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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ ―
please understand that this blog is written with female chubby readers in mind.
ɴᴏᴛᴇ ―
under any circumstances, please DO NOT feed my work to AI. i do not appreciate my writing being used in such ways. and if you plan on translating my work, please let me know and where you'll post it. i've already seen my works posted on wattpad but it's fine because i never talked about translations.
Masquerade! hide your face so the world'll never found you
SUMMARY: You're always supposed to travel with the delegation, whether you want to or not. This time, you did want to attend the festival—but Crowley decided your name wasn't on the official list.
Naturally, you ignored him. With Grim at your side and a plan held together by stubbornness alone, you slipped into Fleur City and its dazzling masquerade—the most colorful, musical night the city had to offer.
The only problem? You hadn’t planned on running into the seven dorm leaders of NRC…or on being personally escorted by them straight to the gates of Noble Bell College.
CHARACTERS: Riddle Rosehearts / Leona Kingscholar / Azul Ashengrotto / Kalim Al-Asim / Vil Schoenheit / Idia Shroud / Malleus Draconia x F!Yuu (reader) ft. Crowley and Rollo Flamme
TAGS: crack, humor, drama, flirting without knowing.
WORD COUNT: 23k
COMMENTS: this is hella long, so buckle up!! I took some narrative liberties, maybe not entirely event canon but oh well, there's full chaos.
Soundtrack recommendation: God help the outcast - Topsy Turvy - The Bell Tower - Paris Burning - Make a Wish - Masquerade - Bells of Notre Dame
What does one have to do to get a little peace in the middle of a haunted dormitory that’s almost crumbling down to its foundations, with a cat shooting fire left and right?
That was what you were thinking when a letter showed up carried along by a cascade of black feathers. It was as if peace and order didn’t exist in the vocabulary of this magic-filled school.
One moment Ramshackle was quiet, or as quiet as it could get with Grim arguing with one of the ghosts, who had stolen a can of tuna just to mess with him, and the next, a whirl of glossy black feathers burst in through the broken window and spiraled dramatically down onto the first steps of the lounge staircase.
“HEY! We’re under attack!” Grim growled, jumping back when the envelope landed with an unnecessarily theatrical thump on the coffee table. “Protect me, Henchman!”
You sighed, keeping Grim upright as he climbed up your arm until he settled on your shoulder. You picked up the letter and looked it over; burgundy-colored, with a wax seal faintly gleaming in gold.
A letter that screamed official and important no matter how you looked at it.
It definitely wasn’t a bill or some annoying request from the administration. Crowley never handed those out in person, much less with a flock of black feathers; which meant the bird-brained headmaster was nearby.
And with that, the front door swung wide open on its own with a creak.
“Well, well, my most honorable and dependable residents!” he said in a voice far too cheerful and far too polished, stepping into the dorm as if it belonged to him and not like he had dumped it on you in terrible condition. “What fortune to find both of you at home! Truly, the stars themselves align for the diligent!”
Grim shot him a flat look and narrowed his eyes. “When you talk like that it means nothing good”
Crowley brushed off the comment with professional skill. “My dear prefect,” he continued, turning toward you with a wide smile, his cape swishing as if he had practiced the move in the mirror about ten times. “I require your presence in my office immediately. It concerns a matter of prestige, honor, and, naturally, inter-academic relations”
In other words… trouble.
You glanced sideways at Grim; the cat met your look, and you murmured to him when you saw Crowley turn to head out of the lounge without even checking whether you were following or not. “Yeah, nothing good ever comes from him”
╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌
The office gleamed and buzzed more than usual, once again showing off dear Headmaster Crowley’s vanity.
The dorm leaders were gathered around the table, composed, radiating different levels of authority, boredom, or barely-contained chaos. Kalim was practically vibrating with happiness, just like Idia… although he was probably vibrating because he wanted to go back and lock himself inside his room; the fact that he was here, surrounded by people, was already an achievement.
Yes, obviously something was about to go down.
There were expectant looks from the others—except Leona, obviously. He was one step away from turning around and heading off to sleep in his usual spot in the botanical garden. The atmosphere had that specific tense shine that meant the announcement about to drop was going to be, indeed, catastrophic.
You took your place beside Kalim, who bumped your hip in greeting and grinned from ear to ear. You returned the gesture, lightly bumping his hip back, and let Grim settle himself on top of your head.
Crowley cleared his throat, which was always the beginning of one of his boring, overly theatrical, and unbearable monologues.
“My dear dorm leaders,” his eyes gleamed at the sight of the seven young men waiting in front of him. Grim coughed, and Crowley’s expression tightened slightly. “And prefect,” he continued. “Today we have received an extraordinary honor”
With a flourish, he raised seven invitations, seven burgundy letters with shining golden seals.
“Noble Bell College has kindly sent official invitations requesting the presence of representatives from Night Raven College at their upcoming cultural festival”
Your eyes widened. An event outside NRC, allowing you to explore more of this world and see another school; considering they barely let you leave for the nearby town on the Island of Sages, and RSA was still out of the question— that school was still a mystery to you.
So Noble Bell College would be your next magical stop.
Grim looked excited too, gripping your hair tightly and whispering to himself all the things he was already plotting in his small and chaotic head about what he was going to do: eat lots of tasty things, maybe sweets or bread, or tuna made in some way he had never tried before; the possibilities were endless for your little cat.
“And to enhance the experience, the school will treat this event as a masquerade. Isn’t that fascinating?”
Okay, the pinnacle of dramatics—very Twisted Wonderland and very Crowley… you like it.
Crowley was smiling like a man who definitely intended to send teenagers straight into imminent student chaos. He opened one of the invitations and read the contents in his characteristic dramatic voice.
“The event celebrates unity, refinement, and the highest traditions of academia. Naturally, they have requested our… most distinguished students. And of course this dear and most generous headmaster”
And that was where the seven invitations came into play. Seven letters addressed to each of the seven dorm leaders… and to no one else. He didn’t mention the vice leaders’ names, nor your name, nor Grim’s.
Crowley lowered the letter with a satisfied nod. “And with that, the official delegation is concluded”
On your end, silence. A small, polite silence, while the others were already straightening their postures, ready to hear when they would depart and how they should present themselves.
Then Crowley’s head tilted, looking forward, not directly at you, nor at Grim, as if remembering something slightly inconvenient. His eyes were fixed firmly on the office door.
“Ah! But of course… our reliable prefect!” he turned toward you with a bright, performative smile. “As the head of Ramshackle dorm, it would be inappropriate not to include you in this announcement. Transparency is the hallmark of this benevolent administration, after all.”
You heard Leona snort loudly, as if the words “benevolent administration” were completely accurate. If you weren’t harboring a bad feeling right then and there, you would have snorted along with him.
Grim puffed out his chest when he saw that the headmaster was now addressing his beloved henchman. “I knew it! We’re going to—”
“However…” Crowley cut him off, and you felt Grim’s tail deflate against the back of your head. The bird-brain laced his fingers together in front of him. “The invitation, unfortunately, extends specifically to recognized magical students who participate in the official exchange. As you do not possess any measurable magical ability…”
Grim opened his mouth to argue back, ready to launch a fireball that would leave him flat on his back after such humiliation.
“Master Grim, you and the prefect are essentially one student,” he cut him off again. “And given that Ramshackle is, shall we say, administratively… unique…” he made a vague motion with his hand, annoyed at having to find the word that best fit the situation without making it more tense than it already was.
Reading between the lines: you’re not invited, and neither is the cat. It’s not negotiable. Not even by accident.
Crowley gave a sympathetic nod, his eyes showing a very well-acted sadness. “How unfortunate! Truly unfortunate. Perhaps next time”
Next time… like being told there was no more of the cake you liked in the cafeteria and you’d have to wait until tomorrow to eat it. Or like being told you had to try a little harder on the next assignment.
As if you hadn’t literally fought overblots throughout the school year, monsters, ghosts, and whatever the hell lives in the school’s ventilation ducts.
Life isn’t fair, right?
The other leaders didn’t react strongly, but they didn’t give you the reactions you expected either. A couple of shrugs, Kalim looking at you with genuine sadness at not being able to enjoy the evening by your side.
Crowley broke the silence, and the damn spell, with a clap. “Very well then! Preparations begin immediately!”
The meeting dissolved into excited chatter from the headmaster and completely formal, rather critically thought-out discussion from the leaders. Malleus, in particular, looked especially fascinated by the idea of having been invited.
Grim’s tail flicked over your shoulder. “…they’re really not taking us”
The office suddenly felt a little louder… and a little farther away while the two of you watched the others discuss travel plans, formal attire provided by the school, speculation about the festival, music, foreign food.
“Make sure to keep the dorm in order while we’re away, prefect! Such an important responsibility!” Crowley waved a hand at you, signaling you were already dismissed from the meeting.
Grim’s ears flattened against his small head as you headed for the exit.
“…this is bullshit.”
“Yeah,” you huffed. “Yeah, it really is.”
The murmuring followed you out of the office like static.
Crowley was talking louder than usual, Vil was already arguing about the weight of the luggage and the makeup he’d have to do for everyone, yes, even Leona, whom you heard growl when Vil so much as mentioned it. Azul was bringing up the odds of expanding NRC’s prestige to other cities and colleges.
None of it helped.
Grim walked beside you on two legs, stomping down the hallway, his tail bristling, the claws of his hind paws visible and tapping against the stone.
“This is a total scam!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the stone corridor. “We beat ghosts, monsters, more overblots than I can count—”
“—and we still aren’t ‘official’ enough for a school trip,” you finished with the same level of offense.
“EXACTLY!” Grim threw his paws into the air.
You shoved the castle doors open harder than necessary, grumbling under your breath. That damn bird-brain was really getting under your skin; any moment now you’d kick him in the rear so hard you’d send him flying… if it weren’t for the small amount of money the school administration paid you.
The cool afternoon air hit your face, but it didn’t loosen the tight knot in your chest. The voices continued behind you, just as enthusiastic; a glance over your shoulder was enough to make you blow out a breath and start walking down the steps.
“Even Idia’s going,” you muttered.
Maybe bringing up the most antisocial and anxious guy in the school wasn’t the fairest or most honorable move right now, but you were really angry. Not at him, obviously, you were angry at the damn headmaster.
“RIGHT?!” Grim went down the steps jumping two at a time, ears pointed up and seconds away from shouting all the injustices he had suffered thanks to our beloved headmaster. “That guy considers opening his bedroom door a major life event!”
You flinched. “Okay, that was too much, Grim,” you said, your voice a little sharp, staring at the steps because you knew that the moment you took your eyes off the stone it was statistically likely you’d trip, considering the anger leaking out of every pore.
“Hey! You started it” He raised a paw and pointed at you.
“Yeah, well…” you continued, “I didn’t mean it to put him down. Idia comes from a prestigious family and has plenty of money...of course he got an invitation.” You crossed your arms as you reached the last steps. “What’s surprising is that he’s physically going”
Grim kicked a pebble down the steps and jumped the last stretch again.
“He’s physically going and we’re stuck here doing… what. Guarding our dorm from the ghosts we already live with?”
You crossed your arms tighter and rolled your eyes. “I can’t even step off campus without paperwork, supervision, or a miracle,” your voice came out laced with venom, and with every second you were losing what little patience you had left. Spiraling with a grumpy cat wasn’t helping the situation. “But sure, let’s send the entire walking disaster of NRC abroad”
“I should be famous,” he growled. “Hero Grim saves the day again! Where’s my cultural exchange, huh?”
You snorted a laugh despite everything. “Apparently saving the school multiple times doesn’t count as an extracurricular activity”
You crossed the courtyard, the fountain, the last stretch of stone that led toward the castle’s back doors and the path back to Ramshackle. The words kept coming out—half complaints, half that tired bitterness that shows up when something unfair hits a little too close.
When you reached the door, the bridge visible connecting the next stretch of poorly kept land, you stopped. Grim kept walking, now on four paws, and lifted his tail when he realized you had stopped and he was crossing the bridge alone.
You looked at the horizon, spotting the haunted house in the distance and the perfect midday sun over the skyline.
The idea began to take shape slowly, putting down roots little by little, but decisively. The solution to both your frustrations was right there; simple, obvious, both stupid and perfect.
“Why did you stop?” Grim asked, walking back toward you.
You didn’t answer right away. You let the idea keep forming in your mind, running through all the chances of it going right and the ones where it wouldn’t, mapping out everything needed for it to actually work.
Your fingers tapped against your arm. “…it’s a masquerade”
Grim tilted his head. “…yeah?”
Your eyes met his, now wide as he looked at you in a way he hadn’t all year. Your face carried an expression that meant trouble; the kind of trouble that historically ended in explosions, rule violations, accidental heroics, and at least three disciplinary reports from Crewel.
“A masquerade ball,” you repeated slowly, tilting your head toward him, silently urging him to catch on quickly. “Everyone wears masks”
Grim’s ears twitched.
“No one’s supposed to stand out,” you crouched down so you were closer to him. “No one’s supposed to know who’s who”
You let the words settle in his mind, letting the silence guide the realization. One second passed, two, three—until Grim’s eyes flew open wide, pupils dilating and his tail shooting upright as your words finally clicked.
“Oh… you’re kidding”
Your lips curled into a dangerous smile, the kind that promised a thousand reprimands if you got caught, but that would be worth every damn second.
“If no one knows who’s who,” you said quietly, making sure the conversation stayed between the two of you, “then no one knows who wasn’t invited either”
Grim gasped like someone had just handed him the keys to a kingdom made entirely of cans and cans of fresh tuna.
“Prefect… who would’ve thought you could be so devious”
“We definitely shouldn’t do this,” you said, staring at him.
“…but we’re going to do it anyway,” he shot back.
A second of silence passed. Then another. And a third.
“Yeah.”
“HEIST MODE!” Grim threw his paws in the air, jumping with excitement.
You shut the castle door, not a trace of frustration left on your face. No, that had disappeared, replaced by determination. Who would’ve thought your mind could be just as troublesome as Ace’s?
Your steps were decisive, and you didn’t head toward Ramshackle. If you were going to sneak into a cultural event where formality and proper attire were the currency, nothing in that dusty shack would do. No; there weren’t any clothes formal enough or well-made enough there without getting you exposed the moment you set foot, or paw, into the cultural event.
“We need supplies,” you said, veering off the path to the right, following the dirt road.
“Supplies to commit a crime?”
“Supplies to attend formally without prior authorization”
“…crime then,” Grim confirmed, running after you.
The path to Sam’s shop felt like walking deeper and deeper into a very bad idea; and at the same time, a very promising one. The campus stretched around you, wrapped in that late-afternoon haze where the stone towers glowed gold and the buzz of excitement over the news drifted through the cool air.
“Okay, but... I can’t just put on a mask and call it a day. I’m a talking, flame-shooting, very handsome cat”
“Yes, that’s the main problem” Sam’s shack was already in sight—just a few more yards and you’d step into territory both familiar and unknown, ready to show off its haunted wonders.
“My ears! My tail! My flames! My incredible natural charisma, nya!”
“Mostly the flames” you gave him a look.
Grim deflated a little. “…yeah, okay, the flames”
A few more steps and you were already standing in front of the shack. That mystical atmosphere around it always made the hairs on your arms stand on end.
You pushed open the crooked wooden door and a small bell chimed. The air inside the shop wrapped around you like warm smoke, carrying a faint scent of cinnamon, something that made the place feel both comforting and creepy. The shelves were stacked to the top with all kinds of things: enchanted fabrics, suspiciously labeled bottles, and objects that definitely moved when you weren’t looking straight at them. You could swear a pearl necklace you had seen on a shelf near the door was now resting on a display in the main window.
“Well, well,” Sam’s smooth, enchanted voice echoed through the shop from behind the counter. When he had gotten there, you had no idea—five seconds ago the counter had been completely empty. “If it isn’t my favorite prefect… and judging by the look on your face and on your cute and definitely not troublesome cat…” he leaned forward, “…you’re not here for anything legal.”
Grim puffed out his chest, slightly offended by the comment, but he was still the first to speak, or rather, yell.
“We need stealth!”
You’re never going to get that by shouting
Sam’s smile widened, as dangerous as someone could look while being the entrepreneur running one of the most useful and necessary shops on a school campus. “Say no more”
With a snap of his fingers, the counter suddenly looked like the backstage of a theatrical crime, or a theater dressing room, which worked better for carrying out the plan.
Masks, capes, gloves, fabric samples, a monocle that Grim definitely tried on and that you definitely didn’t let him keep; with the way he walked he’d break it any second.
Sam tapped the counter thoughtfully with one finger.
“So,” his voice sounded as soft as velvet, but you knew underneath it hid the layer of a hardened entrepreneur who always kept an enchanted clause up his sleeve, “you need formal masquerade outfits convincing enough… while hiding the presence of a highly combustible feline”
Grim bristled. “HMNYA! I’m not combustible—!”
“How did you know we needed masquerade outfits?” you cut in. Your eyes narrowed at Sam suspiciously.
“My Queen… nothing happens in this school without me hearing about it.” It was a vague answer, but also a very unsettling one. But this wasn’t the moment to stop and argue, so for now you let it slide.
“He’s the real problem. I can blend in with a dress—”
“And masking your scent.” You still weren’t used to the way Sam interrupted conversations to drop information as if you were already supposed to know what it meant.
“Excuse me?”
“If my informants haven’t failed me,” Sam drummed his fingers on the counter and gave you a sly look, “a certain lion and a high fae will be attending the event, meaning they would be the first to spot both of you just by catching your scent.”
Damn it. He was right.
“…okay, point taken” You sighed, resigning yourself to the fact that you’d have to pay for more than just fancy clothes. “With something to mask my scent, a dress, and a mask, I can blend in. But him…” you pointed at Grim without looking at him, “he needs to look… like a normal familiar.”
Sam hummed and gave Grim a full look from head to toe—and if it had been biologically possible, he would’ve circled him with his eyes.
“Not normal,” he corrected at last. “Expected”
“…expected?” you repeated, frowning.
Sam opened a drawer and pulled out a violet velvet cloak with a hood; deep, formal, the kind that screamed ceremonial elegance. Another of the great mysteries of Sam’s shop: who knows why the entrepreneur had a cloak exactly Grim’s size waiting inside a drawer.
“Cultural events in magical academies bring familiars all the time,” Sam commented as he adjusted the hood over Grim’s ears. “Magical creatures, bound spirits, enchanted companions. Half the time nobody even knows what species they are”
The cloak, now arranged over Grim’s small body, wrapped around him completely, barely showing his shape. The fall of the fabric looked heavy and dramatic; the flames of his ears illuminated the inside in a way that felt very theatrical and very on-theme. Then Sam added a carved masquerade mask, elongated, elegant, slightly decorated with claw-like details but still stylized enough to look ceremonial rather than suspicious.
Only Grim’s bright eyes were visible beneath the shadow of the hood and mask. Sam stepped back, admiring his work.
“With the hood down, the mask set properly forward, and strict instructions not to shout…”
Grim shifted his posture. Now almost none of his face showed and his tail was hidden neatly beneath the cloak. Suddenly he looked less like “chaotic campus threat” and more like “arcane familiar belonging to someone extremely important.”
“…wow,” Grim whispered when he saw his cloaked figure reflected in the glass of the counter.
“Pretty convincing,” you added.
Sam’s smile widened as he leaned over the counter, both hands holding up his head. “Exactly”
“I look expensive” Grim spun in a small circle to admire himself, the heavy cloak barely making a dramatic swirl and giving no hint that he might be exposed when he moved.
“You are expensive,” you shot back. “You eat like you’ve got a black hole in your stomach”
Grim decided to ignore you and kept spinning around admiring himself. Sam, meanwhile, straightened and clapped his hands once, making your attention snap back to him.
“Now for you, prefect”
Another snap of his fingers and a dress slid onto the counter—dark, outrageously expensive fabric, black brocade with elegant lace details and a red overlay that made the black stand out even more. Off-shoulder, low-cut, with a skirt that would obviously require a crinoline.
Elegant wasn’t the right word, it was more than that. It was refined, breathing opulence and formality. Semi-transparent sleeves, ruffles and lace layered over more lace.
“A mask that hides, not dazzles” Sam placed a light black fabric mask on the counter, decorated with brocade and gothic embroidery, soft to the touch and perfect for covering half your face. “The best disguise isn’t the loudest one…”
He set the last pieces down on the counter: a choker of black pearls with a rose in the center, the strands long enough that when worn they would drape over the shoulders; a pair of short black lace gloves; and a very gothic-style hat, pompous, with a fall of fabric that resembled a veil.
A very gothic set… perfect for a masquerade.
“…but the one no one remembers”
You lifted the dress carefully with both hands, making sure not to snag the lace on anything, not even the buttons of your uniform.
“…how much is this going to hurt?” you asked cautiously. You knew a dress this extravagant wasn’t cheap.
Sam leaned on the counter again. “Oh, don’t worry” He paused dramatically, clearly fascinated by how your whole body tensed as you worried internally. “This goes on credit”
“Oh… that’s worse,” Grim whispered in horror.
Sam burst out laughing and straightened again, quite satisfied with himself at the sight of the desperate, horrified expressions on both your faces.
“Relax. Consider it… an investment in the chaos the two of you are about to unleash at an international diplomatic event”
You and Grim exchanged a knowing look.
Yeah… that sounded about right.
╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌
Fleur City shone as if it had stepped straight out of a Renaissance painting.
The warm glow of lanterns spilled across the white stone streets, reflecting in long ribbons of gold and amber. Garlands of flowers hung from the balconies, woven so densely that the scent of wildflowers lingered in the air, sweet and heavy. From somewhere along the cobblestone corners came music: violins, laughter, the slow rhythmic pulse of festival trumpets.
Around you there were people, so many people. It was barely possible to walk peacefully through the streets. Carnival decorations and food and trinket stalls made both you and Grim stop every five steps.
And everywhere… masks. White porcelain, golden filigree, feathers, silks, velvet. Cloaks gliding over the stone and polished shoes gleaming in the lanternlight. There were no faces, no questions, no names.
You adjusted the delicate fabric mask slightly as you moved with the crowd, letting the flow of festival guests carry you naturally along the wide avenue leading to the central plaza. In the daylight the dress blended in exactly as Sam had promised: elegant and formal, perfectly matching the spirit of the festival—just another face in the tide.
Beside you, a small hooded figure walked with a rather exaggerated air of importance, little paws tapping lightly against the stone as he took one step, then another. Grim walked as if he were leading his own theatrical march toward the main stage.
“This is the best thing we’ve ever done in our lives” Even though his steps were determined, and fairly amusing to watch from your taller perspective, Grim’s words came out in a whisper; for once he had understood he needed to keep his voice down.
“You also said that when you stole extra pudding from the cafeteria” You gathered your skirt with one hand, adjusting it so you wouldn’t end up face-first on the ground. The dress was beautiful, yes, but the crinoline made walking a bit difficult.
“THAT WAS HISTORIC TOO!” Apparently his lesson in stealth hadn’t lasted long. You hid a smile behind the back of your hand.
Grim looked around at the glowing towers, the decorated bridges, the endless swirl of masked students and nobles. Your gaze drifted to the pink and violet decorations hanging between the rustic, colorful houses. One more step and you nearly collided with the long leg of someone obviously walking on stilts. You managed to turn in time and grabbed Grim so he wouldn’t get crushed under the wooden stilts.
“Woow” Grim settled into your arms and lifted his head to watch the person gracefully walking toward the end of the avenue. “This place is insane”
He wasn’t wrong.
Farther ahead there were people dressed in multicolored outfits—diamonds and pompoms, ribbons and exaggerated patterns showing off immense amounts of fabric in sleeves and trousers. Orange and red jesters, violet and burgundy ones too, with painted faces and five-pointed hats tipped with bells. The lantern lights flickered along the walls of the houses and the stone structures, turning the shop windows into vivid, deep colors. In the main plaza, dancers spun—skirts and cloaks flashing in carefully choreographed circles.
Everything around you looked mundanely normal, peaceful within the limits of what a carnival could call “peaceful.” No fire, no chaos, no problems to solve.
“With this many people, it’ll be impossible for them to find us,” Grim said as he jumped back down to the ground to keep walking.
“If you say it out loud, you’ll jinx it”
“Right. Silence. Stealth mode”
You moved deeper into the plaza, letting the enormous scale of the festival unfold around you. Masked performers breathed streams of colored fire, puppeteers staged small dramatic and amusing shows for the children, and the food stalls now had floating lanterns illuminating them in orange and ochre tones, making the shine of the food look even more appetizing.
Grim sniffed as he stopped in front of one of the stalls.
“…is that roasted meat?”
You sighed and grabbed him by the sides, lifting him until he was level with the food on the stall.
“One stall. And eat quietly”
“BEST HENCHMAN IN HISTORY!”
He jumped toward the vendor, still trying to look dignified in the ceremonial cloak—and failing completely the moment food entered the equation.
You shook your head, but you couldn’t stop the slow, dangerous smile spreading across your face as you watched him try to cram two roasted meat skewers into his mouth in one bite.
For the first time since the invitation announcement, the pressure in your chest eased. You hadn’t been left behind. You hadn’t been left out. This might not be entirely legal—and if you got caught the punishment would probably be worse than anything Ace and Deuce had ever gotten—but seeing Grim enjoy himself was worth every second you spent outside Ramshackle.
You’d do it again a thousand times. To hell with Crowley and his official invitations. You had the right to enjoy an event without worrying about running errands for the headmaster.
“Target located” Grim sniffed the air again after finishing the meat. “Honey buns with a light sugar glaze, ten steps ahead”
What a remarkable nose
“Grim, slow down,” you said, walking after him at a reasonably quick pace.
“You’re the slow one” Unfortunately, he had a point about the damn crinoline. You were starting to hate it a little more with every step.
You lifted the skirt with both hands, mentally calculating how much more you could afford to spend at the festival. Considering how much this cat ate, and how little you had managed to eat thanks to the nerves from traveling through the mirror, you’d have to find some way to stop Grim from devouring everything in sight.
“I said one stall!” You barely raised your voice, but Grim ignored you, as always when he didn’t want to hear that you were right.
As you followed him, out of the corner of your eye you spotted a pair of figures you absolutely did not want to spot heading your way.
On the other side of the plaza, near the staircase leading to the main road toward the cathedral, a very specific formation of figures held a perfect alignment: Crowley at the front, with seven leaders behind him, each displaying different levels of diplomacy, excitement, or boredom.
Riddle walked with a rigid posture even in this festive setting, though he wasn’t oblivious to the fun happening around him. Leona was slouched, visibly bored at being dragged into an official event. Azul carried himself with a calculating air, probably already visualizing his next clients. Kalim was the most energetic of them all, practically glowing even while standing still. Vil was sculpted perfection, every step immaculate. Idia was trying to occupy the smallest possible amount of physical and emotional space. And Malleus simply followed the flow of people, hands behind his back, looking around with complete fascination.
Crowley, meanwhile, walked with an annoyingly radiant and pompous stride while speaking with another figure: tall, composed, with a firm and controlled posture. If you had to guess, that person wrapped in an air of ceremonial authority must have been someone important from Noble Bell College.
Your throat let out a tiny squeak and your shoulders curled inward. You were in danger mode.
You stepped sideways, avoiding turning your back on them all, but also not walking backward so obviously that it would make it clear your focus was on those figures who weren’t threatening at first glance—but were extremely inconvenient for your enjoyment. You reached Grim just as he was about to buy a small honey bun and crouched to whisper in his ear.
“Don’t even think about moving”
Grim’s small body went completely rigid. “What’s going on?”
“If you turn two degrees to the left,” you continued, the dorm leaders getting closer and closer, “you’ll be in their direct line of sight”
Grim, completely ignoring your instruction, slowly followed your gaze, barely turning his body to get a good look. Then he inhaled so sharply he nearly vacuumed the honey bun straight into his mouth.
You clamped a hand over his mouth and grabbed his cloak, dragging him behind the stall and hiding behind the side canvas. The vendor shot you both an irritated look but said nothing, another customer was already asking for an entire bag of buns.
“Okay, new plan” You let go of Grim’s mouth but still signaled for silence. Now he had to act like a normal familiar. “We walk calmly in the opposite direction, and you… quiet”
Grim nodded with the intensity of someone trying very hard to be stealthy and stay out of trouble, still holding the sweet in one paw. You adjusted him on your arm and stepped away from the stall.
One step. Then another. And a third.
Someone in the crowd suddenly turned toward your direction. You bumped their shoulder, jolting back in surprise.
“—Sorry!” you blurted automatically, trying to step backward.
Exactly the wrong move.
Because stepping back made you collide with someone else in the crowd. Your shoe stepped on an expensive, heavy cloak, and as you lifted your foot to avoid ruining it further, your heel caught on the uneven stone. You felt your balance tip backward.
For one horrible second, the world tilted; the lantern light, the masks, the people, the realization of oh yes, this is how we die… physically or from embarrassment, falling face-first in front of a crowd.
But the fall never came.
A gloved hand shot forward and caught your wrist just in time, stopping you a few inches before disaster.
“…please be careful,” a smooth, composed voice said. “These festival streets can be treacherous if one isn’t paying attention”
You turned your head toward the voice and saw Azul looking at you with concern...but without the slightest hint of recognition. Your disguise was working perfectly, even in a situation as dangerous as the one you were currently in.
You straightened carefully, pulse hammering, but posture controlled. Out of nervous reflex you adjusted Grim’s hood so his face was completely hidden, forcing his body to hunch so he’d look like an ordinary cat.
“Thank you,” you said in a neutral voice, though anyone paying attention might have noticed the nervous edge and the faint grinding of teeth as you forced yourself not to scream.
Azul released your wrist slowly, waiting for you to fix your dress before stepping back to a polite distance, still close enough while observing you with that sharp, polite curiosity so characteristic of someone whose entire life ran on information.
Behind him, the others had already turned, abandoning whatever conversation they had been having. Six new pairs of eyes locked onto you—the young lady unlucky enough to collide with the octopus entrepreneur.
Grim made a small strangled noise inside his hood, and you felt a tiny vibration against your arm. It was obvious he wanted to bolt as fast as his four paws could carry him, and if you were honest with yourself… you wanted to do the same.
You didn’t look at anyone in particular; certainly not at Crowley, nor at the tall, composed figure representing Noble Bell College in this diplomatic procession. You made the smallest formal bow of your head, the kind appropriate for slipping by unnoticed even after such a collision. You even tilted your hat slightly lower to cover more of your face.
“Apologies for the collision. The crowd is… lively tonight”
Vil’s gaze traveled over you from head to toe. Knowing him, he was evaluating the outfit the way an art critic would analyze a gallery piece; or in this case, the way Vil always did, searching for wrinkles, imperfections, or cracks.
That crack was about to split wide open if he didn’t stop looking at you so intently.
“Finally someone who knows how to dress appropriately,” he murmured loud enough that everyone else heard.
“Hey! We’re all dressed for the occasion,” Kalim huffed, though he didn’t sound offended.
“Yes, because we were dressed” Vil replied.
If that was the case, then point to Vil.
“Watch where you’re stepping next time” Leona exhaled through his nose.
“That is no way to address a young lady!” Vil snapped back, shooting him the most venomous look imaginable without losing an ounce of grace or letting a single wrinkle touch his face.
Leona simply crossed his arms and held Vil’s stare. The tension between rivals was thick enough to feel.
Azul took the opportunity to cut through that tension and prevent an international incident. He inclined his head toward you again, adjusting his glove.
“Well then,” he said, extending his hand toward you, palm open and facing up, “please be careful, miss—”
Your entire body went rigid in a single heartbeat. On your arm, Grim was seconds away from combusting from the stress this situation was causing him.
You returned the slight bow of your head, just formal enough not to raise suspicion despite your heart pounding at a thousand beats per minute.
“Isn’t the whole point of tonight that we don’t ask those kinds of questions?”
There was a pause long enough for you to offer a sideways smile, hoping you hadn’t sounded rude.
Vil’s lips curled upward slightly, approving, almost amused, mentally acknowledging that at least someone knew the rules of the evening.
Azul’s smile changed immediately, shifting from his usual interrogation-ready expression to one suited for social performance.
“Ah,” he murmured. “Quite right. My mistake. A masquerade loses its charm when identities come to light”
Okay. The plan was working beautifully—far better than you had expected. You made a mental note to thank Sam for that potion masking your essence, since neither Leona nor Malleus seemed suspicious of anything.
“If it helps,” you said, testing the waters a little more to confirm your theory, “I’ve never seen figures quite so… unique” Your gaze drifted across each of them. “So your identities would remain a mystery—with or without masks”
Riddle gave a small nod at your comment. “Indeed. The evening discourages such personal revelations unless they are formally necessary”
Thank the Seven that Riddle bought it. And luckily for you, it seemed Idia had too, he was muttering in the background nonstop.
“Thank the gods… minimal social interaction with anonymity settings enabled…”
You let out a quiet breath through your nose, trying to keep it as subtle as possible despite the pressure tightening in your chest during such a surreal interaction. You bowed your head again, ready to give your farewell and move along, taking your first steps toward the plaza.
That should have been the end of it.
“Although…”
Damn it, Azul.
His voice rose again, smooth and composed, turning just enough to place himself at your side as you began to walk.
“It would be negligence on my part not to ensure the safety of the young lady I nearly caused to fall”
Vil moved at the same time, with a grace so natural it was almost insulting; suddenly you had two impeccably dressed elites flanking you like the most elegant bodyguards in the world.
“Cobblestone streets tend to be uneven—especially in heels,” Vil commented, evaluating your posture. Of course he would notice that beneath all those meters of expensive fabric you were wearing heels. Not very high, but high enough to alter your height. “And the crowd is quite enthusiastic, as you mentioned earlier. You shouldn’t be wandering alone”
Azul nodded slightly, adjusting his glasses. “Particularly when a certain tendency toward accidents has already been demonstrated”
The arm holding Grim tightened slightly, drawing a faint squeak from him that only you heard. You looked from side to side, first at Azul, then at Vil, and your gaze dropped straight to the cobblestones.
Oh no. This is very bad.
Behind you, Leona’s voice sounded rough.
“Hey. Don’t crowd her”
All three of you turned to look at him. Leona was dragging a hand down his face, visibly irritated by the situation.
Vil arched a brow, stopping with runway elegance.
“I beg you pardon?”
Azul did the same, forcing you to stop as well and remain right between them. The height difference, privately, was a little funny, if you hadn’t been the center of attention for a very irritated lion.
“Courtesy…” Leona scoffed. “That’s what they call it now?”
You heard Kalim whisper, “Are they flirting?”
And Riddle respond, sounding slightly tired of his classmates, “Knowing them… yes. They are flirting”
You wanted the ground to swallow you whole.
Leona shoved both hands into his pockets, leaning back slightly as he approached, glancing sideways at your two escorts.
“The girl almost fell. You caught her. End of story. You don’t need to start an escort mission for every stranger you run into”
Vil crossed his arms and offered him a sharp smile. “And since when do you care about social manners?”
“Since watching you two circle her like peacocks in heat started giving me a headache,” Leona shot back.
You let out a quiet snort, covering your mouth with your free hand. Grim seemed to snort too, barely holding back laughter, the vibration against your chest made it obvious.
Azul released a soft sigh and pressed his fingers to his temple. “Honestly, is it necessary to reduce every refined interaction to such vulgar interpretations?”
“Yes,” he replied without hesitation, flashing them a half-smile, fangs included. “It’s funny and irritating at the same time watching you act so confident about something that isn’t one of your contracts”
The situation would have been comedic if you weren’t still stuck in the middle of it—and if you weren’t one wrong sentence away from catastrophic exposure.
Unfortunately, you locked eyes with Malleus.
He looked taller than the last time you’d seen him. A glance down confirmed it—he was wearing heeled shoes. This fae added a few extra inches whenever he felt like it, and in the process made you look even smaller.
From his height, Malleus observed you in silence. One arm rested over the other, a finger beneath his chin, studying you. As if he were chasing an echo, something about your voice, your posture, the way you held your shoulders like someone used to dealing with chaos every day.
Your heart thumped harder in your chest.
You looked away and gave another small nod, taking a step back, hoping this time you could finally continue your evening.
“I appreciate the concern, gentlemen,” you said, keeping your voice calm and neutral even though internally you were screaming. “But I assure you I would hate to delay such distinguished guests during their evening”
Both Azul and Vil inclined their heads, accepting the farewell with grace. Leona simply clicked his tongue and turned back toward the others—he had been ready to leave five minutes ago.
With elegance you weren’t even sure where you pulled from, you stepped toward the crowd, letting the skirt spin slightly as the crinoline gave the movement the air of something taken straight from a royal etiquette manual.
“Ah…”
Just that single word was enough to cut off your second escape attempt and push your frustration even higher.
The same notable figure Crowley had been speaking with earlier approached the group. The Noble Bell College uniform was immaculate. Perfect posture, perfect alignment, an expression composed, though clearly carefully practiced to appear so.
“Gentlemen,” he said calmly, “if you would be so kind as to proceed. The welcoming is prepared at the academy, and the festival program is… quite structured”
Crowley, who five minutes ago hadn’t been remotely in sight, reacted immediately, suddenly appearing from behind you and making you jump.
“Ah! Of course, of course! We wouldn’t wish to delay such a beautiful evening!”
Then the student’s eyes shifted toward you, finally registering why the seven leaders had stopped or drifted away from their intended path instead of following him.
And in that precise moment, his gaze changed to recognition.
Recognition that didn’t look good.
Not good for you, anyway.
“I must apologize,” he said, stepping toward you and placing a hand over his chest. “It seems I have committed an unforgivable lapse in courtesy”
The student bowed in a formal, precise, respectful greeting.
“I have spoken with these distinguished guests,” he continued, voice calm and controlled, “and yet I have neglected to acknowledge the presence of a lady among us. Such negligence falls below the standards of Noble Bell College… and my own.”
He straightened with the same refinement with which he had bowed and extended his hand toward you. In your stunned state, you noticed Grim become so perfectly still he could have won a gargoyle contest.
“I am Rollo Flamme,” he said. Now you could finally put a name to the face. “President of the Student Council and host of tonight’s ceremony”
Of all the people you could have drawn attention from at this event, it had to be the highest authority in the entire academy. The host himself. The worst possible person.
“And regardless of the anonymity permitted at this celebration,” Rollo continued, “it remains my responsibility to ensure that every guest within our city is treated with dignity and appropriate protection”
With his palm still extended, he took your hand and bowed again slightly, pressing a kiss against your gloved knuckles. His eyes remained locked onto yours, sharp, observant enough to make you swallow hard.
“Welcome to the festival”
Rollo straightened again and folded his hands in front of him.
“You have indicated that you do not wish to delay these gentlemen,” he continued solemnly. “A considerate sentiment”
There was a pause—and it felt heavy, considering this man still hadn’t taken his eyes off you. If you ran now he would notice. Obviously he would notice your nerves and terrible manners, and you’d look incredibly suspicious.
“But allowing a lady to wander the festival without escort amid such a crowd would be an equivalent lapse in decorum”
Vil offered him an approving smile, and judging by the look Leona was giving the blond from behind, your escape plan was now miles away from happening.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Leona muttered.
Rollo turned halfway toward the dorm leaders and Crowley. “I trust one of you would be willing to provide a brief escort to guarantee her safe passage before rejoining us at the academy”
Kalim, being the sweet, trusting, hyper-energetic Kalim, immediately raised his hand.
“Oh! I can—”
“Absolutely not,” whispered Idia in a panic. “You’ll get lost in these weird streets and probably end up buying the entire festival”
Kalim pouted but didn’t argue.
Azul stepped forward, trying to appear smooth but looking a little too eager to close this contract. “As it happens, I’m already somewhat familiar with the young lady—”
Vil moved at the same time and cut him off. “And I, naturally, would never allow someone dressed so exquisitely to be abandoned to the chaos of the central plaza”
Why do I always have to deal with the chaos? Why?
The plan had been simple: jump through the mirror without the academic staff noticing, lose yourself in the cobblestone streets, avoid eight walking disasters of charisma and complications, eat festival food, take a couple of pictures with Grim, and go home.
The universe really hates me
Crowley, watching the scene half-delighted and half-offended that he wasn’t the center of attention, fanned himself dramatically. “Ah, such gallantry among my students! How my heart swells! You seven are the pride of Night Raven College!”
Rollo folded his hands behind his back, perfectly composed.
“There you have it,” he said calmly. “A simple solution”
And with that, Crowley and Rollo continued on their way toward who knows where—leaving you with seven distinguished students and one problematic cat who was internally seconds away from exploding or fainting.
The procession moved forward...there really was no other word for it.
The dorm leaders walked in immaculate formation along the lantern-lit avenues, and in the middle of that flock you were trying with all your strength not to implode from stress. Grim shifted into both your arms, leaning against you; it was safer that way in case he wanted to whisper something instead of accidentally yelling something incriminating. Now he sat like a very tense, very judgmental decorative accessory beneath his velvet hood.
Kalim bounced closer first. “So! You’re from another school?” he asked cheerfully.
Alright. Time for lies—and the greatest skill for stealth missions: improvising without hesitation.
“I’m not part of the official exchange,” you said calmly, which was technically true. “I came with my family”
Which wasn’t entirely true… though if you counted Grim and the seven people around you who apparently didn’t know the definition of personal space, then maybe it was a… creative reinterpretation.
Azul also approached, much closer than necessary. “I see. Attending an event of this scale independently suggests either excellent connections… or excellent planning”
Vil added lightly, adjusting his sleeve where a button had come undone. The small imperfection clearly offended him. “Or excellent taste”
The button snapped back into place and his gaze returned forward, specifically toward you. “No one assembles such an outfit without understanding the magnitude of the evening”
You turned slightly and offered a half-smile. “I had help.”
Extremely true. Sam deserved several medals, and probably hazard pay.
Grim shifted in your arms, trying to lean closer to whisper something, but halfway through his cloak snagged on your sleeve and you had to adjust him quickly before the hood slipped and exposed him.
Of course Azul noticed the movement beneath the cloak. “And that little companion?”
Dangerous question.
“This?” you tightened your grip slightly. “He’s my brother’s familiar. I’m taking care of him while he’s away at Night Raven College”
Malleus finally joined the conversation. One step brought him only inches behind you. “A creature temporarily bound under your supervision”
His voice was so deep you almost felt it rather than heard it. A chill ran down your spine. “That explains such an elaborate cloak. A responsible choice on your part. You understand how to present the creature with the dignity it deserves”
Grim puffed up slightly beneath the fabric.
