꒰꒰ 𝙎𝙤𝙪𝙠𝙤𝙠𝙪 !!ֺ ࣭ ˃͈◡˂͈ ◌ 𓏲 ֹ ۪ ( 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 ) ָ ꮺ 彡 ◠◠
( 𝗻𝗼ㅤɑrt.ㅤin ) ㅤㅤ ֺ ㅤ 1997ㅤㅤ ★ 🎸
ㅤㅤ —˙ㅤㅤㅤ 𝓼.ㅤㅤㅤHeadᥴᥲᥒ᥆ᥒᥒs :
𝐂𝐖: Dazai x Chuuya, short, just for fun, no reader in this!, both of them are OCC, idiots in love, CRINGE, lil angst ig, tried to beta read but my blind ass probably missed more tags.
They bicker like an old married couple, threaten each other, and celebrate each other’s misfortunes publicly—but never let it get in the way of the mission.
Chuuya will activate Corruption—something that kills him if unchecked—only because he knows Dazai will be there to stop it.
Even on opposite sides, they’ll team up when it counts.
Dazai never uses Chuuya’s insecurities (about Arahabaki, his past, his height) to break him— it's only to tease him. Chuuya never tries to fix Dazai’s emptiness; he just stays and fights beside him.
Chuuya gets drunk easily. When he does, he rants about Dazai. And then mumbles that he misses having someone who doesn’t treat him like a weapon or a monster.
They don’t do confessions. Affection comes in Dazai leaving Chuuya’s favorite wine on his desk. Chuuya quietly patching Dazai up without a word, catching each other mid-fall before anyone notices.
To the world, they’re enemies. To each other, they’re the only ones who remember what it was like to be 15, broken, and the only two people in the dark who could keep each other alive.
Perfect sync without words. They don’t need hand signals or plans. One glance tells Dazai where Chuuya will strike, one huff tells Chuuya exactly what trap Dazai has laid. Enemies think they’re fighting each other mid-battle, until they realize they’re coordinating flawlessly.
Chuuya never activates corruption unless he’s 100% sure Dazai is within reach. Dazai never teases him about this; he always positions himself where he can grab Chuuya’s wrist the second his eyes go blank. Once, when Dazai was 0.001 seconds late, he panicked more than Chuuya did.
Dazai handles strategy, manipulation, and breaking enemies mentally. Chuuya handles force, protection, and finishing what Dazai starts. Neither could be Double Black alone—Dazai has no strength to back his words, Chuuya has no patience to plan around them.
Dazai will tease him about not reaching shelves or fitting in small spaces—but he never mocks him for being weak or lesser. That’s the one line he knows will make Chuuya truly snap.
Chuuya’s "I hate you" is a catch-all, it covers "you’re annoying," "you scared me," "I’m glad you’re okay," and "don’t do that ever again." Dazai is the only person who can tell which one he means.
Dazai never lies to him about important things: He’ll prank him, fake injury, or dodge questions—but if Chuuya asks "are you going to die?" or "will you betray me?" Dazai never lies. He might not answer, but he won’t lie.
Arguments never last. They might storm off, slam doors, or threaten to kill each other—but within 24 hours, one will show up at the other’s usual spot with food or wine, acting like nothing happened.
Dazai’s the quiet protectiveness type. He keeps a mental list of everyone who ever hurt Chuuya—members of the Sheep, enemy assassins, even rude passerbys—and quietly makes sure they never bother him again. He never mentions it.
Chuuya remembers every little thing. He knows Dazai hates bitter food, hates being alone when it rains, and pretends not to care about compliments. He’ll leave sweet pastries or extra blankets in places Dazai will find them, and acts like they were just leftovers.
Old habits don’t die. Even now, if Chuuya is exhausted or injured, he’ll lean on Dazai’s shoulder without thinking—then jump back and yell about it. Dazai will pretend to be annoyed, but never moves away.
Dazai loves when Chuuya gets drunk. Chuuya confesses a lot of things he might regret when he's sober. When it's something serious (his past) Dazai will act like nothing ever came out of his mouth. He'll only tease Chuuya when it's the silly, romantic things.
They both have the same cheap black hair tie—won from that arcade bet when they were 15. Chuuya wears his on his wrist. Dazai keeps his in his coat pocket. Neither will admit it.
He’s terrified Dazai will leave and never come back—just like the Sheep did. That’s why he acts so angry. it’s easier to yell than to admit he’s scared of being abandoned.
Dazai's terrified he’ll ruin Chuuya, or that Chuuya will look at him and see the monster everyone else sees. He pushes him away because he thinks he doesn’t deserve someone as loyal as him.
They never talk about Oda or Arahabaki with anyone else—but they talk about them with each other, quietly, when no one else is listening. They’re the only two people who know what it’s like to be trapped in Yokohama’s dark together.
in public they’re enemies—cold, hostile and trading insults. Chuuya will kick Dazai away and Dazai will make the scene more dramatic than needed.
In private they’re quieter, softer, and way more honest. They can sit in silence for hours without it feeling awkward. They've been like this since they were 16-18 anyway.
Neither admits that they're jealous. If someone flirts with the other, Dazai will mock the person’s taste. Chuuya will threaten to break their legs. Then they’ll pretend they don’t care and go about their day.
𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒: Dazai accepts his partner with BPD. He meets their shifts with steady consistency instead of judgment, and they form a fragile but real bond.
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Dazai Osamu x Gn! Reader
𝐂𝐖: Short, reader is unstable but so is Dazai, fluff, not accurate depiction of BPD!!!, both pre-established relationship and established relationship, headcannons, lazy, soft Dazai, OOC!, a sprinkle of angst,
𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥.
He doesn’t call it broken — he’s spent years feeling numb, excited, energetic and then feeling like an empty shell again. So he understands extreme mood swings, fear of abandonment, black-and-white thinking, and overwhelming emptiness better than anyone.
He reads you instantly. His observation skills are unmatched; he notices the shift before you do: quiet withdrawal, sudden anger, desperate clinging, or feeling like you’re too much.
His mask adjusts. When you’re stable, he’s his usual teasing, dramatic self. When you spiral, the jokes fade — replaced by quiet, steady presence.
You idealize him most of the time, rapidly saying "he's perfect, and he's my everything" He plays along gently but never lets it stay. He knows idealization leads to inevitable crash. “Ah, my dear, I’m far more rotten than you think… but if you still want me even after seeing the mess, then I suppose I’m yours.”
Soft, rare honesty. He reveals small, ugly truths slowly — not to push you away, but to keep the image real.
Becomes your safe base. He doesn’t flinch at being your favorite person. He lets you cling, holds you close, whispers silly or poetic lines to ground you.
He lets you rant your heart out about how he'll leave you and he never cared about you because he knows it’s the fear talking. Raising his voice only confirms your worst fear.
Calm, consistent proof. He doesn’t argue — he shows: stays when you yell, answers every call, never disappears without a word, even if you tell him to go.
He gives the most witty but firm reassurance, “If I wanted to leave, I’d have done it long ago, love. But death still hasn’t taken me — and neither will you scaring me off.”
Gives space but never vanishes. He’ll step back just enough to let you breathe, but leaves a note, coffee, or update you on the most trivial things to remind you he's still there.
Here comes the hardest part — when your fear abandonment spikes up. Breaks his own habit. Dazai is avoidant, used to running before he gets too close and it'll be too late to turn back, but he's never made the right decision until you came into his life. So even if he's not inside his comfort zone, and he might wanna run away again, he stays for you.
No empty promises. He doesn’t say “forever” easily, it's too sacred for a person like him who found someone that actually loves him. Instead, “I will be here today. And tomorrow, if you still want me."
Lets you hold his hand, trace his bandages, rest your head on his chest — contact he almost never allows others. His warmth is the most honest reassurance he can give.
He always knows when you're having episodes, to him you're just an open book. He doesn’t fight fire with fire. Uses logic, distraction, dark humor, or gentle storytelling to pull you out of the spiral.
Protective, not controlling. If you act recklessly, he steps in calmly — not scolding, but would join you if it doesn't put yourself in danger, “Let’s make this mistake together, shall we? Though I’d rather we live to regret it later.”
Understands emptiness. When you feel numb or like nothing matters, he sits with you in silence. He knows that hollow feeling better than anyone. Now he doesn't have BPD himself — but he can say your two sides of the same coin.
Mutual understanding. Your instability doesn’t scare him — it mirrors parts of himself he hides. He feels less alone, too.
