Summary: Silver hears you say that you miss a holiday from your world.
Content: Fem!Reader/MC, fluffy, cuteness teeth rot, Silver having a crush on the reader, somewhere after book 7, comfort, soft humor, Lilia being Lilia.
Note(s): It was more than two weeks of inactivity đ I'm sorry guys đ dividers from here.
Comments and reblogs are very welcome âĄ
The sound of quills scratching on parchment and the occasional crackle of small magical explosions filled the spacious room. It was an unusual joint class, freshmen with upperclassmen. [Name] was relieved to have been assigned to work with Silver instead of any oppressive and frightening third year.
Grim was stretched out on the table next to [Name], his chin resting on his paws and his tail wagging impatiently from side to side.
"Nyaaah⊠this should have been over a long time ago!" he grumbled, glancing sideways at the wall clock.
Silver, on the other side of the table, with calm movements adjusted the parchment, pointing to a misplaced rune.
"If we invert this symbol with the conduction symbol, the flow becomes stable," he said in his serene tone. "Otherwise, it's going to bounce back."
[Name] nodded automatically, copying the instructions, but her mind was no longer there.
Professor Crewel walked between the desks, his expensive shoes echoing across the floor, assessing each group with a critical eye. The strong smell of alchemical products mingled with the cold air that streamed in through the windows, because it was winter.
Then she saw it. There was a calendar hanging there, right next to the clock that Grim was staring at impatiently.
One week. One week until Christmas.
The weight of that realization fell upon her chest like a silent avalanche. Until then, she had been going about her business on autopilot. Solving problems, helping colleagues, surviving in Twisted Wonderland day after day.
Christmas didn't exist there. No one talked about it. She'd known this for a while, but it only really sunk in now.
The memories came unbidden. The decorations, the decorated tree, the stories, the twinkling lights, the food. Familiar hands adjusting her scarf, a feeling of belonging so natural she had never stopped to think about how much it meant.
She tried to swallow, but her throat tightened.
All the effort she had been making to stay strong, to be useful even without magic, to not overthink how she had gotten there, it all cracked at once.
A drop fell onto the notebook. Then another. And another.
"âŠPrefect?" Silver called softly, first confused, then slightly shocked. She tried to answer, tried to say that everything was alright, but when she raised her face, the tears were already flowing freely, hot and silent, blurring her vision. Her shoulders began to tremble, despite all her efforts to contain herself.
Grimâs eyes widened. "What was that just now?!" he jumped forward, alarmed. "Are you crying?! Did someone do something?!"
Some nearby students began to look, whispering. Silver stood up immediately, subtly placing himself between [Name] and the curious stares.
"Professor Crewel," he said, drawing attention, "My partner isnât feeling well. Permission to take her out?"
Crewel turned, an eyebrow arching as he noticed [Name]âs condition. His gaze softened minutes before he sighed. "Yes, of course. Take her to the corridor, Silver. Give her some water."
The hallway was cool and silent, broken only by the distant sound of classes happening behind closed doors. Silver fanned the air carefully, using a sheet. With his other hand, he held a glass of water, offering it whenever he noticed her breath faltering again.
[Name] accepted the glass with still trembling hands, taking small sips. Grim had settled into her lap without asking permission, his warm, familiar little body emitting a soft purr that vibrated against her.
Silver didnât ask questions. He didnât insist. He just stayed there. He was so sweet...
She took a deep breath. One⊠Two⊠Three⊠The knot in her chest finally loosened enough to allow sound.
"Itâs⊠an important date⊠where I come from..." she began, her voice still hoarse. "When people⊠get together. Family, friends. Even those who fight all year try to stay together."
Silver tilted his head slightly, attentive to each word.
"There⊠were always lights," she continued, looking at the floor. "Too much food. I never thought Iâd miss it so much⊠because it seemed like something guaranteed."
Grim opened one eye, his purring slowing for a moment.
"And now itâs not," she murmured. "I donât even know if theyâre okay. I-If they even remember me..."
The silence that followed wasnât heavy.
Silver closed the makeshift fan made and set it aside. He thought for a few seconds, choosing his words carefully.
"I remember almost nothing about my biological family," he finally said. "But I know that⊠missing something that was important doesnât disappear just because the world around you doesnât recognize it. Even if no one else celebratesâŠ" Silver continued, "that doesnât mean the day has lost its value. It just means itâs⊠waiting for new memories."
Grim sniffed. "Pff... If itâs an important day for you, then itâs not fair to pretend it doesnât exist." he shifted in her lap, crossing his paws. "We may not know how to do it the right way⊠but we can try, right?"
[Name] felt an unexpected warmth spread through her chest. It didnât erase the longing. It didnât solve the distance. But it made everything less painful. "Thank youâŠ" she said softly, running her hand through Grim's hair. "Really."
Silver smiled, small, soft. "If you'd likeâŠ" he added, "you could tell me more about what that day was like. I'd love to hear it."
She really didn't know when she'd lost control of the situation.
One moment she was in the Ramshackle trying to fix a window while Grim dozed off in front the fireplace. The next, Lilia had simply appeared in the middle of the room â literally upside down â Silver right behind him, far too serious for someone who was clearly part of the conspiracy.
They bundled her and Grim up, and now there she was, being pulled by the hand through the fallen snow, the ground creaking under her boots. "Where are we goâ"
"Aaah, just walking in the snow!" Lilia interrupted. "Donât you find it relaxing, prefect~?"
She stared at him, confused, trying to keep up without stumbling. Grim huffed loudly. "Itâs not relaxing at all! Itâs freezing out here!"
Silver gave Grim an appraising look, adjusting his scarf with surprising care. "The coat we gave you should be enough to keep you warm."
"Even so!" Grim grumbled, shivering even more.
Lilia put a finger to his chin, pretending to think about something. "Mmm, but one thing is true, itâs really coldâŠ"
He stopped walking suddenly. [Name] almost bumped into him. Before she could ask anything, Lilia jumped and enveloped her in a tight, frontal hug, his face practically pressed against hers. "You donât mind if I warm up with you, do you, [Name]~?"
"Uh-?!" she let out a squeak sound, her face immediately too hot for the weather. "Myah!" Grim complained again, this time about the sudden tightening.
Behind them, Silver froze. Literally for a full second.
His gaze darted away for a split second. His ears flushed slightly. "FatherâŠ" he murmured, clearly tense.
Lilia smiled even wider, his eyes half-closed in pure provocation. "Oh? Is there a problem~?"
"... No." Silver breathed.
Lilia let go of her after a few steps, satisfied, but remained very close even so. The forest grew denser as they advanced. Tall trees formed a natural arch over the path. The silence there was different from the campus, deep, almost reverent.
Then, little by little, something changed. A warm glow appeared ahead. [Name] slowed her pace without realizing it, her eyes widening. Between the trees, a clearing opened⊠revealing a small frozen pond, its smooth surface reflecting dozens â no, hundreds of floating lights.
In the center of the pond stood a tree. A Christmas tree. Tall, majestic, its branches laden reflecting in the water like living constellations.
[Name] was speechless.
"Ta-da!" Lilia opened his arms excited and proudly. "What do you think?"
She brought a hand to her mouth, feeling her eyes burn again, but this time it wasnât just sadness. "HowâŠ?" was all she could manage to say.
"It was a joint effort," Silver explained, walking to her side. His gaze was softer than ever. "Sebek helped keep the structure stable, and Lord Malleusâs power made it easier⊠to lift everything without damaging the forest."
As if summoned by name, a powerful and serene presence still seemed to echo in the air, traces of green magic sustaining the lights suspended around the lagoon.
"He really wanted to be here too, but he had some very important things to take care of in Briar Valley this week!" Lilia said, smiling. "Then he told me to tell you that this was his 'Christmas present' to you."
"Itâs probably not exactly like in your world,â Silver continued, a little hesitant. "But⊠we wanted you to have something you recognized. Based on what you told me."
Grim was quiet. Strangely quiet. "âŠitâs beautiful" he murmured without realizing it before correcting himself. "I mean, not that I care about those things or anything like that!"
Lilia was watching [Name] intently now, without provocation, without teasing. Just that old, wise smile. "Traditions only exist because someone decided they mattered," he said, soft. "And if Christmas matters to you⊠then it can be little of it here too."
The tears finally fell, warm contrasting with the cold air. But this time, [Name] didn't try to hide them. She took one step forward, then another, to the edge of the frozen pond, where the lights danced, reflected on the smooth surface like stars trapped beneath the ice. For a momentn the pain of being so far from home wasn't so great.
They sat there, near the tree, on a thick blanket that Lilia had spread out with exaggerated flourish. The lights cast soft shadows on their faces, and the silence was comfortable, filled only by the distant crackle of the magic supporting the decorations.
"Now, nowâŠ" Lilia clapped. "Gift exchange!"
[Name] blinked, surprised. "GiftsâŠ? You didnât need toâ"
"We did," Silver said quickly. He cleared his throat, a little embarrassed for interrupting her like that, and held out a carefully folded package wrapped in plain paper, but tied securely with a silver ribbon. "Itâs⊠for you."
She took it carefully, almost afraid of tearing the paper. When she opened it, her eyes widened. Books. Not just any books, but exactly the ones sheâd mentioned in passing during casual conversations and said she finding interesting.
"SilverâŠ" her voice faltered.
"You did mention it," he said simply. "I⊠thought youâd like to have them." his cheeks took on a slight, almost imperceptible pink hue.
She held the books against her chest for a moment, as if to make sure they were real. "I loved them," she said sincerely. "Thank you..."
"Nyaaah! And mine?!" Grim interjected, craning his neck.
Lilia chuckled. He pulled a gleaming tin from inside his coat and solemnly placed it in Grimâs paws. "For you, Grim."
The direbeast looked at the tin. He blinked. He looked again. "âŠTunaaaa!"
"Itâs good stuff!" Lilia added. "Imported."
Grim clutched the tin to his chest and began to whimper loudly, tears welling in his eyes. "I⊠I never get things like this!" he sniffled.
Among the packages, there was something else different: an elegant envelope, resting discreetly to the side. [Name] picked it up carefully. "This�" she asked.
"Ah," Lilia smiled slightly. "This isnât mine."
She recognized the seal immediately. "MalleusâŠ"
She opened the letter. The handwriting was impeccable, just as you would imagine coming from a prince.
âChild of Man, I have been informed that this date holds great significance for you, even though there is no equivalent tradition in our world. I regret not being able to be present, but I want you to know that your presence at Night Raven College and in Diasomnia does not go unnoticed. May this night be illuminated, even in strange lands, and may you not feel alone.â â M. D.
She had to blink a few times to finish reading. Inside the envelope was also a small note folded rigidly, almost aggressively. The handwriting was different, but just as unmistakable.
âHUMAN! IF YOU BELIEVE THERE'S A TRADITION IN YOUR WORLD THAT SHOULDN'T BE FORGOTTEN, HONOR IT!â â SEBEK ZIGVOLT.
A small smile escaped [Name]'s lips, almost a choked laugh.
She lowered the cards and looked around. at the illuminated tree, at Grim hugging his can of tuna like a treasure, at Silver observing everything with a tranquil gaze, and at Lilia, who stared at her with that same smile of always, but almost paternally proud.
"...Thank you," she said, her voice low but firm. "All of you."
Lilia inclined his head. "Merry Christmas, then~" he said, at same time testing the word curiously.
Ace and Deuce somehow found out about it, and the next day, she received more gifts and more mentions of Christmas from her close friends. Well, she wasn't going to complain.
The elderly people at your apartment complex are interested in him.
It was late at night when you and Xavier finally returned with the smuggled protocores. It was raining heavily when you left the hotel with Xavier.
You were wearing a black dress and high heels, Xavier was wearing a simple black suit to match with you. he's not a fan of formal clothes, which is why his suit was disheveled. he loosened his tie and opened the first three buttons of his shirt, giving you a clear view of his chest.
When Xavier saw the heavy rain he took off his jacket. you were engrossed by the sight of him because he looked really handsome. You didn't even notice that he was giving you his jacket. Seeing that you weren't taking it, he went behind you to put it so you wouldn't get cold. âwhat?! Xavier you will get cold.â he chuckled softly at your concern before standing in front of you. ânot if we run fast enough.â
Before you could get the meaning of his words, he immediately carried you princess style, one hand under your thighs and the other is at your shoulder.
