Summary : Everyone is horrified that Bucky is flirting with a married woman, but then they realise there's a reason why.
Pairing : Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x florist!reader (she/her)
Warnings/tags : Secret wife trope. Cursing, Injury. Featuring the Thunderbolts*. Bucky kinda gaslights the entire team. Fluff!!!!
Word count : 3k
Note : The next chapter of spoils of war is almost here, but I just need to go over a couple of paragraphs! In the meantime, enjoy!
The Thunderbolts knew a few undeniable truths about Bucky Barnes.
One: He was grumpy.
Two: He was a private person.
Three: He never, ever let anyone see where he lived.
That last one bothered them the most. They’d pieced together the general area; a quiet neighborhood with old brick buildings, modern cafés, and just enough charm to make it feel… vintage. But no one had ever set foot inside his home, no one had even seen him unlock the door to his sanctuary, since he dodged every casual suggestion to hang out at his place with a variation of “I got plans” or another. And, curiously, every time they stopped for coffee in this part of town, Bucky would mysteriously slip into the tiny flower shop beneath a brick apartment building.
That was odd. No one would’ve guessed that Bucky Barnes even liked flowers.
What was even odder was that this infinitely grumpy, emotionally constipated, “I hate people” supersoldier — would be capable of flirting.
With the florist.
With you.
“Are we seeing this right?” Yelena whispered, elbowing Alexei as they peered through the shop window after Bucky made them wait outside.
They watched as Bucky stood by the counter, leaning in ever so slightly, a charming grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched you wrap a bouquet.
“He’s smiling,” Alexei muttered, horrified.
Inside, Bucky reached for the bouquet you were tying up, his gloved fingers brushing against yours. You playfully smacked his hand away, laughing. He laughed, too, and that was enough to send Yelena spiraling into an existential crisis.
Yelena squinted. “He’s flirting.”
Alexei frowned. “Bucky does not flirt.”
“I know. That’s why I’m freaking out.”
They watched as you handed him the bouquet, and in return, Bucky gave you a wink. And then he turned, walking out like he hadn’t just transformed into a different person.
That was when Yelena, utterly horrified Yelena, caught a flash of gold on your ring finger. She squinted her eyes. It was unmistakable. “Wait a second—”
As soon as he got back to them, Alexei folded his arms. “You were flirting.”
Bucky scoffed. “I was not.”
“She’s married!” Yelena accused, pointing dramatically. “She had a ring! You flirted with a married woman!”
Bucky didn’t even blink. He simply shrugged, tucking the bouquet carefully under his arm. “I didn’t see a ring.”
“She was literally wearing it—”
“I didn’t see a ring,” Bucky insisted, tugging absentmindedly at the chain around his neck— the one that held his dog tags, hidden under his shirt.
Yelena and Alexei exchanged a deeply disturbed look.
Bucky Barnes was flirting with a married florist.
What was the world coming to?
—
Bucky knew he’d fucked up the second he stepped back into Thunderbolts HQ.
Alexie had just looked confused, while Yelena had been simmering the entire walk back, her arms crossed so tightly over her chest it was a miracle she hadn’t snapped a rib.
She lasted exactly two seconds before she exploded. “You are jackass, Barnes!”
Bucky barely had time to sigh before she stomped closer.
“What’s so wrong with what I did?” he muttered, placing the bouquet of flowers in an empty vase
Yelena let out an incredulous laugh, pacing in front of him like a caged tiger ready to strike. “What’s wrong?” she echoed, her accent thickening with rage. “You flirted with a married woman! I should punch you in the face on principle!”
From the lounge, John Walker looked up from whatever government-issued nonsense he was pretending to read. His brows immediately furrowed, his eyes twisting into the signature disapproving dad look he’d perfected. “Wait, what?”
Ava, who had been drinking tea in the corner, raised an eyebrow. “This is scandalous,” she murmured, eyes brightening with intrigue.
Alexei, who was now plopped on the couch like some washed-up, Soviet-era king, said, “If a man had flirted with my wife like that, I would have hunt him down and mount his head on wall.” He crossed his arms, nodding to himself in approval. “As is tradition.”
Bucky scowled. “I wasn’t flirting.”
“Oh?” Yelena snorted, “So you were just undressing her with your eyes for fun, then?”
Bucky rolled his eyes. “That’s just how I look at people.”
Alexie shook his head. “So you look at us like that?”
Bucky opened his mouth. Then immediately shut it.
Yelena’s hands curled into fists. “Yeah. Thought so.”
John’s arms crossed over his chest in that holier-than-thou stance that he was so famous for. “Look, man, I’m married. And if someone flirted with my wife, we’d have a problem.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You guys are making a big deal out of nothing.”
“Nothing?” Yelena threw up her hands. “She’s married, Bucky!”
“Okay, even if I was flirting,” Bucky turned to her, exasperated— “I didn’t see a ring.”
Yelena’s hands flew to her head, fingers digging into her scalp like she was resisting the urge to rip out her own hair. “You probably chose to look away!”
John sighed like a disappointed youth pastor. “This is unbelievable.”
“No,” Bucky still insisted, “I didn’t see a ring.”
Yelena’s jaw dropped. “It was a thick gold band, Barnes. How could you not see it?”
Ava, who was clearly enjoying the drama more than anyone, sighed. “That is inappropriate behaviour, Barnes.”
Alexei shook his head again, “You should apologise.”
“I’m not apologising,” Bucky scoffed, “Because I did nothing wrong.”
His fingers toyed absentmindedly with the chain that led to his dog tags, and Yelena immediately locked onto the movement. Every person has a tell, a habit they did when they were nervous. And being a super spy, Yelena knew this was his.
She narrowed her eyes. “You are gaslighting us,” she muttered, pacing again like she was mentally weighing the pros and cons of strangling a super soldier.
“I didn’t see a ring,” Bucky repeated, his voice steady.
“You’re lying,” she snapped.
He shrugged, maddeningly casual in all of this chaos. “Guess we’ll never know.”
Ava laughed cynically. “I can’t tell if you’re a complete scumbag or if this is just really fun for you.”
Bucky just popped a beer from the fridge, flicking the cap off with his metal hand. “Why not both?”
He took a long sip of his beer, completely unbothered.
And maybe, he looked a little bit too smug.
—
Three weeks later, Bucky led Yelena and John on a mission to take down a high-scale arms dealer.
And, as always, the mission had gone sideways.
It was too late for any shops to be open, too late for anyone with a shred of common sense to be out on the streets.
Yelena was bleeding, pressing a torn scrap of fabric against a deep gash on her arm. John had a busted lip and a slight limp. Bucky was sporting a few cuts and bruises himself, but nothing he hadn’t shaken off a thousand times before.
“Guys,” Yelena managed a grunt, shifting her grip on her makeshift bandage, “we need to get ourselves patched up before one of us drops dead.”
“We ran out of antiseptics back at HQ,” John reminded them.
Yelena groaned, throwing her head back in despair. “So what are we supposed to do?” She gritted out, “Just bleed out in the street like sad little orphans?”
John scowled. “That’s a little dramatic.”
Yelena turned and glared at him. “Your face is dramatic.”
Bucky let out a deep breath through his nose, running a hand along his damp hair. He glanced around the street, making sure they weren’t being followed before whispering to himself, “Guess we’re doing this now.”
Yelena tilted her head. “Doing what?”
Instead of answering, Bucky turned on his heel and started walking.
John and Yelena gave each other a wary look.
“I don’t like when he does that,” John said.
“No one does,” Yelena agreed, but they both followed anyway.
It didn’t take long for them to recognise the route— It was the neighbourhood where the team usually got coffee.
But Bucky wasn’t heading to the café.
They rounded the corner, and suddenly John stopped dead in his tracks.
It was a closed florist—the very one where Bucky had, allegedly, been trying to charm his way into a married woman’s bed.
To John’s absolute horror, Bucky walked right up to the door and knocked.
“Bucky.” He said, voice strangled. “What the hell is this?”
Yelena blinked. “I don’t think we need to seduce a married florist to get medical supplies.”
Bucky sighed, rubbing his temples like he was already regretting this decision. He turned to them, leveling them both with a look. “Alright, listen up,” he said through gritted teeth. "The secret’s out now, so you two gotta keep your mouths shut.”
John’s brows furrowed. “What secret?”
Before Bucky could answer, the door to the flower shop clicked open.
And there you were, standing in the doorway, wrapped in one of Bucky’s hoodies, looking exactly how he’d expected: exasperated but unsurprised. He knew you’d still be up, cataloguing the latest floral shipment for tomorrow’s arrangements.
The second your eyes landed on a bruised and bloodied Bucky, and flanked by two wounded Thunderbolts, no less—you let out a sigh.
“James,” you said knowingly, your voice laced with fond irritation. “What did you do?”
Yelena and John froze in their tracks.
James?
James?
No one called Bucky by his first name. No one. Not unless they had a death wish.
Bucky, unfazed, just stepped inside. “We ran out of antiseptics, honey.”
Yelena and John exchanged a wide-eyed look.
Honey?
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Again?”
Bucky shrugged like this was a perfectly normal Thursday night occurrence.
You muttered under your breath, “I should’ve known this would happen when I married an ex-assassin.”
Oh.
Yelena’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Married.” she repeated
John blinked rapidly. “This is why we can never go to your place?”
Bucky could only shrug. Of course it was— they would have seen the evidence of how much love in his home was carved out for just you.
John let out a wheeze.
Yelena pointed between you and Bucky, motioning erratically. “Wait. WAIT. So—so she’s your wife? She married you?”
Bucky nodded. “Yup.”
“Like—actually married?”
“Mhm.”
Yelena gasped, clutching her chest like she’d been personally betrayed. In a way, she had. “And no one knows?”
Bucky thought for a second. “Sam does.”
“And Joaquin,” you added, trying to be helpful.
Bucky nodded. “Right. Joaquin.”
“Oh, and Isaiah and Elijah Bradley.”
“Yeah, they were at the wedding.”
“A teenager knew about this,” John’s eye twitched, “—and we didn’t?”
Bucky could only nod again.
Yelena rubbed a hand down her face, “You gaslit us,” she accused, jabbing a finger at Bucky. “You let us believe you were a homewrecker for weeks—when you were married the whole time?!”
You snorted, glancing at Bucky, who had the audacity to look smug. “Yeah, that sounds like my husband.”
Yelena let out a string of very creative Russian curses.
John looked like he was about to have a stroke.