He has to talk to you about boundaries. He won’t let you destroy yourself or him. When you cross lines, he says softly, “I care for you, but I won’t let either of us fall apart.” He'll insist until you get annoyed enough, and if it still doesn't work, then playfully arguing with you to distract you can be an option too.
Dark humor as glue. Even in the worst moments, he’ll crack a bad double-suicide joke or tease you about stealing his bandages — to remind you "we’re still us."
You both learn: he stays, you don’t push him away. It’s messy, uneven, but far deeper than any normal relationship.
A/N : Ok yeah ik its really mischaracterized, i wanted it to be a LITTLE toxic bc that was supposed to be a short drabble but i changed my mind last minute bc i was getting lazy and it took too long bc i kept procrastinating💔🥀 Kenzi also doesn't have BPD so im so so so sorry if it isn't very accurate😞
𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒 - At the 2026 World Cup, top pro players have a Victoria’s Secret supermodel girlfriend who attends their matches openly wearing their jersey. Her stunning, bold presence draws attention, yet everyone is too awestruck to bother her.
𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄-𝐔𝐏 - Michael Kaiser, Sae Itoshi, Reo Mikage, Alexis Ness, Rin Itoshi, Shidou Ryusei.
He insisted you wear his jersey. The moment you told him you’d be there, he smirked and said, “Of course you have to wear mine — everyone needs to know who you belong to, and who belongs at the top.”
When he walks onto the pitch and spots you in the stands, his ego skyrockets. He doesn’t just glance — he stops, gives you a slow, cocky smile, and taps the name on his back as if to say “look who’s wearing it too.”
The crowd goes wild seeing you: a supermodel out in the stands supporting her boyfriend, stunning face, and proudly repping the Emperor. People around you are too awestruck to approach when you look like royalty next to him.
During the match, he plays better than ever. Every goal is dedicated to you — he points straight to your section, blows a kiss, and his grin is so smug it’s almost comical. The crowd eats it up though.
After the final whistle, he heads straight for the barrier, not caring about reporters and crowds screaming his name. “Did you see? I played for you today,” he says, then adds with that signature arrogance: “And look at you — making my jersey look better than any trophy could”
He loves that you don’t hide. To him, you’re his crown jewel — showing you off is just another way to prove he has everything worth having.
ノ𝙄. 𝙎𝙖𝙚
He didn’t make a big fuss about it at first, but when you said you’d wear his jersey, his eyes softened just a little — the only sign he was pleased. “If that’s what you want,” he said, but inside he was more satisfied than he let on.
When he sees you in the stands, his expression stays neutral, but his posture straightens and his focus sharpens. Only someone who knows him well would notice the slight shift in his gaze — it’s his look, quieter but far more intense.
The crowd’s reaction is huge: the world’s top model wearing the jersey of the world’s best midfielder. Fans and photographers want to crowd you, but your aura is so poised and striking that no one dares push in too close.
He plays with unmatched precision. He doesn’t do flashy celebrations, but after every key pass or goal, he’ll briefly glance up at you — no smile, just a steady nod — and you know exactly what it means: I’m doing this for you.
Post-match, he comes over quietly, no fanfare. “You stood out more than the match itself,” he says bluntly, but his voice is warm. When reporters ask about you, he answers in his usual dry way, “She supports me, that's all"
He values that you’re confident and unapologetic. He doesn’t like hidden relationships; having you there openly wearing his name is proof of your bond, and that’s more meaningful to him than any title.
ノ𝙈. 𝙍𝙚𝙤
He was already thrilled when you said you have free time to come see his match — but now he's even more happy when you said you wanted to wear his jersey. “Perfect,” he said with his usual charming smile. “Let everyone see that the best things in life are meant to be shown.” He even made sure the jersey was tailored perfectly for you.
As soon as he steps onto the pitch and sees you, his face lights up — genuine and bright. He raises a hand in a slow, graceful wave, and you can practically feel the pride radiating off him.
The crowd is mesmerized: you’re a global icon, looking flawless, proudly wearing his name. People stare, whisper, and take photos, or even ask you for photographs but you'd still hear the whispers.
He plays with incredible drive. Every run, every tackle, every shot is fueled by wanting to make you proud. When he scores, he runs to your side of the stadium, grinning widely, and forms a heart with his hands.
After the match, he’s the first to reach you, leaning over the barrier to hold your hand. “You were the most beautiful sight in the whole stadium,” he says softly. “Wearing my jersey like that… it makes all the hard work worth it.”
To him, you’re his equal partner in every sense. He loves that you shine brightly on your own, and having you stand openly by his side only makes both of you look even more powerful together.
ノ𝙉. 𝘼𝙡𝙚𝙭𝙞𝙨
When you told him you’d wear his jersey, his face turned bright red and he lit up like a Christmas tree. “R-Really? You’d do that for me?” he asked, eyes sparkling. He spent days checking if it was the right size, even adding a little personal touch inside.
When he spots you in the stands, his heart skips a beat. He stops for a moment, his expression soft and full of pure adoration. He waves enthusiastically, almost forgetting where he is for a second.
The crowd is stunned — seeing a world-famous supermodel wearing the jersey of their team’s playmaker, looking absolutely breathtaking. Everyone wants to look, you are practically glowing and Ness feels immense pride that you can just sit pretty and you'd have the entire Stadium's eyes on you.
He plays with more passion and confidence than ever before. Knowing you’re watching makes him feel like he can do anything. If he assists or scores, he’ll point to you with a shy but happy smile, sending you a small kiss.
After the game, he comes over quickly, a little breathless and smiling. “You looked amazing… I couldn’t stop glancing up,” he admits. “Thank you for being here, and for wearing my name. It means more than I can say.”
He loves that you don’t hide. He’s proud beyond words that someone as incredible as you is willing to stand beside him openly, and it gives him the strength to play even better every single match.
He didn’t say much at first when you told him you'd be attending — just a short “Alright” — but later, when he thought you weren’t looking, he smiled to himself. He never expected you to want to wear his jersey so openly, but it made him feel something he rarely shows: pride and flustered.
When he walks onto the pitch and sees you, his expression stays stern, but his jaw relaxes just a little. His focus locks in — not just on the game, but on proving he’s worthy of being the name on your back.
The crowd’s reaction is massive: you’re a global beauty icon, looking like a dream, and proudly wearing the jersey of one of the tournament’s top strikers. People whisper and stare with hearts in their eyes, but your relaxed posture makes them double think and sit back down in their seats to not bother you. (Your posture genuinely would mog them badly in any picture and humble tf outta them so...)
He plays with ferocious intensity. Every shot is sharper, every run faster. When he scores, he doesn’t do big celebrations — he just looks straight at you, holds up the fabric of his jersey — showing you the number, and gives a single, determined nod. This is for you.
After the match, he walks over quietly, no fanfare. “You stood out too much,” he says simply, but there’s warmth in his voice, "...Yeah, it's not like I'm a well known model or anything, of course I'm gonna stand out, striker." You playfully hit his shoulder and he rolled his eyes. “Thanks for coming.” He says quietly.
He likes that you’re bold and unapologetic. He doesn’t want to hide you — to him, having you there, wearing his name, is proof that all his effort has someone worth it waiting for him.
ノ𝙎. 𝙍𝙮𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙞
You gave a little fashion show for him with you in his jersey. His reaction was immediate and loud. “YES! That’s exactly what I wanna see!” he cheered, already imagining how the crowd would react. He even joked: “Make sure everyone knows who it belongs to — they’ll be jealous!”
The second he sees you in the stands, his eyes light up like fireworks. He grins from ear to ear, jumps up and down, and waves both arms wildly, yelling loud enough for the cameras to catch it: “THERE SHE IS!!”
The crowd goes absolutely crazy. You’re a world-famous supermodel, looking flawless, proudly repping the most unpredictable striker in the tournament. People are drawn to you, but your aura is so striking and confident that no one feels brave enough to crowd you — they just stare in awe.
He plays even more wildly and creatively than usual. Every goal is a dramatic celebration — he runs to your section, does a silly dance, blows a dozen kisses, and even holds up his own jersey to match yours.
After the final whistle, he’s at the barrier in seconds, grinning like a kid. “Did you see that?! All those goals were for you, baby!” He laughs, then adds, “And you look way better in my jersey than I do — unfair, but I’ll take it!"
You’re his favorite person, and showing you off is the most natural thing in the world. Your confidence matches his chaos perfectly, and together you’re the most talked about pair of the tournament.
𝐀/𝐧 - I actually have no clue on soccer but ik a lil bc of my friends and the internet so I'm rooting for Germany and I was right to😋 This may or may not also be inspired by the fact that Adriana Iima was present lmfao🙏
Chuuya Nakahara x cat-like gn!reader, fluff, OOC!Chuuya, reader has an idgaf personality, I still don't know how to tag, there could be more missing.
