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Thinking about how Sunday would love tucking his head into your neck.
It made him feel safe and secure. Plus, it was a great spot to give small pecks and kisses when he was feeling particularly mischievous. It was his safe place.
However, there was the issue of his wings.
His beautiful wings were just too excitable for your liking. Sunday was a sensitive man, prone to getting overwhelmed by the slightest bit of emotion, including love.
It wasn't his fault! You were just too you! How was Sunday ever supposed to act when you let him so freely near such a vulnerable part of you? How you let him rain love upon you?
His wings would inevitably begin to flutter every. single. time. And every single time the feathers would brush against your neck and make you release a giggle or two. And god was it embarrassing for the Halovian. How could he, the previous head of the Oak family, be unable to control his own wings!
Yet, some selfish part of him relished in your laughter every time he wings began to flutter along your neck, tickling your senses and causing you to throw your head back in joy.
it was natural phenomenon, a puppet crafted from a branch of irminsul by the hands of the very electro archon herself, was bound to be flawless, composed of features revered by myth and legend.
but skin that remained pale and unfazed by the sun, or weight immune to fluctuation, were things that lacked any sort of humanity. they were unnatural, unrealistic, and characteristics no human should strive for.
dolls hardly resemble people, they were simply canvases to craft perfection instead of beauty. wanderer was completed, not born.
he knows very well of his artificial nature. he knows he cannot alter it, nor did he dwell too much on what he couldn't change. however, being called "pretty", was a jarring reminder of his inherent difference, and the absense of a heart.
so, whenever someone called him complimented his face, he didn't feel too much. he'd simply brush it off, before grunting and moving on with his day, books clutched tightly.
humans concerned themselves with 'beauty', dedicating hours of effort and an eternity of stress to pursue something that lacked a true form. it was something far too precious to subject to a singular, objective form, unlike the principles of mathematics and science. whatever 'standard' of it that existed was simply consequence of certain people being too vocal about their preferences.
wanderer had heard of dehya's complaints of her wide shoulders and muscular build, yet he couldn't comprehend why one should feel ashamed of such strength. layla kept her face down, excusing it with her dark circles, when wanderer thought they were rather pleasant, even though he hardly noticed their presence. he's overheard teenagers groan about acne and pimples, but all he saw was growth and metamorphosis, a bittersweet farewell to childhood. he wondered how proud their parents must've been.
humans are a bit dense sometimes, he thinks. and oblivious to how beautiful they can be, with a tendency to believe otherwise.
"stop saying that."
"what, that you're pretty?" you commented, poking him in the shoulder. "but you are pretty."
and for some reason, you were well aware of his inhuman nature, yet showered him with praise.
the house of daena was, for the first time in a while, empty, with the exception of you two. all that glowed were the desk lamps, and the midnight wind occasionally ventured inside through its large windows.
wanderer was skimming through his required readings, you were annoying wanderer.
"you do realise nothing about me is natural." he muttered. "that includes how i look."
you do not find him beautiful, or anything of the sort, you thought of his creator as talented. you were enamoured by the raiden shogun's craftsmanship, not wanderer himself.
you shrugged. "fake flowers aren't real. they're still pretty."
he grunted, continuing to read his book. fake flowers were also loveable.
"and." you slouched, inching closer to him while resting your head on a stack of books. "it's not just your face, y'know. bold of you to think you're handsome."
to that, wanderer snickered, before swallowing it down and turning a page.
"you're pretty because you're kind."
he disagreed, he knew otherwise. he kept reading his book, the ink words barely registering to him.
anyone who'd even heard of the balladeer and his violent ways would disagree easily.
"and you're my favourite." you added, slowly tapping a nail against mahogany. "my favourite person."
wanderer's breath hitched, and then he swallowed.
"like you finished the rest of my essay that one time. even though it was my fault i was falling behind."
he scoffed. that was because you were struggling to adapt to the akademiya and its overbearing walls. wanderer felt the same too.
"and you're a really good listener. i can tell you anything."
wanderer rolled his eyes this time. listening was hardly anything, he thought. everyone had their own life, a tale unique to them. if anything, for someone to open up is a blessing, a sign of trust and comfort.
"oh, and cats! you always pet cats."
of course he did. he adored all wildlife. cats just happened to be his favourite.
"i don't get what point you're trying to make."
you shrugged. "you're more human than you think. far more than most scholars of the akademiya. and people in general. you can yap about being a puppet all you want, but you have a heart."
finally, wanderer peeled himself from his book; he wasn't exactly paying attention to it anyways. disagreement danced at the tip of his tongue, but he refrained.
maybe it was how you glowed despite the absence of light, or the softness of your voice floating through the air. maybe it was because you said everything he wanted to hear.
but if you thought of him as human, then he must be one, regardless of his nature.
his cheeks screamed red. "you're talking so much today, what do you want?"
and lucky for him, you didn't think to stop and tease him. "you. i want you." you stood up, snatching his book, and he let you. "do you even sleep? take a break."
wanderer sighed, taking your hand. "fine, if you insist."
so through the house of daena you pulled him, promising to buy him all the snacks he wanted for working so hard. you reprimanded him for not sleeping and taking breaks, wanderer simply promised to do so from then on.
Valko x Reader 🐺 Fluff! Slightly suggestive, but mostly just anxious!Valko being a cutie.
Summary: You take Valko to watch the fireworks. He's not a fan, but he finds a way to enjoy himself nonetheless.
A/N: As a USAmerican, the sky around me is currently filled with fireworks, because it's 4th of July weekend. And that got me thinking about watching a fireworks show with Valko, and how much he probably wouldn't like them because he's... a dog, and then I wrote this fic about it and here we all are! This is not explicitly set on the 4th or July, but it's definitely a lil 4th of July coded haha. Enjoy!
The warm summer breeze smelled like sugar and bug spray.
Valko's nose twitched; wrinkling up in that adorable way you loved to tease him about. His eyes narrowed, taking in the shapes that moved in the dark all around you. Fellow revelers, setting up last minute lawn chairs and blankets in preparation. The show was about to start.
"Ready?"
"Of course I am." Valko returned your toothy grin with one of his own, scrunching his face up and nuzzling close until you swatted at him, trying to get him to stop.
"Quit it," you laughed. "You're gonna make us miss the first one!"
As if on cue, you turned to see the first swirling trail of golden sparks. Higher and higher it climbed, until finally, color burst forth. A brilliant red, that seemed to bathe the sky in flecks of light.
You felt the force of the firework in your chest. A smaller explosion right next to your heart, that mirrored the one in the sky. Another loud burst followed mere seconds later, seeming to make the earth shiver.
When you turned to give Valko a smile, you saw him tense. Frozen in place, the only movement he made was to jolt back a fraction of an inch when the next rocket went off. You started to laugh, until you caught sight of Valko's expression.
Even in the darkness, you could see the way his brows were knit together. When he flinched, they grew tighter, and barely had time to relax before the next loud boom filled the air.
"You okay?" you asked, putting a hand on his arm as you raised your voice slightly, to be heard over the noise.
Valko, your normally clingy and affectionate boyfriend, shrank back from your touch. His eyes blew wide at the contact, as if you'd burned him instead of brushed him.
"Valko?"
You couldn't hear the deep breath he took, but you could see the way his chest rose and fell. Slowly, with effort. Valko leaned closer, this time accepting the touch of your fingertips.
"Yeah. I'm fine," he answered.
But the way his voice came out, all strained and clipped, told a very different story.
Valko's ears pressed down flat against his head, his scowl growing deeper with the next wave of fireworks. These ones were the extra-loud screeching kind. Their pinwheels of sound spun out through the air, and one of Valko's hands darted up to hover over his miserable ear.
"Valko, baby. Are you scared of fireworks?"
"Not scared," Valko insisted. "They're just - ghhh." He was briefly interrupted by the next loud boom, which descended into a shower of crackling sparks. "Loud," he finished.
He inched closer, seeking some comfort in the crook of your neck. Always his favorite place to be, where your scent was the strongest, according to him. Two more fireworks went off at once, and as light filled the sky you heard Valko let out a soft whimper.
"Come on, Valko." You spoke gentle, low. "Let's go home. You're not having fun."
Instantly, Valko's head snapped to attention. "No way." Huffing, he forced himself to sit up straighter. "You've been looking forward to this. We're not leaving now."
"Valko..."
"Trust me, I'm fine," he said, flinching again. "It's... I'm used to it, now."
You turned your attention back to the show, not fully believing him, but knowing that Valko was stubborn enough that you weren't likely going to get anywhere arguing. Sure enough, when the next rocket went off, Valko jumped halfway out of his skin.
"You are such a bad liar," you teased, resting the side of your face on his shoulder. It twitched under your cheek.
Before Valko had a chance to respond, an idea came to you. You moved, shifting on the blanket below you to sit cross-legged. You held your hands out to Valko, guiding him to position his head in your lap. Once he was all laid out, you cupped your palms softly but firmly over his sensitive, fluffy ears.
"Better?"
Valko looked up at you, adorably shocked, before a mischievous smile spread over his face.
"Much better," he hummed, settling into you.
Satisfied, you you looked up just in time to see the next blossom of sparks - this one purple and blue - and then let out a surprised yelp.
Valko glanced at you, his head turned to your bare thigh and teeth nipping at your skin. It was far too hot out to wear anything besides shorts, but that was a decision you were starting to regret.
"Could you not?" you hissed, just barely audible over the crackles and pops.
"Sorry. Can't hear you." Valko's ears tickled each time they moved, and he very deliberately flicked one against your palm. His lips hovered just over the spot where he'd bitten you. "Keep watching the show."
Valko behaved himself - mostly - for the rest of fireworks. You only had to swat his hand away twice as it trailed up your leg, before he finally decided to get the message. When the finale started up, one bomb bursting right after another in rapid succession, Valko buried his nose in the crease of your knee. But you chose to believe that was more due to fear than ulterior motives... Even if you could feel him nipping you.
After the last firework went off, Valko sat up. He looked at you with that infuriatingly dreamy expression he got after spending a few minutes wrapped in your scent. And as always, your cheeks blazed with heat.
"So, what did you think?" you asked.
Valko shrugged. "The fireworks were okay. You were the best part."
You rolled your eyes, waving a hand to shoo him off of the blanket. When he didn't move, you pressed a hand into his chest, playfully knocking him back down.
"If you didn't like fireworks, you should have just told me," you scolded him. "I wouldn't have forced you to come."
"And let somebody else take my place?" Valko teased. "Yeah right."
He rolled off the blanket, and started to help fold it up. All around you, other families were packing up gear and streaming toward the exits. The park where the fireworks show was held seemed huge, and abuzz with energy. You let Valko finish with the blanket as you watched people laugh, their eyes still glowing bright as if with lingering embers.
As the park emptied, one last, lone firework burst. A late bloomer; it must have failed to launch during the show.
Valko was plastered onto your side in an instant, his arm wrapped around your waist as if he was the one protecting you. From the big bad dangerous sky sounds.
"Let's get you home," you laughed, feeling the way Valko pressed closer. His fingers curled into you, slightly too hard to be casual. "And Valko?"
He looked at you, laced with concern.
"No one's taking your place," you assured him. "At least, not when you being scared is this cute."
With a wink, you led Valko away from the crowded field. Trailing beside you, he smiled.
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➸ qifrey x fem!reader
➸ w.c: 2.8k
➸ synopsis: qifrey can't help but notice that you never seem to go out of your way to buy things for yourself, always putting everyone else's needs before your own, so when he heads to the market he only has one goal in mind, finding you the perfect dress
➸ a/n: this fic was requested, askefjhdn, this was such a cute request, i loved writing it out! i may have had a bit too much fun with this, but hopefully it turned out well, i know the last scene between the reader and olruggio probably wasn't necessary, as for a lot of scenes between the reader and the girls, but i really loved lil scenes like that so i won't delete 'em. i wrote this with everyone's english dub voices in mind, lol, as in it was playing in my head as i wrote it and so now you must all read it as such, thank you for listening to angel's ted talk. also this is my first fic, so um, please be merciful ૮⍝• ᴥ •⍝ა + divders made by the talented @honeyluvsw
You were selfless.
And it was never purposeful, or even noticeable in some instances.
It was just you.
You who silently began saving up enough coins just to take the girls to a new magic bakery that you had overheard them talking about just a week before.
You who made sure to check on Olruggio every night, bringing him a cup of tea, snacks, and a blanket whenever you could.
You who helped him in every way possible, sweeping so that he could go outside and have a picnic with the girls, cleaning his room so that as soon as he entered the atelier he could rest after a long day.
You who never asked for anything in return because you never thought of it as something that needed to be returned.
And he couldn't have that.
Because you deserved better, even if you convinced yourself otherwise it was the truth, if only he could show you just how much.
ꮽ౿
"Alright girls, i'll be heading off to the market now, so be good for (Name) and Olruggio, alright?" Qifrey urged gently, giving them each a hug as they huddled closer to him like a group of ducklings surrounding their mother
"Yes, Master Qifrey!" they exclaimed simultaneously as they raced past him and headed outside, giggling and talking happily about a new spell they wanted to try out.
Sighing in silent defeat, he turned to you and Olruggio with a rueful smile, asking
"Would you two like me to get anything well i'm at the market?"
