Bri

no brain only twisted wonderland

[woopmeeting]

hi, I'm Bri!

I like twst and writing :3 but ideas are hard so I welcome requests for twst fics!

request guidelines:

will do:

fem or gn reader x male character

platonic anything

character interactions

won't do:

anything nsfw or suggestive (!!!)

character x character ships

reader x ortho

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

if you have any questions feel free to ask!

masterlist

[woopmeeting]

the waiter of your dreams

(cater diamond x reader. set during the crisp 'n' dips diner event)

-------

“I personally recommend the Crisp ‘n’ Dips Burger,” says the waiter, leaning on your table. “It’s a classic! Can’t go wrong with that.”

You struggle to form a cohesive response, feeling your cheeks burn. Does he have to stand so close? Wait, you’re an idiot, why wouldn’t you want him standing close to you? Man, you hope your cheeks aren’t turning colors. They’re definitely pink. He can definitely tell. Why are you fumbling your first opportunity to say something to him!

Your friend is having no such difficulties.

“Awesome,” she says, “we’ll just need a sec to look over the menu.”

“Of course!” he chirps. “Just give Cay-Cay a wave-wave when you’re ready, okay?”

You almost swear he winks at you before skating away to his next table, doing a spin on the way. You can’t take your eyes off of him.

Your friend leans across the table towards you, bubbling over with excitement.

“I can’t believe we got in! The line was already so long when we got here, I thought we wouldn’t have a chance. Isn’t this just the cutest diner?” she gushes.

“I guess,” you say, “but no diner meal is worth that line.”

She waves her hand at you. “Of course not, silly. It didn’t go viral for the food. I showed you the chipmunks, remember?”

You nod. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

You came to see the chipmunks, but now your attention’s been grabbed by something else. You track your waiter with your eyes as he rolls around the restaurant, waiting for an opportune moment when he’s far away to lean towards your friend and whisper, “I have never needed anything more than I need that waiter’s number.”

Her eyes light up and she tilts her head closer, scanning the diner. “Which one?”

“Our waiter. The ginger?”

She studies him across the diner, tapping a finger on the table.

“Him? He’s cute, I guess, but you never ask anyone for their number. Not even, like, platonically. Aren’t you afraid of talking to people?”

She phrases it like a question, but you both know the answer.

“I’m not afraid,” you insist. “Just… I think too much about what people think of me, okay? I get embarrassed easily. But embarrassment be darned, I need that boy’s number.”

You both watch him skating between tables for a moment, only to realize with a devastating shock that he is skating towards you. Towards your table. And you’ve both been so preoccupied watching him that you forgot to give your menus even a passing glance.

Your friend doesn’t seem fazed, casually flipping her menu open. She’s probably planning to just tell him you’re not ready. If only you thought of that. Instead, you frantically try to scan your menu, words and dishes swimming before your eyes. When he gets to your table, he taps on it, grinning in your direction.

“Hey guys! Are we ready to order yet?”

“Can I have the Crisp ‘n’ Dips burger?” you blurt out.

“Yeppers, of course,” your waiter says, “great choice! And for you?”

He turns to your friend, who’s staring at you with vague annoyance in her eyes.

“Oh, I’m not ready yet,” she tells him. “Neither of us really had the chance to look over the menu yet? I think my friend here just decided they wanted the burger on your recommendation.”

“It’s totes great, I promise. The onion rings tie it together into the perfect meal,” he says, turning back and staring straight at you. You’ve never been great with eye contact, but you physically can’t look away from him. Despite that, you somehow manage to overcome your mental block and finally respond to him.

“I’m excited!” you say, plastering a smile on your face despite the butterflies in your stomach. “I’ve heard great things about this place.”

He beams. “Aw, thanks! We’ve put a lot of hard work into it these past few days.”

Before he has the chance to continue, if he was even going to, one of the other waiters calls “Cater!” from the other side of the diner, and your waiter’s head snaps up.

“Sorry, guys, duty calls! I’ll be right back to take your order,” he - Cater - says, pointing at your friend before skating away.

You roll the name around in your head and on your tongue. Surely he introduced himself when you sat down, but you were honestly kind of busy being star-struck by the droop of his eyes and the curve of his smile. They belong to a boy called Cater.

Your friend nudges you with her elbow.

“Hey, you owe me one,” she insists. “I let it go that you ordered before I was ready and I veered his attention back towards you. Plus now he has to come back again to take my order.”

You nudge her back. “You’re the best. Are you still gonna order the Popcorn Flurry gingerbread house so we can see the chipmunks, too?”

“Of course,” she says, placing her menu down on the table. “And then I’m probably just going to get that burger, too.”

You nod, fiddling with the straw in your water. “Do you think I should ask him for his number when we pay, or… I dunno, they’re really busy.”

“I’m not letting you chicken out,” your friend says, staring you down across the table.

“I’m not,” you say, and you mean it. You’re someone who never takes risks, but you look at Cater and you think this is a risk you’re willing to take.

Your friend sighs, leaning back in her chair. “It’s not like I’m super experienced getting people’s numbers either. But they’re just so busy, I’m not sure he’ll have time to give it to you after we’re done, you know? So maybe it’d be better to try to get it now.”

You bury your face in your hands, feeling your ears burn. “Oh gosh. But then he’ll say no and we’ll have to sit here and eat our burgers and it’ll be so awkward. I don’t want to ruin the day for you just because I -”

“Hey, ready to order yet?” you hear, and your head snaps up and he’s right there, smiling at you with those eyes and those pointy canines. Why’s he looking at you when your friend’s the one who still needs to order? Are you reading into it? You’re reading into it.

“Can I have the Crisp ‘n’ Dips burger? And if I order the Popcorn Flurry, we get to see the chipmunks, right?” your friend asks.

“Aw, who spoiled the surprise?” Cater says playfully, leaning on the table. “That’s one of the menu items the chippies come out to help us with, so yeah, you’ll definitely get to see them. Should I put you in for one of those?”

She nods, closing her menu and telling him, “My friend really wanted to come see them, and I wanted to try the dish anyway.”

“I love chipmunks,” you add. Hopefully he likes chipmunks, if he works here. Or maybe he’s tired of them. But his face lights up, sending the butterflies in your stomach fluttering again.

“Right? They’re so cute! The uniforms are striped like a chipmunk’s back, too, which I think is such a cool touch.”

“Yeah!” you say. “Your uniforms look great.”

He bobs his head, messing with the chipmunk charms on his belt. “For sure. I’ve been thinking of asking the manager if I can keep one when we’re done.”

“When you’re done?” you ask. You can feel yourself growing more comfortable talking to him, overthinking less the words you say. It’s hard to think in front of him anyway.

“Mm-hm, the four of us are just helping out temporarily. That’s why ya boi Cay-Cay gets to be acting manager.”

This time he definitely winks at you, grabbing you and your friend’s menus from the table in front of you.

“Let’s hope the power doesn’t go to my head,” he says, jokingly. “I’ll be right out with those burgers and Popcorn Flurry, okay?”

You find yourself nodding even after he’s gone, until your friend grabs your arm from across the table.

“Was I seeing things,” she whispers, “or did he totally wink at you?”

“He totally winked at me,” you tell her. You don’t think you can stop smiling.

-------

The diner is, of course, super busy, so after Cater drops off your food, he stops coming by as much. Which is fine. It gives you time to chat with your friend, who you are technically here to hang out with.

“Okay,” you say, for what feels like the kajillionth time. “So my number’s written on this napkin, and when he comes over to take our payment, I give it to him and say, like. ‘I think you’re really cute. Here’s my number. Call me?’ Is that gonna be too weird?”

Your friend just laughs, stretching in her chair. “I’ve never heard you talk about a guy this much before. Maybe you should just ask him to marry you.”

You try to glare at her, but your heart isn’t in it. “Can you focus?” you insist. “I’m giving him my number and you can’t stop me, but I want him to actually call me. Or text me. Probably text me.”

“He seems pretty chill,” she reminds you, “and super friendly. I bet even if you make the situation awkward, he’ll be able to salvage it.”

“I guess,” you say, “but I’d rather it wasn’t awkward at all.”

She laughs again, pushing her chair back so she can get up.

“I’m running to the bathroom, so don’t chicken out if he comes by while I’m gone,” she says. “And don’t forget, you’re paying for both of us because I covered it last time.”

You just nod, staring down at the napkin bearing your number, trying not to crinkle it with your nervous fingers. You don’t even know how long it’s been since your friend got up when you hear Cater’s voice again.

“Heyo,” he says, “are you ready to pay? Or should we wait for your friend?”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” you say, adrenaline pumping through your veins, hoping your voice is steadier than you feel. “I’m paying for both of us.”

He hums an acknowledgement as he puts the bill in front of you, and waits by your table for you to be finished with it. You thought waiters normally just dropped the bill off and came back later, but maybe things are different here. Or maybe it’s just a him thing.

Your hands are definitely shaking when you hand the bill back to him, and when he starts turning away, the only thing you can say to get his attention turns out to be a shaky “um.” But it works.

“What’s up?” Cater asks, voice cheerful as ever. You’re having a hard time looking at him, feeling the embarrassment pooling in the back of your head, but you slide the napkin towards him.

“This is my number,” you say, staring at it so you don’t have to see his face. “I just, um. Call me, I guess? Please.”

Gosh, could that have come out any worse? What did you mean, ‘please’?!

But he takes the napkin, and he barely hesitates before ripping off a piece and reaching into his pocket for a pen. You watch him as he writes, and when he’s done he holds it out to you.

“Here’s my number,” he says. “This way we definitely won’t lose touch, ‘kay?”

You take the scrap of napkin and hold it like the treasure it is, heart thumping so loudly you can hardly hear yourself think.

“‘Kay,” you say, and Cater grins.

“Great,” he says. “Perfect. Um… I guess I should probs go back to work now? Acting Manager and all.”

“Of course,” you say. “Yeah. Go do what you need to.” You seem to have developed a warm and fuzzy feeling that’s originating from the spot where you’re holding his number close to your chest. You’ve never needed to not drop something more than at this moment.

Cater grabs the other half of the napkin off the table. He holds it tight in his hand.

“I’ll put this somewhere safe,” he tells you. “So… see you next time?”

You nod, feeling your face flush.

“Although,” you add, “maybe not if you won’t be working here anymore soon.”

He shrugs. “Even so,” he says, “there’ll be a next time, I promise.”

You hold this promise in your chest along with the insignificant scrap of paper, feeling your heart thump against your hand as he skates away. Your friend is going to come back from the bathroom, and then you’re going to go home to your family for dinner. And then you’re going to put the napkin on your nightstand, and you’re going to type his number into your phone. And maybe, just maybe, when you call him - he’ll pick up.

[woopmeeting]

Hi hiiii! First, I just wanted to say that I find your writing so adorable! I recently found your blog and you have such a nice way of writing fluffy stories.

Would it be possible to write anything cute with platonic Georgina and a fem reader? I adore this woman and I think her (and all the moms tbh) deserve a bit more attention.

Honestly, just thanks for your time and the cute stories. I hope you have a wonderful day!

hi!!! thank you so much for the request, and I'm so happy you like my writing!! sorry it took me so long to get this done, I wanted to be sure I could characterize Georgina right. I'm still not sure I did but this was really fun to write! I hope you like it :D

~~~~~~

try something fun

You can feel Georgina staring at you.

She stands on the other side of the room, rummaging through the racks of clothes provided by the venue. Your arms are already full with her selections for Rook and Malleus, a mound of white and black that is somehow refusing to wrinkle. Now, you imagine, she’s looking for something that will suit Riddle.

So why is she looking at you?

You were happy to agree when Georgina insisted you accompany her into the venue to pick outfits for you and your friends, leaving Grim behind with the others. A break from him is always welcome, and it’s been a long time since you got to be with a girl. Your school is nice, and the people are nice, but sometimes you feel very alone among all the boys.

Georgina pulls a suit from the rack, giving it a quick once-over before nodding approvingly.

“Why, this will work rather well for Riddle,” she says. “Don’t you agree?”

You blink at the suit in front of you. Somehow, as with the rest of the outfits, she’s hit upon something that suits him perfectly.

“Yeah,” you say, “definitely. I think the red will go really well with his hair.”

She beams, crossing towards you to lay the suit over the rest in your arms. She towers over you even more than her sons (and that’s definitely saying something) but you feel much less wary in her presence. You find yourself smiling back at her, imitating her wide grin.

“Now,” Georgina says, clapping her hands, “we need to find something for you. I did enjoy choosing these outfits for the others, but I want to pick something extra-special for you. I’m certain we can put together a lovely outfit.”

She disappears into the clothes again before you can blink. The stack of the others’ outfits weighs heavy in your arms, and you shift it, feeling vaguely nervous. What does Georgina consider extra-special? You haven’t had the best track record with things Floyd calls special (getting to watch him at basketball club, during which Ace went “This is for you!” before failing spectacularly at making a basket, and Floyd dribbled a ball off the court and into your shins), or Jade, for that matter (getting to try a dish he made with a rare mushroom, which he only thought to mention was vaguely poisonous after you’d tried it), so you find your mind running off to the worst possible scenarios for Georgina’s plan.

She peeks out from the racks of clothes, tilting her head so far you’re scared her hat will fall off.

“What size are you, dear?”

You blink. “I’m, uh… I don’t know if your sizing is different here.”

She waves a hand as she turns back to the clothes.

“Yes, human sizing is quite complicated. I certainly had a hard time figuring out what size I was when I first came on land.”

“Well, I think you’ve figured it out. Your clothes seem to fit you really well,” you tell her, because they do.

Georgina beams. “Oh, thank you. Now, let’s see… I think I can tell what size you are after all. Why don’t we try this one?”

She pulls out something rather fluffy, such a mess of fabric that you can’t even tell where your head would go in it. It’s… very different than what she’s picked for the others. And… not a color you typically think works on you.

Georgina must be able to read the look on your face, because she laughs, gathering the item further into her arms as she strides back towards you.

“Goodness, is it that bad? I thought you might look positively darling in something like this, but…”

She holds it up, and you both stare at it for a moment.

“It’s… really big?” you try. “I think I might disappear into it.”

She laughs again, placing one hand on her chest. “Oh my, what a sight that would be. I promise I have something safe picked out for you, too. I’m certain you’ll love that one. In the meantime, though, Jade and your friends don’t know how long we’ll be taking.”

She holds it towards you for you to take.

“Might as well make the most of the chance, hm? Try on something fun?”

You try to picture yourself in the thing in front of you. You look like a cupcake. A really, really, fluffy cupcake. With your head as the cherry on top.

“Sure,” you say, “why not? Just for fun.”

Georgina lights up. “Oh, wonderful! Maybe you’ll even find something you love, even if it’s just for fun.”

She takes the clothes you’re holding, trading them for what she has, and indicates a door leading off of the room.

“You can try it on in there,” she says. “I’ll go pick something else fun.”

You don’t even bother trying to picture what she’ll find next. You can barely picture what you’ll look like in this first thing. Instead, you go where she pointed, finding what seems to be a small storage room.

At least it has a mirror.

~~~~~~

Okay, you were wrong. This weird dress thing doesn’t make you look like a cupcake. Not even close.

You’re a cake if you’ve ever seen one.

Your head is barely visible, but it’s manageable. As long as you make sure none of the fluff gets in your mouth and blocks your airway, your only concern should be making it out of the door.

You eye the door back to where Georgina waits, which you walked through so easily mere moments ago. Yeah, you’re definitely wider than it right now. The only question is how much this thing will squish… only one way to find out, right?

You reach through what feels like yards of fabric to reach the door knob, unlocking it and swinging it open.

Georgina is standing not far away, holding something else (is that fringe on it?), waiting patiently. At least you imagine she was, because as soon as she sees you, her face splits into a grin and she laughs.

“Oh my goodness, that’s… quite something, isn’t it?”

“It’s… something, yeah,” you say. You find yourself laughing with her, remembering the sight of yourself in the mirror.

Georgina falls silent abruptly, placing a hand on her chin.

“It’s certainly unusual, but I thought maybe you could pull it off, if anyone…”

She sighs, seeming disappointed. “Oh, well. I suppose that one’s a no, hm?”

You nod, or at least try to. “I think it’s a little much for a wedding, too.”

“It is fun, though,” she says, and you can’t help but agree. You can’t remember the last time you looked this ridiculous. Not that you have much time to look at yourself these days, anyway, between taking care of Grim and dealing with Crowley’s nonsense, not to mention the way they always seem to make you take care of these overblots. Like you know anything about that.

“It feels good to laugh,” you tell Georgina. She seems pleased.

“I have a good feeling about this one,” she says, pressing what she’s holding into your arms. It unfolds into some sort of fringed shirt and hat. You blink at them.

“Is this… a cowgirl outfit?”

“What’s a cowgirl?” Georgina asks, tilting her head.

“It’s… nevermind.”

You’re not even going to bother trying to explain that to her, though you’re not sure if this is a gap in her knowledge of the land world or just something that doesn’t exist here.

~~~~~~

Well, even if they don’t have cowgirls here, they certainly make cowgirl outfits, complete with chaps and a lasso.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, feeling an odd wave of homesickness. Of all things to make you think of the world you came from (the world you belong in), a cowgirl outfit?

You give yourself a good shake to clear your head. Now is not the time. Georgina is waiting.

This time you don’t need to wonder if you’ll be able to make it through the doorway, at least. The hat does make you a little taller, but nowhere near enough to hit the doorframe.

Georgina is right outside again, arms empty this time. She lights up when she sees you, reaching out to adjust your hat.

“Why, that looks rather fetching on you,” she says. “Maybe I should add a hat to your real outfit…”

“So we’d match?” you ask. You always end up matching with Grim. It’d be an honor to match with Georgina.

She blinks, like she hadn’t thought of that. “That’d be lovely. I’m not sure I saw any good hats, though… I’ll need to check while you get dressed. If I know my son - and I do - he’ll be getting rather impatient by this point. It’ll be just about time to wrap this up.”

From atop the pile of your friends’ clothes, sitting where Georgina’s set it on a chair, she grabs something that looks rather elegant. You don’t get much of a chance to look at it  before it’s in your arms and she’s urging you back into the mock changing room.

“I’m quite excited to see this one,” she says. “I’m certain it will be perfect on you.”

~~~~~~

Georgina was right. Somehow she’s always been right.

You smooth down the outfit in the mirror. You hardly recognize yourself - or maybe you’ve hardly been yourself these past few months. How did she pick something that suits you so perfectly after such a short time together?

This time when you open the door, Georgina’s even closer. She greets you right in the doorway by setting a hat down on your head. For a moment it obscures your vision of her, but when you finally manage to look up she’s smiling softer than she was with any of the other outfits.

“It’s perfect,” she tells you. “Go look.”

She follows you to the mirror, lingering just over your shoulder as you stare at yourself. How did she find the perfect hat? It works with your complexion, it’s the most comfortable thing you’ve ever worn, and it ties an already-perfect outfit together.

“You’re incredible,” you tell her. “This is perfect. How do you have such good fashion sense?”

Georgina leans down closer to you, making eye contact in the mirror. She’s beaming.

“I told you,” she says, “I had to do something special for you. My sons speak so highly of you, and it’s not often they agree on something like that. So, of course, I had to make sure you were happy. And I must say, I agree with them too.”

She places one hand on each of your shoulders.

“Anytime you need something,” she tells you, “just give me a call. The Leech family will always have your back.”

You blink, feeling a vague tightness in the back of your throat. Crowley’s supposed to have your back, but he never means anything he says. You can tell Georgina means it.

“You don’t know,” you tell her, “how much that means to me.”

She laughs. “I can imagine. I’ve met your headmaster a few times myself.”

Georgina leaves you to imagine what Crowley did those few times, exiting the small room to pick up the things she’s picked out for the others. You follow behind, trying to keep your clothes nice.

She pauses in front of the door, behind which waits Grim and your friends.

“Are you ready?” she asks you.

You nod before you have the chance to talk yourself out of it. Your only hope is Grim hasn’t gotten his paws too dirty, otherwise he’s going to be leaving little marks when he inevitably jumps on you. You don’t want to mess up your outfit.

Georgina seems to see the hesitation on your face, even though you’ve already nodded yes. She smiles at you encouragingly.

“You’re going to be fine,” she tells you.

For the first time in a long while, you almost believe it.

[woopmeeting]

Fic Masterlist

Twst x reader:

the eyes are the window to the soul - cater diamond x reader

the waiter of your dreams - cater diamond x reader (during the c&d diner event)

the promise in your smile - leona kingscholar x reader

love is an hour that never ends - azul ashengrotto x reader

idia shroud is in love with his best friend - idia shroud x reader

Other twst:

malleus draconia is not wanted - malleus character study

try something fun - platonic georgina leech & reader

[woopmeeting]

the promise in your smile

(leona kingscholar x reader)

~~~~~

Leona Kingscholar knows when to give up, and he's given up on you.

He watches you talking to your friends across the courtyard. The redhead says something and you laugh, the sound carrying over. Leona scowls.

Ruggie notices and tugs at his arm.

“Leona, come on, you’re gonna make us both late. We’re making potions out of food in my next class, and I bet I can convince Professor Crewel to give me the leftovers.”

He grins, showing his teeth, and Leona lets himself be pulled down the hallway. He glances your way once more, and is startled to find you looking back at him. Your eyes widen and you turn away, ducking your head, but Leona can't take his eyes off of you, and he almost stumbles over a crack in the ground. Ruggie stops and stares at him.

“Leona…? Did you… just trip?”

Leona glares at him, trying to ignore the feeling in his chest.

“I wouldn’t be tripping over anything if that Headmage maintained the grounds like he’s supposed to,” he growls. “What’s he even using our families’ donations for?”

Leona stalks ahead of Ruggie, sneaking another look in your direction once he’s caught up. You’re gone from view. He pretends it doesn’t disappoint him.

~~~~~

Leona catches himself thinking about you, later that day.

He’s in a new spot under a tree in the greenhouse bushes, somewhere Ruggie might not think to check when he realizes Leona’s trying to skip class. The sound of your laugh is rolling around in his head, distracting him from his nap.

It’s not like you were even laughing at him. It was Ace, as always. So why can’t he get it out of his head?

He turns over in the grass, only to find himself face to face with you - wide-eyed, hair full of leaves, crawling through the foliage on your hands and feet.

“Oh,” you say, “hi. Um. Have you seen Grim?”

Leona stares at a particularly leafy patch of your hair.

“You’re crawling around in here for that stupid cat?”

You frown at him. He’s distracted by the flush in your cheeks.

“He’s not stupid. And besides, I’m his prefect. I’m responsible for him, so if something happens, Crowley’s going to get on my case about it. And goodness knows something’s going to happen if I’m not with him,” you say.

You pull your legs up and sit next to him, resting your face in your hands with a huff. “Why can’t he just behave?”

Leona watches you breathe, watches the flush of exertion fade from your face. You lean your head back against the tree and smile towards him.

“It really is nice in here,” you say. “I can see why you like it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, is someone tempted to stay here and skip class with me? I thought you were a better student than that.”

He means it as a joke, a reminder that it’s still the middle of the school day. He doesn’t dare to think you’ll actually skip class with him. After all, you have class with Ace.

Instead of hurrying away to make it to your next class before it starts, though, or scolding him for skipping, you bury your face in your hands.

“My next class is Practical Magic,” you manage. You almost sound like you’re crying. “I can’t do anything in it without Grim. I’m only half a student, anyway.”

Leona doesn’t like it when people cry around him, or put themselves down. Especially not you.

He props himself up on one elbow and reaches towards you. He wants to touch your face and tell you what he thinks of you. That as much as he tries to deny it, his heart skips a beat when you smile at him, and he’s never dared to think of someone as much as he thinks of you. That you’re a whole student, a whole person, with or without Grim.

But he can’t say any of that, so he just brushes a few leaves out of your hair. You look up, eyes vaguely rimmed with red.

“Thanks,” you say, “I have no idea how so many leaves ended up in my hair. It’s ridiculous, right?”

Leona smirks. “The trick is to not crawl around under a buncha trees.”

“Well, some of us have responsibilities we need to fulfill. And I don’t have a Ruggie to push stuff onto,” you say. You move as if to stand up, but Leona gets there first, holding a hand out to help you up. You blink at him.

“What -”

“I’ll help you look,” he interrupts. “I know a thing or two about wrangling dorm-mates.”

Your face softens, and you reach up and take his hand. Even through his gloves, he can feel your warmth. He shivers.

“That’d be great,” you say, hopping to your feet, “but I really don’t know where else he could be.”

“You asked those friends of yours yet?” Leona asks. “That Ace, and, uh… the other one.”

“Deuce?” you fill in. “No, I figured if I didn’t know where Grim was, they wouldn’t either.”

“Well, you’re all practically joined at the hip. He probably can’t tell you all apart. Come on, let’s go ask them,” Leona says, walking away without checking if you’re following. Before long, he can hear your footsteps on the path behind him.

“We’re not,” you insist, once you’ve fallen into step next to him.

He raises an eyebrow. “Not what?”

“Not joined at the hip. Me and Ace and Deuce, we’re not joined at the hip.”

Leona eyes you as he pushes open the door of the greenhouse. “You’re being pretty defensive about this, herbivore,” he teases.

You blush as you follow him outside, the sunlight painting your face an intoxicating color. He forces himself to stop looking.

“I just… don’t want you to think that’s all there is to me. That I don’t have a life outside of them. Does that make sense? I feel like that doesn’t make sense,” you say. You’re not looking at him either. Leona pretends it’s because you care what he thinks of you.

He’s just about to ask where you think your friends could be, when he hears a voice that grates on his nerves in an all-too-familiar way. Ace.

Leona fixes his face into a neutral expression before looking around for the boy - and the other, who’s surely with him. He finds them walking down the pathway towards you both.

You follow his gaze, and your face lights up at the sight of your friends, spawning an uncomfortable pit in Leona’s stomach. You grab his wrist and tug him towards them.

“C’mon, let’s go see if they’ve seen Grim!”

He follows you (what else is he supposed to do?), trying to fight the scowl creeping onto his face. He know he doesn’t have a chance with you, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be reminded. You grin at Deuce and a little bit more at Ace, more than Leona’s ever seen you smile in his own direction.

“Hey, guys!” you call. “What’s up?”

Ace’s eyes flick to Leona standing behind you for a moment before he says, “Nah, nothing. Just heading to class. What’s up with you, Prefect?”

You sigh, shifting your body a little closer to Ace. You’re still holding Leona’s wrist, but he’s sure you’ve just forgotten to let it go. You’re not holding it because you want to.

“It’s Grim,” you say, exasperated. “He snuck away from me after our last class and I can’t find him. He’s definitely off somewhere getting up to no good. So I wanted to ask if you guys have seen him?”

Deuce nods, eyes sparkling as he leans forward. Ace leans in too, forming the three of you into a comfortable triangle. Leona doesn’t think you’re doing it on purpose, but that makes his exclusion from the conversation almost feel worse.

“Yeah, we just saw him, actually. Just over there. He was trying to catch a butterfly in the courtyard, and Ace said -”

Ace elbows Deuce hard in the ribs before he can finish. “I said,” he continues, “that it was weird you weren’t with him, Prefect. If we’d known, I could’ve caught him for ya.”

You wave a hand. “Oh, no, it’s fine. Just knowing you saw him is a huge help.”

Ace shrugs, the tips of his ears dusting pink. “Anything for you, Prefect! Here, I’ll take you there. Besides, Leona-senpai probably has a class to get to anyway, right? You shouldn’t keep bothering him.”

Leona expects you to let go of his wrist now. Maybe take Ace’s hand instead, or link arms with him and Deuce and skip off towards the courtyard, leaving him to return to his nap. Instead your grip on him tightens.

“No,” you say. “Leona said he’d help me find Grim, so he’s going to help me find Grim. You guys can go ahead to class. We’ll go check the courtyard.”

Ace and Deuce blink at you, faces as surprised as Leona feels.

“O-okay,” Deuce says, “sure. Finish fast so you can make it to class on time, okay?”

You nod, hand still tight around Leona’s wrist as you pull him past your friends and towards the courtyard. He’s sure you can feel his heartbeat thrumming through his veins.

Leona tugs you to a halt around halfway to your destination. He shouldn’t even bother asking you this - he’s sure there’s a boring answer, nothing like what he’s imagining. But the question is burning a hole in his mind, and if he doesn’t ask you now, it’ll haunt him the rest of his days.

“Oi, herbivore. Why didn’t you want to go with your friends?” he asks.

You stare up at Leona, fingers shifting against his wrist.

“Well, I just - you said you’d help me find Grim.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you were so sad and alone. But when your friends are offering, you have no reason to accept my help over theirs, right?”

Except for that reason. The one he’d like to pretend doesn’t exist, the one he isn’t even bothering to hope is true. But he needs to ask.

You only hold his gaze for a few more moments before your eyes drop to the floor.

“I mean, it’s not like I had a real reason. Just more of a… feeling.”

“A feeling?” His feelings are all traveling through his bloodstream, perilously close to you. Your hand is warm against his wrist.

“Since I don’t normally get to talk to you, I kind of just wanted to spend some more time with you,” you say. You sneak a glance up at Leona.

He hopes his expression is unreadable. He’s not sure it is.

“Oh,” he says. “Spend time with me? Over time with Ace?”

You nod. “Yeah, I just… yeah. Between you and me, I think Ace kind of has a crush on me. And then Deuce is just super oblivious to it, and Grim is so loud, and sometimes I just need a break.”

You sneak another glance at him, pulling him along as you start walking again.

“And I like your company,” you finish. “It’s easy.”

Leona can’t help it. He laughs, somewhere deep in his throat, and speeds up so you're walking side-by-side, deciding not to notice the way your hand tightens a little on his wrist.

“I always got the impression you had a crush on Ace,” he tells you.

You blink and laugh a little. “Me? No, I - I mean, there’s nothing wrong with Ace, he’s very nice, it’s just that I - well, I like someone else.”

It hovers in the air between you for a moment, like a secret shared between friends in the dead of night. Like a hummingbird drinking from a flower.

Leona doesn’t ask who it is. He doesn’t feel the need to. Your fingers are tight on his wrist and if you don’t like Ace, that means he still has a chance. All he needs is a fighting chance.

You don’t let go of him when you reach the courtyard, when you see Grim holding a butterfly in-between his paws, seemingly at a loss for what to do with it, or when you pick him up with one arm and say, “Well, we should probably head to our next class.”

His heartbeat is dancing underneath your palm. Your fingers are warm against his wrist. He doesn’t want you to let go.

You stand together for another moment, Grim squirming in your arms, the wind rustling through the trees. Leona can hear his heart pounding in his ears. Finally you exhale and unwrap your hand from his wrist.

“I guess this is it. Until next time,” you say.

Leona leans towards you, wrist feeling cold.

“That a promise, herbivore? You know where to find me next time you need a break from those friends of yours.”

“Okay,” you say, face breaking into a grin, “yeah, sure. Um. That’d be nice. Thanks, Leona. For helping me find Grim and everything.”

“Yeah,” he says, “anytime.”

The image of you smiling at him burns itself into his brain. He’s still seeing it after you’re gone from view, after the bell rings for the next class. He pictures you at your Practical Magic class, sitting next to Ace and next to Deuce, smiling at them. The image doesn’t bother him. Because next time you get tired of them, you’re going to come find him.

It’s a promise.

[woopmeeting]

the eyes are the window to the soul

(cater diamond x reader)

~~~~~~

Cater blinks at you with his beautiful droopy eyes.

“Sorry, what?”

You clasp your hands behind your back so he doesn’t see them shake.

“I, um. I was wondering if you’d want to maybe go to, like, a cafe with me?”

He waves a hand at you.

“No, not that part, come on. The first thing you said.”

He leans forward. You almost think you see a hint of fear in his eyes, but you’re probably just seeing your own nervousness reflected.

You pull back a little (you don’t think you can handle being that close to him right now) and force out a laugh.

“Don’t make me say it again,” you say, your voice more light-hearted than your heart feels. “Please.”

You rehearse it in your head for the seven-hundredth time in case he makes you. I like you. I like you. I like you.

Cater doesn’t move for half a moment. Just as you’re about to choke out the words again, he tilts his head and grins at you.

“Of course! Dates are so Magicammable,” he says, tugging his phone from his pocket. “Here, let’s take a commemorative selfie.”

You feel your heart ease up as you settle into your pose next to him. He called it a date. That means you’re dating, right? He likes you back?

Cater shows you the picture on his phone, humming to himself as he taps away on it. It’s carefully angled so it looks like you’re cheek-to-cheek. You were almost a foot apart.

“#schoollife,” he reads aloud, “#couplegoals. And… posted! I tagged you.”

“Thanks!” you reply, head spinning, hands still shaking. He peers at you over the top of his phone screen, eyes full of something you can’t quite place.

~~~~~

You fiddle with the straw in your drink.

Cater is across the table taking pictures of his drink from every angle, trying to find the best lighting. You don’t mind it - in fact, you rather enjoy watching him work his Magicam magic. The problem is, you don’t think he’s made eye contact with you once all day.

When he came to pick you up at your dorm, he didn’t stay still long enough for you to notice, and on the way here, you were side-by-side, so it wasn’t easy to make eye contact anyways. But now?

“How’s your drink?” he asks, without looking up.

You stir it with your straw.

“Fine,” you lie. You haven’t had the stomach to try it yet.

Cater eventually puts his phone away and sips his drink, looking around the cafe. When he finally looks at you, his eyes fix on a spot just above yours, close enough that you almost don't notice. But you notice.

“Isn’t this place great?” he says cheerfully. “Super Magicammable. Their drinks are so sweet, huh?”

You nod, finally sneaking a sip of your mouth-wateringly sugary drink.

“It’s got a great atmosphere,” you say. “I bet they get a lot of couples. Gazing into each other’s eyes across the table…”

Cater fiddles with his hair.

“I think it’s a little early for that,” he jokes. “It’s only the first date!”

He seems to make a concerted effort not to meet your gaze, studying the logo on his cup.

“Thanks for coming here with me,” Cater says. “I always feel like people are judging me when I come by myself, frowny face.”

He’s still smiling at you, and you feel some of your nervousness melt away. So what if he’s avoiding eye contact? He’s probably nervous, just like you. Clearly he wants to be here, or else he wouldn’t have come.

You reach across the table and put your hand on top of Cater’s. His startled gaze meets yours for the first time, and you think you could lose yourself in those verdant eyes.

“Thank you for not rejecting me,” you tell him. “It’s- you don’t even know how long it took me to work up the courage.”

His eyes flicker away, locking onto some spot behind you.

“Of course,” he says. “You’re totes perf. There’s just… no reason for me to say no, right?”

He grabs your hand back, and you tell yourself that he doesn’t need to make eye contact, he doesn’t need to say he likes you back. As long as he’s here, with you, everything will be okay.

Right?

~~~~~

You’ve been dating Cater for two months now.

He still doesn’t meet your eyes like he did before you started dating, but he texts you more and he throws his arm around your shoulders and he doesn’t pull away when you lean into him. When you feel him breathing next to you, you feel like everything is going to be okay.

You’ve been dating Cater for two months when you finally break.

You stand outside his dorm room, holding a bouquet of flowers behind your back, hoping against hope that this will help. With him, with you, with something about your relationship that needs helping. You hesitate just a moment before you knock.

Cater opens the door with his hair messy and his jacket off. He stares at you.

“Y/N? What… what are you doing here?”

You grin and present the bouquet to him.

“Happy two-month anniversary!” you chirp. “Can I come in?”

He curls his fingers around the doorframe.

“Sure,” he says, slowly. “Of course!”

You’ve never been in Cater’s room before.

You hang out in your room, in Trey’s room, in the Heartslabyul lounge. But never here. The door shuts behind you with an underwhelming click.

The room’s big, well-furnished. Impeccably cute. When you turn back to Cater, his hair is half-fixed and his grip is tight on the bouquet.

“This is such a great surprise!” Cater says with a smile. “I’m majorly bummed I didn’t get you anything.”

You shake your head.

“Don’t worry about it,” you insist. “I just really wanted to get something for you. The shopkeeper said it was the most photogenic one they had!”

Cater shifts from foot to foot, staring down at the bouquet. He doesn’t take a picture of it. He doesn’t move at all until you sit down on his bed. Then you hear his breath hitch, and the flowers crinkling in his hands. He puts the bouquet on his desk and sits next to you, hugging one of his pillows.

He doesn’t look at you.

Cater is never silent this long. After two months of dating and many more of watching him, you think you’re pretty good at reading his mood, but you’ve never seen the look on his face before. The realization hits you in the gut.

He’s uncomfortable.

I’m in his room and he’s uncomfortable. I gave him a bouquet and he’s uncomfortable. He has an unhealthy attachment to his phone but he isn’t even looking at it because I’m in his room and he’s uncomfortable.

He’s uncomfortable with me.

You stand so fast you swear you hear the mattress recoil and whip to face Cater. He blinks up at you.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“I’m what’s wrong,” you shoot back before you can stop yourself. “Me. How long have you had a problem with me?”

“You- what?”

“Come on, Cater, you’re so clearly uncomfortable with me being here in your room! If you don’t like me, tell me, just -”

You feel your eyes sting and your throat tighten.

“Don’t give me false hope,” you choke out. “I -”

You press a hand to your mouth, trying to swallow a sob. Cater sits motionless before you, his eyes full of worry and his mouth full of things he can’t say.

“I do like you,” he says instead. “For sure. I just…”

He fiddles with his hair, looking anywhere but at you.

“You don’t really like me,” Cater manages.

The thought stuns your eyes dry and your head clear. You stare at him.

“...what?”

He still isn’t looking at you, so you place one hand on each cheek and turn him towards you. He doesn’t look you in the eye, but you’re looking at him in his. For now, you think, that’s enough.

“Tell me what you mean by that,” you say firmly.

Under your gaze, Cater breaks. He leans a little into your hands and stares solidly at your chin and says, “I… I don’t like sweets.”

You blink at him.

“That’s it?”

“No, it’s just… that’s not very Magicammable, right?”

He risks a glance at your face.

“There’s tons about me that isn’t super Magicammable, but you only know the Magicam stuff. So if… if you met the real Cater, I don’t think you’d like him.”

His eyes are soft and full of sadness. You hold his face a little tighter in your hands and say, “I think I already do.”

Cater shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut against your hand.

“I’ve been trying super hard to not let you see him. I don’t want to let you down.”

“You could never be a let-down,” you tell him. “I’ve been into you for ages. Just the fact that you feel comfortable sharing this with me? It means more than you could know.

“Besides,” you continue, “I want to see every part of you. Even if they’re messy, or imperfect, or you think they’ll be a let-down. I want you to feel safe with me. Because I feel safe with you.”

Cater opens his eyes again and finally, finally, for what feels like the first time in two months, looks straight into yours.

“You seriously want to be in a relationship with me? Not Magicam Cater, not… not any other way I present myself, just… the real me.”

You laugh. “Of course. I asked you out.”

His face relaxes, just a little, and he laughs too, leaning on your hand.

“Geez, all this time, I've just been worrying about you finding out and being disappointed, and I just…”

He looks up at you, eyes full of more love than he's ever dared to show before.

“I didn't get to enjoy dating you.”

You nearly lose your breath looking at him. You pull him towards you, savoring every fleeting moment that he’s near you and preserving the millisecond your lips meet for all eternity.

You’ve kissed Cater before, sure. But he’s never initiated, never pulled you close, never let the moment linger longer than the bare minimum.

This time is different.

One of his hands wraps around your waist, finding its place snugly like it belongs there. The other lands in your hair, fingertips brushing the nape of your neck. You let your hands slip from his face, resting against his neck and shoulders.

He’s never let you this close before.

You can feel his heart beating in time with yours, feel the warmth radiating off of him. You feel dizzy from his touch.

He lets go of you after longer than ever before and still too short a time, holding your gaze with his own like he’s making up for lost time. Maybe he is.

[woopmeeting]

love is an hour that never ends

(azul ashengrotto x reader)

~~~~~~

You shouldn’t have signed the contract.

You knew that. You’ve always known that. You’ve always thought you were smart enough to not sign anything Azul Ashengrotto handed to you. And you always thought he wouldn’t try it on you.

But here you are, sitting in class, glaring at the back of his head. It’s been ten days since you broke your contract, and the stipulated “one hour in which the undersigned must do anything Azul Ashengrotto, Manager of Mostro Lounge, tells them to do (barring crimes of any sort)” has yet to arrive.

You sink your head into your hands. When your sleep-addled, coffee-deprived brain was presented with a predatory, lengthy, and, frankly, unethical contract that promised you twelve hours with the softest bed on campus (in exchange for going mountaineering with Jade every morning for the next week, starting at 3.30am), you didn’t bother reading all the fine print. You didn’t even bother reading the word “mountaineering.” You saw “soft bed” and you signed.

So it went that the next morning, Jade went mountaineering alone at 3.30am, and when you saw Azul in class, he slapped the contract you barely remembered signing onto your desk with a smarmy grin.

“For one hour,” he told you, “at a time of my choosing, you will do whatever I want. Wait for me to tell you when.”

You chew on your pen as you continue glaring a few rows up at him. Here you are. You’re waiting. And yet ten days have passed, and Azul hasn’t spoken to you once.

When Trein releases you for your next class, you stuff your notebook and pen into your bag and make it to Azul’s desk before he’s even started packing up.

He looks up from where he’s still finishing up his notes and peers at you over the top of his glasses.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

You have to resist the urge to slam your hand on his desk. Instead you just place it gently and lean towards him.

“When,” you say, forcing a smile, “am I going to fulfill the rest of my contract?”

Azul places his pen down and smiles up at you, folding his hands under his chin.

“Why,” he beams, “I believe it was stipulated in your contract that it would be up to me to decide when that time was.”

You grit your teeth and try to maintain your smile.

“Yes, but it would be much easier for me if I had some sort of ballpark of when that will be. Or what I’ll be doing.”

Azul bats his big beautiful eyes at you.

“Oh my, does the contract-breaker have some sort of complaint?”

You tap your fingers on the desk and stop bothering to smile.

“Come on, Azul, I thought we were friends, right? Or at least vaguely cordial? Remember when we did that project together?”

Azul tilts his head.

“Yes, I remember. Remember me doing all the work.”

You scoff and grin at him.

“As if. I totally carried you.”

He laughs, for just a moment, before catching himself. He coughs into his hand.

“Anyways. I’m still deciding what to do with you.”

“Okay,” you say, “what’s the problem? Don’t you always complain about not having enough dishwashers? I can wash dishes.”

Azul studies you for a moment.

“That’s not exactly the kind of thing I was thinking,” he says.

For a moment you feel very afraid for what he means by that, but you reassure yourself by remembering that the contract specifically stated “anything (barring crimes of any sort).” Surely he means something relatively normal, right? Azul watches you stew on that for a moment before sighing and closing his notebook.

“I have to get to my next class,” he says, “but come to my office at the Mostro Lounge after class today. I’ll have more details then.”

“Fine. I’ll be there,” you say.

You turn on your heel and try to storm off in a huff, but your bag smacks something off of Azul’s desk. You don’t bother turning around to see what it was, but out of the corner of your eye you see Azul chuckling as he reaches to pick it up.

You try to be upset that he was laughing at you, but you can’t help getting distracted by how cute he is when he laughs.

You slap your hands on your face. Focus. Azul doesn’t get to be cute until he’s completely freed you from this contract.

You walk towards your next class, trying to think about anything other then Azul. It doesn’t work.

~~~~

By the time you reach Mostro Lounge, it’s already been fifteen minutes since the end of your last class. You would’ve been there sooner, but Crewel insisted on discussing your horrible grade in Potionology right after class.

Azul’s waiting for you at the entrance of the Lounge, already in his dorm uniform, tapping his fingers on crossed arms.

“Hey,” you say, breathless from running over. “Sorry, Professor Crewel wanted to talk to me and I couldn’t get away.”

“I saw him pull you aside after class,” Azul says. “I’m not going to hold it against you.”

He turns abruptly and starts walking towards his office. His mouth is set oddly, like he’s upset. You fiddle with the bottom of your shirt, hoping against hope that he isn’t upset with you. You don’t think you could handle that right now, not while you still don’t know what he’s going to make you do to fulfill your contract.

Azul is silent all the way to his office, as he opens the door and escorts you inside, as he lets you get settled in a seat. He steeples his fingers on his desk and watches you with an unreadable expression.

You try to relax under his gaze, but that’s no mean feat. Just as you feel your face start growing hot, Azul stands from his chair and strides over to you. He clasps his hands behind his back, and you could swear you see him hesitate before he speaks.

“Dance with me,” he says finally.

You blink at him.

“What?”

He holds out one gloved hand to you.

“Your hour starts now,” Azul says. “Dance with me.”

You stare at his proffered hand, trying to figure out what he means, why he would use his hour for this, of all things, and if his hand is trembling or that’s just a trick of the eyes. Finally you reach out a hesitant hand and take his.

Azul pulls you up from your seat and pulls you close with a pretend confidence that’s been lacking since you arrived. From somewhere music starts, and he begins leading you around the room.

You’ve never been much of a dancer, and you don’t think he is either. His steps are slow and somewhat stiff, but they’re easy to follow, and the music is simple. You find yourself overthinking your hands on him, every moment when you’re not distracted by his hands on you. His fingers ghost your waist like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he goes any further. You decide not to read too much into that.

The song ends almost too soon, and you find yourself touching Azul Ashengrotto in several places in an empty room. You can feel his breath on you. You can feel his heartbeat drumming through his veins.

He doesn’t move, so neither do you, even though you can feel the clock ticking down your hour, even though you don’t want him to waste the time he’s won from you.

His eyes flicker over you, full of something you can’t quite read.

Finally Azul takes a deep breath, pulls his hands back from you. He was barely touching you, but you feel cold all the same, every spot where his hands were close begging for warmth.

He checks his watch and pulls out one of his slimy smiles.

“Nine minutes have passed,” he says. “Now what shall I make you do for the remaining fifty-one?”

He leans back against his desk and taps a finger against his lips as he thinks. You stare at them, mesmerized, for a moment, until you decide that’s enough of that train of thought and lean on the desk next to him instead.

“I thought you’d have everything planned out,” you say after a moment, nudging him with your elbow.

Azul glances over at you, grey eyes through silver frames.

“That’s why this took me so long,” he admits. “I wanted to have it all planned out, but…”

He loses himself in his thoughts again. You wait for him to finish the sentence, but he never does, so you nudge him again to get his attention.

When he looks over at you, you tell him, “I would’ve danced with you anyways. If you’d asked.”

It sits between you for a moment. He blinks.

“What?”

“So really,” you continue, “the hour hasn’t started yet. You get those nine minutes back to make me do whatever you want with, okay? So. What’ll it be?”

He averts his eyes, stares down at his feet on the ground.

“I can’t ask you to do what I most want you to do,” he mutters, “so I don’t know what to do with this hour.”

You feel your heart plummet from your chest. He can’t ask you to do it? But there was only one stipulated exclusion to the contract…

You lean down to meet Azul’s eyes. He looks vaguely embarrassed, but you stare him down anyway.

“What is it?” you demand.

He jumps slightly, clearly taken aback by your demeanor.

“I’m sorry? I just said I couldn’t -”

“Is it thievery?” you interrupt.

“What?”

“Arson, tax fraud, pyramid schemes? Come on, tell me, I can take it.”

“I really don’t -”

“It’s really not a big deal, just tell me.”

“But -”

“Tell me.”

“You can’t-”

“Just tell me what you want me to do!” you shout at him.

“Kiss me!” he yells back, and before he can clamp a hand over his traitorous mouth, you do.

You take him by the lapels and you pull his stupid adorable face towards you, and you kiss him.

He doesn’t kiss you back. When you let him go, he looks half upset and half confused and you think he’s blushing but maybe you’re just deluding yourself.

“I- I know I didn’t add a stipulation to the contract,” he stammers, “but romantic gestures are inherently not an acceptable thing for me to make you do. I really just -”

You pull him close before he’s finished speaking, resting one hand on the back of his neck. You cup his face with the other, and he stares at you with wide-open eyes.

“The hour still hasn’t started,” you tell him. “This isn’t part of the contract.”

At first he doesn’t respond, staring at you in stunned silence, but then you kiss him again, and this time, he melts into you. He puts one hand on top of yours and buries the other in your hair and after the ghostly touches of your dance you feel like you could fly.

There’s a knock on the door after not long, and Azul, ever diligent, only stays glued to you for five more seconds before getting up to answer it. You distantly hear Jade’s voice asking about some technical matters, and Azul telling him that he specifically asked not to be bothered for an hour. Your cheeks are hot. You feel giddy.

When Jade finally leaves, Azul shuts the door (and locks it) before walking back over to you. He plants one hand on either side of you and stares into your eyes with a more honest gaze than you’ve ever seen from him.

“I’ve liked you ever since we worked on that project together,” he tells you. “I’m sorry for making you sign that contract, but I just… saw an opportunity to coerce you into spending more time with me. I shouldn’t have done that.”

You plant one hand on each side of his face and pull him so your foreheads bump.

“Funny,” you whisper. “That’s about the same time I started liking you.”

Azul blushes in front of you, for sure this time. And this time, Azul’s the one who pulls you close.

When your lips meet, your brain fills with him, him, and only him. Every other thought leaves your head, except for one:

I’m so glad I signed that contract.

[woopmeeting]

malleus draconia is not wanted

(set between books six and seven)

~~~

They didn’t invite Malleus. Again.

He drums his fingers on the table, trying to pretend it doesn’t bother him while Sebek shouts next to his ear about the audacity, and how dare they!. Silver is trying to calm him down.

Malleus seizes the opportunity while both of their backs are turned to teleport away, away from the hustle and bustle of his dorm to somewhere he can be alone.

Among the gargoyles on the roof of Ramshackle dorm, he can finally breathe, staring up at the sky.

They didn’t invite him. Again.

He didn’t bother to find out what it was this time. Maybe they couldn’t track him down to tell him the meeting was happening. Maybe they were too intimidated, maybe they just forgot.

He studies the stars in the sky, feels the cool air on his skin. Maybe it was for the best that he wasn’t there. After all, though the other Housewardens seem unafraid of him, he can always feel the weight in their gazes.

That’s Malleus Draconia, they say. Prince of the Fae, Lord of Briar Valley. He’s so tall, so intimidating. Haven’t you heard? He’s one of the top five mages in the world.

Malleus pats the gargoyle beside him on the head.

“You’re not afraid of me, in any case,” he tells it. It doesn’t respond. They never do.

Perhaps I could persuade the Headmage to hold the next Housewarden meeting in the presence of a gargoyle, he muses. If I’m able to extol their virtues to the other Housewardens, surely they’ll enjoy my company and be more likely to remember to invite me next time, right?

Right?

Right?

He hears the gate at the entrance of the dorm squeak open and perks up. Conversing with the Child of Man always makes him feel better. And better yet, they’re alone, save for their feline companion.

Malleus teleports down, appearing suddenly on the path in front of Yuu. They jump back, clutching their chest and curling into themselves in a way unnatural for them. Malleus chooses to ignore it.

Just like he chooses to ignore the lack of applicants to his club, Lilia’s fondness for Silver, the other Housewardens forgetting him again, again, again, again -

He smiles at them. “Greetings, Child of Man.”

“Yeah. Hi,” they say, clutching their companion close. He eyes Malleus suspiciously.

“I thought all the Housewardens were in a meeting right now,” Grim says. “Whatcha doing here?”

They didn’t invite me. Again.

Before Malleus can speak, Yuu closes their hand over Grim’s tiny mouth.

“Don’t say that,” they insist, an almost frantic lilt to their voice. “I’m so sorry, Horn- ah, erm. Uh. Sorry.”

Malleus frowns.

“Child of Man, are you quite alright?” he asks. “You seem… skittish.”

They shake their head overenthusiastically. “I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all.”

They shift from foot to foot, the motion sending a pen tumbling from their bag. Malleus reaches to catch it on impulse, and -

Yuu flinches away from his hand like it’s on fire, so abrupt they send half a dozen more pens careening towards the floor and almost trip over their own feet.

Malleus freezes with the first pen in his hand, eyes locked onto the wide-eyed horror reflected on Yuu’s face, heart sinking to the floor. He’s seen that look before.

They break the eye contact and drop to their knees, letting Grim down and scooping wayward pens into their shaking hands. They’re shaking. Why are they shaking?

He knows why they’re shaking.

Malleus doesn’t bother trying to help Yuu gather the pens. He’s been in this situation enough times to know they won’t let him. Instead he clutches the one he’s holding tight in his fist, fighting hard not to break it.

“What happened?” he says.

Yuu doesn’t look up from their work. “Sorry, what?”

Malleus feels the pen splinter in his fist.

“Why are you afraid of me now?” he says. “When you learned my true identity, nothing changed between us - well, I was under the impression that nothing changed, but perhaps I was mistaken.”

Yuu shakes their head. “No, nothing changed. Not then.”

They keep gathering in silence for another few moments. Grim tries to help, but his paws can’t grasp the pens. Finally they gesture for him to head back to Ramshackle. He shoots Malleus a wary look before he obeys.

When their hands and their breathing have steadied, they don’t look up. But they speak.

“You’re going to overblot,” they say. “I’m scared.”

Malleus thinks he can’t breathe.

“I’m sorry?”

“Everyone -” they heave a shaking breath “- everyone is overblotting. The Housewardens are overblotting. Jamil overblotted. Diasomnia is the only dorm left. You’re the only one left.”

Malleus feels the pit in his stomach grow.

“You don’t know that for certain,” he says. He wants to plead with them to listen, to look at him, to change their mind. He can’t. Malleus Draconia, Prince of Briar Valley, does not beg.

Yuu rolls the pens in their hands. They still don’t look up. “Either way, you’re - you’re Malleus Draconia, Prince of Briar Valley. I hadn’t really realized.”

Malleus almost chokes at the title.

“Nothing has changed about me,” he tells them. “I am still the same Malleus you’ve come to know, Prince of Briar Valley or not.”

Yuu shakes their head. “No, you’re just… so much more powerful than I thought. And I only know this version of you, but it’s not the real you, and the real you could - could do anything to me. And I just - I can’t. I can’t.”

They risk a glance up at him like they’re scared of his response. Their startled gaze locks onto the remnants of pen in his fist before it can reach his eyes.

“That was my favorite pen,” they murmur, mostly to themselves, but Malleus hears it like a knife to the chest.

That was their favorite pen, he thinks, and I destroyed it without even thinking. I could level this campus in the blink of an eye. In a single breath. I could do anything to them.

I don’t deserve to be friends with someone like them.

He opens his clenched fist, letting flecks of pen and crimson liquid drip to the floor. His hand throbs.

“Certainly,” he says, voice calm and full of every princely lesson he’s ever had. “I won’t be by again.”

Yuu bites their lip but doesn’t protest, the silence searing Malleus’ very core.

He teleports away before he has a moment to think about it, before he drowns in the silence of them letting him leave. His room is dark and he doesn’t care to open the curtains, or take off his shoes, or clean off his hand. He sits on his bed and feels the blood drip onto his sheets.

Sebek is going to insist on cleaning those for me, Malleus thinks, and the thought sickens him.

Yuu is sitting in Ramshackle, relieved they’ll never have to see me again, Malleus thinks. That thought sickens him too.

He turns to more well-worn paths of pain.

They didn’t invite me. Again. Why didn’t they invite me?

He drums the fingers of his other hand on the bed.

You know why, Malleus Draconia, Prince of Briar Valley.

[woopmeeting]

idia shroud is in love with his best friend

Whenever Idia looked at her, he felt his heart skip a beat.

Which was totally lame, of course, and such a boring normie thing to say, but it was the literal truth. Which he knew because Ortho would not stop bringing it up, and so loudly too -

He furrowed his little mechanical eyebrows. “There it is again. A missing heartbeat. I wonder what could be causing that. What do you think, brother?”

Idia buried himself in his hood and tried to disappear. It didn’t work.

Ugh, he thought, why’s his voice so loud! Now people are looking at me, and judging me, like ‘oh, that Idia’s so weird. Even his heart doesn’t work right. What a loser.’

But, although of course it would be rather embarrassing for people to think those things about him (which they were not), he was mostly worried about her. Y/N.

She was standing there, just across the plaza, chatting with her friends. Some kids from her homeroom class. Idia would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit jealous of them, but in the end, she would always come back to him. He glanced up at her.

“Oh! It happened again!” Ortho exclaimed.

Idia snapped his gaze back down to the floor, struggling to keep the color from rising in his cheeks and hair. Worst case scenario, she’d hear Ortho exclaiming about something being wrong with his heart and come over to see what was going on. Ugh, and he’d seem like such loser, and she’d probably figure out why it was happening and then she’d know and then she’d hate him, and she’d be so creeped out that a total social failure like him had a thing for her, and then she’d never talk to him again and he’d die alone, without any girlfriend (obviously, he didn’t have any hope in that field) and without any friends (because Ortho was just too! dang! loud!). So yeah, that’d be the worst case scenario. The absolute worst -

“Hey, what’s going on?”

Crap. That was her. He’d recognize that deliciously clever voice anywhere.

He risked a glance at her basic black shoes. Maybe since it was just that snippet of her it wouldn’t - ?

“Oh! There it went again! You see that, there in this heart rate monitor?”

Crap. That idea hadn’t worked, and Idia felt like a total noob for thinking it might. Of course it would, because it was more so the thought of her presence than actually seeing her be present that got him all flustered and stammery and irregular-heart-rate-y. But present she was, and she was looking at all the little blips in his heart rate from the past few minutes that Ortho was pointing out to her.

“What do you think could be causing it?” she asked the little robot.

He shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s very peculiar, but it’s been happening a lot. Do you have any ideas, brother? Any common threads you noticed?”

Idia tore his gaze from the floor and looked over at where they stood, his little brother and his crush and best friend, the two most important people in his life.

“No, I don’t,” he muttered (which was a lie, of course, for obvious reasons).

“Another!” Ortho cried, and squinted at the monitor he was projecting. “Whatever could have caused that…”

Meanwhile Idia kept his gaze fixed on Y/N. Her hair, her hands, her uniform jacket. But not her face, not unless he wanted to risk his face growing hot and his hair changing colors. It was fine sometimes, when they were hanging out in his room, or when it was bright out and he didn’t think anyone could tell, or sometimes when they were playing a game or talking about anime he forgot to be nervous around her, about his hair and his stupid heart. But not here, not now, not with Ortho poring over his vital signs looking for any other irregularities. If he didn’t look away, his heart couldn’t skip the tell-tale beat when he looked back at her, because he wouldn’t.

“Hmm,” Ortho said, Y/N peering at the data over his shoulder. “Well, now your heart rate’s gone up, brother.”

Oh, of course. That was the other symptom that came from looking at her, and that one Idia could feel in his bones, thudding through every inch of his body.

She looked at him, suddenly, dead-on, right in the eyes, and Idia found himself paralyzed under her gaze, unable to look away.

“Maybe he’s uncomfortable around all these people?” she suggested, and she was talking to Ortho but she was looking at him. And hey, why was she talking about him like he wasn’t even here?

“Maybe…” Ortho said. “Do you want to go back to your room, brother?”

Idia scoffed. Who did they think they were talking about?

“Of course I want to go back to my room. This is like playing on hard mode, plus my skills are way too underleveled for all this social interaction.” He shuddered.

Y/N giggled. “That’s our Idia. But it’s good to go outside sometimes, y’know. Some things just aren’t the same if you don’t experience them for yourself.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Yeah, like what?”

“Oh, you know. Like cons and concerts and themed cafes. Aren’t you so sad we couldn’t go to that one last week?”

“I’m perfectly happy watching the videos they posted. Only a total newb doesn’t understand how to enjoy things from their room.”

“The videos are fine,” she insisted, “but they don’t compare to being there in person.”

Idia sighed. “You can insist all you want, but you’re still not gonna get me to go.”

She grinned at him. “I’ll do it someday. Maybe it won’t be until we’re old and gray - or whatever color you’re gonna turn - but I’ll get you to go to a cafe with me.”

Idia grimaced, but inside his heart was humming. Did she really mean it? That she’ll stick with me until we’re old and gray, and she won’t let me die alone?

If that’s not love, what is?

But no, he was getting ahead of himself. There were many kinds of love in this world, and it was way too big of a leap to think she felt the same way about him.

But he’d taken much bigger leaps before.

The day he - he, Idia Shroud - approached her and said hi, all because he saw the charm on her phone and knew - knew, absolutely, positively, somewhere deep down - that she was a nerd like him. The day he timidly got her number, the day he tentatively asked her to come play games with him in his room. It almost seemed like their whole relationship was nothing but Idia taking chances. Taking leaps, closer and closer to her.

Ortho exclaimed again, snapping Idia out of his thoughts. “Another heart rate increase? Brother, I think it’s time for you to go back to your room.”

Idia sighed. Finally back to where he felt most comfortable, but away from her. He looked back at Y/N, taking all of her in.

She smiled back at him. “I’ll probably come by later, after class, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” It was more than fine, but it wouldn’t do to seem too excited.

Ortho was tugging on his arm, trying to get his brother to go rest and return his vital signs to normal, but Idia knew it would take a while for his heart rate to calm down. He let Ortho pull him along anyway, glancing back at her once.

Y/N waved and shouted, “I’ll see you after school!”

Idia raised a timid hand back. As long as it would feel until then, their time hanging out together would feel even shorter. He didn’t know much about social interactions, he’d admit that much, but he never felt inadequate when he was with her, and he knew she wouldn’t judge him. He was certain of it. As certain as his heart skipping a beat when he saw her outside his door.