#orter x reader

finn wants to implode at the mere mention of love. not because he doesn't love you, no. but because he's not sure if he's ready to say it. he doesn't know if he should admit it because he fears that if he does, he'll scare you off. but finn knows he loves you. more than he'd like to admit. even a mere glimpse of you in the hallways or classrooms sends his heart soaring, but finn knows that he loves you because he feels so safe with you.

you're a home he wished he had in his childhood, back when he thought a home was a building. but finn learned that a home is a person's heart, and he's made himself at home in your heart just as much you've found one in his. and he hopes you'll never leave it. there's nowhere else safer for him than in your arms with your hands in his.

finn knows that things will be okay because he loves you, even if he hasn't come around to saying just yet.

there are very few things lance hesitates about. in fact, one might think there's nothing that would make him stumble more than the knowledge that his sister might get a boyfriend one day. but those kinds of people don't know him. they all assume he only has his sister in his mind and nothing else, but that's not true at all.

no, lance hesitates the most when he considers for a brief moment if he truly loves you more than anna. of course, the argument there would be: it's a different kind of love; there's no comparison! but that's not what lance is questions. he doesn't want to be a waste of your time. he doesn't want to look back and realize you were never his first priority when you should've. he doesn't know if he could handle the heartbroken and disappointed look you give him when you realize you weren't his first priority, the first person he thinks of when he wakes up to the last person he thinks of when he falls asleep.

lance knows you should be. and therefore, he questions his love for you. and when he realizes that you're no mere second or third priority in his life, lance feels comforted. only when he is self-assured can he face you as your lover. because you deserved his full devotion.

of course he does; dot has no doubt in his mind that you are the only thing on his mind for a good portion of the day. he daydreams and dreams about you, spends any spare waking moment wondering what you're doing, if you've ate, if you're sleeping well, if you're having a good day, and so on. to dot, you're on a whole different level of vip, even more than his friends and sister. so yes, dot doesn't hesitate to say bold declarations of love because what else could these feelings be?

dot is the picture perfection description of a simp, down bad, head over heels, and rose-tinted glasses all at once. there's really no question behind it when he's grinning like an idiot at a picture of you and him on your latest date, rubbing it into his friends faces and declaring you as nothing short of his heart, soul, and world. and dot's words are only simple and bold because he sees no need to use fancy, illustrating words for the love that burns for you night and day.

abyss loves you like you're the only reason he gets up in the morning. he doesn't even have to open his eyes to think about you; the darkness beneath his eyelids makes him crave your blinding smile and warm embrace immediately. oh, how he longs for the future days where you can wake up in his arms, the mornings and nights when you're the first and last thing he sees. abyss knows he loves you... he craves you in more than mere carnal ways.

abyss has no need of the sun when he has you; abyss has no need of a large manor that he grew up in the basement of when he has you. he needs nothing else but you, and there's nothing that deters him from knowing that he loves you. and he knows you know he loves you because you're so gentle with him, his heart, his body, his soul. there's no amount of words he could say to describe how you make him feel, but all he knows is that you must be a reward, a blessing from the heavens because he had some great and marvelous thing i his past life.

whenever abyss looks at you, he knows. all the trouble and suffering in his childhood was all the more worth it when he found you in his life. found you in the sunlight, humming and swaying with the sunny breeze, sitting there like you had stepped out of a painting, feeling like you were made of silk. how soft and delicate his love is, but stronger than anything else in the universe.

is there truly a word abel could use to describe how he feels around you? was there really a phrase of sorts, something poetic but simple that he could use to explain how painful yet delightful his love for you is? he wonders, truly.

abel is no genius with his feelings, but he knows that you are what he's been looking for. you are the other half of his soul, the puzzle piece that fits the you-shaped gap in his heart; you're simply so perfect for him to love that abel feels like it is a sin to love you. a sin to love you and desire you the way only he could, to crave you and seek you out when he misses the sight and feel of you, perhaps even the taste of your lips on his.

abel is no genius with his feelings, yet he knows that this love between you and him are for the two of you alone. no one else gets to lay a hand on it, lest this love be a sin to anyone else, a maze of torturous wants and needs that could only be fulfilled by you. but they can't have you. because abel has you. therefore, this love is only for you and you alone.

there's very little wirth feels like he needs to prove. he knows he's strong, he knows he's smart and has wealth that his other peers are jealous of. and he knows he loves you.

