Ixchel

Women 20 years 20 de July

[tmswritesfanfics]

Sparks Fly

Series Title/AU: My Baby Brother is the Strongest Character

<<previous episode

Featuring: Gun Park, Goo Kim, Jichang Kwak

TW: making out and heavy petting outdoors, car sex

Author's Note: This has nothing to do with the episode but I felt like sharing it anyway. The other night, I had a dream wherein I was Noona and I died. Then, as a ghost, I saw my tombstone, which was weird as hell--it was this giant rectangular block with a statue of Gun kneeling on top with his hands bound behind him. There were Kanji characters on the side, which is funny because I can't read Kanji. Anyway, the real Gun saw my tombstone and started crying. He read the characters and apparently, Baby is now a preteen and I asked Gun to take care of him.

P.S. It just hit me that two of Noona's current suitors unknowingly--brutally--beat up the only man she's come close to falling in love with.

Jihan Kwak didn't know if there were such a thing as an afterlife, but if hell exists, then whoever came up with brunch is in there.

He looked to his left. His oldest brother, a workaholic even before becoming a policeman, had requested his first day off. His hair, which he often parted in the middle to make him look "harmless and average," was styled more handsomely—the way he wore it when he was still King. He also spent an embarrassing amount of time deciding what to wear for brunch. Jihan got tired of seeing his brother stare down his clothes so he chose for him: a black quarter sleeve shirt, charcoal slacks and black shoes, topped off with a silver watch. Jichang was an attractive man and you needed to know what you lost.

Unfortunately, you seemed to have a similar plan.

You sat across from his brother, all dolled up in a fancy sundress and smelling like sweet peas, which was apparently because of the perfume Jichang had gifted you. When Jichang expressed surprise that you still have the bottle, you confessed that you only wore it for special occasions. Jihan almost vomited at the sight of his brother getting flustered at your admission. The other men who arrived with you looked equally disgusted.

Even now, Gun Park hasn't even touched his food, choosing to glare at Jichang, while Goo Kim kept cutting his sausages a little too enthusiastically.

Jihan felt a quiet solidarity with them.

Meanwhile, Jibeom was beaming on the other side of Jichang. He "helped" fill in any gaps of silence between you and Jichang.

"So noona," Jibeom said, swirling the drink in his hand, "do you have a boyfriend?"

He's always been an audacious bastard, but the mimosas made him bolder than usual.

The other guys at the table didn't utter a word. They seemed very interested in your answer.

You gave a carefree laugh. "Nah, I've been super busy with work. I haven't met anyone special."

Jihan saw the way your eyes flitted briefly towards Jichang when you said "special" and he scoffed. He had no control over what he muttered next, "She doesn't do boyfriends, remember?"

Everyone turned to him.

Jihan pretended to be engrossed with his eggs and pancakes as he added, "Because no one's good enough for her."

He couldn't see your face, but he could feel the drop in temperature even before his brother spoke his name in a warning tone.

"Jihan, stop."

He shrugged and shoved the food into his mouth.

"I'm sorry about that, bee."

"It's okay—"

"Hey," Goo Kim interrupted, sliding closer to you until your shoulders touched, "how come you call her 'bee'?"

Jichang replied with an awkward grin, "It's nothing special."

"Actually," you said, pushing around the leaves in your salad, "it's a little special…"

Jichang's eyebrows curved upward.

Jibeom nodded proudly while he sipped his mimosa.

"Why?" Gun asked, voice taut.

"Oh, well." You rubbed your arm, feeling uncharacteristically shy. "When I was a student, I was super busy—I needed carbs to function and I used most of my money on food. One of my go-to snacks is Honey Butter. I went to the convenience store one night and got into a fight with someone over the last bag. We almost got kicked out because we were so loud. But, at the end, he decided to buy me the chips and then, well, you know…"

Jichang smiled at the memory. "She loves sweets and was always moving around, always busy—"

"Like a bee," Goo finished the thought, narrowing his eyes. "But angel, what do you call him?"

"I just call him Ji."

Goo lit up from this information, but then Jihan piped in: "She calls him honey."

Again, all heads turned to him.

He shrugged again. "Well, she used to. But if you ask nicely maybe she'll call you honey, too."

Before Jichang could tell his brother to knock it off, Gun spoke up, "You got a problem with my sister, kid?"

You put a hand on his arm. "Gun—"

Jihan clicked his tongue and finally looked your way. "That's right. I don't want her in our house."

"Jihan!"

Jihan ignored his brother and rose to his feet. "She's nothing but a two-faced bitch who sleeps with rich men—"

Jichang slapped him across the face.

You gasped, "Ji—"

Gun moved beside you and you threw your whole weight on top of him.

"Calm down, Gun, please!"

"That fucker just called you a—"

"I heard him, please stop!" You turned to Goo. "Help me restrain—!"

Goo was staring at his butterknife oddly.

"Goo?"

"Angel, how many cuts can I make before someone dies from blood loss?"

"???"

It was weirdly sweet that he felt protective of you like Gun, but Goo was usually more composed than this.

You clung tightly onto your brother while you addressed your host, "J-Jichang, I'm sorry but can you and your brothers leave us for a minute? I need to calm these two down."

"Are you sure? They look…" Dangerous. Even if one was your brother and the other was a friend, it didn't feel right to leave you with these animals. Jibeom and Jichang could only move because your companions' murderous intent was focused on Jihan, who was rendered motionless by the weight of their will.

"Don't worry," you reassured him as you rubbed the base of your brother's head, "they would never hurt me."

Jichang was too worried about you to reprimand their youngest.

He had dragged his brothers into the living room—far out of earshot, but still close enough to come running if you screamed. Last night, he got in touch with an informant in Seoul and found out that after Jichang left, two monsters appeared out of nowhere and dominated the city. Based on the descriptions he was given, those two were Gun Park and Goo Kim.

His instincts were right. He couldn't defeat Goo Kim even if he gave up his life.

"Man, I thought we were gonna die in there," Jibeom guffawed after chugging down his sixth mimosa. "How can she still act normally surrounded by those two demons? Are civilians really that dense?"

Maybe, Jichang said inwardly. But even children who've never witnessed violence have their instincts to rely on. Looking back at it now, you weren't afraid of Jichang Kwak, even when you saw him fight for the first time. You didn't bat an eye when the thuggish-faced Taesoo Ma approached you, or when Gongseob Ji threatened you.

The other Kings joked that your survival instincts were useless, but maybe you grew up surrounded by worse beasts.

His train of thought was interrupted when Jihan let out a long, frustrated sigh from the couch.

"Why do we have to leave our own dining room and hide in our own house?"

Jichang walked up to Jihan, who was not the least bit remorseful.

"What is your problem?" he asked, controlling the edge on his tone.

"…"

"She has been nothing but kind and patient with you, why do you keep antagonizing her? Why do you hate her so much?"

Jihan refused to talk.

Jichang almost grabbed his collar but you came in, with both Gun and Goo trailing behind you. Although still clearly irritated, at least they didn't look murderous.

"Thank you for inviting us, but I think we should go."

"Are you sure?"

"Uh-huh. I'm sorry for the commotion."

"No, it's our fault. We should've behaved better in front of our guests." He cupped his nape. "I'll walk you to your car."

Goo draped his arm over your shoulders. "Thanks, but that won't be necessary. By the way, I'm taking my brunch to go—"

"Oh, thanks for reminding me!" Jibeom exclaimed. He then produced an oversized picnic basket from who knows where and shoving it towards Jichang. "Big bro, you gotta show noona your favorite spot. You can take my truck, I'll be in front of the TV all day."

"Wha—"

"And noona, this is his first day off in forever, so can you make sure he actually enjoys it?"

Jichang tried to protest, but you grinned. "Sounds great."

Gun's face twisted but you patted his side and said, "You boys have fun. Go fish or swim in the river. Don't worry about me, okay?"

"Angel," Gun interrupted, "it's fine to say no—"

"Okay?"

Both men wilted. "Yeah, okay."

***

Jichang's favorite spot was a cliffside overlooking the province. The sky was a picture-perfect blue with brushes of white clouds.

"This place is gorgeous. How come we're the only ones here?" you asked while you placed rocks over the corners of the blanket.

"It's too far for senior citizens to hike and kids these days would rather hang out at the mall."

You nodded understandingly. "And you're sure we weren't followed?"

"Don't worry, my brothers know better than to intrude on a da—on a private affair." He coughed. "How about you?"

"Gun knows better than to make me angry," you said casually.

"What about Goo Kim?"

You arranged the food containers between the two of you. "Why would Goo follow us?"

"Bee."

"If it makes you feel any better, there is no way my brother's going to let him rampant."

"He likes you."

You sighed. "Let's say you're right. Goo has a crush on me—so what?"

"You're not going to…?"

"Do what? Do him?"

Jichang made a face and you laughed. "He isn't just my friend, he is my little brother's best friend. I know you think I'm some amoral seductress, but there is no way I can do that to Gun."

He wiped the spoons and forks, then he looked at you. "I don't think that."

"Thanks," you mumbled.

"Jihan didn't mean the things he said. He was just being a brat."

"It's okay—"

"It's not okay. You're not… that," he said. "You've always been clear about what we were, but I failed to educate my brothers. They were convinced that you were the one. They thought you were going to be family and when you left, Jihan took it personally." It brought back too many memories of their mother leaving.

"You don't have to defend Jihan. He's a sweet kid underneath that prickliness." 

He grinned and gave you the utensils.

You blinked at his left hand. 

"It's a minor injury," he said, noticing your stare.

You flipped his hand and examined the scar. In the comic, Gitae Kim's fingers pierced through the outer side of his palm like it was butter. The wounds had closed, leaving behind a spider-like scar. 

You traced the redness gingerly.

"Bee?"

You didn't realize you were crying until you saw a tear drop onto his scar.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," he said. He gently pulled back his left hand before he held your face. 

If you had stayed, or at least warned him, would Jichang have suffered less?

"Ji, I wish you were an asshole."

He quirked his eyebrow. "Um, okay?"

"Why are you so nice to me?" It would have been so much easier if he was selfish bastard.

His thumb wiped away your tears. "You don't deserve anything less."

Your mouth trembled but you swallowed down a sob before asking, "You told me your brothers thought I was the one, but what about you, Ji? Did you ever think I could be the one?"

"It doesn't matter." He gave you a gentle smile. "You didn't feel the same and that's all right."

Against all common sense, you asked, "What if I did?"

"…do you mean that?"

"Well, I've never fallen in love with anyone before, and I'm not going to lie and say that I felt the way you did, but…" You trailed off, breaking eye contact to focus on his nose while you thought of what to say.

He waited patiently.

"But I think… I could've really loved you too."

He glanced over the edge of the cliff, silent for a second. Then, he scoffed. "That's a lousy confession."

You pinched his side. "I'm serious."

He chuckled. "I think I could have really loved you too."

"Really?"

"I wouldn't have asked you to be my girlfriend otherwise."

You gazed into each other's eyes for what felt like a minute, until Jichang's fell over your lips and you leaned in to kiss his. 

Jichang swept the plastic containers away and welcomed you in his arms.

His brothers and the other Kings tried to set him up with other girls, but Jichang could never get past the first date, or sometimes, even the introductions. Every time he looked at another woman, he couldn't help but compare her to you. From the way she laughed to how she kissed—Jichang never enjoyed kissing other women. It felt wrong, a betrayal of his own instincts.

But kissing you was as natural as breathing.

His lips desperately found yours over and over. Your arms wrapped around him, your knees locked him in place—you surrounded him completely and he didn't want to be apart from you for even a moment.

He flopped back on one elbow while keeping a soft grip on your nape. The feeling of your familiar weight on top of him excited every nerve in his body.

You sighed his name and he became very aware of the tightness in his pants. Only you could make him as horny as a teenager.

Jichang palmed your hips, caressed the dip of your waist, and cupped the area just under the swell of your breasts. You've gotten even more irresistible over the years.

Thunder boomed from the distance but neither you nor Jichang pulled away. Even as rain drizzled over, you clung onto each other.

A grown man making out with someone outside, in the middle of a storm. The logical part of him shook its head in disapproval.

You're the only one who made him understand how men could lose themselves over a woman.

You laughed as you pulled away. "Come on."

He pushed back his wet bangs. He would have made love to you right there on that wet picnic blanket if you didn't pull away.

Jichang scooped you into his arms and ran back to his brother's truck.

He helped you inside the backseat (which was already suspiciously covered with a different blanket) before climbing inside and locking the doors.

You looked at the picnic setup outside. "What about the—"

"Leave it," he said sharply as he took off his glasses and then captured your mouth again. The force knocked you down, but Jichang cradled the back of your neck, protecting your head as you fell.

He helped you shimmy out of your safety shorts and you undid his belt—two simple tasks that would have been easier if it weren't your mouths latching onto each other like magnets.

He pushed down your sleeves, pulling down until your breasts popped out from the built-in bra. He finally drew back from your lips to kiss your shoulders and chest.

Your fingers opened his fly with clumsy enthusiasm, which earned you a chuckle.

Frowning, you pinched his side. "I don't recall laughing at you when you couldn't find my bra clasp on our first night."

"Mmm." He breathed onto your neck, tickling that spot. "'m sorry, sweetheart. You're just so cute."

As an apology, his long, slender fingers hovered over the moist patch over your panties. It was nice to know that he wasn't the only one who has become a hormonal mess.

"Jichang…" You jerked your hips against his touch.

"I know, I know." He knew that tone. "But you'll get hurt so be patient, sweetheart."

You whined but said nothing more.

Jichang drew circles over the wet fabric before pushing it aside and plugging one finger into you.

You moaned, toes curling. One of the few things you loved about men is how they could reach deeper than your own hands could.

"You're doing great, beautiful," he whispered as he placed a thumb over your clit. "Ji…"

"Sh… we're almost there."

He told you to be patient but it took everything he had not to rip off your panties and fuck you with his cock. You could take a lot of punishment—you loved when he treated you like his whore, but you needed to be prepped. Jichang gulped down his own desire and inserted a second finger, causing your hips to buck.

He kept parting his two fingers like scissors and continued playing with your clit until you overflowed on the seat and you were kicking against the window.

He glanced his hand, wet with your juices, and then hovered it above your face.

You didn't even need instructions before you stuck out your tongue and began cleaning him.

Jichang could hear his own pulse echo in his ears. He watched as you licked the space between his fingers—slowly, like you were savoring your own taste. Then, you took one digit into your mouth and looked at him through your lashes.

Something ticked in his jaw and he heard himself say, "Get on your stomach."

You rolled over, smiling proudly at successfully pushing Jichang over the edge.

You heard the distinct sound of plastic tearing behind you. A condom. You didn't trouble yourself on where he got it or why he was carrying one—you didn't have the time to even think when Jichang siezed your hips and his familiar length entered you without warning.

An unsexy, genuine squeal left you as he settled inside you.

He let go of your hips and lay on top of you.

"This is what you want, right?" he rasped into your ear.

You couldn't answer. It's been so long since a man properly held you, you wanted to savor everything.

Not liking your lack of reply, Jichang hooked his arm around your neck while his free hand cupped the top of your head. "I couldn't hear you. Walking around in this tiny sundress, seducing me on our picninc, you planned everything, didn't you?"

"Y-yeah," you gasped against the pressure on your throat, "I was just waiting for you to violate me."

His eyes darkened. "Do you remember our safeword?"

"Cucumber."

He pulled back, kissed the top of your head and began moving—there was no need to be gentle anymore.

The truck rocked with each brutal ram of his hips. Your moans and his grunts intermingled as the glasses fogged up from the rain and the steam of your bodies.

"I missed you, bee," he breathed, "I couldn't sleep a wink because you kept showing up in my dreams and I'd wake up with a hard-on."

"I missed—ahn—hah, hah—I missed you too, honey," you managed to muster through your pleasure-riddled haze.

Jichang slowed down, but you felt him grow bigger inside. You craned your neck. "Ji?"

He sighed. "You're really…" He let out a frustrated chuckle before he picked up his pace.

Jichang snaked one hand under you, finding where you two joined—then his fingers circled your clit. Your eyes rolled back and you gasped his name again.

He bit the tip of your ear. "Call me honey again."

"Hmm…" You struggled to maintain a single coherent thought.

He pulled his arm, choking you. "Call me honey."

"Hah—honey…"

He tipped your chin and kissed you again and again.

Lightning flashed outside but you didn't notice. In this moment, Jichang preoccupied your every neuron. His rhythm was steady and unrelenting, shaking the whole truck until, with one final thrust, you screamed and he collapsed on top of you.

He panted, catching his breath first, then he shifted closer to the backrest, spooning you.

"Wow…" you exhaled, lungs still recovering.

"Are you okay?" he asked, wiping the sweat from your forehead.

"Uh-huh. I haven't done this in a while so I'm out of shape, but I'll be ready again in five minutes."

He laughed. "No pressure."

"By the way, where did you get a condom?" The Jichang you knew was not a horndog like many Kings. He also wasn't superstitious so he didn't keep condoms in his wallet for "good luck"—and even if he did, he was too smart to use a dried up condom from his wallet. "Were you expecting this to happen?" you teased.

"Jibeom shoved three packets in the basket."

"That's…"

"Creepy, I know. I'll have a talk with him."

"Don't be too harsh, we did use one."

You felt him stir inside you and he hugged you with closer. "Just one?"

You giggled. "I'm always up for round two, but—"

The sound of your stomach interrupted your sentence.

Your lover stifled a laugh. "Stay here." He pressed a kiss on your forehead and pulled out of you.

Jichang braved the rain to retrieve the basket, and the two of you ate brunch—well, now it was simply lunch.

"What's life like for a policeman?" you asked between bites.

"It's okay, but this is the sticks. Most of my job involves dealing with angry neighbors and occasionally, teenagers loitering and making out past their curfew. It's mind-numbingly boring."

That was definitely a far cry from his previous career as a professional gangster. "If it makes you feel any better, I always dreamed of a sexy policeman arresting me."

"That does help a bit."

"You're welcome."

He handed you his water bottle. "How about you, school nurse? You hate teenagers so how did that happen?"

"I don't hate teenagers."

"You hate dealing with them."

"Yeah, I do." You cocked your head. "But my kids are good kids, like Daniel Park. I'm not their teacher but I like to think I can keep them out of trouble."

"Do you?"

"No comment."

He chuckled and you playfully smacked his arm.

After finishing lunch, when reason returned to your brains, you felt too full and uncomfortable to continue your lovemaking in Jibeom's truck.

Jichang's house was a no-go, and you didn't want to face your own brother back at the inn, so Jichang took you to a lodge situated in the nicer parts of the region.

After a warm shower, you two fell into old habits once again. Jichang took you in several different positions until the last of the condoms was used up.

As you two lay in each other's arm, reeling from the afterglow, your phone rang and you realized that it was already nine in the evening.

"Hello—"

"I just wanna say that your brother is very upset with you," said Goo.

You checked the caller ID. He was calling you from Gun's phone.

"Goo—"

"What time are you coming back? Because we went to get takeout for three, but surprise surprise, you're not here."

Jichang watched silently at first, then he lowered his head and bit down on your shoulder, ripping a moan right out of you.

The other line fell quiet.

You covered your mouth and glared at your lover, who only beamed in satisfaction.

You cleared your throat. "Goo, don't wait up for me, okay? I'm safe, I promise—you guys enjoy dinner—good night." You ended the call and then hit Jichang with a pillow. "Why!?"

He shrugged.

"My brother could have been listening, you jerk!"

"I'm sorry, bee. I just… lost myself I guess." He looked pretty happy for someone saying sorry.

You sighed. "Whatever."

He opened his arms and you flopped down on his chest. You two indulged in the comfortable silence, but you both knew this won't last forever.

You were the first one to break it. "What happens now?"

"I can't leave Chungcheong."

You shut your eyes and listened to his heart. "I know."

"But…"

"Hm?" You looked up.

"You don't have to wait for me, but maybe, once Choi is gone, I can pay you a visit in Seoul?"

You smiled. "I'd like that."

He smiled back. As you two shared another kiss, he embraced you for one last time and a part of you wished morning would never come.

***

Morning came too fast.

You dreaded returning to the inn, where, of course, both Goo and Gun were waiting like eager guard dogs.

"Good morning," you said, trying not to sound awkward as you got off the truck.

"Nice t-shirt." Goo eyed your oversized Chungcheong t-shirt and the sweatpants which obviously belonged to a man. "What happened to your dress?"

"It got ripped during the hike up the mountains."

"Didn't you two drive there?"

"Goo, please." You turned to Gun, who has been avoiding eye contact since earlier. "Are you seriously going to ignore me?"

"I'm not ignoring you."

"Then look at me."

"…"

"You're unbelievable—both of you. If you can't grow up then you can drive back to Seoul without me." You turned to Jichang, who was helping you walk since you didn't trust your legs today. "Thank you. For everything."

"My pleasure."

"I'd invite you to hang out until we leave, but…"

"It's okay. I have a shift later. Do you need help getting to your room?"

"Nah. It's right there." You kissed his cheek. "Bye, Ji. Tell Jibeom brunch was amazing."

He gave you a paper bag containing your destroyed dress and underwear. "Will do."

You hobbled towards your unit, refusing to acknowledge either your brother or his best friend. You unlocked your room and then slammed the door behind you, leaving the three men to stew in silence.

Jichang couldn't move, but he was confident they weren't to kill him with you only several feet away.

Goo clicked his tongue. "I'm going to help her pack." He sent Jichang one last glare over his shoulder before running to your door.

Jichang wasn't sure if being left alone with your brother was better or worse.

He coughed. "Thank you for helping Mr. Noh."

"…"

"I'm sorry for hogging your sister's time. We go way back and—"

"Jichang Kwak," Gun interrupted, voice laced with contempt, "I didn't help you or that old geezer out of the goodness of my heart. I have my own reasons for taking down Charles Choi, so don't get the wrong idea."

Yes, I figured. But Jichang held his tongue.

"I don't like you. I'd like to punch your heart out right now."

"…"

"But nee-san likes you so I'll let you live."

"I appreciate that."

"Shut up."

"…"

"Do your best not to die, King of Seoul," Gun said, turning around, "because if you make my sister cry, I'll find you in hell."

To be continued...

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a/n: And they say the perfect man doesn't exist.

Disclaimer: The images used are screencaptures from Ep. 438, 439 & 497- Lookism, Webtoon.

My Baby Brother is the Strongest Character Masterlist

MAIN MASTERLIST | Lookism Masterlist

[k3lbug]

✧Reader is mainly based on my own personality✧

✧Some tags I added but wouldn't work✧

𝑩𝒐𝒐𝒌 4 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 2

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ✧ 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 1 ✧ 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 2 ✧ ...

First you get imprisoned٫ and now you're left to start having another fever dream to add to the plot of whatever messed up story sequence that the last dream started.

This time٫ the dream started out in a lavishly grand palace. It was honestly one of the fanciest places you've ever seen.

Then٫ a king appeared on the throne while saying٫ "But I thought the law says that only a prince can marry a princess. I'm quite sure...."

A law dictating who you could and couldn't marry...That law seemed like something more from your world than the current one you were in. Here٫ it seemed to be a free for all; especially if you could manage to get the other to develop Stockholm syndrome or something...

Soon after٫ that man from your previous dream was before the king٫ pointing his staff directly at the ruler. The way he spoke seemed to be almost hypnotic.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, my lord. The princess will marry me. The princess will marry..."

The man drew closer to the king٫ the red jewels on his staff beginning to faintly glow with each repetition.

However٫ the king soon had his attention drawn elsewhere٫ even interrupting٫ "What? What is that? That music!"

The scene quickly shifted to outside of the palace٫ where a grand parade had began to take place. Leading the festivity was a well dressed man٫ quite literally conducting a song that sung praise after praise of the prince the parade was for.

"Step aside for Prince Ali! Here he comes, for all to see! The shining jewel of this marvelous procession...Ali Ababwa himself, the living legend!"

With a rare high note٫ the dream ended٫ fading to black.

❥

Slowly opening your eyes٫ you found a furry٫ little lump on your chest٫ peacefully snoring away.

"Mrah...I don't want any more of your moldy crackers...Myah..."

You were barely able to register where you were again before hearing the door unlock and slam open.

"How long are you two going to sleep? On your feet, now!"

Both you and Grim shot up on reflex٫ completely startled by the abrupt wake up call. Grim's sitting up was more of a falling off of where he was asleep on your chest٫ though.

"Mrow?! What now?! Wait, it's only 6 a.m."

You looked over at a nearby clock. It wasn't even 6 a.m. yet. It was 5:54 a.m.. Looking back over at your annoying human alarm٫ you noticed a small stack of clothes in his hands.

"We're marching ten kilometers to the eastern oasis!"

"You expect us to trudge that far through sand that's hard to walk on as it is? Why should we?" Grim argued.

"Because the housewarden said so. Now stop whining and hurry up! These clothes are a small gift from the vice-housewarden٫ so be grateful!"

With that٫ the boy dropped the clothes on the dresser and slammed the door shut on his way out. What an ass...

❥

The clothes were actually pretty comfortable. There were a bit big on you٫ but that was to be expected. It did feel nice to change into a clean outfit. Plus٫ now you actually looked matched with the rest of the dorm٫ and had a breathable outfit to move around in. You'd have to remember to thank Jamil later.

Upon leaving the room٫ you and Grim were immediately dragged along to start whatever ridiculous march that guy was talking about a couple minutes ago.

"Now march to the eastern oasis! This will help strengthen your legs. If I see anyone break formation, they'll be punished later!"

"How'd I get dragged into this?" Grim whines beside you٫ and you silently agreed.

"Less talking, more marching! Move out!"

Personally٫ you felt the most ridiculous fact wasn't the fact you all had umbrellas that had to be moved in a certain routine; you felt that it was definitely the fact that Kalim got to ride on the elephant under the shade while looking back every so often and criticizing students like some sort of brutal dictator.

"You there! You're breaking formation."

Grim huffed and panted at your feet like a dehydrated dog and begged٫ "Let me catch my breath, at least."

"Enough whining! March! If you're tired, that's proof you need to train more! It's your own fault!"

You were very quick to notice how whenever Kalim would look back٫ the guys in front of you would tend to move between any possible view Kalim could get. At first٫ you thought it might've been because they were trying to look out for you so that you wouldn't get scolded. It didn't take long to learn٫ though٫ that it was they thought you looked kinda pathetic while trying to keep up and knew you'd get special treatment if their incredibly smitten housewarden noticed. You were becoming increasing aware of how deeply rooted the "If I suffer٫ we all suffer" mentally was in this dorm٫ along with the fact a lot of them really SUCKED at whispering.

Sadly٫ you knew they were probably right about a few of those things٫ one being that you looked pathetic. Both the heat and your feet were killing you. Like٫ seriously٫ who even decides to march on sand? That's not even accounting for how ridiculously heavy these umbrellas were! Were they made of solid gold or something?! You desperately needed water٫ shade٫ and a break.

"You're slowing down! Pick up the pace!"

"W-we can't go any faster!" One of the students pointed out.

"It's because of you fools that we placed last in the tournament and exams!" Kalim argued in return.

"I'm burnin' up here. Water...I need water I'm gonna shrivel up!" Grim fussed.

Jamil reassured him٫ "We're almost to the oasis. Hang in there."

Thankfully٫ it wasn't much longer until everyone made it the oasis Jamil had mentioned. The scenery٫ though٫ looked oddly familiar. You were sure that you've already seen it in your dreams. Not only that٫ but a parade of elephants and camels with a prince riding one...

"Hey, ___, what're you starin' off into space for? Did the heat get to you?" Grim asked٫ ripping you from your train of thought long enough to reassure him you were alright.

"Everyone, halt!" Kalim demanded.

The direbeast at your feet let out a relieved sigh٫ "Phew. We made it at last!"

"We will take a fifteen-minute break. Then we march back to the dorm٫" Jamil announced.

"Finally, some water...Wait. What kinda bizarro oasis is this?! It's empty!"

"I'm gonna die of dehydration..." you quietly cried to yourself٫ if you could even had enough water left in your body for tears.

"Water? You say you want water?" Kalim wondered٫ walking over to you and Grim.

"Uh, duh? Our throats' dry as a bone٫" Grim whined.

Kalim excitedly clasped your hands in his٫ intertwining your fingers together. His smile was so wide that he was practically beaming at you٫ his face inches from your own with how close far he had ventured into your personal bubble.

"Then water you shall have...and I'll make it cool and refreshing for you!"

From what seemed to be out of nowhere٫ Kalim pulled out his housewarden staff and began to chant٫ "Respite in the scalding sands, a neverending party. Dance! Sing! Oasis Maker!"

After being cast٫ the spell caused fresh rain to start falling from the sky.

"Oooh! Sweet, merciful rain!" Grim celebrated.

"I was feeling like a withered husk for a minute there, but this water's refreshing me from the inside out!" You overheard one of the students say.

"Ahhh...I needed that٫" another sighed in relief.

"You really like it? If water's all you want, then I'll produce enough to fill this whole oasis٫" Kalim happily offered٫ "That's my signature spell, Oasis Maker. It allows me to expend a little bit of magic power to produce large volumes of the finest water."

"Y'know...Making a buncha water seems really low-key for a signature spell٫" Grim admitted٫ "There are plenty of other spells that let you conjure water..."

"I beg to differ٫" Kalim interjected٫ "The point of Oasis Maker is its efficiency. It produces a lot using a very small amount of magic. Back before the advent of running water, one would have had to draw their own water and boil it to sterilize it. A spell like mine would have been a tremendous boon back then. But I guess you're right. Now that running water is a widespread service, it's not the most useful of spells."

Kalim laughed and rambled on٫ "But hey! I'm still confident that the water l conjure is the finest, most delicious water in all the land."

"Now that you mention it, it's basically the perfect temperature. Not too cold to drink, but not lukewarm, either٫" Grim commended٫ "And it goes down all nice 'n smooth, like fresh spring water."

"Since when are monsters water aficionados?" Jamil questioned٫ walking up behind Kalim.

"Hey, I resent that! I've got a discerning palate for everything!"

"I figured! I was right to hope you would appreciate the difference٫" Kalim grinned٫ "Here, have a cracker as a treat."

"Erk! I'm hungry, sure, but this ain't the best time for dry and crumbly foods!"

"He's acting ditterently than he was before we set out٫" You quietly observed٫ "Is he back to his sunny disposition from before?"

"Now that ya mention it, it's like those were two different guys٫" Grim whispered in agreement.

"Hm? Did you say something, ___?" Kalim asked٫ once again getting closer as if to make sure to not even miss hearing a thought from you.

Jamil cleared his throat٫ pulling Kalim out of your space٫ and reminded٫ "Kalim, our fifteen minutes are just about up. Let's assemble the students and get back to the dorm."

"Already? A little more time to catch our breath wouldn't hurt them any٫" Kalim insisted.

"The sun will rise higher if we take too long. The hotter it gets, the worse our trip back will be."

"You've got a point. Okay, guys! Let's get back to the dorm and have breakfast! Back to marching!"

You let out a groan and started towards to head back to where you where you very passive aggressively dropped your umbrella when Kalim grabbed you by the arm٫ instead٫ and dragged you to the elephant with him.

As he helped you up٫ you couldn't help but ask٫ "Is this safe...?"

"Of course it is! I do it all the time٫" he brushed off٫ "If you get scared٫ just hold onto me٫ okay?"

"Okay..." you repeated.

Kalim made sure to stand behind you٫ holding you waist to make sure you stayed in place. Just as a precaution٫ you grabbed onto his wrists٫ rather tightly. He only laughed. As the elephant started to move٫ you started to stumble. You regained most of your balance after having stabilized yourself from catching yourself against Kalim's chest and using him to keep yourself up. You tried apologizing and letting go٫ but rich boy only giggled at you and made sure to hold you right there against him.

With your current view٫ you could see a few salty Scarabia students. You stuck your tongue out at them.

Suddenly٫ Kalim let out a curious hum and began to run one of his hands down your arm. When his hand landed on one certain spot٫ you winced. He panicked.

"I'm so sorry! Are you okay?!"

"Yeah٫ I'm fine. It's just a bruise٫" you reassured.

"It wasn't there yesterday..." Kalim remembered. He seemed to be noticeably upset at your injury٫ especially since it was while under his dorm's watch.

"Just a clumsy accident. Y'know how it is٫" you tried calming him down.

"Heh...Yeah٫ all the time..." Kalim smiled٫ but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Kalim dropped the subject٫ but continued to subconsciously rub your bruise as if it were his own the whole way back. It kind of made you feel like an animal having its wounds licked for it.

❥

Back at the dorm٫ you and Grim greedily chowed down on the feast of a meal that had been prepared for everyone. Walking all that way truly works up an appetite. However٫ the way Kalim was cuddled up right beside you and watching you eat like some famous star was a bit distracting.

"I know we gotta stage a prison break as soon as possible, but man...As much as I hate to admit it, this food is to die for. Or, well, to be Grim-napped for٫" Grim admitted; you hated that you could agree.

"I'm not sure what you mean by that, but I'm glad you like the food. Have some more! Try this blue cheese made from cow's milk for starters. It's great on a cracker. Here!"

"Uh, nah, I'm good on crackers..."

"Please, no need to stand on ceremony! Ah hah hah!"

"Mrrrph?! Homph! Mrrrph!"

As if Grim's saving grace٫ Jamil approached and began scolding Kalim.

"Kalim, don't stuff Grim's mouth so full of food. You'll make him choke."

"Oh, sorry! Please, take your time. There's plenty more where this came from٫" he apologize.

Grim managed to chew the rest and gulp it down before getting out٫ "I think you're missin' the point, pal..."

You rubbed his little back out of pity.

"We've still got ice cream left over from yesterday٫" Kalim remembered٫ "I always like to set out lots of different flavors, and then take a big spoon and scoop out however much sounds good of each one."

"Y-yeah? You got a whole system for that?" Grim wondered.

Actually٫ now that you thought about it٫ with the heat and all...

"Ice cream sounds really nice right now..." you sighed.

Kalim's eyed seemed to light up at your words and looked to be visibly vibrating with excitement at the prospect of guessing something you were craving.

"Right?! No matter how full you are, there's always room for dessert, right? Hold on, I'll go fetch you some."

"Kalim, wait! I'll get it. You stay seated٫" Jamil stopped him.

"I don't mind, really! All you have to do is get it out of the freezer, right?" The boy asked as he kept going.

"You don't work as a servant, Kalim٫" his vice argued٫ "At least TRY to remember that you're the heir to the Asim family. If word got out that I allowed you to do this, my parents would never let me hear the end of it."

"You're too serious about servitude, Jamil. We're just classmates here at Night Raven College. Can't we act like it?"

Jamil sighed٫ "Fine. Just let me handle the actual scooping. Would you help me carry it out to everyone?"

"Easily done!"

As the two started to leave٫ you noticed Grim rummaging around. He seemed٫ though٫ you weren't the only on who noticed.

"Hm? What is it?" Kalim asked.

"What's what? Nothin' to see over here٫" Grim quickly shrugged off.

"Okay. Hold on, I'll be right back with dessert!"

"...Y'know, I'm really startin' to get baffled here٫" Grim muttered٫ "The way Kalim was talkin' just now, he wasn't exactly respectin' others' points, but he meant well enough."

Barely a minute later٫ you heard footsteps from the hall. Kalim soon reappeared before everyone٫ but with a significant lack of ice cream.

"Well? How long are you going to sit around eating? Do you fancy yourselves royalty?!"

"Whaaa?!"

"Get these dishes washed and put away, on the double! And get ready for afternoon training!"

"Y-yes, sir!"

"Erk! We're back to scary Kalim again٫" Grim cried.

"Grim, aren't getting out of this. We'll be doing defense magic training until evening. To the courtyard!"

Kalim grabbed Grim by the scruff on the back of his neck and dragged the little beast away like a misbehaved kitten. This was definitely going way beyond mood swings. What's worst٫ you didn't even get any ice cream like promised!

"I'm truly sorry to put you both through this٫" Jamil apologized٫ walking over to help you up. "I am forever in your debt for agreeing to help us."

You groaned as you took the hand he offered to help you up and dusted off yourself off.

"Eh. Already fixed three dorm's personal problems. What's one more?" You sarcastically noted.

Jamil chuckled and took out something he was hiding somewhere on his person before offering it to you. Looking down at it٫ you saw he had offered you a small ice cream container and a spoon.

"You seemed pretty excited at the idea of ice cream٫ so I grabbed some before running after Kalim. It'll also do some good to cool you down since you're not used to the dorm's heat. Just make sure the others don't see. They'll probably get jealous."

You felt a smile spread across your face at the gift and happily accepted it. Jamil just kept breaking your barriers down that you've built up since arriving here. He always seemed to make sure you and Grim were comfortable and kept giving you comforts٫ like a change of clothes earlier and now this sweet treat.

"Thank you٫ Jamil. And I wanted to thank you for the change of clothes. It was really sweet. Oh٫ it's my favorite flavor٫ too!"

The boy chuckled٫ "It's no problem at all. I also remembered Kalim mentioning it you liked that flavor in passing and I guess it stuck. Now٫ we should hurry before anyone notices we're lagging behind.

Jamil placed a hand on the small of your back and began leading you towards the courtyard with everyone else. You were able to sit in the shade and eat your treat while everyone else practiced. To be fair٫ what exactly could you do to practice defense magic when you had no magic? Oh٫ well...

❥

That night٫ you and Grim waited to hear when your appointed guards locked the door to you room. Both of you had an ear to the door to listen for when their was no one else in the hall.

"All right, the Ramshackle visitors are secure in their room."

"Let's check in on the other rooms."

"I swear there's been another escape every day. Housewarden Kalim's been very cross about it. It's gotten so bad, he's not even listening to counsel from Vice Housewarden Jamil anymore."

"How long will we have to live like this? I just wanna go home."

"Oh, quit bellyaching. You think I didn't want to spend the holidays with my family, too?"

"Also٫ did you see the looks Housewarden Kalim kept giving us earlier? I even got 'em whenever he was acting all sunny! We're the ones playing guard٫ but we don't get a lick of respect."

Their idle conversation grew more faint as their footsteps grew farther and farther from your room. You and Grim let out a breath of relief and slid down to sitting with your backs laid against the door.

"Are they gone?" He asked. Once reconfirming with his ears pressed against the door٫ the little furball dramatically threw himself into your arms and began to whine out his woes to you٫ "That afternoon training was so brutal, my meal was ready to come up the same way it went down. We already know the headmage ain't gonna be any help here. Which means it's up to us to get ourselves outta this mess. Luckily, you've got my towering intellect over here.