“He appears loyal,” Malleus added, his voice calm and serene now, still close, but with the strange sense of omniscience that came from his towering height.
At the comment, Grim let out a small emotional squeak and fought very hard not to respond. You rested a hand over his back through the hood. “He is,” you nodded.
Also extremely true… sometimes… when it suited him… especially when food was involved.
“What kind of creature is the familiar?” Kalim asked, leaning closer again, dangerously close to stepping on your skirt.
You grabbed the fabric with one hand while adjusting Grim onto your shoulder. “He’s a cat. A bit grumpy, especially in the mornings.”
No lie there. Grim tried to object, maybe by digging his claws slightly into your shoulder, but before he could you bounced him upward a little. He made a tiny complaint and stayed still.
“So cute!” Kalim said excitedly. “Hey! Does he need something to eat?”
“No! No!” you answered quickly. “He’s fine, he already ate a lot a few minutes ago.”
The last thing you needed was for this ray of sunshine to feed him the way he had with cookies back in Scarabia.
“Your familiar eats human food?” Riddle asked, clearly puzzled.
“…sometimes”
You wobbled slightly as if thinking, though really you were scrambling for the right words to fix the mistake you’d just made. “Not much—mostly fish. But there was a familiar food stall a few blocks from the central plaza, so I bought him a little treat”
You patted him gently to demonstrate how well-behaved he was.
“Aww, what a shame,” Kalim deflated. “I would’ve liked to feed the little guy”
The little guy shifted slightly, probably remembering the same thing: the time Kalim had stuffed him with endless cookies. Grim shrank into your shoulder and whispered barely audibly.
“Prefect… when we’re done, I want another snack”
That sounded so Grim you had to pinch him to keep the humiliation of staying quiet from going to his head.
“Don’t be discouraged,” Azul said, stepping beside Kalim. “We were allowed to enjoy the festival, so we may indulge a little in the culinary arts of this city”
“You’re right!” Kalim brightened instantly. “We can try the éclairs! Or croissants! Baguettes! The honey buns from that stall behind us!”
What a combination of flour and carbohydrates. But it sounded so good...and sooo necessary.
All day Grim hadn’t let you eat in peace except for breakfast, the little gremlin had devoured snack after snack. You, on the other hand…you were actually starving.
Maybe the discomfort showed on your face, or maybe your stomach growled beneath all those layers of fabric. Either way, Vil noticed.
“Perhaps we could offer our escorted young lady something sweet?” His hands folded behind his back as he leaned slightly toward you.
“That seems appropriate, although…” Riddle added thoughtfully, “young lady, would you actually like us to treat you to something?”
In theory, yes. In practice… was it sensible to let them buy you something? You really did want to eat, and you hadn’t brought much money. Well...Grim had already spent more than half of it on everything he’d devoured, plus a small trinket he bought from a craft stall.
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you with such a triviality,” you began calmly. “It would be imprudent—”
“Nonsense!” Kalim cut you off. “We can buy you anything you want!”
Before you could even think of a counterargument, he had already rushed to a nearby stall and paid for five different types of sweets. The others stopped to wait for him, and you took the moment to adjust your skirt and Grim on your shoulder. Standing still, Grim quietly stretched himself across both shoulders like a scarf and settled there, balanced enough for when you started walking again.
“Can I eat some of what he brings?” he whispered.
“No,” you whispered back, barely moving your lips.
When Kalim returned, he carried two paper bags in both hands.
In one bag he had bought eight different flavors of macarons—some common ones like chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla. Others were bizarre flavor combinations you would have preferred to donate to the ghosts of Ramshackle.
In the other bag were two chocolate éclairs, two pains au chocolat, two crescent pastries with a bright glaze, and two honey-cinnamon puff pastries.
A direct trip to diabetes.
The bag with the assorted sweets he handed to Riddle with such enthusiasm that the redhead actually leaned back a little from the force. Riddle blinked once, twice, then opened the bag and tilted his head to inspect the contents. He passed an éclair to Idia, who took it with a trembling hand and immediately retreated to eat it where no one could see him.
With the other bag still in hand, Kalim offered you a strawberry macaron. “Here! Take it! My treat!” he said with the brightest, warmest smile you had ever seen at NRC.
You hesitated for a second, but the sweet was so perfectly made, round and glossy, that refusing it would have felt like a crime. You took it delicately with your fingers and gave it a small bite instead of shoving the whole thing into your mouth out of habit. You might have been hungry, but manners and appearances mattered right now.
“How is it? Is it good?” Kalim was already handing out the other macarons to the rest, even to Leona, who took one between two fingers and inspected it with mild disinterest.
“It’s delicious. Thank you for such a generous gesture” You took another bite and the macaron was gone. You brushed your hands together and were about to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, but stopped yourself, licking your lip to catch any crumbs.
Riddle pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and offered it to you. “Here”
You took it with slight embarrassment and wiped the corners of your mouth. When you tried to return it, he shook his head. “Don’t worry. You can keep it”
You looked down at the handkerchief, delicate, red with black embroidered details. His initial stitched neatly in one corner. It had the look of something personal, perhaps a gift from his mother or something he had commissioned himself.
“Are you sure?” you asked, uneasy about keeping something so personal.
“I’m sure. It’s a handkerchief, it doesn’t carry emotional weight” He accepted the bag of sweets back from Kalim as the other boy handed him a macaron.
You looked at the handkerchief again and folded it neatly in four. The only problem now was where to put it. A mischievous idea crossed your mind for less than a second: tuck it between your breasts the way people used to do to tease admirers.
But no. You absolutely could not do that...though it would have been hilarious.
Instead, you slipped it into the folds of your skirt, improvising a small pocket. After adjusting the dress and crinoline again, you waited for the group to resume walking. The sun was beginning to dip, the first orange rays of evening spreading across the sky.
This time Leona resumed walking beside you.
His stride was heavy, hands in his pockets, his expression carrying such profound boredom it could qualify as an art form. You had no idea what he had done with the macaron; whether he ate it or casually discarded it somewhere with stealth so refined that no one noticed.
All the while he had been watching you fuss with your skirt, holding it with one hand so it wouldn’t tangle around your feet.
Then, with the faintest sigh, as if remembering he shouldn’t be too obvious about observing others, he stepped a little closer.
“Watch your step,” he murmured low enough that only you could hear. “These streets are uneven”
It sounded suspiciously like Azul’s earlier warning, but filtered through Leona’s flavor of bluntness.
Before you could answer or adjust your pace properly, he extended his arm, wiith no ceremony, as if it meant absolutely nothing to him.
But the gesture itself was pure etiquette.
“If you trip again,” he added in a flat tone without even looking at you, “that bird’s going to make us repeat this whole escort nonsense. I’m not dealing with that again”
In simple terms: take Leona’s arm so this ends faster.
Your eyes drifted to his face, half-hidden behind a mask, his hair tied in a simple ponytail. His lazy aura was still there, but layered beneath it.
Even if he showed little interest in events like this, the fact that he was wearing a mask at all was already significant. To you—the mysterious, nameless young lady—he was simply another stranger. You had no reason to recognize the second prince of Sunset Savanna.
And that gave him the advantage. If he wanted to act with the princely manners he had unfortunately been taught, he would use them, especially if it earned him a few points in front of the others. If everyone else was interacting with you, he wasn’t about to sit out.
To the passing crowd, it simply looked like a stranger offering steady support to a young woman in a crowded foreign city whose shoes were poorly suited for cobblestones.
You gently hooked your hand around his arm. “Thank you”
Leona said nothing, just clicked his tongue and gave the faintest nod.
The streets narrowed as you moved toward the academy district. The lanternlight softened. The crowd thinned just enough that conversation no longer sounded like shouting over the festival and began to feel… almost private.
Which unfortunately meant questions; Polite ones, curious ones, persistent ones.
Kalim, as usual, took it upon himself to begin. “So how did you arrange this visit?” he asked. “You said you didn’t come with the official delegations”
“That’s right,” you replied—truthfully. “My family organized the trip. I’m mostly… exploring while they attend to their obligations.”
Which, technically, was also true.
Azul slipped smoothly into the conversation. “Exploring an unfamiliar city suggests remarkable confidence,” he said, adjusting his glasses and smiling the way he did just before landing a new client. “Or considerable experience”
“A bit of both”
“Have you attended events of this scale before?” Riddle asked next, his tone measured but curious rather than strict. “The protocol at gatherings like this can be… overwhelming”
“Not exactly like this,” you admitted. “But I’ve dealt with large gatherings. And… unpredictable situations”
Behind everyone, you heard Idia mutter quietly: “…that sounds like nightmare difficulty in social interactions…”
Frankly, the poor guy already looked like he was about to log out of the event if they didn’t reach their destination soon.
“Yet you don’t seem intimidated,” Malleus said, speaking over Idia’s murmuring.
“I learned that most disasters start the same way,” you replied, pausing to choose your words carefully. “If nothing is exploding yet and no one is screaming… things are usually going well”
That comment earned you seven pairs of eyes.
Because what you had just said perfectly summarized life at a certain academy where mornings often began with students yelling, magic spiraling out of control despite professors supposedly teaching discipline, and overblots happening far too often.
Leona glanced sideways at you and huffed thoughtfully. Azul simply folded his arms and seemed to consider your answer.
“An interesting philosophy,” he said, tapping his fingers against his arm. “Quite pragmatic… and resilient”
Grim shifted slightly on your shoulders, practically vibrating with the effort not to shout HNYA, we’ve fought literal overblots every month, you have no idea!
You scratched his head lightly over the hood as a warning, and the trembling stopped. Riddle stepped forward slightly and inclined his head toward the gesture, curiosity flickering in his eyes.
“Your brother must trust you greatly if he left his familiar with you”
“He does,” you nodded.
Riddle responded with a thoughtful hum. “Responsibility reflects well on both of you”
You glanced at him from the corner of your eye and smiled.
If he knew how responsible you really were—sneaking into a festival and academic event without authorization, in a country far from the island, in a world you barely understood—well… that comment would collapse like a badly built card tower.
But as you watched him, you also noticed something else.
The way Riddle politely guided passersby out of your path. Azul adjusting his pace so you wouldn’t have to walk faster. Vil subtly steering the group away from the rougher patches of cobblestone without saying a word. Even Idia hovered closer than usual, like some socially terrified wizard who had nonetheless decided he was the party’s defensive mage in a DnD campaign.
Leona kept his stride steady beside you, perfectly matching your pace. And Malleus remained watchful, hands ready to guide a passerby aside or catch you if you stumbled.
The shift was obvious, they weren’t escorting a random girl anymore...They were engaging with her.
“It’s unusual to meet someone at this sort of event who speaks as directly as you do,” Azul said, almost as if the conversation he wanted was simply… a conversation.
Vil nodded from the front of the group. “Most attendees here are desperately trying to impress,” he said, turning his head toward you. “Whereas you, my lady, manage to impress simply by walking”
“And you’re easy to talk to too! It’s really nice!” Kalim added brightly.
From behind you, Idia muttered: “…low-pressure NPC with unexpectedly high dialogue quality…”
Oh. My. Sevens.
They’re flirting.
They are actually flirting.
And they have absolutely no idea that the person they’re flirting with is you—the extremely human, magicless prefect who attracts catastrophic overblot-level disasters like seasonal colds. All you needed was a mask, an expensive dress, and no identity.
Suddenly the seven of them were treating you like royalty.
Your cheeks flushed faintly pink. Part of you wondered—just for a second—if you could take advantage of this a little longer. It wasn’t every day these well-trained disasters behaved like gentlemen.
Another part of you was on the verge of imploding because the same seven who usually competed in ego wars (Kalim excluded) now seemed oddly invested in your company.
Please do not let this night end with all seven of them having a crush on me.
You would never survive looking them in the eye tomorrow. One or two you could handle.
Seven? That would end in a battlefield.
Ahead of you, the academy gates came into view. Tall. Ornate. Illuminated by elegant lanterns while guests streamed inside.
The perfect place for this illusion to end, before their gazes got any more intense. Your steps slowed slightly, and the others adjusted automatically.
Beyond the gates, upper balconies glowed with light and stained-glass windows scattered multicolored shards across the courtyard.
Vil glanced toward them. “A beautiful aesthetic, exactly what one would expect from the student council president,” he commented, violet eyes bright with approval. “Fleur City always delivers the finest spectacles”
Leona exhaled softly beside you. “Tch. If this thing runs longer than it should, I’m leaving”
Your lips curled faintly upward. That was such a Leona comment.
And then Idia, apparently unusually chatty tonight, talked loud enough for everyone to hear. “…pretty sure this ends with a final boss spawning in the middle of the hall at biblical difficulty…”
You couldn’t stop the laugh.
You tried to make it sound like a small huff—but the laugh slipped out naturally. Bright, familiar, too familiar.
The sound hung in the air like a memory someone had just pulled out of a locked drawer. Leona’s arm stiffened under your hand; Azul’s eyes sharpened; Vil tilted his head; Kalim blinked; Riddle froze; Idia looked like someone who had just connected two impossible dots; And Malleus’s gaze deepened.
Your pulse skyrocketed, you closed your eyes for half a second and pressed your lips together.
Idiot.
You cleared your throat quickly and stepped back. “I'm sorry,” you said lightly, smoothing your tone. “Just… the moment”
You released Leona’s arm. Another step back gave them space as the academy gates loomed only a short distance away.
“I believe this is where our paths separate,” you said with an elegant bow. “You have fulfilled your duty admirably”
Azul recovered first. “Well,” he said, though his eyes were still attentive, “this has been… unexpectedly pleasant.”
Kalim waved energetically. “I hope you enjoy the rest of the festival!”
Leona looked at your hand, then folded his arms again. “Watch where you step.”
Malleus returned your bow with one hand over his chest. “If fate allows it, I would welcome another conversation.”
You straightened. “Then perhaps fate will be kind.”
You picked Grim up in both arms, because you needed something to do with your hands, and turned toward the academy entrance.
One step...then another. Trying to look composed, just another guest entering the celebration.
Internally? You were about three seconds away from completely losing your nerve.
╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌
The moment the academy doors swallowed you, you didn’t stop, nor you didn’t slow down; in fact, you sped up.
You didn’t admire the architecture, the vaulted stone corridors, the candlelit banners, the elegant streams of guests drifting toward the grand hall.
You took a side corridor, then another, then passed through an open arch into a quieter cloister, with tall windows and ivy climbing the walls. Only when the distant noise of the courtyard softened into a manageable murmur did you finally exhale.
“…Okay,” Grim whispered from your arms. “…we’re still alive.”
“Barely.” Your lips tightened, the pressure in your chest still fighting to break free.
“That laugh almost killed us.”
“I know, Grim.” You leaned against the cold stone column and adjusted his hood so you could see his face.
“…those idiots seemed to like you, huh?” His eyes bulged slightly, and judging by his posture he was as close to a stress-induced meltdown as you were.
You shut your eyes at the memory. “Don’t remind me… that’s a problem”
“I’m glad to see my earlier concern wasn’t unfounded”
The lantern light flickered softly across the cloister floor. Somewhere deeper inside the academy, the music began again, more structured now, more ceremonial.
Why? Why can’t I have one moment of peace?
Your spine stiffened instantly, you turned.
At the entrance of the cloister stood Rollo with a posture so perfect it could belong to a movie villain. Hands clasped behind his back, expression calm and attentive. The lanternlight traced a warm outline around him… almost like flames.
“I trust the escort provided by Night Raven College proved sufficient,” he said calmly. Grim froze again like a gargoyle—after ducking his head and burrowing into your chest.
You inclined your head politely. “More than sufficient, President Flamme. Your hospitality is… thorough”
“It is my responsibility,” he replied. “A host must ensure that no guest experiences discomfort within our city”
He stepped closer, not intruding, simply shortening the conversational distance with careful etiquette. “I must admit,” he continued, thoughtful rather than stern, “it is rare to encounter attendees whose affiliation is not immediately apparent”
Another step forward. You stayed exactly where you were, clutching Grim like a plush toy.
“May I ask…” he said, choosing his words carefully, as if trying to avoid creating a scene, “whether you come from another academy?”
You didn’t allow yourself to hesitate. “My family travels frequently. I accompany them this season” The answer came out quickly, too quickly to sound completely natural.
Which, technically… wasn’t entirely false.
If one ignored the circumstances of that accompaniment.
“And do you personally practice magic?”
A simple question. Simple—and judging by the atmosphere this man radiated, a dangerous one. You didn’t know why, but the way Rollo always remained composed and asked such direct questions made something in your instincts prickle.
Your gaze dropped briefly to Grim as you scratched his head, forcing a small smile like you were remembering a relative who didn’t actually exist.
“My brother is the gifted one in the family” You looked back at him. “He’s the one formally enrolled at Night Raven College”
Rollo’s eyes sharpened slightly. “I see” His gaze lowered toward Grim’s hood. “And that bundle is a familiar, I assume?”
“Correct,” you replied, adjusting Grim again; your arms were starting to ache. The cat was definitely getting fat. “He belongs to my brother, I care for him while he’s occupied.”
His eyes studied you for a moment, like someone inspecting the symmetry of a cathedral window. If he was looking for something suspicious, he didn’t say it aloud.
But he made you sweat. A cold drop slid down your spine, you were getting tired of this much stress.
“How fortunate,” he said at last, allowing you to breathe again. “To have family capable of assuming such responsibility”
He and Riddle would probably get along, you thought. Both had that particular pride in responsibility and decorum. Which made it odd that Rollo wasn’t currently with the NRC delegation discussing formalities with Riddle.
Why wasn’t he there with them?
“In my experience,” Rollo continued quietly, walking past you to look toward the garden beyond the cloister, “those born without magic often develop… a clearer perspective on consequences”
You frowned slightly, unsure where that comment was going. “Perhaps,” you replied neutrally.
His gaze returned to you. Now he stood directly in front of you, but his posture wasn’t interrogative, although something about the moment felt like the beginning of a tense conversation.
Great. Add another person to the list of people you had to be careful speaking around. As if dealing with every student at NRC wasn’t already exhausting enough.
“At Noble Bell, we place great value on the upbringing of our guests,” he said. His voice remained firm and formal. “Often, that reveals more than titles or affiliations”
A polite way of saying tell me about your background.
And what a background that was.
“What does your family do, if I may ask?”
Your eyes widened slightly. You remembered questions like this from your own world...a little classist, a little creepy, if you were being honest.
Your mind started spinning. Whatever you said now would have consequences—and could unravel your lie instantly.
Rich merchants? Too easy to verify.
Minor nobility? Far too risky.
Foreign lineage? Absolutely not.
You needed something visible, difficult to check, socially plausible… and open to interpretation.
“…performance,” you said finally, tilting your head with a small smile.
Rollo narrowed his eyes slightly, mirroring the tilt of your head. “Performance”
“My family works within musical circles.” You stepped toward the cloister columns, letting your eyes drift toward the small garden to buy yourself a breath of space from his scrutiny. “Ceremonial events, private patronage, festivals like this… occasionally.”
Technically…not entirely false.
If one counted the endless chaos-filled performances NRC dragged you into cleaning up afterward.
“And you?” he asked, moving to stand beside you.
“Me… what?” You had been staring at a flower you thought was an orange lily-of-the-valley and hadn’t processed the question. Your body turned slightly toward him, hip angled casually.
“What do you practice?”
“Ah…” Your expression faltered for half a second in embarrassment. You hadn’t prepared that answer.
“Vocal training.” Your eyes returned to the garden. “Beginner”
If yelling at Grim every morning so he wouldn’t make you late for class counted as vocal training. Or shouting at Ace and Deuce when their clown-level stupidity dragged you into disasters. Enough practice to develop excellent lungs.
“Singing,” you finished.
For one terrible second you thought you had overplayed it. But Rollo didn’t react, he simply nodded.
“A disciplined art,” he said. His brows lifted slightly, careful not to appear judgmental. “Music, when practiced with devotion, reflects order.”
He extended his hands in front of him, left hand outward. “Structure” Right hand outward. “Harmony” His palms opened, fingers long and precise. “The sacred ceremonies of this city rely greatly on vocal precision.” His head turned toward the distant sound of a choir rising from the main hall. “A poorly trained chorus can ruin an entire liturgical sequence”
You followed his gaze toward the archway leading to the side corridor and listened to the choir for a few seconds. “I prefer small audiences.”
“A wise preference,” Rollo nodded, exhaling softly in time with the rising harmony of the chorus. “True refinement rarely requires spectacle”
You leaned slightly to study his face—pure curiosity. His expression softened for a moment under the layered voices of the choir, as if the music were something sacred to him.
The moment lasted only a few seconds. Then he composed himself again, hands folded neatly before him, his attention returning to you. You straightened as well.
“You speak with unusual composure for someone outside the academic delegations,” he said, stepping closer. “Most visitors tonight are eager to attract attention”
You pressed your lips together in a small thoughtful pout, tilting your head toward the music as if weighing the idea. Thinking, and thinking.
“It’s easier to listen first…” You gave him a crooked smile. “Attention can be exhausting sometimes”
Rollo exhaled again—subtle, but visible. “Yes…” His eyes lingered on yours. “…it certainly can be”
Then, like a dramatic punctuation mark in a poorly timed story, a massive bell rang out. The sound cracked through the academy like thunder; deep, heavy and close. The vibration rolled through the stone around you.
“It seems the ceremony is about to begin.”
You turned toward the corridor as the footsteps of guests echoed more strongly through the halls, a tide moving toward the grand hall.
Rollo adjusted his attire, the robe, even the large hat, then extended his hand to you exactly as he had earlier in the plaza, the other hand behind his back.
“It would be improper to allow a guest unfamiliar with the academy to navigate the inner corridors alone during a formal assembly”
Ah… damn
“I will escort you personally.” There was no room for debate. Decision made. End of discussion.
Refusing now would be far more suspicious than accepting.
“You are very thorough, President Flamme,” you said with a bow that nearly reached the floor, holding Grim with one arm and your hat with the other so it wouldn’t slip.
“Thoroughness prevents disorder,” he replied calmly.
He waited patiently for your hand. When you placed it in his, his fingers closed gently around yours. The cold edge of his ring brushed your skin even through the glove. “This way”
The academy corridors unfolded ahead of you. Candles lined the walls in strict rows, the stained glass windows were fading under the last rays of sunset. Immaculate white columns framed the space while the ceremonial atmosphere gathered like a curtain before a stage performance.
“For someone outside the formal delegations,” Rollo commented as you approached the reading hall entrance, “you carry yourself with remarkable composure”
“I’ve learned to adapt quickly,” you said, tilting your head slightly. That, at least, was the most honest thing you had said all day.
“A valuable skill.”
Grim’s small claws pressed into your sleeve, his silent signal that things were going very wrong.
Ahead, the corridor opened. Golden light from enormous chandeliers flooded the hall, marble floors gleamed beneath towering stained-glass pillars, the ceremonial music swelled as hundreds of voices gathered at the center.
Rollo slowed his pace as you approached and gently guided you closer so the entire hall opened before your view.
“The seating is organized by delegation,” he explained, gesturing upward with his free hand. “However, independent guests may observe from the upper galleries”
Translation: He was personally installing you in the best observation point in the building.
Most likely surrounded by staff, highly visible, no escape routes.
Wonderful.
He pointed toward a marble staircase rising along the hall wall. “From there you will have a perfect view”
You lifted your gaze toward the upper gallery, marble and stone just as ornate as the rest of the hall, and quite spacious.
“If you require anything, attendants will be nearby” Then he released your hand.
Standing straight as a ceremonial statue, he bowed once more—legs aligned perfectly like a prince finishing a formal greeting. “I trust the presentation will justify your attendance”
And with that, he left.
Once again, you were alone with Grim.
“…hey… henchman…” a small whisper came from inside the cloak.
“…yeah?” You still hadn’t taken your eyes off Rollo’s retreating figure down the corridor.
“We have VIP seats”
“…yeah”
Grim sighed. You felt his tail go limp across your shoulder. “…this night is going spectacularly”
You released a long breath. “…absolutely.”
Then you turned and started up the stairs.
╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌
The bell never finished its final resonance.
One moment the reading hall was perfectly synchronized with the ceremony, waiting for the famous magical bell artifact to sound… and the next moment fire.
Not the warm glow of decorative candles lining the hall. Not a ceremonial brazier. Not a controlled magical flame meant to add theatrical flair.
These were real flames, hungry ones, full of magic—and disturbingly selective.
They burst upward along the cathedral columns in violent ribbons of orange while the massive bell roared like a living thing. Heat tore through the hall, guests screamed, the polished order of the ceremony collapsed instantly into panic.
“My magic—!”
“It’s not activating!”
“What’s happening?!”
The sound spread in waves, confusion becoming fear, fear becoming absolute chaos.
From the upper gallery, smoke already curling over the carved railing, you clutched Grim tightly to your chest.
“This has officially turned into a disaster!” you inhaled as deeply as you could, staring down at the inferno rising below.
“HNYA!! FOO! FOO!” Grim tried blowing at the approaching flames. “PREFECT, THE FIRE’S GETTING CLOSER!”
“I CAN SEE THAT!”
Guests surged toward exits in disorganized waves, assistants shouted directions nobody followed, sparks rained down as part of the decorative canopy collapsed in a burst of embers.
You backed against the stone wall, keeping distance from the fire. The flames were climbing quickly now, you could feel them licking the hem of your skirt. You yanked the fabric away and moved sideways along the wall toward the corridor exit.
“If this dress burns,” you said with deadly seriousness, even as the smoke made your breathing ragged, “I swear by the Seven, Grim, I will make you work overtime to pay off our debt to Sam”
“THAT’S YOUR PRIORITY RIGHT NOW!?”
“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH THIS FABRIC COSTS?!”
A small explosion cracked beside you and you hurried your steps. You pulled off your hat and held it over your nose, shielding both you and Grim from the smoke.
The bell thundered again. But now it wasn’t announcing a ceremony, or the hour, or the arrival of magic into a new era.
It was weaponized.
“…Okay,” you muttered, forcing yourself to stay calm and conserving oxygen as best you could. Your eyes scanned the gallery exits, fallen chandeliers, and the storm of wildflower petals drifting through the hall. “Time to save their asses… again.”
The bell roared, the metallic blast split the air so violently the stained-glass windows trembled, and with that resonance, more petals erupted into the burning air.
At first it looked almost beautiful, orange petals floating down toward the flames, dozens, then hundreds. A storm of glowing flowers falling from the bell tower like drifting embers.
One brushed the sleeve of a fleeing mage, the flower ignited bright red on contact, its petals burned from within. Smoke rose as the student’s spell collapsed instantly, magic ripped out of the air like someone unplugging reality itself.
“My magic—! It’s gone!”
Another flower fell, another flare, another failed spell. Understanding spread faster than the fire.
“They’re draining it—!”
“Don’t let them touch you!”
More petals rained down, brushing cloaks, masks, bare hands, triggering bursts of flame wherever they landed, leaving scorched fabric and a dead silence where magic should have answered.
The grand hall—seconds ago filled with the most skilled magical students from several academies—was now packed with people who couldn’t conjure a single spark.
Grim twisted in your arms. “PREFECT THIS IS BAD—REALLY BAD—”
You saw one flower drifting toward you and flattened yourself against the wall. The corridor behind you was already engulfed in flames, the staircase was starting to burn. You couldn’t stop the petal gliding over the gallery railing straight toward your sleeve.
It touched the fabric…Nothing happened. No flame, no burn, no magic drain. Because there was nothing to drain, the petal simply slid off your sleeve and landed harmlessly on the floor.
You lifted your arm, no damage. You squeezed Grim tighter against your chest and turned toward the stairs.
“It only drains magic!” you shouted over the roar of the fire.
“That means—”
“That means,” you snapped, voice sharp with the absolutely terrible decision you were about to make, “while everyone else is getting drained—”
You took the stairs two at a time, dodging small flames licking across the marble. “—someone without magic is the most useful person in the entire building!”
Grim’s eyes went wide, he realized it instantly. The only one who could move freely through this chaos…was you.
Without thinking twice you leapt the final stretch of stairs, landing inelegantly on the main floor. Before the flames could reach the hem of your dress you yanked the fabric aside and bolted across the hall.
“Hot! Hot! Hot!” Yes, talking while running through a smoke-filled hall was stupid, but it was the only way to vent the stress as you sprinted through the wide arches.
And at the center of the inferno...the seven dorm leaders stood in formation, imposing order on chaos the only way they knew how; loudly, stubbornly.
“Clear evacuation routes!” shouted Riddle. “We need civilians out—now!”
Idia was shouting too, panic turning his brain into a rapid-fire analysis machine. “The flowers are linked to the bell! It’s a distributed power source!”
Kalim and Azul were already dousing nearby flames with water magic. Even Malleus, with his power weakened, had air swirling around him like a contained cyclone, deflecting falling petals.
All seven were staring upward toward the tower. Where the bell still rang, where more flowers kept falling, and where one man stood watching the chaos below with chilling superiority.
Rollo.
“This world has suffered too long under the rule of magic!” he shouted, completely unhinged. His staff swung wildly, sending waves of burning flowers across the hall. “Power brings only arrogance! Destruction! Chaos!”
Another bell strike, more petals, the last scraps of magic began to fail.
“I will end this suffering!” His voice cracked into something almost like a sob. “Even if the flames must purify this city!”
Grim buried his face deeper in the cloak against your shoulder. “…yeah okay… he’s lost it”
The leaders moved before you could blink. All seven redirected the remaining magic they could muster, pushing the falling flowers away in bursts of wind—though the currents also fed the fire.
“Watch the flames!” shouted Vil, already extinguishing a decorative banner that had caught fire.
Leona had launched himself toward a pillar, dodging both the flames and the falling flowers with the kind of speed he only used during Magift. With King’s Roar, he turned every piece of furniture already on fire into sand.
Tiny grains scattered through the air as more flowers fell from the bell tower, only to dissolve the moment they touched the drifting sand.
“NO!” shouted Rollo, staggering slightly. “Magic must disappear! Even if I must burn this city to its foundation, I will finish what I started!”
The flames burst upward again, bathing the entire reading hall in violent orange and red light, smoke was already swallowing the last breathable air.
You ducked as a piece of the structure collapsed, crushing a bench beneath it, splinters of wood scattered everywhere.
“Henchman!” Grim coughed. “This is the part where the villain stops being organized and becomes erratically dangerous!”
“…good call, Grim.” He was right. After dealing with multiple overblots, both of you knew the pattern by heart.
And if there was something else you’d learned after months inside a school full of wildly irresponsible magic users, and a few outright fanatics, it was this: You don’t argue with them.
Especially not a fanatic who’s currently burning down a city.
You placed Grim beneath the archway entrance of the hall, hiding him from the flames under a stretch of marble structure, the doors were already open where civilians had escaped.
Then you ran straight toward the fire, toward the seven idiots fighting inside it. Or maybe you were the idiot for charging into an inferno wearing a highly flammable dress with zero magic.
But hey—adrenaline does wonderful things to a person’s judgment.
“WAIT—!” you heard Grim squeak over the crackling fire.
You didn’t look back, your eyes were locked on the chaos ahead. You didn’t think rationally either—because sometimes the optimal solution…is interrupting a villain’s speech with physical violence.
You ran, and ran and ran. You rushed past Riddle, who only caught a glimpse of a swirl of black and red fabric from the corner of his eye, unable to see clearly through the heat distortions.
But when you planted your foot, twisted your body, and raised your arm—every dorm leader became very aware of your presence in the flames.
Crack.
Your fist slammed directly into Rollo’s face. A solid human punch, powered by frustration and adrenaline. His head snapped sideways, the speech he was about to shout died halfway up his throat.
He staggered back a step, hand flying to his cheek, his eyes went wide, pure disbelief flooding his expression. No one in his perfectly ordered life had ever punched him.
The fire flickered, then slowly began to die down. The hall inhaled again, tThe room seemed to exhale with it.
You lowered your hand slowly, breathing hard, then bent forward as the pain finally hit your knuckles.
“…ow”
The pain shot up your arm, you shook your hand violently, hopping slightly on your feet.
“Shit,” you muttered, clutching your hand for a moment before shaking it again. “That hurts...oh hell that hurts”
You looked at Rollo, voice rough from the smoke. “Could you maybe not burn down a city over your personal issues for five minutes?!”
You bent forward again. “Damn! Your bones are hard!”
Behind you—
“SHE JUST DEFEATED THE FINAL BOSS WITH A HOOK PUNCH!” shouted Idia, unable to contain what he had just witnessed.
“…okay,” you groaned through clenched teeth. “That was one of the worst decisions of my life” Under the glove, your knuckles were already swelling.
“Don’t move” The voice of Vil arrived calm, sharp, perfectly controlled now that the end-of-the-world situation had paused.
He gently took your wrist and carefully removed your glove. The skin around your knuckles was red and throbbing, you could barely move your fingers without a stab of pain running all the way to your shoulder.
“That impact could have fractured something,” he said, lifting your hand and examining it. He turned it carefully in different directions, moving your fingers slightly, visibly irritated. “Honestly. Barbaric… effective, but barbaric”
Azul stepped beside him, his tone smooth but edged with concern. “Allow us to help. We can perform basic healing spells”
Riddle was already clearing space nearby, dragging charred furniture aside. “Give the young lady air!”
Kalim rushed over as well, dodging debris and wilted flowers. “Are you okay? Does it hurt a lot?” he asked, leaning in beside Vil to inspect the damage.
You tried to pull your hand away. “I’m fine—”
Vil didn’t allow it, tightening his hold slightly, though not painfully. “Do not argue while you are injured”
“…okay”
Azul placed his fingers lightly against your knuckles. A faint spell flickered between them, much weaker than his magic normally shone. A soft blue glow wrapped around your hand, cold, like pressing an ice pack against the injury.
The swelling eased slightly, the pain dulling from a sharp stab to a manageable ache.
“This is only temporary relief,” Azul said, withdrawing his hand. Vil released your wrist as well. “You will require proper treatment later”
You flexed your fingers carefully, the muscles moved without too much resistance.
“…thanks” You slowly pulled the glove back on. The soft fabric brushed the injury and you winced faintly.
Leona had been watching the entire time with narrowed eyes, arms crossed. “Do you usually run into burning buildings?”
His tone was flat, not mocking, nor scolding, just… curious. You tilted your head, thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “Seemed like the fastest way to stop him.”
“Speed is not always the most efficient method,” remarked Malleus as he stepped closer, checking if you’d been injured anywhere besides your hand. “Do you require further assistance, miss?”
“I’m fine now, really. Thank you” Malleus inclined his head and didn’t press further.
Instead he stepped back and cast a small spell—simple for him even in his weakened state, but still effective. The air cleared instantly, smoke and ash were swept away. At last, the reading hall could breathe again, even with the aftermath of the fight still hanging in the air.
Without the smoke, the damage was impossible to ignore. Several pieces of furniture had been reduced to ash, none of the decorative fabrics had escaped the flames, some burned down to their first threads, others halfway through their tapestry. Black scorch marks stained the marble floor, several stained-glass windows were cracked. A few more seconds and the glass would have exploded.
“…I…” Behind you, a trembling voice finally broke free from its daze.
Rollo was still standing exactly where the punch had left him, his hand pressed to his cheek, shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths. His voice was faint—barely more than a whisper. The fury that had filled it minutes ago had collapsed entirely.
“…I only wanted…” His voice cracked. “…to stop everything tied to magic… to remove the world’s pain”
His gaze drifted across the ruined hall, the ashes, the chaos his plan had unleashed. “This… is…”
His knee buckled and he nearly collapsed to the floor if you hadn’t moved quickly and caught his arm. The others stiffened immediately, stepping forward, ready to protect you from the suddenly fragile fanatic. You raised your hand to stop them.
Then you guided him toward the small central step and let him sit. Silence stretched as you allowed him time to breathe normally again.
On the floor beside you lay a violet handkerchief, scattered with ash. You picked it up, shook off as much dirt as possible, and held it out to him. Rollo stared at your hand, then at your eyes, then at the hand again.
His jaw tightened as he swallowed before finally taking the cloth and pressing it against his cheek, which was already darkening into a bruise.
His shoulders slumped. “…I have failed,” he whispered. “My obsession endangered thousands of citizens… and my students”
He took a shaky breath and bowed his head where he sat. “…I offer my most sincere apologies.”
The apology wasn’t just meant for you, or the seven standing behind you. It was for every guest, for his city, for his school, for the entire world he had nearly burned to the ground.
“The evening is ruined,” he said before trying to stand, you helped him again, slipping your arm under his. “The ceremony cannot continue under these conditions.”
He looked genuinely distressed, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. You kept your grip steady and glanced toward the entrance. Grim was still waiting there, sitting quietly—but clearly trying not to vibrate from the tension. The doorway itself was intact, and the area around it too.
Yes, the hall was wrecked…but wasn’t magic also meant to help, not just destroy?
Also… where the hell was Crowley when someone actually needed him? Of course. Useless bird.
“…is it?” you said, breaking the thick tension.
Rollo turned toward you, startled, and you gave him a small, almost amused look and shrugged again.
“The structure is still standing, fortunately” Your gaze swept the damaged hall. “And the guests are safe”
It seemed Malleus shared your thinking, he stepped forward. “A ceremony is not defined by perfection,” he said, extending his arms slightly toward the hall. “But by those who gather within it… and choose to remain”
Rollo blinked, slightly disoriented. Malleus stepped closer, now standing in front of both of you.
“If the host permits,” he continued, his eyes sincere and calm, “Night Raven College would be willing to offer a performance in place of the interrupted program”
Kalim’s eyes lit up instantly as he joined the circle. “Oh! We can do that!”
From further back, Idia fiddled nervously with the sleeves of his very extravagant suit. “…are we activating emergency concert mode…?” His face looked like someone ready to teleport back to his room and lock the door for the next week.
Azul removed his hat and tapped it against his leg, knocking loose a few ash particles clinging to its ocean-themed decorations. “A collaborative performance would calm the guests and stabilize the atmosphere”
Leona let out a loud grunt. “You guys are annoying”
Clearly uncomfortable with the resolution, he turned and walked down the hall, but not toward the exit. Instead he kicked a fairly intact bench and dropped onto it.
“…you’re not going to help, are you?” snapped Vil, arms crossed.
“I’m not singing if that’s what you’re asking, pretty boy” Leona leaned back, arms behind his head, eyes closing as if savoring what little peace remained before chaos resumed.
You snorted softly and turned your head away, covering your mouth to hide a smile.
“This night does not have to end in ashes,” Malleus said again. “Not if you decide otherwise.”
Rollo studied Malleus carefully, perhaps searching for resentment, disgust, or superiority. But Malleus didn’t look at people like that; you knew that. But that was something only you understood… and something you’d keep very quiet.
No, Rollo found none of those things. He inhaled slowly and closed his eyes.
When he exhaled, his composure had returned. “…very well”
He slipped his arm free from yours and stood straight again. “If your school truly wishes to offer such generosity… Noble Bell College will be honored.”
The decision spread through the room like a spark catching dry wood.
Rollo moved toward the doors with renewed purpose, you followed at a slight distance, your good hand lightly touching the knuckles of the injured one through the glove. When you reached the doorway, you crouched and picked Grim up. Rollo was already speaking to the attendants, directing them into motion.
Lanterns were relit, broken furniture beyond repair was carried outside, pieces that could still stand were pushed aside, some attendants used magic to clean the soot-darkened marble. Malleus helped with that as well.
Within minutes the hall had nearly returned to its original state. The musicians who had once prepared the ceremonial music brought out instruments again, students from Noble Bell College hurried to reconstruct something resembling a formal—if now acoustic—evening.
Rollo stood at the center of it all, overseeing the work, ensuring nothing was misplaced, watching the Night Raven College delegation help, issuing calm instructions to his students.
His gaze moved across the entire hall, until it returned to you.
“I wish to offer my most sincere apology,” his voice carrying clearly across the room, the bruise on his cheek was now unmistakable. “I failed my guests… and those who showed the courage I lacked in that moment.”
His bow was so deep he nearly folded in half. You tightened your grip around Grim against your chest as you watched him straighten again.
“You intervened when reason could no longer reach me,” he continued. “And for that… you have my sincere gratitude. And my apology”
How many times had people bowed or inclined themselves before you tonight? Five? Six? Who knew.
It certainly wouldn’t be the last.
“I placed you in danger inside my own academy.” You held his gaze, but this time you didn’t bow. Your neck was already starting to ache from all the earlier ones.
“I’m just glad the city isn’t on fire.”
Rollo simply nodded and looked around again. The students of Noble Bell were nearly finished restoring the hall, and the seven dorm leaders had regrouped in their usual cluster of dramatic personalities.
Their attention was now very clearly fixed on you, you could practically feel their eyes drilling into your back. Behind the thin mask you gave yourself a completely deadpan look. They couldn't possibly be more obvious. You huffed quietly and waited while the last details were set in place, a student lit the final candle on a low chandelier.
“Earlier you mentioned that your family works in the field of musical performance,” Rollo said. You turned your head so quickly your neck nearly cracked.
“And… that you yourself train your voice.”
Out of the corner of your eye you saw Kalim elbow Azul so he would stop talking to Idia and pay attention. Vil's eyes sharpened with sudden artistic interest...That was definitely not a good sign.
Rollo clasped his hands together near his chest, almost pleading. “The choir scheduled for tonight has been… interrupted”
He then extended his hands toward you. “If the young lady who helped save this ceremony would be willing—even a brief performance—” His palms opened upward. “…it might help restore calm among our guests.”
You bit the inside of your cheek to stop a tiny panicked squeak.
Kalim suddenly jumped forward, stopping far too close to your face. “That sounds fantastic!” He grabbed both your hands enthusiastically. You flinched slightly at the stab of pain in your knuckles. “Oh! Right, sorry!”
He released the injured one immediately, though his excitement didn’t dim in the slightest. “You can sing? You didn’t mention that earlier!”
You tried to respond, anything, but your mouth stayed half-open when Azul stepped closer too, wearing an expression of dangerously genuine curiosity.
“How convenient,” he said smoothly. “It seems the young lady possessed hidden talents” His sincere smile somehow made you even more nervous.
