LEONA X READER

Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?" - Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw(Here!), Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): None. I mean, unless you don't want to marry any of them. Just don't read if that's the case. Note: These are all if he is the one proposing btw. I've been thinking about maybe programming a small fan-made mini-otome using these ideas. Just for some practice for school while also being self indulgent hehe

Leona Kingscholar

Let’s just rip the bandaid off. Leona dates to marry. He’s not someone to invest his time in something troublesome, and frankly? Not many people catch his interest. Sure. He might think someone is physically attractive, but there’s a difference. He doesn’t follow the traditional path either. The ‘dating’ stage doesn’t last long because he’s already made up his mind prior to it.

Dating is pretty much just formality. The moment you agree to it, you’re essentially agreeing to marry him. He’s not going to put in effort for just anyone. Bonus points if he’s the one to confess his feelings first. That is basically concrete confirmation that he intends to marry you.

Leona proposing is inevitable. Only two things stand in his way: time and pride. Time, because he is no idiot. Your ways are unlike his people, and unlike him. He’s patient. He knows how to play the game. He can wait, but not forever. He’ll observe you over time and slip in questions here and there about your goals in life. Then he’ll find a good time frame. Please remember that Leona is not just an ambitious hot-head. He’s a smart one.

Then there is his pride. He will not put himself in a position that has a chance to fail. No. He will play dirty, and wait until you are tinkering with the idea of marriage. He’ll steer conversations towards talks of the future, and make it so you’re the one who starts them. All to get you warmed up to the idea of spending your life with him, and to a stage where he can clearly tell where you lie emotionally. He might appear neutral on the outside; however, it’s all according to plan. While you are just beginning to imagine your lives together, Leona’s already had the thought process long prior. You don’t need to know that though.

The icing on the cake is when you visit his home. Checka is Leona’s secret wingman. Your soft spot for the boy is something he takes advantage of, and lets Checka consume your attention during a tour of the palace. You meet his elder brother, who irritatingly pries for details about your relationship. Leona lets it go. Just this once, because he knows you feeling at home is more important in the long run. You share a room with him during your stay, and he made arrangements for small changes according to your tastes. You’re also gifted with a new wardrobe of traditional clothes for your stay, and given free reign of the area. Naturally you are guarded in secret, as per the King’s orders. His brother knows as well as Leona does that it is imperative that your stay goes well.

You will be touring landmarks and tourist spots within the continent as well. While Leona would much rather laze his free time away in his room (away from his family), he goes. Word spread that he was bringing home his partner. Thank the gossiping maids for that. Walking with you makes the rumors official, and is safer than having you walk alone with Checka and some royal guards. That would have arisen suspicion, and been troublesome. More troublesome than walking around and confirming to the public that you are not to be touched.

Ignoring the many remarks about how Leona is unusually active during his visit (thanks to you), his pride is high. You’ve thoroughly been slotted into his life, and are accepted. Any apprehensions about you denying him were snuffed out. The way you took to living with him so easily proves it. If you weren’t welcomed by his family? Well, it wouldn’t change anything. This scenario just makes what he’s about to do easier.

The first night you arrived, Farlan presented Leona with a Kingscholar family heirloom. A ring that has been in their family for generations. Not meant to be worn permanently, and only for proposals. Farlan used it to propose to his wife, and at the ceremony presented her with the ring he picked out. Now Leona will use it to propose to you.

One look at it and Leona declined. He’s spent his whole life chasing things that he couldn’t have because of his birth status. He would not yield this moment to tradition. Farlan was shocked, but rescinded the offer with a supportive smile. His brother had found himself, and the King was proud.

On the evening of your final night at the palace - Leona finds you alone on the balcony of your shared room. If he was going to do anything, it would be now. Initially he was 100% confident in getting your acceptance, but the longer he watches the less sure he becomes. Deep down there is rooted fear that he will once again become second choice, and that you’ll choose to return to your world over him. His hands are in his pockets, and one of them fists around the ring he prepared long ago.

Right when he moved to back out, you turned to come back inside. Your serene stature brightened at the sight of him, and he gained back some confidence. If you could only look at him that way forever…well, here goes nothing.

What are you doing out there without a coat? It gets extremely cold in the Savannah during the night. Do you want to get sick? I won’t be the one taking care of you….,” he sighs, pushing the door open, “Stubborn mule. Make some room, I’m coming out there….I’m near-certain that you figured it out, but this isn’t just a normal vacation. I brought you here to ask for your hand. What?? Stop playing dumb. Not your ‘hand’ hand - oh, for crying out- marriage! I am asking you to marry me!….I am taking the laughter as a yes, now give me your finger”

{ 'Everything the light touches...is our kingdom' - A golden sunrise. Befitting. He used to hate them. Hate that phrase too. Yet you are the sun that Leona has been searching for. He continues to fight against fate in hopes that his efforts will bare fruit, and you are living proof that there is a chance. Maybe not easily. His life might not be what he originally dreamed. He may not get to sit on a throne of light . Yet there is a light in his life, and he likes to think that fate did not bring it to him. No, he found you all on his own.}

Ruggie Bucchi

'I don't see why you haven't proposed to that young darling yet. Keep waiting and you'll miss your chance, boy'

Well, of all the things Ruggie expected to hear during his visit home, that wasn't one. Normally he'd be nagged over being away too long, or not writing home enough. This? It caught him off guard. Grandma was always sticking her nose where it didn't belong...but, maybe she had a point this time.

Your relationship. It's not something Ruggie has given much thought. It's uncharacteristic of him to get comfortable enough not to look a few steps ahead, but he's gone soft. A fact that he begrudgingly accepts with a grain of salt.

Naturally, he doesn't admit this out loud and instead changes the topic. On the outside, he acts normal and helps out around the house. However, internally he is thinking over his grandmother's prying.

Marriage. It's not necessarily 'beneficial,' to say the least. With only a few months left until graduation, he'll finally be entering the rat-race to secure himself a comfortable position for life. He's worked hard and developed connections to make it happen. The finish line is right there.

Where does that leave you? He can't necessarily be as flexible if he has a partner to worry about. It's a weak link, and might cause problems in his plans. The smart thing to do would be to break things off. After all, how many school romances get a happy ending? It's so unrealistic. He'll be busy with work, you'll have your own responsibilities, and eventually it will be like you are strangers with a title tying both of you together.

This reasoning alone is enough to settle the problem. It's just - he doesn't like it. It's the most realistic path and he hates it. If it was about finding a companion, then he could do it later in life.

But when he tries to picture that lifestyle with anyone other than you, it doesn't sit right. It's physically upsetting, and makes him nauseated.

Sleep evades him that night. Ruggie finds himself sitting in the kitchen doing homework, burning the midnight oil until he can think with a clear head. Naturally, his all-knowing grandmother finds him there and makes him spill his thoughts.

She's direct with her advice. It's rare for Ruggie to be stumped considering his quick-wit, and understanding emotions is a wisdom you gain with experience.

For someone like Ruggie, who's always maximized every outcome and thought ahead - you're a weakness. Something that he can't control, and yet exactly what he needs in life. We don't get to choose who we love in life. Love is unpredictable, and Ruggie's found it at a young age. Career opportunities come and go, but he will never get back the time spent at your side...so why not maximize that instead? Hm?

He leaves for NRC the following day. For the last time, considering it is his final year. On the way he stops at multiple markets and dips into his savings. With nothing but a ring and an idea, he ditches his stuff in his dorm and heads to Ramshackle.

He's not nervous. That left his system the night prior. His grandmother's tough advice hardened that up quick.

He knocks on the door, half expecting one of the resident ghosts to answer. Instead it's you, and he's down on one knee before you can speak. With one hand, he holds out the ring. The other itches his nose in attempt to hide his wobbly grin.

"Shishishishi~ I don't have to explain what's going on, right? I'm sure you can put two-and-two together quickly. Are you really so surprised that you have nothing to say? Hmm, I guess that I can take the lead. Pretty soon I'll be leaving. You still have another year here, and I can't promise that I will be around much. Until now, I had no plan for us. Likely because being with you is the most natural thing I have experienced. I've always aimed for a life of comfort, but now I want you in that picture too, y'know? So...when you graduate next year, will you marry me? I'll be patiently waiting, shishi~”

{Rose Quartz. The symbol of unconditional love and family. Something Ruggie hasn't experienced much in his life, and is grateful for. Ruggie did not want to choose a generic gem. Not for this. He may be known for cutting corners, but this is too important. He has done his fair share of trading, and knows exactly what to look for when shopping. No salesperson alive could convince him otherwise. You may not understand the meaning behind the gem, but that's alright. He doesn't mind, because this is the ring he'll see on your finger until you're both old and grey}

Jack Howl

Jack takes the longest out of all in his dorm. In result, his proposal is the most natural. Not to say that he does not put thought into it! Oh no, this poor lad hella overthinks the event. It's just getting him to the proposing stage is - well, anticlimactic?

All Jack requires is time. Once you've both settled in to your lives on an individual standpoint, with time comes thoughts of taking your relationship to the next level. As adults who have been together for years, it's only natural? At least for Jack. He has never been for or against getting married. So, there really is no internal battle for him to fight. He just? Lets himself be happy with the idea? I know, I know. It sounds too easy - but think about it. Jack is responsible, kind, and a bit like a golden retriever (or should I just say wolf?). He doesn't ignore his feelings. So if he feels that he want's to marry you, then why not? The worst that can happen is you say no.

There was no epiphany. No spark or overwhelming feeling of affection that made him want to marry you. No impending doom, nervousness, or special moment that he can pinpoint as 'the moment'. Nothing. You weren't even around.

He was merely finishing up morning jog and heading home. The thought casually entered his head, and he let it stay. Over time it reappeared over and over, until he felt that he'd heard it enough to act on it.

Jack is high-key observant and knows your likes and dislikes by heart. He feels that such an important moment is something he needs to think through deeply, and on his own. Many have been at the receiving end of his determination, and that doesn't exclude you. Once he's set his mind to something, there is no holding back. Over the course of weeks he proceeds to undergo self-reflection, and craft a proposal that he feels is perfect.

One question he spends time thinking about is 'where,' because Jack would prefer to do an intimate act like proposing somewhere private. The last thing he wants you to feel is pressure to accept, so he chooses to propose on a late night walk. This might arise suspicion since he isn't in workout gear, which is rare. Yet it's a price Jack is willing to pay. He's never been great with surprises anyways.

He tries to uphold some element of mystery though. Do not laugh, but he put the in a plastic bag and hid it inside the container for his protein powder. When times get tough, you have to get a little creative.

Right before your evening stroll, he says that he wants to make a shake (under the pretense that afterwards he'll work-out). In actuality, he takes an empty bottle and slips the ring inside.

While you're both walking, he shakes it around and 'complains' that nothing is coming out. With you completely unknowing, he opens the cap and feigns surprise. It makes you curious, and he hands over the bottle a bit too eagerly

It's light, you note instantly. A glance inside reveals the ring, and when you pull it out Jack stops walking. His face sets with determination despite the red hue overtaking his neck and ears.

Will you marry me?? -- oh wait, that was too blunt, wasn't it? Hang on!, " he takes a breath, and coughs into his fist, "So. I've been doing some thinking. We've been together for years now, and to me you've become irreplaceable. I don't know how else to describe how I feel, other than to say that you are the person I want to spend my life with. I can only hope that you feel this way too,"

{He isn't a man of the arts. Jack has no eye for fancy jewels, or what's an appropriate design. He originally thought to have the shop keeper help him decide. Yet, that felt impersonal. So he perused many stores, and did his best to imagine your reaction to seeing each ring. Nothing caught his eye until this peridot. A simple cut with an eye-catching color. Sure, it's not what others would recommend but he liked it. Who would Jack be to deny his gut instinct?}

---

PLEASE DO THE OTHER DORMS FOR YOUR NEW POST PLEASEEEE IM BEGGING IM BEGGING ON MY HANDS AND KNEES

Bullied & Teased

PT.1 .

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . drama - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] savanaclaw . octavinelle .

- [𝐩:𝐬] mentions of bulling ofc

Note: Here you guys go, part 2!!

Leona Kingscholar

Leona had been lounging under a tree, eyes half-closed in that trademark lazy way he had, when the sound of muffled voices broke through the calm afternoon. Something in the tone struck him as off, pulling him from his sloth-like rest. He glanced over toward the courtyard and spotted a few of his dormmates surrounding you, making cruel remarks.

His sharp golden eyes narrowed. The casualness vanished from his posture in an instant. Leona didn’t need to think twice. His pride burned at the sight of anyone daring to make you feel small.

“Oi, what do you think you’re doing?” Leona’s voice was deep, laced with an authority that demanded attention.

The bullies froze. They knew that tone. That was the voice of someone who didn’t tolerate nonsense, especially from those in his territory.

“Don’t you know better than to mess with her?” Leona’s growl was low and menacing. He stood up, taking a few deliberate steps toward them, his presence alone more than enough to make them shrink back.

Without waiting for their response, Leona flicked his tail, a signature move that signaled his growing frustration. “I’ll make this simple for you. If I ever catch you harassing her again, you’ll regret it. Now get out of my sight.”

The students scattered, nervously avoiding his gaze as they made their way off. Leona approached you, his usual indifference replaced by something softer but no less intense. He placed a hand gently on your shoulder, his voice quieter but still tinged with frustration. “You okay? Don’t let those idiots get to you.”

Jack Howl

Jack was just heading back from a training session, his body still warm from the exertion, when he heard the hushed whispers and laughter echoing through the hallway. His keen senses picked up on the situation immediately—you were being harassed by a couple of members from his own dorm.

His eyes narrowed instinctively, and the weight of his protective instincts kicked in without hesitation. The next thing he knew, he was marching towards the group, his jaw clenched, his wolf-like instincts taking charge.

“What’s going on here?” Jack’s voice was stern, and his posture was rigid. The bullies froze as they turned to face him. “You’ve got a problem with her, you’ve got a problem with me.”

The students stammered, not expecting the normally calm and composed Jack to confront them like this. His muscles tensed, and his eyes were sharp, a wolf’s protective gaze that left no room for doubt. Jack didn’t take threats lightly, especially when it came to the people he cared about.

“Listen up,” Jack said, his tone cold and unwavering. “If I hear any of you say another word to her, I’ll personally make sure you regret it. Got it?”

The bullies, now visibly intimidated, hurried off without a second glance. Jack turned to you, his expression softening immediately. “You alright? Don’t worry, they won’t bother you again. I’ll make sure of it.”

His protective nature was as solid as ever, his loyalty never in question. He offered you a warm, reassuring smile, making sure you knew you were safe.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie had been watching the scene unfold from a distance, his usual mischievous grin replaced with a rare frown. He’d been hanging around, as he often did, waiting for a chance to lend a hand in some kind of scheme or get out of work. But when he saw you surrounded by a few of his own dormmates, teasing and making you uncomfortable, he felt his blood boil.

“Hey, hey, what’s all this?” Ruggie asked with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He walked over nonchalantly, hands in his pockets, but there was an edge to his voice that made the bullies hesitate.

“You all know better than to mess with my girl,” he continued, his voice sharp and his usual playful tone gone. Ruggie wasn’t one to cause trouble, but when it came to the people he cared about, that was a different story entirely.