“All secrets aside,” you said, welcoming the two disoriented Thunderbolts in and locking the door behind you, “It’s good to finally meet you both.”
John still looked like he was buffering. Yelena, on the other hand, was vibrating with adrenaline, looking like she was trying to solve a conspiracy theory in real time.
“This is—this is insane,” she muttered, pointing aggressively at Bucky, then at you, then back at Bucky. “You’re—you’re so normal.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “I’d like to think so.”
Bucky just hummed. “She’s perfect.”
Yelena actually sputtered like an old car engine.
John made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a strangled laugh. This was all too much.
But there wasn’t time to let them spiral further. Bucky, gently nudged you toward the others. “Take care of them first, darling. They’ve got worse injuries.”
You frowned, wanting to protest—because, really, Bucky should always be your first priority—but your husband was nothing if not stubborn. You knew better than to argue when he had that look in his eyes— you knew that fighting him on this would only drag things out longer, and right now, time was precious.
You turned your attention to Yelena and John, motioning for them to follow you deeper into the shop. The scent of lavender, roses, and freshly cut stems—clung to the air as you led them toward the back, where your little work table stood tucked in the corner.
Years of practice had made you quick. You moved with quiet efficiency, gathering supplies from neat shelves: you cut and split an aloe vera plant for burns, grabbed bandages, and a mix of balms you’d perfected over your time tending to Bucky. It wasn’t the kind of sterile, military-grade first aid they were used to, but it would have to do for now.
You started tending to Yelena’s arm, gently dabbing the wound with fresh aloe. She hissed through her teeth before narrowing her eyes at you.
“So how long has this been a thing?” she demanded. Bucky, now leaning lazily against the counter with his arms crossed, barely spared her a glance. “A while.”
John scoffed, “A while?”
You bit back a grin as you smoothed a bandage over Yelena’s arm, “Three years.”
Yelena’s jaw dropped.
“Three—” She turned to Bucky so fast it was a miracle she didn’t give herself whiplash. “You’ve been married for three years?!”
John let out a long, defeated groan,This was simply too much to process. “Fuck’s sake.”
Yelena shook her head. “I thought you were a loner who hated people."
Bucky only shrugged, unbothered.
You chuckled as you pressed the last piece of medical tape into place on Yelena’s arm. “Alright, you’re done.” Then, glancing at John, you motioned for him to sit. “Your turn.”
John sighed but still plopped down. You took his hand gently, turning it over to examine his bruised knuckles before moving to his busted lip.
Meanwhile, they kept peppering you with questions, barely giving you room to breathe.
“How did you meet?”
“How do you put up with Bucky’s brooding?”
“Does he ever actually smile?”
At that last one, you paused, dabbing at John’s lip carefully. “He smiles all the time.”
John let out a scoff. “No, he doesn’t.”
You glanced over at Bucky, knowing he showed that part of him to you and no one else. “Oh, he does.”
And then, finally, it was Bucky’s turn.
You turned to him, your brows knitting together as you studied the little cuts on his cheek, the dried blood near his brows. He looked a little tired, a little worn around the edges.
Your fingers found his chin, tilting his face toward you as you inspected the damage. Your touch was so featherlight, so incredibly careful. There was no missing the way your thumb brushed over his cheekbone— how incredibly gentle it was.
“You should’ve let me do you first,” you murmured, half-scolding, half-concerned.
Bucky’s lips curved into a small smile, a flicker of mischief lighting his tired blue eyes. “That’s exactly what you said last night, sweetheart.”
John choked.
Yelena groaned, grabbing the nearest pillow from the nearest chair and hurling it at Bucky’s head. “You two are disgusting.”
Bucky caught the pillow effortlessly, giving her a smug grin before setting it aside. When his eyes found yours again, his shit-eating grin turned… lovely. The tension in his brows eased as you dabbed gently at his cut.
For all the blood, for all the bruises, you handled him like he was glass.
And then, without thinking, you leaned in.
It was meant to be a brief kiss— a quick reassurance, a way of saying I’ve got you. But the moment your lips brushed his, you couldn’t help but linger.
Your fingers curled instinctively against his chin. His hand found your waist without hesitation, as if he needed you closer. As if the world shrank down to just the two of you.
John and Yelena exchanged a look, the previous horror of their teammate hiding a secret wife momentarily forgotten because this was… weirdly cute.
You giggled as you pulled away, seeing Bucky looking at you like you hung the moon for him.
“Anywhere else?” you asked, brushing your thumb over his lips.
Bucky hesitated just for a second. Then, a little sheepishly, he said, “Got a cut on my ribs.”
You exhaled, shaking your head. Of course he did. Before he could argue, you reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged.
“Off,” you said simply.
Bucky huffed but didn’t fight you. He lifted his arms, letting you strip the fabric from his skin, and goddamn.
Bucky, half-naked, was unfairly, ridiculously beautiful. Even now, even after all this time, seeing him like this still knocked the breath from your lungs. His body was a roadmap of battles fought and survived, scars carved into the expanse of his chest and ribs that told stories only he could say.
John made a strangled sound, somewhere between “Jesus Christ” and “I need to leave the room,” but you ignored him completely. Yelena let out a dramatic sigh and whispered “they are one second away from sucking each other’s face off,” to herself.
You tuned them both out, fingers dragging carefully over Bucky’s ribs, searching for the wound. When you found a thin jagged cut just below his ribs— you sighed softer this time and reached for the aloe.
“You need to stop getting hurt, my love,” you said, smoothing the cool gel over his skin.
Bucky’s voice came quieter. “Lucky I have someone to take care of me, then.”
And that’s when Yelena finally noticed it.
The thin chain around Bucky’s neck—one she’d always assumed was just for his dog tags—held something else, too.
A ring.
A simple wedding band that matched yours, worn from years of resting against his skin.
She blinked, realisation hitting her like a freight train. Oh.
That’s why he always played with it.
Every time Bucky was nervous, every time he was uncertain, his fingers would move to that chain—not just to fiddle with his tags, but to remind himself of you.
Maybe he wasn’t a complete jackass after all.
-end.
Note: Hope this doesn't bite me in the ass when the movie comes out.
For the event, could I request Leona, romantic, with "Waiting on the Sun" by Citizen Soldier? First time listening to this after discovering Twisted had me wailing in the car haha
i was crying at the club when i heard it... it suits leona so well oh my god
Waiting on the Sun || Leona Kingscholar
𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭
𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Waiting on the Sun by Citizen Soldier
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1010
𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Realization of feelings
Leona has never been one for dreams.
Dreams are a fool’s game, a glimmer of hope strung out in front of desperate people, forcing them to chase something they’ll never catch. He learned early on that hope was nothing but a pretty lie wrapped in a silver ribbon, and in the end, the ribbon always frayed.
The world never made space for second sons, and the sun never rose for men like him.
He should have stopped waiting for it years ago.
But somehow, you're still here—sitting beside him in the shade of a tree, legs stretched out, your presence quiet yet steady. You don’t say anything, and he doesn’t need you to. That’s what he likes about you. You don’t fill the silence with empty words or meaningless comfort. You don’t try to fix him, like so many others before you.
You just exist beside him and that’s enough.
Leona doesn’t remember when you became his safe place.
At some point, your presence became a constant, as natural as the way he stretches out on the grass for an afternoon nap or the way the sun burns through the endless sky. You were just there—like an inevitable force of nature.
And damn if he doesn’t resent how much he needs it.
Because he does need it. He needs you in ways he’ll never admit aloud, in ways that make his stomach twist and his throat tighten. You make it so easy to believe, even when he’s spent a lifetime telling himself not to.
Somewhere along the way, you learned him too well. You can tell when his bitterness sharpens, when his patience wears thin, when he’s barely holding onto the threads of his temper. You don’t try to drag him into the light, but you don’t let him drown in the dark, either.
Instead, you just sit with him.
Like now.
Leona exhales, tipping his head back against the rough bark of the tree. The weight of the past few days lingers in his bones, making him feel heavier than usual. The exhaustion never fully leaves—it clings to him like a second skin.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Your voice is soft, cutting through the stillness.
Leona cracks an eye open. “Doubt it.”
You huff, barely phased by his dry remark. “You think nothing’s ever going to change. That you’re stuck in a cycle you can’t break. That waiting for things to get better is pointless.”
He stiffens, the words settling deep in his chest like stones. “You got all that just from lookin’ at me?”
“I got all that from knowing you.”
That shouldn’t make his heart stutter the way it does.
He doesn’t say anything, just turns his gaze back to the horizon. It stretches on endlessly, a vast expanse of golden plains and open sky. The view should be freeing. Instead, it feels like a cage with invisible walls.
A future that will never belong to him.
A throne that will never be his.
A world that will never see him as anything more than the spare.
The sun has never risen for men like him.
“I know what you’re going to say next,” he mutters. “That I should ‘keep trying.’ That things’ll ‘work out’ eventually. That if I just—”
“I’m not going to say that.”
He stops.
You tilt your head, a gentle smile pulling at your lips. “I’m not here to tell you to change. I’m not here to tell you things will magically get better. I just…” Your fingers brush over the back of his hand, tentative and warm. “I just want you to know that you don’t have to shoulder it alone.”
His breath catches.
No one has ever said that to him before.
No one has ever meant it before.
Leona has spent his whole life carrying the weight of his own bitterness, his own resentment, his own failures. No one ever told him he could set it down. No one ever offered to help him hold it.
No one but you.
His fingers twitch under yours.
Leona has never been one for dreams.
But when he looks at you, he wonders if maybe, he’s been waiting on the wrong thing all this time.
He doesn’t realize he’s in love with you until much later.
Maybe it’s the way you laugh, soft and easy, like the world has never once hurt you. Maybe it’s the way you look at him—like he’s not a disappointment, not a failure, not a second son who never mattered. Maybe it’s the way you never push him to be anything other than who he is.
Maybe it’s everything.
But when he finally does realize, it hits him like a landslide.
And suddenly, he’s terrified.
Because what if he loses this?
What if he loses you?
Leona doesn’t pray, but he does now.
He prays that you never leave. That you never wake up one day and decide that he’s too much trouble, that he’s too broken, that he’ll never be what you deserve.
He prays that this feeling—the quiet warmth that seeps into his bones whenever you’re around—never fades.
And yet, he still can’t bring himself to say it.
Not yet.
The words finally escape him on a night like this—under a sky filled with stars, your hand resting lightly in his, your head against his shoulder.
“Stay.” His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper.
