?” He sounds genuinely perplexed by how tedious your human needs are. “How exhausting.”

Yet you have a slightly burned portion of cooked meat by the time the moon is well into the sky. He had listened and followed what you needed. Grabbed a ceremonial knife more beautiful than some of the most eccentric pieces of jewelry you’ve seen and went to work flaying the skin from off the hare. Had even gone out and got timber from outside to build a fire. You’re sat in front of said fire now. Holding onto the greasy meat with shaky fingers as you try and work up an appetite. His staring does not make it any easier.

“You are usually gone around this time, yes?” Your mouth is moving before you can think better of it. “You don’t need to… monitor me. I will eat.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “You will eat.” He doesn’t move an inch. The way the light from the flickering flames bend across his face makes something kick up in your stomach, like the scuff of a boot across a dusty road. Sweat beads across the back of your neck.

“I’ll eat…” You echo, trying to convince not just him but yourself.

Every prolonged second you take to look at the meat in your hands just makes your stomach churn more and more. You try and think of what he will do, what he could do, but not even that kick starts your appetite like you had hoped.

But then he is moving, standing up to prowl closer. Your eyes close, and you feel nothing but calm. The meat leaves your fingers. Your eyes snap open in your confusion. He is kneeling before you, pulling apart a piece from the thigh and holding it up to your lips.

“You will eat,” he repeats, and there is no room to dispute it. So, you shakily open your mouth and let him push the morsel past your lips, even if it makes you gag.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You wake the next day surrounded by his scaled body. The air is bitterly cold. Off to the side, a light sprinkling of snow lays in a circle below the cavern’s opening. The bush of berries is gone.

You lift yourself up on steady hands and it doesn’t feel quite so much like a chore. There is a subtle energy in you that you have been without for a while now, you realize. It lets you shift and squirm, until your back presses flat against a section of his scaly side. Heat touches across every point where you two meet and it stems the urge to shiver.

‘You forget your place,’ you can hear the mistress tut. ‘You are spoiled by the hearth, by its warmth. You must not become fat with your indulgence, with comfort.’

She was right, because you cannot stop yourself. You fall into that heat like you would fall into dreams, softly settling in and drifting off without a worry on your mind.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

The next time you awaken, it is because of your bladder. As quick as your sluggish limbs can carry you, you make for the outside to relieve yourself. In your frantic scamper to get back where it’s warm, you forget to be careful of how loud your steps are. When you’re able to see his form again, you catch one of his eyes already peeled open and watching.

“I am sorry,” you quickly say. “It is so cold now, I did not mean to wake you.”

He says nothing, obviously, but he does huff out his nose, expelling a small puff of smoke.

“Do you not feel cold too?” You’re asking before you can think otherwise, settling down in the spot you had previously taken up before you left. Instantly, you sigh, grateful for his toasty warm scales.

He moves his head towards you. His stare is as blank as ever, and even with only one eye open you can gleam what his gaze is meant to say.

“I guess that should’ve been obvious.” You nod, thinking. “But still, what if. What if I come back and you are frozen solid. What then?”

Another huff, this one far deeper and growl-like. You think this is his version of a humored scoff in this form.

You purse your lips. “So, it’s an outlandish thought. Shame on me, then.”

He grunts in agreement, you assume.

This time, you are the one that huffs.

All is relatively quiet, and in the silence that settles as he closes his eye back up, you notice the otherwise unnoticed. The faint echo of bird song, the occasional whoosh of wind, the deep, slow breaths he makes. Every single one making the side you are pressed against expand and deflate, moving you in a steady rhythm.

The motion is soothing. You start to understand why newborns are so easily consoled by repetitive movement. Were you ever soothed in such a way before? Did someone ever hold you when you were small and rock you? If they did, you can’t remember. Only the mistress’ firm touch remains. Before you can wonder any further, you fall asleep.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You awaken later in the day to his human form staring at you and your feet feeling particularly numb. Once he sees that you’re awake, he stands, reaching down to pick you up. He leaves with you cradled in the bend of his arm.

Like before, he treads through the thick underbrush of the forest without a wince and or second glance. His steps are rather quiet given the material he is stepping on. A combination of twigs and grass as well as the light sprinkling of snow from the night prior. To know that he lives here is one thing, but to see it is another. You lean against his human shoulder in confidence, but also because it is colder than the last time and your feet are truly feeling frozen even in your shoes.

He stops, and your heart kicks up before remembering the previous night. Looking out across the forest, you see nothing but the dull colors of late autumn covered in a thin layer of snow. No animal in sight. Yet he lowers to the ground, with you steady in one arm and the other grabbing hold of a loose stone. His eyes are trained in the distance, sharp and without a blink, as he pulls his arm back and throws. Such a casual motion shouldn’t produce the kind of whoosh that sounds as the rock pierces through the air. You try to track the path but ultimately fail, as the stone flies much too fast for you to follow.

He resumes walking while you’re left wondering how the entire force of an ancient dragon can be compressed down into the body of a singular human male.

This time it’s a badger that he scoops up. Grabbing it just below its front arms while the rest of its brains leaks out the top of its blown off head. You hold back your gag as he begins to retrace his steps. He stops for a moment, though, and lowers himself down again. Tilting you to the side where a pile of dry pine lies.

“Pick it up,” he tells you.

You listen, grabbing enough to cover your lap in dry branches and needles. Then he stands and continues on.

You watch in a stupor as he builds a fire over the embers of the last one with the pine. Then begins skinning the badger, removing its intestines and setting them to the side.

“What will you do with those?” You find yourself asking, watching the blood pool below the guts while trying to stem the urge to shudder.

“I will eat them.” He throws aside a tuft of fur stuck to his claws.

Now you’re really trying not to gag again. “Just like that?”

“I have done so before.”

“So, after I had… went to bed.” The proper term would’ve probably been passed out from the strain it took to choke down the meat he pushed past your lips. “You ate the entrails and fur of the hare?”

“Yes,” he replies while ripping the animal’s neck from its body. And like he’s making a point, he brings the remains of its skull up to his mouth where his jaw unhinges.

You whirl away from the sight and slam your eyes shut at the first crack of bone, clenching your own teeth hard against the rush of nausea. He crunches on bone like its nothing but stale crackers. It takes a monumental effort to breathe through the urge to vomit. The image of his mouth unhinging is stuck in your mind, branded behind your eyelids.

You don’t ask any more questions after that. You wait with your eyes shut until the smell of cooked meat fills your nose. He does not let you feed yourself. He breaks off pieces and pushes them into your mouth.

You are proud to say that you only choke a morsel back up once.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You are huddled into a ball on your side in the dark. The fire that cooked your food is nothing but ash. The intestines are gone and so is he. You had woken up because of the cold. Because your linen cloak is proving to no long be enough to stem the chill from invading your bones. Wrapping around yourself as tightly as you can, brushing your hands up and down your bare arms, you watch as snow floats through the opening to the bottom.

You are regretting ripping up your garments. If only you had had the foresight to know that he would be prolonging your stay.

You don’t know how long you spend pressed on your side, shivering. Curled up as tight as you can manage. But eventually, you hear the beat of his wings before you see him.

“You are awake,” he states as he drops to the cavern floor.

“T-Too cold,” you say with chattering teeth.

He sighs, low and drawn out, then moves towards you anyways. Like even though your needs are plenty and to take care of you is a bother, he still intends to go through with it.

“W-Where do you go?” You ask, “When you are away, what is it that you do?”

He pauses in his steps, his gaze heavy as he peers down at your huddled self.

“I fly,” he replies.

“That is all?”

“Mostly.”

“Y-You fly as a man?”

“Yes, at first. When I am far enough that I know no one will see, I change.”

“You… can only be yourself when n-no one is around to see?”

“Yes, otherwise they will worry and assume the worst. Assume it to be an omen of death.”

For some reason, it makes your heart heavy to know this.

“I-Is there no way to tell them?”

He cocks his head, which you take as a sign to elaborate.

“T-Tell the people, I mean. That you do not mean them any harm?”

“I could very well mean them harm, so that would be incorrect.”

“Oh, okay. I-I just mean… You do not mind then? T-That they view you as something to fear?”

“Why would I be when they are correct?”

You make to disagree, but then you’re reminded of his teeth and their bite, strong enough to break bone. Reminded of the fire he can breathe and how he can throw a stone so hard it can pierce through a skull.

He says nothing, but a sharp grin curls the corners of his lips up, devoid of any humor.

Between one moment and the next, he is back in his true form in a flash of light. His large body curls around you. You press flush to his side the moment you can, hoping for warmth and exhaling when that’s what you get.

You know that he is powerful, that he is something so much more than you will ever be. But it is in moments like these, where he lends you his own heat to chase off the cold, that you think he is not just something to be feared.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

“When do you eat?”

It is the next morning, and you ask this when you stare long enough at his face for an eye to open.

“During the day or the night?”

He grunts.

“Does that mean both?”

He huffs, then opens his maw wide in a gaping yawn. His teeth might be as big as your head.

“I will take that as a yes.”

Silence settles, but his eye remains open. Maybe your questions read so plain on your face that he decides to humor you by staying awake. Whatever it is, you take your chance.

“How long have you been here?”

His large eye blinks, then his head turns until both are trained on you.

“The stories from the valley say that you’ve been here for thousands of years.”

He grumbles.

“Is that not true?”

A huff, smoke blowing out of his nose.

“So, it’s not, then.”

Another grumble as he sets his massive head down with a slump. He closes his eyes, and you take that as an end to the conversation.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

“Am I not heavy?”

He is carrying you through the woods with another dead animal in hand.

“No.”

“Are all dragons this strong? Even while in human form?”

“Every other of my species is strong, but I especially.”

“Really?” A gust of cold wind prickles your skin. You lean closer to him. “What makes you especially powerful?”

“I just am.”

You wait for an elaboration. He does not give one.

“You were born powerful?”

“Yes.”

You get the impression from his tone that he is smug about this.

“Does that mean your mother was extremely powerful? And she passed it on to you?”

He does not say anything. Then you look up towards his face and see something shudder beneath the surface of his expression. You’d go so far as to call it regret.

“Yes, I believe she was.”

You do not need to be told the conversation is over. You can tell from his inflection alone, clipped and heavy with an emotion you can’t make yourself name.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

He is gone when you wake in the middle of the night, colder than you’ve been previous. You shudder so hard your joints ache. He returns to find you taking shaky pulls of air, balled up so tight you don’t know if you’ll ever come undone. He reverts back to his scaled form, curling around you especially close.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

“Can you truly not feel how cold it is?”

You come back from a frantic trip to the outside with the question off your tongue the second you see his green eye watching your return.

He responds with a grunt as you all but throw yourself against his side, pressing your face to his scales.

“I do not know what I am to do when it gets to the worst of the winter.”

He doesn’t respond, and you don’t need him to. You’re too busy selfishly soaking in his warmth.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

“Here.”

Something heavy and thick falls on top of you, making your limbs flail as you wake with a start.

He is in his human form. The sun has started to set, bathing the cave in the dim, residual light of day. In your lap is another cloak but with fur inlaid inside and lining the edges. It looks regal, made with the softest fabric you’ve ever had the pleasure of touching.

You caress the fur with careful fingers. “Where did you get this?”

“I acquired it from a caravan.”

“Did you… take… it?”

“I acquired it.”

“Like you acquired all your other possessions?”

“Yes. Is the garment suitable to your needs?”

Already, with just your legs covered, you feel warmer. “Yes, I believe so.”

“Good.” And then he settles behind you.

He is only ever this close to you when he is in his draconic form. To have him so near while he is dressed as a man makes you tense.

“Does this form not please you?”

You look over your shoulder to see his face. It is blank, like it usually is. Except somewhere in your mind you have started to gain the impression that what you see is not all that there is.

Maybe he is curious about you too. Maybe you are not the only one with questions.

“It does not, not please me.” You pick at the dry skin of your cuticles. “I’m… Since I was a child, I was not allowed to be near unfamiliar people. People who were not of the congregation.”

He hums, eyes narrowing.

You continue, “The mistress was my primary caretaker. She took care of all the other, um, others like me. If she saw me now…”

It is a thought that you only allow yourself to ponder in the dark, when the shadows have faces and the wind starts to sound like the call of your name. If she were to see you as you are now, what would she say? What would she do? Would she scold you? Shame you? Berate you? Would she remind you of your duty, your purpose? Would she wrap her bony hands around your throat just to finish the job herself?

“She will never see you again.”

His eyes have not strayed from you once.

“You will not be leaving here long enough to find out.”

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

Later that same evening, you ask again while held in the crook of his arm.

“How long have you been here?”

He does not respond. You wait, watching his black horns blend in with the night. For a second, you could believe he was a regular man.

“Long enough to have seen your original ruler abandon this valley.”

You feel like you stop breathing.

“… How, why…?”

“He felt stagnant.”

“…”

“So, he left, giving me his possessions and a territory to call my own.”

How cruel. The very being you were given to was never your true intended to begin with.

“Why…”

His eyes lower to you, even as his head does not follow the movement. “Are you displeased?”

Whatever it is that churns in your gut like a storm, calling it displeasure would be an understatement. All you know is that every lesson, every story, every bit of reality that was carved painstakingly into your brain until nothing else remained was for naught.

“… Won’t you tell me the full story?”

His eyes are so, so green. No field of grass or fully grown evergreen could compare.

“Please, tell me something true. Do not lie, it will ruin me.”

Somewhere in your mind, you do not care if he does or not. Let him break you, let him be the final straw. It wouldn’t be what you were promised, but it would be good enough.

“My mother did not survive my birth.” His eyes seem to shimmer, even in the dark. “I was too much for her to bare, he told me. And by he, I refer to the previous ruler. He was a companion of my mother’s, nearly her mate, unfortunately. He raised me after she returned to the heavens. Then, when he felt that he had done his job, he left me with his possessions and position.”

It has started to snow. Thick clumps of white flutter occasionally make it past the thick canopy and settle on the ground, the bushes, his hair, and his long lashes.

“There are not many of us left. We may be far apart, but he will visit me still. The last I heard from him, he had started caring for a small human child. Foolish, I thought him. What merit does something so finite have?”

He stops walking. The two of you are back at the cave’s entrance. The snow falls in full now, uninhibited by the trees. The white flakes against the black of his hair make you think of stars gleaming amongst the darkness of the night sky. His gaze is a heavy burden. It feels like he is looking through you, past skin and muscle and bone. Straight to the heart of you.

What could he possibly find in that empty hollow? What even is there to look at, besides a human made of flesh and fueled by false purpose? What made you worth keeping here? All of these questions and more are sitting ripe on your tongue, just begging to be answered.

“Dragons believe in heaven?” Is what manages to be the first question out of your mouth.

And abruptly, incredibly, he laughs. A full chuckle that you can feel rumble in his chest.

“You are strange, Child of Man.” It sounds like a compliment.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

“Why Child of Man?” You ask while watching him gut yet another animal.

“It is what you are.”

“Before, you had just called me a human child.”

“That is also true.”

“Well, I have a name, wouldn’t you rather have that?”

“No,” his tone is sharp, leaving no room for debate.

Except you ignore it, while also ignoring the phantom voice of the mistress, scolding you for your arrogance. “Why not?”

“Because names have power.”

He finishes setting aside the last of the entrails, breathing deep to exhale a stream of green fire that catches instantly against the dry timber.

“Is that why you have not given me yours?”

He looks up from what he’s doing.

“You have not asked.”

You blink. “So, if I asked, you would give it.”

“No.”

You scoff, something you haven’t done in ages, but feels as natural as breathing. “How would I be able to have power over you, anyway?”

“It is not just about power.”

You wait for an elaboration. He does not give one.

“What should I call you then?”

“Create something.”

By the time he is breaking off pieces for you to eat, you mumble “Hornton,” under your breath with a wince. His face does not indicate that he heard you, even though you are sure that he did. And for that, you are grateful.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

Your ears are frozen, and so are your cheeks. Your nose leaks as you sniff just about every second while standing near the river’s edge. Your hair is more oily than not. Though your new cloak has thus far retained its regal red color, the one beneath it is more gray than white. Stained by dirt and ash and probably vomit and the occasional splatter of blood from when he first dropped a hare in your lap. It makes the golden thread embroidered into it seem almost insignificant compared to the state of ruin the rest of it is in.

You have been gone longer than usual. You should hurry. With trembling fingers, you unclasp your top layer and remove your inner cloak. With your heart in your throat, but your mind made up, you throw your once-considered-sacred robe into the rushing waters.

You don’t stay to see it get lost in the rapids. Redonning your gift, you head back.

Now, no part of you retains any more gold. There can be no mistaking what you are.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

It is when the fire burns bright, and he has his hand on that ceremonial knife, that you let his cloak part at the bottom—pushing your legs closer to the fire, as if seeking its warmth.

He notices almost immediately. And even though your head is full of thoughts of your blood coloring the end of that golden blade instead, all he asks is, “Are you not cold?”

“… That is all you have to say?”

He regards you with those piercing eyes. Eyes that must surely be able to see the truth. How could someone so grand, so special, not be able to see what you are? Why does he keep someone as meaningless as you? A marionette with cut-off strings that refuses to stop dancing even though the show is over.

“I will get better garments to replace the ones you have. Thicker ones to ensure you are never cold.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You do not have to.”

“That’s it then? That is your response?”

“Eat.”

You open your mouth to keep pushing, but he forces a morsel of deer past your lips, making you splutter. He hands you a chalice of water like he expected this. He continues to push food into your mouth until you give up trying to protest. And when the fire starts to dim, he wordlessly fixes your cloak so that it covers your legs.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You are restless. You can’t remember the last time you’ve felt as such. You’ve never had a reason to be. Your whole life has been a steady race, a consistent path that’s been determined long before your conception. You’ve known what your purpose was before you could form full sentences.

‘Listen well, child,’ the mistress once said. ‘You alone are our savior. Your body will be what staves off the beast in the mountain from destroying our lives, our homes, our families. Only then will you, who has no family to speak of, gain what you’re missing in the afterlife. As long as you listen and do, as long as you remain the perfect vessel, you will be rewarded in the end. As is foretold by the ancient promise.’

An ancient lie, your darkest thoughts seethe. The lie who isn’t even the true beast of legends. The lie that hides himself amongst treasure so grand it could cause wars. The lie who sleeps on rock that’s been eroded to his shape. The lie that continues to keep you alive. Who gives you his warmth like its nothing. Who feeds you and gives you water. Who still sees you as part of his horde even though you are the farthest thing from gold. Who would see the entire valley destroyed just to ensure you stay.

The sun shines bright through the top of the cavern. It must be midday, for the cold is not as biting as usual. You stand, hugging your cloak close as you step carefully toward where his draconic head rests against the floor. He opens one of his serpentine eyes as you approach. There are no words exchanged, he knows you need to relieve yourself at least once a day.

As you walk, you remember your first steps taken within these cave walls. Unsure, hesitant, yet steadfast in your resolve. Now you step with an ease that comes from familiarity but with no true purpose.

Outside is even brighter, covered in white and illuminated by the sun. You take it in with an eerie sense of calm. Then, after unclasping your cloak and letting it fall to the ground, take off running. Right through the pristine, untouched snow.

You run like you’ve never done before. Pumping arms and pounding steps. Stumbling over concealed roots and rocks but uncaring of the noise you’d be making. You run like your friend once did, when the house was silent and the mistress was busy. She ran through the fields for the tree line behind your care home with reckless abandon, with hope in her heart. You watched her go, then watched the kingdom’s cavalry pursue her. They came back no sooner than had they left with blood dripping from their lances.

Your heart drums in your ears along with the thump of your feet. Your heels ache with the beginnings of blisters. These shoes were never made for running, but you keep pushing. You push until your lungs ache too and your mind runs just as fast with thoughts of the others just like you. Who ran into these woods thinking they escaped their fate only to die from starvation and dehydration. You run, and run, and run, and run, until you’re certain he will finally know that—

The silence breaks, shatters from the bellowing roar that sounds from over your shoulder and meets you with enough force to shake the snow from off the trees.

Your steps falter then cease all together as you tumble head over heels into the powdery white forest floor. And even though your legs tremble with fear and your limbs feel frozen through, you’ve never felt so alive. You force yourself up with gritted, chattering teeth, lips pursed against the manic smile that you can feel trying to break through on your face, and keep running. Past rows upon rows of trees, past rock formations and frozen ponds until the forest suddenly breaks off and you’re sprinting through an open field.

You wonder if this is how your friend had felt, drunk on hope and the pains of living as the lances came down upon her shoulders. Except in your case, it is not a lance that awaits you. It’s something so much more.

You are on the ground one moment, and the next you are not. Picked up like a kitten with a swipe of his massive claws. You think you might faint as the ground gets further and further away, as your ears throb from the sudden gain in height. The wind cuts right through you and chills you to the bone the faster he flies.

You laugh, wildly and unafraid.

Between one blink and the next, he has landed back in the center of his riches. He releases you from his grasp and you roll with the force of it. Landing on your back on the rocky ground, forcing what little air you have left from your lungs. In a flash of light and a surge of heat, he’s there. Caging you in with his strong human arms. Those green, reptilian eyes of his narrowed down to mere pinpricks.

“What is the meaning of this, Child of Man?” He growls, smoke puffing past his lips with every word. “Was my promise of destruction not enough? Shall I go down and find that mistress of yours, make sure she never breathes another breath again?”

“Yes,” you wheeze, still cold beyond words but warming just from his proximity. “I think I’d like that, yes.”

His face contorts into something peeved. “You find this amusing, do you? I will fly with you in my talons so you can watch as I burn down everything you’ve ever known.”

“I heard you the first time,” you huff, a cut-off manic giggle. “And I’m saying I’d enjoy it.”

Whether it's the buzzing beneath your skin or the flight having scrambled what’s left of your mind, your body chooses to reach for him. Cupping his face between shaky fingers.

“I don’t actually care for them, if I’m being honest. The very foundation they stand on is built on nothing but lies. And I’ve decided I no longer stand for lies. So, tell me, you who now rules these mountains, what do you expect of me?”

He is still angry, to the point of near snarling. You imagine what it would be like if you were beneath his dragon form instead and find the thought strangely exciting. Yes, that flight definitely made you lose the last bit of sanity you had left.

He seems be battling with something internally before finally snapping, “You foolish thing. Your purpose is to stay with me until your pathetic body can no longer sustain itself.”

“You speak the truth? Truly?”

“Fool. Lies are the sins of the human psyche. Beings such as I do nothing but speak the truth.”

You’re trembling, and you don’t know what from. All you can think about is him. This being bigger than you could’ve ever imagined. Who vowed to make sure you were never cold again.

“I’m cold,” you plead, and you don’t even care if it sounds like a whine. There is no mistress here to berate you, and there never will be. “Where is my cloak? I left it so it wouldn’t tear on a stray branch while I was running.”

“I should burn that insolent mouth of yours shut,” he rumbles while your hands remain cupped over his cheeks.

“Will you? If you do, I won’t be able to eat. Would you have my body fail so soon?”

“Silence,” he hisses with a breath of smoke straight to your face. Your eyes water as he backs off between one cough and the next. But then you’re being covered by a familiar piece of clothing. “The next thing I bring back will be shackles to chain you with.”

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

“How do mates work?”

He made good on his words. Not only do you have new, thick garments for the rest of winter, but there are a pair of gold encrusted manacles set off to the side near where you two rest each day. Lying in clear sight as a reminder of what would happen if you were to try and run again.

He has gotten you a fish this time. He’s been diligently descaling it for the past ten minutes. “A mate is your chosen, your protector and provider. The one who will wait out eternity with you.”

“That sounds very romantic.”

“It is not. It is the one who would fight your battles until their last breath. The one willing to give you everything without question.”

“Again, very romantic.”

He huffs, a sound you’ve come to thoroughly enjoy since figuring out how to make him do it consistently.

“Do you have one?”

“No.”

“Would you like one?”

“There is no need.”

“How come?”

“Caring for your human condition takes up more than enough of my time.”

“Would that make me your mate?”

He stops abruptly, eyes finding you across the fire with a quick flick. You don’t shy away. The weight of his gaze is becoming more and more manageable the longer you’re at the end of it.

“You are… not my mate.” His eyebrows furrow. “You are something else entirely.”

You hum, considering what that could mean while he goes back to preparing your meal. The sounds of the fire echo off the cavernous walls. It reflects across the glossy black expanse of his horns. You wonder if he would let you touch them one day.

“You were meant to eat me.”

He looks up again.

“My purpose was to sustain you with my body. In hopes you would sleep for another year, leaving the valley at peace.”

“You could never even dream of sustaining me for a full year on that frail flesh.” He huffs yet again, offended by the notion.

“So you’d never take a bite out of me?”

“No, the force of my bite alone would probably break your fragile bones.”

“Even if I asked?”

He stares while the fire crackles and pops. You watch as a hot ember shoots into the air then slowly falls back down.

“To bite is to own,” he begins, low and with severity. “It is how pairs show that they belong to one another.”

“And?” You tilt your head. “Do I not belong to you?”

He’s quiet again, contemplative. You think that’s the end of it, but then he drops the knife as he stands. Among the clothes he found and gave you, there had been blankets. You are sat upon one now as he guides you onto your back. Caging you once again beneath his human body.

“Your mouth never stops moving,” he states while unclasping your cloak. “It is any wonder how you survived this long with such deplorable manners.”

“You are the one who humors me,” you defend yourself, more than a little breathless as he unbuttons your overcoat, then your undershirt. Until he gets a clear view of your bare shoulder.

He hums, eyes hooded. “I should punish you for such a comment.”

Then he leans down, his hot breath fanning over your exposed skin before he clamps his jaw onto the meat of your shoulder.

His elongated canines are so sharp you don’t even feel them as they pierce your skin. It is just pressure, extremely hard pressure. Hard enough to make you initially buck up out of reflex. But then he growls around your flesh and you forget all about the instinctive panic. The pain eventually starts as an ache that gradually spreads. It makes your heart thump faster and faster and your fingers tremble. Your blood runs cold and yet your skin feels hot. It is fear and elation and betrayal and security all at once. Your legs shift and he’s there pressing even further down onto you. His wings, normally pulled in tight to his back, spread out wide, giving you a magnificent eyeful of their full span.

It feels like forever passes and yet no time at all when he eventually releases you. Liquid swells and drips down the back of your shoulder, blood. It must be staining your undershirt the same way it does his lips. You watch his forked tongue slither out and swipe across his reddened lips.

You realize you are panting. His legs still bracket your own, so there is no getting up for you yet. He reaches down with a taloned hand and swipes at a trail of blood that had slid near your collarbone. You think you shiver a little.

“Have you any other qualms, Child of Man?”

“Tell me your name?” You do not need to look too closely anymore to know that he bristles just the slightest. “And I will tell you mine, as a trade.”

He does not say anything for a long while. But then he’s raising himself back up, and you concede to defeat. But it is after you’re done eating and you’re leant back against his chest that his lips skim atop your ear as he whispers.

“Malleus.”

You do not repeat it. You lean back, feeling your shoulder twinge where his bite will eventually come to scar, and give him yours.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

[alice-everafter]

"your fate has been decided, and nothing can stop destiny. except your destiny is not what was promised to you, for better or worse."

pt. 2 >>>

word count: 5.2k tw: overall dark themes, mentions of vomiting, harmful homelife (it's yours, but like fictionally), suicidal / depressive language (also in relation to you, fictionally, and hopefully not actually)

"He will be pleased with you, my dear."

The woman who slips on your shoes won't stop telling you this. No one has stopped telling you this. Since you awoke this morning, it's all you've heard. While you bathed your last bath, while your hair was combed one final time, while you're dressed in your last set of white robes, while your body gets weighed down by all the gold clasped to your wrists and shoulders for the first and final time.

You hear it until you can't anymore. Until their murmurs are lost to the autumn winds of the mountain, as the procession stays and watches you proceed further up the path. Before the maw of a gaping cavern.

Then you're the only one left to remind yourself as you take one steady step after another into the darkness. Towards him, the being you belong to. Your promised destiny.

He, who is bigger than you could've ever imagined, is waiting for you there. A dragon covered in violet and black scales, with the greenest serpentine eyes. A noble being from legends with steps that shake the earth and fire on his tongue.

You hope he is pleased, you think as you close your eyes against the smell of ash.

Beneath the darkness behind your eyes, you hear his massive body scrape the sides of the cave. You picture yourself crushed beneath boulders and dust. You keep your eyes firmly shut.

Air brushes past you like a whip. Displaced from his tail, thrashing. You picture yourself pierced upon it. Your eyes stay closed.

His lumbering walk echoes across the rock. A pounding, steady tempo that rattles your brain. You picture your body torn to shreds by his talons. Your eyes remain shut.

