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Draped in Dreams and Nightmares - Malleus Draconia
— ♡
Major spoilers for Book 7.
Summary: Malleus Draconia overblotted, his tragic past was revealed and he was declared a walking calamity. But the story remained incomplete. This is the fae prince’s story, as witnessed by the eyes of his first friend, and his eventual lover, you.
Tw: childhood trauma, negligence (?), mentions of blood, emotional vulnerability, slightly graphic descriptions of fighting
A/n: The Diasonmia arc made me so emotional, I just had to write something :((
Yours was the first dream he visited.
He stood behind a tree, gazing from afar as you watered the flowers outside a cottage. You’re humming a familiar tune and it makes Malleus’s heart ache with nostalgia. How many years has it been since you both last visited this cottage?
You continue watering the flowers, letting it sprinkle over the petals and settle down like dew in the mornings.
You don’t turn around, and he doesn’t approach you either.
The presence dies behind you, disappearing as gently as it came and you know that he has left. Your shoulders relax and a bitter smile graces your lips.
You were wide awake, already aware of the situation in the waking world.
Of course you were. After all…
Silver got to you first.
.
“[name]!” he had rushed over to you, worry and fear etched across his face. “I know you might not believe me and I’m not sure how I would prove it to you but… this is a dream.”
“You mean, this is like a dream?” The back of your hand failed to stop the soft laugh from escaping.
“No. It’s a dream created by Lord Malleus, who has overblotted.”
“I see.” You gaze into the distance, unfocused and dazed, believing Silver fully. After all, that was the only way to explain the distortions you had witnessed, the only way to explain the details that derailed from reality.
The cottage is supposed to be broken, the plants drying and dying, trees much taller, as if trying to make a barrier between the realm of fae and humans, you were supposed to be somewhere else.
“So we’re all asleep in the Diasomnia hall?”
Silver’s eyes widen for a split second and he lets out a sigh of relief. “It’s like you never fell asleep…”
“I did, but my surroundings felt too odd to bear. Like everything I’ve ever wanted has come true, except Malleus isn’t here.” You grit your teeth, trying to smile and prevent the stinging tears from falling. “I did research on dreams for a project, so it didn’t take long for me to connect the dots. Well, what do you plan on doing now?”
“If Malleus comes here, please buy me some time. I will try to wake up some others.”
“But your unique magic only allows you to travel to the dreams of those that you are well-aquainted with.”
“I’ll find a way.” His fingers are trembling, his tone uncertain, but his auroral eyes were determined. Silver was not willing to simply sit around.
“Okay. I’ll handle him if he comes here.”
Silver nods, his eyes relaxing as he mouths a ‘thank you’ before walking into a space of pastel clouds and golden stairs — the corridor of dreams — leaving you alone in a place that barely exists.
.
Maybe you could take it slow for a while, imprint the scenery into your memories, take in the breeze of captivated freedom and just dream.
.
.
.
“I didn’t think someone else would find this place.”
The little boy didn’t say a word, awkwardly shifting behind the tree. He’s dressed in black. A cape torn at the edges flows behind him, and the hood he has on has two little holes for the horns on his head.
In contrast, you’re dressed in a light green dress that just barely touches your knees, mint green floral pattern running along it. You’re holding a single, white flower in your hand, twirling the stem between the thumb and the index.
A daisy. He recognises seeing an artistic representation of the flower in one of the books at the royal library. He never imagined he would be able to see one so closely in person.
“I-I’m sorry. I’ll leave.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
He falters, his feet feeling like they were chained. His throat croaks and he’s unable to say anything else. He’s used to people bowing to him, obeying his commands, listening to even the silliest of wishes he had. No one has ever dared to stop him, especially not so directly.
Hesitantly, he lifts his gaze to meet yours, eyes of jade staring right into yours. “Woah! Your eyes are like a dragon’s! So pretty…”
The boy’s eyes widen for a second before he drops his head again, staring at the pebble next to his feet. “No one’s really said it like that before…” he says, barely audible.
“People just don’t have good taste then. How can they resist complimenting such beautiful eyes? What is your name, if you don’t mind?”
“Malleus… Draconia.”
“THE PRINCE?”
He is not surprised that you didn’t recognise him initially — he’s not usually allowed to go outside the castle. On the rare occasions that he does come down to the town, it’s in his chariot with his face barely visible to the neatly gathered crowd on the roadside. He’s internally begging that you don’t start apologising to him and is really glad when you don’t. Instead, you continue gushing over him.
“I never imagined I would meet the prince here! Today must be my lucky day.” You giggle, clapping your hands like any small child your age would do. Malleus thinks it’s a cute gesture filled with freedom.
He lets out a small smile of his own as he nods shyly, finally stepping away from the tree and standing directly in front of you.
“Well then Your Highness, would you like to take a walk across this humble abode?” You extend your hand. Malleus raises his hand, but his fingers twitch when they’re about to come in contact with yours. So you catch his hand midway and drag him along. “Oh also,” you turn towards him. He’s pretty tall for your age and you have to stand on your toes for your next action.
Delicately, you tuck the daisy in your hand behind his ear, tucking a stray strand of hair alongside it. His fae ears give the little flower more space to stay there, the white of the daisy contrasting perfectly with his jet black hair.
“Do you live here?” he asks, fingertips caressing the daisy in wonder.
“No, but apparently a princess lived here once.”
“Wouldn’t your parents be worried if you stay away from home too long?”
“They’re the ones staying away from home…” You mumble. “Both are part of the royal guards. During the day, I let the squirrels and finches guide me here. There’s also the kind forest fairies.” You smile, skipping ahead.
Malleus had seen the squirrels and finches on his way, but they scurried away the minute he got too close. A few forest fairies also seemed to recognise him, being mindful of every word, every letter that passed through their lips. It makes him wonder just how different your trek was compared to his.
“Whose cottage is this? How did you find it?” He asks, trying to divert his mind from the scared animals and the cautious fairies.
“Curious about the world, dear prince?” You turn around with a smug expression, giggling.
Malleus hates how enthusiastically he nodded. He hates how he was being a bit too honest. He was letting his guard down around you.
“A princess.”
“Hm?”
You gaze into the distance, your eyes tracing the canopy as they follow a few birds jumping from one tree to another. “We’re currently at the border of the Briar Valley and the Land of Dawning. It is said that long ago, a princess was kept here to prevent her from being affected by a certain curse. She lived here with three fairies and was familiar with all the animals.”
You turn towards the cottage and Malleus follows your eyes until it reaches the wrecked front door of the tiny house.
“If we cross this patch of the forest, we’d be in a foreign kingdom…” the fae muses to himself, his jade-coloured eyes twinkling with awe.
You hum. “It’s risky though.”
“And yet you come back here.”
“It’s peaceful.”
“Does it ever get lonely?”
“Sometimes, but the animals keep me company.” And right on queue a squirrel pops up from behind a bush. It sniffs at the ground around itself, before making its way over to you. You lean down, letting it climb into your arms.
Malleus watches as you poke its nose and rub its ears. Noticing his gaze on you, you walk up to him. The squirrel snuggles into your chest, trying to keep its distance from the fae and his unfamiliar presence. You smile in response, gently rubbing the little one’s head to comfort it.
“They’re all shy in the beginning. You should try petting it. Use only your index and be as gentle as you can.”
Malleus gulps before obliging. He barely touches the brown fur before withdrawing his hand, holding it in his other hand as if to hide the signs of him trying to pet the squirrel. He watches as its head moves in the direction of his hands, chasing the warm feeling of the fae’s fingers.
Hesitantly, Malleus brings his hand back up again. He touches the squirrel for a second before pulling away, his finger hovering above the animal’s temple. Then, he gives in, fully rubbing the little guy’s forehead. In response, the squirrel puts its little paws up, keeping the fae prince’s fingers in place.
You beam at the sight. “See? It likes you.”
“Mhm! I would love to come back here tomorrow…”
“Okay. Let’s come back tomorrow, and maybe bring a few nuts along. It’s getting late.” You lean down, letting the squirrel jump out of your arms. It rubs its head along your ankle, before turning around and disappearing into the bushes.
“Will you head back alone?”
“Will you join me?”
That’s the third thing you’ve invited him to today— the walk across the cottage, petting the squirrel, and now walking back together. He has never felt this sense of belonging before. A warm feeling bubbles in his chest and his cheek muscles hurt with how he beams. He lets out a small, excited gasp before nodding enthusiastically, feeling a bit too happy.
Perhaps this is the 'friendship' feeling he read about in books. Something he couldn’t even imagine before today.
.
.
.
The castle gates stand tall in the distance. You swallow deeply, suddenly intimidated by the thought of going over there. Only the bridge in front of you distances you from the royal palace.
You were sitting atop a tree, eating berries when you noticed the shadowy figures approaching the marketplace. Something about them made you shiver. Trusting your instincts, you leaped off the branch and ran in the opposite direction.
And you were right.
A distant scream breaks you out of your daze. You gulp before sprinting across the bridge. As soon as the guards come into view, you yell as loudly as you can. "BANDITS. IN THE MARKETPLACE. HELP."
The message seems to go across as the guard at the gate immediately sounds a horn, alerting the others around him. As you stop, finally reaching the gate, panting with your hands on your knees, a few fae on horses rush out.
You sigh in relief. Things should be fine now.
"Thank you for informing us promptly." A deep voice makes you stand up straight. The man before you has a stern face, yet the expression he wears is gentle. His long hair flows behind him, a few pink strands coming undone from his ponytail.
"I should head back now." You say, bowing to the man. But when you try to turn around, pain shoots up in your right ankle. You curse under your breath, leaning down to support yourself.
"Seems you've injured yourself. I'll have the medics treat you. Take my hand. Don't be afraid to lean on me if it hurts too much." The man extends his hand and you take it, gripping onto it for support.
He leads you through the courtyard. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, the pain feels sharper than ever. You were barely holding on.
"Hmm maybe it would be better if the medics came to you. You don't seem to be in any shape to go up all the stairs. Here, why don't you wait by the fountain."
You nod, wincing as you limp behind. Your eyes are fixated on the ground, trying to avoid the stones. A familiar voice makes you look up. “Lilia! And that is…”
Your eyes meet those familiar lizard ones. Those soft, jade eyes that you have seen so many times on your shared expeditions to the cottage at the border. Malleus is leaning against a well with a book in hand. He closes the book as he looks at you, the brown leather firmly holding the pages within it. You just barely manage to notice that the title of the book is written in golden cursive, but the words are difficult to make out from this distance.
And ‘Lilia’? That means the man you’re currently leaning onto is… “General Vanrouge?! Apologies for not recognising you sooner.”
Lilia ruffles your hair with a smile, messing it up. “Malleus, do you mind looking after them while I fetch the medics?” Malleus nods, letting out a soft hum in response.
Lilia pats your back encouragingly, pushing you forward. You were barely halfway there when the pain makes you lose your balance. Malleus catches you midway, anchoring you up by the waist as you sling your arm over his shoulder. He holds onto you for a few seconds longer, making the General huff behind the both of you before heading into the castle.
“What happened?” Malleus asks, helping you settle down on one of the nearby stone benches. He takes a seat beside you and glances at your sprained ankle.
“I was eating berries on a tree when some shady people came to the marketplace. So I jumped off and made my way here.” You try to sound as casual about it as possible, even shrugging your shoulders to emphasise that, but the little wince you let out in between doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Jumped off a tree? I told you that you would get hurt one day if you kept doing that.”
“Did you?”
The fae prince frowns, clearly disappointed. You vaguely remember him saying something like that on one of your treks to the cottage. You would often climb up the trees to scout the area before moving forward and would leap back down as though you were only jumping down a few steps. Malleus tried to reprimand you for being so casual about it but you would shrug it off, too confident in your abilities to worry so much.
Though you would never admit to remembering his words.
Instead you try to divert the topic. “What were you reading?”
“Oh this?” he picks the book up, holding it for you to see. Then he places it on his lap, flipping through the pages. “Just a book on native flora from Ms. Fiore’s class.” He finally stops at a page and traces the dried flower placed between the pages, its white petals now turning light brown at the edges.
“This is where I first read about the various flowers. And then you showed me a real daisy.”
“I can’t believe you kept that silly little flower.”
“Didn’t wanna lose it.”
You look back and forth between the dried flower and the exquisite drawing beside it. Nothing seems to explain why he would keep the flower among the pages, not when the drawing of the same looks so much prettier.
But to Malleus, the dried daisy was more precious than any of the expensive portraits hanging around the royal palace. It’s a token of his first friendship, signifying the first time he was invited. He caresses the dried petals with stars in his eyes.
He breaks out of his daze when the nurse arrives with a medical kit in hand. Lilia follows in behind her.
The nurse crouches on the ground in front of you. “Which leg is it?” You wordlessly put your right leg forward and she gently takes it in her palm, analysing it carefully before reaching for the cotton and disinfectant.
“Maybe we should consider deploying a few guards in the marketplace. Regular patrols might not be enough, not when this is the third incident this month.” Lilia muses to himself, his fingers prodding his chin as he follows the nurse’s movements. “But we also don’t want the townsfolk to be on edge… having guards around at all times might not do well for the atmosphere.”
“I wish I was a knight. I could’ve fended them off myself. Wouldn’t even have had to jump down a tree so quickly and sprained my leg.” You murmur, turning your head away from the nurse just to hiss in pain at the unexpected sting of the disinfectant.
“Oh ho, want to be a knight, [name]?”
“Yes! Maybe if I get really good, I could serve the prince directly,” you giggle, making Lilia chuckle in response. The prince lets out an almost inaudible hum, light pink tinting his cheeks.
“Perhaps, with your parents' permission, I could let you join the official training.” the General says, playing along. He isn’t expecting you to take him up on his offer, at least not yet.
“Yes! Please do!” You kick your legs out excitedly and the nurse sighs at your response. “Oops, sorry.”
“Please stay still for this part, this can hurt more.” She says, shaking her head.
You nod. But the minute the bandage touches the wound, you hiss, dropping your head low and gripping tightly at the stone bench. Seeing your reaction, Malleus grabs your hand, squeezing it tightly. “You would make a good knight,” he smiles.
“I'll get there, just watch me.” You smile, gripping his hand tighter as you feel the rough mesh of the bandage being tightened around your ankle. Malleus stays there with you through the whole process, squeezing a little tighter when he heard you hiss at the pain. He kept your fingers intertwined for a long while, not wanting to let go even as the nurse pushed herself off the ground and bowed to him before leaving.
He never let go.
.
.
.
The morning breeze sends shivers down your spine. "Malleus," you whine, the grip on your wooden sword faltering, "when will we have another chance to go back to that cottage? I bet the squirrels and finches miss us."
It's been months since the two of you had the chance to go back there. Ever since Lilia managed to get you into the official knight's training sessions, your days were more occupied by practicing your sword techniques. Malleus had gotten busier too — since he was now older, his studies had gotten more intense. You would often notice the special tutors assigned to him entering and leaving the courtyard.
Most days you didn’t even see Malleus around. You would spend all your breaks roaming inside the castle walls and wouldn’t even catch a glimpse of the fae prince. Other days, you would be invited to the classes he had to attend because he got ‘too bored’ studying alone. You would sit beside him as he revised his notes, occasionally explaining its intricacies to you.
(This increases eventually until you had to allot a separate 'school time' alongside your training sessions. The teachers only sigh in response, but they didn’t mind having a new student in the awfully empty halls.)
The only times you even had a chance to try going to the cottage were around major events. Since everyone would get too busy preparing for the festivities, you and Malleus would get the chance to sneak off, having just enough time to feed the little animals before having to head back. After the event, while everyone was still resting, would be another chance to visit. But these days were few and far in between.
Malleus sighs, but his movements don’t falter. He braces his sword and aims near your shoulder. You barely manage to block in time, the sudden movement making you stumble.
“You wouldn’t want to get distracted in a real fight, knight,” he smiles gently, finally putting his sword away.
“‘Knight’ and I’m not even half as good as some of the other soldiers,” you pout.
“That’s still a compliment considering you’re the youngest. Come on, let’s take a break under the tree.”
You put your wooden swords to one side as you crouch beneath the canopy. Malleus rests against the bark, kicking his legs out and heaving out a sigh. “Morning sessions feel so brutal.” You follow suit and look upwards. The sunlight filtering through the leaves feels too bright, making you look away while rubbing your eyes.
Your empty hands fidget around for something to grasp at, landing at the grass beneath you. You ruffle the blades of grass, letting out another long sigh. “Why do holidays have to be so far apart?”
Malleus looks around until a small weed catches his eye, the white petals of the flower reminding him of a daisy. Maybe they are daisies, he thinks, or maybe they don’t qualify as daisies because of their smaller size. He plucks it, twirling the stem between his fingers mindlessly. “This could have been so much more peaceful if I didn’t have class in the afternoon.”
“We have class, because you begged them to let me join your tutoring sessions.”
The fae chuckles beside you. “At least I don’t have to be alone with that teacher. I almost always fall asleep in her class.”
“I think I’m going to fall asleep right now,” you mumble, eyelids already feeling heavy. The warm sun rays feel like a blanket, making you awfully comfortable and sleepy.
Malleus laughs. “Go ahead then, I’ll lend you my shoulder.” There’s no way you’re already feeling sleepy, not after how worked up you were during training just a few minutes ago. He thought you were just messing around with him.
But then he stiffens up when he feels your head flop onto his shoulder. Slowly, he turns his head to the side and notices your breaths evening out. His gaze travels downwards until it reaches your hand, your fingers still gripping at the grass, though your grip seems to be loosening.
You really did fall asleep.
He sighs, his hand coming up to rest over yours. His palm engulfs your knuckles and feels as your grip on the grass blades loosen, until it falls limp between his fingers.
Some of the maids walk by and they look horrified by the sight, quickly bowing to the prince before trying to reach for you. But Malleus shakes them away, bringing a finger to his lips and leaning his head onto yours. Hesitantly, the maids step back and exchange glances with each other, unsure of what to make of the situation. They bow again before leaving the two of you alone.
(He probably fell asleep soon after, because when you woke up it was already afternoon and neither of you seemed to have moved an inch, classes long forgotten. Soft snores come from your side, lulling you back to sleep once more.)
.
.
.
“Lilia has adopted a human child.” Malleus states, as though it was the most normal thing in the world.
“I am not even surprised.” You reply, just as casually.
You both had seen how gentle he has been with kids. He was an incredible father-figure to Malleus and Lilia had been mentoring since you entered the palace. Even on occasions when he visited the marketplace, the children would always follow him with glee. The two of you were waiting for him to become a father.
Everyone else, however, was in a frenzy. Especially those who knew the General, the Lilia Vanrouge from before Malleus’s egg hatched, felt like they were in a vague dream. Not only did they find it hard to believe that one of toughest soldiers the kingdom had ever seen would adopt a child, the child was human.
The man who lived through one of the worst fae-human wars adopted a human child.
Though now that you think about it that way, the ‘human’ child part does sound a little weird. A child of man.
It must have taken Lilia years to recover from Maleona’s death, and yet, when you and Malleus visit him, he cradles the little boy like he would never love anyone or anything else.
You and Malleus stand side-by-side at the entrance to his cottage, awkwardly waiting for Lilia to give you the next ‘instructions’. Having spent most of your time at the castle studying and training, neither of you had enough experience with infants. You might be able to hold the baby, lift him into your arms and just hold him for a bit, but Malleus didn’t even know whether he was supposed to enter the room or not.
Lilia chuckles, “You can come in you know. Silver doesn’t bite, not yet at least.” Malleus lets out a quiet, hesitant hum of approval. He wobbles inside, careful with each step he takes, trying not to stir the baby awake. You knew Malleus was getting taller as he grew older, but seeing him bend a little at the doorway hit differently. When did he get that tall?
“Silver huh… just like his hair.” You remark, pushing a finger against his cheek. The soft skin scrunches up, stirring the baby in his sleep. You sheepishly retreat your hand and check your nails to ensure that they weren’t long enough to hurt him.
“The colour of his hair is because of the blessing of the night. It was originally golden, like the rays of the sun.” Lilia finally looks away from Silver, meeting your eyes as he says “I’ll get you both something to eat.”
Lilia smiles as he slowly places the little boy back in his cradle and heads to the kitchen, humming a soft, familiar tune. You look around the living room. It’s not your first time visiting the General’s abode, but the place seems a lot messier today. Random wooden handicrafts and stuffed cloth balls are scattered around the place.
Malleus walks closer to the cradle, towering over Silver’s sleeping form. His eyes soften at the sight, his facial muscles relax and he lets out a quiet sigh. Hesitantly, he picks the boy up, attempting to mimic Lilia’s way of cradling him in his arms.
He seems to struggle with it in the beginning, not knowing where to place his hands or how to balance Silver on his forearm. You chuckle, picking up a star-shaped toy as you make your way over. Malleus seemed to have gotten the basics, but he was still holding Silver awkwardly, a little away from his chest. You gently push his hands inward and smile at him, trying to reassure him. You’ve seen some of the ladies hold their babies like this— close to their heart with a fond smile on their faces.
You bring the toy you picked up close to Silver’s face, letting the tassels grace his features. Silver scrunches his nose before snuggling closer into Malleus’s chest.
“Stop, you might wake him,” Malleus whispers.
“But if he sneezes cutely because of the ticklish feeling?”
“And if Lilia gets mad?”
“Okay fair.” You sigh, but the mischievous smile never leaves your face.
Slowly, you pinch Silver’s fingers within your own and lean your forehead against his for a few seconds. His skin is still soft, almost worrying you that he would shatter like glass if you grasped his fingers any tighter. Absentmindedly, you push back some of Malleus’s stray strands of hair, letting your fingers glide over his shoulder for a second longer.
Malleus watches silently, his breathing slow and calculated to not disturb this peace. A smile makes its way to his face as he watches your gentle ministrations. He feels fuzzy inside, maybe even a little giddy, at how calming the atmosphere is. A cottage out in the woods, surrounded by the scent of wood and leaves, Silver carefully nestled against him, and you right next to him.
Lilia is still humming the tune when his eyes meet the sight unfolding before him. The two fae he raised as his own now learning to love a human child he had taken in… he smiles at thought, feeling content. Silver could use some good role models, or well, at least he hopes that the two in front of him would be good role models (and that Malleus’s lack of expression won’t hinder Silver’s own emotions).
.
.
.
You hear the sound of wood clashing against wood long before you and Malleus reach Lilia’s cottage. The sound makes you smile absentmindedly. Silver must be practicing again. He’s determined to become a knight. It reminds you of yourself when you were younger, stumbling into the castle grounds with a sprained ankle and being taken in by Lilia.
Lilia really has a knack for adopting kids huh.
What you weren’t expecting however, was for Silver to have found a new companion to spar with.
As you get closer, a few flashes of green catch your eyes. Those definitely weren’t leaves. And the gruffs are much deeper. Silver is usually quieter when he’s moving around. Beside you Malleus lets out a curious hum.
“That looks like Zigvolt.”
“It is! Just a smaller version, fufu.” Lilia pops up beside you, his characteristic smirk adorning his face.
(Would it even be considered ‘characteristic’ if he has only developed it in the last few centuries? After all, the General never really smiled in the beginning.)
“Smaller version?” Malleus prods his chin, his ears perking up.
“Baur wanted me to take his grandson in as an apprentice. I wonder… is it because Sebek and Silver are nearly the same age?”
“Huh?” You hum, curious at the implications of his words. “I thought Zigvolt was also a fae. Finding a fae of similar age in Briar Valley would be nothing short of a miracle. And Silver is human.”
“Sebek is half human.” Lilia states plainly, turning his gaze to where the two children were currently play-fighting with their wooden swords.
You follow his gaze and it takes you back to the days when you had just begun your own training. You remember dreading waking up so early in the mornings. Begrudgingly, you would head over to the training grounds, where Malleus would already have finished warming up. When you still had those early morning sparring sessions, you and Malleus were around the same height. Now however… he could probably climb a tree in two leaps.
(Or maybe you are just exaggerating there… maybe. Because it suddenly sounds plausible. But the crown prince would never indulge himself in such menial activities, not anymore.)
“Sebek must also want to become a knight then, just like Baur.”
“Well that is a reason, yes, but…” Lilia eyes you with a mischievous glint, smirking, “his dream is the same as [name]’s— to become Malleus’s knight.”
“I-I thought you would’ve forgotten that part by now! That was ages ago!” You feel your face getting warmer, ears turning red at the tips with embarrassment.
“Oh? Are you saying you don’t want to be my knight now?”
“I… Malleus, don’t twist my words!”
“Khee hee.” Lilia’s smirk grows wider. “Let me introduce you two to Sebek. Oh and Malleus, good luck.”
“With what?”
Lilia only giggles in response, skipping away happily. Malleus stood there dumbfounded, (blissfully unaware of what Sebek will bring into his life). You nudge him with your elbow before following behind Lilia, doing your best to avoid eye-contact with the fae prince.
Your grip tightens on your lax sword as you start walking, ears still tinted red while the conversation replays in your mind. “To become Malleus’s knight huh… well, I suppose I never did let go of that dream.”
.
.
.
“Malleus! Malleus!” You rush over to him the minute you notice him. His black tunic camouflaged him almost completely under the dark blanket of the night.
He was walking past a fountain, but stops when he hears your voice. A small smile tugs at his lips when notices you approaching from the thicket. “Good evening [name]. You are more excited tonight than usual. Are you finally developing an intense interest in gargoyles?”
“Uh no, but nevermind that!” You quickly avoid the fae’s proposed route of conversation, knowing that once he started, he wouldn’t stop until dawn. You flick the envelope resting between your fingers, making his eyes dart down to it. “I got an invitation from Night Raven College.”
Malleus smiles at your words, failing to conceal his own excitement. “As did I earlier this evening.” He extends his right hand forward, a green flame emerges from his palm and a letter instantly takes shape between his fingers.
The smile on your face grows wider, your cheeks aching from the grin. “We have to tell Lilia.”
You grab his wrist, dragging him behind you. With each step as light as dance, you ramble on about the things you had heard about the college for mages. Draconia listens carefully, adding his own points in between, indulging your giddiness with a barely controlled excitement of his own.
.
“Oh ho? A letter from Night Raven College you say? I might have received one of those as well.” Vanrouge muses, closing his front door behind his two, late night guests and heading into his room to rummage through his belongings.
“Night Raven College…” Silver repeats the words, slurring the syllables with a sleep-laden tone, as if testing the way it sounds.
It has barely been over a decade since the first time you met him and Sebek, and yet they have grown into fine, young men, their looks resembling yours and Malleus’s in age. Jewel like irises with a fire ignited behind them, determination and strength seeping through each movement, it wouldn’t really surprise you if they were to have a small crowd of people fascinated by them following them around in the marketplace.
On that note, your gaze flicks up to meet Malleus. Sharp, green eyes gently take in his surroundings. Luscious locks of obsidian flow beyond his shoulders, a few stray strands obscuring his gaze. He’s standing tall, his posture composed of poise and grace, back completely straight, chin up, yet shoulders relaxed.
Feeling your eyes on him, he tilts his head towards you. The corners of his lips twitch upwards naturally when he meets your gaze, like a reflex.
You feel your breath hitch, but you don’t look away. You can’t bring yourself to look away. It’s like he has you in a trance, enamoured.
He lifts an eyebrow, curious as to what caught your gaze this time, his smile never leaving his face, soft as silk. How were you going to tell him it was his entire existence?
Looks like you didn’t have to— Lilia had returned, holding a half-crumpled envelope between his thumb and index, airing the aged linen.
You feel yourself jump slightly as Lilia approaches, quickly taking two steps away from Malleus and sucking in a long, deep breath to erase signs of your flushness.
Malleus chuckles, light and airy, butterflies fluttering their wings as they come to rest on a petal, delicate. Lilia also seemed to have noticed, his mouth shaping into a small ‘o’ as he leaned against the couch, supporting Silver’s dozing head.
Sebek had been staring outside the window, chin resting in his palm, trying to follow the fireflies as they flit about. He tilts his head, confused, unaware of the million emotions you felt in just a few minutes. He sits straighter when he notices that Lilia has returned, tugging at Silver’s shoulder to wake him up.
Lilia coughs into his fist dramatically and smirks. “Wonder if they’ll let this old man join?”
“They must! Humans must have enough common sense to not turn you down.” Sebek boasts as if it were his own achievement, chest puffed out and chin held high.
“I will also need permission to leave Briar Valley…” The General hums in contemplation.
“I am sure my grandmother would support your decision, Lilia.”
“This would also be Silver’s first time living alone…”
“I’m sure I’ll manage, father. And if required, I’ll ask the forest fairies for help.”
“And what about Silver and Sebek’s training?”
“I’m sure Baul could look after them for a while.” You add, turning your attention to Sebek who nodded in approval, arms crossed across his chest.
“Alright then. I have no more concerns. I’ll reach out to the principal in the morning regarding my admission.” Lilia sighed, content. His eyes glimmered with hope and excitement as he stared out at the night sky.
Night Raven College… Perhaps he’ll finally be able to let go of his past burdens and experience a different life.
.
.
.
You check yourself twice in the mirror, trying to pat out any creases in your clothes.
It’s nearly been half a year since you came to NRC, yet this will be the first time you will be going outside campus to explore Sage’s Isle.
With classes ending earlier than usual, you and Malleus get the entire afternoon to yourselves.
You’re practically shaking with excitement. It’s just a pity that Lilia won’t be joining your little expedition to the town.
You meet Malleus at Diasomnia’s entrance, where he’s leaning against one of the pillars while talking to the former General. His clothes are casual — just a white, turtleneck shirt, a black cardigan and cargo pants. The palace staff would probably faint if they saw the Fae prince in these common clothes.
He looks like any ordinary boy his age, well, aside from the fact that he’s a very tall, very majestic, centuries old fae. But right now, he has none of the princely charm he encapsulates back at the castle. Right now, he’s just… Malleus.
The two guys nod in greeting when they see you approaching them. After exchanging a few pleasantries, Lilia bids you two farewell.
Doesn’t he look awfully excited for someone who’s not joining you to the town.
.
Sage’s Island is remarkably different from your hometown.
The structures of the houses feel more modern, but still look cosier than some other establishments you have seen in photos. The placement of the plants and flower bushes feel intentional and well-kept, unlike in the Valley of the Thorns where they feel wild and natural. The colours of the displays and decorations feel warm and bright, and the marketplace (or what they called the 'town centre'), was neatly organised. Flowering shrubs lined the borders of the area, tidily trimmed, with small white, yellow and pink flowers in full bloom.
Briar Valley has never looked as colourful as this town, especially not on a regular day. The fae living there preferred not to disturb nature too much, and so the local trees were left as they were and settlements were formed revolving around the existing ecosystem. Tree barks in different shades of brown were commonly used to make ornamentation, complimented by the leaves changing their colour based on the season.
The fae were divided into groups based on their characteristics, and their habitats represented those key features. Some areas were awfully dull, like the swamps and the coniferous forests in winters, making you glad to have been raised in more temperate areas.
The forest fairies had rounded cottages with moss growing on their roofs and luminous mushrooms lighting the way up at night. Their abode was probably the closest to what Sage’s Island looks like. Except, the ‘moss’ are the flowering shrubs and the luminous fungi are probably the lamps that are lit at night.
There’s a water fountain in the centre that reminds you of the one back at the palace and you feel automatically drawn towards it. You tug at Malleus’s sleeve, before dragging him to sit at the ledge of the fountain.
“So… what would you like to do?” He asks coyly. Malleus has been looking more nervous than he usually does. Is it because he’s afraid of scaring the townsfolk? No one seems to be paying him much mind though, or maybe they just haven’t recognised him yet (and you hope they don’t recognise him, to keep your day peaceful).
You hum in contemplation. “It’s almost past the lunch hour, so why don’t we grab a quick bite first? All the classes in the morning have me starving.”
“Whatever you wish.” He opens his mouth again, as if he wanted to say something else, but he bites back his own words with a smile, drawing out a confused look from you. Seeing he was resolute in keeping his words to himself, you sigh and start looking around for a place to eat.
You end up eating at one of the smaller restaurants to avoid the crowds. In the venture to try the local food, Malleus asked for the chef’s recommendation, and ended up with a dish that was too spicy for him to handle. You laughed at the sight of him chugging down a jug of water, trying his best to contain the flames that risked burning the entire place down. Seeing your amusement, the fae gave you an unimpressed, childish pout.
You explore the town a bit more, pointing out areas you’d like to visit the next time.
The next time.
The thought of being able to hang out like this with Malleus, without a care in the world, and doing it again… you didn’t even dream of such a casual day back in Briar Valley. No amount of disguises would allow him to step out of the castle so freely.
The sun is already touching the horizon when you return to NRC. Everything is coated in warm gold, shimmering in the final rays of the day.
Somewhere along the way, you and Malleus ended up holding hands while you walked. Was it when you were excitedly pointing something out to him? Or was it when the children had started skittering through the streets when the afternoon sun had gotten more merciful with its heat?
Neither of you mention it, quietly embracing each other’s company, anchoring one-another to the present.
“You have been much quieter today. Is there something on your mind?”
“Yes, there is something uh… I would like to ask… you.” He sheepishly drags his words out.
“Hm?” You cock your head to the side, stopping in your tracks and turning to look at him.
For a minute, it’s quiet, just the sound of rustling leaves in the wind. The silence makes you hyper-aware of your intertwined fingers and you look down to see the fae’s hand gently tightening its grip around yours. A blush threatens to creep up onto your face and you gently tug to loosen the hold. But instead, Malleus only holds on tighter and reaches for your other hand too, holding your joint hands between you as the only thing that separates the two of you in this moment.
Then, Malleus takes a deep breath in and sighs heavily, like he’s picking up little pieces of courage to finally reveal a long, deep-held secret.
“[name], I have feelings for you — have had them for a while now.”
“Oh.”
“And I would like the permission to formally court you.” The sunset rays peep through his hair, giving it a golden glow. He looks like a prince from one of the many fairytales archived in the library. His eyes look directly into yours with both longing and confidence.
The shy boy who had made his way out to a deserted cottage, accidentally meeting you. The boy that would save you a few slices of his birthday cake and share them with you the following day because he simply couldn’t have finished it all alone.
The guy that you grew up with, sparring and studying. The guy who would invite you along for late-night walks, his eyes shining brighter than the light reflecting off the gargoyles.
The prince that everyone fussed over, ensuring that he never so much as scratched himself. The prince that everyone would be afraid of when they saw you casually approaching him, gauging his reaction to your attitude. The prince that people begged you to behave more ‘appropriately’ around.
This was him? This is Malleus Draconia? The ever-confident, ever-strong crown prince of Briar Valley? A pathetic fool in love?
You feel embarrassed when you realise you’ve been staring too long. Gulping, you let out a hum. You hate how the low sound from your throat came with broken intervals, but it was the best you could do as words completely failed you.
Malleus’s shoulders relax and a fond smile graces his features. One of his hands let go of yours to cradle your face, the tips of his fingertips gently brushing against your cheek. You subconsciously lean into the touch, feeling him rub his thumb in circles near your ear.
It almost makes you wonder if he’s done this before. Before you can stop yourself, the question slips past your lips, “Did you already have experience with this?”
“What makes you say that?”
“It’s just… it feels like you know exactly what you are doing.”
“Am I not doing the same things I always do with you?”
And that’s when it strikes you.
The shared embraces on lonely nights where he would sneak out of the palace to meet you in your room. Gently holding each other’s faces during skincare sessions, as you applied whatever herbal formulae you had learned from the forest fairies. His thumb brushing against your lower lip when he noticed a crumb of food left there. The times you injured yourself and he had to carry you. The way he would squeeze your hand underneath the table, away from people’s gazes, just to reassure you.
“So that’s why you said you were ‘formally’ asking…” Because everything so far between the two of you had not been official, but it had always been there.
For all the times you and Lilia teased Malleus for being dense, perhaps, you were the oblivious one for not noticing sooner.
Of course he knows what love is. He may not show it the way most people do today. He may still be following the rulebook from centuries ago. But he still knows what he’s doing. He knows what he wants.
And he won’t stop until he gets it.
.
You return to Diasomnia with Malleus, hands still intertwined, cheerfully talking about something.
Lilia was waiting right outside the dorm gates. Seeing your interlaced fingers, he quirks up an eyebrow and a smirk spreads on his face. Malleus stops walking when he notices Lilia. With a shy, boyish grin, he scratches the back of his neck and nods gently.
The bat fae makes an ‘o’ with his mouth, before smiling proudly.
Seeing their gestures, you realise that they had planned this together. No wonder Lilia was ‘too busy’ to accompany you to town today, you think.
“So, you finally confessed, Malleus. That’s good, very good. I was afraid you might chicken out. Now the pudding I made to celebrate this occasion won’t be wasted.” Lilia says proudly.
Hearing about the pudding makes the smile fade from your face. “Oh–... ah– that won’t be necessary,” you say quickly, “we had too much to eat while we were out. Maybe next time!!” You quickly tug Malleus behind you and rush inside.
Lilia calls out behind you, probably disappointed that his pudding will, in fact, go to waste. But you weren’t willing to end today by eating something that tasted poisonous enough to kill your taste-buds for two days.
Behind you, Malleus chuckles, enjoying the vivacious atmosphere.
Diasomnia feels filled with liveliness at this moment. Filled with something that you could never have had back in the uptight castle.
Youth.
.
.
.
It’s been two years since you and Malleus made it official. Silver, who joined the year after that, took the news very happily, like he, too, had seen it coming. Perhaps he and Lilia had already been pointing out the signs you displayed of mutual affection.
Sebek only joined NRC a little while ago and he was a bit too shocked with the news. But in the end, he approved of it as well, saying that he was glad that “it was you and not anyone else”. (You had expected a more dramatic reaction from him if you were being honest, but he was surprisingly tame during the conversation.)
You casually skip through the woods, humming a tune underneath your breath as you head towards the Ramshackle Dorm. When he’s not in his room, or walking through the courtyard, Malleus could be found near this abandoned dorm at school.
However, when you get closer, it doesn’t look as abandoned as it did a few days ago. You slow down to gentle hops before stopping completely, observing.
There’s Malleus and he seems to be talking to… Oh! That must be Yuuken, the boy who caused trouble at the entrance ceremony.
“No wait, the gremlin that followed him was the troublemaker,” you correct yourself, recalling the night of the entrance ceremony.
You search your memory and remember that Malleus (per usual) hadn’t been able to attend the ceremony (because that careless headmaster had forgotten to invite Diasomnia’s dormhead for the 3rd year in a row). So that must mean that he met Yuuken here, which implies that Crowley is making the poor kid live here. And knowing him, he probably thinks that that is all his ‘oh so kind and benevolent and gracious self’ needs to do.
You sigh at the conclusion. Perhaps you should try befriending the kid and help him out, like a responsible senior. Maybe you could guide him — if he isn’t scared of you fae-kind.
Well, he certainly doesn’t seem afraid of Malleus. Yuuken isn’t from this world, so it makes sense that he doesn’t recognise the prince. But to stand casually after seeing pointed ears and horns probably means that he isn’t really afraid of such features (or maybe his initial shock has already worn off).
You hear Malleus’s low chuckle, before the fae prince snaps his fingers and disappears. Seeing the confused look on the first year’s face, you decide to approach him.
“Hi! You are Enma Yuuken from… uh… Tou…” You wave, awkwardly trying to recall the place he said he was from. Damnit, should’ve first prepared my lines before jumping out.
“Tokyo, yes. And you are?”