but does he? does he love you the way you deserve? are you content being loved by him? are you pleased with the love you've found in hi heart, all for you to take and take with no expectations of giving anything in return? perhaps a glance or two his way and maybe a smile will do nicely, wirth thinks. he'll do just about anything and everything that you wish him to do, just as he had for his father who gave him no recognition and no praise for his hard work. you, on the other hand, gave when you weren't required to. you recognized, acknowledged, and praised him beyond words. you touched his heart when no one else wanted to, and now he's so hopelessly yet willingly yours.

wirth knows he will never be happier with anyone else. they could never provide him with what you give him, even if you didn't need to. all your sweet words and touches, warm eyes and hands, down to your very breath seems to sing praises to him, and wirth thrives.

oh please, please ask rayne if he loves you. please ask when he knew he loved you. he begs. he begs and pleads and waits for the day you walk about to him with the cutely curious glint in your eyes, adorably asking him when he knew he loved you because he has an answer. an answer that's been holed up in his pocket like a housekey waiting to be brought out at the end of a tiring day of work.

rayne knew he loved you the moment you came to him in tears, apologizing over and over again until he was more worried you were going to pass out from the lack of air in your lungs than whatever you did wrong. he found it so silly yet lovable that you were so sorry that you spilled your morning coffee on his rabbit handkerchief, knowing he cherished it. but there was nothing more he cherished than you. rayne loves you more than all the money in the world, all the wealth and comfort the world and its people could lay at his feet. why would he need all that when he has you right beside him? don't be silly, he has no thoughts of leaving you, so you shouldn't be either. you were his for the taking to day you sobbed into his chest over spilled coffee on his handkerchief. you were his to love and cherish and keep when he tilted your head up and had the first taste of your lips against his.

there's no love like rayne's, and rayne knows he got you hook, line, and sinker.

ah yes, the one man who acts like you don't mean anything more to him than a housemate and a coworker. orter is insufferably emotionally constipated, so please bless him if he can't show his love for you properly. orter has considered telepathically sharing his thoughts with you whenever he thinks of you and fawns over you in his head, but he doesn't because he knows neither of you will get anything done. you're better off having blind faith that this guy loves you because while you and him think he's being sly and sneaky, his coworkers and especially his brother can see otherwise.

how do you now know that he covers the table with his head when you go under to grab something you dropped? how do you not realize that he has memorized your coffee order top to bottom? how do you not see how he knows how you like your eggs, steak, or any food order that you've made at any restaurant? how do you not see orter madl going above and beyond for you?

the answer is simple: he's never given you a reason to expect anything less. orter, from acquaintance to marriage, never gave you a reason to expect anything less from you because he knew when he met you that you were going to be something else to him. cringey, i know, and he knows too, but there's really no other way to explain it. but because that's the case, you don't see his efforts because orter doesn't want you to. he doesn't want to be praised for something he sees elementary, basic, and put promptly, the lowest standard.

I feel like Orter is a very subtle guy. He's never cared about romance before, and you cannot tell that he has his eyes set on you.

Don't expect much from him. Perhaps a few unexpected words of praise, or a rare compliment about your looks, and that's it.

He doesn't let his cold expression go, not even in front of you. Thus, genuinely nobody has any idea that he likes you. He also performs just as well as usual, so the time he spends with you goes mostly unnoticed.

That being said, I think his love language is quality time. If you're up for it, he's more than willing to spend time with you - go on walks, study together, whatever you want, really.

─ The bustle of the town hadn't died down, even though it was starting to get darker. People went on about their business, but you weren't paying attention to that. Your attention instead was on the man walking next to you, with the same stern expression as always.

Orter, the Desert Cane, had recently been starting to grow closer to you. You didn't know what brought this on, but his presence in your life was appreciated.

"So.." you began, hoping to start a conversation. "Where exactly are we going?"

He was quiet, and for a second you thought he wasn't even gonna respond. "Where would you like to go?" He asked suddenly.

You had to think about that, caught a little off-guard by the question. Seeing the manner he walked, carrying himself with so much purpose, you thought he knew exactly where the two of you were going.

"Umm.. well, I've been hoping to get a new wand," you said, a bit sheepish. "You think we could stop by the shop?"

"Of course." He turned immediately in the direction where the shop was located. You smiled and gave a thankful nod, then followed after him.

Now, Kaldo is interesting. He's definitely a confident man, and he doesn't doubt that he can earn your love sooner or later.

He doesn't waste time at all. He immediately starts getting to know you, memorizing your favorite color, scent, food.. it goes on.

He's a gentleman with you. Or, well, he tries to be. Sure, he's a dangerous man when he needs to be, but with you, his less ruthless side comes out. He makes a point to sound softer when talking to you, make contact in gentle ways, that kind of thing.