He gave you a small smile before he started running under the rain.
It was a fun feeling making you giggle as you held onto him for dear life.
âyou know you could just teleport?â you said loudly, while laughing. he laughed with you âbut that wouldn't be fun, would it?â
The whole time he was running until he was standing in front of the building, you would have never expected to have so much fun by being carried in the rain. not only was it romantic but also refreshing.
âyou can let go of me nowâ you said while giving him a kiss on the lips. he didn't show any sign of letting you go, though, because he continued walking inside the building.
Xavier was disappointed that your kiss was so short but sadly for him, before he could kiss you properly, He was interrupted.
An old voice spoke âoh? It's you two!, what are you doing this late? You youngsters should sleep early, back in my day 8 pm was-â the old man interrupted her rumbling âmy dear, I'm sure no one cares about the old days. It looks like they were on a date like us but went back because of the rainâ
âthat's rightâ Xavier agreed immediately with no hesitation. you could see how he's glowing because your old neighbor was assuming you were on a date.
You didn't even know what to be embarrassed about, the fact that Xavier isn't letting go of you even in front of elderly people? Or about how he has no problem talking about dates and relationships with them.
âyou both are always together, when i was your age, everyday i was with a different woman,â his tone was fond while reminiscing about his glories days before his wife started hitting him on the head â Ow, ow! it's all of course stopped when i found my one and only!! But it looks like you already found her, so you both better take care of herâ the man was trying to salvage the situation before it's too late.
The sound of the elevator opening helped you to end this embarrassing conversation.
âthe elevator is here, won't you youngsters get in with us?â the old lady asked. âthank you, but we will be using the stairs. have a good nightâ Xavier was so polite and unphased even after everything that was said.
âhow come that you don't look embarrassed?â you asked in disbelief.
âwell, it's not like they said anything wrong? You are my one and only after allâ he said, giving you a kiss that made you melt in it forgetting all about your embarrassment.
Zayne is used to schedule takeouts to your apartment. he knows that when you finish your missions late at night you won't eat and instead will go sleep.
That's why he makes it his mission to always feed you even when he's not with you.
also the idea of you smiling when seeing the food and knowing it's from him, makes him happy. of course, there are times when he finish his shift early, just like today, so he decided to call you.
It was always easy to find your number in his contacts, because he made sure to put your number in favorites along with his parents phone numbers.
When he called you, the first ring didn't even get to finish because you immediately answered his call.
âzayne? Are you resting between surgeries?-â he can hear the gun shots in the back because it was loud but even so, it couldn't hide your happy tone he basically can imagine your smile which made him smile just thinking about it.
âdid you just answer in the middle of your mission?, i'll call you later.â before he could end the call, your rushed tone interrupted him âwhat?! No! I just finished the mission i promise!â
âi just finished my shift, so i was calling to ask if you wanted me to drive you home? But it looks like i already got my answer.â
âwow you finished your shift before me? It must have been a slow day,â he hummed at you while already walking to his car, getting it ready to leave the hospital while you continued âi still have one last mission, soo if you want we can both meet at my apartment?â
âokay i can do that, but please make sure stay safeâ after he said his goodbyes it was the time for his mission to begin, he needs to go and get the groceries and cook for you a warm meal all before you get home.
However zayne didn't expect to have any obstacles, it was supposed to be simple mission.
First, get the groceries. Second, cook for your beloved and the mission rewards would be kisses of course. So why is there two old ladies talking his ear off in front of your apartment complex?.
âwhat a handsome young man, are you single?â one of them said while eyeing him with interest, and before he could say anything the other lady answered for him âi have never seen him here so he must be visiting a family memberâ they were debating over him.... It's not his first time being surrounded by old ladies who are always interested for some reason in his love life, it's just that every time it happens he feels awkward and overwhelmed.
And this moment specifically makes him feel like he's being tortured by some god who hates him. Because those nice old ladies are your neighbors so he doesn't want to put any bad impression on them.
Zayne cleared his throat before interrupting them âI'm indeed here to visit my lover.â he could see their expression changing into disappointment after hearing that he's not single. âyour lover? it must be miss hunterâ the lady said while looking at her friend âthe girl next door? She's such a nice person, i feel so bad for her she always gets home late because of her job, protecting the city isn't something easyâ
âi agree! But good for her that she found a soon-to-be househusband who can help her distress from her hard workâ this sure was top ten most embarrassing conversations for zayne, it would be in number one if you were here, but for his luck no god would hate him that much-
âzayne!â you ran from behind him, with a big smile on your face.
âmiss hunter, we were just talking about you!. However I must say you have an amazing taste in menâ your neighbors compliment made you smile proudly. âyou must be tired so we will leave you to rest.â after finally departing with your neighbors.
Zayne was completely silent while you were putting in your apartment passcode.
âi will cook dinnerâ he said while looking so stiff as if it's his first time in your home. âa househusband huhâ you said with mischievous smile.
âso you were listening all along and didn't even think about helping me?â
âi enjoy watching my boyfriend suffer, but i promise i will make it to youâ
âit won't be that easy, you will have to work for it, so while showering you better think of a way to make it up for meâ
âhow about kisses for my soon to be husband?â
âjust kisses?, doesn't my wife think i deserve more than that?.â
Auntie talia was visiting linkon city for a while, which is why you decide to invite her and rafayel to your humble apartment, she was very excited.
That's why you're currently basing back and forth while trying to make everything perfect. Even if you knew aunt talia it was still important to take this serious and put some effort by cleaning and cooking the best food, if only rafayel was here to help you with the cooking but he insisted on giving her a ride. Which reminds you that they should have arrived here awhile ago.
Did something happen in their way here?. You decide to call rafayel so you could make sure that everything is okay.
But before you could even call him. your phone started ringing and the caller was rafayel so you immediately answered, however you didn't know what did you expect but it's surely not rafayel screaming for help. âcutie if you're hearing me please send help immediately!, it might be the last time we talk to each other...â
ârafayel calm down where are you? And where's auntie talia? Did something happen!â you tried to hear what's happening around him because you could hear some noises in the background. âwe're in the first floor.... How many years has it been already?âand the call ended. it looks like rafayel was going insane. wait, in the first floor?! They're here!.
You decide to wear your shoes and go see what's happening in the first floor.
â-right? They're perfect together!â when you descended down the stairs you managed to hear voices getting louder and louder.
And what did you find? Aunt talia standing in front of your old neighbor while showing her something in her phone. âand this picture was in their first new year celebration together!!â talia looked so happy while showing pictures to the old lady while you can see rafayel hiding his face in his hands but talia was just ignoring him.
You didn't know if you even wanted to interfere, you're a law abiding citizen surely it will be better to just mind your own business and go back- âah look who decided to comeâ it was rafayel's smug voice sounding all proud that he throw you under the bus. âthere you are, we were just talking about youâ aunt talia took you by the shoulder and shoved you beside rafayel, before she continues talking âwhat were we saying? Ah! Right. It doesn't look like they will get married any time soon, i really wish to see my grandchildren before i die.â
âstop acting like you're on your death bed!â she ignored rafayel's sassy voice and made a sad face to the old lady.
âi truly wish them all the best, sometimes late marriage might be the cause of an evil eye so make sure to always use salt and throw it at their doorstepâ aunt talia looked really interested in hearing supernatural nonsense. âthank you, i will make sure to invite you to the wedding.â she said all gracefully returning back to her normal self.
After finally saying your goodbyes and leaving to go back to your apartment, it was filled with awkward silence, until you entered your home.
âi can't believe you two were late because of that, i thought something happened in the way hereâ you said with disbelief shaking your head in embarrassment. âyou know what? She's right! There must be an evil eye who is stopping us from being togetherâ rafayel was quite serious, just the same expression as talia....
âwhat..?â
âisn't it about time we take our relationship to another level? It's not like i have anyone in my life expect you. And you don't have anyone in your life do you?â he looked at you with half lided eyes. Before he turned his back to you and left without hearing your answer.
âwhere do you keep your salt?!â rafayel said loudly from the kitchen, and before you could answer him someone answered âit's here with me! Come help me cleanse the place.â really....?.
It wasn't sylus first time meeting the old people at your apartment complex.
One time when he was visiting you, the elders were hanging out together at the garden when they saw him enter. All of them got suspicious of him until they took his face in and immediately their behavior changed.
âah! It's skye the one miss hunter keeps talking aboutâ when he heard that he immediately smirked feeling proud that you talk so much about him that from one close look they knew who he was.
So he made it his mission to always visit you on weekends even if it ruins his sleep schedule. Just so he could learn more about your world and feel involved in it.
And this time he made sure to give all of them cars as a gift for their hospitality.
He need to make sure that everyone knows that he's a great rich partner, which is why he's currently standing with them and trying to be nonchalant to their praises.
âoh my, you can even cook? She's a lucky girl for sureâ the old lady was shamelessly checking him out, obviously hoping for someone like him for her daughter.
âi would argue that I'm the lucky oneâ he smoothly countered.
Even if he didn't say it out loud, he enjoyed the praises even if it made him feel a little shy but it makes him happy that other people see him worthy of you.
âyou seem like you're financially stable, when are you taking the next step? Young people like you think they have all the time in the world, But who knows. One day you will wake up and realize that you have lost everything.â yeah. Why is that old lady manipulating him into marrying you? It's not like he's complaining or anything. He's just weirded out by the elderly people in linkon, that's why the old people in n109 zone are superior.
Before he could even answer her. He felt your presence nearby and when he looked behind him there you were walking with groceries im your hand. He immediately went to you so he could take all the bags from your hand and you looked surprised to see him. âsylus? What are you doing here?â you asked while giving him all the grocery before looking behind him and seeing your neighbors pretending to not look at you, while they're clearly looking.
âis it illegal now to visit my one and only princess?â he tilted his head at you looking all stupid and cute. âi didn't say that. I'm just surprised to see you here at this hour, so let's go inside, i bet you didn't sleep at allâ you warped your hand around his arm before hearing your neighbors cooing and whispering about you?.
You looked at them âdon't mind us. We're just happy that you managed to find a caring family member like himâ they sure are noisy, you thought to yourself before you pulled sylus to the building trying to hide your red face.
You could hear sylus loud laugh âgetting all shy now?â his smug evil voice was making you even more embarrassed. âwhat were you talking about? It's not like you to have a conversation with random people in the morningâ you tried to shift the focus to him. âwell they aren't any random people, are they?-â sylus looked at you with a soft smile on his face. âyour dear neighbors were giving me advice.â
âadvice? Advice about what?â now you were curious.
âabout how we're basically a family in everyone's eyes, but the only thing missing is a ring.â
âsylus!â
âwhy are you screaming? They're right. I'm lucky to have you, my treasure, you deserve nothing but the best. I will make sure to let Mephisto deliver you a costume made ring.â even his ears are red from saying those cheese lines out loud, but you didn't even notice because you were embarrassed.
Thank you for reading!! I'm actually really proud of this one so i hope you liked it! And if there's any mistakes or if you have any suggestion to improve please let me know!!!
Ink cap mushroom monster with a human he hired to professionally clean his home every other day? The monster hates his appearance and the messes he makes, leading him to become a touch starved recluse! I saw a picture of the actually thing and it looks so cool!
I knew about ink-caps but I genuinely didn't know much about them until now. And it's so fun learning new things! What do you mean they melt? What do you mean they do all these things to you if you drink alcohol after consuming these mushrooms??
Thank you for your request! I learnt something new and also got to play with a new character!
Themes: just light heart-hearted monster stuff, fantasy/medieval world, human x monster slow burn because we love that here, loosely edited forgive my laziness
He was a touch dubious about posting the job offer in the local town. It's just asking for trouble. But he was at his wits end keeping his lair clean.
And you needed money. So, here you were at the mouth of a cave deep within the dark forest. The ink soaked job listing in your hand and a duffle bag full of cleaning supplies.
The offer had been simple: clean a monster's lair and you won't be eaten. Ten gold a week. Lodgings available if needed.