The bullies exchanged uncertain glances, trying to figure out how to talk their way out of this. Ruggie didn’t give them the chance. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing into a sharp, calculating gaze.

“I don’t care if you’re from my dorm or not,” he said with a sly grin. “You ever make her feel like that again, and I’ll make sure it’s not just a few words you have to deal with. I know a lot of ways to make things uncomfortable for people, and I’ve got time.”

The bullies, now visibly nervous, quickly backed off. Ruggie didn’t move, watching them until they were out of sight. He turned back to you with a smirk, though his eyes were soft.

“You okay, princess?” he asked, his usual charm back in place. “Don’t let those jerks get under your skin. They don’t know who they're messing with when it comes to me.”

He gave you a playful nudge, trying to lighten the mood, but there was a genuine concern in his eyes. He might act like a troublemaker, but when it came to protecting the people he cared about, there was no one more fiercely loyal than Ruggie.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul had been going over business plans in his office when the sound of raised voices reached his ears. Frowning, he adjusted his glasses and stood, curiosity piqued. When he made his way down the hall, he froze at the sight of a few of his dormmates laughing cruelly at you, their words laced with mockery.

Azul's expression darkened, his normally composed and charming demeanor shifting to something far colder. His blue eyes narrowed as he made his way toward the scene, his voice smooth but carrying a dangerous edge.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Azul’s voice was sweet, but there was no mistaking the venom in it. “Is this really how you behave in my dorm?”

The bullies stammered, clearly uncomfortable under Azul's cold gaze. He leaned in, his sharp smile growing as he continued. “You seem to have forgotten your place. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how things work around here.” His voice dropped lower, more threatening now. “You’ve disrespected someone I care about. And that, my dear students, will not go unpunished.”

The bullies took a few steps back, clearly intimidated by the power Azul wielded, both in charm and authority. With a final, scornful glance, they hurried off.

Azul turned to you, his expression softening instantly, though his usual polite smile never quite reached his eyes. “Are you alright, my dear? I do apologize for those imbeciles. Rest assured, I’ll be taking care of them.” His voice was still warm, but there was a glint in his eyes—a promise of retribution, one that made it clear no one would dare cross you again under his watch.

Jade Leech

Jade had been nearby, observing with his usual calm detachment, when he noticed a group of his dormmates bothering you. His eyes glinted, and his ever-present smile slowly turned into something more sinister. Jade wasn’t the type to rush into confrontation, but when it came to protecting someone he cared about, he knew exactly how to handle things with precision.

He approached the group with deliberate slowness, his presence unnerving in its calmness. “My, my... what’s all this commotion about?” His voice was smooth, almost playful, but there was an underlying chill to it.

The bullies looked over at him, hesitating as they noticed the dangerous edge to his demeanor. Jade’s eyes twinkled, his smile widening ever so slightly as he studied them. “I’d recommend you leave now, before this becomes more... unpleasant.”

The group of students shifted nervously, unsure of how to react to Jade’s composed threat. They knew all too well that his reputation for handling things with a calm, calculating approach was nothing to be underestimated.

“You wouldn’t want to make things worse for yourself, now would you?” Jade continued, his voice laced with a subtle threat. “I’d suggest you apologize to her and then go. Quickly.”

The bullies, now visibly shaken, murmured apologies and hurried off, not wanting to risk facing Jade’s wrath. Jade turned to you, his smile returning to its usual charming self. “Are you unharmed, darling? I must admit, I find it rather distasteful when people forget their manners. Rest assured, I’ll ensure they don’t bother you again.”

Floyd Leech

Floyd had been slinking around the dorm, looking for something—anything—to spice up his day. So when he saw a group of his dormmates picking on you, he couldn’t help but grin, a dark glint flashing in his eyes. This was exactly the kind of entertainment he’d been waiting for.

“Hey, hey! What’s going on here, huh?” Floyd's voice was upbeat, but the undertone of menace in his words was clear as he sauntered over, his long limbs stretching out in exaggerated, predatory motions.

The bullies froze, taken aback by Floyd’s sudden appearance. His smile was wide, but it didn’t reach his eyes—it was all teeth and malice. “What’s the matter, did you think you could have some fun at her expense? Bad idea, real bad idea.”

Floyd’s grin widened, and he took a step closer to the bullies, his playful energy suddenly turning dark. “I could have a lot of fun with this, but I think I’d rather have a little chat with you about respect. How about it?”

The students looked nervously between each other, unsure whether to stand their ground or back off. But Floyd was already moving too fast for them to react, stepping closer and putting a hand on one of their shoulders. “If I ever catch you messing with my girl again, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you ever do.”

The bullies quickly muttered apologies, stumbling away in a panic. Floyd watched them go, chuckling lightly to himself, before turning to you with his usual mischievous grin.

“You okay, sweetie?” Floyd asked, his tone much softer now, though there was still a gleam of excitement in his eyes. “You looked a little bored with them, so I had to step in. Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone pick on you. Not while I’m around.”

His wild grin returned as he ruffled your hair. “Let me know if you ever want me to spice things up again. I’m always ready for a little fun!”

---

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.

---

Trash Novel Chronicles: I Want a Refund || Trey Clover

When the universe dunks you into a dumpster fire of a novel as the villainess, survival is key. Except your husband, Trey Clover, turns out to be such a green flag that it gets a little harder to function.

Series Masterlist

You prided yourself on being a normal, decent person. Maybe even a good person, depending on who you asked. Sure, you weren’t out here saving kittens from trees or solving world hunger, but you did your part.

You recycled when you remembered, held the door open for strangers (if they were close enough, you weren’t that kind of hero), and even tossed bread crumbs to the pigeons outside your apartment every now and then. It wasn’t much, but it was honest work.

So, really, what you didn’t expect was to be completely betrayed by the universe. The betrayal began small, like a mosquito buzzing in your ear: the newest novel you’d been anticipating for months was sold out.

“Are you serious?” you grumbled, glaring at the empty display like it had just insulted your mother. A handwritten sign on the shelf read: ‘SOLD OUT! More in stock soon!’ in cheerful cursive, as if mocking you.

What were you supposed to do now? Go home empty-handed? Waste your perfectly good afternoon plans of curling up with a book? Absolutely not. Refusing to admit defeat, you scanned the bookstore until your gaze fell on the “New and Best-Selling” rack.

One book immediately caught your eye. The cover was... well, something. It looked like someone had raided a middle schooler’s stash of Barbie stickers, splattered glitter over the whole thing, and slapped on an aggressively curly gold font that screamed, I’M A ROMANCE NOVEL!

You sighed. “Fine. How bad could it be?”

It could be very, very bad.

The first red flag was the synopsis. It introduced Trey Clover, the Grand Duke, who loved his spouse, the villainess, with a devotion so pure it made you want to gag. But then came the second male lead, the Prince, who confessed his love to Trey and the villainess, because monogamy was too boring for this book.

And then there was the heroine. The synopsis just called her “the Saintess,” because why bother giving her a name when her only personality trait was being the worst human being imaginable? She appeared out of nowhere, became the Saintess overnight (because logic?), and made it her life’s mission to ruin the villainess’s life while somehow convincing everyone she was an angel.

Oh, and the Prince? The book had him slip on a rock and die halfway through the plot, like the author had a word count limit and didn’t know what else to do with him. The villainess ends up dying too, right aftetr asking Trey for a divorce to "protect him." The ending involved Trey marrying the heroine, despite spending the entire book side-eyeing her like she owed him rent.

You closed the book slowly, your soul drained of all joy. “What in the fresh hell did I just read?”

But no, you couldn’t let this stand. You were a taxpayer, a contributing member of society. You did not deserve this literary slap in the face.

With righteous indignation burning in your chest, you marched back to the bookstore. You slapped the book onto the counter with a dramatic flair that deserved a standing ovation.

“Refund,” you declared, glaring at the cashier.

“Uh... we don’t usually do refunds on books you’ve already read...” they began hesitantly.

“I don’t care,” you snapped, pointing at the glittering monstrosity. “This isn’t a book. It’s a hate crime against literature. A refund, please, before I start sobbing in public.”

After a long pause—and possibly fearing a customer service meltdown—they handed you store credit. Satisfied but still simmering with rage, you stomped out of the store, muttering to yourself about bad authors, worse editors, and the existential crisis of knowing someone got paid to write that garbage.

And that’s when karma struck.

A segway—a SEGWAY—came hurtling toward you at Mach speed, piloted by a man dressed in full medieval knight armor.

“MAKE WAY FOR SIR SCOOTINGTON!” he screamed, his voice muffled by his helmet.

You froze. Your brain could not process this level of absurdity in such a short amount of time. Was this a prank? A hallucination? Had the book actually been cursed and now you were living out its bad writing?

The segway didn’t stop. It hit you with a solid THUNK, sending you flying backward into a suspiciously well-placed pile of garbage bags.

As you lay there, buried under the remains of someone’s takeout and a very old banana peel, as your vision started to blur, you stared at the sky and thought:

Dawg, why me??

You woke up to the faint chirping of birds and the kind of silence that only rich people seem to afford. Something felt... off. The sheets were too soft, like they’d been spun from angel whispers and a mid-tier deity’s hair. Your pillow was the perfect combination of fluffy and firm, a far cry from the lumpy second-hand abomination you’d bought on sale three years ago.

Your eyes cracked open, squinting against the sunlight filtering through an elaborate, gold-encrusted chandelier. A chandelier. In a bedroom. You lived in a shoebox apartment; your idea of luxury was a lamp that wasn’t from a clearance bin.

You turned your head slightly, and your soul froze mid-exit.

There was someone next to you.

Your brain screeched to a halt, flashing every warning signal it had. Stranger. Bed. You. No.

The only living thing that should’ve been in your apartment was the stray cat you’d nicknamed Gremlin, and he sure as hell didn’t have human proportions or a steady breathing rhythm.

Slowly—painstakingly—you tilted your head to look at your unwanted companion.

It was a man. A very attractive man, sleeping peacefully on his side, glasses perched askew on the nightstand. His hair was a soft mess, his breathing even, and his entire aura screamed gentle husband vibes.

Then recognition sucker-punched you in the gut.

No.

No.

It couldn’t be.

You blinked. Looked again. Replayed every horrible memory of that atrocious novel you had read, and then read again because you hated yourself.

It was Trey Clover.

Male lead. Gentleman. Human embodiment of a warm cup of tea. The guy who was in love with his villainess spouse (you remembered her being dramatic but competent) before the world went full dumpster fire.

Your breathing hitched. You stared down at your hands, and they stared back—perfectly manicured, dainty, soft hands that had never touched a single dirty dish or over-scrubbed countertop.

The reality hit you like a segway knight at full speed.

You’d been isekai’d.

You fought the urge to scream into the pillow. Was this some karmic punishment for returning that book? Was your snarky review in the Reddit thread too harsh? Because this? This was an unholy level of irony.

Trey stirred beside you, his brow furrowing slightly as his hand lazily reached for his glasses. He slid them on, blinking sleepily as his gaze landed on you.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was soft, groggy, and just a little raspy—the kind of voice you’d pay extra to have someone read you bedtime stories with. “You’re staring.”

For a moment, your brain blue-screened. Trey Clover—novel character and now your husband, apparently—was looking at you with concern, and all you could think was: At least he’s hot.

“…Nothing,” you croaked, swallowing down the rising tide of panic. “Just… processing.”

“Processing what?” he asked, sitting up slightly and rubbing his eyes, his entire demeanor radiating "adoring husband" energy.

You clenched the sheets in your fists, trying to will yourself to wake up from this insane fever dream. Unfortunately, the chandelier wasn’t disappearing, Trey wasn’t fading into mist, and your perfectly moisturized skin wasn’t breaking into your usual crusty dryness.

This was real.

And somehow, you were the villainess in a novel you’d once described as "a literary abomination designed to kill brain cells."

The sound of a soft knock at the bedroom door made you jump, nearly upsetting the tower of books you’d been flipping through in your attempt to figure out where in the dumpster fire of this timeline you were.

“Come in?” you called hesitantly, trying to shove the incriminating evidence of your non-villainess-like behavior—a half-written list titled HOW TO NOT DIE TRAGICALLY—under a pillow.

Trey stepped in, balancing a tray of food like he was auditioning for Husband of the Year. His hair was slightly mussed, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up just enough to show forearms that could inspire sonnets. The man was a walking Pinterest board, and it was unfair.

“I brought you something to eat,” he said with a small smile, setting the tray on the table. “You’ve been skipping meals, and that’s not like you.”

You laughed nervously, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “Oh, um, yeah. Upset stomach. You know how it is.”

Trey raised an eyebrow, his smile unwavering but his eyes far too knowing. “Sure. And I’ll be here while you eat, just to make sure you’re feeling better.”

Oh, no.

You stared at the tray like it had betrayed you. Soup, bread, and some suspiciously perfect desserts that looked like they had been made by the hands of an angel. You couldn’t say no without sounding even sketchier.

“Right,” you muttered, picking up the spoon with the grace of someone about to face a firing squad. As you sipped, Trey watched silently, his chin resting on one hand, his soft gaze pinned on you. The air felt so heavy you could’ve cut it with a butter knife.

“Are you going to go through with it?” he asked suddenly.

You froze mid-bite, the words hitting you like a frying pan to the face. “Go through with… what?”

“The divorce,” he said simply.

You choked on your soup. The spoon clattered back into the bowl as you grabbed a napkin, trying to avoid literally dying of shock. Divorce? Divorce?! That wasn’t in the plan! You knew what happened after the divorce—the villainess died, and you weren’t about to let fate steamroll you into an early grave, again.

“What? No! Of course not!” you sputtered, waving your hands in frantic denial. “Why would I want a divorce? You’re, uh, great! Fantastic! A literal dream husband!”

Trey blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion before his expression softened into something warmer, almost relieved. “You… want to work things out?”

“Yes!” you blurted, nodding with enough enthusiasm to give yourself whiplash. “Absolutely! Let’s work this out. Together. Like a team.”

His lips curved into a rare, genuine smile that nearly melted you on the spot. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead that left your brain doing cartwheels. “Alright. I’ll hold you to that. I’ll be back for dinner, so rest up until then.”

He left the room, and the moment the door clicked shut, you flopped back onto the bed like a deflated balloon. The pillow muffled your scream of embarrassment as you kicked your feet, equal parts flustered and mortified. What was that? Why did he have to be so sweet? How were you supposed to survive this level of tenderness without combusting?

The door creaked open again.

You froze mid-giggle, legs tangled in the sheets like a caught fish. Trey stood in the doorway, eyebrow raised and looking like he was about two seconds away from bursting into laughter. “Forgot my pen,” he said casually, strolling over to grab the item from the bedside table.

You wanted the floor to swallow you whole. “Oh. Uh. Right.”

He paused on his way out, leaning down to kiss your cheek with infuriating gentleness. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

And just like that, he was gone again, leaving you red-faced, flustered, and questioning every life choice that had led to this moment.

It had been such a nice meal. The kind where the food was good, the company better, and the wine just strong enough to make you feel warm and floaty but not stupid. Trey was smiling faintly at you over his plate, his rare but deeply satisfying I’m enjoying myself face in full effect, and you dared to think, Hey, maybe I can survive this isekai nonsense after all.

