#the Aces started calling them that and it caught on

[pullmecloseman]

Bob Floyd x Reader One-Shot

Prompt: 1.“You cannot be serious.”

Unplanned road trip. No GPS. One bed. Chaos ensues.

Word count: 5k

A/N: I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS OH MY GOD. Might make a part 2 with them going on a hike or going to a lake or wtv

Warnings: mutual pining, one steamy kiss scene, dirty thoughts, some strong language, swearing, movie references, fluff,

From the archives of this

It all started with one stupid group text.

DAGGER SQUAD 🛩️

Tuesday 9:47 PM

Nattie 🤍

YO who’s down for a cabin weekend?

Hangman 🦅

Define “cabin”

Fanboy 🥴

Rustic charm or horror-movie-waiting-to-happen?

Small 🐓

Got a hookup in Big Bear. It’s nice. Real beds.

Nattie 🤍

No cell service tho. Real off-grid vibes.

Bob 👦🏼

…Define “no cell service”

Coyote 🐕

Live a little, man. Could be fun.

You

I’m in if there’s hot water and no Blair Witch shit.

Payback 💳💣

No promises.

Hangman 🦅

So we’re all just gonna raw dog the wilderness like it’s 1995?

Nattie 🤍

Exactly.

Fanboy 🥴

I’m bringing my Switch. No way I’m going full caveman.

Small 🐓

See y’all Friday. Pack snacks. And no backing out.

Nattie 🤍

Buddy system in effect. Pick your poison.

And that’s how you ended up stuffing a duffel bag into the back of Rooster’s 1975 Ford Bronco at 8:00 a.m. on a Friday morning, still wiping sleep from your eyes and wondering how the hell you got talked into this.

-

“Shotgun,” Fanboy said the second you stepped outside.

“Dream on,” you muttered, slinging your bag onto your shoulder. “I’m not sitting next to you while you eat Doritos and talk about Pokémon evolutions for four hours.”

“You say that now,” he grinned

Bob emerged from the house behind you, hoodie sleeves rolled up, baseball cap low over his eyes, carrying a little cooler and an over-the-shoulder camping chair like a Boy Scout who’d been waiting his whole life to be called into the field. He looked alarmingly competent for someone who hated chaos.

“You good with backseat?” he asked you softly.

You shrugged. “As long as Fanboy doesn’t try to mansplain Zelda lore to me again.”

Fanboy gasped like you’d slapped him. “It’s not mansplaining if you’re wrong.”

Rooster pulled up to the curb just then, sunglasses already on, window down, blasting The Chain by Fleetwood Mac like he was leading the opening credits of a road trip movie from the ‘80s.

“Let’s fucking goooo,” he yelled over the music.

You climbed in next to Fanboy and immediately regretted wearing a hoodie. The back of Rooster’s truck had AC, sure, but it worked on a schedule like a shitty old laptop: sometimes loud, sometimes hot, and always possessed.

Bob slid in next to Rooster up front, buckled up, and pulled out his little travel thermos like the responsible man he was.

“What’s in there?” Rooster asked, adjusting the mirror.

“Coffee,” Bob said. “Black.”

“Of course it is.”

“Got a problem with that?”

Rooster just snorted. “Nah. Just forgot you’re the only guy I know who treats caffeine like a tactical advantage.”

-

For the first hour, it was calm. Peaceful, even. The road stretched open in front of you, early morning sun warming the horizon, a soft golden haze painting the hills.

Fanboy cued up Grown Ups on his iPad and offered you one of his earbuds. You took it and leaned back with a grin.

“God, I forgot how dumb this movie is.”

“It’s a masterpiece,” he said seriously. “Kevin James falling into that lake? Cinema.”

Bob turned around just enough to glance at you two.

“What are you watching?”

“High art,” you deadpanned. “Specifically the scene where Adam Sandler pees off a waterpark slide.”

Bob blinked. “I—okay.”

“You had to be there,” Fanboy said solemnly.

“I was there,” Bob muttered.

-

Rooster’s playlist shifted from Fleetwood Mac to Doja Cat to Johnny Cash to We Don’t Talk About Bruno, which somehow turned into a full car singalong, complete with Fanboy hitting high notes like he was auditioning for Broadway.

Bob just sat there, quietly sipping his coffee and trying not to laugh.

You caught him smiling once or twice in the mirror.

-

By hour two, things began to devolve.

Fanboy spilled trail mix all over the backseat. Rooster hit a bump that sent your water bottle flying under the seat. The Bluetooth cut out. Twice.

Then the real chaos started when Hangman called.

Rooster answered on speaker.

“WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU GO,” Hangman barked.

“Good morning to you too,” Rooster said, way too cheerfully.

“We lost you like thirty minutes ago! You took a wrong turn!”

Rooster squinted at the road. “We’re still headed northeast.”

“There’s no GPS, Bradshaw!” Phoenix’s voice yelled in the background. “The signal’s gone!”

“I told you that old-ass Mercedes had shit for navigation.”

“You told me nothing! We were following you!”

“Is everyone okay?” Bob asked, already pulling out a map from the glovebox like a Boy Scout on a mission.

“We just passed a sign for something called ‘Spooky Gulch,’” Hangman said flatly.

Fanboy wheezed.

You leaned forward between the front seats. “That can’t be a real place.”

“Oh it’s real,” Hangman said. “And I swear I just saw a tumbleweed.”

Rooster laughed so hard he nearly swerved.

Then—click.

Call dropped.

Bob blinked at his phone. “No bars.”

Fanboy held up his phone. “Dead zone.”

You muttered under your breath. “You cannot be serious.”

Rooster banged the steering wheel. “I knew we should’ve convoyed this shit like normal people.”

Fanboy snorted. “And miss Hangman discovering Spooky Gulch? No way.”

Bob, still calmly flipping through the glovebox map like he was trying to solve a Cold War crisis, muttered, “It’s not even on here. That’s not comforting.”

You pressed your forehead to the window, trying not to laugh. “We’re gonna get murdered by a ghost prospector, aren’t we?”

“Don’t joke,” Fanboy whispered. “Those are real.”

Rooster turned down the music for the first time in hours and squinted at the road ahead, where there was nothing but hills and the occasional terrifying mailbox shaped like a cow.

“I’m gonna be honest,” he said. “I don’t know where the fuck we are.”

“You had one job,” you said.

“Excuse you,” Rooster snapped, “my job was to drive the Bronco, which I am currently nailing. The navigation was supposed to be tech-support Bob’s problem.”

Bob looked up, completely deadpan. “We had GPS. Until we drove into the Twilight Zone.”

Fanboy picked up his phone again and waved it around like it might catch a signal. “Still dead.”

You checked yours just in case. “No bars. No Wi-Fi. No hope.”

“I think I saw this in an episode of Supernatural,” Fanboy muttered. “We’re gonna get possessed before sunset.”

“You’re gonna get yeeted out of the Bronco if you keep talking like that,” Rooster grumbled.

Bob looked mildly amused. “We’re still headed northeast. Cabin’s just past the lake, right?”

“Assuming we reach the lake,” you said. “This road looks like it hasn’t been repaved since Jaws came out.”

Rooster squinted at a rusted road sign as they passed. “‘Turkey Creek Trailhead.’ That mean anything to anyone?”

Fanboy perked up. “It was in Red Dead Redemption 2!”

You and Bob groaned simultaneously.

-

Half an hour later, the Bronco hit its first real test: a washed-out bridge and a completely unmarked detour.

“Do we go left?” Rooster asked, half-laughing, half-panicked.

Bob leaned out the window, frowning at the dirt roads branching off. “Neither look promising.”

“I vote left,” you said.

“Why?”

You grinned. “Because right feels too obvious. That’s how horror movies start.”

Rooster turned left.

Fanboy crossed himself dramatically. “If I die out here, tell my mom I was hot.”

-

You lost cell service again ten minutes later.

Rooster tried to call Hangman back—nothing.

Fanboy started stress-eating peanut M&M’s.

Bob still hadn’t taken off his damn seatbelt. “We’ll get there,” he said like a soldier trying to calm a platoon before a storm.

“We’re gonna have to eat each other,” Fanboy said solemnly.

“Dibs on your kidneys,” you muttered.

“I knew I should’ve downloaded Topographical Maps of California last night,” Bob sighed.

Rooster gave him a long look. “You sound so hot right now.”

You and Fanboy cackled.

-

They hit another fork in the road—no signs, just gravel and vibes—and Rooster paused, engine idling, tapping the wheel like it was a bomb trigger.

“Right?” he asked.

“I’m losing the will to care,” you muttered. “Just pick a direction before the Bronco overheats and we all die in a fire.”

Rooster took the right.

Two minutes later, the road narrowed into a trail surrounded by pine trees and crumbling rocks, like the backdrop of a survivalist YouTuber’s last known footage.

Fanboy leaned forward between the seats. “Is that… a goat?”

You all stared as a lone goat—shaggy, majestic, chewing on something aggressively—stood in the middle of the road.

It made eye contact.

Unblinking.

Then walked away.

“Okay,” Rooster muttered. “Okay, that felt personal.”

Bob said nothing. He just took another sip of his coffee.

Eventually, you saw signs of civilization.

Barely.

A crooked wooden post that said Big Bear Trail Cabins – 4 mi in faint paint. The letters looked like they’d been carved by a child using a butter knife.

“Finally,” you sighed.

Fanboy pumped a fist. “Praise Yeezus.”

“We made it,” Rooster said. “And no one’s dead.”

Bob knocked on the dash. “Yet.”

-

The road curved into a clearing surrounded by massive pines, and finally—finally—you pulled up in front of a cabin.

It looked… decent. Rustic but not serial-killer-y. A little slanted. Possibly haunted. But it had a porch and at least one working light, so morale skyrocketed.

The second the Bronco stopped, Fanboy launched himself out like he’d been trapped in a submarine.

“I need to stretch,” he groaned. “My spine’s shaped like a fucking C.”

Rooster cracked his back. “You’re welcome for the adventure.”

“You’re welcome I didn’t vomit on your vintage leather seats.”

You climbed out, brushing trail mix off your hoodie, and finally took a deep breath of mountain air. It smelled like pine, dirt, and sweet, sweet freedom.

Bob followed you out, his bag slung over one shoulder.

“You handled that well,” you told him.

He gave you a crooked smile. “I’ve seen worse.”

“Where?”

“Family road trip to Oklahoma in ‘07. Tire blew in the Mojave. We ate trail mix for four days.”

Fanboy passed by and muttered, “This is why he always survives in my apocalypse rankings.”

-

Inside the cabin, the rest of the squad was already there—somehow.

Phoenix looked up from the kitchen counter. “Took you long enough.”

Hangman, holding a beer, raised a brow. “Didn’t get kidnapped by cannibals? Impressive.”

Coyote gave you a lazy salute from the arm of the couch. “We were about to send up a flare.”

“We took a scenic route,” Rooster said dramatically. “Bonded with nature.”

“Liar,” Fanboy called.

You dropped your bag by the door and sighed. “Okay, where are we sleeping?”

Phoenix grinned.

Phoenix crossed her arms with a smug smile. “Room assignments are on the fridge.”

“Why the fridge?” you asked.

“Because if I put it on the wall, Hangman would’ve burned it,” she said.

“I would’ve,” Hangman confirmed proudly. “I refuse to be bound by cabin bureaucracy.”

Rooster rolled his eyes and beelined for the kitchen. “I swear, if you stuck me with Fanboy again—”

“You snore like a human leaf blower,” Fanboy shot back.

Coyote added, “And you talk in your sleep. I’m still recovering from the time you recited Bohemian Rhapsody at 3 a.m.”

You followed them in as Rooster slapped the fridge and read off the names.

“Okay,” he said, squinting at the paper. “Phoenix and me. Room 1.”

Phoenix smirked, victorious.

“Coyote and Hangman. Room 2.”

“Hell yeah,” Coyote said, throwing an arm around Hangman. “The dream team rides again.”

Hangman fist-bumped him. “We’re pushing the beds together.”

“You are not,” Phoenix said.

Rooster kept reading.

“Payback and Fanboy. Room 3.”

Payback poked his head out of the pantry. “If he snores, I’m suffocating him with a pillow.”

Fanboy grinned. “Kinky.”

Bob stepped up beside you, quietly sipping his water. He already knew. You could feel it.

Rooster looked up at you both, smug.

“And that leaves Room 4,” he said. “Bob and Y/N.”

You blinked. “Wait.”

Bob froze slightly beside you.

“No pull-out couch? No spare bunk?” you asked, half-hopeful, half-panicked.

“Nope,” Phoenix said, sweetly unapologetic. “Just one queen bed. Cabin’s old. Deal with it.”

You stared at her. “You cannot be serious.”

That made Rooster bark out a laugh. “There it is.”

Bob, silent as ever, just rubbed the back of his neck and gave you a look that was… unreadable. Careful. Like he was trying not to make it worse.

“I can take the floor,” he offered.

Hangman snorted from the couch. “Yeah, for exactly five minutes before your back gives out and you start whining like a cartoon grandpa.”

You glared at him. “Didn’t you lose a fight with a folding chair last month?”

“That chair had a grudge.”

Fanboy flopped onto one of the beanbags. “I say we let it play out. Social experiment. Will they survive? Will they cuddle? Will Bob build a pillow wall and regret his life choices?”

“I am right here,” Bob said mildly.

You groaned and dragged your bag toward the hallway. “Whatever. I’m taking the side by the wall.”

“No fun,” Rooster called.

You flipped him off without turning around.

-

The room was small, old, and smelled like pine. There were creaky floorboards, a tiny window, and exactly one queen bed shoved against the wall with a plaid blanket and two very mismatched pillows.

Bob stood awkwardly just inside the door while you dropped your stuff and eyed the bed like it had betrayed you personally.

“This is fine,” you said.

Bob nodded once. “Totally fine.”

A beat of silence.

“I don’t kick in my sleep,” he added.

You looked at him.

“I mean, not usually.”

You pressed your lips together to hide a smile. “Good to know.”

Another beat.

Bob cleared his throat. “We’ll make it work.”

You nodded, trying not to make it weird.

It was already weird.

-

By the time you made it back to the living room, everyone had beers, snacks, and a bad idea.

Fanboy waved his phone in the air. “I downloaded Paul blart mall cop just in case. No signal required. Let’s go.”

Rooster gave an enthusiastic fist pump. “Classic.”

Hangman was halfway through the popcorn already. “Movie night. Cabin-style.”

You curled up in a blanket on the love seat, right as Bob settled beside you with his own drink and absolutely zero personal space. The couch was small. His thigh brushed yours. His arm stayed at his side, rigid.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

Phoenix turned the lights low. Fanboy pressed play.

And just like that, the night melted into the kind of cozy, chaotic comfort only this squad could pull off.

Lines from the movie echoed. Jokes were shouted. Rooster cried laughing at the fainting scene.

“That’s you,” he wheezed, pointing at Fanboy.

“You wish,” Fanboy yelled back.

Coyote was almost in tears. “This movie is high art.”

Even Bob chuckled under his breath once or twice.

And when he passed you the popcorn without looking—just muscle memory, easy, soft—you realized something.

You didn’t mind the bed.

Not one bit.

-

The movie ended somewhere past midnight, with Fanboy snoring on the rug and Phoenix hogging the entire couch like she paid rent on it. Payback was halfway through a second beer, Coyote was arguing about whether raccoons counted as apex predators, and Hangman had fallen asleep sitting up with a Cheez-It still stuck to his cheek.

“Okay,” Rooster said, stretching his arms dramatically. “That’s enough domestic bliss. Everyone go to bed before we actually start respecting each other.”

You stood, joints cracking, and glanced at Bob.

He met your gaze with that same unreadable look he always gave you—steady, gentle, annoyingly devastating.

“Ready?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

You slipped down the hallway ahead of him, ducking into your shared room. You were so busy untangling the hoodie you’d left in your bag that you didn’t hear him follow until you turned around and—

There he was.

In the doorway.

Shirt off.

Just. Standing there.

Shirt off. Carved delicious abs. V-line just in sight.

You choked on your own air. Quickly turned around. Suddenly very fascinated by the wall.

“I, uh—I’m just gonna change real quick,” you said, already halfway into the bathroom with your sleep shorts in hand. “Yup. Be right out.”

“Sure,” Bob said behind you, voice calm but suspiciously amused. “Take your time.”

When you came back out, he was sitting on the far edge of the bed, now dressed in a faded gray Navy shirt and sweats, scrolling idly on a flashlight-lit paperback. Not even on his phone. A book. The man was off the grid and still in his element.

You climbed in on the other side. As promised, you took the wall.

The mattress dipped under your weight, the quilt scratchy but warm.

Silence stretched between you for a moment.

Then—

“You read before bed?” you asked.

He shrugged one shoulder. “Sometimes. Helps me fall asleep.”

“What are you reading?”

He held up the cover. “Into Thin Air. Everest disaster.”

You blinked. “Jesus, Bob.”

“It’s good,” he said, completely unfazed. “Really well-written.”

“Of course your idea of a bedtime story is people dying on a mountain.”

Bob smiled faintly and set the book on the nightstand.

Then he reached up and pulled off his glasses with one hand.

And you made a huge mistake.

You looked at him.

Really looked.

His face, softer without the glasses. The slope of his nose. That ridiculous jaw. The way the veins in his forearms flexed just slightly as he moved. The quiet strength he carried like a second skin.

You quickly turned off your own light. Faced the wall.

Tried not to combust.

You layed there in silence for what felt like hours, each creak of the old cabin magnified, every breath too loud. Bob hadn’t moved much, but you could hear his breathing—steady, deep. Almost like he was asleep.

Almost.

Then you shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable, and your foot brushed his leg by accident.

Both of you froze.

“…sorry,” you whispered.

He didn’t answer.

Just slowly moved his leg a little farther away.

The tension in the air was thick enough to bite.

You curled tighter into yourself and closed your eyes.

It was fine.

You were friends.

Just squadmates.

Totally fine.

Around 2 a.m., you woke up to the sound of rustling sheets and realized two things:

1. You had somehow rolled closer in your sleep.

2. Bob had, too.

You were almost touching.

The space between you was barely an inch.

He was lying on his back, one arm above his head, the other resting loosely near the edge of the blanket. You could hear him breathing, still slow, still steady—but not asleep. You just knew it.

And then, without thinking, you whispered:

“Can’t sleep?”

A pause.

Then his voice, low and rough:

“No.”

You turned your head just slightly. Your eyes met in the dark.

The quiet between you wasn’t awkward anymore.

It was heavy.

Loaded.

You swallowed. “Sorry about… earlier. The whole bed situation.”

Bob gave the softest laugh. “It’s not your fault.”

You blinked at the ceiling. “It’s not yours either.”

More silence. Then:

“I don’t mind, you know,” he said quietly. “Sleeping next to you.”

You turned your head, pulse skipping.

“Yeah?”

His voice dipped even lower.

“Yeah.”

Your breath caught, heart hammering against your ribs.

But before you could say anything else—before that moment could turn into something—Fanboy let out a loud, violent snore down the hallway.

You both stifled your laughter under the covers.

Just like that, the tension snapped.

For now.

The cabin was silent except for the faint creaks of settling wood and the soft rustle of sheets as you shifted in your sleep. Your mind floated somewhere between waking and dreaming when a sharp chill crept along your skin. You blinked open your eyes, only to find that the warmth pressed against your side wasn’t just the blankets—it was Bob.

You froze for a moment, heart pounding. The way his breath hitched when you moved, the subtle warmth radiating off his body—it was too close, and yet it felt impossibly right.

Trying to untangle yourself, you rolled just enough to face him, feeling his chest rise and fall steadily beneath the thin cotton of his shirt. You whispered, barely audible, “Bob…”

His eyes fluttered open, dark and unreadable in the dim moonlight spilling through the window. He didn’t say anything at first—just watched you, his gaze heavy and knowing.

Your breath hitched. “Sorry. Too close?”

A slow grin crept across his face. “Not close enough.”

Your pulse quickened, a wave of heat washing over you. The years of subtle touches, lingering looks, the unspoken things between you—all converged in that moment.

He reached out, fingers tracing the curve of your waist beneath the blanket, gentle but deliberate. Your skin flushed under his touch.

Without breaking eye contact, he leaned in, lips brushing yours in a tentative kiss that quickly deepened. His hand slid up to cup your face, thumb stroking your cheek as you melted into him.

His body shifted, pinning you softly to the mattress, the press of him both grounding and electrifying. Your breath mingled, shallow and fast, as his mouth moved against yours with a mix of tenderness and hunger.

There was no rushing it—just the slow burn of years unraveling, the kind of kiss that said everything without words.

“Please,” you whispered against his lips, voice trembling.

A low groan rumbled from deep in his chest. “God… anything you want.”

Just as his hands began to explore, moving lower, tracing the lines of your spine under the sheets, a sharp, panicked scream shattered the moment.

“THERE’S A BEAR! NO—WAIT, A WHOLE FAMILY! OH SHIT! I SWEAR I JUST SAW THEM OUTSIDE!”

Coyote’s voice rang out from somewhere down the hall, loud enough to wake the dead.

Your eyes flew open. Bob cursed under his breath, rolling off you with an exasperated sigh.

“What the hell?” you muttered, scrambling to sit up.

The door burst open, and Coyote barreled in, eyes wild, breathing hard.

“There’s fucking bears out there! Like, a whole damn family! I’m not sticking around to find out what they want with us!”

From the other room, Rooster stumbled out, half asleep and still pulling on his pajama pants. Hangman trailed behind him, already shouting, “Where the fuck is the bear spray? Phoenix, get the flashlights!”

You and Bob exchanged a glance, still flushed, breathless—not quite ready to let go of the moment, even as chaos engulfed the cabin.

Your whispered question barely made it past your lips: “Did he just say family of bears?”

Bob snorted, grabbing a hoodie from the chair. “Yup. And we’re about to have the most chaotic damn night of our lives.”

You didn’t even have time to process the fact that you’d just been making out with Bob when Phoenix ran past your bedroom door with a flashlight in one hand and a broom in the other.

“A broom?” you called out.

“In case it gets close enough for me to SWING,” she yelled over her shoulder.

You blinked.

Coyote was still pacing the hallway, waving his phone around despite the fact that everyone knew there was no cell service.

“I’m telling you, I saw at least three,” he said, voice pitching into a near shriek. “One was on two legs. That means it’s the alpha. That means it’s sentient.”

Hangman rolled his eyes and shoved past him, shirtless and barefoot, holding a skillet like it was a goddamn sword. “Shut the hell up. Bears don’t have alphas. This isn’t Twilight.”

“Are you sure?” Fanboy asked from somewhere behind him. “Because that sounds exactly like something a bear alpha would want us to think.”

“STOP SAYING ALPHA,” Rooster shouted, ducking under the window with a blanket wrapped around him like a tactical poncho. “We are not being hunted by a fucking pack of apex predators.”

“I think I saw a baby one,” Payback added, holding a coffee mug in one hand and a nerf gun in the other. “Which means the mom is nearby. And if she finds us…”

He didn’t finish. He just made a boom sound and mimed an explosion with his hands.

Phoenix popped her head back into your room. “We need reinforcements. Come on.”

You and Bob were still sitting on the bed, staring at the chaos unraveling around you like you’d accidentally wandered onto the set of Naked and Afraid: Dumbass Edition.

He sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I should’ve stayed in the Air Force barracks.”

You snorted. “And miss this? Never.”

Outside your room, Fanboy and Coyote were mid-argument over whether climbing onto the roof would offer a better vantage point, while Rooster tried to duct tape a GoPro to the front porch in case “we don’t survive and someone needs to piece together what happened.”

Phoenix yelled from the kitchen, “I FOUND CHEESE PUFFS. IF WE LEAVE A TRAIL, MAYBE WE CAN LURE IT AWAY.”

Hangman immediately shot that down. “Are you trying to feed the bear? Do you want to get us murdered?”

“Shut up, Jake! It worked in Paddington!”

Bob pulled a hoodie over his head and reached for your hand. “Come on,” he said, deadpan. “Let’s go protect our idiot friends from the fictional bear cult in their heads.”

You squeezed his hand back. “Brave of you to assume we’re not the idiots.”

-

The next thirty minutes descended into utter lunacy.

Rooster tried to call base for backup on a walkie-talkie that turned out to be a baby monitor.

Coyote fashioned a headlamp out of a flashlight and an old pair of boxer briefs. He wore it proudly.

Hangman locked himself in the bathroom at one point, claiming “strategic defense,” but everyone knew he just didn’t want to be the one sacrificed.

Phoenix loaded marshmallows into a slingshot “just in case.”

Fanboy did try climbing onto the roof. He fell off halfway up and claimed the bear pushed him telepathically.

Bob stood beside you the entire time, arms crossed, watching the mayhem with a look of exhausted amusement. “This is a military-grade group of adults,” he muttered. “We have access to jets. We fight actual enemies. But one bear sighting and it’s Lord of the Flies in here.”

“You love it,” you teased.

He looked at you sideways, lips twitching. “I love you, unfortunately.”

That made your heart stumble, just a little.

But before you could respond, a scream echoed from outside.

“BEAR!”

Everyone froze.

It was Coyote.

You all sprinted out onto the porch in one loud, chaotic stampede—only to find him pointing dramatically into the woods.

“There!” he yelled. “I swear I saw it! Behind the outhouse!”

Everyone turned. Squinted.

And then—

“That’s not a bear,” Bob said, blinking. “That’s… a raccoon.”

Silence.

Rooster groaned. “You woke up the entire cabin for a raccoon?”

“Okay, but,” Coyote said, holding up a finger, “in my defense, it was a really big raccoon.”

Hangman threw a marshmallow at him.

Phoenix launched a cheese puff.

Coyote screamed again and ducked, shouting, “THEY’RE TURNING ON ME.”

-

Eventually, someone opened a bag of trail mix, and the squad ended up sitting in a loose circle on the porch, wrapped in blankets and too wired to go back to bed.

The bear scare became lore in real-time. They argued about who was the bravest (no one), who screamed the loudest (Coyote), and whether or not it was illegal to fight a raccoon in self-defense.

Bob sat beside you the whole time, shoulder pressed against yours, hand brushing your knee now and then, his quiet presence grounding in the sea of chaos.

No one mentioned the kiss.

But you knew it wasn’t forgotten.

And maybe, when the laughter faded and the porch lights dimmed and everyone finally stumbled back inside for whatever hours of sleep remained…

You’d find your way back to that moment.

Back to him.

Because this trip?

It wasn’t over yet.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of a screen door creaking open and someone cursing under their breath about mosquito bites.

The sun was barely up, casting pale gold light through the thin curtains, and your entire body ached from sleeping on what felt like the world’s lumpiest mattress.

Bob was still beside you—barely.

He’d rolled toward the edge in the middle of the night, his arm thrown up over his face, hoodie half off his torso and clinging to his waist. His glasses were crooked on the nightstand. His mouth was slightly open. And somehow, even like this, he looked maddeningly good.

You were still buzzing. Still thinking about the way his hands had felt last night—on your waist, up your thighs, everywhere. The sound of his voice when he whispered, “God, anything you want.”

You sat up slowly, blinking into the morning light.

From the other side of the house, someone yelped.

“Oh my God, there’s a squirrel in the toaster!”

Fanboy.

Naturally.

Bob groaned, arm flopping dramatically over his face. “We’re never doing this again.”

“You’re lying,” you muttered, already biting back a grin.

“Unfortunately,” he said, voice still sleep-rough. “Yeah.”

You both sat there for a beat longer. The warmth of the bed, the shared blanket, the quiet tension still crackling like static between you.

He finally peeked out from under his arm and looked at you—really looked at you.

That soft, sleepy smile of his crept in. “So… what do we tell them?”

You raised a brow. “About what?”

“Last night.”

You paused.

Then smirked.

“Let’s just say we got… attacked too.”

His laugh was quiet but real. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet.” You leaned in, brushing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re still here.”

Another scream echoed down the hallway.

This time: Hangman. “WHO PUT A RAW HOTDOG IN MY SHOE?”

Bob winced. “We need to leave. Immediately.”

You stood up, reached for your sweatshirt, and said, “Too bad. We’re all in this cult together now.”

He followed you out the door seconds later, dragging a blanket and his dignity with him.

And as you joined the rest of the squad in the kitchen—still chaotic, still too loud, still your ridiculous, unhinged family—Bob reached for your hand under the table.

You didn’t let go.

You wouldn’t anytime soon.

[mochaintherain]

"Study"

doodles from the brainworms...it started when I thought of golden cheese in engineering #womeninstem and it spiraled into SDVN because of course it did

TEXT:

PV—pre med

public health major!

• roomies w/ Dark Cacao

• crush on White Lily (obvious) that he hides (fails)

• 3rd in his class overall

• in gardening club!

• has been nominated for ASB a gazillion times

• visually impaired

•uses a cane sometimes

TEXT:

PV, got a new "study buddy"!

uh...people don't hear much from him these days.

• DC says he's barely home?

• seems to avoid white lily? Changed his whole discussion section schedule?

• Doesn't show up to class, aces tests

Maybe the ills from my summer classes are showing but college AU in a cutthroat and prestigious uni

grade deflation / everyone is a tryhard / everyone is barely making it / grades are curved against everyone else's / It's just a very, very unhealthy environment. The college is also small enough for everyone to be ranked.

PV being one of the best in his class but struggling...perhaps a few lab break-in's with White Lily later...and he's landed himself a new friend to study with!!! There is no blackmail involved.

-

CW: SUGGESTIVE ART UNDER CUT!!!! + UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIP DYNAMIC BRAINROT

BECAUSE OF SHADOW FUCKING MILK.

theyre fuckin in a twin XL sized bed because they're in a college town btw

i think PV would be beloved around the uni—I'd say that all the ancients are quite popular because they're remarkable in their fields, but since PV is so nice and friendly, he's like. the most.

As for how The . Situationship occurred, I think it'd be really interesting if it followed canon-esquely. WL (2nd in their class) is a science major (prob bio?) and despite not having a lab on campus, she sneaks into them anyway with PV. He follows along because of his feelings for her + he also is curious about more than his course materials. except on one unfortunate instance, they break into shamilks.

He finds out—maybe PV accidently loses one of his earrings or something. he's the smartest of them all (valedictorian) and has been watching the two for a while. It's not everyday that the top-scorer places second. WL outdid him in some chemistry class once, and SM has never lived it down.

in earnest, the only reason that happened was because he was so bored, he figured he could skip a few questions and still get the highest placement. his other classmates are morons, after all!!!

When he confronts PV, I'd figure he would use WL against him, saying how terrible it'd be to get them expelled, with such bright futures. PV is PV, he'd apologize profusely, almost begging him to keep a secret. If not for WL, he'd most likely accept his consequences. But he couldn't let his friend go through that, especially not when he was the reason they got caught!

wracked with guilt and some psychological maneuvering later, PV agrees to be Shamilk's study buddy (who absolutely does not need one). A call or text, and 30 minutes later, Vanilla is at his doorstep, without fail. No matter what time.

Ring the bell, and the dog will heed its tolls.

all of it was originally a ploy to see how desperate PV would be to keep up appearances,

but Shadow Milk finds his company fascinating.

PV does work hard to succeed, and with SM's help, he actually gets better and better scores (and eventually overtaking WL's GPA).

Unfortunately, SM's help is brutal. Effective, but brutal. Keeping PV in his apartment for days at a time to read and study, unconventional recall methods, maybe freaky operant conditioning.

And in a way, it's nice to have someone who can keep up with you. SM has his own friends, too, but they're not exactly knowledgeable in more than one thing. They can't keep up with him, but Pure Vanilla can. And when he can't, he's a quick learner.

PV is also weaker than him.

Shadow Milk has a frail body, and somehow, PV is even more so. The thing can't read unless the lights are turned up all the way, and can't walk for an extended period of time. just like him.

When one has a friend like Burning Spice, who is in peak physical condition, there's a certain satistifaction to be had in finding someone worse off than you.

And that someone is so, so touch-starved. It's reasonable, honestly. Going from some group of closely-knit friends to...Shadow Milk, will do that to a man.

Especially when touch is one such tool for teaching.

If PV does well, he may bestow upon him a squeeze on the shoulder. A tap on the cheek. A hug.

A kiss.

Neither of them quite remember what happened for the two to get in bed together.

But then, and even now, Shadow Milk withholds touch.

More specifically, Pure Vanilla isn't allowed to touch him back. Not even his fingers twitch, or when his arms flail for purchase.

It's a riveting game, because Shadow Milk knows the thing craves to reciprocate. Being desired and wanted...it's a nice feeling, isn't it? Being in control—it's exquisite.

But as smart as Shadow Milk is, he's so easily deceived.

When Pure Vanilla began asking for help on topics that he surely should have been well-versed in, Shadow Milk should have known better than to indulge him.

When he wore the clothes so generously made by SM...When the two began wearing matching earrings...When he agreed to wear that golden choker...

When Pure Vanilla began showing up at his apartment without the usual beck-and-call, he had attributed it to routine. Familiarity. Stimulus and Response.

Learned Behavior.

After all, the fool was so blatantly infatuated with that White Lily. How could he have known?

