Discover Top Posts Tagged with #twsty's fics

an affection anthology ft. jade leech

a timeline of your relationship through the school year :P

you can read the (optional) prologue, “anti acceptance”, here!

tags/warnings: jade leech x reader (romantic), gender-neutral insert, prefect!reader, swearing, sfw but written with college age (18-22) in mind, wish upon a star event (very mild spoilers), reader has hair/bedhead, mutual teasing, pure fluff with no serious conflict or stakes

a/n: ik i promised one three-year fic ending in a proposal (requested) but that would be WAY too long for something without a real plot structure ;-; i’ll at least fulfill this other request with this fic, but i’ll have to do the proposal in yet another installation lol

word count: 9.1k (six fics stacked on top of each other in a giant trench coat)

DO NOT FEED ANY PART OF THIS TO AI. thanks!

dividers by @/uzmacchiato and @/cafekitsune!

You didn’t think you’d get this far.

Two and a half months ago, right before summer break, you’d confessed to Jade Leech. Not with the intention of pursuing him, dating him, or even flattering him; no, you’d confessed so that he would reject you. Because that’s the only way you’d be able to quash your crush on the worst possible person you could have a crush on.

Well, to prove you right in just the wrong way, Jade had accepted your confession. Or if you wanted to be technical about it, he’d rejected your request to be rejected.

And then he charmed you into going on a date. And at the end of that date, he charmed you into going on another date. And so on and so forth, until you could confidently say that you and Jade were ‘dat-ing’.

So, correction: you didn’t think you’d get this far, because you’d been actively trying to not go in this direction.

You're also not going to flatter yourself and believe that Jade actually likes you, either. Like his brother, he’s more motivated by amusement and fascination than by ‘love’. And though that’s what you'd expected of him from the start, it’s not any less… difficult.

Translation: you are whipped for this stupid eel. And said stupid eel is blatantly stringing you along. Through the mud. For fun.

Welcome to hell.

Draped across your dorm couch like a swooned Victorian lady, Ace sighs, loud and dramatic. “Maaan, this year’s entrance ceremony was so boring.”

“That’s a good thing, Ace,” you deadpan from the floor. “Riddle would’ve had everyone’s heads if last year repeated itself.”

“Ehh, probably. But the Headmage could’ve at least made his speeches shorter, couldn’t he? It’s not like anyone's actually paying attention.”

Deuce throws a pillow at his head. “Just because you weren’t paying attention doesn’t mean nobody was!”

“Yeah, Ace!” Grim snickers.

You scoff lightheartedly. “You weren’t listening either, Grim. You literally slept through the entire thing.”

The accused whips his head around at you, betrayed. “W-Well!” he scrambles.

At the flash in Grim’s eyes, you realise: Oh no. You should not have drawn attention to yourself. Not when you’re equally culpable.

And here it comes: “At least I wasn’t making goo-goo eyes at Jade Leech the whole time!”

“Yeah,” the redhead snickers as your face heats up, “I guess you can’t get any worse than that!”

Deuce throws a second pillow at Ace—“Be nice!”—but he doesn’t disagree.

Nor do you have any dignity left to deny it, yourself.

“Hey, look on the bright side: he’ll probably break up with you soon,” Ace assures. “He’s gonna be too busy being a vice-housewarden and thinking about his internship!”

“Oh right,” Deuce and Grim collectively realise with their single shared brain cell, while your heart drops a couple storeys lower than you'd like.

Ace’s argument is a good one—a great one, even—but you've already thought of it before, many times, in fact. And it’s good news! You should feel relieved that you’ll finally be free from Jade’s emotional clutches, especially considering how your goal in the first place was just that.

The issue: you're in too deep. When you’d first gotten into this mess, you were only a few rungs up on the ‘whippedness’ ladder. You were ready to jump off of your own accord and just sprain an ankle or two, metaphorically.

Now, you're too high on the ladder, about to be shoved off before you're ready, and you’re gonna break both your legs and maybe your back. And it almost feels like it's not a metaphor anymore.

Instead of voicing any of your inner turmoil, you argue weakly, “We're not even together. There’s nothing to break up.”

The trio stares at you, in varying degrees of confusion, shock, and exasperation. Not even a peep.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you add.

“Aren't you dating?” Deuce asks, absolutely dumbfounded.

“Sure, but it’s just dates. I could go on a date with Ace, and it wouldn't make him my boyfriend.” You ignore the latter’s disgusted grimace.

“So it’s a good thing then!” Grim responds a bit too abrasively. “Jade can’t actually dump you, so he’ll just ignore you forever!”

Your heart dips even further.

“Ghost,” Ace adds very helpfully. “He’ll ghost you.”

Unable to sink into the floorboards at will, you settle for tugging your ceremonial hood over your face. “Yeah,” your voice breaks. “Yeah. Great. Thanks, guys.”

The very next day, Jade himself shows up to your door before class.

You know that trope in those TV shows, when a cop shows up to someone’s wife’s door, takes off his hat, and solemnly implies in ten words or less that she’s now a widow? Well, you sure feel like the wife here.

But as you scan his expression for any hint of impending emotional doom, Jade’s polite smile betrays nothing.

“Good morning, Prefect,” he greets.

“Morning, Jade,” you parrot without any heart.

His gaze lingers on your face for an unsettling amount of time, probably to watch the light leave your eyes as he dropkicks your heart into the sun.

This is it. He’s about to tell you he never wants to see you again.

You square your shoulders and steel yourself for his next words…

“Are you ready to go?”

…which were not what you were expecting.

You nearly collapse in relief. “Oh, uh, yeah,” you exhale, bracing your spine up against the doorframe. “Grim?” you turn and call, “it’s time to go!”

A blur of grey shoots past your legs and out the door upon noticing your company. “Stay safe, Henchhuman! I’m outta here!”

The eel simply laughs at your furry ward’s blatant fear of him.

Before this, Jade has never come straight to your door to pick you up, so Grim absolutely thinks he’s about to kidnap you or something. Maybe you should be concerned that your so-called ‘boss’ is so quick to abandon you, but as you spot him in the distance periodically glancing back, you’ll choose to be grateful for the privacy instead.