And then the restaurant door swung open, and your fragile peace shattered like a dropped wine glass.

The prince had arrived.

Trey’s face immediately darkened like a thunderstorm on the horizon, and you felt yourself lose a year of your life just from sheer dread. The prince was a walking disaster in human form, and you’d been hoping to avoid him like the plague. But the universe clearly hated you because here he was, sashaying through the restaurant like he owned the place.

“Oh no,” you whispered, gripping your fork like it could somehow protect you.

Trey’s jaw tightened as the prince spotted you both, his grin wide enough to make you wish the floor would open up and swallow you.

“Darlings!” the prince cried, crossing the room with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever off its leash. “Fancy seeing you here!”

You didn’t even get a chance to object before he grabbed a chair from a nearby table, spun it around dramatically, and wedged himself between you and Trey, plopping down like he’d been invited. Spoiler alert: he hadn’t.

“Your Highness,” Trey said through clenched teeth, managing to sound both polite and like he was ready to stab someone with a salad fork.

“Oh, come now, Trey,” the prince laughed, waving off the formality. “No need to be so stiff. After all, we’re practically family!”

You didn’t get the chance to ask how that made sense before he grabbed your hand—and Trey’s—planting a wet, sloppy kiss on each. The sound it made was unholy, like a boot pulling free from a swamp. You and Trey simultaneously stiffened, the same thought clearly running through your minds: Don’t cringe, don’t cringe, don’t cringe…

“I simply had to come over when I saw you two!” the prince gushed, oblivious to your visible discomfort. “The saintess—bless her kind, radiant heart—has been dying to see you both!”

You glanced at Trey, who was visibly restraining himself from rolling his eyes.

“She’s throwing a ball this weekend,” the prince continued, clasping his hands together like he was sharing the world’s most exciting news. “And you must come. Truly, it’d be… well, treasonous not to, considering we’re both inviting you!”

Ah, there it was. The veiled threat disguised as politeness. You hated that this guy was smart enough to wield his royal status as a weapon, even if he made everything sound like it came with a complimentary gift basket.

You forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look too much like a grimace. “We’d be honored, Your Highness.”

Trey shot you a subtle look, one that very clearly said Traitor, but you knew he agreed. Anything to avoid another round of Wet Hand Kisses.

“Wonderful!” the prince declared, clapping his hands together. “I knew you two would understand. You always were the reasonable ones.”

He finally stood up, ruffling Trey’s hair in a way that made his eye twitch before striding off like he hadn’t just hijacked your peaceful dinner.

As soon as the door swung shut behind him, you slumped back in your chair, utterly drained. “I feel like I need to bathe in holy water.”

Trey pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “I should’ve poisoned his dessert last time.”

You stared at him. “You what?”

“Nothing,” he said, picking up his fork like nothing had happened. “Let’s finish eating.”

You could still feel the ghost of the prince’s wet kiss on your hand, and you shuddered. “Do you think we can fake our deaths before Saturday?”

Trey actually looked like he was considering it.

The ball was, against all odds, actually enjoyable. The lights glittered like fairy dust, the music was just the right level of lively, and the wine was strong enough to turn your earlier dread into a warm, floaty haze. Trey was by your side, charming in his tailored suit, and for once, the prince and saintess were blissfully absent.

"Maybe they got lost," you whispered to Trey, leaning in conspiratorially. "Or better yet, maybe they found a better party and decided to leave us alone."

Trey smirked, sipping his wine. "If only we were that lucky."

Your hopes were dashed, naturally, when the prince appeared out of nowhere like some unholy summon. One second you were lifting a glass to your lips, and the next, your arm was being yanked so hard you almost spilled your drink.

“Come now, my dear!” the prince declared, grinning in a way that felt more like a threat than an invitation. “Dance with me!”

Before you could even process what was happening, you were being twirled onto the dance floor. Across the room, you caught a glimpse of Trey being snatched by the saintess, who looked like she had all the coordination of a baby deer on ice.

The prince pulled you in too close, his breath an unholy concoction of garlic and what might’ve been sour milk. You tried to politely lean back, but he just leaned closer, grinning obliviously.

“You’re stiff, my dear,” he said, his voice low and entirely too sultry for someone who smelled like a kitchen accident. “Loosen up!”

Meanwhile, Trey was enduring his own nightmare. The saintess stepped on his foot with her stiletto for the fourth time, and you could swear you saw him wince in actual pain. She was chattering nonstop about something—maybe puppies, maybe world peace—you couldn’t hear over the sound of her heels clobbering the floor.

When the ordeal finally ended, you staggered back to Trey, feeling like you’d aged ten years. He looked equally frazzled, rubbing his shoulder like it had been yanked out of its socket.

“I’d say that was horrible,” he said under his breath, “but I think ‘horrible’ is too kind.”

Before you could respond, the saintess suddenly tripped. She wasn’t even near you—she was all the way across the room—but she hit the ground with a dramatic thud, and her dress promptly ripped down the side.

You blinked. “Wait, what just—”

“I knew it!” she screeched, pointing an accusatory finger at you from the floor. “You sabotaged me!”

The prince, for once, looked baffled. He glanced between her and you like he was trying to solve a complicated riddle. “But… she wasn’t even near you?”

“SABOTAGE!” the saintess shrieked again, her voice cracking.

The original villainess would’ve taken the high road, maybe pretended to be insulted or outraged. You, however, were just drunk enough to find the entire thing hilarious.

You laughed. Loudly.

And to your absolute delight, the crowd followed suit. Quiet snickers turned into outright guffaws as everyone around you dissolved into laughter.

The saintess gawked, looking like a wet cat as she scrambled to her feet. “You’re all… MONSTERS!” she shrieked, before fleeing the room with a level of dramatics that would make even a soap opera jealous.

The prince hesitated, torn between chasing after her or staying to glower at you and Trey. Finally, with a sigh that sounded suspiciously like “I hate my life,” he ran after her, disappearing into the night.

“Well,” Trey said, offering his hand with a faint smirk, “that was… something. Care to salvage the evening with a proper dance?”

You took his hand, letting him spin you onto the floor. The music softened, the crowd fading into the background as Trey pulled you close.

“You look stunning tonight,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear as you danced.

The compliment hit you like a sucker punch, leaving you so dazed that, in your flustered state, you impulsively dipped him instead of the other way around.

Trey laughed, eyes crinkling with genuine delight. “What are you doing?”

“Shut up,” you hissed, cheeks burning as you held the pose.

But to your surprise, he didn’t protest. He let you dip him, even laughing as you pulled him back up. And when the dance ended, he kissed your cheek, sending your heart into a full-on meltdown.

“That,” he said, his voice filled with amusement, “was the most fun I’ve had at a ball in years.”

The tea party was a picturesque affair, all pastel tablecloths, delicate porcelain cups, and the kind of floral arrangements that screamed wealth and good taste. You were seated with Riddle, Cater, and Che’nya at a table tucked under a wisteria-laden gazebo, trying your best to survive the endless parade of gossip and sweets.

The conversation drifted naturally, like it always did, until someone—probably Cater—brought up the topic of Trey.

“Y’know,” Cater began, swirling his tea with exaggerated nonchalance, “Trey’s been looking at you like you personally hung the moon and stars lately. It’s kinda adorable.”

Che’nya leaned over, grinning like the Cheshire Cat he was. “So deep in love, it’s practically a romantic trench. What’s your secret, huh? Love potion? A really good pie?”

You chuckled, brushing off the comment, but then you glanced across the garden—and froze.

There he was, Trey Clover, the ridiculously perfect husband material that fate had handed you in this bizarre isekai life. He was standing a little ways off, chatting with a few nobles, but his gaze was unmistakably fixed on you.

When your eyes met, he smiled. Not just any smile—a warm, genuine, I-would-die-for-you-and-bake-you-cookies-afterwards kind of smile. It hit you like a runaway carriage.

Your chest tightened, your stomach flipped, and for a moment, the entire world seemed to pause.

Oh no.

Oh no.

You were in so deep.

Like, Titanic-hitting-the-iceberg-and-sinking-to-the-ocean-floor deep.

“Uh oh,” Cater sang, leaning closer with a smirk that could only mean trouble. “I know that look. Someone just had their Hallmark movie epiphany.”

You snapped out of it, cheeks burning. “What look? I don’t have a look!”

“Oh, you totally do,” Che’nya chimed in, his grin somehow wider. “It’s all dreamy and starry-eyed, like you’re in a fairy tale. Which, I guess you kinda are?”

Riddle, ever the straight man in these situations, regarded you with a mix of pity and exasperation. “Please tell me you’re not about to let these two meddle in your relationship.”

But before you could defend yourself, Cater was already leaning forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Cay-Cay’s got you covered! Wanna confess? I can totally set the mood—candles, roses, soft music…”

“I—what?” you stammered, still too dazed by your revelation to form a coherent response.

“That’s a yes!” Che’nya declared, clapping his hands together. “Alright, let’s brainstorm. Hot air balloon confession? Dramatic rain scene? Ooh, what about—”

“Absolutely not,” Riddle interrupted, his tone sharp as ever. He turned to you, expression weary. “I’ll make sure they don’t do anything absurd, but honestly, why not just tell Trey yourself? He’s your husband.”

You groaned, sinking into your chair as Cater and Che’nya continued to scheme with increasingly outlandish ideas. Meanwhile, Riddle looked at you like you’d just wired your entire fortune to a scammer and promised to fix it for you later.

Across the garden, Trey caught your gaze again, his brows furrowing slightly in concern at your flustered state. He started to make his way over, and your heart leapt into your throat.

Oh no.

Whatever happened next, you were absolutely not ready.

Riddle had been firm, as always. “A pie,” he said with the kind of authority you’d expect from someone sentencing a man to death. “It’s simple, heartfelt, and Trey would appreciate the effort. Not that I have time to indulge in frivolities like this, but… you’re lucky I know the basics.”

Turns out, Riddle did not know the basics. And neither did you.

What followed could only be described as a culinary catastrophe.

The kitchen looked like it had been struck by a flour tornado, with you and Riddle at its chaotic epicenter. Your attempt at pie dough was a war crime in the making—half stuck to the counter, half to your hands, and none of it remotely edible.

“Why is it stretching?” Riddle hissed, his face as red as his hair, holding one end of the dough while you gripped the other. The elastic monstrosity between you refused to snap, stretching longer and longer like some unholy noodle.

“I don’t know!” you shrieked back, your voice an octave higher than usual. “I followed the instructions! Mostly! Kind of!”

“‘Kind of’ isn’t good enough! Put some force into it!”

Riddle tugged one end of the dough like he was in a tug-of-war with a particularly stubborn ghost. You yanked back, and the dough elongated even further, wobbling ominously in the air.

That’s when Trey walked in.

He stopped in the doorway, taking in the absolute chaos: the flour-streaked counter, the rolling pin embedded in what used to be a bag of sugar, and you and Riddle holding opposite ends of the world’s saddest dough.

“What… exactly is happening here?” Trey asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You froze, still clutching the dough. Riddle looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

“We’re baking,” you managed to squeak out.

Trey blinked, then burst into laughter, the sound warm and rich like honey. “Is that what you’re calling this?”

His laughter didn’t help your embarrassment, but the way he stepped forward, gently taking the dough from you and Riddle like a benevolent baking god, did. “Alright, let’s see if we can salvage this. Flour, water… and patience. You two watch and learn.”

You stood back, flustered and hopelessly smitten as Trey worked his magic. In minutes, he turned your disaster into a perfectly respectable pie crust. He even smiled at you both as if to say nice try, kids, and it made you feel oddly warm inside.

Still too mortified to admit the pie was meant for him, you let him finish it while Riddle quietly excused himself, muttering about overdue paperwork.

You did feel for Riddle, poor guy was stuck babysitting the Prince after all. Maybe the dough was sad because of his stress.

Later, Cater and Che’nya were far too pleased with themselves when they found you.

“So,” Cater said, grinning, “how’s Operation Swoon going?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you grumbled, remembering the dough debacle.

Che’nya’s grin widened. “Lucky for you, we’ve got Plan B: flowers! Romantic, classic, and impossible to mess up.”

You weren’t sure about that last part, but their enthusiasm was infectious. You ended up at a florist with Cater coaching you through every step, from picking out the blooms to tying a ribbon. By the time you were done, the bouquet looked gorgeous.

When you handed the flowers to Trey later, he looked… stunned. His eyes widened, his cheeks turned faintly pink, and his smile was so soft and genuine that you nearly dropped dead on the spot.

“For me?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

You nodded, suddenly nervous. “Yeah. Just, uh, wanted to thank you. For everything. You know.”

Trey cradled the bouquet like it was something precious. “Thank you. Really. This means a lot.”

And when he smiled at you again, you realized that maybe, just maybe, Cater and Che’nya’s meddling wasn’t so bad after all.

You were practically vibrating with excitement as you entered the restaurant, rare flower in hand. You’d spent far too much money on it, but it was worth it. Trey deserved nothing less. The merchant had waxed poetic about how the flower symbolized eternal devotion, and you figured it was the perfect way to set the stage for your long-overdue confession.

Trey was already seated at the table, his calm demeanor somehow both comforting and devastatingly attractive. When he saw you approach, his eyes softened, and that sweet smile of his—the one that made your knees weak—spread across his face.

You handed him the flower, and his expression lit up as though you’d just handed him the moon.

“For me?” he asked, his voice full of surprise and warmth.

“Of course,” you said, a little shy but mostly proud of yourself. “I thought it suited you.”

His fingers brushed yours as he took the flower, and before you knew it, you were holding hands across the table. The atmosphere felt perfect—soft candlelight, his warm gaze locked on yours, and your heart pounding like it had just discovered cardio.

This was it. The moment to confess that you loved him.

You opened your mouth, ready to pour your heart out—

And then she appeared.

The saintess, an uninvited hurricane in the form of a woman, swept into the room with all the grace of a bull in a china shop. You barely had time to process her arrival before she snatched the flower from Trey’s hand like a seagull stealing a french fry.

“Oh, Trey, you shouldn’t have!” she gushed, clutching the flower to her chest like a deranged soap opera villain. “How thoughtful of you to get this for me!”

Trey’s face froze in what could only be described as polite murder. His jaw tightened, his grip on the table visibly white-knuckled.

You, however, were already halfway to a breakdown. “Excuse me?” you sputtered.

The saintess ignored you entirely.

Enter the prince, the human equivalent of a golden retriever who’d been hit on the head one too many times. He trailed behind her, clearly regretting his existence. For once, he seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation and awkwardly tried to mediate.

“Ah, maybe I should—uh—just give this back,” he mumbled, reaching for the flower.

The saintess responded by shoving him.

The prince, unprepared for even the gentlest resistance, stumbled directly into Trey’s arms.

Trey, now holding a grown man like a bridal bouquet, froze. His eyes darted to you, silently screaming what do I do with this?

Before he could decide, the prince looked up at him, smiled coyly, and winked.

You might’ve laughed if the saintess hadn’t chosen that exact moment to drape herself across you.

“Oh, my dear friend,” she simpered, batting her lashes, “surely you understand Trey’s affection for me. You’ll support us, won’t you?”