He takes you out to his favorite restaurants frequently. He insists to be the one to pay every time. Whenever anyone asks him if it's a date, he just smiles and shrugs.

─ The sushi restaurant had been oddly quiet since the two of you entered. At first, you were confused by it.. but then, remembering the man with you was a Divine Visionary, it made a bit more sense.

To your surprise, Kaldo was a great listener. Every time you told a story, he listened with that signature smile of his, nodding and occasionally chiming in with a comment or two.

That was the case right now. You sat in front of him, telling him about an annoying encounter from the day before as he dripped some honey onto his sashimi. He certainly had a sweet tooth, that much you knew about him.

You'd already finished your share of the food by the time the story ended, yet your hunger remained as it was. You didn't want to tell him, though. It would only bother him, surely.

It didn't take long for him to notice. However much you tried to talk over your growling stomach, in a matter of minutes, he took notice.

"Are you still hungry?" He asked, his voice gentle. You reluctantly nodded. "Why didn't you say so? I'll order more for you."

"Are you sure?"

He gave you a look as if you'd just asked something entirely stupid. "Of course. I've got the money."

You couldn't help but smile. He was so generous with you.

"Thank you, Kaldo."

Rayne was caught totally off-guard by his love for you. It's like you came out of nowhere and he was attracted to you, like gravity pulled him in.. and, in a sense, that was kinda what happened.

He finds out you're in the same house as him - even better, you're good friends with Finn. So, what's the logical thing to do?

Ask him about you instead of talking directly to you.

...Yeah, he's not great at this, but he's trying.

As confident as he tries to seem, he can barely make eye contact with you, he's a mess when he's around you.. because, why do you make him feel this way?

He resorts to give you gifts in secret. He always asks his brother about what your favorite things are, what you currently need, or just what you like in general. He doesn't care how much money he spends, as long as you're happy. And, for now, he's content with watching from a distance. Atleast, until he's worked up the courage to ask you out.

─ White snow crunched under him as Rayne walked trough campus. He didn't have any work to complete - a rare occurance, admittedly - so he was lost in what he should be doing.

The sound of laughter caught his attention. Not just anyone's laughter, but yours.

He spotted you sitting under a tree, surrounded by you and Finn's friends. He stopped in his tracks to observe you. The way your lips curved upward every time Dot told a joke. Your amused chuckle as he threw snowballs at Lance and Mash. How you rolled your eyes at yet another one of Lance's rambles about his sister.

He was an observant man. He found all your little quirks and subtle habits fascinating.

The thing that caught his attention most, though, was the scarf wrapped around your neck.

The scarf he sewed for you.

He quickly looked away and put a hand on his cheek as soon as he noticed that they heated up. He would never admit it to anyone, of course, but seeing you with the gifts he secretly delivered you was one of the things he loved most.

He sighed. Oh, how deeply he'd fallen.

Okay, let's be honest. Mash has no experience with romance (aside from Lemon's pining, but that doesn't really count), he grew up in the middle of the forest with his dad. He has no idea how he's supposed to ask out a girl, or how to even show you that he likes you.

But because of his very obvious liking toward you, his friends notice quickly. And, luckily for him, Dot was more than willing to help, claiming he was "great with ladies".

His plans never work. Mash always freezes up before he could even say a single word to you, and ends up stuttering for a good five minutes before you gently help him out.

Instead, he opts to bring you gifts. He doesn't need to speak for that, after all. Though, he's a little out of touch and just assumes the average person likes the same things as him. But if he catches you talking about a specific thing you want, he'll try to get it for you.

He's not good at picking up hints at all. Unless you straight up tell him that you like him too, he will assume you only think of him as a friend at most.

─ You were lounging in your room, not having anything in particular to do. Bored out of your mind, you laid sprawled out on your bed and stared at the ceiling in complete silence.

In your daze, you hadn't noticed the door was left open, or that someone had come inside minutes ago.

"...Hey," Mash finally found the courage to speak up, making you notice his presence.

"Ah, Mash!" Your face lit up at the sight. You were just about to ask him what he was doing here, but before you could speak, a basket was shoved into your hands.

You looked back at the boy in confusion, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he looked at you with the same blank expression. The only thing which revealed how he was feeling was the slight blush on his cheeks, and the fact that he avoided your gaze at all cost.

You looked inside the basket, and you finally recognized what was inside. Cream puffs. Perhaps an unhealthy amount of them.

"Oh, Mash.. thank you, this is so kind of you-"

By the time you looked up again, he was gone.

You smiled to yourself and placed the basket down next to your bed. From the smell, you could tell they were freshly baked.