How could Shadow Milk have ever fathomed that the consuming obsession spiraling was a mutual curiosity?

[solxamber]

And I Pick...

In which you choose the club that caught your eye

Part 1

After much contemplation you've finally decided to pick the:

Basketball Club

The basketball court was quiet for all of two seconds after you announced your decision.

Then Ace exploded.

"HA! I knew you’d pick us! I called it!" He was practically doing laps around the court, pointing at nothing in particular. "Ace Trappola: the ultimate recruiter, the club MVP, and now the guy who brought you on board! This is the best day of my life!"

"Eh, it’s about time," Floyd drawled, stretching lazily. "Took ya long enough to figure out where the fun is." His sharp-toothed grin widened. "Now we can play my version of full-contact basketball. Hehehe."

"Absolutely not," Jamil cut in, but Floyd wasn’t listening.

"Don’t worry," Floyd said, throwing an arm around your shoulders like you’d been lifelong teammates. "If you survive the first practice, you’ll survive all the practices. Probably."

Ace jogged back over, breathless but triumphant. "I told you we’re the best club! No boring rules, no endless laps like in Deuce's lame track team, and best of all—" He struck a dramatic pose, arms wide. "You get to hang out with me every day!"

"Please don’t make them quit on the first week," Jamil muttered, giving you a look that seemed to say, Are you sure about this?

"Quit? Nahhh!" Ace grinned. "They’re gonna thrive here. I’ll even teach them my signature moves—like my no-look, backwards, mid-air layup."

"You can’t even do that," Jamil said flatly.

"Not yet," Ace shot back. "But it’s the thought that counts."

Floyd leaned in closer, his grin somehow growing wider. "You better keep up, shrimpy. Otherwise, I might have to… spice things up a little."

"Spice things up?" you echoed, immediately suspicious.

"He means doing things like replacing the basketballs with watermelons," Jamil deadpanned.

Ace snorted. "Or throwing the ball at the hoop so hard it breaks the backboard. Oh wait, that actually happened. Twice."

"It was fun," Floyd said, completely unrepentant.

Jamil sighed like a man who’d aged a decade in the last five minutes. But then, to your surprise, he turned to you and offered a small, genuine smile. "Still… I’m glad you’re here. Welcome to the team."

The words were simple, but coming from Jamil, they felt like a warm endorsement.

Ace clapped his hands together, clearly ready to move things along. "Alright, enough talking! Let’s get you on the court and see what you’ve got!"

"Or we could start slow," Jamil suggested, but Ace was already dragging you toward the center of the court, Floyd trailing behind with a basketball under one arm.

"Don’t worry," Floyd said, tossing the ball up and catching it effortlessly. "If ya mess up, we’ll just laugh at ya a little. No big deal~."

"No one’s laughing at anyone," Jamil said firmly, already pinching the bridge of his nose.

Ace threw an arm around your shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "Ignore him. We’re gonna have a blast! First practice starts now!"

You weren’t sure what you’d gotten yourself into, but judging by their enthusiasm (and Floyd’s maniacal laughter), you were in for one chaotic ride.

Track and Field Club

The moment you declared your allegiance to the track and field club, Deuce’s face lit up like someone had just told him he passed his midterms.

“You’re… really joining?” he asked, like he needed double confirmation. When you nodded, his grin widened, the kind that made him look both relieved and excited. “That’s awesome! Uh—welcome to the team! Seriously, it’s great to have you.” His usual earnestness shone through, and he scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, I’m still kind of learning the ropes, but we can figure things out together. It’s gonna be great!”

Jack, standing beside him, gave a firm nod of approval. “Good call. Track and field’s a solid choice. You’ll fit right in.” His tail wagged just enough to betray how happy he was, even if his tone stayed calm.

"Yeah!" Deuce agreed. “And, uh, don’t worry about keeping up or anything. It’s all about improving at your own pace. Right, Jack?”

“Sure,” Jack replied, glancing at you. Then he added, almost casually, “We’ll work on your stamina. You’re gonna need it.”

It took you a second to catch the faint glint in his eye, and then you remembered—oh no, the fridge comment. Jack had been disturbed ever since.

Deuce, oblivious to the subtext, chimed in, “Yeah, Jack’s great at that stuff! He’s got this crazy endurance. Like, he can run forever. I’m still working on it, but, uh, you’re in good hands!”

Jack’s tail swished again. “Just be ready to push yourself. But don’t worry—we’ve got your back.”

“Exactly!” Deuce said, his fists clenching like he was ready to run a marathon right there. “This is gonna be awesome. I mean, not that it wasn’t already great, but now it’s even better. Right, Jack?”

Jack gave a small, satisfied smile. “Right.”

As they led you toward the field, you couldn’t help but wonder what you’d just signed up for. One thing was certain, though—Jack’s still thinking about that fridge, and he will make sure it’s not an issue anymore.

Board Game Club

The moment you declared your allegiance to the board game club, Azul adjusted his glasses, looking smugly pleased with himself, like he'd just negotiated the deal of the century.

"An excellent decision," he said, his voice as smooth as the perfectly polished board games stacked behind him. "With your addition to our club, I foresee a new golden age of strategic victories."

Idia, sitting half-hidden behind a pile of unopened game boxes, choked on his energy drink. "W-Wait, you’re serious? They actually chose us?" His hair flared a brilliant shade of pink for a moment before he pulled his hoodie tighter around himself. "Th-this isn’t some prank, right? Like, I’m not gonna look up and see them bolting out the door laughing, right?"

"Nope," you replied with a grin. "I’m all in."

Ortho, ever the enthusiastic hype man, zipped into the room with his jet thrusters. "Welcome to the club! Now we have a full party for dungeon raids. This is amazing!"

Azul cleared his throat, waving a hand. "Ahem, while cooperative RPGs are certainly an option, I believe we should start with a game of strategy and wit to introduce them properly. Perhaps a round of Chess of Betrayal?"

Idia groaned, sinking further into his hoodie. "Ugh, that game takes, like, three hours. If you’re gonna scare them away, at least wait until they’re too deep in to quit. Why don’t we start with something easy, like Goblin King Gauntlet?"

Ortho clapped his hands. "Ooh, I love that one! It has a random trap mechanic! Let’s play that!"

Azul raised an eyebrow, his smile shark-like. "Trap mechanics are hardly a proper welcome. It would be far better to demonstrate the finer nuances of strategy, wouldn’t you agree?"

Idia muttered something about Azul turning everything into a power play, but you interrupted before they could spiral into a full-blown debate. "Honestly, I’m fine with anything. Just deal me in."

Azul’s smirk widened. "Very well, then. I shall prepare the game board. And don’t worry, I’ll make certain you’re fully equipped for our upcoming campaigns. You’ll find we offer more than just fun—we offer victory."

Idia peeked out from his hoodie, a small, hopeful smile creeping onto his face. "You’re not bad at this whole club thing. Maybe this won’t be so terrible."

As they started setting up the game, you felt an unexpected warmth. Sure, it was just a board game club, but there was something endearing about their chaotic enthusiasm.

Though one thing was clear—Azul would probably try to sell you game tokens at some point, and Idia would absolutely try to teach you how to min-max your dice rolls.

But hey, you were ready for it.

Film Studies Club

When you announced your decision to join the film studies club, Vil paused mid-sip of his herbal tea, one elegantly arched eyebrow rising. For a moment, he looked like he was considering whether he had heard you correctly. Then, with a practiced air of nonchalance, he set the teacup down.

"Hm. Acceptable," he said coolly, though his tone betrayed a slight uptick of satisfaction. "It’s rare to find someone with enough taste to appreciate the art of cinema. I suppose your presence will be… useful."

But the slight curl of his lips gave him away.

He stood, brushing imaginary dust from his coat, and gave you an appraising look. "We have much to discuss. If you’re serious about this, you’ll need to commit entirely—no half-measures, no excuses. The camera is unforgiving, and I have no intention of allowing this club to falter under subpar contributions."

You opened your mouth to respond, but he was already pacing, gesturing dramatically like the star of an avant-garde production. "Lighting, blocking, composition—they are all integral to creating art, not merely entertainment. I trust you won’t embarrass yourself, or me, for that matter."

Despite his words, you caught the faintest hint of pride in his gaze as he turned to face you fully. "And, if for some reason, acting isn’t your strength, there are other roles. Cinematography, set design, editing… Perhaps backstage work would suit you, should you fail the audition."

He didn’t say it to be harsh; this was Vil’s version of encouragement. And as he continued outlining the club’s vision—"a modern renaissance in storytelling"—you realized he was genuinely excited to have you there, even if he’d rather gargle poison than openly admit it.

Finally, he stopped and gave you a small, approving nod. "Welcome to the film studies club. Don’t make me regret this."

Translation: I’m glad you’re here.

Science Club

The moment you announced your decision to join the science club, Rook’s eyes lit up like you’d just declared him the ruler of the universe.

"Ah, mon ami! What a magnifique choice!" he exclaimed, sweeping you into a theatrical bow so deep you thought he might topple over. "You possess the soul of an explorer, a true seeker of knowledge! Together, we shall unlock the mysteries of nature and celebrate its beauty in all its forms!"

"Uh… don’t scare them off, Rook," Trey interjected, though he was smiling. He adjusted his apron, clearly relieved that you hadn’t bolted under Rook’s enthusiastic greeting. "We’re glad to have you. Really. It’s nice to have someone else around who won’t accidentally set the lab on fire."

You raised an eyebrow. "That’s a low bar."

Trey shrugged. "You’d be surprised how many fail to meet it."

Before you could respond, Rook was already spinning grand plans. "Imagine the adventures we will have! Scaling mountains, crafting elixirs, nurturing delicate blossoms—ah, the poetry of science!" He clasped his hands to his chest, radiating so much joy that you were worried he’d break into song.

Trey, ever the grounded one, sighed fondly. "What he means is: we do a little bit of everything. Growing plants, chemistry experiments, cooking—you’ll fit right in. Assuming Rook doesn’t scare you off first."

Rook turned to Trey with an exaggerated gasp, as if the very suggestion of him being overwhelming was the greatest insult he’d ever received. "Chevalier des Roses, how could you wound me so?" He turned back to you with a theatrical flourish. "Fear not! I shall be your guide, your companion, your—"

"Assistant," Trey cut in, giving you a knowing look. "We'll assist you. Don’t let him take over your projects."

You grinned, feeling oddly at home already. Between Rook’s boundless enthusiasm and Trey’s steadying presence, you realized the science club might just be the perfect balance of chaos and calm.

Pop Music Club

When you announced your decision to join the Pop Music Club, Lilia was the first to react. He shot up from his chair with a dramatic flourish, his cape—where did the cape come from?—billowing as if on cue.

"Ah, an excellent choice! Welcome to the most electrifying club in the entire school!" Lilia declared, his voice reverberating like an arena announcer. He played an imaginary riff on an air guitar, complete with sound effects that you were almost certain were magically amplified.

Kalim clapped his hands, beaming as brightly as the sun. "This is going to be so much fun! We can sing duets, make up dances, throw a party for every new song we write—oh! We should have a welcome party for you right now!" He was already halfway to grabbing balloons out of thin air before Cater stopped him.

"Easy there, Kalim," Cater said with a laugh, pulling out his phone to snap a picture. "We haven’t even started jamming yet! Gotta document this first—‘New Member Alert 🚨🎶! Welcome to the coolest club at NRC!’” He posed next to you, flipping through filters. "Ooh, should we do a pastel vibe or go all-out neon?"

"Why not both?" Lilia suggested, somehow holding a tambourine he hadn’t been holding two seconds ago. He shook it with gusto, the jingles creating an impromptu beat.

Kalim joined in instantly, dancing around the room with energy that could probably power a small city. "This is going to be amazing! Do you play any instruments? Can you sing? Or maybe you’ll write the songs? Wait, can you do all three?!"

Before you could answer, Lilia leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. "Don’t worry, even if you’re terrible, I can teach you. After all, I’ve had centuries of experience."

"Centuries of experience at what exactly?" you asked, though you weren’t entirely sure you wanted the answer.

"Everything," Lilia replied cryptically, shaking the tambourine once more for emphasis.

Cater gave you a wink. "Don’t let him intimidate you. He’s mostly harmless. Mostly."

As the chaos swirled around you, you realized joining the Pop Music Club was probably going to be as much about managing everyone’s energy as it was about making music.

But looking at their genuine excitement, you couldn’t help but feel you’d made the right choice. It was going to be loud, unpredictable, and—most importantly—a lot of fun.

Equestrian Club

When you chose the Equestrian Club, Riddle’s reaction was immediate and deeply Riddle. He straightened his posture, cleared his throat, and gave you a small but dignified nod, though his ears turned the faintest shade of pink.

“A wise decision,” he said primly, but his voice wavered just enough to give away his excitement. “The Equestrian Club values discipline and care, and I trust you will uphold those values. Welcome.” He paused, then added with uncharacteristic softness, “I’m glad you chose us.”

Sebek, on the other hand, reacted with his usual intensity, which was to say, very loudly.

“AS EXPECTED OF SOMEONE WITH DISCERNING TASTE!” Sebek bellowed, saluting for no discernible reason. “THE EQUESTRIAN CLUB IS A PLACE OF HONOR AND DILIGENCE. YOU HAVE MADE THE RIGHT CHOICE, AND I, SEBEK ZIGVOLT, SHALL PERSONALLY ENSURE YOU MEET OUR HIGH STANDARDS!”

“You’re going to scare the horses,” Silver muttered, patting a dozing mare who didn’t even flinch at Sebek’s volume. Clearly, she’d built up an immunity.

Silver turned to you with a sleepy but genuine smile. “Welcome. It’ll be nice having another person around who actually seems calm. I’ll show you the best places to ride, and we’ll make sure you’re comfortable with the horses.”

“And with the rules,” Riddle interjected, already retrieving a stack of laminated pages. “Equestrian care is not something to take lightly. You’ll need to memorize these guidelines to ensure both your safety and that of the horses.”

Sebek leaned over your shoulder to inspect the stack and immediately saluted again. “AN EXCELLENT INITIATIVE, HOUSEWARDEN ROSEHEARTS! I, TOO, WILL MEMORIZE THESE IN CASE THEY EVER REQUIRE REINFORCEMENT!”

“I think they’re fine,” Silver said. “We don’t need to make this harder than it needs to be.”

Riddle frowned. “Standards exist for a reason, Silver. Though I appreciate your enthusiasm, perhaps we can—Sebek, stop shouting—perhaps we can go over the basics first before overwhelming them.”

As Riddle and Sebek debated, Silver handed you a carrot to feed one of the horses. “Don’t worry,” he said, as the horse happily munched away. “It’s not as intense as it seems. Usually.”

You glanced at the stack of rules in Riddle’s hand and the fervent look in Sebek’s eyes. It was definitely going to be an adjustment. But seeing how genuinely happy they all were to have you—yes, even Sebek—you felt like this would be worth it.

Magift Club

When you announced your decision to join the Magift Club as their manager, the reaction was instantaneous and… surprisingly chaotic.

Ruggie let out a whoop, immediately dropping to the floor in a mock bow. "Ayo, everyone, bow to the boss! Finally, someone who can keep this circus in line!"

Leona, lounging on the sidelines, cracked open an eye and smirked. “’Bout time. Herbivores usually flake out, but I knew you were better than the rest.” He stretched lazily, like he’d personally orchestrated your decision. “Just keep the snacks coming, and we’ll get along fine.”

Epel looked between them and grinned, his enthusiasm much more grounded. “It’s great to have ya! With you around, maybe Leona will actually show up to warmups... or not just sleep through it.” He shot a pointed glance at their captain, who was, of course, ignoring him entirely.

“Eh,” Leona drawled, flicking his tail dismissively.

“You could work on that attitude,” you muttered, earning a low chuckle from him.

“See, I told you they’d fit right in!” Ruggie said, gesturing at you dramatically. “They’re already roasting him. This is gonna be great!”

Epel, suddenly inspired, added, “And they’ll keep Ruggie from stealing the fresh apple juice we get after games. That’s worth it alone.”

As the reality of your new role settled in, you felt a bit like a lion tamer walking into a den of mischievous cubs and one very lazy big cat. But their enthusiasm—expressed in their own peculiar ways—was endearing.

Ruggie threw an arm around your shoulder. “Alright, boss, first order of business: snacks! Let’s discuss our game day budget and whether I can convince you to sneak me a sandwich before practice.”

Leona snorted but didn’t argue, which you took as a sign of approval. Epel pumped his fist. “We’re gonna crush it this year!”

Maybe managing this bunch wouldn’t be so bad after all. If nothing else, it’d definitely be entertaining.

Mountain Lovers Club

When you joined Jade for a hike to "test the waters" of the Mountain Lovers Club, you had your doubts. You were prepared for a lot of things—maybe getting lost in the wilderness, maybe Jade pulling out his eerie cryptid knowledge, or maybe just a weirdly formal lecture about moss. What you weren’t prepared for was… actually enjoying yourself.

Jade led the way with an unhurried confidence, pointing out various wild plants, their uses, and fun facts about the environment. He wasn’t his usual enigmatic self, either. He seemed lighter, almost enthusiastic, as he described a tiny wildflower you would’ve missed entirely.

“This particular species only blooms during the autumn months,” he said, crouching to show you. “Quite fascinating how it adapts to the cooler temperatures, don’t you think?”

You nodded, trying not to stare too hard at how his face lit up when he spoke. Jade was… cute? When he wasn’t talking about mushrooms in a way that made you question your mortality, he was actually kind of charming.

By the time you reached a rocky outcrop with a gorgeous view of the campus, you realized you’d been smiling for most of the hike. Jade noticed too.

“It seems I’ve made a decent impression,” he said, turning toward you with a soft grin. “I’m pleased to see you enjoying yourself.”

“It’s… relaxing,” you admitted, surprising even yourself. “I didn’t think it’d be this fun.”

Jade tilted his head. “Does that mean you’d consider joining the Mountain Lovers Club?”

You hesitated for a moment, but as you looked at the breathtaking view and the rare, genuine smile on his face, the answer came easily. “Yeah. I’ll join.”

For a split second, Jade’s eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly schooled his expression into his usual composed smile. “Wonderful. I must say, I wasn’t expecting this outcome, but I’m glad. It’s not every day someone sees the beauty in what I love.”

There was an odd warmth in his voice that made your heart skip a beat. As he turned to lead the way back, he added, “Now that we’re a team, I look forward to our next adventure.”

Jade Leech was genuinely happy. And, you realized, so were you.

Gargoyle Research Society

When you told Malleus you were joining the Gargoyle Research Society, his reaction was almost imperceptible at first. A slight widening of his eyes, a pause as though he was waiting to see if you were serious, and then—pure, unfiltered delight.

"You have an interest in gargoyles?" he asked, his voice both surprised and reverent, as if you'd just confessed to enjoying a rare and ancient art form.

You nodded. "Yeah. I think they're fascinating. The designs, the history… They’re like stone guardians with stories etched into them."

For a moment, Malleus simply looked at you, his emerald eyes shimmering like the light of distant stars. Then, as if unable to contain his joy, he smiled—a soft, genuine expression that sent a wave of warmth through the chilly Ramshackle evening.

"This pleases me greatly," he said, his tone unusually light. “Not many share my appreciation for gargoyles. Often, I speak of them, and others… how do I put it? Pretend to listen.”

“Well, I’m definitely not pretending,” you said, grinning. “I’m in for real.”

Malleus clasped his hands together in what could only be described as regal excitement. "Then I must share something with you. Sometimes, I create gargoyles myself."

“You what?” you asked, laughing in delight.

“Yes,” he replied earnestly, his eyes alight. “Carving stone requires patience, but there is a certain satisfaction in breathing life into something lifeless. Well, not literal life, of course, but a soul of sorts.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, the image of Malleus with a chisel and hammer popping into your head. “I never would have guessed. That’s… really cool.”

“I can show you some of my creations, if you’d like,” he offered, almost shyly.

“I’d love that,” you said, genuinely glad to have joined him. “I think I’m going to enjoy this club.”

The glow in his expression was impossible to miss. It wasn’t just that you had joined his club—it was that, for once, someone truly shared his passion. “And I am glad to have you,” he said softly.

In that moment, under the watchful eyes of the stone guardians scattered around campus, it felt like you had chosen exactly the right place.

Masterlist

tags: @techno-danger

a/n: it completely slipped my mind that ortho is a part of film studies sorry :(

[inseobts]

Busted! (Secret Relationship) 2.0

what if the two of you are in a secret relantionship and suddenly everyone start to realize something is going on?

gn!reader

characters: luffy, sabo, kid, shanks, bartolomeo

(zoro, sanji, law, koby, ace)

a/n: sorry about the barto one, I got out of ideas but needed a 5th character...

words count: around 0.8k - 1.5k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Luffy:

You sit at the far end of the Sunny’s deck, legs dangling over the side. The sea sparkles in the sun, and the wind plays with your hair. Luffy is across from you, lying on his back with his hat over his face.

You glance at him for the third time in one minute.

He lifts the hat just a bit “You’re staring again” he says with a grin.

“I’m not” you lie, too fast.

“You are.” Luffy sits up, stretching “Why?”

“Because you’re weird” you say, kicking the air with your feet.

Luffy laughs “That’s true! Can I kiss you?”

You smile, but quickly turn away when you hear footsteps. Sanji walks by with a tray of drinks. He looks at you, then at Luffy, then back at you. He squints.

“Something wrong with your face, Sanji?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

He frowns “No. Just… never mind. Dinner is almost ready.” He walks off.

You glance at Luffy. He’s watching you now.

“Do you think he knows?” you whisper.

Luffy shrugs “Maybe. But who cares?”

“I care! We said we’d keep this a secret, remember? You’re our captain, they will think I get favouritism or something.”

He pouts “I show favoritism to every single one of them. None of you even call me Captain… Who else in the world is a captain but isn’t even called ‘Captain’ by his own crew? Just me! And I really want to tell them.”

“We can’t” you say, standing up “Not yet. It’ll be weird. They’ll tease us forever.”

Luffy tilts his head “So?”

“So… I like it like this. Just us.”

He grins again and nods “Okay, okay. Just us. I like this too.”

But then Usopp yells from the other side of the ship, “Luffy! Why were you smiling like that? Did you eat something without me?!”

Luffy shouts back, “No! Mind your business for once!”

You giggle.

He looks at you, serious for a second “They’re gonna find out.”

“You’re a terrible liar but if we’re careful we can at least have some more time.” you say.

But even as you say it, you know its just a matter of days before Luffy will “accidentally” expose you.

“DINNER IS READY!”

Everyone is gathered around the table, plates stacked high with meat, rice, and bread. Sanji’s outdone himself again. Luffy is already three plates in, sauce all over his face and hands.

You’re chewing on a piece of pizza when a bit of sauce drips onto your chin.

Without even thinking, Luffy leans across the table with a napkin he just stole from Nami and wipes it away gently.

“Messy” he mumbles smiling at you, like it’s normal.

Everyone freezes.

Nami slowly lowers her fork. Zoro raises an eyebrow. Usopp’s mouth falls open.

Sanji blinks “What the hell was that?”

Luffy freezes like a statue, still holding the napkin mid-air.

You feel your soul leave your body.

“Are you two…” Nami starts, squinting hard, “…dating?”

Luffy sits up fast, and stay still like he’s got caught in the middle of stealing all the food.

Then he suddenly snaps “Absolutely fucking not! Why would you even think that?!”

Silence.

You blink.

Zoro tilts his head “You sure? ‘Cause that was some weird-ass behavior.”

“Yeah, dude,” Usopp adds “You never wipe anyone’s face. You don’t even wipe your own face.”

Nami who is still shocked “Did… did he just say absolutely fucking not?”

Luffy looks like a deer caught in a very obvious lie.

Your eye twitches.

You sigh, lean back in your chair, and say, “Yes… yes. We’re dating. That lie was so bad I can’t even pretend anymore.”

Nami chokes on her drink. Brook lets out a dramatic gasp. Chopper claps his hooves together.

All while you whisper “Stupid me, I even thought the worst scenario was you finding out in the next few days.”

Luffy looks at you, then back at them “Wait—so we’re telling them now?”

“No, you! You told them by being the worst liar I’ve ever seen.”

He scratches his head “Oops.”

“You literally said ‘absolutely fucking not’, not really in character from you, don't you think?”

He grins “I panicked…That made it more dramatic, right?”

Sanji stands up like he’s about to give a whole speech “When did this start? How long have you been hiding this from your family?”

You groan. Luffy laughs. Everyone starts shouting questions at once.

He leans over and nudges you with his elbow “Hey. At least it’s not a secret anymore. And they don't seem to mind it at all! You were so scared for nothing, look at them!”

You shove a piece of bread in his mouth “You owe me so many meat dinners.”

He just grins wider and keeps eating like nothing happened but with a grin that actually says everything happened.

── .✦ Sabo:

It’s quiet after dinner. The hum of HQ fades beneath the warm weight of Sabo’s arms around you. You’re curled up in his lap on the couch in his room, legs tangled, his coat draped over both of you like a blanket. He’s kissing you softly, lazily, like the world doesn’t need saving for just a few hours.

“You always smell like smoke” you whisper, nose brushing his.

Sabo chuckles, pressing another kiss to your cheek “And you smell like peace. So I guess we’re even.”

You smile, fingertips trailing the line of his jaw, just about to kiss him again when BANG. The door flies open.

Hack stands there. Eyes wide. Mouth slightly open. Absolutely regretting everything.

“…Oh...” he says flatly.

You launch upright, nearly taking the coat with you.

“WAIT—!”

But Sabo, not missing a beat, still lazily cradling your waist, says in a perfectly deadpan voice “Close the door. We’re not done yet.”

Hack’s brain visibly short-circuits.

He backs out slowly like he’s seen the gates of hell.

“Yup. Nope. Didn’t see anything. I need bleach. Where’s the bleach.”

The door clicks shut.

Silence.

You collapse against Sabo, face buried in his chest.

He just laughs, fingers drawing gentle circles on your back.

“Hack’s probably going to meditate in a cold stream after this.”

The next morning Koala kicks open your cabin door “Rise and shine, lazyass—training starts in twen—”

She stops.

Empty bed. No note. No sign of life.

Her eye twitches.

Cut to: Sabo’s room. She barges in without knocking.

“What the hell, have you seen—oh my GOD!”

You’re in Sabo’s bed. In his shirt.

He’s sleepily spooning you, arm wrapped tight around your waist, chin nestled in your hair like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Koala freezes.

You freeze.

Sabo doesn’t move a muscle. Just groans, nuzzles into you, and pulls you back down under the covers.

“…So that’s why you’re both always smiling at morning drills” Koala mutters.

You peek over Sabo’s shoulder, hair a mess, whispering “Hack didn’t lock the door.”

Koala just turns on her heel “Unbelievable. I’m calling Dragon. You two need supervised training from now on.”

You’re both trying so hard to keep it a secret even now.

Swearing up and down: No more getting caught. No more accidental cuddling in public. No more open doors. NO MORE SPOONING IN SABO'S SHIRT WHILE KOALA SCREAMS.

And yet...

After a brutal training session, you’re the last two stragglers left on the field. The sun's setting, sweat gleaming on both of you, breath still heavy from sparring.

Sabo tosses his gloves aside, runs a hand through his messy, damp hair, and looks at you like you're made of starlight and rebellion.

He steps closer.

You’re flushed, smiling, practically glowing from the adrenaline.

He reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek.

"Nobody’s here," he murmurs, a little breathless “Just one kiss.”

You’re this close. This close. Lips nearly touching—BOOM.

Ivankov struts around the corner like they owns the damn place, fanning dramatically.

“OH honey, if you’re gonna get sweaty together, at least invite me to watch!”

You and Sabo JUMP apart like you’ve been electrocuted.

Sabo coughs violently and turns beet red while you trip over your own foot trying to act like you were doing literally anything else.

Ivankov is grinning like the cat who caught the canoodling lovebirds “You two are about as subtle as a sea king in a bathtub.”

Ivankov winks and keeps walking like nothing happened.

Sabo is frozen. You’re wheezing from secondhand embarrassment.

“…We suck at this.” you mutter.

Sabo just covers his face and groans, “I’m never going to hear the end of all this.”

By now, literally everyone has caught you and Sabo in some weirdly intimate moment, except for one man, Monkey D. Dragon. And that’s how the betting pool was born.

It started with Koala dropping 50 berries on “He finds them mid-make-out in the strategy room.”

Hack went in on “One of them slips up and calls the other ‘babe’ during a mission brief.”

Even Ivankov scribbled down “Sabo gets distracted by Y/N’s ass mid-battle. Dragon walks up behind him.”

There’s a whiteboard hidden in the break room with all their bets.

In all this you and Sabo are sitting on a bench overlooking the cliffside near HQ, pretending to "review maps". The sun is golden, the breeze is soft, and Sabo’s hand is definitely resting a little too high on your thigh for this to be strictly cartographic.

Sabo chuckles, tilting his head toward the training grounds “Koala’s been pointing at us through binoculars for the last ten minutes.”

You glance over and she waves. So does Ivankov, who is literally holding a notepad that says “DRAGON CATCHES THEM: THURSDAY AT 14:37”.

You groan, burying your face in Sabo’s shoulder “This is humiliating.”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to your hair “We could just tell him and so they'll stop.”

You both pause.

Then simultaneously say, “Nope.”

The next day, it’s supposed to be a standard mission call. Everyone’s focused, the mission is critical, and everything is tense.

Suddenly, in the middle of all the seriousness, something goes wrong. You’re trying to navigate a tricky situation on the field, and you have to quickly adjust your position, which means you shift out of the line of communication for a second.

Sabo watches, trying to get your attention, then blurts out, completely unintentionally “Careful, babe.”

The whole call goes silent. The Den Den Mushi crackles with static, and suddenly, everyone on the call freezes.

Dragon (deadpan, calm as ever) “...What did you just say, Sabo?”

You immediately go white and you whip around to look at Sabo with wide eyes, panic setting in. You can hear Ivankov’s voice in the background, already laughing.

You “SABO, ARE YOU DUMB?!”

Sabo turns a brilliant shade of red "I—I didn’t mean—"

Everyone on the call is absolutely losing it.

Koala, trying to hold back laughter “Oh my God. Did you—did you just call them babe?!”

Hack, in the most deadpan voice ever “I won, right? I absolutely won this bet.”

You’re trying to keep your cool, but you can’t. You can’t. You cover your face, groaning.

Dragon, ever the calm voice in the storm, but with a clear edge of irritation “Next time, keep the personal affections off the mission calls. You're lucky this wasn’t an urgent situation. We almost got compromised.”

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You glance at Sabo, who looks like he’s about to combust.

You, exasperated “Sabo, f***, you made me get scolded! This is so embarrassing!”

Sabo, still trying to apologize “I—I didn’t mean it like that! It was just a slip—”

But the damage is already done.

Dragon, his voice slightly dry “We’ll talk about this later. Focus on the mission. And next time—be more professional.”

As the call ends, the atmosphere is tense. You and Sabo are left standing there, feeling like two complete idiots.

Later that day, the break room is chaos. Hack is smugly holding up his winnings from the betting pool. Koala is still laughing, and Ivankov is offering “support” by teasing Sabo non-stop.

You, on the other hand, are doing your best to avoid eye contact with everyone as Sabo sulks in the corner.

You, barely holding it together “I hate you right now. I really do.”

Sabo “I swear, I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t mean to, but you’re still an idiot.”

Sabo rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly “…I deserve that.”

── .✦ Kid:

You don’t really think much of it the first time.

A small, clumsily wrapped package left outside your room on the Victoria Punk. The paper’s crinkled like it was balled up five times before someone gave up and tied it with rough twine.

Inside a shiny little trinket you’d mentioned wanting in passing weeks ago.

You raise a brow but say nothing. Maybe someone’s just being nice.

Then it happens again. And again.

Each gift is messy but thoughtful, like someone’s trying to be sweet. A handmade weapon accessory here. Your favorite snacks there. One day, a scrawled note reads, “Don’t let anyone else have this. It’s for you only” not signed.

The crew notices. Of course they do.

Heat starts humming “Someone’s got a secret admirer~.”

Wire goes like “Who even knew you liked that kind of thing?”

Killer, raising a brow behind his mask “...It’s weirdly specific, though. Whoever it is knows you pretty well.”

You try to play it off, but the teasing doesn’t stop. It only gets louder. More obnoxious.

Kid, arms crossed, leaning against the railing “Tch. Who cares? Buncha idiots drooling over gifts like teenagers.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

He's unbothered. Disinterested. Completely unfazed.

That night, when the ship’s quiet and everyone’s turned in, you knock on his door. He opens it in a loose tank top and sleep-rumpled hair, eyes narrowing.

“What.”

You cross your arms “Are the gifts from you?”

He blinks “What?”

“The stuff. The notes. The snacks. You’re the only one who listens that closely.”

A flicker of something passes through his expression, too fast to catch. But then his scowl deepens.

“You think I’ve got time to play secret admirer with you? Hell no.”

You stare at him, caught off guard.

“…You’re serious?”

He scoffs and turns away “Go to sleep. You’re imagining things.”