You shift slightly, peering up at him with wide eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He exhales sharply, his grip tightening around yours. “No, I mean—” His throat works, the words catching like sandpaper. “Stay with me.”
Understanding dawns in your eyes, and for a moment, he thinks you might say no. That you might turn away.
But then you smile—soft, warm, home.
“Okay.”
Leona doesn’t believe in miracles.
But when you press your lips to his, slow and tender and real, he thinks that maybe the sun has been shining on him all along.
Could I get a Savannahclaw, fluff, with the custom prompt "You're the only one I see."
I'm so normal about Leona as you all can tell
Just You. || Leona Kingscholar
For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "You're the only one I see" ; Genre: Fluff
The courtyard was lively with post-game chatter, and you spotted the unmistakable figure of Leona, surrounded by a cluster of starry-eyed freshmen. Their animated giggles grated on your nerves as they fawned over his recent magift performance.
You weren’t the type to get jealous. Or, at least, you told yourself that. Still, something prickled in your chest as you approached the scene, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance.
Leona’s sharp ears must’ve caught the sound of your steps because the moment he turned and spotted you, his annoyed expression shifted to something that resembled relief. Without missing a beat, he pushed past the group, muttering something dismissive, and closed the distance between you in a few long strides.
His tail swished before wrapping snugly around your waist, its warmth grounding you. "Oi, why’re you lingering over there? Let’s go," he drawled, his voice low and lazy, but his eyes glinted with intent.
You followed without a word, your face betraying nothing, though your heart was doing somersaults.
In his room, the atmosphere shifted. The soft hum of the fan filled the air as Leona leaned against the headboard, eyeing you carefully. "Alright, herbivore. Spill. What’s got you looking like I kicked your puppy out there?"
You hesitated, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. "I wasn’t upset," you lied poorly.
Leona raised a skeptical brow, his sharp green eyes pinning you down. "Tch. Don’t give me that. You’re terrible at lying."
You sighed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Fine. Maybe I was… a little annoyed. Those freshmen were—"
"Idiots," he interrupted, a smirk tugging at his lips. "They don’t matter. You know that, right?"
You glanced at him, and he leaned closer, cupping your cheek. His voice softened, carrying a rare tenderness. "You’re the only one I see. Always have been."
The words made your chest ache in the best way.
Your lips quirked up into a smile, and Leona took that as his victory. But before he could lean back, you let out a light laugh. "Of course, I was jealous. Have you seen yourself?"
For once, Leona seemed caught off guard, a faint flush creeping up his neck. "Hah. You’re unbelievable," he muttered, trying to play it cool, but the way he avoided your gaze betrayed him.
Grinning, you plopped down beside him, pulling him into a loose hug. "You love it."
"Shut it," he grumbled, pulling you down with him onto the bed. His arms encircled you, and his tail gave a contented flick as he nestled close.
"Nap time. No more sulking," he murmured, his voice already drifting into that sleepy tone you knew so well.
And as his breathing slowed, you allowed yourself to bask in the warmth of his affection, the words "only you" echoing in your mind.
The walls are closing in, the air is thick, suffocating—choking you with the weight of a betrayal so profound that your very soul threatens to collapse in on itself. Your knees give out before you even register the sensation, hitting the floor with a dull, hollow sound that echoes through the emptiness of your chest.
This can’t be happening.
Not him.
Not Leona.
Your vision blurs. Whether from unshed tears or the sheer magnitude of the heartbreak sinking its jagged claws into your ribs, you don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore. Not when the one person you trusted—trusted beyond reason, beyond instinct, beyond every shred of caution that should have warned you—has done this to you.
It was foolish. You should have known better. Leona Kingscholar was never a kind man. He was sharp edges and lazy smirks, a beast masquerading as something tame, something safe. He had warned you time and time again—mocking words, teasing glances, a sardonic lilt in his voice that should have set off alarms instead of making your heart stutter.
“I ain't the type to play fair.”
You had laughed then, brushing it off as yet another of his games.
But this—
This was no game.
This was ruin.
The floor beneath you tilts, the world spinning out of control as a chasm yawns wide in your chest, swallowing you whole. You don’t know how to rebuild from this. How to take the shattered remnants of your trust and piece them back together when the hands that broke them are the same ones that once held you steady.
He knew. He had to have known.
And yet he did it anyway.
You don’t even flinch when you hear him approach, his steps slow, deliberate, not a trace of remorse in his gait. You can feel his presence settle beside you, the warmth of him a cruel mockery of everything you once thought you had.
“You’re bein’ dramatic,” he drawls, a smirk in his voice.
Dramatic.
You turn to him slowly, the weight of your devastation pressing down on your shoulders like a death sentence. He doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty. No hesitation, no regret—just that lazy, infuriating amusement that only twists the knife deeper.
“Leona,” your voice is barely a whisper, cracked and raw. “How could you?”
He stretches, completely unbothered. “Didn’t think you’d mind that much.”
Didn’t think—
You inhale sharply, your lungs burning with the effort. It takes everything in you not to break completely, not to crumple beneath the weight of what he’s stolen from you.
Your faith.
Your trust.
Your very will to go on.
“I was saving that,” you rasp, voice hollow, empty—an echo of everything you once were before this moment, before the fall, before him.
He quirks a brow, unrepentant. “Tasted good.”
And that’s it. The final blow. The killing strike.
You had loved him once. Perhaps you still do. But love cannot survive in the wake of devastation, in the ruins of something that was never meant to be broken. He has made his choice, and now you must make yours.
With a shaking breath, you rise to your feet, the cold settling deep in your bones.
You don’t look at him as you turn away, voice quiet but heavy with the weight of all that has been lost.
“I hope it was worth it.”
And with that, you leave him behind—leave behind the man who had so carelessly stolen your heart and, more importantly, your sandwich.
The Brainrot literally got to me... I need more...
HAHXHSJD hiii!!! Hope u have a good day ahead :33
I just want a continuation of my first request since I'm literally dying for more... Dawg I need more or else I'm gonna expload so here—
He noticed that the reader wasn't spending as much time with him as they were before (which was devastating)! School's really pumping it up so the reader is a LOT busier than they were before and knowing how well they are in academics; they probably got picked In certain events by default and stuff.
He tried to hangout with them, only for the reader to decline and decline.. and decline— But even while they're still extremely busy af, they always seem to be with this random person (who is actually just their younger cousin who's a first year, but they don't know that—) You can find the person getting on a piggy back ride on the reader, always butting in to help, hugging the reader, and gives gifts of the reader done a good job and more!
which kind of made him jealous in a way, because the reader isn't spending time with almost EVERYONE (and including him!) due to how busy they are; but yet they always have time for this person that he weren't even aware of existing?
The characters are the ones jealous obviously:3 still the same characters from my previous request!!!
Jealous! Riddle, Ace, Deuce, Epel
omg hi!!! i hope I saw your vision and you like it <3
Riddle Rosehearts
Riddle prides himself on his discipline and logical thinking. But lately, that has been… strained. You’ve been busy, too busy to spend time with him. Sure, school has gotten tougher, and he understands the importance of academics, but you’ve been canceling on him repeatedly. When he finally saw you with that random first-year, the one practically glued to your side, Riddle’s patience snapped.
First, it was turning down a study session. Then, you bailed on afternoon tea. Then you declined a simple walk around the gardens. And yet, every time he catches a glimpse of you, you’re with that first-year! Today, Riddle watches from a distance as you laugh, giving this mysterious first-year a piggyback ride across campus. The student is grinning like they’ve won the lottery, while you look like you’re having the time of your life.
Riddle clenches his jaw. His grip on his book tightens as he glares. “How can they claim they’re too busy for tea, but they’re playing around like that?” he mutters under his breath. Trey raises an eyebrow from beside him.
“Riddle, you sure you’re not just—”
“I am not jealous!” Riddle snaps, his face turning an impressive shade of red. “It’s just… they’ve been neglecting their duties! And avoiding… well, our usual time together.” His voice falters slightly at the end, but he tries to maintain his composure. He has a reputation to uphold, after all.
Eventually, he can’t take it anymore. He marches up to you, his footsteps sharp on the cobblestones, and clears his throat loud enough to startle you.
“Ahem!” Riddle says, standing ramrod straight as you turn to face him. “I couldn’t help but notice that you seem to have ample time to entertain this individual,” he gestures stiffly at the first-year, “but none to spend with me. Care to explain?”
You blink, caught off guard by his formal tone. The first-year, still clinging to your arm, looks up at Riddle with wide eyes. “Oh! This is my cousin,” you explain with a small laugh. “They just transferred in, and I’ve been helping them settle in. Sorry if I’ve been distant lately; I didn’t mean to ignore you.”
Riddle’s eyes widen in surprise. “Your cousin?”
“Yeah, they’re family.” You ruffle the first-year’s hair, and they give Riddle a sheepish smile. “I thought I mentioned it before, but I guess I’ve been pretty busy.”
Riddle’s face flushes an even deeper shade of red. “Oh… I see,” he mumbles, clearly embarrassed. He shifts his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. “I… may have misunderstood the situation.”
You smile, noticing his flustered state, and a warm feeling blooms in your chest. You take a step closer to him, your cousin still hanging off your arm. “Were you jealous, Riddle?” you ask teasingly, leaning in a little.
Riddle’s face is a mix of pride and mortification. “I— I was concerned,” he says stiffly. “As your housewarden, it’s my responsibility to ensure—”
Before he can finish, you press a soft kiss to his cheek, watching his face go completely red as he freezes in place. His eyes widen in shock.
“Thanks for worrying about me,” you say sweetly, pulling back to grin at him. “But you don’t have to be jealous. I’ll make time for you too.”
Riddle stands there, stunned into silence for a moment, his hand flying up to touch the spot on his cheek where you kissed him. He looks like he might faint. “I— that—” he stammers, his voice cracking slightly.
You laugh, waving goodbye as you start walking away with your cousin. “I’ll see you at tea later, okay?” you call over your shoulder.
Riddle swallows hard, nodding mutely. As you disappear into the distance, he touches his cheek again, his heart racing. “Tea later,” he repeats to himself, a small, dazed smile tugging at his lips.
Ace Trappola
Ace has been acting cool about it, but inside, he’s fuming. You’ve turned him down more times than he can count in the past week. First, it was “Sorry, I’m busy with homework.” Then it was “I’ve got this group project.” And now, every time he tries to hang out with you, you’re mysteriously busy. But somehow, despite your never-ending list of responsibilities, you always seem to have time for this random first-year who’s constantly glued to your side.