Ten gold a week was a luxury; it was more than what you could earn in six months working the fields. And lodging would save your coin in renting a room at the inn.
Not being eaten by the local cryptid was a bonus.
The InkCap Monster barely listened to your stumbling words. He just pointed at the black sludge that covered the floor and told you to clean it.
You found yourself unprepared for the first day. There hadn't been any information on what you needed to clean. So you arrived expecting blood, gore and bones... not sludge from a fungal monster.
InkCap was impressed you didn't immediately flee. But wasn't surprised by your quick departure from his lair.
He was after all, a monster of nature. Humans hunted his kind for sport and glory. A beast from the subterranean depths, his appearance giving the illusion of a corpse twisted with vines and fungi instilled fear in even the most courageous adventurers.
InkCap suspected he'd have a band of mercenaries in his lair by sunrise tomorrow.
But then he awoke to the sound of you marching through the cave the next morning with a determined look on your face.
You had brought a cart with you. A donkey pulling through the lush forest and into the cave. You had shovels and buckets, barrels of substances that smelled like lemon and piles upon piles of cloth.
You greeted him with a sparkly smile and a warm 'good morning' - before disappearing deeper into his lair to begin your work.
It took you three full days to clean the cave tunnels. InkCap's lair now smelled of lemon and fresh moss. Your hands were stained with dots of black and many of your clothes had been replaced with cheaper alternatives.
But his lair was clean.
Save for the large footprints that he left behind wherever he wandered. Some part of InkCap felt bad for walking his own lair now it was clean. You had worked so hard.
The black sludge from his mushroom anatomy continuously dripped and splattered the cave in thick gelatinous trails.
You cleaned up after him with a smile. Sometimes you'd crack jokes. But mostly your demeanor around him was professional. Quiet and obedient. And so full of sunshine InkCap wasn't sure how to handle talking to you.
He shied away from you like you were blessed by the star itself.
He kept to himself for the first week. Hissing or growling whenever he wanted you to leave the room. And you'd give him a smile and gather your things with a nod.
And most conversations were very one sided. Some part of him felt bad that you'd practically talk to yourself some days.
But he didn't know how to talk to Humans that weren't trying to kill him. And you were never deterred from yapping to him about mundane things.
You scrubbed the lair without complaint. Your lodgings, a separated tunnel and cavern he emptied out to allow a human to reside there, began to fill with knick-knacks and personal belongings.
It wasn't until the eighth month that InkCap realized he had a human living with him full time. This wasn't just a short term thing. He needed you around... wanted you around.
"You know, I heard about you when I first moved to the local settlement. They said you drowned people in black blood and dragged livestock into the ground. Is that true?" You asked him once and he wasn't sure how to respond.
He had a reputation for a reason. Some rumors got out of hand for sure, but he had to eat somehow. Would you run if he told you the truth?
InkCap towered over you whenever you approached him. The skeletal like body, knotted with fungi and roots, could barely pass as humanoid. He looked grotesque. A monster. There was no way to sugar-coat his horrible character - so he nodded.
"Huh, I just haven't seen you eat anything. I wasn't sure if you were vegetarian or not." And that was the end of that. You didn't ask anymore questions, seemingly sated your curiosity.
A routine evolved and soon you were as much apart of the lair as InkCap. You cleaned the messes he made dutifully, without complaint. And he kept the forest predators from consuming you.
"You know... I've been thinking..." InkCap had tried to slink through the caves quietly, but you had an uncanny ability at sensing when he was nearby. "What if I clean the fungal parts of you that are oozing? It might help keep things clean around here."
.... surely you didn't just suggest that. Maybe you didn't understand what he was? That he was oozing the black sludge, not just parts of him.
"You'd... be comfortable doing that?" He found himself asking. Bright yellow eyes glowing in the dim light of the cave. Watching you carefully as you approached his side, cotton rags in hand - ready to wipe away the fat drops of black that slipped between the ridges of his arms.
"I don't see the harm in trying. You seem to secrete it more when you're agitated. So, while you're in the lair, there isn't much to clean on you. I think I could help minimize the mess you make."
InkCap was too caught up in thought to catch your hands before they made contact with his clawed fingers. The sudden contact startled him - but your hands were already on him. If he moved, InkCap could potentially hurt you.
So he stayed very, very still as you wiped the sludge from his body.
The warmth from your hand felt like acid against his skin. Too warm... too soft... but he didn't pull away.
InkCap watched your fingers intently as you washed sections of his arm with the lemony substance. Soaking up the darkened secretions with the cloths before moving onto the next section of his limb.
"Hmm, can you crouch? I can't reach your shoulder." You asked and his body obeyed before his mind did.
InkCap kneeled beside you. Head tilted so the fungal cap circling his face didn't touch your head. It wasn't uncommon for you to be splattered by black but he refused to let your bright eyes be darkened by an accidental smudge.
Your face was lit up by the other-worldly glow of his gaze. Wrinkled in concentration while you picked bugs and hardened chunks of secretion out of the nooks of his twisted body.
You moved around him confidently. While he remained a statue in the center of the cave, locked in concentration so he didn't accidentally move and knock you over when you asked him to shift this way or that way.
His gaze became hooded. Head rolling forward like he was falling asleep. Lulled into a trance-like state by the gentle caress of your hands.
He felt your fingers trace along his jaw. Drawing lines along his skull like face. A ghostly sigh echoed from deep within him - content. Your lips stretched into a smile he didn't see.
Hours passed and InkCap jerked into awareness when you cleared your throat. Standing in front of him, beneath his face, looking up at him.
"Finished!" You declared triumphantly.
InkCap didn't want to be finished. But he didn't voice it. Instead inspected his body. Finding the secretions had slowed a little and certain stains on the ivory white bones of his ribcage had been removed.
Somehow you had made the skeletal part of him so clean it glowed in the dim light.
"You look much better." You told him as he stood. "Honestly, I didn't know parts of you were actual bones. I thought it was my imagination. So, you're a fungal beast that's using the bones as armor, right?"
You were spot on. Different parts of him had been taken from difference monsters. InkCap, the living fungal part of him, had burrowed into every inch of the suit he carved from corpses and foliage. Like veins and nerves in your body.
It was how he could feel every touch from you. And why he felt like he craved that warmth from your hands.
"Let's see how that holds up." You said, unaware of the battle InkCap was currently raging within himself. "If you don't mind it, I can keep doing that to help minimize how much muck stains the lair. But it's entirely up to you."
Oh yes, he was going to have you do that again and again. Regardless of the mess he did or did not make.
please help spread this,Indonesians that are speaking up are actively being silenced.if you didn't know,Indonesians are protesting against their own government but instead of listening they decided to silence us by shutting down TikTok live in Indonesia since people are updating about the protest through there.Now the police are being told to harm the very same people they are supposed to protect. No one is safe. Recently,on 28th of August a 21 year old delivery driver named Affan Kurniawan was struck by a police vehicle not once but TWICE.the police vehicle stopped for a moment and ran him over again,what baffles me the most is that they said it was an "accident".there was also a video where one of the polices in the car was caught saying " Tabrak aja"(just hit them).people said that multiple people were also struck by the Police vehicle but I don't know if its true or not.recently in Jakarta mass shootings are actively happening,there were teenagers that got hit and died some weren't even joining in the protest.the police are also attacking the medical teams and journalists even though there's a rule to never harm or attack them.all of this isnt entirely the polices fault,it's mostly the politicians that ordered them to do it.it was also said that some of the d3ad bodies were even thrown into the lake.
Please pray for us and help spread this.
Like I said,Indonesians are actively being silenced about this situation.they are even planning to cut off the internet and electricity so whenever you try to record what's going on you will hardly be able to see anything.
premise: after a bad encounter with a witch, anyone you date is cursed to become obsessed with you. you don't really believe that kind of thing, so you continue to go on dates like usual. oh, you quickly find out that you were very, very wrong.
(yandere! honkai star rail x reader) (modern au)
nsfw, dark content minors dni
"from now on, any man you date will forever be enamored with your very being."
if anything, those witch's words might've been a jinx.
she wasn't necessarily a witch, but a fortune teller that you had passed by one day on the way to work. it'd been such a passing phrase that the moment was immediately forgotten.
except, you can't help but remember them now.
for the first half an hour, the only thing veritas ratio (or "dr. ratio," he adds snidely) talks about is his job. you don't even know why he wanted to go on this date in the first place. he seems like he'd rather be at his job.
so much for a good first impression.
he doesn't say anything unless it's related to academia, research, anything related to his work. he doesn't say much, but when he does it's filled with so much ego it's honestly draining.
you don't know why, you feel like it's your job to fill the silence by rambling about whatever topic comes to mind. perhaps it's something close to first-date etiquette or your fear of the awkward quietâattempting it making small talk. but he doesn't even engage.
he just eats his food quietly without giving any kind of reaction. so you just give up. you talk about all sorts of things: your occupation, your hobbies, the tv shows you watch, sometimes even the occasional complaint about someone you know. it doesn't even count as small talk at this point. it feels a lot more like you're ranting.
you're not embarrassed at all, though. you don't even plan on seeing him after this. so why bother?
after what feels like forever, you two finally decide to head out. he offers to walk you home, and since it's late and you don't live very far, you accept. the walk is silent, but at that point, you're too mentally drained to try to fill the quiet. it's not like the walk is long anyway. you just want to say goodbye and never seen him again.
while you're unlocking your door, you turn to thank him for the gesture out of politeness. however, your words are quickly swallowed up by his mouth on yours.
he lets out an uncharacteristic groan upon contact, almost as if he was waiting for this. caught off guard, you let out a gasp, which he takes advantage of. his tongue creeps into your mouth, caressing and flicking against yours sensually.
"i've been looking forward to this all night," he sighs into you.
you don't think on his words too much.
while you hate his personality, you don't hate this. first dates may be a little iffy, but you have nothing against a hookup once in a while, especially with someone so conventionally attractive.
so you hook your arms around his neck and tug his hair softly. he lets out a breathy moan you weren't quite expecting. you can physically feel him shudder under your touch.
with one hand crawling up your shirt, greedy to feel your skin against his, he leads you back into your own house and smoothly closes the door behind him.
sex with him is good, taking you by surprise with how sensual he is. you feel every fingertip of his trace your skin, drawing lines between all your blemishes and beauty marks.
he trails kisses from your throat down to your breasts, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time.
"you're so beautiful," he whispers, "like a brand new discovery. a fresh miracle the universe created just for me."
even though he's been an ass all night, you feel warm.
when he's inside you, he rocks into you in a steady, but quick pace. you arch your back in pleasure, to which he encourages with his hand pressing you closer to him. you grind into him instinctively while he buries his face into your tits and moans against your skin, breathless.
but as good as he was in bed, though, you don't really see yourself pursuing anything exclusive with him. however, it seems as if dr. ratio has other plans.
he keeps texting you, hoping to set up another date. he'll ask you what you're up to, if you're interested in going out again soon, and tell you that he misses you.
the attention feels nice, but he's not want you want. so you block him without regrets and move on with your life.
even after three weeks, dr. ratio still hasn't give up on you, it seems. every time you block him, he just changes his phone number, his social media handle, and you're starting from square one.
maybe he's a little pushy. but you've handled people like this before. they'll get bored soon enough, even if it is a little tiring to go through.
so when you run into dan heng at the local supermarket, it's like a breath of fresh air.
you used to date once, a couple years back. you liked how despite his cold exterior, he was a kind soul. conversations between you two just felt natural. you never felt like you had to read in-between the lines to understand what he meant.
throughout your relationship, he never hounded after you about where you were or who you were with. he never blinked an eye when you had other plans or were having a one-on-one conversation with someone else. although you're exes now, you broke up on good terms. so you don't hesitate to say hi.
he smiles, but he doesn't seem surprised. "it's nice to see you here."
you grin in return. "it is! how have you been?"
the two of you agree to get a cup of coffee (or tea, in dan heng's case) together. you meet up at a cafe that the two of you used to frequent together, the smell of freshly baked goods and coffee beans bringing in old memories.
though you haven't talked to each other in a very long time, it's like you two saw each other yesterday. dan heng's relaxed as always, and for a second it feels like nothing has changed. you two catch each other up on your respective lives like a pair of old friends.
"so, have you been seeing anyone?" dan heng asks nonchalantly, bringing his cup to his lips. the question comes out of the blue.
"hmm," you consider, "no, not really. i haven't gone steady with anyone in over six months. have you?"
you might be seeing things, but dan heng almost looks pleased. he takes a long, slow sip of his tea before saying anything. "no, i tried, but i couldn't."
he brings his cup down, staring at his drink thoughtfully before bringing his eyes up to you.
"but no matter what, i couldn't stop thinking about you."
his words bring warmth to your cheeks. dan heng's never been one to embellish or lie, so he must be telling the absolute truth.
he leans forward, a contemplative look on his face. "i... know i seemed detached when we dated. you were my first girlfriend, my first love. i had a lot to learn about loving someone. but... i'm better now. so, would you ever reconsider falling in love with me again?"
...
"are you...alright?" dan heng's brows furrow, a small, confused frown curling his mouth. "perhaps, i didn't say anything wrong, did i?"
you're quick to recover from your shock. "oh, no, no, not at all. i just wasn't expecting that." it's very much different from the dan heng you knew, who seemed to barely send you a second glance unless you explicitly asked for it.
it feels...nice to hear his words. for some reason, it gives you some closure. a comfort to the old you who was hurt by his indifference. but you're older, and you're two different people. it might feel gratifying to finally feel wanted by the man you once loved, but you broke up for a good reason.
"ah, i see." he looks more contentful now. "i hope you don't take this the wrong way, but i've been... preparing myself for you. i'm a changed person now who can love you the way you deserve. i just can't stop thinking about how you looked like when you were seeing that researcher and... and iâ"
the smile he gives you looks innocent, but the intention is unsettling.
"i just... knew i had to see you again."
your blood runs cold.
"really?" you supply, despite your loss for words. "um, i appreciate that, i really do. i wish i could stay and talk with you more, but i just realized that i'm meeting up with my friend soon."
you take out your wallet and grab a handful of money and carelessly slap it onto the table.
dan heng gets up with the most desperation you've ever seen him have. "oh, that's a shame. if that's the case, i can give you a ride and we can talk more on the way there?"
"no! no, it's okay. don't mind me. it was nice seeing you again, dan heng."
you turn away and don't look back.
okay, maybe your "dates" have been a little wonky recently. dr. ratio won't stop texting you or calling you. he's even sent the occasional bouquet of flowers to your house. dan heng's not any better, because you keep seeing him everywhere you go.
you're starting to think that this "jinx" may not only apply to people you're currently dating, but people you've previously dated. but other than dan heng, no other ex has tried to reach out. so, with so little data to work with, you're not really sure what's going on.
so you stay away from dates for the time being. no mixers, no blind dates, no nothing.
but one-night stands are different, right?
the first thing phainon tells you is that he's not looking for a relationship. it's almost too perfect.
when he lets you into his apartment, the first thing he does is kiss you. it's raw and greedy and it sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach.
every time you part from each other, he takes in a deep breath like he's mentally preparing for when your lips lock again.
"you're so good," he murmurs. "so fucking goodâi can't stop."
you're feeling gutsy, so you reach down to palm the heat of him, relishing in how much he's enjoying you.
"then don't," you reply with a laugh.
he pulls away to look at you, his gaze so intense it makes your pussy tingle.
despite the countless signs of the universe to stop, no matter how small, you can't help but chase the feeling of being embraced, being paid attention to, being loved. perhaps there's a pit of loneliness you're trying to fulfill. but tonight, you're not here to uncover all of that.
tonight, he holds onto you like you're his lifeline.
he presses a kiss to your ankle, your legs hauled over his shoulders. you clench the sheets as he pounds into you. every time he pulls out, he slams back into you with impressive stamina like he can't bear to be not be inside of you.
phainon's groans are low and guttural, sweat dripping down from his chest onto your stomach. you've lost track of time of how long you've been entangled with one another. every time you think it's the last round, he surprises you with another hard-on.
and yet no matter how hard he rails you, he won't bring himself to lose eye-contact with you. it feels personal. intimate.
"that's right, keep moaning for me, don't stopâhah."
you can feel him in every inch inside of you. every time you look away from him, he grabs your chin to bring you back to earthâback to him.
if it wasn't stimulating enough, phainon brings a hand down to your clit, rubbing it so adoringly it makes you see stars.
"i need this pussy, nngh! i love this pussy, i love you."
you're so overstimulated you can't process the things he's saying.
"âneed this pussy wet and creaming for me. you have one more in you, right? please?"
it feels like phainon's fucking into you with so much emotion. like he's letting out all of the pent up emotions, frustration, anger, sadness, envy, want, love, into fucking you senseless. he's unfurling everything that he's been wanting to express (to the world, you think) in this one moment, wrapped up in your warmth.
"please?"
it becomes all too much, and you can feel your orgasm coming in like a flood.
"yes! yes! i'm cumâing!"
you can feel him cumming with you, his dick steadily pulsing as your walls twitch around him. he holds you tight against him, kissing you endlessly.
when the two of you finally finish, you let out a desperate gasp of air. the both of you are out of breath and exhausted. yet he doesn't hesitate to crawl down to your pussy and admire the spillage he's caused. his cum leaks out of your in dribbles, the sensation of it dripping causing your pussy to twitch.
"wait, i'm dirtyâaaah!"
phainon licks your pussy, drinking up your cum and maintaining eye contact with you all the while. he's eating like he's been starved this entire time. you can't help but moan as he continuously cleans you out with his tongue.
after, once both of your are fully cleaned up and sated, his arms coil around your waist and tugs you into his chest. he buries his face into your neck and sighs, appreciating your warmth.
"to be honest, i thought i wasn't ready for a relationship. i always thought that i had things to sort out first, and that it would be unfair of my partner to unpack it all for me. but... laying with you... like this.. i think it'd be easy to love you," he murmurs sleepily into your skin. "i wouldn't mind seeing you again."
you've been looking at this man all night, but this is the first time you're processing how he's looking at you. you'd mistaken hornyness for genuine attraction. i's as if he's had some sort of revelation literally overnight. maybe he really was letting out all his emotions through sex.
"i don't want to date right now," is all you can muster.
"that's fine, we don't have to date. we can just fuck each other, i'm fine with that." his grip tightens. "as long as you don't see other men. i feel like i would hate that. i think i'd get angry enough to kill someone."
you don't say anything and just lay there in silence, waiting for him to finally give in to the exhaustion.
it scares you so much you're gone before dawn breaks.
at this point, you're starting to thing this whole curse thing might be real. thus, you take it upon yourself to avoid anything remotely romantic or sexual in nature like the plague. you no longer go on blind dates or mixers, have hookups, or even think of pursuing anything with anyone.
you've tried countless times to search or contact the person who supposedly cursed you in the first place, but it's as if they disappeared off the face of the planet.
so instead you opt to stay at home, where it's safe.
but it's lonely, you realize. you used to go out so often and now you've just gone cold-turkey. it's isolating.
so when one of your best friends takes notice and invites you to the club to celebrate her birthday, you agree.
while you're getting ready, you promise yourself to turn down anyone who so much as looks at you. you're not going to get caught up in some passerby, you're not going to pursue anyone who catches your eye. you're just here to celebrate your girl and reconnect with some friends.
right?
it's loud. it's loud and extremely crowded. but at least ruan mei and serval are having fun. as for march 7th, she's at the bar fooling unsuspecting men into drinking contests they can't win.
you're having a good time around when aventurine slides up to you from behind.
"i haven't seen you here before," he almost shouts over the loud music.
you turn to face him, scowling. "yeah, let's keep it that way."
"aw, don't be like that."
"i'm not looking for anything."
he grins. "it doesn't have to be anything. just fun."
you huff and turn away, but aventurine follows. "oh, come on."
"i've heard that plenty of times before."
you let yourself get lost in the crowd to get away from him. you've met plenty of guys like him before. the interaction with aventurine reminds you of the witch's words, eliciting an unsettling feeling in your gut. but today's serval's birthday, and you don't want to be a downer. plus, you haven't even pursued anything with this man. you just met him. so you don't say anything and just set out to avoid him for the rest of the night.
an hour or so later, you're a little bit tipsy. serval twirls you around with a laugh, to which you let out a surprised squeal. the room is spinning a little, and in the midst of regaining your balance you lose sight of the girls.
it's right then that you suddenly feel someone pull you by the waist and grind against you.
"looking for someone?"
you reflexively push aventurine away from you. "i'm...looking for my friends."
he spreads his arms, a teasing smile on his face. "aren't i a friend?"
you don't dignify that with a response, turning away to look for your friend. aventurine grabs your wrist before you can leave.
"don't be like that. don't you want to take a little gamble with me? i promise it'll be worth it."
"no thanks," you scream at the top of your lungs to make sure that he can clearly hear it.
you tug away, but he still doesn't let up. instead he pulls you with enough force for you to fall right into him.
"aw, and here i was hoping you'd change your mind."
you raise your fist to hit him to let you free, but he grabs that too and pulls you closer. you can feel his hardness press into your inner thigh.
"but i always like the riskâ"
somewhere in the crowd, you hear someone shout your name. serval pushes through the throng of people with an impressive strength until finally reaching you.
upon serval's arrival, aventurine finally lets go of you, holding up his hands as if he was ever harmless.
without another word, serval takes your hand and leads you away from him. "come on, we're leaving. that guy's bad news."
you're heart warms at the warmth of serval's touch, grateful for her intervening when she did.
you, serval, ruan mei, and march 7th suddenly decide that maybe drinking the night away at serval's house even when gepard was there maybe wasn't such a bad idea at all.
when you wake up later with a hangover (and you definitely will have a hangover), you'll curl into yourself as you recount last night's events.
as serval had dragged you away from that creepy guy, you couldn't help but look back. he'd been smiling so disturbingly, as if he knew something you didn't, with a small wave. hopefully, you never see him again.
ding!
your phone on the table lights up a new notification. with bleary eyes you crawl over to grab it and turn it on. it's a text from a new number.
why are you avoiding me?
you slam your phone on the table with newfound resolution.
My Fav: hmmm all ig (but Rafayel and Zayne were fun to imagine.
Xavier (mafia boss x student):
You look threatening.
Elegant. Composed. A dagger in one hand, the other resting lightly against your hip. But your slacks are tailored within an inch of their life, and your thighs?
Xavier refuses to blink. Partly out of defiance. Partly because pins and needles are currently climbing up his leg from where heâs been zip-tied to a steel chair for the last hour.
And thatâs when your left-hand man mutters something low.
You still. Your gaze narrows. âWhat do you mean heâs not the right student?â you snap.
Xavier turns his head slowly. Trying very hard not to wince at the sudden cramp behind his knee.
âTell me,â you say, your voice like a blade slipping under skin, âyou did not just kidnap a random man off the street?â The silence answers for him.
Xavier blinks once. Deadpan. âI was literally eating ramen.â
Your henchman tries to defend himself. âHe ran, boss. He ran when I asked for his nameââ
âYeah,â Xavier cuts in, shrugging as much as his bindings allow. âBecause a man with a neck tattoo and three guns asked if I owed money.â
You sigh. Fold your arms. Lean against the table. âJokeâs on us, then.â
It gets worse.
Because not only is Xavier not the debt-ridden student you were trying to scare straight. Heâs a detective. A bored, off-duty, highly observant one. And your organization just gifted him a front row seat to all your illegal operations.
And heâs your trusted, anxiety-inducing, dangerously talented graphic designer.
Every time he disappears from Slack for more than five minutes, you feel the phantom grays sprouting at your temples.
So when Rafayel lands in this world, his heartâs a mess.
Because why the hell are you in a three-piece suit on a Thursday? Why are you speaking in PowerPoint? (He doesnât realize thereâs a conference.)
He goes through the full rom-com shbang...blushing at close proximity, nearly yeeting his stylus when you lean down to adjust his brush settings. He would be outraged by your bossy interference... if this version of you didnât look so competent doing it.
You bet he becomes the undisputed champion of in-office work. Remote who? He's commuting through a hurricane if it means lunch breaks with you.
He silently laments not being your assistant. The daily chaos? The tension? The dramatics? Thatâs the kind of messy office romance he lives for.
Zayne (Jock x Nerd):
Zayne has approximately 25 breakdowns the second he realizes heâs been transmigrated into a high school AU.
Why him? Why now? What ancient evil has he offended? This is worse than open surgery without gloves.
And then he sees you, leaning casually against his locker in a lacrosse jersey, with a dopey grin and the faint scent of Axe trailing after you like bad decisions. Youâre radiating school spirit and main character energy. The golden retriever jock.
He looks down at himself: books clutched like a shield, glasses sliding down his nose, striped polo tucked into khakis.
Oh no. Heâs the nerd.
He goes completely still when you reach out and push his glasses up with two fingers, like you've done it multiple times. He hasn't hit the growth spurt yet so you lean down while doing it. Dammit.
âTutoring in period five?â you grin.
He blinks. Swallows. Soul exits body.
This is it. This is his villain origin story. Or worse, his slow-burn romance arc.
Sylus (match maker):
âYou are my worst client,â you snap, slamming your planner shut so hard your pen jumps. âYouâre going to die alone, General Sylus. Your sword might be your only lifelong companion.â
Youâre trying so hard not to throw your teacup at him. But unfortunately, treason is still illegal.
Match #23. Another perfectly elegant, emotionally stable, high-ranking woman. Gone. Sent running by him.
Youâre down to your last lead, your last shred of credibility, and you swear if one more noble family calls to "check in on your progress with the charming general,â youâre going to fake your own death.
This was supposed to be easy. He was supposed to be easy.
A war hero. Stoic. Loyal. Families should have lined up to offer their finest daughters and strongest family swords.
But no. Sylus defies every known law of socialization.
âMaking her dig for a brooch?â you bark. âIn the rain, Sylus?â
He doesnât flinch. Doesnât even blink. Just raises his teacup, and smirks. That slow, infuriating, battlefield-smirk that somehow makes you want to both kiss him and knock him out.
âIf she canât find a brooch,â he shrugs, âhow will she find a way to my heart?â
You scream internally. Outwardly, you smile. Professionally. Barely.
One more match. And then youâre done. Or in prison. Possibly both.
Caleb (Idol x Bodyguard):
This is his dreamland.
You. All the time. Every damn second.
Heâs not even ashamed of it.
Because this you. the idol version of you. is free. Untouched by the mess of the other lifetime. And Caleb? Caleb is thriving.
Your bodyguard. Your shadow. Your guard dog. The reincarnation of Cerberus himself.
He stands next to you on red carpets. He scans every crowd before you hit the stage. He has a black folder of âthreatening lettersâ and a second one for âbad fanfiction.â He has read all of it. He will not talk about it.
And backstage? Oh. The jealousy he inspires.
He gets to see it all, barefaced you in pajamas, you blowing raspberries at the vocal coach, you dancing with one sock and a protein bar.
The fandom eats it up. They ship you both. Hard. They make memes. Fan cams. Slow motion edits of him holding an umbrella over your head.
Is he labeled a fandom traitor? Absolutely. Is he proud of it? Yes.
He zips up your jacket when you forget. Keeps track of your vitamins. Carries four backup chargers, three types of gum, and a taser.
And when you fall asleep on the van ride home, head resting on his shoulder, he doesnât move. He barely breathes.
Your time with the aunt-nephew duo, despite all their peculiarities you chalk up to rich people stuff, is going so well until it gets to the small talk part. You never thought it'd come to almost beating the living daylights out of your savior, but here you two are. Fuck that guy.
genre: fluff, comedy | word count: 9K | read on ao3
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note: howl pendragon-coded rafayel, yayyyy! what's that? "what's with the summary" you say" well... THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTINGGGGGGGG (rafayel didnt intend that to be the outcome at all. when ur so emotionally intelligent and a lil bit manipulative and want to help her unwind but it backfires on you bc your pookie doesnt play like that. ur kinda proud but again. that wasnt the intended outcome)
âHello.â
Just hearing Mom say that with a voice so thin and tired that some of it doesnât get picked up through the phone is enough for your heart to shrink in place like a child whoâs aware of an incoming scolding would.
âMom,â you gasp. Youâre standing barefoot on the cool white tiles, their chill bleeding up through your soles. The clothes clinging to your body are too big, borrowed, the soft collar of someone elseâs sweater sagging against your neck. âMom, itâs me â itâs me.â
Thereâs a sound â a breath being sucked in too fast, and then her voice rises, making the speaker pop and crackle against your ear: âOh my God. Oh my God!ââ
âIs the ferry okay?â The phone cord coils loosely at your side, warm from the sun that slants through an arched window and makes the gold fixtures on the table gleam. You keep winding it around your fingers without thinking, make it tight enough to cut blood circulation, letting it bite into your skin before unwinding it again. Then again.
Please tell me it didnât sink, please.
The plastic sheath creaks faintly with each nervous pull, a rhythmic distraction just steady enough to stop you from breaking open. âThe ferry â is the ferry alright? Did it â did it make it back?! The fishermen â I thought they were â I tried to get them before the they hit the rocks but â fuck, I â I donât know if it made itââ
âWho is that?â another voice shouts suddenly from the receiver, rapidly accelarating in proximity and booming with rage and fear. You can hear the sound of Momâs phone being snatched. âWho is that?! Give me the â Is that you?!â
âDad,â you choke, fighting the tremble in your bottom lip.
This is his breadwinner. Your entire familyâs livelihood. The fact that a possible sinking after you were thrown overboard hadnât occured to you until you were underneath a warm shower and letting your thoughts flow with the water is worse to you than being the reason why the ferry was lost. You truly donât know what to say.
âDad I â Iâm so sorry, I didnât mean to â I thought I could get them back in, the boat was listing, the rocks were farther so I thought it would be fine, and then the wave â I donât even know if the ferryâs â oh god, the ferryââ
Mom interrupts your babbling. âShhhh, shhh, the ferryâs fine, baby, itâs fine, those people drove it back hereââ
Your elbows come down on the luxurious table and you sink down on your forearms from relief, rubbing your face with your free hand. The position is a bit awkward because you have to hold the receiver of this old rotary phone to your ear, but you couldnât care less.
âWhere the hell are you?â Dad spits.
Mom cuts in again, her voice warbling with restrained sobs: âWe thought you were gone. The coast guard said the water was too cold â and after that kind of storm your chances werenât⊠that it was too late to keep searching. But we didnât stop. We didnât stop, do you hear me?â
âIâm sorry,â you whisper. âIâm so sorry. I didnât know what else to do. They were drifting and I thought if I could just â if I could just get there in time. I didnât â I thought I could help. I really thought I could do something right for once and instead I nearlyââ
Ruined everything.
You can hear the ocean just beyond the glass in the silence that follows.
âWhere are you now? Where have you washed up? I donât recognize the number, who are you with?â he says, more insistent now. âWe looked everywhere in the surrounding islands.â
âSomeone pulled me out â he said this is his auntâs place â Orphias she said, I think? The ownerâs name is Talia.â
Your father swears under his breath, sharp and furious. âPrivate island section? Thatâs miles off route and from the Teeth! Howââ
âI donât know! I canât make sense of it as well, but I didnât pry. Beggars canât be choosers.â When you receive no answer, you bite down on your lower lip. âDad?â
âYou stay put, weâre on our way now.â You nod even though they canât see it. The hand not holding the phone presses to your chest, as if that might calm the erratic thump beneath. âStay on your toes, alright? I donât like this. The storm couldnât have taken you that far â who did you say it was that saved you?â
âThis guy â Rafayel. The nephew. He brought me here from what he told me.â You hear an intake of a big breath. âDonât ask. I donât know. He wasââ
You stop yourself. If you talk anything related to Rafayel, Dad would freak the fuck out. A naked man on the beach so far away from the ground zero of your fall who you had to piggyback to his auntâs house? Nothing you could say would be able to salvage any part of that sentence.
âOkay,â he says. An engine starts in the background. âOkay. How are you doing? Are you hurt at all?â
âTook you long enough to ask,â Mom nags in the distance.
âIâm okay now, I think â Iâm dry, she gave me clothes â I had a hot showerâŠâ
Dad starts ranting to himself under his breath in the unique way that he does thatâs reminiscent of a sped-up tape put in another room you hear the muffled echo of. âJesus Christ. You scared the life out of us. Hours. Gone for hours. You donât just venture out during a fucking storm andâ â
And of course itâs Mom who stops it. ââDonât, not now. Weâll talk about it when we see her.â
Thatâs how you know youâre in for a lecture. You deserve it, though. The ferryâs safety more than makes up for it.
âAre the fishermen okay?â you say, a bit ashamed to remember to ask about them this late into the conversation, but itâs fine you think â shame is a familiar companion nowadays, whatâs more for the late night conversations you have with her?
âYeah, they made it. One of âem got a concussion, another one fractured his arm. That storm shook the poor fellas like a rattle.â
And the third one brought you here.
Yeah, that checks out.
Itâs the kind of confirmation you needed. And your family, of course. An identity verification of some sorts and a guarantee that nothing bad would happen to you. Though the second part of that sentence, you feel guilty just thinking about after getting taken care of by a host like Talia who took in a stranger into her home. A wet dog, in a sense.
You move to lean against the wall next to the telephone, tilting your head back to rest on the smooth, cool surface of the wallpaper. There is a slight ache in your shoulders from the strain of the stress (and also the almost-drowning, but mostly the stress of losing the ferry), but the exhaustion is a familiar one, the kind that comes from a day spent pushing against the world, one that you welcome feeling, now that you know you haven't fucked up that colossaly. Relief, in other words, is the best drug.
"Can you get this Talia on the phone?" Mom asks. "We need the island code to find the coordinates, baby."
"You guys don't know about any Orphias?"
Dad grumbles. "You expect someone to know every single grocery store in the city?"
"Well. If it's a luxury store and the person in question is a store connoisseurâ"
"Okay, alright, smartass. If you can talk back like that, I guess you're fine."
"Talia, please?" Mom reminds you. She sounds lighter, though, after hearing the brief bickering.
âI sure hope you havenât gotten yourself into some weird island cult.â
As if to answer her question, light footsteps fade into your awareness from the outside and you turn your head to the direction of the source just as a gentle knock on the door resonates. Itâs Talia hovering in the entryway, the light from the spacious hall casting a soft glow outlines her figure in the warm, golden haze of the afternoon, somehow made brighter by the smile on her face.
"Just wanted to say I prepared some snacks for you, in case you were hungry," she offers, keeping her voice down in a whisper to not interrupt yor call. She seems to hesitate, then adds, "And also... if you're not, that's all right too. You can take your time. There's no rush."
You can't help the smile that crosses your face, grateful and touched. "Thanks. Actually, could you..." You gesture with the old corded phone, once again mentally shrunk into a kid half her height when you say, "My parents would like to speak to you. Just to give their thanks. And directions. To fetch me. If that's alright?"
"Of course," she replies, fully entering the room and stepping forward to take the receiver from your hand. "I understand, they must've been worried sick. Don't worry, I'll handle it. You go to the kitchen, it's just on the left from the hall. Help yourself to whatever you'd like. I'll be right there in a moment."
Kindness is inherently woven into her attitude in the same way the scent of the sea lingers in the fabric of the sweater she's given you, reinforcing the decision of not telling the details of your arrival to your parents. Youâd hate to put a woman like this in a bad position.
You murmur a quiet, "Okay, thank you," and leave the room, the hushed conversation of numbers and coordinates becoming background noise as you make your way to the kitchen from where the inviting aromas of baked treats are emitting from. Itâs the melody from a pungi to your snake.
The door to the kitchen creaks open under your hand, hinges sighing into a stillness too perfect to last, and immediately youâre greeted by a chaotic shock of what you first think is a purple Cookie Monster perched on the marble countertop. You stand frozen for a while, blinking rapidly to understand just what you're looking at.Â
Rafayel is halfway to toppling a tall rectangular tin off the highest shelf, arm stretched, the draped sleeve of the damn curtain he has on brushing precariously close to the burner on the gas stove, which is clicking softly beside him, the faint heat of a forgotten flame warming the copper kettle that rattles lazily against its cradle. Heâs framed by the cabinetry that gleams beneath glass-paned arches â crystal knobs and shell-tiled backsplash gleaming in the slanted afternoon light, inside them are shelves forming a sort of shrine: delicate teacups, polished silver tins, bundles of dried herbs bound with gold thread, and much more you canât quite identify from your angle.
One leg is tucked under him like a smug little prince, the other dangles, toes tapping against the edge of an opened carved oak cabinet, and the sound of clinking make you notice the anklets he has on. It's feline, the way he's trying to balance. Either get on the counter with both knees, or don't. What is he thinking?
"You're going to break the counter or the cabinet standing like that," you say flatly.
He turns his head half-way to give you a view of his profile, dusky violet hair tucked behind one ear, a long, dangly purple gem earring catching the light, swaying with the movement. It's weirdly painting-esque, especially with the ensemble he has on, which fits his overall vibe, and you really shouldn't be surprised it does. Because of course the butt-naked meet-cute conversational-hazard man dresses like a Studio Ghibli fever dream styled by a Milan Fashion Week intern on mushrooms.Â
âAre you calling me fat?â He frowns with a displeased pinch between his eyebrows. âIâll have you know Iâm streamlined for agility.â
Your gaze drops to the sash tied too elaborately around his waist holding the curtain in place, and the peach-colored gems and tassels at the ends of them hanging dangerously close to the open flame, and point to it with a hand. "Are you fireproof as well?"
He scoots away from the stovetop, but doesnât give up on his destination â one particular tin. âAh.â
"Get down before you light yourself on fire."
He sighs and pouts at that, but slides off the counter nevertheless, with a surprising grace that doesnât quite match the amount of fabric he has on, his bare feet slapping softly against the cool marble tiles inlaid with spiraling shell patterns.
"Fine. But only because you asked nicely," he says, brushing invisible crumbs from his curtain. "You didnât. But I imagined you mightâve if I waited long enough."
He twirls once, with the idle flourish of a flower being spun between someone's fingers, the heavy velvet draped around him swishing in soft, watery folds. It's almost hypnotic. You want to run your hands through the fabric to see if it's as soft as it looks.Â
"So? Thoughts?"
You identify the curtain as a wisteria purple robe. It has beautiful peach-colored patterns that shine with his every move. Underneath, a waistcoat that's in the same peach-tone hugs his frame with a couple misbuttons â embroidered with faint glints of coral gold that shimmer when he moves. A silk shirt spills open beneath it, loose-laced and collarless, you can see from the yawning sleeves of the robe that its cuffs are unbuttoned and trailing down his wrists. The ensemble being held around his waist by the sash aside â which you think is a tassled curtain tie back â his base clothes are white, the shirt and the slacks.
You blink at him. At least he knows how to color code, you'll give him that.Â
"You're giving sentient curtain from Beauty and the Beast."
"Thank you," he beams. âI knew you would appreciate my vision. See these embroideries? They mixed apricot yellow and cerise toââ
"That wasnâtâ"
"It was. Donât backpedal now." Heâs disinterested in furthering that conversation, attention distracted with the tin heâs fiddling with. He sniffs its contents with a frown. "Huh. Smelled better from the high shelf.â
You subtly throw your head back and close your eyes, exhaling, then, drift toward one of the tall stools tucked under the curved lip of the kitchen island and hop on one of the middle ones. You tune Rafayel out as you gape at the feast right in front of you. Snacks? These are snacks?
God, rich people.
Folded grape leaves stuffed with lemony rice, thin slices of cured meat, wedges of blue and brie and something veined with wine, jewel-toned berries, pistachios still in shell, and golden crackers fanned into spirals, pastries and oh gosh â meticulously arranged as though she was expecting guests. This was the kind of thing that gets instagrammed, not eaten.
"âaltitude nostalgia. Did you know humans smell differently at different elevations?"
But your stomach has been grumpily bubbling under its breath for a while now, and this is food, and the combination of those two things makes you an uncaring, shameless heathen. Your mouth is watering. Who even cares that one plate is probably worth more than you are. Fuck it. In a single motion, your elbow is on the table and you're leaning over the plates, already grabbing a handful of the closest pastry and taking a huge bite.
It's flaky and buttery and filled with cheese and walnuts, and the crust practically melts on your tongue. You have to fight the urge to moan in delight, and subsequently come to realize the sound of your chewing is too loud. Rafayel's talking has ceased.
A featherlight touch on the wrist that might otherwise have you suspect you brushed against fleeting clothing hanging in your closet snaps you from your blissful, mindless gorging trance, and you turn to find Rafayel staring at you. His face is blank, and there's a slight tilt to his eyebrows, gaze flitting between your eyes and puckered lips, his hand on your wrist to stop the pastry from meeting its tragic end between your teeth.
"What?" you ask, muffled and full-mouthed, lips sticky, and cheeks bulging with the remains of the pastry. You try not to feel self-conscious about the crumbs on the sides of your mouth. Instead, you raise an eyebrow. "Don't judge. I'm a growing woman."
"Growing into what? A pearl? Slow down. Chew."
"You're not my dad, what's it to you?"
"I just don't want you to choke when I just saved you from drowning, you know. But you've got some..."
"Got some...?"
He points to his own cheek and mouth area, mimicking the mess you have on your person. Then, without warning or hearing what you might say in return, he reaches out and wipes away a fleck of crust on the corner of your lips. It might be an intrusive or an impulsive thought he might have given into, you donât know, but your face warms at the proximity regardless of the context or the reason behind it, the sudden familiarity of his gesture, and the way his thumb lingers, brushing lightly across the swell of your bottom lip as if to savor the texture. You're suddenly acutely aware of the intimacy of the act and he fact that you met this man only hours ago.
What is this? Is he just very touchy?
The copper begins to hum, steam from it rising in polished spirals, catching the light through a stained-glass transom high above the doorway.
You jerk back, wiping the rest of the mess with the back of your hand, and avoid the view of his hand staying frozen in the air, hovering in the spot where your face was, and the perplexed look on his face. "I got it."
His fingers curl inward as he retracts his hand, sliding it to his side. He doesn't respond, simply watches you in silence, his eyebrows furrowing for a brief moment as he rubs his thumb and forefinger together before smoothing out again, and you wonder if maybe you should've said thank you, after all. But the moment has passed, and the thought of apologizing now seems awkward, so you do the next best thing, which is to change the subject.
"What's that for?"
âThis,â he announces, tilting the tin so the embossed label is emphasized with the light falling on it â a stylized silver fish leaping over a crescent moon â âis a Moonpetal brew. Aunt Talia only brings it out for very special occasions."
You eye the tin, then him. "Moonpetal? Sounds like something out of a fairy tale."
Or out of a very expensive, fancy health food store, the kind that promised enlightenment in a biodegradable pouch.
"Everything is a fairy tale if you know what perspective to look at," he says, his voice regaining some of its melodic lilt. He pops the lid with a soft thwack and a fragrant cloud billow out â notes of jasmine, something salty-sweet sea-salt caramel, and an underlying freshness that reminded you of rain on warm stones. It's surprisingly lovely.
He dips two fingers into the tin, his rings clinking faintly against the metal, and pulls out a pinch of what looks to be dried, silvery-white petals mixed with tiny, dark, almost iridescent leaves. He brings them close to his nose, inhaling deeply, eyes fluttering shut for a dramatic moment that makes his long lashes brush his cheek. "I missed this."
"Haven't been around lately, then?"
"You could say that," he answers, the way he dips his head to stare at the tea makes the purple waves of his hair shift like disturbed water. There's a particular undercurrent to his smile that you could only describe as something distorted underneath the surface of the sea.
Talia re-enters the kitchen then, catching you off-guard. You were too engrossed in the exchange to notice her arrival, but the sound of her humming catches both of your attentions. Her shawl is gone, lilac skirt swishing around her ankles and cream-colored blouse, which she's rolled the sleeves of to her elbows, is buttoned to her throat. The sun from the windows puts its spotlight on her immediately, making the shells on her earrings shimmer, the silver and opals winking in the light, and you notice that her nails are painted a pale purple.
"Sorry about that," she says. "It took longer than e â good gods, Rafayel."
Rafayel turns to her and spins, letting the robe flare, and strikes a pose. It's such a childish move that it takes you aback. "How did I do?"
"I remember that robe," Talia murmurs. She's smiling, though, even as her hand goes to her heart, clutching at the fabric of her shirt. "You used to run around with it all the time. You'd sneak in my room and steal it to play superheroes." Her eyelashes are damp, and the lines at the corners of her mouth are deepening in a way that suggests laughter. "I should've known you'd find it. You never could keep away from that thing."
You feel compelled to look away from the moment, and stuff a cube of cheese in your mouth, focusing your attention on the smooth marble counter, veined like seafoam. Somewhere above, a crystal suncatcher swings lazily from a brass hook, scattering color across the whitewashed archways.
"Hard to part with," he agrees. He runs his fingers through the folds of the sleeve, tracing the embroidery, his smile morphing into a distant, nostalgic shape. "This is a good look, right?"
"It is, you look just like a prince," Talia replies, her words holding an otherwise undetectable âhumoring himâ element that comes off as genuine â and you have no doubt that she is being genuine, itâs obvious from her face that Rafayel is quite endearing to her.
Her attention turns to the kettle on the stove when it starts to whistle, and a flicker of surprise crosses her features. "Oh, were you going to make tea, dear?"
"Uh-huh." Rafayel glances at her and nods. "Moonpetal, to soothe her nerves."
âGood thinking, I was going to get that out for you anyway,â She steps closer, peering at the tin, her eyebrows lifting in mild surprise. "But didn't I put that on the highest shelf?"
"I came just in time to witness his mountain climbing expedition," you insert yourself into the conversation. With a smirk, you point to the open cabinets. "He's lucky the entire kitchen didn't come crashing down on him."
Talia gives him a disapproving frown, but her vast sunrays pf fondness breaks through the unenthusiastic storm clouds. She reaches out to gently adjust the collar of his robe. âWell, since youâve already retrieved it for me⊠Come, letâs make it properly together.â
Talia brushes past him to retrieve ceramic cups painted with mother-of-pearl scales. Her fingers linger on his shoulder, a fleeting touch that seems to weigh more than it should.
You feel horrible for interrupting, but itâs worse to just sit there and be served. âIs there anything I canââ
Both aunt and nephew shut down the idea at the same time and their voices blend in different octaves of refusals, making you unable to differentiate who said what. So you sit back and make youself invisible for the time being, watching as Talia moves to the counter beside the stove, the colorful, slightly oversized duckling that is Rafayel trailing after her.
Both of them look out of this world. Or rather, the world of ordinary people you live in. Itâs a weird feeling how youâve intruded in this world, sitting on the kitchen island as they make tea together may just be the equivalent of the economy and business classes coming closest together when theyâre separated by a curtain.
âShow me how you remember we steep it.â
Rafayel is an artist contemplating which color he should start out with as his hands hover over the teapot, and you nibble a pistachio shell into splinters as a thought crosses over your mind. They donât seem too familiar with each other for some reason.
Well, itâs not your business.
The Moonpetal tea, surprise surprise, is what one would think liquid moonlight would taste on the tongue â cool and fresh and effervescent on your tongue, with a lingering salt-kissed sweetness that makes your shoulders relax against the wrought-iron chair. Youâd helped Talia arrange everything on the patio overlooking the valley, where seabirds wheel in arcs below like scraps of paper caught in a draft, and was engaging in small talk here and there when she leaned forward, sunlight catching the opals at her throat.
âYour parents mentioned youâve been managing their ferry? Thatâs wonderful! Such an important role,â she says, refilling your cup which has a thin gold band on the rim, delicate and precise. (Everything in this house is.) The porcelain clinks softly. âYou must feel so connected to the sea.â
Your fingers spasm around the saucer, droplets of tea sloshing dangerously. Of course the conversation has stirred this way. You were hoping for your parents would arrive before that and you wouldnât have to go through the âSo, what do you do?â question. The idea of discussing the life you're already averse to talking about with a rich woman, no less, is more daunting than the cult thing.