The noise is receding. The echoes quiet down to silence. The only noise left to ricochet in your skull is your own pounding heart.

You open your eyes.

He is gone. Returned to the dark from which he emerged.

You don't know how long it takes to finally come to terms with the fact that he has left you. The sun is still at your back, a reminder of the unblocked escape.

You follow after him instead, wishing the light a parting goodbye.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You walk blind. Steady, sweeping steps are your only guide as you slowly chase after your promised resting place.

But then your eyes start adjusting and adjusting further still. You realize that must mean that there is light where you are headed.

You don't know whether to be disappointed or embarrassed that you said your final goodbye a bit too soon.

Your path starts to expand, widening until you are standing before the bowels of a massive open cave. A hollow impression that travels all the way up to the top, where a single opening lets the sun touch the bottom.

You've never seen so much gold in your life. You didn't even know so much gold could exist at once in the same place. It is scattered and stacked everywhere. It reflects the light coming in from the top across the entire expanse of the cavern.

It even reflects off the bright green of his eyes.

He lies in the center of his riches, nestled in a spot in the ground that dips lower than the rest. Like it's been eroded to his shape from repeated use.

His head is raised while the rest of him remains prone. His body encircles itself into a pose reminiscent of the cat behind your care home, napping in the fields.

You're not sure where to go, what to do. You didn't plan to still be alive to be able to think these sorts of thoughts.

You move to hug the wall, pressing your back against the nearest surface. Taking care not to touch even the slightest bit of treasure. You let your legs give out and slide yourself to the ground with a heavy slump.

You're asleep before you even realize it.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You awaken, and you know you haven't been unconscious long. The light still sits the same amongst the gold.

But he has moved closer. Perched as still as a statue. With eyes only for you.

You've seen something like this before. The cat that slept behind your care home would hunt the mourning doves in a similar fashion. By staying very still until the opportunity to strike arises.

The scent of brimstone tickles your nose. Your robes are the same color as those mourning doves. But unlike them, your wings have been clipped a long time ago.

There is a grave tension in the air that stops you from closing your eyes. You always pictured your final memory being the darkness, but the sight of the light gleaming off his scales isn't so bad either.

For a stretch of time, nothing happens, no one is moving. Does he wish to give chase? Is your form so boring that he requires further entertainment?

But then you start to really take notice of his positioning. The way his body is turned to the side, as if he wishes to shield the sight of his riches from you. Much more defensive than you initially thought. Then you remember that you are technically in his home. You are a guest in his territory. And the mistress always told you that a proper guest brings gifts upon arrival.

Slowly, you raise your hands. He is so still that if it weren't for the way his eyes track your movement, you'd think he was rooted to the ground. Behind your neck, you unclasp a chain of gold. Holding it high for him to see before lobbing it towards the nearest pile.

For the first time, you are privy to the sight of him blinking.

Your body takes that moment to remind you that you should be sleeping. Now that the air no longer smells like it will spark, you close your eyes and retreat back to unconsciousness.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

When you next open your eyes, it's because he is moving. A combination of both stalking and slithering through his collection of artifacts toward the exit at your side. He barely regards you as he passes. You listen to his steps get further and further away.

You wonder if you should follow.

Your body decides for you. It begs you to sleep, and thus you do.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

Something is thrown at your feet, yanking you from your dreams.

It's a branch of mulberries. Well, an entire bush of them. There is dirt still clinging to its roots.

You look up and spot the beast returning to its preferred spot. Taking practiced loops around the depression in the ground before slumping down with a deep huff.

The weight of his large body hitting the ground displaces some of the gold off his piles. You watch as coins and cups and jewels alike fall from their pillars, landing in spots where others just like them lie.

Maybe those treasures would've been at the top, once upon a time. Maybe they, too, had once been knocked from the tops of piles by the force of his settling.

How long has he been here for his habits to have been recorded in the very rock he sleeps on?

His eyes are closed now, and you think about closing yours too. Instead, you reach out to pluck the nearest berries from off the branches.

Idly, as you chew and contemplate his intentions, you wonder if this means he is displeased with you. Does he wish there was more to you? The mistress made sure you were more than amply fed before the parade.

You eat until your fingers are stained, until your body commands you to return to unconsciousness and leave these worries behind.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

It is the middle of the night, and you're only awake because your bladder demands it. You shuffle blindly through the dark just to do your business.

Eventually, you return, stopping to watch the way the moon's faint glow is reflected in the gold scattered across the space. You can't make out the beast, though. He must be too well hidden in the shadows.

Hoping you have not awoken him, you return to your spot and shut your eyes.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

Opening your eyes, you are greeted with his stare, already trained on you. It only takes you as long as it does to realize what he wants because of the lingering fog of sleep behind your eyes. But then you're unclasping another golden adornment and chucking it towards his collection.

You think, as you close your eyes, you hear him make a noise like a huff. Almost like a content sigh.

It feels comical to even consider. So much so that you can feel your painfully cracked lips lift in an amused smile before slipping back into unconsciousness.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You are not hungry, you conclude as your body forces you awake. But god, is your throat sore. And painfully dry. You lick your lips and wince at the responding sting.

It is night now. Thus, it takes your eyes longer to adjust to the subtle light of the moon and stars.

You have never been thirstier in your life. It's just about all you can think about. You didn't think you'd have to think about it, honestly. You didn't think you'd still be alive to be able to think.

You're not sure what your continued survival means, whether he's displeased or waiting for the right moment or not. At this point, it doesn't matter because you're just so damn thirsty.

You don't bother with being quiet, too busy staving off your raging headache as you stand on wobbly legs. Nor do you check to make sure the beast is even there.

All you concern yourself with is making it out of his cavern. Trying not to trip on your billowing cloak. Trying not to fall face-first because you're walking blindly through the darkness with a swimming head and a hollow stomach. You're not sure where your own swirling vision ends and the caves' pitch blackness begins.

Eventually, you can make out the end of the cave. Where the opening breaks off into a dirt-laden path that leads into the surrounding forest.

You try to remember where you could potentially find water. Except your feet get tripped up underneath you, tangled in your dragging train. What little breath you have gets knocked clean out of your lungs as you meet the ground.

And don't get back up.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

In your dreams, there is a breeze. Then a surge. A whirlwind that penetrates beneath your robes and makes your skin prickle with goosebumps.

In your dreams, there is a man. The most beautiful man you've ever seen. His hair is as dark as the night, second only in color to his horns. And his eyes are the most striking green. But unlike other men, this one even has wings. Spinal, webbed wings like those of your beasts.

He reaches for you with elegant hands, nails as long as talons. Mistress would not be pleased to know you have let a stranger touch you, dirty you.

But you cannot find it within yourself to care. Not when this stranger's touch is so light, like he's scared to break you. The last time you were treated this gently, it was the day you were to be sent as an offering.

Maybe this man could be your end. The beast obviously does not want you. But this man is collecting you in his arms like you are something precious.

The scenery blurs and ebbs. You're not sure where he is taking you, but his skin gives off the most comforting warmth. You hadn't even realized how cold your bones were. How numb your fingers feel.

But then something cold touches your lips. His finger, damp with liquid, traces and smooths over your cracked skin.

Water.

The next time he brings his hand up, you are ready. You drink from his palm, cupped full of cool water. So frantically, you end up vomiting it all back up. But he is patient and instead feeds you water in small increments until your head no longer pounds.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You are warm. The mistress must've started a fire. You probably fell asleep in front of the hearth again. She will surely scold you for possibly letting ash dirty up your hair.

It takes a mountainous amount of effort to peel back your lids, crusted as they are with sleep.

You are in the middle of a very familiar cavern. Surrounded by hefty piles of gold and jewels. The sun is high in the sky, perfectly lined up to shine its rays straight down into the belly of the cave from the opening above.

The sights are familiar enough, but it's the angle at which you are looking at them that seems wrong. If you didn't know any better, you'd think you were lying where the dragon would normally be—

A beastly huff sounds from directly next to you. You can feel it kick up your hair from the force.

Slowly, you turn your head to the side.

Black scales, climbing horns, a snout as long as your body, lying resting against the ground. He slumbers not even an arm's reach from you.

You are not sure how you got here, but you think it's important that you leave.

Sitting up takes longer than expected, purely because whatever ache has taken itself up in your muscles refuses to make your life any easier. The mistress once told you that creatures such as him have such superior hearing that a pin drop could sound like a thunderclap. Keeping a steady eye on him, you push up on shaky arms, moving extraordinarily slowly. There is a sizable gap in the semicircle of treasure through which you can make your way out. You'll just have to be careful not to trip over any spare coins or jewelry.

Eyeing your escape path, you shift to your knees and attempt to stand.

A growl, deep and rumbling, sounds from behind you. Strong enough to rattle your very bones.

Freezing in place makes the noise stop. You dare to turn your head toward the being at your back.

A singular eye is open and watching.

A shudder runs up your frame, sucking all the warmth you may have had from your veins.

"... I was just—" Your voice croaked like the worst frog imaginable. It takes more than a few swallows to clear it. "I was just about to leave. I never wanted to invade your place of rest."

That only seems to perturb him even more, starting the growl right back up again.

This wasn't right, nor was it good. He was supposed to be pleased with you. You didn't want to be a poor guest to him, unwanted.

"I'm sorry," you try not to sound pleading. That never does anyone any good, you've learned. "I don't want to upset you. What should I do to make this better?"

He answers by swinging his long, spiked tail around and planting it right in the path of your escape route.

"... You... do not want me to leave?"

He doesn't respond, naturally, but he has yet to resume growling.

You have a hard time believing this to be true. Just a few days ago, he was defending his possessions against you; now you are a part of it. What could have changed?

His eye is still trained on you, watching for something. You follow where you think his gaze is going.

Tradition details that when offering a tribute, the vessel must be adorned with gold. Thus, your white linen robes and cloak have golden thread embroidered across them. Patterns such as flowers, branches, animals, some more abstract-looking than others.

The thread catches on the high noon sun, reflecting just enough to get his attention.

Hesitantly, you start shuffling back to your previous position. Lying on your side, head tilted up towards his gaze, you watch in wonder as he seems to truly relax once he deems you back where you should be.

That electric green eye closes, and eventually you decide that so should yours.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You wake to a similar sight as before. Talons scrape against the sedimentary floor as he leaves. Sustenance, most likely.

You can feel your heart beating in your chest, another reminder of the life you still have. There is also the strain in your gut. You wait for as long as you deem it safe before rising, semi-unsteadily, to go and quickly relieve yourself outside.

Once finished, you promptly lie back down when you return.

Again, you escape to the quiet darkness behind your eyes.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

The beast returns not long after with another berry bush. You grab what you deem good enough to eat as he makes himself comfortable.

You eat until your hands are thoroughly stained and join him in slumber shortly thereafter. Feeling tortured with unanswered questions and unresolved promises.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

Waking the next day, you eat more berries to try to quench some of the thirst in your throat.

The beast stays asleep. Except somewhere in your gut, you feel like he is more than aware of where you are.

But if so, then what is he waiting for? What else do you need to do to satisfy him?

Your eyes are heavy. You have never been more tired. You lie back on the stone floor and sleep.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You're not sure what to make of it, you think as you arise from another dreamless sleep with a dry mouth. In your head, you are aware that he views you as part of his collection. But it's not truly you he wants. It's your clothes. Yet he does not need to keep providing you with food to keep your robes in his stash. Does he know that?

It makes you feel like a fraud. A garnish with no true sustenance in the grand scheme of the main course. How long will this waiting game last, you wonder.

You cough, and it leaves your chest tight and achy. He gets up suddenly, startling you, moving to grab a golden cauldron of sorts before leaving without another glance. Only to return with it sloshing full of water.

It does nothing but make the guilt in your chest spread like mold.

"Stop it." You wheeze, and he listens. Just a few paces away from where he always leaves you, in his usual sleeping spot. "Stop giving me these things. I'm not what you want."

He looks surprised, if you can even call it that. But all you can focus on is ridding the clothes from your back.

"Enough of this prolonging, just kill me already." You choke on the strangled feeling in your throat, throwing aside your cloak embroidered with blossoms and bunnies. "You were supposed to be done with me days ago, and yet I'm still here."

"It's ridiculous!" The cuffs of your shirt are next, where they're stitched in gold. You yank until they tear.

"This isn't what was promised!" The bottom of your billowing skirt follows, with its golden-trimmed hem.

"I've been nothing but perfect, all this time!" A gold band.

"I've followed every rule, every command!" A ring. Then another.

"And yet for what? What was it all for?! What is my purpose if not this!"

You could spend a millennium screaming, and it would never be enough. Thankfully, your throat stops you before you can get that far. Too dry as it is to produce any more sound.

"Please," you whisper, barely more than a whimper. "Why... Tell me."

Nothing except your heaving, crackled breaths can be heard. Your head swims, and your eyes ache with phantom tears. Your arms shake against the rock while your head hangs between them.

Eventually, when you start to choke on the dryness on your tongue, he moves, approaching.

You close your eyes. Let this be the end of it. Let this tired body finally serve its purpose. Let it happen like you were always told it would. In the dark, at the hands of something greater than you.

He sets down the cauldron; you hear its clang and the subsequent patter of spilt droplets. Then, between one breath and the next, a man speaks.

"I do not have your answers."

Anything you were previously thinking is abruptly cut off as you jerk your head up, eyes flying open.

He's tall, much taller than some of the biggest men from your village. Hair as dark as the rock he stands upon, with pale, flawless skin to contrast. Atop his head are horns, black and spiraled like your beasts'. And much like your beast, he also has wings. Even scales. Black with undertones of purple when the light hits them just right. Gathered over his crotch and hips like a pair of undergarments, but otherwise speckled across his entire body.

He is gorgeous. Terrifyingly so.

"Drink."

While your thoughts swirled with how similar his eyes are to your beasts', the man grabbed a chalice out of one of the beasts' many piles of treasure and filled it with water.

"Wha...? Who—"

"Drink." He commands, pushing the chalice to your lips.

The first touch is your undoing; you guzzle down the entire cup. Or at least try to.

"No," he chides. "Slowly, in small quantities."

You listen, because what else are you to do? He nods, satisfied with your compliance.

"Um," you clear your throat after a chunk of time, watching with pinched brows as he begins picking up and sorting what you threw from your person. "Who are you? How did you get here?"

"What do you mean?" He asks as he regards one of your rings. "I am your supposed promise, am I not?"

Your head throbs for more reasons than just dehydration. "You... cannot be my beast."

"Your beast?" His gaze snaps to yours, sharp with dissent. "I am no one's beast, human child."

"I— I apologize." You stammer as quick as you can, startled by his anger. "I am just... You are a man."

"Never."

"... Then this form is...?"

"Not my true one, merely another."

"... I was not made aware you possessed such an ability."

"Not many humans live to tell the tale."

He's picking through a specific section, seemingly trying to find the best place for one of your bracelets.

"... I do not understand."

"That is to be expected."

There's nothing else you can think to say. Too many thoughts and questions to sort through to pick just one. So, you watch as he painstakingly places every bit of gold you had into what he deems as its rightful place.

All except your cloak, which he picks up, ponders, then lifts his eyes to yours. He closes the distance in steady strides, then kneels down as he drapes the fabric across your bared shoulders.

Immediately, you feel warmer. But whether that's from the heavy linen alone or combined with his proximity, which strangely oozes heat, is up for debate.

"Every single one before you has left."

You blink, confused and still reeling from his closeness, before the context hits.

"They enter my cave, I let them gaze upon me, then they react. Whether they cry, scream, plead, or vomit does not matter. I return to my horde, and they do not follow."

This confession leaves you shaken. Not one of the offerings given has been received. He has been displeased with all of them. But if that were the case, why does the valley still stand? It should've been razed to the ground by now. If the words of the ancestors are true, like they should be, offerings were the peace that tied the valley with the Ruler of the Mountain. Yet, this ruler, kneeling before you in a man's skin, hasn't been taking a single one.

"Except you."

You can't remember if anyone has ever given you such undivided attention.

"You are the only one who dared to follow me."

There is barely any visible expression on his face to glean what he is feeling in this moment. But somewhere in the back of your mind, you imagine him grabbing you by your hips and setting you upon one of his many piles of riches.

"I do not care what your feeble, human mind chooses to believe. The fact of the matter is that you walked in here voluntarily. Thus, you are mine to do with as I please."

He folds the outer edges of your cloak around you, covering your numb limbs in the thick linen.

"You lost your chance to escape the minute I saw you in the light."

His nails are as long as claws, sharpened to a point. Yet he uses them so delicately to push back stray wisps of hair from your vision.

"... What if I need to relieve myself?"

"..."

"Would you have me urinate in your home? Near your horde?"

"You will go outside to take care of yourself. But if you do not return within the hour, I will fly down to the valley and make sure nothing remains."

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You awaken early the next morning, so much so that the sun has barely begun to shine.

You want to sleep. And keep sleeping, maybe forever if you can help it. But your eyes do not want to shut either.

Thus, you lie awake until the sun can be seen through the opening above. Feeling exhausted and jittery all at once. Dazed and melancholic for no particular reason, yet every single reason.

Eventually, your bladder demands attention. And as much as you don't really want to give it any, you know he will be displeased if you wet yourself like an unruly child.

You stand, bundling your cloak close against the chill over your skin. Curiosity wins out, so you turn to look at the being that has now decided to hold you hostage.

His eye is already open, watching. Back in his draconic form.

"... I need to pee."

He grunts, but doesn't shut it.

When you return, it is with an empty bladder and especially cold fingers. The temperature has taken a dive since you last went out. With the wind being just as unforgiving. Soon, snow will begin to fall.

You didn't think you'd ever see snow again.

Curling up on your side, as tight as you can, you close your eyes. And slowly, eventually, go back to sleep.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You're cold. It's the first thought churning in your cotton-stuffed mind. You can barely feel your fingers. Your teeth chatter to an almost painful degree.

You flip over to your other side, facing him.

He isn't there. You think you're seeing things at first, considering how fuzzy your mind is with sleep. Better yet, the lack of light for you to see. But even after your eyes take the time to adjust to the night, you don't see even the faintest reflection of his violet-black scales.

Your heart lurches as you sit up. Where could he have gone? To eat? But you didn't hear him like you usually do. Has he left? For good? But his treasure is still here. He wouldn't leave without it, surely.

Before you can panic any further, you hear the whip of the wind. Or rather, the sharp snap of someone cutting through it. Turning your gaze up, you see your answer.

In a split second flaring of his wings, the beast in a man's body hovers above you.

"You are awake," he comments. For a second, you fear that you should not have realized he left. But his expression is blank, like usual. Merely observing you.

He drops suddenly, and you reach out in a rush of adrenaline. He lands on his feet like he didn't just fall from an impressive height. Not even a wince to tell otherwise.

"... It's c-cold," you stutter, feeling the need to explain yourself.

He doesn't say anything at first. You imagine he's taking you in. Your hunched-over form, swaddled in your cloak, gritting your teeth to try and stop their chatter.

"... I see."

You think that's the end of it. Ready to try and resume your fetal position in the hopes of maintaining some warmth, you're interrupted by a lightning-quick spark of light and a rush of wind.

The man has turned back to its true form, with its massive wings and scaled body. He looms over you. Then looms closer still.

You close your eyes instinctually.

It is not what you expected, because you feel the strangest sensation against your back. Like a snake in its musculature, but so much bigger. Then you're being pulled from off the ground, abruptly tugged forward.

Something between a yelp and a gasp leaves your mouth before you're shoved into the hardest wall you've ever been against. Except it's not a wall, it's him. His tail, which pulls away now, had dragged you into the bend of his neck. Leaving you encircled and pressed up against him.

You're not sure what to make of this, and open your mouth to ask as such.

But... oh, he's warm. Borderline hot. You have to move away from any direct contact for fear of giving yourself a burn. He's like a fire. Like the hearth you so loved to sit and nap in front of, consequences be damned.

You realize that he's looking at you, gauging your reaction. Hesitantly, you nod.

He lowers his head at that, securing you in the circle of his long neck.

You stay there, for what other choice has he given you, in a mishmash of thought.

He truly does not intend to do anything with you. This being, a dragon with claws that chip at rock with barely a graze and a jaw that could swallow even the largest of animals whole, wants for nothing but to keep you alive. For how long, you wonder. Will there come a time when he gets truly sick of you? Will you have to wait it out, convince him of your true purpose? Should you even try? What right do you have to speak with a powerful creature such as him like an equal?

Maybe this is your true purpose? To join his horde. Be at the mercy of his whims until you're old and gray.

Your shivering eventually ceases, and steadily your skin begins to warm. But deeper still, in the hollowed-out cavity of your chest, something like hope pushes up through the bed of decay that it was buried under.

As quick as it buds, you stamp it out. Crushing it beneath your heel.

You have no use for that, you remind yourself. Replaying the words of the mistress.

'Remember, child. All your hopes should be buried by the time you stand before him. If not, he will know. And never forgive you.'

Desperately, swallowing around the tightness in your throat, you close your eyes. Until your lids hurt from the force, until your heart stops its insistent beating, until the tiny bloom is nothing more than a faint echo, barely even a memory.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

if a second part interests anyone, feel free to tell me in the comments :))

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Dating in a Dream - Malleus Draconia

SUMMARY: What if Malleus had caught you before you could escape Lilia's dream? What is his dream like? And how devastated is he after everything he caused?

CHARACTERS: Malleus Draconia x Reader 🐉🦐

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; In a Relationship (kinda); a little angst; Kiss

WARNING: Spoilers from Book 7 (Eng Server)

WORD COUNT: 6.970 words

COMMENTS: This was written as a companion piece to the original story, so the parts that are the same as the game are just summarized.

Just like with Lilia, I practically created a dream from scratch. And just like with Silver, I created a whole new scene in the castle.

A shout-out to Gemini that helped me with Malleus' dialogues since English isn't my first language. 😝

I hope you enjoy 🐉

Dating in a Dream: Idia / Epel / Rook / Vil / Kalim / Jamil / Floyd / Jade / Azul / Jack / Ruggie / Leona / Deuce / Cater / Ace / Trey / Riddle / Sebek / Silver / Lilia / (Malleus)

“There you are, Lilia.” Malleus reappears when you were all trying to escape Lilia's dream. “Whatever shall I do with you, hmm? Hahaha... Ahahahaha!”

The two fight each other with amused smiles on their faces.

“Now!” Lilia tells you as soon as he sees an opportunity for you to escape. “Get going, quick!” Still with a reassuring smile on his face.

“...I swear I'll wake you and everyone else from this slumber.” Silver says. “I have so much to tell you!”

“I'll hold you to that promise, Silver. See you when I wake! Night's blessings.”

"...Night's blessings!" He reciprocates, tears threatening to escape his eyes. “Those I've met and will someday... Meet in a Dream!”

While Silver's signature spell was still in effect, you heard a soft voice in your ear.

“Not this time... Not you...”

You felt like you were being transported through the air, like in the Dreamway, where Silver's signature spell always took you. But you weren't there. There was no blue sky and pink clouds, just darkness. Until you fall, luckily, onto something fluffy.

You open your eyes and realize that your fall was cushioned by a mattress. You look around, at first you thought you were in Diasomnia. Even the bed with the dark wood canopy and curtains where you were looked like theirs. But with a closer look, you realize that's not the case.

That room had the same gothic style and dark walls, but the decor and the bed itself looked like they came straight out of a royal chamber. The dark green damask comforter had a softness you had never felt before, the curtains made of a delicate, translucent silk, the faint moonlight streamed through the large windows. You were also able to notice that on the walls there were some paintings with ornate wooden frames plated in gold.

You sit on the bed with your legs hanging off the edge, and that's when you realize your clothes have changed too. Depending on your preference:

You were wearing a beautiful black dress with silver accessories. It looked almost like a copy of Meleanor's dress, Malleus's mother in Lilia's dream. But it seemed more modest, as if hers demonstrated her royalty, while yours seemed more like that of a princess, still lacking the power of a queen.

You were wearing a black suit with silver accessories that somehow reminded you of Meleanor's dress, Malleus's mother in Lilia's dream. But more modest, as if hers demonstrated her royalty, while yours seemed more like that of a prince, still lacking the power of a king.

You get up and look around at the paintings on the walls. Many were just landscapes or still life paintings, but there was one that was different. It was a portrait with five people, all with smiles on their faces: At each end were Silver and Sebek in black armor, next to Silver was Lilia in a beautiful dark suit, and in the middle were Malleus in clothes that, like Meleanor's dress, matched yours... And next to him there was you, in the same clothes you were wearing now, with one hand clasped in Malleus's while his other hand held you by the waist like... a royal couple.

Even though you were alone in that room, not knowing what had happened to the others or exactly where you were, the calm night somehow conveyed a sense of comfort. Another frame on the wall catches your eye, as it's just a frame for the The Vocal and Dance Championship ticket you gave to Malleus, as if it were some kind of important document to be displayed. It was cute enough to make you smile a little.

You go to the bedroom door to open it and step out into the hallway. It was somewhat dark, calm, and empty. It would be eerie if the green light from the candles didn't convey the familiar feeling of Diasomnia. Once again there were some pictures on the walls, but they weren't of anyone you knew. However, they all had familiar horns on their heads.

You walk down the hallway until you come across a painting of someone you practically met just a short time ago: Meleanor Draconia. She seemed so calm, so happy, looking at you the way Malleus sometimes did, with a friendly and affectionate smile. As if she were welcoming you, unlike in Lilia's dream.

You continue down the hallway until you turn a corner and come face to face with a painting so large it almost covers the entire wall. The image depicted two people dancing at a ballroom: Malleus and you, both in magnificent black clothes, smiling at each other. But these clothes had something special about them. (If you prefer dresses, you were wearing a beautiful black and silver dress with a veil attached to a tiara.) They seemed to be wedding clothes.

“Your Highness.” A soft voice calls. You look to the side and see a woman with pointed ears and vertical pupils in her eyes of an abnormally vivid color. A fae, wearing a long black dress with long sleeves and a white apron. “Your Excellency is already awake? You could have called me.”

You look to the other side, but you don't see anyone else. She was talking to you.

“Something wrong, Your Highness?”

You no longer had any doubts; that was a dream where you and Malleus were married and you were now part of the royal family of Briar Valley. Now the only question was: Whose dream was it exactly? Malleus's, or yours?

“No. Everything's fine.” You play along for safety. “Maybe I just haven't fully woken up yet.”

“MY LIEGE!” You suddenly hear Sebek's thunderous voice. You look in its direction, expecting to see Malleus, or just Sebek searching for him. But what you didn't expect was to see Sebek in a gleaming black suit of armor, like the one in the painting you saw in your bedroom, walking decisively towards you. “I ALREADY TOLD YOU... ahem... I mean... I asked Your Highness to let me know when you left your chambers so that I could escort you back into the presence of our King.”

You couldn't tell what was stranger: Sebek addressing you the same way he addresses Malleus, or how much he resembled the real Sebek, especially his reluctance to treat you, a human, in that way. Could it even be the real Sebek?

“Sir Zigvolt.” The chambermaid said. “I see that the King/Queen will be in good hands. Would you allow me to retire to tend to Their Highness's room?”

“Yes, you may go. Thank you.” As she leaves, Sebek notices you looking at him strangely. “What's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

If he is the real Sebek, then he may somehow have forgotten everything and entered the reality of that dream. But if he is not him and it is darkness impersonating him, revealing that you know it's a dream could be dangerous. The best decision is to be cautious and play along for now.

“It's nothing. Sorry. I guess I'm not fully awake yet.” You laugh it off.

He sighs. "Dealing with Silver's sleepiness is enough, I don't need another sleepy human to take care of." “Funny, all that talk about escorting me made it seem like you were already taking care of me.” “I didn't' mean it in that sense. I... Grh... J-just allow me to accompany you... m-my Liege.” He wasn't annoyed at having to treat you like royalty, just frustrated at always slipping up and talking to you like a friend instead of the proper way.

“You look good in that armor.” You comment.

“Wha-?!” He feels genuinely flattered, but tries to hide it. “You... um... I'm flattered by the compliment, my Liege, but there's no need. It's not the first time you've seen me wearing it. “But it's always nice to see you wearing it. You really like it, don't you?” “OF COURSE! This armor serves as a testament to my station as Lord Malleus’s personal guard! To wear it is the highest of honors!” He declares with that cute, proud smile. “Now, would you allow me to escort you? I'm sure King Malleus is eagerly waiting for you.”

Sebek opens the door for you and you enter the throne room. A huge room with a black marble floor, green damask curtains, a ceiling painted with themes of dragons, fae and humans, and chandeliers lit with green flames.

At the back of the room, beyond the two tall thrones of carved wood bathed in silver, you could see three figures whose silhouettes were clear enough for you to recognize them: Silver, Lilia and Malleus. Silver and Lilia were dressed as if they were going on vacation: straw hats, floral shirts, shorts, and sandals.