You’ve got the kid on your back half the time, you’re walking around campus like you’re their personal bodyguard, and Ace? Ace gets nada. Not even five minutes. The last straw is when he sees you giving the first-year yet another piggyback ride across the main courtyard, laughing like there’s not a care in the world. The kid’s arms are wrapped around your neck, and Ace can practically see the smugness radiating off them.
“Seriously? They’re too busy for me, but they’re out here giving piggyback rides?” Ace mutters, glaring. Deuce stands next to him, looking just as confused.
“No way!” Ace scoffs, crossing his arms. “I would’ve known. They tell me everything. I’m their best friend! Or at least, I was,” he adds bitterly.
The frustration eats at him until he can’t take it anymore. He storms up to you, hands on his hips, and blocks your path. “Alright, what gives?” he demands, his eyes flicking between you and the first-year clinging to your back. “You’ve been avoiding me like the plague, but you’ve got time to give this guy piggyback rides?”
You blink, confused for a moment before laughing. “Ace, this is my cousin! They just transferred here, and I’ve been helping them get used to campus.”
Ace stares at you, completely thrown off. “Your… cousin?”
“Yeah, my little cousin. Didn’t I tell you?”
Ace feels a wave of embarrassment wash over him. “Oh… uh… I guess I didn’t know that,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
You smile, amused by his reaction. “Were you jealous?” you ask teasingly, stepping closer to him.
Ace’s face flushes red. “W-What? Me? Jealous? Pffft, no way!” He waves his hand dismissively, but his voice betrays him. “I just thought you were ditching me for someone else, that’s all.”
You chuckle, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Don’t worry, Ace. I’ve just been busy, but I’ll make time for you. I promise.”
Before he can respond, you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek, causing him to freeze on the spot. His eyes go wide, and his mouth opens and closes as if he’s trying to say something but can’t find the words.
“See you later, Ace,” you say with a grin, walking off with your cousin.
Ace stands there, his hand slowly reaching up to touch his cheek. “Did you just—?” He blinks, still stunned. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Deuce Spade
Deuce tries to play it cool, but he’s never been great at hiding his emotions. Lately, you’ve been so busy that you’ve barely had time for him, and it’s bothering him more than he’d like to admit. Every time he tries to hang out with you, you’re swamped with schoolwork or running around doing something for a project. He understands—you’re both students, after all—but what really stings is that you always seem to have time for some random first-year.
He’s seen you around campus with the kid, giving them piggyback rides, laughing with them, even sharing lunch together. It’s starting to make him feel… well, jealous. He’s used to being your go-to person, your partner in crime. But now? It feels like you’re replacing him with this kid.
One day, Deuce spots you in the courtyard with the first-year yet again. This time, the kid is hanging off your arm like you’re their personal bodyguard. Deuce clenches his fists, trying to keep his cool.
“They’re busy with school, huh?” he mutters to himself. “Too busy for me, but not too busy for them.” He glares at the scene in front of him, his heart sinking.
Eventually, he can’t hold back anymore. He marches over to you, his face flushed with frustration. “Hey!” he calls out, stopping in front of you. “What’s going on? You’ve been so busy you barely have time to hang out, but you’ve got time for… this?” He gestures toward the first-year.
You look at him, surprised by his outburst. “Deuce, this is my cousin,” you explain, laughing lightly. “They just transferred in, and I’ve been helping them get settled.”
Deuce blinks, his expression softening in an instant. “Your… cousin?”
“Yeah, my little cousin. I didn’t mean to ignore you. I’ve just had a lot on my plate lately.”
Deuce feels a wave of relief, but also embarrassment for jumping to conclusions. “Oh… I didn’t know that."
Deuce rubs the back of his neck, his face still slightly red from his earlier frustration. "I guess I just thought... well, I thought you were avoiding me," he admits sheepishly. "You’ve been so busy, and then I kept seeing you with... them."
Your cousin peeks out from behind you, giving Deuce a curious look, but you just laugh softly. "Avoiding you? No way, Deuce. You know I wouldn’t do that. I’ve just been trying to balance everything, and my cousin has been... well, kind of stuck to me lately."
Deuce shifts awkwardly, his eyes darting to the side. "Right. I should’ve figured. Sorry for getting all worked up."
You smile warmly at him, finding his flustered state endearing. "Were you jealous?" you tease, stepping a little closer to him.
Deuce’s eyes widen, and his blush deepens. "What?! N-No! I mean... maybe a little?" he stammers, clearly caught off guard by your playful tone. "It’s just, we haven’t hung out in a while, and I thought..." His voice trails off as he scratches his cheek, looking at the ground.
You chuckle softly, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "Don’t worry, Deuce. I’ll make time for you, I promise. You’re still my favorite."
Deuce glances up at you, his heart skipping a beat at your words. "I— Uh, yeah. Good." He clears his throat, trying to act nonchalant, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him.
Without warning, you lean in and press a quick, soft kiss to his cheek. Deuce freezes, his brain short-circuiting as his face turns a brilliant shade of red. He stares at you, wide-eyed, as if he can’t quite process what just happened.
"See you later, Deuce," you say with a wink before turning to walk off with your cousin.
Deuce remains rooted to the spot, his hand slowly coming up to touch the spot on his cheek where you kissed him. His mind is racing, and he can feel his heart pounding in his chest.
"You kissed me," he mutters under his breath, still in shock. "They kissed me."
As you disappear into the distance, Deuce lets out a shaky breath, his lips curling into a shy smile. "I guess... I’m okay with that."
Epel Felmier
Epel’s been feeling a bit neglected lately, and he’s not too proud to admit it. You used to hang out with him all the time—whether it was sneaking snacks in class or venting about your day—but now? It feels like you’ve fallen off the face of the earth. Anytime he tries to make plans with you, you’re too busy. But the real kicker? He keeps seeing you around with some random first-year who’s always hanging off you.
One day, Epel catches sight of you giving the first-year a piggyback ride in the middle of campus. You’re laughing, carefree, while the kid clings to you like you’re their personal chauffeur. Epel narrows his eyes, arms crossed as he watches the two of you from a distance.
"They’re too busy to hang out with me, but they’ve got time for that kid?" he mutters under his breath, feeling a twinge of jealousy. "What’s so special about them anyway?"
Epel tries to brush it off, but it’s been eating at him for days. Finally, he can’t hold it in any longer. He finds you outside, chatting with the first-year again, and he marches right up to you, his frustration bubbling to the surface.
"Hey!" he calls out, his tone sharper than he intended. "What’s the deal? You’ve been too busy for everyone—especially me—but you’ve got all this time for them?"
You blink in surprise at his sudden outburst, glancing at your cousin, who’s still clinging to your arm. "Epel, this is my cousin," you explain, laughing a little. "They just transferred in, and I’ve been helping them get settled."
Epel’s eyes widen, and he feels his face flush in embarrassment. "Wait... your cousin?"
"Yeah, my little cousin," you repeat with a grin. "Sorry if I made you feel ignored. I’ve just been juggling a lot of stuff lately, and they’ve been needing my help."
Epel’s frustration quickly fades, replaced by guilt for jumping to conclusions. "Oh... I didn’t know that," he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. "I just thought... I don’t know, that you were too busy for me."
You give him a warm smile, stepping closer. "I’m never too busy for you, Epel. I’ve just been stretched thin. But I’ll make time for you, I promise."
Epel glances up at you, his heart swelling at your words. "Really?"
"Really," you say with a nod. Then, before he can react, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek.
Epel freezes, his face turning bright red as he stares at you in shock. "Y-You just—"
You grin, clearly pleased by his reaction. "Consider it an apology for being distant. I’ll make it up to you."
Epel stands there, his heart racing as he watches you walk off with your cousin. His hand instinctively touches the spot where you kissed him, a dumbfounded smile creeping onto his face.
"They kissed me," he mutters to himself, his blush deepening. "Maybe I don’t mind them being a little busy after all..."
Something’s going on with Ace. He's being nice which either means he's possessed or has done something extremely illegal. (Spoiler alert: It's neither)
“You’ve been weird,” you say, squinting at Ace from across the cafeteria table. “New levels of weird. Scary kinds of weird. Are you possessed or something?”
Ace just leans back in his chair, balancing it on two legs with that infuriatingly carefree grin plastered across his face. He tosses a piece of bread into his mouth before raising an eyebrow at you, clearly not fazed by your accusation.
“I wish,” he responds with a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes. “Then I could blame all this weirdness on a curse or something and not just... you know, life.”
You cross your arms, not letting him brush it off so easily. “No, seriously. You’re being freaky. You helped me carry books to class the other day. Without asking for a favor in return.”
“Yeah, so?” Ace shrugs, but the slight twitch in his grin gives him away. “Maybe I was feeling generous.”
“Maybe you’re losing it,” you counter, leaning forward. “Since when do you do anything without an ulterior motive? I’m starting to think you’re planning something.”
“Me? Plan?” Ace feigns innocence, one hand over his heart. “You wound me, Prefect. You’re thinking of Azul, not me.”
“Nice deflection,” you deadpan. “But it’s not just that. You haven’t pranked Deuce all week.”
Ace’s smirk falters. “Okay, first of all, Deuce is too easy to prank. It’s like dunking a biscuit into water and calling it an achievement. Second—”
“I heard that!” Deuce calls out from the next table over, turning around to glare at Ace.
“You were supposed to hear that,” Ace shoots back without missing a beat, tossing a crumpled napkin at his friend.
You wave your hand in the air, trying to reel the conversation back in. “See, this is what I mean! You’re off your game! The Ace Trappola I know would be messing with Deuce every chance he got. Not sitting here, being... helpful and nice. You even opened the door for me yesterday.”
Ace looks horrified. “Wait, I did?”
“Yes! And you said something ridiculous like, ‘You can go first.’ It was spooky.”
He seems to visibly recoil, his face scrunching up as if he’s genuinely disturbed by the thought. “Wow. That is scary. Who am I turning into?”
“That’s what I’m saying!” you exclaim, throwing your arms in the air. “You’re possessed!”
He leans in toward you, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Okay, real talk? Maybe I’m evolving.”
“Into what, a decent human being?” you ask, sarcasm dripping from every word.
“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” Ace rolls his eyes again but leans closer, his expression strangely serious now. “Look, I’m just trying to... I dunno, be more... considerate.”
You squint at him, not buying it for a second. “Why? Who put you up to this?”
Ace huffs, running a hand through his hair, his face growing a little red. “No one put me up to anything, alright? I just thought... maybe you’d like it.”