And worst of all, it's hopeless already, right off the bat. She's trying to be poetic about it, but there's nothing romantic about being the wheel of the car that transports people on a day-to-day basis. You aren't sure sure if you're connected to the sea. If anything, you're connected to the people who use the sea to connect. A bridge of sorts.
âUm, well. Yes. For a long time, actually.â A pause. The breeze picks up, ruffling the wisteria hanging from a lattice overhead. âI, uh, worked on the same ferry since I was fifteen or sixteen. I left a few years ago, but...â
âI assume it was for school," she prompts, her smile gentle, encouraging, but you feel anything but pacified. Your stomach plummets darkly at the mention of school, at the memories of sitting on a bench in a crowded campus and knowing you were nothing. Knowing you were less than the people around you, and the sinking realization that all of it had been for nothing because you were crawling back home at the end of the day, the world still as large and uncaring as ever, leaving you behind to rot in the past. Just another faceless, nameless drop in the ocean.
âYes,â you say, the word brittle. âSchool.â
There's a silence, filled by the low hush of the wind.
You can't bear it. Not to make it awkward, you stumble over your words with the grace of a newborn calf trying to ice skate. "I â I got my degree and everything, it's just that the, um. Job hunt wasn't successful. So." You try to force a laugh, but the sound sticks in your throat.
Talia hums thoughtfully. "So many young people are struggling with the same problem these days. It's hard to find steady work." Her fingers tap the table, a gentle, contemplative rhythm. "What a blessing it is for you to become the captain of the family business!"
Yeah, lucky me.
What a blessing, to be a failure in the outside world and have to return to the safe haven of the familiar. To know that the only place that values you is the one you feel so humiliated to feel such relief in stepping foot on again. And to feel that way, to feel embarrassed, ashamed of that sense of security and joys you've come to rediscover connecting with people and taking control of the ferry that was a ball and chain to you when you were younger; to feel unworthy, and small, and like a little girl again, a child in oversized clothes playing dress-up in adulthood. Lucky, lucky, lucky.
You bite your lip. Hard. Enough to draw blood and distract yourself from the shame that burns on your cheeks. Don't cry, don't cry, please don't fucking cry in front of a literal stranger. Your knuckles turn white from gripping the handle of the teacup.
"Not captain," you correct, attempting a weak smile, though the corners of your lips feel weighed down, refusing to rise properly, staring at the dregs of tea leaves swirling into shapes that look suspiciously similar to sinking ships.. "My dad is the captain. I'm just helping out."
"Don't be modest! Captain-in-training, then," Talia insists, her own smile never faltering. "That's a huge responsibility. One that takes dedication, and skill, and commitment. It's not something that everyone can manage." She lifts her teacup in a subtle toast. "And from what I hear from my nephew, you're quite the hero. Without you, who knows what those fishermen's fate could've beenâ"
The world narrows to static, blurring underwater as memories surge â your motherâs disappointed sigh when you moved back home, classmatesâ LinkedIn posts gleaming like knives (Curatorial Assistant @ Metropolitan Museum!), the ferryâs deck tilting beneath your boots as waves swallowed the bowâŠ
ââreally admire that kind of dedication,â Talia was saying when you tune back in. "But what did you study, if you don't mind me asking?"
Your lungs refuse to inflate properly, and you get in a careful cough in to get rid of that feeling. It doesnât work.
Rafayelâs chair screeches suddenly as he stands, his robe billowing like a storm cloud. It startles you.
He's been so silent this whole time that you forgot he was there, curled up in his chair and observing the two of you speak, his head tilted in a way a catâs would while watching a bird from a window. Now, his sudden motion makes the wisteria above shudder, and the wind picks up, sending the purple hair tumbling across his shoulders in waves of silk, his earring swaying.
"I'm bored," he says, the words clipped. He gives his aunt a pointed glance. "Are we done here?"
Talia's brows furrow. "Don't be rude. We have a guest, Rafayel." Her chiding is gentle, but firm. There's a certain authority to her that reminds you of how a parent would scold their child.
"Well, she clearly is. Look at her," he gestures toward you with a flourish of his sleeve, and for a second, his smile is a slash of lightning across his face. âSoooooo bored. All that landlubber talk is making her wilt. Glub glub glub, job job job. That's how it sounds. I can't stand to watch anymore."
Your mouth drops open. Landlubber?
But before you can protest, he's rounding the table, the hem of his robe dragging over the stone tiles, his bare feet making no noise. When he reaches you, he extends a hand, the gesture grand and sweeping. A prince from a fairy tale. The beads and thin chains of the bracelets you hadnât noticed because of the concealing layers of fabric clink and shingle with the motion.
"Come," he says. "I want to show you something."
You stare at his offered palm, at the delicate bones and tendons that shift beneath the skin, the fine tracery of veins that run up the inside of his wrist.
"Umm," you trail off, wary of his motives and stealing a glance to a suspiciously calm-looking Talia. There's no trace from her earlier admonishing, it's all soft interest and a certain understanding now you aren't privy to. You wonder what that means. "It's okay, I'm notâ"
"Yes, you are, you hate these talks," he cuts you off, and his hand stays suspended in mid-air, waiting. Patient, yet insistent. His fingers twitch. The sea breeze plays with the ends of his hair. Then, softer, gentler: "Indulge me."
Rafayel brings you to a damn lagoon, of all things.
Of course there's a secluded lagoon tucked away right in the middle of the island. Of course this happens to be an atoll.
As a kid, you'd spend hours scouring the coastline, looking for hidden places to be candidates for your secret base away from your siblings. It was thrilling, discovering a place that was yours and yours alone, untouched and untainted. Raf's cove and grotto became that for you, in a way, a private oasis that's yours to explore and enjoy. Except that it wasn't just a simple nook in a rock, rather, it was a legitimate, actual, real-life hidden paradise.
But this is something else. This is... a level of fantasy you're unfamiliar with. A shock and flash of endless blue, opening your eyes to sunlight after staying in the dark for a long time.
Everywhere is a kaleidoscope of hues, shades, and tints â a thousand variations of green and blue that shift and blend and shimmer in the afternoon light, creating a dazzling display cupped in the bowl of sugar-white sandbars, cradled within the surrounding forest that forms a ring around it. The water is crystal clear and pristine, reflecting the sky and the surrounding landscape with mirror-like perfection.
As you step closer, the sand squishes underfoot, cool and silky against your toes, and the sound of the lapping waves is a soothing backdrop to the rustling leaves and chirping birds. You swear you can see parrotfish nibbling at coral pillars and striped damselfish darting through shafts of sunlight and the shadows of large schools.
Yeah, you wouldn't take one step outside if this was where you lived.
You can't help the wonder from spilling forth, hundred percent sure that your eyes must be sparkling. "Wow..."
"Admit it," Rafayel says, already knee-deep in the shallows, and you sputter at the sight of the hem of his robe floating on the surface, the luxurious velvet a violet stain on the waters that's drifting and rippling gently. Not only is he ruining the fabric by not taking it off, but his pants are also intact. Can velvet even go in the washing machine? What is his pants made out of? How much would the dry cleaning bill would be? Oh god. Fucking rich people. "This beats talking about spreadsheets."
"We weren't even talking about spreâ"
You're interrupted by something flying at your face, a pearly moon snail shell that thumps harmlessly against your collarbone before it ricochets off you and plops into the water with a plink.
âCatch!â He lobs another â a spotted cowrie this time â and instinct makes you lunge sideways like a goalkeeper avoiding a penalty shot. The shell sails past into a tide pool where three startled hermit crabs abandon their lunch.
âAre you five?â You swat at the next projectile, a spiraled whelk that left sand grit in your palm.
His grin sparkles with mischief as he flicks his impossibly long hair back, the wavy strands sweeping behind him, a silken curtain unfurling in a gentle breeze, and you ignore the Mom-like urge to tell him to tie his hair up. âYouâre smiling.â
You werenât â until he says it, and then you're fighting a traitorous twitch of lips as he bends to pluck something from the seabed, and there the lower half of his hair goes, getting wet. The robe is halfway ruined at this point.
Water sluices off his arms as he presents his prize, a conch shell blushed pink as dawn clouds, still glistening with seawater.
You open your hands to the sides, shaking your shoulders once. "What are we doing?"
He's not looking at you, instead, he's holding the conch between his palms, his long, slender fingers curving around its elegant curves. "You'd rather stay and talk more with Talia about what your shame thinks you're failing at?"
Your smile drops. The hot flashes are immediate. "Excuse me?"
"You're excused," is the casual response. An infuriating smile curls across his face as his thumb traces the delicate contours of the conch, lingering on a particularly rough patch.
"Listen here," you snap, stomping up to him, and the splash is louder than intended. "I don't know where you got that from, you don't know what you're talking aboutâ"
"Don't I?" Rafayel interjects with a knowing look.
He leans in, his lavender scent wafting over you, a hint of saltwater and a curious muskiness that reminds you of the depths of the ocean.
"You think these hands," he turns your palm upward, tracing saltwater calluses you'd tried scrubbing away with pumice stones, "are any less worthy than ones clutching a piece of paper from some ivory tower and treat it as a golden ticket to life?" His touch lingers over a fresh rope burn near your thumb webbing, and the heat of his skin seeps into yours. "How are you any less of a person? Is the fisherman's soul any less noble than that of the scholar's, or the artist's?"
You're speechless for a moment, staring at his hand cradling yours, the smoothness of his unblemished, ring-clad fingers a striking counterpoint to the weather-worn texture of yours. You try to pull your hand away but he doesn't relent, staring right into your soul with those horizon eyes of his.
âOf course not. Thatâs not â thatâs not what this is about.â
âIsnât it?â
His habit of answering with more questions is starting to grate on your nerves. You catch a brief flash of hurt in his quick blinks when you yank your hand away, feeling the sharp edge of his rings scrape against your skin. âWhat do you know about any of this? Youâre just a wealthy kid who can afford to drag velvet through saltwater and mud like itâs nothing and â and you go around wearing a fur with nothing underneath, what... Spare me the lecture on shame or the dignity of hard work, youâre the last person who should be talking to me about it.â
He laughs in your face. He. Laughs. In. Your. Face.
And not a polite, demure chuckle either, no, the man throws his head back and cackles like a witch on a broomstick. Like youâve just said the funniest thing in the world. Your blood boils. You're ready to grab the conch and bash his pretty face in, or at least shove his smug ass to dunk his head in the water, anything to get that mocking look out of his features. How dare he, to belittle you like that, to act like the entire conversation is a big joke. To mock your struggles and experiences and make them seem so trivial, when it's something that's been plaguing you since forever. Just because he's a trust fund brat doesn't give him the right to ridicule youâ
"Yeah, okay. Alright. I get it." His laughter dies down with a loud exhale that has weight behind it, a distant look on his face that goes from somber to a prickly smile that raises the little hairs on the back of your neck. "I don't think it's me who you're angry at. I'm not the one calling my work, and the work of my family, worthless. Inferior. Isn't that right?"
The gentle approach suddenly turning into an unabashedly exposing angle hit you in the sternum, knocking the wind out of you, your chest starts to rise and fall in a panicked rhythm, hands curling into fists at your sides. "I'm not fucking doing this," you murmur, turning on your heels to march the other way.
"Where are you going?" Rafayel calls after you, infuriatingly light and playful in a way that gives away its purpose.
Youâre not going to take this lying down.
"Don't talk to me," you throw back without looking.
"Why are you so determined to be miserable?â
You freeze mid-step, heart racing as you pivot on your heel. Your gaze locks onto him, eyes wide with disbelief, and your lips part in a silent gasp, any clever retort you could come up with having slipped away just when you needed them most. "What did you just say to me?"
He is a demon from the depths of hell, cloaked in a guise so enchanting it could make angels weep, cradling the conch shell still, turning it over as though contemplating an orb of secrets. The smile playing on his lips curls like a wicked crescent moon, glinting with trouble and utterly devoid of remorse, giving you the dread that heâs privy to every shadowy thought that dances through your mind.
"You donât get to live what you meticulously planned in your little dream journal when you were sixteen, isnât that what this is? End of the world as you know it?"
