So i was thinking and realized that in terms of the actual lore, the Clan seems to be an all boys institution. While this can easily be ignored in the name of AU’s, you could also go the cross dressing direction(I’ve yet to know the proper term)
In other words, if you have the time, could you please do a story about Angelico x a cross dressing reader who is pretending to be a male to join the Clan?
Perhaps said reader would be a vampire? It just seems that to be human/dhampire and cross dressing at the same time seems to be quite a lot.
(Yet again, apologies for strange grammar and spelling I have just woken up. Also just saw your recent fics and just want to tell you that I adore them. Can’t believe it but you’re officially the reason i’m playing lies of p haha)
Stay safe and healthy!
-🪩
Hello 🪩! How was Your trip? I hope it was good and that You had fun!
As for Your ask i remember a pannel where teacher Michelangelo says they prepare both boys and girls for the Big world or Something like this
But yes, i haven't seen any girl in the manga, so yes, IT is very debatable If there is an only Men policy in the clan or not
Hope You enjoy!
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You didn’t plan to stand out. Not really.
All you wanted was to learn. To see the inside of the clan. To understand how far your sword could take you. But you had to become him to do it—a calm, silent student with bound chest, lowered gaze, and zero tolerance for failure. A new given name. A mask.
And that he was winning.
Especially today.
You saw it in Angelico’s eyes when your blade slipped under his guard and tapped his ribs—clean hit. He stumbled a step back, his painted jaw clenched. The crowd, the clan, the others—they murmured, a rare loss for their prodigy.
You bowed. Respectfully. Silently.
But even as you left the training ring, you felt his eyes. Watching. Burning.
You didn’t expect him to follow you.
The locker room was silent when you stepped in. Everyone had left. You unwound your tunic, then the heavy bindings—one layer, then another. Your ribs ached. Your lungs welcomed the cold air as the wraps fell away. You stretched, finally free.
Then—you heard it.
A shift in the air. A presence behind you.
You froze.
Slowly, you turned, and there he was: Angelico. Arms crossed. Hair slightly messy, his green eyes narrowed, mouth a line of pure ego wrapped around confusion and something... sharper.
He saw you.
Saw you.
And before you could speak—before you could grab your tunic—voices echoed in the hall.
“Angelico!” Hoyle’s voice, light and then followed a shushed teasing meant for the rest of the club to hear and not him. “You still in there? Don’t mope just ‘cause the new guy beat you!”
Your heart skipped.
You moved—instinct, survival, shame—but Angelico was faster. He crossed the room, his coat slipping from his shoulders in one fluid movement. He wrapped it around you, warm and heavy, then pulled you against his chest, back to front, shielding you completely as the door creaked.
“Just a moment,” he called smoothly, one arm slung low over your waist. “Reflecting. On defeat.”
“You?” Fred laughed. “Can’t imagine your ego allows that.”
"how dare You peasent"
He looked like he would rip off Fred's head, but maybe not now, not when he was finally close enough to feel a scent of Your natural smell. He only stood there with you held close, fingers splayed possessively. The door shut. Silence again.
Your breath trembled. His didn’t.
He stayed close. Too close. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension beneath his painted skin.
“You lied,” he murmured. “You wore that mask well.”
You said nothing.
“You beat me,” he added, a bite of pride still caught in his voice. “Fair. But that wasn’t what made me angry.”
You tilted your head slightly, barely glancing over your shoulder.
He leaned in, breath tickling your ear.
“It was the fact you weren’t even fighting seriously,” he said, voice low, accusing. “That I lost to someone hiding half of themself.”
You turned slowly in his grasp, pulling his coat tighter around your chest. “And yet here you are. Not calling the guard. Not screaming fraud.”
He smirked faintly, golden eyes dragging over your face. “If I did, I’d lose my only worthy rival.”
You blinked. Your throat felt dry.
His fingers tightened slightly at your waist.
“This stays between us,” he said firmly. “Let them think what they will. But I know now. And that makes you mine to watch.”
“To protect?” you asked dryly.
He smiled sharper this time. “To defeat.”
You scoffed, turning your face away—but your pulse fluttered when he didn’t let go.
And even when you stepped back, he watched you with new eyes. Curious. Possessive. Dangerous.
It was the beginning of a new kind of duel.
Not just blade against blade.
But secret against secret. Fire against fire.
And Angelico? Angelico always played to win.
.
.
.
It started with little things.
A shoulder nudged between you and curious eyes. A gloved hand reaching into your satchel mid-meal and subtly tucking your binder further in before anyone noticed. A spare jacket left on your locker bench—his jacket, unmistakably tailored and dyed in clan colors—with a note folded in the collar:
"Keep the illusion tidy. You're slipping, little liar."
—A.
You rolled your eyes every time.
But your fingers still lingered on the soft fabric before putting it on.
Angelico never said anything outright. Not about your identity. Not in front of others. But he didn’t need to.
He watched you constantly.
When you trained, his gaze was a blade against your spine. When you sparred, his critiques were cruelly precise—almost like he was forcing you to grow sharper so no one else could cut you first.
And when Hoyle once commented about how you were “kinda delicate for a guy,” Angelico stepped in so fast it startled everyone.
“He’s faster than any of you,” Angelico said, eyes gleaming like gold behind shadowed lashes. “Delicate? Maybe. But that doesn’t matter when you’re eating dirt from his footwork.”
He said it loud enough that it echoed in the ring.
You gave him a look.
He smirked. “What? I’m allowed to praise my favorite rival.”
Later that night, he found you perched on the edge of the tower overlooking the lower village, one leg bent, the other dangling.
“You’re being obvious,” you said, folding your arms.
“Me? Never.” He didn’t even glance at you, just tilted his head toward the view. “But if your little act gets blown, don’t expect me to swoop in like some lovesick fool. I’m just helping to preserve a worthy opponent.”
He stepped beside you, cloak pulled tight, jaw tight. “And yet, you’ve been doing a lot of swooping lately.”
His grin was all teeth and challenge. “I just don’t like sharing things I’ve claimed. Is that a crime?”
You narrowed your eyes.
“And you’ve claimed me?”
He hummed, finally meeting your gaze. “I claimed the secret. The mask. The truth.” Then, lower: “And maybe the person under it, too. But you’ll deny that before I do.”
You felt Something.
The kind you weren’t supposed to feel here.
The kind that made your throat dry and your mind spin every time he passed behind you, every time his gloved hand lingered on your arm a second longer than needed.
Around others, he was still Angelico: the golden heir, sharp-tongued and flawless, arrogant enough to command gods.
But with you?
With you, he smirked softer. Stood closer. Watched longer.
He didn’t say it aloud, but it was there—in every quiet moment.
He was protecting your secret.
Because it was his secret now, too.
And Angelico never gave up what he considered his.
