Important If Your In An Abusive Situation You Can Turn Off This Alarm

In the moonlight

summary; you give akaashi the courage he needs

♡ pairing; a.keiji x gn!reader

♡ genre; angst, fluff, friends to lovers

♡ w.c; 856

♡ warnings; cursing, drinking

a/n; this made me so soft </3 find me a man like akaashi pls

*this fic is a part of my ‘five ways to say i love you’ mini-series. check out the other stories here!

“They don’t like me.”

He says it so assuredly that you almost believe him. But it’s Akaashi Keiji you’re talking to, so you know it’s a big fat lie. He reconsiders his words then shakes his head. “No, that’s not it. They like me but they don’t like me the way I want them to.”

You nod and take a large gulp of your gin and tonic. “How are you so sure?”

He looks at you over the rim of his glasses, cheeks so pink you wonder if they’re hot to the touch. You really want to find out. “I just do,” he sighs, head lolling forward. “Or maybe they’re just as stupid as they say they are.” Again, you bob your head and drink.

“Hey, maybe. I know I can be.”

Akaashi gives you a wry smile. “Yeah, you really can.”

The party seems so far away even though it’s going on right behind you. The sliding glass door does well to block out most of the noise, though you can vaguely hear that one song that’s been stuck in your mind and the excited shouts of Bokuto and Konoha. You lean over the porch railing, your red solo cup dangling between your unsteady fingers.

“Keiji—” his hand twitches— “you deserve so much,” you sigh. “More than you think you do.”

“What makes you think I don’t know what I deserve?”

He chuckles at the sharp look you give him. ”Okay, okay. Point taken.”

“You deserve the world.” The gin doesn’t burn the same way the words do. “And if they can’t see how amazing you are, then fuck them.”

He’s silent as you drain the last of your drink and you blink furiously at the moon. “Tell me more.” His voice is soft yet you shiver at the quiet command. You can’t look at him as you continue.

“You’re brilliant, so bright like the moon,” you say, tilting your head back and closing your eyes. “You’re attentive. You make sure Bokuto always has a snack before practice—“

“Because he won’t stop whining about how hungry he is when it’s over—“

“You’re compassionate. You’re willing to help Kuroo when he needs tutoring…”

“He needs all the help he can get honestly—“

Akaashi’s eyes widen as you press a digit to his lips, a smile plays on yours.

“You’re humble,” you whisper. “Kind, patient, honest to a fault—“ He laughs at that one, grabbing your hand to remove it from his mouth and holds it against his chest. “You’re reliable. You give so much of yourself away and never ask for anything in return, even though Bo and I have told you time and time again that it’s okay to need someone, to let someone in—“

“You’re going on a tangent, love.” His touch is searing when he rearranges his hold on your wrist to intertwining your fingers. You stare at your interlocked hands and exhale. “And if they can’t see all these great qualities about you then they don’t deserve you.”

The upward curl of Akaashi’s plump lips is beautiful, painfully so. Under the silver light of the full moon, you can’t help but wonder how one can be this ethereal. Tendrils of inky black hair curl around his smooth skin, brushing along the thick fringe of lashes surrounding his cerulean eyes. The thin slope of his nose, the prominent shape of his cupid’s bow… Aphrodite would curse him out of pure jealousy, Selene would stop her chariot if only to marvel at his perfection. His crush, whoever they may be, would be an absolute fool to not want the man in front of you, the man who glimmers like stardust in the moonlight.

You blame your alcohol-addled brain for this one. “Y’know,” you wave your empty cup around, the last remnants of gin flying about. “You should, you should just kiss them! Grab their stupid face and plant a big wet one on them! Because if they’ve been this blind all this time, maybe they just need something more ‘in their face,’ y’know?”

It’s quiet, save for the music thumping behind you, as he contemplates your suggestion. Akaashi’s grip tightens when he leans a little closer to you. “That’s one way to go about it,” he muses while he drums his fingers along your skin. “It’s someone you know,” he says cautiously and your stomach dips. “Intimately. Would you still recommend I just go up and kiss them?”

You are a fool, an enormous idiot who is helplessly in love with stardust. “Why not? Life’s too short not to take risks.” You hope he doesn’t notice the way your voice cracks, the way your plastic cup crinkles under your shaky hold.

Akaashi hums. He lets go of your hand and you protest when he takes your cup. “Hey,” you say with a pout. “I was gonna get some more.” His lips quirk up on one side as he carefully balances the two cups on the railing.

“I’m just taking your advice.”

With one hand on your hip, and the other cupping the back of your neck, the man who glimmers like stardust kisses you.

FUCK DISCOVERY HERE'S THE 4 SEASONS OF INFINITY TRAIN

Pride & Prejudice: A TWSTed AU

The Rose Red Tyrant: R. Rosehearts

Introduction, or pick another route!

Riddle x GN Reader(they/them)

Warnings: Pride and Prejudice-level angst, Riddle-typical anger, Riddle insults you Darcy-style (he doesn’t mean it I promise <3)

———

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU THOUGHT THE VARNISH WAS PAINT?!”

Today was supposed to be an enjoyable unbirthday party. A party thrown for you, according to your tastes.

Riddle had triple and quadruple checked what your favorite desserts and pastries were, and relayed them to Trey. Cater was handling the table settings, and (despite his prior doubts) Ace and Deuce were taking care of the flamingos and hedgehogs for the croquet match. Everything was going to be perfect in accordance with the Queen’s and his standards. It was supposed to be splendid. Supposed to be.

And the roses were to be painted in (favorite color) and red. The richest, most vibrant (color) and the deepest ruby red, selfishly representing Riddle and You. This was supposed to be the unbirthday party that would charm you. But now?

Everything was perfect except the rose bushes, which were now in varying shades of pink and (color) after they’d dried from the varnish that the first years used. Wood varnish! That dried transparent! Not paint!

“We’re sorry Housewarden Rosehearts!” The first years yelled, hands clasped as they pleaded, “It was an accident!”

“THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!” At Riddle’s words, a sudden chill ran through everyone. Sure, there’d been a few times when the dorm leader snapped at everyone, and reminded them that even though he’d been changed for the better (and less angry), he was still himself. And sometimes, the angry Riddle pre-overblot made itself known.

But this time, it was as if the overblot never happened and he was still tyrannical as before.

“This,” he seethed, face deepening to scarlet and eyebrows pulling into a ‘v’ shape. “Is a disgrace. I instructed you to paint the roses red and (color). And what did you do?” His arm snapped up to point at the rose bushes, “YOU USED VARNISH! THEY’RE THE WRONG COLOR! THEY ARE RUINED!”

The first years shrank back. With all the yelling, it was impossible to not attract the attention of everyone around them, and Trey was all but running towards the scene when he finally overheard Riddle through the Heartslabyul kitchen walls.

Even you heard it, as you and Grim ambled on the path to Heartslabyul. “Hehe, I’ve been hungry since last week waitin’ for this party!” Grim cackled, “what do ya think Trey’s cooking? Strawberry tarts, chocolate cupcakes, crème brûlée?!” His voice went up in excitement, eyes lighting up. You laughed, “I guess we’ll see when we get there, Grim!” The two of you stopped when you heard yelling from within the rose maze. “Oh boy, is Riddle yellin’ again? I don’t wanna get collared,” Grim sulked, and you scooped him up to quiet him. “Hush, I want to see what’s happening,” you whispered and peeked around the corner.

“This unbirthday party is RUINED BECAUSE OF YOUR INSOLENCE! YOU’RE LUCKY THE PREFECT DIDN’T SEE THIS!” Riddle yelled, and you watched as Trey grabbed his arm from behind, “Riddle, it’s fine! The roses are fi-“ Riddle’s face was the darkest red you’d ever seen, and somehow his hair was standing up with rage? Riddle brandished his other arm, “OFF WITH YOUR-“

Grim squirmed in your arms and you lost your balance. You both tumbled into the open grass, right in front of Riddle, Trey, and the poor first years that looked like they were about to jump out of their skins. Riddle’s spell stopped, and his eyes widened when he met yours. “Prefect,” he said, uncharacteristically charming, given that he was about to behead about five students. “You’re here.”

He took a step towards you to help you up, but you picked Grim up and hugged him to your chest, scrambling upright. Something like hurt flashed in Riddle’s eyes. You looked around wildly, the tension becoming thick and unbearable. What the hell just happened?

You noted that the rose trees were…strangely more colorful than usual. Instead of the usual red and white, they were in varying shades of red, ranging from a light blush to a deep pink. They were also in (color), in all shades. They really did look pretty, but they don’t match the Queen’s rules, sadly. You could piece together why Riddle was mad now.

You cleared your throat uncomfortably, realizing everyone was staring at you now. “The- the roses look very pretty,” you wavered, forcing a smile on your face. Riddle’s face wasn’t as red now, and he seemed calmer at your words. “Yes, they’re lovely, aren’t they?” He replied, and the first years replied in unison “yes, sir!” Riddle shot them a look, and they fell silent. Then he turned back to you with a charming smile, smoothing his hair and holding out his other hand to you. “Now, shall we begin the party?”

———

As you headed back to Ramshackle, you thought about what happened earlier. Grim was as happy as a clam, holding the leftover (favorite dessert) that Trey allowed him to take back, but you were unsettled. It was safe to say that it was the weirdest unbirthday party you’d attended yet.

After you caught Riddle mid-collaring, everyone settled into a tense tea party. You were seated to the left of Riddle this time (unusual, since you’d normally sit with Ace and Deuce). The dorm leader himself even served you a slice of cherry tart, ears red. It was like his entire body was tense, and every once in a while, Trey had to mutter something reassuringly to him so he’d relax a bit.

But it kept happening every so often, from when Ace spilled brown tea over the pristine white tablecloth, to when Deuce put his whining hedgehog on the table to calm it down, to finally croquet time when the flamingos refused to stay still to hit the hedgehogs through the hoops.

Needless to say, if the tension wasn’t there, you would’ve thought it a normal, hectic, chaotic unbirthday party. As you and Grim headed into Ramshackle to wind down, you couldn’t shake off the way that everyone stared at you during the party. Odd to say the least, but hey, you got some of Trey’s pastries out of it. Win-win!

Back at Heartslabyul, Riddle crossed his arms at Trey and Cater, frowning. At least he isn’t yelling, Trey thought, adjusting his glasses. That’s good.

“I simply wanted the Prefect to have an enjoyable unbirthday party. There’s nothing wrong with me throwing a party in their honor and to their tastes,” Riddle said dismissively. “Well,” Trey began carefully, “it’s not every unbirthday party that you ensure their favorite desserts are there…”

Riddle tapped his foot impatiently. “Yes?”

“And seat them next to you.”

“And?”

Cater cut in, “the seat next to you goes to your second-in-command or the King of Hearts!” Trey stared at Cater without emotion. “What? Cay-cay reads the Queen’s rules when he feels like it!” To himself, he muttered “and it wasn’t like Riddle was gonna admit it, anyway…”

Riddle pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your point is?” Trey sighed. “You knew this, didn’t you? You wanted this unbirthday party to be different, right?”

Riddle grew quiet. So Trey did know. His vice dorm leader chuckled softly, fixing his glasses. “Well, since today didn’t go as… intended,” he said tactfully, Cater giving him a wide eyed look. “Perhaps you could… invite the Prefect out on a different outing?” “A date!” Cater said cheerfully as Riddle went pink in the face. Riddle thought aloud, “hmmm…”

———

“A… picnic?” You asked, frowning at Riddle, who fiddled with a basket bashfully. “This is a little sudden…”

You were back at Ramshackle alone. Earlier today, Grim was whisked off by Ace and Deuce, who wouldn’t give you a clear reason why they were taking Grim with them, and not you. “It’s ‘cause… Trey needs Grim to taste test his desserts!” Deuce said, picking Grim off the ground before he could protest. The cat monster wasn’t even bothered by this, “really?! Yes! Trey’s the best!”

When you tried to follow, Ace stopped you. “He just wanted Grim! Sorry, Prefect.” Ace suddenly grinned devilishly, “you won’t be lonely for too long, though!” The three of them slammed the door before you could react, and you slumped onto the dusty couch. Hey, at least if you were going to be alone, you could read that weird Prejudice and Pride book, which was surprisingly getting pretty good.

When you’d heard a knock on the front door about an hour later, you’d assumed that Grim was back, here to gloat and grin over his delicious pastry-tasting. You weren’t expecting an uncharacteristically shy Riddle holding a picnic basket, dressed casually in a red blazer and black button down, hair tucked behind one ear reminiscent of his groom-outfit from that time Eliza wanted to marry Idia. He looked so nice, and here you were, still decked out in your pajamas from last night.

Riddle cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yes. I found a clearing nearby, I thought we could both… hang out?” he tried to smile casually, the words feeling strange. Your brow furrowed, but you decided not to question it. He’s acting odd. Still, it’d be nice to get out of the dorm. “…Alright, just let me change.”

After changing into a nice, picnic-appropriate outfit that would make Crewel proud of your glow up, you walked with Riddle. To your surprise, a picnic blanket was already laid out, held down by a tri-candelabra. So Riddle planned this?

“What’s this for?” You asked suddenly as you both sat down. Riddle became tense, haltingly responding “is it strange to want to… do this?” He handed you a small plate, and passed a mini dessert onto it. “It’s nice, but…” You glanced at your dessert, “I thought Trey needed these?” Riddle looked confused. “What?”

“Ace and Deuce took Grim to taste-test stuff for Trey. Shouldn’t you be there? Since you’re the Housewarden and all.” Riddle fumbled his slice of tart. “…Trey can handle it without me. Now, is your dessert to your liking?”

The two of you chatted lightly, although it was still weird to you that Riddle wanted to have this picnic with just you. He seemed to constantly be on the verge of saying something, but holding it back, and instead asking you small things like how was your day? how has alchemy been? Once or twice, he repeated the same question, until finally you’d had enough of this little eggshell dance.

“Riddle, what is this all about?” By now you were on your seventh dessert. Riddle started at your suddenness, fork clattering onto the saucer, eyes wide. He hurriedly put it down and grabbed your hands urgently in his, eyes not quite meeting yours. He took a deep breath.

“You were a nuisance when we first met,” he began, clasping your hands. “And to be honest, you weren’t really anything impressive. You weren’t even sorted into a dorm, and you don’t have any magical talent at all, but I’m willing to overlook that now. And…” he looked you in the eye, grasping your hand delicately, rubbing his thumb over yours.

“You, Ace, and Deuce caused me quite the headache, but in the end, I grew to appreciate your opinion. You don’t have the same experience as anyone else here, and I… I grew to admire that about you,” he said matter-of-factly, becoming confident. “And I know your circumstances aren’t the best, given that you have no connections here, and-“

You blanked, tuning him out in shock. So this is what the picnic was all about. Was this Heartslabyul’s way of trying to get their Housewarden to warm up to you? To become used to your presence? Did Trey or your friends put Riddle up to this? You started laughing dryly, cutting Riddle off.

“…if I’m such a nuisance, then you probably didn’t even want to go on this stupid picnic.” You kicked the blanket edge with your foot, anger coursing in your heart. “And I guess I’m only ever going to be a trouble-causing magicless prefect. Who am I compared to the great Housewarden Rosehearts anyway?!” You scoffed, tears stinging your eyes.

His eyes widened, and he stood, face burning red with embarrassment. Unfortunately, you thought he was now angry at you. “With your temper and your arrogance, there’s no way we could work.”

“I-!” Riddle clenched his hands, steeling himself. He screwed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth in frustration. Then, he yelled “I’m asking your permission to court you!”

The silence was deafening. You stared at him, incredulous. Was this a joke? Did he just pity you or something? He just insulted you, and now he wants to ‘court’ you? “Is this your idea of a joke, Riddle?!”

You took a deep breath, eyes watery. “You are the last person I would date in this school, and I’m convinced that I’m the last person you could ever want.”

With that, you turned on your heel and marched yourself back to Ramshackle, bracing yourself for a loud off with your head!, but you were surprised that it never came.

If you’d looked back, you would’ve seen Riddle with a completely crushed expression.

Unknown to both of you, in a tree not too far behind, a pair of purple ears, golden eyes, and a tail curled, watching the scene unfold.

———

Heartslabyul was quiet. Too quiet.

The entire dorm felt tense each time Housewarden Rosehearts walked into the room, almost always accompanied by his Vice Housewarden who seemed to watch him like a hawk. Only him, Cater, Ace, and Deuce knew what had happened.

That day, after you stormed away from the picnic, he watched you leave, too shocked by what just happened. There weren’t many people who could shock him, both before and after his overblot. It seems you can still surprise him after all, he thought bitterly as he carried himself back to the dorm, in a foul mood. His eyes were watery, but he didn’t dare start crying. This was pointless, to cry would be pointless. He could hear his mother’s words already - “love is useless and beneath you. It will only weigh you down and distract you from your studies. No one is your equal match. No one is like you.” Still, he didn’t want anyone else, not when you were here.

Too wrapped up in his thoughts, he didn’t see the floating head bobbing next to him. “Nya~ what’s this?” Chen’ya leaned languidly next to Riddle, smiling. “What has our red queenie in such a bind?~” “Go away, Chen’ya,” Riddle grumbled, rubbing his eyes roughly with his sleeve. He could see the kitchen lights on through the window. He wasn’t ready to see Heartslabyul yet.

“Hmm?~” Chen’ya’s body materialized and he angled his head at Riddle. “You seem tense~ not the purrrrfect prosy rose you normally are~” He stared at Riddle. “I heard some mews from Trey that you had your own little rosie~ That little confession earlier didn’t go as planned, hm?”

Riddle flushed with embarrassment, frowning. “Keep your voice down!-“ “With all that yelling they’ll hear you, not meow~” Chen’ya regarded Riddle with a small mischievous look, “You kneow, your rosie may think you don’t like them with all those insults you said. Trey seemed worried about that~”

Riddle pouted, this is so unbecoming of a Housewarden. “The prefect didn’t believe me! Why would they not believe me! I wasn’t insulting them.” “Nya~ then make them believe you!” Chen’ya grinned at Riddle, giggling as he disappeared into thin air. Chen’ya’s still confusing as ever. But still, perhaps he has a point. By then, Trey had come outside to look for the rogue RSA student, starting when he saw Riddle. “How did it go?,” he asked, immediately regretting it when he saw Riddle considerably Prefect-less with a frown on his face.

Trey was surprised when Riddle seemed thoughtful, rather than upset. Perhaps the Prefect was right. Maybe Chen’ya was right, Riddle thought to himself. The Housewarden looked up at Trey, grey eyes steeling in determination. “Trey, I need to take care of a few things.”

———

A few weeks passed and both you and Riddle generally stayed out of each other’s orbit, except for Ace and Deuce, who tried to be a decent common ground. Still, the unbirthday parties seemed a bit less lively, but in any case Housewarden Rosehearts was back to the nicer ‘normal.’ No outbursts, no yelling, no anger - just a nice, pleasant party without the Prefect.

Your friends were pretty much as shocked as you were when you told them what happened. Your Heartslabyul friends reacted as well as you would’ve expected. “The Housewarden’s gonna kill us,” Ace lamented while Deuce just looked shell-shocked. “Planning that took forever, and Riddle kept asking us over and over what you liked, and you just said he never had a chance?! You basically killed him!”

You were exasperated by now. “Look, Riddle doesn’t respect me, he made that very clear! He literally said that I was a headache and talentless!” Still, they didn’t miss what you said after that when you went back to your food, “but I didn’t say he never had a chance.”

Ace and Deuce tried to invite you over to the unbirthday parties, but you resisted the sweet temptation of Trey’s pastries, Carter’s fun Magicam posts, and even Grim’s whines to go. It wasn’t like you were stopping Grim from going, but he just didn’t want to go without you. In any case, you found your days considerably off with your head! free, and no one around school seemed to bear a collar. You didn’t even notice it until Ace brought it up.

“Y’know Prefect, Riddle’s been a lot more relaxed lately,” he said slyly. You stopped eating your pasta, and gave him a suspicious look. “Ace, seriously? You agreed you wouldn’t bring it up,” Deuce frowned, glancing at you. You stopped and thought about it. You hadn’t seen too many collars around school lately. “Still, that doesn’t mean his temper’s gone,” you dismissed him.

Later that day, after club duties, you frowned, checking your phone texts. Seriously? No one’s seen Grim anywhere? It was getting late and you’d even asked the ghosts to help you search for him. Finally, you sighed and trudged over to the library, remembering that Grim had been struggling with yet another alchemy assignment. Maybe he’s found someone to tutor him or whatever.

You walked around the library, and then stopped in your tracks. What was Riddle doing there?

He was sitting down next to Grim, and quietly explaining the problems. Grim was frowning, clearly confused, and yet Riddle didn’t get frustrated at all, to your surprise. He’d just reexplain it, pointing at handmade drawings that you recognized were made by him, and ask Grim a few questions. Grim seemed to understand it better, and even looked relieved.

Color you surprised. This was…different than the Riddle you were used to. You supposed that even though Cater told you how Riddle helped him with learning spells, and Ace told you how Riddle was more patient, it was hard to believe. And yet now, it was right in front of you.

You moved to get closer to them, but your hand knocked over a stray book on the end of the shelf. You cringed and tried to grab it, but it loudly thudded against the floor. The two of them turned around, and you gave them a wide-eyed look. “Grim, I… I was looking for you.” The silence was so loud. Riddle stared at you while Grim grinned at you, looking proud. “Nya, henchhuman! Guess who’s going to get the highest grade in alchemy!” He cheered, while Riddle gently hushed him. Gently. You stared at him, unblinking. What?

Riddle met your eyes. “Prefect,” he greeted formally, hands together. “I found Grim in the library, and thought I’d help him. He seems to understand the material better.” Grim didn’t dispute that, so it must’ve been true. “…thank you, Riddle. It means a lot,” you said, and it did. You didn’t always have enough time to help Grim out with assignments, and more often than not, his test scores brought yours down.

Riddle looked carefully at you, and said quietly as Grim gathered his work, “if you’d like, Prefect, I could help you as well. Professor Crewel says you’re one of his most hardworking students, but Ace mentioned that Trein’s test is coming up. I know you’re not from here, but I could help you study for the history test.” He looked at you earnestly, “only if you want it.”

You looked back at him, weighing your options as Grim hopped off the chair. “Okay.”

———

So this was weird.

Over the next few weeks, you and Riddle sort of… coexisted after that day in the library. And the two of you were back to normal-ish terms.

Every week, Riddle would tutor you on any subject in the rose garden. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t look forward to it - it was peaceful, and the two of you would sip tea while discussing your classes. Grim even came every once in a while to study with you, and your friends certainly seemed less tense with you and their Housewarden in good spirits.

That was the other thing you’d noticed, you thought with surprise. Ace really wasn’t just saying that - Riddle did seem to be more patient and less… behead-y.

You were able to observe everyone in Heartslabyul during this time. And everyone seemed much more relaxed compared to before. Even the same students he’d yelled at during that one fateful unbirthday party seemed more relaxed. Though everyone still abided by his authority, it didn’t seem out of fear anymore - it was out of genuine respect. And try as you might, you found yourself warming up to him too.

If his overblot was anything to go by, you knew it was hard for Riddle to accept change, and yet here he was, attempting to change for himself and everyone. And as great as it was, it scared you. Because you found yourself thinking about him constantly, finding reminders of him when you were in class (Riddle taught that to me) or your tea (Riddle recommended this blend) and even Grim eating tuna (Riddle would reprimand him for eating so sloppy).

It became increasingly obvious. You could deny it no longer. You fell in love with him, but it didn’t repulse you as much as you thought it would have. It felt good. Which is why you kept beating yourself up over what you told him at the picnic - anyone in their right mind would stop liking someone if they said what you did.

Which is why when you went over to the rose maze for this week’s study session, you were horribly nervous. You had a hard time talking to Riddle, and at some point even dropped your teacup onto the grass. As Riddle poured you a new cup, you struggled not to notice how concentrated and gentle his grey eyes were, the gracefulness of his movements. Damn, he even smelled nice too, what cologne was that-

When Riddle looked at you questioningly, you dove into your textbook and scribbled something or other rapidly, hoping he wouldn’t speak to you. If you’d looked up, you would’ve seen the soft smile he gave you, leaning gently on his elbow and admiring you. The two of you stayed like this, until a drop fell onto your notebook. You looked up in time to get a raindrop directly into your eye. “It’s-!”

“Quickly, gather your things!” You grabbed your textbook and papers, and made to dash to the dorm when Riddle grabbed your arm. “The dorm is too far, there’s a gazebo nearby. The rain should pass soon!” The two of you ran, Riddle leading you through the winding maze, until finally you made it to a wooden gazebo with roses climbing the pillars. You sat down heavily, while Riddle peeled off his now-wet uniform blazer. The two of you were silent, until you spoke.

“…thanks, Riddle,” you felt a little awkward thanking him now of all times. He looked confused, “for what?”

“Tutoring me. Being…here. Thank you,” you licked your lips. “I…” you trailed off. Great, you made it awkward now.

You both stayed in silence while the rain pattered around you until Riddle said quietly, “you know, I never thought of you as a joke. Never.” Your eyes widened, but Riddle didn’t look at you, shutting his eyes tightly. “And I really did want to court you.” He coughed, “date you. And if-“ his voice faltered, but he continued softly. “If you still feel the same way you did before then… I’ll leave you be. But I enjoy everything - your company, your heart… you. My feelings haven’t changed. If anything, I’ve fallen even deeper in love with you, prefect.”

Your eyes shone, and Riddle peeked through his bangs to see your expression. You couldn’t contain yourself anymore, and you threw yourself at him. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, kissing his face over and over again while his eyes widened, and his arms went around your waist to stabilize you. You pulled back slightly, eyes glimmering, and a small smile grew on Riddle’s face as he moved to kiss you properly. Weeks and months of nervousness melted away from you both, and you stayed in each others arms, the sounds of murmuring and kissing each other breaking through the rain.

And as the sunlight began breaking through the clouds, you both knew that something new was just beginning. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

~END

—————

Notes: this took longer than I thought it would but after many days of overthinking, here’s the first part :D

Thanks for reading, lmk if anyone wants to be added to the taglist!~ Take care, shrimpies!!

Taglist: @cerisescherries, @eclecticprincecollector, @ars-tral, @thehollowwriter, @twst-eeps, @casperandcats, @ttokkisbee, @mitsuriswaifu, @parad-ice-lostandfound,

@sad-sie, @moyo5653,

(If your name is in bold, it means I wasn’t able to tag you properly 😅

Edit: idk what’s going on with the tags and why I can’t tag some users?? Is this normal????)

The Woes of the Witch of the Wastes (Howl's Moving Castle AU)

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit (+ Reader x Neige LeBlanche) Word Count: 7.3k

Summary: The Witch of the Wastes has long come to terms with the fact that to keep a hold on his powers and beauty, he is going to have to be every bit the terrible monster that everyone assumes him to be. And then one day he goes and curses some stupid little hatter and his entire world is turned on its head.

A/N: Based on this horrid, mind-melting, brain rot that has not left me alone in days

Vil Schoenheit was only a small child of nine when he was swept up by the Royal Sorcery Academy and told he would ‘accomplish great things indeed.’ Madame Suliman, the King’s Head Sorceress herself, patted him on his head and proclaimed him the brightest talent of his generation.

Vil Schoenheit was fifteen when he cured his first ‘incurable’ poison. And then created his own draught that could actually bother to live up to such a lofty title. The Palace gave him all sorts of fancy medals and when he stood there in the throne room, the Crow King nodded at him in approval. ‘Vil Schoenheit is certainly meant for great things,’ he said, just as everyone always had. Meant for it. Like Vil didn’t wear himself ragged training, and fretting, and putting every part of himself into his work until there was nothing left to give. But that was fine—because perhaps being ‘meant’ for something and improving yourself enough to be worthy of those things in the first place went hand in hand.

Vil Schoenheit was well into established adulthood when he turned down a very lovely, very traitorous, offer from a foreign enemy, and his loyalty landed him yet another set of medals and even more slant eyed looks of admiration. ‘The most gracious treasure in all the lands,’ they called him. ‘A beauty unrivaled in both grace and intelligence. Someone who was no doubt meant for only the best life had to offer.’ Vil stood at the center of the room, beneath the spotlight of an entire nation, and grinned white and sharp. His beloved mentor approached him from amongst the throngs of near worshippers crowding the halls. There was a wispy, young, man at her side. The poor thing looked terribly out of place in the upper crest gallantry of the Royal Capital. He was wearing all the wrong colors, all the wrong cuts of fabric. He looked soft, and earnest, and like someone who would be eaten alive by court politics before he’d even managed to squeak out his first greeting.   

“This is Neige LeBlanche,” Madame Suliman introduced, with a sort of sickly, sweet, fondness that had Vil’s stomach souring into something entirely unpleasant. “I’m sure you’ve heard of him—from that messy business at the Coast.” (The business he’d stopped, she meant? The conspirators he’d ousted?) “Such a natural talent,” she crooned. “He really is exceptional.”

“Of course I’ve heard of him,” Vil offered, polite. He turned then to Neige with a smile that showed perhaps a few too many teeth. “I’m sure you’ll do great things.”

Madame Suliman squeezed her new ward’s arm and Neige LeBlanche went as pink as freshy plucked Meadowsweet. Vil fought to keep from digging his fingers into the fine edges of his champagne flute. The very one he’d been offered to toast his own successes.

“No doubt he’s the brightest talent of his generation!” Madame Suliman beamed, and Vil grit his teeth through the dark, curling, spike of something that speared through his gut.

Vil Schoenheit was sitting in his own, personal armchair, in his own, personal lounge (all gifted to him for his own, personal achievements), when Madam Suliman walked into the room with that same, dainty, interloper on her arm. ‘Excellent news!’ she’d smiled, in that way that wasn’t ever really a smile. Neige LeBlanche—with his stumbling, bumbling, kindness that bordered on idiocy, and his myriad of unimpressive successes built on nothing but luck and happenstance—had been named her successor. By decree of his Majesty the King himself.

Naturally, Vil decided to… politely object the announcement. Which very rapidly descended into black swirls of poison eroding the palace grounds and calls for his execution.

And So Vil was chased out of the home that he’d built for himself—that had been promised to him. He hid himself in the Wastes until he’d regained enough of his shattered arcana to ensure he could at the very least survive an encounter with his pursuers, even if the outcome would be far from pretty.

There were Demons in the Wastes. Strange, ethereal, things that Vil had once been ordered to eradicate on sight. But now he was one of those miserable, undesirable, vermin too, wasn’t he? So why not consort with the beasts? A Demon of Envy sought him ought first, offering justice like it was a fruit ripe for the picking. Like anything could be that simple. Then came a Demon of Fire, and another of Poison. All weaving their honeyed words and bowing low as they begged to take something, anything, of the Grand Sorcerer for themselves.

So Vil traded away bits of himself piece by piece. A lock of his hair, the flesh from his forearm. His skin cracked and dripped with inky, dark, magics that swam through his veins and worked to replace all the parts he sold away. And wasn’t that so funny? That these Demons put a high enough value on his little odds and ends that he could probably sustain himself off their fancy for an eternity, and yet the people whose favor he’d courted so earnestly, so faithfully, for his whole life had been so willing to offload the entirety of him at the first opportunity.

Vil learned to hide his cracks with a harsh-edged, grandiose, layer of illusions. He learned to wipe away the tar and to stitch himself back together into something better. He grew so quickly and so strongly under these new patrons of his that soon enough the hunting parties disappeared altogether. No one was willing to go toe-to-toe with someone who could curse you to a literal death with nothing but a wave of his hand. The common people whispered his name under their breaths like a dark incantation.

‘The Witch of the Wastes,’ they called him, in panicked, hushed, undertones. They spread rumors of him feasting on the hearts of virgins and laying towns to ruin under the weight of his black magic. They talked of his power as if it was a thing to be afraid of, and most certainly it was.

‘Perhaps it is not so terrible to be feared,’ Vil mused to himself, the sharp, small, smile permanently affixed to his painted lips twitching at the corners. ‘If it means I’m also revered.’

And so the years passed in this fashion, with the country growing more and more wary of the icy beauty who’d made the Wastes his fortress. When the Royal Sorcery Academy reported an upset in their ranks, finally admitted that despite their star pupil, their outputs were floundering and their students lackluster, Vil watched with a righteous sort of glee. When Neige LeBlanche inevitably fled from Madame Suliman’s tutelage—publicly absconding into the night with nothing but the ill-suited clothes on his back—Vil laughed and laughed until the storms curling off his tongue had wiped out an entire harbor.

So he’d won, hadn’t he? Neige had been run off, the Academy was near ruin—Madame Suliman more so. But when rumors started to swirl of a powerful, ethereally lovely, mage who traversed the countryside in his slowly crawling, architectural nightmare of a castle, that bitter part of Vil reared its head with a vengeance. It wasn’t enough for the rat to come in and swipe his cushy, imperial, position out from under his nose, but now he was gunning to take the Witch’s mystique for himself too?! People were even saying Neige was the one eating hearts! Which was entirely unfair!

And then one horribly, ugly, sunny afternoon, Vil encountered his nemesis entirely by happenstance. Despite years of outright hunting the man, in spite of all his well-planned traps and schemes, Neige LeBlanche had only finally appeared before him by accident.  

There he was, waltzing through the open market air with some ridiculous little commoner clinging to his arm. Vil watched the pair with open disdain—that inky, awful, part of him raking its claws up his spine. Neige stepped through the sky like he was descending some grand, ballroom, staircase, and the startled look of half-terror, half-awe on his partner’s face didn’t do much to improve its complete lack of remarkability.

Something even more bitter twisted in The Witch’s gut at that. What was it with these pathetic, mediocre, untalented, pieces of garbage that had his cohort swarming to them like dogs after a choice cut of meat? It was disgusting. It was unfair.

That evening, spite drove The Witch to darken your doorstep. This was a small town, and it was hardly difficult to track down one, insignificant, little nobody. Especially when that ‘nobody’ still wreaked of a too potent, too bright, magic that Vil could scent like a shark to blood.

“What a tacky shop,” he hummed as he stood in the foyer of your modest store. “I’ve never seen such tacky, little, hats,” he continued, amethyst eyes slipping over your tight countenance. It was such a stupidly, boring, plain, face. His own expression twitched into something sour. “Yet you’re by far the tackiest thing here.”

You raised your chin at him, your upper lip going stiff in a bitten off frown.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” you demanded, making your back to the front entrance and pulling it open with a brisk, irritable, tug. “The door is this way, sir. We’re closed.”

Vil leaned forward with a sharp bark of laughter, and the lights overhead flickered into shadow. A trail of inky wetness slid from the corner of his lips, and the air seemed to grow heavy with it.

“Speaking like that to the Witch of Wastes,” he tutted, reaching up to swipe away the smudge of stinking, black, goo. “How quaint.”

“The Witch of the Wastes,” you echoed, eyes widening almost comically in horror as that awful, cloying, sludge swirled around you like a storm. It settled over your skin and seeped through your clothes. Vil could feel the heavy pull of the curse as it took hold. He plucked at the magic like it was string on a harp, and he could feel it thrum through your veins—settling itself in like a terrible plague. He could already see the affliction working away. Your skin began to droop and fold, your back hunching up under the sudden weight of years you’d never even lived.

So ugly, so ordinary, he thought bitterly. Whatever made you worth anyone’s attention, it certainly isn’t there anymore.

“The best part of this spell is that you’ll never even be able to tell anyone else about it,” he chirped, entirely unpleasant, and glided out the door in a whirl of purple smoke. “Give Neige my regards.”

Vil didn’t see you or your wrinkled frown again for weeks, though the fact that you were alive still at all to cross paths with him in the first place was a bit of a surprise.

You were perusing the markets of a small fishing town with a little, grumpy, old man at your side. The tiny thing was clearly cloaked in some low-level illusion spell, with a staticky, lilac, beard that swallowed his head whole and puffed-up brows that seemed to weigh down his entire face like a tangible thing.

“Hrmf. I hate potatoes,” the boy masquerading as a retiree complained.

“Pay up,” you chirped, lining at least a dozen along the bottom of your wicker basket. You didn’t look quite as old as you should have—more of a ‘gracefully aging into your twilight years’ than the ancient, broken, hag you were meant to be. There were always caveats to curses. By their very nature, they were built to one day break. Finding the key to that lock, however, was meant to be the crux of the problem. And if one was keeping with that whole metaphor, Vil’s curses were very hard to pick. Had you managed to find something? Impossible. He was sure he’d battened the magic down as tight as it could go.

Vil watched you move about through the slitted eyes of one of his inky, purple, henchmen. If you were here, did that mean you’d managed to find refuge despite the curse he’d inflicted upon you? Or perhaps—his eyes narrowed—you’d been found. Shadows slithered out like grasping claws, and he could taste the burst of too bright, too wild, magic on his tongue. Neige.

You walked towards a fisher’s stall, cane clicking along the cobblestone. And despite his earlier grumblings, your little shadow snatched the basket from your hands and followed diligently at your heels.

“Hrmf. I hate fish,” it grumped from behind the mouthful of purple poof. And then held the woven basket up again when you went to lay a wrapped salmon amongst your other purchases.

“Epel, you’ll never get any taller if you don’t eat something better than bread,” you chastised, like the grandparent you were.

“I don’t need to get taller!” your companion hissed. “I can beat up everyone from down here just fine!”

You laughed, and it sounded young. The crinkles at the corner of your eyes deepened with mirth rather than manufactured years, and when you smiled some of the harsher lines of age vanished altogether.

“Of course you can, you little ankle biter.”

“Don’t call me that!”

Vil frowned sourly, but before he could do anything further, there was a commotion in the harbor. The King’s most recent war had clawed its way to even these outskirts it would seem. You and your little shadow disappeared in the chaos, but Vil was too distracted by the fluttering storm of recruitment fliers that followed to care.

‘All Able-Bodied Witches and Wizards Are To Report to the King’ they read. All of them.

And when The Witch of the Waste received his own, personal, invitation with Suliman’s signature sitting curled and elegant at the bottom, he couldn’t help the spike of private satisfaction that wormed through his veins. The parts of him crying ‘trap!’ were silenced by the much larger, much more smug, swirls of contentment settling heavy alongside his blackened heart. Of course they wanted him now—to clean up the mess that he certainly could have prevented entirely in the first place. Of course they’d come crawling back. Of course they’d finally realized just how much they needed him.

Running into you yet again as he made his way to the palace felt like more than a coincidence, but Vil brushed it off with a sneer. As if you were actually important enough for your presence to mean anything. Bah.

“Why, if it isn’t that tacky little creature from the hat shop,” he drawled as you walked alongside his intricate, feathered, carriage. There was a gangly, black, crow perched at your shoulder, and it glared at him with beady eyes. Vil curled his lip at the thing and it fluffed up like a startled cat. “What business does someone as poorly connected as you have here at the palace?”

“Job hunting,” you scowled, and the crow squawked like a protest. “And what about you? I didn’t think the Royal Guard would be prone to welcoming someone as reviled as the Witch of the Wastes into their ranks.”

Despite all that vicious scowling, somehow you looked younger still than the last time he’d seen you. Something small and bitter unfurled in Vil’s gut. Even some lackluster, magicless, commoner was breaking through his incantations now. He shook his head to clear the heavy, cold, press of inadequacy and tilted his chin back to preen.

“After all this time, the idiots running the palace have finally realized how much use they can find in my abilities,” he huffed, lips curled in satisfaction. You went quiet, and watched him with an odd sort of look in your eye.

“If you’re so great and powerful, you could always get rid of the spell you put on me,” you offered, like that was any sort of incentive at all. And like you’d only even asked to keep yourself from saying something else entirely.

“Apologies, darling. But my talents lie in casting curses, not breaking them,” he crooned, entirely unsympathetic. And you didn’t even blink at his prodding. Vil let the curtain fall back over the small window of his carriage with a wave of his elegantly manicured hand. “Enjoy the arthritis.”

His carriage carried on as you shouted after him—waving your cane and threatening to beat him black and blue.

“If I didn’t have to worry about you being here I would have clobbered him,” you grumped at the little, decrepit, crow shuffling along your arm. It rattled its wings at you and you almost swatted the thing, before letting it teeter its way up back onto your shoulder with another frustrated sigh.

The Witch of the Wastes had only just crossed through the great, gleaming, gates of the Imperial Palace when his elaborate, peacock, carriage fell to bits—crumbling under the weight of talismans nearly as ancient as the fortress itself.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he snarled, and the guards assessed him like he was no better than anyone else who came stumbling through these gates. Like he hadn’t spent the better part of his life trapped within these very walls. And like he wasn’t here now, all these years later, on a personal invitation.

“Apologies, sir!” one barked. “Vehicles are prohibited beyond this point!”

A sharp and sudden crack rocked through Vil at his core, and the panic that followed was acute and near painful. Whatever these wards were, they weren’t just suppressing the magics he used for his carriage. This was… This…

But, no. He’d been invited. And powers dampened or otherwise, he would hold himself together until he could make his way through those grand doors.

Climbing the first few stairs felt like coming home, felt like pride. And then the Witch reached the fourth, stone, step and the elaborately crafted heel of his boot snapped like a toothpick—the magic sucked away like water being taken in by a sponge. He nearly stumbled over, and only just managed to catch himself without falling outright.

There was a surprised sort of gasp from behind him, and he whipped around with a snarl to see you standing at the base of the same stairs—eyes locked on his faltering steps with obvious confusion. Vil curled his lip at you in a silent challenge and you shook yourself out of whatever funk had settled over your brain. Then you too began the trek upwards, your cane clicking against the stone as your went.

The next splinter that worked its way through him was outright agonizing, and with no small amount of distress did Vil realize he was leaking. There was a sharp, thin, crack running from his temple to his jaw, and the burbling, black, goo welled up beneath it like blood to a wound. It dripped against the stone with an awful, thick sounding, plap. Thankfully this time, you had the self-preservation not to go making any confused noises at his situation, but your stare was a heavy weight on his back nonetheless.

Another crack appeared along his collarbone, and he could feel the endless layers of elaborately crafted, gem-toned, cloaks grow wet with the miasma slipping down his skin. He could feel a creaking, groaning, misery building along his joints—like a doll that was being slowly pulled apart at the seams. The Witch barely bit back a gasp when the delicate fabrics along his sides split against his cracklings ribs, and then you finally did grumble at him again.

“Why don’t you just give up?” you asked, shaking your head. Vil’s lips (or whatever remained of them at this point) curled up over his canines in a snarl. And while the words themselves dug at him in a way that was too personal for someone as ignorant as you to be fully aware of the bite of them, you didn’t look… mean about it. Your brows were tucked up, like it was a genuine inquiry—like you were concerned. Either way, he sneered up at you and you frowned harder, before offering a bewildered, “You’re killing yourself.”

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited?” He spat. “Fifty years. Ever since Suliman—” he rasped, a spasm of sharp pain ripping through his hide like claws, “—banished me to the Wastes.”

You stared at his miserable, dripping, form for a long moment before you huffed and turned to continue your climb. “Too bad I’m not younger, then. I could have lent you a hand.”

Vil snarled and it bubbled up like tar. He felt a trail of it burst along his chin. “Next time I’ll turn you senile too.”

You laughed at that, and the bird on your shoulder squawked when your giggling jostled it around.

“I’ll hold you to it,” you smiled, and turned to keep making your way up towards the grand, gold, doors.  

You’d passed him by now—with your wrinkled, old, legs and withered muscles. Even with that ugly crow cawing and rattling around at your collar like the world’s most obnoxious scarf, you still managed to hobble your way to the top of the stairs before Vil had even reached the halfway point.

“Almost there!” you mocked, waving your hand at him.

But when he continued to struggle, you turned to one of the guards at your rear with a tight little frown.

“You should go help him,” you said, with just enough gentle fussing that you certainly must have been genuine, and Vil wondered deliriously for a moment if his ears really had melted off his head. When the guard spouted off some nonsense about ‘strict prohibitions’ and ‘court etiquette,’ you snorted and turned back to face Vil and his slushing, inky, mess with a tight thunk of your cane. “That’s ridiculous! The King himself invited him!”

When all those blank faced soldiers still refused to move, you offered Vil a little cheer that he hoped broke your stupid, elderly, knees.

“Come on, then!” you called after him, with another weird, wide, gesture. Though this one was far less antagonistic. “You can do it! Let’s go! Are you a Witch, or aren’t you, huh?”

“Shut up,” Vil seethed as he finally clawed his way to the top of the steps.

You didn’t reach down to pull him to his feet. He wouldn’t have let you do it even if you had, but you watched him with a grumpy sort of concern that had him feeling prickly in indignation. Who were you to pity him?

“Pull yourself together,” you ordered after a long moment of trailing at his heel like a skittish dog, and like he wasn’t literally being held together with the magical equivalent of some tape and a bungy cord. “Isn’t this what you’ve been waiting for, hmm?”

The pain was terrible. Horrible. So sharp and miserable that Vil couldn’t even will a corresponding insult into his thoughts, let alone past his panting lips. You stared down at his hunched form with a tight sort of concern, and with that same stiff lipped not-frown that you’d been wearing the night he’d swept into your store and torn the youth straight from your bones.

You stayed at his side for the entire walk through the corridor, which meant you must have purposely slowed yourself to match his lagging stride. And when he began to sway beneath the weight of some heinous, creaking, mass of shadows, you dipped just close enough into his space that he was left leaning against you in a decision that was most certainly not of his own accord.

Soon enough though you were shuffled off into a separate room—the crow honking on your shoulder like some old, awful, squeaky toy. The cavernous hall Vil was led to was familiar, and instantly all those silenced rationalities about this being a trap came crawling out from where he’d so furiously buried them.

They bound him into a grand chair that was a mockery of a throne. Lights danced across the room, their high-pitched drone scraping through his ears and melting whatever remained of his panicked, terrible, thoughts to mush. He could see the shadowed outlines of all the Demons he’d contacted over the years—all their thin, pale, bodies twining around him in a macabre sort of dance. They locked hands and he watched his own split beneath the weight of beastly talons. He felt the remainders of his magic as it was stripped away layer by layer, leaving him bare, and hideous, and every bit the monster he’d tried so hard to hide behind crafted perfection for so many years.

When he was wheeled into the Gardens after they’d taken everything from him all over again, he felt like the main attraction in a freakshow being put up on display. The world was spinning, and whirling, and nothing would stay still. Suliman’s shadows stretched throughout the glass dome like an insect crawling through the muck. And you were there. Looking… younger again, somehow. Bright, and alive. And when your youthful gaze landed on him it filled with fire.

“Once he too was a magnificent sorcerer,” Madam Suliman sighed, speaking about her long-lost protégée with the same sort of emotional investment as someone lamenting over a spilled cup of coffee or a wasted coupon. “So much promise. He could have done such great things…”

The words stung nearly as terribly as the wounds spanning the whole of him. But before they could seep in further and tear out whatever living bits remained of him, you bolted up from your chair so quickly that you sent the thing toppling over. And then you were moving to stand between the monster and his maker, squaring your stance as if to guard him. Like you intended to protect this awful, wretched, melting, creature—

“You’re insane! I get why Neige was so afraid to come back here!” you barked. “It’s all a trap! You lure people in with promises and false invitations, and then strip them of all their powers!”

The rest of the encounter was a bit of a blur—colored by nothing but the pain and shame mulling Vil’s senses into nothing but a perpetual curtain of static. There was someone else there eventually. Neige, he would guess, by the way Suliman was puffing up and throwing her magic around. And my, was there a lot of magic. Cold, tactical, enchantments that wore away even at his already shredded senses. You were shouting something, and he could feel your hands grasping at what were once his shoulders. And then the lot of you were flying away—higher and higher into the sky until Vil was too dizzy to tell up from down.

The pain and exhaustion took him eventually. He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened—only that when he blinked back into consciousness, he was collapsed atop a heap of rubble and there was a little, blue, fire demon yowling in his face. When he woke up again (slightly more coherent this time), he realized he was in a room. A swaying, creaking, room. And ah, this must have been that Moving Castle he’d heard so much about.

You were seated across from him, looking a bit worse for wear, but when you noticed his eyes slide open you were immediately lurching to your feet rambling about bandages, and antiseptic, and ‘gods I need to get some food into you before you wither away.’

When you sat back at his side with a little first aid kit and reached for one of his battered, twisting, limbs, Vil snarled at you with a noise that was so inhuman he almost managed to startle himself in the process. The cracks along his skin pulsed unpleasantly, and the smell of ash and muck filled the air. You stared him down firmly for a few more moments before sighing and moving to stand back on your feet. You didn’t take your kit with you, just slid it a few inches closer before taking your leave.

When you returned a few minutes later, you were balancing a plate full of toast and toppings. You sat yourself down once again and went about buttering a thick, fluffy looking slice of bread. Once that was made up to your liking, you reached over to set a little pot of jam off to the side with a teaspoon sticking out of it like a flag post. When Vil made no move to partake in your offering, you stared at the Witch and the hulking, twisting, mass of shadows that made up the entirety of him. Then you stood back up with a hum and returned a moment later with a sturdy looking mug. You filled it about halfway with a ladle of light, herby, smelling broth.

“This might be easier to get down,” you said, but it mostly sounded like you were muttering to yourself.

He glared at the cup bitterly. His fingers—claws now—flexed against the table where you’d set his meals, and they left deep, crackling, gauges in the wood. You stared him down rigidly and after a long moment where you very nearly started tapping your foot at him, he reached out with his clunky, mucky, talons and scooped the mug into his hands. When he took a tentative sip, you beamed—all that petulant frowning melting into something outright indulgent. You immediately went doddering about to fetch him a bit more.

“Stop feeding it!” the fire shrieked. “You’re wasting perfectly good food!”

“That I could be giving to you, you mean,” you chastised, topping up the mug with more of that thin, warm, broth.

“He’s evil!” the fire squawked at your accusations but very obviously did not deny them, perfectly indignant. “And have you forgotten about the you know what that’s got you stuck looking like a you know who!”

You waved off the little Demon with a shrug. “Oh, he’s alright.”

“He is not!” the fire wailed.

“He’s just as cursed as the rest of us,” you said, with a note of stern finality to your voice.

With that, there was a great clatter at the stairs, and a horribly familiar face clamored down to join the rest of you.

Neige LeBlanche had grown into his awkward warmth, Vil would give him that at least. He wore those same loose-fitting pastels and billowing jackets like they were things of comfort, something carefree. His dark hair had grown out a bit shaggy, but it still sat in that same choppy, artfully mused, style atop his head. Like a fluffy, ebony, halo. There was a youthfulness to those bright, brown, eyes that would probably never fade, but at least he looked a bit more like a person now, and less of an over manicured doll sitting at Suliman’s beck and call.

“The Witch of the Wastes at my breakfast table?” the Wizard mused, not without kindness. The teasing tone had Vil grinding his molars. “Whatever possessed you to let him into my house, Grim?”

“I didn’t let him in!” the demon yowled. “Your stupid hatter crash landed a plane into my face!”

Neige burst into peels of delighted laughter and clapped a gentle hand against your shoulder. “I knew you’d make a great pilot!”

A few of the wrinkles around your brow vanished when you scoffed, your lips curling into a smile even as you rolled your eyes.

“Your wall has a new hole in it that would beg to differ.”

“Excuse me!” the fire wailed. “But are we just going to ignore the fact that the Witch of the Wastes is sitting in our kitchen! Looking like he just crawled out of the pits of Hell!”

“He’s my guest,” you said after a moment, face pinched up again like you were trying to look stern. You turned a pointed frown on Neige and squared your shoulders. “You said I should treat the Castle like it was my home, too.”

“I did,” the brunette beamed, looking positively giddy. About what, Vil didn’t even want to consider. Whatever awful, sentimental, drivel was woven into your declaration was none of his business.

“…I guess we can’t just kick him out,” the purple haired boy grouched after a moment, stabbing at his porridge.

“Yes! Yes we can!” Grim shrieked, and you made a motion like you were threatening to upend a cup of water all over him.

“Nonsense,” Neige chirped, brown eyes melting into something warm and gooey. “If my dearest friend trusts him, then so do I!”

Dearest friend, Vil wanted to scoff. Please. As if the affection bubbling up and out of him was in anyway platonic.

Not long after, Neige darted off with a promise that he was ‘preparing something special!’ You nodded at his enthusiasm as he swooped off through his magical Portal Door, and then turned back to Vil with that same stiff lipped determination you were so prone to.

You showed him to a little room off to the side of the main parlor and dubbed it his. You lowered the curtains to dull the sharp brightness of the afternoon into something more tolerable, and brought in extra blankets when the Castle walked through a chilly valley. Even though Vil sat through your fussing in obstinate silence, you still chattered at him every time you stopped in. You carried in trays of delicate, bland, snacks that would be easy on his stomach. When he refused to touch them, you brought more of that broth instead. You puttered about cleaning the inky miasma that pooled on the floor beneath his feet, and only silently offered him a fresh handkerchief and cup of water when the tar built up so thickly on his tongue that he couldn’t even manage to swallow it. When you caught his glare resting on the intricate mirror hung on the wall opposite his new bed, you rolled up your sleeves and bodily yanked the thing off its frame.  

“Is there something I should call you?” you asked, maybe a week into this new situation of his.

When he didn’t answer, you just hummed under your breath, considering.

“It just seems like—well, you mentioned that you were banished to the Wastes,” you mused. “So I can’t imagine you really enjoying being called their master.” You smiled a little crookedly, something teasing sparking in your eyes. “I know I wouldn’t like to go around with people calling me The Ruler of Retirement Homes, or whatever.”

“I am what I am,” he managed to croak after a moment, and didn’t even let himself feel too pathetic over how utterly miserable and inhuman he sounded.

“You’re whoever you want to be,” you replied with a shrug. “You can be a Witch if you like. I just figured I’d ask.”

You’d finished up your cleaning and were on your way out the door when he spoke up again.

“Vil,” he sighed, so quiet he wasn’t even sure you’d be able to hear him at all. But you stopped at the threshold and turned to look back at him with your head canted to the side—like a curious, little dog.

“Vil,” you repeated with a nod, and something entirely foreign cracked through his chest. For a moment he was worried that somehow there had been a part of him yet left unbroken, and that now he’d lost even that. But… This was a different sort of ache. Even if it was no less worrying.

Each day after that you greeted him with a cheery ‘Good morning, Vil!’ and brought him his evening herbal teas with a gentle ‘Goodnight, Vil.’ It was the first time in more than half a century that he’d heard his name spoken aloud. Sometimes he’d even wondered if he’d managed to forget the sound of it entirely. But here you were—some silly, little, hatter rattling it off like it was something easy, something palatable.

Then one day you came to visit him smelling like flowers, your brow scrunched in obvious unease.

“You’re certainly looking your age this afternoon,” Vil huffed at you, and the corner of your lips only just barely quirked in amusement before falling flat all over again.

You stared out the window with an absent sort of expression on your face. Distant.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, hoping he sounded more sour and put upon than he probably did. A trail of dark, wet, muck slid down his cheek to land on the floor with a heavy plap and you moved to his side to wipe it up.

“…Sometimes I just get this feeling that all this is likely to change at any moment,” you said finally, quiet. “That even though I’ve worked so hard to make a place for myself—to be happy here—that it could all just…”

Something painfully familiar curdled in Vil’s gut. The hot sting of failure, the bitter inadequacies that had dogged his steps his entire life. He reached out to lightly thwack you across the back of the head with one of his too-long, clawed, hands. A couple of drops of inky magic splattered along your cheek and you frowned at him petulantly. Good. Pouting was better than whatever that miserable look had been.

“Get over yourself,” he huffed. It rattled oddly in his wrecked throat, like something animalistic. “You think you’re special enough that the whiles of the Universe would seek out your sad, little, life to ruin? Please.”

You spluttered at him indignantly for a moment before that irritable puffing melted into hiccups, and then finally laughter. You laughed into your palm like a secret, and something in Vil’s chest eased that he hadn’t even realized needed easing to begin with.  

“Of course, Vil,” you beamed. “How silly of me. Thank you for reminding me how meaningless I am. It makes all the difference.”

He sniffed, putting on as much an of an air of irritability as he could manage.

“As if that was for your benefit,” he argued pointlessly. “There’s only enough mops in this place to allow for one person to be leaking unmentionables all over the floors at a time. The last thing this poor, hideous, Castle needs is to be stained with your tears on top of it all.”

“That would be quite the inconvenience,” you agreed, warm.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, almost nervous. And then you ducked forward quickly to wrap yourself around him in a hug that was more a desperate sort of clutching than anything else. It was tight and small, and with all the cracks and holes in him, it was certainly far from enjoyable. There wasn’t even enough time for those grotesque talons of his to tuck around you in return. Not that he would have! It just—it was only an observation! You’d just… darted in and out. Like that tiny crutch of affection was all you dared take. Nevertheless, that same, strange, thing in Vil’s chest yawned open all over again. Even though his body was literally splintering into bits and his throat was always bubbling over with the horrible consequence of selling himself away, this was the first time he’d really felt like he was drowning.

“Thank you, Vil,” you said again, softer than he’d ever heard you, before slipping back out the door.

When the War he’d been summoned to help the Crown fight finally made its way to their doorstep, Vil was unsurprised when Neige rushed forward to clutch at your hands and urge you to safety.

“I’m tired of running,” the Wizard said, pale fingers twisting with the telltale shadows of magic overuse. “Especially now that I have something worth fighting for.”

And oh, Vil realized with startling clarity as bombs dropped around their strange, walking, home and smoke filtered through the air. That was it, wasn’t it? The key to the curse he’d so thoughtlessly bestowed upon you.

‘Who could love such a retched, ugly, thing?’ he’d thought.

But they had—they all loved you. The fire demon that cooed for your attentions and the little boy that curled into the fringes of your cloak like it was his favorite blanket. And Neige, with his open doting and the soft heart he wore on his gaudy sleeves. All that love had slowly worn away the dark ailment he’d cast upon you, like water beating down the jagged edges of a stone.

You were shouting something at the little fire demon, and then the Castle was groaning and heaving like a dying beast. It felt like the world was collapsing in on itself, but with the swirling weight of his musings curling through his thoughts like the headiest of drugs, he couldn’t really find it in himself to care. Even when the ceiling crumbled on top of him, nearly burying him alive, it was hard to focus on much else beside the horrified look in your eyes as you stared after him with your youthful, lovely, face.

But why now? He wondered a bit blearily, as you kicked through the wreckage of the Moving Castle to crouch at his side. You prodded at the gashes on his cheeks like he could still bleed, like the little wounds he’d collected meant anything in the grand scheme of all his aches and miseries. Why now when all these poor fools had clearly already cared for you for so, very, long?

“It’s going to be okay, Vil!” you smiled at him, a bit teary, and helped him to his feet. “I promise!”

And as those last dregs of black magic were washed from your features—when those thin, lingering, lines faded back into the sharp determination of youth, and all that remained of your ailment was a shock of silver lightening your hair—he had another, horrible, moment to think oh.

No wonder it’d broken.

Because how could it not? When he loved you too.

By the time you managed to dig them all out of the shattered remains of the Castle, Vil couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Neige had gone and died. If that’s why you’d come into his room the other day, sniffling about change and happiness. If you’d known he was about to sacrifice himself so that his little, hobbled-together, family would be able to survive the upcoming trials at least somewhat intact.

There was a lump sprawled out across your lap that didn’t look entirely human—blot ridden and blood soaked. And maybe… With the way you were staring down at it with a trembling mouth and misty eyes, surely that had to be him. Surely that was—that was it then. It was over. But then the little fire demon was swirling up and around, jumping about in a wave of blue sparks and spouting nonsense about returning his master’s heart.

With a final indignant yowl, Grim curled over the empty cavity beneath Neige’s collar and vanished in a gentle roll of sapphire flames. There was a burst of sparks, a bout of excited, feline, trilling, and then Neige LeBlanche was jolting up with a gasp.

“Ack,” the Wizard groaned, immediately falling backwards with a wince. “It—Ouch. It feels like there’s a weight in my chest.”

“Of course there is,” you laughed, scrubbing away the relieved tears that were brimming along your lash line.

Your soft, warm, gaze traveled fondly along the wizard sprawled out in your lap, then to the little, lavender, boy and the ancient crow perched atop his shoulder. And finally it settled on Vil—a heavy, tangible, weight that he could feel all along his spine.

“A heart’s a heavy burden,” you said, soft.

And Vil, who had spent the better part of his life breaking his own into splintered shards to barter away to whoever would take it, couldn’t help but agree.

.

.

"A LITTLE COMPANY" Pairing: Sakusa x Fem!Reader

Rating/Warnings: T for Teen

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: You don't know why Sakusa asked to walk you home. Until you do, of course.

Note: Awkwardness, fluff. I literally have no idea what this is. This is NOT the fake-dating fic I was writing (someday I'll post that). Please don't ask me what the plot or point is, I don't know. Maybe I'll know after my finals, xoxo.

Somehow, Sakusa Kiyoomi is in your living room. You’re in your kitchen, putting a kettle on for tea, trying not to watch him. Sakusa makes your tiny, Tokyo living room look even smaller. He’s an impossible presence; he towers, he looms. In the dimmed lighting, in his black shirt and black pants, he’s like a shadow from another world. Tall, stately, sharp with beauty. He could almost be intimidating save for the fact that he seems positively enchanted by every little thing in the room.

The magazines on your coffee table are picked up, flipped through, placed back down in a neat pile. He walks over to your bookshelf and tilts his head to read the spines —he smiles (just barely) like every title and author name tells him a little secret about you. He moves to the picture frames you’ve hung on your wall of family, of friends. There’s one from when you were seven, at the beach. He straightens the edge of that one and turns to you with a softened expression.

That softness is as disarming as the shape of him in your home. You’ve only ever known him with serious eyes, those dark eyes that never let anything on. Usually, his mouth is covered with a disposable mask. Tonight, the mask is tucked into his pocket as he examines all the details of your décor. He keeps sending small, hesitant smiles your way. You keep busying yourself with pushing your mug back and forth on the counter, waiting for the water to boil.

The thing is, you aren’t exactly sure why he’s here. You’ve never been terribly close to Sakusa, unlike the rest of the MSBY Jackal team; Hinata, whom you share classes with, Atsumu, who had quickly roped you into being his wing-woman/drinking buddy, Bokuto, whom you shared so many hours of laughter with…Sakusa had always been polite (almost to a fault) and you had always been kind in return, but it had never extended past that. Until tonight, when he had offered to walk you home after a celebratory, post-match dinner.

You had gone to the dinner on a whim, and you had agreed to let him walk you home on a whim, and you had invited him up, thoughtlessly, on a whim. Why? You don’t know. He had been standing under a streetlight, curls over his forehead, a look in his eyes and the words had tumbled out. Do you want to come up? The fact that half his face had been masked only made the surprise in his eyes that much more evident.

And now he’s here, lifting up your throw blanket and folding it into a neat square before settling it back down onto the couch. He looks up and catches you watching him.

“Sorry,” he says.

You shake your head. “I’m the one that’s sorry. My place is a mess.”

“A little pigsty,” he agrees. You don’t have a chance to be offended before his impassive expression transforms into a secret, sly smile. And then you grow flushed. He’s teasing you, you realize. That’s new. You let out a huff of a laugh and shake your head.

“Earl grey? Mint? Chamomile?” you ask, turning to rifle through your cabinet. You hear a couple steps and when you close the cabinet, he’s in the kitchen with you, just a couple feet away. Suddenly your kitchen feels half its size. He fills up every square footage with his subtle energy. What it is exactly, you can’t place. There’s thin line of thrill, threading its way through you. It’s almost nerves, almost awkwardness. Almost excitement. It’s almost definitely the three glasses of sake you had over dinner. When was the last time a man —basically a stranger— was in your apartment? You try not to think too hard about it.

“Chamomile,” he says.

“What?”

“The tea. You asked what I wanted. Chamomile.” His smile is gone, but you can still sense a playfulness to his words. It’s so unlike the Sakusa you know (or barely know). Your mind is still trying to catch up with the image of him smiling at your framed photos.

“Chamomile,” you say. “Great.” You fumble over the tea bag package for a shamefully long time before dropping it into a mug for him. When you pour, the water sloshes onto your counter. Sakusa’s there with a rag, wiping, before you can even move.

You’re amused. “I’m a terrible hostess, inviting someone over just to have them wipe my tables and stack my magazines.”

Sakusa places the rag by your sink and doesn’t say anything. Awkwardly, you take a sip from your tea. It’s far too hot, but you furiously blink away the sting of tears.

“Uhm, do you want to sit, or—”

“Is that you in that picture?”

You stare at him. “Sorry?”

He nods vaguely at one of your living room walls. “The little girl at the beach. It’s you, right?”

You’re embarrassed for no reason. “No. Well, yeah. It is,” you let out a little laugh. “I don’t know why I said that. Yes, that’s me.”

“It’s a cute picture.”

The word cute clangs through you, through the room. Somehow you spill another slosh of tea onto your counter. “I’m a fucking mess tonight,” you mumble. You reach for the cloth again. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”

Sakusa’s long arm snatches the cloth before you can, wiping away the spill. “You’re fine. I’m nervous too,” he says.

“You are?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. His gaze flickers away and back.

“Thanks for the tea,” he says instead of replying. He’s so perfectly polite you suddenly remember your manners.

“Well,” you say. “Do you want to sit? On the couch?”

And so, somehow, Sakusa Kiyoomi is on your couch. He takes one opposite end, pressed right against the arm rest, and you take the other. You both take small sips from your tea, in silence.

“Congats on the win, by the way,” you say, just to speak.

“Thank you.” A pause. “I didn’t see you in the crowd.”

“Were you looking for me?” you fire back, quick, like you might with the other boys. Sakusa stiffens in his seat and you immediately regret it. You have no idea how to talk to this man. You wince, sheepish. “I was working,” you say. “Shōyō gave me the full play-by-play after, though.”

Sakusa nods. You take another long sip from your tea. He says, “you should come to the next one.” He chews his lip. “And yes.”

You tilt you head. “Yes?”

There are two splotches of red on the height of his cheekbones. I’m nervous too, he had said. In wonderment, you see it now. It makes the strangeness of his presence in your home even stranger. Your awkwardness, his nerves. You don’t understand why he offered to walk you home, but you’re beginning to. You’re beginning to understand why you asked him up.

“Yes,” he says again, softly, “I was looking for you.”

“Oh.” You aren’t sure what to do with that. You aren’t sure what to do with your hands, suddenly, or with your eyes. You put your mug down on the coffee table and then pick it up when your hands feel too empty. But then your hold your mug and your hands feel too full, and the way Sakusa is not looking at you makes you think that you’ll need your hands for something. You’ll need to be ready with waiting hands. You put your mug down again. “Are you —ah, never mind.”

Sakusa puts his mug down too. “What?” The way he says the word is almost eager.

You shake your head. “Do you want to watch a movie? Or maybe order food, or…?”

He leans back into your cushions. “We just ate.”

Your waiting hands are restless in your lap. “So…a movie? Or do you have to get going?”

“No,” Sakusa says.

“To the movie or to you leaving?”

He’s having trouble keeping his eyes on your eyes. “To both.”

“Oh,” you say. You crack a wry smile. “Then I’m all out of good ideas.”

“No you’re not.”

You furrow your brows. Sakusa looks at you. “Sakusa-san—”

“Kiyoomi. Please, just call me Kiyoomi.”

You hesitate. “Kiyoomi,” you say, after a moment. You say his name slow, feeling the syllables out. His face softens, goes shy.

“Yes?” And then he says your name in return, just as feeling. You feel your whole face go hot.

“Are you—” you break off, stuttering a laugh. “Are you flirting with me? Because I really can’t tell.” You can’t believe how bold you’re being with him. But then maybe it’s not so bold. He had asked to walk you home. You had asked for him to come up.

He looks at you again and you know, now, the look in his eyes. It’s the same look he had under the streetlight. It’s the same look, you realize with a jolt, that he’s had for a long, long time, looking at you. Only as you say his name, and he says yours, can you place the name for this moment in time.

“Yes,” he says again. The word is so firm you barely catch the trembling edge of it. “I’m flirting with you.”

“Why,” you breathe out, carelessly. You ought to write a book on courtship.

His mouth quirks, his ears go pink. He tries to look at you like he’s a teacher and he expected better of you, but he’s too nervous to pull it off. “Why did you invite me up?”

“I think I want to,” you fumble. “I think I want to know who you are, I guess.”

You notice you’ve moved away from the edge of the couch. He has, too. Sakusa swallows. “Then we want the same thing.”

You know what this means. It’s been a while, but you haven’t forgotten all the cues. You lean in, on a whim. Your waiting hands move to clasp his, and it turns out his hands have been waiting, too. They’re warm, long fingers encircling yours. He tilts his chin down and you tilt your chin up, to make it easy. You can feel him exhale through his nose. You’re so close. “Do we?” you ask, trying on something low and sultry. You place a hand on his thigh, perilously high. As close as you are, you can’t see Sakusa smile, but you watch the corner of his left eye crinkle.

“Cute,” he whispers, almost to himself. You close your eyes and wait. Then, your eyes are startled back open. Sakusa presses his lips on the tip of your nose, lingering for only a second before pulling back. With his index finger, he taps where he kissed.

You’re blinking at the chasteness of his kiss, at his quick retreat. He stands, abrupt, and you blink at that too, stunned. What? you mouth to yourself. You can’t pin this man down for the life of you.

“Not tonight,” he says, seeing the confusion on your face. Sakusa looks smug, or content, considerably less nervous. Somehow, this entire exchange has pleased him. You shake your head slowly.

“So…we don’t want the same thing?” You’re embarrassed at how shamelessly disappointed you sound. You hadn’t even known that you had wanted it, and now you can’t believe you can’t have it.

“Trust me,” he sighs, “we do. I hope. Just not tonight.”

You don’t know if it would be better to stand or stay sitting. “I’m…okay, then. Uh, sorry, I’m just a little confused.”

Sakusa grabs his mask from his pants pocket and loops it around his ears. He leaves it pulled down around his chin so that you can see his smiling mouth. “I’m not someone who rushes anything,” he says. “This isn’t…something I want to rush. Like that.”

“Oh,” you say, for the third time that night. You’re really on a roll. You wonder how long he’s been looking for you in crowds. You wonder how long he’s been waiting to walk you home. Sakusa must see the line of thought in your eyes because he presses his mouth together into a tight line. “Oh,” you say, something unfolding within you. “Oh, you like me.” You’re impossible.

Sakusa turns his face from you, but not before you catch his expression. You think you’ll remember that look on his face for a long, long time. “You’re so…” he trails, half amused, half annoyed.

You don’t realize how wide you’re grinning until you feel your cheeks hurt. “What? I’m so what?” There are stars spinning in your chest.

“Thanks for the tea,” he says, firm. He’s moving towards your door. You stand, you follow, giddy with something new.

“Thanks for walking me home.” You trail him right to the entrance. Sakusa holds the doorknob and then pauses. He places a hand on the frame and then stops. You watch the back of him, the slight turn of his head as he tries to peer over his shoulder at you. You’re practically buzzing out of your skin at your newfound revelation.

He turns, unexpectedly. He presses his back against the door. “Tomorrow,” he says.

“Tomorrow?” you ask. But you know. You know.

Sakusa huffs, starting to pull his mask up over his face.

“Kiyoomi,” you say, which has the desired effect. He stops. “Wait.” You take the long step towards his and before you can psych yourself out with your own brazenness, you tiptoe to peck the tip of his nose. You hear his sharp inhale. “Now we’re even,” you say, bright.

“Sure,” he manages. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say. Then you reach around and open the door for him.

Sakusa pulls his mask up, but it doesn’t matter. You can still see his smile.

Could I request Vil, Malleus, Leona, and Jamil being voted 'gorgeous man you'd like to spend your life with' by their s/o?

GORGEOUS MAN ♡

he cared for his looks a lot therefore the compliments from people however when you praise him so, he can't help but feel love once again

characters: vil, malleus, leona, jamil

warning: none just fluff and fluff

a/n: I'm sorry I haven't been posting my brain was empty during the whole time trying to figure out a way to write all the requests. I'll try to be more frequent. and I kinda wrote it like reader told him he's gorgeous I hope it works too. I wanted to try and use gradient and safe to say it tore my ass

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .✧ ˚ 　· 　.

VIL SCHOENHEIT

his face is like art which captivates everyone and you were too. his fair skin with no blemishes is a sight to see. you've always admired him for his beauty and brain. just as much as he is good in sports and studies, he is that good in maintaining his face as well.

you loved his face therefore you would stare at it a lot but these days it have been more frequent. while on an outing with him under a tree while he slept in your lap. you had this lovestruck gaze in your eyes graced with a soft smile on your lips. as he asked why you kept staring at him so much these days your reply was "everytime I look at your beauty my mind is filled with the thought of me spending my life with the gorgeous man sleeping on my lap" which was followed with a light chuckle

he was taken aback by your sudden declaration of your love for him but he muses to your adorable antics. 'how cute' he thinks as he spends the day with you by his side

MALLEUS DRACONIA

he was the ruler of a kingdom. his people sung his praises since the day he was born. compliments on the way he rules, his eternal glory and his grace. he has heard them for many ages.

however, there's something he feels whenever praises slips from your lips. a slight burning sensation on his cheeks and hot ears. they weren't painful nor were they annoying rather he enjoyed feeling them whenever he would feel butterflies dance in his stomach.

when he took you out for a dinner in a fancy restaurant while having your food, he felt your gaze on him. he inquired you thinking that you weren't feeling well but did not want to trouble him but his worries soon washed away when you said "looking at your face always makes me believe that in the future if we get married..we would be a happy family. I would like to spend the rest of my life with a gorgeous man like you malleus". your words were so simple but so filled with love that those left him breathless

with you, in every moment, he feels a wide array of emotions. if this is what will be his everyday with you in the future then he would like to get married as soon as possible.

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

Leona wasn't the type to dream about a future. the only thing he wanted were to not be ostracised. to not be ignored by people. to be acknowledged equally as his brother. not to have the vast difference in the treatment he receives from people because of the 'personality of a ruthless beast' that they make him out to be.

Leona was someone who would use underhand tactics to make a person indirectly submit to him but when it came to you, he felt as if protecting you from harm was his priority. even with his nature you still loved him. you never criticised him. you never turned him away, rather you welcomed him with open arms inside a warm home. he was still getting used to your unadulterated affection for him since this was not something he received from others.

he is rather ashamed to admit but he still couldn't trust you well enough. he would always think that you are just using him to create your own base where you are a leader and he is a servant servicing your demands but when you told him that you want to spend the rest of your life with a gorgeous man like him on a rainy night inside a blanket. he felt warmth. a feeling he first felt around you as he tried to process those words.

he lightly chuckled at your words and whispered a quite 'alright'. so this is what it feels like to be loved.

JAMIL VIPER

Jamil spent most of his childhood as a servant of the al-asim family. to the heir of powerful family a perfect servant was required to service him. he would never complain and he knew kalim since childhood. while one would grow a different view and he should be treating kalim as a friend but he did not want to let go of the professionalism.

since he had to serve the family heir at all times the possibility of a future with you was something far fetched and he thought he wouldn't really be able to give you the time and affection if you two would get married.

so he postponed the idea of marriage and shoved it into a far corner of his mind and he eventually forgot about it until you, one day told him that you would like to spend the rest of your life with a gorgeous man like him. he had a pink hue dusting his cheeks and it was clear to him that you already made plans of your future and a marriage.

maybe..maybe he can take the possibility of a future with you no matter how much workload he might have. he promises to spend the rest of his life with you as well if it is what you wished for.

Being Reincarnated into a New World as the Bad Guy aka Villain/ess AU

🌹 Riddle Rosehearts 🌹 being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy sequel: “if you are a villain, then let me be your accomplice” continuation: I love the villain scorned by the world side story: the villain in my heart ask: the role of heroine original and current

♣️ Trey Clover ♣️ being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy (pending)

♥️ Ace Trappola ♥️

being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy (+ Deuce)

♠️ Deuce Spade ♠️

being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy (+ Ace)

🦁 Leona Kingscholar 🦁 being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy sequel: "if you're a villain, then let me be your accomplice" continuation: I love the villain scorned by the world side story: the villain in my heart (pending)

🐙 Azul Ashengrotto 🐙 being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy sequel: "If you are a villain, then let me be your accomplice" continuation: I love the villain scorned by the world

🍄 Jade Leech 🍄 being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy sequel: "if you are a villain, then let me be your accomplice"

💥 Floyd Leech 💥 being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy sequel: "if you're a villain, then let me be your accomplice"

💎 Kalim Al-Asim 💎 being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy sequel: "if you're a villain, then let me be your accomplice"

🐍 Jamil Viper 🐍 being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy sequel: "if you are a villain, then let me be your accomplice"

👑 Vil Schoenheit 👑 being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy sequel: "If you are a villain, then let me be your accomplice" continuation: I love the villain scorned by the world (pending) side story: the villain in my heart side story: the villain is charmed (pending)

🏹 Rook Hunt 🏹 being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy sequel: "if you're a villain, then let me be your accomplice"

🎮 Idia Shroud 🎮 being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy sequel: "If you are a villain, then let me be your accomplice" ask: original plot

🐉 Malleus Draconia 🐉 being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy sequel: "If you are a villain, then let me be your accomplice" continuation: I love the villain scorned by the world side story: the villain in my heart (pending) side story: the villain is charmed (pending)

🦇 Lilia Vanrouge 🦇 being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy sequel: "if you're a villain, then let me be your accomplice" side story: the villain in my heart (pending)

⚔️ Silver ⚔️ being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy

⚡ Sebek Zigvolt ⚡ being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy

Pride and Prejudice: A TWSTed AU

The Schemer of the Scalding Sands: J. Viper

Introduction, or pick another route!

Warnings: Najma and Kalim are wingmen, Jamil insults you Darcy-style (he doesn’t mean it <3 ), P&P-level angst, descriptions of being extremely high in the air (magic carpet ride <3 )

Notes: ngl i became a jamil stan while writing this fic

———

Kalim was being quiet, Jamil thought as he glanced at the clock. Too quiet.

It was late evening, and usually around this time Kalim would be knocking on Jamil’s dorm room asking for him to cook something. Or for homework help. Or to plan a party. Or all three, plus something else. Usually, Jamil couldn’t go more than half an hour without Kalim coming around, but this evening had been oddly peaceful, so something had to be afoot.

He pushed away from his desk and headed down the hall to the dorm leader’s room, pressing an ear against his door. Good, he’s in the room. Judging by Kalim’s voice, he wasn’t in immediate danger. Good, good. Still, he should just make sure. He rapped his knuckles against the door and walked in without waiting, “Kalim, I came to check-“

He stopped in shock, eyes widening and a frown forming. Kalim was on his stomach on his bed video chatting with someone on his phone, legs kicking in the air cheerfully. That was all fine, except-

“Najma?!” Jamil screeched, diving to Kalim to get a better look. “Why are you calling Kalim?!”

“Dude, calm down,” Najma deadpanned. Kalim grinned, “yeah, it’s all fine Jamil! We were just talking about you actually-“

“What?!” Jamil wrenched the phone from Kalim, and dodged his hands. “Najma! You should be doing your homework not talking to Kalim-“

“Jamil can you relax?” Najma drawled, leaning back on her bed. “I just called Kalim to see if you were actually doing your job.” Not really, it was to make sure Jamil wasn’t overstressing himself. Clearly he was. She suddenly smirked, and changed the topic. “Kalim said you were close to that (name) person you brought to the Yasamina Silk festival. They seemed cool, but now they seem great.”

Jamil was indignant. “Don’t listen to him Najma. And Kalim! You-!” Jamil turned to glare at him, then immediately calmed his voice and face. “You should eat something, it’s getting late.” Kalim’s eyes widened and he looked at the time, “you’re right! We should see if the rest of the dorm is hungry too! We could all have dinner together!” He dashed out of the room without waiting for Jamil, who sighed and turned back to Kalim’s phone. “I’d better go after him, take care of yourself, Najma.” “Okay, bye~”

Najma sighed and slumped against her bed. Jamil seems to really like this (name), and they seemed pretty nice when we met. Not to mention, Jamil seemed happy they were there… it’d be nice for him to loosen up too. In the very few times he’d spoken about you to her, he seemed… almost cheerful. Very unlike the high-strung, perfectionist brother she knew. Even though Jamil was still her older brother, she still worried about him a little bit. It’d be nice if he had someone to loosen him up, who he genuinely liked.

She thought back to the festival, where you and Jamil shared a melon with one another. Sure, you may have not known that one Scalding Sands legend, where if you shared that melon with someone, your friendship (or romance!) would last forever. Or maybe you did know.

Either way, she knew her brother well enough that he wouldn’t slip up with splitting the melon like that. He may not believe in superstition, but a Scalding Sands legend was still a legend.

She thought for a bit, and then smirked and picked up her phone. Oh yeah. It’s all coming together. She just needed to get Kalim on board now.

———

Jamil was staring at you again.

It was out of the corner of his eye, and he kept looking away, but you just knew. Because he’d been doing it for the past few months, ever since the Scalding Sands event you’d crashed with Grim.

Granted, you were surprised he even let you go with him and Kalim, given how annoyed he looked at the extra guests (between you two, Trey, Cater, and Malleus, it was an unforgettable trip indeed). And you and Jamil sort of reached a… truce, of sorts, after his overblot.

You didn’t know how you felt ever since he’d basically imprisoned you and Grim in Scarabia, and all the things he’d said about you. Sure, after all of that went down, you were pissed and a little hurt. You’d thought that you’d made a friend in a new dorm, (two, counting Kalim, who really was your friend) but instead he was just using you. And now, the two of you were in a strange stalemate, and surprisingly, saw each other somewhat often.

While running odd errands for Crowley, sometimes you passed by the gym. You’d see Ace and Floyd, and also Jamil playing basketball, and invariably Jamil would become distracted. Floyd even loudly complained about that when a stray shot from Jamil hit him in the head. Then, at some point he’d offered to tutor you in Alchemy, saying that Kalim needed help too, so he’d just be getting two birds with one stone. And then Kalim would throw parties practically every fortnight and sic Jamil on your tail, begging you to come.

You supposed Kalim felt extremely grateful for helping him understand Jamil, but frankly you wanted to be left in peace. Still, when you did accept Kalim’s invitation, you sort of… enjoyed the small talk you made with Jamil, commenting on his cooking and sometimes helping him in the kitchen to get away from the crowds. At some point, the two of you even began meeting up to just… vibe.

Sometimes you’d meet with him in the kitchens, watching him cook while you did your homework, and occasionally cook with him. At some point, you’d take over from him and cook in his place, just to give the poor guy a break. This wasn’t something you took lightly, given how overprotective Jamil was over Kalim - the two of you reached a nice… whatever it was.

Still, you felt like he was uneasy around you. Why else would he keep staring at you, hovering over you, and ask you pointed questions? One moment he’d be more lax around you, chatting and bantering, and the next he’d be… venomous. It wasn’t like you could tell anyone about his overblot. You technically didn’t exist in this universe, anyway, so his secret was safe with you.

You heard a knock coming from the Ramshackle front door, and went to open it. In front of you stood Kalim and Jamil. Wait, no… sat.

They were both seated on Kalim’s flying carpet, the Housewarden beaming at you while Jamil looked tired and a bit peeved. “Hey, (name)!” The carpet waved its tassels at you. “Hey guys, I’m fine, but… why are you here?” Kalim grinned sunnily at you, “we wanted to see you! You should take a break and walk with us!” You glanced at Jamil, who was a little quiet, looking at you intently.

“I can’t, I’m…” you failed to think of an excuse, kicking yourself mentally, “…alright, sure.” Ugh, why did you agree?

Kalim cheered, and the three of you went along the path outside of Ramshackle. Kalim insisted that Jamil stayed on the carpet, even after he suggested he walk with you. “(Name), you should sit with us!” He smiled at you, something mischievous in his eyes. That’s a little… odd? Although it was Kalim after all. He did have some impulsive tendencies.

You gently took Jamil’s hand, surprised he’d even offered to help you up, and sat carefully on the carpet. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jamil flex the hand he held yours with. You scoffed, “dude, I don’t have rabies or anything. You’re not infected with my hand.” Jamil frowned and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Kalim jumped off the carpet. “Now, remember what we talked about! Go, carpet!”

Immediately, the carpet lurched forward. “Kalim, what did you do?!” Jamil gasped as the carpet began rising higher and faster. Your eyes widened and you instinctively grabbed the front of the carpet, “KALIM! Jamil stop the-!” You were cut off as the carpet zoomed up into the sky, leaving no trace except your shrieks and Jamil’s shouts. Nonetheless, Kalim smiled proudly at his handiwork, now Jamil and the Prefect can have some quality time together! Pleased, he pulled out his phone.

Kalim: its done! Jamil and (name) are in a whole new world of love now!!!!!!! \^o^/

On the other end of the chat, Najma grinned, and texted back:

Najma: YESSSSSSSS all according to plan >:)

———

You had been through a lot when you first arrived to NRC. Between living in Ramshackle, fighting overblots, dodging Floyds and Rooks, and shouldering Crowley’s responsibilities, you’ve dealt with your fair share of wildness.

But this? This was new.

You screamed as the carpet seemed to lurch higher and higher into the air, gripping the front of it for dear life. Your stomach flip-flopped wildly, and you tried to not projectile vomit in mid-air. The air rushed past your ears, cold and practically ripping through your skin. You could barely hear anything over the sound of wind, let alone Jamil yelling beside you.

At last, the carpet settled, and you felt extremely lightheaded. Your brain was static at this point, and you moved to lean on both hands when Jamil grabbed your wrist. “Do not look down.”

Well damn, you can’t tell me what to do, Jamil. That made you immediately look over the edge, and you regretted it instantly. The school was barely larger than a postage stamp, and you could practically see the borders of Sage’s Island with how high up you were. It was chilly too - you both were surrounded by clouds, and it was darker than you’d thought. It was probably about to rain - not that you’d know, being above the damn rainclouds.

Beside you, Jamil was beyond exasperated. If he seemed tense before, now he was just pissed. His hand on your wrist tightened, and he leaned closer to you. “Don’t. Look down.” His eyes flashed angrily at you, and you withered under his gaze, gripping the carpet tighter. He turned his eyes to your hands, gently putting his hands over yours.

“Look, I’ll steer the carpet downward, but you need to follow my lead.” He made you look at him. His dark eyes held your gaze, and for a moment you really did feel like you were in the clouds. That the world was just you and Jamil, high above everything on this terrifying carpet ride.

“Do you trust me?” You saw his lips move, but it sounded far away, like he was speaking through water. Maybe it was the altitude messing with your head, but Jamil looked so focused on you. You’d never seen him look at anything like this, so gently.

“Do you trust me?” Jamil tightened his hands over yours, and you were brought back to reality. You nodded, and he sighed. “Good. We’re going to go forward.” Carefully, he tipped the carpet, and you took in a sharp breath when you went forward. The two of you inched downwards, and the school became larger and larger until finally you both touched down in Scarabia.

Jamil clasped your hand in his and lead you off the carpet, silent. He had a deep frown on his face, and his dark eyes were even stormier than the skies. He didn’t get off the carpet with you, but clenched his hands after he helped you off. This was the second time it’s happened, he doesn’t think you have cooties or something right?

“Thanks, Jamil…” You looked at him, hoping he’d maybe lighten up a bit now that you were on the ground, but he refused to look at you, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Just… stay here. I’m going to put the carpet away, just…I don’t need any more trouble.” As he walked away, you felt his words settle heavily in your gut. I’m just trouble for him? It’s not like I caused the carpet to go sky-high…

Still, you sat on the luxurious couch in the Scarabia common room, and tried to relax. Surprisingly, it was quiet - it seemed that everyone had gone to bed. It was a nice change from Ramshackle, at least. You shut your eyes, beginning to feel tired. After a while, you groggily awoke to a mop of white hair and red eyes exclaiming at you.

“(Name)! What are you doing here?! What about Jamil?! I thought you were up in the sky on your magic carpet ride!” Kalim blabbered while you tried to get your bearings back. He seemed… worried? He put his hand to his chin, thinking. “Well, maybe I could find an empty room and put you both in it-“

“Kalim.” The Housewarden immediately fell silent, spinning to Jamil with wide eyes, smiling at him. “Jamil! Don’t worry, we can still fix this!” Jamil’s frown deepened in confusion, “Kalim, what are you-“ “And the Prefect is still here!” Kalim pointed at you, and you went on alert as Jamil zeroed in on you, seemingly forgetting you were still here.

Kalim continued cheerfully, eyes steeling in happy-go-lucky determination. “And there’s still time! You can get back out on the carpet, there’s still stars out!” Jamil wrenched his eyes back to Kalim, mouth curling into a snarl and arms tensing. “Kalim, what are you talking about?”

“To confess!”

The silence was stifling. You stared wide-eyed at Jamil, who stared incredulously at Kalim, who still smiled innocently. Finally, Jamil seemed to temper himself and said through gritted teeth, “Kalim, go back to your room.”

Kalim placed his hands on his hips, “no way! We still have to-“ “Kalim.” Even though you didn’t know either of them as long as they knew each other, something in Jamil’s voice sapped Kalim of his energy. Kalim’s eyes widened, and after a moment, he left the room. You opened your mouth, but didn’t know what to say.

You watched as Jamil sighed irritably, running a hand through his long bangs. You slouched on the Scarabia couch, watching him pace and huff to himself. What had you done to earn his annoyance? He’s the one who basically kidnapped you on a flying rug. Surely he couldn’t dislike you that much.

“Kalim doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” he said at last, and you frowned deeply. “What? Kalim isn’t stupid, Jamil,” you said sharply, losing your patience, “and what in Seven’s name is up with you?

“Look, you’re-“ Jamil stopped, clearing his throat. He smoothed over his expression, face becoming the usual calm-and-composed Vice Housewarden that he always showed to the world, but not you. “Nothing is wrong.” You finally snapped, exhausted and utterly spent, “what is going on? You’ve been acting weird with me ever since winter break!” Jamil grit his teeth, but you continued. “What is your deal, Jamil?! I thought we were friends! What have I done to make you hate me this much?!”

“You’ve been a thorn in my side since you’ve come here!” Jamil yelled, stopping pacing in front of you. His chest heaved, and he had that angry-crazed look on his face he always got when exasperated. “You’re too clever for your own good! And ever since my…” he swallowed, starting to lose his momentum as he realized what he was saying, “last winter, you’ve shown yourself to be someone…interesting.” Finally, he seemed marginally calmer. “And… I don’t think I could’ve dealt with all of this without you, even though you’re the last person who I thought could help.”

Your frown deepened. You opened your mouth to say something, but Jamil hurriedly continued, shutting his eyes. “Look, I know that I inconvenienced you, but… you’re always on my mind, when I should be thinking about attending Kalim. You’re-“

“Alright, that’s it.” You stood up from the couch, and walked off without sparing a glance. Jamil stopped, sputtering, and cried out “you’re just going to leave?!” You spun on your heel, glaring at him. “Yes! I’m leaving so I don’t cause a bigger mess!” Jamil shut up immediately, and you stalked to him, poking his chest hard. “You have done nothing but insult me. What happened today, with the carpet, was not my fault. If anything, you made me into a thorn in your side.” He flinched, but you blazed on. He didn’t get to hurt and belittle you.

“You hurt the entire dorm with your overblot,” you seethed, “and you didn't inconvenience me. You imprisoned me and Grim in your little scheme. And I have tried to be nice to you since then, and I thought we were becoming friends, but you just seem to hate me every time you see me. So fine,” you backed off, throwing your hands up as you left, “I’m leaving, Jamil. I’m leaving.”

Jamil didn’t know how long he stood there after you’d left. The Scarabia common room seemed to get chillier as the night passed, but he couldn’t find it in himself to go back to his dorm. At some point, he found himself on the couch drifting in and out of sleep, wondering why things were the way they were, and why he just couldn’t be lucky. Before he closed his eyes, utterly defeated, his last thought was, I deserved that. But not them.

———

The next few weeks passed without a hitch, although you were still brimming with dulled hurt every time you saw Jamil and Kalim.

Even though you had nothing against Kalim, Jamil always slunk behind him like a shadow, making you uncomfortable every time the sunny housewarden bounded up to you. Somehow, it felt like Kalim came up to you even more often than before. You’d supposed that maybe Kalim was trying to mend things between you and Jamil, but while he had the best intentions, it was really up to Jamil. Still, you thought, you weren’t exactly kind when you last… spoke to him.

Every time you spoke to Kalim, you tried to gently but firmly turn his invitations down. This time, he seemed adamant that you come to tonight’s party, basically begging you to attend.

“Please, Prefect!” He grabbed your hand pleadingly, “it’ll be fun! The Pop Music club will be playing, and Jamil’s cooking all your favorites-“

“Kalim, let’s go.” You were jarred to hear Jamil speak up, and Kalim actually listen to him rather than brushing it off. Kalim looked at Jamil, who continued, “We need to head back to the dorm and prepare. And…” Jamil avoided your eyes, “please, don’t trouble the Prefect.”

As the two of them left, you felt their absence weigh on you. It had been a while since you’d hung out with Jamil - so you took to cooking alone in Ramshackle or Heartslabyul, and tried studying by yourself. On nights when Scarabia was having a party, you tried to not think about when you and Jamil would hang out in the kitchen, or when you and Kalim would drag him out to the dance floor to loosen up. Still, your Friday nights were getting drearier by the week, even when you tried reading Prejudice and Pride to take your mind off it.

In the gym, the basketball club was in full swing, and Ace and Jamil chatted while passing the ball to each other. “Yeah, sure, I can try to get them to come tonight,” Ace began dribbling the ball, then smirked at Jamil. “Didn’t know you missed them so much though!” Jamil frowned, flushing. “I just… Najma wanted to see them again. That’s all.”

Ace shrugged and passed the ball, “alright, guess I’ll see you later.” Later that day, you frowned at the text you got from Ace, wondering how you should respond. At this point, you’d attempted to avoid Scarabia at all costs, but it had been a while. Even then, you still wanted to see Kalim and Jamil one last time - and at least you’d be with your friends.

Ace: hey theres a party at scarabia tonight, Jamil wants you to go

Ace: so u wanna go or what

You: sure, I’ll be there. Meet u at the mirror in ten

———

You, Grim, Ace, Deuce, and Cater stepped into Scarabia. Immediately Cater ran off to find Lilia and Kalim, and you got separated from Ace and Deuce while trying to cross the dance floor. At some point Grim perked up as he smelled food wafting in the air, and made a beeline for the kitchen. You ran after him, dodging the partygoers (and at some point almost crashing into Lilia, Kalim, and the drum set) until you found yourself standing in the Scarabia kitchen.

Grim bounded over to Jamil, who was standing over the stove stirring a large pot. “Jamil! What’s cookin’?” Grim’s eyes were shining, and he strained to look up. You heard laughter from behind you, and a voice saying “hey, it’s the Prefect!” Jamil’s head snapped back to where you stood. You looked behind you, jaw dropping, “Najma?! What are you doing here?” She grinned at you, and you followed her to Jamil.

“I just wanted to see Jamil! And Kalim said he was having a party today,” she hugged you tightly. “I haven’t seen you since the festival! Jamil keeps talking about you too!” You made eye contact with Jamil over Najma’s shoulder. He looks like a deer in the headlights.

“Najma, let the Prefect go,” Jamil recovered quickly, and she let go reluctantly, pouting. You turned your attention to the pot, “hey, are you making curry? I thought Kalim hated that.”

Grim stood at attention, “whatever it is, I want some!” Jamil sighed, “I already made the food for the party, this is for Najma.” And you, if you showed up. Najma scrunched her nose, “I don’t want that, it’s too… plain.” Plain? You glanced into the very fragrant pot, swirling with spices and oil.

“You’re going to eat. You didn’t have lunch, baba will be mad if he finds out I didn’t feed you,” Jamil spooned some curry onto a plate and Najma crossed her arms. “It’s fine, but you still make your food look too plain. Like, garnish it or something. I know (name) can probably make it better!” She handed the plate to Grim, and as you picked Grim up to place him on a chair to eat, you frowned.

“My cooking isn’t that great, Najma. Jamil taught me some stuff, but still.” Najma looked confusedly at her brother, “but he says you cook so well!” Jamil gaped at her, while your eyes widened. Najma gave her brother a look, and continued, “he loves your cooking! And he said he loves cooking with you! And-”

“Jamil!” Finally you cut her off, as Jamil looked one second away from smothering her, “I didn’t know you liked my cooking?” You felt your nervousness from the party melt, and smiled hesitantly at him. He seemed to soften a little, “Yeah… it’s nice to have the company,” he cleared his throat. Why did it feel so hot in the kitchen?

Najma watched the both of you stare at each other, then clapped her hands together, making you both flinch. “Alright! This is enough. You need to get out.” As she strode out of the kitchen, you both watched her confused. “Najma, where are you going?,” Jamil called, but she didn’t answer. Grim shrugged, finishing off the curry, “Wow! Jamil, the food tasted so good!” You and Jamil stood in silence, before you both opened your mouths to speak.

“Jamil, I’m sorry for yelling-”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you (name)-”

Your eyes widened, and you both fell into an awkwardness. You were about to open your mouth, but then Najma kicked in the door. “Both of you! Out!~” Trailing behind her was… “Why’s the carpet here?!” Jamil yelled, “Najma that’s a precious heirloom of the al-Asim family! You can’t just-!” The carpet wrapped around both of you and Jamil and began pushing you out of the dorm to the outside, being lead by Najma, who cackled gleefully.

“Okay carpet! Two times is the charm! Go!” The carpet seemed to nod? and then unfurled itself from around you two. It swept underneath your and Jamils’ feet, and began rising gently in the air, unlike last time. Jamil was shouting at Najma, looking down but you weren’t focused on him. Rather, you were looking up.

“Jamil,” you nudged him softly. “Not now, Prefect,” he grumbled. “Jamil, look.” He finally sat down on the carpet, and his mouth hung open in shock. The two of you were in the sky again, but not as high this time. All around you, the stars twinkled brightly in the night, and nebulae swirled across the sky. There were barely any clouds. It was slightly chilly, but Jamil’s warmth next to you was enough to keep you fine. Rather, the goosebumps on your arms were from other things.

“It’s beautiful up here,” you breathed, and Jamil glanced at you. “Yeah, it is.” Jamil could feel his stresses slowly dissipate, and while you both were up in the sky, it felt like the world was only you and him, and the twinkling of the stars above you both. His mind wandered to the old Scalding Sands legend. Was this how the princess and her lover felt when they were courting?

You looked over at Jamil, gently grabbing his hand. In the calm of the night, Jamil seemed a little… less put-upon. Like he could finally speak freely. He cleared his throat, lost in thought. “I… got ahead of myself before,” he finally said, shifting uncomfortably on the carpet.

“I never got to tell you, but I’m sorry,” his voice cracked. “I’m sorry for trapping you and Grim in Scarabia. You’re not a thorn in my side, what I meant was… you were always there. And at first, I hated it. I didn’t trust you. You were like a thorn in my side, because you were always there. But…” You waited for him to continue, all the anger and hurt leaving you in the cool night air.

“I began to like your presence. Like I could relax when you were there, because you could help with Kalim, or keep me company while cooking, or just-” Jamil seemed a little choked up now, is he ok? “Be there. I never felt like that… just…-”

“Supported,” you finished, and he nodded, swallowing thickly. You both stayed quiet, until you spoke. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. I just… You always seemed to either like me or hate me?” You felt jittery just saying it out loud, “sometimes we’d be fine, but sometimes you’d just… avoid me. And it hurt.”

Jamil squeezed your hand softly, and you sighed, “And I never know what you’re thinking. I really don’t know if you just kept me around for Kalim, or if we were actually…” friends. Jamil moved closer to you. “...I do like being with you. I… I do.”

Jamil turned your chin so you’d face him. He took a deep breath, “Kalim wanted me to… confess,” the word sounded like a hiss. “I thought he was getting ahead of himself as usual but then I…” he hesitated, “I realized he was right. And Najma was right. I did… I have feelings for you, and somewhere along the way I started… loving you.” His voice became quiet, and he averted his eyes from yours, as if expecting you to be angry. To his surprise, you weren’t.

You cut him off, gently pressing your lips against his cheek. His eyes widened, barely believing it. Him? Of all people, him?

“I really wanted you to not hate me,” you confessed, face feeling warm despite the chill. “I… really do like you, Jamil. I like what you can do, and I like you. And I think somewhere along the way…”

You squeezed his hand tightly, making him look at you with a smile on your face, “I started loving you too.” You softly closed the distance between you, finally ending the weeks of inner turmoil.

Jamil softly cupped your face, looking into your eyes, then kissed you gently, as if he couldn’t believe that this was real. You wrapped your hand around the hand on your face, squeezing it softly. You were here. You moved to clasp him tighter, and he wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you tighter.

Quietly in the chilled night, if anyone cared to look up into the starry sky, they would have seen two newfound lovers finally together, exchanging stolen kisses and chuckling amongst themselves. Lucky for them, the only witnesses to them were the stars above, and two teenagers standing outside Scarabia.

Hands on her hips, Najma proudly stared up into the sky, squinting at the shadowed figures on the carpet. Wordlessly, she held up her hand, and Kalim high-fived her, grinning.

“Mission accomplished!~”

~END

———

Notes: this got so long bc of the introduction with Najma but I just had to include her and Kalim conspiring together! Anyway, hope you enjoyed the Jamil chapter, thank you so much for reading!!!!!!

Taglist: @cerisescherries, @eclecticprincecollector, @ars-tral, @thehollowwriter, @twst-eeps, @casperandcats, @ttokkisbee, @mitsuriswaifu, @parad-ice-lostandfound

@sad-sie, @moyo5653,

(If your username is in bold, it means I wasn’t able to tag you properly 😅)

eeeeehhh???? heartslabyul in cookie run!!?? waaaa??!! (I still haven't played cookie run lol)

also I revised caters design cuz i realized it didnt rlly make sence before lol

poll under cut

Kenma :)

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