Malleus on the other hand, was wearing a black robe with a subtle silver pattern, like his shoulder pads. His long tail matched his clothes so well that if you didn't know it was real, you'd think it was part of the outfit. He turns around when Sebek announces your entrance, and you see a corset, also silver like the crown on his head, which adorns his horns. His hair was combed, making the black draconic scales on his forehead visible.

All three smile when they see you.

“(Y/N)!” Lilia greets you cheerfully. “I was getting worried that I wouldn't be able to say goodbye to you before the trip. That would make me so sad.” He pouts.

“Where are you going?” You ask.

“Sunshine Lands.” Silver answers. “More specifically, to Ultramarine City.”

Lilia picks up a pamphlet that he had folded in his shorts pocket and reads it aloud.

“An endless expanse of blue ocean, striking cliffs stretching as far as the eye can see and a brightly shining sun overhead. The view is positively riveting!”

“It does sound like it convey a certain dignity and vigor.” Malleus says. “A scenery sculpted by the overwhelming power of nature.”

“The region is said to have the world's most beautiful coastline.” Silver adds.

“Is that so? That's quite the claim.”

“That's true, but I don't believe it's false advertising.” Lilia says optimistically. “We'll find out about that soon anyway. It's almost time to leave. See you again in a month, (Y/N). Make room for more souvenirs!”

Lilia and Silver say goodbye to you, and Malleus asks Sebek to accompany them to the castle exit where a carriage awaits them.

“A whole month?” You say, as you watch them leave through the throne room door.

“They deserve it.” Malleus says, standing beside you. “And a month isn't as long for a fae as it is for a human. It's a good middle ground for both to enjoy time together.” He takes a step forward, turns to you, and extends his hand with a loving smile. “(Y/N), would you do me the pleasure of accompanying me on a stroll through the garden?”

You liked the idea, so you accepted, giving him your hand, which he took with great care and affection.

As expected, the garden was as sullenly charming as the castle. Thorny bushes, perfectly trimmed, with beautiful flowers in various colors, like a rainbow. The moonlight, along with the light from the cast iron street lamps and the few fireflies that passed by, made everything much more romantic and magical. He leads you to a large fountain where the water flows peacefully.

You could see part of the castle reflected in the water. You two get closer until you see your reflection and Malleus's, side by side, wearing clothes that seem to have been made to complement each other.

“You are beautiful.” Malleus says while you both look at each other's reflection.

“Thank you. You're very handsome too.” You take the opportunity to admit it. “These clothes are beautiful.”

“I wasn't referring solely to the clothing, my dear.”

You get flattered and he smiles amused. He turns, and you do the same, both of you now facing each other.

“And to think that both of our hearts share this same dream.” He caresses your cheek, his green eyes glowing as he looks into yours. “You are still awake, correct?” He says with a calm smirk that sends a shiver down your spine. “Do not worry, I kept you awake intentionally.”

You instinctively take a step back, moving your face away from his hand. He gasps softly. You've never moved away from him like this, nor have you ever looked at him the way you were looking at him now.

“What do you mean?” You ask. “What do you mean we share a dream? And why didn't you put me into a deeper sleep like you try to do with the others?

“I saw your dream, Child of Man.” He tells you with a sweet but smug smile. “I saw it in person because I was there. And I was there because you dreamed about me. About us. Unfortunately, it was a short and unstable dream, since somehow your dream and Grim's merged soon after. But I brought you here now, where no one can disturb your fairy tale. Our fairy tale.” Malleus approaches you slowly and gently holds your hands while his loving gaze is fixed on your eyes. “We share a dream because both of our happily ever afters are with each other.”

And so all the darkness in his gaze disappears. You can only feel his affection and love when he speaks.

“I was... scared. I shall not deny that to you. Never before have I experienced such a profound stir within my soul. It took me a great deal of time to comprehend the nature of this feeling. And when I finally did..." His smile slowly fades and his eyes seem to water slightly. "I was... terrified. I did not merely fall in love with a human, a being with whom I could never share the true span of my existence, since the entirety of your life is but a fleeting fraction of my own... I fell in love with someone incapable of wielding magic, someone remarkably fragile in this world. Beyond being an affront to my lineage, your presence in Briar Valley would render you even more vulnerable than you are within the walls of Night Raven College. And worse still... I fell in love with one whose home is not of this world. Someone who might, at any given moment, return to the place where they truly belong.” A couple of tears stream down his face, but he tries to smile a little and brings one of his hands to your face. "Such cruelty..." His voice almost cracks. "...to find that you love me in return."

You raise your eyebrows in surprise.

“Had you not harbored the same sentiments for me... I would have been utterly devastated. Yet, at the very least, I would have known that nothing could be done, that our fates were simply not entwined. But to know that our love is reciprocated... under such harrowing circumstances... it is nothing short of pure torture.”

“Forbidden love.” He continues. “I learned this definition one day when I was talking to Lilia about the romantic stories that humans write. There are countless such tales, it seems to be a popular theme or... hum... I believe Lilia used the term ‘trope’. I decided to read some of these works... however... I despised them all!” He says with his teeth slightly bared in an expression of fury.

“Why? Didn't any of them have a happy ending?”

“Many did not. One lover, or perhaps both, would eventually sacrifice themselves, succumbing to death in some way. Yet, some did have happy endings... however...” He gets angry again and a clap of thunder is heard. “They were all unrealistic! Did these authors intend to mock such a dire predicament? The sheer audacity to suggest that a joyous conclusion can only manifest within the confines of a fairy tale. Within a dream."

The storm calms down, but Malleus's new laugh manages to be even more terrifying.

"Hahaha... AHAHAHAHA! Very well. If our 'happy ending' is a prize only to be claimed within a dream, then so be it!" His hand quickly moves to your waist, and he pulls you closer to him. "I shall bestow upon you the happiest ever after. A millennium of blissful slumber. A thousand years of good dreams. With all your loved ones. I can also bring your friends from your world here, if you miss them. Perhaps even your family.”

“Tsunotarou!” You try to reason with him. “This is not what I want. I mean, I... I like you and... I'd love to be with you... but not in a dream. In reality.”

“I yearn for that as well, (Y/N), but such a reality is impossible. Even at this very moment, my age has already surpassed the greatest lifespan your kind is capable of achieving. But we need not concern ourselves with such trifles here. Within this realm, time does not flow as it does in the waking world. Here, we may exist as equals, and we shall never endure the agony of losing one another, or our friends and family.”

Suddenly you hear a familiar voice calling your name. You look to the side and see Grim running towards you, to finally jumping into your arms.

“I finally found you!” He says, on the verge of tears.

You hug him and notice he has a new bow, black and silver like your clothes, so you ask where he got it.

“One of the maids gave it to me and told me to use it. It's not bad. Pretty cool, actually. The pattern looks like dragon scales an’ all.”

“It does suit you indeed.” Malleus agrees.

“YOU!” Grim complains while using your arms to hide. “Who do you think you are, kidnapping my hench-human?!”

You instinctively turn your back slightly to Malleus, protecting Grim even more. He arrives in that dream after all that and still has the audacity, or madness, to speak to Malleus like that?

“Ahahaha. Well, I am currently their husband.” Malleus answers, amused.

“And ya think that's a good excuse?! The feast is about to begin and you two are out here. Everyone is waiting for you already! Go inside and let the party started. I'M HUNGRY!”

Feast? Everyone? What was he talking about?

“GRIM!” Two familiar voices shout in unison.

You see Ace and Deuce running towards you and stopping in front of you, needing to catch their breath. They were wearing their Heartslabyul dorm uniforms.

“I sincerely apologize, Malleus-senpai, I mean, Your Highness.” Deuce makes a very deep bow. “We couldn't catch Grim in time.”

“Yeah. You spoiled the surprise you moron!” Ace complains.

“Surprise?” You ask. “What surprise?”

“A feast with all your friends from Night Raven College.” Malleus says. “Though, I suspect Grim would not appreciate to wait that long before indulging his appetite, would he? Ahaha.”

Those Ace and Deuce could only be fake, and now you realize that this Grim in your arms, looking at you with those mischievous little blue eyes of his, was also fake.

“What's going on? You look like you've seen a ghost.” Ace jokes.

“Speaking of which, the ghosts of Ramshackle Dorm came with us too.” Deuce says. “They really want to see you and congratulate you on your wedding.”

“In the real world...” Malles leans in to explain in a low tone. “They wouldn't be able to leave Ramshackle Dorm. But here, there are no such restrictions. Isn't that wonderful, my love?”

But it was all a lie. That Ace, that Deuce, that Grim wagging his tail in your arms... that garden, the castle, the wedding, even your clothes... The only real things there were you and Malleus. And surely all those supposed guests were also fake. They were darkness feeding on your memories of them. The real ones were sleeping on the floor of Diasomnia, just like you, in their own dream worlds, unaware of what was happening outside.

"Would you be so kind as to grant us but a few moments more?” Malleus asks them.

“MORE TIME?!” Fake Grim complains.

“Very well.” Malleus addresses the false Ace and Deuce. “If anyone questions you, inform them that I have personally granted Grim my authorization to commence his meal at his own leisure. Even in our absence.”

“Myah hah hah hah!” Grim celebrates, jumps from your arms to the ground, and starts running back to the palace.

"What is it that troubles you, my dear?” Malleus asks you, while Ace and Deuce run after Grim with the same urgency as when they arrived. "I was under the impression that you would be overjoyed to be reunited with your dearest friends."

“And I would love to see them again...” You say. “But the real ones.”

“Do not worry. You shall see them all once more when you awaken a thousand years from now." He says with a reassuring smile, that doesn't work on you.

“A... T-THOUSAND YEARS?! Was that literal?!”

“There's no need to be afraid.” He gently takes both of your hands. “Give in to slumber, and a thousand years will pass in the blink of an eye.” One of his hands goes to your back to pull you closer to him. “Until that distant dawn, I shall remain by your side. I shall dedicate my every effort to weaving for you the most wondrous of dreams... my beloved.” His other hand goes to your chin, he tilts your head upwards and brings his lips close to yours.

“No!” You pull away before he can kiss you. “Not like this!”

He didn't try to grab you back, and you could see the shock and sadness on his face.

“Tsunotarou, you put everyone to sleep. You trapped them in their own dreams. I don't want you to be the villain.”

"Do you not comprehend?" He raises the tone in a frightening way. "If embracing the role of the villain is the sole path to ensuring I never lose any of you again... then so be it! I can bestow upon you every desire your heart has ever harbored! Everything you could ever possibly crave! I can make you the protagonist of your own fairy tales.”

“What kind of fairy tale?! A princess trapped in a castle by the dragon? Waiting for a prince to slay the dragon and save her? It's not that I don't want you to be the villain just for the sake of it. I don't want you to be the villain because the villain always dies in the end. Villains never have a happy ending. I want you to have a happy ending too. I don't care if you're the bad dragon in the story as long as no prince shows up to stab you in the heart with a sword.”

Malleus remains silent for a second.

"Your concerns are utterly senseless, Child of Man." He says with a smug smile. “Touching, and deeply appreciated, yet senseless nonetheless. I am the most powerful being in this school, perhaps even on this isle, and among the most powerful in all of Twisted Wonderland. There exists barely no one capable of defying me. That prince whom you speak of, able to stab me in the heart, does not exist. You fear imaginary dangers, but I possess the power to liberate you from the turmoil of your weary mind. Yield to my blessing, and all your trepidation shall dissolve into an eternity of warmth and devotion.”

A puddle of black goop forms beneath your feet, and you feel them sink as if in quicksand before hands emerge from the puddle to grab your legs and slowly pull you down.

“My dear Child of Man... My beloved (Y/N)... I shall ensure your happiness... by making you mine... forevermore."

“(Y/N)!!!” You hear Silver and Sebek's voices calling for you, drawing closer.

They were wearing their dorm uniforms and running towards you, casting spells against Malleus, in vain, as he managed to dodge them all and even prevent them from hitting you as well.

“Despite your boorish interruption, I find myself almost... proud."  Malleus says with a smirk. "Like the gallant knights of old, you have arrived precisely in time to rescue (Y/N). A valiant effort, truly. Unfortunately, it is I whom you must face in this tale.”

While he was distracted with Silver and Sebek, a colony of bats flew past you and you felt someone grabbing you and pulling you out of the puddle of black goop on the ground, severing the black hands that were holding you.

Lilia had his long hair with red streaks and was still wearing his general's armor. He ran, pulling you by the hand as far away from the fight as possible, while Malleus roared furiously, and the weather turned into a violent storm. You couldn't say anything without risking losing your breath.

“OVER HERE!” You hear Grim's voice yelling, somewhere to your right.

Lilia uses his magic to change your royal clothes into the same clothes you saw the castle chambermaids wearing.

“Follow Grim.” Lilia tells you. “He'll take you to Silver and Sebek, and then you'll leave right away.”

You look to the side and see Grim with the fire in his ears glowing in the dark.

“Go! And hide your face!”

Lilia didn't let you waste time talking to him and quickly left in the opposite direction while you went to meet with Grim.

It was relatively easy to escape in the middle of that storm, everyone you passed was trying to save themselves, so nobody questioned another chambermaid running too.

As you ran, with Grim in your arms, wrapped in your apron to hide him, he gave you directions to the place where they had agreed to meet to escape that dream. He guided you through the interior of the castle until you entered a door and realized you were back in your bedroom.

“Smart, isn' it?” Grim said as he jumped from your arms to the floor. “Lilia said the best place for us to hide would be in the most obvious one.” He jumps onto the bed. “Ooooh. Sooo comfy...” He snuggles into the sheets. “Hey, why don'tcha ask Tsunotarou to get us these beds for Ramshackle Dorm? That would be the least for an apology, don'tcha think?”

Some time later, someone knocks on the door and you hear Silver's voice urgently calling your name. But before you open it, you approach Grim to ask him how you could be sure if those were the real Silver and Sebek.

“MRAH! Good question... I know, hide... aaaaaah... under the bed! I'll try to figure out if it's really them.”

You crouch down and hide under the bed while Sebek shouts your name. Grim opens the door.

“How do I know that you are the real Silver and Sebek?!” Grim interrogates them. Maybe it was expecting too much that he actually had a better plan than this.

“YOU FOOL! Do you really think the darkness would simply tell you that they were fake?!”

“We know you're the real Grim because we crossed paths with the fake one along the way.” Silver says. “But we don't have time to waste. Father is tying Malleus. We need to go! Where is (Y/N)?”

If they were the darkness, they would most likely have already gotten rid of Grim, so you decide to get out from under the bed and approach Silver while thunder rumbles outside, growing ever more violent. You all cling to him.

“Those I've met and will someday… Meet in a Dream!”

After all the terrible situation that Malleus caused is resolved, he has sent an invitation to all of you to attend a party at Castle Wildrose that he has prepared to apologize and thank you all for what you have done.

After the dance with the memories of Maleanor Draconia, Dawn Knight, and Queen Leah, Silver invited you to dance, and Malleus was watching you from afar.

“You know, that cowardly gaze actually looks cute on you.” Lilia tells Malleus, suddenly appears beside him.

“Cowardly gaze?” Malleus smiles slightly. “Only you would have the daring to speak such words to me with good intentions.”

“Actually, I think (Y/N) wouldn't have any problem doing the same either. Khee hee. Speaking of which, when are you planning on asking them to dance?”

Malleus looks at you again.

“I... Lilia... Do you believe they can forgive me? At least... enough to salvage what remains of our friendship?"

“You have that look of an abandoned puppy, as they say. No one can say no to that. Hah hah hah.”

“Abandoned puppy? What exactly does that mean? Do I appear like one devastated by desertion? Or is it that my face has somehow taken on the physical likeness of a canine’s offspring?"

“Haa haa haa! From what I understand, it is more related to a demonstration of deep remorse and a desire for forgiveness. A way of speaking, not a literal phrase. And anyone with genuine remorse fears not being forgiven. That is normal. But we are talking about (Y/N), they witnessed six other overblots and remained close to each one of them. Actually, it seems they are friends with many of them, if not all.”

However, despite Lilia's words, Malleus's gaze remained very sad and apprehensive as he looked at you.

“But... what if it's different for me?”

Lilia thinks silently for a moment.

“Malleus... that dream where you pulled (Y/N) in. That was your dream, wasn't it?” Malleus doesn't answer but Lilia continues. “We quickly discovered that you were dreaming about being married to them. I was already practically certain you fancied them, and that's why I feared it would be quite difficult, or even impossible, to rescue (Y/N) from that dream. However, and quite honestly, it was easier than I expected. Why was it?”

“I... I don't know.” Malleus lowers his gaze to the ground and thinks about what happened in that dream, before Lilia and the others arrived to rescue you. “(Y/N)...” He remembers your frightened and worried face. “They were not happy. They...” He remembers the way you looked at him. “...were afraid of me...”

“If you truly love someone, you let them go.” Lilia says. “That was the part of you that made our mission easier. The part of you that truly loves (Y/N) and wanted to see them happy, even if it meant being far away from you. Perhaps...” He thinks more deeply. “Your spell creates a dream based on what it understands the dreamer wants to be happy, correct? If the same applies to you... maybe what would truly make you happy at that moment was seeing (Y/N) happy. And the dream, or perhaps even yourself, understood that for that to happen they needed to escape.”

Malleus remains silent, lost in thought.

“The Malleus that imprisoned (Y/N) wasn't really you, it was your worst self. The real you wants to see (Y/N) happy, but that Malleus was being suppressed by the blot. I believe (Y/N) understands that. They are an understanding person, willing to listen to you and get to know you for who you really are, not for what others say about you. Isn't that why you started falling for them?”

Malleus’ expression relaxed slightly as he remembered the non-judgmental and curious way you had always looked at him.

“Furthermore, (Y/N) is human, Malleus. Even if they are only present in a fraction of your life, you are already present in a large part of theirs. I can see how important they are to you. We fae cannot afford not to cherish every moment we have with the humans we love.” He gives Malleus a reassuring and encouraging smile.

“Thank you, Lilia.” He says with a new smile and an emotional look.

You finish dancing with Silver and you both bow to each other.

“(Y/N)?” You hear Malleus's soft voice behind you.

You turn around and see the beautiful clothes he's wearing in more detail. The long black tunic with silver ornamental clasps and the low neckline that complements the thick, ornate black necklace. The details of the shoulder pads and silver corset further enhanced his figure. His hair was combed back, revealing the black draconic scales on his forehead, adorned with a silver crown that encircled his horns. One intact, the other broken.

"Would you grant me the honor of the next dance?" Malleus invites you with a bow and by extending his hand.

You accept with a smile, and his heart begins to feel lighter.

The center of the throne room, turning into a ballroom, is yours. A beautiful waltz began to play, Malleus gently held one of your hands and brought the other to your back, while your free hand rested on his shoulder pad or on the arm that was holding your back, if you’re too short (which you probably are).

“I must confess, in this moment, I would love to gift you a new outfit, much as I did for Silver and Sebek," Malleus tells you, while spinning you around and looking at your school uniform.

“I don't know if I'd be able to move very well in armor.” You say.

“Oh, no. I was envisioning something more akin to... my own attire.”

“Your attire?” What he was wearing was truly gorgeous. “Like, in matching outfits?”

"If it is your liking. I could manifest it with the same ease as I summoned those two suits of armor," He smiles sweetly. "Should it pique your interest, you need only speak the word. I have no doubt that you would look breathtaking in such raiment."

Your eyes sparkle as you imagine how you would look. You accept his gift, and as he spins you around once more, he casts a spell that transforms your school uniform into a beautiful black dress/suit with silver ornaments. You also felt your hair change to a different hairstyle and something more on your head. You bring your hands to your head and feel what seems to be a tiara, probably similar to the Malleus crown but without space for horns.

You hear the reaction of surprise and some amazement from the others around you. Including an emotional "Beauté!" almost as loud as the music. Malleus extends his hand again for you to continue the dance, and so you do.

"You may not know the joy it brings me to see such a smile upon your face." He tells you before his adoring smile turned a little insecure.  "However, there is a matter I wish... no, I must discuss with you. Would you grant me the favor of your company in the castle gardens once this dance has concluded?"

You accept the new invitation, guessing what the conversation will be about. You two finish the dance with a bow, and Lilia starts the wave of applause around you. Malleus bends his arm so you can intertwine yours and accompanies you away from the center of the room.

He pretends to be just taking you to a corner of the room, but while the others have gone back to focusing on their own dancing and food, he discreetly leads you to the outside, illuminated only by moonlight.

That garden was once certainly as beautiful as the castle, but just like the castle without the effects of Malleus and Lilia's spell, it was desolately abandoned, with thorny vines and unevenly growing grass.

“My apologies. Our incantation is limited to the confines of the castle.” Malleus looks at his free hand, while his other arm is still intertwined with yours. “And my powers do not align with those required to recreating a colorful, flowery garden.”

“There's no need for that.” You say. “Look! Nature has already taken care of that on its own.”

You point to the fountain, which is tied in thorny vines but also by its flowers. It's spring, so many flowers have already bloomed or were about to bloom. There were other spots in the garden with colorful flowers amidst some weeds.

“You like abandoned places.” You continue to say. “Isn't this part of their beauty? To see how nature reclaims them?”

Your observation makes him smile fondly, and you feel his shoulders relax. With his magic, he diverts the thorny vines and clears the edge of the fountain so that you and he can sit side by side.

“(Y/N)...” He says in an apologetic tone. So much so that he can't look you in the eyes for very long and keeps looking away at your hands. “I... I had considered appending a formal apology specifically for you within your invitation. However, I realized that you deserved to hear my penance in person.”

He slowly brings his hand closer to yours, to see if you accept the closeness or not. His fingers touch yours and you allow your hands to join. This makes him smile slightly for a moment of relief.

"What I did was a cruelty I forced upon everyone. I never intended to inflict harm to anyone, but above all, I didn't want to hurt those I hold most dear. I saw your dream, and you saw mine.” He gently strokes the back of your hand with his thumb, which is encased in long black gloves. “To discover that our affections were mutual brought me a joy I cannot describe... but it also brought a frantic, selfish fear. I didn't... I didn't want to lose you too... So I... traped you. I kidnapped you for my dream. When you spoke of returning to your world, I felt a grief so profound it eclipsed my reason. I should have found happiness in yours, yet my heart only ached with the desperate urge to seize your hand and... beg you to stay."

You feel his hand trembling in yours and the indecision between squeezing or loosening.

“And worse still... you're human. Even were you to remain by my side, I would eventually be forced to endure the end of your days, while you could never do the same for me. The thought of being by your side fills me with great joy, but the thought of that ending terrifies me more than your rejection. I sought to... to preserve you, like a flower frozen in glass. But I see now that is not love."

He lets go of your hand as if his own had lost its strength.

"I am so deeply sorry for what I did to you. I am haunted by the specter of how I must appear in your eyes now. I understand if you no longer wish to remain friends with me. I understand even the reasons you may have to hating me if you do, but...” He collapses, kneeling on the dirty ground at your feet. He takes your hand again and finally looks into your eyes, tears beginning to stream down his face. "Can you find enough mercy within your heart to forgive me?"

Your heart drops. You've seen enough overblots to know that his regret and pain are genuine. And you've seen enough of his story to understand his fear. You throw yourself into his arms to hug him. You say that you forgive him and that your feelings for him haven't changed. What he went through was and is difficult, and that's why you wanted to be by his side to support and comfort him more than ever. You reassure him by saying that it's obvious you're still his friend and that you still adore him.

He starts to return the hug, but stops.

“I...” He says between sobs. “My powers... they have weakened. I no longer summon tempests with such effortless. And I...” He wraps his arms around you, the grip tightening gradually but without hurting you. "I find that I can... I can finally express the depths of my heart without bringing you harm." He buries his face in your shoulder and cries profusely. His dragon tail coils around and encircles the two of you.

You stay like that for a long moment, and when his crying begins to subside, you hear him say muffledly: "I love you."

You're astonished, but you manage to tell him you love him back.

After he starts to feel better, he loosens the embrace, straightens up, still holding you in his arms, and wipes his face.

“Whatever you choose.” He tells you, looking at you with the most loving green eyes. “Stay here in Twisted Wonderland or return to the world from whence you came... Choose only that which brings you the greatest joy. I shall find my own happiness in yours. Just as you have brought such light into my life this past year."

“What if I choose to stay?” You ask. “With you? What would happen then?”

“I would do anything to ensure your felicity. I would defy the ancient traditions of my lineage. I would dismantle the Senate itself if they dared to interfere. There is nothing I would not sacrifice to be by your side. And perhaps...” His voice loses some of its seriousness. “I should seek counsel from Sebek’s parents. If there are any who truly comprehend the intricacies of a union between a human and fae, it is surely them."

He rests his forehead against yours and laughs with you.

“You still approached me, despite the Overblot... I question how many people would truly feel no fear after seeing me that way.” He caresses your cheek, adjusts the angle of your head, brings his lips close to yours. “I love you, (Y/N).” And kisses you cautiously, but with the utmost affection.

Full list of characters: Dating in a Dream - Index

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[alice-everafter]

"your fate has been decided, and nothing can stop destiny. except your destiny is not what was promised to you, for better or worse."

word count: 5.2k tw: overall dark themes, harmful homelife (it's yours, but like fictionally), suicidal / depressive language (also in relation to you, fictionally, and hopefully not actually)

"He will be pleased with you, my dear."

The woman who slips on your shoes won't stop telling you this. No one has stopped telling you this. Since you awoke this morning, it's all you've heard. While you bathed your last bath, while your hair was combed one final time, while you're dressed in your last set of white robes, while your body gets weighed down by all the gold clasped to your wrists and shoulders for the first and final time.

You hear it until you can't anymore. Until their murmurs are lost to the autumn winds of the mountain, as the procession stays and watches you proceed further up the path. Before the maw of a gaping cavern.

Then you're the only one left to remind yourself as you take one steady step after another into the darkness. Towards him, the being you belong to. Your promised destiny.

He, who is bigger than you could've ever imagined, is waiting for you there. A dragon covered in violet and black scales, with the greenest serpentine eyes. A noble being from legends with steps that shake the earth and fire on his tongue.

You hope he is pleased, you think as you close your eyes against the smell of ash.

Beneath the darkness behind your eyes, you hear his massive body scrape the sides of the cave. You picture yourself crushed beneath boulders and dust. You keep your eyes firmly shut.

Air brushes past you like a whip. Displaced from his tail, thrashing. You picture yourself pierced upon it. Your eyes stay closed.

His lumbering walk echoes across the rock. A pounding, steady tempo that rattles your brain. You picture your body torn to shreds by his talons. Your eyes remain shut.

The noise is receding. The echoes quiet down to silence. The only noise left to ricochet in your skull is your own pounding heart.

You open your eyes.

He is gone. Returned to the dark from which he emerged.

You don't know how long it takes to finally come to terms with the fact that he has left you. The sun is still at your back, a reminder of the unblocked escape.

You follow after him instead, wishing the light a parting goodbye.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You walk blind. Steady, sweeping steps are your only guide as you slowly chase after your promised resting place.

But then your eyes start adjusting and adjusting further still. You realize that must mean that there is light where you are headed.

You don't know whether to be disappointed or embarrassed that you said your final goodbye a bit too soon.

Your path starts to expand, widening until you are standing before the bowels of a massive open cave. A hollow impression that travels all the way up to the top, where a single opening lets the sun touch the bottom.

You've never seen so much gold in your life. You didn't even know so much gold could exist at once in the same place. It is scattered and stacked everywhere. It reflects the light coming in from the top across the entire expanse of the cavern.

It even reflects off the bright green of his eyes.

He lies in the center of his riches, nestled in a spot in the ground that dips lower than the rest. Like it's been eroded to his shape from repeated use.

His head is raised while the rest of him remains prone. His body encircles itself into a pose reminiscent of the cat behind your care home, napping in the fields.

You're not sure where to go, what to do. You didn't plan to still be alive to be able to think these sorts of thoughts.

You move to hug the wall, pressing your back against the nearest surface. Taking care not to touch even the slightest bit of treasure. You let your legs give out and slide yourself to the ground with a heavy slump.

You're asleep before you even realize it.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You awaken, and you know you haven't been unconscious long. The light still sits the same amongst the gold.

But he has moved closer. Perched as still as a statue. With eyes only for you.

You've seen something like this before. The cat that slept behind your care home would hunt the mourning doves in a similar fashion. By staying very still until the opportunity to strike arises.

The scent of brimstone tickles your nose. Your robes are the same color as those mourning doves. But unlike them, your wings have been clipped a long time ago.

There is a grave tension in the air that stops you from closing your eyes. You always pictured your final memory being the darkness, but the sight of the light gleaming off his scales isn't so bad either.

