[sunsethw4]

— 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 !!!

O1⌗ 𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎 ، 𝗌𝗁𝖾/𝗁𝖾𝗋 ، 22 ، 𝖼𝖺𝗉𝗋𝗂𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗇 ، 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗉-𝗍 ، latina ، tim and kon’s 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾rgirl ، ‹3

O2⌗ 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁 / 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁 ، !!

O3⌗ 𝗂 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖾𝗓 ، 𝗂𝗄𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 ، 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽 ، 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇 ، 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗁𝗐𝖺𝗌 ، 𝗁𝗌𝗋 ، 𝖽c ، ‹3

O4⌗ mydei and phainon main ، 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 them 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 !! ୨♡୧

© 𝘀𝘂𝗻𝘀𝗲𝘁𝗵𝘄𝟰 𝟮𝗢𝟮𝟮 ، 𝗂 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 ،

[velsettetine]

Hii!! Ur writing is so peak 🥹 I love it so much!! Can I order the twst housewardens with reader who came to them crying then they think something bad has happened so they keep asking for an explanation but reader keeps crying, but then the actual reason was that because reader saw a very adorable kitty but it ran away from reader and they didn't get to pet it ಠ⁠﹏⁠ಠ

( if not the housewardens I'll be fine with leona, idia and malleus!! (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠) )

A Feline’s Rejection

Housewardens x reader

A/n: your order has been received and made, because this was made before I closed my requests I’m making this now. Apologies for inactivity- from now till the end of June, I promise to post at least twice a week or more. Thank you for letting me make this, I hope you enjoy this and please come again

Warnings: fluff, reader is a little dramatic, possible editing mistakes Word count: 3.8k

Riddle Rosehearts

The heavy wooden doors of the Heartslabyul dorm didn’t just open; they practically slammed against the wall, rattling the framed portraits of the Queen of Hearts. Riddle snapped his head up from his paperwork, a reprimand about proper decorum already forming on his lips—until he saw you.

You stumbled into his office, your face flushed, chest heaving, and tears absolutely streaming down your face. You were trembling so hard you could barely stand.

Riddle dropped his fountain pen, completely forgetting about the ink staining the parchment. He rushed to his feet, crossing the room in a blind panic. "[Name]?! What is the meaning of this? Are you hurt? Did someone attack you? Tell me who it was this instant!"

You grabbed his red-and-white coat, burying your face into his shoulder, sobbing so violently that your words came out as a scrambled, incoherent mess. "They didn’t even look back, Riddle... I held out my hand and they just... they rejected the rules of engagement! The hierarchy was shattered! It’s all gone!"

Riddle’s heart dropped into his stomach. Rules of engagement? Shattered hierarchy? His mind raced through a dozen worst-case scenarios. Had there been a coup in another dorm? Had a rogue magical beast infiltrated the campus? Were you suffering from a blot-induced hallucination?

"Shh, please, calm down. I can’t understand you," Riddle pleaded, his usual stern demeanor entirely melting into raw anxiety. He wrapped his arms tightly around you, gently guiding you down to the sofa. He stroked your hair, his own heart hammering against his ribs. "I am right here. You are safe in Heartslabyul. Take a deep breath."

It took a solid ten minutes of Riddle rubbing soothing circles into your back and murmuring soft, desperate reassurances before your frantic gasps finally slowed into quiet, occasional hiccups. He handed you a handkerchief, his grey eyes wide with genuine, terrified concern.

"Are you alright now?" he asked softly, wiping a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb. "Please, [Name], you must tell me what happened. Who did this to you? What broke the hierarchy?"

You sniffled, looking up at him with watery, bloodshot eyes, your lips trembling all over again. "I... I saw a tiny calico near the botanical gardens... and I crouched down to pet it... but it hissed and ran away into the bushes!"

Riddle froze. His hand paused mid-air. He blinked once. Twice.

"A... a cat?" he whispered, the sheer absurdity of the statement colliding with the immense dread he had been feeling just moments prior. "You are crying because... a feline evaded your affection?"

"It looked right at me, Riddle!" you wailed, fresh tears spilling over. "I just wanted to love it!"

Riddle let out a long, shaky sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as the adrenaline finally left his system. He didn't know whether to lecture you for scaring him half to death or laugh out loud. Ultimately, seeing your genuinely devastated face, he softened. He pulled you back into his chest, resting his chin on your head.

"Good heavens, you nearly gave me a heart attack," he muttered, though there was a fond, amused smile tugging at his lips. "Very well. If it pleases you, next time we head out to sage island, we shall visit a cat café. For now, please stop crying. My uniform can only take so much water."

Leona Kingscholar

Leona was having a perfectly good nap on the bed of his room when the door was practically kicked off its hinges. He bolted upright, a snarl dying in his throat when he realized it was you.

You collapsed onto your knees right by the doorway, shoulders shaking as you let out a loud, pathetic wail. Tears were streaming down your face, ruining your shirt, and your eyes were swollen.

Leona’s ears immediately pinned flat against his head. He was on his feet in a second, the lazy lounge-lion entirely vanishing, replaced by a tense, predatory instinct. He strode over and practically scooped you up, pulling you onto his bed.

"Hey. Look at me. What the hell happened?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. He gripped your chin gently, forcing you to look at him, his green eyes scanning you for injuries. "Who touched you? Give me a name and I'll turn 'em to dust before sundown."

You gripped his vest, your voice cracking as you choked out absolute nonsense. "The void took it, Leona! The fluffy void just dissolved into the shadows! The betrayal is too heavy, I can't bear the weight of the universe!"

Leona’s brow furrowed tightly. The void? shadows? His mind immediately jumped to Overblot, or some dark magic relic from one of Crowley’s vaults. Was someone targeting you to get to him? The thought made a dangerous, low rumble echo in his chest. He pulled you flush against him, wrapping his arms around you, burying his face in your neck.

"Calm down. Stop babbling and breathe," he ordered, though his rough voice was uncharacteristically gentle. He hated crying—mostly because he hated seeing you cry. He rocked you slightly, letting his heavy, warm presence soothe your panic until your hysterical sobs turned into quiet whimpers against his chest.

Once you finally quieted down, only letting out small, shaky breaths, Leona pulled back just enough to look at you.

"Alright. You're breathing. Now talk to me," he said, his voice deadly serious. "What 'void' are you talking about? Who betrayed you?"

You wiped your nose on your sleeve, a fresh wave of misery washing over your face. "There was a little black cat under the stairs... I psupsupsu'd at it... and it ran away from me!"

Leona stared at you. The tense, protective posture he held instantly deflated. His ears twitched, lifting back up, and he let out a sound that was a mix between a groan and a scoff.

"Are you serious right now?" he muttered, dropping his head back onto his pillows. "A stray cat? You broke into my room crying like the world was ending because a damn cat ignored you?"

"It didn't just ignore me, it rejected my soul!" you cried out, burying your face back into his chest.

Leona rolled his eyes, but a lazy, smirk spread across his face. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you down so you were lying flat against him. "You're an idiot, you know that? If you want to pet a cat so bad, just pet me. I'm bigger, softer, and I actually tolerate you, even if it’s barely. Now shut up and go to sleep. You're exhausting."

Azul Ashengrotto

Mostro Lounge was closed for the afternoon, which was the only reason Azul was in the main dining area reviewing finances. The peaceful silence was shattered when the heavy double doors burst open.

You stumbled in, completely hysterical. Tears were pouring down your face, your breath hitching so violently you looked like you were suffocating.

Azul dropped his ledger, his glasses nearly slipping off his nose. "[Name]?!" He scrambled out of his seat, knocking his chair over in the process—a lapse in composure that would usually horrify him. He rushed to your side, his hands hovering over you nervously, not knowing where to touch without hurting you. "What is wrong? Are you injured? Did someone extort you? Have you been threatened?!"

You grabbed the lapels of his pristine coat, sobbing into his chest, your words a jumbled, panicked mess. "The contract was unwritten, Azul! It was a silent agreement of the eyes, but they breached it! They fled the jurisdiction! There’s no justice left!"

Azul’s face turned entirely pale. Breached contract? Fled jurisdiction? He immediately thought of a high-stakes business deal gone wrong, or worse, someone using a magical contract to bind or harm you. His mind spun at a million miles an hour, calculating legal loopholes, retaliation strategies, and hexes.

"Please, look at me, breathe!" Azul begged, his voice laced with panic. He led you over to a booth, sitting closely beside you. He pulled out a handkerchief, gently dabbing at your tears while using his other hand to rub your arm. "I can fix this. Whatever contract or agreement it was, I can fix it. Just breathe, my love. I am here."

He coaxed you through a series of deep breaths, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs until your wild sobbing slowed down to a halt, leaving you sniffling and clutching his hand.

Azul let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for a century. He smoothed down your hair, his blue eyes filled with profound worry. "There now. You are safe. Now, tell me everything. Who breached this agreement? I will make sure they pay tenfold for distressing you like this."

You looked at him, your bottom lip quivering. "I... I tried to give a piece of dried fish to the tabby cat by the courtyard... but it just looked at me and sprinted into the woods!"

Azul’s brain short-circuited. He sat frozen, the handkerchief still pressed against your cheek.

"A... tabby cat?" he repeated, his voice dangerously flat. "A literal animal?"

"It didn't even sniff the fish, Azul!" you sobbed, a fresh tear rolling down your cheek. Azul stared at you for a long moment before letting out a massive, exhausted sigh, leaning his forehead against your shoulder. "My sevens... I thought you had been targeted by a rival businessman or a dark wizard. You nearly caused me a cardiac arrest over a stray feline." He lifted his head, a mixture of profound relief and mild irritation on his face, though his eyes were incredibly fond. He sighed, pulling you into a proper hug. "Next time, if you want to negotiate with the campus wildlife, let me handle the terms. Clearly, they don't appreciate proper compensation."

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim was cheerfully playing the finger cymbals in his room when the doors were thrown open with a loud bang.

You stood there, tears streaming down your face like a monsoon, your chest heaving as you let out a heartbreaking sob.

Kalim dropped his cymbals instantly, his eyes widening to the size of saucers. "[Name]?!" He practically flew across the room, throwing his arms around you. "Oh my gosh, what's wrong?! Are you hurt? Did you eat something bad? Did someone say something mean to you? Jamil! Jamil, come quick!"

You buried your face in his turbaned shoulder, your words coming out in a frantic, garbled rush. "The golden sun just turned away, Kalim! The warmth is gone! The velvet slipped through my fingers and I’m stranded in the desert!"

Kalim’s heart broke into a million pieces. Stranded in the desert? The sun turned away? He thought you were speaking metaphorically about a horrible tragedy. Had your family disowned you? Had your hometown been destroyed? Kalim’s naturally sunny disposition vanished, replaced by an overwhelming, protective sorrow.

"Don't cry, please don't cry! I'm here!" Kalim cried out, seeing you in so much pain made him a little overwhelmed. He guided you over to a pile of plush silk cushions, pulling you into his lap and holding you tight. "Whatever it is, I can fix it! I have lots of gold, and Jamil is really smart, we can solve anything! Just don't be sad!"

He held you, rocking you back and forth, rubbing your back and whispering sweet, panicked reassurances until your loud wails finally subsided into small, shaky hiccups.

Kalim wiped your cheeks with the silken sleeve of his vest, his expression incredibly earnest and worried. "Are you okay now? Can you tell me what happened? Who took the warmth away? I'll have my family send a whole caravan to find it!"

You sniffled loudly, looking at him with giant, pathetic eyes. "I saw a gorgeous ginger cat on the wall... and I held out my hand to pet it... but it hissed at me and jumped over the roof!"

Kalim blinked. He tilted his head, his worry immediately leaving.

"Huh? A ginger cat?" he asked, trying to connect the dots. "The velvet... was the cat's fur?"

"Yes!" you sobbed, burying your face in your hands. Kalim stared for a second, and then a giant, roaring laugh erupted from his chest. He scooped you up into a massive, spinning hug, entirely relieved. "Oh, thank goodness! I thought something terrible happened! You scared me so much!" He set you down, wiping a stray tear from his own eye from laughing. "Aw, don't cry, [Name]! If that cat didn't want headpats, we can just buy a hundred cats! No, a thousand cats! We'll fill the whole lounge with them, and they'll all love you!"

Vil Schoenheit

Vil was in the middle of his meticulous skincare routine when his doors flew open. He turned around, ready to deliver a scathing lecture on poise and entry-way etiquette, but the words died in his throat.

You stood there, completely unraveled. Tears had completely ruined your face, your breathing was erratic, and you looked utterly devastated.

Vil dropped his crystal applicator, rushing over to you with an expression of pure alarm. "[Name]! What on earth has happened to you?" He caught you as you stumbled forward, his hands grasping your shoulders. He looked you up and down, checking for physical trauma. "Are you hurt? Speak to me! Did someone dare to lay a hand on you?"

You collapsed against his chest, ruining his designer robe with your tears, babbling completely incomprehensibly. "The royalty of the courtyard rejected my offering, Vil! The elegance was a lie! I’ve been banished from the beautiful kingdom!"

Vil’s mind immediately went into crisis-management mode. Banished? Royalty? Offerings? He thought there had been a massive political incident, or perhaps a royal student from another country had humiliated or threatened you on campus. His eyes flashed with a dangerous, icy anger. Nobody made his partner look this broken and got away with it.

"Calm yourself. Take deep breaths. Look at me," Vil commanded, his voice a perfect blend of authority and tender concern. He led you over to his vanity chair, sitting you down and kneeling in front of you. He took a damp, luxurious cloth and gently began wiping away your tears, his gaze locked onto yours. "Inhale... exhale. Good. I am right here. No one can banish you from anywhere while I am by your side."

He patiently worked with you, his calm, regal aura eventually soothing your frantic breathing until you were just letting out quiet, shuddering breaths.

Vil cupped your face, his purple eyes scanning yours with intense seriousness. "Now, tell me clearly. Who insulted you? Who rejected your offering? I will ensure they are reprimanded thoroughly."

You looked at him, your eyes welling up with a fresh layer of tears. "I saw a beautiful white cat with blue eyes... I tried to give it a little treat... but it looked at me like I was dirt and ran away!"

Vil’s hands remained on your face, but his entire expression blanked.

"A white... cat," he repeated slowly, the realization dawning on him. The "royalty" was an animal. The "banishment" was just a stray cat walking away.

"It was so pretty, Vil, and it hated me!" you whimpered. Vil closed his eyes, letting out a long, dramatic sigh, though the tension completely left his shoulders. He opened his eyes, a fond, exasperated smirk playing on his lips as he shook his head. "You absolute child," he murmured, gently wiping away the new tears. "You nearly gave me a wrinkle from stress. To think I was ready to challenge a foreign dignitary for you." He stood up, pulling you into his arms and resting his chin on your head. "Felines are notoriously fickle creatures. They lack the taste to recognize true beauty and kindness. Do not waste your tears on a creature with no sense of etiquette."

Idia Shroud

Idia was in the middle of a high-stakes ranked raid when his room door—which was usually locked tighter than a bank vault—was violently thrown open. He jumped, his cat ears headphones flying off his head.

"Wh-whoa! What the—?!" he started, ready to yell at whoever bypassed his security, but stopped when he saw you.

You fell into his room, sobbing hysterically, your chest heaving as tears poured down your face. You looked completely overwhelmed.

Idia’s internal alarms went off at a deafening volume. His blue flames flared up, turning bright white-hot with pure panic. "Name?! Wh-what's wrong?! Did your save data get corrupted?! Did someone doxx you?! Are you dying?! Am I dying?!" He scrambled out of his ergonomic gaming chair, almost tripping over his own legs as he rushed to your side. He hovered his hands over you awkwardly, his social anxiety fighting with his absolute terror for your well-being. "D-don't cry! Please don't cry, it’s lowering my HP just looking at you!"

You grabbed his hoodie, burying your face in the soft fabric, wailing nonsense. "I sent a friend request to the best— second best in the server and it not only rejected me but left!"

Idia’s brain completely melted. Second best? rejected? Friend request? He thought you had encountered a literal anomaly on campus, or worse, some sort of magical artifact had wiped someone’s memory of you, or a student had used a cloaking spell to attack you. His mind raced through a thousand sci-fi horror scenarios.

"R-rejected you?! Did someone use a spell on you?!" Idia panicked, wrapping his arms around you awkwardly but tightly, hiding you in his hoodie. He dragged you over to his beanbag chair, sitting down next toyou. "It's okay, it's okay, I'm here. I can hack into the campus mainframes. I'll find out who did it. Just stop crying, you're gonna short-circuit my brain..."

He held you, his flaming hair dimming to a soothing, soft blue light, providing a strange but comforting warmth. He let you cry into his chest for a long time, rocking you slightly until your hysterical hyperventilating slowed down to a few quiet snifffles.

Idia let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding since freshman year. He pulled the hood back slightly, looking down at you with wide, worried yellow eyes. "O-okay. Your breathing is back to normal parameters. Now give me the details. What NPC rejected you? Who disappeared?"

You sniffled, looking up at him with big, watery eyes. "There was a little calico cat by the Ignihyde lounge... I tried to pet it... but it hissed and ran away under the floorboards!"

Idia froze. His hair turned a dull, flat gray for a split second before returning to blue.

"A... a cat?" Idia whispered, his voice cracking. "You're telling me... you triggered a boss-level crying fit... because a 3D model of a cat walked away from you?"

"It rejected my friendship, Idia!" you cried, fresh tears spilling over. Idia let out a massive, wheezing sigh, burying his face in his hands. "Bro... you gave me a literal heart attack. I thought we were dealing with an actual creepypasta or a magical anomaly." He cracked a small, relieved, and incredibly fond smile, pulling you back into his chest. "Cats are just high-difficulty evasion builds, alright? Even though they’re always cutemaxxing, they have a garbage aggro range. Next time, let me build you a robotic cat with 100% hardcoded affection stats. Just... don't scare me like that again. My heart can't take it."

Malleus Draconia

The silence of the Ramshackle dorm’s courtyard was broken when the front doors were violently thrown open. Malleus, who had been enjoying a quiet evening walk to visit you, paused as you stumbled out onto the porch.

You were weeping openly, tears streaming down your cheeks, your shoulders shaking so violently you could barely keep your balance.

Malleus’s expression shifted instantly from serene to terrifyingly intense. In a blink of an eye, he teleported right in front of you, a green mist dissipating around him. He caught you by your waist, his electric green eyes wide with a mixture of panic and fury. "[Name]! What is the meaning of this? Who has brought you to such despair? Tell me, and I shall rain down the wrath of the Valley of Thorns upon them!"

You clung to his heavy coat, sobbing uncontrollably, your words a frantic, nonsensical blur. "It was so cute Malleus, almost as cute as you! Then when I went near it, it completely ran away from my affections! I have no idea what I’ll do with myself after such an embarrassing moment!"

Malleus’s breath hitched. It? Cute? Affections? Ran away? His mind instantly flashed to his grandmother, Maleficia, or some ancient, mythical creature that had infiltrated Night Raven College to threaten his partner. A suffocating, magical aura began to leak from him, the sky above darkening with sudden storm clouds.

"A clever creature? A broken pact?" Malleus’s voice boomed softly, laced with a terrifying protective instinct. He brought you close to his chest, wrapping his arms securely around you, shielding you from the world. "Fear not. No beast, ancient or otherwise, shall harm you while I draw breath. Calm your heart, my beloved. You are safe in my arms. The storm will protect you."

He rubbed your back with his gloved hands, his deep, resonant voice murmuring ancient, soothing lullabies until the magical pressure in the air began to fade, and your frantic wails slowly subsided into quiet, exhausted sniffles against his chest.

The clouds parted, letting the moonlight shine down on the two of you. Malleus pulled back slightly, his expression soft but deeply concerned as he used his thumb to wipe away your tears. "Are you composed now, my love? Pray, tell me of this beast. What pact did they refuse? I shall force them to submit to you."

You sniffled, your bottom lip trembling as fresh tears threatened to fall. "I saw a little black cat with green eyes... I tried to pet it... but it hissed and ran away into the bushes!"

Malleus blinked. His horns twitched. The fearsome, all-powerful Fae prince looked entirely bewildered.

"A... a small feline?" he asked, trying to comprehend the vocabulary you had just used. "The 'ancient beast' was a common house cat?"

"Yes! And it hated me!" you sobbed, burying your face back into his chest. Malleus stood still for a moment, and then a soft, rumbling chuckle vibrated through his chest. The sheer relief washed over him, making him smile fondly down at your ridiculous, endearing form. He tightened his embrace, resting his cheek against your hair. "Oh, my dear [Name], my sophisticated and dramatic, dear [Name]. You possess such a grand heart to weep for the affection of a mere cat." He kissed the top of your head, his voice overflowing with affection. "Do not weep. If that creature cannot see the honor of being touched by you, then it is foolish. If you wish to pet a creature of shadow and horns... you always have me."

this was SO long(my fault btw), anyways um... c-can you please flood my inbox, v-velsettetine senpai begs of you before he's finished with his exam so he can use his writing fuel on your ideas..? arigato kohai!!🥺🥺🥺

Do not steal/copy my ideas/writings, inspiration is okay but please credit me for all that's good. DO NOT use my writings to train ai or put in anything that has anything to remotely do with ai ⓘcopyright, fic belongs to @velsettetine 2026 only on tumblr!

[hxney-lemcn]

Accidental Confessions — Third Years Edition

summary: your hidden feelings come to light as you accidentally text the wrong person

note: I found a more current looking website. lowkey having fun with this hehe

Master List | RSA | Third Years

Trey Clover

Cater Diamond

Leona Kingscholar

Vil Schoenheit

Rook Hunt

Idia Shroud

Malleus Draconia

Lilia Vanrouge

[milkhalo]

I'll Shoot You To The Moon — Flame Reaver x Reader SMAU

⤷ 03 | Fan art ⁉️

prev.  ᨳଓ  masterlist.  ᨳଓ  next. 

SYNOPSIS: You're a famous faceless webcomic artist online. After an argument in some unnamed comment section when you were younger, you gained yourself a hater who loves to annoy you over every little thing you do. Neither of you seem to be able to agree on anything, and every day you realize that he does this intentionally to be a shithead. You didn't know that this mysterious hater was closer than you might think.

A/N: shoutout to the amazing person who came up with the fanart idea

࣪ ִֶָ☾. Taglist: @junoms @lunavixia @memreniee @aloudice @yany4n1 @shadowofthesun7 @jpsg-6 @sunphais @t0r4s @axkushvii @milklise @ghostsinthepumpkinpatch @cl0udii-m00n @kangyeonie @r4yyyyy @violetisreadinghush @kik1k0 @khoiyyu @sinbehavior @overall-mamori @mwzuuu @sunsethw4 @philesora @socyx @childesdog69 @rioceanid  @aries-afk @starwardjourneying @kuromiiiiifrv @firefliesoul-owo @astro-oo0 @blueberrybxba @phainonconsumer @skylermiller1  @misipp @kumiluvvsu @tamashithe2nd @aurxvyn @dollfies-angel @victoria1676 @ynnarin @dreamyhazx @milkuu333 @ihatemyselffromthestart-blog @maggiforlifesstuff @celesteelysia @kaoiyeva @sunnyskies0602 @kala-aiya    ࣪ ִֶָ☽.

[dzvelinaskebiyars]

Worldwide disaster btw😭 a conquer beast btw😭 scariest man alive btw😭

[miraeofficial]

ASLEEP? OR SIMPLY FAKING IT?

FLOYD LEECH

"Eeehhh? The little shrimpy is asleep?" Your body subtly tensed at the sound of Floyd's voice; unfortunately, you couldn't discern where he was in the room because his footsteps were irritatingly muffled. Taking a nap on the couch at the Mostro Lounge after a tiring part-time shift meant you were vulnerable to his shenanigans, and you could only rest your trust on the courtesy of any divine intervention if he didn't have anything too mischievous planned.

"Too bad I can't play with you." Well, too bad I don't want to play with you either! You thought, eyes closing firmly. There was a heavy weight on the couch you couldn't pinpoint. Was it his knee pressing down on the cushion next to your body? What the hell is he doing? You can feel cold sweat building up on your back as you try to subtly shift away from him, as if you were just adjusting your position for comfort.

Floyd, on the other hand, is towering downwards to your level and just casually staring at your 'sleeping' form. He was not doing anything suspicious yet. Just blankly hovering while his hand struggled to make its move, whether to touch you or not.

"You worked too hard, huh?" Floyd whispered. His genuine concern had your body tensed up even more, unsure of how to respond. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, making your heart race with uncertainty. Then your body slightly flinched at the contact of his hand sweeping over your hair, carefully setting aside the stubborn strands that had fallen across your face. "Should've taken a break sooner," he murmured softly, comfortably placing his hand over your elbow and giving it a little squeeze. "I'll ask Azul to minimize your workload for the next few days."

With careful consideration, he lifted his weight off the couch, leaving you to process his unexpected kindness. His lanky hand ruffled your hair affectionately and spoke for the last time before he turned to leave the lounge. "I know you're awake, but I'll let you rest for now." Your heart spiked for getting caught red-handed pretending to be asleep, but you continued to play the act, keeping your eyes closed and your breathing steady until you heard him chuckle behind you. "Cute," he whispered, and then he walked away.

TREY CLOVER

"Ah, our little troublemaker finally rested, huh?" The smoothness of Trey's voice disrupted your chance to sleep further, now fully awake and aware of his presence. Damn you, Trey! You were in the Heartslabyul living room, 'resting' on a two-seater crimson Victorian-style sofa after hours spent causing youthful mischief with the other two infamous troublemakers, Ace and Deuce. Because you were so worn out, you didn't retreat back to your assigned quarters, as your feet were too stubborn to carry you any further.

So now you're just lying there like a bad actor in a melodrama, pretending to be asleep… You felt the careful, deliberate footsteps approaching you until you could feel the weight of Trey's presence in front of you, which caused your body to tense up in anticipation of his next move. Knowing Trey, he can be a bit unpredictable despite keeping himself an open book to those who know him well. "It's a shame that you're asleep..." he whispered, now crouching down to your level and twirling a stray lock of your hair around his finger.

"Who's going to eat the donuts I prepared specifically for you, hmm?" he added, a sly smile playing on his lips as he watched you squirm at the sweet temptation that he was dangling in front of you. He brought the lock of hair to his lips, inhaling its scent before gently placing it back behind your ear. "Maybe I'll give it to Ace and Deuce, considering both of them are still in high spirits," he teased, gently rubbing your tensed arm in an up and down motion.

His chest rumbled with a low chuckle upon noticing your puckered forehead in disagreement, a possible indication that you don't want him to give the sweet treats to anyone else but you. "You're adorable," he said, his eyes through his glasses fondly gazing at you, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"I'll save them for you, don't worry," he reassured, his hand now resting on your shoulder in a comforting gesture. "After all, you're the only one who has the privilege to enjoy my baked goods without asking."

[lowerstart]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘽𝙖𝙨𝙠𝙚𝙩𝙗𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙈𝙤𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙨 (𝙎𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝘼𝙐) - Ch.2

Jamil Viper x Reader

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮:

𝘼 𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙨𝙣’𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨. 𝘼 𝙗𝙤𝙣𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙨𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧.

𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙖 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙢, 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙘𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙩 𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙝𝙚’𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙛𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪. 𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙚’𝙨 𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙠𝙞𝙣.

𝘢/𝘯: 𝘚𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘺, 𝘑𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭!

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𝙒𝙚𝙞𝙧𝙙 𝘼𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙢𝙮 - 𝙅𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙡 𝙑𝙞𝙥𝙚𝙧

The crowd had begun to gather long before the sun dipped below the steel horizon of the Kingdom of Heroes. Neon boards glowed across the sky like runes of industry—advertisements, match schedules, sponsors, and the giant projection of the Night Raven insignia looping on every corner screen. The kingdom was known for its technology and innovation, its cityscapes carved from glass and light. Even the sports arena reflected that pride: vast, sleek, and humming with the low thrum of magic-infused tech that kept the air crisp and the temperature regulated.

Inside, the HeroDome Arena buzzed with anticipation. Cameras floated like tiny familiars above the courts, transmitting every movement, every breath, to millions of spectators both magical and not.

The players were already warming up on the polished floor. Quick bursts of motion, sneakers squeaking, sweat glinting under the sterile white lights. The rhythmic bounce of the basketball echoed like a heartbeat through the arena.

You sat somewhere in the middle section of the stands, legs crossed, an elbow resting casually on your knee as you watched the court below. Your outfit balanced comfort and allure: a long black, skin-tight dress that hugged your figure just right, paired with a light denim jacket and worn white sneakers. You hadn’t dressed up for anyone though, just because.

You also shaved, just because.

You twirled your phone between your fingers, eyes scanning the players in their black and gold Night Raven jerseys. Ace Trappola, grinning and waving to the audience like an idol meet and greet. Floyd Leech, half-stretching, half-menacing some poor assistant who’d wandered too close. And then your gaze stop at none other than the god himself, Jamil Viper.

You recognized him right away. His dark hair was tied back into a long braid that swayed with each movement, framing a face too sharp to forget. The warm-up jersey clung to his shoulders and arms just enough to hint at the strength beneath, and when he rolled his sleeves up, you caught the glint of sweat along his forearms.

You’d known his name literally since you were born. It had been there your whole life, written in annoyingly perfect cursive at the dip of your lower back, right above your tailbone. A permanent reminder that somewhere out there was a guy named Jamil Viper who was apparently your soulmate. Fabulous.

And, of course, that name had to belong to an actual person. A famous one, too. You didn’t need to watch interviews or scroll through sports news to know who he was. You’d already done your own research since long before. Purely for research purposes, obviously.

You knew he’d graduated from Night Raven College, the elite school every overachiever drooled over. You knew he was from the Scalding Sands, his family was traditional, he liked his tea barely sweet (a red flag, in your opinion), and that he owned way too many pairs of white sneakers. You’d even found his game stats, personal bests, and once—by pure accident—his old student ID photo.

Again, all for research purposes. Totally normal. Absolutely not stalker behavior.

Because if fate was going to hand you Jamil Viper as a soulmate, the least you could do was be prepared to make your move when the time came.

No?

You didn’t know if he knew. Probably not. You were just another non-magical citizen in a crowd of thousands. And even if he did, well, You didn’t really care.

Somewhere below, a shrill voice pierced through your thoughts.

“ACE! GO ACE! YOU CAN DO IT BABY!”

Your head turned just in time to spot a girl several rows down, decked out in full Ace Trappola merchandise. Hat, banner, even a handmade badge shaped like a heart with his jersey number scrawled across it.

You chuckled, that must be the famous couple.

That couple really was something. Ace Trappola, of all people, the guy once known for ghosting dates faster than magic smoke, had shocked the entire world when he announced he had a girlfriend. And, according to him, a soon-to-be fiancée.

You don’t really know much about them though, because you don’t care. You had your own headline-worthy sexy, talented, smokingly hot Jamil Viper on your mark.

Your attention drifted back to the court just as Jamil bent into another stretch, his muscles flexing under the taut fabric of his warm-up gear.

You swallowed, pressing your lips together.

“Damn,” you murmured softly, watching him shift positions. “They weren’t kidding about those arms.”

Without realizing it, you’d propped your chin on one hand, gaze lingering on him a little too long.

Truth be told, it wasn’t like you expected him to suddenly fall head over heels for you. Hell, you don’t even care if you both will ended up together. You just… wanted something. A little connection. A sign that the universe hadn’t made a mistake linking you to him.

After all, you’d both been adults for years now, and not once had any of those fabled soulmate perks shown up between you. No psychic tingle, no weird dreams, no magical bond. Nothing.

It made you wonder sometimes. Was the mark broken? Was the bond defective?

Most people would’ve shrugged it off by now, lived their lives, maybe even dated someone else and pretended the mark didn’t exist. However, you don’t want to.

Why?

Because how could you want to miss a possible fun night with THE Jamil Viper?

You lost count of how many nights you thrust your fingers into yourself, consumed by thoughts of him. The way his voice might sound in the dark, the warmth of his skin, the sharp curve of his smile. Even when another man is on top of you, you often imagine it is him instead.

They say that intimacy with your soulmate is an out-of-this-world experience you will never forget. You yearn to experience that.

You have long since admitted to yourself that you are, indeed, a pervert.

HOWEVER!

Let it be known! You were not desperate enough to slide into his Magicam DMs with a “Hello, I’m your soulmate. Wanna fuck?”

Hell no. Absolutely not.

You still had your dignity. And your pride. And, of course, your image as a baddie with standards to maintain.

…Though, if Jamil Viper ever decided to make the first move?

Yeah, dignity might just take a temporary leave of absence and throw out of the window.

Your rambling cut short when the sharp blast of the whistle echoed through the arena, followed by the announcer’s booming voice signaling the start of the game.

Players began gathering at the court, the energy in the air shifting from casual chatter to focused anticipation. Among the movement and noise, your eyes found him again. Jamil slipping easily into position as a Point Guard.

It should’ve been nothing unusual. Just him doing what he always did. But then he paused.

For a split second, his head lifted, and his gaze met yours across the stands.

A shiver slipped down your spine before you could stop it, your breath catching like the world had just paused between one heartbeat and the next.

Even with the distance between you, you were absolutely sure he was looking at you. Not at the blond guy beside you. Not at the overexcited grandma waving a foam finger in front. You.

Your jaw went slack just as the arena erupted in cheers. The girls around you were screaming his name, voices pitching higher the moment they realized Jamil was looking their way.

A faint, confident smirk tugged at his lips. So small that most people would’ve missed it.

Not you. Not after spending countless nights watching his game replays and his interviews. At this point, you were pretty sure you could tell when he needed to poo.

Just like that, his focus snapped back to the court and you clenched your thighs, slapping a hand over your mouth as you hunched forward, trying (and failing) to hide the blush spreading across your face.

Holy shit. You were so weak for that confident, yeah-I-know-I’m-a-big-deal kind of guy.

You were certain. Jamil knew you.

Of course he did. If you had done your research on him, why wouldn’t he have done the same?

Besides, according to your very thorough research, Jamil Viper was sharp, capable, and observant. The kind of man who noticed everything. He’d probably spotted you the moment he stepped onto the court.

The thought made you giggle to yourself, a little too loudly. The blond guy sitting next to you flinched and inched away, trying his hardest to add more space between you two as you probably looked like a perverted old man on the subway.

The whistle blew again, and the game began.

The crowd fell into a focused hush before erupting in cheers as the ball was tossed high into the air. As usual, Floyd the giant eel leapt effortlessly to claim it, but this time, the opposing team’s center was just as tall, meeting him midair. There was a split-second struggle, a blur of arms and sneakers, before the ball came crashing down near their feet.

Ace Trappola was the first to react, diving in and snatching it up like a street cat stealing food.

“Nice reflexes,” you murmured, leaning forward as he pivoted and passed the ball to Jamil without even looking.

Your eyes, of course, followed him.

Jamil moved like he was gliding. Efficient, no wasted motion. He handled the ball with one hand, testing the defense, then spun cleanly past a guard who’d underestimated his reach.

“Classic fake,” you muttered to yourself, smirking. “He always pulls that when the defender’s too close on the left.”

The blond guy next to you side-eyed you again. You ignored him.

Jamil dribbled once, twice, before flicking the ball back toward Floyd, who caught it with one hand and immediately dunked it. The arena exploded in cheers.

You clapped once, satisfied. “Textbook setup. He baited them into the wrong rotation.”

The play continued. Fast passes, quick drives, controlled chaos. Jamil orchestrated everything, his calm presence anchoring the whole team. You’d watched enough of his games to recognize the rhythm. He was the one who controled the pace.

Every time he shifted direction, you could see it coming a heartbeat before it happened. His footwork was too precise and his timing immaculate.

You sighed, unable to stop the fond smile curling at your lips. “God, he’s so damn perfect.”

Then, as if the universe wanted to mess with you, Jamil caught a rebound and launched into a fast break, sprinting across the court with that effortless stride that made it look too easy.

Your heart leapt. “There it is. Transition offense, baby.”

He passed to Ace again, who finished with a perfect layup. The crowd roared.

You joined in the cheering, grinning from ear to ear. Somewhere along the way, you’d become a genuine basketball fan. A Night Raven fan, to be exact.

You’d found yourself shouting at the TV when the referee dared to call a foul on your team, or when Floyd missed an easy shot, or when you were threatening to throw your remote control across the room because the opposing team scored a three-pointer in overtime.

At some point, the blond guy beside you speak.

“Uh.. why’d he pass it back when he was already open?” he asked, brow furrowed as Jamil redirected the ball instead of taking the shot.

You didn’t even hesitate to chirp in. “Because the defense was collapsing on him,” you said, eyes still glued to the court. “If he’d taken the shot, the angle would’ve been trash. Passing it back opened the lane for Floyd to drive in from the weak side. Watch—there.”

Right on cue, Floyd slipped past the defenders and slammed the ball in. The crowd went wild.

The blond guy blinked. Then purse his lips. “…Okay, what the hell.”

You just smirked, crossing your legs and leaning back casually.

He stared at you like he couldn’t decide if you were terrifying or impressive, and then, predictably, tried to scoot even farther away from you on the bleacher.

He now think you are a perverted basketball freak.

Somewhere in the second half, your chest suddenly tightened. It was getting harder to breathe. You weren’t sure why. One second you were on your feet cheering, the next your vision blurred, colors bleeding into one another. A nauseous coil twisted in your stomach.

“Oh, shit.” You gasped, clutching your chest, then everything went black.

When you opened your eyes again, you were in the middle of the court. The blinding lights above made your head spin. Around you, big, sweaty men ran and shouted, their sneakers squeaking against the polished floor.

Before you could process anything, a basketball came flying toward your face. Instinctively, you caught it, your body moving faster than your brain could follow.

“Jamil!” You heard Ace Trappola shouting somewhere in the chaos.

Jamil?

You blinked, trying to focus. Every sound was too loud, every breath too shallow. Panic clawed up your throat. You threw the ball out of bounds just to get it away from you, but your movement was clumsy. You stumbled, falling hard onto the court. The crowd screamed. The coach yelled for a timeout.

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Until you heard a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“Stop the game!”

Your voice.

Your eyes darted toward the stands and froze.