At lightning speed your eyes scanned the seven dorm leaders and Rollo, completely unable to form a single word. Every possible response in your head was immediately replaced by another, or interrupted by something someone in front of you said.
“…this is either the best narrative resolution ever or the beginning of a catastrophic post-credits scene,” Idia whispered to Riddle, he rolled his eyes and ignored the comment.
“Well then…” Vil crossed his arms, visibly expectant. “Can you?”
His smile looked like that of a film director who had just discovered his next muse and was about to shoot the best scene of his career.
“Here we go again,” groaned Leona, pinching the bridge of the nose. “Stop crowding her again” Vil gestured for him to be quiet.
You closed your mouth...Opened it again...Closed it again; then slowly inhaled. Honestly… it had already been a very long day: You had snuck into an international festival without an official invitation; dodged lethal magic-draining flowers; lied to the host of the entire event and punched him in the face in the middle of a burning hall.
At this point…
what was one more bad decision?
“…I can try”
╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌
From one of the tall windows of the hall, you had a perfect view of the performance unfolding below.
Malleus stood right at the center of the marble circle—calm, steady, almost statuesque. When he sang, his voice carried through the entire hall with a strength that everyone could feel. Beside him, Azul and Idia accompanied the song with suspicious precision; you had never seen them rehearse this performance, and you were fairly certain you had never heard this song echoing through the dorm corridors either.
“…wow,” Grim whispered from your arms, barely peeking out to watch. “They’re actually killing it”
“Yeah…” You leaned forward a little more.
The other dorm leaders stood off to one side of the hall watching the performance unfold, and just as he had promised, Leona had absolutely no intention of participating.
You leaned a little farther when you noticed something odd about Idia’s performance in front of the guests. “…Is Idia using a voice device?”
“…that guy really can’t live without technology,” Grim muttered, crossing his arms. His expression flattened when he spotted the small device Idia was clearly using to sing for him.
And even so…The performance was magnificent.
Malleus’s voice sounded so majestic it was both deep and almost angelic, probably one of the many perks of being a high fae and future prince. Idia’s voice—unexpectedly delicate despite being technological—and Azul’s tone blended perfectly together.
You rested your arms on the stone window frame and closed your eyes, finally allowing yourself to enjoy the evening the way you had originally planned. Grim climbed onto the window ledge beside you, adjusting his mask so he could see better. Both of you swayed gently with the rhythm of the music, and a smile slowly spread across your face.
“They’ve got this,” you murmured quietly, tapping a finger against your arm in time with the music. “Bastards… is there anything they can’t do well?”
Grim snickered, covering his mouth with his paw to keep the sound down. “They’re totally showing off.”
You laughed quietly along with him. When you opened your eyes again, you found Grim staring at you. “You’re next.”
Your smile, which had started out sarcastic, shifted into something more mischievous.
You looked back down toward the hall. The voices still flowed together in harmony, moving around the marble circle with a grace that Vil was probably mentally approving from somewhere nearby. The second chorus was about to begin.
“Well…” you straightened up, adjusting the fall of your skirt and the lace miraculously still intact over the red brocade. “I suppose it’s time to close the night with a golden finish”
Grim looked up at you, eyes narrowing skeptically, his little paws stretching toward you to be held again.“You know how to sing?”
You lifted him and settled him onto your shoulder, both of you looked down toward the stage one last time. Your voice obviously wouldn’t sound as perfect as Malleus’s, but at least it would sound human, warm.
Or so you hoped.
You adjusted your mask and stepped toward the staircase, running your hand along the stone edge of the window and grabbing a small black fan.
“…Where did you get that fan?” Grim asked.
You opened it, revealing a simple design of floral embroidery and delicate lace. “It was on one of the benches”
“Hng… you’re adding more drama.”
Right then, Malleus’s voice surged through the entire hall structure as he reached the final note. The sound vibrated through the room, leaving behind a faint but powerful echo.
You paused mid-step and glanced upward as if your eyes could follow the note sliding through the air, then you gave Grim a playful look. “Come on” You turned toward the stairs. “We’ve got to compete with our prince”
The final chord echoed for a few seconds, applause followed, warm and energized, proof that the performance of those three had worked. The night had been saved.
You set Grim down at the top of the stairs, placing him beside a small decorative window at his height so he could watch the next act. When your heel touched the first step, the lighting along the staircase dimmed slightly, casting a softer contrast around your silhouette.
Fan open, one hand resting lightly on the railing, your heart racing a mile a minute. This would either go spectacularly well…
or become the most embarrassing moment of your life.
You glanced once more at Grim for support, he lifted one paw in a tiny thumbs-up; that was apparently the feline version of encouragement.
And so you began your descent, slow steps, measured, careful. Falling now would be catastrophic. No one wanted to watch the mysterious masked woman who had saved the evening tumble down twenty marble steps.
“Masquerade
Paper faces on parade
Masquerade
Hide your face, so the world will never find you…”
The applause died instantly, your voice wasn't loud nor powerful like Malleus’s, it didn’t have Azul’s precision, nor Idia’s delicate tone...But hopefully it was unmistakably human, and familiar. Almost… comforting.
Each step down the marble curved with the melody, the lace of the dress catching the candlelight, the fan tilting slightly, slow movements as if you were stepping into a courtship circle.
Below in the hall, the seven leaders stood still. Malleus, Idia, and Azul had returned to stand with the others and now the entire group once again had their eyes fixed on you.
Both Azul and Riddle tensed in unison, not expecting your voice to emerge so soft. Singing while descending a staircase could be rather complicated if you didn’t have proper vocal control; walking while singing alone could already be tiring and might make your voice tremble.
Kalim, who stood on the opposite side of Riddle, grabbed his sleeve and began shaking it, pointing at you as you continued your descent. His mouth hung open, nearly reaching the floor, forming a small wow while you fanned yourself with each descending step.
“Masquerade
Every face a different shade
Masquerade
Look around, there’s another mask behind you”
You continued downward, slow but steady, each step landing precisely with the tempo of the lyrics. Now the fan moved a little faster.
Vil followed your figure with every step, every movement of your dress flowing smoothly over the stairs; your posture perfectly straight, your weight settling properly onto each foot as it should, the heels striking neatly in time with the tempo. He watched how you moved the fan, as if it were a supporting actor that required very little to be perfect.
Idia stood behind Vil, slightly hunched with his mask poorly positioned; it looked like he had removed it for a moment after the performance, or rather, like he had deflated after carrying out such an intense social activity in front of so many people. His head barely leaned past Vil’s shoulder as he watched how you didn’t need much to sound… simple, soothing.
The last curve of the staircase opened beneath your feet. The light framed you warmer there, spilling gold across the newly polished floor. You extended the hand holding the fan slightly to the side as the verse neared its end, and when your foot touched the final step…the music swelled, the violins accompanying the delicate chimes while a few percussion instruments followed.
“Flash of mauve,
Splash of puce,
Fool and king,
Ghoul and goose,
Green and black,
Queen and priest,
Trace of rouge,
Face of beast”
You advanced farther into the open hall, guests stepped aside to give you room, as if the song itself were clearing a path for you. The warmth of your voice filled the space the fear had left behind earlier, moving through the hall softer than magic, steadier than the ceremony.
Leona had remained leaning against a pillar, watching without making any visible movement or comment toward the others. His arms rested at his sides, palms against the pillar, his gaze moving up and down your figure as he watched you walk through the crowd. But he wasn’t looking at you the way Vil was.
No. He observed you as if trying to solve a puzzle that had been gnawing at him since the afternoon in the plaza. The mysterious masked girl who had stumbled into the group and carried herself with a natural ease almost humiliating for the seven of them clearly had an ace up her sleeve… an ace that felt strangely familiar, though he couldn’t remember from where.
And Malleus…was doing exactly the same. Watching you; but with a softer gaze, as though he were seeing a nymph within her own spring and he were merely a mortal fortunate enough to stumble upon her, fate too generous to allow him to witness such a spectacle.
Then…more voices joined, almost by accident. A voice close to you murmured quietly, then a couple near the edge of the circle, just above the violins, then another pair, cautious but slightly more confident.
All of those voices testing whether they were allowed to join—as though they were forming a chorus to accompany your performance. And you allowed it.
A performance so human was always better when accompanied, wasn’t it?
“Faces
Take your turn, take a ride
On the merry-go-round
In an inhuman race…”
A pair of masked dancers stepped onto the open floor, slowly and cautiously at first; no choreography, only instinct, their movements catching the rhythm just as the candlelight caught the stained glass.
More joined. It wasn’t a full dance yet—just a movement here, another there. And gradually, what had begun with only your voice started turning into a complete spectacle.
You moved the fan in flowing motions upward with the rhythm of the lyrics—the dramatic courtship play Grim had mentioned.
“Eye of gold,
Thigh of blue,
True is false,
Who is who?
Curl of lip,
Swirl of gown,
Ace of hearts,
Face of clown”
The chorus of guests was unmistakable now, harmonizing with yours—not raising their voices to compete with you, but filling the space so the performance reverberated just as powerfully as Malleus’s voice alone had earlier.
Dozens of voices intertwined softly beneath yours; it was like watching the masquerade itself sing to close the night. Silk skirts began to spin, cloaks gliding across the floor, candlelight casting soft shadows over every figure and across the marble.
“Faces
Drink it in, drink it up
Till you’ve drowned in the light, in the sound
But who can name the face?”
You turned your head toward a woman dressed exquisitely, wearing an immaculate violet gown, a mask almost identical to yours covered her eyes, she also carried a fan matching her dress.
With a movement that seemed rehearsed, the two of you raised your fans in front of your faces at the same moment. Everyone nearby who held a fan did exactly the same.
And for the third time that evening—after an inconvenient encounter, after an infernal chaos—the event finally felt like a masquerade again.
Right there, at the center of everything, this time a center you had actually sought, you found yourself surrounded by a ballroom that had willingly become part of your song.
“Masquerade!
Grinning yellows, spinning reds
Masquerade!
Take your fill, let the spectacle astound you!”
The dance burst to life.
No longer were there hesitant couples barely swaying, now they spun with confidence to the sound of the violins, gowns and suits tracing wide arcs across the marble floor. You moved among the turns like a master of ceremonies, your skirt’s movement blending with the others, spinning not to dance but to carry your voice to every corner of the hall.
Kalim’s eyes widened as he watched the sea of fabrics spinning and spinning—it was dizzying just to see so much coordination. “Oh! People are really joining in!”
Azul watched keenly. “Fascinating… she’s stabilizing the entire room”
A few steps away, a Noble Bell student, tall, immaculate, his uniform pristine and untouched by ash, walked directly toward you.
Closer, closer still, until he stood only a single step away, moving in rhythm with the crowd, following your steps before bowing and extending his hand.
A formal invitation, a very legitimate one, the kind of official invitation you had hoped for ever since the festival had been announced. All afternoon you had hesitated about where to walk, hesitated about what to say so you wouldn’t be discovered. Now…
you simply wanted to dance, and you accepted the invitation without stopping your singing.
You snapped the fan closed softly against your hip while allowing him to guide you into the swirling mass of couples turning across the floor. Some dancers even lifted their partners into the air, far too bold a movement for you, so you wisely didn’t attempt it.
Your dance was coordinated and fairly simple compared to the others, whose steps already carried the etiquette of ballroom tradition, yours remained softer, movements that allowed the dress to breathe and form dark circles trimmed with red, and enough stillness that your voice could continue floating above the chorus.
The student spun you once just as the orchestra swelled, your dress opened in a dark flare that caught the golden light like a glowing ember refusing to fade.
Across the floor, the seven dorm leaders watched as the performance had truly become that— a performance.
Dance, music, lead voice, chorus. Had you really not planned this from the start?
Vil murmured more to himself than the others, captivated by the way your dress followed every turn. “Control, breath rhythm, audience integration.” He adjusted both sleeves before adding his final verdict. “She has stage instinct”
He walked straight into the crowd and invited the first person he saw waiting near the edge of the dance floor. The others stared in silence for a few seconds before Kalim burst into laughter and strode toward the center as well, inviting a Noble Bell student to dance.
The hall had fully surrendered now, no more uncertain steps or scattered movements—only a sea of silk and velvet, feathered hats swaying in the air, lace glimmering beneath the softened lights.
Couples changed hands in coordinated turns, everyone pulsed with the rhythm of the music.
“You can fool
Any friend who ever knew you”
The student guiding you spun you once more, then another step, then he released your hand with elegant timing within the flow of the dance, allowing another guest to take it. Then another, and another; You remained on the dance floor as if you had been born to dance until sunrise.
The orchestra never truly stopped after that.
One song melted into the next, the tempo rising and softening in waves while the lantern light grew warmer, as though the night itself had finally remembered what it was meant to be.
And you danced, and danced, and danced. Occasionally glancing upward toward the window where Grim watched from his hiding place, until he grew bored and hurried down the stairs toward a small table where snacks and drinks had been arranged.
And Grim, being Grim, went straight for the snacks. You shook your head, amused, unable to suppress the smile at the irony of it all: Grim worrying only about food, completely forgetting the stealth part…while you danced with strangers.
At first.
Because in the middle of another turn, Kalim arrived. He practically bounced his way over, bowing with an enthusiastic sincerity that somehow remained perfectly polite.
“May I?” he asked, already smiling as though the answer could only be yes.
His dancing was open, slightly less precise than the formal protocol demanded, but relaxed enough that the turns felt light and smooth rather than rigid and ceremonial.
If the music hadn’t dictated the style, Kalim probably would have dragged you into a dozen far more energetic moves across the entire floor.
“Best night ever,” he laughed softly as you spun together. His laughter was so contagious it made you laugh too—though you kept it much more controlled this time.
“I’m really glad you stayed” He spun you again in a partner exchange.
Next came Riddle. He stepped forward with impeccable posture, offering his hand with textbook ceremonial formality. “I would like to request this dance,” he said, composed, but unmistakably sincere.
His steps were perfect, structured, exactly as ballroom manuals likely instructed for someone leading a partner. Not stiff, simply precise—as if every movement had been practiced until he could guide another person with absolute confidence.
“You handle chaos surprisingly well,” he admitted quietly during a turn.
Ah…if only you knew
Then came Azul. He bowed with a touch of theatrical flair, though still formal, like a merchant about to greet a valuable soul. “It would be a tragedy not to experience a dance with you”
He guided you effortlessly, every step deliberate, every movement calculated so that you appeared exquisite, as though you were a rare piece in an impossibly expensive collection. And he remained in the background…letting you shine.
Vil arrived afterward as if the night itself had set a timer so he would appear at the exact right moment, balancing the aesthetic of the three who had gone before him.
His hand was firm, confident; the dance elegant without effort, posture impeccable, movement fluid—the kind of partner who doesn’t just dance but shapes the entire image of the ballroom around him.
“You understand presentation,” he murmured near your ear. “Presence. That’s rare to find” He released your hand for an open step, ending with you spinning on yourself and landing briefly in the blond’s arms before he let you go again.
You were surprised when Idia came next. His expression showed he was fighting every ounce of his anxiety and preparing himself like someone about to face a hidden final boss.
“…okay.” He took your hand in his, visibly trembling and a little hesitant. “Statistically speaking I’m going to regret this—or die—if I don’t at least try once…”
His steps were clumsy, but not enough for you to step on his feet, nor for him to step on yours. Idia had more secrets tucked up his sleeves than he liked to show the world.
One step, then another, and then, surprisingly, he became careful, mentally counting the next movements so you could continue looking radiant in your dress. “It’s easy… being next to you,” he admitted quietly, placing a hand on your waist. “That… that’s not common for me.”
Leona came next. He didn’t arrive in a spin, handing you off to the next dancer. No; he simply appeared when the music slowed slightly, one brow raised and the corner of his mouth faintly lifted, refusing you the honor of seeing a full smile.
His hand extended with the same casual inevitability he had shown in the plaza. “Come on. You already survived the worst of it”
His grip was firm, steady, strong enough that dancing with him felt like walking beside someone who had temporarily decided not to bite anyone.
Like with Idia, you were surprised by how careful Leona could be while dancing. Of course, as a prince he had been forced to learn etiquette and ballroom lessons. And now you were witnessing the results of that irritating education.
Very good results, to be honest.
Because when the choreography called for the lead to lift his partner again, Leona didn’t hesitate, nor did he give you a warning, he lifted you by the waist. You let out a small yelp before touching the floor again, Leona steadied you against him so you wouldn’t stumble during the next steps.
“You don’t show panic,” he said quietly, leaning closer to whisper near your ear. “Didn’t expect to find someone like that at an event this pompous.”
And finally...Malleus.
He appeared without hurry, not interrupting the moment you had with Leona until the partners changed naturally. He stepped forward as the music reached the last measures of the slow dance, transitioning toward something deeper and more intimate, an instant carved into midnight itself as the first rhythm came to a close.
“May I share this dance?” he asked softly, bowing slightly before taking your hand and guiding you through the final movements of that first rhythm with the other dancers.
His hand was warm around yours, his steps slow, deliberate, impossibly gentle for someone so tall and imposing, as if the music being played had been written specifically for the two of you.
“You brought light back to this hall tonight,” he said quietly so only you could hear him, ignoring everyone else around you. “Whether you intended to or not”
Laughter floated through the air as the first rhythm of the night ended. Seven dances, with seven boys, all stepping away from you carrying the same strange feeling, that they had just spent time with someone important… and somehow familiar.
And you allowed yourself to keep smiling and dancing. For once, you allowed yourself to have the night Crowley had stolen from you.
One dance became two; two became five.
At some point the evening stopped feeling like something you had infiltrated and barely survived, and became something you were simply living. Living far from the cold walls of Ramshackle, far from the magic-soaked stone of NRC.
In the distance, the spell of the moment broke with a bell chime, small and practical. A bell announcing that it was already very late.
Your eyes shot toward the tall clock mounted against the marble wall. “…oh no.”
You had approached the snack table, where Grim had apparently devoured everything edible and was now curled up beside it waiting for you.
When he heard you mutter, he lifted his head. “Mm?”
“We’re out of time,” you said, looking at him in horror.
“HMNYA?!” he jumped up.
“If we don’t leave now,” you whispered in his ear, avoiding attracting attention, the earlier squeak had already made several guests glance toward the table, “we won’t get back to campus before they do”
You scanned the crowd, searching for an escape route. “And if Crowley gets there first—”
Grim gasped and jumped into your arms. “We’re dead”
“Exactly”
The music swelled again and several people stepped back into the center of the hall for another round, perfect cover. You adjusted Grim in your arms and reopened the fan, hiding him slightly as you began walking quickly.
“Okay, we walk fast,” you said quietly while heading toward the reading hall doors. “No running. We blend in with the people leaving and slip out before anyone notices.”
You pushed your way step by step through the living sea of masks, guests, and students, gliding between couples mid-turn, passing laughing students.
Every movement controlled to avoid suspicion, but urgent.
You were only a few steps away, close enough to feel the cool night air slipping through the carved gap in the wooden door, close enough that one more step would take you out of the lantern light, the music, the masquerade entirely.
And you pushed the enormous door open, stepping straight into the outer corridor.
╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌
“This was probably the most fun disaster I’ve ever attended.” Kalim had his hands behind his head, still smiling as if the night hadn’t stopped being magical.
The dorm leaders had gathered near one of the marble pillars. The music from the hall drifted faintly just a few meters away.
Riddle adjusted his gloves, nodded, and placed his hands behind his back. “The structural damage was severe, but the response was… effective.”
Azul had picked up a glass from the table, apparently unaware that Grim had already raided the food there. He swirled it in his hand, watching the liquid spiral slightly.
“Indeed” He took a small sip and looked toward the hall doors. “Although there is still one clause unresolved”
Vil had followed him and taken a glass of wine, sipping occasionally. He hadn’t even finished half of it. “The mysterious lady”
Idia nodded, by now he had removed his mask. “Mysterious young woman, SSR-tier character who punches the main villain with maxed-out stats.”
Kalim, who had only half been listening, glanced around—the others, the muffled music beyond the door, the outer corridor—his gaze bounced everywhere for a moment, then he suddenly straightened, exhaling through his nose.
“She said her brother studies at NRC.” That made the others turn toward him.
Vil lifted the glass to his lips thoughtfully, his eyes sharp though his mind clearly elsewhere. “Yes… that detail is useful”
“The NRC enrollment is not infinite,” Riddle said with a slight frown. “Establishing familial connections may take time” He sighed. “But it will not be impossible”
Vil set the glass carefully on a stone bench. “A voice like that won’t remain hidden for long.”
“Yes,” Malleus added calmly, his eyes drifting toward the hall. “Fate rarely introduces someone only once” Vil crossed his arms at that remark, giving a small nod before following the direction of Malleus’s gaze.
Leona had remained leaning against the column beside Kalim the entire time, hands in his pockets, head tilted toward the hall doors—still listening to the distant music and the crowd dancing, laughing, talking.
“Maybe we’ll see her again before the night ends—” Kalim started.
But Leona’s ears sharpened, his eyes narrowed toward the distance.
“…Oi” That was all he said to make the others pay attention.
On the other side of the outer corridor, the great doors of the hall opened—and there you were, moving quickly. The black and crimson dress was unmistakable even under the dim light of the corridor, the small creature tucked in your arms as you hurried toward the outer doors.
That alone was enough for the seven of them to straighten in unison, watching your figure cross the corridor. Kalim pointed at you and barely raised his voice to say, “There she goes!”
Vil stepped forward immediately, then another step, Azul set his own glass beside Vil’s, adjusted his suit, and followed him. The seven of them began to move closer, like a flock of crows closing in on a small prey, or rather… their little dove.
They were close enough to see you, but not close enough for you to notice them. Your figure passed beside a guest whose decorations stuck out everywhere, especially along the sleeves and shoulders.
And then the most cliché, ridiculous thing that could possibly happen at an event like this happened.
A strand of your hair snagged as you rushed past, and the ribbon of your mask caught on the guest’s decorations.
“Ah—sorry!” the guest said, quickly freeing your hair and the ribbon when your head jerked backward. The tug made you drop Grim, and he jumped to the floor.
“It’s nothing,” you replied, continuing forward once your hair came loose. The guest went his way while you headed straight for the outer doors.
The ribbon slipped free, the mask fell one step later. You instinctively turned, bringing a hand to the back of your head, startled as the fabric mask dropped to the ground.
One second, one undeniable second was all it took for your face to be completely revealed under the moonlight. The mystery shattered, and before the seven leaders of NRC, the young lady was revealed:
The Prefect of Ramshackle.
Meanwhile you were far too busy picking up the fallen mask, your heart pounding like you had just run a marathon when the realization hit you all at once.
“…oh shit—” You snatched the mask off the floor and bolted toward the door.
“GRIM!” you shouted, your voice now unmistakably clear in the night air and the quiet city. “MOVE OR YOU’RE SLEEPING ON THE FLOOR WITHOUT TUNA FOR A WEEK IF WE’RE LATE!”
The small hooded creature shrieked in terror. “YES, PREFECT—!”
The two of you ran like a princess racing back to her tower before the spell wore off...except you looked more like two idiots sprinting full speed toward the city lights as if your lives, and possibly your financial privileges, depended on it. Within seconds the darkness swallowed you both, disappearing down the outer corridor toward the main gates.
Silence followed, and the ones who had been pursuing you with steady steps… were left stunned by the revelation.
Kalim’s jaw dropped, not caring how dramatic or over-the-top he looked; Riddle’s eyes widened and a faint blush colored his cheeks; Azul removed his glasses to clean them with trembling hands, an entirely pointless gesture, as he pinched the bridge of his nose; Idia made a strangled sound, like his system had just crashed into a blue screen he couldn’t reboot; Leona and Vil blinked at the same time, shooting each other a sidelong glance; Malleus simply watched as the final piece of the puzzle clicked neatly into place, confirming that lingering sense of familiarity.
A pause followed...A long pause, far too long.
Vil didn’t know what to do with his hands, or with his entire existence. He pressed his lips into a thin line, moved his hands aimlessly for a moment, and was just about to turn away in frustration. “…oh for fuck’s sake.” The fact that he had sworn meant you had played your move perfectly.
Idia crouched down and buried his face in his hands. “I want to die”
Azul, still pinching the bridge of his nose, let out a long breath. “We should have known”
And honestly, yes.
They had been idiots not to realize; inside their minds the gears finally started turning: The voice, her composure in danger, that laugh, the ridiculous courage, the familiar, the way she handled chaos without magic.
Leona dragged a hand down his face and let out a deep, irritated growl. “She masked her scent so we wouldn’t notice”
Kalim, whose mouth had still been hanging open, suddenly burst into a small laugh as he looked toward where you had disappeared. “Oh! That makes so much sense!” He laughed freely.
“No wonder we could flirt with her so naturally”
“FLIRT?!”
“NOBODY HERE FLIRTED WITH ANYONE!”
“MY CHARISMA STAT IS NOT THAT HIGH!”
Several voices erupted at once, some embarrassed, some shy, some in complete denial. Malleus, still perfectly composed in the middle of the chaos, simply closed his eyes and allowed his companions to argue, offering the night a small smile.
Leona didn’t even stay to watch the end of the debate over who had flirted more. He simply closed his eyes, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked back toward the hall, he shouting was already giving him a headache.
SUMMARY: What would his dream be like, exactly the same as in the original story, but with the small detail that he is dreaming that you two are dating?
TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; In a Relationship (kinda); Kiss; Flirting
WARNING: Spoilers from Book 7 and their respective dreams
COMMENTS: This was written as a companion piece to the original dream story, so the parts that are the same as the game are just summarized.
IDIA SHROUD (4.930 words)
EPEL FELMIER (1.530 words)
ROOK HUNT (2.270 words)
VIL SCHOENHEIT (6.460 words)
KALIM AL-ASIM (3.540 words)
JAMIL VIPER (6.220 words)
FLOYD LEECH (3.150 words)
JADE LEECH (3.390 words)
AZUL ASHENGROTTO (6.390 words)
JACK HOWL (4.045 words)
RUGGIE BUCCHI (3.360 words)
LEONA KINGSCHOLAR (7.380 words)
DEUCE SPADE (3.280 words)
CATER DIAMOND (3.020 words)
ACE TRAPPOLA (5.130 words)
TREY CLOVER (4.300 words)
RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS (8.620 words)
I'd like to write for Diasomnia as well, but I haven't quite figured out how to do it well yet. When I come up with a good idea, I'll try to work on it.
Please be patient with me. 🙏
If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX
Preview: Your feelings for Malleus, while nice, are too much. No matter how much you like him, there's no way he'll ever return those feelings, and so, you lie about being sick if it means you can save him from your selfish emotions. You just... can't believe what he does after that. (Wc: 1.6k)
Cw: Fluff, Fake Tree event that doesn't exist in canon, Reader is extremely oblivious, Malleus is affectionate, but you think it's just the way he is, The tiniest bit of angst, Dragon Courting, Pixie tree from Tinkerbell <3, Kissing/Making out, Confession
What was meant to be a cleanup has instead turned into a discussion. A discussion with a ghost, about how the dragon prince is, in fact, not in love with you, and just thinks of you as a friend.
Even if that's not what you want... It's unfortunately how life works.
"It's New Year's Eve, isn't Mister Horny—" You wave off the ghost before it can finish the nickname. "Sorry—Mister Draconia, going to ask you out?"
"Ask me out? We haven't even held hands yet." You blow air out of your mouth as you talk, watching the condensation seep into your world. Your ghost companion towers over you, reaching the higher spots of the Dorm. "Much less doing anything of that sort..."
"You sure? He looks at you like you've hung the stars..."
"Yeah? Well, he looks at Gargoyles like they're his betrothed who've just created space." You hoist the box of newly removed Christmas decor into your hands. "So, not really a good comparison, huh?" You watch as he frowns, flying down to your height.
"I'm not imagining it! He—" You watch as he stiffens, before suddenly poofing into the air. You know he's not entirely gone though, as you can see his figure smiling through one of the windows.
"What are you..."
"You're here." You jump when a single hand reaches from underneath, effortlessly carrying the box with one hand. "I've been looking for you, dearest child of man."
"..." The two of you blink at each other for a moment. And despite the awkward tension, the fae seems positively ecstatic at the notion of just looking into your eyes.
"Is something the matter?"
"... Achoo." There's a beat of silence at your fake sneeze. "... I'm sick."
"Ah... So will you be missing the celebration?" A part of you pangs at the sight of Malleus and his pained look, but you're a bit too deep in the lie to go back. "But I thought you were excited..." He trails off when you sniffle.
"Of course I am, you know it's a once in a lifetime thing... But I'm just, really not feeling well—" You cut off when the back of his hand is on your forehead, his face close enough that if you were actually sick, he would definitely catch it. "Malleus...! That's how you spread the thing...!"
"I can stay with you." His hand remains rested on your forehead. Considering he hasn't actually noticed there's no fever though... You wonder if he's actually checking. "I do not mind taking care—"
"I do...!" Your words come out a bit more desperate. "You... You know you should go enjoy looking at a pretty tree. It's one of the few things you've actually been invited to so—"
"Yes, as your plus one." He needs to...! Unfortunately, going with him to this event is just too... romantic. You can't bear thinking of it that way while he just views it as friendship! It's so demeaning...! And and...! It would really suck, not just for you. There would be some empty pain in you knowing you want something more with Malleus, fated to never have it because of his position. But, it sucks for him too.
He just wants a friend and... You don't really want to be his friend. You want to be something else entirely. Probably not what he needs.
"It's okay. You know they're not going to kick you out just because I'm not there." You fake a cough as the breeze blows by. Malleus steps in the direction the wind comes, his back effectively shielding it from hitting you anymore. "... It's a once every 10 year thing, It'd be nice to see it."
"I can live long enough to see it again." He mentions it casually, and yet... disappointingly. "... It's a pixie dust tree, I will see it very often, whether in town or not."
"Then... You should see it for me." You remember his hand is still on your forehead. It's only when you grab onto it that he remembers it's there. "If you see it, you can tell me, and it would be like I saw it too." You avoid mentioning phones. You doubt he would figure out how to record the sight anyway. His eyes watch as you bring his hand down, your cold fingers leaving his limb even cooler than it was before. But, he doesn't mind.
"Are you sure? I do not mind devoting my time to you. I would never mind it." You can feel your heart beat faster at the phrase. But you remember that he cares deeply for everyone he knows. It's not exactly special. "... I do not mind taking care of you." His fingers trace over the ring on your finger. He's about to reach out before you step into your doorway.
"I'll be fine, just go before the event starts."
"..."
Malleus watches as you disappear behind the door. Taking a minute to stare at the glass before walking away.
"..."
"Now, why would you do that?"
"... He makes me nervous." For a moment, you and your companion are left silently staring at each other. You come to an agreement when both of you sigh in unison. "Sorry, I don't really know what to do when it comes to that guy..."
"You could've accepted it?" The ghost floats aimlessly above you as you rub your arms, finding frictional warmth.
"Well... Yeah, but no."
"And why is that?"
"He wants to be friends. And I... don't really want to be. It means for both of us—" You stop when cold air waves on your left hand, looking to the side at a pouting specter. "What...?"
"You have a ring on your left ring finger."
"... Yeah...?"
"Who'd you get it from?"
"Malleus...? Where are you going with this exactly—"
"... and this necklace too?" He points at your chest. "You know, dragons use shiny stuff as a courting ritual—"
"Oh, I am not listening to this." You leave before he can finish, fake coughing all the way up to your room. "I am sick get away from me!"
"And I'm already dead! Now listen to me he definitely wants you—"
You groan at the bright light that shines through your window. Seriously... You live on the second floor, and it's night. Where is it even coming from...?
It's changing colors, while pretty, are frankly getting on your nerves. But with each step you take closer to your window, you realize the shifting hues are similar to the... tree in town. And also... flex of gold shift through the air, as if fairies were flying.
There's... this is a joke right?
You change your strides to be faster, your body hitting the windowsill.
The ground is riddled with dirt, as the root rests on top of the ground. But there it is.
... On your front lawn...
"Do you like it?" Malleus suddenly appears beside you, sitting on your ledge. "Since you couldn't come to town, I thought I could just bring the event to you." Your silence has him turning his head, his gaze focused on the way the leaves' lights shine on your face.
"Yeah... I do." You snap out of your trance when fingers touch your skin, looking over to see Malleus swiping away the collar of your clothes. "... Malleus...?" You're shushed when he kisses your shoulder, a soft smile on his lips.
"I wished to spend the New Year's with my dearest, Child of Man." The finger adorned with your ring tingles at his words.
"You... Like me?" Your sentence comes out more awkward than intended, but it's obvious either way would've led to Malleus quirking his eyebrows.
"Of course I do. We are engaged, are we not?" His hands take hold of your left, his black nails gently rubbing over the gem.
"We are...?" Even through the confusion, fairy dust seems to continue scattering through the air. "... I thought you just saw me as a friend..."
"I gave you a wedding ring."
"... Thought it was just a gift."
"I gave you the richest of treasures."
"More gifts."
"I told you I love you several times."
"I thought you were just that type of friend...?"
A beat of silence passes. Several do, and the changing colors of the leaves support this fact. You're about to apologize before you hear quiet laughs, the prince's hair draping over his face as he turns his head down. Malleus remains turned down, his eyes focused solely on your finger.
"Do you feel the same way?"
"I..."
...
Malleus takes hold of your waist, his fingers grasping the clothes on your skin as your arms wrap around his neck. You didn't really expect to be kissing the same fae you claimed had no feelings for you mere hours after saying it.
When you push him away, his lips continue chasing after yours. It's only when he remembers you need to breathe does he separate.
"Malleus... Hold on." You're struck with a realization, your head turning to look at the fairy dust tree. The gold glitter still adorns its leaves as they change hues.
"Yes?"
"Did... Did you rip out the tree?"
"I did. It wasn't very hard to do—" He trails off when you softly hit his chest.
"You realize that tree was the entire event in town, right?"
"Yes? Because of that, I wanted to experience it with you."
"... I have a feeling someone is going to arrive soon." You watch as Malleus furrows his brows, and an obvious obliviousness in his iris.
You both separate when a frantic knocking is heard, Crowley yelling at you to answer your front door.
Lmao, this is late, but better late than never >.<
it’s been awhile since i last posted anything on this account. hopefully that’ll change soon!
as you can see, i’ve changed my layout and hopefully later in the day, i can fix my intro cuz it looks chunky and i’ve been meaning to change it for awhile.
since i started this account with visual novels in mind before switching to posting about twst, i might link my 🔞 VN writing blog somewhere in the intro if you do like visual novels.
of course it’s 18+ so minors please respect that.
anyways my new years resolution for this account will to finish my Malleus fanfic that i’ve been lazy to finish and hopefully answer requests!!
˚₊‧꒰ა note: non explicit intimate headcannon with Lilia, Trey, and Leona for the last headcannon <33
grumbling confusion: You know he’s up when you hear a soft grumble and a shift in posture as he reaches for his phone or glasses. His arm is wrapped around your waist, and once he finally gets what he needs from his nightstand, he says “good morning” to you in a tired voice as you nuzzle into his neck. Insist he can spare some time with you before he gets up.
— Trey, Cater
binge sessions: Unless you need to use the restroom, he will reach for you and keep you in bed with him as he plays with your hair. The two of you are late risers and prefer to binge-watch a couple of shows on the phone together before you start your day. Your sessions only take a pause when one of your stomach's grumbles.
— Epel, Cater, Ace
not a morning person: Yeah, you're always the first one up. You somehow managed to sneak out of his embrace, and you prep and start your day. You hear him tiredly call your name and look to see him still in bed. Even if you try dragging him out, he just pulls you on top of him, giving you kisses on your neck as he claims only “five more minutes.” Lies.
— Leona, Lilia
morning person: The roles are reversed. You’re fast asleep on the bed as he’s already preparing for the day. He lets you sleep in longer, knowing you need the extra rest, but after he brushes his teeth and applies skincare, he goes back to his bed to wake you up. Lowkey has to bribe you with breakfast for you to even make a move to get out of bed.
— Vil, Ruggie, Jamil, Deuce, Riddle (might bribe you with the hedgehogs though hehe)
movie scene mornings: You wake up to the hums of his voice, and he looks down at you with a smile. Don’t even try to hide your bare face from him because he thinks this version of you is his favorite. Freshly woken up and relaxed with tousled hair. Prefers the two of you to do your morning routine together and have shared breakfast in the dorm lounge.
— Rook, Jade, Malleus
blanket hog: You wake up to him clinging onto you, muttering, "It's so cold," as you're both wrapped up in the blankets like you're in a butterfly's cocoon. When you try to leave out of the blanket's embrace to go find the room temperature monitor in the hallway, he wraps his arms around your waist, preventing you from doing so. The two of you end up wrapped in each other as you play with his hair and have whispered conversations with him as he gets flustered because these moments with you feel so normal but so foreign at the same time. He wouldn’t trade it for anything, though.
— Sebek, Floyd
intimate mornings: One of his thumbs rubs lazily on your waist, while the other softly caresses your cheek as the two of you lazily make out. You know you’re not getting out of bed anytime soon when he softly flips you over to be on top of you, and your legs instantly wrap around his waist. He insists he has time for a late morning, and that there is no need to rush when enjoying this moment with you.
You spot the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen — there’s an unexplainable pull towards Lilia Vanrouge. But the more you observe, the more you understand : he spotted you too.
You’re looking at the prettiest man ever.
That’s certain, he’s pulled straight from a dream — the most enticing your brain could even imagine. A petite and androgynous build; a skin so pale, it could rival the most cherished dolls’ and a pair of striking magenta orbs. Streaks of similar colour adorn his dark hair, framing his delicate face and enhancing the otherworldly charm you’ve fallen prey to.
You must be blind to only notice him now.
“Hey.”
You let out an inhuman grunt at your classmate’s nudge. The object of your attention moves with an unsettling grace, retrieving a fallen pen before lifting his head— and sevens, his gaze is even more intense when he looks over here.
“Hey!”
This time, the momentum of the nudge makes you fall over the desk. Your chin unceremoniously slip from your palm, it’s a bit painful and as you compose yourself, you swear you heard a little ‘urgh, loser’ not so far away.
“Now’s that you’ve gathered your thoughts,” begin professor Trein with looks that could zap you away from existence. You shrink in your seat. “Kindly highlight how the era of gods impacted the creations of guilds.”
“Of course, professor.”
Right. Of course, but as soon as Trein pivots away, robes flowing briskly behind, your mind is promptly leaving this dimension again. Daydreaming is far more important in your opinion. Lucius doesn’t bother hiding his deadpan expression as he looks your way.
With a sigh, you pick up your tool to resume the gibberish you wrote during your fantasy.
The humiliation has subjected you to your friends’ teasings. You don’t blame them. At all, but they don’t understand — can’t — until they’re faced with that blessing themselves. That guy is too beautiful to take your eyes off him and it’s even worse when you have to choose between studies (bad.) and worship (good.)
The answer seems obvious enough.
On a serious note though, it’s okay, it’s just unserious idolisation. You’re not planning anything. Your reverence doesn’t mean you will do anything about it— one might say your enthusiasm is like so because you’re not planning on being anything more than a secret admirer.
Unpopular opinion but admiration doesn’t always need to be acted on. And positive feelings for an individual don’t always lead to something : not even making a move — not that you would dare, or be delusional enough to —, not even striking a conversation. Much less even gaping at his cuteness across a classroom.
You have years of experience in that field.
Here is how it goes :
It starts innocently with stolen glances — maybe a few scenarios before falling asleep in the comfort of your bed — then, a little hyper fixation if you’re really into it. But because nothing ever happens and you’re definitely not the type to act on it, the situation cristallise and times wears it down.
If you’re really lucky, weeks pass by before you even realise it all became a memory.
Some might call it missed opportunities but you don’t agree. Admiring without being seen is comforting. It’s soothing to appreciate from the comfort of your own bed and dreams. Like indulging in your favourite’s event in a rhythm game — it’s reassuring, it’s warm without having the feeling of being bare. Interactions never happen and it’s not always a bad thing.
Still, there’s a lingering regret of probably not getting more but that’s part of the process.
One day, you will stop looking for those ruby eyes and the interactions — or accidental gaze crossing, call as you want — will be even more scarce than before. So, of course, you don’t expect those beautiful eyes to be centimetres from yours.
It’s even more stunning up close.
“Ah, pardon me. I didn’t think I was that quiet today.” He speaks lightly, with a bounce in his voice that reflect his amusement. The stunning man draws back, heels tapping in the hallway.
You try to contain the inner fan within you but it’s like holding a door shut when the Beast is full-force clawing at it. “No harm done.” You reply, smiling a little too tightly and holding back your thoughts from escaping.
His gaze is even more captivating up face to face and it’s so hard to break away from it. Don’t even get started on his smell— there’s no way you’re going to come back from this.
“Is there anything I can do for you ?” You ask instead like a person properly educated.
His lips quirk up as though he saw the entertainment of the year. That’s a bit worrying but he is quick to paint his face with seasoned and theatrical worry instead. He sighs. “I seem to have misplaced my wand. Might you know where it is ?”
Your eyebrows rise at his question. Pause. You’re currently wondering how did he manage to lose the most important item of your curriculum. The most important after your schooling certificate, right after your tuition fees— no actually, it might be even more crucial than that.
And it’s not like your magic wand has been granted straight after the sorting ceremony, with careful hands and a grave ceremony athmosphere. You’re even sure Crowley has given a lengthy speech about the responsibility of a student in that regard and how expensive it is.
A beat.
“I could’ve sworn I left it around here.” Now, your beau is upside down, looking behind a curtain.
Charming but some missing brain cells, got it.
“….” You exhale, “I apologise if I sound rude but… how can one lose it?”
With how gleefully he spun around at your question, it’s as if you’ve just promised the life of your first born. It’s also quite certain that no one should look as elated as him when losing his magic wand. “Intrigued, aren’t you ?” He grins, almost looking proud before resuming his theatrics. “Alas, it was lost in the noble art of keeping students on their toes.”
You quirk your eyebrow, not understanding.
“Noble art ?”
“Scaring them a bit, of course.” He clarifies with a quirk of his lips, hand on his hips. “Although… they screamed so eagerly, one might think I’d cursed them.” And at that, his smile stretches into something more unsettling.
The gleam in his eyes is mischievous and light. But there’s an additional weight to his tone — threatening and at the same time, effortless. For a split of second, it’s like the athmosphere shifted weirdly for something as mundane as pranking someone and you can’t say you really get it. But the more you look at him, the more an unknown feeling creeps up along your spine.
