If you are still taking reqs... how about one where Yuu catchs the guys doing some me-time... (rubbing one...)
A bit nsfw but...!!!
Wrong timing
âŠGn!reader
âŠCharacters: Cater, Azul, Jamil, Rook, Idia
âŠsuggestive! MDNI, pre-relationship. Itâs ended up being more of comedy than a smut but I hope you enjoy it
Cater Diamond
Cater freezes mid stroke the second the door opens, phone still in his other hand. Both of you just stare at each other in dead silence for what feels like an eternity. His usual flashy smile is nowhere to be found. Instead, his face turns the color of a rose as he slowly lowers his phone, yanks the blanket up and lets out a nervous little laugh that cracks halfway through.
âUhh⊠hey, bestie~ This is, like⊠super embarrassing right now...â He tries to play it off with his typical carefree vibe, but his voice is higher than usual and he canât meet your eyes. âCan we pretend this never happened? Iâll even delete the last five minutes from my brain if you doâŠpleaseâŠâ
Inside, heâs dying. Cater hates feeling exposed like this, especially in front of someone heâs been low key crushing on and trying to impress. Expect him to spam you with cute apology selfies or memes later, desperately trying to turn the whole thing into an inside joke so it doesnât ruin his chances.
Azul Ashengrotto
Azul is in full âvulnerable modeâ. One hand down his pants, the other covering his mouth to muffle any sounds, glasses slightly fogged up from the heat of the moment. The second you walk in, his eyes blow wide open. His face goes from pale to scarlet in record time. He yanks his hand out and frantically pulls his pants up, nearly knocking his glasses off in the process.
âW-What are youâŠ?! Donât you know basic manners?! You should have knocked! This is highly inappropriate andâŠand barbaric behavior!â
You just smirk and tease âYour little whimpers were actually kinda cute, Azulâ before casually walking out.
Heâs left absolutely mortified. For days afterward, he avoids you like the plague, hiding behind Jade and Floyd while internally replaying your words on loop. But the blush gives him away every time. Deep down, the fact that you called him âcuteâ instead of grossing out makes his crush on you ten times worse.
Jamil Viper
Jamil finally has a rare moment of peace after endless chores and babysitting Kalim. Heâs enjoying some well deserved alone time when you barge in without knocking, casually asking if he can tutor you.
You both freeze. His hand stops. His eyes twitch in pure irritation mixed with horror. You slap your hands over your eyes and blurt out, âWhy would you do that?!â
Jamil immediately snaps back, voice sharp but laced with embarrassment âYouâre the one who didnât knock and just barged into my room! This is my space! I donât owe you any explanation for what I do in private!â
Heâs trying to sound calm and in control like always, but his usual composed mask is cracking hard. He quickly covers himself and shoos you out.
Later, heâll act like nothing happened, but heâs extra prickly and avoids eye contact for a while. He just wanna die from embarrassment
Rook Hunt
You were supposed to have a fun skincare night with Rook after you got some fancy new face masks from Vil. You knock lightly but walk in excitedly only to find him sitting in his chair, one hand holding a photo, the other very much occupied with himself.
You freeze, immediately start apologizing profusely for invading his privacy, and turn to leave⊠until you catch a glimpse of the photo heâs holding. Is that⊠you?! A photo of you that you donât remember him ever taking.
Rook looks up and flashes that signature dramatic smile even while hr caught red handed (literally). âAh! Trickster~ It seems the hunt has been revealed a bit earlier than planned. I can explain everythingâŠâ
He has zero shame in his admiration for your âbeautyâ but thereâs a playful glint in his eye that says heâs delighted you caught him. Heâll be poetic about how your image inspires him, making the whole situation ten times more intense and embarrassing.
Idia Shroud
Idia is in his room, lights dim, multiple monitors on. One screen has your magicam profile pulled up, while his hand is busy under his desk.
You walk in because Ortho asked you to drop off some papers. âHey Idia, Ortho saidâŠâ
You freeze. He freezes. Your eyes flick from his face to his hand then to your photos on the screen then back to him.
Idiaâs hair flares bright pink as he yanks his pants up in record time, knocking over a soda can in the process. âN-NO NO NO THIS ISNâT⊠I mean⊠itâs not what it looks like!! I was just⊠research! Character design reference!! Level grinding⊠wait, no!!! delete that from your memory right now!!â
Heâs full panic mode, glitching out and excuses flying everywhere while trying to minimize every window at once. You slowly back out of the room without saying a word, pretending you saw nothing.
Idia is left in dead silence. ââŠâŠ..No reaction⊠is actually the worst possible reactionâŠâ He curls up in his gaming chair, hair burning neon pink with shame, convinced you now think heâs the biggest creep in NRC. Itâll take Ortho physically dragging him out of his room before he can face you again.
Bonus: he avoids your magicam for weeks⊠but secretly still has screenshots.
Okay so this is extremely late, but I immediately started working on this the second Rielle and Minajael were introduced into the story.
I REALLY REALLY love Rielle, I think he's a cutie pie!!
jamil falls in love with you knowing full well he shouldn't. that realization settles into his chest long before he ever allows himself to acknowledge the actual feelings attached to it. because love, to jamil, has always felt like the sort of thing meant for other people. people with freedom. people allowed to want things openly without guilt clawing at them afterward. not him. especially not him. so at first, he tries very hard to ignore whatever this is becoming.
you're simply pleasant to be around. easier than most people at NRC. you speak to him like he's a person instead of kalim's attendant, and somehow that alone feels dangerously comforting. conversations with you come naturally in ways he's not used to. you notice things about him other people overlook. ask his opinions directly. seek him out specifically. naturally he grows accustomed to your company over time. naturally he starts relaxing around you more than intended. that should have been where he stopped it. instead, he lets himself linger. and that's his first mistake.
because once he starts genuinely caring about someone, he canct do anything halfway. slowly, quietly, you begin settling into parts of his life he had spent years keeping closed off from other people. hearing your voice after exhausting days eases tension from his shoulders immediately. your laughter stays stuck in his head for hours afterward. if several days pass without seeing you properly, something restless and irritable coils beneath his skin until he finally does again. he notices all of this. he hates it instantly. because deep down, he already knows how this story ends. people like you don't fall for people like him. not when there are brighter people standing beside him.
"you've been distracted lately." jamil barely glances up from the food he is preparing. "have i now." kalim hums thoughtfully nearby. "mhm. usually you only stare off into space like that when something's bothering you." "...nothing is bothering me." except there is. you are. constantly. the problem isn't simply that jamil likes you. the problem is how badly he likes you despite knowing better. because the more attached he becomes, the more impossible it gets to ignore the ugly thoughts buried beneath those feelings. why would someone like you ever truly choose him?
jamil has spent his entire life standing behind kalim. quieter. less important. less wanted. even now, people gravitate toward kalim naturally while jamil remains the one lingering at the edges making sure everything runs smoothly. dependable. useful. forgettable. he learned very young that his place was behind someone else, never beside them. and part of him still believes that. which makes these feelings feel humiliating. because every time you smile at him kindly, some awful hopeful part of him immediately wants more. more attention. more affection. more of your time. he catches himself growing jealous whenever you laugh too easily with someone else, especially kalim. and afterward guilt crashes into him immediately because what right does he have to feel possessive over someone who isn't his? what right does someone like him have to want at all? that question haunts him constantly.
your affection only makes everything worse. jamil is careful with things like that, careful with closeness, because vulnerability has never come easily to him. but somehow you slip past his defenses little by little anyway. if your hand brushes his accidentally, his thoughts derail for the rest of the conversation. if you lean against his shoulder during study sessions, he becomes painfully aware of your warmth beside him. one evening you fall asleep near him in scarabia's lounge and jamil sits there motionless for almost an hour because moving would wake you. he stares at you quietly the entire time. and somewhere in that silence, something inside him cracks. because looking at you like this feels unbearably dangerous. soft. hopeful. selfish.
selfish.
that word settles heavy in his chest because jamil has spent so much of his life suppressing his own desires that wanting you at all feels wrong somehow. wanting someone to choose him first. wanting someone to stay because they genuinely love him instead of needing something from him. it feels impossible. and yet despite everything, despite every instinct screaming at him to let this go before it hurts worse, he can't stop himself from wanting it anyway. wanting you anyway.
the realization fully settles one late evening after an especially exhausting day. kalim had dragged you both into another crowded event, and now scarabia is finally quiet again. jamil sits alone trying to organize his thoughts when you enter the room carrying tea for him without being asked. "you looked stressed," you mumble softly while setting the cup beside him. just a small and thoughtful gesture. something in jamil's chest twists painfully. because nobody does things like this for him. not without expectation. not just because they care. he tries to thank you normally, but his voice comes out quieter than intended. you notice immediately, of course you do. your expression softens as you crouch beside him slightly, fingers brushing lightly against his arm.
"jamil... are you okay?" and that destroys him a little. because your concern is genuine. focused entirely on him. not scarabia's vice housewarden. not kalim's servant. just him. and suddenly every feeling he has spent months trying to suppress crashes together violently. every jealous thought. every quiet moment spent longing for your attention. every selfish, impossible hope he tried desperately to bury. he loves you. so very hopelessly. and the worst part, for the first time in his life, jamil realizes he doesn't wannt to give something up simply because he thinks he should. he wants this. wants you. even if it's selfish. even if it hurts.
for a long moment, he can't speak at all. his chest aches with the weight of emotions he has spent years forcing down whenever they became inconvenient. because if he lets himself hope for thisâ truly hopeâ there's a chance he could lose it too. but then your hand slides more securely over his, warm, grounding and real. and despite everything, despite all the fear curling tightly inside him, he finds himself turning his hand just enough to hold yours back.
tags/warnings: jamil x reader (romantic), gn!reader, reader is yuu, jamil's POV, established relationship, vague/inaccurate description of basketball bc iâm not a baller đ, not proofread as always bc i donât have patience (i will probs make edits periodically)
a/n: inspired by this request, sorry it took SO LONG đ the writerâs block is REALLY kicking my ass⊠iâm not super satisfied with this but iâm just glad itâs done and out :â) definitely in my leona-loving era rn but each time i listen to jamilâs solo song I AM RE-JAMIL-BRAINED. HOLY FUTABA KANAME HE HAS THE VOICE OF A GORGEOUS SIREN. on an actual fic-related note, basketball jerseys typically arenât custom-made for public schools, but for this fic, weâre gonna say itâs different for fancy private magic schools hehe
DO NOT FEED TO AI.
word count: 2.6k
dividers by @/firefly-graphics!
I.
Jamil is organized. Never a day unscheduled, never an action unjustified, never a hair out of place. Naturally, Jamil doesn't misplace things. He leaves that to Kalim, who loses enough stuff for the both of them (and which Jamil is also responsible for finding). It's a complete waste of time.
Thus, every belonging of Jamil's has a designated place. His hoodie, for instance, is folded neatly and placed on the top shelf of his dresser. He takes it from that place when he is to wear it, and once taken off, it returns to that place. The only exception to that is laundry day.
So when Jamil, on a non-laundry day, opens his dresser to find nothing on the top shelf, the anomaly is akin to breaking the law of gravity.
His first instinct is to question Kalim. It wouldn't be the first time he's taken or moved Jamil's stuff without asking.
But when asked, Kalim replies, "Your hoodie? Hmmm... I don't think I took itâŠ"
So it wasn't him.
"But now that I'm thinking back, maybe�" he continues. "But I don't think so! But maybe..."
Or it probably wasn't him. Jamil will just have to take his (first) word for it.
The next suspect is Jamil's roommate. Not because the guy is particularly suspicious, but because they do share a room, after all. Things tend to get mixed up in a shared room.
His roommate's underwhelming reply: "The red one you usually wear? Nah, sorry, haven't seen it. Have you asked Housewarden Kalim if he knows where it is?"
"He doesn't. But thanks.â
Jamil's final suspect is you. The possibility is too far-fetched though; you've never taken anything from him, you have no reason to do so, and you haven't even been to his room recently (all of the above to his well-concealed disappointment). So he decides against bothering you about it.
In short: your boyfriend really has no idea where his hoodie has gone. But no matter, he has a spare. It's a generic solid black and made of a cheaper material, but it'll do as a temporary replacement until he finds his usual one.
As Jamil makes his way to class, youâre the first to remark on the change.
You skip up to him from behind, pressing a kiss to his cheek. âYou look good in black,â you whisper, running off toward your class before Jamil has the chance to respond. Not that heâd have the composure to respond anyways, even if youâd stayed.
You look good in black.
You look good in black.
You look good in black.
Your compliment echoes through his mind all day, during class, during lunch, during club, during chores. Though youâve been together for a little while now, Jamilâs still not immune to your charm.
He doesnât even mind that he has to wear his spare for the next few days. Of course he doesnât mind: you like how he looks in it.
It isnât until next laundry day that the hoodie is finally found.
âTurns out, I did have it!â Jamilâs roommate chuckles, holding it out to him. âMy bad, bro. I guess it ended up mixed in with my laundry.â
âItâs fine,â Jamil sighs, taking the article back. âJust glad it wasnât actually lost.â
As Jamil tosses it into his own laundry pile, he catches a whiff of the fabric and the image of you materializes in his brain: clad in his hoodie and your usual pyjama pants, youâre lounging around Ramshackle, nestling adorably into the plush clothes.
He wishes he couldâve seen it in personâwait, what is he talking about? He shakes his head to dissipate the thought. That was just a fantasy; you didnât touch the thing, you havenât even stopped by Scarabia recently. But stillâ
Jamil retrieves the hoodie.
âŠNo, itâs just wishful thinking.
He throws it back into the pile to be washed with the rest of his dirty laundry.
The moment he pulls it out the dryer, Jamil plunges his nose into the clean fabric. It smells of nothing but fresh laundry.
Good. I donât want lingering scents on my clothes. It would be bothersome if it still smelled after washing.
Thatâs what Jamil tells himself.
But deep, deep, deep down, against all logic, he hopes that it was miraculously you whose scent was on his hoodie, and he wishes it still smelled of you. He would sooner shave his head and smack Kalim across the face with the chopped-off ponytail than ever admit that, though.
II.
Itâs laundry day again. Among other things.
On top of laundry, Jamil still has to tutor Kalim, fill out paperwork for the dorm (on Kalimâs behalf), cook up a feast for yet another party that Kalim is throwing tonight, and then look after himself. But a never-ending to-do list is nothing new for your boyfriend.Â
He deeply appreciates how you come to Scarabia to help him shoulder the load, though. When Kalim begins to get sidetracked during homework, you nudge him back in the right direction. When Jamil is busy duel-wielding pans on the stove, you help him wash and chop ingredients. When Jamil needs just a second to breathe, youâre there to massage his shoulders.
He has you to thank when he finally reaches the bottom of his to-do list, and slightly ahead of schedule at that. All he has left to do is his laundry, so you supervise Kalim on his behalf in the meantime.
But of course, Jamil canât get through a single day without something going wrong. His go-to washing machine was busted a few days ago by his dormmates, so Jamil now has to use a different, less reliable machine. And because he hasnât vetted this one, he canât say for sure whether itâll eat his socks or not.
Well, good news: the machine does not end up swallowing his socks.Â
Bad news: it eats his basketball jersey instead. Which is objectively and significantly worse.
When Jamil realizes the jersey that he definitely put into the washing machine will not be coming out of said machine, he has to consciously restrain himself from collapsing into a sulky ball of exasperation.
He has a basketball game tomorrow.
But fortunately, as unlucky as Jamil is, he is equally as prepared. One perk of being a second-year Basketball Club member is that he still has his old jersey from last year. The design is slightly different so he wonât match with his teammates, but itâs certainly better than nothing.
âHey, whatâs with the weird jersey?â Ace is annoyingly more observant than Jamil would like to give him credit for and just as nosy.
âLaundry mishap,â Jamil replies bluntly, focussing on warming up. If only Ace would do the same.
âHah!â the redhead barks. âI guess even the Great Jamil makes mistakes~â
Great Jamil simply glares. âIt was the machine.â
âSure, sure. Whatever you say.â
How are you friends with this guy?
NRC vs. RSA. Itâs only an exhibition game so it technically doesnât matter, but losing now would crush the teamâs morale in the long run. Plus, it would be very satisfying to make RSA taste defeat for once.
Unfortunately, playing against RSA is always an uphill battle, and it doesnât help that Floyd isnât in a basketball mood (he didnât even bother showing up). Thus NRCâs slim chance of victory is basically banking on Jamil. No pressure.
The bleachers are filled almost exclusively with RSA students, which is strange considering itâs an away game for them, and yet not strange considering their notorious school spirit. Though Jamil lacks the time to find you in the sea of goody-two-shoes, he has full faith that youâre here. You never fail to support him, a fact that gives Jamil a comforting sense of security.
Three quarters into the game, RSA is in the lead. Itâs not impossible to make a comeback and Jamil makes sure to gradually close the gap with all the time heâs on the court, but itâs clear that NRC is losing steam.
And then, when he shoots a beautiful 3-pointer in the last couple seconds of the quarter, Jamil hears you over the buzzer.
âWOOO SWIIIISH!!! THATâS MY BOYFRIEND!â
He whips his head around, scanning the crowd for you. And then he spots youâŠ
âI LOVE YOU, JAMIL!!!â
âŠwearing his jersey. The one that the washing machine ate. Or that he thought it ate.
He doesnât know if he feels more embarrassed or flattered.
The second you lock eyes, a cheeky grin blooms on your face and you exit the bleachers. On the same wavelength, Jamil makes his way to meet you outside the gym.
âSo it was you.â
âStraight to the point, huh?â you chuckle, and Jamilâs heart skips a beat. âI knew you had this spare, so, yâknow. Took it out of the washer when you were busy.â
âIâm the only one wearing the old design,â he sighs. âItâs not uniform.â
âIf it bothers you that much, I could theoretically give it back to you now,â you offer, âbut Iâm not really wearing anything underneathâŠâ
Jamil feels his face heat up. Hopefully youâll just attribute his flush to physical exertion, but the way you smile at him so sweetly indicates otherwise. Heâs not gonna let you win, though.
âThen weâll swap.â Grasping the neckline of his jersey before you can catch on, Jamil slips it over his head.
Overlooking the jersey in his outstretched hand, you sputter, blatantly ogling your boyfriendâs bare chest and abs. While intense attention usually makes him uncomfortable, itâs different when itâs from you.
âYou took my hoodie too, didnât you?â he probes, feeling a hearty dose of pride at the way you fluster. You giggle guiltily. âIâll take that as a yes.â
Once you finally manage to collect yourself and change jerseys, Jamil hums in satisfaction at the sight. His clothes suit you.
âThe last quarterâs gonna start,â you remind him nervously, pushing his rightful jersey into his hands. âKick their asses, okay? Iâll be cheering you on!â
Needless to say, NRC wins the game. All thanks to the MVP Jamil, fuelled by your encouragement and the image of you in his jersey.
You donât return it after the game, and Jamil doesnât ask. If you were to bring it up, heâd simply say he forgot about it. He didnât, of course, but please donât question his claim.
(And please wear the jersey to all his games.)
III.
Following the two occurrences of his clothes going âmissingâ, the thought of you wearing his stuff plagues Jamilâs mind for weeks on end.
In every one of his thoughts and dreams, youâre wearing something of his. A t-shirt, sweatpants, tank top, sweater. Any or all of the above. Each time he puts something on, he no longer thinks about how he looks in it and instead thinks about how youâd look in it.
To Jamilâs dismay, it gets to the point where heâs almost shocked to see you in real life wearing your own clothes. And with the weather getting oddly frigid as of late, the sight of you layering every piece in your measly wardrobe is not only shocking, but concerning.
One particularly frosty Tuesday morning, Jamil finally decides to bring up his concern.
âIâm guessing you donât have winter clothes,â he notes pointedly, eyeing your outfit. With what must be four t-shirts layered (read: stuffed) under your button down shirt, topped with your uniform blazer, this truly has to be every article in your possession. He casually takes hold of your bare hands. âOr gloves.â
Your freezing hands nestle into the warm embrace of his own mittened ones. âItâs fine,â you smile, nose flushed. âIâm inside pretty much the whole day.â
âYour classes are on the other side of campus,â he points out incredulously. âAnd then you have to walk all the way back to Ramshackleâdoes Ramshackle even have heating?â
You stay suspiciously quiet.
âYouâre going to catch a cold. Iâll come by in the evening to give you warmer clothes.â His warmer clothes, that is.
Beaming at him, you sniffle. âThanks, Jamil. Iâll try to stay inside as much as I can until then.â
After the dayâs classes, your boyfriend abides by his word, putting together a care package of thermal socks, thermal underwear, gloves, a scarf, a toque, an overcoat, and his softest swâwait, whereâs his sweatshirt?
Jamil is mid-search when he remembers:
His significant other is a clothes thief. A wardrobe raider. A closet crook.
He sighs and makes his way to Ramshackle, incomplete care package in hand, knowing that itâll be complete once it gets to you.
Wasting no time to prove him right, you open the door wearing it. And just like that, youâve got Jamilâs heart in your sleeve-buried hands. You look so innocent and precious despite how you literally stole the clothes from under his nose. How ironic.
âJamil?â you prompt after a moment, smirk barely repressed. âYou coming in?â
Right. Coming in. You need stuff. The stuff heâs brought with him. Right.
âYes,â he manages, somehow without any hint of fluster. âNow shut the door quickly before the cold gets in.â
Per Jamilâs ask, you close the creaky wooden door behind him.Â
âHere.â Jamil holds the package out to you, forcing himself to meet your eyes. The way your expression visibly lights up has him fighting the urge to turtle up in his hood and pull the drawstrings taut.
You gently take it from his hold, your brilliant smile unwavering. And then, to your boyfriendâs elation dismay, you lean in to kiss him on the cheek.
âThanks,â you chuckle softly, turning to make your way upstairs. âIâm gonna go put these away, but Iâve got the fire on. Get yourself warm, âkay? Be right back!â You whiz away and Jamil makes quick work of shedding his jacket and shoes, hanging the former on your coat rack and swapping the latter for the designated pair of slippers youâve set aside for him.
As he enters the lounge with the fireplace, Jamil notes that Ramshackle is actually warmer than heâd expected (not that the bar was high), a huge relief for him. Youâre at least safe from freezing while in here, especially if you sit by the fire, like Jamil is right now.
âIâm gonna make some hot chocolate,â you call out. You mustâve returned downstairs while Jamil was distracted. âWant some?â
âPlease,â he answers, trusting you enough that he doesnât avert his gaze from the flames.
Minutes later, you deposit a cocoa-filled mug into his hands and plop yourself onto the nearby couch. The frigid wind taps a tree branch against the window, the muffled conversations between Grim and the resident ghosts can be barely heard through the cracks in the wood, and the fire crackles quite excitedly, but you and Jamil otherwise stew in comfortable silence. And then you take a quiet breath.
âLove you, Jamil.â
Jamilâs head shoots up and he takes in the sight of you: on your front, drowning in his baggy sweatshirt, feet kicking around slowly behind you.
Your squished cheeks resting in your palms, Jamil finds himself feeling a new way.
As a member of the Basketball Club, Jamil has front row seats to the questionable behaviour of Floyd Leech. One of the many things that Jamil never understood about the menace was his frequent urge to squeeze.Â
But with the way your eyes soften so sweetly as he stares into them, Jamil canât help but realize:
Now he understands.
Jamil notices three new things the next day:
Youâre appropriately dressed for the subzero weather. In his clothes, of course. Each time Jamil catches sight of you, he has to fight the urge to smirk and brag.
Youâve changed your phone background to a picture from yesterday: a selfie of you in Jamilâs sweatshirt, with said Jamil wrapping himself around you. Your smile in the photo is infectious.
One of his t-shirts has gone missing. He gets the feeling he knows whoâs responsible.