He slams the door behind him. You’re left in the hall, heart twisting a little. Because he sounded so convincing.

But if it’s not him… Then who the hell is it?

After that night with Kid, you really do try to let it go. But the crew doesn’t.

You can't walk into the mess hall without someone raising an eyebrow or tossing a comment.

Wire leans back in his chair one morning, boots on the table, biting into an apple with a grin “Hey, Y/N, no new packages today? What a tragedy. Guess your mystery lover finally ran out of ideas.”

Heat chuckles, elbowing him “Or maybe they’re just planning something bigger. Like a grand confession. What do you think, huh? Gonna be roses next time?”

You, dryly “Right. I’ll expect fireworks off the port side.”

Killer, voice calm but laced with amusement from beneath the mask “Honestly, I’m more impressed by the consistency. Whoever it is, they’re either very devoted… or very stupid.”

Kid, across the room, is pretending not to hear, arms crossed, eyes on something that doesn't exist. His jaw’s clenched so tight, you can see it from here.

You catch his eye for a second but he looks away fastly.

The next morning, nothing shows up. Then the next. And the next.

You don’t say anything about it. Neither does Kid. But something’s different in the air now, like tension caught in a bottle, just waiting to explode.

One night, you’re lying tangled up together, the hum of the ship quiet around you. He’s half asleep, heavy arm slung across your waist, his hand lazily tracing circles on your skin.

Your head is on his chest, warm and steady.

“…I haven’t gotten any new gifts lately” you mumble, mostly to yourself.

He stiffens just slightly, but doesn’t say a word.

You chew on your lip “Think they found out about us? Maybe they backed off.”

Still nothing.

You lift your head and look at him “You ever think about who it might’ve been? Kinda funny, right? Maybe someone on the crew really had a thing for me.”

Still no response.

You grin a little “What if it was Killer? You think he’s the poetic type? Am I his type?”

Before you can say another word—whump.

A pillow slams into your face, hard enough to make you roll.

“HEY!” you shout, laughing “You absolute brat!”

Kid doesn’t even look guilty.

“You’re annoying” he mutters, but there’s a faint blush rising to his ears. He turns his head, scowling at the ceiling like it insulted him personally.

You smirk, poking him in the side “Ohh, someone’s touchy…”

“I’m throwing you off the bed.”

“You’re not strong enough.”

“Wanna bet?”

Weeks pass.

Everyone moves on. The secret admirer jokes fade. Kid goes back to normal, grumpy, snarky, yours. You figure that weird little mystery chapter is just done.

Until one day, you find a new gift.

Not one of its usual ones, no haphazard twine, no angry handwriting. This one’s clean, careful. Wrapped in deep red paper with a ribbon tied perfectly.

Inside: a carved charm. Elegant. Personal.

The note says “Couldn’t help myself. Thought you’d like this.”

Your heart actually skips a beat.

You march straight to the engine bay, holding it up like evidence. Kid’s elbow-deep in mechanical guts, oil smeared on his hands.

“Hey,” you call “Now... is this from you?”

He glances up, sees the box, and freezes “What the fuck is that?”

“A gift. Someone left it for me. Just now.”

The silence is nuclear.

Then his voice explodes “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

He storms past you like a cannonball with legs, throwing open the engine bay doors and stomping onto the deck.

“ALRIGHT,” he bellows, voice booming across the ship, “WHOEVER THE HELL THINKS THEY CAN FLIRT WITH MY PARTNER—UGH COME SAY IT TO MY FACE!”

Everyone stops what they’re doing.

A wrench drops. Someone chokes on their food. Killer just sighs.

“YOU HEARD ME!” Kid’s pacing like a madman, hair wild, coat half falling off one shoulder “YOU THINK YOU CAN STEAL MY ONE WITH PRETTY RIBBONS?! Y/N IS MINE. MINE!”

You bury your face in your hands and whisper "Please stop, this is really embarassing."

Killer, calmly from the upper deck “Well. That answers that. We all knew the original gifts were from you, Eustass.”

Heat, grinning “Yeah, but I thought he’d last a little longer before breaking.”

Wire, yelling from the mess hall window “PAY UP! I SAID HE’D CRACK WHEN A REAL RIVAL SHOWED UP!”

You’re still standing in the middle of the storm, holding the new gift while your hot-headed boyfriend is screaming at the ocean.

You, deadpan “Great. Now the whole Grand Line knows.”

Kid, turning to you like you betrayed him “WHY WERE YOU SMILING AT IT?!

“Because I thought it was from you again!”

“WELL, IT WASN’T. AND NOW I’M GONNA MURDER WHOEVER THAT WAS.”

The deck is still vibrating from Kid’s volume. He’s stomping around like a territorial lion, red in the face and shouting murder oaths into the wind.

“COME ON! WHO WAS IT?! WHO THINKS THEY’VE GOT A CHANCE?! I’LL BREAK YOUR TEETH IN.”

You’re standing there, clutching the new gift, wondering if you’ll have to tackle him to keep the crew alive.

But then Killer steps forward, calm as ever “Kid.”

Nothing.

Killer raises his voice slightly “Kid!”

That gets through. Kid slows, turns, still wild-eyed “What?! You want me to let someone just—?!”

Killer sighs like he’s been dealing with this since the womb “That gift wasn’t from a rival. It was from us all.”

The entire crew falls silent.

You blink “Wait—what?”

Killer glances at you, then back to Kid, arms crossed “We knew the first gifts were from you. We’ve known for a while.”

Kid opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again “You—WHAT?!”

Heat, leaning against the rail with a huge grin “C’mon. You thought we wouldn’t recognize your handwriting? You write like you’re trying to fight the paper.”

Wire, popping his head out from the doorway “And who else would wrap a gift in metal wire and call it ‘aesthetic’?"

Killer adds “We figured if we pushed you enough, you’d confess eventually. That final gift was just the nudge.”

Kid stares at them like they’ve grown two heads “So it was a trap?!”

Killer, with a shrug “It worked.”

Then Killer turns to you “What we didn’t know was that you two were already together.”

There’s a ripple of surprise through the crew.

Wire nods “Yeah! Let's go back to that because... like... what?”

Heat nods even more dramatically “Yeah! Since when?!”

You, dryly “A few months before the first gift showed up.”

Kid’s jaw tightens like he regrets every decision leading to this moment.

“You guys are the worst” he growls.

Heat, wheezing “We’re the worst?! You’ve been sneaking around and flirting through weapon mods!”

Wire, laughing “AND YOU STILL DENIED IT TO Y/N’S FACE?!”

Kid lets out a sound somewhere between a growl and a scream and turns to you like you’re his last hope of escaping humiliation.

You just grin at him “C’mon, Captain. Let’s go before you combust.”

He’s still grumbling when you tug his arm and drag him below deck, muttering curses under his breath the whole way.

── .✦ Shanks:

The sea is quiet tonight.

The crew laughs near the campfire, their voices loud under the stars. You sit a little away from them, pretending to look at the moon. But really, you’re waiting. Waiting for him.

A warm hand touches your shoulder from behind.

“Miss me?” Shanks whispers, his voice soft like a wave brushing the shore.

You smile without turning “You’re late.”

“I had to talk to Benn. Captain stuff,” he says. Then he leans in close “But I’ve been thinking of you the whole time.”

You giggle, quiet “Liar.”

“I’m a pirate. What did you expect?”

Finally, you turn to him. Shanks is smiling that lazy smile you know too well. His red hair glows under the moonlight. His eyes? All on you.

“Don't look at me like that, someone might see it” you whisper, looking at the crew.

“They won’t,” he says “They’re drunk, loud, and too busy telling stories.”

You glance again. He’s right. No one is looking.

So you let him pull you behind the palm trees. The sand is warm under your feet, and the wind carries the scent of salt and firewood. He sits down and opens his arms.

“Come here.”

You crawl into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He wraps his one arm around your waist, holding you close.

“I missed you today” you say.

“I missed you too” he says. Then he kisses the top of your head “You know what keeps me going?”

“What?”

“This. Just this.”

You press your face into his chest “You’re soft for a pirate.”

He laughs, his chest shaking “Only with you.”

The night is quiet now. Just the waves and the sound of his heartbeat.

He whispers, “One day, when this secret doesn’t have to be a secret anymore… I’ll hold your hand in front of everyone. I’ll kiss you right on the deck.”

You look up at him “Promise?”

“I swear on the one piece.”

You laugh again, and he kisses your nose “That’s a big promise” you say.

“I never break my promises” he says.

And in that moment, under the stars and hidden from the world, you believe him.

It’s late now. The fire has burned low. The crew is asleep, scattered in hammocks or on the beach.

But you’re wide awake.

You stare at the door of his cabin. You know it’s risky. But your heart pulls you there anyway.

You knock once, soft.

The door opens almost instantly. He’s there, sleepy eyes and messy hair. Shirt half buttoned.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks with a small smile.

You shake your head “Can I… stay?”

He doesn’t answer with words. Just steps aside, lets you in, and closes the door behind you.

His room smells like sea salt, old paper, and something that’s just him. It’s small but warm. The bed takes up most of the space.

“You sure you want to risk it?” he teases, pulling the blankets back.

You nod, already crawling in “You’re warm. That’s worth the risk.”

He chuckles, switching off the lantern “Come here then.”

The bed creaks as he joins you. You curl into his chest. His arm wraps around you tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

You whisper into the dark, “I love when it’s just us.”

“I know,” he says, resting his chin on your head “Me too.”

Silence for a moment. Just your breaths, your hearts. Together.

Then he says, quietly, “I always sleep better when you’re here.”

You grin, even though he can’t see it.

“You snore” you whisper.

“Lies.”

“Loudly.”

He laughs, low and soft “I’m a captain. I’m allowed.”

You snuggle closer, legs tangled, warmth everywhere. His hand finds yours under the blanket. Fingers laced, easy and natural.

“Stay every night,” he says, voice almost a mumble now “Even if they find out. Even if it’s chaos. I don’t care anymore.”

“You’ll care when Benn gives you that look” you say.

“I’ll survive it,” he says “I won’t survive not having you.”

You go quiet at that. Because sometimes, he says things that hit your heart like a wave.

“I won’t survive not having you either” you whisper.

He kisses your forehead. Gentle. Safe. Real.

In the morning, the sunlight slips through the cracks in the window, painting golden stripes across the bed.

You stretch, warm and safe, still tucked under Shanks’ arm. He’s already awake, watching you with sleepy eyes and a soft smile.

“Morning” he whispers, brushing hair from your face.

“Morning” you mumble back, voice still scratchy from sleep.

He leans down and kisses your cheek “You drooled a little.”

“Liar.”

“You did.”

You groan, roll over, and bury your face in his pillow “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You don’t.

But you’re very late.

You were supposed to help Lucky Roux in the kitchen twenty minutes ago. But after all the cuddling and stealing kisses between brushing your teeth and Shanks being distracting (on purpose), you throw on the nearest shirt and rush out the door.

The morning air hits your face. The crew is already up, busy with chores, chatting, moving crates, laughing.

You walk fast, head down, trying not to look guilty. But then someone says behind you, “Hey…”

You freeze.

It’s Yasopp.

He squints, then tilts his head “That shirt looks kinda familiar…”

You look down. Big, red, half-buttoned pirate shirt. Smells faintly like rum and sea and... you.

It’s his shirt.

You force a smile “Oh, really? I, um… I just bought this yesterday in town! Crazy, right?”

Yasopp blinks “It’s just... Shanks has one just like that.”

You laugh. Too loud “That’s so funny! What a coincidence!”

He raises an eyebrow “Uh-huh.”

You start walking again “Okay, bye! Gotta go stir the stew!”

You practically run to the kitchen, slam the door behind you, and press your back to it, heart racing.

Lucky Roux looks up from chopping onions “You okay?”

“Fine! Everything’s fine! Great! Love onions!”

You spend the next hour hiding in the kitchen, trying to look very busy.

You’re scrubbing a spoon like it just insulted your whole family when you hear footsteps outside.

Then, his voice.

“Mmh…”

It’s Shanks.

You freeze.

“I swear I left it here somewhere…” he mumbles, mostly to himself.

Lucky Roux looks up “Captain?”

Shanks scratches his head “My red shirt. The one with the loose buttons? I wanted to wash it but… maybe I already did? Or someone moved it?”

You choke on air.

Lucky Roux’s eyes widen.

You slowly turn, still holding the spoon, sweat forming on your back.

Yasopp walks in right then, and Lucky Roux points at you silently.

Yasopp follows the finger… sees the very red shirt you’re wearing… and his jaw drops.

“Oh… my… GOD.”

You raise your hands like you’re being arrested “I can explain—”

“No no no no, don’t you dare,” Yasopp says, pointing now “This is amazing. Since when?!”

Shanks, confused, looks between you and them “Wait… what’s happening?”

Your face burns “Shanks. This is your shirt.”

He blinks.

Looks at you.

Then at the shirt.

Then back.

“Oh.”

The silence lasts about two seconds.

Then the entire kitchen explodes.

“What the hell?!”

“You two?!”

“I KNEW IT!”

Lucky Roux claps like he just saw a proposal “This is the best day of my life.”

You groan and hide behind a cabinet door.

Shanks laughs, holding up his hands “Okay, okay, okay, you got us.”

Yasopp shouts, “Since when?”

Shanks grins and leans casually against the table “Mmh… A while. Since that one stop in Lougetown.”

“That was months ago!” someone yells.

You peek out, blushing “We were being careful!”

“You wore his shirt” Yasopp deadpans.

Shanks throws an arm around your shoulder “Guess we don’t have to be careful anymore.”

The crew starts chanting something dumb like “KISS KISS KISS!” and you groan again, but Shanks just laughs and plants a quick kiss on your temple, bold and smug.

“Oh you're actually loving all this” you whisper.

“A lot” he whispers back.

── .✦ Bartolomeo:

You didn’t mean to fall for Bartolomeo.

It kind of… just happened.

Between the screaming, the fangirling, the way he glared at anyone who looked at you too long. But somewhere between the nonsense, you found something real.

He loves big. Loud. Unfiltered. But when no one’s watching? He loves so quietly, you can barely believe it’s the same guy.

Right now, you're hiding in the hallway of the ship, tucked behind a stack of crates. Bartolomeo is sitting cross-legged, handing you a rice ball.

“I made it for you!” he says, puffing out his chest “I watched a tutorial. It’s heart-shaped!”

You look down. It’s… more like a lumpy circle, but you smile anyway.

“It’s perfect” you say.

His face turns red “Y/n…” He sways a little, hand over his heart “You’re too kind… I’m gonna DIE!”

You laugh and take a bite.

“Don’t die. You still owe me cuddles tonight.”

“RIGHT. YES. I shall live for the cuddles.”

The secret has stayed safe. So far.

Except today, you dock on an island with a bunch of rowdy pirates who definitely pick a fight before lunch.

You’re in the middle of battle, blocking with a staff, when one pirate gets too close and knocks you to the ground.

You’re fine. A little scratched. But Bartolomeo sees it happen. And then it happens.

He turns.

He screams.

“THAT’S MY BABYYYYYYYYY—!”

Everyone stops.

Even the wind pauses.

You slowly get up. Face blank.

He freezes.

His hand is mid-air, about to use his barrier powers. His eyes wide.

“…Did I just say that out loud?” he whispers.

The entire crew is staring.

Someone goes, “Wait. Your baby???”

You try to speak “Uh—he means—”

“I MEAN WHAT I SAID,” Bartolomeo yells again, fully panicking now “Y/N IS MY BABY. MY LOVE. MY SWEET CHERRY BLOSSOM—”

“BARTO,” you hiss “Stop confessing in front of everyone!”

Too late.

He throws his hands up and suddenly there’s a giant heart-shaped barrier around you two. Sparkly. Pink. Absolutely not subtle.

He turns to you “At least we’re alone now.”

You facepalm “There’s a window, Barto.”

You hear cheering from outside.

“THEY’RE DATINGGGGG!”

“PAY UP, I TOLD YOU THEY WERE!”

“DOES LUFFY KNOW?!”

You sigh.

Bartolomeo wraps you in his arms, completely unbothered now “So… secret’s out.”

You look up at him “What gave it away? The screaming or the love bubble prison?”

“…Both?”

You can’t help it. You laugh. He kisses your forehead.

“I love you” he says.

“I love you too” you whisper, even if the entire world hears it now.

After that no one seems to actually care about the two of you.

Weeks later you and Bartolomeo are docked on a chill island when you run into the last people you expected: the Straw Hat Pirates.

Luffy spots you both instantly.

“YO, BARTO!!” he shouts, waving like a madman.

Bartolomeo screams, throws himself to the ground, and starts sobbing with joy.

“LUFFY-SENPAI! I WOULD DIE FOR YOU! THANK YOU FOR BREATHING IN MY DIRECTION!!”

You’re behind him like “Okay, this is fine.”

You greet the rest of the crew like normal. Everyone’s smiling, happy to see you, no one suspects a thing.

You and Bartolomeo agreed before getting there: keep it private. You didn’t want anyone or worse, Luffy finding out. Bartolomeo is just way better when it's just the two of you.

That night, it happens.

“GAME NIGHT!” Usopp shouts “Winner gets free food!”

The crew splits into teams. You get pulled into a round of a random game and of course you end up against Luffy.

Everyone’s crowded around. People are yelling. Sanji’s handing out drinks. Robin and Nami are judging.

Luffy’s up first.

He draws a card and starts flapping his arms.

“Bird!” “Chicken!” “Flying fish!” “Zoro waking up late!”

He gets it.

Then it’s your turn.

You pull your card and immediately drop to the ground, trying to act out a seal (It’s harder than it looks).

People are guessing like crazy.

"Penguin!" "Sea cow?"

Luffy squints.

Bartolomeo, sitting quietly in the back with popcorn, clutches his cup.

He stares at you with so much intensity, it’s insane.

And then it happens... again.

You clap your hands and bounce a little, still acting out the seal.

He jumps to his feet.

“YES BABY! GO! DESTROY HIM!! YOU GOT THIS, MY LITTLE WAR MACHINE!!”

Silence.

Everyone stares.

You freeze mid-flap.

Luffy slowly turns “Wait… Baby?”

Zoro raises an eyebrow “Little war what?”

Nami drops her drink.

Chopper gasps so hard he hiccups.

Sanji says “Wait a damn minute...”

Bartolomeo realizes too late. Hands fly to his mouth.

You’re still stuck in seal position, blinking.

Robin, smiling softly “Well… that explains the way he looks at you.”

You turn to look at him, mad “Do you even try??”

Usopp yells, “YOU TWO?! YOU’VE BEEN DATING THIS WHOLE TIME?!”

Bartolomeo’s face is red as a tomato “I… I didn’t mean to! y/n was just so cute pretending to be a seal...”

You slap your forehead.

Luffy, wide-eyed, just goes, “Whoa. You’re dating my number one fan. That’s crazy. He even choose to cheer for you.”

You sigh “Yeah. It is.”

And then he bursts out laughing “THAT’S SO COOL!”

The whole crew joins in, laughing, teasing, clapping Bartolomeo on the back. He’s half-proud, half-mortified, but he doesn’t stop smiling all night.

Later, when the chaos dies down, he wraps an arm around your waist and whispers, “Sorry, babe.”

You smirk “For cheering too loud?”

“For waiting this long to yell about how amazing you are.”

You roll your eyes “I liked the ‘my little war machine’ part.”

He gasps “Really?! I was just improvising!”

“Never do that again.”

“Okay but also… you were winning.”

[iydiamartinx]

A STUDY OF RIVALS

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune word count: 4.7k synopsis: Damian meets his rival but perhaps he doesn't hate her as much as he thought. a/n: This one took forever!

Damian Wayne was infuriatingly brilliant.

But even more infuriating? So were you.

From the moment you stepped through the wrought-iron gates of Gotham Academy, you were a headline. The only daughter of your mother—billionaire philanthropist and formidable tech magnate—you had been raised in private academies scattered across Europe and Asia, groomed for excellence in spotless marble halls and classrooms with vaulted ceilings. You returned to Gotham only when your mother decided it was time to come home, bringing her empire and her heir with her.

You arrived polished and composed. Impossibly articulate for someone your age. And intelligent—almost scarily so.

The paparazzi did anything to get a photo of you and your mother

Despite transferring half way through the school year at Gotham Academy the prestigious school was more than happy to take you in. By first period, your name was already on everyone’s lips. Teachers adored you and students all wanted to be your friend. They whispered about your legacy. Your net worth. Your wardrobe. Your private driver. You were the closest thing to royalty Gotham had since the Waynes.

At first Damian didn’t bother to pay attention, you were just another socialite in designer shoes. However, that changed by second period when you dared to challenge him in literature class.

The teacher had called on Damian, who, without looking up from his annotated copy of The Raven, delivered a perfectly adequate—if not slightly bored—analysis of Poe’s narrative technique. He’d spent enough time reading Jason’s battered paperbacks to be familiar with Poe’s rhythm.

That should've been the end of it but then you spoke up.

“I actually disagree,” you said, your voice calm and clear for someone your age. There was no malice or the intent to belittle—just the unwavering tone of someone who had never once been taught to doubt herself. “I think the narrator’s unreliability was intentional. Poe used it to emphasize the descent into madness, not obscure it.”

The room had gone quiet. Even the teacher blinked, caught off guard by your boldness. No one ever dared to disagree with Damian, usually because he was always right, or because they were terrified of the consequences that would come from doing such a thing.

Damian turned in his seat slowly, regarding you like a hawk sizing up competition.

Your eyes met his calmly.

He stared back, impassive. “It wasn’t meant to obscure, no. But emphasizing madness through unreliability can still hinder clarity of narrative. The reader is left unanchored—intentionally.”

You tilted your head slightly. “But that’s the point, isn’t it? Poe wanted us to feel disoriented. He wasn’t just telling us the character was unraveling. He was making us experience it.”

From the back of the classroom, someone muttered under their breath, “Uh oh.”

The teacher cleared his throat, clearly unsure whether to intervene or just let the exchange continue. “Excellent… insight,” he offered cautiously, glancing between the two of you like a man tiptoeing through a minefield. “Both of you. Let’s move on, shall we?”

But you and Damian didn’t move on.

From that moment on, it was war.

The rivalry began innocently enough—almost imperceptibly at first.

He completed a pop quiz in twelve minutes. You finished it in ten.

He aced the physics lab. You beat him in algebra.

He turned in an essay on ancient warfare quoting The Art of War. You cited Thucydides, pointed out a flaw in his argument, and corrected his citation aloud when it came to peer editing them.

By the end of the week, you’d tied his calculus score. By the next, your name appeared beneath his on the school’s academic leaderboard. Only one point behind. The following Monday, it was on top.

Damian hadn’t lost a ranking since he started at Gotham Academy.

“Tt,” he muttered under his breath, glaring at the board.

“She’s impressive,” one of the teachers had said offhandedly. “Such a brilliant student. She reminds me of you, Mr. Wayne.”

Damian had scowled. You were not like him. There was no one like him, he had been raised to surpass excellence—to conquer it. Trained since birth by the League of Assassins, tutored by the world’s brightest minds, fluent in four languages by age six. He had Sun Tzu memorized before most children learned to read. And you? You were just some rich girl in a perfectly pressed uniforms.

Meanwhile, you couldn’t figure out what you’d done to earn his scorn—but his snide remarks and condescending tone had begun to gnaw at you. Irritating you to the point you made it a personal mission to beat him at everything. 

One afternoon, after an especially gruelling debate in History, the two of you were called to stay behind. The teacher then turned to face you both with a look that fell somewhere between exasperation and reluctant pride.

“I’ve never had two students correct me in the same breath,”  he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re both brilliant, but maybe next time let me finish the sentence before starting a turf war over Napoleon.”

You cast a sideways glance at Damian, only to find that he was already looking at you.

His sharp green eyes narrowed slightly. You looked away, lifting your chin and straightening your shoulders as you turned your gaze back to the teacher. You weren’t about to be caught admiring his infuriatingly handsome self. 

Once you two were dismissed, he turned to you in the nearly empty hallway, brushing nonexistent dust off his blazer.

“You know,” he started, voice dry, “you talk too much for someone who’s wrong half the time.”

Your eyes narrow. “Funny. I was about to say the same about you.”

And with that, you turned on your heel and stalked away—head held high, heels clicking, and more than ready for a Damian-free weekend.

Only… that wasn’t the case.

Not even twenty-four hours after your latest victory in the history debate, you found yourself being pulled from the backseat of your town car in front of Gotham’s most exclusive ballroom. Cameras flashed. Paparazzi shouted your mother’s name and yours. Your jaw locked the moment you stepped out, heels clicking sharply against the marble as you followed her up the steps.

“This is a waste of time,” you muttered under your breath, gaze fixed ahead.

“Nonsense,” your mother replied without so much as a glance over her shoulder, her tone breezy and clipped, laced with that ever-present note of amusement. “A little public goodwill never hurt anyone. Besides, it’s good to make connections. One day, you’ll take over my legacy.”

Inside, the venue glittered. Filled with polished chandeliers, soft golden lighting, and murmured laughter. Gotham’s elite mingled beneath banners for children’s hospitals and tech-forward philanthropy. Champagne flutes sparkled between manicured fingers. A string quartet played something classic in the corner. And you stayed precisely half a step behind your mother as she navigated the room like a queen surveying her court.

At some point, you stopped paying attention.

Your mother flitted between conversations with years of practiced charm. Making the rounds as she talked to important investors and socialites. It wasn’t until she said your name that you blinked back to the present. 

“Y/N.”

You looked up. Both your mother and a tall, dark-haired man were watching you expectantly. 

“Bruce, this is my daughter, Y/N,” your mother said smoothly. “Honey, this is Bruce Wayne.”

The name instantly grabbed your attention. You knew who he was, of course. Everyone did.

Bruce Wayne offered you a hand and an easy smile. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard impressive things.”

You returned the gesture with one of your own—polite but not quite warm. “Likewise, Mr. Wayne.”

His eyes, though friendly, were sharp—like he saw more than he let on. You recognized the look. You’d seen it in boardrooms, in interviews, in your mother’s own reflection when she touched up her lipstick before a negotiation. It was the look of someone sizing you up—measuring your potential. 

“My youngest son is about your age,” Bruce commented casually. “Perhaps you know him—Damian?”

Before you could respond, the devil himself materialized like he’d been summoned by name. “Father—”

“Ah, Damian, we were just talking about you!” Bruce said, his entire expression shifting as he reached to pull his son closer with a fondness that Damian met with stiff resistance. “This is Ms. L/N,” he added, gesturing to your mother, “and this is her daughter, Y/N.”

Damian’s sharp green eyes landed on you, his mouth tightening ever so slightly. “Yes. We share classes.”

“Oh, how wonderful,” your mother said smoothly, her voice laced with that signature diplomatic charm—the kind designed to make people feel flattered, even when they weren’t. “She’s spoken so highly of her classmates. I’m glad to know she’s surrounded by such… driven young people.”

You caught the subtle pause. Driven, not kind. Not friendly. Your mother had no patience for meaningless social niceties. She reserved her praise for those she deemed worthy, and the way she was now sizing up Damian said it all. Just like Bruce had done with you, she was assessing Damian with the same calculating precision she used on CEOs across glossy conference tables—because like you, he was a legacy.

“Likewise,” Damian said smoothly, though the tightness in his jaw betrayed any sincerity. “Y/N is… competent.”

You turned to him slowly, one brow arched. “Just competent?” you echoed, voice as sweet as honey, but the edge beneath it was razor-sharp. “Funny. I seem to recall consistently scoring higher than you on every major assessment.”

He scoffed. “Then perhaps your memory is askew.”

Bruce let out an awkward chuckle, and your mother’s brow lifted in amusement as the tension between you and Damian practically crackled.

“It seems our children have a bit of healthy competition,” Bruce remarked lightly, though his eyes flicked to Damian warningly but also filled with new understanding. So that was the reason for the sudden uptick in academic ambition. Before you, Bruce had to practically hunt him down and threaten to ban him from patrol to get him to go to school. “You’ll have to forgive him. Manners are still a work in progress.”

“I don’t know,” your mother mused, taking a slow sip of her champagne. “He reminds me a bit of you when you were younger. All sharp eyes and sharper opinions.”

“Mother,” you warned under your breath.

“Oh, come now,” she said with a smirk, eyes glinting. “I’m simply saying it’s nice to see you have a rival to keep you on your toes. Bruce and I were much the same in our youth. It’s good for you.”

Something unspoken passed between them, buried under years of power and poise. They stood too close for it to be entirely innocent, their glances too measured, their silences filled with unspoken words. You weren’t sure if you wanted to roll your eyes, gag, or start backing away before things got weird or well…weirder.

“Well,” Bruce said at last, raising his glass in your mother’s direction, “I’m glad they’re getting along... sort of.”

Damian let out a scoff beside you.

“Mmm,” your mother hummed, clinking her glass to his with a knowing smile. “Let’s just hope they’re nothing like us in our youth.”

You finally chose option three—and it seemed so did Damian.

Without a word, the two of you turned on your heels and made a clean, silent escape. You didn’t need to say anything. The moment your mother started reminiscing about her and Bruce’s youth—with that knowing look in her eyes—you knew it was time to evacuate.

You didn’t so much as glance his way as you moved, but you could feel him beside you, the stiffness in his posture betraying his quiet irritation.

The ballroom opened into a quieter hallway off to the side, lined with towering windows and heavy velvet drapes that muffled the noise from the main event. It was cooler here, the lighting softer, almost reverent. You paused near one of the window alcoves and plucked a glass of water from a tray left on a pedestal, the crystal catching the dim light as you took a slow sip.

Damian stopped beside you, arms crossed, jaw tight. “Does your mother and my father know they’re insufferable?”

You took another sip before replying. “I don’t think they care.”

He gave a soundless huff of agreement, eyes scanning the crowd judgmentally. “How long do you think they’ll keep us here?”

“Long enough to secure five new investors and two photo ops,” you muttered, setting your glass down.

He absentmindedly nodded. “An accurate assessment.”

You tilted your head, giving him a slow look. “Careful. That almost sounded like agreement.”

He scoffed without looking at you. “Statistically speaking, even you were bound to say something useful eventually.”

Your eyes narrowed, a sharp retort already forming on your tongue—but you didn’t get the chance.

“Y/N!” a shrill voice called, honeyed and eager.

You turned just in time to see a well-dressed socialite approaching, eyes alight with recognition. “I just have to say, your mother is such an inspiration—I’ve followed her work for years! And you’re her daughter? My goodness, the resemblance is uncanny…”

As the woman launched into a full-blown gush fest, you fought the urge to sigh—and instinctively glanced to your side.

But Damian was gone. 

Meanwhile, Damian had taken the opportunity to slip away, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease until he rejoined his siblings near the bar. Jason, leaning casually against the counter with a glass in hand, raised a brow and nodded subtly in your direction.

“Who was that you were talking to?”

Tim glanced up as well, curiosity piqued. “Yeah, I didn’t realize you had any friends, Demon Spawn.”

Damian rolled his eyes, arms folding across his chest in irritation. “She’s not my friend,” he muttered. “She’s an infuriating enemy I unfortunately cannot get rid of.”

He exhaled sharply, his gaze cutting across the ballroom to where you stood at the far end, still trapped in conversation. You nodded politely, offering a rehearsed smile while yet another socialite praised your mother’s latest tech innovation. Damian looked visibly annoyed just watching it.

“What’d she do?” Dick asked, genuine interest threading through his voice. It wasn’t like Damian to fixate on anyone who wasn’t a threat—or family.

“She exists,” Damian said flatly. “And insists on doing so at the top of every class ranking I hold.”

Tim let out a low whistle, dragging out the sound. “Ah. Academic rivalry. That explains the tension. Thought for a second you were flirting.”

Damian’s head whipped over to look at him like he’d sprouted a second head. “Don’t be stupid.”

Jason grinned behind the rim of his glass. “You mean to tell me someone’s finally smart enough to challenge you and you don’t like it? You’ve been whining about your classmates’ IQs ever since Bruce made you go to school.”

“They are stupid,” Damian snapped. “And she’s not a challenge. She’s just—annoying. Always has an opinion. Always needs to correct everyone.”

"By everyone, I'm assuming that you're referring to yourself," Jason smirked.

“You know all of that sounds a lot like you, actually,” Tim pointed out, shrugging with a completely unapologetic smile.

Damian shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Does not.”

Jason elbowed Dick, who had been quietly sipping his drink with a growing smirk. “Ten bucks says they get partnered on some school project and fall in love by spring.”

"You're on," Dick grinned.

Damian’s entire expression darkened.

“I will set you three on fire,” he said, dead serious.

Unfortunately for Damian, the first part of Jason’s prediction came true.

It was Monday morning, second period, and the classroom still buzzed with low chatter and the scraping of chairs as students trickled in and settled down. You had just taken your seat, already flipping open your notebook, when the teacher stepped to the front of the room, her expression far too cheerful for a Monday morning. That alone should’ve been your first warning.

“As you all know we have an upcoming literary analysis project,” she began, scanning the room like she was delivering good news and not the academic equivalent of a grenade, “and I’ve decided to personally pair you all up to ensure balanced collaboration.”

