Hi(≧▽≦)! Could i request Angelico Fra with a Magical Girl reader?🥲 (This request is heavily based on Madoka Magica so it's gonna be a dark??) Let's say she got transferred in this school despite being human because she has actual magic. And could even regenerate from heavy injuries, because of the very item called 'Soul Gem' but the thing is..she ends up dying because her soul gem shattered after some too-curious idiot toyed around with her soul gem. (Soul gems grant immense power but when it shatters, it's owner dies immediately)
Hello hello!
Sorry for the long wait You can thank my friend for not letting me give up on this account and urging me to write. Șo everyone say thank You @veronuc!
Please enjoy!
I certainly did writting this sweet angst
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Angelico Fra had never trusted her.
From the moment the human girl transferred into the Clan—walking its ancient halls with that small, unnatural gem glinting at her hand—something inside him recoiled. Humans did not belong here. Humans were fleeting. Soft. Breakable. They were guests in a world built for predators.
And yet she stood among them with magic.
Not vampiric magic. Not demonic. Something else.It offended him.
He watched her at first out of suspicion. He asked the Pureblood Club quietly what they knew. He listened to rumors. He studied the way she fought, the way she moved, the way she healed. When her body regenerated from injuries that should have killed her, when broken bones knit and torn flesh sealed under the eerie glow of that Soul Gem, he felt a flicker of something he refused to name.
It wasn’t awe. It wasn’t concern. It was irritation. Because she was human—and yet she endured like something more.
He told himself his staring was tactical. His questions were necessary. His proximity accidental. But irritation turned into reluctant fascination. Fascination into restless attention. And attention into something that kept him awake long past sunrise.
She was tired more often than she admitted. He noticed the faint tremble in her fingers when she polished the gem. He noticed how she touched it absentmindedly, as if reassuring herself it was still there. He noticed the way she looked at him sometimes, like she knew he was circling her with more than suspicion.
That knowledge unsettled him.
Then the cocoon period symptoms began. It was normal among vampires, yes, especially at clan. But for him, the mighty heir of Fra, IT was unacceptable. A regression of control as instincts attempted to devour reason. It could last hours. Days.
He did not tell anyone when the first signs appeared. Shame and knowing it was normal for his age stopped him. A shadow that moved wrong in the corner of his vision.A scent of rot where there was none.A low hum in his ears that made his thoughts sluggish and sharp at the same time.
He thought he could master it. He was Angelico Fra. He mastered everything.
Until the day he saw the creature.
It happened in an empty classroom near dusk. The light through the stained glass painted the walls in red and gold, and she was there—organizing papers, humming softly to herself. She looked ordinary. Mortal. Small.
And then the air shifted.
The hum in his ears intensified, swelling into a roar. The shadows in the room thickened, stretching along the walls like living veins. Behind her, something began to form—something wrong. A towering mass of limbs and teeth and hollow eyes, its body stitched from darkness itself. It loomed over her, bending down as if to claim her.
His vision sharpened to a predatory edge.He could smell it—decay and malice and hunger.
“Get away from it,” he ordered sharply.
She turned, confused. “Angelico?”
The creature’s head twisted unnaturally, its jaw splitting open in a silent scream. It reached toward her.
He did not think. He just moved.The world narrowed to a single objective: destroy the threat. He lunged forward with violent force, striking at the monster’s core—at the pulsing light he saw within its chest. His hand connected with something solid.
There was a sharp, crystalline crack.
The hallucination shattered.
The classroom snapped back into clarity.
There was no monster.
No writhing shadow.
Only her.
Standing too close.
Looking at him in stunned confusion.
And at his feet—
Her Soul Gem.
Broken cleanly in pieces, some still in his hand and some on the floor.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then her body swayed.
“Angelico…?” she breathed, as if asking a question she already feared the answer to.
The light inside the gem flickered weakly.
His mind refused to connect what he was seeing. No. No, that was not possible. She stumbled forward and collapsed into his arms. He caught her automatically, staring past her shoulder at the fractured crystal on the floor. The glow dimmed further, draining like a dying star.
“You regenerate,” he said, his voice low and commanding, as if issuing an order to the universe itself. “Do it.”
Her fingers twitched weakly against his sleeve.
The gem made a small, final sound.
A splintering snap and the light went out. Her body went limp.
Angelico froze.
Vampires did not panic. They did not unravel. They did not lose control.
He gently lowered her to the floor, his movements mechanical, precise, as if careful handling would undo what had happened. He picked up the broken pieces of the Soul Gem with hands that were suddenly unsteady. The edges cut into his skin, but he didn’t feel it.
He pressed the shards together.
“Fix yourself,” he whispered.
Nothing happened.
He adjusted the angle, aligning the cracks as perfectly as possible.
“You heal from worse. You’ve done worse.”
Silence.
He looked at her.
She was too still. Too pale and Her chest did not rise.
He leaned closer, searching for the faintest sign of breath, of warmth. He pressed his hand against her cheek.
Cold.
Not cooling.
Cold.
The understanding crept in slowly, mercilessly.The gem was not a tool.
It was her soul.
And he had shattered it.
His breathing became uneven. His mind replayed the moment in brutal clarity—the creature, the strike, the sound. His strike.
He had not saved her.
He had killed her.
“No,” he said softly, as if disagreement could rewrite reality.
He gathered the broken pieces again, more frantically now, trying to force them together with trembling fingers. “You don’t get to stop. You don’t get to—”
His voice shook.
He looked back at her face, willing it to move. Willing her eyelids to flutter. Willing anything.
Nothing.
The classroom felt too large. Too empty.He pressed his forehead against hers, his composure finally cracking completely.
“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered, and it sounded small. Childish. Helpless.
The hum in his ears was gone. The hallucination was gone.
Only the consequence remained.
His hands shook violently now as he tried once more to fit the shards together, as if persistence alone could reverse death. Blood from his cut palm smeared across the crystal, staining it red.
“Please,” he breathed.The word tasted foreign in his mouth.
He had never begged in his life.
He looked around the empty classroom, panic rising at last—true, unfiltered panic.
“Help!” His voice broke on the first shout.
He tightened his grip around her, pulling her against his chest as if warmth could return by proximity.
“Someone—please!”
The sound that tore from him next was not dignified. It was not noble.
It was a child’s cry.
“Help her! Please! I didn’t mean to—please i need help!”
Footsteps echoed distantly in the corridor.
He clutched her tighter, rocking slightly without realizing it, still pressing the broken gem together with one bloodied hand while staring at her face, searching for any sign of life.
Anything.
A twitch.
A breath.
A miracle.
But she remained cold in his arms.
And Angelico Fra—proud, controlled, untouchable—sat on the classroom floor, begging the world to give her back. He shook, he cried he watched, he promised. But nothing could erase what he had done, what had happend.
When the teachers came alarmed by his crying and begging they found them, her down, the heir of house Fra crying like a child trying to explain. Michelangelo was the one to kneel and check for a pulse.
Angelico watched her face like a hawk, the way they reacted, the way they took her from his arms, and his hands bloody and shaking.
That was the last time he saw her, his last act to the human that plagued his mind before and now plagues his whole self. He was called along his father where he was told everything was taken care of, arranged, nothing to frame on him, such an important heir.
He swallowed, shaking. Yes, him, the pure blood vampire, nit facing anything, not a slap, nothing, just people cleaning a life and hiding it away. Her life.
He never quite recovered. Resigned from the pureblood club, from everything. Everyone talked about the human that was finally gone and only he mourned like a dog. He killed, and that guilt would never purify him.
And after all that... He never quite felt love again, not even for himself.
His halucinations had gone worse, to the point control was Impossible, he Heard voices screaming at him, blaming him, cursing him, but he did not care, did not dare to look, because he saw her there, in his mind. Cold and gone, the way She fell, the way he was the reason.
But one day, he saw her happy, a halucination of her humming. His eyes widdened, following her through the whole school, trying to grasp her, at least once, beg for forgivness, beg her to take her revenge for the unjustice of him having no punishment.
He didn't care when She got higher and higher, not as the wind started hitting his face, and not as he started falling.
The guilt will die with him, he thought. Justice will be made and he won't run out of time with her ever again.