At first, he finds your cat-like habits mysterious and slightly annoying — you’re aloof, take forever to warm up, and only let him get close when you decide it’s okay. He huffs, calls you stubborn, but secretly finds it endearing.
You’re quiet, observant, and move silently — once you snuck up behind him while he was drinking wine and he nearly flipped the table. “Don’t sneak around like a damn shadow!” he growls, but his ears turn pink.
You have a selective affection: you ignore strangers, avoid loud crowds, but curl into his side when it’s just the two of you. He acts like it’s a nuisance, but never pushes you away — he even adjusts his arm so you’re more comfortable.
You hate being crowded or grabbed suddenly. If someone tries to touch you without permission, you hiss or swat lightly. Chuuya immediately steps between you and them, sharp and protective, “Back off.” He respects your space more than anyone (gentleman ahh)
You take time to trust; even when you like him, you keep your distance at first. But instead of pushing, he brings you small gifts: high quality food that you craved on that day, soft blankets, or a bottle of good wine. “Don’t get the wrong idea — I just didn’t want it going to waste,” he mutters.
He sometimes catches you staring at random things— his silver choker, the buttons on his coat, wine glasses, loose threads, the pens in his office. You’ll prod at them gently. Chuuya will watch, amused, pretending to scold you, “Don't break any of them,” But he lets you do it anyway.
You love high places: the back of the couch, tables, windowsills. Once you sat on the edge of his desk while he was doing paperwork, knocking over a pen. He sighed, but didn’t move you — instead, he leaned his head against your leg while he wrote.
Sometimes you’ll dart around the apartment, then collapse asleep on his lap. He freezes, then slowly wraps his coat over you, careful not to wake you. “Troublesome little thing,” he whispers, smiling faintly.
You show love quietly, but he never once doubted your love for him because he knows its your way of showing affection, headbutting his hand, rubbing your cheek against his arm, or kneading his thigh when you’re relaxed. He acts tough, but his heart melts and gets cuteness aggression and wants to squish your face but for now he’ll stroke your hair gently, careful not to mess it up too much.
Naturally you also like to sunbathe when your energy is low. Chuuya will catch you curled in a patch of sunlight, and he’ll bring you a cushion or a blanket. “Don’t catch a cold,” he says, sitting beside you to enjoy the quiet too or make sure you're comfortable before he leaves for work.
Chuuya cares about style and quality. You both appreciate fine things — he buys you soft, high quality fabrics and jewelry that doesn’t irritate your skin. He teases you for being picky, but he’s just as particular.
He loves good wine. You’ll sit together, him drinking slowly, you licking a tiny bowl of fruit or cream. Sometimes he reads poetry aloud (a secret habit) and you listen quietly, eyes half lidded because that's just how heavenly his voice is to you.
He knows you’re agile but not built for mafia fights. He’ll never let you near danger. If anyone so much as glares at you, his composure flairs. “She’s with me,” he warns — and everyone knows better than to test him.
When he uses Corruption, it drains him horribly. Afterward, he’s weak and disoriented. You don’t panic — you just sit beside him, stroke his hair, and let him lean on you. Your quiet presence calms him better than any medicine. He once mumbled, “Don’t leave me…” and who were you to refuse him.
He’s fiercely protective of his signature hat. You’re the only person allowed to gently touch or nudge it — if you do, he just sighs and lets you, knowing you’d never damage it.
You purr when you’re happy or relaxed — a soft, rumbling sound. Chuuya finds it oddly soothing; he’ll close his eyes and listen, even if he pretends not to notice.
Bath time is a battle — you hiss and try to escape. Chuuya sighs, fills the tub with warm water and scented oils, and holds you gently but firmly. “Stop being so dramatic, look I'll join you if you behave,” he says, knowing it works every time but he’s very gentle, drying you carefully with a soft towel afterward.
Dazai teases you both, “So Chuuya the stray dog found a stray cat to match!” Chuuya immediately kicks him and a punch for extra measure. “Shut your mouth, you suicidal idiot!” Meanwhile, you just blink and watch, unimpressed.
You bring him “gifts” — sometimes a shiny rock, sometimes a feather or a rat. Chuuya immediately makes you get another bath because of that and literally gets a pest control operator just so you don't give him another heart attack, but he keeps the rest in a box in his office among other things you've given him, (dw he gives you twice as many gifts)
Chuuya Nakahara x gn!reader. not proofread. established relationship. fluff. General headcannons. Slight comfort. Out of character!Chuuya. Author doesn't know what she's doing. How tf do i tag. just fluff bc im miserable js reading angst these past few weeks💔
He knew you were an assassin from the start—you never tried to hide it, and he never asked you to change. To him, what matters isn’t what you do for a living, but who you are.
He’s down absolutely terribly bad for you, like everyone in the Port Mafia can see it except you, even if you’re the one he’s dating. He acts indifferent, but his eyes light up the second you walk into a room.
He teases you nonstop, calling you things like “brat” or “troublemaker” but it’s all in a soft—warm way.
Yes he'd also let you tease him but if anyone else does the same thing to him, he’d blow up, but from you? He just smirks and plays along.
He gets so flustered when you do something sweet, like bringing him food, patching up a small cut, or even just smiling at him. Though he's eternally grateful and in return, he'd go out of his way to repay you (just not in the kitchen please)
You two are the most feared duo in the Port Mafia—people say “if you see one, the other is never far behind.” Combined with his Gravity manipulation and your assassin skills, you’re almost unbeatable.
He’s strict when it comes to missions. He’ll check every detail, make sure you’re prepared, and scold you if you take unnecessary risks. “I don’t care how good you are—being reckless is stupid. I won’t have you getting hurt over something that could’ve been avoided.”
But if you do get hurt? He loses his mind. He’ll stop at nothing to get revenge on whoever did it, and he’ll take care of every single wound himself—no letting doctors touch you unless he absolutely has to. He’ll bandage you up so gently it’s almost unrecognizable compared to his usual rough mannerisms.
He trusts you completely with his back. In battle, he knows you’ll have his side, and you know he’ll do the same for you. There’s no one he’d rather fight beside.
He acts like he doesn’t need anyone, but he’ll always be waiting for you after missions, even if he says he was just “passing by.” He’ll hand you a drink or a snack without saying a word, and act like it’s just because he doesn’t want it anymore.
He hates when you put yourself in danger, but he also admires your strength and skill. He’ll brag about you to anyone who’ll listen, “Yeah, they’re good. Better than most people I know. Just don’t go thinking you can beat them."
He gets jealous easily. If someone flirts with you or tries to get too close, he’ll appear out of nowhere, wrap an arm around your waist, and stare them down until they leave. “They’re taken. Move it.” And he’ll hold onto you a little tighter after that.
Acts of service is his loudest love language. Assisting you in every way possible, get anything you ask, help you on missions even if he knows you can do it yourself, in short—he's a gentleman, he'll never let you lift a finger on his watch.
Gets you home on his motorbike, making random conversations aside from both of your jobs to get rid of some stress.
Remembers every little detail about you—your favorite food, what makes you angry, things you’re scared of, and using that knowledge to take care of you without you asking.
He’ll get annoyed if you’re too quiet or distant, but he’ll never force you to talk about things you don’t want to. He’ll just sit with you, say “I’m here if you need me,” and leave it at that. He knows how dark your line of work is, but he never judges you for it.
— Thinking about.... Ranpo Edogawa x reader who bakes for him.
Established relationship (wanted to make this platonic too but since i rarely see ranpo fics i listened to my inner voices🥹✌️)
He claims you’re his personal official pastry chef—and he says it with full seriousness, like it’s an actual job title from the Agency. He’ll tell everyone proudly that your baking is far better than any shop bought treat, and that no one else in the whole world could ever make sweets as perfect as yours. He’ll even say it’s a fact proven by his ultra deduction, so it must be true.
He can tell exactly what you put in each treat but pretends he can’t just to hear you explain it and to see the happy look on your face when you tell him about your process. He already knows every ingredient, the exact baking time, where you bought the ingredients from and even the little adjustments you made to make it suit his taste better, but he’ll act all curious and impressed just to make you feel good.
Sweets from you are his absolute priority. He’ll drop almost anything because he brought your sweets with him for emergency snacking. If he’s in the middle of solving a case, he’ll pause, dig through the container, take a bite, then say it gives him “extra genius power,” and then solve the rest of the case even faster than before. He swears your baking is the secret behind all his successes(Uh other than his amazing ability ofc)
He’s very particular about how he eats your treats, but only because he treasures them—he’ll take small bites first to savor the flavor, then eat a little faster once he’s fully enjoying it. He never wastes a single crumb, and if there’s any left, he’ll guard it like it’s the most valuable treasure in the world, refusing to share it with anyone else.