Around the room, groans erupted. A few students exchanged panicked looks or hopeful glances toward their friends. You, however, didn’t care much, prepared to do all the work to ensure the best grade. That was until—

“Finally, Y/n and Damian.”

You blinked once. The words taking a moment to fully register.

From a few seats over, Damian let out a noise that sounded almost like a choking cough.

The teacher—either oblivious to the knife-sharp tension that immediately spiked between your desks or possibly very aware—beamed. “I trust the two top students in our class will produce something exceptional.”

Damian looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. 

You offered your teacher a faux pleasant smile, tilting your head. “Looking forward to the challenge.” And then you turned to Damian. “Try not to fall behind.”

The look Damian shot you could’ve curdled milk. He scoffed but didn’t rise to the bait—not verbally, at least. His glare was sharp enough to count as a response on its own as he stood, gathered his things, and reluctantly moved his desk beside yours like he was being sentenced to death.

His books hit the surface of your shared desk with a muffled thud, and he sank into his seat like it physically pained him to be there, sitting stiffly beside you and crossing his arms almost as if he was pouting.

You didn’t so much as twitch. You merely turned toward him with a sickeningly sweet smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

“Shall we begin?” you asked. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer to sulk and pout this entire project.”

“I don’t sulk,” he muttered darkly.

“Sure you don’t.” You agreed sarcastically, before scoffing. “You’re the epitome of brooding.”

He glared at you like he was contemplating homicide—but wisely chose not to respond. Instead, he pulled out his notebook and clicked his pen with more force than strictly necessary.

Unbothered, you flipped open your own notebook, already prepared. “The prompt says we’re to write a five-page analytical paper on a theme of our choice from any of the assigned novels this semester. Preferably one with—” you glanced down at the rubric, “—‘literary merit.’”

Damian raised a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Which rules out anything you picked, I assume.”

You rolled your eyes. “God forbid we write something that isn’t dripping in post-war existentialism and masculine angst.”

“I vote Frankenstein,” you continued, undeterred. “Morality, monstrosity, creation and consequence—it’s rich. And you can wax poetry about man’s hubris to your heart’s content.”

Damian ignored the jab and frowned thoughtfully. “Overdone. Everyone will be choosing to write about Frankenstein. It’s predictable.”

You turned toward him, brows lifting. “Predictable is safe. Safe is how we get full marks. Unless you want to take a creative risk and tank your precious GPA.”

Damian didn’t even flinch. “The greater the risk, the greater the reward.”

You snorted. “You once titled your essay ‘The Idiocy of Hamlet’s Entire Bloodline.’ I’m still amazed you didn’t fail on principle.”

He shrugged, entirely unrepentant. “And I stand by that.”

You sighed, resisting the overwhelming urge to pinch the bridge of your nose. “Fine,” you muttered. “What do you suggest, then?”

He drummed his fingers against the desk thoughtfully, gaze sweeping over the list of literature they’d covered that year. Once. Twice.  Then, without looking at you, he spoke.

“The Picture of Dorian Gray.”

You blinked. “Wilde?”

“Morality. Duality. Self-destruction,” he said smoothly. “All the themes you wanted in Frankenstein, only with better prose and far more interesting characters.”

You hesitated—just for a second. Then you gave a small nod. “…Not a terrible idea.”

He turned toward you slowly, eyes narrowing as though unsure he’d heard you right. “Was that an agreement?”

You smirked. “Statistically, even you were bound to say something useful eventually.”

Damian scoffed, rolling his eyes. “How original.”

Despite the initial tension, working together became… surprisingly seamless.

Over the next few weeks, you found yourselves forced into truce—and then, somehow, into something almost akin to a friendship. The first week was hell, of course. You argued over structure, disagreed on thesis points, and debated which citations to use  like the fate of Gotham depended on it. But somehow—between your scribbled annotations and his painfully neat footnotes—you found a rhythm. There were still jabs and snide comments, of course. You wouldn’t have expected anything less. But there were also late afternoons at the library, debates that turned into almost companionable, and quiet moments where you realized he wasn’t as insufferable as you first thought.

You were used to handling things alone. Your mother’s world was ruthless, and you’d learned early to hold your own. Trust was a currency, and most people were too quick to squander it. But Damian… he didn’t put you on a pedestal, didn’t flatter you or fawn over your name like the way other children of Gotham’s elite often did, eager to secure favour or avoid offence. He didn’t nod along just to stay in your good graces. If anything, he seemed allergic to the idea of appeasing you. 

Instead of charming you—he challenged you. Constantly.

As much as it pained you to admit it… your mother had been right. Being challenged was good for you.

Damian didn’t make things easier. Instead, he made you better—made you grow.

Soon, you found yourselves almost reluctant to call it a night. You began to look forward to your time together—your new routine. You always ended up at the same back-corner table in the library, shoulder to shoulder, your shared workspace a pile of chaos filed with overlapping notebooks, highlighters, and the book itself.

Your notebooks a mess of underlined passages, marginalia, and colour-coded tabs. Damian’s handwriting was immaculate and neatly written cursive. While yours was sharper, more angular—more chaotic, if you were honest—but it didn’t matter. Your minds clicked in ways your hands didn’t need to.

“Here,” you murmured, nudging his notebook. “You keep saying Dorian’s downfall was vanity, but I think it’s more about his willful ignorance. He chooses not to see the damage he causes. It’s not just narcissism—it’s self-preservation.”

Damian’s gaze shifted to the passage you pointed at, brows furrowing. He didn’t answer immediately.

“You’re saying he wasn’t blinded by ego,” he said slowly. “He blinded himself. On purpose.”

You nodded. “He wanted to live without consequence. The portrait just made it possible.”

He leaned back slightly, folding his arms as he mulled it over. His jaw was tight with thought, but when his eyes lifted to meet yours, something was different. There was no smugness, no bite, no thinly veiled disdain. He had genuinely considered your point of view and there was even a bit of respect.

“I hadn’t considered that,” he said finally. “That’s not bad.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Was that a compliment?”

He scoffed and turned back to his notebook, the moment gone as quickly as it had come. “Don’t get used to it.”

But you were already smiling to yourself.

And strangely—unexpectedly—you almost found yourself disappointed when the project finally came to an end.

The perfect scores had been inevitable.

With minds like yours and Damian’s, there was never going to be another outcome. The thesis had been sharp, the analysis layered and airtight, the presentation polished to the point of you could probably recite it in your sleep. When your teacher returned the papers—each one marked with glowing remarks and a rare, handwritten “Flawless work”—you barely reacted. Neither did Damian. There was no need for celebration when you both expected nothing less.

And with the project behind you, you assumed things would go back to normal. Cold glances. Sharp remarks. Mutual irritation and academic rivalry. After all, that was what you were good at—competition. Not… whatever the past few weeks had been.

You were just zipping up your bag at the end of the day, earbuds half in as you walked out of the class when a group of boys from your class approached you. You’d never personally interacted with them, but they were always loud a disruptive.

“Well, if it isn’t Gotham’s golden girl,” one of them drawled. “Did mommy buy that perfect score for you too?”

You straightened slowly, expression unreadable, already preparing a verbal lashing when another boy added, “Bet she made Wayne do all the work,” he said with a snort. “There’s no way she’s that smart. I bet Wayne was ready to hit his head against the wall working with her.”

The words weren’t new—God, no. You’d heard them all before. The digs, the undercutting, the suggestion that your success wasn’t really yours. Different faces, different schools, always the same venom. It never used to sting. But today… for some reason it did. 

Maybe it was because, for once, the accusation didn’t even come close to the truth. Maybe because—despite everything—you were genuinely proud of the work you and Damian had done. It wasn’t just about the perfect grade. Somewhere along the way, the project had stopped being a competition and started becoming something else entirely. Something collaborative.

You’d found yourself enjoying the process. The way your mind and his clashed and overlapped. The way your perspectives differed—and how those differences pushed you both further. And for once, the outcome wasn’t the reward. The understanding was. You felt like you understood Damian better and had enjoyed the time you two had spent together.

Everything you and Damian had built—every late night, every debate, every carefully chosen word in your paper—they reduced it to manipulation. To nepotism. To the idea that you weren’t enough.

Then much to your horror, the last person you expected to see had just approached. And your body tensed instinctively. The project was over. You and Damian had been companionable these last few weeks, maybe even—if you squinted—friendly. But now? You didn’t know. Would he say something? Join in?

Instead, his emerald green eyes narrowed—on them, not you.

“I suggest you walk away,” he said coldly, voice like cut glass.

You blinked, startled, watching as he came to stand beside you, arms crossing neatly over his chest.

One of the boys laughed, nervously. “Oh come on, Wayne. We all know you did all the work, the only reason she’s here is ‘cause Mommy made a generous donation to the school.”

Damian didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. “As did my father. And one call to him, and the lot of you will be expelled before the end of the day.”

And then—before you could even register it—one of them said something utterly vile about you. The implications of it made your stomach twist. The air went still filling with tension.

Damian’s fist flew before you could even blink.

It connected with a sickening crack against the boy’s jaw, dropping him like a rock. The boy lay groaning on the tile, already being dragged away by his friends, who looked more terrified than smug now, stumbling over themselves as they disappeared down the corridor without another word. Cowards, all of them. 

You stood frozen for a beat, blinking.

Damian’s shoulders were squared, his breathing steady. He didn’t even glance at you. He just flexed his hand once and muttered, “Tt. Idiots.”

You stared at him, eyes wide. “You punched him.”

“He deserved it.”

You bit your lip, your gaze flicking back to where he was standing stoically and glaring at the space where the group had been standing. Then—impulsively, heart hammering in your chest—you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “…Thank you.”

Damian froze.

His entire body went stiff, posture locked like he’d just been turned into a statue. A deep flush bloomed across his cheeks, colouring them a violent crimson as his mouth parted slightly in shock. For once, he had nothing to say.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “…You’re welcome.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips. “Do you want to grab a milkshake?” you asked, trying to sound casual—like you hadn’t just kissed Gotham’s most emotionally constipated teenager. “We can study for finals too.”

He blinked once. Twice.

Then, in the stiffest, most painfully formal voice imaginable, he replied,

“Yes. That… would be acceptable.”

Grinning now, you slung your bag over your shoulder and started walking, tossing him a glance over your shoulder. Damian trailed behind you silently begging whatever gods existed to will the red dusting his cheeks to fade.

Somewhere along the line he realized his brothers had been right. He didn’t dislike you. Not even a little.

In fact, it was probably the opposite.

And he was already halfway through making Jason’s second prediction come true.

[obeymeluv]

In Your Defense [PT 1 - Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw]

You decide to work at Sam's for Valentine's Day and your crush just happens to hear a customer hitting on you. If they get arrested, can you be their alibi? AKA: This person has a death wish and you find out your crush might be jealous?

Note: Each one is random and some will be longer than others. If I made everyone the same length this thing would be MASSIVE and I would probably die.

Not proofread because of the length. Trying to get everyone done today. It's my last day off for a few.

Whatever part Ortho is in will be platonic, obvs.

Happy V-day!

Riddle likes to think he's made great strides not being angry but hearing some utterly disgusting joke about 'how much do you cost?' sends him like nothing else ever has. This guy is tall and so unimpressive, so plain, so average that Riddle can't really recall him at all. Maybe that's just the absolute fury blurring his vision. He knows he's not breathing but his chest isn't burning near as much as his face; the heat is spreading quick and he can feel it in his cheeks and neck. Temples pounding, his vaguely aware of the growl bubbling in his chest as it threatens to slip past his clenched teeth.

Ace calls it his teapot snarl.

Before Riddle knows it, he's flown off the handle and he's going off on a rant. The whole shop is quiet, people physically backing away as he just methodically unravels everything about this cretin from outfit, posture, presence, delivery, unoriginality--everything. Honestly, he doesn't even remember everything he said. The redhead doesn't even tune back into the sound of his own voice until he ends the onslaught with, "You've just paid twenty thaumarks to embarrass yourself but that pales in comparison to the fact that you thought you had a chance with them. You should be ashamed!"

The man slinks away, sad little bag dragging off the counter.

Whispers and giggles diffuse throughout the shop. He ignores the looks that come his way, using the time to come back to himself. Riddle fixes his cute casual clothes, content with the fact you picked them out together. He catches sight of the matching rose clips on your outfit and in you hair and smiles softly. "A strawberry cookie and a cake pop, please." he clears his throat, fishing his wallet out of his pocket.

Sam had an assortment of sweets and he was going to capitalize on strawberry's popularity while he could. He saw you root through the display case, carefully considering the designs even though they were all supposed to taste the same (allegedly).

"Sure thing. Your total is 12 thaumarks. Thanks for stopping by Sam's Mystery Shop! Happy Valentine's Day!"

He hands you the thaumarks as you take the time to slide the I LOVE YOU cookie in his bag.

----

Deuce is an honors student! He is a good boy that's going to make his mother proud!

HE IS SO GOING TO PUNCH THIS MOTHERFUCKER IN THIS FACE!

His shoulders tense, fist clenching at his side. "Why, you think they're cheap? Something to be bought? What an insult!" his head snaps up as he stares down the slightly taller boy. Deuce's teal eyes turn a dark turquoise; the giddy glint of seeing you and chocolate eggs in one place turns to something sharp and steely. He hands the chocolate eggs to Ace, turning right back around to stare the creep down. Old habits die hard; he's grinding a fist into his hand.

"Aren't you the guy always complaining about limited time sales being unfair? Not my problem you missed the window." the guy scoffs, leaning back against the cashier counter. "Anyways," the guy tilts his head back and starts talking to you.

You look uncomfortable and angry that you can't handle this yourself. Professionalism and all.

"You may have caught the window but I'm about to show you the door." Deuce draws up on him with a quickness people have never seen. Not many people know about all the fights he used to get into. Gripping the guy's hair almost to the point of pulling it out, steering him like a panicked bull, Deuce all but chucks him out the front door of the shop. He turns around to walk back inside and buy his chocolate eggs but that spine-tingling feeling of someone fixing to take a cheap shot makes him pivot and nail the guy with a solid kick to the chest. The guy falls back on his butt, breath hitching.

Deuce scoffs and wipes his shoes on the step before going into the shop. The door is almost closed behind him when he hears a strained grunt. He's been in enough fights to know the guy is off the ground and making one last attempt to catch him from the back. More than done with this and just wanting his damn eggs and to say hi to you in all your festive lace, he shoulder checks the door like he's trying to shove Jack out of the lunch line (which he would NEVER, EVER DO).

The guy falls with a satisfying thud and Deuce tries his best to relax his face as he resumes his place in line. It's red from aggravation and the fact he's fishing for his thaumarks because he's forgotten what pocket he put it in. "Sorry about that," he tries to uncrumple the thaumarks a little before handing them to you. "And the face. My face. Not your face! Your face is fine! Like, you're not ugly! I just, uh--"

"Take the change, Deuce-y!" Ace is standing behind him, guiding his nervous body like a puppet. He makes Deuce grab the change and turns him around, shoving him away from the counter before he can make it any worse. "Now help me move this guy's body! He's out cold!"

---

Ace can only laugh when he hears that line. First of all, it's weak. Secondly, the dude must not have any faith in his game if the delivery depends on you being captive behind the counter. During work hours. With an obligation to be forward facing and listening to whatever he says.

"Why? You worried about your budget, buddy?" Ace laughs, hands laced together behind his head.

The guy snaps up, stick-straight. "N-No! I was just--" his face is blooming pink.

"People aren't products, bro. There's no discounts." Ace shakes his head.

"W-What I meant was, I want to take you on a date!" the guy turns back to you and flashes a big smile. All of Ace's pouty mutters fall on deaf ears. Not because he's being quiet, but because the guy is straight up ignoring him. He's not sure where the idea comes from--he'll blame it on an itchy hand--but he sneaks a couple of small candies in the guy's pocket. Sam's familiar top hat bobs into view, snaking around the shelves.

"DON'T FORGET TO PAY FOR THE STUFF IN YOUR POCKETS!" Ace felt confident in his sleight of hand tricks. It wouldn't be the first time he tricked NRC students. It's actually really easy to do. That works in his favor because if everyone can't get their story straight or agree on what they saw, he's a free man.

Sam materializes at the edge of the aisles and seems to stare into the boy's soul. "Young man, please step aside."

Ace looks like the cat that ate the canary as he moseys up to the counter and slaps the box of cherry cordials down. He buys a cherry sucker at the last second, not seeing it at first. "Thanks, Sweets!" Ace winks at you as he strolls out with the bag.

Sam nearly scares him out of his skin, leaning against the wood just outside the door. Ace finally feels the tug of shadows on his feet. "Speaking of sweets," Ace flinches and hides his ear with his blazer, groaning as Sam hooks an arm around his neck and pulls him into his chest sternly. "I understand your frustration, Little Imp. Young love is adorable in all it's wiles! But mark my words, Little Imp: if you lie about wrongdoings in my shop again, you will not come back. Clear?"

"Yes sir." Ace gulps.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Little Imp."

---

Trey isn't really surprised to hear what he just did. 'Boys will be boys', as the saying goes. Frankly, he's disappointed. He's heard smarter things come out of his little brother and sister.

He adjusts his glasses, mentally trying to relax the knot between his eyebrows.

Should he say something? Of course he wants to. It's you! He's been on the other side of the counter plenty of times and has had vivid daydreams of sticking a customer in a stand mixer. But, then again, he has a reputation to uphold and anything he does could reflect back on Riddle.

And send Riddle into a fit, giving him something else to handle.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized he'd have the element of surprise. People--especially men--don't cook enough to know how much arm strength it takes to lift twenty pound bags of flour on the regular. Or the stamina it takes to walk said bags from Sam's shop to Heartslabyul. Even the small five-pound bag of sugar in his basket would suffice as a weapon; the sugar was packed enough to hit like a brick if he lobbed it.

Trey's running the options through his head, almost settling on just saying 'how much for you to stop?' when he sees the end of a sucker rolling between the guy's teeth. Too easy, Trey pushes his glasses up on his nose, hand hiding his smile and the quiet incantation for "Paint the Roses".

All of a sudden the guy is gagging and running for the door. You and everyone else are wondering what the hell just happened. He doesn't come back in. One brave soul suggested he had a really bad gag reflex and the sucker did him in. Only Trey knows it was a mix of sour milk and the pungent soy sauce tart nightmare he tricked Riddle into making once.

"Just this, please. Oh! And what Sam had on hold for me." Trey hands you the sugar, relishing in the brush of your hands.

"Candied violets and a bag of sugar. Twenty thaumarks, please."

"Thanks." Trey smiles at you, laying the sugar flat so his delicate, delectable candied violets don't get crushed.

"Thank you." you smile brightly, handing him the change.

----

Cater wants to gag. Normally Valentine's confessions are cute and IN THE RIGHT SETTING pickup lines are amazing. This? This is a tragedy. Mostly because there is ZERO chemistry and you look #uncomfortable.

He's big on consent since he's always looking for collabs and people to pose with on Magicam so maybe that's why this scene bothers him. Aside from the fact that you're out of this guy's league, obviously. Like, it's really an insult to your time.

'How much do you cost?' Really? You're #priceless.

His brows furrow, lips thinning as he wonders what to do. He plays with the idea of Split Card and creating a small crowd of copies to boo and jeer the guy but the store would be even more packed than it already is. Cater's green eyes twinkle as it hits him. Turning his phone longways, he zooms in on the guy and tells him to keep going because he's live on Magicam. "Don't worry! I've already got all the V-day tags on there! Everyone will see it!"

He's friends with practically everyone at NRC so this guy will be seen by everyone.

Something sick and unfriendly and satisfied swirls in him as the guy's face pales in real time. If he zooms in a little, he can get the beads of sweat in there. "I'll, uh--another time, okay?" the guy darts off and abandons his handful of candy at the register.

"Haul coming later! 'K, bye!" Cater sends a peace sign to the camera, smiling at his own face. He swipes the little chocolates into his basket nonchalantly. He's not even the biggest sweets person but those are his now!

"Gonna have a spicy Valentine's Day, huh?" you ring up the cups of spicy ramen.

"You know it!" he laughs.

"I get it. You have to balance out how sweet you are." you smirk up at him. "Twenty-four thaumarks, please."

#in love. #kiddingnotkidding. #sendhelp. #downbad.

----

Leona doesn't even know why he bothered to show up to Sam's. He could just send Ruggie to get whatever he wanted. The variety of jerky was somewhat tempting but he could just as easily take the bus and get a proper meal off campus. And yet, he stood there with a gloved hand in his pocket, tail swishing back and forth in mild agitation. His green eyes sweep over the winding line until they land on you at the front.

His cheeks warm a little and he scoffs at himself, pretending to pick through the hanging strips of sunflower seeds as the line moves. Every step gets him closer to this soft, powdery scent with just a hint of sweetness. He starts to blame it on all the chocolate and candy and sugary shit exploding out of every possible spot in the store but there's this unmistakable undertone of skin.

Your skin.

He's only caught the scent a million times while hiding from people in the Botanical Gardens. Or when he's forced to attend class, catching a hint of you in the halls.

Leona's not sure why he cares anything about you because you're not magical. You're not interesting.

You shouldn't be, but you are.

You're literally the only person he's ever met from another world. You have no context for the Sunset Savanna or the hierarchy of it. To you, everyone is impressive. He can be something to you.

Why does that matter? He doesn't even know. That's what he tells himself, anyways. You say you have no magic but Leona thinks you can read minds. The look you always give him isn't a pitying one, but a curious one that seeks to dissect him and force him to face everything he keeps shoved deep down inside himself.

Part of him is waiting for the day you pull the right thread and he comes undone in the way he knows he need but can't find the strength for. Somewhere in that knotted mess is his true feelings for you. The stuff he can't admit.

You stand admirably on your own two feet, roughing it out like Ruggie, but you're so far from the intimidating women of the Sunset Savanna. You're approachable and soft; you're built like prey but you have the quick thinking of a predator.

Something in your demeanor changes--your hands pause and flutter nervously--and he's on alert. He's careful to relax his grip lest he crush the box of protein bars for Jack. His ears sling forward and his eyes narrow as he catches that half-baked flirting attempt. Leona doesn't even bother to hide the sneer twisting his face.

Just the thought of you with that hopeful schmuck is nauseating.

Suddenly the scent of all the males around you is overwhelming. Disgusting.

"If you have to ask about the price, you can't afford it. Haven't ya ever heard that before?" Leona 'hmphs' triumphantly, one hand on his hip as he bends down slightly to stare the chump in the face. "Askin' about the price is tacky."

"Wh-what was my total again?"

All Leona had to do was stare at the back of the human's neck. Humans, much like prey animals, grew really squirmy when a predator stared at them too long. Or encroached on their space, much like he was doing. It was for the hell of it at this point.

Leona made a mental note of the guy's face as he scampered off like a terrified cub and looked forward to the day he could send a stray spelldrive disk in his direction.

"Hey Herbivore," Leona plunked the basket down unceremoniously.

"Hey Leona," you looked down at the random stuff in his basket, trying not to smile at what just happened. Something warm and--dare he say it?--proud welled up in his chest when he realized you were happy about him scaring the guy off.

The heart-shaped stickers he kept finding on everything when he got back to Savanaclaw helped, too.

----

Ruggie lived for the holiday specials at Sam's. He was a bit put out that he wasn't picked to staff the Valentine's shift but the in-store discounts were a small consolation. It'd be better if he could stack them with an employee discount but he'd take what he could get! His mouth started watering as soon as he entered, sniffing out deliciously fluffy donuts.

Hopefully people would be distracted with the lollypops and chocolates and leave his donuts alone!

He choked down the occasional nervous whine when people gravitated too close to the donut display, distracting himself with the decor and wondering what would be most profitable to flip. His eyes began to wander to the people in front of him; Ruggie tsk'd at how casual and unguarded they were. Ripe for the picking, he looked at their wallets and fistfuls of thaumarks just out in the open.

If he wasn't worried about being banned from Sam's and losing some gigs he'd--

"How much do you cost?"

EXCUSE ME?! Ruggie freezes, eyes going wide and ears twitching when he hears that. The dude said that and LIVED?

Oh, right. You're not a Savanna girl. The girls back home would beat him up and make him pay them to stop. Or just smack the shit out of him hard enough to put him in a coma. Maybe break his jaw so he can't drop anymore awful lines.

Women are to be respected! Not treated like something you can purchase!

Given that you weren't a Savanna girl and were bound by the rules of 'I'm currently on the clock', Ruggie took things into his own hands. You could just treat him later!

"Laugh with Me!" Ruggie hisses, backing into the closest display. It was a little bump to him but far more to the guy up front. He waved his arm around, skimming the bags of gummy candies while the guy at the register knocked down a whole tower of balloons on a stick. Bending over just enough to line the guy's head up with the counter, Ruggie lunges forward.

WOMP!

Oh it was so satisfying. The guy is hopelessly, helplessly stunned. He gathers his bearings and Ruggie slides his foot out; the guy loses his footing and slams into the counter again.

Only two times before he gives up? Kind of weak-willed, Ruggie thinks with a little smirk as he side-steps the disoriented guy and waits patiently to check out. Sam tends to him while you get the donuts he's been craving.

They'll taste even better because they smell like you. Happy Valentine's Day to him!

-----

Jack is usually very stoic but a lot of people mistake his stoic observation for irritation. He would blame it on his intimidating physique but he's not sorry and takes great pride in his appearance. He's a beastman--a Howl!--he's supposed to be intimidating! Intimidating appearance aside, Jack is also a very helpful soul.

A good boy, if you will.

The only reason he's in Sam's is on Ruggie's behalf. He was tasked with picking up a few things and was more than happy to help out his senior. They were from the same dorm, after all! Practically a pack! You have to help your pack!

He's not really bothered by the amount of people, more focused on keeping his tail out of people's way and making sure he doesn't knock anything over. All at once, the atmosphere changes a little. There's a hint of sour in the air and a noticeable hike in someone's pulse.

It's your pulse. You look...distressed? Why are you distressed? Where is the threat?

Whatever it was, he missed it and he's cursing himself.

His ears swing forward as he catches bits and pieces of conversations. Some people are complaining the guy is taking too long, other people are laughing at his crappy pickup line. Some people are wondering if it's going to work.

This was a weak display if he ever saw one. The guy didn't even look confident in himself! All of your body language has now firmed up into rejection but the guy's not getting the hint. He's trying the 'oh, c'mon!' thing his siblings do when they want to play.

You don't know it, but you've been feeding Jack when he trots by in wolf form. He likes to finish off his morning jogs in wolf form to really stretch his joints and obliques. It was supposed to be a one-off thing, him following the tantalizing aroma of food to your door. Your cooking is fantastic and while you don't know that you're a pack mate, you're a pack mate!

You're just a pack mate who feeds him and gives him occasional pets. And these to die for scratches that he'd kill to feel with his real skin instead of fur. Any touch would be fine, really. Not that you'd ever know.

Jack doesn't even know he's growling until people start moving out of his way. The growl crescendos as he walks towards the guy. Tail bristling, Jack opens his mouth to show off sharp canines. "Get lost! They're not interested in you! They're just trying to work!"

As expected, the guy tucks tail and runs. Jack snorts, licking his lips that have suddenly become dry. His ears don't know what to do, caught between catching all the murmurs behind him and wanting to press down in embarrassment.

It's quiet but he hears it. "Thank you, Jack."

"Don't mention it," he crosses his arms, looking everywhere but you as you scan his items. He was avoiding looking at you directly but he notices you slip a few extra beef sticks into his bag. He blushes.

Yeah, don't mention that either.

[veichua]

۫ ꣑ৎ ─── fuckboy paige x reader.

IT STARTED WITH A BROKEN AC. fried from overuse during a chaotic party thrown by paige, your asshole roommate who doesn’t like you much and seems to revel in disrupting your life with her shamelessly loud hookups. your defiant decision to sleep in paige’s room, spurred by necessity and a desire to push back.

porn with plot. lowercase. strong language. emotional conflict. alcochol and party culture. property damage. sexual objectification. oral sex(cunnilingus). fingering. strap-on.

"paige!" kia's voice, pierced through the thin wall separating paige’s room from the cramped living room where you sat.

the apartment, with its paper thin walls, offered little in the way of privacy.

first, it had been the low, unmistakable moans that made your cheeks burn with secondhand embarrassment.

now, it was their incessant giggling, loud enough to drown out the soft hum of the old radiator in the corner.

every sound grated on your nerves, each chuckle and whispered endearment pulling you further from the focus you desperately needed.

the pen in your hand tightened in your grip, the plastic creaking under the pressure as you tried to concentrate on the dense textbook splayed open on the coffee table.

finals were looming, and the stack of notecards beside you seemed to mock your lack of progress.

you inhaled sharply, willing yourself to block out the noise, the words on the page blurred together, a jumble of psychological theories and case studies that refused to stick in your mind.

another peal of laughter erupted from paige’s room, and you clenched your jaw, your patience fraying like an old rope.

"focus...." you told yourself, but it was no use. the sounds were relentless, invasive, like they were deliberately trying to sabotage your study session.

"im gonna grab a snack, baby," kia cooed, her voice syrupy sweet, carrying through the wall with infuriating clarity.

"go on, babygirl," paige replied, tone playful and warm, the kind of voice that could melt anyone’s defenses.

you rolled your eyes, sinking deeper into the lumpy couch, hoping the creak of the springs would drown out their voices for just a moment.

the door to paige’s room swung open with a soft creak, and you glanced up instinctively, only to immediately regret it.

there stood kia, clad in nothing but one of paige’s oversized t-shirts, the hem brushing against her thighs.

her dark hair was tousled, a telltale sign of whatever had been happening behind that closed door.

she caught your eye for a fleeting second, her gaze sharp and unreadable, before you quickly averted yours, heat creeping up your neck.

you stared intently at the textbook, pretending to be engrossed in a paragraph about cognitive dissonance, though you hadn’t absorbed a single word.

kia padded across the worn linoleum floor toward the kitchen, her bare feet making soft thuds that echoed in the quiet apartment.

you tried to refocus, scribbling a half hearted note about freud in the margin of your notebook, but your attention snapped back when you heard the fridge door open.

the familiar crinkle of plastic wrap made your stomach lurch.

you glanced up just in time to see kia’s hand close around YOUR cupcakes, the ones you’d splurged on at the bakery down the street, the ones you’d carefully labeled with your name in black sharpie to ensure no one touched them.

those cupcakes were your reward, your small indulgence to get through the grueling hours of studying for finals.

and now, kia was helping herself without a second thought.

"hey, back off," you said, voice sharper than you intended, cutting through the stillness of the apartment. "those cupcakes are mine."

kia froze, her hand still hovering over the tray of chocolate frosted cupcakes.

slowly, she turned to face you, her eyebrows arching in a mix of surprise and defiance.

her lips curled into a faint, almost mocking smile, as if she couldn’t believe you’d dared to call her out.

kia’s raised eyebrows lingered, her lips parting as if she were about to fire back, but before she could, the door to paige’s room creaked open again.

paige stepped out, her tall frame filling the doorway, her blonde hair slightly messy and her expression shifting from relaxed to confused as she sensed the charged atmosphere.

she was wearing a loose tank top and sweatpants, her usual post practice look, but her sharp blue eyes darted between you and kia, picking up on the tension like a hawk spotting movement in the grass.

“what’s going on?” paige asked, her voice low edged with curiosity, she leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms, her gaze settling on you.

the weight of her stare made your stomach twist, a mix of frustration.

you shifted on the couch, your pen still clutched tightly in your hand, the textbook now a forgotten prop.

“your girl’s trying to eat MY cupcakes,” you said, trying to keep your tone even but failing to mask the irritation.

“i told her they’re mine. i bought them for finals week.”

kia let out a soft scoff, setting the cupcake tray back on the counter with a deliberate slowness, as if to prove she wasn’t intimidated. “chill, it’s just a cupcake,” she said, her voice dripping with mock innocence.

she glanced at paige, tilting her head in a way that screamed back me up here. “didn’t know your roommate was so territorial.”

the word “territorial” hit like a jab, and you bristled, your grip on the pen tightening further. “it’s not about being territorial,” you snapped, your voice rising despite your effort to stay calm. “it’s about respect, my name’s literally on the box.”

paige’s expression hardened, her arms uncrossing as she stepped fully into the room. “yo, hold up,” she said, her tone sharper, directed at you.

“why you gotta come at her like that? it’s just food, damn, you don’t need to be a bitch about it.”

the word stung, cutting deeper than you expected.

paige’s voice carried a weight that made the room feel smaller, her disapproval like a spotlight pinning you in place.

you opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat.

you weren’t trying to be a bitch, you were just tired, stressed, and fed up with kia waltzing into your space like she owned it.

but paige’s reaction made it clear whose side she was on, and it wasn’t yours.

“im not—” you started, but paige cut you off, her hand raised like she was stopping traffic.

“nah, for real,” she said, her voice firm but not yelling. “you’ve been on edge all week, snapping at everybody, kia didn’t know they were that important to you. you could’ve just said something without making it a whole thing.”

your cheeks burned, a mix of embarrassment and anger flooding your system.

you glanced at kia, who was now leaning against the counter, arms crossed, a smug glint in her eyes as she watched the exchange.

she didn’t need to say anything, her silence was loud enough, basking in paige’s defense of her.