Though he asked both of you, his blue eyes never left yours.
You smiled warmly, simply handing him a small bag of food and replying
"I'm all right, but i've noticed that the hems of the girls cloaks have started to fray, i'll need some needle and thread, but that's about it"
Letting out a breath of air at yet another example of your quiet kindness, he took a step closer brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face and resting his hand on your cheek, leaning in he murmured
"Are you quite sure about that? It's almost Silvers Eve, don't you want a new dress?" though he scanned your eyes for any flashes of uncertainty, he was met with the all too familiar confidence that your gaze always seemed to hold.
Placing your hand on his you laughed softly,
"I'm certain, last years dress will do me just fine"
He frowned slightly, unsure if he should let this go or keep pushing, but before he could reply he was quickly interrupted by Olruggios muttering as he headed back to his room
"I also don't need anything, thank you for asking"
Calling over his shoulder he said
"(Name) if you need help with anything i'll be in my room"
You giggled, eyes sparkling with amusement as you thanked him
"Thank you Olly, i'll be sure to call you if i need anything"
"Feel free to also not take my up on my offer, i'm gonna be busy...damn that paperwork" he grumbled
"I'll have to make sure to check up on him a bit later" you mumbled to no one in particular
Then grinning up at Qifrey, you walked with him to the front door
Leaning against the doorway you went on your tip-toes and began readjusting the collar of his cloak, and then (because you could never help yourself) began gently raking your fingers through his snow coloured hair
"You really should take more care of yourself love, your collar hasn't been straightened, and your hair is beginning to tangle" you murmured, genuine concern flickering in your expression
Qifrey chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist he held you close to his chest, only letting go once you began struggling out of his grip and stared up at him with quite the amusing pout (though he'd never say that aloud)
"What's so funny, hm?" you said with crossed arms, though the amusement shining in your eyes told him your were only teasing...or at least half teasing
"You never seem to worry about your own clothes or hair, but you always love worrying about everyone else's, well, everything"
Now it was your turn to chuckle, and as you continued readjusting his collar you replied with a small smile
"Well of course, i have to, it basically my job now"
"Oh?" Qifrey murmured, curiosity peaked as he forced your fidgeting hands to a stop
Gently cupping your cheek he had you meet his gaze once again
"And whatever could you mean by that?"
You looked at him as if it was something he should already know
"Well the girls are always busy with studying magic or running around outside, by the time their done they're covered in either ink or dirt, it's basically the same thing with you Olly."
You paused as Qifrey looked at you with a raised brow, expression clearly saying "are quite you certain of that"
"Ok, maybe you're a tad bit more organized than Olly is, but that's not saying much. That man is one sleepless night away from being a walking corpse, and his office is a mess, and don't get me started on all the conjuring ink spills that happen just on his side of the atelier-" you stilled, as the sound of Qifrey laughing invaded your senses and you ended up laughing with him
Playfully you pushed him out the door,
"Now out with you already, what're you still doing here?" you joked
Putting his hands up in false surrender, he allowed himself to be led out
"Alright, alright, i'm off!" he chuckled, almost ready to leave, but not before giving you a soft kiss on the tip of your nose, like he always did before leaving to Kahln, or anywhere else really.
Smiling as he watched your nose do the little scrunch it always did when he kissed you there,he began walking down the path leading eastward
As he headed off he waved one final time to the girls who were all sitting together at the bottom of the hill, papers spread across the grass, amicably discussing with one another about their new spell.
Smiling softly, he left his home and began walking the trek towards Kahln, the town of witches.
ꮽ౿
The market was filled with all kinds of shops that sold magical contraptions and baubles.
The streets were no better when it came to spells, with ones that lit up in the form of dragons and scalewolves, well others provided magical pastries that lit up with every bite.
After buying said magical pastries, ones he was sure that the girls (and Olruggio) would like, and some needle and thread that you had requested, he began looking for a dress shop, because he still couldn't seem to get the conversation he'd had with you before he left out of his mind
"Last years dress will do me just fine"
Last years dress?
The one that was fraying at the edges, and held stains from both dirt and ink?
He could already hear your answer in his mind, clear as if you were standing right beside him
"After a good washing and needlework it'll be as good as new, so stop worrying about me and go buy something for the girls"
He chuckled,
"Even in my own mind i can't seem to convince you to get something for yourself"
Stretching, and shifting the bags so that they rested comfortably on his shoulder he continued in search of a dress shop.
Because even if you didn't want a new dress you deserved one.
You deserved to feel special, and loved.
And as he had observed with Tetia (who was sure to agree with him), beautiful new clothing was the best way to make someone feel special.
And he could find no one more deserving of that feeling than you.
Entering a cozy looking dress shop he began carefully looking through the different dresses that were put up on display.
As he meandered through the small shop he paused, noticing a dress that rested on the very back of the rack, the waning sunlight that managed to filter through the shops windows gave the dress an ethereal glow - the dresses bodice and skirt were a pastel blue, with white frills and laces decorating it in soft waves, the pearls that donned the middle of the neck bow and bodice made it seem like it had just stepped out of something akin to a fairytale.
Immediately he called for the shop owner,
"Madam, how much would it be to buy this dress?"
The seamstress smiled brightly, hands held together as she exclaimed passionately
"This dress was based of an old tale from a fairytale book, it's my most meticulous work, and my proudest achievement" she proclaimed, to which Qifrey merely smiled
It was the perfect dress for you, a fraction of what you deserved really, but it would do.
He could practically see you in the dress already, smiling brightly, and looking like a being from the very heavens themselves.
"If it's alright with you i think i'd like to buy this dress" he finally managed to murmur, still entranced by the idea of you in this dress
"Of course, come with me"
ꮽ౿
"Olly, i'm coming in" you called softly, head carefully peeking into his dark room
"Hah, did ya need something (Name)?" he called from above, head leaning over the edge to look down at you
"Just brought you some tea and cookies that the me and the girls made" you responded as you walked up the steps to where he was
"Tea again? Y'know a good cup of beer would do me just fine as well"
You merely gave him a look, one that told him he was on thin ice
"Ahem, thank you, i'm sure it tastes just as good" he said, taking a sip
"So, why are you really here?" he asked, taking a cookie he began eating it rather messily, and left you to place the teacup on his desk
"Huh? Did you want brushbuddy to drop it off for you?" you asked with a dry chuckle
He merely looked at you with a raised brow, finally he sighed and further explained
"I mean, you're really here to drop all your Qifrey derived worries on me, and felt bad enough to bring tea and cookies well you were at it"
"...can't believe i was that obvious" you muttered, deflating in front of his eyes, but then not a second later you began anxiously muttering
"It's been two days, it only takes a few hours to get to Kahln, at most maybe half a day. What if it somethings happened? What if it started raining and he's been stranded somewhere, or what if he was attacked by the Brimmed Caps, or the Knights Moralis, or what if-"
"Or what if he's perfectly fine, and is on his way right now?" he replied calmly, as he took a sip of his tea and began to eat yet another cookie
Before you could continue on your worried tirade, you were cut off by a familiar voice
"Big sis (Name), Master Olly! Master Qifreys just come back!" Coco called, peeking her head into the kitchen
You let out a breath, the tension leaving your body all at once as you began following Coco
"I told you so" Olruggio muttered as he stretched and followed you both out, but you ignored him in favour of running to Qifrey
"Qifrey, you're alright!" you exclaimed happily, hugging him tightly
He laughed, hugging you just as tightly
"Let's us join too!" Tetia demanded, with Richet and Coco seconding her demands as they all joined the hug
Everyone turned to the two dark-haired individuals that were edging away from the hug
Staring at everyones hopeful looks, Olruggio and Agott both looked at each other and seem to come to resigned agreement with a heavy sigh
"...fine"
"if i must"
The hug was warm, and filled with laughter.
A perfect one in your book.
After the hug split off, and Olruggio silently herded the girls towards the hearth to enjoy their sweets and give you some privacy, you and Qifrey headed upstairs, to your room, for a moment alone.
"I'm glad you came back home safely" you murmured softly, eyes glimmering with relief
"I'm glad to be home" he murmured, placing a kiss on the bridge of your nose
Stepping back he grabbed a large bag that seemingly appeared from nowhere
"I've brought something for you"
You gave him a suspicious look,
"Surely thread and needle don't need a bag quite that big?"
He smiled fondly, and you couldn't help but feel your face warm at his loving gaze
"Needle and thread do not, but a new dress just might"
Though the frown never left your face, he could tell by the way your eyes silently lit up that you were at least interested in seeing it
"Well, go on then"
Placing the bag on the ground, he carefully picked up the dress, and oh, the look on your expression was worth every coin
"This is...for me?" you asked, disbelief clear in your voice
Your hands reached for the dress, but stopped just before your fingers could brush against the dresses fabric
Gently grabbing ahold of your wrist, he forced the dress into your hands,
"Of course, who else would be deserving of such a dress?"
You opened your mouth as if to reply, but couldn't seem to find the right words to say, except a strangled (and rather watery)
"Thank you"
"Of course, my love. Now go try it on, i'll be downstairs with the girls and Olly - i'm sure the girls will especially love it"
You nodded, teary eyed as you took the dress in it's full splendor
"It looks like it came straight out of a fairytale" you murmured in silent awe
"Which is why it's perfect for one such as yourself, a true fairytale princess"
You laughed, wiping the tears with the sleeve of your blouse you gently shoved him out the door
"No peeking, you have to wait to see me in this dress just like the others!" you teasingly exclaimed as you shut the door
Laughing softly, he turned to head downstairs but was stilled by the soft warmth in your voice as you spoke through the door
"Thank you Qifrey, for everything you do for me, thank you"
To which he merely smiled,
"It's my job, after all you're always busy looking after everyone else, someone needs to make sure you're also taken care of"
"And...i hope you know you deserve more than just this simple dress, you deserve so much more than this world has to offer"
And with that he headed downstairs
ꮽ౿
"So, what did you get her?" Olruggio demanded, handing him a piece of the magic pastry
Nodding his thanks, he answered simply,
"A dress"
Olruggio choked on his food, waving off the girls concern, he whispered furiously
"A dress?! You only got her a dress?!"
Qifrey nodded,
"Yes, what's wrong with that?"
Olruggio looked at him in disbelief,
"It's almost Silvers Eve, you could've gotten her a ring and proposed, but noo! You just had to get a dress and-" he paused abruptly, eyes wide as he stared at something behind Qifreys shoulder
"So...how do i look?" you asked shyly, and he immediately turned around and froze
You were beautiful-
No, beautiful wasn't enough to describe the way you looked
It was if you had stepped out of the very heavens themselves, and nothing in all the earth could dare hold a candle to a beauty that wasn't it's own.
But it tried, oh how it tried.
The sunlight gently filtering through the window tried, giving you a soft glow that could challenge the sun and all its fire.
The light wind that came from the open door tried, brushing against the stray strands of your hair, giving you the look a noble princess straight from the fairytales.
That dress, he knew as soon as he looked at it that it was made for you, but he would never have guessed that it was to this extent
The pastel colouring, the white laces and pearls, all of it, it was made for you
Twirling, you smiled brightly as the girls cheered you on, their praises for you filling the room
But Qifreys mind had long since left the conversation
"Oi, say something already" Olruggio muttered, bumping his shoulder with his own
What would say? What could he say?
"You look...mesmerizing-, no more than that, beautiful?enthralling?enchanting?"
Laughing nervously, he rubbed the back of his neck, admitting
"There doesn't seem to be a word in my vocabulary to describe the way you look that will do you justice"
Getting up, and making his way towards you, he gently cupped your face in his hands, staring into your glistening eyes, he murmured reverently
"But i'd like to try nonetheless"
"Because you are worth every failed word, and every beautiful thing this world has to offer, and as long as i'm around i won't let you ever forget it"
taglist: @thestupidgirlakira
a/n: it wasn't supposed to be this long, i swear! but please enjoy this, and forgive me if the ending is abrupt, i just didn't want it to feel like it was dragging on. i really loved writing this, and had a whole lot of fun, especially when it came to writing Olly being your #1 fan, i honestly think Olly might have a secret crush on the reader, lol. but he doesn't wanna ruin what you have with Qifrey, and that's where i'll end that, because that's a whole different fic! to the anon who requested, feel free to tell me what you thought, i actually really wanna know if i wrote it the way you were picturing! and to the rest of you reading, please tell me what you thought of this, i'd love to hear what you think as well ૮⍝• ᴥ •⍝ა! and if you have any request, my requests are open! now im going to nap, all this writing has made me sleepy ૮ – ﻌ–ა
What they do when you get cancelled as the new love interest in their favorite otome game
Caleb
Crashes out so bad. He actually crashes out and starts raging. Will start petitions online to get you back and will MAKE people sign them. Even the ones that weren't particularly interested in your release. Sends emails after emails to the game company to not do this to you. Writes in the survey how shallow they are for cancelling you. That's all he could do right? Is what you thought. This man will show up at the game company with a bunch of other players. If that doesn't work he will get a hacker and hack in the game server and leak your release. He's not giving up on you.