He asks you to make specific things, but always with cute little reasons. He’ll say “make me apple pie because it matches my brilliant mind,” or “bake those cream puffs because they’re as sweet and wonderful as you are.” Sometimes he’ll even come up with weird, creative requests just to see if you can do it, and he’ll be over the moon when you pull it off perfectly.
He gets pouty and clingy if he doesn’t get your sweets for a while, if you’re busy and haven’t baked in a few days, he’ll show up at your place unannounced, give you big puppy eyes, and say he’s “running low on brain energy” and needs your baking immediately to keep functioning. He’ll stick by your side the whole time you’re baking, watching you closely and talking nonstop about how amazing you are or ranting about random stuff.
You definitely already remember every preference hes mentioned to you before, and he notices instantly when you adjust something to fit it. If he once said he loves extra filling, he’ll light up the moment he takes a bite and realizes you remembered. He’ll pull you close, give you a quick, happy kiss, and say you really are the only person who truly understands him.
He bakes for you once in a blue moon… and well there's a reason why it's only once in a blue moon—he tries because he wants to return your kindness, but he has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. He’ll mix things randomly, mix the dough too roughly, and end up with something that looks weird and tastes strange, but he’ll hand it to you with a proud grin and say it’s made with “all his genius and love.” You’ll eat it anyway, and he’ll be so happy you liked it that he might try again.
gotta be honest, im too lazy to transfer my fics and headcannons from tiktok to over here gng, i ain't writing allat💔 but I'll still try ofc so in the mean time here unfed Ranpo stans
Oml i wanna change my layout and everything to Minajael aesthetic bc my moots on tiktok know im heavily obsessed with Minajael but lowkey im too lazy to do so😭🙏 I'll js take it slowly....(aka I'll procrastinate)
A home without me. (Pt.1) (Pt.2 Here) (Pt.3) (Pt.4)
Lilia Vanrouge.
—Did you know that Briar Valley's General of the right has a child?
a/n: for those who alr read this on tiktok, i swear i rewrote some things😭
You woke up peacefully—too peaceful, almost. The kind of quiet that makes your chest tense because it feels unnatural, like the world is holding its breath. No matter, best get ready for the day.
Silver and Lilia had been clinging to you all morning, as usual. Honestly you weren't always sure where they always come from or why they insisted on shadowing you, but you'd long learned long ago that resistance was futile. So, you simply accepted it, let them. Your morning has become a practiced dance of subtle patience.
By the time morning classes were finished, you were navigating the cafeteria. Silver and Malleus walking silently beside you as Sebek ranted about god knows what, Lilia trailing with his calm measured steps. You slipped into your usual seat and began munching away, focusing on the simple rhythm of chewing and swallowing, disconnecting from the chaos of the world around you. For a few minutes, the warmth of food and the low hum of conversation was enough.
Then, a voice shattered it, "I CATEGORICALLY OPPOSE THIS!" You flinched, your fork pausing midair. You looked up, startled, as if the words itself was sharp enough to cut the air.
"Quiet down Sebek, we're in the cafeteria" a calmer, more measured voice chided.
"Malleus is right, you know. And besides—its already been arranged," Sebek grumbled, clearly unbothered that everyone had stopped to watch. You raised an eyebrow, but remained silent. It wasn't your circus, not today. You were content to sit, observe and focus on the tiny comfort of your meal.
"I can't believe this...you lost your magic and you're... you're withdrawing from school?!" The words pierced through, and your eyes snapped to Lilia across from your seat, he met your eyes and let out a sigh, heavy and weary. "No need to make a production out of this," he said, voice calm but firm. "My magic has been weakening for years. It's been happening before you boys were born—aside from [name]"
They continued to chatter amongst themselves, but all you could hear was a slight buzzing noise as you slowly slid back into your bubble of thoughts. Shouldn't you feel relieved? after all, he was finally stepping away, finally, gone, free from his duties, maybe even free from you.
But as you stared at him, a strange mix of feelings stirred—a quiet bitterness. Yes relief, faint and guilty. And an ache you didn't quite know how to name. For years, you'd trained yourself to survive, to accept distance, to build your own world without needing him. And yet now, seeing him step back, a part of you mourned. Not for his power, not for his magic, but a thought clawed its way from the depths of your soul—you would miss him.
And then, like a whisper under it all, a thought pricked sharply at your chest—shouldn't i feel happy? You weren't sure, happiness, it seemed, was complicated when it had always been intertwined with absence.
As you slipped back into reality, the chattering around you slowly sharpened again—voices returning, sound becoming clearer. "Im just being a selfish old man, really. There's no need to frown like that" Lilia laughed lightly, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. Then his gaze shifted to you.
"And you make sure to look after these three, alright? they can be quite the handful" his tone was playful, yet gentle, then softened just a bit more. "But of course, don't forget to experience the world for yourself. Live for yourself, okay? i know...i know i should've chosen a better time to talk. But perhaps someday, we will." He finished. You looked away, brows furrowing before you could stop yourself, you swore you didn't care, you had spent years convincing yourself you didn't. But he was making it very hard not to.
"So Silver, Sebek, [name] will you help me sort my things out?" He continued pleasantly. Silver answered almost immediately, Sebek just as loud and dramatic as expected. Meanwhile you quietly slipped out your notepad and scribbled. "I can't, me and Yuu have something to do." You were one of the few people who knew about Yuu's dreams—Mickey. The mystery, the lingering question. It needed investigation, and you'd need every bit of help you could gather. You wrote again, slower this time. "Sorry"
Lilia blinked, then gave a soft smile "Hm, alright, it must be important if you look that hurried," He chirped. "What?! how dare you reject a task from Lilia-sama!!" Sebek immediately erupting, voice echoing, but Lilia cut him off with amusement as you stood up from your seat and walked towards where the first years sat.
it wasn't that you didn't care, it was that you didn't want to see him like that anymore. Didn't want to watch him fade, didn't want to stand there and choke on everything unspoken. A thunderclap roared outside. You froze mid-step.
It was unmistakable, you felt that lightning before, not just loud—heavy, almost emotional, it reminded you painfully of a certain dragon fae. You slowly turned, gaze drifting towards the table you all occupied.
Malleus sat rigidly in his seat, shoulders tensed, brows drawn, fist clenched tight against the table. A storm brew behind his calm façade—even without words, his distress was palpable. You weren't a mind reader—far from it. But you didn't need to be. Malleus draconia did not handle loss well, and this wasn't just anyone leaving.
You swallowed, turning back again. forcing your feet to move despite the tightening around your chest. There was a pit in your stomach now, cold and unyielding. It felt like fate was circling overhead, watching, waiting. And you knew it wouldn't wait long. By the end of the week—if not sooner, something was going to break. And none of you would come out of it the same.
It was the end of the classes for the day and Silver and Sebek were in Lilia's room, quietly helping him pack his belongings. The air felt strangely heavy, as if every item placed into a suitcase carried years of memories with it. Silver, searching through his drawers picked up an old candy tin. He blinked, a little uneasy "I hope this isn't from two years ago..." he murmured, prying it open.
Instead of expired sweets, he found something far more unexpected—a neatly folded paper, a makeshift acorn bracelet, and a golden ring threaded onto a necklace chain. The ring seemed to hum faintly with familiarity. Silver felt his eyelids grow heavy, mind drifting, until, "Silver?"
Lilia's voice snapped him awake. Silver straightened and turned, holding up the tin when Lilia noticed the contents and Silver asked about the acorns. "If it's that old... shouldn't we throw it out?" the lighthearted tone vanished instantly "Absolutely not" Lilia snapped, sharper than usual. "Those are my most prized possessions" Silver froze.
"Prized?...but they look so old" "Hehe, why even Malleus is jealous of those two things!" Silver apologized for dismissing its importance. "And this paper, what is it?" Lilia stepped closer, picking up the paper with gentle care as if it were fragile, he unfolded the paper. Inside was your childhood drawing, one you'd once shyly handed him on a day when his stress had nearly swallowed him whole. A little you holding his hand, smiling like the world was safe simply because he was there. It was clumsy, childish...and precious. When you moved out of the cabin, Lilia went through what little you left behind—clothes, scattered belongings, and this paper, no plushies, no trinkets. Just this paper. He kept it, because it was proof, proof that once you loved him without doubt, before he ruined that.