“i did say something.” you shot back your voice trembling slightly.

“i told her they were mine, and she still acted like it was no big deal. im studying for finals, paige. i don’t need this right now.”

paige sighed, running a hand through her hair, her frustration evident. “look, i get it, you’re stressed. but you don’t gotta take it out on her. she’s my guest, alright? just… cool it.”

the room fell silent, the weight of paige’s words settling like dust.

you felt small, like you’d been put in your place, and the cupcakes, those stupid, overpriced cupcakes, suddenly felt like a ridiculous hill to die on.

but it wasn’t just about the cupcakes anymore.

you swallowed hard, setting the pen down on the table with a quiet click. “fine,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“forget it.” you turned back to your textbook, the words still a blur, your heart pounding in your chest.

behind you, you heard Kia murmur something soft to paige, followed by the sound of her footsteps as she retreated to the kitchen.

paige followed kia, the door to her room clicking shut behind them.

you stared at the page, your jaw tight, the cupcakes untouched on the counter.

──────────

you slammed the half eaten donut onto the sticky café table, the powdered sugar dusting your fingers like a faint snow.

“she’s such a bitch!” you squealed voice carrying a little too loudly over the hum of the coffee shop.

a few heads turned, but you didn’t care.

the frustration bubbling in your chest needed an outlet, and aliza, sitting across from you with her perfectly manicured nails wrapped around a steaming latte, was the only one willing to listen.

aliza’s lips curved into an apologetic smile, her brown eyes soft and amused as she took a slow sip of her coffee.

“i mean, damn, tell me how you really feel.” she teased, setting the cup down with a soft clink. her calm vibe was the opposite of your current storm, and it only made you lean forward, your words spilling out faster.

“i don’t get why paige keeps acting like some superior shit ass when all she does is screw around with girls!” you scowled, rolling your eyes so hard it almost hurt.

“she’s turning our apartment into a fucking brothel, aliza. different girls every week, parading in and out like it’s her personal cash machine. it’s—”

you cut yourself off, exhaling sharply through your nose, trying to rein in the anger that had your hands trembling.

the memory of paige’s sharp words from earlier calling you a bitch over those stupid cupcakes still burned, and now it was mixing with the bigger picture of her non stop chaos.

aliza tilted her head, her sleek ponytail swaying slightly as she set her cup down on the chipped wooden table.

“i told you to come stay with me instead,” she said, voice gentle but pointed, like she was reminding you of a choice you’d already hashed out. “you’re the one who decided to be roommates with her.”

you let out a mocking laugh, leaning back in the creaky chair and crossing your arms.

“you gotta be kidding me, you live in a freaking penthouse, aliza, you think i can afford that?” the idea was absurd her sleek, modern apartment with floor to ceiling windows and a view of the city skyline was a far cry from the crumbling, shared dump you called home with paige.

aliza shrugged, her silk blouse catching the dim café light. “free for you, you know,” she said, her tone casual and sincere, like it was no big deal to offer you a room in her ridiculously expensive place.

you just laughed, shaking your head and rolling your eyes again, though this time it was more playful than bitter.

“yeah, right. i’d be your charity case, crashing on your fancy couch.” the thought was tempting, though, escaping paige’s drama, the constant noise, the way she seemed to take up all the oxygen in the apartment.

but pride, or maybe stubbornness, kept you from seriously considering it.

not yet, anyway.

your phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up with a text that made your stomach flip.

paige’s name glowed in bold, and for a split second, you thought maybe she was reaching out to make up for earlier, to smooth over the cupcake fight and her harsh words.

you unlocked the phone, hope flickering, and read: “yo, you coming home?”

your fingers hovered over the keyboard, a tiny spark of optimism warming your chest.

maybe she felt bad.

maybe she wanted to talk it out.

you typed back quickly: “nope, sleeping at aliza’s.”

you leaned back, waiting, your eyes glued to the screen.

the three little dots appeared, then vanished, then appeared again.

finally, her reply popped up, and it hit like a punch to the gut: “good. i'm throwing a party tonight, don’t want my friends seeing your loser ass.”

your jaw dropped, and you let out a disbelieving scoff, loud enough that aliza raised an eyebrow.

“what?” she asked, leaning forward, her curiosity piqued.

you turned the phone toward her, letting her read the message.

aliza’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she shook her head slowly.

“wow, she’s got some nerve,” she muttered, handing the phone back. “you sure you wanna keep living with her?”

you tossed the phone onto the table, the screen still glowing with paige’s words, each one like a splinter under your skin.

“she’s unbelievable,” you said, your voice low but seething. “a party? tonight? after everything?” the image of your apartment—your home filled with paige’s loud friends, music blasting, and probably more random girls spilling drinks on your stuff made your blood boil.

and calling you a loser? that was low, even for her.

you leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table, your fingers raking through your hair. “i can’t deal with her anymore, aliza. it’s not just the girls or the parties. it’s… her. she’s always gotta make me feel like I’m nothing, like i’m in her way.”

your voice cracked slightly, and you hated how vulnerable it sounded, but aliza’s steady gaze made it okay to let it out.

she reached across the table, her hand brushing yours lightly. “then don’t go back tonight,” she said simply. “crash at my place, take a breather, you don’t need to put up with her crap, and you definitely don’t need to be there while she’s turning your apartment into a frat house.”

──────────

music thumped from a bluetooth speaker perched precariously on the kitchen counter, some bass heavy trap playlist that rattled the chipped mugs in the cabinets.

girls in barely there outfits glittery crop tops, skin tight skirts, and heels that clacked against the linoleum danced and laughed, their voices blending into a cacophony that drowned out any hope of peace.

it was the kind of party that made the walls sweat, the kind that would leave stains you’d be scrubbing out for weeks.

paige held court in the center of it all, moving through the crowd like she owned the damn building.

her blonde hair was loose, catching the dim light from a flickering bulb overhead, and her signature confidence radiated as she dapped up friends and flashed her trademark smirk.

she wore a fitted shirt flexing her lean frame and a loose sweatpants, weaving between bodies.

her friends—kk, aubrey, nika, lounged around her on the mismatched furniture, forming a tight circle that felt like an impenetrable fortress.

they were her crew, ride or dies from the basketball team, each one as loud and larger-than life as the next.

kk was sprawled on the couch, laughing at something on her phone jana leaned against the wall, sipping a drink aubrey and azzi were mid argument about some game play from practice ice was scrolling through her music app, queueing up the next song and nika, always the instigator, was scanning the room with a mischievous grin.

Aubrey, leaned forward voice cutting through the noise. “glad your roommate agreed to this party,” she said chuckling as she raised her cup in a mock toast.

“thought she’d be all uptight about it.” paige smirked, taking a swig from her cup, the liquid sloshing slightly. “well, i'd fuck her up if she didn’t.” she said, tone half joking but with an edge that made the words land heavier than intended.

the group fell quiet for a split second, the bluntness of her comment hanging in the air like a misfired shot.

kk glanced up from her phone, one eyebrow raised, while jana’s lips twitched, unsure whether to laugh or wince.

nika, never one to let an awkward moment pass, leaned in with a sly grin. “yeah, yeah, uh… ever tasted her?” she asked, her accent clipping the words with a teasing lilt.

the question was bold, even for nika, and it drew a few stifled laughs from the group, though azzi shot her a look that said chill.

paige scoffed, her face twisting like she’d just bitten into something sour. “fuck no, she ain’t my type.” she said bluntly, her voice carrying over the music.

aubrey leaned back, her grin widening as she swirled her drink. “you’re fuckin’ missing out, bro.” she said, her tone half teasing, half serious, like she was testing paige’s reaction.

the group erupted into laughter, the tension breaking as kk tossed a balled up napkin at aubrey, calling her “messy as hell.”

──────────

the party was long over by the time you dragged yourself back to the apartment, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows through the grimy windows.

the moment you stepped inside your stomach sank, the dorm was a disaster, a war zone of spilled drinks, crushed solo cups, and glitter dusted footprints smeared across the linoleum. the air reeked of stale beer and cheap perfume, the kind that clung to everything like a bad memory.

your thrift store rug was soaked with something sticky, and the kitchen counter was littered with half eaten pizza slices and empty vodka bottles.

the speaker still sat crookedly on the counter, its battery dead, a silent witness to the chaos paige had unleashed.

this wasn’t just a mess it was a deliberate middle finger to your existence.

you dropped your bag by the door, your body screaming for rest after a sleepless night at aliza’s and a long day of dodging paige’s stinging words in your head.

all you wanted was to collapse into bed, to shut out the world for a few hours, but the state of the apartment made your skin crawl.

a messy environment was your personal hell, a trigger that set your nerves on edge, and paige knew that.

you clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as you surveyed the wreckage.

this was her doing her party, her friends, her complete disregard for you.

“fuck this.” you muttered under your breath, pulling out your phone, your fingers trembled with rage as you opened your messages to paige, typing out a string of venomous texts before you could second guess yourself

: “fuck you! fuck you, i hate you! fucking bitch!” each word was a release, a way to purge the anger.

you hit send expecting her to fire back with something equally vicious, but the messages sat there, marked as delivered, then read, with no response.

you stared at the screen, waiting, but the silence was louder than any reply could’ve been.

somewhere across town, in a dimly lit bar with neon signs buzzing in the background, paige lounged in a booth, her arm slung lazily around a girl whose name she probably wouldn’t remember tomorrow.

the girl’s head rested on paige’s chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on paige’s arm as she laughed at something one of her friends said.

paige’s phone lit up with your texts, the screen flashing with your fury, but she barely glanced at it.

her lips curled into a faint, dismissive smirk before she powered the phone off entirely, tossing it onto the table like it was nothing.

your anger, your existence it didn’t matter to her right now.

she leaned back, taking a swig of her drink, and let the noise of the bar drown out any thought of you.

back at the apartment, you didn’t have time to dwell on her silence, the mess wasn’t going to clean itself, and you weren’t about to sleep in this filth.

you grabbed a trash bag and started shoving cups and bottles into it, the clink of glass against glass echoing your frustration.

you scrubbed the sticky stains on the counter, swept glitter into piles, and hauled the soaked rug to the balcony to dry.

every movement was fueled by rage, your body moving on autopilot as you cursed paige under your breath.

by the time you finished, the apartment was passable, but you were bone tired, your muscles aching and your eyes heavy.

the clock on the wall read just past eleven, the sky outside darkening into night.

you shuffled to your room, desperate for the sanctuary of your bed, but stopped short in the doorway.

your sheets were rumpled, twisted like someone had slept or done worse in them. a wave of disgust hit you, followed by a fresh surge of anger.

of course someone had been in here, probably one of paige’s drunk friends or, worse, one of her hookups.

you ripped the sheets off the bed, tossing them into a corner, and moved to turn on the AC, craving the cool air to calm your overheating nerves.

but when you flipped the switch, the unit let out a pitiful groan, followed by a faint burning smell.

it had been left on all day, overworked to the point of failure.

you yanked the plug from the wall, and a small spark popped from the outlet, the plastic scorched and useless.

the AC was fried.

“fuck this,” you hissed rolling your eyes so hard it hurt.

you grabbed your phone again, your fingers flying across the screen as you typed another message to paige

: “since you ain’t coming back home, i’m crashing in your room. this is the least you owe me, fucker.”

you hit send, not caring if she read it or not, her room was the only place in this godforsaken apartment that might still feel untouched by the party’s chaos, and you were too exhausted to care about her rules.

you stormed into paige’s room, the door creaking as it swung open, the space smelled faintly of her body spray.

her bed was unmade, the navy comforter bunched at the foot, but it looked cleaner than yours, and that was enough.

you stripped down to your bra and panties, too tired to bother with pajamas, and crawled under her sheets.

the fabric was cool against your skin, and for a moment, you let yourself sink into it, your

anger giving way to exhaustion.

──────────

it was past 3 a.m., and the apartment was finally still, the chaos of paige’s party reduced to a faint echo of spilled drinks and laughter that lingered in the air like a bad aftertaste.

the dorm was dark, save for the slivers of moonlight slipping through the half open blinds in paige’s room, casting soft, silvery stripes across the hardwood floor.

the night was heavy, the kind of quiet that felt fragile, like it could shatter with a single sound, paige, exhausted from the bar and the endless cycle of drinks, laughter, and fleeting connections, pushed open her bedroom door with a quiet creak.

her sneakers scuffed against the floor, her body heavy with the weight of a long night, her mind fuzzy from one too many shots.

she didn’t notice you at first, the room was too dark, her eyes too tired, her focus on kicking off her shoes and collapsing into bed.

she tossed her jacket onto the floor, the fabric landing with a soft thud, and moved toward the bed, ready to sink into the familiar comfort of her sheets.

but as her hand brushed the mattress, she felt something, someone, warm and solid beneath her touch.

she flinched, her heart lurching as her sleepiness evaporated in an instant, the moonlight caught the curve of your body, sprawled across her bed, the blanket discarded in a heap at the foot.

you were fast asleep, dressed only in a bra and panties, your chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths.

paige froze, her breath catching in her throat, her cheeks flushed, a heat creeping up her neck that had nothing to do with the alcohol still buzzing in her system.

for a moment, she just stared, her eyes tracing the lines of your form in the dim light, the curve of your shoulder, the dip of your waist, the way your hair fanned across her pillow.

the sight hit her like a punch, stirring something she wasn’t ready to name, something that made her pulse quicken and her mouth go dry.

“shit,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head to snap herself out of it.

she stepped back, and quickly regained her composure.

this was you, her roommate, the one she’d been trading barbs with, the one she’d called a loser in a fit of petty cruelty.

the one who’d texted her, furious, about the trashed apartment and the broken ac.

and now, here you were, in her bed, unaware, your defiance from earlier translated into this quiet act of rebellion.

paige’s first instinct was to wake you up, to demand what the hell you were doing in her room, but something stopped her.

maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the way you looked so peaceful, so different from the fiery, pissed off version of you she’d been clashing with.

instead, she moved quietly, grabbing the discarded blanket and draping it carefully over your body, tucking it around your shoulders to cover you.

her fingers lingered a moment too long, brushing against the bare skin of your arm, and she pulled back like she’d been burned.

she sank into the chair near the bed, the old wooden frame creaking under her weight.

the room was silent except for your soft breathing and the distant hum of traffic outside.

paige leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and watched you for a minute, her mind a tangle of confusion.

her eyes kept drifting, despite herself, to the way the moonlight highlighted the curve of your collarbone, the soft edge of your jaw.

she cursed under her breath again, quieter this time, her voice barely a whisper. “fuck, get it together,” she muttered, rubbing a hand over her face.

she didn’t know why you were here, but your text from earlier.

you’d been pissed, and rightfully so, after the party trashed your space and your ac burned out.

but this? sleeping in her bed, half-naked, like you were staking a claim? it was bold, and part of her admired it, even if it made her head spin.

she leaned back in the chair, her gaze flickering between you and the floor, torn between waking you up to hash it out and letting you sleep, letting this strange, charged moment linger.

──────────

you stirred beneath the unfamiliar weight of her navy comforter, the faint scent of her body spray clinging to the sheets.

your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dimness, and landed on paige, slumped in the wooden chair just beside the bed.

her head was tilted back, mouth slightly open, her long limbs sprawled awkwardly as if she’d fought sleep and lost.

the sight jolted you fully awake, a spark of irritation igniting in your chest.

“what the hell, paige?” you hissed, your voice low but sharp enough to cut through the quiet, the sound snapped her awake, her head jerking upright as her blue eyes blinked rapidly, focusing on you.

a slow, infuriating smirk spread across her face, like she was enjoying your reaction a little too much.

“mornin’” she drawled, stretching her arms above her head, “nice to see you made yourself at home.”

you frowned sitting up and clutching the blanket to your chest, suddenly hyper aware of your state of undress, still just in your bra and panties from the night before.

“you didn’t answer my text!” you shot back, your voice thick with accusation. “my AC broke, so i—”

“yeah, yeah, i got it,” paige cut you off, her tone casual, she stood, stretching again, her joints popping as if she hadn’t just spent the night wrestling with whatever was going on in her head.

you opened your mouth to argue, but she spoke first, her smirk sharpening as she leaned against the bedpost. “you owe me for the bed, though.”

your jaw tightened, and you swung your legs over the side of the bed, standing to face her. “you’re the one who—” you started, but the words caught in your throat, too tangled in anger to come out clean.

you rolled your eyes, shoving down the urge to scream. “whatever. just fix my AC, and we’re even.”

paige stepped closer, towering over you with that effortless height that always made you feel smaller than you liked.

her smirk didn’t waver, but her eyes flicked over you, lingering just a second too long on the bare skin of your shoulders before meeting your gaze again.

“yeah, okay,” she said, her voice low and teasing, “but if you’re gonna sleep in my bed again, at least give me a heads-up, i ain’t a saint.”

the implication in her tone, made your cheeks flush, and you hated how it threw you off balance.

you rolled your eyes again, and flipped her off, your middle finger a sharp punctuation to your frustration.

“in your dreams, bueckers,” you snapped, brushing past her toward the door, your shoulder grazing hers just enough to send a spark of heat through you.

you didn’t look back, but you could feel her eyes on you as you stormed out of the room, the creak of the floorboards under your bare feet echoing in the quiet apartment.

──────────

you’d been hounding paige since the morning, your texts and voicemails a relentless barrage of “fix this shit, paige” and “you owe me for this mess.” she’d ignored you for hours, probably nursing a hangover at some bar, but your persistence finally wore her down.

paige stood in the corner of your room, her tall frame hunched over the AC unit mounted in the window.

her hoodie was tossed onto your stripped bed, leaving her in a gray tank top that hugged her athletic build, the muscles in her arms flexing as she pried open the unit’s cover with a screwdriver.

sweat glistened on her forehead, a few strands of blonde hair sticking to her skin as she muttered curses under her breath.

tools were scattered across the floor a wrench, a pair of pliers, a roll of duct tape like a crime scene of failed DIY attempts.

the unit itself was a pathetic sight, its plastic casing scorched from overuse, the fan blades caked with dust, and a faint burnt smell wafting from the exposed wires.

you leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, your glare boring into her back.

you were still in a loose t-shirt and shorts, your hair pulled back in a messy bun, too exhausted from cleaning up her party’s aftermath to care about how you looked.

but the heat was unbearable, and every bead of sweat rolling down your neck only sharpened your irritation.

“you’re taking forever.” you snapped, voice cutting through the hum of the city outside. “you gonna fix it or just stare at it like it’s gonna magically start working?”

paige didn’t turn around, but you saw her shoulders tense, the screwdriver pausing mid-twist.

“chill the fuck out.” she shot back, her voice low and edged with annoyance.

“i ain’t an electrician, this shit’s harder than it looks.” she jammed the screwdriver into a crevice, prying at a loose panel with more force than necessary, and a small piece of plastic snapped off, clattering to the floor.

“fuck,” she muttered, tossing the screwdriver onto the windowsill and wiping her hands on her jeans.

you rolled your eyes, stepping closer to peer over her shoulder. “great, now you’re breaking it more, real genius move, bueckers.” the sarcasm dripped from your words, but you couldn’t help noticing the way her tank top clung to her back, the faint sheen of sweat highlighting the curve of her spine.

you pushed the thought away, focusing on the mess of wires she’d exposed, none of which looked remotely fixable.

paige finally turned to face you, her blue eyes narrowing, a bead of sweat rolling down her temple. “you wanna try this yourself, princess?” she said, her tone mocking.

she gestured to the AC, her hand brushing close enough to your arm that you felt the heat of her skin. “go ahead, fix it since you’re so fuckin’ smart.”

you held her gaze, refusing to back down, even as the proximity made your pulse quicken. “i wouldn’t have to if you and your little party didn’t fry it in the first place.” you retorted, stepping closer until you were practically toe-to-toe.

she turned back to the AC, grabbing the pliers and poking at a tangle of wires with less focus than before. “look, i’m tryin’, alright?” she said, her voice never leaving the sarcastic tone.

“this thing’s fucked, probably been on its last legs since we moved in.” she twisted a wire, and a faint spark popped from the unit, making her jerk her hand back. “shit!”

you snorted, crossing your arms again. “yeah, real professional, you’re gonna electrocute yourself, and i’m not cleaning up that mess too.”

she fiddled with the unit for another twenty minutes, her curses growing more creative as the wires refused to cooperate.

the room grew hotter, the air stifling, and your patience wore thinner with every passing second.

finally, paige threw the pliers down, the metal clanging against the floor. “alright, fuck it,” she said, standing and wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans.

“this thing’s dead. ain’t fixin’ it today, and i'm not callin’ someone to deal with it right now. too damn expensive.”

you glared at her, your frustration boiling over. “so what, i’m just supposed to sweat to death in my own room? after your party trashed everything?”

paige’s jaw tightened, but her eyes softened, just for a moment, like she knew she’d pushed you too far.

“sleep in my room again,” she said, her voice firm but quieter, like she was offering a truce. “AC works there, but i’m not sleepin’ on that fuckin’ chair again. i’m in the bed too.”

your mouth opened to argue, but the thought of another night in your sweltering room or worse, begging aliza for her couch stopped you.

“fine,” you said, your tone sharp, your chin lifted defiantly. “but don’t think this makes us cool, you still owe me for the AC and the mess.”

she smirked, stepping closer until you could feel the heat radiating off her, her height making you tilt your head up slightly. “whatever you say.” she said, her voice low and teasing, her eyes flicking over you like they had that morning. “just don’t hog the covers.”

you rolled your eyes, brushing past her to grab your phone from the counter, your shoulder grazing her arm.

──────────

night fell, and paige’s room was a cocoon of darkness, you’d slipped into her bed first, in just a oversized shirt and panties, too tired and stubborn to bother with more.

paige followed, her presence filling the space as she kicked off her sneakers and slid under the covers, keeping a deliberate distance at first.

the bed was big enough for two, but the tension between you made it feel like you were inches apart, every rustle of the sheets amplified in the quiet.

you tried to sleep, your body heavy with exhaustion, but the awareness of paige beside you, her steady breathing, the faint warmth radiating from her side, kept you on edge.

you’d agreed to this out of spite, to throw her attitude back in her face, but now, lying here, the air felt charged, like a storm waiting to break.

you shifted, trying to get comfortable, but your movements were restless, your body brushing against hers in fleeting, accidental touches, a graze of your arm against her side, the nudge of her knee against your thigh.

you were a messy sleeper, always had been, and as you finally dozed off, your body took over, moving without thought.

you shifted closer, your hips rolling unconsciously, and your ass pressed firmly against paige’s core, the thin fabric of your panties doing little to dull the sensation.

paige, who’d been teetering on the edge of restraint all night, couldn’t hold back anymore.

her hand shot out, gripping your hip with a force that made you stir, half awake. “fuck,” she muttered.

you froze, your heart pounding as you realized what had happened, the heat of her touch burning through the haze of sleep.

before you could pull away or snap at her, she tightened her grip, pulling you back against her, her body pressed flush against yours.

“you keep movin’ like that, you’re gonna start somethin’ you can’t finish,” she whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear, her breath hot against your skin.

you turned your head slightly, meeting her eyes in the dim light.

they were intense, her usual smirk replaced by something lustful. “maybe i want to start something,” you shot back, your voice quieter than you meant, laced with defiance and a challenge you weren’t sure you could back up.

paige didn’t hesitate, her hand slid from your hip to your waist, her fingers digging into your skin as she rolled you onto your back, pinning you against the mattress with her weight.

she straddled your hips, her knees bracketing you in, her presence overwhelming.

the moonlight caught the sharp lines of her jaw, the flex of her biceps as she leaned over you, her eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“you sure bout' that?” she asked, voice a low growl, daring you to push her further, but her hands were already moving, one sliding up to cup your breast through your shirt, her thumb brushing over the fabric, teasing your nipple until it hardened under her touch.

you gasped, your back arching slightly, and she smirked, clearly pleased with your reaction.

“thought so,” she murmured her lips crashing down on yours in a kiss that was all heat and demand.

it wasn’t gentle—paige didn’t do gentle, her tongue swept into your mouth, claiming you with a possessiveness that left you dizzy.

you kissed her back, matching her intensity, your hands grabbing at her tank top, pulling her closer until there was no space left between you.

she broke the kiss, her lips trailing down your jaw, your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin until you were squirming beneath her.

“stay still,” she ordered voice firm, and you obeyed, your body humming with anticipation.

she took off your clothes and unhooked your bra with practiced ease, tossing it aside, and her mouth was on you before you could process it, her tongue swirling around your nipple, sucking hard enough to make you moan.

her hand kneaded your other breast, her fingers pinching and rolling your nipple with just enough pressure to toe the line between pleasure and pain.

“paige,” you gasped, your hands fisting the sheets, but she didn’t let up, her mouth moved lower, kissing and biting a path down your stomach, her hands gripping your thighs to spread them wide.

she hooked her fingers into your panties, pulling them down with a slow, deliberate motion, her eyes never leaving yours.

the vulnerability of being exposed under her gaze made your cheeks flush, but the way she looked at you like you were hers to devour sent a rush of heat between your legs.

she settled between your thighs, her breath warm against your skin as she pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, teasingly close to where you needed her. “you’re so fuckin’ wet already,” she said, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction as she ran a finger through your folds, gathering your slickness.

you whimpered, your hips bucking, but she pinned you down with a hand on your stomach. “i said stay still.”

her finger circled your clit, slow and teasing, before she slipped it inside you, curling it just right to make you gasp.

she added a second finger, pumping them in and out with a steady rhythm, her thumb brushing your clit in time with her thrusts.

the stretch was perfect, her fingers long and skilled, hitting spots that made your vision blur. you moaned, your head falling back, but paige wasn’t done.

she leaned down, her tongue flicking against your clit, sucking it into her mouth with a pressure that had you crying out.

“fuck, paige, please,” you begged, your hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer, she hummed against you, the vibration sending a jolt through your body, and doubled her efforts, her tongue working in tandem with her fingers to drive you higher.

she sucked harder, her lips and tongue relentless, while her fingers curled deeper, faster, until you were trembling, your thighs shaking around her head.

“you taste so good,” she murmured against you, the words muffled but dripping with lust, she pulled back just enough to look up at you, her lips glistening, her eyes dark with desire.

before you could respond, she stood, her movements swift and purposeful, she reached into her nightstand, pulling out a strap-on harness and a thick, silicone dildo that made your eyes widen.

she smirked at your reaction stepping into the harness with a confidence that made your pulse race.

she adjusted the straps, the toy secure against her hips, and climbed back onto the bed, positioning herself between your legs.

“think you can handle me?” she asked, her voice low as she coated the strap with lube, her hand stroking and pumping it slowly, while her eyes stayed locked on yours.

you nodded, your breath hitching, your body aching for her to fill you.

she didn’t make you wait, she lined the strap up with your entrance, teasing you with the tip before pushing in slowly, letting you adjust to the stretch.

you gasped, your nails digging into her shoulders as she filled you, the sensation overwhelming but so good it made your toes curl.

she started slow, her hips rocking in a steady rhythm, but when you moaned her name, something in her snapped.

her thrusts grew harder, faster, the bed creaking beneath you as she fucked you.

“holy shit, you're taking it so well,” she growled, her hands gripping your hips to pull you onto her with each thrust.

she leaned down, capturing your lips in another bruising kiss, her tongue mimicking the rhythm of her hips.

you were lost in her scent, her touch, the way she owned every inch of you.

one of her hands slid between your bodies, her fingers finding your clit again, rubbing tight circles that had you gasping into her mouth.

“paige, i’m—” you started but the words dissolved into a moan as your orgasm built, the pressure coiling tight in your core.

she didn’t let up, her fingers and the strap working you in perfect sync, pushing you closer until you were right on the edge.

“come for me, come on.” she demanded, her voice rough, her thrusts relentless. “let me fucking feel you.”

that was all it took, your body shattered, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave, your vision going white as you cried out her name. your walls clenched around the strap, your thighs trembling as she fucked you through it, her fingers never stopping until you were a shaking, whimpering mess beneath her.

she slowed her thrusts, easing you down, but didn’t pull out, staying buried inside you as she kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your lips.

“good girl,” she murmured, her voice a low rasp that sent another shiver through you.

she pulled out slowly, the loss making you whimper, but she stayed close, her hands stroking your thighs, her lips brushing your skin as you caught your breath.

──────────

paige was already up, standing near the foot of the bed, pulling a fresh hoodie over her head, the fabric slid over her toned arms, her blonde hair catching the light as it fell loose around her shoulders.

you propped yourself up on your elbows, still tangled in her sheets, your heart thudding as you tried to find the words to address the night before.

the memory of her touch, her voice, the way she’d looked at you in the moonlight, it all felt too real, too heavy to ignore.

you swallowed hard, your throat tight. “um…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, hesitant but desperate to bridge the gap between you.

Paige’s head snapped toward you, her blue eyes cold and sharp, like ice over a frozen lake, she ignored you and turned toward's the door, grabbing her jacket from the chair.

you sat up fully, clutching the blanket to your chest, your cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and hurt. “about last night, um…” you tried again, your voice trembling but determined, needing to say something to make sense of the shift from her intensity to this sudden distance.

she paused at the door, her hand on the knob, and turned her head just enough to meet your eyes.

her expression was unreadable, but there was a hardness there, a defensiveness that hadn’t been present in the heat of the night.

“i called someone to fix your AC.” she said, her tone flat.

“it’ll be done by tonight.” she slung her jacket over her shoulder, the leather creaking as she adjusted it, and then her voice dropped, colder, each word like a blade. “last night meant nothing, don’t get it twisted.”

the sentence hit you like a slap, a sharp sting that radiated through your chest and settled heavy in your heart.

you opened your mouth to respond, but no words came.

the vulnerability you’d felt last night, the way you’d let her in, crumbled under the weight of her dismissal.

paige didn’t wait for a reaction.

she walked out, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving you alone in her room, the echo of her words louder than the AC’s hum.

@adiecha535 @avvwritesstufff @slt4kavanagh @alwaysobsessedwithwbb @cowboybueckers @himomggg @skullzx3 @skel-skell @courtsidewithlani @ace-of-baked @intoblonde6ftwbbplayers @yulivinyl @differentsaladpanda @iowahawkeyes22 @mrsfudd @chwekriz00 @lllwbbuconn @authentic-girl03 @starfulani @wbblvx @urmommysfavkisserrr @imhotasfuck @kl0verk @tenaciousglitternerd @zizi-bee-yapping @kalan1z @wnba-wbb-geek @evanpeterstoe @laurenmcucm @futiledevices16 @asapeveryday @that-one-daydream-you-forgot @jupitermoonbaby @madsxyins @cowboybueckers @bxchess

© written by kaizer | do not copy plagiarize or translate any.

[wonderlandcrown]

𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑀𝑦 𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑒

𝑉𝑖𝑙 𝑥 𝑌𝑢𝑢(𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟)

a/n : book 5 spoilers, also Vil didn't know Jamil overbloted until book 6. reader is gn and referred to as "Yuu, the prefect, you, they/them pronouns"

genre : light angst, romance(pining)

༶•┈┈⛧┈♛💜♛┈⛧┈┈•༶

Someday my prince will come Someday I'll find my love And how thrilling that moment will be When the prince of my dreams comes to me He'll whisper, "I love you" And steal a kiss or two Though he's far away I'll find my love someday Someday when my dreams come true

Vil was reluctant to stay in Ramshackle during VDC, "A messy room equals a messy mind", is what he tells his dorm mates. Though he understood that the prefect didn't choose to stay there, Vil Schoenheit was never a fan of unclean spaces.

But Vil had bigger problems at the moment, Neige will undoubtedly show up for the competition, and his dream- no, his goal will be in jeopardy.

The headmage did say that the prefect was quite talented in bringing people together...

Fine then, if staying in a dingy dorm means having a chance at winning against Neige, he'll do it.

"How thrilling, " Vil thought, "will my moment of victory be."

Someday I'll find my love Someone to call my own And I'll know him the moment we meet For my heart will start skipping a beat Some day we'll say, "I do" Things we've been longing to Though he's far away I'll find my love someday Someday when my dreams come true

Vil noticed the scars around the prefects hands, undoubtedly the result of going through no less than 3 overblots, not to mention all of them happened under a year!

Vil scoffs, Crowley must be more incompetent than he thought if he allowed a poor defenseless student to get caught up in so much trouble; or is it Yuu who is careless?

He originally saw you akin to something like a pathetic wet cat : lost, clueless, naive.

Though he'll admit he was quite wrong, your occasional sharp jabs towards the trio of potatoes(Ace, Deuce and Grim) didn't go unnoticed by Vil. He thinks you're quite funny, you act so brazenly and sarcastic around your friends but around strangers you suddenly become quiet and well spoken, you remind him of the difference of his personalities on camera and off.

Though that's the only thing he and you have in common.

Vil remembers perfectly well the glare Yuu shot at him when he cursed the delicacies Trey gifted the younger spudlings. It was a necessary measure! You're smarter than your friends, you should understand that they would've tried to break away from the diet Vil gave them.

