Renwolf_Chan



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    “I — ah! — didn’t want to bother you,” Phainon breathes out.

    Mydei sighs, stopping himself in his tracks, rising from where he had left marks in Phainon’s skin to admire the canvas of pale skin where colourful bruises began to bloom, where an angry, red wound, made in a show of love and want, stared back at him; only to reach up with both hands, from where he still held Phainon’s waist to cup his soft cheeks, drawing Phainon’s gaze to his own, blinking back the tears as confusion on why he stopped clouded Phainon’s features.

    “You are always putting others feelings and needs ahead of your own, and leaving yourself in a position to feel undesired,” Mydei states simply. Phainon shifts uncomfortably, feeling exposed, though it had nothing to do with his half-naked state. “So, tell me the truth, Phainon. Did you feel neglected? Unwanted?”

    Mydei has been neglecting his omega. He does his best to make up for it.

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    27 Feb 2026

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    “You smell good,” Mydei murmurs, lips skimming across his skin. Phainon shivers, heat warming him like he’s entering his own rut. Mydei presses closer, his arms wrapping around Phainon’s waist. “Your skin is cold.”

    “You’re just running hot,” Phainon mutters, fingers flexing on Mydei’s waist. He feels high-strung, body coiled tight as he lets Mydei brush his cheek against his skin like a cat.

    Mydei huffs a laugh, and Phainon feels it rumble against him like an earthquake.

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    26 Feb 2026

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    ‘You should be more gentle with me, Mydei,’ Phainon complains. ‘I’m sick, you know.’

    I’ll show you gentle, Mydei thinks to himself. And then, more grimly, if only you’d let me.

    In which; Phainon falls ill, and Mydei frets.

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    24 Feb 2026

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    When Phainon takes on the task to retrieve a valuable antique from a brothel by posing as a serving boy, the last thing he expects is to end up here: a dim room, heavy with the scent of oil and smoke, facing three Kremnoan warriors. Scarred faces turn toward him, their sharp, predatory eyes weighing his presence.

    And then he sees him.

    Mydei.

    Mydei reclines with calculated ease, shadows cutting across the familiar sharpness of his jaw and the quiet authority in his gaze. Phainon falters, his breath hitching as recognition sparks between them.

    With everything riding on his disguise, Phainon stamps down the urge for confrontation and lowers his head. “Welcome, h-honored guests. How may I serve you?”

    Phainon infiltrates a brothel disguised as a serving boy for a self-imposed mission. As luck would have it, one of his clients just had to be Mydei.

    Their unplanned encounter turns out to be far more rewarding than Phainon expected.

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    22 Feb 2026

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    “Phainon,” he gasps, “you are not going to believe this.”

     

    “Believe wh—” He lets out a startled sound as Cicero grips him by the shoulders, staring deeply into his eyes. “The prince—the prince he’s—he’s here!”

     

    Phainon blinks. “Huh?”

     

    “The crown prince of Castrum Kremnos? Mydeimos the Undying, Son of Gorgo, Conqueror of—whatever!” He flails his hands around like a mad man. “He’s in the special lounge for esteemed guests right now and—ugh, Phainon, please take my place!”

     

    “What?” Phainon gapes.

    Struggling to keep up with piling funds and a sick mother, Phainon — a farmer’s son — seeks an education and becomes an apothecary in a famed brothel house. Tending to the wheat fields, taking care of the escorts, and serving drinks because he might as well! So far, his life has been completely normal.

     

    That is, until the Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos mistakes him for a courtesan.

     

    (Alternatively, a newly debuted Mydeimos is dragged down to a brothel house to cause a scandal and scare off potential brides. He ends up entering into a fake courting with a bewitching courtesan.)

    Language:
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    22 Feb 2026