You introduce yourself, and continue the conversation by asking him about how he has been settling in and about the people he has met.
“Speaking of weird people,” he starts, as if recalling something, “right before you came here, I spoke to a tall man with pointed ears. When I told him that I didn’t recognise him, he looked amused.”
“Oh? And did he tell you who he was after?”
“No, he let me choose a name to call him. So I suggested ‘Tsunotarou’ and he seemed pleased with that.”
“‘Tsunotarou’?”
“Yeah, it means ‘a man with horns’ in my language.”
You try your best not to laugh at that ridiculous name. There’s no way Malleus actually accepted that name.
Or rather, him being amused with it does sound like him. Sebek better not find out though.
You decide against revealing the fae’s true identity, letting both Yuu and Malleus enjoy this anonymity. After telling Yuu to approach you with anything he might need, you take your leave. Your initial plan was to meet up with Malleus, and he is probably waiting for you.
Seeing that he just left Ramshackle, maybe you should try searching for him in the spots that you previously scanned.
.
.
.
Meeting up with Yuu becomes a frequent occurrence. While Malleus only visits him at night, you tend to run into him in the corridors as well.
You learned that he couldn’t use magic, while the gremlin (named ‘Grim’) desperately wanted to be a student at Night Raven, so Crowley allowed the two to join as a two-in-one package. As first years, Yuu and Grim often hang out with other first years, specifically the trouble-duo from Heatslabyul.
When you first learned about the overblot incident at Heatslabyul and went over to Ramshackle to check on Yuu, he politely thanked you and even invited you in to try his cooking.
“He’s a good kid,” you think aloud while talking to Malleus, before immediately changing the way you phrased it. “I mean, he’s cool.” You pick up a cotton cloth, wiping the utensils and placing them back in the cupboards.
“Do those two phrases mean separate things?” Malleus asks, amused at the way you fumbled over your own words.
“No, but the former makes me sound like grandpa Lilia.”
“I’m behind you, you know.” Lilia says, turning around to face you instead of the stove, a playful frown on his features. You glance at the brewing stew Lilia was working on and pray to the Sevens that you don’t have to taste-test it.
Sebek was ill and Lilia had decided to make him a stew to help his dry throat. You and Silver joined out of concern for the kitchen utensils and appliances, while Malleus tagged along because he didn’t have anything else to do.
While the stew Lilia has made is definitely nutritious, the texture looks way… off. The water and salt are clearly in excess. Sebek better be grateful that his illness means that he won’t actually be able to taste the stew.
“I thought you didn’t mind being called either old or young. You usually take both as compliments.” Silver asks while carefully putting the knives back in the drawers.
“That’s because I am wise and mature enough to embrace both. How would youngsters put it… ah right, you could say that I’m rather ‘whimsical’.”
Silver and Malleus give each other puzzled looks, while you roll your eyes and chuckle at his playfulness.
You pick the mixing bowls up and identify that they need to be placed on the top shelf. It’s a little too high for you, but in a world where magic is very real, who cares about—
Malleus’s scent surrounds you before you are able to bring your magic pen out. He places one hand on your shoulder and reaches for the bowl in your hand with the other, fingers brushing past yours as he takes the porcelain and effortlessly places it in its place.
He doesn’t immediately move away, letting his arms wrap around you in a quick embrace instead. “...Malleus?” He lets his head drop, softly landing in your hair. His nose prods your head, like a butterfly landing on a flower.
“We should head back.” He abruptly turns, donning an innocent look and avoiding your eyes.
Lilia takes another whiff of the stew before putting a lid on it. “I sure hope Sebek will feel better soon.”
.
.
.
You stretch your arms, placing your pen down in content at your finished homework. Satisfied, you prepare to head out. You had agreed to meet up with Malleus after you finished your homework.
When you step out of the dorm entrance, dim green lights surround you, like little fireflies in the dark. The tiny lights pass by from in front of your eyes, completely drawing your attention, before aligning together to make an arrow pointing upwards.
Your gaze follows to find Malleus sitting at the edge of the roof, his index twirling around the air as he controlled the lights with a fond smile.
You reach the roof in no time, joining to sit beside him. “Didn’t visit Yuu today?”
“He’s already asleep, and I didn’t want to wake him. Mortals need proper rest, more so than us fae-kind.”
“Mid semesters really are tiring, huh?” You sigh, leaning your head against his shoulder. Malleus responds by wrapping his arm around your side, relishing in the embrace. “It gets pretty boring around these times.”
“It does.” He agrees in a low, affectionate voice, signalling that he wanted you to continue talking, and that he wanted to continue listening to you.
“You know, we should try something different.”
“Different?”
“Yeah, like jumping off.” You say casually, like it was the most normal statement in the world. If anyone else heard that, they might have been horrified, but Malleus isn’t ‘anyone else’.
“What?” He doesn’t hold back his amused chuckle. “That’s an interesting proposal.”
“Then let’s do it.”
He isn’t really afraid of it. He knows that should anything go wrong, he can steer you both back to safety. At the same time, he trusts you. You’ve been practicing wind magic ever since back in Briar Valley, and this wouldn’t be the first time you have leaped off heights.
You have done that often enough for him to have gotten used to it. He thinks of the times you leapt off trees while scouting ahead during your hikes, or the times you trailed down the castle towers when something suspicious caught your eye. Through practice, you have turned the seemingly indifferent air around you into one of your greatest allies, and Malleus commends you for that.
You stand up and pat your clothes, dusting off specks of dust and easing out a few creases. You glance over at the moon in the sky, like sharing a mischievous look with an old friend, and then stood on the ledge, body facing Malleus and your back facing the starry sky.
“Take my hand.” You say, and he does without hesitation.
And suddenly you are pulling him towards you as you push yourself away from the edge. A gentle breeze immediately cuts through the fall, keeping the two of you afloat, defying gravity. Malleus floats above you, a few strands of his hair falling downward and resting against your face. Fireflies dance around you, looking like plucked out stars decorated by your hand.
For a long moment, Malleus’s world is reduced to you and the silver moonlight lighting up your features.
He breaks out of his daze when he hears his name sounding from somewhere on the ground.
“Lord Malleus! Where are you?” Sebek calls out. You and Malleus turn your attention to the ground to see the green-haired fae in the distance, a hand behind his back and the other curved around his mouth as he calls out to the prince.
To not be noticed, you cut off your magic, plunging downward and landing a lot more abruptly than you would have desired. The moment your feet hit the ground, you start running deeper into the woods behind Diasomnia. Malleus takes the lead, his long legs helping him stride faster.
You take refuge behind a thick trunk, your back against the tree and hands clasping over your mouth to stop the giggles of adrenaline. Malleus traps you there with his frame, leaning over you and checking the surroundings to ensure that no one catches you.
“This is like forbidden, runaway romance.” You whisper with a grin.
“Thankfully it wasn’t Lilia. He would surely have spotted us, and teased us about it later. Looks like Sebek didn’t notice. That would have been rather… unsightly for my status, especially in his eyes.”
“You say that like you are scared of him.”
“His devotion to the Throne does scare me sometimes, yes.”
You can’t tell if he’s serious, but you laugh anyway, trying to muffle the sound by burying your head in his chest. You feel him stiffen, breath hitching and hands rigidly still by his sides. You tilt your head up to look at him, and he’s gazing back at you with adoration swirling behind slit irises.
“My love? Something on your mind?” The words sound so sweet coming from you, it makes him desire for things he wouldn’t have thought he was capable of wanting. Back at the castle, when he was revered as the prince, he never would have imagined that loving and being loved would be so easy.
Or maybe it’s easy only because it’s you.
So he takes a step back and graciously kneels on the ground before you. His right hand reaches for yours, leading your wrist to elegantly dip downward. Right now, Malleus looks like a picture-perfect prince, straight out of a fairytale.
“Tsuki ga kirei desu ne?” He says, before placing a kiss on your knuckles and disappearing.
‘The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?’ A phrase that the two of you first learned about from Yuu. A phrase that hid the meaning 'I love you' between its seemingly composed syllables in his language.
You never thought that Malleus would find himself an opportunity to actually use that phrase.
A heat creeps up to your cheeks and you feel your heart pounding in your chest.
It’s the first time he said that phrase (albeit indirectly) and kissed you (even if it’s just on the knuckles).
Sebek’s calls getting nearer snaps you out of your thoughts. Quickly, you climb up the tree you were leaning against. After pinpointing Sebek’s location, you use your wind magic to leap away from him and start heading towards your room, face still flushed and heart still racing.
.
“Did something happen between the two of you?” Lilia leans against the cafeteria table.
Silver and Malleus were standing in the line to get their trays of food and Sebek had not yet arrived after his classes. You were about to join them, when Lilia interrupted you, asking Silver and Malleus to bring his and your portions with them.
You poked the table with your index, pursing your lips and looking away. “Not really.”
“Then why have you two been so awkward with each other today?”
“...Is it that obvious?”
“Very.”
You sigh, crossing your arms on the table and sinking your head between them. “Nothing escapes you, does it?”
“Tell me about it. It might make you feel better.”
“It's nothing bad, really. Just… um… it sounds so silly now that I think about it.” You groan and interrupt your own thoughts. Lilia waits for you to continue, but urges you with his eyes because he knows that you might not want to talk about it if any of the three boys were here.
“He told me he loved me. It was a little indirect, but it was more direct than all the other times since he asked me out. And then he… he… he um.” The faint sensation of his lips on your knuckles linger, and the more you thought about it, the more apparent it felt. It makes a red creep up your neck, a soft blush tinting your cheeks.
“Did you kiss?”
“Yes, no, kind of?” you fumble.
“Have you really never kissed before?” Lilia's ears perk up, amused. “I thought you would have kissed each other when we were still in Briar Valley.”
“Huh?” If your cheeks weren’t red earlier, they were definitely a deep crimson now. “He’s the prince, I can’t just do that.”
“He is your boyfriend. A ‘prince’ is the last thing he wants to be known as to you.”
“Yes but—”
“You were his first friend, and he really appreciated that you approached him without fear of his status. Though I can’t pinpoint when his admiration for you changed from mere companionship to that of romantic affection, I can assure you that his feelings for you have been painfully apparent for a while now.”
“Besides, there’s nothing wrong with couples indulging themselves in romantic stuff.” He finished with a shrug, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head.
“Thanks Lilia. I really appreciate you trying to comfort me. Though that isn’t what I was worried about. It’s just, it’ll be my first time and…” You trail off, feeling too shy to complete the thought. Instead, you choose to bury your head in your hands.
“Oh, it’s not his status you’re worried about but your inexperience.” Lilia realises, starting to feel a little silly about his monologue earlier. He ruffles your hair, like he always did when you were younger. “There’s nothing wrong with that either. You both will be learning with each other.”
“Mmm…”
“You could even watch a few romance shows to feel more inspired if you want to,” he teases, smirking.
You mumble into your arms, “I did.”
“You did?? Really? Oh Sevens, I could never have guessed. Which one? How was it?”
“You’re too curious about this.” You groan. You could feel that Lilia was about to probe further, but stopped upon Sebek’s arrival.
“Greetings, Lilia. Greetings, [name].” He bows before taking a seat next to the former General. You straighten up, coughing into your palm to compose yourself.
“You’re late. Did class run too long?”
“Yes, but never mind that, what’s happening here? And where are Lord Malleus and Silver?”
“Nothing, I was just comforting [name].”
“Oh to be comforted by Lilia himself, that sounds like such a blessing.” Sebek says dramatically, clasping his hands together.
“Why does Sebek look like he is about to cry?” Silver’s sleepy voice rings behind you. You turn around to find him and Malleus, each carrying two trays.
Silver sets one in front of Lilia and takes the seat at the edge of the table beside his father. Malleus wordlessly puts down yours in front of you and takes the empty seat beside you, still not really meeting your eyes but each of his actions carry that familiar tenderness that calms your nerves.
Sebek straightens up immediately and stiffly. “No I am not. I would never exhibit such disgraceful behaviour.”
“It’s okay to cry if you want to Sebek.”
“Lord Lilia!!” The alligator fae’s expression does a full 180 as he turns to face Lilia with reverence.
The sight makes you chuckle. It really is lively with these people around.
The others think that Diasomnia, and especially this group of boys are the sternest people around, stiff, uptight and difficult to get along with. And you feel privileged to know these other, more childish, sides of them.
.
You knock twice on the dormhead’s door, shifting in your feet with an odd nervousness. You don’t usually feel this anxious when approaching the fae prince.
“Come in.”
You open the door slightly, just enough to let you slip in and lock it from the inside. Malleus notices and sends a questioning look your way. “You seem more worked up than usual.” You nod in response, unsure of how to put it into words.
Malleus puts aside the book he was reading, taking your hand and having you sit on the bed beside him. “Tell me about it.”
“Well… it’s nothing serious, just a little embarrassing. It’s about that night when you— oh is that my pen on your table?” You shift the conversation mid-way, chickening out.
Truth be told, you don’t even know if it really was your pen or not, since your stationery looks similar to his. You just wanted something distracting enough to buy you more time. Damnit, I thought I came mentally prepared.
Malleus frowns at the sudden change, but decides not to question it. Based on your bashful expressions, he thinks he knows where the conversation was going.
“The one you lent me during class? Apologies, it seems I forgot to return it.”
“Don’t worry about it, I’m not that petty over a pen,” you laugh a little more awkwardly than you had intended. Before you can think the action through, your fingers twist the pen cap, removing it with a sudden pop. The tip of the pen marks your right cheek, a sharp line swiftly inked onto your face, stinging and tickling your skin.
“Oh, oops.” You wince, bringing your hand up to rub at the mark.
Malleus walks towards you, reaching out to hold your face and gently rubbing circles around the ink. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
That confirmation doesn’t seem to be what he’s looking for though, because he doesn’t move an inch.
“You’re staring at me like there’s something on my face.”
“Yeah, there’s an ink mark.”
You pout at him simply stating the obvious. Duh, you think, trying to come up with a witty response to lighten the weirdly tense atmosphere.
His hand shifts from your cheek to rest at the nape of your neck, humming in contemplation before leaning in. “Let me know right now if you want me to move away.”
You feel like you are surrounded by thin ice, waiting for it to shatter.
He’s so close.
You respond by wrapping your arms behind him and gazing back, tracing his features. The sharp horns on his head shine in the soft light of his room. His long ears twitch slightly at his side, fluttering softer than a butterfly landing on a flower. Green eyes and slit pupils hold you in their gaze, tender with a desire that he had never exhibited before.
You gulp when your eyes go further downward and reach his lips, feeling your mind go blank as you finally close the distance. He responds immediately, like he was waiting, syncing his actions with yours.
It’s awkward in the beginning, and you feel unsure of what you are doing, but you don’t pull away. You stay like that until you find a comfortable rhythm, tasting the icy lemonade he was drinking earlier.
His hands find their way to your hips, resting there as he nibbles over the soft flesh of your mouth, his actions becoming firmer, more confident with each second.
You pull away when you feel like your lungs are burning, gasping for air and looking at your lover with starry eyes. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek, rubbing his thumb over your swollen lips. You lean into the touch, relishing it with your guard fully let down.
“Is that what you wanted?” He whispers against your mouth, hot breath tickling your lips.
“You are all I’ve ever wanted.” You press your forehead against his, and lean in for another kiss.
.
.
.
“Oho? It’s quite lively here.” Malleus walks into the main hall and finds you and Silver amid multiple boxes of decorations.
Sebek, who was carrying crates of different flavoured juices to the kitchen with a few second years, immediately runs up to greet the fae prince.
“My liege, greetings. We are preparing for the upcoming party.”
“Party?”
“Lord Lilia’s farewell party.”
Malleus’s face stiffens up upon hearing the words. “Farewell party…”
“You must have gotten an invitation too, right? I personally asked [name] to deliver it to you.” Silver added.
“I did. Allow me to help with the preparations.”
“Please, my liege, you needn’t trouble yourself with such trivial affairs. We’ll get it done in no time.” Malleus frowns at Sebek’s reluctance and turns to you to gauge your expression.
You nod gently. “It’s okay, my love. We’ll take care of this part. Why don’t you think of a parting gift for Lilia? I’m sure he would appreciate that.”
“A parting gift…” Malleus contemplates, “I’ll think about it.” He crosses the hall and leaves the dormitory.
His face looked more serious than it usually did, like something was weighing on his mind. You were about to excuse yourself to follow him, to ask him to talk to you about it, when a second year calls out to you for assistance.
“Sorry dear, I’ll try to be there as soon as I can.” you mumble, watching your lover’s back fade into the distance before heading back to work.
.
.
.
You feel it before it happens.
You had gone to the kitchen to grab more bottles of various drinks– light wine and a variety of fruit juices, to refill the fast-emptying glasses in the halls.
Celebrations at the Diasomnia dorm were scarce, the halls rarely ever filled with gleeful chatter.
But things suddenly go quiet. Almost in sync, your body stops moving as well, stiffening at the sudden, deafening silence. Your grip on the bottle in your hand loosens, letting go of it abruptly, causing it to stutter on the kitchen counter before going limp. Even the juice bottles stand straight, as if bracing themselves for what is to come.
“Spinning wheel of fate, spin the thread of calamity,” a low, silky voice echoes through the corridors.
“I, the king of the abyss, shall bestow this.” There’s no going back, is there?…
“I guess I could do with some sleep.” You sigh and let yourself down on the ground, leaning your back against the wall.
“Fae of maleficence.”
.
.
.
He hasn’t gone insane, not yet.
Malleus desperately clings to the last bits of sanity left, before his overblot finally takes over.
According to the records, a looming shadow appears behind a mage who has overblotted, whispering in their ears tales of destruction. He turns around, eyes scanning the area carefully, but there isn’t anything yet. Although the sizzling green light mixed with drops of a thick, black liquid tell him he doesn’t have long.
He looks around the room, analysing the sleeping bodies, assessing their current state. It doesn’t take the fae prince long to realise that a few attendees are missing and you are one of them — you aren’t in the hall. Malleus vaguely remembers you mentioning getting a re-fill for the drinks before heading towards the kitchen. He follows your trail in a trance, anchoring himself against the wall, the tips of his fingers sliding across, slow, gentle and cautious.
A few Diasomnia students lie limp just outside the kitchen, presumably struck while trying to escape. Based on the juice spilled on one of their uniforms, they must have been trying to help you with the drinks.
With a flick of his finger, Malleus re-arranges the fallen bodies so that they’re lying more comfortably beside each other. His steps don’t falter as he continues ahead until he is inside the dorm kitchen.
You are sitting in a corner, back against the wall, head inclined and resting against the wall on your side, knees pulled close to your chest, your arms wrapped around your legs as your face lay in the gap between your knees, snuggling comfortably.
Malleus feels a weight settle in his chest. Seeing you in a foetal position, sleeping comfortably… you saw it coming, didn’t you? Most would say that this reaction of his was unpredictable, but seeing you right now would prove otherwise.
He walks over carefully, as if trying not to wake you (though he wishes that you do wake up, that all of this is just a bad dream, that things never escalated this far). He leans down beside you and brings a finger to your face, gently caressing your cheek.
The action draws blood and he quickly retracts his hand to stare at his growing claws. His eyes widen at the sight, lips parting in shock and fear. He clenches his fist and swallows the lump in his throat.
His head hurts now, needles stinging from all sides. Absentmindedly, he leans closer to your face and licks at the blood, weak healing magic flowing into the wound, repairing the skin painfully slowly. Did he do it because you used to lick wounds when you were younger? Claiming that the gesture was ‘soothing’ and the saliva’s antiseptic properties will help? Or did he do it because he is finally losing his mind? Animalistic tendencies growing stronger by the minute?
His mind starts blurring and he can feel a presence forming behind him. In his daze, he lifts you in his arms, standing up carefully, yet nearly tripping over his own tail. “When did that come out?...”
He tilts his head towards the fridge and his figure in the metal exterior stares back at him. His horns were a lot larger, a lot sharper at the ends, blinding green light seeping through the cracks. Black webs resembling thorns and petals grew on the side of his face, slowly encroaching his features to highlight the ugly, newly formed scars. His chest also had similar lines growing across the skin, the thorns and vines encompassing his racing heart, throbbing in his ribcage like it was trying to push outward. And despite the translucent reflection not being able to distinguish all colours, he could tell that his skin complexion had also changed to an inhumane shade.
He wishes he were blind.
Unable to look at himself any longer, he turns away, making his way to the dormhead’s room. He had heard that human mages go berserk almost instantly, immediately bringing upon the destruction of everything in their sight. Watching you limp in his arms, leaning against his chest and squirming in your sleep, he cannot tell whether being able to maintain bits of his sanity for a few more minutes is a blessing or a curse.
Especially when he knows that his overblot will take over him soon, regardless of whether he struggles against it, or gives into it willingly. He cannot undo the events of the evening. The curse has been placed and the looming presence grows stronger, slowly guiding him into the depths of insanity.
There is no going back.
He lowers you onto his bed and sits beside you at the edge. His fingers twitch towards your face, but he dare not caress your face the way he wishes he could, not when the cut from earlier has etched itself into his mind.
The darkness gnawed at him, dragging him away, down into the depths of the abyss of his mind. He felt like he was physically fighting against the encroaching vines, each thorn as heavy as iron, trying to pierce him apart from inside-out.
His headache has gotten worse and vision blurrier. He knows he is almost out of time.
With the last bit of his strength, he places his palms on the sides of your head. Eyes unfocused, his vision starts fading around the edges. He can barely see you anymore. A tear falls on your face, black like an ink drop in water.
“Maybe… “ he mutters under his breath, “just maybe…”
His movements are desperate, unsteady, uncouth, and nothing like the sophisticated noble people know him as. But as he closes the gap, his mannerisms and posture are the last thing on his mind. He lets go of all restraints for a moment, begging for even a flicker of hope.
Your lips taste like apples, the tangy flavour sting Malleus’s tongue. He feels more tears glide down his cheeks as he presses his mouth further onto yours, trying to deepen the kiss, desperation and longing painfully evident, like a little child trying to grab at the helium balloon that escaped his grasp, clawing at the string that keeps passing through his tiny fingers, intending to never return.
“With a true love’s kiss, the prince broke the curse.” Lilia’s voice echoes in the back of his mind, as he recounts the fairytales he was told when he was younger.
But you don’t even stir in your sleep.
Who was he kidding, of course you don’t.
A bitter smile stretches across his face, his fangs dipping into his lower lip, drawing blood. More tears flow through his eyes, the eerie black liquid pouring onto your sleeping face.
Malleus takes a deep breath, humming a familiar tune as he surrenders himself to the darkness.
.
.
.
You feel his presence before his arrival becomes obvious.
There is the slightest change in the air, a little more electrifying than before, but it’s subtle enough for even the animals surrounding you to ignore. But for someone as hyper-aware of the situation as you are right now? This seemed both like an opportunity and your doom.
The squirrel you had just stopped petting pushes its head against your palm, quietly asking you to continue rubbing its head. You oblige, trying to calm your nerves and look as normal and as lost in a dream as possible.
A soft shuffle of grass draws the attention of the little hare resting near your knee and you follow the direction of its pointed ears to meet a familiar figure.
He’s here. And he’s not a lie woven by the dream. He is the real Malleus Draconia.
“Malleus! You’re finally here!” You say cheerfully, a complete contrast to how you were truly feeling.
He doesn’t notice. Oh thank the Sevens, he isn’t suspicious of you (yet).
“You’re late. I thought you said that the meeting with the delegates wouldn’t take too long.” You quickly think of a scenario, an incident from years ago, a peaceful memory from a distant time.
“My bad, the debate went on for a little longer than I had hoped.”
“At least you’re here now. Come, join me.” You hold your hand out.
He nods as he takes it, and you pull him down to sit beside you. A few finches quickly hop up to him, poking Malleus’s knee before rubbing its head against him. His lips quirk upwards as he softly rubs the finch’s head.
Watching the animals get comfortable with him makes you smile, while also making your chest tighten. You subconsciously grab onto your clothes, twisting them in your fist at the uncomfortable comfort of the scene before you.
It’s just a dream, woven from lies and grief.
Malleus notices that you go quiet, quieter than he would like. “Is something bothering you, dear?”
“Huh? Oh.” A single tear rolls down your cheek, a result of the storm hidden underneath your calm demeanor. “Nothing,” you say, softer than you intended to.
He neither questions you, nor pushes you to speak more and you are thankful for that, because if he did you’re sure you would expose the fact that you’re wide awake in this dream.
That you are dreaming of this being the reality.
“Would you like to share a dance, my love?” He asks, standing up and extending his hand out for you.
“Right here?”
“Right now.” He smiles, pulling you up with the same mischief as you did when you pulled him down to sit beside you.
Seamlessly, his one hand finds your hip while the other catches your palm, interlacing your fingers.
Of course, this is just a dream. The animals don’t welcome Malleus’s presence this openly, let alone hum a melody in tandem as you sway under the canopy, across the long blades of the forest grass and wild flowers. You feel more tears well up. How you wish this was the reality, rather than being just a dream.
In an attempt to hide the surge of emotions, you lean your head against him, resting your head right where his heart is. It’s steady and comforting. If it were any other day, you would have fallen asleep to the sound of it. Still, despite the gravity of your current situation, you let yourself relax in his hold, nuzzling further and embracing the warmth.
He presses a kiss to your forehead and wraps his arms around you. You stay like that for a while. Malleus slows down, opting to gently sway you with the wind so as to not disturb you too much, nearly lulling you to sleep.
But then his soft ministrations suddenly stop.
You feel him form a fist near your hip, bunching up your clothes.
That’s odd, you think. Given the atmosphere, it’s definitely not an action meant to result in something more than just simple affection. Not like Malleus ever seemed interested in that anyway. Nor did the action seem soft enough for it to be a physical expression of the fae’s giddy admiration. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. Something doesn’t feel right about this.
“Malleus?”
“Shroud.” He growls under his breath.
“What?” You pull away, the smile fading from your face.
It doesn’t take you long to connect the dots. Silver was trying to wake the others up, and he must have been able to rope Idia in.
You can only hope that your expression doesn’t give away your realisation.
“You…” Malleus starts, unsure of how to put his next words together as realisation and anger, pain and betrayal, stretch across his face, “You’ve been awake this whole time…”
There’s no way he has realised it, you hope. Maybe his anger is directed towards Idia. And since he hasn’t left, maybe you could buy those guys some more time to—
“...haven’t you, [name]?”
You flinch. A chill runs down your spine and a gasp leaves you before you can hold it back.
“Malleu—” You are cut short when he suddenly grabs your chin, pulling you closer and glaring at you to confirm his suspicions.
“My love,” his tone is vile, “I only wanted you to have sweet dreams. I would have dragged the heavens down from the skies for you.” He raises his voice, a low, rumbling sound from his throat, hoarse at the edges.
The Malleus you know would never address you like that. You know it’s the darkness at work, the overblot. You know that, and yet, it hurts.
“Tch, I would have loved to tuck you back in bed but I cannot waste any more time” He grits his teeth and pushes you back.
You stumble to the ground, eyes still widened in shock. You’re trying to think of something, anything, that could stop Malleus for just a little longer. But before you can move, you feel the little animals surrounding you, trapping you in a cage of blackening fur.
You try calling out to him again, but you don’t hear your own voice, feeling as though you’re being dragged somewhere distant against your will. Resisting only makes it worse, like being caught in quicksand.
Your vision goes black.
.
.
.
Your eyes stutter open, like a butterfly landing on a petal. The moonlight filters through the white, webbed curtains. “Guess they succeeded at whatever those guys were planning,” you mutter. You sit up and try to get off the bed, but vines tug around your arms, holding you in place. You don’t resist.
The screams of other students slowly fade into the distance. You look outside the window and notice huge groups of people from various dorms making their way away from Diasomnia, led by their respective vice-dormleaders.
A rough, screechy scream echoes through the halls. “The thorns! They’re digging into me when I move! It hurts!” Ah, that must be Grim.
You rub your eyes with the back of your hand, still feeling groggy. Did everyone else wake up before you?
Your eyes scan around the room and you instantly recognise it as Malleus’s. “Did he bring me here?...”
Suddenly, a low rumble arises near the door. You whip your head around and come face-to-face with a dragon. Its large body barely fits in the surroundings, scales glistening under the moon. The large horns on its head look like they could pierce through the ceiling if it lifted its head any further.
“Malleus.”
A faint flicker of recognition flashes in the dragon’s eyes. You dare to believe that he recognises you. A low rumble arises in his chest as he hesitantly makes his way towards you.
Your hand reaches out to stroke its face, rubbing above its large, v-shaped mouth. In response, the vines wrap around your upper arms, adorning it like armcuffs of thorns, digging into your skin, piercing your forearms. Drops of blood stain the sheets and tiles below you. You hold in a hiss, trying not to acknowledge the pain, not to let Malleus’s attention divert towards the metallic scent.
You have seen Malleus in his dragon form before, but this was completely different. His scales felt more gooey, gross, as if it’s been smeared with blot. His pupils are dilated, unfocused, much sharper and much less welcoming than normal.
And the way he folds under your touch isn’t like him at all. It’s more animalistic, wild, like one mistake would be enough for him to rip off the arm petting him, to send you to your death.
“Where is Idia? Don’t tell me he’s taking another nap.” An irritated voice sounds from the grounds, pulling Malleus out of his trance. He pulls away from you, the rage in his features returning after the momentary calm.
The dragon lets out a snarl, a warning, before plunging towards the window, half-burning half-ripping the curtains apart. The glass shatters around you and you instinctively bring your arm up to shield your eyes. The thorny vines and shattered glass pierce through your skin, leaving behind multiple deep cuts. You open your mouth to scream, maybe you do scream, but you can’t hear yourself. Your lungs feel like they’re breaking apart, collapsing and your throat runs dry. It hurts.
The clash of armour drags you back to reality. You hear the crackle of flame, a sharp sound of thunder and heavy grunts. “Young Master!”
Silver and Sebek.
They’re still fighting.
You can’t stay stuck here, waiting for things to die down.
“Flame magic.” You quickly utter, watching as the fire burns at the edge of the mattress, being put out almost immediately by the fast-regenerating vines.
If they can’t be burned away, then you’ll just have to squeeze out of them.
You close your eyes and take a deep breath in, bracing yourself for the next wave of thorny agony. “Wind, support me.” A gush of wind pushes you outward, the thorns dragging along your skin, clawing at you to hold you back.
As soon as your leg touches the windowsill, you push yourself outward, your hands aligning to maintain the wind pressure below you to keep you afloat. The ivy laps forward, creeping up alongside the broken window. How persistent.
You glance down, assessing the battlefield. Sebek seems to be holding a shield. The green ornamentation sparkles on the silver, taking on Malleus’s flames head-on. Is that… mystium?
From the corner of your eye, you notice the outgrowth coming at you, the sharp ends aiming for your eye. You just barely manage to get out of its way, cutting off some part of it and bringing it to your eye-level for inspection.
The ivy wiggles mid-air like it’s alive, trying to grow out from the point where it was cut. It struggles against your magic, grasping and clawing at the invisible cage it finds itself trapped in. You break off a tendril, watching it as it starts growing into a long rope covered with thorns. You could use this.
You dive downwards, ivy in tow, planning to aim straight at the dragon’s legs. The flames from Malleus’s attacks seem to have increased the air pressure in your surroundings, and you let it aid you in your levitation, letting your body feel light above the rising black-green smoke, like resting on fluffy clouds that burn your lungs with each inhale.
Sebek is holding his shield up, barely keeping up with the flame’s force, while Silver stands behind him, sword braced and waiting for an opening. Idia is standing in a corner, his fingers gliding over his digital screen as he monitors the situation.
You press your thumb against your index, creating a make-shift eyepiece as you lock onto your target. Looking through the gap between your fingers, you adjust your aim, shooting the vine you dragged with you at the dragon’s legs. The ivy wraps around its knees, growing alongside it and creating a tangled web underneath the dragon’s large body. It causes him to release a larger puff of flame as it exhales in pain.
Sebek gets blown away in the process, his armour and shield landing with a loud clank. Silver immediately takes Sebek’s place, his sword lighting up with energy. He glances up towards you, acknowledging your assistance with a nod. You nod back, preparing to shoot more vines to cage Malleus.
Silver brings the hilt of the sword close to his chest, closing his eyes and concentrating all his energy into the weapon, preparing to strike. He cannot miss, because his sword is the only thing on the battle-field capable of even scratching Malleus’s stone-hard horns. Malleus doesn’t take long to recover either, his scales of amethyst and jade reflect his fiery breath, generating another wave of his green beam.
Green and smoke cloud Silver’s vision, feeling over-whelmed by the dragon’s strength. But he hasn’t lost yet. He steadies his grip, clutching the sword with both hands and analysing for any openings that could get him closer to destroying Malleus’s horn.
Sebek weakly attempts to push himself off the ground, muttering curses under his breath at the pain. He tries reaching for his shield, preparing to defend from the dragon’s attacks once more.
Just as you ready to entrap Malleus further, hoping the sharp thorns can pierce through his scaly wings, a figure runs out of the dorm gates, his over-sized coat flowing madly with the wind. Clutching his abdomen and coughing with every other step, he limps across the field, grunting each time he came too close to tripping over the debris.
“No wait—” You try calling out, but it’s too late.
He has gotten too close, too deep in the heart of the battlefield that Diasomnia has become.
You quickly hurl a small mass of ivy to wrap around Draconia’s wings. The thorns start digging itself wherever they clutch, anchoring and growing along the scales. Malleus wavers a bit, stumbling back a step, his wings frantically flapping behind him.
Sebek, too, has gotten a grip, as he forces the shield upright and forward — his right leg pushing him forward, his left knee sliding on the ground.
“Stop!” Lilia lunges forward, throwing himself near the tip of Silver’s sword, causing it to slip out of the silver-head’s hands, falling to the ground with a loud clink.
Sebek barely pushes through the last inch, deflecting some of Draconia's flames towards a nearby tree, burning it to a crisp. The mystium armour stands tall between the dragon and the knights. Malleus’s laser crashes against the metal at an angle, reflecting back, directed straight towards his eyes. His own flames blind him as he howls in pain.
“Now!” Shroud’s fingers glide over his screen with quick precision. He gains control of Silver’s limp sword, neatly aiming for Malleus’s horn. Like a gun whistling through the wind, the blade clashes with the dragon’s horn, slicing through it with calculated ease.
The broken obsidian tip explodes, sending sparks of magic flying in all directions. Before you can process it, you’re already plunging towards Malleus, arms extended, as if catching him could soften his fall. Your skin meets burning flesh and icy scales as Malleus’s body collapses over yours. Dust, smoke and debris cloud your vision and seize your throat.
For a minute, everything goes silent.
“Fa–...” A hiccup sounds somewhere not too far from you, followed by a sharp inhale and a broken sob.
“Is Lilia…” Grim’s coarse voice breaks through the curtain of smoke.
As the dust settles, you bury yourself in Malleus’s torn sleeve, clutching his arms and refusing to look up.
A mental image of Lilia’s limp body in Silver’s arms starts forming in your mind, and you weren’t willing to let that vision manifest entirely, to let it embed itself in your memories.
As if that would change the bitter reality.
.
.
.
Twenty years ago, if someone asked you, “Is it worth resisting death?”, you would have answered “no.”
The most you can do is delay the inevitable, but death will reach out with its claws, grasping at you and eventually dragging you down.
As a knight, you had seen others glorify death. In battle, for the winning side, dying was a noble sacrifice, a commendable deed worthy of acknowledgement. For the losing side, it signified that you fought till the bitter end, never backing down, standing your ground. When it came to punishments, execution was a mercy. And if you reach the end as a result of senility, you must have had enough to pass on your legacy to the future, immortalising your name.
Maybe you would have given this same response four years ago as well. After all, your view only changed when you entered Night Raven College.
Heartslabyul, a dorm that prided itself on following the Queen of Heart’s discipline, started off as an unruly mess of disorder and chaos. When the tyrant that rose from among them had his dominion questioned, he lost his authority but gained an amicable love that he had never before received.
Savannaclaw, in order to win just one last tournament, put their own integrity and loyalty on the line, only to come out with bonds stronger than ever before.
For his little brother, the big brother was willing to burn the world down. When the little one died, the older went as far as to make the world’s most advanced humanoid machine, all so he could continue making memories with the boy he couldn’t protect.
When the Underworld threatened to bestow devastation upon the world, starting with the Pomefiore members who were closest to the potential outbreak, their leader, the man who cared for his own beauty more than anything else in the world, sacrificed it all to keep his friends safe. He returned, wrinkled and senile, the pain of parting with his youth etched on his face, but with no regret in his tears.
Time and time again, you had the chance to watch humans grow. Due to their short lives, they evolve at a much faster pace, experiencing things at the speed of light. For fae, a decade passes by in the blink of an eye. But in those same ten years, ordinary mortals live ten different lives.
Now, if someone asked you the same question, you would glance around your surroundings, breathing in the flowing youth and unexpected encounters, and say, “Yes, because every second longer that you spend with those you love will be worth it.” There are people waiting for you to return home. Bruised and battered. Betrayed and broken.
But not dead.
They’ll nurse you back to health. Celebrate your victories with you. Listen to your tales, adding their own in between. They’ll learn and grow from you, with you, alongside you.
They’ll stay.
You hum casually, kicking pebbles near your feet, twirling your magic pen in hand as a few boxes float behind you. You are stiffer than usual, the bandages draped around your arm and chest restricting your movements. Ideally, you should also be in the hospital downtown, resting and recovering, conversing casually with Silver, Sebek, Lilia and the attending nurses.
But you chose to come back early, to be here and help with the reconstruction. You feel partly responsible for Malleus’s overblot. Thoughts like “if I spoke to him earlier, let him talk about his feelings, maybe…” and “if we had discussed it all earlier…” plagued your mind. And you couldn’t just loiter away in the hospital bed in the name of ‘recuperating’, not when you were able to move around just fine.
(Truth be told, the many cuts splayed across your body stung with each flex of muscle. But the longer you stayed, conversations regarding the overblot incident resurfaced more often. And you needed to do something to take your mind away from it, to think of something else, to return to your ordinary life.)
Diasomnia is livelier these days with everyone eagerly helping in the reconstruction process and organising a 'return party' for Lilia. Occasionally, you’d spot a few uniforms of the other dorms as well, scared, hesitant, but wanting to assist.
Someone offers to take the wooden boxes for you. You decline with a slight shake of your head, easily placing the bundle near the entryway. Someone else offers you a carton of juice they got for refreshments, and you take it with a polite smile.
“You know, the party won’t just be to celebrate Lilia’s return,” a student says, leaning against the railing, taking a sip from his juice carton, “we also wanted to celebrate the victory.”
“Yeah,” another one chimes in, his tanned skin coated with sweat, earrings hanging from his long ears, “and you were huge in the battle so we wanted this to be a gift for you too, a surprise.” He ends sheepishly, his right hand scratching the back of his neck.
“Oh? Are you saying you don’t want me here right now?” You tease with a smirk, swirling your juicebox lazily.
“N-no we don’t mean it that way…”
You hum, cutting the boy off mid-sentence. He doesn’t need to finish it, you know what he means.
The whole school was ecstatic when they heard of Lilia’s return to academics.
You look down at your twitching hands, still trembling with the emotions from that night– fear, sorrow, delight, happiness– everything at once.
You remember Malleus’s loud wails when he realised what had happened, Sebek’s desperate pleas as he watched Lilia’s limp body trembling in Silver’s unsteady grasp. But then, by some miracle, Silver and Malleus had not only managed to drag him back from the dead, but the reaction had caused magic to flow through his veins once more, extending his life for a little longer.