Vil doesn't understand, he doesn't understand those potatoes, didn't they agree to this? Don't they want to win? If they do they should listen to him, he knows what's best, he's been trained for countless competitions since he was young, these diets, these restrictions have been imposed onto him ever since then and they will be forevermore.

For them, it'll only be a moment before they're back to their normal lives, so why can't they understand? Vil understood ever since he was young, so why can't they?

He's been longing for the chance to stay on stage until the very last moment, so why can't Yuu just do what he says and help those idiots cooperate with him.

Vil pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, he shouldn't dwell on unnecessary things for too long, lest he stray from his goal.

Somewhere waiting for me There is someone I'm longing to see Someone I simply can't help but adore Someone who'll thrill me forever

"Hey, uh, can we discuss something? "

It was already late afternoon, Epel had screamed at Vil and ran away from the dorm and one of your friends, Deuce, he remembers, ran after him. But they haven't been back.

He lets out a sigh, not bothering to hide his frustration.

"What is it?" Vil turns to face you, usually during the breaks between the VDC groups training, you pass around water bottles and some snacks(not cursed by Vil this time). Though this time you carry nothing, it's expected, the rest of the group only have a break because two of the members ran off to who knows where.

"I think you're being too harsh on them. " Vil scoffs, "Excuse me? They're the ones being too careless, they're not serious enough. " Vil glares at you, nose scrunched. You betray his expectations, really, he expected you to be more mature about this.

You only look at him in the eyes as a response, he notices your tense frame, you must've been planning to tell him this for a while now.

"..Epel ran away." Vil lifts an eyebrow, "And? Are you just here to state the obvious?" He hears you click your tongue, you're irritated with him? Why must you be so mean to him, prefect, all he wants is to win, is that so much to ask for?

"Look, I understand your efforts, what you do to achieve your dreams is commendable, really, "

Dreams? How dare you use such a childish word, the Vil Schoenheit doesn't dream, he has no time for that.

"but you need to realize that not everyone can handle, well, you. We want to win, obviously but uh, you're already so accustomed to this type of stuff but we're not.."

Hm? Oh, prefect, you're flattering him, so you're saying that he's so glamorous to the point that the normal spudlings can't even begin to compare?... Vil's kidding obviously, but the compliment has made him more inclined to listen to you.

"Dear prefect, I may see your point.. Though you must realize that diamonds are created under pressure, and the headmage has been far too lenient." You sigh, brows furrowed, "Tell me about it.. Again, you're not wrong, there are limits. Even the seemingly strong gems can crack if they have internal flaws."

My, isn't this new.. Prefect, it's been quite the long time since someone dared to question him, in such an interesting way no less.. Most people either agree with no objections or slander his views vehemently (Rook and Epel, Vil's looking at you) Congratulations are in order for managing to intrigue Vil of all people.

You're confused on why Vil's smiling, so.. fondly at you, did you do something wrong?

"Prefect, if you don't mind, how do you feel about joining my nightly routine tomorrow, I think you have many interesting topics to share with me."

Someday my prince will come Someday I will find the one Though he's far away he'll find my love someday Someday when my dreams come true Oh, please make my dreams come true

"The winner of VDC is.. ROYAL SWORD ACADEMY, LED BY THE ONE AND ONLY NEIGE LEBLANCHE!"

The crowd cheers endlessly, Vil feels his heart grow heavy with that same, twisting, horrendously ugly feeling of envy. His feet feel like they're on fire and Vil has to pretend the camera flashes are irritating him in order to blink back the tears.

It's ok, it's fine, the loser has to fall and Vil feels like he's been plummeting since then, now, and perhaps forevermore.(please don't let it be so)

It's even worse when Neige pulls him into an encore, his hand pressing on one of the bruises on his arm, a scar gained from his overblot. But Vil's heart only winces when he thinks of you, he thinks of your scars, you must have so many, you've been through so much..

Vil is so, so sorry, he wants to cry and beg for your forgiveness, for Rook's, for Epel's, for everyone's forgiveness. What he did was so stupidly immature, how could he just betray his own expectations, everyone expected Vil Schoenheit to be level headed, mature, and beautiful. So why? Why must he be everything except that?

Everything after his overblot was a blur, really. He thought his career would go up on smoke, everything he worked for would've been gone. Vil stared at his phone, waiting for a ping from his manager, informing him that his overblot, his weakest moment, was leaked for the whole world to see. Vil sits at the vanity, normally he would be staring into his reflection, but now he can't even bear the thought of looking at the mirror.

Suddenly he was met with a knock on his door.

"I'm not expecting visitors, if it's not urgent then go find Rook, or the prefect."

"Vil, I am the prefect."

Vil immediately sits up right, brushing away the few strands of stray hair, before inviting you in. "Come on in."

You quickly slip inside his room, closing the door behind you with a click, Vil tilts his head, usually he would never do this, unbefitting of the mature image of Vil Schoenheit, but since it's you, he finds himself at ease without putting on his performative mask. "I see you want privacy, is it personal?"

"Yeah, I.. wanted to see how you're doing. " Vil doesn't hold back the bittersweet smile, "You really are kind, don't worry about me, you should've ran away when you saw me overblot, why didn't you?"

Why didn't you? You should've ran away the moment you saw blot dripping from his lips and eyes, yet you stayed, you stayed during his overblot and all the others. Vil wants to know, how is one person so caring yet sarcastic, so plain yet so interesting, so normal yet.. Vil feels like he's never met someone like you before.

"Why didn't I? What kind of question is that, the better question is how could I leave a friend during his weakest moments?"

See? Caring yet sarcastic, Vil giggles at your response, "You should know when to stop helping people, dear. One day you'll get irreversibly wounded and there's nothing I could do to help you at that point." Vil's tone is light, though he feels an aching sensation when he imagines a fatally wounded Yuu.

You sigh, taking a step closer to Vil, "I'm not that weak, so don't think of stuff like that." The housewarden of Pomefiore only gives a tired smile, plain yet so interesting, he thinks. You're a magicless being somehow willed with such tenacity that befits the values of the Beautiful Queen, Vil might be inclined to take a few lessons from you.

It takes a while before Vil notices you're staring at him, you look at him as if you were looking at a poor, caged animal. "..Is there something else you want to tell me?" You don't respond, you only continue to look at him, at his clothes, at his hair, then you stare at him in the eye.

Vil feels a lump form in his throat, you're looking at him in such a humane way, not the lovesick expressions usually adorned on his fans, not the scowls of jealousy from the haters. You look at him as if you see something beyond the masks he wears.

Unlike what most people think, Vil Schoenheit actually has two masks, one he adorns when the camera rolls, which from there he has many others to choose from. The second he wears to retain the strict and regal image of Pomefiore, the one who rules this dorm with an iron fist, where he is both hated and loved.(not that much different from his career)

But you, you're looking at none of the two, he never saw anyone else other than his own father and Rook wear this expression. Someone who sees beyond what is presented to them.

"You're tired." Vil finally hears you say something, "I'll go draw you a bath." Your words were authoritative and left no room for arguement, it reminds Vil of himself. As the actor watches you walk into his bathroom he feels a warm sensation course through him, it's been quite the long time since he was the one on the receiving end of these affections.

No, affections is too intimate a word, but Vil can't think of any other way to describe it.

You can't see his expression now, prefect, but do know that you made Vil Schoenheit of all people cover his face to hide his blush and smile. So normal yet Vil's never met anyone else like you.

Vil hears the sound of water flowing coming from the bathroom, he hopes you finish your task soon, Vil has never felt what yearning for another's presence was like until now.

Vil already has his hunter and poison apple, so tell him what you'll be? What role will you take on to complete the Beautiful Queen's camaraderie? Will you be his raven, dutiful, working from the shadows; or his mirror : showing him what you see, beyond what Vil presents himself to be.

Vil shall wait for your answer, prefect.

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬

a/n : someday my prefect will come - vil schoenheit. first fanfic tbh, there were pacing issues but I don't think it's that bad for a first timer. reblogs are appreciated

edit : chapter 2(not a continuation of this) is out now, go on my blog and search the tag "the songs of love", also you can tell me in the reblogs or comments if you wanna be tagged for chapter 3

[himasgod]

Where you have problems with the words starting with R

Riddle, Rook and Ruggie x Reader

How would Rook, Riddle and Ruggie react if they realized that you avoid calling them by their name at all costs, because you have difficulty pronouncing words beginning with R?

I find it funny that you ask me this, because I had a lot of trouble pronouncing the "doble rr" as a child (in spanish, my native language, it's a sound that doesn't exist in english, in words like "perro", etc.) I went to the speech therapist when I was 4 or 5 years old, since it is a fairly common problem not being able to pronounce the double r

At first, Riddle takes it personally.

Why are you calling him “You” all the time like he’s your classmate and not your boyfriend? He’s even heard you call Deuce by his first name!

He doesn’t want to scold you—he’s trying to be better about that—but it does make him quietly anxious.

“You can call me Riddle, you know,” he finally says one afternoon, trying to sound casual, but his fingers fidget with his pen.

You freeze. And mumble something like, “Yeah... you.”

That’s when Riddle’s brain, as sharp as it is rule-bound, finally connects the dots. You’ve never once said a word that starts with "R" around him. Not Riddle, not roses, not even ramen when Trey brought it up.

Guilt hits him like a tidal wave.

“...Do you have trouble with R sounds?” he asks gently.

When you admit it, sheepishly, Riddle just goes quiet for a moment—then he scoots closer, gently brushing your hand with his.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says, earnestly.

“There’s nothing wrong with the way you speak. I like hearing your voice, no matter how you say my name. But... if it makes you feel better, you can call me anything you'd like.”

After that, he gets oddly flustered when you call him cute pet names like sweetheat or my love, but he never corrects you again.

At first, he doesn’t notice. You call him “Bucchi,” “Hyena Boy,” “hey you,” and every nickname—he just thinks you’re being cute or cheeky.

But then he overhears you say “Deuce” and “Ace” perfectly in a conversation with them.

Cue record scratch.

He raises an eyebrow, tail flicking with curiosity. "... why don’t I get the honor of being called by name, huh?”

You try to dodge it, joking your way out, but he can see the embarrassment behind your grin. That’s when he softens.

“Wait... hang on. Is it ‘cause it’s hard for you to say?”

You finally nod. You tell him how R’s get caught in your mouth, how you hate how it sounds when you try to say them.

Ruggie blinks. Then grins.

“That’s it? Sheesh, you had me thinkin’ you were mad at me or somethin’!”

He immediately wraps an arm around your shoulder and ruffles your hair.

“Y’know, I kinda like it when you call me weird nicknames anyway. ‘Hyena Boy’? That’s hilarious.”

He never makes a big deal out of it, but if he ever hears someone tease you for your speech, they will know pain.

And if you ever do manage to say his name, even just once, he gets this little crooked smile and says, “That one’s goin’ in the memory bank forever.”

Rook notices immediately. This man is the embodiment of hyper observant.

He thinks it’s adorable, actually. You’ll say, “Hey, mon soleil,” or “Youuuuuu~!” while dramatically waving from across campus, and never once say his name.

He tries a little playful teasing.

“Ah, ma colombe, you say everyone’s name with such ease... but never mine. Am I cursed, perhaps~?”

You visibly stiffen, and that’s when he drops the teasing. His expression shifts into something warm, understanding, and completely sincere.

“Is it difficult for you to say words beginning with ‘R’?” he asks, ever so gently.

When you admit it, a little shyly, his reaction is pure sunshine.

“Ahh~ mon amour,” he says. “There is a certain elegance to overcoming challenges, isn't it? You needn’t say my name if it brings you discomfort. I shall treasure whatever words you gift me.”

From that day forward, he makes a habit of calling you beautifully poetic pet names, hoping to make you feel more confident using your own.

And when you one day manage to say his name—halting, unsure—his smile is brighter than the sun.

[alwayssassydreamer]

Undercover Love

A/N: sorry Mary that it took so long but I finally made it, I hope you like it

Summary: you and ace are inseparable and marco and thatch realize that there is more going on between you two though they can't believe how oblivious you two seem to be about it

Warnings: a silly fluffy story

Characters: Ace x F!Reader, Marco, Thatch

Ace was sitting cross-legged beside you, his eyes flickering to the horizon as you buried yourself in a book, one of the many novels you'd brought along during your travels. The two of you often found these moments together—quiet but meaningful, the kind where words weren’t always necessary.

He leaned over and lightly nudged your arm. "Hey, you missed a page."

You blinked and looked down, realizing he was right. "I swear, you’ve got a sixth sense for these things," you muttered, grinning and shaking your head.

"Maybe," Ace said, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips. "I just pay attention."

You went back to reading, but a few minutes later, a small gust of wind blew a stray strand of hair in your face. You swiped it out of the way with a frustrated huff, but before you could get back into your book, Ace was already there, plucking the hair from your face with ease and then put his hat on you. You glanced at him and caught a glint in his eyes, something mischievous, yet gentle.

"Always looking out for me, huh?" you teased, but you didn’t mind. You were used to this.

"Always, besides my hat looks good on you" he replied without missing a beat, his voice low and warm.

Ace laned back, letting his head rest in your lap. It was a familiar feeling, his warmth against you, the softness of his hair beneath your hand. You absently ran your fingers through his hair as you continued reading, and you realized that in moments like these, words felt unnecessary. The quietness between you was comfortable, more than any loud confession could convey.

Not far from you, Marco and Thatch were watching the scene unfold with knowing glances. It was clear to them what was happening. Marco had once casually remarked, "You two are like an old married couple," and while you had laughed it off at the time, there was truth in his words.

Thatch, had even tried teasing you both, but Ace was too oblivious to pick up on it. You, too, seemed unaware of how others saw the quiet closeness between you and Ace. You both laughed, fought, and drank together, never seeing the way the crew looked at the bond you shared.

Ace would often poke fun at you, calling you out for being so serious with your books, but that was just his way of showing affection. You’d shoot back with playful jabs, calling him an "immature lighter," and somehow, that made the bond feel even more familiar.

The meals were the same. You’d pass each other bites of food without thinking twice, sharing everything from a chunk of meat to the last piece of fruit you’d managed to snag. When one of you found something delicious, the other was right there, eagerly taking a taste. It was a give-and-take that had become second nature. You fed each other, laughed, and even bickered about who had the better choice of snacks.

Even when Ace would casually remove objects in your way when you were - once again - buried deep in a book you didn't need to acknowledge it. It was just Ace being Ace, looking out for you in his own way. And you didn’t mind. You were used to it, almost as though you didn't even notice how often it happened.

The Whitebeard Pirates watched all of this unfold - the deeper feelings growing between you was something the crew saw clearly. They’d exchange knowing looks when you two were together, sharing silent smiles over the quiet connection they saw blooming between you and Ace. But you and Ace were wrapped up in your own little bubble, caught in a routine that felt natural and right.

When the crew started teasing Ace about you, calling him out on his "sweetheart" moments or making sly remarks about your "togetherness," he’d scratch his head and offer his usual cheeky grin.

"Stop it," Ace would mutter, shooting the crew a half-embarrassed, half-challenging look. "We’re just looking out for each other."

And you’d back him up, saying something similar.

The Moby Dick had just docked on a new island, and you and Ace walked side by side down the gangplank, both excited for a change of scenery. The bustling atmosphere of the market greeted you immediately, with vendors shouting their wares and colorful stalls lining the streets. The salty air mixed with the smells of food, fried fish, roasted meat, and sweet desserts.

As you wandered, you couldn’t help but point out things you found interesting, a new fruit you wanted to try or a beautiful piece of clothing that caught your eye. Each time, you’d grab Ace’s arm to guide him over, his larger, muscular frame easily following you as you tugged him along. It had become a sort of unspoken habit between you two, an easy way to share the things that sparked your interest.

But it wasn’t just you pulling Ace around. Every now and then, Ace would grab your hand without thinking, drawn by the enticing smell of something delicious. You’d laugh at how quickly he could get distracted by food, his hand slipping into yours as he led you to a food stall. It was such a natural, effortless thing. No hesitation, no questions asked.

As you made your way through the market, Marco and Thatch were trailing behind, watching the two of you with bemused expressions. They exchanged a glance, their eyes filled with unspoken understanding.

"I don’t get it," Thatch muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "How can they not see it?"

Marco, ever the calm and collected one, just sighed. "Maybe it's just how they are. I don’t know how much more obvious we can make it for them."

"You think they’ll ever figure it out?" Thatch asked, a teasing grin playing at the corners of his lips.

Marco just smirked. "Who knows? But right now I doubt it"

Later that evening, the Moby Dick rocked gently in the harbor as the crew gathered for a casual dinner. The mood was lighthearted, everyone still buzzing from the excitement of exploring the island. You and Ace were once again side by side, as always, laughing, sharing stories, and just enjoying the company of each other.

But that didn't go unnoticed by Marco and Thatch. They casually approached you both, their expressions a mixture of patience and mild amusement.

"You two," Marco began, his arms crossed as he looked between you and Ace, "have been attached at the hip all day. You've barely left each other's side. And honestly, this 'just friends' act is getting a little old."

Ace glanced at you and chuckled, oblivious. "What, we’re just hanging out. What’s the big deal?"

Thatch grinned and leaned in, pointing between you and Ace. "The thing is, you two spend way too much time together. It’s like you're... I don't know, cozy together. You walk around with your arms linked, feeding each other food, sharing quiet moments—hell, you even lay your head in her lap, Ace!" His grin widened as he observed the subtle look that passed between you and Ace, both of you completely unbothered by the comment.

You blinked, furrowing your brows. "What’s wrong with that? I can’t help it if Ace is always hungry and needs someone to share food with."

"That’s not what we mean," Marco added with a sigh, rubbing his temples. "We’re saying that you two are, well, really close. More than friends. Like, ridiculously close."

You and Ace exchanged another confused glance.

"I don’t get it," Ace said, scratching the back of his head. "We’ve always been this way. What’s wrong with hanging out together?"

Thatch leaned back dramatically. "It’s not about hanging out, Ace. It’s about... being together, together. You know, in that way."

You stared at them, still not catching on. "You mean... like, how we’ve always been? Why does it need a label?"

Marco facepalmed, clearly struggling to find the words. "What we’re trying to say is, you two should really be together, in a... you know, romantic way."

You blinked again, your mind still in denial. "But we are together, in a way. We’re best friends. That’s... that’s enough."

Ace gave a small nod. "Yeah, exactly. We’ve always been this close. No need to overthink it, right?"

The tension in the air was palpable, and it was clear that Marco and Thatch were beyond frustrated. Thatch leaned back and crossed his arms, giving up. "You two are hopeless."

Nearby, Whitebeard, who had been listening to the conversation, let out a hearty laugh, shaking his head in amusement. "You two are truly something else," he boomed, his deep laugh echoing through the ship. "I can't believe you’re this thick-headed."

You and Ace both looked over at him, still not quite getting the joke. "What do you mean, Pops?" you asked.

Whitebeard chuckled and just shook his head. "No one’s ever been this clueless about that before."

It was at that moment, as you both stood there, still completely confused, that Ace suddenly stood up with a grin, clearly eager to move past the conversation. "Well, I don’t know about all this, but I’m in the mood for a dance."

You blinked, surprised by his sudden suggestion. "A dance? Now?"

"Why not?" Ace grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Let’s make the night a little more fun."

You hesitated for just a moment before a grin tugged at your lips. "Alright, I’m game," you said, not entirely sure where this was going but willing to play along.

The two of you found a clear space on the deck, and Ace, in his usual carefree manner, pulled you into a loose, playful dance. It wasn’t anything formal - just a bit of laughter, spinning, stepping in rhythm to the sounds of the crew's ongoing chatter. You both were far from professional dancers, but the simplicity of it felt easy, like everything else between you two. You would rest your head on his shoulder or he would pick you up and spin making you laugh even harder.

As you spun in Ace’s arms, you caught a glimpse of Marco and Thatch in the corner of your eye. They exchanged knowing glances, clearly still in disbelief at how long it was taking for you two to figure things out.

"You know," Thatch said, his voice loud enough for both of you to hear, "this is almost exactly how a couple dances."

Marco raised an eyebrow. "And they still don’t get it."

Whitebeard, still chuckling at the sight of you two, added, "Maybe this will be the night they finally wake up."

Ace laughed as he spun you one more time before pulling you back into his arms. "I still don’t know why they're so worked up about us," he muttered, his grin wide. "But I’m having fun."

You couldn’t help but laugh, your heart light and full of warmth. "Me too."

The dance with Ace had quickly turned into something more energetic than you expected. His infectious enthusiasm had you both laughing and spinning around the deck, your feet stumbling over one another more than once. You hadn’t realized just how out of breath you’d gotten until Ace finally slowed down, his arms holding you steady as you both tried to catch your breath, grinning at each other like you’d just won a battle.

"You’re gonna wear me out at this rate," you teased, your breath still coming in ragged bursts, your forehead resting against his chest as you leaned into him for support. The steady beat of his heart was like a calming rhythm against your cheek.

Ace laughed softly, a little winded himself, but clearly enjoying every moment of it. "Hey, if you can’t keep up, that’s on you," he joked, wrapping his arms around you loosely, his cheek resting atop your head for a moment.

Despite the laughter and the warmth between the two of you, Marco, Thatch, and Whitebeard stood off to the side, watching the scene unfold with wide eyes, clearly in disbelief. Marco’s face was a picture of exasperation as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"They’re really not getting it, are they?" Marco muttered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. "How can they not see it?"

Thatch chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned against the ship’s railing. "This is too good. We’ve practically had to spell it out for them, and they’re still acting like nothing’s happening."

Whitebeard, standing nearby, just laughed heartily, shaking his head at the young pair.

"You’d think after everything today—hell, the way they’ve been acting all this time—they’d get it," Marco said, still stunned. "But no, they’re just... friends. Sure."

Meanwhile, you and Ace were still wrapped up in the warmth of the moment, his arms around your waist and yours around his neck, enjoying the simplicity of each other's company.

You pulled back slightly, looking up at Ace with a smile, and he met your gaze with his signature grin, still blissfully unaware of the whispers around you. "Well, that was fun," you said, your voice still light from laughter. "I don’t think I’ve laughed this much in ages."

"Same here," Ace agreed, before you both let go of each other. He gave you a playful nudge, then glanced back at the others. "You guys should join in next time, you know? No need to stand around looking all serious."

The next few days passed in the same easygoing rhythm. You and Ace continued to spend nearly every waking moment together, and it was clear to everyone around you just how close you two were. Whether it was sharing meals, joking around, or just enjoying each other's presence, it seemed natural—so natural, in fact, that neither of you thought much of it.

You’d walk together, arms linked, holding hands, or sometimes Ace would casually slide his arm around your waist as you both strolled across the ship, laughing at something ridiculous that had happened. Every time Ace was hungry, you’d end up sharing your food with him, like it was second nature. Even when he’d lay down on the deck to rest, his head would always end up in your lap, both of you lost in the peace of the moment. It was nothing out of the ordinary, at least, not to you.

However, as the days wore on, it became more and more difficult for the rest of the crew to ignore just how cozy you two were. Every little gesture, every shared look, every soft laugh - it was all starting to make a lot of sense to the others.

One day, as you and Ace walked across the deck, lost in a conversation about something trivial, Thatch couldn’t help but watch. He exchanged a glance with Marco, who had a very similar look of resignation on his face.

“Alright,” Thatch muttered under his breath, nudging Marco. “I think I finally get it.”

Marco raised an eyebrow. "You do?"

“Yeah,” Thatch said, leaning in closer as the two of you passed by, still oblivious to what was going on. "They’re not just clueless. They’re extremely innocent and on top of that plain dumb."

Marco sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I’ve never seen anything like it. They’re acting like a couple - but -" he paused, as if trying to process the ridiculousness of it, "they genuinely have no idea."

Thatch grinned. "Every single thing they do together screams couple. And still, they look at us like we’re speaking some foreign language when we try to explain it."

Marco, too, found it hard not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. "You’d think after all this time, they’d at least get the hint."

It had been days of watching you and Ace and Marco and Thatch couldn’t take it any longer.

One evening, after dinner, Marco casually called you over to sit with him and Thatch. You and Ace were both in the middle of chatting, but after a quick exchange of glances, you found yourselves being pulled toward the two men who were clearly on a mission to finally make you understand what had been going on.

Marco and Thatch sat across from you and Ace, looking like two men about to embark on the most difficult mission of their lives. Marco rubbed his temples, while Thatch was already looking like he regretted getting involved.

“Alright, listen,” Thatch started, leaning forward like he was about to deliver top-secret information. “We need to have a serious talk.”

Ace, lounging lazily with his arms crossed, blinked at them. “About what?”

“You two,” Marco said, pointing between you and Ace like it should be obvious.

You and Ace exchanged a glance before you shrugged. “What about us?”

Thatch groaned. “Okay, how do we put this… You do everything a couple does. You drink together, laugh together, share food—”

Ace nodded. “Yeah, so?”

Marco threw up his hands. “You sleep in each other’s beds!”

You tilted your head. “It’s comfortable.”

Thatch’s eye twitched. “Ace carries you around when you’re tired.”

“Well, walking is exhausting,” you replied.

Marco pointed a finger at Ace. “And you tuck her in when she falls asleep on the deck!”

Ace huffed. “I don’t just leave her lying around like some abandoned crate!”

Marco leaned forward, trying to get through to you like a teacher dealing with the class clown. “And doesn’t that mean something to you?”

You and Ace exchanged another glance before looking back at them. “Uh… yeah?” Ace said slowly.

Thatch perked up, hopeful. “Oh? It does?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “It means we’re really close friends.”

Marco made a sound so strangled it could’ve come from an injured seagull. “No! Not just friends! You’re together-together!”

You frowned. “We are together. I mean, we’re here right now, sitting together.”

Thatch looked at Marco. “I swear, they’re killing me.”

Marco took a deep breath, then leaned forward with the patience of a saint trying to explain something to a particularly stubborn toddler. “Okay. Listen closely.”

You and Ace nodded attentively.

“When you see each other,” Marco continued, speaking slowly, “do you feel warm inside? Maybe like… butterflies?”

You and Ace exchanged another glance.

“…From drinking?” Ace asked.

Thatch smacked the table. “NO! From love!”

You tapped your chin. “Hmm. I mean, I do like Ace.”

Ace grinned. “Yeah, and I like her.”

Thatch and Marco both perked up. “Okay, great! Now—”

“But, like, friend like,” you added.

Ace nodded sagely. “Yeah. Deep, deep friendship.”

Marco dragged a hand down his face. “You’re messing with us, right? You have to be messing with us.”

Thatch was now pacing, waving his hands around like a madman. “Okay, fine! Let’s break this down further. When you touch, like when you hold hands, doesn’t it feel… different?”

Ace thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I mean, her hands are pretty soft.”

You nodded. “His are warm.”

Thatch’s eye twitched again. “No. No. Not physically! I mean, do you feel a spark? A rush? Maybe a deep longing?”

Ace frowned. “A deep longing?”

You blinked. “For what?”

Marco groaned into his hands. “To be together!”

Ace and you exchanged yet another confused glance before turning back to them. “But we are together,” you said slowly.

Thatch threw his hands up. “As a COUPLE!”

There was a pause. You and Ace both sat there, staring at them with blank expressions, as if they had just tried to explain rocket science to two particularly dense sea kings.

Then, Ace nodded thoughtfully. “Ohhh… I get it.”

Thatch and Marco sighed in relief.

“You think we should be a couple,” Ace continued.

“Yes!” Marco and Thatch shouted in unison.

Ace scratched his chin. “Hmm. Should we?” He turned to you, eyes casual. “Wanna kiss?”

You gave a nonchalant shrug. “Why not?”

Marco's jaw literally dropped, and Thatch choked on his drink, sputtering in shock. Whitebeard, who usually held the wisdom of the seas and the authority of a captain, was now wide-eyed, blinking in utter surprise. They all stared at you, processing what had just happened.

"Did... did you just say... 'Why not'?" Marco managed to ask, his voice half disbelieving, half amused.

"Yeah," you replied, still as casual as ever, "I mean, it seems like the next logical step, doesn’t it?"

Ace, looking just as unfazed as you, gave a relaxed grin and you both leaned in and kissed each other, as if this was the most natural progression in the world.

“OH MY GOD, STOP!” Marco shouted.

Thatch practically leapt out of his seat. “That is not how this works!”

Whitebeard, who had been listening from his throne, suddenly let out a deep, rumbling laugh. “Gurarara… I have never seen two people be so dense.” Marco and Thatch nodded vigorously.

And then it happened.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore. The laughter bubbled up from deep within you and you burst into giggles. It was so sudden, so unexpected, that even Ace shot you a confused look.

"Hey! Stop!" Ace said, trying to keep his own grin hidden, though it was clear he was fighting a smile. "You're ruining the act!"

But it was too much. The act, the drama, the whole charade - you couldn't keep up with it any longer. "I’m sorry!" you managed between laughs, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "I just couldn't keep it up anymore."

“…Wait,” Marco said slowly.

Thatch narrowed his eyes. “Are you two…?”

Ace grinned. “Oh yeah. We’ve been together this whole time. Of course we knew what was going on between us. We just thought it was funny watching you guys try to explain it to us.”

"You guys... you guys really thought we didn’t know?" You leaned against Ace’s shoulder, still chuckling. "We’ve been together together the whole time. The whole time, guys."

Silence.

“You little shits.”

Thatch looked personally betrayed, and Marco just sighed, leaning back as if he had aged ten years in five minutes. Whitebeard, who had been listening nearby, suddenly let out a deep, booming laugh, shaking his head.

“I should’ve known,” he chuckled. “Only Ace would turn his love life into a prank on the crew.”

Marco stared at you both in disbelief. “You......You mean to tell me we just wasted half an hour-”

“More like weeks,” Whitebeard added with a chuckle.

Thatch collapsed onto the table, face down. “I hate you both.”

Ace laughed, throwing an arm around you as you grinned. “Aw, come on. You gotta admit - it was really funny.”

Marco just stared at the two of you, shaking his head in disbelief. "I... I honestly can’t believe this," he muttered. "You two were playing us this whole time?"

You simply shrugged with a smirk. "Yeah, you were so cute trying to explain it, though. We just couldn’t resist."

Ace laughed again, his arm still around you as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Guess we got a bit of a kick out of watching you all scramble."

Marco groaned, standing up. “I need a damn drink.”

Thatch pointed at you both. “You’re menaces.”

You looked at Ace, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You intertwined your fingers with his, feeling the warmth of his hand in yours nefore leaning in again to kiss him.

Whitebeard was still laughing, Thatch and Marco still muttering about you two being a pain in the ass as you and Ace simply leaned into each other, fully enjoying the absolute chaos you had caused.

[astro-stars]

Hear me out on this... TWST with a Southern! Reader.

Like, it's the first day of school, and obviously Reader can't remember the names of the two people they just met, so when Ace says one thing or another, complaining about someone called Riddle, they just go "Hm, yeah, sweetheart."

Ace drops his lunch.

Or when they step on Leona's tail by accident, immediately going, "Oh, darling, are you alright?"

Leona couldn't fall asleep for the first time in a while.

Or after Azul's overblot, how can he not cry more, especially when Reader is rubbing circles into his shoulders, cooing, "It's okay, love, let it all out."

The scammer, unfortunately, couldn't look Reader in the eyes for a while after that.

Or when Reader gets mad, like when they cook something for their friends and Grim eats it, their immediate instinct is to go "WITH ALL I DO FOR THIS HOUSE, YOUNG MAN, WHY DON'T YOU TRY YOUR HAND AT FEEDING THIS HOUSE?!"

By house, they mean the five other first years.

please ignore that theyre out of order😭 its just the order i came up with them!

Ace Trappola

During a Class Mishap Ace messes up a potion and it starts bubbling over, covering his face in soot. Reader chuckles softly and drawls, “Well, bless your heart, sugar, you tryin’ to invent fireworks in here?” Ace sputters, trying to explain himself, but the way Reader says “sugar” makes him forget what he was even going to say. He spends the rest of the class trying (and failing) to act unfazed.

Deuce Spade

When He Gets Into Trouble Deuce gets caught in yet another fight, his uniform a mess. Reader sighs, crossing their arms. “Now, darlin’, I know your momma raised you better than this. You think brawlin’ is gonna solve your problems?” Deuce blushes deeply, stammering out an apology, and promises to do better. He can’t decide if Reader’s scolding feels more like comfort or a proper lecture, but either way, it gets through to him.

Jack Howl

After a Long Run Jack comes back from a run, panting heavily. Reader hands him a water bottle and says, “There you go, honey. Can’t have you keelin’ over on me, now.” Jack pauses mid-sip, ears twitching. He mumbles a quiet “thanks” but spends the rest of the day wondering why being called “honey” makes his tail wag.

Ruggie Bucchi

When He Steals Food Ruggie swipes a bite of Reader’s lunch, thinking they won’t notice. Reader glares and slams their hand on the table. “Now, listen here, sugar. If you’re gonna steal from me, at least have the decency to leave a ‘thank you’ note!” Ruggie freezes, torn between laughing and apologizing. He scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Sorry, I’ll leave a note next time, promise.”