Ah.
His stare is intense and gleaming, he looks amused.
And dangerous.
Right.
Shivers.
You don’t know wether he really did something and he looks like he’s having way too much fun playing with the ambiguity of his intentions. You feel the weight of his focus.
You feel a sudden itch to leave.
“I see,” you cough, your voice cutting through the athmosphere. “I get it. Pranking people, it’s fun — makes life even more uh… jumpy.”
He hums in agreement, with a closed-eyed smile anime-worthy. Still, nothing more from him so you continue :
“But— I mean, sorry, I didn’t see anything. I’ll let you know if I find your wand but err— yeah.” No idea why you’re tripping over your words but that doesn’t sound very dignified. You cringe a bit. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Why, of course ! Don’t let this old soul take your tim—“
To be fair, you don’t hear the rest as you bolt through the hallway. With how quickly you run down the stairs, one might think you’re fleeing a threat of detention. And you might be with how shaken you appear to be…
…If it isn’t for the rising heating of your face. The previous itch fade into a tingle. One taking over the upper part of your body and particularly focused on your cheeks. What you mistook for awkwardness is fluster.
He’s not missing brain cells, just a few screw loose.
He’s exactly your type.
You’re doomed.
With how quickly you ran away, there’s no way you expect to interact with him again. The hasty departure can be considered improper and you’re the first one to understand if he doesn’t want any conversation with you again. Not like you had any hope of more.
Though.
He seems determined to surprise you again as he sit there, in lieu of your desk mate like he has always belonged there. It’s like he knows — you’re not sure what but he does, for sure. His posture is relaxed, his smile wide and there’s a tilt of his head when he acknowledges your presence, satisfaction oozing from him.
“My, how fortunate I am to cross paths with you again !” He said like he isn’t the one to choose to sit next to you.
You stand there, speechless because — sure, as easy on the eyes he is and no matter how blessed you feel to be able to interact with him yet again — there’s a sense of wariness creeping up. First, it’s an unusual decision and then, poster boys are supposed to be only that : posters.
People to be admired and appreciated from afar with no hope for more, but also, no disappointment. You don’t doubt his pure intentions — or, do you — but you won’t be able to survive the rest of school if you develop real feelings for someone just because he lost his belongings.
Meanwhile, he resumes with the same tone as last time.
“You rushed so quickly last time. Did I happen to make you uncomfortable ?”
You snap out of your daze at his inquiry. On his face, there’s a little crease betraying the worry hidden behind his playful smirk and piecing two and two together, you’re quick to dismiss that thought.
“Oh, no, no, no ! I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly, I didn’t mean to be rude. I just—“
Look, you’re out of the world. I had to squeal in the staircase due to cuteness overload. I rushed away because of the impending doom known as nosebleed. You’re the most ethereal person I ever met—
“—I had a severe need to go to the toilets. Lactose intolerant, you know how it is.”
As soon as those words left your mouth, your only wish is to curse yourself.
Let it be over with. There’s a heartbreaking silence — it’s painful, it’s terribly long and you’re too mortified to avert your eyes. His are ever-so slightly widened in surprise. A beat passes and his expressions morph into something deeply entertained.
“Of course,” he accepts easily with a khee he. “How could I compete with such urgent matters ?”
For a second, you think he’s making fun of you or that his tone is ironic and you somehow missed its obvious clue. However, the tilt of his voice is too open, too subtle — nothing judgmental, nothing hurtful. Far from it, he accepts your poor excuse.
His eyes doesn’t leave you. He knows that’s a lie and he’s having fun, it seems to convey.
“Now that my worries are put to rest, may I have the name of the person who escaped me so boldly?”
Your throat appears to dry up just a tiny bit at the toothy grin he punctuate his sentence with. It’s charming, he’s charming.
“Oh, I—“
“Lilia Vanrouge, I believe that is not your assigned seat, is it ?” Calls out Professor Trein across the room. “Kindly return to your designated place.”
Behind the grey-haired man, you catch sight of your annoyed desk mate, his beastman tail swishing impatiently. Without doubt, waiting for his seat to be returned to him. As your previous interlocutor — Lilia Vanrouge — stands up, Trein silently invites the Savanaclaw student to settle down.
“Ah, seems like I must be off. Farewell, stranger.” The Diasomnian huffs with a little laugh. “Oh, but do keep out an eye out for my wand, alright ? Still haven’t found that pesky thing.”
He rises with an effortless grace. The chair scrapes against the floor when he steps aside and without any rush whatsoever, gestures politely toward the place he had previously occupied to its rightful owner. A simple nod being the only exchanged between them.
The furniture rattles again as the beastman sits down.
“Hi,” you whisper with the timid quirk of a smile. “Sorry about that.”
The low grunt and slight twitch of ear dismiss your apology — not in an unkind manner however. And when Trein clears his throat, you’re quick to dip down to retrieve your stationary.
Yet, there’s something strange. Inside your bag, hidden in one of the inner pockets, a green shine — oddly bright, weirdly of a familiar nuance. You notice it under the supplies.
His wand.
Class is over and you still have no clue how his wand ended up in your belongings. By no means would you have taken by accident — since the beginning of your studies, yours is safely pocketed inside your jacket. Even if it had happened, it wouldn’t be at that location — much less stolen from him.
You’re smitten, not a creep.
At least, that’s a truth you’re ready to swear on your life for and that you know is… well, true. But will Lilia believe that, that’s an entire different matter.
“I must say, I didn’t expect to see you so soon.” He express when you reach his desk, the last few classmates exiting.
Yet, quite the opposite, he looks like he did foresee your appearance. Far from taken aback, he welcomes your arrival with a happy bounce to his heels. You think you’re staring to better picture his personality : never surprised and always the one surprising. He acts like he can overcome every obstacles without flinching.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing your lovely face ?”
Mission failed successfully. Your brain is melting and your cheeks, heating at his easy compliment. You do try to remain levelheaded but that’s a hard task when he calls you lovely.
“Hello…” You rummage through your pocket, careful of not grabbing the wrong item. At last, an unfamiliar shape graze your fingers and you present it. “After you left before, your wand… You were looking for it ?”
You hesitate for a brief moment to explain how you’ve come across it, not sure how you appear right now. Hopefully, not like a thief. But there’s no need, instead, his entire body perks up with excitement.
“Ah, you found it !” He exclaims, voice glittering with satisfaction. The expression he throws your way is appreciative and you find yourself mirroring the curve of his lips. “Where might have you found it ? Really, you have my gratitude, thank you.”
“With my stuff,” You reply with a chuckle, shoulders relaxing. “Well hidden but, I’m happy I could help.”
But the sound is met with... well, nothing. It hangs in the air, fades into silence and nothing to pick up the exchange. As the song goes, he looks at you and you look at him. There’s a twinkle of wonder.
"Where to then ? I do hope it's somewhere interesting."
Your eyebrows rise in utter confusion. For a moment, you believe you missed something he said.
"Surely, you don't expect me to let you leave without a proper thank-you ?" His voice lowers, the mischief laced with something undecipherable. "Let it be known : us, faes, take debts very seriously." He leans in. "And as I recall, our last conversation was cut short, wasn't it ?"
He's close.
Your breath only returns when he straightens, casualness erasing the previous traces of his tone. He folds his arms.
"So, where should we venture ?"
“No matter how many times I come here, I never seem to get tired of it.” He gestures at the outdoor space, orbs shining with something older. “So much colours, so much life — it really does bring the best out of the world doesn’t it ?”
The thrilling adventure you offer is a visit at the outside market. You note how unflattering your outfit is and how basic this activity is but it's not like there's much to do after school hours other than walking and maybe, walking again.
And although there wasn’t much doubt, getting the outspoken confirmation of his fae lineage has you slightly self-conscious about how you might appear. It all concerns how childish you may sound, how boring such item must be compared to his previous experiences, how little you are in the grander scheme of things.
To your relief though, it doesn't look like it bothers him. Your gaze softens. “Yes,” you murmur in turn, facing forward : in his presence, the constant and small apprehension fade. The occasional stuttering as well. “It’s like a different story told, right ? Everytime you come, it’s a tale waiting to be unraveled.” You only feel at ease.
When he cast a glance over — there’s no edge, no teasing. Just something akin to approval, something a bit softer. And just like that, a minor shift is made between you two. There’s no need to acknowledge it as it settles with your shared steps and the steady conversation.
He seems delighted by the husles and bustles of the street and lively chattings of passing customers一 sometimes, fellow students who come to unwind. From one street to another, from wooden toys to foreign kettles, he approaches each stand with similar energy 一 with curiosity and a story of his own. Tales of his time as a solo explorer or recent anecdotes in potionology, you absorb his words no matter.
It’s a different kind of lovely spectacle you’re subjected to : rather than distant, clean admiration, the vibrancy of the place further highlights Lilia’ liveliness. The skin you compared to dolls is kissed by sun; his red orbs are similar to candles whose flame dance to his laughter and his hair are perfect for small hairdos offered there.
“I once visited a kingdom in which the height which one poured hot tea from reflected the level of respect for th—“
“Didn’t you tell me this already, Lilia ?” Your joyful tone cut his story short. Though, he doesn’t take offense, eyebrows arching gracefully instead. The more you chat, the more smoothly his name rolled of your tongue : for your greatest satisfaction. His as well if you believe the deepening of his cheeky dimples. “Is this a way to push me to prepare you tea for next time ?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea. But I’d much rather be the one to serve you,” he hums. “Naturally I’d pour from quite the height.“
“Smooth talker.”
But you feel giddy. Beyond the suave declarations, there's warmth, patience and mischievousness. That, you’re learning — rather than making you feel small — invites you in his larger world and takes the time to describe each details your eyes have yet to see.
He welcomes your errors and clumsiness with amusement. One void of judgement and cruelty, rather, full of spontaneity and fun like it’s the core of life. Sometimes, you complain at his teasings when he spooks you yet again behind the tapestry. Sometimes, you listen and learn how intricate his life has been 一 is — when you see metallic tools.
“Lilia, what is that ?” You ask, pointing curiously at a good you never saw before. The man floats over, magenta eyes taking in the circular item. Latitude lines and star positions adorn the bronze, it looks old but well taken care of.
“I believe that’s an astrolabe.” He guesses as the shopkeeper approaches you both. Accepting the tool from the woman’s hands, Lilia plucks at it with a weird familiarity.
“A wha— sorry, what ?”
“An astrolabe,” he reiterates. He gives a sidelong glance and lips stretches the more your confusion lengthen. “Trein mentioned it the other day when teaching about ancient navigation spells, were you not paying attention ?”
“Oh, I actually have no recollection, I must have been unfocused that day ?”
“It seems to be a recurring problem nonetheless — that distracted mind of yours. Would you like to share why ? I’m sure we can look for solutions, khee-he-he.”
“Oh— no, no, no, don’t worry. I already have what I need.” You sputter, caught lacking. At your flustered tone, his amusement is more explicit and he gestures you to come nearer.
“Well then. Come along, I’ll show you how an astrolabe works. Perhaps you’ll find it more entertaining outside of class.”
Explanations flow swiftly, you’re easily engrossed in the subject as you make no haste to leave the stand. When you resume your pace, it’s already an hour later with people starting to leave and wafting smells of food. It's nice and sevens, you would have never dared to strike conversation with him if he didn't lose his wand.
You’re lucky : he shares stories like each detail is a treasure and this evening alone feels like one.
You glimpse at a green shine laid on a table a few steps away — with the setting sun, the colour further catches your attention amidst the darker and duller products. This time, it is you who share an anecdote.
“In a country I visited younger once,” you say in a breath, catching his attention. Within the course of your outings, you learnt how sharp his hearing is. No matter the noises and yells, he always focuses on your words. “This plant was used to signify luck.”
A four-leaved clove, crooked and amateur — a handcrafted piece of jewellery, surely to decorate one’s jacket. You trace the outline with your index.
You take it and place it in the palm of his hand.
“It’s not a real one,” you clarify, feeling suddenly a bit hotter. “But I feel lucky to have been able to spend time and learn more about you. I hope we can do something similar again.” You exhale, then a shy smile tugs at your lips. “And I hope that one day, I can give you a real one.”
His eyes crinkles as he cradles your gift close to his torso. “How delightful.”
And it’s hard to know if he’s speaking about the good or your feelings.
Lilia Vanrouge is not a poster boy anymore.
Not to be mistaken, you still giggle when you share extensive eye contacts during classes. You openly gape when he looks really good 一 which, without surprise, happens at least once a week 一 and some daydreaming still include him.
There's a twist however. For each time a glance is reciprocated, a smile is carefully displayed behind your history books respectively. When his appearance strikes you, you reach out to compliment him, earning his gleeful appreciation and now, the time spent thinking about him in bed is significantly smaller than the time used to chat together.
Rather than being a spectator, you go out your way to seek his presence, taking the opportunities for iddle conversations and mindless teasings between classes. It feels nice to not be just an admirer anymore, to dare and be more.
You initially don’t have anything against hyping him from afar. But seeing him as he is : human, well… fae in his case, real, nuanced and flawed. The appreciation you hold for him is different, deeper, less idealistic and more…
(You’re not ready to find the word yet.)
You like to think this is a mutuel feeling as he took a liking to suddenly appearing nearby whenever strikes his fancy. No reason is needed to come and talk to you, just as no justification is necessary if it means scaring you. To be fair, that's more you ever daydreamed about.
But his friendship comes with terrible hardships. Horrific events happening at least once a day, weighing on both your mind and body. Your attempts are serious at turning a blind eye, to no avail.
There's a purple coloured meal on the threshold of your room.
Let's take a moment to repeat.
There's a purple coloured meal on the threshold of your room.
You really would like to announce how surprising that is, how intrigued you feel and maybe poetically delve into the turmoil of your emotions at that surprise gift.
You can't.
Because while he is nowhere to be seen, there’s no doubt about his culpability.
That fae is the only one capable of creating such monstrosity. Plus, it's the third time this week Lilia brings his food over like a cat bringing his prey to its owner. Exception being : he is no animal, probably hundreds of years old and if anyone dares to try and own him… he would probably own them first, prank them to death and find a way for their ghost to witness his singing.
You bend over, playing with the edge of the plate to inspect it further. Purple and green leaves looking incredibly moist and…moister, amidst some kind of soup. Sevens, does he know how to turn his food in anything other than mud doppelgänger— that’s honestly a genuine concern. Of course, no foil covers the dish. Ants are already making their way over for the buffet of their lives.
You do note the presence of a clean spoon to invite you to taste.
You suppress a sigh.
“No, I won’t eat this.” You declare without hesitation.
“Oh ?” A deeper voice express beside you, his shoulder almost touching yours. Lilia appears upside down in a pop of exaggerated enthusiasm, the green shine of the clove jewellery catching rays of sunshine. “Is it the colour ? The smell ? The texture ? Or do you fear the unknown?”
“It just pulses, Lilia,” you deadpan as you stand up, levelling his creation up to his gaze. “I don’t think food is supposed to do that.”
“Ah, but that’s what gives it character ! I assure you, among all that pulsed, only one turned sentient. You should be safe… probably.” You hear a chuckle.
“Right, because the previous one was safe maybe ?” A defensive line leaves your lips as you fold your arms, the food once put away. You frown lightly as the previous experience flows right back in mind. A breaded recipe whose hidden bones caused you to be bedridden for two days straight. “Should I remind you that because of that, I puked blood all night ?”
As supportive you can be, the repetitive culinary russian roulette bring its own hazard.
“Quite the souvenir ! You did give us quite the scare. But I disgress…” His tone is softer. “I only bring these because I worry. You always look exhausted. Stretched thin. I thought that maybe… I could help you make you feel fuller.”
He cast a sidelong glance. Your tensed shoulders lower slowly. Your impatience dissipate at the sincere motivation, the magenta orbs of his not helping one bit as you find once again losing yourself in it. There’s a pause.
“That’s sweet… but please, stop it.”
“Oh ?” His head tilts just a little but the laughter fades ever so slightly.
“Yes. If you really care,” Gracefully, he floats into your view, coming back to an upright position. Your words is firm but not unkind, you only hope he can discern it. “Do it in other ways. Aren’t you master at surprising people ?”
A blink then — he laughs gently. “Message received.” His smile is smaller but warmer. “I will find new ways to dote on you.”
Your lips quirk into a smirk.
“Surprise me, Lilia.”
Right, so. You have no idea how he decided to surprise you but it visibly entails to being dressed to the nines one banal thursday afternoon. Amidst the tired faces and worn out uniforms, it’s physically impossible to miss him.
Lilia stands in the middle of the courtyard. The usual attire doned by a charcoal ensemble and by the perfectly fitted fabric, the silver details adorning his cuffs as well as high collar, there’s something almost ceremonial about him. Almost princely, like straight out of a ancient painting — if it isn’t for his easy posture.
He’s deadly.
You’ve never seen him dressed like that.
And there’s something captivating about that : beyond the clothing style, the charm lies into how he’s dressed up. Intentionally dressed as if each folds and embroidery exist to captivate and impress. Oh, does it work well — he’s put together to kill.
Kill by beauty, probably.
Sharp as ever, he’s quick to notice your presence across. Ignoring the glances and whispers, he throws a toothy grin before appearing in front of you, heels clicking at the movement.
You blink at his appearance.
“Wow, you look… like you’ve come straight from Shoenheit’s personal closet.”
He imitates a grand introduction, bowing. The action completes his regal impression. It’s surprising but the way he carries himself with poise and confidence despite the odd period clash sells it all. “Why, thank you. I’ve been told ‘being dressed this cute healed the soul’ so I’ve decided to put that prescription to the test.” The smile he gives you is devastating. “So how is your soul ?”
Your heart pick up in pace, throat drying up lightly. There’s an obvious struggle to hide how flustered you are. “I— Oh, uh— Flourishing, really.”
You clear your throat, attempting to buy a few seconds to let your cheeks cool down. His eyes twinkle.
“But really, what’s the occasion ?”
“Who’s to tell ?” He first says with an easy shrug. “Maybe I merely wanted to look my best. Maybe I wanted to catch the attention of someone special. Although, it would have been easier if you had caught all the signs. The meals, the longing stares, the karaoke — do you need more instances, dear ?”
“Sorry— aren’t you just friendly and naturally charming ?”
At your surprise, he openly laughs. You feel like that sentence is the most amusing of the day but he’s quick to put himself together, though his dimples are still there.
Ah, well.
“Mhm. That I am,” his voice drops lower. He gets closer to you with a slow pace and the tilt of his head. “But I’m also curious. And I’ve been wondering how long will you need to take the hint, for the past months.”
“What hint ?“ You feel his breath mingling with yours.
“The one that ends like this,” he whispers. “When is our second date ?”
Greetings, fellow writer of the internet, I was curious to know if it is alright to request the Housewardens and Jamil from Twisted Wonderland x gn Reader, where the Housewardens and Jamil are trying their absolute best to hide their growing feelings for the reader, but their affection keeps slipping through in the small gestures they do for the reader, such gestures like lingering touches, remembering tiny details, or soft smiles they didn’t mean to show, etc.? I just absolutely love this concept; It makes my stomach flutter with joy!!!
── ⋆⋅☆ TWST HOUSEWARDENS - WAYS YOU CAN TELL THEY LIKE YOU
── ⋆⋅☆ AUTHORS NOTE Twin, where have I been? I have been renovating my room and working full-time. Sorry for my absence, though no one probably noticed lol, I am back now. And also ☝️🤓 I feel like this is some of my best work, not to pat myself on the back. I researched writing tips and stuff cause I wanna cook for y’all.
── ⋆⋅☆ RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS
Riddle absolutely thinks he’s being subtle about his feelings. Spoiler: he is not.
At first, it’s tiny things. Like, microscopic.
He’ll stand a little closer to you than he does to anyone else. Not close enough to break a rule, of course, but close enough that Cater raises an eyebrow every time.
Whenever you talk to him, he answers a little too quickly. Like he was already listening for your voice before you even said his name.
He absolutely tries to keep his tone even and proper, but every now and then, he slips and sounds… soft?
Not “Riddle Rosehearts, Perfect Prefect of Heartslabyul” soft, but “boy with a crush who has no idea what to do about it” soft :/
Sometimes he’ll do this thing where he gives you a compliment but phrases it like it’s just an objective observation.
“Your handwriting is—adequate.”
Translation: he’s trying not to say “you look cute” and failing miserably.
But the real kicker is the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.
Soft, warm, totally enamoured — like he’s letting himself feel everything he refuses to say out loud.
The second you look his way, though?
He straightens up, clears his throat again (this boy is singlehandedly hydrating himself by clearing his throat), and pretends he was absolutely not admiring you from five feet away.
We let him pretend.
He’s cute. He’s trying.
And one day, he’s absolutely going to crack and spill everything in one breath.
── ⋆⋅☆ LEONA KINGSCHOLAR
Leona thinks he’s being smooth about hiding his feelings.
He is, in fact, being about as subtle as a brick.
At first, it’s the little things he swears no one will notice.
Like how he suddenly “just happens” to nap in the exact places you like to hang out.
Pure coincidence, of course. Definitely not planning. Leona would never.
He’ll be lying there with his arm over his eyes, pretending he didn’t track your schedule down to the minute.
You show up?
“Oh. Didn’t see you there.”
Leona, you absolutely did. He heard you coming from across campus.
And if anyone calls him out? Instant denial.
“What, you think I care? Don’t be stupid.”
Meanwhile he is actively glaring at anyone who stands within two feet of you.
But the biggest giveaway? His tail.
That thing has zero poker face.
When you sit beside him, it’ll flick once like he’s annoyed… but then curl around your ankle like it has a mind of its own.
He’ll pretend he’s asleep so he doesn’t have to explain it.
── ⋆⋅☆ AZUL ASHENGROTTO
Azul swears he’s keeping his feelings under control.
And, honestly? He tries.
But the man is about as subtle as a contract with fine print in size 6 font.
At first, it shows in how he suddenly pays a little too much attention to you.
Like, you mention something once, and he has it memorized like it’s part of a business deal.
Your favourite drink? Always stocked.
Your schedule? He somehow knows it better than you
He acts perfectly composed, of course.
Or… tries to.
Because every time you compliment him, he does that weird “pushes his glasses up and looks away” thing like he’s buffering.
He starts offering you “special discounts” at the Lounge.
Which would be normal… except you’re the only one getting them.
“Oh, it’s just a promotional offer.” :D
Azul, babe, no promotion on earth is ‘for (Y/N) only.’
We let him pretend.
He’s cute when he thinks he’s being smooth.
── ⋆⋅☆ KALIM AL ASIM
Kalim doesn’t hide his affection so much as he thinks he is.
There’s a difference.
A very adorable difference.
At first, it’s the way he lights up whenever you walk into a room.
Not a normal smile. No, no.
A full sunshine-level beam like someone just told him every day is his birthday now.
He tries to act casual, but Kalim’s version of “casual” is… loud.
He’ll excitedly wave you over from across the hall, nearly knocking Jamil over in the process.
“Oh! Come sit with me!” :D
Totally subtle.
He remembers everything you like and immediately turns it into a celebration.
You mentioned once that you enjoy a certain snack? Boom. He orders a whole platter for the dorm.
Said you like a certain color?
Congratulations, he’s wearing it the next day.
“Oh wow, what a coincidence!” :D
Kalim, please.
If someone else tries to monopolize your attention? He doesn’t get jealous, exactly.
He just appears at your side out of thin air with a smile that says, 'I’m here now! Pay attention to me instead!'
He’s like an affectionate teleporting golden retriever.
── ⋆⋅☆ JAMIL VIPER
Jamil actually tries to hide his affection.
Not like Leona “pretend I don’t care” hiding or Kalim’s “I forgot I’m supposed to hide it” hiding.
No. Jamil hides it like it’s a state secret punishable by death.
At first, it shows in how he pays attention to you just a little too closely.
He’ll act like he just happened to notice you skipped lunch…
Right before he slides a plate your way without making eye contact.
“It’s extra. If you don’t want it, throw it out.”
Jamil, this meal has your love language all over it.
But the real giveaways? His reactions.
You make him laugh, genuinely laugh, and he immediately looks away like it was a crime.
Jamil acts like smiling at you too much is going to get him arrested.
If someone else gets too close to you?
Jamil doesn’t get jealous. he gets competitive. Silent, deadly, competitive.
Suddenly, he’s next to you, subtly out-performing whoever dared to take your attention with a smile that is absolutely not a smile.
── ⋆⋅☆ VIL SHOENHEIT
Vil insists he is in complete control of his emotions.
Naturally.
He is elegance. He is poise. He is composure... and he is also so painfully obvious about liking you that even Epel noticed.
EPEL.
At first, it’s the hyper-specific attention.
He’s always correcting your posture, brushing lint off your shoulder, fixing your collar, just small touches he claims are “for presentation.”
Sure, Vil. Totally not an excuse to be close to them at all.
He watches you like a hawk in the most caring way possible.
You skip breakfast? He knows.
You look tired? Suddenly, there’s a vitamin drink in your hands with “drink this” written all over his face.
“You need to take better care of yourself,” he says, sounding only 40% exasperated and 60% concerned.
He pretends it’s all for your health and image, but he is absolutely worrying about you like it’s his full-time job.
He also softens around you without meaning to.
His voice dips, his lectures shorten, and sometimes, just sometimes, he lets out genuine, unfiltered laughs.
Little ones, but still.
Vil Schoenheit letting himself relax in your presence is basically a love confession.
── ⋆⋅☆ IDIA SHROUD
Idia thinks he’s hiding his crush flawlessly. He truly believes he is the stealthiest man alive.
In reality?
Ortho knows.
The ghosts in Ignihyde know.
The vending machines probably know.
At first, it’s tiny things.
Like how he suddenly appears online the exact second you do.
“Oh wow, what a coincidence,” he says, while literally sweating.
Idia, please. He has push notifications on for your login. We know.
He starts sending you memes. Normal. Fine.
Except they’re ALWAYS perfectly tailored to your humour, and he sends them instantly, like he’s been waiting with the link copied to clipboard for hours.
Whenever you come to Ignihyde, his hair flames go from “soft blue” to “neon panic mode” in record time.
He’ll spin in his chair like, “Oh—uh—didn’t hear you come in!” (｡﹏｡")
Sir, you jumped like someone fired a cannon.
He tries to act cool by being “detached.”
You ask him a question, and he’s like, “Yeah, whatever, I guess…”
while literally typing a paragraph of internal screaming in his mental chatbox.
Stop, he's so cute.
── ⋆⋅☆ MALLEUS DRACONIA
Malleus truly believes he is being subtle.
He’s ancient, powerful, dignified.
Surely he can hide a simple crush... He cannot.
Everyone in Diasomnia figured it out before he did.
At first, it’s the way he just appears wherever you are. Completely by “coincidence.”
You go for an evening walk? Boom. There he is, emerging from the mist.
“Ah, Child of Man. Fancy meeting you here.” :)
Malleus, please.
He asks you questions. SO many questions.
Things no normal person would think to ask.
“What brings you joy?” “What colours do you like least?” “Have you dreamed recently?”
He’s collecting lore about you like you’re an ancient artifact he discovered.
He brings you gifts constantly, but pretends they are nothing.
A rare flower that blooms once every century. A hand-carved charm infused with protective magic. A little gem from his hoard.
“I happened upon this and thought you might appreciate it.” Sir. This is a priceless ancient relic.
He lights up when you say his name. Literally. His magic flickers, the air shifts, his smile grows just a bit too fast.
It’s like he’s been waiting centuries just to hear you acknowledge him.
He’s too precious and too hopelessly in love to call out.
Prompt: There’s a myth that states our moles and birth marks are on the parts of us our past lovers kissed//loved the most. So…in your next reincarnation, where would those moles appear?
A/N: Took a shot at some fresh faces…and eased my brain rot. Ah. I feel lighter already
-
Riddle yearns for you like a gentleman watching his most desired prospect from across the ballroom. Deep down his inner rebellious twin wants nothing more than to take your lips at any given moment. To assert himself across the expanse and whisk you off where there are no distractions. That is unfortunately a daringness found only in another lifetime…although his restraint ebbs as time chips away. He insists on holding your hand with perfect form, thumb aligned, posture straight, but the aecond he lifts your knuckles to his lips, something in him softens. There ‘s rebellion in the way he kisses each joint, lingering just a moment too long; there’s yearning in the way his thumb smooths over your skin afterward. To him, your knuckles are where he first felt daring, where he learned the quiet thrill of affection that breaks one rule. Such poised affection never fails to leave your heart pounding, as does his subtle smirk each time you flush.
In the next life, a graceful rose-tinted streak stretches across your knuckles. As if someone swiped a permanent blush of color with their thumb.
“…In another life, should you forget everything else… let there be a mark here. This is where I held you when I finally gathered the courage. I want that moment to stay.”
Trey finds your back to be the perfect resting post. He drapes across your shoulders with no need for the middle man known as permission. Hands sit at your waist ready to mold a spot and stay for hours. Yet they don’t remain for long once his eyes are closed and lips trace the slope of your trapezius. Thank the gods most hours are spent in privacy, because he can never resist the urge to kiss the curve of your shoulders and linger many moments longer than appropriate.
In the next life, twin moles sit on opposite sides of your shoulders. As if someone pecked the spots in farewell before reluctantly pulling away.
“Heh… if we’re reborn, I hope you get a little mark on your shoulders. That’s where I always steady you, right? So even if I’m not there yet, you’ll feel like someone’s got your back.”
Cater enjoys nothing more than seeing the most exposed parts of you. Candid moments that couldn’t possibly be altered by anything other than him. His cheeky pecks are placed strategically over each poking bone, one finger pulling your waistband down far enough to reach his favorite place. He leaves a bite that doesn’t need any effort to be hidden away. Yet he knows it is there and eagerly awaits his own matching set.
In the next life, there is a diamond shaped mark along your right hip bone. As if someone pinched the skin too long, waiting for the day their mark would finally lay down roots.
“Okay, call me cheesy, but - if we get round two at life, I hope you have a cute lil’ mark on your hip. That’s where I always and poke you ‘cause it’s, like… my favorite soft spot.”
Deuce seeks your lips like one does a cellphone signal on a deserted island. Your first kiss left him shipwrecked with no means of returning back to the life from which he came. He adores how you melt into him, when you grasp at his blazer for support and your knees grow weak. Your lips are more reward for his hard work than any trophy or praise. Deuce is a simple, greedy man. He will not shy from your affection once he’s been exposed to how wonderful it makes him feel. Every opportunity is seized like it might be his last, because deep down he fears that one day it may be.
In the next life, you are born with a split lower lip. As if someone latched on, biting until they were forced to let go.
“If I mess up and we don’t end up together next time… then maybe you’ll have a mark on your lips. So you’ll remember that I - I really loved kissing you. Even if I was nervous.”
Ace plays his tricks best when there is no one else around to catch him in the act. Not a soul in sight is there to steal your attention, and surely no thought or reason compares when he makes a canvas out of your stomach. He thrives on how your muscles tense with laughter, pulling you down so he can kiss from belly button to ribs. It never fails to earn all your attention, letting some linger and purposefully guiding your shirt up for better access. His attack always ends with a kiss morphed into blowing a raspberry. Your poor excuse for a glare sweeter than any fruit, and even better once it melts to a wobbly smile.
In the next life, a heart shaped birthmark sits right next to your belly button. It’s a dead give away to your most ticklish spot, as if someone already discovered your secret and never forgot to abuse it.
“Tch - fine, fine. If I gotta make a wish or whatever? Then I hope you get a mark on your stomach. ‘Cause that’s where I always dunk my head when you laugh like a dying seagull - yeesh! Ow! Ow! Okay! ‘Cause it’s soft, alright?! …Sheesh.”
Leona’s best caught when you are unaware. Which means his most tender affection is a secret between him and your dreams. When his body is grounded by an ‘otherworldly’ pressure, making reality move slow enough that sunset might never come. Not when you’re in his arms - relaxed and curled against him - and suddenly he can hold the world in his hands. Leona’s tail purposefully coils around your waist, his fingers leather-clad and gentle as he brushes the hair from your neck. One goal on his mind once your scent hits with a wave of euphoria, and his lips brush your nape before he thinks any better of it. His lips linger - greedy for every second - as his eyes close and other senses take over. His breath against your skin, the brush of a fang, the lazy drag of his fingers along your hairline… this is the kind of intimacy he understands. Something simple. Something real. Something instinctive. You wake to his forehead pressed against the spot, ‘genuine’ snores biding his time with his precious, ‘otherworldly’ weight.
In the next life, a faint, tawny mark curls along the nape of your neck like the echo of a possessive nuzzle. Such a tender spot tucked away, your vitals protected as if the world knew someone would earn your trust and discover it. That they would protect you too.
“…Tch. If you’re gonna forget everything else, then at least remember that spot. It’s where I rest my head when I’m tired. Best pillow I ever had… so you’ll remember who you belong with.”
Ruggie has access to the tastiest snack on campus. All he has to do is slink up behind you and take a bite. His kisses are an ambush, nipping skin between his teeth with snickers getting lost in your clothes. He bides his time, waits for an opening, and like the prize at a bazaar he sucks in a large chunk of your cheek like it’s the sweetest, freshly fluffed mochi after new year. There’s no such thing as empty calories to this hyena, and you’re enough to stall his grumbling tummy in between meals. He’d never say it out loud but you truly are made of ‘sugar, spice, and everything nice’. Though it’s portrayed by the laughter whistling through his teeth as he peppers a few stray pecks over where he eagerly feasted.
In the next life, your cheeks dimple even when a smile isn’t seen. As if someone poked the holes in place with their fangs and adored how healthily round they are.
“Heh - if we get another shot at living, I hope you keep a mark on your cheek. ‘Cause I don’ know if I’ll be lucky enough to have you a second time…still not sure what I did to deserve the first. I’m always squishin’ that spot anyway. Would be nice if you remembered who made ya smile.”
Jack never fails to let a kiss linger. Our greatest regrets are actions avoided. For a man built upon his dedication and restraint, those extra seconds feel like a lifetime he would willingly live over and over again. The weight of his love pressed into your temple in a gentle, yet fierce devotion. No matter the situation, he makes a point to let his lips press deep before letting himself linger those extra seconds. It’s where he sees you thinking, worrying, dreaming. When he rests his forehead lightly against yours, it’s a gesture of trust he doesn’t give to anyone else. He’s careful with you - thumb brushing your temple when he checks if you’re tired, lips brushing the same spot when he wants to reassure you but doesn’t have the courage to say it. He follows with a brief peck to ensure his point is clear before pulling away. Be it with a word with himself or one you are lucky enough to hear muttered under his breath. Jack never fails to leave a piece of him with you each time.
In the next life, a mole sits against your temple like a third eye. As if someone put every piece of themself there across a lifetime, along with their earnest wish for your safety and happiness.
“…If this whole reincarnation thing is real… then I hope you get a mark on your temple. I don’t want the next me to forget that you trusted me. He’ll work to earn it just like I have.”
Azul is a lover of shiny things. His mint coins call him to be admired and valued day by day. Yet there is no greater sparkle worth his admiration than the pearl sitting upon your left ring-finger. From the moment he dared to call you his, Azul traced circles over your finger with his thumb. Every moment he held your hand was an opportunity stolen to press a chaste kiss over where he knew a promise would soon stay. With time his plans came to fruition, yet the habit never ceased. He merely moves to the knuckle, reinstating his greatest contract with assurances of his love spoken clearly into your skin.
In the next life, a mole no bigger than a speck hides on the inside of your left ring-finger, to the side of your knuckle. Anyone who comes close enough would be remiss not to notice it. As if another was greedy enough to stake a claim over you across multiple mortal coils.
“…A-ah… well. If we’re discussing future lives, then - if it’s not too presumptuous - I’d like a mark on your ring finger. The… one I was always too cowardly to claim. Maybe the next version of me will manage to say what he feels early on, so we have as much time as possible together.”
Jade loves how your lips part with bated breath. When he's found the most opportune moment to slide to your side and whisper musings into your ear. Be his words a reminder of the day or a dip into his most depraved thoughts. The context is irrelevant when what he's after is far more interesting. When his breath tickles and his hands find your waist - holding for mere moment, only to punctuate whatever he says with a kiss to the shell of your ear and pull away. You're left flush and dazed...not a word comprehended yet he can't so much as pretend to mind.
In the next life, the beauty mark behind your ear is a tough one to spot. You're hardly aware it's there most days, yet it always makes an admirable appearance when the time is right. Be it when you slip on a new pair of earrings, or brush past while tucking away a stray hair.
“Mm… if destiny chooses to rewrite us, then I hope you have my mark upon your ear. That is where you let me whisper secrets… and where you always leaned closer.”
Floyd is a natural explorer. His teeth guide him where they yearn to sink in like a compass, and it is always set on where your softest parts stay hidden. He can steal a bite from your shoulder by edging your collar away, or nibble along your arms with permission granted if it means he’ll go along with your tide for a time. Yet his teeth sink into your thighs without restraint whenever they can. He only has access to them when there are no other fish swimming about. He can enjoy the feel of you without regard for anything else. How it’s like biting into a pillowy marshmallow that squirms and knows him by name. Yet above all else, you taste the best when plated up for him alone.
In the next life, arced marks stretch across your inner thighs as waning crescent moons. They start off small when you’re a baby and resemble a thin strip. Yet as you age, the skin stretches and it appears as if the marks are smiling at you. As if someone is laughing each time you explain them to another. Like a game you’d never win.
“Next life? Hah! Fun! Then I want ya to have a mark riiight on your thighs. ‘Cause that’s where I like holdin’ ya the most. Makes ya squeak so cute~ The next me better remember exactly how to grab ya.”
Kalim feels blessed by the sun when you smile into a kiss. The way your lips pull against his and teeth knock together like bumbling youths in the hall. Such sweetness makes him richer than any man in the universe, and when you laugh? He jumps to steal your breath eagerly and holds you tight until your knees grow weak. His days are brighter when you're within arms length, and fireworks burst when you become just as greedy for his happiness. There are many things in life that Kalim has done poorly - that he will get wrong - but each time you kiss him? Well, there is no doubt he's done one move right...and that's all Kalim needs to keep going.
In the next life, a stripe of vitiligo darkens your upper lip. The contrast is notable enough to give an almost cartoonish contrast whenever you smile. It immediate catches the eye of whoever you meet, and always starts a conversation that ends with your charm on full display. As if someone felt gratitude beyond the stars that your happiness was theirs to cherish, and wanted everyone to appreciate the treasure that is your smile.
“Ooh! Then I want a mark on your smiling lips! That way, even in the next life, I’ll know that I’m the reason you look that happy!”
Jamil will kiss the length of your arms like a second calling. His vice is that there is only so much time in the day, and it isn't nearly enough to truly reach every inch of your skin. His affection is tamed until the doors are closed. Then he reaches for the first part of you he sees and all the pressure keeping his spine pulled taught exchanges with indulgence. From your fingertips, to your forearms, up your biceps - pausing to pull you closer and brush his fingertips over your shoulders. Once you've lost every thought that isn't of him, he passes the arc and continues the path down your opposite arm. He ensures each kiss is weighted, so that you will not forget them overnight and not even through the next day. If you dare lower your arms then he will hold them outwards on his own. In fact, he prefers it that way. Let him be lost in everything you taunted at length in daylight. Let him forget his troubles in you every night and he will consider it the first sign of a god's existence.
In the next life, your arms are decorated with a dusting of freckles. The contrasting sort that could not be hidden without a thick layering of oil based concealer. At a distance you are a painting to behold, covered in dotty coils that practically demand to be counted. As if someone unknown challenged all to try, knowing that their existence would be in the spotlight this lifetime.
“…If we have to do this all over again, then… let there be my marks across your arms. That’s where I always touch you without thinking. Maybe the next me won’t run from that.”
Vil’s touch is unmistakably intentional, always. With you, the pretense falls away - his hands glide down your spine not to sculpt perfection, but to feel the warm, fragile life beneath his palms. He massages the tension from each vertebra with a tenderness he rarely allows the world to see. And afterward, he presses lingering kisses along the same line, a ritual he performs as if sealing devotion into your very bones. He treasures this place because your spine - straight, vulnerable, essential - reminds him that even beauty needs support, and that he wishes to be yours.
In the next life, a delicate stroke of color runs down your spine, soft as powdered henna. You never see it without feeling a strange calm, as if hands you’ve never met are smoothing along your back.
“If fate grants us a second act, then let a mark run along your spine. That is where my hands always travel after a long day… and where my caress tells you what words fail.”
Rook adores your inner palms with a reverence bordering on worship. To him, they are the softest, most revealing part of you - unguarded, intimate. He holds your wrist like he’s catching a falling star, guiding your hand up to his lips while maintaining unwavering eye contact. He kisses your palms not out of passion alone, but out of awe; they are the hands that have reached for him, comforted him, trusted him. In every kiss, he is declaring: I see you. I choose you. I love you. I am yours. Encore, encore.
In the next life, faint markings bloom across your palms, like jagged scars but without the pain endured to earn them. You feel warmth there whenever you stretch your hands toward something beautiful. As if they are the traces of a hunter’s devotion - his eternal vow carved into the most vulnerable part of you.
“Oho! Then I wish for deux marques upon your lovely palms! So that when we meet again, mon amour, I may lift your hands, kiss them, and declare - ‘Ah! I have found you at last, mon coeur.’”
Epel loves flustering you - it’s a secret he poorly hides behind his boyish grin and the bite of his accent. The way your breath stutters under his lips, the warmth that blooms beneath his mouth, the hitch in your voice when he nips your collar - he lives for it. He loves to have you shivering beneath him, flustered with no two words stringing together a coherent sentence. It’s the highest praise he can ever hope for. It proves he can affect you as deeply as you affect him. Your neck makes him feel capable, powerful, desired. When his hands cradle the sides of your throat, he isn't trying to dominate you; he’s savoring the closeness, the unspoken trust.
In the next life, a faint bite-shaped mark sits at your collar, as if someone pressed their mouth there again and again until the memory stuck. Every time heat rises to your neck in embarrassment, it stands out. As if a brazen fool forever damned decorum in one final push to be seen for the fire in their heart.
“If we’re startin’ over again… then I want a mark on your neck. Right where you get all flustered. I - I like seein’ you like that. And I want the next me to remember it.”
