⋮ ⌗ ┆ Content Warning ── sfw/fluff, established relationship, comfort, comforting Floyd, he squeezes you, yuu! reader, implied female reader, hugging, soft kisses, overall just a comfy, cute fic <3 pretty short, not beta-read, just something to make me feel better !
⋮ ⌗ ┆ Author's Note ── i've had such a difficult two days, im so sore and in so much pain ugh floyd save me, your my only comfort in this cruel world. Artist cr: @/tukityou1 on X
YOU CAN TELL FLOYD IS PISSED OFF. at what? you couldn't say, it was a mix of probably azul scolding him for the fifth time today or the fact he lost a bet with ace when playing basketball and is on the verge of squeezing' the living soul out of someone who dares to even breathe near him.
you found him laid face-down on YOUR bed when you entered ramshackle, his arms wrapped around your pillows and his face buried in the cases that were covered in snot and stain tears.
was he, crying ?
well, not at this exact moment―it was a lot of muffled groans and screams when would kick his legs on the mattress to make it bounce, the floor board's creaked.
his fingers grip the pillow at the sound of the old door closing, your knapsack falling to the floor as your clicked heel taps against the floor when you make your way to him.
" floyd ? "
your voice came out more like a whisper, loud enough to get a reaction out of him, which wasn't much. he let out a muffled groan, fast and annoyed―you knew this wasn't going to be easy.
" oh, floyd ... "
you stopped a few steps away from the bed, his school jacket tossed by your feet, messy and fully forgotten. his vest u buttoned and white dress shirt wrinkly.
with your hand on your hips, your tongue pushing against your inner cheek you looked around the room for the one thing you've kept for moments such like these.
your eyes scanned your room until you found it, a happy smile forms on your lips as you excitedly jog to grab a stuffed animal you've owned for a while while living here.
twisted wonderland fairs sure had a ton of options for cute, fluffy animals. but thankfully, being in a relationship with floyd meant a certain shrimp plush meant the entire world to him
he must have been in such a bad mood, he didn't even see it lurking in the corner of your room to cry into.
with the plush in hand, you slowly walked back to floyds figure―a soft and gentle hand reaches to pat the back of his hair, your fingers playing with his teal colored locks as you whispered, " floyd~ look what i have ! " with a small smile on your lips.
the boy mumbles in the pillow, something incoherent, yet he still turns his head to peak over at you―his multi-colored eyes land on the shrimp plush in your hands, gesturing him to take him with a small wiggle.
" take this little guy, squeeze the daylights out of him, not my pillo-OOWAAH― "
with a sudden tug on your arms, you find yourself dragged into floyd's chest and held tightly, your shrimp plush resting on your back with floyd's hands squeezing it every now and then.
he drops his face into the crook of your neck and lets his hair drape over your skin, tickling you gently. you didn't fight back, you just let him hold you for as long as he needed to.
the room fell into a comfortable silence, the only time floyd spoke was when he was telling you how much he loves you and how sorry he is for being such a hassle to deal with, something along those lines.
you just kiss his temple and play with the ends of his hair, fingers curling against the locks as you hummed softly, reminding him how much you love him, no matter how he acts.
Some little fan service cause tomorrow is my birthday! (Yes, like Vil!)
cause, yeah, I'm a weak girl, won't post it tomorrow cause I have a comic for Vil. But sharing it today :3.
I like to do 2 kind, the fun or the serious one x).
Ok, that's my little péché mignon. I never know why, I always find when my favorite character is hurt to be extra sexy... I promise I'm normal!
Innocent question from an innocent boy. This made me laugh like an idiot for a while.
For the first time ever, I actually wanted to draw him fully naked ... Sorry Leona.
And yes, don't care he has a pyjama card, I still believe he sleeps naked from time to time!
one day... One day we will get our shirtless Leona... Still waiting for this blessed day... This drawing took me forever to make last year. I actually have a full event with Stitch featuring Leona, Vil, Idia, Epel and Ruggie...
All 7 Twisted Wonderland overblot cards have finally been revealed. They all looks so gorgeous:
The Lord of Malevolence, The Watchman of the Underworld, A Beautiful Tyrant, Schemer of the Scalding Sands, The Merchant from the Depths, The Usurper from the Wilds, The Rose-Red Tyrant
you accidentally tell jamil that you're afraid of bugs too (you're not)
tags/warnings: jamil x reader (romantic), gn!reader, bug-lover!reader, sfw, canon adjacent (NRC), lots of mentions of bugs (not detailed tho they scare me lmao), mentions of phobias, some swearing
a/n: inspired by this ask! the praying mantis makes one tiny cameo hehe :D
DO NOT FEED TO AI.
word count: 2.7k
dividers by @/saradika-graphics!
Listen. We’ve all been there.