Floyd Leech

During One of Floyd’s Moods Floyd is sulking in the lounge, glaring at anyone who comes near. Reader plops down beside him, ignoring the tension. “What’s got you in such a twist, darlin’? You look like a cat that’s been rained on.” Floyd blinks at them before breaking into a grin. “Heh, you’re funny. I like you.” He’s back to his usual chaotic self in no time, dragging Reader into whatever mischief he has planned.

Jamil Viper

When He’s Overworked Reader notices Jamil trying to juggle a million tasks at once. They gently take a tray from his hands and say, “Now, love, you can’t be doin’ everything yourself. Even the strongest trees need a little support.” Jamil hesitates but lets them help. Later, he finds himself thinking about how soft their voice was when they called him “love.”

Kalim Al-Asim

When He’s Overly Excited Kalim bursts into Reader’s room, talking a mile a minute about his latest idea for a party. Reader smiles fondly and says, “Alright, sugarcube, slow down. You’re buzzin’ around like a bee in a flower shop.” Kalim laughs, realizing he’s gotten carried away. “Sorry! I just get so excited talking to you!” Reader’s warm tone makes him feel even more enthusiastic.

Sebek Zigvolt

When He’s Loud (As Always) Sebek’s voice booms through the dorm, startling everyone nearby. Reader raises an eyebrow and says, “Well, darlin’, you sure do have a voice on you. Could probably wake the dead if you tried.” Sebek pauses, unsure if that was a compliment or not. He straightens up and replies, “Of course! A knight must always be heard!” But his face betrays the fact that he’s flustered.

Silver

When He Falls Asleep Reader finds Silver asleep under a tree and gently drapes a blanket over him. “Sleep tight, sugar. Even knights need their rest.” When Silver wakes up and sees the blanket, his heart skips a beat. He quietly resolves to thank them later, though he’s already blushing at the thought.

Vil Schoenheit

During a Self-Care Lesson Vil insists on giving Reader a skincare lesson. As he critiques their routine, Reader smirks and says, “Well, bless your heart, sweetpea. I didn’t realize I was sittin’ with the beauty queen of Twisted Wonderland.” Vil narrows his eyes, but the corners of his lips twitch upward. “Flattery will get you nowhere—though I appreciate the sentiment.”

Rook Hunt

When He’s Observing Them Rook starts waxing poetic about Reader’s charm and grace. They laugh and reply, “Oh, honey, you’re layin’ it on thicker than molasses on a pancake.” Rook places a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “But I only speak the truth, mon trésor!” Reader shakes their head, amused by his dramatics.

Epel Felmier

When He’s Feeling Insecure Epel complains about being underestimated because of his looks. Reader pats his shoulder and says, “Now, don’t you fret, darlin’. Even the prettiest apples can pack the strongest punch.” Epel grins, feeling a little more confident. “Thanks, Yuu. You’re real good at makin’ a guy feel better.”

Idia Shroud

When He’s Awkward Around Them Reader catches Idia muttering to himself about a game. They lean in with a warm smile. “Whatcha talkin’ about, sugar? Don’t keep me in suspense.” Idia jumps, his hair flaring pink. “N-nothing! It’s nothing!” But the way they said “sugar” replays in his head for days.

Malleus Draconia

During a Starlit Walk Reader invites Malleus to stargaze with them, saying, “Ain’t the night sky somethin’ else, darlin’? Makes all the troubles of the day seem so small.” Malleus gazes at them instead of the stars. “Indeed,” he murmurs, though he’s not talking about the sky.

not malleus all on his own

TAGLIST; @soramcduckahyucky

[theplaid-wearingmoose]

Pic credit: @cupcakeinat0r

Warning: Rough sex, overstimulation, dumbification-ish?, name-calling, breeding kink

It started with you making your way to Miguel's office to drop off your mission report and some food from the cafeteria since you were certain he hadn't eaten today. Just before you reached the door, Lyla appeared in front of you. "Hey girly. You here for the boss?" She asked. "Yeah Lyla, I know he probably hasn't come out for food today. Plus I need to drop off my report." You answered. Lyla gave you a sheepish look. "Ummm just be careful...or maybe come back later? It might be better. He's not doing so hot. It's uh...his time of the month?"

You paused at first. You were so busy taking care of anomalies you forgot to check the calendar. Miguel's spider DNA gave him a mating cycle. The first time had taken you by surprise and your muscles ached for 2 weeks. Since then you'd been careful to time it properly and stretch but saving the multiverse from sudden collapse was becoming more and more difficult lately. You totally forgot about Miguel's "heat".

"Oh...um..maybe I'll still go check on him. Just so I can make sure he doesn't hurt himself." You reasoned to her. Lyla shrugged. "If you say so. Don't say I didn't warn you though, girly." You smiled and waved her away playfully as the door slid open in front of you. Miguel's office felt unusually cold, like he had turned the AC on full blast plus some. You didn't even have a chance to speak before hearing Miguel's voice shouting. "LYLA I told you not to let anyone in here!"

Your spider sense pinged just as you saw one of Miguel's huge monitors flying towards you. "Miguel! What the hell, it's me!" You shouted, catching the monitor before it took you out. The force of it did send you back a couple inches but you were otherwise unharmed. You swung up to his platform and set the monitor gently on the floor. "Oh...I-I'm sorry, hermosa. I didn't know it was you." He apologized. He was hunched over in his chair, his large frame curled almost into a ball. He didn't even look up at you but you could see him tense up as you neared him. "You shouldn't be here, querida. It's not safe. I don't wanna hurt you."

You put your hand on his back and Miguel bristled like a cat. "Amor, estoy serio! If you don't leave, I don't think I'll be able to control myself." He warned, his tone was harsh but also pleading. You stood firm. "I'm not afraid of you, Miguel. And I'm not fragile either. You know I can handle it. It'll hurt you more if you don't." You placed your hands on his shoulders and started to massage his muscles when he shot up from his chair and whirled around to face you. "You don't know what you're asking for this time, querida. I tried to take a suppressor and..it didn't work! It only made it worse." He growled. You could finally take in the sight of him fully as he towered above you. His hair was disheveled and sweaty, his normally maroon-colored eyes were a blazing, almost glowing, red. He was breathing heavily and his hands were clenched in tight fists like he was using every ounce of strength to keep them to himself.

You raised your hand to his face, concerned, but Miguel caught your hand in his tightly. "Miguel-" "Why do you insist on torturing me, amor? Don't you understand that the closer you get to me, the more I'm having to restrain myself?!" He pulled you to him and pressed his nose to your wrist, inhaling deeply. "Dios mio...you smell so sweet, princesa. I bet you taste even better." He growled against your skin. Arousal coursed through you as you felt his hard length press against you. "Miguel...I can take it.." You spoke, trying to reassure him, your voice barely making it above a whisper. He leaned close to you, gripping you by your jaw. "I won't be gentle, hermosa. I can't." He rasped. You nodded and gasped as he began to grind his hips against you. One hand ran up the back of your neck and tangled in your hair. Grabbing a fistful of it, Miguel yanked your head back and latched his mouth to your neck. You cried out as his fangs sunk into your skin, marking you as his. He sucked on your neck before pressing his lips to yours, shoving his tongue into your mouth. His other hand ran down your body, squeezing and groping your flesh as he went. He stopped just under your bellybutton and gripped a fistful of your suit. Your eyes widened as you felt a tug and heard the rip of the material.

You pushed on his chest, trying to protest his destruction of your suit but he grabbed your wrist, pinning it behind you, and smothering your noises with his kiss. Breathing heavily, he released you long enough to growl out "I'll make you another suit, querida" before shredding the material on your chest, freeing your breasts. He wasted zero time sucking one of your sensitive nipples into his mouth before rolling the other one between his fingers. You let your head roll back and threaded your fingers through Miguel's hair. His warm tongue flicked across your nipple, making you whimper in pleasure.

Miguel stood up straight and pushed you back against the table. Turning your body away from him, he got on his knees behind you. "Bend over for me, princesa. Let me taste you." He demanded. You bent over the table, your ass and dripping pussy completely exposed to him. Miguel groaned as he massaged your ass. "Fuck, you're so wet already, amor. You're driving me crazy."

You choked out a loud moan as Miguel shoved his tongue inside you without warning. His hands dug into the meat of your ass as he wiggled it against his face. "Oh f-fuck, Miguel! Your mouth feels so good!" You whined. Miguel hummed as he sucked on your clit and flicked his tongue over your wet hole. Two of his large fingers replaced his tongue inside you and began pumping inside you fast and hard. Your legs were already beginning to shake and you knew Miguel wouldn't have mercy on you just yet. You felt yourself coming undone as he ate you like an ice cream. You couldn't help but rock back against his face, crying out his name as you came on his tongue.

Laughing quietly to himself, he stood and wiped his face before cleaning off his fingers one by one, savoring your taste. He went back to rubbing your clit in circles as he positioned himself behind you. He pushed on your back until you were completely flush against the table. You heard his suit turn off and squirmed against him in anticipation.

A loud scream was pulled from your throat as Miguel fully sheathed himself inside you. Giving you absolutely no time to adjust, he began fucking you at such a rough pace, the monitors began to shake from the force of his thrusts. "Ay carajo, bebita...you're so fucking tight....gonna fill this pussy up so good, querida. You're gonna make such a beautiful mama." Miguel moaned. You couldn't form any words. Every ounce of your strength was going to keeping yourself upright. You gripped the edge of the table and held on for dear life. You could see your face reflected in the monitor in front of you, the orange lights illuminating your fucked out expression. Your lips were slightly puffy from Miguel sucking on them and your eyes were half open. Miguel noticed you looking into your reflection and smirked.

"You like watching me fuck you, amor? You do make such a beautiful sight. You can barely keep your eyes open, can you? Do I make you feel that good, baby? Answer me."

"Y-yes, Miguel you- ohmygod- you make me feel amazing. You're so deep inside me...fuck, you're gonna make me cum soon!" You cried. Miguel laughed darkly. "Oh you're gonna cum a few times for me, cariño. As many times as it takes." He growled. Hooking his arm under your knee, he lifted one of your legs onto the table, angling himself so he could fuck deeper into you. His pace sped up and the feeling of his cock so deep inside you had you screaming. The monitors not attached to the ceiling toppled over and crashed to the floor of the platform but Miguel kept his pace as if he didn't even hear them. You didn't even have time to announce it before your orgasm hit you, soaking Miguel's cock and stomach with your wetness. Still his pace did not slow. If anything, it spurred him on even more. "Así baby, cum all over me, princesa. Fuck you're such a good girl for me.." Miguel groaned in approval.

Grabbing your hair, Miguel pulled your head back and pressed kisses to the side of your face as he continued fucking you. "Que linda...eres tan hermosa, amor." He murmured, his gentle words a stark contrast to the rough movements of his hips. "Tell me you love it, princesa." "Ohhhh I l-love it s'much! S'fucking good!" You slurred, your brain foggy from the overstimulation. You were so blissed out you didn't realize your mouth had been hanging open and drool had fallen from your tongue. Miguel smirked when he noticed. "Oh princesa you're drooling, huh? Am I fucking my baby stupid? This cock too much for my dumb little whore, hm?" All you could do was nod and whimper in response. "Oh pobrecita..." Miguel crooned.

He reached around you and rubbed your clit as he slammed his hips against your ass. Your moans and whimpers grew loud as another orgasm washed over you, your nails clawing at the table.

"M-Miguel please...I c-can't." You sobbed, your legs shaking, dangerously close to giving out. Miguel bent over you and nibbled gently on your ear lobe. "What happened to 'I can take it, Miguel. I'm not fragile, Miguel'?" He taunted. You let out another sob of pleasure as he lifted your leg back onto the table and smacked your ass before gripping it tightly. "Don't worry, princesa. Gonna fill that pussy up soon, gonna put a baby in you and make you a mama. Fuck, amor, you're gonna look so beautiful all swollen with my babies. Gotta fuck it into you deep, baby." He moaned. Your eyes rolled back in your head at his words. "Fuck yes, cum inside me Miguel. Please fill me up! I need it!" You begged. Miguel cursed and gripped your hips hard enough that surely bruises would be there later. Sweat dripped from his hair and a thin sheen of sweat made his chest glisten.

He pounded into you hard, chasing his release. Your screams of pleasure filled his ears and soon he was seeing stars as his release finally hit. His whole body shuddered as he emptied his load inside you, coating your walls in his warm, sticky cum. With a loud grunt, he pressed his hips flush against your ass, making sure he was totally spent before pulling back out of you. Your legs gave out completely and you collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily. Miguel quickly joined you, pulling your trembling body against his sweaty chest. Panting against your skin, he pressed a kiss to your forehead and brushed your hair away from your face. His actions were gentle but as he kissed your cheek, he murmured in your ear.

"Get your rest now, amor. I'm not even close to done with you."

[yuu-kantokusei]

Happy New Year✨️🎈🎊

Story: Yuu and Grim spend their New Year with each dorm + Ramshackle dorm

Reader is Yuu

TW: none, just wishing a good and healthy year🎉

❤️Heartslabyul🖤

The New Year’s celebration at Heartslabyul was in full swing, and Yuu could hardly believe the amount of effort that had gone into it. The rose garden sparkled with fairy lights, red and white roses seemed to glow in the moonlight, and the long tea table was adorned with an array of pastries, tarts, and steaming teapots. The decorations were pristine, though Yuu suspected they only looked that way because Trey had quietly cleaned up after Ace and Deuce’s haphazard attempts.

“Oi, Yuu, look at this spread!” Grim said, hopping onto the table and sniffing a tart. “This is what I call a feast fit for the Great Grim-sama!”

“Get down before Riddle sees you,” Yuu whispered, quickly pulling Grim back into their lap. “I don’t want to get dragged into another lecture.”

As if summoned by the mere mention of his name, Riddle appeared, straightening his blazer. “I trust everything is in order for the midnight countdown? I expect everyone to behave themselves and follow the rules. This is a formal occasion, after all.”

“Yes, sir!” Deuce said earnestly, while Ace muttered something about it being a party, not a trial.

The evening passed with laughter and games, though not without its share of chaos. Cater had everyone posing for photos, insisting on “just one more” until even Riddle begrudgingly joined in. Grim spent most of the time sneaking treats, though he loudly denied it when Trey caught him with powdered sugar on his nose.

As the clock neared midnight, the group gathered in the garden, bundled in scarves and coats against the winter chill. Sparklers flickered in the dark, their light reflecting in the frost-dusted roses.

“All right, everyone,” Riddle said, his voice firm but softer than usual. “It’s almost time. Let’s make this a New Year’s to remember.”

Yuu glanced at Grim, who had nestled against their side, his tail curling around their arm. “Grim, you ready?”

“Pfft, of course I am! This is gonna be my year,” Grim said, puffing out his chest. “The year Grim-sama rises to greatness!”

As the countdown began, voices overlapping in excitement, Yuu couldn’t help but smile. Being here, with this strange and wonderful group, felt like a gift.

“Happy New Year!"

The garden erupted in cheers as fireworks exploded overhead, painting the sky with bursts of red, gold, and silver. Grim let out a delighted yowl, jumping up to chase a stray spark that flickered down toward the ground.

Riddle, for once, didn’t scold him. Instead, he raised a teacup in a quiet toast. “To a year of success and order,” he said.

“And fun,” Ace added with a grin, dodging a playful punch from Deuce.

Yuu felt a warm glow settle in their chest as they watched their friends bicker, laugh, and celebrate together. The New Year stretched ahead, full of possibilities. Whatever challenges came next, they knew they wouldn’t face them alone.

As the fireworks faded and the group slowly drifted back inside, Grim fell asleep against Yuu’s shoulder, his soft snores blending with the faint hum of lingering magic in the air.

“Happy New Year, Grim,” Yuu whispered, their voice barely audible above the quiet. The little monster only snuggled closer in response, and Yuu couldn’t think of a better way to start the year.

_______________________________________________

💛Savanaclaw🖤

The New Year’s celebration at Savanaclaw was unlike anything Yuu had ever experienced before. The dorm was alive with energy, the air filled with the rich scent of grilled meat and the crackling sound of the enormous bonfire that had been built in the center of the courtyard. The fire’s golden light danced across the sandstone walls, casting long shadows that flickered like living beasts.

Yuu stepped into the dorm, Grim perched on their shoulder, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air. "Oh, yeah! This is the place to be for New Year’s!” Grim said, practically drooling as his eyes locked onto the buffet table piled high with roasted meat, steaming bowls of stew, and skewers sizzling over open flames.

“You better not embarrass me,” Yuu muttered, but Grim was already scrambling down and bounding toward the food.

Nearby, Jack was stacking logs by the bonfire, his muscular arms flexing with every movement. He gave Yuu a quick nod as they approached. “Good to see you here. Savanaclaw knows how to celebrate New Year’s the right way.”

“Looks like it,” Yuu replied, watching as a group of students broke into a spirited wrestling match not far from the fire.

“Oi, herbivore,” came a lazy voice from the shadows. Yuu turned to see Leona lounging on a pile of cushions under the shade of a large tent, his golden eyes glinting in the firelight. “Try not to get caught up in the chaos. Savanaclaw’s parties aren’t for the faint of heart.”

“I can handle it,” Yuu replied, crossing their arms.

Leona smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

As the night went on, the celebration grew wilder. The bonfire roared higher, and the students gathered around it, laughing and challenging each other to games of strength and speed.

Jack tried to teach Yuu how to arm-wrestle, but Yuu’s attempts were quickly interrupted by Grim, who declared himself the "strongest beast" and demanded a match with Jack. It ended with Grim flat on his back, his tail twitching indignantly as Jack chuckled.

Meanwhile, Leona watched from his spot, only getting involved when someone dared to challenge him to a game of strategy. He won every time, his smug grin growing wider with each victory.

Grim, determined to prove his worth, entered a tug-of-war contest, gripping a rope with his teeth against a team of Savanaclaw students. Yuu cheered him on, though it ended in comedic disaster when Grim’s tiny legs couldn’t hold up, and he was sent flying into a pile of hay.

As the clock neared midnight, everyone gathered closer to the bonfire. The heat was almost overwhelming, but the energy was infectious.

Leona finally rose from his spot, stretching lazily as he walked toward the fire. His presence commanded attention, and the rowdy group fell silent as he spoke.

“Here’s to another year,” he said, his voice carrying effortlessly. “Another chance to prove we’re the strongest, the smartest, and the ones to beat. Don’t slack off, and don’t waste it.”

A cheer erupted from the crowd as the countdown began. Yuu joined in, the excitement bubbling in their chest as the numbers grew louder.

“Three… two… one… Happy New Year!”

The roar of voices was matched only by the roar of the bonfire as someone threw another log onto it, sending sparks spiraling into the night sky. The celebration resumed immediately, drums beating in a rhythmic cadence as students danced around the flames.

Grim, perched on Yuu’s shoulder once more, licked a bit of stew off his paw. “Not bad, huh? We fit right in with these guys!”

Yuu laughed, watching the wild revelry unfold. Despite the chaos, the sense of camaraderie was undeniable. This was a place where strength was celebrated, where even the smallest victories mattered.

Leona passed by, his usual smirk softened just slightly. “You survived the night, herbivore. Not bad.”

“Happy New Year to you too, Leona,” Yuu replied, smiling.

As the party raged on into the early hours, Yuu found themselves feeling strangely at home among the howls, laughter, and blazing firelight. Another year had begun, and it was bound to be unforgettable.

_______________________________________________

💜Octavinelle🩶

The New Year’s celebration at Octavinelle was unlike any other, a mix of elegance and intrigue that left Yuu wondering what kind of tricks Azul and the twins had up their sleeves. The entrance to the dorm was lit with soft, bioluminescent lights that shimmered like underwater stars, casting the coral-like walls of the dorm in an otherworldly glow.

“Oi, Yuu, you sure this is a party? It looks more like one of Azul’s fancy business meetings,” Grim muttered as they stepped inside.

“I heard that,” came Azul’s smooth voice, his smile sharp as he emerged from behind a nearby pillar. “But rest assured, this is a party. Octavinelle knows how to ring in the New Year with style.”

Grim immediately perked up at the sight of a lavish buffet spread across the central lounge. Trays of fresh seafood, sparkling drinks, and desserts that glittered like gemstones covered the tables. “Now this is more like it!” Grim exclaimed, dashing toward the food.

“Don’t eat too much, or you might find yourself signing a contract,” Yuu warned, earning a laugh from Azul.

“Always so suspicious,” Azul said, adjusting his glasses. “But tonight, I’m simply a host. No contracts, I promise… unless you want one.”

The lounge was transformed into an underwater ballroom, with glassy floors reflecting the soft blue-green lights. Floyd had strung glowing jellyfish decorations from the ceiling, their tendrils swaying gently as if floating in water.

“Isn’t it so pretty, Shrimpy?” Floyd asked, suddenly appearing beside Yuu with his signature grin. “Makes you feel like you’re in the deep sea, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s amazing,” Yuu said, glancing around. “Did you help with this?”

“Nah, I just did the fun parts. Azul did all the boring stuff, like planning.” Floyd leaned closer, his mismatched eyes gleaming. “You gonna dance later? I’ll join if it looks fun.”

Before Yuu could respond, Jade approached, his posture as impeccable as ever. “Now, Floyd, don’t scare our guest. They’ve only just arrived.” He turned to Yuu with a polite smile. “Do let me know if you need anything. Tonight, we aim to ensure all our guests leave with fond memories.”

“Fond memories, huh?” Yuu said with a laugh. “I’ll hold you to that.”

As the clock crept toward midnight, the atmosphere in the lounge shifted. Azul stood at the head of the room, raising a glass as the lights dimmed, leaving only the glow of the jellyfish and the soft reflections in the glass walls.

“My dear friends and guests,” Azul began, his voice smooth and commanding, “thank you for joining us tonight. The New Year is a time for opportunity, for growth, and for making dreams come true. Let us toast to a prosperous year ahead.”

The crowd raised their glasses, and the countdown began.

“Ten… nine…”

Yuu glanced around, noting how even Floyd seemed unusually focused, his grin replaced by a curious intensity. Jade stood quietly, his sharp eyes watching everything like a predator waiting for the right moment.

“Three… two… one… Happy New Year!”

The room erupted in cheers, and the jellyfish decorations lit up brilliantly, their tendrils glowing with a soft golden hue. A gentle mist rolled over the glassy floor, making the entire lounge look like an enchanted underwater realm.

As the festivities continued, Yuu found themselves sitting with Azul at one of the quieter tables. Grim was nearby, fast asleep with a belly full of food, snoring softly.

“Enjoying yourself?” Azul asked, his voice quieter now.

“Yeah, it’s been… magical,” Yuu admitted, looking around at the elegant decorations and the laughing students. “You really know how to throw a party.”

Azul’s smile grew, though it held a hint of his usual cunning. “I’m glad to hear that. Octavinelle prides itself on offering unforgettable experiences.”

Floyd suddenly slid into the seat beside Yuu, his usual energy restored. “Shrimpy, you didn’t even dance! Next time, I’m dragging you out there.”

“Be careful with your ‘dragging,’ Floyd,” Jade said, appearing with a tray of sparkling drinks. “We wouldn’t want to scare them off before next year’s celebration.”

Yuu laughed, feeling oddly at ease despite the chaotic trio. As the party carried on, they couldn’t help but think that celebrating New Year’s in Octavinelle was like stepping into a dream—beautiful, mysterious, and just a little dangerous.

As the lights dimmed and the music softened, Yuu leaned back, watching the glittering room with a content smile. Whatever the new year brought, they were ready.

_______________________________________________

❤️Scarabia💛

The New Year’s celebration at Scarabia was a dazzling, sunlit affair that glowed with the warmth and vibrancy of its hosts. As Yuu stepped into the dorm, the rich scent of spiced tea and honeyed pastries wafted through the air, accompanied by the rhythmic beat of drums and the gentle chiming of bells.

The main courtyard had been transformed into a festival of light and color. Golden lanterns swayed gently from the tall palm trees, and colorful carpets covered the sandy ground, creating a space that was both luxurious and inviting.

“Welcome, my friend!” came Kalim’s cheerful voice, cutting through the hum of conversation and music. He bounded over, his smile as bright as the stars above. “I’m so glad you could join us! Tonight’s going to be amazing!”

Before Yuu could respond, Grim let out an excited yowl. “Look at all this food! This is my kinda party!”

Jamil appeared behind Kalim, his expression calm but with a hint of exasperation. “Kalim, maybe let them settle in before overwhelming them.” He turned to Yuu, nodding politely. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Thanks, Jamil,” Yuu said, glancing around. “This is incredible.”

Kalim clapped his hands together. “Then let’s make it a night to remember!”

The evening began with a feast. Long tables were laden with dishes that seemed endless: roasted meats, bowls of vibrant fruits, golden breads drizzled with honey, and desserts spiced with cinnamon and cardamom. Kalim flitted from guest to guest, making sure everyone was enjoying themselves.

“Try this!” Kalim said, handing Yuu a small bowl of something sweet and sticky. “It’s my favorite!”

Grim, meanwhile, had already piled his plate high and was halfway through a mountain of food. “This is paradise,” he said, crumbs flying everywhere.

After the feast, the courtyard came alive with music and dancing. Drummers sat in a circle, their hands moving with practiced precision, while a few students twirled in intricate patterns, their robes catching the firelight.

“Come on, Yuu! Dance with me!” Kalim said, grabbing their hand and pulling them toward the center of the courtyard.

Yuu laughed but didn’t resist, letting Kalim’s infectious energy guide them. Around them, students cheered and clapped to the rhythm, the joy in the air palpable.

Even Jamil, usually so reserved, seemed to relax. He stood at the edge of the crowd, a faint smile on his face as he watched the celebration unfold.

As midnight approached, Kalim led everyone to the highest balcony of Scarabia, where the view stretched out over the golden sands of the desert. The sky was clear, the stars shining brighter than ever.

“Okay, everyone!” Kalim said, his voice full of excitement. “It’s almost time! Let’s make a wish for the new year!”

The crowd grew quiet as the countdown began, voices echoing across the open desert.

“Ten… nine… eight…”

Yuu glanced at Kalim, who was practically bouncing with excitement, and then at Jamil, whose calm gaze softened as he looked out over the horizon.

“Three… two… one… Happy New Year!”

Cheers erupted, and Kalim threw his arms around Yuu in an exuberant hug. “Happy New Year! I just know this one’s going to be the best yet!”

Fireworks burst into the sky, painting it with shimmering golds, blues, and reds. The colors reflected off the sand, making it look like the desert itself was alight with magic.

As the celebration wound down, Yuu found themselves sitting on a soft carpet near the fire, sipping a cup of spiced tea. Grim was curled up beside them, snoring contentedly with a full belly.

Kalim plopped down next to them, his energy still unflagging. “Wasn’t that amazing? We should do this every year!”

Yuu smiled. “It was perfect. Thanks for inviting us.”

Jamil joined them, holding his own cup of tea. “Kalim may be impulsive, but he does know how to bring people together,” he admitted.

The three of them sat in comfortable silence, watching the last of the fireworks fade into the night. The desert stretched out around them, vast and timeless, a reminder of the adventures yet to come.

As Yuu leaned back against the cushions, they couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace. The new year had begun, and here, under the starlit sky of Scarabia, anything felt possible.

_______________________________________________

💜Pomefiore❤️

The New Year’s celebration at Pomefiore was nothing short of extravagant. The dorm, known for its opulence and polished charm, had been transformed into an elegant ballroom of shimmering gold and silver. Long, crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting soft glows that sparkled off the sleek marble floors. There was an air of refinement, a sense of quiet but undeniable luxury.

As Yuu entered, they couldn’t help but feel like they’d stepped into a fairy tale. The walls were lined with velvety curtains in shades of lavender and amethyst, and the air was perfumed with the delicate scent of floral arrangements. A string quartet played soft, classical music in the corner, providing the perfect background for the evening’s festivities.

Grim, perched on Yuu’s shoulder, let out an impressed whistle. “Wow, this place looks like a palace! Think they’ll let me eat everything in sight?”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Yuu warned, though a smile tugged at their lips.

Before they could go further into the grand hall, a voice as smooth as silk called out to them. “Ah, Yuu, you’ve arrived. Welcome to Pomefiore’s New Year’s gala.”

Yuu turned to see Vil Schoenheit, his presence immediately commanding the room. His elegant attire shimmered under the lights, his silver hair impeccably styled. He gave them a cool, perfect smile. “I trust you’re prepared for a night of refinement?”

“I’m not sure I could ever be as prepared as you,” Yuu said with a laugh, trying not to feel too out of place.

“Don’t worry,” Vil said, with a gracious tilt of his head. “Tonight is for all of us, regardless of rank or appearance. Let’s make it unforgettable, shall we?”

The evening was a whirlwind of luxury. The menu was carefully curated, with fine delicacies laid out on golden platters: foie gras, delicate pastries, and vibrant fruits from across the world. The table stretched endlessly, gleaming in the soft candlelight. Even Grim was caught in a moment of awe, though he couldn’t resist sneaking a bite of a particularly shiny pastry before Yuu could stop him.

“Grim!” Yuu hissed, but Grim only grinned around the food. “What? I’m just enjoying the refined cuisine,” he said, his mouth full.

As the night went on, Pomefiore’s guests mingled, their laughter and chatter soft and refined, fitting the tone of the dorm. Vil moved among the crowd, exchanging words with students, offering quiet compliments, and keeping the atmosphere impeccably elegant. He spoke to each person like they were the most important guest, making everyone feel like they belonged in such a stunning setting.

Yuu, on the other hand, found themselves lost in the glamour of it all. Rook Hunt appeared beside them, his gaze sharp and observant as always. “Ah, mon cher Yuu! I see you are entranced by the beauty of this evening. But one cannot merely admire—one must partake! There are many moments waiting to be captured in this night’s story.”

“I’m not sure if I’m ready for all that,” Yuu chuckled, glancing around. “This is… a lot.”

“But of course! The world of Pomefiore can be overwhelming, but I believe you have the heart of an adventurer. Embrace it! Let us enjoy tonight’s splendor.”

As the clock neared midnight, the lights dimmed, and the guests gathered around a large fountain at the center of the hall. It was decorated with crystal ice sculptures and surrounded by a circle of delicate candles. The air was filled with the soft sound of a string quartet playing a slow, melodic tune.

Vil stood at the front, raising his glass. “To a new year,” he began, his voice steady and commanding. “A year where we all rise to greater heights, where beauty and grace continue to shine in everything we do. Let’s make this year unforgettable.”

Everyone raised their glasses, their expressions solemn, but filled with hope. The countdown began.

“Ten… nine…”

Yuu glanced at Grim, who was standing next to them, nervously eyeing the sparkling drink in front of him. “You’re not planning to drink that, are you?” Yuu asked, though they already knew the answer.

“Who, me? Nah, I’m just admiring it. But if I accidentally spill some…” Grim said with a sly grin.

“Three… two… one… Happy New Year!”

As the clock struck midnight, fireworks erupted outside the windows, lighting up the night sky with brilliant bursts of color. The guests cheered, their faces illuminated in the reflection of the fireworks. A soft warmth spread through the room, and even Vil allowed himself a rare, genuine smile.

The rest of the evening unfolded in a graceful rhythm. Guests danced slowly to the music, the atmosphere serene and elegant. Rook had already started capturing moments on his camera, whispering quietly about finding the perfect angle.

Yuu, feeling a sense of peace amidst the lavish surroundings, found themselves standing by the fountain with Vil.

“Thank you for letting us be a part of this,” Yuu said, their voice soft but sincere.

Vil looked over at them, his smile a mixture of pride and something gentler. “It was my pleasure. This night was about more than just perfection—it was about celebrating the efforts of everyone here, no matter how small.”

As the night wore on, Yuu found themselves at ease, surrounded by a group of people who valued beauty, elegance, and their own quiet strength. The grand celebration had felt like something out of a dream, and as the final notes of music played, they realized the true gift of the evening was the chance to experience something so rare—an unforgettable New Year, spent with the unforgettable people of Pomefiore.

_______________________________________________

💙Ignihyde🖤

The New Year’s celebration at Ignihyde was unlike any other. The dorm, typically dark and quiet, had transformed into a cozy and peculiar space, suited to its inhabitants’ unique charm. The fluorescent lights cast a cool, neon glow over the rooms, giving the atmosphere a digital, almost virtual feel. There were no grand decorations, no lavish feasts—but the sense of camaraderie was there, in its own, understated way.

Yuu entered, Grim on their shoulder, looking around the familiar but surprisingly festive space. Large monitors displayed dynamic, colorful graphics, almost like a tech-themed fireworks show, while soft, ambient music filled the background, perfectly balanced for a calm yet engaging evening.

“Yuu! Grim!” Idia Shroud’s voice echoed from the other side of the room, and Yuu turned to see him sitting at a desk, his face illuminated by the glow of a screen. His usual hoodie was replaced with a slightly fancier version, though it still carried the same signature digital motif. “Come in! It’s time to start the…uh, the celebration!”

“Looks pretty low-key,” Yuu said, taking in the quiet room. There were a few chairs scattered around, and some digital party games set up on various screens. It was clear Idia wasn’t one for grandiose gatherings, but the effort was there.