Fortunately for Mash, you couldn't see the way he panicked outside your dorm, or the obvious anxiety in his gaze after he left. Did you like it? What if you didn't?

The day after, he found a note sent to him. Two simple words written in your handwriting.

"Thank you."

Being the top student in the academy doesn't grant you a lot of time to think about getting a girlfriend. That's the excuse he told himself, until he met you.

I feel like he'd be into the more traditional kind of romance and courting. He buys you the occasional flower and helps you with tasks you can't do.

If you agree, he will definitely tutor you in whatever subject you're struggling in. He's surprisingly patient with you, too. If anyone asked him, he'd deny that his lingering touches were on purpose.

Dot always insults him over his way of courting - he thinks he should be more straightforward and bold, but Lance just ignores him.

─ "Did I do it right?"

You watched with slight anxiety as Lance scanned over your Magic Zoology homework. His eyes gave nothing away and he sat in such silence that you really couldn't tell what he was thinking.

"You did," he finally replied as he handed the paper back to you. "You got everything right. You've improved a lot."

You shot a sheepish smile at him. "Thank you.. it's all thanks to you, really. If you hadn't helped me out so much, I wouldn't have understood anything."

"Nonsense," he said. "You did just fine without me. I simply helped you realize your talent."

"I wouldn't say it's a talent.." you muttered, your gaze drifting away from him. Lance shook his head, but he clearly saw no point in arguing with you.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment longer. The silence, surprisingly, wasn't awkward at all. It felt.. oddly comforting.

"Well, I don't have anything else I need help with, so.." you started, eyeing the exit. "I can go now, if you want-"

"No." he cut you off. "There's no need. Please, stay for as long as you want."

You blinked at him in surprise, but quickly regained your composure and nodded with a big smile on your face.

One who wants to create a world where order matters and one who aims to preserve family legacy. Different people with different goals; with the same ambition and the same extraordinary magical prowess.

Never had the Bureau of Magic found it difficult to select the worthiest candidate. It has always been easy—pit the students against each other and whoever wins becomes the Visionary. But if the Trimagicathlon Final Exam has been going on for days, down to two students who both refuse to yield, does the bureau have a choice?

It started at Easton Magic Academy. For unknown reasons, the Police Academy has been incorporated with Easton. Their students became Easton’s, sorted into the three houses, and magic-based law enforcement became a part of the curriculum.

Coming from a prestigious family known to produce Divine Visionaries, you were determined to inherit the title of “the Chronicle Cane”. But whether you wanted it or not, it has already been destined for you the moment you were born—the moment a Master Cane chose you.

As powerful as it may sound, it was conflicting—for the Nulling Cane you possessed grants you the ability to “erase” a few seconds of events as if crossing out a line in a book. But the Chronicle Cane should not allow history to be distorted.

“We preserve truth. Every battle, every rise and fall of magic, every deed—great or terrible—belongs in the archives. If no one writes the truth, all we are is noise that vanishes in time,” you once told Orter.

You first met at the school library. The tall boy with sharp eyes and an aura of absolute focus. He was an avid reader. He’d bore holes through his eyes from day to night, in between classes, whenever he had time to burn. He’d stay until lights out—til the library closes.

“Pardon me,” you said. “But the library will be closing soon.”

You were a student assistant of the librarian. They were fond of you, the well-mannered studious student. Well raised and of good judgement. Discreet. Loves reading—perhaps you were no different from Orter.

He did not look up at first. But the moment he did, his eyes were cold, as though questioning why you had approached him instead of waiting for him to leave.

“I assist the librarian,” you said. “And I must kindly ask that you conclude your studies for tonight.”

Orter stepped past you, the faint brush of his shoulder nearly making you drop the ring of keys you were holding. He didn’t look back then.

Cold, calculating, yet undeniably compelling. There was something about him. He was one of those that came from the Police Academy.

Everyday after that, you’d find him at the same table, reading until the light turns dark. His eyes were always fixed on a volume thick enough to crush an average student’s patience. It was intriguing—most students never came to the library as often unless they were desperate for test results.

“You could take the book to your dorm,” you once suggested.

His refusal was curt, but not sharp. On rare moments he’d reply to you, his words were not the rambling of an arrogant boy. They were measured, as if he weighed every syllable—and you admired precision.

It became a rhythm. While you were returning books to the shelves, he’ll continue reading way past the library’s closing. The librarian didn’t mind it. He’ll only remind you to never forget closing the windows and locking the doors before leaving.

Soon, the two of you would talk.

“What do you think of this law?” he once asked, not looking up from the thick volume open before him.