A classmate complains that they did poorly on a test, and you say you did too, even if you only got one question wrong. Just to make them feel better.
A job interviewer asks what you bring to the table, and you pull some exaggerated, heroic bullshit out your ass. As anyone else would!
You get cold feet an hour before a date you’d reluctantly agreed to, so you worm your way out by claiming you have explosive diarrhea. (You gotta do what you gotta do, y’know?)
It’s a little white lie, that’s all! When you’re in the heat of the moment, you just do what feels right. And once the situation’s over, it’s usually more trouble than it’s worth to take it back.
And boy is that the truth in this case.
It all starts during winter break, right after Jamil’s overblot. After such a dramatic event, it’s only natural that everyone let loose and party the stress out of their systems. And by everyone, you mean the Octavinelle trio, the Adeuce duo (who just skipped to the good part), Grim, yourself, and all of Scarabia. Well, all of Scarabia, except Jamil.
Because despite having the world on his shoulders since childhood, despite having no end in sight, despite bottling it all up to the point of overblotting, the poor boy was still being worked to the bone. Yet nobody blinked an eye, only satisfied that their cups magically always stayed full (it's not magic; it’s Jamil whizzing by with a giant pitcher). But you refuse to turn a blind eye like the others.
“Jamil,” Azul addresses as the aforementioned comes to fill your group’s cups, “this fruit punch is incredible. Isn't it, boys?”
“Most definitely,” Jade agrees.
“Sure is!” Ace chirps.
“Yes sir!” Deuce asserts.
“Fill my cup to the brim!” Grim interjects.
(Floyd is off somewhere else, boogying away.)
“I have to wonder: what are the exact ratios comprising this blend? Ahh… I suppose I’ll have to spend many restless nights dwelling on it,” Azul sighs melodramatically, eyeing Jamil expectantly as he pours the drinks. “But no matter, thank you for your attentive service, Jamil.”
It’s so clear that Azul wants the recipe for the punch, and upon seeing Jamil’s exasperated deadpan expression, it’s equally clear that he knows it too. Actually, it would be more impressive to not realize Azul’s intentions. And still, Jamil is hardly in a position to decline.
“Just ignore him, Jamil,” you dismiss on his behalf. “Have you had the chance to take a break yet?” It’s a rhetorical question, the sheen of sweat on his forehead only further proving what you already know.
He eyes you warily. “I’m fine.”
“You’re gonna burn out,” you huff, dragging him into the cool shade of a broad palm tree.
Nobody else is here, but a beach towel is laid out on the sand; the owner must be off having fun in the sun. You plop yourself down onto the towel, snatch the jug from Jamil’s hold and settle it into the cool, damp sand beside you. “Join me,” you invite.
The vice-housewarden sighs. “I’ll go grab a cup first.”
In Jamil’s absence, you take your time to drink in the scene around you. Azul and Jade seem to be picking on Ace and Deuce, Grim is being force-fed figs by Kalim, and Floyd has moved onto making pseudo-tsunamis in the water and terrorizing the other Scarabian students. Everyone is having a lot of fun, and it warms your heart.
At the bottom of your vision, you see a little beetle waddling by. Black and adorably round, the bug trips on the sand and onto its back. You giggle at the little guy’s expense, its little feetsies wiggling around in a panicked attempt to right itself.
“Aw, you’re okay,” you coo, helping it out with a finger. “It happens to the best of us.” It seems to bow in appreciation before continuing its march to who-knows-where. You wave back. Farewell, little buddy!
You lose sight of the beetle when Jamil returns. “Come sit down,” you instruct, and he relents, simultaneously placing his cup into your waiting hand.
“Thank you,” he acknowledges when you hand back his punch-filled cup. The tone of his voice is still overly polite, tense. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” you reply. “I wanted to. You deserve a break.”
The conversation that follows is a little stunted and awkward, but still meaningful to you. You discuss your favourite foods, hobbies and interests, travel plans, pet peeves. Small talk. But before you can segue into the topic of fears, you startle at the sound of Jamil yelling, and fire.
“Jamil—!” you sputter. “Your hair—!”
You looked away for just a second, and now Jamil’s bangs are on fire.
He’s jumping around and smacking at his hair, trying to put it out, so you reflexively grab your cup of juice and dunk his bangs into it. The flame extinguishes, leaving behind a small plume of smoke and a horrified Jamil with soaked, sticky, slightly singed bangs.
“What happened?” you pant. “How in Seven’s names did your hair catch on fire?”
Jamil simply holds up his magical pen and says, winded, “Bug.”
You connect the dots when you spot the culprit skittering away, unharmed. It’s the same little beetle you saw earlier; it must’ve come back to say hi. Unfortunately though, it picked the wrong person to greet, and furthermore, the wrong distance to greet him from.
