𑁍ࠬܓ How They React When They See You Hurt (housewardens & Jamil)
𑁍ࠬܓ how they react when they see you hurt (housewardens & jamil)
synopsis: pain is not something he ever wanted to associate with you. but seeing you injured—knowing someone dared to harm you—shatters his composure. for some, it’s rage; for others, panic. and for a few, it’s cold, terrifying control—until he knows you’re safe. but one thing is certain: someone will pay for this.
featured character(s): riddle rosehearts, leona kingscholar, azul ashengrotto, kalim al-asim, jamil viper, vil schoenheit, idia shroud, malleus draconia.
content warning(s): angst, mentions of violence and implied revenge, mild injury descriptions (ex. bruises, wounds, pain etc.), spoilers for book 6 in idia’s part.
a/n: they’re just being silly, guys. <3
link(s): (masterlist)
riddle rosehearts
riddle prides himself on maintaining control.
his entire life has been shaped by discipline, by structure, by the belief that emotions must be ruled by logic. he does not allow himself to be reckless, does not allow himself to be overcome. everything he does is precise, calculated, deliberate.
but the moment he sees you hurt—
everything unravels.
his breath catches in his throat, his heart slamming against his ribs, his mind instantly abandoning all reason. his entire world sharpens to a singular point—you—and all at once, every ounce of restraint he’s spent years perfecting is hanging by a fragile, fraying thread.
“who did this?”
his voice is sharper than you’ve ever heard it, trembling with something raw, something dangerously close to rage.
he’s beside you in an instant, dropping to his knees without hesitation, his hands hovering—not touching, not yet, because what if he makes it worse? what if he hurts you somehow? his fingers tremble, itching to reach out, to make sure—
“tell me where it hurts,” he says, but his voice wavers. “tell me what happened.”
his hands are gentle but firm as he checks you over, his usually practiced movements clumsy with the weight of panic. he doesn’t even realize his breathing is uneven, doesn’t even notice the way his shoulders are shaking as he looks you over, as he takes in every bruise, every wound, every sign that something happened—
something he didn’t prevent.
“you should have been more careful,” he scolds, but the words come out thin, forced, like he’s trying to hold something else back.
you try to tell him you’re fine, try to brush it off, but he doesn’t believe you. his eyes flicker with frustration, his jaw tightening, his grip on your wrist just a fraction too tense.
“don’t be ridiculous—you’re hurt,” he snaps, and then immediately exhales, forcing himself to breathe. “just… stay still. let me handle this.”
he refuses to let you wave it away. refuses to leave it alone. you are not fine, and he will not let you convince him otherwise.
but even as he focuses on making sure you’re okay, something else burns at the edges of his mind, pressing against his temples like an unbearable weight—
who did this to you?
his hands clench into fists. his breathing evens out, but his posture remains rigid, coiled tight like a string about to snap.
because once you’re safe—once he’s certain that you’re okay, that you’ll recover, that he didn’t fail you—
then, and only then, will he deal with the one responsible.
his mother may have taught him restraint, but some things are unforgivable.
and hurting you is one of them.
leona kingscholar
danger.
his body registers it before his mind does, his instincts kicking in the moment his eyes land on you—hurt, vulnerable, not okay.
his vision tunnels, his pulse spikes, and suddenly, the world around him doesn’t matter anymore.
“what the hell happened?”
his voice is a low, guttural growl, thick with something dark, something uncontrollable. his hands clench at his sides, every muscle coiled, his body ready—ready to fight, ready to destroy, ready to eliminate whatever put you in this state.
but then he sees it—sees the way you’re holding yourself, the way your breath hitches, the way you flinch just slightly—and suddenly, the anger has to be forced down, swallowed like bile in the back of his throat.
because right now, you come first.
so he moves, closing the distance in a single step, his hands reaching for you before he can stop himself. his hands are gentle from the start, unusually so. these hands of his are capable of devastation, of turning flesh to dust, of summoning ruin with a mere touch. but against you, they are careful, restrained. the second he feels the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips, the tension in his hold eases, his hands softening, steadying you instead of breaking you.
“who did this?”
his voice is still dangerous, still thick with that barely restrained fury, but now there’s something else underneath it.
concern.
fear.
he hates how it makes his chest tighten. hates the way it lingers at the edges of his thoughts, nagging at him, clawing at something buried deep beneath his usual indifference.
he kneels in front of you, his sharp, emerald eyes scanning every inch of you with terrifying intensity. his fingers ghost over your injuries, his jaw clenched so tight you can hear his teeth grind together.
“tell me.” his voice is dangerous now.
and then—when you hesitate, when you try to brush it off, when you lie—
his patience snaps.
“don’t give me that.” his grip tightens just slightly, his expression darkening. “you’re hurt. don’t act like it’s nothing.”
there’s no room for argument in his tone. no patience for your stubbornness, no willingness to accept anything less than the truth.
if you try to keep it from him, if you refuse to say who’s responsible, then fine—he’ll find out himself.
because someone did this.
and once you’re safe—once he’s sure you’re okay, once he’s made damn sure you’ll recover—
then he’s hunting.
“stay here,” he mutters, standing to his full height, his tail flicking behind him in barely restrained aggression. “i’ll take care of it.”
and if you try to stop him?
his gaze flickers down to you, something sharp, something scorching, like the unrelenting heat of the desert sun at its peak—blistering, unforgiving, merciless.
“no one lays a damn hand on you and gets away with it.”
and then he’s gone, a storm of unbridled wrath, a lion on the hunt.
azul ashengrotto
azul is a man of careful calculations.
every word, every action, every decision he makes is deliberate. he has spent years crafting a persona of charm, wit, and effortless composure—one that allows him to stay in control, no matter the circumstances. he does not flinch, does not waver, does not lose to uncertainty.
but then he sees you hurt.
and suddenly, all of that control is gone.
his breath catches, his body locks up, and for one horrifying moment, his mind is utterly blank.
“you—what happened?”
his voice doesn’t sound like his own. it’s too sharp, too raw, lacking the usual smoothness he prides himself on.
he rushes to you without thinking, but the second he’s close enough to touch, he hesitates. his fingers hover inches above your skin, his knuckles white with the force of his restraint. his mind is screaming at him to act, to do something, but a terrible thought wedges itself into his panic—
what if i make it worse?
he doesn’t trust his own hands, doesn’t trust his own judgment, not when the sight of you like this is unraveling him from the inside out.
“tell me what hurts,” he demands, his words tumbling out in a way that’s almost frantic. “is it serious? how bad is it?”
his thoughts spiral immediately, jumping to the worst possible conclusions. is it critical? should he be calling for medical attention? what if you’re downplaying it? what if he’s not fast enough?
and then you try to brush it off.
“nothing?” he echoes, breath hitching. his voice almost cracks—and he hates that. “how can you say that when you’re—when you—”
his hands clench into fists, shaking slightly as he forces himself to breathe.
“just—just stay still,” he mutters, voice tight with strain. “i’ll take care of it.”
because if there is one thing he knows, one thing he can control, it’s fixing things. making deals. offering solutions.
“i’ll call a healer. i’ll get whatever you need—whatever you want.”
his words come too fast, his mind still racing, but through it all, his hands never leave yours.
his grip is too tight, fingers wrapped around yours like a lifeline, like letting go isn’t an option he’s willing to consider.
because if he lets go—if he loses you—
he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle it.
and when it’s over—when he knows you’ll be okay—he still doesn’t let you out of his sight.
“you scared me,” he murmurs, quieter than before.
his voice is steadier now, but you can still hear the remnants of his fear, lingering in the way his thumb brushes absentmindedly over your knuckles, in the way he exhales like he’s been holding his breath this entire time.
and for the first time since you’ve met him—since he built the persona of azul ashengrotto, the untouchable businessman, the man always one step ahead—
he lets you see just how fragile he becomes when it comes to you.
kalim al-asim
kalim is always smiling.
he is a beacon of joy, a burst of light in every room he enters. when things go wrong, he looks for the silver lining. when people are hurting, he lifts them up with his boundless energy. sadness is something he refuses to dwell on, something he fights against with warmth and laughter.
but when he sees you hurt?
his entire world stops.
“oh no, oh no—”
the words leave him before he can think, his breath catching as his heart lurches in his chest. he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t pause to process what he’s seeing—his body moves, fast and instinctive, rushing to your side.
his hands cradle your face, warm and steady despite the frantic tremor in his touch.
“are you okay? what happened? does it hurt? how bad is it?”
his voice is shaking. he’s shaking.
and when he finally really looks at you, when he takes in the way you wince, the way you hold yourself like you’re trying to hide the pain—his chest tightens, his stomach twisting into something awful.
“why didn’t anyone stop it? why didn’t i stop it?”
guilt. overwhelming, suffocating guilt floods him like a tidal wave.
“i should’ve been there! i should’ve protected you!”
his grip on you tightens—not enough to hurt, just enough to let you know he’s here. he isn’t letting go. he won’t let go.
and then, before you can stop him—before you can tell him it’s not a big deal—his eyes start to glisten.
“kalim, are you—”
“i’m not crying!” he absolutely is. “i just—you scared me!”
his voice wobbles, and suddenly, he’s pulling you into a hug, arms wrapping around you too tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.
“don’t move, okay? just stay right here! i’ll get someone to help—i’ll fix this, i promise!”
if it’s something small—just a minor scrape, a bruise—he still treats it like it’s life-threatening. he refuses to let you walk it off, refuses to let you act like it’s fine.
if it’s something worse? if you are seriously hurt?
he panics, but his movements are certain. without hesitation, he lifts you into his arms, holding you to his chest like you’re something precious, like you belong nowhere else but safe in his hands.
“i’ve got you,” he whispers, voice breaking. “i won’t let anything happen to you.”
and when he finally gets you to safety, when he finally knows you’re okay—
he still won’t stop fussing.
“you need to rest! do you want pillows? i’ll get you pillows! or tea! do you want tea? i’m sure jamil will—jamil! we need tea!”
“kalim, i’m fine—”
“no, you’re not fine! i was so scared!”
his fingers squeeze yours.
and later, when you’re patched up, when the worst of the moment has passed—
he presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes.
“don’t ever scare me like that again, okay?”
his voice is softer now, the usual excitement dimmed into something deeply sincere.
“i don’t ever wanna see you hurt again.”
jamil viper
jamil was raised to handle crises.
he has spent his entire life being the one who steps in when things go wrong, the one who fixes things while everyone else panics. no matter the situation, no matter the chaos, no matter the pressure—he is always in control.
so when he sees you hurt, when he registers the way you’re holding yourself, the way your face twists with pain—
his stomach drops.
but his body moves on instinct.
“where?”
his voice is steady. too steady. his mind is screaming, but his tone doesn’t waver, his movements are calculated, precise. he crouches in front of you immediately, eyes scanning you with sharp, assessing precision.
“how bad is it? let me see.”
he doesn’t waste time. doesn’t ask what happened—not yet. because right now, the only thing that matters is making sure you’re okay.
his hands are warm but firm, brushing over you carefully as he checks for injuries. his fingers ghost over your wrist, your arm, the side of your face—everywhere that might be hurt—his touch gentle but filled with purpose.
“it’s not broken,” he murmurs under his breath, half to himself, half to reassure you. “no major swelling… does this hurt?”
and then—when you flinch, when you let out the softest hiss of pain—
something inside him snaps.
his jaw clenches. his breathing slows.
“who.”
his eyes flick up to meet yours, and for the first time, there is something dangerous in his gaze.