Your mouth opens, then shuts. You’re not sure what to make of that.
“What?” Ace asks, noticing your bewildered expression. “Cat got your tongue?”
“No, I’m just... processing. You’re being nice because you think I’d like it?”
He shrugs, averting his gaze now. “Yeah, well... you’ve been giving me a hard time lately, so I figured, why not? You know, mix things up. Be nice for a change.”
“Uh-huh.” You narrow your eyes, suspicion creeping back in. “But... why me?”
Ace avoids eye contact, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his collar. “Does it matter? Just... shut up and let me be nice, okay?”
You stare at him for a long moment, trying to figure out what’s going on in that mischievous head of his. Finally, you let out a sigh, leaning back in your chair. “Fine. But I’m still convinced you’re up to something.”
Ace smirks, the cheeky glint returning to his eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Over the next few days, Ace continues acting suspiciously... well, nice. He doesn’t trip you in the hallway or throw random jabs at your study habits like usual. He even brings you snacks during lunch—without eating half of them first.
It’s weird. Unsettling, even.
And every time you ask him about it, he brushes it off with a nonchalant “just felt like it” or “don’t read too much into it, Prefect.” But his little quirks keep poking through. Like when he sneaks up behind you, pretending he’s going to scare you, only to offer a helping hand with your bag. Or when he gives Deuce a hard time, only to turn around and cover for him when he forgets his homework.
Deuce, for his part, seems equally as confused. “Is he dying or something?” Deuce whispers to you one afternoon. “He’s not usually this nice unless he’s pulling something.”
“I know, right?” you whisper back, eyeing Ace from across the courtyard where he’s currently chatting with a group of students. “It’s unnatural.”
“He even let me borrow his notes last night,” Deuce continues, shaking his head. “His good notes, too. Not the ones he scribbled in crayon to mess with me.”
“Okay, now I’m seriously concerned,” you mutter. “He’s definitely plotting something.”
But the more time passes, the less it feels like a trick. There’s no punchline, no grand reveal. Ace is just... being Ace, albeit in a more considerate, slightly awkward way.
One evening, you’re leaving the library when you spot Ace waiting for you outside, leaning against a wall with his usual lazy posture. He looks up as you approach, flashing you a casual grin.
“Yo, Prefect,” he calls out. “Need help with your stuff?”
You raise an eyebrow, adjusting the books in your arms. “Are you really offering, or are you about to ‘accidentally’ trip me again?”
Ace chuckles, pushing off the wall and walking over to take some of the books from you. “What, you don’t trust me by now? I’ve been an absolute angel lately.”
“Yeah, and that’s the problem,” you retort, but you let him take the books anyway. “You’ve been too nice. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Ace smirks, walking beside you as you head toward Ramshackle. “Maybe I’m just growing up. Becoming a responsible, dependable guy.”
You snort. “Now I know you’re lying.”
“Hey!” Ace protests, nudging you with his elbow. “I’m serious. I can be responsible when I want to.”
You side-eye him. “Sure. And pigs can fly.”
Ace rolls his eyes, but there’s a soft smile on his lips. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Takes one to know one.”
The two of you walk in comfortable silence for a while, the moonlight casting long shadows on the cobblestone path. It’s peaceful, almost... nice.
Then, out of nowhere, Ace speaks again, his tone quieter this time. “So... you really think I’ve been weird lately?”
You glance at him, surprised by the question. “Yeah, kinda. Why?”
He shrugs, looking up at the sky. “I dunno. Just curious.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “Are you seriously still playing this ‘nice guy’ act? What’s your angle, Ace?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he stops walking, turning to face you with an uncharacteristically serious expression.
“There’s no angle,” he says softly. “I just... wanted to see if it’d make a difference.”
You blink, caught off guard by his sudden sincerity. “What do you mean?”
Ace rubs the back of his neck, looking unusually nervous. “I mean... I’ve been trying to... y’know, be a better person. For you.”
Your heart skips a beat, but you’re not sure if it’s because of his words or the fact that he’s actually being vulnerable for once. “For me?”
Ace avoids your gaze, his cheeks tinged pink. “Yeah. I figured... maybe if I stopped being such a jerk all the time, you’d... I dunno... like me more.”
You stare at him, your mind racing to process what he’s saying. “Wait. Are you... confessing to me?”
Ace scowls, clearly embarrassed now. “Ugh, don’t say it like that. You’re making it weird.”
“You’re the one making it weird!” you shoot back, feeling your face heat up. “I didn’t ask you to go all soft on me!”
Ace glares at you, but there’s no real malice behind it. “Well, excuse me for trying to be nice for once.”
There’s a beat of silence as the two of you stand there, staring at each other, before you both start laughing.
“You’re an idiot,” you say, shaking your head.
"Yeah, but you hang out with me anyway," Ace finishes with that signature smirk of his.
You roll your eyes, but there's no denying the truth in his words. There's something about his brash honesty, his ability to keep things light even when they're serious, that you can't help but be drawn to. His quick wit, the way he keeps you on your toes—it's always been part of his charm.
"Maybe I do," you admit, crossing your arms and giving him a playful look. "But you're still a jerk sometimes."
Ace grins wider, stepping a little closer. "Oh, I'm totally a jerk. But I think that's why we work so well. You need someone to challenge you, and I need someone to keep me in check."
You snort. "So that's why you've been weird? Trying to impress me?"
Ace shrugs, his gaze softening just a bit. "Something like that. I just... didn't want you to think I'm always messing around. Sometimes, I actually want to be serious."
It's strange hearing him say that, but in a way, it makes sense. You've always known there was more to Ace than the mischievous, carefree front he puts up. He's clever and observant, and maybe—just maybe—he's been paying attention to you in ways you hadn't realized.
"So, what now?" you ask, feeling the tension between you shift from playful to something a little more... real.
Ace takes a breath, glancing up at the stars for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "I dunno. Guess I was hoping you'd say something like... 'I like you too, Ace.'"
You can't help the smile that tugs at your lips. "And what if I do?"
His eyes widen, just for a second, before his cocky grin returns in full force. "Well, then that'd be great. 'Cause I'd say I like you too, Prefect"
You both stand there for a moment, the air between you charged with something new and exciting. It’s not the usual back-and-forth banter, not the endless teasing. This is real, and Ace’s normally confident posture seems just a little unsure, like he’s still figuring out how to navigate this new territory.
"Alright, fine," you say, your voice softer now. "I like you, Ace."
He blinks, clearly taken aback that you actually said it. For once, he's the one who seems at a loss for words.
"...You serious?" he asks, sounding almost vulnerable. It's a rare thing to hear from him, and it tugs at your heart just a little.
You nod, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. "Yeah. I mean, you've been acting all weird and nice, and it kind of freaked me out, but... I get it now. And I like you too."
Ace lets out a relieved breath, his grin softening into something more genuine. "Well, that's good. 'Cause I was starting to run out of ways to be nice. It’s exhausting."
You laugh, the tension finally breaking as the two of you slip back into the ease that’s always existed between you. But now, there's something more. Something deeper.
"So," you start, tilting your head at him, "does this mean you're going to stop being a jerk to me?"
Ace snorts. "Nah, that’s part of my charm. Besides, you’d get bored if I went all soft."
You roll your eyes, but you're smiling. "Fair enough."
Without warning, Ace reaches out and ruffles your hair, grinning like a kid who’s just won a prize. "You know, you're not too bad. Maybe we can make this thing work."
You swat his hand away, laughing. "Maybe. If you stop being so weird."
"Deal," Ace says, though you can tell from the look in his eyes that he’s already planning his next prank.
Deuce, who’s been watching the whole thing from a distance, finally decides to pipe up, calling out to the two of you from the other side of the courtyard. “Hey! Did you guys seriously just confess? In front of me?”
Ace turns around and shouts back, “Yeah, what of it?”
Deuce groans, looking exasperated. “Couldn’t you have waited until I wasn’t around to witness that?”
“You’re just jealous!” Ace calls, slinging an arm around your shoulders with a triumphant grin.
Deuce rolls his eyes but grins anyway. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t go getting all mushy on me.”
Ace laughs, giving you a sidelong glance. “No promises.”
And as you walk back toward the dorms, Ace’s arm still around you, you can’t help but smile. It’s a weird, unexpected kind of happiness, but somehow, it fits. Just like Ace.
Ace bounces into the room, still riding the high of his basketball victory. His grin is wide, and he’s practically glowing with confidence. “Alright, so are we going with Sprite or Coke for this exclusive VIP party?” he asks, digging through the mini fridge with exaggerated flair.
You don’t answer. Instead, you step closer and wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a firm hug.
He freezes for a second before letting out a laugh, his tone teasing. “Wow, I didn’t realize winning a game made me this irresistible.” He turns his head to try and catch your expression, expecting a playful retort, but when you don’t let go or even laugh, his teasing fades.
“Hey,” he says more softly, twisting slightly to look at you. “You good?”
You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your hands still gripping his jersey. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you say, voice steady but warm. “I just… I love you, Ace. And I’m really, really proud of you.”
For a moment, he’s completely still, blinking at you like he can’t quite process your words. Then he lets out a shaky laugh, his arms coming up to pull you closer. “Don’t get all soft on me now,” he mutters, but there’s a tremor in his voice, and his hold on you is anything but casual.
Ace is the kind of guy who hides behind his jokes and bravado. He’s the loudest in the room, the one always cracking jokes to deflect attention from anything that might feel too serious or too vulnerable.
He plays it cool, like nothing ever really gets to him. But deep down, he’s always wondered if he’s enough—enough to be taken seriously, enough to make someone proud, enough to deserve the kind of unconditional love he’s always quietly craved.
Hearing you say those words, feeling the sincerity in your hug—it’s almost overwhelming. The teasing grin he wears so easily is replaced by something softer, something real.
He buries his face in your shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thanks,” he says, the single word carrying more weight than he usually lets on.
In your arms, Ace allows himself to feel it all—the pride, the love, the relief. He might joke about being irresistible or too cool for heartfelt moments, but the truth is, you make him feel like he doesn’t need to be anything other than himself. And that? That’s everything.
Deuce Spade
Deuce sits at his desk, the faint sound of pencil scratches and frustrated sighs filling the room. His brow is furrowed, and his leg bounces anxiously under the table. “Why can’t I get this?” he mutters, flipping through his notes for the hundredth time. “I should know this by now. I have to get this right.”