“I am glad that you were thinking of me too, but I think I’m happier helping you all organise this. After all, Silver, Sebek, and the Ignihyde brothers deserve the most credit. They deserve this more than anyone else.”
“Yeah, them and definitely not Crowley!” The group surrounding you bursts into laughter at the second year’s comment. You laugh as well, without restraints, without the burdens of that never-ending night.
You only wish Malleus was here right now with you. Laughing. Unburdened. Free.
And yet he was out there running from place to place, apologising for feelings he couldn’t control, for the pent-up emotions no one knew he held within him, for the neglect no one acknowledged.
He has always wanted to be able to mingle with others freely. Without them having their guard up against him. Without them refusing to look at him due to fear. Without them shuffling their feet, treating him like he was a god from another world.
And yet, his overblot has only made people more scared of him.
There are mixed views about it.
“He’s only human— I-I mean, he’s just another living being, and all living beings make mistakes. This just proves he’s normal, like the rest of us. He’s normal for his emotions, for his reactions, for feeling.”
“Draconia caused a large-scale disaster on a whim. He’s a lethal weapon. A walking death sentence. He’s far too dangerous to be roaming around freely.”
He’s probably going to slip into his room in the dorm once he’s sure everyone is asleep. You noticed him yesterday, treading carefully, quietly, through the blanket of the night, unaware that you had caught him. And you’re sure he’s going to do it again tonight.
Perhaps you could buy a tub of ice-cream and wait for him. The only question is, where are you going to find a flavour that he has never tried before?
.
.
.
You tidied the dormhead’s room in the evening.
Cleaning away the remnants of the vine. Putting the scattered items back in their places. Replacing the torn, white window curtains with a green one made of a thin, feather-light fabric. Changing the burnt, blood-soaked bedsheet to a simple, soft black one with gold linings.
But that didn’t feel enough. Surely Crowley would allow you to take a quick trip to Briar Valley on such short notice, right?
You donned an innocent expression, heading straight for the Mirror Chamber. And as fate would have it, the Headmaster also happened to be there.
“A-ah [name]! What brings you here?” He said, rubbing his palms over each other, a sheepish smile spread across his face.
“Headmaster! I was looking for you. This just saved me the trip to your office. Won’t you be oh-so generous and let me pass through the mirror for a quick trip back home?”
“Well…”
“Surely you couldn’t decline this, almost insignificant, request from someone who actually helped during the overblot, right?” The air around you shifted, faint flickers and crackles dancing in the wind as your smile widened, adding pressure on Crowley.
“Yes of course, for I am so benevolent.” He spread his arms, as if embracing the idea with trembling words and mock confidence. He seemed like an injured crow, desperately flapping its broken wings, watching as his feathers are plucked away one-by-one.
You pulled your hood low over your head, tugging at it twice for good measure. With a deep breath, you passed through the ivory surface. A chill runs across your body as the solid mirror feels like it is softening into a thick liquid.
A fresh breeze welcomes you, calming the nerves. The distant smell of spices and fresh fruit floats in the air. The echo of the crowds are duller, more sombre than you remember.
It’s a short trip home, and you wish to make it as short as possible.
You walk through the town in steps more confident than you feel, back straight to avoid people from picking up on your insecurity. Hood conveniently hiding your identity but showing just enough of your face to avoid suspicion.
Your legs take you through the alleys with muscle-memory, but your mind feels like you have arrived in a foreign place. The solemn atmosphere, the tension pricking the air makes your hometown feel completely unfamiliar.
Your pace quickens, as you quickly scan through the items in the market. You don’t buy much, just a few essentials lost to the chaos of the overblot, and a few ornaments to decorate the room with.
One particular shop catches your eye. It's one of the few shops in the area that has retained its antique appearance. The signboard has long been worn-out, and the glass windows are cracked and fogged up. Soft honeydew tinged with citrus tones fills up the warm air emitted from the cabin.
There’s no mistaking it — it has to be elf Fiore’s shop. She was Malleus’s herbology instructor. Even when you attended classes with him, Fiore often focused more on Malleus and let you have a break. You already knew a lot more about plants, having spent a lot of time with the Forest Fairies, so you spent this time honing your sword instead.
You vaguely remember picking flowers with her as a child, when she had caught you and Malleus hanging out in your secret cottage long before Malleus was allowed to roam freely. It was Malleus’s first practical session, and seeing his improved learning efficiency, it led to him slowly being allowed to go outside the castle and gain more freedom.
You never really interacted with her much, but you still feel like you owe her an apology for all that has transpired. After all, you were closest to him, you always have been. Maybe you could have stopped him, at least tried to stop him.
You have to duck low as you enter. A surge of fragrances stimulate your senses. Bottled scents are kept neatly on the shelves, a few decorated with ribbons, a few with jute.
“Welcome!" A croaky sound echoes in a cheerful greeting, as though greeting her first customer in days. And then softer, familiar, “Welcome, [name].”
“Ms. Fiore.” You pull your hood back, confident that no one could see you from the outside, and that no one would harm you inside this shop. A soft, apologetic smile graces your lips as you place your right hand over your heart, its fast pace like a hammer against your ribs. “I’m sure you have already heard about what… happened. And I would like to apologise, on his behalf and… my own… for not seeing the signs a little earlier. Maybe, I could have tried to not let it escalate.”
“Even if you had seen the signs, you could not have stopped it, child. The roots of this calamity go back to when he was still a young boy at the castle.” The elf says calmly, her nimble fingers working with yarn.
You look around and realise that in place of the natural flowers, there now seems to be artificial, scented ones on display. Sensing your confusion, the old lady speaks up again. “I have gotten too old to go pick out fresh flowers now, and visitors have grown scarce. At least these artificial flowers will last a little longer.”
Artificial flowers will last a little longer. And they look pretty too. And their fragrance would definitely help in further diluting the stench of burnt blood.
“Ms. Fiore, may I purchase a vase? And perhaps you can pick out a few flowers that would mean something… for him.” Fiore’s eyes soften as she places her knitting needles away. “It doesn’t even have to look pretty, I just…”
“I’ll give you a discount. Normally, customised orders cost extra but I’m getting too old to care about the extra money. Besides, I would like to give him something too, to let him know that we are still here for him.”
You smile in thanks.
.
You return to Diasomnia satisfied with the short shopping expedition. Now all that was left was to add the finishing strokes to the renovated room and wait.
You left Ms. Fiore’s vase for the end, slowly admiring it before placing it down on the bedside table. You kneel on the ground and rest your face in your arms, looking up at the fluffy petals and taking in the calming fragrances of the flowers.
White lilies and tulips. Orchids and daffodils.
Resilience, renewal and redemption.
Rebirth and new beginnings.
And beside that is a smaller vase filled with daisies, the flower that began your friendship with the fae prince.
The daisies are the result of an impromptu decision you made just as you were leaving Fiore’s shop. It was the smallest, least decorated vase placed on the windowsill. While most were artificial, you had gone out of your way to collect a few fresh daisies and laced them with mountain grass to add to the bouquet (and also collected a few herbs and flowers for the old elf before finally returning to NRC).
The familiar, soft scent of mountain soil alongside the daisies’ subtle, grassy smell brings back memories from centuries ago. And the tranquility brings with it the fatigue of the many days and nights you spent unconscious, fighting in a nightmare.
You feel yourself dozing off, eyelids heavy after days of toil, when the doorknob clicks.
Malleus slips in quietly, locking the door behind him, head held low and exhaustion written all over his face. His eyes widen at the sight of you dozing off against the bedside table, heart dropping as he remembers your limp figure on the night of the overblot.
“Malleus,” You yawn, stretching and pushing yourself off the ground, “you’re finally here.”
“Yes, I am. But no wait, you weren’t supposed to know I would be.” He stutters.
“I caught a glimpse of you sneaking into your room last night, and I was sure you would return.”
Malleus looks around the renovated room, jade eyes scanning the changed drapes and new ornaments. “Did you… do all of this by yourself?” his voice breaks, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “I’m- I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused. I didn’t want to, I–”
This is the second time you’re seeing him cry since you came to NRC.
You let him, simply crossing your hands behind your back and smiling. “It was no trouble at all. I like doing these little things for you.”
“Despite everything that just transpired? The- the -...” The overblot.
You move closer to him, slowly, softly, letting him decide whether he wants to finish that sentence or not. You swipe at a single tear resting on his eyelid, about to roll down.
“The Fae prince, one of the strongest mages in the world, the next ruler of the Valley of Thorns, a descendant of one of the Great Seven, the successor of the Witch of Thorns, a walking calamity, dormhead of Diasomnia…” You drone on, dramatically swaying your finger around with each name he’s known by.
With each one of his titles, Malleus winces a little more, like the words physically hurt him. He lowers his head, ashamed, embarrassed, unsure of who he is and who he wants to be.
“You are none of that to me. To me, you’re just Malleus, the boy I love.” You cradle his face, fingers softly grazing his jaw before pecking his lips.
He leans in again, but you move away, grabbing the bag of food you had prepared for tonight. “You can have more kisses later, but first you need to get some food in you and rehydrate. You have been working hard. I watched your interview with the media. Facing the world couldn’t have been easy, and you need to rest while you can. Look, I got a couple different flavours of ice-creams for us to try out together~”
Malleus smiles coyly, and right now, he looks like the most ordinary of high schoolers. His boyish grin makes butterflies erupt within you. It’s contagious and you find yourself beaming too (whether out of happiness or to hide the embarrassing red that crept up your neck, you weren’t sure).
He doesn’t speak much. And even with the two of you combined, you barely get through half the food stash you had prepared for tonight. To store the remaining, you head downstairs to the dorm’s kitchen. By the time you return, Malleus is already dozing off, with a blanket loosely draped over him and space left for you to fit into beside him.
He doesn’t sleep as much as most others do, so seeing him so tired and vulnerable makes your heart soften. These last few days really have taken a toll on him, huh…
You tread quietly, closing the windows and darkening the room, before taking your place beside him on the bed. Embracing the warmth, you snuggle closer to his chest. He responds by lazily pulling you even closer and tightening his grip around you. It feels like it’s been forever since you last got to cuddle to sleep.
“Good night, Malleus.” You whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before succumbing to slumber.
You hope that he has the sweetest of dreams tonight.
. ꕤ ｡ ˚⋆ written for... #TEA99 !! — featuring myu's blend! : a hibiscus flower tea with sugar cubes in a pink cup, and a side order of smoked salmon sandwich and cheesy vegetable garden tart (fluff + childhood friends to lovers + "can't you just stay here and kiss me forever?" + heart-to-heart conversation + alternate universe)
sypnosis. [ 1.6k words ] pilot!phainon x office-worker!reader. modern au. they're adults. living together. established relationship. they kiss a few times but its very cute and sfw so i dont think i have to warn you there.
usagi's note: it was in fact 3:41 AM as i started writing the fic. this isn't the fic i was cooking up for the phaichompers as i posted a few days ago, this was more of a spur of the moment idea i had and u know i get possessed (LOL). enjoy phainon lvrs!
3:41 AM.
The alarm tone began with a soft vibration against the nightstand.
You ignored it, snuggling into the warmth of your sheets, burying your face deeper into the pillow.
It buzzed again.
You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that maybe, if you tried hard enough, the alarm would shut itself up and you'd have a few more minutes to enjoy lounging in bed—and maybe even a few more minutes of sleep…
Then a third time.
You sighed and reached out an arm to click a button, not even sure if it's been snoozed or dismissed.
"...It's still dark," you mumbled into the pillow, eyes refusing to open.
"It isn't."
A smile tugged at your lips before you even looked at him.
Phainon had already been awake.
Of course he had.
He always woke before you did, though he rarely moved. Instead, he simply laid there, watching the sleepy little expressions you made before consciousness finally caught up with you.
His arms remained wound snugly around your waist, his chest warm against your back. One of his hands rested lazily over yours, thumb tracing absent circles across your skin.
You yawned, "The sun isn't even up yet."
"It is."
"You're such a liar," you huff.
"I've seen it."
"You probably just dreamed the idea of it."
A quiet laugh rumbled through his chest, then after a while, "We both have work, sweetheart,” he murmured.
And still, neither of you made the slightest effort to move.
Silence settled over the apartment again.
You sighed dramatically.
"If we just lay here all morning, maybe our bosses will think something bad happened."
"They'll probably just call us."
"Then we'll pretend we're not home."
"How will we pay rent then?"
"...You're ruining my fantasy,” you huffed.
He chuckled again, lowering his forehead between your shoulder blades.
His embrace somehow tightened without becoming restrictive, arms snaking higher on your body.
Just a few more minutes, he seemed to say.
You didn't mind.
You never did.
The years had changed almost everything about the two of you.
You'd grown taller, he'd become broader.
Your schedules had become cluttered with meetings, his with flight details.
Your calendars marked with deadlines, bills, grocery lists, chores, and laundry waiting to be folded.
The simplicity of childhood had disappeared somewhere between graduation and your first apartment together.
Yet somehow, this remained.
His warmth.
His heartbeat.
The familiar comfort of someone who had always been home.
"You know," you murmured, "when we were kids, I thought adults had everything figured out."
His breath seeped through your shirt, humming as he agreed sleepily.
"I thought they'd wake up excited every morning, like, hey, I'm going to work and make money, yaaaaay," you rasped.
"They lied to us."
A sigh, "They really did."
"All these big thoughts so early and yet you still have bedhead."
"...That wasn't very boyfriend of you."
"I think it's very boyfriend of me, actually."
You laughed quietly as you fully turned to face him, hands coming up to cradle his face and squish his cheeks for the teasing.
"So rude, and this early in the morning."
He huffed out a laugh as his face was being stretched out, "I like it."
Your eyebrows knitted, "My bedhead?"
"You,” he admitted without a beat.
Heat rose to your cheeks.
It still happened.
After all these years, Phainon still had that effect on you.
You leaned your head back a little to get a better view of him.
He looked unfairly beautiful while being half-awake.
Soft hair tousled from sleep, eyes softer than the dim light filtering through the curtains.
He smiled.
Not the dazzling smile everyone else knew.
Just the small one reserved for you.
"Here's a big thought for you. I used to wonder if we'd always stay friends," he admitted.
The confession surprised you.
"You did?”
"I did."
He looked thoughtful as his next words spilled out.
"We spent every day together. Walking to school, sharing lunches, studying, sleepovers, watching terrible movies."
A smile grew on your face, "And you stealing my fries even though you said you wouldn't eat any,” you quipped.
"I was trying to prevent food waste, you don't even finish your food all the time."
"You were committing theft!"
"It was for my poor, hungry stomach. A noble cause, don't you think so?"
You rolled your eyes.
He continued anyway, "There were times I almost told you how I really felt."
Your heart skipped.
"...Back then?"
"I think the first time was when we were sixteen."
You blinked.
"Sixteen?"
"You fell asleep during the movie."
"...Which one?”
"The one where you woke up and you apologized for drooling on my shoulder."
Your eyes shut in embarrassment, "Oh my god, why would you remember that of all things."
"I remember thinking that..."
He paused, his voice straying lower, as if he were afraid to even consider the possibility, "...if I said something and ruined this..."
His fingers intertwined with yours, fingers tightening.
"...I'd lose my favorite person."
The room fell quiet, the hum of the air conditioning filling the silence.
You stared at your joined hands in the dim lighting.
"I almost confessed too."
His eyebrows lifted.
"When?"
"The festival."
"The summer one?"
You nod, "You won me that giant samoyed stuff toy."
"You practically begged me for it,” his chest rumbled as he laughed softly at the memory.
"You're lying again! I was just admiring it."
"You threatened to cry."
A shrug, "You told me I was persuasive."
"You weaponized your puppy eyes."
Your eyes flitted back to his, "What can I say? I learned from the best."
You laughed again before your voice softened.
"I remember thinking..." you looked down, "... that if you didn't like me back..."
A breath.
"I'd be content to just be your friend for as long as you'd have me."
Neither of you spoke.
Years of almosts.
Almost saying something.
Almost reaching across that invisible line.
Almost changing everything.
Until one ordinary day, he decided to take matters into his own hands and tell you the words you've both been pining to hear and say to one another.
And suddenly every almost became finally.
Phainon's thumb brushed over your knuckles.
"We wasted a lot of time."
"We were just scared."
"Were you?"
"I was terrified."
"Really? I couldn't tell."
You looked to the side in embarrassment, p"I practiced confessing to my mirror."
His eyes widened.
"No way."
You nodded lazily, "For two weeks."
"You rehearsed?"
"I had cue cards and everything."
He laughed so hard the bed shook beneath both of you, "You had cue cards?"
"They were color-coded, too."
"I wish I'd seen them."
"Dream on, then. I burned them.”
"You burned the evidence?” his voice cracked slightly from giggling.
"I panicked, okay?"
"You panicked."
You sigh and close your eyes, resigning to defeat, "I absolutely panicked."
His laughter slowly faded into another smile.
A quieter one.
"I'm glad."
Your head tilted, "About...?"
"That we were idiots."
You frowned, "That's such a strange thing to be glad about, Phai."
"If we'd confessed sooner..."
He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, "...maybe we'd have been different people."
You thought about it.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
The teenagers who'd been afraid of losing each other couldn't have imagined this.
Sharing rent and decorating the apartment.
Fighting over blankets and ending up on the floor laughing because it had turned into a tickle fight.
Arguing over whose turn it was to pay for groceries because Phainon wouldn't let you pay for anything.
Making coffee together every morning just the way he likes it because no other coffee shop gets it quite as good as you do.
Knowing every scar.
Every bad habit.
Every sleepy mumble.
Loving each other wasn't fireworks anymore.
It was this… soft, steady, and certain thing you've come to know.
This familiarity—this always, you come home to.
Your alarm buzzed again.
You groaned dramatically.
"No."
"You should just turn it off."
"No."
"You'll be late, then."
"I've decided employment isn't for me."
"Oh?"
"I'll become a house cat instead."
He smiled, "Mmm, I think you'd be very good at it."
"I already nap as much as I can throughout the day."
"Closer to ten hours, sweetheart."
You squinted at him, "Why are you already sabotaging my newfound career."
He laughed quietly, “What about my flights today, then, hm?
You snuck closer, fully in his arms this time, wrapping your own around his neck.
He instinctively pulled you closer until there wasn't even a breath of space between you.
You rested your forehead against his.
"...Can't you just stay here and kiss me forever?"
He didn't answer immediately.
He kissed you, instead.
Slowly and reverently.
The kind of kiss that still felt new despite all the mornings you'd shared.
When he finally pulled away, your noses were still touching.
"I can."
The corner of your eyes crinkled, amused.
"Really?"
"Mhm."
He kissed the corner of your mouth.
Then the other.
And finally a kiss on the tip of your nose.
"Until we're both fired."
You gasped.
"I knew you were secretly irresponsible."
"No, I'm not."
"No?"
A kiss.
"I'm choosing you before my plane, priorities, you understand, right?"
You gasp and roll your eyes playfully, "You're such a flirt."
"So I've been told."
"You've gotten better."
"I've had years of practice."
Then another.
This one made you smile against his lips.
And another.
And again.
Until, eventually, you sighed.
"...We really do have to go get ready."
"We do."
And still, neither of you moved.
Not for another minute.
Not even for ten.
After all, it was barely five and the world would still be waiting outside your apartment.
But mornings like these—the ones filled with sleepy laughter, old memories, and kisses stolen from the clock—were the kind of ordinary moments you'd once been too afraid to dream about.
You press your face into Phainon's neck and breathe him in.
You live them now.
usagi's note: now i have to go get a batch of cookies ready lol, this took 1 hour and 10 mins i guess omg, hope you enjoyed!
@usagiarchive 2026. do not repost, translate, or use for AI. reblogs, likes, and comments are very appreciated!!
I MADE WISHES ON ALL OF THE STARS - grapefruit and basil tea in a pink cup, served with orange zest scones.
SYNOPSIS | teacher!qifrey x reader | qifrey never knew coco had an angel for a guardian, literally.
NOTES | @d1strict99 tea party event! | fluff | strangers to friends/lovers | first meetings | i love modern aus, they're my comfort au!
1,222
qifrey thinks there's an angel right in front of him, leaning over with their hands on their knees.
it's special, the way the light from outside creates a magical halo around your disheveled hair. your skin kissed by sunlight and warmth, it almost made you glow like a real angel, ethereal and mystical–even with your bag haphazardly thrown over your shoulder while gasping for air. you look unbelievably mesmerizing and qifrey did nothing to hide the way he was staring at you, admiring shamelessly.
“hi there.”
he bites his lower lip to stop the onslaught of giggles when you perked up from his voice, straightening when you realized you weren't really alone.
“is there something i can help you with?”
you fan your face with a hand, lips parted as you take a few deep breaths. you must have run a marathon with the way you're desperately catching your breath. maybe if you had angel wings you wouldn't look so unkempt. you still look stunning in his eyes, nonetheless.
“the kids.” you manage to wheeze out the words.
“oh, the kids?” qifrey points to the big clock on the other side of the hallway. “we've already dismissed the children just half an hour ago.”
“holy crap.”
he suppressed a snort at your groan.
“is coco still here then?”
“oh?” his mind starts running a mile in a mere second. now that he thinks of it, your eyes do look similar to one of his students, albeit yours looks worn out from fatigue.
oh god, were you married? is coco yours? there's no ring on your hands when he searched for it. wait, why is he actively searching for it anyway? he's your child's teacher, he shouldn't think of you this way whether you are married or not. where had his professionalism gone to?
“i was supposed to pick her up today, but i got out of work so late. is she still here?”
you look so adorably worried for coco it brought so much warmth to his poor poor heart–stop it, qifrey!
“she is.”
“really!?”
qifrey has to take a step back when you lean closer in anticipation, gulping down the large smile creeping upon his face. you look like a puppy, you really did, and it's not good for his heart.
“of course, we don't usually let children go home without a guardian. would you like me to show you where the children wait whenever their parents run a little late to pick them up?
“yes, please and thank you!”
qifrey steps aside and urges you to follow him through the corridors. “she probably thought you'd be late too, she went inside on her own after dismissal.” he turns to look at you as he walks. “are you coco's mother?”
please, say no.
“oh, no!” the angels sing their choir quietly in qifrey's head.
you scratch your cheek with a finger, face flushed and embarrassed. he wants to pinch your cheeks badly out of relief and the onslaught of cuteness aggression. “i'm her aunt. her mother and i are sisters.”
“oh?” he steals a glance at you, watching you gnaw at the bottom of your lips while avoiding his gaze. “where is she now, then?”
“she's in a coma. coco's been with me for over a year now.”
there's a glaze of sadness that appears in your eyes. qifrey's fingers twitch in an attempt to stop himself from wiping the unshed tears. the weariness in your face makes sense now; you've been shouldering such pain and responsibility. it must've been hard–watching over coco whilst having to work and worrying for your sister. qifrey hasn't known you for long, but he can already tell how much you've been bottling up for your sister's sake. it's admirable, the love you clearly have for your sister and her daughter.
qifrey smiles, already fond of the stranger walking beside him.
“if it makes you feel a little better, i think you're doing great as her guardian.”
the immediate embarrassment is evident on your face, the shy smile you wore suits you a lot. “thank you, mister?”
“qifrey, just call me qifrey. i happened to be coco’s teacher. she's doing very well in class, if you're wondering.” qifrey gives your shoulder a soft squeeze, gesturing you to one of the doors in the hallway. “it must be because she has a good role model in her life.”
“coco's a good child. she reminds me so much of my sister sometimes.”
qifrey likes the smile on your face, you should wear it more often, he thinks.
“she is! i'm sure your sister will be proud if she sees how well taken care of her daughter is.” he pushes the door open with one last look at your smile, revealing your niece kneeling on the floor, drawing mindlessly. some of her notebooks are sprawled on the ground and her white plush ferret sits beside her bag.
“coco, your guardian's here!” she looks up from her work and beams oh so brightly when she sees you.
ah, he can see it now. the resemblance is very evident.
“you came!” she squeals, running up to you with her arms wide open. with one sweep of your arms, she's nestled comfortably against your chest with a contented giggle.
“of course i did, when did i ever let you down, hm?”
“never!”
correcting his conclusion from earlier, there are two angels right in front of him. qifrey watches the two of you with a fond look and his heart full of warmth. it's picture perfect, the both of you smiling like you complete each other. if he could, he can tell you how much of a good job you're doing as coco's guardian, over and over again. he can see it from the way the little girl clings onto you with a bright look, safe and sound. he can tell from the way she comes to school with her hair brushed down, sometimes with little braids, and a lunch made with so much love it shows in the little octopus sausages and different shaped veggies. he can tell from the small reviewer notes and scribbles in her notebooks that helped the little girl in her school work more than once, where she proudly exclaims how someone she loves helped her study beforehand when he asked about it. he can see it from the way she turns to him, and proudly says– “mister qifrey! aren't they amazing!?”
“coco!” your voice cracked adorably from embarrassment, although you failed to hide the smile on your face. coco's giggles were irresistible, he can't blame you for being so fond of the little girl.
but honestly, all qifrey can see are two beautiful angels with the way the both of you are glowing.
“considering they went all their way to pick you up from work everyday, i'm pretty sure they're as amazing as you say they are, coco.”
there's no denying the starstruck look in qifrey’s eye and the sparkle in yours, glancing anywhere but him to avoid further embarrassment on your side. it's hard to look at him when he says those things and stares at you as if you were the sun. even coco can see it, happily laughing and nuzzling into your neck.
coco is right, you really are an amazing person, he thinks.
Summary: Lohen is simply in love with the way you despise him.
Warnings: This post displays an unhealthy love dynamic that implies emotional manipulation and violence ( lohen is constantly ans purposefully angering reader to the point that they physically harm him ). That said, the author did not write this with the intention of encourage others to partake in such a relationship with anyone and simply wrote it for funsies. No gender is implied so you may see reader as female, male, or gender neutral! Other than that, there's nothing. Read at your own discretion.
A/N: I know I said I wouldn't post any Lohen drafts unless I got Lohen and his weapon but I'm clearing out my drafts rn and didn't have the heart to delete this 😔
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Lohen really loves to piss you off.
If asked why, he'd laugh and explain to person that it's a simple joy. That he merely gets a kick out of it, and while that's not exactly wrong, it definitely doesn't not accurateenough in it'svague explanation to be right.
It's something hard to describe — a sorta rush, you could say, that only comes when your eyes narrow and your brows dip deeply.
That intense joy that overtakes him when your face scrunches and your fist clench and you give him that look that lets him know that he's just one more comment away from being on the receiving end of your punch or kick — or even better, your precious blade.
It's a kind of carnal desire he gets when he pushes you past the limits of frustration — where he starts wishing he could push just the right wrong button and get you flying into a rage and finally pushes you to rough him up.
To him, it's like coaxing you into a dance, one of battle, where the only music are the sounds your weapons make when they clash for that brief moment and the groans that slip from your lips when either of you manage to finally land a blow on the other.
He yearns for this feeling more and more by the day and it fuels him to pester you time and time again despite the threats that seem to increase with every visit and grow increasingly more violent. That, sometimes, he walks home limping, bleeding, and bruised from head to toe. That sometimes you completely imbolize him and render him unconscious, leaving him to wake to throbbing all over; a physical reminder of the limits he had managed to push you to.
You may very well end his life one day if he keeps testing the limits. A sick part of him almost wishes you to because, in some twisted way, it'd be like a love confession.
After all, when it comes to you and him, hatred and love is a blurred, bloody line and cruelty is the highest, most intense show of love you can give to one another and he wouldn't change it for the world.
Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx
SYNOPSIS: you have known phainon as the boy who liked to play tag, disliked hide and seek, and a god with great responsibility. unfortunately for you, he hides too many secrets.
𖥔 WORDCOUNT: 3.3k ┆ 𖥔 TAGS. @amorsial @cinerias @shoyosluver @hirokasama @uzxotic @anqelkoz @leafyonz @suyeomiiee @ddurandals @007-archives @officialkatzline -> taglist is being reworked! feel free to send in an ask (off-anon) or comment if you'd like to be tagged in future works ^^
𖥔 WARNINGS: au where the chrysos heirs are actual gods. mentions of blood, violence, and weapons. character death. potential ooc (i haven't written for the guy in a hot minute okay....) not fully proofread; expect mistakes!
♪ FINAL NOTES .ᐟ an order of a blue cup with blood orange & cranberry tea, a splash of lemon juice, and a cheesy vegetable garden tart for TEA99. this has highkey changed from the initial idea but wtv!
It's almost laughable how you painfully want to wrap your fingers around Phainon's neck in a vice grip. Alas, you can't do that—not without any immediate and lasting repercussions, at least, and you'd rather not be the cause of Anaxagoras's headache. As much as you loved annoying the god, Phainon had already taken up that post.
"What's gotten you in such a sour mood?"
And on cue, the pensive expression on your face shifts into a nasty sneer. Without another word, you grip the basket of harvest to your hip just a tad tighter when another pair of footsteps walk with you. You bite your tongue hard. Hard enough to draw blood when steady but scarred hands take the woven thing from your grasp.
"You, if it wasn't obvious enough," you bark out, arms crossing over your chest—unsure what to do with them now.
Phainon only laughs, that bellowing sound that poets would describe as sunlight dripping like molten wax under the summer afternoon. It's an annoying, grating sound you'd much rather avoid. But he's persistent. At being helpful, at being a gentleman, at never knowing when to give you a moment of peace since you've become Cyrene's handmaiden.
For a god bearing the world's responsibilities, Phainon sure had enough time on his hands to come and talk your ear off.
"Well, that's not a nice way to greet a friend."
"We're not friends, my lord."
The formality bleeds in like a familiar habit. When you're at the steps of your goddess's temple, you snatch the basket from his hands with haste, leaving him stunned at the foot of the stairs as you march your way up. You don't look back; you force yourself not to when he shouts.
"Tell Cyrene I said 'hello'!"
You only roll your eyes as you mutter. "Go do it yourself."
The following morning, Phainon is there. Of course he is; he's a god—just not yours. As Cyrene had informed, every ruling divine residing in Amphoreus was cordially invited to a simple get-together. 'To maintain a close bond!' she had explained when you asked. And in a sense, you understood why she does it.
He's seated next to her, perks of being childhood friends before inheriting their titles, you suppose. Romance is to Phainon's left, and Reason is next to her. You hide a smile behind your chalice as Trickery pounces toward your side, already whispering the townsfolk's recent gossip. Strife is across from Phainon, leaning back on his chair as he recounts another tale from his recent escapades in dealing with the Black Tide's army. Death is next to him, silent but not invisible, swirling the drink in her purple palms, laughing with the Sky quietly as Worldbearing is scolded.
Passage is running late, so is Law and the Ocean. Not unknown prospects to you—you were the one to deliver the news to Time after all.
It's such a normal sight, one you didn't and wouldn't have believed even as Cyrene retold the events of the previous gathering. Everyone was lathered in ambrosia, flour, and laughter as they attempted to cook. A very human affair for beings that mortals look to for guidance and protection. If you hadn't taken your goddess's blessings, you'd have remained ignorant of such a strange, familial connection between them.
"And what about you?" Cifera drawls out, yellow-manicured fingers dancing across your arms. You ignore the pin-prickling feeling of another pair of eyes raking over your figure as you try to hide in your own skin.
You can only throw the goddess of trickery a wry smile, "Nothing out of sorts. Definitely paling in comparison to your mischief."
Cifera preens at your unabashed gloating over her name. Her feline-like eyes focus on your own as she tries to make a grab at your chalice. "Oh, don't be like that! Surely something interesting must be going on in your little life."
"If there was, I'd be racing to tell you," you argue. Not necessarily a lie, after becoming a demigod, you find yourself indulging in the presence of your little thief if you aren't running around to finish your duties.
"Cifera, leave the attendant alone." Romance warns.
With a roll of her eyes and a hidden chuckle from you, Cifera bids you farewell and scurries back to her seat next to Strife.
Cyrene beckons you over, having already noticed the clouds obscuring your face. She always has, ever caring for the people that surround her—divine and mortal alike. It delivers a short pang of guilt in your heart as you assure her with a wave of your hand. How lucky you are to have been graced by the blessing of a gentle god like Cyrene. Maybe that's why you leave the scene.
You can't bear to indulge in her charade. No matter how many times she tells you that it will grow easier over time, it has not. It has become painfully difficult to face all of them with the knowledge that you are stuck. Looping in cycles that threaten and bind your existence to one focal point you cannot derive from.
It is cruel; it is unprecedented—it is entirely unlike her. How Time can cradle you so softly, a gentle smile easing your worries and simultaneously forcing all of your cards out of your hands when you least expect it. Cyrene is not a punishing god to attend to, but she is infinitely hard to understand.
"Leaving so soon?" A smooth voice asks just a few feet from where you stand in the balcony overlooking the Temple of Evernight. You sigh heavily when you wait for a few minutes, and Phainon doesn't leave. It seems like he has no plans of leaving you alone.
"Shouldn't you be indulging in honeycakes and ambrosia by now?" You ask with an annoyed lilt to your voice. Much to your horror, Phainon has taken your reply as an invitation to chat as he takes the spot next to you. You ignore how your shoulders are nearly touching.
"Flavour fatigue," he explains. "I still can't believe Mydeimos can down so many plates of those!"
You don't offer him anything—not a word, not even a spared breath in his direction. It's as if you're actively holding your breath when he invades your space. Not one wrong inhale when the air carries the scent of wheatfield and drying sunshine, and you'll forget all that you've worked for.
Phainon clears his throat, failing to keep his composure as the air between you turns awkward. He's started tapping on the marble, eyes unsure where they can and can't land without you snapping. You almost snort at the stupidity of it all. He's a god for goodness' sake! One who holds your entire fate in the palm of his hands. And yet here he is, fixing his chiton, his hair, and shuffling from one foot to another just to appear unbothered.
How has this buffon taken the title of a god when he's like this with you?
"I'm retiring for the night. Enjoy the rest of your evening." You say, cutting through the silence after you couldn't take any more of it. The path of some peace and quiet was so clear in your mind—just a few heavy strides into the temple, turn right, and you're in your quarters—but it can never be that simple when Phainon is involved. It's as if he's allergic to not meddling in affairs he shouldn't.
"One moment, I still want to—"
"My Lord, unhand me."
He glares, not at you. You've noticed he's always done that—avoiding his more divine features from your periphery as if you weren't partially god yourself. It infuriates you, but not in the way it should. Phainon's actions appear arrogant, as if wedging a giant wall between you. A reminder that he is a full god, while you can only scrape off a fraction of it to even stand beside him. Phainon has never done that—never made you feel any lesser; hell, he treats you better—and that's the problem.
"Please," he pleads with you as his other hand envelops yours, bringing it to his lips as his breath ghosts over your skin. He is warm. No, that's not right. For all the words you have used to describe Phainon, it is not 'warm'. Scalding would be much better. "I just need a moment of your time to tell you that I…"
The words catch in his throat. He looked almost in pain, as if someone had stabbed him through the heart with a blade meant to incapacitate him for all eternity. Under the Evernight's glow, where the fireflies have decided to dance and the breeze to go still, Phainon's eyes are shadowed by an emotion you cannot begin to name.
"I…" He tries again, his hold on your hand growing tighter as his teeth catch his bottom lip. No further words escape him, and he takes it as a cue to finally resign himself to his fate.
You grit your teeth. The force is so hard you feel it crack like the earth in your own jaw. You pry your hand away from him, rubbing at the skin of your wrist raw as you glare. Phainon looks defeated; it annoys you. He looks defeated as you spare him no glance when you turn to leave.
Phainon thinks his curse is not that he has to bear the world and all its people. He thinks he's cursed with never having to hold you again.
"Distracted," a gruff voice points out as he cries out in pain. His hands instinctively come to rub at the sore spot on his head as Mydeimos drops the wooden sword in front of him.
"How rude!" Phainon exclaims with faux irritation. "I was thinking."
"Dangerous game," Mydeimos replies, dropping to sit cross-legged in front of Phainon. His chin is propped up against the heart of his gloved palm, the gold of his necklace and bracers catching the morning rays like a dream catcher. "What's gotten you so up in the clouds? I doubt even Hyacinthia can pluck you out of it."
When Phainon doesn't reply, Mydeimos only hums.
"Is it the attendant? The one always at Cyrene's side?"
It's embarrassing how fast the mention of you catches his attention.
Noticing his failure at subtlety, Phainon hides behind a closed fist and clears his throat. The actions do little to stop the sly smirk that breaks out on Strife's face. Suddenly, he is a boy again. In the wheatfields of Aedes Elysiae, hiding behind their pale golden light, he hears your giggles calling out to his sister. It suddenly feels too hot, which is ironic because that's all he's ever felt—after inheriting the coreflame of Worldbearing, Phainon can only run warm.
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," Mydeimos says, already getting up and dusting down his pants.
Phainon furrows his brows at the comment. "What does that mean?"
"You've been in this dance of hot and cold since I've met you," the prince shrugs. "You're hot, they're cold. You're perpetually a bumbling mess of poetry, while they remain a straight composure. Laughable, really."
"I am not!" Phainon denies, rising from his seat, taking the wooden sword with him.
Mydeimos only laughs. Filled with mirth and youth that neither of them is familiar with. "Oh, please. You can do better than that."
With a glare, Phainon takes up arms. His pretend blade aimed at his companion as he challenges, "Try me then."
A grin breaks out on Mydeimos's face. He stretches his arms in front of him, cracking the sleeping bones in his neck as he beckons Phainon forward.
"Up and at it, Worldbearer."
"I still don't see why you can't just say it openly," Cyrene admits, her fingers drawing lazy patterns over the blanket across her lap. Phainon can only shift in his seat as he peels an apple for her. Normally, it would be you in his position. But Cyrene has sent you away on an errand with Lady Tribbios, and who was he to deny his sister anything when she rarely asked for it?
He only chuckles nervously, placing another skinless piece on the plate of her bedside table, making sure to avoid the cracking of her porcelain skin when she reaches for it. "You know why, Cyrene."
Surprisingly, she doesn't jump to correct him. That she doesn't, in fact, know he's tiptoeing around the subject. All Phainon is met with is a tentative hum, the sound of her coughing, and the falling of his wooden seat as he jumps to rub soothing circles on her back when she coughs.
"We don't have enough time," he murmurs. Cyrene's hands gripping his chiton with frail strength. The sight of her, so weak and unable to stand on her own as the world breaks and becomes anew, never fails to spark that igniting hatred simmering in the pit of his stomach.
How unfair and cruel this world is to Cyrene, who has done nothing but love it wholeheartedly.
Your name falls gently from her lips when Cyrene pulls away, "They can't wait forever, you know? At some point, in some way, they'll learn the truth. I think it would comfort them greatly if it came from you, Phainon."
His throat runs dry. As if on command at the sound of your name, Phainon looks away. The words sit heavily on his tongue, waiting to run loose and find you. But he has never been good at hide-and-seek; he much preferred tag. It's a much simpler game, no rules or limits—he can run wherever and for however long he wishes. And right now, he wants to run. Back into that village hut where blood remains a foreign concept only known in fairytales and ballads, where swords did not break skin, and where you would come find him and take him home when the sun has decided it no longer wished to see the world.
"Why won't you tell them, Phainon?"
"I can't," he says through gritted teeth, his head falling to Cyrene's shoulder as her arms, as weak as they are, come to embrace him. "I mustn't drag another into this mess."
"Oh, Phainon. It isn't your fault."