The book was an ancient treatise on forbidden enchantments and the trial records of a now-defunct magical clan.

“They acted out of desperation,” you answered. “I think punishment was necessary.” He paused, then turned a page. It was the closest thing to approval he had ever given.

You began to notice his patterns. He reread pages that didn’t meet his standards, as if willing to rewrite them in his own principle. He never used bookmarks. He’d simply remember the page he stopped at and the next day, would open the book at the exact same page.

On evenings when the lighting has taken on a darker hue, he’d remove his glasses and would wipe it with a lens cloth; he always brings one. But you know that it wasn’t because his glasses got foggy. You see the way he’d close his eyes and blink a little too hard when he claims he’s “just wiping” his glasses.

The next night, you’ve placed an extra lamp by his usual spot, “If you continue reading in poor lighting like that, your vision’s going to get worse.”

Since then, he began paying attention to you. You told him to stop reading and rest his eyes after intervals. Orter didn’t like being told what to do, but he did as you advised, anyway. And when he does take a break, he looks at you.

Sometimes you’d be atop the ladder, sitting gracefully, carefully, as you reach the top shelf to return a book to where it belonged. Other times, you’re kneeling on the floor, the lower white half of your robe pooling around you.

He started to understand your silences. You disliked noise when writing so you usually do it in the evenings when most students leave the library.

During the day, you’ll just read. Not by the desks due to your particular dislike for noise. But rather, by the window sill, away from the crowd but still close enough that people can approach you should they need assistance.

They say people grow close through shared joy, laughter, and vulnerability. But some bonds are formed through consistency—the choice to keep showing up—the recognition of someone who walks the same path as you do.

He never called you by your first name nor did you call him by his. But you began to recognize his footsteps when he enters the library full of students.

Easton was vast, having eleven floors just for the dormitories; not to mention, the secret chambers only professors knew about. On top of that, you belonged to different dorms—there isn’t one class you take together.

It was impossible to see Orter anywhere outside the library. And true to that fact, you never did see him anywhere else.

That is until the Divine Visionary Selection Exams. Your name on the candidate list was not surprising. You came to Easton with a goal and this is all part of achieving it.

But Orter? He was a student from the Police Academy. What surprised him was how you managed to garner a ton of gold coins despite spending half of your day in the library.

The first three rounds of the selection exams went smoothly—quickly, even. You haven’t faced Orter then but you were made aware of his power. Certain that facing him was inevitable, you started thinking of ways to counter his magic.

For a while during the trimagicathlon, you worked with him to eliminate the representatives of the other two academies. It was only when it was just down to the two of you and the Wand of Beginnings that you finally faced him.

Orter’s uniform was torn at the sleeves, sand swirling loosely around his feet. “Should’ve known it’d be you,” he said flatly, his voice like dry parchment. “You’ve been in my blind spot for too long.”

It’s the second day of your duel and neither of you had slept. Your scrolls were half-burned, your robe torn. The pentacles you scrawled onto the ground pulsed like open eyes.

It was ironic—fighting a man that looked out for you.

Orter helped pick up the books you dropped when you were clumsily carrying too many. He took one from your hand when you stood on tiptoes, believing that you can reach the shelf that’s just above your reach.

He refilled your inkwell when he noticed that it’s past halfway empty. He silences the other students with his intimidating glare when it gets too noisy for your comfort. He caught you when you misstepped and fell off the ladder.

And he carried you to his dorm, with his robe wrapped around you, when you fell asleep and he didn’t know where your dorm was. His dorm was a single room and that night, it was all yours—because that night, he slept in the library, instead.

The third day dawned red. Your breathing was shallow, your scrolls were nearly burned through—ink smeared, curses hanging half-finished in the air. Orter stood with one knee to the ground, sand drifting like steam off his shoulders.

And still, neither of you would yield.

Orter raised his wand again, readying another wave of compressed sand. His eyes met yours and you were already drawing another pentacle with your wand. Magic crackled violently in the air.

“That is enough,” the world stopped at the sound of the Bless Minister’s voice. “Three days, and neither of you are willing to lose.”

He gestured to the Wand of Beginnings, still untouched. He spoke once more, “Touch it together.”

“What?” Orter whispered. You gasped, confused, “But—only one person can—”

“Perhaps that was true before today,” the Bless Minister said. “But you two have redefined what it means to be a Visionary.”

The crowd held its breath and everything was silent. You looked at Orter and he looked back. Then without a word, you both raised your hands and touched the Wand of Beginnings

It flashed like a supernova. Not a split, nor a compromise. The wand welcomed you both. Its magic didn’t divide—it doubled.