Rafayel
Sulks in his bathtub the first time he heard the news of your cancellation. Starts painting you and won't stop. You basically become his original character now and you're in every one of his paintings. “Didn't he paint this same maiden in the last painting?” “Doesn't this painting look a lot similar to last ones?” Murmurs spread around the exhibition and Thomas starts panicking. But he won't stop. This is to send a message that if they're going to cancel you he's going to keep bringing you back even at the cost of his own career, about which he could care less.
Zayne
He's the dawnbreaker, the foreseer and Dr. Zayne. You best believe that he will somehow find a way to you and bring himself in your game and become your canon love interest. Problem solved
Xavier
Nero 2.0 Will start a blog with your name and will defend you from the haters. Will get Isaiah and Jeremiah with him into this, though they do it for the fun. Isaiah absolutely rages at others. “If you're so keen on getting a character deleted because you don't like it, you should also consider getting yourself deleted because I don't like you.” Also replies to another comment saying they're gonna leave the game if you don't get cancelled with “Good. Don't bother coming back.” He gets so bummed out, he was saving diamonds in game for you and got a lot of savings for your upcoming merch and stuff. It's alright, he gets it all custom made.
Sylus
Buys the company and releases you himself.
⤷ Please don't be sad about the current situation. I hope this comedy of a thing that appeared in my mind gave you a little laugh. And please don't quit or uninstall the game because the other boys are gonna sure miss you as heck.
You show up at sylus’ place after an argument with your parents. it is indeed sickening and sweet to be the object of affection of your humble fruit vendor friend.
summary : you show up at sylus’ place after an argument with your parents. it is indeed sickening and sweet to be the object of affection of your humble fruit vendor friend.
pairing : sylus x mc!reader
genre : hurt comfort (i tried)
warning : mention of manipulative parents, not very canon divergent, pretend the mc has parents, slightly self indulgent
words : 2.3k
seated lazily at his place, sylus’ phone buzzed. his heart answered before his words do. that is to say, purely in his head, for you - his best friend (solely his own made up term), had called him.
“miss hunter, what a pleasant surprise, are you sure you meant to ring my number?” the smirk in his words is evident to fault. however, with no reply at the end, he prodded again, “kitten?”
“sy, are you at your place?” you asked weakly into the phone, and sylus knew immediately to not protest any further.
“ofcourse, im right here, come over.”
this is how after twenty minutes, you were at the n109 onychinus base, after a long day of wanderer-hunting (as sylus guesses), except this wasn’t your usual way to wind down.
you knew this. mephisto knew. luke and kieran knew. sylus, naturally, also knew.
the look in your eyes, where your smile didn’t quite reach the feelings you actually wanna convey from the actions that followed. the disconnect from your motor functions were very evident to the likes of a certain mafia boss.
you still followed through your regular greetings to everyone and headed to take a spot on the sofa.
huh.
sylus followed behind as you make yourself comfortable, taking off your shoes before finally removing your gear. he remained steady in his observation, taking you in as you moved effortlessly across the room and very oddly left behind your gear and shoes next to the sofa. you finished your routine (?) and stretched briefly before finally sitting down.
sylus stood next to the sofa without a word and prepared to head to the kitchen to alert the chef to make a meal for you, just how you like it. until, he heard you interrupt his thoughts where you cozy up to him for the night.
“hey sy, i don’t think i’m that hungry actually”, naturally, an exhausting mission can surely tire someone out to the extent of losing their appetite. you did mention, heading back from one, surely to relax at his place?
sylus’ face contorted into a strange expression that even he did not seem to recognise to be forming. this is so very normal, surely this is how humans as extraordinary as you must function. he reasoned and tried to not dwell on these little deviances of your behaviour in the past few minutes in his place. yet again, he moved to prepare the next thing on the list, dimming the lights and putting on a relaxing movie ofcourse.
it feelt strange, you’re usually going off about the next movie on your watchlist by now.
a man like sylus, did not build an empire of such power by sheer luck. his meticulous nature seeped through all aspects of his life. that included you too. he was aware of what his kitten likes and wants, what you may require if problems befalls your daily life and prepared for the next course of action for whatever goes amiss for anything; be it misplaced belongings or a missing wanderer’s coordinates.
all in all, sylus is observant, painfully so. nothing escapes those beautiful eyes of mr. onychinus of the n109 zone. in your nascent and odd friendship, you, too, are aware of this fact.
so what truly baffled him today is how you, a hunter of such caliber, and his dear friend of such nuance, have no guard up to mask any of the emotions you so clearly displayed, rather in actions.
a feeling of warmth spread against his chest when he realised.
you weren’t being wary.
you were being vulnerable.
whatever the situation could be, he could not help but suppress a smile that made its way to the corner of his mouth. the feeling of openness that he had been entrusted with by you.
right. troubled and out of it. sylus thinks and peered carefully over the possible reactions to this situation. his very detail oriented beloved is very tired and did not even care to freshen up from a mission.
was it a bad mission? he pondered for about a second before immediately dismissing the thought. no, you’re too strong for that and there isn’t even a scratch on you.
perhaps some personal problems?
after computing all the possibilities he could fathom, he took his spot beside you. this isn’t the usual meeting that takes place between you both and it bound him clueless, to not be able to gauge the reason for your distress.
“you know, i thought kittens marked their territory and remained loyal and consistent with their preferences, guess that doesn’t always hold true?”, he emphasised the last part to test the waters whether you deliberately chose his spot to sit. you see, sylus always loves to lean against the arms of the sofa and let you rest your head on him, steady and ever-present.
as friends do.
to this, you let out a sigh and finally held his gaze. a flicker of sadness made its way - first to your mouth, it twitched to contain your emotions. then to your eyes, where you really did make your best attempt to squint them shut without seeming like a complete and obvious fool. finally you folded your legs towards yourself, shielding this ‘outburst’ of feelings. your body very conveniently experienced, in all force, despite you trying to mask it ever since you stepped into his place.
this will change the trajectory of your relationship, you had thought before reaching out to him, however your body had moved faster than your brain did and before you knew it, you had already started heading over to this place.
next to him, you pulled your torso towards your bent knees, heavy with this all-encompassing sadness you squeak, “i didn’t know where to go.”
sylus took this as his cue to move himself to steady you against his arms and chest. it felt really warm for the duration that you could register what is happening, where he engulfed you into a bear hug.
that is what really broke you down, you let the feelings on the lose. finally letting it out of your system. throughout this whole scenario, sylus continued to soothe you by rubbing your back as you tried to compose yourself. you let it out for a while till he held you and kept you in his arms, until you only tried to attempt to breathe like a normal person does - when they’re not crying.
“sweetie, it’s okay, let it out. we can stay here for as long as you like.” damn it.
for once, you felt the weight of it all leave you temporarily. from the sweet cadence of his voice, to the ever-present warmth of his arms around you, or maybe it’s his chest? you’re way in your head to even comprehend this constant heat source this hunk of a man provides, it almost made you jealous from all the negative emotions washing over sheer cold to your body.
“today just-“, you begun but the combination of crying and breathing doesn’t really fare well to a person this exhausted, it took a lot to gain your composure back, enough to speak without constantly trying to inhale all the air present in the ecosystem of sylus’ home.
though, for however long you take, he only held you with poise and care. it sent you over the moon, almost making you forget the entire reason for this state you ended up in.
sylus didn’tpress on, he only waited and continued to observe you, his dear.
“sy, i- my parents…”, the despair in your voice easily sent the message across to him.
oh. It’s one of those fights.
you explained to him, all in one breathe, how your parents had been constantly picking fights and asking you to visit them more all the while trying to gaslight you from the terrible upbringing, solely for the fact that they had begotten you.
sylus listened. he understood. truly. through all the times you had made your way to his place, somewhere he knew you regarded him as a safe space to not only unwind from work, but temporary let go of the forced nature of your relationship with your parents and your terrible connection with them. he had picked up on it, in the hushed tones of turning down your mother’s incessant calls or the texts you read and never reply from your father.
he understood in the way, that perhaps you had chosen him the same way he has chosen you. no commitment to either, but a mutual regard for the feelings that foster between the both of you. be it of admiration or something more deep, he was yet to figure.
he continued to look at you with worry-struck eyes and moved his hand, carefully over your cheek. his fingers caressed your face. reverently, he moved his thumb to help wipe a tear almost about to fall. you continued to tell him all about the concluding assumptions your mom is forming to blame you for not visiting your childhood home. for not caring about them, for not thinking of them.
“apparently, i am selfish and i am over in my head ,” you confessed and nudged your face into the warmth he holds you with.
sylus’ expressions twisted drastically as the words fell into realisation. “sweetie,” is that really what you thought? “you are the most wonderful and thoughtful person i have ever laid my eyes on.”
how does one, pray tell, ever talk that harshly to a person this precious and soft-spoken. sylus racked up his brain on multiple instances of you, trying to find something -anything, that would prove true to the conjecture you just presented him. he somehow did not even need to think to long to involuntary answer, “and no,” sylus moved his hands from your face to hold your hands wrapped across your knees. he gently, as if devout, brought to hold your hands within his and simultaneously turned to face you completely.
“they could not know better. they have never known you.” he waited, for any shift in your eyes, you try and let his words echo into your mind. to your aid, he intertwined your fingers with his and squeezed, with a more deeper look in his eyes, that he usually has when you show up to his place unannounced. “you are the things you do all around, for not only me, but even those you know may not give back. you are the strongest person i have ever known, and you give and you give again but sometimes it is okay to let it go” sylus said this all in one breath, akin to a confession.
“you are more than your parents’ ‘absent child’,” he stopped, taken aback by his own pause but continued before he can even retract the next words, “you are more to me.”
well. that really helped you snap out of the constant spiral of your parent’s hurtful words echoing.
you sat with the feeling. his words. the hands. the closeness of your bodies. his warmth and those goddamn eyes of his. the sylus you usually see is not here, you think. this is something more; the most unguarded yet effortless look he adorns right now is one to remember.
“i’m sorry but kitten, I really won’t let you doubt yourself like this. especially by the words of people who don’t know any better, or you.” sylus’ voice dropped when he finished his sentence, as if, pained to set this request between the two of you.
for once, though this situation was one of many, you thanked your impulse for bringing you to the one place your heart know it would be allowed to express.
“sy,” you finally held your head up to match his gaze and hold it for a second too long. enough to gauge that he indeed had felt the same tenderness your heart experienced from his sudden confession.
“thank you.”
you continued with a clear throat, “they just called me out of nowhere again, and i did not have it in me to ignore them and it’s just- it’s been long overdue. i cannot be listening to their doubts for so so long now.” you expressed yourself boldly to him.
sylus picked up on your effort too.
“you never have to think twice about this. don’t worry, atleast not with me”, his fingers gently reached out to your chin as he noticed your flickering gaze to his lips. he waited. for you to finish what you started, he only held the back of your neck and the other, your face which had most positively burned to be the brightest thing on this planet.
you lightly pushed against his chest while engulfing his neck with a loop of your arms. you take sylus into a searing kiss to convey what words couldn’t. especially with this mental exhaustion.
he smiled softly into the kiss and pressed for a more dizzying locking of lips. the both of you, moved heads lightly to accommodate the utter force that was put into this exchange. after a while, you parted, rested forehead lightly on his. sylus locked eyes with you and giggles. actually fucking giggles.
you returned the absolutely adorable expression to which he commented, “kitten, you should fight more, if it means we get to kiss like this.”
“HEY!”, you shift and smacked his forehead, as he engulfs you into another big hug.
“just a thought, but i truly meant what all i said,” he met your wandering eyes, “you are everything and more, i actually plan on telling you all about it. that is, if you’ll have me?”, sincere in his confession, he still managed to make your heart soar. you pretend to think animatedly.
“hm, i’ll really have to think about it first you know”, you laughed as he let out a long held sigh.
the nervousness he harboured from not being able to distinguish your closeness from admiration or something more, that has finally bloomed into this shared affection. sylus took you in, all in your tear-streaked face and tired glory, and proceeded to nuzzle himself into your neck.
“are you sure you don’t project when you call me kitten?”,
for someone who calls you kitten so incessantly, sylus for sure acts like one too.
❥ pairing: firefighter!sylus qin x pastry chef!reader
❥ summary: “It started with smoke, and a voice that made the panic go quiet. A firefighter who carries her out of the flames — and goes back in for her kitten. She just wanted to rebuild. Find somewhere new. Keep her kitten and herself safe. She didn’t expect him. She didn’t expect any of this. But the best things don’t always ask for permission. And falling in love, as it turns out, is no exception.”
❥ genre: fluff + angst + smut (18+ mdni)
❥ word count: 100k+ (I look away 🫣 I am insane and not normal about sylus <3)
❥ status: completed
❥ warnings/tags: alternative universe, firefighter!lads au, idiots in love, mutual pining, strangers to friends to lovers, reader/mc experiencing a fire, smoke inhalation, mild hurt/comfort, thunderstorm, storms, slow burn, very long fic, emotional/sensitive!reader, playful banter, sylus the rage baiter. kitty and the lads shenanigans. slice of life, mutual masturbation, size difference. reader is shorter than sylus. reader is always audhd coded in my writing but anyone can read it. sylus is soft for reader, flirting/teasing, inexperienced/virgin!reader. dry humping, grinding, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, piv sex, soft!dom sylus, just in overall soft!sylus. sub!reader, vaginal fingering, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, overstimulation, size kink, a bit of daddy kink oop!?, oral fixation, breeding kink, praise kink, pet names (kitten. sweetie. sweetheart etc.), pleasure dom!sylus, aftercare.