For a stretch of time, nothing happens, no one is moving. Does he wish to give chase? Is your form so boring that he requires further entertainment?

But then you start to really take notice of his positioning. The way his body is turned to the side, as if he wishes to shield the sight of his riches from you. Much more defensive than you initially thought. Then you remember that you are technically in his home. You are a guest in his territory. And the mistress always told you that a proper guest brings gifts upon arrival.

Slowly, you raise your hands. He is so still that if it weren't for the way his eyes track your movement, you'd think he was rooted to the ground. Behind your neck, you unclasp a chain of gold. Holding it high for him to see before lobbing it towards the nearest pile.

For the first time, you are privy to the sight of him blinking.

Your body takes that moment to remind you that you should be sleeping. Now that the air no longer smells like it will spark, you close your eyes and retreat back to unconsciousness.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

When you next open your eyes, it's because he is moving. A combination of both stalking and slithering through his collection of artifacts toward the exit at your side. He barely regards you as he passes. You listen to his steps get further and further away.

You wonder if you should follow.

Your body decides for you. It begs you to sleep, and thus you do.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

Something is thrown at your feet, yanking you from your dreams.

It's a branch of mulberries. Well, an entire bush of them. There is dirt still clinging to its roots.

You look up and spot the beast returning to its preferred spot. Taking practiced loops around the depression in the ground before slumping down with a deep huff.

The weight of his large body hitting the ground displaces some of the gold off his piles. You watch as coins and cups and jewels alike fall from their pillars, landing in spots where others just like them lie.

Maybe those treasures would've been at the top, once upon a time. Maybe they, too, had once been knocked from the tops of piles by the force of his settling.

How long has he been here for his habits to have been recorded in the very rock he sleeps on?

His eyes are closed now, and you think about closing yours too. Instead, you reach out to pluck the nearest berries from off the branches.

Idly, as you chew and contemplate his intentions, you wonder if this means he is displeased with you. Does he wish there was more to you? The mistress made sure you were more than amply fed before the parade.

You eat until your fingers are stained, until your body commands you to return to unconsciousness and leave these worries behind.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

It is the middle of the night, and you're only awake because your bladder demands it. You shuffle blindly through the dark just to do your business.

Eventually, you return, stopping to watch the way the moon's faint glow is reflected in the gold scattered across the space. You can't make out the beast, though. He must be too well hidden in the shadows.

Hoping you have not awoken him, you return to your spot and shut your eyes.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

Opening your eyes, you are greeted with his stare, already trained on you. It only takes you as long as it does to realize what he wants because of the lingering fog of sleep behind your eyes. But then you're unclasping another golden adornment and chucking it towards his collection.

You think, as you close your eyes, you hear him make a noise like a huff. Almost like a content sigh.

It feels comical to even consider. So much so that you can feel your painfully cracked lips lift in an amused smile before slipping back into unconsciousness.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You are not hungry, you conclude as your body forces you awake. But god, is your throat sore. And painfully dry. You lick your lips and wince at the responding sting.

It is night now. Thus, it takes your eyes longer to adjust to the subtle light of the moon and stars.

You have never been thirstier in your life. It's just about all you can think about. You didn't think you'd have to think about it, honestly. You didn't think you'd still be alive to be able to think.

You're not sure what your continued survival means, whether he's displeased or waiting for the right moment or not. At this point, it doesn't matter because you're just so damn thirsty.

You don't bother with being quiet, too busy staving off your raging headache as you stand on wobbly legs. Nor do you check to make sure the beast is even there.

All you concern yourself with is making it out of his cavern. Trying not to trip on your billowing cloak. Trying not to fall face-first because you're walking blindly through the darkness with a swimming head and a hollow stomach. You're not sure where your own swirling vision ends and the caves' pitch blackness begins.

Eventually, you can make out the end of the cave. Where the opening breaks off into a dirt-laden path that leads into the surrounding forest.

You try to remember where you could potentially find water. Except your feet get tripped up underneath you, tangled in your dragging train. What little breath you have gets knocked clean out of your lungs as you meet the ground.

And don't get back up.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

In your dreams, there is a breeze. Then a surge. A whirlwind that penetrates beneath your robes and makes your skin prickle with goosebumps.

In your dreams, there is a man. The most beautiful man you've ever seen. His hair is as dark as the night, second only in color to his horns. And his eyes are the most striking green. But unlike other men, this one even has wings. Spinal, webbed wings like those of your beasts.

He reaches for you with elegant hands, nails as long as talons. Mistress would not be pleased to know you have let a stranger touch you, dirty you.

But you cannot find it within yourself to care. Not when this stranger's touch is so light, like he's scared to break you. The last time you were treated this gently, it was the day you were to be sent as an offering.

Maybe this man could be your end. The beast obviously does not want you. But this man is collecting you in his arms like you are something precious.

The scenery blurs and ebbs. You're not sure where he is taking you, but his skin gives off the most comforting warmth. You hadn't even realized how cold your bones were. How numb your fingers feel.

But then something cold touches your lips. His finger, damp with liquid, traces and smooths over your cracked skin.

Water.

The next time he brings his hand up, you are ready. You drink from his palm, cupped full of cool water. So frantically, you end up vomiting it all back up. But he is patient and instead feeds you water in small increments until your head no longer pounds.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You are warm. The mistress must've started a fire. You probably fell asleep in front of the hearth again. She will surely scold you for possibly letting ash dirty up your hair.

It takes a mountainous amount of effort to peel back your lids, crusted as they are with sleep.

You are in the middle of a very familiar cavern. Surrounded by hefty piles of gold and jewels. The sun is high in the sky, perfectly lined up to shine its rays straight down into the belly of the cave from the opening above.

The sights are familiar enough, but it's the angle at which you are looking at them that seems wrong. If you didn't know any better, you'd think you were lying where the dragon would normally be—

A beastly huff sounds from directly next to you. You can feel it kick up your hair from the force.

Slowly, you turn your head to the side.

Black scales, climbing horns, a snout as long as your body, lying resting against the ground. He slumbers not even an arm's reach from you.

You are not sure how you got here, but you think it's important that you leave.

Sitting up takes longer than expected, purely because whatever ache has taken itself up in your muscles refuses to make your life any easier. The mistress once told you that creatures such as him have such superior hearing that a pin drop could sound like a thunderclap. Keeping a steady eye on him, you push up on shaky arms, moving extraordinarily slowly. There is a sizable gap in the semicircle of treasure through which you can make your way out. You'll just have to be careful not to trip over any spare coins or jewelry.

Eyeing your escape path, you shift to your knees and attempt to stand.

A growl, deep and rumbling, sounds from behind you. Strong enough to rattle your very bones.

Freezing in place makes the noise stop. You dare to turn your head toward the being at your back.

A singular eye is open and watching.

A shudder runs up your frame, sucking all the warmth you may have had from your veins.

"... I was just—" Your voice croaked like the worst frog imaginable. It takes more than a few swallows to clear it. "I was just about to leave. I never wanted to invade your place of rest."

That only seems to perturb him even more, starting the growl right back up again.

This wasn't right, nor was it good. He was supposed to be pleased with you. You didn't want to be a poor guest to him, unwanted.

"I'm sorry," you try not to sound pleading. That never does anyone any good, you've learned. "I don't want to upset you. What should I do to make this better?"

He answers by swinging his long, spiked tail around and planting it right in the path of your escape route.

"... You... do not want me to leave?"

He doesn't respond, naturally, but he has yet to resume growling.

You have a hard time believing this to be true. Just a few days ago, he was defending his possessions against you; now you are a part of it. What could have changed?

His eye is still trained on you, watching for something. You follow where you think his gaze is going.

Tradition details that when offering a tribute, the vessel must be adorned with gold. Thus, your white linen robes and cloak have golden thread embroidered across them. Patterns such as flowers, branches, animals, some more abstract-looking than others.

The thread catches on the high noon sun, reflecting just enough to get his attention.

Hesitantly, you start shuffling back to your previous position. Lying on your side, head tilted up towards his gaze, you watch in wonder as he seems to truly relax once he deems you back where you should be.

That electric green eye closes, and eventually you decide that so should yours.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You wake to a similar sight as before. Talons scrape against the sedimentary floor as he leaves. Sustenance, most likely.

You can feel your heart beating in your chest, another reminder of the life you still have. There is also the strain in your gut. You wait for as long as you deem it safe before rising, semi-unsteadily, to go and quickly relieve yourself outside.

Once finished, you promptly lie back down when you return.

Again, you escape to the quiet darkness behind your eyes.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

The beast returns not long after with another berry bush. You grab what you deem good enough to eat as he makes himself comfortable.

You eat until your hands are thoroughly stained and join him in slumber shortly thereafter. Feeling tortured with unanswered questions and unresolved promises.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

Waking the next day, you eat more berries to try to quench some of the thirst in your throat.

The beast stays asleep. Except somewhere in your gut, you feel like he is more than aware of where you are.

But if so, then what is he waiting for? What else do you need to do to satisfy him?

Your eyes are heavy. You have never been more tired. You lie back on the stone floor and sleep.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You're not sure what to make of it, you think as you arise from another dreamless sleep with a dry mouth. In your head, you are aware that he views you as part of his collection. But it's not truly you he wants. It's your clothes. Yet he does not need to keep providing you with food to keep your robes in his stash. Does he know that?

It makes you feel like a fraud. A garnish with no true sustenance in the grand scheme of the main course. How long will this waiting game last, you wonder.

You cough, and it leaves your chest tight and achy. He gets up suddenly, startling you, moving to grab a golden cauldron of sorts before leaving without another glance. Only to return with it sloshing full of water.

It does nothing but make the guilt in your chest spread like mold.

"Stop it." You wheeze, and he listens. Just a few paces away from where he always leaves you, in his usual sleeping spot. "Stop giving me these things. I'm not what you want."

He looks surprised, if you can even call it that. But all you can focus on is ridding the clothes from your back.

"Enough of this prolonging, just kill me already." You choke on the strangled feeling in your throat, throwing aside your cloak embroidered with blossoms and bunnies. "You were supposed to be done with me days ago, and yet I'm still here."

"It's ridiculous!" The cuffs of your shirt are next, where they're stitched in gold. You yank until they tear.

"This isn't what was promised!" The bottom of your billowing skirt follows, with its golden-trimmed hem.

"I've been nothing but perfect, all this time!" A gold band.

"I've followed every rule, every command!" A ring. Then another.

"And yet for what? What was it all for?! What is my purpose if not this!"

You could spend a millennium screaming, and it would never be enough. Thankfully, your throat stops you before you can get that far. Too dry as it is to produce any more sound.

"Please," you whisper, barely more than a whimper. "Why... Tell me."

Nothing except your heaving, crackled breaths can be heard. Your head swims, and your eyes ache with phantom tears. Your arms shake against the rock while your head hangs between them.

Eventually, when you start to choke on the dryness on your tongue, he moves, approaching.

You close your eyes. Let this be the end of it. Let this tired body finally serve its purpose. Let it happen like you were always told it would. In the dark, at the hands of something greater than you.

He sets down the cauldron; you hear its clang and the subsequent patter of spilt droplets. Then, between one breath and the next, a man speaks.

"I do not have your answers."

Anything you were previously thinking is abruptly cut off as you jerk your head up, eyes flying open.

He's tall, much taller than some of the biggest men from your village. Hair as dark as the rock he stands upon, with pale, flawless skin to contrast. Atop his head are horns, black and spiraled like your beasts'. And much like your beast, he also has wings. Even scales. Black with undertones of purple when the light hits them just right. Gathered over his crotch and hips like a pair of undergarments, but otherwise speckled across his entire body.

He is gorgeous. Terrifyingly so.

"Drink."

While your thoughts swirled with how similar his eyes are to your beasts', the man grabbed a chalice out of one of the beasts' many piles of treasure and filled it with water.

"Wha...? Who—"

"Drink." He commands, pushing the chalice to your lips.

The first touch is your undoing; you guzzle down the entire cup. Or at least try to.

"No," he chides. "Slowly, in small quantities."

You listen, because what else are you to do? He nods, satisfied with your compliance.

"Um," you clear your throat after a chunk of time, watching with pinched brows as he begins picking up and sorting what you threw from your person. "Who are you? How did you get here?"

"What do you mean?" He asks as he regards one of your rings. "I am your supposed promise, am I not?"

Your head throbs for more reasons than just dehydration. "You... cannot be my beast."

"Your beast?" His gaze snaps to yours, sharp with dissent. "I am no one's beast, Child of Man."

"I— I apologize." You stammer as quick as you can, startled by his anger. "I am just... You are a man."

"Never."

"... Then this form is...?"

"Not my true one, merely another."

"... I was not made aware you possessed such an ability."

"Not many humans live to tell the tale."

He's picking through a specific section, seemingly trying to find the best place for one of your bracelets.

"... I do not understand."

"That is to be expected."

There's nothing else you can think to say. Too many thoughts and questions to sort through to pick just one. So, you watch as he painstakingly places every bit of gold you had into what he deems as its rightful place.

All except your cloak, which he picks up, ponders, then lifts his eyes to yours. He closes the distance in steady strides, then kneels down as he drapes the fabric across your bared shoulders.

Immediately, you feel warmer. But whether that's from the heavy linen alone or combined with his proximity, which strangely oozes heat, is up for debate.

"Every single one before you has left."

You blink, confused and still reeling from his closeness, before the context hits.

"They enter my cave, I let them gaze upon me, then they react. Whether they cry, scream, plead, or vomit does not matter. I return to my horde, and they do not follow."

This confession leaves you shaken. Not one of the offerings given has been received. He has been displeased with all of them. But if that were the case, why does the valley still stand? It should've been razed to the ground by now. If the words of the ancestors are true, like they should be, offerings were the peace that tied the valley with the Ruler of the Mountain. Yet, this ruler, kneeling before you in a man's skin, hasn't been taking a single one.

"Except you."

You can't remember if anyone has ever given you such undivided attention.

"You are the only one who dared to follow me."

There is barely any visible expression on his face to glean what he is feeling in this moment. But somewhere in the back of your mind, you imagine him grabbing you by your hips and setting you upon one of his many piles of riches.

"I do not care what your feeble, human mind chooses to believe. The fact of the matter is that you walked in here voluntarily. Thus, you are mine to do with as I please."

He folds the outer edges of your cloak around you, covering your numb limbs in the thick linen.

"You lost your chance to escape the minute I saw you in the light."

His nails are as long as claws, sharpened to a point. Yet he uses them so delicately to push back stray wisps of hair from your vision.

"... What if I need to relieve myself?"

"..."

"Would you have me urinate in your home? Near your horde?"

"You will go outside to take care of yourself. But if you do not return within the hour, I will fly down to the valley and make sure nothing remains."

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You awaken early the next morning, so much so that the sun has barely begun to shine.

You want to sleep. And keep sleeping, maybe forever if you can help it. But your eyes do not want to shut either.

Thus, you lie awake until the sun can be seen through the opening above. Feeling exhausted and jittery all at once. Dazed and melancholic for no particular reason, yet every single reason.

Eventually, your bladder demands attention. And as much as you don't really want to give it any, you know he will be displeased if you wet yourself like an unruly child.

You stand, bundling your cloak close against the chill over your skin. Curiosity wins out, so you turn to look at the being that has now decided to hold you hostage.

His eye is already open, watching. Back in his draconic form.

"... I need to pee."

He grunts, but doesn't shut it.

When you return, it is with an empty bladder and especially cold fingers. The temperature has taken a dive since you last went out. With the wind being just as unforgiving. Soon, snow will begin to fall.

You didn't think you'd ever see snow again.

Curling up on your side, as tight as you can, you close your eyes. And slowly, eventually, go back to sleep.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You're cold. It's the first thought churning in your cotton-stuffed mind. You can barely feel your fingers. Your teeth chatter to an almost painful degree.

You flip over to your other side, facing him.

He isn't there. You think you're seeing things at first, considering how fuzzy your mind is with sleep. Better yet, the lack of light for you to see. But even after your eyes take the time to adjust to the night, you don't see even the faintest reflection of his violet-black scales.

Your heart lurches as you sit up. Where could he have gone? To eat? But you didn't hear him like you usually do. Has he left? For good? But his treasure is still here. He wouldn't leave without it, surely.

Before you can panic any further, you hear the whip of the wind. Or rather, the sharp snap of someone cutting through it. Turning your gaze up, you see your answer.

In a split second flaring of his wings, the beast in a man's body hovers above you.

"You are awake," he comments. For a second, you fear that you should not have realized he left. But his expression is blank, like usual. Merely observing you.

He drops suddenly, and you reach out in a rush of adrenaline. He lands on his feet like he didn't just fall from an impressive height. Not even a wince to tell otherwise.

"... It's c-cold," you stutter, feeling the need to explain yourself.

He doesn't say anything at first. You imagine he's taking you in. Your hunched-over form, swaddled in your cloak, gritting your teeth to try and stop their chatter.

"... I see."

You think that's the end of it. Ready to try and resume your fetal position in the hopes of maintaining some warmth, you're interrupted by a lightning-quick spark of light and a rush of wind.

The man has turned back to its true form, with its massive wings and scaled body. He looms over you. Then looms closer still.

You close your eyes instinctually.

It is not what you expected, because you feel the strangest sensation against your back. Like a snake in its musculature, but so much bigger. Then you're being pulled from off the ground, abruptly tugged forward.

Something between a yelp and a gasp leaves your mouth before you're shoved into the hardest wall you've ever been against. Except it's not a wall, it's him. His tail, which pulls away now, had dragged you into the bend of his neck. Leaving you encircled and pressed up against him.

You're not sure what to make of this, and open your mouth to ask as such.

But... oh, he's warm. Borderline hot. You have to move away from any direct contact for fear of giving yourself a burn. He's like a fire. Like the hearth you so loved to sit and nap in front of, consequences be damned.

You realize that he's looking at you, gauging your reaction. Hesitantly, you nod.

He lowers his head at that, securing you in the circle of his long neck.

You stay there, for what other choice has he given you, in a mishmash of thought.

He truly does not intend to do anything with you. This being, a dragon with claws that chip at rock with barely a graze and a jaw that could swallow even the largest of animals whole, wants for nothing but to keep you alive. For how long, you wonder. Will there come a time when he gets truly sick of you? Will you have to wait it out, convince him of your true purpose? Should you even try? What right do you have to speak with a powerful creature such as him like an equal?

Maybe this is your true purpose? To join his horde. Be at the mercy of his whims until you're old and gray.

Your shivering eventually ceases, and steadily your skin begins to warm. But deeper still, in the hollowed-out cavity of your chest, something like hope pushes up through the bed of decay that it was buried under.

As quick as it buds, you stamp it out. Crushing it beneath your heel.

You have no use for that, you remind yourself. Replaying the words of the mistress.

'Remember, child. All your hopes should be buried by the time you stand before him. If not, he will know. And never forgive you.'

Desperately, swallowing around the tightness in your throat, you close your eyes. Until your lids hurt from the force, until your heart stops its insistent beating, until the tiny bloom is nothing more than a faint echo, barely even a memory.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

if a second part interests anyone, feel free to tell me in the comments :))

[nekonaps0]

The bane of my existence

✦Malleus x GN!Reader

✦“I should keep my distance. I should let you go. I should not torturing you with my burden emotions. But every part of me screams in protest at the thought of losing you. Screaming in pain when I imagine a life without you.”

✦suggestive / forbidden feelings / yearning / possessive Malleus / fear of losing you / loneliness

There’s something about Malleus that always makes the air feel heavier. Perhaps it’s the magic that coils around him like smoke, the ancient weight of it lingering in every room he enters. Or perhaps it’s the way your heart stumbles each time his green eyes settle on you with the silent fury of a storm held at bay.

Either way, the result is always the same, you forget how to breathe. And right now, you’re suffocating. You’re standing at the far end of the old greenhouse, pressed up against the ivy covered. There is the tension that has grown unbearably thick between you over the past few weeks. You feel it in your bones that quiet, blistering energy that only exists when desire is denied for far too long.

And he’s looking at you again. His eyes are aglow with something more dangerous than magic,longing.

“Malleus…” you whisper, your voice low, uncertain. “We can’t keep doing this.”

He doesn’t move. Just watches you like a man barely holding himself together. “I know.” he says, softly. His voice is a melody of ruin. Deep, velvet wrapped thunder that pulls at the fragile threads of your resolve.

“But you keep showing up.” you breathe, trying not to crumble beneath the weight of his presence. “Every time I think I’ve put some distance between us… you’re there again. You haunt me.”

His mouth twitches into the ghost of a smile. “And yet…” he murmurs “you haunt me in return.”

You should leave. You should run. But you're rooted to the ground, helpless against the pull of him. “I don’t want to be your weakness.” you say, hating how your voice breaks.

He steps forward, once, twice, slow, measured. A dragon in a library of glass and restraint. "You think this is weakness?" he asks, his voice growing darker, silkier. “Desire is not weakness. But it is… torment.”

You flinch as he stops just a few feet from you. The night blooms behind him. And then he says it. The words spill from his lips like a confession dragged from the depths of a fevered soul “Do you think that there is a corner of this earth that you could run far away enough to free me from this torment?”

His voice quivers, tension barely kept in check. “I am a gentleman. Lilia raised me to act with honor, but that honor is hanging by a thread that grows more precarious with every moment I spend in your presence. You are the bane of my existence, and the object of all my desires. Night and day, I dream of you.”

The silence that follows is absolute. Only the soft hiss of wind against the greenhouse glass, only the thrum of your own pulse screaming in your ears. And then your voice breaks the stillness raw, trembling. “…You dream of me?”

His eyes burn with emerald wildfire. “Always.”

You can’t move. Can’t think. Everything inside you is unraveling. Malleus Draconia, crowned prince of Briar Valley, wants you. Not as a mild distraction. But as a need so fierce it burns away every layer of nobility he’s tried to cloak himself in.

“…You shouldn’t,” you whisper. “It’s not a good idea...”

“I know.” His voice is strangled now, like the words are razors in his throat. “I should keep my distance. I should let you go. I should not torturing you with my burden emotions. But every part of me screams in protest at the thought of losing you. Screaming in pain when I imagine a life without you.” He takes another step, closing the space between you. “You make me forget what I am. Forget what I’m meant to be. Forget this torturing pain of loneliness. When I look at you… all I want is to be a man. Just a man. One who gets to reach out and touch the one thing he desires most in the world.”

His hand hovers near your cheek, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat of him.

“Then why haven’t you?” you whisper.

He looks pained. “Because if I do… I will not be able to stop.”

You suck in a sharp breath. The glass fogs behind you. The scent of night blooming flowers hangs heavy in the air, sweet, intoxicating, suffocating.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you say, voice almost inaudible.

That’s all it takes. He moves like fire. One moment there is distance, the next his mouth is on yours, desperate, fevered. His hands are in your hair, at your waist, on your back. He kisses you like a man drowning, as if he’s been starved for you, and only now is allowed to breathe again.

You gasp against him, curling your fingers into his collar, pulling him closer. Your bodies crash together, passion and restraint warring beneath the surface. And yet even as he devours you, he’s trembling. His control, always so sharp and precise, is fraying with each passing second.

You break away only to speak, your breath hot against his mouth. “This is madness.”

“Then let us be mad together.” He kisses you again, slower now, deeper like he wants to memorize the shape of your lips or more like your soul. Time slips. The night grows darker. Eventually, you both sink to the floor of the greenhouse, surrounded by vines and shadows, your limbs entangled like roots desperate to grow toward each other.

He presses his forehead to yours, still panting. “You have no idea… how long I’ve waited for this.”

“How long?” you ask, your thumb brushing along the line of his jaw.

He swallows hard. “Since the first moment you defied me.” he admits. “When you looked me in the eye and spoke without fear. No one has ever dared to challenge me as you have.”

You smile faintly. “So you fell for the one who annoyed you most?”

“It’s infuriating,” he murmurs against your lips. “And utterly irresistible.”

You’re quiet for a long time, just breathing each other in. And then you ask the question that’s been lingering in your heart like a bruise “What happens now?”

He lifts his head. The moonlight strikes his face, sharp cheekbones, haunted eyes, lips kissed raw. “I do not know,” he says honestly. “But whatever it is… I would see it through. With you.”

You nod. And even though the future remains uncertain, you choose this moment. This man. This dragon. Because some fires are worth the burn. And this? This is a blaze that was always meant to consume you both.

..............................................................................................................................

[bitterbutblue]

iron sulphide (fool's gold) ☆ cipher x fem!reader

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

ginger cat x black cat relationship

i kind of imagined the way cipher would move around is similar to spider-man's where she's lowk just leaping from place to place and she is kind of spider-man in this (jumping around foolishly)

TO 🐣 ANON IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK ALMOST A WJOLE YEAR💔💔

You've been hosting parties in my mind I'm working overtime to have you in my world Oh, what a curse it is to be a lover girl

sotd: Lover Girl - Laufey

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

She was always at least one step ahead. With the flip of a coin she will find herself across Amphoreus itself. With a slip of the tongue, she has the ability to fool even the most grounded man in Amphoreus. She was always one step ahead, and she prided herself on that.

So why the hell was she unable to be one step ahead around you!?

It annoyed her to no end. Every time she tries to pull a practical prank, you don't give her the reaction she's used to (which is usually an annoyed groan that makes her feel quite proud of herself). You laugh and tell her that she got you good. At this point, she'd rather you throw a brick at her out of frustration! She tried to steal a pen of yours that you always had on you, but instead of doing the frantic searching-one's-pockets, you simply shrugged and asked to borrow Castorice's. Oh come on! She remembers cursing to herself, crossing her arms in frustration. It was getting sad, at this point. Aglaea complained that she was pulling more pranks and practical jokes on the Chrysos Heirs than normal- it's because she's trying to make up for the fact that the demigod of Trickery was able to trick everyone but one. And it seriously pissed her off.

"Cifera!" Aglaea barks into the empty room "I know you can hear me! That's enough!"

Cipher lets out a huff, swinging down from the ceiling light she had been hiding behind as Aglaea tosses the half-eaten raw fish from her chair onto the ground, where Cipher just manages to catch it right before it hits the gross floor.

"Come on, goldweaver." Cipher pouts, taking a bite of her unfinished lunch "Is that how you treat a perfectly good meal?"

"It stopped being a meal when you decided to leave it on my seat." Aglaea huffs "You've been escalating with your practical jokes. Is something on your mind?"

Cipher hates how easily the goldweaver can read her mind.

"No. Don't be stupid."

"What is it?"

"I said there's nothing!" Cipher scowls, spitting a fish bone at Aglaea's general direction. Aglaea just lets out a soft sigh.

"Did you get in a fight?"

"No!"

"Did you steal something?"

"I always steal, that's no different."

"Did someone steal from you?"

"If that happened, I would've jumped off a cliff."

Aglaea stays silent for a moment before simply letting out a 'hm'. And that somehow pissed Cipher off more than you ever did.

"Oh come on! You don't need to figure everything out!" Cipher snarls, leaping up onto the joist on the ceiling.

"Perhaps I don't." Aglaea muses, but the tone in her voice tells Cipher that stupidly, somehow, Aglaea is now one step ahead. And Cipher just can't have that can she?

"Aglaea?"

Cipher's ears perk up at the sound of the voice.

You enter the room in all your glory, your stupid gentle smile and your stupid kind eyes and your stupid dress and your stupid shoes and god those stupid eyes that made you look so stupidly-

"Hello, did you and Phainon manage what I asked?"

"Of course." You say lightly, and Cipher feels every hair on her body stand when you suddenly look up and make direct eye contact with her. "Hello, Cipher."

She growls, crossing her arms like a defeated child.

"...Hello."

"We're still in the midst of aquiring it all, so I've brought you what we've picked up so far." You put the notes on her desk "I'll be out with him to gather the rest of the information with the Okhema citizens. I should have it all with you by... dawn tomorrow?"

"Thank you." Aglaea nods, and you bow down ever so slightly, your hair cascading like a gentle waterfall and it frames your face so beautifully Cipher feels like she may-

"You're welcome, see you tomorrow." You nod at Aglaea, before shooting another smile at Cipher.

Ah, shoot.

Cipher's ear twitches ever so slightly at your smile and she just looks away with a huff. When the door closes, she hears the sound of Aglaea pushing her chair back, footsteps, and then when she looks down she sees Aglaea standing right beneath where she's perched.

"So you found someone you can't fool."

And Cipher takes that as her excuse to leave, leaping out from joist to joist before practically scampering out the balcony. Faintly, she can hear Aglaea's little amused chuckle in the background and she swishes her tail in annoyance. That goldweaver. She thinks she knows everything, huh? Cipher will show her, Cipher is always one step ahead, she always is! She will prove the goldweaver wrong, nobody can out-trick the trickster. She will get you, she will definitely get you.

The next morning, you find all your belongings missing. With a sigh, you knock on Castorice's door and borrow some of hers.

The same afternoon, you find your belongings returned, but your money stolen. With another sigh, you leave out a plate of fish.

Later that evening, you find your money returned and an angry scrawl on your desk in ink. You let out a small chuckle and pick up a damp cloth and begin to wipe it down.

Cipher lets out a comically frustrated groan, steam practically flowing out her ears as she observes from the tree outside your balcony.

The next morning, you find a raw fish outside your door. You move it on a plate and do nothing else about it.

The day after that, all your cutlery appears to go missing. Including your plates. With another sigh, you open balcony door to see Cipher perched on the tree, her ear comically pressed against the window with the curtains closed.

"Cipher."

With a yowl, she leaps back. She leaps up to the branch above, ears and tail straight up as her pupils dilated.

"You!"

"Hi." You lean on the balcony rail to look up at her with a soft smile "You okay?"

"Yeah! You- Well. I wanted to see your reaction!"

"So it was you?" You raise an eyebrow with an amused chuckle, and Cipher bares her teeth.

"None of that was supposed to be funny to you! You are supposed to huff in defeat and groan and complain and bow down to the demigod of trickery-"

"Cipher." You deadpan, and she groans

"You're boring!"

"How much time have you spent on me?"

Cipher looks away, scratching the back of her neck awkawrdly.

"I dunno."

"You seem awfully obsessed with me for someone who supposedly wants to see me suffer."

She hates how smug you look in that moment, the corner of your lips barely turned up in that amused smile when you think she's being charming and that slight raise of an eyebrow when you act like you're one step ahead. She hates it. She should wipe that stupid look off your stupid face.

"I don't- what? I'm not obsessed. I'm not!"

"Sure."

She hates the all-knowing smile on your face, the twinkle in your eyes as you look her up and down. She hates it. She hates it.

With enough believers, lies become reality.

But this isn't a lie, surely this is not a lie. Why would she lie to herself of all people? She's supposed to be the lie spreader! Not the believer! But then you wink at her and close the door to balcony and she finds herself practically scampering away like a mouse whose been spotted by a cat. Ironic, isn't it?

In the evening, Cipher finds you on the streets with the last of the reports gathered from Okhema citizens. Perched on the window sill of some stranger's room, she watches as you walk across the streets with all that stupid elegance and grace. Your stupid chest held up high and your stupid back straight. Stupid, stupid stupid stupid.

"Cipher, I can feel your gaze on me."

Cipher lets out another groan when you turn around, your eyes somehow magically finding hers immediately despite the dark. She leaps down from where she was perched, moving to sit on the top of one of the stall on the streets of Okhema. This still gives her an advantage, she's still looking down at you. There's no way you will flip the cards on her now.

"Honestly, Cipher." You sigh, tilting your head up to match her gaze with a slight tilt to the side. "You can just talk to me normally if you want my attention."

"I don't want your attention." She seethes, and she doesn't like the way she feels a little flip in her chest.

"Sure."

The same one-word response from yesterday, acting as if you are one step ahead again. God! It pisses her off.

"You-" She points a finger at you, but the words seem to die on her throat when you give her with that look as if questioning 'yes? what are you going to say?' "Ugh." With the roll of her eyes, she leaps off into the night.

Like a moth to a flame, she finds her thoughts wandering back to you. She wants for once to see your put together facade fall apart, she wants to see a look of shock your normally composed face and she wants to really rub it in. It's starting to seriously bother her. It's sucking the joy out of everything! Even her usual lies and trickery aren't able to make her feel the same spark of joy as it used to. She finds herself perched on the tree outside the room you stay in. She finds herself planning her next move, what could she possibly do to surprise you more than anything? Perhaps she should get Phainon in on it, you would never suspect your favourite knight in shining armour.

The idea of Phainon brings a bitter taste to her mouth, she hates the idea of you trusting him enough that you would never see a prank from Cipher coming from him. Wait, no. Why would that bother her? She really wants to see you be surprised and shocked and flabbergasted by her genius that you would never see coming ever.

"Cipher."

FUCK!

She throws her head back in defeat when the window opens. She doesn't even jump in surprise anymore, just sagging her shoulders in the face of defeat.

"Goddammit."

"Seriously, what is it?" You lean out the window to look at her, and she moves to sit on the branch of the tree with a defeated and petulant look on her face. You reach out, gesturing for her to move closer. She shoots you a glare.

"Cipher, come here."

Reluctantly, Cipher inches closer ever so slightly.

"Closer."

Cipher groans.

"Stop bossing me around!"

But she still inches closer.

Close enough for you to reach up and place a hand on her cheek.

And she yelps, pupils dilating as she leaps back again.

You let out a sigh, hand still in the air where her face was.

"Come on, Cipher." You whisper into the dark, and you see her glowing eyes squinting ever so slightly.

"Why?"

"Because I want to kiss you, you absolute buffoon." You scoff.

You always get the last laugh, and it clearly shows because Cipher's jaw has dropped and she stares at you with the widest eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"You really think Aglaea wouldn't tell me?"

She hates your smile. She hates the way you make her feel. If she keeps lying to herself, maybe it'll become reality.

A lie stops being a lie when you admit that it is one.

"That stupid goldweaver!"

"Cipher."

She shuts her mouth when she hears the sound of your voice, so soft and enticing. A siren's call, a sweet melody. She inches closer to you once more, and you keep reaching out until the tips of your fingers graze her cheek again.

"Closer, please?"

Your voice is barely above the sound of a whisper, and her ears flicker ever so slightly because everything feels so loud now. The sound of her own heartbeat, the chatter in the other houses in Okhema, the cicadas that sing. And maybe if she listens close enough, she can also hear the sound of your heartbeat. Pounding, loud, fast.

When she leans her face into your touch, she sees the way you falter for just a second, as if you didn't expect her to do so. And just like that, the slightest flicker of trickery comes back into her eyes. Maybe she can still flip this around, maybe, just maybe-

She sees that look in your eyes, the way your eyes dart down to her lips for just a moment before going back to her eyes. The way your face is ever so slightly pink and your breathing is heavy.

Oh, she can flip this around.

Inching closer once more, she leans down until your lips are centimetres away from hers. She notices the way you seem to lose all your bravado when she's so close, the way your hand is trembling ever so slightly.

"You lose."

The deal is closed with a kiss, and it is finally settled.

She wins.

[lysarion]

╰ LET THE LIGHT IN (I) ／ SUNDAY ⟢

SYNOPSIS: after moving back into your childhood home by the sea side, you find yourself managing the family lighthouse and entangled in a political feud with a selkie for a right-hand man. surely, nothing could go wrong!

𖥔 WORDCOUNT: 16k (please dont ask. idk myself.) ┆ 𖥔 TAGS. @millurie @dawnsigil @axolotsofluv @tragedy-of-commons

𖥔 WARNINGS: canon divergent, sunday is a cheeky bitch in this one, mentions of injuries, blood, alcohol (gallagher drinks), and canon character death, mentions of mikhail, gallagher, aventurine, topaz & robin, the ipc doing ipc things, near death by drowning (sunday doesn't cause this), reader has a slight pre-determined backstory for plot reasons, tension because these idiots would rather die than admit they're fond of one another, not fully proofread; expect mistakes!

♪ FINAL NOTES .ᐟ this has been in the drafts for so long and i finally decided to let it out of the basement. like the phainon long fic, i'm dividing it into multiple parts just to be more digestible (i say digestible with a 16k word count). anyways! lysa finally remembers to posts, yay!

you liked to think your life in your new lighthouse was peaceful. after a gruelling 4 years in the city and studying medicine, your heart had finally decided to come back home and embrace the sea breeze that accompanied your childhood. you've put off the grief of your dad's passing in the back of your head and packed your things, took a two train rides that equated to around 6 hours, and never turned back. you think its the best decision you've made since entering college.

the small seaside town still remembered you: that little kid who loved running barefoot in the sand, a curious little fish that loved knocking on shop windows, and tailing their dad whenever he worked in the lighthouse. by no means were you that same kid, but there's this little part of them that stuck with you that the residents remembered. you've always been told that you're the spitting image of your father, despite having your mom's features. they say it's your presence — the same gleeful smile whenever the ocean is brought up or that shiny glimmer in your eyes whenever a new ship docks at the shore. you carried his essence everywhere you went, and you hadn't realized how much you missed it.

the first few nights were cold, as the residents said. paranoia often settled in before you could even blow out the light in your lamp, and oftentimes, you'd forego sleep entirely to study your dad's old logbooks, searching for those old maintenance books. you wanted to live up to his reputation so badly, you keep falling down the damn stairs because you can't see straight.

it's lonely, yes — but a peaceful kind of loneliness. one that settles when the fog finally rises and bids you farewell to make way for the morning. you liked waking up early just to watch the sun glimmer on the ocean waves. sat on the dusty wooden floors of the gallery deck, a cup of instant coffee in your hand while the other held a pen with your dad's journal flipped on a random page.

you wanted to absorb everything he wrote down — from little reminders to check in with his family to how to help sailors navigate to safety during a stormy night. you tried to replicate his handwriting, bound your own journal where the pages have accidental coffee stains from your delirious state. you mimicked his way of speaking through the radio with other lighthouse keepers and even caught up with old sailors he once knew. you did everything to make his presence boom with laughter instead of the eerie quiet that blanketed the service room that you used as your makeshift bedroom.

when the nights are long and you can't bear to open the lights, too blinded by the lantern's glow, you'd open the window and sit there, journal in your lap, and let the moonlight illuminate the sketches of selkies. they were incredibly detailed, so detailed to the point you started assuming your old man has actually met one in the past. with the way waves often crashed almost intentionally on the shore, or when you'd find pieces of small trinkets washed up by the beach, you were almost convinced. maybe the city life has drained you of the wonders of old wives' tales because you truly could not imagine a random seal shedding its skin and turning human.

you were proven wrong, though.

during your sixth month at the lighthouse, a thunderstorm had decided to ravage the ocean bed, rendering you unable to catch a wink of sleep. one hour after another, you're running up and down the service room to get some matches, then the watch room just below it, before running up to the lantern room to check on the lamp itself. more often than not, you'd trip over your own mess and give yourself another bruise on the knee, but with your veins high on adrenaline and stress, you barely feel it.

around 3 in the morning when the storm decided that it's finally done wrecking havoc, you slumped down the spiral staircase. one hand held a dead flashlight as the other held on the railing for dear life. your eyes blinked away the sleepiness, determined to at least get to your sleeping bag and catch at least 2 hours of sleep before you go down the shore to greet the sailors. right as you made it down the flight of stairs, a loud bang echoed in the hollow tower.

the winds stopped entirely, leaving only your ragged breathing to echo in your ears. hell, even the waves had decided that now would be a perfect time to stop crashing onto the rocks by the shore. you quietly made your way to the window near the window and watched as the fog near the entrance of the lighthouse bent and strangely wafted in the air. with furrowed brows, you slowly backed away. what exactly possessed the space to act so strangely?

your heart drummed in your ears as a thousand possibilities swam in your mind. the noise was far too loud to be the wind that had gone still, and it felt too heavy to be just swept-up debris. you tried to quietly navigate your way down the next flight of stairs and to the door. a waft of iron reached your senses, and your hold on the flashlight turned bruising. you ignored the shaking of your fists and tiptoed your way to the door, watching in focus on how the shadow beneath the gap began to move, grunts of what you assumed as pain following. with furrowed brows, you threw the dead flashlight somewhere and surveyed the other thing beyond the door flinched and tried to move away. you took your phone out from your back pocket, readied the flashlight. you drew a deep breath, willed your hand to hold the door's handle, and counted to 3.

in one swift pull, you directed your phone's flashlight to the body that fell on your floor and let your jaw drop.

pale blue hair fell on his shoulders, soft grunts escaped his lips while his golden eyes squinted up at you—clearly not appreciating the way your phone's light is blinding him— he had a pair of wings behind his ears too, they'd flutter here and there as his skin looked as smooth as marble with moles littering his back and chest.

your eyes widened when you caught sight of the crimson that dripped from his shoulder blades to your floors. with just a glance, you can tell he had been hunted like a fish—the wound too deep and looked as if a harpoon had struck him. as swiftly as you could, you ran up to the service room once more, tripping over your own things and cursing under your breath, before skipping the next few steps to get back to the injured man-selkie?

you dropped the first-aid kit in front of him and hurried to close the door. as gently as you could, you had him lie down face-first on the blanket you laid in front of him before inspecting his wound. he'd wince and grit his teeth whenever your fingers made contact with his skin—it almost sounded like he was hissing at you—and you always made sure to retract your touch before he could… well, do anything to you. with a deep sigh, you pushed your hair up and got to work.

"damned old man," you cursed under your breath. hands swiftly donning white sterile gloves and beginning to disinfect the wound on his back. you had to hold him down by his other, uninjured shoulder blade so he won't move as much (it didn't really help much. for someone so lean, you didn't expect him to be able to throw you off his back and glare at you.). "why couldn't you have included a guide to treating an injured selkie-creature…"

﹒ ✦ ﹒

when morning arrived (it arrived 5 hours ago, but you were too busy running around the lighthouse and treating an injured selkie to realize the time), you were woken up, not by your alarm, but by loud knocking on your front door.

as the fog in your mind finally dissipated, you jumped to stand and nearly toppled over when the world began to spin. you glared at the floor, squeaky clean and free from the blood you now remember came from an injured selkie's shoulder. and speaking of selkie, as you looked around the room, there was no sign of him. your medical equipment was pushed to the side, all items aligned and in their proper places, and the gloves and blanket you used were now thrown into a nearby trash bin. clearly, your selkie visitor had enough manners to clean up after his mess (but not enough to not throw you around like a rag-doll in the middle of the wee hours of morning).

you dragged one hand over your face and forced yourself to walk to the door. gallagher greeted you as usual, a few new faces right behind him as you let him talk your ear off. you'd nod here and there to signal you're listening (you were not), and eventually, they left with a promise for a celebration for another successful guide to safety. just the thought of having so many people at the lighthouse when you could be sleeping has you getting a headache, but oh well. tradition is tradition.

you trudged back into the lighthouse, kicking the door closed behind you, and gathered your things in your hands. you passed by the bin with your now blood-soiled blanket with furrowed brows. you were tempted to just chalk up last night as your sleep deprivation demon playing a trick on you. but with the way gallagher's eyes wandered to your sleeve—to which, you now realized, is as crimson as red coral—it couldn't have been just a dream.

you looked down at your hands, flexed your fingers, and furrowed your brows at the dried-up blood that's now settled beneath your fingernails. with another sigh, you continued making your way up to the service room to put away your things. in the back of your mind, you remind yourself to clean up the place—especially the service room and watch room—before the others arrive at sundown.

for now, as you finished putting everything back in their respective cabinet and drawers, you pulled out your sleeping bag and lay down on it.

you deserved a small nap after traversing a thunderstorm and getting flung around by a selkie.

﹒ ✦ ﹒

at sundown, you let gallagher take charge of the celebration in the lighthouse. you've known the man since you're childhood—a dear friend of your dad's who looked like the sailors in your favorite storybooks. he always carried this small tin of alcohol, never shaved his beard fully, and still wore the necklace from his days at the navy with your dad to this day. gallagher also hasn't cut his hair in years, so it's always tied up in a bun.

"you look like you've seen a ghost!" he joked, handing you a paper cup and patting you on the back. you nodded in thanks, sniffed the drink to make sure it wasn't alcohol, and took a swig before leaning your weight on the lighthouse.

you chuckled, gaze weaving through the crowd. "not a ghost—still out of the ordinary though."

gallagher raised a brow. his red eyes eventually settled on you, and his chest heaved out a sigh. "speaking of 'out of the ordinary', what happened to your sleeve? i doubt you'd take a heavy blow from trippin' around the lighthouse. so, where'd ya get it from?"

"a selkie."

"a what?"

"a selkie, gallagher." you repeated. "y'know, those mythical creatures that shed their seal skin to become human."

then, gallagher laughed. really, really loudly. you took it as a sign to finish your drink and walk away quietly to avoid the crowd's judging gaze. but gallagher, with his larger build, wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you to his side before you could take another step. his breath and stubble tickled your cheek, the smell of alcohol absolutely clung to his person, and you had to stop yourself from gagging.

"where'd ya learn to joke like that, huh?"

"i'm not joking, uncle, it really was a damn selkie!" you argued, trying to push him away. "he even had wings behind his ears! dunno if that's normal for a selkie but he's definitely met dad."

that seemed to have snapped gallagher out of his jestful mood, giving you enough time to break free from his hold. his laughter died down slowly, his faraway gaze into the crowd suddenly zoned in on something, but you don't know what. you took a peek at your uncle's expression and prayed it didn't come out as too much of a shock. the topic of your dad has always been a sensitive subject. not just to you and your family—but the entire town. he was their beloved keeper after all.

"how are you sure?" gallagher asked, tone quieter and shoulders drawn taut.

you swallowed and took out the journal you always kept in your person. "dad drew him—a lot, actually. selkie man looked exactly like his drawings."

and that was no exaggeration—the same gentle-looking face (gentle your ass, that selkie gave you so many bruises blooming on your back when you checked earlier), the moles on his back that spanned across his chest, even the strange wings behind his ears. notes explaining the selkies features, but no name.

"he looked exactly like dad's sketches," you said, flipping through multiple pages in the journal. "and you know better than anyone that dad's drawings never lie."

gallagher hummed in agreement. "don't worry, kid, of course i know your old man and his strange drawings. what i find strange is how they're still alive." he pointed to a drawing of a selkie, in his human form, sitting by the rocks that look like the ones you'd find north-east from the lighthouse.

"what do you mean 'still alive'?" you asked with furrowed brows. gallagher only shrugged, uncapping his little tin of alcohol and taking a big, fat swig at the drink.

"you've been gone for 4 long years, kiddo. the myths around here have changed."

"how so?"

"the elders say these mythical creatures have placed a curse on this seaside town. and that your dad paid the price for it."

a chill went down your spine. you wanted to joke about it—of all people in your childhood memories, gallagher was always the first to laugh at them. but now, when he looked at you so seriously, you can't help but shut the journal close and encompass yourself in a tight hug. the air around the lighthouse suddenly felt cold, the winds grew so loud they sounded like thunder screaming against the window panes. you had a feeling that you might not be getting sleep tonight, either.

"what… what was the curse?" you asked after a beat of eerie silence.

gallagher only sighed. he ruffled his hair, letting a few strands stray loose from their usual bun, and looked at the guests who celebrated. "can't say i know, kiddo. all i can say for sure is that your old man definitely played a part in it."

"do you mean he killed the selkies?" you hated how those words left your mouth. your dad was a good man, he'd never dare to hurt anyone, even if it was an annoying fly. he didn't have the heart to. but still, there was this doubt that clung to you like a shackle, whispering in your ears to doubt everything you knew about him. "the selkie was injured really badly. it looked like he had been hit by a weapon. i think it was a—"

"harpoon?" gallagher finished for you. you raised your head quickly and nodded.

"yes, exactly that! i've never seen anything like it. i don't even remember this town getting their hands on a weapon like that—even for fishing."

"well, there is this rumor," gallgaher bent down to your height, lowered his voice to a whisper and stared down at one particular guest in the crowd. you followed his gaze as discreetly as you could, the grip on your paper cup turned shaky as you scanned every face, trying to find which to be wary of. "see that man with the crest? he's from the ipc. whispers say they're hunting down a beast."

with furrowed brows, you looked away from the crowd when your target looked your way. "beast? do you mean the selkie?"

"'m not sure. but one thing is: the ipc ain't here without an agenda. no matter what, don't let them get their hands on your old man's journal."

at his warning, you clutched the journal closer to your chest—waiting for the moment it fused with your chest and assimilated itself with your heart. in that way, if gallagher's warnings happened to be true, then they wouldn't walk away innocent without having to pry your reason for living from your chest. you took a shaky-breath and stepped away from gallagher. you flashed him a big smile—and he does the same—when the ipc man you've been speaking about slowly started to approach you.

you bid your uncle goodbye and hurriedly entered the lighthouse, not forgetting to lock the door behind you and drawing every curtain close with each step you took up the stairs.

your little gap year by the sea was turning to be more and more stressful.

﹒ ✦ ﹒

by the time the clock hits 9 o'clock, you usually hit the hay and get some rest. unlike your college days, where you'd get no sleep for an entire week and still survive, you couldn't do that here without any inconvenient consequences. for one, coffee in the lighthouse was really sparse. you hadn't realized how fast you went through them every day, so now, you tried your best to get as much sleep every night so you wouldn't resort to using your morning coffee stash. it saves you the 30-minute drive to town every 3 weeks since you can't buy a bulk of items at the market. secondly, it's not like you sleep soundly throughout the entire night. more often than not, you'd be woken up by the radio in the watch room from sailors looking for safety or tinkering at the lamp room, making sure the lantern itself doesn't stop shining. if it goes out for more than 5 minutes, you could have a death on your hands. and you're not sure if you could handle that right now.

a loud shrill from the crowd pierced through the night, making you wince. even if you were on the viewing deck of your fortress, the presence of the celebration below could not be anymore louder. you usually wouldn't mind celebrations at the lighthouse—it's been a kind of tradition since your dad was a child, and you didn't want to take it away. but with the knowledge of the person prolonging it, hunting down the mythical friend your dad had made… well, it left a very bitter taste in your mouth.

speaking of mythical, your mind kept wandering to where that selkie had run off to this morning. with furrowed brows, you sighed and wished he had at least stayed so you could check the stitching you did on his shoulder-blade. you were such in a panic, you didn't take into account that he wasn't under any anesthesia. that kind of harsh procedure would've hurt a lot, and as a doctor (soon -to-be doctor, actually), you felt the pangs of guilt pierce through your heart.

thankfully, with you being so high up, the party music below was nothing but a little drumming in your ears. you could still perfectly hear the waves that rolled onto the rocks and the way the wind whistled with the leaves. you closed your eyes and let the moonlight soak into your skin, the cup of coffee you swore wouldn't make warmed your chilly hands.

then, you heard it.

you set your cup down immediately and circle the deck, eyes squinting and straining as the fog for the night began to trickle in like a waterfall. the sound was brief, and you almost missed it. the soft sound of something whistling near the rocks—your dad had noted down that his little selkie friend whistled a tune to get his attention. you've been waiting for that tune since 6 pm, and you were just about to call it quits. thank god for the patience pre-med had instilled in you, or else you might have missed the chance to see the selkie again.

your hands gripped the railings, your body leaning dangerously forward to get a better view. you've run around the deck thrice now; no doubt the crowd below would think you're crazy going around in circles. but you had to find it—that spot your dad talked about in his journal, he would always take to get a better view of the creature. obviously, your dad had the advantage of having binoculars, while you relied solely on your not so 20/20 vision.

after your 5th lap around the deck, you've officially run out of breath and returned to your cup of coffee that had gone cold. you took out your phone to check the time, only to realize 15 minutes had passed. with a defeated sigh, you slumped forward on the railings—your arms folded on one another with your chin resting on your forearm as your eyes glared into the foggy horizon. you'd have to go back inside and make your rounds of checking the equipment, and the whistling had stopped.

"ughh, how frustrating!" you exclaimed, gripping your hair and chugging down the final drops of your coffee. as you were about to leave, something in the distance began flashing. with squinted eyes, you tried to make out what it was. at first, you thought it might be another ship lost at sea, and was using morse code to send out an s.o.s signal. but after a few more blinks, you conclude that the blinking was random (you hoped it was, because if it was morse code and you've utterly misinterpreted it, you might as well just dig your own grave by morning).

you set your cup down on the railing again and took your phone, opening the camera app and pointing it to where the blinking was. as you zoomed in, the image became blurrier and blurrier. you really needed to find those binoculars in the service room. but you see it. the outlines of someone sitting by the rocks holding… your flashlight!?

"that's right, i threw it last night and couldn't find it…" you voiced out. your fingers continued to zoom in on the figure, and you cursed out your hands for shaking. you can see it (kinda, it's super blurry, but it's there), he's there, at the rocks. you don't think this was the spot your dad talked about, but it worked for tonight.

your heart skidded to a stop when the blinking ceased. the fog settled in faster than normal, making it harder to discern anything with the naked eye. there's a slight splash, or you think you heard it. you're too far up to actually be sure of anything that's going on down below.

another set of blinking caught your eye. this time, it came from the shore. 'we're done for the night. go to bed, kid.' with a sigh, you used your phone's own flashlight to send gallagher a message back. when there was no reply, you took it as a sign to finally go back inside.

you hadn't realized how cold the night had gotten. the moment you entered the service room, you heaved out an appreciative sigh for the warmth. slowly, you opened your laptop and checked on the cameras gallagher had you place around the shores. initially, they were thrown in the rocky areas to serve as a warning for oncoming ships, but now, you're using them to check if your selkie had stumbled across one of them. and wouldn't you know, one of the cameras far up north was scratched and could no longer be operated.

with a giddy smile, you closed your laptop and began sifting through the old dusty cabinets of the service room.

"i finally found you, little selkie."

﹒ ✦ ﹒

at around 5:30 in the morning, you ventured out north of the lighthouse in search of any signs of the selkie. the early winds were cold, forcing you to hug the oversized trenchcoat from your dad's closet closer for warmth. the coat carried the scent of your mom's homemade cinnamon buns and a slight tang of sea salt in your kitchen. you don't know how it's retained the smell, but you're all the more grateful for having your dad be close on this journey. the familiar scent was very much welcome, after all, getting into your own clothes this morning was a struggle enough with your back littered with purples and blacks and sore muscles after being thrown around the night before.

your boots made indents on the sandy shore as you squint your eyes, trying to spot any figures on the rocks just a few more steps ahead. when you're sure no one was following you—or waiting to ambush you in front—you stopped a few steps away from where the selkie sat with your flashlight last night. the drumming in your ears hasn't ceased, and the lack of sleep certainly wasn't helping you see things as they are (on the way here, you've had to stop every time you hear an annoyingly loud crashing in the waves because you keep thinking it's the selkie).

"i am too tired to be out here looking for a damn selkie," you fussed, ruffling your hair and letting the wind tousle it out of your hair tie. you continued your little stakeout until you're just a few steps away from the rocks the selkie was perched on.

they were tall and jagged, with remnants of old shipwrecks littering the shore. with a deep breath, you trudged forward, bunching up the fabric of your pants to your knees and discarding your shoes and coat somewhere the water can't soil them. the first contact with the cold ocean had you hissing—it was colder than you remembered—but you pushed on. carefully, you used the rocks as your makeshift guide while your eyes remained on the water beds, looking for the camera your little selkie visitor had gratefully cracked or anything you shouldn't step on.

the search lasted a lot longer than you thought. from the footage last night, the camera should be where your knees make contact with the waves. but you're almost waist-deep into the pool and still no sign of the device. with a confused glare, you surveyed the area once again—the same rocks, same harsh waves, cold waters, and your… flashlight on the shore?

you tilted your head curiously. you don't recall seeing it when you arrived here. as carefully as you could, you made your way back to the shore and the rock where your flashlight lay motionless. you swiveled your head left and right, trying to see if the selkie had snuck up on you without you realizing. when you're sure (as sure as you could be in your sleep-deprived and paranoid state), you took the flashlight in your hands and turned it over. the pad of your thumb pressed on the switch, but it didn't light up. next, you unscrewed the bottom and took out the battery. the smell of iron reached your nose and gave you the sign that it's been dead for a while now. you let out another sigh and decided you'd search for the camera and the selkie some other time.

you retreated fully to the shore and unrolled your pants, half of them being soaked and giving you a cold shiver when the wind blew too hard. you threw your coat back on your shoulders and shoved the flashlight in one of its pockets. you took a seat on one of the rocks, beginning to undo the straps and laces of your boots and putting them back on.

you paused as you're about to lace up your left shoe when you heard a whistle again. it echoed, but was closer than you could ever imagine. with furrowed brows, you left your seat and began searching the areas once more. another whistle, a little farther than before, but obviously leading you up north. you remained glued to your spot at the shore. the tides have decided to soak your shoes and socks, leaving you on the fence—do you go searching for the noise now, or go back to the lighthouse to continue your maintenance duties for the day?

with a defeated exhale, you continued lacing your boots and turned your back on the whistling. as you took the first step back on the path towards the lighthouse, you heard the whistle again—louder this time. you paused for another second, but shook your head and continued walking. if the selkie wanted to play games with you, you were not in the mood for it. (not when the tides nearly swallowed you when you weren't paying attention).

the further and further you got from the rocks, the more persistent the noise became. it slowly started to hurt your ears.