Idia loves the top of your head because it’s the one place he can touch without combusting from embarrassment. He pretends he’s just messing up your hair - “It’s totally a crit buff!” - but his fingers linger a bit too long, threading through your locks with shy affection. When he pats your head, he avoids eye contact like it’s a final boss fight if pure will, but the gesture is tender, earnest, grounding. Your crown is the safest point of intimacy for him: you can’t see his face turn pink, can’t watch him short-circuit while trying to act casual. It’s where he goes when he wants comfort without vulnerability, affection without panic. His face buried in a soft pillow that smells like fruity soap and impulse decisions. The perfect spot to string nonsensical ramblings together on the chance of peppering a kiss in between. It’s a game of timed attack so you don’t notice…And sometimes - rarely - he presses his forehead to the top of yours, as if sharing data through the warmth of your skin.
In the next life, a persistent cowlick forms at your crown, rising no matter how you brush it down. It always tilts in the direction of comfort, like a phantom hand just ran through your hair.
“U-uh—o-okay so, hypothetically—If we get Isekai’d into a next life DLC, then… maybe you’ll have a little cowlick? In the same spot I, uh… 'p-pat' when I get brave for 0.2 seconds.
Maybe next-life-me won’t need a whole loading screen to touch you again.”
Malleus cherishes your chest because it is the place he feels truly welcomed - invited, even. When you let him rest his head against your heart, his composure melts; his lashes lower, his breath slow, his arms circle you with reverence. Few have ever held him without fear, without duty, without trembling awe. But you? You cradle him as though he is something precious, someone worthy of protection. And in those moments, he believes it. He presses soft, lingering kisses over your heart as if thanking it for beating for him.
In the next life, a warm-hued mark blooms over your heart, shaped like a curved thumbprint. You feel comfort whenever someone embraces you chest-to-chest, as if a familiar weight has settled there.
“…If the threads of fate truly allow us a future life, then grant a mark over your heart.That place… is where you allow me to rest, where you hold me as if I’m someone in need of protection.In the next life, I wish to find that closeness again.”
Lilia delights in greeting you with cheerful, outrageous affection - appearing upside down, behind you, from thin air - to bop your nose with a dramatic “mwah!” But beneath the theatrics lies genuine tenderness. Your nose is the one place he can kiss lightly, playfully, constantly, without overwhelming you. He loves the way you wrinkle it when flustered, the way a simple nose kiss can brighten your entire mood. It’s his favorite because it makes you laugh, because it reminds him that affection doesn’t always need grandeur.
In the next life, a small rosy tint sits at the tip of your nose, deepening whenever you’re happy. Children often tell you you look like you’ve just been kissed by jack frost. They’re not wrong...although it's a different impish, magical being who is responsible.
“Fu fu fu~! Then let there be a tiny mark upon your nose! Perfect for my greetings, my kisses, and my endless teasing - no matter how many lives we tumble through!”
Sebek treats your hand like something sacred - grasping it with knightly precision, bowing over it with rigid posture, brushing his lips against the back in gestures he pretends are mere formality. He notices everything. The way your tendons shift when you move, the steadiness of your grip, the strength that belies your softness. He presses his lips there longer than social convention demands, each kiss is firm, reverent, almost ceremonial. And when he takes your hand in both of his, thumb brushing over your skin, he feels something fierce and grounding. Devotion. The back of your hand is where he recognizes you not as just someone to protect, but someone worthy of unwavering loyalty and admiration. Someone who makes him want to be better.
But in another truth, he adores this place because kissing your hand lets him show devotion without losing control. The back of your hand is courtly, proper, respectable - yet intimate enough to make his ears burn. It lets him honor you without betraying just how deeply he feels.
In the next life, a pale band of color stretches across the back of your hand, like the memory of a knight’s kiss. It warms whenever you clasp someone in greeting, as though expecting a familiar bow.
“IF - AND ONLY IF - WE MUST PANDER TO THE HANDS IF FATE…! Then let a mark be placed on the back of your hand! S-so that when I kneel and press my lips to it in the next life, you will know it is to you whom I once spoke a vow!”
Silver cherishes your eyes with a gentleness that softens even the firmest parts of him. When he touches your face, his hands are feather-light, brushing your eyelids as though afraid you’ll break beneath his fingers. He kisses your eyes when waking you gently, or when tears gather - a promise of protection sealed in the softest place. Your eyes are where he sees the truth of you, where emotion pools without disguise. They’re his sanctuary: two mirrors reflecting peace, affection, and clarity he rarely feels in his dream-laden world. He favors your eyes because in their gaze he finds grounding, and in their closing beneath his lips, he finds trust.
In the next life, soft speckled markings appear just beneath your eyes. They echo the places where someone once soothed your tears and carried a quiet devotion. Gentle dustings that draw others in, just so they might glimpse into your eyes and feel a drop of the comfort they are capable of providing.
“If we are reborn into new mornings… then I wish for a mark near your eyes. That way, even the next me will remember where to kiss you awake.”
Skully touches your face with the sort of reverence one usually reserves for rare works of art. He never grabs or startles - his gloved fingertips approach as though asking permission, tracing the line of your cheek, brushing beneath your eye, cupping your jaw with the delicacy of a gentleman who knows exactly how precious you are. When he kisses your face, it’s with a slow, unhurried tenderness that makes the world fall still. Each kiss feels like a stanza he’s memorizing. He favors your face because it holds every expression he treasures: every smile he’s earned, every worry he wants to soothe, every glance that softens only for him. It is the part of you he studies with quiet devotion, believing that to love someone’s face is to understand the soul it reflects.
In the next life, subtle shadow-like marks settle over the plains of your face, as if left behind by hands that once shaped affection into every contour.
"I have ghosted your features countless times… with the back of my hand, with my lips, with a reverence I dare admit aloud. Should another me wander through another era, I want him to feel this same pull - as if his very soul remembers the pattern of your skin beneath his kiss. Let the next version of me find you at the proper time, and think, ‘Ah. There you are. At long last.’"
Rollo touches your wrists with a restraint that borders on worship. He always begins with a hesitance, as though afraid he might overstep, before gently taking your arm and brushing his thumb over the delicate veins beneath your skin. It is a place that frightens him - the pulse there, so vulnerable, so fervently alive - and yet he is drawn to it with aching fascination. When he kisses the inside of your wrist, he closes his eyes, breath trembling, as if the warmth of your blood softens something iron-clad inside him. Your inner wrists are his favorite because they remind him of what he desires yet fears: unguarded humanity, fragile life, a fire that could warm him instead of consume. And deep down, he knows you trust him enough to offer that tenderness.
In the next life, faint, circular sigils appear along your inner wrists. Their meaning most curious and stumping doctors the moment you entered this world. A bit of magic in a world without, tainting you for this otherwise simple life. One you will stumble through, naive to what it is you carry.
“…If reincarnation is real, then… let there be my mark upon your inner wrists. That is where your pulse reminds me you live without fear. Perhaps the next me will understand that sooner and better prepare himself.”
Fellow Honest is a connoisseur of subtle intimacy, and your jawline is a banquet of temptations he never quite resists. He loves guiding your chin upward with a gloved finger, forcing your eyes to meet his with a slow, deliberate tilt. He traces the sharp edge of your jaw with a thumb, smiling when he feels you tense beneath his touch. When he kisses your jawline, it’s half-devotion, half-possession … a mix of velvet-soft affection and the calculated charm he wields so effortlessly. This place is his favorite because it skirts the boundary between propriety and desire. Your jaw is where elegance lives, where vulnerability meets defiance, where a single breath can betray everything you’re trying to hide. And Fellow loves nothing more than uncovering what you try to conceal.
In the next life, a faint, sculpted line appears along your jaw, like the path carved by reverent fingers and lingering kisses.
“Heh… if we meet again, I’d like a mark along your jaw. That way, when I lift your chin next time… I’ll remember exactly how to kiss you.”
Neige adores your cheeks with a kind of sunshine-soft affection. To him, they’re the most expressive part of you - the place where your emotions bloom before you speak, where joy dawns like morning light. He’s constantly reaching out without thinking, brushing a stray hair aside just to feel the warmth of your skin under his fingertips. And oh, the way he lights up when you blush… it’s like watching glitter fall. He peppers your cheeks with gentle, fluttering kisses whenever he can, giggling softly as though every touch is a secret between just the two of you. Your cheeks are where he sees you happiest. Where he feels closest to the real, unguarded you.
In the next life, a soft, rosy birthmark appears on your cheek - warm, gentle, like the echo of a kiss that never faded.
“Ooh! If there’s a next life, then I hope you get a mark on your cheeks!That’s where I always kiss you when you’re being extra adorable - ah, but I guess that’s all the time, isn’t it?”
Chen’ya adores your knees for reasons he never fully explains - mostly because he prefers watching you try to figure him out. He’ll vanish, reappear crouched in front of you, and poke the soft spot behind your knee just to hear your surprised yelp. He kisses them when he’s feeling mischievous, nipping lightly before darting away with a cheshire grin. Yet beneath all the chaos, there’s affection in the way he holds your knee with both hands, thumbs brushing soothing circles, eyes softer than usual. Your knees tell him stories - how you tremble when you’re excited, how you bend when you’re relieved, how you lean into him when you’re tired. He likes this place because it’s vulnerable in an unexpected way, a small secret gateway to your reactions, your balance, your movement. And maybe because he loves being the reason they buckle.
In the next life, swirling marks form over your kneecaps, curling like painted wisps of smoke. They tingle whenever you’re startled, warm when someone kneels before you with affection.
“Nyaahaha~! Then I wish for a mark on your knees! So the next you remembers who swooped down, caught you mid-chaos, and kissed you before you could blink!”
Hello! I stumbled onto your blog via your Accidental Fae courting with Sebek and was wondering if you would be amenable to doing the rest of Diasomnia eg. Malleus, Lilia, and Silver? If not, I totally understand! It is just such an amazing piece. Really, thank you for it and the amazing laughter and fuzzies it gave me.
Accidental Courting 2.0
Lilia / Malleus / Silver x GN! reader
[masterlist] || sebek ver.
a/n 🍨 : Hello! Thank you so much for your kind words and for requesting this — it truly means a lot💛 I apologize for taking a bit of time before accepting it (especially the fact that this request is before i closed my request thus why it's been months) I tend to take a while with requests (mostly because of irl responsibility and wanting to write other stuff, but I always appreciate every idea and prompt shared with me💛 Nonetheless, thank you for reading my humble messy writing and I hope this version brings you the same laughter and fuzzies that Sebek’s piece did! remember to eat warm happy meal 🍲🩷
Lilia Vanrouge : Moonlight Applications
You found him lying on the grass, arms folded behind his head, the moon spilling over him like poured milk. He looked unreal like that — a painting half-forgotten by the gods, left to bask in the quiet ache of starlight. Fireflies hovered around him like they knew a secret you didn’t. You should’ve kept walking. Instead, you said, “Your hair’s a mess. I’m braiding it.”
He turned his head toward you, grin lazy and knowing, crimson eyes glittering with trouble. “My, my. Touching a fae’s hair under moonlight? How daring of you.” Lilia's voice was velvet over blade, amused and devastating.
“Do you know, in my homeland, such tenderness is a declaration?”
“Of what?”
“Of intent. Of longing. Of—ah, motherhood, perhaps? I do have three children, you know. Is this your application?”
Slowly you knelt beside him anyway, fingers finding strands of soft black silk that shouldn’t have been allowed to exist. “You talk too much...” you muttered, pretending not to tremble. The moonlight clung to his hair and your hands like it was conspiring with him.
Lilia hummed, low and thoughtful, the sound vibrating against the grass. “Well~,” he began, tone lilting and casual, “I already have three children. Wonderful boys, really. A bit dramatic, a bit loud, a bit sleepy—but endlessly dear.”
His grin deepened, dangerous in its warmth. “Hmm. I think you’d be a good mother for them. They’re all grown now, of course, but a mother figure is good for any age, isn’t it?”
“WHAT— LILIA— I WAS JUST— YOUR HAIR—”
He laughed, full-bodied and delighted, the kind of laugh that made the moon lean closer. When you stumbled away, pink-faced and sputtering, he only smiled up at the stars, ribbon glinting faintly where you’d tied it. Later that night, it appeared on your pillow again, humming softly with leftover laughter — like the world itself was in on his joke.
Malleus Draconia : Confectionery Catastrophe
It began, most disastrously, with a cookie. You offered it without ceremony — a little crescent of mortal sweetness, butter, and sugar fused in a gesture so harmless it might as well have been air. But when Malleus took it, he held it like one might cradle a newborn star.
The courtyard stilled. The air shimmered faintly around him, as if the world itself had leaned in to eavesdrop. “You… offer me a gift wrought by your hands, beneath the constellations’ gaze?” His voice rumbled low, reverent, confused.
You shrugged, halfway through chewing your own cookie. “Yeah? I baked too many. Take it before I eat twenty.”
Silence. A dreadful, blooming silence. His pupils dilated, those eerie dragon-green eyes catching the moonlight like stained-glass about to confess. “In fae custom,” he murmured, “such gestures are reserved for one’s—”
“Don’t say it,” you interrupted, suddenly aware of the way his tail flicked, “—intended.”
Malleus looked halfway between smitten and having an existential crisis. His ears twitched, a faint pink climbing the sharp line of his cheekbones. “Then… I must answer this courtship with a token of my own.” he whispered, and before you could say please don’t perform any fae rituals in my yard, he vanished in a hush of green fire and terrible inevitability.
Come dawn, an obsidian pendant rested on your desk — still warm, humming faintly like a heart that wasn’t yours. Sebek shrieked. Lilia had to sit down from laughing. And across the hall, Malleus Draconia watched you with the expression of a man who just got engaged accidentally and was too enchanted, too polite, and too terminally in love to correct it.
Silver : My Logic
He was sitting under the moon again, the grass whispering soft secrets around him. A tiny bird perched delicately on his finger, chirping as if gossiping about the stars. Silver smiled at it — slow, quiet, all warmth, and patience — and whispered something back in a language the air seemed to understand.
That’s when you appeared, carrying a small blanket. “You’ll catch a cold...” you said, draping it over his shoulders before he could protest. Your fingers brushed the back of his neck — fleeting, human, harmless. Or so you thought.
But Silver froze. The bird tilted its head. Somewhere in the echoing hallways of his mind, Lilia’s voice purred fondly: Ah, to cover a fae with your cloak or cloth — that’s an old gesture of devotion, you know. Quite romantic.
Silver blinked trying to process the current situation. Romantic? He thought. His pulse stuttered. His father's voice, smug and certain, continued: A sign that you claim them. That you’d shelter them always. A promise made in fabric and moonlight.
He looked at you, standing there, smiling like this was nothing — like you hadn’t just rewritten the laws of his world with one gentle touch. “You… wish to protect me?” he asked, too earnestly.
You blinked, startled. “I— what? No, I just didn’t want you to sneeze!”
But it was too late. His heart, poor obedient thing, had already drawn its sword and sworn allegiance. He held the edge of the blanket with almost reverent fingers, the way a knight might hold an oath. “Then I’ll protect you in return...” he murmured, more to himself than to you.
Later, you found him stationed outside Ramshackle’s gate at dawn, eyes bright despite the hour. “Silver,” you question him in confusion of his actions, “why are you here?”
He smiled faintly, moonlight still clinging to his hair. “You’ve given your word, haven’t you? Father always said a vow made beneath the moon must be honoured.”
You wanted to correct him, to scream — but he looked so calm, so heartbreakingly certain, that all you could do was sigh and let him stay. Somewhere far off, Lilia laughed into the night, the sound of a man far too proud of his matchmaking instincts.
SYNOPSIS — Being a magical girl is no easy job, especially when you have seven villains that get really under your skin. Don’t get you started on the increasingly annoying underlings!
NOTE(s) — magical girl au, gn!reader, magical girl persona is yuuna, description of injury for both reader and OB boys, villain forms are basically their overblot forms (small exceptions), villain names are book titles, accidentally gave too much screen time to the goons.
WORDS — 5.5k
You know that your week has truly started when you detect a large amount of blot accumulating in the Heartslabyul district. It's always bright and early in the morning, you're still finishing up your breakfast when you arrive at the scene.
The Rose-Red Tyrant is at it again. Decked in red and black and card decorations. He uproots trees, destroys building with his face as red as his hair.
He doesn't talk much when you fight him beside the shrill screams that escape him whenever you land a particularly harsh hit. So you do most of the talking. He isn't that fond of that. He's one of your more stronger opponents. His attacks can be detrimental if they hit you, blocking off any type of magic you summon. Furthermore, Grim's fire can only do so much against someone that also attacks with fire. Though, that doesn't stop you from making quick work of him. With one hedgehog accidentally making its way onto the battle field and broken fire hydrant later, you manage to subdue him.
The Tyrant is tightly held in flame ribbons, shrieking and attempting to loosen his bindings. Blot leaks off him and onto the concrete forming a small puddle.
When you get close enough, you're stopped. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Ginger clones trap you in a circle, forming a human wall on all sides. Oh great. The Diamond is here.
You raise your staff, Grim shakes in anticipation, ready to hash out another beating. You shout out a chant, ready to lash the villain with a burst of flames, but nothing comes out but a explosion of confetti.
You sigh, shoulders slumping as you turn. The Clover.
There's really nothing you can do with Grim's magic being turned into streamers. You could technically fist-fight your way out, but you rather not take your chances.
Grim only shakes with rage in your hand as you watch The Spade and Heart undo your bindings on the Tyrant. You catch the murmurings of The Heart, something about not getting paid enough.
When the ribbon is finally undone, the red-head regains his composure, wiping of dust and blot off his dress. He smirks at you like you didn't wipe the floor with him. You can hardly see him over The Diamond's clones but that doesn't stop him from monologuing.
"Is that the best you can do Yuuna? You're a fool to think that you could beat me. IT'S OFF WITH YOUR--"
"-Um, your Majesty. We should leave at once. The authorities will be here soon." The Clover’s voiced is laced with hesitance. The clones and The Clover's hat cover most of your vision, but you can still make out the very apologetic look on his face. Whether that was towards you or his boss, you are not sure.
The Tyrant takes the info much more calmly than you expected. "Hmph. The next time we face off you won't be so lucky."
And then they're gone. Vanishing in a quick flash of light to who knows where.
They leave behind a furious familiar and a disinterested magical girl.
Monday's suck.
Tuesdays aren't much better. Its always around noon when the familiar scent of blot begins to formulate around the Savanaclaw district. Your lunch remains at your desk, uneaten, much to Grim's chagrin, as you race your way over to a large lush sports field. The Usurper From The Wild greets with a disintegrating piece of concrete to your head.
It's always fun with him. You two have good banter when he's in the mood.
Two large lions made of sand are on each side of him. He sits in a makeshift throne out of sandstone and dirt, a disinterested look on his face as he yawns. Everyone from the stands are long since gone, perhaps it was purposeful on his part. Neither of you would have to hold back now.
"Well look what the cat dragged in." He doesn't respond to your attempt at a joke with more than a smirk. Holding an arm out, the lions pounce towards you, following their master's command.
You dispatch the lions quickly, turning them into nothing more than glass sculptures by the time you're done with them. You staff shakes as Grim sneezes, complaining about all the dust and sand.
With his familiars crushed, The Usurper, finally stands up from throne, stretching out his muscles. He grins, a crazed look in his eye as he pounces like a bolt of lighting.
The ensuing battle is fierce. Your uniform is in a desperate need of a patch up in places where the villain had managed to scrape you. When all is said and done, you end up on top. He lays on his back, chest rapidly moving up and down, trying to catch his breath. You stand over him, staff pointed at his neck. Just as you are about to spout out another spell he grins again, you narrow your eyes, tensing and awaiting for any sudden movements.
When it comes it's not from him.
A heavy weight tackles you. You back harshly hits the dirt and your staff is knocked away. A large white wolf leers over you. Attempting to move is futile as your actions are no longer yours to make.
You see a hyena laid flat on the floor in front of you. His shoulders move up and down in barely contained giggles.
The Hyena and The Wolf. Great.
The Usurper manages to sit himself back up. He doesn't spare you any words, only a cocky grin that makes your eyebrow twitch. He picks up the still laying Hyena and places him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
He whistles and the wolf steps off you. The pressure on your chest disappears, but you still can't move. It's only as they get out of eyesight is your body finally yours again.
You pick yourself off the ground and walk over to where Grim is. He flops around on the group, being without a user makes him effectively useless.
You grab him and he sighs in relief before that relief quickly turns to rage at the lack of villains in the vicinity.
Tuesdays are a pain in the back, literally.
Wednesdays are peculiar. Its around peek traffic time. Those working nine to fives make their ways home. Its just around closing time when you sense a large amount of blot appear in the Octanaville domain.
The Merchant From The Depths is hard to miss. He stands around the height of a small building. You would have to be blind to miss him. You would have called him a Kraken if you didn't take notice that he had eight legs rather than ten.
He talked. A lot. Much more than you. To put it simply, he’s very annoying.
He’s downtown. Destroying and shaking the foundation of every building he crashes into. He holds a large golden trident summoning water that pelts into you.
He is Grim’s favorite villain to fight based on the salty seafood smell that lingers on him. In contrast, he’s your least favorite. The water he summons doesn’t do you any favors, never failing to put out any flames you fight with.
You have to try a different approach to him.
“Hello there, benefactor.” He smiles up at you from your position in the air. “Have you thought about the contract previous discussed?”
He summons a golden parchment paper that size of his hand. Which, in this form, would take you a whole hour to sign legibly. The blot on his fingers stain the paper. To make matters more annoying, the font is so small that you would need a magnifying glass to understand it! The Merchant was a scammer all right.
You don’t grace him with a response, too busy angrily squeezing water out of your hair. Grim purrs in delight, lost in his own daydreams.
When you deem yourself dry enough, you focus on the villain in front of you. You summon as much of Grim’s magic into your body as possible and launch yourself at the octopus.
It doesn’t take you long to knock the schemer down a peg.
You float above him as he shrinks to a more manageable size. A small crater formed where he lays. You legs slightly burn with strain, but you ignore it.
He chuckles, lifting himself up into a sitting position with his elbows. Even in the face of defeat he still manages to slap on some bravado.
“It seems l-like you didn’t like the terms of this contract.” His eyes darts towards yours and then to something behind you. “How…unfortunate.”
You raise an eyebrow, pointing your staff you begin chanting—
“—SHRIMPYYY.” what.
A sudden weight pulls you down. You look to your legs. A sharp tooth moray grips onto them tightly, smiling like he’s won the lottery.
“What are yo—Get off me!” You struggle in his hold, the more you fight the tighter he seems to grasp your legs. Grim shouts something unintelligible as a horrid realization crosses through your mind.
Where’s the other one?
“fufufu~ now, now. Don’t hog them.” Slimy arms wrap around your midsection. You almost scream from shock as the sudden weight breaks your concentration. The levitation spell shatters. You fall. Down. Down. Down. Down.
SLAM
The concrete hurts, but the tight grip that the Moray Twins have on you somehow hurts more. They both giggle as if something really funny happened and you hadn’t crashed into the earth like a meteor at a speed that would have certainly killed someone if it wasn’t you.
Their giggles trail off and somehow their grip gets tighter.
“Meh. That was boringg!”
“Then, let’s finish this.”
They don't leave you in any anticipation. You yelp as electricity surges through you, the moistness of your outfit acting as a weapon against you.
The twins separate you with a huff. You can only glare as your body helplessly twitches, the after effects of the electricity still running through you. The Merchant looks down at you.
“Hmm, perhaps next time I can come up with terms that we both agree on.” He giggles like he said the funniest joke before turning on his heel (tentacles?) and making his way down the street. The two morays flank him at both sides, rambunctiously discussing their next business venture.
You’re not going to be able to move for a while so you stare at the fading skyline, trying to ignore the crying Grim and the smell of fish lingering on you.
Wednesday’s stink.
In a perfect world, Thursday’s are calm. Your world is far from perfect. It’s around dinner time when you catch a whiff of blot forming around the Scarabia sector. You scarf down the rest of your dinner as you rush into the fight.
The Schemer of the Scalding Sands is a sight to behold. Everyone has their eyes on him, not daring to look away, or rather, they can’t. The Schemer pets a larger viper that slides along side him. It glares into every scared face that it comes across.
You have half the mind to blindfold yourself as you reveal your presence to the villain.
He’s not a chatterbox, but when he gets going it’s loud and bold. He (occasionally) has enough wit to rival you!
“AHa! I was wondering when you would show up.” You don’t dare meet his eyes, rather you stare at his chin. It doesn’t stop him from trying to make you meet his eyes. You learned the hard way not to meet his gaze. It only brought trouble. “Now that you’re here we can get the real show started!”
It’s crowded. There could be some injuries if you fought here. Furthermore, that viper of his is unpredictable.
“C’mon, why don’t you—“ You bolt towards him, getting close enough to grab his collar, then launch him. His flies through the air, gaping, clearly not expecting the surprise attack. The viper disappears into red dust as he gets a distance away.
“YIPEE!” You mock, fondly remembering a past memory. You channel the magic into your legs and launch forward, flying to the direction of where you threw him.
You end up in a town square. The Schemer coincidentally lands in a fountain, well, it was a fountain before he slammed into it.
He shoots up, spluttering out water. He glowers at you, the snakes in his hair loudly hissing. Blot accumulates around him covering up to his elbows in the gooey substance.
“HOW DAR—“
You balance your staff on your shoulders, it slightly vibrates as Grim giggles. “C’mon let’s get this over with. Yuuna wants some desert!”
The battle is a tad bit harder than you expected, probably from the fact that you riled him up before hand. But you win with only a tad bit more scraps and bruises than usual.
Your shoulder makes a satisfying popping sound as you stretch it. You shout a chant and the half-conscious villain only mumbles in protest as flame bindings wrap around him.
“Job well done if I don’t say so mys—“
“—HEEEEYY.” You pause, turning around to stare at the out of breath man that runs up to you.
He places his hands on his knees to catch his breath. Then, as if a bolt of lightning struck him he jumped up with energy.
“Hi Yuuna! I-I’m such a big fan. My name is Kalim do you remember me?” He feels around his pants, before frowning at the emptiness. “can you uh—autograph my…Oh.”
You are no stranger to Kalim Al-Asim. He never fails to show up whenever a battle is fought in the Scarabia sector.
While you’re tired, you still have to look the part of magical girl, so you plant a smile on your face. “Of course I remember you. Though, I will have to say that being in an active battle field isn’t the safest.”
He blinks. Seemingly confused at your concern.
“…this is my backyard.”
“what.” You rapidly move your head side to side scanning the area. You could have swore this was the center of the town. Now that you were really looking, you could make out the large archways of the Asim state. Oh. Who’s backyard looked like this??
You cleared your throat, regaining your lost composure. “Well…nevertheless! I need to get this evildoer to confinement now—”
“Oh! Wait just—“ He cut you off, eyes darting every which way. He peeked over your shoulder. His expression went from nervous to a shaky smile. “Okay then!”
You frowned, turning around not understanding his shift in composure.
...
you cannot be serious.
The Schemer was nowhere in sight. You hadn’t even felt your restraints be broken and based off the shocked chirp Grim gave out he hadn’t noticed either. You had been too focused on Kalim to—
You did a 180’. You felt your face drop at the empty space where the young man once stood.
You stood in silence. Tightly gripping your staff. You had somehow managed to be outsmarted by a half-conscious villain and some civilian!
.
.
“Can we still get desert.”
“Shut up Grim.”
Thursdays hurt in more ways than one.
Fridays are days where people around your age go out and live up the night. Unfortunately for you, your night is occupied by the blot forming over the Pomefiore district. You dart over, wanting to finish it as quickly as possible to get back home.
The Maquillaville lights are bright and blinding even for this time of night. Though, unlike usual, the streets are empty. A few citizens run past you as you catch sight of the villain.
The Beautiful Tyrant (his words not yours) beckons you over with a ink covered finger. The terrain around him is slightly disintegrated, floating up in small chunks. Yet, not a single speak dares to touch him or his dress.
He's a conversationalist, all right. Whenever you make a comment he snaps right back as if he already had what you will say memorized.
Thick, black miasma forms when you get close enough. It takes everything in your power not to launch into a coughing fit.
"Tone it down will ya?" Your voice strains, but you make it work. "You trying to give me popcorn lungs?"
"I wouldn't want to hurt the star performer...Not too badly at least." He says the last part in a mumble. You strain your ears to hear. "And besides, who will tell me that I'm the fairest of them all if not you?"
There's a teasing bite to his words that makes you chuckle.
However, there's no time for small talk. Muttering a small chant to yourself, you launch in the air. Grim's yells in relief at the fresh air.
The area is clear. All residents have evacuated safely, which means there's no need to hold back.
This'll be the show of a lifetime.
The sky explodes with blue and purple light as you clash. A small part of you fears that if the fire comes into contact with the miasma it will light the town in flames like oil, but it never comes.
With a final hit, The Beautiful Tyrant lays flat on his back against the polished concrete of Maquillaville, flame ribbons wrapped tightly around him.
He doesn't say much, only the subtle twitching of his lips tells you that he's still conscious.
You land on the ground just as a black police van turns the corner.
"Looks like I won the skirmish this time." A single hatted man steps out of the van. You release the restraints just as they're replaced with handcuffs. "Tell me how Vargas is in jail. I'm sure he'll love some company."
The Tyrant is hauled up, he lifts his head to meet your eyes, a sharp grin on his face. He doesn't look that upset for someone that just lost.
"You got lucky. Until next time, Yuuna."
He's loaded into the back of the van just as something crashes into you. It not hard, just enough for you to temporarily loose your balance.
When you turn to meet the assailant, the first thing that greets you is the back of their blond head.
"I-I'm sorry!" They're bowing, almost at a 90 degree angle. Impressive. They don't allow you to get a word out before they are snapping back up, light blue eyes watering.
"I didn't mean too—I just wan—no needed to get your autograph!" They sudden tense and their voice turns sharp as if every word is painful to get out. "Please...sign my super rare...Yuuna plush."
There's a moment of silence as you take in the blond. Their blond hair is pulled up into two twin tails with little bows. They wear a light green dress with black buttons.
Cute. They almost look kinda familiar with those big blue eyes.
"Uh, sure." They step into your space, holding a plush and a marker. You take note, like a weirdo, of their scent. They smell like jasmine, lavender, and something else you can't quite pick up. "And who should I make this out to?"
Before they can respond, the back of the van slams shut. You fleetingly glance at the same officer as he passes you. He raises his cap to you, revealing sharply cut hair and friendly green eyes that sparkle at you. wait.
why is there only one officer?
"Au revoir~" He sings it in a sickly sweet cadence that has you gasping.
The Hunter.
You try to move, really you do, but you take one step and come crashing down into the dirt. The marker and plush comes launching out of your hands, but it never touches the ground. Delicate hands scoop them up.
You're tired. It comes quick, almost blinding you. A poisonous perfume. Or well, one that makes you pass out.
A blond wig is thrown into your line of sight. You hear an annoyed 'tsk' as it steps over you and towards to passenger side of the van. You see a flash of periwinkle.
The Poison Apple.
"Took ya long enough!"
"I apologize, Monsieur!"
"Yeah...yeah."
Grim is screaming for you to get up from somewhere behind you, the faint sound of the staff rolling around is almost humorous, but you're too tired to pay him any mind.
In fact, you're too tired to do anything at all.
The gentle hum of the van's engine starting up again is the last thing that you hear before you succumb to the slumber.
Fridays are tiring.
Saturdays are meant to be relaxing. No work. No clients. Just a day to yourself. And for the most part it is. That is until 2am when you’re awoken by the sound of an alarm telling you that blot has accumulated over the Ignihyde sector.
You’re still rubbing the sleep out of your eyes when you make it onto the scene. Grim is babbling, still clinging onto the last remnants of tiredness. Due to his lack of focus, the transformation spell was clumsy. Your bows are all crooked.
The Watchman of the Underworld is large, the size of a small skyscraper. The mech he pilots is gaudy. Too many small useless details that make your head spin. Furthermore, the bright blue flames erupting from the top of its head hurts your recently awoken eyes.
“MWAH HA HA. This time it’ll be game over for you, Yuuna!” You can faintly see The Watchman in the control room from the mechs glass eye.
He talks a lot. In lingo you haven’t used since middle school. He did tend to go quiet when he was mad though…new goal set.
“Take a gander at this!” A laser beam shoots out from the other eye, straight at you. You barely have time to dodge, rolling onto a nearby building. Your sleeve has been completely singed off. Damn it!
This mech is all new and improved, you can tell that much. You can hear him cackling as you get up, dusting off your uniform you grip your staff tightly, it simmers with magic.
The Watchman is tricky to fight. The mech is huge, it could easily destroy everything in its path, either purposefully or accidentally. You didn’t think the guy drunk with power cared about a few buildings. Along with that, it was fire repellent, which meant no fire magic.
You channeled magic into your body. Seems like you would have to tear it down bit by bit.
With one last appendage ripped of the mech you launch yourself into the glass eye of the mech, leg first. You see The Watchman’s expression get increasingly more terrified the closer you get. He raises his arms in a defense, his hair turning more orange by the second. The blot covering his body would act as a shield, but it would protect him. You were sure of it.
He just manages to dodge out of the way as you break in. You crash through the glass, it breaks easily under the pressure of your foot.
You tumble slightly, but quickly regain your footing, holding a defensive position.
“This ends now.” He doesn’t pay you any mind, too busy rapidly tapping away on a holographic screen.
“Are y—Are you seriously ignoring me!?” The nerve of this guy!
You begin a chant of restraints but quickly fall out of balance as a sudden rumbling takes hold of the control room.
You don’t have enough time to resume your chant as a small cylinder pod comes out of the ground and opens up, and a small humanoid robot opens its eyes and launches itself at you.
You yelp as you’re pushed back through the glass and into the cold night air.
The humanoid has flame blue hair and sharp teeth like his creator. Though it takes you a second to recognize him. He looks different from last time you saw him. He now wears mechanical black tactical gear, probably flame repellent. You can’t see his holograph yellow eyes as they’re covered by a black dog mask..? Moreover, the rest of his body shares the same dog-like features his hands—no paws are sharp, same thing with his legs, now paws.
Ortho. Last time you saw him he was unmoving on the ground, having overworked his energy system.
Good to know he was back in working condition.
You can’t help but let a grin form on your face.
“Long time no see!”
He doesn’t indulge you with a response but you can see his, now uncovered, face beam.
His boosters shoot you downwards. Straight into the ground. Grim is panicking, flailing around in your hand. You’re moving so fast that lifting your arms is almost impossible, so, you don’t try to. You summon as much defensive magic into your back at you can.
The landing onto the concrete isn’t that bad. It still hurts, no doubt about that, but at least you have the ability to stand up. It’s clumsy and your hold on your staff is weak but—
In a flash, Ortho rips the staff out of your hand and spears it away from you. Grin’s screech slowly fades away with the increasing distance.
You furrow your eyebrows and look at the boy. “That was rude.”
He shrugs sheepishly, vocalizes a quick ‘sorry!’, and then blasts off towards the control room of the mech, no doubt going to flee with his creator.
You look in the direction of where Grim was thrown and sigh. You don’t have to have the staff in your hold to use Grim’s magic but it becomes much more unstable. And the Ignihyde sector has already seen enough destruction tonight.
You jog over to the yowling cat. He’s stuck in between some rubble, sounding like he’s about to cry.
By the time you free him The Watchman and Ortho are already gone. The mech slumps over, still standing.
The lights in the control room are off.
Saturdays are a struggle.
Sundays are melancholic. You’re mentally preparing to go back to work the next day. Dreading it, you attempt to get some shut eye.
It’s around 5am, just about when the sun is about to come up when you hear it, or rather feel it. Soft vibrations that jolt you awake. You rush to the Diasomnia district prior to your blot senses going off.
You feel The Lord Of Malevolence before you see him. The vibrations are ten time worse in the area, every step causing buildings to shift and creek. He's large, almost tall enough to hit any landing planes.
He trudges through, blot creating almost a snail trail after him. Green eyes lazily scan through the town.
The Lord never talks much. You were no therapist but he almost seemed...sad? Though it didn't really matter when he's creating millions of dollars worth of property damage. Your job was to defeat him, get him out of his dragon form. and down to a manageable size.
When you float down in front of his eyes he remains silent, he exhales, smoke erupts from his nostrils, tiredly. Its seems like he knows what's about to happen. Though you doubt he'll go down without a fight. It would make your job too easy.
The Lord is never fun to fight. He doesn't give you anything to play off of. No teasing remarks. No degrading. Kinda borning.
He's a master of all elements, able to switch seamlessly. Furthermore, his sleep magic, if it hits, would be deemed unfavorable. You're pretty uncertain that your aurora-eyed savor will come to save you a second time.
Grim grumbles with uncertainty. The sleep had long since left both of you.
The smell of ash fills the air as you ready your staff.
With a few building decimated with a human shaped imprints imbedded in the walls later, The Lord was defeated.
He shrinks down, temporarily filling the district with steam. You slowly descend, a blank expression on your face. Fights like these made you remember yourself. You took on the persona of Yuuna for a reason.
The Lord, now at human-size, sits in almost a fetal position. His eyes, tired, are the only part of his face that isn't covered by hair, blot, injuries, or a combination of all three.
"Sorry about this." Its the only pleasantry you can muster. Blue flames tightly wrap around him. He doesn't fight it.
You can faintly make out the sound of incoming police sirens.
"It seems like our time is up."
"It seems so." He gives you a small smile, almost apologetic. "Good luck, Child of Man."
...good luck?
A small pair of arms wrap around your shoulders, giving you a tight squeeze. You feel your heart drop to your stomach. You hadn't sensed a thing.
"Boo!" You don't move. You don't even react. A head leans on your shoulders. You turn your head to see exactly whom you've feared.
The General.
You see his pink highlights and toothy grin for a split second before he's removing himself from you. You spin your body in his direction, staff at the ready just as a bolt of green propels into you.
The breath is knocked from your lungs. Through bleary eyes you see The General wave goodbye to you before making his way to his master. You're in no position to worry about that as The Bolt is tackling you through a building.
You land on your back, his weight pressed into your midsection, locking his arms around you so tightly that you're sure to have bruises in the morning.
You whack him with your staff, huffing through a chant as his impossibly tight hold somehow manages to get tighter. Your spell is only about half as effective as it normally is but it gets the job done.
In a flash of fire he's thrown off you into nearby rubble. You take the time while he's discombobulated to regain your balance. The back half of your uniform is ripped to smithereens, revealing your now cut up back. The morning air stings as it brushes against it.
The Bolt yelps in pain, slowly regaining his bearings. You won't allow him to. Just as he peaks his head out the spell is already on your tongue, now infused with a little bit of healthy rage.
The spell never hits, though. A silver blade reflects it into the side of the building.
BOOM
The Knight stands there. As elegant as ever. The falling rubble makes him look annoyingly cool. His helmet firmly over his head, not a single hair escapes it.
He points his sword at you, saying something to your assailant in the rubble. Whatever they are discussing is debatable topic based on the way The Bolt strongly argues back. Their conversation is cut short by the blast of flames the shoots towards them.
The Knight in the nick of time manages to push The Bolt out of the way and they go tumbling. He shouts something at his companion, marking the conversation effectively over.
The Knight is quick to regain his balance, a fierce determination to his stance.
You inhale. Hold your breath for a few seconds. Exhale.
Your battle takes you through the multiple floors of the building. It’s irritating how graceful his movements are. Always paring your slowing attacks. Hitting you with a barrage of confusing movements. Never hurting you too badly.
It’s when you reach the highest floor of the building do you put your foot down.
"Fight me!" Your hands are white from the intensity of your grip on your staff. Grim whimpers in your hold. You know that The Lord and General are probably long gone. You refuse to accept another failure. You'll at least capture their underling. One or both. It doesn't matter.
The Knight pauses, slightly shifts his weight foot to the other. You prepare for another attack that never comes.
He cocks his head towards the broken window. The intensity of which you both fought having destroyed the glass long ago.
As if some sort of signal was shown he straightens back up. Stiff as a board. His sword lowers and he has the utter audacity to bow.
“You fought well. Thank you.” It catches you off guard. You hate how sincere he sounds.
Using your sudden bewilderment, he pounces. Grim is knocked out of your hand. He slides towards the other side of the room. You bolt towards the staff. The Knight bolts in the opposite direction.
You began vocalizing the spell before you even touch Grim. You snap around, holding Grim like a minigun as a burst of flames engulfs the room.
When the smoke clears you jump up. Nothing. You run over to the window, broken glass crunching underneath your shoes. Wild eyes scan back and forth and back and forth and back and forth—nothing.
No Knight. No Bolt. No General. And especially no Lord Of Malevolence.
The feline is quiet. Your harsh breathing fills the scene.
“Let’s go home, Henchman.”
…
“okay.”
Sundays are wretched.
Monday is tomorrow and you’ll do it all over again. Hopefully next week is more satisfactory.
A/N: Yuuna is good at their job I swear! This was originally going to be a longer Vil fic but I never got the momentum to finish it. I really did enjoy writing this tho!
How to Tame Your Dragon - Malleus Draconia x reader
Since you and Malleus have gotten into a relationship, you've become a bona-fide dragon soother. But whenever you fumble, the entirety of NRC faces the consequences.
aka the 7 times you cause ecological disasters and the 1 time it works out for you.
this is one of my favorite works i hope y'all enjoy it too
Instance 1: The Unbirthday Party Fumble
It all started so innocently, as most disasters do.
You were sitting on a bench in the gardens with Malleus, who was in one of his "look at my shiny things" moods. He had decided to show you his prized possessions from his extensive, possibly cursed, hoard. Usually, this was an easy gig. You’d nod, say something like “Wow, so shiny,” and then give him a kiss. Easy peasy.
But not today.
Because today, your brain decided to take a little vacation while your body stayed behind, stuck on autopilot.
You were half-paying attention, your focus more on the distant ruckus over at Heartslabyul’s tea party, where Ace and Deuce were most definitely in the middle of doing something stupid. Riddle was probably screaming about proper fork placement, Trey was juggling a thousand responsibilities, and Cater was... doing whatever Cater does.
You could hear the faint sounds of plates clinking and people panicking about the sugar cubes being uneven. It was practically a symphony of disaster waiting to happen.