You watch him for a moment, heart aching at the stress etched into his face. He’s always trying so hard—pushing himself to be the perfect honor student, the model example. You know how much he wants to prove himself, but sometimes, he forgets that it’s okay to lean on others.
Without a word, you walk over and wrap your arms around him. At first, Deuce stiffens in surprise, but the tension melts away almost instantly as he leans into your embrace. “Hey,” he says softly, his voice a little shaky. “What’s this for?”
You don’t answer right away, just holding him tightly. His hands come up to rest on your arms, his grip firm, like he’s drawing strength from you. After a moment, though, he shifts slightly, craning his neck to look at you.
“Are you okay?” he asks, concern lacing his voice. “You’ve been holding on for a while…”
You smile, shaking your head gently. “I’m fine. I just… I’m really proud of you, Deuce. I see how hard you work, how much you care about doing your best. I don’t think you hear it enough, but I’m proud of you.”
For a moment, he’s silent, his wide eyes searching yours like he’s trying to make sure you mean it. And then, without warning, he pulls you back into the hug, tighter this time, his arms wrapped around you like he never wants to let go.
Deuce has spent so much of his life trying to prove himself—to his mom, to his teachers, to his classmates. He worries constantly about whether he’s good enough, whether he’ll ever live up to the expectations he’s set for himself. Deep down, there’s a part of him that fears he’ll always be that hotheaded troublemaker he used to be, no matter how hard he tries to change.
But in your arms, all of that seems to fade. When you tell him you’re proud of him, it feels like a gift he doesn’t quite deserve, but one he’s so grateful for that it hurts. He doesn’t feel like he has to pretend to be perfect or have it all figured out—not with you.
“You’re… you’re the best,” he mumbles into your shoulder, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
To Deuce, you’re like a miracle—a gift from the Sevens themselves. Someone who sees him for who he is and believes in him even when he’s struggling to believe in himself. And as he holds you close, he silently vows to keep doing his best—not just for himself, but for you, too.
Jack Howl
Jack sets the heavy crate down with ease, brushing his hands on his pants before glancing at you. “Alright, that’s the last one,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “You didn’t have to lift a finger. Told you I’d handle it.”
You smile at him, watching as he dusts himself off, the faintest sheen of sweat glistening on his brow. Jack always insists on doing the hard work, carrying the weight—literally and figuratively. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t ask for help, just powers through with quiet determination.
Before he can turn back to the next task, you step forward and wrap your arms around him. He stiffens slightly, caught off guard, but then his arms come up to hold you in return.
“What’s this for?” he asks, his voice soft but curious.
You don’t answer right away, simply holding him tighter. Jack stays quiet, but you can feel his tail wagging behind him, a faint swish against the ground. When you don’t let go, though, he starts to shift slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you.
“Hey, you okay?” he asks, concern evident in his tone. His ears flick nervously, his golden eyes scanning your face.
You smile up at him, shaking your head lightly. “I’m fine, Jack. I just… I just love you, and I’m really glad to have you in my life. You’re always looking out for me, always working so hard. I don’t think I say it enough, but I really appreciate you.”
For a moment, Jack just looks at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he pulls you back into the hug, his grip firm and grounding. He doesn’t say anything, but his tail betrays him, wagging faster now, practically spinning like a motor.
Jack isn’t used to hearing things like that. He’s always been the dependable one, the one people rely on but rarely the one people go out of their way to thank. There’s a part of him that wonders if he’s only valued for his strength, for what he can do rather than who he is. It’s a quiet insecurity, one he keeps buried deep, but it’s there all the same.
But when you hold him like this, when you tell him how much he means to you, it feels like a weight has been lifted. You don’t just see him as the reliable guy who carries the heavy stuff or takes care of the hard work. You see him—Jack, with all his flaws and strengths, and you love him anyway.
His tail thumps against the ground now, a silent giveaway to how much your words mean to him. He doesn’t need to say anything; the way he holds you, the way his tail wags furiously, tells you everything.
In your arms, Jack feels something he’s not sure he’s ever felt before—completely understood and appreciated for who he is, not just what he can do. And for him, that’s more than enough.
Epel Felmier
The two of you were walking back to Ramshackle, Epel chatting animatedly about something funny that had happened during class. His hands were moving as he spoke, when a sudden whistling sound cut through the air.
You didn’t even have time to react before Epel’s hand shot out, summoning a precise burst of magic that sent the incoming magift disc flying back in the direction it came. It hit its mark with a loud clang before tumbling harmlessly to the ground.
“Idiots need to watch where they’re aiming,” he muttered, brushing it off like it was nothing. Then, without missing a beat, he reached for your hand, his grip firm yet casual as he led you back toward your dorm.
The moment you stepped inside, you turned to him, your arms wrapping around him tightly. He let out a small, surprised “Whoa,” his hands instinctively coming up to hold you back.
“Hey, what’s this for?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and a bit of embarrassment. He hugged you back anyway, his fingers lightly rubbing your back, but when you didn’t pull away, his expression shifted to concern.
“You alright?” he asked, leaning back just enough to look at your face. “Did that disc scare ya? I didn’t think—”
“I’m fine,” you interrupted softly, squeezing him tighter. “I just love you, Epel. And that was so cool. You were so quick, and you didn’t even hesitate. I’m… I’m really lucky to have you.”
Epel blinked, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process your words. Then, as your words sank in, his cheeks flushed a deep pink, and his lips curled into a small, bashful smile.
“You think… I’m cool?” he asked, his voice almost timid, as if he didn’t quite believe it.
“I know you are,” you said, your tone firm and sincere.
Something in him seemed to shift at that. Epel pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly now, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder.
He’d spent so much of his life feeling like he had to prove himself—to his family, to his classmates, even to himself. Being underestimated because of his height or his face had always left a bitter taste in his mouth, pushing him to work harder, fight stronger, and shout louder just to be taken seriously.
But in this moment, none of that mattered. You didn’t see him as fragile or weak, didn’t treat him like someone who needed to prove anything. You saw him for who he was, and you loved him for it.
The warmth in his chest spread to his face as he buried it against your neck, his arms tightening just a little more. He didn’t say anything for a moment, letting the silence speak for him.
When he finally did speak, his voice was quiet but steady. “I’m lucky to have you too, y’know. More’n I deserve.”
You smiled, holding him just as tightly, letting your presence remind him that he was already more than enough. For the first time in a long time, Epel felt like he didn’t need to prove a thing. You thought he was cool, and that was all he needed to hear.
Sebek Zigvolt
Sebek was mid-sentence, his voice rising in animated fervor.
“And that’s why this tale of heroism directly correlates to Lord Malleus's own virtues! Truly, how could anyone miss the resemblance? Why, if they merely paid attention—”
You didn’t let him finish. Stepping forward, you wrapped your arms around him tightly, pressing your cheek against his chest.
Sebek froze instantly, the words dying in his throat. “Wha—? What are you doing?!” His voice pitched higher, equal parts flustered and confused.
His arms hovered awkwardly for a moment before he tentatively settled them around you, his usual composure crumbling. “Are you hurt? Is something wrong? Speak to me at once!”
When you didn’t respond immediately, Sebek’s grip tightened slightly, and he pulled back just enough to inspect you, his eyes scanning your face with concern. “What has happened? Are you unwell?”
You smiled softly at him, your fingers curling into his uniform as you leaned back into his chest. “I’m fine, Sebek. Really. I just love you.”
Sebek blinked, his mouth opening and closing as your words sank in. He seemed at a rare loss for words as you continued, “I love how passionate you are, how much you care about the things and people you love. It makes me love you even more.”
For a moment, he said nothing, his lips pressed together tightly. Then, without warning, he hugged you back gently, yet firmly, his arms encircling you as though he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.
“...I see,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual.
Sebek had spent so much of his life trying to live up to expectations—his own, his family’s, even the ones he imagined Malleus might have for him. He had always been painfully aware of his mixed heritage and the silent whispers it inspired, of the way his fiery temper and unwavering loyalty often set him apart from others.
Yet with you, none of that seemed to matter. You didn’t judge him for his intensity or his quirks; you embraced them, cherished them, even. And in moments like this, when he felt your arms around him and heard your steady words of love, he was reminded that he didn’t need to prove himself to you.
You saw him—not just as a knight or a servant, but as Sebek.
“I…” His voice wavered for a moment before he steadied it. “I love you as well.”
The words were simple, but the way his arms tightened around you spoke volumes. For all his loud proclamations and larger-than-life demeanor, Sebek’s love was quiet and steadfast, an anchor that held firm against any storm.
And as he rested his chin atop your head, silently committing this moment to memory, he realized something: as long as he had you, everything else seemed just a little less important.
hellooo i just needed to say your writings are like super cute theyre like my bedtime stories atp JHDJJXHS but could i request a little hurt comfort headcanon with adeuce seeing a reader who usually is always very cheerful and upbeat. Theres sometimes theyre anxious and worried but overall reader is seen as someone whos strong emotionally like nothing can bring them down. Until something does get them down with tears rolling down their eyes and theyre desperately trying to hide this side of them that they feel so vulnerable letting others see. How would the boys react to such a situation?
aww thank you <3 i didn't know if you wanted separate or together so you get both!
They react to you breaking down || Ace and Deuce
Ace Trappola
Ace’s immediate reaction would be shock. He’s used to seeing you as a ball of sunshine, someone who shrugs off worries with a laugh or a witty remark. Seeing you cry? That’s uncharted territory for him, and it throws him completely off balance.
“Hey, hey, what’s with the waterworks?” he’d say, trying to keep things light-hearted, even though he’s panicking internally. But when he realizes you’re trying to hide your tears, it hits him like a ton of bricks.
Ace might not be the most emotionally articulate, but he cares deeply. He crouches down to your level, blocking your attempts to turn away from him. “You don’t have to act tough, y’know. It’s okay to be upset. Even you deserve a break from being the strong one all the time.”
He’d sit beside you, offering his sleeve (or maybe a tissue if he can find one) to wipe your tears. “Come on, talk to me. I can be serious… sometimes. I won’t even charge you for my amazing advice!” His humor is his way of trying to comfort you.
Beneath the teasing, he’s surprisingly gentle. He stays close, his presence steady and grounding, and he doesn’t leave your side until you’re ready to face the world again.
Deuce Spade
Deuce would immediately panic at the sight of you crying. “W-What happened?! Did someone hurt you? Who was it? I’ll take care of it!” His first instinct is to go into overprotective mode, even if he has no idea what’s going on yet.