As if magnetic, your fingers interlock with Jade’s, and oh Seven—

Why does this feel so right?

His hands not clammy or uncomfortably warm, his skin smooth like silk satin but still seemingly unbreakable… If you really focus, you can feel the dim pulse in his fingertips humming into the back of your hand.

Wouldn’t it be nice to do this every day?

You blow up the tracks of that train of thought and drive it full-steam off a cliff.

It’s not until you arrive at your classroom that you finally begin to slip your hand from Jade’s grasp.

But when you step past the threshold, you fail to suppress a squeak as you’re abruptly tugged back by the same damn hand (which apparently did not fully slip out of Jade’s), straight into his chest.

“Just a moment,” the bastard croons into your ear. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Your legs buckle, but Jade holds you firmly against him. “No?” you sputter.

He simply hums. And then he tips your chin and fucking kisses the top of your head.

“Have a good class, Prefect.”

You distantly hear Deuce, and Ace screaming (“PREFECT, NO!!!” and “WHAT THE FUCK?!!” respectively) down the hall from where they witnessed it.

Jade finally lets you go, and you do, in fact, collapse. Ace and Deuce scream even harder, and oh hey, Grim’s here too. “Stay with me, Henchhuman! I’ll reverse the curse, don’t worry!”

As your friends all panic over the curse that Jade must’ve cast on you, the latter crouches down to your level, amused as ever. “Are you alright, Prefect?”

“Yup,” you croak, too dazed to notice the hand (the same. fucking. one.) that he’s offering you. “Bye, have a good class~”

“You’re positive you don’t need me to bring you to the infirmary?”

“Uh huh. See ya…”

On your knees, as the world spins around you, you make a new realisation:

Jade’s not dropping you cold turkey.

He’s gonna build you up, and drop you only when it’s most interesting for him. Which, by definition, means when it’s most inconvenient for you.

You’re so not ready for this.

For three months, through homework and prefect duties, through midterms and finals, you walk the line between indulging your yearning for Jade and holding him at arm’s length. It is exhausting.

Every morning, Jade walks you to class. Every afternoon, he walks you back to your dorm. You still go on little dates every few weekends. And every time you two part, he kisses the top of your head. Which is also fairly mortifying when you’re surrounded by your schoolmates, but that’s beside the point.

The pesky eel has whittled your certainty down to a sliver, so much so that you eventually ask your friends, “Do you think Jade… actually likes me back?”

Their response: a homogeneous blend of grimaces, “Nope”s, and “Don’t go there”s.

“Cool, cool, that’s what I thought too.”

You need to get yourself out of this predicament before your emotional fate is actually officially, irreversibly, terminally out of your hands. That means breaking off this… thing with Jade before winter break.

So, drunk on desperation and sleep deprivation, you devise a gameplan:

Step 1: Hold yourself accountable. Tell your friends that you’re breaking things off with Jade and do not let them down.

Step 2: Meet with Jade. Schedule a time and place.

Step 3: Finish the job. Say: “This has been fun, but I’m breaking off whatever this is between us. Stay away from me until the end of time, please and thank you!”

Emotional freedom in three simple steps. It’s a foolproof plan! (And if it feels like you’ve been through this song and dance before, no, you have not.)

At 2 am the day before winter break, you start with Step 1. Opening your now-second-year group chat, you cursorily text a declaration:

You: i’m gonna break things off with jade today. wish me luck guys

then immediately turn your phone on silent before anyone can respond—if anyone’s even awake (Someone probably is. Your money’s on Ace)—and conk out instantly.

You jolt awake to the sound of knocking on your bedroom door.

“Hello?!” you bark. It’s light outside, and Grim still lies beside you, fast asleep.

“Good morning, Prefect,” the most enchanting voice seeps through the seams of your door. “You must've overslept your alarm. Are you decent? May I come in?”

“Uh, yeah!” you bark out reflexively, scrambling out of bed. “Wait, no—wait—hold on! I'm in my pyjamas!”

The door cracks open, and in pops the eel plaguing your mind 24/7.

You both stand there like two cowboys in a standoff. Jade looks you up and down with his usual smile. You glare at him.

“Jade. Out,” you command, closing the gap in an attempt to shoo him out. He doesn't budge, even when you start shoving against him.

“Fufufu, so this is what you look like when you wake up,” he comments, immovable. “How cute.”

“Out.”

“Alright,” he chuckles, taking a step back. But then he places a hand on your head, smoothing your hair down. “You have bedhead, Prefect.”

You almost lean into his touch. You nearly forget that you have a plan to follow. You just barely remember that you're breaking things off with Jade today.

Do not let him change your mind.

Channelling your inner black belt, you seize the wrist of the hand petting your head. “Are you going to Kalim’s party tonight?”

Eyes wide in surprise, Jade slowly retracts his hand. “Y-Yes,” he stutters out. “The Lounge will be closed today, so I expect I will be.”

“Good. I have something I need to talk to you about.”

He tenses. “…Should I be concerned?”

“No,” you sigh. “It’s nothing to you.”

“I see.”

“I’m gonna make you late, so you don’t need to walk me to class today,” you continue when Jade makes no move to leave your room. “And you don’t need to worry about walking me back, either.”

“…Are you alright?” he enquires after a moment.

You almost laugh. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll see you later, okay?”

To your chagrin, Jade stares right into your eyes, probably in search of answers you refuse to verbalise. To shake off the intensity, you dart your eyes in every direction but him: eye contact with Jade is a terrible idea no matter which way you look at it, especially now.

“Have a good day,” you add awkwardly, crossing your fingers that he’ll actually leave soon.

After far too long, he backs away. “You too, Prefect. I’ll see you later, then.”

Step 2, done.

As you watch Jade walk alone down the path to the main school building, you’re hit with the nagging feeling that you’re missing something.

Did you forget to do your homework? No, you weren’t assigned anything for the last day of classes.

The dishes, maybe? Did you neglect to do those last night? That’s not it.

Is it someone’s birthday? No, that’s not it, either.

After 20 minutes of hard thinking, you realise: it’s the kiss. Jade didn’t kiss you goodbye this time, and it feels horrible.

You’re experiencing fucking Jade Leech kiss withdrawal.