You were too stunned to respond, stuck holding the saintess like an overly affectionate sloth. Across the table, Trey looked like he was begging whatever gods existed for an escape route.

Finally, something in Trey snapped. Gently—yet firmly—he set the prince in his seat like a toddler being put in timeout. Then, without a word, he reached across, grabbed the saintess by the arm, and unceremoniously deposited her in her own chair.

“You’ll have to excuse us,” Trey said, his voice smooth but his expression pure I’m done with this nonsense. He grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the restaurant, not even sparing a glance back.

Oh, and he definitely took the flower back.

In the carriage, Trey was silent, his expression unreadable. You hesitated before asking, “Are you okay?”

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just… tired.”

“Of what?”

“Of not having moments with you for myself,” he said, his voice soft but full of frustration. “Every time I try to enjoy being with you, someone interrupts. I just… I want you. Just you.”

Your heart practically melted on the spot. Overwhelmed by his honesty, you leaned forward and kissed him—a gentle, tentative gesture that said everything you’d been too nervous to put into words.

Trey froze for a moment, then pulled you closer, kissing you again, this time deeper and with so much emotion that you thought your brain might short-circuit. His hands cradled your face, and the world outside the carriage ceased to exist.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his smile so radiant it made your heart skip. “I guess this means you’re mine?”

You nodded, breathless.

“And I’m yours,” he murmured, sealing the confession with another kiss that left you thoroughly, blissfully dazed.

It was supposed to be a simple stroll through the common garden—just you and Trey enjoying a rare moment of peace. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and you were basking in the warmth of Trey's smile when, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him.

The prince.

And worse, the pebble.

You recognized it instantly—the cursed rock from the original novel, the one destined to send the prince spiraling into a tragic, fatal end. It glittered ominously on the path, as if taunting fate.

The prince, blissfully unaware, strutted forward like he owned the place. He stepped right onto the pebble, his foot slipping out from under him with comical precision.

In that split second, you knew what you had to do. Annoying as he was, no one deserved to die because of a glorified piece of gravel.

You lunged forward, grabbing the prince by the arm and yanking him upright just before disaster struck.

He looked at you, wide-eyed, for all of two seconds before breaking into a toothy grin. “Ah, so this is love,” he declared, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. “Fear not, my dear! Your feelings for me are obvious, and I, in my infinite generosity, shall grant you the honor of becoming my bride!”

Trey, who had been watching this unfold with his usual calm, suddenly stiffened. His hand slipped into yours, his grip firm but not unkind as he gently pulled you closer.

“Your Highness,” Trey began, his voice polite but laced with steel, “I think you may have misunderstood something.”

“Oh?” The prince arched a brow, clearly oblivious to the warning signs.

“She's already married,” Trey said, his tone so calm and measured it was borderline terrifying. “To me.”

The prince’s eyes lit up with excitement, not deterred in the slightest. “A rivalry for their love, then? Excellent! Let the best man win!”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Riddle—ever the voice of reason (or exhaustion)—strode into the fray like a man who had been dealing with this nonsense for far too long.

“Your Highness,” Riddle snapped, looking entirely done with life. “What in the sevens are you doing?” Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed the prince by the collar and dragged him away like a scolding parent hauling a toddler out of the candy aisle.

“You can’t just propose to married people!” Riddle hissed as they disappeared down the path.

Left in their wake, you spotted Cater and Che’nya lounging under a tree, shamelessly munching on popcorn. Cater caught your eye and waved, looking far too entertained by the whole ordeal.

“Did you see Trey’s face?” Che’nya whispered loudly. “I’d give it a solid nine out of ten on the jealousy scale.”

“Totally,” Cater agreed. “Hey, Alfred!” he called to the butler nearby. “Get me a glass of wine; this show’s getting good!”

Before you could decide whether to laugh or cringe, Trey’s hand gently tilted your chin, drawing your attention back to him.

“Focus on me,” he murmured, his gaze locking onto yours.

And oh, jealous Trey was adorable. His usual calm demeanor was tinged with a possessiveness that made your heart skip several beats.

Caught up in the moment, you leaned forward and kissed him, a quick but sweet gesture that left him blinking in surprise before a soft smile spread across his face.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Cater almost spill his wine in excitement, while Che’nya clapped like a seal.

“Now that’s spicy!” Che’nya crowed.

“I need another glass,” Cater sighed dramatically, as if the sheer romance was too much for his delicate heart.

But you didn’t care. Trey’s arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and for once, the rest of the world faded away.

The war room was dead silent, the kind of silence so heavy you could hear the shuffle of maps and the scratch of quills on parchment. Every important figure of the empire was present—Trey and you, the Emperor and Empress, military generals whose scowls could crack stone, the Pope looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else, and, shockingly, even the Prince, for once not actively trying to ruin someone’s day.

Strategies were discussed in grim tones. Supply lines, terrain advantages, possible reinforcement numbers—you and Trey were fully immersed in weighing the support your duchy could offer. For once, even the Prince managed to look engaged, though he was suspiciously chewing on the end of his quill like a kid stuck in detention.

Then, like an uninvited storm, the doors slammed open.

“Hellooooooo!”

Every head in the room turned as the Saintess waltzed in, an hour late, as if this were a garden party and not a high-stakes war council. She was dressed in what could only be described as a fever dream of bad taste: a dress so garish and bedazzled it could probably be seen from orbit, complete with absurd feathered accessories sticking out at odd angles like a startled peacock.

“Sorry, I’m late,” she sang, twirling unnecessarily as if this was a runway. “I couldn’t decide which dress to wear. Do you think this one looks good?”

The silence was palpable, charged with a collective secondhand embarrassment that could power an entire city.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, wondering if you could claim an "upset stomach" for the fifth time this month. Then, unable to stop yourself, you deadpanned, “Yes. It’d make a great enemy flag.”

Trey choked on a laugh, quickly covering it with a cough. The Pope crossed himself, possibly praying for patience. One of the military generals muttered something under his breath, hand twitching toward the hilt of his sword. The Prince just buried his face in his hands.

The Saintess, predictably, burst into tears. “You’re so mean! I’m just trying to brighten up this dreary meeting!”

The Emperor looked deeply, soul-crushingly confused, glancing at the generals as if to ask, Does this happen often? Meanwhile, the Empress, seated beside him, was gripping the armrest of her chair so tightly her knuckles were turning white.

Trey sighed and leaned closer to you. “I’ll handle it,” he murmured, giving you a quick nod before standing.

He approached her like one might approach a wild animal, hands raised in surrender. “Saintess, perhaps we could discuss this outside—”

But no sooner had he stepped within arm’s reach did she trip. On purpose.

In what could only be described as an Olympian-level act of self-preservation, Trey sidestepped so swiftly she ended up flailing through the air like a failed acrobat.

She landed directly on top of the Emperor.

The entire room froze.

The Emperor looked down at the Saintess sprawled across his lap with the bewilderment of someone who just found a raccoon in their bed. The generals were wide-eyed, clearly waiting for his reaction before deciding if they needed to draw their swords. The Pope had started sweating through his robes, clutching his staff like it was his last lifeline.

And then, like an avenging goddess, the Empress rose from her seat.

Without a single word, she grabbed the Saintess by her feathered hairpiece and hauled her up like a disobedient child. The Saintess shrieked, limbs flailing, but the Empress dragged her toward the door with a grim determination.

“OUT.”

The doors slammed shut behind them, and the silence that followed was deafening.

Trey cleared his throat, brushing off his sleeves as if nothing had happened. “Well,” he said, returning to his seat beside you. “That was… eventful.”

“Eventful?” you hissed, elbowing him. “She just dive-bombed the Emperor!”

Trey shrugged, lips twitching. “And yet here we are, still alive. I’d call that a win.”

Across the table, the Emperor straightened his robes, trying to reclaim what little dignity he had left. “Shall we… continue?” he asked, though his tone suggested he wanted nothing more than a stiff drink and a nap.

You nodded, biting your lip to suppress a laugh as the meeting resumed. Somehow, against all odds, you managed to get back to planning strategy. But you knew this story was one for the history books. Or at least for drunken retellings later.

The negotiation room was a grand affair, with gilded walls, an impossibly long table, and an air of tension so thick you could slice it with a butter knife.

The opposing kingdom’s crown princess sat across from your delegation, radiating intelligence and poise. Her every word was measured, her presence commanding, and she somehow managed to make a simple quill look like a weapon of mass destruction.

Meanwhile, your prince was... spinning in his chair.

“Wheeeee!”

You felt your soul leave your body.

“Your Highness,” Riddle hissed, his voice laced with the kind of fury only a man on the verge of a migraine could muster. “Compose yourself!”

The prince paused mid-spin, blinking like he’d just remembered where he was. “Right, right. Negotiations. Totally got this.” He picked up a quill and twirled it between his fingers like a toddler pretending to be an adult.

You buried your face in your hands, quietly mourning the future of your kingdom.

Across the table, their saint was the picture of grace, clasping their hands as though ready to bestow divine blessings upon the room. They exuded an aura of peace and righteousness that made you think, Ah, yes, this is what a saint should look like.

And then there was your saintess.

She was currently leaning against the wall, dramatically fanning herself with a peacock-feathered fan that you were pretty sure wasn’t hers. She’d arrived late, claiming she’d been “blessed by the spirits of fashion,” and was wearing a gown so covered in rhinestones that it could probably be seen from space.

You caught Trey’s eye from across the table. He looked entirely too amused, like he was moments away from bursting into laughter. You glared at him, silently begging him to take this seriously.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching upward as if to say, I’m trying.

Thankfully, the Empress had come along for damage control. She sat at the head of the table, calm and unflappable, effortlessly steering the conversation back on track whenever your prince derailed it with comments like, “So, how do you guys feel about dragons?”

When the opposing kingdom’s crown princess suggested an ambassador exchange as part of the peace treaty, the Empress visibly perked up.

“That’s an excellent idea,” she said smoothly. “In fact, we have the perfect candidate.”

You felt a sliver of hope. Maybe she’d suggest Riddle—he was intelligent, responsible, and would undoubtedly represent your kingdom well. Or Trey, whose calm demeanor and charm could win over anyone. Or—dare you dream—maybe even you, since you were clearly the only one in this circus who had a shred of common sense. And the two of you could move away from this hellhole.

“We’ll send the saintess,” the Empress announced, her voice dripping with what could only be described as malicious glee.

You blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

The crown princess on the other side of the table looked mildly alarmed. “Um,” she began, clearly searching for a polite way to decline.

“She’ll be an excellent cultural ambassador,” the Empress continued, her smile widening. “She’s... unforgettable.”

Riddle’s eye twitched, but he said nothing. Trey looked down at the table, probably to hide his grin.

The saintess, oblivious to the underlying implications, squealed in delight. “Oh my gosh, finally! I’ve always wanted to travel!”

The opposing kingdom reluctantly agreed—probably under the assumption that taking her would somehow count as reparations.

When you all finally returned home, the atmosphere was noticeably lighter, as though a glittery, rhinestone-encrusted weight had been lifted off your collective shoulders.

Trey leaned over in the carriage, his voice low and amused. “Well, I’d call that a success.”

“Success?” you laughed. “We basically tricked another kingdom into taking her off our hands.”

Trey’s smile was soft as he reached for your hand. “And we averted a war in the process.”

You sighed, but your heart skipped a beat when his thumb brushed against your knuckles. Maybe you could live with this version of “success.”

Without the saintess egging him on, the prince had downgraded from menace to society to mildly annoying NPC. He still popped up every now and then, offering unsolicited advice on topics he clearly didn’t understand, but Riddle—bless his overworked soul—had finally had enough. As royal advisor, he slapped the prince with permanent probation, effectively keeping him confined to paperwork and far, far away from you and Trey.

Life, for once, was peaceful.

So peaceful, in fact, that you and Trey found yourselves back at that restaurant—the same one that had become the backdrop for two very traumatic encounters. It felt like tempting fate, but Trey, ever the optimist, assured you that lightning wouldn’t strike thrice.

And for once, he was right.

The food was good, the atmosphere was cozy, and not a single insufferable royal barged in to ruin the evening. You both laughed, reminisced, and indulged in desserts that Trey—being the baking connoisseur he was—had plenty of opinions about.

By the time you left the restaurant, the streets were quiet, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns. The air was crisp but not cold, and everything felt oddly serene, like the universe was apologizing for all the nonsense it had previously thrown your way.

As you walked side by side, Trey suddenly stopped.

You turned to face him, confused. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he knelt down on one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket.

Your brain short-circuited.

“Trey—”

“Before you say anything,” he began, his voice steady but tinged with emotion, “I just want you to know that despite how things started between us... I’ve never regretted a single moment with you.” He looked up at you, his green eyes warm and sincere. “You’ve made me happier than I ever thought I could be, and if you’ll let me, I want to spend the rest of my life making you just as happy.”

He opened the box, revealing a ring—simple, elegant, and undeniably perfect. “So... will you marry me? Again?”

You stared at him, your chest tight with emotions you couldn’t even begin to untangle. And then you laughed—because how else were you supposed to process the sheer ridiculousness of everything that had led to this moment?

“Yes,” you said, your voice trembling with joy. “Of course, yes.”

He stood, sliding the ring onto your finger with a smile that could have melted glaciers.

And then he kissed you—soft, slow, and so full of love that it felt like the world around you ceased to exist.

Somewhere in the distance, you thought you heard a cat knock over a trash can, but nothing could ruin this moment.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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i JUST saw your reverse kiss and make out fic and i LOVE THEM is it okay for you to do the same for the rest of the cast plssss 💖

Kiss And Makeout *FLIPPED

( ✧ ) ────── parent stories . fluff - gn!reader .

- [𝐜𝐡.] riddle . ace . deuce . jamil . idia . silver

- [𝐩:𝐬] ~Fluff with a Dash of Heat . Emotional Comfort . Bad Day Comfort (for Riddle, Deuce, Silver, Jamil) . Impulsive Behavior (Ace, Idia, Jamil) . Suggestive Themes . Kissing . Emotional Vulnerability . Anxiety/Insecurity Mention . Possessive Behavior . Flustered/Desperate Behavior . Unexpected Boldness .

Note: I think you guys want me to make a second part... but I don't know 🤭. Alright, your guys' wishes have come true! Here is part two!!! (≧◡≦) ♡ Hope you guys enjoy it like the first one~

Riddle Rosehearts

It had been one of those days. Riddle had been holding it together by the finest thread of willpower and discipline. His prefect duties had dragged longer than expected, a few underclassmen had dared to ignore the Queen’s Law No. 89 about corridor traffic flow, and worst of all, someone spilled rose jam on one of the unbirthday party table linens.

By the time you found him pacing the Rose Garden, cheeks flushed with frustration and lips pressed into a hard line, he was seconds from snapping.

“Riddle,” you called softly.

His head snapped toward you. That stern expression flickered just for a moment. “I don’t have time—”

You took a step closer. “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

And that did it. Something broke.

Without a word, he grabbed your hand—firm, but not rough—and began walking. You barely had time to react as he led you down the corridor, past classrooms, past portraits whose eyes seemed far too nosey, and toward a supply closet tucked away behind the alchemy wing. The moment the door shut behind you, he turned the lock with a soft click.

You barely had time to question before he pinned you gently but with urgency against the shelf-lined wall. His eyes flickered with something between anger and desire.

“I need this,” he breathed, his voice strained. “You.”

He kissed you like he was trying to drown out the world. No rules. No order. Just the rush of lips on lips, and the way his hands found your waist like he was anchoring himself. Riddle wasn’t usually this desperate—not this untethered—but when your fingers tangled into his hair and you kissed him back just as fiercely, a low, almost uncharacteristic noise escaped from his throat.

One of the brooms clattered from the shelf beside you, but neither of you paid it any mind.

Minutes felt like moments. He eventually pulled back, forehead pressed to yours, breath shallow. His usually perfect uniform was wrinkled, his collar askew, hair a mess.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “That was… unbecoming.”

But you smiled, brushing a thumb over the pink hue of his cheek. “It was perfect.”

His eyes softened. “Only you can calm me like this.”

Ace Trappola

Ace had been flirting with you all day. That cocky smirk, the sly touches when no one was looking, the way he leaned way too close during lunch and whispered, “You’re making it real hard to focus, y’know.”

You’d rolled your eyes. “You never focus anyway.”

“Yeah, but now I have a good excuse.”

He’d been plotting this. You could tell by the glint in his eye—Ace wasn’t exactly subtle. So when you walked past an empty classroom on your way to your dorm and felt someone tug you by the wrist and yank you inside, it wasn’t a surprise. Not really. What was surprising was just how fast he shut the door, turned the lock, and kissed you like he hadn’t seen you in months.

“Missed you,” he mumbled between kisses, pressing you back against a desk. “Even though I literally saw you like an hour ago.”

You laughed, breath hitching as he nipped at your bottom lip. “You’re such a idiot.”

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot.” His grin turned into another kiss, deeper this time, his hands sliding along your hips like he couldn’t get close enough.

He tasted like cinnamon gum and just a little trouble.

One of his hands slid under your blazer, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt while his other hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he tilted your head to kiss you better. He kissed like a tease—playful, slow, then suddenly intense enough to leave you dizzy.

“You drive me crazy, y’know that?” he whispered against your lips. “Been thinking about this all day. Like, do you try to distract me or are you just naturally irresistible?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, pulling him in for another kiss.

He did. But not without a smug little chuckle rumbling in his chest.

Eventually, when the risk of someone catching you got just a little too real, Ace pulled back, panting and flushed. He grinned down at you, wiping a smudge of gloss from your lip with his thumb.

“We should probably go before Crowley shows up and gives me detention again.”

You smirked. “Worth it?”

“Hell yeah.”

Deuce Spade

Deuce tried. He really did. He studied for the test. He kept his nose clean. He even avoided Ace’s latest dumb scheme. But the world had other plans.

Professor Vargas announced a surprise pop quiz—on a unit they barely covered. Then a potion exploded in his face during lab. And just when he thought he could walk it off, he overheard a couple of older students talking about how “guys like him never amount to anything.”

By the time you found him hunched on a bench outside the classroom building, he wasn’t saying much. Just… clenching his fists like he was one second from punching the sky.

“Deuce,” you said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He looked up, and for a second, his tough-guy mask cracked. His eyes were red. From smoke? Anger? You weren’t sure.

“I—I’m fine,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “I just—needed air. It’s dumb.”

You crouched in front of him. “What happened?”

And that did it. The floodgates opened.

He told you everything—rushed and frustrated, hands flailing as he vented. “I try so hard, but it’s like… one thing goes wrong and suddenly I’m that guy again. The delinquent. The screw-up. No one thinks I’ll ever change.”

You grabbed his hand. “I do.”

That’s when his expression shifted. Like you’d said the one thing he didn’t realize he needed to hear. And without another word, he stood up, pulled you to your feet, and led you quickly—not even glancing around—into the nearest empty classroom.

The door barely shut before he turned around, eyes stormy and locked on you.

“I… I just—can I—?”

You didn’t wait for him to finish. You kissed him.

At first, it was soft. A tentative press of lips, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed this comfort. But when you wrapped your arms around him, pulled him closer, he melted. Like all the tension had been clinging to his muscles and finally let go.

His hands found your back, sliding up slowly, as if grounding himself. He kissed you like it meant something. Like it saved him.

“I’m really lucky,” he murmured, forehead against yours. “To have you. To have… this.”

You smiled, brushing hair from his face. “And I’ll always be here to remind you—you’re not that guy anymore.”

“Not with you around,” he whispered, kissing you again—deeper this time, slower. More sure.

Jamil Viper

Jamil had been quiet all day. Too quiet.

You’d noticed it during lunch. The way he stirred his food absently, how his gaze lingered on the horizon, thoughtful and dark. Kalim had been extra excitable, and Jamil had worn that polite mask of patience, but you could tell—he was simmering underneath.

So when you caught his eye across the courtyard later, that gaze wasn’t passive anymore. It was intense. Hungry.

And when he wordlessly gestured for you to follow him, something electric sparked in your chest.

You didn’t ask where he was going. You just trailed behind him as he glided through the halls, silent but purposeful, until he reached a storage closet near the gymnasium. He opened the door, looked back at you with something unreadable, and when you stepped inside, the door shut behind you.

The dim space felt thick with heat.

“Bad day?” you asked quietly.

Jamil didn’t answer.

He pressed you back against the door so fast your breath caught. His lips were on yours a heartbeat later—silencing any thoughts you might’ve had with a kiss that was slow, dangerous, and completely intoxicating.

“I needed something,” he whispered between kisses, voice low and smooth like velvet over a blade. “Something that’s mine.”

His hands were steady, but his kiss was anything but. He kissed you like he was unraveling. Like all the things he had to hide and control every day had finally broken the surface. His body caged yours in, not out of aggression, but out of sheer desperation to feel something real—you.

You could feel the tension radiating off him. He touched you like he didn’t trust himself to go further, but couldn’t stop. One hand braced above your head, the other gripping your waist as if letting go meant returning to that carefully curated mask he wore every day.

“You always make me feel like I don’t have to keep pretending,” he murmured into your neck. “Like I can just be.”

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, whispering into the curve of his jaw. “Then don’t pretend right now. Just be here.”

He kissed you again, slower this time—full of gratitude and longing. His breathing slowed, his forehead pressed against yours.

“I should get back,” he muttered reluctantly. “Kalim’ll start searching if I’m gone too long.”

You smiled, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear. “Then let him look. Just a little longer?”

Jamil exhaled a quiet laugh, a rare, genuine sound.

“Yeah… just a little longer.”

Idia Shroud

Idia had been spiraling all morning.

The new project in Ignihyde Lab glitched hard, Ortho almost got accidentally reprogrammed, and to top it off, he overheard some random students talking about you—how “someone like you” was wasting time on a shut-in like him. That shouldn’t have mattered. But it got under his skin. It festered.

He spent the next two hours in a haze, typing too hard, muttering under his breath, eyes flicking to his tablet screen like your name might just pop up and make him feel okay again.

Then he saw you walking toward the main building. And instead of retreating like he usually would, Idia stood up, ran a hand through his electric-blue hair, muttered a string of curses about how this was “like, peak out-of-character behavior,” and bolted to intercept you.

“Whoa—Idia?” you blinked as he practically teleported in front of you. His hair glitched from neon blue to a deep pink.

“I—uh—I need you. I mean—not like that! I mean yes, like that, but—just—come with me before I short-circuit or die or implode—whatever happens first.”

You could barely laugh before he’d grabbed your wrist, nervously leading you through the winding back halls of the science wing. Your heart pounded with curiosity and adrenaline. And when he stopped in front of a rarely used equipment storage room, unlocked it with trembling fingers, and stepped inside with you—oh. You knew what this was.

The second the door shut behind you, he turned to face you. Pink light flickered wildly in his hair.

“I-I don’t know how to do this kind of thing,” he admitted, words rushed. “But I’ve been thinking about kissing you all day and I feel like my brain’s doing that ‘blue screen of death’ thing because—holy crap—look at you.”

He hesitated. But you stepped closer, brushed your hand over his hoodie-clad chest, and smiled.

“Then stop thinking.”

That was all he needed.

He kissed you like he was afraid he’d glitch right through you. Soft at first—shy, hesitant, stuttering against your lips like a program still loading—but then something changed. His hand slid around your waist, and he groaned softly against your mouth as he leaned in, lips parting with yours like he’d forgotten everything but this moment.

The taste of cola from his favorite energy drink lingered faintly on his tongue. His other hand came up to cup your cheek, surprisingly warm despite how jittery he was, and he tilted your head like he was learning how to really kiss you.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, breathless.

“It’s perfect,” you murmured, brushing your nose against his.

He smiled—a real one. Soft. Rare. Beautiful.

“Achievement unlocked: Most Unbelievable Moment Ever.”

Silver

Silver usually wore serenity like a second skin—calm, gentle, a touch sleepy. But sometimes, sometimes, something inside him cracked through that dreamy exterior. Especially when he was exhausted, emotional… or desperate for you.

You noticed it after a long, grueling day of training with Lilia. Silver had taken on too much—again. You caught him nodding off in the garden, sword still in hand, posture rigid even in sleep. When you knelt beside him and gently touched his shoulder, his eyes snapped open—cloudy, tired, but focused on you.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice rough. “Come with me.”

You barely had time to respond before he stood, took your hand, and started leading you. His fingers were warm but firm. There was something off—different. Not bad. Just… intense.

“Silver?” you asked softly.

“I had a dream,” he murmured. “You were in it. And when I woke up, you were here. And I… couldn’t tell if it was still a dream.”

The hallway was quiet. He led you into an unused classroom, probably one of the knight training theory rooms, filled with old armor and worn-down desks. He locked the door behind him.

Then he turned to you, his eyes darkened with exhaustion and longing.

“Let me stay here a while,” he whispered. “With you. Like in the dream.”

Before you could reply, his lips were on yours—slow, deep, full of emotion. It wasn’t rushed. It was aching. Like every part of him had been waiting for this. His hands were gentle as they cupped your waist, pulling you flush against him, and he kissed you like someone who dreamed of this moment too many times to waste it now.

His breath hitched when you kissed him back, and his hand slid up your back, burying into your hair, holding you there like he needed to make sure you were real.

“I’m always slipping between sleep and wake,” he murmured into your skin. “But this? This is the clearest I’ve felt all day.”

You felt your heart squeeze at the quiet vulnerability in his voice. His forehead rested against yours, and you swore you saw the faintest smile curve his lips.

“If this is a dream,” he added, eyes fluttering shut, “don’t wake me up.”

---

You Being Super Oblivious Of Them Flirting With You

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff/light romance - no prns .

- [𝐜𝐡.] 3rd years

- [𝐩:𝐬] slow burn . one-sided pinning (resolved) . light comedy . mild suggestiveness . teasing/banter . slight jealousy

Note: I sat down to write cute flirty headcanons and instead accidentally wrote all of these guys having a romantic breakdown in about their crush being so oblivious about the flirting. 💀 Then I thought they where good and just decided to go with that as the prompt!

Trey Clover

It had been going on for weeks.

Subtle, harmless gestures at first—sharing his homemade treats, seeking you out in the hallways between classes, and always making sure there was a spare seat beside him at Heartslabyul’s long, rose-lined table. You always took it. Smiling up at him, laughing at his jokes, even leaning against his shoulder sometimes when the evenings stretched long and drowsy under the golden canopy of dusk.

And yet.

You were completely, utterly oblivious.

“You’re really good at baking, Trey,” you complimented one day as he handed you a small, ribbon-tied box of matcha-flavored sweets, his personal recipe he never shared. You bit into one, eyes lighting up in delight. “I don’t know how someone like you is still single.”

Trey blinked.

“...Someone like me?”

“Yeah! Tall, dependable, cute smile—you’re like...dad boyfriend material.”

If he had been drinking tea, he might’ve choked.

Dad boyfriend material?!

Despite the polite, affable smile he wore, a faint twitch of disbelief rippled across his temple. Trey had dropped so many hints—letting you taste frosting off his finger in the kitchen, gently brushing your hair out of your eyes when you leaned too close to the oven, even calling you “sweetheart” under his breath when you dozed off during a study session.

And yet, here you were. Thinking he was some domestic teddy bear.

The final straw came during a Heartslabyul tea party, when you reached over to wipe a crumb from the corner of his mouth with your thumb, completely unaware of how red his ears turned.

“You’re always such a mess after eating cake,” you scolded gently.

“You do realize,” he said slowly, looking into your eyes with a rare, unreadable intensity, “that I only ever bring you the first slice.”

“Huh? I just thought I was lucky!” you grinned.

That did it.

He leaned in, lowering his voice as he caged you between the chair and the hedge behind. His gloved hand gently tipped your chin up. “I’ve been flirting with you for months,” he murmured. “How much more obvious do I have to be, shortcake?”

Your mouth dropped open. “Wha—wait, what?!”

Trey laughed softly, finally letting his forehead rest against yours, the tension melting into something warm, golden, and soft. “I swear, you’re sweeter than my tarts and twice as dense.”

Cater Diamond

“Okay, I give up,” Cater announced dramatically, collapsing face-down on the common room couch. “I’ve tried everything, and they still don’t get it.”

From behind his phone screen, he peeked at you sitting nearby, nose buried in a magazine, completely unaware of his suffering.

It had started as a game at first—light teasing, exaggerated winks, the occasional compliment laced with glittering charm.

“Looking good today, babe~” he’d say, snapping a selfie of the two of you while slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“Thanks, Cater! You look amazing too, as always!”

But you always said it like a friend. With zero hesitation, zero fluster, zero realization. You treated his affection like background noise—a quirk of his personality.

Even when he’d rested his head in your lap after a long day and looked up at you with dreamy, sleepy eyes and whispered, “You’d make a perfect boyfriend, y'know... if you’d let me,” you just chuckled and patted his hair.

“Aw, Cater, that’s sweet. You’d be a great boyfriend for someone, definitely.”

Someone.

SOMEONE.

He practically screamed into his pillow when he got back to his dorm that night.

Every day since then had been a desperate escalation. He started bringing you your favorite snacks, styling your hair for fun, sending you good morning texts with pet names like “sunshine” or “my star.” You responded with gifs. Gifs.

Finally, in a move of last-ditch desperation, he planned the boldest romantic gesture he could think of.

Cater rented out the photo booth in town, the one with the glitter backgrounds and soft lighting. He dragged you inside under the pretense of wanting “a bestie shoot,” and waited for the moment the countdown began.

Three…

Two…

One—

He turned, cupped your face, and kissed your cheek.

Click. Flash.

You blinked at him.

“Cater?? What was that for?”

He stared.

“No, seriously. Are you okay? Did you think I was sad or something? You can talk to me, y’know.”

Cater threw his hands up and groaned.

“You’re the one I like!! You! Not as a friend, not as a selfie buddy, not as a human pillow—I like you, you dense little cinnamon bun!”

Your eyes widened. “Wait. Are you flirting with me?”

He looked like he aged five years in five seconds.

“Yes. YES, BABE. That’s what the last four months were. Flirting. Full-throttle, heart-eyes, rom-com level flirting!”

“…Oh.”

A pause. Then, sheepishly:

“So… wanna take another photo? This time, maybe I kiss you on the lips?”

Cater blinked at your soft smile and the way your hand found his.

And just like that, every ounce of frustration melted into sparkly euphoria. “Oh my Seven,” he whispered with a grin. “Finally.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona was not a man known for patience. In fact, most of the time, he prided himself on getting what he wanted with the least amount of effort. He was sharp, cunning, and confident enough to know that most people would bend over backward just to get a sliver of his attention. So when he set his sights on you—you, with your soft laugh, bright eyes, and completely clueless smile—he assumed it would be easy.

It wasn’t.

It started small. He’d lounge in the botanical gardens where he knew you always came to study. He made sure to growl off anyone else who might sit nearby, leaving the two of you in your own little secluded corner. He'd toss you the occasional compliment, his voice lazy and low.

“Tch. That look suits you, herbivore. Finally got some style.”

You’d blink at him with that warm, clueless grin. “Oh? Thanks, Leona. My friend helped me pick this outfit.”

He resisted the urge to growl. Again.

Then he escalated. He’d sit closer—closer than anyone would consider “just friends.” He'd drop hints laced with suggestion, his amber eyes narrowing when you remained oblivious. He once even played with your hair, idly running his fingers through it while you yawned and continued taking notes on magical herbology.

It got to the point where Ruggie cornered you in the hallway, shaking his head in disbelief. “You seriously don’t get it? He’s basically marking his territory every time you’re near!”

“Huh? Leona? Nah, he’s just... touchy sometimes.”

Leona nearly tore his textbooks in half when he heard that.

The final straw came one warm afternoon when you plopped down beside him under the shade of a sprawling tree. You smiled and passed him a snack you'd made, and Leona, in a bold move of desperation and hunger for your attention, leaned down and bit into it directly from your hand, eyes locked on yours the entire time.

You just blinked and said, “You must’ve been really hungry!”

Leona threw himself backward into the grass with a groan, covering his eyes with his arm.

“Seven hells, you’re dense,” he muttered.

“Huh?”

He sat up again, eyes narrowed, voice husky. “Do I need to spell it out for you, herbivore? I’m not just hanging around you ‘cause I’m bored. I’m trying to get you to notice me.”

You tilted your head, confused. “But I do notice you…”

“No,” he growled, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly, tugging you closer. “Notice me. As in, I want you. You. Me. Together. You seriously didn’t get that?”

You froze. And then it hit you like a freight train. The closeness, the compliments, the touches, the possessiveness—

“Oh... OH.”

Leona smirked, fangs glinting in the sun. “Took you long enough.”

Vil Schoenheit

Vil was always graceful, always poised, always in control. He calculated every step, every glance, every smile. So naturally, when he decided to pursue you, he did it with the same precision he applied to a stage performance or a red-carpet event. Subtle glances, gentle compliments, a brush of his fingers across your shoulder. It was a slow-burning courtship that he expected would sweep you off your feet.

But instead?

Nothing.

Nothing but your charming smile and occasional, completely unbothered “Thank you, Vil!” or “You’re so sweet!” before skipping off to your next class.

He chalked it up to modesty at first. Maybe you were shy. Maybe you wanted to play hard to get. But by week three, when he sent you a handpicked bouquet of enchanted roses and you gave them to Professor Trein’s cat because “it matched her fur,” Vil nearly fainted on the spot.

So, he got bolder.

One afternoon, he strode into your dorm’s common room while you were curled up on a couch with a book. Wordlessly, he slipped beside you and sat right in your lap, settling as gracefully as ever, legs crossed, arm lazily draped around your shoulders.

You blinked. “Are you tired? You can sit here as long as you need.”

Vil’s eye twitched.

“Tired? No, darling, I wanted to sit somewhere comfortable and charming. Surely you understand the appeal.” He leaned in, his breath tickling your ear. “Or is my lap too forward for your delicate sensibilities?”

You laughed lightly. “Nope! You’re light. I didn’t even notice the weight. Kinda like a cat. A really fashionable one.”

Fashionable cat?!

Vil nearly stood up right then and there, scandalized. But no—he took a deep breath. Composure. Poise.

Until you reached up and started patting his head.

“You’re so pretty, Vil. I hope I can be as pretty as you one day.”

“…I’m not trying to be ‘pretty like you,’ I’m trying to be yours,” he hissed in exasperation, face dangerously close to yours.

You blinked again. “Wait… what?”

Vil’s patience finally snapped like a taut ribbon.

“For the love of all that is radiant—I have been flirting with you for months. I’ve complimented you, made time for you, bought you gifts, and now I am literally sitting on your lap! What more must I do? Wear a sign that says ‘I want to be yours’?”

You gaped at him.

“…I thought you were just naturally dramatic.”

Vil groaned, burying his face in your neck. “You’ll be the death of me.”

You awkwardly wrapped your arms around him, finally catching on. “Wait, so… you like me?”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, expression softening ever so slightly. “I more than like you. But you, sweet potato, are so hopelessly dense.”

You laughed nervously, cheeks burning. “I’m really sorry… but, um… I like you too. I just didn’t think you’d like someone like me.”

Vil huffed, but a genuine smile curled on his lips. “Well, you’re mine now. And you’ll never be oblivious again, because I won’t give you the chance to miss it.”

Rook Hunt

To Rook, this was a challenge—a delicious, exquisite one.

He was well aware of how utterly unaware you were. The first time he realized, it was during archery club. He complimented the way your arms flexed as you pulled the bowstring, his tone sultry, his gaze locked on you like you were his prey.

You grinned and said, “Haha, thanks! I’ve been working out my shoulders. Good for posture!”

He tilted his head, lips curled in amusement. “Ah, ma colombe, you are truly a creature of mystery~”

But instead of giving up, Rook only doubled down. He started leaving flowers at your desk with poetic notes—sometimes with metaphors so thick they practically screamed “I am in love with you!”

You just thought it was a Rook thing.

“You’re so sweet! You write such beautiful stuff. Have you thought of joining the poetry club?”

Poetry club…?! Mon dieu, I am baring my soul!

He even tried the "accidental touch" method—fingers brushing yours when passing a book, hands lingering too long during sparring practice. Yet you never reacted with more than a casual smile and a “You okay?”

And Rook? He found it thrilling.

“This unawareness… this resistance… c’est magnifique!” he whispered one day, watching you from the balcony like a Shakespearean ghost. “You are like a doe in the forest, unaware of the eyes that follow you in reverent adoration…”

The final straw was when he kissed the back of your hand under the moonlight after walking you to your dorm. With an air of mystery and drama, he looked into your eyes and murmured, “Bonsoir, ma lumière…”

You giggled. “Wow, you really should join the drama club. That delivery was incredible.”

Rook clutched his chest like he’d been shot, but he was laughing too. Of course. Of course you didn’t get it.

But that just made him want you more.

“I shall make it my mission to pierce through the veil of innocence that blinds you, mon trésor,” he declared to the stars. “You will see me—not as a friend, not as a fellow student—but as the man who has adored you all this time.”

Idia Shroud

It was exhausting trying to flirt with someone who didn’t even realize you were the final boss in their dating sim.

Idia never considered himself bold—not IRL, anyway. Most of his romantic experience came from watching his OTPs go through slow-burn arcs in visual novels or tragic anime love stories. But when it came to you, he was trying. Like, genuinely. In his own glitchy, socially awkward way.

He’d wait outside your classroom “totally coincidentally” with his tablet in hand, acting like he wasn’t tracking your class schedule to the minute. He even upgraded Ortho’s AI recognition software just to find excuses to walk past you more often. He quoted romantic lines from his favorite games to you, hoping you’d get it—but every single time?

You’d just blink. Smile. Nod like he was being cute.

“Oh, that line was so poetic! Is that from a movie or something?”

“B-bro that’s from Stellar Lust IV! The confession scene where the star-crossed lovers reunite under a dying moon! Are you seriously not…? Nvm.”

One afternoon, he got bold. He invited you to his room. That alone should’ve been a confession—no one entered his sacred gaming lair unless they had maximum trust level.

He cleared off a place on the bed, installed RGB mood lighting, even had anime OSTs playing softly in the background. He hyped himself up for weeks for this. He was going to drop a flirt so obvious, even a level 1 NPC could read it.

“So, u-uh, you ever wonder what it’d be like to… y’know… date a genius tech prince who could hack into the city grid just to turn all the traffic lights green for you?”

You tilted your head. “That sounds dangerous… but also kind of cool? Is this part of your new game concept?”

He.exe stopped working.

The blue flames of his hair turned pink for half a second before sizzling back.

He mumbled something incoherent and turned back to his computer, pulling his hoodie so far over his head he looked like a turtle. “N-no, yeah, that was just… haha… worldbuilding...”

He’d keep trying though. One day, he’d craft a cutscene so perfect, even you couldn’t ignore the affection coded into every line.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus was not used to being ignored. Or overlooked. Or, heaven forbid—misunderstood. He was the Crown Prince of Briar Valley, the most feared and powerful student on campus. And yet, here he was, casting ancient spells to conjure glowing roses and coaxing fireflies into hearts over your tea cup—only for you to respond with:

“Wow, Malleus! You always make things so aesthetic!”

He blinked. "Aesthetic?"

“Yeah! Super vibey. You should be a party planner.”

He nearly short-circuited.

This had been happening for weeks. He’d memorized your schedule, just so he could “coincidentally” be where you were. He’d offer to walk you home under the stars, hoping for soft-spoken confessions—but you only asked him if he thought raccoons had hierarchies in their little trash kingdoms.

...You were enchanting. But you were driving him mad.

One day, after finding yet another love poem he’d slipped into your book returned with grammar corrections (you thought he was practicing his prose), he decided on something bold. Direct. Unmistakable.

“Child of man,” Malleus said one twilight evening as you both sat beneath a tree, “if I were to tell you that my heart beats differently in your presence, that the night air tastes sweeter when you laugh—what would you say?”

You tilted your head, thinking. “I’d say you have a really poetic way of saying you like hanging out.”

“I do not merely like hanging out,” he said slowly, brow twitching. “I wish to court you.”

You stared. “Like… on trial?”

“…Romantically.”

“Ohhhh.”

Silence.

“Wait, me?!”

Malleus closed his eyes and inhaled. Patience. He could wait a thousand years more. But hopefully not.

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia Vanrouge had seen centuries of war, peace, love, loss—and yet nothing, nothing, had prepared him for the sheer unshakable obliviousness that was you.

It started innocently enough.

He’d toss a wink your way whenever he passed by in the hallway. He brought you little trinkets from the village during his off-campus ventures—flowers woven into chains, sweets with hearts drawn on the wrappers, one time even a hairpin shaped like a bat. You had smiled and thanked him with the kind of radiant purity that could blind a mortal man. And then you tucked the bat hairpin in your pencil case.

Your pencil case. Like he was a math worksheet and not a 700+ year old fae trying to court you.

Still, he found it endearing. You were cute in a way that made his ageless heart ache, and he loved a challenge. So he tried harder.

“You know,” he drawled one afternoon, leaning over your shoulder with a voice like velvet, “in my youth, a suitor might serenade their beloved beneath the moonlight.”

“That’s sweet,” you said, eyes on your textbook. “Did they ever get noise complaints?”

He blinked. “...Noise complaints?”

“Well, if it was late and they were singing outside someone’s window… I bet a lot of people weren’t exactly swooning.”

For a moment, Lilia just stared at you. And then he burst out laughing, so hard he had to wipe a tear from his eye.

“You are either brilliantly teasing me,” he chuckled, “or heartbreakingly naive.”

You smiled at him, not understanding in the slightest.

The final straw came when he invited you for a midnight flight—romantic, intimate, just the two of you soaring above the moon-drenched trees. You screamed with laughter and clung to him the entire way, yelling about how cool it was and how friends like him were the best.

“Friends,” Lilia repeated afterward, voice soft and low as you happily ate the little picnic he’d prepared.

You looked up. “Yeah. I’m lucky to have you.”

He sighed with a small, defeated smile, but his eyes were warm. “The luck,” he murmured, “is all mine, dear.”

---

Okay okay, my ideas:

Bestfolk claims 'ownership' by biting. So if you bite a beastperson you're close to, it's considered a proposal. Now imagine one day, let's say Ruggie steals your food, and tries to run away. You chase him, you two start fighting, and you bite him. He freezes because Are you serious?! He has to tell his grandma right away, her little boy found someone! Or maybe Leona annoyed you because he skipped something again and you got in trouble for. In petty retaliation, you bite his ear. The dorm falls silent, and Leona is shook because how bold can you be?! Doing that in front of everyone?! You know he won't be king, right? And you still want to... Okay.

For Riddle, I can imagine there's a rule for it. It's pretty complicated, but somehow you managed to hit it to a T. Riddle is flustered, because you wouldn't do these things just for the sake of it, right?! Not in the correct order, not in this perfect way. You must know the rule, and this is a proposal, right?! Just.. give him a bit. You're both still so young, but rest assured he feels the same way.

Scarabia I can imagine their country has an old timey way of proposing. Because it's based on Aladdin, I can imagine it involves Jasmine flowers and a phrasing of fulfilling all wishes. Like making a flower crown out of jasmines, placing it on your beloved's head and telling them if they have any wishes, you'd be happy to fulfill them. Jamil is just frozen in shock. He's a servant, he was always told he comes second, he always had to give everything up to Kalim. Yet here you are, proposing to him. He can't believe his luck, and he'll make sure to be the best, so you won't ever think of leaving. Kalim on the other hand is just extatic, hugging you tightly and telling you of course and how much he loves you. You're confused, but okay. You did just promise to fulfill every wish he might have, he probably means he'll wish for you to come to every party. That'd be something Kalim would do. Until you visit Scarabia the next time, and everyone is preparing some big event. And Jamil is miffed at you because didn't warn him, and Kalim sprung this engagement party just on him. Do you not know the stuff he had to prepare?!

Pomefiore is different. Harveston probably has an old tradition of proposing too. But it's so old, no one really does it anymore. It's meant to show you can provide for your partner. Cooking and being able to carry them over the doorstep. So one evening, Epel comes to visit to escape Vil for a bit and vent. You listen, and offer him some of the food you made. By coincidence, it happens to be his favorite. You two banter, and somehow the topic comes to strength, and Epel confidentaly says he could carry you. You decide to test it, and he manages! For a few seconds, at least. Then, it's your turn, you pick him up, carry him a few steps. From the kitchen to the living room. Over a doorstep. Only on his way back to Pomefiore does Epel realize all this. You can't have known, right? Then again, you were in Harveston with him. Maybe his grandma told you? Vil's is easier. You know he wants to embody the Fairest Queen, but what you don't know is, that people sometimes used a mirror to propose for that. They'd hold it to their beloved's face and spill their heart out, as if they are the enchanted mirror from the tale. One day, you walk in on Rook trying to compliment Vil with a mirror. You take it from Rook, and give Vil compliments beyond his looks. Complimenting his passion, his determination, how his eyes look when he does something he loves, etc. Vil is flustered, because do you know what you're doing? Well, one way or another, he now knows who he wants to bring to the altar one day.

OMG WAIT THIS IS SOOOO CUTE I LOVE IT

all these scenarios are adorable and I would 100% accidentally do them ;-;

I bite out of affection so woops maybe I'm accidentally marrying Leona-

---

hold on where are you seeing the boys in the basic t shirts i wanna seeeeee

they've been posting them on the twst_jp twitter account, and the merch for them is up on the Aniplex+ store! they're literally just drawings of anime characters wearing black t-shirts, but the art is really cute and, I dunno, there's just something about the Twst boys posing in their little matching t-shirts that is hilarious to me. it's adorable.

and of course, there's something about Mal especially that is just like

Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?"- Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia (Pt.1 !) (Pt.2 Here!) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): None. I mean, unless you don't want to marry any of them. Just don't read if that's the case. ALSO SLIGHT SPOILER FOR CHAPTER 7 IN SILVER Note: These are all if he is the one proposing btw. Also, I went overboard. I had to break Diasomnia into 2 parts because I exceeded tumblr's character limit. I have favorites I guess :/

This man is a child masquerading as an adult. As in to say that he resists any illogical emotions until they bottle up and explode. The traditional pathway for finding a life partner typically follows: stranger -> acquaintance -> friend -> crush -> lover ->partner. You know, as it normally goes when bonds form.

Sebek....is not a textbook case in this regard. His path is a bit more customizable

stranger -> person he is forced to interact with -> acquaintance of Lord Malleus -> Acquaintance of Lord Malleus that Sebek approves of -> Friend that Lord Malleus approves of -> Repressed Crush -> Acquaintance that Sebek avoids at all costs -> Acknowledged crush -> Acknowledged crush that Lord Malleus approves of -> Respected individual with mitigated interactions -> Courting -> awkward situationship -> lover -> awkward situationship (with better communication) -> spouse

Enough said.

This process isn’t as complicated as it may seem on paper. While there are many steps, Sebek is fortunate enough to have people in his life willing to force commitments onto him. It also helps that he has blind trust in a select few. This makes him a bit naive and easily influenced. A boon in the right hands, and a bane in others.

In short, Sebek is emotionally constipated and only acts when there’s a driving force. Otherwise he just gets frustrated. This is extremely apparent at two stages: ‘repressed crush’ and ‘awkward situationship’. Scratch that. Three stages.

Beginning at ‘repressed crush’ - Sebek realizes that he likes you when you ask about how his training is going. He happened by your dorm during his morning jog, and was more than happy to go off on a tangent of the strict regimen developed to forge a perfect knight.

Except that’s not what you wanted to hear. You were more interested in his health and how he was enjoying himself rather than how his work was benefitting Malleus.

His heart fluttered, as if a shock of electricity thrummed through his body. Having never felt this before, Sebek mistakes it for a lapse in his strength and runs off at a much faster speed than before. Forget a light jog, he had enough energy to run 500 laps around the school track.

Don’t you get it human?! You were distracting him! His body was at rest too long. Now shoo, you’re hindering him from doing his duty.

He represses these budding romantic feelings and ‘misinterprets’ them as deviant behavior. He even goes so far as to blame it on ‘useless hormones’ and convinces himself that it’ll pass. He spares it no thought until his pining becomes apparent to everyone except for himself

Que the driving force. Despite Sebek believing otherwise, he does have friends and his entire love-life can be credited to their affectionate stupidity.

Simply put, Ace takes every chance to seamlessly flirt with you whenever Sebek is around. Not in a subtle way either - he's making some risky comments and trying to eat up every moment of your time. The others in your year are well aware of what he's doing too. Deuce thinks he's being unnecessary, but also agrees that Sebek needs a push so he lets it happen. Epel has his gripes with Sebek, but admires him for his manly tenacity. So he's 100% in support of giving an extra push and even tries to copy Ace. Except... yeah, he's pretty bad at flirting so he gives up after one try. Jack is against it at first, not wanting to hurt your feelings in the process but gets talked into it after seeing you get salty over Sebek being distant. Ortho, bless his innocent soul, thinks of it as a fun experiment. Lil guy just wants everyone to be happy.

You have no idea though, which is great because all of Ace's attempts fail hardcore. Sebek and his chivalrous ways (jealousy) won't stand by if you're being constantly bombarded with 'unwanted' romantic affections.

Nevermind that you don't seem to be taking Ace seriously at all. It is still not proper behavior! It would be a stain to his Lord's image if Sebek knowingly let Malleus' beloved friend endure such a hardship.

Every time Ace makes an attempt, Sebek shuts him down faster than you ever could. You have no idea how he does it, but Sebek is always around when it happens. The timing is honestly creepy....until you catch on to what's happening because the Ramshackle prefect isn't a dumdum.

"So....prefect, how about we go get dinner together tomorrow? Just you and me, what do ya say?" Ace slides into the seat to your right during breakfast. He leans in on his fist, eyeing you with a mischievous grin that crinkles the heart on his cheek. Just as he does, Sebek occupies the seat at your left and pushes Ace back with his palm.

"Do you ever rest?! They will do no such thing, now eat your meal before it runs cold. The chefs worked too hard for their efforts to be wasted by a delinquent!" Sebek answers on your behalf like clockwork. This event was not an uncommon sight to anyone, neither was Sebek failing to control his volume, so no other student paid the show any mind.

Normally you'd let them spit a few words at each other before returning to their own devices. Yet letting this continue just felt cruel, especially knowing that Ace was doing it to get a rise from your friend. Although Sebek wasn't innocent in the matter either

"Alright - Ace, would you knock it off? You don't even like me that way so quit messing with my head. I thought you were better than this," you say in between bites, side-eyeing your friend with a disapproving glare "And you!" you turn to Sebek, "I can answer for myself. Why do you even care? It's not like you're in charge of my love life. Just because someone wants to date me doesn't make them a delinquent...sheesh"

Why...why does he care? Sebek short circuits at your scolding, opening and closing his mouth to rebuttal yet coming up with nothing. Angered by his own turmoil, he grabs his meal and goes to sit with others from his dorm.

Stupid human. How dare you be so haughty and ungrateful? He was just protecting you from....from, what exactly? It's not like you going out with Ace would impact him in any way. It's not like you were in danger or upset with his advances. If anything. he was doing a good job at keeping your relationship professional for the sake of his liege!

Go ahead and date that childish hooligan for all he cares! Sebek won't be there to protect you when you're lost, or lend you a scarf on cold winter days. Ace can be the one to call you before bed every night, and keep your yearbook photo on his desk. Possibly keep his favorite candid photo as a bookmark for his diary, not that Sebek would know anyone that keeps a journal. He can have your birthday written in his calendar with a heart drawn around it, and have your picture in his wristwatch. He can set alarms to know when your classes end and walk you home. He can worry when you're sick and listen to your obnoxious prying....he can receive all your affections, and have your loyalty. Listen to your silly ramblings and receive those random 'i just thought of you' presents that Sebek always has a dilemma over what their purpose serves

You can be Ace's headache, and Sebek's heart will be lighter for it. These attachments he's formed were a lapse in judgement and will never be allowed again.

...

Sebek asks his lord for permission to court you. The next morning Malleus wakes to find the devotee bowed outside his bedroom, forehead attached to the floor and hands laid flat on the ground in reverence. Sebek proceeds to begin a long rant about how he's succumbed to his inner demons, and that he has sinned for letting another in his heart - Malleus cuts him off, happy to see love blossoming and interested to watch it all play out. He tells Sebek to take good care of you, before leaving. Meanwhile Sebek is sobbing at his lord's blessing

Once he's gathered himself, Sebek runs to your dorm and pounds on the door with fervor despite the early hour

Grim shakes you out of sleep, grumbling something about an 'annoying bastard' at the door before flopping back in bed. He shoves two pillows over his ears and tells you to fix the problem. That's when you hear the thumping, it's relentless and somehow sours your mood beyond what you thought possible. Mornings were not meant to exist on the weekend. So with an irritated groan, you slip on a robe over your pajamas and answer the door. A fist pauses in the air, moments from striking you. Sebek freezes momentarily, his body going ridged before coughing into his fist. A light blush dusts his cheeks.

“G-good morning, human. I apologize if I've disturbed your sleep, but I have an important announcement that cannot wait any longer" Sebeck studders, focusing on the door pane instead of your disheveled morning appearance.

“Alright" you sigh, resigning yourself to his whims, "what is it?"

Sebeck bows at the waist. "I am in love with you. Please accept my affections."

And so the motions continued on. A most unconventional pairing - possibly the hottest topic of the school year, in the words of Cater Diamond - was formed. Sebek was cautious of Ace at first, their previous spats leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. When he found out the truth, he was both appalled and grateful. So much that he scorned all his friends for weeks on end for pulling a stunt like that - but also thanking them. He apologizes for calling Ace a delinquent, and his heart changes a bit in response to their 'unique' display of care. Their intentions were good, and in the end it worked out. So he can pardon the indiscretion.

Life goes on until your relationship forms an 'awkward situationship'. The first time is brief. As it is with most cases of young love, the binding force that ties you to them crumbles. On earth it is highschool. In Twisted Wonderland it is NRC. Sebek knows where he's going - to serve the Draconias . The grey area is what you plan to do...because as much as his affections have grown, Sebek isn't willing to give up his dreams for you.

He's astonished when you decide to follow him to Briar Valley. He doesn't even have to breech the topic - arrangements were already being made without his input. You wouldn't be staying at the palace against his Lord's wishes. Instead a small cottage was built at a safe distance from the main city. Close enough for you to visit the castle, and far enough for you to feel comfortable and not out of place.

Seeing you taking his wants into consideration alters Sebek's perception of your relationship. You truly were lovers, and not a passing 'hormonal induced fling'. You loved him, and it's here when he truly begins to consider a forever. It was like the time when he first called your name, no longer calling you by 'prefect' or 'human'. He had done it many times in private, yet doing so to your face altered his brain chemistry. He loved the way your name rolled off his tongue, and the way your attention became his at the call.

Which leads us to the third and final major block-aid. Years have passed, and Sebek's well grown as an established knight for the Draconia family. He works alongside Silver, and many other comrades in arms. Everything is exactly as he dreamed. Malleus has become a beloved, strong king. Sebek is respected, and you are thriving as well. He didn't have much faith in your ability to last alone - it's not that he doubts your abilities, but he did doubt his people. When you first moved to Briar Valley Sebek was well aware that there were many like his past self - fae with a hatred for humans. He worried you would struggle to fit in.

Yet you surprised him. The tensions did exist against your kind, but you managed to card a space for yourself in Briar Valley with ease. You didn't even work in the palace, instead choosing to work towards becoming a children's teacher and work towards helping future generations of fae feel comfortable around humans.

His family adored you - with his mother in particular fawning over how Sebek fell down the same pipeline she did. His father offers you both advice on being an interspecies couple - and Sebek actually found himself listening.

Huh. Character growth. Is this what it's like to mature?

All is perfect, yet not. Sebek is forced to confront this when news travels that a human was attacked on their way to the palace. The dread that coursed through his veins was unlike anything Sebek's felt in his entire life. Under Malleus' rule, humans were slowly becoming more prevalent in Briar Valley. They hadn't mentioned your name specifically, but he jumped the gun.

Against his better judgement, Sebek abandons his post and rushed to the city's clinic. The injured human wasn't you, thank the seven, but the dread lingered. So he ran to the school you taught at and practically barged into your classroom. Luckily it was empty as the day was near end. Sebek hadn't known that yet still behaved recklessly.

He rushed to your side, talking faster than your brain could keep up with while checking over your body. He flipped topics like a teen trying to pick a college major - scolding you for worrying him, blubbering gibberish about how you'd no longer be allowed to walk alone, and myriad of other things.

Sebek was so shook, that he completely forgot about his knightly station. Malleus didn't punish him for abandoning his post. Not like it mattered, considering Sebek was already doing ample damage on his own. The realization hit him like a stone punch to the gut - there was a threat to his liege, and instead of focusing on apprehending the criminal he chose to find you.

Malleus' power or his dismissal of the matter meant little in the overall picture. Sebek failed. He's ashamed beyond belief.

and yet, he can't help but wonder what ight have been. What if you were the one attacked and he chose to stay? He would have failed you in that scenario.

He's surprised to find that the prospect his failure hurts just as much - if not more. His lord is powerful, and there are many to serve him. Your last moments could have been spent in a cold medical bed, surrounded by strangers. Fading away and taking Sebek's dreams with you.

............

Ah. Since when had that word become plural? His dream was always to serve Lord Malleus. Now there are more - he wants a family, and he wants to go to that play you were organizing with the valley's children next weekend. He wants to become a greater knight to protect the city that houses all the people he cares about. Again, plural. Lilia, Silver, his siblings and parents, all the human and fae who are loyal subjects to his most revered. You, and your decedents to come.

It's frightening. How valuable one's life can become. His always belonged to the Draconia bloodline to do with at they pleased - now Sebek's in pieces. Is he truly worthy of being a knight if he cannot give his whole heart?

He doesn't blame you for this. In his youth Sebek might have tossed your relationship aside in a heartbeat - that, or he might've demanded Malleus dismiss him and send him to repent in exile or whatever. Sebek has a problem with embellishing with dramatics.

BUT... he's more mature now. Mature enough to realize that maybe he can have his cake and eat it too.

So, he asks Lilia for advice. At this time the general merely lazes around the castle like a bat on the wall - acting as an advisor and observer. Surely he'd know what to do.

"There is nothing wrong with sharing a heart amongst many. If anything, the toughest decisions make us stronger. The more you have to lose, the stronger you will become to protect"

Preach it grandpappy. Lilia wants to see his grandkids so stop the slow burn already.

It's deja vu because Sebek wants to propose as quick as possible. Just like when he confessed, the man nearly runs to your home on impulse. You can thank Lilia for your proposal not taking place at 3am with your door being broke in two (Sebek is much stronger than he was in his teens, and sometimes miscalculates his strength).

Instead, Sebek finds himself anxiously clutching a ring in his pocket the following week. It was the night of a school play you were hosting - one he was looking forward to since you were so proud in your work. Ergo, Sebek felt pride as well by default.

How unfortunate that he can't focus on the show. With his mind reeling so much, it's taking all he has to sit quietly in the audience. His eyes follow your movements as you direct the kids, and for a brief moment you smile at him from the stage.

Zap. Alright. Don't clutch metal when you're a living thunderbolt. Duly noted. If anything the jolt of pain brings him back to reality.

When the play ends, and all the children have gone home with their families, he finds you back stage sweeping confetti. His plan was to congratulate you, and take you to a nice restaurant where he could do this properly.

Except he can't wait. When you turn around from putting the broom away, he's already taken a knee and holding the ring out. Those diligent gold iris' not pulling away for one moment, as he holds the ring out between two fingers and his other hand placed over his heart as if taking an oath.

"Before you say anything - You have sacrificed time and time again for my happiness - my efforts are insignificant in comparison. I have taken your patience for granted like a spoiled juvenile. There was a time when I found this kindness of yours unnecessary. I thought it a distraction - a test of my strength to fulfill my destiny. I see now that I was foolish”

Sebek pauses, grinding his teeth together in regret and anguish.

“I had not known fear until you. I have more to lose now than ever before. Last week I abandoned my post - my purpose- In that moment, all I could think about was if you’d been attacked, then my life would be over. You make me lose all sense of logic and reason…so I demand that you take responsibility and marry me!”