And for the first time in history, two Divine Visionaries were selected.

That historic event felt like ages ago now that you sat by the windowsill of your office at the Magic Archives Administration. You made that history and you wrote that history—as befitting of someone from the (l/n) family—as befitting of the Chronicle Cane.

Behind you, Orter leaned against the window frame, his arms folded in front of you, locking you in his embrace. His gaze wasn’t on the town down below. It was on you.

Even after becoming Divine Visionaries, it still took time before the two of you reached this intimacy. Orter wasn’t interested, or so he always said. As for you, you didn’t want to be distracted, didn’t want anything getting in the way of you becoming the Chronicle Cane.

But when you both became Divine Visionaries, what’s there to stop you now? What was there to stop the burgeoning feelings you have buried? Because surely, he didn’t do everything he did for you just to be friends when he didn’t even have the time for anyone.

As a rule-obsessed, it irked him to see the lights in your office still lit past the curfew. Rules are rules, and rules must be followed. Nobody dared break them; not on Orter’s watch.

“Pardon me,” you said one night as he let himself in your office. “The archives are already closed for the day.”

“The archives are closed,” he corrected dryly, stepping further inside. “And the curfew for administrative work is strict.”

You didn’t look up from your paper, “Then arrest me.”

There was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Barely there, but enough for you to catch if you looked—which you didn’t.

“I could. You’ve broken at least three ordinances. Four, if you count the food stains on these records.”

“I was multitasking.”

“You were eating on a royal decree.”

You finally looked up at him. He hadn’t moved from his spot beside the door. He stood imposingly, unreadable, and far too handsome in this damn lighting.

The both of you had grown so much since graduating. Orter looked more and more like he was made for the female gaze. If he weren’t intimidating, he would’ve lots of women on his tail.

As for you, there would be considerable amounts of gifts and flowers being delivered to your office. However, they’re only able to make it up to the bureau’s lobby because Orter had made a decree:

A Visionary’s office is no place for unsolicited gifts.

Sometimes when he’s around, the flowers never even last a minute. On those days, you swore you heard the sound of sand grinding behind the reception desk after the deliverymen left.

Orter stepped forward, eyes scanning your desk. He didn’t reprimand you further, nor lecture you about overworking again. He just said, “You never take breaks. Even now.”

“Is this your idea of checking up on me?”

“It’s an enforcement of order.”

“And you just happened to enforce it every night this week?”

That made him pause.

The next day, you arrived at your office and surprisingly, silence greeted you. Not a sound of footsteps in the corridor, nor the murmur of voices from people passing by.

You opened your window out of habit, just to make sure the breeze would still flow. It did. But the distant sounds of the town didn’t pour in with it. The outside had been muted. Or rather—blocked.

You didn’t need to ask what it was and who did it. There was only one person you knew who knew about your dislike for noise. He’d seen the way your brows furrow when the library becomes a little too noisy.

It was the same man who’d purposefully stay til the library’s closing hours so you weren’t alone as you write your library reports. And he was the same man who left a bouquet of flowers on your desk after magically soundproofing your office so you no longer had to stay up late.

That night, Orter had let himself into your office like always. No knock, no announcement, just the sound of your door clicking shut behind him.

You were already used to this routine—the way he placed a cup of tea on your desk without a word. You set your quill down, eyes on the tea, still warm.

“I know what you’re doing,” you said softly, not looking at him.

Orter, who had been pretending to read one of your books, stilled, “Elaborate.”

You finally raised your gaze to meet his, “I’ve known for a long time now. That all of it—these acts—they’re how you say it.” His throat shifted, jaw tightening, yet he said nothing.

“But I’m not like you,” you continued, a breath leaving you. “I say what I mean. I name things. I write them down.”

You stood slowly from your desk, walking to him until there was barely space between you. He didn’t move, but his eyes—always sharp, always vigilant—looked unsure.

You smiled gently, “I love you, Orter.”

For a moment, there was no reaction. No shift in his posture nor a flicker of expression. But then his voice came, quiet and hoarse.

“You do?”

“I do,” you said. “And I’m not asking you to say it back.”

His brow furrowed slightly, “You assume I won’t?”

“No,” you whispered. “I just already know you have. You’ve been telling me every night.”

That finally broke something—the stillness he always wore. His hand reached out, tentative at first, then firm—fingers curling around yours like he couldn’t stand the distance anymore.

“I love you,” he said. And this time, it wasn’t just an action, not a routine. It was a vow.

You stepped into him. And when his arms wrapped around your waist, when he buried his face in your shoulder, all the order and silence in the world melted away.

You rested your hand on the back of his head, fingers threading into his hair. His usual rigid posture faltered as he allowed himself this vulnerability.

A long moment passed between you, quiet except for the sound of his breathing against your collarbone. Then he pulled back just enough to look at you.

You thought he might say something, might try to justify the emotion trembling just beneath his gaze. But Orter was never good with words, only with intentions—only with actions.

So he kissed you.

No hesitation, no calculation. Just the kind of kiss that had been building quietly for years—between late nights and long silences, between tea cups, and between glances that lasted too long.

He kissed you like someone who had wanted to for a very, very long time but had only now given himself permission. You kissed him back.

And in that kiss, there was no authority, no Visionary, no canes—just you and Orter—two people who finally met where their hearts had always been headed.

That night changed things between, and only in between, the two of you. In public, nothing changed. There were no public displays of affection, no lingering stares, no touching. But Divine Visionaries are not easily fooled.

Sophina kept her suspicions to herself, though her curious eyes flicked between you two more often than before. Tsurara muttered once, half-jokingly, that she suspected a “very cold, very logical romance”. Kaldo simply sighed before getting back to polishing his sword.

But only Ryoh had the audacity to investigate. “Hey,” he whispered. “Is it true?”

You didn’t look up from the document you were reviewing, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, come on. I can tell. You’ve been smiling more.” Of course, Ryoh can tell—Ryoh the family man, the lover of his wife, the father of a child that looked like a small him—of course he can tell when two people are in love.

“I smile the same amount as I always have.”

He gave you a look, “Which is… none. Except now it’s, like, 0.5.”

From that day on, it was known. But most people didn’t want to believe. They’ve never seen you two hold hands, never seen you two smile at each other. Yet no one questioned, no one asked—because no one meddles with the affairs of Orter Madl.

Two years later, Mash Burnedead came into the picture. Orter had been restless. His relentless demands and efforts to take the magic-less boy down has delayed his plans for the two of you.

Then as if things couldn’t get worse, there came Innocent Zero. A day before the eclipse, when Ryoh called for the Anti-Innocent Zero Coalition Emergency Meeting, you were asked to stay behind with Kaldo while the remaining Divine Visionaries storm Innocent Zero’s castle.

Ryoh ordered you to hold the ground and protect the people should Innocent Zero launch another aerial attack that might eliminate the populace. More importantly, so someone can lead the people should something uneventful happen to them.

You became the Divine Visionaries’ last wall of defense and their very own trump card. Should everyone perish, you, with the Nulling Cane, is the only one who could be able to put up a fight against Innocent Zero’s magic.

Right before they left, you kissed Orter. Not gently, not sweetly, but with the urgency of a woman who might never have the chance again. “Come back to me,” you told him when you pulled away.

On the viewing mirror Innocent Zero put up for the world to see, you watched as Orter and your colleagues get trashed around by Mash’s eldest sibling. It was hopeless—not even Ryoh stood a chance.

Below, you clutched the Nulling Cane close to your chest. You never intended to use it to distort history. But deep inside, you thought—and in the kiss you gave Orter, you implied—that you will rewrite history over and over if it meant keeping him by your side.

When they flew down to escape Innocent Zero, Orter was not there. Something inside you snapped. Kaldo reached for your arm, but you were already airborne—zooming up with your broom.

Not long after you entered the castle, you found a massive crack in the ground, so deep it looked like the land itself had been split apart. And at its edge, beyond the broken path, stood one lone figure.

You breathe caught and you understood in a single, harrowing instant that Orter had done this. He had used his remaining magic to collapse the ground, to split the castle in two so no enemy could follow the retreat—so the rest could all escape. And now he was the dam holding back the flood.

You flew past the fracture to reach Orter. The force of your descent sent Innocent Zero’s army sprawling back. Your magic—a turbulent storm of sacred ink and cursed pentagrams—spiraled outward in a radiant burst. A protective seal spun beneath your feet as you landed behind Orter.

His eyes widened—just barely, “…(Y/n)?” He was so pale. His sleeve was soaked red. Cuts marked his face, and blood trickled from his mouth. He was ready to die.

“You absolute idiot,” you breathed. He didn’t speak. Instead, he wavered. The second his knees buckled, you caught him.

Your arms locked around his shoulders as he collapsed against your chest. You lowered both of you to the ground, shielding him as another spell went off behind you, seals flickering to life midair to deflect the blast.

His forehead pressed against your collar, “You shouldn’t be here.”

You looked down at him, tears threatening to spill as you wiped blood from his face, “I am not letting the man I love die alone like some tragic hero in a story I didn’t agree to.”