He wished to believe that, truly, he did.
But how can a God ascend to divinity without blood drying under the beds of his nails?
News travels fast even without Passage's assistance, you realize. Prophecies, divine readings, these are no foreign subjects to you—you've learned to master them after becoming a demigod yourself. What your goddess has not told you is the lingering panic that will settle in your veins when you hear of them.
"Time has fallen!"
It rings and rings, turning your limbs into stone as the people around you start running. They shout, they cry, they look to you and beg for guidance. You are a demigod—a hand-picked attendant to Time herself—but you offer no consolation. You stay rooted in the market's frenzied state. It's as if your mind has turned into a river of uncertainty, before a pebble drops and shatters the silence like glass.
You run.
You've never been good at tag—never as good as him. Your lungs are too greedy; they ask for air even before you take off. Your legs are not strong; they can't hold out for more than a few minutes, nor can they cross miles as they were just numbers being recorded on parchment. You much preferred hide and seek. A set of rules and a limited time. Because when the final grain drops in the hourglass, you'll know the game is done.
Now you know why Phainon didn't like it so much.
The reaction after stagnation is immediate. You barrel into the temple, into Cyrene's private quarters. Weaving between any and every guard that stands in your way. And when you knock down the elaborate gate that separates you two, you are out of breath, and you are tired.
How cruel a game it is—to believe that even time can run out.
"What have you done…?" you ask, voice breaking as you fall to your knees. The cold marble kisses your skin as tears spill from your eyes. "What have you done to her, Phainon?"
He doesn't reply. Phainon just stares—at the blood, then at the blade in his hand, and then at you.
Your name falls from his lips, waking a trail of cold nerves across your arms as you shake your head, refusing to believe the sight in front of you. "You weren't supposed to be here."
"That wasn't my question. Whether I was or wasn't supposed to be here matters not—!"
"You're supposed to be with Lady Tribbion in the market."
"What have you done to her, Phainon!"
"You weren't supposed to see."
"Answer me!"
"It was supposed to be a secret between us two."
You don't know what compelled you to action. Maybe it was the anger, maybe it was something else. Regardless, you run. Dagger obtained from a hidden pocket in your garments, and you charge. Metal point aimed at Phainon's chest as you toppled him off his feet, the ceremonial blade Cyrene would use in rituals clattering loudly as it fell beside him.
A pained cry leaves you, the dagger aimed high before you can attempt to plunge it into his heart. He stops you—of course he does—by seizing your wrists before you can nick his skin. Tears freely flow from your eyes now. They drop one by one like falling stars onto his cheeks. Now only do you realize the lack of light in Phainon's eyes. He looks like a corpse walking on pure instinct.
"What have you done?" you parrot again, your weapon shaking as you struggle against his strength. "What secret have you been hiding that involves her death! Answer me, Phainon!"
Phainon smiles bitterly, "Time runs out."
"Don't start being philosophical on me now, you wrench."
He can only look away at your words. At his reaction, you can only laugh in grief.
"I thought you hated hide and seek. So why now are you hiding from me?"
"Please don't," he pleads, bottom lip shedding golden blood from how harshly Phainon has been biting down on it. Tears spill from his shadowed eyes with his grip still unyielding on your hands. "Please don't look at me. Not now, not when I've done something you cannot forgive."
"You plead with me now?" Disbelief envelops your voice as it cracks. "Do you take me for a fool? An ignorant attendant who hasn't noticed anything wrong? You think so lowly of me, Phainon, despite claiming the opposite."
"You don't understand."
"Then make me! For the love of god Phainon, please, make me understand."
You've known Phainon for a long time. He was the boy you saw with wooden swords and a blue cape, running the fields amok and leading younger children in 'adventures'. You were more involved with his sister, Cyrene, a girl blessed with reading cards.
"Please, Phainon. We can make this work."
You don't recall ever playing with him, though. He liked his freedom—unrestrained by rules and expectations from games. You were the opposite. You liked the certainty and repetition.
"We have to, Phainon."
He liked your difference. It fuelled his fantasy of being the sunshine to your gloom, the knight to your regent. Never in his life did he think his little play of your romance would turn upside down. Because he was never meant to be the sun, Phainon had too much hate in his heart to be that pure. And he couldn't be a knight; he was too guilty for such a role.
"I'm sorry, but we can't."
Because Gods could no longer play games like tag or hide and seek. Those were activities meant for mortal souls. Neither of you was human anymore. But when gods do decide they want to play pretend—blinded by nostalgia for when they were but a speck of dust in the grand cosmos—it always ends the same.
CONTXT ; you're celebrating izuku's birthday with him, bakugo and shoto...except all the chaos that might be happening in the party might just be leaking onto social media... I mean what could go so wrong about that??
CW ; an izuku birthday special smau (that I did just for fun), all platonic interactions with zero implied romance, probably ooc, mentions of izuku, katsuki, shoto, ochako and iida, ignore timestamps or interaction counts, none of the art used is owned by me (credit to og artists), best viewed in light mode
masterlist | taglist
tagged: @riykya
a/n: happy birthday izuku!! genuinely created these for the funs of it becos I got so inspired by some art I found on pinterest and went like "omgosh that would make such a great ig or twt post!!" look where that got me... (anyways im gna go to sleep now becos guess who stayed up js to get this uploaded...ha ha ha...)
PANGARAP LANG KITA / YOU’RE JUST MY DREAM ft. phainon
the three things that went wrong in this date and the one thing that didn’t ; alternatively, phainon intends to confess to you in the most romantic way possible but things go left.
CONTENT TAGS & WARNING — established relationship, modern!au, fluff, confessions, pining, yearning so much yearning, reader is wearing heels, phainon’s pov focus, mentions of anxiety, minor themes of self-hatred and insecurity (phainon), first date gone wrong, handholding, word vomit | wc: 3.2k
[TEA99 EVENT] AN ORDER OF… azul’s special blend of lemon fruit tea with honey in a blue cup, served with a slice of chocolate pistachio kunafa cake !! (of course, i’m doing my blend, i’m biased for myself; also that’s my favorite tea and dessert)
DIRECTOR’S NOTES — i’m a firm believer for d1 yearner phainon
what's next? navigation | masterlist
PHAINON had everything planned.
From the invitation and to the very last moment where he was going to confess his feelings for you, he had it all written down and noted.
There was the strong need to ensure that things will go smoothly. He wasn’t simply going to stand before you and declare his feelings like some madman who knows nothing of propriety and the essence of what makes the worth of devotion. Phainon was no stranger to courtship and confessions despite the lack of his experience as you are the first and only recipient of his affections, but he intends to make the grand revelation of it special. Even if it means he was going to be rejected in the end.
(But he pray for it to not be the case.)
He have witnessed adoration between his parents who seem to cannot be stopped in the public display of their affection and he have seen it on televisions late at night when he has nothing to watch, so to say that he was unfamiliar with the ways of love would be a lie in it itself; to say that he also doesn’t yearn for such would be another lie.
Phainon adored you more than he could admit to himself and even if he did, no words will be enough to fill the vessel of affection that he held dear for you. Everything he would try to say and think of would fall short to the rot of his ribs, to the light in his gaze, to the existence of you. Your whole being alone stands as evidence that stars have perished to create the shape of you, bringing your atoms closer to him, and yet, in the hours when the world slept and his guard dissolved like frost, he let himself imagine that the space between your breaths was a home he had been seeking across every lifetime.
He would not dare be greedy to ask even a caress of your light, but if the universe were merciful enough to let him orbit your gravity without burning, he would spend eternity as your silent moon—content to reflect what he could never hold, faithful to a warmth he would never taste, and thankful for the sheer mercy of being allowed to exist in the same constellation as you.
It was an understatement to use the word serious despite it was for something that definitely fits the definition of it. To Phainon, it was so serious that he had to resort consulting Aglaea for his affairs, believing the wiser lady would bring him knowledge that he had not thought of.
“The most romantic place to eat in Okhema?” The golden-haired designer repeats as her head tilts slightly, pondering, but what came out of her mouth was not an answer but another question: “Why do you ask?”
“I’m just curious, is all.” He says rather quickly as he scratches the back of his head, averting his gaze down the ground. Under this light and with that expression on his face, he looks like a puppy that have been caught by its owner doing something he ought not to do.
“It’s about [Name], isn’t it?”
“What? Is it that obvious?”
The golden-haired woman chuckles, clearly having seen through Phainon’s attempt of nonchalance earlier.
“It was merely a jest, but it seems like you’re too honest for your own good.”
So serious that he read romantic books in preparation.
“What are you reading?”
“Nothing!” He scrambled to hide the book behind his back, afraid that the feline-like woman would figure out what was in his hand. Cipher have always had sharp eyes, after all.
So serious that he practiced his lines in front of a mirror before cringing and burying his face in his hands, wondering what in the worlds is he doing.
“I must have gone crazy.”
Phainon had it all planned for weeks. It was not in his character to be meticulous, but it felt like he had to. If he doesn’t have these things planned, he’s worried that he’ll end up stumbling on a rock and messing everything up, then he’ll lose all of his chances, and what would you even think of him? A coward that can’t get his feelings out and straight? A witless man who doesn’t know how to romance another? A fool that only knows how to make you smile and be a gentleman?
He framed his invitation to you as something with the keywords of: dinner, celebration, and his treat. “Dinner” because he was planning on confessing during the night when the fireworks come and it’s the best time to do it; “celebration”? for what? He only said something about something good had happened and how he intends to share it with his “dear” partner; “his treat”, after all, how could he have you spend for your food when he was the one who took you out? Even so, he’ll never make you pay or split the bill.
(In your view, this was just your usual hangout with him, but to him, it was a date. His first date with you and you're unaware of it.)
He had all of it planned from the invitation and to his very confession.
Except none of his plans came into fruition.
It’s not that he chickened out, had cold feet, or run away. It was never any of those things. Hell, that never came to his mind. It’s just that everything in the universe seems to be working hand in hand to destroy everything he had built for this moment.
First, it was the flowers. Oh, a bouquet of your favorite flowers, intricate in all its details and selective in the overall arrangement of it to ensure that you would love it. Unfortunately, the flower shop that he had planned to pick it up from burned down in the middle of a night and he only knew of it when he went there, and saw the charred remains of what once was the store.
Although, he wasn’t mad at all. It’s not like there was some kind of superman that could prevent something like that in happening. He was only relieved that the workers were safe and no one was harmed in the incident. Besides, it’s not like it’s not the only flower shop in town.
It is.
It was the only flower shop in town.
Phainon, not wanting to be late, had to compromise and rushed to the restaurant with no bouquet in hand. It’s okay, he tells himself, everything is still going to be okay, he convinces the voices inside his head. He’s off to a really rough start and he’s not liking it already—anxiety easily weaves through the gaps of his fingers, consuming the thoughts of his thoughts. Red, green, turn left, stop, brakes, park his car, turn off the engine; every movement of his had become mechanical except for his sigh that seemed to draw from the well of his very humane worries.
By the time he had arrived, you were already there, standing outside in all your grace and charm, looking as beautiful as ever despite the restaurant lights only illuminating your figure. He stood still there, a man who cannot be moved, captured by your radiance as you remained unaware of his presence until he gathered the very little of his courage and shame to call for your name.
Just your smile as soon as you recognized him was enough to make him forget of his frustrations and when you took his hand in yours to hold—a gesture too intimate yet had become normal between you and him, but doesn’t reduced the warmth of it—, he forgot what he was even worrying about. Right, right, right, it will all be fine. Everything will be okay and fine, until it is not.
Second, it was the restaurant.
Phainon had booked a reservation in advance for a spot in the balcony that allows you to have a view of the city and the stars outside. However, when he walked in with you and asked, it seems there was no reservation under his name. How could that be? He had called in days prior and confirmed his booking; he had even provided proof of it and yet, there was nothing.
All he got was an apology from the host and a compensation which came in a mere form of: “We’ll provide a free dessert and drink for the error.”
Great. He doesn’t know what to say or what to do, he could only turn to you and apologize, asking if you’re okay with the new arrangements. If you would rather eat somewhere else, then he is okay with it too. He didn’t mind if the inconvenience was to him, as long as you weren’t affected, as long as it wasn’t you being inconvenienced.
In the end, you wanted to eat in that restaurant you and him would always eat at; that one restaurant that you would turn to in every occasion of your life. You wanted something familiar, something warm, something soothing, and you wanted his hand, too, so he gave it to you as long as you gave yours to him.
Third, the lake.
The lake that the two of you will go to as Phainon smiled warmly, telling you that he wants to take you somewhere as you finished eating. The lake that had the best spot to see the fireworks. The lake where he will confess his feelings to you just as the blaring sound of the fireworks explode overhead, painting the night sky in bursts of colors. His voice, usually so steady, wavers just slightly as he says your name like it's the answer to a question he's been asking himself for months.
The reflections of light dance across the water's surface, mirroring the flutter in his chest, and when he turns to face you fully, the last of the sparks fizzle into silence, leaving only the soft lap of waves and the tremor of his words: "I've been wanting to tell you this for so long, and I couldn't think of a better place than right here, with the stars above us and the lake beneath us, because you make everything feel this vast and this beautiful." He would squeeze your hand, his smile softer than the moonlight, and before the next rocket even leaves its trail, he whispers the three words that make the entire world fall away.
But of course, none of this happened, because as it turns out, the lake had been off-limits to the public for a crime investigation.
Thus now, you’re walking along the path of the park, dimly lit with the few light sources here and there. Phainon has been silent for a while now, seemingly deep in thought as he walks beside you. He looks… slumped? Disappointed? Frustrated? You can’t really pinpoint the exact center of his emotions, not when he seems so close yet so far at this moment.
There is a turmoil in his thoughts that resembled a hurricane wrecking everything in its way. Is this it? Is this really it? Will all of his weeks of planning fall away just like that? Has all of his efforts gone naught like that? Is that all he can do then? Let something as flimsy as the universe undermine the vastness of his feelings for you?
“Phai, wait.”
Your voice pulls him out of his trance as you held on to his arm. When he turns to look at you, he sees you bending and reaching for your heels as if wanting to take it off. It doesn’t take much for him to figure out why.
“Does your feet hurt?” Still, he asks, concern lacing with his tone as he guides you to a nearby bench instead, making you sit down while he kneels on the ground before you.
“Yeah.” You can only say. It feels embarrassing now; all of his attention easily pours into you like liquid to an empty goblet. He takes off your footwear before carefully setting it on the ground. Thankfully, he has prepared for something like this to happen—he takes out a small box of bandaid from the pocket of his pants.
You’re so reliable, you want to say, but the heavy and tense atmosphere stops you from doing so. Instead, it was Phainon that speaks for the both of you and his words weren’t something that you have expected him to utter.
“I’m sorry,” he sounds guilty and the way he gently tends to the small blisters of your skin feels almost like an apology, too. “I didn’t want things to go this way.”
He must sound so pathetic in your ears now. A sorry-excuse of a person who cannot even do anything right.
“Phai, none of it is your fault, okay? None of us expected for the reservation to not come through and besides, how would we have known someone was going to steal the swan figurines on the lake?”
That was true; none of you would have known. But also, that wasn’t just it. That wasn’t just all of it and right now, in this moment of you and him, he wants to spill everything he’s been hiding. He’s always known within himself that secrets are something that he can never keep from you—from you who is able to untangle him easily, who reads the falter between his syllables.
“I had a bouquet prepared too.”
“Huh?”
“But the flower shop burned down.”
“Phai, really,” you laugh softly and it eases off some of the weight on his shoulders, “you’re pretty unlucky today, huh?”
“Don’t laugh.” Even if your laugh is the sound he is fond of. Phainon is pouting now and you see that he’s less tense compared to earlier, which makes you feel relieved too. You pat the empty space on the bench beside you and he easily understood what you’re trying to say.
“Sorry, I can’t help it.”
“Besides, I like you too.”
“What?”
You turn to look at him, grinning. Your eyes sparkled brighter than the stars above you and aeons, titans, heavens, there is no words to capture your beauty. He adores you so much that it would consume him until all that is left is the marrow of his bones, but it will never be enough. No, nothing will be enough, not even him.
“You’re not entirely… how do I say this? You’re not really good at hiding things or maybe,” you begin, trying to find the right words scrambled on the feet beneath you, picking up the letters until it finally forms into a proper sentence: “You’re just way too honest.”
You’re too honest for your own good, Aglaea’s words echoed inside his head.
He sighs, “that’s another thing that I screwed up then.” And you hum, tilting your head, questioning him what he means by it, to which he simply resolves your confusion with: “I haven’t even told you of my feelings and you even beat me to it.” He doesn’t look angry, only disappointed at himself but only for a brief moment as a knowing smile tugs on the corner of his lips. He should have known you and how you also know him the same.
“Who’s to say you cannot say it now?” You beam at him, legs swinging off the ground as if an excited kid who's just discovered that the world bends to the shape of their joy. Phainon watches you, and the heart in his chest cracks open, warm and terrifyingly in the shape of you. “I still want to hear it from you. Just because I already know it, it doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear it.”
So say it, Phainon. He should let you have this—let you have him saying it out loud, so you can keep it tucked somewhere safe. After all, who is fate and the universe to decide that he cannot tell you of his feelings right at this moment? There is no strict rules in feelings. He has no bouquet, no restaurant reservation, no lake to watch with you, but he has you.
"I…” He stumbles, falters, but he doesn’t relent. “I've been wanting to tell you this for so long, and I couldn't think of a better place than right here—well, I don’t think this is a better place. I was supposed to say this when we’re at the lake.”
Ah, I think I screwed up again, he would add, and you would only laugh as you call his name, and in that very instant, he feels so small and big at the same time, like the universe contracts and expands to make space for him and the scale of his feelings.
You placed your hand on top of his. “You even practiced your lines too?”
“I wanted it to be perfect.”
“That’s ridiculous, I doubt anything could be perfect.” You laugh once more and he feels happy despite the despair of your words.
“But you are.” And you laugh harder.
“Fine then, take your time. I won’t go away.”
Time. There is no time at all; time is a social construct made by people who needs to label something just to make sense of everything. The rise and fall of the sun, the way the moon conquers the sky, the stars in your eyes, the rise and fall of your chest where your heart lies beneath, the warmth of your hands, and the glimmer of your smile. There is two truths that Phainon knows for certain: 1.) time is a social construct made by people who wants to understand everything within their experiences—born from the human need to measure, to name, to contain the vast and formless flow of existence within the narrow limits of what we can grasp, and 2.) you are made for him.
“You make everything feel this vast and this beautiful,” he laces his fingers into the gaps of your own, holding you and holding your hand, sharing his warmth and the intensity of his feelings with a small squeeze, “and I like you.”
You squeeze his hand back: I like you too.
“Phai, even if you screw up yesterday, today, and tomorrow; even if you do it in a toilet, a garbage dump, or in the most romantic spot while we’re out there rowing in the lake, my answer will not change.”
For the first time this night, Phainon finally relaxes and lets the heaviness leave his shoulders. He finally lets slip the laughter along with the last thread of doubt he'd been clutching onto and it spills out of him; he presses his forehead against yours, rubbing the tip of your noses together, which only makes your breath shaky, warm against his lips.
“May I?”
His voice is soft but so loud, lingering in the space that exists between you and him. A nod and you feel it; his lips meeting yours like the first spark that climbs into the dark, a small trail of light that almost look like shooting stars, and then suddenly, the sky above you cracks open in a shower of bright colors.
The fireworks are blooming exactly as they were meant to as if it had been waiting for this very moment to applaud. Each burst of light echoes the way his mouth moves against yours, soft then deeper, radiant then dissolving into the heat that pesters long after the color fades, and when you part, you both simply laugh—breathless and giddy, foreheads still touching—as your fingers find his again and tighten around them.
(At least one thing went right.)
i couldn't stop writing at all !?@!@? I GOT CARRIED AWAY UGHGHHHH
!! KINDLY READ THIS POST BEFORE READING THE FIC!!
. ꕤ ｡ ˚⋆ written for... #TEA99 !! (call that hitting two birds with one stone heh) — featuring apple and spearmint tea (immortal x mortal) in a red cup (angst), with a bite of cheesy vegetable garden tarts (alternate universe)!
sypnosis. [ 10.1k words ] vampire!mydei x "illegal"immigrant!reader. 1800s vampire au. slightly angsty with a happy ending. — The man doesn’t even know why he’s inviting her in. He’s never been one to give chances to others, much less a poor, shivering woman of an intruder this late at night..
usagi's note: header credit here! hiiiiii did u miss me? here's a vampire fic i wrote for my writing class, it was highk a fanfiction but i just changed the names aksjksakdsa DID U KNOW THE ASSIGNMENT WAS "1-2k, but if you're ambitious you can do 3-5k words" LIKE CMON, I CANT EVEN DO 8K HOW TF DO U EXPECT ME TO DO 3-5K ???? anyway, enjoy mydei lvrs!
“She went this way, come on!”
Heavy boots pounded against wet cobblestone, the spring rain pouring down as unforgiving as the men chasing her.
“She couldn’t have gone far!”
The girl bit back a cry as she slipped, hair sticking to the back of her neck, her shoulder slamming against the corner of a stone wall.
Don’t stop.
Don’t look back.
If they caught her this time, there would be no warning. No fine. No detention.
The girl cuts through alleys, swerving through the streets to evade her pursuers. The poorer side of Kremnos had always been a tightly packed city. People don’t dare meet her eyes, some even close their doors at the commotion.
A stall owner she knows almost reaches out to ask why she’s running, but one look at the men behind her makes him shut his curtains.
It’s understandable, really. No one wants to be accused of helping. Everyone knew what "detained" meant now.
Eventually, she reaches the wealthier side of Kremnos, the one with estates sprawling over acres of land, with the huge iron gates and ancient stone walls. She doesn’t even know whose estate it is, only carrying the knowledge that rich neighborhoods have fewer patrols so that the residents won’t be disturbed.
The girl squeezes and climbs over one of the lower walls, her hands scuffed, and the sting of the wound only serves as a reminder of what’s to come if she gets caught. She barrels over to the other side, ripping her dress in the process, but still, she keeps running.
Then silence.
The estate she’s entered is unnaturally quiet.
No birds, no servants, only the rain and her panting.
Her short-lived peace is cut off by the sound of heavy boots jumping over the wall. Her heart drops to her stomach, and she crawls under one of the hedges, covering herself in mud and trying to breathe a little bit quieter for her life.
“Where’d she go?” the Kremnoan officers walked around.
“Let’s split up, you, go take the left, I’ll go take—”
“Gentlemen,” a pleasant voice greets, although with a hint of annoyance, “what, pray tell, are you doing outside my home this time at night?”
The officer’s heart jumps at the newcomer’s voice before they recognize who it is, their faces turning sour, “Lord Gorgo, a woman has run onto your property.”
The man glances around, “I see no such individual.”
“We chased after her and watched her come this way,” one of the other officers scoffs.
Lord Gorgo only nods, “I imagine your eyesight is excellent, but I have no doubt that my hearing is considerably better.”
Silence blooms between the officers.
“If someone were on my estate,” he smiles faintly, “I would know.”
“And right now, the only intruders I hear and see are the ones standing in front of me.”
He hears one of them mutter, “Bloody leech,” and only smiles darkly.
“Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen,” he dismisses them without further thought.
The woman plans to wait until he retreats into his home to make her own escape. Her foot’s gone asleep, and her teeth are chattering against each other. But it’s only after they’re gone that the man speaks again.
“You may come out now.”
He waits.
Nothing.
“They’re gone,” he tries to clarify.
Still nothing.
Finally, he sighs.
“Must I come out and fetch you myself?”
Only then does she slowly emerge from the hedges. Her clothes soaked to the bone with mud on her face, terrified and shivering at the thought of what this man might do to her.
Immediately, she bows and starts to apologize, “I’m sorry, I did not mean to interrupt your night. I’ll leave, I promise. I just—”
“You’re cold,” he interrupts, and the words knock her train of thought off the rails.
“You’ll become ill.”
Still, she says nothing.
“Come inside.”
She blinks, “What?”
“I assume humans dislike Spring Fever?”
He takes her in, shaking and shivering, hair plastered all over, mud cradling her body. The man doesn’t even know why he’s inviting her in. He’s never been one to give chances to others, much less a poor, shivering woman of an intruder this late at night.
“The name is Mydeimos Gorgo, and you are?”
A pause, and she tells him her name.
Lord Mydeimos nods, “Well, are we going to stay out here all night?”
…
You wake up with a confused start.
Because, for a split second, you think you’ve been arrested. Then you realize you’re in a bed softer than anything you've ever slept on and the room is enormous compared to anything you've ever lived in.
A knock sends you nearly jumping out of your skin.
The door opens and reveals a maid.
“Good morning, Miss,” she greets, then enters the room to throw back the curtains and let the light into the room, “should I run you a bath? Lord Mydeimos has already started on breakfast and would like for you to join him.”
It unnerves you.
When the maid successfully ushers you out of bed and onto one of the plush couches, the maid moves to tidy up where you slept.
“I can make my own bed,” you tried to help, but the maid just tilted and shook her head.
“You don’t have to do that, Miss, it’s what we’re here for.”
The earlier part of the morning is spent just like that, and the servants exchange amused glances because their master has brought home a girl and she apologizes every five minutes for everything they do for her.
…
After about a hundred apologies and the maids rapidly becoming fond of their new charge, they finally get you ready and presentable enough to be ushered off to breakfast.
You expect a grand dining hall, his family maybe? Instead, you find Lord Mydeimos sitting alone at one end of an absurdly long table with a book open beside his untouched cup of tea. His own plate is empty and only one sitting at the left—yours—has food.
You hesitate, "You... aren't eating?"
"I already have."
You don't question it. Instead, you whisper a small prayer to thank for the food before you indulge.
“It’s good, Lord Gorgo,” you say as you take another bite and his eyes flit to your figure momentarily before returning to his book.
“I’m glad. No need for formalities, though, you can call me Mydeimos.”
You nod.
It’s only later that you hear the servants whisper from behind you as they cleaned up in the room next over, “His Grace spent three hours making that soup, I’m glad she liked it!”
You nearly choke on your water.
Lord Gorgo—ahem, Mydeimos, then gives you a tour of the estate after breakfast.
The tour is more like someone explaining artifacts in a museum, though…
“The east wing is where the servants usually stay. If you need them, there’s a bell you can ring in every room, even in your own. I’m sure one of the servants has already shown you.”
The way he explains it is entirely so practical, as if it were a book report to be presented and you were the panelist.
“And here, you’ll find the library,” he tells you, “do not venture into the north library, though, it is still being renovated and exterminated ever since a family of birds have made it their home. I’ve admittedly forgotten to close a window once, and they’ve been taking residence there, and the next thing you know, there’s an ecosystem of insects.”
You could only nod before the words registered in your mind, “You have multiple libraries, Lord Mydeimos?”
"...Yes."
Your head tilts, "...Why?"
"I collected a large number of books."
"For how long?"
He thinks for a moment.
"...Several centuries."
You just stare at this man who collects books from several centuries ago.
A peculiar man, indeed.
…
When the tour ended, Lord Mydeimos left you to your own devices, dropping you off at your room and letting you know that a maid would come get you when it was time for dinner.
“Should you need anything, I’ve already told you what to do.”
“Thank you, Lord Mydeimos.”
He simply nodded.
You remained where you stood, staring at it long after he had gone.
You still couldn't understand it.
A stranger had found you drenched from the rain, hiding from the authorities on his estate, and instead of turning you over, he'd offered you a room, dry clothes, warm meals, and the freedom to wander a manor grand enough to swallow entire streets of the city.
There had been no conditions. No questions you weren't ready to answer. No expectation that you earn your place before being allowed to rest.
It felt... unreal.
Your thoughts drifted to the factory. You would have to explain your sudden disappearance to your employer somehow—and to Cassie, your friend, who was probably worried sick after watching you run from the officers. Hopefully they'd understand why you hadn't dared return until you were certain the patrols had moved on.
With a sigh, you pushed the worries aside. They were problems for tomorrow.
Today, for the first time in a very long while, you were warm.
Well, warm and bored.
Eventually, your boredom led your feet to wander into the North Library.
When you enter, your eyes immediately find that someone is there. Emerald eyes meet amber. And the man nods to move over to one side of the couch, inviting you over.
“I assume you read?” He asks.
“Yes, Lord Mydeimos.”
He hands you the book he was reading, "Read it to me."
Confusion makes a home in your features, "You want me to read... to you?"
"If you don't mind."
You start.
For a while, he stares at you intently. Watching you read the words on the page.
Then his eyes flutter shut.
You assume he's fallen asleep and stop.
“Continue,” he murmurs, “I am listening.”
…
Every day after that develops into a routine. Days become weeks, weeks become months, and months become seasons, and soon enough, you call Gorgo Estate your home.
Every morning, the maids would wake you up, dress you, and usher you into the dining room. Lord Mydeimos would be sitting at the head of the table, book in hand, with a plate of food to his left—never on his own—ready and waiting for you.
It puzzled you at first.
You never once saw him eat.
His tea remained untouched until it had long gone cold. The wine in his glass was never more than a prop between idle turns of a page.
The maids thought nothing of it.
Neither, eventually, did you.
You don't understand why he insists on cooking for you himself. He has a household full of servants—surely hiring a chef would have been simpler. Yet you are not one to question blessings when they arrive in the form of a generous, albeit peculiar, lord.
After breakfast, you’d sneak into town to your workplace. A mere clothing factory that accepted people like you. People without legal papers.
Your boss is as kind as he could be without sacrificing too much of the profit, he’d take in children like you, those who wandered the streets, give them a temporary home, and a job if they wanted it.
He was a good man.
Then, when the workday was over, when the sun had set far into the mountains, you’d sneak back into the wealthier side of Kremnos, into the Gorgo estate.
Your home.
You’d be greeted by the maids fussing over you, washing and dressing you once more before ushering you off to dinner where Lord Mydeimos would be waiting, a new book in hand, a glass of wine, and yet still no food on his plate, only on yours.
You’d eat, thank him for the meal, then they’d head off into the North Library together.
(Somewhere between the first snowfall and the first blossoms of spring, the formalities quietly began to wear thin.
"Thank you for dinner, Lord Mydeimos."
He paused at the library doors.
Only for a heartbeat.
"...You needn't call me that."
You looked up, "My lord?"
"The title,” he spoke as though it were the most inconsequential thing in the world, "you may leave it behind."
You blinked.
"But... what should I call you?"
A brief silence.
"Just...Mydeimos."
The name felt strange in your mouth before you'd even spoken it.
"I'm… not sure I can."
"You can."
"It feels improper!"
"So do most worthwhile things."
You laughed despite yourself.)
He’d pull another book for you to read out loud to him, and when the first yawn comes, he beckons you to come and head to bed.
On some days, you’d ask him to read to you, and he’ll pull up a chair in your room. His voice a steady rhythm that would lull you to sleep.
Once, you stirred sometime before dawn, only to find that the chair beside your bed was empty.
(Lord—ahem, Mydeimos stood by the open window, one hand resting against the stone sill as he watched the gardens beyond. Moonlight silvered the sharp lines of his profile, leaving the rest of the room untouched by candlelight.
"You'll strain your eyes, Mydeimos," you mumbled sleepily.
"They're accustomed to the dark."
His answer came without hesitation.
You merely hummed and drifted back to sleep.)
Sometimes, you’d stir to him adjusting the blankets at your shoulders, tucking you in to protect you from the cold bite of winter. On other days, you’d see him feeding the fireplace more wood, just to make sure that the hearth never dies in the middle of the night.
("You haven't gone to bed, Mydei?" you'd asked, still half-asleep.
A faint smile formed at the name you used.
"...No."
"Do you ever?"
"Rarely.")
You soon learn that Mydei possesses a peculiar habit of noticing things you yourself scarcely paid attention to.
The tear you accidentally leave on the sleeve of your coat is mended before the following morning.
You mention, only once, that pomegranates were your favorite fruit as a child, albeit having them rarely. A silver bowl of them appears on the breakfast table the next day, and every day thereafter until the season passes.
One afternoon, he finds you precariously balanced atop a chair, fingertips barely grazing a book on the highest shelf. By evening, a rolling ladder had been installed in the North Library, polished oak matching the shelves as though it had always belonged there.
It wasn't only the little things.
Sometimes you'd mention wanting to read a particular book, only for him to produce it before you'd finished asking.
Other times you'd think you entered the library without making a sound, only for him to greet you without ever looking up from his pages.
The estate, once wrapped in an almost sacred silence, begins to change, too.
Musicians occasionally fill the halls with gentle melodies after you'd remarked that the manor echoed too much. Fresh flowers begin appearing in the library, replacing themselves every few days before you ever notice they've wilted. The kitchens, once used sparingly, are now often scented with warm bread, herbs, and spices.
You thank him every time.
"It wasn't difficult," he'd answer.
Or, "You needed it."
Never anything more.
You never understand why he does these things.
Perhaps he doesn't either.
Yet the servants notice it before either of you do.
He noticed everything you needed, though.
Or perhaps...
He simply could.
There were stories, of course, stories every child grew up hearing.
That vampires could hear footsteps long before anyone reached the door, that their eyes welcomed darkness as easily as human eyes welcomed daylight, that sleep became little more than an old memory.
You found yourself glancing toward Dei one evening.
He sat beneath nothing but the pale glow spilling through the library windows, reading as comfortably as though it were midday.
Oh.
You turned another page of your own book.
It explained a few things, but changed remarkably little.
Whatever Dei was—
He still made sure your fireplace stayed lit through the night.
He still remembered how you liked your tea.
He still baked you pomegranate tarts despite never taking a bite himself.
If he happened to be just like the stories from your childhood.
Well.
you'd met far crueler things wearing human faces.
The manor, though no less grand than before, no longer feels like a museum preserved in time.
It feels lived in.
For the first time in decades, laughter wanders its halls alongside the Lord of Gorgo Estate.
If walls could remember, perhaps they would have mistaken those months for peace.
Peace, however, has never cared how dearly it is earned.
It took only one decree.
…
The factory had always had a gloomy disposition, whether because of the workload or to cloak the identities of the workers there, something was never quite right.
Yet, on a morning that started just like any other, the mood was even damper than before.
Workers whispered in hushed tones, some of the usual faces were absent, and there was no yelling over who stole whose needles.
The boss gathered everyone.
He doesn’t give a speech, not even encouraging words to uplift the factory’s spirits.
“Keep your heads down,” he says instead.
And that’s more than enough.
Everyone understood the intent behind his words.
…
"Have you heard?"
The voice comes from behind you.
You startle, nearly dropping the bundle of fabric in your arms before turning to find Cassie standing in the doorway. Your friend's face has gone pale, eyes darting toward the factory floor as though afraid someone might overhear.
"Heard what?"
Cassie steps closer until only a whisper separates you, "The president signed the decree this morning."
Your stomach tightens.
"...What decree?"
"Undocumented immigrants," Cassie swallows, "they're to be detained."
The word hangs between you.
Detained.
You’d heard that word before. On the radio. In newspapers. In speeches that smiled while speaking of mercy.
Everyone knew what it meant.
It did not mean prison.
It meant they would never come home.
"How..." your voice barely rises above a breath, "how would they even know who we are?"
Cassie lets out a humorless laugh.
"They know."
your friend reaches into the pocket of her own apron, unfolding a crumpled sheet of paper with trembling fingers.
"Names. Photographs. Addresses if they have them," Cassie’s jaw clenches, "every one of us is on a list like we’re chores to cross off."
you stare at the paper, but the words blur together.
your name.
It had never existed in any official record.
you had spent your entire life slipping unnoticed through crowds, lowering your gaze whenever officers passed, becoming forgettable on purpose.
Yet, somehow...
They had found you.
The room suddenly felt too small.
The rhythmic clatter of sewing machines faded beneath the pounding in your ears.
Your fingers turned cold around the fabric you were holding.
It felt like standing on the deck of that overcrowded boat all over again, watching the shoreline disappear into darkness, realizing there was no way back.
"There's something else."
You looked up, and your friend hesitated, "...They know you're missing."
"You stopped going back to your apartment weeks ago."
You nodded, slowly, "I've been at Gorgo Estate."
Cassie's expression tightened, "That's what I'm afraid of."
Confusion flickered across your face.
"What? What do you mean?"
"They're arresting people for harboring undocumented immigrants," Cassie's eyes shone with fear, "and if they can't arrest a vampire..."
Your friend couldn't finish the sentence.
Didn't even need to.
You whispered it for her.
"...They'll kill him."
Cassie nodded.
The room tilted.
Until that moment, you had only feared for yourself.
Now, for the first time, you understood that every night you spent beneath Gorgo Estate's roof placed a target not only on your own back, but on the man who had opened his home to a stranger without asking for anything in return.
…
Your erratically beating heart was your companion on the journey home.
Every passerby felt like another pair of watchful eyes, every uniform sent your gaze tumbling to the cobblestones beneath your feet, every siren brought you back to the day the air raids started, and by the time the iron gates of Gorgo Estate came into view, you realized you'd scarcely taken a full breath since leaving the factory.
The manor stood exactly as you'd left it that morning.
Warm light spilled from its windows.
Music drifted faintly through the halls.
Nothing had changed, yet somehow...everything had.
…
Dinner passed in unusual silence.
The pomegranate tart Mydei had baked for dessert remained untouched beside your plate, and still, he said nothing. He only watched you quietly over the rim of his wine glass before setting it back onto the table, untouched as always.
When the servants had cleared the dishes away, they made their way to the North Library, just as they always did.
You selected a book from the shelf almost absentmindedly and handed it to Dei, who settled onto the familiar couch, opening it with practiced ease. Without thinking, you lowered yourself beside him until your shoulder rested lightly against his arm.
It had happened so gradually over the months that neither of you could have said when it became natural.
He began to read. His voice filled the library in its usual steady rhythm, deep enough to drown out the crackling fireplace and the rain tapping softly against the windows.
Usually, you found it comforting.
But tonight, the words slipped past you unheard.
You stared at the same page without turning it.
The same paragraph.
The same sentence.
He says your name.
You blinked.
"...Huh?"
"You've been reading the same line for the past five minutes."
You looked down.
"Oh."
Your fingers tightened around the edge of the page, "I apologize, Dei."
"There is nothing to apologize for."
Silence settled between you once more.
He waited, and you tried reading again, but the words blurred.
Another minute passed before he quietly asked, "What is weighing on your mind?"
You shook your head too quickly, "Nothing."
His page turned with a soft rustle, and he murmured your name again.
Just your name, gentle, patient, and inviting, and still something inside you unraveled.
"...How..." your voice cracked, and you swallowed, "...How do you kill a vampire?"
The page stopped turning, and immediately you wished you could swallow the question back.
His eyebrow lifted, "Planning something?"
Your head snapped toward him.
"What?" you squeaked, "No!"
You sat upright so quickly the book slipped from your lap onto the carpet, "No, no, no—I didn't—I would never—"
The words tangled together faster than you could catch them, "I wasn't—I mean—I—"
Your breathing hitched, and air refused to fill your lungs. The room suddenly felt far too small.
Your name gets uttered once more, and still his voice remains calm.
You couldn't answer.
"I..."
Your hands had begun to shake.
"I don't—"
Tears spilled before you realized you were crying.
"I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—I just—"
He reached for you without hesitation, gently taking both trembling hands into his own.
"Look at me, angel."
You tried, focusing instead on the new name he’d called you, but your vision swam.
"Slowly," his thumb brushed absent circles over your knuckles as you tried to map out the shape of his face through crystal tears.