I've got a perfect prison break plan ready to go."

"Towering intellect, huh?" You teased٫ scratching behind his ear٫ "Okay, I'll bite. Let's hear it."

The little rat started to mischievously chuckle٫ "Heh heh heh. I swiped our escape tool this morning. Behold: our ticket to freedom!"

Grim ruffled around his furry٫ little body before pulling out a metal spoon and presenting it to you like it was the solution to world hunger.

"A spoon...?"

"We'll use this bad boy to dig our way through the floor, one spoonful at a time!"

"Where does intellect come in? This is the most basic plan possible! Besides٫ that's gonna take WAY too much time and energy."

"They used to call me Grim the Digger back home. Leave this to me while you stand lookout!"

You eventually decided to just go along with his plan. After all٫ a dumb plan was better than no plan. Plus٫ messing up the dorm building felt٫ even if just a little٫ felt like a nice little form of payback.

❥

A while in٫ your eyed started to grow heavy. At the moment٫ you were still slouched in the same spot against the door as Grim dug his heart out with his baby spoon. The monotonous digging sound was surprisingly good white noise.

"Wow, this is goin' smoother than I thought. I think I'm actually onto something here.

❥

After who knows how long٫ you were half asleep and just about to drift off when Grim started complaining.

"Okay, I'm gettin' bored of diggin' into the same spot over and over again...___, let's switch places. I'll keep an eye out."

Honestly٫ this was his plan. Why did you have to do any labor. You had half a mind to tell him that and go right back to sleep.

❥

And so٫ it's currently been about half an hour or so since you took up digging. In the corner of your vision٫ Grim's ears pricked up and he began to panic.

"Ah, crud! The patrol's comin'! Quick, pretend you're sleeping!"

❥

"It took 'til morning, but we dug a hole big enough for me to fit two paws through..." Grim noted in exhaustion.

"Prison breaks aren't done overnight..." You pointed out٫ equally as fatigued.

The two of you had just flopped down on the bed after having spent all night working on digging that whole instead of resting. You both just stared up at the ceiling as if it were a fascinating sight that you couldn't look away from. You might've finally snapped. And if you hadn't٫ the sound of the door unlocking was definitely helping get you there.

"Up, you two! It's time for morning training. We're marching to the oasis again!"

The boy dropped a change of clothes on a nearby dresser and slammed the door shut on his way out. This might just be the day you die...

❥

You and Grim were barely able to drag yourselves through the sand to meet the others in your exhausted states. Part of you really wanted the ground to suddenly open up and swallow you. At least that way you could get some sleep.

"Wake up and get a move on! To the eastern oasis! March!"

"Urgh, it's even harder to deal with the heat when I'm runnin' on no sleep٫" Grim groaned٫ and you grumbled in agreement.

Jamil must've overheard both of you complaining because he turned towards the two of you and asked٫ " You're sleep-deprived? Make sure you drink plenty of water so you don't collapse."

"Aw, Jamil...Yeah, we'll do that٫" Grim said.

You hummed٫ "Mhm. Thanks for the advice."

He gave you both a reassuring smile and nodded before getting ready to start the march.

❥

If you didn't feel well before٫ you definitely weren't now. About halfway through now٫ you were feeling truly terrible. You didn't realize it looked so obvious٫ though٫ until you noticed that Grim seemed worried even through his own state.

"I see you falling behind at the rear! Lift those parasols higher! Front lines, I can hardly hear those bells! Louder!"

At one point٫ Grim went further up the line to try to get Jamil's attention٫ but ended up only panting before he could actually say anything.

"Pull yourself together. If you stop here, the vultures will swoop in٫" Jamil teased.

Grim's little body stiffened and he quickly denied the offer٫ "Y-yeah, I'll pass on that, thanks.

Eventually٫ Grim was able to point out your current state to Jamil. You gave a weak smile when he looked over at you. The vice housewarden quickly gained a serious expression and told Grim where some drinkable water was. The direbeast hurried over and brought it to you. Though refreshing٫ the water did little to expel your symptoms. Still٫ you did your best to act like it did so that Grim wouldn't worry.

❥

"You're taking longer than yesterday. Hurry it up!"

"Ugh...I can't walk another step٫" a nearby boy groaned.

"I can see the oasis. Respite is just ahead!" Jamil pointed out٫ "Hang in there just a little while longer, everyone!"

"Wow, he's still cheering us on after all of this. What a vice housewarden!" The boy praised.

"Yeah, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm dead tired!" Grim loudly cried.

Despite all the excitement around you٫ you'd grown somewhat numb to it. Currently٫ all you could focus on was how hot and exhausted you felt. How did these guys have this much stamina? Was it from training? Was is something related to having magic? Maybe it was just you...Ugh٫ you just wanted to rest. Somehow٫ you hadn't even noticed you all made it to the oasis.

Grim let out a symphony of wheezes and pants٫ "| think l've got a whole desert's worth of sand in my throat. Kalim, gimme some water!"

"How DARE you take that tone with me٫" Kalim denounced.

"Eep!"

"I am not your faucet. If you want water, draw it from the oasis yourselves."

"You mean the one that's bone dry? How?" One guy asked.

"This is going beyond tyranny..." Another complained.

"Seriously, what's wrong with the housewarden?" A third added.

"Don't worry, I came prepared for this. We've got camels loaded with water. Offload it and share it amongst yourselves٫" Jamil ordered.

Yeah٫ water...That sounded nice...Actually٫ now that you were thinking about it٫ Kalim's eyes looked different than usual. Maybe you were on to something? You had to be. You just needed a closer look.

"Hey٫ ___. Where are you going?" Grim tried asking.

You dropped your parasol on the ground and headed towards Kalim. Suddenly٫ a weightless feeling came over you٫ and everything went black.

"___!"

❥

Soon٫ you slowly began to regain consciousness. You could hardly open your eyes due to the sun's unbearable brightness. Underneath you٫ you felt cloth instead of grainy sand. Maybe someone put it there so you wouldn't get all sandy.

"If only you were housewarden, Jamil٫" you heard a guy say.

"Perish the thought. And don't vocalize it. What if Kalim heard you?" Jamil scolded.

"But it's true!" The former argued.

"Huh...? What happened?" You hesitantly began to sit up.

"Hold on. Slow down there٫" Jamil warned٫ cautiously placing his hands on your back and arm.

"Hench-Human! You're okay!" Grim cheered٫ bounding into your lap.

Jamil٫ however٫ quickly picked Grim up like a naughty kitten and put him in front of you lap instead of on it. Seeing Grim's pout٫ he started to explain٫ "They just had a slight case of heatstroke. They'll be fine٫ but they still need some space to cool down."

"Well٫ ___٫ now that your back to the land of the living٫" one of the guys started٫ "don't you think Jamil would make a better housewarden?"

"Give them some space does NOT mean bombard them with ridiculous questions٫" Jamil chastised.

"But٫ still...Even before Housewarden Kalim started acting like this, you were the one doing most of his duties, Jamil. Even now٫ you're the one left caring for his da—٫" another boy butted in٫ but was cut off.

"Shhh. It's fine. It's my family's honor—actually no, it's MY honor to serve the Asims. Drink your water and rest up. It's getting hotter now that the sun's high in the sky. The march back will only be worse."

The vice house warden grabbed a nearby water and handed it to you٫ watching closely to make sure nothing else happened.

"Jamil..." Some students pitied.

Suddenly٫ a shadow appeared before all of you.

"All students, assemble! Break time is now over. Form ranks, and no lollygagging!" Kalim demanded.

"Jamil, I...I can't take another day like this٫" a student admitted.

"I'm done following the housewarden, too!" Another followed.

"Why are you still obeying him, Jamil?!" Yet another boy questioned.

"It's because...He's Kalim Al-Asim٫" the vice admitted.

"Is he your darling or something?" You remarked٫ still carefully sipping on your water.

"Well...not really. Let's have a talk tonight. I'll arrange things so Kalim doesn't catch us. ___, could you spare some time for this as well?"

You nodded.

"What're you all doing just standing around here٫ people?! Get a move on!" Kalim berated. Everyone quickly scattered٫ besides you and Jamil.

Kalim slowly approached the two of you and Jamil gave a small head bow before joining the others. You noticed he didn't have his usual jack on; it must've been the one you were laying on. When Kalim got close enough٫ he picked you up princess style and held you close to his chest. From there٫ you noticed a distinct wetness to his eyes.

On the way back٫ the housewarden was unusually quiet. He even sat down the whole time٫ holding you tight in that same position with his face buried against you shoulder.

Every so often٫ he'd repeat to you٫ "I'm so sorry..." You could tell he meant it just by the wet feeling on your shoulder.

❥

Later into the evening٫ everyone present in the dorm٫ minus Kalim for obvious reasons٫ regrouped in the lounge to hear Jamil's explanation.

"Is everybody here?" Jamil asked.

"Yes, sir. Where's Housewarden Kalim?"

"Sleeping. I brewed him a soporific herbal tea. He should be in a deeper sleep than usual."

So٫ he basically drugged him...

"So, what's the deal, and where do we come in?" Grim questioned. "I'm exhausted, so make it quick. I wanna get back and pass out.

"It's no different for the rest of us. Actually٫ YOU got to rest and play nurse because ___ got heatstroke...Actually٫ that's not a bad idea. Who's willing to get heatstroke so I can play nurse?"

"Hey! It was very grueling work٫ thank you very much! I was run ragged going back and worth constantly!

The two of them got multiple glares٫ from you included. Apparently٫ Jamil as well٫ cleared his throat to regain everyone's attention.

"My bad...Too soon٫ too soon..."

Hold on٫ that guy was that purple-haired asshole who plays guard at night! And he was the one that practically manhandled you! Now٫ you hoped he got heatstroke next...

"I understand that you are all unhappy with how Kalim is running things٫" Jamil stated٫ "Being locked in your dorms over winter break and forced to undergo harsh training day in and day out...Who wouldn't resent such harsh treatment? I agree that what Kalim's doing is not for the best."

"Then why won't you stop him?!"

"I have, many times٫" the vice admitted٫ "But he's stopped listening to me."

"If you guys have that much of a problem with it, how about sayin' it to Kalim's face instead of whining to Jamil?" Grim huffed.

"Well...Um..."

"What, so you can say it to this guy, but not to the one actually causin' problems? What a bunch of gutless wimps٫" the furball insulted.

One of the boys started trying to argue back٫ "Th-that's not true. We HAVE tried to talk to him. Over and over, actually!"

"When he's not acting strange, the housewarden really is a broadminded, kindhearted soul..." Another guy piped up.

"Everybody in the dorm used to look up to him before this started happening٫" a third boy reminisced٫ "We thought we had the finest housewarden in all of Night Raven College."

"When I first enrolled, I had trouble adjusting to dorm life. He lent me a shoulder and let me air it all out."

"When I was struggling to keep up in school and ready to drop out, he joined me for late-night cram sessions to catch up."

"Sometimes he's a little cavalier and not totally on top of things, but we all loved our housewarden. It was fun being a Scarabia student. And yet..."

"Yes. Kalim is a truly fine housewarden. He treats everyone equally and never puts himself above anyone else٫" Jamil agreed٫ then sighed٫ "However did it come to this?"

"So you can't blame him because he's super nice?" You asked incredulously.

"Y'know, it might be a good idea to get Kalim checked out by a doctor٫" Grim pointed out.

"Or a priest..." you muttered.

Grim passed over your comment٫ "He keeps sayin' one thing, then changing his mind the next minute. Even his personality shifts. That's kinda weird, don'tcha think? What if he ate some bad food or something?"

"Yeah٫ he could be sick٫" you agreed. You didn't verbalize the "in the head part" that you were also thinking.

"It's hard to rule out٫" Jamil admitted٫ "A doctor, though? if we go back to the Land of Scalding Sands, the Asim household has a doctor in their employ...But as things stand, simply getting him home would be an ordeal in and of itself."

"Darn it."

"This is getting us nowhere fast."

"The problem facing Scarabia now is similar to a problem that Heartslabyul recently had to address٫" Jamil pointed out٫ "There, the students were also forced to live under their housewarden's tyranny, as I understand it. They were all afraid of Riddle's signature spell, and no one could stand against him. Hence, I would like input from you two, since you were central in solving Heartslabyul's problem. What do the two of you think we should do?"

Wait٫ what? Last time٫ the uprising kinda just happened after Ace punched Riddle in the face. You didn't think anyone here would be too willing to do that to Kalim.

"What if you challenged Kalim to a duel and became housewarden yourself, Jamil?" Grim suggested٫ "When everything went down with Riddle, Ace and Deuce challenged him after the headmage floated the idea. Of course, they were a couple of knuckleheads and Riddle wiped the floor with 'em, but hey. Kalim's signature spell ain't nowhere near as threatening as Riddle's. You could probably whoop him with one hand tied behind your back!"

"That...is the one solution that is utterly out of the question٫" Jamil adamantly refused.

So٫ was the punch to the face still on the table٫ orrr...?

"Seriously? Why even ask for advice if you're gonna immediately reject it?!" Grim cried٫ "What's your issue with my suggestion, anyway?"

"The Viper family has assisted the Asim family for generations. How could I betray our history like that? It would be beyond the pale. Not to mention the lecture I would get from my parents...I'm sorry, but it just wouldn't be right."

"You just can't win no matter what, can you?" You groaned.

"It is what it is٫" Jamil concluded.

"Okay, I get why you can't challenge Kalim to a duel٫" Grim noted٫ "But if the housewarden keeps actin' like this, he's gonna make life totally miserable for everybody in the dorm. Riddle was bad enough, but this hot and cold thing Kalim's doin' is making it way worse."

"Yeah. He's not acting like a housewarden at all!"

"He's not even meeting the job requirements. This goes against our Scarabian spirit!"

"What requirements?" You asked.

"To be housewarden of one of Night Raven College's seven dorms, you must be the most befitting of the dorm's spirit٫" Jamil explained٫ "Anything less, and you are unqualified to be housewarden. Dueling is essentially an easy way to determine this. The seven dorms each have their own different spirits, and their own ways of determining who befits it."

"Gah, that's nightmare fuel!" Grim yelped٫ "So how'd Kalim get picked to be the head honcho of Scarabia?"

"He was nominated by the previous housewarden. Through his prior work and virtues, he cultivated a reputation as the most befitting in the dorm. I'll never forget how proud I was at his nomination٫" Jamil reminisced.

"But he wouldn't have half that record if you hadn't been helping him! Everybody in the dorm knows it."

"Why didn't the last housewarden choose you instead?!"

"Don't blame him. For a relative of the Asim family to choose me over the main house's heir would be...Ah!"

"Seriously? AGAIN with this Asim family stuff?" Grim audibly complained.

"So that's what was going on. I had no idea. That sounds like blatant nepotism!"

"Man, the Asim family plays way too dirty!"

God٫ you wish you were a nepo baby. Life would be so much easier and you probably wouldn't have gotten caught alone that night and got HIT BY A FREAKING CARRIAGE!

"Please, I implore you. Forget what you just heard٫" Jamil pleaded.

"Night Raven College is known as a big-name university precisely because it's a meritocracy. Getting special privileges because of your parents is something that shouldn't fly here!"

"He's right, Vice Housewarden. We won't stand for this!"

"Social status and wealth aren't supposed to matter here on campus. We're all supposed to be equals!"

So٫ were they only now realizing the Headmage was a greedy bastard that would do anything for a quick buck? Hell٫ you wouldn't be surprised if a student got in here purely by paying the damn bird off.

"But, ah..." Jamil stammered.

"Scarabia is a dorm built around the Sorcerer of the Sands' spirit of mindfulness. I've always felt that someone thoughtful like

Jamil deserves the seat of house leader way more than Kalim."

"Slow down. I'm not special or superior to anyone else٫" the vice argued٫ "My grades are dead average. On a scale of one to ten, mine are fives across the board. I'm not fit to be housewarden."

"Magical talent isn't what decides who befits the dorm's spirit."

"What do you guys think? Who's the most suitable housewarden out of everyone here?"

"Oh, it's Jamil, no question!"

"Yeah. Jamil is way more fit to be Scarabia housewarden than Kalim!"

"We can't just accept an incompetent housewarden because he was born into a rich family!"

"That's right. Scarabia's got no use for a leader who can't lead!"

"Scarabia won't suffer an incompetent housewarden!"

"What are all of you doing, gathered together at this hour?" A familiar voice came from the hallway entrance٫ shocking everyone.

"Gah! Busted!" Grim yelped.

"K-Kalim..." Jamil muttered.

"Morning training clearly wasn't enough for you, if you still have energy to burn. Jamil! Take the students out to the courtyard this instant٫" Kalim ordered.

"The courtyard, sir?"

"We'll do magic training until their bodies give out٫ as well. Then they might learn to allow the unwell to rest."

Wait٫ was he talking about you? You've already been resting all day! And he personally made sure of that! The boy literally refuses to leave your side unless forced the whole rest of the day since your incident earlier that morning. He even insisted on feeding you himself.

"That's ridiculous!" A student argued.

"I dunno about you, but I'm already way past my limit!" Grim whined.

"Do I need to repeat myself? Hurry up!"

"...Fine٫" Jamil relented٫ "Come on, everyone. Out."

Kalim watched everyone leave٫ making sure they all followed. Then٫ he went over to you and picked you up again.

"Why aren't you in bed? Jamil said you should be resting٫" Kalim pouted٫ seemingly back to his regular self.

He carried you all the way back to your temporary room and placed you on the bed. Picking up the glass of water next to the bed from earlier٫ Kalim brought it closer to you as if to get you to drink more. You did٫ causing him to smile. After making sure you drank all of it٫ he set it back down in its original place and helper you get comfortable.

"Y'know٫ I never really got to do this before coming to NRC. Not even for myself٫" Kalim confessed as he helped removed your shoes.

"Really?" You wondered before beginning to tease٫ "Have you ever even tied your own shoelaces before coming here?"

"No٫ actually٫" he laughed٫ adjusting your pillows. "I was always just constantly coddled. I am grateful٫ but I wanna learn how to do stuff on my own. That way٫ I can also get to coddle MY darling."

Kalim grinned. It would almost be sweet if his words didn't unnerve you. He lit some incense thing Jamil had brought in earlier. According to the vice housewarden٫ it was supposed to help calm you down so you'd agree to rest.

Kalim٫ then٫ started to tuck you in under the blanket before sneaking under himself.

At your strange looks٫ he replied with a bright grin٫ "This way٫ I can make sure you rest until Grim comes back and can watch over you instead."

"Oh٫ alright..." You supposed. Out of everyone you've shared a bed with so far٫ Kalim so far seemed to be the most harmless.

❥

You hadn't even realized you fell asleep until you were woken up by someone standing over the bed and clearing their throat. Letting you eyes adjust٫ it was more like one and a half someones.

It turned out both you and Kalim ended up knocking out like lights. Now٫ though٫ extra training was over and it was time for Kalim to go back to his own bed.

"Just five more minutesss..."

Kalim cuddled up closer٫ snuggling his face farther into your chest.

"Hey! They're MY pillow! Not yours!" Grim argued٫ trying to separate the two of you.

"Come on٫ Kalim٫" Jamil groaned. He eventually detached the human leach from you and carried him out the door like a whiny sack of potatoes. After they left٫ the door was promptly shut and locked.

Throwing himself into your newly freed arms٫ Grim began to whine out his woes to you٫ "Uuugh...I'm wiped out. I can't walk another step..."

You yawned as you started to sit up٫ trying to rub the drowsiness from your eyes. "We need to get out of here."

"I'm at my own limit too, y'know! I don't wanna spend another second in this prison. I'm pooped and ready to pass out, but l've still got my trusty spoon. I'm gonna finish diggin' that hole tonight!"

Grim stopped in his tracks and began to sniff around with a slight stuck up expression.

"What's that smell? It's really...pungent٫" he worded with a slight struggle.

"It's probably that incense. Jamil brought it in earlier٫ but Kalim relit it just a bit ago٫" you explained٫ leaning your head against the headboard. You felt way more exhausted than you did that morning٫ despite the fact you rested all day. Weird...

"Well٫ I'm putting it out. It's way too strong for my poor٫ delicate nose while I work!"

❥

"Whoa! ___! Hey٫ ___! Look. The hole finally reaches the other side of the door!"

You shot up from where you'd dozed off while sitting against the headboard. After another quick nap٫ your head felt surprisingly a lot more clearer.

"I couldn't get it too big, but hey. They say as long as you can get your head through a hole, the rest follows easy enough٫" Grim thought back.

"Don't you mean getting the shoulders through?" You teased٫ but he wasn't listening.

"I'll go through first and pull you through second. Now, let's get this show on the road!"

You watched in mild amusement as he wriggled his little body through. You tried not to think to hard about if you would actually be able to fit or not...When it was your turn٫ you mentally prayed you wouldn't get stuck the whole way through.

"Phew...We finally made it out of that stupid room٫" Grim let out a breath of relief.

"I thought I was gonna come out as sausage on the other side٫" you remarked.

"Okay, let's get back to Ramshackle Dorm while we can. Just gotta be niiice and quiet..."

GRRROOOWL

"Mrow!? Ah, crud! I was diggin' so hard there, it made me hungry..."

You looked at your bottomless pit of a dormmate it horror. He had just doomed you both...

From around the corner٫ you could hear one of the students on guard duty questioning٫ "What was that earth-shaking noise just now?!"

"It came from the Ramshackle students' room!" The other pointed out.

"Whuh-oh. We're in trouble now!" Grim shouted.

"Oh٫ really?!" You sarcastically retorted.

"What do you think you're doing there?!"

"Myah, they found us!"

"What are you doing outside?! I know we locked that door tight!"

"Ah! There's a hole in the floor! You really don't know when to give up, do you?"

"We've got runners! After them!"

FWEEET!

A herd of footsteps suddenly sounded throughout the halls as probably over a dozen guys started chasing the two of you like commonplace crooks.

"If they catch us, it's back to the life of prisoner! Cheese it!" Grim yelled.

"After them! After them!"

❥

"Let's duck into a random room and let 'em pass us!"

"Good idea٫ for once~!"

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

SLAM!

"Where'd they go? Split up and find them!"

"Show yourselves, street rats!"

You and Grim let out a shared sigh of relief at the retreating sound of footsteps.

"Phew...I think they're gone٫" he noted.

"It's only a matter of time before they find us٫" you groaned.

"Maaan...There's gotta be some way to lose those guys!" Grim huffed out٫ "What room is this, anyway? It's too dark to see anything. Hm? Why's there somethin' soft and fuzzy nudgin' my face? Heh heh, that tickles! ___٫ use that smartphone of yours to give us some light."

"'___٫ use that smartphone of yours to give us some light٫'" you mimicked under your breath.

All he ever did was demand of you like he paid the bills. But last time you checked٫ you were the one acting as Crowley's errand runner so that the bills would be paid! Anyway٫ you took out your phone and turned on the flashlight. Stupid furball's lucky he's cute.

Turning on the flashlight revealed that the thing poking Grim had actually been Kalim's magic carpet. Honestly٫ it nearly scared the daylights out of you both.

"Whoa, geez! You scared the daylights outta me! I was about to scream and everything٫" Grim shouted in a whisper before calming down. "This is Kalim's treasury, huh? They don't lock up the treasure? Ooh, that's it! If you help us, we can shake off the patrols and get outside!"

The carpet tilted its front to the side as if tilting its head out of curiosity.

"Hey, carpet! I'll let you out if you carry us outta the dorm!" Grim offered٫ and the carpet seemed to eagerly nod. "Great. All aboard, ___! And goodbye, Scarabia!

You hesitantly climbed on after Grim. To be completely honest٫ you were scared for your life. Neither of you knew how to steer this thing. Grim didn't seem to mind٫ though٫ because he immediately got the carpet to start moving as soon as you grabbed on. It quickly soar out of the dorm building and above the clouds٫ eliciting screams from the both of you. Thankfully٫ the carpet calmed down just a bit once in the sky.

"WOO-HOO! We made it! See ya, suckers! FREEDOOOOOM!" Grim rejoiced.

Below٫ the Scarabia students chasing you looked tiny from how far they were from you on the ground. Even their voices were hard to understand٫ almost like the sound of angry bees.

"Ah! Look over there—they're riding the housewarden's magic carpet!"

"First they break out, then they rob us? The housewarden will never let us hear the end of it if he finds out!"

"We have to seize them! Hold it right there, thieves!"

Grim began to boast٫ "Nyeh heh heh! If you wanna catch us, try learnin' to fly first!"

"By the way, how do you steer this carpet?" You wondered aloud.

"Steer it? Uhhh, I think Kalim took hold of the corner tassels and tugged at 'em like this...Myah!"

All of a sudden٫ Grim's steering caused the carpet to start widely spinning in circles. You felt like clothes in a spin cycle!

"Hey! Less with the 360, more with the fly quickly!"

You grabbed onto the corner tassels over Grim's paws in a desperate attempt to help steer the dang thing. However٫ it seemed to back fire because the carpet started spinning even more viciously!

"GYAAAH! The world is spinning! Someone make it stoop!"

You yanked the tassels in a random direction to hopefully move elsewhere. In some twist of fate٫ the carpet stopped spinning in favor of making a mad dash in various random directions.

"They're going outside the dorm! After them, quick!"

On the carpet's personal joyride٫ you all ended farther into the desert٫ then the dorm's lounge٫ followed by it's halls٫ only for the magical artifact to end up back at the the dorm building's front entrance just to barrel for the mirror.

"AAAH! We're gonna crash right into the mirror!" Grim screamed.

You both ducked your heads into the fabric of the carpet for the rest of the small flight until inevitably crash landing somewhere.

"MroooOOOooow..."

"Is this the afterlife...?" You weakly groaned.

Suddenly٫ you heard the flick of a light switch٫ followed by the clicking of shoes on the floor.

"Well, well. What have we here? Patrons in search of a little midnight snack, perhaps? Or٫ maybe٫ just a bit of company?"

"Little Shrimpy!...Oh٫ and Baby Sealie. You finally came to visit us! This is way better than gettin' to squeeze any stupid burglars!"

Floyd rushed over to where you laid sprawled out on the floor. You٫ though٫ were kinda out of it at the moment. The combination of your recovering heatstroke and that ride was NOT a good one.

"Wha...? What're you guys doin' here?" Grim questioned٫ trying to squeeze himself between you and Floyd.

"Didn't we already go over this? We can't go home over winter break because of ice floes, remember?" Floyd answered.

"Wait, so we're in Octavinelle?!"

"Yes. Inside the Mostro Lounge, to be precise٫" Jade replied.

"Oh٫ come ooon..." you whined while trying to push the eel clinging to you away. Your response only got snickers from the pair of them.

"We...WE MADE IT! Finally, we've broken outta that awful prison!" Grim celebrated٫ and the magic carpet joined in. You weren't so pleased. Honestly٫ you might've been more willing to stay with Dictator Al-Asim...

"A prison? Care to elaborate?" Jade requested٫ walking over and kneeling down next to you to examine you head for any possible injuries.

"And what's this rectangular flouder-lookin' guy?" Floyd questioned.

"It looks a lot like Kalim's magic carpet, actually..." the former observed.

The rush of footsteps began rapidly approaching from outside. Coincidentally finding your footing٫ you quickly scurried to hide behind the Tweels to use them as shields.

"There's no escape for you now, thieves!"

"Surrender quietly!"

"Mrow?! You chased us all the way here?!You guys are seriously stubborn, you know that?" Grim fussed.

"You come down with heatstroke٫ too٫ and then we'll talk!" You argued. You changed your mind; you preferred here.

"Pardon?" Jade wondered٫ looking back at you in concern.

"What's all the commotion at this late hour?"

"You're Azul Ashengrotto, the housewarden of Octavinelle!"

Azul began walking over٫ stepping between both groups before replying٫ "Would you care to explain what's going on here?"

"It's none of Octavinelle's business. Just hand over the two of them quietly٫" one of the Scarabia students quipped.

"Actually٫ I believe this is fully my business. You break in to my establishment٫ only for me to find out that you damaged my property٫" the businessman retorted.

"If you refuse to hand them over, you'll be party to their wrongdoing as well٫" another Scarabia student stated.

"Hey, are you yankin' my tail here? Who do you think you're talking to?"

Floyd rose to his feet and approached his housewarden's side. Jade smoothed your hair down before following suit.

"No fighting of any kind is permitted in the Mostro Lounge. This is a place for gentlemen٫" Azul scolded.

"What was that? You're interfering?"

"Fine. We'll just do this the hard way!"

"Hmph. I think it's time we asked these ill-mannered patrons to leave. Jade. Floyd. Show them the door.

"Yes, sir."

"On it."

You٫ Grim٫ and the magic carpet all hurried over to hide behind one of the nearby tables as to not get caught in the crossfire. The carpet was sweet enough to act as another attempt for a shield. From that٫ you learned it responded well to pets as a reward. The fight was over relatively quickly. Even if the Scarabia students had numbers٫ there was absolutely no way they were beating those two psychos.

"Argh...Retreat for now!"

"You haven't seen the last of us!"

"Go on and scatter, you bunch of minnows! Aha ha!" Floyd cackled.

"We'll be eagerly awaiting your next visit to our lounge٫" Jade guaranteed.

Your little escapee group hesitantly left your shared hiding spot as the others retreated.

"Mya-HAH! We did it! You see that?! That's what you get, you buncha jerks!" Grim cheered٫ as if he helped.

"I do hate to rain on your parade, but...I'm afraid we'll have to bill you for repair fees for the tables and chairs damaged in that fight. Not to mention our own labor rates, since we were dragged into this affair٫" Azul bemoaned.

You could tell٫ though٫ that he was only messing with you due to that stupid grin on his face. Even the way he mourned his furniture to you with those forced puppy eyes was obviously for show. Grim٫ however٫ was completely oblivious to the fact.

"WHAT?! You're chargin' us for that?!"

"Surely it's a small price to pay for us rescuing you from the inky depths of peril?"

"First we get dragged into a bunch of Scarabian infighting, now this...I swear, there ain't a decent guy in this whole school!"

"...I'm sorry, come again? What's this about Scarabian infighting?"

"It's a long story..." You explained. Then٫ you both were made to explain said long story.

❥

"The housewarden of Scarabia is acting out of control, you say?" Azul repeated.

"Yeah! Kalim's runnin' all his dormmates through the wringer every day, nonstop٫" Grim huffed.

"I wouldn't have expected that from Kalim, of all people٫" the octo-mer noted.

"I never knew the little Sea Otter had it in him٫" Floyd gaped.

"He's never given me that impression, either٫" Jade agreed.

"Vice Housewarden Jamil's got his hands full tryin' to deal with it. He's a decent guy, which is pretty rare for this school. I feel kinda bad for him٫" Grim went on٫ "And we can't even reach the headmage in the middle of all this mess! That Crowley, I swear..."

Azul looked to be lost in thought until Jade asked٫ "Azul, you're in Jamil's class, right?"

"Yes. We also share a number of electives. Our paths are wont to cross often. Grim might be right when he says that Jamil is a rarity in this school. He's...demure and poised, you might say. He hardly ever ventures opinions of his own."

"Yeah. I'm in the Basketball Club with Sea Snake, and he pretty much plays like a goody-goody٫" Floyd joined in٫ "I never pay much attention to other dorms to start with, so I had no idea he was vice housewarden for Scarabia."

"And now we know he's having trouble dealing with his housewarden's antics. Hrm...It sounds like I should come to their aid٫" Azul decided.

"Wha? Did you hit your head or somethin' when I wasn't lookin'?" Grim deadpanned.

"Why, I never. I'll have you know the last incident forced me to reflect on my greed. I came out of it a changed man٫" the housewarden declared٫ "Moving forward, l've decided to contribute to the school as a whole, in honor of the Sea Witch's spirit of benevolence. Now that Scarabia is faced with a crisis and my very own classmate is in need of help...I can hardly ignore them in their time of need."

"Oooh?"

"Oh-ho."

"It's just as well—I tire of picking at the same turkey dinner alongside the same faces every year. Why don't we pay Scarabia a visit tomorrow?"

"Whelp٫ you have fun with that. Might as well ask him to marry you٫ too٫ while you're there٫ since you seem so smitten and all٫" you suggested٫ crossing your arms and heading for the door. Then٫ you felt a set of hands grab onto your shoulders٫ stopping you in your tracks.

"Where do you think you're going٫ Little Shrimpy? You only just got here٫" Floyd cooed right beside your ear.

"Seriously?! We just broke outta that prison, and you want us to march back in? No way!" Grim loudly complained for the both of you.

"Aw. C'mon, Sealie-o, don't be like that٫" Floyd sang٫ steering you to turn back around.

"Have some faith in Azul. I'm sure he'll make this a holiday to remember٫" Jade promised.

"It would be rude to visit empty-handed, of course. Jade. Floyd. Don't forget to wrap up our gifts."

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, SIR!"

"Heh heh heh..." They ominously chuckled.

"I could certainly think of worse ways to spend winter break than in a sweltering desert. I can already tell this is going to be positively delightful. Heh heh heh..."

❥

Apparently٫ you staying in Octavinelle meant to the Tweels that there would be some sort of slumber party. Also٫ apparently٫ what you were wearing wouldn't cut it for plausible pajamas in their eyes. You guessed it was because it was Scarabia clothes. So٫ that's how you ended up in one of Azul's PE shirts and a pair of Floyd's basketball shorts. You felt like you might actually drown in the fabric because they were both definitely too big for you. They didn't seem to care٫ though٫ and even started cooing over you like some adorable puppy. At least you got to have peace during the night in Scarabia...

Now٫ you sat and watched as Azul fussed at Grim and the Tweels about the cleanliness of his dorm room٫ acting as if every mess they made was a personal attack. The twins had urged that you all sleep together in Azul's room because theirs٫ for some reason٫ "wasn't yet ready for company". Whatever that meant...

While they were all distracted by bickering with each other٫ you decided to go look for the bathroom. You didn't account for٫ however٫ was the sheer size of the dorm. It didn't take very long to get lost.

After a couple minutes of searching٫ you happened upon a slightly ajar door. It stuck out to you٫ since all the other doors had been shut. It wouldn't hurt to take a small peak٫ right? It was only natural to be curious what other the other houses' dorms would look like...

"Nosy٫ are we?"

You yelped٫ nearly jumping out of your skin as you quickly spun around to find two thoroughly amused eels behind you.

"N-No! I-I was just—٫" you stammered٫ unable to come up with a plausible excuse.

"You're so cute when you try to lie٫ Little Shrimpy٫" Floyd purred٫ squishing your cheeks together in his hand.

"Are you curious about what's in here? We can show you if you like٫" Jade offered.

"No٫ really. I'm alright٫" you insisted.

"Aw. Don't be like that. In we go٫" Floyd gleefully sang as he dragged you through the door.

Inside٫ it looked to be just a regular٫ everyday dorm. It was actually pretty similar to the first year dorms you've seen in Heartslabyul and Savanaclaw. The dorm room looked thoroughly lived in. Well٫ except for one corner. It wasn't bare٫ exactly٫ but it looked somewhat abandoned. It was dustier than the other corners and looked untouched for a little while.

"That used to be Leopard Shark's bunk٫" Floyd mentioned.

At your confused expression٫ Jade started to explain٫ "My dear brother is referring to that Octavinelle first year you met a while back. 'Flinn'٫ was it? He was almost always hanging around that leopard beastman from Savanaclaw. What a shame those two disappeared. Nearly brings a tear to my eye."

"Oh..." You nervously muttered. He knew what he was doing. You could see the smirk on his face.

"Shame٫ shmame..." Floyd grumbled as he approached the former students bed. "Leopard Shark was just as big a creep as Seagull."

Before you could ask٫ Jade already answered٫ "He means Rook."

A chill ran down your spine at the prospect. What did he mean by that? Your mind wandered as Floyd started to dig around under the mattress for something.

"Found it!"

Floyd pulled out a binder from beneath the mattress and plopped down onto the bed٫ motioning you to sit beside him. You anxiously approached٫ hesitant to sit down. Once you did٫ Jade was quick to sit on your other side.

You took the binder once Floyd handed it to you. Opening it٫ you found picture after picture of you. Some had hearts are sappy little notes next to them. Others had more depraved imagining. Any photos that had you with others ended up with the other person's face cut off or violently scribbled over. Some had insults٫ and even as far as threats٫ beside them. You were horrified.

"We noticed Flinn's little 'collection' since he started it٫" Jade began٫ "When he actually approached you٫ that's where we decided to draw our line."

"I never thought Leopard Shark would actually have the balls to approach Little Shrimpy. Maybe Orca convinced him or something٫" Floyd remarked٫ "Eh. Doesn't matter٫ because he can't have Little Shrimpy."

"Well..." Jade stood up and placed a hand on your head٫ "You were looking for the bathroom٫ correct? At your next left٫ it should be just down the hall."

"Y-yeah٫ thanks..." You muttered. Setting the binder down٫ you rose to your feet and headed for the door in a daze. In the end٫ those boys didn't want to have just an innocent friendship. They were just like the others. It was always the same...

𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔:

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[nekonaps0]

Unconscious sweet habits

✦gn!reader

✦characters: overbolt boys

✦Things they don’t even realize they do when you with them.

Riddle Rosehearts

He reaches for your hand without thinking. Even in the middle of lecturing someone or walking across campus, he’ll suddenly realize his fingers have interlaced with yours. He does it like it’s instinctive.

He softens his voice only for you.Everyone gets the sharp, precise tone. You get the gentle one he doesn’t even notice he uses. He’ll say your name with a tenderness that surprises even him. Ace thought you used some kind of black magic on him.

When he’s stressed, the air feels tense… until you touch him. Then it eases instantly. He doesn’t realize he leans into your touch every time.

Leona Kingscholar

He uses his tail to pull you closer. Half asleep? Tail finds your waist. Sitting beside him? It wraps around your ankle. It’s basically his second hand of affection.

He always steps between you and danger without hesitation. Not in a dramatic way. More like a casual “stay behind me” mindset. Even if it’s just a ball flying through the hallway.

He tugs you onto his chest when he’s napping. He won’t admit he sleeps better when your weight is on him but every time when you with him he feels more relaxed and even nightmares avoids him. His hand automatically slides up and down your back.

He keeps your favorite snacks hidden in his room. He pretends they’re for him, but he always pushes them toward you first.

Azul Ashengrotto

He adjusts your clothes, jewelry, and hair without noticing. A gentle fix of your collar, moving your hair behind your ear, straightening your tie. All done with soft concentration.