For once, Orter didn’t have a reply. His arm wrapped weakly around your waist. And you leaned in. And you kissed him.

You broke the kiss only when tears slipped down. “I love you,” you said, pressing your forehead to his. “I love you.”

“I know,” he exhaled shakily. “But hearing it like that—” his voice cracked slightly, and he rasped, “—makes me want to live.”

“Then live,” you whispered fiercely. “Please. Just live.”

The rest of the war was placed in Mash’s hand. In the end, all became well. Innocent Zero returned everyone’s time without disrupting the flow of time itself. As far as you’re concerned, without distorting history.

Months after that eventful period, both you and Order became so busy. He, with his job editing the laws about the magic-less, and you, writing down in complete detail everything that had happened.

You barely saw each other then. It took months before you could finally sit leisurely by the windowsill of your office at the Magic Archives Administration.

Behind you, Orter leaned against the window frame, his arms folded in front of you, locking you in his embrace. His gaze wasn’t on the town down below. It was on you.

The world was finally quiet. It was about time he finally make good on what he once had to delay. He gently reached for your hand and laced his fingers with yours.

“There’s something I’ve wanted to do,” he said. He stepped back just enough to let you stand. And when he did, he dropped to one knee.

Your breath caught.

From his coat pocket, he produced a small, elegant ring box. He opened it slowly, revealing a ring unlike any you’d seen before.

At its center was a single, opalescent stone that shimmered like a captured star. But it wasn’t just a stone. It was your magic—preserved, crystallized, and bound with his.

“(Y/n),” Orter said, gazing up at you with a reverence that softened every sharp line on his face. “I’ve spent my entire life changing laws, changing the world, changing myself.”

He exhaled, steady and sure, “But this is the one thing I don’t ever want to change—your presence in my life.”

You blinked rapidly, lips parting.

“I don’t need a grand spell,” he said, holding the ring between two fingers. “I just need you to say yes.”

He looked up at you—not as a Divine Visionary, not as the head of the Magical Power Administration, not even as the Desert Cane—but as the man who had waited far too long to give you everything.

“Will you marry me?”

You didn’t hesitate. You knelt down with him, tears clouding your vision, and whispered:

“Yes.”

mash has light kisses.

his hands hold you as if you were his favorite delicacy, cream puffs. he doesn't exactly know how to kiss, so his lips are puckered in a way that garners intimidation, though he tilts his head and slightly parts his lips.

mash's lips don't press too hard upon yours; it's more of a soft brushing than anything. he doesn't want to drive you off or anything of the sort, so they're very hesitant and careful before he manages to gain the courage to do otherwise.

lance, on the other hand, his kisses are passionate. he wants to let you know that he loves you, that he feels things for you.

his hands don't wander, one is stuck to your cheek, the other wrapped around your waist. his eyeslashes flutter at how soft you feel, at how your pressed tightly against him. when your lips part for air there's a small curl to his lips, but he rushes to cover it with another kiss.

lance can't get away from your lips. he loves to look at them, touch them, kiss them.

he can't get enough.

dot's kisses are messy.

he has zero idea what he's doing, so it ends up sloppy. though, in a good way (most times). he tries to put his tongue first, confused when the muscle is met with your soft lips. he bursts out in embarrassment, hitting his head on the nearest surface before your hand pulls his face back to you.

he swoons when you press your lips to his again. you purposefully kiss fast and needy, feeding into the way he normally kisses.

dot blushes profusely throughout the whole thing, trying not to open his ears and peer at you. the tip of his tongue runs along your lips, his low-lidded eyes looking at you, silently begging until you let him make the kiss messier.

orter kisses you like a man should!! depending on his mood, the way he kisses you changes. sometimes, they're soft and sweet, other times they're urgent and passionate.

though, no matter what, he treats you as delicate as a flower. more times than not, he backs you into a surface to keep you stable, while a hand rests on your cheek.

orter is soft and loving despite his work demeanor, yet some of his kisses are aggressive pecks to your cheek as they trail other places. he'll often want to worship you but his body simply won't allow such a thing when you look so . .

kaldo's kisses are either really sweet or fucking needy.

he could either be swaying side to side with you in a dance, lips pressed together in a soft romance. or, he could treat you as he does honey, pawing at your lips, tongue forced through the rim of them and exploring.

there is no in between.

kaldo teased while he does, especially when he's hot for his rushed and passionate kiss. "oh?" kiss "such a pretty girl-" kiss "all needy" kiss "for me?" he smirks and bites your bottom lip, eyes looking at you with need.