You scream into your pillow.

You show up to Kalim’s party in the evening, fully ready to land the final blow.

The only issue: Jade isn’t here.

You haven’t seen him, none of your friends have seen him, none of the other students you’ve asked have seen him. He hasn’t texted you, either.

Jade fucking stood you up and it’s totally psyching you out.

You text him

hey where are you

only to get left on read. He knows.

You call him, even though you don’t expect him to answer. And sure enough, the phone rings once, twice, three times…

He actually picks up. To your utter surprise.

“Where are you?” you hiss.

For a silent moment, you think that he might just refuse to humour you, might just hang up now. But the eel sure has a thing for subverting your expectations. “…I’d rather not show up for something so… unpleasant.”

“What are you talking about? Who said anything about ‘unpleasant’?”

“Perhaps you should be more selective in what you tell Grim,” the bane of your existence answers, “seeing as his favour can be bought with just a few cans of premium tuna.”

“Ugh, I'm gonna strangle him. Why do you have to be so difficult? Can’t you spare me just this once?”

“I…” He pauses. “That… wouldn’t be in my best interest.”

“Jade, you’re actually starting to piss me off. I’m not gonna let you keep stringing me along for your own fucking amusement,” you snap, “and you refusing to show up isn’t gonna change my mind.”

“…Is that what you think I’m doing?” he asks softly. “‘Stringing you along’? And here I was, thinking that we were both enjoying ourselves. Was I mistaken?”

You scoff. “Yes—no—UGH,” you groan, then try again. “I’m just gonna come out and say it: you know I like you; I know you don’t actually feel the same. So I have no reason to keep playing along with you.”

For what feels like a minute, the line is quiet.

“Hello?”

“…I’m here,” he breathes. “I… You were right. I think we should discuss this in person. Have you left Scarabia already?”

“No,” you huff. “Grim’s still stuffing his face, so I’m waiting in the hall.”

“Good. I’ll be there in a second.”

“Are you here?”

“Perhaps,” he hums, and you hear the music and chatter of the party grow louder from his end of the phone. “See you soon.”

Sure enough, Jade takes no more than a minute to find you.

You’re the first to speak. “So what is it that we needed to discuss in person—”

“You’re wrong.”

Caught off guard by his uncharacteristic brusqueness, you flinch. “Uh?”

“About how I don’t feel the same. You’re wrong,” he repeats. His usual polite mien is nowhere to be found, leaving only raw sincerity.

A nasty bout of hope seizes your heart and clogs your throat.

“If you’re truly set on parting ways, then I can’t stop you,” Jade continues, voice level, “but if the basis of your choice is my supposed lack of… fondness for you, please consider sparing us both the unnecessary misery.”

You scoff shakily. “Say it straight, Jade.”

“Very well. I return your affections, Prefect.”

Heart beating a thousand beats per minute, eyes wholly unfocussed, you find your consciousness peeling away from your body and brain. “…Okay, I’m gonna get going now~” a voice rings in your ears—your voice.

“Where are you going?”

“Dunno…”

Jade steps closer to you and places his hands on your shoulders, maybe in an effort to ground you. It doesn’t work. “Shall we continue this conversation later, then?”

You hum.

“Alright, I’ll give you some time,” he whispers, turning to leave. “Have a good night, Prefect.”

But before he can get far, your hand snags the sleeve of Jade’s blazer. “…You’re forgetting something.”

“Oya? And what would that be?”

No words come out, but to your chagrin, your other hand rises…

and points straight at the crown of your head.

What. Is. Wrong. With. You.

Luckily, with a shake of your head, you do manage to snap out of your stupor before he can honour your request.

Less luckily, not in time to stop him; only enough to feel his lips meet the exact spot where you’d pointed just a second prior.

The touch of his lips is like a shot of epinephrine, the way the warmth diffuses through your bloodstream, head to toe.

Or maybe it’s an injection of poison, killing you slowly but surely.

Well, if this is death, Great Seven, does it feel nice.

You’re dead.

You really died.

Or at least you’re about to. Because the Grim Reaper is currently in the act of busting down your bedroom door to get to you. (After that incident with Jade, you started locking your door at night, thank Seven.)

The paintings on the wall swing like pendula. The junk in your drawer rolls about like water in a hot pan. You even discover tuna cans that Grim (yours, not the Reaper) hid at some point, inching their way out from beneath furniture with each shake of the room.

But your bed is so comfortable right now…

“Shrimpyyyyy,” whines from behind the quaking door. “Open sesame!”

…Oh, it’s Floyd. Which might actually be worse than the Grim Reaper. But to Floyd’s credit, you would prefer seeing him over his brother right now.

“What do you want, Floyd?” you whine back. “Go away.”

The pounding only gets more aggressive. “Open up!”

“No. Let me sleep.”

“Okaa~ay! I’mma kick down your door!” Floyd threatens. “In 5, 4, 3…”

“FINE,” you groan, dragging yourself out of the warm embrace of your duvet. “I’m coming, I’m coming. Don’t wreck my house.”

You swing the door open, glaring at the eel on the other side. “What.”

“Fix Jade,” he blurts, pouting. “He’s broken.”

Unimpressed, you try to close the door, but Floyd shoves his way past you and into your room. “That’s just normal Jade,” you sigh.

“No, he’s being weird! He’s ripping up flowers and speaking in tongues!”

You yawn. “Sounds normal to me.”

Floyd grimaces. “Eehhhh… Is Shrimpy always this stubborn? No wonder Jade’s having such a hard time courtin’ ya.”

“Wha—He’s not—” you sputter, and Floyd takes advantage of your blue-screening to throw you onto his shoulder. “I’m not—!”

“Uh~huuhhh,” he dismisses, already in full stride. “Save it for Jade.”

Remember when you thought you’d prefer seeing Floyd over his twin? Well, you take that back. As much as Jade likes to make life difficult for you, at least he wouldn’t haul you—clad in only your pyjamas—across campus in broad daylight while it's snowing. Probably.

After a long, uncomfortable trek on Floyd’s shoulders—shoulders, plural, because he would just toss you onto the other shoulder when one side got tired—you finally make it to Octavinelle.

With little regard for your flailing body, your captor skips down the hall to his twin’s door and kicks it open at the tail end of Jade’s mutterings.

“Got a delivery for ya~”

“…me not,” Jade finishes quietly, attention fixed on the picked-bare flower stem between his fingers. “Ah, Floyd, you've brought the Prefect. What a pleasant surprise.”

Though his distaste is directed more at his brother than yourself, Jade’s sarcasm is obvious. His tone is curter than he uses with you, gaze sharper than what you’re used to, but Floyd is nonetheless unfazed. He throws you onto Jade’s bed.

Which already has Jade on it.

You are on top of Jade.

“Floyd—! You—!” you squawk, rolling off of the bed, off of him, hitting the floor with an impressive thud.

Over the edge of the mattress, olive and gold eyes scan over you in fleeting concern. “…Floyd.”

“You’re welcome!” Floyd spits back with equal irritation. “Someone needed to fix you before we go home!” And then he bursts into abrupt giggles, bounding out of the room with the door left just slightly ajar behind him.

The door is still open. You should follow him out. Just leave; Jade didn’t invite you here in the first place.

But you don’t.

You stay, sprawled out on your crush’s rug, surrounded by a dense dusting of snow-white petals. From the sheer amount of them, Jade must’ve plucked over forty giant daisies bare.

The sound of your heart pounding in your ears almost drowns out his murmur. “Do you need more time?”

You’ve heard Jade weave sarcasm into polite words. You’ve heard him excitedly info-dump about a passion of his. Just yesterday, you even heard him nervous and raw. But to this extent? Never.

You sit up. “…I need you to be transparent.” Your voice is shaking.

“You don’t actually like me, do you? Or maybe you find me interesting or fascinating or whatever. But you’re gonna get bored of me, aren’t you?

“If you know this won't go anywhere, then just tell me now,” you plead. “Please.”

Jade slips off the bed and kneels down to your eye-level—not that it matters when you don’t have the courage to meet his eyes.

Everything depends on his next words; you'll go all in if he says one thing, all out if he says the other. You might as well just bet your life on a coin toss.

He chuckles without humour nor coldness, “You truly have no faith in me, do you, Prefect? Since you insist on doubting my feelings, allow me to set the record straight now: I sincerely care for you, and I don’t expect that to change.”

You collapse back onto the floor with liquified muscles, all stress and heartache draining from your bones, gaze falling on the man-sized mushroom plush propped up on a stool in the corner of the room. Jade has dressed it up with a bow tie. You throw a hand over your eyes before you can be overwhelmed by the adorable sight.

“Cool, just making sure. Uh, I… don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Oya? And you had such a succinct plan to break up with me. Perhaps you should get into the habit of making contingency plans.”

You guffaw dryly. “I plan for the worst case scenario so if it doesn’t go according to plan, I can be pleasantly surprised.”

“Are you, then?” Jade asks. “Pleasantly surprised?”

Your hand begins to fall asleep; you shift your arm back down to a comfortable position. The sight you’re met with—of Jade smiling back at you with such relief and fondness—ignites the answer in your throat. “I am.”

The two words come out more watery than you’d expected, and apparently more than Jade had expected too, because he asks, “Are you sure?”

“Mhm.”

“You’re crying,” he notes.

You wipe your eyes with your hand. “Oh.”

Pulling out a handkerchief, Jade gently blots away your tears. “May I safely assume that these aren’t tears of sadness?”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, closing your eyes as he pats over them, “sorry. I just… I’m super relieved? I'm not always such a big crybaby, I promise.”

“I know,” he reassures, stroking your hair. “Though you are a very pretty crier.”

“Jaaade,” you whine, tossing over in embarrassment.

“Oya? Why so shy?” He pokes your exposed cheek. “You act as if we haven’t been dating for the past five months.”

“We haven’t had a label for the past five months. I’ve been preparing for you to dump me,” you correct. “Not that we have a relationship to dump in the first place.”

Jade’s fingers brush down to your cheek. “Shall we fix that?”

“…You wanna be my boyfriend, Jade Leech?”

“Very much so,” he replies in full seriousness.

And so, your fate sealed, Jade gives zero resistance when you pull him down to your side. He wraps his arms around you, you press your cheek against his chest. The heart within beats faster than you’d expect.

You still have a question left unanswered, though.

“Jade?”

“Yes?”

“What’s with all the petals?”

He tenses, just barely, just for a millisecond before he melts back into you. “It’s… a fortune-telling practice.”

“Huh,” you twitter, amused. “I would’ve thought you’d only need one flower.”

“I would,” Jade agrees, “but curiously, each of the daisies I’ve come across so far has had an even number of petals, and I happen to be looking for a result different from what those ones suggest.”

You chuckle. “You gonna keep picking?”

He hums, nestling into you as if the floor with your company is the most comfortable spot in the world. “No need. I have my answer.”

It's impossible for a person to exist without ever having heard a love song, read a love story, watched a romcom, any or all of the above. Even so, none of the heart-wrenching melodies, flowery words, or dramatic confessions could ever have prepared you for the pure paradise you’ve been living for the past two months since making your relationship official.

(Wow! Who knew that life could be so happy when you’re able to love freely!)

Admittedly, Jade hasn’t treated you any differently from how he did before he’d officially become your boyfriend. He’s always been courteous, considerate, and only a touch concerningly sketchy.

The real difference? Your ability to actually enjoy it all.

When it comes to you, he somehow always knows, even when you don’t. The second before your stomach growls, he already has a snack at the ready. When you feel particularly touchstarved, he wraps you in his arms. When you trip on a crack in the pavement, he nonchalantly pulls you upright like a knight in shining armour.

And now, you don’t need to worry about declining Jade’s offers, or dodging his touches, or dissociating while in his presence lest you fall further for him. Now, you’re safe leaning in.

Your friends, on the other hand, are… worried, to say the least. It’s nothing new; they’ve been this way since before you even started dating Jade, but you thought they’d at least get used to it by now.

Apparently, you were wrong.

Last week, they tried to inconspicuously block you from spotting Jade in the halls. To no avail, of course: it's impossible for a barricade of guys lined up shoulder-to-shoulder to not arouse suspicion.

Yesterday, while you and Jade walked hand-in-hand through the courtyard, Sebek Red Rover’ed his way right through your joined hands. You hadn’t even seen him coming.

And today, as Jade walked the path to Ramshackle to meet you in the morning, Epel leapt out of a bush to football tackle him to the ground. Luckily, the blanket of snow cushioned their fall, but in an ideal world, you wouldn’t have a boyfriend-shaped imprint on your lawn at all.

Naturally, you pull said boyfriend inside to warm him up, and the feisty little perpetrator sprints off before you can question him, let alone scold him.

“How cruel,” Jade laments without any real chagrin, pouting and shivering in an exaggerated show of pitifulness. “With my fragile disposition, I’m afraid I have hypothermia.”

“You grew up in subzero waters, you melodramatic eel.” You tenderly brush the snow from his nose and lashes. “But I'm sorry I let it get this far. I’ll talk with them today.”

He preens under your touch like an overgrown cat. “If anything, I find it most reassuring that you have such loyal friends. As for myself, however,” he puts back on a dramatic pout, “my nose is still so terribly cold, it'll be frostbitten if I leave it be. Won't you please remedy that?”

His frigid cheeks nestled comfortably between your warm palms, Jade’s expectant gaze is impossible to ignore and equally impossible to misinterpret.

So you lean in, bringing your lips ever closer to the tip of his nose…

and cup your hand over it.

“Ah, how romantic,” the eel sighs dreamily. Like this was what he'd wanted all along. “I'm feeling much better already.”

“Happy to hear it.”

As if it were a campfire, everyone gathers around the gaming setup that Ortho brought over. Not you, though—you lurk in the corner—until the robot cinnamon roll himself shines the spotlight on you.

“Prefect! You’ve been standing there for twelve minutes, and you’re exhibiting physical signs of anxiety. Are you okay?”

At your silence, the other former first-years (now second-years) pause their game and turn to also look at you. “Ugh, how do I say this…”

You huff, shuffling closer to sit crosslegged on the floor before them. “Jade. You guys are bullying him.”

Seven pairs of eyes blink at you; you blink back.

When they give no verbal response, you press on. “I know you guys have your thoughts about him—and I get it, I do—but he’s also my boyfriend now. And you guys are my friends, and I care for you all, so… what’s going on?

“Has he done something to you recently? Am I not spending enough time with you guys? What… What do you need for this to work?”

The seven pairs of eyes blink at you again, then at each other, then at you again.

Sebek breaks the silence first. “Does he care about this as much as you do?”

“About what? The teasing?” you assume. “No, definitely not.”

“The relationship,” Ace corrects.

It stings, your friends’ lack of confidence in you and your judgement. But on the other hand, you know it comes from a place of care and concern.

Jack clears his throat. “You really care about him, Prefect. If he doesn’t actually feel the same way, that’s a problem.”

“He does,” you say desperately. “You’re just gonna have to trust me on that. He hasn't done anything sketchy since we started dating, and believe me, I’ve been looking.”

“It ain’t that we don’t trust ya, Prefect,” Epel responds. “It’s him we’re worryin’ about.”

You sigh. “I get that, but we’re together now. Could you guys play nice, just for my sake?”

The seven pairs share one more look.

“I’ll think about it. Especially if he brings tuna.”

“Alright…”

“Sure.”

“Fiiiine.”

“Of course!”

“If you insist.”

“But if anything does happen, we’ll be here.”

“That’s all I'm asking,” you smile. “Thanks, guys.”

Sure enough, one day passes without incident, then two, then three, and before you know it, Valentine’s Day rolls around. And boy, have you been preparing for this day.

You’re armed and ready with chocolate. So. Much. Chocolate.

Chocolates filled with caramel for your friends. 90% cocoa dark chocolate for other friends. Hollow white chocolate eggs coated in a thin layer of milk chocolate and with a surprise toy inside (the best kind), for other other friends. Slightly-botched-but-still-edible homemade chocolates for your distant acquaintances. Severely-botched-so-you-leaned-into-it-and-added-laxatives chocolates for your enemies.

And last but far from least, homemade mushroom-shaped chocolates for the boyfriend, in four different flavours.

Once you've personally delivered your greater haul to the doors of each of your friends, all that’s left is Octavinelle, home of your ultimate recipient. You find Azul and Floyd working in the Lounge—busy with the influx of customers expected during a Valentine’s Day promotional event on a weekend—and give them their gifts: a set of your finest, most potent laxative (jk. or am i) chocolates for Azul, an assorted pack of novelty chocolates from Sam’s for Floyd.

As for Jade, he'd somehow managed to convince his housewarden into letting him take the day off. The details aren’t worth fretting over: you’re simply grateful to have him to yourself today.

Funny enough, as you walk down the hall toward Jade’s room, it feels as if someone’s watching you. But each time you turn, nothing’s there. Hmm.

You tuck the box of chocolates coyly behind your back and tap your knuckles twice against the door. He’s been waiting for you: if you couldn’t tell from the haste in which he opens the door, then the antsy little smile on his face would surely give it away.

“Hi, Jade.”

“Hello, my dear Prefect. Do you have something for me?”

“Well, aren’t you cocky,” you grin, withdrawing the heart-shaped box from behind you and placing it in his waiting hands. “Happy Valentine’s.”

“Happy Valentine’s,” he parrots, lifting the lid with a tiny gasp. “Mushroom-shaped…?”

“Did I go overboard? I almost put them in a mushroom-shaped box too, but I was worried you’d think it was Mushroom Day, not Valentine’s. For the record, I know you’re more than just ‘mushroom man’, but—”

“It’s perfect.”

A cacophony of thumps and yelps from down the hall draws away your attention.

You sigh like a weary parent of seven when you spot them. “I told them to behave—”

“It’s alright,” Jade chuckles, merely withdrawing into the room to grab a stack of… envelopes? “Allow me to handle this.”

“Jade Leech, if you’re blackmailing my friends, I will fry you alive.”

“I'd do nothing of the sort!” he laughs, prying off the hand with which you'd subconsciously gripped his arm. “No need to worry. I’ll be back in just a moment.”

So you watch from the doorway as your boyfriend eerily approaches your dogpiled gaggle of idiots. They’re too far and Jade’s voice too quiet for you to hear, but as the latter hands them the ominous envelopes, their feelings are clear as day.

You follow your friends’ journey of expressions, beginning with fear, morphing to confusion, then shock, and settling into joy before they roll off of each other and shuffle back down the hall with such excitement you’d think they won the lottery. Ace even throws you a quick thumbs up.

Your eel returns with a satisfied smile, summoning a pouch that couldn’t fit in his pocket. He presents it with a flourish: magical sparkles and pink hearts that float about like bubbles in the air. “And for you.”

“Jade…” You gingerly take the sachet and open it, revealing chocolates in your favourite flavour. But that aside: “Did you just pay my friends a dowry?”

“My, such marital language! I had no idea you’d set your sights so far ahead.”

Your blood runs cold. Too much. “Wait, I—Not like—!”

“To think that we haven’t even had our first kiss yet,” he prattles on, ignoring your protests completely. “Marriage! How scandalous, fufufu.”

Right. It’s near impossible to weird out (or outweird) Jade Leech.

Your face contorts into a cringe, whether at his antics or at yourself for finding him even remotely charming, indeterminable. “Alright, buddy. I’m starting to think you’ll never experience either of those things.”

“And if it wasn’t enough to tease me with the dream of marriage, you threaten to deprive me of your affection. Poor, unfortunate me, to have fallen for someone so cruel. Boo hoo.”

Your grimace is impossible to maintain as his brows furrow and his lips press into a dramatic, irritatingly adorable pout.

His.

Lips.

…Nope. You’re not about to reward him for his bullshit.

You press a chocolate into his mouth and nudge him away by the forehead.

“You sure live up to your name, Leech.”

“There’s no one I'd rather be stuck to,” he hums with his mouth full, “though I did intend for these chocolates to be eaten by you.”

If you tasted him now…

…Nope x2.

You stash away the sweets and leave, holding your hand out beside you until Jade inevitably catches up to you and slips his fingers into yours.

“Now this feels familiar, doesn’t it?”

You squeeze Jade’s mittened hand in silent agreement. As you walk hand-in-hand through the harbour, you’re reminded of your first date in the Kingdom of Roses. Though this time, instead of summer fare and games, it’s… lovey-dovey stuff.

Each shop has a Valentine’s promotional deal, game stalls host challenges for couples to test their bond, pop-up vendors sell charms for ‘everlasting love’. And people actually showed up for this bogus.

You could’ve sworn there weren’t this many people on this tiny island, but everyone must’ve come up from RSA since they’re mushy like that (ew). Can’t relate, you think, ogling your boyfriend whenever you think he’s not looking. (He always is, to both your embarrassment and your pleasure.)

Jade gestures with your joined hands at a nearby booth. “They’re giving out free lip balm at that booth there.”

“Free?” Enough said. “Lead the way.”

When you reach the front of the line, you realise that it’s not exactly for free, per se.

“So here’s how it works,” the brand ambassador explains. “I’m going to give one of you a cotton swab with a secret flavour, and the other will have to correctly guess the flavour for you to get your free lip balms. Sound good?”

The Chapstick Challenge.

“Excellent,” chirps your scheming boyfriend, clearly unsurprised by this information and far too pleased with himself.

“Uh huh,” you grumble, exercising your nastiest side-eye.

You snatch the cotton swab yourself before Jade gets any more ideas. For a split second, you consider applying it to yourself… but no.

Grasping his chin with your free hand, you trace his lips with the applicator. Frictionless, it glides over the peachy skin and leaves behind an even film of balm.

“You slimy eel,” you whisper, deep in concentration. “You’re not chapped at all.”

Smug eyes are what you expect to see when you look up. Instead, his eyes are blown wide and dazed. Heh.

“Here goes!” you announce louder than needed. Then, angling yourself to block the worker’s view, you bring your face ever closer to Jade’s, lips ever closer to his…

Just enough to catch a whiff of the balm.

You whip back around before your lips can touch. “Lavender vanilla?”

“Yes, that’s right! Here’s your prize!”

You’re forced to tug your eel by the hand to get him moving again.

“I’ve fallen for a tease,” he sighs after five minutes.

“Well I’ve fallen for a swindler,” you titter back. “C’mon, my swindler, I know you’re hungry. Let’s go get some food, hmm?”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Because Fate hates you, you happen to lead your boyfriend into a pasta restaurant where the owners greet you so warmly, you're now morally obligated to stay and order something.

And of course, because Cupid hates you too, this restaurant has a promotional deal: finish a bowl of one (1, singular) ultra long spaghetto with your significant other to get 30% off your meal. Jade’s eyes regain their light (read: cunning gleam) upon hearing this. You, on the other hand, do not want to have your first kiss over a literal noodle.

But 30% off the meal… And the only conditions are that you finish in under five minutes and eat from one end of the noodle?

Of course you accept the challenge, to your eel’s poorly concealed excitement.

So the waiter brings out the manhole-cover-sized dish, Jade bites one end of the noodle, you the other, and the timer starts.

End held between your lips, you glance casually at the waiter, who stares back at you with bewilderment. You glance back at Jade, who stares back at you with determination. He’s already halfway through the pasta by the 1-minute mark.

You feel just a little bad when the intact end of the noodle slips from your lips, vacuumed straight into the maw of your resigned boyfriend.

“Uh, wow…!” the waiter nods, baffled. “You finished in 2:11, so I guess that’s a success?”

“Sorry for being a poor sport,” you chuckle. “I’m sure you guys expect your participants to kiss, but my boyfriend here is just ravenous today so I thought he’d appreciate the extra portion.”

“Oh, n-no, that's fine! A lot of people try the challenge with their friends and we don't ask them to kiss, obviously,” the waiter rambles. “Uh, I'm just shocked that he ate all that on his own… and so quickly? It takes pairs at least four minutes!”

“And he’s still hungry, believe it or not!” Being seated side-by-side, it’s easy to peck Jade on the cheek. “Incredible, isn’t he? I’m so lucky to have him.” You pointedly play up the goo-goo eyes, amused at the way his eyes glaze over in defeat.

Of course you’d like to kiss him.

But so would he, and it’s good to make your eel work for what he wants, just once in a while. Enrichment’s healthy!

Jade’s resolve is wavering just a little.

“Look over there, my loving Valentine,” he notes with sarcastic monotony, “it’s a kissing contest.”

Subtle.

“So it is.”

“I’d imagine it would be very cathartic to express one’s affection so freely. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I would.”

He stops in front of you, eyeing your lips. “Oya? Then what are we waiting for?”

Smirking, you clasp your bare hands behind the eel’s neck; his amber eye shines ever brighter with hope. But to his chagrin, your attention is pulled elsewhere. “Wait, there’s a photo booth!”

“Ah. I’ve heard about those. I’ve still yet to try one.”

“There’s a first time for everything!” you pipe, beelining for the amenity.

It’s four photos to a strip and two copies are printed: you take one and sunnily slot the other between your eel’s frozen fingers.

The first photo is comedically tacky, as intended. Your right and Jade’s left hands form the stiff, distinct shape of a heart; you don the most awkward grin you could muster, he wears his signature polite-and-nothing-more smile. It looks like you’re both terrible actors being held at gunpoint to play the role of a lovey-dovey couple.

The second photo shows the aftermath of performing such a terrible (albeit deliberate) display: the left half blurred with candid laughter (yours) and the right half still and calm (Jade). He’s smiling, genuinely, half-lidded eyes fondly trained on your dynamic visage.

The third photo is a snapshot summary of today. Jade leans in toward you, his desires clear, and you press your fingers over his lips in a gentle rejection. He looks at you with acceptance and affection; you look back with an amused grin (and equal fondness).

The fourth photo is Jade’s favourite. Well, actually, he hasn't seen it yet. But once he regains his senses, you have no doubt!

After all, it's the picture of your first kiss: chaste and sweet and picture-perfect.

You wake in the morning to a voice message from Floyd in the middle of the night, whining about how his brother is broken again; Jade won’t stop giggling and grinning in his sleep. And sure enough, when the former swung his phone closer to the source of the sound…

“…mmm…again…fufufu…”

Cute.

You make sure to download and back up the recording in at least five different locations, for safekeeping.

Stupid Ace jinxed you.

“He’s gonna be too busy being a vice-housewarden and thinking about his internship!”

That’s what Ace said back in September!

…Okay, maybe it’s not Ace’s fault. But it’s also not Jade’s fault. Nor is it yours.

It’s everything else’s fault.

The arrival of spring marks the beginning of a storm of projects, labs, and mock exams leading up to finals in June. And on top of all that, your boyfriend has vice-housewarden duties and the Lounge and internship applications to worry about.

‘Worry’, of course, being relative; he seems to be managing just fine. And that’s the worst part, ashamed as you are to admit it.

Because he’s fine without you.

Does he miss you even a fraction as much as you miss him?

Would he be just as happy if you’d never confessed to him?

Oh Seven. If you’re like this already… how are you going to manage next year when you’re even farther apart?

You should be happy for him, happy that he’s doing well; you should have more faith in your relationship, be less insecure and clingy and insufferable. But as the weeks pass and your paths cross less and less, catching the rare sight of him from across the hall feels more painful than it should.

You don’t tell Jade any of this; no need to make a mess of things when he’s got more important things to deal with. At the very least, it can wait until after exams are done.

And things could always be worse!

Case in point: the annual Starsending ceremony being thrown into the mix.

First off, finals season and the weeks leading up to it are already stressful. As fun as it is to wish upon a star, unfortunately, finishing that essay worth 35% and due in five hours might just take higher priority.

Plus, you'd completely forgotten this tradition existed. It's only your second year in this world, after all, so excuse you for not being used to all the new customs. You also didn’t make a wish last year, so the memory of the ceremony must've been thrown to the back of your mind—buried under all the overblots, perhaps!

It certainly didn’t help either to receive the reminder no more than a week before the ceremony. The three unfortunate souls chosen to be Stargazers will have their work cut out for them.

And just who are the selected Stargazers? (Take a guess!) The horoscopes this year landed on November 5th—Jade and Floyd’s birthday—

and your birthday. Congrats.

One after another, Crowley assigns you the position of Stargazer, the role of drummer in the ceremony itself, and the traditional Stargazer uniform (which is very… attention-grabbing).

“…Do I really have to wear this outside the ceremony?”

“Why, of course! Haven’t you heard of the phrase, ‘dress for success’?” the Headmage replies with theatrical enthusiasm, then sobers. “A Stargazer out of uniform would leave a lasting bad impression. I'd be sure not to forget it.”

You shudder.

By the time you’ve gotten changed and swapped Grim’s ribbon to match, Jade has already magically donned his own uniform, and Floyd is… nowhere to be found. No surprises there.

But back to Jade: your eyes skim right over the uniform itself and hone in on b a r e s h o u l d e r s .

The muscles flex, rolling back in a smooth wave, taunting.

“My,” Jade giggles coyly behind his naked hand, “your gawking has me feeling incredibly flustered.”

Voiceless, you tug the dropped sleeves of his cape up and over the curve of his shoulders; they fall helplessly back down to their original position, ornate embroidery framing flawless skin. Damn it.

The eel cocks his head, chin resting against loose fist. “Is there something wrong with my appearance?” he coos, like he doesn’t already know.

You lean forward, muffling your exasperated groan in layers of (boyfriend) material. Your heart has been aching lately, but the sweetness in Jade’s chuckle and the way he cradles your head against him soothes the sting.

Through luck and madness, you somehow survive. Three unit tests, an alchemy practical, Starsending ceremony rehearsals, the collection of hundreds of Wishing Stars, and you’re still alive.

Between your reputation (respected as the dependable Prefect and/or feared as Jade Leech’s partner) and threats incentives (brandishing Grim as a flamethrower and/or mentioning your boyfriend by name), the latter went smoother than you’d expected.

The process is simple: confront the target, demand they declare their wish, witness their Wishing Star light up with magic, collect it, and hang it up on the designated tree behind the school.

By Friday, all the stars have been collected and hung but Jade’s; a total happenstance—or so you thought. He clearly had different plans.

When the eel opens his door to you the next morning, you're hit with a small but uncharacteristic bout of fear.

“…Jade.”

“Yes, my star?”

“Seven,” you flinch at the new, festive pet name, and his gleaming eyes crinkle into delighted crescent moons. But nevermind the nickname, “Why are you wearing that?”

The ceremonial clothes. Pretty shoulders out there for all (you) to see.

“To collect your Wishing Star, of course.”

“No,” you drawl incredulously, “I’m collecting your star.”

Silence from Jade; the cattish grin on his face speaks for itself: Plans change.

You squint back. “Well, Floyd took my wish already.”

He hums, unconvinced. “Your wish, or Grim’s wish? I’m aware that the Headmage provided only one Wishing Star to share between you.”

“It’s worth more to him than to me. I don't mind.”

“I do.” He slips a jagged weight into your open palm, supporting your hand with his own. “Make your wish. We’ll light it with my magic.”

Void of magic, the magestone—Jade’s Wishing Star—is dark save for the hairline veins, smoky white, running through the mineral like rippling seafoam. Each of the uneven edges presses a soothing kiss to the nerves in your fingers.

A dismissive chuckle breezes past your teeth. Laying your heart bare for a casual tradition isn’t exactly an appealing idea. A throwaway, then: “I wish you’d wear normal clothes.”

The dusky glasslike stone stays unlit.

Jade titters, “Come now, don't waste our wish.”

“What do you mean? That’s what I want.”

He tips your chin to meet his eyes. “It’d be a shame if we resorted to my unique magic to know your true wish.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t,” he concedes, returning his hand to cradle yours. “I’ll be saving that for a more important question.”

You get a rush of tingles for some indiscernible reason. “Ominous,” you laugh.

He sighs sweetly. Such softness in his gaze, you’d think he was looking at a particularly freaky mushroom but no, he’s looking at you.

Oh. It's the way he looks at you that gives you the tingles. And also maybe the way he touches you. And—

Great Seven, you've been dating this eel for almost a year now; shouldn't you be less lovesick by now? Less distraught when you're apart? Less smitten by his mere existence?

This whole tradition, these Wishing Stars are purely symbolic. It won’t matter whether you wish to grow another 20 centimetres in height, or to do well in your finals, or for Jade to cover his damn shoulders. A silly wish won't overwrite reality.

But something about him makes you want to wish wholeheartedly anyway.

What to wish for, though?

‘For your internship to be fruitful’? Only a fraction of what you truly want.

‘To live the rest of my life in your arms’? …Tone it down a notch, pal.

‘That Azul would stop giving you so many shifts at the Lounge’? Okay, now you’re just griping.

You sigh, “I don’t know how to word it.”

“Is that so?” he hums with an impish grin, removing his hands. “Or are you simply self-censoring?

“Would it help if I told you that I love you? Or that I suffer in your absence?”

´(º—º)`

Kaput! goes your heart, AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH goes your brain.

“Jade, what—”

“I suppose I’ll suggest something, then,” he interrupts. “Do let me know if I’m on the wrong track.

“‘We wish for the next year to be kind to us, and for any time we spend apart to pass in the blink of an eye.’ Is that alright?”

With wide eyes, you nod.

“Wonderful.” He places his hands back around yours and recites the wish; this time, the star sparks alight like striking a match. You’ve watched this process over a hundred times now, but it feels different this time: more brilliant, more meaningful.

The glowing centre of the magestone shines gold like Jade’s left eye, and at the pointed edges, fades into a soothing teal the same soothing teal as Jade’s hair. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

You open your mouth. “Jade—”

“Shall we go hang this—”

“Shush for just a second, will you?!” you bark, shaking him like a broken vending machine by the lapels of his cape; obediently, his mouth snaps shut. “We’re not just breezing by that!”

“…by what?” your eel feigns innocence.

Even as you glare at him—him with his knowing, expectant, self-satisfied little smile (stupid, stupid, stupid)—you can’t even manage to find him any less adorable.

“I hate you,” you lie, but the sweet kisses you press to his cheeks, his nose, his forehead each confess I love you, I love you, I love you.

Just before meeting his, your lips bespeak your true reply: “I love you too.”

Crowley’s year-end homily feels shorter this time; maybe that’s because you now have the clarity to actually listen. He probably reuses the same script every year, not that it's particularly remarkable: “What a pleasure it’s been to foster the academic progress of so many fledging mages!” and “This year has been fruitful for all of us!” and whatnot.

With the conclusion of the ceremony, you scoop Grim up and follow the flow with your clump of friends, yelling to each other about your summer plans as to be heard through the raucous crowd.

When you spot your boyfriend waiting for you in the courtyard and announce, “Bye, guys! Have a good summer!” your friends are all sunny smiles and laughs. Not a hint of stress to be found in your group, no concerns for your judgement, no suggestions or offers for alternative plans. Even Grim, who’s coming with you, has (close to) no complaints.

“Have a good summer,” they simply parrot, “invite us over sometime!”

One year ago, you confessed to Jade Leech. You did it with logic at heart, but faulty logic in practice.

And yet as he peers back at you with adoration in his eyes, one hand jingling a pair of keys to a flat—to your flat in Ultramarine City—and the other hand outstretched for you to take, you can’t help but wonder why you ever doubted this contingency at all.

initial concept inspired by schoenpepper’s “Jade Leech and the Three Breakups” (deactivated; reblog to view the full fic) and cannedpickledpeaches’ “Sad Poems but I Choose to Interpret Them as Happy” :) honourable mention to rel124c41’s many masterful fics (like this one, this one, and these ones) which simultaneously fed and fuelled my cravings for jade :’0 sorry for being so annoying but her works were genuinely the biggest reason i could finish this mess with any sanity remaining whatsoever

edit: oh my god i forgot to fix the part after the kiss where it's implied jade and floyd are still sleeping in the same bedroom. please pretend one of the following:

a) floyd felt like sleeping over and so jade let him stay

b) floyd barged into jade's room at 2 am and the latter slept through it

c) floyd hears him through the walls because jade is in fact yelling in his sleep, which you somehow find "cute" (this one's my favourite)