But when he notices you trying to hide your face, his heart aches. He’s always admired how strong and positive you are, but seeing you crumble makes him realize just how much pressure you’ve been under.
“Hey, don’t do that,” he says softly, his voice full of concern. “You don’t have to hide from me. I’m your friend—I want to help.”
Deuce would sit down beside you, his presence calm and reassuring. He might fumble a bit with his words, but his sincerity shines through. “It’s okay to cry. I… I cry too sometimes. It doesn’t make you weak. It just means you’ve been holding a lot in.”
He’d hesitate for a moment before reaching out to gently pat your shoulder or hold your hand, giving you the comfort of physical support. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together. You’re not alone in this.”
Deuce is the type to quietly stay by your side, letting you take the lead in how much you want to share. If words don’t help, he’s content to simply sit there, offering you a safe space to feel what you need to feel.
Together
If Ace and Deuce stumble upon you crying together, they’d play off each other in their own chaotic but heartfelt way.
Ace would try to lighten the mood with jokes or teasing, but Deuce would elbow him and say, “Now’s not the time for that!”
They’d both sit with you, Ace on one side and Deuce on the other, creating a protective little bubble where you feel safe to let it all out.
Ace might gently nudge you with his shoulder and say, “Come on, you don’t have to deal with this alone. You’ve got us, remember?”
Deuce would nod earnestly, adding, “Yeah! Whatever’s bothering you, we’ll help you fix it. Or… or at least listen. We’re here for you.”
Their dynamic would be a mix of Ace’s playful energy and Deuce’s heartfelt sincerity, making you feel both comforted and loved. They’d stick with you until your tears turn into smiles, determined to remind you that you’re never alone with them around.
Ace (LMAO I just saw that you had a million request for him, but he’s just so loyal and loverboy coded. If you need to mix it up, Ruggie or Silver would work too!), Romantic, and Always by I fight Dragons
(“I can't promise you there won't be pain
I can't promise to remain the same
But when you're scared
I'll be there, tonight and always”)
I'm not complaining I love Ace
"Tonight, you look like a dream" || Ace Trappola
𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭
𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Always by I Fight Dragons
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 430
𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Established relationship, fluff
Ace still doesn’t know how he pulled this off.
You—someone so bright, so effortlessly you—chose him.
It doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t make sense. He’s loud-mouthed, a pain in the ass, too stubborn for his own good. You could’ve had anyone—someone sweeter, someone smoother, someone with fewer rough edges. But somehow, somehow, you ended up with him.
And every time he sees you, it still knocks the breath out of his lungs. Every time you look at him like he’s something special, like he’s someone worth looking at, he has to fight the urge to just grab you and never let go.
Because to him, you are special. You’re every warm, golden memory. You’re the spark that turns his days from ordinary to electric. You make life something more—something worth waking up for, something worth fighting for.
He doesn’t always know how to say it. He hides behind cocky grins and teasing words, because if he ever really said how much he loved you, he might just break apart. But when he reaches for you, when his fingers brush yours and he holds on just a little too long—he hopes you understand.
He hopes you know that he’s here. That he’ll always be here.
He’s not the kind of guy to make big, poetic promises. He can’t promise that life will always be easy. That there won’t be days when he messes up, when he annoys you to the point of madness, when things don’t go the way either of you planned. But he can promise one thing:
He will always, always be by your side.
Through every fight, every laughter-filled night, every sleepy morning when he’s too lazy to get out of bed and just wants to pull you close and stay there forever—he’s yours.
Maybe one day, you’ll travel the world together, running through new cities, chasing the sun, living off adventure and love. Maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll stay right here, right where you are. And that’s okay, because even if you never move an inch, as long as you’re next to him, Ace knows he’ll still be the happiest guy alive.
He watches you now, the way your lips curl into a smile, the way your fingers brush against his, and he thinks—this is it. This is the thing people spend their whole lives looking for.
And as he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, as he whispers a soft, “You’re stuck with me, y’know,” before kissing you like he never wants to stop—he knows one thing for sure.
𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: True Colors by Anna Kendrick, Justin Timberlake
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 510
𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Established relationship, Fluff
Ace always acted like he wasn’t the protective type. He teased you relentlessly, called you ridiculous pet names just to see you groan, and pretended to be indifferent about most things. But you’d learned the truth a long time ago—Ace cared, and he cared a lot.
It was in the way he always matched his pace to yours when you walked together, even if it meant slowing down from his usual long strides. It was in how he always noticed when you were feeling off, nudging you playfully but keeping a close eye on you. It was in the way he hovered without making it obvious, like now.
You’d been minding your business, flipping through a book at the library, when a group of students at a nearby table started whispering just loud enough for you to hear. Something about how you weren’t all that special, how they didn’t get why so many people stuck around you so much.
You weren’t the type to let things like that get to you, but still, their words settled in the back of your mind, a dull ache that you couldn’t quite shake.
Apparently, Ace had heard them too.
Because before you could react, he was there, sliding into the chair beside you with a lazy grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He stretched out his legs, arms crossed over his chest, tilting his head toward the group. “You guys got a problem or somethin’?” His voice was casual, but you could hear the edge underneath.
They went quiet fast, suddenly very focused on their books.
Ace rolled his eyes, scoffing as he turned back to you. “Hah. Thought so.” Then, softer, “You okay?”
You nodded, but he didn’t look convinced.
Later, when you were alone, he brought it up again, hands in his pockets, fidgeting like he wasn’t sure how to say what he wanted to say. “You know they’re wrong, right?” He kicked at the ground. “Like, people just hang around you for no reason. You’re—you’re kinda amazing, actually.”
You blinked at him, taken aback by the sudden sincerity.
His ears went pink, and he groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Ugh, don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” you teased, smiling.
“Like I just said some sappy line straight outta a romance novel.” He scrunched up his nose, then huffed. “Not takin’ it back, though. You should know by now—I don’t stick around people unless I really wanna.”
Your chest felt warm. “And you really wanna?”
He glanced at you, smirk tilting up at the corner. “Obviously.” Then, a little softer, “So don’t let anyone make you doubt it, okay?”
You nodded, and that was enough for him. He grinned, ruffling your hair like the menace he was, before tugging you against his side. “Alright, c’mon, let’s get outta here. I need to remind you why I’m the best boyfriend ever. Ice cream’s on me.”
And as he pulled you along, you thought, Yeah. This is what love feels like.
Ways in which they show their devotion through actions.
Riddle Rosehearts
Riddle is meticulous.
It’s something you’ve always known, but it hits you harder when you see the neatly organized stack of notes waiting for you on your desk. Every single day, without fail, he goes out of his way to make sure your materials are in order—sections color-coded, key points highlighted, and even definitions written in the margins in his precise, careful handwriting.
You never asked him to do it. He never mentioned it, either. But he does it anyway.
And that realization makes your heart swell.
So, when you walk in and find him seated at your desk, methodically sorting through your latest notes, red pen in hand, you don’t hesitate.
You step forward, wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind, and rest your chin against his head.
Riddle stills. You feel his heartbeat quicken ever so slightly.
Then, slowly, he leans into you.
You press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
His hand tightens around the pen. “…I want to.”
That’s when you know.
You squeeze him just a little tighter. “I love you too, Riddle.”
His ears turn red, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he simply exhales, tilting his head just enough that your cheek rests against his.
And just like that, he continues working, letting you hold him as long as you want.
Leona Kingscholar
Leona hates unnecessary work. Hates anything that requires more energy than necessary.
And yet, when you're around, you never have to lift a damn finger.
You don’t even think about it most days—the way your bag just disappears from your shoulder, the weight suddenly gone as you walk beside him. He never makes a show of it, never announces it. One second, it’s there; the next, it’s slung over his own shoulder like it belongs to him.
Today, though, you notice.
You glance at him, watching the way he strides forward like he’s done nothing at all, green eyes lazy and indifferent. He’s grumbling under his breath about class, about professors, about how this is exactly why he doesn’t bother showing up half the time.
A grin spreads across your face. Without warning, you loop your arms around his and lean into him as you walk, practically hanging off of him.
Leona scoffs. “The hell are you doin’?”
“You’re cute,” you say simply.
His ears twitch. He clicks his tongue, looking away. “Whatever, herbivore.”
But he doesn’t shake you off. And when your fingers intertwine with his, his grip tightens, holding on just a little firmer than before.
Azul Ashengrotto
Azul Ashengrotto is, first and foremost, a businessman. A professional. A shark in the waters of commerce, always calculating, always scheming.
And yet, somehow, Mostro Lounge always seems to have a convenient couple’s discount whenever you’re craving something.
Today, it’s that seasonal dessert you offhandedly mentioned a few days ago. Suspiciously, the lounge is now offering a limited-time deal—50% off for couples! Azul, ever the shrewd entrepreneur (liar), insists that it would be financially irresponsible not to take advantage of such an incredible offer.
“We are a couple,” he says, adjusting his glasses with a perfectly straight face. “And our deals are, as always, unmatched. It would be a waste not to dine here.”
You can’t help but smile. He’s so transparent, pretending this wasn’t orchestrated specifically for you. But you don’t call him out on it—you just squeeze his hand a little tighter, warmth spreading through your chest as you sip your drink.
Azul coughs lightly, looking away, but his fingers tighten around yours.
For all his talk of profit, it’s moments like this that prove the truth: when it comes to you, he’d rather give than take.
Kalim Al-Asim
Kalim always, always walks you back.
It doesn’t matter if the sky is clear or if the rain is coming down in sheets. If he’s exhausted from a long day or if a million other things are demanding his attention—he will be there, right by your side.
And, of course, he insists on holding hands.
“What if a rogue cat attacks us?” he says earnestly, fingers lacing through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
It makes no sense. At all. But who are you to question him when he looks at you like that? When his smile is so bright, so genuine, just because you took his hand?
You huff a laugh, squeeze his fingers, and lean in to press a kiss to his cheek. He beams, delighted, and tugs you forward with even more enthusiasm.
You let him lead the way—because, really, how could you not?
Vil Schoenheit
Vil never lets you run on empty.
It doesn’t matter how busy he is, how many rehearsals, photoshoots, or brand meetings he has lined up—he will make time to ensure you’ve eaten properly. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, all balanced, all nutritious, all approved by him.
So when he strides into the lunchroom, posture perfect despite the exhaustion clinging to his frame, you already know what’s coming. He gracefully sets down a container in front of you—a salad, curated to perfection, each ingredient placed with care.