His lips pressed into a tight line as guilt crept into his chest. He remembered his own voice back then—criticizing things normal children do. Pushing you when all you did was reach him. He folded the drawing again carefully, as if rough handling might erase the memory completely. "This one was from a child,"
He said softly, voice trembling with something raw. He knows that child is still there somewhere, "I'll just keep those acorns and the paper—meanwhile..." Lilia than carefully returned the paper back into the tin, then pointed at the ring and lifted it up carefully. "This ring, it should return to its original owner." Silver blinked, "Original...owner?" Lilia placed it into Silvers palm. "It belongs to you" Something warm and aching settled in Silver's chest as he closed his fingers around it.
Meanwhile in ramshackle, you and your usual crowd were preparing for the mickey investigation. Ghost camera, phone with voice recorder and herbal tea were already prepared. However, Ace interrupted Deuce and Grim and reminded them of school reality back into the room and dragging everyone toward the dreaded topic of finals. The Adeuce duo were only allowed to be here to have a "study group" ...which they conveniently lied about and now paid for with towering stacks of books. Then Grim spoke.
"Y'know...if Yuu really does go back home before our sophomore year...do you think I'd still be allowed to stay here?" Silenced immediately swallowed the room. "i... can't imagine the headmaster being that cruel" Deuce said quietly, "At least... i hope he won't"
The mood shifted, gone was the earlier playful chaos, in it's place lingered something painfully real—that one day, this warmth, this little found family—might end. Would they still laugh together? Would things fall apart? Would Grim be left alone? But that was a problem for the future, for now, they still had today.
Ace clapped his hands loudly, a grin appearing on his face "alright, mopefest is over!" the tension dissolved, replaced by familiar bickering and laughter as everyone eventually grew tired from studying and prepared to sleep.
Your eyes were closed when the rustle of bedsheets pulled you back into consciousness. You opened your eyes just enough to see Yuu getting up, soft light flickering outside—Likely Malleus, you turned to your other side. it wasn't your business. And yet, a lingering feeling remained.
A few days passed and you were in the library, tucked away in your hidden corner, peaceful reading. The silence wrapped around you like a blanket while you mentally took notes of each character as the storyline pulled you deeper into their world of imagination. "[name]" The same was soft, careful, respectful of the library's hush. But you recognized it immediately, you didn't look up.
"What are you reading?" He asked gently. You lifted the book, showing him the cover and the back. His eyes scanned the text before lighting up just a little. "ohh... interesting, i didn't know you were into fantasy." You nodded and returned to reading.
Silence fell again. Lilia quietly took a seat beside you—not too close, just near enough to feel present, but distant enough to respect a boundary you both silently acknowledged. He watched you longer for a moment longer than necessary.
another thing he was learning about you only now, something he could've known years ago if only he'd tried. But that was a regret he longer had the right to drown in "You take care, okay?" Your hand paused, you turned slightly, confusion flickering across your face at the sudden shift in tone. He chuckled softly, but there was no real humor behind it.
"I'm serious. I know you can take care of yourself—given that...ah no, nevermind" A breath "i know I'll be far again soon. But, I'm glad i had this time beside you. Even if it was only for a short while" There it was, honesty—late and fragile.
You pulled out your notepad and scribbled, "I know, and i don't want to talk about it." He gave a short nod "Right. My apologies" He reached into his pocket and slipped something into your book, a neatly folded letter.
"Silver and the others are throwing me a farewell party. Everyone will be there—you should come too. Silver will be sad if you're not there" His smile softened "Will then, enjoy your reading. Come if you can."
With that, he left your secluded corner—the place you thought only you knew. Somehow he always managed to find you anyway. You stared at the invitation for a long moment before opening it. A farewell party, hm?
If you went, you'd have to watch him leave again. Have to stand there, pretending it didn't hurt, pretending you were unaffected, pretending distance didn't reopen old wounds you'd stitch together alone, you'd have to face everything he meant and everything he failed to be.
But if you didn't go, you'd spend the night wondering, regretting knowing you let the last chance to stand beside him—no matter how bittersweet, slip away. You'd be haunted by "what ifs" and the image of him looking around the room again, hoping you'd be there.
both choices hurt. Your mind spun, the library suddenly too quiet, too still, too full of thoughts you didn't want to face. You just wanted to read, to stay in your stories where pain was distant and fictional. But reality had a way of finding you.
You slipped the paper back inside. It was fine, you've already decided. Even if your heart wasn't ready for what that decision meant. It was finally saturday night. The night of his departure
The diasomnia lounge was warm with laughter and chatter, lights glowing softly like captured fireflies. Students gathered in clusters, smiling, talking, pretending this wasn't a farewell. It was exactly the sight Lilia wanted to leave behind—no tears, no regrets, just joy. At least...that was the plan.
He scanned the room again. Silver was here, Sebek too. Even the rumbustious first years. But neither Malleus, nor you had arrived.
Malleus he could understand. The prince carried his pain differently. But you? You were different, he wanted to see you. Wanted to speak honestly for once—without playful masks, without evasions, without time running like sand slipping between his fingers. He wanted to say all the things he never said when he should have, to apologize for the years he let slip by, for the ways he failed you.
If you chose not to come, he told himself he would accept that. He would understand, even if it hurt. Silver, of course refused to let things end like that.
Before Lilia could stop him, the boy darted off to search for both you and Malleus. Sebek tried to follow, but Lilia held him back, sending him instead to keep his fellow first years company. Ah youth truly was wonderful. He got swept into conversation after that—laughs, memories, lighthearted teasing. And only realized something had changed when a quiet presence settled beside him.
You had slipped in silently, unnoticed by all but him. His eyes widened for a heartbeat before a bright smile bloomed across his face. "Oh? Look at you," He chuckled, joy slipping into relief. "Come to wave your old man goodbye?" A few nearby first years noticed you and waved. You offered a slight mod, minimal but genuine.
"Would you be so kind to follow me for a moment?" He asked pleasantly, "It won't take long."
The balcony was too quiet, almost painfully so. The party's warmth felt distant, as if it belonged to another world. Here, only the night air carried only cold air and unspoken things. Lilia leaned against the railings, his posture casual—but his hands trembled faintly, hidden by the shadows.
"You grew up well," He started softly, voice light but eyes unbearably heavy "Strong, capable. Stubborn, too. I suppose, i can only blame myself for that one" He laughed quietly, it wasn't cheerful, it sounded like something breaking gently.
Silence fell again, long, thick, suffocating. Then he exhaled "...I was so afraid of losing you," He admitted "Afraid of loving you too little, afraid that if i stayed close, i would ruin you. And if i stayed distant, i would ruin you anyway." His words fell out slowly, like they'd been locked inside for years and now they were bleeding out.
"I told myself you would be stronger if I didn't coddle you. That forcing you to endure would make you resilient" His gaze dimmed, guilt sharp and ugly in his expression "But that wasn't strength. That was me abandoning my responsibility. Dressing neglect up as "Tough love" He swallowed, you had never seen him look so small.
"I hurt you," He continued softly when you didn't say anything. "And you still stayed, still grew. Still managed to be someone kind, capable, a person worth admiring. Despite me, not because of me" His voice finally cracked.
"And now, just when i finally understand how deeply i failed you, I don't get to fix it, try again. I don't get to stay and learn how to love you correctly." He smiled then, it was the saddest smile you've seen on him.
"That's my punishment i suppose, to have a child who once loved me without fear, and knowing that I'm the reason they stopped" Your chest tightened, because he wasn't wrong. You still cared, still worried. Still watching him like something familiar and painful all at once. But the love you had as a child—the love that was warm and brilliant and trusting, that version of you disappeared a long time ago.
"You don't owe me anything" He said, voice barely above a whisper "Not forgiveness or anything. Not even your presence here tonight. But i wanted you to know. I do love you imperfectly, selfishly, stupidly, but sincerely."
"And that sincerity feels meaningless now does it?" You didn't answer, you couldn't. Because inside your quietness, it was chaos.
You wanted to scream, hit him. To cling to him. To say he was right, to say he was wrong. To demand why you had to be the one to carry all the consequences of his choices. You wanted to tell him you did care, that you hadn't stopped worrying. That seeing him like this made something ugly ache in your chest.
But you also wanted to say you were tired, so painfully tired of loving people who left. Instead, your throat tightened and your fingers curled slightly, your only visible response. You hated that he still has this power over your emotions. You hated that it mattered. And deep, deep down. You hated that part of you still wanted him to stay.
Lilia watched you quietly, he seemed to read it all anyway "Even now," He murmured, almost fondly "You wont let yourself cry. Always so stubbornly composed. Always swallowing your feelings because someone once taught you they were inconvenient" You flinched. He sighed "I'm sorry i was that someone."
Your chest ached in a way no spell could heal. Because there it was—the truth you had waited for years to hear, arriving only when he was already halfway out the door.
It wasn't fair, none of this was fair. And the worst part? You still wanted to shout "Stay" even if you knew he wouldn't. Even if he couldn't.
He straightened, forcing a light smile again, like putting the mask back on hurt less than standing there vulnerable. "That's enough heavy talk for tonight" He murmured gently. "You deserve more than my regrets. You deserve a world that loves you better than i did" Before you could react,
"Vanrouge!" Crowley's voice shattered the moment, loud and intrusive. Your time was up. Lilia looked at you one last time. The kind of look that held years of unsaid things. And the crushing reality that they would stay unsaid.
"I hope," He whispered, "That someday, you can live without the weight i put on your shoulders." He smiled again. "Your carriage arrived, It's time."
Lilia let out a light laugh—not amused, just resigned. "Ah, looks like our conversation is over" He looked over at you with a smile, warm but bittersweet "I do hope there's a next time" And just like that, the moment slipped away.
Crowley ushered him back towards the others. The farewell began—Lilia smiling, laughing, waving.
Meanwhile you felt hollow. Not devastated, dramatic. Just painfully empty. Because every goodbye with him felt unfinished. Because just when he finally reached out—he had to leave again. Because you missed chances that were never really yours to begin with.
When Lilia walked away—the world didn't follow. Breaths continued, the wind brushed past your skin. Laughter drifted faintly from somewhere else—alive, careless, untouched.
But for you? Everything simply stilled.
You stood frozen on that balcony with a body that suddenly felt hollow, as if something had been quietly lifted from your chest and replaced with nothing but air. You had imagined, more than once, how this moment would feel if it ever came. You pictured anger, a sharp, burning satisfaction. Something loud—something dramatic—something that felt like victory. But instead in its place, silence.
A quiet ache that sits too deeply to cry out. A heaviness that doesn't fade when you blink or steady your breathing. A pain that doesn't scream, it settles. And somehow, that hurts worse.
Because he finally said the things you once begged the universe to hear. The apology you prayed for. The acknowledgement you insisted you didn't need anymore. Now that it's here, you can finally admit it: you always wanted it.
What you wanted wasn't an apology delivered when time had already run out. You wanted love when it could still change something. You wanted someone to stand beside you when you were still small and afraid. When the world towered over you and you hadn't yet learned how to survive it alone.
He said he was proud of how capable you became—but that was never the point.
You didn't want to become strong out of necessity. You didn't want to become independent because no one showed up. You didn't want resilience to be your inheritance.
And that truth twists inside you—heavy, bitter, exhausted. Because this is unfair.
You sighed quietly, moping wouldn't change anything—so you did what you always done best—ignored it and tucked away your feelings into some abandoned drawer inside your chest before walking off the balcony.
The moment you stepped into the lounge, cheers and goodbyes washed over you—voices wishing him luck, wishing him happiness—while you just stood there, frozen in place, unsure what you were supposed to do with yourself now.
And then, green smoke surged, twisting upwards as magical energy crackled through the air. Gasps echoed. Two figures form from the haze. Silver and Malleus. So Silver found him after all.
"Well, well..." Malleus spoke, voice smooth but trembling beneath the weight of emotion "Quite the glittering assemblage. Students—faculty. Why, everyone's here!" Something in your stomach twisted.
His eyes shone with something far too intense. The air thickened—the atmosphere warped.
"I have a wonderful gift for you all," He continued, power thrumming beneath every word "No longer shall you shed tears over sorrowed goodbyes. This party marks not the end...but the beginning." You breath hitched "...Wait, is he?—" You thoughts, you recognize this image.
The signs were unmistakable. The ink pulsing beneath his skin. The storm in his voice, the grief, the desperation—too sharp, too overwhelming. You could feel it, painfully clear. He was losing control.
The flames flared green, consuming the room's warmth and replacing it with suffocating magic. Thunder cracked, wind howling through cracks. His emotions spiraled, a storm tearing itself apart.
you've seen this too many times, you knew what came next. "You fool!" Lilia shouted desperately. "Do you understand what you're trying to accomplish?! What will change if you do this?!"
"I WON'T HAVE TO LOSE YOU!" Malleus roar split the air. He wasn't just talking about Lilia. He was talking about every goodbye. Every fear, every loneliness. Every moment he was left behind.
"I won't have to be left anymore" That was what he meant. That was what hurt.
You almost laughed—bitter, humorless.
He didn't want to lose Lilia. And yet—what he was about to do—he would lose everything. "Fae of Maleficence!" Malleus changed. Lilia's voice yelled his name.
Flames surged outward, heat roaring like a beast unleashed. Instinctively, Lilia rushed toward you, pushing you back, shielding you from the first violent flare. Your eyes shot at Malleus—ink swallowing him whole.
He spoke the incantation of his signature spell. Voice echoing through the hall as magic exploded outward. Green light surged like a tidal wave, swallowing bodies as students dropped instantly, lulled into enchanted slumber.
The magic brushed against you—warm, soft, deceptively gentle. It felt like a lullaby. Like warm hands in your hair. Like someone whispering "Rest, it's alright" your eyelids grew heavy, you fought it, you always fought everything.
But someone's voice whispered in your ear, tender and reassuring, and your strength slipped away. Your body went weak, your vision dimmed, the world faded.
What if Lilia Vanrouge had a child before the war?
(Pt.1 here) (Pt.2) (Pt.3) (Pt.4)
The boy who called him sir.
Pride of troy— Jorge Rivera-Herrans
Seasons in the sun— Blackbox recorder
The water is fine— Chole Ament
Lacy— Olivia Rodrigo
If you had asked Lilia if he wanted a child, he would've laughed in your face and questioned your sanity. A child? him? absolutely not. His life had been nothing but missions, war readiness, and responsibilities stacked upon responsibilities—there was no room for something as fragile and demanding as a child.
so how did it happen?
In simple, almost pathetic terms: you were an accident.
One dreadful evening, his emotions got the better of him. Stress from military tensions, sleepless nights and the crushing burden of leadership finally pushed him over the edge. He wandered into a dim, crowded pub—its air thick with the smell of alcohol and noisy laughter—and drowned himself in drink after drink in a desperate attempt to shove everything off.
That was when he met her. She was kind, patient, and warm in a way life hadn't allowed him to feel in years. One thing led to another, and in his drunken haze, caution and logic disappeared. By morning, the memory was already fading, folded away as another regrettable mistake he never planned to acknowledge again.
until months later a baby was placed in his arms.
He stared at the infant like it was an illusion, something unreal, something unwanted, his first instinct was to shove the responsibility onto the mother, but she refused, her eyes were tired, pleading and unyielding.
"He's yours now, i cant take a child"
and with that she left.
he stood there frozen, holding a child he didn't choose, didn't want, and didn't know how to love.
He reluctantly took you back to the palace, scowling the entire way. Every glance at you was mixed disbelief and irritation—as if your existence was a personal inconvenience carved into his life.
You didn't grow up in a castle of warmth and affection. You grew up in Lilia's isolated cabin, tucked away far civilizations and other fae, or any semblance of normal life. He placed you there because it was convenient—not because it was safe not because it was kind.
He visited only when duty allowed, which meant rarely.
And even when he did come home, he didn't bring comfort with him.
No bed time stories, no lullabies when you had a nightmare or when you couldn't sleep no, gentle voice, no fatherly smile. Only cold suffocating silence.
He didn't speak unless he had to, he didn't ask how you were, he didn't teach you how to live—just to survive.
Once, you timidly approached him with a drawing, it was childish and your eyes were full of life, a wobbly picture of you holding his hand. You thought he looked tired when he came back, so you picked up a pen in paper and started drawing, hoping he would smile at you.
He didn't.
He frowned.
"You wasted paper on this? Use it for something useful next time." In his eyes you just looked like the typical kid who scribbled. The drawing fell from your hands and you never tried again.
he made sure you had money, he made sure groceries appeared. But care? presence? warmth? Those were luxuries he never was capable of giving. When he left, the house didn't feel empty—it felt like it was swallowing you. So you raised yourself
Your only entertainment became books, because reading was "productive" Drawing was childish, playing was pointless, making noise was unnecessary, speaking became rare.