"Breathe."
You followed his voice instead.
One breath.
Then another.
The pounding in your chest eased, if only slightly.
Only when your sobs had quieted into uneven breaths did he ask, "Tell me."
The words came haltingly.
Broken apart by years of silence.
"I came here on an overcrowded boat with those like me. My parents..." you whispered, "they brought me here when I was little."
Another shaky breath.
"There was a war. They said we'd come back when it ended," a bitter laugh escaped you, "It never ended."
You lowered your gaze to your lap.
"My country is gone. My parents died years ago, and I don't have papers."
"I never did."
"I'm..." you laughed again, though there was nothing humorous in it, "I'm one of the people they're looking for."
You couldn't bear to meet his eyes.
"They're putting our faces everywhere, calling it detention."
Silence.
Then—
"My friend told me..." you whispered, "that if they find out I'm living here..."
Your shoulders trembled.
"They'll come for you too."
Finally, you looked at him.
"They'll kill you because of me."
For a long moment, Mydei said nothing. Only his hand rose to cradle your face with impossible gentleness, to brush away a tear before it reached your chin.
"I suspected," he admitted quietly.
You stared at him.
"I did not know the particulars."
His gaze never left yours as the words spilled from his mouth, "But I knew there was sorrow you carried alone."
Another tear slipped free from your eyes.
"I won't die, angel."
You gave a tiny, disbelieving shake of your head, "You don't know that."
A faint smile ghosted across his lips.
"I assure you, I do."
You let out a watery laugh that sounded more like another sob.
The fire crackled softly between you.
At last, he answered.
"Humans like to articulate myths to satiate their peace of mind," a pause, "holy water, silver, and wooden stakes are dreadfully inconvenient, but no more than that."
You almost smiled, almost.
"They're myths."
His hand drifted from your cheek, taking your palm to rest over his own heart, “There is only one way."
You watched him silently.
"Remove a vampire's heart,” his voice remained even, "and burn it before it has the chance to regenerate."
“Trust me. I have tried, after all.”
The library fell quiet once more, only the wind continued to wisp against the ivy on the windows, and neither of you noticed that the fire had burned low.
…
The days thereafter settled into something a little gentler, perhaps a reprieve from the universe for what you'd just gone through, perhaps a reward for being brave, but who knows?
One day, you wake to the smell of something sweet and follow the scent into the kitchens. Dei stood at the counter, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, studying a cookbook with the same concentration he reserved for estate ledgers. The pomegranate cake he presented you an hour later leaned slightly to one side, the glaze uneven, the sponge a touch too dry.
("It's wonderful," you declared after the first bite.
He regarded you over the rim of his spectacles.
"...You are lying."
"A little, forgive me."
"...I thought as much."
You finished every slice anyway. It’s endearing, really. Dei had tried something new to try and cheer you up. )
On another afternoon, you decided it was a crime that someone who had lived for centuries had never learned a proper card game.
("You've never played Go Fish?"
"No."
You stared.
"What have you been doing all this time?"
"Negotiating treaties."
You sighed dramatically.
"We're fixing that immediately."
The servants passing through the drawing room later would pause only long enough to witness the Lord of Gorgo Estate quietly losing three rounds in a row, then proposing they play chess instead.)
On days where rain would pour down incessantly in Kremnos, you’d long to run through the vast yard of the estate. Yet, he’d indulge you all the same.
(The maids protest, telling you you’d catch a fever or that you could slip and fall, but you ignore them and stand outside laughing as the rain kisses your skin.
Dei watches from beneath the veranda.
You wave him over, and with no further cajoling, he steps closer only to say, "No."
A frown forms on your face, "You're already dead, what's the worst that could happen?"
He blinks, "...That was in poor taste."
You immediately slap a hand over your mouth, “Oh, oh no."
"I am so, so sorry."
He lets the silence linger.
Then, a small miff of a laugh rumbles in his chest, "Don’t be...It was moderately amusing."
And still, he walks into the rain with you, adequately equipped with an umbrella and towel for you to use when you've had your fill of fun.)
Sometimes, you forgot the estate had once intimidated you.
You'd weave through its corridors humming songs you scarcely remember learning, greet the gardeners by name, or wander into the kitchens simply to steal warm bread before dinner.
The servants stopped announcing your presence after a while.
You belonged there.
The North Library remained theirs.
(It dawned on you one evening that the cake he baked for you had only one slice remaining.
Without further thought, you slice it in half and head to their place in the house. It is there that you find him quietly reading.
You place a plate with half the last slice beside him.
"We both know I don’t consume human food, and I made it for you to eat,” he remarks, barely looking up from his own book.
"I know."
"Then why?"
"So you don't feel left out."
He finally tears his gaze away from the book and looks at the plate.
Then at you.
Something impossibly warm and gentle settles in his chest, "...Thank you.")
Some evenings you read while he listened. Other evenings he read until you drifted asleep, your head slipping against his shoulder without either of you remarking upon it. He would simply mark the page, close the book, and wait until you woke up on your own.
And in this new stillness of life, you began discovering pieces of the estate you'd never seen before.
The greenhouse where citrus trees flowered year-round. The observatory tucked into the western wing. The orchard beyond the lake, where pomegranate trees bowed beneath the weight of ripening fruit.
You remarked once that you always got lost.
To no one’s surprise, you find a hand-drawn map tucked between the pages of your current book the next morning.
No signature.
Only handwriting you recognized immediately.
…
For a little while, it was enough to pretend the world beyond Gorgo Estate had simply ceased to exist.
Within its walls, life settled into a rhythm so ordinary that the fear waiting beyond its gates became easier to ignore. Breakfast with Mydei. Work at the factory. Evenings in the library. It was almost enough to convince yourself that the decree had forgotten you.
Almost.
You still took a different route home each evening, keeping your head low and your hood lower. You crossed markets instead of bridges, doubled back whenever footsteps lingered too long behind you, and only allowed yourself to breathe once the wealthier district came into view.
It worked.
Until it didn't.
"There!"
The voice sent ice through your veins.
You looked over your shoulder.
The same officer who had chased you through the rain months ago pointed straight at you.
"I knew we'd find you eventually!"
You ran.
The streets blurred together, boots thundered behind you. You slipped through alleyways, vaulted staircases, ducked beneath hanging laundry, your lungs burning with every desperate breath.
Then—
A pair of officers rounded the next corner.
You stopped too late.
Hands seized your arms.
"Got you!"
You fought.
An elbow connected with someone's jaw.
A baton struck your ribs.
The breath fled your lungs.
One officer wrenched you upright.
Another blow landed.
Pain shot through your shoulder.
Your vision blurred.
You didn't think.
"Mydei!"
Hundreds of acres away, a page stopped turning.
Lord Mydeimos looked up.
Then he vanished.
The Kremnoan officers were still laughing when the wind swept through the alley.
Every lantern flickered.
Then a quiet voice cut through the silence.
"Release her."
He stood at the mouth of the alley, his expression unreadable.
One officer scoffed, "This is government business."
"It no longer is."
"Stand aside, just because our laws can’t and won’t touch you does not mean you can parade wherever you want!"
"No."
The man gripping his beloved reached for his baton.
He never drew it.
One blink. One breath. And suddenly Lord Mydeimos stood before him.
The officer found himself on his knees, unable to explain how he'd gotten there.
A gloved hand rested lightly around his throat, not squeezing, but simply waiting.
"You mistake my restraint," Mydeimos said softly, "for inability."
He let go.
The man collapsed, coughing violently.
His gaze swept across the others.
"If I wished you dead, none of you would have seen me move."
Silence swallowed the alley.
"I will permit you to leave."
No one spoke.
"But hear me well,” his voice remained perfectly calm, "if any one of you lays another hand upon her..."
For the first time, something ancient stirred behind his golden eyes, "...there will not be enough left of you to bury."
No one questioned him.
One by one, the officers retreated, dragging their shaken companion with them.
Only when they had disappeared did Mydei turn back to you.
The coldness from his face vanished as though it had never existed.
He brushed trembling fingers over the bruise already blooming across your cheek, "...Are you hurt?"
You looked up at him, tears threatening to spill, "You came."
His brow furrowed.
"You called."
As though that alone was reason enough.
…
Gorgo Estate knew that something was troubling their master when he entered the heavy oak doors. Never mind the fact that their newest and painfully adored member of the family had been in his arms, bruised and passed out, no.
They knew what their master was.
They had known for years.
They had seen the sharpness of his fangs, the unnatural speed that made him impossible to follow, the strength he kept carefully hidden beneath centuries of restraint.
They were not frightened by the fact, but rather that he looked afraid.
"My lord..." one of the maids tried to reach out, but their master shook his head.
“Prepare a bath,” he ordered.
“We can tend to her injuries, my Lord, there is no need for you to—”
“No,” he steels his voice, “no, I must do it.”
No one argued, not because they feared punishment, not because they feared him, but because they understood.
For centuries, Lord Mydeimos had kept the world at arm's length.
Tonight, he had made it known that a mortal had become the exception.
…
The door closed behind him, leaving only the quiet sound of water filling the room.
You sat curled in the marble bath, staring at nothing.
Mydei knelt beside you and dipped a cloth into the water, "May I?"
You looked at him, almost startled by the question, then placed your hand in his.
With careful tenderness, he began with your fingers, washing away the dried blood beneath your nails. Then your wrists, your arms, every angry bruise left behind by hands that had no right to touch you.
His jaw tightened.
Not from anger, not anymore, but from the unbearable thought that he had been too late.
"I'm sorry."
His hand stilled, "...For what?"
"For making you come."
"No,” he dismissed it instantly, and your eyes lifted.
"You never have to apologize for calling me,” his thumb brushed over your knuckles, “you needed me, and I came."
Something in your expression broke, and the words simply spilled out.
Fragments of a life you had never told him.
The war. The sea. The country you had lost. The childhood you had spent learning how to survive.
"My mother used to wash my hair after we crossed the ocean," you whispered, "I thought if I washed enough, everything would go back to normal."
Mydei said nothing.
He only listened.
Eventually, your voice faded.
Your head rested against the marble slope of the tub, and you fell asleep.
Mydei froze.
Not because he minded.
Because you trusted him enough to let yourself rest.
Carefully, he carried you to bed and changed your bandages. Even asleep, your fingers searched for him, catching onto his sleeve.
He allowed you to hold on.
Only when your breathing steadied did he finally step away.
Then the Lord of Gorgo Estate returned.
And he began planning, thinking.
The decree was not a temporary threat. Governments changed, leaders changed in the blink of an eye, but fear has always been easier to spread than reason.
And fear made people cruel.
He had lived long enough to understand that.
The question was not whether you were safe tonight.
You were. With him, there was no doubt about that, but the question was how to ensure you remained safe tomorrow and every day after.
Moving you to a different country was no longer an option, you had already gone through that once, and he did not want you to do so a second time. Besides, the borders were closing, and if this regime had begun hunting people like you, there was no guarantee another country would be any different.
Forging documents was also a possibility, but it was but a temporary solution. Someone would eventually ask questions. Humankind often poked their noses into what they shouldn’t
Disappear entirely…?
The thought lasted only a moment before it was absolved.
He remembered you laughing in the market. Your excitement when you discovered a new book. The way you spoke to strangers as though the world had never given you reason not to trust them.
He would not save you by taking away everything that made you you. To hide you inside Gorgo Estate forever… A beautiful prison was still a prison.
He had not rescued you merely to exchange one penitentiary for another.
For centuries, Mydeimos had watched humans build their lives around fragile things.
Paper, borders, names, and laws, things that could change with a single signature.
Human laws had always been fickle.
Kings, nations, and governments, they all changed. Yet somehow, mortals continued believing the systems they created would last forever.
Wait—
Marriage.
He rejected the thought as quickly as it came.
“No,” his brows furrowed.
Not because he disliked the idea, but because he understood exactly what it meant.
Marriage was not a document. It was not a strategy, and it shouldn’t just be a convenient solution just because human laws could not—would not—touch him, and by association, his wife.
Marriage was a vow.
And what right did he have to ask that of you?
you were human.
Your life was measured in decades, his in the memories he’s kept for centuries.
You deserved someone who could grow old beside you. Someone who could share every season of your life, not someone who would remain unchanged while time slowly took everything from you.
His gaze drifted back toward your sleeping figure.
The alternative was worse.
A lifetime spent running. A lifetime looking over your shoulder. A lifetime afraid.
His hands curled slightly.
He hated that there was no perfect answer.
For the first time in a very long time, Lord Mydeimos of Gorgo Estate did not know what to do.
So he summoned the two men he trusted whenever the world became incomprehensible.
Krateros and Hephaestion arrived within minutes with reports they had in the estate.
His family had served House Gorgo for generations, long before the Republic, long before the borders that now divided nations. Fathers had served sons, sons had served grandsons, until the line had eventually led to him. Though age had long since claimed Krateros's mortal years, Mydeimos had never once questioned his counsel, nor his loyalty.
(It was near dawn when Heph unfolded the last report.
"There is... one final alternative according to this report," the younger man said carefully.
Mydeimos looked up.
"Should the girl cease to be human..." Hephaestion read, "...Kremnos would no longer possess legal jurisdiction over her person. She would, for all civil purposes, be considered deceased."
Silence settled over the study.
Mydeimos' gaze lingered upon the page for a fraction too long.
Long enough for the possibility to exist.
Krateros reached forward and quietly folded the report shut.
"My Lord."
Mydeimos said nothing.
"You swore," the old man reminded him, his voice gentle rather than accusing, "never to condemn another soul to immortality simply because you feared losing them."
His eyes remained on the report.
"I remember."
"Then let us exhaust every other path before we speak of this one again."
At length, Mydeimos inclined his head.
"...Agreed.")
At the end of their deliberation, he gave only a single order.
All information towards the legal statutes concerning immigration, citizenship, and… marriage currently recognized by the Republic to be on his desk by tomorrow afternoon.
Every precedent, every exception, and every loophole.
Krateros inclined his head without question and disappeared with Heph into the sleeping estate.
When the door closed, Mydei returned his gaze to you, who slept peacefully, blissfully unaware of the war he was preparing for.
He had watched kingdoms invent borders for centuries.
Whatever law remained. Whatever obstacle stood before him. Whatever price had to be paid.
He would find a way.
Not because you belonged to him.
But because you deserved a future that belonged to you.
…
The morning that came after was quieter, and a letter arrived from the factory before breakfast.
Your employer had heard whispers of yesterday's altercation long before the city papers could print them. He urged you to remain at home and enclosed enough wages to cover the weeks you would be absent.
‘Lay low,’ he'd written, ‘we'll manage without you until things settle.’
If they settled.
The maids, too, seemed to understand without being told.
They brushed your hair with gentler hands than usual, careful not to disturb the bruises hidden beneath your sleeves. Their voices remained hushed, as though speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile calm had managed to return.
The day passed slowly.
You tried reading, embroidery, and wandering the gardens for a while before the sound of distant voices beyond the estate walls sent you hurrying back inside.
Every time you closed your eyes, you felt rough hands around your wrists.
For twenty-three years, you had survived by remaining unseen.
Now your face had been recognized.
Your name spoken aloud.
After a lifetime spent hiding in the shadows, you had been dragged into the light.
The thought terrified you more than anything else.
Then dinner came.
For the first time in months, Dei sat without a book resting beside his empty plate.
There was no untouched glass of wine.
Only his quiet attention.
He waited until you had eaten more than half your meal.
Then, setting down his fork, he spoke.
"I have a plan."
You looked up.
He continued with the same measured calm he always carried.
"You'll remain within Gorgo Estate for the time being."
You nodded.
"The authorities are looking for someone who returns to the same streets every day. If you disappear long enough, they'll eventually conclude you've fled the city, or simply lose interest."
"And then?"
"I've asked Krateros to begin researching every legal avenue available,” he paused, “if there is a lawful means for you to remain in Kremnos, we will find it."
You listened quietly.
"Although, there is..." he hesitated, ever so slightly, "one possibility."
"What is it?"
"...Marriage."
Silence settled between you.
"I don't yet know whether Kremnos recognizes marriages involving undocumented immigrants. Human laws have always been..." he searched briefly for the word, "...fickle. Krateros is looking into it."
You stared at him.
He continued as though discussing estate finances.
"If it proves legally viable, it would allow you to remain here without fear of deportation."
"...You would marry me?"
"If it keeps you safe."
The answer came without hesitation.
You lowered your gaze.
"...Why?"
He frowned.
"I mean..." your voice trembled despite yourself, "giving me a home was one thing."
You laughed weakly, though there was no humor in it.
"But to bind yourself to me for all of my life?"
your hands tightened around the edge of the table, "I don't understand."
"You've fed me. Protected me. Read with me every evening. You crossed half the city because I called your name."
your eyes burned.
"And now you'd tie your future to mine."
You looked at him as though he were speaking a language you could not understand.
"Why?"
For a long moment, Mydei simply looked at you.
Then something in his expression softened.
"I thought I was offering a frightened girl shelter."
His voice was quiet.
"Somewhere along the way..."
He smiled, small enough that another might have missed it.
"...I have found a home in you."
The room fell silent.
"I have watched kingdoms disappear," he continued, "I have watched rivers change course, and cities forget the names of the people who built them."
His gaze never left yours.
"I have lived long enough to know that very little in this world endures."
A pause.
"But every morning, I find myself wondering whether you've slept well."
"I think about whether you've eaten, whether you've remembered your coat, whether the fire in your room has burned low."
He let out the faintest breath of a laugh.
"I have somehow reached an age where the brightest part of my day is waiting for you to come home."
Your vision blurred.
"I do not see this marriage as a burden,” he reached across the table, his hand resting gently over yours, “I see it as the privilege of ensuring there is always a place beside me for you."
A tear slipped down your cheek.
"...Dei..."
"If, after all this, you tell me no..." his thumb brushed lightly across your knuckles, "then I shall continue searching for another way."
The words broke whatever remained of your composure.
You rose from your chair and crossed the space between you before you had fully realized you were moving.
Your arms wrapped around him and he held you as though you had always belonged there.
"I don't want another way," you whispered against his shoulder.
"I choose this one."
For the first time since the decree had been signed—the future no longer felt impossible.
…
The days that followed settled into something neither of you had dared hope for.
Peace.
Not perfect peace.
The decree still hung over Kremnos like an approaching storm, but within the walls of Gorgo Estate, life resumed its familiar rhythm.
Breakfast together, books in the library, evening walks through the gardens. The future, once so impossibly distant, had begun to resemble something they could finally reach.
Several days after their conversation, Krateros returned with the last of the legal inquiries.
Every solicitor had reached the same conclusion.
Marriage was the safest—and perhaps the only—path that would allow you to remain in Kremnos without living the rest of your life as prey.
Mydei explained everything over dinner that evening.
"You'll resign from the factory,” you nodded.
"We'll allow enough time for the authorities to believe you've disappeared. Long enough for them to stop looking."
"They'll think I've fled."
"They'll stop looking," he corrected quietly, "that is all that matters."
"And then?"
"Then we'll register our marriage."
He spoke with the same calm certainty he used when discussing estate affairs. As though he weren't quietly placing the rest of his immortal life into your hands.
You smiled despite yourself, "I still can't believe this is real."
His gaze softened at that, “It will require patience."
"I've waited twenty-three years for a place to call home,” you reached across the table, gently intertwining their fingers.
"I think I can wait a little longer."
…
The following morning, you folded your resignation letter into your satchel.
You would miss the factory, you would miss Cassie, you would miss your boss and the routine you'd built there.
But for the first time in years, you were leaving one life because another waited for you.
Mydei insisted on accompanying you.
"It is unnecessary," you laughed, fastening your coat.
"It is necessary."
"I'm only walking into town."
"And the last time you walked into town alone—"
"I know."
You smiled, stepping closer to straighten the collar of his coat.
"I'll be careful."
Before he could answer, hurried footsteps echoed through the entrance hall. Krateros appeared, followed closely by one of the estate's senior retainers.
"My Lord,” the urgency in his voice was unmistakable, “there has been an incident concerning the southern trade houses."
Mydei’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
Business.
One that required the Lord of Gorgo Estate.
He looked back at you, "I'll postpone it."
"No,” you shook your head immediately, “it's only the factory. I'll be back before lunch."
He frowned, and that made you laugh softly.
"I've managed to survive this long, haven't I?"
His silence lingered.
Then, reluctantly—"...Very well."
He stepped forward and rested a kiss against your forehead.
It was brief, almost hesitant, "I won't be long."
Then you watched him disappear down the opposite corridor before making your own way toward the front gates.
Neither of you noticed the pair of eyes watching from beyond the estate walls.
…
In all honesty, all you could think about was that you should’ve seen this coming.
You’d been too comfortable, too complacent, too high on the fact that you’d be free and in the arms of someone who cared for you out of pure want.
You should’ve seen the signs, the way the factory was too quiet, the way there were barely any people on the streets.
Too fast, too soon, unfamiliar hands seized your body, tied a piece of cloth around your mouth, and a hit to the back of your head made the world fade into black.
…
It was dark when you woke to water thrown in your face.
You don't know where you are.
All you know is that Dei was waiting for you to come home.
And all you can do is pray for a miracle.
Whatever resentment they had carried from their last encounter found its outlet in you. Every shove and strike was less about arresting you and instead punishing you for slipping through their fingers before.
You curled inward on instinct, protecting yourself as best you could, but there was little strength left to spare.
Time blurred.
The voices became distant.
And the cold beneath you seeped through your clothes.
You briefly wondered if Mydei had begun reading without you.
The final blow stole what little strength remained.
One of the officers grabbed a fistful of your hair, wrenching your head back just enough to tear the gag from between your teeth.
"Go on," he sneered, "call for him."
Another laughed.
"The vampire won't save you this time."
You could barely breathe.
Blood filled your mouth.
Every inhale burned.
Still...
"...Dei..." the name scarcely left your lips, wheezing through it all.
Silence.
The officers exchanged amused glances, "Told you."
Then—the wind changed.
Every torch surrounding them guttered at once, leaves shuddered, and the horses tethered nearby shrieked, rearing so violently one snapped its reins.
A voice cut through the darkness.
"I’ve warned you before not to lay a hand on her."
The officer holding the girl looked toward the trees with a scoff.
Another spat onto the ground.
"You've got some nerve showing your face."
"This doesn't concern you, vampire."
"The law says she's to be detained."
A beat.
Then the man stepped into the clearing.
Moonlight caught the silver embroidery of his coat. Not a strand of hair out of place, nor a single drop of blood on him.
He looked almost disappointingly ordinary.
An officer laughed, "What? All talk?"
No one noticed he'd already crossed half the clearing.
Not until the man holding your wrist suddenly found it empty.
The monster stood several paces away now.
The girl cradled securely against his chest.
It happened so quickly that even the officer himself stared blankly at his own hand, fingers still curled around nothing.
Only then did fear begin to bloom.
One reached for his rifle, another drew his baton, as someone shouted, "Take him!"
Yet, no one managed a second step.
The first man hit the ground before he'd finished drawing breath.
The second never saw the blow that sent him sprawling.
By the time the third realized he should run, the clearing had already fallen silent.
Yet, the creature paused.
Hearing the labored breaths of his beloved.
He could kill them.
Every single one of them before their next heartbeat.
He could tear their hearts from their chests with less effort than it took to breathe.
It would change nothing.
The officers instinctively stepped back.
He had not moved toward them, had not even spoken, yet every instinct they possessed screamed that something irreversible had just happened.
Because they had seen his expression.
It was the face of a man who almost lost the only thing he had ever feared to lose.
For centuries, he had lived by a single promise.
Never condemn another soul to an eternity they had not chosen.
Never bind a mortal to his blood because his own heart could not bear their death.
That vow survived centuries.
It did not survive you.
He had always believed that measly human emotions were not reason enough to take someone's humanity from them.
He still believed it.
He simply no longer had another choice.
He looked down at the woman cradled against his chest.
Your pulse fluttered weakly beneath broken ribs, your breathing came farther apart each time.
There was still time.
But barely.
Perhaps.
Then, at last, he turned to the men.
“Heed my words,” his voice trembled in a way where anger and restraint tainted his tone, “what I do henceforth will be none of your business.”
His voice is almost casually conversational that it makes it all the more terrifying.
“You will report that she died today. Register her dead. Tell your superiors I claimed the body,” and then a pause, “Tell them I devoured her.”
“Lie if you must,” he tells them dismissively as he adjusts his hold on his beloved’s bruised body.
“I have no care for what the likes of you wretched vermins think of me, but from this moment onward, she no longer exists."
"If any of you speak of what happens next..."
His eyes meet theirs.
"...I will make certain no record of your existence survives either."
…
Mydeimos carries your battered body back through the estate.
The servants gasp as they watch him trudge on, the weight of what he’s about to do hanging off of his shoulders.
No one speaks.
Everyone—even Krateros, understands.
He has made his choice. He has made his bed of roses, built his coffin, dug his grave, and he will lie in it.
When Mydei sets you down on the bed, your breathing is faint.
His hands come up to cradle your face, to rest his forehead against yours.
And for the first time in decades, he apologizes.
Not for saving you, no, but for what saving you will cost.
"You may hate me."
A tear falls onto your cheek.
"You may leave me."
Another.
"You may spend eternity wishing I had let you go, that I had not made this choice,” he takes a breath, “but please know that my life cannot go on without the possibility of you.”
“You have stained my soul in a way that can never be washed out."
His voice breaks.
"If you never forgive me… I will understand."
His eyes shut, "But you can be angry with me tomorrow."
A hand trembles as he draws you close.
"Just… stay by my side for now."
Where death had closed its hold around you, his blood gently pried each finger loose.
You crossed one final border.
There were no customs, no passports, no papers to surrender.
Only his blood, and the breath that followed it.
…
The first thing to return was not sight.
It was sound.
Not a gradual awakening, but an onslaught of your body.
Rain pattered softly somewhere beyond the walls—not against the windows of your room, but against the eastern wing of the estate, each droplet striking slate as distinctly as fingertips drumming against glass. Floorboards groaned beneath careful footsteps several corridors away. Someone laughed in the kitchens below, followed by the dull rhythm of a knife against a chopping board. Somewhere in the gardens, a robin burst into song before another answered from farther still.
It was unbearable.
Your eyes flew open.
Darkness lingered at the edges of your vision, but the room itself appeared impossibly clear. Every thread woven into the canopy above you, every crack in the stone ceiling, every grain in the oak bedposts stood out with startling precision.
Your breathing came fast—Too fast.
The scent reached you next.
Fresh rain, beeswax, the lavender tucked inside your pillow, ashes cooling in the fireplace, and beneath it all… Blood.
Warm, living, and flowing through veins you could somehow hear.
Your stomach twisted violently.
"No..."
The word barely escaped your lips before another wave of sensations crashed over you.
You could smell roses blooming somewhere outside. Not merely flowers, no, but individual blossoms. Freshly cut grass. Damp earth.
The iron tang of blood beneath a servant's skin as she passed somewhere below.
The hunger struck without warning.
It clawed through your chest with a violence unlike anything you had ever known—not the ache of missing supper, not the emptiness of famine you'd endured as a child, but something ancient and instinctive. It was as though every part of your body had awakened, demanding the same impossible thing.
you doubled over, clutching at the sheets.
your heart pounded—No.
It didn't.
It should have.
you pressed trembling fingers against your neck.
Nothing.
Against your wrist.
Nothing.
Against your chest.
Silence.
The cold realization settled in heavier than fear.
You waited.
One second.
Two.
Three.
No beat ever came.
The room suddenly felt too large.
Too quiet.
Too alive.
"I'm..."
The word got caught in your throat.
Dead.
The realization hollowed you.
Not dying.
Not close to death.
Dead.
Whatever now drew breath inside this room no longer belonged among the living.
A sob threatened to escape you.
Then, footsteps.
Steady, measured, and familiar.
You knew them before you understood how.
Every step echoed through the corridors with perfect clarity.
Dei.
Without thinking, you threw the blankets aside.
The door was already open.
You didn't remember crossing the room, didn't remember descending the staircase. Only that those footsteps were getting closer.
He rounded the corner at precisely the moment you reached the landing.
For one suspended heartbeat—No, that wouldn’t be right, rather, for one suspended moment, they simply looked at one another.
Emerald met amber.
His expression remained composed, yet exhaustion lingered beneath his eyes, as though he had not moved from your bedside for seven days.
You crossed the distance before either of you spoke.
Your arms wrapped around him with enough force to stagger a man far larger than yourself.
"I..." you whispered, your voice breaking against his shoulder.
"I know."
He held you as though afraid you might still disappear.
When your nerves have somewhat calmed down, and he’s led you back to your room, that’s when you notice the flowers on your bedside table have wilted.
The tea left untouched has long gone cold.
The candles have burned down and been replaced.
Then you ask, almost afraid of the answer, "How long?"
Mydei pauses and answers quietly.
"Seven days."
The words settled quietly between you.
Outside the walls of Gorgo Estate, life had not paused to mourn a girl whose name had never truly belonged to the country that hunted you. Markets opened at dawn. Trains arrived on time. Newspapers found newer tragedies to print.
Somewhere in a government office, a clerk stamped a file without a second thought.
Your file was closed.
Your name was struck from the lists.
The posters bearing your likeness were quietly taken down, replaced by newer faces, newer immigrants, newer lives deemed disposable and illegal.
To the country that had hunted you, you were dead.
Kremnos believed it had succeeded.
It believed it had finally rid itself of one more undocumented immigrant.
It never realized you had simply slipped beyond the reach of every border it had ever drawn.
…
The world forgot your name.
He never did, never could, and never will. Not even if he tried to.
As the seasons turned beyond the manor's windows, as autumn surrendered to winter, and winter, in time, softened into spring, some things, mercifully, remained unchanged.
Every evening, when the last of the servants had retired, two figures could still be found in the North Library. You read aloud, just as you always did.
When you finally finish a chapter, you brush over a strand of hair that made its way to the slope of Dei’s nose, as he’s lying down on your lap, "I thought you fell asleep."
Without opening his eyes, Mydei replies, "I was listening."
"...Liar."
"Angel,” his voice rumbles, teetering dangerously on the precipice of consciousness.
"Hmm?"
"I have not slept since the twelfth century."
You laugh and turn the page to begin the next chapter.
Outside, the world remembers a dead immigrant.
Inside the estate, two people who have become invisible have finally found a home in each other.
usagi's note: i crashed out so bad writing this bcs of that damn word count limit for my class... ANYWAY no bloody or sensual biting here sorry, i had to have post-human and a global problem, so vampires and immigrants were the theme for this, hope u enjoyed!
@usagiarchive 2025. do not repost, translate, or use for AI. reblogs, likes, and comments are very appreciated!!
CONTXT. you broke up with shoto a long time ago. shoto thought that he has already made the matter part of his past, until your wedding resurfaces supposed "past" emotions.
CW. exes, angst, brief mentions of familial loss (touya), both shoto and f!reader are pro-heros, written in third person's perspective (but focuses more on shoto), I lowk did not proof read this sry guys, wc: 4.3k
Shoto can't remember the last time he had fit himself in a suit. In fact, he hadn't expected to find a suit sitting in his closet. If not for the fact that his mind prompted him to check his closet, just in case, he would've made a run down to his brother's house to lend one. After all, he was sure that Shouta would have one.
If not for the fact that he had worn this exact suit to Touya's funeral, maybe he would've forgotten when was the last time he had taken it out of the closet. It's edges remained uncrinkled, completely straightened, a sign that it has been left untouched until now.
Unbuttoning the white blouse, Shoto slipped it onto his broad shoulders, the cold fabric brushing against his skin lightly. Staring into the mirror in his bathroom, his fingers shifted to adjust the collar. It clearly appeared like a good fit, yet somehow the fabric seemed to faintly squeeze against his neck—it felt suffocating to be in a suit like this.
It's only the illusion of your brain. Shoto thought to himself, tucking his arms into the dark coloured blazer next. There seemed to be white specks of dust lining the edges of the blazer, but not that it mattered as much to Shoto. There wasn't anyone who would nitpick about him not using a lint roller to clean his blazer anymore. Neither would there be anyone who would be observant enough to care about what was attaching itself to his blazer either.
A slight buzz causes Shoto's attention to be brought from his reflection in the bathroom mirror, to his phone which sat on his bedside table. The screen was lighted up, with the phone slightly vibrating—a sign that someone was calling him.
Walking over calmly, with no hurry in his steps, he reached over to his phone. There was only two reasons his phone would be vibrating this early in the morning. One, it was the dispatch system alerting him about a criminal who could be so considerate to make heroes start work as early into the morning. Two, it was simply his mother calling in to check up on him.
It has been become a habit of Shoto's for him and his mother to exchange conversations, whether through the phone or via letters, even after she had been discharged from the hospital. Part of the reason was to ease the worries Shoto's mother would have about him. It was natural for a mother to worry about her son, especially when they no longer lived together and the only few times she could see him was either through the screen, or during family reunions. Another part of the reason was so that Shoto could be updated on how the rest of his family members were doing.
However, this time, the screen showed something completely different. It wasn't either of the two possibilities he had expected. Rather, it was an unknown caller ID.
Scrunching up his eyebrows in confusion, Shoto swiped to pick up the call. Although it was probably advisable for him to not pick up unknown numbers, especially since it could place a threat, it was odd to leave it hanging as well. Placing his phone speaker close to his ear as he spoke up,
"Hello? Shoto Todoroki here. How may I help you?"
The other line seemed to remain silent for a second, before he finally picked up faint breathing on the other end—a sign that there was someone on the line and they had heard him.
"Oh, Shoto…It's me, Yn's father…"
Shoto could feel his body stiffen for a moment, his gaze shifting slightly to the clock on his bedside table. He let his gaze pause on the date reflected on the digital clock for a brief moment, almost as if he was expecting a different digit to be reflected on it.
"Yn's father, I see. May I ask what's the matter?"
His voice finally breaks the silence. He forces his gaze away from the digital clock, turning to meet the light rays of sunshine peeking their way into his room through the slight gaps of his blinds. They were reflecting a light shadow across his tatami floor.
"Is it possible for you to pick us up…? Me and Yn's mother got a little lost…trying to find our way to the venue…"
Shoto was about to part open his lips, ready to give a response to your father, until his next set of words poured in through the speaker.
"I'm sorry, son… You know we don't really have anyone else to rely on…"
Instantly, the words vanish from his lips. Instead, Shoto finds himself swallowing slightly—not out of nervousness, but rather, slight detachment.
That was something that had slipped out of your parents' lips often. Especially, while the two of you were still together. After all, back then, everything seemed so promising—promise rings worn on both your fingers, your father and Shoto had been silently drafting up proposal ideas behind your back for a month straight…the marriage was practically in sight.
It had already became a natural habit for them, to call him their son. Yet, it also showed their lingering attachment towards both your relationship—something that Shoto and you had already let go of, yet they're still holding onto the end of that broken thread subconsciously.
Shoto knows he can't blame your parents. However, he can't help but feel disconnected every time your parents address him so endearingly—like he was still part of your family.
This was even more particularly so, because of today's event. It was your wedding. You were getting wedded to someone else, someone who was clearly the opposite of Shoto.
Someone who wasn't a pro-hero, so that they could help you balance out with house chores and whatever gaps you couldn't fill as you busied yourself with pro-hero duties. Back then, you had always thought that since you and Shoto were both pro-heroes, your relationship would've worked out better than any other. After all, you were both in the same job scope, it was easier to understand what each other couldn't commit to and fill each other's gaps.
But that was what both you and Shoto had miscalulated about. Since the both of you worked in the same scope, it meant both of you were busy around the same time. Every time a dispatch call came in, the two of you had to immediately abandon whatever you were working on, for the sake of the world. Even if it meant putting aside the steak you were halfway cooking.
By the time the two of you returned back to the kitchen, you were too tired to even fumble for your cooking apron and resume the half-cooked steak you were making. But if Shoto took over that responsibility, you would claim to feel too guilty, since it was a mess you started. You were a strong believer of finishing what you had started.
Hence, you'd end up tiredly cooking what remains of dinner and sitting down to enjoy dinner with Shoto. Except, every dinner conversation would've went back to evaluating the villians both of you had just dealt with, making none of it feel like a warm and heartfelt dinner.
Of course, that was not the only miscalculations the both of you realised y'all had made. There were many others that you discovered along the way, which made the initial affection and warmth in your relationship turn cold. With that, you had long tossed the thread which strung the both of you together away, ready to move on. If you were to hear your parents call Shoto in such an endearing manner, Shoto can't imagine the disappointment you'd feel inside.
You were never one to make rash decisions after all. You probably contemplated over this wedding a million times. Maybe, you even stressed over making it a perfect event, to the point you barely slept the night before. If you were to hear about your parents still living in the events of the past, it would simply sound like you had made a decision no one was supporting you in. To you, that was the worst nightmare. It was almost equivalent to already failing, even when the outcome hasn't been completed.
"Of course, I don't mind."
Shoto resorts to saying, his tone remaining polite and gentle—something that he found himself using whenever he was addressing older locals in the neighbourhood while patrolling.
The call soon ended with him and your parents exchanging a few pleasantries. Shoto vaguely remembers them thanking him profusely, perhaps calling him 'son' more than once in those sentences, but truthfully he had started disassociating from the phone call since the moment your parents had addressed him endearingly.
He wasn't sure what he was expecting. He should've expected to hear something like this, even after a long time. After all, your parents had called him out of anyone else. Even as a last resort, he should've seen it coming.
As much as you and Shoto had broken up on good terms, to the point you had invited him to your wedding, it wasn't like the both of you could be close once again like there was nothing that had went down between the both of you. If that was possible, you would've long asked for Shoto to be part of your wedding preparations. His calm and collected mind would've soothed your easily anxious one, either way.
If anything, the both of you had simply regained friend status. Nothing more, nothing less. Sometimes, you'd even only seem to address Shoto like a fellow hero colleague. The once chirpy voice you bore as you called him by his first name was long gone, replaced by the simple professional voice you used in work settings. Alongside with his last name, Todoroki.
That spited Shoto sometimes, in a way that he couldn't quite understand. He liked to reason with his heart that it was because Shoto was your hero name. Didn't it seem more professional to call him by his hero name during work settings, instead of his family name?
Pulling up to the intersection your parents had stated they were lost at, Shoto unlocked his car doors as soon as he spotted your parents heading up to his car through the rearview window. They wore such huge smiles on their faces, just as he had remembered them to have.
If there was one thing he couldn't forget about your parents, it was how they always wore a smile on their face, no matter the situation. It was even more vividly so, considering that he had remembered the day both of you broke the news to your parents, they were still smiling—or at least, attempting to do so. Maybe it was your parents' way of making situations lighter.
The only thing that seemed to have changed about your parents, was the wrinkles on their face seemed to have multipled. Others would've called it a tell-tale sign of aging, but you perhaps would've just called them smile lines. It was your way of keeping your parents' laments about growing old minimal and making them less worried about growing older in age.
Maybe, it was also your way of reassuring yourself that time passing by quickly was only an illusion of the mind. You had always seemed to hate the idea of your parents growing old and potentially leaving you, either ways. Shoto used to have thought it was because you feared being left alone, until he realised you were capable of doing fine alone too.
Maybe he was the one that wasn't functioning well alone. Even if he thought it would've been all okay. After all, even before meeting you, he was living alone without his family.
But he could tell the difference between him then and him now was stark. Even his mother could possibly pick it up, which may have been the reason why her calling had became more frequent. He had been silently avoiding meeting his mother in person, knowing she would easily pick up on emotional cues like this, yet she could still tell something was amiss through a simple phone call.