There you were, leaning against the railing, your mouth open in horror. Watching yourself.

“What the—” you began, but before the words could form, the world tilted. Darkness rushed back in, swallowing everything whole.

You fainted for real this time.

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You woke up to a blinding white light and the faint scent of antiseptic, rubbing alcohol, and something vaguely sterile like gauze and fresh linens. The surface beneath you was soft. It took your eyes a few seconds to adjust to the glare, your lashes fluttering as shapes slowly came into focus.

Your mind lagged behind your body, still foggy from… sleep? No, not sleep.

You frowned, trying to piece it together. The crowd. The game. The pounding in your chest. The moment your knees gave out on the court—oh gods.

Gosh, that was so embarrassing, you groaned inwardly, slapping the back of your palm against your forehead.

“Finally waking up?”

Another too familiar voice dripped through the air.

You stiffened, heart skipping. Slowly, you turned your head toward the source.

Only to see yourself sitting by the bed.

A gorgeous woman—heh—arms crossed, expression flat and unimpressed.

You.

“AAAAAA. A DOPPELGANGER!” you screamed.

You shot up so fast you almost fell off the bed, arms flailing until you grabbed a pillow and brandished it like a weapon.

She flinched at your outburst before standing and snatching the pillow right out of your hands.

“Hey! Stop it! I’m not a doppelganger, you stupid!”

You froze mid-motion, blinking at the beautiful—heh—pissed-off woman in front of you.

“Look at yourself!” she snapped, grabbing a small mirror from the bedside table and shoving it into your face.

Only to be met with a pair of dark grayish eyes staring back. Sharp, almond-shaped. Your reflection glared. Your reflection had Jamil Viper’s face.

“AAAAA. I AM THE DOPPELGANGER!”

The woman—you? him?—groaned so hard it sounded like her soul left her body. She dropped back into the chair, rubbing her temples like she was already tired of your existence.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered.

You pursed your lips, sneaking a cautious glance at her from the corner of your eye.

You—or that person—you really had no idea what to call her, but she was definitely you. The face, the posture, even the annoyed crease between her brows. Which meant… you were currently in his body.

“Umm… so can you please tell me what happened?” you asked carefully, your voice a little too deep and unfamiliar for your own comfort.

The woman—you, technically—let out a long, suffering sigh. Crossing her arms, she leaned back in the chair like she was trying to accept her fate.

“It seems you and I switched bodies,” she said flatly.

You blinked at her, dumbfounded. “Huh?”

“Yes. We switched bodies. I’m Jamil, currently in your body, and you’re in mine.” Her tone was calm yet a little murderous. “I don’t know how it happened, but I assume it has something to do with our soulmate perks. Though it’s a bit confusing since—Can you stop groping my chest?” She paused mid-sentence. Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

Your hands stop at their tracks. Just slightly above his—your— nipples.

“Oops.”

Jamil stared at you in disgust.

“So, did we win?” you asked. Trying to get his attention away.

“Did I win?” Jamil corrected, emphasizing the pronoun.

You raised a brow and flashed him a lazy grin, saying absolutely nothing.

He sighed again, dear Seven. “Yes, we won. Barely. 72 to 78.”

You gasped dramatically. “I know I’m amazing.”

Jamil didn’t even bother responding. For a moment, the room was quiet until you smiled again, wide and satisfied.

Jamil visibly twitched. His brows furrowed as his shoulders tensed. “Do I really look like that when I smile, or is that just you?”

“Oh, this?” you teased, touching your—his—face with mock affection. “That’s all me, baby. Katching!”

He gave you the flattest stare imaginable.

You snorted softly and leaned forward, hand outstretched. “We haven’t properly introduced ourselves, have we? Hi, I’m your soulmate.”

Jamil exhaled sharply through his nose. “I know.”

You wiggled your fingers, still offering your hand. “You can shake it, you know. It won’t kill you.”

He stared. You dropped your hand with a small pout. “Rude.”

“So… you think this has anything to do with our perks?” you asked, shifting a little on the infirmary bed.

“Yes,” Jamil said, rubbing his temple. “Body-swapping is one the rarer side of soulmate abilities. Usually temporary. Triggered by emotional or physical contact. Though in our case, it’s likely unstable because we’ve never interacted before.”

“Translation: we’re stuck like this for a while?”

He didn’t answer. Which, to you, was basically a yes.

You hummed. “So, what do we do now?”

Jamil straightened his posture, tone change to serious. “Find a way to switch back.”

You stared at him, lips twitching into a slow grin.

“Boring. I was thinking we could try making out or something. You know, for research purposes.”

You almost think he would kill you.

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“Okay, so how are we going to do this.”

Jamil let out his breath slowly, trying to calm himself while you stood menacingly in front of him. He had already given up on making you act normal a while ago, right after you hit a T-pose at some kid in his apartment building to ‘assert dominance,’ as you said.

No matter how much he tried, you wouldn’t listen. You kept looking at him with that mischievous glint in your eyes, staring down at his (your) much shorter body.

“Nice boobs,” you’d said once in the elevator on your way up to his apartment.

He smacked your shoulder instantly.

You thought that was rude. He hit a lady, for crying out loud! But technically, he was the lady now, and you were the guy.

“As far as I know, body-switching happens when you feel a strong emotion. Something that triggers your soul to seek shelter in another body,” Jamil explained. “In my opinion, it’s more like self-defense. You know DID? That... split-personality? Similar to that, I guess.”

You nodded, humming thoughtfully. “I see. You seem to know a lot about this soulmate thingy.”

Jamil shrugged. “NRC’s library has a pretty complete collection on the topic. I used to hang around there when I was bored.”

“Heh, must be nice being enrolled in such a prestigious magic academy.”

Jamil went quiet for a moment. “Can you use magic?”

“Nope. But I can use tech really well. Wanna see?”

You inhaled dramatically, then unleashed a torrent of information like you were reading off a classified file.

“Jamil Viper, five-seven in college, six-foot now. Shoe size forty-four. You don’t like your tea too sweet, hate milk, and prefer spicy food. You like breakdancing, and you’ve got a pretty good voice—oh, and you performed in the VDC once with Vil Schoenheit as your team leader. You’ve played in exactly sixty-seven matches for Night Raven and have been offered contracts by Sunset Jackals and Scarabia Sandstorm to join their rosters. Your average stat line is sixteen points, eight assists, and two steals per game. You hit the gym five times a week, and your body fat percentage is probably—”

“Okay—oh my god, stop.” Jamil threw up both hands, backing up a step. “I don’t need to know how much of a creep you are.”

You stood proudly, hands on your hips, puffing your chest out to make yourself seem taller.

“Anyway,” Jamil continued, “like I told you before, I think the reason we switched bodies is because we just met, and our perks activated.”

You nodded.

“The only idea that pops into my head is trying to find an emotion strong enough to trigger the switch again.”

“Okay.” You nodded once more.

Jamil exhaled slowly, as if mentally preparing for disaster. “Alright. Ready?”

You pursed your lips in determination. “Ready.”

“Okay, go.”

On his cue, you stared at him. Trying to feel something. Any emotion, really.

Anger? Sadness? Fear?

You had no clue what was supposed to happen, so you settled on the one that popped into your head. And the one you wanted most.

Determination. Determination to get back to your own body.

So you took a stance. Strengthened your core like one of those karate masters. Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared as hard as you could into Jamil’s—your—eyes.

He, on the other hand, stood lazily with his arms crossed, weight leaning to one side.

“You look like you’re trying to poo,” Jamil said flatly.

“YOU look like you wanted to poo.” You shot back instantly.

He sighed, uncrossing his arms. “This isn’t working.”

“You’re not feeling enough, Jamil,” you protested, starting to get annoyed at his complete lack of effort while you were practically summoning your inner spirit poo animal.

“I don’t know, okay? I can’t think of anything! This came out of nowhere. In the middle of my match, nearly made me lose, and my soulmate isn’t helping. You just keep joking around!” Jamil’s voice rose, frustrated.

You went quiet, lips jutting into a pout because, well… he was right.

Jamil’s shoulders slumped. “I’m so tired right now I could sleep on the floor.”

You felt bad.

Well, when you think about it, of course he had it harder than you. Switching bodies mid-game, in front of a full crowd, with cameras rolling? Coupled with exhaustion? If it were you, you might’ve jumped straight out of his apartment window by now.

But right now, you had something far more urgent to deal with.

“Jamil, I need to pee.”

Jamil’s face instantly twisted in disbelief.

“This is no time for jokes. We really need to figure out how to switch back.”

“I know! I’m not joking, I really need to pee!”

“Stop trying to find excuses to peek into my body,” he snapped, voice rising an octave.

“I’m serious!” you yelled back. “I really, really need to pee! And I need to shower too. You smell!”

“Hey! I do not smell!” he protested.

“Okay, sure, fine. Yeah, you don’t smell. In fact, I kinda like your scent. But still! It’s uncomfortable, Jamil. You just finished your match, remember? I need to wash the sweat off!”

Jamil’s lips tightened. Silence. You could almost see the internal conflict behind his eyes. Because, well… you had a point.

“Would you wash me, then?” you asked after a beat.

Jamil froze. You could see the color drain from his face before coming back twice as red.

“Hell no!”

“Then what am I supposed to do?!” you threw your arms up, exasperated. “Should I shower with my clothes on? Or what, you gonna help me change? Either way, I’m still gonna see your dick, Jamil!”

His blush deepened. His knuckles going pale as he buried his face in his hands. Then, without a word, he spun on his heel, stormed into his room, and slammed the door shut.

“DO WHATEVER YOU WANT!”

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You stared down at the toilet in front of you.

Jamil stood in the doorway, back turned stiffly toward you like a soldier facing execution.

After his outburst earlier, you tried your best to be considerate. You’d held your bladder, kept quiet, and even sat obediently in his living room because apparently doing anything in his body was a violation of personal boundaries.

You respected that. For about fifteen minutes.

But after fifteen agonizing minutes and zero signs of switching back, your bladder was staging a rebellion. So you knocked on his bedroom door.

“Jamil, man. Really. I seriously need to pee.”

You could practically hear the internal screaming from behind the door before he finally opened it and led you to the guest bathroom.

Where you were now, standing in front of the toilet, trying to free his member from his pants.

“Wow, you really don’t disappoint, Mr. Viper,” you teased, glancing over your shoulder at Jamil who was still leaning against the door, back rigidly turned to you.

“Ck. Shut up.”

You chuckled. “Okay, how do I do this?”

You’d successfully freed his junior, and it now hung awkwardly in front of the toilet.

“Just do it,” Jamil said.

“...How?”

“Just—let it out.”

“Yeah, how?”

Jamil visibly irked, groaning as he threw his head back. “Ugh, I don’t know! I never think about it, it just happens! Try to do it like you’d do it yourself!”

Instruction unclear, but you really had no better idea. So you angled his member toward the bowl and, after some awkward hesitation and a few mental pushes, you finally felt the stream flow.

A sigh of deep, genuine relief escaped you. “This is really cool. You guys have, like, a built-in handle or something.”

Jamil didn’t respond.

“What if I splash the wall?” you added, voice far too thoughtful.

“Please be normal.”

Jamil had long ushered himself out of the room by the time you finally got into the shower.

You were speechless the moment you stood completely naked in his bathroom. Not just because—wow—he had a really nice body, but because the whole situation felt weirdly disorienting. His frame was taller, heavier, stronger. Moving felt like wearing a human exosuit that wasn’t entirely yours.

You’ve also found the soulmate mark on his body, proudly written on the left side of his back. Beautiful cursive words near his scapula.

As you scrubbed away the grime with his ridiculously good-smelling body wash, you hesitated at the… pelvic zone. After an intense moral debate with yourself, you decided to skip it entirely and settled for scrubbing your butt instead. Carefully avoiding any dangerous proximity to the butthole.

At some point, the embarrassment finally caught up with you. You buried your face in your hands, groaning. The water cascaded down his—your—back as you stood there, blushing like a schoolgirl caught ogling her crush.

Somewhere in another universe, this probably looked hilarious: a 6-foot-tall pro athlete standing awkwardly under the shower, knees slightly bent, acting like he just realized what a naked man is.

Once you were clean, you slipped into the pajamas Jamil had laid out. Soft, neat, and very much smelling like him. You toweled off his hair as best as you could, still feeling weirdly bashful, before stepping out of the bathroom like a guilty cat returning from crime.

You spotted Jamil in the pantry just as he ended a call. When he turned toward you, his expression was back to that calm, tired neutrality that probably took every ounce of his self-control to maintain.

“I just called someone to ask if they can provide a potion to amplify emotions,” he said evenly. “We’ll keep it as a last resort in case we can’t switch back in a few days. For now, let’s just rest and hope things return to normal tomorrow.”

You nodded as if that made perfect sense, then immediately wandered toward his fridge. “Do you have something light to eat? I’m kinda hungry,” you said, already tugging the door open.

Jamil sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t you think you should ask the owner first before raiding their fridge? You know, basic manners?”

You turned to him with your best innocent look. “I am the owner of this fridge.”

“That—”

“Wait, hold on.” You gasped theatrically. “Who are you? Oh my god, someone’s intruding in my apartment! Security!”

You clutched your imaginary pearls, fake-screaming in mock terror.

Jamil just stared at you. “You’re insufferable.”

You burst into laughter.

You popped open a yogurt from his fridge and took a big spoonful. “Yum,” you said, all too pleased with yourself.

Jamil didn’t even bother to respond, his attention glued to his phone, thumbs moving fast. Probably messaging his coach or someone equally boring.

“You know,” you began, mouth still half-full, “if you wanna pee, just pee. I don’t mind you peeking at my body.” You gave him a playful wink.

His head snapped up, eyes narrowing in disgust. “No, thank you. I’m good."

You snorted and went back to eating, the silence that followed oddly comfortable.

After a while, you hummed. “I once prayed to God to make me a man in my next life.” You licked the spoon thoughtfully. “Maybe this is the universe cashing that wish in. Or maybe it’s payback for something I did last time.”

Jamil didn’t reply, but you saw the subtle flick of his eyes. He was listening.

You leaned on the counter, tilting your head at him. “Would you be a girl if you could?”

He finally looked up from his phone, cautious. “…Why?”

You grinned. “’Cause if you were, I’d still want you.” You scooped another bite of yogurt, eyes gleaming. “I take you in any form, Jamil. Girl, boy, alien, animal, whatever. I take you every time.”

That earned you the most spectacular look of exasperation you’d ever seen.

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Turns out, practicing how to control body-swapping was harder than either of you imagined. You often switched at the most unfortunate times. In the middle of Jamil’s basketball match, during your work presentation, and once, disastrously, while you were in the middle of pooping.

You had demanded to know if he at least finished it for you.

That, of course, left him staring at you in disbelieve, genuinely wondering if your emotions got that intense whenever you used the bathroom.

Still, you both noticed something, the duration of each switch was getting shorter. Sometimes, it lasted only five minutes before you’d snap back into your own bodies.

Just in case things went wrong, or either of you needed to rush over quickly, you decided to set up a teleportation device between your residences.

So far, Jamil had found that body-swapping wasn’t all that bad once the two of you learned to adapt. Sure, it came with its fair share of drawbacks, but it also had its perks.

Like right now, for example, when he ordered takeout and happily devoured junk food while inhabiting your body.

He inhaled a massive slice of pizza in one sitting, a can of Diet Coke in hand. You, meanwhile, were whining endlessly about it. You needed to keep your body in shape too, not just his. But honestly, when else could Jamil get away with something like this? He had a strict diet to follow, and craving a greasy, satisfying meal every once in a while wasn’t exactly a crime.

“Yeah, by once in a while you mean almost every day,” you snorted.

He had an entire stash of snacks and canned drinks tucked away in his pantry, and now that he’d found a loophole, he was making the most of it. Each time he indulged, your distant scream of agony echoed through your teleporter.

You’d started tagging along to the gym with him more often because, God forbid you get any unhealthier than you already are, you said.

But hey, could you really blame him?

Lord knows what you’d done while you were in his body. You swore up and down that you hadn’t done anything indecent, but did Jamil trust you? Absolutely not.

So maybe this was at the very least, fair play.

Unfortunately, up until now, neither of you had figured out how to switch back at will and it was starting to seriously affect Jamil’s career.

To make up for the losses, his coach decided you needed to practice basketball while in his body. You didn’t need to be perfect, of course, everyone knew it’d take you an eternity to match his skill. You just needed to hold your own for the few chaotic minutes whenever the switch happened mid-game.

Thanks to his muscle memory (and your endless research about his plays), you’d actually developed decent reflexes on the court. Watching you play alongside his teammates, Jamil couldn’t help but be a little impressed. You looked good out there. Still awkward, sure, but capable.

However, it didn’t take long for him to notice your mood souring. From the bench, he could sense your growing frustration with every missed pass, every stumble, every bit of laughter exchanged between the team.

At first, you were doing fine, even pulling off a few decent tricks despite your sloppy footwork. But as the mistakes piled up, your expression hardened.

The sharp sound of a whistle cut through the air, signaling a break. You turned and threw a furious pass at Ace Trappola. One that nearly smacked him in the head.

“The heck was that for?!” Ace barked, his face scrunching in protest.

You didn’t answer. You just stood there, chest heaving, anger still flickering in your borrowed eyes.

The coach blew his whistle and called everyone to the bench.

“This isn’t good. You’re so bad,” he said flatly, turning to you. “Why did you do that?”

You pouted, head bowed low, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

Jamil stood up from the bench and walked over to you. He believed you could do it. He knew you could. You’d been moving fine, reading plays fine… it was your mood dragging everything down. Trying too hard at things you didn’t need to, and holding back on things that mattered.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

You pressed your lips into a thin line.

“I don’t like it,” you muttered.

“Huh?”

“I don’t like it!” you snapped, lifting your head at last. Your eyes were red, glimmering with unshed tears, leaving everyone frozen in place, including Jamil.

“People keep chasing me for this goddamn ball!” you yelled, stomping your foot in frustration. “They keep surrounding me! Bodying me, trying to get the ball, don’t hit me!”

The gym went dead quiet.

The entire team stared in stunned disbelief. Even the coach’s jaw went slack.

Then, you broke down crying. Loud, wailing sobs that echoed across the gym.

Floyd was the first to lose it, howling with laughter so hard he had to clutch his stomach. Ace followed right after, practically collapsing onto the floor, screeching like a dying hyena.

The rest of the team tried, and failed, to hold it together. Someone actually had tears streaming down their face from trying not to laugh.

Another strangled screech came from Ace as he fumbled with his phone. “I have to document this—”

Before he could finish, Jamil snatched the device from his hands and hurled it across the gym. It hit the wall with a dramatic thud, followed by Ace’s horrified scream.

Jamil made a mental note to kill him later.

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Jamil’s—your—eyes scanned the aisle for the items he needed. The cart’s wheels hummed softly as he pushed it past rows of neatly stacked produce and boxes of cereal. He stopped in front of the milk section, frowning slightly at the endless selection.

He didn’t even like milk. But you did. He’d caught you drinking it plenty of times while in his body. Sometimes straight from the carton, to his eternal horror.

It was nice, though. Being able to walk around freely like this. No hood, no mask, no people whispering behind his back or sneaking pictures from afar. No one here knew you, so to them, he was just another face in the crowd.

He was in the middle of grabbing the second carton of milk when his phone dinged. Jamil fished it out of his pocket, and saw that you had sent him yet another ridiculous message.

You: Jamil please suck my dick.

He grimaced before sending a curt reply.

Jamil: No.

Another message came almost instantly.

You: Dang it. I wanna know how it feels.

Jamil stared at the screen. At this point, nothing you said could really faze him anymore. He’d grown far too accustomed to your endless nonsense.

Still, a thought popped into his head. Drive from impulse and mischief. He typed back:

Jamil: You said you’d take me in any form. What if I were a worm? Would you still want me?

His thumb hit send before he could think twice.

A minute later, your reply came through.

You: You sound like a teenage girl asking her boyfriend silly questions.

Then another:

You: But yeah, don’t worry, baby girl. I’ll always want you in every form you take. I’d even want you as a barnacle on a stupid sunfish’s body.

“Ew,” Jamil scoffed but couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

He slipped his phone back into his jeans pocket and was just about to head for the next aisle when his path was suddenly blocked by what could only be described as an imbecile.

A man, roughly around his and your age, stood right in front of the trolley.

“There you are. I finally found you.”

Jamil’s brows knitted.

He had no idea who this man was. But judging by the familiarity in his tone, this stranger clearly knew you.

Jamil didn’t want to accidentally insult someone important to you… but the guy’s face screamed trouble.

And his tone is not exactly friendly either.

“Do you really think you can escape me forever?” the man asked, voice sharp enough to cut through the hum of the grocery store. “Do you really think I couldn’t find you? The only reason you’ve managed to get away this long is because I let you.”

He took a slow, deliberate step forward. Each movement heavy with anger, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes.

Jamil instinctively stepped back, his mind working fast as he studied the man’s face before it clicked.

“If you ever stumble upon a man, around five-seven, looks like a jerk, scar on his right eyebrow, star tattoo on his neck, ignore him,” you had once said between breaths during a run at the gym.

“Oh yeah? Who is he?” Jamil had asked.

“My stalker.”

His pace had faltered then.

“And my crazy ex.”

This must be him.

Jamil’s entire body went on alert the moment realization hit. The man’s angry stare finally made sense.

This situation wasn’t good. The guy was bigger than your body—his current one—and you didn’t have any magic to defend yourself with. Sure, Jamil was well-trained in self-defense, but he’d rather avoid a violent encounter. He had no idea what this man would do to you if he ever found you alone.

So, carefully, Jamil began stepping back. Slowly edging toward the middle of the store, where more people could see them if things went south.

Before anything else could happen, someone from a few aisles over called out to the man. The stalker’s head jerked toward the sound, distracted for a second, but Jamil didn’t take his eyes off him. Not even once.

The man grit his teeth and turned back, his glare cutting sharp.

“You’re lucky today. Next time, you won’t get away.”

Jamil’s eyes narrowed.

“I see... you’ve gotten cockier,” the man sneered. “I’ll wipe that arrogance off your face. You better come back to our house if you don’t want something to happen.”

Then he turned and left.

Jamil’s knuckles went white with how much he gripped the trolley in anger.

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You were happily munching on caramel popcorn while watching a sitcom together with Jamil. The man himself was sprawled lazily on the couch, half-lying, half-sliding, staring at the TV with the enthusiasm of a dying sunfish.

It was one of those rare days where both of you actually had time off, no matches, no work deadlines, no switching-body chaos in the middle of a meeting or a basketball court. Just peace.

You’d just wrapped another practice with his team yesterday, and honestly? You’d improved a lot. After The Crying Incident™, as Ace liked to call it, you and Jamil had a long, serious talk about it. And you agreed, if you were stuck like this for a while, you might as well give it your best.

Now you were actually decent enough to play in an official match. Sure, you still sat most of them out unless it was absolutely necessary, but you couldn’t deny the rush of adrenaline whenever the crowd cheered Jamil’s—well, your—name.

You had to admit: being an athlete had its perks.

The euphoria of winning, the thrill of movement, the way your heart pounded when the scoreboard flipped in your favor.

You grinned to yourself, grabbing another handful of popcorn.

You kinda liked your other life.

“I’m so bored,” Jamil said suddenly.

You smirked. “Lol. Wanna fuck?” you teased, chuckling at your own joke.

Jamil didn’t respond. He just stared at you.

You stared back, waiting for his usual sarcastic retort, but it never came. His face was unreadable, serious even. You straightened up.

“Holy shit,” you blurted, “you want to fuck.”

“Why?” he asked lazily. “You don’t?”

“No—I mean, yes—I mean—HUH?!” You gawked at him, your brain lagging behind your mouth.

He shifted, sitting up from his sprawled position, and moved toward your couch.

“Wait, hold on. Oh my gosh—” Your voice shot a pitch higher as you scrambled back, abandoning your popcorn. “You’re serious?!”

“You’re not?”

Your jaw dropped, no words coming out before Jamil threw his entire weight onto you. You let out a strangled grunt from the impact.

His lips envelop yours in an instant, soft, searching, exploring in slow, languid strokes. He bites at your bottom lip, a silent request for entry. Still dazed and shocked, you comply, letting him deepen the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours before he bites a little too hard.

“Ouch,” you protest, breathless.

“You taste like caramel.”

“Duh.” you rolled your eyes.

He chuckled before returning his lips to yours, deepening the kiss with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

Jamil parted your lips once again, his tongue exploring your mouth with a fierce intensity. “Not here,” he murmured, pulling away. He lifted your body effortlessly, carrying you in his strong arms while you were still in a daze. Even as he kissed your neck and shoulder, his steps were steady and purposeful, carrying you to his room.

He laid you down gently on his bed, his eyes never leaving yours. “Wait, wait, hold on,” you said, feeling his hand on your stomach, sneaking under your shirt. “We are really going to do this?”

Jamil stopped his movement and stared at you, his expression softening. “If you don't want to, we can stop.”

“No, I was just a bit shocked and still processing it,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jamil’s lips moved to your neck, kissing and biting gently, leaving marks that would surely bruise. “By the way, this one is my favorite perfume on you,” he said, lifting himself to stare into your eyes. “Though I like your natural scent better.”

Your cheek lit up with a reddish hue, and you couldn’t help but hide your face in your palms. “Stop teasing me!” You protested.

Jamil laughed, a low, throaty sound. “So, teasing me endlessly is fine, but me teasing you is not?”

You pouted at his words, which he returned with another kiss, this one more passionate and demanding.

With you now completely on board, the kiss turned hotter, more desperate. Jamil was a tentative lover, his movements slow and deliberate as he kissed your cheeks, eyes, nose, temple, and forehead, giving you time to catch your breath. You truly felt loved, if you didn’t know any better.

You felt his hand press firmly against your clothed pelvis, coaxing a moan from your lips. His fingers then traced delicate circles on your mound, teasing your clit and drawing out a symphony of sounds from your throat.

“Fuck,” you cursed, your own hands slipping through his shirt, desperate to feel his skin. “My goodness, these rippling pectorals,” you said in awe as you shamelessly ran your fingers over his body.

Jamil chuckled and helped you remove his shirt in one motion, revealing more of his body. You found yourself almost embarrassed by his unabashed shamelessness, so at odds with his typically composed demeanor. Yet, this side of him only served to heighten your arousal, drawing you deeper into the intensity of the moment.

Jamil quickly slid your pants and panties off in one smooth move, leaving your dampness exposed to the cool air. His fingers immediately found your slit, and you let out a soft hum of pleasure at the touch. Without thinking, you reached for his arm, holding on as the sensations began to overwhelm you.

His fingers gently glided along your slit, from top to bottom, teasing and exploring with a tender touch. He circled your clit, sending shivers of pleasure through you, and his thick fingertips playfully prodded at your entrance, igniting a fire within. You tried to hold back, but his skillful touch was irresistible, and soft moans escaped your lips.

As he slipped his index finger inside, stretching you slowly, your mewls grew louder. Each movement, in and out, built a delicious tension, making it harder to keep your composure. The warmth of his hand and the intensity of his gaze added to the intimacy, leaving you breathless and craving more.

Your shirt clung to your body, the fabric hot against your skin, so you peeled it off, along with your bra, revealing yourself completely to Jamil. Lying bare and exposed before him, you saw his pupils widen with desire as he added another finger to your entrance, stretching you even more. You arched your back, throwing your head back in ecstasy, as you reached up to caress your own breast, pinching your nipple to intensify the sensation. Jamil's fingers continued their rhythm.

From the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of him releasing a sharp, ragged breath, clearly struggling to contain his own desire. You arched your body slightly, reaching out to him, and gently removed his hair tie, allowing his long hair to cascade down, framing his form beautifully.

“Holy fuck, you are so gorgeous,” you muttered under your breath.

Jamil chuckled. The sight of him, the intensity in his eyes, was almost enough to push you over the edge. He intensified his movements, his fingers working inside you with increased fervor, and added a third finger, stretching you even further. Making you throw curses and moans his way.

“Right back at you.”

When he pressed against the sensitive spot on your inner walls, you lost all control. White light exploded behind your eyes, and your body convulsed with pleasure as you came hard on his fingers. Waves of ecstasy washed over you, leaving you breathless and trembling. He continued to move his fingers gently, prolonging your orgasm, before slowly withdrawing, leaving you sated and utterly spent.

He slid his glistening fingers into your mouth, and you moaned at your own taste.

“Clean it up, will you.”

Eagerly, you sucked on his fingers, your tongue swirling and lapping between them, all while maintaining a deep, intense eye contact with him.

Jamil took your arms and pulled you up, positioning you on your knees in front of him. You understood his unspoken command and leaned in, ready to take him into your mouth. But before you could, you blinked, and in an instant, you found yourself on Jamil's body.

Now, Jamil was in your position, his fingers working to remove your pants.

"Wait, oh my god," you exclaimed, caught off guard.

Jamil had successfully freed your cock, and now his hand was wrapped around it, pumping it slowly, spreading the precum down the shaft, making it glisten. He leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing against you, and you jerked.

“Wait, Jamil. What are you doing?” You asked in disbelief.

“You said you want me to suck your dick.”

As he took your tip into his mouth, the sensation was overwhelming, almost too intense to bear. You felt a surge of pleasure that made your mind go blank, your thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm. The warmth of his mouth, the gentle pressure of his lips, sent shivers down your spine.

Your legs threatened to buckle beneath you, and you nearly collapsed as he took more of you, his mouth enveloping you with a wet, delicious heat. He began to bob his head, each movement a wave of pleasure that crashed through your body, leaving you breathless and trembling. His tongue, a masterful instrument, pressed against the underside of your shaft, tracing the sensitive vein with precision, drawing out every ounce of pleasure from your most intimate spots. Of course, he knew his own body better than anyone else, knowing which part could draw the most pleasure.

Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes, a mixture of overwhelming joy and the sheer intensity of the experience. You wanted to beg him to stop, to pause, because the pleasure was almost too much to handle. Yet, your voice was lost, stolen by the waves of ecstasy.

"Shit, no wonder—ahh... my ex liked it so much," you gasped between breaths, your words slipping out before you could catch them.

Jamil's movements stilled abruptly, and he withdrew, your cock slipping from his mouth just before you reached the edge. You opened your mouth to apologize, but the words caught in your throat as Jamil suddenly shifted, his chest and arms pressing against the mattress while he raised his ass toward your face.

In a blink, you were back in your own body, your heart pounding wildly. You turned your head just in time to see Jamil thrusting his hips forward, his cock sliding into you with a swift, smooth motion.

You both moaned at the sensation.

He wasted no time, his hips moving with a fluid, rhythmic motion as he thrust in and out of you with ease. His touch was everywhere, hands roaming your body with a sense of ownership and desire. He gripped your ass firmly, his fingers digging into your flesh. His palms stroked your thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

But it was his touch on your lower back that made you shudder, his fingers tracing the delicate lines of your soulmate mark with reverence. He lingered there, his touch gentle yet firm, as if he were memorizing every curve and line.

You were already far gone, drooling on the sheet as Jamil kept pounding into you. His cock scratched deliciously at every sensitive spot, and kissed your cervix.

Jamil leaned down, resting his body weight on yours as he moved faster, desperately chasing both your and his release.

“Yes, yes, yes. Baby, yes!” You shouted, hands gripping the sheet.

Jamil’s hand found yours, squeezing it tightly as he tried to ground himself. His other hand located your clit, rubbing it with skilled precision. You let out a choked moan, drooling on the sheet once more as fireworks exploded behind your eyes. Your body spasmed and shivered violently as you came, your orgasm rippling around Jamil’s cock, still deeply embedded within you.

Jamil’s movements grew more erratic as he pursued his own release, spilling his thick semen deep inside you with a series of final, urgent thrusts. You moaned deeply, relishing the sensation of your belly filling with his warmth. Jamil followed with a few lazy, drawn-out strokes, savoring the tail end of his climax.

You reached out, gathering a mix of your essences on your fingertip as he slowly withdrew. Raising your glistening finger to your lips, you sucked it clean, your eyes locked with Jamil’s in a playful, flirtatious gaze.

He let out a low, throaty chuckle. 'Freak,' he murmured, but you couldn't miss the mischievous glint in his eyes as he said it.

He rose from his position and gently turned your body, positioning your back snugly against the bed. Settling himself between your legs once more, he stroked his hardened member along your lips, ready to begin another round of passion.

You let out a hiss at the friction, your body responding instinctively before your mind caught up. Suddenly, realization dawned on you.

“Wait!” You exclaimed, and Jamil halted his movement, his eyes questioning. You pointed an accusatory finger at his face. “You switched out on your own will!” You yelled.

Jamil burst out laughing before claiming your heat once more.

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The wind tugged gently at his hair as he leaned against the railing, one hand resting on the cold metal. Below, the city pulsed with light and motion, the hum of traffic, the faint echo of cheering from the arena. His team jacket clung snugly to his frame, warding off the bite of the evening air.

Jamil’s mind ran in a hundred directions at once. In fifteen minutes, he’d be back on the court and the game would begin.

He’d asked the manager for a moment to get some air before tip-off to steady himself, to think.

He was lucky no one else came to this part of the stadium. It was quiet here, peaceful in a way that felt almost foreign. A brief calm before he had to throw himself back into the rhythm of the court.

The truth was, Jamil was nervous. Immensely so.

Scared, even, for the match ahead.

This particular team had been a nightmare last season. Especially for him.

Jamil lifted his hand, staring at his open palm. The faint calluses on his skin caught the cold light, reminders of every hour he’d spent training, preparing. And still, it hadn’t been enough.

Last season, they’d shut him down completely. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Every pass was intercepted, every rhythm broken. He had been rendered useless on the court.

Losing was normal in any sport, he’d accepted that much. But that particular loss had lodged itself somewhere deep, festering like an old wound that refused to heal. It was the only match in his career where he couldn’t contribute a single point through his plays.

The others had picked up the slack. The team still fought hard. But by the final quarter, even the coach had seen the panic in his eyes and benched him, swapping out their captain.

He’d sat there, helpless, as the scoreboard sealed their defeat. Just a few points short.

That was not his best play, and he knew he shouldn’t feel this disheartened. But what is an athlete’s trait, if not competitiveness?

Jamil’s fingers curled into a fist, knuckles whitening as he squeezed until his palm trembled. His stomach churned with that familiar, bitter nausea.

He couldn’t let that happen again.

“Scared?”

A familiar voice cut through his reverie.

Jamil raised his head to see you standing a few steps in front of him, wearing his team’s warm-up jacket and his jersey number proudly across your chest.

You walked toward him, your sneakers quiet against the concrete floor, the faint echo swallowed by the wind.

Jamil sighed, turning his gaze back to the horizon. “Maybe?”

You stopped in front of him, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

“Heee? Did I hear that right? The Jamil Viper, scared?”

Jamil huffed, rolling his eyes. “Apparently I’m also still human.”

You chuckled softly at his response.

Jamil wants to say something. wanting to tell you what he feels. Whatever it is to let out the annoying tight on his chest. but his words lump in his throat. He just open and closed his mouth again and again, without really saying any words.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, I know.” your words. “I know what happened.”

Jamil stared at you in silence, words trapped somewhere between his chest and his throat, his mind running a thousand laps but none of them forming into coherent sound. Of course you would know. With how much you had been watching him, studying him, memorizing his plays and habits, it would be stranger if you didn’t know anything about it.

The thought made him snort, a small, incredulous sound that barely escaped his lips. Unbelievable.

He flicked your forehead sharply. You flinched, pressing your hand against it.

“What was that for?”

“Creep,” Jamil muttered, his tone deadpan but the corners of his mouth twitching.

“What the fuck?!” you protested.

A little, almost imperceptible smile bloomed on his lips, betraying just how much he was enjoying this.

You rolled your eyes, pretending to scold him, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

“Don’t worry too much. We’re gonna win.”

Jamil raised an eyebrow, amused. “We?”

“Yes, we. Us. With how much time we’ve spent in each other’s body—heh—don’t you think you can count me as your other version?”

A small giggle escaped him, the tension in his shoulders easing. He had never been more grateful for your ridiculous, goofy personality than right now.

You grinned at him, satisfied to see him relax.

“Let’s go. Your match is about to begin.” You nudged him forward, guiding him back inside.

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To Jamil’s horror, the match unfolded exactly as he had feared. From the opening whistle, the opposing team pressed hard, their defense tight and merciless. Every time he tried to advance, three bodies seemed to materialize around him, circling like sharks, cutting off passing lanes and forcing him to pivot again and again.

He dribbled with precise control, heart hammering, passing the ball to teammates only to see them blocked or forced into rushed shots. The roar of the crowd barely registered over the pounding of his own pulse. Each steal against him felt personal, each interception a reminder of last season’s humiliation.

Yet, unlike before, Jamil wasn’t entirely paralyzed. His movements were sharper, more deliberate. His passes weren’t perfect, but they weren’t disasters either. Still, the relentless pressure gnawed at him, a constant reminder that the rivals weren’t just playing the game, they were gunning for him, trying to clip his wings and crush the team’s morale starting from their captain.

He felt the weight of three opponents pinning him in the same spot, hands reaching, bodies leaning, trying to force errors. Each second stretched painfully, and Jamil realized that even though he was free to move, freedom wasn’t enough if his mind kept replaying past failures and screwed his steps again and again.

In his frustration, Jamil passed the ball to Ace, who caught it effortlessly and scored a point. The roar of the crowd barely registered in Jamil’s ears.

Now defense time. Jamil positioned himself near the net, eyes locked on the ball, muscles tense, ready to block or intercept anything the opponents might throw at him. His heartbeat thundered so loudly he swore he could feel it in his throat.

The opposing players charged at him like bulls heading for their prey. Panic surged through him, his breath hitching, and before he even realized it, his feet betrayed him. He stumbled, legs giving way, and suddenly he was in the stands, forced out of the court entirely, watching the play unfold from above.

The stadium fell into a hush for a split second as everyone’s gaze turned toward Jamil’s empty spot.

“Why is Jamil just standing there?” one voice from the audience asked, confused.

Jamil—now in your body—gripped the bench. His hand tightened, knuckles white.

He cursed himself inwardly as he watched you stunned in the middle of the court.

Dammit. Why did he have to switch out in such a crucial moment?

His chest tightened, and he gripped it. Panic rose from his pounding heart once again, cold in his veins. The noise of the crowd blurred into nothing.

You must feel so shocked and confused right now. Suddenly thrown into the middle of the court, surrounded by players and eyes, with no clue what had just happened.

Jamil’s breath hitched. He realized it then.

He was a coward.

His fear was what triggered the switch. The moment he felt cornered, his body gave in, wanting to run away, and the bond dragged you into his place instead.

And now, he couldn’t even bring himself to face you.

Not when he knew the first thing he’d see would be your disappointed eyes.

But when he finally raised his head to search for you, you were already looking up at him, wearing the gentlest smile he had ever seen from you. Or rather, from his face.

“Breathe.” You mouthed the word softly.

He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath until that very moment. His chest loosened, air slowly returning to his lungs as he stared down at you, the noise of the crowd fading into a distant hum.

Then you threw him a cheeky grin, one that made the entire row of girls behind him scream and swoon. And just like that, your attention snapped back to the court, confidence radiating from your every move.

You placed your hands on your hips, a wide, almost cocky grin spreading across your face. Then, you pointed straight at one of the opponents who had been cornering him since the start.

Jamil had no idea what you said, but whatever it was, it must be foul as the guy’s jaw slacked and face twisted in irritation. Making Floyd doubled over laughing from across the court.

Jamil couldn’t tear his eyes away.

You moved differently from him. Less restrained, more fluid, reckless even. You darted through the court like you were dancing, not playing. Where Jamil calculated, you flowed. Where he measured, you improvised. Every feint, every spin, every bounce seemed to come out of pure instinct, and somehow, it worked.

You stole the ball with a cheeky flick of the wrist, grinning like a devil when your opponent cursed under his breath. You didn’t even seem to care about form, your passes were a little too playful, your dribble a little too showy, but it made you unpredictable, infuriatingly so.

Even from the stands, Jamil could tell what you were doing. You were getting under their skin.

You must’ve thrown some comment here and there too, because the more you talked, the redder the opposing team got.

Without realizing it, Jamil’s tense shoulders had softened. The knot in his chest eased, the panic that once clawed at his lungs now replaced by something gentler, something warm.

He exhaled, a quiet, shaky breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding. Watching you move, laugh, shine out there. Somehow, it melted everything away.

Then your gaze found his. Even amidst the roar of the crowd and the pounding rhythm of the game, your eyes met his with startling clarity.

‘Ready?’ you mouthed from below.

A faint smile tugged at his lips. For the first time since the switch, he felt steady.

“Ready,” he breathed back.

With a blink, the world tilted and Jamil switched back in his own body.

One of Jamil’s rivals blinked at him, brows furrowed. “...What the hell? Did you just smile at me?”

Jamil only blinked back, expression soft and guileless before his lips curved into a friendly grin.

“Ah, yes. You played really great today. It makes me pumped up as well. Let’s have some fun.”

The guy just stared, slack-jawed. “What the— What’s with the mood swing?! You’re even worse than Leech!”

Ace’s laughter rang out as he jogged past them. “Welcome back, Captain~!” he sang, all too amused.

“FLOOOOYD! STOP LAZING AROUND! YOU CAN STILL GET THAT BALL!”

Every head on the court turned toward the stands. You stood there, eyes blazing, finger stabbing the air like a sword aimed straight at Floyd.

“Yeeees…” Floyd drawled from under the hoop, dragging himself into motion.

Jamil couldn’t help it, he laughed.

The rival beside him gawked. “Who is that lady? And why the hell did Leech actually listen to her?!”

Jamil tilted his head, a faint, knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“Oh, that?” he said lightly. “That’s the other me.”

And before the guy could even process that sentence, Jamil had already jogged past, leaving him standing there, utterly dumbfounded.

The rest of the play went smoothly. Jamil moved with quiet precision, each pass and drive flowing naturally as if the rhythm of the court finally matched his own.

In the end, Night Raven won by two points. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to break their chain. Especially his.

You were jumping on the stands, laughing, shouting, celebrating the victory with everyone else.

You didn’t notice the way Jamil looked up at you from the court, eyes wide and a little dazed. The crowd roared around him, but his gaze stayed fixed at you before he smiled to himself.

Ah.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jamil was lounging casually in the living room, a piece of candy tucked in his cheek. He adjusted the position of his—well, your—boobs, settling deeper into the sofa with a sigh.

He had adapted surprisingly well to being in a woman’s body. It took some time, but now he understood things he’d never even thought about before. The subtle shifts in balance, the heightened senses, the way emotions could feel heavier in some areas.

The first time he experienced period cramps, though, he’d been completely wrecked. The color had drained from his face as he yelled at anyone who dared interrupt his misery with questions. Including you.

From behind the bathroom door, Jamil could hear the water running, the faint rhythm of you scrubbing his body while humming a tune he didn’t recognize.

By now, both of you knew how to switch back at will, though sometimes the switch just happened on its own. If it happened when neither of you had anything important going on, you usually just let it be.

You still didn’t fully understand the mechanics of your shared quirk, but both of you worried that forcing the switch too often might cause problems later. So you tried to limit it as much as you could.

Not that it was really a problem. Being each other for a while wasn’t so bad. Sometimes, you even did it on purpose.

If you didn’t feel like dealing with a sharp-tongued stakeholder or a particularly demanding client, you’d ask Jamil to take over. Likewise, if Jamil was too exhausted to face his fans, he’d let you handle it. And you, being just a little narcissistic, would always deliver flawless fanservice.

“Hey, I am not!” you’d complained once.

The romcom on TV was reaching its peak. The two leads were in the middle of a heated yet funny argument, voices rising, faces flushed, when they suddenly blurted out their love for each other. Jamil sneered at them.

"Idiots."

Just as the confession hung in the air, the apartment doorbell rang.

Jamil turned his head toward the sound. He rose from the sofa, frowning slightly. Who could that be? He didn’t have any appointments today, and he was pretty sure you didn’t either.

A delivery, maybe? Did you order something?

However, his body went rigid the moment he saw the figure standing outside his apartment through the doorbell camera.

It was your stalker.

His pulse spiked. This wasn’t good.

You were still in the shower, completely defenseless.

He couldn’t switch now. Not when you were vulnerable and unprepared. If he did, he didn’t know what might happen in those few seconds it took for him to get his bearings and grab his magic pen.

Jamil watched the man carefully through the camera feed. Creeps like your ex were capable of anything, and he wasn’t about to take any risks when it came to your safety.

Still, a part of him wanted to know what this man was after. Curiosity tugged at him. If he could figure out what this creep was planning, maybe he could finally find a way to keep him away from you for good.

For your safety.

Jamil quickly reached for the defense magic device from one of the cabinets, his other hand already gripping his phone, ready to call security or the police if it came to that.

On the screen, he could see the man glancing around nervously before stepping closer to the door panel. The creep started punching in numbers, trying to guess the code.

Jamil didn’t wait. He yanked the door open before the man could finish.

Not that it would’ve worked anyway, Jamil had changed the passcode just a few days ago.

He had actually sensed something off about your stalker days ago. That same ominous presence kept showing up at nearly every event you attended, always just out of reach, always watching.

It had made Jamil increasingly uneasy. He’d already hired a private investigator to gather enough evidence to put the man behind bars, tightened the apartment’s security system, and even arranged for a bodyguard to follow you whenever you went out.

Not that you did, often times you spent most of your time at home, sincee you also working remotely. And on the rare occasions you did go out, it was usually with him.

Jamil always made sure you stayed close. Always within reach.

“What do you want?” Jamil snapped, shoving his phone up to the man’s face. “Don’t try anything. Security will be here in minutes.”

The man spread his hands, trying to look harmless. “I just wanted to talk.” His tone grated on Jamil like a nail on glass. He kept looking at your bod, leering, and Jamil felt something cold and animal in his chest. An urge to gauge those eyes out.

“I don’t want to hear any of your nonsense,” Jamil said, forcing his voice flat and hard. He kept the phone in one hand, ready to call, while the other hovered near the defense device in his pocket.

The man let out a low, mocking chuckle, his eyes gleaming with spite.

“I’ll admit,” he sneered, “you’ve gotten a lot braver since you started hanging around that pretty boy.” He tilted his head, smirk widening. “What’s the matter? Think you’ve caught yourself a big shot now?”

He took a step closer.

Jamil’s grip on the phone tightened, knuckles whitening as he steadied his stance.

“Soulmate? Bullshit.”

The man’s voice dripped with venom. “You really think he’ll stay with you? With you? Who do you think you are?”

Jamil’s body trembled.

“You’re a nobody,” the man spat. “Nothing to be proud of. Just a pathetic, stupid, naive girl who thought running to your so-called soulmate would save you. Clinging to that man, desperate for love—”

His words grew sharper, crueler, each one cutting deeper.

“Well, guess what? You’re still nothing. No one will ever love you. Especially not him. He’ll leave once he’s done tasting your body. He doesn’t love you. He’ll throw you away, just like your mom and dad—”

The sentence never finished.

Jamil’s fist connected squarely with his jaw, the impact echoing through the hall. His knuckles burned from the force, your smaller hand trembling from the recoil, but he didn’t care.

He hurled the defense device to the floor, and with a pulse of energy, ropes of conjured vine shot out, wrapping around the man’s limbs, binding him from head to toe.

The stalker hit the ground with a heavy thud, struggling uselessly against the restraint.

Jamil exhaled sharply, chest heaving as he grabbed his phone and alerted building security.

“There’s an intruder,” he said. “Send someone up ASAP.”

Feeling that it still wasn’t enough, Jamil kicked the man’s side before planting his foot squarely on his chest. He glared down at him.

“Listen here, you dipshit.” His voice was low, trembling with rage. “That man loves me. He loves me so much he does everything I ask him to do. He hates milk, but he keeps stuffing his fridge full because he knows I like it. He’s allergic to prawns, but he still went out of his way to cook them for me, just because he thought it would make me happy. He had to scrub down his entire kitchen afterward to get rid of any trace. And you know what? I didn’t even know he had that allergy until after I finished eating. You wanna know why he did it?”

Jamil leaned in closer, voice shaking now from the sheer weight of what he felt.

“Because he loves me. He puts up with my weird-smelling collection of rare plants because he loves me. He listens to me ramble about fictional men from video games he doesn’t understand because he loves me. He stays up late when I forget to sleep, just to make sure I don’t burn myself out. Because. He. Loves. Me.”

By the time he finished, Jamil was breathless. He blinked, realization dawning as his words echoed faintly off the walls. The way he talked, the rapid, emotional tumble of words, it was just like you.

He had just done exactly what you always did when you were overwhelmed, or passionate, or trying to make a point.

Jamil slammed his foot down harder on the man's chest. The intruder let out a yelp.

“That man never had anything good in his life and I brought so much joy into it. So if you think he’ll leave me, keep dreaming. He will never leave me. In fact, if I ever left, he would chase me across the fucking world and beg me to come back. Do not ever underestimate what I mean to him, because he has never, ever been happier!”

By the end of the sentence his voice was raw, half a shout. He jabbed a finger at the man's face and leaned close, making sure his expression was as fierce as he could muster.

His foot lifted from the man’s chest as the guards dragged the intruder toward the elevator. The stalker’s face was still twisted in disbelief.

“Have fun in jail!” Jamil called after him.

“Fuck you!” The man’s snapped back.

“No, thank you. I’d rather fuck Jamil. His dick is bigger than yours!”

Jamil huffed. He knew this was petty and completely unlike him, this was your kind of behavior. But it felt good to let loose for once. Besides, he was technically you right now, so it was fine… right?

You really had rubbed off on him.

He turned his heels around and froze.

You were standing in the middle of the living room, dripping water from your hair, staring at him like your brain had short-circuited. And you were dressed his body in the ridiculous bear-print pajamas you’d once insisted he buy and wear. He never did, of course, yet apparently, you’d taken matters into your own hands.

You looked absolutely stupid.

“Uh… how long have you been standing there?” he asked slowly.

You stuttered, still too stunned to process what you’d just heard. “Well, uh, since ‘listen here, you dipshit,’ and—‘he has never, ever been happier.’”

Jamil closed his eyes. Of course. Of course he had to black out and shout all that while you were around to hear it.

He apologized to the romcom leads he’d mocked earlier on TV, because apparently, Jamil was a fool too.

“And also about the part where you said my dick’s bigger,” you added.

“My dick is bigger,” Jamil corrected flatly.

“Yeah,” you nodded, dead serious. “Our dick is bigger.”

Jamil nodded too.

“Our balls are bigger, too. Literally and figuratively.” You continue.

Silence fell between you two.

Too awkward. Too confused to move.

The embarrassment finally caught up to him. His cheeks burned, and the back of his neck grew unbearably hot.

You placed both palms over your face.

“Oh my gosh,” your lips formed a perfect ‘o’ of disbelief. “Oh my gosh, Jamil Viper loves me.”

Jamil’s blush deepened instantly. “Shut up!”

“Oh my gosh!” you kept flailing. “Oh no, what do I do? Should I—should I propose? Wait, do I propose? I’m technically the man right now, right? Eh? Or—or should you—oh my gosh, I’m panicking!”

Jamil burst out laughing, pushing your larger body toward his room while closing the apartment door behind him. The click of the lock echoed through the hall.

“Hey, about your question,” he said, pausing mid-push.

“Huh?”

He tilted his head, meeting your still-confused face.

“I don’t think I’d mind being a girl in my next life, or being your soulmate again.” He shrugged lightly. “Though I’d rather not be a barnacle.”

You snorted. “Don’t worry, we can be mosquitoes and humans instead. You know, I suck your blood, you slap me later.”

“Haha, yeah? Really?” he replied lazily, resuming his mission of sweeping you straight to the bed.

Yeah, shit.

He really has never ever been happier.

END

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

𝘢/𝘯: 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦. 𝘋𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺?

STORY MASTERLIST

[877utb]

[pursuitsofjade]

"let's break up!" with jade leech

synopsis: jade leech is utterly in love with you. the thing is, when you confessed, he got so carried away in his happiness that he forgot to tell you he likes you back.

tags: established relationship, kinda crack ...?, jade is a goofball, not very sad it very happi happi story

wc: 1.6k

“Jade, have you ever thought of breaking up?”

“Oho? and what has brought you to that idea, my dear? I believe I have not done anything unsatisfactory as of late. ”

“Actually, you have been treating me well lately. The thing is, I just have some doubts about your feelings for me…” 

Ever since you’ve confessed to the eel, he’s been nothing but perfect towards you. Walking you to class; taking initiative and inviting you on hikes to the mountains, even carrying you all the way down when your feet hurt; gifting you a terrarium with two plants sitting side by side, saying that it’s supposed to be the two of you…the list could go on? So what could make you doubt his love for him? 

That’s precisely it. When Jade accepted your confession, you were ecstatic to say the least. Because you were so over the moon, you failed to confirm whether or not they were actually returned. 

You knew for a fact that you loved the eel, and that behind his scheming pursuits and chilling smiles, he does hold some affection for you. But you weren’t sure if he liked you the same way you did. When your fingers brushed over his, did he feel the same rush you did? Whenever you spot him in a sea of students after class, does his heart run to the moon and back, the same as you still do despite all the time you’ve spent together? 

Amidst your racing thoughts, Jade calculates his own response. 

But first, a realization. 

“It seems that I have missed something…” His voice comes out as a soft mumble, as if he were talking to himself. 

“Sorry?”

He looks at you with his eyebrows furrowed, concern painting the eel’s face. This kind of expression was common, but it was usually accompanied by a scheme of some sort. The only scheme here would be playing your heart, however. But you see the slight downward twitch of his lips, and for a moment, you believe that his worry is genuine. Then, his mouth moves to turn into a little pout. Adorable, you think. 

“I cannot believe that I have overlooked such a vital part of our relationship.” Jade makes a move to hold you closer, his long limbs slithering along the dip of your waist. Your heart does a flip, maybe 10000 flips in a second. Lethal power: 67%.

“Prefect…” His fingers drag along your hair, tucking it behind your ear. The closer proximity gives you a chance to study his annoyingly handsome features. His mismatched eyes meet your own, and his lips contort into the smile you’ve grown fond of. You feel your knees weaken, and mentally thank Jade for holding you–otherwise you might’ve fallen. Fallen for him, though, you already have. Lethal power: 82%. 

Suddenly, he draws back. Your eel retracts his arms from your shoulder and waist, takes a step to create some space before you, and holds his hands together in the usual, polite manner he does. 

“Will you let me have the honor of marrying you?” 

…

…?

…????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Lethal power: MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE

You find yourself unable to move in shock. Was there something you missed? What part of your conversation could have ever led him to Him??? Marrying??? You???

Before he could reach for the box in his pocket and get down on his knees (why does he just have that prepared?); your arms frantically reach the sides of his shoulder and bring him up to your eye level, looking at him as if he had gone insane. Well, you’re not that far off…

“Wait, Jade! I’m sorry, I don’t understand! I thought you didn’t like me back, why are you–”

“You thought that I didn’t return your affections? My dear, are you dense?”

Dense. You don’t know if that was a more fitting description for yourself or the eel standing before you, “On the contrary, I believe my feelings are affirmed to you each and every day we spend together.” For the second time, you’re taken aback. Unlike the first, your mouth is left gaping so much that a fly could take space and start paying rent. However, Jade graciously brings his hand to your chin to close it, and looks into your eyes once more. 

“I believe I haven’t missed a day. I was under the impression that our relationship was going smoothly, and that you were unsatisfied that I haven’t proposed to you yet. Was that not your point, my dear?”

No, far from it! You wanted to shout, but to your favor, you let him continue, “I remember the day you first confessed your feelings for me. I assumed that you were accepting my attempts to court you. I always made sure to intertwine your arm with mine, after all.” 

That day, after his polite response, he reached out to offer his arm for you to hold, and walked you back to Ramshackle. It was no surprise to you, however, because it was common for him to do so. You safely assumed that he was trying to play the part of a gentlemanly, polite eel. But apparently, that meant something entirely different to Jade. He was courting you all this time? And you never noticed??

“Jade, are you serious?” You give him an incredulous look, your brain trying to catch up with this new information. The eel smiles at your current expression, now clearly finding amusement at the situation.

 “Yes, quite serious, my dear. But to calm your worries, I assure you that I sincerely return your affections. I find that our time together has made my days much more pleasant, and that your presence is one that I can never bring myself to tire of. Though you can be a handful at times, it seems that it only causes me to fall more in love with you, fufu.” The lilt in his tone soothes your thoughts, and you begin to fully look at the eel standing before you. Standing up with perfect posture, his hands are brought together across his stomach, and he still has his signature smile spread across his face. If you squinted a bit, you’d find that his cheeks are even tinted a very faint shade of pink, and that his breathing is a bit uneven. For Jade, such a small reaction is a big sign that he’s worked up. You find that hard to believe, but just hearing you doubt his love for you is enough to throw him off track.

Despite that, his eyes seem filled with amusement crinkling their corners, clearly focusing all his attention on you. At the realization, you feel your face heat up, and your heart runs a mile once more. But you’re happy. Relieved, even. Though your hypothesis was completely off, it’d be the only thing you’d never want to be true. The fact is: your eel is undeniably and utterly in love with you. 

There is one question left unanswered, however. 

“Prefect, I’m glad that I was able to erase your doubts, but I believe you have yet to respond to my previous inquiry.” 

“Huh? What did I miss…I love you too?”

He smiles at your reply, and gently runs his gloved fingers through your hair once more, “I appreciate your words, but I was referring to my marriage proposal.” 

“Wait, you’re really asking me that? Right now?” You were only in your second and third years, after all. You didn’t think your relationship would last either, and that you’d be left to deal with your “unrequited” feelings forever…

The amused look in Jade’s eyes turned into something that resembled mischief instead,  “Hm? I take it that you are rejecting my request? Or is it that…there is a third party?” This time, he puts on his worried face–cute pout intact–hand holding his chin, clearly putting on an act to look pitiful. “I was hoping to wait for the perfect time to ask for your hand, but I thought that waiting had become a hindrance in our relationship, in regard to your previous worries. Though, I am curious as to what your answer will be, my dear~.”

You let out a dry sniffle, but then your eyes warm up, and suddenly tears are streaming down your face. You find that your overwhelming happiness is difficult to hold back, and you see Jade genuinely startled once more. He immediately moves to retrieve the handkerchief from his breast pocket, “Oh dear, Prefect, I apolog–”

“Yes! Jade, please marry me!”

extra:

After your confession, Jade walks back to Octavinelle in high spirits. Even Floyd is weirded out by how happy his brother seems, but immediately assumes that Shrimpy had done something nice to him that day. More than nice, actually.

He gathers his materials and the plants he’s foraged to create a terrarium dedicated to you. One out of many, in fact, but this one is special because it marks your first day as a couple. He sets two budding plants together, hoping to see them bloom with you.

Then comes your new routine–preparing you lunches with mushrooms he’s foraged and recipes he threatened asked for from Ruggie, taking initiative and inviting you on hiking dates or go stargazing with him, and clearly giving you special treatment by handing out discounts whenever you visit him at Mostro Lounge Azul is on his last straw.

The only thing running through his head while doing these things is of course, three simple words: I love you. 

Seeing you waiting by the counter at Mostro Lounge? I love you. When he gifted your couple-terrarium and saw how overjoyed you were, he thought, So this is love. Even though hiking wasn’t your strongest suit, you insisted on going with him because you wanted to be part of his hobbies, too. I love the Prefect. 

However, it seems he got a bit carried away, because he never actually uttered these words to you–they remained as constant thoughts in his mind, leading him to believe he always relayed these feelings to you.  Hm, and he has the nerve to wonder why you ask him one day, “Jade, will you ever break up with me?”

hi I #back am at it! i didn't really proofread this and maybe i will edit later on but i want to get it out and stop being a perfectionist LOL so HI HI EVERYONE this is my submission to the jade leech fic community this is all i got for now gang

[inuiiwonderland]

The summer night yuu (you) died

The grief, anger, and pain you have felt all this time has helped to manifest an ancient twisted being that hasn’t been seen in over a millennium.

Words:

Warnings: Angst, body horror (?), no happy ending, sorry my loves, hallucinations, scars, everyone slowly goes crazy, mentions of rotting bodies, sad yuuken, the yuu gang plus grim WILL go through it, Lilia to the rescue! (Will he be able to make it?), yuus know it’s not you/something’s wrong but they try to ignore it, is it selfish on their part? Maybe, lovesick yuuken idc he YEARNS for you. (Cringy? Yes)

-

You were so vulnerable. Carelessly following a dot of light to some hidden cave. Now here you are, on the ground catching your last breath as the life in you begins to slip through your fingers. You feel cold. Really cold and your fingertips feel icy.

Everything around you is dark and eerie. Your finger taps lightly against the cold and wet pavement. You’re trying really hard to fight the urge to go to sleep, but as the seconds go by you feel yourself weakening. Calling for help was utterly useless at this point.

Besides, how can you when your throat has been sliced open and you’re now lying in a puddle of your very own blood.

“Don’t cry little lamb”

“I’ll take it from here”

It drags its long and sharp finger down your face, wiping the small tear that slid down your cheek.

“Mine”

-

He feels like he isn’t running fast enough. He can feel his heart in his ears as he tries to catch up with Lilia. The moment Lilia told him you could be in possible danger, his heart dropped. Now here they were, running as fast as they can to ramshackle dorm as yuuken prays to the great sevens that you’re okay.

He couldn’t think straight, a thousand different types of scenarios run around in his head as he thinks of the worse.

Please be okay

Please be okay please be okay please-

“Y/n!” He burst inside ramshackle dorm, not noticing that Lilia had come to a complete stop as he tried to stop him from going in.

“Wait…yuuken no!”

Please be okay please be okay please be okay

Yuuken slams the door to your room open. Breathing heavily as he frantically looks around for you.

“Y/n? Y/n where are you?!”

He runs to your bed and rips open the covers in hopes of finding you asleep but he only finds it empty. He can’t help but feel sick the longer you’re gone.

Where are you?

“Yuuken?” He freezes. He quickly turns around to find your freshly showered figure standing in the doorway. You wore a pair of sleeping shorts and his shirt that he let you borrow. You had a towel in your hand as you continued drying your hair, and confused as to why he looked so…scared.

“Y/n”

“What are you doing back so early?” You asked curiously. Your voice still had that same soft and sweet tone he always found so soothing. But tonight, you sound a bit, off.

“I-I…” Yuuken can’t help but notice how strange it suddenly feels in your room. Has it always been this cold?

“I didn’t feel good, so I decided to come home early…”

“Oh, okay well..I hope you feel better soon” He nods before going quiet again. Something catches his eye though as you stand there in the doorway. A strange scar on your neck. He frowns.

“Hey did you hurt yourself?”

“Huh?” He walks up to you, carefully pulling your hair to the side as he tries to take a closer look at your neck but in an instant you slap his hand away. Taking the both of you by surprise.

“I’m so sorry!”

“No! No it’s my fault ! I shouldn’t have touched you like that umm I-“

“No I’m sorry! Y-you were only just trying to help I just…I’m sorry” You look down. You feel guilty about slapping his hand away like that.

But again, he can’t know

“It’s getting late, I was just about to go to bed” You say as you walk inside your room. Yuuken turns his phone and sees that you were right, it is late.

“I guess you’re right, well then, goodnight” You smile.

“Goodnight yuuken”

He steps out before closing the door. He was so busy being worried about you that he didn’t notice that Lilia didn’t follow him in.

Strange

Meanwhile, you were busy staring at the mirror that was in your room. You moved your hair aside to see the faint scar that was on your neck. More-so on your throat.

It was a bit red, the skin around it was still healing a bit and if it didn’t react fast enough then yuuken would’ve been able to see the faint outline of sharp claws that ripped your throat hours earlier.

Your once normal and beautiful face now switches to a more paler and scar filled look as the entity smiles wide.

He can hear your faint sobs as he caresses *your* face that was now only bloody and filled with scars.

“Aren’t you just beautiful”

-

Last night was strange. Very strange. When yuuken went to bed after he left your room, he had terrifying dreams.

And they were all of you

You alone in some dark place as you sob quietly. Your face buried in your hands as you cry softly. You sounded, scared.

He remembers going up to you. Carefully asking if you were okay but the moment you look up at him, all he saw was a rotting and twisted face. Your rotting and twisted face as you scream at him.

And he’s been up since.

“Hey yuuken are you okay?” He quickly snaps back and turns to see yuuka. She looks at him worriedly as she notices him acting a bit strange ever since he sat down.

“Y-yes I’m okay it’s just uhh I probably still don’t feel good after yesterday…yeah”

“Okay….well if you need anything don’t be shy to ask any of us” He nods and she goes back to chatting with a very hungry grim who continues to stuff his face with food.

He sighs. He looks around the table and frowns. You haven’t came down yet.

“Good morning y/n!” A loud and enthusiastic Yuuna beams as she sees you walk in. You were already dressed for class like normal. You smiled at her before greeting her and everyone the same.

“Ah y/n! I brought you leftover cake from yesterday! It’s in the fridge if you want it now or later”

“Ah thank you yuuta, though I’m not craving anything sweet this morning, maybe later?”

“That’s okay! Here, I made your breakfast already so you should eat up” you thank him as you took a seat. Yuuna begins to chat with you about her latest new adventure her and grim had along with the first year gang. You just nod along as you listen to her. Quiet and calm like always.

Unbeknownst to you, yuuken can’t help but stare as he watches you silently listen to Yuuna rant.

“So when you going to man up and tell her?” He jolts from his seat as yuuka laughs. Face heating up from embarrassment about being caught.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”

“Ohhh come onnn yuuken! You’ve liked her ever since we got here” He immediately shushes her up as he prays you didn’t hear her.

“You knowwww, I heard someone from heartslabyul has been starting to take a liking to our sweet quiet little lamb-”

“Who?”

“Can’t tell ya” She giggles as yuuken rolls his eyes.

Before any of them could speak again, yuuta gasps as he looks at the time.

“We are going to be late”

“So late!” Everyone quickly rushes to either finish their food or putting their dirty dishes in the sink as they quickly dress up or grab their things.

You quietly put your dish in the sink as you grab your bag from the couch. Grim rests on your shoulder as the two of you wait by the door for everyone else.

“You wearing a new perfume or something?” Grim asks as he sniffs you. You nod and he frowns before shrugging and continuing to snuggle your neck. Unaware of the faint claw marks around your neck.

-

The day went by normally. Not being bothered by anyone and getting your work done on time. Today you impress the whole class by solving a difficult equation under 5 minutes. You quietly walked back to your seat as you ignored the states of everyone.

Soon after, lunch time rolled around and you were the first to exist the classroom. You played with the ends of your hair as you walked down the busy and crowded hall, managing to step away on time to prevent some people from bumping into you.

Today was just too easy

Too easy for this entity to play as you.

“Y/n!” You stop In your tracks at the call of your name. You turn around to see yuuta waving you down. He wasn’t alone and with him was Azul and riddle.

“Hey yuuta” You say softly. Ignoring the two with him.

“Remember that new recipe I was telling you about a couple nights ago?” You ponder for a bit before smiling.

“Yes I do remember! Why?”

“Well I finally had time to make it today and I was wondering if you were up to trying it with me, Azul and riddle!”

He looks so excited. But do you really want to try it with these other losers?

“I would love to! But I have to return this library book before it’s due, maybe save me a piece?”

“Ah that’s okay! I’ll save you one for later! Have a nice day n/m!” You hum before turning away. Ignoring the eyes of those two. Though, as yuuta turns away from you, your face flashes in a twisted form for just a split second.

The two stumbled back.

You raised a brow at the sight of them, confused.

“Everything okay?”

“S-sorry…I thought I saw something..”

“Yeah…me too” You shrug before walking away.

They know what they saw…right?

You suffered a lot from those two my little lamb. Why don’t you make them suffer?

…

-

It’s happening again. Lately yuuken has been having some horrible dreams.

It first started after he came back from kalims party to check up on you. The night he left your room and went to bed, that horrifying imagine of your bloody and twisted face kept him up that night.

He was fine for a week before he started getting them nightly. Just dreams of you getting impaled by sharp claws and then sometimes it’s just you crying for help.

What’s happening? And what could these dreams mean?

Lilia has also been acting strangely lately. He refuses to step foot inside ramshackle and has also forbidden Mallues from taking a nightly stroll around ramshackle.

It’s weird

-

The days went by normally, well normally as a day here in Night Raven College would go.

But the yuus have noticed something strange concerning you.

You finally recovered from your night terrors and your mysterious illness. Which was great! But they also notice how…different you are now.

You’re still quiet, but you have this look in your eyes when you space out.

Almost…dead like.

You stopped asking about home. Stopped going up to Crowley every time you see him and asking him if he has found anything related to getting you and the others back home, which even Crowley finds it weird and concerning.

There’s also times where you don’t sound like yourself. Times where you would say or do things that you never did before, grim has noticed this weird scent coming off you. And no, it wasn’t because you stink or anything, it’s just that this strange scent of magic continues to come from you.

Which is impossible

Because you don’t have magic

Something else that someone outside of the ramshackle dorm noticed about you was how eerily familiar you were with some certain pieces of history. How you talk about it like YOU were there. It was all so strange.

And yuuken has this small voice in the back of his head that keeps telling him…

That this isn’t you

-

“Yuuna! Yuuken!” The two stopped their conversation to turn to see who called them. Yuuna smiles as she sees that it was their friend from heartslabyul. Deuce.

“Hey deucy- huh? Are you okay?” Upon seeing the expression he wore, it was definitely something that wasn’t okay.

“I-It’s *gasps* it’s about y-y/n!” The two yuus froze. Yuuken almost immediately grabbing deuce by the shoulders.

“What is it? Is she injured-”

“She’s fainted during flight class! I-I she looked pale and her nose started to bleed!” They both looked at each other in worried before quickly thanking deuce and running to the nurses office.

…

“She’ll be okay, it was probably due to lack of eating and not getting proper rest. I gave her some medicine and helped her get cleaned up from the blood”

When Yuuna and Yuuken got ahold of what happened to you, they immediately informed the others. Grim almost fainted himself when he heard the news and immediately told Ace to take him to the nurses office.

Now here they were, all huddled up around the clinic bed as you for the hundredth time told them that you were okay.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Deuce asked. He too followed after the two yuus once he told them about the situation. Ace also stood beside him as he tried to not look like he was also worried.

You may be weird and quiet, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. He’s not that heartless.

“Yes deuce I’m okay, so don’t worry” You gave him a soft smile. His flustered look didn’t go unnoticed by yuuken whose brows furrowed while yuuka tried not to laugh.

“Told you” she faked coughed next to yuuken.

“Alright dear, you may go. But remember! Take that every morning and before you go to bed! Most importantly, don’t forget to eat and rest”

“Yes ma’am” The nurse smiles before helping you get up and escorting you guys out.

“Do you want me to make soup for you again?”

“It’s fine yuuta, really! So don’t worry”

“You sure n/m? Is your illness back again?”

They’re too attentive

“I promise it’s not, I just wasn’t resting properly! But from now on I will, Kay?”

-

Months go by after that, so far no overblots have happened and everyone is praying to keep it that way.

There wasn’t much updates about your normal world anymore. Not like any of you found it surprising since a certain somebody doesn’t really like doing their job.

Anyway…

Everything was well, till now.

Maybe it’s from the constant stress in classes that they needed to pay extra attention in. Or maybe trauma from the previous overblots that they have fought in. Right? Those have to be reasons behind these dreams. These dreams that keep them up at night and that always comes back to haunt them.

It started off with yuuken.

He’s been having these dreams ever since that day with you and Lilia. Dreams about you crying in a dark and lonely place. Dreams where you are gasping for air as you try to scream for help. Then there are the ones of him. The ones where he isn’t in control of his own body anymore and something is controlling him. Acting like him.

In those dreams he is covered in what is…blood. Lots and lots of blood as he cries to himself about what’s he’s done. Everyone that he comes to know is all sprawled out on the floor as their bodies look like they were mauled by some wild animal.

He hates those the most.

The second one to start having nightmares was yuuka. At first she thought it was regular nightmares. She’s had a few since the first overblot with riddle in the past. But those went away a little after.

But the ones now. They’re different.

She sees herself in a field of white roses that soon turn red before they start moving weird. The closer look she gets of them, the more she realizes they look more like hearts.

Actual human hearts.

Then she sees you. Staring at her with a straight face. She calls your name but you don’t answer. She tries to get closer but the more she walks and soon runs, the farther you get away.

And when she finally gets close, she gasps as she sees that you aren’t…alive.

You were dead the whole time

The third person didn’t get nightmares yet, instead they would see things. And unfortunately, it was Yuuna.

It happened when she was walking to the bathroom in the middle of the night. She’s had drinked too much water that day and was really in need of using the bathroom. She walked in without knocking and before she had the chance of turning on the light she screamed when she saw a huge and disturbing figure standing in the bathroom. The lights immediately turned on and you rushed out the bathroom with a worried look.

“Yuuna! Are you okay?” You asked her. You were worried and she didn’t know how to respond.

Maybe she watched too many scary movies with epel the night before, that’s why!

Haha!

Right?

“I’m fine! So sorry for screaming like that”

“So sorry for scaring you” Maybe it was just the paranoia, but something flashed in those eyes of yours when you said that.

But she chose to ignore it

The second time it happened, she couldn’t ignore it. The two of you were sitting on a bench sharing a snack together. She was busy talking while you listened. At one point she turns to you to get your opinion about the topic and her face pales as she meets your eyes.

Half of your face was rotting.

And when she blinked, it was gone.

“Are you okay yuu?”

The fourth person was yuuta

His weren’t as bad as the rest, but it doesn’t make it any less eerie and unsettling.

He dreams about you. A lot.

You look beautiful in his dreams. But he never sees your face. Your back is always facing him and you have on a beautiful white dress as you run in what looks like a field.

He doesn’t understand them at first, why is he dreaming about you?

You always guide him in these dreams. Somewhere far by how much the two of you walk. You’re always in front of him. When he first started getting these dreams, it was always in that same grassy field.

But as days and weeks go by, the scenery slowly starts changing.

In the distance, he can see a dark and mysterious cave, very different from the peaceful and quiet surroundings he was used to.

And as he keeps dreaming, the closer he gets to it.

The last one is grim.

Oh grim

He’s cradled in your arms as you laugh and talk to him. He’s not sure what you’re saying, it all sounds muffled but he enjoys your company.

But the one thing that he can’t help but look at every now and then is the strange looking figure that stands behind you. It’s not close to the two of you, in fact it’s standing very far away.

But it has been there since he started having these dreams.

Looking

From far away

And he swears that as each dream comes and goes, it gets closer.

By this point, they know something is wrong. They know that whatever is currently living with them isn’t you. It’s stupid. Really stupid because even when it shows itself to them, they turn a blind eye to it. They act like it’s not there. Because if they try to acknowledge it, if they learn the real truth about what happened to you.

They wouldn’t be able to take it.

-

It can’t be too late. It can’t!

He’s been staying up a lot lately, actually no! For months. For months Lilia has been staying up late at night doing research and trying to find a solution to this problem. He knows he still has time, he can’t fail!

He can still save you, right?

Silver has been worried, he knows that his father wouldn’t go sick by not sleeping. After all his father is a fae.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t worried about Lilia’s wellbeing.

Silver and sebek don’t know what Lilia has been trying to look for in the last 4 months, but whatever it is must be serious to have him like this.

Malleus knows something’s wrong.

Ever since that night Lilia came to his bedchambers and forbade him from ever being near ramshackle territory, he knew something wasn’t right.

And he’s seen it first hand.

You

You aren’t right

He hasn’t talked to you since the night of kalims party. That morning he only asked you one question.

“Are you doing well?” And he was sincere about it. He’s seen how stressed and sick you were. He’s sat and listen to yuuka rant about how worried she was about you because of your constant nightmares.

And when he would accompany yuuta to Sam’s shop so he can look for the ingredients for your soups that he would make you when you would get sick.

He’s seen it all.

And he always has seen how much you changed.

You were always so awkward and quiet. Sitting quietly in your seat during class and listening rather than talking when you were with the yuus and friends.

He’s taken a liking to you, seeing how similar you guys were. Always being forgotten and never invited to any events.

But now, when he walks the halls of Night Raven and catches a glimpse of you during passing period.

He knows it’s not you.

-

No one knows what truly happened that night. Yuuken has come to terms with the fact that maybe, he really did come too late. The person he come to love while being here isn’t herself anymore. That whatever is currently living underneath their roof isn’t her.

He misses you dearly, he regrets not being there that night. Whatever happened to you, he just hopes it was fast and painless.

“Yuuken!” He turns to see you. You wave him down as you show him that wonderful smile of yours.

Sometimes the thing that plays you messes up. You wouldn’t have smiled that way, nor would you have said something like that, you wouldn’t have acted like that at all, you hated the texture of that specific dish.

The scar on your neck, it slowly fades overtime. But he can still see the faint outline of claws. You always cover it with makeup or your hair when you’re able to. He avoids meeting your eyes when you catch him looking at it, you find it amusing.

“Don’t worry, it heals”

He ignores that too.

“What was that?”

“Oh nothing!”

-

It’s one of those nights again. He looks around at his surroundings.

Huh?

Weird, it’s not usually the same old dark and gloomy dreams he’s been having for months.

No

Instead its, calm? And peaceful. He seems to be in some sort of field? The sun shines brightly and the wind blows softly, so calm, so peaceful, so…you.

“Yuuken?” His heart flutters. He turns around to see you. You looked at him confused, why is he here?

“Y/n?”

“What are you doing here?”

“This is my dream…”

“Dream?” He nods. Your eyes lit up and you quickly run to him. You embrace him in a tight hug, yuuken despite being confused and slightly flustered hugs you back.

“I don’t know how much time we have until you wake up or I disappear but listen to me carefully”

Oh?

“That person, that “version” of me, it’s not me”

“Don’t trust it, don’t believe it, it’s. Not. Me. It took over me, it copied my face, my body, my personality- everything about me!”

“But why? Why you?” He holds your hands tightly. Because why? Why you? Why did it come after you?

The person he loves

“Because….because I was in a really bad place. I was vulnerable and alone and scared- I couldn’t do it anymore”

“It fed off my negative emotions” You were now crying. He gently wipes away your tears with his thumb. He makes you look at him as the two of you hold eye contact.

“You- You should’ve told me…if I knew that night that something was wrong then I would’ve stopped it from taking you-”

“It still would’ve taken me, even if it wasn’t on that night specifically”

“M’sorry yuu…” Your grip on his shirt grows tighter as you sense that he’s about to wake up.

“Yuuken…I never really got to tell you this…”

“But I love you!” In that moment, he feels your lips against his. He feels sparks as the two of you kiss.

He breaks it off by holding your face with his hands and blurting out those same words.

“I love you too!”

Yuuken immediately jolts awake with a loud gasp.

And in that same moment he sees something.

A white light

His phone rings. He’s still staring at the random white light that’s glowing in the middle of his room.

His phone continues to ring

What the hell?

He doesn’t know how but his phone answers the call and almost immediately he’s broken out of his daze.

“Don’t look at it!”

“What?” On the other end of the line is a panting Lilia.

“Yuuken whatever you do don’t follow it!” He says. He seems to be running, but where?

“I’m almost near ramshackle! Don’t let you or the others follow that light!” After that sentence, from his doorway he can see yuuta along with grim walk past.

Almost like…

THE LIGHT

Yuuken immediately jumps out of bed and dashes out the door to his room. He sees yuuta and grim follow the light as they slowly make their way to the stairs. He rushes over to them in a flash.

“No! Don’t follow it!” He screams. He grabs ahold of both yuuta and grim. Forcing them to look away. By some miracle the two broke out of what seemed to be a spell. They look at Yuuken confused before gasping as they see yuuka and Yuuna.

They were already outside.

“No! Yuuka! Yuuna!” He screams. He runs down the stairs to stop the two young girls as yuuta and grim follow suit.

Yuuken managed to grab Yuuna and snap her out of the trance before he looks over to see yuuka getting farther and farther away.

He runs after her, heart pumping as he goes to get her before she enters the woods.

And it seems like the great sevens have heard him as Lilia flys almost immediately to grab and tackle yuuka against the floor. She breaks out of whatever spell she was under as she looks at lilia confused.

What the fuck is happening?

“Lilia, what is this?”

….

The look that he wore. It looked almost like…defeat? But why?

Lilia turns to glare at the woods behind him. His fist clenched as he stares at it longer.

“Lilia…what’s Happening?”

“Does this have to do with…y/n?”

“I’m sorry yuuken…she’s long gone”

“Guys…” The rest turn to yuuta, who is looking at the forest behind them.

It’s like they’re seeing a ghost. It’s you.

The real you

“Y-y/n?” Grim chokes out. You look stunning. But also different. You smile. YOUR smile. You hold something in your hands, and in an instant, Lilia already knows what it is.

It’s a sharp red dagger

You set it down on the ground before taking a step back, and running back inside the woods.

“Wh-”

“We have to follow her!” Yuuta screams. Lilia follows after him and soon the rest get up and run after them too.

“I seen this before…”

The dreams

All this time, you’ve been showing yuuta where to find you.

Lilia uses his fae speed to catch up to you. Somewhere deep down reassured him that this you meant no harm.

You also want this to end

They’re getting farther and farther away from the dorm. Farther away from night Raven and farther away from any civilization.

But they didn’t care.

They slowly came to a halt as you ran inside a dark and eerie cave.

“She’s in there”

“How are you so sure? What if it’s a trap to lure us in?”

“Because I’ve seen it” They all look at yuuta.

“All this time…she’s been showing me the way to find her….the real her”

“You…you been dreaming about her too?” Yuuka asks. Everyone looks at each other before slowly confirming.

“She’s been giving us clues…about what happened to her and where she is”

“Then…who was with us? ” Chills went down everyone spines at that question. Who was that version of you? That was with them this whole entire time.

“It was the entity” Lilia whispers.

“If it took her appearance…it’s most likely-”

“She’s dead..” Yuuna immediately begins to tear up. Grim hides behind yuuta as the thought of You being…gone settles in his head.

“No…we have to hope!” Yuuna cries.

“Whatever she gave us, does this have to do something with the entity? “

“She gave us the one thing that can help stop this” The dagger glistens underneath the moonlight.

Their eyes move to where the cave entrance was.

…

It’s time.

It was dark and cold. Yuuta begins to follow the path where you took him in his dreams. As he guides everyone follows, Lilia holds the dagger close the deeper they go.

The deeper they go, the stronger the foul stench grows.

…

Yuuta comes to a complete stop. There you stood, staring at them menacingly.

It’s the entity

“Long time no see, yuus”

The fight lasted longer than expected. The moment Lilia laid eyes on it he pounced. Magic after magic as he fought this ancient creature as it taunted not only him but also the yuus and grim.

Oh grim

He was devastated. He tried to keep his emotions in check as he blowed hot fire towards it, being a bit hesitant because the cruel entity still decided to play as you.

But they managed to defeat it. Because as it was about to claw Lilia yuuken was able to pierced its chest with the red dagger behind its back.

A loud and ancient sound escaped its mouth that night as it thrashed and glitched between you and its true form. But at last, it was over.

During its final moments it finally crawled out of you, trying to save bits of itself but lilia was fast enough to stop it. You were finally at peace. This nightmare was finally over.

Yuuken was happy, happy to know that you are now at peace and that you can finally rest.

But another part of him was devastated.

You suffered so much. And he can’t help but to blame himself.

“Don’t blame yourself” He breaks out of his thoughts. Lilia is staring at him.

“She wouldn’t like to see you blaming yourself” He gently pats the young boys back.

“Besides, she’s happy that she was finally able to confess her love to you before she fully left”

“And even more happier knowing it’s mutual”

How did he?

“I have my ways” The older fae winks at him.

Everyone is finally at peace…

-

I AM SO SORRY FOR MAKING EVERYONE WAIT 8 MONTHS COR TGIS😭💔💔

also sorry for rushed ending I was literally dying writing all this (not literally but yk)

But yes it’s finally here!

Some things did change sorry about that but I hope you guys aren’t disappointed with how everything turned out😓 and yes, sad ending because I never really planned on it having a happily ever after ending.

Welp, THATS ALLL

Taglist:

@d3l1

@katscloudy

@flolol

@scarredtarts

@djkew

@musyumaro

@cactusjuice63

@idynk

@ancient-raven

@faltaterapia

@apollo1028

@sunsethw4

@lleoll

[lilyofthisvalley18]

Hihi, would you be interested in writing a sebek x reader story? (Reader doesn't have to be Yuu)

I don't know if we're supposed to write specific details, but maybe something about Sebek being terribly nervous about his first date with the reader and asking everyone for advice.

But any story idea is fine!!

Hi!! Tysm for requesting <3 I didn’t mention it, but yes details are very helpful!! It’s my first time writing sebek so I really hope you’ll like it 💖

Something about you

Sebek Zigvolt x reader

WC : 1,060

In which a knight tries to show his devotion

“MASTER LILIA I SEEK YOUR ADVICE ON AN IMPORTANT MATTER!” Boomed Sebek's voice in Diasomnia one day

“No need to shout Sebek, I am right here.” Lila gently told him from his space on the couch. “Come, sit and tell me what you need help with.” the senior patted the space next to him.

“Well i-i.” The first year stuttered as if he suddenly couldn't speak, and to Lilia’s surprise, he even refused to meet him in the eye. The bat fae suddenly grew very curious of what caused the normally loud and confident Sebek to end up in such a state.

“Go on, no need to be so nervous.” Lilia gently tried to encourage the boy. He was sure he'd be prepared no matter what Sebek threw at him, after all he's been training the boy since he was young, and has seen him go through many different stages of life.

“I have invited the ramshackle prefect on a date, but I am shamefully unprepared when it comes to such matters.” Sebek finally admitted with light pink dusting his cheeks and the tip of his ears.

“A date? How wonderful!” Lilia couldn't help but exclaim, after all he noticed the growing affection Sebek had for the prefect and was happy Sebek decided to act on it.

“Who has a date?”Silver asked as he entered the diasomnia lounge.

“SILVER THIS DOES NOT CON-“

“Our dear Sebek has asked the prefect on a date!”

“MASTER LILIA!”

Just as Sebek was about to protest Silver being a part of this conversation, another person walked through the door.

“Hm? Sebek is courting the child of man?” asked Malleus with a hint of surprise in his voice.

“LORD MALLEUS! I DEEPLY APOLOGISE FOR USING THE COMMON SPACE FOR MY PERSONAL CONCERNS, I SHALL-“

“It's alright Sebek, in fact I am quite curious about this so called date with the prefect myself.” Malleus’ face remained unchanged for the most part, but Lilia could see the slight upward quirk of his lips.

After that, both Malleus and Lilia started giving the young half fae advice, and he was sure Silver would've offered some as well if he hadn't fallen asleep as soon as he sat down next to his father.

“You could serenade them outside their window, why you could even compose the song yourself!” Lilia offered enthusiastically.

“Nonsense lilia, that would simply scare them off,” Malleus scoffed at the idea. “Sebek, what you should do is take them on a walk in the ruins of the castle close to the woods behind ramshackle.” Malleus said with a smile on his face.

“What? how is that romantic at all?” Lilia asked incredulously.

“Well, it is certainly better than your idea,” the prince pouted.

While the two older fae were arguing over who had the better idea, Sebek was even more lost than before. He truly wanted to impress you, but he simply had no idea how.

“Have you taken in consideration what the prefect will enjoy the most?” Silver suddenly spoke, having woken up a short while ago.

“Who do you take me for, Silver?! Of course I have!” Sebek answered with much vitriol. But in truth, he hasn't really taken what you like into account, he was so nervous trying to come up with the perfect date, he forgot the most important aspect of it, you.

And suddenly an idea came to mind, something you made as a passing comment, that the devoted knight nonetheless remembered.

After thanking both Malleus and Lilia for their contribution (nevermind that it was Silver who helped in the end), he retreated to the kitchen and started preparing for your date tomorrow.

—----------------------------------------------------

“Wow, this place is so beautiful!” You exclaimed upon seeing the place Sebek brought you to.

After passing the woods behind your dorm, you were welcomed by the sight of a cliff that overlooked the ocean below, and the sky that you were sure reflected your own feelings, serene without a cloud in sight.

“Of course it is, I have chosen it after all!” Sebek boasted with pride and then added a much quieter “I am glad you like it.”

“And the weather is perfect for a picnic, too!” You smiled as you turned to him. “Let me help you set it up.”

“No need, what kind of knight would I be if I let my beloved do the work? I would bring shame to Lord Malleus!” he declared, but quickly panicked upon seeing the look on your face. “What is the matter? Is something not to your liking?!”

“I'm your beloved?” You asked as you felt heat rising to your face.

Of course, it was nothing compared to the brilliant crimson Sebek was starting to show on his cheeks and ears.

“W-well, it is simply a-a manner of speaking” he quickly spurred.

“So am I not your beloved then?” You pretended to be upset, but in truth you just wanted to mess with him a little.

“N-no that's not-” he paused when he saw you laugh.

“I'm just kidding, Sebek” You told him in between laughs, “I'm gonna let you finish setting up and then we can start eating.” And you turned your eyes back to the view in front of you, missing the complicated expression on the half fae’s face.

He said it when you were halfway into finishing your food

“I do think of you as my beloved.” Sebek declared, electric green eyes locked into yours, and you almost spat out your food.

“You do?” You asked a bit sheepishly, you had quite the crush on Sebek for a while, but wasn’t this a little too early?

“I-i do, i am aware that this may seem hasty on my part,” He began, and even as he was getting redder, he still never broke eye contact, “But it is how I truly feel. I am aware sometimes I can be… loud and brash, but I promise I will always cherish you and you will always have my devotion if you choose to continue our courting” The way he was so earnest reminded you of stories from back home of a knight declaring his love to a princess.

He was starting to get nervous waiting for you to reply. But why would he be? After all there was only one answer.

“Of course i will, beloved.”

[auxirela]

Legendary Lovers

desc: five years after graduation, NRC holds a masquerade ball for the alumni. old classmates find each other, recognizing each other through the masks. unexpectedly, the famous Vil Schoenheit arrives with an unknown woman by his side. or is she really that unknown?

word count: 4.7k

warnings: none

The first thing you notice when you arrive at Night Raven College is that the roses are still alive. 

It was ridiculous to you. Out of everything you could have noticed, it was the deep crimson roses that looked just as beautiful as when you had been attending the school. 

For a moment, the years from then and now had disappeared. It made your chest ache with a familiar feeling of nostalgia. 

You felt like you could almost hear Ace and Grim bickering in the courtyard in the distance, all while Deuce fought to break them up, or Crowley pretending that the school wasn’t in a constant state of disarray from his lack of effort. 

Night Raven College had always been a chaotic mess while you were there, but it was also your first home in this world. 

Standing here now, dressed in a flowing violet and silver embroidered dress, beneath the school's floating lanterns, you realize that you never stopped missing this place. 

Beside you, Vil noticed your gaze at the roses.

“You’re staring again,” he hummed next to you. 

You glance over to him, a faint smile on your lips. “I was just remembering some things.” 

“Yes, I assumed as much. You have that look of longing new actors could only dream of perfecting.”

“Oh, please. You say that about any ounce of emotion people show on their face.” 

“It’s not my fault they can’t make a face that looks accurate to their words.”  

Your laughter slips out before you can stop it.

Vil’s gaze flickers over to you at the sound, and something in his expression softens. So small it was nearly imperceptible. 

It wasn’t enough for any passerby to notice. But it was enough for you. 

It was always enough for you. 

The five years had changed him. Anyone was able to see that. 

Vil Schoenheit had already been so beautiful that it was intimidating. Now at twenty-three, he had become so refined in a way that everything appeared effortless, something so elegantly lethal. Somehow, despite all that, you are the one next to him that he chooses every time. His personal safe place and home. 

“You think loudly,” he murmurs as he brushes the hair from your face. 

“Like you can hear my thoughts.” 

“When you're being this reminiscent, it's hard not to.”  

Tonight already feels strangely special. 

Not because of the masquerade itself, although you must say that the campus looks entirely too enchanting. But because the two of you haven’t been able to attend and properly enjoy a ball like this in quite some time. Not properly, anyway. 

There were always cameras that followed him.

You were able to hear the music from just outside the entrance of the school. You glance toward him again, unable to keep yourself from smiling. 

“What?” 

“I’m excited.” 

Vil pauses. “You’ve been talking about this ball for the past two weeks.” 

“Because we never get to attend things like this anymore.” 

“You attended the Fleur City premiere with me just last month, though?” 

“That doesn’t count, and you know it.” 

“You looked beautiful.” 

“You were working.” 

Vil opens his mouth to respond, but closes it quickly, knowing that you weren’t wrong. All of the events you had gone to together, you both had to act for the cameras, and half the time, he was dragged away to talk to other co-workers. 

Above you, the lanterns floated, the orchestra becoming louder as you approached the ballroom. And for the first time in a while, everything feels lighter. 

You slip your hands behind your back, rocking on your heels slightly as you look around the campus. 

“You know,” you spoke, “I think Crowley may have actually done something good for once.” 

Vil chuckles, “Don’t say that aloud. You’ll only encourage his silly ideas.” 

You laugh with him. Sevens, you missed this. 

Not just being a student here, or at the school. But being here like this with him. 

With the quiet moments, where you are both able to be yourself. 

“You’re bouncing.” 

“I am doing no such thing.” 

“You are.” 

“Sevens forbid I’m excited.” 

“You’re behaving like grim in your first year.” 

You scoff jokingly, “That’s mean.” 

“It’s accurate.” 

You grin shamelessly, “and yet you still stare at me with all the care in the world.” 

Vil sighs through his nose as though he were burdened by this revelation. 

“You’re insufferable tonight.” 

“Yet you love me deeply.” 

“I tolerate you generously.” 

“Vil.” 

“Yes,” he says, “I am devastatingly, hopelessly, unfortunately in love with you. There, are you satisfied?” 

You beam, “Very.”

His face changes from exasperation to a small smile as he holds his arm out for you to take. Your arms are intertwined as you walk toward the entrance of the hall. Despite it coming naturally now after five years, it still made your chest feel warm. 

You remember when something this simple used to be so nerve-wracking to you. 

Back then, getting the chance to love Vil felt so dangerous in ways you couldn’t properly explain. He was already destined for fame and greatness before graduation, already carrying more ambitions than half the student population. You were always worried you would hold him back from that. 

However, Vil had looked at all of your fears and dismantled every single one. He did so with terrifying precision, too, making sure not to leave you with a single reason to be afraid. 

“You speak as though loving you would ruin my future,” he had said quietly one night.

You had nearly cried that night. Not because he was cruel, but because he was the complete opposite. 

Vil loved fiercely once he allowed himself to. Being loved by Vil was like standing in the warm sunlight after being stuck out in the cold for years. 

The memory still gave you the feeling of butterflies in the best way, even though you used to hate the feeling of them. 

Two security guards open the doors as you approach. Walking into the ballroom, the air changes around you two. People part for the two of you while they stare. 

People notice Vil immediately. How could they not? Even now, when everyone knows him from his school years, he enters with a regal air around him, as if he were made for people to stare.  

Quickly, people begin to notice your presence, too. Curious murmurs ripple through the crowd of people watching. Many were wondering who you were. Others are wondering your status, considering Vil Schoenheit never arrives with anyone so casually. 

The ballroom itself was unreal. It glowed with magic. Sparkling constellations decorate the ceiling, along with silver ribbons decorating the walls. 

“This is beautiful,” you whisper. 

Vil looks at you through his mask, “You sound impressed.” 

“I am impressed.” 

“Good. You should be.” 

You shake your head at him fondly. Nearby, conversations are already trying to solve your identity. You take two champagne glasses from a waiter’s tray passing by. You hand the second one to Vil. 

He takes it without a glance in your direction, his attention still on the crowd. These were small habits you both picked up after a while. Thoughtless gestures built over the events together. 

Leona notices it first.

He watched as Vil leaned down to hear you over the music. 

“No way,” he mutters to no one in particular. 

Ruggie looks up, “What?” 

Leona snorts into his drink. “Nothing.”  

Across the room, Ace nearly chokes on his drink. He smacks his hand against Deuce’s chest to get his attention. 

“Juice, do we know them?” Ace asks. 

Deuce doesn’t bother to look up from his glass before replying, “Ace, you thought Professor Trein was the Ghost Bride.” 

“That was one time.” 

Next to them, Epel looks at you over his glass. “Wait a second,” he squints at you. 

You immediately turn your face toward Vil before any of them could stare any longer. You giggle to yourself at how fun this was. 

Vil’s lips twitch faintly beneath the rim of his glass. “You are enjoying this far more than you claimed you would.” 

“Maybe just a little.” 

“Of course you are.” 

“You’re one to talk,” you nudge him lightly. “You look delighted.” 

“I always look delighted.” 

“Fine, you look smug.” 

“That too.” 

The orchestra shifts to a slower melody, and the strings play throughout the room delicately. Everything felt like a dream.  

The sort of memory that will only exist as it is happening. Unable to be captured by photos or videos. You glance around the room once more. 

NRC was beautiful, more beautiful than you had remembered. It was fitting for the old castle, and the attention to detail at the school never left you anything short of amazed when you were there as a student. 

Everywhere you looked, you saw familiar faces, more grown up and aged slightly over five years. Your eyes landed on your old friend group.

Ace had grown into his confidence, no longer forcing himself to be the loudest in the room. However, the constant glint of mischief never seemed to have gone. Deuce carried himself in a way that would have shocked his first-year self, he was calmer and more composed. Epel had sharpened around the edges over the last few years, his sweet appearance had become his own. Jack held an air that made him more dependable, it was grounding even from a distance. Sebek’s intensity seemed to have become quieter, and much more intimidating. 

Staring at them from afar, you realize you missed them above all, more than attending NRC. While off in your own world of wondering how your friends were, you felt a shift in the hand around your arm. Before you could turn to Vil to say anything, a familiar face appeared before you two. 

White hair bounced into your vision, followed closely by someone with long black hair. 

“Vil!” Kalim beams. “You finally arrived.” 

Jamil, who wasn’t far behind, already looked exhausted. He was mumbling something to himself tiredly before looking up, “You say that as though he wasn’t invited.” 

“He almost wasn’t,” you turned to see Azul walking over to you all. “Crowly nearly had a breakdown just trying to plan security for this event, especially after Vil confirmed his attendance.” 

Vil sighs dramatically, “You say that as if I asked for all of that fuss.” 

“You absolutely expect it, though,” Floyd chimes in from somewhere nearby. 

You bite back a smile. And for a moment, no one seems to notice your presence. Their attention remains mostly fixated on Vil, which has begun to feel normal. 

You look over toward Kalim and see that he is already watching you. 

His eyes widen behind his mask, and he grins widely. 

“Oh,” he says, “you’re very pretty.” 

Vil preens at the compliment as though it were said to him. He knew he was very lucky to be attending this with you, as you two were the most beautiful couple anyone had seen before. 

You laugh, “Thank you.” 

“You seem nice too,” he adds. 

“Can you?” 

“Yeah,” he trails off, “Vil usually looks kind of scary at parties like this, but he looks super happy right now.” 

Vil looks horrified at this revelation, “I do not look scary.” 

Jamil deadpans at the man, “You absolutely do.”

“How unfortunate that must be for all of you,” Vil states. 

You hid your smile behind your glass. 

Everyone you hadn’t seen in the longest time, finally together again. Old friends teasing each other like no time had passed. Everyone’s curiosity grew with your enjoyment. No one had recognized you. Not yet, at least. 

Many people only saw Vil’s performances and presumed he would be too exhausting to love. They were wrong. Yes, Vil did expect excellence from the world and himself alike, but when he was with you, there was so much gentleness. 

When you think about loving him, you don’t see him as a celebrity or the legacy of the fairest queen in all of twisted wonderland. You see him as himself. 

The orchestra swelled into yet another melody. This time, it was long and romantic. Conversations quiet as more people move toward the floor, Vil holds out his arm expectantly. 

You look up at him with confusion on your face. 

“You want to dance, am I wrong?” 

You brighten and take hold of his arm.

As you look at him, everything around you stills. There were no reporters near to bother you, there were no interviews lined up, and there was no work to be done. It was just you and Vil. 

The music flowed through the room, and Vil’s hand found the side of your waist. Even now, as you stood lost in each other’s gaze, he looked unreal. His pale hair catches the light, similar to how his violet bejeweled mask does. 

Vil guided you to the center of the floor slowly, the crowd parting around you. The candlelight from the chandelier hanging above you reflected across the marble. 

The first step of the dance was impossibly soft. Vil drew you effortlessly into the dance, your dress sweeping across the floor in flowing waves of violet and silver sparkles. 

The world narrowed until it was only you and him. You only felt the warmth in his hand, the look in his eyes. 

Goodness, Vil was watching you like you had hung the moon and stars just for him. Dancing with him had always felt intimate, but tonight it felt different. 

His gloved hand tightened around yours as he spun you around. 

The music slowed further, and the two of you pulled closer. Your joined hands rested on his shoulder, and his other hand was steady on the side of your waist. 

Vil lowered his head slightly, close enough so only you could hear, “You’re radiant tonight.” 

You smiled, “You already called me beautiful, Vil.” 

“This is different.” 

For a moment, you forget the ballroom entirely. 

Rook watches from the balcony above, his old friend and the mysterious stranger dancing around with no other thought on their mind. Never had he seen Vil so entranced with someone before, and he had never seen him so in love before. 

You are filled with laughter as the two of you spin around endlessly, and Vil looks undone by the sound of it. There is something boyish in his expression, something much younger. 

“You’re drifting again,” he hums. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“No, you aren’t.” 

“I can’t help it when I'm with you.” 

The song slows to its final movement. Around you, the ballroom had fallen quiet. All of them are watching you. 

“You know,” you mutter, “they’re definitely still gossiping about us.” 

“They have been for years.” 

“True,” you admit. 

His thumbs brush against your waist, “and we’ll let them.” 

Even back at NRC, rumors would follow him everywhere. People would gossip about anything they could think of, from his grades to the people he spent time with. There had always been eyes on him, from when you met him to now. 

At seventeen, it used to exhaust him more than he’d like to admit. At twenty-three, he wears it purposefully. Tonight, the attention shifted to you, who stood so naturally beside him. 

The final notes of the song ring out as Vil spins you a final time. Applause ripples through the room as people move off the dance floor with you. 

“You enjoyed that far too much,” he says. 

“And you were the one who was trying to seduce me through the choreography.” 

Vil looks entirely unapologetic, “and?” 

You shake your head while accepting another glass from a passing tray. 

“I’ve literally never seen him look at anyone like that,” Epel said, “Not even Rook.” 

“Do you think they’ve been dating long?” Jack asks. 

Nearby, a certain card soldier is recording himself, “This is the best reunion ever, like this is totes iconic. There is literally a mystery romance going on, and no one can figure out who it is.” 

He puts his phone away, a rare occurrence for him, and he wanders over to you. You smile as he approaches.

“Hey, don’t mean to be #annoying or anything, but I was wondering if I knew you from somewhere?” Cater asked. 

“Hm, I don’t know if you do know me,” you shrug. 

“Hm.” Cater stares at you for a moment, and your pulse skips. “Well I hope we at least get to know each other soon, you seem so fun!” 

Epel was still staring at you whenever he felt like you wouldn’t notice. Unfortunately, you and Vil both did. 

“Epel, I thought I would have taught you not to stare, no?” Vil chastises. 

Epel jumps, “I don’t know, did you?” 

Before you have a chance to join the conversation, another familiar voice from before cuts through. 

“Well,” Azul says thoughtfully, “whoever you may be, you have accomplished something I had previously believed to be impossible.” 

You glance toward him, “and what might that be?” 

Azul adjusts his glasses, “You’ve somehow managed to make Vil pleasant at a social function.” 

Vil sighs, “Must we all speak as though I am some sort of hostile animal? I am not that difficult to talk to normally.” 

“Yes,” Floyd answers for Azul. “You do glare at people often.” 

“Well, most people are irritating.” 

“And yet,” Azul continues, his gaze flicking toward you, ‘you seem to be remarkably relaxed tonight.” 

Floyd gasps at this, “Oh my sevens, you have heart eyes, betta fish.” 

“I do not have heart eyes, what an absurd phrase.” Vil scoffs.  

Vil looks moments away from using his unique magic on someone, while you try to hold back your laughter. 

Across the ballroom, more familiar faces begin to come closer, one by one. Riddle arrives looking as elegant as ever. However, his expression shifted when he saw Vil standing beside you.

“How interesting,” he says carefully.

“I know, right, Riddle, do you want to hear what I’ve gathered?” 

Riddle ignores Cater’s attempts to gossip with him as his eyes narrow toward you. 

“You dance very well,” he says politely. 

“Thank you.” 

“You seem familiar. Do I know you from anywhere?” 

You blink in surprise. Vil notices quickly, and his hand settles against the small of your back. 

You realize that it isn’t just Vil’s arrival with you that surprised them. It was the way he looked at you. 

Vil had always been so open with you, you never noticed the difference. He hadn’t attempted to hide his love for you from anyone tonight. 

The entire night now feels suspended between the dream you had imagined before and a fairytale. Beside one of the windows, Sebek stood, now with the group he had spent his first year at NRC with. 

Lilia stood next to him, staring contentedly at you with his ever mischievous grin. Malleus stands beside him, also watching you. Unlike everyone else, they don't look confused. Malleus’ eyes met yours across the room.

Of course, they, of all people, recognize you. You spent too much time around them for them not to. Silver follows their gaze in confusion. 

“Do you know who she is?” He asks. 

Malleus lifts his glass slightly without breaking eye contact. “I believe that tonight’s mystery may not remain mysterious much longer.” 

“Oh, is that so?” Lilia says delightedly. 

On the other end of the room, Ace was still spiraling. 

“No, because this is seriously driving me insane,” he complains to Deuce, “I swear I know them. There's just something about them.” 

“You claim to know everyone, Ace.” Deuce sighs exasperated. 

“No, but this is different.” 

“You said that about the barista the other day. Please give it a rest.” 

You laugh under your breath at everyone’s confusion. Your eyes sweep across the room, a few people you had yet to reunite with, while they don’t know it's you, you still got the reunion you wanted. Your eyes land on the dance floor again, lingering for a few seconds longer. 

Vil notices, “Do you wish to dance more?” 

“I always want another dance with you.” 

“You say things like that so very casually,” he murmurs. 

“It’s your fault for being so romantic.” 

“I am not romantic.” 

From somewhere nearby, you hear people laughing at what they heard. 

“You wrote poetry once,” you remind him softly. 

Vil looks horrified at the reminder. “We agreed to never discuss that again, I thought.” 

Ace gasps, “You wrote poetry?” 

“It was one time.” 

“How bad was it?” Epel asks you eagerly. 

Vil points a perfectly manicured nail at him. “Don’t start.” 

You grin, “It wasn’t bad.” 

Vil looked like he would rather praise Niege than be here at this moment. As the conversations between you all continue, the music begins to fade as a microphone crackles to life. 

“Hello, dear Night Raven Alumni,” Crowley begins, “I would just like to remind everyone that at the end of the night, you are to remove your masks so you can properly catch up with those around you. The clock will strike midnight soon, dear alumni.” 

And as quick as he was to interrupt, Crowley disappeared into the crowd and left it at that. 

You continue to catch up with your friends through Vil’s conversations with them, while you intently listen and occasionally add your thoughts. 

Soon, the clock chimes, and you can hear Crowley call out from somewhere in the room that it is time to remove the masks. 

Vil exhales next to you, “Of course it is.” 

He carefully removes his mask, careful of his hair. And you ask him for assistance as your hair had gotten tangled in it. 

“Hold still,” he warns you, his careful fingers brushing your hair out of the way. “How did you even manage to get your hair tangled in this?” 

“You say that like you weren’t the one who suggested so many gemstones on my mask.” 

“They completed the look,” he shrugged. 

Around the ballroom, masks begin to slip away one by one. Laughter rises as old classmates recognize each other fully for the first time this evening. 

Ace is in the middle of accusing Deuce of having the “least interesting mask in existence” as Vil steps back from you. 

“There,” he says. “All fixed.” 

Your finger reaches up to pull away the sparkling mask. As it slips from your face, you see the wave of recognition within all of your friends. 

Now they can tell there is something familiar there, from the curve of your smile to the way you stand beside Vil as if you had always belonged there. The ballroom falls silent. 

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” Ace stares at you in astonishment. 

You start to laugh before your mask is even fully off. ‘Hi, Ace.” 

“Prefect?!” 

Deuce looks like his soul is about to leave his body. “No, there's no way.” 

Epel is standing with his mouth agape. “I knew it. I know something was familiar.” 

“And everybody was trying to make me feel like I was losing my mind!” Ace adds. “You’re telling me I spent three hours confused over someone I literally lived with?” 

“You thought Professor Trein was the ghost bride once,” you remind him sweetly. 

“That was once.” 

“Actually,” Deuce says carefully, “I think it was twice.” 

“It was not twice.” 

“It was twice I remember it,” Epel cuts in. 

Beside you, Vil lets out a sigh through his nose. “How embarrassing for all of you,” he says. “Honestly, I expected at least one of you to figure it out.” 

“Wait pause, Vil,” Cater points accusingly at him. “You brought the prefect here and didn’t tell anyone?” 

And before anyone could answer, Kalim sprinted at you full speed, “I knew you felt familiar prefect!!” he beams, practically glowing. “You look amazing!” 

You barely manage to laugh as he wraps you in a hug. 

“It's good to see you, too, Kalim.” 

“Some of us were able to figure it out sooner than others,” Lilia muses from the window. 

Malleus nods to you, amused by all of the chaos you had managed to cause. “Child of man.”

You nodded back at him. “It’s been a while.” 

Sebek looks offended, “You were standing there the whole night?” 

“To be fair,” you laugh, “the masks were kind of the point.” 

“Ah, what magnificence,” Rook declares from the balcony above you, a hand over his heart, “To think the mysterious belle beside Roi du Poison was none other than our beloved trickster all along. How romantic!” 

“Rook,” Vil says flatly. 

It was too late to stop him as he had already begun his rant on how beautiful the dance was and how perfectly theatrical everything was. 

Vil pinches the bridge of his nose. “I regret attending this event.” 

‘No, you don’t,” you say immediately. 

Vil doesn’t say anything else, but he nods nonetheless. 

Ace stares at him, “Oh my sevens, he’s down bad.” 

“I hate that phrase,” Vil states, but doesn’t disagree. He looks mere moments away from walking out of the ballroom. 

Instead, you slip your hand into his, and he accepts it. 

“Vil Schoenheit appears to have become tame,” Jade says calmly. 

“I am not tame,” Vil narrows his eyes. “You all, however, are incredibly annoying.” 

“And you’re in love,” Ace grins. 

“Yes, obviously.” 

Everyone is still reeling from the new announcement of the couple standing before them. They take their time congratulating them. After his turn, Deuce squints at your left hand closely. 

“Wait a moment,” he says. 

You and Vil watch him in amusement. “What is it, Deuce?” 

Deuce points at your hand, “What is that?”

Sitting on your hand was a ring no one had noticed, it was in no way anything small or subtle either. It was a breathtaking violet gemstone with diamond and silver detailing so intricate that it could only have been custom. 

Cater gasps loud enough for several people to return their attention to the couple. “No way.” 

Ace’s eyes widen in horror, “Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait. WHAT.” 

You are already laughing in pure delight before he even starts his third spiral of the night. 

Vil exhales like a man enduring an unimaginable hardship, “Must you yell?” 

“Are you two engaged?” Deuce accuses. 

The room becomes silent, quiet enough for a pin drop to be heard. Vil grabs your hand within his and lifts it into view for everyone to see. 

“Yes,” he says smoothly. “We are.” 

Ace looks to be one second away from dramatically collapsing onto the marble floor. “You mean to tell me, my best friend disappeared after we graduated, gets secretly engaged to the Vil Schoenheit, and then returns to the reunion like nothing changed?” 

“In my defence,” you grin. “I thought the masks would distract you longer.” 

Epel looks offended, “How long have y’all even been engaged?” 

You glance toward Vil automatically. 

“Three months,” Vil answers. 

“Three?” Jack questions. “Why hadn’t you informed anyone?” 

“I wasn’t aware we needed to,” Vil said. 

 “Of course you do, we obviously have to be a part of the wedding,” Ace nudges your shoulder. 

“I hate every single one of you,” Vil says as he massages his temple. 

“No you don’t, Vil, stop saying that.” You say, Vil only nods and allows himself to admire you more. 

Kalim has now taken hold of your hand, admiring the ring with sparkling eyes. “Wow, it's so beautiful!” 

“It should be,” Vil chimes in. “I designed it myself.” 

“Of course he did,” Azul sighs. “Honestly, that's the least surprising thing that's happened tonight.” 

“You’re all acting as though this is shocking,” Vil says, although there is an unmistakable pride in his voice and posture. 

“But we didn’t know that now, did we?” Epel argues. 

“You were just unobservant, that is no fault of ours.” 

You can barely breathe from laughing now. You were leaning slightly against Vil’s shoulder as everyone went back and forth. Despite all of the shouting and all of the teasing, Vil looks happier than you have seen him in a long time. 

His smile was not forced for a camera, and he had returned to his old friends and classmates. This was the boy from school who used to sit beside you at night while studying. The one who gave you his heart and trusted you to love him before the world did. 

You squeeze his hand gently. Then quieter, to just you, he leans in for only you to hear; 

“You do realize they’ll never stop talking about this, right?” 

You smile, “Good, that's what I was hoping for.” 

[feydove]

Sebek Zigvolt x Reader

This fic is based off the vignette where Sebek talks about how he would court someone he likes, as instructed by Lilia. I actually think Sebek would be such a devoted lover once he found someone he respected and liked enough to to pursue romantically :')

Your relationship with Sebek went from zero to a hundred within the blink of an eye.

One week he's yelling at you for breathing too close to his liege, and the next he's escorting you to all of your classes like a gentleman. All while yelling at everyone else for breathing too closely to you.

Okay. Perhaps that is a slight exaggeration. But the point still stands that you have a sneaking suspicion Sebek Zigvolt has developed a teensy bit of a crush on you. You came to this conclusion based on two key observations.

For starters, anytime you make the offensive mistake of carrying your own belongings in his presence, he makes it a point to snatch whatever it is from you. Which, at first you tried to protest. A big mistake.

"I am perfectly capable of holding my own stuff, Sebek. You really don't have to–"

The words didn't even have a chance to leave your mouth before the bag was removed from your shoulder at a speed so alarming, you would almost think the bag carried a weapon and not two measly notebooks and a can of tuna you had found on clearance for Grim.

"NONSENSE." Sebek loudly declared, making several nearby students jump a mile high. Sebek carefully slung your bag over his own shoulder, all while glaring you down as if you had personally offended his entire bloodline.

"You need not burden yourself with unnecessary physical exertion! This is but one of the many duties any respectable knight should carry out!" He held his head high, clearly not seeing reason. He was being ridiculous, and you couldn't help but narrow your eyes at him.

"Uh huh... well, thank you Sebek. However would I have carried that incredibly heavy bag without the help of a strong, trustworthy knight? I may have threw my back out." Your words were laced with sarcasm, yet Sebek only took your words as the highest of praises. His cheeks dusted pink, and he immediately turned his head away from you so that you couldn't see the proud look on his face.

"Of course you would have! Humans are such fragile creatures, after all." He came to an abrupt halt as you reached your classroom, opening the door for you and ushering you inside so he could drop the bag off at your seat before rushing to his own class.

You tried to ignore Ace and Deuce's shit eating grin as they enjoyed watching you and your new personal escort.

"Right then! I shall return after class to ensure you reach your dorm safely. DO NOT TRY AND PICK UP THIS BAG IN MY ABSENCE, I cannot allow for your back to give way! In the meantime, study diligently." His gaze fell upon the two Heartslabyul first years, and with a clenched jaw he barked out at them "AS FOR YOU TWO– REFRAIN FROM DISTRACTING THE PREFECT WITH YOUR USUAL FOOLISHNESS."

And with that, he made his exit. Leaving you to sink further in your chair as the entire class silently stared directly at you with wide eyes. Some of them were confused, others were entertained, and the rest had half a mind to ask you to "blink twice if you need help."

Ace was the first to break the silence.

"Huh! I didn't know you adopted a new dog, prefect! Have you tried teaching him to roll over yet?" You elbowed him in the side, making him flinch back. "Ouch–! Hey, not my fault you managed to rizz up the weirdest guy in the whole school. You're probably stuck with his shadow looming over you for life now, bro."

"It is a little strange to see Sebek giving you royalty treatment. It's not as bad as he is with Malleus, but still." Deuce chimed in, looking at you with more sympathy than Ace had. Though, he couldn't help but admit he was also pretty amused by the entire situation. You let out a groan, dropping your face into your hands.

"I don't know what I did to get here. But can we just drop it for now? I need to focus on something else or my head might explode."

Deuce nodded, agreeing to your wishes immediately. Ace hesitantly dropped the subject, but he was going to make sure to mess with you about this for months to come.

You were so cooked.

The second observation was arguably stranger. And possibly borderline creepy, had it been coming from anyone but Sebek.

You began receiving letters. Handwritten letters that spoke of you as if you were an angel sent to Twisted Wonderland from the divine themselves. At first, you had your doubts that they were actually coming from Sebek, and you almost wondered if someone was pulling a prank on you.

That is, until one of the letters came with a picture. Of him...smiling?

Dear Prefect of Ramshakle Dorm,

Someone has brought it to my attention that you may not be used to recieveing a physical missive from the heart. However. Though I often speak my mind without second thought...for some reason, when I come face to face with your everlasting radiance, I almost find myself unable to express what I truly wish to say to you.

This is no excuse on my part. You are most deserving and worthy of high acclaim. I will do better from here on out to shower you with all the words you must hear about yourself on a daily basis. This includes topics on your emotional strength, your kindness and generosity, your breathtaking beauty. And... your courage. Which you often seem to doubt that you have.

You see, I always find it hard to believe that someone who demonstrates such remarkable courage would often diminish their own worth. Yet, you continue to surprise me. I have decided that I must take it upon myself to correct this at once.

Most mere humans cower away in fear when faced with the disasters that have begun taking place in this school as of late. However, In order to assist your peers, you have put yourself in the face of danger multiple times, despite your lack of magic at that! (Much to my immense worry for you.)

You have the commendable heart of a warrior. Not of a cowardly human. Please remember this when you are feeling less than what you truly are.

I shall begin to wrap this missive up. There is more I would like to say to you, but I know some of it should be said in person. Just know that I admire you, greatly. Far more than what may be considered appropriate.

Inside this envelope, I have attached a photo of my smiling visage for your viewing pleasure. Do with the photo what you will. And perhaps, if you wished to send a photo of yourself back...I would quite enjoy that.

From,

Sebek Zigvolt of Diasomnia Dorm.

Your jaw was practically to the floor as you read the letter to the end. You couldn't believe your eyes.

Sebek wrote all of this for you?! You didn't know he could be so...

Endearing?

You pulled the photo out of the envelope, unable to stop the snort that came out the moment you laid eyes on it. The photo was a tad bit stiff, but he held an honest smile in what looked to be a picture that someone else took for him. Did he have an entire photo shoot for this? The mental image had you wanting to double over in laughter, but you tried to compose yourself. He had pure intentions, after all.

You smiled fondly as you reread the letter, before grabbing your camera and stepping somewhere into the best lighting you could find in the dorm. You'd give him the photo he wanted next time you saw him.

The following day, you felt nervous as you walked side by side with Sebek to the cafeteria. Well... "walked" was putting it lightly. With the way Sebek stood with his back standing impossibly straight, and his eyes scanning his surroundings as if he was waiting for someone to jump out at the both of you with an axe... once again, you felt more like royalty being escorted by their trusty guard dog than a student walking around the school hallways with a friend.

You kept sneaking glances at him through the corner of your eye, hand fidgeting with the envelope you shoved in your pocket, that held the photo you took for him.

And much to your dismay, you heart had begun doing something very inconvenient ever since you read his letter to you the night before.

Because the thing about Sebek was that he never lied or played around. Sure, he may seem to exaggerate sometimes, but you knew him well enough to know by now that whatever he said was exactly how he felt.

"You appear distracted." Sebek brought you out of your thoughts with a voice that was oddly gentle coming from him. "If something troubles you, you need only to say the word."

"No, no. Nothing like that." You attempted to reassure him, but you could tell he wasnt buying it by the way his brows furrowed together. "Actually..."

You pulled out the envelope from your pocket, hand shaking slightly as you held it out to him. His eyes widened for a brief moment, looking at you with uncertainty.

"This is for you." He blinked, breath hitching in his throat as he slowly reached out to accept the envelope like it was a sacred offering from Malleus himself.

"For me?!" You quickly nodded, suddenly very interested in the patterns on the floor's tiles. He carefully began to open the envelope up, and you refused to look up at his reaction.

What if he thought it was strange? Or that you were mocking him? He was so sincere, what if you–

"I SHALL RUN TO DIASOMNIA AT ONCE TO HANG THIS PHOTO UP!" You jumped at his sudden declaration, eyes snapping to look over at him. He held a wide smile on his face, holding the photo of you up like he was looking at a priceless artifact instead of you smiling inside of your dump of a dorm.

He turned the photo around, reading the words you scribbled on the back.

For your viewing pleasure.

"You uh– you don't have to hang it up, it might cramp your gothic style and Malleus bedroom theme you have going on. It was just a silly photo–"

"You and lord Malleus both hold great importance to me. I will treasure this photo until the day I cease my breath." He cast simple magic on the photo to keep it safe, before placing it in the pocket of his uniform. You let out a sigh, shaking your head fondly at his nonsense.

"If you say so. Can I come with you back to Diasomnia, then?" You felt him stiffen, before he took in a deep breath.

"Though I would be honored to take you, I instead have a request of you." He suddenly appeared bashful, and your head tilted in curiosity as the tips of his ears turned red. "I originally wanted to wait until I could take you back to Brair Valley for this, but Lilia told me that he had a change in his wisdom and that there was no time like the present to do this...so, prefect...if you would meet me on the courtyard's bench tonight when the clock strikes midnight...there is something I wish to tell you."

You felt your heart flutter nervously in your chest, stomach twisting as your mind raced with possibilities of what he may say.

Was he going to...

"With that, I will see you tonight if you accept!"

And before you could reply, he was gone. Taking the photo of you with him.

By the time night rolled around, you were a wreck.

"You've been pacing for twenty minutes!" Grim spoke between bites of the discount tuna you gave him, watching you with an unimpressed stare. "You're makin me dizzy over here."

"I can't help it, Grim! Sebek will be here in just a few minutes. What if he wants to tell me all of this is over? That his letters to me were a mistake and he never wants to carry a book or bag for me again ever in my feeble human existence?"

"Listen up, henchhuman! I'm only gonna say this once!" Grim suddenly declared, pointing a paw at you as he stood up like he was about to give you a grand speech for a pep talk. "Take it from me, the great love expert! You're way too good for that guy. There's no way he's just gonna up and leave you, unless he just wants to die alone. If anything, you should tell him to give you compensation for your time."

You looked at Grim through narrowed eyes. "Love expert my ass! I'm not asking him to pay me for going out with him."

Your gaze shifted to your watch, and with a heavy sigh, you flick your hand at Grim, shooing him off. "Alright. Time's up. Go hide behind a bush or something and DON'T say a word, or set anything on fire unless you want to be scrubbing the campus toilets for a month straight."

"You wouldn't–!"

"Crowley would love to put you on janitor duty again. Don't try me." Grim heeded your warning, for once.

You sat yourself down on the bench as midnight approached, your hands fidgeting with each other as you attempted to calm yourself down.

You knew you were overthinking.

Sebek may be considered rude to those who didn't know him well, but he wouldn't drag you all the way out here just to say something cruel and hurt your feelings. You knew he wouldn't.

So then why were you so...

"PREFECT!" You flinched, the man of the hour suddenly appearing before you. You couldn't help but notice how...polished he looked.

Did he style his hair more than usual? And his outfit...

You had to try and stop the amused smile from spreading on your face. He really went all out for this.

"Thank you for accepting my request to meet me here tonight." He cleared his throat, taking a seat on the bench beside you, with enough space in between you for a whole other person. You opened your mouth to comment on it, but he continued speaking.

"As of late, I've been thinking a great deal."

"Oh? How dangerous." You shot back to tease him, which he decided to ignore. But not before throwing you an unimpressed side eye.

"For many years, my life has had a singular purpose. To serve and protect Lord Malleus. To become a great knight, so that I could protect Briar Valley." That much you already knew. It wasn't like he didn't talk about that constantly. "My loyalty to him will never waver, for it is my greatest honor to stand at his side." You nodded, and then Sebek's voice softened.

"However, recently...my attention became divided. I found myself distracted with thoughts and feelings I had never experienced before. And at first I thought I must have grown ill."

Your heart stuttered, urging for him to continue. His gaze landed directly onto you, and very cautiously, he slid one of his hands into yours. They were rough and calloused...as well as a bit sweaty from what you assumed were nerves.

"But then Lilia informed me that the symptoms I was experiencing was...romantic affection. Towards you."

"Sebek, I–" you couldn't finish your thought. In all honesty, you were speechless. Of all people you could pull in Twisted Wonderland, you never would have guessed it would be him.

"I will admit, I did try to correct these feelings. But I failed. The situation only worsened, and soon I felt consumed by thoughts of you."

"Consumed, huh? Is that why you started stalking me everywhere?"

"I– STALKING?! I WAS ENSURING YOUR SAFETY, HUMAN!" You let out a laugh at how flustered he suddenly became, and Sebek sighed. You were impossible.

"If that's what you wanna call it."

Sebek may have looked annoyed at your teasing, but the way his thumb tenderly brushed the back of your hand was enough to tell you that he didn't mind. He adored you, hopelessly so.

"I admire you." He spoke out. "I often wondered to myself how someone with so little power in this world could possess the strength that you do. Every day I see you doing your best, even when everything seems against you."

"And...?" You were beginning to get impatient, waiting for the words you so desperately wanted to hear–

"And. I love you, prefect." He finally ripped the bandaid off, and you swore you could almost cry. "There is no one else who could be worthy of my affections in the way that you are. I do not expect you to feel the sa–"

You grabbed onto the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer to you and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. His eyes widened, and you swore he looked like he was going to explode.

"I love you too, Sebek. Very much so."

And in the background, a very unimpressed Grim watched the scene unfold, unsure if he was happy for you or disgusted by all the mush he was witnessing.

He certainly wasn't looking forward to Sebek being at Ramshackle more often.

Dividers by priestboy

Do not steal or use my work for ai purposes. I will eat you.

[blueberry-fsh]

Unpredictable - セベク・ジグボルト

Pairing: royal au!retainer!sebek x princess!fem!yuu Synopsis: The future princess of the kingdom, Yuu, is delightfully careless, endlessly curious, and absolutely terrible at staying out of trouble. Her ever-exasperated royal guard, Sebek, has spent three years learning that “keeping an eye on her” is basically a full-time disaster drill—but nothing prepares him for the day she gets stuck upside-down in a tree, loses a shoe, and somehow brings a sentient, possibly magical painted rock to life. As Sebek chases her through forests, palace halls, and council chambers, he must prevent princess-induced chaos, recover missing tiaras and shoes, and—somehow—stop a tiny, living rock from destroying the kingdom. The only solution? A kiss between Sebek and Yuu, turning Sebek’s life of professional restraint into a chaotic, glitter-filled whirlwind of embarrassment, panic, and unexpected affection. Author's Note: Rewritten and Extended Version! Words: 5,077 Taglist: @oya-oya-okay @itstiredtime @lilstrawberryghost

“YOUR HIGHNESS!!” Sebek bellowed, panic bouncing off the trees as he spun in circles. Where had she gone this time? He had scolded her an hour ago for speaking to a random commoner—a random commoner—and now she was gone again. What if it had been an assassin, sneaking up on the crown? Or worse… a band of rogue squirrels? GAH! Maybe he should’ve been gentler… No. No. That would’ve been pointless. She’d have vanished anyway.

Half an hour of searching later, Sebek’s frustration reached critical mass. How could he call himself a royal guard if he couldn’t even keep track of the princess? The future heir of the kingdom, and he was reduced to a frantic man yelling at trees.

“What if she’s been kidnapped?!” he wailed, picturing every horrible scenario in rapid succession. Poisoned tea, traps, enchanted mirrors, sky pirates—he could die of anxiety before she even got herself back safely. She’s supposed to be careful! SHE IS THE HEIR!

Somewhere above him, Yuu’s voice echoed faintly through the leaves. He didn’t hear it at first, lost in his spiral. Then—whack!—a pinecone struck him square on the head.

“WHO GOES THERE?!” he shouted, hand on his sword, until he realized it was just a pinecone.

He looked up.

And shrieked.

Yuu was dangling upside down from a branch, one foot hopelessly wedged between two stubborn twigs. Her tiara had fallen, lying on the ground like it had given up on life.

“HOW DID YOU EVEN—?!” Sebek’s voice cracked.

“Are you going to help me down or what?” Yuu whined, her voice lightheaded. “Blood’s rushing to my head, and I think I’m seeing stars.” She squinted at her tiara on the ground. Gravity was being very rude.

Sebek snatched up the tiara and strode to the base of the tree, crossing his arms and giving her a glare that could have cut steel.

“How exactly did you manage this…?!”

Three years he’d been guarding her. Three years. And he still hadn’t internalized the fact that anything could happen the moment she was left unattended. Stuck in a tree like this—upside down, hair falling, zero self-preservation—he should have known better. Shame on him.

“Help me firstttttt,” Yuu whined again, face pink, dizziness setting in.

Sebek exhaled, long and heavy. He hated how childish she could be, but there was no time to bicker. He wasn’t about to have her faint on him. Positioning himself under the branch, he reached up and grabbed her waist, carefully tugging her down.

Yuu yelped and flailed—Sebek caught her without incident, holding her against his chest for a heartbeat before setting her safely on the ground. He let out a shaky sigh, offering her tiara with a pointed look.

“How many times do I have to tell you? You cannot put yourself in these situations carelessly.”

Of course, Yuu wasn’t listening. She was already staring at her shoe, still lodged in the tree.

Sebek followed her gaze and groaned. She’s seriously considering climbing back up…

“No.” He stepped in front of her, arm outstretched. “You are not climbing that tree again.”

“But—” Yuu gave him the most pitiful puppy-dog eyes in the history of exasperated royal guards. “Mother and Father will be upset if I go back to the palace with only one shoe.”

Sebek’s heart skipped. Of course she knows I can’t resist those eyes. He grumbled, muttering under his breath, before finally huffing.

“…Fine. I’ll get it. Myself. But you are not climbing.”

“Mhm,” Yuu said, smiling innocently. Innocent? Ha. He knew better. That smile meant trouble.

He glanced at her one last time, searching for a hint of mischief. She was… far too calm. He sighed and started climbing toward the shoe.

By the time he returned, triumphant, Yuu was gone. Again.

Did she just—

Damn it.

Sebek’s jaw clenched, grip tight on the retrieved shoe. How was this possible?! He had looked away for a single moment! And yet, she vanished again. Did she sprout wings? Teleport? Magic!

He groaned, fists tight, and stomped in a random direction, hoping—praying—that she went that way.

Sebek had dealt with many trials in his life—harsh training, sleepless nights, rigorous etiquette lessons—but nothing, nothing, compared to tracking down one (1) barefoot, tiara-less, chronically feral princess who could slip away faster than smoke through fingers. His jaw twitched as he stormed down the path, muttering every complaint he knew in alphabetical order.

“Your Highness—no, Yuu—is going to be the end of me,” he growled through his teeth, clutching the shoe like it personally offended him. “Runs off, gets stuck in trees, loses footwear like some wandering forest spirit—unbelievable! Irresponsible! Infuri—”

THUD.

Something collided with his back.

Sebek spun around with the fury of a rattled guard dog. “WHO DARES—?!”

…only to find Yuu lying face-down in the grass, sprawled like a crushed frog.

He blinked. Once. Twice. Slowly.

“…Why.”

Yuu spat out a mouthful of grass and rolled onto her back. “I tripped.”

“On what?! The wind?!”

“No, on you. You’re built like a brick wall, Sebek, I didn’t see you there.”

Sebek’s eye twitched so hard he saw stars. “That is because you RAN into me!”

Yuu sat up, brushing dirt off her dress with the elegance of a toddler pulling weeds. “Well, yes. That part might be my fault. But also! I found something cool.”

Before Sebek could stop her, she proudly held up—

—a squirrel.

A squirrel chewing acorns like it paid rent to do so.

Sebek froze in horror. “PUT THAT CREATURE DOWN.”

“But look! He likes me!” Yuu chirped.

The squirrel immediately chomped her sleeve.

Sebek slapped a hand over his face. “Of course it does—it thinks you’re part of the tree you got stuck in.”

Yuu pouted, prying her arm from the creature’s tiny death grip. “You’re being mean.”

“I am being reasonable,” Sebek corrected, taking her arm and inspecting the sleeve for bite marks. “You nearly fainted from hanging upside down ten minutes ago—how are you already sprinting through the forest kidnapping wildlife?! You should be resting!”

“Aww, Sebek, are you worried about me?” she teased.

Sebek sputtered so violently his soul nearly left his body. “W–WHAT—NO—I—THAT’S—NONSENSE—!”

She giggled. “You’re cute when you panic.”

He choked. Actually choked.

Before he could gather his dignity, Yuu swiped the shoe from his hand and popped onto her feet.

“Look! All fixed!” she said far too proudly, lifting her now-shoed foot like a gymnast.

Sebek stared blankly. “You put a dirty forest shoe on your royal foot without checking if there were bugs inside?!”

Yuu froze.

Then very slowly, very silently, she slipped the shoe back off.

Sebek sighed so deeply he aged five years. “This is precisely why you must LISTEN to me.”

“Okay. I’m listening now,” she said.

“No you’re not.”

“I am!”

“You’re staring at another tree.”

“…No I’m not.”

“You are literally leaning toward it—Your Highness do NOT—”

Too late.

Yuu began climbing the tree like a gremlin scaling a castle wall.

Sebek almost dropped dead on the spot. “WHY—ARE—YOU—LIKE—THIS?!”

“I swear I see something shiny up there!” she insisted, already halfway up.

“That is a BIRD NEST,” he yelled. “IF YOU TOUCH IT THE MOTHER WILL ATTACK YOU—”

SQUAWK!!

A screech erupted from the branches.

Yuu screamed.

Sebek lunged.

In one motion that would’ve impressed his instructors, he yanked her out of the tree just as a furious bird dive-bombed them. Yuu clung to him like a terrified koala, legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his shoulders.

He ran. She shrieked. The bird chased them like it had a vendetta.

By the time Sebek made it to safety, panting with Yuu still in his arms, he thought he might actually cry.

He set her down gently before collapsing onto the nearest bench.

Yuu blinked sheepishly. “…So… maybe that wasn’t treasure.”

Sebek’s head fell back. “I should request a raise. Or a second guard. Or several. Or—by the Seven—therapy.”

Yuu plopped beside him, smiling softly. “Hey… thank you. For saving me. Again.”

He stiffened, ears going red. “I—I am your guard. It is my duty. You need not thank—”

“But I want to,” she said, leaning her shoulder against his arm. “You always come for me.”

“…Of course I do,” he muttered. “Even when you run off. Even when you cause chaos. Even when you… pick up squirrels.”

Yuu beamed. “So you do care.”

Sebek nearly combusted. “STOP PUTTING WORDS IN MY MOUTH.”

She laughed—the bright, delighted kind that made the corners of his mouth twitch despite himself.

And for a brief, precious moment...

The forest was quiet.

…Until Yuu pointed at something behind them.

“Ooh! Sebek, look! A shiny mushroom!”

He slammed a hand over her mouth. “NO.”

She nodded.

He removed his hand.

Yuu: sprints off

Sebek: “YUUUUU!!!”

And the chase began again.

“YOUR HIGHNESS, GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT—!!” Sebek roared, tearing after the princess who was now making alarming speed for someone who had almost fallen out of a tree and been assaulted by a bird fifteen minutes ago.

Yuu didn’t even look back. “But Sebek!!! What if it’s a magical mushroom?! What if it grants wishes?? What if it cures baldness?!”

“…BALDNESS?!” Sebek spluttered. “WHAT—WHY WOULD—YOU ARE NOT EVEN BALD—”

“It could be useful someday!” she shouted over her shoulder, dodging a bush like she’d trained for this her whole life.

Sebek was going to have an aneurysm.

He sprinted after her, armor clanking, shouting every lecture he’d memorized since his first day of training. “YOU ARE THE FUTURE RULER OF THIS KINGDOM! YOU CANNOT—YOU MUST NOT—CHASE SUSPICIOUS FOREST FUNGI—”

He didn’t get to finish.

Yuu tripped on a root.

Sebek yelped and lunged on pure instinct, catching her around the waist before she ate dirt again. They spun—Sebek twisting his body to shield her—and crashed into a pile of leaves, Yuu sprawled on top of him.

She blinked. “Oh. Hi.”

Sebek stared up at the sky as if praying for strength. “You… are going to kill me one day.”

“I don’t mean to.”

“That is the worst part.”

Yuu giggled and rolled off of him. Sebek sat up, brushing leaves out of his hair, sighing like a man thrice his age. “WHERE is this supposedly magical mushroom, anyway?”

Yuu pointed proudly.

Sebek followed her gaze…

…and stared.

“That… is a rock painted red.”

“With white dots!” Yuu added cheerfully. “Look how cute it is!”

He turned to her slowly. Very slowly. “You… you chased a CHILD’S ART PROJECT.”

Yuu gasped. “It’s art?! I’m keeping it.”

“No, you are NOT—”

But she had already scooped it up, cradling it like a newborn.

Sebek pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your Highness—please—please return the rock.”

“I can’t abandon it now, it’s attached.”

“You are attached.”

“Exactly.”

“My sanity is unraveling.”

Before Sebek could pry the rock from her hands, footsteps approached from the direction of the palace path.

A young palace maid emerged from the trees, panting. “Your Highness! Sir Sebek! There you are—everyone’s been looking all over! The king and queen are—”

Her eyes fell to Yuu, disheveled, grass-stained, holding a painted rock, wearing one slightly dirty shoe, leaves in her hair.

Then her gaze shifted to Sebek, equally disheveled, hair sticking up like he’d been electrocuted, wild-eyed with defeat.

The maid blinked. Twice.

“…Should I… pretend I didn’t see any of this?”

“Yes,” Sebek said instantly.

“No,” Yuu countered. “Tell them I rescued a rock baby.”

The maid stared, horrified.

Sebek rubbed his temples. “Ignore her. She is delusional from… from running. And trees. And lack of caution. And—everything.”

The maid nodded very slowly, then whispered, “The royal council is arriving early, and the king and queen need the princess presentable immediately. They are… expecting the both of you.”

Sebek’s soul left his body.

Yuu perked up. “Ooh! Council meeting! I love those—there’s always tea and snacks!”

“You love them because you eat ALL the snacks,” Sebek snapped. “You are forbidden from touching ANYTHING until you wash, change, and stop carrying that rock.”

“It has feelings.”

“It has PAINT.”

Sebek grabbed her wrist before she could dart off again. “We are going to the palace—without detours—without climbing anything—without wildlife encounters—and WITHOUT—”

Yuu: “Rocky.”

Sebek: “DO NOT NAME IT.”

Yuu hugged the rock. “Rocky.”

Sebek let out a strangled noise.

But he marched her forward, one hand firm on her shoulder like she might evaporate if he blinked.

They reached the main palace gates, guards bowing as they approached. Or, more accurately, bowing while staring in utter confusion.

Yuu waved at them like nothing was wrong.

Sebek muttered, “I swear on my honor—if the council sees you like this—”

“They’ll think I had an adventure!” Yuu chirped.

“They’ll think I’m incompetent!”

“They already think that,” she pointed out.

Sebek nearly dropped dead for the second time today.

When they finally reached the palace doors, Sebek grabbed Yuu by the shoulders and bent down to eye level. “Listen to me, Your Highness. You will walk inside. You will go straight to your chambers. You will hand that rock to a servant. You will bathe. You will dress appropriately. And you will NOT—”

Yuu’s eyes sparkled mischievously.

“—run,” Sebek finished, narrowing his eyes.

She smiled sweetly. “Okay.”

She was absolutely lying.

“Yuu,” he warned.

“Sebek,” she echoed.

He pressed a hand to his heart, looking up at the heavens in plea. “Why do you test me like this?”

She shrugged. “Because it’s fun?”

Sebek inhaled sharply—

—just as she darted past him, sprinting into the palace with Rocky tucked under her arm like a rugby ball.

“NOOOOOOO—!! YOUR HIGHNESS, STOP—STOP RIGHT NOW—!!!”

Sebek barrelled after her, the palace echoing with the familiar sound of one exasperated guard chasing one overly energetic, mildly unhinged princess through the hallways.

“RETURN THIS INSTANT, YOUR HIGHNESS—!!” Sebek’s voice thundered, bouncing off marble columns and polished floors.

Yuu didn’t slow even a little. “BUT THE COUNCIL WANTS ME, RIGHT? I’M GOING TO THEM!”

“NOT LIKE THIS—!!”

She skidded around a corner, nearly colliding with a bewildered butler holding a tray of crystal glasses. Sebek swooped in at the last second, grabbing both Yuu’s collar and the tray with inhuman reflexes.

The butler nodded in grateful terror.

Sebek shoved the tray back into his hands. “RUN. YOU ARE IN THE DANGER ZONE.”

The butler obeyed immediately.

Yuu wriggled out of Sebek’s grip like a greased ferret, dropped to the floor, somersaulted, and dashed again—still clutching Rocky under her arm. The sheer determination was horrifying.

“YUU—!!” Sebek practically shrieked, sprinting after her. “YOU ARE NOT MEETING THE COUNCIL LOOKING LIKE A FOREST CRYPTID!!”

“No promises!!” she called back joyfully.

She bolted past two maids, who screamed and flattened themselves against the wall like pedestrians dodging a runaway cart. One whispered, “Is she feral? Like actually feral?”

Sebek shot back, “SHE IS NOT FERAL—SHE IS JUST—SHE IS—SHE IS—”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. There didn’t exist a word strong enough.

Yuu reached the grand staircase leading to the council chambers. And she made a fatal mistake.

She paused.

To wave at the portrait of her grandmother.

Sebek seized his chance.

He lunged—arms outstretched—

—and grabbed her around the waist, hoisting her clean off the ground like a misbehaving cat.

“NOOO—SEBEK—PUT ME DOWN—THE COUNCIL—THE SNACKS—THE TEA—!!”

“YOU ARE FILTHY, DISHEVELED, BLEEDING A LITTLE, MISSING HALF YOUR HAIR ORNAMENTS, AND HOLDING A ROCK NAMED ROCKY—YOU ARE NOT MEETING FOREIGN DIGNITARIES LIKE THIS!!”

She kicked her feet in the air, bafflingly offended. “Rocky is a treasured companion.”

“It is a ROCK.”

“It has personality!”

“It has PAINT!”

She gasped. “So do you.”

“That does not make me a collectible object!!”

He held her tighter, determined not to drop her no matter how much she squirmed. She was surprisingly strong when motivated (usually by shiny things or snacks).

Yuu twisted around in his arms. “Sebek… you’re being dramatic.”

“I AM BEING REALISTIC,” he corrected, marching her bodily away from the staircase. “If the council sees you like this, they will revoke my title, my position, AND my dignity.”

“They wouldn’t do that.”

“They absolutely would.”

“They like you.”

“I DO NOT CARE IF THEY LIKE ME—I CARE ABOUT NOT LOSING MY JOB BECAUSE YOU BEFRIENDED A ROCK AND GOT CHASED BY A MATERNAL BIRD—”

Yuu wiggled again. “You’re holding me like a sack of potatoes.”

“That is because you behave like one when unattended.”

“…Potatoes can’t climb trees.”

“EXACTLY. LEARN FROM THEM.”

He turned a corner too sharply, and Yuu’s hand smacked against a passing suit of armor.

Clank.

Rocky fell out of her grasp.

Both of them froze.

The rock bounced.

Once.

Twice.

Then rolled—

…and disappeared through a floor vent.

Yuu inhaled.

Sebek felt the incoming meltdown and braced.

“My baby—!!! ROCKYYYYYYY!!!”

Sebek nearly dislocated a shoulder trying to keep her from leaping out of his arms. “NO—NO—NO—DO NOT—YOU ARE NOT—YOU ARE NOT GOING INTO THE AIR VENTS!!”

Tears welled in Yuu’s eyes.

Sebek panicked instantly. “W-WAIT—NO—D-DON’T DO THAT—DON’T CRY—STOP—I—WE—WE WILL RETRIEVE THE ROCK—JUST PLEASE—STOP—”

“I MISS HIM—!!” she wailed dramatically.

“He fell three seconds ago.”

“I already miss him.”

Sebek was visibly aging. “Your Highness… the council is waiting…”

Yuu sniffled. “…Rocky is waiting too…”

Sebek’s brain short-circuited.

And then—

A throat cleared behind them.

They both froze.

Slowly… very slowly… Sebek turned his head.

There stood the king and queen.

The queen blinked. The king blinked twice. Both stared at the scene:

—Sebek sweaty, frazzled, holding the princess like a flailing sack, —Yuu with stick-filled hair, smudges on her cheeks, dress wrinkled, —crying over a fallen painted rock.

Silence.

Finally, the king said, “…Do we want to know?”

Sebek opened his mouth.

No sound came out.

Yuu raised a hand from the position she was being carried. “I lost Rocky.”

The queen whispered, “…Should I be concerned about what that means?”

Sebek finally found his voice. “YOUR MAJESTIES—PLEASE—ALLOW ME FIVE MINUTES—JUST FIVE—TO MAKE HER PRESENTABLE—AND THEN—AND ONLY THEN—SHE WILL BE READY FOR THE COUNCIL—”

The king sighed. “Fine.”

Yuu grinned. “Sebek, I want braids in my hair.”

“I AM NOT A LADY-IN-WAITING.”

The queen added gently, “Sebek dear, perhaps… a ribbon as well.”

Sebek choked on pure despair. “Y-Your Majesty—”

“Pink,” the queen clarified.

Yuu brightened. “Ooh, yes. Pink!”

Sebek shut his eyes, face falling into the expression of a man who had accepted his fate. “…As you command.”

And with Yuu still tucked under his arm like a princess-shaped grocery bag, he marched toward the royal chambers with the posture of a doomed soldier headed to war.

This was his life.

He still wasn’t sure how it happened.

By the time Sebek reached the princess’s chambers, he was sweating like he’d run a marathon uphill, carrying a boulder, while being chased by wolves.

Which, honestly, was not far off from reality.

He kicked the chamber doors open with the desperation of a man on the brink. “WE HAVE FIVE MINUTES—FIVE—BEFORE THE COUNCIL EXPECTS HER HIGHNESS—PREPARE EVERYTHING!”

The maids inside shrieked like flying birds startled from trees.

One maid dropped a comb. Another dropped a bucket. A third dropped consciousness entirely and fainted.

Meanwhile, Yuu lifted her hand weakly from under Sebek’s arm.

“There’s been a tragedy,” she whispered.

Sebek groaned. “DO NOT—”

“Rocky has passed on.”

The maids gasped.

Sebek stared at them, betrayed. “DO NOT ENCOURAGE THIS—”

“We should hold a funeral,” Yuu continued solemnly.

Another maid sniffled sympathetically. “Princess… you were so brave.”

“STOP IT,” Sebek barked.

He set Yuu down—gently, despite all his blustering—and pointed sharply. “You. Bath. Now.”

Yuu blinked up at him. “…Will Rocky want me to be clean for his funeral?”

Sebek inhaled, eyes closing. “Yes.”

“Then I will do it for him,” she declared, fist clenched in melodramatic resolve.

The maids swooned at her sincerity.

Sebek grabbed a towel and shoved it into her hands. “GO.”

She shuffled toward the bath like a mourning widow, leaving a dramatic trail of sorrow behind her.

Sebek slumped into a chair. “This girl will be the end of me…”

Ten Minutes Later (which was, of course, five minutes longer than they had):

“OW—Sebek—stop pulling my hair—OW—”

“I barely touched it!”

“Then my hair is sensitive because it’s grieving!!”

Sebek froze mid-braid. “Hair does not grieve.”

“My soul grieves, Sebek. And my hair is connected to my soul.”

Sebek’s eyebrow twitched. “I am not paid enough for this.”

He attempted again—gently, carefully, with the patience of a man defusing a bomb.

Yuu kicked her legs over the stool. “Make it looser—no, tighter—no, not that tight—ow! But also it looks good—wait, no it doesn’t—Sebek re-do it.”

“YUU—PLEASE—”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I AM BEING TORTURED.”

Finally—finally—he finished a neat braid. He stepped back, chest rising with the pride of a warrior completing a sacred ritual.

“There. Done.”

Yuu stared at her reflection.

“…I want two braids.”

Sebek’s soul left his body again.

Five More Minutes Later (he was going to die here):

Yuu sat with twin braids so perfect they belonged in a portrait. She looked adorable, elegant, royal.

Sebek felt a flicker of exhausted triumph.

“Now,” he said stiffly, “the ribbon.”

Yuu spun in her chair, grinning. “Pink?”

“My orders,” Sebek muttered darkly.

One of the maids brought the long satin ribbon as if presenting a sacred relic. Sebek took it with trembling reluctance.

He tied it around her head. Neatly. Precisely. Perfectly.

Yuu sparkled. “Sebek…”

He froze. “…Yes?”

“It’s so cute I could cry.”

“PLEASE DON’T.”

She giggled. “I love it.”

His face went red. “It is not for your amusement. It is royal protocol.”

“It’s cute though.”

“…IT IS PRACTICAL.”

“It’s adorable.”

He growled.

She poked his cheek. “Sebek~”

“STOP THAT.”

She giggled again, spinning once in her seat. “Do you think the council will like it?”

Sebek straightened up, shoulders stiffening, professionalism returning like a cloak. “The council,” he announced, “will be astonished that you appear—at last—clean, well-groomed, and not holding a piece of rock.”

For once.

Yuu sniffled again.

He stiffened. “WHAT—WHAT NOW?!”

“Rocky would’ve loved to see the ribbon…”

She looked like she might cry again.

Sebek panicked like he was under battle fire. “WE—WE WILL HOLD A CEREMONY AFTER THE COUNCIL MEETING—A SMALL ONE—JUST US—WE WILL RETRIEVE HIM FROM THE VENT AND—AND GIVE HIM AN HONORABLE… ROCK… RITE.”

Yuu’s eyes widened in awe. “Really?”

Sebek nodded solemnly. “Yes.”

“…With flowers?”

“If you want.”

“And a eulogy?”

Sebek swallowed. “…I will… attempt one.”

Yuu beamed and threw her arms around him.

Sebek froze—rigid, blushing, overloaded. “Y-YOUR HIGHNESS—YOU—YOU SHOULD NOT—WE—THIS IS—IMPROPER—”

“You’re the best,” she mumbled into his chest.

Sebek’s heart combusted like a struck match.

He swallowed, voice quiet for once. “…Let us go. The council awaits.”

She took his hand.

He did not let go.

n fact, his hand tightened around hers as they walked toward the council chamber—his steps precise, composed, but his ears pink at the tips. Yuu practically bounced beside him, braids swinging, the ribbon fluttering with each hop.

They arrived at the tall double doors. Two guards bowed and opened them.

The council chamber was silent.

Every advisor turned to look at the princess—clean, braided, ribboned, polite for once—and then at the guard at her side, who looked… tense. Very, very tense.

Yuu waved with one hand, the other still clasped firmly in Sebek’s.

“Hello! Sorry I’m late. I fell in a tree.”

Sebek nearly choked.

The council members exchanged looks of exhausted acceptance—this was, after all, not even the top ten weirdest things she had said this month.

Yuu and Sebek took their seats—she plopped elegantly on her cushion, he remained standing behind her like a massive, overprotective statue.

The council meeting began.

It lasted approximately thirty seconds before something terrible happened.

The vent rattled.

Sebek froze.

Yuu gasped dramatically. “ROCKY!”

The nearest advisor blinked. “…Pardon?”

Before anyone could clarify, the vent cover burst off the wall with the force of a miniature explosion.

A small, painted, red-with-white-dots rock shot out.

Except it wasn’t a rock anymore.

It had LEGS.

Spindly little stone legs, skittering across the floor like a deranged beetle.

And it was giggling.

Not in a cute way.

In a deep, echoing, nightmare-woodland-creature kind of way.

Yuu shrieked in delight. “HE’S ALIIIIIIIIIVE—SEBEK LOOK—HE SURVIVED—MY BABY—MY BEAUTIFUL BABY—”

Sebek took three steps back so fast he left a dust trail.

“WHAT—WHAT IS THAT—WHAT DID YOU BRING INTO THIS PALACE—?!”

The stone creature hopped onto a council table.

The advisors screamed.

One fainted.

Another started praying.

A third threw a scroll at it.

The creature OPENED A MOUTH.

A mouth that should not exist on something that had been, merely an hour ago, a children’s art project.

It hissed—deep, rumbling, ancient—and the temperature dropped ten degrees.

Sebek brandished his sword. “STEP BACK, YOUR HIGHNESS—THIS IS A DEMON—A CREATURE OF THE ABYSS—A—A—A VERY SMALL BUT VERY HOSTILE MONSTROSITY—”

Yuu rushed forward. “NO—DON’T HURT HIM—HE’S JUST CONFUSED—HE JUST WOKE UP—”

The creature skittered toward her.

Sebek nearly had heart failure. “DON’T YOU DARE GO NEAR IT—!!”

But it stopped.

Looked at Yuu.

Tilted its little stony head.

Then its mouth cracked open and—

It started GLOWING.

A horrible, eldritch red.

Energy surged around it, wind whipping through the council room. Papers flew. Advisors screamed. Curtains flapped. Sebek shielded Yuu with his entire body.

“IT’S CHARGING UP A SPELL—STAND BACK—THIS IS NOT A ROCK, THIS IS A THREAT TO THE NATION—”

A terrified advisor shouted, “THE LEGENDS—THE FOREST CREATURES—THE CURSED ARTIFACT—THE ONLY WAY TO STOP IT IS—”

Everyone leaned in, desperate.

“—TO KISS SOMEONE WHO CARES FOR YOU DEEPLY SO THE CREATURE LOSES POWER FROM PURE EMOTIONAL DISGUST!!”

Sebek and Yuu froze.

“…What?” Yuu whispered.

Sebek’s face went crimson instantly. “TH-THAT—THAT IS RIDICULOUS—UNFOUNDED—ILLOGICAL—SCANDALOUS—”

“That’s what the myths say!!” the advisor cried. “It’s powered by chaotic affection! The only counter is genuine affection! It cancels out!”

“So what do we DO?!” Yuu asked, shaking Sebek’s arm.

Everyone’s eyes turned to them.

Sebek’s entire body locked up.

Yuu blinked up at him, cheeks pink. “…You’re the person who cares about me the most.”

Sebek’s soul combusted.

“Y-you—your highness—th-that is—w-we cannot—there is protocol—dignity—decorum—”

The rock-creature screeched, glowing brighter and brighter.

Energy crackled.

The floor trembled.

Sebek inhaled sharply.

Then—

He grabbed her face.

Pulled her close.

And kissed her.

It wasn’t messy or clumsy or rushed.

It was warm.

Firm.

Certain.

Like everything he’d been holding back, everything he’d denied himself, everything he refused to acknowledge—finally slipped out in one single moment.

Yuu froze in surprise—

Then melted into it.

The creature screamed one last time—

And exploded into a harmless pile of glitter.

The wind stopped.

The rumbling ceased.

Silence fell over the room.

Sebek slowly pulled back, face red enough to explode.

Yuu stared at him.

The council stared at both of them.

No one breathed.

Finally, Yuu whispered:

“…do we tell people he died a hero?”

Sebek covered his face with his hand and groaned like a dying man.

Yuu, on the other hand, was bouncing on her toes, completely unfazed. “See, Sebek? Rocky’s fine now! Isn’t this amazing?!”

He peeked through his fingers. “AMAZING? THE ENTIRE COUNCIL WITNESSED YOU—AND ME—DEFEATING A SENTIENT ROCK WITH A KISS. DO YOU REALIZE HOW…HOW—”

“Romantic?” Yuu suggested innocently, tilting her head.

Sebek’s entire body seized. “I… I—IT IS NOT ROMANTIC. IT IS A STRATEGIC NECESSITY. A MILITARY—MAGICAL—PROTECTIVE—PROCEDURAL MEASURE!”

Yuu giggled. “Right, right. Strategic… sure.” She leaned against him, still brushing glitter off her sleeves. “But, Sebek… that was kind of fun.”

Sebek clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles popped. “FUN. IS. NOT. PART. OF. MY. JOB. DESCRIPTION.”

One of the council members cleared their throat, trembling. “Um… Princess… Sebek… that was… very impressive?”

“IMPRESSIVE?” Sebek nearly shouted, spinning to face them. “I WAS FORCED INTO THIS! AGAINST MY WILL! IT IS NOT A RECOMMENDED TACTIC! AND NOW—”

“Sebek.” Yuu’s voice cut through his tirade like a sword. He froze. “You were amazing. Really. Rocky’s gone, the palace is safe, and no one else got hurt.”

Sebek’s ears went pink. “…I—yes. Well… naturally.”

Yuu grinned and poked his cheek. “So… maybe a little romantic?”

He stiffened. “NO. Absolutely not. Do not. Stop. Now. This is—decorum—protocol—history—do you want me to faint?”

Yuu laughed. “Maybe just a little.”

Sebek groaned again, collapsing into a chair like a man who had lost every battle he’d ever fought, and perhaps his dignity along with it. “I—I cannot. I—The legends… myths… ridiculous magical rocks—THIS IS WHY I STAYED SINGLE.”

Yuu plopped down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. “You’re cute when you panic.”

Sebek stiffened so hard he almost became a statue. “I—AM NOT—CUTE. I AM—THE ROYAL GUARD. THIS IS—THIS IS SERIOUS BUSINESS.”

“Mm-hmm.” Yuu hummed, clearly ignoring him, brushing her fingers through the glittery remnants of Rocky’s magic still stuck in her hair. “I think you’re cute anyway.”

Sebek’s face turned so red he could have been mistaken for a warning beacon. He stared at the floor, muttering incoherently. “I—am—NOT—SPEAKING—ANYMORE—THIS IS—OFFICIAL—SILENCE—REQUIRED—”

Yuu snickered. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

Sebek groaned so loudly that the council members jumped. One of them whispered, “Is this… always like this?”

Yuu nodded solemnly. “Every day.”

Sebek buried his face in his hands, wishing for the sweet release of fainting—or possibly teleportation. “I—THIS IS MY LIFE—TRULY—I—YUU, DO YOU REALIZE—”

“…I do,” she said, patting his shoulder affectionately. “But don’t worry. I love you anyway.”

Sebek’s jaw dropped. His entire body froze. “…WHAT DID YOU—DID YOU JUST—”

Yuu grinned, totally unapologetic. “I did.”

The council slowly backed away, muttering things about “royal eccentricities,” “possible enchanted progeny,” and “hiring more guards.”

Sebek peeked out from his hands, glaring at her, but the faintest twitch of a smile betrayed him. “You… are impossible.”

“And you… are impossible too,” Yuu said softly, leaning closer, glitter still in her braids, ribbon perfectly in place, the princess she always was… and somehow, completely hers.

Sebek exhaled—defeated, exhausted, utterly captivated—and allowed the tiniest, tiniest smile to break through.

“…Let’s get through the council meeting,” he muttered, voice low. “Then we can… discuss—this.”

Yuu giggled. “Afterward, Sebek?”

“Afterward,” he agreed, though he was already calculating the safest way to keep her from climbing anything alive ever again.

And for once, as the council tentatively resumed their meeting, Sebek didn’t mind the glitter in his hair.

Because despite everything…

He’d survived the princess, the living rock, and a kiss that could have destroyed his professional reputation.

And somehow, he was still hopelessly hers.

[shisuni]

ᯓ➤ dairy queen closes in 10 minutes ⊹܀˙

← ʙᴀᴄᴋ. ⋮ ⌞ tim drake ✘ reader ⌝ .ᐟ .ᐟ

ৎׅ ׄ synopsis ⋮ you broke up with Tim a year ago. Too bad he still thinks of you as his. Too bad everything he does reminds you that you are. word cnt. 16.2k

includes ›››› sexual language, dairy queen, car make out, denial, you match his freak and that's why you dumped him

Tim has been living inside the fraction of a second you hesitated before sitting beside him — that infinitesimal pause where your body seemed to remember him before your mind could intervene. He’s worried it like a loose thread, convinced it means something, that it proves there is still warmth there, buried but intact.

“I don’t think you’re good for me,” you’d murmured, voice dulled by exhaustion rather than certainty, even as your hands betrayed you—tugging your scarf tighter around his neck, fingers lingering just long enough to make the words feel like a lie you were both pretending to believe. You’d said it gently, like a confession instead of a sentence. Your eyes were watering, your hands shaking against the scarf. That was a year ago.

He remembers the cold that night more vividly than your words, the way you tried to protect him from it even as you stepped away, leaving him standing there with a warmth he didn’t know what to do with—except keep it.

Tims kept it alright.

It’s almost grotesque, how fiercely.

He’s preserved that pause of yours the way people preserve saints’ bones—wrapped in memory, reverent to the point of ruin. The fraction of a second where you hovered before sitting beside him, knees angled toward him before you caught yourself. That hesitation lives under his skin. Proof, he tells himself. Evidence that your body remembered him even when you tried not to.

And God, the things he’s kept.

The ribbon, slid carefully from your hair when you slept over, breath held like a thief afraid of waking something holy. The broken bracelet beads, every last one collected from the floor on hands and knees, replaced weeks later with diamonds he pretended meant nothing — an upgrade, he said lightly, as if he hadn’t memorized the exact way the original had looked against your wrist. The origami robins and flowers you folded when boredom softened you, creased wings and petals tucked into books, pinned above his desk, carried with him through every move like talismans.

You’d said it so quietly, then.

“I don’t think you’re good for me.”

Murmured, not declared. Your mouth said no while your hands betrayed you — tugging his scarf tighter around his neck, fingers brushing his jaw, thumbs warm against his throat as if instinct refused to let him freeze. The words felt practiced. The touch didn’t. He remembers the smell of your shampoo, the faint press of your knuckles, the way you exhaled like you were bracing for something sharp.

That was a year ago.

A year of being careful. A year of agreeing, without ever speaking it aloud, to be friends.

Friends.

After he’s been inside you, after he knows the exact sound you make when you’re trying not to beg, after he’s memorized the curve of your spine like scripture. 

Sure. Friends.

School makes it easier to lie. Same friend group, same bleachers at lunch, same unspoken rule: don’t touch, don’t linger, don’t look like you remember.

Your new boyfriend is a theater geek.

Volleyball team captain, too, and somehow managing to keep a perfect tan even in the dead stretch of Gotham’s winter, when the sun feels more like a rumor than a fact and everyone else looks faintly gray around the edges. 

Lloyd. 

Same height as Tim, just a little bulkier—closer to Dick’s build than Jason’s—but he doesn’t carry it the way Dick does, doesn’t wear his body with confidence. He's a blonde, freckles scattered across his face like someone forgot to finish the job.

Gemini.

Six hundred fifty-two followers on Instagram. Bio reads ‘i love my gf’.

Yeah. 

Tim loves his girlfriend too.

“Stop glaring,” Stephanie hisses, elbowing him sharply in the side beneath the library table, her shoe nudging his ankle a second later just to make the point stick.

“I’m not glaring,” Tim mutters back, not looking away.

“You’re still watching,” she says, exasperated, “and it’s creepy.”

You’re a few tables over, earbuds in, head bent forward just enough that Tim’s almost certain you’re blasting white noise—something steady, something meant to drown out the world. The library hums around all of you: pages turning, keyboards clicking, the low murmur of whispered conversations bouncing gently off tall shelves and stained-glass windows that filter Gotham’s weak afternoon light into dusty gold.

You were seated with Steph and a few other friends at one of the long tables, five chairs pulled in close, bodies overlapping in that casual, communal way people slip into without thinking. But now your back is to Tim, the familiar line of your shoulders framed by your coat draped over the chair, the curve of your neck half-hidden by your hair.

And there he is.

Lloyd sits next to you, angled just enough that his face is fully visible to Tim, a script spread open on the table between you, pages already dog-eared and marked up with pencil notes. He mouths lines under his breath, brows furrowed in concentration, tapping the edge of the paper with his pen like it might jog something loose.

Every so often, his green eyes flick up.

They land on Tim.

And every single time, the idiot smiles at him—awkward, polite, uncertain—before ducking his head back down and returning to memorizing lines for whatever stupid play he’s involved in this week.

Tim exhales slowly through his nose.

“He’s not even the main lead,” he mutters, barely above a whisper. “Why the fuck is it taking him so long to memorize so few lines?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lucas says from beside him, tone flat and edged with sarcasm, “maybe he wants to spend time with his girlfriend. Just a thought.”

Tim doesn’t bother looking at him. Lucas isn’t exactly close—not really—but Stephanie and you had introduced him to Tim after spending time together in art class, and he lets Tim rant without interruption, which counts for something.

“My girlfriend,” Tim corrects automatically.

Dina, Lucas’s girlfriend, groans outright from where she’s leaning back in her chair. “This is why she isn’t sitting with us,” she mutters.

“She isn’t sitting with us because the idiot needed help,” Tim snaps back, keeping his voice carefully light, carefully neutral, even though the words come out sharper than intended.

And he’s not wrong. You had been sitting at the head of the table, comfortably centered, until Lloyd showed up—nervous, bashful, clutching his script like it might bite—and asked if you could help him run lines for an audition. You’d hesitated for exactly half a second before changing seats, scooting closer, tilting the pages toward yourself with practiced ease.

Tim had wanted to shove the script straight into Lloyd’s mouth.

Instead, he watches.

Watches the way you lean in when Lloyd gets stuck, the way you tap the page lightly and murmur corrections, the way Lloyd listens with an intensity that borders on reverence. The library settles around them, quiet and warm and heavy with books that smell like dust and ink and old promises, Gotham pressing its gray, unlovely afternoon up against the windows while, inside, you sit close enough to someone else that your shoulders almost touch.

Tim keeps his gaze fixed there, steady and unblinking, like if he looks away for even a second something permanent might shift without his permission, like the world might quietly rearrange itself while he isn’t watching.

“I hope they start making out,” Dina murmurs into her tea, voice low and wicked, steam curling up around her face, “just so I can watch Tim strangle himself with his computer cord.”

Lucas snickers beside her, shoulders shaking.

Tim finally drags his eyes away from you and turns to Dina, incredulous. “Come on,” he says, voice clipped, restrained by effort alone. “You can’t seriously think he’s actually good for her. He’s a fucking idiot.”

That makes Dina pause. She cups her mug in both hands, fingers warming against the ceramic, gaze drifting back toward your table as if she’s trying to see something she missed. “I’m not saying that, Tim,” she says, slower now. “I’m just… she seems happy. I guess.”

“You guess?” Tim echoes, one brow lifting as he flips his notebook open and starts scribbling absently, blue ballpoint pen gliding across the page. A stick-figure Scarecrow takes shape under his hand—crooked hat, lopsided grin—the ink dark and precise. One of the fancy pens you bought him for his birthday a few months ago. He presses a little harder than necessary.

Stephanie shrugs, spinning her pencil between her fingers. “It could be worse,” she says. “He’s just… awkward.”

Lucas snickers again when he catches the expression that crosses Tim’s face, all tight disbelief and quiet offense.

Tim turns on him immediately. “Fuck you, man,” he mutters, rubbing a hand down his face.

“I mean,” Lucas adds, holding up his hands, “I’m actually with Tim on this one. I don’t like him that much either.”

Oh.

Oh okay.

So Lucas is Tim’s best friend now, apparently, and they are the closest people in the fucking universe.

Tim straightens instantly, pointing at Lucas like he’s just been handed a winning card and swiveling back toward Dina and Stephanie. “You hear that?” he says, vindicated. “He agrees!”

Stephanie shoots Lucas a look and tilts her head. “Dude, come on—”

“She had to ask him out,” Lucas says, shrugging like this is obvious. “Once or twice, whatever, but it’s like—every time. Even for the winter dance. She had to ask him.”

“What happened to feminism?” Dina tries weakly, staring into her cup.

“That’s not what I mean,” Lucas replies, turning toward her. “Come on, you’ve seen how much she overthinks it every time. When have I ever made you feel like you needed to ask me just to see me?”

Dina huffs, looking away, lips pressed thin. “You’re inflating Tim’s ego.”

“I’m not complimenting him!”

“Then why does he look like you just proposed?” Stephanie asks, exasperated and amused in equal measure.

Lucas furrows his brow, confused for half a second before following her gaze.

Locking eyes with Tim.

“Dude…?”

Tim leans in immediately, grin sharp and hopeful, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “So you’ll help me?”

“Fuck no.”

Oh.

Okay.

Tim Drake fucking hates Lucas, actually, and he can go die.

Tim groans, letting his forehead drop forward onto his notebook with a soft thunk, pen rolling slightly under his hand. “You all want me dead,” he mutters, voice muffled by paper. “What if I killed myself, huh? What if—”

“She’d probably save you a seat at her wedding with Lloyd,” Stephanie cuts in cheerfully, chin propped in her palm, freckles creasing as she smiles, “and just keep it empty.”

Tim kicks her under the table.

The library exhales as the evening thins out. Lucas and Dina leave around six, their voices fading down the marble stairwell, footsteps swallowed by the building’s cavernous quiet. Gotham presses itself against the tall windows, the sky outside bruised purple and gray, streetlights flickering on one by one like tired sentries. The stained glass above the stacks bleeds muted color onto the floor—dusty golds and blues that settle into the cracks of old stone.

By seven, Stephanie finally closes her textbook, the heavy thud echoing louder than it should in the near-empty room. She leans back in her chair, stretching her arms over her head, curls spilling down her shoulders in loose blonde spirals that catch the lamplight. Her skin still holds a faint tan despite Gotham’s winter, freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks like constellations she never bothered to memorize.

She glances between Tim and you.

Lloyd left a few minutes ago.

You drifted back to the head of the table after, slipping into the seat like it was always yours, familiar and effortless. Tim doesn’t look up—not once—but Stephanie notices everything anyway. The way his fingers fly faster over the keyboard, knuckles pale, veins standing out against skin that’s already too light from long nights indoors. The way he takes a sharp pull from his energy drink, throat working like he needs to swallow something down before it crawls out of him.

Gods save him.

She stays put.

Doesn’t pack.

Doesn’t even pretend to.

Just slouches sideways in her chair, one knee tucked up, phone glowing softly in her hand as she doomscrolls with deliberate casualness, firmly wedged between the two of you like a human barricade.

“Don’t you have a date with Cass?” Tim asks eventually, voice rougher than he means it to be.

He doesn’t look up. He keeps his eyes locked on his screen, lashes casting dark shadows against sharp cheekbones, jaw clenched tight enough to ache. His black hair falls messily into his eyes, untouched since this morning, making him look more tired than he’ll ever admit in Stephanie's eyes.

Stephanie lifts her head slowly. “What?”

Tim swallows. Shifts in his chair. Still doesn’t look at you. Not at the way you tilt your head when you’re confused, not at the way the overhead lamp warms your eyes into something soft and dangerous. “Your date,” he clarifies, aiming for nonchalance and missing by a mile. “With Cassandra.”

Stephanie’s eye twitches.

Ah. Message received.

“I don’t recall what you’re talking about, Timothy,” she says, tone sugary enough to rot teeth.

There are maybe six people in this world Stephanie Brown would willingly do something stupid and petty for.

Right now, she’s sitting between two of them.

“Dinner,” Tim adds, coughing slightly. “That ramen place.”

He probably assumed she’d help him for free.

And leave you alone with this monster?

Absolutely not.

“Ohhh,” Stephanie drawls, suddenly thoughtful. “Yeah. That nice, expensive one near the GCPD? The new one?”

Tim blinks, confused, watching as she nods to herself and begins packing her bag with exaggerated slowness, slipping pens into pockets, zipping and unzipping compartments. “Yeah, I guess—”

“Oh darn!” she interrupts brightly, patting her jacket pockets. “I left my wallet at home. Guess it’d be easier to cancel on Cass and reschedule.”

You pull one earbud free, brow knitting as you glance between them, noticing the way Tim’s eyebrow jumps, a sharp little tell he never quite learned to hide.

“You—” Tim cuts himself off, exhales hard through his nose, then reaches into his jacket and pulls out his wallet. He doesn’t even look at Stephanie when he hands it over. “Here. Don’t be a bad girlfriend and—”

“Aww, you’re so sweet,” Stephanie cuts in, batting her lashes dramatically as she plucks his black card straight from his wallet. She slips on her jacket, curls bouncing as she turns to you with a grin that’s all mischief and affection. “Isn’t he just the sweetest?”

You hesitate, head tilting slightly. “Uh… yeah.”

“YOU’RE GOING TO BE LATE,” Tim suddenly snaps, voice echoing through the quiet library, drawing irritated looks from a few remaining students as he stands and physically herds a giggling Stephanie away from the table. “GOODBYE. HAVE FUN.”

She laughs as she goes, practically skipping toward the exit, boots clicking against stone, blonde curls swinging as she throws a careless wave over her shoulder.

Tim watches her disappear into the stairwell, shoulders slumping just a fraction.

With the way she vanishes into Gotham’s night, he already knows—deep, deep down—that he’s losing at least two thousand dollars tonight.

The library settles again, lights humming softly, the city breathing outside the windows.

And you’re still there.

There’s an empty seat between the two of you where Stephanie sat.

You don’t hesitate. You stand and move into it like it’s muscle memory, like gravity still knows where to put you, like you didn’t just walk Lloyd out to his car ten minutes ago with your hand wrapped around his sleeve, laughing softly like you were something out of a storybook—like his fucking prince charming.

The chair scrapes quietly against the floor as you pull it in, close enough that Tim feels the shift in air before he sees you settle beside him. His shoulders tense instinctively, pale skin already gone tight under the library lights, hair falling into his eyes as he stares a little too hard at his screen.

“What are you working on?” you ask, easy and conversational, fingers sliding up to tune your music down as you keep sketching, pencil moving in loose, confident strokes. It looks like something for art class—shading layered gently, lines purposeful without being precious. Stephanie finished the final touches on her landscape the moment she arrived, declared it done, and promptly started meddling.

Tim’s answer comes a beat late.

“Uh—” His voice stutters slightly, like it caught on the way out. “Just… trying to learn this new code. Finished school stuff already.”

You lean just enough to glance at his screen, not touching him, not quite, but close enough that he can see your reflection faintly in the dark glass. You nod, lips pursing thoughtfully. “Looks complicated.”

And then you go back to drawing.

Just like that.

Like you didn’t used to lean into him when you worked, shoulder to shoulder, knee pressed against his under the table. Like your head didn't tilt toward his when you concentrated, lashes brushing his sleeve. Like that wasn’t a year ago, like it wasn’t still burned into him in exact, brutal detail.

Tim swallows.

“Mhm,” he murmurs, the sound rougher than he intends, barely there, fingers hovering uselessly over his keyboard as the library hums around you both—lights buzzing softly, pages turning somewhere far off.

And you sit there beside him anyway, close enough to undo him, drawing like nothing has changed at all.

Tim doesn’t take your closeness for granted. He never has. Tim breathes it in the way he’s learned to breathe in every narrow allowance of proximity these days, slow and careful, like the moment might bruise if he holds it too tightly. You smell like your perfume—soft, familiar, worn into the fibers of your coat—layered with the papery dryness of old books and the faint, comforting bitterness of tea you shared earlier with Dina, mugs cooling forgotten on the table between half-finished thoughts.

And under all of that–barely there but persistent once he catches it–is cedarwood.

Not his.

The stupid blonde’s.

It clings faintly, like static, like a reminder pressed into the air itself. 

You walked him to his car. 

Tim isn’t a traditionalist, not really, but it’s winter and Gotham doesn’t do gentle cold; it bites, sharp and personal, and it only took Lloyd four quiet, “No, I insist—”s from you to give in. 

Amateur. Tim files it away automatically before he lets himself breathe again anyway, because denying it would hurt worse, because this is still you. His fingers crack at the knuckles without him realizing, a soft, dry sound swallowed by the library’s hush, and his gaze drifts—unintentional, unguarded—down to your sketchbook.

And stops.

Freezes.

Red Robin stares back at him from the page.

Not stiff. Not posed. Caught in motion, balanced on the edge of something unseen, weight shifted to one hip like he’s mid-turn, cape flaring in a way that suggests momentum rather than drama. 

The pencil work is confident—dark where it needs to be, light where it breathes—shading layered patiently along the lines of the suit, the texture of the fabric suggested with nothing more than pressure and restraint. The mask sits just right on the face, angular but not harsh, eyes narrowed with focus rather than anger.

It isn’t copied. It’s remembered.

Tim sees details no camera would ever bother with: the slight tension in the jaw, the way the line of the neck curves when he’s bracing to move, the subtle asymmetry that makes the figure human instead of iconic.

When Tim looks up, slow and careful, he finds you smiling softly as you draw, lashes lowered, pencil moving with quiet certainty. You once told him you’d never draw him—that it was bad luck, that you loved him too much to risk it, that some things shouldn’t be pinned down or flattened onto paper.

Gods help him, you’ve drawn him the way people draw something they’re afraid to lose.

Tim almost scoffs. Almost tells you that Red Robin looks worse in real footage, that cameras catch the sweat, the smudges, the moments where he’s off-balance and barely holding it together. He almost jokes, almost reaches for distance—

And then he sees it.

The small beauty mark at the base of the neck, just beneath the line of the mask, placed so casually it could only come from familiarity. From proximity. From having looked at him up close, when the mask was off and the world was quiet.

Something in Tim’s chest tightens, not painful, just full.

You drew him. And you did it sitting close enough that your sleeve brushes his arm when you shift, close enough that he can feel the steady warmth of you beside him, real and grounding, like you never stopped knowing exactly who he was beneath the masks and names and careful compartments.

“Thought you were a Nightwing fan,” Tim murmurs, the words coughing their way out of him in a whisper meant for no one else.

You glance up at him, pencil pausing mid-stroke where it’s shaping the fall of hair along the mask line, graphite smudged faintly along your fingers. “Thats all you, Tim,” you say easily, like it’s obvious. Like it’s always been obvious. “I’ve always liked Red Robin the most.”

“…Yeah?” Tim says after a second, his heart thudding too loud in his chest, the sound filling his ears until it feels like it might spill out of him. He shifts in his chair, shoulders drawing in slightly, like he’s bracing for impact. “He’s kinda boring, though. Don’t you think so?”

You laugh softly, the sound low and warm, shoulders lifting just a little as you shake your head. Your gaze drops back to the page, curls of hair falling forward as the pencil moves again—confident, unhurried—adding loose locks along the mask line, adjusting the angle of his jaw with a few precise strokes. “He’s nice to look at, and his suit is cool” you say, thoughtful, like you’re deciding it in real time. “That’s all that matters for the project.”

Heat rushes to Tim’s face, sudden and overwhelming, creeping up his neck and burning across his cheeks under the blue glow of his laptop screen. He swallows, fingers tightening around the edge of the table as if that might anchor him. “Just… nice?” he asks, voice thinner than he’d like, cracking ever so slightly at the end.

You don’t look up. You hum instead, soft and considering, a small sound tucked between breaths as your pencil hesitates—then continues. “Mhm. Well,” you add after a beat, lips curving faintly, “maybe a little bit more.”

Tim’s knee starts bouncing under the table, fast and restless, the motion telegraphing everything he refuses to say. He doesn’t know what to do with that—whether it’s a compliment or a deflection or something gentler and more dangerous. His mouth opens, closes, then settles on a useless, noncommittal, “Mhm…”

You tilt your head, studying the sketch with a critical eye, tapping the pencil lightly against the paper once. Then, without warning, you say, “He looks like if an Oreo Blizzard was a person.”

Tim pauses.

His fingers still on the keyboard. His knee stutters mid-bounce. The blush drains from his face, replaced by pure, quiet confusion as his brain stalls out completely. He stares at his screen like it’s betrayed him, cursor blinking patiently in the corner.

“Tim?”

He blinks, slow and deliberate, like he’s surfacing from deep water.

You’re looking up at him now, wide-eyed and earnest, lashes catching the warm lamplight, pencil hovering mid-air. Your mouth is tilted into something unsure, something fond.

“Mhm?” he says, automatically, voice distant.

“…Dairy Queen closes in ten minutes.”

The words land soft and absurd between you. Tim exhales a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, shoulders loosening just a fraction, something in his chest easing even as his heart picks up again. He glances at you, then at the sketch, then back at you—caught somewhere between disbelief and something dangerously close to hope.

“…I know.” His voice is careful, deliberate, each word weighed like a stone he’s been carrying around for years. “…And… what does that have to do with us?”

You groan, letting the edge of your sketchbook tap softly against his forearm, a playful, almost affectionate smack that makes him flinch just slightly. “Come on!” The protest is sharp but light, threaded with warmth that curls into the space between you despite the library’s stale, paper-scented air and the muted hum of fluorescent lights overhead.

Tim giggles, curling his fingers around the spot where the sketchbook landed, the sound of it mingling with his heartbeat in his ears, loud and jarring in the quiet. “Hey! You just watched me give my card to Stephanie, Tim Drake is broke now.” he protests, voice clipped with mock indignation, but the curve of his lips and the crinkle at the corner of his eyes betray the joy of being near you, of sharing this space with you.

“I’ll pay!” you insist, leaning a little closer, pencil still in hand, tracing shadows in the sketchbook as if the very act grounds you enough to be closer.

“Absolutely not,” Tim says, shaking his head, pale skin still flushed faintly beneath the library’s dim glow, sharp jawline catching light, lashes brushing against the tops of his cheeks. His grin is soft, but the tilt of his head, the way his shoulders draw back and his hands still, betray a protective instinct he never can fully hide from you. “When have I ever let you pay for anything?”

Your mouth opens, ready to argue, “Well… that was when we were dating, that’s different—”

You cut yourself off mid-sentence. The words hit him like a sudden draft of winter air, sharp and real, and he sees it: the way your eyes flick toward his, the trace of hesitation. His smile falters, eyes no longer crinkling into the familiar crescent moons but softening into a tentative curve, a dimple barely showing at the corner of his mouth. His shoulders draw in slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if he’s bracing himself against a memory he’s never allowed himself to touch.

He’s never heard you say it—name it—before. 

That what you two had, what you still carry in the spaces between words and touches, was over and that the over part was actually real. Broken, maybe, but real. Your breakup wasn’t a spoken ending; it was a silence he’d been forced to interpret, a confession he always assumed, but now you’re saying it anyway, in subtle, quiet ways, and it feels like the city itself has paused to make him process it.

“…Mhm…Yeah,” he murmurs, voice lower now, almost swallowed by the soft hum of the library. His gaze drops to his lap, hands brushing against each other in that small, nervous way he does when he’s unsure what to say but doesn’t want to let the moment slip. “…Uh I should have a 20 on me though, I'll just pay, yeah?”

The casual tone is a mask. He’s giving up the nonchalant act he’s perfected over months of careful observation, of distancing himself from his own feelings, of hiding in plain sight. Beneath it, there’s something else—something protective, careful, a quiet pursuit to make this moment of pause yours as much as it is his, because he's so sick of your pauses only having an impact on him.

You glance at him, heart squeezing faintly at the expression on his face, at the way he shapes his sadness into something neat, contained, so it doesn’t spill over into the world. There’s frustration in it, sure, but it’s measured, practiced—the same way he’s always measured his words with you, the same way he’s always carried your heart alongside his own without ever breaking stride.

The subtle history of your relationship—the jokes, the shared silences, the afternoons spent wandering Gotham’s streets side by side, the whispered plans, the quiet fights and louder reconciliations—all of it hums beneath the surface, threading through every glance, every brush of sleeves, every half-smile that was exchanged across the sketchbook between you.

For a fleeting moment, the world outside the library disappears, and the city—gritty, cold, unforgiving Gotham—fades behind the steady pulse of proximity, the weight of unspoken words, and the quiet certainty that some things, even after endings, never truly go away.

Not if Tim will let it. 

He didn't let go of Robin and he won't let go of you.

“Come on,” Tim mumbles, already rising to his feet, a small, careful smile tugging at his mouth as he starts packing up—laptop slid into its sleeve, notebook stacked neatly on top, cords coiled with muscle memory precision, the pens you gifted him gathered like he’s afraid to leave any trace of you behind. “We can use my car. You probably walked here right?”

You don’t answer right away.

You’re still stuck on the look he wore just moments ago, the way his expression cracked open without warning. Tim has always been controlled about this—too controlled. When you called things off, he didn’t argue. Didn’t bargain. Didn’t ask you to stay. Sometimes, in your worse moments, you resented that. It felt like indifference masquerading as respect.

But the way his blue eyes widened earlier, bright and unguarded for just a second, the way his composure slipped—it was the first time you saw how deeply it landed. How much it still mattered.

The realization unsettles you, stirring something low and uncertain in your gut, the quiet sense that maybe following him now isn’t as harmless as it feels.

“You comin’?” Tim asks over his shoulder as he adjusts the strap of his bag, posture easy but hopeful. He pauses, glancing back. “Or… I can heat up the car first. If you want.”

“No, I—” You stop yourself, then shake your head gently, moving to pack your things instead. Pencil tucked away, sketchbook closed with care. You hesitate only a moment before taking one last look at the Red Robin drawing, fingertips lingering at the edge of the page like a goodbye—or a promise—before you slide it into your bag, almost reverently.

When you turn back around, Tim is already there.

Holding your coat out for you.

You jump a little, startled enough to laugh, the sound breaking the tension. “God,” you chuckle, slipping your arms into the sleeves, “Alfred is rubbing off on you.”

“Yeah, well,” Tim says casually, adjusting the collar for you without thinking, “he says you rubbed off on me, so.”

He hopes what he just said sticks.

It does.

Your fingers pause mid-button, the moment stretching thin and quiet between you.

+1 point to Tim Drake.

“How bad is it?” you mumble, voice pitched with playful dread as Tim cracks the heavy library doors open just enough to peer outside.

Your fur coat does not have a hood.

“Uh…” Tim glances back at you, a nervous smile flickering as a gust of icy wind snakes raindrops inside. “How about I just pull the car up front?”

You sigh, already knowing the answer. “They won’t let you.”

Gotham’s library sits stubbornly away from main roads, tucked back like a secret it’s trying to protect. With the city’s endless appetite for destruction, they’ve decided some things are worth guarding—this place being one.

“Come here,” Tim murmurs.

He tugs gently at the sleeve of your coat, pulling you closer before you can overthink it. He unzips his jacket and angles himself instinctively, lifting one side to shield your head and shoulders from the cold, creating a small pocket of warmth that smells like clean fabric, ozone, and something unmistakably him.

You falter.

Tim doesn’t move. Doesn’t rush it. Just stands there, steady, letting you decide.

Your hands hover for a second before settling against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric like you’re reminding yourself that friends do this too. That this doesn’t have to mean more.

+1 point to Tim Drake.

The cold rain hits the moment you step outside, sharp and immediate, Gotham winter cutting through fabric and skin alike, the wind threading itself between buildings like it knows exactly where to hurt. Snow hasn’t quite committed yet, but the ground is slick with old ice and slush, the sidewalk shining faintly under the amber streetlamps like it’s been lacquered with danger.

Tim moves first.

Not rushing you, not pulling—just angling himself so his shoulder blocks the worst of it, his jacket still half-open, one arm hovering close enough to guide without touching. You fall into step beside him automatically, boots striking the pavement a little too fast, breath puffing white in front of you, laughter caught somewhere between nerves and cold.

The library looms behind you, all stone and quiet judgment, while Gotham opens up ahead—wet streets, distant sirens, the low hum of traffic threading through the night. The parking lot feels farther than it should, stretched thin by the cold, by the way your coat slips just slightly on your shoulders, by the fact that your fingers are numb and your steps are getting shorter.

You slip.

It’s small—just a fraction of a second where your heel skids on a patch of ice you didn’t see—but it’s enough. Enough for your balance to tip, for your stomach to lurch, for the world to tilt wrong.

Tim catches you without thinking.

His hand is firm at your waist, fingers splaying through the fur of your coat, his other arm bracing you before you can even gasp. The contact is sudden and close and undeniable, your momentum carrying you straight into him, chest to chest, the impact softened only by the way he adjusts instantly, grounding you like this is a problem he’s solved a hundred times before.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moves.

Your breath tangles with his, warm against cold, your gloved hands pressing instinctively against his jacket. You can feel the tension in his grip—not rough, not hesitant—just precise, protective, like his body decided this was non-negotiable. His pulse jumps under your palm, fast and real, a quiet tell he never quite learned how to hide from you.

Then the moment passes.

He steadies you, eases you upright, hands lingering a second longer than strictly necessary before pulling back, giving you space without fully stepping away. The cold rushes back in immediately, reclaiming what little warmth you stole from him.

The car is close now.

He opens the passenger door for you, quick and efficient, one hand still hovering near your elbow as you slide inside, the seat cold even through your clothes. Snow crunches under his boots as he rounds the hood, movements smooth, practiced, the kind of unconscious choreography that comes from years of doing things fast and right.

You watch him through the windshield as he slips into the driver’s seat, shutting the door with a solid thunk that seals the world out. The car fills with the quiet whir of the heater starting up, the windows fogging faintly at the edges.

Inside, the air is warm, sealed tight against Gotham’s cold, the heater humming low beneath the dash. Everything unsaid sits between you, dense and heavy, pressing at your ribs.

Friends do that, right?

You’d catch Stephanie at the waist if she slipped. You’d grab Lucas too, even if he made a joke about it afterward.

Yeah.

You’re friends.

+2 points to you.

You turn just in time to see him rake his fingers through his hair, trying to shake the rain loose, droplets scattering across his knuckles and the collar of his jacket. His black hair sticks up in damp, uneven strands, darker with moisture, lashes clumped slightly as he blinks. 

When he catches you looking, his mouth curves without hesitation—easy, familiar—eyes crinkling at the corners, teeth flashing, one dimple cutting deep into his cheek.

Your heart stutters, sharp and traitorous.

+2 points to Tim Drake.

You look away too quickly, forcing your hands to move, to do something normal, something harmless. You dig through your bag like you’re on autopilot, fingers brushing past pencils and folded paper until you find the packet of tissues. You hold it out to him, tone light, practiced, the way you talk when you don’t want him to notice anything’s wrong.

“Dry your hair, you’re going to get sick—”

“Hands are full,” Tim hums, distracted but smiling, one hand reaching back to shove both your bags into the backseat, the other twisting the key and cranking the heater higher. Warm air spills over your legs almost immediately.

So you move.

You pull a tissue free and lean in, close enough that your knee brushes his, close enough that his warmth bleeds into you. You scrunch the damp front of his bangs between your fingers, careful at first, then a little more deliberate, dragging the tissue through dark strands.

Tim freezes.

Not stiff—not pulling away—just… still. Like his body hasn’t been updated with whatever rule you’re operating under now. His shoulders lock, breath hitching just slightly as your fingers brush his scalp, familiar in a way that hurts. You can feel how soft his hair still is, how it curls faintly at the ends when it’s wet.

God. It’s been so long.

You’d do this for Stephanie.

You would.

You’d even do it for Lucas if he complained enough.

Tim is caught somewhere between letting himself melt into the touch and the dull ache of realizing he’s been reduced to the same category. Just another friend. Another person you’re gentle with.

+2 points to you.

“I think it’s dry,” he mumbles, voice lower now.

“No, it’s—” You pause, lifting the tissue, fingers brushing through once more. It’s slick. Too slick. You frown slightly, eyes narrowing as realization clicks.

You look at him.

He doesn’t look back.

“Uh—” His jaw tightens, gaze fixed firmly on the windshield.

“Tim.”

“So what do you want to get?” he rushes out, too fast. “Soft serve, maybe? Blizzard probably—”

“Tim.”

“You know I was thinking—”

“Tim Drake,” you burst out laughing, the tension snapping, “you stole my fucking hair serum!”

You smack his shoulder, not hard, just enough to make a point, before leaning back to toss the used tissue into the tiny trash can tucked by the console—the one you bought and insisted he keep there. He complained about it. Still kept it.

“You left it in my room,” Tim huffs, finally looking at you again, defensive but amused, cheeks pink as he flips on the seat heater under you. “That’s your fault.”

You stare at him for a second, mouth still parted like you’re gearing up for an argument, then think better of it. The tension drains out of you in a soft exhale, and you turn toward the mirror instead, lifting a hand to smooth down a few stray flyaways, checking your reflection in the dim interior light. Your smile lingers there, small and unguarded, like it always has.

Some things, annoyingly, haven’t changed at all—even if it feels like everything else has.

And that’s what makes it so sickening for Tim.

Because you still smile at him the same way, still tilt your head when you listen, still buy him an extra soda from the vending machine without asking because you know he’ll drink it later, still memorize a new coffee order for him every season like it’s muscle memory. Like loving him was a habit your body never quite unlearned.

You do all of that—and then you kiss someone who isn’t him.

Tim presses his tongue hard against the inside of his cheek as he pulls out of the library parking lot, jaw tightening just enough to ache. The tires hiss softly against wet pavement, streetlights bleeding into long, smeared reflections across the windshield as Gotham opens up around them—brick and neon and rain-slick streets, the city breathing low and restless even this late.

He keeps his eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel, posture relaxed in a way that feels practiced rather than real. The heater hums, the radio stays off. There’s no room for anything else.

Five-minute drive to Dairy Queen.

Plenty of time to pretend this doesn’t hurt.

The radio settles into a song neither of you bothered to change, something mellow and familiar, the kind that feels like it’s always existed in Tim’s car. The bass is low, steady, syncing with the hum of the engine and the whisper of tires over rain-dark pavement. Gotham slides past in slow motion—storefronts half-lit, steam curling up from subway grates, traffic lights blinking like tired eyes that never quite close.

The dashboard casts a soft glow over Tim’s hands on the wheel, pale against the dark interior, veins faintly visible where his grip tightens and relaxes in small, unconscious adjustments. His black hair is still slightly damp, curling at the edges, lashes casting shadows when he blinks. 

There's a drop of water at the corner you watch fall from the reflection on your window. He drives like he always does—precise, smooth, attentive—but there’s something restrained about him now, like he’s holding himself a fraction too carefully.

You sit angled toward the passenger window, knee pulled up slightly, coat tucked close around you. The glass reflects pieces of you back at yourself—your eyes, the curve of your cheek, the movement of your fingers as you absently toy with a loose thread. Every so often, without really deciding to, your gaze drifts back to him.

It happens at a stoplight first.

Tim glances over, brief and instinctive, like checking a mirror. Your eyes meet, and for a second the city noise dulls, the song flattening into background hum. 

It’s not charged.

It’s worse than that.

It’s soft. Easy. Like nothing ever broke.

There’s no surprise, no tension, just recognition—quiet, familiar, intimate in a way that doesn’t ask permission. You look away first, clearing your throat softly, adjusting the hem of your coat like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t.

The light turns green. He looks forward again.

His free hand lifts from his knee, fingers flexing once, twice, hovering in the narrow space between you and the console. Close enough that you feel the shift in air, the warmth of him. 

Tim’s knuckles brush the seam of your jeans when the car rolls over uneven pavement, and for half a heartbeat his hand drifts higher, instinctive, memory-driven to protect you.

He almost rests it on your thigh.

Almost.

You feel it—the pause, the jerk—before he pulls back, settling his hand firmly against his own leg instead, thumb rubbing into his black jeans like he’s trying to erase the impulse. His jaw tightens, then eases. The song swells briefly, chorus bleeding into the small space, and the moment dissolves without ever being acknowledged.

You shift again, uncrossing and recrossing your legs, pretending it’s just for comfort. The next time you glance at him is when you move to put your hands in front of the heater, he’s already watching you, eyes softer now, unreadable in the dim light. The corner of his mouth twitches like he might smile, but he doesn’t. The road curves, and he turns his attention back to it, streetlights sliding in rhythmic flashes across his face.

The Dairy Queen sign appears ahead, bright and almost ridiculous against Gotham’s muted palette. The song on the radio fades into its final notes as Tim signals and slows, the car easing into the lot.

Five minutes have passed.

It felt longer than that. Gods save him.

+2 points to you.

“I’ll go order,” Tim mumbles, already reaching for his wallet like it’s a lifeline, fingers curling tight around the worn leather. He cranks the heat up another notch before you can protest, warm air rushing over you in a sudden wave, fogging the edges of the windshield. Then he’s gone—door opening, cold slicing in for half a second before it shuts again.

You watch him through the glass. Trying to ignore the fact he still remembered your order, that he didn't need to ask.

The night swallows him immediately, Gotham’s winter biting hard, breath blooming white as he steps onto the slick pavement. Tim shrugs his jacket higher on his shoulders, posture straightening as if the cold has given him something tangible to focus on. His reflection ghosts faintly in the window as he walks, pale under the fluorescent lights, black hair getting soaked again before he remembers to put his hood on.

He looks smaller out there. Or maybe farther away.

Inside the car, it’s too warm, too quiet. The radio hums low, some late-night song bleeding softly into the space he left behind. You rub your hands together, then still them, feeling strangely restless. The seat still holds the impression of him, warmth lingering like a memory your body hasn’t caught up to yet.

You lean back in the seat, staring at the ceiling for a second, exhaling slowly.

Outside, snow starts to fall—not enough to stick yet, just thin flakes catching the light as they drift down. Gotham pretending, briefly, to be gentle.

You don’t know why your chest feels tight.

You don’t know why you’re counting the seconds until he comes back. 

You don’t know why the way the warm lights of the Dairy Queen reveal the fact that Tim is blushing makes you want to whine into your hands.

It’s ridiculous. Embarrassing, even. The glass is smudged, the fluorescent glow too soft for Gotham, and yet there he is—standing a little too close to the counter, shoulders slightly hunched, ears pink where his dark hair curls against them. 

He keeps shifting his weight like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, like the choice between a Blizzard or soft serve is somehow a high-stakes decision. You can tell exactly when the cashier smiles at him, because the color in his face deepens, creeping down his neck.

You shouldn’t notice things like that anymore.

You press your palms flat against your thighs, grounding yourself, reminding yourself that this is fine, that this is normal. People blush. Tim has always blushed easily. It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t mean anything.

And yet.

Your chest feels tight in that familiar, unwelcome way—like your heart has recognized something your brain is refusing to name. You told yourself you ended things because it was the right choice, because timing and fear and the city itself were all stacked against you. You told yourself that love doesn’t always mean staying. You’ve repeated it enough times that it almost sounds true.

Almost.

Because watching him now, framed in broken tile and menu boards and warm yellow light, you feel that old ache stir, the one you never quite managed to bury. It’s not sharp anymore. It’s worse than that—dull and constant, like a bruise you keep pressing just to check if it’s still there.

You think about the way his hand hovered in the car.

About how easily you slipped back into orbit around him.

About how natural it felt to sit close, to touch his hair, to laugh like nothing fragile existed between you.

You loved someone else. You’re supposed to now too. 

Lloyd is kind and steady and uncomplicated, and you chose him because choosing him felt safe. Because he doesn’t know how to look at you the way Tim does—like he’s memorizing you for later, like he’s afraid of forgetting.

Maybe that’s the problem.

Tim has never forgotten you. Not once. And some treacherous part of you wonders if you ever really wanted him to.

You swallow, forcing your gaze away from Tim, staring instead at the fogging glass, your own reflection staring back at you—uncertain, flushed, caught somewhere between past and present.

You don’t know what this feeling is.

You just know it hasn’t gone away.

And maybe that’s because you never really knew it at all—never gave it a name, never looked it straight in the eye—especially not in that library parking lot not even five hours earlier when Lloyd ended things, headlights painting the asphalt gold and gray, cutting long slices of shadow between you. 

You’d walked him to his car like you always did, side by side, shoulders brushing ever so slightly, pretending the cold wasn’t gnawing through your coat.

You gave him a blow job in the back seat. Thinking back on it now, you cant really find it in yourself to regret it even if it ended in a break up, because imaging Lloyd as Tim in the moment was so fucking easy.

“Hey… look, you’re great and all, but—” Lloyd had said after, voice low and panting as his hand started fumbling at the back of his neck, eyes darting anywhere but yours, like he was afraid of seeing something permanent there. “I just think you like me a bit more than I like you and– fuck its making me feel so guilty that…its kind of hard to be around you.”

And he wasn’t wrong.

You had liked Lloyd. You liked that he could smile and make it feel ordinary, the sort of steady warmth that didn’t demand constant attention or complicate your life. You liked that he made it easy to exist without thinking twice, that holding his hand didn’t feel like carrying a secret you weren’t allowed to tell anyone. He was the right shape for comfort. A safe harbor in a city that preferred to chew up and spit out anything soft.

But every time he leaned close, every time his lips brushed yours, your mind betrayed you, sneaking past the warmth and settling on the memory of someone else.

You had always pretended it was Tim. Always.

Lloyd’s hands on your waist became Tim’s in your imagination—steady, careful, asking permission in the way only Tim ever had. Lloyd’s smile faded into the one Tim gave you when he was nervous, the way it crinkled his eyes and made his dimple appear like a secret he didn’t know you had already discovered. 

The warmth in Lloyd’s chest became the slow, even thrum of Tim’s heartbeat, the one you had memorized during years of side-by-side walks through rain-slicked Gotham streets. 

Every kiss, every casual touch, every laugh you gave Lloyd was quietly replaced in your head by a ghost that looked like a boy in black and red, hair curling into his forehead, sharp jawline cut just enough by shadows to make you think of nights spent leaning too close, breathing too fast, and wanting to memorize him in ways that felt too intimate to ever say aloud.

With Lloyd it felt like standing under a lamp-post in the rain that only warmed one shoulder. 

Comfortable. Enough. But never whole. 

Never the way Tim was whole, even when he was frustrating, even when he made you want to scream or run or hide.

Because Tim would always stand in the rain and hear you scream at him to come in the warmth too with a smile on his face.

Tim would never listen to you.

You never meant it to be cruel. You never wanted to betray the quiet warmth Lloyd offered. You told yourself it wasn’t fair to Lloyd. You tried—God, you tried—to be present, to let yourself fall for the person who waited in front of you instead of the one who had always haunted the shadows behind your eyes.

And yet, just hours ago, when Lloyd said it, naming the imbalance, the truth hit harder than the cold ever could.

You did like Lloyd more than Lloyd would ever love you.

Because even without him realizing it, all you saw was Tim.

Through tan skin, blonde hair, green eyes and freckles–you saw pale skin, dark hair, blue eyes and beauty marks.

Every small gift, you'd come home and set it besides the ones given to you by Tim.

For fucks sake you recommended Lloyd the same cologne Tim used.

You were disappointed when he tried the tester in the store and scrunched his nose, shaking his head with a soft and awkward smile.

Sitting in Tim’s car now, the heater blasting warmth that can’t chase away the memory of that parking lot, the streetlights reflecting off the damp asphalt like shattered glass, you see Tim in the glow of the Dairy Queen sign, all pale skin and dark lashes and eyes wide enough to swallow everything you think you’ve built. 

The blush creeping up his neck is more than color; it’s a reminder, sharp as a blade, of everything you’ve tried to forget.

You trace the curve of his jaw in your mind, remembering every late night, every quiet conversation, every time he had said nothing at all but made you feel known in a city that never wanted to know anyone. Every casual brush of fingers, every laugh, every way he moved—like he belonged in the same orbit you couldn’t leave—floods you now with all the things you’d denied yourself, all the longing you’d tried to disguise as ordinary life with someone else.

And Tim… Tim never stopped noticing. Never stopped caring. Never stopped being Tim.

And maybe that’s why your chest aches so much right now. Maybe that’s why the warmth in the car, the song low on the radio, the smell of him mixing with the faint hint of gasoline from your city outside, feels like a tether you can’t break.

You don’t know what this feeling is.

But you know one thing for certain.

It has always been him.

And you used to be furious about it. Angry in the way you only are when something is both inevitable and unfair, when it’s been carving into your chest for years and you’ve spent every ounce of energy pretending it wasn’t there. Now it feels… numb. 

Like touching a wound that never healed but also never bled, a dull ache that pulses quietly under the surface, paralyzed, anesthetized, but still very much alive.

Tim slides back into the car, shaking a light drizzle off his hair, the glow from the Dairy Queen sign painting him in gold and wet streaks. He’s smiling, that soft, crooked smile that used to make your chest flip entirely against your will. “Got us two Oreos,” he says, setting the cup holder between you, carefully balancing the blizzards against the gear shift before he locks the doors.

You remember your own words from earlier, muttering about Red Robin. 

“He looks like if an Oreo Blizzard was a person.”, you said.

Irony doesn’t even begin to cover it.

He hums as he adjusts the heater, flicking the vents toward you. “The cashier was just about to close up—we got really lucky, so—”

You shrug, eyes tracing over the familiar curve of his jaw and landing on the beauty mark you had drawn on Red Robin, the one just below his ear, just the right spot to catch a glimmer of light. “Probably because she thought you were cute,” you say casually, but your voice carries just enough weight to make him pause.

Tim freezes mid-zip, one hand suspended over his jacket like he’s been caught mid-breath. “Huh?”

“That’s why you were blushing, right?” You tilt your head, faintly amused, tracing the warmth spreading over his cheeks. “You’re still red. Come on, tell me—what pick-up line did she use on you, hmm?”

It’s a reflexive memory. The same teasing he used on you the first time you had dared talk openly about Lloyd in front of him, that sly tilt of his head, the curve of his mouth as he dug his nails into his palm, “What pick-up line did that Greek god use on you, hm?”

You watch him now, fingers tightening on his zipper, knuckles pale, jaw working as though he’s chewing over his words before they leave his lips. Tim’s never been good at casual lies. He’s too honest, too exact, too weighted by the things he feels.

“What—What are you talking about?” His voice comes out careful, slightly high, trying to steady, but it trembles anyway.

You blink, caught off guard by the genuine confusion in his expression. For a split second, the playful rhythm of your teasing falters. “It was a joke, Tim… relax.” You straighten in your seat, shoulders lifting, trying not to let the sting in your chest show. You lift a spoon of your blizzard to your lips, the cold a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from him, and the way he’s frozen there makes your stomach twist in ways that Lloyd never could.

The city hums quietly outside, Gotham rain tapping against the roof, a soft percussion to the pulse between you. Tim’s eyes flicker to yours, a mixture of something like guilt, embarrassment, and that all-too-familiar longing you can read in him like Braille. He’s close, too close, and every small movement—the way his hand hovers near the cup holder, the slight lean of his shoulder toward yours—pulls at old threads in your chest, tangling with feelings you thought you’d put away neatly in labeled boxes.

“…She wasn’t flirting with me.”

Tim says it like he’s placing something fragile on the dashboard between you, careful, deliberate. The sentence sits there for a second, humming with the low noise of the car, the heater, the city outside that never quite shuts up.

“She was teasing me to her co‑worker,” he continued after a beat, eyes fixed straight ahead, unfocused, like he’s watching something far past the windshield. “About being ‘another slave in the rain for their master.’ Some other guy was here ten minutes earlier rushing for his girlfriend.”

You pause with the spoon still in your mouth. An oreo crumb dissolving slow and sweet against your tongue, cold blooming where you don’t want it. You don’t swallow right away.

“What I was… blushing about,” Tim adds, quieter now, voice thinning, “was that I realized I’m worse than an actual slave.”

The Dairy Queen lights flicker once, then go dark, leaving the interior of the car wrapped in soft amber and streetlight glow. Outside, two girls laugh as they lock up, their footsteps crunching faintly on wet pavement as they head for the same car, shoulders bumping, warmth shared without thinking.

“I’m choosing to be here,” Tim says, jaw tightening, “after being thrown out of the palace.” His fingers curl tighter when he moves his hands to rest against the steering wheel. “How pathetic is that?”

The word lands heavy, not dramatic—just tired. Worn smooth by repetition.

You don’t answer right away. You wait until the girls’ car pulls out of the lot, headlights sweeping once across the windshield before disappearing into Gotham’s throat. Until it’s just the two of you again, sealed inside this small, warm pocket of light and breath and old habits.

Only then do you turn.

Tim’s cheek is pressed into his forearms now, those braced against the steering wheel like he’s holding himself upright by force alone. His lashes cast shadows against pale skin. His shoulders are drawn in, posture small in a way he only ever allowed around you.

+4 points to Tim Drake.

“…I always liked you pathetic,” you murmur finally, voice low, casual, like it doesn’t cost you anything to say. You scoop another bite of ice cream, deliberately unhurried. “You know that.”

Tim huffs a laugh before he can stop himself, the sound sharp and breathless, and he drops his face fully into his arms like he’s hiding from the relief of it. When he speaks again, his voice is muffled, thinner, pitched exactly where he knows it will make you soften.

“I was too scared to ask you,” he admits. “When you said you didn’t think I was good for you… did you honestly think that sounded like a breakup?”

Your spoon pauses halfway to your mouth.

“It wasn’t meant to be a breakup…exactly…I guess,” you say, quietly.

Tim scoffs, straightening just enough to rake a hand through his hair, frustration crackling under his skin like static. He shoves a too-large bite of ice cream into his mouth, jaw working like he’s punishing himself for it. “Yeah, you just went home and blocked me on Instagram.”

“Didn’t block your spam, though,” you shoot back automatically. You knew he'd just hack into your account if you did that.

He groans your name, long and exasperated, twisting in his seat until he’s facing you fully now. His knee bounces once before he stills it with his own hand. “What the hell did I do?” he asks, not accusing—just genuinely lost. “I—God, I know I fuck up more times than I’d like to admit, but we always talked through things. Always. I let it go because you seemed so sure it was what you wanted, but—”

He stops mid-sentence.

Because your hand moves.

Your fingers slide into his hair, cool and gentle, adjusting his damp bangs where they fall too low over his forehead. The contact is soft, familiar, devastating. Tim goes utterly still, breath hitching like you’ve pressed a switch inside him. His lashes flutter once, then lower, instincts winning out as he leans just slightly into your touch.

You feel the heat of him under your palm. Alive. Real.

“You always looked like Red Robin the most when your hair was like this,” you murmur, thumb brushing his temple. “I liked drawing you with wet hair. In suit or otherwise.”

Oh.

Fuck.

Tim’s eyes open slowly, tracking your face like he’s memorizing it all over again. He searches your expression, looking for a joke, a deflection, a safe place to land—and when he finds none, his gaze drifts anyway. Your nose. Your mouth. The familiar curve of your jaw. Your brows. Like this might be the last time he’s allowed to look this closely.

“…When did you find out?” he asks at last, voice barely there. “Is that why you broke up with me?”

The question isn’t sharp. It’s scared.

Were you afraid?

That someone would come for him?

For you?

Or that he didn’t trust you enough to tell you first?

“…Yeah.” The word is a whisper, a soft confession that hangs between you, stretching longer than it should. You let your hand shift from where it had rested in his hair, moving carefully to his cheek, tracing the line from jaw to temple with a gentle touch, almost reverent. 

It pains you to feel him flinch just slightly, a reflex, the tiniest hesitation to let you keep touching him, and it twists something raw in your chest.

“I… I was actually going to argue about you being late to our date,” you admit, voice shaking a little, caught between guilt and memory, “then I saw you with that bandage on your neck, after watching Red Robin get struck in the news. I’ve drawn you both before—no, I’ve drawn you a million times, with and without the mask but that… that was the first time I noticed the beauty mark was the same. Because you were hiding it, covering it with a bandage.”

Your thumb brushes over his skin again, the motion gentle, unconscious, like you’re trying to soothe the memory away, like the touch can erase the hours of fear and worry that was tucked into your chest. Tim flinches again, but this time doesn’t pull away; instead, his hand rises to press yours against his cheek, anchoring you there as though letting go would mean you leaving for good.

“Do you know… do you know how scared I was?” you whisper, voice tight, breath catching. “How horrible it felt, knowing I was making you run from one end of Gotham to the other, after getting struck by a sword… all for a stupid coffee date?”

The car is still except for the low hum of the heater and the rhythmic tick of rain against the windshield, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you. The city has receded, the distant rumble of traffic and sirens muted, as though Gotham itself is leaning away, giving you this small, private corner in the chaos. Tim presses his cheek more firmly into your hand, and you feel the subtle warmth of him there, the heat of his skin against yours, grounding you in the moment.

“You didn’t make me do anything, I—” His words falter, swallowed in the space between heartbeats.

“Tim,” you interrupt, firm, the edge of your voice tempered with care, “you were going to kill yourself doing that. Being Red Robin, working at Wayne Enterprises, keeping your grades decent enough for this semester—how could I ask for more than that?”

Your words float in the car like smoke, curling around both of you, and Tim’s shoulders slump slightly, tension leaking out as he exhales harshly through his nose.

“How dare you not?” he hisses, voice low and almost desperate, but the words tremble. “How could you make that choice for me?”

“I wasn’t making the choice for you,” you murmur, softening, pulling your hand slightly away—but not fully, keeping it hovering over his cheek, tethering him to you. “I was making the choice for me. I didn’t want to feel guilty for using your time. I was being selfish… I am selfish, and I—”

“You don’t have to feel guilty,” he whispers, cutting through the quiet like a knife, but the tremor in his voice betrays him.

“Well I did.” You let it slip past your lips, a quiet affirmation, almost too soft for the sound to travel over the heater hum and the patter of rain.

Tim bites the inside of his cheek, tilting his head just enough to avoid your gaze while trying to form a coherent thought, a shield against the storm of everything you’ve just said. His eyes, those blue storms, flicker briefly to yours before darting to the dash, the blurred neon outside reflecting like water on glass. Your chest tightens, because even in his attempt to hide it, you see him unravel, every careful layer of control peeling back with each blink.

“I couldn’t handle you,” you mumble, the words slipping out quieter than you mean them to, like they’re embarrassed to exist at all. You’ve never said it out loud before. Never shaped it into something real enough to hear yourself. “I couldn’t give you—”

“All I’m hearing,” Tim cuts in briskly, too fast, too sharp, “is that you loved me too much and your little head hurt at the thought of it.”

He rolls the window down, cold air rushing in, carrying the smell of rain and wet asphalt, and with a flick of his wrist he tosses his Blizzard toward the far trash can. It arcs clean and perfect through the air, lands dead center with a hollow plastic thunk.

A perfect trick shot.

Any other night, any other version of you, you would’ve rolled your eyes and muttered, show off, just to watch him preen about it later.

Tonight, your chest feels too tight for sarcasm.

“You’re hearing what you want to hear,” you say instead, flat, defensive, staring down at your melting ice cream like it might offer backup.

“You’re saying what I want to hear,” he replies, softer now, turning fully toward you. He shifts in his seat, shoulder angling perpendicular to the driver’s side, body open in a way that makes your stomach flip unpleasantly. His knee bumps the center console. He’s too close again. He’s always been too close.

You don’t respond. You just huff quietly and scoop up another bite of your Blizzard, chewing slower than necessary, dragging the moment out. It makes him smile—small, crooked, fond, like he’s catching a glimpse of something familiar and precious that he thought he’d lost.

“God,” Tim murmurs under his breath, not quite looking at you, not quite not. “How does he stand you being so in love with me?”

The words land heavy and wrong and accurate all at once.

Your entire body freezes.

It’s like being flash-frozen mid-thought, like your blood turns to slush in your veins, like you might shatter if you move too fast. Mr. Freeze would be proud. You feel brittle. Exposed. Seen in a way you’ve spent months pretending wasn’t possible.

“…He doesn’t,” you mumble finally, voice barely holding together. There’s no point lying. You know Tim—he’d peel it apart eventually. “He broke up with me.”

Tim blinks.

Then he straightens abruptly, posture snapping upright like you’ve yanked a wire inside him. His face scrunches with confusion, eyes scanning yours like he’s waiting for the punchline, the laugh track, the gotcha moment.

“Huh—wait, what?”

“Lloyd broke up with me,” you repeat, quieter. “In the parking lot.”

Tim actually gapes at you.

His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, like the words keep slipping past whatever part of him is supposed to process reality. Under different circumstances, you might’ve laughed. Might’ve cataloged it as another fond memory. Instead, your brain chants relentlessly:

Stay mad at him. Remember the guilt. Don’t forget why this hurts.

“He broke up with you?” Tim repeats, disbelief thick in his voice.

“Mhm.”

His hands lift helplessly, gesturing vaguely at you—your coat, your hair, your existence. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” you say too quickly, the lie sliding out smoother than the truth ever could. “Maybe the blow job I gave him in the parking lot was ass.”

Tim freezes.

Completely. Like the sentence unplugged him.

For half a second, you consider backtracking, rolling your eyes, adding it’s a joke, Tim, relax, but you don’t get the chance. He’s already lunging for the window controls, shoving the glass down with frantic urgency before leaning out and promptly throwing up into the rain.

The car fills with the sound of retching, the cold air rushing in, the absurdity of it all crashing over you in waves.

You stare ahead, spoon suspended halfway to your mouth, wondering distantly how the hell the universe keeps finding new, deeply stupid ways to prove what you already know.

That it has always been him.

And that loving him has never been simple, or clean, or survivable without a little collateral damage.

Once your brain finally catches up, you move instinctively, slamming the empty Blizzard cup back into the holder with a clatter that echoes in the quiet car. Your hands reach for him, hesitating only a second before gathering the wet, dark strands of hair away from his face, bunching them carefully in your fingers.

“TIM—Hey—” you whisper, voice tight, low, unsure.

He just retches harder. His body shudders violently, leaning against your hand, the heat of him radiating through the sleeves of your coat. The smell of rain-soaked hair and ice cream fills the small space, cloying and intimate, and for a moment you can’t breathe around it. Your hands stay there, cradling the damp strands, unsure if you’re holding him back or holding yourself together.

You rub his back in slow, tentative circles, trying to anchor him, trying to be the thing that doesn’t move when everything inside you feels like it’s breaking. His shoulders tremble, and the quiet rattling of his breath mixes with the sound of the heater and the faint hum of the idling engine. The world outside the car blurs into wet, dark shapes and flickering streetlights.

After what feels like a lifetime, he pauses, shivering and slumped over, and then leans forward against the steering wheel with a deep, ragged heave. You kneel slightly on the seat to press a hand to his shoulder, letting your thumb brush the tense muscles under his jacket, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his back.

“Hey,” you murmur again, softer this time, leaning your forehead briefly against his shoulder. You don’t know what else to say—there’s no script for this moment, no words that could make it less raw, less humiliating, less…human. All you can do is be present, your hands stubbornly refusing to leave him, letting the warmth of your body tether him just slightly to reality.

He heaves again, slower this time, chest shaking against the wheel, and finally slumps fully against it. His wet bangs stick to his forehead, and you brush them gently aside, letting your fingers linger there. The storm of the city presses against the windows, but inside the car, with the heater warming your legs and the smell of ice cream and rain, the world narrows to him—this broken, beautiful, utterly human version of Tim Drake—and the ache of wanting to fix him when there’s nothing to fix but his own exhaustion and embarrassment.

You whisper his name again, almost a prayer, almost a curse.

His head lifts from the steering wheel, dark hair plastered to his forehead, eyelashes wet and trembling, and for a moment his brain seems to catch up to the situation. “He breaks up with you after the blow job? What a fucking douchebag.”

Of course he’d always defend you, even if the rest of the world couldn’t be bothered. Even if he has no context. 

“He didn’t like it, I guess,” you mumble, heat crawling up your neck like slow flames, your ears burning in the dim orange glow of the Dairy Queen lights outside.

“Babe, don’t fucking play with me—your mouth is fucking—” Tim begins, voice low and strangled, before you cut him off by shoving a spoonful of Oreo Blizzard into his mouth.

“Does that get rid of the throw-up taste?” you murmur, squeezing your eyes shut as if the act could erase the memory of his words entirely.

He chews and swallows, still pulling back from the spoon, face scrunching. “I’m going to fucking kill him. I swear on Batman’s life you hear me—I—”

“He didn’t like that I was… too into it,” you whisper, embarrassment curling in your chest like smoke. Even if no one else could hear, Tim could. Oh, Tim could.

“Okay—what?” he stammers, eyes widening in disbelief as a faint greenish flush creeps across his pale cheeks. A wave of nausea flickers across his expression, sharp and threatening, and your heart lurches. 

Gods, he’s going to throw up again.

“Wait! Wait!” you exclaim, hands flying up defensively, waving like flags, as your voice cracks from both embarrassment and fear, “I was pretending he was you—so it wasn’t that hard, Tim—”

“Our dicks are the same size?!” Tim yells, scandalized in a way that makes your stomach do somersaults, your cheeks warming hotter than the car seat heater under your thighs. “I’M NOT BIGGER?”

You blink at him, dumbstruck, voice caught somewhere between mortification and awe. “Uh… sorry?”

He groans into his hands, still slouched against the wheel, hair wet and clinging to his temples. “I owe Stephanie four hundred bucks,” he mutters, like that explains everything.

Then, delirious, still tasting the faint bite of ice cream and bile, he flicks a glance at you, eyes wide, incredulous. “Did you… look for a guy with the same… on purpose?”

You stare at him, tilting your head slightly in the low, warm light of the Dairy Queen, the heater humming between you like it’s holding the moment hostage. “I went for a tan man with blonde hair,” you murmur, voice low and sharp, like a whip against his disbelief. “I want you to use your fucking brain and re-think that question and if you think Im that shallow.”

Tim opens his mouth, shuts it, opens it again. The pale skin of his cheeks blooms pink, almost purple under the harsh fluorescent lights that slice through the car like guilty spotlights. You always had a way of making him look like a kid caught with his hand in a jar of Bat-snacks.

“Gods, you—” he starts, voice rising like a fragile dam on the verge of bursting, “you always pull shit like this to throw me off—so… what, you were okay with him since he had free time?”

You blink at him, unsure if you should laugh or huff, but then you murmur, “…Don’t word it like that.”

“I am!” he hisses, sharp and fragile all at once, his fingers twisting into his dark hair as if he can physically pull the frustration out. “God… was this not hard for you like it was for me? Being away from me? Do you know how much I missed you? I—” He pauses, jaw tightening, eyes flashing with something raw and desperate. “I sold out your fucking perfume, you know that? Bought forty bottles. I've gone through four in the past three weeks.”

You freeze, blink once, and feel your stomach twist with a strange, bittersweet mix of guilt and something almost like pride. Oh. That’s why your niche fragrance—the one you've had for years—was suddenly impossible to find, why you’d been clutching the last few sprays like they were oxygen. You’d thought it was coincidence, scarcity, Gotham nonsense. But no. He’d bought it all.

Your chest tightens. The heater hums low, the soft buzz filling the car like it’s conspiring to keep you trapped in this too-close, too-small world. Tim’s cologne fills your nerves as he shifts forward. You can smell him—aftershave faint under his natural scent, a mix of charcoal and night air, sweat from nerves and embarrassment.

Your hand twitches, wanting to reach out, to smooth the tension from his shoulder or his hair, to do something that doesn’t require words. But you stop, fingers frozen in midair, because every movement feels too loud in the shared quiet, too intimate.

Tim swallows, lips pressing into a thin line as his chest rises in a slow, uneven rhythm. “You… you really didn’t… think about me, did you?” he murmurs finally, not a question, more a plea. His voice is low, rough, weighted with longing and frustration and that thing he never lets anyone see—the part of him that’s still a kid in the backseat of life, afraid he’ll never measure up, afraid he’s too much or not enough.

“I thought of you too much,” you murmur, voice low, almost lost in the hum of the car heater and the faint pitter-patter of rain against the windshield. “That was the problem. That’s why I broke up with you. That’s why… you’re not good for me.”

Tim groans, face pressing into the steering wheel as if the leather can absorb all the chaos between you. “Hey, babe… I think you need to see a fucking therapist,” he mutters, voice muffled, defeated, but still sharp enough to make you blink.

“You first,” you hiss back, crossing your arms, heat creeping up your neck, heart hammering too fast.

Tim scoffs, finally lifting his head just enough to reveal his dark eyes, pale skin flushed pink from both embarrassment and the heater’s warmth. Then, almost casually, he reaches into the back seat, where a brown grocery bag rests behind the passenger seat, and pulls out a tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush.

You blink at him, unsure if you’re seeing things. “That… that’s the brand I use,” you say slowly, voice cracking slightly between disbelief and awe.

“I know,” he says, voice quiet but firm, almost a whisper of obsession, a breath of intent you can feel pressing against your skin. “Bought your whole hygiene routine before I came to the library. It's coming in useful more quickly than I thought it would.”

You stare at him, mouth slightly open, unable to process the layers of thought, care, and absolute chaos wrapped up in his words. He pops open the toothbrush like it’s nothing, casual and deliberate, but your brain freezes on the fact that he—down to the exact shade of pastel pink on the bristles—bought the same one you use.

“Your… you’re actually crazy,” you whisper, awe and incredulity warring in your tone, your fingers brushing against your lips as if touching them would anchor you back to reality.

Tim twists in his seat just enough to lean toward the open window, toothbrush already in his mouth like this is the most normal thing in the world. The rain has slowed to a fine mist, the kind that hangs in the air instead of falling, and the parking lot is empty enough that Gotham feels briefly abandoned—like the city has stepped away to give you privacy it never usually allows.

You watch his jaw move as he brushes, quick and methodical, too hard the way he does everything when he’s trying not to think. His shoulders are tense, drawn up near his ears, black hair still damp and curling at the ends where your fingers were not that long ago. Pale knuckles grip the steering wheel when his free hand comes back to steady himself, and you can tell he’s grounding himself in motion because stopping would mean feeling.

It’s hard not to stare, even if he's doing something like brushing.

It’s harder not to ache.

Because the whole time he’s brushing his teeth out the driver’s side window of his car like some feral raccoon, all you can think about is how familiar this is—how many versions of this exact moment live in your head. Tim brushing his teeth at your sink at two in the morning. Tim rinsing his mouth and leaning over to steal a kiss that tastes like mint and coffee and him. Tim doing mundane things in your orbit like that’s where he’s always belonged.

You dig your nails lightly into your palm, trying to stay present, trying not to drown in the weight of what you lost and what you never really let yourself keep.

He spits out the window, sharp and practiced, then reaches for a water bottle from the cup holder, cracking the seal with his teeth. The sound is loud in the quiet car. He takes a mouthful, tips his head back, throat working as he gargles, eyes screwed shut like he’s holding something back that isn’t just nausea.

Your chest tightens.

Because this—this is the part you never knew how to explain to him. How loving Tim was never about grand gestures or dramatic heartbreak. It was this constant, low-level strain of being too aware of him. Of every breath he took, every sacrifice he made without complaint. Knowing that every small ask from you was another weight on an already overloaded system.

He spits again, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then closes the window, caps the bottle and exhales slowly, shoulders finally dropping an inch.

You realize you’ve been holding your breath.

It was hard the whole time, you think—not just now, not just after you found out. It was hard when he showed up tired but smiling. Hard when he apologized for things that weren’t his fault. Hard when he tried to be everything, all at once, and still looked at you like you were the one thing he couldn’t afford to lose.

Loving Tim felt like standing too close to a live wire—warm, electric, intoxicating—and knowing that one wrong move could burn you both.

Tim leans back into his seat, blinking a few times, eyes glassy but focused now. He sets the toothbrush aside into the grocery bag, hands lingering there for a second longer than necessary, like he’s stalling.

You don’t say anything.

Because if you do, you might admit that even now—after watching  him spit toothpaste into the Gotham night, watching him exist inches from you—you still want to choose him.

And you’re terrified of what that says about you.

“…I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” Tim says quietly, the words slipping out like a confession he’s been holding between his teeth all night. His voice is rough around the edges now, scraped thin. “Gods—I just can’t do friends.”

The car feels smaller suddenly. Too warm. Too close. You look at him and it’s unbearable how much of him there is to look at—his eyes still glassy from nausea and something worse, his lips a little pinker than usual, lashes clumped just slightly from rain. All the familiar details stack up in your chest until it aches.

“You…” You swallow. “I can’t ask you to be what I want.” The truth presses at you from all sides, heavy and immovable. “I wanted you to be my… everything. You know how selfish that sounds? You can’t handle that.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” Tim says immediately.

There it is. That stubborn, immovable core of him. The part that never learned how to back down when something mattered to him.

“I do,” you huff, a small, tired smile tugging at your mouth despite yourself, because he’s still the same—still arguing even while he’s trying to give you everything. “I want you by my side twenty-four seven. I want you to only think about me. I want you to not even look at anyone else.” You let out a breath that’s half laugh, half plea. “Don’t you hear how crazy I sound?”

Tim hears it. He hears all of it.

And instead of recoiling, a slow smile starts to bloom on his face, soft and reverent, like he’s just been handed something holy. He shifts fully toward you, body turning perpendicular in the driver’s seat, cheek pressing into the cushion as if he wants to stay right here forever. His eyes don’t leave your face.

“Gods, I love you,” he murmurs. “They sent you just for me, huh?”

“You’re insane,” you hiss, heat flooding you all at once, down your spine and into your fingertips, because it’s been so long since he’s said that word like it means salvation instead of danger.

“You’re perfect,” Tim says, voice dropping, gentler now. “You’re too in love with me to see how fucking crazy I am too. Wow—you’re perfect.”

Your breath catches. You look back at him and watch the way his pupils widen just a fraction, the way his gaze drags over you like he’s memorizing something he’s afraid he’ll lose again. When he speaks, it’s quieter than it’s been all night, stripped of humor, stripped of bravado.

“I know I’m not good for you,” he says. “I want you to choose me anyway.”

Your mouth opens.

Closes.

Opens again.

“I—I can’t,” you say, the words barely holding together. Saying them feels like pressing on a bruise you’ve been protecting for months.

“You have,” Tim answers, gently now. Not accusing. Just certain.

“I don’t want to,” you whisper.

“You have,” he repeats, softer still, like he’s not trying to convince you—like he’s just stating a fact you’ve both been circling all night.

The car hums around you, engine ticking as it cools, heater blowing steadily, Gotham quiet outside in a way it rarely is. Two people alone in a parked car, suspended in a moment that feels less like a choice and more like gravity.

And the worst part is—you don’t know when you started leaning toward him.

The space between you collapses quietly.

Not all at once—no rush, no collision—but the slow, inevitable pull of two people who have already crossed this line a hundred times in their heads. Tim leans in first, tentative in a way that feels almost reverent, like he’s afraid sudden movement might break the moment. His hand comes up, hovering near your jaw, hesitating there like he’s still giving you time to pull away.

You don’t.

When his thumb finally brushes your cheek, it’s barely there, a test more than a touch. Warm. Steady. Real. The contact sends something sharp and familiar through your chest, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you tilt your head up just enough for him to close the last inch.

The press is soft at first. Careful. Like he’s relearning you.

Tim’s lips press to yours with a gentleness that hurts, the kind that carries memory with it—every late night, every almost, every time he wanted this and didn’t let himself reach for it.

You feel him exhale against you, shaky and quiet, like he’s been holding that breath for months.

He has.

Then you kiss him back.

And that’s all it takes.

The sound he makes is small and involuntary, a broken little breath that slips out as his hand cups your face properly now, thumb resting under your cheekbone like it belongs there. The kiss deepens, still unhurried but surer, his mouth moving against yours like he’s afraid to stop once he’s started.

Your fingers find his jacket without thinking, bunching the fabric at his chest. He leans into it immediately, body turning further toward you, shoulder pressing into the seat. The world outside the windows fades—the rain, the parking lot, Gotham holding its breath—until there’s only warmth and the quiet rhythm of two people breathing each other in.

Tim kisses you like he’s been missing you.

Like he never stopped.

When he finally pulls back, it’s just enough for his forehead to rest against yours, noses brushing, breaths mingling. His eyes stay closed for a second longer, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, like he’s grounding himself in the fact that this is happening.

It doesn’t stay gentle for long.

Something gives the moment you press back into him, and Tim reacts like he’s been waiting for permission. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers firm now, anchoring you there as his mouth finds yours again with more intent. The kiss deepens, unhurried but hungry, like he’s making up for every second he forced himself to keep his distance.

His lips move against yours with purpose this time—still careful, still restrained, but undeniably heated. You feel it in the way his grip tightens just slightly, thumb pressing into your pulse point as if to reassure himself that you’re still here, that you haven’t disappeared again.

You shift closer without realizing it, knees on the center console, moving as careful as you can be. Tim follows the movement instinctively, body leaning back further, shoulder braced against the seat as he leans back for you. The kiss grows warmer, breaths breaking between touches, foreheads brushing when you part for half a second before coming back together again.

Tim freezes for half a heartbeat when his arm hooks under your thighs and lifts you, like even that small escalation startles him. Then instinct takes over. He settles you onto his lap carefully, one hand steady at your hip, the other still at your neck, holding you like something precious he’s afraid to drop.

Your teeth catch his bottom lip—soft, tentative, almost reverent—and the sound he makes is wrecked. A low groan that vibrates into your mouth, more feeling than noise. It’s enough to make your pulse spike, enough to make your hands curl into his jacket like you need something solid to stay upright.

He responds without thinking, mouth tilting, pressure increasing just enough to mirror you. When his teeth catch your lip back, it’s not cruel—but it’s real. Sharp enough to make you gasp, sharp enough that there’s a brief, metallic tang between you. Copper and heat and something dangerously close to relief.

He pulls back immediately, forehead dropping to yours, breath uneven. One hand tightens at your waist, not to pull you closer, but to keep you there. To stop himself from doing more.

“Hey,” Tim murmurs, not a warning—more like a check-in, like he’s grounding both of you at once.

Your noses brush when you breathe. Your hands are still fisted in his jacket. His thumb traces a slow, soothing line along your side, undoing the bite even as his eyes stay locked on your mouth like it’s gravity itself.

The kiss that follows is slower, deeper, restrained by sheer force of will. All warmth and pressure and promise, none of it rushing anywhere. Your knees are tangled, hearts loud enough to drown out the city—both of you painfully aware that this could tip into something unstoppable if either of you lets go.

And neither of you does.

The realization makes his restraint crack—it doesn't shatter, but splinters.

Tim’s hand tightens at your waist, fingers digging in like he needs the pressure to stay present, to keep from tipping completely. The next kiss turns rougher in rhythm rather than content—more insistence, more heat. He kisses you like he’s been starving politely and just lost his manners. No finesse now, just want, mouth pressing harder, chasing yours when you try to pull back for air.

Your hands slide up into his hair, tugging without thinking, and the sound he makes is sharp—half breath, half warning. His grip shifts, one arm bracing you fully against him now, anchoring you there like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens even a little.

Tim kisses you again, deeper, teeth catching your lip—not enough to hurt this time, but enough to remind you he could. Enough to make your stomach flip and a whine leave your mouth. His breathing is uneven against you, chest rising fast beneath you, heart thudding like it’s trying to escape.

For a moment it’s messy—foreheads knocking, breaths stealing, the car creaking faintly as he adjusts the driver's seat. His thumb presses into your hip, grounding, claiming, stopping himself.

Then he breaks the kiss abruptly, breath ragged, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“Fuck,” he exhales, voice wrecked, like the word is torn out of him. His grip doesn’t loosen. If anything, he holds you tighter, hands moving to work the buttons of your coat open.

You can feel it in the way he’s shaking—not with fear. With effort.

The kind it takes to stop.

Tim’s breath keeps stuttering against your neck, the kind that can’t decide if it wants to steady or fall apart completely. He doesn’t let go. Instead, he shifts, pressing you more securely against him, like gravity itself is insisting you stay right there. The car feels too small for the way everything in him is brimming over—fogged windows, the low hum of the engine still warm beneath you, the rain ticking faintly outside like it’s counting time neither of you are keeping.

Tim leans back in, slower this time but heavier, like the weight of it finally landed. His mouth finds your neck, not frantic now but insistent, deliberate. Every kiss feels like a choice he’s making again and again. His hands stay where they are—one firm at your waist, one steady at your hip—like he’s drawing hard lines around what he won’t cross, even as everything else tilts.

You feel the tension in him through every point of contact. The way his shoulders stay tight. The way Tim’s jaw clenches when you press closer on him. When your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, he lets out a sound that’s barely there, swallowed before it can become anything dangerous.

Tim breaks a kiss on your collarbone, moving to rest his forehead resting against yours now. His nose brushes your cheek when he exhales, warm and shaky. You can feel his pulse under your hands, fast and unguarded, like he forgot how to hide it with you.

For a second, neither of you moves.

It’s not restraint born of distance—it’s restraint born of knowing exactly how badly this could spiral if either of you gave an inch more. His thumb presses once at your side, grounding, almost apologetic.

Then he pulls you into one last kiss, slower, deeper, less rough but heavier in meaning—like punctuation instead of a sentence. When he finally lets you go, it’s only by a breath, hands still bracketing you, eyes dark and searching, like he’s memorizing the moment in case it’s taken from him again.

He doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t have to.

The silence between you is loud with everything you both know now.

“Get in the back.” Tim mumbles, “Mm…gonna give you head.”

You chuckle at that, running a hand through his hair just to watch the way goosebumps form on his neck, feel the way his breath stutters against your lips, “Gonna give your girlfriend head?”

“Yeah.” Tim mumbles against your skin, “Mm…my girlfriend.”

For once in this past year–you're exactly where you want to be. And you don't think Tim’s ever going to let you leave again.

author is too tired to add the tag-list rn I'ma do it tmrw. tagging my fav Tim Drake stan tho: @moonologyy

[mrsdelulu-24-7]

There's gonna be one less lonely girl ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Twisted Wonderland x reader

CHARACTERS: first years summary: your underclassmen has a crush on you (you're a second year cause you got trasported by the magic mirror a year earlier)

I got inspiration to make this fic when i saw Ate Cherry!! post her headcanons on tiktok<33 AJAHDIWHIWHEIAWHEAWI I KEPT GIGGLING I TELL YOU!

Just how will the boys act when they catch a crush on NRC's magicless model student. One who has gained the respect of their peers, seniors, and professors, someone who worked to earn a place at the school despite being transferred involuntarily. The most reliable and welcoming prefect of the school got their heart skipping a beat, what are they like when they're with the most esteemed prefect?

Ace Trappola

He would do anything in his power to try spend time with you (annoy you lovingly), after all he doesn't get much of your time being a year below you and all.

Asks about you a lot, especially asks Jamil whom you share a class with, "Hey Jamil-senpai, we got a buncha sweets from the unbirthday party earlier, want some? No? Then give this to the prefect for me".

He's not slick, he asks which one you liked best so he can bring some more next time, he fills the pastry boxes to the brim and says it's for 'Grim too'.

Suddenly he wants to show off all his card tricks, stopping you randomly in the hall asking you to pick a card.

If he see's you in the basketball court to watch a game of his, he'll either show off or be distracted by you, most of the time it's both

His ego will be 100% crushed if you treat him like a kid, will copy trey and riddle's action to seem more mature.

Making you laugh at his jokes make him so giddy and want to squeal, kick his feet, and twirl his hair like a girl who sees her favorite anime character on screen.

Get's cocky when you praise him

Somewhat unnerved when you see past his unserious facade and see right through him

He definitely looks at Magicam posts about couples to cringe at, only to find himself taking pictures of the both of you and flexing on Deuce

"Who's the luckiest person rn?" "You're not even dating?" "Shut up and just be jealous!" "Of what? You're not dating??"

You hear Riddle's scolds in the hallway, the sight of Ace and Grim fill you with dread, what on earth did they do now? Questions later you told yourself before inserting in their situation. After redirecting Riddle's attention to another responsibility you told him you'd take care of the troublemakers in his stead, despite his protests he'd calmed down and walked off to find professor Crewel to help move papers.

"Mrah! Hench-human!" Grim climbed on your leg to sit himself on your shoulders, head resting against yours as he sighed in relief, "Man I seriously owe you one, walking around with Riddle's heavy collar is a problem I don't want to deal with" he chuckled scratching his neck, you sighed, stepping closer towards him"If you feel so indebted to me then do me a favor and stay out of trouble" fixing his uniform by buttoning up his undershirt and straightening his tie. He held his breath, your shampoo smelled so good, your fingers ghosting on his neck felt heavenly, he could ignore Grim as long as you were close to him. SEVENS GET AHOLD OF YOURSELF YOU SIMP, he yelled at his conscience.

You stepped back and held Grim in your arms, "Yeah, thanks... EHEM! I have a game next Saturday if you wanna watch", he held his head high trying to avoid eye contact as well as the embarrassment of his question. "Don't bother [---], he'll probably lose anyways" Grim yawned, "That's a lot of talk! Sorry but I don't take criticisim from someone who cant even hold a basketball" You patted Grim's head to refrain him from getting in another fight, "I'll be there" you accepted smiling at him softly before heading to your next class, Ace walked to his next lesson with the most satisfied grin, already planning his training so that he wouldn't embarrass himself during the game.

Deuce Spade

He admired your dedication to your studies and hobbies but most importantly your model student vibe.

He finds himself wanting to do better, so that he could feel he's the same level as you and worthy of your attention. (awwe T-T )

He's so honest and nervous with you, Ace gets secondhand embarrassment about the things that comes out his mouth.

"You were so sick today! I mean not sick as in sick, pretty- I mean yeah you look p-pretty good, great! You look great,a-and the potion you made earlier was so cool!" "That was hard to watch, don't mind him he's always weird"

Thankfully you pay no mind to his nervousness, which helps him get more comfortable around you, give him time, he'll start talking casually after a while.

He loves it when you rely on him, need an extra pencil? He's got 12 backups, Need to move stuff around Ramshackle? He's there to help as soon as you told him you were too busy to hang out. He opens doors, jars, stubborn wrappers, everything.

Deuce also texts Ace about you, the difference is that he sends messages of him overthinking his interactions with you.

"Hey do you think what I did earlier was too much?" "Why are you texting me when I sleep 5 footsteps away from you" "I think I came off a bit weird..." "OH MY SEVENS, ALL YOU SAID WAS THANK YOU, SHUT UP"

If you ever show up to a track event, he runs even faster, which straight up looks like sonic, and he gets all bashful if you compliment him a bunch afterwards.

Your mood affects him too, if you're happy it makes him happy, if Ace did something that pissed you off, suddenly he's pissed at Ace too. And when you're sad he tries his best cheering you up, but he does it so awkwardly you end up laughing, mission failed successfully?

He gets all giddy when you notice his efforts to be better and talks about you to his mom

Deuce had another history exam coming up, usually he'd ask help from Trey or Riddle, unfortunately both tutors had important things to attend to leaving him to his lonesome. Deciding to suck it up and study by himself, he got confused on a few parts, yes, but it was self doubt that made him struggle. 30 minutes in is session he was ready to ask for help from anyone, hell, even Azul if he had to.

"Sorry did you wait long?" his eyes widened, speechless as you placed study materials of your own while sitting beside him. "Prefect, what're you doing here?" "Trey asked me if I could help you out, you have history tomorrow yes?" flipping through his notes and references eyes focused on the text. A strand of your hair falling to your face, you tucked it behind your ear, pen still in hand, while the other was scanning his flashcards. The way the light hit your face made you look serene, the comforting scent of your perfume, the slight furrow on your eyebrows, and the fact that you were helping made the scene all the more angelic. He felt his mouth go dry and face flush as he told himself to BE NORMAL!

"350 years?" "No, 530" the boy burried his face in his palms feeling most dissapointed at himself, he wanted to impress you and do well and all he's done so far is mess everything up, as he wallowed in his despair he felt a warm hand rub his back "You don't have to pretend to know everything, if you're confused about my discussion, ask me instead of nodding along, it's ok", he didn't believe that you were magicless at all, especially since you somehow always lifted the invisble weights on his shoulders. "Was I that obvious?" peeking at you from his palms, you nodded laughing softly, after a few more hours, with your guidance and constant encouragement, he answered your mock test perfectly and got all your oral questions right. He'd been tutored before but never once had he felt so happy and reassured the entire time, "I just want to say thank you for your time, I really learned from you, I don't jus feel like I'll do well, I know it!" The other students turned from their chairs and shushed him, feeling ashamed he whispered apologies to those he distrcted.

Jack Howl

Get's to know you through the heartslabyul duo, lowk loves that you have a moral compass and sense of justice, trusts you a lot because of it.

Asks Ruggie for your preferences once and now he has Ruggie AND Leona teasing him for liking you.

"Oho? Is the pup finally turning into a big boy?" "Shyeheheehee, aww leave the loverboy alone he can't help it!" "If you didn't want to tell me just don't"

His muscles WILL involuntarily flex if you hold onto his arm, you'd think it's cause he wants to show off his HARD work, but no, he's just a bit nervous

You often catch him following your example and doesn't notice until you point it out, he gets slightly embarrassed

Also a very acts of service guy and quality time kind of guy, he especially loves eating with you while you talk about anything at all as he passes you juice he poured out a can for you, totally cause you're his respected upperclassman nothing more nothing less.

DENIAL, his tsundere heart will try and pass his feelings off as admiration and 'looking up to you' but deep down he knows he likes you more than that but refuses to acknowlege it.

He finally gives into his feelings once he realizes that fighting it off and ignoring it won't make him like you less or make his feelings for you go away

When he gets shy but obviously happy he had those cute downward smiles ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡

He will always be on his best anything when you're around and tries to act more mature than usual even if he wants to participate in the Adeuce's games and competitions.

Heart goes all fuzzy when you help him improve himself

"Awwe you didn't have to help me out, I could have carried these by myself" teasing the poor boy with hand to your chest as he carried a sack of soil walking beside you, "It's nothing...No offense, but this is the same size as you, plus it's a hassle going back and forth from the shed" you sighed in defeat as you look down at your arms carrying stacks of little clay pots and a packet inside one that contained seeds. "What're you going to make with this stuff anyways?" his gruff voice softening, "Ingredients for Professor Crewel's class, he needs more of this stuff for a first year lesson next week" his ears perked up, curious "Wonder what were making..." he hummed "That's gonna be a surprise, I can't keep giving you hints for all your lessons, people might think I favor you more than I already do"

The dramatic statement caused him to stop in his tracks, what did you just say? Favor? HIM?! He shook his head like a dog shaking off water and caught up to you, "What do you mean by—" "Oh! There's a lot of space here!" You crouched on the unoccupied spot spacing the pots you placed on the floor as Jack opened the sack and helped plant ingredients. As his gloved hands patted the soil his eyes wandered, maybe it was the blooming plants around you or the pollen that blurred the rest of his vision and made you the only thing he could see in extreme detail, your soft lips as you murmured instructions, the slight glint in your eyes when you realize your using the proper method in this little gardening project, whatever it was he couldn't look away.

The scene was quite domestic in his perspective and he didn't want to ruin this moment. While watering the seeds you had asked why he seemed so knowlegeable about plants, which led to a 2 hour tail wagging conversation about the succulent plants he had nurtured and researched about, and maybe even inviting you to plant one with him on your free time since your interested?

Epel Felmier

Most likely met you through Rook talking about the beauty of your resilience

He tries to act more "manly" around you, he genuinely hates it when you find him cute, and though he's learns from Rook and Vil to see it as a strength he still has trouble getting used to it. When you make him feel reassured and more comfortable with that side of himself, and remind him it doesn't make him less of a man inevitably made him fall hard

He makes apple carvigs of things you like or mentioned you're interested in

You once helped him wipe off his smudged makeup, now he runs to you for makeup tips instead of Vil, whether your good at makeup or not he'd rather learn makeup with you/from you, cause apparently Vil's instructions are too long

Will come to Ramshackle to gorge on food Vil banned him from eating "I can't take nother day of that bland crap! So what if they got weird chemicals on em? Better than unseasoned chicken I tell ya!"

He'll let his accent fly loose, no need to act so prim and proper when he can be himself with you

If you compliment one of his cardigans he WILL give one to you and prolly brag to ace how you're wearing one of his clothes

Will show off his flight skills when you're out on the field or at a spelldrive match

When you try to carry a lot of things he'll want to help, mostly cause he wants to show off how stronger he's gotten

Wants to have your opinion when he tries wearing clothes that aren't his usual style

"Honestly, why not ask Vil for help?" you sighed patting his face with tissue to pick up oils, dirt, and sweat off his fair complexion "He once took an hour explaining proper cleaning techniques on 7 different brushes that looked all the same!" "That just means he's knowlegeable, you should take advantage of that and use it to improve" He huffed knowing you were right but was still too stubborn to listen, you chuckled at his very visible frustration as you lightly reapplied his makeup.

"But I get what you mean, he can be a bit overwhelming" "RIGHT?!" his eyes flew open, holding your wrist as his face held agreement with a touch of annoyance. You stared at him in surprise, realizing his hold on you and his sudden closeness, he got to see your features up close like he's never before. Your eyes and beautiful hue it had, your nose and forehead that gave him cuteness aggression, and the slight gape on your lips that made him want to close the gap. His face spread red all the way to his neck and ears in embarrassment once he heard your laughter letting his grip on you go and creating more distance.

"Oh you poor thing! I'll be sure to ask Vil to go easy on you the next I see him" "...P-please do" He shut his eyes again internally kicking himself for such a reckless act. You two continued to laugh and chat while you gently patted product on his skin. "Ah~ Young love! Such a beautiful act of devotion, and to think Monsieur Pomette would develop such feelings for the Trickster! Youth is truly the prime of romance, truly fantastique!" Rook clutched his chest as Vil creased his brow, "How crude, since he has so much time to criticize my methods of teaching then I shall have a 2 hour session of it's importance" he glared at the first year's back.

Sebek Zigvolt

Beats Jack in the denial stage, this guy is not accpeting it and gaslights himself trying to convince himself you're just another sophmore he respects, until it drives him stir crazy

He'll find himself contradicting himself though, and gets flustered when Ace teases him about it "Nonsense! This is clearly respect to it's highest form! I should have known someone like you would not understand!" "Yeah whatever makes you feel better man, I've got other stuff to do than argue with a brick wall"

He really appreciates your patience and gentle tone when you speak with him, he gets a little quieter to hear you better

Very happy if you recognize his liege's greatness with him too

Will seek you out if he hears people disrespect your name

You help him see the beauty of human nature and he'll never notice how he slowly starts to drop the nickname of human when talking to you

HUMAN WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM, WHY IS HE SUDDENLY EXPECTANTLY AWAITING YOUR HAND WRITTEN LETTERS? He told you once that he preferred traditional forms of communication and you noticing small details about him made his face fume, but not in anger

Lilia will nudge him into the right direction to understand his feelings, the old bat enjoys youthful romance it seems

It will take him a while to accept his feelings for you but once he does, he is not quiet about it

Will court you by fae standards but you don't really understand so you accept his gifts thinking it's out of platonic kindness which frustrates him to no end but he ends up frozen every time he tries to voice out his feelings in preson.

"[---]! YOU LEFT YOUR NOTEBOOK WITH ME WHEN YOU WHERE EXPLAINING HUMAN SLANG TERMS"

Oh right I forgot lol

"THIS IS NO LAUGHING MATTER! ONE MUST BE MINDFUL OF THEIR BELONGINGS"

Even through the screen I can hear you 😭

"Why are you crying?!"

No sebek I'm not actually crying, it's just an expression 😓

"Why must humans find new ways to complicate things"

So how did talking to Lilia go? Can you finally understand him?

"Absolutely! Lilia even praised my use of terms, I lowkey killed him out there!"

You cackled in your room startling Grim but he brushed it off too tired to argue with you and went back to sleep. You turn to your side tapping on your keyboard, you genuinely hope he doesn't use these terms in person or else you wouldn't be able to hold it in and neither can Ace and the rest of the group.

Good on you for learning so quickly :))

"I am beyond grateful for your guidance, therefore I must return your notebook at once!"

Sebek the sun's already setting just give it back tomorrow morning

There was no doubt about it, he'd made up his mind and he's sticking to it. Upon his arrival he left the notebook with you thanking him as he headed back to his dorm. "Wait! won't you stay for a little while?" he halted, his heart screamed at him to indulge in your presence but his mind said otherwise "I cannot stay here longer than I already have, our dormitory has curfews I must oblige by, as they are my liege's instruction!" he replied stil walking facing away from you, knowing he'd be unable to stop himself had he turned around and followed your dissapointed tone. Your lips turned downwards, as you look at him with those longing eyes he can't stop glaring back at, the wind softly blowing your hair as if urging him to tuck it behind your ear. GOODNESS HOW COULD I THINK OF SUCH THINGS! He scolded, quickening his pace towards the hall of mirrors as his ears and face painted red.

[thesunshinebunny]

I'ma fight a man

Oh, the poor girl from another world. Magicless, helpless, constantly dragged into battles against Overblots that should have erased you on sight.

No one warned them that her feminine energy is… quite literally otherworldly. Turns out, every monster is punchable if you try hard enough.

Riddle

Dark clouds, the ground split open in several parts of the rose garden; the Unbirthday Party that Riddle so proudly proclaims with all its rigid, structural rules is an absolute disaster.

Trey is trying to reason with a completely deranged Riddle, who is swinging spears left and right; Ace and Deuce are only creating more chaos to distract him, too. Cater, on the other hand...

“Okay, okay, stay under the table and don’t move, alright, cutie?”

He leaves you under a table that has somehow magically remained intact, with its spotless white tablecloth still draped over it… as if you’re a tiny puppy. A wet, lost, terrified little puppy.

Oh hell nah

There is no poor, helpless, defenseless human girl without magic here. Well… without magic, yes. But defenseless? Never.

You scan the wreckage with your blood boiling.

Feral survival mode: activated

Aside from the table they so badly want you to hide under, everything is destroyed; the teacups are shattered; the elegant chairs are broken into multiple pieces, and several of them have splinters sharp enough to look useful.

One splintered piece of a backrest has a very suspiciously bat-like shape.

Perfect!

And while Riddle keeps going with his monologue, “OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!” here, and “I AM THE RULES!” there, you slip away like a sneaky little rat until you end up right behind him.

Crack

Solid wood connects with his skull… and he collapses like a puppet with its strings cut, completely graceless, all thanks to your immaculate strike with that improvised bat.

The Overblot ink dissolves, the monster disappears, and Riddle is left unconscious on the ground.

“…I didn’t kill him, right?”

Well… let’s hope not, sweetheart.

He’ll probably wake up with a lump the size of an egg and no memory whatsoever… though you absolutely are going to remind him of everything he made you suffer through these past few days. And if he tries it again...

That’s a paddling

Leona

Savanaclaw has become a death trap, sand flying everywhere, making it impossible to see and even harder to breathe.

It has turned even drier, even more suffocating, and with the monster at Leona’s back striking and roaring, everything trembles and breaks every millisecond.

Round two, sweetheart

Stopping your breathing seems like the most sensible option for now, considering you’re walking toward an Overblot with a lion-like monster behind him, whose ink creates hyenas and whose magic could turn you into golden dust.

The female survival instinct does not actually contain much survival, honestly.

Plenty of adrenaline, yes. Plenty of anger, too… but you’re not going for his back. You’re approaching from the side, in plain sight.

If plain sight can even count while Leona is unleashing a full sandstorm.

Well… oxygen is temporary.

“Pathetic. A tiny magicless herbivore, standing in my way…”

If there’s one thing you’ve learned from watching so many shows and movies, it’s that you never let the villain finish their monologue nor their transformation.

In this case, his monologue.

Between laughter and degrading comments… direct hit to the nose.

Maybe you break his cartilage, maybe you make him bleed, maybe you leave a bruise...maybe his nose ends up slightly crooked.

And maybe a couple of your knuckles break from the impact, too.

“I want ice, NOW!” you snap, shaking your hand like a maraca while completely ignoring the way Leona falls backward.

The ice arrives, the student clearly thinking it’s for his housewarden, but you snatch the frozen bag away and press it to your knuckles, abandoning the great lion on the floor.

The mighty king of the savanna… sprawled out on the sand.

Ruggie is on the ground beside him, lifting his head so the blood doesn’t make him choke, but he can’t stop laughing. He is not going to let him live this down from now on.

Leona probably won’t apologize when he wakes up… but he does put you on the same level of respect as the lionesses of Sunset Savanna.

Better to be safe and keep his distance than risk getting his nose broken again.

Azul

You should have seen it coming...

An octopus mage losing his composure, hysterical, with eight slippery tentacles moving everywhere…The perfect hentai scenario, and you don't want to be the tragic heroine of that genre.

But there you are, grabbed around the waist by one of those tentacles and lifted who knows how much off the ground.

In Azul’s twisted mind, you are not a threat. Just a simple, helpless land-dwelling human. A perfect little thing for his collection.

Well… he can tell that to your teeth.

The slimy, salty, suction-cupped appendage gets caught between your two rows of teeth, your canines sinking deeper than the rest of your pearly whites.

It’s like he’s being bitten by a mangy dog.

It is a wild, vicious bite, your head jerking as you try to tear even more of that awful rubbery texture apart.

Don’t even get me started on the coating of slime and squid ink. Gross, gross, disgusting. Blegh

And with a high-pitched shriek, Azul releases the tentacle, flailing it through the air. It writhes and curls into itself, trying to seek comfort in its owner’s hands.

The fall to the floor is not glorious, but at least you don’t break anything. What you do need to do is spit out whatever you managed to tear from that tentacle… and brush your teeth a thousand times to get that taste out of your mouth.

Rotten sushi

Floyd is smacking the floor with his hand, completely falling apart with laughter. Jade is already plotting the coming days and exactly how he is not going to let a single second pass without bothering his boss about this.

Meanwhile… Azul is still holding the tentacle in his hands, staring at it with tears in his eyes, soothing the wound with his palm.

You can hear sobs when he turns his back, choosing to cry with the last scrap of dignity he has left where no one can see his face.

For a loooong while, they stop serving takoyaki or anything with octopus at Mostro. The mere idea of seeing you eat seafood makes his skin crawl.

He still has teeth marks… a perfect souvenir

Jamil

Jamil’s Overblot, that serpentine figure like a naga, dark and dripping with ink and years of suppressed resentment. His snakes writhe from side to side, like Medusa, and his eyes are filled with cold, calculated fury.

He could easily pass as a mythological creature from Ancient Greece.

If not for the massive ego and more specifically targeted resentment… but hey, villains never really go after the people they should.

That is what makes you angriest.

Not the fact that Kalim is crying while dodging attack after attack, or the fact that Grim is clawing at one of Jamil’s snakes with his little paws.

No, it’s the fact that this boy is being a complete dumbass, blinded by his pent-up rage, incapable of recognizing his own weak points.

A couple of snakes spot you as an easy target, because obviously the only woman in the whole dorm has to be the party’s weakness.

Intention: unknown. You don’t want to find out, either.

With some effort, you grab them with your bare hands, each head in each fist, and pull, as if you’re yanking on a rope with treasure at the other end.

In this case, you are dragging Jamil directly toward you.

He stumbles, thrown off-balance, completely shocked by your brute strength and by the fact that you somehow managed to capture two of his snakes.

That surprise is what costs him when your knee slams into the area beneath his sternum.

Direct hit to the stomach and part of the lungs… let’s hope you don’t leave bruises on his organs.

The air bursts out of his mouth, and he folds in half, curling pathetically in on himself and wheezing with thin strands of saliva clinging to his lips.

You are not in the mood to watch him vomit all over Scarabia’s beautiful marble… but you do hear his tiny groans and sobs.

A kick to the balls probably would have hurt less.

“Ironic that you’re more scared of insects than snakes”

He’s already on the floor, don’t humiliate him further

The best apology Jamil can think of is leaving you cups of coffee. Good coffee, coffee from Silk City, not the burnt sludge from the cafeteria or Ramshackle. A cup always waits for you before class and after a veeeeeery long day.

And every time, he leaves it near you, but that doesn't mean he stays close. He steps back a few paces, covering his stomach…just in case.

Vil

The stage is in ruins, the screens shattered… the perfect setting for the most beautiful man in the world, Vil Schoenheit, to look this ruined.

Ruined… but beautiful and terrifying in equal measure. Golden radiance and black rot, perfection and poison; the combination of gold, violet, and black suits him like it was made for him.

Rook is trying to reason with him, leaving the poetry for another moment… which means everything is truly going to hell.

Epel and the others are trying not to breathe in too much of the poison slowly contaminating the air.

And there you are… a tiny little thing, defenseless, probably the most ordinary and ugly thing on the stage by Vil’s current standards.

“I WILL BE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL!”

The most logical thing to do is make him uglier.

And there you go, climbing him like a monkey scaling a tree, pulling yourself up from the hems of his refined dress or robe or whatever the hell his Overblot version has put him in, while he tries to smack you away like an insect.

More than once, he scratches you with his long nails, but nothing stops your path toward his golden hair.

“GET OFF ME… YOU IRRITATING INSECT!”

Your hands grab a fistful of his strands… and pull.

Those classic hair-pulling yanks from women fighting, grabbing each other by the scalp and painfully ripping at the roots

And his scream is so high-pitched that it echoes through the entire coliseum, piercing and completely undignified. How dare someone like you, with those filthy hands, touch his immaculate hair?

His monster shrieks with him, mimicking his twists and his frantic attempts to throw you off his shoulders.

If your life weren’t currently at risk, Epel would probably take out his phone and start recording the whole thing. It’s too ironic

The great Vil, defeated because someone pulled his hair.

On the stage floor, ink, makeup, and sweat decorate the ground… and a few golden-violet strands are floating through the air.

His hair can recover with enough treatment; his ego, on the other hand, is going to take a little longer.

Idia

STYX is about to collapse if this keeps going.

The screens are falling to the floor, panels are breaking apart, and Idia’s Overblot ink is consuming everything in its path. And poor Ortho is there like a puppet of his brother’s despair.

Ortho, the gentlest humanoid you have ever known, is now a lifeless shell, mechanical and precise enough to kill.

Run, run, and hide. Run, hide, and survive; that is what your subconscious is screaming at you. Let the others deal with fighting that robotic figure Idia has become.

You focus on his little brother while you keep running.

“Please do not resist. My big brother says you are not to be hurt”

How thoughtful

“But I must immobilize you for your own safety,” he says, cannons ready.

Well, I take that back

“I’m sorry, Ortho”

“Why?” he asks, tilting his head, unable to understand why a simple, helpless human is apologizing to an android.

With one elbow strike, you hit his sensory matrix, destabilizing him, and then you slam into the left side of his chassis, right where there is a small weakness you saw Idia repair a few days ago.

Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry

Hurting little Ortho causes you more psychological damage than anything else, but it is absolutely necessary that he be neutralized first.

Because the moment Idia realizes his little brother is out of the game, his attention goes straight to you… and to the broken piece of chassis that fell off Ortho.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY BROTHER?! YOU, AN INSIGNIFICANT PERSON, WITHOUT ANYTH—”

Ready. Aim. Throw!

You launch the metal chassis piece like a frisbee. It spins and spins and spins, and it hits the target: his technologically creepy mask.

Clang.

The mask cracks in two, and Idia is thrown backward, falling hard to the floor.

“Your brother is fine… though he does need better repairs”

Ortho is going to be mad at him when they both wake up, and you are probably going to become his favorite.

Respect levels: maxed out

Malleus

Pray for your life if you want to come out of a battle against a dragon unharmed.

So many romantic medieval stories talk about majestic dragons, enormous dragons, fire-breathing dragons, and yet none of them prepared you for having one right in front of you.

Especially because his green fire is infused with magic that the fantasy stories from your world never even bothered to imagine.

Try not to shit yourself while dodging flame after flame, and the occasional piece of debris when you pass under his claws.

Even in his normal form, Malleus is huge… but as a dragon, he is completely imposing.

And once again, you find yourself praying to every god you know from your old world and this new one when you stand in front of that obsidian-colored creature.

“ARE YOU INSANE?!”

“GET BACK HERE!”

Shouts, so many shouts, and with very good reason. What sane person stands in front of a dragon that is a thousand times their size?

You, apparently

But there is that tiny little worm of hope, believing with absurd faith that Malleus would never hurt you, not even in this form.

His great head lowers until it is only a hand’s distance away from you, those enormous green eyes staring directly at you, his hot breath surrounding you completely… your heart on the verge of bursting while you pray he does not open his mouth and swallow you whole.

“Hi, Tsunotaro”

His snout opens and closes, smelling you, recognizing you as his friend from late-night walks.

He recognizes you

“Please… don’t take this personally”

You punch him right on the tip of the snout.

That impact… pure and incomprehensible audacity.

HOW DOES IT EVEN OCCUR TO YOU TO PUNCH A DRAGON? DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH STRENGTH YOU WOULD NEED FOR THAT TO ACTUALLY HURT HIM?!

Well… it doesn’t hurt him, exactly, but it absolutely makes him stumble from the shock.

The finishing blow is delivered by the others, and the battle ends, making Malleus return to his original form while you stand there with a hand completely reddened from the punch.

Malleus, heir to Briar Valley, will remember this day. He will remember the tiny magicless human with enough nerve to strike him in his dragon form.

“Everything is punchable if you try hard enough.”

…Indeed