⟶ a/n: HIIIIII here I am with a new (well technically it’s not new) Sylus fic hehe. I have been writing this for months but the story is as of the day I’m writing this complete! this fic means the world to me and goddddd I’ve been working on this for some time. this is a love story about mc who’s never been in love and one day she falls in love with a sexy firefighter. side characters are also present in the story and the other boys/li too! 🥰 I mainly wrote this for myself and my bestie Leah <3 and she’s also inspired (or basically this side character but u know… fictional hehe) me to write her and include her in the story too. leah <3 you inspire me every day and you mean so much to me. I don’t think I’d ever finish this story or even continue writing if it wasn’t for you and our other shared friends. you guys truly give me strength to keep going. anyways I love you guys 🥰🫂💖🥲 I genuinely hope whoever reads this loves this just as much as I loved writing it! also the title of the fic is inspired by the song into you by ariana grande 🩷
this goes without saying, but if you don’t like it don’t read it <3
AO3 • masterlist
San Francisco in the late evening had a particular kind of quiet that you’d never quite managed to find anywhere else.
Not silence — the city was never truly silent — but a settling. The way the fog rolled in from the bay and softened the edges of everything: the streetlights blurring gold, the distant clang of a cable car, the muffled laughter spilling out of a restaurant as its last table of the night lingered over wine. The hills that had punished your calves every single morning for three years now felt, somehow, gentler at this hour. Like the city was breathing out.
You loved it. You loved it in the way you loved all quiet, unhurried things — deeply and without apology.
Your feet were protesting by the time you turned onto your street, the particular ache of someone who had been standing since four in the morning settling into your shoes with cheerful vengeance. There was flour somewhere in your hair that you’d given up trying to locate around hour eleven, and your apron — abandoned on its hook at Miel — had probably taken most of the day’s evidence with it, but your forearms still wore a fine dusting of it at the creases of your elbows, and there was a smear of raspberry coulis on the inside of your wrist that you’d missed in the wash-up.
You didn’t particularly mind.
Fourteen hours. A batch of croissants that had finally, finally cooperated after two failed attempts at laminating the dough. A birthday cake for a little girl named Sophie that had taken the better part of the afternoon and that you were quietly, fiercely proud of. A broken display stand, a near-miss with a tray of financiers, and Leah — your most senior employee and your closest best friend — singing along, off-key and without shame, to whatever was playing through the bakery speaker while she restocked the cases.
A good day, in other words. Tiring in the bone-deep way that only good days could be.
You climbed the front steps of your building, dug your keys from your bag, and let yourself in.
Mrs. Beaumont’s cats found you before you’d fully cleared the door.
“Hi, babies,” you said, dropping to a crouch in the entryway with the automatic ease of someone who had done this every evening for two weeks now. Mochi wound himself around your ankles, motor already running; Biscuit regarded you from across the room with the specific aristocratic skepticism he reserved for anyone who wasn’t his actual owner. And then, picking her way carefully across the floor in her soft, rolling wobble — each step considered, each small paw placed with a deliberateness that you found endlessly endearing — came Stella.
“There she is,” you said softly.
She blinked up at you with her mismatched eyes, one pale blue and one gold, and you reached down and let her sniff your fingers before scooping her up, very gently, the way you always did. She was white as fresh cream and had a personality that could only be described as aggressively curious. She was so small. Even for five months old, she was so small, her legs a little shorter than they should have been, her whole compact body fitting neatly against your palm. The vet had explained the dwarfism with calm, clinical kindness, and Mrs. Beaumont had received the news with the equanimity of a woman who had seen everything and loved her cats regardless — but you, the first time Stella had wobbled across the floor toward you instead of away, had felt something shift very quietly in your chest and had not fully shifted it back.
You fed all three of them, tidied the water bowls, ate some left overs from last night and made yourself a cup of tea that you drank standing at the kitchen window watching the fog thicken over the rooftops.
Then you showered, changed into your softest pajamas, and sat on the sofa for approximately seven minutes before your body voted unanimously for unconsciousness.
The candle on the side table was still burning when you fell asleep.
It was vanilla-scented — a gift from your mother, sent in a box with a note that said for ambience, sweetheart, your apartment looks too sterile in photos. It needs to be cozier — and it threw a warm, amber light across the room that was genuinely lovely and that you’d fully intended to blow out after your tea.
You forgot.
And Stella, as it turned out, had been watching the flame with great interest for some time.
‧₊˚ ☾. ⋆˙⟡♡
You woke to the smoke alarm.
For a long, disoriented moment you simply lay there, blinking at the ceiling, your brain cycling slowly through the fog of deep sleep trying to locate the source of the sound. Fire alarm, it supplied eventually, with the unhurried authority of a thought that had not yet grasped the full weight of its own message. Fire alarm means—
The smell hit you.
You were off the sofa before you were fully conscious, your feet hitting the floor and your body moving on pure animal instinct while your mind scrambled to catch up. The living room was so wrong. The air was wrong, thick and grey at the edges, and the curtain was a tongue of orange that climbed the wall with terrifying enthusiasm, eating upward like it was hungry, like it had been waiting.
Your stomach dropped straight through the floor.
“Mochi,” you said, and then louder, sharper, your voice finding itself fast: “Mochi. Biscuit. Come here —”
The older cats were easier. Mochi, the fat tabby, came when called out of sheer automatic habit; Biscuit had already retreated to the bathroom at the far end of the hallway, which had the good sense to be away from the smoke. You scooped them both — one tucked under each arm, Mochi yowling his protest directly into your ear — and got them out into the corridor, setting them down near the stairwell where a neighbor already hovering in their doorway immediately stepped in.
“Is there anyone else—”
“Stella.” You were already turning back. “Small, white kitten, she can’t move fast, I have to—”
“You cannot go back in there—”
But your body was already making the decision.
You went back in.
The smoke hit you immediately — thicker than it had been thirty seconds ago, lower, meaner, the kind that got into your throat and stayed there. You dropped to a crouch and pulled your shirt up over your nose and it helped, barely, the cotton filtering almost nothing.
“Stella,” you called. Your voice came out wrong already, rougher than it should have been. “Stella, baby, where are you—”
Nothing. No small white shape. No wobbling little figure picking her way toward you.
You pressed further in, past the doorframe, staying low, your free hand trailing the wall. The heat from the living room was enormous now — a physical pressure against your face and arms, your skin prickling with it. Through the smoke you could see the glow of the fire painting the walls amber and orange, consuming the curtain completely, beginning to crawl across the ceiling.
“Stella.” Louder. Desperate. Your voice cracked on the second syllable and didn’t recover. “Please, please come out, please—”
The smoke found your lungs then. Really found them.
The cough started low and became immediately violent — your whole body seizing around it, your eyes flooding, the wall the only thing keeping you upright as your knees went uncertain beneath you. You couldn’t get a clean breath. Every inhale brought more of it, thick and chemical and hot, and your vision was starting to swim at the edges in a way that frightened you more than the fire did because you recognized it, distantly, as your body beginning to lose the argument.
“Stella—” The word dissolved into coughing again. You pressed your forehead against the wall, tried to breathe slow, tried to think. She was here. She had to be here. She was small and scared and she couldn’t run fast and you were not leaving without her, you were not—
Your legs buckled.
You caught yourself on the doorframe with both hands, barely, your arms shaking with the effort of it. The smoke alarm was still screaming overhead. The glow from the living room was getting brighter. You were crouched in a burning hallway and you couldn’t stand up properly and you still couldn’t find her and the panic was enormous now, shapeless and roaring, drowning out everything else—
The hallway door burst open.
Boots on the floor. Radio crackling. And then a figure in full gear was moving through the smoke toward you with a speed that made no concession whatsoever to the conditions — not slowing, not hesitating, crossing the distance between you in seconds and dropping to his knees right beside you.
“Hey.” His voice came through the visor, low and immediate, and there was a quality to it that cut right through the roaring in your head — the kind of calm that simply existed, that didn’t negotiate with chaos, that arrived and took up all the space the panic had been using. His gloved hand came to your shoulder. “Hey. Look at me.”
You tried. Your eyes were streaming and your lungs were burning and your legs were still refusing to cooperate but you tried.
“The kitten—” It came out as barely a rasp. “She’s still in there, she can’t move fast, she has dwarfism, she hides low—”
“What does she look like.”
Not a question. A lifeline.
“White,” you managed, between coughs. “All white. One blue eye, one gold. Please, she’s so little, she doesn’t — she doesn’t understand—” Another cough tore through you, your whole body shaking with it, and this time your grip on the doorframe slipped completely.
He caught you before you hit the floor.
One arm beneath your knees, one at your back, and you were up — lifted clean and fully off the ground in one motion, tucked against his chest before you’d fully registered what was happening. You made a sound of protest that came out as more coughing, your hands gripping the front of his gear weakly, and he adjusted his hold without comment, his grip absolutely certain, the kind of secure that didn’t ask you how you felt about it.
“Wait—” you started, between shuddering breaths.
“I’ll get her,” he said. Flat. Unarguable. The most unshakeable four words you had ever heard. “But you’re coming out first.”
He was already moving. Long, even strides back down the hall, angling your face away from the worst of the smoke, shielding you with the bulk of his body. His hand came briefly to the back of your head, pressing your face into his shoulder, away from the air you couldn’t breathe — and the gesture was so deliberate, so careful, that something in your chest cracked quietly open alongside the panic.
The stairwell door. The stairs, fast. Another figure in gear passing you on the way up, voices coordinating above you, the building’s alarm still screaming.
And then the night air, cold and clean, flooding into your lungs like water into a dry riverbed.
You coughed through it, great gasping coughs, your whole body shuddering with relief and with the aftermath of the smoke. He carried you clear of the entrance before he set you down, slowly, carefully, on the front steps — one hand staying at your arm until he was sure your legs would hold. They held. Barely.
You looked up at him. The visor reflected the red and white of the trucks at the curb. His grip at your arm loosened, but didn’t disappear.
“Stay here,” he said.
Your throat was raw. You managed one word.
“Please.”
Just that. He understood it completely.
He held your gaze through the visor for a beat longer than necessary.
Then he turned, and walked back into the burning building without a moment’s hesitation.
‧₊˚ ☾. ⋆˙⟡♡
The next four minutes were the longest of your life.
You sat on the cold stone step in your pajamas — soft cotton shorts and a worn oversized tee that said MIEL across the chest in faded pink letters — with your arms wrapped around your knees and your eyes fixed on the door he’d disappeared through. The street outside was lit up red and white, two fire trucks angled at the curb, more figures in gear moving with that same particular controlled urgency. A paramedic appeared at your elbow and tried to get you to move further back, and you did, a little, just enough to technically comply, but you kept your eyes on the door.
Someone put a blanket around your shoulders. You didn’t feel it.
She’s so little, you thought, and the thought had a specific texture to it, a tightness behind your sternum that had nothing to do with the smoke you’d inhaled and everything to do with the image of Stella wobbling between pieces of furniture, her small uncertain gait, the way she always tilted her head at you when you called her name like she was giving the question serious consideration before committing to an answer.
Please, you thought at the door. Please.
And then he came out.
He came out the way he’d gone in — unhurried, deliberate — and cradled against his chest, small and white and very much alive, was Stella.
The sound you made was embarrassing. You were dimly aware of that even as you made it — a soft, undignified noise somewhere between a gasp and a sob — and then you were crossing the distance between you and him, the blanket falling off your shoulders, your arms already reaching.
“Oh,” you breathed. “Oh, thank you — thank you—”
Stella, characteristically, seemed unbothered. She was blinking at you with her mismatched eyes, her tiny white nose twitching, apparently of the opinion that being carried through a burning building by a large man in fireproof gear was simply another thing on the agenda of this evening.
“She was under the bathroom sink,” he said. “Second shelf.”
“Of course she was.” You laughed, wet and wobbly, pressing your face briefly against the top of Stella’s small head. “Of course. That’s her spot.”
And then — because it was over, because she was safe, because the adrenaline was finally metabolizing into something softer and more complicated — your eyes filled.
You blinked hard. Refused to cry in front of a stranger. Succeeded only partially.
When you looked up, he was taking off his helmet.
You weren’t prepared for that.
He was incredibly handsome.
That was the thought that arrived first, and it arrived without apology. Unreasonably, almost unfairly handsome — all clean sharp angles and a jawline that had no business existing on a person who had just walked out of a burning building, the silver hair falling loose from the helmet slightly damp at the temples, catching the red and white light of the trucks in a way that made it look almost luminous. And his eyes — red, a deep extraordinary red, like a garnet held up to a flame — found Stella immediately. Found you, specifically, with a directness that made the breath you’d only just recovered feel suddenly scarce again.
And he was tall. Considerably, almost unreasonably tall. With the helmet off and the bulk of the gear still on his shoulders, he had the kind of frame that made the space around him rearrange itself slightly, the kind that you registered not just visually but physically — a shift in the air, a gravitational awareness.
You became suddenly very aware that you were standing in the street at — you checked the clock on someone’s phone nearby — eleven forty-seven at night, in cotton pajama shorts, holding a small wobbly kitten, with tear tracks on your cheeks.
“Hi,” you said, which was perhaps the least adequate thing you had ever said in your life.
Something moved at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. Something that looked more like someone who was trying to restrain himself from smirking with amusement.
“Hi,” he said.
“I—” You adjusted Stella against your chest. She began to purr, apparently delighted with herself. “Thank you. I mean it. I — she’s — thank you.” You were running out of words. You were running out of everything. “I don’t even know your name.”
He looked at you for a moment the way he had in the hallway — that brief, assessing pause that somehow managed to feel less like evaluation and more like attention.
“Sylus,” he said.
You nodded. Filed it somewhere careful. Somewhere you’d find it again.
“Thank you, Sylus,” you said softly.
He held your gaze for a beat longer than was strictly necessary.
Then one of his colleagues appeared at his shoulder — shorter, purple-haired, with the particular energy of someone who had noticed something and was actively enjoying it — and said something into his ear that made Sylus’s jaw shift in a way that looked very much like suppressed irritation.
“Rafayel,” Sylus said, with the tone of someone pronouncing a sentence.
“I’m just saying,” the colleague said, and his grin was absolutely incorrigible, “you were in there a while for a—”
“Go check the perimeter.”
Rafayel looked at you, looked at Sylus, and looked extremely pleased with himself. “Right. Perimeter. Absolutely. Very important.” He backed away with the energy of a man who had already won something. “Take your time.”
You looked back at Sylus.
Sylus looked back at you with the expression of someone who had made peace with his colleagues being exactly who they were and had simply incorporated that peace into his daily existence.
“You should have the paramedics check you over,” he said. “Smoke inhalation.”
“I’m alright.”
“That’s for them to confirm.” He said it without inflection, but it landed less like a command and more like — something else. Something that sat just adjacent to concern and didn’t quite announce itself.
You nodded. Held Stella a little closer.
He put his helmet back on — the deliberate, practiced motion of it, the way his hands moved with the ease of long repetition — and then he paused, and for one suspended second he looked at you again over his shoulder.
“Keep her away from candles,” he said.
You laughed — a real one, surprised out of you.
“I will,” you said. “I really, really will.”
He turned away. Back toward the building, back toward the colleagues and the crackling radios and the controlled, purposeful world he occupied with such extraordinary ease.
You stood in the street in your pajamas with your kitten and watched him go and thought, with the particular clarity of a mind that has just been thoroughly rattled and is now reassembling itself:
Oh.
Oh, that’s going to be a problem.
‧₊˚ ☾. ⋆˙⟡♡
Stella purred against your chest, unconcerned.
The city moved around you, indifferent, the way it always did.
You looked at the door he’d walked back through.
You thought about red eyes finding yours through smoke-thick air. About a voice that made the panic subside for a little bit. About the way he’d said I’ll get her like it was the simplest thing — like it was simply the thing that needed to be done and therefore he would do it.
You pressed your face against the top of Stella’s head again.
“Don’t tell anyone,” you told her quietly.
She blinked her little eyes at you.
Said nothing and kept your secret.
‧₊˚ ☾. ⋆˙⟡♡
read the rest on ao3 <3
bonus: this is stella trying to bite y’alls phones
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Guess who's back, back again! Thank you so much for all the replies and support on my other oneshots! Ya'll are incredible <3
As a treat, I'm giving you some hurt/comfort :D Enjoy
Concept: (Pre-relationship) Sylus gets hurt, you have an argument and make up
Tags: Pre-relationship, getting together, gun violence, blood and wounds, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, first kiss, reader is referred to as 'Miss Hunter' once, swearing
Word Count: 2085
Masterlist
You don’t know where it all went wrong. You don’t know when hatred turned into something softer, something vulnerable. The more time you spend with him, the softer the edges of his character seem, the sharpness of his gaze turning to something gentle, the harsh touch into something warm. But the darkness, the danger, still lurks underneath all that. He is harsh, cruel and merciless to others, and you caught glimpses of that often enough. But alone with you? The walls seem to ease slightly, something tender filling the air instead.
He was dangerous. He was trouble. You knew that, and yet you still fell for him. You also knew it wouldn’t be long until these feelings came back to haunt you.
And haunt you they did, when your colleagues, other hunters, took you to the interrogation room in your own workplace.
“Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. We’re just here for a chat.” The first hunter, Kim (at least you think that’s her name) started, confusion and anxiety already stirring within you.
“What do you need to chat about, that you have to take me into the interrogation room?” You keep your voice as steady as you can, not allowing yourself to cower under their serious demeanor.
“You went into the N109 zone recently, did you not?” Kim says, sitting down across from you, her colleague, Tom, slouching in the chair next to her. A file sits in front of them, still closed.
“...Yes, I did.” Your fingers pull on the hems of your sleeves subconsciously.
“Who did you interact with in the N109 zone?” Tim’s gaze narrows slightly, almost accusatory.
“No one of mention, I kept my head down. I left before I got into any trouble. Sorry, what is this about?” You say quickly, something you have practiced many times in preparation, just in case someone caught onto your endeavors.
“What do you know about Onychinus?” Kim got to the point, pen and notebook at the ready. The air was heavy, you had trouble taking steady breaths. The pointed looks in your direction didn’t help, your stomach dropping at the mention of the crime organisation.
“... Not much really, just the rumours that go around the association.”
“Which rumours?”
“That Onychinus deals with illegal weapons, that the hunters association has been trying to hunt them down for years, that they pretty much run the N109 zone?” You carefully avoid mentioning Sylus, sticking to surface knowledge. Surface knowledge is safe, surface knowledge is normal.
“You didn’t learn anything on your trip to the N109 zone?” Tom scoffs slightly, disbelief shining through his eyes. He was putting you on the spot. Is it suspicious to say no? They’ll question why I was there in the first place. Why I left without information. What can I say?
Your words catch in your throat slightly.
“Not really, I left before I got myself into a situation I couldn’t get out of. Again, what is this about?” The front you put up must be convincing as Tom backs off slightly as your hard tone.
“The association is taking up Onychinus as a priority as of yesterday, that’s all you need to know at this point.” Kim states, and questions swim through your mind.
Why is the association moving in on Onychinus? What happened since the last time I talked to Sylus?
The interrogation ended not too long after that, the two hunters trying to dig further into your mind, but you gave them nothing to work with. You made your way back to your desk, leaving the stifling and accusatory atmosphere behind you. Unanswered questions still plagued you, and where better to try to get answers than from the Onychinus leader himself. You leave work quickly, your shift ending before you know it, and you immediately pull up Sylus’s contact info and press the call button.
It rang once, twice, three times, before a deep voice filled your ears.
“What an honour, getting a call from Miss Hunter herself. Did you miss me, Kitten?” He crooned, a teasing note shining through his voice. A small smile spread across your lips, but the tension in your body didn’t let up.
“You wish. Now please enlighten me as to why I was suddenly questioned about Onychinus in my own workplace.”
“Oh? How should I know?” You hear the smirk in his voice.
“What did you do?” You say with a very audible sigh, fingers rubbing the tension from your brow.
“Me? I didn’t do anything. Had a bit of a pest problem, but that was dealt with quickly.”
“Explain.”
“It’s nothing you need to worry your pretty head about.”
“And how did this ‘pest problem’ evolve into the association putting a priority on hunting you down?”
“Are you worried about me?” Again with the smirk. It’s very audible.
“Should I be?” You decide to answer the question with your own. He huffed a laugh, before assuring you that there’s nothing to worry about.
A few days later, the situation worsens, and you’re in the worst place for it. You know how they say the wrong place and the wrong time? He had invited you to another auction, and you readily agreed to go with him. Until a group in familiar uniforms storms the auction house, weapons drawn. Chaos surrounded you, the mask on your face obscuring your vision, making it harder to move, harder to fight back and escape. Bullets shot past you, shouting filled your ears, and an arm grabbed you pulling you into a tight embrace. A hand held your head down and a restrained hiss filled your ears.
—=+=---
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Your voice is harsh, even in your own ears. His weight slows you down as you support him while trying to keep pressure on the gash in his side.
“I’m fine, Kitten. This is nothing.” His voice is steady, not even a grimace shown in his expression. If anything, he sounds exasperated. But he’s still leaning on you for support, and that tells you everything you need to know. You lead him through the Onychinus base, all the way up to his room and deposit him on the bed while you go grab the first aid kit.
You move closer to him, tension and adrenaline not letting up as you open the kit, pulling out gloves, gauze and antiseptic.
“You knew this was going to happen. You knew the hunters were going to show up.” You snap, giving him an accusatory glance.
He chuckles slightly, “this was the best way to get rid of the pests infesting my territory. They arrived a little ahead of schedule, but nothing I can’t deal with.” His nonchalance about the situation lights an anger within you, as you start to treat his wound, which wasn’t healing at all, still oozing blood. The first crack in his demeanor shows when you swipe the antiseptic wipe across the gash, cleaning up the blood, not as gentle as you probably should’ve been.
“Careful Kitten, pull back those claws.” His hand engulfs your own, stopping you in your tracks. His crimson eyes are focused on you, studying the furrow in your brow, your clenched jaw and the furious glare shot in his direction.
“Come on now, Sweetie, no need to be upset. I didn’t harm any of your fellow hunters, did I?” His voice is steady, amused even.
“Is that what you think I’m upset about?” Your tone is harsh, unbelieving, as you move to meet his eyes, your expression stone cold, “Sylus. You purposefully put yourself in danger, to what? Mock the hunters association? Add fuel to the already burning fire? You’re not even healing right now. Those bullets? Those bullets neutralise evols, you won’t be healing for a good while yet. And as a hunter, I can tell you one thing. The association is relentless, they will keep coming back. What will happen next time? What if someone gets in a lucky shot? You won’t be walking away with just a gash, you won’t be walking out of there at all. I think I have the right to be angry at how fucking reckless you can be.”
Silence stretches between the two of you, his eyes searching your face, your expression twisted in barely restrained frustration.
“Wouldn’t that be good news for you though? Onychinus finally crumbling? Your little hunters association finally winning? You could probably even get a medal for my death. You should be celebrating that fact.”
You freeze, your hand still reaching for the bandages settled beside you. Your eyes snap to his, disbelief, hurt and many unnamed emotions flashing through your gaze.
“Is that how little you think of me?” Your voice is small, hurt bleeding through every word. You steel yourself, standing up and throwing the bandages on his lap.
There’s no reply as his eyes narrow in curiosity, judging your reaction, smirk slowly falling off of his face.
“Is this all a joke to you?” You scoff, “You know what, no, I’m not doing this right now. I’m going home. Bandage yourself up, see if I give a shit if you bleed out.” Your movement is swift as you grab your bag and jacket, the only thing stopping you from stalking away is a sudden grip on your wrist. You don’t turn to look at him, instead trying to pull your hand away from him. Tears are already swelling in your eyes as you try to blink them away. You will not show weakness now.
“The hunters are still out there, what will they say if someone sees you walking out of the Onychinus base?” His voice is no longer teasing, a more serious tone replacing the carefree one from earlier, “Stay here for now.” He pulls you back towards him, another hiss leaving his mouth as he jostles the wound on his side.
“Sweetie? Look at me.” You still refuse to turn around, words caught in your throat. The sting from what he said still makes your heart ache.
“Kitten, I was wrong. I’m sorry for insinuating that you wouldn’t care.” He says softly, voice trembling slightly as he continues, “I’ve done a lot of shit in my life, but the one thing I don’t regret is keeping you safe, even if it risks my own wellbeing.” His hand moves to hold yours, thumb gently caressing your knuckles.
The frustration and hurt still simmer under your skin, and you finally turn to meet his eyes.
“I can’t lose you Sylus. I care about you too fucking much. And I hate it, I tried to fight it, trust me. But I can’t help it. Is that wrong?” You let out an unamused laugh, a fresh set of tears filling your eyes. His eyes widen at your words before softening to a tender gaze. He pulled you towards him, until you were close enough for him to wrap his arms around your waist, his face nuzzling into your middle.
“I can’t lose you either Kitten. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you while I was right there. Never once have I lied to you, so I won’t promise you that I won’t put myself in harm’s way if it means you’ll be okay, but I can promise you, you won’t lose me. I’m here and I plan to stay.” His voice is muffled against your shirt, his arms tightening before moving away just enough that he can look up at you.
“I’ve done a lot of shit in my life, but loving you is different. You make me feel things I never thought I could feel. It’s terrifying.” The words seem hesitant, a vulnerability he doesn’t seem quite ready to admit.
The anger towards the man in front of you starts to melt away as you sigh. Your eyes close for a second, before opening and meeting his gaze. Your hands move to the sides of his face, cradling him gently.
“I love you too Sylus, but if you ever do this again I’m going to kick your ass.” You pinch his cheeks slightly as you say this, before moving closer, your lips landing on his. His lips are slightly chapped against your own, but still incredibly smooth, gliding against yours. His hands start to move up to your face, before he pulls away quickly, a grimace twisting his expression. You smile fondly, before moving to pick up the discarded bandage from the bed.
SYNOPSIS | love with qifrey is like having him right beside you, your hands touching. love with qifrey is something unspoken. the affection is there, like he wakes up every morning just to show you so. his eyes cannot hide the way he looks at you as if you're his everything. and yet, love with qifrey is also a curse.
NOTE | i love qifrey i swear pls get the seed + soil + root + silver tree joke pls laugh
1,921 | WARNINGS | angsty but sweet as fuck
love was the budding plague that worsens the seed growing in qifrey's heart.
everyone can see qifrey's fondness for you from the moment the two of you met at a secluded alcove in the great hall. it wasn't hard to tell or see how his mind orbits around you. there was something about the atmosphere the two of you shared. some kind of unspoken connection that can't be put into words. nor do the two for you dare to speak a word about it.
his only eye follows every movement you make.
he follows your trail, hand itching to hold yours in his, to fit all the crevices of your fingers into his. to feel the warmth of your hands.
he did it once. god, did it feel so good to have your hands in his.
it was a spur of the moment decision.
you had fallen asleep hunched over the library table, book left open and your head rested above your arm. he was too scared to wake you up from your slumber, anxious and worried for your already lack of sleep from staying up to study.
your other hand, outstretched across the table, was too inviting to resist.
his finger twitches at the sight of your open palm. the voices inside his head scream at him to turn around, ignore the desire building up from within him, slowly digging the silver roots deeper.
love will be his demise, the longer he desires for it. for a touch of your love.
before he could even get a sense of control over his thoughts, he had already intertwined your fingers with each other. his heart pounds against his chest loudly.
the headaches were particularly painful the following days.
no, he had never told you about it.
and so will the love he has for you die along with his hope, silver roots wrapped around his broken heart that's never ever uttered a single word of love for you. it feels like heartbreak, but how can his heart break if there was no beginning in the first place? when there was no confession, no exchange of ‘i love you's.
the word love builds up like vile in his throat.
but he will be damned if he doesn't show you in some kind of way.
“aren't they adorable!?” tettia quietly coos at the two adults, watching qifrey scoop up another serving of dinner for you without your say so.
“i want something like that when i grow up!”
“they're not together like that, though.” richeh trails off, a thought spiraling on her mind. “master qifrey himself said so.”
“and yet his actions don't match his words.” agott watched on as well, noting the particular way qifrey looks at you.
like you are his world, the very magic in his eye.
“wait, are they not… together?” coco tilts her head. “i assumed they were together. they seem to be so close.”
“unfortunately, master qifrey himself said so.” tettia slumps against the table with a pout. “if that's not what love looks like, then what does it look like?”
“aren't you a little too young to think of love?”
startled, the four girls turn to face you. tettia waves her hand in front of her frantically, “n-no! that's not what i meant!”
“oh ho?” qifrey comes from behind you, cheshire smile plastered on his face. “who is the lucky boy, may i ask?”
“there's no boy!” tettia whines, turning to richeh. “help me out here!”
“coco has a boy.” the girl gasped.
“no i do not!”
“who's tartah then?”
dinner was noisy that night with the girls continuing their playful banter. qifrey watched on with a fond smile, his hand unknowingly reaching out for yours. when his fingers touched yours in the slightest did he snap back to his senses, playing it off by scratching the back of his head.
he doesn't know if you felt it too, but if you did, he's relieved you did not say a word about it.
after dinner, the girls went about their rooms, bidding the two adults goodnight.
“oh, you don't have to do that.”
qifrey steps beside you at the sink, watching you cast a water spell to clean up the dishes.
“it's no problem, dear. you had a long afternoon of teaching already and you cooked dinner. at least let me help clean around.”
dear.
it felt so natural to have you call him by that nickname. like he is that word to you, dear. too domestic, no question asked. there was something about the air around you when he's within your proximity. you radiate so much peace that even he can feel it. it's an infectious thing.
and that's the problem itself.
it feels too good, too peaceful with you, that he fears the roots will take its place once again. he says nothing about everything he feels, because he knows you like the back of his hand.
he knows you love him too.
and it was the reciprocal feelings that he cannot speak about. it's risky, it's painful. oh so painful, that even if he wants to have you for himself, then the silverwood will have him in exchange.
if love is peace, why does it hurt him so?
“qifrey?”
his name sounds so sweet coming from your mouth.
“yes?”
it was then that he noticed the sudden proximity between the two of you. he could feel your warmth from this distance. he can sense the way you shudder when his breath fans along your face. he can feel the way your fingers twitch at his touch, though he wonders when had he taken your hand in his to hold? he can see your eyes so clearly, the swirling pool of color within those crystals mesmerizing, almost hypnotic in a way only magic can tell.
love is, in some way, a magical thing.
“you're beautiful.”
he hears the way your breath falters, your eyes dilating in response to his words. he traces the skin on your cheek with a delicate touch, searching your eyes for some form of misgiving towards his affection.
all of the sudden, fear gathers at the back of his throat, like a fish bone stuck to his throat stubbornly refusing to come off.
this shouldn't have happened.
he wasn't supposed to be this close to you. wasn't supposed to touch you so freely and desire to have more of you. to have you whole to himself. it shouldn't be this easy to have you succumb to his warmth, a faux comfort that hides the true horror within his heart and missing eye.
“i'm sorry, my star, i did not–” he frowns, truly questioning his feeble attempt to resist his desire.
you're too close, oh, so close.
perhaps he should erase your memory of this night?
the thought of taking something away from you, your memories, suffocates him so. but before he could lament his predicament, your hand held his palm against your cheek, a smile so sweet and gentle contrasting the swirling storm in him.
“you don't have to say anything.”
your words were final, like a stubborn stone wedge into the soil or a sword struck deep into the ground. only someone with immense strength can challenge you and qifrey was but a man powerless against all that you are.
“you don't have to tell me how you feel about me.”
your nose nuzzles into his palm, and god did his heart almost leap out of his chest and into your hands. you look at him from his palm, your lips pressed against his skin with a smile.
oh, he's about to faint.
“you don't have to say it out loud. i know what you feel about this. about us.”
“you deserve better than this.” he shook his head in denial. “you deserve someone who can proudly call you the object of their affection. not… this silence.”
he tears his gaze away from your probing ones. he can tell that just by looking at you, he's buying himself his own pot of soil.
“you mustn't chain yourself with a man who cannot even proclaim their affection towards you. what i am is a coward.”
“what you are is my qifrey.”
his heart skipped a beat, or perhaps was it the roots of silverwood piercing his heart?
“you can't just say things like that.” it almost sounded like a whine, and you giggle at how precious he looks right now. with his cheeks flushed and restless eye, looking anywhere but you.
why can't you show some mercy on this man's heart?
“you may have your reasons to keep me at arms length.” he grimaces at the intention of your words, “but i'm already at peace that you still share a part of your life with me. that i still get to stand beside you.”
you gently tug him down, pressing your forehead against his in a nuzzle.
“this… what we share between us may take forever to be spoken out loud,” you place a finger right at his lips, watching his breath grow heavier from the touch. “but i am willing to stand by you for a lifetime and more.”
you lean to kiss the finger atop of his lips, fully pulling back to see his bewildered and already reddening face.
“my dear, you look like you're about to explode.”
“you can't just do that and expect me to remain calm!”
your giggle echoes through the quiet kitchen. qifrey might be a little delirious, he could have sworn he heard the chimes of fairies favoring every sound you make with those extremely tempting lips of yours.
what do they taste like?
“fret not.” your hand caresses his cheeks, “no unspoken words can push me away from you.”
“i don't want to hurt you.” he tries to look the other way, but with your hand tilting his gaze back to you has him melting on the spot. his futile attempt to avoid your intense look has him weak on the knees.
what kind of magic did you cast on him?
“no pain exists when i am within your presence.”
“my dear…”
“shh.”
you pull him a little closer, resting your head just above his collarbone. he's trembling, whether from the promising position the two of you are in or from his fears, you don't mind. not when he's this close to you. the closest he's ever been to you. you'd do anything to preserve this moment.
“you don't have to tell me everything.”
you place a hand on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
“all that matters is we're here.”
his warm and gentle hands press against the back of your waist, finally letting himself hold you in his arms.
your body fits every crevice, resting against his chest.
“i'd wait for a lifetime for you.” you whisper into his robes. “i'll remember you even in my next life.”
“you think that's possible?”
“everything's possible with magic.”
he hopes so. perhaps then, he wouldn't have to wait for another lifetime to feel this once more. to be at peace in your arms, free from all his fear.
perhaps then, he could hold your hand whenever he wants, feel the warmth of your palm against his.
perhaps then, he can tell you the words he's been dying to say. he won't have to fear the consequences of telling you he loves you, oh, so much. that he wants you to be his and him, yours.
Summary: You should really stop seeking Qifrey out. It's never the reunion you want it to be; it's messy and angry and it's only ever a temporary relief from the complicated world of the Brimmed Caps. But you can't help yourself, so you continue to find him. And he continues to let you leave when all you have to argue is re-hashed.
Pairing: Qifrey x Brimmed Cap!reader
Word Count: 1.4k~
Content/Warnings: implied SPOILERS for the plot of wha, mentions of disability/chronic pain, angst, exes, hurt no comfort, angry makeout
A/N: yes i am projecting onto reader because i would in fact be bitter enough about witch society being unwilling to use magic to heal to join the brimmed caps as a chronic pain girly. not proofread! enjoyyyy <3
The rain is heavy, almost deafening as the droplets strike the canopy of leaves above your head, but the silhouette of the witch you’re tailing is shielded from the downpour by a sphere of shimmering magic. He’s stooped over in his little bubble of sunshine, plucking some mushrooms from the ground into a basket. It’s been hours of this, lurking just out of sight as you battle internally over whether you really want to speak to him. Whether it would break or mend your heart to hear his voice again.
Your body is beginning to protest the cold of the rain, joints groaning in discomfort as you shift up from the crouch you had held in the brush. You step carefully from the cover of the trees and make your way towards the grey cloaked witch, your approach concealed by the pattering of the rain until you step into the protective bubble.
“Mind sharing your umbrella?”
Qifrey recoils from the sound of your voice as if he’s been burned. As he turns to fix his gaze on you, the glowering expression on his face intensifies when he sees the brimmed cap rested on your head. You should be used to that look by now, but it still sends a brief pang of hurt through your chest.
“Must you always look so venomous when I visit?”
“What do you want?”
Despite the scowl he’s still wearing like armor, there’s a tinge of gentle sadness in his voice as he straightens up. You pout half-heartedly at the way he’s withdrawn his hands into his cloak, obviously in search of his components.
“Just to talk,” You lift your hat from your head, beginning to wring the rainwater from your soaked hair. “To see how you’re doing; how the girls are.”
Qifrey scoffs coldly. “I’m swell, thanks for your concern. We’ve developed a conscience now, have we? Or are you here to collect information for your higher-ups?”
His mocking tone sparks an anger that burns deep in your chest. To suggest you possess no real regard for their well-being, knowing you abandoned witch society in pursuit of the goal he is only willing to chase in shadow, that is a disrespect that cuts deep. You place your cap back onto your head, ignoring the way the crease between his brows deepens as it obscures your eyes.
“Don’t take a moral high ground against me, Qifrey. Don’t you dare accuse me of trading the safety of those children for reputation points among the Brimmed Caps.”
“I’m supposed to believe you joined the Brimmed Caps just for the aesthetics?”
The air buzzes with a simmering tension, as if the forest itself is waiting to see which of you will escape your standoff unscathed. These trees had seen the two of you in every stage of your relationship; the awkward first kiss, the stolen moments away from the responsibilities of teaching, the fallout of realizing some things are too painful for love to mend.
“I did it for us. For you.” Angry tears pool at the edges of your eyes, hot and infuriating in their testament to your emotions. You grit your teeth and force the wavering from your voice. “Not all things can be cured within the confines of the Pact, you of all people understand that; I’m not sorry for having the sense to seek out a solution you’re too cowardly to even consider.”
“Oh, I’m the coward?” Qifrey takes a threatening step towards you, his one eye wide with frustration. “You want to accuse me of cowardice as you hide beneath that brim?”
This was not how you wanted this encounter to pan out. As delusional a hope it was, each time you came you wished for a happier reunion. It never was. You begin to retreat, to put some distance between yourself and him, but Qifrey lunges forward as if on instinct and captures your wrist in his hand.
“Face me and tell me what makes your path deserving of my respect, Brimmed Cap.” He spit the words at you with such vigor that it must knock all sense from your mind.
A tidal wave of emotions crashes through you, and your hand closes around the golden pendant that joins the two halves of his cloak together. You yank him to you, and before your lips have even met, he’s thrown his willowy arms around you, holding you so tightly it hurts. The kiss is desperate and harsh, it’s almost cathartic. You feel your anger dissipate, as if it was merely a toxin you needed Qifrey to siphon from your bloodstream. You lock your arms around his neck, desperate for this to last forever. If you could not have his love, you would drown yourself in his hatred. This messy, hostile tension would have to substitute for the gentle kind of companionship you had once before. He pulls away from you, breathing heavily, and you can only afford enough time for a few gulps of air before you’re pulling his face back to yours. It’s as if the second he withdraws you’ll come unraveled, too fragile to return to the bitter reality of who you both are. This kiss tastes like salt, warm tears that you can’t determine the source of. He’s released his grip on your waist, tangling his long slender fingers up into your hair and knocking your hat from your head.