"okay, what the hell do you want—" as you turned your head back, just a few steps in front of you, was a small seal. only its head was visible while its body remained hidden in the waters. the whistling returned as its small head dove back in the water. "hey! come back here!"

carelessly, you shrugged your coat off your person and ran to the waves. you don't flinch when the cold tides meet your legs halfway—adrenaline pumped in your heart too fast for your senses to fully process. you kept going deeper and deeper until half your shirt was soaked in sea salt. the sound of whistling was still there—muffled, but so terribly close to where you stood.

"what the—?!" a nudge at your side, the force nearly toppled you over. you glared down at the waters and watched as a shadow swam close to you. without thinking, you drove your hands into the waves and listened as the whistling continued. when your hands came back up with nothing but liquid slipping through your fingers, you felt something weave through your legs—another whistle followed.

"oh i see how it is. you're playing with me…" you grumbled out. there was another nudge at your side, but it felt more like a pull as you were dragged further into the ocean. "hey, wait!" the tugging stopped, and you nearly fell face-first into the waves. your heart continued to drum erratically in your chest, and your breathing came out ragged and short. the shirt you've tucked neatly into your pants has come undone, and you feel something cold push your lower back. "where are you taking me? i can't breathe underwater, you know?"

the winds stilled again, and you took a small break to catch your breath. the selkie's shadow was still there, swimming around in circles as if it was thinking of what to do next. the seal finally stopped trying to push deeper in the ocean and instead raised its head so you could see a pair of beady little eyes staring back up at you.

your chest surged with this strange feeling. triumph, maybe, mostly stress at the idea of a selkie really existing, but overall… you felt bizarrely happy.

he didn't move when you took a step forward, so you took it as a sign that it was okay to come closer. your hand raised, and he ducked back underwater. you stepped back in surprise and let out a shriek when he took your shirt in his small mouth and tugged you backward. "hey, hey, stop that!" you warned as you felt his snout make contact with your back. it was cold, and he kept bumping his head against the planes of your back over and over—you started to think he wanted to push you deeper in the depths.

you stood there, your hand frozen in the air and confused as to what he wanted you to do or interpret. you tried to move away, but with his body being more suited for water, he quickly followed and continued his ministrations. you're not sure what you're supposed to do in this situation when you feel something snake around your waist. it was warm—entirely human.

with a gasp, you turned your head quickly and caught sight of something dark and almost latex-like in material floating with the waves. seal skin. you blinked in utter shock as your hand finally rested at your side again. the pair of hands—human hands—keeping you in place, don't budge even when you try to get them off. the selkie even protested when you tried to break free from his grasp.the rumble that escaped his throat didn't sound human, but oddly familiar—the same timbre of the whistle that you've been following not long ago.

his forehead rested on the juncture of your shoulder, his breath fanning the plane of your back as you stand there helpless and unsure of what to do. one wing behind his ear curled towards you, the feathers tickling the side of your face, and stole a small breath of laughter. there's another rumble from behind you. you think he laughed with you. you thought you could finally relax in his hold when suddenly he grew tense. a growl followed, and suddenly you're diving in the water. an involuntary scream left your lips as it's quickly silenced by the tides.

you squeezed your eyes shut and flailed around. panic started to settle in your chest when a hand cupped your cheek. slowly, you cracked your eyes open and watched—mesmerized with the way his hair floated and his wings fluttered. the same gold eyes that once glared at you that night were replaced with child-like curiosity. you placed your hands on his shoulders as he pulled you closer to him—noses nearly touching. you protested by pushing him away, but he doesn't take the hint. he shoved his face in the juncture of your shoulder again, and you watched in irritation as his shoulder shook. he's playing with you again.

sadly, you're little game came to an end when you realized that, unlike him, you couldn't breathe. as swiftly as you could, you broke free from his hold and swam back up for air. you coughed up all the seawater lodged in your lungs, grasping at a nearby rock for stability as your vision finally returned. an outstretched hand extended itself in front of you, and you took it.

"well, well, what do we have here?"

you blinked away the water in your eyes and nearly dove back in the water due to shock. the ipc's insignia hung from your savior's chest as his purple-teal eyes squinted at you in amusement.

"you're the lighthouse keeper, aren't you, friend?" he asked, voice airy and oozing with enough charisma that could disarm you if you hadn't had an extraordinary experience underwater.

when he tilted his head, waiting for your reply, you shook your head and began wringing out the water in your hair. "yeah, that's me. did you need anything…?"

"aventurine, friend. my name's aventurine. and no, i don't, i was simply out on a stroll," came his smooth reply, offering you your trench coat. "i'm more curious as to why you're out here so early in the morning. diving into the waters, no less."

you let out a nervous laugh as you shrugged on your coat. "was looking for a camera that got swept away by the waves. stepped on something i shouldn't have and took a little sea bath in the process."

aventurine laughed and offered his hand once more to guide you back to shore safely. you took it graciously, not without any hesitation—and he noticed. you put the dangerous glint in his eyes in the back of your mind and focused on trying to lace up your shoes without your hands shaking from the encounter.

not only did you find who you were looking for, you practically confirmed that his kind existed. but an encounter with an ipc delegate, finding you in probably the most precarious position possible, no less, spelled out nothing but trouble.

﹒ ✦ ﹒

you don't go looking for the selkie for the next few days after your first encounter. not only was his behavior strange, the complete opposite of how he acted towards you the first time, but because the ipc had grown suspicious of your activity up north.

the missing camera you had been looking for had been returned to you, at your doorstep, with aventurine smiling at you like he had uncovered the secret you've been keeping for centuries. it didn't help that he was accompanied by his co-workers—all serious and intimidating, wearing black suits and shades with stone-cold expressions. it truly felt like he was giving you a warning. 'try and go against us, and you'll find a reason to dive into the waters.' his hooded eyes screamed (aventurine only patted you on the shoulder and bid you a good afternoon, but your paranoia and fear had twisted it into something far more threatening. you didn't sleep that night—too worried to tinker with the camera, too scared to see what horrible thing they must've done to that selkie's shoulder).

with another heavy sigh, you rose from your slumped position in the service room to your coffee mug that nearly fell over as many sachets of instant coffee littered around your feet. the cracked camera from the north shore remained untouched and hidden in one of the cabinets. oftentimes, you'd feel its lens prickle your skin as if it had grown a pair of eyes to watch you ever move—waiting for the moment to jab the cracked glass to jab at your skin and let your blood spill on the wooden floors.

the radio sounded through with a new message. the sound that usually had you jumping in fright now gave you a sense of relief, so you let your feet guide you through the mess you've left behind. you pressed the glowing red button with the pad of your thumb. after hearing the short 'beep', you let your voice carry over to the other side. "this is the keeper, [name]. please state your query after the beep."

"it's me, kid."

gallagher? with a confused blink, you pressed the red button fully so you and gallagher wouldn't have to go back and worth with the radio. you pulled a nearby chair and sat down, your chin resting comfortably on your folded arms. "what's up, gallagher? you don't usually use the radio to contact me."

the older man chuckled in response. "well you aren't answering your phone. had to call you the old-fashioned way."

that's right, your phone has been dead for a few days now. with the mess in the service room and watch room, you've effectively lost the charger. with a nervous laugh, you replied: "right… sorry, the lighthouse has been… a mess recently. i lost the charger somewhere."

"nothing to be sorry about, kiddo," he reassured. "why don't you come down to town? surely it's gotten pretty lonely up there, yeah?"

you genuinely considered his offer. ever since you moved back home and inherited the lighthouse, you've only come to town a handful of times. and you've been here for almost half a year now. you did a quick survey of the cabinets near you—you were out of coffee, your snacks will be gone after two more nights, and you were sure grocerries were almost finished, too.

you sighed. "sure, i'll come down in a few. need you to fix something anyway and get some more food."

"great! i'll see you soon, kid."

"see you, uncle."

﹒ ✦ ﹒

the town you grew up in was small. everyone knew everyone, by face, by name, and by their upbringing. you haven't stepped a foot in the main town, and yet you've already been swept away with small talk with the people who once knew your dad. they'd always say how much you were beginning to look like him, how you've grown taller, or how hard it must be to handle the lighthouse with only gallagher as your support system.

you could only laugh and brush it off as politely as you could. there's this bitter aftertaste in your tongue whenever you talk with the townspeople. maybe it's because you spent 4 long years in the city—no longer safe in the presence of others who knew you from your skin down to the bone. or maybe it's because how most of them have grown very cushy with the ipc in recent days.

as you continued the trek to the market, gallagher's warning still rang loudly in your ears. they were here for something—someone—and you're sure of it. to make it worse, you know (well, kinda know. you've only seen him twice and both meetings haven't been exactly pleasant) who they're after.

"maybe coming to town was a mistake."

"how come?"

you're taken aback when another voice chimed in. he was a fairly tall fellow, most definitely a foreigner—maybe a tourist? you certainly haven't seen him around before. him and his dark fitted button-up and blue tie, his hand carried what you assumed was a white coat, his trousers and shoes matched his light hair. the contrast in colors puts much emphasis on his lean shoulders and build.

"hello?" the man asked, waving a hand in front of your face to capture your attention.

your cheeks flushed when you realized you'd been unabashedly oogling at him. you quickly averted your gaze, "oh..! sorry, i haven't been sleeping very well recently…" a weak excuse, but it was the wholehearted truth. out of embarrassment, your feet began to move and much to your chagrin, the mysteriously handsome man followed your steps.

"well that can't be good. has something been bothering you?"

"it's really nothing. lighthouse keeper problems, i suppose."

god, his voice was really nice—like those sirens singing sailors to their doom. if you weren't on a mission to use gallagher as your personal shopping cart for groceries, you could probably sleep standing if this stranger continued to talk. he had a pretty intense gaze, too, for someone so delicate-looking. you could practically feel the goosebumps on your arms whenever his eyes strayed on one part for too long.

"you… you're hurt," he pointed out.

you let out a confused noise and stopped a few steps from entering the bustling market. the stranger hesitated for a moment before pointing at the back of your neck. following his gaze, you prodded at the blossoming wound. ah, he meant the bruising your lovely visitor gave you a few nights ago.

"oh, this?" you pushed your hair further to the side so this stranger could get a better view. he nodded. for some reason, his upper teeth caught his bottom lip in a tight tug as you fixed the collar of your shirt to hide it better. "had a visitor recently. he wasn't… the touchy type."

"…i see."

the air turned awkward, for some reason. you had to cough into your fist and continued your journey to gallagher's shop. much to your surprise, the stranger still followed you, albeit a few steps behind. now, you could feel the way his eyes lingered on the back of your nape and across your back. truly, what the hell was wrong with the people in this town? you don't recall them being this weird.

with a sigh, you skidded to a stop in front of a shop. "well, this is my stop. what about you? looking for something in particular?"

he shook his head and adjusted his grip on his coat. "i suppose i am looking for a… gift. an apology gift, i mean."

"well, you're just in luck," you pushed open the door to the store and ushered the stranger inside. "this place has most of the strange knick-knacks you could take home as a souvenir. i know the owner, too. maybe i could get you a discount."

he smiled at you in appreciation—or was it in amusement? regardless, the small shift in his expression has your heart skipping a beat. you averted your gaze again. ducking under the many shelves that housed small wooden carvings of ships, bottled jars with sand and shells, and small handmade jewelry, just to hide the flush in your cheeks. maybe gallagher was right—you've spent too much time in the lighthouse if you're getting flustered at this stranger's politeness.

in the back of your mind, though, something was yelling at you to keep an eye on him. so, against your better judgment and your code of conduct for respecting others' privacy, you allowed your eyes to linger on this stranger's back through the small cracks of the shelves.

you hadn't noticed that his golden eyes housed two azure pearls. his lashes were incredibly light too. the skin on his face looked so untouched by a single blemish, if you were none the wiser, you would've assumed he was some sort of doll. his hair was pretty long, tied to the side into a small ponytail with a delicate hair tie that looked like the seaweed that used to wrap around your ankles as a child.

he'd gravitate towards the jewelry in comparison to the trinkets. he did say he was getting a gift, so it made sense in your head. when he suddenly turned his head to the side, your eyes met for a brief moment. he smiled—out of instinct, you think—and you're ducking your head lower again. you busied your hands with turning over some random piece of junk in gallagher's shop to hide the deep blush on your cheeks after getting caught eyeing him like a piece of meat. again. he chuckled and went back to scavenging for trinkets. the sound sent shivers down your spine. like the crashing of the evening waves on shore—so gentle and natural, as if he were meant to laugh and you were meant to listen to it.

you stayed there for a while. crouched down in one dusty corner, your hand fidgeting with a small wooden carving of a seal. when you had realized what the animal was, you had rolled your eyes and scoffed.

"what a strong reaction. i take it you don't have good relationships with seals?"

you nearly jumped out of your skin when his breath fanned the shell of your ear. the low timbre of his voice sent shivers down to your very bones. when you looked at your side, your noses nearly bumped with each other due to the proximity. you went back and forth, looking at the stranger and where he once stood before you, nervously coughing into your fist, and stood to your full height.

"not… necessarily." you cursed your voice for sounding so small as his gloved hands encompassed yours. twisting and turning the small wooden animal in your hand. you prayed to every god in existence that he doesn't look up—lest he catches the sight of your cheeks and ears in a rosy pink.

"they're playful little creatures in the water," the stranger explained. his other hand came to hold your wrist (and you're very, very sure he purposely placed his thumb where your pulse drummed), while the other gently pried your fingers off due to its harsh hold. "but on land, they're awkward and sometimes aggressive."

"i… didn't know that." you admitted. with the newfound information, maybe your visitor's outburst wasn't so unprompted. after all, he was injured with no one to help him. guilt began to well up in your chest as you tried to remember that look in his eyes that night. so narrowed and filled with apprehension. you hadn't even explained to him how you weren't an enemy and forcibly treated his wound with no anesthesia. surely, he must have been in grave pain when you did his stitches.

"you seem troubled," the stranger's voice snapped you out of your self-deprecation. when you looked up, his golden eyes looked warm, as if trying to quell the thunderstorm in your mind. "may i be so bold as to ask what's troubling you again?"

you opened and closed your mouth. a part of you felt like you knew this man, but another kept telling you to be wary. he wasn't from this town, you're sure of it, and the modernity of his clothes doesn't help your caution around the ipc that's been loitering around. but his voice. so enchantingly kind and welcoming, you can't help the way your shoulders relax and the sigh that escapes.

maybe it's the way the air around him seemed far fresher than normal, with a slight tang of saltiness that clung to his hair. or simply by the way he carried himself in quiet ease, greeting every smiling face with a polite nod and fair greeting of his own. this stranger looked like the picture-perfect prince charming you'd swoon for whenever you asked your mom for a fairytale before bed. something about him felt nostalgic, familiar—almost intimate in nature.

"i encountered one not long ago," you started. you ran your tongue over your drying lips and watched attentively to the way his eyebrows jumped or the way his hand gripped yours a little tighter. "i think i might have hurt him."

the stranger hummed. you felt him take a step closer to you, just enough for you to get a whiff of his perfume—salty, like the sea breeze, and surprisingly untamed like the crashing waves. it was the last thing you expected from someone that looked so put together, but when you looked up to meet his gaze, you could see the slight cloudiness of his eyes and how they narrowed down. "and that's been bothering you? for how long has it been in your mind?"

"since that night."

you don't elaborate further, fully expecting this stranger you've just met to fully understand what you meant. and he did—you're very sure he truly did because he smiled. not the amused one he'd flash when he caught you looking, it was something softer. like seafoam that drifts past your feet and disappears within a blink. you chuckled under your breath at the absurdity of the situation and stepped back (ignoring the way your heart leaped out of your chest when the stranger stepped forward, refusing to let you create any distance or the way his head dipped lower. his face was just mere inches away from yours. and you see it, the way his smile tugged higher or the way his shoulders shook with amusement. you pretend it doesn't send a flurry of butterflies down to your stomach and threaten to send you into a giddy fit of giggles.

tucked away in this quiet corner of a small shop, with the market bustling outside, all sound faded to a seamless buzz when you heard his laughter—soft chimes of bells and an airy breeze. you don't like how much this stranger reminds you of the ocean whenever you go down from the lighthouse, book or easel and canvas in hand, looking for a quiet spot to unwind).

"your laugh," you absentmindedly start. he hummed in response, urging you to continue. "it's a very nice sound." your voice came out more of a whisper by the end of your sentence. by mistake, your eyes dipped down to his lips and you're all too aware of how little distance actually separates where you start and where he ended.

"thank you, that's quite the compliment. do you give them out to everyone easily?" he quipped back, a teasing lilt to his voice. slowly, his hand untangled your fingers from the wooden carving and gently took it from your grasp—instead, replacing it with his own hand and intertwining your fingers into a small daring dance.

you nervously laughed, torn with wanting to pull away or tug him closer. "no, just you."

his eyes widened by a fraction. you relished in the way his pale face flushed into a cute pink (ignoring, again, how you're also red in the face). his gaze ended up falling to where your hands lay suspended in the air, and how you've yet to pull away. somehow, that small, almost insignificant detail of his boldness has the wings behind his ears fluttering.

hold on.

the smile on your face dropped when the cold realization began settling in. you started imagining what he would look like if you undid the hair tie tying his hair together. with the afternoon sun as his backdrop, you almost mistake the space for the cold ocean that pulled you further down into the depths with only a selkie to hold. then, your eyes focused on his wings again. the way the fluttered and curled towards his face—almost in a bashful manner. like he was trying to hide from your intense gaze.

tentatively, your free hand reached to cup the side of his face, forcing him out of hiding. he yelped in response, and you uttered a quick apology. your eyes remained fixated on the appendages that extended from the back of his ear as your finger slowly crept closer and closer to the feathers. you felt his breathing quicken, but he didn't pull away. your eyes eventually narrow into a glare when you seize the wings into your hold—reminding yourself to be gentle so as not to suddenly pop the fragile bubble that had enveloped both of you. it quivered under your hold, and you jolted back when the stranger's head fell to your shoulder.

"just like the selkie," you whispered.

"kid, you're here already! why didn't you say a thi—"

the bell situated at the top of the shop's door chimed loudly as the wooden seal placed on the shelf suddenly dropped to the floor. you stood there, frozen in time as your eyes remained fixated on his figure, hurriedly leaving the room with flushed cheeks and a hand covering half his face. you're in no better state. if gallagher were to round the corner and get a good look at your face, he'd see the way your face is red as coral.

"gallagher," you called out to him. a hand came and dragged down your face in exasperation, letting out a small frustrated, disbelieving scream into your palm while gallagher looked at you with a tilt of his head. "tell me the name of that man."

"who?"

instinctively, you're hand came up to touch the bruise on your nape and replayed the way he kept his eyes on it on the way here. with furrowed brows, your eyes wandered back to the wooden carving on the floor as you replayed the memory of the seal nosing itself on your back. the way his snout kept sniffing at what you assumed were the other bruises from the first night you had met him.

in your head, everything began clicking into place.

"the fellow with the dark shirt and blue tie," you elaborated. you raise your hand a few inches above your head to show his height, "about this tall, pale hair and skin, wings behind his ears and gold earrings."

you finally turned to look at gallagher, who had leaned on the counter, his chin clasped in between in his thumb and forefinger as he racked his brain for the name of the man you were looking for. you prayed that your face had at least cooled down a little from the sudden realization dawning on you and waited with bated breath for gallagher's response.

"oh!" he snapped his fingers and pointed at you. "you're talking about that strange young man. sunday, i believe his name was."

"sunday…" you tested. you took a sharp inhale and burst into a small fit of giggles. gallagher looked at you weirdly as you, almost robotically, picked up the wooden carving that fell on the ground and returned it to its proper spot on the shelf. "even his name sounds mythical."

﹒ ✦ ﹒

the lighthouse was fairly quiet by the time it hit 6 o'clock. not tonight, though. not when you've invited gallagher over for dinner to discuss the strange encounter with the selkie just a few days ago in the ocean. and he's been laughing at you for the past 30 minutes.

with an irked scoff, you kicked the leg of his seat and watched as the older man toppled over. he floundered his hands in the air, confused as to why the world suddenly tilted as his back made contact with the cold floor. you snickered under your breath and took a satisfied sip from your mug of coffee (yes, you've once again broken your rule of no coffee at night, but this was important and you needed the caffeine to survive gallagher's endless bouts of teasing).

"you done laughing?" you asked exasperatedly as gallagher slowly got and sat back down. he chuckled in response, scooted his chair closer to the small coffee table you had forced him to carry up to the service room. he shook his head, strands of long brown hair swaying with the movement as he hunched over and leaned his forearms on the tips of his knees. you grimaced and slightly backed further into your seat. you didn't like the smile on his face as he tinkered away with the old lamp in his grasp.

"ya really are mikhail's kid," he muttered fondly. scarred hands turned the lamp over and started unscrewing its bottom lid to inspect the damage. you snorted behind your mug and nudged him with your foot from under the table.

the mention of your dad summoned a big smile on your face as you huffed with pride. you tried to hide it behind your mug but gallagher only raised a curious brow at you. "tell me something i don't already know," you challenged, a smirk playing at your lips as gallagher captured your leg. he pulled, harsh but playful, and laughed loudly as you fell off your seat with your mug clattering to the ground, but thankfully not breaking. "hey! that mug's expensive, you know?!"

"and entirely fake, kid. i keep telling ya it's not real."

with a roll of your eyes, you kicked gallagher at his side and watched as his shoulders quaked with another loud round of laughter. you slowly retreated to your seat, taking the mug that fell to the floor and inspecting it closely. for the next few minutes, a lapse of silence fell on you both as you let gallagher work his magic on the oil lamp you found in one of the cabinets of the service room.

gallagher's toolbox sat open on the small table. the small piece of cloth you've used as a makeshift cover for the wooden thing had been stained with old oil, not even 10 minutes after he got to work. his screwheads and pliers littered the surface, with the lamp's old and barely readable manual neatly splayed on the side. near you sat the binoculars you've been looking at since the last storm. thankfully, it doesn't need that much repairing compared to the lamp—only a change of its lenses.

"so…" gallagher began. his stained fingers stopped working on the lamp and set it back down on the table. "when are ya gonna look for the fellow again?" he asked as you watched in amazement when he flicked the switch and the lamp turned on.

you settled back in your seat with a shrug of your shoulders. "and didn't i tell you it'd be dangerous? the ipc's been on my track since aventurine found me diving up north."

"that may be true," gallagher hummed. his head raised, and you felt a shiver when his red eyes met yours in a standdown. "but are ya gonna let them get to the selkie first? aren't ya worried about the poor thing?"

you opened and closed your mouth, but no actual sound followed. you wanted to offer another logical retort, or maybe a sarcastic joke, but gallagher's words began settling in faster than tonight's fog. with a heavy sigh, you pushed your hair out of your face and mulled it over for longer. "no, i don't."

at your response, gallagher smiled. "well then, let's go looking for him. i'm sure that's what mikhail would have wanted us to do."

he flicked the lamp off, rounded the table, and grasped your arm. with one swift tug, you were on your feet with a pained groan. you complained about him not controlling his strength, and he merely laughed. you playfully punched his side, and he winced for the joke of it. you were about to go up to the watch room to get your flashlight when suddenly, a knock echoed.

gallagher narrowed his eyes down the dark path to the spiral staircase before they fell on you. "expecting a visitor?" he asked, clipping the lamp on the loop of his belt as you shook your head.

"no, i don't get any that aren't you," you admitted, eyes narrowed into an apprehensive glare. gallagher only hummed and swiftly cleaned up his mess on the table. you took it as a sign to get the coat you've thrown on top of a nearby chair and threw it on.

"well then," with a click of a lock, gallagher shut his toolbox and flashed you an assuring smile, his thumb jabbed at himself as he puffed his chest. you giggled at how ridiculous he looked. "let's go meet our unwanted visitors."

with a nod, you followed your uncle down the stairs, purposely taking your time just to piss off whoever was knocking this late at your door. gallagher made it his personal mission to crack all the lame jokes he's piled up in his arsenal with each step you took down the stairs. you'd roll your eyes most of the time, but when his award-winning execution caught you off guard, you'd grace him with a little laugh, which prompted him to bust out his storytelling skills to max.

the knocking grew louder and more fervent as you reached the final steps. gallagher gave you a reassuring pat on the back as he took charge. somehow, in the barely lit room, when he took a deep breath before opening the door, you could imagine your dad standing by his side. just a few inches taller and leaner in build with a hand on your uncle's shoulder while the other held the door as well. with his back turned to you, you only realize now that gallagher must miss your dad, too. after all, when everyone in town refused to tell stories about mikhail and his adventures, gallagher was the only one who re-told them in great detail.

you'd almost forgotten how great a storyteller gallagher was.

a bitter smile crept up your lips as gallagher opened the door and greeted your visitors. as expected, it was aventurine again with his line of co-workers (that appeared more like bodyguards due to the dim light). both had smiles on their faces, but the blonde man had the tips of his lips in this dangerous, expectant tug while gallagher remained unfazed and even laid-back in comparison.

you leaned on the wall, still refusing to get down from the last few steps of the stairs, and watched as aventurine's mouth moved in quick succession. his hand moved in the air to emphasize his point, the small light of the moon often reflected in the expensive watch he wore on his wrist. your eyes eventually landed on the lines of forgettable faces behind aventurine. they all wore the typical uniform you assumed the ipc required them to wear. you were just about to turn back, leave it in the trusty hands of gallagher, if you haven't caught a slight glimmer of something silver in the distance.

you felt your lungs tighten in your chest as you quietly prayed that it wasn't who you thought it was. the conversation just a few steps in front of you turned into an uncomfortable buzzing in your ear as you faintly see it—the silhouette of someone rising out of the sea with something in their hands. the winds suddenly turned still, like it always did when the selkie was just out of reach.

with furrowed brows, you took a few steps back up to where a window was conveniently placed. from the corner of his eyes, gallagher must have noticed how aventurine's stare followed you—you noticed it almost immediately, after all, you don't get goosebumps from someone's stare alone. the hand at your side flexed, your thumb pretending to click a switch twice to signal gallagher to continue stalling. when he opened the door further and invited the ipc further inside, you took it as a sign that gallagher understood. with one last glance out on the shores, you slowly crept up the stairs back to the service room.

of all times the selkie could appear, he just had to choose when the ipc was visiting.

you cursed under your breath, nearly tripping over the flight of stairs as you hurriedly sifted through the cabinets, looking for a spare camera to use as an excuse. your grip on your flashlight nearly slipped when you heard footsteps going up. you swiveled your head back, waiting in bated breath for aventurine to come sauntering into the service room. but no one did. a relieved sigh escaped your lips as you continued to shove things in your coat's pocket—your phone that you finally charged, an old camera, and your flashlight—before bolting down the stairs.

"oh, if it isn't my friend, the keeper!" aventurine greeted you when he saw you coming down. you only nodded in greeting, adjusting the sleeves of your coat and tugging it further down—a nervous fidget you've developed over the course of time.

you turned to look at gallagher, his arms crossed and smile slightly tighter than what you're used to. "i'm going out. can you take care of the lighthouse for me, gallagher?"

he blinked at you, still confused as to why you wanted the ipc inside. but you kept your back to aventurine and mouthed, 'the selkie is out on the shore. we can't let the ipc know he's here—out in the open.'

gallagher pretended to think about it, even ruffled his hair and let out a deep breath as if disapproving of you going out this late. he tapped his foot incessantly—a tell-tale sign of his growing unease, but the ipc didn't need to know that—as you pleaded with your eyes. after a few more beats of silence, gallagher finally relented.

"get back before the moon is up, m'kay, kid?" he firmly reminded, a rough hand ruffling your hair as you nodded with a smile.

"oh? where are you off to, friend?"

you stopped one foot the door to turn back and met aventurine's eyes. he had his chin between his fingers; to the naked eye, his stance would appear open and rather inviting for a chat, but you knew better. you've noticed the way his shoulders were pulled into a taut line, the slight crease of his brows, and the way his lips began to quiver, unable to keep the business smile he greeted you with.

you straightened your back in response, rolled your shoulders back and leveled your voice. "the shore. apparently, the fish have been randomly dying out, and i wanted to throw in a camera to see if any invasive species have smuggled their way into the waters." to prove your point, you took out the small camera from your pocket. the excuse wasn't entirely false—you've kept an open ear to the local fishermen at the docks and jotted down their concerns for each week's catch. it's not entirely strange for them to come home with barely any fish to reap, but this was strange.

and somehow, with this issue arising, you couldn't help but assume that the ipc was involved.

"i see. well, take care then, friend," he replied. you only nodded and finally stepped out of the suffocating room—not forgetting to close the door so he wouldn't get the view of you or the selkie. you only prayed that gallagher doesn't let aventurine wander to a window where he would have a perfect view of your lie.

you measured your steps until you reached the sandy beach. your heart drummed in your ears like crashing tides. you continued walking, then jogging, until panic and worry settled in and took over. the sand blurred beneath your feet as your eyes zeroed in on where you last saw the selkie. you skidded to a full stop, the tips of your shoes just a few inches from meeting the waters, as you surveyed the area. your breath turned uneven when you looked left and right before they fell on the slight indents of footprints on the sand. with wide eyes, you let instincts take over once more and began sprinting up north.

your lungs burned with the cold wind, your breath turned into a foggy exhale with each hurried step you took. you don't have enough time to find sunday—gallagher was bound to run out of stories to tell, and with aventurine's growing impatience, it won't take long for him to realize you weren't just by the shore checking for fish. no, you were up north, meeting the selkie they've been hunting since that stormy night.

blood flashed in your mind. the way it dripped from his shoulder remained engraved like a searing memory that refused to let up. your mind began spiraling when you reached the rocky shores and found no sign of him. with a curse under your breath, you kicked off your shoes and met the waves halfway, not caring to roll up your pants and letting them get soaked.

"sunday?" you called out. "sunday, where are you?!" still, there was no reply. another curse left your lips as you began to check behind the rocks, leaving no corner or stone unturned. the footprints had disappeared exactly where he tempted you deeper. with a deep breath, you inhaled as much oxygen as your lungs could hold, then dove down.

the oceans were dark and terrifying to chart at this hour. you had no equipment, no guide, and most certainly a death wish with the way you swam further. you rose back up to the surface when your lungs began to burn for air. the cold temperature wasn't exactly making it easier—you feel the brittle breeze clamor with your bones as you try to regulate your breathing. another deep inhale and you're diving back in. you swam in the direction of the rocks, hoping to find sunday waiting for you in one corner. but like the first time, you're forced to come up for air.

you dragged a hand down your face and held onto a rock for dear life. the tides seemed particularly strong tonight, and if you're not careful, you'll truly be swept away. you were about to take another deep breath when you heard a voice, and your blood went cold. as swiftly as you could with the tides, you hid behind a rock and watched in mortification as men in black suits began running down the sandy beach.

"no, no, no…" you were out of time. with a hurried inhale, you hid underwater as one of ipc members came too close to where you were hiding. you swam a little further, fully testing your luck as you involuntarily coughed and bubbles began to rise. you quickly slapped a hand over your mouth and watched with burning lungs as the man over our figure finally left. you rose back to the surface quickly and gulped down air like a starved man.

a shaky hand gripped the rock beside you as you took a peek at the group by the shore. they weren't being led by aventurine like you expected. instead, a woman with short white hair and an animal companion ordered everyone around. by the looks of their formation, they were scouting the entire area from head to toe, leaving no room for you to slip past their defenses without getting noticed. "shit… i'm dead."

you were running out of breath. the cold was seeping into your bones, and with your coat still on, you're body felt thrice as heavy as it should be. you debated on shrugging it off now, but the more you thought about it, the more you didn't want to let it go. even in a life-or-death situation, you refused to let another piece of your dad die. so with a shaky breath, you took one last deep breath before a hand came to slot itself over your lips and snake around your waist.

"mmph!"

"do not be afraid, it's me."

you felt a warm breath fan the shell of your ear as your back met a firm chest. your body went still as a familiar wing curled towards your face. you blinked away your confusion when he kicked his feet and pushed both of you further and further from the beach. you gaped at his strength, willingly fell limp in his hold and let him get you both to safety.

"what are you doing here?" he asked in a whisper, his back pressed firmly against a rock furthest from the shore as the hand over your lips settled to hold you by the shoulders.

"i should be asking you that?!" you hissed, trying to wiggle away from his hold. "why are you walking around in this hour with the ipc around?!"

noticing your struggle, sunday loosened his hold on your shoulders and waist, allowing you to turn around and face him. your breathing remained heavy and uneven, vision spotting every once in a while as your hand held onto his shoulder for support. your legs were growing tired from kicking underwater to stay afloat, but you had enough energy to glare at the curious tilt of his head at your irritation.

"am i not allowed to take a stroll on the beach?"

"not with the ipc around, no!" you sternly replied. you dragged one hand down your face in exasperation as his right wing fluttered, most probably in confusion. you were ready to fire another heated quip when sunday's hand suddenly pulled you closer by the waist. you let out a startled noise as your noses nearly brushed at the proximity. "what are you doing…?" you seethed out. your pulse doubled, maybe even tripled, in speed, and you couldn't tell if it was because of the panic of having the ipc closing in—or because his breath kept ghosting over your lips.

despite the frigid waters that gnawed at your skin with cold teeth, everywhere he touched, heat bloomed like a warm embrace back on land. it's almost embarrassing how you tried to chase after the warmth he exuded. he wasn't even moving away, simply readjusting his hold on you to stop you from slipping away, scanning you up and down with his eyes to make sure you were okay. somehow, that small, inconsequential detail in this suffocating situation was all you could think about.

"you're tired," he pointed out. for a brief moment, he turned his head to take a peek at the people loitering around the shore (and giving you a perfect view of his defined jaw—no, no! focus, you could die! now was not the time to ogle at him!). when his gold eyes returned to you, he cupped your face with his other hand, capturing your chin in his hold. "i have enough strength to keep us both afloat, so rest."

his voice at such a close distance woke goosebumps on your arms, and you had no doubt he noticed. not when his lips twitched and threatened to smile. with a few more ragged breaths, your feet slowly stopped kicking, and true to his words, both of you stayed afloat. you don't understand why he smiled widely when you did, but you didn't mull over it long when you seized the hand holding your chin in warning.

"we need to get out of here," you warned, flinching when a voice from an ipc worker came too close to where you hid. "if we don't, then we're both dead meat."

sunday must have took notice of the panic in your eyes or the way your hand shook with fear. his own eyes narrowed into a glare, and the grip on your waist tightened—pulling you closer until your chests to chest. he only nodded, letting go of your face to instead cradle the back of your head, pushing your face to the crook of his neck. "hold on to me and take a deep breath."

understanding what he wanted to do, you nodded and did as he told. you snaked both your hands around his neck and took a deep breath, before you plunged back into the dark depths of the waves. the air was dizzying, not because of the lack of it—rather, it's because his scent enveloped you so seamlessly you almost thought this wasn't the first time he's saved you.

﹒ ✦ ﹒

after what seemed like forever, you and sunday finally emerged from the waters. you gulped down air the moment your head rose above the waves and your arms clumsily grasped at the sandy beach. when you turned your head, sunday was already getting up, wringing out the water in his hair and walked to where your… shoes lay dry. you shook your head in disbelief, paid no mind to how sunday must have gotten his hands on your things and laid back on the beach.

the stars blinked at you while the moon stayed shy, remaining obscured by the many clouds. around you, the fog began trickling in and you surmise roughly an hour must have passed already. it didn't feel like an hour. it felt more than that as you forced your body to sit up, wincing when the soreness began to creep in.

you looked around and felt your shoulders relax when you see the lighthouse not far from where sunday had taken you. speaking of sunday, he stood there with your shoes in hand, waiting for you to… do anything. you raised a brow, which prompted him to look away. a blush settled on his cheeks as his wings hid his face in embarrassment. you shook your head again and stood up.

your heart still drummed in your ears with each step you took. under the moonlight, his skin looked far paler than that day in the market, his hair glimmered like pearls as his lean muscles of his shoulders and arms were exposed only to you. hesitantly, you dragged your finger along the lines of his wings and watched in quiet amusement when he jumped, eyes narrowed down in a glare that held no real hostility.

"jumpy, are we?" you snorted when he flicked your hand away, but he doesn't push it away when you try again—cupping his cheek and dragging your thumb under his eye and felt your pulse jump when he nuzzled his nose further into your palm. "really affectionate, too…" you murmured.

"you never answered my question," sunday pointed out. his golden eyes gleamed at you under the moon, reflecting the kind of suns you'd only read about in fairytales. those two blue pearls in them looked far richer in color than when you first noticed them. it pulled you deeper in his gaze, inviting you to take another step and observed the way his lips twitched up.

"what was your question again?" you asked, bewitched with how he took hold your hand and pressed his lips to where your pulse could be read.

"i asked what you were doing here?"

you snapped out of your daze, the image of the lighthouse behind sunday appearing clearer. your eyes widened when the near encounter with the ipc came back like a crashing wave. "we need to go to the lighthouse. like, right now." you don't wait for his response. instead, you grabbed his hand and ran.

"hold on a moment!"

"save the questions for later," you turned your head slightly, a smile on your lips as you ran across the shore with the selkie you've been looking for. how surreal this situation was. you chuckled under your breath and shook your head. "you trust me, right?"

sunday opened and closed his mouth. you turned your head forward once more. it was rhetoric question, not exactly expecting him to give you an exact answer. but much to your surprise, sunday laced your fingers together and gave you an affirming squeeze. when you decided to look back at him, he gave you a firm nod, "of course. you've done nothing to raise my distrust."

somehow, that gave you enough reason to speed up and pray a little harder than aventurine already left the lighthouse. hopefully, gallagher was okay and sober enough to hear you out.

﹒ ✦ ﹒

when you both reached the back door of the lighthouse, you were out of breath while sunday barely broke out a sweat. an exasperated sigh escaped you as you tried to pry open the door, only to realize that it was locked. you grumbled out a curse and began patting yourswlf down, checking to see if you had a spare key on your person. with no luck, you turned to sunday who looked at you with a tilt of his head. confusion swam in his eyes as you reached your shoes he still held in his hands.

"okay, here's the plan," you began, leaning on the lighthouse as you began to put on your shoes. "you stay here and keep out of sight while i go to the front. hopefully, aventurine and his lackies are gone so i can open the backdoor for you to use. you understand?"

when he nodded, you wringed out the last few droplets of water in your hair as your mind tried to formulate a believable enough lie to not raise suspicion. you were about to round the corner when sunday suddenly took hold of your hand. you raised a brow, waiting for him to elaborate, but when your gazes locked, he suddenly doubled down and let you go. his eyes found more interest on his feet as his wings continued to flutter, that blush on cheeks spreading to the tips of his ears.

you watched, an amused smile playing at your lips. you decided that now would be the perfect time to get back at him—for all the bruises on your back and flustering you incessantly during your trip to town.

you experimentally placed a hand on his shoulder, forcing your giggles to stay down when his wings puffed out in shock. his head turned to you, eyes narrowing in apprehension when your palms glided up to his neck, then to his cheek again. his face turned a deeper shade of red, a fist came to hide half his face while he made an (poor) attempt to not look you in the eye. in turn, you captured his chin in your grasp and pulled his face down to your height, foreheads almost touching as your breath fanned his lips. your eyes betrayed you when they lingered on them for too long before they slowly crept back up to meet his gaze.

"i'll come back for you, okay?" you whispered, relishing in the way your voice racked goosebumps on his arms and how he meekly nodded in response. you tilted your head to the side, smile growing bigger when he let out a small noise of embarrassment at your intense gaze. "come on now, won't you say something?"

sunday swallowed and nodded again. "i… i understand. i'll wait for you to open the door."

with a victorious hum, you pulled away and adjusted your soaking coat around your shoulders. you quickly turned your back on him, but not before giving him an appreciative pat on the cheek. when you reached the front door and there's no light inside, you cleared your throat and knocked. you waited for a few seconds before you hear a pair of footsteps rushing down the stairs—a curse followed prompting you to snicker under your breath.

gallagher opened the door, nearly hitting himself in the process, and you watched the relief watch over him as his eyes racked over your form. he ruffled his hair in amusement as you casually sauntered inside, your clothes soaked to the bone and soiling the wooden floors with each step you took. you immediately ran up the stairs, taking peeks at the windows to try and see if sunday was still there (he was. he hasn't moved an inch, actually, and the blush on his cheeks still remained. somehow, the effect you had on him made you extremely proud of yourself) and started pulling open cabinets and drawers for where you placed the keys.

"you know, if mikhail were still here, he'd lecture you for being reckless," came gallagher's gruff voice. his arms crossed over his chest as he watched in mild-amusement as you nearly slip over the water you've dragged inside.

"well, it's a good thing he isn't here then!"

you heard gallagher snort under his breath as you break out into a giddy smile. when you finally find what you're looking for, you side-step your uncle's figure standing as a wall in your way, and rushed down the flight of stairs. along the way, you've finally decided to throw away your drenched coat and kicked off your boots. even soaked through, the coat still smelled faintly of salt and oil—your dad's scent. that brought a smile to your face. even in his passing, he still found a way to be with you.

from behind you, you hear gallagher follow you with grumbled complaints under his breath. you snickered in excitement as you tried to imagine the expression on his face as you neared the back door of the lighthouse.

"what's gotten you this excited, kid?" gallagher asked, watching in quiet fascination as you fumble with the keys, cursing out the doorknob for turning properly. "seriously, mikhail was already a handfull, yet here you are! drenched and tripping over your feet. what even happened to y—"

your uncle's complaints died mid-way off his tongue when you finally get the door to open with a loud slam, scaring both gallagher and sunday who stood awkwardly on the other side. you cleared your throat, one hand slotted perfectly straight behind your back as the other gestured for sunday to come closer. you let out a satisfied sigh as you introduced him.

"uncle, this is sunday. the selkie that i've been losing my mind over for the last few weeks."

﹒ ✦ ﹒

you and gallagher ultimately decided that sunday would stay in the lighthouse with you until the ipc left the town.

after ushering you both inside and getting a fresh change of clothes, the three of you sat down in the watch room with more cups of your coffee stash on the table. while you tinkered away, doing your rounds of maintenance and duties, sunday remained with gallagher, stiffly conversing with him until you finished.

you graciously took the seat next to sunday and grabbed your respective mug. gallagher continued his monologue of your reckless behavior while you half-heartedly shrugged. from the corner of your eye, you'd find sunday smiling in amusement as you bickered with your uncle. he was sporting one of your dad's old uniform shirts, a size too big for him, with the way the fabric slipped down his shoulders and threatening to fall off entirely. thankfully, he was tall enough to fit in an old pair of pants, but you couldn't find any slippers his size, so sunday remained barefoot.

you, on the other hand, changed into your favorite pair of pajamas—a baby blue shirt and matching bottoms, with your fuzzy slippers that gallagher chastised you for being useless (you laughed in his face when the nights would grow too windy, in turn making your feet cold. not so useless now!). by the time sunday finally settled in his chair, no longer with taut shoulders and apprehensive glares at your uncle, it was almost past 11 p.m.. you haven't even begun explaining the full situation yet.

"it's quite alright," sunday reassured as you impatiently tapped at your mug, lips tugged into a small frown as you racked your brain for a way to explain everything concisely. when you turned to him, sunday offered you a gentle smile as he set his cup on the table, drew his legs onto the chair, and sat criss-crossed beside you. "there's no rush. please, take your time to explain everything."

you ignored the smirk that appeared on your uncle's lips and sighed. you fold too easily for this selkie's voice, and everyone in the room knew it. "well, let's start from the very beginning then." mimicking sunday's movements, you drew your legs up the chair and hugged them close to your chest. your chin rested comfortably on your knees, your free hand holding your mug by its rim. "what happened that night you arrived in the lighthouse? and what in god's name happened to your shoulder?"

sunday blinked at you slowly, a hum following before he began fidgeting with his fingers. "i… i was looking for help."

"why were you looking for help?" this time, both of you turned to look at gallagher. his bandaged hand swirling the small tin of his alcohol in swift circles, his back resting on the chair with his elbow on the top rail. he tilted his head at sunday, strands of his messy brown hair following as urged the selkie to continue.

a moment of silence lapsed as sunday's gaze fell on his lap. you were just about ready to difuse the growing tension when suddenly, he spoke.

"my sister was poisoned."

you and gallagher don't bother to hide how your eyes widened. your feet fell back on the ground as set your mug down, gallagher doing the same with his alcohol, leaning his elbows on his knees as his red eyes glared at nothing in particular. you swallowed the lodge in your throat and asked, "what… what happened?"

sunday raised his gaze, gold eyes narrowed into a furious glare. "the waters… something is wrong with them."

"that means—!"

"the ipc is doing something to our town." gallagher finished for you. sunday nodded in approval before taking a deep breath and started recounting the night of the attack.

"that's correct. my sister and i were about to visit town due to her feeling under the weather. we normally go to shore at night or early morning when most are asleep and cannot find us. but we hadn't noticed a new ship arriving at the docks with the storm raging." he looked up at gallagher and continued, "the men on board had spotted me as i took off my skin and promptly took out that… weapon."

"so the rumors are true," you murmured. "why are they hunting you?"

sunday only sighed, a hand came to push the hair out of his face, his back leaning further into his chair. "i'm… not sure. i've always heard from passerbys that creatures of folklore and wives' tales were sights to behold in the modern age. mayhaps when they found me, they could use me as a new attraction."

your blood ran cold at the venom that spat from sunday's tongue. you looked to gallagher, who looked equally as furious. his fingers have intertwined, and his knuckles threatened to turn white with how tightly he had knit them together. "and of your sister? where is she now?"

"she's safe in town," sunday informed, a small smile finally graced his lips as your shoulders relaxed in relief. "we often stay on land for months on end and have made a small home further down south. she's currently being looked after by an elderly couple that helped us settle in."

"well, that's a relief to hear," you voiced, finishing the last drops of coffee in your cup. "has a doctor gone to see her yet?"

sunday shook his head. "i'm afraid not. we've been informed that the doctors in town aren't as professional as the ones in the city. the most help robin has received are homemade remedies and over-the-counter medicine."

"well lucky for you, we just happen to have a doctor right now," gallagher announced. you threw a glare at his smirking face, rolling your eyes when he simply chuckled as he finally unlaced his fingers from one another.

when you turned to look at sunday, he was already looking at you. his eyes set in a firm gaze as he sat up straighter in his seat. "actually, i had wanted to visit you." you pointed a finger at yourself and watched as sunday chuckled at your puzzled face. his hand came up to his shoulder and you watched as he caressed the spot where you vaguely saw the scar of your stitching. "you had patched my wound so efficiently that night—well, as efficiently as you could with me giving you trouble."

"trouble is a nice and simple way of putting it…" you retort. sunday's wings flapped in embarrassment as he coughed into his fist.

"s-since you had helped me that night—a stranger bleeding at your door—i had wanted to ask if you could come see robin and check her condition."

every teasing quip died on your tongue when you noticed the earnest worry in sunday's eyes. his shoulders were tensed once more, the hands that held his cup shook faintly, as if afraid of hearing your rejection. you bit your bottom lip and honestly admitted, "i'm not a doctor yet, sunday. i have no experience in treating patients professionally."

"no, of course you are not, i had assumed as much," he shook his head and let his gaze fall back on his lap. he took a small glance at gallagher, who only nodded with a smile. with a deep breath, he met your eyes once more, and you felt something churn in your gut. this small yet encompassing need to reach out to sunday, help him as best you could when he said, "but you are kind. incredibly persistent, mayhaps reckless during certain occasions, but you would not let someone suffer."

you opened and closed your mouth, unable to form a coherent thought as you're swept away in sunday's gaze. you know he's trying to butter you up—worming his way into your heart for his benefit—but even then, you can't help but feel… pleased. pleased that he thought of you so highly. trusting you enough to want to reach out to you to save his sister. the memory of his first night in the lighthouse replayed in your mind like a broken record. his unease, caution, and distrust of your touch. it contrasted painfully with the trip to town and how he saved you mere hours ago. his hands were gentle, unsure, but so incredibly careful you can't help but want to melt into his palms.

you blinked out of your daze when you distinctly heard gallagher's feet tapping on the floor—a sign that he was growing anxious over the silence. as you snapped back to reality, you gave an affirmative nod to sunday with a smile on your lips. "i'll go into town and check on her. let's wait a few more days for the ipc's trail to go cold before making another move."

sunday visibly brightened at your words. "you… will?"

"yes, sunday, i will." with your words, his shoulders relaxed once more as gallagher heaved out a sigh. you raised a curious brow at him. "and you? i thought you had wanted to ask sunday a question?"

"yeah, yeah, i was getting to that. didn't want to ruin your little moment."

you kicked him under the table in response with a small glare, ignoring the blush that threatened to creep up your cheeks, dousing your face in a rosy hue. you're sure sunday shared the same sentiment. the sound of fluttering was exceptionally loud when gallagher heaved out a laugh at both your expressions.

"well ain't you two cute," gallagher teased. his eyes eventually fell on sunday's figure, and watched as his voice grow quiet. "i just want to know one thing: why did you go to this lighthouse in particular? and, what's your relationship with mikhail?"

© 𝓵ysarion 2025 — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate works without the knowledge or consent of the creator in other platforms or websites.

[orbitsaturn]

meet cute scenarios w/ hsr boys!

━ meet cute: an amusing or charming first encounter between two characters that leads to the development of a romantic relationship between them

aventurine, sunday, mydei + phainon fluff + comedy modern au

Aventurine

in which your pet dog became a super spy through aventurine's help!

Your pet dog always brought you gifts from aeons-knows where.... Gizmo has always liked collecting "treasures" to bring for you every time he went out to play. At first, it was little things: an expensive-looking pen, a pair of sunglasses, and a single glove.

But... the gifts started to become concerning...

One day, your dog managed to grab some important-looking documents to bring over to you.

Safe to say that you weren't too happy with his gifts this time!

"You!" You look at your dog in exasperation, a small headache forming from what he brought this time

"What did you manage to find this time??" You look at your overly excited dog disapprovingly, hands on your hips, in disbelief at the contents in the fur critter's mouth.

"Woof." Your dog drops the files on the ground, his tail wagging excitedly for praise.

Looking at the dropped contents from your dog's mouth, you bent over to pick them up. And what met you had your eyes widening in shock. 

Smack-dab in the middle of the files was a warning written in bold red colors.

'CONFIDENTIAL: DISPOSE IMMEDIATELY WHEN READ.'

"G-GIZMO..." you exclaim, anger and fear tightening your voice as your heart sinks. Your hands shake as you stare at the potentially dangerous files in front of you, uncertainty rushing through you.

What information could be so dangerous that they have glaringly obvious warning signs in front of it?!

And where did Gizmo even manage to find these?!

"Gizmo..." you mutter, casting a worried glance at your clueless dog, his oblivious excitement clashing with your building anxiety as you process what just happened.

"Where did you find these?" A menacing smile made its way on your face, but it had no effect on Gizmo, whose tail was still wagging happily.

"Arf!" Gizmo runs to the front door, eager to show you where he got the suspicious files in your hand... 

Following your furry companion, you slip on your shoes and put your hoodie on. Wait, no, you look even more suspicious with sunglasses and your hoodie on...

Stepping outside of your house, you follow Gizmo throughout the neighborhood, your hands sweating more and more at the thought of the owner's wrath when they find out super confidential papers were stolen...

As you made your way through, Gizmo makes a beeline to the house at the end of the neighborhood, a really, really nice house...

Great, so the owner of these files is a bigshot too...

"Fuck..." you mutter in exasperation as you see your dog easily hop the fence. You can't just hop the fence like Gizmo... You have to shamefully press the ring doorbell at the gate. Just ring the bell. Apologize. And get it over with... What if they'll call the cops on you the instant they see the folder in your hand..?!

As you press the ring doorbell and the familiar sound comes on, you feel your nervousness spiking.

What if they think I'm a burglar?!

"What's your business here?" A smooth voice comes out from the doorbell, making you flinch in surprise. 

"U-Um! Hi? I'm your neighbor... And uh.. My dog brought me this..." You hold out the confidential folder for the camera to see.

"And I assure you that this wasn't intentional!! I came here to return it immediately when my dog brought me it!" you nervously exclaim, your hands probably left sweat marks on the folder by now...

"Ah, I see. Come in then." 

The gates in front of you start to open, and you swear that he had a tinge of amusement in his voice when he said that. As you nervously make your way to the door, your dog beats you to it, rushing to the door and pounding on it.

"Gizmo!" You yell out frantically, your stomach dropping at the sight of the critter's muddy paws staining the white door. You quickly rush over to Gizmo, trying to stop his barrage of "attacks" on the poor front door.

Is he trying to give you a heart attack?!

And as you're struggling with stopping Gizmo's attack on the clean white door, it swings open, and you instantly freeze up.

"So you're the little thief who keeps sneaking in to steal my stuff, huh?" the owner of the voice says, clearly directed to Gizmo.

You slowly look up in nervousness, and what met your sight made your voice hitch in your throat. 

And there the owner of the files stood. He's leaning against the doorframe, an amused expression on his face. His eyes sweep over you, and then to the folder you were holding.

A slow, dangerously charming smile spreads across his face, and in his hand, he was holding a similar folder to the one you were holding. 

Stunned by the appearance of your neighbor, you quickly hand him the folder and bow your head apologetically.

"I am so sorry for the inconvenience!" You bow, glaring at Gizmo, who was now running around in circles in your neighbor's yard. 

He takes a step toward you, and you can feel the embarrassment radiating off your face from Gizmo's tomfoolery in his yard.

"Was he the one who stole my pen? And my sunglasses, and the glove for my right hand?" He chuckles, while you internally scream at the memories of Gizmo bringing random items to you.

"The IPC takes their belongings very seriously," he remarks, a dangerous glint in his eyes forming. You gulp, he's not sending you to jail... Is he...?

"But... Your little critter surprisingly managed to bypass the security I had in this house," He remarks, a small smile forming. 

His hand reaches out towards you, leaving you confused at the gesture.

"How about we train him to become a spy?"

You blink, completely thrown off guard at his request. 

"I... I'm sorry, what?" you say, flabbergasted, still grabbing his hand.

"Think about it, he's clearly got the skills. Stealth, determination, and an eye for valuable items. Wasting that talent on fetching sticks would be a crime almost as great as, well, the one he just committed," he laughs.

Uhh... What..?

Your brain is struggling to catch up. One second, you were facing a potential lawsuit and jail time from Gizmo's tomfoolery, and the next second, you're being recruited into a doggy spy initiative. 

"So... you're not going to call the cops on us?" You eye your neighbor warily.

"Call security on an investment? Erase the thought." He shakes your hand that he was holding on to. "Aventurine. Senior Manager of the Strategic Investment Department. And you are...?"

You shake his hand warily, still flabbergasted by his offer. "(name). And this is Gizmo, the... um. aspiring doggy spy..."

---

Sunday

you're a small time streamer who meets a puzzle master

You're a relatively small-time streamer, known for your notoriously terrible skills in puzzle games... 

Tonight, you were playing Dreamscape 2000, a game infamous for its beautiful in-game landscape. You've been stuck in a particular stage for about 30 minutes. The solution is supposedly hidden in plain sight. However, with your horrendous puzzle-solving skills, it proved to be a difficult stage...

"HOW DO YOU EVEN SOLVE THIS?!" You bang your head on the monitor in frustration, taking a huge sip of your water bottle. Tapping multiple spots of the screen vigorously, you sigh in frustration. 

"How is it in plain sight... WHEN I LITERALLY CLICKED EVERYTHING!!" you exclaim, your hand still clicking random spots of the screen.

[Pepsidood24]: look harder im creying....

[vrains]: it's right there I'm actually going to tweak out

Looking over at your chat, you make a baffled expression at what your viewers were saying. Like, what do you mean it's right there??

"I'm the one that's going to tweak out!!" you retort, still clicking random spots in the screen.

[Sandwich444]: the solution is not in the object, but in what it conceals. look at the pattern its shadow creates on the wall adjacent to it.

You blink at the message sent by a random viewer. It's so specific... But it wouldn't hurt to try!

As you change your perspective to look at the shadow, a pattern suddenly reveals itself. On the adjacent wall where it meets the shadow, the mere change in perspective showed the shadow forming into a figure of a flower.

"WHAT THE- It was true!!" you exclaim in shock, pumping your fist in solving the ridiculously hard puzzle.

[Pepsidood24]: SEE

[vrains]: SEE YOU DIDN'T NEED TO CLICK ALL OVER THE SCREEN

It wasn't Sandwich444's only instance of helping you out during your playthrough of Dreamscape 2000. They actually helped you all the time, multiple times during your gameplay! One moment you're on the verge of tearing your hair out, and the next second you feel instant gratefulness for the wise words of Sandwich444.

As the new frequent commenter was abundant in your streams, your viewers started to become interested in them too.

[vrains]: sandwich at it again with the life changing advice LOL

[BobaButt30]: ikr, might as well make them the streamer atp LOLL

"I'm right here, you know!" You look at the messages, irked. The audacity!

The help from the mysterious sandwich fellow continued until you were done with Dreamscape 2000. They've become such a regular on your streams you don't know how to feel bidding goodbye, I mean, they only started watching when you started Lightning 2000...

With a bang of your confetti popper, you excitedly exclaim, "thank you guys for following me through Dreamscape 2000!!" 