Before he had met you, while he was living alone, he could still find ways to keep himself occupied—learning to make his own bowls and utensils to enjoy soba with. But now, he had simply found it hard to stay focused on one activity himself. Sometimes, he would be glancing over at his phone screen more than three times, in less than a minute. It was almost as if he was simply anticipating a dispatch call, anything to keep him moving on his feet.
Though, Shoto has been trying to convince himself he has been improving. Swallowing once more, Shoto glanced up towards his rearview mirror once more, adjusting his blouse collar again. It still felt like it was sitting uncomfortably around his neck, the illusion not fading away, even when his mind has been kept occupied with multiple thoughts racing through his head since your parents' call.
Yet, that inevitable feeling seemed to continue. It's almost as if it was trying to nudge him to realise something. Maybe something like a sign for him to get a new suit, even if he barely wore any suits.
Just as his fingers left his collar, his car door finally swung open, revealing your parents as they slid themselves into the back passenger seat. Upon a closer look, Shoto seemed to have an expression, almost wry, behind their smiles. It was something he had failed to notice earlier from a distance through his rearview mirror.
"Thank you once again, Shoto."
Your mother spoke up, breaking the silence which was only filled with the sounds of shuffling as they shifted into the passenger seat. Your mother's voice was still as warm and sweet as Shoto remembered it to be. It almost felt as though nothing much has changed, until his gaze shifted towards his phone once again.
On his calendar widget, the reminder remained—Yn's wedding. That reminder was enough for the small instinctive smile to twist slightly on his lips. At that moment, Shoto suddenly felt a tinge of guilt for thinking nothing has changed, making him swallow back his response and settle for a brief nod at your parents instead.
"We've been feeling oddly nervous recently. Maybe, that's why we lost our way…anxiety must've muddled our brains…"
Your father later spoke up, the wry smile slowly turning into a bashful one on his face. His cheeks were slightly flushed, the shade close to the pale redness resembling the skin of an apple.
"No worries. It's normal for such a grand event like this to be nerve wrecking for the both of you."
That was the simple response Shoto settled on, fixing his gaze back on the road ahead as he drove out of the intersection, back into the main road. A part of him expected either one of your parents to immediately add on to his words, after all they had always been incredibly chatty whenever he was around—or at least that was what you claimed before.
Your parents particularly loved talking to him. Every time he joined your family dinners, you had claimed that the dinner table would get significantly chattier—with your parents constantly showering Shoto with questions or random stories.
Yet, the car seemed to fall silent after Shoto's words. Your parents seemed to have nothing to add on, or if they did, they were somehow holding back from breaking the silence once more.
This silence continued on for the rest of the journey, with the GPS occasionally chiming in with turn-by-turn guidances. Initially, Shoto found it odd. He knew that he wasn't alone on the car ride, yet the silence seemed to make it feel that way. But slowly, he found himself getting accustomed to the silence. It seemed to settle his mind with slight peace, without the pressure of having to entertain your parents' words.
Before he knew it, he was soon arriving at the destination. He could see the figure and shape of the venue you had chosen slowly coming into view from his car windshield.
It was a beautiful white cathedral. The only thing that contrasted itself from the white architecture, was the colourful stained glass windows which showed various imageries. The venue looked just as you had described your dream wedding venue to be like.
You had always wanted your wedding to be in cathedral with colourful stained glass windows, even if you weren't religious. It was because you had claimed that if light was to be streaming in through the window, while you exchanged your vows, the photo would turn out extremely beautiful.
It would illuminate a magical gradient of colour into your photos, standing out much more compared to the boring stream of white or orange light streaming in through the windows, as couples exchanged their vows. It was a boring and repetitive sight in wedding photographs to you.
As Shoto was about to turn slightly, ready to inform them that he was soon arriving at the destination, your mother finally broke the silence once more. The words came out of her lips at a speed that nearly made them undecipherable, almost as if she could no longer hold back her words.
"Have you talked to Yn before this wedding at all, Shoto?"
Upon hearing her question, Shoto could feel his wandering thoughts come to a momentary pause. He could only part open his lips a few times, only to realise no coherent words were going to fall out of them, before closing it once more.
"I mean— I figured Yn might consult you for certain things about her wedding. She always could've used an extra set of helping hands… You know how she can get… always worrying her head to the point she barely gets anything done…"
Your mother continued, seeing that Shoto wasn't responding to her question. Maybe a part of the elaboration was to quickly patch up the misunderstandings that could've been stirred up, based on how she had asked Shoto that question. But, it barely made any difference—to Shoto, at least.
"I'm sure her groom filled in that need of hers, in that aspect."
He finally responds, his words sounding more colder than he had wanted it to be. If there wasn't any tension between Shoto and your parents, he may have built up a wall of tension with your parents now. Especially with how detached his tone seemed to have sounded, almost like it was a topic he didn't want to talk about.
"Ah— Right…"
Your mother immediately responded back, her tone sounding slightly apologetic. The silence that sat between all of you within the car now seemed to have become uncomfortable once more. The effort it had taken for Shoto to get accustomed to the awkward silence, had now became futile—with a simple question, which seemed to rub him off in the slightest wrong way.
Thankfully, the remaining time Shoto had to spend with your parents on the car didn't last much longer, for he had soon parked at a parking space near the venue.
Once Shoto stepped out of the car, he moved to open the door for your parents. An action that he used to do for your parents—hoping to continually earn their favour and respect—has now became a mere action out of politeness and consideration. In return, Shoto received a simple nod of gratitude from your father and a wry smile that seemed to have crawled its way back onto your mother's lips again.
Closing the door behind your parents, Shoto watched as they walked towards the wedding venue, their backs turned towards him. The small smile he had been unconsciously holding across his lips finally drops, before he tore his gaze away from your parents' disappearing figure towards the cathedral.
He hadn't realised this before while driving, but he found this exact cathedral rather familiar. Pausing close to the steps leading up to the main entrance, Shoto's eyes drifted towards a bush that was filled with peonies.
"Those are my favourite flowers. When I plan my wedding, I hope that I can decorate the hall with small bouquets of peonies."
Your voice suddenly echoed in his head. For a moment, he had thought you were right next to him, speaking with a warm smile on your lips. But as he turned to search for your figure, it only brought him back to reality—that he was standing before the steps leading up to your wedding venue.
Then, he remembered when you had said those exact words which he had came to his mind. It was during both your patrol duties, where the two of you were working together for.
If he remembered correctly, it was this exact cathedral that the both of you had walked by that started the conversation of your dream wedding. Shoto remembered the gaze you bore as you spoke then, eyes brimming with pure elation, to the point it seemed like it was reflecting a sky full of stars.
As Shoto recalls your expression and tone, he couldn't help but feel a small smile tug at the corners of his lips. A thought that was similar to what he had spoken aloud to you then, in response to your words, came to his mind—you seemed like a little kid describing their favourite toys.
Now, you were doing exactly what you had dreamed of. Shoto didn't even have to step into the wedding hall to imagine how the venue looked like. He knew that if you somehow found a way to hold your wedding at the exact cathedral you wanted, him stepping into the hall and realising it was decorated by different bundles of peonies wouldn't be too far off from reality either.
You would somehow always find a way to make things go according to your plan, even when you would panic halfway through the procedure. He had no doubt that you'd nail all the details about your dream wedding, exactly down to even the smallest things you had talked about, hoping they'd come alive someday.
If anything, Shoto would only worry whether if by the end of your wedding, would you truly be satisfied and happy with the outcome? He had seen the amount of times you pulled off a plan, exactly as you had imagined it to turn out, but at the end of it all you could go on insisting something was missing from it all.
You were never one who was easily pleased. If you truly were that easy to please, perhaps the both of you would've never broken up. After all, to Shoto there never seemed to be anything deeply wrong about the both of your relationship.
It was only that somedays didn't work out as well as others. The time y'all spent was easily cut short, especially since both of you were pro-heros. On certain date nights outside, you'd run into fans who want both you and Shoto's autographs and pictures. But other than that, the both of you functioned like how any other couple would.
Yet, that was enough problems for you to find dissatisfaction in the relationship both of you shared. You had claimed you were too tired to constantly pretend those days were nothing, or that two pro-heros couldn't make things work, and even how the both of you were too busy for one another.
Initially, Shoto tried to brush away those complaints of yours, seeing them as in-the-moment frustrations that you wanted to get off your head. However, along the way, he realised that it was because you had made up your mind on something—that you could no longer imagine a future with him inside it.
Cheers started erupting from the crowd, pulling Shoto away from his thoughts once more. He was now sitted on those wooden benches, commonly seen in a cathedral, among the people you and your groom had invited to the wedding.
He was witnessing your wedding ceremony spin into action, and he could only hope for himself to stop reflecting back on past memories. After all, as he watched you walk down the aisle, with a bright smile that seemed to cover half of your face, he could tell whatever happened between you and him were simply events of the past.
You were now anticipating towards a new found future with the groom who stood before you, waiting for you with a similar look of joy. There wasn't even a look of doubt on your face, as the both of you exchanged vows, in comparison to the expression you wore on your face everytime you confronted him with new frustrations regarding both your relationship.
"Congratulations on your wedding, Yn."
Shoto found himself mumbling, the words spilling out of his lips as a smile slowly forming across his face. As the words left his mouth, the feeling of the collar of his blouse tightly squeezing his neck seemed to fade away gradually as well.
It was only then, Shoto realised that perhaps all along, his unresolved emotions towards the ending of you and his relationship had been silently suffocating him all along.
While, it was disappointing to know he couldn't be the groom who stood by your side to form that joy on your face, that responsibility to make you happy no longer lied on him.
Someone new, that you now call love, will fill those shoes for him. To accomplish whatever new dream you behold, that would make your eyes sparkle like a million stars, together with you. To love you in a way that would make you the happiest wife possible. And to form new and memorable memories with you, memories that you never forget to smile when thinking back upon.
All while, Shoto starts to learn how to love you, in a different way. Even if it was in a manner that his past self would never imagine was possible.
a/n: my first mha fic!! yay!! (pls cut me some slack if I wrote ooc...) divider quotes from your favourite flowers by MICO (because this fic was lowk inspired by it) I actually didn't expect this fic to be 4k ish words long but some writing monster took over my brain and I just KEPT writing (sorry shoto I didn't mean to write 4k words about your suffering...)
the d in divorce stands for 'despite everything, it's still you.'
sypnosis. [ 11.7k words ] lawyer!mydei x math!professor!reader. divorced parents + daughter au. — endless nights of waiting for him to change pushes you to the edge and file for divorce. almost six years after the divorce was finalized, mydei asks to see you without your daughter.
usagi's note: header credit here! PLEASEEE I KNOW I SAID 8K BUT IM A LIAR OKAY, ITS NEVER WITHIN 8K WORDS OMFG, BUT TRUST I COOKED WITH THIS ONE. ive been watching too many cdramas like a facebook mom omfg. i didn't give melina (your daughter, whose name means honey btw) any physical traits so u guys can rlly envision what she looks like as YOUR daughter! (personally i see melina like mel from arcane or like annabeth from pjo bcs i can't see myself having kids, but thats just me LOL). enjoy mydei lvrs!
“Melina, be good, okay? See you next week, honey.”
You hug your daughter tight and she nods against your clavicle as you look up for a second at the man in front of the doorway. The girl in your embrace pulls away and you give her a kiss on the crown of her head, then she walks to her father’s car.
You give Mydei the luggage you packed with Mel the day before, reminding him of her events during the week.
“Mel signed herself up for an archery class this Wednesday, I’ll send you the address later, but if you can’t drive her there, I can.”
The man shakes his head, “No, I can take her, I’ll make time.”
You pause and nod stiffly at that. Neither of you say anything.
Then a long beep comes from the car, followed by muffled complaints.
“Yeah, I’ll drop her off next week.”
“Yep.”
And that was it.
Five years. It’s been five years since the divorce finalized. Seven since you brought the papers up—but five years since this arrangement has been going on.
Melina was ten years old at the time, barely coherent enough to understand the weight of the effects of the decision you both had made. Your mother kept saying she was too young to understand, and you knew that. Really, you did.
But this was a situation where you could put yourself first without taking her childhood away from her or his fatherhood from him.
So here we are, five years of weekly dropoffs and pickups with your ex-husband, Mydei.
Was it ideal? Definitely not.
Was it necessary? Maybe.
Did you miss him? Next question.
…
It doesn’t take long for your daughter to update you.
Honey
Hi mommmm
We r getting ice cream
Dad is rewarding me for acing my test !!
You
That’s good, honey.
Make sure to drink water after, okay?
[ <3 ] reacted by Melina
…
You
Make sure she drinks water.
Mydei
Wouldn’t forget it.
[ thumbs up ] reacted by You
…
The rest of the week goes on just like that. Mel would update you, Mydei would clarify some things for her schedule, you and your daughter would call when she gets stuck in one of her advanced mathematic questions—she’d fall asleep on call saying she’s only ‘resting’ and you’d chuckle when you hear her snore after a while.
You decide to message your ex-husband after a while of just admiring your daughter, your heart blooming for fondness as you gaze at her through the screen.
How could one foster such longing for a daughter so loved?
You sigh and type out the message.
You
Mydei, can you carry Mel to her bed?
She’s gonna get a crick in her neck when she wakes up.
Mydei
She fell asleep at her desk again?
You
Yep.
Mydei
I’m coming up now.
…
It doesn’t take long for the doorknob to twist and open. You hear him sigh in amusement through the phone as he picks her up carefully and tucks her in bed.
You stay quiet through all of it and just… watch.
Mydei does, too. After tucking her in properly, he pauses—looking content.
It’s normal, you suppose. With her studying as hard as she can for her upcoming entrance exams—she’s 17 now. Almost an adult, and growing ever so fast. Neither you nor Mydei have the time to know everything she did like when she was a child.
He must not see her asleep often—being busy with cases and paperwork. Only having time to pick her up from school, cook dinner, and go back to working on the documents.
But he’s changed.
He isn’t the same as before.
And it does little to soothe the pinpricks of your heart bleeding out through your chest.
Mydei sucks in a breath through the phone and when your eyes flit back to your phone, you find that he’s already looking at you.
“You miss her already?” He asks in a hushed voice.
You swallow—trying to make sure your voice won’t croak, “Yeah.” Your eyes turn to Mel who was sleeping peacefully on the bed behind him, “Yeah, I do.”
That makes your ex-husband sigh softly, “It’s only Friday, two more days and she’s yours again.”
“I know,” you murmur, scrolling idly at your laptop—browsing through your students’ essay submissions.
You say nothing for a while and neither does Mydei as he starts to tidy up the papers, books, and pens on Melina’s desk.
You don’t know the right word for it.
You don’t know how to describe the feeling of it.
Domestic, maybe—but how is being on call from your daughter’s phone with your divorced ex-husband considered domestic? You don’t know. Maybe it’s just the familiarity of it all.
Maybe you’re just tired.
“Hey, Mydei, I’m going to end the call now, I have a few calls to make and a dozen papers to grade,” you tell him to catch his attention and you see him raise an eyebrow through the screen.
“This late at night?”
You swallow hard, caught in the lie, “Y-yeah… you know how it is with Cas and Aglaea, I need to consult a few things from the kids’ submissions.”
You pray to Nikador he believes your bullshit and doesn’t push.
He won’t.
He never does, but with how his brows are furrowed together—you know he doesn’t buy it at all.
Still, he relents, “Okay, goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
The moment the call drops, you deflate into the ergonomic chair he bought—a matching set you and Mel have. You press your palms into your eyes.
God, five years in, and everything is still about him.
You don’t know how to feel anymore.
Ever since the divorce finalized, nothing felt right anymore. Mydei was respectful. Always have been. You never divorced because of any abuse, but because you felt… Well it doesn’t matter how you felt.
In the end, no matter how many times you’d try to talk to him, to think of a solution, to attend countless couple’s therapy sessions. It didn’t matter, none of it did. Because at the end of the day, he still didn’t have time for you nor Melina.
It was always case after case after case. His work always came first.
You had tried to understand at first, after all you were both chasing promotions at the time. You with your professor’s thesis, and Mydei with his heavy cases. You told yourself it was just a busy week.
Until a week became a month, a month became a season, and before you knew it, your daughter turns nine without her father by her side and he’s only been there for about half her life.
He’d come home, folders stacked under his arm, apologies spewing from his mouth as he tells you, ‘it’s the last time, I promise’.
The last time he forgets to attend a parent-teacher conference.
The last time he comes home late to a dinner long-gone cold.
The last time he puts work first.
It never happened.
And when one day, you give him the divorce papers, he doesn’t even ask why. Doesn’t even try to reason. He doesn’t fight you for it. Just stares at the papers you’d given him for a whole minute before moving to get a pen and signs his name on all of them.
That was it.
Eleven years of marriage, a daughter that’s ten years old, signed away in a minute, not even being fought for one.
Maybe that’s what hurts the most about it all.
Mydei’s a lawyer.
He fights for his client at the court almost every day.
He’s a fucking lawyer and yet he didn’t even fight you for the divorce papers.
Just looked like he’d long known about it. He just… accepted it. And signed away without a second thought, not even looking at you, just downing his black coffee and left.
It took you four hours to even move from your spot and even then your legs shook so much that you had to call your brother—Phainon—to take Melina to school and preferably for the rest of the afternoon.
…
The next two years following that were even harder.
Not only did you have to face him multiple times at court just to prove that you both really did want this divorce—you had to face multiple counselling sessions, the worried stares of all your friends and family, and juggle your job to prove that you can have custody and take care of your daughter.
But you were also faced with the daunting task of trying to explain divorce to a ten year-old child.
You let her ask whatever she wants—making sure you hold her in your arms or some part of her as she does. You try to answer as best as you can, Mydei answering some questions she asks him, too.
You just didn’t know her next question would make both your hearts stop.
“Does Daddy still love us, Mommy?”
Oh, how you wanted to know that, too.
“I’m sure he does,” you try to reassure her, trying not to look at the man behind her, and holding her hands, “It’s just… Daddy and Mommy need to… need to have a break from each other, okay?”
“Forever?”
You try to blink back tears, “Yes, honey. It’s… It’s kind of complicated.”
“But why?”
“Because… because Daddy and Mommy have different goals in life right now…”
Mel is quiet for a while—fidgeting with her toys on the floor as you rub your thumb on her knee in a circle, trying to reassure her in the subtlest way possible just so you couldn’t disturb her train of thought.
“Are…” her voice breaks—and you think a piece of your heart does, too.
“Are we still going to be a family?”
You swallow down your own tears and hold Mel as tight as you could.
“Yes, sweetheart,” your words catch on the hitch of your breath, “always, baby, we’ll always be a family.”
And she sobs. Melina sobs for the first time since she started asking questions and the way she does lets you know that she was trying so hard to be brave and mature about the whole thing.
You truly did not think your heart could break any further.
Until she calls out daddy in such a broken voice that you do all you could, shut your eyes and sigh quietly—just so you don’t break down, too.
Mydei comes up and embraces the two of you tightly, a pained inhale comes from him as Mel switches her position and buries her face in his neck instead. He tightens his grip around the both of you.
You think of it as him apologizing—maybe trying to offer some comfort for your daughter.
You tuck the thought that maybe this was as close to an apology that you were going to get from him to the very back of your head.
…
After the lawyer and social worker talked to Melina, the divorce agreement was drafted with a few new additions from your daughter.
Both parents must remain in continuous contact.
Custody exchange is scheduled weekly.
All of Melina’s events are to be attended by both parents.
You sign the papers without hesitation.
You’d give anything for Melina to be happy.
…
It was hard at first.
Melina didn’t want to adhere to the custody schedule during the first few months. She’d cry, she’d scream, flail around, saying she didn’t want to leave your house when Mydei came to pick her up, or that she didn’t want to leave his when you did, or when he had to drop her off. Instead, she kept asking ‘why?’
“Why can’t we just live in one house anymore?”
“Why can’t Daddy live with us again?”
“Why can’t Mommy just come over?”
It was… a lot.
Every time Mydei had to come in front of your doorstep, holding your sobbing daughter in his arms, he’d look so… mournful. Tired, even.
There are times he’d call you over at night—telling you that Mel refused to go to sleep without you beside her. You’d come over, only to leave a while after she falls asleep. He’d offer to drive you back and you would refuse, and he’ll leave it at that.
But eventually, it got better.
Mel got used to the weekly switches, you’d attend every event she had with her father, and just like your daughter’s terms in the agreement, you stayed in contact with Mydei.
He’d send updates about her, or even tell you when he’ll be picking her up and dropping her off.
Mydei changed.
He’s early to all Mel’s events—on time for pick-up and drop-off, has all her stuff accounted for, takes her for ice-cream or any sweet treat she loves every time she achieves a goal she’s set. It’s something she’s gotten from him, must be a genealogical trait or something.
The most surprising thing is—Mel tells you that he’s picked up cooking again.
It was something he stopped doing when she was around six and had gotten busy with work. It surprised you to learn that he picked it up again.
He’d cook their dinners and even send her some to take home. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss him his cooking.
And sometimes—quietly, unwillingly—you wonder if this version of him had always been there.
And you hate that a part of you keeps circling back to the same thought—that maybe it was easier for him to become this man when it was just him and Mel.
That maybe you were the variable that made everything harder.
The thing that didn’t quite fit.
If maybe… it just never showed up when you were still part of the equation.
You try not to think too much about what that might mean.
No.
You shake the thought off before it can settle.
You didn’t walk away for nothing. You didn’t leave because you were the problem—you left because the relationship was. Because love, on its own, hadn’t been enough to make it work.
And maybe things are easier now. Maybe he’s better now.
But that doesn’t rewrite what the two of you were.
If he can show up for Mel the way she deserves, then that’s all that matters.
That’s enough for you.
…
Months pass in a way they hadn’t before—steadier. Not exactly easier, but… manageable.
You fall into routines you didn’t think you’d ever get used to—Work. Home. Mel. The empty spaces in between.
Therapy becomes one of them.
At first, it feels strange—sitting in a room and saying things out loud that you’d spent years swallowing down. But eventually, the words come easier. You learn how to sit with the silence after them. Learn how to name things for what they are, instead of what you wished they could’ve been.
Some days are heavier than others.
But you get through them.
Mel does, too—though in her own way.
She throws herself into archery with a kind of focus that reminds you a little too much of Mydei, shoulders squared and eyes sharp with determination. What starts as a hobby turns into something she actively pursues, something she talks about over dinner with bright, animated gestures.
Somewhere along the way, she picks up taekwondo, too—for fun, she insists, even as she drags you along to watch practices and shows off new moves in the living room.
She’s… happy.
And that makes everything else easier to bear.
Things with Mydei settle into something else entirely.
Not what you had before—never that—but something functional. Something steady.
You talk when you need to. About schedules, about Mel, about the little things that come with raising her between two homes. The sharp edges between you two dull over time, worn down by distance and routine.
And somewhere along the way, without really noticing when it happened, you stop hoping.
Stop waiting for something that isn’t coming back.
You learn how to speak to him again without it meaning more than it should.
It’s… normal.
Or at least, close enough.
…
You’re in a lecture room when Mydei texts you on a random day during your turn of the custody exchange.
Mydei
I have to drop Mel off for a few hours.
Your brows furrow at the message, Mydei was supposed to pick her up from archery and spend a few hours with her today since he had a less busy week than you did. Neither of you wanted her to be alone as finals week loomed around the corner.
Immediately, you text back—worried something had occurred.
You
What happened?
Mydei
Nothing concerning her, don’t worry.
Just some stuff at the office came up.
It’s quite a gruesome scene of documents and images and I’d just rather she not see that
You
Alright, no problem.
She can hang out in my office or here in the lecture with my TA.
Mydei
You’re teaching right now?
I can have Phainon take her if you’re too busy.
You
No, it’s okay.
It’ll be easier for us when we go home, too.
Mydei
Alright.
We’ll be there in 10.
15, if she wants to get food.
[ haha ] reacted by You
…
“Can anyone tell me what the derivative of this is?” you ask as you finish writing on the whiteboard.
Coincidentally, the bell rings at that moment and you laugh at your students who breathe a sigh of relief.
“Alright class, hahaha, let’s circle back to this next week, reminders that your final projects are due next month—so please make progress on it. Your weekly exam is already posted online and will be due this Sunday. We will not be having a final exam so do well on your project outputs. See you all next week.”
While your students trickle out the door, a familiar face pokes her head in the door.
“Hi, Mom!” she greets and runs through the door, tackling you in a hug.
“Hello, sweetheart,” you press a kiss into her hair, looking up to see Mydei walking in.
“I’m really sorry to drop her off like this,” he tells you, running a hand through his bangs, his low ponytail in a bit of a frazzled state. It was obvious the case in his hands had gotten him shaken up. Yet, Mydei seemed composed if anything.
You wave him off, letting your daughter go so she could set up her books and iPad beside your Teaching Assistant—Polites.
“It’s no problem, besides, I’ll be going home after this next class. It’d save us both the trouble.”
He nods and fishes out his phone from his pocket, answering a message before it rings.
“Ah, I gotta go, I’ll see her for pickup next week. Bye, sweetheart!” He calls out to her before he rushes to take the call outside.
…
It’s only when you’re in the car and on the way home that your daughter tells you a very interesting and mildly concerning piece of information—interesting for you, and you being mildly concerned for Mel’s reaction to it.
“A client came over to Dad earlier.”
“Mh?” You answer absentmindedly, focused on switching lanes to not miss your exit.
“She was all up in his personal space, Mom, I swear, even I was uncomfortable watching them, and Dad wasn’t making that face he always makes when he wants to strangle Uncle Phai and he has to be polite because we’re in a public place. No, Mom, he was polite and smiling.”
Your attention splits and your brows furrow. That wasn’t like Mydei at all. He’d usually have no problem telling someone to respect his personal space—even if it was a client.
“Maybe he was just trying to be respectful, honey,” You reasoned with her as you took a right turn, turning off the blinker after you did.
Mel shakes her head at you, her hair and braid shaking as she did so, “Mom, that’s not even what I wanted to tell you—that’s just the context.”
You raise your eyebrow at her dramatic storytelling tendencies, “Go on…?”
“Mom, Dad turned her advances down and told her he was married.”
You let out a chuckle at that, you’d long given up on making it work with Mydei. You’d hoped that years after the divorce, he’d snap out of it and get his life together and win you and Mel back, but that was too far-fetched of a fantasy even for you.
“It’s just an excuse, sweetheart. I know what you’re trying to imply and your father definitely does not see me that way anymore.”
She sighed dramatically, “But Mom! I swear, if you were there you would’ve seen the look in his eyes.”
You actually snort at that, “You little missy, have been reading too many romance books. I gotta tell your Dad to limit your spending at Jayce and Viktor’s (this fic’s version of Barnes and Noble lol).”
“W-huh? Mom, you wouldn’t!”
You just laughed at your daughter.
…
Later that night you texted Mydei, making good on your promise to ask him to limit her budget on romance books. You fear your daughter might get too swept up in book romance and forget that real-life guys should be straightforward—none of that ‘playing hard-to-get’ game they try to play. Girls should be the one doing that, not the men.
You
Mel told me something today.
Within seconds, the typing bubble already appeared.
Mydei
I already told her not to tell you and it was an excuse, I swear.
Ah.
You
Yeah, I figured. No worries.
She’s been reading too many novels, I think…
Mydei
Oh.
It stays silent for a few moments.
Mydei
Got it. I’ll lessen our trips to JnV’s.
I’ll probably take her somewhere else that doesn’t involve romance books, huh?
What do you think she’d enjoy other than the sports center?
You
Please don’t bring her to the sports center anymore.
I will actually be sighing constantly if she picks up another sport.
I’m worried she’ll injure herself again.
Mydei
My thoughts exactly.
I was thinking of maybe bringing her to a farm or something.
Let her run around a field.
You
I’m raising an eyebrow at you right now.
[ haha ] reacted by Mydei
Do you think our daughter is a dog? TT
Mydei
Hey, it’s what my Mom did to me as a kid to burn off all my stress and energy.
You
Mydei, please do not.
Mydei
Got any ideas?
You think about it for a little while, then you get a few.
You
You could teach her how to bake?
Or to cook, as long as you don’t leave her long enough to burn the kitchen down…
Mydei
That’s actually helpful.
I’ll do that, thank you.
You
Make sure she won’t burn your house or herself down.
Mydei
Copy that.
[ <3 ] reacted by You
…
It’s a few weeks after that talk—during Mydei’s turn of the custody exchange—that Mel updates you with a video. You take a break from grading the final projects and watch.
“Okay, okay, wait, Dad, don’t start yet!”
The camera shakes as she fumbles with the phone, propping it up against what you later find out is a jar of flour, “I need to film this. Mom’s soooo gonna be proud of me when she sees how good these turn out.”
It turns out, Mydei actually did try to teach her how to bake to spend more time with her and give her something to do to burn off her energy—while increasing her dopamine when she accomplishes something.
You hear him huff from beside her as he comes into the frame—tying an apron around his waist, “If yours turn out bad, do not blame me,” He jokes.
“Excuse me?” she gasps dramatically, “I am the creative director here.”
“You’re the one who almost set the toaster on fire last month.”
“That was one time!”
He snorts, but there’s a softness in it now. An ease that wasn’t there years ago.
“Hands washed?” he asks.
Mel rolls her eyes but holds them up anyway, “Yes, Dad.”
“Properly?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Show me.”
“Okay, now you’re just being annoying—”
“Melina.”
She groans but trudges to the sink again.
And later—when the kitchen smells like sugar and something slightly overbaked, when flour dusts the counter and her cheek, when she laughs at how lopsided their cupcakes look—She sends you a picture.
Honey
[image]
we cooked !!!
well… baked LOLL
they lowk look ugly but taste good I PROMISE
ILL BRING SOME HOMEE
And then a few minutes later, to which you assume the pause is because she started snacking, she sends another message.
Honey
Dad said I didnt even burn anything im so proud of myself !!!!
You stare at the photo longer than you should.
At the messy kitchen island, flour everywhere, metal and glass bowls still sitting on the counter, countless utensils in the sink, and the fridge left ajar.
At the uneven frosting on the cupcakes, some dripping on the island, some out of the cupcake liners.
At him, behind her—slightly out of focus, but there. Smiling.
You don’t realize you’re smiling too until your cheeks hurt.
…
Towards the end of the year, your students mention their siblings are applying for colleges now and that they would love to let them have you as a professor. The compliment makes you think about Mel and where she’d be applying for college in the summer.
You hadn’t really had the chance to talk with her about it. With her getting busier with her sports and extracurriculars and with you trying to improve your syllabus for the next term, you and Mel only spend time at home and when she needs help with her homework.
For a lack of information, you decide to text Mydei if he knows anything about it since Mel is in his custody this week.
You
Has Mel told you where she’s applying yet?
Mydei
No. Has she told you?
You
Nope.
Mydei
We should be concerned.
You
We are concerned.
I just don’t know if she’ll apply to Okhema U or maybe GoE.
Mydei
I’ll ask her tonight.
Maybe she’ll apply to Gibranipar U, like we did?
You
It’s Garbaniphoro now, don't forget.
Also..
Don’t interrogate her.
Mydei
I don’t interrogate?
You
You’re literally a lawyer.
Mydei
Unfair.
[ haha ] reacted by You
…
The day Mel’s supposed to switch back to yours, Mydei is called into a meeting into the office. Something about a client requesting him, specifically. When he explains this to Mel, she grimaces in discomfort.
Mydei picks up on this—but not for the reason he thinks it’s for.
“Sorry, honey. It’ll be quick, I promise,” he reassures her, “I’ll go over some parts of the contract with her, then we can get a sweet treat at The Orchard before we go drop you off to your Mom’s, okay? How does that sound?”
The girl all but shrugs, fixating on the fact that her Dad said ‘her’ and feeling queasy.
Mydei ruffles her hair, “Alright, go pack up your stuff, we’ll leave in an hour.”
…
Melina sits on a desk in view of Mydei’s office—he put her there so he could see her at all times, and she could see him—earbuds in, pretending to study and do her homework, but she’s watching her Dad and his female client.
The woman across his desk leans in too close, laughs too easily, touches his arm like it’s nothing, and it makes Mel narrow her eyes.
That’s definitely not how clients should act.
And the worst part of it all, is her Dad doesn’t react the way she expects. He doesn’t lean away dramatically, doesn’t snap—He just… shifts slightly and doesn’t do anything about it.
It… unnerves her. Like watching them feels… wrong. It shouldn’t be—they’re technically not doing anything bad, but her mind does nothing to dissuade the uneasiness in her guts—like the feeling that she ate something that didn’t sit right with her digestive system. The whole thing doesn’t sit right with her.
Then she hears the woman giggle through the glass.
“What is so funny that she has to laugh so loud and high-pitched?” she whispers to herself as she turns her attention back to her AP Geography homework.
And then she hears her Dad speak.
“Let’s keep this discussion relevant to your case,” he says evenly.
The woman speaks like she has a pout in her voice, “You’re no fun.”
“I’m not here to be.”
Mel fights the urge to snort.
It does little to lift the uneasiness in her stomach, but she’s glad her Dad is being professional about it.
…
Later, in the car, she squints at him.
“You know she was flirting with you, right?” she tells him, looking directly at him as he fumbles with the seatbelt and looks for his parking ID.
He gives her not much emotion about it, not even a raised eyebrow like he always does, “I’m aware. Put your seatbelt on.”
Mel huffs, quickly pulling her seatbelt on and facing him again, “And?”
“And nothing.”
She looks at him in disbelief, and tilts her head, “Dad.”
He sighs, knowing she won’t let this go until he answers all of her questions and complaints, “Mel.”
She crosses her arms and it reminds him of you.
“You didn’t even look annoyed!” Mel starts to gesture wildly with her hands now.
“I was working,” He stresses and puts both hands on the wheel.
She studies him for a minute. In silence.
Then she deflates and looks out her side of the window—arms still crossed, not even looking at him anymore.
Mydei doesn’t know what to tell her—how to reassure her that it really isn’t like that. The client is just a client, and that…
That he…
…
He still loves you.
But before he can even articulate any of his thoughts properly and move his mouth to speak, he hears her sniffle.
Then mutters—“Mom would’ve done something instead of just letting it happen.”
He stills, just for a second.
It sinks into him, then.
He did let it happen.
Mydei starts the engine.
…
It’s a very quiet ride home.
When Mydei asks Mel what she wants from The Orchard, she shrugs and tells him to get whatever he feels like. Eyes not meeting his and instead focused on her phone—texting who he saw was Phainon.
He sighs and tells her he’ll get her a strawberry cream cheese danish. If she has any indication that that’s what she wanted, she never gives it, and Mydei is left to order something for Mel, him, and you when he gets to your house.
He picks up a treat for Phainon, too, when he realizes Mel might’ve asked him to come over.
Mydei is no stranger to this. He’s dealt with Mel’s stubborness—something she got from both of you, and anger more times than he can count. And the best solution? Wait for her to be okay enough to talk about it.
He knows she’ll talk to him about it when she’s ready.
It’s something you’ve both taught her from a young age. She just needs to feel it out and gather her thoughts together before she tries to confront the problem she has.
If her eating the danish on the way to your house was any clue, he’d say he and Mel are doing just fine.
…
Phainon lets you know through text that he’s coming over as per the request of his favorite niece through text.
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
I’m coming over.
You
???
Why??
Not that you’re not welcome…
It’s just so completely random.
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
My favorite niece has told me she requests my presence.
You
…
Phainon, she's your only niece.
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
I know.
Obviously, she’s gonna be my favorite.
Duh.
You
(eyeroll emoji) Whatever, get me a drink while you’re out.
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
(eyeroll emoji) Fineee.
[ <3 ] reacted by You
…
To your surprise, he gets there earlier than Mydei and Mel get home, which really confuses you since he lives 25 minutes away, and he was able to get you the drink you wanted.
“Do you know why she’s asking for you?” You poke at him as you lounge on the couch behind him, sipping your drink as he flips through the TV channels with the remote.
“See, I would tell you, but that would render me a traitor to the Cool Uncle Club.”
You roll your eyes, “You’re sooo corny.”
Phainon flashes you a smile, “You can’t trick me with that anymore. You may be my little sister, but my cool status comes first.”
Finally, he settles on a channel that’s showing Andrew Garfield’s The Amazing Spiderman, and you both get quiet.
Then you lean against him a little more, your head resting against his shoulder.
“Hey, Phai?”
“Mh?”
“Thanks for always being there for Mel,” you murmur, “and for me.”
Your brother huffs out an amused smile, “Always.”
Just then you hear the honk of Mydei’s car—a signal you both gave out to let the other know you were there. You stood from the couch to open the door only to see your daughter already approaching.
“Hi, Honey. I missed you,” you say as she buries herself in your embrace.
“I missed you, too, Mom. Is Uncle Phai here already?” she pulls away, asking.
You jerk your head softly towards the living room, “He’s in there, what happened, you okay?”
She nods absentmindedly, “Yeah, Mom. Don’t worry about it.”
Mel then pivots to greet her Uncle and gives him a hug, “I’ll be down in a minute, let me just change my clothes.”
You exchange a look with Phainon as he shrugs, not knowing why she’s in such a rush to get out of the house. It’s at that moment that Mydei’s trunk slams shut and he appears in the doorway holding Melina’s luggage.
Quietly, he hands over her stuff and a paperbag from The Orchard.
You thank him and go to put it away in the kitchen before you ask, “Did… anything happen?”
Mydei stays quiet for a moment—like he’s debating whether or not to tell you, his hands fidgeting with the bracelet on his left arm, a nervous habit he never got rid of.
“Mydei?” you ask again.
Yet, before he can even answer, your daughter comes down the stairs and straight to Phainon.
“C’mon, Uncle Phai,” she tugs him up by her arm and your brother easily relents, telling her to slow down, there’s no rush.
Your eyes flit towards her father and you can obviously see it in his eyes that something happened. You watch as he chews on his bottom lip, like he’s trying to say something but is holding back from doing so.
“Aren’t you even going to say bye to your dad?” Phainon asks, making Melina stop in her tracks, three steps away from Mydei.
The air is charged with something you can’t quite name.
Then slowly, lacking enthusiasm, Mel hugs him and you hear a muffled, “Bye, Dad, see you next week.”
Mydei’s arms curl around her almost instantly, one hand petting the crown of her head, “See you next week, sweetheart…”
And that was it.
Phai then leaves with her dragging him out of the house—telling you he’ll bring her home before nine because it’s a weekend after all, with her hollering a different tone of goodbye to you, telling you she and Phai will be safe.
Leaving you and Mydei standing inside the house.
…
Mel doesn’t talk to her uncle at first. They walked around aimlessly to the park at first—Phainon asked her if she wanted him to drive them somewhere but she shook her head, asking if they could walk around instead.
Your brother was all too reminded of the way you’d walk around with him when you were young to refuse.
At the 30-minute mark, he suggested they get ice cream like they always do—her’s pomegranate-flavored and his would be caramel and vanilla, and she only nodded, still not talking.
When they got the cold treats, he dragged her over to sit on a bench by the riverside, and just… waited. Phainon watched her quietly as she pokes at her ice cream instead of eating it.
“That bad?” he finally asks.
Mel shrugs.
“You usually finish that before I even sit down.”
She sighs, pushing the pink cream around, “Not hungry.”
He leans back on the bench, “I thought we already established years ago that you can’t lie to me? Try again.”
She sighs.
“They’re… fine,” she starts, “Mom and Dad.”
“That’s not what I asked, Meli.”
The girl presses her lips together.
“They’re good parents,” she insists, “like—really good. They show up, they talk, they don’t fight… They’re following my rules in the divorce, everything’s in place, everything’s good and steady…”
She trails off and Phainon waits.
“But it’s just…” she mutters, staring at her melting ice cream, “It just feels… wrong.”
His voice softens, “Wrong how?”
She swallows.
“Like… it’s almost right. But not really. Like when you make eggs a little too runny and you’re thinking, no—it’s okay, it’s been cooked under a fire, but you get the feeling that you might get salmonella. You know? Like, it’s supposed to be right, but it feels so… off.”
A pause.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”
Phainon sighs. He knew this day would come eventually, when the divorce would actually affect her in a way that she can fathom—not as a kid who only thought being a family was enough.
“Uncle Phainon?”
“Yeah?”
She sets her ice cream cup down on the bench and curls her fists in her lap, “Can you… Can you not tell Mom or Dad about this?”
Then she looks up at him, eyes teary and red—like she’s been holding them back. Looking the same way you did when you told him that you were divorcing Mydei and asking him if it was the right decision.
Phainon had always been weak towards you.
And with how Mel definitely inherited your crying face? He was weak towards her, too.
So he relents.
“Of course, kiddo.”
…
Back at your house, Mydei purses his lips and you just observe. When it starts to look like he’s going to turn and leave, you stop him.
“Still drink pomegranate juice?”
His gaze snaps to you, “What?”
“Pomegranate juice,” you repeat, “Melina got her preference for it from you, I guess—she’s always keeping a carton of it in the fridge. Do you want some while we talk about whatever that was?”
Mydei nods, low ponytail bobbing a bit as he does so.
“Take a seat.”
…
When you finally settle on the couch, you take a bite of the pastry he bought from The Orchard, “Okay, spill, what happened?”
And he does, Mydei talks so much, you think it’s the first time he’s talked to you face-to-face this long since you served him divorce papers. It baffles you, if you were being honest.
He lays out every detail from start to finish—leaving out the part where he can’t say that he still loves you. And when he ends, he deflates into the couch.
You sigh as you ponder over the information he just gave you and shake your head softly as you come to a realization.
“She’s scared you’ll find someone else, start a new family, and lose time for her.”
Mydei snaps back up, “No, no, I wouldn’t do that, I would never lose time for her, not again.”
Not again, the words echo in your mind.
You shrug, “That’s how she sees it.”
“It’s not like that!”
You put your hands up in the air in mock-surrender, “Hey, I know that because you told me just now. But you haven’t told her.”
Mydei sighs again, deeply this time.
You know exactly what he wants. Advice. A solution. A way to make your daughter understand that you were still going to be a family no matter what—even if her father might find someone else. You knew he wanted to know how exactly he would tell her that.
You murmur his name softly from across the couch and he responds with a tired, defeated “Mh?”
“Talk to her,” you urge, “maybe not now, since I’m sure Phai is taking her out of her bad mood and if you talk to her now, you’d probably just undo everything he did.”
He keeps quiet.
“She’s just a kid, Mydei. She’s just scared, you didn’t fuck up your relationship with her. You two will be fine as always.”
He exhales.
“I know.”
“You two will be fine.”
…
The following weeks were strangely quiet in a way that unsettled you more than any outburst ever could. Melina would come home from her father’s place with that same faraway look she used to have when the custody exchanges had just begun—back when she didn’t understand why she had to leave one home for another—only now, there were no tears, no protests, just a tightness in her smile and a heaviness in her silences.
It was subtle, easy to miss if you weren’t looking closely, but you were.
You always were.
You considered asking Mydei if he’d said something to her, if anything had happened, but something told you he was just as in the dark as you were.
So you tried asking her instead, but she only waved you off with a tired laugh, insisting it was just stress from college applications, nothing more, nothing to worry about. And you wanted to believe her. You really did.
But something was bugging you, so you texted Mydei again.
You
Hey.
Mel wants us to be at the Foundation Fair for her school.
The family day thing, just like last year.
Mydei
Hey, yeah.
I saw it on the school forum.
I’ll be there.
You
Also…
Have you noticed Mel’s been… off lately?
Mydei
Yeah.
She’s been quieter.
You
She said it’s just application stress.
Mydei
Do you believe her?
You stare at the message longer than you should.
You
I don’t know.
No message comes through for a moment.
Then the typing bubbles come up again, and—
Mydei
We’ll keep an eye on her.
There’s a pause.
Mydei
We’ve got her.
And for some reason, that steadies you more than it should.
…
It’s noisy at the Foundation Day’s Fair. Kids ran around everywhere, balloons of different colors strapped to their wrists. The student band playing had really cool live music.
You and Mydei arrived together, he picked you up from your office when Mel texted him that there was limited parking and it would be better if he picked you up to save time trying to find a space to park in.
She let you know through text as well that her Dad was coming to pick you up. Which to be completely honest, saved you the time of going home and parking your car then hailing a ride to her school.
The moment you got there, Mel was already waiting for both of you at the entrance, dragging you off to… well, everywhere. She rode on scary rides and insisted that you both ride with her. She asked Mydei to buy her cotton candy, win her prizes, and all the sort.
It made you smile, seeing how happy she was just to run around the fair with the two of you. Her weird attitude towards her Dad disappeared, and it was just like before. Like you were a family. It brought a warmth to your chest as you can only sigh in content as she enjoyed the day with you both.
Then she got hungry.
“Dad, please, I wanna eat nachos, please, please, please, please,” she repeated over and over, tugging at her father’s arm as his other carried all the prizes he won for her that afternoon while her other hand was looped around yours.
“You will eat real, actual food, Meli,” he replied.
“And then nachos?”
Mydei sighs in defeat, “Yes, and then nachos.”
The girl can only squeal in triumph.
When you got to the food caravans, you both told her to go find a seat somewhere for the three of you while you and Mydei ordered food—taking all her prizes with her.
You only shook your head in fondness when she asked if she could get ice-cream, too.
“She takes after your sweet tooth too much,” you jokingly scold Mydei and he raises his eyebrows, an amused smile on his lips.
“Please, like she didn’t get your taste for cold drinks?”
“Hey!” you swat him on the arm, “That’s a need in this weather, you know.”
“Uh-huh…” he nods like he believes you even though the grin on his face tells you he doesn’t buy it one bit.
…
From a few tables away, Mel had her eyes on the two of you—finding a seat in the cooler area of the venue. She saw the two of you talking and even laughing.
Even without the romance books, she knew that look in her Dad’s eyes.
There was something.
And then she hears it a few tables over, someone from the Parents’ Association was talking about the two of you, about her family.
“It’s a shame really, I mean, come on, Mydeimos Gorgo is a gorgeous man,” the voice starts, “The ex–wife isn’t that too bad looking either.”
What?
“But obviously, she’s done something wrong for them to divorce.”
Mel stays silent, she couldn’t believe someone would talk about her parents that way without even knowing the full story—actually, no! They shouldn’t talk about them like that at all!
Her eyes darted around, ears straining to hear where exactly the voice was coming from over all the noise.
Then another voice speaks.
“I don’t know whether to feel bad or embarrassed for them, I mean, they’re not even a real family anymore, why would they attend Foundation Day when it’s obviously known for being a family day? They’re just prolonging this charade for their daughter at this point.”
Melina stands up so abruptly that her chair scrapes the ground and the voice stops talking. She realizes the voice was coming from behind her all along—and the horrified look on the woman’s face when she sees that the daughter she was talking about was right there? Priceless.
But not enough to undo the damage.
“Next time, keep your comments to yourself,” she spits out before walking away.
…
It doesn’t take long for Mydei to notice your daughter missing.
The moment he scans the area when you finish ordering, he tells you immediately.
“Melina’s gone.”
Your attention takes a 180 and you scan around immediately, “What? Gone?”
Then Mydei spots the bag of prizes she had—now laying on a lonely table a few ways away and holds onto you to take you there.
“I’ll look for her, between you and me, we know I have better eyesight, I need you to be here in case Meli comes back, okay?” He tells you and you nod, panic steadily creeping up your back.
Mydei takes notice of this, places a hand behind your head, and pulls you in to place a kiss on top of your hair as he wraps a hand around you in a hug.
“I’ll find her, don’t worry,” he reassures, “I won’t let her slip away this time.”
You nod—still in a daze—still processing what the hell he just did, and watching as he walks away in search of your daughter. Phone in hand as you wait for any text that Mel might send you.
…
Just like it didn’t take long for Mydei to notice she was missing, it didn’t take him long to find her either.
He breathed a sigh of relief and texted you that he found your daughter, waiting for you to reply before pocketing his phone.
The field is loud in the way only campus events can be—whistles cutting through the air, laughter spilling over from picnic blankets, parents calling out to their kids with easy familiarity. It’s bright, full, and alive.
And somehow, that’s what makes it feel so quiet when Mydei finally spots her.
Melina sits alone on the bleachers, a few rows up, elbows on her knees, chin resting on clasped hands. She isn’t on her phone. IShe’s just picking at the skin beside her fingernails. Just… watching.
Watching the families gathered below, the ones that fit together without effort.
Mydei slows his steps.
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything—just takes it in. The way her shoulders are slightly hunched. The way her gaze lingers a second too long on a father lifting his kid onto his shoulders, on a mother brushing grass off her son’s shirt.
He exhales quietly and walks up the steps.
The metal creaks softly under his weight, but she doesn’t turn.
He lowers himself beside her anyway.
Not too close. Just enough to give her space if she wants that, and enough that she can lean on him if she wants to. For a while, he lets the silence sit between them, lets the noise from the field fill the space instead.
Then, gently, he tries.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Melina blinks, like she hadn’t expected that, but shakes her head quickly, “No, Dad, you didn’t…” her voice falters, just slightly, “It’s just… I heard some people talking.”
Mydei hums, low and patient, eyes still forward, waiting for her to continue.
She shifts then, leans—just a little—until her shoulder presses against his arm. Not quite a hug. But close. It’s enough for Mydei.
And then it all spills out.
“You and Mom have been nothing but good to me,” she starts, words rushing over each other like she’s afraid she’ll lose them if she slows down, “you both didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just…”
Her voice wavers.
She swallows hard, shoulders trembling like she’s holding herself together by sheer will.
“It’s me.”
Mydei’s arm comes around her without hesitation, pulling her closer, anchoring her to him and Melina presses her face into his side, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve.
“I feel like it’s wrong,” she admits, the words muffled but heavy, “I know you and Mom divorced years ago, I know that, I get it, I should be over it, but—” her breath stutters, “—but here, today, it just feels like…”
She squeezes her eyes shut.
“Like we’re not really a family.”
The words land heavier than anything else.
“Like we’re just… pretending. Like we’re faking it for me.”
Mydei’s chest tightens.
He doesn’t interrupt.
Doesn’t correct her.
He just listens.
“And I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel,” she continues, voice cracking now, slipping past the point of control, “because I am happy, I am, I swear, but then I see them and it just—” she chokes on the rest, shaking her head against him.
“It feels wrong that we’re not like that.”
A pause.
A breath.
And then—
“Why can’t you and Mom try again?”
Mydei stills.
For a moment, the world narrows down to just that question.
His throat tightens and the corners of his eyes sting. He takes a moment and inhales slowly, deeply—like he’s bracing himself against something unseen.
When he speaks, his voice is quieter than before, rougher, like it pains him to try to answer it—because it does.
Is there anything so undoing as a daughter?
“Meli…”
She doesn’t look up.
So he continues anyway.
“From the moment I lost you and your mom… I never found anyone else.”
Her grip on his sleeve tightens.
“It’s always been her for me,” he admits, the words sitting heavy on his tongue like something long kept in, “there wasn’t anyone after. There isn’t anyone now. There won’t be anyone else.”
He lets out a small, breathless exhale.
“That woman you saw at the office—she meant nothing. Truly. I was just doing my job.”
Melina sniffles, but she’s listening.
“I love your mom,” he says, more firmly now, even if it costs him something to admit it out loud, “I still do.”
A beat.
“But…” his voice dips, quieter, “I don’t think I’m right for her anymore.”
Mel pulls back just enough to look at him.
Really look.
And then—smack.
Her hand hits his bicep. Not hard, but definitely not gentle.
“If you love her, then tell her that!” she bursts out, eyes still wet, frustration cutting through the tears, “You can’t just decide that for her, Dad!”
Mydei blinks, caught off guard.
“Meli—”
“No!” she cuts him off, shaking her head, “You always do that! You just… decide things on your own and don’t even ask! That’s probably why you ended up here in the first place!”
That one lands heavily.
It makes him wince.
She sniffles again, wiping at her face with the back of her hand, breathing uneven but steadier now that it’s all out.
For a moment, neither of them speak.
Then slowly…
Mydei exhales.
A small, almost helpless smile tugs at his lips, “…Okay.”
Melina frowns, “Okay?”
“I’ll tell her,” he says, softer this time, “I’ll… try again.”
She searches his face like she’s making sure he means it.
Then, she nods.
They fall into silence again, but it’s different now, lighter, like something that had been pressing down finally shifted. The wind picks up slightly, brushing against their faces still sticky with tears.
Mel leans against him again, this time without hesitation.
Mydei glances down at her, then sighs quietly.
“You know,” he starts, tone shifting just enough, “we really have to limit your book purchases at JnV’s.”
Mel groans immediately “Oh, be quiet, Dad.”
And just like that she sounds like herself again.
…
Whatever happened on those bleachers, neither of them told you.
Melina came back first, eyes a little red, nose still pink from sniffling, but smiling softly, like something inside her had finally settled. Mydei followed a few steps behind, expression calmer than you’d seen it in weeks, the usual tension in his shoulders eased just enough to notice.
You didn’t ask.
You didn’t need to.
There are some things a parent learns to recognize without words—and the way Mel slipped her hand into his sleeve for a second before letting go, the way he rested his palm briefly against her head as he passed by—you could make a pretty good guess.
Whatever it was, it helped.
The strange distance that had crept in over the past few weeks seemed to dissolve after that day. Mel laughed more, talked more. Fell back into that easy rhythm between the two of you, and with him. The quiet heaviness that had followed her around finally lifted, replaced with something lighter. Something closer to how things used to feel.
Things were good.
Melina ended up applying to The Grove of Epiphany University in the end, where Phai went—after weeks of deliberation, second-guessing, and late-night rambling about pros and cons that changed every other day.
When she finally told you and Mydei, she looked… proud and certain.
“That’s a good school,” you told her, squeezing her shoulder.
Mydei nodded, something unreadable flickering across his face before it softened, “Your grandmother would’ve liked that.”
Mel tilted her head, “Grandma Gorgo?”
He hummed, “She always wanted me to go there.”
“You didn’t.”
“I didn’t,” he agreed, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “We went to—” he paused, frowning slightly like he was trying to recall it properly, “Gibranipar—no, wait—”
It was easy, in moments like that, to forget everything that came before.
…
It’s one of those quiet evenings during your week with Mel.
Nothing particularly special—just the hum of your home settling into the night, papers half-graded on your desk, your phone lighting up every now and then with notifications you don’t feel like checking yet.
Until it buzzes again.
You glance down.
Honey
Imma be sleeping over at uncle phai’s !!
for movie night 😎
Pls say yes
You smile, shaking your head slightly.
You
Don’t stay up too late.
Honey
no promises
THABKU LOVEU
[ <3 ] reacted by You
You let out a soft huff and set your phone down—only to pick it up again a moment later, already opening your messages with Phainon.
You
Is this true or is she plotting something?
It doesn’t take long for him to reply.
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
Wow… no trust. I'm hurt.
[ haha ] reacted by You
No, yeah it’s true, I invited her over.
I’ll pick her up from school in a bit.
[ <3 ] reacted by You
You
Alright.
Have fun, just keep her alive please.
[ <3 ] reacted by Phainon
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
No guarantees.
[ ?! ] reacted by You
You roll your eyes, but there’s a fondness in it.
You set your phone down again, and a few minutes later, it lights up once more.
Mydei
She texted you too?
You blink, then pick it up.
You
Yep.
There’s a pause.
Just long enough for you to think the conversation’s over.
Then—
Mydei
Can I see you?
You freeze.
Your fingers hover over the keyboard, unmoving.
Almost six years.
Six years of schedules, of updates, of polite conversations that begin and end with Melina at the center of them.
And this… This is the first time he’s asked for something that isn’t about her.
The cursor blinks.
Waiting.
You
What is this about, Mydei?
There’s a pause. Longer than usual. Long enough for your chest to tighten in a way you don’t want to acknowledge.
Mydei
It’s important.
You stare at the message.
Important.
Your fingers hover again, hesitation curling at the edges of your thoughts. Somewhere deep down, something stirs—something you buried months ago, something fragile and dangerous and entirely unwelcome.
Hope.
You press your lips together.
No.
You’ve already made peace with this. With him. With what you are now.
You shouldn’t.
And yet.
You
Okay.
…
He arrives twenty minutes later, ringing your doorbell with a bag of ingredients slung over his shoulder like this is just another normal night. Like he hasn’t just tilted something off balance with a single message.
You stand at the door and he stands there, staring right back at you.
“…Hi.”
“Hi…”
God, it’s awkward.
You step aside anyway, letting him in.
He moves through the house like he remembers it—like muscle memory guides him more than thought. Straight to the kitchen. His kitchen.
Just like he used to.
Before…
You linger by the doorway for a moment before closing it and following after him. He’s already unpacking the bag, pulling out ingredients, setting them down with quiet efficiency. You lean against the counter, watching as he does so.
“You didn’t change anything in the kitchen,” he comments, taking note that it looked just like how he customized it.
You shrugged, “Didn’t have the chance to back then, you know. I never really set foot in here until maybe a year after it all.”
He keeps quiet about it and starts to wash the ingredients.
“Now, I don’t really see a reason to change it, I don’t think there’s a need to.”
Mydei takes a look at you and hums, “I see.”
“…Did you just come here to cook?” you ask, unable to keep the curiosity out of your voice, “Is that the important part?”
He huffs softly, not quite amused.
“No,” he mutters, focusing a little too hard on chopping, “I’m… working up the courage to say it. Okay?”
You blink.
Mydei? Working up courage?
That’s… new.
“…Okay,” you say slowly.
You don’t push.
Instead, you give him space—moving back to the island where your papers are spread out, laptop open, red pen in hand. You sit, trying to focus on grading, but your eyes keep drifting up to him, sneaking glances every now and then.
And every now and then, his eyes drift back to you.
It’s quiet.
Not uncomfortable, exactly.
Just… charged.
Like something is waiting to happen and neither of you knows when it’ll break.
…
“I’m almost done,” he says eventually.
You blink, snapping out of your thoughts.
“Oh, okay.”
You stand, moving automatically, grabbing plates, setting them on the table. The motions come easy, it’s familiar. Pause. Too familiar, actually… It feels… domestic.
Again.
And yet—there’s something different now. Something cautious. Like the two of you are circling each other, careful not to step too close too fast. Like you’re both trying to test how far the other is letting this go on for.
You decide you’ll wait for his move. The ball is in his court and it’s his turn to do something.
But for now, you sit, he serves, and you’ll both eat.
The lasagna comes out of the oven still bubbling at the edges, the surface a perfect, blistered gold where the cheese has melted and browned just enough to crisp. The smell hits first—rich, slow-cooked tomato, garlic softened into sweetness, a deep savory warmth that wraps around you before you even take a bite. When he cuts into it, the layers give way with a soft, satisfying slide—tender sheets of pasta, velvety bechamel, and a thick, meaty ragu that’s been simmered long enough to taste like time itself.
Steam curls up from the slice on your plate, carrying that same intoxicating aroma, and when your fork sinks in, it’s almost effortless. The first bite is warm in a way that settles deep in your chest—the cheese stretching slightly before melting on your tongue, the sauce rich and full, balanced with just a hint of acidity that keeps it from being too heavy. It’s indulgent, comforting, and familiar.
It tastes like something made with patience.
Like something made for someone specific.
Like home.
“This is really good,” you compliment with a smile, “I haven’t had your cooking in years.”
He pauses mid-bite and raises a brow, “…I’ve been packing food for Melina to bring home,” he says slowly, “What do you mean?”
Oh.
You wince, shrugging a little. You couldn’t tell him that you couldn’t stomach the thought of his cooking back then, because you were… you were angry. At him. But that was back then, therapy had made you come to terms with these feelings, so you try to pivot the conversation back into a safe area.
“I just thought they were for her specifically,” you say lightly, like it doesn’t matter, “You know… I’m not your responsibility anymore.”
The silence after that is so thick and heavy it’s as if the air’s been knocked out of the room.
“Myd—” you try to start and he interrupts you quietly with your name on his lips.
You immediately backtrack, “Hey, it’s okay, I didn’t mean anything by it, I just—”
“It was always for you.”
You stop.
You blink.
He’s looking at you now.
Really looking.
“I cooked extra because I knew you’d be there,” he continues, voice tight, “I just thought… I thought you knew.”
You let out a small, nervous laugh, shaking your head, “It’s fine, I’ll—I’ll eat the next one you send, okay?”
He looks… pained, as you tell him that.
“I thought we were okay.”
“We are—”
“Then why does it feel like you’re avoiding me?” he cuts in, frustration slipping through, “I know we’re not… great, I know I fucked up, but I thought we were okay enough to… to—”
He trails off and you sigh, rubbing your temple.
“Mydei,” you say softly, “why did you come here tonight?”
That stops him.
Completely.
For a moment, he just sits there.
Then he exhales and something shifts.
“I didn’t fight for you.”
The words hit you like a blow.
Your heart stutters.
“…What?”
“When you gave me the papers,” he continues, voice low, steady only by force, “I didn’t fight you. I didn’t ask you to stay. I didn’t even try.”
You shake your head slightly, “Mydei—”
“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he says, a bitter edge creeping in, “I thought… if you were unhappy enough to leave, then the least I could do was not make it harder for you.”
Your chest tightens.
“I told myself it was respect,” he continues, “that I was respecting your decision. Your autonomy.”
He laughs dryly, “But really, I was just a coward.”
You stand up from your seat, the chair scraping off of the floor and you back up, “Don’t—”
“No,” he cuts in, sharper now, standing as he does so, “you don’t understand.”
You take a step back, “Don’t do this, Mydei.”
“Please—”
“No, please,” you echo, your voice breaking, begging, as months of therapy start to unravel at the seams, your heart bleeding out in your hands once again in this very kitchen, “please don’t do this.”
“It’s you,” he says, stepping forward.
You shake your head, another step back.
“It’s always, only ever been you.”
Your back hits the island.
You didn’t even realize you’d been retreating.
He’s there in front of you now.
Close—Too close.
“Despite everything,” he murmurs, voice dropping, hands coming up—hesitant at first, then certain and gentle as they cradle your face, “it’s still you.”
You feel dizzy.
Like the ground’s been pulled out from under you.
His forehead presses against yours. His scent flooding your senses.
The sensation too warm, too familiar, and eternally devastating.
“Please,” he whispers, breath uneven, “tell me what I have to do to win you back.”
Your vision blurs.
This is—This is everything you ever wanted.
For him to fight, to choose you, to try.
And now that he is—you don’t know what to do.
“I’m scared, Dei.”
The nickname slips out before you can stop it, and it breaks something in him.
You feel it.
The way he inhales sharply. The way his grip tightens just slightly.
“…I know,” he murmurs.
You shake in his hold, barely able to contain the tears that spill out from your eyes.
“How do I know it won’t end the same way?”
It’s barely a whisper, but it carries everything.
Every late night, every empty chair, every broken promise.
Mydei’s hand trembles as he brushes a tear from your cheek.
He leans in and presses a soft kiss against it.
“I won’t let it happen again,” he says, voice fierce despite the quiet, “I lost you once. I won’t—” his breath catches, “—I won’t let it happen again.”
His hand slips down, finding yours, intertwining your fingers.
He brings it up between your face as he looks up at you—despite being taller—and presses a kiss to your knuckles.
Gentle.
Reverent.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, “if you’ll have me.”
Your chest heaves, your eyes burn, and you nod.
Just once, but it’s enough.
He lets out a shaky laugh, the sound wet and broken.
He’s crying too.
You realize that distantly.
And then—softly—just like the first time.
“I, Mydeimos Gorgo, take you,” he continues, voice steadier now, like he’s anchoring himself in it, “to be my lawfully wedded wife.”
“I don’t have perfect words, I never did. But I know this—every version of my life that meant something had you in it. And every version without you… didn’t feel like mine.”
“I vow to come home to you—not just in place, but in heart. I vow to make space for you in every part of my life, the way I should have from the beginning.”
“You are not an afterthought. You never were. You are my first choice.”
“And if you let me again—I will keep choosing you. Every day. For the rest of my life.”
Your breath catches.
He remembered.
After everything—he remembered.
A breath.
“I do.”
“Do you,” he begins, voice trembling, “take me, Mydeimos Gorgo, as your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do,” you sob, nodding through tears, the words breaking on a hiccup.
He smiles at that and slips a ring you didn’t even know he had into your ring finger. His face soft as his heart remains aching.
“I know this may be sudden, but I think this is long overdue, what about you?”
Your hands come up, cupping his face like you’re afraid he’ll disappear.
You answer him by pulling him down and crashing your lips against his. Like you’re dying of thirst in the desert and he’s the only thing that can save you.
It feels the same.
God, it feels the same.
And that’s what breaks you.
You sob into the kiss, your fingers tightening against him, and he smiles—smiles—against your mouth, holding you like he’s afraid to let go.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours again and presses a soft kiss to your nose.
Your breathing is uneven. Your chest is aching. Your mind spinning from trying to process everything, but you feel lighter.
So much lighter.
“…Meli’s going to be ecstatic about this,” he murmurs.
And despite everything—you laugh.
…
Meli
DAD UPDAET
Plss im dying of anticipaton here
Meli
HEY DONT LEAVE ME ON DELIVEREED
DADD !!!
On nikador bro i swear u are taking
So longgg
read at 8:04 pm
Meli
HEY I SEE U READ IT
Dad reply pls oh my strife
Uncle phai and i are dying here
Meli
Give update to revive pls pls pls
Dad
[ sent a photo: ring in someone’s finger, hand covering her face as she’s leaning against someone’s clavicle ]
Got her back.
[ <3 ] reacted by Melina
Meli
THATS WHAT IM FUCKING TALKING ABOUT !!!!
Dad
Language.
Meli
God forbid a girl is happy she's no longer a child of divorce.
[ haha ] reacted by Mydei
…
Bonus scenes!
You
Meli and I are on the way to the grocery store.
Do you want anything?
Dei <3
My beautiful wife and daughter home safe
You
Corny.
[ <3 ] reacted by Mydei
…
Favorite Niece 5Ever
Can u sneak me out and drive me to a party
It starts at 11
On the 12th
Pls pls pls u would be blessed with a gf w a big ass
Coolest Unc 5Ever
Girl what ??
Your mom AND dad will kill me.
Favorite Niece 5Ever
Soo is that a no…?
Coolest Unc 5Ever
If your mom catches me we are soo dead.
Send me the addy.
[ <3 ] reacted by Melina
Favorite Niece 5Ever
THX LUVYEW 5EVER !!!!
[ <3 ] reacted by Phainon
…
Mom
Melina Hera Gorgo.
Where are you.
You are so grounded when you get home.
usagi's note: can u guys pretty please tell me what melina looks like for u guys PLEASEEE i begggg, anyway i have another mydei fic coming up soon, can u believe i did this in 2 days? me neither. i am so insane wtf. stream dawtde!
@usagiarchive 2025. do not repost, translate, or use for AI. reblogs, likes, and comments are very appreciated!!
ONLY COS' IT'S YOU
— a hinata shoyo x f!reader oneshot
╭ ❝ you're a mess, especially after your dear mother's passing. yet, he makes the effort of taking care of you and replacing that hole of yours in your heart.
cw: probably ooc, completely written fic, hurt/comfort, post-timeskip dating au, mentions of death and losing someone, non-sexual intimacy (sleeping together), wc: 1.1k
It's been for quite a while now. You would find yourself waking up, in the middle of the night, the back of your shirt completely soaked wet. Your breathing and heartbeats erratic. There almost seemed to be no way to calm yourself down, if not for his presence.
The you, who constantly shot awoke in the middle of the night, getting all shaken up by the same repeating nightmare, would always get comforted by him. His firm and steady hand, stroking your back gently, even if the soaked fabric felt disgusting to touch.
His soft whisper into your ears, repeatedly assuring you, while pressing soft kisses against your head gently, was enough to make you close your eyes once more and embrace his warm presence.
Initially, you thought he would leave your side. Tell you that you were too much for him to handle. After all, you couldn't even manage yourself when you had such terrible nightmares.
Even if the nightmare is the same one as last nights', the night one week ago, or even the night one month ago, you never managed to stop getting scared awake by it. The nightmare of seeing your own mother take her last breath, as her heartbeat slows on the heartrate monitor, before it finally forms a straight line.
Your mother has long rested soundly, yet the repeated image of seeing her for one last time—knowing you'll never get to see her soft smile, hear the soft laugh she makes every time after calling your name, and her nimble hands over the needle and thread—continues to haunt you.
It's almost like the heavens didn't want you to rest in peace, even after trying to find multiple ways to get closure over her passing. Anti-depressants, sleeping pills, deep sleeping music...any possible method someone had recommended you to use, in order to finally sleep soundly.
At least, that was until you found the comfort of your boyfriend, Hinata Shoyo.
Knowing that your mother's passing meant the house felt more emptier to you now, he immediately moved in to fill that space without complaints.
He would make all your three meals daily, even though you would sometimes make grumpy comments like, "My mother could cook better than this." Instead of taking you as ungrateful and no longer cooking for you, he never took any of those comments to heart and instead persisted in taking care of you.
He even made sure to learn all of your mother's signature recipes by heart, so that he could replicate the feeling you long for—the taste of your mother's warmth and love in your favourite dishes of hers.
Maybe it was because he knew that you were never yourself right now. You were the worst possible version of yourself. This version of you grieved daily, crying as silently as possible in the shower over your mother. This version of you never got proper sleep, causing you to get more easily grumpy than usual.
Perhaps, he also knew that it was because, even if you complained or nagged at him, you would always have a version of you that would never stop loving him. You needed him the most, right now, and he filled up the spot just perfectly.
The love you missed having, he replaced it.
And deep down, you knew that, maybe only he could replace that love.
No one would be as patient as he was to you.
Kissing you on those foul lips of yours that you just used to scold him. Making you laugh whenever you were about to cry, by purposefully doing something silly. Giving you the warmest hugs, on days when you especially needed them.
Who else would do that for you, if not for him?
Turning around slowly, you could feel his arm rested on the curve of your hip. You were immediately met with the sight of him peacefully resting next to you, his arm slung around you, and his breathing soft and steady.
You could still see the cup—still filled with leftover chamomile tea, which had now turned cold—left on the bedside counter behind his figure. He had woke up in the middle of the night to make it for you, yet you had pushed the cup hastily away from yourself then, even throwing up some of the contents.
He had probably been too tired to wash and clean the cup, especially after cleaning you up, that he had left the cup there on the bedside table.
A small feeling of remorse tugged at your heartstrings, as you reached a slow finger to brush against the curve of his eyebrows gently. You feel the soft hairs of his eyebrows tickle your fingers, making you smile slightly.
Before you could retract your finger, you watch as his eyelashes flutter once, before he opens his eyes completely. A small smile immediately meets his lips, his arm wrapping tighter around you, as he pulls you closer against his chest.
"You're up. Did you sleep well?"
He asks once, his voice still slightly thick with sleep, making you laugh softly.
"Did you sleep well?"
You ask him back, a small apologetic smile now forming across your lips. You nuzzle your head into the warmth of his chest gently, before pulling away to meet his gaze once more.
"I must have made a fuss once more, last night."
You continue, a tone of sadness attached to your words. You watch as a small furrow forms across his eyebrows, before he brings two fingers to stretch your lips upwards. You hadn't even realised they had dropped, until he had done that.
"You're never a bother to me, you know that? I wouldn't mind doing all that, because it's you."
His words only tugged at your heartstrings once more, causing your gaze to soften slightly. You couldn't help but lean in to give him a chaste kiss on his lips.
"You shouldn't be so patient to me. What if I actually hurt you, even if I don't mean it? You should call me out when I do something absolutely terrible or bothersome."
Even with your words, his smile never fades. The smile on his lips hold as the finger stretching your lips upwards, shifts to brush your cheek gently.
"Even if you hurt me, it wouldn't be enough to hurt me and make me think of giving up on you."
He says softly, letting his forehead lean against yours gently for a moment. You watch as his eyes flutter shut for a moment. He was completely in ease and peace, resting against your forehead.
You let yourself relax and close your eyes as well, a small smile slipping against your lips as you let out a soft exhale.
"Only because it's you, I hope you never think of giving up on me."
a/n: a random quick writing I did last night with an idea that's been recently stuck in my head (it was probably better in my head but um well...) lowk didn't proofread this so don't jump me... also why do I lowkey keep writing hinata shoyo...someone stop me...😭😭
SFW. Which genshin impact characters would be great fathers and the type of dad each of them would be.
Including VARKA, DILUC, NEUVILLETTE, and THOMA.
VARKA
Of course I needed to start this list with the father of Mondstadt, the Knight of Boreas, the great and lovely golden retriever man. He'd be such a protective father, but not in the "don't do this" way to his kids, but in the "do it, I'll make sure you stay safe" way.
He would write tons of letters to his kids whenever he's on a mission, promising them lots of adventures, fun and interesting stories the moment he's back. He'd hug and carry them all the damn time, and he'd love to ruffle their hair.
Varka wouldn't scold his kids that much, mostly because he's part of the problems sometimes, but he'd definitely have some serious talks with them if he considers it necessary (or if you do).
He'd definitely be a fun dad, always able to keep up with his children's energy somehow, and making sure they get enough sleep after playing with them when he's free, or whenever he manages to escape from his Grandmaster's duties. A big smile on his face as he hides from Jean with his kids.
DILUC
He would be the type of dad that makes sure his kids have everything they need or please. They want some apples? Sure, Diluc already has three full packages on its way to their home. They need some dandelions? No problem, he already bought and even collected a big amount. He'd make sure his children never lack anything.
He's not the clingiest person, not even with his kids, but he'd always kiss them goodnight. A sweet peck on their forehead as he tucks his little ones to bed. And if he had girl, Diluc would let her play with his soft red hair, letting her do his ponytail even if she's still not the best at it.
He'd adore and protect them just as much as he'd do with his lover, always doing anything that seemed necessary to maintain a peaceful life for his treasured family. I believe he'd be a bit strict, though, but not that much, he just doesn't want anything bad happening to them.
Diluc's love for his kids wouldn't be loud, it wouldn't be a blazing fire. Instead, it would be a warm and cozy flame, making them feel safe and guaranteeing even a little light on their stormy dark nights.
NEUVILLETTE
He is a busy man, I know, but I'm also sure he'd make his best to spare some time with his kids. He'd value honesty and transparency with his children, hence his effort to build a trustful relationship with them.
He'd definitely be a gentle dad, unable to see his little ones cry and not even give them a deep, sweet hug. He'd probably end up with teary eyes himself — silvery clouds threatening to rain over Fontaine for a few minutes, but he'd let his kids feel what they need to feel, murmuring a soft "it's okay, darling, dad's here" without letting them go.
He'd be so caring and so loving, even if it's in discreet ways. He'd care for his children way more than people would notice; someone observant enough could know by the way his gaze softens whenever he looks at his cute droplets playing around, making sure they're safe wherever they are.
If Neuvillette had a daughter, he would also let her play with his precious white hair, always wearing a matching bow with her at the end.
THOMA
He would not only be a great father, but also a great house husband. He manages the Kamisato's household duties diligently, of course he'd be able to take care of his kids with excellence.
His children would definitely love his food, and to be fair, who wouldn't? Thoma would prepare for them whatever they ask for, even cooking some of their favorite dishes randomly; the precious joy in their eyes would always warm his chest in cuteness overload.
He'd love to carry and play with his kids, but honestly? He'd do anything they want. He'd constantly make his biggest effort to guarantee some free time just for them, to be with them as they deserve.
Thoma would also be a great listener, and that obviously applies to his kids. He'd be the type of dad that his babies know for sure they can go with if they ever need a shoulder to cry on, giving them the coziest hug and always knowing how to cheer them up.
Let me know if you'd like part two of this, I've been thinking about some other options if you guys are interested!!
You may want to check out my memorabilia archives for more if you enjoyed reading this. <3
tags: coworkers to friends | fluff | nothing really happens here tbh
for: @d1strict99 tea event wc: 550 words
leafy's notes: pretty short, but I just wanted to do something where despite reader's crush on akaashi nothing happens. also I have no clue about the editing process so bear with me...
synopsis:
you invite your coworker, and long term crush over to your house to ask for help with your work
You worked as a editor for a small manga, it had been pure coincidence that you ended up at the same company as your high school upperclassman, Akaashi. And now he was guiding you through being an editor. Except, it was so hard to focus being so close to your longtime crush.
“Don’t you think this could flow a bit better?”
You asked, pointing out the part in the manuscript. You felt Akaashi brush past you, trying to get a better look at what you were talking about.
“This part, right? Why do you think so?”
He asked, it was something you were familiar with by now. Every time you brought up a possible edit that needed to be made Akaashi would stop you and ask you to explain your reasoning, not because he thought you were wrong, but more so as a way to hold you accountable and make sure you were thinking through what needed to be revised.
“I just think the confession needs more buildup, and that the characters could build more chemistry together.”
You stated, although you had no clue how you would actually go about it, you felt it was a start. And even then, you thought the characters could get to know each other a bit better.
“It does feel a bit sudden.”
Akaashi agreed, taking one of the pens off the table to make a few markings for the author to read later.
“Here, let’s take a break for now, that’s all the manuscript you received for today, isn’t it?”
He asked, making you quickly nod in confirmation. You shifted slightly in your chair, suddenly feeling uncomfortable as you came to realize the full scene. You were stuck in your house with your crush, no, coworker going over edits to turn into the chief editor for revisions.
“I can make us some coffee, I got you up rather early, right? I’m sorry.”
You stated, already getting up even if he hadn’t answered.
“Oh, uh, sure. But, L/n its fine. I usually get up rather early.”
Akaashi told you, watching as you clumsy grabbed two cups. You both had been off that day, hence why the meetup ended up at your house and not at the workplace.
“Yes, but…I just thought you might sleep in a bit since it is your day off.”
You suggested, you both didn’t leave very far from each other, but it was a bit of a commute to actually make it to the office building which meant getting up early to make it to work.
“No, I’m fine. Why did you ask me to come to your house though?”
You paused at his question, flinching as you burned yourself on one of the cups. You set them both down on the table before returning back to your seat.
“Well, this is where me and the author usually meet…is my apartment. Since, it just feels more comfortable, I guess.”
You stated, you knew with that in mind it should feel normal, to invite your coworker over. But when you considered how you truly felt about Akaashi it didn’t.
“I see, that makes sense then. Once we finish this then let’s get back to work, okay?”
He suggested, taking a sip of the coffee you had made.
“Okay.”