And then the rain drops onto the two of you like a sheet.
The seal Qifrey had drawn to ward of the water is crumpled in the palm of his hand, ruined in the intensity of your embrace. The drenching is a harsh return to earth; Qifrey shudders with the sudden cold and pulls away from you, sucking in gasps of air as he tries to process what just happened between you. There’s a pain in his expression that makes you want to reach for him, but it feels wrong to now that the moment is over.
“Tell me it’s worthwhile.” Qifrey is boring holes into you with the intensity of his gaze, that blue eye zeroed in on you as if he can see the doubt laced into your heart. You pick up your cap, anxious to replace the shield of the brim onto your head. “Tell me the shred of hope to find some way to be healed with magic was worth throwing your life away. That you don’t regret giving up all you’ve lost in accepting forbidden magic.”
He doesn’t need to elaborate what exactly you gave up. The words hang unspoken in the damp air of the forest.
Tell me it was worth losing me.
Now that his spell is gone, the moisture feels suffocating; though that might just be your heart lodged in your throat that’s making it hard to draw breath.
You’re grateful that the very cap he’s condemning shields your face some as you feel the tears you’ve been collecting again finally cascade down your cheeks. He would take them as surrender; as evidence that you thought you’d made a mistake in pursuing forbidden magic to try and revive the practice of healing witches.
He would be wrong.
“We could have found ways to ease the pain.” Qifrey’s voice is still stern, but it lacks the bite of true anger. “Olly could have made you some contraption to help you manage it, to help make drawing easier.”
You flex your hands anxiously within your cloak, the dull ache you know will crescendo into agony after a day spent in the chilling rain making itself known with each movement. No number of herbs, Healing Spire visits, or warming contraptions from Olruggio could rid you of that horrible pain nestled deep in your bones.
“We would have kept looking for our antidotes together. You would have had my love to soothe your pain.” The slightest crack is there in the words my love.
“Your love was never going to be my cure.”
The guilt that strikes you as you say it seems to tilt the earth beneath you; you feel sick.
“Then why do you return to me like a moth to flame? Why torture us both with ghosts of what was?”
There’s no good answer you can give. He’s a vice to you, a reprieve from the darkness of your world that you selfishly seek out like an antidote to your fear. He can’t save you, but he’s like the umbrella spell in a way, a patch of sun to retreat to when the sky unleashes a downpour.
“Until next time, Qifrey.” You tug the brim back down to conceal your eyes, closing out your own umbrella spell and once more shielding the small clearing from the heavy rain. You leave behind the seal as you turn your back on the silver-haired witch, a feeble attempt at an apology for ripping open old wounds.
Perhaps one day there will be a world in which you two can reconcile your differences. But for today, you must leave him. Even if it’s a pain more agonizing than any physical ache you’ve ever experienced.
🏩 "𝑲𝒀𝑹𝒀𝑳𝑳 𝑪𝑯𝑼𝑫𝑶𝑴𝑰𝑹𝑶𝑽𝑰𝑪𝑯 𝑭𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑺," ◦ ₊ㅤ ﹙ flins has been... watching you for a while. Just quietly, almost always there, and it's beginning to unnerve you. Is he going to murder you?? ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა artist: official hoyoverse art plz reblog / like 2 support ⠀ ⃘໋ׅ♡ 𝑤.𝑐: 1.5k ⁀ ˳ ⟡
#⃝ 𝓦ARNINGS ◦ ₊ㅤ ㅤ﹙ sfw fluff crack flins is scary at first she/her pronouns used flirty flins only tooth rotting fluff you and flins both are being from snezhnaya before traveller got to nod krai just sweet fluff 2nd person perspective
໒ִ 𓈒ིྀ ˚ ℳINA'S 𝓝OTES ⫽ ୧ྀ ─ I have a c3r1 flins yes be jealous masterlist <3
KYRYLL CHUDOMIROVICH FLINS has been everywhere for the past few weeks.
You rarely used to see him in Nasha Town, but nowadays he was everywhere. It was as if you were going insane. Every time you turned around, you’d see that stupidly handsome face, or hear that gorgeously delicate voice of his. Was this the moon goddess’s granting your wish to get a devastatingly beautiful boyfriend?
There was no exaggeration. You opted to visit Speranza for quick meals at dinner time, only to turn and bump into his chest every time. He’d smile all sweetly and greet you, before you apologised and rushed off. You visited ineffa and Aino to fix your catalyst at Clink-Clank Krumkake Craftshop? “Have either of you—oh. Hello, my lady, it’s a surprise to keep bumping into you,” his voice would speak directly behind you. Your heart beating so fast every single time.
Then the fluttering feelings started to waver and you began to think about what it could all mean. Was… was Flins hunting you down? You knew the light keepers were dedicated to protection of the island, and you had seen a glowing lantern floating off the corners of the island one late night. Were you cursed now? Was there an angry spirit following you that Flins was dealing with?
You walked by the Curatorium of Secrets, and would see that flash of purple hair out of the corner of your eye. Picking up books at Mimisbrunnr Books and you would start to sweat nervously, feeling his familiar eyes on the back of your head. You tried buying Rye at Nuts 'N' Nuts, only to freak out and jump when you heard his voice behind you, thinking he was about to enact his murder plan or something, you rushed off with a singular “sorry!”
While you were busy rushing off with a whine, overthinking and already planning how your funeral would go, because Flins was definitely following you around to kill you and quietly dispose of you body. You had upset some sort of lantern spirit and it had snitched to the one light keeper that it could talk to, and now your fate was sealed!
"I'm sorryyyyyy, lantern ghost!" you whined, footsteps leading to Paha isle.
Flins watched you run off, his gaze soft and curious, but a small pout on his lips that went unnoticed. His eyes snapped back to the old shopkeeper when the man began to speak again. "Stop scaring her away, Flins," he sighed and packaged the Rye before handing it to the light keeper, "Just get it done by today," he said, face darkening, almost grim, and placing something extra into the bag.
Flins hummed, his face straight, as he paid for the Rye and took the bag. His eyes downcast. "I will… after all, I know where my lady is going. I'll be a gentleman, as always. Have no worries, Mr. Aleksov."
The old man nodded, handing Flins a packet of tissues. His grey, tired eyes only sparing Flins a glance before focusing on other customers. "Keep your hands clean, be quick and done with it." The words were quiet, but enough for a wandering Dori to hear, and look over confused with wide eyes.
"Are they… planning a murder?" she gasped, before smirking and looking off into the distance, rubbing her chin, "Heh, I could make good money selling caskets."
. . .
You had wandered over to Final night cemetery, walking slowly across the dark and gloomy terrain. There were ghost candles lit all over the place, and you could've sworn that you heard whispers around you. "save us… save ussss…" you shivered at your imagination, slowly walking up the hill area to try and find the lantern ghost you had seen last time.
"uheee…. mr. purple lantern ghost, where are you?" you whispered, shivering before looking up at the lighthouse. The fog closing in around you.
The silence around you was deafening, and it was most definitely scaring you down to your bones. Taking you back to the night you had first seen that purple, glowing lantern.
It had been almost two months ago, when you had wandered over to Paha isle. You had seen some of the wild hunt nearby and killed them, before hearing whispers and hallucinating ghosts in the fog from your sleepiness. You had rushed over to Paha isle by mistake, going the wrong way instead of making your way back to Nasha town in your confused state.
"Oh," you had muttered, when the fog cleared up, and you had seen the lighthouse guiding you, instead of the comforting bustle of the town you lived in. You were about to turn around and make your way back, before you noticed the purple glow. Almost like it was calling your name, you followed and walked up to it through the fog, finding a floating purple lantern.
It was almost like it was magical, just hovering there, glowing. No one around.
The words of Aino had drifted back into your mind, as she had made you read story books with her and one of them talked about a magical oil lamp that granted wishes. "No one uses oil lamps in in Nod Krai, I bet its the magical lanterns that carry genies and wishes!" she had nodded confidently.
You weren't gullible, nor one to easily believe superstitions and follow them without question. Though… it couldn't hurt, right?
Your hands gently placed on the sides of the lamp, rubbing it gently, before you took them back and clasped your hands together. Squeezing your eyes shut and whispering, "puh-lease get me a beautiful boyfriend who's a gentleman and loves me and worships me, please, please, please!" you shook your hands before looking up at the sky with a sigh.
The lantern had flickered a little, as you hesitated before leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on the handle of it. When you pulled back, the lantern shook a little, making you step back worried, and look around confused. You had rushed back to Nasha town after that, brushing off the experience as a dream, until now.
"Am I gonna die? Oh mr. or mrs. lantern, I'm sorry for kissing your handle," present-day-you whined, before you felt a cold breath against your cheek.
"What are you doing, Miss Y/N?"
You shrieked, freezing up and quickly back away from the man, holding up your hands in front of him. It was the light keeper. The one you always took a second glance at whenever you used your see him, because whoever got to call him as his partner was destined with unimaginable luck. Flins looked unbothered and even tilted his head to the side, confused.
"I know what you're gonna say!" You whined out, and dropped to your knees dramatically. Flins was strong, he was scary, and even if he took your life because you had upset some lantern ghost, you probably wouldn't fight back just because you didn't want to ruin his beautiful face.
"You do?" his eyes widened for a fraction, before he hummed and nodded, holding the small bag to his side. "I see, I thought I was more… quiet about my advances." he muttered, rubbing his chin gently, in thought.
You sighed and nodded, head downcast, pouting and already thinking over your death. "I didn't know what I was doingggg.. the lantern was just… calling my name!" you gasped out, as he shook his head. "It was not," he corrected bluntly, making you sigh wearily. Your hands buried in the soil.
A few seconds passed, before you both spoke up at the same time. You blurting out your words. As he spoke eloquently.
"Please don't murder me!"
"Would you grace me with a potential romantic encounter, miss Y/N?"
You both froze, before meeting each other's eyes. equally confused. Flins eyes were narrowed, looking down in genuine confusion and slight shock. The most expressive you had ever seen him. Your eyes were widened, mouth agape slightly, and heat rushing to your face. Did… did the Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins just ask you out? On a date? Were you in heaven?
"What?" both voices spoke out at the same time.
Flins shook his head, looking at you utterly helpless and bamboozled as you stood up and dusted your hands off. “You’re not going to murder me…? B-but you were stalking me and obviously planning to kill me off because I upset the lantern ghost of Paha Isle!”
Flins looked side to side slowly before raising an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”
You sighed and lolled back your head before explaining to him exasperatedly. “Two months ago, I went to this place, like—“ you pointed over to some shrubbery alongside a crumbling stone wall, “—over there! I saw this glowing purple lantern and I walked up to it and rubbed it and wished for a boyfriend,” you nodded to him in complete seriousness.
“…so what makes you assume that I’d hurt you for wishing upon a floating lantern?” He raised an eyebrow, beginning to smile a little, starting to understand what was happening. He really wanted to see the look on your face when he revealed the truth now. He had prepared a big speech explaining all of his feelings, but you had thrown his whole planned confession out the window.
You blinked, once, twice, before awkwardly scratching the back of your head. “I’m starting to see that I was being a bit… irrational,” you nodded slowly.
“A bit?” He smiled, before handing you the paper bag, to which you looked inside curiously. Rye, and…
“Cupcakes. I had Mr. Aleksov prepare them especially for your tastes,” he hummed to you, watching as your confused expression flickered up to him before your eyes widened. “Oh! Oh, right, because you were going to ask me out…” you nodded, before pursing your lips and looking up at him confused. “But we’ve barely spoken to one another before this, why the sudden interest in me?”
He curtly nodded, before taking out the familiar glowing purple lantern and fading before your eyes. It only took 2.3 seconds for you to connect the dots, his figure reappearing when he saw that shy, “oh my god, what have I done?” look on your face.
“I was the lantern you wished upon,” he told you gleefully, tilting his head to the side with a teasing smile.
A whine escaped your lips, as you were contemplating burying yourself in the soil right then and there. “After hearing about your wish, I thought that you were a gorgeous young lady that deserved love, and after the… kiss,” he nodded, watching your eyes squeeze shut and hand cover your face. “I thought that I deserved to give you love. I never planned to stalk you, per se, but every time I tried to strike a conversation or anything with you…”
“I ran away,” you nodded, letting out an embarrassed whine and finishing his sentence.
He hummed, before taking the bag from your hands and offering you the cupcake. “My hands are pretty dirty,” you shrugged, still embarrassed and hating yourself inside your brain. “STUPID STUPID STUPID” kept bouncing around in your head.
Before you knew it, the cupcake was pressed against your lips, heat rushing to your cheeks and the tips of your ears, you took a bite out of it. Being fed by possibly the most handsome man in all of Teyvat.
“I’ve had a crush on you for a while…” you mumbled, swallowing and beginning to talk to him softly, as he listened carefully. “You saved me from the wild hunt around a year ago, and ever since then I’ve just thought you were so cool, and strong, and handsome,” you were whining, hands covering your cheeks shyly.
He didn’t hesitate, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss against your lips.
You froze, before feeling his lips dart out and lick up the tiny bit of icing on the corner of your lips, making your squeal embarrassed and quickly look away from him. Hands covering your face, heart beating faster than it was when you thought he was about to kill you.
“I hope you’ll entertain me for that date, my lady,” he spoke softly against your ear, smiling as he knew exactly what he was doing.
A/N: I think sometimes my brain naturally gravitates toward Varka whenever I need something grounding again. I felt a bit stuck in my own thoughts lately, so writing this ended up untangling my brain more than I expected.
Also yes, this is another case of me disappearing into unexpected Varka missing hours. Some things never change. :D Hope you’ll enjoy! :) 💙
Tags: Fluff. Mutual Pining. Shy Reader. Reader Still Makes Advances. Knights of Favonius Reader (Logistics). Soft Varka. Handwritten Notes. Light Humor. Tiny Acts of Care. Reader Is Down Bad. Varka Is Oblivious Until He’s Not. Gentle Romance.
Word count: 2190
⋆ ✦ ⋆
The first time Varka speaks to you properly, you’re halfway inside a supply shelf.
One arm is buried behind a stack of crates while you glare into darkness with the concentrated fury of someone who has absolutely put an inventory ledger somewhere sensible and is now being punished for their own optimism.
“It was here,” you mutter. “I know it was here.”
A deep voice behind you says, amused: “Should I ask what crime that shelf committed?”
You jerk upright too fast and immediately hit your head on the underside of the shelf.
“Oh for—”
Strong hands catch your shoulders before you can stumble backward completely. “Easy there.”
You freeze.
Varka stands behind you, broad and unfairly warm-looking. His hand is still steady at your shoulder. Concern flickers over his face for approximately half a second before amusement returns.
“You alive?”
“Yes,” you say immediately. “Barely.”
That gets a laugh out of him. “Well,” he says, “that’s good news for the Logistics Company.”
Your brain stops functioning for a moment. Because of course you know who he is.
Everyone knows Varka.
The Grand Master walks through headquarters like sunlight with boots on. He is loud when he wants to be, gentle when he chooses to be, somehow capable of making exhausted knights straighten instinctively just by looking at them.
You’ve watched it happen from a safe distance for months: the way rooms shift when he enters, the way people gravitate toward him without quite meaning to.
You have always watched from a safe distance. Because up close, apparently, you lose the ability to form sentences.
“Here,” he says easily. “What’re you missing?”
“You don’t have to help,” you blurt out immediately.
“Mm.” He leans down to peer into the shelf. “Too late. I’m emotionally invested now.”
You stare at the side of his face while he reaches into the back of the shelf with absurd ease: arm disappearing almost to the elbow between the crates like this is a perfectly normal way for the Grand Master to spend an afternoon.
“You reorganized these recently?”
“…Yes?”
“Hm. Good system. Bad luck. Bit philosophical for a storage room, actually.” A pause. “Aha.”
He straightens with your missing ledger in hand.
You could cry. “You found it.”
“Well,” Varka says modestly, “I am heroic when I need to be.”
You laugh before you can stop yourself. His expression changes into something warm. “There it is,” he says softly, handing you the ledger. “Worth the rescue mission.”
Your face heats instantly. “Oh. Um. Thank you.”
“Anytime.” He steps aside, still smiling. “Though next time I’d recommend less aggressive negotiations with the shelves.”
And then he just leaves.
Meanwhile you stand there clutching the ledger to your chest while your heart attempts to physically exit your body.
You’re aware it’s ridiculous.
You see him regularly. He’s the Grand Master and a person who is, objectively speaking, very busy and very important and almost certainly not spending any time thinking about a logistics person who hit their head on a shelf.
You’re aware of all of this. It doesn’t help. Because now you notice things.
The way he stops to talk to everyone: the younger knights waiting nervously for assignments, the people who pass him in corridors, the guards at the gate who straighten when they see him coming. He remembers names. He asks after people. He laughs easily and means it.
He gives everyone that warm, unhurried attention.
Everyone.
You notice someone come back from his office practically glowing. You watch the new recruits light up when he claps them on the shoulder. You watch another knight smile at something he says from across the room.
And you think: Right. That’s just who he is. That’s just how he treats everyone. There’s nothing special about a man who’s genuinely kind to literally every person he encounters.
You think this very rationally. And then he passes you in the corridor, glances over, says “Good afternoon” with that smile—
And you walk directly into a door frame.
So that’s where you are with this.
The first note is accidental. At least that’s what you tell yourself.
You’re delivering paperwork to Varka’s office late in the afternoon, arms full of reports and requests and three separate forms requiring signatures in entirely different places.
Varka isn’t there yet. You set the stack down carefully. And then you notice the open window behind his desk.
The weather really is nice today. Bright skies, good wind, warm enough that people are lingering outside instead of rushing home. And Varka has been in meetings since morning. You know because you walked past his office three times on errands and heard voices each time.
Before you can overthink it, you tear a corner from your spare paper and scribble quickly:
The weather is unusually nice today. You should probably enjoy it before someone traps you in another meeting.
Then you sign it with your intitial.
You stare at it, then immediately try to grab it back. At that exact moment the office door opens.
You nearly launch yourself into the ceiling. Varka pauses in the doorway. You stand frozen beside his desk like a thief interrupted mid-robbery, fingers still hovering over the note.
“Am I interrupting something?” he asks carefully.
“No.” Too fast.
His eyebrows lift. You feel heat climbing all the way to your ears.
“I was just delivering paperwork,” you say, trying very hard to sound like a functional person. “The forms. For signing. Which are here. On your desk. Which is where I put them. Because that’s my job.”
A pause follows.
“Right,” he says slowly.
“Mm.”
His eyes flick briefly to the note, then back to you. Something amused flickers there. “Well,” he says easily, setting his coat aside, “that seems significantly less illegal than your expression suggested.”
You make a sound somewhere between a cough and a failed prayer.
Varka smiles wider. “Thank you,” he adds, quieter. “For the paperwork.”
“Of course.” You are already moving toward the door. “I’ll—yes. Goodbye.”
You leave with as much dignity as you can salvage. Which is not very much.
Varka doesn’t mention the note the next time he sees you. Neither do you. So you do it again.
The second note comes three days later:
The Sunsettia are particularly good this week. In case you haven’t had a chance to eat properly today. (Rumors suggest you haven’t.)
You cringe for approximately three hours after leaving it, again with your initial. Then you spend another two hours convincing yourself it’s fine. It’s just a note. People are thoughtful. This is normal.
The next morning there’s a Sunsettia sitting on top of the outgoing paperwork in your tray. No note. Just the fruit.
You stare at it for a very long time.
The notes continue. You tell yourself each one will be the last.
Two knights came back from patrol today. They looked tired but proud. I thought you’d want to know they made it back without trouble.
━━
There’s an herb growing near Springvale that’s been blooming unusually late this season.
The smell is quite something. Warm and a bit sharp, the kind that clears your head.
I thought maybe it would help you with the long days.
━━
I heard the meeting ran long again. I hope it was at least interesting.
If not: the pigeons near the bridge have been having a very dramatic morning. That’s free, and arguably more entertaining.
━━
I am going to perish, you think. But you keep writing them anyway.
━━
Varka finds himself looking for them.
He notices the slight lift when he sits down at his desk and spots a folded corner tucked beneath the official stack. Then he sets aside the reports that need immediate attention and reads the small square of paper first.
It’s such a small thing. Observations, mostly. Small careful kindnesses wrapped in your handwriting.
He doesn’t know what to make of it.
He knows the initial, knows who it is. He remembers the storage room, the head-bump, the laugh he didn’t expect to enjoy quite so much. He has seen you since: brief appearances to deliver forms, the occasional corridor crossing where you turn slightly pink and find something very interesting to look at on the floor.
Sincere in a way that’s oddly refreshing. Clearly not used to being looked at directly.
He finds himself making sure not to look too directly. It feels important not to make you uncomfortable.
Surely you don’t mean anything by it, he thinks, setting down a note about particularly good bread. Just a kind person. Thoughtful. Nothing more.
He almost convinces himself.
The in-between visits are the part that get him. You come by his office on ordinary business: forms, updates, once a misdirected delivery that required an apology and a very long explanation.
Each time you knock carefully, state your purpose clearly, hand over whatever needs handing, and then say something genuine and slightly unexpected that throws the whole exchange sideways.
“I reorganized the archives,” you tell him during one visit, while he’s signing forms. “I thought—the expedition records were hard to cross-reference. It made more sense to sort differently.”
He glances up. “Did you run that past Hertha?”
“I asked her first.”
“Good,” he says softly.
“Also,” you add, “I noticed the supply requisitions have been delayed two weeks. It might be the routing. I fixed it.”
Varka sets his pen down. “Just like that?”
“It wasn’t complicated. Just overlooked.” A pause. “I didn’t want the knights waiting longer than necessary.”
He looks at you for a moment. You immediately find something fascinating on the wall beside his head.
“Thank you,” he says. He means it more than the words cover.
You nod, gather your folders, and leave with the specific energy of someone trying very hard not to run.
Just a kind person, he thinks again but quieter this time.
The note that does it is the last one.
It comes on an unremarkable Tuesday, tucked beneath an ordinary report:
I know the meeting is tomorrow. I don’t know what it’s about but I imagine it’s the kind that makes the day feel longer than it is.
I hope it goes well. I hope you get to sleep at a reasonable hour.
I hope you will—
(Sorry. That got away from me.)
Varka reads it twice, then sits back in his chair.
I hope.
Such a small word to carry so much in it.
He thinks about the Sunsettia left without explanation. The herb that clears your head. The pigeons having a dramatic morning. Two knights making it home.
He thinks about the way you find the wall beside his head extremely interesting whenever he says something kind. The way you said I didn’t want the knights waiting longer than necessary like it was obvious.
He’s been telling himself not to assume. He has been doing it so carefully, so deliberately, that he somehow forgot to pay attention to the actual evidence.
He picks up a pen.
You’re in the middle of reconciling three separate inventory counts that absolutely should agree and absolutely do not, when there’s a knock at the door.
“Come in,” you say, mostly to the ledger.
“Hm.”
You look up. Varka is leaning in the doorway.
Your brain does the thing it always does, which is briefly stop working. “Grand Master,” you manage.
“You’re busy,” he observes.
“A little.” You look down at the ledger. “The numbers are—they’re not agreeing.”
“They rarely do.” He steps inside, which is unusual. He doesn’t usually come here. You go to him.
You become very interested in your ledger.
“I got your note,” he says.
“I—yes.” Your pen is doing something strange in your hand. “I apologize if it was—”
“Don’t.”
You look up.
He’s watching you with a warm expression. “I got all of them,” Varka says. “I’ve been reading them since the first one.”
“I know. I mean—I assumed. I didn’t expect—” You take a deep breath. “I just wanted you to know that people notice. What you do. And that it matters.” You’re staring very hard at your desk. “That’s all it was.”
“Was it?”
“…Mostly,” you admit.
The silence is extremely long.
“Have dinner with me.”
Your head comes up fast.
Varka looks back at you steadily, waiting, genuinely, for your answer.
“I—” Your voice does something embarrassing. “Yes. I’d—yes. I’d like that.”
Something in his face settles. “Good.” He straightens, already turning toward the door. Then he pauses and pulls a folded piece of paper from his coat. He writes something else on the bottom, grinning to himself.
You squint your eyes but don’t comment.
He sets the note on your desk, then leaves.
You stare at it for a long moment before you unfold it:
The view from the Statue of the Seven is particularly good this week.
You should probably see it before the season changes.
Tomorrow evening, if you’re free.
—V.
P.S. The numbers in column four are transposed. That’s why they’re not agreeing.
You look at column four.
He’s right.
You put your face in your hands and smile so hard it hurts.
⋆ ✦ ⋆
A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. :)
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৻ꪆ i don’t know what i’d do if i can’t be with you, in the halls of the xianzhou palace hangs a captivating portrait of a young woman. it has become the bane of your existence, and yet, from it emerges your only light.
this is a miniseries, estimated to be three parts in total. if you are interested in being tagged, please comment or send an ask, and make sure i am able to tag you.
series tag is [ @ 𝐘𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐒 ★ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓 ] in case any parts do not get linked properly.
tags ───────── mydei x reader & (minor) jing yuan x reader, royal au, attempt at slowburn, not canon compliant. this series will contain angst, violence, major character death ; xianzhou alliance is called the xianzhou empire ; jing yuan is heavily ooc for story purposes only.
𝟏. still so close, yet so far . . . three chrysos heirs arrive in the xianzhou empire proposing an alliance. amongst them, is lord mydeimos, a man with immortality but not immune to what begins to change in him. word count: 3.8k words.
𝟐. coming soon . . .
𝟑. coming soon . . .
notes. i’ve had this idea for so long, and i wasn’t going to write it because i didn’t know how to get it down on a doc. then after a long yap session with my pet axolotl (@aquatik), i successfully managed to write it 😼 <3 now, i want to say this is going to be three parts, but i think it might be a little longer than that, so i went ahead and made a material list. let’s see how this goes !!
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amandla
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