Meanwhile, Malleus was holding up what looked like a teapot. But not just any teapot—this thing was ornate. Gleaming, intricate patterns, probably blessed by some ancient fae god of beverages. You didn’t notice any of that, though.
Instead, when Malleus asked in his deep, romantic, “I’m-giving-you-a-piece-of-my-soul” voice, “Do you like it, my treasure?” you waved him off like he’d just shown you a half-eaten sandwich.
“Yeah, yeah, sure. Looks fine.”
Silence.
Not just any silence. The kind of silence where the air pressure changes and you suddenly realize you might’ve done something very, very bad.
You blinked, finally looking over at Malleus, and oh no. His eyes were narrowed, his lips pursed, and a shadow seemed to fall over him—literally. The sky darkened as if the heavens were in on his mood. His grip on the teapot tightened, and you could swear the wind started to howl.
Oh, no no no.
The moment you realized your mistake, the storm was already brewing. Quite literally. The sky went from clear to “about to smite someone” in about two seconds flat. You could feel the temperature drop, and leaves started swirling around like they were auditioning for a role in a natural disaster movie.
You were in for it now.
Meanwhile, at the world’s most cursed tea party:
Riddle was just getting ready to pour the first cup of tea when the wind decided to yeet the tablecloth right off the table. Teacups clattered, pastries took flight, and the entire garden descended into chaos.
“WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE QUEEN’S LAWS—” Riddle screamed, clutching a teapot like it was his last lifeline.
Ace, currently dodging a rogue scone, looked over at the sky. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me. Is this a Malleus thing?”
Deuce, who was using a sugar bowl as a makeshift helmet, shouted over the wind. “It’s always a Malleus thing! Why do I even ask anymore?!”
Cater, hair blown sideways and desperately trying to keep his phone in hand, was trying to snap a selfie in the chaos. “Guys, this is prime MagiCam content—wait, no, my phone’s gone!” He dove after it as it got carried away in the wind.
Riddle, already on the verge of a meltdown, turned to Trey, who was trying to shield a cake from the incoming storm. “I demand an explanation!”
Trey, forever the calm one, glanced up. “Well, if I had to guess, I’d say the prefect did something to upset Malleus.”
“OF COURSE, THEY DID,” Riddle shrieked, practically levitating with fury. “Why do we suffer every time they breathe near him?!”
“I don’t know, but we need to fix it before Riddle explodes!” Ace said, dodging a flying plate.
Deuce grabbed Ace’s arm. “We need to talk to them! Make them apologize or something!”
And so, in the middle of the flying teapots and pastries of doom, the group sprinted to find you, dodging airborne desserts and Riddle’s wrath.
Back at the epicenter of destruction:
You were still sitting there, eyes wide as you watched Malleus literally brood so hard it summoned a small hurricane. “Uh, Malleus…?”
He didn’t respond. Nope, he was fully in Pouty Dragon Mode™. The sky darkened even more, the wind howling, the trees bending, and you could faintly hear the sound of Ace, Deuce, and the others screaming in the distance.
Your casual dismissal of the teapot had, quite literally, ruined lives.
Before you could say anything else, the chaos squad came barreling toward you like a human avalanche, looking like they’d been through a war zone.
Ace was covered in frosting, Deuce had bits of shattered china stuck in his hair, and Trey was holding onto what looked like the remnants of a cake stand. Cater was still trying to get a selfie in, even though he looked like he’d been through a tornado.
“FIX. THIS.” Ace wheezed, dropping to his knees dramatically. “BEFORE WE ALL DIE.”
“Riddle’s about to combust,” Deuce added, his eyes wide. “Please. We’re begging you.”
Trey just gave you a calm look. “If you don’t make this right soon, I don’t know if we’ll make it to the end of the day.”
You sighed, realizing there was no escape. You’d have to face the storm—literally—and make things right.
Turning back to Malleus, you slid off the bench and stood in front of him, gently tugging on his sleeve. “Malleus?”
His eyes, still stormy, met yours, but he didn’t say anything. The wind continued to howl, the sky still dark.
“I’m really sorry,” you said, your voice soft and apologetic. “I didn’t mean to dismiss your teapot. It’s beautiful, really. I was just…distracted.”
Malleus’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the wind died down just a little. Progress.
“I’d never intentionally dismiss something that’s important to you,” you continued, taking his hand in yours. “Please forgive me? I’ll pay more attention next time, I promise.”
The storm finally started to calm as Malleus’s expression softened. The sky cleared up, and the wind turned into a gentle breeze.
He sighed dramatically, though it was more theatrical than anything. “Very well, my treasure. I suppose I can forgive you this time. But you owe me proper attention.”
Relieved, you grinned and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “How about I give you all the attention you want right now?”
That did it. The storm completely vanished, and Malleus’s mood visibly brightened. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close in a possessive, yet affectionate embrace. “I suppose that’s acceptable,” he murmured, resting his chin on top of your head.
Behind you, the chaos squad groaned.
“Oh, sure,” Ace said, rolling his eyes. “One cute kiss, and suddenly the hurricane stops. What even is our life?”
“Let’s just never bring up teapots again,” Deuce muttered, shaking bits of pastry out of his hair.
Cater, who had finally managed to get a decent selfie, grinned. “Well, at least we survived!”
You chuckled as Malleus nuzzled into your hair, clearly pleased with your apology. At least for now, disaster had been averted. But something told you that this wouldn’t be the last time you’d have to apologize for accidentally setting off your dragon boyfriend.
But hey, at least you had kisses to fix everything, right?
Instance 2: The compliment conundrum
It started as one of those innocent slip-ups—the kind that makes you wonder why you even opened your mouth in the first place. You were lounging by the side of the spelldrive field, watching NRC’s teams practice. Malleus, busy handling his own royal duties, hadn’t been able to make it to practice today, so you’d spent the afternoon watching Leona and his squad dominate the field.
It wasn’t like you were doing anything wrong. You were just… appreciating talent, right? And Leona was talented. You couldn’t help but admire the way he effortlessly dodged tackles, sending spells whizzing through the air with precision. The guy was annoying, sure, but he had undeniable skill.
So when you casually mentioned to Jack and Ruggie, “Man, Leona’s got some impressive moves,” you thought nothing of it.
Until you felt the ground crack beneath you.
You froze mid-sentence, glancing around as a creeping, eerie silence settled over the field. The other players stopped in their tracks, confusion spreading across their faces. The once lush, green training grounds were slowly transforming before your very eyes—the grass yellowing, the soil drying, the sky dimming. It was like nature had collectively decided, Nope, we’re out.
Jack blinked at the ground, then at you, his eyes wide with dawning horror. “Did… Did you just—?”
Ruggie, a master of putting two and two together, slapped his hand to his face. “Oh, no. Not again.”
Before you could even ask what was happening, you heard the faintest sound of rumbling in the distance, like some ancient, angry being had woken up from its nap. And that’s when the full weight of your mistake hit you.
You’d praised Leona. And Malleus, who was more possessive than a dragon guarding his hoard, definitely heard you.
“Oh, crap,” you muttered, already starting to backpedal. “Oh, crap, crap, crap—”
The drought spread faster, draining every last drop of moisture from the air. The once-pristine spelldrive field now looked like a scene out of some post-apocalyptic desert movie. Cracks snaked across the ground, the once-refreshing breeze now felt like it was straight out of the Sahara, and the remaining players started wheezing from the dry heat.
Leona, of course, was the first to piece things together. He sauntered over, glancing at the parched earth beneath his feet, then back up at you with a deadly glare.
You tried to stammer out an excuse, but Ruggie was already grabbing your arm and yanking you toward the nearest path off the field. Jack, looking somewhere between worried and resigned, trailed after you.
“Listen,” Ruggie said in a panic, “we gotta fix this now, or the whole school’s gonna turn into a wasteland.”
“I didn’t mean to!” you protested as they half-dragged you across the desertified landscape. “It was just a compliment!”
“You can’t just compliment Leona when you’re dating Malleus!” Jack huffed, sweat dripping from his forehead as the oppressive heat intensified. “You should know better by now!”
You felt a bead of sweat trickle down your temple as you tried to keep up with their frantic pace. “I didn’t know he was that possessive!”
“Oh, he is,” Ruggie muttered, glancing nervously at the sky. “And he’s sulking. You know what that means.”
You groaned. Yes, you did know what that meant. A sulking Malleus equaled world-ending storms, natural disasters, and in this case—apocalyptic droughts.
Leona, who had followed you guys, clearly had enough of this nonsense. He stomped up behind you, glaring daggers. “You’ve ruined my field,” he growled, voice dripping with irritation. “Do me a favor and never say anything nice about me again.”
“Don’t worry, Leona,” you sighed, exasperated. “I’ll only insult you from now on. Promise.”
“Good,” Leona grumbled, adjusting his collar. “Now fix your dragon before I lose my mind.”
By the time you reached Malleus, the situation had reached catastrophic levels. The entire island felt like it was one sunny day away from turning into a desert. The sky was an angry, cloudless blue, and even the birds had fled, probably deciding they didn’t want to risk spontaneous combustion.
And there, in the middle of the courtyard, sat your dragon boyfriend, arms crossed, looking as grumpy as you’d ever seen him. His aura was practically radiating misery.
“Malleus,” you called out, panting from the trek across the sun-baked campus.
He turned his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge your presence, but didn’t say a word. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowed, and you could practically see the pout written all over his face.
Ruggie gave you a light shove. “Well, go on. Apologize before we all die of thirst.”
You shot him a look, but he wasn’t wrong. Sighing, you stepped closer to Malleus and knelt beside him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Hey… I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He huffed, his gaze fixed stubbornly ahead. “You praised another.”
“I didn’t realize it was such a big deal,” you said softly, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I swear, I didn’t mean anything by it. I only have eyes for you, you know that.”
Malleus remained silent for a moment, but you could feel his mood softening. The tension in the air eased ever so slightly, the heat less intense, the grass no longer crumbling beneath your feet.
“I don’t like sharing your admiration,” he murmured, still not quite looking at you. “Especially with him.”
“Leona’s not a threat,” you chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “He’s too busy napping to notice, anyway.”
That earned a tiny smirk from Malleus, though he was clearly still in sulk mode. You couldn’t help but smile as you nuzzled into his neck, placing little butterfly kisses along his jawline. “Come on… I’ll make it up to you. I’ll praise you for hours if you want. No one is more worthy of my compliments than you.”
That finally did the trick. His stiff posture relaxed, and he let out a deep sigh. “Very well,” he murmured, turning his head to look at you. “I suppose I can forgive you… this time.”
You grinned, wrapping your arms around his waist and snuggling into his chest. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
Malleus, now fully basking in your affection, wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on top of your head. The sky finally returned to normal, the air cooling down, and the earth itself seemed to let out a relieved sigh.
Meanwhile, back on the now-saved-from-death spelldrive field, Leona collapsed onto the cracked ground with an annoyed grunt. “I swear, if they ever break up, I’m moving to a different continent.”
“Honestly, same,” Ruggie groaned, lying down beside him. Jack just nodded in agreement, too tired to even complain.
But as the world finally returned to normal, and you cuddled up against your not-so-grumpy-anymore dragon boyfriend, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—you’d be more careful with your compliments from now on.
…Maybe.
Instance 3: Dinner Downpour
It had started out as an innocent evening. Just you, Malleus, and a nice dinner at the Mostro Lounge. You figured it was a good idea—a cozy meal, some quiet time away from the usual chaos. Plus, Malleus had never been to the Lounge before, and you wanted to show him a little piece of what passed for fine dining at NRC.
Everything was going smoothly. The candlelight cast a soft glow over the table, and Malleus seemed to be enjoying himself, even if he occasionally side-eyed the giant aquariums and questionable dishes swimming in ink. You were halfway through your meal when it happened. The moment that would soon be known as The Great Mostro Lounge Flood of the Century.
Malleus, eyes warm and his tone utterly princely, leaned toward you as the waiter left the bill on the table. “Allow me to cover this,” he said, reaching for his wallet—or whatever it was that dragons carry their horde in. “I would like to treat you.”
You, not sensing the danger, waved him off with a smile. “No need, Malleus. I’ve got this.”
Oh no.
If you could rewind time, maybe you would’ve noticed the way his expression faltered ever so slightly. The tiniest furrow of his brow, the faint tightening of his grip on his silverware. But you didn’t. You were oblivious. You, poor unfortunate soul, paid the bill yourself.
And that’s when the first clap of thunder rolled through the building.
It didn’t take long for things to go from zero to we’re-all-gonna-die levels of chaos. The sky outside darkened almost instantly, rain pouring down like the heavens had just decided to empty all their buckets at once. But it wasn’t just rain—oh no, this was a full-blown, hurricane-tier downpour. Lightning flashed, illuminating the shocked faces of the Mostro Lounge patrons as water started seeping in through the windows.
Inside, chaos erupted. The once-elegant ambiance of the Mostro Lounge turned into something out of a disaster movie. Jade was frantically trying to keep the dining area dry with what looked like twenty towels, but the water just kept rising. Floyd was sitting on top of a table, cackling at the sheer absurdity of it all, while Azul was on the verge of a mental breakdown, clutching his ledger to his chest as if it could somehow save him from bankruptcy.
“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” Azul’s voice broke through the chaos as he practically teleported to your side, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you like a maraca.
“I—I don’t know!” you stammered, still processing the fact that the place was flooding. “We were just having dinner!”
“Oh, you were ‘just having dinner,’” Azul mocked, his voice climbing an octave as the water level rose past your ankles. “Sure, just dinner—and now I’m watching my profits swim away!”
Jade appeared next, a suspiciously calm smile on his face despite the absolute catastrophe around him. “You didn’t happen to upset the prince of Briar Valley, did you?”
Floyd leaned in, grinning like a maniac. “Yeah, did ya snub him or somethin’? This is hilarious.”
Your face paled. Oh no. You replayed the scene in your head—the offer to pay, your refusal—and realization hit you like one of the lightning bolts currently striking outside. “Oh my god. He’s upset because I didn’t let him pay.”
“That’s it?!” Floyd burst out laughing, clutching his sides. “All this ‘cause you didn’t let him foot the bill? Man, that’s rich!”
Azul’s eye twitched. “Fix. This. Now.”
“I didn’t think it was that big of a deal!” you protested, feeling the water slosh against your calves as the storm outside intensified. “I just wanted to treat him for once!”
“Clearly, that was a mistake,” Jade said, entirely too serene for someone standing in knee-deep water. “I suggest you… rectify it.”
“Rectify it,” Azul echoed, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Or I swear I’ll have you and your little dragon both in debt until you’re ancient fossils.”
Floyd, still howling with laughter, gave you a light shove toward the entrance. “Better hurry, Shrimpy, before we gotta start charging people for canoe rentals!”
You rushed outside, braving the storm as the winds whipped around you. The ground was already flooded, rain pelting down so hard you could barely see two feet in front of you. But there, standing in the middle of it all like some tragic figure from a gothic romance novel, was Malleus.
He wasn’t even trying to shield himself from the rain—he just stood there, soaked, staring up at the stormy sky as if summoning the wrath of the heavens. His mood was palpable, the air around him crackling with discontent.
“Malleus!” you called out, running over and nearly slipping in a puddle. “Malleus, wait!”
He glanced down at you, a flash of vulnerability in his eyes quickly masked by his usual regal composure. “I thought… I could treat you. It seems you do not trust me to do even that.”
You winced. He wasn’t angry, not really. He was hurt. You should’ve known better—Malleus was always thinking about how to show you he cared, and this was just one more way for him to do that. And you’d brushed him off without realizing the significance.
“Hey, that’s not it at all,” you said softly, stepping closer and taking his hands in yours. “I just… I wanted to treat you this time. But I didn’t realize how important it was to you.”
The storm rumbled ominously overhead, but you could feel his mood starting to shift.
You squeezed his hands, standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m sorry, Malleus. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t appreciate it. You always take such good care of me.”
His shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension easing from his posture. “I simply wished to show you how much I treasure our time together.”
“And I treasure you,” you said, giving him a gentle smile. “So how about this—I’ll let you treat me next time. Dinner, ice cream, whatever you want. You’re in charge.”
The corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. “You promise?”
“I promise,” you replied, kissing him again for good measure. “But for now, maybe we could, uh… ease up on the weather a bit? I think Azul’s about to have a heart attack.”
Malleus chuckled softly, the storm clouds above beginning to break apart as the rain slowed to a drizzle. “Very well. I shall spare them—for now.”
Back inside the Lounge, Azul was clinging to his precious ledger like a lifeline, watching with wide eyes as the floodwaters slowly receded. The place was still a soaked mess, but at least it wasn’t Atlantis anymore.
Floyd, leaning against the bar, gave you a lazy grin as you walked back in, hand-in-hand with Malleus. “Well, looks like you managed to cool down your dragon, huh? Good job, Shrimpy.”
Jade smiled pleasantly, though you could tell there was relief in his gaze. “The Lounge owes you a great debt.”
Azul, drenched and looking like he’d aged ten years, just sighed. “Please. Next time… just let him pay.”
You grinned sheepishly. “Noted.”
Malleus, still holding your hand, glanced down at you with a fond expression. “Shall we continue our evening?”
You smiled up at him, feeling the warmth of his affection, even if he had almost accidentally drowned the entire restaurant. “Yeah, let’s go.”
And as you left the Mostro Lounge, water still dripping from the ceiling and Floyd’s laughter echoing behind you, you couldn’t help but think that for all the chaos that came with dating the prince of Briar Valley, it was worth every second.
Instance 4: Deserted Dreams
It all started with an innocent suggestion over breakfast. You and Malleus were sitting at your usual spot in Diasomnia, peacefully munching on breakfast. Things were nice, calm—Malleus was in a good mood, the sun was shining, and there hadn’t been any catastrophic magical incidents for a solid two days.
But, of course, you just had to ruin it.
"So," you said, casually buttering a slice of toast, "I was thinking… maybe for our next vacation, instead of going to Briar Valley again, we could head over to the Scalding Sands? I heard Kalim raving about the heat and all the festivals, and I thought it might be fun to experience a little warmth for a change."
Malleus, who had been sipping his tea, froze. He looked at you, his eyes wide and a bit too intense. "The Scalding Sands?" he repeated slowly.
"Yeah, you know—sun, sand, maybe a beach or two. Something different!" You smiled, clearly not reading the massive red flags flying in the air. "I mean, don’t get me wrong, Briar Valley is great and all, but we always go there. I thought a change of scenery would be nice!"
And that, was when the Dorms of Scarabia and Diasomnia turned into a hellish desert wasteland.
It started slowly—just a bit of extra heat creeping into the room, making you fidget in your seat. Then it escalated. The temperature spiked dramatically, and before you knew it, the dorm felt like someone had thrown open the gates to the underworld and invited the sun to personally burn it all down. You swore you could hear the sound of sand shifting beneath your feet, though you were still indoors. Indoors, for crying out loud!
Malleus sat in silence, clearly displeased. His usual dark, moody aura was now tinged with the kind of slow-boiling frustration that made you realize: you’d made a huge mistake.
Just as you were about to apologize and backpedal your way out of the desertification of Diasomnia and Scarabia, a loud crash echoed from outside, followed by a chorus of complaints.
You stepped out of the dorm and were met with chaos. The whole area around Diasomnia had transformed into an arid, sweltering desert. The grass? Gone. The trees? Withered. The nice, cool breeze that used to blow through? Now replaced by blistering heat waves. Students were dragging themselves around, sweating profusely as the once lush grounds became a scorching wasteland.
At the heart of the chaos stood Kalim, as cheerful as ever, while a very sweaty and very done Jamil stood nearby, looking like he had reached the end of his rope.
Jamil spotted you immediately and marched over, steam practically rising off his skin. “What did you do?!” he hissed, looking like he was five seconds away from spontaneous combustion.
"I—" you stammered, glancing at Kalim, who was happily waving a fan like he was at a resort.
"Isn’t this great?!" Kalim chirped, smiling ear to ear. "It feels just like home! Now we can have all the desert parties we want! Thanks for the heatwave!"
You blinked. "Um… you’re welcome?"
"No," Jamil interjected, glaring at you like you’d personally set him on fire. “Don’t thank them! What possessed you to turn Scarabia into a furnace?!”
You grimaced, wiping sweat from your brow. “It’s not my fault! I just suggested we vacation in the Scalding Sands instead of Briar Valley and—"
"You did what?!" Jamil pinched the bridge of his nose. "So because you didn’t want to vacation in Briar Valley, this happens? Do you know how long it’s going to take to get the dorm back to normal? Or the fact that I’m now stuck babysitting Kalim in what feels like the surface of the sun?"
Kalim, still oblivious to the suffering around him, beamed. “You should make up with Malleus! Then maybe we can have two vacations!”
Jamil’s eye twitched.
It didn’t take long before you were escorted (dragged) back to Malleus, courtesy of a very sunburned Jamil and a still-chipper Kalim. They deposited you at the door to Diasomnia, giving you the kind of look that screamed fix this, or we’ll make you regret it.
Sighing, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. Unsurprisingly, it was even hotter indoors than it had been outside. Malleus was sitting in the corner of the common room, his arms crossed and his gaze distant, like he was contemplating the deep mysteries of life—or brooding over your vacation suggestion. Probably the latter.
“Malleus?” you called softly, approaching him carefully as the air around him practically sizzled with residual magic.
He didn’t respond, still looking like a dragon that had just been told his gold stash was getting replaced with copper coins.
You sighed and knelt down in front of him. “I’m sorry,” you said, resting a hand on his knee. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I just thought it’d be nice to see a new place, but if you want to go back to Briar Valley, that’s totally fine. We can go wherever you want.”
Malleus blinked, finally looking down at you, his expression softening ever so slightly. “You wished to travel somewhere unfamiliar,” he murmured, his voice low. “I should have taken your desires into account. But… the thought of you preferring another land over mine… it unsettled me.”
You blinked. “Wait, is that what this is about? Malleus, I love Briar Valley! I just wanted to try something new, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to go back. We could go anywhere, and I’d be happy as long as I’m with you.”
He softened even more, the heat in the room fading as his magic began to relax. “You mean that?”
You smiled and leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Of course I do.”
His arms, once tense, reached out to pull you into his lap, holding you close as if the idea of you slipping away to some other land without him had weighed far too heavily on his mind. You snuggled into him, feeling the last traces of heatwave melt away into nothing but warmth and comfort.
Malleus nuzzled his face into your hair, his voice a soft rumble. “Then we shall go wherever your heart desires. As long as we are together.”
You chuckled, pressing another kiss to his jaw. “Okay, deal. But, uh, maybe we avoid any more heatwave-related disasters? Jamil might actually combust next time.”
Malleus chuckled softly, his mood lightening as he held you close. “Very well. I shall spare them from further torment… this time.”
And as you cuddled into him, the remnants of the desert wasteland outside slowly returning to normal, you couldn’t help but think that as long as you had Malleus (and could keep him happy), the world—weather catastrophes included—would be just fine.
Instance 5: Fashion Fiasco
You and Malleus were at one of Vil’s fashion shows, sitting in the audience with everyone else as Vil strutted his stuff on the runway, looking absolutely flawless as per usual. The lights sparkled, the music boomed, and Vil practically radiated beauty and grace in an outfit that could only be described as something plucked straight from a dream.
"Wow," you breathed, eyes wide as you watched Vil pose dramatically at the end of the runway. "Vil really does look amazing, doesn’t he? Like, how is anyone supposed to compete with that level of perfection?"
Malleus, sitting beside you, went absolutely still.
It didn’t register right away. You were too busy marveling at Vil’s next ensemble to notice Malleus stiffening beside you, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. But as the next model waltzed down the runway, you felt a sudden chill in the air. Literally.
You blinked. Was it just you, or was it… colder? You glanced up at the ceiling, frowning as tiny snowflakes started to drift down from nowhere. The air grew icy, your breath visible as the temperature plummeted in mere seconds.
"What the—" You stood up, just in time to see the entire fashion show being transformed into a literal winter wonderland. Snow was now falling heavily, frosting over the runway, the lights, and, most importantly, Vil’s perfect hair.
The shriek that followed was one of pure, unbridled horror.
“No! My HAIR!” Vil screeched, desperately clutching his head as snowflakes clung to his golden locks, which were slowly wilting under the weight of the ice. “This is a disaster!”
Models fled the scene, their designer clothes dragging through snowdrifts that were rapidly accumulating on stage. The music cut off, the audience panicked, and Vil looked like he was about five seconds away from declaring the end of the world.
Amidst the chaos, Rook Hunt stood in the middle of the snowy storm, spinning in circles with glee. “Magnifique!” he cried, twirling with open arms as if he were auditioning for a Broadway production of Frozen. “The raw beauty of nature meets the elegance of fashion—oh, how the world has blessed us with this miracle of frost!”
“ROOK!” Vil screeched again, eyes wide and wild as he tried—and failed—to maintain some sense of composure. “This is NOT a miracle! This is a CATASTROPHE! My show—my hair!”
Epel, looking somewhere between terrified and confused, rushed up to you, nearly slipping on the snow-covered floor in his haste. “We need your help!” he gasped, grabbing your arm and shaking it with the desperation of someone who knew what was at stake here. “You have to do something! Malleus is causing the storm!”
You blinked, still processing the fact that this wasn’t just some freak weather event but a full-on emotional meltdown from your very moody fae boyfriend.
“Malleus is… mad?” you asked, finally connecting the dots.
“Of course he’s mad!” Epel huffed, snowflakes clinging to his own purple hair. “You complimented Vil! Now he thinks you like Vil more than him! We’re all gonna freeze to death if you don’t fix it!”
“Oh… oh no.”
It took a few minutes (and a shove from a panicked Vil) to find Malleus, who had retreated to the far corner of the room, looking like a grumpy snow dragon with his arms crossed and snowflakes swirling around him. His expression was dark, brooding, and way too dramatic for someone who was causing a blizzard in the middle of a fashion show.
You approached cautiously, trying not to slip on the ice that was now coating the floor. “Malleus?” you called softly, inching closer. “Are you… okay?”
He glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I see you were quite taken with Vil’s appearance today.”
You blinked, a bit thrown off by the sheer seriousness in his tone. “Uh, I mean… yeah, Vil’s always beautiful. But, um, you know that’s just how he is. It’s his whole thing.”
Malleus’s frown deepened. “So you find him more beautiful than me.”
Oh. Oh.
You nearly facepalmed at the realization. “Malleus, no, that’s not what I meant!” you rushed to say, waving your hands in a flustered manner. “Vil is beautiful, but you—you’re, like, otherworldly! You know, fae beauty and all that. No one could possibly compare!”
Malleus eyed you warily, his lips pursed. “So… you do not prefer him over me?"
“Of course not!” you said quickly, stepping closer to place a hand on his arm. “You’re the most beautiful person I know. No one comes close to your level of magnificence, I swear.”
There was a long, heavy pause. Then, ever so slowly, the storm began to die down. The snowflakes stopped falling, the icy chill in the air dissipated, and the temperature returned to normal. Malleus’s expression softened, his moody sulk fading as he looked down at you with a much gentler gaze.
“Is that truly how you feel?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with vulnerability.
You smiled up at him, standing on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Of course, Malleus. You’re my favorite, always.”
Malleus visibly brightened at that, his usual regal aura returning as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close in a warm embrace. “Very well, then. I shall forgive this transgression. But only because you have reassured me of your affections.”
You giggled, snuggling into his chest. “I’ll make sure to tell you more often how beautiful you are.”
Vil then walks directly up to you and stares you down. "If you're done wrecking my show, could ypu please keep your dragon in check?"
All you can do is grin sheepishly at him.
Instance 6: Gaming Shenanigans
It all started because of that one last raid. You and Idia were deep in an epic gaming marathon, tackling a boss so difficult that even Idia—self-proclaimed gaming god—had to break out his limited-edition controller. It was all good fun, hours flying by without you even noticing, as you spammed attacks and worked together like the perfect gaming duo you were.
That is, until Idia hit you with a question that made your stomach drop.
"So, uh, aren't you supposed to, like... do something tonight?" Idia asked, mid-battle. His voice was a little too casual, almost like he already knew the answer but was waiting for you to figure it out yourself.
You froze for a split second, still pressing buttons but no longer fully paying attention. Something... tonight? What could he—
Oh no.
You had plans tonight. With Malleus.
Specifically, your nightly walks around campus, which had become somewhat of a ritual. Every night, you’d stroll through the darkened grounds, hand-in-hand, talking about anything and everything. It was Malleus’s favorite part of the day—something he eagerly looked forward to.
And you’d… forgotten.
Your eyes darted to your phone, which was lying face down on the desk, completely ignored for the last several hours. You didn’t even need to check it to know what you’d find: missed calls, unread messages, probably a voicemail or two from Malleus, wondering where you were.
"Oh no," you whispered, voice barely audible over the sounds of explosions and battle cries on screen.
"Wait, what?" Idia’s character paused for a second as he glanced at you. "Did you just say 'oh no'? What 'oh no'? Are we talking minor 'oh no' or, like, 'I've-angered-a-final-boss-oh-no'?"
You gulped, heart sinking as you realized just how much trouble you were in. "Um... the second one. Definitely the second one."
Before Idia could even react, the room went dark. The power cut out so fast, you barely had time to process it. The glow of the screens, the hum of electronics—all gone, leaving only the soft pitter-patter of rain against the window.
Idia's horrified gasp echoed through the sudden silence.
"No. No, no, no, no, no—this can’t be happening! We were in the middle of a raid!” His hands flew to his hair, the blue flames flickering wildly as panic set in. "Dude, you forgot your dragon?!"
The color drained from your face as the gravity of the situation fully hit. “I—um—got distracted?”
Idia’s eyes widened, and he stood up so fast his chair rolled backwards. "Distracted?! You forgot about your nightly walks with the dragon fae, and now we’re sitting in a power outage caused by his emotional spiral?!”
In the faint glow of Idia’s flame-lit hair, you saw Ortho zip into the room, looking far too calm given the circumstances. “I detected a sudden shift in weather patterns around campus. It seems like the storm has caused a widespread blackout. Should I assume it’s related to Malleus Draconia’s emotional state?”
"YES!" Idia practically screeched, pointing at you in betrayal. "They ditched Malleus for gaming, and now we’re all suffering the consequences! Ortho, tell them to fix it, please! I beg you!”
Ortho turned to you with his usual chipper smile. “I suggest you go to Malleus and make amends before the entire campus loses power. I’ve already calculated a 98% chance that further emotional distress will result in structural damage to the dorm.”
Idia groaned, burying his face in his hands. “This is why you never piss off boss-level boyfriends. It’s just common sense.”
So, that’s how you found yourself trudging through the stormy night, rain soaking your clothes as you made your way to find Malleus. The lightning flashed overhead, thunder rumbling ominously as you approached the usual meeting spot for your nightly walks.
And there he was—standing alone, looking very much like the picture of heartbreak. His tall figure was framed by the pouring rain, his expression a perfect blend of hurt and brooding. The storm seemed to swirl around him, almost as if it were a physical manifestation of his emotions.
“Malleus,” you called out, rushing toward him, your voice barely audible over the sound of rain. “I’m so sorry!”
He turned slowly, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “You did not answer my calls.”
“I know, I know! I got caught up in a game with Idia, and I didn’t check my phone, and—well, now we have a blackout.”
His lips twitched ever so slightly, his gaze softening just a fraction. “You left me waiting, and the storm came.”
You winced, feeling a pang of guilt. “I didn’t mean to forget about our walk. I love spending time with you—I swear.”
Malleus let out a soft sigh, his shoulders relaxing just a bit. “I do not wish to be a burden to you.”
“Burden?” you echoed, stepping closer until you were right in front of him, the rain pouring down between you. “Malleus, you’re not a burden. I love our walks. I love spending time with you. I just… lost track of time. That’s all.”
For a moment, there was silence, the only sound being the rain hitting the ground. Then, to your surprise, Malleus looked away, a faint hint of vulnerability in his expression. “Do you… truly mean that?”
Without thinking, you reached up, gently cupping his face in your hands. “Of course I do. There’s no one I’d rather be with.”
Malleus’s gaze softened further, and slowly—so slowly—the storm began to quiet. The rain lessened, the wind died down, and the oppressive atmosphere that had settled over the campus lifted. He stared at you for a long moment, searching your face as if looking for any sign of doubt. When he found none, he finally let out a soft chuckle, the corners of his mouth turning up in a faint smile.
“You always manage to calm me,” he murmured, leaning into your touch.
You smiled back, feeling warmth spread through your chest despite the cold rain. “I guess I’m just good at soothing dragons.”
Malleus raised a brow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Perhaps.”
The rain had stopped entirely by now, leaving only a light mist in the air. You let out a relieved sigh, brushing some stray raindrops off Malleus’s cheek before standing on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips.
“I’ll never forget our walks again,” you whispered against his lips, earning a quiet hum of approval from him.
“I shall hold you to that,” he replied, his voice warm with affection. “Now, shall we take that walk?”
You nodded, intertwining your fingers with his. The world felt calmer now, the storm gone, replaced by the soft glow of moonlight breaking through the clouds. Malleus’s mood had lifted entirely, and as the two of you strolled through the now-quiet campus, you couldn’t help but feel content.
And, of course, Idia and Ortho’s screens flickered back to life, much to their relief.
Instance 7: Dessert Disaster
The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and you were about to partake in a picnic with none other than Malleus, Lilia, Silver, and Sebek. Everything was perfect. The blanket was laid out beneath a sprawling tree, food arranged carefully across it—courtesy of Malleus himself, who had spent hours in the kitchen the night before, preparing what he considered to be the pièce de résistance: a pie.
Not just any pie. No, this was a Malleus Draconia-crafted masterpiece. The filling was made from rare berries he’d harvested himself, the crust baked to a perfect golden brown. You could practically smell the love (and maybe a little lightning) that had gone into it.
Malleus, with a glint of pride in his eyes, carefully handed you a slice. "I hope it meets your expectations, my love."
You eagerly took a bite, eyes widening as the flavors exploded on your tongue. It was amazing. No, better than amazing—it was downright phenomenal. How did he even manage to bake something this good? A prince of darkness and a master chef? This was unfair.
"This slaps," you declared, totally unaware of the impending doom those words were about to unleash.
The moment the words left your mouth, you noticed a visible shift in Malleus’s expression. The proud smile he’d worn just seconds ago faltered, his brow furrowing in confusion. His green eyes darkened, clouds suddenly appearing overhead. You could feel the electricity in the air as the temperature dropped.
"I see," Malleus murmured, voice tight. "So… you dislike it."
Wait. What?
You blinked, realization dawning far too slowly. Oh no.
Before you could correct him, Malleus was already raising his hand, a faint crackle of magic sparking between his fingers. You could practically hear the thunder rumbling in the distance as he stared down at the pie slice in your hand, preparing to smite the poor, innocent pastry.
"No, no, no, no—wait!" You waved your arms frantically, standing up so fast you nearly tripped over the picnic blanket.
Sebek, meanwhile, had already leapt to his feet, eyes blazing with righteous fury. "How dare you insult Master Malleus’s baking?!" he shouted, fists clenched. "His skill is unmatched, and yet you have the audacity to call his creation—"
"Sebek." Silver’s voice, calm but firm, interrupted the impending tirade. He was still sitting, but his eyes were half-open now, watching the situation unfold with mild concern. "They didn’t mean it that way."
Lilia, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. He was absolutely delighted by the chaos unfolding, his laughter ringing out across the clearing. "Oh, this is too good!" he cackled, practically rolling on the blanket. "I haven’t seen this much excitement at a picnic in centuries! You modern humans and your strange expressions never fail to entertain!"
You shot him a look that screamed, Please stop encouraging this.
Silver, bless his soul, finally spoke up again, this time turning his attention to you. "You might want to explain before the weather gets worse." He nodded toward the now very ominous-looking clouds gathering above Malleus.
Right. Explaining. You could do that.
You turned back to Malleus, who still looked like he was contemplating whether to zap the pie or not. You could tell his feelings were hurt—his brow was furrowed, his lips set in a tight line. And the thought of him feeling like that, all because of a misunderstanding, made your heart clench.
"Malleus," you said, stepping closer and reaching for his hand. "When I said ‘this slaps,’ I meant it’s really good. Like, insanely good. Amazing. Best pie I’ve ever had."
Malleus’s stormy expression faltered slightly, though the dark clouds remained. "But you said it ‘slaps.’"
"That’s modern slang," you explained, gently squeezing his hand. "It’s a compliment. I promise."
Malleus blinked, the magic at his fingertips dissipating as he processed your words. "So… you enjoyed it?"
"Absolutely. You knocked it out of the park with this pie." You gave him your most reassuring smile. "I could eat the whole thing."
The storm clouds began to thin, sunlight peeking through once more. Malleus tilted his head, considering this new information, and slowly—very slowly—a smile returned to his face.
"It pleases me to hear that," he said, his voice softening.
Meanwhile, Sebek was still standing there, sputtering indignantly. "W-Well, if that’s what they meant, then… of course Master Malleus’s pie is the best! I knew that all along!"
Lilia, still chuckling, waved a dismissive hand at Sebek. "Oh, calm down, boy. No harm done. Besides, now we know modern slang! What other fascinating phrases do you have, I wonder?"
Silver sighed, finally sitting up properly. "Maybe let’s avoid any more slang for today."
With the situation calming down, you took the opportunity to lean in closer to Malleus, brushing a soft kiss against his cheek. "I’m really sorry for the confusion," you murmured. "You’re an amazing baker, and your pie is delicious. I meant that, okay?"
Malleus’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly at the affection, and he gave a small nod. "I believe you."
Feeling a wave of relief wash over you, you pressed another kiss to his lips, slow and tender, savoring the warmth of his skin and the way his hand gently squeezed yours in return. The last of the clouds above you finally cleared, leaving the sky blue and bright once more. The storm was over, and everything was at peace again.
"Shall we enjoy the rest of our picnic, then?" Malleus asked, his voice much lighter now.
You nodded enthusiastically, sitting back down beside him. "Absolutely. And just so we’re clear—your food? Total banger."
Malleus raised a brow, clearly still unfamiliar with the term but now much more accepting of your strange modern ways. "I see. I shall take that as a compliment."
Sebek, still recovering from his earlier outrage, grumbled something under his breath, but you didn’t care. Lilia was still snickering, Silver was finally getting comfortable again, and Malleus was happy. Everything was right in the world.
And hey, now you knew—if you ever wanted to spice things up at a picnic, all it took was a little modern slang.
Instance 8: Destruction of NRC (Well, almost)
Crowley’s “magnanimous nature” was, quite frankly, killing you. Whether it was sorting mountains of paperwork, being sent on endless errands, or handling Grim’s regular chaos, you were exhausted. Every muscle in your body ached, your eyes had dark circles deeper than any pit, and you were pretty sure you were on your third day of functioning on nothing but caffeine and sheer spite.
Grim, bless his fiery little heart, watched you from his perch on your bed, tail flicking in irritation as you barely managed to drag yourself into Ramshackle after another long, thankless day.
“Ugh, henchhuman! You look like death warmed over,” Grim sniffed, narrowing his eyes at you. “How long do you plan on letting that featherbrained Crowley walk all over you?”
You groaned, flopping face-first into your pillow. “As long as it takes to survive this semester, Grim. No one else is going to deal with his nonsense. Not like I have a choice.”
Grim was silent for a moment, watching you with uncharacteristic concern. Then, in a low mumble, he said, “Well, I’ve had enough. You’re my henchhuman, and I won’t let him destroy you.”
You thought Grim was just being dramatic. But when you woke up the next morning to the sound of distant thunder rumbling ominously across the sky, you had a very, very bad feeling.
By the time you made it to NRC, the situation was in full swing. You arrived just in time to witness Crowley practically on his knees, looking like a man who had stared death in the face and lived to tell the tale—barely.
The sky above NRC was pitch black, clouds swirling and crackling with magic as the wind howled through the campus. A storm of epic proportions had descended, and it wasn’t just any storm. This was a Malleus Draconia-grade storm. The kind that didn’t just bring rain or wind—it brought devastation, and everyone was cowering indoors, peeking through windows, afraid to go outside.
Crowley spotted you immediately, rushing over with his cape flapping dramatically behind him as he stumbled, nearly slipping in the mud.
“Please,” he cried, hands clutching your shoulders as if you were his last lifeline. “Please, you must calm him down! I beg of you, prefect, do something!”
You raised a brow, half-expecting some pitiful excuse, but the Headmaster, in all his avian glory, had gone straight to the begging stage. “What did you do this time?” you sighed, knowing it had to be his fault.
“I did nothing! Absolutely nothing! Well, perhaps I’ve… been a little harsh on you, but that’s no reason for him to destroy the entire campus!” Crowley wailed, looking pitiful as a gust of wind nearly knocked him off balance.
“I’ll pay you! I’ll pay you an actual wage! I’ll give you a budget to renovate Ramshackle, and I’ll personally sponsor your vacation! Just please—stop him before there’s nothing left of Night Raven College!”
You blinked. Did… did you just get a salary offer? And a vacation? And a renovation budget? This was new.
Before you could process the sheer absurdity of the situation, Professor Crewel passed by with his coat dramatically billowing in the wind. “Honestly,” he muttered under his breath, “about time that birdbrain faced some consequences for his incompetence.”
Professor Trein, walking with his trusty feline Lucius, shook his head gravely. “At this point, the Headmaster deserves everything that’s coming to him.”
“Do you not see the storm?!” Crowley shrieked, pointing to the lightning that was now dangerously close to striking the bell tower.
Both professors exchanged a look before continuing on their way, Crewel muttering something about how this was Crowley’s mess to fix.
You couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of satisfaction seeing the Headmaster squirm. But at the same time, NRC was at risk of being blown off the map if you didn’t act soon. And judging by the way Grim was laughing maniacally in the corner, proudly declaring how he “fixed” your problems, this was going to be on you to clean up.
With a sigh, you gave Crowley a nod. “Fine. I’ll talk to him. But if you go back on any of those promises—”
“I won’t!” Crowley promised, hands clasped as if in prayer. “I swear on the very foundation of this school, you will be compensated!”
You rolled your eyes but turned on your heel to head toward Diasomnia. The storm seemed to know you were coming, the wind parting just enough to allow you passage. The moment you stepped into the courtyard, the thunder seemed to quiet, though lightning still flashed ominously in the distance.
And there, standing at the center of it all, was Malleus. His expression was dark, eyes glowing faintly as he stared up at the storm he’d summoned. His hands were clasped behind his back, and even with his composed stance, you could sense the simmering frustration beneath the surface.
You approached carefully, calling out softly, “Malleus?”
His head turned slightly at the sound of your voice, though he didn’t fully look at you. “Ah, my love. I see you’ve arrived.”
You moved closer, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Grim told you what’s been going on, didn’t he?”
“I cannot stand to see you work yourself to exhaustion for that foolish crow,” Malleus muttered, still staring at the storm. “He takes advantage of your kindness. It is unforgivable.”
You couldn’t help the warmth that spread through your chest. He was genuinely upset—for you. But, you also couldn’t let NRC be reduced to rubble, and you needed to calm him down before it got worse.
With a soft chuckle, you stepped in front of him, gently cupping his face in your hands. “It’s okay. I appreciate how much you care about me, but you don’t have to destroy the school over this.”
Malleus’s eyes finally met yours, the storm above softening ever so slightly. “But you’re suffering.”
“I was,” you admitted, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “But not anymore. Crowley’s going to make it up to me—he promised me a wage, a renovation budget for Ramshackle, and a vacation.”
That seemed to catch his attention, the storm clouds above beginning to dissipate. “A vacation?”
“Mhm,” you nodded, leaning up to brush another kiss against his cheek. “In fact, I was going to ask if you’d like to come with me.”
Malleus blinked, his earlier frustration melting into a look of surprise—and then, a small, pleased smile tugged at his lips. The storm overhead faded into nothing, the sky returning to its usual clear blue.
“I would be honored,” he said softly, pulling you closer to him. “A vacation, just the two of us. That sounds… delightful.”
You grinned, pressing a final kiss to his lips, feeling his arms wrap around you in return. “It’s a date, then.”
And just like that, the storm was over. NRC was safe, and more importantly, you had managed to calm your dragon—and score a well-deserved vacation in the process.
As for Crowley? Well, you’d make sure to enjoy every moment of watching him squirm while you cashed in those promises.
Some husband Leona hcs for Grandpa's birthday, pls. There are very few who write him as well as you do
Thank you anon! I’m flattered. Well, since I won't be able to finish my birthday art I’ll do my due diligence as the Bunny ya’ll know.🫡
Soft Leona Husband HCs
As I mentioned in my other post, your life with Leona is private, quiet and cozy just how he likes it! You guys get plenty of chaos when friends and Cheka visit but day-to-day is just the two of you.
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💛 If Leona’s near you he’s most likely touching you, standing behind you while you cook, nuzzled in your neck. Or a hand on your thigh while he drives, thumb tracing the contour of your skin. Maybe brushing a finger across your cheek, tracing your beauty marks/freckles if you have them, or maybe your dimples. And when you finally smile or laugh: your lips. You are given the same privileges, you don’t even have to ask, just pet your Lion already.
💛 I don’t know if it’s considered purring but you KNOW when your husband's comfy you know because he lets out little grunts and sighs, sometimes it’s just a small sound that rumbles in his chest. When you brush his hair or when you're settling down for bed—tucked into his chest, the husky timbre of his voice in your ear. “Asante kwa kunitunza... You spoil, your Lion.” He says. These little noises become verbal tic that he tends to make around only you. When things are tense or you're irritated at him, it almost acts as a tone indicator of his teasing.
💛 Speaking of teasing: he can’t deny he doesn’t like to get your heckles up. He picks, he prods, he tickles you, he chases you. Sometimes even irritates. When you ask him if he got what you needed while he was out, he pretends to not know what you mean. He lets you yell at him for a full minute, only to grin and laugh as you attempt to swat at him for getting on your nerves and lying.
💛 Leona will cook…if it’s meat-related, and if it’s for you. You tease him at how slow he is at prepping dishes, but he insists that you just need more patience. He prefers your cooking though. He’ll…accept you teaching him a new dish, but…then not actually pay attention. This is so you’ll make it for him again. What? You just do it so much better.
💛 Leona’s signature scent is cinnamon. His aftershave. His deodorant, even his cologne all have subtle notes of cinnamon. It’s his favorite flavor of candy after all. He tends to have a bag of it laying around the house, and in his study. And so, his kisses usually taste like cinnamon too, his hugs leaving the lingering notes of it on your skin, clothes and hair. Along with star anise, citrus and something…sweet. It's kinda like him, after all: can be abrasive at first but, underneath lies something...softer.
💛 Matching night wear, matching formal wear. MATCHING OUTFITS. It’s not something you expect from him despite his usual disdain for tradition but he…likes this one. Leona is an expert on Sunset Savanna textiles, He KNOWS what fabrics are the ✨softest✨, He buys matching sets for the two of you always. It’s tradition. Lion beastman pairs especially, tend to mimic each other's manes and fashion. With your input, he requests your clothing in similar patterns. The two of you tend to exchange clothes too, even if you’re smaller than him…you've caught him more than once squeezing into your shirts. He missed you.
💛 Biting = Affection. Biting means lots of things to lion beastman, and some of this is well just…Leona. He bites you everywhere, never too hard, just enough to bug you, let you know he’s there, you know? Your cheeks, your tummy, your legs—whatever he can reach. And in true Leona fashion, he’s always threatening to gobble you up. He’s a lion after all, he says, and he needs to be fed. (Very silly.) He’ll even “hunt” you around the house sometimes, when he’s in the mood, it's strange seeing him so playful, but you bring out the cub in him. He didn’t really get to do this when he was younger, so maybe he’s making up for lost time~
💛 If he gets to pick your outing, he tends to default to a few things. First, checking out his favorite bookstore or antique shop, you're surprised how knowledgeable he is about secondhand stores. Afterwards, barbeque, and then a drive down the coast in his jeep. If he's in the mood he'll even to take you out to the beach, a hidden alcove he’s found and so you guys can nap in the shade, if you ask…he’ll buy you dessert too. But to be honest…he’d rather have you for dessert, if you catch my drift. You know what? Nevermind he’s taking you back home.
💛 When you shop together he tends to stay close to you, you’re his favorite subject of study and sometimes just observing you is what he likes best. He knows sometimes you don't just say aloud when you need something or even deny yourself. He simply doesn't believe in that. “Oh, I don't need it,” You sigh and put the item back. Either he very dramatically forces you to put it back into your shopping cart if you fight him on it, or he sneaks it in when you're not looking.
💛 Similarly, when you're overworking yourself he reminds you to relax. He does his best to help you unwind or offers what assistance he can. Usually he knows what to do, because he knows you. Oh boy, does he know you. Better than you know yourself, he teases. If not, he offers: How can your Lion be useful to ya then?”
💛 Leona keeps odd hours, and maybe you do too. In the early early mornings sometimes you find him still up, poring over some book or watching the sunrise while working on some chess strategies. Sometimes you two make breakfast, sometimes you just keep him company. Usually, the two of you end up back in bed. He wants to be up when your up, and tries his best to sync up your schedules.
🌴An Ordinary Morning:
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Your husband sits on the veranda with a few weathered books scattered around his feet. Neither of you have bothered to put them away the past few weeks because you know Leona will just take them out again when he needs to look something up.
The pieces on the marble chess board in front of him are scattered in patterns you don't understand the significance of. You chuckle anyway and, wordlessly, you sit yourself on his lap, draping yourself across his legs, as if he was your personally chaise. Leona says nothing, only a grunt and rumble in his throat as he nuzzles into your neck, looking over your shoulder to continue his work. You can barely open your eyes yet, tucking your face into his tunic, made from the same fabric as the one that is wrapped around you. Cut from the same cloth, if you will. Your lips curl up.
His neck is a bit rough, you note, like sandpaper. You’ll remind him to shave later, but even so. you return his nuzzle, familiar spicy scent soaking into your cheek. He felt your smile.
“Hm?” A click, as he moves a piece on the board, his bicep flexing under your fingers, when you cling harder to his soft sleeve. His voice rumbles in your ear: a saccharine grumble from his chest. You stretch, looping your arms around his neck as he adjusts his chair, his heart a steady rhythm.
“Still awake?” You murmur through a yawn.
“Mmmhmm,” he bobs his knee under your legs, gently rocking you both in the easy chair as you cling onto him. Then, he begins to tell you about his night.
Your smile deepens, some of it goes over your head…but hearing him talk is like melatonin, you could fall asleep. Just. Like. This. He goes on, and you hover between that peaceful state of sleeping and being awake. You only open your eyes to watch the sunrise with him.
“C’mon. Bed time,” he orders gently after the sun comes out.
“Mmm,” You're so comfortable now, you can barely speak, so you too let out a little satisfied grunt, a mannerism you picked from your husband.
He kisses you on the forehead and tsks as he coaxes you off of him, wordlessly, guiding your half-asleep body back to your shared bedroom.
During one of NRC’ rare joint classes, you spot the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. Otherworldly aura, mischievous smile, surprising wisdom and unorthodox tastes — there’s an unexplainable pull towards him. Though, the more you observe, the more you understand : he spotted you too.
No warnings, no ‘yandere’ content.
You’re looking at the prettiest man ever.
That’s certain, he’s pulled straight from a dream — the most enticing your brain could even imagine. A petite and androgynous build; a skin so pale, it could rival the most cherished dolls’ and a pair of striking magenta orbs. Streaks of similar colour adorn his dark hair, framing his delicate face and enhancing the otherworldly charm you’ve fallen prey to.
You must be blind to only notice him now.
“Hey.”
You let out an inhuman grunt at your classmate’s nudge. The object of your attention moves with an unsettling grace, retrieving a fallen pen before lifting his head— and sevens, his gaze is even more intense when he looks over here.
“Hey!”
This time, the momentum of the nudge makes you fall over the desk. Your chin unceremoniously slip from your palm, it’s a bit painful and as you compose yourself, you swear you heard a little ‘urgh, loser’ not so far away.
“Now’s that you’ve gathered your thoughts,” begin professor Trein with looks that could zap you away from existence. You shrink in your seat. “Kindly highlight how the era of gods impacted the creations of guilds.”
“Of course, professor.”
Right. Of course, but as soon as Trein pivots away, robes flowing briskly behind, your mind is promptly leaving this dimension again. Daydreaming is far more important in your opinion. Lucius doesn’t bother hiding his deadpan expression as he looks your way.
With a sigh, you pick up your tool to resume the gibberish you wrote during your fantasy.
The humiliation has subjected you to your friends’ teasings. You don’t blame them. At all, but they don’t understand — can’t — until they’re faced with that blessing themselves. That guy is too beautiful to take your eyes off him and it’s even worse when you have to choose between studies (bad.) and worship (good.)
The answer seems obvious enough.
On a serious note though, it’s okay, it’s just unserious idolisation. You’re not planning anything. Your reverence doesn’t mean you will do anything about it— one might say your enthusiasm is like so because you’re not planning on being anything more than a secret admirer.
Unpopular opinion but admiration doesn’t always need to be acted on. And positive feelings for an individual don’t always lead to something : not even making a move — not that you would dare, or be delusional enough to —, not even striking a conversation. Much less even gaping at his cuteness across a classroom.
You have years of experience in that field.
Here is how it goes :
It starts innocently with stolen glances — maybe a few scenarios before falling asleep in the comfort of your bed — then, a little hyper fixation if you’re really into it. But because nothing ever happens and you’re definitely not the type to act on it, the situation cristallise and times wears it down.
If you’re really lucky, weeks pass by before you even realise it all became a memory.
Some might call it missed opportunities but you don’t agree. Admiring without being seen is comforting. It’s soothing to appreciate from the comfort of your own bed and dreams. Like indulging in your favourite’s event in a rhythm game — it’s reassuring, it’s warm without having the feeling of being bare. Interactions never happen and it’s not always a bad thing.
Still, there’s a lingering regret of probably not getting more but that’s part of the process.
One day, you will stop looking for those ruby eyes and the interactions — or accidental gaze crossing, call as you want — will be even more scarce than before. So, of course, you don’t expect those beautiful eyes to be centimetres from yours.
It’s even more stunning up close.
“Ah, pardon me. I didn’t think I was that quiet today.” He speaks lightly, with a bounce in his voice that reflect his amusement. The stunning man draws back, heels tapping in the hallway.
You try to contain the inner fan within you but it’s like holding a door shut when the Beast is full-force clawing at it. “No harm done.” You reply, smiling a little too tightly and holding back your thoughts from escaping.
His gaze is even more captivating up face to face and it’s so hard to break away from it. Don’t even get started on his smell— there’s no way you’re going to come back from this.
“Is there anything I can do for you ?” You ask instead like a person properly educated.
His lips quirk up as though he saw the entertainment of the year. That’s a bit worrying but he is quick to paint his face with seasoned and theatrical worry instead. He sighs. “I seem to have misplaced my wand. Might you know where it is ?”
Your eyebrows rise at his question. Pause. You’re currently wondering how did he manage to lose the most important item of your curriculum. The most important after your schooling certificate, right after your tuition fees— no actually, it might be even more crucial than that.
And it’s not like your magic wand has been granted straight after the sorting ceremony, with careful hands and a grave ceremony athmosphere. You’re even sure Crowley has given a lengthy speech about the responsibility of a student in that regard and how expensive it is.
A beat.
“I could’ve sworn I left it around here.” Now, your beau is upside down, looking behind a curtain.
Charming but some missing brain cells, got it.
“….” You exhale, “I apologise if I sound rude but… how can one lose it?”
With how gleefully he spun around at your question, it’s as if you’ve just promised the life of your first born. It’s also quite certain that no one should look as elated as him when losing his magic wand. “Intrigued, aren’t you ?” He grins, almost looking proud before resuming his theatrics. “Alas, it was lost in the noble art of keeping students on their toes.”
You quirk your eyebrow, not understanding.
“Noble art ?”
“Scaring them a bit, of course.” He clarifies with a quirk of his lips, hand on his hips. “Although… they screamed so eagerly, one might think I’d cursed them.” And at that, his smile stretches into something more unsettling.
The gleam in his eyes is mischievous and light. But there’s an additional weight to his tone — threatening and at the same time, effortless. For a split of second, it’s like the athmosphere shifted weirdly for something as mundane as pranking someone and you can’t say you really get it. But the more you look at him, the more an unknown feeling creeps up along your spine.
Ah.
His stare is intense and gleaming, he looks amused.
And dangerous.
Right.
Shivers.
You don’t know wether he really did something and he looks like he’s having way too much fun playing with the ambiguity of his intentions. You feel the weight of his focus.
You feel a sudden itch to leave.
“I see,” you cough, your voice cutting through the athmosphere. “I get it. Pranking people, it’s fun — makes life even more uh… jumpy.”
He hums in agreement, with a closed-eyed smile anime-worthy. Still, nothing more from him so you continue :
“But— I mean, sorry, I didn’t see anything. I’ll let you know if I find your wand but err— yeah.” No idea why you’re tripping over your words but that doesn’t sound very dignified. You cringe a bit. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Why, of course ! Don’t let this old soul take your tim—“
To be fair, you don’t hear the rest as you bolt through the hallway. With how quickly you run down the stairs, one might think you’re fleeing a threat of detention. And you might be with how shaken you appear to be…
…If it isn’t for the rising heating of your face. The previous itch fade into a tingle. One taking over the upper part of your body and particularly focused on your cheeks. What you mistook for awkwardness is fluster.
He’s not missing brain cells, just a few screw loose.
He’s exactly your type.
You’re doomed.
With how quickly you ran away, there’s no way you expect to interact with him again. The hasty departure can be considered improper and you’re the first one to understand if he doesn’t want any conversation with you again. Not like you had any hope of more.
Though.
He seems determined to surprise you again as he sit there, in lieu of your desk mate like he has always belonged there. It’s like he knows — you’re not sure what but he does, for sure. His posture is relaxed, his smile wide and there’s a tilt of his head when he acknowledges your presence, satisfaction oozing from him.
“My, how fortunate I am to cross paths with you again !” He said like he isn’t the one to choose to sit next to you.
You stand there, speechless because — sure, as easy on the eyes he is and no matter how blessed you feel to be able to interact with him yet again — there’s a sense of wariness creeping up. First, it’s an unusual decision and then, poster boys are supposed to be only that : posters.
People to be admired and appreciated from afar with no hope for more, but also, no disappointment. You don’t doubt his pure intentions — or, do you — but you won’t be able to survive the rest of school if you develop real feelings for someone just because he lost his belongings.
Meanwhile, he resumes with the same tone as last time.
“You rushed so quickly last time. Did I happen to make you uncomfortable ?”
You snap out of your daze at his inquiry. On his face, there’s a little crease betraying the worry hidden behind his playful smirk and piecing two and two together, you’re quick to dismiss that thought.
“Oh, no, no, no ! I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly, I didn’t mean to be rude. I just—“
Look, you’re out of the world. I had to squeal in the staircase due to cuteness overload. I rushed away because of the impending doom known as nosebleed. You’re the most ethereal person I ever met—
“—I had a severe need to go to the toilets. Lactose intolerant, you know how it is.”
As soon as those words left your mouth, your only wish is to curse yourself.
Let it be over with. There’s a heartbreaking silence — it’s painful, it’s terribly long and you’re too mortified to avert your eyes. His are ever-so slightly widened in surprise. A beat passes and his expressions morph into something deeply entertained.
“Of course,” he accepts easily with a khee he. “How could I compete with such urgent matters ?”
For a second, you think he’s making fun of you or that his tone is ironic and you somehow missed its obvious clue. However, the tilt of his voice is too open, too subtle — nothing judgmental, nothing hurtful. Far from it, he accepts your poor excuse.
His eyes doesn’t leave you. He knows that’s a lie and he’s having fun, it seems to convey.
“Now that my worries are put to rest, may I have the name of the person who escaped me so boldly?”
Your throat appears to dry up just a tiny bit at the toothy grin he punctuate his sentence with. It’s charming, he’s charming.
“Oh, I—“
“Lilia Vanrouge, I believe that is not your assigned seat, is it ?” Calls out Professor Trein across the room. “Kindly return to your designated place.”
Behind the grey-haired man, you catch sight of your annoyed desk mate, his beastman tail swishing impatiently. Without doubt, waiting for his seat to be returned to him. As your previous interlocutor — Lilia Vanrouge — stands up, Trein silently invites the Savanaclaw student to settle down.
“Ah, seems like I must be off. Farewell, stranger.” The Diasomnian huffs with a little laugh. “Oh, but do keep out an eye out for my wand, alright ? Still haven’t found that pesky thing.”
He rises with an effortless grace. The chair scrapes against the floor when he steps aside and without any rush whatsoever, gestures politely toward the place he had previously occupied to its rightful owner. A simple nod being the only exchanged between them.
The furniture rattles again as the beastman sits down.
“Hi,” you whisper with the timid quirk of a smile. “Sorry about that.”
The low grunt and slight twitch of ear dismiss your apology — not in an unkind manner however. And when Trein clears his throat, you’re quick to dip down to retrieve your stationary.
Yet, there’s something strange. Inside your bag, hidden in one of the inner pockets, a green shine — oddly bright, weirdly of a familiar nuance. You notice it under the supplies.
His wand.
Class is over and you still have no clue how his wand ended up in your belongings. By no means would you have taken by accident — since the beginning of your studies, yours is safely pocketed inside your jacket. Even if it had happened, it wouldn’t be at that location — much less stolen from him.
You’re smitten, not a creep.
At least, that’s a truth you’re ready to swear on your life for and that you know is… well, true. But will Lilia believe that, that’s an entire different matter.
“I must say, I didn’t expect to see you so soon.” He express when you reach his desk, the last few classmates exiting.
Yet, quite the opposite, he looks like he did foresee your appearance. Far from taken aback, he welcomes your arrival with a happy bounce to his heels. You think you’re staring to better picture his personality : never surprised and always the one surprising. He acts like he can overcome every obstacles without flinching.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing your lovely face ?”
Mission failed successfully. Your brain is melting and your cheeks, heating at his easy compliment. You do try to remain levelheaded but that’s a hard task when he calls you lovely.
“Hello…” You rummage through your pocket, careful of not grabbing the wrong item. At last, an unfamiliar shape graze your fingers and you present it. “After you left before, your wand… You were looking for it ?”
You hesitate for a brief moment to explain how you’ve come across it, not sure how you appear right now. Hopefully, not like a thief. But there’s no need, instead, his entire body perks up with excitement.
“Ah, you found it !” He exclaims, voice glittering with satisfaction. The expression he throws your way is appreciative and you find yourself mirroring the curve of his lips. “Where might have you found it ? Really, you have my gratitude, thank you.”
“With my stuff,” You reply with a chuckle, shoulders relaxing. “Well hidden but, I’m happy I could help.”
But the sound is met with... well, nothing. It hangs in the air, fades into silence and nothing to pick up the exchange. As the song goes, he looks at you and you look at him. There’s a twinkle of wonder.
"Where to then ? I do hope it's somewhere interesting."
Your eyebrows rise in utter confusion. For a moment, you believe you missed something he said.
"Surely, you don't expect me to let you leave without a proper thank-you ?" His voice lowers, the mischief laced with something undecipherable. "Let it be known : us, faes, take debts very seriously." He leans in. "And as I recall, our last conversation was cut short, wasn't it ?"
He's close.
Your breath only returns when he straightens, casualness erasing the previous traces of his tone. He folds his arms.
"So, where should we venture ?"
“No matter how many times I come here, I never seem to get tired of it.” He gestures at the outdoor space, orbs shining with something older. “So much colours, so much life — it really does bring the best out of the world doesn’t it ?”
The thrilling adventure you offer is a visit at the outside market. You note how unflattering your outfit is and how basic this activity is but it's not like there's much to do after school hours other than walking and maybe, walking again.
And although there wasn’t much doubt, getting the outspoken confirmation of his fae lineage has you slightly self-conscious about how you might appear. It all concerns how childish you may sound, how boring such item must be compared to his previous experiences, how little you are in the grander scheme of things.
To your relief though, it doesn't look like it bothers him. Your gaze softens. “Yes,” you murmur in turn, facing forward : in his presence, the constant and small apprehension fade. The occasional stuttering as well. “It’s like a different story told, right ? Everytime you come, it’s a tale waiting to be unraveled.” You only feel at ease.
When he cast a glance over — there’s no edge, no teasing. Just something akin to approval, something a bit softer. And just like that, a minor shift is made between you two. There’s no need to acknowledge it as it settles with your shared steps and the steady conversation.
He seems delighted by the husles and bustles of the street and lively chattings of passing customers一 sometimes, fellow students who come to unwind. From one street to another, from wooden toys to foreign kettles, he approaches each stand with similar energy 一 with curiosity and a story of his own. Tales of his time as a solo explorer or recent anecdotes in potionology, you absorb his words no matter.
It’s a different kind of lovely spectacle you’re subjected to : rather than distant, clean admiration, the vibrancy of the place further highlights Lilia’ liveliness. The skin you compared to dolls is kissed by sun; his red orbs are similar to candles whose flame dance to his laughter and his hair are perfect for small hairdos offered there.
“I once visited a kingdom in which the height which one poured hot tea from reflected the level of respect for th—“
“Didn’t you tell me this already, Lilia ?” Your joyful tone cut his story short. Though, he doesn’t take offense, eyebrows arching gracefully instead. The more you chat, the more smoothly his name rolled of your tongue : for your greatest satisfaction. His as well if you believe the deepening of his cheeky dimples. “Is this a way to push me to prepare you tea for next time ?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea. But I’d much rather be the one to serve you,” he hums. “Naturally I’d pour from quite the height.“
“Smooth talker.”
But you feel giddy. Beyond the suave declarations, there's warmth, patience and mischievousness. That, you’re learning — rather than making you feel small — invites you in his larger world and takes the time to describe each details your eyes have yet to see.
He welcomes your errors and clumsiness with amusement. One void of judgement and cruelty, rather, full of spontaneity and fun like it’s the core of life. Sometimes, you complain at his teasings when he spooks you yet again behind the tapestry. Sometimes, you listen and learn how intricate his life has been 一 is — when you see metallic tools.
“Lilia, what is that ?” You ask, pointing curiously at a good you never saw before. The man floats over, magenta eyes taking in the circular item. Latitude lines and star positions adorn the bronze, it looks old but well taken care of.
“I believe that’s an astrolabe.” He guesses as the shopkeeper approaches you both. Accepting the tool from the woman’s hands, Lilia plucks at it with a weird familiarity.
“A wha— sorry, what ?”
“An astrolabe,” he reiterates. He gives a sidelong glance and lips stretches the more your confusion lengthen. “Trein mentioned it the other day when teaching about ancient navigation spells, were you not paying attention ?”
“Oh, I actually have no recollection, I must have been unfocused that day ?”
“It seems to be a recurring problem nonetheless — that distracted mind of yours. Would you like to share why ? I’m sure we can look for solutions, khee-he-he.”
“Oh— no, no, no, don’t worry. I already have what I need.” You sputter, caught lacking. At your flustered tone, his amusement is more explicit and he gestures you to come nearer.
“Well then. Come along, I’ll show you how an astrolabe works. Perhaps you’ll find it more entertaining outside of class.”
Explanations flow swiftly, you’re easily engrossed in the subject as you make no haste to leave the stand. When you resume your pace, it’s already an hour later with people starting to leave and wafting smells of food. It's nice and sevens, you would have never dared to strike conversation with him if he didn't lose his wand.
You’re lucky : he shares stories like each detail is a treasure and this evening alone feels like one.
You glimpse at a green shine laid on a table a few steps away — with the setting sun, the colour further catches your attention amidst the darker and duller products. This time, it is you who share an anecdote.
“In a country I visited younger once,” you say in a breath, catching his attention. Within the course of your outings, you learnt how sharp his hearing is. No matter the noises and yells, he always focuses on your words. “This plant was used to signify luck.”
A four-leaved clove, crooked and amateur — a handcrafted piece of jewellery, surely to decorate one’s jacket. You trace the outline with your index.
You take it and place it in the palm of his hand.
“It’s not a real one,” you clarify, feeling suddenly a bit hotter. “But I feel lucky to have been able to spend time and learn more about you. I hope we can do something similar again.” You exhale, then a shy smile tugs at your lips. “And I hope that one day, I can give you a real one.”
His eyes crinkles as he cradles your gift close to his torso. “How delightful.”
And it’s hard to know if he’s speaking about the good or your feelings.
Lilia Vanrouge is not a poster boy anymore.
Not to be mistaken, you still giggle when you share extensive eye contacts during classes. You openly gape when he looks really good 一 which, without surprise, happens at least once a week 一 and some daydreaming still include him.
There's a twist however. For each time a glance is reciprocated, a smile is carefully displayed behind your history books respectively. When his appearance strikes you, you reach out to compliment him, earning his gleeful appreciation and now, the time spent thinking about him in bed is significantly smaller than the time used to chat together.
Rather than being a spectator, you go out your way to seek his presence, taking the opportunities for iddle conversations and mindless teasings between classes. It feels nice to not be just an admirer anymore, to dare and be more.
You initially don’t have anything against hyping him from afar. But seeing him as he is : human, well… fae in his case, real, nuanced and flawed. The appreciation you hold for him is different, deeper, less idealistic and more…
(You’re not ready to find the word yet.)
You like to think this is a mutuel feeling as he took a liking to suddenly appearing nearby whenever strikes his fancy. No reason is needed to come and talk to you, just as no justification is necessary if it means scaring you. To be fair, that's more you ever daydreamed about.
But his friendship comes with terrible hardships. Horrific events happening at least once a day, weighing on both your mind and body. Your attempts are serious at turning a blind eye, to no avail.
There's a purple coloured meal on the threshold of your room.
Let's take a moment to repeat.
There's a purple coloured meal on the threshold of your room.
You really would like to announce how surprising that is, how intrigued you feel and maybe poetically delve into the turmoil of your emotions at that surprise gift.
You can't.
Because while he is nowhere to be seen, there’s no doubt about his culpability.
That fae is the only one capable of creating such monstrosity. Plus, it's the third time this week Lilia brings his food over like a cat bringing his prey to its owner. Exception being : he is no animal, probably hundreds of years old and if anyone dares to try and own him… he would probably own them first, prank them to death and find a way for their ghost to witness his singing.
You bend over, playing with the edge of the plate to inspect it further. Purple and green leaves looking incredibly moist and…moister, amidst some kind of soup. Sevens, does he know how to turn his food in anything other than mud doppelgänger— that’s honestly a genuine concern. Of course, no foil covers the dish. Ants are already making their way over for the buffet of their lives.
You do note the presence of a clean spoon to invite you to taste.
You suppress a sigh.
“No, I won’t eat this.” You declare without hesitation.
“Oh ?” A deeper voice express beside you, his shoulder almost touching yours. Lilia appears upside down in a pop of exaggerated enthusiasm, the green shine of the clove jewellery catching rays of sunshine. “Is it the colour ? The smell ? The texture ? Or do you fear the unknown?”
“It just pulses, Lilia,” you deadpan as you stand up, levelling his creation up to his gaze. “I don’t think food is supposed to do that.”
“Ah, but that’s what gives it character ! I assure you, among all that pulsed, only one turned sentient. You should be safe… probably.” You hear a chuckle.
“Right, because the previous one was safe maybe ?” A defensive line leaves your lips as you fold your arms, the food once put away. You frown lightly as the previous experience flows right back in mind. A breaded recipe whose hidden bones caused you to be bedridden for two days straight. “Should I remind you that because of that, I puked blood all night ?”
As supportive you can be, the repetitive culinary russian roulette bring its own hazard.
“Quite the souvenir ! You did give us quite the scare. But I disgress…” His tone is softer. “I only bring these because I worry. You always look exhausted. Stretched thin. I thought that maybe… I could help you make you feel fuller.”
He cast a sidelong glance. Your tensed shoulders lower slowly. Your impatience dissipate at the sincere motivation, the magenta orbs of his not helping one bit as you find once again losing yourself in it. There’s a pause.
“That’s sweet… but please, stop it.”
“Oh ?” His head tilts just a little but the laughter fades ever so slightly.
“Yes. If you really care,” Gracefully, he floats into your view, coming back to an upright position. Your words is firm but not unkind, you only hope he can discern it. “Do it in other ways. Aren’t you master at surprising people ?”
A blink then — he laughs gently. “Message received.” His smile is smaller but warmer. “I will find new ways to dote on you.”
Your lips quirk into a smirk.
“Surprise me, Lilia.”
Right, so. You have no idea how he decided to surprise you but it visibly entails to being dressed to the nines one banal thursday afternoon. Amidst the tired faces and worn out uniforms, it’s physically impossible to miss him.
Lilia stands in the middle of the courtyard. The usual attire doned by a charcoal ensemble and by the perfectly fitted fabric, the silver details adorning his cuffs as well as high collar, there’s something almost ceremonial about him. Almost princely, like straight out of a ancient painting — if it isn’t for his easy posture.
He’s deadly.
You’ve never seen him dressed like that.
And there’s something captivating about that : beyond the clothing style, the charm lies into how he’s dressed up. Intentionally dressed as if each folds and embroidery exist to captivate and impress. Oh, does it work well — he’s put together to kill.
Kill by beauty, probably.
Sharp as ever, he’s quick to notice your presence across. Ignoring the glances and whispers, he throws a toothy grin before appearing in front of you, heels clicking at the movement.
You blink at his appearance.
“Wow, you look… like you’ve come straight from Shoenheit’s personal closet.”
He imitates a grand introduction, bowing. The action completes his regal impression. It’s surprising but the way he carries himself with poise and confidence despite the odd period clash sells it all. “Why, thank you. I’ve been told ‘being dressed this cute healed the soul’ so I’ve decided to put that prescription to the test.” The smile he gives you is devastating. “So how is your soul ?”
Your heart pick up in pace, throat drying up lightly. There’s an obvious struggle to hide how flustered you are. “I— Oh, uh— Flourishing, really.”
You clear your throat, attempting to buy a few seconds to let your cheeks cool down. His eyes twinkle.
“But really, what’s the occasion ?”
“Who’s to tell ?” He first says with an easy shrug. “Maybe I merely wanted to look my best. Maybe I wanted to catch the attention of someone special. Although, it would have been easier if you had caught all the signs. The meals, the longing stares, the karaoke — do you need more instances, dear ?”
“Sorry— aren’t you just friendly and naturally charming ?”
At your surprise, he openly laughs. You feel like that sentence is the most amusing of the day but he’s quick to put himself together, though his dimples are still there.
Ah, well.
“Mhm. That I am,” his voice drops lower. He gets closer to you with a slow pace and the tilt of his head. “But I’m also curious. And I’ve been wondering how long will you need to take the hint, for the past months.”
“What hint ?“ You feel his breath mingling with yours.
“The one that ends like this,” he whispers. “When is our second date ?”
— overblot gang : x gn!reader. dividers: uzmacchiato
note: Hi, it's been a while. Sorry for not posting. I've been struggling a lot in the past few months. I'll talk about it in a separate post, but WOOO My 100th post!!
Riddle Rosehearts ༉⋆｡˚
Hyper-aware of you at all times. When he’s in love, everything you do suddenly seems so much more important to him. What you’re doing, how you're feeling, but tries to pretend he's not watching you like a hawk.
He panics internally whenever you're upset, thinking he failed you somehow. He won’t always know how to comfort you, but he’ll try so hard, fumbling through awkward pats, stammered words, and eventually hugging you tightly while whispering, “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry… I can’t bear it.”
Has tea dates ready down to the sugar cube. Every single detail is thought out when you’re involved— teacup chosen based on what he thinks suits your mood, snacks that don’t crumble too much so your fingers stay clean, etc.
Acts awkward when trying to be sweet. If he wants to compliment you, he fumbles over it. “You look… adequate— no, I meant to say pleasant! Is that acceptable? Wait—uh.”
He secretly wants physical closeness. He yearns to hold your hand, but would combust if you actually did. Expect him to brush your fingers “on accident” when passing you tea or opening a door.
The moment he realizes he’s truly in love, He starts wondering not just how you fit into his world, but how he can become someone worthy of belonging in yours.
Leona Kingscholar ༉⋆｡˚
Love softens him. His rough edges remain, but there's a quiet protectiveness in everything he does now. He pulls you closer while napping, walks on the side closest to danger, grumbles about others bothering you, but does it anyway.
He speaks to you in a gentle, almost soothing tone that contrasts sharply with his interactions with others. When he's comfortable in your presence, his voice takes on a velvety quality, almost like a soft purr.
Does thoughtful things without making a big deal of them. Your favorite drink? It’s in your hands before you knew you needed it. Someone bothering you? He stares them down until they leave.
He performs acts of service, like fixing your uniform, carrying heavy items, and giving you piggyback rides when you're tired. He focuses on making your life easier without expecting thanks.
Let you win in small things. Whether it's a game of chess, cards, or even playful sparring, he intentionally lets you take the lead. With a grin that hints at his mischief, he skillfully holds back, allowing you to claim victories in these small skirmishes, though he would never confess that he’s going easy on you—after all, that would spoil the fun.
Azul Ashengrotto ༉⋆｡˚
Terrified of his own feelings at first. He’ll try to logically dissect his emotions like a contract clause until he finally realizes “I’m completely, hopelessly in love with them.”
Buys your affection—but sincerely. Anything to earn your praise, spoiling you rotten with luxurious gifts, gourmet meals, and perfectly planned dates at sea. But beneath it all, he’s starved for affection—a touch on his cheek, a hand through his hair, and he melts.
Gives you discounts at the lounge, and by discounts, I mean “accidentally gives you everything for free.” He'll offer you “special deals” just so he can see you more often. He gives you freebies, bends the contract rules, and always finds a way to make time for you.
He’s touch-starved but doesn’t initiate. When you hug him? Kiss his cheek? Slip your hand into his? He stares like you’ve cast a powerful spell. He never expects it, but he craves it. And eventually, he’ll shakily start reaching out first, just a little.
Turns into a stuttering, blushing wreck when you compliment him genuinely. He can take flattery from strangers. But you? It’s over.
Jamil Viper ༉⋆｡˚
Is 100% in denial at first. He tries to hide his feelings for a long time—he’s used to being in the background, and he doesn’t want to feel vulnerable.
Starts cooking your favorite foods without even asking. The moment he hears you like something? It's on the menu.
Subtly adjusts your schedule to protect your health. Did you forget lunch? Suddenly, Jamil's handing you a lunch. Overworking? He drags you outside to “run errands” (a walk to get some fresh air).
Makes excuses to be near you. “I was passing by.” “You forgot your notebook.” “Do you need help studying?” He’s smooth, even when flustered.
Gets extremely jealous, but it’s quiet. His smile tightens. He stares a bit too long. And later that night, he’ll whisper, “Don’t make me watch you smile at someone else like that again, it drives me crazy.”
Jamil doesn’t show grand romantic gestures—but when he offers you his hoodie or lets you nap in his room, know this: you’ve touched a part of him he thought no one would ever reach.
Vil Schoenheit ༉⋆｡˚
When he’s in love, he stares at you with such focus, like you’re a masterpiece. His compliments come rarely but powerfully “You’re breathtaking tonight,” spoken in a voice low and sincere.
Fixes your hair or collar without saying anything. Smooths it down, tucks it back, all while scolding you for not being “presentation-ready.”
Wants to be your muse and your mentor. He’ll teach you how to do skin care or pose for a photo, but he’s also watching you with a soft expression the whole time.
Your presence becomes part of his routine. Face masks for two, helping him memorize lines, dressing you up in elegant clothes because “you deserve to feel like royalty too"
Gets visibly annoyed when others flirt with you. You can see the irritation on his face whenever someone flirts with you. “Are they blind?” he grumbles. “You’re clearly in a league of your own!”
When he looks at you, his demeanor softens; his smile transforms into something genuine and warm, made just for you, away from the cameras and the spotlight.
He doesn’t tolerate others looking down on you. If someone dares to insult you, he’ll destroy them with a single look—and then tell you calmly, “Don’t listen to nonsense from those beneath you.”
Publicly, he’s poised, elegant, and graceful. But alone with you? He lets down his hair, takes off the makeup, and leans into your shoulder with tired sighs. You’re his safe space where perfection isn’t needed.
Idia Shroud ༉⋆｡˚
He does things terrifyingly out of character. For you? He will go outside more. He’ll show up to a club event. He’ll make an appearance in person if it means you’ll smile at him. Every time he steps out of his comfort zone, he’s basically emotionally flatlining inside.
Hyperfixates on what you like. You mention a show in passing? He’s watched the whole season. Favorite snack? It’s now stocked in his room.
His hair gives him away. Even if he’s trying to be cool, one compliment from you and his hair flares pink like a sparkler. It’s like having a live feed of his feelings. He hates it but can’t help it.
When you visit his room, he clears a space for you, adjusts the lighting to your liking, and will nervously show you his projects. If you praise him, he’ll go red from his neck to his ears.
He’s incredibly clingy in private. Not emotionally suffocating — but he loves touch when it’s safe. Playing with your fingers. Sitting next to you until your thighs are pressed together. Lying in your lap while he rambles about obscure lore. If you stroke his hair, he’ll fall asleep with the softest smile on his face.
Malleus Draconia ༉⋆｡˚
He wants to protect your smile like a treasure. If something bothers you? It’s gone. If you’re sad? He will spend hours learning how to fix it, even if it means asking Lilia for advice or studying human courtship rituals.
He shows his love through constancy. He always arrives when you need him, even without a word. Appears in the rain with an umbrella. Hovers in the corner of a room because he sensed your mood shift. You don’t even have to call — he knows.
He watches you like you’re a miracle. He’ll listen to you talk about your day with a fond, still smile, like every word is precious. “You’re even more fascinating than the stars,” he’ll say with no irony at all.
He remembers everything. You hate the cold? He’ll warm the path you walk. That you laugh at certain folklore? He’ll tell you all the versions he knows. That you like stars? He’ll conjure an entire sky for you to walk under.
He finds joy in your joy. He was so used to being feared or tiptoed around. When you smile at something silly or laugh loudly at a dumb pun, he lights up.
He takes forever seriously. When he’s in love, Malleus isn’t planning a school romance — he’s planning centuries. A life with you, in every world, in every version of time. “You may grow older. I may outlive time itself. But if you wish it, I will always remain by your side.”
While courting, crocodiles can be surprisingly tender, involving much touching of snouts, rubbing of necks, blowing of bubbles and resting of heads on each other’s backs.
Sebek Zigvolt! Whose face grew crimson at your utter lack of decorum, as he so nicely put it, when you’d fallen asleep on his back after one of Vargas’s more tiring lessons - what? You’d groaned, ignoring all of his minimal at best attempts to push you off, further curling into him, shoving your face into the crook of his neck, completely oblivious to the poor first-year’s inner turmoil. You insolent little -! Fine, he’d allow just this once. (Lies. He wouldn’t mind even if you did it daily.) Calloused hand now usually placed against the back of your neck while walking, fingertips pressed against your nape, so gently, almost like he was afraid holding onto you too tightly would shatter you, all while his posture remained ramrod straight and face flushed a pretty pink, as if he was embarrassed from doing something intimate…oh well, you wouldn’t expect any less from your favourite emotionally constipated croc <33 Running up to you one day brandishing two bubble wands like they were swords, loudly complaining about the brainless humans(who really were just confused onlookers wondering why the two of you were blowing bubbles at the courtyard), before immediately flipping and complimenting your excellent bubble-blowing form(red-eared all the while, waving his bubble wand back and forth like he was doing something important. Cute.) Stiffly asking one day if he had permission, permission to what, exactly, you weren’t so sure but hey - why not? Steeling yourself for whatever Sebek had in store for you, only for something hard to bump rather awkwardly into your forehead, another thing pressed against your nose… eh? His hands cradled carefully around your face to rub his nose against yours, so positively red you couldn’t help but giggle - a bad decision, on your part, because you quickly lost your footing and fell onto the grass, sending poor Sebek tumbling down with you(Whatever, it wasn’t like he cared that much, anyway - not when you were laughing like that, eyes ceased at the corners and cheeks ruddy). Barging into your room for the umpteeth time the next week, a hint of nervousness in his tone - “Lilia has arranged a meeting with you. It is only expected of him - my parents are currently unavailable to assess my mate, so he will do it in their stead. Pardon? Of course, I’m referring to you! Have you gone mad?” Madly oblivious, sure, but hey - a boyfriend’s a boyfriend, especially since it was your fav croc ;)
While courting, bats will douse themselves with perfume, sing or scream to express desire, as well as engage in mutual grooming and wing-flicking.
Lilia Vanrouge! Whose grin widened like a Cheshire's when you invited him out for an impromptu karaoke session, and even more so when he caught a whiff of your new perfume - “My, my, how bold ~” …eh? Resting his chin on closed fists, as he watched you belt out a popular song with a sickeningly dreamy look in his eyes, before choosing his own song with all the seriousness of an army general leading his troops to war, cheerfully screeching into the karaoke mic death metal, beaming at you with a proud grin after the song ended(well, Cater did mention he liked metal, so this probably wasn’t out of the ordinary, right?). Dousing himself with copious amounts of strong perfume right before attending any of his classes that you were in to the point that the entirety of Diasomnia knew what the two - mostly one - were up to, sending you looks of mild annoyance whenever they caught you and Lilia walking by(“Just say yes already, i don’t know how much more of this lovey-dovey nonsense I can stand -“ “There’s a betting pool if you’re interested -“ “Oh, really?”). Unexpectedly rough hands becoming touchier and grabby with you, if possible, now always semi-permanently glued to your body, whether it be simply running his fingers through your hair(oh-so gently brushing out knots or the occasional tangle with the care so unlike his usual reckless demeanour, almost like he was worried pulling a little too sharply would harm you) or barging randomly into your dorm for impromptu self-care nights, armed with face masks from Pomefiore and a old movie in hand(eyes gazing into yours a little too adoringly when you’d fallen asleep on his shoulder halfway through, fingertips brushing a stray lock of hair back, humming sweetly as he draped a blanket over your shoulders - he’d have to rummage through your kitchen to prepare you a wonderful meal when you woke up…he was sure you wouldn’t mind too much, now <33 Face turning a shade of pink he would have giggled at when you decided to surprise him by randomly appearing from behind and almost screaming his name, his raspberry-red eyes widened in delight, voice awed and nearly breathless, taking your hands in his, with a stupidly lovestruck look in his eyes - “Does this mean… you’ve finally accepted me? Oh, I should tell Silver right away! He’d be delighted to have another parent - hm? Did you really think we’d become mates without me introducing you to my family? Goodness beastie, what a funny thought! Come along now, you can meet the rest over dinner!” :))))
While courting, dragons may offer their potential mate treasures from their own hoard, as well as show displays of power to win their affection. Inviting their potential mate to their hoard is considered to be a sacred act, as well as an agreement to the courtship.
Malleus Draconia! Who had been acting even more socially inept than usual - awkwardly offering you gems and necklaces and brooches which you were sure cost more than you could ever spend in your lifetime, right next to delicately carved stone gargoyles(that took you quite a while to find a place for, but no worries), along with frequently alarming actions that anyone else would’ve been scared of - such as Malleus nearly flooding the school after you tried to get up from your lunch table to get water, Malleus snapping a tree cleanly in half after Rook had been ‘observing’ the two of you, Malleus stepping on your keychain which had fallen off your bag, causing him to despair and cause rainstorms for three days… ah, good times, good times(and probably nothing more to the way his emerald green eyes seemed to glisten at you when you told him that breaking your keychain was fine, since it was an accident, and such a small thing wouldn’t deter you from being his friend… yeah, probably nothing.) Inviting you out to visit his room one day with a rare flush to his pale cheeks, pointed ears reddened to their tips - odd, but this was a normal friend activity, right?? Flushing an even deeper shade of scarlett when you admired his hoard collection of pennants and souvenirs gifted to him from Lilia, happily recounting all of the outlandish stories he’d been told by him as he grew up, eyes blown wide like a surprised cat’s after you’d told him you’d love to experience those places, places he’d only ever heard of since birth, with him - “Did you… did you really mean that?” Avoiding your gaze like an embarrassed schoolgirl all of a sudden, usually composed face tinted pink, something so worrying you couldn’t help but reach out to touch his cheek, just to check in case of an odd fae illness - something which only led to Malleus staring at you like a particularly strange animal, only for him to sigh(dreamily?) and lean into your warm touch, closing his eyes shut. (He really was sick, then. He had to be. After all, his body temperature was oddly hot, and his pulse seemed to be growing faster by the minute.) Humming a new tune - a song Lilia used to sing for him when he was young, apparently - the day after, appearing in your front door like he’d been summoned, lips curling upwards the minute he’d since your face, in all its just-woken-up-bedheaded glory. “Ah, there you are, my dear. I’ve already informed Lilia of our relationship, and he has approved. Though, those senators seem less… excited about our future, but no matter. We should leave for Briar Valley in a few days time - I’m sure they’ll have a change of heart after meeting my lovely future head consort in person, and if not… well, I’ll simply just have to do some convincing.” ;)))
BONUS:
While courting, humans don't usually rest on each other’s backs, scream to profess their love, nor do they typically invite potential mates to their hoard - but neither were they raised and surrounded by fae, so Silver certainly was a different case altogether.
Silver! Who had decided to ask his fellow peers for advice on how to properly court you - hence, Sebek. “INTIATE INTIMATE TOUCH!” was his junior’s advice, which turned out…okay. His original plan of going on a walk in the forest together had been a massive fail, falling asleep on a bench when you’d asked to take a break - his head perched on your shoulder, long eyelashes fluttered shut, near silent snores escaping his barely opened lips. (Not like you minded much. Silver falling asleep on you was becoming a common occurrence, the more you spoke to him.) His second attempt at wooing you coming directly from his fa - Lilia, himself - to invite you out for a karaoke date. Which was fun - until Silver’s song of choice came on, a song Lilia had strongly recommended to ‘properly show them you’re interested’… a decision he’d later come to regret, after being hit in the face with heavy bass and its singer letting out an unholy shriek. Though he did try his best to sing along, which turned out… interesting. His voice hoarse from all that screaming and shouting, leading to him being confined to his room due to his unbearably sore throat, sighing wistfully and staring out his window, watching the blue birds chirp and squirrels climb up trees, deep in thought…(why wasn’t any of his courting methods working? Should he ask Kalim for help next?) Jolting up when Malleus barged in, in his own polite way, smiling from ear to ear as he spoke,”Your beloved has arrived with soup. I believe they are here to assist you. Lilia has already let them in. Good luck.” Face tinted a soft pink when you sat down on his bed and offered him a flask of chicken soup(that he was extremely grateful for, after politely refusing Lilia’s many attempts to feed him his strange concoctions), auroral eyes locked onto your gaze, so intently focused on you that he tipped over the thermos of soup, apologising over and over as he felt you do a once-over on him, fingertips lightly patting him down, eyes scanning him for injuries. “I love you.” The words escaping his mouth before he could stop himself, eyes blown open by his own directness, even more so when you flushed a shade of pink he found absolutely charming, reciprocating his feelings. Wait…really? Smiling giddily like an idiot after you’d accepted his confession, opening the door to walk you back to your dorm, only to see Lilia, Sebek and Malleus to tumble out, presumably listening in to the entire thing. Looking up at you with an apologetic smile, holding onto your hand just a little bit tighter, as if trying to reassure you -“I hope you weren’t too surprised… they might be a little much, but it's okay, because i love you, and I’m sure they’ll love you just as much as i do.” :))))
hey, if you liked this… check out Savannaclaw’s or Octavinelle’s versions?
alternatively; check out the Diasomnia masterlist?
SUMMARY: What would his dream be like, exactly the same as in the original story, but with the small detail that he is dreaming that you two are dating?
CHARACTERS: Leona Kingscholar x Reader 🦁🦐
TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; In a Relationship (kinda); Kiss; Flirting; A little angst; A reader with attitude
WARNING: Spoilers from Book 7 and Leona’s dream (Eng Server)
WORD COUNT: 7.380 words
COMMENTS: This was written as a companion piece to the original dream story, so the parts that are the same as the game are just summarized.
The reader is gender neutral but I use king/queen so you can choose how you prefer to read. When Leona calls the reader 'Queen' specifically, he is comparing the reader to the chess piece.
I also write Neji/Kifaji, you can choose which of the name you prefer to read, the original or the English server version
I hope you enjoy 🦁
Dating in a Dream: Idia / Epel / Rook / Vil / Kalim / Jamil / Floyd / Jade / Azul / Jack / Ruggie / (Leona) / ...
“Aether signal tracking successful.” Ortho announces. “We have arrived at the designated coordinates.”
You, Grim, Silver, Sebek, Ortho, Azul, Jack, Ruggie and Idia’s tablet reach the next dream and you land back in the Sunrise City, the capital of Sunset Savanna, just like in Ruggie's dream.
Checking on everyone after dream crossing, Ruggie was fine, and everyone else looked fine with the exception of Azul, who was feeling dizzy and sick. Silver suggests you all get some rest and get some cool drinks to recover. Ruggie says that, because he's the only guy familiar with the area, he would grab some bottles of water or tea from one of the shops nearby, and Jack offers to help him carry everything.
However, that's when they notice something strange. That was supposed to be the busiest and most crowded part of the capital, but... there was less foot traffic, fewer cars, no stalls at all, and every place that sells drinks had its shutters drawn.
“Excuse me, ma'am?” Ruggie approaches someone to try to find out what was going on. “Could I ask you something?”
“Yes?” the lady says, but as soon as she looks at Ruggie: “Eep, a hyena!”
“What? A hyena?!” Another person is startled too. “There's no food left here! Please, just go away!”
They all ran into their homes and locked the doors. Ruggie assures you all that he did nothing wrong. The city is clearly more desolated than it was in Ruggie's dream. You talk for a bit, wondering what kind of dream would Leona be having. You decide to go to the royal palace, since Leona was one of the princes of Sunset Savanna there was a good chance of finding him there. After making sure Azul felt better and was ready to walk, he stood up and you all changed into your school uniforms. You were about to start walking towards the palace when you heard someone saying your name.
“King/Queen (Y/N)?” A child calls you, weakly.
You turn around and see a little beastchild looking at you with sad and begging eyes. When she sees your face, recognizing you, a smile appears and she run to you to hug your legs.
“Please, your majesty! Do something!” The beastchild begs you, crying and sobbing. “We are so hungry...” the child's tummy rumbles. “Make King Leona give our food back. Please!”
You didn't know what to do, there was so much information and it was such a sad sight. At that moment, the child's mother comes to you and grabs the child, taking her from your legs.
“I am deeply sorry, Your Highness.” The lady tells you, also with sadness in her eyes. “We know you can't do anything.” She doesn't say this in an accusatory way, but as if you were in the same situation. “We know you're trying your best. We know... the herds have moved on.” She looked at you differently when she said this last sentence, as if it meant something more. She bows to you. “Have a safe return home, Your Grace.” The beastwomen turns to leave with the child in her arms.
“Okay, now that the crisis is over...” Ruggie begins by saying calmly. “KING/QUEEN (Y/N)?!” He shouts in disbelief. “King Leona?! Bring back their food? What the heck just happened?!”
“We can discuss this on the way.” Sebek says. “We have to get to that palace AND FAST!”
You all head to the palace while deciphering what you heard from the beast child and the beast woman. The child called Leona king and both she and her mother called you king/queen and your highness. The only explanation was that you were married to Leona in that dream. When they reached this conclusion, everyone looked at each other, especially Jack, Ruggie, Azul and Ortho.
“Leona...?” Azul said with a smile slowly forming as he was holding back. “Leona Kingscholar? In love with a herbivore?” He wasn't making fun of you, he was just quoting Leona himself. “To the point of... hehe, dreaming that he is... married to them?... ha haha HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
He started laughing, but he wasn't the only one, Ortho was laughing too and even Ruggie. That even caught Idia's attention, who had been distracted until that moment doing research.
“I can't believe it!” Idia says through the tablet, with that mocking voice that he certainly wouldn't have the courage to use in front of Leona. “The big, imposing, Oresama type macho man whose romantic interest is the poor, weak, isekaied person with a soft heart?! HAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh, my diaphragm is starting to hurt, hahaha!”
“Man, not even I was even expecting this!” Ruggie says. “But I KNEW something was up! Shyeheehee.”
Only Jack, Sebek and Silver weren't laughing. Quite the contrary, they seemed to be respectfully silent. Jack even seemed to want to smile a little, not a mocking smile, but because he thought that this could be one of the parts of Leona that he admired. Both he and Sebek positioned themselves in such a way as to create a barrier between you, in front of them, and the others who were laughing behind them.
Arriving at the royal palace's front entrance, you didn't encounter a single guard. Ruggie says that normally the lionesses have the whole place locked down tight. Which must mean that something was definitely up in the royal palace.
“Knowing that would give me reservations about simply walking in through the front door.” Azul says. “But since we are in the company of Your Majesty (Y/N)...” He smiles.
You then hear some strange laughter. Quite scary ones. After so many dreams, your team members automatically form in front of you to protect you when things like this happen. Jack and Sebek were now between you and the laughing people.
“Well, well, well. What have we got here?” A hyena beastman says, accompanied by others like him and all wearing the same type of what looked like a traditional guard’s or fighter's outfit.
“Hmm, I dunno.” Another hyena beastman says. “What do you think?”
“These guys couldn't be more obviously delinquent if they tried.” Jack comments. “Are they actually guardsmen?”
“They're dressed in the uniform of the Sunset Warriors, the king's personal team of guardians...” Ruggie explains.
“Wait...” Azul thinks to himself. “If they are the king's personal guardians, then... (Y/N).” He turns to you. “If you truly are part of the royal family, then these brutes will listen to you. They have to listen to you. Try to talk to them, but with confidence, this is very important. Remember, you are the King/Queen.” He smiles smugly.
You gather your courage and take a few steps forward, passing by the boys who were between you and the royal guards.
“Hehehehe! Looks like one of you is eager to be our dinner. Dyah hah hah!”
“I order you to let us pass!” You demand. “Me and my guests!”
“Oh yeah? And who do you think you... wait... you...” They smell the air to better understand your scent and finally be sure. “HEEEP! Y-y-y-your Majesty! We didn't know. W-we thought they were trespassers!”
“PLEASE FORGIVE US!” Everyone bows to you.
You say you forgive them for now and that now that they know who you and the others are they will let you pass... right?
“Hum... We are very sorry, Your Highness, but...” they didn't seem that sorry, a little smile even began to form on their faces. “King Leona ordered us not to let anyone in with you. No matter who it was.”
“What?! Why?”
“Oh, we don't question him, your highness. If it's something between you two, we would never intrude hehehe.”
One of them, who appears to be the leader, pulls you by the hand and hands you over to two other guards. As gently as possible for someone who is pulling you against your will.
“Take them inside!” He orders them. “We'll send the unwelcome guests away.”
And so the guards take you by the arms almost like a prisoner, but with much more care so as not to hurt you.
Once you passed through the doors, you had no more reason to fight against the guards. So they released you and escorted you down the hallway until you crossed paths with someone else.
“Ah, your highness. Welcome back.” An old man with blue and white hair and beard, wearing round glasses greets you with a genuine smile. “How was your walk? Hmm? Are those new clothes? I don't think I've ever seen you in them. But please, don't get me wrong, they look very good on you.”
The guards tell him that they found you outside with foreigners, and they even make up a story that they saved you from them, who were trying to kidnap you during your walk. During this, you hear them calling the old man Neji/Kifaji. As soon as you start saying that part was a lie, the old man automatically believes you.
“Cease you absurdity!” Neji/Kifaji scolds the guards. “I know what orders King Leona gave you. *sigh* You can leave King/Queen (Y/N) with me. You may go back to your posts now.”
The guards nod and turn to leave. However, you notice that they don't seem to have as much respect for Neji/Kifaji as they probably should.
“You were saying that the guards were lying about the foreigners wanting to kidnap you.” He returns to the subject calmly and in an understanding tone. “But you said it was true that you were with a group of people. Do you mind if I ask who they were?”
You tell him that they were your friends and he smiles sadly.
“Friends of yours? Well, it would be a pleasure to welcome them and see you enjoying yourself...” The smile fades, giving way to a slight frown. “If it weren't for your husband's paranoia.”
“Paranoia? Are you talking about that order not to let anyone in with me?”
“That is just the most recent one. I wonder how he knew your friends were coming. Either way... *sigh* I'm deeply sorry, Your Majesty. I believe this was not the life you imagined when you married Prince Leona. Being a king/queen of a country in ruins and without food to feed its people.”
This reminds you of that beastchild who recognized you and hugged you, asking you to help them have food again. You tell him this and it made him decide to go and have a talk with Leona again, to try to put some sense in his head once more. But not right now. He'll do it later, after he helps you prepare your royal clothes for you to change into. After all, those black clothes must be very hot in Sunset Savanna, no?
You change into a beautiful suit/dress (whatever you prefer) and only after you're ready do you realize that Neji/Kifaji took advantage of you changing clothes to go and have that conversation with Leona.
You follow the voices until you find the two in the throne room, but you don't go in yet. Instead, you stay in a hidden corner, listening.
“Your majesty, you are the only one who can save this kingdom now.” Neji/Kifaji says. “The former king succumbed to illness after many long years, then His Highness Falena and his family were lost in as unexpected accident...”
“Don't bring that up.” You see Leona, wearing an elegant brown suit with gold necklaces and rings. His hair looked different too, his bangs pulled back. “That was a tragedy.” You also see for a moment the dreamer's silver bird around his head. “Not only did we lose my brother, but we even lost little Cheka... Just remembering it makes me want to cry.”
It's hard to decipher if he's just saying it for the sake of it, or if his words are sincere and he's hiding his true feelings with his disinterested attitude.
“Yes, and you became king in the midst of that tragedy and turmoil.”
“Grudgingly. I never wanted the crown.”
“‘I will work through my grief and push onward to the dawn of a new era.’” Neji/Kifaji reminds Leona. “‘I will work hand in hand with my people for peace and prosperity, paving the way to a glorious future.’ That was what you said in your coronation day. Did you mean a single word of that?”
“Excuse me?” Leona says, still unbothered. “I kept my word and paved the way to the future, didn't I?”
Basically, Leona did what he promised, but literally. He pushed through rapid development over the warning of experts and the objections of his people. The plant life has withered, the water's polluted, the wildlife has vanished and there is nothing left to eat or drink. This makes Leona say that he is not like his father and brother, that he would never cater to fools that cling to outdated traditions and customs.
“Your Majesty, you speak too harshly.” Neji/Kifaji says. “The development plan you envisioned was revolutionary, I'll grant you that. But it was out of touch with reality. It simply wasn't possible to implement that plan in the nation we lived in.”
Leona is silent for a second, thinking about what he just said.
“Yes, my plan itself was perfect. Who was it that ruined that perfect plan? The incompetent citizens, that's who. Who are they to complain nonstop when they have no chops of their own?”
“Your Majesty, they're people, not pawns. They vary wildly in capabilities and personalities. They act of their own volition. As king, you should have accepted that and worked with them.”
“What? Why would I work with incompetent idiots? You must be joking. I did everything I said I would. the rest of you better figure it out from here. The last thing I need is to go around cleaning up after idiots.”
Neji/Kifaji accuses Leona of abdicating all responsibility but he defends himself by presumptuously saying that he only offers his leadership to those capable of perfectly carrying out his ideals.
“I've had enough of incompetent fools.”
“You keep speaking of incompetence...” Neji/Kifaji proceeds. “But have you ever recognized a single person other that yourself as competent?!”
Leona doesn't respond.
“Not even your own spouse?”
“What did you say?” Leona gets angry again, but this time it's different.
“Your spouse.” Neji/Kifaji repeats. “Do you also see them as one of your chess pieces? Present just to serve you?”
“Hm he he. Indeed, they are also one of my pieces.” He smirks. “But you're mistaken if you think I only have pawns around me.”
“Oh, yes?” Neji/Kifaji smils slightly, for the first time. “Are they really your queen on this board?”
“Who else would I marry if not a true queen?” Leona smiles smugly.
“Heh heh. The Queen is the most powerful piece in chess. More powerful even than the King itself... is that how you truly see (Y/N)?” He smirks at Leona.
“That would be stretching it too far. Don't put words in my mouth. And Neji/Kifaji... ” The smirk disappeared and Leona glared threatening at him. “If you dare to insinuate that again... I'll fry you up right at the spot and make you be served as our next meal.”
At that moment, they and you hear a commotion outside the palace. You look out the window nearest you and see a crowd complaining that there is nothing left for them there, not even food.
“And I thought things were bad under Falena!” You see Ruggie saying among the crowd. “This is so much worse!” The other Protestants agree. “But it doesn't have to be! Give the leadership to King/Queen (Y/N)!”
“Buncha loudmouths idiots...” Leona complains. “This is a monarchy, not a democracy. They'd have to get rid of me first. Heh, as if.” He turns to Neji/Kifaji. “Speaking of which, where is (Y/N)?”
“I left them to change their clothes before coming here, Your Majesty.”
“Change clothes? Did they go for a walk again? What have they been up to?”
“That is unknown to me. They returned safe and sound, that's the only thing that concerns me.”
“Liar! You are covering for them... Well, the people are calling for them.” He smirks. “You better go get them.”
“There is no need.” You say, finally entering the throne room and revealing yourself dressed in your royal attire. “I’m here.”
The people continue to protest.
“Ugh... so annoying. How's a guy supposed to nap like this? Get out there and make them pipe down, Neji/Kifaji. Part of a grand chamberlain's job is ensuring their kings/king and queen can live in comfort. I'll do as I see fit. After all, I am still the king.” He smirks.
“Yes, sire. You are still the king.”
“Now get outta here. You're bothering me.”
He withdraws to obey his king's orders.
“And you come with me.” Leona tells you. “We need to talk and that's impossible here with so much noise.”
He walks to the exit of the throne room, into the hallway, and you follow him.
Leona takes you to a large and luxurious living room. You can no longer hear the protests, and when he closes the doors, it seems like a relaxing silence invades the space.
Leona sighs with relief and slumps his shoulders, then he walks to one of the sofas and collapses onto it. Sitting, not lying down. Then he looks at you lazily and beckons you with his finger to sit next to him.
You do so, and as he had his arms stretched out over the backrest, he puts one of them around your shoulders, pulling you against his chest. You thought he would complain to you about the Protestants but... He stays silent, just hugging you with one arm while you rest your head on his chest.
“Did you hear?” He finally says after some time, in a worn out tone. “They want you.”
You don't say anything. You don't even know what to say. He looks so much more exhausted than before he walked through that door.
“I know about your rebels.” He says without changing his tone.
“My rebels?”
“The herds have moved on...” He quotes, the same phrase that the mother of that beastchild told you. “It’s your secret phrase. To recognize each other. You created a group against me.”
“Don't be ridiculous.” You straightened up with no difficulty, since he didn't even try to stop you. “Why would I do such a thing?”
“You heard them.” He looks at you with disdain. “They want you to lead them. To take the throne.” He leans toward you like a predator stalking its prey. “To take my place.”
“That's what they want. Why would I want it?”
He pauses and remains in thoughtful silence for a second.
“Why did you want to marry me?” He asks you without emotion in his voice.
“What? I-”
“You were the one who asked me to be your boyfriend, and then to marry you... You appeared here, coming from nowhere, alone, lost and with nothing, not even magic.” He gets closer and closer, speaking through growls, making you slide across the sofa. “We sheltered you in our palace to help you and what have you done?” The pull of your clothes on the sofa fabric doesn't allow you to move very far, and you end up lying down with him on top of you with threatening eyes and teeths. “You made me fall in love with you, marry you, to then steal my throne!”
“Don't be stupid!” You tell him without fear. “Why the heck would I want your throne?! Especially now. Do I look like I want to clean up your mess?”
His face remains frighteningly angry and he growls at you, but you don't seem the least bit concerned anymore. He brings his face close to yours as if he wants to bite you, but then he simply lies down with his head on your chest.
“Heh heh, it was more fun messing with you in the beginning.” He returned to his lazy, laid-back tone in less then a second. “I know why these people are protesting to have you as their ruler.”
“You do?”
He doesn't answer you right away, he just whispers after a few seconds.
“You’re the Queen.”
“What?” You really weren't sure you heard correctly.
He rises, stretching his arms, but still on top of you. His gaze has changed. It's calm, and you might even risk calling it loving.
“You’re the Queen.” He repeats. “That's what I told Neji/Kifaji. The most powerful piece in chess.” The trace of the smile he had disappears and he sighs. “Stronger than the King itself.”
He gets off of you and sits back down on the couch. He gives you his hand to help you sit down next to him too.
“Of course they like you.” He gets up and starts walking to a window. “I'm the guy who left them without food, without water, who destroyed their home.” He stops in front of the window, looking at the dark landscape. “And you're the kind person who listens to them, who comforts them, who wants the best for them.” He wasn't speaking for himself, he was speaking out what he believed his subjects thought. “The poor, golden-hearted herbivore who's trapped with the tyrant.” He smirks. “Heh heh heh. I wouldn't even be surprised if you were completely clueless about what's going on with these protests.” The next words he whispers so you don't hear. “You always had a way of bringing people together... Stronger than the king himself...”
While he was talking at the window with you still on the sofa, you received a message. Leona didn't notice, and when you looked, it was a message from Idia telling you not to try to wake Leona up alone because it could be dangerous for you while you were away from the rest of the group. They would return to the palace again the next day with a plan. Until then, you should just try to stay safe.
He turns away while yawning loudly and you quickly put your phone back away.
“I'm tired. I need a nap.”
He walks towards you, sits on the sofa where you are, a little away, turns around and lies down with his head in your lap and eyes closed. He opens one of his eyes to look at you and smirks.
“You still get flustered by this? Heh heh. Cute... What? It's not like you have anythin’ better to do, right?”
He closes his eye again and relaxes. You look at his ears and decide to take a chance and pet them like you would a cat. And he doesn't complain, quite the opposite, he smiles slightly without opening his eyes and melts at your touch. After a moment, he turns to hug your waist and continue sleeping.
Before dinnertime, Leona separates from you. You start to get hungry and go looking for him or Neji/Kifaji and he is the one you find in one of the corridors. He greets you with a smile, but sighs when you ask him about dinner.
“My apologies, your majesty, but there is no more food in the palace. No meat or vegetables. Not even water.”
That was really worrying and then you remember to ask about Leona.
“King Leona walked away from you as dinner time approached? *Sigh* He probably didn't have the courage to face you. Seeing his spouse hungry and unable to provide them with food... Not even his pride can handle so much.”
“Watch your beak!” A voice suddenly said behind you.
You turn around, neither of you even heard Leona approaching. He had one hand in his pocket and in the other a brown bag that he threw to Neji/Kifaji.
“You know what to do with it.” He turns and walks away without saying anything else.
“Yes, sire.” Neji/Kifaji still responds. He looks inside the bag. “Bread?” He puts his hand inside and takes out another smaller bag. He smells it. “And I think ithis is cheese. How did he...?” He then looks at you and smiles weakly. “Well... at least he's looking out for someone. Come, your majesty, I will prepare dinner for you.”
“What about Leona?” You ask. “And you?”
“King Leona never liked people worrying about him.” He says and then looks at you with another small smile. “And you don't need to worry about me. You're very kind, but... you know I don't need it.”
“What do you mean?”
“We both know this is a dream, your majesty.” He says calmly as you walk through a door into the kitchen and starts preparing your cheese sandwich. “You have nothing to fear. Beings like me have a duty to make the dreamer have happy dreams... but you must have already realized that Leona Kingscholar is making our job practically impossible.”
He finishes your sandwich and puts it on a plate. He asked you to go to the dining room so you could eat at the table. You go through another door and there's a beautiful dining room with a long table and luxurious chairs. You sit alone and he places the plate in front of you. He stands next to you.
“We must eliminate everyone and everything that might wake him up, that is true.” He keeps explaining to you. “But... He is making this a nightmare no matter our efforts. You were, until now, the only person or even thing that managed to lessen his anguish during all this time. The way he created me, from all the memories of the real Neji/Kifaji, does not allow me to continue with my duty to keep him asleep. No matter how hard I try to convince him that he can actually do something to improve this situation, it's useless. There is only one way to make him happy.” He looks at you with certainty. “He needs to wake up. And have you with him when he does.”
When night came, Neji/Kifaji told you that you had the option of sleeping in a bedroom alone if you wanted. He could tell Leona that you didn't feel well enough to sleep with him.
But if you choose to sleep in the same room and bed as Leona, you will enter the room alone as well, lie down on the bed and fall asleep from waiting for him.
You wake up a little later because you feel an arm around your waist and someone behind you. Having seen and heard Leona sleeping so many times, you quickly confirmed that it was him simply by the way he yawned. He pulls you closer and you feel his chest on your back and his breath for a moment on your neck.
If you decide to turn around and look at him, you'll see him looking at you with his green eyes half-closed and with that eyeshine in the middle of a darkness that was only not total due to the weak glow of the moon that entered the room.
“What?” He says lazily and in a deep voice. “You don't look disappointed that I woke you up.” He smirks.
Seeing the way you were looking at him, he pulls you closer again, rubs his nose against yours and only then kisses your lips softly but lovingly. If you allow it, you will make out until you fall asleep in each other's arms.
He was the one who fell asleep first, but you were the one who woke up first.
After a moment of enjoying the sight of Leona sleeping beside you, you try to get up. But as soon as you sit down on the bed and swing your legs out, you feel his arm around your waist, preventing you from getting up.
You caress his cheek or ears and tell him you two should get up. You just hear him mumble and feel him slowly pulling you closer. It is then that you hear a knock on the door and Neji/Kifaji announcing it is time to get up. This makes Leona mumble less satisfied than before.
You two get up and get dressed. When you thought you were both ready, you turned to head for the door but Leona speaks up.
“You sure you're ready?” Leona asks you with a somewhat judgmental look.
You look at your clothes and even look in the mirror again. You genuinely don't know what could be wrong.
“Well, if you think everythin's fine...” he shrugs and walks calmly to the door.
You grab his arm and ask him what you were missing. He doesn't answer you, he just smiles, amused by your frustration. Until you finally order him to tell you what he was talking about.
“Hahahah! Okay, okay. Please, don't attack me. You're such a scary herbivore. Hahahaha!” He mocks you, but then he grabs your cheeks with one hand and kisses your lips passionately and playfully. “Such bad manners for a royalty.” He says with a smirk after the kiss. “Don't even give a proper good morning to their own husband. Maybe you need more etiquette lessons.”
As soon as you arrived at the throne room, you immediately heard the protests of the citizens outside.
“Tch... what now?” Leona says. All traces of good mood he had was gone. “Lately it's been ridiculously noisy. Hey, Neji/Kifaji! You there?”
“You called, sire?”
Leona says that you two are hungry and he orders Neji/Kifaji to bring you food, but he says that there is no food and the two of them start arguing about there being nothing in the castle, much less outside, to eat. They argue as usual until Neji/Kifaji sighs and says:
“I never would have had to suffer such demands under Falena.”
This seemed to be a trigger, because as soon as he finished the sentence Leona jumped towards him and grabbed him by the collar, practically strangling him.
“Don't utter that name!” He threatens him, but Neji/Kifaji isn’t intimidated at all. “In case you've forgotten, that name reminds me of my sorrow all over again. Never, ever mention it in my presence.”
You hear the sound of magic and sand begins to swirl around you like a storm.
“Urgh...! Hahaha... Are you serious about eating me for lunch? Oh, you wouldn't want me. I'd be so tough and gamey and...”
“Leona, NO! Stop it!”
You try to stop him, grabbing one of his arms, but he instinctively throws you back, making you fall and crash against the throne's stairs. As soon as he realizes what he just did, he turns to look at you, regretful, but without letting go of Neji/Kifaji. However, soon after the look of regret gives way to one of anger.
“YOU IDIOT! You think you can save anyone by gettin’ in the middle of a fight, weak as you are?! Learn self-preservation and don't meddle in my affairs again!”
“Unca, nooo!” A child said as the door opened with a bang.
You see a huge white wolf attacking Leona, making him let go of Neji/Kifaji, and only after the shock do you realize it's Jack and the child is...
“Cheka?!” Leona says in disbelief. “No, you're dead.”
Cheka and Neji/Kifaji exchange a few words and both he and you notice that Cheka's voice sounds strange. Meanwhile, Jack gets off Leona and approaches you to help you get up with his snout.
“Why, cheka, I'm a little surprised to see you... alive.” It was obvious that Leona already knew that this wasn’t the real Cheka, or at least not the Cheka from his dream. “Your roaring's improved some.” He smiles smugly.
“You're being mean to all our subjects and Neji/Kifaji. you're a bad king, Unca. This is my kingdom to rule. Step down, Unca.”
“Oh, yes... I would, but there's one little problem with that.” A sandstorm forms again and Leona prepares to attack. “I'm not handin' over the throne to some pipsqueak pretender!”
He attacks Cheka and he breaks down into glitches. He destroyed a hologram. The sandstorm creates a whirlwind that pulls three other people into the throne room: Ruggie, Ortho, and Grim.
“A hyena kid? I've been lookin' out for you hyenas, and this is how you repay me? You bring out a fake Cheka and act like you're revolutionaries? Hah, now that's funny.” He grabs Ruggie. “Treason against the crown is punishable by death. Hope you're prepared to face the consequences.”
You get fed up with all this! Leona prepares to use his signature spell on Ruggie, but you run up to them and get between them.
“ENOUGH!” You shout in his face and suddenly the sandstorm dissipates. “Stop this, Leona! This was supposed to be a dream and you single-handedly turned it into a nightmare!” You grab him by the collar and he finally lets go of Ruggie. “Why do you do this to yourself?! If you're so smart, how come you haven't realized this is a dream? That it's all an illusion?”
“What?! What are you talking about? Are you crazy?” Now he was also arguing with you angrily.
“You are being deceived by Malleus right now! You are losing to a lizard you idiot! Just wake up already!”
The dream begins to distort and Leona moves away from you because of the headaches. But at that moment, a group of guards enter the throne room to protect Leona. Several of them attack you all right away, but Neji/Kifaji uses fire magic to protect you. You fight the guards and as soon as the battle ends you realize that Leona has disappeared.
The world had stopped distorting and Leona had just escaped the palace with some of the guards. Meanwhile, they managed to convince Leona that you had let yourself to be brainwashed by opponents of his regime.
“I understand the stupid subjects,” He mutters just to himself, trying hard not to let the guards hear him. “I even understand Neji/Kifaji... but...” Neither you nor anyone else would ever see this, but despite his expression of wrath, he was trying hard not to shed tears. “...them... (Y/N)... my own spouse?!... Why? Why them too?! Why you too?!...” His throat hurt from holding back the tears. “For better... for worse... to love and to cherish... I DIDN'T LIE! WHY DID YOU?!” He finally explodes in anger and roars.
“Your Majesty, I'm so glad you're safe.” The guards who intercepted you the day before run to meet their king. “Things are looking pretty dicey right now. We should find somewhere to lie low for a while.”
“Ah, you guys... At least YOU won't turn your back on me.”
“Heh heh... That's right, Majesty.” Darkness surrounds them all, the ground turns into black goop and the same happens to the NPCs' skin. “We're your only true friends. And everyone else is your true enemy. Even the ones you think you love. We'll turn the world upside-down as many times as it takes. Yes, as many times as it takes...”
Leona lets himself be swallowed by the darkness and shortly after you all arrive and jump into the black goop after him.
You all end up at Savanaclaw, more specifically, at the Spelldrive Stadium in their dorm.
“Oh, what a terrible tragedy.” Leona was wearing his dorm uniform again. “Who could have foreseen panicked crowds charging right into Diasomnia's procession of players? Much less trampling THE Malleus Draconia along with all their other competitors?” He smiles smugly. “But we must all rise to the occasion and triumph in this spelldrive tournament. It's what he'd want. Right?”
“So, in this scenario where the Savanaclaw students succeeded in sabotaging Malleus in the spelldrive tournament?” Jack asks.
“Looks that way.” Ruggie confirms. “Seems like this is happening just before the tournament starts.”
You guys talk about that dream and Leona, and Ruggie and Jack say that Leona is the type of person who's never satisfied. Probably no matter what he achieves, whether in real life or in the dream, he'd get bored quickly and lauch right into the next thing to complain about. However, both Ruggie and Jack conclude this with a smile.
“This version of Leona Kingscholar has recollections of his life at school.” Ortho says. “That means it's possible to make him aware of clashes with reality and deliver a mental jolt.”
“And most of the people involved in the spelldrive tournament are right here.” Ruggie complements. “How's about we put on a show?”
Meanwhile, Leona was talking about their next game being against Octavinelle and commenting that they were such small fry they could beat them blindfolded. Azul appears, along with Silver and Sebek who reveal that they, Malleus, and the other Diasomnia students are all fine and in condition to play in the tournament. And all thanks to Azul. Confronted by Leona, Azul just says with a smirk that he signed a more favorable contract, a basic good business practice.
“What in blazes...?” His dream begins to distort. “Why am I getting déjà vu from this? Hrgh!"
“Leona?” The Ruggie with inky black skin asks. “What's wrong?”
“He's waking up from a dream.” The real Ruggie arrives along with Jack.
“Two Ruggies?” Leona looks from one Ruggie to the other. “And, a dream...? Agh! What is this? My head...!”
Leona begins to remember what happened that day, including the colar that Riddle put around his neck and him saying that he would never become king no matter how hard he tries.
The darkness begins to do their job of trying to protect Leona and keep him asleep, so you attack them. After defeating the NPCs and them dissolving into black goop, Jack and Ruggie tell Leona to remember who he really is and then the dream breaks.
Leona wakes up as always, complaining, this time about him not remembering that whole ridiculous plot, your scraggly faces not being the first things he wanted to see when he opens his eyes and asking Jack not to yell in his ear.
“I got a delicate constitution, y'know. You should wake me up more gently.”
“You star grumbling the moment you wake up...” Ruggie says. “That's the Leona I know, shyeheehee!”
“Hey, Ruggie. You've got some explaining to do. What's going- ?!”
The earth begins to shake and the ground is covered in black goop. The dream was collapsing. You all prepare to escape the dream, when you are caught in the darkness and begin to be pulled in.
“(Y/N)!” Everyone shouts.
Grim automatically jumps towards you, but Leona stops him by grabbing him by the bow around his neck. Grim rants at him as if he's stopping him from saving your life, and for a second, his snout looked a lot like it did when he attacked you the night before he was taken to S.T.Y.X.
“You idiot!” Leona says, seriously. “You think (Y/N) wants you to go down with them?!”
He throws Grim for Jack to catch and rushes to you. He first grabs one of your arms, then holds you by the torso, wrapping his arms around your waist. Although this causes him to be trapped in the darkness as well.
“Rgh! This isn't just your weight. There's a powerful tug... Ah, crud. Guess you can't win 'em all...”
“What? What are you going to do?!” You ask, afraid he'll leave you.
He brings his face close to yours and looks you deeply in the eyes.
“Win this one for me, my Queen.” then he turns his face away from you. “JACK! CATCH!”
He pulls you out of the darkness and makes you fly until you land in Jack and Silver's arms. The last thing you see is Leona sinking into the darkness with a smirk. Since he was the dreamer, he still had a chance to save himself, but you didn't, so you all left the dream, whether you wanted to or not.
When you return to Leona's dream, you are back in the devastated, gray Sunset Savanna of the beginning of his dream. But regardless, you, Jack and Ruggie were just happy to see him safe and sound, and him wearing the Savanaclaw uniform showed that he was still awake.
“I never thought I'd see Leona of all people dive into darkness on someone else's behalf.” Azul says with a smirk. “Could this be the power of love?” He was holding back laughter.
“How brave for someone who can be dehydrated at a touch to open his mouth like that.” Leona replied with his own smirk.
“I can see why you're housewarden of Savanaclaw. That was an incredible show of bravery.”
“Yeah, yeah...” Leona shrugs it off and turns to you. “You. We need to talk. Come with me.” He starts walking away from the others. “If someone follows us, won't get out of this dream alive.” He says without stopping walking or turning to look at any of them.
You follow him to a huge rock where the others can no longer see or hear you. He leans against the rock and crosses his arms, casually.
“I remember everything.” He says, impassively and looking you in the eyes. “I was dreaming that we were married.” He analyzes your facial expression, but it doesn't take a genius to know what your little smile means. He smirks. “You didn't need to sleep with me, you know?”
You can't hide how flustered you are.
“He gave you a choice, didn't he?” Leona continues, with that smug smile. “You could have gone to sleep in another room...” He pushes himself off the rock and starts walking around you. “...But as soon as I went to bed...” He stops behind you and whispers in your ear. “...I find you there.”
You turn to face him with a smug grin of your own.
“Well, you didn't mind that either.”
“Why would I?” He takes a few steps forward, slowly, making you take a few steps back too. “I was dreaming that I was your husband...” Your back meets the huge rock and he leans with his forearm next to your head, bringing his face close to yours. “You think I wouldn't want to sleep with my spouse too?”
He looks from your eyes to your lips, but then he looks to one of your shoulders as if he's actually looking behind you. The smile slowly fades and he straightens up.
“I'm sorry.” He says, simply and with that neutral expression.
“What?”
“When I pushed you. You fell against the stairs...” For the first time, he looks away from you. “I'm sorry.” He repeated in a low tone but with genuine regret, at least for his standards.
You say it's okay, that he wasn't being completely himself and that he was going through a complicated situation. You've visited enough dreams to know that the dreamer doesn't necessarily act like themselves in their dreams.
“You can't use that excuse from now on.” He tells you, determinedly. “You can accept that dream as an isolated experience. But if something like that happens again, you won't give me excuses. You'll leave! No looking back. Understood?” He orders you.
You agree with a smile. That was his way of caring about you and protecting you. But with a smirk you ask if that means you can ask him for something to make up for what he did.
“Hm?” He smirks back. “What you mean? You just admitted that I was a victim too. I was going through a difficult situation and wasn't being myself. Your words. Forgiving me in this context was the least you could do for your crush.”
“Oh yeah? I came here to save you, and I even made your dream less of a nightmare for a moment. YOUR crush should get a reward for that at least. It would only be fair.”
“Wasn't that night reward enough?”
“Y-you weren't being yourself. I want a reward from the real Leona.”
“Hehe. Fine. If my Queen insists.”
He holds you by the waist, pulls you towards him and kisses your lips, hungrily. He slowly pushes you with his body to bring you back against the large rock behind you, without taking his lips off yours.
If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX
