kira

i just write funny things (sometimes) requests are open <3

[thekirakage]

masterlist.

twisted wonderland masterlist

honkai star rail masterlist [tba]

[thekirakage]

"Goldmine"

pairing — aventurine x reader content — gender neutral reader, established relationship, reader is a little shit, aventurine is smitten for said little shit, live laugh love aventurine, FLUUUUUUUUUFF, spoiler free!

There were three certainties in Aventurine’s life: One, profits always came before sentiment. Two, luck favored those bold enough to chase it. And three... that if he left his phone unattended in your proximity, it would return to him cursed.

The man had endured a month of humiliation because of you. A whole month. He had unlocked his screen in front of IPC investors only to be greeted by a picture of himself caught mid-stretch, one eye closed, mouth open, drool staining the corner of his mouth, looking like he had glimpsed the face of despair.

He could negotiate with the sharpest executives in the galaxy without blinking. But a bad photo of himself? That was his personal kryptonite.

Yet still, he didn’t stop you. He let you have your fun.

Not even today, when he placed his phone - not just left it, placed it tentatively - on the edge of the couch while he changed out of his work clothes. A bold move. Reckless, really. You eyed it like a wolf spotting a fat, unattended rabbit.

You waited until he disappeared into the walk-in closet, humming cheerfully while flicking hangers around. That was your window.

You grabbed his phone.

“Does he want consequences?” You muttered, pulling up your phones camera roll of blackmail-worthy images. You had just taken a fresh one last night: Aventurine reaching for something on a high shelf, sleeves pushed up, expression halfway between a grimace and a sneeze.

You selected it, readying yourself to send it to Aventurine's phone as you begun to unlock it.

And then... Your thumb froze mid-tap.

Because the lock screen had changed, without your interference.

It wasn’t another glamour shot he’d paid to have taken. It wasn’t a sleek company portrait. It wasn’t even one of his dramatic, self-made photoshoots.

No.

It was the two of you, sitting at a little noodle stand on a cold night, steam rising under the neon lights. You had forgotten this picture even existed. You looked overwhelmed by laughter, chopsticks pointed at him accusingly. And Aventurine - he wasn’t looking at the camera. He was looking at you with that same lovesick expression he'd only ever let you see;

Unguarded. Soft. Happy.

Your chest tightened.

You hated how your stomach suddenly swooped, how your throat went warm, how your brain (usually lightning-quick when it came to pranks) went eerily silent.

“…Oh.” You whispered.

“So,” Aventurine’s voice floated from the closet behind you “did my little thief find anything interesting on the stolen goods?”

You jumped “You did this on purpose.” Tumbled out the accusation, pout prominent on your very heated face.

He appeared in the doorway, shirt half-buttoned, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He leaned against the frame with infuriating ease, a practiced smirk tugging at his mouth. But his eyes? They kept flicking to the phone in your hand.

“Mmm. On purpose? Me?” He tapped his chin thoughtfully “Strong wording, darling... How could I ever hope to outwit you?”

“A strategy to stop me from changing your wallpaper.”

“Would you blame me?” He stepped closer, voice dropping “I’ve been forced to endure a month of public humiliation. You know how many people I’ve caught stifling laughter when I pull out my phone?”

“…Maybe they just find your jokes funny, love.”

“That,” he said, placing a hand over his heart in mock betrayal “is not true and you know it.”

You looked back down at the picture. The two of you so… normal. Not polished. Not posed. Just a moment you had forgotten but he hadn’t.

“…Why this picture?” you asked quietly.

Aventurine paused mid-step.

And for once, the answer didn’t come instantly. It wasn’t part of a quip, or a tease, or a dramatic speech. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer - just a fraction.

“Because it’s the one where I look the most like myself.”

You blinked. “You always look like yourself.”

“Oh no,” he said with a small laugh “you’ve seen my portfolio. I often look like whatever gets the job done.” Then, more gently, he adds “But that night? I wasn’t trying. I never have to when I'm with you.”

You swallowed.

“So,” he continued, leaning over the back of the couch and resting his chin on top of your head, “I thought maybe if I used a picture that meant something, you’d have a tiny shred of mercy.”

You stared at the wallpaper again. The memory. The simplicity. The warmth.

“…It worked.” You admitted, throat tight with an emotion you couldn't quite place.

He made an exaggerated gasp “You’re telling me emotional manipulation is effective? Sweetheart, you’re going to spoil me.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he said, sliding onto the couch beside you, “you haven’t changed the wallpaper.”

You nudged him “Maybe I’m thinking about it. Some extra humiliation to humble you, boyfriend-of-mine.”

He placed a hand over yours, deliberately dramatic “Please. Have pity. My professional reputation cannot survive another photo of me looking like a confused dog.”

You snorted louder than intended. His grin turned victorious.

You sighed, leaning into him “…Fine. I won’t change it.”

“No take-backs.”

“No take-backs.”

Aventurine’s smile softened, losing its usual calculated edge. He reached for his phone, flipped it around, and showed you something you hadn’t seen yet.

The home screen. You'd been stuck on the lock screen this entire time...

It was the same picture - but edited with tiny digital sketches he had drawn himself. A warm scarf around your neck. A cartoonish sparkle in his own eyes. A little doodled caption under the two of you:

“My lucky break.”

Your breath hitched.

“Aventurine-”

He lifted a hand “Yes, yes. I know. Adorable. Painfully so. You may shower me in praise later.” Then he leaned closer, lowering his voice to something playful, intimate “But just remember… you started this war.”

“... You're not playing fair.”

“I know,” he jested lightly “I promise I'm being kindly unfair though, my love. And only because I knew you’d walk straight into it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was warm.

Aventurine brushed his thumb against the back of your hand. “For what it’s worth,” he added, quieter now, “I’m glad you didn’t change it.”

“…Yeah,” you whispered after a moments hesitation “me too.”

He smirked, confidence sliding back in like a well-tailored coat. “Good. Because now I can relax knowing the wallpaper is safe.”

“Until I change your home screen instead.”

He choked. Actually choked.

You grinned sweetly “We only made a deal about the lock screen, baby~”

Aventurine narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his cheek “You’ll never know. Until it's too late, of course.”

He exhaled sharply, caught between faux irritation and laughter “I should never have fallen for someone like you.”

“And yet,” you teased “you really, really did.”

Aventurine tugged you closer with one arm “Yes... and it’s the one gamble I’d make again.”

You get butterflies in your stomach all over again at that.

[thekirakage]

"I'm Meltinggggg..."

pairing — lilia vanrouge x reader content — gender neutral reader, established relationship, reader gets unnaturally warm when sleeping, tooth rotting fluff, live laugh love lilia, light mention of malleus/sebek/silver

The only light in your room came from the moon slipping through your curtains, painting soft silver streaks across your blanket. Ramshackle was quiet, peacefully so, but your sleep...? Anything but peaceful.

Because once again, you woke up sweating.

Not “a little warm” sweating. No. This was full-body, pillow-is-damp, why-does-it-feel-like-summer-inside-the-bed sweating.

You groaned, peeling your cheek off your pillow. Your shirt clung to you. Your scalp felt damp. Your legs were tangled in the sheets and something else…

Not something.

Someone.

“Lilia…” You croaked, voice thick with sleep and misery.

Your boyfriend hummed in response - soft, content, and absolutely unwilling to wake up. He was wrapped around you like a cat that had decided you were its personal bed. One arm under your back. One arm over your waist. His face buried against the back of your neck, lips brushing your skin every time he breathed.

And, worst of all... He was radiating heat.

You shifted. Not enough to escape, just enough to get some space.

Lilia tightened his hold instinctively, letting out a low, sleepy sound of protest.

“Mmh… don’t run...” He mumbled.

“I’m not running,” you whispered back, tugging weakly at his arm “I’m overheating.”

His sleepy voice was far too amused for someone barely conscious. “Warmth is good for humans, is it not…?”

“Not this warm. Lilia, I am going to cook like a pot of soup.”

He blinked awake at that, lifting his head slightly from your shoulder. His hair tickled your neck as he shifted to get a look at you. Even in the dim room, his magenta eyes glowed with groggy affection.

“You’re perspiring quite a lot,” he noted casually, brushing a strand of sweaty hair from your forehead.

“You don’t say,” you muttered, deadpan "also... don't phrase it like that..." You whined softly.

He snorted - a quiet, fond little sound - and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek “My apologies, love. I forget how hot-sleepers like you suffer.”

“You make it worse,” you said, nudging his chest with an elbow “you cling like you’re trying to merge us into a single being.”

“And if I were?”

“Lilia, please, I swear I am five minutes from spontaneously combusting.”

He laughed softly at that, finally loosening his grip. Not removing it entirely, of course (this was Lilia) but adjusting so your back had some air and your legs weren’t trapped under his.

He propped himself up on an elbow, studying you with a lazy smile.

“You should have woken me sooner, my dear,” he said gently “I never wish for you to be uncomfortable.”

“You looked peaceful,” you admitted with a pout “I didn’t want to ruin it.”

His expression softened instantly - that warm, tender look he only ever wore for you and his loveable adoptive sons.

“You are part of my peace,” he murmured, fingertips brushing a cool line down your jaw “if you suffer, it troubles me regardless.”

Your cheeks heated at that - and not because of the temperature this time.

He leaned down, kissing your forehead with a lingering tenderness that made your chest flutter “Come here,” he said softly, guiding you with light pressure rather than his usual death-grip cuddles.

You shifted until your head rested against his chest instead of his buried into the crook of his shoulder, giving you far more airflow. He used his magic to cool the blankets - just enough to feel refreshing - and pulled them lightly over both of you.

Then he curled an arm gently around your waist, loose enough to let you move freely but close enough to feel loved.

“This is better,” he murmured against your temple “yes?”

“So much better,” you sighed, already relaxing into him “thank you.”

Lilia smiled, his tone warm and playful as he whispered “Of course. I must take proper care of my beloved, after all.”

You let out a soft laugh and reached back to entwine your fingers with his.

Within moments, his breathing slowed against your hair. A quiet, content exhale slipped from him as he settled into sleep - still cuddling you, but carefully this time, deliberately gentle.

Not smothering. Not cooking you alive. Just warm enough to feel safe.

You closed your eyes, melting into the comfort of being held by someone who adored you - someone who, despite being mischievous, dramatic, and an absolute menace, knew exactly how to make you feel cherished.

And before you drifted off, you felt his lips press one more sleepy kiss to the top of your head, followed by a soft whisper:

“Goodnight, my love.”

[thekirakage]

twisted wonderland.

Romance Troupes Series —

"My Pretty Little Loser" : Vil Schoenheit | Hot Boyfriend x Loser Partner "Signed in Ink, I'm Yours" : Azul Ashengrotto | Marriage of Convenience "3rror" : Idia Shroud | Not-so Well Kept Secrets "Sunlight by His Fur" : Leona Kingscholar | Grumpy x Sunshine

All of these one-shots are inspired by @carina-of-time 's TikTok post.

Main List —

"I'm Meltinggggg..." : Lilia Vanrouge | Sleepy Fluff

All of the above content are ' x Reader ' inserts. Enjoy!

[thekirakage]

"Sunlight by His Fur"

pairing — leona kingscholar x sunshine! reader content — gender neutral reader, grumpy x sunshine troupe, leona's a softie, lion courting rituals emphasised but not directly mentioned, leona typical sharpness (he's just shy i promise), ALL FLUFF!!

The greenhouse was already warm when you slipped inside, sunlight filtering through the glass in long honey-gold stripes. The air smelled faintly of fresh soil, blooming flowers, and the gentle green scent of leaves warmed by the sun. It was the kind of quiet morning most students never caught Leona awake for - which made the sight of him lounging deeply in the centre of a sunbeam almost surreal.

He lay stretched across the grass like he owned the place, one arm behind his head, eyes half-lidded but awake in that lazy, predatory way. His tail flicked in slow, rhythmic arcs, brushing the grass blades with soft whispers of sound. He must have heard you far earlier than you realized, because the moment your footsteps crossed the threshold, he let out a low, rumbling sigh.

“…You’re early,” he grumbled, voice gravelly with sleep.

“I brought breakfast,” you said brightly, lifting your basket “And moral support. All highly nutritious.”

“You’re loud,” he said, but there was no sharpness in it - only that familiar, half-melted annoyance he reserved just for you. Only you. Only ever you. Still, he shifted his leg slightly, creating a space beside him. An invitation, and you took it eagerly, with a pep in your step. You sat down, feeling the warmth of the sun-soaked grass immediately seep through your uniform.

He eyes the basket “What'd you bring?”

“Food,” you replied with that cheeky little grin on your face, the one you always wore when you were being intentionally difficult. “Obviously.”

You nudged a sandwich into his hand in place of an answer. He took it without complaint, tearing off a bite in a way that was just a bit too sharp, just a bit too instinctive. His tail swayed once, betraying a contentment he’d never willingly admit. You made a damn mean sandwich... somehow.

The greenhouse felt gentler when he was in this mood - quiet, steady, almost peaceful. You found yourself leaning closer, shoulders brushing, the faint warmth of his skin radiating beside you like a second sun. The scent of him was warm too: sun-baked grass, something richly earthy, and the faintest hint of whatever shampoo he pretended he didn’t bother with.

When you teased “You look comfortable. Like a big sleepy housecat,” he flicked an ear, a twitch of warning.

“Call me a housecat again and see what happens,” he muttered, but even his threats sounded too lazy to be serious. You knew you were privileged to not immediately receive a cold glare or a beating for your words - but you knew Leona liked you a little too much to do any of that.

You laughed under your breath, and he exhaled through his nose - something between a huff and a reluctant almost-smile.

As you leaned forward to grab a drink, your hair slipped over your shoulder in a soft, shining curtain. It shimmered where the sun hit it, catching gold in its strands, and before you even registered movement, Leona’s hand rose.

His fingers slid into your hair.

Not a pat. Not a playful tug.

A long, slow stroke from root to tip - deep, careful, deliberate.

You froze, breath catching. His claws, lightly sheathed, grazed your scalp in a way that sent a faint shiver running down your spine. His fingers brushed through the strands like he was smoothing them, arranging them, learning their texture by instinct rather than thought.

It was tender. Instinctive. Possessive in the softest possible way.

He didn’t seem aware of what he was doing until he neared the ends of your hair… and stopped abruptly. His whole body tensed. The realization hit him like a dropped brick.

Slowly, painfully slowly, he withdrew his hand.

“…Shit.”

His ears flattened hard. His tail puffed out just slightly, betraying embarrassment so intense it almost radiated off him.

“Leona,” you said softly, unable to hold back the gentle smile creeping onto your face. “Did you just-”

“No.” “You did.” “I said no.” “Leona, you groomed my hair.” You tease with a wide grin "Like those lions in nature documentaries."

He dropped backward into the grass with a groan, arm thrown over his eyes. “You herbivores never let anything go…”

You shifted closer, leaning over him so your hair brushed his shoulder again, intentionally this time. His tail flicked, almost startled, before curling loosely around your calf in a reflex he probably didn’t know he had.

“If it was instinct,” you murmured “does that mean I’m allowed to do it back?” You were testing, maybe a little too confidently despite the way your heart thudded with purpose in your chest.

He froze. The arm over his eyes slipped just enough for one sharp green eye to meet yours.

“…You’re playing with fire,” he muttered, but he didn’t move - not away, not even to pretend he didn’t want it.

You lifted your hand carefully, giving him every chance to pull back. When he didn’t, you touched his hair - warm from the sun, softer than it looked. You brushed your fingers near the base of one ear. He inhaled sharply, barely audible but unmistakably real.

His tail tightened slightly around your leg. A grounding touch. A quiet tether.

“You’re warm,” you whispered, continuing to comb gently through his hair.

“You’re annoying,” he answered automatically (it always was his go-to insult) - but his voice had dropped, mellow and low, threaded with something vulnerable. He shifted, letting your hand guide him until his head rested against your shoulder. The movement felt instinctive, practiced, like he’d done it a thousand times in his mind before daring to do it in reality.

Your fingers drifted across his scalp, and this time he made a quiet sound - a deeply satisfied rumble hidden beneath his breath. Almost a purr. You pretended not to notice, sparing his dignity for once - he was already being vulnerable, no point in giving him a reason to retreat back behind those carefully crafted walls.

After a long moment, he nudged into your hair again with a slow, deliberate stroke - purposeful this time, not instinct taking the lead.

“…If you tell anybody, you’re dead,” he murmured, voice warm and drowsy against your shoulder.

“I won’t,” you whispered back. “I like it.” The 'I like you' left unsaid on the tip of your tongue.

Another soft rumble vibrated in his chest - this one unmistakably pleased.

“Good,” he said, fingers threading lazily through your hair, claws lightly grazing your scalp in a rhythm far too soothing “Because I’m not stopping.”

He curled closer, tail snug around your ankle, sunlight pooling over both of you in soft gold. His touch stayed gentle, steady, the kind of affectionate typical lion behaviour no one else would ever be allowed to witness from Leona Kingscholar.

And as you leaned into him, breathing in his warmth and feeling the gentle drag of his claws through your hair, you knew without question that this - this sunlight, this closeness, this quiet instinctive affection - was his way of choosing you.

[thekirakage]

"3rror"

pairing — idia shroud x online...? reader content — gender neutral reader, idia is kinda a weirdo? in his typical endearing way, lots of gamer talk, semi-cliff hanger(?), idia keeps secrets and lies but they aren't very secretive and the lies are poorly done tbh, a little angsty but in typical idia fashion

inspired by this tiktok post… thank you for the scrummy inspiration [www.tiktok.com/@carina.of.time/photo/7572612803018771742]

Idia Shroud didn’t join Discord servers to socialise. He joined them to lurk. To observe. To silently absorb information like a socially anxious sponge. So when he found a quiet, nearly-forgotten server dedicated to an obscure RPG series from his childhood, he felt safe enough to drop a single, four-paragraph theory post at 2:14 a.m.

He didn’t expect a reply. He definitely didn’t expect that reply.

LoveYuu: ok but why is this actually genius LoveYuu: you solved a 10-year-old plot hole LoveYuu: speedrun’d the lore

Idia stared at the screen, blinked, then pulled his blanket over his head like it might shield him from the digital attention he was suddenly receiving from this 'LoveYuu'. Someone… liked his theory? Enough to send three messages back-to-back?

His fingers tremored a little as he typed: Premo: lol thanks? Premo: I didn’t think anyone would actually read that

He expected the conversation to end there. Instead, it snowballed. What started as game analysis turned into nightly discussions about anime, old internet culture, bizarre trivia, and eventually… life. Real life. Well... Idia’s carefully edited version of real life, that is.

He didn’t mean to lie. It was more like… creative presentation, like fanfiction - or those otome games he used to invest hours of time into. He made himself sound less like an anxious shut-in and more like a functional human being who went outside twice a week. He described his "busy schedule" (gacha events), his "daily responsibilities" (feeding Grim on the odd occasion the Prefect wasn't around), and his "friend group" (NPCs and Ortho).

LoveYuu seemed impressed by all of it. Worse - they seemed impressed by him.

And Idia was addicted.

They messaged so often that Idia could identify LoveYuu’s typing rhythms - fast whenever they were excited, slower with extra punctuation when they were teasing. Their conversations felt like safe rooms in a dungeon crawl: a place where Idia could breathe, laugh, and not feel defective for once in his life.

He told them things he’d never told anyone. And he wanted so badly to be the version of himself he pretended to be.

Then one night, halfway through a debate about overpowered support characters, LoveYuu casually typed: LoveYuu: lol I wish I had someone irl I could talk to like this LoveYuu: you'd probably be fun to hang out with, prem

Idia melted into a useless puddle.

Fun. With him. Him? If LoveYuu ever learned who he really was, the illusion would shatter.

But weeks passed with everything perfectly balanced - until the night he was scrolling through his social feeds... and stumbled upon Y/N's account (the person in which he had a MASSIVE crush on). He paused.

That... status... the profile picture... He blinked once, then twice. And then scrolled, ignoring the way his heart thundered in his chest. Surely not, of course not.

He paused again. And immediately scrolled back up.

He clicked the profile again, horrified. There it was, clear as day. Status: chat i'm cooked, crewel's class first thing in the morning. Their profile picture Lauma from Genshin Impact - one half to the matching profile pictures he and LoveYuu had on Discord.

He tabbed out immediately, heading into Discord, and clicking on LoveYuu's profile. Everything matched.

LoveYuu was Y/N. Y/N, who Idia couldn’t even make eye contact with without short-circuiting. Y/N, who was smart and kind and charismatic. Y/N, who had unknowingly watched him fabricate an entire fake persona.

He was finished. Absolutely, catastrophically finished. Because he'd somehow fallen for the same person twice.

...

Honestly, Y/N wished they could just outright come out and say they knew that Premo was actually Idia Shroud; but they couldn't find it in their heart to just yet.

Except... Idia had probably figured out that LoveYuu was Y/N. Maybe the status was a little too on the nose? He was chronically online, there's no way he hadn't seen it. And, in typical Idia fashion, he was now ignoring both Y/N and LoveYuu (even if they were both the same person).

They sighed as they navigated the halls, surprised to spot that familiar wispy-blue. Idia was actually in school today?

Y/N thought for a moment, and a moment was all they truly needed as they approached the unsuspecting dork trying desperately to melt into the wall.

"Premo." Came their voice, steady and even, partly amused as they watched Idia's shoulders tense "Better not miss out on our dungeon run tonight, 'kay?" They chimed, unbothered by the way he didn't respond.

And simply walked off, humming a tune.

Ortho was alerted to campus approximately five minutes later due to Idia's raised heartrate.

...

Premo: ...i'll be on @ 5

[thekirakage]

"Signed in Ink, I'm Yours"

pairing — azul ashengrotto x spouse! reader content — gender neutral reader, marriage of convenience (all characters are willing participants), reader lowkey has shitty family dynamics, soft azul, fluff fluff and more fluff

inspired by this tiktok post… thank you for the scrummy inspiration [www.tiktok.com/@carina.of.time/photo/7572612803018771742]

Azul Ashengrotto had always prided himself on being unshakably composed. Calm, controlled, predictable - that was how he survived, how he succeeded, how he kept the world from swallowing him whole the way it once threatened to. So when you walked into the Lounge after closing hours with a pair of formal documents clutched in your trembling hands and an expression caught between embarrassment and desperation, Azul didn’t expect his life to tilt even a fraction out of its neat alignment.

You stood before his office door, shifting anxiously. “Azul… I need your help. It's... Complicated.” You swallowed “I… I need a spouse.”

Azul’s pen slipped straight off the page, and he had to snatch it before its ink bled into the carpet “Come again?”

You explained - your family was embroiled in an ugly inheritance conflict, pulling you into the centre like a pawn on a board you wanted nothing to do with. Your role? To be married off to some older spouse to garner favour with other Noble families. The only legal escape was marriage; once married, no one could force you into the arrangements they wanted, claiming they were 'for your own good'. And you… came to him.

“Because I trust you,” you said quietly, and Azul had to fight the urge to sit back down before his knees wobbled. Trust was not something he heard directed at him often, certainly not in that gentle tone. He cleared his throat, straightened his glasses, and forced himself to speak with businesslike precision.

“A temporary arrangement,” he murmured “Mutual benefit. You avoid being used by your family, and I…” He hesitated, eyes flicking away. “…could stand to look more stable to investors. A spouse would strengthen my image.”

You nodded. Azul reached for a temporary blank contract - it was muscle memory at this point - and hesitated only a moment before sliding it toward you. You read every line carefully; he admired that about you. And when you signed your name, Azul felt a subtle pressure in his chest, a strange flutter that refused to be categorised neatly.

When he signed his own name beside yours, the nib of his pen tremored just slightly.

You both finalised the arrangement legally not even three days later. And in a years time, you'd determine whether to extend the contract or not.

The morning after, your life together began not with anything romantic or dramatic, but with two mugs placed politely on opposite sides of a kitchen table. Azul, meticulously dressed even at dawn, outlined your temporary living arrangements at an apartment rented off of NRC grounds, as though he were presenting a business strategy. Two bedrooms for propriety’s sake, shared public spaces, mutually respectful boundaries, guidelines for how you would present yourselves in public. His voice was smooth, professional, absolutely calm - and yet the tips of his ears were faintly pink the entire time.

Living with Azul was unexpectedly gentle. He moved quietly through the apartment, always announcing himself before entering a room, always checking whether you were comfortable with even the smallest interaction. He knocked before speaking to you in the mornings, left space on the couch between you like he wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to sit closer, and never once touched you without asking.

And then came the morning you woke early and found him already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, attempting to prepare breakfast with all the caution of someone handling dangerous chemicals. He startled when he noticed you, stepping back as if burned “O-oh. I didn’t expect you awake yet. I thought I might, ah… make something before your classes.”

You smiled, offered your help, and the tension in his shoulders melted just a little. By the time you both sat down to eat, something had shifted: Azul was quieter, but not in that defensive, shell-like way you often saw from him. He looked at you softly, like he was studying the simple, domestic scene and trying to understand why it warmed him more than it should.

Over the next several weeks, he developed small habits around you without realizing it. He began leaving a cup of tea on your desk on nights when he knew you stayed up studying. He grew comfortable enough to do his own work at the dining table while you sat nearby reading, the quiet between you companionable rather than strained. He even started humming under his breath when he cooked, a subtle, sea-salt-soft tune that only emerged when he forgot you were listening.

Your public appearances together were even more revealing. Azul, ever the businessman, took to the role of doting spouse with a precision that startled you. He kept a hand gently at the small of your back in crowded areas, not possessive but protective. He introduced you with a warmth that bordered on intimate, speaking of you with an affection you didn’t think he meant at first. But as the months passed, you noticed the sincerity growing - the way he watched you with that soft, vulnerable look he tried to hide behind polished smiles.

You didn’t realize how deeply you’d grown into each other’s lives until a gala one evening, when Azul approached you in a tailored suit the color of deep ocean glass, hair swept back impeccably. You stared longer than intended, because he was beautiful in a way that was rarely visible beneath his usual self-preserving composure. “You’re staring,” he murmured, clearly flustered despite adjusting his tie to appear unaffected.

“You look good,” you said simply, unabashed despite the way your heart thudded in your chest.

Azul’s hand froze on his tie knot. “O–oh.” The faintest blush crept along his cheekbones “Thank you.”

And when he offered his hand — not out of necessity, but because he wanted to — and you took it, he inhaled sharply like the moment meant more to him than he had prepared for.

It was after many quiet, warm, ordinary days that you realized your feelings had changed. It happened when Azul fell asleep beside you on the couch after a particularly exhausting week, his head tipping onto your shoulder almost unconsciously. You stayed still, hardly daring to breathe, but Azul only sighed and relaxed, unconsciously nuzzling closer. You covered him with a blanket, fingers brushing lightly across his hair… and something tightened achingly in your chest. The realisation came softly, almost peacefully: you were in love with your husband, contract be damned.

You thought you could manage it privately, keep your feelings quietly folded away - but everything cracked the day your family reappeared. They cornered you outside a meeting, insisting you annul the marriage, insisting Azul was manipulating you, insisting you return to a life you’d left behind for good reason. You tried to defend yourself, but their voices grew sharp and demanding, and before you could escape, another voice cut through the noise, smooth but ice-edged.

“You will not speak to my spouse like that.”

Azul was furious - not theatrically, not loudly, but with a precision that made every word lethal. He stepped between you and your family with a protective certainty that took your breath away. His hand found yours, gripping with more emotion than he usually dared to show in public.

“They are under my protection,” he continued coldly “And if you attempt to threaten them again, I will pursue every legal avenue available. I will not allow you to coerce them.”

Your family retreated, cowed by the venom in his voice. When they finally disappeared, Azul turned to you with a look of absolute panic “Are you alright? Did they upset you? Are you hurt?” His panic was endearing, in admittedly a weird way... nothing like the man just threatening your relatives just moments ago.

You touched his cheek before thinking, a soft, instinctive gesture - and his entire body stilled. His breath caught. He leaned into your palm gently, as though he wasn’t sure he was allowed to, but desperately wanted to.

“Azul,” you whispered “You didn't have to defend me like that.”

His eyes flickered, vulnerable "I did." He argued softly. You looked at him, brows pinched in confusion.

He takes the plunge.

“I had to because… because you’re important to me.” A beat of silence “More important than I ever intended. More important than I know how to handle.”

Your heart twisted “Do you want the marriage to end?”

His response was immediate. “No.” His fingers tightened around yours “I want to deserve it.”

You kissed him before he could say anything more - a soft, searching kiss, warm with months of unspoken affection. Azul went tense for a split second, then melted with a trembling exhale, kissing you back with a tenderness that shook you. When you finally parted, he rested his forehead against yours, glasses slightly askew.

“I didn’t plan this,” he whispered “I never meant to fall for you.”

“I know,” you murmured with a smile.

“But I have,” he said, voice soft as a tide “completely.”

You laughed quietly, brushing a thumb against his cheek “Good. Because I love you too.”

Azul let out the faintest, breathy sound - a mixture of relief, wonder, and something that sounded dangerously like joy - before pulling you close, no longer shy, no longer uncertain.

“Then,” he murmured, lips brushing yours again “shall we make this marriage real?”

[thekirakage]

"My Pretty Little Loser"

pairing — vil schoenheit x loser partner! reader content — established relationship, gender neutral reader, clumsy loser reader, mind numbing fluff and good vibes ONLY, vil is a simp, you are also a simp inspired by this tiktok post... thank you for the scrummy inspiration [www.tiktok.com/@carina.of.time/photo/7572612803018771742]

By now, everyone at NRC had grown used to seeing Vil Schoenheit glide through the halls like royalty. Every movement was purposeful, poised, camera-ready. It wasn’t unusual to see him followed by a small trail of admirers or to hear whispers of awe when he so much as breathed in public. What was unusual, however, was the person casually trailing behind him that morning: you.

You walked with the posture of someone who did not believe gravity would consistently support them. Your shoelace was untied. Your hair looked like you had battled a broom (and lost). You held a small box in both hands with the kind of intense concentration usually reserved for explosives, even though you were simply carrying the cookies you’d baked last night. People glanced at you as you passed. Not cruelly - just curiously. You were sweet, everyone knew that. Polite. Gentle. But also… unpredictable. You’d once asked Riddle if his cloak was “emotionally attached” to him, which had left him in a silent state of confusion for a full minute (because what does that even MEAN?). You frequently stopped to pet stray cats that didn’t exist, confusing other students frequently (they didn't know ghost cats tended to lurk around the school grounds). Your hobbies seemed to include collecting shiny rocks and accidentally falling asleep in odd places.

And yet, the most famous, put-together, stunning student on campus would look at you as though the sun rose just to illuminate you.

Vil glanced over his shoulder now, making sure you weren’t falling behind. “Darling, hold the box closer to your centre of gravity, you’re not presenting an offering to the Seven.” He gently adjusted your hands. His fingers lingered for a moment, and that small touch made your ears warm.

“Sorry,” you murmured. “I just… don’t want to squash them. I worked really hard.”

“I know.” His voice softened like velvet being warmed by sunlight. “That’s why I’m helping you carry them safely.”

From the corner of their eyes, students watched the interaction, their expressions quietly bewildered. It wasn’t that anyone disapproved. You were too kind, too earnest, too harmless for that. But the question always floated unsaid behind their eyes: How does Vil Schoenheit (the Vil Schoenheit) end up so devoted to this sweet little disaster?

Later, in his room, domesticity settled over the space like a warm blanket. It always amazed Vil how quickly you transformed once you were tucked safely away from the chaos of the school. Not more coordinated, never that, but softer, more yourself. You sat on the couch, legs tucked under you, poking at the ribbon Vil had placed in your hands. You liked fidgeting with things. He liked giving you things to fidget with.

“You had bedhead when you woke up,” Vil commented lightly as he went through his skincare routine across the room. “Quite impressive, actually. Your hair managed defy both physics and taste.”

You hugged the ribbon to your chest. “I dreamed I was running from a giant turnip.”

Vil paused mid-application. “…I beg your pardon?”

“It had teeth,” you added helpfully.

He turned, took a long look at you, and sighed with fond resignation. “Of course it did.”

He came over a moment later with a detangling brush, and you turned automatically as he settled behind you. You always let him fuss with your hair without complaint. You once admitted that having someone touch your hair made you feel like a small, comfortable rabbit. Vil hadn’t recovered from how cute that phrasing was for three hours.

His fingers worked carefully through your tangles. “Did you bring the cookies to give to Rook and Epel?”

You blinked. “Oh. No. They’re for you.”

Vil stilled. “For… me?”

You nodded and looked down, suddenly shy. “You like when people cook for you but people usually don’t cook for you because they’re scared they’ll do it wrong. So I thought… even if I mess up, at least you’ll know it came from someone who loves you. And I tried to follow the recipe. I even washed my hands three times. And I only dropped the dough once—”

Vil put a gentle hand over yours before you could babble yourself into embarrassment. “Darling,” he murmured, “thank you.”

You leaned back, nestling into his shoulder as he brushed another section of your hair. “They’re kind of burnt. And lumpy.”

“I will love them regardless,” he said immediately.

He meant it. Every word.

And people didn’t see this - the way he softened, the way his voice gentled, the way his expression lost all sharpness whenever he looked at you. To others, he was all edges and elegance. With you… he was warmth, he was patience, he was someone who let his guard fall all the way down.

When evening crept in, you sprawled across his bed while Vil finished reviewing scripts at his desk. At some point, you fell asleep facedown with a pillow half on top of your head... your signature pose. When Vil noticed, he shook his head with a quiet smile and went to drape a blanket over you.

As he did, he hesitated, watching your peaceful expression. Your hair was a little crooked, even though it hadn't been that long since he'd brushed it. Cookie crumbs smudged your cheek. Your hand was clutching that ribbon like it was the most important object in the world.

Most people thought the mystery was how someone like you had captured the heart of Vil Schoenheit.

But as Vil brushed that crumb from your cheek and tucked the blanket around you, his heart swelling with something soft and unbearably warm, he whispered to himself what he already knew:

“They simply don’t understand. You’re my peace.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, careful not to wake you. You made a small, sleepy sound and burrowed deeper into the pillow, radiating that gentle sweetness only you had.

Vil stood there another moment, admiring you with a tenderness he rarely allowed others to witness, then whispered:

“And I wouldn’t trade you for the world.”