#cupids kiss | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cup1dz · 24 days ago

Text

TO LOVE UNCONDITIONALLY (g/n reader x ruggie bucchi)

★ ruggie doesn't know why, but he seeks you out when he gets injured. and he doesn't know why, but you let him in knowing who he is and what he's done. ★ fluff(?) ruggie is a little angsty here methinks ★ 2.7k words, reader is the ramshackle prefect, written from ruggie's pov because why not, ruggie is written a bit more melancholic than canon for The Plot

ruggie’s been in fights before.

too many to count, really. it’s a given, considering his tendency to take anything that seems like it can be repurposed or sold. old habits die hard, he supposes. even if he’s living way better off than how he was a couple years ago, he still feels that itch in his fingers whenever he sees something he can take. it’s never ending, that constant want in his gut for more. it’s a good thing that most of the students on campus are so easily duped.

most of them, at least.

ruggie knows he’s agile enough to outrun any spell cast at him. scratch that, ruggie knows he can outrun anything if he tries hard enough. he’s got stamina and determination for days, and simple humans could never outpace a beastman. especially not a hyena beastman. even if ruggie gets caught pickpocketing, it’s just too easy to escape from the scene of the crime. after all, some kids never grew up needing to run like he did.

but nobody’s perfect, and even ruggie messes up sometimes. really, he’s gotta hand it to those prissy heartslabyul kids with nothing bouncing around in their empty heads besides tea and biscuits, they know how to aim their spells.

thankfully, the magical properties of the school uniform nullified most of the effects of the spells that hit him. it’s just a shame his face isn’t quite as immune. as luck would have it, one of the fire spells just barely managed to hit him, leaving him with a minor burn on the side of his face. he’s lucky he got away with his life, really. who knows what would’ve happened if it hit him dead on.

as he sprints through corridors, desperately holding onto the heartslabyul students’ wallets, he briefly considers playing goody-goody later in the year so he can recruit them. it’s really too bad they were aiming their spells at him rather than at a spelldrive disc. their talents would be better utilized on the field.

leona would probably be pissed he brought along heartslabyul students, but in the end he would begrudgingly acknowledge their potential. and when he realizes what great players ruggie brought, he’ll toss some of his princely dollar bills ruggie’s way as a thank you, and ruggie can treat himself to a hard-earned meal.

yet even as the prospect of securing a dinner lies tantalizing before him, the throbbing pain of the burn on his face snaps him out of it.

maybe he should be getting used to burns by now, considering all the times he’s accidentally been blasted with a fireball in the countless spelldrive training matches in savanaclaw, but what can he say? he’s a sensitive hyena.

ruggie takes a moment to glance behind him. the corridor is empty. those heartslabyul kids seem to have given up on trying to trail him.

he takes a moment to slow down and catch his breath.

he’s not dumb. now is no time for rest. ruggie knows that at this very moment, he should go to the infirmary as soon as possible. or maybe his dorm instead, to ensure that those heartslabyul kids won’t find him and try to start something again. who cares if the sweltering heat of savanaclaw irritates his injury? at least he’d be safe.

yet as he begins his trek to the hall of mirrors, he hesitates. stops again. glances around. and decides to make a detour to your place instead.

stupid, he knows. but his feet seem to have a mind of its own, dragging him to you rather than back to his room.

nobody would go looking for him at your place, he rationalizes, it’s safe. it wouldn’t aggravate his burns like savanaclaw would.

most importantly though, there’s you there. and ruggie, the greedy hyena he is, would endure any pain if it meant a singular second longer with you. your presence is, admittedly, compensation enough for the troubles he has to face.

but the rational part of him doesn’t want to drag you into his problems. what if they do come looking for him at yours? you’re a stupid bleeding heart, and considering your track record for playing savior, he doesn’t doubt that you’d immediately try to help him. if he makes you take care of him, makes you deal with his own situations, then he owes you one. and if there’s anything he wants to avoid most, it’s owing people.

and he absolutely cannot owe you, of all people, anything, lest he fall into madness trying to figure out the unsolvable problem of how to pay back someone who deserves something far more than what he can provide. what can ruggie bucchi offer you that matches anything you’ve done for him? honestly, he shivers to think about what sort of repentance would be enough for you.

you’d probably tell him that you don’t need some sort of thank-you gift, and that’d make him go crazy. usually, he’d praise those people to heaven and back, grateful to keep his money and his time. but with you, he feels like he’s tearing his own hair out in frustration. just take his damn gifts of gratitude!

but even as his brain tells him to turn right back around and go back to the hall of mirrors, he finds himself at your doorstep. he hesitates a little before pocketing the wallets and knocking.

...now that he thinks about it, do you even have proper first aid equipment?

“ruggie?” you say as you open the door, interrupting his thoughts. your expression morphs from being confused to being worried. he feels like an insect under a microscope when your eyes flick to the rather prominent burn on his face.

“had a little run-in,” he laughs. the sound isn’t as smooth as he thought it’d be, and it only seems to make you frown even more. “can i, uh, y’know, crash on your couch real quick?”

he probably looks like a stray dog, begging for scraps at your doorstep. do you think he’s pitiful? is he someone to be pitied?

your eyes soften. “like i’d say no. come in.”

you step aside, allowing him access into your home. it’s funny, the way the outside is so rundown, but the inside is perfectly cozy. for some reason, you personally put in the effort into transforming an old house clearly falling apart at the seams into something somewhat decent looking.

ruggie doesn’t really understand why you bothered. it isn’t your responsibility to take on the burden. if it were him, he would’ve just let someone else do it.

doesn’t mean he’s not a fan of your furniture choices though. you suggest he go sit on the couch and he practically collapses onto it. his ears pick up the sound of you running water and opening cabinets. probably looking for first aid. good to know you do, in fact, possess medical supplies.

you scurry over to where he’s sprawled on your couch and hand him a cool, wet cloth.

“thanks,” he grins, sighing with relief as he presses it against the burn, “you’re too good to me, you know that? you okay with having me in your house like this?”

(are you okay with having me at all? are you okay with me?)

“of course i am,” you say with a huff, placing the kit on a nearby table, “why wouldn’t i be?”

ruggie blinks. he can think of a multitude of reasons why you wouldn’t want him in your space.

“if someone who stole from me came up to me asking for help, i wouldn’t just, y’know, let them in with a smile and be like, ‘sure, why don’t you put your feet up on my couch, even!’” he says. with a more rueful sigh, adds on, “man, you’re just too nice for this school. ya gotta learn that not everyone has your best interests at heart.”

you roll your eyes playfully. clearly, it’s not the first time someone’s told you to be more alert. it surely isn’t ruggie’s first time telling you to watch your back. at this point, he’s pretty sure the information just goes in one ear and out the other.

why do you care so much? actually, scratch that, why don’t you care at all?

“you didn’t steal from me, you stole from grim,” you quip back, popping open the lid of the first aid kit, “so technically, you haven’t wronged me just yet. at least not enough to warrant me shutting the door in your face. anyways, i’ll let you know, i’ve been extremely, super-duper careful. haven’t gotten into a sticky situation in a week now.”

“...hate to be the one to break it to you, but most people don’t get into ‘sticky situations’ like overblots ever.”

you burst out into laughter, and the sound is just as soothing as the cool press of the cloth against his raw skin. maybe you do possess some sort of magical prowess after all, the way you make all aches dissipate into thin air.

no, that’s not it. no amount of healing magic could hold a candle to how your smile heals his soul.

“ya know what,” he says with a smile, sitting up as you grab ointment, “i won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. if you’re offering oh-so politely to give me medical care for free, well, just who am i to refuse?”

“honest as always, huh?” you smile back. you gently pull ruggie’s hand away to apply ointment to the burn, and ruggie’s heart rate spikes. when you grip his chin so you can be more precise, he’s almost certain that you can feel the way his face heats up.

he could’ve done it himself. but you just took it upon yourself to do it for him like the goody-two-shoes you are. what a savior.

ruggie’s learned that in the real world, the only person he can rely on is himself. when he got hurt and scraped up, the only person that could help was him and him alone. but with you, he’s reminded of how his grammy used to kneel in front of him and kiss the cuts on his hands better. he’s reminded of that feeling of having somebody else take care of him for once.

it’s nice. being here with you. letting you take care of him. really nice.

you’re nice.

ruggie can’t help but stare at your concentrated expression as you carefully dab at the raw skin. can’t help but stare at the furrow of your brow, the way your eyes squint slightly, the way you bite the bottom of your lip. how would you react if he told you the reason why he got burned was because he nabbed the wallets off some poor heartslabyul kids? how would you react if he told you, yet again, that he’s stolen something?

you probably wouldn’t care. you probably already know the reason why he got hurt was because of some nefarious act of greed. the thought that that’s what you think of him, someone who perpetually lies and steals, is a heavy one, but nonetheless true.

but you still sit here and treat his wounds. you, who is possibly the very definition of an angel, treat the wounds of a thief without a moment’s hesitation. you and your stupid bleeding heart.

why?

“does it hurt?” you ask softly, pulling away. ruggie can’t help but try to chase after your touch like the greedy hyena he is. begging for more than what he’s allowed like he always does.

“‘course not,” he snickers, “who do you think i am? it’s gonna take a lot more than a little cream to get my hair standing on end.”

“of course,” you roll your eyes again with a smile, procuring gauze from your first aid kit, “shouldn’t have asked. you’re the most resilient student i’ve ever met.”

ruggie’s shoulders shake as he laughs, a hand coming to his mouth to partially hide the ever-familiar grin on his face.

“resilient, huh?” he says, “that’s definitely one way to put it.”

you reach out once more, cradling his face and covering the burn with gauze. you treat him like some sort of precious object. what a stark contrast to him being thrown against the floor only hours prior.

does he deserve this genuine kindness from you? maybe not. but when has the concept of “deserving something” ever stopped ruggie?

“and… there,” you breathe a sigh of relief, a proud smile working its way to your face as you gaze upon your incredible work of medical genius, “good as new!”

ruggie’s fingers reach up to gently brush against the gauze. he feels like he’s just cheated you of your time, medical supplies, and energy.

…he hopes you can forgive him, because he doesn’t feel a lick of regret.

(what can he say? he never said he was ashamed of being a thief.)

“thanks,” he says, “you’re surprisingly good with first aid. must’ve had to open up the kit a lot recently, huh?”

“you know it,” you sigh dramatically, closing the kit with a click! “you’d think after the third time, something would change! but nope, i’m still getting thrown around like a ragdoll left and right.”

you seem to realize something, and inquisitively tilt your head towards him. “now that i think about it, why’d you come here instead of the nurse? they could’ve healed you up in a second of what it took for me to bandage you.”

“you’re asking that now?” ruggie asks, “man, you really are too trusting. i could almost mistake you for kalim.”

“very funny. so?”

ruggie hums, pretending to be lost in thought.

“...i’m used to doing it this way,” is what he settles on. kicking up the dramatics, he sighs and places a hand on his heart. “back home, there weren’t many people who could do fancy-schmancy healing magic, y’know? so this is more familiar.”

“liar,” you accuse immediately, “you could’ve just done it yourself then.”

“i wasn’t lying! and anyways, fine, i guess i just wanted to leech off you, then.”

“hey!”

ruggie laughs again, leaning back on the couch as you giggle along with him.

“okay, okay,” he relents, “you want an honest answer from lil’ ol’ me? i like being doted on. y’know, i’m always being run so ragged by leona all the time, i can’t do all the work myself. why should i when i could come here and get you to take care of me and serve me delicious snacks?”

you gasp in mock offense. “is that all i am to you? free help and food?”

“and free couches!”

okay, yeah. maybe he’s not being entirely honest. even though it is true he likes being doted on. having grandmas serve you biscuits whenever you feign sickness was always pretty nice. but when you dote on him, it’s just… well..

you make him feel like he’s worth more than he actually is.

but when you laugh with him and swat at his shoulder, he thinks that you probably don’t need to know all that.

“...thanks again,” he smiles, “is it okay if i stay a little longer? i don’t feel like walking all the way back to my dorm.”

“duh!” you say immediately. the way you don’t even hesitate, the way you don’t think twice about having ruggie in your home, in the space you so carefully curated, it makes him feel butterflies in his stomach.

you don’t mind if he stays. you don’t mind letting someone so obviously beneath you take up space in your home and use up your supplies. you don’t mind keeping a lowly thief.

…you really are too trusting.

“wait,” you tell him, “let me go get you a drink or something.”

“there’s the free food part. been waiting for you to pull that out!”

“hey, don’t test me! or i’m gonna feed you grim’s cat food!”

note: hey guys... GULP. i know i said the next fic would be a deuce fic but WHHEHEEEWW i underestimated how much school would be a pain and how much i'd have to write!! the slow burn really is slowly burning. Sorry if the plot kind of doesn't know its own identity i just wrote this because i wanted to write for ruggie and thats all that really matters right..............

235 notes · View notes

cup1dz · 1 year ago

Text

CUPID IS SO DUMB!! >:( (g/n reader x ace trappola) ★ ace trappola is familiar with romantic relationships, but actually factoring love into it is a whole different equation. love is boring. it ruins friendships, makes everything awkward, and is just plain annoying to deal with! it's better if he just ignore it all entirely. right? ★ slight angst/comfort. ENDLESS PINING. too much denial. ★ SIX THOUSAND WORDS. IVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS FOR MONTHS. also as you can tell by the first sentence, there is a Lot of Cursing!!! y/n is the prefect in this fic However grim does not appear in this fic at all. Sorry grim lovers :(

ace trappola is in deep shit.

and that’s saying a lot, considering that he’s been in tricky situations before. possibly trickier than the one he’s in right now. sevens, he’s survived an overblot more than once, so compared to that, this shouldn’t even be that big of a deal.

and yet here he is. lying in his bed at 5 in the morning, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what went wrong. sevens know how many times he’s mentally traced over the small crack in the ceiling that’s somehow gone unnoticed by riddle, caused by deuce miscasting a spell which went just a bit too high.

...this is pathetic, he thinks to himself glumly. rolling over onto his side to get more comfortable, he tries distracting himself by any means necessary. reminding himself of that math test that’s coming up that he still hasn’t studied for, how to improve his basketball shots, new card tricks... and yet his mind keeps replaying that dumb moment in history class.

that stupid, absolutely aggravating moment in history class.

it really shouldn’t be that big of a deal. in fact, he recalls just how unimportant that class was up until the moment you so rudely interrupted and somehow made it important.

the memory plays in his head again, him mindlessly twirling his pen around, blankly staring out the window. the essay he was supposed to be writing laid unfinished in front of him, with only a few words lazily scribbled down. in stark contrast, deuce was very furiously writing down words at record pace, his brows furrowed in concentration.

in short, history class had been boring, as always. boring and normal and totally irrelevant to ace, until you had reached over with your red pen and crossed out the “your” on his paper and jotted under it “you’re.”

ace had let his jaw drop in betrayal, watched as your hand quickly shrunk away from view. but the damage was done. offended, ace turned towards you, ready to give you the worst stink-eye of your life.

“what’s the big deal?” he hissed out, before immediately trailing off and feeling the irritation dissipate into thin air.

oh, sevens, the way you were covering your mouth with your hand, trying (and failing) to muffle your laughter. your eyes were upturned, crinkling at the edges with mirth. and great seven, the sun was hitting you just right, highlighting all your features and ace just had to admit, you were really pretty.

ace groans with frustration as he recalls how effortlessly flawless you looked in that moment, so flawless you just had to make it his problem because you’re incapable of not being a pain.

thankfully, professor trein did one good thing in his life and told the both of you to get back to work, saving ace the embarrassment of having to deal with you and your stupid attractiveness. and while he’s slightly frustrated that he got into trouble, he’s even more frustrated that he has to deal with the fact that he may or may not be in love with his best friend.

he remembers kicking you under the desk after that, partly for correcting his spelling error, partly for making him feel butterflies in his stomach. he also had to write his 8-paragraph essay in the last 10 minutes of class, and perhaps he’s upset about that too. how dare you distract him from his studies in this way?!

but alas, ace isn’t as stupid as he makes himself out to be. he can make all the excuses he wants, but he can’t deny the truth. he definitely has feelings for you. he’s not someone to deny the obvious.

...the only problem is now what?

the last time ace was in a relationship was when he was in middle school. and he abhorred the whole thing. their date at the amusement park was more of a chore than anything, and she vetoed anything remotely fun. hell, ace wasn’t even sure if she knew what fun was. if that was how all relationships were going to be like, then ace would rather not be in one at all.

and in any case, he rationalizes, he doesn’t want to go through the hassle of being “serious” with you. he would rather die than play the role of a devoted, sappy, disgustingly cheesy lover who tells you how beautiful you are every day or something. he just doesn’t fit into the prince charming category! if anything, deuce would be a better contender for that role than he is.

and he couldn’t stand having your expectations for him rise higher than they already are. you expect him to do enough already, for sevens sake!

all in all, he’s just not the type of guy to commit to such a thing. he’s already told you once that he doesn’t have one romantic bone in his body, and that’s final. being all romantical and sweet just isn’t his thing.

...and suddenly he recalls your stupid face again, and maybe, just maybe, you’re worth all the trouble of being in love again.

ace slams his face into his pillow to try and block out his thoughts.

forget it, he thinks, face still buried in the pillow, you probably don’t even like him back anyway. no point in ruining a good thing, right?

ace trappola likes hanging out with you, and while he wouldn’t admit it to your face, he would very much like to continue hanging out with you. if he told you that he likes you, like, really likes you, then you’d probably stop talking to him. and, unfortunately, that would kind of hurt his feelings.

so obviously he should just suck it up and forget that he ever considered you beautiful. he should give up the idea of ever confessing to you.

...but what if he did and you said yes?

another groan of frustration slips through his mouth. great sevens, what is wrong with him?

he doesn’t know why it’s just now that he’s feeling like this. occasionally, he slept beside you when he crashed at your dorm, and he didn’t feel anything then. he’s held your hand once or twice, and his heart hadn’t raced then.

he mumbles incoherently into his pillow, why is he feeling like this?

and he had this all happen to him in history class? of all times to fall in love, why history class?! if he had to have some mind-boggling revelation that he was in love with you, he’d rather it be in some magical fantasy place where it feels special and not... underwhelmingly normal.

no, he thinks firmly, it doesn’t matter where it happened. he’s not going to let it change anything. you guys are friends, and nothing more.

the image of your face resurfaces again, and he fights the urge to punch himself.

when the sun rises and he’s forced to continue with the endless charade that is college life, ace trappola realizes he’s had approximately one and a half hours of sleep. it's not the worst thing ever, but to add insult to injury, his alarm didn’t wake him, and he woke up to riddle threatening to collar him if he didn’t wake up this instant.

so on top of having to think about what he’s going to do when he sees you again, he got yelled at by the housewarden. because of you.

just another reason why love is more trouble than it’s worth!

“did you stay up again?” deuce asks, interrupting ace’s thoughts, “you know it’s bad to stay up. us students need sleep to function throughout the day.”

“what? pssh. this student is functioning just fine, thank you,” ace scoffs out a little too quickly, “come on. you know i’ve got my full 8 hours.”

a beat of silence. ace grins nervously as deuce’s gaze falls on the painted heart located on ace’s left eye. it’s quite obviously the product of someone who was in a rush.

“are you... sure?” deuce says slowly, looking at ace skeptically.

“totally sure, man! when have i ever lied to you?”

“yesterday,” deuce sighs, shaking his head in exasperation, “whatever. just don’t come to me if your lack of rest comes back to bite you.”

ace breathes out in relief. while he knows he just spit out the flimsiest excuses known to twisted wonderland, he’s just glad deuce didn’t push it further. sevens knows how he was going to get himself out of that situation if he did. now, just to somehow avoid you for the rest of the day and...

“good morning!” you yell out brightly, slowing to a stop behind them and flinging your arms across both of their shoulders.

great.

“prefect!” deuce greets back, turning to face your sunny grin with a small smile, “good morning. you seem awfully chipper today.”

ace watches as your grin grows, and he thinks, oh he is so doomed.

what’s with you and your dumb smiles? he fumes to himself quietly, why do you have to smile so damn much? and why do you always have to be smiling around him? can’t you go smile somewhere else, where he can’t see you- wait no, he still wants you to be around, he means-

“oh, deuce spade, let me tell you!” you sigh wistfully, letting your arms drop from the two heartslabyul students’ shoulders, “i heard through the grapevine we’re finally doing another hands-on alchemy assignment, and you know what that means, right? i finally get to do something actually magical!”

wow. you’re practically glowing, ace thinks, and he kind of wishes you weren’t. not that he’s wishing on your downfall or anything, but you’re distracting him, dammit! he likes to be able to use his critical thinking skills, thank you!

“really? that’s great,” deuce says, “i just hope i don’t have to do any remedial classes this time... that always seems to happen to me. alchemy's just not my strong suit, i suppose.”

“nothing’s your strong suit, man,” ace sighs, hoping to the great seven his ears aren’t red, “except maybe throwing around cauldrons. not to worry deucey, i’m an expert at alchemy! i’ll help you out, no problem.”

deuce glares at him, entirely unamused. in contrast, you seem very amused, still warm smiles and cheery laughter. it takes all of ace’s willpower to keep his cool and triumphantly smirk at deuce’s expression, pretending like he’s not about to combust if you so much as say one word toward him.

we’re just friends, he reminds himself, don’t let this affect you any more than it should. continue pretending you’re unaffected and totally, 100 percent normal. you may be in love with your best friend, but who cares? it’s not that big of a deal. you can do this. you’re not going to let love ruin a perfectly good friendship.

“in any case,” you hum, snapping him back to reality (the reality where he has to admit that you are extremely attractive), “i’m just excited to do anything remotely magic related that isn’t just writing essays about how the magic pen changed the course of history or whatever. let’s hope we don’t have to do any remedial classes!”

“like i’d be caught dead in one of those,” ace retorts, “not sure about deuce, though.”

“you just watch!” deuce huffs, “it’ll be different this time around, you’ll see!”

ace grins, watching you out of his peripheral.

see, he thinks, he’s perfectly fine, see how he can still joke around with his best buds? absolutely zero need for anything romantic. we can stay friends. we’re better off friends, even. he’s not letting any romantic attraction ruin the friendship he has with you.

it’s better this way, he thinks resolutely, isn’t it?

ace is even more sure that love ruins everything after the disaster that was alchemy class.

to his absolutely horrible luck (or great, depending on who you ask. ace still thinks it’s horrible luck, though), he just had to be paired with you. professor crewel must have something against him for being too great of a student or something to wrong him in this way!

this is fine, he tells himself as he watches you gather materials for the potion with that same stupid smile still plastered all over your face. it hasn’t disappeared since this morning, and it’s really getting on ace’s nerves. how is he supposed to focus if you’re smiling like that, huh?!

again, he’d never pray on your downfall, but great sevens, show him some mercy. he’s already in deep, and you just seem hellbent on pushing him down even further.

“okay,” you say, excitement evident in your tone as you snap on your gloves, “first, the grounded-up wings of an aurora moth, then the entire bottle of mermaid tears, and finally the cap of an amanita verna. mix until it turns white, and then we tell professor crewel we’re done. easy stuff, right?”

you turn towards ace, who’s thoughts seem to cloud his ability to listen to anything anyone is telling him. you snap your fingers in front of his face, and he jolts.

“hello? twisted wonderland to ace?” you huff, “are you even listening? come on, half the class is already getting to work. don’t drag down my alchemy grade, please.”

ace grins clumsily at you as he readjusts his position.

“if anything, you’d be the one dragging my grade down,” he quips back, praying to the seven that sounded natural, “just sit back and relax, i’ve totally got this. what’s first, mermaid tears, right?”

he picks up the bottle of mermaid tears, popping off the cap and getting ready to tip the contents into the cauldron.

...until you suddenly reach out and grab his wrist.

ace feels his mind blank.

you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine, everything’s fine, everything’s fine...

“you really weren’t listening, were you?” you scold him, totally oblivious to the raging thunderstorm that is occupying ace’s head, “the wings first, dumbass.”

it wasn’t even skin-to-skin contact, and yet you’ve still got him absolute putty in your hands, ace thinks, what the hell is wrong with him? no, what the hell is wrong with you? why are you doing this to him?!

“of... of course i knew that!” ace sputters, placing the mermaid tears back onto the table. his hands aren’t shaking, right? they definitely aren’t?

“i was just messing with you, you hear me?” he continues rambling on, sevens, he’s a wreck, “i was totally listening. mhm. that’s right. i would never make such an amateur mistake.”

“right. whatever you say,” you tease, rolling your eyes in amusement, “the aurora moth wings, please.”

“you think so little of me sometimes,” ace grumbles, face feeling a little too hot for his liking. he reaches for the small vial of powder next to the mermaid tears, before dumping it into the cauldron.

“see?” he huffs, “everything’s fine. nothing’s going wrong. i mean, how could it when you have the great ace trappola on your side, huh?”

you make a ‘pfft’ sound, your smile widening as your eyes crinkle at the edges, and great sevens ace has never heard a more beautiful sound in his life. immediately, his eyes flick down towards the cauldron so that he can save whatever bit of dignity he has left.

everything’s fine, everything’s fine, everything’s fine, he repeats to himself mentally, just make it to the end of this period, and everything’s gonna be okay. you will not let love win. you are better than this, ace trappola! you can do this!

“okay!” ace says hastily, in a desperate attempt to minimize the amount of time he has to spend with you, to hurry this class up so you don’t see how red his face is, “what’s next? the mushroom cap? in it goes!”

“wait- no, ace!-”

the cauldron explodes.

to say professor crewel was mad is an understatement. no, professor crewel was pissed.

“you pups should know better than to just throw things in willy-nilly!” he shouts, “it seems you mutts just never get tired of being disciplined, huh? remake the potion by the end of the day, understand?”

and so now ace has to be stuck with you and your aggravating, totally annoying and frustratingly pretty face. he’s starting to think he angered a deity in a past life and this is his retribution.

“you’re an idiot,” you tell him as you reach up on a shelf to grab a new bottle of mermaid tears, “i told you not to drag down my alchemy grade!”

“hey, i already know riddle’s gonna be all on my case after this,” he quips back sharply, glaring at the back of your head, “i don’t need you mad at me too! listen, we’ll just do this potion over and then everything’s gonna be a-okay. let’s not get upset, yeah?”

“you’re just trying to deflect your guilt,” you sigh, placing the vial onto the table, “don’t mess it up this time, okay? i don’t want to find out what professor crewel will do if he finds out we exploded another cauldron.”

“listen, it was a one time thing! a one time thing, you hear me?” he insists, watching you as you pop open the bottle of ground aurora moth wings, “i won’t do it again, promise.”

“uh-huh,” you say, entirely unconvinced. you mix the powder into the water-filled cauldron, watching as it dissolves. eventually, you both fall into a comfortable silence, with ace simply examining your features as you focus on making the potion. occasionally, you ask him to pass you something, but otherwise he’s left to just stare at you.

your brows are furrowed, knit together in concentration, and normally ace would think you look silly so focused. eventually, he’d probably find a way to ditch, and then laugh at your exasperated expression when you somehow manage to find him. and yet here he is, willingly staying in a remedial class because you are the most ethereal thing he’s ever seen in his entire 16 years of living.

at the same time, he also thinks you’re the most troublesome lump of flesh he’s ever encountered.

people make love out to be this great, totally stupendous thing, and yet all it has done for ace is ruin his life. it’s gotten him with barely any sleep, in trouble with his housewarden, in trouble with his teacher, and most importantly, it’s gotten him a hurt ego.

and yet, ace almost wants to think that all of it is worth it if he manages to get a laugh out of you in the end. maybe all this trouble would be worth it if he manages to stay with you.

he’s being stupid, he thinks to himself, he’s being delusional, even. love is doing nothing but ruining his life. he can’t fall into its whims like this! he isn’t going to fall for that trap again, no sir.

“ace, look!” you say excitedly, snapping him out of his trance. the liquid inside the cauldron has turned a milky white, and while ace wants to tell you good job, he can’t.

you’re grinning at him, waiting for him to say something. the sight is comical, you look like a puppy waiting for approval from its owner. it’s almost endearing. it may be too endearing.

ace trappola realizes for the one-hundredth time that he is wholly and entirely enamored with you.

okay, just tell them good job. tell them something witty, something funny. tell them you’re surprised they managed to do that all on their own. don’t say anything you’re gonna regret, don’t say anything you’re gonna regret-

“i’m in love with you,” ace blurts out.

fuck.

you gape at him, the grin on your face replaced with a dropped jaw. a heavy silence falls between you, only interrupted by the quiet bubbling of the potion in the cauldron. you continue staring at him like he’s grown three heads. he stares back.

fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“kidding, i’m- pfft- did you fall for it?” ace adds-on quickly, laughing to fill the overwhelming silence that threatens to swallow him alive, “prefect, i thought you were smarter than that.”

you don’t respond. ace swallows, his smile starting to become strained. sevens, he’s really fucked up now.

“i think i might love you too,” you say back softly.

what the fuck.

now it’s ace’s turn to stare at you, eyes wide open. he knows this should be all that he wants. or at least, according to the occasional, cringey romance movies he’s watched, he should be the happiest man in the world right now.

but all he feels is conflicted.

your face falls slightly at his silence, and his stomach twists. there’s a burning feeling in his chest, everything in him is screaming at him to say something. anything. does he keep the charade up? does he cheer and celebrate? does he sigh with relief? does he vomit?

everything he’s told himself up until this moment, every denial that he used to push himself away from his feelings is crumbling at his feet, his walls that he so carefully built around his heart are falling away faster than he can repair them. he wants to be with you more than anything, and yet what if everything goes wrong? what if he messes it all up?

the silence is deafening. what does he even say in this scenario? the scenario that he’s been trying to avoid the entire day?

the solution comes to him suddenly, and he stands up abruptly. he decides to do what he does best, a magic trick.

one where he hits the ground running and sprints as far away as he possibly can.

you think you just got rejected.

after ace unceremoniously left you at the cauldron with the potion still brewing away, yet to be poured into a glass bottle, you felt yourself at a loss of what to do. with every step you felt like the ground was threatening to swallow you whole.

who the hell bolts for the door after they tell you they reciprocate your feelings?

somehow, you had managed to turn in the potion to professor crewel. when asked where ace was and why he hadn’t turned it in with you, you had frozen up like a deer in headlights.

“he’s... uh, picking up drinks for the both of us,” you sputter out hastily, “you know, for a job well done! we didn’t blow up the cauldron this time, so, you know, this is a cause for celebration, haha!...”

crewel eyes you suspiciously, and you try to stop the obviously strained smile on your face from falling and opening the gates to an ocean’s worth of emotions you’re not sure you’re prepared for.

eventually crewel sighs, eyes fluttering shut as he rubs his forehead in exasperation.

“i hope you aren’t covering up for that pup,” he mutters, “in any case, the potion seems to be of good quality and seems to be actually properly crafted this time, so fine. i’ll accept it. next time though, if you dare blow up my cauldrons again, i won’t treat you both so leniently. understand?”

“i understand,” you respond a little louder than necessary, nodding your head slightly in affirmation before high tailing it out of there.

now what?

do you run back to your dorm crying? do you weep helplessly at the foot of your bed as the ghosts of ramshackle try their best to comfort you? do you indulge in ice cream and eat your sorrows away? do you call a friend to vent all your frustrations? do you simply go on with your day and pretend like it never happened?

or do you chase after him, demanding an explanation?

screw it, you think, what do you have to lose? he’s already technically rejected you, might as well track him down and force him to give you verbal proof to break your heart even more. and besides, even if he does tell you he doesn’t feel the same, you can just say you were playing along with his joke. the joke that is currently the cause of all your problems right now.

you take out your phone, pulling up the text messages between you and ace. the last few messages you sent to him was only a few hours ago, sending him the answers to the math test you had today.

your fingers hover over the keys uncertainly, staring at the last message you sent. maybe texting him would seem desperate. maybe you should just let him come to you first.

you sigh, shoulders slumping as you consider your options. what do you even say anyway? that you’re sorry? that it was a joke, and you didn’t mean it? or that you meant what you said with your entire heart, and you really want him to affirm that he likes you too instead of passing it off as a joke?

well, what’s the worst he could say over text? you think to yourself, having someone run away when you tell them you like them stings a thousand times more than any insult. might as well just do it, right?

you slowly type out your message, overthinking every letter and erasing the whole thing more times than you’d like to admit.

“i’m sorry,” your message reads when you finish, “didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable or anything. can we at least talk it over? i turned in our potions btw.”

you wait a few seconds before a small ‘read’ appears from under the message.

you wait a little longer before realizing that is all the response you will get.

as it turns out, there is something that can hurt more than having someone run away when you tell them you like them.

your friendship with ace trappola is totally wrecked. you’re never going to be the same around him ever again.

the phrase repeats itself over and over in your head, unrelenting and ruthless. it drives the knife further into your heart, twisting it until you feel like you can barely breathe.

you don’t know how you managed to drag yourself throughout campus, scouring the academy for any sign that ace has been around. maybe the fact that he left you on read should be evidence that he doesn’t want to talk to you, but you want, no, need answers. your pride, dignity, and feelings be damned. you just need one verbal response that he doesn’t want you around, and then you’ll leave him alone.

it’s only a shame that ace trappola is much better at hiding than you originally thought.

you visited heartslabyul first, and unsurprisingly, he wasn’t there. you asked riddle if he had been around, only for him to say he hasn’t seen him since classes ended. deuce said the same thing, saying that he thought ace had been with you this entire time.

“has something happened, prefect?” deuce asks you, and you’re not sure how to tell him that you’ve been trying not to scream for the last hour. so you tell him that he ran away from his remedial class, and that you’re now looking for him.

“need any help?” deuce offers, helpful as ever, “i can put him in his place- ahem... teach him a lesson he won’t forget.”

“no, thank you,” you respond quickly, “thanks for the offer though.”

you checked the cafeteria next, to which all the ghosts residing there said that they saw him sprint past them towards an empty classroom. but when you had gone to the classroom, the place was all but deserted. a painting of a man in a very fashionable suit eyes you as you visibly slump in defeat.

“looking for something?” he asks, and you flinch in shock. after all your years in night raven, you still haven’t gotten used to the paintings talking to you.

“ah... yeah,” you say quietly, staring back at his oil-paint eyes, “a heartslabyul freshman about this tall, fluffy red hair that looks like it’s never seen a hairbrush, red heart on the left eye. have you seen him?”

the painting hums in contemplation, a streaky hand coming up to rub his chin slowly.

“i may have seen him, i may have not,” he says eventually, “what do i get in return for telling you?”

damn these paintings and their conniving nature, you think, why can’t anybody in this academy do a good thing solely for doing good?

what can you even offer a painting anyway? it’s not like they need money, material possessions are kind of useless when you’re affixed to a wall and can’t touch anything out of the frame you reside in.

“...a new paintjob?” you offer, “i can hire an artist to paint you a new suit.”

“the nerve!” the painting gasps loudly, “are you calling me aged and unpleasing to the eye? you disrespectful humans with no sense of-”

“i’m sorry,” you say quickly, cutting him off. sevens, you don’t have the time for this, “that’s not what i meant. you’re a very... handsome painting, i promise.”

“hmph,” the man huffs, “apology accepted, i suppose. i’ll tell you where the boy went if you put in a good word for me to the painting in the classroom over. she’s painted with watercolors, and she has the most beautiful raven-like hair i’ve ever seen-”

“put in a nice word to the watercolor painting,” you interrupt again, exasperated, “got it. now where did he go?”

the painting grumbles at your interjection, but points you towards the courtyard. you express your thanks and bolt out the door of the classroom.

“and remember to tell her that i have the most magnificent color palette she’ll ever see!” the painting yells as you sprint away. you make a mental note to get somebody else to do it.

you skid to a stop as you arrive at the courtyard, looking around for any sign of a 16-year-old, 172-centimeter, red-haired heartslabyul student.

“ace trappola!” you call out, continuing your search, “come on, don’t avoid me!”

unsurprisingly, but just as disappointingly, there’s no response. you groan and sit on a bench near the apple tree. only to hear a squeak from behind you.

you turn, and there he is, ace trappola, trying to hide behind the large apple tree that shades you.

how did you not notice him?

“ace,” you whisper, “uhm. hi?”

silence. and then, ace begins to scramble to get out of position and run as far away as he possibly can once more.

“hey!” you yell, running into motion after him. sevens, you think, he’s fast. guess he’s not on the basketball team for nothing.

thankfully, to your relief and his horror, you manage to catch up and grab onto his arm. he stumbles backwards before slowly turning to look at you.

he’s breathing heavily, and the moment he makes eye contact with you, he looks away. he chews on his bottom lip nervously, fists clenching at his side.

“why are you running away from me?” you ask, breathing heavily from all the running, “just- tell me what’s going on and i’ll leave you alone. do you not want to be friends anymore or something-”

“i do!” he says suddenly, and he winces before adding on, “i still want to be friends. i’ve just... i just have to think.”

there’s a beat of silence, and suddenly the questions you prepared for when you found him slip from your mind. ace still doesn’t look at you, and you feel your resolve start to crumble.

“...do you not like me the same way?” you say slowly, letting go of his arm, “i get it. i can take rejection. i’m not afraid of honesty.”

“no, that’s not...” ace groans, running his hand through his hair with frustration, “i do like you. i like you a lot.”

there’s a thread of hope that you don’t dare to follow, but your heart still leaps at his words of sincerity.

“so why did you run?” you ask.

“i don’t know,” ace says, desperation starting to show on his face. “i just... i’m scared.”

“scared of what?” you probe, exasperation mounting, “are you ashamed of me? do you not want to be with someone magicless, is that it, ace trappola?”

“no, no!” he exclaims, “i’d never be ashamed of you, i mean, i’ve poked fun at you a few times for being magicless but- come on, you know i don’t actually mean it!”

“then what is it?” you almost beg, “what are you so afraid of?”

“everything!” he blurts out, the tips of his ears going red, “i’m scared that we won’t be enough, no- i'm scared i won’t be enough. i’m scared of not treating you right, i’m scared that we won’t work out, i’m scared that i don’t love you enough to make everything turn out okay. i’m scared that i can’t give you what you want, and you’ll realize just how much of a screw-up i am, and then i lose this. i lose us.”

ace takes in a deep breath, voice shaky. he looks up at you, eyes frantic. desperate.

“i don’t want to lose us,” he murmurs, “you’re... you know. who’s going to bail me out of detention if i lose you?”

you blink at him, once, twice... before bursting out into a fit of laughter. and tears. you double over, hiding your expression away from ace’s view.

“woah- woah! don’t cry, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean it,” ace says hurriedly, “we’re cool, right? we can forget all of this ever happened, it was my bad, don’t cry-”

“you fucking idiot,” you yell at him, hitting his shoulder with your fist. he winces, but you keep talking. “you absolute dumbass. you made me run across this stupid college and you’re worried you won’t be enough? goddammit, trappola, i love you. i am in love. with you.”

you breathe out. you look up to meet ace’s shocked expression.

“no, trappola, we are not cool,” you say, “not at all. my legs hurt from running, and i made up an excuse for why you weren’t there when i turned in the potion, and i owe a painting a debt for telling me your location. if you think we’re cool, then you’re dead wrong.”

“...oh,” he responds back dumbly, “sorry?- wait, no, i didn’t ask for you to chase after me!”

“but i did!” you quip back loudly, “you know why? because i have the biggest, fattest crush on you. and hell yeah, you’re a screw-up, but i’m still in love with you. maybe i even love you because you’re a screw-up. who the hell knows at this point? ace trappola, i’m rejecting your rejection! try again!”

“what- you can’t reject a rejection!”

“i so can!”

ace blows out a frustrated breath, but there’s amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“i’m rejecting you because you’re really annoying. also, you snore when you sleep.”

“i do not!”

“you so do!”

you scoff, rolling your eyes. you miss the way ace smiles fondly at you.

“...sorry for running,” he murmurs, “dumb decision in retrospect. can i try again?”

“try what again?” you ask. now it’s ace’s turn to laugh at you.

“my confession.”

“oh,” you say. you nod. he takes your hand in his.

“i really, really like you. more than a friend,” he whispers, trying and failing to look you in the eye, “and it sucks because you’re an idiot and annoying and you get on my nerves sometimes-”

“hey!”

“shh! but, you know, i guess i like how annoying you are. disgusting, i know. and just to let you know, i’m not going to buy you roses every other thursday with a handwritten card in cursive-”

“you can’t even write in cursive.”

“i can! just- shh! i’m not gonna get down on one knee and promise to be someone i’m not. but i really do mean it when i say i love you, and your stupid smiles, and the way you think about me even when you’re mad at me, and i think i’d probably jump in front of a bullet train for you- and sevens, i hate how you’ve made me so cheesy, but seven be damned if i didn’t mean everything i’m saying right now with my entire heart.”

“so- uh,” ace trails off, embarrassment tinting his face red, “yeah. i like you. can we, uh, kiss and make up?”

a silence passes between you. ace rubs his thumb against your knuckles subconsciously, and it’s only then do you break out into a grin.

“not sure about the make up part,” you say, cupping his face with your hands, “but the kiss part? i can do.”

yeah, you think as your lips collide with ace’s, you’re still in love with ace trappola even after he made you take a remedial class and almost made you cry in said remedial class. you’re still in love even after he made you run like your life depended on it. you’re still in love even after he made you have a mini heart-attack.

you feel ace smile against your lips, his arms snaking around your waist, and you think,

yeah. you’re still in love with him.

note: sorry for disappearing i was on tumblr but i actively ignored by tumblr acc :3 whoopsies! apologies if this fic came off weird or has typos OR uses dashes/commas/ITALICS... I THINK I ABUSED MY ITALIC PRIVELEGES.../literally any grammar incorrectly i literally gave up by the end because it was getting too long and i wanted this off my hands IMMEDIATELY!!!! there are only so many times you can proofread a 6k word fic.... (two times) i love love love the idea of pathetic ace tho like that man is NOT!!! the cool guy i see him as!!! bro is a freshman!!!!!!!!! bro is a 16 year old!!!!!!!!!!!! so here he is. pathetic ace in all his glory. i hope i did him justice ^^;; ty for reading this far if u did! <3

523 notes · View notes