That is the final straw.
You realize now that youâre no more than an insect pinned under glass, a specimen for his twisted analysis during your fleeting stay in his world. The way he speaks, dripping with condescension, casually dismantling any shred of common sense and courtesy while he picks you apart â it all coalesces into a singular point of white-hot rage.
As soon as the words "My dream journal?" leave your mouth in a shriek thatâs raw and torn from your throat, you're already on the move, a storm surging forward to retrace her path.
Your hand snatches his collar, fingers bunching into the soft fabric of his ridiculous robe, and you yank him down with a force that knocks the smirk clean off his face.
âYou think this is about some childish fantasy? This is my life youâre sneering at and feel oh so comfortable just telling me to stop being miserable like a king demanding a court jester to stop the performance! You stand there, draped in⊠in whatever that is, looking like youâve never had a real problem in your entire existence, and you dare toâtoâ"
Words fail you for a moment, choking on the sheer audacity of him. You jab a finger in his face, trembling. âYou know nothing! Nothing about what itâs like to pour your heart and soul into something, to sacrifice, to believe youâre finally on the right track, only to come to hate the world you fought so hard to become a part of laugh in your face and send you crawling back with your tail between your legs! To have that piece of paper, that golden ticket, turn out to be worth less than the fancy toilet paper in your auntâs gilded bathroom!â
The outburst rips through you and shakes your lungs, shuddering and violent as a rogue wave. Rafayelâs provoking smirk is gone and has been for a while now, replaced by a chilling attentiveness that is almost a calculated switch flip. He isnât playing with the conch anymore. The silence that envelops him is more taunting than any argument could muster, as if heâs forgotten that it was he who kept prodding the beehive that is your emotions.
His eyes, wide and glazed over, seem to have lost their focus, and his lips part slightly. There's a subtle shift in his stance â not retreating, but leaning ever so slightly toward you in the space between you that has compressed.
But you don't see it.
Instead, you're consumed by the pounding of your own pulse echoing in your ears and the solid presence of him beneath your grip that you want to crumple up like paper. The warmth emanating from his skin where your knuckles graze the curve of his collarbone register as your own with how your blood is on fire. Youâre too far gone, drowning in a turbulent sea of anger and humiliation, the raw sting of a confession laid bare keeping you blind to how still heâs become, blinding you to his dazed expression, as if he's caught in the eye of something both sacred and shattering.
âItâs not just about not getting to live what I planned!â you continue, voice cracking, like a mirror, or a dream, the pent-up shame and frustration of months, years, finally breaching the dam. âItâs the looks! The pitying smiles! âOh, back so soon?â âCouldnât hack it out there, huh?â Itâs seeing everyone else move on, build lives, while youâre stuck in reverse, replaying all your failures! Itâs the crushing weight of knowing you disappointed everyone, especially yourself. And then,â the words tumble out of your mouth like sea glass, smooth and worn down by years of turmoil and emotion. âthen the worst part is⊠sometimes⊠sometimes it doesnât even feel that bad. Being back on that ferry, feeling the deck under my feet, the people, the salt spray on my face⊠it feels right. It feels like breathing again after nearly drowning. And that, that tiny bit of relief, thatâs the most shameful part of all! To find comfort and secretly enjoy the thing you were supposed to leave behind because it means youâve failed at everything else! What did I do it all for if I was going to end up right back where I started, then?â
You take a moment to swallow down the angry tears, not looking up from your shaking hand about to rip his necklace right off. âEvery single day I betray myself whenever I feel any kind of joy here. So yeah. Yeah, it is the shame. Is that what you wanted to hear? Does it feel good to hear that you were right?â
The ensuing quiet is deafening, filled only with the sound of water gently lapping against the shore and the occasional squawk of a seabird overhead. You can almost hear the ghost of his damned smirk in the breeze, can imagine his smugness, the satisfaction of having cracked open your vulnerabilities and laid them bare for his observation and mockery. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment and anger, and you canât bring yourself to look at him, not willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing the humiliation in your face, the stinging in your nose that signals imminent tears, the tightness in your chest that threatens to suffocate you.
"No," he says softly, and the unexpected tenderness in his tone startles you.
Your head snaps up in a whip of your hair, your watery glare piercing through him, daring him to continue his charade of concern or pity, whichever cruel act he chooses to indulge in next. But his face betrays none of that. Instead, his features are etched in an earnest, worried way that's as foreign as his touch had been to you.
His brows are drawn together, lips pursed in a slight frown, and his irises are a stormy plum, darkened with a sincerity that seems out of place in the vibrant colors of the lagoon. His fingers twitch and relax, a rhythmic, anxious pulsing that makes the opals in his rings catch and refract the light, casting tiny, scattered prisms on his skin.
What is he, a child? Whatâs with the sudden remorse? Heâs the one who provoked you to get the reaction he wanted. This isnât a bonding moment, nor was it indended to be so. He taunted you without using a single offensive insult, made assumptions about you that hit all the weak places, all from his high horse â just to appear backpedaling at the very last second?
Yeah, no. You donât fuck with that. Heâs playing with you, the bastard.
"Weâre done here," you spit, drop the grip you have on him, and begin marching off toward the direction of the manor, hoping to put enough distance between you and him before the dam breaks and the flood comes, your feet kicking up small splashes of water.
You stop though, sniffle vindictively, holding a finger up as if you just remembered something, and turn around, "One more thing. I hope you enjoyed making a show out of me and the momentary entertainment you got. Because the moment you take a step outside this island and cross my path, the first thing that I see that'll fit in my hand will be used to knock you flat on that dumb, pretty face of yours," you promise. "I don't care if you're rich enough to get me in trouble. Trust I have more reach than you. I don't even care you saved my life. Fucking stay away from me."
"You think my face is pretty?"
"Go fuck yourself!" The scream is so loud and sharp that the flock of seagulls perched on the rocks scatter in alarm, taking flight in a cacophony of screeches and flapping wings, leaving him alone in the center of the lagoon, his silhouette a lone figure in the midst of the disturbed waters and the swirling sand.
Rafayel stares at the wake of your departure, the conch shell in his hand. A slow, drunk smile unfurls across his face â half-dazed, half-devotional â as his knuckles drift upward, the pad of his thumb catching on the swell of his bottom lip.
As you round a curve shaded by flowering jacaranda trees, their purple blossoms fallen confetti on the path, you hear them. Voices. Familiar voices. Your parents. They are alare ready on the patio, Mom is sitting in one of the wrought-iron chairs, her shoulders hunched forward as she speaks animatedly with Talia, who is perched on the edge of her own seat, listening with that same serene attentiveness. Dad stands a little way off, near the balustrade, his arms crossed, looking out at the view, though his posture is stiff, alert.
The sight of them, solid and real, and oh-so-familiar, nudges a younger version of yourself from deep inside. You are suddenly a child again, wanting nothing more than to run to your mother and sob on her shoulder, to have your father stroke your hair and murmur comforting words after a nightmare.
âMom? Dad?â
Their heads snap up. Mom gasps, a choked sound, and then she is out of her chair, stumbling slightly as she rushed towards you. âOh, my baby! My baby!â
She collides with you in a fierce hug, her small frame trembling against yours, the familiar scent of her soap and worry enveloping you. You cling back, burying your face in her hair, the fight with Rafayel momentarily forgotten, replaced by a wave of overwhelming relief and a fresh surge of guilt for the fear youâd put them through.
Dad is there a second later, his big hands gripping your shoulders and rubbing your back, his eyes, red-rimmed, scanning you from head to toe. âYouâre alright? Youâre really alright?â
âIâm okay, Dad,â you manage thickly. âIâm so sorry I almost lost the ferryââ
âNo, no, don't,â Mom sobs, pulling back to cup your face, her thumbs wiping at tears you hadnât realized were falling. âWe thought⊠we thoughtâŠâ
âWeâre just glad youâre safe,â Dad finishes, gruff with emotion. He turns to Talia, who has risen and is watching with a soft smile. âMrs. Talia, we⊠we canât thank you enough.â
âIt was truly no trouble at all,â Talia says warmly. âThough, I must correct you. It was my nephew Rafayel, who found her and brought her here. Heâs the real hero of the hour.â
As if summoned, Rafayel has appeared at the edge of the patio, presumably sneaking through while your family was having a group hug, his purple robe now clinging damply to his frame, the ends darkened and heavy. He's avoiding your gaze, his own fixed on a particularly interesting patch of flagstone near his bare feet, a subtle pout playing on his lips, looking less like a Ghibli prince and more like a drowned, petulant kitten.
Your parents turn to him, their expressions shifting to awe and gratitude.
âRafayel, is it? Young man, we owe you everything,â Dad says, extending a hand.
âYes. Yes, we do. Thank you, dear,â Mom echoes, stepping closer. âHow can we ever repay you?â
âNo need.â He finally looks up, his smile radiant, but his body language awkward, almost shy, as he takes Dad's hand in a firm shake. His fingers, long and pale, are a striking counterpoint to Dad's work-roughened grip, the glint of his rings catching in the sunlight and highlighting his slender digits. "I'm happy to help. Anyone would've done the same in my place."
"Nonsense," Dad insists, pumping Rafayel's hand enthusiastically. "You went above and beyond.â
"There must be something we can do. A reward, a gift, anything. It's the least we can offer."
"Oh, no. Really, you're too kind. Seeing her safe is the only reward I could ask for."
"Butâ"
"I won't accept anything, please, I insist." As they speak, the two of you lock gazes over their heads, and his smile stretches a fraction wider. "Besides," he continues, returning his attention to your parents. "There's no greater treasure than reuniting a family."
The conversation that follows is a short one. Your parents want to take you home as soon as possible and get you checked out by your doctor. They are adamant to pay Rafayel though, or at least send a gift, and he remains unfailingly polite and gracious in his refusal, which is infuriating since you know him to be the opposite of those things.
In fact, every part of this is irritating. The exchanged numbers with Talia, the promise of staying in touch, the hugs goodbye; all of it feels surreal, like it's happening to someone else, and you're merely an observer, hovering somewhere outside your own body. And then, just like that, it's over. You are being ushered away and find yourself in the boat your parents have taken here instead of the ferry. The motor chugs to life, and the shoreline slips away, carrying with it the island, the manor, Talia, and Rafayel.
He's standing on the dock, the sun beginning its descent behind him, his silhouette growing smaller and fainter. He raises a hand in farewell, a gesture that seems both oddly formal and strangely intimate. You donât return it.
You miss Raf so bad.
âAre you absolutely sure youâre alright?â Mom's voice carries over the rhythmic slap of waves against the hull, a question she'd posed at least a hundred times. Dad is keeping one ear on the conversation, his hands steady on the wheel as he navigates through the choppy waters. âNo headaches or dizziness?â
Wrapped snugly in a blanket she had insisted upon, you feel the boat's engine thrumming beneath your feet, a comforting vibration that seems to resonate with your bones. "I'm fine, Mom. Just tired," you slur your words, leaning into her shoulder. The warmth and familiar scent of her lull you into a drowsy haze now that you're fully safe.
âLet me just check,â she tuts, her hand gently probing your side through the blanket. âYou said you hit your side when you fell?â
You remember the sharp pain when you tried standing up on that beach, the way youâd clutched your side, the blood staining your ripped turtleneck and the sand you were resting on. âYeah, I think I got a nasty cut on the rocks or something.â
Mom frowns, her fingers pressing more firmly. âWhere? I donât feel anything. Are you sure it was this side?â
You sit up, a knot of unease tightening in your stomach, pulling the blanket away and lifting the hem of the borrowed sweater, then the t-shirt underneath. Your fingers trace the skin of your side, where the jagged rocks of the Teeth should have left their mark.
There's nothing.
Not a scratch, not a sore bruise, not even a faint pink line to indicate where the bleeding stripeis had been. The skin is smooth, unblemished,.
You stare, bewildered, your mind racing back to the searing pain, the crimson stain, Rafayel not wanting to be piggybacked because he was afraid of hurting you further. It was real. You recall it clearly.
âSee?â Mom sighs, relieved. âNothing there. You must have just imagined it in all the chaos, poor thing.â
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