“Uh, sorry,” you apologize as you notice the punch dripping from his bangs. “I sort of acted on impulse.”
Grabbing the beach towel, you gently press his hair between the cloth, soaking up the excess moisture. “Don’t patronize me,” Jamil huffs, but he doesn't stop you. His whole body is shaking from shock.
“I don’t mean to,” you reply truthfully, bringing the towel away from his face. “I understand how you feel.
“I’m scared of bugs too,” you continue, untruthfully.
Why you lied about that is beyond you. Looking back, you could’ve just shared something that you are afraid of, and then sympathized that way. But nooo, you just had to be simple-minded and claim that you shared the exact same phobia.
And yet, when Jamil starts to chuckle, bright and lax and genuine, you can’t find it in yourself to fully regret your white lie. (To be fair, you did have good intentions to begin with.)
After that little mishap, you and Jamil become closer. You visit every now and then to help Jamil with chores in Scarabia, and he always sets aside some food for you when meal prepping for Kalim and himself. You don’t go a day without texting each other anymore. It’s nice.
But the phantoms of your past mistakes haunt you whenever Jamil texts you about a bug in Scarabia. He’s so panicked, and you always feel guilty about matching the energy, because honestly, you don’t fear bugs even half as much as Jamil does.
Worse than lying about a phobia, though, is letting Jamil fear alone. He already does so much alone, and you refuse to leave him in his most vulnerable state to endure alone too.
During one of your hangouts in Ramshackle, you’re lying with Jamil on your bed, scrolling through Magicam, and it happens again. There’s a spider on the wall. But this time, Jamil leaps up soundlessly, swipes your empty glass and a folder, and pounces.
Like clockwork, he traps the creature in the cup and flings it out the window. All without a peep. Knowing Jamil, he’s probably been overthinking that first time with the beetle, replaying it over and over in his head. He’s been mentally preparing for this moment. But it’s still a huge improvement.
You beam at him. “Thanks, Jamil.”
Instead of replying, he puts the bug-catching tools on your desk, pulls his hood on, and flops back onto your bed. Face-first. “MmMmrRghH,” he groans into your duvet. “You owe me.”
“I know,” you chuckle. “It’ll be my turn next time, okay?”
“It’d better be.”
“I’m proud of you though,” you add, nudging his shoulder.
Jamil lifts his head to look at you. You look back. Then he shifts into your arms.
You can feel his heartbeat: it’s still racing from the spider commotion. Your heart, on the other hand, is racing because he’s playing with it. You hope he doesn’t notice, or at the very least, doesn’t ask about it. Otherwise, you’ll have to lie to him again, and say that you were shaken by the spider too.
“Not a word,” Jamil pleads.
And you agree. Because you refuse to jeopardize your precious friendship just for the pesky little feelings infesting your heart.
Remember when you said that it’d be your turn ‘next time’?
Well, you hadn’t expected ‘next time’ to be a house call. But a deal is a deal, and so you make your way to Jamil’s dorm room posthaste.
When you get there, Jamil is stationed outside his room, in the hall. You’ve never seen him look so frazzled.
“Prefect,” he pants, “I can’t do it.”
“It’s okay, I’m here,” you reassure him. “So… moths, right?”
“A shit ton of moths, yes,” he confirms.
You take a deep, rallying breath. “Okay. I got it. Just wait in the hall, and don’t come in, okay?”
“Please try not to wreck my stuff, if you can help it,” Jamil requests, already heeding your directions and moving away from the door.
“I won’t, don’t worry.”
Before you push the door open, Jamil puts a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t hurt yourself, okay? Call me if you need help.”
Your heart skips a beat at his concern, but you push it down. You have a job to do. “Thanks, Jamil. Will do.”
With that, you push the door open and step inside, promptly shutting it behind you. The room is dark aside from the lanterns suspended from the ceiling, and indeed, there are a ‘shit ton of moths’ orbiting the light.
You don’t know what Jamil’s roommate did, but he somehow invited all the bugs into the room, and then went AWOL. Dick move, if you do say so yourself.
But with a healthy mix of your phone flashlight, strategic light switch operation, and inconceivable willpower, you manage to herd all of the moths out the window and into the night. It did take almost three hours, but what matters is that you did it. And without any property damage!
When you peek back into the hall, Jamil is pacing like a father waiting for his baby to be born. He notices you immediately. “Is it done?” he asks, hopeful.
“It’s done. The moths are gone.”
He lets out a sigh of relief, shoulders slumping, brow unfurrowing. “Thank you. I can’t imagine how terrifying it was in there.” Jamil’s praises chip away at your resolve and swell your guilt. “You’re incredibly brave, Prefect,” he adds, gently fixing your disheveled hair.