There were no neighboring children, no laughter, no running in the rain and gentle shouts to come back inside. Nobody to make friends with, no conversations. And most importantly, no childhood to share.
it was just you, the creaking wooden floors, the echoing quiet, and the forest outside, where animals existed as your closest company—silent witnesses to a childhood that never felt like one.
Everyday you waited, not for him to come home. But for the feeling that someday, maybe, you'd stop hoping he ever would.
You...admired your dad, painfully so.
That's why you obeyed every command, no matter how harsh, straightening you back until your shoulders ached, lifting your sword at the precise angle he demanded, turning your body exactly as he instructed with every swing, every motion, every breath of training was scrutinized. Any hesitation, any hint of weakness earned his icy words— "I don't care if you're my child, i won't acknowledge you if you're still whining"
He never once smiled at you, but he never once praised you. Not for the early mornings, not for every bruise that dotted your arms, not for nights spent training in the cold shadows of the cabin. Recognition never came, only silence and the relentless expectations to be better—stronger—perfect.
Still, you watched him with awe, you watched him move with deadly grace among his knights, his presence commanding, flawless, almost unreal. Every swing of his blade, every strategic call, every measure of discipline etched itself into your memory. And quiet, so quiet that the forest could hear—you promised yourself: someday, you would be like him.
Someday you will grow stronger, someday he will see you, someday he will acknowledge you as his son.
Wasn't that...a hopeful dream?
You trained everyday, not just in the palace under his watchful eye, but in the cabin he had left you in, your only "home" Each morning, you woke to the soft chirping of birds and the distant rustle of the forest, lifting your sword, striking at invisible opponents, perfecting your stance. You ran drills until the soles of your feet were blistered, until your muscles screamed, until your hands were raw, because you decided that weakness was unforgivable.
And then there was the day you met Maleanor and her precious egg. You had been curious, bold, perhaps a bit reckless. Your foot slipped, and before you could stop yourself, you stepped on her tail. The shock of her lightning coursed through your body, and pain shot up every nerve like fire. Your dad didn't rush forward in anger to protect you, he simply stood, scowling. Not in concern, warmth—just the same sharp reprimand you had grown to expect "Do not let curiosity get in the way of sense. Control yourself next time."
And so, even in moments of accidental disaster, even when magic fire danced along your skin, you endured. You endured because to be seen, even a flicker, was worth it. You endured because your admiration for him had once been everything, a driving force that made you believe in the impossible: that maybe, someday, you would be enough.
You were out on the palace training grounds, the sharp scent of freshly turned earth and sweat hanging in the air. Your sword still slick with practice, your dad was at the center, demonstrating techniques to newcomers every movement precise, flawless and commanding. The clatter of steel rang out, punctuated by his crisp, sharp instructions.
A few feet away, soldiers whispered among themselves. Their words casual and careless but deeper than any blade.
"Isn't that...General Vanrouge's kid?" "i mean the resemblance is striking isn't it?" "Yeah but it's still unbelievable" "Why would he bring a child here? Makes no sense to me" "it'd be better if he just left the kid at home. Where even is his mother?" "No idea. I heard that kid was a mistake" "Seriously? that kid should've been with his mother rather than under General Vanrouge's care—he's a busy man—this is just a burden."
Your chest froze, your fae enhanced hearing catching every word, every sharp edge in their voices. You stared at your dad, desperate for any sign that he will defend you. His expression remained unreadable, cold and distant as always. Not a word, not a glance in your direction. But his ears twitched ever so slightly. It was enough.
Enough to know that he heard it, enough to know he hadn't said anything, no reassurance, no defense, no comforting touch, not even a single word to silence them. Just silence, and continued instructions for the recruits, his voice sharp, confident, unyielding.
And you left there trembling slightly, the echo of their words sinking into your bones. A mistake, a burden, was that really how he saw you? Was that what you were to your father, the man you adored so painfully, the man whose every step you had tried to mirror, whose approval you had desperately sought?
you barely spoke after that, not that you had ever spoken that much anyway. Even when you tried, your words fell dry against his dry clipped responses. The soldiers whispers had etched themselves into your silence, a weight that pressed heavier than the coldest blade.
You loved him, you always had, but that day—you learned that love might never be enough.
Maleanor confronted Dawn knight, the air crackling with tension and unspoken stakes. The egg rested safely in Lilia's hands, fragile yet pulsing with the life of the future heir. But a thought gnawed at him, sharp and bitter—"if I can't even care for my own blood...how could i possibly raise the heir? Hatching him won't be any different."
Earlier before, Maleanor's eyes lingered on him with quiet resolve. She had to act. And act she did. The skies above split with light, brilliant and scorching, as if the world itself acknowledged her sacrifice.
Lilia cradles Malleus in his hands, the first tremors of fatherly panic washing over him. He hadn't anticipated this surge of raw responsibility—he hadn't prepared for it.
And then he saw you. His own son, standing hesitantly, wanting to speak, to say something—anything—but freezing under the weight of not knowing what to do in these situations "...no" The word was sharp, stern, no trace of softness.
"just go back to the cabin! if only your mother had taken you in...i wouldn't be doing this, i wouldn't be taking care of you at all, Go back. Now!"
There was no room for argument, no opening for appeal. You couldn't speak, you couldn't protest, so you obeyed as you always had done. Slowly you turned and retreated, swallowed by the shadows of the cabin and memories you'd long tried to leave behind.
As the years passed: news trickled in, Lilia was travelling far and wide, all to ensure Malleus hatched safely. You... couldn't help but feel it. A small, gnawing envy that burned quietly in your chest.
you have grown, matured, found your own voice through art, learned to communicate through sign language and writing, You had earned respect as an artist. Finally free of the cold, rigid discipline that had shaped your childhood.
But even in that independence, that freedom, the shadow of the egg haunted you. The future heir, the child Lilia was watching, cared for and praised—yet here you were, the son Lilia held once in his hands, ignored, dismissed and left to his own devices.
You wondered painfully, bitterly:
Is he doing this because he was told to? Because duty demands it? or...does he actually love this child more than he ever loved me?
Even now, years later, the question lingered in your chest like an ache you couldn't name, reminder that some gaps in love, once left unbridged, never truly healed.
you went away on your own, communication has become almost impossible, words felt like chains, heavy and dangerous—and eventually, you found out it was because you had selective mutism. Speaking aloud became rare, exhausting effort, so instead you learned sign language, wrote notes to convey your thoughts, and poured everything else into your art.
Art became your only voice, your only refuge. And for the first time, you could be rebellious, do the opposite thing Lilia demanded in your childhood. You were a teenager now—at least in fae years. strong, independent and determined to carve out your own life. You practiced tirelessly, honed your skills, and eventually earned enough from your work to move out of the cabin that held nothing but bad memories. You settled near a quiet lake, surrounded by soft trees and gentle sunlight—a stark contrast to the rigid walls and cold discipline of your youth.
When Malleus hatched, Lilia couldn't find you. Perhaps in a way, that was for the best. He had heard whispers of a renowned artist in town, talented, precise and quietly admired—but he had never sought out the Identity. It wasn't his business, after all he had once called your paper a waste, hadn't he?
Then, he found Silver in the dim moonlight in a crib. The boy reminded him of all the things he had missed—the mistakes, his enemy on the battlefield, the regrets, Lilia gritted his teeth—conflicted.
"I could end him right now, but then again... i wouldn't know how to face Malleus. Or [name]..."
And so, he took Silver under his care, silently making up for what he couldn't give you.
life eventually became calmer. Humans still feared and resented fae, but at least hostility had softened. Then one day he found you again.
It was jarring, seeing you was like looking into a mirror, your features reflected his own, sharp and striking—but your eyes were hollow, empty in a way that his never had been. His were clearer now, softer in certain light, his healed from Silver. But yours, were the shadows of years left unseen, unloved and unacknowledged.
He tried awkwardly to reach out "Come...visit sometime, my doors are always open"
You didn't answer, you didn't even blink in his direction. Instead you refused, silent as ever, and yet he left his address behind anyway, clinging to the faintest hope that one day, perhaps you might step into that door.
a few months later, you found yourself strolling through town. Mind lost in thought when the sight of Lilia's house stopped you, there was something different about it, warmth, comfort, something you had never felt in your childhood. You hesitated, unsure why the sight made your chest tighten. But before you could step away, The door opened and Lilia spotted you.
"Come in" He said, his voice unusually gentle, almost...inviting. You paused then followed—and you still don't know why you did that.
inside, a grown Malleus was there, and...a human baby? You raised your notepad and scribbled quickly, "What's this?" Lilia smiled faintly, a little awkwardly.