“who did this?”
if there is a culprit—if someone is responsible for this—then they are not leaving unscathed.
but even as fury thrums through his veins, even as his mind races with ways to handle the situation, he forces himself to prioritize you first.
“can you walk?” his voice is softer now, his tone slipping back into something controlled, something measured.
if you say yes, he doesn’t let you prove it. he supports you immediately, one arm around your waist, guiding you effortlessly as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
if you say no, he lifts you without hesitation. no warning, no asking—just picking you up, his hold secure, unshakable.
“don’t argue,” he mutters, barely sparing you a glance. “just let me take care of it.”
because he will.
and once he gets you somewhere safe, once he’s made sure you’re being treated properly, once he knows with certainty that you are okay—
then, and only then, does he allow himself to breathe.
“you’re reckless,” he mutters, his voice a mix of exasperation and something far too raw. “i don’t have time to deal with this every time you get yourself hurt, you know.”
but his fingers tighten just slightly where they rest against your arm, betraying the truth behind his words.
because if something had happened—if things had been worse—
he doesn’t even want to think about what he would have done.
vil schoenheit
perfection is vil’s standard.
not just in beauty, not just in his work, but in everything—his composure, his discipline, the way he carries himself. he does not allow himself to be reckless. he does not make careless mistakes. he does not let emotions rule him.
but then he sees you hurt.
and something inside him fractures.
his lips press together, his expression unreadable, his body rigid—the only betrayal of the storm brewing beneath his flawless exterior is the way his fingers tighten just slightly at his sides, the way his breath is a fraction too controlled.
“where are you hurt?”
his voice is steady. cold. clinical. but his eyes—his eyes—
they burn.
he crosses the distance between you in two strides, his gloved fingers already reaching for you. his touch is firm but delicate, brushing over your skin with the kind of precision only someone like him could possess.
“sit down.” it’s not a request. “don’t move until i’ve assessed the damage.”
you try to downplay it, try to insist that it’s nothing, but his sharp gaze cuts through you instantly.
“do not insult me by pretending this is fine,” he snaps, his voice sharp as glass. “you are hurt. i can see it. so let me handle it.”
his fingers ghost over your injuries, his touch meticulous, searching. he catalogues everything—the severity, the placement, the way you react when he presses too close.
he is silent as he works, but the tension in his shoulders speaks volumes.
“this never should have happened.” the words slip out low, almost a whisper, but the weight behind them is undeniable. “i should have—”
but he cuts himself off before he finishes the thought.
vil schoenheit does not dwell in should haves.
he fixes things. he prevents disasters before they happen.
but right now, all he can do is make sure you are okay.
“i’ll handle this,” he says smoothly, already preparing to tend to your wounds himself. “stay still.”
his movements are precise, every action perfectly executed—cleaning, bandaging, ensuring no imperfections remain. but his touch lingers just slightly longer than necessary, his fingers brushing over your wrist, your palm, the curve of your shoulder with a tenderness that is almost imperceptible.
and when it’s over—when you are properly cared for, when the worst of the moment has passed—he finally exhales.
“you worried me,” he murmurs, and it is softer now, less controlled, less rehearsed.
and then—just for a second—his fingers ghost against your jaw, tilting your face up toward him.
“i won’t let this happen again. not ever.”
his voice is gentle. his eyes are not.
because if anyone had a hand in this—if someone is responsible for this pain—
then they will regret ever daring to touch you.
idia shroud
idia doesn’t do well under pressure.
he was not built for high-stakes situations, for stress, for emotions so raw they leave no room for second chances. he hates unpredictability, hates chaos, hates not knowing what to do.
so when he sees you hurt—
his mind shuts down.
for a full second, he just stares, his breath caught somewhere in his throat, his fingers twitching but unable to move.
no, no, no, no, no—
his brain latches onto the worst possibilities immediately. how bad is it? is it fatal? what if you’re bleeding out? what if it’s internal? what if he doesn’t react fast enough?
what if he loses you?
his stomach twists violently, a familiar, awful panic rising in his throat, threatening to choke him.
because this—this exact fear—is something he’s lived through before.
he remembers the first time. the real first time.
losing ortho was something he never saw coming. something he never thought could happen. and even though he’s built him again, recreated him, brought back a version of his little brother—
he still remembers.
remembers what it felt like to be too late. to fail someone he loved. to stand there, frozen in horror, helpless to stop it.
and now—
now it’s you.
you, the only person who matters to him besides ortho. you, the person who understands him, who stays, who chooses him despite all the reasons not to. you, who has somehow become his entire world without him even realizing it.
“oh seven—okay, okay—don’t freak out—no, wait, i’m the one freaking out—”
he rushes toward you but stops short, his hands hovering inches away, shaking.
“w-wait, should i touch you? would that make it worse?? oh seven, what if i make it worse—”
his mind is short-circuiting. too many variables. too many possible failures.
“idia,” you start, but he whirls on you, wide-eyed and frantic.
“y-you have to tell me exactly how bad it is, okay? give me a numerical rating—no, no, wait, i don’t trust the pain scale, um—can you move?? do you need a doctor??”
his breathing is erratic, his fingers clutching at the edge of his hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.
but then—just like before—you try to reassure him.
“i’m okay.”
he stops.
his whole body locks up, his mind struggling to catch up.
”…are you sure?”
his voice is so small. so uncertain.
because he’s already lost someone before.
and if he lost you too—if this was his fault, if he wasn’t fast enough, smart enough, good enough—
he doesn’t know what he would do.
even when he’s finally convinced that you’re not dying, he still refuses to leave your side. he hovers awkwardly, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve, clearly itching to do something to make himself useful.
so he does what he knows best—
“d-do you wanna lay down? i, uh, set up a recovery station in my room. blankets. snacks. medkits—y’know, just in case. w-we can watch something comforting, i won’t even complain about the genre. promise.”
his voice is still wobbly, still slightly frayed at the edges, but the tension in his shoulders finally eases when you nod.
and later—when you’re safe, resting, and no longer in pain—
his fingers brush against yours, hesitant, unsure, before finally intertwining them properly.
“never scare me like that again, okay?”
his voice is quiet. but this time, it doesn’t shake.
because he won’t lose you too.
he can’t.
malleus draconia
malleus has lived longer than most.
a century and more has passed since his birth. he has seen generations rise and fall, watched mortals grow old in the blink of an eye. nothing unsettles him. nothing disturbs his calm.
but then he sees you hurt.
and the entire world stands still.
his breath halts, and the air around him shifts—the very atmosphere bending beneath the weight of something primordial, something as vast and unrelenting as the storm-laden skies over the land of briar.
his first instinct is not panic.
it is rage.
“who did this?”
his voice is low, steady, but beneath the surface, something dangerous lurks.
his emerald eyes gleam, faintly glowing in the dim light. the shadows stretch taller, the wind outside stills, the very earth itself seems to pause, as if the land itself knows what kind of wrath is building within him.
his hands twitch at his sides, claws curling, magic crackling faintly at his fingertips—not for you, never for you, but for whoever was foolish enough to harm you.
but he stops himself. forces himself to breathe.
because you come first.
he is in front of you in an instant, his movements as fluid as shadow, his expression unreadable. his hands—hands that could command storms, reduce castles to rubble, shatter the very sky—reach for you with an almost unnatural gentleness.
“let me see,” he murmurs, his fingers ghosting over your injury, tracing the bruises, the cuts, the places where pain lingers.
his touch is featherlight, his movements precise, but beneath it all, his body is rigid with barely restrained fury.
“who did this?” he repeats, quieter now, but infinitely more terrifying.
if you don’t answer, if you try to downplay it, if you lie—
his gaze darkens, something thunderous in his silence.
“do not shield them from me.”
he is not so easily deceived. he sees the hesitation in your eyes, the way you waver, the way you avoid his gaze. if you refuse to tell him, it does not matter—he will find out on his own.
but first—
“hold still,” he murmurs, raising his hand.
a pulse of magic hums through the air, a whisper of ancient power curling around your form like a protective shroud. the ache dulls, the wounds begin to close, the pain fades.
“better?” he asks, softer now, something tender hidden beneath the weight of his fury.
but even as he tends to you, even as he ensures you are safe—
his mind is already elsewhere.
because someone hurt you.
and for that, there will be consequences.
malleus does not act rashly. he does not lash out blindly.
but the guilty party will know fear.
“stay here,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheek for just a fraction of a second, his touch lingering. “rest. recover.”
and then, as he turns, the air thickens, the weight of his presence pressing down like the hush before a storm, like the crackling stillness before lightning splits the sky.
because someone has made a grave mistake.
and if the gods are watching, they would be wise to offer their mercy—because malleus draconia will not.
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More Posts from Sweetspicecake and Others
idk if its okay
but can I request for the tapis rouge boyos (vil, azul, jamil, ace) with a reader who gets hit on by a well known celebrity who has a reputation for being a playboy.
thank youuu
ACE, JAMIL, AZUL AND VIL X READER
Where a famous playboy actor wants to flirt with you in Tapis Rouge
How would guys react if, at the Vil's Red Carpet Cadets event, a famous actor with dark intentions approached you to hit on you?
I put Zane as the default name, if there is a Zane reading this, don't be offended😭 You don't need to have played the event to read the one-shot, I hope you enjoy it <3
Maquillaville was packed with rich, famous people who—according to Ace—were annoyingly full of themselves. He wasn't really used to this kind of fancy event, but he played it off well with his cocky grin and bold style. In his own way, he looked great.
You were chatting with a few guests when someone Ace couldn't ignore walked in.
Model, actor, and even film director. He had that fake-perfect smile and a dating history that probably broke some kind of record. Tall, tanned, and smooth-talking, he zoned in on you like a predator the second he saw you.
"Sorry to interrupt," "Zane" said with a charming smirk, "but your smile is brighter than the lights in this place. How about I buy you a drink… or better yet, take you out to dinner tomorrow?"
Ace stopped chewing his fancy canapé. He turned his head slowly, like he'd just heard the funniest joke ever.
"A drink? Seriously? Bro, do you think you're in some rom-com?"
Zane blinked at him, confused. “And you are…?”
Ace slid in next to you, his hand on your hip, flashing his most smug smile, though his eyes were sharp.
"The boyfriend. The only one who can make them smile like that without copy-pasting lines from Google."
Zane chuckled. "Well, lucky you, man. No harm in a compliment—"
“Sure, sure,” Ace said, crossing his arms.
"But there's a difference between a compliment and drooling all over my partner. If you want attention that bad, try flirting with a mirror. Bet it'll respond better."
Zane rolled his eyes and walked off in annoyance.
Once he was out of sight, you turned to Ace, one eyebrow raised.
“Jealous?”
“Jealous?!” Ace spun toward you, visibly offended.
"That wasn't jealousy! That was common sense! The guy was talking like you were a character in some cheesy pickup scene! And you laughed at one of his jokes! Like—seriously!?"
You laughed.
“Oh, Ace…”
He clicked his tongue, but his grin gave him away. He leaned in, wrapping an arm around your waist.
"Look, I don't care if you're the center of attention. Honestly, I love it. Let the whole world stare… just so they know exactly who you're with—"
His voice dropped to a murmur against your ear.
“—and who they’ll never be.”
Then he pulled back, smirking wider.
“And if that C-list actor tries flirting again, I swear I'm going to stuff his ego in a box and send it back with a bow.”
Jamil was at your side, impeccable. Although he tried to appear calm, he kept scanning every corner of the room… especially whoever looked at you for too long.
And then he saw it.
Internationally acclaimed actor and singer, known as much for his musical hits as for his romantic history. He was the kind of person who turned every interview into an opportunity to flirt and every gala into a hunt.
He approached you with that well-rehearsed smile of his, champagne glass in hand, his eyes shining with that invasive interest.
"I didn't know stars walked this red carpet," he said, scanning you from head to toe. "Do you have a date for after the event?"
Before you could answer, you felt Jamil's firm presence at your side. His smile was barely perceptible, and his dark eyes, fixed on him.
"I don't think you heard correctly," he said calmly. "They're with me."
Zane laughed sarcastically, never taking his eyes off you.
"Oh, I thought you were a stylish bodyguard. I didn't know you were the… boyfriend?"
Jamil took a step forward, placing himself completely between you and him, like a protective shadow.
"I'll tell you this only once. I don't know what kind of games you usually play with your 'conquests,' but if you want to keep your reputation from falling further, I suggest you back off now."
He raised an eyebrow, still defiant.
"And if I don't?"
Jamil smiled with disturbing slowness.
"Then I'll make you understand. And believe me, I know exactly how to do it without ruining your image… although I wouldn't mind that in the least."
There was a moment of tension. He, perhaps for the first time in a long time, felt insecure around someone. And he left.
You looked at Jamil, somewhat impressed.
"Are you always so calm when you're jealous?"
"Jealous?" Jamil sighed, taking your hand.
"I'm not jealous. I'm irritated. Because that guy dared to look at you like a trophy."
He turned to you, his expression softer.
"And you're not a trophy. You're someone I chose, and who chose me. I don't need to shout it… but I won't let anyone dare touch what I respect."
Every flashbulb seemed to follow you as you walked beside Vil, so perfect it outshone even the biggest stars. The whole world felt like a runway, and you, at his side, were part of the spectacle.
You were used to receiving stares, but this time you felt a particularly insistent one.
"Do you know him?"
Vil whispered near your ear, without taking his eyes off a certain famous actor who was approaching.
It was an international star known for his leading man roles… and for his many love scandals. Vil pursed his lips with the elegance of someone who knew perfectly well who this man was and how little he liked him.
"Only by sight…" you replied, a little uncomfortable as you noticed the actor coming straight toward you.
"Then don't stare at him so much." Vil murmured with a charming smile, but his eyes were sharp.
The actor arrived and, as if he had no idea who Vil was (which was impossible), offered you his hand.
"I didn't expect to see someone so charming tonight. Have we met? Because if not, I'd love to change that."
Vil took a subtle step, standing half in front of you. His face, still sporting a polite smile, was tense like a perfectly placed mask.
"Funny, I thought charm wasn't enough when it came to respect," he said, in that tone of his as polished as liquid poison.
"My partner doesn't usually fall for such cheap tricks, Mr. Zane."
The actor laughed, as if he didn't take the hint.
"A couple? What a shame… Although that's never been an obstacle in romantic movies," he joked, winking at you.
You opened your mouth to reply, but Vil was quicker. He took your hand and entwined it with his, raising his chin
"This isn't a movie. And if you think you can turn my relationship into just another chapter in your "red carpet romances," you're sorely mistaken."
The actor seemed amused by the reaction, but seeing Vil's sharp gaze with pride, jealousy, and elegance, he simply raised his hands.
"Well, well. I didn't know you were so committed, Schoenheit. Lucky for you. And for you too."
He winked at you with a mischievous smile before walking away.
The air seemed to have cooled a couple of degrees.
Vil turned to you, still frowning slightly.
"I warn you, that man is like cheap perfume: strong at first, but in the end, only an unpleasant aftertaste."
"Are you jealous?" You asked with a soft smile.
Vil stared at you, then sighed, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle in your attire.
"No. I'm forewarned. Because I value you. And I won't let someone like him touch you with even the hint of an intention."
He leaned in elegantly, his lips brushing the line of your jaw, just enough for you to feel it only for yourself.
"You're too precious to be trifled with. And if anyone tries… they'll have to face me."
The hair, his thin glasses, and that brown suit with subtle pinstripes gave him an air of sophistication that contrasted with his inner nerves whenever someone approached you.
You'd been walking through with him, just chatting, when a tall man with an easy smile and a foreign accent approached you.
"Are you the person everyone is whispering is stealing the event tonight? My name is Zane Duclair but you can call me Zane. Although I'd prefer it if you called me later."
He winked at you.
Azul blinked. He smiled, but his fingers trembled slightly as he gripped your hand.
"Zane Duclair… the actor with three public breakups and five harassment lawsuits… charming track record," he murmured.
Zane gave a carefree laugh, as if everything was slipping away.
"Oh, all in the past. Tonight I'm only interested in this beautiful person," he said, taking your hand without permission. "Would you do me the pleasure of dinner after the gala?"
Before you could respond, Azul placed a hand on your shoulder. His smile was still there, but his eyes were pure ice.
"I'm sorry to interrupt your attempt at 'conquest,' Zane, but my companion already has plans with me tonight. And they're non-negotiable."
Lucien raised an eyebrow.
"And who are you? Their manager?"
Azul let out a short, almost mocking laugh.
"No, I'm a bit more complicated than that. I'm the person who knows their every taste, every gesture, every look. And also the person who can't stand it when someone with a questionable reputation tries to fish in waters that don't belong to him."
Zane looked offended, but Azul stepped forward, still keeping his voice polite.
"And if you insist, I can present you with a complete list of legal clauses regarding harassment and non-consensual advances. I'm sure your lawyers will be able to read between the lines."
Zane left, visibly irritated, and Azul took your arm to lead you away, taking a deep breath.
"I'm sorry," you said. "I didn't expect someone like him to approach me like that."
Azul shook his head.
"Don't apologize. It's not your fault there are men who confuse charisma with entitlement. But if he approaches you again… I won't need contracts."
He glanced at you, lowering his voice.
"You are valuable. I will not allow anyone to see you as something they can buy or conquer. Because you are already… firmly committed to me."
What was Vil's birthday outfit? (I'm sorry if you posted about it, I can't find it 😭)
Vil had a silky little jumpsuit and heeled slippers combo! the heels were, based on my inbox, somewhat contentious, but I feel that their purpose is pretty clear:
keep thinking about baby malleus reveal,,, sof, ,,
I need some teasing romantic fluff, can I request the housewardens reaction to being pulled into a random room by their lover and being smother with kisses. Please and thank you 💖💖
Kiss And Make-Out
( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff - she/her .
- [𝐜𝐡.] dormleaders
- [𝐩:𝐬] suggestive themes . mentions of making out ofc
Note: Honestly thing took me shorter than I thought it would to write Lol. And I tried my best to not make it extremely suggestive... But I then realized I have free will and just made it regularly suggestive.
Riddle Rosehearts
The hallway was quiet, lined with the dignified wallpaper and polished wood of Heartslabyul’s east wing. Riddle was walking beside you, dutifully listing the upcoming events for the next dorm meeting, when you suddenly grabbed his wrist.
"Wait—what are you—!" he sputtered, blinking rapidly as you tugged him into a nearby, empty reading room.
The door slammed shut behind you. Bookshelves stood in neat rows, sunlight streaming through high windows. But you didn’t give Riddle a chance to take in the room. You spun him to face you, pressing your body close, your hands already cupping his cheeks.
“[Name]!” Riddle gasped, eyes wide, ears turning red. “This is highly improper—”
You kissed him before he could finish.
His breath hitched as your lips met his in a flurry of soft, passionate kisses—one on the lips, another on the cheek, then two more down his neck. His back gently met the shelf behind him, a soft thump muffled by his uniform. He stood stiff for a second, flustered beyond belief, but then…
"...You're being completely unreasonable," he mumbled between kisses, although his hands were now resting on your waist. "I can't focus when you do that."
But he didn’t stop you.
Your kisses moved down to his collarbone, and Riddle squirmed just a bit. His face was a flaming red now, his breathing shallow. You could feel the way his heart was thudding under your fingertips as you ran your hands through his soft red hair.
“I’m trying to behave…” he whispered.
“But you’re so cute when you’re flustered,” you replied sweetly, stealing another kiss from his lips.
Eventually, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, letting out a quiet, surrendering sigh. “Only you could get away with something like this…” he muttered, arms now wrapped around your waist. “But if Trey walks in, I’m blaming you.”
Leona Kingscholar
You knew Leona was headed back from Spelldrive practice—his shirt clinging to his broad chest, his hair tousled, golden skin glistening with sweat. You had timed it perfectly.
As he turned the corner toward the dorm hallway, you jumped out from behind a tapestry, grabbing his shirt with both hands.
“Tch—what the hell—”
You dragged him into an unused music room, slamming the door behind you.
“Oi, herbivore, are you trying to start a fight?” Leona snapped, eyebrows furrowed, tail lashing in confusion.
But your only answer was kissing him hard.
The snarl caught in his throat immediately vanished as you caught him by surprise, hands sliding up his toned chest, lips moving over his with soft, heated insistence. For a moment, he stood stock-still, blinking, your kiss leaving him dazed. Then you kissed the corner of his mouth, then under his jaw, and he let out a slow, very audible groan.
“You really woke up and chose chaos today, huh,” he muttered against your lips.
He let his bag drop with a thud. “You could’ve waited ‘til I showered, but nah, you want your king like this?”
You nipped at his lip playfully, whispering, “I want you like this especially.”
That was enough.
Leona’s hands gripped your hips with a growl, spinning you and pressing you back against the wall, kissing you with fierce hunger now. His tongue brushed yours, his fangs grazing your lower lip as he kissed you harder, deeper. His tail flicked behind him, betraying his rising desire.
“I should punish you for ambushing me like that,” he murmured against your ear, voice gravelly.
“But I won’t.”
His smirk was dangerous and lazy all at once.
“Not yet, anyway.”
Azul Ashengrotto
Azul had just finished another long meeting in Mostro Lounge. You waited until the twins had left him alone in the hallway before you struck.
“Azul, can I borrow you for a second?” you said sweetly, tugging at his sleeve.
“Ah, certainly, my pearl—wait, where are we—?”
You pulled him into a supply closet of all places. It was dimly lit, a little dusty, but private. Azul looked around in confusion, pushing up his glasses.
“I—is this about the contract I was drafting—?”
You didn’t answer. You kissed him.
The poor boy short-circuited. He froze as your hands slid into his hair, tugging just enough to make him gasp. You kissed his lips, then his cheek, then the underside of his jaw, and he visibly shivered.
“[Name]—w-wait—why now? I-I didn’t prepare—!” he stammered, glasses askew, already blushing violently.
You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him again, long and slow this time. Azul's knees buckled slightly, and he caught himself by gripping the shelves behind him. His breath was trembling as you ran your fingers down his sides.
“You… you’re going to kill me,” he whispered, eyes wide behind his fogged glasses. “This is too much for a man of my constitution…”
But even as he said that, his hands found your waist, gently pulling you closer. His lips brushed your ear.
“I suppose I shouldn’t complain about having such an affectionate girlfriend…”
You smiled. “You love it.”
“…Don’t tell the twins.”
Kalim Al-Asim
You caught Kalim just as he was coming down the golden staircase in Scarabia, humming to himself, all sunny and unbothered. His eyes lit up the moment he saw you.
“[Name]!! I was just about to look for—WHOAAA!!”
You didn’t let him finish. You grabbed his wrist and yanked him into the nearest room—one of the spare guest suites with gauzy curtains and sun spilling in through the arched windows. He stumbled in after you, laughing the whole time.
“You’re so full of surprises today—ACK!”
You tackled him onto the cushions, landing right on top of him with a mischievous grin. Before he could ask anything, you started kissing him—peppering his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, and his lips with kisses so fast he couldn’t even catch his breath.
“Wha—mmf! Wahahaha—[Name]!! Wait!!” Kalim laughed uncontrollably, trying to catch your hands in his. “You’re kissing me too fast—I’m gonna pass out from happiness!!”
You finally paused just long enough to look down at him. His white hair was a little messy, his golden eyes gleaming, his face flushed and grinning like the sun itself.
“Was that all for me?” he asked breathlessly, cheeks glowing.
You nodded and leaned in again, kissing his lips a little slower this time.
He melted under you like butter on hot sand.
“Wow,” he murmured, now dazed. “You’re… amazing. I think my heart just did a triple somersault. I should throw a party just to celebrate this moment!”
You laughed, resting your forehead against his. “You really would, huh?”
“Of course!! I’ve never felt this lucky in my life!”
Vil Schoenheit
Vil was walking briskly through the upper halls of Pomefiore, hair and uniform immaculate as ever, when you stepped directly into his path.
“Vil,” you said, breathless and determined.
He arched a single, elegant eyebrow. “Yes, darling?”
Without answering, you grabbed his hand and pulled him into a side hallway, then pushed open a door into one of the unused dressing rooms. The full-length mirrors and velvet furniture gave the room an intimate feel—one Vil would usually approve of.
“What exactly are we—mmph!”
You shut him up with your lips.
You kissed him firmly, again and again, ignoring his stunned stillness. His back lightly hit the vanity table, and your hands found his jaw, tilting his head as you kissed a path from his lips to his cheek to that spot right below his ear.
Vil sucked in a sharp breath.
“[Name]… this is hardly a—ah—suitable location…” he said, voice breathy despite himself.
You kissed down his neck, and he gripped the edge of the table hard enough for the wood to creak.
“…I’m trying to remain composed,” he hissed, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re ruining my lip gloss.”
You kissed him again, slower this time, tasting the faint berry gloss on your lips. “I’ll buy you another one,” you whispered.
His hands finally slid up your arms, resting on your waist. His expression softened, pride melting into fond exasperation.
“You’re so bold when you want to be,” he murmured, brushing his forehead against yours. “But you should know… if you keep kissing me like that, I might not let you leave this room for a while.”
Idia Shroud
You had to be sneaky with Idia—if you startled him too hard, he’d vanish into a puff of blue flame and digital pixels.
So when you saw him walking back from the library with headphones in and Ortho floating behind him, you waited until he was alone—just outside the server room in Ignihyde.
You pounced.
“AHHH—SYSTEM ERROR, WHAT THE—?!”
You yanked him into an empty tech room and closed the door behind you. Idia stumbled backward, hair flaring slightly blue with panic.
“W-Wait, are we being chased?! Is this a boss battle? Did you glitch through reality again—?”
You didn’t let him finish.
You kissed him. Right on his startled, slightly parted lips.
His brain blue-screened.
Idia’s body stiffened like a glitching NPC. You kissed him again, this time on the cheek, then again, trailing little kisses along his jawline. His hoodie bunched under your fingers as you leaned into him, holding him close, while his hands flailed in the air like he didn’t know what to do with them.
“M-M-M-M-Moe overload—emergency shutdown imminent—!!”
You giggled and pressed a softer kiss to the tip of his nose.
That seemed to reboot him. Slowly, his shaking arms wrapped around you, awkward at first, but growing tighter as you kept going. His voice dropped to a whisper.
“Are you real? Like… for real real?”
“Very real,” you said, kissing him one more time.
He leaned into you then, forehead pressed to your shoulder, still flustered but clinging to you like you were the only stable thing in his world.
“…You’re OP,” he mumbled. “Totally broken character build. It’s unfair. Nerf girlfriend pls.”
Malleus Draconia
It was late evening, just after sundown, and you spotted Malleus walking alone through one of the lesser-used halls of Night Raven College—moonlight catching on his horns, his cape flowing behind him like royalty incarnate.
“Malleus!” you called, jogging up beside him.
He turned with a small smile, the kind that he reserved just for you. “Ah, my love. What fortune brings you to this path?”
Without warning, you grabbed his hand—cool, calloused, always gentle—and tugged him through the closest heavy oak door. The room was empty, dark except for the faint shimmer of magic-laced torches. Dusty furniture and a grand window gave it an old, castle-like feel. Perfect.
“Where are we going?” he asked, tilting his head. “Is there danger?”
You didn’t answer. You pushed him back gently against the wall and kissed him.
His eyes went wide, not in shock, but in the quiet kind of awe that only Malleus seemed capable of. You kissed his lips, then his cheek, then the pale stretch of skin along his neck. Your hands moved to his shoulders, pulling him closer, kissing him again and again—slow, soft, reverent.
“Dearest,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion, “your affection is… overwhelming.”
You kissed the tip of his jaw. “Is that a problem?”
“…Not in the slightest.”
His voice dropped low, velvety and deep, as he rested his forehead against yours. “You wield power greater than most—did you know? Not in magic, but in how effortlessly you undo me.”
You smiled and kissed him again, this time slower, and something in him finally gave way. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close as his lips met yours again, more certain now, more claiming. His kisses were intense and unhurried—like time stopped for you and him alone.
“If this is what it means to be mortal,” he whispered between kisses, “then I never wish to be a god again.”
In Your Defense [PT 1 - Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw]
You decide to work at Sam's for Valentine's Day and your crush just happens to hear a customer hitting on you. If they get arrested, can you be their alibi? AKA: This person has a death wish and you find out your crush might be jealous?
Note: Each one is random and some will be longer than others. If I made everyone the same length this thing would be MASSIVE and I would probably die.
Not proofread because of the length. Trying to get everyone done today. It's my last day off for a few.
Whatever part Ortho is in will be platonic, obvs.
Happy V-day!
Riddle likes to think he's made great strides not being angry but hearing some utterly disgusting joke about 'how much do you cost?' sends him like nothing else ever has. This guy is tall and so unimpressive, so plain, so average that Riddle can't really recall him at all. Maybe that's just the absolute fury blurring his vision. He knows he's not breathing but his chest isn't burning near as much as his face; the heat is spreading quick and he can feel it in his cheeks and neck. Temples pounding, his vaguely aware of the growl bubbling in his chest as it threatens to slip past his clenched teeth.
Ace calls it his teapot snarl.
Before Riddle knows it, he's flown off the handle and he's going off on a rant. The whole shop is quiet, people physically backing away as he just methodically unravels everything about this cretin from outfit, posture, presence, delivery, unoriginality--everything. Honestly, he doesn't even remember everything he said. The redhead doesn't even tune back into the sound of his own voice until he ends the onslaught with, "You've just paid twenty thaumarks to embarrass yourself but that pales in comparison to the fact that you thought you had a chance with them. You should be ashamed!"
The man slinks away, sad little bag dragging off the counter.
Whispers and giggles diffuse throughout the shop. He ignores the looks that come his way, using the time to come back to himself. Riddle fixes his cute casual clothes, content with the fact you picked them out together. He catches sight of the matching rose clips on your outfit and in you hair and smiles softly. "A strawberry cookie and a cake pop, please." he clears his throat, fishing his wallet out of his pocket.
Sam had an assortment of sweets and he was going to capitalize on strawberry's popularity while he could. He saw you root through the display case, carefully considering the designs even though they were all supposed to taste the same (allegedly).
"Sure thing. Your total is 12 thaumarks. Thanks for stopping by Sam's Mystery Shop! Happy Valentine's Day!"
He hands you the thaumarks as you take the time to slide the I LOVE YOU cookie in his bag.
----
Deuce is an honors student! He is a good boy that's going to make his mother proud!
HE IS SO GOING TO PUNCH THIS MOTHERFUCKER IN THIS FACE!
His shoulders tense, fist clenching at his side. "Why, you think they're cheap? Something to be bought? What an insult!" his head snaps up as he stares down the slightly taller boy. Deuce's teal eyes turn a dark turquoise; the giddy glint of seeing you and chocolate eggs in one place turns to something sharp and steely. He hands the chocolate eggs to Ace, turning right back around to stare the creep down. Old habits die hard; he's grinding a fist into his hand.
"Aren't you the guy always complaining about limited time sales being unfair? Not my problem you missed the window." the guy scoffs, leaning back against the cashier counter. "Anyways," the guy tilts his head back and starts talking to you.
You look uncomfortable and angry that you can't handle this yourself. Professionalism and all.
"You may have caught the window but I'm about to show you the door." Deuce draws up on him with a quickness people have never seen. Not many people know about all the fights he used to get into. Gripping the guy's hair almost to the point of pulling it out, steering him like a panicked bull, Deuce all but chucks him out the front door of the shop. He turns around to walk back inside and buy his chocolate eggs but that spine-tingling feeling of someone fixing to take a cheap shot makes him pivot and nail the guy with a solid kick to the chest. The guy falls back on his butt, breath hitching.
Deuce scoffs and wipes his shoes on the step before going into the shop. The door is almost closed behind him when he hears a strained grunt. He's been in enough fights to know the guy is off the ground and making one last attempt to catch him from the back. More than done with this and just wanting his damn eggs and to say hi to you in all your festive lace, he shoulder checks the door like he's trying to shove Jack out of the lunch line (which he would NEVER, EVER DO).
The guy falls with a satisfying thud and Deuce tries his best to relax his face as he resumes his place in line. It's red from aggravation and the fact he's fishing for his thaumarks because he's forgotten what pocket he put it in. "Sorry about that," he tries to uncrumple the thaumarks a little before handing them to you. "And the face. My face. Not your face! Your face is fine! Like, you're not ugly! I just, uh--"
"Take the change, Deuce-y!" Ace is standing behind him, guiding his nervous body like a puppet. He makes Deuce grab the change and turns him around, shoving him away from the counter before he can make it any worse. "Now help me move this guy's body! He's out cold!"
---
Ace can only laugh when he hears that line. First of all, it's weak. Secondly, the dude must not have any faith in his game if the delivery depends on you being captive behind the counter. During work hours. With an obligation to be forward facing and listening to whatever he says.
"Why? You worried about your budget, buddy?" Ace laughs, hands laced together behind his head.
The guy snaps up, stick-straight. "N-No! I was just--" his face is blooming pink.
"People aren't products, bro. There's no discounts." Ace shakes his head.
"W-What I meant was, I want to take you on a date!" the guy turns back to you and flashes a big smile. All of Ace's pouty mutters fall on deaf ears. Not because he's being quiet, but because the guy is straight up ignoring him. He's not sure where the idea comes from--he'll blame it on an itchy hand--but he sneaks a couple of small candies in the guy's pocket. Sam's familiar top hat bobs into view, snaking around the shelves.
"DON'T FORGET TO PAY FOR THE STUFF IN YOUR POCKETS!" Ace felt confident in his sleight of hand tricks. It wouldn't be the first time he tricked NRC students. It's actually really easy to do. That works in his favor because if everyone can't get their story straight or agree on what they saw, he's a free man.
Sam materializes at the edge of the aisles and seems to stare into the boy's soul. "Young man, please step aside."
Ace looks like the cat that ate the canary as he moseys up to the counter and slaps the box of cherry cordials down. He buys a cherry sucker at the last second, not seeing it at first. "Thanks, Sweets!" Ace winks at you as he strolls out with the bag.
Sam nearly scares him out of his skin, leaning against the wood just outside the door. Ace finally feels the tug of shadows on his feet. "Speaking of sweets," Ace flinches and hides his ear with his blazer, groaning as Sam hooks an arm around his neck and pulls him into his chest sternly. "I understand your frustration, Little Imp. Young love is adorable in all it's wiles! But mark my words, Little Imp: if you lie about wrongdoings in my shop again, you will not come back. Clear?"
"Yes sir." Ace gulps.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Little Imp."
---
Trey isn't really surprised to hear what he just did. 'Boys will be boys', as the saying goes. Frankly, he's disappointed. He's heard smarter things come out of his little brother and sister.
He adjusts his glasses, mentally trying to relax the knot between his eyebrows.
Should he say something? Of course he wants to. It's you! He's been on the other side of the counter plenty of times and has had vivid daydreams of sticking a customer in a stand mixer. But, then again, he has a reputation to uphold and anything he does could reflect back on Riddle.
And send Riddle into a fit, giving him something else to handle.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized he'd have the element of surprise. People--especially men--don't cook enough to know how much arm strength it takes to lift twenty pound bags of flour on the regular. Or the stamina it takes to walk said bags from Sam's shop to Heartslabyul. Even the small five-pound bag of sugar in his basket would suffice as a weapon; the sugar was packed enough to hit like a brick if he lobbed it.
Trey's running the options through his head, almost settling on just saying 'how much for you to stop?' when he sees the end of a sucker rolling between the guy's teeth. Too easy, Trey pushes his glasses up on his nose, hand hiding his smile and the quiet incantation for "Paint the Roses".
All of a sudden the guy is gagging and running for the door. You and everyone else are wondering what the hell just happened. He doesn't come back in. One brave soul suggested he had a really bad gag reflex and the sucker did him in. Only Trey knows it was a mix of sour milk and the pungent soy sauce tart nightmare he tricked Riddle into making once.
"Just this, please. Oh! And what Sam had on hold for me." Trey hands you the sugar, relishing in the brush of your hands.
"Candied violets and a bag of sugar. Twenty thaumarks, please."
"Thanks." Trey smiles at you, laying the sugar flat so his delicate, delectable candied violets don't get crushed.
"Thank you." you smile brightly, handing him the change.
----
Cater wants to gag. Normally Valentine's confessions are cute and IN THE RIGHT SETTING pickup lines are amazing. This? This is a tragedy. Mostly because there is ZERO chemistry and you look #uncomfortable.
He's big on consent since he's always looking for collabs and people to pose with on Magicam so maybe that's why this scene bothers him. Aside from the fact that you're out of this guy's league, obviously. Like, it's really an insult to your time.
'How much do you cost?' Really? You're #priceless.
His brows furrow, lips thinning as he wonders what to do. He plays with the idea of Split Card and creating a small crowd of copies to boo and jeer the guy but the store would be even more packed than it already is. Cater's green eyes twinkle as it hits him. Turning his phone longways, he zooms in on the guy and tells him to keep going because he's live on Magicam. "Don't worry! I've already got all the V-day tags on there! Everyone will see it!"
He's friends with practically everyone at NRC so this guy will be seen by everyone.
Something sick and unfriendly and satisfied swirls in him as the guy's face pales in real time. If he zooms in a little, he can get the beads of sweat in there. "I'll, uh--another time, okay?" the guy darts off and abandons his handful of candy at the register.
"Haul coming later! 'K, bye!" Cater sends a peace sign to the camera, smiling at his own face. He swipes the little chocolates into his basket nonchalantly. He's not even the biggest sweets person but those are his now!
"Gonna have a spicy Valentine's Day, huh?" you ring up the cups of spicy ramen.
"You know it!" he laughs.
"I get it. You have to balance out how sweet you are." you smirk up at him. "Twenty-four thaumarks, please."
#in love. #kiddingnotkidding. #sendhelp. #downbad.
----
Leona doesn't even know why he bothered to show up to Sam's. He could just send Ruggie to get whatever he wanted. The variety of jerky was somewhat tempting but he could just as easily take the bus and get a proper meal off campus. And yet, he stood there with a gloved hand in his pocket, tail swishing back and forth in mild agitation. His green eyes sweep over the winding line until they land on you at the front.
His cheeks warm a little and he scoffs at himself, pretending to pick through the hanging strips of sunflower seeds as the line moves. Every step gets him closer to this soft, powdery scent with just a hint of sweetness. He starts to blame it on all the chocolate and candy and sugary shit exploding out of every possible spot in the store but there's this unmistakable undertone of skin.
Your skin.
He's only caught the scent a million times while hiding from people in the Botanical Gardens. Or when he's forced to attend class, catching a hint of you in the halls.
Leona's not sure why he cares anything about you because you're not magical. You're not interesting.
You shouldn't be, but you are.
You're literally the only person he's ever met from another world. You have no context for the Sunset Savanna or the hierarchy of it. To you, everyone is impressive. He can be something to you.
Why does that matter? He doesn't even know. That's what he tells himself, anyways. You say you have no magic but Leona thinks you can read minds. The look you always give him isn't a pitying one, but a curious one that seeks to dissect him and force him to face everything he keeps shoved deep down inside himself.
Part of him is waiting for the day you pull the right thread and he comes undone in the way he knows he need but can't find the strength for. Somewhere in that knotted mess is his true feelings for you. The stuff he can't admit.
You stand admirably on your own two feet, roughing it out like Ruggie, but you're so far from the intimidating women of the Sunset Savanna. You're approachable and soft; you're built like prey but you have the quick thinking of a predator.
Something in your demeanor changes--your hands pause and flutter nervously--and he's on alert. He's careful to relax his grip lest he crush the box of protein bars for Jack. His ears sling forward and his eyes narrow as he catches that half-baked flirting attempt. Leona doesn't even bother to hide the sneer twisting his face.
Just the thought of you with that hopeful schmuck is nauseating.
Suddenly the scent of all the males around you is overwhelming. Disgusting.
"If you have to ask about the price, you can't afford it. Haven't ya ever heard that before?" Leona 'hmphs' triumphantly, one hand on his hip as he bends down slightly to stare the chump in the face. "Askin' about the price is tacky."
"Wh-what was my total again?"
All Leona had to do was stare at the back of the human's neck. Humans, much like prey animals, grew really squirmy when a predator stared at them too long. Or encroached on their space, much like he was doing. It was for the hell of it at this point.
Leona made a mental note of the guy's face as he scampered off like a terrified cub and looked forward to the day he could send a stray spelldrive disk in his direction.
"Hey Herbivore," Leona plunked the basket down unceremoniously.
"Hey Leona," you looked down at the random stuff in his basket, trying not to smile at what just happened. Something warm and--dare he say it?--proud welled up in his chest when he realized you were happy about him scaring the guy off.
The heart-shaped stickers he kept finding on everything when he got back to Savanaclaw helped, too.
----
Ruggie lived for the holiday specials at Sam's. He was a bit put out that he wasn't picked to staff the Valentine's shift but the in-store discounts were a small consolation. It'd be better if he could stack them with an employee discount but he'd take what he could get! His mouth started watering as soon as he entered, sniffing out deliciously fluffy donuts.
Hopefully people would be distracted with the lollypops and chocolates and leave his donuts alone!
He choked down the occasional nervous whine when people gravitated too close to the donut display, distracting himself with the decor and wondering what would be most profitable to flip. His eyes began to wander to the people in front of him; Ruggie tsk'd at how casual and unguarded they were. Ripe for the picking, he looked at their wallets and fistfuls of thaumarks just out in the open.
If he wasn't worried about being banned from Sam's and losing some gigs he'd--
"How much do you cost?"
EXCUSE ME?! Ruggie freezes, eyes going wide and ears twitching when he hears that. The dude said that and LIVED?
Oh, right. You're not a Savanna girl. The girls back home would beat him up and make him pay them to stop. Or just smack the shit out of him hard enough to put him in a coma. Maybe break his jaw so he can't drop anymore awful lines.
Women are to be respected! Not treated like something you can purchase!
Given that you weren't a Savanna girl and were bound by the rules of 'I'm currently on the clock', Ruggie took things into his own hands. You could just treat him later!
"Laugh with Me!" Ruggie hisses, backing into the closest display. It was a little bump to him but far more to the guy up front. He waved his arm around, skimming the bags of gummy candies while the guy at the register knocked down a whole tower of balloons on a stick. Bending over just enough to line the guy's head up with the counter, Ruggie lunges forward.
WOMP!
Oh it was so satisfying. The guy is hopelessly, helplessly stunned. He gathers his bearings and Ruggie slides his foot out; the guy loses his footing and slams into the counter again.
Only two times before he gives up? Kind of weak-willed, Ruggie thinks with a little smirk as he side-steps the disoriented guy and waits patiently to check out. Sam tends to him while you get the donuts he's been craving.
They'll taste even better because they smell like you. Happy Valentine's Day to him!
-----
Jack is usually very stoic but a lot of people mistake his stoic observation for irritation. He would blame it on his intimidating physique but he's not sorry and takes great pride in his appearance. He's a beastman--a Howl!--he's supposed to be intimidating! Intimidating appearance aside, Jack is also a very helpful soul.
A good boy, if you will.
The only reason he's in Sam's is on Ruggie's behalf. He was tasked with picking up a few things and was more than happy to help out his senior. They were from the same dorm, after all! Practically a pack! You have to help your pack!
He's not really bothered by the amount of people, more focused on keeping his tail out of people's way and making sure he doesn't knock anything over. All at once, the atmosphere changes a little. There's a hint of sour in the air and a noticeable hike in someone's pulse.
It's your pulse. You look...distressed? Why are you distressed? Where is the threat?
Whatever it was, he missed it and he's cursing himself.
His ears swing forward as he catches bits and pieces of conversations. Some people are complaining the guy is taking too long, other people are laughing at his crappy pickup line. Some people are wondering if it's going to work.
This was a weak display if he ever saw one. The guy didn't even look confident in himself! All of your body language has now firmed up into rejection but the guy's not getting the hint. He's trying the 'oh, c'mon!' thing his siblings do when they want to play.
You don't know it, but you've been feeding Jack when he trots by in wolf form. He likes to finish off his morning jogs in wolf form to really stretch his joints and obliques. It was supposed to be a one-off thing, him following the tantalizing aroma of food to your door. Your cooking is fantastic and while you don't know that you're a pack mate, you're a pack mate!
You're just a pack mate who feeds him and gives him occasional pets. And these to die for scratches that he'd kill to feel with his real skin instead of fur. Any touch would be fine, really. Not that you'd ever know.
Jack doesn't even know he's growling until people start moving out of his way. The growl crescendos as he walks towards the guy. Tail bristling, Jack opens his mouth to show off sharp canines. "Get lost! They're not interested in you! They're just trying to work!"
As expected, the guy tucks tail and runs. Jack snorts, licking his lips that have suddenly become dry. His ears don't know what to do, caught between catching all the murmurs behind him and wanting to press down in embarrassment.
It's quiet but he hears it. "Thank you, Jack."
"Don't mention it," he crosses his arms, looking everywhere but you as you scan his items. He was avoiding looking at you directly but he notices you slip a few extra beef sticks into his bag. He blushes.
Yeah, don't mention that either.
Prompt: "It's a Zing not a Fling" :: The moment they realize you're the one. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw (Here) | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: No bullets this time. Excuse my wheezing. I hope that I finally leveled up - Also I'm doing these out of order baybeee. Mixing it up hohoho.
Durable. Thick yet durable leather. It's part of Leona's skin at this point. His palms hide - feeling naked and alone - without the supple caress of leather. Gloves that he's adorned for as long as he can remember.
When was it, that his father gifted him a pair of gloves? Not too long after his unique magic was revealed, he knows that much. The exact day is lost to a time before he could recall such things. Before he had a reason to think twice about touching the world with his bare hands.
Now, all Leona knows is supple leather. Letting himself go bare alone in his bedroom is a risk. One he hadn't allowed himself until the ripened age of rebellion. In a country that worships the sun. Washes in the rain. A prince that turns the lush world to sand is a poison. No matter what assurance or empty reach for his potential - that damned word, it's never enough. He is never enough - a prince like him is no prince to the people.
In a world of firsts, he would forever lack.
Could he?
Your gaze, so tender. Focused solely on him. Welcoming. Urging but without words. His senses somehow dulled and heightened all at once. Nothing's distinguishable aside from the pounding in his chest, fangs digging inside his cheek to not let it show -
Soft to the touch. Smooth like polished marble. Warm like the sun kissing his skin through the drapes, on the cusp of dozing yet urging himself to linger, walk the in-between. His callused finger pads barely graze the surface of your thigh, lingering in the air with whatever restraint holding him from pressing his naked palms.
Your skin cracks.
All he did was graze. All Leona wanted was to feel. Even if you never let him again. The way flesh splits startles him - spreading outwards faster than he can comprehend- as if his wants deserved greater punishment. He reaches for you, teeth biting through his gums at your tenderness gone. Your gaze shackled with fear as the flesh between his fingers turns to sand -
"STOP!"
A guttural roar rips through Leona's throat - rasped, taken with labored breath - it could shatter windows if his room only had them.
A lion's mourning.
Leona fisted the sheets, tangled from his nightmares, his heart hammering as his senses all but thrusted themselves from dream to reality. Everything was clear. He could smell the raging waterfalls outside, taste iron on his tongue where gums had split, hear the night bugs sing their song, feel the knotted fabric under his palms.
Your picture, still safely nestled behind his standing chessboard. The frame solid. Whole.
Leona reached past into his desk drawer, and pulled out his gloves.
"I don't know how to swim"
"....wait, you're actually serious. There no lakes where you come from or somethin'?"
Leona drifted on the outer bank of the main falls in Savanaclaw. His legs kicked lazily, keeping him right where he needed to be against sand-rock and out of the splash zone. Without the loud yammering his dormmates would put him through whenever out in the lounge - it was almost a bearable swim.
"Comin' out here this late was your bright idea, herbivore. Now you're not even going to get in?" he taunted, eyes squinting through dark at your legs just inches from the ledge. The thought pops up to pull you in but he resists, although not hiding his temptation
You notice and step back, "I didn't realize it was this deep!"
"And what'd you think it was? A kiddie pool?"
"I thought it was safe!" you huff, cheeks puffing out like a bunny's. Not helping the thoughts in his head at all, "who puts an actual waterfall in a dormitory? What if someone drowns?"
"Then they drown," Leona shrugs, yawning wide as he turns on his back with his arms spread out across the rough ledge.
He cranes his neck back, smirking upwards at your skittish stance. The moonlight did wonders on your visage, swimsuit offering him more to see than he normally gets.
"Nice view," he grunts, snickering as you stiffen and try to cover yourself. Red dusting your cheeks, trailing down to spots normally hidden from him by a poorly done bowtie.
Smooth like polished marble. Split to crumbling ash.
Leona's fingers twitch, disappearing under the cool water as he pushes off the ledge into the water. Far enough for you to have space, but not to leave.
Your attention follows him carefully, instinctively stepping closer as he pulls away. He should get out, take you back upstairs to dry off. Make you comb through his hair as compensation for whatever this is but -
"You'll be fine," he says nonchalant, but his eyes zero-in as you teeter on the edge, "it's not that deep. I'm right here. Nothing will happen to you."
"...promise?"
Leona tries not to let that trust shake him. Weakness isn't meant to be shared between someone like him and someone like you. The balance of vulnerability was already thin.
"Promise."
You jump into the pool - and Leona finds himself wading closer once your head dips deep under the water. The ledge is there for you, he reminds himself. His palms feel naked but bandaged enough by the crisp water that he can ignore it.
Your shadow ripples under still water, flailing like a newborn calf and he's just about to dive under when you come up close - too close, his mind screams - and breech the surface.
Waves cascade as you take in air, eyes opening from their tight scrunch underwater and shimmer just a push away from him.
"Cold! Coooold! Oh my god, it's so COLD!"
Leona kicks his legs to hold against the ripple as you whip towards him, pushing your wet hair back and pulling water from your face. He knows that look - the one that has your lips splitting at the edges from excitement. Laughter pulling from nerves that you're still riding the tail end of.
"I knew this was a good idea!" your sniffly laugh muffles to him, Leona's body trying to register when you went from the ledge to wrapped around him like a koala. Legs wrapped around his waist, floating on nothing under the waves. Arms thrust around his shoulders tight, chest pressed against his to here he feels how fast your little heart thrums -
His hands, the split moment instinctive, around your waist. Bare, naked palms, pressed fully against flesh smooth like porcaline.
Zing.
"You idiot!" He yells, fingers tightening as he leans back to look over your body head to toe. Anxiety dripping from him like the falls themselves.
"Don't just grab someone in the water! Why're you always so reckless?!"
Don't grab me so easily!
You did it so easy, with that flushed candor that had him questioning everything - did the thing he'd been fighting for so long.
"I thought you said I'd be fine! Don't change your tune now!" you yell back, laughing.
It's not the water you should be scared of -
"You almost made us both drown," Leona huffed, rolling his eyes. He gave your waist a tentative squeeze, needed confirmation that this wasn't something he'd wake from wrestling his sheets.
"Then we drown," you lean forward, that impish glint softening as your nose brushes against his, "right?"
As his palms - naked and bandaged under wet moonlight - work their path to pull you in closer, he feels your legs wrap tighter. The way you allow his arms to circle and support you, unafraid. "Right."
Rice. Oats. Bananas. Tomatoes. Beef -
No. Scratch that. Ruggie wasn't in the mood to barter through the main market tonight. He'd go in the morning, clutching the marks brough back from school, slip in when it's just as packed, but his mind will be clearer then. He'll stop by one of his old spots on the way, check in on the kids and make sure they weren't doing anything too bad while their parents worked their tails off.
Right now he'll take the backroads towards home - Gran was waiting for him anyways. Probably sitting on the same chair she always did on the front porch, watching the street with one eye open and the other stuck on their 'houseguest' - as if they were fit to 'host' anyone - until he came back with the week's groceries.
He didn't want to bring you back with him to the slums - but where else could you go? No one. Not a single person or beast, was supposed to ever cross his path outside of Night Raven. Not if it didn't fill his pockets.
As he crosses the threshold pass what could barely be considered a kids' playground, his mind can't fathom what would make you even the slightest interested to come to this run-down village. There were surely other offers to fill your summer break. Your little beastly buddy - or money leech - was shacking up with those first years in the Rose Kingdom. You could've gone with them, and he wouldn't have thought on it twice.
Offering you a place was more of an obligation, something to wipe his conscience clean. Not because he was your 'boyfriend' - did he really count as one? Nothing good lasts forever - but for his piece of mind.
Since bringing you to this place was like cutting a ticking timer in half. Ruggie couldn't admit it to himself, but he knew. He needed you to come here. He needed you to see what you were walking into with that blindsided ignorance that trailed off the bare scraps Crowley had given you at NRC.
'Cause if Ramshackle was considered a shack? Then his home surely looked like a dumpster on the side of a highway. This is what you were signing up for once that four-year drift at NRC was done.
You, who he sat down just that morning to ream in the dangers. Not to go out without him as a no-name in a community where everyone's either known or dead. You, who kept your coin purse - even if the damn thing was near empty - in a side bag with easy access to snatch. You, who stood shellshocked when faced with his Gran's appraisal. Introduced yourself as his without a shred of hesitation. As if he had the means to keep you.
You, who carefully set your bag down in the tiny five by five he called a bedroom and said it smelled like him. Gran passed him the shopping list shortly after, and Ruggie left you there to face her alone. His steps quick towards the market, but not in a hurry since it was only a matter of time.
When he turns down his nook of a street - just as predicted, Gran's out on her chair waiting for him to come back. He's ready for an earful. Ready to pull the return bus-ticket out of his wallet and say goodbye. "Rugs, come an' see what this one can do with the corn husks. Nearly split my ribs!" Gran calls just as his foot pivots off the gravel road. And at her side - you're aiming one of his old slingshots at him like a cheeky thug. Cornhusks rolled up tight to make mini pellets - strong enough to bruise he's sure.
"Ruggie! Your grandma's gonna teach me how to shoot!"
A shiver runs down his spine.
"Aye - kid. Gotta have someone making sure my boy stays sharp at that fancy school."
Zing?
"I'm not going to kick you out of your own bed."
"It's not kickin' if I'm offering it."
"Ruggie - the floor is cold. Literally. It's stone."
"Actually it's clay - and do you even hear yourself? Gran'll kick my ass three cities if I let ya sleep on the floor -"
The two's poorly-hidden fight was cut short by an even more stubborn shout.
"LIGHTS OUT NOW! OR IM KICKING BOTH YER ASSES!"
The house grew cold quick - Savannah nights being unforgiving. If there was one thing Gran made sure they had growing up, it was blankets and firewood since central heat wasn't in the budget.
Ruggie wanted reality to bite you in the butt, not for it to hurt. He'd slept on wet mud once, the floor wasn't the worst option. His bed was old and small - a twin where on the left side there was a poking spring he'd learned to avoid in his sleep. He expected you to take it without second thought. But you were stubborn. Annoying with it, and he knew better than to fight one stubborn mule when another was one room over with thin walls daring to push him out on the streets. He crawled into bed with you, kept one of the many blankets and tucked his tail down, tried to make himself small. Pressed up against the wall on the left side. Hoped you'd keep to the right so he could smolder this feeling in his stomach. You hadn't. Ruggie woke up to sunshine and his face pressed in fabric that moved with even breaths. His back no longer against the wall, no crick in his side, his body pulled over another.
Up and down. In and out.
He looked up, chin careful not to press painfully into your stomach (a better pillow than his flattened one for certain) and saw closed eyes. Warm arms encircled him - ensnared him - and he stole one moment to revel in their protective cradle. His head lolling back down to nuzzle in this soft pillow.
You slept warm through the night, as had he.
Zing.
"Ruggie?" your steps trail his heels, hand locked tight in his own down the market road. Whatever change was left over from the errand sat in his wallet, strapped tight to his hip under his shirt. His free arm clutched a tight meat parcel - the beef he'd missed the night before. It was like a calling card for theft. Not too bad, he knew to keep one eye alert.
At least without you there, twisting over your shoulder as he tugged forward. Your furrowed brow drawn to the pack of hollering beastmen, all hostile for a good bargain to feed their hungry families. Some with sticky fingers and other means.
He was one of them just minutes ago. You, stuck tight to his side and wary under the scorn of locals. An outsider, with only Bucchi presence keeping those teeth sheathed. At least he meant something around these parts - or his Gran did. "Don't look back. Any mercy and they'll eat you alive," he said low into your ear, "there might not be anything in your wallet - but that doesn't stop the desperate ones. You've got clothes. Possible connections. Organs."
What should have been a joke, wasn't. His firm glance said as much.
Ruggie doesn't miss how your fingers clutch his tighter. "I told ya to stay back with Gran. Better yet - stay home the whole break," your jaw ticks, even he feels bad asking the necessary, "look - I'll phone Leona. Might have to go out for better reception but -"
"No," you cut him off, keeping your voice down but his ears could catch anything, "No. I want to be here. I - this is where you're from. I don't want to hide inside all summer, but please don't send me away."
Ruggie clamps his mouth shut, frown set in a thin line until you both pass yet another beggar. Their eyes hateful and distrusting to someone unknown, even when desperate.
He turns to shield you from it - insist. Except you tug him along, pulling him closer. You nod towards the beggar, acknowledging them but not stopping.
Zing
"It's got ya good, huh?" Gran said, hovering in the doorframe with the house laundry basket on her hip. Summer was nearly ending. You'd gone off to nap in his room - the heat did harsh things this time of year. He was just grateful it wasn't a stroke and you'd be fine in a night or so. Gran said as much, and there weren't any doctors in the area. He didn't have to ask what she was talking about. Rule number one in life: don't look out for anyone but your own.
And they way he was hounding you like a mad hyena earlier? The way your clammy skin felt under his palms, the panic in his voice when Gran ran to get water and fruits to get your sugar back up. He freaked out. He shouldn't have but he did.
"Yeah. If you're gonna lecture me about bearing my heart and that sentimental stuff - could you save it? Just...just this once?" he rarely stood up to her but this felt more like a plea.
She, of course, sat in her chair. Even pulled the thing up to where he sulked.
"The only thing I'm going to lecture you for is fighting. Sabotage is something ya do to other folks, not yourself."
"I'm clearly not doing a good job if...y'know," he sighed, flicking his ears back. Maybe then the world would shut up for once.
"Yeah...I know kiddo" Gran paused, looking him up and down like he was some sort of stranger she hadn't crossed before. She set her hand between his ears, giving his hair a good tussle, "but you're a good man. I raised ya into one, so I'd know -- you're not your father, Ruggie. I thought that fancy school might've softened you. I was right, you're definitely not the kid I sent off itching to make up for years lost 'ere. You're better, and that one in there's good for you. So maybe be grateful the world cut ya a break for once, and be happy."
Maybe she was right. Maybe he could stop ignoring that feeling. Maybe, he could do what he does best, and take you. Keep you. Since you were so hell bent on being had.
Zing.
In. Out. One. Two. In. Out. One. Two.
Jack's steps are even and uniform. His form perfect, unwavering even at the strongest gust of wind aimed to topple him. There was no force in the entire world that would set him off the track - his training too important if he ever wanted to get a scholarship in his fourth year.
Winter. Rain. Snow. Sun. Jack ends his day with a run. His lungs thank him for it as does his mind. The exertion is just enough to ensure a peaceful night of sleep feeling accomplished. His chest chills with cold air as the final lap for the night draws closed, and he slows to his cool down. A time meant for his mind to relax as he walks the circuit in it's full, listening to the trees and whatever delinquent is out trying to sneak past the campus security for a night of fun.
He won't rat them out. Not his circus, not his monkeys. Lady justice will come to draw her own conclusions - and by lady justice, he means the Heartslabyul House-warden that strikes fear into students from all dorms looking to cheat the system.
Jack himself was the slightest fearful of Riddle.
"Heya hiya hey -"
On predictable cue there's a filled water-jug in his face. Lukewarm, the ice he'd received the first time you offered it upset his stomach and you never gave it again. He takes the bottle with nothing more than a nod of gratitude, slumping on the lowest bleacher to finish his wind down. A moment later and a clean towel drapes over his shoulder. He nods again, and you return to your musings like nothing happened.
Jack can't remember when you started coming around - or why, for that matter.
Nestled into one of the low corners in the bleachers, legs curled under a blanket with your thermos in hand. One he loaned and never asked back - it's not like he was using it. Seeing you warmed on cold nights gave it a higher purpose than his gritty protein shakes.
Your focused mind lingered in the corner of his peripheral vision at all times - like an eye floater that never goes away. Haunting the same spot every night with your homework scattered about, busying yourself with whatever's there until he pulls up to unwind from his training.
When did he grow used to it? To where he can grunt and you'll know exactly what it means - be it a thanks, a question, or if he's needing silence to end the night.
Jack can't recall.
He's encouraged others to adopt a routine like his, but never pushed. Even then it was never like this. With the intent to weave his regimen together with another's.
So what's Jack to do with someone who's willingly engrained themselves into his life?
What's he to do, when the comfort of solitude has stretched beyond him?
"Hungry?" your voice flit to his ear one night, he utterance a break through dusk and his even breathing.
"I don't eat after six," Jack answered blunt, hoping it was enough and not thinking. Your lips purse to a pensive frown and his attention turns to the box in your lap. Its green his favorite - not that you'd know. The color of ripe cacti.
"Uh.." he catches his own tongue before words come out. He didn't mean to cause that expression. Letting the lip of his water bottle down, Jack decides to press a bit more.
"Nice box - I mean, what's in the box?" he asked, trying and failing to make his tone softer than the evening's bite. His cheeks warming.
What hesitance he held disappeared when you smiled, uncurving around the box to open the lid.
"I made some finger sandwiches," you tut, struggling with one of the latches before he reaches out. The instinct to assist beats his shyness.
You hand the box over.
"Sorry if they're a bit rough - I asked Deuce about what's good for people building muscle. He said protein so...egg salad?"
Jack has to resist the urge to laugh - of course Deuce would suggest egg salad. He raves about their protein benefit at least once a track meet.
They're a bit rough - the tight packaging ruined their presentation from singular little bites to one solid brick.
Nonetheless, Jack felt something stir in his stomach.
"Actually," he starts, whacking the box's bottom to pull the now-brick out, "I think I could eat. You want to split?"
For reasons he couldn't place at the time - or ones he didn't want to - Jack couldn't bring himself to hand back the cacti-green box without emptying it. Your hard work worth sacrificing one day's regimen.
When he held out the sandwich amalgamation, you reached out in kind to take the opposite side. With a little pressure, it gave and split in two.
In that moment, so did Jack.
Jack's palms slid under your legs with ease - almost like they belonged there. With the underside of your thighs in each hand, your body draped over his back like a pillow-weight, he realized how easy it could be to hurt you. All he needs to do is squeeze too hard, stumble over a rock and tumble the wrong way. His weight could crush you or the concrete could scrape your skin.
Maybe that would toughen you up a bit - no student at NRC shouldn't be able to take a it. He's sure you could - if there's one thing he learned from Epel, it's that those you assume can't are the ones who can take the most.
"You don't have to carry me like a sack of potatoes, y'know that. Right?" your voice tickles his ear, one flicking back just as your chin comes to settle between his neck and shoulder.
"It's good training," he argued, tone anything but argument-worthy, "and I want to."
Maybe adding that second part was too much. Why did he?
He'd beat himself with his own tail if it could move that way.
"It's a good thing I'm actually very lazy then. Since the track's no short distance from Ramshackle. You Savanaclaw guys really do monopolize the sports here, don't ya?"
His grunt's a suitable reply - one you're used to. As Jack crosses the mirror chamber from Savanaclaw to main campus, he jostles you up just to make sure you're still there once the magic fizzles out.
Your breath on his shoulder, weight holding down to earth - would he fly if you took it away? After all these days.
"Wouldn't it be easier to just study at home? The track ain't a suitable library"
And I'm not suitable company.
Not someone you have to trouble yourself to watch over.
"True," your hum drawls in his ear, exhausted he's sure. Your plate isn't necessarily empty, "but you're there. What, scared I'll leave you lonely?"
Yes.
"No. I just think you're exerting yourself too much." he says, scrunching his nose when your fingers ghost the apex of his collar.
"A bit of exertion is good. You're the known preacher for it," Jack feels your smile in his skin. It almost brings his own to life, "and if we're being honest? This is the best part of my day. I love spending time with you, even if I end up being your makeshift barbell."
Your laugh trailed the ends of that sentence, sweeter than the pears picked back home, which were always ripest this time of year when he thought on it.
Zing.
The rest of his 'prefect-delivery-service' as you laughed on and on about into him, was finished in silence. Comfortable silence.
And when he came to your dorm, he needn't ask if you wanted to be put down. Jack opened the door without a word and settled you upstairs in your bed. Grim didn't stir. The ghosts hadn't blocked his path. You let him be the end of your day, and he hadn't felt the need to explain himself even as he crossed back into Savanaclaw territory.
THIS NPC I'VE NEVER MET JUST STARTED INSULTING MY OUTFIT???
I made Pome portraits in Stardew Valley style and I'm crying.
OMG! I absolutely love you for the way you did my request of Mydei trying to court reader ❤️😭🙏
It was so silly and perfect and i couldn't stop laughing!!!
And now theres part 2???
youre a blessing dear author 🫶
I'm glad you enjoy it, I had a lot of fun writing this ♡
Here's a part 3 ♡
Mydei x (fem)reader
Mydei courting reader (3)
Part 2
The streets of Okhema had grown quieter as the evening settled in, the sky painted in soft shades of purple and orange. The laughter of the children had faded, leaving only the distant murmur of the marketplace and the occasional chatter of passersby.
Y/N and Mydei walked side by side, their pace slow, unhurried. The excitement from earlier had died down, and now, a strange silence stretched between them.
For once, Mydei wasn’t speaking.
He wasn’t teasing her for losing, wasn’t boasting about his victory, wasn’t smirking at her like he usually did after getting the upper hand.
Instead, he was quiet.
It was… strange.
She kept sneaking glances at him, her fingers fidgeting at her sides. He was staring straight ahead, his usual sharp gaze slightly unfocused, as if deep in thought.
The memory of what happened just minutes ago replayed in her head—the chase, the cheers, the kids yelling about a reward, and then…
The kiss.
Her cheeks warmed just thinking about it.
She didn’t even know why she did it. It just felt like the right thing to do. Mydei had looked so composed, as if he hadn’t been flustered at all, and for some reason, that had annoyed her. So she acted on impulse, tugged him down, and kissed his cheek.
And then he turned bright red.
Just the thought of it made her lips twitch, but at the same time, guilt crept in.
She sighed quietly, lowering her gaze.
“…Sorry.”
The word slipped out so softly, she wasn’t sure he even heard it.
But then—
He stopped.
Y/N felt it immediately—the shift in the air, the sudden lack of movement beside her. She turned, only to see Mydei standing still, brows furrowed, watching her with open confusion.
“…What?” His voice was quieter than usual.
She hesitated before meeting his gaze. “I said… I’m sorry.”
His frown deepened. “For what?”
“For… earlier.” She shifted on her feet. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was probably weird, and I—I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just—”
“Why are you apologizing?”
She blinked at the sharpness of his tone.
Mydei was still staring at her, golden eyes unreadable, but there was something frustrated in the way he looked at her. Like he didn’t understand why she would even say that.
Y/N bit her lip, suddenly feeling awkward. “…Because it was kind of unfair? You didn’t really get a say in it.”
At that, Mydei let out a breath—one of incredulity.
“You think I didn’t want that?”
Y/N’s breath hitched.
The words were quiet. Almost grumbled. As if he hadn’t even meant to say them out loud.
But she heard them.
Clearly.
Her lips parted slightly, her brain short-circuiting for a second. “…What?”
Mydei’s expression stiffened, and he immediately looked away, crossing his arms. “Forget it.”
“No, hold on, what did you just say?”
“Forget it, Y/N.”
“I will not.”
“Tch.”
He turned on his heel and started walking again, this time at a slightly faster pace.
Y/N scrambled to keep up, her heart hammering, the heat rising to her cheeks again.
Did she just—
Did she mishear him?
Or did he really just say—
No. No way.
…Right?
Y/N hurried after Mydei, her heart pounding in her chest. He was not getting away that easily.
Before he could take another step, she quickly moved in front of him, blocking his path.
He stopped abruptly, barely avoiding bumping into her. “Move.”
“No.” She crossed her arms, standing her ground.
His golden eyes narrowed. “Y/N.”
“Mydei.” She mimicked his tone, unwavering. “We’re talking about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“You just said something that completely contradicts the way you act, and you expect me to just ignore it?” She scoffed. “No way. You’re going to explain what you meant.”
“Tch.” Mydei’s jaw clenched, and his gaze flickered away for a moment. His entire posture screamed tense, his arms crossed so tightly it looked like he was physically keeping himself from reaching for something—maybe a sword, maybe just a distraction.
Y/N took a step closer, searching his face.
“…Mydei.”
His eyes snapped back to hers.
“I don’t get you,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “One second, you’re messing with me, the next, you’re ignoring me, and now you’re—” She exhaled in frustration. “Now you’re saying things like that, and you won’t even explain what you mean.”
Mydei stared at her, unmoving.
For a moment, Y/N thought he was just going to shut down entirely, to brush her off and push past her.
But then—
“…You really don’t get it, do you?”
His voice was quiet. Almost amused, but not in a mocking way. More like he was baffled.
Y/N frowned. “Get what?”
His golden eyes studied her face—searching, considering. Then, finally, he exhaled.
“I like you, Y/N.”
Silence.
Y/N blinked, not entirely sure she heard him right. “…What?”
His lips pressed together, then curved into a smirk, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re not gonna make me say it twice.”
Her brain short-circuited.
Wait. Wait, wait, wait.
He—
He what?
Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Her thoughts felt scrambled, like someone had just thrown all the pieces of a puzzle onto the floor and expected her to figure it out in five seconds.
Mydei liked her?
Like—liked her?
She must’ve looked as dumbfounded as she felt because Mydei let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”
Y/N snapped out of it. “Hold on.”
“What.”
“How—” She ran a hand through her hair, still trying to process. “Since when?”
His gaze flickered to the side, and for the first time, he was the one looking unsure. “…A while.”
Oh.
She swallowed. “And you—” Her voice faltered slightly. “You were trying to tell me?”
He scoffed. “Tch. I was showing you.”
Y/N opened her mouth, then closed it.
All the moments over the past few weeks flashed in her mind—his sparring matches with her, his gifts, the way he lingered around her, his small but rare smiles, everything.
Oh.
Oh.
Her face burned. “I—I didn’t—”
“Yeah. I figured,” he muttered.
She groaned, covering her face for a second. “I thought you were just—y’know, being you!”
He gave her a look. “I don’t do this kind of shit for just anyone.”
She peeked at him through her fingers, and oh gods, he was serious.
Oh.
Y/N lowered her hands, her heart hammering in her chest. “And… you’re not joking?”
His expression darkened. “You think I’d joke about this?”
…No. No, he wouldn’t.
The realization hit her like a wave.
This whole time—this whole time—he had been trying to tell her. And she—she had been too oblivious to see it.
Y/N let out a breath, her pulse racing. She met his gaze, something twisting in her chest.
“…Oh.”
Mydei stared at her for a moment. Then he scoffed. “Yeah. Oh.”
Y/N swallowed hard, her mind spinning as she stared at Mydei.
The weight of everything that had just been said pressed down on her chest, making her feel both incredibly stupid and incredibly overwhelmed. She had been blind—completely and utterly blind.
Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “…I’m sorry.”
Mydei’s brows furrowed. “For what?”
“For not noticing.” She exhaled shakily, looking down at the ground. “For making you go through all that trouble just to get me to see something that should’ve been obvious.”
“Tch.” Mydei’s lips pressed together, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. “You don’t need to apologize for that.”
She scoffed. “You literally had to chase me through half of Okhema before I even started putting the pieces together—”
“That’s not your fault.”
She looked up at him. He was staring at her, expression firm—certain.
“…Then whose fault is it?” she asked quietly.
He sighed, crossing his arms. “Mine.”
Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“I should’ve just said something sooner.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Instead of relying on Kremnoan traditions that clearly mean nothing to you.”
Y/N frowned. “That’s not—”
“I kept thinking, ‘she’ll get it eventually.’” His voice was low, almost frustrated—but not at her. “That one of these days, you’d finally understand.”
She bit her lip, guilt settling in her stomach. “…I still feel bad.”
Mydei let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re impossible.”
She huffed, rolling her eyes. “And you’re stubborn.”
They locked eyes, and for a brief moment, there was nothing but silence.
Then—
“…I liked you.”
The words tumbled out before Y/N could stop them.
Mydei froze.
Her eyes widened slightly as she realized what she’d just said.
“I—I mean—” She sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly flustered. “I like you—I liked you—no, I mean—” She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. “I never let myself think about it!”
Mydei remained still, watching her carefully. “…What do you mean?”
Y/N inhaled shakily, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I mean, I liked you—I like you—but I never let myself think about it.” Her voice grew softer. “Because you’re you.”
His expression flickered, something unreadable passing through his golden eyes. “…Me?”
“You’re a prince, Mydei,” she murmured. “You’re an Chrysos heir. You have responsibilities. A whole kingdom to think about. And I’m just—”
Her voice faltered, her chest tightening.
Just Y/N.
Mydei’s brows drew together.
“Y/N.”
Her breath hitched slightly when he suddenly stepped closer.
She swallowed, forcing herself to keep talking. “I just—I didn’t think it was possible. I didn’t let myself think about it, because—”
“Enough.”
Her words died in her throat.
His voice was firm—certain.
She looked up at him, startled by the intensity in his golden gaze.
“You’re not ‘just’ anything.”
Her heart skipped a beat.
“You think I care about any of that?” Mydei scoffed, shaking his head. “You think it matters to me that I’m a prince and you’re not?”
Y/N swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.
He exhaled sharply, then—without hesitation—reached out, cupping the side of her face with his hand.
She froze, her breath catching.
“You,” Mydei said quietly, “are the only thing I have ever wanted for myself.”
Y/N’s heart stuttered.
Her mind went completely blank.
Mydei held her gaze, his thumb gently brushing against her cheek. “…Do you understand now?”
She barely managed to nod, her face burning.
He let out a small, breathy chuckle—soft, fond.
“Good.”
The morning sun bathed Okhema in a soft golden light, the streets already alive with the usual sounds of merchants calling out their wares and warriors beginning their morning drills. Among them, Mydei walked with an unmistakable air of satisfaction. His usual composed and sharp demeanor was still intact, but there was something different—his shoulders weren’t as tense, his expression wasn’t as severe, and if one looked closely enough, they might even catch a ghost of a smirk on his lips.
Phainon definitely noticed.
He had been casually leaning against a stone pillar near the training grounds, sipping his morning coffee, when Mydei passed by. At first, Phainon had assumed his eyes were playing tricks on him. But no. Mydei looked happy.
Suspiciously happy.
Phainon’s smirk was immediate. He pushed off the pillar and lazily strolled toward him.
“Well, well,” he drawled, falling into step beside Mydei. “Aren’t you in a fine mood today?”
Mydei didn’t react right away, but Phainon didn’t miss the way his lips twitched slightly before he responded.
“Hm.”
That was it. Just hm.
Phainon raised an eyebrow. “That’s all I get? No sharp retort? No glare?” He whistled, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”
Mydei sighed, rolling his eyes. “What do you want, deliverer?”
“Oh, nothing, really.” Phainon took another sip of his coffee, watching Mydei closely. “Just curious as to why you look like someone who just won a war without lifting a sword.”
Mydei scoffed. “You’re exaggerating.”
Phainon clicked his tongue. “Am I?” He took a step ahead, then turned to walk backward, facing Mydei as he grinned. “You’re radiating smugness, Mydei. It’s practically dripping off of you. It’s disgusting.”
The golden-eyed prince sighed, clearly debating whether or not to entertain this conversation.
Phainon’s grin widened. “Does this have anything to do with a certain someone?”
For the first time since their conversation started, Mydei hesitated.
It was subtle—the briefest pause in his step, the slightest shift in his expression—but Phainon caught it immediately.
“Oh, this is rich.” Phainon let out a delighted laugh. “You’re really not gonna say anything?”
“There’s nothing to say.”
“Right. And I suppose that faint blush on your ears is also nothing?”
Mydei turned his head slightly, subtly adjusting his collar, but it was too late.
Phainon saw everything.
“Oh, this is fantastic,” Phainon continued, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “Should I go find Y/N? Ask her what happened?”
That finally got a reaction.
Mydei stopped walking.
Phainon barely had a second to register it before Mydei turned his head just enough to level him with a look.
“…You won’t.”
Phainon blinked. Then, slowly, a grin stretched across his face.
“Oh, but now I have to.”
Mydei exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Phainon.”
Phainon only laughed, stepping closer. “Come on. Give me something. Did she finally get it?”
Mydei crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “…More or less.”
Phainon gasped dramatically. “You mean all of your awkward attempts actually paid off?”
Mydei gave him a flat look. “They weren’t awkward.”
“They absolutely were,” Phainon said smugly. “But that’s beside the point.” He tilted his head. “So? What now?”
Mydei was quiet for a moment.
Then, slowly, a small, knowing smirk tugged at his lips.
“Now,” he said, “I make sure she never forgets.”
Phainon blinked, momentarily caught off guard.
Then he let out a low whistle. “Oh. Oh, this is going to be fun to watch.”
Phainon still wasn’t done.
If anything, Mydei’s flustered reaction only fueled his mischief further.
With a slow, deliberate motion, Phainon reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. His smirk was downright wicked as he tapped a few times on the screen before turning it toward Mydei.
“Seems like you had a good time yesterday,” he mused, his voice laced with amusement.
Mydei’s golden eyes landed on the screen.
It was the picture.
The one Phainon had secretly taken while lurking in the distance—Y/N on her toes, a hand gripping Mydei’s collar, pressing a kiss to his cheek. The normally stoic prince was caught mid-reaction, his ears red, his expression stunned.
A moment of silence.
Then—
“Mydei?” Phainon said, grinning. “You okay there, buddy?”
Mydei exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening. “Phainon.”
Phainon’s smirk widened. “Yes?”
Mydei’s eye twitched.
“Delete it.”
“Oh, absolutely not.” Phainon pocketed his phone, taking a casual step back. “This is gold. Fantastic, even.”
Mydei ran a hand down his face. He inhaled deeply, as if to compose himself. Then, he took a step forward.
Phainon immediately took another step back.
“Mydei,” he said, amusement clear in his voice.
The prince said nothing. He merely rolled his shoulders back, his expression shifting from mild embarrassment to something much more dangerous.
Phainon recognized that look instantly.
“Oh, shit.”
Mydei lunged.
Phainon barely had time to react before he bolted, laughter spilling from his lips as he dodged between passing warriors and startled civilians.
Mydei was right behind him.
“You’re dead, Phainon.”
“So worth it!” Phainon cackled, vaulting over a wooden crate as he ran through the streets of Okhema.
“Get back here!”
“Never!”
Civilians watched in stunned silence as the two Chrysos heirs chased eachother through the marketplace, dodging carts, weaving through narrow streets, their thundering footsteps echoing through the city.
It was definitely not the last time Phainon was going to bring it up.
misunderstandings ft. dr ratio
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Hello welcome to my little sideblog! I like to write cute YN x Character fanfiction! Maybe when I work up the courage il post them!
96 posts