. . .
tagging: @wystiix @lilikags (I forgot to tag you guys sorry 😭)
BECAUSE LOVE CAN BURN LIKE A CIGARETTE ft. heartslabyul & savanaclaw
pikachu, quick, summarize their relationship in a few words ; alternatively, relationship tropes and dynamics with twst characters | content tags & warnings: established relationship, fluff, headcanons, use of tropes, probably ooc (i only got to book 3), reader is not yuu, self-indulgent, not proofread | wc: 5.6k (600+ words per character)
DIRECTOR'S NOTES — sorry if there are inaccuracy ! i just started the game and i have only known them for a week… (game keeps on stopping me from progressing the story bcs of my low rank AUGHGHUGHGH). so these are kind of just surface-level hcs based on my little understanding of them and the scraps i’ve been fed with hahahahhaaha anyways enjoy :))
RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS
academic weapon x academic disaster
Ah, the classic trope, but how fitting it is. They say you and him complete each other in ways more than one. You fill the empty spaces that he is missing—mischief, disorder, and rule-breaking—while he completes you in yours—discipline, virtue, and responsibility. Riddle would never find what is lacking in his life and would never admit to this wanting until you came and wrecked his world. Still, he welcomes the catastrophe of your whole being if it means being yours at the same.
It’s safe to say that the way he does relationships is still bound into his rather monochrome belief of following the rules. That’s why when the two of you just started dating, he seemed rather stiff and awkward. Was he doing this right? Was this wrong? What is he supposed to do? Can he hold your hand?
Ah, if only there was a rulebook on romance.
Riddle has everything about you memorized—from the top of your head and to the bottom of your feet. He knows what kind of tea you like or not like, he knows your favorite spots in the academia when you decide to skip class, he knows what subjects you are weak and what study methods work best for you (which is to not study at all, but of course, he wouldn’t have that). He remembers everything that there is to remember about you and sometimes, it makes you feel bad that he puts this much efforts for you while it feels like you’re just there.
“If you truly do feel bad, how about you put in more effort into your education? Here, I have constructed a detailed—” ; “Ah, stop, stop!”
You try too, even if it looks like it doesn’t go on a same level as his. After all, people have different ways of showing their affection towards another and Riddle understands that very well. Where he is attentive to your needs and wants, you make sure to do the same—looking after him, ensuring that he doesn’t overwork himself to the bone, rewarding him with strawberry tarts, pulling him into breaks when you’ve noticed that he’s been studying too much, accompanying him as he does his own thing, and catching troublemakers for him.
He wasn’t particularly the clingy and affectionate type of person, but he appreciates your constant presence. Riddle, really, there is no need for some kind of reasoning just to justify someone staying by your side. You just love him, that’s all, and that’s enough reason to be.
He falls asleep easily around you, too, oftentimes with his head on your shoulder. That’s how much he feels relaxed around you.
Your primary love language is quality time and words of affirmation, particularly on Riddle’s. He’s got that incredible ability of drilling words into your head out of his worry for you and though from another’s perspective, it’s just another mile-long harsh scolding, you know that’s not the case. There are too many occasions wherein you are just beaming a grin at him while he nags you and then he falters in his tone, sighing, as a pretty shade of a blush dusts his cheeks. He just gets flustered easily.
Sure, you can tease him, sure, you can poke fun at him, and sure, you can also shower him with affection, sure, you can bother him anytime you want, and sure, you can play around with his rules. You’ve found that Riddle lets you get away with the things you’re doing, especially when it’s directed to him. Was he perhaps being slanted? Maybe. He likes to say that it’s because he’s going easy on everyone, when in fact, it’s just you.
You do have to be scared for your life when exam results come out, however. Riddle may not force you into the same routine and workload that he does, but he makes sure to be strict enough that you won’t slack off your studies—just enough to get you to that passing mark. You can fool around later when the exams are over, but for now? You have to listen to him.
It’s the truth and only the truth when one would say that the couple of you and Riddle is the most loved and cherished in the Heartslabyul Dorm, or even the whole Night Raven College.
ACE TRAPPOLA
ragebaiter x ragebaited
Ace Trappola had too much cards to play when it comes to annoying the hell out of you.
It’s as if he’s an expert of it as if the very moment he was taken out the womb of his mother, he was already equipped with the right skills and the knowledge it takes to hit your nerve with full accuracy of the world’s best sniper. He’s got the body of a teenage boy and the immature mentality of one too.
It’s amazing how you even managed to deal with him for so long that people always assume that you are simply so benevolent and kind, or maybe you’re dense as stone. They’re wrong. Patience is a trait that has been cultivated within you, not something you were born with. Even if you were born with it, it’s never going to be enough. You must embark on the path of cultivation to reach the highest peaks of forbearance.
Ah, you just can’t begin with the type of stuff your boyfriend does when you’re already overstimulated or irritated.
But Ace knows the limit of his teasing, the line that you put that indicates your boundaries and uses it as a jumping rope. No, just kidding. Despite his immaturity, he still knows when to stop and makes sure to give you something that will make you smile after whatever antics he have pulled.
An apology, wooing you as you sulked and ignored him, then suddenly, he pulls out something that he knows you’ve been craving or wanting to get. Ask him of where he got it and he would never say it; after all, magicians never reveal their secrets.
Beyond that, Ace is surprisingly a good lover. Listen, he’s ashamed of his past and how avoidant he can actually be, and how stupid he is when it comes to relationships, but he’s working on it, okay? He’s ashamed of his past and he only wants the best for you and the best is obviously him.
He remembers all off the important dates—birthday, anniversaries, monthsaries—, and though he doesn’t fuss over it, he ensures that it will still be something special and remarkable. Although he does get shy when you point out his efforts like the bouquet he had meticulously prepared for the day or the dinner date he has planned. He takes incredible care of you and makes sure that you’re in no harm even if he does gets into fights often, making an enemy out of a few people. If people dare to use you as his weakness, just know that they’re never seeing the light of the day.
He knows you can take care of yourself. Bonus points if you’re an independent, do-it-on-your-own type of person, who doesn’t trust others easily. He’s the type of person who would swat your hand away if you try to take more workload and would drag you out of your seat when you’ve been paying too much attention on your books and not him. He’s so… clingy. Physical affection is definitely on the top of his love language—he’s always holding your hand, always putting his arm around you, always peppering you with kisses, always ruffling your hair, and anyone who dares say anything is just envious about what you both have. Bleh.
He’ll always stick to your side, especially during breaks; he would sigh and mumble to himself how he wants to see you already when you have separate classes; he would always look for you while it’s obvious that you wouldn’t be there in that place, then would complain on why you aren’t here. It all boils down to this statement: everyone who knows Ace knows you.
But hey, you signed up for this. You chose him, no backing out now.
DEUCE SPADE
former delinquent turned over a new leaf x honor student
Before the two of you got together, Deuce would constantly pester you about questions, would constantly try to sit beside you during class, would constantly ask you to help him with his studies, begging and even bribing you. After all, you were an honor student, ranking among those at the top of their studies, and he was classmates with you. He was going to take advantage of that to make his mama proud but also, hello, he wants your attention. It’s just as simple as that.
Pestering, because that’s the only way he knows how to get yours without seeming like he’s wasting your time. Asking, because you’re on a different league and he was right there at the bottom with scraps, and this was the only way he knows to get close to you. Attention, because he likes you a lot but doesn’t know how to show it properly without looking like a wuss. There are nights he would stay awake and recount his memories with you earlier that day, worrying that what if he was acting like a bully? What if he was scary and not polite? What if he was showing his delinquent side? What if you were just scared of him that’s why you comply so easily? Everything was just amplified in his mind and it wasn’t helping him at all.
You only got him to confess when you confronted him and told him about how he should take ‘responsibility’ for making you fall for him. It was a jest, really. He took that way too seriously, however, and you’re unsure if it’s a good thing or not.
He goes above and beyond, always exceeding your expectations. He even has it all listed in the notes app of his phone: the things you like and dislike, your favorite food, your favorite color, everything that he would learn about you.
“Deuce, you know I was only joking when I told you to take responsibility.” ; “Are you asking to break up?” He would reply, immediate tears to his eyes, and you can only sigh and reassure him it’s not that.
Deuce tries to be very very careful in not showing his delinquent side of him. We’ve all seen him revert back to that attitude when the situation calls for it, but around you, he desperately hides it, worried that you’ll hate him. He’s a massive overthinker and sometimes, a paranoid, and sometimes, exaggerates things to a new level that you never thought was possible.
However, such fragile secrets are not meant to last, seeping through the cracks until the vase eventually breaks. By misfortune, you just walked in right when he was giving someone the talk along with Ace Trapolla who seems to be his buddy when it comes to making trouble. The fear on his face is immediate and palpable, rushing to you and desperately explaining himself in a rush that his words mingle together and you’re not understanding anything.
He only stopped his rambling when you laughed, a sweet sound he always love to hear and all his panic is replaced with confusion.
“Deuce, what are you saying? I’ve known the whole time.” ; “What?” ; “Yeah.” ; “And you still like me?” He just couldn’t believe it. He’s done terrible things in the past and might have hurt people in the process, how could you like him while still being aware of these things?
“How could I not?” It was so simple, but so devastating at the same time. Relief washed over him, except it’s in the form of a tsunami and he’s being swept away by the depths off your affection. Church bells are already ringing inside his head and he has already talked about you to his mother who is also equally excited as him.
Oh, but you don’t appreciate him hiding things from you, so from then on, he’ll tell you every single thing about himself, and again, you don’t know if it’s a good thing or not.
CATER DIAMOND
influencer / popular guy on magicam x chronically online
Nobody’s getting a proper conversation out of you both. It’s an endless stream of internet slang, pop culture references, and magicam terms in which the both of you giggle with together.
Everything that he knows about others, he tells you. He’s basically a gossip-magnet and you’re there as his collateral, so if someone is unsuccessful with getting information from him, then they will always come to you next. Cater, however, already knows their next move, so when these people would find you, they would also see your beautiful boyfriend lingering behind you with a smile on his face.
You have lots of inside jokes with him and it’s only the two of you who will understand it. Ace and Deuce would often witness you and him dying of laughter just saying out words that doesn’t even make sense. It’s like you entertain each other on a daily and everyone around you are just your viewers—this becomes so obvious whenever he goes on live on his account and you’re also there with him.
“User xX_CrowleyHater_Xx says, ‘you guys are so cute together, you definitely should get married. You guys have a bright future together, I can’t wait to see more of you! Sending loves, hugs, and peace!’ Aww, that is so cute. Thank you for your kind words.” The actual comment is: It’s you two again, ugh.
Though you did once mention the lovely housewarden of Heartslabyul and doing a challenge where you do something and see if it breaks a rule (foolish, I know), and the next day, you’re in trouble with him. Whether you’re from another dorm or is in the same one as him, you also got the taste of Riddle’s signature spell. Never again.
Everyone may think that they know there is to know about you and him, when in truth, all they are aware of is the extent of adoration you have for each other. Cater have long mastered how to reveal everything and nothing at the same time. Also, he doesn't like it when it warrants unwanted attention on you. It makes him #jealous (one time, someone left a creepy comment and he had it reported, and the user blocked).
Cater documents everything, but his favorite collection isn't on Magicam. He takes lots of photos of you; candid shots, sleeping, eating, and anything. His lockscreen wallpaper even cycles on a daily, reasoning that he likes the surprise of seeing a different one each day. You know about this because you caught him once, and instead of being embarrassed, he just shrugged, "What? You're my favorite content." But you also know why he keeps them and doesn’t demand further explanation. So you've started your own archive too—screenshots of his ridiculous texts, voice memos of his laugh, photos of him when he doesn't know you're watching. Occasionally, you'll send him one of those saved moments with no context, simply saying: "I was thinking of you."
Beyond that, you're aware of Cater's struggles even if he never sat you down and gave you some tearful confession. You just pay attention. You notice the way his smile tightens just a fraction when someone says something that hits too close to home, the way his eyes flicker to the exit during group hangouts, the way he spams stories in an hour when he's feeling particularly lonely because the notifications are a temporary bandage.
You never push, never pry, never force him to be vulnerable. Instead, you learn his language: the shorthand of half-finished texts, the emojis that mean different things depending on the time of day, the specific way he says "lol", and you meet him there. You try to cheer him up, distract him; you send him a video of you trying to cook something disastrously, or you show up at his door with snacks and zero expectations, or you simply sit beside him in comfortable silence, knowing that sometimes he just needs someone to witness him without demanding he perform.
You've become his safe harbor, the one person who doesn't need him to be entertaining, who doesn't need a photo op or a clever caption, who loves the quiet, unfiltered version of Cater Diamond that exists in the spaces of his quietude, and he’s grateful to have you by his side.
TREY CLOVER
childhood friends to lovers + you can’t cook
Ever since you were kids, you’ve always stuck together with Trey. Not just because you guys were neighbors or that your parents were friends with each other or that the two of you were playmates, but also because he would look after you on days that you have no one. He was there when your parents couldn’t take care of you while you were sick, he was there when you needed a shoulder to cry on, and he was there when it felt like you had no one in the world but him.
Naturally, the two of you would grow close, closer than everyone else, and of course, such feelings would bloom. From the very start, the two of you are meant to be together—the stars worked hand-in-hand for this fated meeting, or what you would like to say. After all, there had been too many coincidences: the way your families just happened to live next door, the way you both ended up at Night Raven College despite coming from completely different backgrounds, the way he always seemed to have exactly what you needed before you even knew you needed it. It's like the universe kept nudging you two together, weaving your paths so intricately that separating them now would be impossible.
You love telling the story of how the both of you got together. It was the classic date that you thought was too friendly until he brought out the flowers then took you to this secluded spot where the scenery stole your breath alone. Fireflies gently lit up the dim place, highlighting the softness of his features, as he told you of his long-time yearning and affection that transcended the bounds of friendship alone. You were the first one he had ever liked and you will be the only one, a puppy love that was never puppy love at all.
And then, he brought out a cake for the two of you to eat together—your favorite flavor—and you made the mistake of asking him how he knew you were going to say yes.
"You weren’t exactly hiding it.” Cheeky bastard. He was also obvious, you know, he was just waiting for the right chance to bite.
On the matter of your relationship, it feels as if nothing have changed between the two of you. It’s always been the same; you-and-him, you-and-him, you-and-him. The constant you and Trey, childhood friends, schoolmates, and lovers. He just became more attentive towards you and his reasons for always seeking you have become more valid now that you’re also his significant other—back then, it was hard to hide behind the excuses when the two of you were just merely labeled as ‘childhood friends’. After all, what reason can he come up with wanting to see you every minute without him sounding like some dependent, inseparable leech?
Anyways, there’s also the thing of you and him in the kitchen. No, not a rumor or some gossip, but how he’s versed in cooking and baking, and you’re not.
“Trey, you know I can’t cook.” You would say, your tone dejected. If you had ears, they would obviously be drooping low. Trey, however, only laughs softly as he holds your hand in his. “I know, it’s not as if we didn’t grew up together and I wasn’t a witness of your culinary mishaps.” That was true.
“But you won’t make fun of me?” And he would answer: “Why should I? In fact, I’m relieved. I have more reasons to take care of you.”
While everyone tries to keep you out of kitchen in fear of a disaster waiting to happen, Trey would actually encourage you and even teach you. He would even eat whatever you make no matter how suspicious and weird it looks, noting of how it still tastes good because you made it with your whole heart. Cheesy, you would remark as you roll your eyes but you appreciate it, truly. That was the difference between him and the others—he was never one to deny you or stop you from doing what you want.
That’s the best way to summarize your relationship: you were each other’s pillar of support. And you aren’t aware of it, but you’ve also become his guiding light, a warm presence, and a gentle hand to hold.
LEONA KINGSCHOLAR
opposites attract, except he’s scared of you
Leona is arrogant and rough, whereas, you’re known as the kindest and sweetest person ever to be paired with the arrogant man. It’s a wonder to everybody why and how the both of you even got together; theories would even come up consisting of how maybe he had threatened you, maybe this was a fake relationship or a bet, or maybe this was the old arranged marriage trope, or whatever ridiculous claim they could come up. After all, one should never underestimate how creative the minds the NRC students are.
Some may even feel pity; why him? I wonder how much [Name] has to go through just to please him. It must be rough having the Leona Kingscholar as your partner. I’m sure he’ll get bored of them quickly.
However, such comments would be shut down quickly as soon as Leona heard of it, ensuring that it doesn't reach your ears.
What they don’t see or even see but refuse to believe is how sweet Leona actually is. He cares for you truly despite how sharp his tongue can be—concerned masked in the only language he knows to speak—, he adores you through his actions and gifts, and he cherishes you even if he doesn’t admit such feelings. He’ll try to be gentle but such gentleness will only met with your reassurance that he doesn’t have to change himself just to make you happy.
After all, you know he loves you and he appreciates that. Still, he tries, not because he has something to prove but because he believes that you deserve the whole world, so he’ll make it roll underneath your feet and give you everything you will ever want and more. He may not be able to give you the glory of a queen, but you will find such titles useless when it comes to his affections.
He’s incredibly possessive and can be bitter at times though, that I can say.
Though most of all, what they definitely don’t see is how Leona is, in fact, scared of you. Not scared scared but a respectful kind of scared and the type of scared that only comes when one doesn’t know what else you are capable of. Only Ruggie is aware of this fact and would use it to his advantage—he would always call for you like you are some kind of superhero back-up when Leona is skipping class, doesn’t want to get up his bed, or when he’s just being unpleasant (and by unpleasant, he means when he’s being treated as his personal maid too much).
“You see, if you keep on acting like this, I’m going to call [Name].” Ruggie would remark casually and it appears he is jolted awake. The hyena would only laugh at himself, blatantly using your name as a shield to make things easier for him and to even get back to his housewarden.
“Leona.” A simple call of his name and he behaves, clicking his tongue and glaring not at you, but to everyone else in the room. He can never get mad at you, never.
There’s just a certain kind of fear that comes when the love of your life is the kindest person you will ever meet, who wouldn't hurt a fly, and is also the calmest person. Yes, he wouldn’t dare mess with you and incur your wrath.
It's not that he's weak—he'd tear apart anyone who threatened you without a second thought. It's that you're the one person whose good opinion he actually needs, and the idea of being the reason your light dims even a little? That's the one battle Leona Kingscholar refuses to lose. Thus he pretends to roll his eyes at your nagging, pretends your concern is annoying, but everyone in Savanaclaw knows: if you're upset with him, the King of Beasts becomes a very, very well-behaved lion.
Remember the theories? Yeah, the most popular and believable one is that you actually were the one doing the threatening.
JACK HOWL
savanaclaw bf x pomefiore significant other
A cute edition of Beauty and the Beast.
Just imagine an all-smiley person walking down the hallway and then imagine a menacing shadow of a man lurking behind them. Yep, that’s you and him—if you weren't already intimidating, then you definitely will be with him right beside you.
He’s rather overbearing and protective. He may not get jealous easily, but he sure as hell does get worried for you easily, and you would be lying if you said that you didn’t like it. Jack pampers you a lot and spoils you, not in gifts but through his actions. He’s big on acts of service, taking away the burden that lies on your shoulders, so that your today is better than yesterday. It’s not that he doesn’t want you to lift a finger or to take on an easy path by making others do it—that goes against his principles of self-betterment—it’s just that he believes the weight you carry is his to help bear.
He doesn’t believe that you’re incapable, in fact, he respects you so much of your capabilities. He just sees your struggles as real and valid. He won't fight your battles for you—that would rob you of growth—but he'll stand right beside you, offering his strength, his patience, and his steady presence to make the climb less steep. To Jack, love wasn’t to give you an easy path; it's about walking the hard one with you, step by step, until you're both stronger for it.
Your peace matters to him just as much as his own integrity and principle does. Whenever you’re stressed out, he’s also stressed out; when you’re happy, he’s also happy; when you’re sad, well, he doesn’t know what to do. He may stumble and fail, but that doesn’t mean he’ll leave you at that state. He’ll bring you somewhere that he thinks will take your mind off such heavy things, he’ll treat you to something sweet, heck, he’ll do anything.
He’s incredibly patient towards you and would give in to your whims, even if he is reluctant at first. Just this once, he would say. He’d rather you do it with him rather than with anyone else—despite the fact that it’s just you wanting to try on your new make-up and skincare products that you got. He’s your willing model and audience to your fashion shows, swooning at the sight of you even if you’re just wearing rags and trash bags. He’s incredibly supportive and offers honest opinions, which helps you a lot, especially when you’re indecisive. He doesn’t mind if what you’re wearing can be a little short or revealing, he can fight, so don’t worry about it.
You can easily tell Jack’s feelings and emotions just from the drooping of his ears and the movement of his tail. It’s endearing, really, how tough he may appear on the surface but how easy it is to read him once you start noticing the small details. He’s nonchalant, they say, he’s tough, they say, he’s stoic, they say. Well, not to you and that is a privilege you would love to show off to others.
Oh, but if anyone dares to mess with him, just know that they’re also messing with you.
As what was written, it’s a cute edition of Beauty and the Beast, except each role applies to the both of you. You’re the beast to his beauty, just as you’re the beauty to his beast—people just fail to realize that and think that you’re all sunshine and rainbows. They always overlook the things on the inside just because the outside is pleasant and fragile—it’s always in the tension of the in-between, the differences of what one sees and what is truly felt. They don’t see the beauty of the inside of your heart, simply because the outside is enough and it irritates you how much they downplay your entire existence into a single word. Beauty, beauty, beauty.
Heels can hurt too, you know.
RUGGIE BUCCHI
partners in crime
If they think Ruggie is already a headache, just wait until you come into the picture, because now it’s a full blown migraine.
It’s a 2 for 1 deal, a buy-1-take-2, a package one should never want to have no matter how tempting. They say two brains work better than one, but the thing about you both is that your brains are so similar to each other it just counts as one. If you were a goody two-shoes from the start of your relationship, you’ll slowly start to sound like him or act like him, and it scares everyone. It doesn’t even matter if you came from a wealthy background, you’ll learn of his ways soon enough.
Wherever he is, you are also there, and vice versa. It’s as if seeing either you or him on your own is an odd sight (even if you’re from different dorms). Where’s [Name]? Where’s Ruggie? Nobody ever asks how is [Name]? Or how is Ruggie? Sad face, sad face.
He nabs something from the pocket of an unsuspecting student and he shows it you with a look of pride. Be it snacks, trinkets, or even secrets, the two of you share it with each other. He’ll even teach you how to be quick with your hands and it’s up to you if you are to follow his example or not. Nothing and I say nothing will ever get through the sheer trust you held for one another.
By extension, too, you also get dragged into Leona’s bread request during bakery day, battling with the others to get that deluxe grilled cheese and returning to him with messed-up uniforms and a tired look on your faces. Ruggie will fix your hair and you’ll fix the wrinkle on his clothes, and Leona is just there, watching with disgust.
Your favorite pastime activity involves being haters towards stuck-up and out-of-touch rich kids. Yeah, gossip, gossip, gossip. The two of you have become infamous for it; they say if one sees you and Ruggie together, whispering to each other and snickering, chances are, you already are talking about someone in the room.
It’s not obvious to anyone else that the two of you are dating. Maybe it’s because you aren’t openly affectionate to each other like other couples are; it’s always been something that you show behind closed doors. However, it’s also not really a wow factor when you would declare the actual nature of your relationship—it makes sense, they just never thought of it. It’s common to get an, “oh, okay,” than a “wow, I never knew!” reaction.
Ruggie, as obvious as it is, is not really one for gift giving and even gift receiving. I don’t think he’s fond to receiving expensive stuff, too, because it would just show the disparity the two of you might have and would also put some pressure on him to give something of the same value back. Sure, he appreciates it, but really, he wouldn’t know what to do with it.
By that same reason, he has his own way of showing that he cares, as shrewd and self-serving he can be. You have to drop those textbook expectations of romance and see that those are not the only ways because Ruggie's love language is not written in the center of grand gestures.
He'll slip an extra portion of his hard-won cafeteria haul onto your tray, muttering something about how you "look like you haven't eaten properly in days.” He'll remember the exact snack you mentioned liking once, months ago, and suddenly it appears in your hands. He'll teach you his tricks with the reason that he never wants you to feel as helpless as he once did—if the world ever turns its back on you, he needs to know you can fend for yourself too. When you're having a rough day, he won't offer empty platitudes; instead, he'll drag you to some overlooked corner of campus, share whatever meager treat he's scrounged up, and sit with you. Although he'll complain loudly about having to share his spoils, the complaint itself is the cover for the care he's too guarded to say outright.
When you catch him in those small moments—when he thinks you're asleep and he gently adjusts the blanket over you, or when he absentmindedly saves the last bite of something for you—you realize that Ruggie Bucchi doesn't love in diamonds and declarations. He loves in the quiet assurance that you'll never be alone, never be left behind, and that, more than any expensive gift, is worth everything.
LOVING YOU IS RED – mixed berries with blood orange and cranberry tea in purple cup.
SYNOPSIS | easthies x brimmed hat!reader | loving you is red–like the knights moralis robes, a burden and responsibility easthies must carry. like wild red roses with thorns and the blood that flows through his veins–you stick to him so deep it's ingrained beneath his skin. you will go beyond, just to love him, because red suits him best.
NOTES | @d1strict99 tea party event! | bittersweet/angst | childhood friends to enemies to lovers to strangers | this is 20% dialogue and 80% me yapping on the narrative for the feels. a full fic for this one! i know nothing about easthies at all, i hate that man. also, what in the holy 3k words?
3,359 | WARNINGS | character death mentioned and some blood.
easthies proudly wears the symbol of the knights moralis, as if he was born to bear its weight.
it is the knights moralis' duty to maintain order and stability within the community of witches. they are the pillar of peace that keeps the balance of the world–magic for the sake of safety and happiness. they are the shoulders that carry the responsibility of the pact–strict, but unwavering in the face of the countless possibilities that magic can offer.
it is the knights moralis's duty to fight off any threat to the pact–the brimmed hats. vile, cruel witches who wish to transcend beyond the boundaries of which keeps them humane. witches whose blood gives birth to forbidden magic.
and yet, why does easthies find himself wavering under your gaze, beneath the starry brimmed hat that you wore. how scandalous it is for a pointed hat to rendezvous with a brimmed hat in an intimate time of the night. if anyone to bear witness to such a scene, easthies know he'd lose all the dignity he has as a witch. but for now, he savors the soft touches and the look in your eyes–utterly besotted, pathetically incapable of keeping his hand to himself as he runs a finger along your wrist. your heartbeat is hypnotizing–have you perhaps inked a magic so deep into your blood that even the feel of your heartbeat keeps him in a trance?
“what could possibly be troubling your mind at a time like this?”
even the sound of your voice sounds melodious.
easthies resist the urge to scoff at your absurd question. he knows you well enough that you're aware of the answer, you just want to hear him say it. regardless of what it is between the two of you may be called, some things are better left unsaid, he thinks.
easthies swallows down a groan when you shift closer to him. you rest your head on his shoulder, hat falling off from your head and onto the floor–god did he want to burn that thing to ashes. his hand flies to grip your hips. he breathes in deeply when you visibly shiver at the touch, something inside him feels good at how you seem to react to his touches. the same way you did when there was no need to hide under the cape of night. when he would take a hold of your hand in public and you would fidget with his fingers from the attention you're getting.
“i can hear the thoughts racing in your mind.”
the warmth of your breath when you speak against his skin was a new feeling, the proximity itself is new, yet he dares not move away from you. instead, he pulls you closer than he ever had before and shudder when your lips touch the skin on his neck.
everything about this is new.
easthies was so used to pushing you away after you left once upon a starry night–the lingering pain from the abandonment and betrayal still manages to make his heart ache. he was so used to forcing an angry frown on his face at every hints you left, fake and so contradictory to the elation coursing his veins.
easthies wanted to chase you every time he could sense your presence, wanted to hold you tight in his arms.
a darker, more desperate, part within his soul wants to bottle you up and never let you go.
you would probably love to hear such thoughts, although he would never tell you about it. god forbid he ever says such things and see the delighted smile on your face.
“easthies.”
the murmur of his name made his heart ache desperately, a need to make it permanent so strong he has the cloth of your robe in a fist, clutching you closer to him. it made his desire so apparent and it made you all the more delighted to see him in such a state. easthies, deputy captain and leader of the east knight moralis, holding a brimmed hat so close with such need.
what have you done to him?
“when will you be leaving?”
his voice is hushed against your hair, a hand weaving and brushing through the disheveled strands behind you.
“you want me to leave so soon?”
“i was asking you when, not for you to leave this instance.”
your giggle sounds precious in his ears.
“before sunrise, at least.” you lift your head from below his chin–he resists the urge to pull you back. “i wouldn't want to tarnish your reputation now, do i?”
but haven't you done just that? tainted him with your divine presence. at first, it felt like chasing a ghost, but now that he has you in his arms, it felt like his whole being is being possessed by unsolicited emotions–desires unbefitting of his status.
and yet, he dares not wash his hand of such taint. he embraces it the way he embraces you.
easthies wonders what it would be; to have you like this whenever you're near, without the fear of exploitation and objections from his peers. to touch you in broad daylight, unconcerned of where he does so. to feel your eyes on him, not from where you're hiding, but in plain sight, from within a crowd of people. to have you walk with him along the great hall with your hands intertwined, occasionally placing a soft kiss on the back of your hand– to not have to hide you under the cape of darkness just for a moment of peace. to feel your lips on his with such ferocity or gentleness. to have enough time to relish your affection. to say the words he longs to say without the fear of breaking this fragile thread that binds the two of you.
for a moment, he wonders what it would be like to have you as you were before you turned away from him in pursuit of your love for magic.
a love he can only be secondary.
ironic, that a knights moralis such as him, finds himself in second place against the very thing he swore to protect.
“stay here, please.”
pathetic, really, for easthies to beg you for such things that cannot be.
“you know i cannot.”
he does. and yet he hopes for you to need the same.
“you know what they'll do to me if they found me.”
he knows, god, does he know. he's done it to others so many times. it is with you that he could not imagine himself doing the same.
“they'll take away everything from me.”
they will take you away from him.
“i'll forget who i am.” your arms circle his waist in a tight embrace, almost as if you're comforting him instead, despite of your words. “i'll forget my love.”
of course, you'll forget your magic. you are not you without your love for magic.
“i'll forget my love, i’ll forget you, the man i hold dearest to me.”
easthies felt his pulse quicken.
“who am i without my memories of my love? without my heart?”
you weren't talking about magic.
you were talking about him, your love. the man you love.
“i'll risk everything for you.” your lips were against his ear now, voice laced with a kind of devotion that transcends worship. “i'll scour the world for a magic so powerful.” your lips press against the skin behind his ear and he shudders at the feeling.
“a magic that will bind us together, not even death can tear us apart.”
was it possible? to know that the two of you belong with each other, even after the first, second, or third life? will your souls recognize the other, over and over again, until the universe finally gives you what the two of you are desperate for?
“my love.” your love. that, he pathetically is. the love that transcends even fate.
“kiss me.”
easthies pulls away from you, a hand holding your cheek so gently, like the smallest force will break you to pieces. but he will stubbornly pick you up one by one, even if the sharp edges prick his fingers.
after all, red suits him so well.
“if i kiss you, it'll ruin everything.”
it'll ruin the last pieces of restraint. the last fragment of control over his emotions–over his desire. but it is exactly as he said. every part of him was ruined the moment you stepped out of his life, only to ruin him once more when you returned completely different but still the same witch he dreams of every night.
you nuzzle against his hand like a kitten, intoxicated eyes staring right at him.
“so you don't wish to ruin everything–to ruin me?”
“no.”
easthies finally smiles, enamored and completely at your mercy. you never needed to search for a magic to keep him to yourself. to seal his immutable doom, his lips brush against yours.
“i love you.”
you've ruined him for anyone else.
nothing could have prepared him for this.
all broken and ruined, his heart lay bare in your limp hands. your eyes were empty like the stone in your hand. blood trails from your mouth, the same sickening red that he wears with pride.
easthies hates the brimmed hats.
he hates their curiosity. they made magic that causes pain, grief, and loss. they do not concern themselves with the victims of their malpractice, going beyond the limit of what makes them human. he hates their ambitious tendencies. their love for magic borders on obsession, to the point they throw themselves into magic so deep it's inked on their skin, black liquid coursing through their veins. even you, a brimmed hat yourself, will fall victim to your foolishness. easthies hates the brimmed hats even more, when it's you.
you and your ambitious love for magic.
and it is the same thing that ruined you. it was unfair, easthies grits his teeth in anger. you weren't cruel like them, you weren't using violence in your pursuit for magic. what you wanted was knowledge beyond humanity, the power to do the impossible and transcend human boundaries.
all that's left is your mortal body, lying in the cold hard cobblestone in a pool of your own blood.
easthies hates the color red.
it reminded him of your lips, stained with his blood from when you bit the soft flesh of his lips regardless of his pain. it reminded him of the apple you had this morning before you left, promising to return when the sun goes and the moon shines above.
easthies hates how he can count the times you've broken your promises.
and now, your body lie ruined and broken in his arms. skin etched with dark inks of unfamiliar signs and sigils was all the evidence he needs to see. you have committed the most forbidden act in magic–you have stained your mortal skin with magical ink and you reap what you sow.
“you've always been a liar, haven't you?”
easthies wonder how you got yourself into this ending. where have you been before you're life came to an abrupt stop? did the brimmed hats do something to you? he wouldn't take away the possibility of another brimmed hat harming you–if that is the case, easthies swears he will haunt them down to the ends of this world. had they discovered that you've been meeting up with him in secret? did you stumble upon information privy only to a few brimmed hats and they had to get rid of you to keep the information from reaching him? was it the brimmed hats who stained your skin with ink against your consent?
the air is suffocating, he felt like drowning in his own tears.
when had he started crying?
the image of your face, scathed and bruised and in dire need of help, brought forgotten memories and pasts to the surface. would you, in your time of need, call out for his name? did you think about all the wasted time, all your regrets, all of what could be, if you had stayed with him and never left his side? if you had said yes when he had asked you to stay with him that night the two of you held each other so close, would you still be looking at him with so much love he wants to keep for himself?
all of these questions, ruined and left unanswered, all because you wanted eternity.
how pathetic.
even so, easthies wishes not for eternity, but your love. love that transcends human boundaries, that bind you together it defies fate.
easthies gives himself an hour or two with your cold body in his arms, wishing and begging and crying for some kind of miracle. you have given your life for magic, the same way he will give away his own to have you back.
somewhere from beneath your robes, a spell inked on your skin disappears.
easthies didn't know why, but the museum is crowded today. on all of the day a crowd can gather amongst the corridors of this building, it had to be the day his colleagues managed to convince him to come to this exhibit.
ah, he remembers now.
a new art exhibit was taking place here. something about a rookie artist and how their works capture emotions differently from others. apparently, portraying sorrow and love in the same piece was what gained them attention. so, instead of meditating in his own home on a supposedly relaxing day off, he's following behind a few colleagues from work with the most pensive look on his face. honestly, he's starting to regret accompanying them in the first place. there's only a certain amount of bickering from the twins that he can tolerate as of today. why did luluci think that taking etlan and ekoh to a museum was a good idea?
“oh, look.” luluci, the angel she is, distracts the bickering brothers and points at another painting on the wall. “it looks sweet, doesn't it?”
“not really.” etlan shrugs. “it's kind of boring.”
“kinda like the starry night, huh?” galga reads the description below the painting. “they called it ‘the night you ruined everything.’ what a title.”
“it looks wonderful, though! asides from the horrible names and title!”
utowin stares at the canvas on the wall with sparkly eyes, capturing the art with his own camera. the flicker of light against his eyes must've awaken easthies from his trance. he doesn't know how long he's been staring at the canvas in front of him mindlessly, nor why he did so from the beginning. an odd feeling of melancholy grips his heart when he looks back at the painting once more. it was odd, he's never been to this museum before nor does he find interest in art. tagging along with his colleagues was a spur of the moment decision made by piled up fatigue and restlessness from his work. yet, he finds the painting unbelievably familiar, like a deja vu he knows he's never been through.
it was a simple painting; a starry night, a tower, and a pair of lovers–he assumes.
they must be lovers. the way they held each other was not the same way friends hug one another. another ache in his heart thrums and he struggles to stand straight, finding it hard to blink the onslaught of tears brought upon by unfamiliar sadness. how strange, he's never been this emotional before, let alone for a painting.
he staggers when something, or rather someone, bumps into him.
“oh, sorry!”
jumping away from the person he had unknowingly collided with, he turns to apologize for his recklessness. but he found it hard to form sounds into words, when all he can feel is an indescribable longing and pain when your eyes meet;
disheveled hair, ruffled collar and the first two buttons of your shirt loose, a stroke of red paint on your cheek.
easthies catches his hand before he could wipe the red paint off of your skin.
what was he thinking?
“are you alright?” he manages to croak out, eyes seemingly unable to stop itself from roaming your figure–committing the way you stood in his memory, watching the movement of your shoulders with every breath you take. the bewildered look in your eyes that seemed to sparkle with joy at the sight of him.
where are all these thoughts coming from?
“i've never been better.” you let out a breathy laugh.
the sound of your voice somehow made everything around him brighter. the background starts to blur and he can see you crystal clear this way. something's pulling at his heartstrings, tugging him along to stand closer to you; have his presence linger around you for just a bit longer, listen to your voice and laughter when he's never even heard of you before (oh, he's heard it a thousand times), hold your hand in his and never let go. why does he feel so attached, when he's barely spent an hour with you? let alone half an hour?
a voice at the back of his head tries to convince him that he knows you more than he lets on. it keeps pulling him in, tugging at his heartstrings incessantly–like an invisible force that he can feel deep within his bones.
“are you enjoying the exhibit so far?” your smile, god, please keep smiling at him like that.
“yes, surprisingly so.” he swallows his nerves down with practiced ease. “have you been here before?”
you certainly look like you do.
“yes, i make art for this museum!”
“is this?” he turns to look at the painting–intentionally ignoring the weird looks his colleagues are giving him. after all, easthies was never one for small talks with strangers. “one of your works?”
there's a quiet kind of sorrow in your smile and he has half the mind to gently caress your cheeks to wipe it off your face.
“yes, i made it years ago.”
“and you've only ever gone public with it recently?”
easthies watched as you mull over the answer to his simple question, noting how painfully familiar your eyes were. like a dream he couldn't remember after waking up, a distant memory from the past that he can't quite recall. he doesn't know why, but each mole on your face he knows by heart, can tell by your eyes how you felt with one look.
you were a stranger, but he can feel the way his heart beats like it belongs to you. he doesn't know your name, but he knows his heart calls out for you, letter by letter.
“i was waiting for someone.”
you turned to him and suddenly, everything seemed to be in the right place at the right time. you're just an arm's length away from him and he wants to reach for you, hold you tightly, feel the way your skin feels against him. you were a stranger, but he misses you as you stood in front with a smile so hypnotizing.
you ruined him for everyone else, right from the beginning, from a place he doesn't quite recall. from a memory he doesn't remember owning.
“easthies!”
he can hear the calls of his colleagues as they move ahead of him. it was physically difficult to tear his gaze away from yours. you could probably tell, so with a reassuring smile you wave him a goodbye with words that he couldn't forget.
“i'll see you next time, sir easthies.”
oh, how his name sounds melodious in your voice.
“will i be able to find you here, whenever?”
there's a certain sparkle in your eyes, a telling sign that can hear the hope in his voice when he said that. god, how pathetic of him.
“the time will come, i'm sure of it.”
turning around and walking to a different direction, he watches you take a few steps, before looking at him once more. there's a playful smile on your face. just now, did he noticed the weird star themed hat on your head. it doesn't suit you at all, he thinks.
“we've always had enough time, easthies. i made sure of it.”