“You need more greens in your diet,” he says, tone firm but eyes softer than usual. “And before you protest, this has everything your body requires for optimal function.”
You don’t protest. You just watch him as he picks at his own food, launching into a detailed explanation of the health benefits of each ingredient. His voice is smooth, poised, but there’s a faint weariness beneath it, the telltale signs of a long morning.
And yet, he still came.
Still made sure you were taken care of.
Your heart clenches, full to the brim with adoration. You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand as you gaze at him, utterly enamored.
Vil pauses mid-sentence, eyes flicking up to meet yours. He exhales, a faint smile curling at the corners of his lips.
“What?” he asks, almost amused.
You just shake your head, spearing a piece of lettuce with your fork. “Nothing,” you say, smile warm. “I just really, really love you.”
He scoffs, cheeks faintly pink. “At least finish your meal before getting sentimental.”
But when you take your first bite, he looks pleased.
Idia Shroud
Idia has his own way of looking out for you.
It’s not grand gestures or flowery words—no, he’s far too awkward for that. But when you’re struggling with a game level, you mysteriously find it cleared the next day, your inventory suddenly stocked with rare loot.
When your gacha pulls are unlucky, an absurd amount of in-game currency finds its way to your account, no explanation given (but you know exactly who’s responsible).
Even when he’s too anxious to come out, Ortho arrives with care packages—snacks, drinks, even a plushie once (“Big Brother said you might need a comfort buff,” Ortho had cheerfully reported).
Right now, you’re sitting on his bed, watching as he games. The glow of his monitors reflects off his hair, his fingers moving quickly over his keyboard. Despite being engrossed, he still glances over at you every so often.
“Are you comfortable?” he mumbles, barely above a whisper.
Your heart clenches. You shift closer, pressing against his side as you smile.
“I really, really love you,” you say softly.
Idia fumbles, missing a crucial input, and his character dies instantly.
“…Y-you just had to say that mid-boss fight,” he groans, hair flaring pink.
You just laugh, leaning into him as he frantically tries to respawn.
Malleus Draconia
Malleus always listens.
You could be rambling about the most mundane thing—a pebble you saw on the side of the road, the weirdly shaped cloud that looked like a potato—and he’d listen like you were reciting sacred text. His emerald eyes stay fixed on you, unwavering, as if every word you speak is precious.
Malleus always makes sure you’re safe, too. If it rains when you’re together, you’ve noticed something peculiar—lightning never strikes near you. Not once. As if the storm itself knows better than to disturb you.
Right now, you’re recounting Grim’s latest kitchen disaster, hands gesturing wildly as you describe the flames, the shrieking, the very near death experience of your breakfast. And there he is, watching, listening, completely enraptured by you like you’re the only thing in the world.
You can’t help yourself. You lean in and kiss him, a quick, impulsive press of your lips against his.
Malleus blinks, surprised, before his expression softens into something warm, something yours.
Riddle, Romantic, “Chai Tea” by audrey ( here’s a link if you need it: https://youtu.be/eGMQ82ujZtQ?si=niFp-AZx61FTnUb1 )
valentine’s day is a top tier holiday because it guarantees the cutest fics <3
real!! i really do enjoy the valentine's season
"With you, it's easy" || Riddle Rosehearts
𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭
𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Chai Tea by audrey
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 670
𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Pre-relationship, mutual pining, fluff
The soft clink of porcelain echoed in the quiet café, mingling with the low hum of conversation and the comforting scent of cardamom. You sat across from Riddle Rosehearts, your hands wrapped around a steaming cup of chai. Outside, autumn leaves danced lazily across the cobblestone paths, but inside, everything felt still—like the world had paused just for the two of you.
You were mid-sentence, rambling about a song you’d heard earlier in the day. "I think you'd like it," you said, taking a sip of your tea. "It’s got this really soft piano bit that reminds me of the rain."
Riddle watched you with quiet focus, his eyes softer than usual. He wasn’t particularly interested in the song—music had never been his strong suit—but the way your eyes lit up, the small curve of your lips as you spoke, was a melody all on its own.
Why does it feel like this? he wondered, fingers curling gently around his own cup. Every moment with you was calming yet exhilarating, like standing on the edge of something unfamiliar but wonderful. He wasn’t used to this kind of comfort. Rules had always been his foundation, structure his shield. But with you, there was no need for defenses.
"You’re not even listening, are you?" You teased, your voice cutting through his thoughts. The playful accusation was paired with a smile, and it made his stomach flutter.
He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter. "I am listening," he replied, more defensive than he intended. His gaze dropped to the swirl of tea in his cup. "I just… don’t have much to add. But I like hearing you talk."
Your cheeks warmed at the rare vulnerability in his voice. He likes hearing me talk? The thought made your heart beat just a little faster. You reached across the table, lightly brushing your fingers against his hand. "I’m glad you’re here, Riddle."
His breath caught. No one had ever said that to him so simply, so earnestly. His fingers twitched under yours before he let them rest, allowing the contact without pulling away. "I… am glad too."
Later that evening, Riddle found himself thinking about the way your hand had felt against his—warm, gentle, grounding. It wasn’t grand or dramatic; it was simple, like the warmth of tea on a cold day. And maybe that’s what terrified him the most. Not the intensity of his feelings, but the ease of them.
You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop replaying every detail of his expression. The faint pink dusting his cheeks, the way his gaze softened when you touched him. Does he feel the same? You tried to silence the hope growing in your chest, convincing yourself that Riddle was just being kind. After all, emotions were hard for him, and you didn’t want to read too much into every little gesture.
A week later, you found yourselves back at the same café. This time, Riddle spoke more. He asked about your day, listened intently as you shared small, inconsequential details. In return, you asked him about his studies, about Heartslabyul, about things that made him light up with passion and pride.
The conversation flowed like the tea between you—effortless, warm, soothing.
And then, as you both reached for the sugar jar at the same time, your fingers brushed again. This time, Riddle didn’t pull away. His hand lingered atop yours for a second longer than necessary.
"You’re important to me," he said suddenly, voice barely louder than a whisper.
Your heart skipped a beat. The vulnerability in his eyes was unguarded, raw. "You’re important to me too, Riddle," you replied, just as softly.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward; it was full of understanding, like a shared secret spoken without words.
In that moment, surrounded by the scent of chai and the rustle of autumn wind outside, both of you realized that maybe this quiet companionship had always been love in disguise.
The moment you open the door, you are met with perfection.
Vil stands there like a vision—poised, radiant, and utterly breathtaking. He’s holding an immaculately wrapped gift box, the soft scent of roses and vanilla lingering in the air around him. The morning sun catches in his golden hair just right, as if nature itself understands that lighting must always be optimal for Vil Schoenheit.
"Good morning, darling," he greets, voice as smooth as silk. His violet gaze sweeps over you, and he hums in approval. "Even when you’ve just woken up, you manage to be beautiful."
Your brain? Gone.
He hands you the gift box, watching expectantly as you unwrap it. Inside is an array of handcrafted chocolates—each piece a miniature masterpiece, adorned with delicate gold leaf and intricate designs. They look too perfect to eat.
“You made these?” you ask, slightly in awe.
“Of course.” Vil tilts his chin, looking pleased by your reaction. “I refuse to give my beloved anything less than perfection.”
You take a careful bite, and the flavor explodes across your tongue—smooth, rich, and utterly decadent. Your knees almost buckle.
“Vil,” you whisper. “These taste expensive.”
He smirks. “They are expensive. Do you think I would let you eat anything subpar?”
You swallow, still reeling from the sheer level of effort he put into this. “You really went all out.”
Vil exhales softly, stepping closer. His fingers brush against your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. "Of course I did," he murmurs. "Because you are worth every bit of effort, and more."
And then, just as your heart completely melts, he leans in—pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead.
You are never recovering from this.
Rook Hunt
You don’t even fully open the door before Rook is already sweeping into a dramatic bow.
"Ah, mon trésor, my radiant light in this world! How blessed am I to bask in your presence on this most divine morning!"
You barely have time to blink before flower petals—where did they come from!?—flutter through the air around him. It’s as if he planned stage effects for this exact moment.
"Rook," you say slowly, staring at the spectacle before you. "Did you… did you set up a whole romantic scene just for delivering a gift?"
He gasps, clutching his chest as if you’ve just wounded him. "Ma chérie! Do you truly think I would offer you anything less than an experience befitting of your magnificence?"
Before you can begin to process that, he presents you with a gift—an exquisitely wrapped box tied with silk ribbon. His eyes sparkle as he watches you open it. Inside are the most beautiful chocolates you’ve ever seen, hand-painted with delicate landscapes, stars, and even tiny portraits of things he knows you love.
"Rook…" Your heart swells. "These are stunning."
He smiles, warmth radiating from him. "Ah, but they pale in comparison to the beauty of your smile, mon amour."
And then—because he is Rook Hunt—he swoops in, gently taking your hand and pressing a feather-light kiss to your knuckles. The gesture is so sweet and so sincere that your face immediately heats up.
"You—" You stammer, gripping the box. "You’re unbelievable."
He only laughs, absolutely delighted. "Ah, but you adore me for it, non?"
….Unfortunately, he’s completely right
Epel Felmier
The moment you open the door, Epel is already looking away, rubbing the back of his neck like he's seriously debating running for it. In his hands is a slightly crumpled gift bag, which he shoves into your hands like it's a live grenade.
“H-Here,” he mutters, still refusing to look at you.
You blink, opening the bag to find a box of handmade chocolates—surprisingly neat—with a little note inside.
You pull it out, reading: “I tried real hard on these, so if you don’t like ‘em, at least pretend ya do. – Epel.”
Your heart melts.
“Epel.” You grin. “You made these yourself?”
He huffs, crossing his arms. “Duh. What, ya think I’d just buy somethin’ for my partner?”
You take a bite—and immediately pause.
“…Epel.” You stare at the chocolate. “These are amazing."
His ears go red. “Quit exaggeratin’.”
“I’m serious. These taste like they came from a professional chocolatier.”
Epel scowls, still embarrassed. “I was trained by Vil, y’know. Had to make sure they were perfect.”
Your chest tightens. “Wait. You practiced for this?”
His blush deepens. “Maybe.”
You stare at him, then suddenly grab his collar and kiss his cheek.
Epel freezes.
Then, very quietly: “Aw, hell.”
You laugh, stepping back. “Happy White Day, Epel.”
He groans, face fully red. “Ain’t nothin’ happy about you makin’ me feel all flustered first thing in the mornin’…”
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