“You’ve already accomplished your goal” with first years
(FOUR guest appearances: Khron Luteus, Viridis Ashengrotto, Ezmond Morado, Peyn Algos (all belong to @kokii-omii))
When the first years don’t realize their “courting” actually worked
Through relentless teasing, Ace Trappola felt warmth engulf his face and ears. He wasn’t aware of when his little crush began, but he noticed when it transformed.
Like a semi-truck, (or a cauldron from Deuce’s wreckless magic), it dawned on him that he wanted to actually be loved by you.
He still kept pestering you with his childish comments and attitude, but it was clear as day that he wanted to ensure your comfort. Sneaky (completely obvious to others) glances to gauge your reaction.
He shifted his verbal jabs to pathetic attempts at flirting. To him, it was teasing for the sake of flustering you. The way you’d look away, he felt so sure that he was effortlessly gaining the high ground in your dynamic.
He was pinching your cheeks, lighter than he would with any other friends. Another tell of his noticeable pining. “Seriously, if you’re that in love with me.. why not just kiss me and make it official?” The smirk on his lips was shaky to say the least.
You wanted to humor him and his odd methods, but some part of you just wanted to test if this was real. “Can I really kiss you?”
“I mean— wait what?!” You didn’t say anything else, just maintaining that eye contact that threatened to absolutely destroy him. There was nobody around you both for once. If you needed a chance alone, it was then. He seemed to realize it too. In a softer tone than anything he’d dare to use for a friend, “yeah, I think it’d be pretty cool.”
Ace tried too hard to appear the one in charge. You liked him. Why else would you entertain his ridiculous behavior?
Almost daily, Deuce Spade would be banned from the Heartsabyul kitchen. Ace would be hysterical in glee while relaying the ravenette’s failures, while the latter refused to meet your eyes.
He wasn’t an awful cook either. Clumsy and messy, sure, but not necessarily a bad chef. Something was off, and you were trying to piece it together for yourself.
Ace made a comment on him screwing up the same dish every single time. Out of curiosity, you asked what the issues were.
“I dunno, dude. I’m just annoyed by always hearing him whine about it not being right,” he snickered. “Man, he’s hopeless. At least he’s got us to keep his head on straight.”
He patted you on the shoulder before announcing that you were “in charge of Juice while he went on an adventure,” whatever that meant.
Later during Ace’s absence, you heard a small commotion. The sound of kitchenware hitting each other. Going to investigate, you saw the sight Ace would rant about. Deuce hunched over his phone with different burners on, clueless to the absolute chaos he was creating.
“Your dish is wrong again,” he muttered. He turned to face you fully, and he was visibly stressed out. You assessed the damage, and vaguely recognized the ingredients.
You felt a shaky smile grace your lips, as you noticed his fidgeting. “You’ve been so stressed about a dish, all because of me?”
Like a switch flipped, his hesitation melted. He erupted in a loud exclamation. “It’s not your fault! I just wanted to prove that I care about you a lot!” Hands intertwining with his, your smile widened.
He was trying so hard to impress you, despite already winning your love.
Being teased by your mutual friends only served to fluster Jack Howl. Despite his harsh exterior, there was a soft part of him that wanted to prove he could understand you.
Being a beastman meant there was already a bit of a gap between the two of you. Him trying to grasp the small differences between his kind and yours gave him a headache. Asking his upperclassmen was completely off the table, so he did the only thing he knew.
Following the examples, (and also choosing the absolute worst choices (ace and deuce)).
He used small bits of their vocabulary, mixing it with yours as well. Clumsy fragments of sentences spoken in his gruff, annoyed tone would startle you.
With a small chuckle, you’d ask him to repeat himself. In those moments of amusement from you, and absolute embarrassment from him… he felt fine. Though his heart wouldn’t stop racing, and his tail wouldn’t cease its wagging, he was somewhat pleased.
Eventually, seeing him flounder so consistently made you choose to end the endearing game. “I just adore you, Jack.”
He looked at you with absolute bewilderment. His mouth was screwed shut, swallowing with a held breath.
“I’d love to date you, unless that isn’t what these attempts at being a loser are about.” His shreds of dignity were obliterated instantly.
“I’d enjoy that a lot. wait— I was acting like a loser…?” What a hopeless fool.
Khron Luteus was known for being sweet. Always tending to others, regardless of their motives. It always felt like he saw the good in everyone around him. The idea of food being the way to someone’s heart, that struck a chord with him.
That’s what his plan was originally going to be, until he overheard you speaking to a classmate. He caught a few fragments: “dance,” “music,” and “Khron.”
Before sticking around to get any clarification of anything, he rushed off in a hurry. He’d plan a dance number for you with enough squirrels to take down an army. All you had to do was wait.
During a period of time, you noticed his absence. The boy that would nearly trample you in a blind wave of affection, was nowhere to be found. No hiding his broad body behind an obvious pole, no giggling around the corners you turned, not even silly handwritten notes in your locker.
On the off-chance you’d sneak up on him in the crowded hallways, he would get extremely nervous. “Hey there! I’m not hiding anything from you by the way. If you see a line of 163 squirrels, uhh…” he tapped his fingers on his chin for a second. “Oh! They’re my cousin’s dog’s sister’s friends. So just ignore them, okay?”
You would’ve felt like he was being rude, if it wasn’t for how… bizarre he was. You were somewhat familiar with his horrible lying, but that took the cake for most ridiculous.
Meanwhile, he spent the next little while patting himself on the back for keeping you off his tracks. Until it was time for his grand gesture.
When you came to your dorm after another day of absolute chaos, you were ambushed by a hoard of squirrels playing… instruments. Each one was custom-made to fit the rodent playing it. All except for a set of drums, being played by… also a squirrel.
You heard a muffled commotion in the adjacent room, and decided to hurt his ego. You’d let him know you heard him those long weeks ago. “I wanted to go to the school dance, Khron.” He fell onto the ground in front of you, almost on cue. You noted the red ears peeking through his hair.
Maybe you could handle people for a little longer, if it was this silly guy.
Art was Viridis Ashengrotto’s strong suit. It was his vessel for all the feelings he’d bite back in his youth and now his growth. He’d perfected his craft, and would push himself beyond his limits to take pride in what he created.
He’d swore to never be truly selfless. Weakness would get him absolutely nowhere in his life. Mutual benefit is the furthest he’d be willing to go. He swore, and felt like he was breaking his promise to himself now.
Hunched over a piece of paper in an ugly fashion, he felt like a moron. His back was far too hunched. His hair was always falling into his eyes, but it only angered him at that point.
Writing was what other people did. Poetry specifically was seen as a language of love. It felt corny to him. Flowery words mean nothing when you can fake it all.
He didn’t have to worry about proofreading, or scrapping an entire art piece. Anyone would pay for his crafted work. But you weren’t just anyone. You were the only target for the original poem (turned letter), and if you didn’t like it, it was a waste.
Time is money, as he’s leaned on his own WITHOUT the help of his brother. So why was he willing to miss out for someone with possibly unreciprocated feelings?
His eyes flickered to a trinket on his desk. His areas for creating were always orderly, with not a pen or pencil out of place. His space was normal, aside from a small gift you’d given him when you first started actually speaking more.
That was why he bothered with a nuisance like “creative writing.” His actions couldn’t speak for him, with how awkward and abrupt your shared interactions were. The paper would tell you what he wanted to.
He chose to take a break. While the boy shoved the paper away with a sneer, his fingers reached for the present. A tiny note was attached to the bottom. To overlook such a detail, he had to be an idiot.
He grabbed a pair of glasses, (ones he refused to let anyone else see), and inspected the small writing. Practically a few scribbles, he made out “I like you.”
A knock on his door snapped him out of a harsh daze immediately. His head snapped to the direction of a muffled voice, your muffled voice.
Maybe he’d just flounder with actions for now.
You’d opened your door one day to see a box of apples from Epel Felmier. Maybe it was harvest season and he received more than he could handle. That was still a bit odd, but reasonable in your eyes.
Over the next few days, you received more apples. So many that you began to think his family was just slaving away to have this many that they don’t need.
During a sleepover with Deuce and Ace, you asked if they were receiving as many apples as you were. They stared at you like you had three heads, nodding carefully as you explained the boxes you had been given. Apparently they had no idea, because Epel hadn’t mentioned anything.
For once, you chose rationality, and approached him after club activities later in that week. His smile grew when he saw you waiting for him after he got changed. “Ah, yer here!” His speaking slipped into his home accent. It often did when you were around.
You asked him about how the harvest was going, and his boyish grin widened. You couldn’t tell if he was blushing, or if it was from the sweat and heat after spelldrive practice. His breathing was still heavier than usual, so you led him to sit for a moment.
You had him sip on water while you tried to pull something out of your bag. A promise to let him tell you about his family and the harvest was in the air, for after he had time to recuperate.
From your bag, you pulled out a box that was clumsily packaged. He abandoned his water to tear it open, and inside? A butchered attempt at a carved apple.
He fought laughter that bubbled into his throat. He couldn’t even decipher what it was meant to be, but any teasing died on his tongue when he saw you.
“It’s ugly, but it’s a sign I like you—,” before you could say anything else, he tackled you to the ground in a heap of giggles and affection. His mission was a success, as he never expected.
While doing your makeup, Ezmond Morado was noticeably slower than usual. Quick and precise movements were even more deliberate and cautious. His eyes were dissecting every little blemish or scar in your face. His eyebrows would furrow or relax, and you felt unsure if it was out of genuine inspection, or scrutiny.
He cleared his throat after meeting your eyes with his own. The rest of the look was done in a silence that felt more awkward than peaceful.
Following makeovers or spa-days with him were similar in style. His meticulously skilled fingers would slow to a halt. In his head, there were so many alarms going off. A man who worships beauty and grace, feeling his knees almost buckle for someone that doesn’t know about every step to hair and skin care?
He nearly dropped the palette he was holding when he felt the back of your hand on his forehead. Ready to scold you for being so reckless, his posture slumped a small amount at your expression. Concerned.
“Your entire face was flushed, you know. I was worried you had a fever or something.” If only it was that. It’d be easier than whatever the hell he was feeling in his chest.
Silence enveloped you both as he recollected himself. You let him keep his struggling pride maintained by distracting your eyes with his room decorations. Every belonging of his seemed to hold a purpose, or most of them. Small trinkets from his only other friend were placed in the least obvious places. He probably wasn’t even aware of them.
There was still an air of absolute certainty about Ezmond. Young and irrational at times, but absolutely conscious of his goals. He doesn’t stray from passion, and it was admirable.
But were you a part of that passion? If he spent so much effort in perfecting his goals and achievements, why risk missing out for you?
“I’m tired of acting like you aren’t an enigma of mine.” You were startled by his sudden declaration. He spoke with so much disdain, it was hard to tell if he was going to yell at you or actually kill you. “To like you, I feel like I’ve drank a thousand potions. And none of them are the one I’m looking for.”
When he finally looks at you, his stone-cold expression morphs into… horror?
“Why do you look like you’re about to cry?! Is it not obvious that I’m being nice?!” He’s awful at determining his own tone. He believed he was making you swoon at his “affectionate and corny” speaking.
You almost figured his feelings out, and then he ruined your theory before proving it correct. He’s the damn enigma.
Fighting sleep was something Peyn Algos wasn’t new to. But it’s never been his own decision until he started liking you. Sure, he’d try to stay awake when his dorm leader and vice dorm leader were speaking endlessly, but he’d also scream at them for it. It wasn’t the same case for you.
If anything, you were the one who urged him to at least nap to regain some energy.
He’s someone who wears his emotions on his face. Especially when he’s annoyed or angry. Imagine his absolute panic when he’s told that it’s obvious he likes you.
He doesn’t want to drop hints, but that itself gives him away. He makes excuses to leave when you’re making him feel too happy. He made up some fake crush to avoid your questions about his presents (for you).
Matching jewelry you gave him one time, always in his pocket or worn in private. He’s not accustomed to being so excited around anyone outside of family or close friends. Even then, his short-temper was still made known.
You called him on accident one night. You were up late, unable to sleep well. There was someone else you meant to call, but he was the one to pick up.
You could hear how sleepy he was. He accidentally turned on his camera without noticing, and you remained silent about it. You saw his pajamas, with his hair all tousled.
There was also a piece of jewelry. It looked like it was out of place, truly. He’d yell at anyone who accused him of being in love with someone. You thought it was just because of him being tired of it, but maybe it was simply denial.
“I wish you were here…” was all he mumbled before his eyes drooped shut for the final time that night.
Sebek Zigvolt, the very fae that refused to accept humans as friends. He’d offer you the chance to spar with him and Silver when he knew you were free. He’d encourage you to “conquer your fears” when you struggled.
Sparring became a routine for just you and him when Silver got sick of the loud mouth. He was careful with you, pushing you to your limits while also being mindful of them. He made sure to keep himself from overstepping.
If you got scraped up, he’d nag you until you let him treat your wounds. No matter the damage, he’d insist on making sure you were tended to. It felt less like inferiority, and more like genuine care from him.
You tried to pay attention to his comments. Sometimes they felt harsh, but you’d use them to improve however you could.
“I don’t get why I’m not improving,” you spoke as you tried to stand back up again. You winced from the pressure on your foot, and he scolded you to avoid being wreckless.
He crouched next to you, and tried to inspect your body. “You’re still not—,” you pushed him away, or tried to.
You weren’t even angry at him. You were just so upset at yourself. Your body and mind weren’t functioning on the same level. “I’ve been trying to do it right, Sebek! You keep lecturing me like a child, and it’s not helping.”
“I just—!” He paused. Jumping to defend himself like always, he’d only ruin this situation further. “I wanted to show you what I enjoyed.”
Your eyes met, and you understood. He was trying to show his care in a way you weren’t familiar with.
A line of Ezmond’s was based on Emporer’s New Groove btw