You have to come clean.
“Jamil… I’m not actually afraid of bugs,” you admit. “I know I said I was, that one time, but… I don’t know, it just came out. I’m sorry.”
Jamil doesn’t reply, instead yanking on his hood to conceal his darkening cheeks. He moves swiftly, snatching a cloth-wrapped package from beside the wall, and thrusting it into your hands. “Your lunch,” he blurts, then promptly turbo-walks away, down the hall.
Where he’s going, you have no idea. Because his room is right here, and he’s definitely not going in the direction of the common area either.
What you do know is that he’s mad. And you might have just ruined your friendship, and not even because of your stupid crush on him, but because of an even stupider reason. Bugs.
You kinda wanna cry a little.
You kinda wanna cry a lot.
Because it’s been five days, Jamil still hasn’t texted you at all, and you’re not texting first if he’s just gonna leave you on read. (You’re not about to humiliate yourself like that.)
You don’t even see him at school where you’d normally see him.
He’s avoiding you.
Sure, he still goes out of his way to deliver your lunches to your doorstep before class, but he hates you for sure.
But if it’s that bad already, it can’t possibly get worse, so you decide to confront him in-person where you’re certain he’ll be:
Basketball Club.
It takes a little longer than you’d hoped to hype yourself up enough to show up, so when you do, the club is already well in session. Or, well, it's supposed to be. When Floyd Leech is involved, what’s ‘supposed to be’ hardly ever is.
The club members are being chased around by Floyd with something in his hand. From this distance, it’s impossible to tell what that ‘something’ could be. Or, scratch that, almost impossible.
Because the second Floyd approaches Jamil with it, you know what it is.
It’s a bug.
Jamil screams.
And just like that, amused by that reaction, Floyd locks onto Jamil and endeavours to terrorize him. The other club members realize they’re no longer in danger, and stop to watch the show at Jamil’s expense.
Admittedly, you do the same, mesmerized by the sight of Jamil dodging nimbly between his clubmates to evade the monstrosity that is Floyd Leech.
Floyd in a footrace would be faster than Jamil, sure. But when it comes to agility and coordination, Jamil wins, hands down. And you’re finding it particularly difficult to tear your eyes away from his inadvertent demonstration of superiority in that field. He twirls and ducks and slips around his obstacles, dancing around like water. It’s beautiful.
Unfortunately for your Scarabian underdog, however, Floyd has taken to plowing through people instead of going around them. Once it gets to that point, it’s game over for Floyd’s prey.
So like the plot of a Greek tragedy, you watch your favourite hero meet his inescapable doom: Floyd deposits the bug right into Jamil’s intricately-woven hair.
You promptly start sprinting to his rescue.
Jamil is absolutely blue-screening at this point, and all his clubmates are too amused and too immature to help him. But most amused of all, of course, is Floyd, whose demonic cackle echoes loudly through the whole gym.
When you reach Jamil, he nearly smacks you in his panic. You have to grab onto his arms to keep him from knocking you out.
“Jamil, calm down!” you implore, meeting his gaze. “It’s alright. Let me take it out.”
“Prefect,” he breathes, shaking. Then he tilts his head to let you extract the bug.
It’s a little praying mantis, tucked into his braids. You carefully take it out, being careful not to crush it.
Letting the praying mantis stand in your palm, you pull away. “It’s out, Jamil. You’re okay,” you soothe.
Jamil grabs your wrist and marches you outside. “Let it go.” You do, squatting down to set the dapper green bug on the ground.
When you stand back up, Jamil takes your face into his hands and kisses you. Hard. You wrap your arms around his back and kiss him back.
When you pull away, your brain finally clocks back in. “Do you hate me?” you whisper, out of breath.
“Why’ve you been avoiding me, then?” you press on.
Hoodless, Jamil hides his face behind his hands instead. “...I was embarrassed…”
You’re lost. “‘Embarrassed’...?” you parrot slowly. “About what?”
“I thought that we both hated bugs, so I was trying to deal with them so you wouldn’t have to!” he admits. “But you’re not even afraid of them, so I’ve just been making a fool of myself for nothing.”
Oh… that makes sense. But also, it’s completely wrong. “Jamil, you know that I’d never take you for a fool, right?”
“Yeah, sure,” he scoffs. “Be honest.”
“Fine, I will! If anything, I think you’re adorable.” Aaaand, brain’s clocked out again.
Jamil buries himself farther into his hands. “I can’t believe I like you,” he quietly groans into his palms, and you almost miss it. But you don’t.
“If I like you and you like me,” you start boldly, peeling his fingers away from his face, “wanna date? I wouldn’t mind being your designated bug remover.”
“Please,” Jamil agrees, smiling bashfully. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
And so you lean back in to kiss him, for two reasons:
