#Trey Clover X male Reader

[hellsslibrary]

They ask you to have intimate time with them.

MASTERLIST is here.

#a.n. : yay, I finished this! Next I'll probably get down to headcanons... But only probably. :D

Version: Housewardens — First Years — Second Years — Third Years (you're here).

!!Warnings: m!dom!top!reader, suggestive or exclipit content, very slight mention of overstimulation (Lilia), reader has a HUGE stamina in Lilia's part and he is too, mention of public nudity (Rook's part, but it's rather silly than serious), mention of porn (Cater).

Cater Diamond.

Trey Clover.

Rook Hunt.

Lilia Vanrouge.

[hunn1e-bunn1e]

Hello,I'll have saw the post Sinbad ask with dorm leader of twisted wonderland, can you do a same but with vice leader or first years group please?

Trey Clover, Ruggie Bucci, Jade Leech, Jamil Viper, Rook Hunt & Sebek Zigvolt - Sinbad (Magi, Aos) Male Reader

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Hey @ryu-things, you have no idea how long I've been pushing this ask back and procrastinating. I was trying to avoid it until I got done with all of the unfinished single-character asks that I have backed up, but I suddenly stumbled upon a really good song that I could use for the lyric quote. So here I am, suffering once again. (post note: somehow Lilia transitioned into Sebek 1/3 of the way through, so I'll do a part three of the first years and add Lilia there.) The lyrics quoted in this one are from the song “Cautionary Tales” by Jon Bellion. —Benny🐰

                                                                                                   

🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏

❝𝕭𝖎𝖌 𝕽𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖓, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖎𝖝𝖙𝖍, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓- 𝕳𝖊𝖞 𝕳𝖊𝖞, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕷𝖊𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖉! 𝕭𝖆𝖓𝖌 𝕭𝖆𝖓𝖌, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕿𝖗𝖚𝖙𝖍, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖂𝖊𝖆𝖕𝖔𝖓- 𝕳𝖊𝖞 𝕳𝖊𝖞, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕷𝖊𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖉!~❞

. . .

♠️  Trey has been the target of many flirtatious comments already, so you'd think he wouldn't be too flustered, right? The suggestive remarks and sexy smirks would simply roll off of him, like water off a duck's back. Except… He didn't think that [Name] would corner him up against a wall in the kitchen and whisper so close to his ear that he could feel the dampness of the world-hopper's breath. Trey didn't expect just how large the foreign king's hands would be as they engulfed his waist. The Vice Dorm Head didn't take into account that [Name] would treat him with such respect yet be so blunt with his desire. By the Seven, is this even legal?

♠️  Considering that the Queen of Hearts was well… the Queen of Hearts, Trey isn't too surprised at [Name] being the king of an entire country back in his old world. Although the bespectacled man didn't believe him at first since he's a naturally skeptical person, the man did come from another world. Not only that, but the foreigner gives off the air of a natural-born leader who has experience with being in a significant position of power. Trey will ask [Name] if he can spare some advice to Riddle about being an important public figure who holds power over others. He trusts his childhood friend, of course, but the clover-haired man can't help but feel that the redhead could still use the help.

♠️  This bespectacled man is about to lose his marbles if he receives one more ridiculously expensive ingredient from that hard-headed king! This has to stop; Trey is really starting to feel bad. How is he supposed to give [Name] gifts that are of equal value if the guy is buying shit that costs upward of one hundred thousand madol!? His family owns a local bakery for Seven's sake, not an international catering company! Not that Trey doesn't appreciate the foie gras, gold leaf, and fresh morels; he does, but he wishes [Name] would give him something less expensive and more personal. He also wishes that the world-hopper would stop spending such ridiculous amounts of money on the most unimportant shit.

♠️  Now, Trey is certainly not a jewelry connoisseur, however, he is absolutely certain that he's seen jewelry of a similar style to [Name]’s draping off of Kalim and even Jamil on certain occasions. They are quite lovely things aren't they, though, the six-pointed stars that were engraved into a few of them were telling enough of their true origin. Apparently, [Name] had gotten them from a structure called a dungeon; what the otherworldly man described as a giant spire that erupts from beneath the sands of the vast and vacant desert at the command of a magi. Whatever a magi is supposed to be… The Sindrian king even offered to make Trey one of his household vessels! Even if the bespectacled man still has no clue what that's supposed to mean…

🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏

“N‐now listen, you! This is a kitchen. It's meant for kitchen-related activities and not… n‐not this. You'll dirty the counters if you keep this up. H‐hey! Don't give me such a look!”  

🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾

🍩  Its safe to say that Ruggie was very caught off guard when he was on the receiving end of someone's flirting.  He's sure that he's not exactly anybody's first choice when it comes to a romantic partner, he'll, he's not even the first choice for a friend. But the hyena beastman can't deny the thundering of his heart in his throat when [Name] appears behind him and rests his face in the crook of his neck. Nor can Ruggie admit the swirling thoughts of a future together whenever the charismatic [Name] sneaks into the Savanaclaw Dorm kitchen and lifts him onto the countertop so the man can hand feed him. The feeling of large hands holding the underside of his thighs is forever burned into his mind.

🍩  Aw jeez, not this shit again. No offense to [Name] or anything, but this hyena is really burned out by all this royalty stuff. If the Sindrian king turns out to be another jealous royal, Ruggie's going to start ripping his hair out; one Leona is more than enough for him to deal with. He would ask the otherworldly man to talk some sense into his Dorm Head but he doesn't even bother, he lost hope long ago. [Name] being a king does sound pretty cool though, if the foreigner ever wants to spare him some gold or food the Ruggie will welcome it with open arms. The hyena beastman does think about how it would feel to sit on a throne, but a king's lap is comfortable enough for now.

🍩  Oh, for him? [Name], you shouldn't have– just kidding, keep them coming, ol’ Ruggie can pawn some of these beauties for a hefty sum of madol and then he can send it to his family back in the Afterglow Savana. O-oh, the Sindrian king is wondering why his little doughnut lover isn't wearing most of the gifts he bought them. Those are– those are in his room! Yes, his room. This hyena just didn't want to dirty anything that was given to him by someone as important as [Name], with him being a king and all. The ol’ Rugster definitely didn't sell most of the gifts that were given to him, absolutely not. But… on the off chance that that's exactly what happened, surely the foreigner wouldn't be mad at him, right? He's got priorities after all.

🍩  You know, Ruggie doesn't mind it too much when [Name] wears his gaudy jewelry when they cuddle, so long as this hyena gets to wear some every once in a while. For some reason, though, the henchman of the second prince of the Afterglow Savana only wants to wear the jewelry that the otherworldly man won't let him touch. But how could he blame him, it's the scrap hound in him, looking at things he can't have with big wanting eyes. [Name] will have to end up showing Ruggie just how important his accessories actually are eventually and it's safe to say that the hyena beastman will no longer let his Sindrian sugar daddy wear such dangerous things while he wants to be vulnerable for a moment.

🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾

“Hey, if ya ever get tired of eatin’ the same ol’ royal meals, yer pal Ruggie‘ll take care of it for ya. I'll clean yer plates lickety-split an’ free o’ charge. Heck, I'll even throw in a free fridge cleanin’ for ya as a bonus! All this with a downpayment o’ absolutely nothin’!”  

🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚

🐬  Is Jade flustered? No, no, dear, he's more amused than flustered. This slippery eel hasn't had someone speak to him in such a bold way before, aside from Rook, but the hunter goes about it in a much more eloquent way. [Name] wants to wrap an arm around his waist and pepper his neck with kisses. Alright, but the monarch from another world better expect a bite or two placed over his Adam's apple in return, it's only fair.~ [Name] wants to sit him on his lap and whisper sweet nothings in his ear? That's fine, but he'd better expect Jade to take those sweet words up a few notches into dirty territory,  this eel won't hold back. The king had better watch himself and stick to flirting with the mushroom lover only; this vice dorm head doesn't share.~

🐬  Hoh? A king? [Name]? It's not that Jade doesn't believe that the Sindrian man is royalty, he just doesn't want him to know that he believes it. It was fairly obvious by just the way that the foreign man carried himself and even subtly in the way he spoke. Hell, even Floyd figured it out -not that this eel is saying anything about his brother- was it even a secret at this point? But even so, Jade doesn't care too much about [Name]’s social status and will continue to pretend that he doesn't believe the man for the sake of seeing his frustration. That glare that the Sindrian man shoots him whenever the gentlemanly eel once again denies his claims, is really gratifying in a way.

🐬  Yes, that hand-crafted broach is absolutely stunning, and yes, these rings are embedded with treasured stones from all around Twisted Wonderland,  but does Jade want them? Absolutely not. What use would he have for them? Sure, he could wear a few of the accessories that [Name] gifted him to any formal events that he may need to attend, but other than that, they'll just sit around and collect dust. He will certainly take his time to sit down with the world-hopper and discuss preferences; although the slippery eel prefers to do it the difficult way and make the king guess instead. Luckily for Jade though, [Name] seems to like the ones that play hard to get the most, so the influx of gifts being sent to the twin's shared room in Octavinelle skyrockets. Poor Floyd is so annoyed at being buried in fancy gift boxes, give him a rest already.

🐬  The amount of side-eye that this man gets from Azul whenever [Name] comes into Monstrou Lounge all decked out in gold and jewels is downright atrocious. Jade loves his otherworldly himbo boy toy, but it's becoming a bother to try and steer his childhood friend's schemes away from him at this point. Especially since a few of those accessories radiate a foreign magical signature and the Seven knows how power-hungry that four-eyed takoyaki is. So [Name], if you would be so kind, stop broadcasting your vulnerability to the group of people who are known all around the college's campus for taking advantage of vulnerable people, you dumbass. Jade himself is a part of said group, he hopes that just because he and the Parthevian native are in a certain relationship, the man won't assume he's a good person.

🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚

“Oh my, you're still going on about that? I understand that you're magicless, but I doubt lying about your social status will help your situation. Honestly, I'm starting to believe you're having delusions.”  

 

🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌

🐍  While Jamil appreciates that [Name] is trying to cheer him up, such vulgar words are- are unnecessary. Yeah, as much as I love our beautiful serpent man, he can be a bit dense. No matter what compliment, kind gesturing, or suggestive remark the king flings at him, he will immediately assume one of four things; 1. Those were meant to be passed onto Kalim, 2. They're trying to insult him in some way, 3. They need a favor from him, and 4. They're just trying to annoy him. But even then, Jamil can't ignore how hot-faced and tongue-tied he gets when [Name] pinches the brunette's chin between his large, calloused fingers and plants a searing kiss on his lips. Or how the Sindrian man leads him away to take a break and runs his fingers through his long dark brown hair.

🐍  As soon as the words ‘I'm also the king of’ left the handsome worldhoppers lips, Jamil could only let out a long resigned sigh. Of course [Name] was royalty, which explains why that man is so childish and irresponsible; running around and leaving masses for other people to pick up. The Al Asim servant resented the charismatic man quite a bit after that revelation; going as far as to slap his hands away whenever the other tried to touch him. Jamil will feel a bit bad after a while though, [Name] hadn't done anything wrong and he was taking his frustration over his situation with Kalim out on a third party. Thankfully the foreigner accepted his apology immediately and even offered to take him and his sister back to Sindria with him, how sweet.

🐍  Once again this serpentine man assumes that all kind words and gift-like objects being given to him are things that he's meant to pass to Kalim, and he does just that. It was only [Name]’s asking whether or not the gifts he had given him were useful and Kalim pointing out that the gifts were addressed to him by name that Jamil finally got it through his thick skull. This time, surprisingly, it was the Al Asim prince who was exasperated at his servant and not the other way around. The prince even made it a point to tell people to give all gifts meant for him directly to him so that they'd leave his servant be. (responsible Kalim for the win!) Looking over his now recovered gifts, Jamil couldn't help but flush at how costly they were. The thought of [Name] spending so much money to please him made the basketball player both embarrassed and endeared.

🐍  At first he didn't really notice them, but after being pulled against the muscled chest of his word-hopping fling(?), he was smooshed onto the business end of a few of the man's familiar-looking accessories. The imprint of a six-pointed star was on the side of Jamil’s forehead for days after that, to which the idiot whose arms he was in made a joke about him having a shiny forehead. [Name] got a good bonk on the head after that. The Sindrian man had once shown Jamil a djinn that dwelled inside his necklace, but after seeing the look that the serpentine man was giving the djinn, [Name] decided to keep the rest to himself. Now, the dark brunette gets frequent reminders that, if he so chose, the foreign king would take him with him when he eventually went back to Sindria.

🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌

“You'll take me back with you? You'd really do that for me? Then please… remember you said these words to me… and take me away from this place when the time comes.”  

 

🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞

🏹  Well [Name], prepare to be outdone by a true professional. Rook will make the foreign man swoon so hard it's not even funny. The Parthevian native wants to pin this hunter to a tree, oh, haha look, now he himself is against that tree while the bob-headed blonde attacks his neck in between whispers of recherché poetry that he wrote earlier that day. That Sindrian king is lounging on a blanket in the wooded area just on the outskirts of the Pomfiore dorm campus and trying to coax the Frenchman onto his lap? Oh my, what's this? [Name] is now practically nude as Rook kisses and caresses each and every inch of his muse's warm muscular body. Somehow the blonde finds this thing the two have going on to be even more thrilling than a hunt.

🏹  His lovely muse is a king? It looks like [Name] has another new pet name courtesy of a certain huntsman. In fact, it's become Rook's favorite pet name, so his darling muse and everyone else in his vicinity is going to be hearing the words ‘Mon Roi’ as often as they breathe. Oh, this bob-headed blonde is dying to know what kind of wildlife is back in Sindria; he can describe beauteous landscapes in his poetry, what newfound fauna could be his prey, ah what thrilling thoughts he has. Since [Name] is the king, he'd certainly let Rook hunt to his heart's content, right~? You can't just tell him about all these curious little creatures and then ban him from hunting them; such a tease the otherworldly man is being, how cruel.~

🏹  The feeling of being spoiled with gifts by [Name] reminds him of how Vil ‘saved him’ during his first year when he was still in Savanaclaw. Although, Rook could never think back on his experience in his old dorm negatively; his roots are firmly planted in the Afterglow Savana after all. But instead of a haircut and rigorous skin care, he was given the best hunting equipment money could buy, and when it came to [Name]’s money, well there was a lot of it. As Rook's lovely Mon Roi told him, the greatest hunters are those who aren't afraid to become a beast themselves for the sake of the hunt.  These new intricate daggers that he was gifted seem to have quite the resemblance to fangs do they not?

🏹  Rook doesn't bother too much when it comes to his Mon Roi's jewelry, it's simply a token of a faraway home in his eyes; the hunter himself has many of his own. Yes, the bob-headed blonde does in fact notice that his otherworldly muse's adornments emanate a mystical aura and glow from time to time and yes the poetry enthusiast also knows that the giant blue figures that [Name] calls djinn do live in the ones with stars engraved on them, but he could care less. What Rook is really interested in is having his dearest muse hold that pose while he captures how the light bounces off the gold and jewels that draped across [Name]’s naked chest in this portrait. The hunter made sure to hang the paintings on the wall opposite his bed so that he could see his magnetic Mon Roi when he woke up every morning.

🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞

“Ah~ Mon Roi, the tales you have given me do you no justice. You are far more magnifique than these simple words can capture. It seems that I have found myself a challenge to overcome; I must bid you adieu.~”  

 

🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉

⚡  He keeps swearing up and down that he's been cursed by the otherworldly man; why else would he be feeling so odd around him after every interaction!? Sebek has been feeling flushed, and sweaty all over, having racing thoughts, been unable to sleep, and has continuously been stumbling over his words since he met [Name]! This has to be a curse; the half-fae wasn't experiencing any of these symptoms before! Even after Sebek demanded a duel in order for the foreigner to release the spell, to which wrestling on the bed was the request by the perpetrator, the curse only got worse! Now his mind is only occupied with thoughts of [Name] at any given moment; but he needs those thoughts for Waka-Sama, not some random human witch man!!!

⚡  So, the witchy human claims to be a king? HAH! Fat chance! There's no way Sebek would believe such an obvious farce, just who does this human take him for? The only royalty worth any salt is clearly his Waka-Sama, didn't you know? This half-fae knows what that human ‘king’ is up to, that man is just trying to lie his way into Waka-Sama's good graces, that's the only explanation! Even if Sebek knows that [Name] walks with the same regal posture as Malleus and knows that he has the same aura as Lilia does whenever they're sparring during swordsmanship lessons, he just won't accept it. And no, he will not accept a duel to change his mind.

⚡  A new sword and armor that cost millions of madol? Denied. As if Sebek would accept anything from some lowly human that definitely has plans to hurt Waka-Sama, he's not an idiot. Even if that sword looks expertly crafted and the blade is magically reinforced to cut through concrete like butter, h‐he's not interested in [Name]’s wicked wares! Ah, but… the weight of the blade is pretty good and the handle is very comfortable to grip onto… oh, and the hand guard is customizable too… A‐ah! Sebek wasn't admiring the craftsmanship, he was– he was just making sure that [Name] didn't place a curse on this sword is all. Yeah, that's it. What? No, he won't give it back, it was a gift, wasn't it? N‐not that a proud fae warrior like himself needs gifts from lowly humans!

⚡  Poor [Name] no matter what he does, Sebek continues his tsundere behavior. If the Sindrian king were to show the half-fae his djinn or metal vessels, who knows what he'd be accused of? Probably something like kidnapping his djinn and holding them against their will or saving a metal vessel for Malleus so he can trap him inside. But, if not that, Sebek would likely say that he has them for nefarious purposes. Whatever, [Name] better go back to the drawing board.

🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉

“HUMAN! Remove this curse you've cast upon me at once, it's interfering with my duties to Waka-Sama! Wha- You still have the gall to lie right to my face!?”  

. . .

❝𝕭𝖎𝖌 𝕽𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖓, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖎𝖝𝖙𝖍, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓- 𝕳𝖊𝖞 𝕳𝖊𝖞, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕷𝖊𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖉! 𝕭𝖆𝖓𝖌 𝕭𝖆𝖓𝖌, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕿𝖗𝖚𝖙𝖍, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖂𝖊𝖆𝖕𝖔𝖓- 𝕳𝖊𝖞 𝕳𝖊𝖞, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕷𝖊𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖉!~❞

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Reblogs are appreciated ~ 𔓘

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

[luxthestrange]

TWST Incorrect quotes#673 *YMCA Intensifies*

Trey: Look at me straight in the eyes and tell me the truth, Yuu...Did you eat...a cupcake...

Male!Yuu*Eyes closed*You can’t expect me to look into your eyes and be straight-

[writingsoftwistedwonderland]

Twist characters and how they cuddle!

I haven't written in a while, and recently got rehyperfixated on twist (Sorry everyone) SO HERE IS A BIG GENERAL HEADCANON FOR A:: OUR BOYS!! It can be taken platonic or romantic EXCEPT! For ortho, platonic only with the baby or be blocked. Starting with heartslabyul and move on from there!

putting keep reading so it doesn't make someone's page huge

Heartslabyul

Riddle: I believe he is touch starved, and only focusing on studying instead of childhood things can be the result of it. I like to think he loves being held close to his S/O's chest, hearing their heartbeat as he relaxes after a hard day. Bonus! He also likes being the little spoon and leaning against someone while studying!

Trey: I believe he would be the big spoon or holding his S/O however they like, mostly because he is the oldest child, so it's like a default for him to hold someone close and be the giver. Bonus! He does however enjoy being the little spoon or his head cradled after a busy day, or when his head hurts, having his S/O just gently play with his hair makes him relax.

Cater: I Vastly enjoy the mental image of Cater preferring to cuddle close to his S/O's stomach or thighs, and fiddling with his phone, or letting S/O mess with his hair as he relaxes.

Bonus! He loves cuddling close to his S/O's neck and shoulder and just hiding his face there, especially with low mental health days.

Deuce: He tries to be the giver, but he is a softie and loves being held. Just hug him and nuzzle into him and he just melts and becomes a huge baby. Do it in front of Ace and you get a cuddle pile!

Bonus! He will tuck himself into his S/O's side, dozing in and out of sleep while rambling about things he did in his dorm or just during the day in general.

Ace:

BASTARD! STINKY STINKY MAN! YOU WANT TO CUDDLE? EARN IT! He enjoys fighting with his S/O(playfully) when they try to cuddle him. Want to sit and relax? Too bad! His S/O is now on the floor fighting for their life, Ace giggling above them! He cuddles them eventually, laying on their chest while scrolling through social media.

Bonus! The best Ace cuddles are sleepy Ace cuddles. Get him well and tired, and he will just nuzzle into his S/O’s shoulder, murmuring little things here and there.

[fungifanart]

Happy birthday?

Characters: Male reader, Yuu!reader, Trey Clover, Riddle Rosehearts, Cater Diamond, Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade

CW: Fluff, Trey Clover has negative rizz, but we love him anyway

Word count: 1,202

Notes: Hahahahaha, what do you mean this is three days late? Hahahahaha, no, it isn't! HAHAHAHAHA (I'm really trying here, guys.)

---------------------------------------------------

"It isn't even funny anymore." Cater says with a sigh.

"It’s pathetic, really." Ace says while shaking his head.

"I'm honestly embarrassed to call myself his friend right now." Riddle says while rubbing his temples.

"You can't be serious…" Deuce can hardly believe what he's hearing, "Trey STILL hasn't caught onto the Prefect’s feelings?!"

Deuce’s mouth goes wide as the three men shake their heads in disappointment, thoroughly gobsmacked at the raw obliviousness being displayed by his respected upperclassman.

It's almost impressive, in a way, to remain blissfully unaware of another person's romantic feelings for oneself for A MONTH.

The four men have seen it all at this point.

They've seen the Prefect go on shopping trips with Trey, help him in the kitchen, help with setup and cleanup of unbirthday parties and so much more, all while subtly flirting with the vice housewarden in hopes of catching his eye, but with little to no luck.

It had gotten to the point where one would think "Surely, he knows and is just willfully ignoring the other man's advances!"

But no.

After being indirectly questioned by Riddle, it's become exceedingly clear that the supposedly clever and thoughtful vice housewarden of Heartslabyul is simply unaware of the Prefect’s feelings. However, from that same conversation, they also learned that he actually harbors feelings of his own for the other man, but refuses to act on them out of fear of ruining their friendship.

'Great Seven, help these two.' Deuce remembers thinking.

Of course, Cater was quick to take up the mantle of wingman for these poor idiots, meanwhile Ace was quick to set up a betting pool on how long it would take for either the hopelessly dense Trey to catch on or for the hopelessly shy Prefect to actually confess, much to Riddle’s dismay. However, even Cater's counsel has proved ineffective and what was once daily entertainment for the Prefect’s friends has descended into a farce that is genuinely painful to watch.

However, not all hope is lost.

With Trey's birthday on the horizon, unbeknownst to both parties, the group has devised a last ditch effort to allow the two to reconcile their feelings for each other.

The day arrives and with it, the plan is set in motion.

While the main festivities are underway, Deuce works with Ace to set up a romantic dinner at a gazebo in one of the more secluded areas of the hedge maze and waits until the party is winding down to guide the Prefect to said gazebo while Cater and Riddle do the same for Trey from the other direction.

With their objective completed, Deuce and the others leave the two men to talk about their feelings.

Whatever happens next is out of their hands.

—-------------------------------------------------------

With his birthday festivities winding down, Trey can feel the fatigue of the day catching up with him and is planning to leave for his room, despite his disappointment at not being able to see the Prefect off as he’s seemingly left for Ramshackle by now.

However, as he’s turning to leave, he feels two hands on his shoulders.

“Uh-uh-uh, birthday boy! You’re not leaving just yet.” Cater says as Trey turns to see both him and Riddle.

“We have one last surprise for you. So we need you to come with us.” Riddle states matter-of-factly as the two men take him by the arms and lead him into the hedge maze.

"So, are you guys gonna tell me what's going on or…?" Trey asks after a few minutes of walking in silence.

Cater scoffs in response, "It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if we told you, now would it?"

"Don't worry, we're almost there." Riddle says as they round a corner where a trio of familiar voices can be heard.

Trey's eyes widen as he sees the Prefect being pushed around the opposite corner towards him by Ace and Deuce.

The two groups get closer and closer until they stop in front of a gazebo with a table that's laid out with food and several candles that create an almost ethereal atmosphere as the natural light from the sun retreats below the horizon.

"What is this?" Trey asks, slightly taken aback.

"Oh, nothing." Ace says innocently, "We just wanted to give you and the Prefect a nice place to spend some alone time. A little birdy told us you've got A LOT to talk about, after all."

Trey and the Prefect share a look of surprise as they're pushed towards the table as a sign to sit down, which they do, but not before Trey feels a hand on his shoulder again and hears Cater's voice whispering in his ear.

"Do NOT mess this up." Cater warns before the four other men leave them to their dinner.

A few minutes pass in awkward silence as the two men eat their food, not knowing what to talk about despite having 'A LOT to talk about' according to Ace.

Of course, it doesn't help that he's getting distracted by how beautiful the Prefect looks in this lighting.

"Uh, Trey? Is there something on my face?" The Prefect asks, causing Trey to realize that he was staring.

"U-uh, nope! You're fine!" Trey says while awkwardly looking away, hoping that the candlelight will obscure the growing pink on his cheeks.

More awkward silence passes as Trey recalls Cater's words and fights the urge to slam his forehead onto the table because he knows he's messing this up BAD.

That is, until the silence is finally broken by the Prefect sighing and looking into Trey's eyes, "Trey, there's…actually something I wanted to tell you." He says apprehensively.

"Oh, sure. Go ahead." Trey says while returning the eye contact.

"I see you. You know that, right?" The Prefect begins, "I see how much you care and how hard you work everyday to keep everyone happy. I see how seriously you take your baking and I can't help but admire it. I can't help but admire you."

Trey feels his heart flutter in his chest as the Prefect continues.

"But it's not just admiration. Our shopping trips and the time I spend helping you bake are always the highlights of my day and I've realized it's because I've spent that time with you, specifically."

Trey's eyes widen and he feels his face heating up as he realizes where the other man is going with this.

"I…think I want to spend a lot more time with you…because…" The Prefect hesitantly reaches his hand over to Trey's on the table, silently asking for permission, which Trey gives in the form of intertwining their fingers together, spurring the other man on to finish his sentence with a sincere smile, "Trey, I love you."

Trey's heart skips a beat and a soft smile forms on his face upon hearing the words he never thought he would from the other man.

"I love you too, y/n." Trey responds softly, but with his love burning passionately in his chest.

The Prefect then moves his chair so they're side-by-side and leans his face towards Trey's, allowing him to happily close the distance between their lips.

'Best birthday present ever.' Trey thinks to himself.

[yomogi-mogi-mochi]

Honey Lemon Crescendo

Pairings: Trey Clover/Vampire MC

Summary: The gods should have made you better, so that they could love you. 

The days you pray for the abolishment of your abhorrent form are rare in the centuries you have lived since your family's death, and your turning. Sharpened claws and teeth, the hellfire of your gaze are concealed for your own convenience, you tell yourself, especially as you enroll into NRC. The tonic of human affairs rarely interested you, yet when you find the truly curious case of Trey Clover, someone who is made only of that plain sort, you cannot help but to promise yourself one conversation, some several hours of the thousand thousand you have lived to taste what it is like to be treated, and be human again. But you're a fool, and a hypocrite‒ you find yourself breaking that promise over, and over, and over. Your fragile resolve frays at every sunbeam smile, every ringing laughter of his. 

MC is a vampire, unique magic is telepathy, being able to unconsciously hear everyone's thoughts 

Notes: Once again I am alive lol. Barely. Just finished my first semester in my Master’s program so I’ve been experiencing a bit a burn out, so I apologize if this isn’t my best work. Also, every time I'm like "hm is this too much trauma?" But then I remember the child murder, kidnapping, and child endangerment that's canon in twst and I'm like ooh wait right nvm I’m good. Fits within the canon. Anyways, I would have liked to explore the concept of BPD and its allegorical connections to Vampirism more in depth, especially due to the social sigma associated with it‒ but I feel that it would be waaaay too long for a one-shot if I did so. 

Also, all stand alone quotes that are in italics represent inner thoughts (with some exceptions depending on your personal interpretations)

TW: References to depression, references to religious trauma, exorcism, and cults; references to child abuse; survivors guilt; referenced to verbal abuse; anxiety; panic attacks; slight mentions of eating disorders/disordered eating (suppressing appetite); BPD 

GN Terms for MC

AO3 Link Here

Masterlist

------------------------------

“There is no sin within this child. Only the devil which lives within them.” 

Those were the words that had prevented your burning during the trial, among other things. 

Perhaps it was also the way you would keep your claws obscured under thickset leather gloves, conceal your crimson gaze under obsidian shades, or the terror that seized you every night that left you so evidently unraveled in all of your unforgiving guilt and abhorrence for your new form. The pity that could be provoked by the wetness and flush of a child’s face was something many adults in the future instructed was a bias you should have been more grateful for‒ as it triumphed over whatever horrors people held when you spoke a decibel too loudly to show your sharpening fangs, moved too swiftly to confirm the power that swelled within you like simmering, spoiled blood‒ pungent, and nauseating.

It reminds you of the smell at the state of decomposition you found your family in when you returned home from a several day trip with your cello instructor‒ and the smell of its mouth when its sharpened teeth lurched towards your neck, before you felt the metallic taste drip cold into your gasping mouth. 

It was first the elongated fangs. Then came the claws, the lack of reflection, the original color of your eyes draining, replaced with a bright vermillion. The enhanced senses and physical power were less noticeable‒ but the subtle power that swelled in your hands when you broke skin and meat with your own grip upon your arm did not go unnoticed by the Supreme Leader who examined your body and soul during your trial. 

“This thing should be useful to me, I hope. I was right to send that “Cello Instructor” with them to take care of business here. I’ll continue my divine plan as usual.”

The words themselves terrified you. Should you run? Hide? Die? Where would you go‒ with your small feet and hands? What could you do? The more oppressive horror lay in the confirmation of the whorling suspicion inside of your small, ten-year old mind that your new form allowed for telepathy‒ the exact “usefulness” the Supreme Leader had suspected lapped inside of you. You were absolutely sure of it, days later, when you read the color of the townspeople faces‒ their leering eyes and curled lips, squeezing their children close behind them‒ back towards your home, set ablaze by their torches and oil. The scramble of noise wasn't needed to confirm their disgust of you, but it came anyway. 

“Hideous.”

“Demon. Probably killed that poor family.”

“That disguising appearance‒ must be the child of the devil.”

“Murderer. Things like you deserved to be burned. Supreme leader is truly a blessing to take care of such vile things.”

You cowered at their stares‒ but you remember considering it distantly for a moment, even in the midst of your situation. That night you had been found by shaking candlelight, your mouth drenched with blood and fear, palming numbly at your family's cold bodies. You couldn't blame them, you supposed. The townspeople feared you. You feared you. Stay with me . The Supreme Leader told you. And you did. 

He defended you during your trial with a kind smile, tying the rope around your wrists loosely with gentle hands, spoke softly of good deeds, good gods, all forgiving and loving. When he convinced the council to graciously join his family , you didn’t run. 

“Don’t you want to be loved by god?”

You shakily rolled the breath that seized in your lungs, your small hands clutched in a prayer against the heartbeat that thundered against your bones. 

“How pitiful child, that you choke on your sorrow. You, abhorrent creature, abomination of god‒ let me love you .” 

“Let me be your god.”

He held a copy of Dissertations Upon the Apparitions of Angels, Daemons, and Vampires of Wonderland in his hands‒ he pressed a finger onto each part of your body, comparing it with his‒ what made him human, and what made you not. He gifted you your own room‒ different from all the other children, deep at the belly of the earth. The cobblestone walls reached high into the heavens where you could not see, even with your enhanced vision‒ the light falling just where your vision could reach. One of his attendants presented him with a pair of cuffs, made specially for your size. The ones they had did not yet fit you. However, he placed them on the ground‒ crescent smile and blackened eyes. You would not escape. 

You kept your secrets for a while‒ despite the unquenchable jealousy, festering sin, and violence that sprouted abundantly in the minds of his chosen advisors, who pinched your skin and snaked their cold hands under your shirt. In your ever dwindling, coastal town‒ you'd seen denial was the first reaction to loss. You'd felt a modicum of humanity in your ruthless rejection, letting the inner noise of others curdle in your mind. 

Their words on the surface stuck of cheap, saccharine perfume, ones you recognized in the town's alleys and such. Yet you swallowed your nausea down, digesting their words one by one. You still had faith then, capable of religion . So easy to fool back then‒ you think now‒ children rarely doubt the material world. Why would people hurt you on purpose?

You were still a child then‒ an infant in vampiric years.

“ Don’t you want to be loved by god?” 

“To be useful to god?” 

"Useful to me?"

“They’ve done so much for you.” 

“I’ve done so much for you.” 

“Don’t you want to repay that?”

You revealed it all, in your childish trust, and his soft hands. You thought perhaps, that adults, despite their true intentions, would help you somehow. Belief in good will. Faith. It grips you with force. 

It wasn’t all violence at first. But you began to fear the day where their actions would finally twist into something reflective of their actual intentions. That day came rather quickly, or so you think. Time did not matter in the small confines of your chambers below ground. The bloodletting, lashings, the vivisections were then all to vanquish the spirits that germinated inside your sinking flesh, possessing you to reveal such “impure things” in front of the people. Purification , he called it, no matter how many times you dried your throat from apologies, or promised you would do better next time. Next time I will speak your truth. God’s truth . You say the way their desires for a monster began to shape every laceration, every break of the bone. 

Still, you couldn’t be their monster, nor a human. It seemed that the seeds of sacrilege had been sown firmly into you, and flourished each passing decade in its grotesque power. 

The gods should have made you better, so that they could love you. 

You��d beg through a dried throat and spinning vision for forgiveness and to appeal your usefulness‒ you knew the moment the priest resumed his kind smile, gentle hands, and his flowery voice‒ that he had found a use for you. Work for me , he said‒  and you obliged. He held your hand again, with a firm grip, and brought you to trials, his grand meetings with thousands of his followers‒ and you’d do his bidding, pointing a shaking finger at “non-believers” and spies‒ watching closely, where the supreme leader’s eyes leered and narrowed in order to anticipate your next move of survival . By then, you had learned to tune out a significant portion of the noise of people, to live in ignorant bliss for the few hours he would spend mending your gashing wounds, let you fiddle around with your cello that had survived the angry mob that burned down your family’s bakery, and home. Soft touches, sweet voice, he spoke. 

"Good child, one of god, of forgiveness, of love. "

And you could tell he had meant it‒ knowing that when he lied to you‒ he always clasped his hands unconsciously in prayer. If there were opposing intentions twisting below his perfumed words that you had somehow failed to pick up with your trained senses‒ you couldn’t be bothered to unravel them. It was just nice. To be held again‒ forgiven . By someone at least, if not yourself. You were good. You were good again. 

Decades pass‒ the people and the landscape move and breathe. It was only a matter of time your hometown would dwindle into a ghost city, being built on scrappy mines and poor fishermen, controlled by a con-man and his desperate believers. Even with nothing to lose, the remaining residents exiled you. Perhaps it was their humanity that they grasped onto with that final action. 

You stand against the passing aches after aches‒ drinking it all from your chalice‒ vessels gilded with gold and hammered with human desire, sitting high to the heavens on altars to hold the blood and wine offered to the gods. You’d been hollowed much like that grail, gouged from the sharpened image of your still, immutable face against the shifting harmony of the world you could not enter. You have no reflection, no face, no name people would call out to take shape as your own, no proof of your corporeal form but your own, cold touch. And the hunger. The hunger seized you at every moment‒ aching through the gums of your fangs, and pounding your heart with the lifeblood that chased it. You were at least alive in your 

You'd fashion something from the use you'd have to other people. A frankenstein skin stretched over your bones. You still feel the Supreme Leader’s gaze hollowing your senses. 

"It's like they're reading my thoughts."

"Those sunglasses and gloves, what are you trying to stand out? So annoying."

"Why don't you read the atmosphere for once?"

"Arrogant asshole."

"What are you, pretending to be all high and mighty."

"Liar."

The noise never stops completely. But you've learned to shut the world out, better now with the advancements on potions and ear plugs‒ courtesy of the Night Raven College’s curriculum‒ hands free to grasp at every opportunity to prove you had existed in some way‒ a being that was real enough to feel the light of gods' love and forgiveness. Useful. Good. 

“How did you know I used browned butter?”

Light‒ feather soft, honey sweet music that streams into your mind. 

You always sat alone in the end. There was a composition to everything, as you saw it. And you had perfected the score of distance‒ being able to orchestrate a friendly, carefree facade, an absolutely stupid and undoubtedly shallow passion, pruning the space between you and the world. A gothic mirror to parody themselves, so they could not truly look at your monstrous, yet absent form‒ something you were sure would absolutely rupture the thick skin you've fashioned together out of pieces of the real people unlike yourself. You'd break apart into nothing but dust. 

It was like the volume, moods, and rhythms created in the scores you played‒ you charged the room with boisterous laughter and directed the eyes at that, instead of your fervent efforts in composing the most fantastic detachment. In the end, you were almost giddy to see that no one saved you a seat, or spared you a glance when you slipped outside for a cigarette wedged hungrily between your fingers. The nicotine was enough to starve off the ache beginning to turn swiftly to nausea between your wobbling footsteps, and you were glad, you think, to have served your use in the social spiral to be afforded a moment of peace. 

Or, you thought. 

“Huh?”

“You forgot your prize.” The boy in front of you thrusts a frosted cupcake towards you, prompting you to switch the cigarette to your other hand to receive it. In the subtle moonlight, you see the sugar melted into the cream glitter a bit when you inspect the pastry. 

He adjusts the hat on top of his green head of hair as he continues. “The competition to see who could guess all the ingredients in the cake correctly‒ you won, it was perfect, actually.” 

You stare at him dumbly and you find yourself scooting over to make space for him. His eyebrows are tilted in a way that made his face a little sorry, a little roguish‒ a combination you found curious raised above those soft honey lemon eyes that hung like that summer fruit above the lush curve of his lashes. 

“So‒ how did you know? I’m curious.” 

You exhale the rest of the smoke resting in your lungs. “I…used to know people who were bakers. Their secret ingredient in their famous brownies was browned butter. I’ve eaten so many trays I’ve come to know the taste. The rest is just luck.”

He laughs. Not like you had seen out of the corner of your eye when he had been talking to all those people, but a loose, genuine chuckle. “I’d hardly call it luck‒ you got the measurements down pretty close. Impressive, if you ask me. May I ask‒ are you a baker?” 

“I…” You find yourself smiling through the cigarette pushed to your lips, careful not to show your teeth. “I used to be. I used to spend a lot of time there, they must have rubbed off me.”

How long has it been since you’ve thought about them? You could remember the distinct nutty smell from the pounds of brown butter your sister was in charge of making‒ the click click click of your mother’s footsteps as she worked from the counter to the rack of trays, preparing the bread dough for proofing. Your father in the background, fiddling with the radio, beaming when he heard a recording of your cello performance on the morning radio. Warmth, sunlight. The beat of your heart, and the heat of your blood. 

“You’ll have to give me the recipe then. I’ve been looking for a good brownie recipe.” 

A moment to contemplate if you should end this conversation here. Something switches inside of you, perhaps a remnant of that warmth you remembered. 

“You have something to write with?” 

His face flowers gently into a brightened expression before he pulls out a small notebook from his breast pocket. 

“...Thank you.”

You hum apathetically to work through the dreadful loom of warmth you feel when you hand the paper back to him with the recipes you’ve committed to memory from your laborious days at your family’s seaside bakery. The smoke still hanging in the air shifts sharply when you stand, and you flick the cindering cigarette to the pavement to stomp it out. You can tell there is more he wants to say that sits bubbly on his tongue, but you turn towards the door leading back to the Heartslabyul dorm before the words can take form through his smile. 

There’s a moment that you stand by the door where you reflect on what you saw of him while he was inside, mingling with other humans. 

“You should loosen your shoulders more when you smile, like that." Under his hat, you see his eyebrows raise up in slight surprise. Surprise isn't enough, you decide, and add, "If you want to convince people." 

You hope those words leave him a bit cold, a bit cruel that he doesn’t come seeking after you anytime soon, feeling the scramble of thoughts threatening to pool into your ears through the plugs. It’s all noise to you. You step inside once more‒ feeling a little less sick, a little less raw to be able to orchestrate again. 

Trey finds your handwriting as pretty as you were in the noise of the room, inspecting all the curls and loops of each word. It takes him a moment before he notices what you left behind. 

“They forgot their prize…” 

------------------------------

The next time you meet him is during band practice. Or, more precisely, hear him would be a better descriptor. 

"Have you seen (Name)?"

The thick walls of the storage room muffles his voice, but you still hear it loud and clear as you lean against the door, cello in hand. 

"I just saw them a minute ago. I think they went to run a few errands or something since the school festival is soon." Carter replies. 

"Ah it seems like I'm on a wild goose chase. I'm starting to wonder if such a person even exists…" 

“They’re everywhere and nowhere all the time.” Carter chuckles. "I didn't even know you two were like that."

"Hm. I guess. We only really talked once." He hums. 

"But I'd like to get to know them better ."

The sharp inhale you suck in makes an audible sound when you hear those words brush the back of your neck. You press the palm of your hands flat against your ears in panic to prevent any sound‒ voices, noise, the world‒ all of it, from entering your mind. 

Quiet, quiet, quiet, quiet‒ 

You time his steps, the pleasantries he's likely throwing at the rest of the members, the time it takes for him to get far from your radius of power. Slowly, you release your hands from your head, and take a few moments to gather yourself before exiting the room. 

Carter is the first to notice you. "Eh? (Name)? Since when were you there?" 

"Since 10 minutes ago, dear. I told you we were going to take a break from group practice today and do individual practice today didn't I? We've been rehearsing so much for the festival I figured we could take a break for today."

"Really?? How did I miss this? I totally just sent Trey to the wrong place." 

Lilia continues to tune his bass. "You were on your phone when (Name) briefed us on the schedule 3 weeks ago, Carter." 

"I wanted to do a group rehearsal today! I feel like I finally got the hang of the last couple measures this time!" Kalim interjects. 

"Don't pout, my dear president." The hand you place on his head is as gentle as ever. "You can practice without a vocalist for today, can't you? I have a lot to catch up on the Monstero Lounge gig I have coming up." 

You bid your fellow members goodbye, dragging the instrument all the way to one of the empty classrooms. 

Finally, a moment of peace. 

You shuffle through your folder, fishing out the piece you had picked to play for a talent night that Azul had insisted you come and play at, excitedly chattering about how it was going to be brilliant for business. 

Chopin's Cello Sonata in G Minor, Largo . 

The cello sonata was one of the composer's last pieces. It was spectacular to you. A final, dazzling eruption before dwindling to the mere echoes of what had once been there‒ a fantastical piece with a pressure combed through every measure that would well an incomprehensible rawness that began at your chest, and would weave through the fibers of your throat that clenched in its emptiness. 

But perhaps it was not so incomprehensible‒ humans in your life had been much the same. The ones you held dearly would rupture from this world, leaving you empty, aching with the sharpened, receding fragments. 

When you slip off your gloves to press your bare fingers against the strings, you try not to let this thought consume you. 

"But I'd like to get to know them better."

Bitterly, it seeps. 

You know it's wrong‒ the piece is supposed to be for a simple, ten minute performance‒ a monotonous activity of human affairs that you would be pleased to check hastily off the list with a presentable smile and lightness. However, the decades you have lived until this day weigh upon you at once, spinning your hands in such a way that threads your grief heavily into the mellow air. The murky rust of the setting sun swells with the florid volume of your own misery, and the silence of the world that ripostes it. 

The song falls softly, a slow stroke that gradually quiets until there is nothing. A diminuendo‒ to shatter, to finish. There's a small comfort, that unlike living things, the scores that stood on the iron music stand could be revived time after time, on trembling strings and resin scented maple. But, not much. 

The flesh at the back of your eyelids are sparked with purple and blue stars as you squeeze your eyes shut, head leaning against the body of the cello to steady your breaths. It may have been the dizziness steadily climbing from the ache of your empty stomach to your head, but you felt like you were swaying in that concoction of color and bursting light. 

"Don’t you want to be loved by god?”

You're afraid that if you open your eyes, the world may still be there. The noise, it will still exist, and reel you in‒ tangling you among its grotesque allure until the moment you reach towards it. Then, it will furl inwards, somewhere far from where you could detect it. The air feels sharp in your lungs‒ you feel like if you take too much in, you’d burst. The bow splinters in your hand, drawing blood. 

"Pretty ."

A voice strikes through your bleakness, a gentle, but clear sound. 

Trey stands at the center of your view. His face holds a glossy look for a moment, before he shakes his head and apologizes. 

"Sorry‒ I just‒ I just heard you in the hallway, I thought you sounded really…" He laughs, shifting his gaze to the side. " Pretty ." 

You look down at your instrument, and notice your bare hands, you remember you don't have your sunglasses on either. The cello echoes when you lean it against the desk, turn away from him to slip on your gloves and glasses. 

You clear your throat, feeling each word stumble in staccato breaths.  "Ah. Well. Um. Thank you. It's all, rather, very wrong though."

"Wrong? But it was incredible." 

"Pretty."

"Pretty."

"Pretty."

The thoughts that enter his mind that churn into yours are ignored best you can before you swivel, veiling yourself in your disguise once more. "Perhaps wrong is not the best term. It's not tasteful for the audience, I suppose. There was no control."

"Control?" He parrots. 

"Yes, you know." You wave your hand in flutter movements. "If someone like me performed like I just did‒ ha! I’d become the laughing stock of the entire school. " You clasp your hands together. "Now, darling. I must get going. Did you want to marvel at my music some more, or is there anything else you needed?"

You work quickly to gather your things, expecting Trey to leave after you've dismissed him. But when you drag your cello case around to leave, you see him still standing in the doorway, leaping towards your hand that rests on the cello case. 

"Can I help you? It seems heavy."

"I'm alright. I've dragged this thing around this school, I am perfectly capable‒" When you go to lift the full weight of the instrument however, a dizziness digs into your temples, nausea quickly following suit. 

"Oh‒ are you alright? Are you not feeling well? Let me at least help you with your instrument back to your dorm."

You stare at him, feeling your power rise within you, waiting for his thoughts to flood through your system‒ a confirmation to your suspicions you filter every person through, to pick them apart. 

“You’re hurt.” He goes to examine your hand, you pull back. 

"They don't look so well. Maybe they need something to eat? I should whip them up something after I help them carry this back to their dorm. Hm. Yeah. That sounds good. Something hearty."

Those words are inspected with great skepticism in your mind before the dizziness takes over, muddling your brain to a jumbled mess. Whatever, you think. He seems harmless enough. 

“Fine” As soon as that curt response slips from your lips, you cringe internally. You clear your throat, attempting to redeem yourself. “I’ll take up your offer if that's alright with you. Pretty boy .”

He seems to hold the air in his throat when you give him that name, before he releases it in a puff of laughter. "Pft. Alright, yeah. Let's get you back to your room before you spout any more nonsense."

"Me?"

You're a bit taken back from his internal response. But you trail behind him, the weight of the nausea lifting slightly off your steps. 

------------------------------

"What kind of cocoa powder did you use?"

"I think…just the regular brand stuff."

"Use Dutch processed next time. If you activate it correctly, the alkalizing process gives the batter a richer color and flavor."

He had somehow used his devilish charm to string you into this, you tell yourself, sipping on the tea you brewed for the both of you. But it would be rude to kick him out of your quarters without a proper thanks. You're no longer human, but you'd at least act civilized. 

The tea has run a bit cold from the two whole hours he's managed to rope you into a conversation on baking techniques‒ slipping out the same notepad and pen he pulled out that night you met, and a box of various pastries and baked goods that he seemingly prepared out of nowhere. Truthfully, you weren't supposed to eat human food without proper sustenance from blood‒ however the look he gave you had absolutely pleaded that you do. So, how could you refuse? 

You clear your throat to break through your endless flood of doubts and excuses. "I heard you were looking for me during band practice. Now that you've wormed your way into my life by bribing me with sweets‒ what did you want from me?"

"Oh!" He pulls another, smaller box from the bag you saw him rummaging through for the sweets laid out before the two of you. "Ah‒ I forgot about this. It might be a bit melted since there's ermine cream on the top."

The simple white box is opened, revealing a similar cupcake that you (purposefully) forgot the night you met him. 

"It's not the same thing‒ it might be better actually‒ I used buttercream last time but it's pretty heavy so I substituted with ermine cream this time." He remains composed but you can tell something is bubbling below it. "Tell me what you think." 

" I'm so excited to see what they think…I worked hard on this recipe since it seems it wasn't up to their tastes last time."

You make a face when you hear his thoughts, wondering how absolutely normal someone can be. “You mean to say you came all the way here to deliver me…this cup cake?” 

"Yes I mean‒ I don't mean to pressure you into eating it, obviously." His eyebrows bunch upwards in his usual sorry expression. "I just. Wanted to hear your thoughts. Since I haven't met someone this knowledgeable on baking techniques at this school."

People usually had ulterior motives when approaching others with gifts, kindness, words slathered in polite niceties and compliments. You eye him suspiciously as he calmly sips his tea, scribbling away in his little notepad.

Drawing a little closer to him, you lean against the table, feeling the heat of your crimson eyes when you concentrate your magic to wade through the noise‒ pulling the thread of his thoughts from it all. It requires a bit of power through your ear plugs and rising nausea, but you manage to unravel it. 

" I'd really like to get to know them better. Friends, maybe . Cater says I should get out there more, this is what he meant, right? "

It was impossible to ignore the truth of the matter‒ that the person sitting in front of you is so absolutely unbearably bare, plain. You'd thought you'd seen clarity before, in how salient the cruelty of people was, but you had been wrong. No doubt this was true clarity‒ the candor of normal, mundane life that you normally blocked out with the rest of the noise of the world. The tonic of human lives rarely interested you, but it seemed like all this person was, and it seeped deeply into his treatment of you. Normal, bare, plain. 

Human . 

It was so baffling you could not suppress the smile that spread on your lips. 

Ah, maybe just for today, you think. Just this one conversation. Just one moment, and I'll forget the taste of human life again. 

"Hm, alright. Just this once, pretty boy ."

The sugary cream melts instantly in your tongue, and the airy sponge is sweet when you swallow your determination to forget this honey sweetness he brings. A hint of vanilla, cinnamon, sugar, spice, and everything nice. You let it settle deep in the dark of your belly, feeling the warmth still lacing through your blood from the tea you've sipped with him slowly cool under your flesh. You devour it all, with his words and smile, hiding it deep inside so you can’t remember its sweetness. 

But the honey you've added at his request still runs golden sweet on your tongue. You roll it through your mouth, trying to extinguish the taste, but it spreads further, coating your throat as you swallow it. Unlike the contents of the cupcake, it runs raw against your flesh, and you must wait until it seeps deeply into the fibers of your throat before it dissolves. 

The hours pass as you talk with him, but the sweetness does not fade. 

------------------------------

"You alright?" 

The silvery tone of your voice breaks through Trey's thoughts. He had been lagging behind the Heartstlabyul group to take a break from all of the frenzy of today. The responsibility, the pressure. You'd been with them a moment ago, mingling as you always did, but now you've slowed your footsteps to match the slight drag of his own‒ something he's sure you've noticed. Heat tingles at his cheeks‒ he doesn't know whether it's from the way you've broken his image so swiftly with your keen eyes, or if it's from, simply, your thoughtfulness. For him, of all people. For him. 

"Yeah, fine. Just tired. Today has been such a long day with these underclassmen." 

His laughter rings clearly, even though the obstruction of your ear. With each note emanated from his lips, you feel it slipping through the cracks of the foundation of your feeble resolve, crumbling so endearingly that you smile sincerely when he speaks. It had been disgust, revolt at first, feeling the distance between your world and his inching closer and closer‒ but before you could notice the absence of nausea stinging through your chest and stomach, you felt the feather-lightness of your own smile chiming with his own, completely eclipsing the discomfort you had felt previously in the proximity to other lives. To him. 

"You need to relax more. Stop fussing over these no good children." You massage his shoulders in a playful manner. 

He feigns pain then quirks that smile on his face‒ you know the one, the one where he bunches his eyebrows and laughs with the back of his throat. In that moment, you're as confident as ever, charging him with laughter‒ letting your inhibitions lose. Control didn’t matter, for a moment. The world doesn’t seem so sharp at that moment, like you were going to tip over the edge. 

When the pads of his fingers brush against your fingers, all that sense you had withers so easily in your chest. Through his shoulders, you can feel the vibration of the hum he emits in agreement, a musical accompaniment to the warmth that radiates from his hands. 

"Maybe. They're good kids. You're right‒ maybe I do need to relax." You retract your hands from him, allowing him to toss his head over his shoulder. "Any tips?"

The seconds you weigh out whether to lie or not seem to shorten with every moment you spend with him. "I guess…music. I like to sing some of the warm-up pieces I used to know.” 

"Warm up for what?"

"Ah for the…church choir." 

Liar . 

He makes a face, an airy laugh escapes your nose. "What?" You ask. 

"...you just don’t look like a religious person.”

You look down at your feet, a slight smile as a comfort to him. “I haven’t been in a while. I don’t think I’ve had faith in anything in a long time.” A quiet lull in your words. 

Your stomach turns. It's always a look of pity, or some casted look that drags you as some pathetic creature, cold and inhuman. The words die in your throat, you quiet your breaths, feeling then stick to the prickly flesh of your lungs and throat. 

“I get it.” 

But the look Trey gives you as he digests your words is a sadness as sincere and clear as water. It was not such a clawing, dried look that transformed you into something you didn't want to be. Instead, he swallows your words whole, as they were, his gaze reaching far beyond the pain. His sound‒ clear as a summer's day, dotted prettily with the honey lemon droplets of his gaze‒ finds you. 

“I got you.” 

A tranquil, silvery symphony‒ each sweetened thread weaving itself magnificent, deep within your nerves. It takes everything to pull yourself from it.

"Now, I have the perfect blend of tea for you then, darling. It goes wonderfully with those lemon shortbread cookies you made yesterday‒ absolutely divine."

Quick to shake the feeling off, you mask the dread of warmth with your usual stupid passion and fire that carves an expression of slight surprise into Trey's face, just for a moment. But it surprised you, instead, to see that it dissolved completely, and replaced with an elated burst of laughter. It takes him a moment to gather himself, and many more for you to do the same with the words he says. 

"You're actually a really good person, (Name)." 

The feeling returns, swiftly. 

You don’t want to breach into the borders of his mind, but you found yourself reaching for the silvery thread of his sound from the noise, picking apart the gray mess of things to find that glimmering thing. Your mind had learned the scent, the exact hue and melody of his inner voice to be able to pluck it so naturally from everything else, and you were growing fearful that you had committed yet another thing to memory that would eventually be lost to time. But the words that you hear from him‒ you think it will consume you for the rest of your eternity. 

"God. You're wonderful."

It nearly chokes you to hear such clarity in that declaration. Foolish . You think. Only a fool would say such a thing. You fix the shades slipping down your face, turning your energy to block out any sound and voice.

"You flatter me, my dearest." 

Lucid, pure. His voice. His laughter. It wasn't just noise to you anymore. You think of what chord his voice would be, how it would sing against your fingers on your cello. Or perhaps a heavenly instrument would be more befitting. 

"But you've got me all wrong."

You smile. Perhaps you were the fool. 

A few weeks later, he admits: "Truthfully, I tried to avoid you best I could before we officially met. Because of your blase attitude and the rumors about you‒ I thought I wouldn't mesh well with people like you."

"Is that so?" A wolfish smile curves onto your lips, eyes turning crescent. You fiddle with the flier for the monstero lounge show coming up, debating whether or not you should have really accepted Azul’s request. "It seems most people think I'm that way." 

"Yeah. But I'd like to think you opened up to me a bit, and I discovered something about you that made me want to talk to you. You're real strange, you know that?"

"Oh, I'm the weirdo? I'm not the one whose hobby is brushing their teeth."

"Dental health is important." He states matter-of-factly, before his hardened look is broken with a breathy laughter. "But really. I would have liked to be friends earlier in my life if I had just known you were the way you actually are."

You remember his words, turning your eyes downwards. "I'd really like to get to know them better."

Hesitation curdles in your mind, but the words come instantaneous, eager to his statement. "Which is?" Perhaps too eager, you shrink. 

He hums, thinks for a minute. "Just‒ kind ." He says. "I never noticed before, but you're always making sure people are included, checking on people. It's like a sixth sense‒ you can easily pick up what people are thinking, but also feeling. Like a guardian angel or sorts."

You stare at him with a blank look, a breath in your lungs that doesn't make it past your parted lips. Then, gaze downwards, again. 

"I wish more people would know how much good you have."

It takes great effort not letting his words sink deeply into your heart, constricting it. Sometimes, when you replay the scene in your head at night‒ an inevitable occurrence when he's on your mind‒ you try your hardest not to let it well something inside you so floridly that it bleeds heavily in your chest, and sprouts the salt in your eyes. But, it does. Idiot , you think, if only you knew what I really was.

You make a noise, unclear yourself as to your response to his statement, crushing the flier in your hand. Attempting to redeem yourself, you casually begin rolling the balled up paper in your hands, giving Trey an exasperated expression. 

“What’s that?” He points to the paper. 

“Oh‒ nothing. An Azul thing. Or a Monstero Lounge thing. Whatever, I’m probably going to bail on it anyways.”

“An Azul thing?” The hint of disappointment in his tone confuses you. “Oh! the Monstero Lounge show that’s coming up? I’ve been looking forward to it‒ you’re bailing? Don’t let Carter hear you say that‒ he’s been talking about wanting to be in it for weeks.”

A smile quirks on your face. “Has he now?” 

Trey nods. “Why are you bailing? I thought you had a real passion for playing?”

“Performance is another matter. You know, the difference between baking for yourself, and baking for other people.” Trey nods in understanding. “Besides, what makes you say that?” You make a face which fails to fully contain the disgust towards yourself. Passion. It curdles on your tongue. 

“How do I put it…You…” He pauses, thinking. In a moment, his words flood forth. “Your expression seems heavier when you’re playing. But, maybe a good kind of heavy. You always seem light and bubbly, but now that I think about it, you never talk about yourself.” 

“I don’t.” You confirm, a sweet smile. 

“You don’t.” An averted gaze. “I never asked.”

“How unusual of you‒ mother of Heartslabyul.” 

“So,” His gaze pulls you in. “What’s your favorite color?” 

You take a moment to reply, a bit surprised that he would actually follow through with his words. You’re reminded of the reason why you were so taken with him in the beginning‒ despite his sheepish deflection of compliments, despite the playful smirk that curved on his face‒ his words always matched his actions, his gaze, his expression. 

“Yellow. A lemony, summery yellow. Reminds me of the flowers my sister used to grow.”

“You just have one sister?”

“One and only. My older sister.”

“I’m envious. I’ve always wondered what it was like being the younger sibling.” 

You chuckle, searching the vast landscape of memories stored inside you. “You know‒ teasing, fighting, hand-me-down clothes, the like. But I love her, especially when she makes her brioche bread.” 

“You’re close with her?”

Time, space‒ the difference between you and the world, him. It comes in waves as always, flooding you, and your hands which search for distant memories. You’re not sure if it was his ignorance towards your nature, or plainly his presence that seemed to pull your discorporated humanity closer to you once more. 

“Very. She’s my rock. She was the first to encourage me to pursue music.” 

“Do you play other instruments?”

“Of course. Cello, piano, guitar, accordion, harp, violin, flute…” You trail on. 

The conversation goes on, until the two of you notice you’ve been walking around the campus, completely separated from the others. You laugh about it. 

When you separate, you watch him walk across the hills, his form roaring against the sunset. There’s a twinge in your stomach, which you swallow with great effort. The distance between you and him seemed like it didn’t matter for the vivid moments you spent conversing with him‒ but now with his back towards you, as he headed towards the light‒ the feeling wades back. You search through the flood as you always do, but you cloud your own vision when you look back to the things you said, the faces you made, the memories you shared. Blackened, like yourself. The sun hisses against your skin. At times like this, you’re reminded of your stunted development‒ you had forgotten what the sun does to creatures of the night. 

It scorches your retinas as you look at the heart of the sun, but you let it‒ reminded of the sweetness of his honey lemon eyes. 

Bitterly, it seeps.

------------------------------

Every time Trey stands by your door, for some reason, his nerves rise to the surface, tingling at his feet and the hand that raps at wood. He doesn't understand why his body gets this fussy every time‒ he's seen you a dozen times before. That crooked, fanged smile; the delightful way your hands move in conversation, the charming little way you hum when pouring him tea (2 sugars, a touch of cinnamon, just the way he likes it)‒  these are all things he's almost gotten used to that he doesn't feel near faint when you grace him with such pleasures. 

" Pretty boy ."

He remembers the nickname you call him, along the standard " darling "s and " my dear "s you seem to call everyone else. Just for him, you've fashioned something that can instantly unravel him, much like now, as he waits in front of your door with fresh pastries. He feels special when you call him that‒ but it feels good, unlike the times he tries to undermine himself under a barrage of flattening statements that stomp out every potential for expectations . Like he could make a difference, a change in anyone or anything. He’s just a normal guy. Nothing more. Riddle was a vivid reminder of that.

Except when he’s with you‒ it feels extraordinary. 

The millions of things that seem to arise out of conversation‒ the sheer possibility of what wonderful things he can share with you beats like thunder in his chest, reaching the tips of his ears where they flush. That fullness he felt before returns‒ the only way to alleviate it it seems is to converse and spend time with you. He hopes the redness at least dies down when he's around you, all his senses seem to fly out the window when you're by his side. 

We're just studying together. That's all. He tells himself. 

He secretly holds his breath when you open the door with the creak‒ but he releases it when his lips part in surprise at your state.

"O-oh. Hello, Trey." Rather than your usual, slurry, elegant demeanor, your voice scrapes against your throat‒ the sound coming small and frail, something Trey had never associated with you before. Elegant, honey-like, and sure of yourself‒ it was never like this. Diminuendo , he remembers from you, and his favorite piece that you play. Like you'd depart from him, where he could not follow.

You fix your glasses, feeling them slipping on your nose, before you run your hand through your knotted hair. The cigarette wedged between your fingers weaves smoke between the two of you, mixing with the smell of alcohol on your breath. "I'm afraid something came up, darling. I have to cancel today, I'm sorry I didn't ring you in advance." You go to close the very small gap you've allowed yourself to open‒ Trey stops you before you can. The bold move surprises even himself. 

"...You're sick? In that case I could‒"

" D-don't touch me." A crackle in your voice, fear striking your expression. "A-apologies. No. It's fine. You musnt do anything for me." 

"But I want to?" 

The prickly air that had been kindling on the inside of your lungs flares all at once at that moment, puncturing something inside.

"You don't know what you want." You spit.

" Oh‒ what?" 

"I said you don't know what you want. But allow me to make it easier for you. You don't want this. So go away‒ get out of my sight ."

Hellfire. It stains you. 

"I‒" He swallows the lump in his throat. "I-I don't understand?" 

"I said . Get away from me, Trey ." His name comes cold on your tongue. He feels it coil around his spine. 

What are you saying? 

"But‒"

You launch the door open, almost breaking it off the hinges. The crimson of your eyes glow in your power as you bare your fangs, clawing the wood of the door with your sheer grip. A lurching feeling wells inside you, as you grow in size, in power, in sharpness. All the qualities that separate you, from him. 

"I SAID GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME."

You don't recognize your voice. Trey's feet crumble from underneath him as you tower over his form. With the fear that seeps into his eyes, you decide it's enough, and shut the door with a slam. 

You swallow the breaths that come faster than you can handle, looking down at the chips of wood that embed into your nails and fingers, beginning to bleed. You lean on your table, raising one hand to grasp at the root of your hair, catching a glimpse of the crimson glow that emanates off your eyes. The hair that falls in front of your face cages you in that bloody vision‒ red, and violent. 

This is what you are, it's what you've always been and always will be. A monster . Fanged, clawed, hideous‒ thick, violent strokes of inky black on one of those books the priest used to carry around with him. Swirling into a void so corroded of color‒ the truest black‒ immortalizing your revolting form, permanently baring your fangs, carrying hellfire in your eyes and throat that you’d swing senseless with an animal violence. Fixed in that abstracted abyss, forever‒ eternal as you are. How pitiful that you choke on your own sorrow. 

You fall into a rage, your body dragging itself by the spine‒ swinging your hands and legs throughout the room. A sound tears from your throat, far from a human cry. Music scores from missed practices fly, used plates and cups tumble to the ground, chipping. Your ashtray falls heavy on the grand piano that sits at the center of your room, slamming down the heavy lid, reverberating the strings, hammering into the air a chaotic symphony of ash and disorder. 

For a moment you think to pick everything up, tidy yourself up and make amends with Trey‒ but you know the drill by now. In a week, you'd come to terms with yourself again‒ all the things you make and destroy‒ and sever yourself from this place, and its people. In just seven days you'd swallow the bitterness of your own self as you always had, clean your mess, throw the pieces you'd broken away. It ends all the same. 

Before you know it, you have a half empty bottle in hand, the days old wine weighing heavily in your palm. You twist your body furiously in attempt to rupture the surfaces of rage you have rising like fire inside of you, to at least reach to the gnawing feeling inside your chest. But it grows even restless, even hungrier‒ eating away at the breath in your lungs and the beat of your heart when you come face to face with your reflection. Nothing. 

What sort of monster doesn't have a face? 

You couldn't have even be given that, to be remembered and touched‒ even if it was fear and abhorrence‒ to exist as a creature who is seen, and heard on their own. You were merely an image created by others. 

Control‒ you never had any of it, ever since your mouth was held open by its hinges and forced to down that creature's blood. It was laughable to even call yourself a musician, a conductor, a person. There was not a moment in your life where you had genuinely orchestrated the fullness of musicality, or anything. When you plucked on the strings of your cello‒ it was always just that. Noise. There was nothing inside of you that could transfigure that dead noise from the strings into something meaningful, something that could exist in the realm of adoration. Loved . 

Don't you want to be loved?

How could you be? You're just‒ this . 

Crumbling to the ground, you sob, remembering the fear laid plain on Trey's face. 

Surely‒ he’s gone. If you had ever held him in that way, at least. Arm’s length, prickled air‒ you had been weaving this inevitable goodbye yourself. Regret curdles heavily in your stomach as you bring your knees to your face on the floor.

I was doing so good. I was good again‒ I am good. You clench your jaw, imagining those portraits of violence from the Supreme Leader’s book. A realization‒ fuck . Nausea rises to your throat. 

You want to sleep. Or drink. Or smoke. Something to sedate you out of this emptiness clawing itself all over your insides. 

A knock startles you out of your daze. You assume the door is broken by the sound of the rusty hinges creaking open, the light of the hallway pouring behind you. A silhouette‒ but you don’t want to be found, or seen. You stay quiet, hoping he just leaves. Forever, maybe. 

“(Name)?” 

His footsteps creak against the floorboards, inching closer and closer. You wish you had the energy to tell him to leave again. Instead, you bury your face in your hands. 

You hear him shuffle a bit, close to you on the floor. 

His breath tickles the hairs on your arm, his voice reaching far into your head, the vibration from his throat rippling to your empty chest. “I’m not leaving.” 

With some kind of divine courage, you speak. “Why won’t you?” 

He shuffles closer, lacing his fingers through your tangled hair. “Because it seems I like you too much.” 

“You’re a fool.”

You were the fool. 

“Birds of a feather flock together.” He says, matter of factly. “Because you’re an idiot if you think I’m just going to leave you here. You…” 

You feel him swallow, pausing his hands to hold your head at the crook of your neck. “You’re special to me.” 

“I’ve got you.” 

It feels like you're being enveloped completely by him‒ his smell, his sound. It smells faintly of candied violet, vanilla, and your honey lemon blend of tea. Trey thinks it complements well with your smell. Old books, and well-read letters tucked preciously into cookie tins. Faintly, iron. 

In a shaky voice, you apologize. Over and over. "I-im so sorry.There's something wrong with me." He rubs your shoulder, measuring his movements carefully so as not to overwhelm you. "I'm sorry I'm this way. I-I didn't mean to yell. I didn't mean to send you away. I want you here. I-I'm sorry. I lied. I’m a liar.” 

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay. We all have our things‒ we’re human, right?” 

You cry harder. "No, you don't understand."

"Are you fae?" He asks, looking at your pointed ears and teeth he'd seen in the students in Diasmonia. "There's nothing wrong with that. You're still‒"

Wonderful . 

He chooses his words with care in your state. “- my friend.” 

You swallow the bitter taste in your mouth. "N-no. I'm nothing of the sort. I-I…" Everything is so unbearable‒ you're unbearable . Your fangs pierce into your lips when you bite down, suppressing the wailing pressure that threatens to leak from deep inside your throat. It burns all the way down when you swallow it, only leaving you with a portion of your dwindling volume. 

" I'm a monster ." You spit, looking directly into Trey's eyes‒ like you did moments before‒ hellfire stirring within them. The palms of your hands face him, framed with the sharpened claws of your hands that spot with blood from the splitters still embedded within them. Slowly, you furl them onto yourself, drawing red upon your palms when they ball into fists. "A vampire‒ like the ones you know from books and stories. That's me ."

That is all I am. 

Your vision blurs, and you tuck your limbs into yourself as if you brace for impact. 

Instead, softness‒ honey lemon eyes, sweetness, golden. 

"You're hurt."

You make a sound through your sobs when he takes your hands. Impossibly soft, feathery under your own, he picks the sharpness out of them. The blood is wiped away with his handkerchief, staining the light clover green fabric with blots of red. Now it's dirty , you think. I’ve poisoned it.

"You're not a monster." He says, unfurling your hand further, prying apart your sharpened fingers from your palm. They twitch at his words.

"I tried to hurt you‒ send you away.” You feel like your throat is going to collapse. 

He’s quiet for a moment, you can see him roll his saliva through his mouth, and the doubt and anxiety which passes across the movements of his downwards eyes. A barbed look‒ you feel it prickle familiarly against yourself‒ so you ever so slightly inch your pinky towards his hand that rests near your own, making a small gesture with your pinky to intertwine it with his‒ I’ve got you .

A heavy breath pushes past his lips. “People do that all the time. I get it‒ I mean‒ I know how it feels to be anticipating the color and tone of people’s faces. I grew up doing the same. From a certain point‒ you can kind of sense when people begin to tear themselves away from you‒ like you thought they would do eventually‒ it’s kind of a relief, isn’t it? To confirm that the distance you were placing between people at least did something .” 

You nod, giving him a small quirk on the lips to agree. He continues. “I’m really just a normal guy‒ you know? I don’t really have the power to change things, or have an effect on people. Like you do.” 

“Me?” 

He hums, rounding his expression with a small curve on his lips. “You light up the room. You charge everyone with a certain energy. A je ne sais quoi .” He jokes‒ you laugh. “It’s probably a lot of pressure, a lot of fear. But you face it. I like that about you.” 

“ I’m not like you .” You hear from him. You want to remind him‒ you're a fool. 

“You-” You gulp. “You do that for me too. You light up my day. But‒ I don’t know. I feel bad feeling these things. It’s like I can’t wait, you know?” 

Trey scrunches his eyebrows in confusion. “Can’t wait for what?”

“I can’t wait. For the moment you‒ or people‒ leave, like you said. I’m always anticipating it. I digest people inside of me‒ pick them apart. I’m really not a good person. Sometimes there’s just something inside of me that switches when I’m faced with anything pointing to people confirming my suspicions‒ like I’m always tipping off the edge. I don’t know‒ people are…” A baited breath. “Bad. And I’m something a lot worse.” 

Trey takes your hand again, drawing circles with his thumb. 

“I don’t know who I am. I have no reflection, no substance, no form‒ nothing . All I know is that I’ve been emptied to carry this filth that terrorizes me‒ and whenever I lash out at it, I end up hurting other people.” The afternoon light that weaves in between the curtains illuminates a streak of dust and smoke in the room. “My story ends all the same. Like any good fabled monster.” 

“What if this time it ends differently?” 

A weary smile wobbles onto your lips. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” You stand, dust yourself off, and offer a hand to him. He accepts. 

“It will.” His assertiveness almost surprises himself, but he reminds himself why‒ it’s you . 

“Why‒ aren’t you certain?” Bitterness seeps your tongue.

“You’re the reason for it. You’re all that.” 

There’s a feeling that wells inside you that replaces the tension that slips from your shoulders‒ something a tinge sour, sweet, and warm. You don’t search for the underlying tones and clandestine beats of his words. Clear as day‒ you accept this feeling. Hesitantly, you lean against him, soaking with the feeling that seems to also radiate from him. 

“You’ll stay today?” 

Trey feels you relax against him.

“For as long as you'll have me.”

He doesn’t let you go.

------------------------------

"I've never seen snow before I came here." You watch the soft speckles of white float gently down from the skies. "I'll never get tired of this scene."

Trey slows his pace a bit, so you can linger on the white landscape. "Really? Not even in the Queendom of Roses?" 

You nod. "The island I lived on before I was exiled was exceptionally warm. I wasn’t allowed‒ ” 

Quickly, you shift your words. Control.

“-I wasn’t much of an outside kid, on account of the whole sun thing before potions could handle it. And after I had left I hopped from one island to another‒ most of them were too warm to have snowy weather. And when I visited the main island it was always during the warmer seasons.”

You remember the supreme suggesting warm climates‒ quiet, sunny peaks in the outlands, away from people. Those suggestions grew on you with time. You liked warmer climates anyways, . The room you had at the temple had always been cold and damp, the only light that would peek through snuck in through the stone that had eroded over years of negligence. You shiver. 

"I don't like the cold, too much. But the snow is beautiful." 

You suddenly feel wool, warmth on your neck. Trey fixes his scarf on you, you almost jump away, but after the initial moment of surprise, you relax into his scent that has melted into the wool. Lavender . He always smells like sweet floral, you note. It reminds you of the patches of grass and wildflower that would sprout sparingly in the parts of your room where the sun would kiss‒ the dew that would form on them like opals would be sweet like the fragments of light that wove in soft petals on the hard stone flooring. When you touched that light refracting in honeyed rays in those small drops of water the morning chill brought, you could remember a fraction of your humanity. Summer like a warm blanket and the crickets that chirped outside while you and your sister sat beside the window sill, giggling at the lantern light. The verdant coolness that swept the bakery while you helped your papa prepare the bread rolls for proofing. Silly, small things. It could make you cry, even now, as Trey diligently wraps the scarf around your neck. 

“...You were exiled?” He chooses his tone, his words very carefully, softness like velvet honey. 

You smile, a shape meant to comfort him. “I was. My hometown was very poor. People needed something to believe in, and they already had their hero.” Supreme leader, in his gilded cloak. "You're going to catch a cold‒ and this scarf‒ it's from your siblings, is it not? I feel bad, you shouldn't give stuff so easily to people." Despite your words, dive your nose deeper into the yarn, threading your claws carefully within the chunky pattern. 

"I’m warm enough‒ besides, you wear things like this well.” He finishes fussing with the scarf. The warmth that had welled into the wool from his skin melts into you like cotton candy‒ sweet and soft. “And you’re cold, aren’t you? If I catch a cold I’ll just have you take care of me.”

You press your cold fingers onto his bare neck to hide the rosy heat coloring your cheeks. With a shiver and a smile, he yells "Hey!" while laughing. 

"Well I guess I have no choice then.” 

A moment of silence after your laughter dies down‒ Trey hardens his expression. “You’re still shivering. The blood supplements haven’t helped?” 

A sigh pushes through your nose. “Yeah. I guess. I don’t feel too keen on asking hospitals for donations either. I’ll be fine, pretty boy.” A curt smile curves onto your lips to reassure him. 

Trey makes a face. “What if you get sick again?”

The smile you wear tightens. “I’ll be fine .” 

“It’s worrying.” 

“I don’t need it.” 

The silence of the snowfall roars against your ears when he says‒ “What if you fed off of me?” 

The dense crunch of your footsteps packing the snow stops as your chest rises and falls with a thickened rhythm.  

“Don’t joke about such things.” 

“I wasn’t.”

"Then don’t say stuff like that. I said I don’t need it." 

"But you do! Look at you! You're emaciated‒ a few days ago you were barely standing!"

"That's‒"

"It’s not healthy, you know. You need blood to survive."

“It’s scary to see you like that.” 

You’re genuinely taken back from his internal voice, a slight treble which rings against your ears. “I don’t understand. Why would you be scared?” 

His answer is instantaneous, exasperated. “Because you’re my friend.” 

You bite the words climbing your throat. As much as it pained you to see Trey like this, you could not swallow that thought threatening to simmer through your lips, a burning notion that had engraved itself into every piece of yourself. 

I don't need you I don't need you I don't need you I don't need you I don't need I don't need‒ 

"Why won't you accept this offer? Accept me?" It chokes you to hear him like this‒ but the familiar nausea that seizes your throat overpowers it. 

Because I could never make up for it. Make up for it being me that you choose. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You won’t.”

“ Fuck‒ yes I will!” You hiss. Quieter, you muster. “I don’t want to hurt you. But I will. I’m made that way.” 

His silence drives a hot coal down your throat‒ prompting you to push down that blackness that gnaws at you. 

“Sorry‒ I‒” A release in the tension of your shoulders. “I apologize. I was just…overwhelmed. It’s a serious proposition‒ you really shouldn’t take it so lightly. I haven’t interacted so much with my own kind but from what I heard, it would be almost a lifelong commitment. At least for you that is. When you die, I will..." You attempt to swallow the tightness in your throat- a hunger. "I will not forgive myself." 

“I’m sorry‒ I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. We should talk about it more‒ alright?” He rubs circles with his thumb across your skin, and you feel the ridges of his fingers drawing shapes. “But if it’s regret you worry about‒ know that I would never regret spending my life with you. At any capacity.” 

There were stories you heard of centuries after you were reborn as a vampire about beautiful things spun by poets and artists. To reach to the monster‒ approaching it with gentle softness rather than stakes and silver. Risking sharpened teeth with lethal maws, defying the hardwired fear and repulsion against something that has tremendous capacity for violence. Saintly, divine touch. You had deemed it one of the most beautiful things‒ sublime, and completely unfathomable to you. 

But when Trey reaches to you in that moment‒ in your moments‒ you think‒ this is what it is. This is what it must feel like to be touched by something beautiful. This is what it must feel like to be touched by god. You almost understand the Supreme Leader, in a way. You understand faith ‒ it’s a terrible thing. 

He cools the tindering hellfire in yourself with his touch. It burns as a searing stake through your chest. 

He doesn’t let go as you walk through the ashen landscape.

------------------------------

He makes you promise you’ll talk about it. And you do‒ hesitantly accepting his proposition with a box in hand. 

“I think it’s a good time to give you this.” 

The smell of oak flushes his nose when Trey draws closer to inspect the intricate honeysuckles that weave through the wood. 

It’s an old, tattered thing‒ something given to you when you were young by your parents. The flowers were meant to be a gesture of nostalgia and deep affection‒ and you manage to remember the fragments of your mother’s many sayings‒ something about always been meant to be with you, how she felt a strange sense of reunification when she had bore you and your sister. 

A bitter taste spreads on your tongue when you move the box towards Trey, and the contents inside clack against the wood. How furious she would be if she knew what you had done.

"What is it?"

“ Insurance .” you answer, quickly. 

He gives you a confused look before taking the box into his hands, opening the rusted latch on it. You only hear the eroded hinges creak as he cracks open the chest, the speckles of rust falling onto the table. 

You made sure there would be enough to pack the box‒ but it seems that there is still some air when they rattle against the walls of the box. Sharpened to perfection‒ you hope they won’t wear down too much from this motion. 

After a minute, there’s the same sound again, then the closing of the box before it’s shoved towards you‒ back fully in your vision once more. 

“I don’t need this.” Strained, his voice comes thickly between his constricting throat ‒ a similar feeling proceeding to his chest, flaring at the ends of his fingers which tuck tightly into his palms. 

The face he makes worries you. 

For him, of course, but for yourself as well. You're afraid you're going to break right then and there, throat etched in silent shame‒ but you pull yourself together with a sharp, willow breath sucked into your lungs. You feel the air settle cold on your tongue, and it almost shakes. 

"It's just insurance ." You say, opening the box. A wooden stake is rolled across the table to him. He averts his eyes as if it burns him. "If the time ever comes‒"

"If it comes?" The voice pounding heavily at the back of his throat raised with his breaths. He parrots your words angrily. " If the time comes? Then what‒ I have to kill you? I have to be the one?"

"I would like it to be you, yes."

He gathered his eyebrows further into the center of his forehead. "Me?"

"Only you. It could only be."

You hear his shaky breath. No‒ you feel it press deeply into your bones, a vibration that makes its way from the tremble of his fingers, through the table, into your own flesh, far inside you that its precise throb stretches the growing cracks he's made in your resolve. 

"I can't."

"You must ." You feel your claws scratching against the leather of your gloves. "To protect yourself."

He feels terribly selfish, childlike for the quiet volume of his voice. "From who?” 

You feel the hungry thing inside of you flourish at your own words. “From me.” 

He calls out to your name. “I don’t think I could ever be afraid of someone who is so afraid of themselves.” 

You have no response to that. 

An inhale‒ before he continues. “You’re the reason to the certainty in my words‒ that’s not really something I had before. Nothing feels normal with you‒ but it’s the good kind. You‒” despite the situation, he laughs, cracking the expression you love. “-you really don’t know what you do to me, do you?” 

A sharp finger presses against your palm to confirm this is truly‒ really‒ actually real. You doubt yourself, telling yourself that you somehow tricked him into thinking you were this good. It must have been all those pet names‒ the saccharine composition that had somehow trapped him into your siren spell. 

He faces you with all his sincerity‒ revealing the sharpened claws of your hands when he slips the leather off of them. He holds them softly, hoping if his words don’t reach you‒ at least this language that you had both curated against each other, might. You feel that it does, unable to find a trace of deceit, doubt, or anything besides the honey lemon hue that basks you in all its sweetness.

For the first time in centuries‒ you feel the blood inside you churn warmly in your cheeks, your eyes avoiding his gaze.

“I suppose I didn’t.” 

So of course, when he first allows you access to his blood‒ the first action you do is to cover his eyes above all else. He makes a small noise when your cold fingers fall softly on his eyelids. 

Without even thinking, he reaches towards your hand‒ he sees the crimson light that weaves through your hands that eclipse into pitch darkness when he lays his hand on top of yours. In the darkness, his voice seems louder when he calls out to you. 

"Can you move your hand?" 

The fibers of his neck tickle against your stiffened breath. 

"Not yet."

He feels your teeth open his flesh, his skin parting like a ripened fruit. The curve of your soft lips that cup warmly around the wound, leaning deep into his scent‒ to dive further into the sweetness of his blood. He groans as a moment of pain passes, but his sound relaxes‒ slurry‒ in his throat when he feels sweet pleasure, thick as honey, feathering from where he feels you feeding. His breath quickens, and you feel the warmth of his exhales. As close as a lover’s breath. 

He lets out a shameless sound of pleasure‒ a whisper you drink in with his sweet ambrosia. 

"Ah, this isn't so bad."

He feels the fingers you keep firmly on top of his eyes twitch. 

"Sorry. 'M sorry." You mumble against his skin. His senses feel so jumbled, flooding as thick and raw syrupy mountains. He blindly accepts them‒ unlike your words, which he makes sure to affirm should not be so. I am not sorry, he thinks. You do not have to be either . There’s a tremble in your lips when he slips those words into the air, humming sweetly against his skin. 

He doesn't trust his voice, but the heaviness that clouds his mind barely filters his thoughts. 

"A-are you done already?" 

"Mhm. Sorry, are you alright?" 

"I'm fine. I just need a minute." His chest slowly rises and falls. He notices he's gripping your hand. "Can you move your hand now?"

"Let me see you. I want to see you."

"Just a moment." Even in the sensory deprivation, your voice feels particularly far off. "Not yet."

Trey closes his eyes, waiting for the tight pleasure that still prickles under his skin to pass. When he opens his eyes again, he finds your hand gone, the sun seeping through his fingers. You're facing away from him, sitting at the edge of the bed, bloody handkerchief in hand, unnervingly quiet. 

"I'm sorry if I caused you any pain. I'll go get bandages and some pain killers for you."

You turn a bit towards him, but he doesn't see your face. He grabs your hand before you could walk away‒ calling your name.

A beat of silence. "Yes?"

"..."

It seems his senses have returned to him when he confirms the weight of your trembling hand‒ how it feels a fraction of a degree warmer than before. 

"Why can't you look at me?"

" Why won’t you show me your face? 

Your expression? 

You? 

Are you smiling? Are you mad? 

Why can't you show me? 

Am I‒ "

"No ." Your back gives out as you press all your force into that word, making the bed creak when you fall into it. "No. It's not you. It's not you. I just‒" A breath. "I don't want you to look at me. While I’m like this. It is a mercy. ”

Waves of scrambled noise crash through you. You want to squeeze your hands over your ears, shut your eyes until all you can feel is the vast darkness, and your fading form within it. You’d congeal with that void, rot until there is truly nothing left of anything you had‒ to to the dust as dead and far as the remains of your home. 

"I don't want to just look at you. I want to see you."

You don't trust your voice, so you shake your head. When you swallow the lump lodged in your throat, it tangles in your shaky breath when you feel his hands wrap around yours. 

"I want to see you." He repeats. 

The noise parts with the lightness of his voice. Slowly, you turn towards him. Instantly, his hands are molded to the curve of your shape, as if they were forged by the decaying whispers of your labyrinth heart. In secret, they were cast by your hearth, and now they are cooled, and formed around the salt and tears that etch florid down your face. These hands are made for you, you think. Only the starlight has come this close to your monstrous form. Only the starlight. 

"I'm sorry‒ I shouldn't be so‒ this right now. But I just can't‒ I'm so sorry." The apologies bubble from your trembling lips, as you try to form a coherent thought. But the softness of which he touches the cruel sharpness of your form‒ it wells a crescendo symphony of desire that you withheld, lurching upon you all at once. 

He pulls you in, tighter. 

This was home. You had always stood at the edge of it, drawing a line before the entrance to remind yourself‒ you had not been welcomed yet. But he had always welcomed you. It felt as if some speck of his soul had always done so, with the relief you feel when you step within it. The room inside your heart when you merge your warmth with his does not feel so full‒ nor so empty. It is filled with potential. Future. Something that had risen from him, infinitely. 

"Don't‒" you place your fingers over your mouth. "Not while I taste like this." 

He breaks your lips with his words. “Trust me?”

The warmth that folds over you feels like a prayer. Have faith . When you open your mouth, flesh is at your mercy, but you do not bite down as you expected the thirst inside you would have. Stars, the world stripped of its layers until it was only you, and him. For once infinity does not seem so much of a curse. 

You must be intoxicated by the sweetness of his blood. Bittersweet‒ it seeps.

"I'm not…" You gulp down the swaying warmth. "I'm not supposed to like you." 

"But…?" His smile curves so high the whites of his eyes are almost completely eclipsed by his honey lemon hue. 

You intwine your hand with his. Another prayer. "Foolishly, I do."

“It isn’t foolish at the slightest.” 

“It’s alright.” You smile. “I’d like to be the fool for once.” 

------------------------------

You fidget with your suit steps away from the spotlight, holding your cello with your other hand. 

“Stop fidgeting.” Trey instructs you, flattening the creases you’ve made to your suit jacket. He smiles. “It’s just nerves, they’ll pass when you get up there‒ you’ve told me so before..” 

“I don’t‒ I don’t know if I’ll be able to play it right. I haven’t been this nervous in ages.” You still straighten the tie around your neck. “Maybe I should tell Azul‒”

The cloth is straightened again, before he glides his hands to your shoulders, bringing you an inch closer to feel the warmth that radiates off his skin. “You’re going to be amazing.” 

Your eyebrows crease. “How can you be so certain?”

“You’re all that.” 

His hand guides you towards the curtains, lingering when his fingers reach yours before you step into the spotlight. Azul finishes your introduction as you look towards the audience, searching for a familiar face. You find his eyes, and there is no need for any magic, any power‒ for you to find the faith in his eyes. You let it guide your bow, and the strings vibrate like golden hair gleaming in the sunlight, marrying sweetly‒ your internal harmony guided by his sweetness. 

The music swells, breaks, heaves‒ before it dies out once more. The lounge fills with the sound of applause, and you sheepishly smile again the few whistles and whoops your club-mates send your way. Each and every thread of sound resonates within your body, vibrating with color. 

Once you get off the stage into the crowd, you see Trey march towards you, before almost knocking you down with the force of his embrace. You allow a bit of your power to spin him off his feet, before you separate‒ wanting to see the look on his face. 

"Will you come with me?" You pull his hand away from the crowd, breathless in your excitement. 

"Where?" He asks, similar in his bursting fruition. 

"Out there. Here. Over there. Wherever."

He smiles, the warmth moves the beat of your heart to the tip of your fingers, back into his palm when you lace your other hand with his. You think‒ I'd be a follower, a devotee, a dog for this. Have faith. I've got you. It’s terrifying, and it shakes you with excitement. 

"I can't wait."

------------------------------

Notes:

The book I mentioned the priest had is based on the real Dissertations Upon the Apparitions of Angels, Daemons, and Ghosts, and Concerning the Vampires of Hungary, Bohemia, Moravia, and Silesia that 18th-century Benedictine monk and distinguished biblical scholar Antoine Augustin Calmet wrote. It was actually a large source of inspiration to Bram Stoker's dracula. Basically a collection of reports and examinations of vampire/monster attacks emerging in eastern Europe during the late 17th to early 18th century. The accounts of the undead rising and infecting whole villages, reaping of their health and blood that were recorded in this compendium of monster attacks formed a lot of the imagery and characterizations associated with vampires. 

Historically, bloodletting was a popular method during the 19th century to cure medical conditions, especially psychological‒ as it was based on the concept of humors. Fun fact, this is why there is a distinction between surgeons (“barbers”) and physicians, and is why the striped barber sign is red and white‒ red symbolizing blood and white the bandages. This method was used from everything from hysteria, insanity, and heartbreak, to things like scurvy and epilepsy. 

Bloodletting, transfusions, and vivisections (experimental surgery) both appear in Dracula because they were the hot new science of the Victorian era. Stoker's father was actually a physician so a lot the medical cures and information in the narrative frame the work very closely to the social, religious, and medical attitudes during the period. 

Though Victorians still believed the world of humors (ie blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm, or more commonly known by their four counterparts: sanguine, choleric, melancholic, and phlegmatic)- the era began to see a rise of Heroic medicine which sought to shock the body of its ills (ie bloodletting, drinking blood, etc etc)

During the New England vampire panic of the 19th century Victorian era, it was believed that consumption (Tuberculosis) had a strong connection with vampires and the “rise of the dead”, because of the seemingly unexplained rapid spread of this disease that would “consume” its victim and its family at an alarming rate (this was mostly just due to general hygiene issues and the cures for TB being syrups and elixirs of like literally just morphine and cocaine). TB victims usually had pale, emaciating skin, and in combination with how to identify a suspected vampiric corpse (ie grown fingernails = sharp claws; plump skin = immortality/fast healing); the common cures to TB other than those concoctions during the period such as bloodletting, blood drinking, and the “climate cure” (spending a lot of time outside in sunny, warm climates = aversion to the sun); as well as the spread of TB (highly infection, if one person got it in the home, it would spread rapidly to other members of the family = seems like that originally infected person was “consuming” the rest of the family members) kind of makeup the symptoms, physical aesthetic, and indicators of vampires we know today. Pre-Christian notions believed that a body could be “infected” by evil spirits, the concept of evil, etc.. if not buried properly, which translated into the Christian context as demonic or satanic influences entering the body. And because Churches were often the ones dealing with burials, and setting the precedent for burial rituals‒ they had a lot of influences in setting the precedent for burial rituals, how dead bodies should be handled, etc

Because of the strong religious influences during this Victorian romantic period, and the seeming “failings” of empirical science and thought‒ a lot of people turned to the church 

Historically, during the New England vampire panic in the 19th century Victorian era, it was believed that consumption (Tuberculosis) had a strong connection with vampires and the “rise of the dead” because it would “consume” the entire family, beginning with one of the family members, then spreading to everyone else because it was highly infectious. This is why things like pale skin, and vampires needing to feed off of blood is a thing because it is connected to the symptoms and infection of TB (blood drinking was also a cure at some point??)

Everytime I'm like "should I add this ultra specific detail with an irl artist's name??? Does it make sense with the twst universe?? Ah whatever‒"

Anyway I choose Chopin for a lot of reasons. The primary reason was that his music moves me deeply (please listen to the piece if you haven't heard it before). He also suffered from TB (aka consumption), and most likely suffered through a chronic version of it his whole life, which caused a lot of suffering and medical complications through his youth, and into adulthood when rising to fame as a composer. This cello piece was the only sonata that wasn't on the piano, and was played at his very last public concert in Paris. He also had kind of a miserable love life because of his weak health (a condition he could not fix), I thought it would be an interesting connection with MC along with the emotional value the song has on its own. 

BPD is very misrepresented and incredibly stigmatized in media especially but also the mental health and treatment spheres in general so I did a lot of not only personal introspection but also research on it as well. I thought vampirism would be a good metaphor for BPD because I imagine the concept of eternity and also having to physically drain someone of their life source would cause a lot of attachment and abandonment issues in addition to the feelings of shame and guilt that often come with having BPD (“why am I this way?”). The monstrous appearance described and often visualized in Dracula/vampire related films and media, as well as the myth that vampires don’t have a reflection also not only conceptualizes BPD and its affect on self image, but also visually narrates the aspects of mentioned shame, guilt, and self hatred that come with BPD and the emotional regulation issues that affect relationships. Anyways I not only wanted to do BPD justice because I feel like its very rarely represented in media accurately and with a happy ending, but I also wanted to explore 

I didn’t want to go too in-depth with the cult stuff because I feel that could veer off track. I drew from my own experiences (I have a close family member in a cult), as well as some research + some inspiration from a game series called Faith: The Unholy Trinity. But of course the central ideas of isolation, salvation (under a specific pretense), and dependency are there.

[cqaeluvs]

Hello can I ask for head canons for Trey/Sebek/Kalim confessing to male!reader after finding out that someone else had confessed to him? Thank you for your time!

A single book with an open page on a table had caught your attention, what story would you go on?.

Ahh! omgg anon this is such a cute resquest!, ill try my best to write them as good as i can (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ).

Now it was asked for a male reader, but it stayed neutral, i hope its fine anon! my partner also helped because i got stuck on kalim

(Reader can be interpreted as yuu or not.)

-- Now Trey was walking through the school, looking for you as he just had finish a small bag of freshly baked treats for you.

-- He couldn't help but overheard the certain confession his crush was getting he was very shocked but decided to leave, silently begging that you didn't accept the sugarcoated words of some guy.

-- Onto the end of the day, he made sure to make himself a bit more presentable, he asked you if you can accompany him to a certain place (this being were he is gonna confess), as he slowly turned around he was still very nervous, but it was now or never.

He cleared his throat as he looking at you nervously. "M/n, you are quite the charmer aren't you?, putting me and other people under some sort of love spell of yours. And if you let me, will you allow me and myself only to be the only one that who can wipe your tears away?" he said as you can see that there was an obvious blush across his face. After that he extended his hand to give you the bag that he's been holding onto from earlier. Inside, it was a treats that he already baked this same morning.

-- Kalim was doing his daily stuff (blinding everyone with such shine) and he happend to find across certain confession to his crush.

-- Now i don't believe kalim would be a 'jealous' type, but an oblivious type, so he would just straight up go and hug you by your back and give you a short squeeze interrumpting the confession without a single clue.

-- Kalim didn't undertanded why suddenly the other person left,but since your attention was on him now, he let you go and grabbed you by the wrist to his dormitory to celebrate something you didn't quite heard.

"Come on M/n-kun, we can have lots of fun when we reach the longue, i promise!" he exclaim while holding onto your wrist. Before you could say a word, he spoke again. "But promise me, this is only for the two of us, just the two of us, alright?" he said as he let go of your wrist before firmly grabbing your arm and pulling you more closer to him. "I can feed you all the food that you want, and im gonna hold onto your hand for the rest of our life, or even better to hold you for the rest of my whole life! isn't that sound amazing? just you and me!".

-- Shock. Pure shock.

-- Now what would our dear sebek do if he found out his crush getting asked out? many would say scream, which is right, but what if he wants his crush to admire him?.

-- Sebek was planing to confess himself to you this day,now he is not letting some low human get his human first, so he went straight to the point.

"HUMAN! I have been looking for you the whole day! Mmh? what is this?" Sebek knew what was happening but he needed to make sure, so he can properly humiliate such human. "That doesn't matter right now!" He cleared his throat and you could see the tip of his ear turn red. "So human, Malleus-sama has been waiting for you, and the only person who is worthy of walking by your side besides Malleus-sama is me! So allow me to take you there safely, and you need to look pretty, like you always do".

[banzaitaka]

Heartslabyul Masterlist

Riddle Rosehearts

romantic

HC: how to fluster him (gn)

platonic

none

.

Ace Trappola

romantic

none

platonic

none

.

Deuce Spade

romantic

none

platonic

none

.

Cater Diamond

romantic

none

platonic

none

.

Trey Clover

romantic

none

platonic

none

[twisted-broth]

Asking Them to Take Your Virginity

Characters: Cater, Trey, Leona, Vil, Trey, Idia, Malleus, Lilia, Rollo

Genre: smut, fluff, crack

MINORS DNI

[temiizpalace]

☆┊DEAR FUTURE HUSBAND..

SUMMARY: little things he does that remind you you’re going to marry him someday.

CHARACTERS: all dorms (-ortho)

GENRE: fluff

WARNINGS: none

reader gender is not mentioned, reader is not mentioned to be yuu

MAKING YOU MEALS

he makes sure you eat RIGHT. no more skipping meals throughout the day on his watch. every lunch he’ll make you a cute little bento box so you don’t have to wait in line. and when i say cute, i mean cute. it doesn’t matter what gender you are your rice balls will have cat ears. dinner? come over to his dorm and he’ll make something for you. don’t feel like it? he’s going to your place and cooking there. breakfast? he makes something quick yet delicious for you. he’s like your own private chef, and you can only imagine what it’d be like to see a ring on his finger someday.

trey, ruggie, azul, jamil, lilia (good luck), silver

CLEANING YOUR ROOM (and everything else)

it doesn’t matter if your room is messy, tidy, or anything in between, every month he’ll make sure it is SPOTLESS. is there dust on your shelves? nuh uh. are there random stains on your floor that you thought were impossible to get out? he’s rushing to your rescue and somehow got the stain out. did you not want to go through your homework? everything is suddenly organized in its respective subject, going from A-Z. you’ve never seen your room so tidy before, it was like an epiphany. please just marry him on the spot, he’s begging.

riddle, deuce, jade, jamil, vil, sebek

LEAVING LITTLE POST-IT NOTES ON YOUR BELONGINGS

without fail, you’ll find a cute little sticky-note on your almost all of your belongings. sure, it gets annoying once in awhile, but reading the sweet message on it changes your mind almost instantly. “you’re going to do great today! stay strong. :)” “don’t forget to drink water! love you 🫶” “can we go out soon? my treat. text me when u see this!” it’s almost frightening to see how much yellow papers you keep inside your desk every time you opening it, but can anyone really blame you? you’re going to keep these til the day you die, and that grand total might be at the very least over 100,000.

ace, deuce, cater, jack, floyd, kalim, epel, rook

RANDOM GIFTS

expect to see a neatly wrapped gift on your doorstep almost every week. seriously. it’s like a delivery service except the company is literally your boyfriend. “dear, did you get me this?” you ask as you enter the room. he looks up from his phone as he looks at the expensive name brand sweatshirt in your hands. “yeah.” he answered so nonchalantly!! like sir!!! this sweater was 1000000 thaumarks!! what!! while you do appreciate the gesture, you feel bad he’s spending so much money on you. he doesn’t care though!! he’ll spoil you rotten til your very last breath.

leona, azul, floyd, kalim, vil, idia, malleus

PREPPING YOU SNACKS

depending on who this is, he may not be some gordon ramsay level chef, but he’s definitely more than happy to cut you a some apple slices while you study. sometimes he’ll come into your room with a backpack full of your favorite snacks just left at the side of your desk so you can reach down and grab the one you want to eat that day. sometimes all you need is an energy boost and he’s more than happy to make some coffee or tea for you if you’re busy. he’ll press a kiss or two on your forehead before placing the plate of beautifully cut fruit down and continuing on with his day and going back to his thoughts. now, what will the theme of your wedding be?

ace, deuce, trey, jade, jack, jamil, epel, malleus

A/N: notice how jamil and deuce are in almost every category. (sorry this one was kinda rushed 😭😭)

date published: 7/30/24

© temiizpalace — do not copy, steal, or put my work into ai. thank you!

[hellsslibrary]

✧･ﾟ:*NSFW Alphabet with Trey Clover*:･ﾟ✧

DNI : minors.

!!Warnings : switch(mostly sub)!bottom!Trey, food play, praise kink, riding, teasing, rough sex and soft, thighs, handjob, male reader.

Cater <————«« Trey »»————> Riddle

Heartslabyul. Trey Clover.

A = Aftercare (What are they like after sex?)

Probably the most caring boy in all of Twisted, yes. Even if he is tired to the point of impossibility, he will still make sure that you are in order and that you are completely satisfied. And then both of you will do what you need. Shower, water, hugs, whatever. He will fulfill your every wish.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

It's definitely thighs in you. It just seems that way to me. He loves to sit on your lap at all times, and he loves to play with them during sex. Squeeze, caress, kiss, suck, bite, whatever. Especially if you have sensitive thighs.

In himself, his favorite part is obviously his hands. They are very skillful, since he is a confectioner, after all. So he can do a lot with these hands for you.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

Well... He cums above average, that's for sure. His semen is sweeter than normal and thicker, since sweets are a major part of his life.

As for your cum... He loves creampie, so get the my idea, imps.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Any fanfiction with foodplay and Trey is my weakness, so listen up. He dreams of having sex with you in the kitchen of Heartslabyul and using all sorts of ingredients like various syrups, whipped cream, some berries and everything else on your body or on his body in absolutely any way you like.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they're doing?)

He's probably not a virgin. Although he did not have affairs where he would be the bottom, so in that place you are his first. Definitely knows what he's doing though. He is clearly not an innocent person.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

Lotus flower (click there to see). I just want him to sit on my lap with those thick thighs of his and... Ahem. He's just a sensual and romantic boy so he loves this position, where he or you (depending on who's dominant) can set any possible rhythm that's comfortable for both of you.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

I guess he's serious enough if you're dominant and he's just overly focused on pleasure at times like this, just enjoying your praise, words of love, touches and thrusts. But if he dominates... Then he will definitely say a few joking phrases, just to tease you.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He keeps everything clean there, so you won't find hair in there, as he gets rid of it quickly. The color is exactly the same as on the drapes, only the hair on the carpet is a little lighter.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He is very romantic! If you ever mention any thing that seems romantic to you, then expect him to bring it to life soon. Whatever you think is romantic will be yours in a short amount of time. Also during sex, he will be the most tender and loving boy, sensually stroking you, praising you, taking care of you and everything you can imagine.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Nope, not a fan. He probably just doesn't have time for that, though. But he still hardly ever finds his own hand or anything else too satisfying, so he prefers to wait until his arousal wears off or have sex.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

He loves to ride you. He loves to look down at you while you moan and your face is absolutely blissful while he squeezes your chest/thighs/sides/whatever. He also loves handjob, he prefers hands to mouth, if only in case of his own satisfaction. He just loves the way your hand slides over his cock, the way you rub his head and balls as he lies helplessly underneath you.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Well... I guess he likes sex on the table. Just because he loves it. But given his favorite position, it's probably a bed, a chair, an armchair, a couch, or whatever you can sit comfortably on.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Trey is not very easily aroused. Although he can be easily seduced by the look at your thighs if you're wearing some kind of tight pants or shorts... Or if you deliberately eat something too sexy (you know what I'm talking about).

N = NO (Something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

He doesn't want to cause you or him much pain, obviously. He is generally not a particular fan of some too rough and sadistically masochistic sex. Also, he would probably prefer to have sex in places where he is convinced that no one will be, just ... Just in case. Ahem, so that no red-haired tyrants will notice you, ahem.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He prefers to give more, of course. Trey loves to see the look on your face when he pleases you, and especially he has access to your thighs, so it couldn't be better.

For his part, he still prefers a handjob, as I said, but he still enjoys any kind of blowjob/eating out/jerk off/etc from you.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Definitely a slow, sensual tempo. Although it can get faster and rougher if you want it or prefer it. But he likes more leisurely, romantic sex, so :b.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Since he's quite busy, like Vice Housewarden, you have this happen quite often, simply because he doesn't have time. Although his preference always goes to your rarer but more valuable leisurely intercourse.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Not particularly risky. He will not do anything that will cause one of you to get hurt, or get caught, or leave one of you unsatisfied (he will always make you satisfied, no matter what). But he is quite ready for experiments.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He is quite durable. 5-10 rounds I guess. You can fuck him all you want because it takes a lot of effort to get him to his point of overdrive. Although not as much as with Cater, for example.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He has a couple. Handcuffs or ropes, just because he likes to tease you or for you to tease him. He also has a couple of other toys for you to use on him. And he has at least one butt plug and wears it quite often, you know... Just in case.

U = Unfair (How much do they like to tease)

He loves to tease you! Although he knows your boundaries and your clear "no" and he will never break them. But he still loves it.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He's... 2-3/10, really. I don't think he's too loud. He may sigh, moan softly in pleasure, but he will never be too loud.

W = Wild Card (Get a random head canon for the character of your choice)

He has thick, bulging thighs. You know, those thighs you look at and think "Fuck, this is the juiciest thing in the world" and all this heresy. Basically... He loves to squeeze you in his thighs as you suck him off/eat him out/fuck him. It's just... Well, fuck, who doesn't want to be crushed by those thighs?

X = X-Ray (Let's see what's going on in those pants, picture or words)

He is very muscular! He has a good, muscular body, relief and it is quite wide. His cock... 6-7 inches/15-17 cm. Slightly larger than average, yes. And it is medium in girth, although slightly plumper at the base.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Average. He doesn't need a lot of sex and will probably adjust to your sex drive. Is yours bigger? Okay, he'll try to make time for that. Do you have a lesser? It's amazing, he does too.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fell asleep afterwards)

He will probably fall asleep quickly enough after you bathe, change the sheets and do other things. Although if it was done in the middle of the day or something like that, then he will be a little sleepy after that.

[hunn1e-bunn1e]

Trey Clover - "The Sweet Escape!"

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

In which a certain vice prefect of Heartslabyul spends time with you in the dorm kitchen and makes you all the sweets you could ever want. Or; In which you sneak off from your dorm, Pomfiore, to spend time with your malewife angel of a boyfriend, Trey Clover.

                                                                                                   

♣️•♡•♣️•♡•♣️•♡•♣️•♡•♣️•♡•♣️•♡•♣️•♡•♣️

Trey chuckles as he feels your arms wrap around his waist from behind. He doesn't bother to turn and face you even as you whine and bury your face in the crook of his neck. You always seem to appear out of thin air; suddenly embracing him from behind and refusing to give him a clear answer on whether you should be elsewhere.

"Hmmmm~ Trey."

You hummed; your soft but whiney voice muffled by his clothed shoulder.

The arms that enclosed tightened just slightly as you pulled him closer; face digging deeper into his shoulder. He felt your chest swelling against his back as you took a deep breath in and let out a long sigh of contentment.

"Yes, my dear?"

He muttered gently, chuckling as he felt you pull him impossibly closer to you.

"Mn hmph hmmnn..."

You replied, but your words were so muffled Trey could hardly understand but in the end he got it.

The forest green-haired man humms as he turns his attention back to the counter in front of him. It was a new recipe that Cater had asked him to try his hand at after seeing it in a post on MagiCam; a caramel apple turnover, it was called. He had just taken them out of the oven just before you arrived to hold him close as you usually did.

Trey glanced back at you, catching the fluffy locks of hair from the top of your head out of the corner of his eye. The pastries were cool enough to eat now and he knew that you would immediately jump at the chance to try his baking. It honestly made him so flustered when you were so enthusiastic about his passion, even going as far as to deny any sweet treat that didn't come from him.

Picking up one of the warm pastries, he gently called your name and brought the sweet treat to a stop just in front of your now-lifted face. He could hear the crunch of the crispy pastry as you took a bite and the hum of delight that came from the back of your throat before taking a bite of his own. Delicious; he'll certainly make this again.

"Ah, right... I love you too, dear."

Trey spoke softly, his lips curved up into a gentle smile as he spoke.

Suddenly, he let out a squeak of surprise as he felt you nip at his neck; dropping the pastry he was eating in surprise. His face flushed a deep strawberry pink as he reflexively brought up his hand to cover the area. Whipping his head back to your face contorted in embarrassment as he gave you a look of confusion.

"A punishment for not answering me sooner, what a cruel wife you are... Now gimme another bite, you're food is too good to have just one."

You mumble into his clothed neck, hands resting on his soft hips and giving them a gentle squeeze every so often.

You were always like this, what did he expect?

♣️•♡•♣️•♡•♣️•♡•♣️•♡•♣️•♡•♣️•♡•♣️•♡•♣️

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

[skyyletai]

Your limbs are almost frozen, you can’t feel your fingers. desperately trying to maintain at least some warmth, you nervously peek at your “interlocutor”. And he sees it.

"Aren't you cold, dear?" he looks at you expectantly, smiling, without blinking.

"No."

If you squint, you can see the disappointment flashing in his eyes.

“Victory,” you thought mockingly, shivering from the cold.

[writingsoftwistedwonderland]

Masterpost! With ✨links✨

Hi! Im Mezzy! I am a nonbinary, any/all pronoun-using chaos being who wishes to provide more twisted wonderland fanfics that focus on X-Male readers!

Headcanon Requests are open; Fanfic requests are closed

There are gonna be several posts to link all the fics/headcanons for easier access and reading!

Happy Travels and thanks for stopping by my blogs <3

Request Corner

How to Request

Mirror Corridor Pick your dorm

Heartslabyul Savanaclaw Octavinelle Scarabia Pomefiore Ignihyde Disomnia

[fungifanart]

Hey Fungiiii! Hope you're doing well!

Could I request a fluffy Trey x M!reader story bc where the reader is stressed and burned out because of life, and it's keeping him from being able to do anything creatively (writing is preferred but I'm leaving it completely up to you). Also could it be an established relationship and Trey decides to comfort reader with tea and possibly cuddles?

Fatigue

Characters: Male reader, Yuu!reader, Trey Clover, Grim

CW: Burnout/Writer's block, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 643

Notes: Hey, BIIIIIIIIIITCH! Of course you can! Funny you requested this, since I'm kinda going through some writer's block of my own, but I managed to get this one done, regardless! (Even if it's pretty short)

------------‐----------------------------------------------------------------

Among many other things, Trey Clover is known throughout Heartslabyul for essentially being the entire dorm's dependable big brother. Whether it be guiding his underclassmen through their homework, calming the seemingly bottomless pit of rage that is his housewarden or preparing a banquet's worth of sweets for an unbirthday party the next day, they know that he'll handle it with his usual playful smirk.

So, what could cause said smirk to waver like it's doing right now?

Perhaps the fact that he's spent the whole of exam week rarely seeing hide or hair of his beloved boyfriend, only to find out later that said boyfriend had to fight for his life against a THIRD overblot ON TOP of basically signing his dorm away.

Upon receiving this information, Trey does the unthinkable and drops his responsibilities, packing himself off to Ramshackle, determined to make sure his boyfriend is okay and then give him a piece of his mind for not telling him about it, only to be let in by the dorm's resident ghosts rather than the Prefect himself, causing his anger to be accompanied by growing concern.

Finally reaching the Prefect’s room, Trey opens the door to reveal his boyfriend slumped over on his desk in front of a typewriter, his head on its side facing away from the door.

Panicking, Trey rushes to his boyfriend's side, “Y/n! Are you okay?!” He asks while shaking his lover, who only turns his head around to face him.

“I'm going insane, my love.” The Prefect says in a monotone voice.

“What do you mean??” Trey asks while sitting the other man up in his chair, his anger temporarily on the shelf.

“It’s just so unfair! I didn't have any time to write during exam week and then suddenly I had to worry about not losing my entire dorm to some wannabe mob boss and then not getting shish-kabobed when the same guy threw a temper tantrum!” The Prefect rants while making wild hand gestures, “I finally found time to write and thought I could use my experiences as inspiration, but when I think about what happened, my hands start shaking and my brain can barely string one sentence together!”

The Prefect’s rant slows down as he turns and buries his face in Trey's chest, “And the worst part of it all is that I've barely been able to see you the entire time! I-I really missed you, y'know?” He says with a small sniffle that causes Trey's anger to melt away.

Pulling the Prefect out of his chair and onto the bed, Trey sits next to him and places a soft, but passionate kiss on his lips, “I missed you too, Y/n. I missed you a lot.” He says after pulling away.

Trey really can't stay mad at him, can he?

However, seeing the Prefect eyeing his typewriter again, Trey quickly pulls him into another hug and then onto their backs on the bed, “I think we've both earned a little rest, don't you?”

The Prefect opens his mouth to protest when Grim, who has been curled up near the back of the bed until now, pipes up, “Myrrgh…please…can't take the sound of crumpling paper anymore…” He groans before putting his head back down.

Trey raises his own head to look at the trash can next to the desk, sees that it's overflowing with balled-up pieces of paper and is about to give his boyfriend a knowing smirk when he looks back to see said boyfriend already fast asleep, the fatigue of everything he's gone through having finally caught up with him.

Trey's smirk is replaced with a loving smile as he tucks himself and the Prefect under the covers, “Sleep well, Y/n.” He says while placing a small kiss on his forehead before getting comfortable and closing his eyes as well.

[ryebread0605]

Baking Bred

trey clover x gn reader

my requests are open if you’d like to give some ideas! (Aka plz send me ideas)

nsfw content below the cut MINORS DNI

Trey had invited you to help out with preparing the baking for the unbirthday party, and you being the good friend you are graciously accepted.

It was no secret the two of you liked each other, except to the two of you. Ace would often tease that the two of you were the most dense people to ever be enrolled into Night Raven College.

“Hey (y/n), can you grab the sugar for me? It should be in the pantry, bottom shelf” Trey called out as he continued to mix up the dry ingredients for the pastries.

He couldn’t help but watch as you bent down, feeling immense guilt as his eyes wandered to your ass. Surely a friend shouldn’t be looking at another friend this way, right? And yet, he found himself in a trance and unable to look away as you stood back up.

Walking back to him, you handed him the sugar before curiously noting the blush spreading on his cheeks. You tilted your head slightly, confused as to why he couldn’t look at you, when in reality he just felt so utterly embarrassed to have stared at a close friend in that way.

”Trey? Is everything alright? Did you hurt yourself?” God, he really wished he could come up with some excuse right now but the way his pants tightened against him told him he couldn’t. 

“Y-yeah! S-sorry I just.. I’m.. I have to go to the bathroom!” Before you could respond, he dashed out the door. Blinking in confusion, you looked to his phone sitting on the counter as a text from Cater popped up.

‘Dude, just go for it! We all know they like you back, just man up and ask (y/n) out already! We’re all tired of hearing you rant about your crush on the other!’ Your eyes widened in shock. He.. returned your feelings? You barely had time to think as Trey was dragged back into the kitchen by Ace and Deuce who seemed to be scolding him while he just looked even more embarrassed.

With one last shove, the two boys pushed him inside and locked the kitchen doors to leave you two together in there. Finally, everything clicked for you as you stared at Trey poorly attempting to conceal his erection. He liked you, and something you did turned him on. That thought alone had you biting your lip as arousal flowed through you.

“I-I guess you know?” Trey wasn’t dumb, he knew by your look that you’d figured him out and to his surprise, you simply responded by pressing your lips against his. He tensed for a second before melting into the kiss, gently wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer.

Each kiss felt like pure ecstasy, getting more and more passionate until he picked you up and laid you on a bare counter. “(Y/n), a-are you ok if we..” he trailed off, looking a bit sheepish until he saw your immediate enthusiastic yes. He began to unbuckle his belt as you quickly tugged yours off as well, arousal clear to him as he chuckled softly. Fabric got tossed to the side as he wet his fingers with his own saliva, coating them well before lining them up with your hole.

“Remember, if you want to stop at any time, tell me ok? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable and I’ll stop immediately. Are you ok if I continue?” While you did appreciate him saying that, god you just wanted him in you already! With another enthusiastic nod, you moaned softly as one of his fingers entered you slowly. It felt like pure heaven. He smirked at the reaction, loving how much just one of his fingers made you so pleased. Slowly, he added another and scissored them inside you, stretching your walls gently.

Covering your mouth to muffle your moans, you were sure you’d climax right then and there as the knot began to form in your stomach. As you cried out, just about to hit the peak, he pulled his fingers out and left your hole desperately clenching around nothing but air.

“Don’t worry darling, you’ll be able to cum I promise~” His voice held a much more dominant tone, one that made you feel weak at the knees as he lined himself up with your entrance, his hard cock pressing against your twitching hole. With one hard thrust, he pushed halfway in, groaning into your ear as your body shook from the mix of pain from stretching and pleasure from finally having him inside you. 

“T-Trey please, I-i can handle it just please I want to make you feel good!” You cried out after he allowed you time to adjust to his size. After confirming you’d be ok with him being a bit more rough, he began to thrust into you deeper and harder. Each rock of his hips sent you closer to that peak again, the sounds coming from both of you being utterly sinful in the best way possible. His lips were on your neck, leaving his mark to show everyone who made you feel good. Shaky moans escaped your lips before you finally felt the knot snap, arching your back and crying out his name as cum leaked from you. Trey continued to thrust harder, hitting that one spot just right that made your toes curl and your eyes roll back. He flipped you over, pressing your thighs up and into a mating press as his movements became rougher and more frantic.

“I’m gonna fill you up. Every last drop will be put into your tight little hole darling” the way he groaned out each word just fueled the sheer pleasure you found yourself in, the idea of being filled by him exciting you in ways you never knew possible. 

With just a few more thrusts, he released into your hole with a moan directly into your ear, the warm liquid filling you and the sound of squelching filling the air as he rode out his climax. Once he pulled out, both of you were flushed and panting. Quickly, he grabbed an unused towel to help clean you up as his phone buzzed with a new text. After reading it, his face turned dark red.

Cater: ‘congrats on finally having the balls to confess but did you two really have to be so loud?’

The unbirthday party was sure to be extremely awkward, yet despite that the glimmer in both your eyes spoke for itself. As Trey helped you get dressed again he smiled at you softly.

“I hope this means you’re my partner now (y/n)” With a small laugh, you agreed and kissed him gently again. So what if the whole dorm heard you two? At least not they can’t complain about you two ranting to them