#grim has to eat with a spoon

[marigoldendragon]

Tuna-summoning may come with unintended (but not unwelcome) side effects.

The gorgeous @the-fab-fox was my muse for this one :D

[novaursa]

The Searing Flame

- Summary: Rook's Rest broke you and Aegon both. But it didn't separate you. And Stranger, it appears, has other plans for you.

- Paring: reader (twin!wife)/Aegon II

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N and is bonded with dragon Starfyre. Reader's and Aegon's children are mentioned. If you want to read all parts in chronological order, check out my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+ (just comfort)

- Word count: 4 078

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The smell of herbs and poultices fills the chamber, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood that lingers in the air. You can hear the crackle of the hearth, its warmth reaching only the foot of the grand bed where you and your brother-husband, King Aegon II, lie side by side. The once-magnificent room is now a haven of convalescence, the drapery muted and the furniture pushed aside to make room for the needs of the infirm.

Your body aches with a dull, persistent pain that pulses with every breath you take. The effort of sitting upright in the bed is monumental, and the bowl of broth before you seems an insurmountable challenge. The spoon trembles in your hand, the mere act of lifting it exhausting. You glance at Aegon, who watches you with furrowed brows and tense lips, his gaze burning with worry that he cannot hide.

"She struggles with every bite, Orwyle," Aegon states, his voice rough with the lingering pain of his own injuries. His piercing eyes lock onto the Grand Maester, who stands nearby with a face of forced calm. "You must do something about it."

Orwyle shifts uncomfortably, the weight of the king's command heavy upon him. "Your Grace, I have done all that is within my power," he responds cautiously. "The potions and elixirs I've administered should ease her pain, and the fact that the internal bleeding appears to have stopped is a promising sign. But… it is difficult to determine the full extent of the damage. Her body is still fragile, and the healing process is slow."

Aegon huffs, the sound more pained than frustrated, as he fights to push himself up on the bed. His burns throb, and his broken hip sends sharp stabs of agony through his side, yet he ignores it with grim determination. He refuses to let his own suffering deter him from helping you. He inches closer, his face etched with the effort of movement.

"That is not enough," Aegon growls, the intensity in his voice betraying the depths of his fear. He grits his teeth, the motion tugging at the scarred skin of his face. "She needs more than promises and half-answers, Orwyle."

The Grand Maester bows his head, his lips pressed thin. "I understand, Your Grace. I will continue to monitor her condition closely. If there is any change, I will be the first to act. But for now, the best I can advise is rest and sustenance, as much as she can tolerate."

Aegon’s gaze flickers back to you, his eyes softening despite the pain that etches deep lines into his features. He reaches out, his hand trembling as it hovers near yours. The sight of your struggle to eat tears at him, and he can’t bear the thought of you suffering more than you already have.

“Here,” he says, his voice gentler now, laced with the tenderness that he shows only to you. He braces himself as he takes the spoon from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. The contact is brief, but it sends a warmth through him that no fire could match. With great care, he dips the spoon into the broth and lifts it to your lips.

You try to take the spoonful, but your stomach rebels, a wave of nausea washing over you. You force yourself to swallow, the taste turning to ash in your mouth. Aegon notices the grimace you try to hide and his expression darkens with concern.

“Easy, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice soothing despite the tightness in his throat. “Small sips. I’ll help you.”

You meet his gaze, seeing the pain and determination reflected there, and you nod weakly. You know he suffers as much as you do, perhaps more, for he carries not only his own pain but the weight of his love for you. His hand trembles slightly as he brings another spoonful to your lips, and this time you manage to keep it down.

He stays close, ignoring his own agony, focusing entirely on you. Each movement costs him, but he hides it as best he can, his only thought to ease your suffering. He coaxes you to take another sip, and then another, until the bowl is nearly empty. The strain is evident in his features, but the small victories — each spoonful you manage to swallow — give him strength.

Orwyle watches in silence, his face betraying a flicker of admiration for the king’s devotion. He knows better than to offer more words; they would be hollow compared to the actions unfolding before him. The love between the two of you is a force that no wound, no scar, can diminish.

Finally, when you can take no more, Aegon sets the bowl aside, his breath ragged from the exertion. He settles back onto the pillows beside you, his hand still lingering near yours as if he cannot bear to be apart from you. He closes his eyes, his chest rising and falling with the effort of merely breathing, but a faint smile tugs at his lips.

“We will get through this, Y/N,” he whispers, more to himself than to you. “I will not lose you. Not to wounds, not to fate.”

His words are a promise, one he intends to keep no matter the cost. And as you both lie there, battered and broken but together, you feel a flicker of hope kindle in your heart. The road to recovery will be long, and the scars will never fully fade, but with Aegon by your side, you believe you might survive the storm.

The corridors of the Red Keep are dim, the flickering light from torches casting long shadows along the stone walls as Grand Maester Orwyle makes his way to the private chambers of Dowager Queen Alicent. His heart is heavy with the weight of the news he must deliver, and his footsteps are slow, as though he wishes to delay the inevitable conversation.

When he reaches the door, he pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts before rapping softly on the wood. A moment later, the door swings open, and Alicent, her face lined with worry and exhaustion, beckons him inside.

“What news, Orwyle?” Alicent asks immediately, her voice strained with the tension of too many sleepless nights and too many fears unspoken. She gestures for him to sit, but he remains standing, his expression grave.

“Your Grace,” he begins, bowing his head slightly, “I bring some news from the King and Queen’s chamber. Queen Y/N managed to eat today, with great effort.”

Alicent’s breath catches, and her eyes shine with unshed tears. The relief that floods her is palpable, her shoulders sagging slightly as if a great weight has been lifted from them. She clasps her hands together, pressing them to her chest as a sob escapes her lips.

“Thank the gods,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “Thank the gods… I feared the worst…”

Orwyle allows her a moment to savor the relief, though his expression does not soften. The moment is bittersweet, and he knows it will not last long. Alicent’s joy is short-lived, for the maester’s next words are as heavy as iron.

“Your Grace… I must also speak of something more… delicate.” He hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “I believe it would be wise to consider… separating the King and Queen into separate chambers.”

Alicent’s head snaps up, her eyes widening in shock and disbelief. The mere suggestion seems absurd, even cruel, and she stares at Orwyle as though he’s gone mad.

“Separate them?” she repeats, her voice rising in incredulity. “You would have them suffer the torment of being apart? Even for a moment? They are all that each other has—how can you suggest such a thing?”

Orwyle’s face remains impassive, but there is a deep sadness in his eyes as he continues. “Your Grace, I do not suggest this lightly. I know how much they depend on one another, how their bond has sustained them through these trials. But… it is precisely because of that bond that I suggest this course of action.”

Alicent’s hand grips the armrest of her chair, her knuckles white with the force of her anger. The thought of her daughter and son being parted is abhorrent to her. She shakes her head vehemently.

“No, Orwyle. I will not allow it. To separate them now, when they are both so gravely injured… It would be a death sentence for them both. They will suffer more from being apart than from any physical wound.”

The Grand Maester bows his head, knowing what he must say next will only cause her further anguish. “Your Grace, I fear… Queen Y/N’s condition may be more dire than we hoped. While the internal bleeding appears to have stopped, her body is still fragile. She struggles with every breath, every movement, and I cannot be certain that she will recover.”

Alicent’s breath hitches, and she stares at Orwyle with dawning horror. The implication of his words sinks in like a stone dropping into a dark pool, sending ripples of dread through her. “You… you think she will die,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

Orwyle does not answer immediately, but the silence speaks volumes. Alicent’s eyes fill with tears, but they are no longer tears of relief. They are tears of rage, of sorrow, and of fear for her children.

“You want to separate them,” she chokes out, her voice shaking with emotion, “so that Aegon doesn’t wake up to find his sister dead beside him.”

The accusation hangs in the air, sharp and cutting. Orwyle winces, but he does not deny it. “Your Grace… it would be an act of mercy,” he says quietly. “If the worst were to happen… it might spare the King the pain of that moment. And it would allow the Queen to… to pass peacefully, without causing her brother-husband further torment.”

Alicent rises from her seat, her tears forgotten as fury takes hold. “Mercy?” she spits the word as though it is poison. “You would take my daughter from her husband, from her twin, and put her in some cold, lonely room to die alone? You would have her pass without the comfort of his presence, without the warmth of his hand in hers?”

Her voice rises, her grief fueling her anger. “I will not allow it! She will not die alone, cast aside like some… some useless thing! She is the Queen, and she is Aegon’s other half! He would never forgive himself if he were not with her in her final moments—if those moments come at all!”

Orwyle bows his head, accepting her wrath without protest. He knows she is right in her own way, that separating the twins could do as much harm as good. But he also knows the toll that the Queen’s death would take on the King if it were to happen in such a manner.

“Your Grace,” he says softly, “I only wish to spare them both as much pain as possible. But I will not act without your consent.”

Alicent’s chest heaves with the effort of containing her emotions. She closes her eyes, struggling to find some measure of composure. When she speaks again, her voice is steadier, though the pain in it is unmistakable.

“You will do no such thing, Orwyle. They will stay together, as they have always been. If my daughter… if she is to die, then let her die with her husband beside her. And if Aegon is to lose her, then let him be there, holding her, as he deserves.”

Orwyle inclines his head in a gesture of respect. “As you wish, Your Grace. I will see to it that their care continues as it has been.”

Alicent nods, her eyes still filled with unshed tears. “Leave me,” she says quietly, and the Grand Maester obeys, bowing once more before retreating from the room.

When he is gone, Alicent sinks back into her chair, the strength drained from her limbs. She buries her face in her hands, and at last, the tears she has been holding back flow freely. The thought of losing her daughter, of watching her son suffer such a devastating blow, is more than she can bear.

But she will not let them be parted. Not now. Not ever.

In the dim, flickering light of the chamber, the Dowager Queen weeps, her heart breaking for the children she has always tried so hard to protect, knowing that in this, there is no protection she can offer.

The chamber is steeped in a comforting silence, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth. The warmth it offers is gentle, a stark contrast to the coldness that lingers in your bones. The ache in your body has dulled slightly, allowing you to lie beside Aegon without the overwhelming need to close your eyes against the pain. His presence beside you, the steady rise and fall of his chest, brings a sense of peace that you haven’t felt in what seems like an eternity.

Aegon is quiet as well, though you can feel the tension in him, the way his body lies rigid against the soft pillows. You turn your head to look at him, your eyes heavy with exhaustion. He meets your gaze, and you see the flicker of something in his eyes — a sorrow, a fear that he hasn’t voiced yet. He studies your face with an intensity that makes your breath catch, and you notice the way his brow furrows slightly, as though he is searching for something.

His gaze lingers on your cheeks, and a small, sad smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "Your cheeks… they've regained some color," he murmurs, his voice hushed as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile peace between you. "But… you still look like a ghost, Y/N. A beautiful ghost… but a ghost all the same."

You try to smile, but the effort is too much, and you settle for a soft sigh. "It’s been a hard few weeks," you say gently, your voice a whisper, nearly lost in the crackle of the fire.

Aegon nods, his eyes drifting down to where your hand rests on the coverlet. His fingers move slowly, aching as they intertwine with yours. For a moment, he simply holds your hand, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. The warmth of his touch spreads through you, but it’s the sadness in his eyes that draws your attention, the way his jaw tightens as though he’s holding something back.

Then, without warning, his composure cracks. A choked sob escapes his lips, and his shoulders tremble as the tears start to fall. He tries to hide it, turning his face into the pillow, but you feel the tremor in his grip, the way his breathing becomes uneven.

"Aegon," you whisper, squeezing his hand, trying to offer what little comfort you can. "What’s wrong?"

He shakes his head, but the sobs keep coming, his pain spilling out in a way that he can no longer control. His voice, when he finally speaks, is thick with grief and fear. "I… I’m terrified, Y/N," he admits, his words broken by the weight of his emotions. "I’m terrified that I may never be able to… to make love to you again."

The admission hangs in the air between you, raw and vulnerable. You feel a pang in your heart, not for yourself, but for him, for the fear that drives his tears. You know that your bodies have been broken, that the road to recovery is uncertain, and that the intimacy you once shared might never be the same. But to hear it from him, to know how deeply it troubles him, cuts deeper than any physical wound.

You reach up with your free hand, your fingers trembling as they brush against his cheek, wiping away the tears that have gathered there. "Aegon," you say softly, "that isn’t what’s important. What matters is that we’re here, together. As long as we have each other… that’s all that truly matters."

He shakes his head again, his tears flowing more freely now. "But it is important, Y/N," he insists, his voice breaking. "It’s important to me. I… I want to hold you the way I used to, to love you the way I always have. I’m terrified that… that I won’t be able to do that anymore, that we’ll lose that part of us."

You feel his anguish as though it’s your own, and your heart aches for him. His fear is more than just about physical intimacy; it’s about the connection that you’ve shared since birth, the bond that has always been a source of strength for both of you. You know that in his mind, the loss of that connection is tied to the loss of something even greater — the fear that the bond between you might weaken, that the love you share might fade in the face of your suffering.

You tighten your grip on his hand, your resolve hardening. "Aegon, listen to me," you say, your voice steady despite the exhaustion that pulls at you. "We have faced dragons, battles, and betrayals together. We’ve been through hell, and yet, here we are. That connection we share, it’s not something that can be broken by this, by anything. We’re more than just our bodies. Our love is stronger than that."

He looks at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and hope. "But what if… what if I’m not strong enough? What if…"

"Then we’ll find our way together," you interrupt, your voice firm. "It doesn’t matter how. We’ll heal, Aegon. Maybe not in the way we were before, but we’ll heal. And we’ll find new ways to love each other, new ways to be close. We will not lose each other."

Aegon’s sobs quiet, though the tears still streak down his cheeks. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours, the closeness offering a comfort that words cannot. "I don’t want to lose you," he whispers, his voice barely audible, trembling with the depth of his emotions.

"You won’t," you promise, your voice soft but filled with conviction. "We’ll get through this, Aegon."

He nods, though the fear still lingers in his eyes. But there is a glimmer of something else now, something that wasn’t there before — a fragile hope, a belief that maybe, just maybe, you’ll find a way to survive this, too.

The aftermath of Rook's Rest still haunts you after many weeks, lingering in the air like the scent of charred flesh. The pain has not lessened, not truly, but you have grown accustomed to it, learned to live with the ache in your bones, the memories that sear through your mind as vividly as dragonfire. Aegon remains bedridden, his hip shattered, but his burns are healing, the flesh knitting together in agonizing slowness. You, too, bear your scars—though less visible, they are no less severe. The Seven have seen fit to keep you alive, and for that, you are grateful. You tell yourself that over and over again, especially on the nights when the pain becomes too much to bear.

Despite the grim prognosis given by the maesters, you manage to rise each day, your limbs heavy as if laden with chains, yet you rise all the same. Aegon watches you with those familiar violet eyes, a mixture of awe and frustration in his gaze as you shuffle to his side, determined to care for him as much as he has for you. He hates to see you struggle, hates the reminder of how close he came to losing you, but there is nothing to be done about it. You are still here, and so is he, and that is enough.

“Y/N,” Aegon murmurs as you approach, his voice low and rough, as if the words themselves cause him pain. He tries to sit up, grimacing as the movement sends a jolt of agony through his hip. You are quick to place a gentle hand on his chest, urging him to stay still.

“Let me,” you say softly, reaching for the bandages that need changing. The scent of salves and ointments fills the room, mingling with the ever-present smell of smoke that seems to cling to your skin no matter how many times you bathe.

Aegon huffs out a breath, frustrated but compliant. “You shouldn’t be doing this,” he grumbles, though there is no true heat in his words. “You need rest as much as I do.”

“I need to be useful,” you reply, unwrapping the old bandages with careful fingers. “And there is no one else I trust with this.”

Aegon falls silent, watching you with a mixture of concern and affection. The truth is, he needs this too—the closeness, the reassurance that you are both still here, still fighting. The loss of your sons weighs heavily on both of you, their absence a gaping wound that refuses to heal. And then there are the dragons—Sunfyre and Starfyre, once magnificent and untouchable, now grounded by wounds that mirror your own.

“How is she?” Aegon asks quietly as you tend to him. “Starfyre?”

You pause, your hand lingering on his shoulder. “She heals, slowly. As we all do.”

Aegon’s eyes flicker with something akin to hope. “Perhaps, when this is all over…”

You nod, understanding what he cannot bring himself to say. When this is all over, when the blood has stopped spilling and the war is won—if such a thing is even possible—perhaps then you will find a way to live again, to reclaim some semblance of the life you once knew. But for now, that future remains distant, an unreachable dream.

A knock at the door draws your attention, and you glance over your shoulder to see Alicent standing in the doorway, her expression weary yet relieved as she takes in the sight of her children together. She enters the room with careful steps, as if afraid of disturbing the fragile peace that has settled over you both.

“My Queen,” Alicent greets you, her voice soft. “How do you fare today?”

“I manage,” you reply, offering her a small smile. “As does Aegon.”

Alicent’s gaze shifts to her son, her eyes softening with maternal concern. “You look better today,” she notes, her tone hopeful.

Aegon snorts, though it’s more self-deprecating than anything. “I look less like a corpse, you mean.”

“Hush,” you chide gently, though you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “Mother is only trying to help.”

Alicent’s lips press together in a thin line as she surveys the two of you, her heartache palpable. “I wish there were more I could do,” she says quietly. “For both of you.”

“You are here,” you reply, reaching out to take her hand in yours. “That is enough.”

Alicent squeezes your hand, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I pray to the Seven every day, for yourstrength, for your healing.”

You nod, though your thoughts drift to darker places. The prayers of the faithful have done little to save your children, your dragons. The thought claws at your insides, a bitter resentment that you can never quite quell.

“Do you think she will ever pay for what she’s done?” you ask suddenly, your voice barely above a whisper. “For the deaths of our sons, for breaking our bodies and our dragons?”

Aegon stiffens beneath your touch, his jaw clenching as the old rage flares anew. Alicent’s eyes widen slightly, but she does not shy away from your question.

“Rhaenyra will answer for her crimes,” Aegon says, his voice hard as steel. “She will burn for what she has taken from us.”

The words hang heavy in the air, a promise, a vow that neither of you can afford to break. Alicent bows her head, as if in prayer, and you feel the weight of your shared grief pressing down on you once more.

But in that moment, with Aegon’s hand resting over yours and Alicent standing beside you, you also feel a flicker of something else—a determination, a resolve to see this through to the bitter end. You will survive this, together, and one day, Rhaenyra will pay for the blood she has spilled. The Seven have kept you alive for a reason, and you intend to see it fulfilled.

[pullthehilt]

Reader is Yuu with an implied family with siblings. Not re-read or edited.

One day you realise that there is just a bit too much food on the table. It takes eating with the others to truly notice, but it starts with Grim complaining.

"We've been eating the same thing for days now!" And you laugh because it's true. After eating it fresh the first day, you tend to pack up and store the rest equally in the fridge and freezer because, yes, it's a lot. Dishes that are soups, or meals that are cooked in the larger pots and pans. Food that is to be served with rice on the side, portions that are bigger than your face. That isn't to say that you had a lot of thaumarks on you as you're just good at making bulk purchases worth it.

Everyone laughs at Grims moping, remarking of how he should be greatful you're feeding him at all. The banter is great.

But you're picking at your packed lunch now.

Why do you cook so much? Why do you reach for the bigger pots and pans? Why are your portions always for more than one?

From the fog of your mind, you see... your kitchen. Or you think it's your kitchen. It's not the kitchen back at Ramshackle, but the one from before Ramshackle. You're bustling around the counter, chatting to a faceless figure by the table, and reaching for seasonings without even looking. You're opening cabinets and finding what you need easily and asking the figure to make some rice to accompany whatever is in that pot. There's the squeals of children and hearty laughter from the other room. And hands, there's a hand at the small of your back and you think it's a motherly touch because how else can you describe the gentle way they press you to the side of their body.

For the next few days you can't eat properly. There's weight at your gut that substitutes for food and you don't make anything more. When your friends come over to invade the living room of Ramshackle, you don't have much snacks to offer them.

Peering into the fridge only reveals the stacks of containers of food you were eating days prior. You're mulling about maybe something you can make for them when,

"Whoa, talk about excess. Grim wasn't kidding." Ace's voice is right behind you.

"Ugh, sorry guys. i don't think I have anything proper to really feed you guys--"

"Is that some sort of egg salad?" Deuce's hand slithers forward to grab at one of the containters. "You have bread?" Nodding you gesture to the other cabinet. "Then I'll snack on this-- Er, if you wouldn't mind."

Epel peers from the doorway. "You don't happen to haf' some meat in 'er do ya?" Your fingers linger, before meekly pulling out a corrisponding tupperware.

"It's a bit stiff though, Epel."

"Hah, I'll jus' throw it on tha' stove or somthing. If it's still tough, I dun' care. Sometimes just gotta eat the greasy foods." He takes the tupperware and slaps it into a pan to heat it up. The aroma of sizzling meat is quick to attract both Sebek and Jack who add to the noise of chatter amongst the others, the former mostly.

You find yourself to the side, watching as they scour through your leftovers, opening and nodding at the meals inside before choosing which to heat up. And it's loud, but not grating. They're navigating through your space with expertice, slipping past each other and peering into cabinets. Jack's making rice and Sebek is counting the plates (whilst also making sounds whenever he sees a chip in the odd one or two). Over the stove Epel and Ace are jerking their hands into the pan, nipping their fingers to the corner pieces of the meat to just 'check if it's ready to eat'. Gathering the spoons and forks, Deuce nibbles on a piece of his egg salad sandwich before disappearing in the living area where everyone is setting up.

The dinner table has been set. You don't feel entirely there, floating to a cushion on the floor as your left overs are bought over to the table plate-by-plate. Everyone sits around you, Grim settled into your lap as he nibbles on a piece of fried fish, and they're passing the dishes around.

You've eaten these things before but you've always eaten them with Grim or alone when Grim takes his naps early. Instead of one set of cutlery scraping at porcelain, there's multiple sets-- a symphony playing to their hunger as they gather more to pile onto their plates.

[merakiui]

mera im curious...what is the most pathetic and desperate virgin concept u can come up with for any boys you choose in twst??

I have so many that I will try to write pathetic virgin concepts for each twst guy!!! >:)

✧ Riddle who gets off to your notes. It doesn't matter how messy or neat they may be, how filled or lacking the page may be, or even how useful they may be if the exam covering that material has already happened. He knows it's wrong to have pilfered your notebook, but he couldn't help it and he assured himself he'd give it back under the pretense of having found it (which isn't entirely a lie). He sits back in his chair and flips slowly through the pages, not particularly reading the material you've written, as he idly fucks into his hand and pictures diligent you, sitting in class and penning notes. There are doodles in the margins of the pages: cute flowers, smiley faces, hearts, what looks to be Grim. He thinks about how you hold your pen, how you might chew on the cap when you're bored, how your hands also touched this very notebook... Great Seven, he's a mess.

✧ Trey who is so strangely fixated on your teeth and mouth. At first it was cute because he's so serious about dental hygiene, what with how he ensures Ace and Deuce brush their teeth properly. But with you it's different. When you smile, he pictures your teeth in his shoulder or your mouth on his neck, pressing kisses or sucking fresh marks into his skin. And when you're eating, he notes the way you lick your fork or spoon clean every time and it gives him such a vivid image of you giving his dick the cutest, most gentle kitten licks. He has to excuse himself before anyone finds out he's painfully hard. >_<

✧ Cater who gets off to the many selfies and photos he's taken with and of you. Sometimes he scours the other students' Magicam accounts to look at the photos they've posted of you and his mind runs wild with thoughts and what-ifs. That photo of you sitting between the twins during their birthday party has him wondering if they fucked you on that very couch after the festivities had worn down. Or that photo of you and Kalim sopping wet after the both of you got caught in the rain... He's zooming in to see if the rain's made your uniform shirt see-through all while thinking about how you and Kalim may have warmed up. Cater can't seem to look at pictures of you without thinking about sex, and it's even worse when he sees the pictures he's taken of you and him. A spaghetti scene you recreated from a popular romance film has him imagining what could have happened had you just leaned in a little closer. Or that one alchemy mishap in which you were turned into a tiny fairy for the day... if he put you in a jar....... :)

✧ Ace who gets off on teasing you. They say partial truths often lie in the joke, and Ace sure does love joking about very specific things when it comes to you. He drives you mad every time, but because the two of you are close friends he gets away with it. He sticks his fingers in your mouth when you yawn to prod at your tongue, all while saying, "If you keep yawning like that, flies are gonna get in your mouth~" Or he'll squeeze your hip after you've eaten sweets just to mess with you. Or he compares your hand to his (for some odd reason) just so he can get away with touching you. Or he shows you a card trick that ends with him tucking the card behind your ear rather than pulling it from that area. His teasing feels more like flirting, but anyone who notes this is earned a swift denial from Ace.

✧ Deuce who gets off to the domestic moments in your friendship. Sharing a mirror in Ramshackle when he spends the night, preparing meals for each other, and even walking to class and talking about very boring things (like the weather). It makes him feel so special, and sometimes he pretends the two of you are a married couple. Deuce gets so embarrassed if anyone points this out, especially the elderly who see the two of you in town and comment on how cute you look together. He adamantly denies it, but later he's in the bathroom imagining married life with you and it gets him so worked up.

✧ Leona who gets off on the power imbalance between the two of you. Realistically speaking, he's stronger, both in terms of social class (after all, he's royalty) and also physically and financially. But that doesn't matter as much as it does when he's around you. Despite all of this, you know how to match Leona's wit, always keeping him on his toes, and you treat him as you would others even while knowing just how much power he has over you should he choose to exert it. Leona just likes the feeling of being number one in your world. Possibly a little too much, considering it never fails to get him excited. :)

✧ Ruggie who gets off on sneaking up on you. At first it was to pickpocket you. Steal spare change for himself or take your wallet just to watch you panic when you can't find it, but he's come to love the way you turn around just in time to catch him. He knows he does this on purpose solely to get caught, but seeing how you huff and glare lightheartedly at him... the way you purse your lips or the way you snatch your things back and laugh softly about how he ought to try again next time... He doesn't even care about your wallet anymore. He just wants to hunt you down and catch you for himself. You're the real prize here. <3

✧ Jack who gets off to your difference in size and strength. At first it wasn't something he thought of, but then you come to him and beg him to help open jars or stuck windows and he does it so easily. He refuses to believe you're struggling that hard with it, but then he watches you attempt to open a jar and it all clicks into place. Oh, you're...really cute and small and so fragile compared to him, who's all muscle and raw strength. Jack knows you have your own strengths and in no way does he think you're weak, but he's always reminded of your size and strength differences whenever the two of you are doing things together: training/sports, lifting heavy things (which are often very light to him), and even standing side by side. He thinks about how much bigger he is and he feels so flustered when those thoughts get him hard.

✧ Azul who gets off to your body language. He knows what it means; he's studied human customs well in advance before coming up to the surface. But oh you tempt him every single time you arch your back when you stretch or when you yawn and make such cute, sleepy sounds. It's even worse when you bend over to reach for something across a table or bend down to grab something that fell. He's digging his nails into his palms to steady himself, but that doesn't mean his thoughts are steady. He may look entirely composed with his usual smile, but in his mind you're getting fucked six ways from Sunday. You can't give this man any gifts because 1) he'll scramble to pay you back and 2) he'll delude himself into thinking it's a courting gesture and that you want him sooooo badly each time you offer him a snack from the school store or give him something you think he could get more use out of.

✧ Jade who gets off to your banter, especially the threats. Great Seven, you tell him you'll gut him and turn him into eel sushi and OOOOOO he's on the edge of his seat like: "yes...... and?? and????? what else will you do to me?????" all with the wildest, sharpest smile you've ever seen him make. He gets so worked up, so flushed in the face, so terribly aroused, every time you threaten him with anything. Yank him down to your height and mutter a threat, whether outlandish, violent, or something as silly as "I hope both sides of your pillow are hotter than hell," and he's saving these interactions in his memory for later recollection.

✧ Floyd who gets off on your praise. Call him a good boy or congratulate him on his test score or cheer for him at basketball practice and he's over the moon with excitement. He eats up your praise like it's his last meal. Say more good things to him! He wants to hear Shrimpy's praise every day, and when he's in a bad mood all it takes is the memory of you saying he's done well and he's back to his usual excitable self. He likes your praise a little too much, as evidenced by how hard it gets him. orz he spends too long thinking about it while he lies in bed, staring at the ceiling while he lazily strokes himself to thoughts of you calling him a good boy.

✧ Kalim who gets just a little too worked up at your proximity. He makes for such good best friend material. It's natural you'd be drawn to him because he's just so sweet and friendly. So it's completely normal when you spend the night at Scarabia and you end up falling asleep beside him in the common room, or when he feeds you outright because that's just how he is! He wants you to try all manner of yummy foods. It makes his heart race faster when your lips close around his fingers or you unconsciously snuggle up to him. He loves you so much. orz

✧ Jamil who loves your obedient nature. It has him horny gripping every time you scramble to do well on a test or in class so you won't upset the professors. You try to keep out of trouble because you're a good student, and he loves every bit of it. He wants to ruin you, take your obedience for the professors and twist it so that you'll only ever listen to him, follow what he says, trust in his words. He could just hypnotize you and maybe a sick part of him wants that. Maybe he wants to experience what an entirely obedient, cock-drunk (Name) is like...

✧ Vil who uses his professional opinions as a way to feel you up. He runs his hands up your sides to smooth wrinkles in your uniform out, all while reminding you to take care of your appearance. He fixes your tie just to get close enough to smell your perfume or shampoo. He loves how you lean into him, trusting his judgement because Vil could never lead you astray. Secretly, Vil's just getting away with every touch under the guise of giving you advice or fixing your uniform or even getting measurements for tailored outfits for school events. It's much too easy.

✧ Rook who, unsurprisingly, gets off on stalking you. He's such a creep! He watches you from afar and gets hard over the smallest things. It's likely because you're so vulnerable and unaware when you go about your daily life and he gets to invade such a secret slice of your life. Whether you know he's watching you or not, it doesn't matter. Just the idea that, on some level, you might be able to feel his prying eyes gets him so unfathomably excited.

✧ Epel who loves a good competition and gets so into it if it's a competition between you and him. Whether it's something athletic or academic, he's always ready to engage in a friendly competition with you. Unfortunately, when you smirk at him and tell him he'll need to give it his all, he gets excited in...other areas. To think all it took was some competitive banter and your smirk to have the blood rushing downwards... T_T if he loses this competition, is the punishment a make-out session? Epel can certainly dream.

✧ Idia who is too scared to talk to you in person, so he codes a Magicord bot he uses as a practice dummy. But then things get a little out of hand when innocent chats turn explicit and soon he's role-playing with the false you. Idia knows it's not real, but it feels real when you tell him all the things he wants to hear. It's shameless e-sex, but it's the best (and only) e-sex of Idia's life. ;;;; he feels immensely embarrassed afterwards.

✧ Malleus who gets off on your smiles. It's such an innocent thing, but then it has him thinking so deeply about it late into the night. You're so sweet and precious. He could picture your smiles all day... Malleus loves you more than words can possibly describe. He thinks about the little things that make you so wonderful, but most of all it's how expressive you are when you smile. Sometimes he has a habit of letting his thoughts stray into intimate fantasies, but it's nothing terrible. He wants to love you wholeheartedly; that includes physically.

✧ Lilia who gets off on surprising you and subverting your expectations. He finds it so darling when you have certain assumptions about him, only to be entirely wrong when he disproves them. Though he's oh-so-cute (a fact he would never deny), there's more beneath that adorable veneer. He's a mysterious who loves popping in to startle you when you least expect it. Be it in the library or in the halls, he always finds you. And your shock is a sight he drinks in merrily.

✧ Silver who is so enthralled by everything about you, so no matter what you do it always makes him feel so in love and fluffy. He's never known this sort of love before, but he's always so honest about his feelings and so his attraction to you wouldn't be any different. You could be napping peacefully in class and Silver's watching you from across the room with the softest, sweetest smile on his face. He thinks about you day and night; you even fill his dreams. Most of it is entirely normal and innocent, but then all it takes is for someone to suggest something less-than-pure about you and suddenly Silver's thoughts are derailing. Oh, he's never thought about sex before. But sex with you? That seems very appealing, so much so that he's feeling much hotter than before. ;;;;

✧ Sebek who, in spite of everything, gets off to the fact that you're human. There's just something so...appealing to you. He struggles to put it into words (and he almost doesn't want to), but you're so soft and sweet and enticing. Maybe Sebek secretly likes your being human because it makes you seem weaker by some strange default? But then he dwells on this and that doesn't seem to be the reason. Truthfully, Sebek likes your humanity because it's charming. Because there's something about you that feels and smells different. Maybe it's because you're the first human to make him feel so aroused that he deems you worthy of his own affections, or maybe he's just hopelessly, pathetically in love with all of the things that make you human and he's trying so hard to deny that.

✧ Rollo who gets off to your scent. Maybe it's a perfume you wear or maybe it's your natural scent. Whatever it is, he's carefully borrowing insignificant items that smell just like you so that he can hold them up to his nose while he masturbates. You're just so perfect and your scent drives him crazy and he feels like a filthy pervert each time he does this, but it's too late to stop. He's already in so deep. Just your scent alone has him shuddering through messy orgasms; imagine what you'd do to him if you were here in person and he got to touch you...

✧ Neige who gets off to indirect kisses. When you share a spoon or bite from the same snack, his pulse is racing at the prospect of having indirectly kissed you. He's so eager and excited that he has to try so hard not to let his face get so flushed with arousal. And you're so relaxed about it! You're so cool... He could admire you forever. <3

✧ Che'nya who gets off on watching you when he's invisible. It gets him hard every time he catches you in an intimate or compromising situation. Whether you're bathing or changing or masturbating, it makes it all the more tempting when he's completely invisible and you have no idea someone else is in the room with you. He's thought about pressing himself against you when you least expect it just to feel you flinch or to hear your breath hitch. And then there's the thought of fucking you when he's invisible, where you'll only see yourself stretching around a cock that isn't visible to your eye. >:)

[robin-evry]

Hello! Just want to say thank you for doing the things you do, and I would like to request something, if that is alright.

I got done watching Venom, The Last Dance, last night, and I would love to ask if we could get an Eddie Brock/Venom or a Yuu that has Venom as their Symbiote in Twisted Wonderland.

Work at your own pace, drink some water, and eat as healthy as you want to, and thank you if you take this request!

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐓�� 🍫◼️

The Symbiotes are a species of inorganic, amorphous, symbiotic extraterrestrials created from the "living abyss" at the beginning of the universe by the primordial deity Knull, who manifested a sword of living darkness called All-Black from his shadow to slaughter the Celestials and other deities.

Art credit : TheDanielHD

Originally their symbiote was planning on eating grim on their first encounter. And when the coffin opens yuu thought they were under attack so immediately suit up and they started to attack believing they were kidnapped by an occult.

They were forbidden by Crowley to use venom or their symbiote in school but they don't listen to him because they still use venom in school areas.

The first year was afraid of them at first but after a few hang outs they started to enjoy each other present as well getting along with their symbiote bonding a Friendship with both of them.

Originally NRC thought that venom was an overblot ink a unique type of overblot but it's not the case, idia sent multiple cameras to monitor them to send towards S.T.Y.X and wanted to kidnap them to study their symbiote.

Their symbiote grants yuu enhance physical strength, agility, speed and others it considers to turn them on a superhuman level. They can also use these tentacles like things to move as their extra arms to grab things or just use it for combat like a whip

Their symbiote, is deeply connected to Yuu, recognizing them as its "host" and calling them by an affectionate yet possessive nickname, like Light or Heart. They are curious about the world and communicates with Yuu in a whispering voice only they can hear, adding an element of mystery as it constantly influences Yuu’s thoughts and actions.

They also enjoy food like sweets especially Chocolate, so imagine every time at lunch their symbiote will pop out it's head out of their shoulder and ask to be feed a spoonful of food and this is why yuu is always seen eating nothing but sweets because it's replenish their symbiote to grow stronger.

Sometimes their symbiote might leave some of their fragments and accidentally create a new symbiote. But that's never happened... Yet

If some miraculous happening, their symbiote will use other first years as their host to get back with yuu if there's a way, by using the first years as their contemporary host while their original host is out somewhere.

Having a symbiote, Yuu can be pulverized, jump and hang up side down similar to the movie and other things thanks to their symbiote, they are very flexible as well having some combat knowledge.

Their symbiote is possessive over yuu, they care deeply for them protecting from any danger creating shield for them as well protecting those who yuu care knowing if the first years got hurt, yuu will be sad or devastated

Their symbiote can extend from Yuu’s body in the form of dark tendrils that act like extra limbs. These tendrils can morph into blades, claws, or even spiked whips for combat, allowing Yuu to perform both offensive and defensive maneuvers. The tendrils can retract quickly, making their symbiote ideal for sudden strikes and agile movements.

Their symbiote can temporarily “consume” or nullify magical attacks by absorbing energy directly into its dark mass. This ability only works with energy-based magic, and it isn’t foolproof—powerful attacks or those from certain elements may still break through. Yuu must be cautious, as this ability drains them significantly, and overuse can render it temporarily dormant.

Their symbiote has the ability to form special tendrils called soul tendrils, which extend from Yuu’s body and can anchor onto people’s spiritual energy. These tendrils can be used to sap strength or read surface thoughts, though their symbiote respects Yuu’s boundaries and rarely uses this ability without consent. However, in desperate situations, it allows Yuu to draw power from others to heal or empower themselves briefly. If this ability is used during their full potential it has the ability to consume people's spiritual energy and receive their abilities

Their symbiote also has the capabilities of wielding magic similar to the other students causing yuu to have this ability as well,their symbiote amplify Yuu’s magic-based abilities, acting almost as a magical booster. This ability makes Yuu’s spells more powerful and longer-lasting. However, Nyx’s energy amplifies only certain types of spells, usually darker or shadow-based magic, making other spells unpredictable in strength.

Their magic works better at night or in an area with limited light due to them being excellent in shadow magic, creating figures, spying on people, teleportation and other things ( lead up to your imagination what they are capable of )

[milaisreading]

Maybe Ness rambling about his interests, but gets quite thing y/n would think he's weird or annoying.

Y/n notices it and tell him that she loves seeing this side of him. Just overall someone loving ness as ness. My baby needs it 🤧🤧

🌱🩷: Hope u are fine with this!! Thanks for the request 🩷

Warning: Reader is crossdressing so I am using a mix of she/her and he/him. Requests are open

⚽️Blue lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura⚽️

'Kaiser... He isn't paying any attention to me... Ever since Isagi spoke back to him he has been more distant with me. He just tells me what to do. But, it's not like I can say anything back. I have nobody but him. He is my only friend-'

"Ness. Ness. Ness!"

The magenta-eyed boy shook himself out of his thoughts as he heard (Y/n)'s voice and felt her shake his shoulders.

"What?" Ness looked back at her, blinking in confusion as the girl raised an eyebrow.

"Are you ok? You look lost." He flinched at her words and glanced at Kaiser, who was annoying Isagi and Kurona.

"I am fine. Did you need anything?" Ness asked while looking back at her.

"Can I sit here and eat? Gesner and Grim want to sit here as well."

(Y/n) said as she pointed at the two boys behind her.

"Uhm... Sure." The boy nodded his head slowly as the three sat down and started eating.

"Are we practicing today?" Gesner wondered as he looked at (Y/n), who slowly nodded her head.

"Sure. You guys wanted to practice passes, anyway."

"Wait... You two are working with him? Are you betraying Kaiser?" Ness asked the two Germans with an irritated tone, earning a sigh from Grim.

"No, we are not. On the field we are on Kaiser's side, but off the field we hang out."

"Calm down, Ness. Nobody is going against the king, or whatever." Gesner laughed and continued eating. Ness growled a little in irritation, but stopped as (Y/n) put a plate on his tray.

"What is that?" Ness raised an eyebrow, recognizing that it was one of the chocolate puddings he liked at the facility.

"You told me you liked that pudding, you can have it. I am not much of a fan of it." (Y/n) shrugged, taking a bite from her rice and chicken. Ness' eyes widened for a moment and gulped as he looked down at the food.

"You... How did you know?"

"What do you mean how do I know?" (Y/n) raised an eyebrow and gulped down her food.

"You told me that. You said you liked it so much since that was what you mom made you when you were sick."

"You... You listened?" Ness asked in shock as (Y/n) slowly nodded her head.

"I might not look like it, but I do pay attention." She said, a little offended and started eating again.

The magenta-eyed boy could feel his heartbeat pick up for a moment as he stared at (Y/n), who was busy talking with Grim about something he couldn't catch.

'He cared enough to remember this... He cared enough to give me his dessert... Something Kaiser never did.' Ness glanced at the blonde and shook his head. No! He can't betray Kaiser like that! He shouldn't have someone else in mind! He slowly ate a spoon full of the pudding as a blush appeared on his face. For some reason, today's pudding tasted a lot sweeter.

'They probably changed the ingredients.'

Later...

"Haaa... Hair washing is so nice~" (Y/n) hummed to herself as she walked to her bed while drying he rhair with a towel. Ness looked away from one of his books he was reading and glanced at her instead.

"Why do you wash your hair always first and then shower?"

"Hm? I don't know. I always washed my hair first and then showered." She shrugged he shoulders and glanced at the book Ness was reading before she walked inside.

"What's that?" The girl stopped with the hair drying and looked in curiosity at the book. It was dark purple with a few golden stars on it. Ness at first thought she was joking, but the genuineness in her voice and eyes quickly told him something else. Taking in a deep breath, the boy contemplated for a moment.

'Should I tell him? Whatever, he will laugh at me either way...'

"It's a book I had ever since I was little. It's a story about witches and wizards."

(Y/n)'s eyes widened a little, surprised he was into those things.

"You like magic?"

Unconsciously, Ness smiled and nodded his head as he started going off on his explanation.

"Yeah! Ever since I was little I liked magic, magical creatures! The fantasy world is so interesting and the best way to escape everything! I have had this book since I was 7, actually! It talks about a boy who embarks on a journey to find- Oh..."

(Y/n) blinked as she saw Ness quickly shut up and look back at his book, face red in embarrassment.

"Embarks on a journey to find what exactly?"

"You were listening? Do you really want to know?"

Ness' head shot up to look at (Y/n) in surprise. This... this was the first time someone cared?

"Yeah? What is it about?"

'Weird. He has been acting off ever since this morning.' (Y/n) thought as Ness gave her a huge smile and started rambling about the story. The girl tried to keep up with what he was saying, nodding every once in a while and asking questions as signs that she was listening.

'Well, if it makes him happy.' She smiled a little, enjoying the rare moments of peace she had with the German.

This continued on for the next few days, Ness would talk about random interests he had with (Y/n) sharing some of her own. The boy would try to keep up with what she was telling him as he didn't want to come off as rude for not remembering anything. Noa, just like the rest of the team were surprised how much the usually bickering duo talked. It looked more like two friends talking than two guys who didn't like each other. And, while (Y/n) for the most part stayed oblivious, or enjoyed the peace, Ness did notice the shift. He noticed it when he would miss her presence during his practices with Kaiser, when she would leave him to eat with one of her Blue lock friends. He just felt alone. He didn't like it. But, Ness knew that things were meant to be like this. She served Isagi as his midfielder, and Ness was Kaiser's. There was nothing the German could do. Or, was there?

Ness felt weird ever since the match against PXG started. He didn't like the feeling of being stuck at Kaiser's side. He didn't like the closeness Charles and Shidou showed towards (Y/n). And most importantly, he didn't like her loyalty towards Isagi!

'I hate this! Why can't he score for himself?!' Ness gritted his teeth as he stole the ball from Shidou and looked ahead to where Kaiser was. This was the blonde's chance to make up for the failed goal from earlier!

'But...' Ness stopped and so did (Y/n) who as she looked at Ness in confusion.

'Why did he stop? Kaiser is right there.' She looked at the confused blonde, then back at Ness.

"Here! Do with it what you want! I don't care!'

The girl's eyes widened as Ness kicked the ball towards her. Hiori and Isagi were stunned as well as they looked at Ness, the boy hiding a blush and ignoring Kaiser's yells as (Y/n) kicked the ball towards Hiori who would assist this time.

"Ness?" The girl questioned as the boy ignored her as well.

'This isn't good for my heart at all!!' Ness yelled on the inside as he put his hand over his racing heart.

'I hate it so much that I love you!'

[twst-drabbles]

Jamil 16

Summary: You eating the food he makes is one step among many. Jamil will admit, it’s nice, very nice, to see you eating his food, with his spoon, in your mouth.

(Here’s creepy yandere Jamil! One of those seemingly sweet things that gets real weird real quick.)

Jamil had a dream last night. A nice and, quiet frankly, fluffy dream. He was in a house on a beautiful oasis, where the scents of sand and fresh water flow through on the crisp morning breeze. The plants were watered and all sorts of fresh fruits, vegetables, herbs and spices were delivered right on his doorstep by a humble servant.

The only tasks he had that day were to make the morning meal. A meal for himself and a meal for you to enjoy.

You were there, living with him, sitting up on a chair even though he’s already told you to put your feet down. You were reading a book, but it was too blurry to tell what the title was. Not that it was of any importance, you can do whatever you want here. It’s your house as well as his.

Your little slice of paradise, away from the troubles of being a student, and away from being a servant. You have abandoned your love for you home and have chosen him. There is no one to visit you, and no one to look for him. You two are well and truly alone, allowed to be only yourselves.

And so Jamil made a meal, curry made to your exact taste. The plate was hot, steaming actually, but his pride in his cooking was overtaken by that beautiful smile you gave and a ‘thank you’ that was too muted to hear.

It was frustrating when Jamil woke up from that dream that morning. You had that spoon in your hand and the food was almost in your mouth. Jamil wasn’t asleep long enough to see it.

So, of course he had to make that food. Had to make an extra meal because if he doesn’t, Jamil knows he’ll be awake for way too long, shifting around in him bed in frustration.

He even chose his favorite spoon to go with it, as meticulous as that is. He couldn’t help it, too big a spoon and it would warp the shape of your mouth oddly, and would make eating uncomfortable.

And finally, lunch time rolled around. Jamil couldn’t very well excuse himself from Kalim’s side, so he had to grit his teeth and let him follow as he made his way to you on the lunch table.

“Hey–” Kalim’s eyes caught yours first, and Jamil had to redirect that attention lest he drag it out and leave Jamil with a cold meal in his hands.

“Kalim, I think that cat over there needs help eating,” and that wasn’t a lie, Grim was trying to use a knife and fork but can’t on the account of having paws.

“Huh? Oh! Grim! Here, let me help you with that!” Kalim took the bait, because of course he would.

“What? No! I can do it myself!” But Grim had no choice, not when Kalim was focused on his goal.

Jamil approached you, finally with no obstacles in the way. Except…

“…you’re already eating.” Honestly, he should’ve expected it, but in that fantasy high he was caught up in, that basic outcome didn’t have room to enter his mind.

“Hmm? Oh yeah, why?” You blinked and took another bite.

“Well, I made too much food, so I was coming over here to give you the left overs,” He has to play it cool, calm himself down, and not let himself get angry at the fact you’re already eating something. It’s just food and you like what you like. Besides, you could always eat it later, right? “Though, I suppose I should just give it you later?”

“Oh that’s fine, give it here.”

Jamil almost felt himself break into a stupid little smile when you put everything down and reached out to him. That’s nice to know, that he’s more worthy of attention then the plate in front of you, that his food was worth it.

“Well, here you go then, it’s just curry, nothing too complicated.”

“Wow, it’s still hot,” you put the container down next to your plate. You opened it and whistled at the steam that escaped, “that’s a strong smell there.”

You picked at your spoon and a… petty part of Jamil had to point out, “There’s already a spoon in there, in that little space, wrapped in cloth. I don’t like the thought of cross-contamination.”

Ah, that was too strong a word wasn’t it? Did he mess up already, implying that the food of others was… tainted in some way?

You raised at eyebrow at him and Jamil gritted his molars.

“It’s just food, man,” you frowned–Jamil sucked in air–and you picked up his spoon anyway, “But alrighty, you picky fuck.”

The spoon wasn’t even anything that special, it was just one that Jamil uses often. The handle had curling grooves in it, fancier than the average spoon because anything that’s going to potentially touch Kalim must be anything but normal. But, what Jamil liked the most was the gentle head, not quiet oval, more round in shape. A simple silver spoon, subtly fancy, and has lasted Jamil longer then he would imagine it would.

It was a spoon he sneaked into the general silverware from his home, just a little thing that he did in a fit of rebellion that he couldn’t outright express to any listening ears and watching eyes.

He stood there, watching, and Jamil nearly bit through his lips when you finally scooped his curry in your mouth.

“Mm!” A pleasant hum of a delicious dish landing on your tongue. “Hey, thanks Jamil! Tastes great.”

Alright, alright, maybe he can push this. Maybe he can… suggest something.

“Then, would you like some for tomorrow as well?” Okay, his voice almost stuttered from the pure euphoria flooding through his body, but he can handle this. He can make himself not look like a happy fool.

“Tomorrow? Well I do like free food, so yeah.” Jamil has never been so glad for that light selfish nature of yours.

Jamil can’t believe how happy just this one step makes him. You’ve tried his food and loved it! And, if things go right, perhaps you’ll end up missing his food, and, one day, maybe you’ll be unable to eat any other dish besides his own.

But Jamil’s getting ahead of himself. He needs to be patient. This is just one step and he has many others to go.

“Then, I’ll be sure to surprise you. I look forward to it.”

[seungisms]

🖇️📁 𝐒𝐊𝐙 … 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut, do not interact if you’re under 18

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex, oral (both male and female receiving), rare sighting of dom!jisung - i don’t personally believe but i’m doing it for the girls

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: every time i try to force my brain to write smth i literally just go into windows.exe shutdown mode so here’s smth short and smutty, hope you guys enjoy!! went a little feral for seungmin + chan and felix are unnecessarily soft in this, i’m sorry they’re my baby girls <3 reblog for a kiss, feedback much appreciated!

𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍

he’s such a hardworking boy so he can get a little lazy during sex :( but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t give you the best dicking down of your life each and every time he finds the time to play with your pretty pussy! because of this he’s a really big fan of spooning. starts out real soft and innocent, strong arms holding you flush against his chest - the even breaths hitting the back of your neck almost tricking you into thinking he’s already deep asleep before you feel his fingers inch down your tummy, softy nudging past your underwear and dipping into your soaked cunt. makes some type of hushed comment about how wet you already are for him and he’s hardly even touched you. before you know it he’s filling you up with his thick cock, hips jerking against your ass in the most laziest, sloppiest way and grinding real slow in order to drag his dick against the plush walls of your pussy, making sure you feel every curve and vein as he fucks you. gets you off sososo well no matter how tired he is, fingers working at your clit as he brings you further towards orgasm, loving the soft whimpers you let out while letting him use you. will paint your cunt in his warm cum before kissing your neck all lovingly, telling you how good you were for him omg. 

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐇𝐎

so mean with you >:( loves taking you from behind cause its just so easy for him to turn you into the neediest, sluttiest mess beneath him. will keep a strong hand tangled in your hair, forcing you to bury your face into the sheets and absolutely gets off on the sight of your cheeks pressed against the soft pillows - mascara and drool staining them as your hands clawed for some type of, literally any, support while he fucked into your leaking cunt. literally eats up the sight of your back arched so prettily, crying out that you couldn’t take it anymore but he swears the way your hips rutted back to meet the thrusts of his cock begged to differ. as soon as you show signs of of slumping beneath him - whimpering from the ache of his dick stretching out your tiny hole with every thrust of his hips - his hands are circling around your plush thighs, nails breaking the skin and dragging you back up so that your ass was pressed against him once again, making sure you feel just how deep he’s able to fuck into you. also gets a nice look at you spilling onto him at this angle, feeling your pussy close in around him before he’s pulling out and cumming onto your fluttering slit. definitely one of his favourite sights and also probably has a good few photos on his phone of you in this exact position, pussy quivering and brimming with cum 🤒

𝐒𝐄𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐁𝐈𝐍

big boy l o v e s when you’re on top!! is able to feel every single little squeeze and flutter of your cunt around him and loves how deep he’s able to fuck up into you from this angle. swears there’s no better sight than when you’re riding him like your own toy, back arched and head thrown back as your eyes roll into the back of your head - busy chasing your orgasm on his throbbing dick and sweat collecting between your perky tits just begging him to lap up your pretty body. also really likes this position cause he’s prone to being a lazy mf and likes to make you work for your orgasm, grinding your hips down desperately onto him as he just sits back and watches with the smuggest grim on his face. very prone to bringing you to the studio just to get caught up with some track he’s producing, intent into not giving into your teasing until he’s down with his work. but before he knows it he has your pretty little skirt bunched up around your waist, some song lying unfinished on his computer and his cock pounding into your tight cunt - the sound of your cries muffled against his flushed skin and silenced by the soundproof walls of his studio. also loves when you take back control every once in awhile and it’s so easy for you to do so when you’re already sitting on top of his cock <333

𝐇𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐍

spoiler alert: this guy loves to cum. really basic with sex positions, typically favours cowgirl and missionary but he’s the foreplay king so sixty nine is this mans shit!! having your pussy shoved into his face while getting his dick sucked is a dream to this man, sometimes he has to pull away from lapping up your dripping clit to ground himself and wonder if he died and went to *heaven*. soso needy and will fuck his hips up, forcing you to take his cock further down your throat and absolutely lives for the soft gags you make around him, literally has to stop himself from filling your cheeks with his cum right then and there. such a tease too, will make the most obscene noises while eating you out. groans, grunts and whines against your heat, your wetness and spit covering his chin as he continued to open mouth kiss your pussy, tongue flattening out against your slit and practically devouring you. loves the slight sting of your nails breaking into his thighs as you resisted the urge to rut down against his face, whimpering around him when he spreads you open even further to prod his tongue into you, humming as your taste hits him. will get you off so well before forcing you off his dick, neither of you able to last long after he finally sinks into your abused heat.

𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐉𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆

he just thinks you’re so pretty and you rile him up so much without even doing anything and he’s soso needy that he won’t even be able to make it your bedroom before he’s already inside you. loves all sorts of positions. will have no problem fucking you against the wall, on the kitchen counter or on the floor of the hallway where literally anyone can stumble upon you two - as long as your pussy is eating up his throbbing cock then he’s not picky. his personal favourite is bending you over the dining table, too eager to finally feel your heat wrapped snuggly around him to even think about stripping you - simply pushing your underwear to the side and fucking into your dripping cunt with so much force you could practically feel the wooden legs of the table creak beneath your weight. loves overstimulating you, filling you up to the point that you simply can’t take it anymore but that doesn’t stop his teasing fingers from finding their way to your slit - rubbing your sensitive nub while continuing to stretch you out around him. turns him on so much when he catches sight of the slight nail marks you drag down the table and will literally throw you the nastiest grin the next morning when you’re sitting down to breakfast with the rest of the boys, the faded cum stains marking the woods reminding you how well he’s able to get you off, leaving you satisfied and aching each and every time.

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗

such a soft boy :(( missionary holds a special place in his heart. just loves the intimacy of it all, getting to see your pretty face all up close and personal as he slowly sinks into your tight hole, the slight glassiness of your eyes and the cute flush that takes over your skin is his favourite look on you. his lips will never leave you istg, kisses you so breathlessly and practically dripping with love, making sure you feel every once of his love for you in that one kiss before making his way down your neck, soft lips trailing over your shoulders before burying his nose in your hair - fingers finding your own in an embrace as he rocks into you, slowly grinding his hips against your own to ensure you feel the curve of his cock against your spongey walls. keeps his chest pressed tightly against your own, groaning into your warm skin as you clench lazily around him, hushed praises falling from his plump lips as he edges you to orgasm. likes to cum on your thighs and will be so caring afterwards, making sure you’re comfortable and well looked after once he’s finished cleaning you up. lets you snuggle up against him for the rest of the night, aftercare king fr

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍

this man is obsessed with making a mess out of you, constantly tells you that you ‘look the prettiest’ when begging for his cock 🤒 any position that allows him to turn you into a cute little sobbing slut is an automatic fav. his personal favourite though is forcing you to keep your legs pressed up against your chest, making you hold onto your ankles so that your cunt was spread open on full display for him, warm and wet and practically begging for him to slip his cock inside. just loves how deep and easy he’s able to press into you - eating up the small twitches and stutters in your face as he slowly fucks into you. also will have you rest your legs on his shoulders, leaving small kisses against your ankles now and again while rutting his hips deeper into you, the contrast of the loving press of his lips to the hot curve of his dick almost kissing against your womb making you sob out against him, hands clawing at the sheets for some sense of support while your pussy ate him up - losing count of how many times that night you’ve already coated his cock in your wetness and he’s intent on you doing it once more. sometimes when he’s being especially mean with you he’ll drag you by the small of your waist towards him, stilling deep inside of you despite your desperate whines for some sort of friction. makes you get yourself off on his dick and absolutely lives for the sight of you fucking yourself on his cock. loves that he’s dick trained you so well that no many how many times he brings you to orgasm you’re always ready for another, hips chasing his own and pussy fluttering at the thought of being filled once more.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍

as long as he gets his dick wet he doesn’t care 😭 however he always tends to revert back to reverse cowgirl, the sight of your ass grinding down against his cock always almost causes him to paint it in his cum right then and there. will thread his fingers through your hair before yanking your head back and pressing hot kisses against the warm skin of your neck, dick rocking into your quivering cunt with a pace you could hardly keep up with - the sting of your small hole being stretched out around his thick cock making you cry out, hand reaching back to clutch the back of his head, keeping his face buried in your neck as you continued to bounce on top of him. knows he’s about to send you over the edge when you suddenly slump forward and grip his thighs with a bruising force, giving him a nice view of your ass rutting down. his touch will never leave your body, feeling up your tits, ass, waist, literally anything he can gets his hands on. mutters the most filthiest shit in your ear as you choke on your moans - causing him to hold your hips down and keep you seated on his length, cumming deep inside your cunt. so content after and always tells you how much of a good job you did for him 🥴👍

© 𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐬𝐦𝐬 — 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝.

[kalims]

Hellooo I really like your writing :) May I request taking Malleus/Leona's favorite food from the fridge and leaving $2.18 in place of it?? How would they react when they find out their fav is missing?? Thank you so much !

ㅤas a form of payment

note. ty 🥲 I really appreciate since I basically disappeared for months LOL

in your defense, there's barely anything to snack on inside your dorm—unless you somehow enjoyed the myriad of canned cat food for grim (which you've been spending a lot on compared to your actual food..) and if there were anything to eat at all, you'd reckon the feline would've already gotten his hands on it and kept it to himself.

when you're already on a strict budget plan with the madol crowley 'graciously' provides you, barely enough to scrape by. you'd argue; but with the squawks of the blabbering he has, it's like arguing a wall.

thankfully lilia doesn't even seem to mind when you raid their fridge everytime you sleep over.

the dorm was really nice. nicer than your own, besides the fact sebek practically guards the front door with his life and demanding a formal invite from you the moment your knuckles resound against the door. though ramshackle, and diasomnia held similar vibes. the former looked younger than the latter but definitely in less good shape.

it was too enticing.. you shouldn't overstep as a guest.

but... "it's mocking me," you say to no one but yourself in particular. seated on a stool you found on the kitchen, in front of a counter and in the sights of the fridge. the green eccentrics of material drives your eyes to narrow further, a long, wistful sigh emitted from your lips as your folded hands rest beneath your chin.

not only that but it served like a warning to you, the color reminded you of sebek and his yelling habits. it would be a shame if you were discovered shredding their fridge with your gaze with the screech you'd imagine he'd make.

then something along the lines of; 'what are you planning, human?!'

surprisingly the dorm was eerily quiet during the night. they follow a strict protocol which only serves as fuel for your fire. you grumble. "I'm just a guest," you remind yourself. maybe to steel your morals but your resolve proves to reign when you quietly slip off the stool and open the freezer, eyes skimming through the frozen goods—a bar of chocolate, a frozen... eye...? whatever demon hotdogs were and—finally something normal.

you groan to yourself, feeling around your back pocket before peeling out a couple of coins that would be the equivalent of a dollar or two in your world. (also the last of your riches but atleast you partially paid?)

you look back, nervously looking around like a criminal before hauling the tub of ice cream in your arms. the rumble of your abdomen reminds you of why exactly you're even here committing a crime (or atleast it feels like you are...) you quickly grab a spoon, and tail it to the.. random ominous door you've never been to in your life.

malleus has this strange feeling.

he sums it up to hunger so he ventures down the familiar stairs of his dorm, through the living room, and to the place that will supposedly solve all of his problems. the churn in his gut grows stronger when he steps foot in the kitchen, blinking slowly when he cranes his head and finds the light illuminating and bright. when it shouldn't be.

it must be a resident that forgot. he shrugs it off, trudging over. picking up the smell of something familiar that brings warmth to his chest so his lips twitch into a pleasant smile. he must be going crazy, even now you're on his mind? "hmm," he mumbles, having opened the freezer and not spotting the familiar tub he's put earlier this morning.

sebek did say what it looked like, but none of these are even the delicacy he desires. he thinks, placing down a small cup of yogurt that could only belong to his father. maybe he put it in the refrigerator?

he sighs sharply through his nose and grumbles (coincidentally the same time a lightning strikes.) shutting the door to the refrigerator after finding nothing but a few eggs, chips from random residents, and more random thing that hss no correlation to what he wants. even if sebek did put it down there then what's the point in eating if it's not frozen?

malleus turns, about to sulk back to his room when he catches sight of a sticky notes and.. some madol?

'hi, this is for whoever ice cream that was T-T'

he crumples the paper in his grasp, wanting to seem understanding but the flash of lightning once again serves as a remainder of his growing irritation. a brightening of his eyes comes as quick as the tracking spell he casts quickly. eyes following a trail to the.. inconspicuous closet.

"oh, hi." the sudden light flooding in as you crouch on the floor, tub of desert between your crossed legs brings a hand over your eyes. unknown legs stand in front of the.. whatever room this is, but a closet seems more fitting so you'd call it that.

"child of man?" an incredulous voice echoes above you. the familiar sound illicits you to remove the hand blocking your sight, you wouldn't want to not look at malleus. you blink, fingers grasping the spoon laid forgotten inside the tub as you stare up at him and offer a nervous smile.

you wave with your free hand. "I got hungry?" you justify but that's only when he looks down at what you're glomping on and blinks, the random thunderstorm that started out of nowhere seems to pause for a few seconds before he breaks into a light chuckle and shakes his head. crouching down in front of you.

he presents you a small smirk. "I believe what you're eating is mine," he chides gently, devoid of any ill intent and previous irritation evaporating into nothingness when he finds you as the source of his troubles just a second ago. you open your mouth to reply, probably looking like an idiot with your mouth hung open, frozen when he just casually swipes a thumb on the corner of your mouth. wiping off an excess of ice cream that you didn't notice.

the notion might as well just given you a heart attack with the skip of a beat it did. it's almost as if malleus knows what's he's doing with the awfully appealing smirk on his face, still so gentle but you'd know better that he's doing it out of goodwill and natural caring nature for you. just the thought that he actually is so perfect warms your face.

you open your mouth—furrow your brows, close, and open. "I.. um... I'm sorry I know the money wasn't enough but I was really hungry, I'll get you a new one," a sincere apology, if you'd known it was his you would've never taken it in the first place. with the kindness he's extended you for so many times, you'd hate to see a frown on his face.

he huffs through his nose, a patient look of understanding on his face. "what's mine is all yours," he gestures to the tub between your legs, a reassuring hand on shoulder as he rubs his thumb around. he's close enough for you to see the light in his eyes, the green, and your reflection in the iris. you stare, a little dazed and mesmerized and he stares back.

"something as material as that doesn't matter compared to you," he adds.

oh my god. you gape. suddenly you're not so regretful of committing this crime.

his eyes drift up for a moment, pondering. standing back up to his full height and offering you a hand. "if you really want to make it up to me then why don't we eat it together?"

when you grasp his hand, his fingers enclose around yours. pulling you up with utmost caution. treating you as if you're the most fragile jewel he's ever held but holding you with a grip so firm you're almost afraid he's just never gonna never let go of you. you eye him as he leads you to the living room, having taken the stance as a gentleman and taking out the tub out of your hands.

even with the lasting cold from the tub transferring to your skin you still feel warm, something of a tranquil and quiet silence comfortable falling over as you both settle on the couch. you're surprised he doesn't take the seat on the opposite of you as he's always has, this time next to you. not minding your knees bumping against each other as he scoops a spoonful and offers it to you.

... how did you get in this predicament? you wonder, but open your mouth and allow yourself to shift a little closer.

not pr

[slowd1ving]

ACT IV: DECAY ✦ . 　⁺ VIL SCHOENHEIT NSFW

Vil Schoenheit and second place aren't supposed to be a thing. He's supposed to be the very embodiment of perfection, so why the hell is someone else's name usurping his crown on the Potions leader board? In which our starring actor cannot quench the flames of academic rivalry and resentment that consume him, nor can he fathom the enigma that you are. gn! scientist! reader warnings: contains nsfw but only later, angst with a happy ending, spoilers for book five, canon-compliant violence

TWISTED WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

BREACH THE IMMEASURABLE CHASM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

PREVIOUS PART ✧ ･

Scene I: Ink . 　⁺

It all starts again on a very dull morning. Staccato beats of the rain on the rickety windows of Ramshackle provide background music for Vil to drink his smoothie to. Except that’s not the only miserable music. His ears are assaulted by the conversation you’re currently having with Jamil, Rook and Ace. Does Grim count when he’s technically the other pea in your miserable pod?

“All I’m saying is that there’s no reason to make a movie series that long,” you argue. Whose movies are you referring to? Vil wishes he was paying attention earlier. “Like what have you got to say for that many movies?”

“Trickster, some people are just dedicated to the pursuit of their passion,” Rook intercedes, leaning his head on his hands to gaze at you more efficiently.

“The Fast and Furious franchise has no reason to be that long,” you lament, frustration creeping into your tone. Vil’s never heard of that movie series. He doesn’t think he wants to know what it is.

“Rook, there’s like nine sequels, and the last one especially does not make any sense,” Vil takes back his earlier thoughts. This seems to be a conversation between you and Rook, in which Ace and Jamil are unenthusiastic spectators. “There’s nothing less beautiful than plot holes.”

“Anyways,” you continue in the same breath, all hints of sadness gone. Vil’s not sure whether to be annoyed or impressed. “Do you guys feel ready for the SDC tomorrow? Your routine is really impressive.”

“My bones hurt so much,” Ace groans from behind his food. “I’ve never felt so pulverised.”

“We will win,” Jamil promises you, fiddling with his spoon on the table. You give them both a cheerful thumbs up while eating - for once, you’ve got scraps of decorum.

“I will put on my most beautiful performance knowing you’re watching, mon cher,” Rook clasps your hand between his gloved ones. Sure, Rook’s probably just being himself, but Vil can’t help the trickle of unease that he feels.

“I don’t doubt it,” you respond with a grin. “Those RSA twerps won’t know what hit them. Although, I’ve had a really weird set of dream-”

“Spudling,” Vil clears his throat to get your attention. You turn to face him, still wearing your jubilant grin. His heart almost stops. It takes all he can to not fumble while taking the lanyard out of his blazer pocket. “Keep this lanyard safe so you can come backstage as the NRC Tribe Manager.”

“Cool,” you take it one handed, still allowing Rook to clasp your other hand. Why does Vil care so much? He tries desperately to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. “Thanks!”

“We’ll go over the routine and iron out any wrinkles in around twenty minutes,” Vil continues, meeting the eyes of each cast member. He’ll just have to ignore whatever he’s feeling until after the SDC. “Make sure the rest of the potatoes are up and ready to go.”

The tell-tale signs of nervousness creep into Vil’s being after he exits the room. He has to beat Neige. No longer will he be cast aside to play the villain. The world will see what he’s got to offer.

“Mira mira, tell me who, at this moment, is the fairest of them all?” Vil speaks slowly and quietly to his phone as he makes his way to his room to get some items for practice.

“Neige LeBlanche.”

He should’ve expected it, really, but he cannot help but let his teeth grind slightly in anger. Just you wait, Neige. He’ll beat Neige fair and square. Finally, he’ll be able to step out of the villain’s shoes.

His muscles ache after his gruelling training. Nothing he won’t be able to recover from; he can’t help but push himself to his limits at the prospect of beating Neige. The rest of the crew somehow manages to execute a near-flawless performance, with only a few minor hand-placement errors.

“Wow,” you cheer them on by your designated spot next to the speakers, cradling Grim in your lap. “You guys are absolutely gonna shred the competition.”

“That’s right!” Ace grins at you, catching the water bottle you toss at him and taking a few enthusiastic swigs.

“Pass me one too,” Deuce reaches out as you toss another water bottle. It’s a natural cue for a break, and the crew decides to take a breather. Vil feels an absurd surge of pride at the sight; somehow, these ungainly tubers have managed to grow into shapely potatoes who can no doubt beat Neige.

“We’ll regroup in ten,” Vil instructs. He’s not satisfied completely, but the passion that’s been poured into this routine is undeniable. Before he can question his body, his legs are already taking him to you. You’re scratching behind Grim’s ears and look up in abject surprise at his approach.

“I need your opinion,” Vil murmurs, leaning down to you so your faces are in close proximity. You furrow your brows; he knows how unlikely it is that he’s approached you. Still, your analysis skills are seriously impressive. “Can you give me a detailed observation of our performance? Spare no detail.”

“Right,” you pull out your phone nonchalantly, scrolling through your gallery until you find the recording of the practice. Of course you’ve come prepared.

“Right at the beginning it’s a really strong start, but as soon as those first few seconds are up, Deuce always misplaces his hand-” Vil’s not sure when he joins you on the floor, leaning ever so slightly into you as you zoom into the areas of imperfection.

“You’ve noticed that too?” Vil comments. You murmur your assent, pressing play again.

“It’s only a slight error, but yeah,” you continue, pausing the video again where it’s Kalim’s misstep. “I think it’s just overeagerness and the adrenaline of performing. The rest of the errors are really just minor hiccups with the singing - but I won’t be able to point them out as well.”

“I’ll give them some extra individual instruction,” Vil promises, more to remind himself than reassure you. You turn to scrutinise him; it’s not like he’s unfamiliar with the weight of people’s gazes, but it’s just you.

“I’ve made notes on the small, consistent screw-ups that’ve surfaced recently when it comes to dance steps. Rook and Jamil are both fine, and Epel only has one,” your shoulder brushes against him as you turn extra carefully to not disturb the snoozing Grim on your lap. You hand him your class notebook, which has been filled with quick sketches of the mistakes. Vil’s eyes widen considerably at the level of diligence you’ve afforded your role. Sure, he knows your eye for detail in science, but he never thought-

“You can borrow it for a bit,” you turn the page to show him the notes you’ve made. Then suddenly you flip back to the previous page.

“I forgot you won’t be able to read them,” you sigh in exasperation. “All that work for nothing.”

Vil is oddly touched. You’ve made extensive notes just for him? He can feel the gesture warm his cheeks as he stares down at the outreached notebook, waiting for him to take it.

“The thought is appreciated,” he thanks you, carefully placing your notebook within his lap. He’s lucky the diagrams are circled with different colours marking out areas of weakness, or he’s sure he’d get lost trying to read through the scribbled notes right next to them.

“I can always just read them out if you need me too,” you lean back on one palm, balancing your body weight as you scritch under Grim’s chin. As much as the little furball wants to deny it, he’s very clearly got the mannerisms of a cat as a large purr rumbles from him. You stifle a little giggle into your shoulder.

“That- that would be great,” it’s so unlike Vil to get flustered, but he can’t help the smile that stays on his face well into the remainder of the practice.

He can’t seem to hold onto whatever hatred he had for you.

Scene II: Rot . 　⁺

The next time he sees your face is around ten minutes before the dress rehearsal on the SDC stage. Vil can feel his already straight posture adjust itself so it’s completely perfect, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Rook, given the look the hunter shoots him. He’s ignoring that.

“They almost didn’t let me in,” you complain, striding over to Rook and waving the lanyard that’s around your neck. Vil’s not sure how they could’ve missed it, with it being what can only be described as a neon red.

“It’s good to see you regardless, mon chou,” Rook is once again clasping your hands, and once again you’re not pulling away.

“I’m going to ignore that you’ve just called me a cabbage,” you comment, looking around at the stage. The little furball that’s normally with you is nowhere to be found; Vil isn’t sure whether to be relieved that he isn’t wreaking havoc here, or whether to be worried that he’s wreaking havoc elsewhere. “Where do I sit while watching?”

“There’s actually the front seats directly next to the stage,” Vil points to the special row reserved for managers and important personnel. You unhook your hands from Rook’s to turn to where Vil’s pointing, your eyes lighting up as you see the comfortable looking chairs set up.

“Right, thanks,” you flash an extremely brief smile at both of them. It seems that whatever rivalry you had with him has been dissolved on your end. He doesn’t know if he should be insulted or happy about it. “Break both legs for both performances.”

“What?” Vil mutters to himself as you stride away enthusiastically. Maybe it’s just a saying from wherever you’re from. It’s ‘break an arm’ for performances, what are you on about? “What could that possibly mean?”

“Mr. Shoenheit, we’re about to go on air to tape your practice performance,” a cameraman apologetically interrupts Vil’s musings. He snaps to attention, letting his face fall back into the most professional poker face he can manage.

“Of course, I’ll get the NRC Tribe into formation,” Vil responds smoothly, waving the rest of the crew to the front of the stage. It only takes a minute; they’re clearly enthusiastic (if not a bit nervous) to perform in front of people who aren’t you and Grim. Deep breaths. A wave of resounding calm flows through him; it’s a lucid state he’s perfected before each and every performance.

The first notes of the rhythmic song start. His eyes unfocus slightly, allowing his muscle memory to take control for the most part. It’s now just a matter of pouring his emotions into the song and dance to truly capture the hearts of those watching. The flow. The haze. It all becomes a part of him, and he knows the rest of those dancing up on stage with him can feel it. Surely they feel the connection of their passion?

He meets your eyes, your wide, enraptured eyes as you gaze at him. He doesn’t fully realise, but the words he sings are for your ears for now. Let this be dedicated to you, and he can worry later about sharing the passion he feels with the rest of the spectators. Vil’s not emotionally stupid; he can tell his feelings have veered into territory that he simply doesn’t want to acknowledge yet. He just has to let them flow into his performance and worry about the rest later.

His mind is deliciously clear, enjoying the endorphins pumping through his blood at the pleasant stretch of movement. It’s already halfway done? The altered passage of time when he’s in the zone is always a surprise. From your excited grin, he can safely assume this performance is one, if not the, best they’ve given. And it’s all for you to watch, before it’s posted for the world to see.

Raucous applause disrupts his flow as the cameras are cut with a signal from the camera crew. You’re standing and clapping your hands with some serious force as you join them up on stage.

“Almost moved me to tears,” you joke, congratulating them on a flawless performance. “Seriously though, you guys are ready.”

You don’t need to say anymore. You stand back to give them space, but Vil watches in dawning horror as you bump into the one and only Neige LeBlanche. It’s only a mild shoulder bump, but it’s happened. The two of you have made contact.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologise profusely, taking a big step back. “I should’ve been looking where I was going.”

“It’s fine, really,” Neige smiles at you, sickeningly sweet. Beside Vil, the NRC dance crew members look at you with incredulity. Why are you so goddamn oblivious? “I shouldn’t have approached this way.”

“If you’re sure,” you trail off, noting the weird looks directed your way by Ace and Deuce. “What the hell are you guys gawking at?

Before Vil can say anything, you’re already being yanked away by Ace’s insistent tugging. Your brows are still furrowed. Goddamn. Have you really never heard of Neige LeBlanche?

It seems Ace is interrogating you with that very question, judging by the furrowed glances he sends both your way and Neige’s. It seems Neige is quick to mask his surprise, walking towards Vil (which was probably the whole reason he approached the group in the first place).

“Your group was amazing,” Neige gushes - his eyes are lit up with awe. Vil feels… nothing, eerily enough. All that’s coursing through him is malicious calm.

“Thank you,” he maintains the professional image easily and smoothly, not missing the way Kalim and Deuce’s eyes swivel between him and Neige.

“It was truly a sight to behold; I had chills just watching,” Neige continues with starry eyes. “I can’t wait to work with you again!”

“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” Vil muses calmly, letting the air of conversation fizzle out. Out of his peripherals, he spots you and Ace rejoin the group. Unfortunately, it seems Neige has also spotted you again; he shoots you a smile and turns to you.

“Hi, I didn’t catch your name earlier,” Neige’s innocent question leads you to a quick pause before introducing yourself. You’re not overly friendly, more like care-free as usual.

“I didn’t catch your name either, sorry,” you continue politely. Did Trappola wander off-topic while lecturing you? It clearly seemed like it from your slightly bewildered expression.

“Neige LeBlanche, at your service,” Neige’s eyes carry that stupefied look for only a second before it’s swiftly replaced by a cheery smile. Nothing. Vil suppresses a snort of laughter at your politely unknowing expression. Of course you’d be like this, meeting the arguably most famous person in the land with no respect for their importance.

“Cool, I’ll leave you guys to it,” you respond amiably, sending a thumbs up his way. You’ve just upped and left? Vil turns to the side slightly to stifle his laughter as you wander back to the seats where you’ve left your notebook. Utterly lacking proper conversation etiquette as usual. He supposes it’s a positive seeing the Neige LeBlanche seemingly at a loss for words.

“Was that NRC’s manager?” Neige asks Vil. With dawning horror, Vil realises that most of his crew is also standing at the first row with you, due to their practice slot being finished.

“Yes,” Vil responds succinctly, watching Neige watch your movements as you talk with Rook. You’re currently being rattled like a rag-doll with the way he’s clasping your shoulders and shaking you slightly, no doubt grilling you over how you didn’t know who Neige was. He can hear your raucous laughter from all the way on stage.

“Your manager this year is awesome,” Neige compliments, leaning forward slightly to see the action further. Vil suppresses the shudder of disgust. No way this is happening right now.

“Ah, I’ve got to go round up my own crew,” Neige comments distractedly, looking around him. Vil gladly takes this opportunity to take his leave to join the rest of his group, leaving nothing behind but a goodbye.

That bastard. Vil watches the concluding moves of the RSA crew’s performance with barely concealed disgust from his seat in the stands.

“We’ve been had,” he utters in shock. No way. That bumbling performance they’ve put on-

“What do you mean?” Kalim asks in dismay at Vil’s change in attitude.

“He’s right,” Jamil agrees with a heavy sigh. “Look at how much they’re appealing to all demographics with their sugary sweet performance.”

Deep resentment begins to fester within Vil. A familiar ringing noise fills his ears as he tunes out the chatter of everyone surrounding him. He almost doesn’t feel the way he slips out of his seat and down the stairs leading to the rooms within the colossal arena. He feels the pressure of a heavy glass bottle within the palm of his hand, not even having to look at it to know it’s one of Epel’s apple juice bottles. He’s only dimly aware of subconsciously infusing the drink with the same curse he used during the poison assessment.

May those who drink this fall into an endless slumber, Fairest One.

The comforting bubbling slosh of the drink lets him know it’s been tampered with. A small, rational part of his brain urges him not to do this; the rest of his body is consumed by an abyss of disgust and hatred. Gunpowder and other acrid chemical smells appear in wisps, only registering faintly as familiar with his nose. He ignores it all.

“Hi, Neige,” Vil smiles brightly at the youth in front of one of the backstage doors. “I just wanted to congratulate you on your wonderful performance.”

One heartbeat.

Neige turns at the sound of Vil’s uncharacteristically cheerful voice. He doesn’t suspect anything amiss, but Vil supposes he’s always been that way.

“It makes me really happy hearing that from someone I admire a lot,” Neige beams back. Perfect.

Two heartbeats.

“How about a drink? I’ve become rather partial to this brand of apple juice,” Vil’s smile is rehearsed; it’s absolutely oozing with venom.

“Sure!” Neige agrees enthusiastically. “I saw the brand on your Magicam a few weeks back - I was even going to order before I realised it had all sold out.”

Three heartbeats is all it takes to deceive him.

It’s quite ironic, isn’t it? Vil’s downfall has been secured by Neige over the course of his life, whereas Neige’s downfall will be brought about in only a few seconds. The smooth glass of the apple juice bottle does not reveal the curse roiling within. It’s perfect - scentless, colourless and lethal. He wants to laugh when Neige accepts the cool glass bottle so easily. Has he no sense of danger?

“Roi des Neiges!” Who does that voice belong to? With a start, Vil turns to see Rook’s slightly dishevelled form as he runs up to Neige. “My apologies for interrupting the two of you, but the staff were looking for you, Neige.”

“Roi des Neiges..” Neige’s voice trails away as he stares contemplatively at Rook. “Wait-”

“My, I’m absolutely parched after running around looking for you,” Rook swiftly takes charge of the conversation. Why now? Vil can feel sharp cracking within his very soul. “Might I trouble you to let me have some of that refreshing juice you hold?”

No.

“Of course,” Neige agrees enthusiastically, if not a little perplexed.

“You should hurry back, Neige,” Rook continues, taking the bottle offered kindly. “And do not come back here.”

“Huh? What do you-”

“Go on, off with you! Away!” Neige’s question is sharply cut off by Rook’s insistence. Vil can hear him scurry off, like a little rodent.

“That sweet, tart aroma,” Rook breathes. With a start of horror, Vil notices that the cork of the flask has been removed. “Truly.. Epel’s hometown beverage is magnifique, to say the least.”

“I shall drink it to the very last drop, Roi des Poisons,” his knowing gaze meets Vil’s stricken one as he slowly raises the bottle to his lips.

No.

“Don’t do it, Rook!”

Glass shattering. It’s all Vil can do to keep track of what’s happening. His head feels like it’s underwater.

“He used his signature spell to curse the apple juice!” It’s the same speaker from earlier. Kalim?

“-look on his face was the same as Jamil’s-”

“-lost control-”

“Rook,” Vil’s voice rasps. He’s not sure he made the conscious decision to speak. The hunter turns to him with eyes not holding anger or disappointment, but concern. “Why did you..?”

“I wanted to believe in you,” Rook holds his gaze with no traces of accusation. “If it was cursed, I still wanted to taste it. I wanted to taste the fruit of a poison derived from an obsession with beauty bordering on madness.”

Madness?

Vil tunes them all out. He’s dimly aware of you speaking in concerned, hushed tones to the rest of them. Why are you here as well?

“Vil, do you have any idea how foolish that was?” Kalim’s voice is rimmed with desperate emotions. “After all that work, after saying the other teams would look like spuds compared to us, why stoop to this?”

Why stoop to this? Can’t he see that there is no other way? Rage pummels his veins, ripping through his body, his mind, his soul. Something gathers within him, dark and inky and fatal.

“That’s what I want to know,” Vil’s voice is laced with ice, and pure venom. “I’ve come to a realisation. That I… can never win! I’m going to handle Neige myself.”

“Trickster, Kalim! Do not inhale that mist rising from the floor! It’s the evaporated form of that cursed liquid!” Rook’s urging has hints of desperation within it. He turns to Vil. “I don’t see why one glass would have such a drastic… Oh, Vil, you didn’t-”

“Stop looking at me with those eyes,” Vil pleads. It’s not just Rook, he can see you as well, looking at him with that gaze that makes him want to bury himself away. “I just wanted to be the fairest, so why? Why? Why am I so ugly?”

“Roi des Poisons, you are far from ugly,” Rook calls out to him, reaching out a hand. Vil longs to take it, but he can’t. He’s too far gone.

“You haven’t actually hurt anyone!” Kalim’s pleas fall on uncaring ears.

“Silence!” Vil’s voice snaps. He can almost see himself from a separate plane, mist rising up around him in acrid, poisonous billows. He can see you, swaying on your feet slightly, looking more shaky than your companions. “What do any of you know? What does it matter if any of you forgive me? I can’t forgive myself!”

Let go.

Dark streaks overcome his vision, ebbing and flowing along the edges. It would be nice, to hand over the reins for a while, wouldn’t it? To let go of his fury, his resentment, his jealousy. What a dream.

“If I just melt everyone into hideous messes,” Vil’s barely aware of speaking. It’s a rather distorted voice, isn’t it? He can’t help but laugh. “Then I’ll be the fairest one of all, won’t I?”

The last thing he sees before it all overcomes him is your stricken face. He’s not sure you’ve ever worn such an expression before. He’s unlikely to forget those eyes, your facial muscles contorting into a painting of intermingling horror and worry. Why does he feel that shame rising again?

Didn’t he let go already?

Scene III: Wake . 　⁺

“I was the villain bullying the hero in the last play, too. Why do I keep getting picked to play the bad guy? Do I really look that mean?”

Villains never stay on stage for the whole play. Once their role is finished, all they can do is watch from the shadows as the happy ending plays out. What I want is to stay on stage longer than anyone else.

“Those kids were trying to hold me accountable for a work of fiction. Silly boys, the lot of them.”

I always aim for one role - the hero. But… all I ever get to be is the villain.

“Vil is too special to play the part of a regular teen that viewers can relate to. Without that reliability, I don’t think he’ll ever pull off playing a hero.”

I would do anything to be beautiful. The most rigorous training. The most tedious hair and skin care regimens. I would shy away from none of it. And yet.. Why? Why is it never me? All I want is to stay on stage until the end of a show.

In the end, it’s not the gentle splattering of rain on his face that wakes him up. It’s some foreign warmth on his face that causes his eyes to slowly open. Framed by his eyelashes and the haze of a deep slumber is your face. It’s as if you know, the way you look at him with such tenderness and concern. It’s as if you’ve pulled him from the deep recesses of his memories yourself, with the way your rough hands prop his head up so gently.

“How am I..” Vil rasps out, looking at you with nothing but queries in his eyes. His eyes search over your tired expression, the way the sclera of your eyes is still tinged a slight purple, and the various small cuts across your face. Did he do this? Waves of shame hit him and he can’t bear to meet your gaze.

“Thank goodness you’re awake, Vil,” you murmur down at him. Is this the first time you’ve said his name? It sounds foreign on your lips, and unbearably sweet. Why aren’t you mad at him? Why do you keep looking at him with those unaccusing eyes?

“Oh, Vil.. fair Vil,” Rook sighs in relief, crouching beside you on the rain soaked ruins. Ruins? Vil takes the opportunity to look round the battle site, the upheaved flagstones, the despoiled decorations. Another wave of shame meets him when he notices the haggard faces of his crew (is that Kalim bawling his eyes out? And is that Jamil scolding him?).

“I’m.. sorry you had to see that undignified display,” Vil apologises, making sure each and every one of his words is sincere. He cannot begin to comprehend how much shame he’s feeling at the moment. “Only third-rate people throw temper tantrums and take their problems out on others. My conduct was most unbecoming of all…”

“Y’right about that,” Epel grumbles, but without a trace of actual malicious intent. “Thought ya said people grow out of temper tantrums by the time they’re three?”

“Yes, you’re absolutely right, Epel,” Vil uses your shoulder to haul himself up so he can sit up. You don’t seem to mind, even grabbing on to his wrist to steady him. With another crash of guilt, he realises how your grasp is shaky, no doubt due to your exposure to the curse when you don’t have any sort of natural magic resistance. “I’m no longer fit to be your leader.”

“You haven’t actually hurt anyone, Vil,” Kalim argues. Vil can see him approaching and standing next to where Rook crouches. “You haven’t stepped over that brink.”

“He’s right,” Jamil says, jabbing his thumb in the general direction of outside the coliseum. “Neige is dancing out there happily with the seven dwarfs. It’s a stretch, but we can say we got worked up and had a team brawl in here.”

“Yeah,” Ace interjects. “No way we’re letting you pull out because of a few bruises, after the wringer we’ve been put through.”

“All of you,” Vil feels a horrendous mushy feeling swell up within him. You’re still supporting him with the way you’re steadying his wrist. “You just want to pretend nothing’s happened?”

“I never said that,” Jamil retorts, but his face blooms into his signature smile. “We can just hold off explanations until after the competition.”

“You truly are wicked, Jamil,” Vil replies with a small laugh. It hurts, and he feels his chest contort with pain. Your grip on his wrist tightens and you steady his shoulder with your other hand, clearly not missing the way his face twists into a grimace.

“Here, I’ll help you stand, alright?” you’re surprisingly strong, with the way you unceremoniously (but carefully) haul him up so he stands leaning into your firm touch. Even with your clearly weakened state, you still grip onto him as if he’s the fragile one that isn’t allowed to fall. Vil can’t even bring himself to protest.

“I wasn’t the one who made the shot so strong, Vil was,” Deuce seemingly replies to a conversation Vil’s unconsciously tuned out. “The spell stores all the damage I take, then hits it back all at once. So it was only potent because of Vil’s potent magic.”

Ah. Deuce seems to be describing the final hit Vil can barely remember taking, the one that likely brought him back to the brink of consciousness.

“Don’t make it sound so violent!” Deuce splutters in indignation, and Vil once again realises he’s tuned out. He doesn’t particularly mind, focusing instead on the way you unconsciously seem to tense your muscles against him when shifting, the way you still have that signature chemical smell to you, the way you’re looking directly at him with that expression-

“Signature… You mean that’s my signature spell?” Deuce seems to be coming to a realisation with sparkling eyes. Good on him. Beside him, Ace seems to be coming to an unpleasant realisation with the way he’s incredulously muttering to himself about how he can’t believe Deuce has mastered his signature spell before him.

“Behold, Vil is awestruck and weak-kneed from the splendour of your blow,” Rook proclaims, gesturing to the not-awestruck Vil.

“I’d wager he’s also weak-kneed from something else,” Jamil comments sardonically, looking pointedly at the way you’ve got him in your grasp. Vil only hopes you’ve become suddenly preoccupied with something else.

“No, I’m just beaten head-to-toe,” Vil swiftly retorts. “That last blow did strike soundly, though. Nicely done, Deuce.”

“Thank you, sir!” Deuce smiles at him eagerly. “Although, I don’t know what to do about the wrecked stage.”

“It’s not feasible to fix it all with magic,” Jamil replies pragmatically, looking around him with a calculating expression. “With what power we have left.. Every scenario running through my mind all ends with the same brick wall.”

“Does that mean.. SDC is…” Epel trails off, looking at Jamil with a dawning sense of horror.

“What do we have here?” The new, booming voice is accompanied by green fireflies that send a small shiver down Vil’s spine. What’s he doing here?

“I thought I’d arrive earlier,” Malleus hums with a touch of surprise, surveying the surroundings briefly. “What do I find but a stage laid to waste?”

“Hornton!” you exclaim, and Vil can feel your sternum vibrate through his shoulder. You’re.. acquainted with Malleus Draconia enough to call him nicknames? He can’t even be surprised anymore. “There’s still two hours until the SDC opens!”

“Hornton?” It’s a collective response from the rest of the crew, voicing Vil’s thoughts.

“Do you have a death wish, calling your upperclassman that?” Ace shudders at your audacity.

“Do you even know who that is?” Epel’s shocked voice causes you to blink in surprise at his tone.

“He told me to call him whatever, so I did,” Vil has to stifle a laugh as you shrug. Of course you did.

“However did you get into the coliseum, Roi des Dragons?” Rook sounds positively astonished.

“I was invited by the Child of Man from Ramshackle,” Malleus replies, gesturing to you.

“Yep,” you affirm. Vil feels as though you’re ignoring the other, more pressing question Rook’s asked.

“The entire venue is still enveloped by the poison mist generated by Vil,” Rook’s explanation trails off as Malleus holds up a clawed hand.

“I am impervious to any curse, no matter how powerful,” Malleus takes another look around the wrecked coliseum. “Whatever could’ve happened here?”

Vil watches as you briefly and efficiently describe the events, listening extra hard for the parts where he would’ve been unconscious. It’s curious, the way you don’t let any trace of exhaustion or pain enter your voice. It only takes around two minutes for you to give the gist of the situation to Malleus.

“Children of men, I shall bestow upon you a gift,” Malleus’ words come with an incredible magic pressure that leaves Vil’s eyes wide. He steals a glance at you, and watches your own expression become slack with awe and curiosity.

“That’s Malleus Draconia for you,” Vil murmurs to you. Your brow furrows as you look down at Vil.

“That’s Malleus? Hornton over there was the one everyone was so excited about at the Spelldrive tournament?” you ask incredulously. After all this, you’re still holding on to that nickname? Your eyes dart back to those green fireflies that are somehow lifting all the ruined flagstones and pillars, and rearranging them into pristine condition. Within the space of a few heartbeats, Malleus has managed to restore the conditions of the arena into an exact replica of how they were before.

“He’s ludicrously out of our league,” Ace mumbles in awe. Vil can’t help but agree.

“Thanks a bunch, Hornton!” you beam at Malleus, who stares at you for a brief second before breaking out into chuckles. It’s the first time Vil’s ever heard the fae laugh, but you’re full of surprises as usual.

“Though you know who I am, you still stick to that pet name?” Malleus sounds terribly amused, looking at you as you fumble with an explanation. He interrupts whatever apology is about to leave your lips with another chuckle. “Truly, I do not mind.”

He turns to look at Vil with a resolute expression in his eyes that’s made all the more disconcerting by his piercing green eyes. “I’ve set the stage for you, Schoenheit. I trust you will keep me entertained.”

“I hardly need your urgings to put on my finest performance,” Vil suppresses the wince of pain as he straightens his posture, ignoring the very tangible reality of you still grasping onto him. “Be prepared for a standing ovation.”

“I’ll expect nothing less. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Malleus’ last words fade out with his disappearance. The only traces left behind by him are those green fireflies.

“Lady Luck is truly on our side,” Rook comments after the flashes fade out. “I was hardly expecting Roi des Dragons to appear here.”

Me neither. Though it seems today is a day full of surprises.

Vil leans into your warmth a bit more, and you indulge him. The arm carefully wrapped around him is sure and steady - he wants nothing more than to stay here until the end of time. You don’t ask questions, looking past his shoulder so you can direct the crew to their water. He knows he must let go to perform - it’s highly unusual to see the Vil Schoenheit rely on anyone, even if it’s a little bit. To see him clinging to someone, his rival of all people…

Gingerly, he lets go of you. Your grasp on him is firm to the very end as you let go and make sure he’s not at risk of fainting. The concern you display is almost comedic, but you don’t say anything.

He can feel your eyes burning into his back as he walks away, but he doesn’t look back.

Scene IV: Unopened Missive . 　⁺

Vil supposes it’s comedic as he pours everything he’s got left into the final performance, only to score exactly one point below RSA. It’s always like this; him, exactly one step behind Neige. He can’t fault Neige, anymore, not after he’s come to terms with it. As the thrum of music faded and the flow of performance left him, he was acutely aware of the raucous applause he drew. He did not care. All he was searching for were your eyes.

He’s sure Lady Luck is laughing straight at him as Rook proclaims himself as one of Neige’s biggest fans. What betrayal! Of course this has been added onto the list of surprises. It’s strange; he doesn’t feel the annoyance he’d expect to be simmering through his veins at that moment. It seems he’s let that go.

It’s practically hilarious as he joins Neige on stage to sing an encore. Only scraps of bitterness remain - had Vil not exhausted the whole team earlier, they might have won and took back that one measly vote. He’s accepted that. Still, his frustration is palpable as he leaves his crew to sing with Neige, though not to the audience. His professionalism is the one thing he’s managed to keep up.

“Hey,” your voice breaks him out of the reverie. It’s bizarre, the way you’ve escorted him back to Pomefiore, even though he’s got Rook and Epel to do that. It’s even more bizarre, the way he’s let you gently drag him to his room, where Rook and Epel have already gone back to their own chambers. They already know it’s best to leave him alone when he’s in a bad mood. So why.. why are you still-

The sharp tang of medicinal ointment brings him back to the current situation. You’re poised between his legs as he sits at his vanity, with an assortment of bottles behind you. It’s strangely intimate with the way the soft dusk lighting envelopes you with its mysterious aura. He’s not wearing any makeup, but you don’t seem to care; your gaze caresses his features, laced with only concern.

Please, don’t look at me with those eyes.

“I’m going to begin, alright?” you murmur, searching his eyes for any traces of discomfort. Vil nods wordlessly. The pressure on his chin from one hand of yours is feather light; he finds himself leaning into it slightly. Your other hand lightly brushes over the cuts on his face with the ointment swabbed onto a cotton pad - strangely, it lacks the usual sting which normally elicits a sharp hiss of surprise.

“I made this ointment myself,” you explain after seeing the surprise conveyed in his eyes. Of course you did. In any case, it seems to be working fine, judging by the rapid cooling sensation he’s feeling across his face.

“Why-” Vil begins to ask as you cap the ointment bottle and twist it closed with practised ease. Your hand is still on his face, but he can’t bear to pull away. Not here, in the privacy of his room, where the only eyes upon him are yours. “-why are you still here? Don’t you dislike me?”

You pause in the rummaging you’re doing in your pocket. Vil holds his breath as you turn to him with that contemplative look you wear while figuring out potions.

“I don’t actually dislike you,” you comment matter-of-factly, tilting his face to each side to observe your handiwork. “I’ve got better things to do than spend my energy stewing over you.”

Ouch.

“You still haven’t answered my first question,” Vil’s composure is rapidly slipping down the drain as he remains (quite literally) in the palm of your hand. Your gaze doesn’t falter. “Do you just feel bad for me?”

“No,” you respond idly, still tilting his head this way and that. It’s like watching a cat bat at a toy. “I thought it might be good to have company and rely on someone else for once.”

There’s something else you aren’t saying. It’s unspoken in your eyes and the way your brow makes imperceptible furrows every few minutes. Vil’s breath hitches in his throat slightly.

“Did you-” he’s interrupted by that look, not one of pity, but one of resolute determination.

“Yes, I saw those memories,” you admit. You don’t look at him with an apologetic expression, one that screams pity. It’s a relief. “I didn’t mean to, like at all.”

“It’s fine,” Vil supposes it is fine. You wouldn’t tell anyone, he feels. He watches as your expression shrivels up into one of abject surprise as you feel around in your pocket, drawing out what seems to be a cream-coloured, expensive looking envelope. Vil knows exactly what it is, even as you scan the front quizzically then shrug. Of course. You can’t read the runes.

“It’s the results for the poison assessment,” Vil supplies. Strange. He doesn’t feel any excitement, or fear - it’s bordering on the neutrality of acceptance. It seems you feel the same way, as you just toss the envelope down with disregard onto the vanity and continue your search in your pockets.

“Aha!” your triumphant exclamation leaves him blinking in surprise. Why haven’t you acknowledged the results at all? You brandish another bottle of ointment in front of him excitedly, almost hitting him on the nose due to your very close proximity. “I’ve found the muscle and bone ointment!”

“Aren’t you going to look at the results?” Vil asks incredulously - it slips out before he can even comprehend he’s said it.

“I can’t even read them,” you untwist the ointment with your teeth, leaving tiny dents in the metal cap. “I’ll look at them later.”

The potent tang of nettles permeates the air as you set the open bottle onto the table behind you, letting go of Vil’s face.

“I’m going to need you to undress so I can access your back,” your nonchalant tone makes Vil’s reaction delayed. He can feel the back of his neck heat up at your words. “I heard the nastiest little crunch when Deuce’s spell hit you, so I’m gonna have to check those ribs.”

“Right,” Vil swallows thickly, standing up. Wrong move. You’re much too close now, pressed up against the vanity with him standing right in front of you. His body is brushing up against yours, and he can feel your body heat. Shit. He moves out of the vicinity to the bathroom, with all the composure of a professional actor.

“This ointment’s designed for deeper use than surface level injuries,” you call out behind him. “It’s gonna sting!”

“That’s fine,” Vil responds before shutting his bathroom door. He quickly loosens his shirt, wishing it were your hands doing- His heart pounds in his ribcage as he shuts down the thought. It only takes a minute before his shirt and blazer are both tossed into the laundry basket, all too soon considering the flushed sheen emerging on his face.

One final cursory inspection of his face in the mirror is necessary before he goes out to face you. He’s almost taken aback - not by the lack of makeup which he’s already accustomed to, but the sheer vulnerability within his expression. He looks like such a mess, and you’ve not even commented on it? You’ve just accepted that it doesn’t matter what he looks like; you’re going to treat him the same regardless. It’s a far cry to what he values as his principles.

He pushes open the door hesitantly. His torso is exposed, and he suddenly feels the jarring pangs of shyness. Why now? He’s gone topless for movie scenes before, for Sevens’ sake! Steeling himself, he opens the door completely. You’ve placed the vanity chair by the bed- surely you’re not-

“You can either lie on your stomach here, or sit up on the chair, which might be more uncomfortable,” you explain briefly, rolling up your uniform sleeves as if you’re about to conduct a lab practical. Am I the lab rat? “I’ve picked up a few massage tips here and there, so overall it should be a quite pleasant experience. Of course, if you want to omit the massage-”

“No, it’s fine,” Vil lets out a shaky breath at your nonchalance, gingerly lying on his front on his covers. Jack of all trades, aren’t you? He doesn’t realise just how tense his muscles have been until you press your thumbs into the muscles situated around his scapula. Your hands are coated in some sort of resinous, volatile substance, judging from the brief alcohol fumes flaring up whenever you place your hands down. You were right, there is a sting, but it’s not as sharp as he expected.

Why are you doing this? It’s a question that keeps replaying in his mind’s movie theatre, with the cruel laughing soundtrack interspersed in a tragic loop every few seconds. The two of you aren’t friends, and what you’ve done goes beyond the level of care Vil normally receives from friendship. He can’t complain, not when your warm, rough hands are finally on him, even if it’s to just rub the ointment in.

“Now, I’m no medic,” there’s a faint apology in your tone as you concentrate the ointment into a specific, aching spot. Vil barely registers the sting of pain due to your burning touch. “But I think that your rib’s been bruised at the very least in that spot, and that ointment should’ve healed the worst of it.”

His rapid heart rate distracts him from the loss of body heat from you as you move your hands away from his body. Please don’t stop. He feels a heavy pressure on his right shoulder, and to his surprise it’s the palm of your hand waking him from his reverie.

“I’ll bandage you up just to be sure,” you murmur, shifting your weight from foot to foot and looking around. It’s clear you’re hesitant, maybe due to your lack of experience playing a so-called “doctor”. Still, judging by the way the deep ache within has eased, you’ve done a pretty darn good job, as Epel would no doubt say. “Sit up.”

Vil obeys, gingerly swinging his legs round the bed until he’s sitting, and you’re once again hovering over him as you slip a clean bandage out of its plastic wrapping. He breathes in the comforting warmth of your body heat and repertoire of chemical smells that mask the floral traces on your skin. Don’t you feel the rushed thrum of blood that’s pumping through each vein and each capillary, as you wrap your arms around him to begin winding the bandage?

Is he nothing more than a mere patient to that clinical precision you currently sport?

“What would you have chosen, if you won the poison assessment?” Vil suddenly asks as you clip the bandage into place with a satisfied hum around the middle of his torso.

“Why are you asking as if I lost?” you let out a bemused chuckle, gesturing to the still-very-closed envelope sitting on his vanity. “We don’t know yet.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Vil could melt with the way you’re gazing down at him as he sits with you standing in between his legs. Your sharp eyes contain a warning, one he has no intention of heeding as he presses the subject. “Won’t you tell me?”

“Fine,” your voice rasps slightly as you stoop down to his level. He can’t help but shiver at the sensation of your warm breath rustling past his ear. “Are you really that eager to know?”

“Go on,” Vil almost pleads, and he’s sure you hear the quiet hints of desperation in his voice. Your eyes lock back onto his; he’s slightly regretting asking you as he sees the dangerous glints in your eye. His breath hitches as he realises it’s the same, all-consuming look of seriousness you reserve for your experiments and potions. It’s as if he already knows what your answer will be, with the way his blood excitedly thrums to the surface to respond with an echoing yes.

Please.

The rough pads of your fingers meet his chin again in that gentle grasp as you tilt his head upwards. This is really happening, right? It’s as if he’s in a haze; anticipation of your movements is the only thing breaking him out of it.

“Can I..” you murmur, brushing a thumb over his bottom lip. He holds his breath. Yes. Your mere touch calls forth fireworks to explode in a vibrant cacophony.

“Please,” Vil’s quiet gasp is all the encouragement you clearly need, because the next thing he knows you’ve stepped forward and met his open mouth with yours. The heady taste of woodsmoke and cherry syrup lingering on your tongue is positively intoxicating. He’s not sure, but he can also taste the coppery tang of blood as well. Perhaps it’s from the heat of battle earlier? Regardless, his blood rises in response; he’s sure his face is flushed a deep pink.

You don’t hesitate, leaning his head to the side with your fingers to kiss him deeper and deeper. He groans into your mouth, feeling you smile as you taste his desperation. He positively convulses as he feels your hand trace the bare skin of his side; he’s so vulnerable like this, and he knows you feel it as you press into his body.

Vil gasps for air when you pull back. A string of saliva connects your lips to his; with a start, he realises that your lips are shiny and traced with the purple lipgloss he’s wearing. Your eyes are half-lidded with intensity and some other roiling emotion he can’t place. It makes his breathing even more uneven when he realises he’s made you look like that.

“Like what you see?” even now, traces of rivalry still lace Vil’s tone; he cannot help but provoke you to elicit another reaction. Your gaze slowly travels up and down Vil’s dishevelled appearance, making sure to scour every inch of it. He holds his breath when your lip curls in disdain.

“Please,” your voice rolls deep from your throat with sarcasm. It makes Vil’s blood cells burn with want. The sharp, intense look in your eyes only becomes more turbulent; it’s insanely attractive to be at your mercy.

“Don’t make me laugh-” your fingers curl into his chin more, and Vil can feel the suppressed strength within the grip. Blood is rushing straight down, and he can barely keep track of all the thoughts racing through his head. “-not with the way I’ve seen you almost do flips for my attention, with your one-sided rivalry.”

“Ah-” Vil’s gasp sounds suspiciously like a moan as you move closer, pressing a knee in between his legs inadvertently. You’ve clearly heard it, with the way you furrow your brow and pause your motions.

“Did you-” your eyes fully take in his heavy breathing and the way he’s coming undone from just kissing you. Your question is answered immediately.

“Please, keep going,” Vil pleads, removing one hand from where it’s gripping the sheets to your hip. You swallow thickly, eyes darting between his hand and face.

“You sure you want to continue?” you prompt, eyes settling into that same dangerous glint once again. “I don’t want to aggravate your injuries..”

“Please,” Vil all but begs, seeing the way your eyes glaze over with desire. The hazy, smoky smell of your skin almost acts like an aphrodisiac; he cannot help but be ensnared.

“Alright,” your voice is hushed when you tilt his head upwards to access his jugular, biting into the area slightly with sharp canines. He knows you feel it: the way his pulse jumps erratically beneath your touch. You draw out quiet, hushed gasps with every mark you make on his throat, with every movement of your waist against his bare torso, with every nudge of your knee in between his legs.

More.

He doesn’t even realise he’s slowly rolling his hips against your leg to feel any sort of friction until you press down on his hips with the hand that’s been supporting his shoulder.

“Not so fast,” you breathe against his skin - his back can’t help but arch slightly at the feeling of your breath against his neck. “Allow me to take care of you.”

It’s your words that make him pause in shock; they’re an eerie echo of what you said in his dream. Judging by the lack of change in your expression, you don’t know about it; thank Sevens.

You’re pressing into him, forcing him into the bed on his forearms while you lean in, kissing his mouth feverishly to bring out his gasps and moans. He’s unbearably hard, all the more so because of your knee moving out of reach each time he chases that delicious high. This is better than any dream.

Burning kisses trail their way from below his ear down to his collarbone. He’s suddenly glad for the wonders of concealer as he thinks about the marks you’re leaving. On the other hand, he’s strangely into the idea of people seeing he’s taken by you, so much so that you’re marking him up like this.

“Ah- right there,” Vil can’t suppress the noises he’s making as your lips travel down to his chest. He doesn’t care who hears him; he’s seeing goddamn stars with the way your tongue circles his nipple and your thumb mirrors the action with the other one. The pressure you’re applying deftly is making him intoxicated.

“You look so beautiful like this,” your fingers glide over the neatly wrapped bandages on his chest, trailing down to his waist. He doesn’t think it’s possible for his heart to beat any more erratically without thumping straight out of his chest. Is he really sure that you haven’t magically seen his dreams? After all, you’ve seen his memories. He waits with bated breath for your next move, not realising that you’ve already positioned yourself to hover between his thighs with a small grin on your face.

“Mind if I take these off?” you hook your thumbs around the tailored trousers he’s wearing. It takes considerable self-restraint to not tell you to just rip them off.

“Go ahead,” it’s a wonder that his voice doesn’t crack from the sheer pressure of what he’s feeling at the moment. Your grin is all edges as you efficiently unzip the front and slip the pants off. It seems that he’s surprised you when you look down at his smooth legs with your eyebrows slightly raised, taking in the fact that he’s wearing sheer black stockings to his mid thigh underneath his pants.

“All for me?” you run your fingers down his legs appreciatively, feeling the soft material underneath your fingers with an even sharper grin than before. Vil can’t help but shiver at the feather-light touches you give, contrasted sharply with the jagged vertices of your smile.

All for you.

It’s as if you can read his thoughts. You’re once again hovering between his legs, spreading them with nothing more than a gentle push. The touches you leave on his legs feel almost possessive; he cannot help but adore it. Will he be the only one seeing that expression on your face? He wants to be the only one, the only one to see the tumultuous desire warp and thrash within the glints in your eyes. It’s a far cry from your usual composure.

Sticky residue from his lipgloss is left on his soft inner thighs as you press kiss after kiss to the skin. He can feel desire pulse through you with every bruising mark you leave. It entrances him. The unspoken words you leave him are more than enough to assure him that even like this, with all his bruises and scrapes and tears, he’s beautiful.

Your hands slowly ease his underwear off; the cold air on the sensitive skin makes him hiss slightly, but it quickly turns into a gasp as you leave kisses in the crook of the skin connecting his thigh to his pelvis.

“I’m going to absolutely ruin you,” you promise quietly. The ravenous look in your eyes doesn’t subside as you gaze at him from between his legs. He can’t help but let out a small groan at your words. What would his fans say if they saw him, lying so pliant for his supposed academic rival?

One of Vil’s hands fly up to his face to muffle the moans escaping his lips when your thumb circles his slit, made all too easy by the flow of pre-cum from his dick. The other hand is left desperately clutching at the sheets of his bed as his hips involuntarily buck upwards into your hand.

“Uncover your pretty mouth,” you slowly twist your hand down, all while gazing at his flushed face. He’s already seeing stars at the friction and can barely register his hand leaving his mouth to grip the sheets. “I want to hear how good I’m making you feel.”

He can only hope that his door is soundproofed from the obscene noises leaving him as you pick up the pace. It’s not enough. Your hand moves away each time the haze of pleasure builds up, leaving him chasing after your touch. He’s sure he looks an absolute mess right now with the way tears are leaving his eyes and his brow has the sheen of sweat; you clearly don’t care as you lithely move upwards to kiss him. The cool fabric of your clothes presses into his bare skin, making him feel incredibly exposed to you.

You’re still moving with that teasing pace as you swallow down his moans. It’s unbearable, all the more so because you’re still covered in your uniform. He almost sobs in relief when your hand picks up speed and the pleasure starts steadily building in his stomach. His hips desperately grind into your hand and you let him, let him come undone with your touch and quiet praises. He’s close; the dopamine is flooding through his veins and all he can focus on is the way you touch him, the way you’re currently kissing his jaw and leaving more marks on his neck, the way you’re coaxing such obscene sounds from both his throat and from the skin on skin friction.

It builds and builds and builds, until all he can fathom is saying your name over and over, as if he’s some devout worshipper invoking some otherworldly being. He lets go, feeling the way you slow down to allow him to ride out the climax. Only white-hot pleasure courses through his mind, fading out more slowly than usual. He kisses you feverishly, feeling the warm skin on the nape of your neck as he pulls you in closer and closer. You’re now lying side by side on his bed, with you pressed up against him wearing your despoiled clothes, ones that have been despoiled by him.

“You’re removing your clothes as well, I hope?” his gaze trails down your body, looking at the offending uniform that you’re wearing. It’s a wonder he’s managed to form a coherent statement. Still, it’s only fair that you also remove the fabric with those deft hands like you did to those tailored trousers he was wearing.

“Right,” your gaze softens, moving your hands away from his body. His brows furrow with a question as he watches the hand sticky with cum approach your face- oh my. A scarlet flush blooms on his cheeks as you use your tongue to clean your hand up, before using it to lazily remove your blazer and vest. You don’t give them a second glance as you toss the clothes on the floor. The warmth you’re emitting is all the more palpable as only a thin buttoned shirt separates your skin from his. It’s incredibly attractive, watching your languid movements as you discard the shirt off to the side as well as your trousers.

The feeling of your bare skin on his shouldn’t elicit such a burning reaction from him, but it does; he groans as you lean back to slowly kiss him, feeling the way your body heat envelopes him without any barriers. He’s acutely aware of all the points your skin brushes against him - it’s insanely addicting. You’re kissing him without a care in the world, judging by the way you lazily cradle his face with your hands. He’s so malleable under your touch, so starved of affection that he’s wrapped around your pinky finger. He’s sure you can feel the way his skin flushes with a simmering heat.

The blue hour soaks you both in the gloom as your hands press him closer and closer, until he can barely distinguish where he ends and you begin. Is this what it means to become one, united in flesh?

Does he look beautiful to you like this?

He knows he does. He knows he does when you reverently trail down with your kisses, settling between his thighs again to fill him up with your fingers. He knows he does as you feverishly coax those angelic moans out of him; your eyes are blazing with desire for him. He knows he does as you draw out his climax for as long as you can so wave after wave of pleasure can keep hitting him.

It’s late evening when the two of you fall asleep, tangled together and worn out.

The letter on the vanity lies forgotten; Vil doesn’t particularly care about the results when he already feels your equal.

Scene V: Closing . 　⁺

“Goodness, trickster,” Rook’s exclamation when you emerge in the Pomefiore lounge room in the morning thankfully goes unnoticed by the few students milling about. “Our dorm uniform looks simply ravishing on you.”

“Yeah, mine got quite ruined from yesterday’s events,” your voice sounds raspy as you try to sell your act to Rook, who’s positively cooing over you. What a little prankster. Vil can’t help but glance at you from his favourite armchair. As the culprit responsible for ruining your uniform, he of course had to lend you a uniform. Still, you do look rather good in it.

“Don’t tell me you slept over and didn’t tell me?” Rook plasters a look of mock-hurt on his face, and Vil implores you to shut your mouth for once and put on the best act of your life.

“Something like that,” your expression is innocent, with the exception of your raised eyebrows. You don’t look at Vil at all as you smile at Rook, who’s unfortunately glanced over at Vil, scrutinising him with that disgustingly perceptive look.

“Does that explain the bruises on his neck?” Vil chokes on his smoothie hearing the hunter’s whisper. Of course he forgot something this morning. Of all days.

“Whatever could you mean?” you inquire nonchalantly, straightening the ironed collar of the uniform.

“Oh my,” Rook’s eyes are as wide as saucers as his gaze swivels between you and Vil. It’s rare to see him this gleeful. “You two totally slept-”

“I’m going to need you to shut it, Rook,” you cover the offender’s mouth abruptly before he can say anything more. You’re not denying it though, looking back at Vil with a wicked grin on your face.

Shit.

[anonymous-dentist]

War is hell, so Bad feels right at home every time he steps onto the battlefield and pulls out his sword and watches the humans run for their tiny little insignificant lives. He isn’t a monster, so he only kills them when he needs to. (Who is he, Foolish?)

Some of the humans have started teaming up. The strong with the strong, the weak huddling with the weak. It’s pointless when they die, because everyone is alone in the End, but it’s the thought that counts.

Bad himself played solo for a long time, but now he’s managed to get himself a human teammate of his own. A… weird little ragamuffin of a teammate.

“Hey, Bad!”

Bad looks up from his soup to see Candy waving some guy’s arm around like it’s his own, a big toothy grin on his muddy little face.

Bad waves back. “C’mere, dinner’s ready!”

Candy grimaces, but he brings himself and his arm over to the fire, and he picks up the bowl of mushroom soup, and he digs in.

Candy is a strange child.

He’s a cannibal, for one, which is apparently rare among humans; when Bad picked him up, Candy had been blacklisted from most of the other teams because he kept eating his teammates. (Which is crazy, because a growing boy needs to eat!) Sometimes Bad will wake up in the middle of the night to someone gnawing on his arm, but that’s fine, whatever flesh he may lose will just grow back. As long as Candy isn’t starving, he’s useful.

And then there’s the whole amnesiac thing. Because, apparently, Candy was dropped into the war from a literal helicopter, and he doesn’t even know his own name, let alone the guys that deposited him. He knows how to kill, though, so he isn’t all that useless.

He’s called Candy because Bad calls him that. He says he doesn’t have a name, but he’s fine with having a nickname for Bad to call out in the heat of battle. He’s named Candy because, well, he likes candy. It’s the one thing he likes to eat besides human flesh, and Bad can’t exactly call a human child “Flesh”. That would be weird.

Candy shivers in the night wind and pulls his flimsy little coat tighter around his shoulders.

With a sigh, Bad pulls his cloak off and drops it on top of Candy’s head; Candy shouts, but he wiggles the cloak down around his shoulders, practically swimming in it.

(Candy is so small, it’s hard to believe he’s fifteen. Between the supposed white helicopter that brought him to war and the amnesia and the burn scars on his temples, Bad has an idea as to what happened, but, honestly, he doesn’t care. Really. Because Candy is going to die any day now, and he’ll be much happier in the afterlife.)

“I’ve been thinking,” says Candy.

Bad gasps dramatically. “Really?”

Candy ignores him: “When I get out of here, I wanna be a detective.”

And isn’t that a thought, escaping the war? Of course, Bad can leave at any time. But the humans like Candy are trapped.

(Occasionally, Bad has thought about leaving and bringing Candy with him to start training as his replacement, but the kid isn’t quite Grim Reaper material beyond being astonishingly good at killing people.)

“What, so you can find your family?” Bad asks.

Candy shakes his head. “I want to find the helicopter. I want to kill them.”

“Oooh, good idea! When you do, send me pictures!”

“Duh,” Candy scoffs. He points his spoon at Bad with a roll of the eyes all the attitude of a human teenager. “But you’re actually coming with me, sooooo….”

Bad raises an eyebrow. “Am I?”

Candy nods. “Yeah! We’re teammates! You have to be there!”

With that fire in his eyes and the blood still crusting his lips and fingers, it’s easy to see why this kid is one of the most feared soldiers out there. It’s why Bad has kept him so long. (He definitely isn’t attached, shhh!)

So Bad nods, playing along. “Sure, sure.”

Because, really, Candy is going to be dead soon. Call it a gut feeling. Nobody Bad has ever gotten along with has survived this long, so the poor kid is going to die in a few days. The war is going to take him like it’s taken so many others, and there’s nothing Bad can do about it.

And, four days later when they get separated in a battle, Bad doesn’t bother looking for him when the bodies are all on the floor. Candy isn’t among them, but he’s probably off dying in a ditch somewhere else.

Bad flicks the blood off his sword and stalks into the night in search of his next victory, not noticing two tear-filled, terrified blue eyes following him until he’s out of sight.

(And eleven years later when Bad sees Cellbit in the ruins of a crashed cargo ship, and when Cellbit notices him and immediately bursts into a huge grin, Bad almost wonders if he’s managed to break the curse after all.)

[snapeussy]

More Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley headcanons

- has a childhood stuffed animal that he still sleeps with and hides from the 141

- if he ever had a SO, he’d want to be the little spoon

- the only shirts he has are plain black, ones with stupid skeleton puns, and those low quality grim reaper ones

- hates bugs (yes that includes Roach)

- likes to sit in forests alone to calm down

- eats insanely spicy foods

- hates yogurt

- keeps his hair surprisingly clean and nice despite wearing the masks all the time

- if he doesn’t like the vibes in a room, he’ll immediately leave, usually out the window

- he has at least 2 knives and a gun under his pillow

- he smells like citrus

- needs reading glasses desperately

- terrified of horses

- has peak movie taste

[yuurei20]

Short Translation from Twisted Wonderland the second novel: Cafeteria Meet Up

"Cater is seated next to Riddle. Deuce sits beside him and asks, 'Clover-senpai isn’t with you?'

‘Figured he’d have a hard time making it to the cafeteria, so I brought him something to eat from the school store for him to have in the classroom.’

As Yuuya, Grim and Ace make their way to the table, Cater gives them a wink. ‘Riddle-kun insisted ♪’

‘Of course. Overworking himself will delay his recovery.’ Riddle clears his throat and picks up his spoon. ‘You are to listen as you eat. I intend to have you all explain the events of yesterday, but first, there has been a new development of which you ought to know.’

‘A new development?’ Grim asks, blowing on his macaroni and cheese. ‘Whaddya mean? You found the guy?’

'Unfortunately, no. It would seem that another person was hurt last night.’

‘What? Another victim?’ Yuuya’s eyes go wide. Ace and Deuce look at Riddle in surprise. Apparently, they did not know.

It seems that Cater is the source of this information, having heard it from one of the school’s many moving portraits, which he explains in a low voice.

‘According to portrait-kun it was 2nd-year student and Scarabia vice-housewarden, Jamil Viper-kun. It seems something went down in the cafeteria kitchen.’

‘What! Jamil-senpai?’ Ace responds in a loud voice. First Jack, and now someone that Ace knows?

‘He’s one of my basketball club senpai,’ Ace explains with a nod in response to Yuuya’s question. ‘He’s pretty good…but I kinda have a stronger impression of him arguing with Floyd-senpai than I do of his basketball skills.’

Deuce takes a moment to think. ‘The Scarabia vice-housewarden? I think I’ve seen him before, but I don’t really remember much about him.’

‘Indeed. Jamil is not the type to stand out,’ Riddle nods. ‘His most distinctive feature is…perhaps his long, black hair. He keeps half of it braided back. He can often be found with Kalim, Scarabia’s housewarden. Kalim has white hair, and wears a bandana. The dorm colors of Scarabia are crimson and yellow. He should be wearing an armband in those two colors.’

‘Ah—’ Ace swallows a mouthful of bread—something has caught his eye. ‘Over there—isn’t that Jamil-senpai?’

Yuuya follows Ace’s gaze to two students sitting three tables away, one with black hair and one with a bandana. Both are wearing Scarabia armbands.

Cater and Riddle glance over to check, commenting, ‘So it is,’ with looks of surprise. ‘That’s Jamil-kun and Kalim-kun, all right. Talk about perfect timing.’

‘It is rare for those two to be seen in the cafeteria. We’re in luck.’

‘All right! Let’s go hear what they gotta say,’ Grim declares, scooping a spoonful of macaroni that has, at long last, cooled. ‘After I’m done eatin’ this, of course.’"

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

I have all these incredible request prompts that want to turn into something but my jobs have got me exhausted! I'm having a hard time not just going asdfghjkl b-bellies

So, the best I can offer you for now is my latest brain worms about fat mechanic Steve Rogers and diner owner Bucky Barnes.

Steve starts out as this burly mechanic, always in his dusty, dirty dark blue coveralls and work boots with grease stains on his face and hands. His blond hair is fucking mess so often from running his fingers through it and getting it stained and rumbled. So, Steve is just this huge dude working on cars and trucks and even big rigs because-! His auto shop is next to the truckstop just off the interstate.

I can not stress this enough. He's a big, capable guy. Lifting heavy shit with teeth-gritted grunts, putting in the elbow grease to turn the most locked up lug nuts, sweating and swearing his way through jobs that look grim but always pulling the car or truck through. He's a damn good mechanic, so much so that he has clients that want to repay him. Truck drivers that come back through after he did them a solid with a damn good job on their rigs will bring tokens from other states, drop off homebaked food if their significant other happens to live around there, or some of them even bring gift cards. Gift cards like one to the newly opened diner just across the street in the heart of the actual truckstop.

It's an all-American diner, so at first, Steve passes it up. He can eat American food whenever he wants! He can at least make burgers on the grill. He isn't a totally helpless cook. C'mon. But when he has a gift card and works late for a client to get them back on the move... he doesn't have dinner with him, so... might as well try it.

The diner is seemingly run by this one guy, Bucky, despite how much foot traffic this place has to get with all these truckers and road trippers stopping in. Bucky's a damn fine cook, though, Steve finds that out quick. Everything he orders for dinner is moan out loud good.

The first night, he has a greasy, heavy American food feast. A bubbly coke with a thick bacon double cheeseburger and a side of heavy loaded fries. For dessert, he splurges on a wide slice of pie and a healthy scoop (scoops, really) of ice cream. Before he leaves, taking time to digest before he has to walk back, Bucky even sweet talks him into adding a milkshake to his dessert. Steve has to eat it with a spoon, the shake is that thick. It's so sweet that he can feel it in his teeth.

Bucky's food has to be enhanced somehow, though, 'cause he can't stop. It's too good. Steve's never lost control with food like that before. Woof. Steve waves it off that first night, though, he'll work off the calories easy. It's just one night.

It's not just one night.

Steve first goes back every once in a while, which turns into a few times a week to every day for lunch to... he has lunch there and then heads back to the diner for dinner, too, even if he's not staying late at the shop. Sometimes, he has dinner at the diner, and by the time he gets home, he's hungry again. So he makes himself dinner, too.

With all the greasy, stick to your ribs diner food Steve's coveralls change from baggy to fitted to tight.

His whole body gets wider. His thick, strong neck welcomes a friend in the form of a thickening double chin. His shoulders start to slope, soft and fat, not hard chistled stone. His big arms are bigger, muscle covered with this layer of pudge. His chest gets soft, so soft that his stretched nipples start to poke through his grease and sweat stained white undershirt when he rolls his coveralls down and ties them around his (fatter) waist on hot afternoons. His belly and waist are the real goners, though. His butt rounds out, and his thighs pack on enough to jiggle - something he's never experienced before - but nothing comes close to his gut. And it's a GUT. Round and firm and huge.

Even when he hasn't just stuffed himself to the point of groaning and sweating with excess, his fingers don't sink into that fat. It's hard fat that gets in the way. He presses himself harder and harder against the cars and trucks he works on, trying to get as close as he wants to be to work, but he can't get there. His belly doesn't squish nearly as much as he thought it would but... maybe he's just never empty. His stupid belly's in the way. It's in the way constantly! When he's zipping up his coveralls (and when they're already done up, his rounding stomach presses against the heavy fabric like it's trying to break free), when he's on a creeper under the chassis, he has to jack up the car more than normal now, just to make sure he fucking fits underneath the thing, when he's looking in a client's trunk for a spare tire or whatever and he has to bend over and there's his gut, oof, when he's taking the vehicle for a test drive and he has to suck in to attempt fitting behind the wheel... usually, he ends up having to adjust the whole seat, and still, his gut pushes up against the wheel. His gut can't stop being in the way but... Steve can't stop eating. He's weak for Bucky's cooking even if it's making him feel heavy duty himself, or like his body has gone from a regular truck to a big rig.

He feels it most after he's gorged himself on another unending diner meal, leaving the place bloated unbelievably, having had to unzip his coveralls or burst the zipper with all the pressure of his overfull belly. He waddles back across the street to his shop, stomach gurgling and churning audibly the whole way. Hell, as he goes, he's stifling burps behind his fist from jostling his gut too much, half-running across the road to get outta the way of traffic. He's not getting any work done like this. He can't. Too full.

He's gonna fucking lie on the floor and wait for his bloat to go down or something. His coveralls are unzipped to his big waist, and his undershirt has rolled up to expose his tight, shiny, stretch-marked gut where it sticks out between the open half's of his coveralls. Someday soon, he's not gonna be able to fit into those things. Too, soon, he's gonna get stuck in a car or underneath it or some shit, he swears. It's worth it for that food, though, God, he's addicted to it. The greasy, salty, fatty flavors. The aching fullness of too much. The way Bucky stares at him like he wants to have him for dinner as he sweats and groans and burps through his hearty meals. Lunch and dinner.

Suddenly, with an uncontrollable craving in the pit of his overgrown stomach, Steve wonders what the breakfast menu of the diner is - he's never had it. Maybe... if he heads home now, he'll get to bed early enough to digest in his sleep and wake up in time to make it here for breakfast? He can't drive with his belly in the way like this, though! What if... what if he sleeps in his shop and gets to the diner first thing? Then he can eat his heart out before work 🥵

[cheesecakebandit]

Currently going through Outlast Trials brain rot so here’s a fun Yandere Platonic Mother Gooseberry thought!

Platonic Yandere Mother Gooseberry becomes smitten upon seeing reagent reader to the point where she views you as an actual daughter that she can take care of.

Kidnaps you and forces you to wear pretty dresses with bows and frills basically treating you like her own doll. Straps you down into a chair bond as she plays with your hair and does your makeup. The makeup of course being blood and other people’s skinned faces placed on top of yours.

Is extremely overprotective of you and always keeps her eye on you at all time.

Calls you her precious little baby and coddles you with hugs and kisses much to your discomfort.

Always defends you whenever Doctor Futterman ever says anything mean or negative about you. Please don’t hurt my baby’s feelings she’s a good girl…

Loves to constantly examine and look at your teeth to make sure they’re nice and clean, can’t have any cavities!

Sings lullabys and tunes to you and forces you to dance with her. Though it’s hard to keep focus with that puppet’s drill constantly ringing in your ears.

Hates seeing you cry. Always wipes your teary face and promises to always keep you happy.

“Why must you cry sweetie?”

“PROBABLY BECAUSE SHE’S EMBARRASSED TO HAVE YOU AS A MOTHER HA!”

“Now now daddy, that wasn’t very nice.”

Having to deal with the arguing between her and her “father” has put your head in a spin. One moment Gooseberry is smothering you with her love and words of affection and in the same moment you’re being called every derogatory name and word in the book by that damned goose puppet.

If any other reagent gets too close to you or even tries to touch you Gooseberry would not hesitate to carve a new smile on their faces.

At a certain point she insists you’re too vulnerable for others and locks you away somewhere in the trial grounds where no one could find you.

Trying to escape had only gotten you severely punished as she would cry and wail for you if she sees you’re gone. If she catches you escaping she’ll say to herself you’re probably just confused and you didn’t mean to actually run away from mother.

“Why would try to run from mother dear? Don’t you love me?”

Punishment for escaping would be letting you starve by having no food for a day or a forceful and painful examination on your teeth with no anesthesia or any numbing.

“I know it hurts darling, but it’s for your own good.”

Though when it comes time to eat for real she’ll strap you down into a makeshift high chair and forceful spoon feed you much to your embarrassment.

“Can you open wide for mommy? Here comes the airplane~.”

“AND TRY NOT TO MAKE A MESS YOU DUMB SOW!”

She’ll always have a new game for you to play with her consisting of mostly hide and seek. Though in reality it’s you actually trying to run away from her but she always ends up finding you. Patty cake is very obsolete however.

She’ll gift you with dolls and teddy bears left around the trial grounds for you. Even though the toys themselves are always disheveled, broken and dirty but in her mind she sees them as perfect presents for you.

She tells you the dingy children mannequins around the Amusement Park and Orphanage are your younger siblings and that they make good company for when she’s not around to tend to you.

Essentially just treats you like one big infant with the constant cooing, cheek pinches and words of affection. She even tucks you in you and reads you bedtime stories. Most of which are just her making up grim stories with her “dad” commentating and cracking jokes at how his daughter tells the story just leaving you confused and both mortified by how twisted both of their minds are. Although it mostly just one insane mind let’s be real.

You basically lost all hope and courage trying to leave her or escaping. All you can do is just let this insane woman coddle and suffocate you with her love. All your energy has been sucked out of you dry, all you can do is just smile at her with tears in your eyes. This is your life now.

I..l-love you m-m-mommy….”

[sweetbunpura]

Sanctuary heehee

Let's goooo!

Ask meme.

who’s the cuddler:  Rollo, 100%.

He unlocked the option to cuddle in the relationship and now anytime he's with Yuu in private, he's cuddles her. In bed? cuddling. Asleep? cuddling, he likes being the big spoon. Leaving the dorm for classes? You best believe he's cuddling her before they go.

This man is very touched starved.

who makes the bed: Rollo.

He can't stand that Yuu leaves the bed a mess when she leaves and will hurry to make it before leaving to follow her. Now, Yuu tries to make the bed, but it's not to Rollo's perfection, but he appreciates it.

who wakes up first: Yuu.

She keeps to her work out routine even when she's dating Rollo. She tries to slip out without waking Rollo and begins her day with her stretches, eating a light breakfast and making her post workout smoothie, and heads to the school's gym.

who has the weird taste in music: Neither.

Rollo paints me as someone who really likes classical music, piano mostly. Yuu loves a lotta genres, but she favors Jazz and high energy music.

who is more protective: Rollo.

Being in a relationship has awoken this in him. He wants to protect her from both magic and just the NRC boys. Anytime she gets injured from the shenanigans, he gets very worried and demands that the boys do something to fix whatever happened while he lingers near Yuu like a guard dog.

who sings in the shower: Both.

Rollo sings soft French songs that are barely heard over the sound of the water until he turns it off, while Yuu sings a lotta upbeat Japanese or English songs.

who cries during movies: Neither.

In order to get them to cry, it has to be a super touching story or it's a movie where the dog dies. That is the only way.

who spends the most while out shopping: Yuu.

But can you blame her? She literally has to feed Grim and buy clothes anytime hers get ruined. Rollo doesn't spend that much.... unless it's something he really wants, or he's spoiling Yuu for their anniversary or valentine's day.

who kisses more roughly: Rollo.

Oh my lord, what a relationship does to someone so emotionally constipated. Yuu kisses him once and it unlocked every desire inside him. Of course, it's only every in the privacy of Ramshackle, but he kisses Yuu like a man dying of thirst. He moves on from her lips to her neck and tries to get a sound out of her to let him know he's doing good.

who is more dominate: Yuu.

Rollo tries, he tries so hard, but Yuu just pins him down and goes to town on him. She knows how to push his buttons too much and Rollo, flustered as he gets, still rolls with it cause he loves it so much.

my rating of the ship from 1-10:  10/10

I fucking love them both for their dynamic alone.