"His name is Silver...and, well he's a human" You paused, it's because of his hair color isn't it? You've always known Lilia was never great at naming things. "Are you sure you're keeping him?" "He's been here for a few months so yes! Malleus has been helping me!" Wait, won't that make you his older brother? you didn't ask him that but the question lingered.
Malleus awkwardly cradles Silver in his arms, moving carefully as if the human were made of glass. You watched him, noting how deliberate he was, how tender. Your chest tightened, you could tell he was trying not to hurt him, not even a little because humans are fragile.
And then there was Lilia. He was...different, not the cold, rigid general of your memories. No, this Lilia was alive, cheerful—energetic, full of warmth and life. You felt a whiplash, was this... Silver's effect on him? or perhaps retirement had softened? you weren't sure, but the contrast left your chest heavy.
As the years passed, Silver grew and so did his bond with Lilia. He called him "Father" effortlessly, and to your surprise, Lilia didn't correct him. Then one day, Silver turned to you, wide-eyed and said "Big brother" And he had never stopped, and you didn't mind; you didn't react much, but the words stung, layered with reminders of what had never been yours, Silver was always calling for something, needing guidance, needing cheer—And Lilia complied, patient, soft, encouraging.
Baur's grandson Sebek joined the mix too, wanting to train as part of Briar Valley's guards. You watched Sebek and Silver trained together, clumsy and stumbling the first time but Lilia encouraged and cheered them on. Every smile, every clap from your father...it was the same love and energy you had yearned for all your childhood.
And you wondered quietly on the sidelines—what did these children have that i didn't?
You studied their determination, the way they rose and after failure, and it reminded you of yourself. You had once worked tirelessly, desperate for his approval, training endlessly, aching for the smallest word of praise. The difference was stark: they received it freely, you hard to earn every shred.
Was it so hard? so impossibly hard to give love to your own son? how come he never looked at me with that much pride in his eyes, maybe i needed to train more? Why, are they easier to love than me?
You visited again—begrudgingly, really—only because Silver kept asking you to. He always wanted you back, always tugging at your sleeves, always looked at like you were something he couldn't afford to lose. The one time you mentioned being gone for a week, he cried and you stayed.
Silver and Sebek eventually grew into fine soldiers. Of course they did, Lilia trained them. Sometimes you looked at Silver and wondered how he survived growing up on Lilia's cooking, a miracle really.
You admired their drive, their determination, the way he shone under Lilia's guidance, but somewhere along the way, you stopped wanting to be like him. Stopped chasing his shadow. You learned to walk on your own path instead.
Of course life never goes the way you planned.
Lilia eventually enrolled into Nrc. Before leaving, Lilia entrusted Silver and Sebek to your care until it was their turn to attend. You didn't answer him, but he somehow knew your answer anyway. So they left, and you stayed.
You continued their training in Lilia's place. You cooked for them too. Silver was especially grateful—mostly because he no longer had to guess or fear whatever strange poison Lilia puts in his "meals"
Time slipped by quietly. Before you realized it, another year passed, and then came the invitations. Silver received an invitation to Nrc, Sebek would follow soon enough. But what shocked you...was because you also received one, too.
You stared at it, and hated that it existed. You didn't want to be a mage, you didn't want to learn more, you already know the basics, and you didn't want to chase anything more. You were ready to throw it away.
But Silver begged. Not as a soldier, not a knight in training. But as a boy calling out for his older brother. And no matter how bitter you were towards Lilia...not of that was Silver's fault.
You sighed, and went with him with Silver to NRC, leaving Sebek temporarily behind.
Diasomnia. Of course, where else would the universe shove you? No one at NRC knew what you really were to eachother, and you intended to keep it that way—at least until you all graduated. You kept your distance, like always, spoke a little, stayed away from the spotlight, Silver spoke to you consistently and you never pushed him away.
Most days you could be found sitting quietly in the courtyard. Watching from afar—present but never close, part of their world, but never quite allowed to belong, you still don't know how to accept, you never directly confronted or made amends with Lilia, or maybe he did try but you pushed him away unconsciously. But no matter, it's not like you belong in their little family.
A year passed quietly. You were standing in the mirror chamber while headmage lectured the supposedly magiclesss student, and honestly—that was probably the most interesting thing this school had offered so far. Then a raccoon...cat, beaver—whatever creature burst into the room, chaos following it like a curse, and before you knew it—the whole place was practically in flames. Sill you didn't budge. You just watched, observed. This strange new student, interested you—somehow.
Well, one thing led to another, events spiraled in the way Nrc always promises they will, and somehow you found yourself fighting against Riddle rosehearts overblot, how? Ace.
And miraculously, you all managed to win. Somewhere between battles, detentions, arguments, late night walks back to ramshackle, and shared disasters. You...well—slipped. Without noticing you became part of something.
You, the Adeuce duo, Yuu and Grim formed a bond that crept in slowly—quiet unannounced, and terrifyingly gentle. It was strange letting you guard down around people so much younger than you. But you didn't complain, in their company, for the first time in a very long while, the chaos in your chest went quiet. They accepted your silence, your stillness. They learned how to tease and when to leave things untouched. They questioned at first, but they adapted.
You didn't realize how dangerous that was—how easy warmth makes you forget the cold you're used to.
Lilia noticed. He noticed you weren't hovering nearby anymore. He remembered the day you told him you wanted to live for yourself, and he didn't think you meant it like that. He still wears his guilt like a crown—heavy, glittering, suffocating. He's spent countless nights rehearsing apologies, thinking of words, only for them to crumble on this tongue whenever he sees you.
Because when he sees you now, you look peaceful, laughing quietly. Relaxed, not a soldier, not an obligation, just a person like no other. You look like a person he doesn't feel worthy of approaching.
You've told him many times that you resent him, that you don't want him near you, and he can't even be angry about it. How could he? He doesn't know you, not really. You're so impossibly closed off, so silent, so guarded. All he knows is what you let him know: strong, distant, unreadable. And that is not knowing you at all.
He knows how to soothe Malleus when he's agitated, he knows what lullabies Silver falls asleep to the fastest and sleep better, he knows exactly what Sebek will rant about next. But he doesn't know you.
He doesn't know your comfort food, what scares you, what songs you like, how do you laugh when you're genuinely happy? He goes silent.
because those things are a father should know. Things he should've learned long ago. He hates his past self for turning you into a weapon when you still need arms to rest in. He missed your first steps, first words, first everything—moments that should've been simple to be there for if he just tried. Does he even remember your birthday?
He watches you now, sitting comfortably with your friends, bickering about meaningless things, and realization strikes him like a blade—this is your first time experiencing something like this.
First time being a normal student, having regular teenage frustrations, dumb arguments, warmth that doesn't demand blood payment in return. You are still learning how to live, he refuses to ruin that. He won't drag you into his guilt. He won't burden you with remorse that came far too late.
But he doesn't know what's happening inside you. He doesn't know how often your gaze wanders to where he sits with Silver and Sebek in the cafeteria. Silver trying desperately to stay awake, Sebek yelling at him for it and Lilia laughing fondly like that's the most precious thing in the world.
And that's when it hits you, he's never laughed with you like that. You should've had that, you should've at least received the bare minimum. You should've been the one to know what his warmth feels like firsthand. Home. Family. That's what they look like. The part that hurts isn't jealousy, it's the truth written right in front of you—he always knew how to be gentle. He just never learned how to be gentle with you. Maybe he learned too late, maybe he never tried to change when it was you who needed it, maybe they received the man he became, and you were stuck with the man he used to be. They got the version that had grown. You got the version that failed.
If he were cruel to everyone, it would've been easier. If he were distant, incapable, heartless—then you could've accepted it. But seeing him now, laughing so freely, hand resting on Silver's shoulders with a familiarity that never once belonged to you. It proves something unbearable—you weren't a victim of circumstances, you were a victim of priority. They got the softness he grew into—you were just the child he practiced not caring for.
And maybe you were never meant to be held, maybe you were always meant to be the reminder of every mistake he refused to acknowledge. A living testament of a father who learned to love, just a little too late.
So you swallow the ache in your throat. Forced a breath and returned to your friends—quietly, like always. Because if there's anything life taught you, it's that no one is coming to make up for the love you never received. You just learn to live without it.
Lilia loves his sons so much, you could never compare with Malleus, Sebek and most of all—Silver. Oh how you wished to be in his place. But you wouldn't feel right to take something that isn't yours.
And so the thought burns—maybe if you had been stronger, louder, better. Maybe he would've noticed you.
Maybe you would've been enough to love.
For the people who kept waiting even after they outgrew hope. Standing beside a great man but still feeling alone.