He memorizes your preferences. Not as a contract. Purely because he cares. He’ll order your drink before you arrive, pick routes that avoid things you dislike, and arrange schedules that suit you better.

He praises you softly when he thinks you can’t hear.

“You’re so perfect...” He murmurs it to himself with a shy smile. But if you ask what did he just said he just avoid it like nothing happened.

Jamil Viper

He cooks exactly how you like. You don’t even need to speak. He notices your expressions, your cravings, your habits. Food appears before you ask for it. You watched a food video on magicam? He will save it and make it for you later.

He puts himself between you and uncomfortable social situations. Crowds? Loud people? He naturally steps in front of you and handles them while you relax behind him.

His voice softens when he’s talking only to you. Everyone else gets sarcastic, cool Jamil. You get warmth, tension melting out of his tone. The other scarabia students often ask you how you do it.

He rubs circles on your hip when he’s near. A tiny, unconscious motion that says “I’m here. Please stay with me”

Vil Schoenheit

He caresses your cheek with his thumb while he’s doing your makeup. It’s automatic, like he’s admiring something precious.

He buys things that are your favorite colors. Ribbons, makeup, decor… All matching your preferences, even though he insists it’s “coincidence.”

He massages your hands without thinking. He’ll take them gently and rub circles into your palms while talking or reading.

Idia Shroud

He leans into you like a cat. Barely even aware he’s doing it. Your shoulder? He’s resting on it. Your lap? He’s sprawled over it.

He sends you memes that match your mood. He tracks your feelings like a scientist without even realizing it. You sigh? Ten seconds later you get 12 memes and a cute cat gif.

He rubs the back of your hand with his thumb when you hold his hand. It calms him. His hair turns soft pink every time.

Malleus Draconia

He lowers his height to match your eye level. Without kneeling. He simply leans down, gaze softening as if the world shrinks to just you.

His hand always finds the small of your back. Guiding you. Guarding you. Protective without controlling.

He says your name like it’s sacred.Slowly, carefully. As if tasting every syllable. He isn’t even aware how gentle he becomes.

..............................................................................................................................

[solxamber]

Want You Back with: Housewardens

Where they're still in love with you.

Other parts: Vice-housewardens + Ruggie ; First Years (-Ortho)

Riddle Rosehearts

After the breakup, Riddle acted like he'd read somewhere that repressing emotion was a perfectly valid coping mechanism. Which, to be fair, he probably had. And so he embarked on what could only be described as a grief management routine so structured and detail-oriented that you almost had to respect it.

First came the part where he behaved like nothing had happened.

He went about his day with all the usual pomp—collaring students, citing arcane dorm rules, and drinking his tea as usual.

If anyone brought you up (on purpose or by accident), he would simply blink, nod, and go back to arranging sugar cubes in a perfect geometric formation. "We are no longer together," he would say, as if it were an administrative change and not, say, a soul-crushing emotional catastrophe.

Then came the coincidences.

He began showing up in places he absolutely did not frequent before. The café you liked? Suddenly, he was a regular. The library on Thursday evenings? There. The very hallway outside your class despite Heartslabyul being on the opposite side of campus? Oh yes. There too. And every time you spotted him lurking (because that was the only word for it), he would give a startled little blink, like you were the surprise.

"Oh. I didn't see you there," he said, the fourth time in a week.

You stared at him from behind your drink. "I've been sitting here for thirty minutes."

"Well," he muttered, "public seating is for everyone."

By week two, he began inventing reasons to talk to you. Weird ones.

He approached you one day, armed with a rulebook and what looked like three sticky notes marking battle locations.

"According to Queen of Hearts rule 42," he said, clearly having practiced this in front of a mirror, "ex-partners must return borrowed items within twelve days."

You blinked. "You lent me a pencil."

"It was part of a set," he snapped, scandalized.

You told him you'll give it back and he looked like someone slapped him.

You thought that might be the end of it. But then, course, it escalated.

He showed up at your door one evening with a paper in his hand. A list. A physical list. Titled, in absolutely unnecessary cursive, "A Non-Exhaustive Record of My Missteps."

"It's not meant to change anything," he said stiffly, not quite looking at you. "Only to… acknowledge."

There were bullet points. Short, awkward, and occasionally baffling.

Should not have critiqued your sock choice in front of your friends.

I apologize for saying 'emotional outbursts are not strategic.' That was, in hindsight, a poor choice of words.

You are allowed to eat dessert before dinner. Even if it is cherry pie.

I realize now that asking if we could schedule arguments during free periods was not romantic.

I should have asked you to stay.

You didn't know what to do with it—him. He was so Riddle about everything. Polite. Procedural. Very slightly insane. But under all the awkward attempts at regulation and paperwork, it was clear he missed you. Badly.

And the truth was, you still hadn't returned the matching pencil.

You kept it. Not because you believed in fate or romance or even well-meaning tyrants who quoted rulebooks like love poems—but because part of you thought, maybe, if he was willing to be just a little more flexible, there might be a version of this that could work.

And you hoped it could.

Leona Kingscholar

After the breakup, Leona made it his personal mission to convince the entire world—Ruggie, his dorm, the mirror in his room, the literal wildlife outside—that he did not care.

He went around saying things like, "Tch. Good riddance," and "Like I got time to babysit someone who cries over movies," even though no one had brought you up. He slept more. Talked less. Got moodier, which no one thought was possible until he started growling at actual potted plants for existing near his nap spots.

Whenever Ruggie so much as hinted at your name—usually while dancing around some scheduling conflict or trying to explain why Leona's mood had tanked again—he'd get cut off mid-word.

"I wasn't even talking about them!" Ruggie would complain.

"Then stop thinking about them so loud," Leona snapped, face buried in the crook of his arm like the concept of you physically hurt his eyes.

But of course, the moment your name stopped being brought up, that became a problem too.

He started acting restless. Less asleep all the time and more awake and clearly trying to look like he's not looking around for someone. He'd frown when someone laughed in the hallway, then look annoyed when it wasn't you. He started showing up to classes he normally skipped, sitting in the back with his legs stretched out and arms crossed like he was doing the entire school a favor just by existing in the room.

And then the things started appearing.

First, it was his jacket—left casually across the back of your desk chair, like maybe gravity had just pulled it there on accident. Then his spellbook, shoved between your textbooks in a way that definitely required premeditated effort. Then a sandwich. An entire sandwich, wrapped up and labeled "Not Yours."

He denied all of it, obviously.

"Must've been Ruggie," he said, regarding the jacket that literally smelled like him.

When confronted about the book: "I don't even read, what're you talking about."

As for the sandwich? "You're imagining things. I didn't make that for you."

By that point, no one believed him—not even himself.

The final blow came in the form of a confrontation you hadn't expected. Late evening, when you were walking back to your dorm from the library. You were alone, or you thought you were, until you turned the corner and found him there—half in shadow, arms crossed, gaze trained somewhere just over your shoulder.

He didn't say hello.

Didn't say anything actually.

Just let the silence stretch until it started fraying at the edges, and then muttered, voice low and rough:

"You still want this, don't you?"

You stared at him. He didn't flinch, but you could tell he wanted to. He held himself like someone who didn't expect the answer to be yes, but still desperately needed to hear it before he gave up entirely.

And you realized somewhere between the jacket, the sandwich, and the way his voice cracked at the end of the sentence—that for all his snarling and attitude, he never stopped loving you.

He just didn't know how to ask you to stay without sounding like he might actually need you.

Which, of course, he did. Not that he'd ever say it out loud.

Not yet, anyway.

But the next time he leaves something behind, you think you might return it in person. Maybe even stay awhile.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul handled the breakup the only way he knew how: with spreadsheets, surveillance footage, and a truly unhealthy amount of denial.

He claimed to be fine, of course. Said it with a straight face while color-coding inventory spreadsheets and inputting customer satisfaction data at four in the morning like a man unburdened by heartbreak. But when the tweels found the Lounge security footage paused—again—on a scene of you laughing near the bar, they stopped asking.

He'd memorized the timestamp.

And no, he didn't want to talk about it.

Azul had always been prone to spiraling in a unique way. After the breakup, that tendency mutated into something truly concerning. He didn't cry. He didn't wallow. Instead, he opened a blank document and began calculating. How many hours you'd spent together. How often you laughed in his presence. What the average rate of eye contact was in happy couples versus yours. There were charts. Graphs. Some kind of weighted affection index.

Unfortunately, Jade opened the file looking for the March sales report and instead found a document titled:

"Projected Probability of Them Still Loving Me (v6)."

He would not let him live it down.

"Idea," Floyd said. "You wanna run those numbers again but include the variable where you're super pathetic lately?"

Even Jade raised an eyebrow. "The correlation between desperation and appeal might not be as linear as you'd hope."

Azul tried to brush them off. He even lied (very badly) about what the spreadsheet was for ("Just… tax optimization. Personal hobby. Totally normal."), but the damage was done. The eels were smug. He was mortified. And worst of all, he still couldn't stop thinking about you.

So he pivoted.

If direct emotional vulnerability had failed him, perhaps passive-aggressive marketing would do the trick.

You started receiving coupons. Neatly folded, hand-delivered, no return address—but you recognized the ink. And the handwriting. And the aggressively formal tone that somehow still managed to sound like begging.

"One (1) free drink of your choice at the Mostro Lounge. Offer valid for exes statistically proven to be an optimal match."

Another read:

"Your preferred drink has been discontinued. Kidding. Please come back."

And your personal favorite:

"A reminder that our pairing was 94.3% ideal. Come back. For research."

You didn't respond. He didn't expect you to. But every week, a new coupon showed up—some increasingly ridiculous, some borderline romantic, all of them signed with that same flourish he used when pretending he wasn't panicking.

You weren't sure if it was pathetic or endearing. Probably both. The coupons had piled up in a drawer now, next to a coaster you never returned and a little napkin with a sketch he once made of you during a slow night.

You told yourself it was nostalgia. Curiosity. Scientific inquiry, if anything.

And one slow afternoon, you found yourself digging through the drawer, smoothing out the least crumpled coupon, and thinking—just for a moment—that you might stop by.

For research. Obviously.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim took the breakup as well as someone who had never actually took a negative emotion in his life to heart could. Which was to say: terribly.

He cried. A lot. At first, it was appropriate—private tears, sniffles in the dorm room, a distant gaze over his drink. But then it started happening at other times. Like during an ad for laundry detergent where the happy couple folded towels together. Or during a weather report where the forecast mentioned rain, which, apparently, you once said made you sleepy. Or during absolutely nothing at all, except that the sun was setting "a little too much like that one day you held his hand, remember?"

He insisted he was fine.

"Totally fine!" he chirped, voice three octaves higher than normal, eyes red-rimmed and suspiciously glossy. "Breakups happen all the time, right? We're both growing and learning! It's healthy!"

No one believed him.

Jamil looked like he was considering reporting you to the disciplinary committee just to end Kalim's reign of emotionally unhinged sunshine. Even Grim asked if someone should "turn him off and back on again."

But Kalim doubled down. If he couldn't be fine naturally, he'd brute-force his way into happiness. Which, in his mind, meant: throwing parties. So many parties. For no reason. His calendar suddenly became a horror show of "themed celebration nights" and "spontaneous joy hours," all of which were weirdly tailored around your favorite things.

"Here!" he said brightly, handing out goodie bags. "Everyone gets this specific brand of chocolates and stickers! Because those are just objectively fun! Not because anyone used to love them or anything!"

It was transparent. Alarmingly so.

Even when he gave someone a little clay charm that looked exactly like the one you wore on your bag, Kalim waved it off with a too-wide smile. "Just spreading the joy! It's important to stay positive, right?"

Everyone knew it was a cry for help. The kind that sounded like party poppers and glitter and repressed sobbing in the school gardens.

The turning point came on a quiet afternoon when he showed up at your door holding a tiny cupcake. It had a frosting heart on it. His hands shook slightly.

"I know this is weird," he said, already teary. "I didn't wanna make you uncomfortable. I just—"

He swallowed, voice cracking like something inside him was giving up the act for good.

"Even if you don't love me again," he said, "can we still be something?"

You looked at him—his earnest eyes, his trembling lower lip—and you felt something soft and painfully familiar unfurl in your chest.

Because Kalim didn't know how to lie to the people he loved. Not well. Not really. He was all impulse and heart, the kind of boy who loved too loud and too fast and never quite knew how to stop once he started.

And maybe you weren't ready to be what you were. Not yet.

But looking at him, at the little cupcake with the slightly smudged heart and the the way he was holding it like he might shatter if you didn't take it—

How could you say no?

You took the cupcake. And maybe his hand, too. Just for a moment. Just to see if something could still bloom.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil did not mourn the breakup. Mourning was for people who couldn't maintain composure under pressure. For people who let emotion smudge their mascara. He was not one of those people.

At least, not publicly.

He was flawless. Unbothered. The exact picture of someone thriving post-relationship, thank you very much. His interviews were polished. His smiles were poised. His posture was impeccable. If anyone noticed that his usual acerbic wit had gone curiously blunt, no one said anything.

They wouldn't dare.

Privately, though, when the cameras were off and the spotlight blinked out, Vil cracked in very small ways.

He started using your favorite perfume. A subtle layer, never enough to be obvious, but just enough to make him feel like you were still somewhere in the room. Like maybe if he breathed in deep enough, he could hold onto something.

He flipped through magazines during lunch breaks, claiming it was for "market research." But every time he lingered on a movie review or a lifestyle spread, it was with the faint, ridiculous hope that you'd read it too. That your fingers might have touched the same paper. That your eyes caught the same line he was rereading for the fifth time.

He knew it was foolish. But Vil had always been prone to beautiful illusions. It was sort of his thing.

The unraveling came, ironically, in the most public of places: a toothpaste commercial.

He was halfway through filming, mid-speech about the importance of a radiant smile, when something in the script triggered a memory—something you once said about how his laugh.

He kept talking.

Kept improvising.

Went off-script entirely.

The crew let him go for a minute—Vil was known for his "emotional depth," after all—but when he hit the line "even the most polished smile can still ache when it remembers someone who made it feel real," the director had to call cut.

"Vil," they said gently. "It's a toothpaste commercial."

He didn't speak for the rest of the shoot. Just touched up his own makeup in silence, eyes a little glassy.

It took him another week to knock on your door.

He showed up in a soft sweater, smelling faintly of something familiar, holding his own hands like he didn't know what else to do with them.

He didn't ask for much. Didn't ask for forever. Just quietly, cautiously:

"Would you like to try again?"

And you thought—looking at him, at the person who once swore he'd never show up like this for anyone, at the vulnerability hiding under all that polish—

Maybe this time, you could make it work.

Idia Shroud

Idia handled the breakup the way he handled most things in life: with a complete and total digital meltdown, buried under forty layers of denial and an emotionally scorched Discord server.

He didn't text. Didn't call. Didn't even leave passive-aggressive emoji reactions on your old posts like a normal ex with unresolved feelings. He simply… disappeared.

Vanished like a ghost into his room, into his code, into the vast and uncaring expanse of the internet, where feelings didn't exist unless they were typed in all caps or conveyed through a crying anime girl gif.

And for a while, it was total radio silence.

Until you logged into that game.

The shared one. The one you used to play together after class, where the two of you ran a little shop in a pixelated fantasy village and spent an embarrassing amount of time farming digital potatoes.

Your shop was still there.

But now there was… a shrine.

Your character's pixel art face, recreated painstakingly in custom tiles and surrounded by in-game flowers, torches, and glowing pink mood crystals that did not exist in the vanilla version of the game.

He'd modded it.

There was a sign in the middle that just said:

"Here Lies Happiness (RIP)"

You stared at it for a long time. Then, just to confirm the ridiculous suspicion building in your chest, you checked the nearby player list.

Sure enough, his username had changed too:

"SadBoy420"

Online. Loitering.

You didn't message him immediately. Mostly because you weren't sure what to say to someone who had quite literally built a shrine to your relationship in a farming sim. But still—you lingered. Logged in more often. Left offerings of rare items near the shrine like it was some strange, silent conversation.

Idia never spoke to you directly, but you noticed the shrine changed a little every day. One day it had a sign that said "I'm Fine." The next, it was replaced with a drawing of your characters fishing together. One morning it was just a massive, pixel-art rendition of the word "SORRY" in bold letters with a sad face emoji.

Outside the game, his silence continued.

But Ortho?

Ortho was not subtle.

"Did you know my brother has been listening to the voicemails you left him on loop for the past 72 hours?" he chirped once in the cafeteria. "Not that he's, like, sad or anything! Just nostalgic. Definitely not crying."

Later: "He made your favorite NPC in our custom server the town mayor! Isn't that cute? I mean, objectively, not emotionally, haha."

Eventually, you got the call.

Your phone lit up with his name and you answered before you could talk yourself out of it.

"Uh—hey," Idia said, voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't, like, mean to call. Or—I did, but. Crap. Okay. Hi."

You waited.

He took a breath.

"I was just wondering," he said, "if you maybe wanted to talk again. Or, y'know. Game. No pressure or anything. It's fine if you're, like, over it and I'm just like a pathetic ghost haunting your social life, haha, classic tragic NPC vibes—"

"Yes," you said, before he could spiral into apologizing for existing.

He paused. Long enough that you thought the call had dropped. Then, quietly—hopeful, almost disbelieving:

"Wait. Really?"

You smiled, even if he couldn't see it.

"Yeah," you said. "Log in."

Malleus Draconia

Malleus did not understand how something so radiant could simply… end.

He didn't throw a dramatic tantrum after the breakup. He didn't disappear in a swirl of thunderclouds or curse the moon or anything out of a tragic love story.

He didn't so much as frown in public, because the full gravity of the breakup hadn't quite hit him yet. Instead, it settled in stranger places—quiet things, strange habits.

Like how he started speaking to the plush bat you gave him on his last birthday as though it were you. Not in a creepy way, more like someone who didn't know what to do with the empty space you left behind.

He asked it questions. Told it how his day went. Laughed, sometimes, as if it had told him a joke—low and fond, the kind of laugh only you had ever coaxed out of him. And when he sat beneath the stars, plush cradled carefully in his lap, he whispered to it with a gentleness reserved only for the lost.

The gargoyles? They weren't even sentient, but even they seemed exhausted. Every night he stood in front of them, musing out loud about the way you smiled or how you always called him weird little nicknames. One of them lost a nose—maybe unrelated.

Lilia, bless him, said nothing for a long while. He simply watched as Malleus wilted, quietly and beautifully, like a flower sealed in ice. But one evening, after Malleus asked in the softest voice, "Do humans ever come back when they leave?", Lilia did not answer. He only wrapped his arms around his ward and held him close.

At some point, he started writing letters. Not to send, just… to say things. Things he didn't know how to tell you, or hadn't said enough when he could. Some were serious. Some were barely legible thoughts written in the middle of the night. But he kept them all, folded neatly in a box that lived under his bed.

And then, of course, Silver found the box.

Silver, ever helpful and half-asleep, assumed it was mail Malleus meant to send and delivered the whole thing to your dorm like it was completely normal to get a hand-bound novel of unsent love letters dropped off on a random day.

You read them all.

You didn't say anything at first. You weren't sure what you were supposed to say. But that night, you left your window open—just a little.

And sure enough, just past midnight, Malleus appeared outside your dorm. Just… standing there. Looking up.

He didn't ask to come in. He didn't even call your name. He just waited. Like maybe you'd hear the quiet, and somehow understand.

And when you finally stepped outside, he looked at you like he'd been waiting centuries.

"May I court you again?" he asked softly. "From the beginning."

And really… how could you say no?

Masterlist

[cursedcola]

Prompt: There’s a myth that states our moles and birth marks are on the parts of us our past lovers kissed//loved the most. So…in your next reincarnation, where would those moles appear?

Characters: All NRC students, Chen’ya, Neige Leblanche, Rollo Flamme, Skully J Graves, Fellow Honest

Masterlist: LinkedUP

Commissions: Here

A/N: Took a shot at some fresh faces…and eased my brain rot. Ah. I feel lighter already

-

Riddle yearns for you like a gentleman watching his most desired prospect from across the ballroom. Deep down his inner rebellious twin wants nothing more than to take your lips at any given moment. To assert himself across the expanse and whisk you off where there are no distractions. That is unfortunately a daringness found only in another lifetime…although his restraint ebbs as time chips away. He insists on holding your hand with perfect form, thumb aligned, posture straight, but the aecond he lifts your knuckles to his lips, something in him softens. There ‘s rebellion in the way he kisses each joint, lingering just a moment too long; there’s yearning in the way his thumb smooths over your skin afterward. To him, your knuckles are where he first felt daring, where he learned the quiet thrill of affection that breaks one rule. Such poised affection never fails to leave your heart pounding, as does his subtle smirk each time you flush.

In the next life, a graceful rose-tinted streak stretches across your knuckles. As if someone swiped a permanent blush of color with their thumb.

“…In another life, should you forget everything else… let there be a mark here. This is where I held you when I finally gathered the courage. I want that moment to stay.”

Trey finds your back to be the perfect resting post. He drapes across your shoulders with no need for the middle man known as permission. Hands sit at your waist ready to mold a spot and stay for hours. Yet they don’t remain for long once his eyes are closed and lips trace the slope of your trapezius. Thank the gods most hours are spent in privacy, because he can never resist the urge to kiss the curve of your shoulders and linger many moments longer than appropriate.

In the next life, twin moles sit on opposite sides of your shoulders. As if someone pecked the spots in farewell before reluctantly pulling away.

“Heh… if we’re reborn, I hope you get a little mark on your shoulders. That’s where I always steady you, right? So even if I’m not there yet, you’ll feel like someone’s got your back.”

Cater enjoys nothing more than seeing the most exposed parts of you. Candid moments that couldn’t possibly be altered by anything other than him. His cheeky pecks are placed strategically over each poking bone, one finger pulling your waistband down far enough to reach his favorite place. He leaves a bite that doesn’t need any effort to be hidden away. Yet he knows it is there and eagerly awaits his own matching set.

In the next life, there is a diamond shaped mark along your right hip bone. As if someone pinched the skin too long, waiting for the day their mark would finally lay down roots.

“Okay, call me cheesy, but - if we get round two at life, I hope you have a cute lil’ mark on your hip. That’s where I always and poke you ‘cause it’s, like… my favorite soft spot.”

Deuce seeks your lips like one does a cellphone signal on a deserted island. Your first kiss left him shipwrecked with no means of returning back to the life from which he came. He adores how you melt into him, when you grasp at his blazer for support and your knees grow weak. Your lips are more reward for his hard work than any trophy or praise. Deuce is a simple, greedy man. He will not shy from your affection once he’s been exposed to how wonderful it makes him feel. Every opportunity is seized like it might be his last, because deep down he fears that one day it may be.

In the next life, you are born with a split lower lip. As if someone latched on, biting until they were forced to let go.

“If I mess up and we don’t end up together next time… then maybe you’ll have a mark on your lips. So you’ll remember that I - I really loved kissing you. Even if I was nervous.”

Ace plays his tricks best when there is no one else around to catch him in the act. Not a soul in sight is there to steal your attention, and surely no thought or reason compares when he makes a canvas out of your stomach. He thrives on how your muscles tense with laughter, pulling you down so he can kiss from belly button to ribs. It never fails to earn all your attention, letting some linger and purposefully guiding your shirt up for better access. His attack always ends with a kiss morphed into blowing a raspberry. Your poor excuse for a glare sweeter than any fruit, and even better once it melts to a wobbly smile.

In the next life, a heart shaped birthmark sits right next to your belly button. It’s a dead give away to your most ticklish spot, as if someone already discovered your secret and never forgot to abuse it.

“Tch - fine, fine. If I gotta make a wish or whatever? Then I hope you get a mark on your stomach. ‘Cause that’s where I always dunk my head when you laugh like a dying seagull - yeesh! Ow! Ow! Okay! ‘Cause it’s soft, alright?! …Sheesh.”

Leona’s best caught when you are unaware. Which means his most tender affection is a secret between him and your dreams. When his body is grounded by an ‘otherworldly’ pressure, making reality move slow enough that sunset might never come. Not when you’re in his arms - relaxed and curled against him - and suddenly he can hold the world in his hands. Leona’s tail purposefully coils around your waist, his fingers leather-clad and gentle as he brushes the hair from your neck. One goal on his mind once your scent hits with a wave of euphoria, and his lips brush your nape before he thinks any better of it. His lips linger - greedy for every second - as his eyes close and other senses take over. His breath against your skin, the brush of a fang, the lazy drag of his fingers along your hairline… this is the kind of intimacy he understands. Something simple. Something real. Something instinctive. You wake to his forehead pressed against the spot, ‘genuine’ snores biding his time with his precious, ‘otherworldly’ weight.

In the next life, a faint, tawny mark curls along the nape of your neck like the echo of a possessive nuzzle. Such a tender spot tucked away, your vitals protected as if the world knew someone would earn your trust and discover it. That they would protect you too.

“…Tch. If you’re gonna forget everything else, then at least remember that spot. It’s where I rest my head when I’m tired. Best pillow I ever had… so you’ll remember who you belong with.”

Ruggie has access to the tastiest snack on campus. All he has to do is slink up behind you and take a bite. His kisses are an ambush, nipping skin between his teeth with snickers getting lost in your clothes. He bides his time, waits for an opening, and like the prize at a bazaar he sucks in a large chunk of your cheek like it’s the sweetest, freshly fluffed mochi after new year. There’s no such thing as empty calories to this hyena, and you’re enough to stall his grumbling tummy in between meals. He’d never say it out loud but you truly are made of ‘sugar, spice, and everything nice’. Though it’s portrayed by the laughter whistling through his teeth as he peppers a few stray pecks over where he eagerly feasted.

In the next life, your cheeks dimple even when a smile isn’t seen. As if someone poked the holes in place with their fangs and adored how healthily round they are.

“Heh - if we get another shot at living, I hope you keep a mark on your cheek. ‘Cause I don’ know if I’ll be lucky enough to have you a second time…still not sure what I did to deserve the first. I’m always squishin’ that spot anyway. Would be nice if you remembered who made ya smile.”

Jack never fails to let a kiss linger. Our greatest regrets are actions avoided. For a man built upon his dedication and restraint, those extra seconds feel like a lifetime he would willingly live over and over again. The weight of his love pressed into your temple in a gentle, yet fierce devotion. No matter the situation, he makes a point to let his lips press deep before letting himself linger those extra seconds. It’s where he sees you thinking, worrying, dreaming. When he rests his forehead lightly against yours, it’s a gesture of trust he doesn’t give to anyone else. He’s careful with you - thumb brushing your temple when he checks if you’re tired, lips brushing the same spot when he wants to reassure you but doesn’t have the courage to say it. He follows with a brief peck to ensure his point is clear before pulling away. Be it with a word with himself or one you are lucky enough to hear muttered under his breath. Jack never fails to leave a piece of him with you each time.

In the next life, a mole sits against your temple like a third eye. As if someone put every piece of themself there across a lifetime, along with their earnest wish for your safety and happiness.

“…If this whole reincarnation thing is real… then I hope you get a mark on your temple. I don’t want the next me to forget that you trusted me. He’ll work to earn it just like I have.”

Azul is a lover of shiny things. His mint coins call him to be admired and valued day by day. Yet there is no greater sparkle worth his admiration than the pearl sitting upon your left ring-finger. From the moment he dared to call you his, Azul traced circles over your finger with his thumb. Every moment he held your hand was an opportunity stolen to press a chaste kiss over where he knew a promise would soon stay. With time his plans came to fruition, yet the habit never ceased. He merely moves to the knuckle, reinstating his greatest contract with assurances of his love spoken clearly into your skin.

In the next life, a mole no bigger than a speck hides on the inside of your left ring-finger, to the side of your knuckle. Anyone who comes close enough would be remiss not to notice it. As if another was greedy enough to stake a claim over you across multiple mortal coils.

“…A-ah… well. If we’re discussing future lives, then - if it’s not too presumptuous - I’d like a mark on your ring finger. The… one I was always too cowardly to claim. Maybe the next version of me will manage to say what he feels early on, so we have as much time as possible together.”

Jade loves how your lips part with bated breath. When he's found the most opportune moment to slide to your side and whisper musings into your ear. Be his words a reminder of the day or a dip into his most depraved thoughts. The context is irrelevant when what he's after is far more interesting. When his breath tickles and his hands find your waist - holding for mere moment, only to punctuate whatever he says with a kiss to the shell of your ear and pull away. You're left flush and dazed...not a word comprehended yet he can't so much as pretend to mind.

In the next life, the beauty mark behind your ear is a tough one to spot. You're hardly aware it's there most days, yet it always makes an admirable appearance when the time is right. Be it when you slip on a new pair of earrings, or brush past while tucking away a stray hair.

“Mm… if destiny chooses to rewrite us, then I hope you have my mark upon your ear. That is where you let me whisper secrets… and where you always leaned closer.”

Floyd is a natural explorer. His teeth guide him where they yearn to sink in like a compass, and it is always set on where your softest parts stay hidden. He can steal a bite from your shoulder by edging your collar away, or nibble along your arms with permission granted if it means he’ll go along with your tide for a time. Yet his teeth sink into your thighs without restraint whenever they can. He only has access to them when there are no other fish swimming about. He can enjoy the feel of you without regard for anything else. How it’s like biting into a pillowy marshmallow that squirms and knows him by name. Yet above all else, you taste the best when plated up for him alone.

In the next life, arced marks stretch across your inner thighs as waning crescent moons. They start off small when you’re a baby and resemble a thin strip. Yet as you age, the skin stretches and it appears as if the marks are smiling at you. As if someone is laughing each time you explain them to another. Like a game you’d never win.

“Next life? Hah! Fun! Then I want ya to have a mark riiight on your thighs. ‘Cause that’s where I like holdin’ ya the most. Makes ya squeak so cute~ The next me better remember exactly how to grab ya.”

Kalim feels blessed by the sun when you smile into a kiss. The way your lips pull against his and teeth knock together like bumbling youths in the hall. Such sweetness makes him richer than any man in the universe, and when you laugh? He jumps to steal your breath eagerly and holds you tight until your knees grow weak. His days are brighter when you're within arms length, and fireworks burst when you become just as greedy for his happiness. There are many things in life that Kalim has done poorly - that he will get wrong - but each time you kiss him? Well, there is no doubt he's done one move right...and that's all Kalim needs to keep going.

In the next life, a stripe of vitiligo darkens your upper lip. The contrast is notable enough to give an almost cartoonish contrast whenever you smile. It immediate catches the eye of whoever you meet, and always starts a conversation that ends with your charm on full display. As if someone felt gratitude beyond the stars that your happiness was theirs to cherish, and wanted everyone to appreciate the treasure that is your smile.

“Ooh! Then I want a mark on your smiling lips! That way, even in the next life, I’ll know that I’m the reason you look that happy!”

Jamil will kiss the length of your arms like a second calling. His vice is that there is only so much time in the day, and it isn't nearly enough to truly reach every inch of your skin. His affection is tamed until the doors are closed. Then he reaches for the first part of you he sees and all the pressure keeping his spine pulled taught exchanges with indulgence. From your fingertips, to your forearms, up your biceps - pausing to pull you closer and brush his fingertips over your shoulders. Once you've lost every thought that isn't of him, he passes the arc and continues the path down your opposite arm. He ensures each kiss is weighted, so that you will not forget them overnight and not even through the next day. If you dare lower your arms then he will hold them outwards on his own. In fact, he prefers it that way. Let him be lost in everything you taunted at length in daylight. Let him forget his troubles in you every night and he will consider it the first sign of a god's existence.

In the next life, your arms are decorated with a dusting of freckles. The contrasting sort that could not be hidden without a thick layering of oil based concealer. At a distance you are a painting to behold, covered in dotty coils that practically demand to be counted. As if someone unknown challenged all to try, knowing that their existence would be in the spotlight this lifetime.

“…If we have to do this all over again, then… let there be my marks across your arms. That’s where I always touch you without thinking. Maybe the next me won’t run from that.”

Vil’s touch is unmistakably intentional, always. With you, the pretense falls away - his hands glide down your spine not to sculpt perfection, but to feel the warm, fragile life beneath his palms. He massages the tension from each vertebra with a tenderness he rarely allows the world to see. And afterward, he presses lingering kisses along the same line, a ritual he performs as if sealing devotion into your very bones. He treasures this place because your spine - straight, vulnerable, essential - reminds him that even beauty needs support, and that he wishes to be yours.

In the next life, a delicate stroke of color runs down your spine, soft as powdered henna. You never see it without feeling a strange calm, as if hands you’ve never met are smoothing along your back.

“If fate grants us a second act, then let a mark run along your spine. That is where my hands always travel after a long day… and where my caress tells you what words fail.”

Rook adores your inner palms with a reverence bordering on worship. To him, they are the softest, most revealing part of you - unguarded, intimate. He holds your wrist like he’s catching a falling star, guiding your hand up to his lips while maintaining unwavering eye contact. He kisses your palms not out of passion alone, but out of awe; they are the hands that have reached for him, comforted him, trusted him. In every kiss, he is declaring: I see you. I choose you. I love you. I am yours. Encore, encore.

In the next life, faint markings bloom across your palms, like jagged scars but without the pain endured to earn them. You feel warmth there whenever you stretch your hands toward something beautiful. As if they are the traces of a hunter’s devotion - his eternal vow carved into the most vulnerable part of you.

“Oho! Then I wish for deux marques upon your lovely palms! So that when we meet again, mon amour, I may lift your hands, kiss them, and declare - ‘Ah! I have found you at last, mon coeur.’”

Epel loves flustering you - it’s a secret he poorly hides behind his boyish grin and the bite of his accent. The way your breath stutters under his lips, the warmth that blooms beneath his mouth, the hitch in your voice when he nips your collar - he lives for it. He loves to have you shivering beneath him, flustered with no two words stringing together a coherent sentence. It’s the highest praise he can ever hope for. It proves he can affect you as deeply as you affect him. Your neck makes him feel capable, powerful, desired. When his hands cradle the sides of your throat, he isn't trying to dominate you; he’s savoring the closeness, the unspoken trust.

In the next life, a faint bite-shaped mark sits at your collar, as if someone pressed their mouth there again and again until the memory stuck. Every time heat rises to your neck in embarrassment, it stands out. As if a brazen fool forever damned decorum in one final push to be seen for the fire in their heart.

“If we’re startin’ over again… then I want a mark on your neck. Right where you get all flustered. I - I like seein’ you like that. And I want the next me to remember it.”

Idia loves the top of your head because it’s the one place he can touch without combusting from embarrassment. He pretends he’s just messing up your hair - “It’s totally a crit buff!” - but his fingers linger a bit too long, threading through your locks with shy affection. When he pats your head, he avoids eye contact like it’s a final boss fight if pure will, but the gesture is tender, earnest, grounding. Your crown is the safest point of intimacy for him: you can’t see his face turn pink, can’t watch him short-circuit while trying to act casual. It’s where he goes when he wants comfort without vulnerability, affection without panic. His face buried in a soft pillow that smells like fruity soap and impulse decisions. The perfect spot to string nonsensical ramblings together on the chance of peppering a kiss in between. It’s a game of timed attack so you don’t notice…And sometimes - rarely - he presses his forehead to the top of yours, as if sharing data through the warmth of your skin.

In the next life, a persistent cowlick forms at your crown, rising no matter how you brush it down. It always tilts in the direction of comfort, like a phantom hand just ran through your hair.

“U-uh—o-okay so, hypothetically—If we get Isekai’d into a next life DLC, then… maybe you’ll have a little cowlick? In the same spot I, uh… 'p-pat' when I get brave for 0.2 seconds. Maybe next-life-me won’t need a whole loading screen to touch you again.”

Malleus cherishes your chest because it is the place he feels truly welcomed - invited, even. When you let him rest his head against your heart, his composure melts; his lashes lower, his breath slow, his arms circle you with reverence. Few have ever held him without fear, without duty, without trembling awe. But you? You cradle him as though he is something precious, someone worthy of protection. And in those moments, he believes it. He presses soft, lingering kisses over your heart as if thanking it for beating for him.

In the next life, a warm-hued mark blooms over your heart, shaped like a curved thumbprint. You feel comfort whenever someone embraces you chest-to-chest, as if a familiar weight has settled there.

“…If the threads of fate truly allow us a future life, then grant a mark over your heart.That place… is where you allow me to rest, where you hold me as if I’m someone in need of protection.In the next life, I wish to find that closeness again.”

Lilia delights in greeting you with cheerful, outrageous affection - appearing upside down, behind you, from thin air - to bop your nose with a dramatic “mwah!” But beneath the theatrics lies genuine tenderness. Your nose is the one place he can kiss lightly, playfully, constantly, without overwhelming you. He loves the way you wrinkle it when flustered, the way a simple nose kiss can brighten your entire mood. It’s his favorite because it makes you laugh, because it reminds him that affection doesn’t always need grandeur.

In the next life, a small rosy tint sits at the tip of your nose, deepening whenever you’re happy. Children often tell you you look like you’ve just been kissed by jack frost. They’re not wrong...although it's a different impish, magical being who is responsible.

“Fu fu fu~! Then let there be a tiny mark upon your nose! Perfect for my greetings, my kisses, and my endless teasing - no matter how many lives we tumble through!”

Sebek treats your hand like something sacred - grasping it with knightly precision, bowing over it with rigid posture, brushing his lips against the back in gestures he pretends are mere formality. He notices everything. The way your tendons shift when you move, the steadiness of your grip, the strength that belies your softness. He presses his lips there longer than social convention demands, each kiss is firm, reverent, almost ceremonial. And when he takes your hand in both of his, thumb brushing over your skin, he feels something fierce and grounding. Devotion. The back of your hand is where he recognizes you not as just someone to protect, but someone worthy of unwavering loyalty and admiration. Someone who makes him want to be better.

But in another truth, he adores this place because kissing your hand lets him show devotion without losing control. The back of your hand is courtly, proper, respectable - yet intimate enough to make his ears burn. It lets him honor you without betraying just how deeply he feels.

In the next life, a pale band of color stretches across the back of your hand, like the memory of a knight’s kiss. It warms whenever you clasp someone in greeting, as though expecting a familiar bow.

“IF - AND ONLY IF - WE MUST PANDER TO THE HANDS IF FATE…! Then let a mark be placed on the back of your hand! S-so that when I kneel and press my lips to it in the next life, you will know it is to you whom I once spoke a vow!”