{A gold band with an obsidian base. Gold and silver flakes are sealed atop the obsidian plate using resin. Very practical, yet charming nonetheless. Humans typically wear matching bands, yes? Sebek sees no purpose in getting separate designs since the point is to show proof of partnership. He needs a practical shape that will not interfere with combat, yet also wants it to be an aesthetic choice. Sebek could care less about looks, but if he’s going to give you a ring then it will be the best possible option to match to your worth}

Silver is beautiful like still ocean waters. He's breathtaking - literally and figuratively. With the beauty of a fairytale prince, personality of a wise knight, and deadliness of the deep sea. It's easy to be sucked in when Silver seemingly has no flaws. So easy that at one point there were rumors of him being a living doll, created by the fae to be a perfect solider.

These perceptions all rely on his outward appearance: the knight in shining armor. Albeit so, being so perfect almost makes him unnoticeable. Compared to his rowdy peers with quirks and notable personalities - Silver truly is a doll. Like the complacent child praised for being more mature than their siblings. He is as easily forgotten as he is admired.

Some would say that this is a flaw in itself - because no one is naturally perfect. No one is so complacent and calm at birth. It's simply a desirable flaw. One that hurts him, yet has ben praised by others.

Silver is strong. Silver is diligent. Silver is beautiful. Silver is breathtaking and yet not the showstopper - like gold. Gold brings warmth while silver is cold. Imperfections in gold give it character, and can be seen as art. Imperfections in silver are seen as unsightly scratches.

Silver knows this, yet doesn't want to be gold. He doesn't deserve to be gold.

Silver doesn't deserve anything. He has already taken so much simply by living. He has a world to be grateful for, and not enough time to repay his debts.

He is content being Silver - if he could then he'd be copper. Lesser. Yet he is Silver, a reminder of the blood he carries.

He will remain unremarkable yet dedicated. He will dedicate everything to his family and friends - do whatever he can to break free of his sleeping curse and help others. He will give until he cannot give anymore. Then he will give more, to repay all he has received.

....For as much as he is content with this life, Silver still envies gold.

You are beautiful like a new dawn. Ushering in each day with a vibrant display that commands attention. People instinctively admire you despite the risk of hurting their eyes. You heal the world naturally, and help others simply by existing. People take you for granted, because inevitably the moon will rise, and the cold will inevitably return.

You were bathed in golden light. This Silver noticed the moment he laid eyes on you. He couldn't tear his eyes away.

Silver envies gold.

........

You envy Silver. His calm, his family, his dedication despite being limited by his crippling drowsiness. Out of the students from Diasomnia, he was the one you lingered towards more often than not. The freshmen revered him for his skills, and he was a true gentle soul. You at first couldn't believe that he was Lilia's son - how did such a kind boy come from a rambunctious tease? Revelations of his past brought much to light, and now you couldn't think of him being anyone else.

Silver was loved like the first snowfall. He had a family that loved him dearly, no matter how short his time with them would be. He was raised to bring happiness to others, and protect their hearts using his demure temperament.

Silver was modest, and silver glistened when you'd expect him to the least. As the wind caressed his hair during an afternoon siesta, or sparks lit in his eyes while swinging his sword. How the horses nuzzle his side after equestrian practice, showing full trust and affection. Even in the sweat dripping from his brow, shining as he easily finishes a set of push ups.

Yet nothing struck your heart more than the melancholy he'd emit when no one was looking. How quickly he'd fade into the background, only popping in when necessary or if someone gave him note. In these moments Silver gleamed brilliantly, yet a shadow put out his shine.

You thought the melancholy inviting. It felt so natural, so real. Except you believed it balanced dangerously between despair and serene. The larger question being which side would he evidently fall towards.

.........

Silver admires gold.

He couldn't stop the pull. He just couldn't. Not with how you seemingly watch him when no one else does. Who wouldn't feel special? With the way you take note of things he normally wouldn't think of, and recklessly delve into helping others with no regard for yourself. Whether you desire the trouble is beyond him - the matter is that you see every issue through. There isn't a soul who doesn't know of the ramshackle prefect.

Perhaps this is his torment to endure. To get a taste for what he could have been, and willingly be tied to it.

Silver stares into a vanity mirror, his expression neutral despite the growing emotions inside. A slightly tattered sheet is tied around his neck like a bib, covering his front and part of his back. A shiver runs down his spine as you comb through his hair, deftly trimming the edges with a pair of kitchen scissors with the precision of a professional. A shiver runs down his spine every time your fingers linger against his scalp, either from tucking stray strands or combing through layers with your fingertips.

Your expression is stern, eyes intensely focused as you cut around his ear, afraid to nick him in the process. He finds the expression adorable yet bites his tongue. Silver couldn't think those thoughts. Not when you offered to do this out of the kindness of your heart.

Nonetheless, his heart thrums. If it were possible he'd think the organ about to pop out at any moment.

"Finished!" you smile in satisfaction and tussle Silver's soft locks for good measure. In one fell swoop, you undo the knot around his neck and pull the makeshift apron off of him. Silver nods, a slight smile teasing the edge of his lips. He stands from the chair and steps over any hair on the floor, reaching for the broom to clean before you could think to. "Thank you. I no longer need to schedule with a barber. This will save much time," In truth he had no intentions for a haircut. You were the one to notice how his bangs hindered his vision, and offered to help. Silver couldn't bring himself to deny your kindness. "You really like it? Hehe. Y'know, maybe I should start a shop on campus? I only started doing this since there aren't any affordable salons....maybe with it I can finally afford to fix the guest room!" you cheer and prattle on about all the different possibilities. Occasionally you'll ask for Silver's input, or even give an off hand compliment about how he was the perfect 'test subject'. Your company is intoxicating, he realizes. Talking with you is as easy as drinking water. Before Silver realizes, night has fallen and you've fallen asleep on the couch. Despite his better judgement, he finds himself wandering the Ramshackle door. He compulsively cleans up the mess you'd both left behind during his visit, doing the dishes from dinner and rearranging things here and there. As he does so, Silver notes all the little improvements around the dorm. It feels more like a home than a school building. Then again you do live alone. He wonders how often you host visitors, and if you unknowingly ensnared them just as you've done to him. He covers your shoulders with a blanket and steps outside under the moonlight.

It’s cold.

...............

You wake up the following day to find all the windows shut, your living room clean, and a warm blanket covering your shoulders. Your eyes peer around for silver, yet turn up empty.

Of course. Silver has a dorm to return to and people that would miss him if he returned late.

Shuffling around the silent dorm, the rickey old floorboards creek underneath your weight. In manufactured motions, you brew a cup of tea and pour it into the only well-used cup from the cabinet.

As your cup brews, you sit at the table with the blanket still clutched tight over your shoulders.

The tea goes cold, yet you are warm.

................

Silver loves gold.

but silver and gold don't mix. The question always is: silver or gold? When deciding a piece of jewelry to match your skin tone, people will ask 'silver or gold'? The metals are not meant to mix because they clash. It's an outfit catastrophe.

Yet, Silver cannot help but wonder. As he lays with his head in your lap and the sun and silence coaxing him to slumber - what if an outfit existed to compliment both silver and gold?

"Silver..are you sleeping again?" you tap his cheek with one hand, and his eyes open instinctively. Despite his drowsiness he will always look for you. Yet right now he's never regretted the magnetic pull more. With the sun casting a golden overcast, you peer down at him from above with tender eyes typically reserved for one's child. Your glow is breathtaking, and he cannot help the sinking feeling in his stomach that he is unworthy. With such gentle hands combing across his scalp and eyes that look upon him so tenderly - he is afraid to steal your warmth. And yet… "You are beautiful," Silver lets it slip, his hand reaching to brush against your jaw as if under a spell. He feels unnervingly calm. Not in his usual way, where he is constantly observing and playing a game of mental chess. This is a true calm, and he knows now that this is a point of no return.

Silver is beautiful like a still ocean. You are beautiful like the rising sun. When combined, a perfect image is formed just waiting for an artist to stumble upon it.

Against his wishes, the world has granted the child of dawn another gift. The gift of true love. 'True love's kiss will break the curse' and while it is childish to believe so in this case, Silver does so wholeheartedly.

When with you, the days pass like minutes. He wants nothing more than to forgo need for sleep, if only to work harder towards becoming a man worthy.

Silver envies gold for it's effortless demand for love, yet he no longer wants to be gold. He no longer wishes he were born copper.

Gold loves silver, so Silver he will be.

And with time, both Silver and Gold will be ground to dust regardless.

He thinks of this on a winter evening while holding a ring up into the moonlight. It's cold outside, yet he doesn't mind. The chill atop his nose does nothing but tinge it a lovely rosy color.

He looks through the windowpane into a home masquerading as a school building. His reflection is familiar yet changing rapidly in comparison to his family. The years have aged him, yet not by much. Silver is stronger, his soft jaw a bit sharper. His bangs have grown long again, it would soon be time for a cut. Perhaps he'd enlist a 'barber' after relocating back to the castle in briar valley.

Inside you sit at the couch, sipping from a well-used mug with Grim on your lap and watching cartoons. Silver's bag rests on the armchair, unzipped with nightly necessities spilling out the side. A slightly newer baby blue mug sits on the coffee table, with steam evaporating into the air as it waits to be used.

Silver smiles, walking towards the door and walking inside. Heat warms his cheeks and he is calm.

"I know I am unworthy of you, the thought plagues me to this very moment. Yet I cannot help but love you - like wishing on a star yet knowing deep in the depths of your heart that miracles are made not granted. I've received many, so I would know. My father gifted me life through love - and with you I understand how it is possible. I cannot imagine life without you. I promise this, I will cherish you and protect you for as long as you allow it. Would you marry me?"

Months later a ceremony is held in a secluded forest, in the yard of a cottage where a child first learned love. As an adult, he joins his most precious in matrimony, offering his sword to be sworn faithful.

You are beautiful like the first breech of daylight - and for once, Silver is happy to be a man of dawn.

Silver and gold.

Silver and gold.

Everyone wishes for silver and gold.

How do you measure it's worth?

Just by the pleasure it gives here on earth.

{A ring forged from a silver band, gold leaf embellishments, and a moss agate core. Enough said.}

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I saw you wanted some requests!!

Could I request kissing Idia all over his face? I just feel like it’d be so funny to see his reaction

I hope you have a lovely day!!

idia shroud who’s doomed with lots of kisses.

Idia was losing. Badly. And it wasn’t his fault—it could never be his fault—his teammates were just outright incompetent.

“Seriously? Who runs straight into the enemy’s trap without checking the map first?” he grumbled. “Do they even understand the concept of positioning?”

You were just lying on his chest, your body nestled comfortably against his as you watched him play. Your arms were wrapped around his torso, your face just inches from his, and you hummed a quiet tune to entertain yourself.

You were so close. Too close.

And yet... Idia didn’t mind. In fact, he kind of liked it.

He still couldn’t believe you two were like this now—so close, so comfortable. A year ago, he wouldn’t have even dreamed of letting someone into his room, much less on his bed. But now... it was his favorite thing in the world.

Especially when it was you.

Well, you were always the only exception to him whenever it came to almost anything.

Idia tried to focus on his game, his eyes glued to the screen as his character dodged another poorly timed attack from the enemy. “Are they... are they actually feeding the enemy team?! Oh my Sevens, I’m going to spam report them with all of my accounts.” He let out a dramatic sigh, his hair flickering with frustrated flames.

“Amateurs... all of them.”

“You get so worked up over your games,” you tease, your voice warm and affectionate.

He huffed, his eyes narrowing at the screen. “I-It’s because they’re so bad! I mean, seriously, who rushes into a 1v4 without backup?! Do they even know how to play?!”

You just smiled, your fingers gently tracing patterns on his chest. He wore his teal hoodie, the one you got him just because you can. “You’re cute when you get all frustrated.”

“They’re just... so ugh. It’s like they’ve never played a MOBA before.” His fingers moved with practiced precision, his character launching a series of attacks that wiped out two enemies in quick succession. “See? That’s how you do it. If I weren’t here, they’d be doomed.

You didn’t respond, your eyes still focused on him. Idia’s heart raced when he noticed, his fingers faltering on the controller. You were looking at him with that expression again—that sweet, adoring look that made his stomach burst with butterflies and his mind go blank.

He tried to ignore it, tried to focus on his game, but it was impossible. You were too close, too warm, too... loving.

“Why are you staring at me?”

“You look cute when you’re focused.”

He scoffed, his face heating up. “I don’t look cute. I look serious. Intense. Like a soldier.”

“You’re cute,” you insisted, laughing. “Very cute.”

His heart skipped a beat, his fingers faltering on the controller. He narrowly avoided an incoming ultimate skill, his character’s health dropping dangerously low. “H-Hey, don’t distract me!”

“But it’s fun.”

Idia rolled his eyes, sighing. “You’re supposed to be my co-pilot. Aren’t you supposed to be helping me win?”

“I am helping. I’m boosting your morale.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, right. Some morale boost...”

Before he could say more, you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his chin.

Idia’s heart stopped.

His body went rigid, his breath catching in his throat. Your lips were warm and soft, lingering for just a moment before you pulled away as if it was the most common thing to do.

His character died on screen, the revival countdown flashing in bold white numbers. Idia barely noticed, his mind reeling from the sensation of your kiss.

“[Name]...?”

“I told you it was a morale boost.” How could you casually shrug this off?!

Idia stared at you. How did you two get here? How did he get to the point where he was lying on his bed with his girlfriend, cuddling up to him, kissing him like it was the most natural thing in the world?

More importantly, how did he get to the point where he was okay with it? Did he actually want you to be this close?

Your lips brushed his cheek, softer this time, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down his spine. Idia’s breath hitched, his fingers clenching around his controller.

“W-What are you doing?” His voice was embarrassingly weak, his heart pounding in his chest. God, how pathetic he sounded.

You, however, didn’t answer, your lips trailing along his cheekbones. Then you kissed his forehead, his nose, and even the little mole on his temple.

Idia’s hands trembled, his controller slipping from his fingers and falling onto the mattress beside him. His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, his body moving on its own.

“I like watching you play,” you admitted quietly. “You get so focused. It’s adorable.”

He groaned, his head falling back against his pillow.

“You’re... evil...”

You laughed. “You’re just realizing that now?”

“You’re worse than players who don’t know how to cast their character’s ultimate combo.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You then leaned in and kissed him again, this time on the corner of his mouth.

His heart was pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it. You were so, so close now, your face just inches from his.

He swallowed hard. “You’re... really close...”

“Do you want me to move?”

“No.”

“Ok.”

He never thought he’d get to this point—never thought he’d find someone who accepted him, who cared for him, who wanted to be close to him. Someone who could understand him and make him feel as though he deserves to be loved unconditionally.

And yet, here you were, lying in his arms, your warmth seeping into him, your presence filling every corner of his heart.

“I... really like you.”

He likes saying it when he feels as though he needs to say it, which isn’t often, so it holds sentiment and tenderness.

“I like you too, Idia. Really, really like you.”

Idia was doomed. Completely, absolutely, undeniably doomed... and he never wanted to be saved.

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