"I couldn't have finished it without you guys!!" you laugh, looking at all the supportive comments from your viewers. 

[Sandwich444]: check your dms

[Bobabutt30]: she don't want u bro

Your eyes pan up at the notification that popped up on your computer screen. It was a dm from the wise master sandwich themself.

"Well, see you guys!! Thank you so much for joining me!" you exclaim, your mouse quickly opening the dm, yet your chat was in a flurry of responses. 

[vrains]: THEY'RE ACTUALLY CHECKING THE DM LOLLL

[Pepsidood24]: BROS EATING THE SANDWICH IM DEAD

As you end your stream and finally read what the benefactor that's guided you through Penacony 2000 said your eyes widened in surprise, a heat rises up to your neck, and you feel your breath hitch.

[Sandwich444]: congratulations on the clear. although I never intended my game to be that difficult to players, I still enjoyed watching your streams. :) I'd love to get coffee with you to hear your feedback on my game.

Your mind blanks out, relieving every dramatic, agony and hate driven moment you had with the game. You stare at sandwich's dm, a heat rising to your cheeks at the embarrassing situation. The game you banged your head over way too many times to count was created by the dude who made you sane enough to continue playing. You knew they weren't lying when their profile showed a link for the numerous games they created... Now you couldn't stop thinking about all the times you expressed your hate for the puzzles...

[username]: "my game" ????!!!

[Sandwich444]: yes!

[username]: so... you're the cause of my suffering for the past weeks? AND NOW YOU WANT COFFEE TOGETHER?!

[username]: ...ur lucky the game was good... sure I'll get coffee with you... but you'll have to listen to my complaints without interrupting!!

His reply comes instantly when you sent the message.

[Sandwich444]: i'd never interrupt you

The simple promise was enough to have you bang your head on your desk, not with frustration, but with embarrassment. You steady yourself, taking in a deep breath to ask the crucial question you've always been wondering.

[username]: also,,, why sandwich...?

[Sandwich444]: sandwich. sunday. san. sun. sandwich?

You stare at the screen, your eyes blinking at what he said, before a breathless laugh comes out of you. A smile makes its way on your face as you quickly type back a response.

[username]: when do you want coffee?

---

Mydei

you see mydei everyday at the dog park

You were convinced the guy at the dog park you frequent either had the biggest rbf or he's being forced to walk a litter of small shih tzus everyday. 

He was massive, all muscle under a tight black compression shirt, covered in intricate red tattoos. He looked stern, and he was staring intently at the pack of loud shih tzus he was walking. He looked like he could beat you up easily...

Just then, he made eye contact with you, causing you to quickly whip your head back to the leash, a heat rising towards your neck.

He caught me looking.. how embarrassing..

Yet, you had no time to worry about the incident since the dark skies overhead signaled an incoming downpour. And a heavy torrential downpour did happen! but there was a major problem. You didn't have an umbrella...

Desperate to find cover, you quickly snatched up your corgi and looked around frantically for a sanctuary from the rain. Yet, the only cover you can see is the massive trees. But everyone knows trees make the raindrops bigger! 

As you stare down the trees, wondering if you should take cover under them, you notice that the raindrops hitting your face have ceased. 

Did the rain stop...?

Your eyes pan up, and you’re met with a soft pink umbrella protecting you and your corgi from the rain. Your eyes moved to the owner of the umbrella, and you were met with a familiar face.

It was the buff guy with a ton of shih tzus!

You stare at him again, a small smile forming on your lips when you see him carrying two shih tzus on one arm, along with a single one perched on top of his shoulder. It was a strong contrast: three cute shih tzus with the most intimidating guy you've seen.

"Thank you." You smile warmly at him, appreciative of the kind gesture.

"You're welcome," He said, his ears turning a soft shade of pink.

"Could you hold this?" He requests, extending the pink umbrella to you.

"Of course?" you obliged, although a bit confused about what he's gonna do next. Taking the pink umbrella from him, your fingers briefly brushed against his, and they were surprisingly warm.

With his free hand, he gently takes the shih tzu perched atop his shoulder to prevent the little dog from potentially falling. You gaze at the sight in front of you, he looked...

"Like a walking dog whisperer?" he finished, and you couldn't help but burst into laughter. 

"I think that's a great title!" you grin, teasing him.

He clears his throat at the comment, "mm, I guess," a faint shade of pink casted on the tips of his ears. 

"Mydei" 

"Hm?" you tilt your head in confusion.

"My name." 

"Oh! I'm (name)!" you reply, a grin forming on your lips.

As the rain continued its downpour around you both. The only sounds around are drops hitting the pink umbrella and the soft pants of the shih tzus, along with your corgi's patient breathing. You stood close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him, the faint smell of pomegranates and lilies hitting your nose. He smelled really good... and now you were acutely aware of the close proximity between you and Mydei.

---

Phainon

in which the campus's golden boy wants to fake date

Student council president, star of the debate team, and arguably one of the cutest guys on campus. Phainon was insanely popular, with snow-white hair and sky blue eyes; he had features that can stop a person in their tracks with one look.

In contrast, you transferred in mid-semester, you had a small, tight-knit circle of friends, and you weren't particularly well-known. You weren't completely up to date with campus news and gossip; hell, you just got here! The library on campus is where you spend most of your day, studying, napping, and just sitting around before your class starts. 

It was a typical day for you, commuting to your campus, getting coffee, and then heading straight to the library to either review or catch up on sleep. For today, you decided to catch up on some sleep.

You find an empty booth in the corner of your campus’s spacious library, you take your backpack off, setting it aside beside you, and your head goes straight to slumping on the desk. 

Yet, your ears perk up at voices nearby your booth, "Phainon, why do you not want to go out with me?!" the voice yells, making you even more conscious of your surroundings.

Why can't you get any extra sleep???

"I'm sorry, I already have someone." Another voice, this time, yet it was closer to your booth.

"Who?!-" the shrill voice from earlier screams in rage, yeah, you aren't gonna get any sleep at this point. You slowly rise up from your position, might as well get some work done, and not waste time.

As you were about to dig in your backpack for your notebook, a guy rushed over to your booth, sitting down promptly next to you.

???

You whip your head to the side, looking at the unwanted intruder to your booth, snow-white hair and sky blue eyes.. but just before you can respond, hands wrapped around you, with the stranger mouthing 'I'm sorry' 

"See! my partner was waiting for me, I didn't keep you waiting long, right...?" 

"Uh-" you stare at him, dumbfounded.

"Oh, I see..." The source of the shrill voice from earlier looked at both of you with a dejected look.

The moment they were out of sight, his arm quickly retracted from you. He scoots a few inches away on the seat, and his hands go straight to his face. 

"I am so, so sorry," he breathes out, "That was so rude of me. I'm so sorry."

You sit there, still dumbfounded by whatever the hell just happened....

He runs a hand through his hair, making it even more disheveled. "I couldn't think of another way to get them to back off that wouldn't cause a bigger scene right here in the library."

"So um.... Your solution was to use the nearest sleeping student as a human meat shield?" you say, dumbfounded.

"A-Augh! No!" his face flushes in embarrassment.

"Oh, uh. Okay," you reply, staring at him.

You were still speechless from the whole situation. From taking your usual nap, to eavesdropping on a failed confession, and then to becoming this random hot guy's partner. 

Was this even real??

"Look, I'm so sorry, and I don't want to trouble you any further, but..." he says sheepishly, his hand scratching the back of his neck. "Since it's already come to this... Will you fake date me?" 

"HUH???" you point a finger to yourself, your shock only reaching new levels that you yourself didn't even know was possible.

---

A/N: lmk which one u guys wanna see fleshed out!!!

[notesfromthemirror]

Lilyyyy IM BACK AGAIN

imagine, prof naxa with a reader who's so indecisive yhat they dont know whether they should confess, or like, drop hints, avoid him, or the secret fourth option🤫 and naxa's just "what am i gonna do with you.." and just, grabs the confession from reader's mind🙊

THANK YOUUU I REALLY LIKED YOUR REPLY TO MY PREV ASK TOOO🎉

-❄️ Anon

Chaotic Confession Protocol (Or: “What Am I Going To Do With You?“) (Anaxa x Reader)

A/N: Hi again ❄️ anon. :) I‘m so glad you enjoyed After the Quiet. :) And thank you so much for this request, your idea was so much fun. :) I couldn‘t stop giggling the entire time I was writing this. :D I hope you enjoy how it turned out. :)

Tags: Pining. First Kiss. Chaotic Reader. Confessions. Fondly Exasperated Anaxa. Anaxa Notices Everything. Word count: 1769

It starts with your indecision. Or rather—it starts with Anaxa noticing your indecision.

Because of course he notices.

He notices everything.

Week One:

You walk into his lab with a question, forget it the moment he looks up, and leave without saying a word.

He watches you go, eye narrowed slightly, but says nothing.

Week Two:

You bring him tea he didn’t ask for. Set it down. Stare at him for approximately seven seconds. Leave.

“…Peculiar,” Anaxa mutters to the empty room.

Week Three:

You hover in his doorway for a full minute, open your mouth three separate times as if to speak, then flee like the Titans themselves are chasing you.

Anaxa sets down his pen very carefully.

Tilts his head.

“Interesting,” he says to no one.

Week Four:

You’re standing beside him as he works, and your behavior has reached what he can only classify as “statistically anomalous levels of agitation.”

You’ve handed him notes he didn’t request. Explained things he already knows. Rearranged the objects on his desk twice—no, three times now—with the nervous energy of someone preparing for something they haven’t decided to do yet.

Your hands are shaking slightly. Your breathing is elevated. You keep starting sentences and abandoning them mid-word.

Anaxa has been observing this pattern for twenty-three minutes.

He’s been observing you for significantly longer than that, but he’s trying not to examine why too closely.

“You’re agitated,” he says finally, not looking up from his work.

“I’m not,” you lie.

Badly.

“You are,” he replies, tone flat. “In fact, I would estimate your current agitation at approximately 73% higher than your established baseline.”

You go very still. “You… have a baseline for me?”

He glances up, and the look he gives you can only be described as obviously, don’t be ridiculous.

Your heart does something deeply unhelpful in your chest.

You turn away quickly. “I’m not agitated.”

“You’re perspiring.”

“It’s warm in here.”

“The ambient temperature is adequate,” he says. “A regulated environment I calibrated myself. Your perspiration is not environmental in origin.”

Your brain short-circuits.

Your stomach flips.

Your mouth opens and—

“I— I— I—”

Nothing comes out.

Anaxa closes the ledger he was annotating. Calmly. Deliberately. The sound of parchment meeting wood is unnaturally loud in the quiet.

Then he turns in his chair to face you fully.

“Tell me what is wrong.”

“Nothing!”

His eye narrows in that particular way it does when someone is lying and doing it poorly. “Your vocal pitch increased by approximately half an octave. Your pupils are dilated despite adequate lighting. Your hands—” he gestures, “—have been fidgeting with that pen for the past four minutes without writing a single word.”

“I’m just—”

“You’ve visited my lab numerous times in the past month,” he continues, voice taking on that analytical quality that means he’s been thinking about this. “Each visit following a similar pattern: approach, hesitation, retreat. Your behavior suggests intent without execution. A decision unmade. Or rather—” his gaze sharpens, “—multiple decisions, all contradicting each other.”

You can’t breathe.

“Furthermore,” he continues, seemingly oblivious to your internal collapse, “you’ve been avoiding direct eye contact for approximately two weeks, which is notable given your previous patterns of—”

You can’t take it.

You can’t take him.

You can’t take that sharp gaze dissecting you while your heart tries to escape through your ribs and your brain screams at you to do something—

You grab the front of his robes and kiss him.

It’s not elegant.

It’s not coordinated.

It’s not even remotely planned.

It’s pure instinct. Panic. Desperation. A confession in motion because your words keep failing you and your body has apparently decided to take over.

For one endless, terrifying moment, Anaxa goes absolutely, spectacularly still.

You can feel his sharp intake of breath against your mouth. Feel the way his entire body has frozen, tense with surprise. Feel the moment his brain catches up to what’s happening—

Then, slowly—incredulously—his hands rise to rest at your waist.

Tentative.

Uncertain.

So utterly unlike him that it makes the world tilt sideways.

His fingers curl slightly in the fabric of your clothes, not pulling you closer but not pushing away either. Just holding, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he moves wrong.

You pull back only when you remember you need to breathe.

His eye is wide. Wider than you’ve ever seen it. His lips are parted, still slightly wet from the kiss. His hair—his stupidly pretty seafoam hair—is mussed where your fingers tangled in it without permission.

He looks… undone.

By you.

By this.

By the realization that the hypothesis he’s been trying not to confirm has just kissed him senseless in his own study.

For several long seconds, neither of you moves.

Then he exhales. Long and quiet and almost wondering.

“…What,” he says softly, voice gone rough at the edges, “am I going to do with you?”

Your knees stop working entirely.

“I— I didn’t mean— I mean I meant— I mean—”

“Clearly,” Anaxa murmurs, and one hand rises to brush his thumb across your cheek with gentleness, “verbal articulation is not your strong suit at the moment.”

“I was trying to tell you,” you manage. “Differently. But I kept— I don’t know— panicking every time I tried.”

“Yes,” he says with the weary fondness of someone who has gotten used to your particular brand of chaos. “I noticed.”

You want to sink into the floor and never emerge.

Instead, Anaxa looks at you thoughtfully. Almost tenderly, which is somehow worse for your composure than his usual analytical stare.

“If you cannot tell me with words,” Anaxa says slowly, fingers lifting toward your temple, “then perhaps I should simply extract the information directly.”

“What are you—”

“Attempting telepathy.” He says it so seriously you almost believe him. “If I can theorize complex alchemy, surely I can succeed at reading thoughts.”

“You can’t do that,” you say breathlessly. “It’s impossible.”

“I’ve achieved several things that were deemed impossible.” His fingertips brush your temple, feather-light, and you shiver. “Hearing your thoughts should be…comparatively simple.”

A smile tugs at his lips. Small and teasing.

You can barely think. His touch makes you nervous. His closeness makes your head dizzy. It feels so good to be near him like this, to see him looking at you with something other than analytical detachment. You still remember the taste of his lips. The way he’d gone so still and then so careful. You want more of it. You can’t hide anymore.

“I’m in love with you,” you blurt before you can change your mind for the eighteen hundredth time.

Anaxa inhales sharply.

His hand freezes at your temple. His eye widens again, and you watch several emotions flicker across his face too quickly to name—surprise, confusion, something that looks almost like relief—

“Ah,” he breathes finally. “So it was that.”

You want to hide. To flee. To sink into the ground and never face him again.

But then he cups your face with both hands, and the gesture is so tender it steals whatever protest you were forming.

“For future reference,” he says, voice warm and maddening and far too composed for someone whose cheeks are visibly red, “simply telling me would have been more efficient.”

“I tried—”

“Yes. Disastrously.” But there’s no sting in it. Just fond exasperation and something softer underneath. “Seventeen failed attempts.”

“You were counting?”

“Of course I was counting.” He says it like it’s obvious. Like keeping track of every time you’ve approached and retreated is a perfectly normal thing to do. “I’ve been attempting to determine the cause of your behavior for weeks. The variables were… frustratingly unclear.”

“And now?”

“Now,” he says quietly, thumbs brushing across your cheekbones, “the information makes significantly more sense.”

His gaze drops to your mouth, and your breath catches.

“Though I must admit,” Anaxa continues, voice dropping lower, “your approach was highly unorthodox.”

“I panicked.”

“Clearly.” But he’s smiling now. Small and real and unmistakably fond. “Next time you wish to confess something…”

He leans in, close enough that you can feel his breath against your lips.

“…either use your words like you just did…”

Closer still.

“…or simply do what you did before.”

And then he kisses you.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Thoroughly.

Not the desperate panic-kiss you’d given him, but something more intentional. Something that feels like a response, like reciprocation, like yes, I understand now, and yes, I feel the same.

His hand slides into your hair, angling your head just so. The other stays at your waist, pulling you incrementally closer until there’s no space left between you.

When he finally pulls back—far too soon and exactly when you need air—you notice warmth and satisfaction in his gaze.

“Now,” Anaxa says, voice slightly rougher than usual, “stay close. Right here.”

You do, because your legs aren’t working anyway.

“Very good,” Anaxa murmurs, and you can see him fighting back a broader smile. His thumb traces your lower lip, gentle and possessive all at once. “And for the record—in case this was somehow unclear—the feelings are mutual.”

Your face goes hot.

He’s smiling now—properly smiling, the kind of expression you’ve rarely seen on him. Soft and genuine and directed entirely at you.

“Though I do hope,” he adds, settling back slightly but keeping you within reach, “that future confessions will involve less chaos and more coherent sentences.”

“I make no promises.”

“Somehow,” he says dryly, pulling you down into his lap with familiar confidence, “I enjoy the thought unreasonably so.”

You let yourself lean against him, and his arms come around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Anaxagoras?”

“Mm?”

“You really kept a baseline of my behavior?”

“Obviously.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “I keep detailed observations of anything I find significant in my notebooks.”

“Am I significant?”

“Naturally.” He says it matter-of-factly, like there is no doubt about it. “You’ve disrupted my research, occupied my thoughts during lectures with alarming frequency, and caused me to question several long-held hypotheses about my own emotional capacity.”

“Is that… good?”

“It’s terrifying,” he admits. Then, softer, he murmurs, “But yes. It’s very good.”

You smile against his shoulder, and feel him hold you just a little tighter.

“What am I going to do with you?” he murmurs again, but this time it sounds less like exasperation and more like affection.

“Love me?” you suggest.

Anaxa goes quiet for a moment.

“Yes,” he says simply. “I will.”

And in the end, that’s the only conclusion that matters.

___ A/N: Fondly exasperated Anaxa is one of my favorite Anaxa flavors now. :D Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. :) More Anaxa to follow shortly (but what else is new). :) MASTERLIST.

[kingdomofalani]

acheron doesn’t use pet names often. when she does, it something simple, a classic that rolls off the tongue, easily expressing the space you carry in her heart. when sleep is tugging at her mind and exhaustion is weighing on her body, she'll murmur a "my love" or a "sweetheart" that never fails to draw a breathy giggle from your throat. other times, you'll hear it when her heart is much too full of love, and there's nothing she can do to remedy the feeling other than by softly cooing the names at you, accompanied by the press of her lips along the apples of your cheeks.

what acheron does do is use your name until it wears out. it never will, at least not to her, so she uses it like she's been tasked to. even in text, she'll type it out, finding the letters so beautiful every time she does it. it may seem less intimate, but the way her lips tick upward whenever she taps your name along her phone screen is enough to tell how real it feels for her. she just finds your name so special, and addressing you directly like that feels so personal—even if technically everyone else does that too. it's just different when she does.

and she’ll say it so gently, too. letting it curl off her tongue like the most delicate thing in the world. it’s almost like she dipped the syllables in honey before she utters them to you. ugh.

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDs Men When you Ship Them with a Man

AN: I think I am losing my mind a little. But this was fun to write.

Ingredients: 100% crack and delusion

My Fav: Caleb (as always) and Xavier

Pairing: LaDS boys x fem reader

Xavier:

You take a sip of your drink and lean back, eyes on Xavier across the table. “I’m just saying,” you begin, “you and Jeremiah would make a really compelling couple.”

Xavier blinks. “Compelling?”

“Totally. Opposites attract. You’ve got the broody thing going on, and Jeremiah’s all soft and sunshiny? Perfect dynamic.”

“I’m dating you.”

You wave him off. “Yeah, yeah. Obviously. But like, if I weren’t in the picture.”

“If you weren’t in the picture,” he cuts in, “I’d be grieving. Not dating my best friend.”

“That’s what makes it tragic.” You look genuinely moved. “The yearning. The ‘we can’t, not like this’ kind of tension. Ugh. Peak heartbreak.”

He stares at you. “Do you… want me to date Jeremiah?” he asks slowly.

“No! No, of course not.” You pause. “But if you did, I’d support you.”

“I don’t want to date him.”

You nod thoughtfully. “That’s exactly what someone would say in chapter three of a slow burn.”

He sets his fork down. “Are you shipping me. With Jeremiah. In real life.”

“I mean, I already made a playlist.”

There’s a long silence.

“You made a playlist,” he repeats, flat.

You smile. “It’s mostly indie songs about repressed longing. Want me to send it to you?”

“I’m not listening to music that implies I’d cheat on you with our mutual friend.”

You shrug. “It’s not cheating if it’s well-written.”

Xavier exhales through his nose. “You need new hobbies.”

You sip your drink again, completely unbothered. “You and Jeremiah. Endgame.”

He stares at you, soul slowly leaving his body.

Rafayel:

He had a fan.

The chart-breaking singer who wrote song after song about his sweet-sounding muse, artistic muse.

A very public proclamation… for your boyfriend.

Not that you were afraid of the competition.

On the contrary, you were a woman of culture.

The OTP was blooming beautifully on AO3. A perfect balance of raunchy and angst fics. And the fan edits? Chef’s kiss.

You reveled in the supreme ship, even when the fandom cast you as the evil Ursula keeping the poor merman away from his one true love.

“It’s SeA GoD’s BrIdE! Not GROOM” Rafayel cries, pointing at your screen like it’s cursed. “And apparently, I’m just a side character in my own love story now?”

He collapses, devastated. “Do I not bleed? Do I not suffer? Where is my POV chapter?”

He drops onto the couch beside you with a dramatic sigh. “Go back to the first chapter,” he mutters petulantly.

Zayne:

“Hi, nice to meet you. This is my boyfriend Zayne, and his boyfriend Greyson,” you mutter to yourself, smiling as you walk in on Zayne and Greyson passed out on your couch again.

Meal prepping? Greyson’s there. Going on a date? Greyson calls with an emergency. You’re sick? Worry not, homewrecker Greyson will be there, putting a suspiciously caring hand on your boyfriend’s shoulder.

You let out an evil little cackle at the soap opera unfolding in your head. Then, dramatically, you mix the poison (his favorite electrolytes) into the older doctor’s water.

“No longer shall you sully my hearth, wench,” you whisper, relishing in your villain era.

Only to look up and see Zayne watching you, one brow arched in concern.

“I’m unsure if this demands I be flattered or concerned, love.”

And, to your dismay, he drinks the poison (flavored water) you prepared for the wench.

Sylus:

“Now kiss.”

That’s the first thing you say after walking in on your husband and the opposing faction leader glaring at each other. Noses inches apart, tension practically radiating off their bodies.

They both turn to you.

Sylus looks at you like you’re the crazy one. The enemy looks equally flustered and defensive.

“I would be offended,” you say sweetly, “but the two of you are doing God’s work, bringing mob boss enemies-to-lovers BL to life.”

“This is my wife,” Sylus says, deadpan.

The enemy looks skeptical.

“That means nothing,” you grin. “Do continue.”

You kiss Sylus on the cheek and gesture encouragingly with a manic twinkle in your eye.

The enemy clears his throat again, now visibly unsure what reality he’s standing in.

You smile. “Well? What are you waiting for? Make a deal or make out. I’m starving.”

Caleb:

“Hold still,” you bark, furiously sketching on your tablet. “Yes. Good. Now blush.”

You draw the flushed cheeks in with precision.

“Can you do the face, Gideon?”

Your friend obliges, pulling the sultriest expression known to mankind.

“I won’t be the bottom. Not again!” Caleb complains, shifting where he sits.

“Act like that and you’ll never escape the allegations,” you mutter, unbothered.

“No. I refuse. I want to be the top!”

You raise a brow, barely glancing up from your sketch.

“Bottoms are prettier.”

That shuts him up.

Immediately.

[no-fucks-left-in-inventory]

Jing Yuan is a big kitty of a man. You learned that very quickly into meeting him. But he's even more kitty like as your partner. You didn't even know that was possible until you experienced his comfortable state around you.

Like now.

He's seated in front of you on the floor with his long white hair cascading down his back as you glide a comb through it. He's had a long day and it took very little convincing to get him to let you brush it out while he relaxes. It's a serene moment between you two. Safe and domestic. He listens to you talk about your day, adding his own little things here and there, and smiles to himself. But it's not long into it that his head lops forward slightly.

It wouldn't be surprising to see him fall asleep after the day he's had and the lack of proper rest he's gotten.

"My love?"

He doesn't respond. You shift your position, shuffling on your knees on the hard floor, and try to peek around his shoulder at his face. His eyes are closed with a few stray strands of hair dangling down like a curtain. You smile to yourself and bring your free hand up to brush it back behind his ear and call his name softly to try and rouse him.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't work.

You sit back on your calves and purse your lips, unsure of what you should do. He shouldn't sleep sitting up like this, it's bad enough you've caught him sleeping standing up before. You don't want to wake him and you definitely can't carry him to bed yourself.

Suddenly, he leans back into you. His mop of hair covers your face making you stutter and try to spit it out and his head plops onto your shoulder. The unexpected added weight causes you to lose your balance and you splat against the floor with a comical thud. Limbs sprawled out and the comb slipping from your fingers, you groan out his name with the little air left in your lungs.

Nothing.

Even in his sleep it seems the great General Jing Yuan is a threat.

Your name falls from his lips in a loving grumble as he nuzzles into your cheek and you feel his drool smearing on your skin. You can't breathe under the pressure and he's so warm but your body is slowly getting used to it. He always sleeps directly on top of you. You should be grossed out and attempting to push him off but you don't.

You smile at his sleeping face, or what you can see of it with that fluffy mess of hair in the way, and drap your arms around his torso.

Yes your Jing Yuan is a massive kitty. A cuddly and fluffy one.

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDs Men with Rafayel Coded Reader

AN: This has been on my mind for days!!!

Ingredients: 100% drama

My Fav: all because Rafayel is the best boi.

Pairing: LaDS boys x gn reader

Xavier:

You talk. He listens. You narrate poetry of passion, Xavier claps.

You’re two clingy messes. One too hyper, the other a perfectly snuggly Snorlax.

And together, you defeat the wanderers with the power of your yapping and his sword.

There’s a reason you’re paired with him, the best hunter in the Association.

A truly shameless ploy by Captain Jenna to make you come to work more often.

"Did you see that?!" you gasp, flinging your arms wide. "I nearly perished, Xavier. Slain in the prime of my beauty!" He hums, cleaning his blade. "You tripped over your own foot." “It’s called flair, Xavier." He glances at you, expression fond. "Of course."

Zayne:

His residents are always the happiest to see you coming.

Every sniffle or faint cough has you booking the VIP room and requesting, very seriously, that Zayne be the one to check on you.

It gives the students a rare chance to relax in your room, running all the very necessary scans that any flu patient clearly requires.

They’ve mastered the art of hiding their laughter. Even when they walk in to find their senior feeding you fruit, or when Dr. Zayne offers what he insists is medical-grade cuddle therapy.

More than once, they’ve hidden you from a furious Captain Jenna as she storms in to drag you back to work.

Doctor’s notes are a currency you carry in abundance.

"This isn’t real medicine," Zayne mutters, tucking a blanket around your shoulders. "It’s preventative care," you reply, mouth full of grapes. "If I get stressed, my symptoms worsen. You said that last week." "...I did say that," he admits peeling another orange for you.

Caleb:

He is the ultimate enabler.

The reason you are the most spoiled, poutiest person alive.

Scraped your knee? Caleb will hold your hand all the way to the hospital.

He is the reason your standards for men are off the charts. Because apparently, cooking only your favorite meals isn’t something everyone does?

Wild.

"You’re babying me," you mumble, lip quivering as he bandages your barely-there scratch. "You’re my baby," he says calmly, kissing your forehead. "...Fair," you whisper, holding out the other knee.

Sylus:

Sylus is scary.

But you are terrifying.

Everyone in Onichynus knows it.

The sweet, innocent kitten with claws everyone has learned to fear.

Where Sylus is brute force, you are strategy. The slow poison of sweet smiles and shining eyes.

Contracts fall apart after a well-timed wink. Rules rewritten without resistance. No one dares question it.

Kieran and Luke, of course, have loved every second. Because you, and only you, have made their boss stumble over his words.

All it took was a pout.

"You’re doing it again," Sylus mutters under his breath. "Doing what?" you ask, all wide eyes and soft lips. "That... face." "Oh no," you whisper, hand to your chest. "Not the face."

Rafayel:

Librarians hate to see you both coming. Truly.

The end of the world begins with this pairing.

He pouts. You pull the sullen voice.

He sighs in melancholy. You launch into soliloquies of existential woe.

And Thomas is now a bald man.

Absolutely no work gets done. Ever.

Foes have given up. EVER crumbles. Plotlines collapse.

Because two drama queens are in love, and nothing can survive that.

The ultimate fix-it.

"They called us excessive," Rafayel says, dramatically draped over the banned romance section. "They don’t understand art," you reply, curling beside him. "...We’re in so much trouble." "Worth it."