Silver cherishes your eyes with a gentleness that softens even the firmest parts of him. When he touches your face, his hands are feather-light, brushing your eyelids as though afraid you’ll break beneath his fingers. He kisses your eyes when waking you gently, or when tears gather - a promise of protection sealed in the softest place. Your eyes are where he sees the truth of you, where emotion pools without disguise. They’re his sanctuary: two mirrors reflecting peace, affection, and clarity he rarely feels in his dream-laden world. He favors your eyes because in their gaze he finds grounding, and in their closing beneath his lips, he finds trust.

In the next life, soft speckled markings appear just beneath your eyes. They echo the places where someone once soothed your tears and carried a quiet devotion. Gentle dustings that draw others in, just so they might glimpse into your eyes and feel a drop of the comfort they are capable of providing.

“If we are reborn into new mornings… then I wish for a mark near your eyes. That way, even the next me will remember where to kiss you awake.”

Skully touches your face with the sort of reverence one usually reserves for rare works of art. He never grabs or startles - his gloved fingertips approach as though asking permission, tracing the line of your cheek, brushing beneath your eye, cupping your jaw with the delicacy of a gentleman who knows exactly how precious you are. When he kisses your face, it’s with a slow, unhurried tenderness that makes the world fall still. Each kiss feels like a stanza he’s memorizing. He favors your face because it holds every expression he treasures: every smile he’s earned, every worry he wants to soothe, every glance that softens only for him. It is the part of you he studies with quiet devotion, believing that to love someone’s face is to understand the soul it reflects.

In the next life, subtle shadow-like marks settle over the plains of your face, as if left behind by hands that once shaped affection into every contour.

"I have ghosted your features countless times… with the back of my hand, with my lips, with a reverence I dare admit aloud. Should another me wander through another era, I want him to feel this same pull - as if his very soul remembers the pattern of your skin beneath his kiss. Let the next version of me find you at the proper time, and think, ‘Ah. There you are. At long last.’"

Rollo touches your wrists with a restraint that borders on worship. He always begins with a hesitance, as though afraid he might overstep, before gently taking your arm and brushing his thumb over the delicate veins beneath your skin. It is a place that frightens him - the pulse there, so vulnerable, so fervently alive - and yet he is drawn to it with aching fascination. When he kisses the inside of your wrist, he closes his eyes, breath trembling, as if the warmth of your blood softens something iron-clad inside him. Your inner wrists are his favorite because they remind him of what he desires yet fears: unguarded humanity, fragile life, a fire that could warm him instead of consume. And deep down, he knows you trust him enough to offer that tenderness.

In the next life, faint, circular sigils appear along your inner wrists. Their meaning most curious and stumping doctors the moment you entered this world. A bit of magic in a world without, tainting you for this otherwise simple life. One you will stumble through, naive to what it is you carry.

“…If reincarnation is real, then… let there be my mark upon your inner wrists. That is where your pulse reminds me you live without fear. Perhaps the next me will understand that sooner and better prepare himself.”

Fellow Honest is a connoisseur of subtle intimacy, and your jawline is a banquet of temptations he never quite resists. He loves guiding your chin upward with a gloved finger, forcing your eyes to meet his with a slow, deliberate tilt. He traces the sharp edge of your jaw with a thumb, smiling when he feels you tense beneath his touch. When he kisses your jawline, it’s half-devotion, half-possession … a mix of velvet-soft affection and the calculated charm he wields so effortlessly. This place is his favorite because it skirts the boundary between propriety and desire. Your jaw is where elegance lives, where vulnerability meets defiance, where a single breath can betray everything you’re trying to hide. And Fellow loves nothing more than uncovering what you try to conceal.

In the next life, a faint, sculpted line appears along your jaw, like the path carved by reverent fingers and lingering kisses.

“Heh… if we meet again, I’d like a mark along your jaw. That way, when I lift your chin next time… I’ll remember exactly how to kiss you.”

Neige adores your cheeks with a kind of sunshine-soft affection. To him, they’re the most expressive part of you - the place where your emotions bloom before you speak, where joy dawns like morning light. He’s constantly reaching out without thinking, brushing a stray hair aside just to feel the warmth of your skin under his fingertips. And oh, the way he lights up when you blush… it’s like watching glitter fall. He peppers your cheeks with gentle, fluttering kisses whenever he can, giggling softly as though every touch is a secret between just the two of you. Your cheeks are where he sees you happiest. Where he feels closest to the real, unguarded you.

In the next life, a soft, rosy birthmark appears on your cheek - warm, gentle, like the echo of a kiss that never faded.

“Ooh! If there’s a next life, then I hope you get a mark on your cheeks!That’s where I always kiss you when you’re being extra adorable - ah, but I guess that’s all the time, isn’t it?”

Chen’ya adores your knees for reasons he never fully explains - mostly because he prefers watching you try to figure him out. He’ll vanish, reappear crouched in front of you, and poke the soft spot behind your knee just to hear your surprised yelp. He kisses them when he’s feeling mischievous, nipping lightly before darting away with a cheshire grin. Yet beneath all the chaos, there’s affection in the way he holds your knee with both hands, thumbs brushing soothing circles, eyes softer than usual. Your knees tell him stories - how you tremble when you’re excited, how you bend when you’re relieved, how you lean into him when you’re tired. He likes this place because it’s vulnerable in an unexpected way, a small secret gateway to your reactions, your balance, your movement. And maybe because he loves being the reason they buckle.

In the next life, swirling marks form over your kneecaps, curling like painted wisps of smoke. They tingle whenever you’re startled, warm when someone kneels before you with affection.

“Nyaahaha~! Then I wish for a mark on your knees! So the next you remembers who swooped down, caught you mid-chaos, and kissed you before you could blink!”

[unnkn0wnn]

How the dorm leaders would react to you asking;

"If we both still single by the time whe are 30, let's get married"

Riddle

"What?!"

He's not sure if you're joking or not, which makes him unsure how to react.

"W-we should at least have dinner together first, if you're serious about it..."

If you say you're just messing with him thought, it's off with your head!

Leona

"What the hell, sure"

What? You thought he would get flustered herbivore? Maybe marrying you will get Felena off his back, why not? It's not like he's got other suitors anyway, good for you right? Now you're responsible for taking care of the spoiled prince, Ruggie is thankful.

Azul

"...are you trying to get a discount?"

Doesn't know how to respond, secretly he's flattered but hopes you don't see his cheeks turning pink, afterwards he starts you inviting you over the Mostro Lounge more often, you know for marketing purposes of course.

Kalim

"Sure!"

You're one of his best friends, of course he would marry you! And if you guys get married you could spend all day together, and have sleepovers ever day! Hey, why don't you get married to him right now? That's better than waiting right?

Vil

"Don't be foolish potato, you still have a lot to work for before that"

So you think you're worthy of marrying THE Vil Schoenheit huh? How bold, yet he finds it weirdly charming, if you're up to the challenge he'll be willing to give you a chance to win his heart, he's very picky, so be prepared to put in the work, he expects the best from you after all.

Idia

"Eh???"

Black screen, hair turning pink, face red and swearing, please stop messing with him, he's going to faint.

He's 100% convinced you're joking around even if you insist you're serious, thought, afterwards he starts talking about his interests more often, secretly he's trying to show off his knowledge to you.

Malleus

"It's this your way to court me child of a man?"

Smug smile, so you've finally decided to court him huh? He's been dropping hints for a while, but he thought you didn't pick it up since you're human, but you menaged to surprise him like always, you're truly a fascinating being, he can't wait to marry you.

[idiasplayertwo]

" WHOOPS, HE STOLE A KISS~ " ― VIL, ROOK, LEONA AND LILIA

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

in which; how each of them would steal a kiss from you~

featuring; vil, rook, leona & lilia x separate fem reader

author's note; i wanted to add more, like jade and possibly malleus...but im too lazy 😔 THROW THE TOMATOES ITS OKAY I CAN TAKE IT no i can't. i might make another part with other characters when i have more motivation...maybe(⁠ꏿ⁠﹏⁠ꏿ⁠;⁠) these were written in my notes, so the grammer will def be ood. started this at three am ahahahah

content; sfw, established relationship, implied female reader, surprised kisses, suggestive themes (mostly in vil's part only cuz im in love with him), unedited writing, grammar mistakes, possibly ooc, teasing, fluff, imagine/scenarios, pardon my french ( literally ! )

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

VIL SCHOENHEIT

you were brought to his dressing room for only a "quick moment" ― which, on your behalf, seemed reasonable. maybe he wanted to speak to you about costume? maybe the script? perhaps he just wanted to compliment you on your work.

and compliment he did, as the next thing you knew you were sitting against his vanity―back to the mirror, hands around the housewardens neck and his hands on your waist like they belonged there.

and according to vil? it's a match made in heaven.

it all happened too fast, you barely remember why he called you in here. one moment led to another, commenting about his makeup and asking you to blend it better―unbelievably foolish of him to think having you this close, in a private room, where your both already sweating due to the stage lights―was a smart move.

you get close to his face with a makeup brush, only getting a few strokes along his cheek in before his lips crash into yours, eyes widen and brush fallen to the floor with a loud thud―vil pushes you against his vanity and lifts you effortlessly ontop. hands respectively cup your ass to set you down comfortably before kissing you again.

it's not gentle, but it's not too rough either. somewhere in between, you couldn't quite put it into words. but you didn't need to, for vil's lips moved with yours as you wrap your arms instinctively around this neck.

with his hands on your waist, moments later he pulls away leaving you both breathless. staring into each other's eyes, you started to giggle.

you reach over to swipe your thumb against his lip, violet lipstick smudged.

"your makeup is ruined..." you pout playfully, cupping his cheeks as he readjusts his hold on you, a hand playing with the back of your hair. "hardly," he mused, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and smirked, "you, my dear, look far more disheveled~"

ROOK HUNT

it was taught a long time ago walks with rook were never expected, something always seemed to turn it around and make it special. it's rook, it's bound to have happened. he compliments you, praises you, pictures multiple different scenarios in his mind which lighting looks better―but will not lie to himself, you look beautiful in any lighting!

your both walking along the pomefiore's garden peacefully, quiet and cozy. You smile at the beautiful flowers that bloomed, rook replying with "you bloom just has beautifully, mon trésor~" leaving you a flustered mess.

as the walk went on, you left watched―turning your head slightly from one of the bushes you are met with rooks eyes staring down yours. as if he's searching for something, was there something on your face?

"rook...why are you staring at me like that?"

the vice-housewarden simply chuckles, stepping past you to pick a rose from the garden, despite you nervous about the fact he picked a fresh flower from the pomefiore garden, your thoughts were flushed away when he suddenly pushed back your hair and gently placed the rose stem behind your hair. moving your hair back into place, he traces a gloved hand along your cheekbones and stares you in the eyes once more.

"there...comme c'est beau~ i was right ... the rose definitely matches your eyes~" he whispered against your skin, hands to your skin and his chest close to yours. if the garden wasn't empty, you would have definitely melted into a mushy puddle right then and there, but his touch held you together―like glue on middle schoolers art project.

before you could respond, his lips ghost against yours, "forgive me," he mummers, ",but i simply must appreciate a discovery this beautiful~ to its fullest."

your brain barely had time to process that sentence before his lips finally met yours. his gloved hand lingers at your jaw, lips soft against yours. it was rough, but warm and deliberate. your eyes shot open, a surprised squeak muffled against his lips as he pulled away moments later, panting softly as his lashes flutter back up at you. "your reaction," he said quietly, almost pleased with himself. "it's just how i imagined in my head, over and over~"

you blushed, "rook! you can't just―" he kissed you again, quicker and more playful this time. "you wish to argue?" he teases, getting closer to your face again, "mon trésor, do you wish i test my theory a second time?"

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

don't get me wrong, leona likes to hear the sound of your voice. he'd make it his alarm clock if he knew how to do that sort of thing―but that's not the point. the point is...it becomes too much. again, he doesn't hate it .. he just can't focus on your voice when he's trying to take a nap.

underclassmen? annoyed the hell out of him. ruggie? got his lunch order wrong due to being distracted by kalim or one of the freshmen who was also part of the conversation...for some reason. and you? no where to be seen for the whole day, causing him to be in a pissy mood.

he wanted to see you, but couldn't find you. so you know how he'll get...that's right... irritated. just at the fact your not there to be his pillow.

could he have just called you via phone or text? oh, trust me, he did. alas, your phone was on silent since this morning due to studying and sleeping during the night...which leads him to now.

your sitting on his stomach in the humbleness of his own dorm, sunlight peeking through the open spaces and the sheets messy and scrunched under the beastmen. at first, it was quiet. leona already half asleep, would be fully if it wasn't for you and suddenly starting up a conversation.

eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, your smile lines on display for him to adore as you ramble about sevens know what anymore. first it was a movie, then said actor is the movie...then school studies and now you're on about some new dish the mostro lounge announced a few days ago you wanted to check out with him.

"that sounds yummy, huh leona?"

"hm, oh yah..."

you glare at him, pouting to yourself. you just said it came with a side of vegetables...and he agreed? yah, he was barely paying attention.

you simply sigh, unaware of the flick of the princes' tail as you continued talking...and talking...and even more talking.

not even five minutes have gone by and something inside leona snapped.

he snatched your wrist, your eyes dart down with an arched brow. before you could question, leona's lips smash into yours. gently, cutting you off mid-sentence. your eyes widen, cheeks go pink and your body starts to heat up. the kiss wasn't long, just long enough to get your brain buffering so when he pulls back...your speechless.

fills his ego, look what you've done.

"you talk too much..." he states lazily, and honestly...you weren't even in the right mindset anymore to get angry. "kept going on about the same gross meal over and over again...started to actually taste it." oh...so he was listening...

he grins, arm reaching out to wrap around your hips and push you closer to him, "but hey...keep talking though," he rests his forehead against yours, "gives me another reason to shut you up again~"

LILIA VANROUGE

now, who doesn't like a good game of tag~ especially with your favorite fae of them all, lilia vanrouge! it starts with you being in a playful mood, poking at him, ticking his sides and running away quickly after, tugging at his hair tuggs while he's distracted―but we all know he was aware of your antics. this is post-general vanrouge we're talking about, you can't surprise him the way you want to.

which brings you to the present, sneaking down the halls of the diasomnia dorm, anticipating lilias footsteps running behind you at any moment. you look left and right, taking another step forward.

a pause...another step. until you walk normally down the hall, you only make it a few steps before a sudden weight drops itself on your back. you scrambled to forward, a shriek leaving your lungs as you whip around to find lilia staring at you upside down, a happy smile on his face as he laughs.

"fufu~ found you~" he mused, poking your nose as your eyes squint. "you're it! khee he he~"

"you cheated!" you accused the bat immediately, no hesitation.

lilia gasps dramatically, turning right side up as his heels click against the floors.

"me? a cheater?" he placed a hand over his chest, "my dear, i'm wounded!"

you crossed the arms, a small pout on your lips as you retort, "don't you pull that trick on me, you used magic to teleport behind me and find me easily! Also, you're flying!!"

"that is merely a creative strategy, my love~"

"don't baby name me, mister! you and i had a mutual agreement, no magic allowed, it would be a disadvantage for me!"

lilia leaned close, inches away from your face as you glared down at him. "you are quite adorable when your angry...like a little bat learning how to fly~ but never getting that far off the ground~ khee he he!"

your nose scrunched.

"i'm not―"

you didn't realize how close he was in your space, how could he possibly get closer? you blinked, arms still crossed but less tense as you arched a brow at him, "what are you planning?"

"hmm..." he hummed in thought, magenta eyes searching yours intensively, tilting his head as if studying you. you look very vulnerable, right now. Is what he would say if he was dumb enough to out right spoil the fun.

"don't you even try to puppy dog eyes me―"

you barely got your sentence through before lilia's lip met yours, tender and slow. pulling back with a sly smirk and a glimmer in his eyes, you blushed mad. you stared at him, not disgusted...but the audacity to attack you when your guard is down.

scandalous, even for a ex-general!! or...maybe it wasn't, when it comes to lilia.

"you looked so serious with your pouty lips, i thought you were about to combust. fufu~ safe to say, your right as rain, aren't you dear?"

your eyebrow twitched, "you―you can't just―"

mwah.

another kiss. quick. playful, this time.

"aha! there's that look again!" he teases, eyes dark with an evil, playful look when you hide your face in your hands, "your... impossible!" you groaned, voice muffled against your skin.

he merely chuckles at that, "and your reactions are quite entertaining...i might keep you like this for a while~" he kisses you again, fingers interlocking with yours as he dips you low while he levitates up.

you barely made to dinner that night.

end notes; these were gonna be shorter but i got carried away with lilia ahem

𝗜𝗗𝗜𝗔𝗦𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗬𝗘𝗥𝗧𝗪𝗢 ݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆

★ comments / reblogs are much appreciated!

[akisteahouse]

COURTING YOU? SINCE WHEN?! Featuring Savanaclaw!

requested ask from here!!!!

While courting, wolves will stay close to their potential mate and typically will not leave their side if possible. They are also very affectionate and will nuzzle, lick each other, and will even walk side by side.

Jack Howl! Who’d recently begun acting… strange, to you, recently - face avoiding yours entirely when you sat or walked next to him, ears perked up and tail wagging when you’d offered him a hug that one time.(though he swatted your affection away. Huh.) Shoulders brushing against yours a little too purposefully during movie night, forever complaining about how your uniform was never neat, always helping you readjust your tie, dusting off imaginary dirt off your clothes whenever you meet, bashfully looking away when you asked him why he was being so nice(“Well, we’re… in the court - no, nevermind.”) Things went downhill(or uphill, maybe?)when he started to return your affections, nuzzling his nose against yours or your neck, almost whining when you tried to pull away, pawing at you to stay with him, for just a little while longer… earning sniggers and off-handed comments from both Leona and Ruggie, teasing Jack on how he was really piling it on ‘em, huh, getting one too many complaints from Leona, about how you smelt just like him… wait, what? Jack Howl, who was certain you’d agree to meet his family over the school holidays - you started to court him first, after all, and he was certain they'd absolutely adore you :)))

While courting, male hyenas will often shadow their potential mate to foster a relationship, approach a female and repeatedly take a few steps toward her and then a few steps away, even if the female doesn't react to his approach, and bow low to the ground to show submission to the potential mate, as female hyenas tend to be more aggressive than their male counterparts.

Ruggie Buuchi! Who was acting shifty again - walking behind you but scuttling a few steps back if you ever noticed him, face a mix of fear and hesitance, before returning to tailing you - but he was Ruggie, so you quickly dismissed his behaviour as Ruggie just being Ruggie again.(Which worked wonders for the poor hyena’s heart, now fully sure you weren’t going to bite his head off if he got too close.) Following you around school like a shadow - a skittish, blushy one, sure, but still a shadow nonetheless - attempting to mask them as chance encounters, though after a while, he was fairly sure you knew he was just making up excuses to hang around you at this point(not that he minded much.) Walking you to essentially anywhere you went, copying your actions to a tee - if you ate, he would eat(not without stealing bites off your plate, though), if you took a nap, he would take a nap.(on your lap, preferably, but only if you let him) Being more affectionate to you in general, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder, though he was quick to bend down and apologise if he ever felt like he was overstepping. Pupils practically turning into hearts when you let him nuzzle his nose against your neck from behind, hiding his burning face into the crook of your neck for nearly ten minutes before he pulled away.(A successful mount - Grandma would be so happy, shyehehehe!) Inviting you over to his home in the Savannah over the school holidays, grinning despite your confused expression. “What? Granny’s been dying to meet my dear mate, it’s only expected, shyeheehee.” :))))

While courting, lions typically approach their potential mate and engage in actions like nuzzling, head rubbing and licking, followed by ‘tended courtship’ where the male follows their potential mate, shadowing them and engaging in behaviours such as rubbing, pawing and gentle biting.

Leona Kingscholar! Who had started to cling to you like a particularly annoying leech, dragging you to his favourite napping spots and holding you hostage in his arms, head slotted perfectly into the crook of your neck ignoring his usual schedule of skipping school in favour of following you around instead - walking you to all of your classes with a glare venomous enough to scare off anyone trying to talk to you, so ‘conveniently’ standing outside them when they happened to end.(not slick, Leona, not slick at all.) Rubbing his head against yours on one such kidnapping occasion, smile a tad bit too smug when you repeated the same motion to him, before you tried to get up and was met with a scowl and his hands pawing at you back to the grass, his arms firmly wrapped around your middle to prevent further escape attempts(sucks for you, I guess) Things escalating when he bit you, square on your neck after a nap, expression strangely nervous, before brightening up considerably when you decided to be petty and promptly nipped him back on his collarbone, for ‘payback’ (nevermind how your face felt like it was burning, how he grinned and pulled you in for a celebratory nap, once again locking you in his embrace) Knocking on your door the day before the school holidays, flopping on your bed, seemingly done with life before he spoke - “Falena keeps on bugging me to meet my mate. How about it? Can’t say Sunset Savanna’s the nicest place to visit, but you oughta get used to it - visiting in-laws, and all that. …What? D’ya think you could court a prince and get away scot-free? ;))

hey, if you liked this… check out Heartslabyul's, Octavinelle’s, Scarabia's, Pomefiore's, Ignihyde’s or Diasomnia’s versions?

alternatively; check out the Savannaclaw masterlist?

[moondim]

Mr. Loverman

Summary: The Housewardens' behaviour after figuring out they have a crush on someone (you)!

A/N: GN!reader, reader was written with Yuu in mind but doesn't have to be. I feel like I'm a bit mean to Leona here but he's actually my favourite of the characters on this list. Reblogs appreciated!

Warnings: Some of them get a little angsty. Discussions of death and mortality in Malleus'. They're all kind of pathetic

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

• Riddle does take a while to realise it, and practically everyone else in Heartslabyul notices his feelings for you before he does.

• In all fairness, Riddle doesn't have much to go off of here. He barely experienced normal friendship in his childhood, so I doubt he's ever properly had a crush on anyone in his life. Maybe fictional characters. His frame of reference is basically non-existent, so you'll forgive him for being rather clueless.

• It was extremely obvious to everyone around you two though. Most in his dorm didn't say anything to him about it, aside from Cater who would make a few teasing remarks here and there (and quickly pass it off as a joke), and of course Ace, who was particularly annoying about it whenever he thought you were getting special treatment.

• When he does realise, his immediate reaction is worry.

• Riddle doesn't have many close friends. And the ones he does have, he's scared to lose. That includes you, even if he now knows his feelings for you are beyond platonic friendship. You are still important to him as a friend, too, and he doesn't want to lose that.

• Once he realises his crush, his behaviour does absolutely change around you. I don't necessarily see him as the tsundere type? But he will be very easily embarrassed by small acts of kindness or really anything that shows you care about him. He may even attempt to distance himself a bit, because he doesn't want to make a fool of himself in front of you.

• As for whether he'd confess, I think he ultimately would, but he'd agonise over it quite a bit.

• Like I already said, he doesn't want to lose you. Even if his feelings aren't returned, he would want to stay friends, and he wouldn't want things to change between you two either. For this reason, he put off being honest about his feelings for quite a while; but ultimately came to the conclusion that he had to.

• It came down to Riddle thinking it would be unfair to keep it from you. He feels guilty for "lying," in a way, and ends up getting it out there just because he thinks you deserve to know, rather than because he truly thinks you'll reciprocate.

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

• Leona's difficult. About everything

• Something in him knew he felt a certain type of way about you a very long time ago, but it took him a lot longer to admit that to himself, even longer to even think of admitting it to anyone else.

• His first strategy is to ignore you, as well as his feelings for you, thinking that if it's just a meaningless crush, it'll go away. When it doesn't, he'll spend a good while sulking and angsting about it in bed.

• When he finally comes to terms with it, his behaviour is kind of confusing. Hear me out: I think he fumbles, but in the way that he overthinks, so goddamn much.

• It's very difficult to just have a conversation with this man post-him accepting his feelings for you, because every time he speaks to you, he's over-analysing every word that comes out of your mouth, turning it over a million times in his head before arriving at the "best" conclusion as to what to do next. The problem with this is that it just makes him come across as very strange.

• Nothing he says is natural or seems like a normal response, or something that should come out of his mouth. It's like he's committed to a 4d chess game thinking you're on the same wavelength while you are playing checkers.

• He's also fully aware of how embarrassing every interaction with you is for him and beats himself up over it relentlessly. Sometimes Ruggie will give him a look as if to say "are you good man? what was that?" and Leona wants to disappear.

• Would he confess? I'm honestly not sure - leaning towards no. Leona is a person so full of self-loathing that I think he's more likely to resign himself to pining from a distance, with the reasoning that he feels you shouldn't have to put up with him and his plethora of issues.

• I can, however, see him confessing for a similar reason to Riddle - because he thinks you deserve to just know. I also think he might confess if he thinks that it might be his last chance to do so at any point, if that makes sense.

• Honestly just take the initiative and confess to him yourself. It's so much easier.

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

• So, unfortunately for you, Azul on his own is kind of hopeless with a crush. But, unfortunately for him, Azul is not on his own!

• Azul is actually pretty decent at hiding his feelings for you behind a poker-face, but he can only pass it off to people who don't know him well. Jade and Floyd know him very well.

• They're extremely unhelpful at first and do nothing but embarrass him. They don't directly say anything about it to you, but Jade gives you both knowing looks whenever he sees Azul speaking to you, and Floyd has made sneaky little remarks about it in front of you in the past, which he thinks is funny to do because it always makes Azul flail in trying to shut him up.

• They start taking it more seriously over time when they start realising that Azul really doesn't plan to do anything about his feelings.

• He's insecure, absolutely riddled with self-doubt, and as childish as it may sound, he is scared of being laughed at. Of coming to you with his feelings and being made a laughingstock, treated the same way by you as he was by his peers when he was a child.

• This basically answers the question of whether or not he would confess: No. Absolutely not.

• That is, for the time being. Like I said, he isn't alone.

• Jade and Floyd won't actually sit him down and have a heartfelt conversation about this with him, that's not really how their dynamic is. However, they will start actively trying to set the two of you up. Literally "Jade asking Azul to meet him at a specific time while Floyd does the same to you, only for neither of them to show up and you and Azul are alone together" type schemes going on here.

• It's mostly just endless ploys to get the two of you alone together to just, talk. In the hopes that, eventually, Azul will become comfortable enough with you to let his guard down and finally just tell you. They are sincerely trying to help.

• Time is running out though, because if Azul doesn't do it soon, Floyd might get bored and tell you instead.

KALIM AL-ASIM

• Kalim is also going to take a while to realise he has a crush on you. Jamil might actually have to tell him, because he's likely to start doing kind of romantic things with you (i.e holding hands, calling you beautiful, buying you very expensive gifts) without really seeing any of it as romantic. Once he's told, it all clicks in his head, and he comes to terms with it very easily.

• Too easily, in fact.

• Kalim's biggest problem is that he is going to come off way too strong, way too fast. And Jamil is going to have to be the one to listen to him go on about it and try to give him advice.

• Kalim's notes so far on what not to do (from experience):

• Do not skip everything and jump straight to marriage. He just thought it would be the quickest, most efficient, most romantic declaration of his love! To tell you that he wants to be together forever. But marriage is, of course, a process that could potentially uproot your entire life, and is a big step forward even for couples who have been together for years. So perhaps it shouldn't be the first step. He didn't return the ring though, just in case he gets to use it in the future.

• Don't tell people you are dating when neither of you have even asked the other out. He just thought it was obvious that you both liked each other, so he assumed that meant you were dating. He did end up referring to you as his "partner" to quite a few people though, so he had to correct that.

• No pet names, no extravagant gestures, and no absurdly expensive gifts. "Just don't come off too strong in general," was what Jamil said. "You'll scare them off."

• Eventually, he will settle down and give you a normal, toned-down confession. Ignore the fireworks that go off right after. He definitely did not order those.

VIL SCHOENHEIT

• Vil's situation is still a bit complicated, but he's far less awkward about the whole thing than a lot of the others on this list. He's actually just a pretty normal guy with a crush.

• Firstly, his demeanour doesn't change much. He won't get shy around you, if anything he gets far bolder, and I do absolutely see him as the type to flirt. He'd like it if he can get a flirty banter dynamic going with you before anything becomes official.

• Secondly, I think he might be prone to jealousy, and unfortunately he can get pretty nasty about it. I think he'd act quite petty if he noticed you getting a bit too close to someone else, or worse, if you actually had a date.

• Don't get me wrong, he does just want you to be happy. But some selfish part in him wants to be the reason you're happy, rather than some other student who he likely sees as an overall inferior option for you compared to himself. His logic is that you deserve only the best in life - and it doesn't get much better than Vil Schoenheit, does it?

• All of that being said, when he decides to finally be forthcoming with you about his feelings, he will respect your choice. Especially because he's actually kind of worried too.

• He is a world-famous celebrity. And he's completely straightforward with you, about the media attention you would receive if your relationship was to go public, about the potential backlash, the stress, all of it.

• Even if the feelings are mutual, he wants you to be very sure of your decision beyond just that and for you to understand the risks involved. He might even tell you to take a bit more time to think it over.

IDIA SHROUD

• Oh god oh no, oh Seven oh fuck

• Predictably not even remotely chill about it at all.

• Idia actively hides from you. He just knows he can't speak to you because every time he does, he says or does something so embarrassing and cringeworthy that he's going to lay awake at night thinking about.

• I do think he kind of stalks you though. He doesn't creep on you in your room or anything, but he'll use the cameras he has set up all over Sage Island to just... keep an eye on you sometimes. Yes, he is aware that this is creepy, even Ortho says so, and he feels bad about it. But he just likes to look at you.

• He ends up treating you like some kind of un-attainable goal. He fantasises about being in a relationship with you in a similar way to how one would with fictional characters or celebrities; he's aware it will always remain as just a fantasy, something he can never have in the real world, and he's okay with that. He thinks he is, at least.

• He does talk about you to Ortho quite often. Ortho is the only person he can talk to about stuff like this. And of course, his little brother is supportive, telling him to just go for it, because he never knows what might happen!

• But he won't. He can't.

• He's a Shroud. His life already has a predetermined path. He'll work at S.T.Y.X, hidden away from the rest of the world, fulfilling his family's duty until he dies and passes the burden onto the future generation. If he were to enter a relationship with someone or potentially marry them, they would have to share that existence with him. It feels like too much to ask of anyone. So he just won't.

• I don't think he'd ever confess.

MALLEUS DRACONIA

• Malleus is afraid of losing you. He's afraid of losing a friend, and afraid of losing a lover, whether it be because he does something wrong or because your life will inevitably come to an end long before his will.

• He's another one who flirts quite brazenly, though behind the scenes I can see him having a crisis over this. He wants to tell you, he has to tell you, but there are a lot of things he needs to come to terms with first. Not the least of which is that he will have to watch you age and die.

• He considers for a moment, if it would be kinder on his heart to never let your relationship blossom into something more. But he can't imagine living the rest of his long life thinking of you as something that could've been.

• He thinks of Lilia, who took in a human son. He must have been aware of how short the lives of humans are, and how little time he would have to spend with Silver. But he did it anyway, fully aware of the suffering he will face once the time comes for Silver to pass. Why? He spends a long time agonising over the question.

• Why let love into your life when you know it will only last a short duration, and ultimately leave you heartbroken?

• Lilia and Silver also answer this question for him. Because the people you love leave an impact far beyond the amount of time they remain in your life for. They leave behind memories and lingering feelings of love and joy, and things you've learned from loving them.

• And when he remembers you far into the future, he'd prefer to feel that bittersweet happiness, rather than regret and longing over what he never had the guts to pursue.

• He confesses. And he swears to devote himself to making your fleeting life one full of happy memories.

[fishyapplez]

Hopelessly Devoted to You...

Pairing: Hero!Phainon x Commoner!reader

Tags: destined hero au, childhood friends to lovers, mentions of marriage, angst with no comfort, overthinking, miscommunication, misunderstanding

Childhood friend Khaslana! Who would steal glances at you, the kind that only a boy yearning could give. The faintest blush adoring his porcelain cheeks, the tips of his ears turning red as the dawn.

Who would later ask you to be his lover on which you happily said yes. Who would excitedly bring you to his home— to his family, but this time introducing you as his lover.

Who would later grow up to be the most handsome boy in Aedes Elysiae. Becoming the most wanted son-in-law of the parents and grandparents for their child.

But, that would only stay as a wish because he already has you. Whom he had promised forever. Who gave you a ring made out of wood, engraved with yours and his name, cheek redder than the settling sky, his hands trembling with heat that summer afternoon.

Childhood sweetheart Khaslana! Who would later pull the unmovable sword: Dawnmaker. The greatsword who no one could pull except for the prophesied hero, the destined hero that would bring demise to Lygus and The Black Tide, beings that plunged the world into danger and darkness.

Whom in his 16th summer would leave with Cyrene to go to the Holy City of Okhema to fulfil now his newfound role. Who shed tears and sobbed, clutching your back as the two of you shared an embrace for the last time. Whispering promises that after everything he would come back to Aedes Elysiae, to you, to fulfill that promise of his— to marry you.

Who after only a year in Okhema would later be known as Phainon. Joining Chrysos Heir, a renowned party devoted to ending Lygus. Who was just your Khaslana but now have become Amphoreus Hero. Who would have many names: The Promised Hero, The one who pulled The Dawnmaker, The Deliverer, and, The Child blessed by the Worldbearing God, Kephale.

Who without a fail would send you letters, multiple times each month with gifts, little trinkets he either made or brought from Okhema or from his journey. You can just hear and see him while reading through his letters. His letters are just as affectionate and transparent as you remembered of him.

But alas, those peaceful years were shattered. One morning in autumn, just as everyone had feared— had desperately prayed to the Gods to not happen. The Black Tide had come in Aedes Elysiae. Bringing the abyss and danger in their wake.

At that time, you had expected that he would come. That amidst the knights and soldiers he would be there to lead them— that he would personally come and protect the beloved city the two of you had grown up. But even though he wasn't there, you weren't disappointed. You just hoped that he would be safe.

Since that tragic event, the two of you had stopped exchanging letters. Under the guidance and protection of Kremnoan soldiers, you and the remaining survivors of Aedes Elysiae were sheltered in one of Lady Tribbies Temples. There, you heard tales of his wins, bringing down one after another of The Black Tide's lairs.

But, just like how the Chrysos Heirs were getting stronger and Phainon becoming more accustomed in his new role, Lygus too had grown stronger. His actions became more sinister and cruel, like a calamity. A calamity forged from malice.

That same year, overwhelming sorrow and longing had filled you, pushing you to decide to volunteer as a nurse, albeit without knowledge and skills, the war had long worn out the people and volunteers were needed. You felt helpless, you felt insecure for being useless thus you began traveling city to city, caring for the wounded soldiers and people. Hoping to mend your cracking heart and weary soul.

You genuinely wanted to help but you had also hoped that by doing this action, you can face him with pride and confidence. People might call you selfish for your reason but insecurity was eating you alive at the time.

It was in the fifth year after he left Aedes Elysia that Lygus was finally defeated by the Chryos Heir, slain by the hand of The Hero Phainon. Every city, every kingdom celebrated this victory. For their victory was the victory of Amphoreus, ensuring Amphoreus tomorrow.

The long awaited week has finally arrived, the week the Chyrsos Heir would arrive in the Holy City from their long strenuous battle with Lygus and the Black Tide.

You had arrived in the city days before. Like everyone else, you were thrilled for their safe return — though, deep down, it wasn’t the heroes you longed to see, but him.

The night before their grand arrival, the city was alive once more. The streets glowed with laughter, the same people who once carried dull, hopeless eyes now danced beneath the stars, singing praises for their saviors. And as you watched, your heart swelled with quiet pride. Truly, Phainon had always been destined for greatness— you had known it ever since, you watched him grow, watched him become everything the world needed.

Just then, you heard a loud voice throughout the vibrating tavern. "So, do you think they would announce this year the marriage between The Hero Phainon and Princess Castorice?"

"But I thought The Hero was romantically involved with the Crown Prince of Kremnos?" another voiced.

Just as tales of Phainon and the Heroes’ triumphs spread across the continent, so too did whispers about their private lives.

In those murmured conversations, it was always Phainon who shone brightest— the one everyone loved to speak of, the deliverer, the savior who had rekindled hope in a slipping, broken world.

Rumors soon followed, tales that love is blossoming between The Deliverer and The beloved Princess of Aidonia: Princess Castorice. Some, however claimed it was actually the stoic and illustrious Crown Prince of Kremnos: Mydeimos. However, none was proven to be true.

You do not doubt Phainon's loyalty, but, you would not blame him as well if either rumors were true, or, if he had indeed fallen for another. After all, the promise the two of you two shared was nothing but two teengers innocent promise, whispered in the golden field of your hometown, forgotten through the breeze of time.

Besides, who would not want him as their son-in-law? Who would not want The Deliverer in their family? Whether he has noble blood in him or not does not matter. His achievements and very being is the noblest there is. So you can understand, that Powerful Kingdoms would want to tie him down with their Prince or Princess.

You would understand—of course you would—if he ever did fell for someone else. Someone worthy of him. Someone who matched his brilliance, his grace, his place in the world.

After all, what were you but an orphaned nobody from the countryside? Nameless, with nothing to offer but your heart—and even that felt small compared to all he deserved.

So when you saw him one last time, standing there beneath the roar of the cheering crowd, you smiled faintly. You slipped away quietly through the gates of Okhema, clutching the wooden ring he once carved and gave you that summer—its edges worn out by time, the promise that came with it long forgotten, buried in the deepest part of your heart.

To Amphoreus, Phainon will always be remembered as The Hero Phainon, The Savior of Amphoreus, the one who delivered the Prophecy, the Deliverer. But, to you, he will always remain that sweet, caring and cheerful boy from Aedes Elysia, Khaslana.

Phainon may belong to Amphoreus, but, Khaslana belongs to you and your heart alone.

Slightly inspired by the Arthurian Legend. Might be OOC. Interactions are always appreciated loves! (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠) Wrote this a few days ago and now I just found out Phainon is inspired by Himmel?!??? OWEMJI

[meowdei]

the psychology of men (a guide to understanding how they work) — ft. phainon

if nice guys didn’t always screw you over, you’d have an easier time trusting that phainon isn’t the good guy full of bullshit. but he’s still nice enough to patiently wait for you to give him one chance, though

word count. ❤︎ 10.3k words — in literally one day. ONE

before you read. ❤︎ female reader ; college au ; reader has a shitty ex boyfriend and trust issues — she is not perfect but she is human. be nice to her ; strangers to friends with benefits to lovers ; reader has a crush on mydei at first LOL ; mentions of alcohol and drunk sex ; phainon is a YEARNER ; resolved angst, miscommunication, and arguments ; phainon is down bad and reader is simply in denial that she is too ; cunnilingus ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; not proof read

commentary. ❤︎ i didn’t care about this dude until today. he possessed me so hard i wrote 10k words in less than 24 hours. white hair and blue eyed freaks will do that to you

LESSON ONE: MEN ARE ALWAYS PLANNING SOMETHING. THE NICER THEY SEEM, THE MORE SINISTER THE SCHEME!

You meet Phainon for the first time while you’re freshly out of a relationship, nursing a broken heart. Your ex-boyfriend pursued you like most men do. A little too strong and a little too sweet and a little too good to be true.

(It was, in fact, too good to be true. You wish you'd seen that earlier.)

You thought you’d be telling people at your wedding one day that you knew he was “the one” early on in your relationship. Instead, he dumped you as quickly as he “fell in love” with you. It wouldn’t be right, he’d said, it just isn’t fair to keep you around when I don’t feel the way I used to. He leaves you with not so much as a tear of sorrow, and you’re left with the aftermath of a devastating heartbreak. 

Not the sad, lingering kind—this one is the sort of heartbreak that makes you hate all men. Especially the nice ones—the ones that manipulate you into thinking they’re the good guys who won’t turn on you, but they do. They always do. The nice guys are the ones with the most potential to turn out dangerous. They aren’t upfront about their assholery. That shitty ex of yours is a prime example, and you refuse to fall victim twice. 

Your first impression of Phainon happens in some boring college class you take just for the elective credit and an easy gpa boost. He’s the sort of guy your attention doesn’t instantly latch onto—he’s sweet, sure, and funny but a little too gentle to be real. Too good to be true. Too much of a green flag to be interesting. Exactly the kind of guy you’re avoiding—exactly the sort of person who can worm his way into your heart slowly and lethally and then bite. Hard. (That sort of mindset is too pessimistic to be any good, of course, but you’re only just barely in your twenties as you navigate your dramatic breakup, and your prefrontal cortex is still developing.)

You find his friend a little more intriguing for the longest time, if you’re honest. The brooding blonde next to him always made your eyes linger for a second too long. 

“Hey,” he whispers, poking your shoulder from behind. You turn, slightly irritated by the fact that some guy is interrupting your dissociation in the middle of class—doesn’t he know you have false scenarios to run through your mind while you pass the time? Professor Anaxagoras has a strict no-phones-in-sight policy if you want to keep your participation points up, so the only thing to entertain you is your own head. Sheepishly, as if sensing your irritation, he murmurs, “Sorry. Can I please use your laptop charger?”

“I’m using it,” you blink. 

“Yeah, but it’s almost fully charged,” he practically pleads. The puppy eyes on him are unreal—you feel almost compelled to cave just at the sight of them alone until you realize it’s your charger, and he’s bargaining with you about why you don’t need it. Absurd. “I can see the green battery sign.”

“Are you serious,” you stare at him blandly, “it’s barely twelve pm. Why is your laptop already dying anyway?”

“I charged it,” he pouts, “but she’s old and on her last legs. It doesn’t last if I take the charger out for too long—I forgot to bring it with me. Please. If it dies in the middle of this assignment, it’ll make me start over! It took me an hour to google all these answers.”

Well. He’s convincing in that pathetic sort of way. Just the perfect mix between nice and genuine but still a tad bit needy that just tickles your gut in the right place to loosen you up. Without a word, you unplug your charger with a roll of your eyes and hand it to him as he smiles gratefully. 

“You’re the best!”

“You’re pathetic,” his friend grunts to him from beside him.

“Don’t be rude, Mydei!” he whispers through a wounded voice. 

They continue to bicker back and forth, but you tune it out—there’s only one thought on your mind for the remainder of your time in that room. 

You spend the rest of class thinking about the deep sound of his friend’s voice to care about anything else. Fuck, you think—you’re almost debating that strict no more men rule you’d set for yourself after your break up, ready to throw it all away for the grumpy looking blonde with red tips behind you. He’s hot. And honestly, he seems a bit rude and crabby, so really, he can’t be that bad—and yeah, everyone would think he’s the red flag, but you know how men go. You’ve figured out their psychology. The ones who are prickly on the exterior are actually very soft inside, and they’re not half as bad as the soft, cuddly type of men who turn around and bite you as soon as you’re close enough. 

This guy could be different. He could be worked into devotion instead of smothering you with it early on, only to have ulterior motives and get bored. What was his name again? Mydei? Sounds decently moanable in bed, you reason. He certainly seems like a keeper. 

It’s not long before the lecture ends, and you walk off with all your thoughts consumed by the grumpy blonde guy who said maybe only three words that you properly heard before he possessed your mind like a fucking demon. So much so that you forget to ask for your charger back, and that clever asshole never gave it back on his own accord like a proper human being. 

So, the next time Phainon walks into class, you’re glaring at him right at the entrance of the room with an outstretched hand and an unimpressed curl of your lips. 

“My charger,” you say blandly, “you took off with it last class. I need it back.”

“Oh!” he flushes, quickly digging into his bag and pulling it out—at least he kept it in very good condition. Men are not to be trusted with things you need because they are irresponsible. Case example: not returning what they borrow. “Sorry,” he says earnestly, “I meant to return it, but I forgot. Which, I was thinking…maybe we should exchange numbers—you know…to contact outside of class if we ever need it.”

You blink, seeing right through him. Why else would you ever need it again? “You walked off with my charger just so you could use it as an opening to ask for my number?”

He flushes a deeper shade of red, creeping up to his ears and down his neck like he didn’t expect you to call him out on his so very blatant scheme. “W-well…did it work?”

You contemplate for a moment before you respond, “No.”

“How about if I throw in some assignment answers?”

“…Okay, fine.” You never pay attention in this class—the tests are open notes, and the weekly assignments are easy enough when you have the internet at your disposal. But still, having someone present the answers to you is a much faster route, and you have other non-elective classes to worry about, so all in all, if a semi-annoying guy messages you here and there, it’s not so bad.

And the better part is that his friend is hot, so you can snag the details on him, too. Men don’t really worry about the concept of loyalty—they don’t stay far away from the people their friends show an interest in for something like friendship. You know how they work. Phainon’s number can lead you to Mydei’s, and Mydei can break you free from your awful, terrible descent to madness from heartbreak, and when you inevitably have a happy, healthy, and loving relationship that lasts, you’ll never think about your bastard ex again.

Foolproof.

“Great!” Phainon beams. He hands you his phone, and you type your number in.

And that starts it all. 

────────────────────────

LESSON TWO: SEX DOES NOT EQUAL INTIMACY. WHEN THEY SAY IT’S JUST PHYSICAL, THAT’S TOTALLY FINE. BUT IF YOU SAY IT, YOU’RE OUT OF LINE!

Exchanging phone numbers with Phainon was supposed to be a simple way to have at least one contact for a class—a very important measure you should take for every class you’re in—and perhaps, if you’re lucky, you could also somehow get closer to that hot blonde friend he has named Mydei. 

It was never supposed to become a real friendship.

But, well…shit happens, and things don’t go according to plan. It also doesn’t help that Phainon is a consistent texter—almost to a fault. What sort of man doesn’t text sporadically and with a tone as dry as concrete? Phainon, apparently—which is not like any sort of man you’ve ever known. 

You even start sitting with him in class instead of in front of him—that’s a terribly unplanned development. The bright side of it, however, is that you quickly get over his friend. Mydei is nice, but he’s a little too bored. Or maybe he just isn’t interested in you; you’re not so sure. No amount of flirty comments gets a flush out of him, not a smirk, not even a smart retort back. He is just…bored. (Or maybe he’s secretly just one of those good friends who doesn’t flirt with the girl that his friend is actively trying to pursue, but that option does not align with your very complex understanding of men, so you shove it aside. He’s probably just bored, and that’s just truly unfortunate. He was hot.)

But you grow fond of Phainon. As a friend. Sure, he’s clearly been interested in you since day one, but he’s not pushy, and a hint here and there that you’re still bitter about your previous relationship makes him keep a respectful distance. But he’s definitely smitten—and you? Well, you’re lonely. And he’s a good guy. A good guy who keeps you good company as a good friend and nothing more. He knows that, and you don’t think you’re stringing him along if he’s aware that you’re nothing more than friendly. 

And sometimes, friends go to parties together. And sometimes, they also drink together. And sometimes, they also end up staying at the other’s apartment afterward because it’s closer and safer than trying to get back home alone. And…sometimes, although not a lot of times—but sometimes, they wake up in bed together, nude with no recollection of the previous night and love bites scattered on their necks as proof that something very, very physical happened between them.

It’s not always a common occurrence, but it’s certainly not a rare one. Does it complicate things? For certain—but you think that you and Phainon are good enough friends and mature enough people to know that sex does not equate to intimacy. Most men are super clear about that, anyway—it’s almost ingrained in their nature to say “no strings attached” before they fuck your brains out in every position they can think to try. This should not be a foreign concept to him. 

But it doesn’t make the morning any less awkward. 

“Oh my god,” you say in disbelief, pulling the sheets over your bare chest as you stare at Phainon like he’s grown two heads. He stares back at you like you’re some figment of his imagination—unsure if you’re real but painfully hopeful that you are. And then you take a quick glimpse around his room and realize he’s a space nerd—there’s a poster about Saturn on his wall. “I didn’t think you were into space. You seem a little too air-headed for that.”

“Hey!” he pouts, “you don’t know me! I can be very smart!”

You snort, eyeing him in amusement. Except staring at him for too long means that you are forced to look at the hickey you left on his neck, almost like you were a raging, horny teenager last night and not an adult. You would be more embarrassed if one glimpse down at your chest didn’t tell you that he was even worse. 

“So…” you start awkwardly. 

“So…” he echoes. 

You don’t know where to take it from there. There’s a beat of silence before you say, “We’re good, right Phai?”

He softens, looking at you with those large, round eyes that house every shade of the sky and her beauty before he nods and murmurs, “Yeah. We’re always good.”

“Good,” you breathe, “I’m glad. I want us to be good.”

“Well,” he rubs his neck, “we are, in fact, good. So…yeah.”

In the end, you sheepishly turn around so he can get out of bed, find his scattered clothes and put them on, and leave, and you—once you’re certain he’s far enough in the kitchen and the faucet is running—scream into his pillow before slipping out of bed and putting on your own. You’re pleasantly surprised he doesn’t have only one pillow. But his sheets are navy blue, so you dock a few points for that. Not a good look.

He makes you breakfast before you leave. Something about sitting and sharing pancakes while he has tousled hair feels so natural you almost feel sick at the thought of leaving. But you tell yourself that he’s an easy friend to have and feel comfortable with, and force yourself up and to the door when the time inevitably comes. 

He sees you out with a soft, “See you later?”

“Yeah,” you hum, “later. Bye.”

“Bye.”

—————

You wish so badly that you could be an ideal individual, but you are as flawed as the rest of the humans you share planet Earth with.

You and Phainon fuck again. Sober, this time. Still as friends. Not by accident, or through the influence of alcohol, or by forced proximity, or by anything that you can use to excuse it. You can’t excuse it. It’s entirely an act of free will that you consented to—because he does take consent very seriously, you learn—and it starts to become abundantly clear that sex is beginning to get a little too frequent in your time together.

The first time it happened after the initial accidental night, he was over at your apartment helping you build your new desk. The old one was too small, and you needed an upgraded space badly. He spends the evening hammering and drilling pieces away and fitting them together, and like some cliche joke from the universe, when you slip on the instruction manual on the floor, he catches you as your face hovers dangerously close to his. A kiss later, and suddenly he’s fitting into you and drilling you instead of the wood. 

And then it starts to happen everywhere. 

Sometimes in the back of his car before he drops you off at home after class. Sometimes on your kitchen counter when you’re supposed to be washing dishes after he’s over for dinner to study. Sometimes after he’s got a bad exam grade to blow off some steam. Sometimes when you’re particularly stressed over a busy week with too many assignments due on the same day and too many hours of your part-time job to work. 

Every time it happens, you go back to acting like you always do afterward. Like it never even happened. Never mentioned, or questioned, or brought up. He never questions if something is shifting in your relationship, and you never bring it up. Sometimes, two people can have a physical relationship and still be friends and nothing more. It’s not impossible, and it’s not bad.

If anything, it makes you closer friends. You start to understand each other better. You talk more—really talk. No silly banter, or heated debate, or stressed-out vents. Just you, Phainon, the sheets that cover your bodies and a quiet room that lingers with the scent of sex.

He tells you about how much he misses his hometown. How small it is, and how everyone knows everyone. How leaving home and his young triplet sisters was the hardest thing he did, but a good degree and stable job is even harder to come by where he’s from. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity. 

And you tell him about your ex. About how sweet and nice he was. How badly he wanted you. How good he was at doing things right and reading you for what you craved. How to love you like you always wished. How to spend time with you without burning you out and depleting your social battery. How to know your ticks and know when he’s pushing your buttons too far and when a joke doesn’t feel like a joke anymore. How to make you feel seen. 

No man has ever loved you like that. None have cared to, either. Learning you is a lot of work—you have years and years of life and stories and feelings and fears and everything’s to share. Teaching them is a lot. Learning them is even more. 

You liked to think that boy from your past was a ticket to something good. Some better life for yourself where it’s not just you and yourself, and that’s it—a life where you were you and someone else cared to see it. Have it. Cherish it. Keep it. 

You don’t know how someone could pour in so much time, do everything first, want things all on their own, and still walk away and tell you that they just don’t feel the same anymore.

You think it’s just a man thing. Men bore easily. 

Phainon snorts at that. 

“They do have short attention spans,” he tells you. 

You smile tightly, humming as you blink back tears. “Or maybe I’m just boring.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he gasps dramatically, reaching over to swipe the tears like it’s always been his job to—it feels so natural when he does it. “You’re not boring! You’re at least a step up from boring because boring is Professor Anaxa, and god knows what he drones on about.” 

“Gee,” you huff, but the tears are easier to subside when it’s him. They’re gone quickly like a fleeting reminder that sorrow exists but shooed away like they’re unwelcome when he’s around. He’s around more and more these days. “Thanks. I’m glad to be just a step up from boring. Maybe in a year or so, I’ll be two steps up from boring.”

“Nothing is ever impossible,” he winks. “Some day, with enough hard work and determination, you might even be three steps up.”

“You suck,” you giggle. 

He laughs, and the sound of his voice is enough to lull you to sleep. You sleep good next to him—always do.

—————

One thing you count on is that it’s always easy when it’s you and Phainon. Phainon and you. 

Just two people who exist with each other, and nothing else really needs to be thought out. You don’t worry about what you wear around him or how you look. He doesn’t care too much about what you’re doing or where you’re going. As long as it’s you and him, him and you, and nothing else—it’s okay. He’s good. He treats you good and makes you feel good, too. Inside and out. Physically and mentally. 

He might even be your best friend. You don’t know if you should tell him that—men get weird about definite titles like that. But then again, maybe not Phainon. He’s like an anomaly of sorts, sometimes. 

But you forget sometimes that Phainon was never hoping to just be friends. And you suppose letting him feel you come undone for him more than once is like dangling his desires right in front of his face because it all blows up on you very fast. 

Perfect one second, like the calm before the storm, and a disaster zone the next, leaving you no time to evacuate before the tornado has hit and done its damage. 

“Mydei wants to come with us to try that new cafe you mentioned,” Phainon hums, watching in sheepish amusement as you sigh and mutter under your breath while picking up his dirty socks from the couch and tossing them across the room. (Men are all the same, aren’t they?) “He said something about there being a pomegranate beverage he wants to try.”

“Fine by me,” you shrug, slumping onto his couch, “if he doesn’t find it awkward, then I don’t either.”

“Why would he find it awkward?” he looks at you in bewilderment.

“I think he’d have to be oblivious to miss the way I was flirting with him,” you huff out a snort, “I don’t think most men jump at the opportunity to hang out with a girl they ignored advances of, but maybe he’s just too passionate about pomegranate to care.”

Everything feels like it pauses as soon as the words come out. You thought he’d known this whole time—you could have sworn he’d known. How would Mydei have never mentioned it to him? Aren’t they best friends? Don’t men at least tell their friends when a girl is hitting on them regularly in passing? Is Mydei really that bad at giving life updates, or is he more clueless than you gave him credit for when it comes to romantic interaction? 

Nothing makes sense, and you’re not entirely sure about anything. The only thing you are sure about is that Phainon is staring at you like you’ve been disloyal to the worst degree. 

“You liked Mydei?” he asks in hurt, staring at you with those god-awful puppy eyes. You feel like you kicked one, too, with the way he stares at you. 

“W-well, no,” you stutter, “I mean, yes—but like…not really, you know?”

“No, I don’t know,” he shakes his head, “you’re not making any sense.”

“I liked him for a very short time,” you say quickly, “like…like a small crush, you know? He was attractive, and I am not immune to an attractive man, so it just…b-but it never lasted for long!”

“Did you still like him when we got together?” he asks quietly. Got together—you physically have to stop yourself from flinching at those words. Some part of you feels a little bit bad that he sounds so wounded, but the other part of you feels like this is all so absurd. That he’s starting to get worked up over nothing. He has to know you were never together—you never did anything that implies two people that are…together. It’s always been a good fuck here and there, and that’s what you kept it as strictly. 

(Distantly, your mind gnaws at you and screams that two people who just fuck and nothing else do not do the things that you and Phainon do. Sure, you were friends first, but two people who draw the line at sex don’t seek each other to FaceTime until three am, and they don’t bring each other soup when they’re sick, and they don’t hold each other when they cry, and they don’t, under any circumstances, tell each other about their deepest insecurities that they’ve never voiced before about shoddy exes who ruined their ability to trust and feel loved. You can’t be the closest people in your lives and just have sex—but your mind has never been your number one supporter, so you shove the voice down.)

“No,” you admit, and for a second, his shoulders sag in relief. Like he doesn’t care or feel threatened that you liked his friend as long as it didn’t bleed into your time together—and that’s when you start to wonder if Phainon is too good for you. Too kind and genuine in a way that is not dangerous. Too sweet in a way that doesn’t slowly kill you like poison but just gives you something to look forward to. Maybe he’s a good one—a good guy who is just good and nothing else. Still, you kill his heart anyway with a harsh blow to his chest as you add, “I didn’t like anyone when we started getting physical. And I still don’t, Phainon.”

Getting physical. Whatever that means. You say it like it puts some distance between the sex you have and intimacy. You say it like it rationalizes everything you do with him—you get physical, which is only human nature, and in the mix, if you develop a good, long-standing friendship, then there is nothing wrong with that. 

But are you really okay with just friends? Yes. You are. Are you sure about that? Absolutely. You don’t seem so convinced. This is a positive, for sure, one hundred percent true reality. Phainon is just a friend. You’re shooting yourself in the foot. 

You force yourself to stop arguing with yourself when you notice the way his eyes flash at the words: still don’t. He processes the words that you still don’t like anyone, and the look in his eyes is devastating. Betrayal. Confusion. Hurt. Anger. Something else that you don’t quite understand, but it makes you filled dreadfully to the brim with unease. 

“Every time we’ve been together has just been physical to you?” he asks quietly, croaking out the words as if they’re acrid on his tongue and taste awful. “You’re lying.”

“I thought I made it very clear we were just friends, and I wasn’t looking for a relationship,” you furrow your brows, “you can’t act like I’ve been stringing you along—”

“Before we started, fucking, sure! But I thought it was pretty mutually clear we were slowly turning romantic when you willingly took my dick down your throat every now and then.”

“We’ve never had a ‘hey, what are we?’ discussion,” you cry exasperatedly, throwing your hands up as though this is all…so, so, so absurd—and for a second, you feel like it is. You made it clear that you weren’t trying to date. Not him, not anybody. Sure, that silly blonde friend of his clouded your judgment for a bit, but that was never more than a phase. “Don’t you think it was a red flag to never discuss what we are or what we’re doing if we were getting romantic?”

He falters. Something in his face makes him look so unrecognizable. So fragile and knocked down a peg that you’ve never seen from him. And something about the way he looks at you makes you almost feel like he doesn't recognize you. 

“I thought you were avoiding the conversation on purpose,” he whispers, voice cracking just as he says: you. “I thought…I thought you were just nervous about labels after everything from your last…” he clears his throat, like even mentioning the word relationship kills him, “and…and that I was just waiting for you to be more comfortable…”

You don’t know what to say. And frankly, nothing seems like it’ll make him feel better. He’s fighting the trembling of his lips and blinking back the moisture in his eyes like all he has left in his control is to not shed tears in front of you. 

You extend him that much grace. (Men don’t like being vulnerable, you reason. They hate showing emotions.)

“Phainon, I think I should go,” you murmur softly.

“You want to leave?” he asks, gutted. It’s got two meanings—you know that. You know exactly what he’s asking.

Everything feels wrong when you say, “Yes,” through a soft whisper, “I do.” But you still don’t take it back.

And nothing feels right when he lets out a watery chuckle and lets the first few tears slip. “Well, you know where the door is,” he spits.

He doesn’t walk you out. You’re not sure why that feels so heavy—it’s not because you’re guilty. You know that. It’s something else, and you can’t quite understand it. 

────────────────────────

LESSON THREE: NOT ALL MEN. SURE, MOST HAVE A VERY BAD STREAK, BUT NEVER THE WHITE-HAIRED AND BLUE-EYED FREAK!

You barely last two weeks before you call Phainon. 

At first, you thought being without who is maybe your closest friend at the moment was just eating away at you, and that’s why you missed him. You threw yourself into your social circles, making plans left and right to fill that gaping hole of his presence. It didn’t work. 

And then it slowly starts to click in place. 

Your friends send you a picture of your ex’s new fling, calling him an asshole and how she’s too pretty to be his next victim. You don’t feel even the slightest bit jealous or hollow. In fact, you’re bored by the news—you have more pressing matters. 

Then, you start to see what feels like fucking propaganda for romance everywhere. Every social media timeline is filled with some stupid, cheesy, cringe trend that rubs in your face how painfully in love two people are. You get ads for fucking wedding rings. Your friends are all magically starting to get out of the talking phases and actually have something exclusive and official. Your old high school friends are getting engaged, and invitations are coming in. You’ve RSVP’d one in spring and two in fall already. 

Everywhere you look, it’s something that feels like the universe is promoting a relationship in your face as if it’s a poorly disguised paid sponsorship by some celebrity online, and all you want to do is throw a rock at the sky and hope it lands on whatever divine being is playing tricks on you straight in the face. 

But it slowly becomes clearer and clearer why it unsettles you so much. Why it all makes you bitter and annoyed and tired and…and sad. You’re sad. And it’s because you miss Phainon, and every couple reminds you of the hurt you caused him and why it’s your fault he’s still not in your life. Because you wanted your cake and to eat it, too. Even if it meant taking advantage of his feelings and the heart he didn’t even bother wearing on his sleeve. He just pinned it to yours and let you wear it. 

So you call him. When that doesn’t work, and you get sent to voicemail, you go straight to his apartment. You knock on his door incessantly for two minutes straight (you know he’s home—his car is there) before he opens the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes despite it being three in the afternoon. 

“Mydei, can you at least come bother me to eat a little later in the da—oh.”

He notices you and quickly straightens up, smoothing out his wrinkled t-shirt as best as he can and fixing his ruffled hair (that doesn’t do much but ruffle more) as he looks at you with what is his best attempt at a nonchalant look and clears his throat. “Yes?”

“Hi,” you say nervously, “how are you?” (What else do you say? You’re at a loss.)

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs casually, “nursing a broken heart and trying to integrate back into society as a functioning member. The usual. How about you?”

You flinch at his tone, at the way it’s so clipped yet so emotional at the same time. 

“I called earlier—”

“I know. I ignored that, by the way, if that wasn’t clear,” he says as if being petty and angry is the only thing he has left. (It might just be, and you certainly won’t blame him for it.)

“I know,” you whisper, “but I still wanted to talk. And see you. Which I know I don’t deserve, but I guess I’m clearly not perfect, huh?” you shrug softly, giving him a sad smile. 

“Well,” he says flatly, “you came all this way, and I’ve already opened the door. Might as well say the groundbreaking thing you came to say.”

When Phainon is hurt is the only time he does not know how to be kind. He spends so much time not hurting others, not letting them feel the pain of their feelings being overlooked, that he doesn’t quite know how to handle it. How to stomach that, yes, there are hurt people in this world, and, yes, they do the hurting, too. And he might fall victim to it. And he might even be the cause of someone else’s hurt, too, intentional or not. 

He’s not good at processing pain. He’s too good of a guy to ever have to dwell on how badly his actions have impacted someone. Not because he’s perfect but because he’s gentle enough by nature to avoid the necessity of it while he can. 

“I’m sorry,” you say earnestly. Because you are. You are. “I knew you were interested early on, and having sex as often as we did was leading you on whether I meant to or not, and you got hurt because of it, so I’m sor—”

“Unbelievable,” he scoffs, shaking his head with a bitter laugh. 

You blanch. “What?” you ask, mildly frustrated. He doesn’t have to forgive you, but it’s certainly an honest apology. “You don’t have to forgive me if you don’t want to. But I just felt it was right to tell you that I—”

“I’m not upset because you don’t like me or you that led me on,” he interrupts, making you blink in confusion. He looks at you for a moment—really looks at you, and before you can say anything, he lets out another disbelieving chuckle. “You still don’t get it, do you? Do you even understand it yourself—why you’re even here?”

“To apologize, of course—”

“No.” 

He says it so seriously. 

Phainon is hardly ever so serious. It’s what you always liked about him, even if you hated to admit it. He’s good at taking serious matters and making them feel like they’re not so serious. Not in a bad way—he’s just good at making them feel less soul-crushing with that carefree smile and those light-hearted words. He comforts you without ever letting you feel the shame of needing comfort. It’s nice.

You forget that even he is capable of being solemn. 

“No one apologizes for breaking someone’s heart unless it breaks theirs too—do you see that? Do you see that you care? I’m not upset that you don’t care about me or that you don’t feel the same. That would be easy to move on from. It kills me because you do—you care, and you feel exactly the way I do, and you just won’t admit it—do you know how much that sucks?”

You swallow thickly. It’s getting to that dangerous territory. That fragile, vulnerable place in your mind that you don’t like because then you have to admit that, yes, maybe you fucking fell hard and crashed onto the ground for Phainon. Asphalt and rocks still digging into your arms with raw and bleeding skin. Yes, maybe he’s that nice, kind, genuine guy who you fell for and who has no other motives than to spend his time being nice and genuine to you. And maybe, if you’d met him sooner and not later, you could have loved him and not some other asshole in disguise, pretending to parade around like a good man, like some wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

Maybe that would have saved you the constant fear of it inevitably going all wrong—of giving and giving and giving, and one day, even that’s not enough, and someone doesn’t even want to take from you anymore. That one day, someone doesn’t even find you worth taking advantage of. 

That stings.

It’s this twisted sort of rejection you can’t handle. This sickening sort of feeling makes you think it’s better to be needed for selfish reasons than to be discarded like a useless, meaningless waste of time. And Phainon wouldn’t take advantage of you, right? He’s too nice of a guy—he’d reel you in, make you think he wants you so, so badly, and then when he doesn’t, he’ll play that nice guy trick again and make you think he’s doing you a favor by letting you go. Letting you go so you’re not being used by making it known you’re unwanted and not enough. 

As if he didn’t spend so much time making you want him. Condition you into thinking being loved by him was such a treasure. Convince you into needing the devotion he hands so easily for free. 

But you’re wrong, aren’t you? Maybe he’s not like that at all—maybe he’s just a nice guy because he really is good. Maybe he’s not nice because he needs to be to get what he wants. Maybe he’s nice because he wants to be, and it earns him what he wants the honorable way. Maybe you’ve fallen for Phainon, and maybe you were wrong about that being a bad thing. And maybe you just really fucking hate to admit when you’re wrong. (Your prefrontal cortex is still developing, after all. The men of your past are not very helpful to that slow development.)

“I don’t know how I feel anymore,” you whisper, tears littering your eyes. And god, you feel like a witch—using those sad, doe eyes with the wet, teary gaze that you know will soften him up like butter. Because he does. Even if you don’t do it on purpose, it makes sure he softens right up in front of your face because he hates the sight of your sadness being so tangible that he can feel it on the pad of his thumb in the form of a wet, warm rivulet. 

Like clockwork, he wipes the tears and sighs, and you let out a shaky breath. 

“I don’t know how I feel about anything because every time I think my feelings are right, they’re fucking wrong,” you sob, “I am always wrong, and I don’t know how to stop being wrong.”

His arms wrap around you and pull you close, pressing your body flush against that sturdy chest that feels like a brick wall—strong enough to keep you away from all the harm and cruelty of the world around you as long as he stands in front of you. Sometimes, you think that’s all it takes. Just Phainon standing there, and that’s it. That’s it to be okay. 

“You can only stop being wrong once you’re right,” he hums, giving you a sad, innocent little smile, “isn’t that the whole point of it all? To find the person who’s right? There’s gotta be a few wrong answers here and there, don’t you think?”

“I don’t want to keep crying over the wrong answers,” you sniffle, “it’s dehydrating me.”

He laughs. It sounds good. It feels good, too, with the way his chest rumbles against you. He always does. Everything about him is just good. The way he smells, and feels, and sounds, and just is. Phainon is just good. You like just good—no catches, no curveballs, no fine print. Just good. 

“Hey,” he tilts your face up and presses his forehead to yours, wiping your tears valiantly still, even as they keep coming. And he’s hurt. You did that—you hurt him. But he seems more focused on the fact that your heart is crumbling than his own. “I can’t promise you won’t ever cry because of me—I’m not always the brightest, okay? But I can promise that I’m going to stay and wipe every last tear if I mess up. And then I’m going to keep staying. I will always stay so I can wipe the next round of tears and hydrate you again for your troubles. We’ll figure out the rest as we go. It doesn’t have to be perfect, yeah?”

“You don’t want it to be?” you snivel, “you seem like the type to hopelessly daydream about perfect romances with not much luck.”

“I’m going to let that dig slide because you are emotional right now, and we all say things we don’t mean when we’re emotional,” he rubs your back, rocking you slowly from side to side. 

And…well, you think you’re wrong. About him. About Phainon and now he’s nice in a way that’s too nice and too good to be true. You’re wrong because he’s just nice, and it’s just nice enough that it’s good, not devious—and for once, just this once, you don’t mind being wrong.

Not if it’s for him. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “for being confused and scared and unable to realize I care about you. I will get some help or something to be a functioning member of society.”

“Well, when you find help, hook me up,” he snorts, “because I need it, too. You’ve done a number on me.”

You’re both laughing. And then, at some point, you’re both kissing. His lips are on yours, and yours are on his, and it’s just a mix of each other that feels less like it’s right and more like nothing about it was ever wrong in the first place. Sometimes, it doesn’t have to be right as long as it’s just not wrong. Sometimes, that’s enough to keep things going. Sometimes, they become right along the way, all on their own. 

You cup his cheeks, making him pause his assault on your lips against his will as he lets out a soft noise of protest deep in his throat. You’ll fall hopelessly harder for him because of that later—first, you have more pressing matters. 

“I’m serious,” you whisper, “I’m sorry. You’re right. I do care about you—so much that it scares me. I care about you and I promise this time I’m going to stay and keep caring. So be ready.”

“I’m ready,” he smiles, all wobbly lips and a shaky voice and trembling fingertips. They dig into your hips as his head buries into your neck, and you hold him—latch onto him and clutch his shirt because feeling him is all that ever felt good, and you don’t think you can stomach letting it go a second time. “I am so ready to be the only thing you care about.”

“Maybe not the only thing—”

“Did you hear that? That weird crack sound? That’s the sound of my heart breaking a second time. Any more, and I’ll be collecting shards off the floor.”

“C’mere loser,” you laugh, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him into a hard, deliberate kiss that knocks the wind out of both of you. It makes your stomach twist and form knots and there’s this weird tickle in your chest that feels like you’re about to implode. Phainon is so good at that—at making you feel so, so unwell but well at the same time. You’re sick and nauseous from how badly you want him, but nothing else feels right until you have him. 

So you wrap your arms around him, pressing nearer, closer, harder up against him and kissing him until both of you are gasping for breath in between every press of your mouths together. Your hands find his hair, carding through it wildly and pulling on the strands when he nips at your lips, and when he groans into your mouth at a particularly harsh tug, you know it’s starting to become a scene that should not be happening at his front door where anyone can pass by.  

“Inside?” he pants, pulling away for just long enough to say the word.

You kiss him hard once more, making him groan again before you decide that, yes, it probably needs to move indoors. “Inside,” you breathe, labored and unsteady, “now—now, please.”

“Whatever you want,” he chuckles, “you don’t have to beg. You always get what you want—don’t I always give it to you?”

“Then quit talking and give it to me.”

That shuts him up really fast. With a dark glint in his eyes, he pulls you in, closing the door swiftly and pressing you against it. You’re caged—nothing but him, you, and the throbbing ache between your legs that seems to be a common denominator between the two of you. 

“I want you so bad,” he groans, kissing your neck, inhaling your scent along your sweet, delicate skin, “want you so bad I never want you gone. Don’t ever leave.”

“I won’t,” you gasp as he bites—and it’s a little hard. A little mean almost, but he kisses it better with a soft peck afterward that you forgive him on the spot and melt. “I won’t.”

“Good,” he hums, nose trailing along the column of your neck before he drags it along your jaw, kissing the corner of your mouth before he murmurs, “but I’ll make it hard to walk away this time just for safe measures.”

It feels like a literal and metaphorical promise. Before you can even respond to his cheekiness, he has your mouth hostage again—kissing and groaning into it enough that you have no choice but to soften and become pliant under him. You swallow up his sounds as the bulge in his pants presses against your own heat, the slow, desperate pressure of him grinding against you, making you shiver against the door. 

Good—he always feels so good. Everything about Phainon is always so damn good. 

“Feel that?” he croons, gasping as you roll your hips in tandem with his own movements, “feel how hard I am for you? You’re telling me anyone else will want you this bad? No one. I’m it for you. I’m not giving you up. Ever.”

His voice is a low, almost dangerous promise—and if you weren’t dripping at your core from the sound of him alone, you’d be less than inclined to admit that you like the sound of that. But you do, don’t you? You want him to want you so badly, so desperately, that the thought of letting you go makes him his own worst enemy. And he does, doesn’t he? He wants you so badly that you’re almost scared. 

But you like it. Love it, even. You fucking love that he needs you, and you want him to need you so badly he might just die without you. 

“Don’t,” you whisper, lifting the bottom of his shirt up to his shoulders. He lets go just long enough to pull his arms up and let you take it off of him, tossing it to the ground before your fingers run your nails along the hard plane of his abs. He shivers, letting out a soft, barely-there sound at the feeling. “Don’t let me go. Ever.”

“Whatever you want, princess,” he grins. Phainon leans in again, kissing you impatiently like being away from you for that short period of time was enough to have him on edge. Maybe it does because he only melts and relaxes when his lips are against yours again. His fingers trail to the edge of your pants, toying with the waistband as you quiver at the feeling of his rough fingertips rubbing against the skin of your belly. 

“Need you,” you whine.

“You got me,” he reassures, “just wanna take my time, yeah? You can handle that, can’t you? Let me have a little fun with you so I cheer up before I fuck you right against this door?”

You whimper. He’s mean sometimes, too. He’s so, so nice, but sometimes, it’s like a switch flips, and he’s mean. Not cruel—just teasingly mean to keep you on your toes and have you falling apart for him. It’s so mean, but it’s so careful and thoughtful and meant just for you—like he thinks only about you. 

“Just hold onto me, okay, baby?” he asks gently, pecking your lips, “I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”

Before you can even ask what that means, he drops down to his knees, spreading yours and pulling your pants and underwear down in one go, helping them off your legs as they get thrown somewhere in the back along with his shirt. You realize exactly why you need to hold on as soon as a finger prods your entrance, splitting your folds open as he peers into them and hums at the way you’re wet and slick. You gasp, grabbing onto the nearest thing—which happens to be his hair as he chuckles. 

“Easy,” he murmurs, “I hardly did anything yet. But don’t worry, you can pull if you need—I don’t mind.”

Just like that, his mouth is between the apex of your thighs, tongue tracing your sweet, precious little clit before he licks a stripe along your folds, humming against your cunt and sending vibrations as you mewl at the feeling. 

“Ph-Painon…fuck—”

He hooks a leg over his shoulder, letting you half sit on him as he props you up and devours you. Devours you like you were the only thing on his mind. Like he was starved and dying in this apartment, and the only thing to sustain him is you. His tongue dips past your folds and fucks into you before pulling away just as quickly and flicking over your clit. Two fingers gently prod at your entrance this time—only they don’t tease you. No, instead, they fill you up and slip into you as far as they go, curling into a sweet, sweet spot in your walls that has your knees wobbling. 

You think you will fall for a moment. You think holding onto his hair and tugging him so harshly is not going to keep you steady, and the weight he takes as he props you up on a shoulder, is not going to hold you.

But he makes good on his promise. He doesn’t let you fall or slip for even a fraction, even as your legs get weaker and your orgasm draws nearer. 

“‘M close, Phai—s-so close,” you whimper. 

He pulls away. With a smug, stupid little grin, he looks up at you as you stare down in disbelief. “Say you care about me.”

“What is wrong with you—”

“Ah ah, that’s not what the magic words are!”

“Phainon—”

“That’s not a bad guess, but still not the right answer!”

“Fucking hell,” you hiss, “I care about you, asshole.”

“A little more aggressive than necessary, but I will accept it,” he hums, rewarding you with a soft kiss to your clit. “Now tell me you know I care about you. That I want you, and I want to stay.” 

“Phainon,” you plead, “please, can’t we do this later?”

“No,” he says firmly, “because then it’s just getting physical, and I am not getting physical. I am getting intimate. Tell me what I want to hear so there’s no mistaking things.”

He’s throwing your words right back at your face. And the only way you’re going to get what you want is if you own up to them, even if it’s against your will. So you do. With an exasperated sigh, you tell him what he wants to hear.

“I know you care about me,” you say impatiently, “I know you care, and you want me, and you want to stay, and god knows you’re not good at leaving me alone, so I guess I will just have to get used to you.”

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, giving your clit one more kiss before he’s back to lapping at your cunt like he’s parched. Your slick coats his chin and makes his skin glisten as he traces your clit with his tongue, curling his fingers just right into your heat. They brush against that spot again—he has it perfectly memorized, and just like that, you fall apart, gushing around his fingers and coating his lips with even more of your essence. 

“Fuck,” you sob, grinding against his face as you ride out the shockwaves of pleasure, feeling him groan against you right where you need him. 

He lets you stay like that for just a moment, resting half your weight on his shoulder and half your weight on one leg before he abruptly stands and grabs your waist, hoisting you up as your legs wrap around his hips. You’ve done this before—at that point, you’d considered it just any other step to getting physical with someone. 

Now, you realize you were beyond oblivious to how much you needed it to only be him you were doing all these motions with. It almost feels silly. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” he grins.

“What?”

“I don’t want you against the door anymore. I want you on the bed—my bed. And you’re staying there, and you’re going to like it.”

You laugh, breaking into a fit of giggles as he jogs over to his room with you in his arms. And when he drops you unceremoniously only to the bed, flopping on top of you and attacking your neck with kisses, you can’t help but break into another fit of giggles, feeling his playful nibbles and licks against your skin. It feels so easy. So natural. Only with Phainon, you realize. Only ever with Phainon. 

“Hi,” you breathe when his forehead presses to yours. 

He gives you a bright, toothy grin, murmuring, “Hi, yourself, pretty.”

And then he's kissing you again. His lips are soft and slow this time around. Pressing against your mouth, slotting into the space like it’s his to fit into—and it is. It’s always been his, whether you were willing to admit it or not. His tongue glides against yours languidly, no rush or impatience or desperation like usual. This time, he kisses you like you’re his and always have been—like he knows what you taste and feel like, and he knows it’s always been his and always will be. He kisses you like he’s reminding you of it, one painstakingly slow second at a time. 

“You broke my fucking heart,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice raw and vulnerable but never not soft, “you know that? You broke my fucking heart.”

Your hand presses against his chest, feeling the erratic beating of it under your palm as you whisper, “Seems like it’s working perfectly well to me.”

He chuckles at that. Lets out another toothy grin before he tilts his head back and laughs. It’s cute and precious and so fucking sweet—he sounds just like what he is. Tooth rotting sweet.

“You’re always so smart with your words,” he drawls, pressing wet, hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw.

One hand slowly pulls your shirt up, inch by inch, before you slowly help him take it off of you. The bra comes off next, and you’re bare—under him as nothing else but his. Nothing else that covers or keeps what’s his away from him. 

And when you eye his pants with a petulant, pouty look, he chuckles before throwing you an amused look as he takes them off slowly, not taking his eyes off of you.

You and Phainon have fucked. But you’ve never been intimate—not by the real standards, at least. The proper kind where you take the time to really take in each other’s bodies, commit each dip and curve to memory, know it inside out and like the back of your hand. Where that scar starts and ends from his childhood shenanigans, where your little moles scatter along your body in hidden crevices. And when he slowly frees his cock, and you can really stare without having to tell yourself you shouldn't, you take a good look. 

You take a good look at the flush of his pretty cock—pretty, just like the rest of him. A nice, soft, muted pink at the tip that oozes with the beginnings of pre cum, and it’s sensitive as it twitches under your delicate thumb when you smear the dribbling essence along the head of his cock. 

“Mmh,” he makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, fluttering his eyes closed and panting as you touch him. Feel him. Want him. 

You finally want him, and it’s almost enough to make him spill into your hand alone. But he forces himself to composure, grabbing your hand and pinning it over your head—and then goes the other. He holds them in place with one large hand, watching as you squirm under him impatiently. 

“No touching,” he whispers, “first, I’m gonna teach you not to take me for granted. Then you’ll never want to take your hands off of me.”

“If you just ask me nicely, I’ll never take my hands off of you,” you offer. 

He laughs, boyish and charming and so fucking smooth, you feel something flutter at the base of your stomach. Something stirring in your guts and twisting them inside out in anticipation. “Persuasive,” he hums, “but I still have to teach you not to take me for granted.”

When the tip of his cock brushes against your entrance, your wrists struggle against his hands to break free. You need to feel him—to know he’s there against you and real. To feel his hair and tug and hear him groan in response. To scratch along his back and feel his warm, damp skin, the way he shivers under the pain and likes it. To pull him closer and feel him practically melt against you at the gesture. 

You want to feel him. Because you need to know he’s yours. And you never, ever want to take for granted Phainon again. Your Phainon. The nice, sweet, gentle boy who stole your charger for a day to get your number. Who knew before you knew, long before you were ever willing to know, that he would love you. Even when you didn’t want to, he did it from a distance. And when he thought you finally would, that you’d finally let it happen, he still did it quietly, stripped of labels and titles even though he wanted to announce it to the world. 

For you. Everything was always for you. 

“Please, Phai,” you plead, “please, please, please—let me touch you.”

“Yeah? You want that, huh?” he grins, pretending to think for a moment before he hums, “tell me why.”

“So I can feel you and know you’re mine,” you lean up and breathe against his ear, “don’t you want to be mine?”

It’s a silly question. It’s all he’s ever wanted, so he gives it to you easily. Lets your hands go and lets them wander over his sculpted body as he sinks deeper into you—no more taking his sweet time to draw out the teasing. He’s impatient now—just as impatient as you. Maybe even more. He’s been waiting longer than you have to make this happen. To take you and make you his and have you admit that he’s yours, too. 

“Fuck,” he groans as he sinks the final few inches of this thick, girthy length, “fuck you’re so fucking tight. You feel that? Feel me? How deep I am?”

“Yes,” you mewl, “yes—so deep. F-feel so full. You feel so good.”

He groans at that, pulling out almost completely before slamming his hips into yours, cock burying deep into you and burying to the hilt. The tip of his sensitive length kisses against that sweet, delicate spot against your walls—your spot that he knows and memorizes so easily. 

He knows you. Knows your body. He’s felt it so many times under him and made it react for him the way he wants, but finally—fucking finally, it reacts to him and only him. He knows it’s him and only him. Only ever will be if he has anything to say about it. 

“God, you drive me insane. So insane, you know that?” he grunts, rolling his hips hard and fast and drilling into you like he has something to prove. Every slam of his hips and every brush of his cock along your sensitive folds makes you pull him closer, kissing him hungrily—desperately. So needy. 

You need him. You’ve always needed this—someone to want you and need you and find you worth it to stay. How could you think Phainon didn’t want to stay when he was so clearly happy with just pieces of you because you didn’t want to give the full of you? When he stayed and stayed and stayed and happily took the little shards you dropped, even if they were sharp, and cut his fingers because they were pieces of you. When he was just happy to have you whichever way you let him because it was you. 

All he wanted was you. You get that now. You’re not going to forget. 

“‘M close,” you pant, breathing against his mouth, “g-gonna cum. With me…with me, please.”

“Yeah? Whatever you want, princess,” he groans. 

His hand moves to find your clit, rubbing quick circles as his own pace quickens, and you can feel the telltale signs that both of you are not going to last much longer. He lets out a particularly deep, sharp thrust—and you’re gone. 

Plummeting off the edge in a hazy fall. You mewl his name, chanting it over and over and over as your walls constrict around him tightly. Spasm around him uncontrollably. And your fall coaxes him into his own. He falls into his release with a soft, drawn-out moan of your name, hot, thick seed filling you up through quick ropes of cum. His cock twitches with each rope, painting your insides white with him. 

“You feel so good,” he rasps, “so fucking good—you were made for me. Only me. Knew…knew you were perfect for me since the first day.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him as close as he can get without physically merging into your bones. His head tucks into your neck, and you both ride out the aftershocks of your highs. You feel him breathe, and he listens to your soft breaths, and it’s just you and Phainon. Phainon and you.

It always has been.

“Don’t leave,” he mumbles tiredly after a while, sleepy words said through a petulant warning. 

You chuckle, kissing his sweaty forehead as you promise, “I won’t.”

“Good. Won’t let you.”

“Good. Don’t.”

Your own eyes start to grow heavy with exhaustion, slowly fluttering closed until—

“Who’s that?” you look at him in confusion as you hear an incessant knocking on the door. 

He chuckles sheepishly, rubbing his neck. “Ah,” he sighs, “right. That’s…that’s just Mydei. He’s coming to make sure I eat instead of starving to death from sadness.”

You blink, and then you throw your head back, laughing loudly. He watches you for a moment, smiling softly at the sound of you flooding his space. “You’re hopeless, Phainon.”

“Am not!”

“Go tell Mydei to leave and that you’re alive.”

“...Okay.”

Idk what this is. It’s 10k words of pure babbling and hardly a single coherent thought. I’m sorry dfksksjr this isn’t my best work but . I needed to get him out of my system

I also think writing a reader that is younger than me and navigates life and its challenges through a less mature and experienced lens was a fun project. She is not perfect but she is certainly a human who is trying her best and wants to be loved and I think that’s endearing

[flosveris]

𝛏 LOVE LANGUAGE ／ phainon

#pairing phainon x fem!reader

#synopsis he needs this more than you, believe him.

#tags ( 18+ ) vaginal fingering light edging praise use of petnames

Phainon's selflessness makes intimacy confusing.

Contrary to popular belief, the dynamic couples like you share is less about dominance and submission, and more about love language. Or so you think. Well, it's hard to navigate relationships with little to no experience regarding dating — let alone understanding the sexual aspect of it.

But the million-dollar-question is: what is Phainon's love language? He's like an all-rounder when it comes to boyfriend-ing, to the point that if this were a competition, you would've been forced to forfeit by now. But you can feel your brain beginning to overheat every time you think about it — he never misses an opportunity to compliment you (and what's worse is that it's so genuine you couldn't even call it flirting); your skin has learned to recognize the temperature and feel of his hands from the countless times he caresses and holds you; he replies before the little "delivered" can appear under your text bubble, and always makes time for you, no matter the time of the day; and he gets you flowers and other gifts every time he comes to pick you up for one of your dates.

And from time to time, you find yourself questioning all of it. It feels like nothing you do could ever compare, so really, how did you get so lucky?

Truth be told, what you call selflessness, Phainon calls it selfishness.

You really were looking forward to him coming over, but he greeted you at your doorstep with slumped shoulders and a weary smile. His face finds the crook of your neck like clockwork once he leans forward and into your arms, nosing at your pulse and breathing you in. In no time, Phainon's sat on your bed in one of your oversized band tee-shirts and a pair of spare sweatpants he had left at your place.

His voice is raspier and quieter than usual, and you don't think he even realizes. And somehow, he still finds the strength to flash you a smile, eyes wrinkling at the corners, as he compliments your appearance and asks about your day. You continue to talk, waiting (and half-hoping) for him to nod off mid-sentence but he never does.

You're not sure when exactly it started, but his arms circle around your waist faster than you can process any of it. Phainon places slow, lazy kisses to the skin of your exposed shoulder, deliberately tugging the sleeve down to free some more. The sound of your heartbeat is deafening and it thrums in you ears the more his hands knead at the fat of your bare thighs.

Phainon hums low under his breath, right against your ear. "This is okay, right?" he has the courage to ask like he hadn't been devouring you with his eyes five minutes before all this. Like he can't feel the warmth of your core from where his hands rest on the waistband of your shorts. You try to protest (although weakly), insisting that he should rest, that he doesn't have to. But the truth is Phainon knows very well he doesn't. Your underwear was perfectly dry before he started tracing shapes onto your waist and back and hips.

All of it was calculated. He wanted you like this.

So, he ignores you, focusing on the way your chest stutters, your back pressing rhythmically against his torso, as he slides your shorts and panties down your thighs. Phainon's palms caress your inner thighs, digging into the warm skin of your ass once you try to shy away from the cold air hitting your glistening folds.

"Shh," he whispers before kissing your cheek, like he isn't actively spreading you open. "It's okay, I got you. I'll make you feel so good."

That's what he always says, and so far he's never lied, which is what makes you forget that it's exactly how you end you in this position every. single. time. That's just what Phainon does, selfish as he is — he lures you into his snap trap like a carnivorous plant, and only lets you go once your brain has melted into one big puddle and the only letters of the alphabet you can remember are the ones that spell his name.

He continues to peck your face, neck, and shoulder as he circles your twitchy clit with his middle finger, his others fingers keeping your lips spread. Your breath fans his cheek and the back of your head rests against his shoulder, lolling lightly from side to side with every breathless whimper that leaves your mouth. He doesn't even seem to mind the way your nails dig into his forearms, holding onto them for dear life every time her runs the pad of his finger on the underside of your clitoral glans.

Because Phainon knows how tremendously sensitive that part is, and he loves watching the muscles of your inner thighs tense as you let out a long whine.

"I know, I know," he coos.

Your boyfriend's tone nears condescendance, yet even if you were able to form a coherent thought at the moment, you wouldn't care less. When your eyes finally flutter open, you find him already looking down at you.

"There she is, my pretty girl. Does it feel good, sweetheart?" he asks sweetly, spreading your lips a bit more to play with your bud with two fingers now. He tuts before you can nod. "Use your words, baby. And keep those gorgeous eyes open for me."

Every time that you think that warm puddle in your lower stomach is about to spill all over the sheets, Phainon slows down, neglecting your clit to tease and circle at your entrance without ever dipping his fingers in. You huff, both from the subconscious frustration of being denied yet another time, and from exertion. Your boyfriend simply chuckles, nuzzling against your cheek before tilting your chin to the side. You're barely aware of the slimy dampness coating the underside of your jaw and staining Phainon's fingers as he leans down to peck your lips. Once, twice, before he gently parts them with his tongue, humming into your mouth.

"I know, pretty," he breathes, "I'm sorry. Just a bit more, okay? Can you take a bit more for me?"

Like he doesn't know the answer to that. And still you nod dumbly with a whine, chasing his tongue as his thumb gently caresses your cheek.

"Good. You're doing so good, baby. Almost there."

But Phainon isn't cruel, truly. All things considered, he does view himself as selfish for putting you in this position every time, but he just loves you that much. He only wants to make you feel good, believe him.

And as promised, he picks up the pace again, circling your clit furiously — if his touch weren't so tender and loving. Your heels dig into the mattress, and you fight hard to keep your legs from flailing. Phainon's there to hold you down, though, and trust me, he doesn't struggle one bit while doing it, even kissing your jaw softly as a reminder to keep your eyes open.

When your sounds become more frequent, your ribcage expanding against his arms, he finally slides one finger in, curling right where you can feel the pressure building.

"Go ahead, pretty. Cum all over my fingers."

That does it. Your back arches against him and you grip his forearms hard enough for the skin to redden, mouth falling open as the dam breaks. Phainon keeps going before gradually slowing down, and he kisses your face during the whole thing, murmuring praises and sweet words.

"There you go, sweetheart. You did so good."

"You have no idea how gorgeous you look when you let go."

"Look at that, made a pretty mess all over the sheets."

By the end of it, you're left a limbless, panting puddle against his chest — like all the other times. You can feel him press his lips against your shoulder, massaging your sore hips, your thighs still twitching as you come down from your high.

Phainon, contrary to you, seems to be doing just fine, all traces of exhaustion from when he first arrived completely gone from his handsome features. He grins down at you, and it's so sickeningly sweet you can't even be mad. Lazily blinking and half-conscious, you watch as he licks his fingers clean like it's the sweetest frosting he's ever tasted.

"Hey, there." He says it like he didn't just tie your synapses into a ribbon, like the light doesn't catch in the remaining droplets of release coating his wrist. "How are you feeling? Everything alright?"

And what can you say? (Figure of speech. Your brain can't even signal your lips to move, at the moment.) Phainon manœuvres you into a more comfortable position, completely ignoring the way he strains against his pants.

He doesn't ask for more. He doesn't even hint at it, because that's just the way your boyfriend is, and it's maddeningly confusing. But until you figure out what can render a man so stupidly selfless (answer: it's love), you can be certain that Phainon will be there to take care of you and hold you until you fall asleep.

© 2O26 flosveris, do not repost or feed to ai.

[miyaz6ki]

Hybrid! Phainon breeding us with his puppies

He prolly has a breeding kink

　　 　　　 　　　 　　　 　𓎢𓎟𓎟𓎡

　　 　૮꒰ྀིㅤ❝ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋, ❞ㅤ꒱ྀིა　　 𝄈

𑣲ㅤ m's warningsㅤ ◞ nsfw & 18+ content ahead, hybrid! phainon, breeding kink, fem anatomy reader, oneshot, in this au hybrids are kind of treated less/endangered so they get bet on, phainon is a highkey switch, just wants whatever is reader wants :) calls reader master

𑣲ㅤ m's synopsisㅤ ◞ you decide to take in a pretty lil' hybrid of your own because the people who traffick them are monsters, what's so bad about them if they're half-human ??? anyways, this adorable samoyed-human was the one who caught your eye! what a lucky man (or maybe unlucky you). well, now he feels incredibly indebted to you, so how else is he going to fulfill it if not to show you how much he loves you <3

𑣲ㅤ m's noteㅤ ◞ hai, have this filler post while i find the will to write...

you had been housing the unfathomably large man in your own home because . . . well, hybrids aren't exactly tolerated outside a cage. unfortunately, this one wasn't either, and it only gets worse when a hybrid is outside alone without an 'owner'.

a kind of human below human.

scary to think about how one feature could leave you completely in the dust within social ranks.

you had never been the type to judge ever since finding out about 'social ranks' like those, your heart could only wrench for the treatment they get.

no one deserves to be treated any less than somebody else, so one day at an auction, you decide to bet on an adorably large white-haired puppy who honestly looked like he belonged to a royal bloodline. big blue eyes that stared almost holy light through you as he continued to observe around him with both fear, and acceptance to what was going to happen to him.

and god you couldn't let that happen, not when he was this handsome! or . . . pretty? handsopretty? let's decide later.

your first goal was to bet more than others since it seems to be like he was already popular upon demand and the market today seemed unfortunately much more lively than usual.

" today we show off this samoyed half-breed, samoyeds are known to be satisfying to look at, known as smiling furballs, and are also inexplicably expensive ! "

it disgusted you at how eager these other people were with wanting to bet on real people, it only hurt your viewpoint even more, humans were sick, sick things-

" the bet starts at five hundred thousand credits ! "

your jaw drops at the mere mention of . . . half a million credits ?! holy . . . fucking . . . crap.

your wallet screams in agony, mouth dries in the shock that starts to fill your head; five- okay, you know what, you'd be saving a life here!

. . . . .

. . . .

. . .

right.

. . .

. . . .

. . . . .

"wh— haah, y- you like that, master?" a toothy grin appeared on puppy hybrid! phainon's face while he had you laid down on your back on the large bed you gave all for him. your legs spread wide as they ache out of being up for so long, strong arms around your thighs that got to lift you up.

your back hurt, especially when he pushed onto you further, knees starting to meet your chest.

but god, even with how good you've been treating him, he couldn't resist the impulsing, and growing interest over you using his big cock for your own desires, and needs. juices like yours, fuck— a dripping cunt like yours just needed to be pleased so needily.

those whispery, and breathy little words that left his mouth and into your ear. the way his voice would crack when your name all the same; and how could you say no to him like that?

the way you returned his pretty moans too? there was no doubt he fell head over heels, tail over bone for you.

so while his fingers were busy digging into the back of your plushy thighs, it was damn hard to resist the urge to drill his cock into you not as hard as he was already going.

responding to silly little calls for you, doing housework, cleaning up after himself, please— puppy hybrid! phainon was doing absolutely everything while you tried to earn back all the credits you had spent just to keep him safe. it's only right you deserve to have the rewards.

"ahhh, fuck! f—feels amaz... amazing phai'..." body feeling like jelly, your hands didn't know where to land, staying idle on your stomach as you could feel his inches constantly pistonning back up inside you.

you could feel the way his huge dick throbbed inside you, he feels so heavy on you while his chest so fucking close to your own body.

breathing right into your ear, hot warm breath afflicting onto your sensitive skin had you whimpering even louder than before. thrusts pinning your even deeper into you on the bed. the scent of the faint shampoo you gave him a few weeks ago in unison with the musk smell of sweat.

"god... you're sh—aaking...!" feeling your back arch onto the inches he buried so deeply inside you, he couldn't help but whimper out the pretty little figure below him right now. the rhythm he had with each thrust kept itself consistent, yet messy— filthy as ever.

your cunt fluttering around his cock only made his tail wag even moreso. the resistance towards jerking his hips upwards into you hurt even worse; the bedframe shaking just as terribly as your legs. your head already felt like melting,

"you wan' have my pups, r— right?" muttering under his breath, planting an arm beside your head, keeping one on your right leg.

the new angle gets you a closer view to your proud lil' puppy who was happily, and thoroughly enjoying the kind of clench your cunt would reply to you with, panting—mouth open—breathless, his own mind was fuzzy with oxytoxin and pleasure points that just... clouded his vision in all the right ways.

fuck. why'd you have to do that again?

can't you hold back those sweet little moans until he's about to come? or... maybe you just couldn't control it, "mmf, you like it m— master? y- y're clenching around me, s'tight." his voice was almost fully drowned out by the wet, lewd sounds.

weak hands of yours that tried to claw at his toned back muscles, nails barely digging into his skin. his thrusts kissing your insides so deeply had your tits fucking bouncing,

"nnngh, fuuu—ck! phai... noonn..." you wailed his name, worshipping it even, whispering it like a prayer, "p— please... let me fill you u- up."

and who were you to deny his request when your savings were almost all the way back where you started!

[sillyquzes]

you always die before i can say it

cw- Alternate universe!!, hurt/comfort, arranged marriage, some spoilers, tension and angst (?), unprotected sex, manhandling, fingering, cunnilungus, missionary, tummy bulge, aftercare and not proof-read Nd this the first time I'm writing smut 😭

The wedding veil is woven from the highest quality silk, threads harvested from the holy hands of the demigod of romance herself. The gown, ceremonial and stiff, is stitched with prayers in golden ink, the same shade of the chrysos blood.

They say marriage in Amphoreus is sacred, but rarely because of love though. most marriages in Amphoreus are about contracts and mutual gain.

You were chosen to be wed to Phainon, the world-bearing chrysos heir. Your name is etched onto some marble slab right after your birth.

Phainon.

Of course, you have heard of him. Everyone has. Charming, Strong, , Gold-blooded or Cold-blooded, who knows?

And now that man is your damn husband

The word tastes foreign. You’re not afraid. But you are… unsettled. Not because you’re marrying a stranger. That much was always expected. You trained for this, studied noble etiquette, practiced how to kneel without wrinkling your gown. You recited the vows until they bled from your mouth like scripture.

What unsettles you is the way he looked at you when you entered the chamber, like he knew you too well.

Not in the vague, political way nobles know each other through connections and rumors.

But intimately, like he’s seen you smile in private. Heard you whisper. Heard your soft pleas.

You try not to shudder as the officiant begins speaking in the tongue of the sacred titans, and you force yourself to look at Phainon again.

He stands unnaturally still, hands folded behind his back, clad in the suit which complements him a little all too well—obsidian and silver. His eyes, a dull ocean blue lacking the shine of the moonlit waters which you adored, do not move from yours. One can not deny that he is certainly fine asf

You wonder if he’s even listening

Then his gaze lowers to your hands.

You immediately freeze up, feeling the hair on your body stand up and your ears heaten up.

There’s heat there. Brief, scorching. Something in his eyes breaks for a fraction of a second, like a tidal wave threatening to breach a dam.

You remind yourself that this is routine. This marriage is simply contractual. You’re not meant to feel anything.

“Do you accept the terms of this union?” the officiant asks.

You swallow your saliva before finally speaking, “I do.”

Phainon doesn't respond right away. He just stared at you. someone give him brown contact lenses im shivering my timbers

And then, in a voice too soft to belong in a room like this: “I do.”

The officiant nods. Seals it. The pricked golden blood of your now beloved on the contract complements the deep red of yours

(One week after the ceremony)

You hadn’t expected much of him.

No one had told you that outright, of course, but the message had been clear enough in the way your tutors glossed over his personality and emphasized your posture instead. Your instructors spoke of duty, of expectation, of Chrysos' legacy. But never of warmth. Never of affection. And from the few conversations you’d had with Phainon in the first three days of your shared existence when you were teenagers, it had seemed like he was perfectly happy to uphold that cold, crystalline distance.

So you had made peace with it. You’d built the polite mask. The one that bowed and smiled and listened, and never expected him to ask you how your day had been

And for a while, he didn’t.

In those first days, he was distant. Not unkind, but cold in that chillingly efficient way Amphorean nobility mastered before they could walk. He would speak to you only when it was required. Your attempts at conversation—small things, really, like “Do you always rise before the second sun?” or “Do you like this blend of tea?” were often met with vague nods, faint grunts, or complete silence. He wasn’t cruel in those terms. But he wasn’t there. That was even more cruel.

And then suddenly one day, he was.

It began subtly. You nearly missed it, actually.

At breakfast, you reached for the honey spoon and noticed his gaze flick toward your wrist with concern. You thought you imagined it—until he spoke, in the awfully high tone of his

“You’re favoring your left hand. What happened??” You blinked at him, caught off guard. “…I burned my right last night. Just a little. I didn’t think you noticed.”

Well, you accidentally injured your hand by punching the wall in anger, but not that you would ever admit it. The second came later that evening. You were walking through the golden-lit halls toward the library when he appeared beside you—not from the opposite corridor, but from the shadows of a stone pillar. Like he had been waiting, sort of like a puppy waiting for their owner to return.

“I thought you were in the training grounds,” you said, voice kept carefully neutral.

“I was,” he replied. “But then what's the point if I can't flex to my dear wife :(”

You didn’t know what to say to that other than to just stare wide-eyed, feeling the tip of your ears burn and redden up.

But it only got stranger from there.

By the fourth day, you’d stopped being able to move freely through the palace without eventually encountering him. Not in an overt way. He never imposed himself or forced himself on you. But he was there. When you turned down a hall. When you stepped into the balcony garden. When you brushed your hair back and thought about the sun, it was as if the thought itself summoned him. When you briefly mentioned the fact that you like sun, a sun tattoo which you never knew of had been exposed on the crook of his neck with his shirt exposing his well-built collarbones.

You try to rationalize it.

Maybe this was just… politeness. Maybe you had been misled by his initial coldness, and this was the true Phainon. Perhaps, now that the marriage was finalized, he was merely making the effort to play the part of a proper husband.

Maybe. But then you’d wake in the morning to find the curtains already drawn—not by the servants, no, they would never touch your private quarters. It was him. You knew it was him. You could smell his cologne lingering too faintly in the air, like crushed vanilla and sweet tea leaves.

Another time, you mentioned missing the old garden that your childhood estate once had. The next morning, you looked out your chamber window and the entire palace greenhouse had been refitted with the exact same floral arrangements. The blue hydrangeas. The delicate roses. Even the silverleaf vines braided around the arch.

Next morning he greeted you at breakfast now, every morning, with a radiant sort of cheer that felt jarringly out of place in a palace built from marble and duty.

“Did you sleep well?” he’d ask, eyes crinkling as he leaned forward across the table, like you were a childhood friend he hadn’t seen in ages. His tone was lilting, almost teasing. “I heard the second moon stayed full all night. Maybe it blessed your dreams? Or was it the sun that blessed you? :D ”

You nodded, tentatively, unsure how to respond.

He didn’t stop smiling.

Sometimes you caught him just… looking.

You’d be walking through the hall, pacing out your next speech for the council, when you’d glance sideways and see him leaning against a stone column, arms crossed, hair tied back messily like he hadn’t bothered fixing it since sparring with Lord Mydeimos.

He didn’t say a word.

Just watched you. Head tilted. Like you were art worth billions

And then, when you paused, when you opened your mouth to say something, anything—he’d flash that infuriatingly lovely smile and say something stupid like, “Your left shoe’s a bit loose.”

You would blink. Look down. See that, indeed, it was. No wonder you were walking clumsily today. You bend down to remove the unfit shoes from your feet, and then suddenly, he had scooped you up like you weighed nothing at all—like a prince from some ridiculous, overly saccharine romance novel that your childhood handmaid used to smuggle under your pillows in hopes for you to try those tactics with the child Phainon.

“What are you—?! Phainon!”

“Can’t have my wife tripping and faceplanting before council,” he grinned, his voice a mockingly exaggerated whisper as he cradled you in his arms. “That’d be bad for image. What would the old geezers think?” “That I’ve married a lunatic,” you snapped, flustered beyond comprehension. “Put me down.”

“Sure,” he chirped cheerfully, “right after I carry you to the sitting room and get you a new pair of shoes.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered.

“You’re pretty light,” he countered, and you swore to the titans that if he wasn’t your legally-bound husband with an entire planet at his back, you would’ve smacked the smug grin off his face.

well... who says you can't? Your hand pitifully punches his chest, but the only reaction you got was a huge grin from your husband and a sudden reddening of embarrassment from yourself. Your traitorous hands gripped the front of his training shirt, trying to stabilize yourself as you felt the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms. One was wrapped firmly around your back and the other curled under your knees. His skin was sun-warmed, faintly smelling of steel and faint vanilla now.

His muscles flexed with each step. He was so warm, but not in an overwhelming way like the spring sunshine, and strong. Filthy thoughts clouding your mind on what he could do to you with that strength and-

You bit down on your cheek hard. Just to focus on the sting, to stop the swirl of confusion and butterflies and every other damn thing his nearness ignited in you.

“Where did you even come from?” you mumbled, unable to help yourself as your eyes flicked toward the corridor behind you. “You weren’t at my side five minutes ago.”

Phainon just laughed, his stupidly lovely ocean eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m the world-bearer, wife. I show up wherever I’m needed.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m your husband.”

That word again.

It didn’t taste so foreign this time.

When he finally set you down gently, like you were carved from glass, he knelt in front of you and began adjusting the fit of your shoes. His fingers were sure, calloused, and surprisingly gentle. He didn’t meet your eyes this time, just focused on the buckle, humming softly to himself. Something old. A lullaby, maybe. One that prickled at the edges of your memory, it felt very similar.

When he was done, he looked up at you, still crouched low.

“There,” he said. “Fit for council now.”

You stared down at him. This strange, strange man. Phainon the golden heir. Phainon the storm-fisted warrior. Phainon your absurd, ridiculous, soft-handed husband.

“…Why are you doing this?” you whispered, voice more fragile than you meant it to be.

“Doing what?”

“This. All of it.” You gestured vaguely at the air between you, secretly hoping that his response would explain and calm the heat pooling down your body. “You never acted like this before. Not when we were younger. Not when we first met.”

His expression changed. Just slightly. The edges of his smile curled inward, softened.

"People change."

He definitely had an ulterior motive.

No one becomes this devoted in a week. Not when, for years, he looked at you like one more duty to be managed. Not when, as a boy, he’d barely spared you more than a nod. People change, yes—but not like this. Not overnight. Not with this intensity. Not with this… unspoken ache.

You narrow your eyes.

He stood slowly, and for once, he didn’t flash that mocking grin. He didn’t deflect. He didn’t tease. He simply looked at you and flashed you a smile again. That same smile that he uses to escape something, how do you know? He would always attempt to use that infamous smile of his on Professor Anaxagoras, but it never worked.

Your throat felt tight. Not from sadness—no, you’d learned long ago how to school that away. But from the quiet, dull ache of inevitability. Of disappointment. Of waking up from a dream you didn’t realize you were having.

“…Right,” you said after a beat. You smiled, small, polite. The kind of smile you’d give a visiting noble who asked too many questions, or a war general trying to barter peace with veiled threats from the other side. A smile that meant nothing but silence. “Of course.”

Phainon tilted his head slightly, as if waiting for more. As if he hadn’t quite expected you to drop it so quickly.

But you did. You had to.

Because asking again would mean hoping. And hope, for you, had always been a mistake.

He didn’t move right away. Just stood there, watching. The shadows of the hall fell soft against his cheekbones, painting him in that same eerie glow the temple’s moons always cast. He looked like a statue. The one whom you wanted to worship.

And still, he tried to soften it. That stupid, lovely smile.

“Sleep early tonight,” he said eventually, stepping back into the corridor. “Council starts at dawn, and you need the energy to deal with that Wench Caenis.”

You only nodded. You didn’t watch him leave. You didn’t have to. You knew the sound of his footsteps now. The way his boots pressed against the marble. The shift of his weight when he turned. The subtle creak of the door as it closed behind him.

Only after he was gone did you let out a long, shaky breath.

You had hoped for more. That was the truth of it. You sank into the stone bench by the window, watching the wind ripple the garden leaves outside. You stayed there long after the moons had fully risen. Long after the last torch had been extinguished in the main halls.

Not crying. Not thinking. Just waiting for the ache in your chest to pass.

It didn’t.

Because what was more painful than hatred, more confusing than love… was being wanted for the wrong reasons. Being kissed with an agenda.

He knew he shouldn’t touch you. Not yet. Not like that.

Not until the world turned once more, not until he was sure this time would be different.

But Phainon had always been selfish.

That was the truth of it. For all the people who called him the golden heir, the world-bearer, the man of law and legacy, none of them had ever seen the core of him—dark and clawing and desperate. Desperate in a way that didn’t match the cold angles of his public mask, in a way he had buried lifetimes ago.

And yet, there he was again. Standing just beyond the threshold of the corridor, hidden by shadow, watching you sit by the window, arms curled around yourself as if your own skin couldn’t be trusted to hold you. Moonlight wove silver threads through your hair. Your expression was unreadable. You didn’t cry.

You never cried.

Even in death, you never made a sound. Phainon’s jaw clenched. In one life, you had died in an assassination by that wench Caenis. In another, it was that damn black-cloaked moon bastard. And once—once, it had been him. Not directly. But with silence. With neglect. With the hope of avoiding, you would keep you safe. You had died in that life not with blood, but with resignation. With your back turned to him, staring out a window just like this one.

You had always loved windows.

In every life, no matter what, you always stare at the sky.

And he always ended up watching you.

Phainon pressed his back to the wall and exhaled, slow and quiet. His hand drifted to the sun-shaped tattoo at the crook of his neck, hidden once more beneath his collar. He hadn’t intended for you to see it so early. But the moment you smiled faintly at that flower arrangement in the garden, the same ones you used to plant in the old timeline when your hands were still callused and he was too much of a coward to say your name

He showed the sun tattoo to you, for you, it seemed like he showed it to the world. In a way, he is right, though, after all. You are his world

"This time, I’ll keep her alive."

Even if he had to fake the marriage. Even if he had to pretend to fall slowly, like a fool playing at affection.

But it wasn’t pretend, was it?

He was already too far gone.

Even now, he wanted to go back into the chamber. To kneel beside you, brush your hair back, tell you everything—that he had loved you in every cycle, that this life, this union, was the only one he had dared to interfere with directly. That every part of this palace had been reshaped to your tastes because he knew them.

He only wanted to kiss those sweet lips of yours; he wanted to kneel and kiss the inside of your thighs, he wanted to suckle on your clit, he wanted his saliva and your essence mixed all over his face and your thighs, he wanted your thighs to shake, he wanted to suck up all your sounds, all your sweet whimpers and moans and to feel your fingers in his scalp screaming his name.

He wanted to say, "I love you so much, my dear beloved."

But you had always died before he could say it.

But this time, you wouldn’t lift a finger.

This time, he would bear the world so you could rest.

He liked seeing you tired. Not from fear or grief or survival. But from things like reading too long, or laughing too hard. He liked how you tucked your feet under you on the garden bench, how your hair always curled slightly at the temple when you were exhausted, how you never finished your second cup of tea no matter how much you insisted you could.

He liked watching your shadow move through the halls. His hand would twitch toward you when you passed—wanting to reach, to hold, to kiss, and how he wished that those hands would cup the tainted face of his.

You’d been burned before. By versions of him and by his incompotency.

But this him… this one would be perfect for you.

A husband worthy of your trust. A man so attentive, so devoted, that your heart would melt without realizing it. He’d make it seem effortless, so that when you fell in love with him, you’d think it was your choice. Your will. Not something he carved into fate with the blood of a titan. He was patient now.

He collected your empty teacups, examined the pattern of your lipstick against the porcelain, and chose your favorite blend before you could even think of it. When you spoke, he listened. Not just to the words, but the way you breathed between them. The way your fingers fidgeted, the curve of your lips when you were holding back a lie.

He even learned to do that darn puppy plead, just the way you liked. He practiced in front of the mirror.

Because gods, he wanted you happy.

Happy. His happy little wife.

He wanted to see you glow. In this life, he would give you everything that every other life denied you. A garden full of your favorite flowers. Silk bedsheets in your favorite hue. A husband who memorized every line of your face and made you laugh at breakfast and stayed awake through the night just to make sure no bad dream ever reached you.

Phainon had once been a soldier, a role-model, a god-kissed heir of the Chrysos. But all of that meant nothing. Because in every timeline, the only title he ever wanted, the only one that mattered—was yours.

Yours to call. Yours to curse. Yours to kiss. Yours to fuck.

He had lived lifetimes without your love. This one, he would not.

This time, he would coax it gently, sweetly. He would cradle your heart like glass in his hands.

Tomorrow, he’d surprise you with pastries from your childhood province. He knew the exact ones you liked. The honey lemon-soaked marble cake your late aunt used to bake.

Tomorrow, he’d smile again. Tease you. Maybe carry you down another hallway, just to hear you swear at him with fire in your voice and a blush on your face.

You skipped breakfast.

You told yourself it wasn’t deliberate—that you were just tired, that the meetings had run late, that you hadn’t been hungry. But when you passed the dining hall and saw him already seated, waiting and fidgeting with his fingers with a lovesick smile on his face, your heart curled into itself like a fist. And instead of entering, you turned away with your head down, pretending you hadn’t seen.

You still smiled. Of course you smiled. It wasn’t like you wanted a war in the house—gods knew how fragile everything was already—but that smile never reached your eyes anymore. Not the way it did on the wedding day, when everything was still so bright and confusing and painfully hopeful.

No, now it was just… easier. Easier to pretend, easier to nod and say “thank you” when he pulled out your chair or handed you your favorite tea, easier to swallow the sudden knot in your throat when he looked at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to this world.

Because that couldn’t be true. It shouldn’t be true.

Phainon didn’t look at you that way before the wedding. You remembered. You knew. Back then, every conversation was clipped and careful, formal even in private. He rarely asked about your day. Never touched you if he didn’t have to. He was dutiful, at best. Indifferent, most days. Cold, sometimes. A contract, after all, didn’t require affection. Just presence. Just heirs.

So what changed?

That question haunted you more than you cared to admit.

Because no one changed this quickly. No one woke up one morning and decided to act like they were in love. Especially not him.

You could see it in the way he lingered near doorways, hesitating like a man too afraid to knock. You could hear it in his voice, softer than silk when he asked if you needed anything. You could feel it when his fingers brushed yours and lingered—just a moment too long to be innocent.

It terrified you.

You’d never been loved like that before. Not truly. And certainly not by someone who had once treated you like another duty, another requirement.

So you did what you always did when something became too fragile. You retreated.

Your walks in the garden changed hours. He’d arrive with that little hopeful gleam in his eye, only to find empty benches and untouched tea. You took to eating dinner in your study under the excuse of paperwork. You made sure your warded doors were properly sealed before bed, a ritual you hadn’t kept up since the first week of marriage.

You didn’t hate him. That was the worst part. If you hated him, it would be simple.

No, it was the not knowing that broke you.

You didn’t want to be a fool who reached out, only to find out later that the warmth was just a tool. That it was manipulation dressed up in affection. That maybe, just maybe, this too was part of the contract—something he was fulfilling for the sake of reputation, or power, or something even worse.

It had to be something like that.

So you started saying less. Moving quieter. Laughing less.

And Phainon… he noticed.

He didn’t push, not at first. He remained gentle. Almost painfully so. Still pulled your chair out. Still offered your favorite cloak when it rained. Still watched you from across the hallway with that same haunted look, like he was holding something in his chest that was too heavy for words.

But he didn’t say anything.

Until one morning, as you passed him in the hallway and offered your usual strained, polite smile, he caught your wrist. Gently. Carefully.

“Are you angry with me?” he asked, voice low and far too sincere.

You blinked, startled. “No. Of course not.”

“Then why are you avoiding me?”

You swallowed. Your throat felt tight. “I’m not.”

“Don’t lie.” His fingers didn’t tighten, but his gaze sharpened. “You haven’t looked at me in a week.”

You pulled your hand free, stepping back a little too fast. “I’ve just been busy. There’s nothing wrong.”

“Nothing wrong,” he echoed, voice flat now. His face gave nothing away, but his eyes..they looked like something was splintering beneath the surface.

You couldn’t do this.

You weren’t strong enough to ask what he wanted. Weren’t brave enough to hear him confirm that yes, he was just doing his part. That all of this. this closeness, this softness was just another act to maintain the illusion of a happy union.

So instead, you did the cowardly thing, which Phainon would always do.

You smiled again. And said, “Don’t worry about me.”

Then turned and walked away before he could say anything else.

Phainon didn’t move from the corridor for a long time.

He stood still, hand limp at his side where your wrist had just been. The emptiness there felt sharper than it should have. His shoulders were too tense, chest hollow like a bell that had never been rung. He should’ve expected this..gods, why didn’t he expect this? People don’t forget how they were treated. And he hadn’t exactly been kind, hadn’t been present, hadn’t even been human to you during those earlier years.

And now?

Now he was trying too late. Giving too much, too fast. Like pouring water into a cracked cup, hoping it’d hold.

Of course you were pulling away. Of course you didn’t trust him.

And he didn’t blame you.

But knowing that didn’t make the ache stop gnawing at the edges of his chest, didn’t make the silence at dinner any less crushing, didn’t make the distant smile on your lips feel any less like a dagger stuck under his ribs.

He ended up at the training grounds of Castrum Kremnos. It was empty. Saved for the half-curled figure already there, manspreading in a chair like he’d been expecting him all along. Mydeimos didn’t even glance up from the book he was pretending to read.

"You can read?"

“…You look like a kicked puppy,” Mydeimos grunted, before shutting the book and keeping it on the chair beside him.

Phainon didn’t answer. Just dragged a chair back with a hollow scrape and dropped into it.

The silence stretched between them like a storm cloud. It was ridiculous—Mydeimos wasn’t exactly the ideal confidant. He didn’t provide emotional support. But he was a good advisor.

“She’s avoiding me,” Phainon murmured finally, staring up at the arc of the stars through the skylight.

Mydeimos gave a long sigh through his nose. “Gee. I wonder why.”

“…I don’t know what I did wrong.”

This time, Mydeimos did look over. His eyes narrowed. “You mean besides the years of emotional negligence and emotional distance ?”

Phainon flinched.

“…I didn’t mean to treat her like that. Back then.” He rubbed his face with both hands, voice thick. “I thought… if I kept things distant, it would be easier. For her. For both of us.”

“Easier to keep her from hurting you, you mean.”

Phainon went silent.

“Easier to keep you from feeling anything real,” Mydeimos muttered. “Until you woke up one morning after the wedding and realized you loved her. Congratulations, by the way. That realization only took, what, ten years?”

“I do love her,” Phainon snapped, softer than anger but too raw to be anything else. “I—I love her, I do. It’s not just the contract. Not anymore. I just… I don’t know how to show her. I’m trying. Titans, I’m trying.”

His voice cracked.

And then, quietly, Mydeimos barely caught it—

“…Why won’t she look at me?”

It was pathetic. He knew it was. The great and noble Phainon, reduced to trembling fingertips and broken breath because the woman he loved wouldn’t meet his gaze. Because the only person who had ever made him feel tethered to this world now drifted further away with each day, and he was too late to stop it.

He buried his face in his hands.

“Why did I wait so long?” His shoulders shook. “Why didn’t I say something sooner—before the wedding..before all this, why did I wait until she already stopped believing me?”

For once, Mydeimos didn’t make an immediate retort.

He let Phainon’s sobs and breath escape without mockery.

Then, slowly, gruffly, he reached over and gave Phainon’s arm a small, awkward pat.

“…She probably thinks it’s not real,” Mydeimos muttered, voice lower. “That you’re only acting sweet because it’s convenient. Because the contract’s signed now.”

“I don’t want convenience,” Phainon whispered. “I want her.”

“Then stop treating her like someone you’re trying to win back and start treating her like someone who already matters.”

Phainon wiped his eyes.

“…Do you think she’ll ever believe me?”

Mydeimos sighed again and leaned back in the chair. “You’re gonna have to earn that. Every damn day.”

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Well, Phainon was now drunk.

Very drunk.

The type of drunk that made his usually elegant speech slur into incomprehensible, soggy babbles. The kind that replaced his usual gliding footsteps with staggering shuffles and dramatic floor collapses. He was lying in the middle of the training grounds now—shirt half untucked, hair a wind-blown disaster, one shoe missing—and loudly reciting what Mydeimos could only assume was meant to be a love poem.

“…And I said—hic—my wife—my beautiful, ghosting wife—she smells like spring and vanillaa!—she—she gives me so mcuh pain :(”

He attempted to sit up dramatically to emphasize the word pain, but gravity had different ideas. His arm flailed out in a sweeping arc and he toppled back onto the ground like a fallen tree. A very sad, very loud, very dumb tree.

Mydeimos stood nearby with his arms crossed, a twitch in his jaw, looking one step away from calling pest control.

“You’re lucky I don’t just bury you in this training pit and call it fertilizer, HKS.” he muttered.

Phainon sniffled. “I tried to write her a letter. A letter, Mydeimos. With calligraphy and metaphors. I rhymed ‘love’ with ‘dove.’ I’m not okay.”

“Clearly.”

“I think—hic—I think she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Mydeimos muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s just smarter than you and has a memory longer than a week.”

Phainon lay still for a beat. Then, with the solemn dignity of a man who’d had six glasses of wine and no sense of shame, he whispered, “What if I duel the sun for her affection?”

“You duel the sun, and I’m going to marry her,” Mydeimos snapped.

Phainon gasped. “You wouldn’t!”

“I absolutely would. Out of spite.”

Phainon dramatically flopped again and groaned into the dirt. “She won’t even look at me…” “Because you’re in the dirt. And drunk.” “She’s my moon!” Mydeimos kicked some dust toward him. “And you’re a dumbass.” There was a long silence. Then a quiet, pitiful whimper. “…Do you think she’d at least come to my funeral?” Mydeimos turned, fully done. “I’m going to get a bucket of water and a shovel. If you’re still like this in ten minutes, I’m planting you next to the cabbages.”Phainon wept. Louder.

Dragging Phainon was like hauling a wet velvet curtain that wouldn’t shut up. He clung to Mydeimos’s shoulder like a damsel in distress, rambling into his ear the entire way about how your voice made flowers bloom, how he should’ve memorized every word you ever said like sacred scripture.

“Mydeimos, wait—wait—I forgot her favorite tea,” Phainon whimpered mid-step, only to be yanked forward with zero grace.

“She doesn’t want your goddamn tea. She wants space,” Mydeimos snapped, gripping him by the back of the collar like an unruly pup.

“But I made her a poem, should I recite it again? You didn’t let me finish earlier. ‘Her silence is a blade that cuts my soul—’”

“I will literally hurl you into a lake,” Mydeimos growled, kicking open the gate to your residence.

Phainon gasped. “You wouldn’t. This outfit is imported silk.”

“You’re covered in dirt, Phainon. Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

Despite his weight and whining, Mydeimos manhandled him up the steps, muttering curses in three dead languages including Kremnoan, occasionally giving Phainon a little jostle when he tried to slump dramatically against every column, sighing like a tragic widow.

At one point, Phainon tried to claw at the ivy near your window and whisper, “Do you think she’s watching me suffer? Maybe she likes it. Maybe she’s a sadist—”

Mydeimos didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed a broom resting near the door and whacked him with it.

“OW—WHY—”

By the time they reached your door, Phainon had managed to tangle himself in Mydeimos’s cape, sob three more times, and threaten to write you another letter “in blood, if necessary.” Mydeimos dropped him on your doorstep like a sack of emotional garbage and knocked, hard.

You opened it a moment later, blinking at the sight—Phainon half-collapsed on your doormat, cheeks flushed from wine and crying, mumbling your name like it was both an oath and a prayer. You sighed tiredly but you were shocked aswell.

“…What happened!?” you asked in shock, gaze flicking from your drunk husband to the thoroughly unamused man beside him.

Mydeimos adjusted his gloves, tone the picture of politeness despite the vein twitching near his temple. “Your husband drank an entire bottle of Okheman wine, and tried to fight..dromas."

“…Right.”

You crouched and started dragging Phainon in by his wrists, ignoring his dramatic attempts to cling to the doorframe like he was being separated from his soulmate.

“I said I was sorry!” he sniffled. “Don’t avoid me again, wife—please, I’ll give you my sword, my titles, my soul—”

You would be lying if you said you weren't amused and flustered but you could only mutter, “You tripped over your own feet and cried on a marble bust, calm down"

Phainon whimpered and rolled over onto your hallway rug like a wilted flower.

Mydeimos raised an eyebrow. “You’re…surprisingly good at handling him without violence.”

“I’ve dealt with an unreasonable grandmother,” you replied, brushing hair from your face. “This is marginally worse.”

He huffed—something nearly like a laugh. “He’s been miserable,” Mydeimos said after a beat, voice quieter. “Hasn’t trained properly in a week. Barely eats. Keeps talking about how you won’t look him in the eye.”

You glanced in your room where Phainon had successfully face-planted into a pile of your clothes. “…I see.”

He looked at you, arms crossed, expression softer than you’d expected. “But for what it’s worth—he’s not faking this. He’s a pathetic actor.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just leaned against the doorframe, rubbing your temple.

“Thank you,” you said eventually. “For bringing him back. For not throwing him into the sea.”

“Wasn’t for his sake,” Mydeimos muttered, before turning away with a wave. “Get some rest. Both of you.”

"Thank you..Lord?"

"Mydei."

"Thank you, Mydei"

“I was going to leave you a letter,” he mumbled, voice thick, slurred. “But Mydeimos said that’s what cowards do.”

“I would’ve preferred the letter,” you muttered under your breath.

You grabbed a blanket. Not out of compassion—at least that’s what you told yourself—but because the idiot was shivering.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Phainon slurred suddenly. You froze. One hand still caught in the blanket.

He blinked at you, eyes glassy and half-lidded, but there was something underneath—something old and heavy and hurting. Something that cut too deep for alcohol to dull out.

“…You don’t need to pretend like you care,” you said quietly. “I know what this marriage is.”

Phainon didn’t laugh. Not this time. He looked at you like you’d struck him.

“You think I’m pretending?”

You said nothing. Pulled the blanket over him and moved to stand, but his hand caught your wrist—clumsy, but desperate.

“You don’t get it,” he whispered.

“Let go—”

“No.” His grip tightened. “You don’t understand. I—I've watched you die.”

You went still, your breath stopped and you swear your hair stood up.

“…You should sleep,” you said, voice barely a whisper.

"Please...(Y/N) p-please... don't leave, you're the reason I'm here, you're the reason I can keep hope in these painful fucking cycles...please.."

And though your heart ached and your throat burned with all the words you didn’t know how to say—you simply pat his back as he falls asleep and walk away to the couch to fall asleep.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

When you opened your eyes, it was morning.

And your first thought was: Why does my pillow feel like it breathes?

Your eyes fluttered open fully, lashes brushing the softness of something warm. The light was gentle, soft gold through half-drawn curtains. There was a weight wrapped around your waist. Another draped over your thigh. And something..no, someone was pressed against your chest, face buried there like you were the safest thing in the world.

“…Phainon?” you croaked.

He didn’t respond. Only burrowed in deeper.

His silver hair tickled your collarbone, messy and unstyled, a far cry from his usual immaculate self. Just the soft, rhythmic puff of breath against your skin and the occasional, sleepy twitch of his fingers curled into your shirt.

You blinked at the ceiling, completely and utterly paralyzed. Not because he was heavy. Not because you didn’t want to move.

But because you didn’t know why he was here. How you ended up in bed with him when you’d fallen asleep on the couch.

You shifted slowly in attempt to leave.

He made a sound. A low, almost pitiful whine

You swallowed hard.

Your fingers twitched where they hovered over his shoulder. You didn’t touch him. Not yet. You didn’t know what this meant.But gods, how easy it would be to give in. To sink back into the warmth. To pretend, just for a moment, that everything he said last night was real. That he wasn't drunk. That this wasn’t something born out of fear of losing you again.

Your heart thudded against your ribs as he breathed in deeper, chest rising against yours, arms tightening.

And all you could do was lie there, trapped in his arms and your own racing thoughts.

Phainon stirred with a soft groan, brow twitching as sunlight nudged at his eyelids. His mouth tasted like regret and cheap wine. His head ached like a bitch because of the Hangover.

But none of that mattered.Because the warmth he’d clung to—the softness pressed against him all night—was gone.

His eyes shot open.

The bed was half-empty. Sheets still creased where your body had been. Still warm.

His heart dropped. His hands clenched the blanket for a breath too long before he sat up, rubbing a hand down his face. He scanned the room like you might be hiding in the drapes or behind the fireplace, and when you weren’t, something ugly and raw twisted in his chest.

Of course. Avoiding him again.

You always leave.

It took him barely a minute to find you.

You were in the study, curled on the couch again with a half-read report in your lap, eyes stubbornly refusing to look his way.

“Why,” he said sharply, standing in the doorway, “are you doing this again?”

You stiffened. Didn't answer. Just kept reading, even though your hands trembled slightly at the edges.

His gaze darkened and something finally snapped.

“I am trying for you..” he said sternly in anger, striding across the room, “and you keep running like I’m some kind of curse.”

“Phainon—” you started, already standing, but too late.

He reached you in three steps and lifted you clean off the floor.

“Put me down,” you snapped, swatting at his shoulder—but it was like hitting a wall of sculpted granite. Infuriatingly warm, shirt slightly wrinkled from sleep, and entirely unmoved by your struggle.

“No,” he said flatly, voice low and tense. “We’re not doing this anymore.”

When he kicked open the door to his room, he didn’t drop you.

Just strode inside, closed the door behind him with a deliberate click, and finally, finally set you down on the edge of his bed like you were the most delicate thing in the world.

But his eyes? They weren’t gentle at all

They were hurt and bloodshot

“You don’t get to vanish on me,” he said, softer now, as if the rage had drained into something heavier. “Not after last night. Not after what I said. You don’t get to pretend you didn’t hear it.”

Your throat tightened.

“I watched you die,” he spat, voice cracking, “burning, bleeding, crushed, cursed—every fucking version of you, I buried. Again and again. And this time—this time I thought if I could just—just be better—you’d stay.”

He turned, finally meeting your gaze.

“I love you.”

That broke something in you.

You stood, shaky, hands clenched by your sides. “And what am I supposed to do with that, Phainon?”

“Do you even see how insane this sounds?” your voice wavered, rising, trembling with something you’d buried so long it came out all at once. “You never gave a damn about me before. I was just your responsibility. another name on your list. You barely even looked at me.”

Phainon’s mouth parted, eyes widening. “That’s not—”

“—And now you love me?” you laughed, wet and sharp. “Now you start smiling and acting gentle and calling it love? You expect me to believe that after years of treating me like a ghost in your house?”

Tears burned your eyes before you could stop them.

“I thought—I thought maybe I was just unlikable. Maybe I was the problem. And then you come back from the dead or the past or whatever the hell this is and suddenly you’re devoted and soft and… obsessed. Like you’re playing a part.”

You choked on your breath, finally breaking.

“What do you want from me, Phainon?” you whispered. “Is that it? Is that why you’re acting like this now? Because you want something?”

Silence. Thick. Suffocating.

Phainon just stood there.Frozen. Pale.

His eyes were wide. His hands had fallen limp at his sides. And for once—once—that storm of intensity in him didn’t crackle with rage or passion or conviction.It shattered.And all that was left was guilt. Just Hollow guilt.

“…I didn’t know,” he breathed. “I didn’t know you felt like that.”

You said nothing. Couldn’t. You just sank back down to sit on the edge of the bed, trembling, your tears hot and silent.

You didn’t mean to hit him.

But your fists were balled up and shaking and they found their way to his chest anyway, weak and desperate. Not hard enough to hurt, not really—but enough to demand he feel something.

Anything.

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t flinch, didn’t raise a hand to block, didn’t try to calm you down.

He just let you. And you broke apart there, sobbing into his chest, fists pounding once twice, before they faltered and gripped the fabric of his shirt, clutching it like it was the only solid thing left in a world that wouldn’t stop spinning.

“I hate you,” you cried into him, voice wrecked. “I hate you, I hate that you ignored me for so long and now—now—you’re just this, like it means nothing. I hate that I want to believe you but I can’t.”

His arms wrapped around you so gently it nearly shattered you all over again.

“I know,” Phainon whispered. “I know. Titans, I know.”

You felt his chin rest lightly on the crown of your head, his breath shaky.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” he murmured, words quiet and thick with guilt. “But I need you to know. You deserve that much.”

You just shook your head into his chest, clinging to him harder. You didn’t know if it was to hear the truth or to stop yourself from slipping away again.

“I’ve regressed over a million times,” he said. “Some lives, I remembered everything. Some I didn’t. But the constant. The only constant—was you.”

You stiffened.

"...And you kept dying."

He pulled back, cupping your face in his trembling hands, forcing you to look at him. His eyes were shining—deep, cerulean blue and glassy with unshed tears.

“I didn’t talk to you after the wedding because I was scared,” he admitted, voice raw.

“Scared I’d fuck it up again. Scared if I said the wrong thing, you’d leave. Or die. Or disappear before I got the chance to… to love you right.”

Your lip quivered, a sob caught in your throat.

“I didn’t ignore you because I didn’t care,” he said, firmer now. “I ignored you because I cared too much. And I thought I could wait. Thought I had more time to… ease into it. To prove myself slowly. But then I saw you giving up on me. And I panicked. I panicked.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, breath shaking, close enough for your tears to fall onto his cheek.

"I don’t want anything from you,” he whispered. “I don’t want your power, your title, your kingdom—nothing. Just you. I want to learn your favorite songs. I want to know how you take your tea. I want to be the one you go to when your hands are cold or when you can’t sleep.”

You choked on a sound. Something between a sob and a laugh.

"I’m sorry,” Phainon said again, softer now. “For all the times I failed you. For all the lives I was too late. For this life, where I was too scared to look you in the eyes.”

Your breath caught. His eyes searched yours, desperate—like he was trying to memorize this exact moment, like he was afraid you’d vanish between one blink and the next.

And then—Then you surged forward and kissed him

It wasn’t soft, it wasn’t chaste—it was years of grief and longing and anger and guilt, poured into the press of mouths and the clash of teeth. His breath hitched sharply, like he couldn’t believe it was happening. And then Phainon melted.

He groaned low in his throat like a man starved, and his hands slid from your cheeks to your waist, tugging you closer like he physically couldn’t handle the distance anymore. Like he needed you now, in his arms, against his chest, lips bruising his in the best possible way.

"Titans, finally,” he breathed, breaking just for a second before diving back in, hungrier this time. His mouth was hot and urgent and desperate, like he was trying to make up for every stolen second he’d ever lost with you. His tongue slid against yours and you swore you felt him shudder.

He kissed like he was drowning. Like you were air. Like he was the damned luckiest man to ever live because you were here, still here, kissing him back.

You tugged his hair—he gasped into your mouth.

And he just whined.

Don’t leave,” he murmured between kisses, voice cracked open and boyish. “Don’t..don’t ever—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered back, breathless.

And now you seriously aren't going anywhere

Now you're on your back, thighs trembling and chest heaving up and down trying to breathe when you can as he suckles on your clit, sucking sounds making you whine in embarassment as you feel your cunt getting wetter and wetter.

He pulls away from your sweet cunt to look at you up, and god he looked filthy, your essence mixed with his saliva all over his mouth as he dives in again-

Your fingers pull at his soft silver hair resulting in him whining into your you, the vibrations of his voice making you squeal and shake even more

"Ph-Phai-!" before you could even cry out to him to slow down, he licks a broad stripe up your slit and slides it right back inside where it belongs.

"C'mon baby you can squeal louder than that cant cha?" He says looking up at you from between your thighs maintaining eye contact as his eyebrows as furrowed, god that fuckign tease.

"P-Phainon-?! O-oh Fuc-"

His tongue flexes a little before licking a straight line up your clit and then a Curve similar to that of an opposite c.

P

And then his rough, calloused thumb meets your pretty little bud before rubbing on it and licking your pussy at the same time. Making you shriek out and both hands fly to your mouth in order to muffle your cries.

H

You babble out incomprehensible nonsense begging for him to stop being a tease but then this poor guy was too busy between your legs spelling out his name on your swollen little clit :(

Then followed by he spells more letters but you are too drunk on pleasure to even differentiate and identify the letters, and then he ends it with a harsh suck on your clit and leaves it with a pop sound! Causing your gummy walls to clench at the emptiness begging for more stimulation from your husband.

"Good little girl, Tell me baby who's name did i spell out on his pretty cunt?" phainon whispers huskily, voice thick with lust before lightly slapping your abused pussy, looking at you with a nasty smirk.

"Y-yours!..P-Phai!~" Before you could even complete your incomprehensible sentence, he pulls your hips closer to his face and starts sucking on your clit harshly and one finger into your gummy walls

"phai- oh~!! i-i'm sho sensitive!!"

he hushes you and pecks the inside of your thighs before another finger enters inside you and then starts to move in a scissoring motion, making your already shaking thighs to shake even more and clamp shut around his face. Whining and crying out in pleasure

"Such a sweet voice you have beloved" phainon mutters into your cunt, pussydrunk on your slick and scent then reluctantly leaves before kissing your clit goodbye

You cry out at the sudden loss of contact and especially when your were so close, but phainon crashes his lips onto yours and starts to undress himself, first the shirt and then the pants.

He leans in peppering kisses all over your thigh to your belly and then leading upwards as his large calloused hands find the swell of your breasts before starting to play with them, rolling the hard buds of your nipples and then a soft wet muscle wraps around one of them.

Making you arch your back in sudden contact and then feeling the tip of his wet cock slobbering all over your swollen clit.

"C'mon baby you gotta stop moving around, gotta taste you and worship you"

Too bad you can't even protest to that because you're mewling at the nipple assault and your clit getting stimulated at the same time! :( and plus this meanie held your hands up your body, he's too strong.

He watches with dark and heavy-lidded eyes, sucking on your breasts, oh god your belly felt weird- and then right before the climax he pulled away with a cocky fucking grin on his face

"Aw I'm sorry baby were you close?"

You whine out by shaking your legs only to feel a thick sticky head at the entrance of your cunt

"So responsive baby, ahh.. you're dripping all over my cock too?" He pulled away his cock from your entrance and pressed two of his thick fingers back inside, stretching you open as he moved with a devastatingly slow rhythm inside you

"Come for me pretty,, fuckkk" he murmured against your skin before popping a nipple inside his mouth sucking with greed as you finally squeal and cum around his fingers, tears forming at the corner of your eyes with your tongue lolled out and chest breathing raggedy.

"Look at you my pretty little wife...all mine aintcha?~"

He kisses you fiercely without a warning and finally you felt his cock enter you slowly, it felt so good in a painful way

"N-no-!! Phaii..t-too b-BiG~!!"

You mewl out weakly clawing at his chest but he only chuckles before whispering soft nothing's in your ear talkin your through it.

And then he thrusts inside you, making you bounce up and both your legs rest on your husbands shoulder,

"Y-You're too deep in..." You mewl out completely senseless as your breasts and body shake with every thrust this man does. His hips slapping against yours as he lazily smiles at you.

"yeah baby?"

You weakly eagerly nod and then his mouth meets yours, kissing you with need and then

"N-ngh~?!!"

You scream out feeling a hand on your belly, a bulge going in and out of your tummy, your soppy wet cunt making sounds which make you squeal in embarassment but titans... he's huge..

You yelped, as you suddenly were being lifted into his strong muscular arms with ease, his fingers digging into your thighs as you babble and cry whole your back is against his chest.

He pushes you up and down at such a speed that it surprises you and you pathetically clas onto his biceps in a failed attempt to make him to slower. This man is rearranging your insides as you are completely helpless to do anything but to whine, cry and moan out his name. That's your job as his pretty little wife <3 just to feel good for him and let the husband do all the work.

"My pretty wife enjoying herself" you nod instantly ad your eyes were stuck at the back of your eyes and tongue lolled out with a bulge popping up your tummy with each thrust. You look so delirious and hazed being bent in half with your huge, strong husband seems like you didn't mind at all !!

With a loud groan, Phainon let's put of your cunt and releases all over stomach and guides you through your orgasm and lies you down. Kissing your temple, your vision was blank white completely empty before feeling two arms wrap around your waist and a glass of water next to your lips.

You sip the cold water and catch your breath after god knows how long, and look to your left to see a cocky in love phainon staring at you...and the marks which you clawed on him everywhere.

You flush up and hide your face in the crook of his neck before he giggles and carries you to the tub

"You did wonderful baby <3"

[meowdei]

same but different — ft. phainon

phainon is always changing. he’s twelve, he’s sixteen, he’s eighteen, and he’s twenty-three. and he’s changing. but he’s still your phainon and you still love him

word count. ❤︎ 10.4k words — girl (gn) what ze hell

before you read. ❤︎ female reader ; childhood friends to lovers ; modern/non canon au ; reader saves him from a bully when they’re young ; reader has a bad date (with someone else) ; very tame violence (phainon fights some assholes for her) ; love confessions ; loss of virginity ; awkward first times ; car sex/semi public sex (it’s dark out) ; use of condoms (be safe!) ; finger sucking ; vaginal fingering ; slight hand jobs ; vaginal sex ; proposals (you say yes!) ; phainon is a bit of a crybaby (affectionate) ; not proof read pls tell of any errors

commentary. ❤︎ THAT ART IN THE HEADER SENT ME INTO A SPIRAL BRO . so here’s the result ig

You meet Phainon when he’s twelve. 

You’re new to the neighborhood, and so is he, starting over at school at the same time and learning the halls and classrooms in the same way—he seems to take being the new kid well. The teachers like him, and he’s friendly and easy to get along with, and most other boys like having him on their teams for sports because he’s agile and decent at catching a ball. You? Well…you don’t adjust as well.

You move not far from your old home, but far enough that everything feels different. He moves from some small town that no one has ever heard of, and all in the matter of a few weeks, he worms his way into your life and doesn’t let you know a single ounce of peace. You’re still eleven at the time, but he’s only two months, one week, and four days older than you, and you’ll be the same age soon enough. 

But it doesn’t really matter that he’s older, anyway, because he cries like a god damn baby. 

The older kids can be mean. Especially when twelve-year-old boys who still haven’t hit that growth spurt that most teenage boys seem to hit, like Phainon, are right there. Despite being quick on his feet, he’s especially small and scrawny for his age, shorter than you by a couple of inches—which is a little pathetic, you think. He’s supposed to be older. 

It happens on a Monday—the start of you and Phainon. Phainon and you. Something weird possesses you on a random Monday before you turn twelve, and you step between him and a taller, broader, acne-painted older boy after school, and before thinking, you glare as you hiss out, “Leave him alone, weirdo.”

The boy doesn’t look too happy—and if you had an ounce of common sense, you’d take that as your cue to leave. But you don’t. You stare him good and hard in the eye as he grits out, “Mind your business.”

Phainon is still on the concrete, flat on his ass in a pathetic sort of way as tears coat his pale, soft cheeks and glisten in his eyes. They’re blue. Very blue. You glance at them for a quick second and realize too late that looking into them was an awful mistake. He looks like a kicked puppy, and something stirs in you and makes you turn abruptly, drawing your hand back before it snaps, and a loud, hard clap rings through the air. 

You freeze, processing what you’ve done. Phainon’s breath hitches. The boy—some asshole whose name you never learn—turns his head, slow and stunned, the side of his cheek where your palm landed blooming red.

This is it, you think. This is how you die. This is where your body will be found face down in the dirt behind your new school that you didn’t even want to come to, and your parents will find you lifeless and limp. They’ll mourn you, like any parents would, and they’ll wonder why it has to be this way—why they have to bury their daughter and not the other way around. You’ll be dead in a few moments, and your poor, unsuspecting parents will have no choice but to blame stupid, annoying, crybaby Phainon for getting you killed in the first place. All because he’s too weak to fight his own fights and stick up for himself. 

Except…nothing happens.

The boy just glares, rubbing his cheek, and grits out, “Lucky you’re just a brat and not like that little punk. I don’t hit girls.”

And just like that, he storms off. Heavy, angry stomps trailing behind him as he leaves you to let out a shaky breath of relief and marvel at your luck—you don’t typically run into people with standards when it comes to who they pick on. But, all things considered, you survived, and your parents won’t have to pay for your tombstone. You count your blessings and thank whoever’s looking over you. 

And then you glance down at Phainon. He’s still sitting there, looking at you like you just parted the sea. 

“You’re pretty pathetic,” you mutter.

“You’re pretty cool,” he says in awe. 

“You should learn how to throw a punch or two.”

He grins, tears long forgotten as he stands up, brushes his hands on the front of his pants, and wipes his nose on his sleeve. You wrinkle your own nose at the snot stain he leaves behind. 

“That’s okay,” he beams, “you can always just slap the bullies across the face like that for me, right?”

“No,” you gape, “I’m not your baby sitter—”

“I’m Phainon!” he holds a hand out to you. You look at it with a raised eyebrow before curling your lips in disgust. 

“And I’m going home,” you say flatly. 

You turn on your heel and start walking home promptly. You don’t want to make friends with the other new kid—especially not since he seems so much more well-adjusted to his new environment than you. (It’s a sort of bitterness only someone so young would feel. Being eleven and just on the cusp of twelve isn’t the age where rationality and logic are factored in with most decisions. Maybe, if you were older, you’d realize your bitterness has nothing to do with Phainon and everything to do with your inability to let go of your homesickness from moving.)

But Phainon is hard to shake off. He jogs after you and falls into step beside you as he pipes up, “You live down the street. I saw your moving trucks. My mom said I should be friends with you because you’re new too!”

“I don’t want to make friends,” you grumble out.

“Why not?” he looks bewildered, “being new and friendless is no fun.”

“Because I’m not staying here for long,” you snap, “I’m gonna save up and move back as soon as I get the chance. I don’t need to make friends somewhere that I’m not staying for long.”

He looks skeptical. It only makes you angrier as you throw him a sharp glare for having the audacity to not take you seriously, and he at least has the sense to quickly put his hands up in surrender as he murmurs, “Okay, okay! I believe you. But we can still be friends until you leave, right?”

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes. He walks you home. You feel a little less lonely on the way back.

(In the end, you never move away like you said. He never stops being your friend. You can’t say you hate it even if you never admit it out loud.)

— — — — — — — — — — 

Phainon is sixteen when you first realize he is no longer that puny, bite-sized little runt that got bullied by the older kids for being new. He doesn’t need saving anymore. 

(He still cries as easily, though—it just happens with a little more dignity. He cries during movies and when he’s stressed from school and maybe after a bad day, but he doesn’t do it so easily in front of other people anymore. 

Still, he always does in front of you. 

Pathetic, you always call him. So mean, he always pouts. And then you hug him and he hugs you back and you remember the little boy you grew up alongside for the last four years. The one who’s two months, one week, and four days older than you, even though it doesn’t feel like it.)

It happens on a Friday night.

You go on a date. It’s your first one ever, in fact. Your father isn’t too happy, but your mother is ecstatic, and after a couple of convincing words from her, he reluctantly allows it to happen as long as you know your curfew and keep your location on at all times. You’re excited. 

Until you’re not. 

You think the date is going rather well. Really well. You like the boy, and he’s handsome and funny, and he listens to you when you ramble about the things you like. It’s a good date. Your mother bought you a new dress, and it’s your favorite color, and you even do your makeup a little nicer than you usually do. Everything feels right. Everything feels like it’s going how it should, and some naive part of you starts to dream about a high school romance that blossoms into something serious. Maybe at the wedding, you’ll speak about this date. How your father was against it, but your mother was thrilled. How you tried on seven dresses before this one, and had started to get antsy until you tried it on and knew it was the one. How you watched a YouTube video or two to learn how to do your eyeshadow properly, because you’re not used to doing it the fancy ways that older girls seem to do. 

It’s all going well. Until your date politely goes to the bathroom and you wait for five minutes, which turns to ten, which turns to fifteen, and then at twenty minutes, your waiter comes and holds an apologetic look on his face as he informs you that the bathroom is empty after you insist for the third time that your date is just taking a while in there. 

It guts you. 

You don’t even know how or when he managed to slip out and leave you alone and stupidly waiting, but he does. Long gone are your dreams of a sweet high school romance and a big, happy wedding where you smile and remember the silly old days when you’d get dropped off to your dates by your mother ten minutes early as you anxiously check your makeup in the mirror. (And yes, maybe later you’d look back and laugh at how naive you were to think one silly date would snowball into all of that, but you’re sixteen. And at sixteen, your world feels like it’s the only thing that exists, and your problems feel like they’re bigger than they are.)

In the end, the only thing you can think of doing is calling Phainon. He comes in ten minutes flat, waiting outside in his father’s car that he’s allowed to use on weekends only and nothing more. (He’s sixteen and you’re still fifteen, so he’s licensed and you’re not. He likes to brag. You don’t typically find it as amusing as he does. Right now, though, you’re grateful. )

You get in the passenger seat, and before he can even ask, you burst into tears. He makes a face that you can’t quite discern. But he’s not happy—you know that much as easily as you know Phainon. 

“What happened?” he asks softly, “It didn’t go well?”

“It was,” you sob, “I-I th-thought it was! We were talking, a-and laughing, and…and he asked me things and then…h-he went to the bathroom and he just disappeared for like…like half an hour! And the waiter checked the bathroom a-and he wasn’t there…and it was so embarrassing!”

He’s silent. For a long time, Phainon is quiet and he doesn’t say anything. It’s unlike him. He never lets the silence go on for long before he fills it with something. Whether it’s stupid or sweet or funny or annoying, Phainon always has something to say to you. He never runs out of things to talk about. It’s always been like that. He’s never had a problem talking your ear off and keeping you company and following you around and filling the silence with his voice. You never realized how deep it had gotten over the years until you watched some old videos back. The first time he was gone for a whole summer, you didn’t realize how quiet the world was until the only way you could talk to him was over text. 

But he’s quiet now, and he just lets you cry. Softly, he reaches out and brushes tears from your cheeks gently as he murmurs, “Your makeup is pretty tonight. You shouldn’t ruin it, you know.”

“There’s no point,” you sniffle, “it’s not like anyone is gonna see it now, anyway.”

“I’m seeing it,” he insists, “just because some weird asshole doesn’t appreciate a nice smokey eye doesn’t mean I can’t.”

“This isn’t a smokey eye look.”

“Whatever it is,” he shrugs, “it looks good. You’re pretty.”

He says it easily, like it’s not weird or awkward or makes him shy to point it out. He says it so plainly, it’s like some passing observation he makes and doesn’t have to think too hard on. You’re pretty. Even when you cry your makeup off, he thinks that. 

“I don’t want to go home,” you whisper, “my mom is gonna be sad and my dad will get angry when he knows what happened to me, and I just…don’t feel like dealing with that mess.”

“Then don’t,” he offers.

You raise a brow, sniffling as you reach into the compartment and grab the tissues that you know are there, and blow your nose. He stifles a smile at the way it’s loud. “What am I supposed to do then, just sit in here?” you ask blandly.

“Why not? We can drive for a while. In fact, we can get milkshakes.”

“Are you buying?” you perk up.

He snorts, looking at you in amusement as he mumbles, “Don’t I always have to?”

You beam at that. It’s true—he does always buy.

He takes you to a drive-thru and buys you a milkshake like he always does when he drives you somewhere. You add in a side of fries and he lets you, paying without a complaint and handing you your order as it comes through the window. It’s nice. It feels like it always does when it’s you and Phainon, and you forget the shallow asshole who broke your heart on your first date not even an hour ago. He parks in the parking lot and you sit and share your fries, and when he dips his in ketchup, you wrinkle your nose—and when you dip yours in your milkshake, he wrinkles his. 

“I’m never going on a date again,” you mumble.

“Don’t say that,” he says softly, “you might miss out on a super handsome and nice guy some day who’s waiting for you.”

“That sounds like something my mom would say,” you snort.

He cracks a grin, chuckling as he offers, “Well, that’s probably why I’m so smart. You should listen to me more.”

“I don’t know about that one,” you tease, “you’re still the same crybaby from middle school.”

“I’m not a crybaby!” He gasps, “Quit saying that! Being emotionally intelligent and being a crybaby are not the same thing, you jerk!”

“Is that what you like to call it?” You laugh, throwing your head back against your seat. He stares. For a good, long moment, he stares as you laugh, and you never catch it. (He wonders sometimes if you will. If some day he’ll stare and you’ll finally notice that he only ever looks at you.)

“Yes,” he grumbles, “I am, in fact, emotionally intelligent. And women are really into men who are smart about their feelings.”

“I’m sure they are,” you give him a sarcastic nod. “And I bet they—”

“Hang on,” he says, stopping you.

You pause as he interrupts your sentence, and before you can even blink, his door is opened and then closed, and Phainon is gone. He’s left the car and he’s walking over to some group of boys who leave the fast food place you’re parked outside of, and you can’t figure out what on Earth would make him leave so abruptly to go over and—oh. 

Your eyes widen as you realize. 

Oh.

Something in your heart sinks deep into the bottom of your stomach as you realize your date is standing there among the group of boys with a bag of food in his hands and a drink. Something else in you gets a lick of anger that starts to burn in the pit of your stomach as you think about how he left you to pay for his meal while he’s here buying himself a whole new one after ditching you. And then your eyes widen when in a quick second, Phainon has swug his arm and landed a solid punch right in the jaw and knocked the guy onto his ass as he towers over him. You blink once, then twice, and then you quickly take your seatbelt off and climb out of the car as you rush over. 

There’s a chorus of deep, angry voices back and forth and you can’t make out more than a few words at a time as everyone speaks over each other—Phainon, your asshole date, and his asshole (by association) friends.

“Yo, what the fuck—”

“He had that coming—” (Phainon.)

“Who the hell are you—”

“What’s your fucking problem man—”

“You get off on being an asshole, or something?” (Also Phainon.)

Maybe if you weren’t so worried, you would think about why Phainon’s voice is the only one you can make out so easily in a mess of all these other voices. Maybe if you weren’t worried about a group of boys outnumbering him as they approach him and try to beat him to a pulp, you might think more about the implications of that and what that means. 

But you don’t. You can’t. Not when you have to go and save him, just like the day you met him, from boys who are stronger than him and can knock him to the ground easily. 

Except he doesn’t need you to save him. Phainon…holds his own against three boys who come swinging at him, and…he does surprisingly well. He shrugs off each guy one by one and lands a punch when he needs to, and soon enough, when they realize that he’s a little too strong for any of them to properly take on, they call him a few names and leave a few empty threats before they leave. You stand a short distance away and watch, blinking as you process the whole exchange. 

Finally, with a shaky breath, he turns to face you with a guilty look on his face. 

“Sorry, I know I probably shouldn’t have done—”

“When did you get strong?” you interrupt, flabbergasted. “You can fight?”

He looks almost a little offended. “What do you mean? Why do you have to say that like I can’t be strong?”

“I used to save you from the older boys all the time,” you gape, “and all you ever did was cry! Since when do you know how to throw a punch?”

“I was twelve!” He sputters, looking at you in equal parts disbelief and equal parts embarrassment. “I’m way bigger now! I’m taller than you!” (He is.)

“You’re still a crybaby!”

“Am not!”

“You fought four guys and won,” you breathe out, like the concept is something you still can’t quite wrap your head around. (You can’t.)

He shoots you a glare and grumbles, “I am grown now, okay? You don’t have to keep acting like I’m the scrawny kid you saved in middle school.”

“You are the scrawny kid,” you argue.

“Am not! Look, I’ve been working out!” He flexes his arm, and sure enough, there’s a bulge of muscle forming at his bicep, and it makes you stare in disbelief as you take in the way Phainon has really changed. You never notice it because he’s with you every day, and every single day has started to leave its mark on him, but you’re too caught up in knowing him the way he is to think about knowing him the way he isn’t anymore. 

But he’s stronger now. His voice is deeper, and he’s taller, and he has some muscle to him. You look at him properly for a moment, and it occurs to you for the first time that the chubbiness of his round face and baby cheeks are gone and they’re replaced with a strong, sharp set of cheekbones that carve his face perfectly. His hair is longer, too—and you think it suits him better this way. He parts his hair in a way that looks less childlike and more mature. 

But his eyes are still the same. Same shade of blue. Same puppy look as he stares at you, mildly offended. Same soft, delicate orbs that look you in the eye, always, and never look away. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter, “what is happening to you? This is freaky.”

He cracks a smug grin before he teases, “I’m growing up. Try not to fall in love with me—pretty soon, I’ll be a heartthrob.”

You bite back a grin and give him a scoff. “I doubt that. You’re about as interesting as cardboard.”

(You lie. In the end, you go against your own words, and you do fall in love with him. It’s hard not to. It’s hard not to fall in love with him, the more time passes every day. You never admit it, but you notice every little thing about him that changes from then on.)

— — — — — — — — — — 

You’re eighteen when Phainon and you don’t just kiss, but share your first time. It’s on your birthday. There’s something there between the two of you that you both know is there. It’s impossible not to notice it. 

You leave for college in two months, and he might not be going to the same one as you, but it's close enough that you can see him whenever you want. (Whenever you want—it’s what he had said when he first told you he wasn’t picking the same college as you. The look on your face was enough to voice your devastation without actually using any words, but he only laughed and murmured, I’ll be close by. You can still see me whenever you want, yeah?)

It happens in his car. It’s no longer his dad’s old one that he had to ask for permission to use only when his father wasn’t using it. This one is his, and he can drive it whenever he wants and wherever he pleases. Because you’re both old enough for that now—driving around and going places without needing to worry about curfews and school nights and your parents’ angry texts about being home soon. 

“I’m officially an adult,” you tell him in his car, drinking the last of your milkshake that, as always, he’s paid for. (It’s your birthday, though, so you think it's especially fair that he pays because no one should expect the birthday person to pay for their milkshake.)

“Congrats,” he hums, “they grow up so fast,” he adds with a soft, dramatic sniffle.

“You’re not old enough to act like there’s a difference,” you roll your eyes, “I doubt in two months you’ve learned things like how mortgages and property taxes work.”

“Well, it’s actually two months, one week, and four days,” he corrects with a pointed look, as if it really makes all the difference, “and I’ll probably still learn all that shit before you do because I’m older.”

“Yeah, but you’ll also probably die first since you’re older,” you point out cheekily.

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” he huffs.

“You always decide how things work when it’s convenient for you, you prick,” you accuse, shoving him away as he chuckles and steals a french fry from your share. 

He’s stopped laughing when his eyes meet yours, and something about the way he looks at you feels a little out of the ordinary. The wrappers are crumpled, the milkshakes are almost gone, and you’re both sitting in the same parking lot you have for years in the middle of the night, nothing but just the light over your heads in his car illuminating him just enough that you can still make out that soft blue of his eyes. 

Everything is the same. The parking lot, the milkshakes, the way you drain his wallet, and he lets it happen, the way it’s you and him and no one else. Nothing has changed. Nothing but you and Phainon. You’re both different—something about you and him is different. 

“What?” you ask.

Phainon shrugs, smiling to himself. “Dunno,” he says. “Guess you just look old.”

You scowl as he throws you a lopsided grin. (You think, regretfully, that it’s quite handsome.) “And you look geriatric,” you hiss back.

His smile becomes a little softer, and something in it flickers—sad, maybe. You can’t tell exactly what it is, but you do know it makes something in your heart ache. Something like longing fills you up to the brim—it’s funny, you think. Even when Phainon is right next to you, all you can do is long for him anymore. You wonder when that started. Maybe it was the day you noticed he was bigger and taller. Maybe it was the day you noticed he paid with a credit card and not cash anymore, like a proper grown man. Maybe it was the day you realized his front teeth were no longer crooked and his smile was as bright as those perfectly blue eyes of his. 

“I’m gonna miss this,” he admits quietly.

You don’t ask what he means. You already know. 

It’s not the milkshakes, or the shared fries, or the way he always pays, no matter how much you can easily afford it on your own by now. It’s the way he’s home for you. The way you moved when you didn’t want to, and you didn’t get a say because you were only eleven and your parents made those kinds of decisions for you—when you left behind everything you loved, and Phainon took on the burden of becoming everything you’ll relearn to care about. When you promised to move away the first chance you got, he made you want to stay without trying. Now it’s not the same—now you move, and so does he, and you both make those decisions on your own because you're older now. 

You’ll miss it. The quiet nights in his car and the long, stupid, pointless, aimless conversations that always meant the most when you babbled about nothing. The easy, familiar way you’ve always fit together—ever since he was twelve and you were eleven, all the way until now, after you both grew and grew and the days added up until they totaled to you both being eighteen-year-old adults. You’ll miss the way you’ll open your door, and you’ll see him waving down the street as he opens his. You’ll miss the way he can crawl to your window and sneak in to play card games, and your mother isn’t surprised as she makes him breakfast when you both accidentally fall asleep before he can leave. You’ll miss the way the world felt small, and all you knew was this. Here. Phainon and you and the town that becomes home, even when you didn’t want it to be, all because of him. 

“You don’t have to miss it,” you say, trying to convince yourself it’s true. “We’re not going far.”

“Maybe not,” he murmurs. “But it won’t be like this. Not exactly.”

It won’t.

It won’t ever be like the way you guys are now, how you were over the years. When he sat on the ground and cried after being picked on and you saved him. When he came over and met your mother for the first time, and she looked relieved at the fact that you finally made some friends. When you let him borrow your favorite book, and he gave it back with the pages dog-eared and you had your first argument over your ruined book. When he rescued you after your awful first date and spent the night with you so you’d go home happy. When you rear-ended the car in front of you, and he was sitting passenger as he tried to warn you that you weren’t hitting the brakes soon enough.

“Is it a bad thing, do you think?” you murmur hesitantly, “if things change?”

“Maybe not,” he says, leaning closer as he looks at you better.

And then you kiss him. Or maybe he kisses you. What matters is that you’re kissing each other. It’s been a long time coming—your parents have teased you about him, and your friends have always been too nosy about just how close you really are, and your teachers have always meddled with seating arrangements to make sure you’re close by each other because they’re certain something is going on. 

He smiles into the kiss. It’s giddy and sweet and a touch clumsy as he presses into you closer, leaning over the center console of his car to get closer to you. You giggle. A soft, delicate little sound that makes his breath hitch before he moves again to swallow it up, drinking in the small, precious little sounds of joy you make against his mouth as his hand cups your cheek and your arms swing lazily over his shoulders. 

“I think things are already changing,” you breathe as soon as you pull away, “so it can’t be so bad.”

“Maybe not bad at all,” he chuckles.

“Are you still gonna miss it?” you ask softly. 

“Hm,” he pretends to think, “let me try this again and see what I like better just to be sure.”

You laugh against his mouth as he kisses you, pecking your lips once, twice, a third time before he’s back to pressing his against you with a lingering pressure. Some part of you knew this was going to happen. You didn’t know when or how, but you think this is a good way to let it happen. You knew that day he came to your defense in that parking lot—when he didn’t have to, but he did because he cared enough to. When he showed you he was bigger than you remember and growing more than you realized, and could take care of you just like you took care of him. (Maybe he’s been taking care of you all this time, and you just didn’t realize it. Maybe when you stopped being lonely and finally felt like you made a home on the street that he came at the same time as you, he was looking out for you all along.)

“I think change is an inevitable part of life,” he murmurs, “we shouldn’t avoid it.”

“Hm, that’s very grown-up of you to say,” you tease. 

“Thank you,” he grins—stupidly handsome, and annoyingly cheeky. And you love him for it. “I am older, you know. By two months, one—”

“—One week and four days, yes, I know,” you interrupt, rolling your eyes. “Shut up.”

He does. He shuts up only to press his lips against yours again and kiss you like he’s been waiting years to do it. (He has. He’s waited many, many years to do this. More than he thinks you might even realize—he doesn’t think you understand how much he’s changed until rather recently, but that’s okay. He could wait. He did. He waited and he waited and he’d always have waited if it was for you.)

“Do…” he pauses, nervously taking in a shaky breath as he mumbles, “do you…want to like…w-well, we don’t have to do anything…but if you want—”

“At least this much hasn’t changed,” you snort, interrupting him, “and maybe it won’t—you’re still lame.”

He scowls at that, and as if he has something to prove, he climbs (and fumbles a little) into the back seat before his hand grabs your wrist and tugs you to follow. And when you fumble your way onto his lap with a squeak, flustered as your chest is pressed right up against his own (rather sturdy one), he murmurs, “Yeah? Is that what you think?”

“Yeah,” you swallow, looking into his eyes for a short second before quickly looking away, “it is.”

“Guess I’ll just have to change that,” he hums.

Suddenly, your lips are once more coated with the heat of his, and you close your eyes and fall apart in his arms. You press more of your weight onto him, letting him slump back against the backseat of his car while your hands weave into his hair and tug. He groans deeply. It’s a sound you’ve never heard from him—ever. 

His hands bring you closer, and as your body is pressed against his with even less space, you feel it—something hard that pokes against your leg that you’re certain you know what it is. But, just to be sure, you pull away to look at him. 

“What’s that?” you hum, grinning smugly as you move your thighs to brush over the hardness once more, “is that—”

“You know exactly what it is,” he huffs, flushing a soft pink that you can just barely make out in the dark, “now quit talking so much.”

“You don’t like me when I’m chatty?” you pout.

“I like you always,” he says bluntly, lips forming a small pout as he adds, “but I like you a little less than other times right now for being rude.”

“I’m not being rude! I’m simply making an observation—mmph!”

He cuts you off with another hard, impatient kiss before he pulls away and lets his thumb brush over your lip, smearing your already messy lip gloss some more as he murmurs, “I always wondered how that tasted. Seen you apply it so many times.”

“It’s pretty sweet, isn’t it?” you wink cheekily, “strawberry flavored.”

With that, you wrap your lips around his thumb and slowly roll your tongue around the digit, swallowing around it as you suck. It’s probably the filthiest thing you’ve done—which is not a lot. The filthiest thing you’ve done prior was sitting on a boy’s lap and feeling his hard-on against your thigh as you kissed him. There are a lot of firsts it seems he’s hell bent on taking from you tonight. Luckily, there’s not a lot of firsts you’re unwilling to give. 

He groans at the warmth of your mouth, the wet glide of your tongue making him stare at you with hazy, lust-filled eyes before he pulls his hand away from your lips, hoisting you up enough so he can reach under your skirt and pull your panties down. They’re drenched. He takes a second to stare at them through the darkness of the backseat of his car while it’s your turn to feel heat spread across your cheeks and up to your ears. 

“Stop looking, you pervert!” you hiss.

He gives you a not very apologetic grin. “Sorry,” he lies through his perfect, pearly whites, “guess that’s not very chivalrous of me, huh?”

You snort as you murmur, “You had your finger in my mouth a second ago.”

“And who put that there?” he teases. You feel your cheeks burn again—but he spares you the embarrassment a second time as he pulls your underwear down your thighs enough to leave your aching cunt exposed before he murmurs, “Do it again one more time for me, baby.”

You open without thinking as he presses his middle and ring fingers into your mouth, letting your tongue roll around them, too. You coat them well, the wetness of your mouth covering his fingers as his thumb strokes your cheek. His cheeks are flushed pink from the sight alone. Your throat bobbing from every swallow around his digits has him imagining much more lewd fantasies, and you can tell that from just the way his pupils lose focus, dilating at the image of you. You moan around him, and his breath hitches as he feels the vibrations from the sound. 

It’s dirty, the way he’s thinking about you. Almost as dirty as the way you look as you suck on his fingers—and when he pulls them out and uses his fingers to press into your cunt, it feels dirty to be worked open with your own spit as the lubricant that helps him slip inside easily. Well…you suppose the way your core is dripping is also part of the reason why it’s so easy, but you don’t focus on that. 

Instead, the only thing you can focus on is the way he curls into you as he thrusts his fingers in and out, in and out like he knows exactly what you need. His fingers are longer than yours. The only thing that’s ever been inside of you are your own digits when it’s late and night and you force yourself to stay quiet in your room—but Phainon’s fingers reach deeper and there’s no one here you have to be quiet for, so you whimper loudly as he presses into your walls and finds some spot deep in there that you’ve never felt before.

“Well,” he chuckles, “that was easy. I found it,” he gives you a cheeky grin.

“Sh-shut up,” you hiss, the sound tapering off into a moan as the heel of his palm glides over your clit while he angles his hand in and out of you. 

He’s never done this before—it’s good, and it feels better than anything you’ve ever felt yourself, but he’s still never done this before, and it shows. He doesn’t get the rhythm quite right as he goes faster than you like, and when your hand gently grabs his wrist, he pauses and looks at you in alarm. 

“W-what’s wrong? You want to stop? I-I’m sorry, I…I got carried away, I didn’t think—here,” he goes to pull his fingers and you hiss, tightening your grip and keeping him in place as he pauses and looks at you, bewildered.

“Just…just go slower,” you breathe, panting softly, “that’s all.”

“O-oh…” he nods slowly at first, then again with more confidence. “Okay.”

It’s better this time. He paces it better and watches your face for your reactions as he slows the timing of his fingers pressing into you, applying pressure with every thrust against a sweet spot you didn’t even know you had. It makes your head feel light and your ears hear things all muffled. You can hear his labored breaths as he watches you, and you can hear your own (almost embarrassing) noises as he works you higher, higher, higher to some invisible height that you can feel yourself slowly become closer and closer to plummeting off of. 

“K-kiss,” you gasp, pleading as you lean closer, and he chuckles before he indulges you.

“Anything you want,” he murmurs, and then that familiar warm pressure of his soft, yet chapped lips is the final push you need to fall off the edge. You whine into his mouth, and he drinks in every sound like he’s parched, swallowing down your noises as your walls flutter around his fingers. 

He works you through it. It feels better when it’s someone else—he’s not distracted by the feeling of being overwhelmed to falter in rhythm or pace. In fact, he’s extra careful as he watches you, rolling his palm over your clit and pressing the tips of his fingers in and out of you as your walls erratically clamp around him. 

“Fuck,” you breathe out, gasping as a particularly harsh wave of your orgasm crashes over you, “Ph-phainon, fuck.”

“Feel good?” he murmurs, kissing your jaw as your mouth parts with a soft, delicate moan. It’s endearing. He’s not even smug anymore—all you do is fill him up with affection as he watches you. 

“Yes,” you gasp, “oh god, yes!”

“Good,” he hums. 

His forehead presses against yours as you finish, letting you calm down and take heaving breaths while he pulls his fingers out of your cunt and rubs the small of your back with his other hand. You clutch onto his shirt, fingers grasping onto the fabric to ground yourself while he admires the glow of your sweaty, damp skin.

“When did things change for you?” you whisper, not meeting his eyes. “Between…between us?”

“Hm…” he hums softly, “Don’t know. I think…I think they never really had to change. I always knew I wanted you.”

“Oh,” you mumble, still nervously toying with the fabric of his shirt. You don’t know what to say, so you say it again. “That…oh.”

He laughs softly, like the idea of things not being the same for you doesn’t bother him. (It doesn’t. He got you, he thinks. As long as it’s that outcome, he could have always waited longer.) 

“When did they change for you?”

“When we were sixteen,” you barely force out, “when you…when you took on those guys. In the parking lot.”

“On your first date that broke your heart?” He gasps, “I owe your heartbreak to swinging things in my favor? That feels a little wrong,” he says dramatically, “I almost feel like I’ve manipulated you!”

“Oh, fuck off,” you roll your eyes, breaking into a small grin. 

He laughs. It’s sweet. He’s always had that charm about him, even when it didn’t make you want him badly. “I think I told you not to fall in love with me, too. Seems like my words had the opposite effect,” he wiggles his brows.

You snort, shoving him lightly as you whisper, “It just felt nice to know you care. Like my feelings were yours, too.”

His eyes soften, and Phainon, you realize, has the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. So blue, you could mistake them for the ocean and get called over like a siren luring you in, drowning you until your lungs are heavy and filled with something that makes it hard to breathe. 

“I always cared,” he hums, “still do. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” you bite your lip as you fight back a wide, giddy grin. “Yeah, I do.”

And you kiss him. This time, you know it’s you who does it first because he stiffens for a moment with a hitch of his breath before he melts into it. You’ve kissed so many times tonight, you don’t know why the feeling keeps shocking you, but it does. It’s new every time, but never unfamiliar. You know him—you know him like the back of your hand, and you’d know him with your eyes closed. But you’re still learning him. The way he parts his lips and the pattern of how he nips yours. The way he tugs you closer when he’s overwhelmed, so he can squeeze your hips and ground himself. The way he lets out a soft, barely-there whine when you tug at his hair without realizing it. 

“I want you,” he breathes, “i-is that…is that okay?”

“Yes,” you practically beg, “yes—please.”

He clumsily undoes his belt and unzips his pants with shaky hands. You try not to watch and make it awkward. (It is, just a little. But it’s not bad. Nothing ever is with him.) You try to keep your expression neutral as his aching cock is finally freed from its confinements, springing up with a hard, leaky tip as pre cum collects in a small bead. It’s big—it curves a little to the side and the vein is thick along the bottom, and a part of you itches to wrap your hand around it and feel its weight in your grasp. 

He flushes as you stare and breathes heavily. 

“Can…can I…” You hesitate before gesturing at it. 

He nearly passes out from shame when he nods too quickly, forcing himself to slow down and throw on a faux sense of nonchalance as he stutters out, “Y-yeah, yeah that…that’s cool. With me. If you want, that is.”

You nod. Slowly, hesitantly, your thumb smears the leaking pre cum at the tip along the head of his cock before you wrap your hand around him and squeeze slightly. He chokes, gripping your hips tightly as his jaw clenches and his eyes shut tightly while he tries to keep his breathing steady. 

“Is this okay?” you whisper.

“More than okay,” he says, voice strained. 

“Okay,” you nod, and, a little more confidently, you stroke along his length, watching as he melts and the tension leaves his shoulders, his face slackening while he lets out a soft moan. It feels good—you can tell that much as his head falls back and he lets out a soft, throaty sound when you squeeze a little at the tip before stroking down again. 

It doesn’t last long, but you like it, you decide. You like making Phainon feel good. You like the way he looks when you touch him, and you like the feeling you get when you take care of him and give him something without taking anything back. But he stops you before long, and you pause as you raise a brow in confusion. 

“J-just…I don’t think I’ll last if we keep…” 

He’s red in the face when your eyes widen—you can tell even if it's dark. “Right,” you smile softly, “okay. Do you have…”

“Y-yeah,” he nods, “right…right, yeah.” He fishes out a condom from his pocket, and it takes everything in you not to ask the question in the back of your head of why he keeps one. 

(A spark of jealousy clouds your mind for a moment, of whether or not this is something he’s done before with someone other than you to need one, but then you realize that you know Phainon. Better than anyone else, you know him, and you know he’d at least tell you if he’d ever done something like this before. 

Because it’s you—you’ve known for a while now that there isn’t anyone else other than you. 

The jealousy dies down, and all that’s left is endearment—you’ll tease him later about carrying a condom around like he’s preparing. For now, though, you’re grateful.) 

It takes a tense moment of fumbling around with opening and rolling it over his length, trying not to let your hands visibly shake as he makes soft, breathy sound at your touch before gently, you raise your hips, hand still wrapped around his length while you guide him to your folds, the tip brushing along the slick, warm entrance of your cunt and making you both shiver. His hands find your hips, holding tightly as he guides you down, inch by slow inch taken one by one until he’s as deep as he’ll go and you’re sat on his cock, panting and quivering on his lap.

“T-tell me when it’s okay to m-move,” he grits.

“Okay,” you whisper shakily, trying to accommodate his size. It’s a stretch—it burns slightly, but you welcome it wholly. You’ve never taken anything as big as Phainon, and faintly, you hope you’ll never have to compare the size with anything else because you think this is it. This is perfect and what you were made to take. He’s perfect and what you were made to take. You fit like he was tailor-made to fit in you, and you don’t think anyone else will ever replace this. 

This feeling. Him. What he means to you. Everything about Phainon is perfect to you—perfect for you. You don’t think it’ll ever be anyone but him. 

“Okay,” you plead, “you…you can move now.”

With that, he guides your hips up, almost pulling you off of him completely before he brings you down, helping you slam down on him while thrusting his hips up and meeting you halfway. He’s thick, too, girth-wise—stretches you in a way that adds to the pleasure apart from just pressing against a spot your fingers used to never reach. You thought it was good before when he was just using his hand, but the real thing is even better. Everything around you stops. All you know is Phainon. All you ever want to know is Phainon. 

“F-fuck,” he pants, and you barely register his voice cracking as he shoves his face into your neck, “y-you…feel incredible. I’ve always wanted you. You have no idea how fucking bad.”

Something wet hits your neck. You suck in a sharp breath as his hand pulls you down, helping you rock your hips onto him and slam down harder on his cock, taking him deeper inside of you and practically cling to him while he maneuvers your body the way he needs. The way you need. 

“A-are you…seriously crying?” you gasp, “Now?”

“No,” he huffs. As if to distract you, he reaches between your bodies and finds your clit with his thumb and rolls harsh, fast circles while a strong, muscled arm wraps around your waist and guides you along a rhythm that has him nudging the tip of his cock hard and blunt against the back of your walls. 

“You are,” you accuse. “Do you ever quit being a cry—” you moan and cut yourself off when his tip practically bruises the spot it presses against hard and fast, angling to meet exactly where you fall apart.

“Not a crybaby,” he argues, and his pace gets sloppy as he ruts his hips up into you. You can feel it, too—the beginnings of your second high of the night approaching you as you try to snap your hips and bounce along his length to match his pace. 

It’s going to hit you harder this time. You can tell—you can practically feel it as it comes slowly but surely, creeping up on you in a way that makes you anticipate it blindly. 

“M’close,” you pant, “m’so so close, Phai…Phainon.”

“Yeah? You are? M-me too, baby,” he groans. You clench around him at the pet name, and he has the audacity to chuckle about it, murmuring a low, “like being called that, huh? You’re so fuckin’ tight, baby—y’know that?”

“Fuck,” you whine, and with one last roll of your hips that he meets with his own thrust upwards, you fall apart while his thumb rubs its circles along your clit. 

Your orgasm comes harder than you expect it to—it’s different when he’s that deep and stretches you out so well. It’s different when he rolls his hips to continue to fuck into you to work you through your high. It’s not like other times you’ve cum on your own, and it’s not like the time he made you cum on his fingers. This is entirely different. You can feel the twitching of his cock as the thickess bullies into you, splitting you open while you fall apart on him.

He follows not long after you, the tightening of your walls around him in spasms pulling him into his own release. It’s warm—you can make out the feeling of his release through the thin barrier of plastic as he fills it with thick ropes of cum. He pants your name through a soft, breathless voice, and you slump against his chest and lay your cheek on his shoulder as you ride through the final few waves of your peak. 

When he finishes, he slumps back against the seat, chest rising and falling beneath you as he tries to catch his breath. His arms are still wrapped around you, loose and warm, like he can’t quite bring himself to let go yet.

“How was it?” he asks, voice tentative, almost shy.

“Good,” you whisper, still a little breathless. “I-it was… really good.”

“Me too,” he says with a quiet smile. You can hear it in his words. “It was really good for me, too.”

You snort. “Is that why you cried?”

He groans, burying his face against your shoulder as his arms tighten around you in protest. “No,” he grumbles, muffled. “I just… got…”

“Emotional?” you tease, the corner of your mouth twitching up.

“Yes,” he huffs, clearly flustered. “The way I feel about you…” He trails off for a second, like he’s waiting for the right words to show up. “It’s just… a lot,” he says finally, soft and vulnerable. “You make me feel a lot.”

“I know,” you say, muffled by his shirt, “I…I feel it, too.”

“Yeah?” he beams.

“Yeah,” you grin. 

(You want to tell him that night—that you love him. That you have for a while. That you know you always will. You don’t have the courage to, though, but you never bring yourself to regret it. Maybe because it almost feels like he’s always known.)

— — — — — — — — — — 

You’re twenty-three when Phainon proposes. It…doesn’t go how he wants. 

He plans it out—it’s meticulous, and sweet, and it was going to be perfect and everything he’s ever wanted and everything he knows you wanted, too. He takes you on a nice, fancy trip, and you’re by the beach where you can feel the sun kiss your skin along with the warm breeze. On the last day, he can sit and admire you as you enjoy the beach one last time happily, and when the sun gets close to setting, he’ll drag you for a walk along the shore where the tides will come and wash away your footprints as they come. And when the sky is pink and purple and orange and every other color of the sunset that reflects in your eyes, he’ll get on one knee and ask you to be his wife.

And then it rains. 

It rains hard.

You both gather your things as quickly as you can and run for the car—a fancy rental that he spent quite a pretty penny on to get for this trip, because it’s the kind you’ve always wanted to have and you’re still just barely out of college to have enough saved for it. 

You climb into the car, drenched and panting from running, and still beautiful. And he feels his world crumble all at once as he sees that dazzling smile on your face while your hand brushes your forehead and wipes away droplets of water. 

He notices your finger. Ringless. His heart bleeds, and everything around him feels like it's caving in on him, and he can’t breathe.

“My goodness,” you giggle, “who’d have thought the rain had it out for us on our last day, huh?”

He swallows thickly at that. And he tries—he tries so hard to keep on that brave face and act like it’s okay. It’s fine. He can wait and plan something else. He has time to make it better, more perfect for you. That’s what you deserve, anyway. He’ll make you smile bigger, make you want to say yes even harder. 

This is okay. He still has you. He knows you. He knows you’ll say yes. It doesn’t matter if it’s now or a little later—he still has you. 

And yet, when his face crumples and the dryness of his throat is something he realizes he’s not able to control, he understands why you’ve always called him a crybaby. Because that’s exactly what he is. He’s going to cry, and you’re going to be worried, and he’s going to have to explain why he’s upset and ruin your surprise and the most perfect moment of your life. 

“Phainon?” You freeze, noticing the beginning of tears collecting in his eyes that he tries desperately to blink away. He swallows thickly, and your hand instantly moves to cup his wet face. “Baby, what’s happened? Did you leave something? We can go back and look—it’s just some rain, I don’t mind.”

“No,” he croaks, “no, it’s not that. It’s…it’s nothing,” he forces out. 

“It’s not nothing,” you frown, “c’mon, you know I know you better than that. Acting like I don’t is almost insulting,” you nudge his ribs gently. It’s supposed to be good-natured. It’s supposed to be light-hearted and sweet, so he feels safe enough to let down his walls and tell you what’s on his mind because you love him. You do. You love him more than anything, and you make everything better, so he should just tell you.

But the thought of the words coming out feels like he’s a failure. Like he’s taken every ounce of your careful love and not given you what you deserved, even a little. But, as he’s starting to realize after years of arguing with you on it, Phainon is indeed a crybaby. And the tears tell on him faster than the words can, and he knows there’s no hiding anything from you.

So shakily, he grabs something small from his pocket, making you frown as you try to figure out what it is. He brings it closer, and your eyes widen, breath hitching. 

You know what that is. You’d be a fool not to. You’re speechless as he sniffles and looks miserably down at the velvet box that’s tiny in his large hand. 

“I…it was going to be perfect—th-the sun was supposed to set, a-and we’d go on a walk, and then when the sky was pretty I’d ask, and…and…and…” he takes a shaky breath and closes his eyes in defeat. “It was going to be perfect. For you. I had everything planned,” he croaks. 

You soften. It’s quiet. For a moment, he thinks maybe this was all a mistake. Maybe you weren’t going to say yes, and all the marriage talks of the future lately were just talks and nothing more. Maybe it was too early for all this, and those were just talks of something for the distant future. Something he’d have to wait a bit longer for. And that’s fine—he would. He’d wait for you because he always has. He’s always loved you, and he’s always waited, and it’s always been okay. In the end, he’s always had you, and that’s all he’s ever needed. 

Somehow, no matter how many years pass, Phainon stays loving you. At first, he thought it was a crush and that it would be just a phase, but it never went away. It’s just how he is, ingrained into him since he was young—he loves you, and he can’t stop. Somehow, every year, he grows and grows, and all it does is make more room for his love in that stubborn heart of his. He’s twelve, he’s sixteen, he’s eighteen, and he’s twenty-three. Every year he’s older and he changes, yet somehow, every year, it’s still always you. Even when you’re not there, it’s always your laugh he hears in the wind as it grazes his cheeks and leaves him with the ghost of you. 

Loving you comes as easily as breathing. When the air finally settles in his lungs and lets him breathe, he starts to love you even more.

It’s that simple. It always was. 

He lets out a shuddering breath and mumbles, “I-it’s okay. It was probably a bad time anyway—I got carried away. J-just forget I said anything, please. I…we can just forget—”

“Oh Phainon,” you sigh, soft and breathless, “you never change, do you, you big crybaby?”

He pouts. There are still tears clinging to his cheeks, and it only proves your point further. Still, you have enough grace not to point it out as you reach and cup his cheek to wipe away a tear gently. 

“I am not a crybaby,” he denies half-heartedly, “I was just emotional, okay? Being emotionally intelligent is important!”

You smile. It’s warm and bright, and it’s the same smile he’s known for over a decade, but it’s different, too. Every year it changes a little. The days leave their small footprints along your features and carve their paths as you age, and sometimes, he sees it all at once. How much you’ve changed. How your features are a little sharper now that you’ve grown into them. How small, barely-there lines are etching into your skin where you smile the most and by your eyes where they crinkle. You’re older. You’re still you. 

You smile, and it’s like he’s twelve again and nothing has changed, even if he’s twenty-three. 

“Ask me,” you whisper, “I’ll say yes no matter where you ask me. So quit crying and ask, you big baby.”

“What?” he gapes, still sniffling a little. 

“Ask me,” you huff, giving him a soft, impatient shove. Something about you is giddy. It’s raining outside, he’s crying yet again like he always does, while you have to deal with it, your beach day has been cut short, your surprise is ruined, and you’re drenched in the rental car that he’ll have to return tomorrow before you board your flight and go home. But still, you’re giddy. 

And Phainon is in love. It’s nothing new, but it’s different. It’s better. It’s always you. 

“Will you marry me?” he murmurs, “I know you said you didn’t want to be my friend that day, and I was a tiny bit of a crybaby only that day,” he gives you a pointed look as you roll your eyes, “and I know you said you’d move away and never come back and you didn’t need me to be your friend but we were friends anyway. And I was always happy being friends, but changing and being more was probably the best thing ever, so maybe we should just change one more time and be husband and wife, right? We’re not on the beach or under the sun, and we’re soaking wet, but will you marry me, anyway? So I don’t live up to the crybaby allegations?”

You laugh. The sun isn’t there anymore, but light still finds a way to break over your face as you laugh, and you cry, too. You cry with him, tears collecting in your own eyes as you nod frantically and whisper, “Yes, you idiot. Yes, I’ll marry you, of course I will. Is that even a question?”

“You’re crying,” he blinks back his own tears, “who’s the crybaby now?”

“Still you,” you snort. 

He grabs your hand and just like he envisioned to leave this trip, there’s a pretty little ring on your pretty little finger that catches the light and makes you look a little more different than he remembers you, but a little better than before. He didn’t meet you with a ring on your finger, but he knows you that way now. And it’s different. It’s different and it’s good.

“I love you,” he murmurs, “even though you always lie and call me a crybaby.”

“I love you, too,” you sigh exasperatedly, “even though you lie about being the damn crybaby that you are.”

(He kisses you after. Kisses you hard over the center console of the car as your fiance just like the first time he kissed you over the center console of a car as your best friend. As Phainon. As that stupid, annoying, crybaby boy you came across when he was twelve and you were still eleven and younger by only two months, one week, and four days.)

well . i don’t rly wanna talk about it so there you have it folks. do not look at me

[sere1nnes]

( ˶°ㅁ°) !! 18+ , mdni

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶ ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ I like to think that PHAINON would be super obsessed with watching his cum drip out of your hole. He’d whine as he finished, savoring the tightness of your walls for a few more seconds—before pulling out his cock, eliciting a gasp from your end. Your hole, oozing with his thick seed and throbbing in quick motions, would make his mouth part in admiration. He’d watch— and you’d feel— the sticky white release sliding between your cheeks. 

“S—Sorry, I couldn’t—“ he paused with a sharp inhale, biting his lip as he shamelessly stared at his work. “I couldn’t help it…”

Then, as you’d reassure him that he had nothing to apologize for, PHAINON would continue to gawk at your cunt, acting as if he wasn’t the one who pounded it up to that state (even he can’t believe himself sometimes (ᵕ—ᴗ—) ... ) 

Your chest heaved up and down, finally managing to catch your breath. Bit by bit, your senses were returning into place like puzzle pieces. However, his mind was still elsewhere— a place very explicit. The carnal glint in his fluttered eyes was a telltale sign. When his ejaculation started to pool on the mattress, the poor guy couldn’t take it anymore.

You’d squeak as PHAINON grabbed hold of your legs again, pulling you down his hips with a groan. Feeling that familiar hard-on against your opening, you shot him a look, in which he’d only return with a beady, pleading gaze. 

“Phai… What are you doing?”

“Um…” His tone seemed embarrassed, but his wandering hands were most certainly not. “It’s— Well— You know—“

“You’re telling me you’re hard, again?” 

He whimpered, crawling closer to fit between you and your oozing core. Closing the distance, you cried as his tip, raging red in need, teased against the wetness of your spread lips. It didn't take a lot for his dick to shoot up again, not when you looked so deliciously ruined underneath him.

“Just one more,” he begged. “Please— Just let me fill you up again one more time.”

PHAINON was a liar, but at least he was an adorable one. 

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

a/n: if this isn't a sign that I'm ovulating then idk what it is (I'm sorry to my irl friend who has to see this)

[elixara]

he bites and devours!

summary: phainon being a biter and a beast when making out

note: i would like to thank the bl making out scenes i keep seeing for this idea. i need bl recommendations at this point. this is short im so sorry. uni life really kept me busy.

phainon is definitely a biter. he bites you either out of nowhere or during sex. the two of you would be cuddling in bed or on the couch and he decides to sink his teeth on the curve of your neck, making you yelp in surprise. before you could even scold him, he already has you underneath him, both your hands pinned by one of his above your head, and phainon dives into his meal (you). you can't even wiggle your way out to escape. your lover is way stronger than you and is very capable of pinning you underneath him.

you're barely aware of what's happening now except for the fact that phainon is straddling your body, your hands pinned at your sides, and your lips preoccupied with his. you want him to stop just so you could catch your breath. the moment you part your lips to attempt to breathe, phainon takes that chance to insert his tongue into your mouth, devouring you like a starved beast. the sounds of phainon’s groans mixed with your little gasps and whimpers echoes throughout the room.

by the time he's done sucking and biting your lips, he continues his work on to the lines of your jaw, your neck, your shoulders, and everywhere his mouth can reach. the way you whine his name into his ear just fuels him to continue marking you — just so he can hear more of your noises you make just for him.