“I—I tried! I thought maybe a virtual New Year’s event would be cool, so I’ve got a bunch of online games set up for everyone to play together,” Idia explained, fidgeting nervously. “I mean, it’s not like…uh, Pomefiore’s or anything, but I think it’ll be fun!”

Grim sniffed the air and immediately noticed a tray of snacks. “I’m sold. No fancy parties, but the snacks are top-tier!”

Yuu chuckled as Grim bounded over to grab a handful of chips. “Well, you know how to keep Grim happy.”

While most of the dorm’s activities were centered around virtual games, there was an undeniable charm to how things unfolded. Idia introduced the group to a series of multiplayer games, each more ridiculous than the last. Some involved outrageous challenges, others were simple strategy games, but all of them carried Idia’s signature flair for creating unique experiences.

Despite the digital nature of the event, there was something almost personal about it. Idia had carefully chosen each game to ensure everyone could participate without feeling overwhelmed. Even Grim, though clumsy, found himself absorbed in a silly online battle.

“Take that!” Grim yelled, pointing at the screen, where his character was decimating the competition. “I’m invincible!”

Yuu laughed, sitting next to Idia, who was engrossed in his own gaming session. “You really put a lot of effort into this, didn’t you?”

“I guess so,” Idia muttered, his voice slightly embarrassed. “I mean, I didn’t want it to be, like, boring. I know I'm not great at throwing parties in real life, but I can at least set up something fun in the digital world.”

“You’ve done a great job,” Yuu said, genuinely impressed by the thought he’d put into it. “It’s a nice change of pace.”

As midnight approached, the mood shifted. The game paused momentarily, and everyone gathered in front of a large screen where Idia had set up a countdown timer. The numbers ticked down slowly, almost like a ticking clock in an old video game. There was a brief pause before Idia, suddenly realizing it was almost time, quickly scrambled to adjust a few settings.

“Alright! We’re almost there! Time to celebrate!” Idia said, his voice a little shaky, but there was a sparkle of excitement behind it.

Grim let out an exaggerated yawn, rolling over onto the couch. “Ugh, it’s already past midnight? Is this party even real?”

“Grim!” Yuu scolded lightly, but then smiled.

With only moments left, the countdown continued, and the screen filled with bright, digital fireworks. Idia, perhaps realizing he had created the perfect balance of his own personal style, finally allowed himself to relax. The display of colorful pixels on the screen reminded everyone that despite the low-key atmosphere, it was a shared experience.

“Five… four… three… two… one… Happy New Year!”

The room was filled with the sound of digital fireworks, and Idia quietly let out a sigh of relief.

“Happy New Year, Yuu… Grim,” he muttered, glancing up from his screen to smile shyly. “Thanks for spending it with me.”

As the digital fireworks faded, the group lingered for a while longer, chatting about their favorite games and laughing at each other’s in-game antics. Idia, still a little socially awkward, seemed at ease, his shoulders relaxed. He had succeeded in making the night memorable—just in his own way.

Yuu leaned back in their chair, content, watching the digital world they had all entered. It may not have been the most traditional New Year’s celebration, but it was still meaningful. A quiet, digital kind of joy surrounded them, the perfect blend of gaming and companionship.

“Best New Year’s party ever,” Grim muttered from the couch, already half-asleep from all the excitement.

Idia’s face flushed slightly at the compliment. “Thanks, Grim…” He paused for a moment before adding, “Next year, I’ll make it even better. Maybe with VR, and… oh, I could probably add a few more mini-games too!”

Yuu chuckled softly, glancing at Idia, who was now enthusiastically brainstorming ideas. They couldn't help but smile, realizing that despite his quirky, introverted nature, Idia had created something truly special.

The night was winding down, but the warmth of the celebration lingered in the air. And as Yuu looked around at their friends in Ignihyde, they couldn’t help but feel that the New Year had arrived in its own, perfectly imperfect way.

_______________________________________________

💚Diasomnia🖤

The New Year’s celebration at Diasomnia was unlike any other. The ancient, mysterious dorm, draped in deep shades of violet and black, carried an aura of quiet grandeur. The towering stone walls, adorned with arcane symbols, seemed to hum with magic. Outside, the night was clear, the stars above casting a serene glow over the quiet expanse of the forest. The air in the dorm was cool and crisp, tinged with the scent of pine and earth, and the atmosphere was more subdued than the boisterous celebrations at other dorms.

Yuu stepped through the heavy, ornate doors, feeling the weight of the space. The grand hall was lit with soft, flickering candlelight that illuminated the elegant, gothic architecture. The space was almost otherworldly, filled with rich tapestries depicting ancient dragons, fey creatures, and legendary battles.

Grim, perched on Yuu’s shoulder, let out a low whistle. “This place is kinda creepy, huh? But also… kinda cool.”

“Definitely a lot quieter than the others,” Yuu said, scanning the room.

Just as they stepped further into the hall, a figure appeared from the shadows. Malleus Draconia, the dorm leader, stood tall with an air of quiet authority. His deep green eyes glinted in the candlelight, and his dark, regal attire seemed to blend seamlessly with the atmosphere around him. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he approached.

“Ah, Yuu. Grim,” Malleus greeted in his usual low, commanding voice. “Welcome to our humble celebration. It’s good to see you here.”

Yuu smiled warmly, though they couldn’t help but feel a little out of place in the grand and mysterious surroundings. “Thanks for inviting us. It’s beautiful in here.”

“We may not have the grandiose parties of other dorms, but I believe we can find joy in quieter moments,” Malleus replied, his gaze steady and sincere. “Tonight, we shall celebrate the passing of the old year in our own way.”

The gathering in Diasomnia was intimate, with only a few familiar faces present. The table was set with simple, elegant dishes—dark bread, rich cheeses, and roasted meats, complemented by chilled wines and herbal teas. A small group of students sat nearby, enjoying the subdued conversation, while the room’s serene ambiance allowed them to feel comfortable in each other’s presence.

As the evening wore on, Malleus remained a composed figure in the room, exchanging quiet words with those who spoke to him. Lilia Vanrouge, on the other hand, was far more animated, though his lively energy still carried an eerie sense of mischief. His laughter echoed off the stone walls as he interacted with everyone, occasionally darting between guests like a playful shadow.

“You two finally made it! I thought you’d be lost in the forest on your way here,” Lilia teased, his sharp eyes glinting as he approached Yuu and Grim.

“We got here just fine,” Yuu replied with a chuckle. “The path was a little dark, though.”

“It’s always dark around here,” Grim muttered. “Everything feels like it’s from some creepy fairytale.”

“Ah, but that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it?” Lilia grinned. “The world outside may be bright and loud, but here, we can enjoy the silence and find peace in the quiet.”

As the night deepened, the members of Diasomnia shared quiet stories of the past—tales of dragons, forgotten kings, and ancient magic. Malleus spoke sparingly, but when he did, the others listened intently. His words carried weight, as if his very presence commanded attention.

As midnight approached, the atmosphere shifted subtly. The sounds of soft conversations faded, replaced by a growing sense of anticipation. Malleus stood by the grand fireplace, his silhouette outlined by the flickering flames.

Yuu, who had been admiring the view through the large, arched windows, turned back to find Lilia next to them. “You seem a little… out of place. Not used to the quiet?”

Yuu shrugged, a little embarrassed. “It’s different. But in a good way. It’s nice to slow down for a change.”

Lilia smiled knowingly. “That’s what this night is about, after all—reflection, renewal. The year has passed, and the future lies ahead. It’s important to remember both the calm and the storm, for they shape who we are.”

As the clock neared midnight, the room fell still, everyone gathering in a quiet circle. Malleus raised a glass, his deep voice breaking the silence.

“May this new year bring prosperity to us all, and may the strength of the old ways guide us forward. Let us raise our glasses to the passing year and the promise of the future.”

The clock struck midnight. The room was filled with the soft clink of glasses as they toasted, and outside, a series of ethereal lights began to flicker across the sky. The stars above seemed to shine brighter than before, and the forest around Diasomnia shimmered with a subtle, magical glow.

As the night continued, Yuu found themselves at the edge of the grand hall, looking out through the open doors at the snow-covered trees and the flickering lights in the distance. It was as if the entire world had paused for a moment, offering them a chance to simply exist in the stillness.

Lilia appeared beside them, his voice soft. “It’s rare to see this kind of peace in our lives, isn’t it? We live so fast, chasing after the next thing. But sometimes, you need to pause and just breathe.”

Yuu nodded, the weight of the evening settling around them. “I think I understand now. It’s not about the noise or the big celebrations. It’s about finding the beauty in the quiet moments, too.”

The two stood there in companionable silence, watching the world outside. Malleus eventually joined them, his presence calming and steady. “The year is a cycle, Yuu. A beginning and an end, like the turning of a wheel. Let us cherish both moments, for each is fleeting.”

Yuu smiled, grateful for the quiet wisdom that came from the people of Diasomnia. The New Year had arrived, not with fanfare or fireworks, but with the peaceful embrace of time itself. In the heart of the forest, surrounded by ancient magic, Yuu felt like they had found something far more valuable than mere celebration—they had found a sense of belonging.

_______________________________________________

🤎Ramshackle🖤

The New Year’s Eve celebration at Ramshackle Dorm was unlike anything Yuu had ever experienced. It wasn’t glamorous or flashy like the parties at the other dorms, nor was it as quiet and mysterious as the one in Diasomnia. Instead, the evening was filled with a peculiar charm—a mixture of ghostly antics, eerie laughter, and an atmosphere that could only be described as “comfortably chaotic.”

Yuu walked through the crooked halls of the dorm, which, despite its disarray, had a certain warmth to it. The cobwebs on the ceilings and the creaking floorboards were familiar now, and the flickering candles and broken chandeliers only added to the odd coziness of the place.

“Looks like the place is ready for something,” Yuu muttered, adjusting the collar of their jacket as they glanced around.

Grim, perched on Yuu’s shoulder, squinted suspiciously at the dim-lit corners. “You sure it’s safe? I’m starting to think those ghosts are up to something.”

“I don’t think they’d hurt us,” Yuu replied with a half-smile. “But let’s keep an eye out just in case.”

Just as Yuu was about to head further into the building, they were greeted by a faint, soft giggle. The sound echoed through the hall, and before they could react, a faint, translucent figure appeared before them.

“Oh! You’re here!” Spade, one of the friendly ghosts, floated up excitedly, his translucent body shimmering in the candlelight. “We were just waiting for you. We’ve got the best plans for tonight!”

Yuu raised an eyebrow but smiled warmly. “Plans? You mean the ghosts have plans for the New Year?”

“Well, not exactly the normal plans,” Spade giggled mischievously. “But it’ll be fun! We’ll have games, some stories, and a little bit of spooky fun to welcome the new year! You’ll see!”

As the evening progressed, Yuu found themselves swept up in the strange and whimsical festivities organized by the ghosts of Ramshackle Dorm. It wasn’t a grand banquet or a glamorous ball, but the night had a distinct charm. The ghosts were quite the hosts, although their way of celebrating was... well, unorthodox.

There were haunting games—one involved bobbing for apples that turned out to be more challenging than expected, as they floated just out of reach, taunting Yuu and Grim. Another game had them trying to solve riddles posed by the resident ghost, Ace, who loved to pop up unexpectedly and demand an answer to some eerie puzzle. His voice echoed and changed pitch as it bounced off the walls, giving an unsettling effect to his otherwise playful tone.

“We have to figure out who is the quickest at finding the haunted objects hidden around the dorm,” Ace said, floating upside-down in front of them, his ghostly form twisting and turning in the air. “First one to find the cursed mirror wins!”

Grim jumped to his feet, eyes wide. “A cursed mirror? That sounds like a trap!”

Yuu couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s probably just an old mirror. Let’s just go with it.”

As the night wore on, the ghostly games got stranger and stranger, but they never lost their appeal. There was dancing, though it wasn’t quite what you’d expect. The ghosts floated around, creating ethereal patterns in the air, while Yuu and Grim attempted a few wobbly steps, trying to mimic the movements.

Laughter echoed through the halls, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Yuu felt genuinely at ease in the odd, haunting dorm. Even the creaky floors seemed to welcome them, rather than be a nuisance.

The final moments of the year approached, and the ghosts seemed to grow more animated. Grim, who had been getting more into the spirit of things (and more than a little excited about the ghost-themed treats), was bouncing around, yelling out to anyone who would listen.

“Midnight’s coming! Midnight’s coming! What happens when it strikes?” Grim demanded, looking between the others as if expecting them to know.

“Relax, Grim. It’s not like there’s a curse tied to it,” Yuu said, though they were just a little nervous themselves.

The main gathering area was bathed in soft, flickering candlelight as everyone prepared for the midnight countdown. The ghosts, all gathered in a circle, held their hands—translucent or otherwise—together.

“Ten... nine...”

As the countdown continued, the atmosphere shifted. Despite the mischief and lighthearted pranks, there was a palpable sense of anticipation. The ghosts were just as excited as anyone else for the new year. Their giggles faded into soft murmurs, their eyes glowing with a mix of excitement and something deeper—a hope that the year to come would be one filled with new memories.

“Three... two... one... Happy New Year!”

At the stroke of midnight, an eerie but warm mist filled the room. The lights from the candles flickered brightly, casting a soft glow around everyone. A strange, magical sound, like a chorus of voices whispering in the wind, filled the space. The ghosts cheered, floating in circles, as fireworks without the usual noise erupted outside, casting a soft, glittering light through the windows.

Grim, looking up at the fireworks, beamed. “Now this is what I’m talking about!”

Yuu smiled, feeling a surge of warmth. It wasn’t the most conventional New Year’s celebration, but it was filled with something even more precious: the laughter and joy of friends, old and new. The ghosts of Ramshackle, in all their otherworldly eccentricities, had made sure the night was one Yuu would never forget.

As the final sparkles of the magical fireworks faded, the ghosts of Ramshackle Dorm returned to their usual ethereal, almost sleepy selves. The night was winding down, but the echoes of the evening’s fun lingered in the air.

Spade floated up to Yuu and Grim, a grin wide on his face. “Did you enjoy our celebration? It may not have been as flashy as the others, but we sure know how to throw a spooky, fun party!”

“It was… definitely something else,” Yuu said, glancing at Grim, who was still nibbling on ghostly sweets that had appeared out of nowhere.

“You can say that again!” Grim added with a grin, wiping his mouth. “Best food and the spookiest fireworks!”

Laughter filled the room once more, and as the clock ticked away the final moments of the night, Yuu realized that the ghosts had given them a gift that couldn’t be replicated—memories forged in an unforgettable, hauntingly joyful New Year’s celebration. In the end, they didn’t need all the glitz and glamour. The eerie charm of Ramshackle Dorm was all they needed to welcome the new year with a heart full of warmth and laughter.

[solxamber]

Mission: Emotionally Compromised || Jamil Viper

Jamil’s greatest failure as a spy? Falling head over heels for the person he was meant to destroy.

this one is for @chocolatebearstrawberry who made the divider i use here!! i love you <3

As the CEO of one of the most powerful tech companies in the world, you’ve always prided yourself on two things: your razor-sharp business acumen and your ability to sniff out deception from a mile away.

Your competitors, on the other hand, have prided themselves on one thing: trying (and failing) to steal your technology.

For years, you’ve played a high-stakes game of corporate cat and mouse, batting away industrial spies like a bored housecat knocking expensive wine glasses off the counter. You’ve watched billion-dollar corporations sink millions into elaborate heists, only for their agents to fail spectacularly. Frankly, it's getting a little embarrassing for them.

But now, thanks to the untimely departure of your longtime secretary (who swears their early retirement has nothing to do with being bribed into luxury exile), you suddenly have a vacancy.

And judging by the pile of applicants currently waiting in the lobby, every single one of them is a spy.

The Parade of Intelligence Failures™:

First up is Agent Steve (probably not his real name), whose résumé is written in Comic Sans and lists "lockpicking" under "special skills." When you ask him about his previous administrative experience, he stares at you blankly for three full seconds before blurting out, "I can type… very fast?"

Next is Ms. Definitely-Not-Wearing-a-Wire, who keeps touching her ear like she’s communicating with someone. Midway through the interview, you distinctly hear a whisper from her earpiece: "Ask about the security systems."

Then there’s Tech Bro #5, who brings a USB drive and, while maintaining full eye contact with you, tries to plug it into your computer. Your computer. The one sitting on your desk. Right in front of you.

By the time Mr. Fake-ID Falls Out of His Wallet stumbles in, you’re fighting the overwhelming urge to launch yourself out the nearest window.

This is getting pathetic.

You’ve sat through twenty interviews of barely competent corporate espionage, and you’re ready to set up a PowerPoint presentation titled, "How To Spy Without Immediately Getting Caught: A Workshop For Morons."

Do they think you built a billion-dollar empire by being stupid? Do they think your years of fending off corporate espionage haven’t honed your bullshit detector into a finely tuned death laser?

You start debating whether to just hire a golden retriever and call it a day—at least dogs have loyalty.

And then he walks in.

Enter: Jamil Viper.

The moment he steps into your office, you know this one is different.

For one thing, his résumé isn’t riddled with typos or hilariously obvious red flags. His credentials? Flawless. His demeanor? Polished and professional, with just the right amount of charm—not so much that it feels like he’s trying to butter you up, but just enough that you actually want to keep talking to him.

And his entrance exam? He aces it. Perfectly.

Too perfectly.

There is no way in hell that someone this competent just happens to be looking for a secretary position. You know he’s a spy.

But unlike the human disasters before him, Jamil Viper is actually good at his job.

And if someone is going to try and infiltrate your company, wouldn’t you rather it be someone who at least has the decency to be competent about it?

You lean back in your chair, watching him carefully as he sits across from you, his expression unreadable. You wonder how many layers of deception he’s hiding behind that composed facade.

Slowly, a smile creeps onto your lips.

This could be fun.

Because if Jamil Viper thinks he’s going to outmaneuver you, then clearly, no one has warned him that you love playing with fire.

You slide the contract across the desk, extending your hand.

"Congratulations, Mr. Viper," you say, amusement dancing in your voice. "Welcome to the company."

His fingers are warm when they clasp yours in a firm shake. His gaze, sharp and assessing, lingers for just a second too long.

And just like that, you hire a spy to be your personal assistant.

This is either the smartest or the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.

And honestly? You can’t wait to find out which.

Jamil has never questioned his assignments before. His role has always been straightforward—he is given a task, he completes it with precision, and he collects his payment. There is no room for personal involvement, no need for unnecessary complications.

This particular job should have been no different. His directive was clear: infiltrate one of the most formidable tech companies in the industry, assume the role of a secretary, gain the CEO’s trust, retrieve the necessary proprietary data, and exit without raising suspicion.

A simple, methodical process. He estimated it would take no more than a month, perhaps two if the CEO proved particularly cautious.

However, the moment he steps into your office, Jamil recognizes that this assignment will not proceed according to the standard operational model.

You are perceptive. That much is clear from the outset. Your interview questions are sharp, carefully constructed to gauge more than just his administrative skills. You are watching him—not just listening, but studying, assessing. There is a calculating glint in your eyes that suggests you have already categorized him in some way, and he does not yet know whether that categorization is in his favor.

Then comes the moment that shifts the trajectory of his expectations entirely.

You lean back in your chair, fingers steepled as you regard him with an almost amused expression. "So, Mr. Viper," you say, voice laced with something close to mischief, "are you a spy?"

The question is absurd in its directness, yet the casual way you pose it makes it clear that you are not expecting a confession—you are testing him. A lesser operative might have faltered, might have hesitated for the fraction of a second that would betray uncertainty. Jamil, however, meets your gaze evenly, offering a measured smile.

"If I were," he replies smoothly, "would I admit it?"

You laugh—not a dismissive scoff, but an actual, entertained laugh, as if you are thoroughly enjoying this game. And that is what makes Jamil's stomach twist slightly. Because he is beginning to suspect that you already know.

The contract slides across the desk, a silent challenge. He watches as you extend your hand, the motion deliberate, expectant.

He has been in the industry long enough to recognize a trap when he sees one. And yet, despite every internal alarm warning him to be cautious, he shakes your hand.

He has taken on countless assignments in his career, but this time is different.

This time, he is not just infiltrating a company. He is stepping into a game.

And for the first time in his life, Jamil wonders if he is the one being played.

Jamil Viper is, quite frankly, the best thing that has ever happened to you.

You have run this company for years, clawed your way to the top with sheer wit and willpower, and in all that time, you have never known peace. Your life has been a never-ending cycle of fires to put out, idiotic employees making mistakes, and backstabbing business partners who think “compromise” means “stealing your ideas and pretending it was a collaborative effort.”

But then Jamil arrives.

Jamil, with his quiet efficiency and terrifying competence. Jamil, who doesn’t ask you to repeat yourself because he actually listens the first time. Jamil, who doesn’t need reminders because he remembers everything, down to how you like your coffee and which pens mysteriously go missing when your CFO visits.

For the first time in your career, you are leaving work at a reasonable hour.

You actually saw the sunset yesterday. The sunset. Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve seen anything but the dim glow of your office lights at midnight? You don’t. You’re afraid to check.

Your skin? Clear.

Your inbox? Organized.

Your sleep schedule? Still questionable, but at least now it’s due to personal choices and not business emergencies.

You are so overcome with gratitude that you nearly burst into tears when you realize you no longer have to threaten your vendors personally because Jamil handles it all with a few well-placed emails.

He is better than any assistant you have ever had. Possibly better than some of your business partners. Hell, at this rate, you wouldn't be surprised if he could run the company better than you.

Which is exactly why you can’t afford to let him go.

You know why he’s here. You are not naïve. He is undoubtedly a spy, sent to steal your technology, your secrets, your life's work. But the problem is that he is too good. You cannot afford to lose him.

So, you make a decision.

You will convert him to your side.

It’s not just about protecting your company anymore. No, this has become personal. Jamil Viper is yours now. He just doesn’t know it yet.

The numbers didn’t make sense.

You were good at numbers. Numbers were the only thing in this world that didn’t lie. Numbers were solid, unyielding, completely immune to human deception. And yet.

Your CFO had to be skimming. You’d suspected it for a while—no one bought that many first-class flights for “business conferences” that didn’t exist—but now that you finally had the time to actually dig into the company’s finances, you could feel it in your bones. There was money missing. Not a lot at once, just enough that a lazier CEO wouldn’t notice.

But you noticed. And now, sitting in your dark office, practically feral with frustration, you were going to find it.

Jamil peeks into your office, and you see his brows furrow in irritation. He steps inside without invitation, eyes flicking to your desk, to the stacks of papers, to you, hunched over and pulling at your hair like a mad scientist on the brink of discovery.

“…Why are you still here?” His voice is level, but you detect the judgment beneath it. “I made sure your schedule was clear. You should have been home by five.”

You make a vague, distressed sound—somewhere between a whimper and the dying gasp of an overworked CEO. “I have a mouse to hunt,” you say, still frantically flipping through documents. “A very cunning mouse.”

Jamil, to his credit, does not roll his eyes. He does, however, step forward and pluck the file from your grasp before you can protest. His sharp eyes scan the pages, his fingers flipping through them with practiced ease.

You watch as his expression shifts into something thoughtful, his lips pursing slightly, his brows furrowing in deep concentration. You can see his mind working.

Jamil is infuriatingly intelligent. He always has been. You knew it the moment he walked into your office for his interview and answered every question with precision so perfect it was almost suspicious.

But this—this is something else. His eyes flick from one line to another, scanning, calculating, searching.

And then it hits you.

His hair.

His stupidly perfect, annoyingly silky, meticulously styled hair.

The way it’s always just slightly different every day. Some days it’s neater, tied back with care. Some days it’s looser, like he didn’t have time to properly tame it. Some days it’s so perfect it looks effortless, which means it probably took him ages to get it like that.

Your brain connects the dots.

Your CFO’s expenses had fluctuations that made no sense at first glance. But what if—what if the embezzlement wasn’t consistent? What if he only siphoned money on certain days—days when he needed to make the numbers look normal, like a fluctuation in operational costs?

Like how Jamil’s hair was slightly different depending on how rushed he was in the morning.

Your eyes widen. You grab Jamil’s arm.

“It’s the payroll processing days,” you say, the revelation clicking together. “The numbers don’t match on payroll weeks because he’s hiding them within the irregular adjustments! He’s only stealing when payroll is being processed because that’s when the accounts fluctuate naturally.”

Jamil blinks, then looks back at the files, and you see it—the exact moment he finds the irregularity, the way his eyes sharpen, the way the corner of his lips twitch in mild irritation.

“…Huh,” he says, flipping back to double-check.

You beam at him. “Jamil, I could kiss you.”

He does not react, but his ears turn slightly red. He hands the file back. “Don’t. Just fire your CFO.”

“Oh, I will.” You grin, stretching your arms behind your head. “And then I’m going to have so much fun ruining his career.”

Jamil gives you a look. You pretend not to see it.

Jamil has worked for a lot of powerful people before. He’s seen how they act—detached, ruthless, calculating. People who don’t say thank you unless there’s an audience, people who treat loyalty as a transaction rather than a virtue, people who see their employees as numbers on a spreadsheet rather than human beings.

And then there’s you.

You, who smile at every single employee as if they’re the most interesting person in the world.

You, who face betrayals with an easy grin, as if it’s just another puzzle to solve.

You, who refuse to be jaded, as if the sheer weight of your responsibilities isn’t trying to crush you every single day.

Jamil has worked as a secretary before, long enough to know that this is not normal. It’s not normal for a CEO to approve leave requests without question, to cover all medical expenses without a fight, to sit down at the employee cafeteria and listen to people’s grievances like a normal person.

It’s definitely not normal for you to turn to him at the end of a long, grueling day—after uncovering a massive embezzlement scandal in your own company—and say, “Let’s get dinner. My treat.”

Jamil expects a high-end restaurant. The kind of place where the portions are offensively small, the food is questionably pretentious, and the bill alone could sustain an entire household for a month. The kind of place where people like you—people with power, people with money—go to flaunt their superiority.

Instead, you take him to a tiny, hole-in-the-wall restaurant run by an elderly couple who clearly know you on a first-name basis.

“Ah, welcome back!” the old woman greets you warmly, eyes flicking to Jamil with curiosity. “And who’s this? A date?”

Jamil chokes on air.

You laugh—loudly—and wave off the comment. “Nah, just my secretary! He helped me catch a mouse today.”

Jamil doesn’t bother correcting you.

The menu is scrawled in barely legible handwriting on a whiteboard near the counter. You order the greasiest, most artery-clogging meal he’s ever seen in his life. Jamil orders something safer, something that won’t take five years off his lifespan.

When the food arrives, you practically vibrate in your seat, taking a bite with the enthusiasm of a child eating their first piece of candy.

Jamil stares at you in mild horror. “You eat this every day?”

You grin, already halfway through your meal. “Yeah.”

Jamil doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

But he eats. He eats, and he listens to you ramble about ridiculous workplace rumors, and he watches you laugh so hard you snort when you make a terrible joke.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, Jamil finds himself laughing too.

Not because your joke is funny—because it isn’t. It’s awful, actually.

But maybe because your eyes shine too brightly in the dim light.

Maybe because you seem so human right now, so painfully, vividly human.

Maybe because he knows he’ll have to leave you behind soon, and yet here he is, eating unhealthy food and smiling at you.

Jamil has never questioned his jobs before. He gets paid, he gets the work done. Simple.

So why does it feel so different this time?

Jamil has worked for some eccentric people before. Billionaires with more money than sense, CEOs who thought meditation on top of a glass skyscraper would give them divine insight, a director who once insisted that his morning coffee had to be stirred exactly 72 times counterclockwise or the stock market would crash. He’s seen it all. Or so he thought.

And then there was you.

You were a genius, of course. No one could deny that. You had single-handedly revolutionized an entire industry and kept your technology locked down so tightly that even the best corporate spies had walked away empty-handed.

But you were also—how to put this nicely?—completely, utterly unhinged. Eccentric was too mild a word. You were like a mad scientist and a particularly stubborn golden retriever had been fused together in a tragic yet strangely effective laboratory accident.

Jamil has had a front-row seat to your absurdity for months now, but today? Today takes the cake.

He enters the office expecting chaos, but he still isn't prepared to see a bouncy castle taking up the center of the room. It is massive. Garish. A primary-colored monstrosity that clashes violently with the sleek, modern aesthetic of your office. It is also, for some reason, fully inflated.

Jamil watches as you bounce in deep concentration, your tie undone, your shoes discarded somewhere in the corner. Your movements are precise, like each jump is a carefully calibrated equation.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dare I ask?”

You pause mid-bounce, floating for a second in the air like some kind of enlightened acrobat before landing gracefully and turning to him with a grin. “I needed to think.”

“…So naturally, you brought a bouncy castle.”

“Of course.” You wave a hand, as if this should be obvious. “Sometimes, when my brain gets stuck, I just need a little kinetic stimulation. You know, shake up the neurons.” You jump again, flailing slightly before catching yourself. “It’s like—have you ever had a word on the tip of your tongue, and then you do something completely different and suddenly it comes to you? Same concept. Except instead of drinking water or taking a walk, I jump on an inflatable castle like a responsible adult.”

Jamil stares. His headache is already forming. “You’re going to break your neck.”

“Nope! Tested the weight limits. We’re good.” You bounce again, then stop abruptly, eyes widening. Your entire posture shifts, shoulders straightening, expression sharpening. You scramble off the castle, grab a nearby notebook, and start writing furiously.

Jamil watches, baffled, as you tear through an entire page with equations and diagrams, the kind of thing that would take a normal person weeks to conceptualize. And then you stop, beaming like a kid who just cracked open a piñata full of gold.

“I GOT IT,” you declare, spinning the notebook around as if Jamil has the clearance—or the desire—to understand whatever ridiculous breakthrough you just had. “This is going to make everything ten times more efficient! Jamil, this is genius.”

Jamil, who has not slept properly in three days because of this mission, who has already accepted that this job is going to either kill him or make him reconsider every life decision he has ever made, just sighs. “Great. So was the bouncy castle necessary?”

You turn back to him, eyes bright, smile wider than he’s ever seen. “Absolutely.”

And the worst part? The part that truly makes him question if he’s losing his mind?

He almost believes you.

Meetings like this made you wonder if you could get away with legally replacing the entire board with three possums in a trench coat. These relics in overpriced suits had two working brain cells between them, and one was currently occupied with nursing last night’s hangover.

They thought that their decades of mismanaging money somehow gave them wisdom. You would almost find it impressive, the way they clung to their illusion of relevance, if it weren’t so unbearably tedious.

You could fire them all, of course. You could clear this room in five minutes, clean house with a snap of your fingers, but you had held back out of sheer pity. They were close to retirement—one foot in the grave and the other on a luxury cruise.

Let them ride out their last few years clutching their outdated business strategies and egos. It wasn’t like they actually did anything.

But today? Today, you were at your limit.

Jamil was standing behind you, stone-faced, but you could tell he wanted to be anywhere else. His exhaustion mirrored your own. You’d been sitting here for an hour while they droned on about numbers they clearly didn’t understand.

Internally, you begged for something—anything—to spontaneously combust just so you’d have an excuse to leave. A small fire? A sudden, mysterious blackout? A divine intervention from the heavens themselves?

And then, as if the universe had heard you and decided to throw you a different kind of entertainment, one of them made a mistake. A grave mistake.

“—not that it matters to someone like you,” one of the old fossils sneered, voice soaked in condescension. “You just sit there and look pretty. Maybe that’s why you keep your secretary around—eye candy to brighten your day, hm?”

Silence.

Jamil felt the shift before he saw it. The room, which had been filled with the usual underhanded comments and the shuffling of papers, went utterly still. The air thickened, tension snapping tight like a bowstring.

You moved, slow and deliberate, sitting up from your languid position and resting your elbows on the table. Then, with a sharp crack that echoed through the room, you slammed your hand against the polished wood. Jamil was pretty sure he saw the surface splinter.

And then, you smiled.

“Say,” you said, your voice honey-sweet, “how’s your son’s wedding prep going?”

The man blinked, startled by the sudden shift in topic. “Uh—fine?”

“That’s wonderful.” You laced your fingers together, tilting your head like a benevolent ruler addressing a particularly stupid peasant. “I hope he has a strong savings account. And you, too, for that matter.”

His confusion deepened. “Why would—?”

“Because as of right now, every single one of you is fired.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

You stood, straightening your sleeves, your expression as calm as if you’d just commented on the weather. The rest of the board gaped at you, struggling to process what had just happened.

“Pack your things,” you continued, tone still sickeningly pleasant. “Security will escort you out. Your pensions will remain untouched—I’m not a monster—but your presence is no longer required. Effective immediately.”

Then, without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and strolled out of the room.

Jamil took a moment to savor the stunned expressions, the way the old man who had made the comment looked like he was trying to compute his own downfall in real time. He had seen you be cunning, eccentric, absurd, even, but this was the first time he had seen you wield your power properly. It was—

Well.

He wasn’t about to admit it was impressive.

Or flattering.

Not even as he followed you out the door, suppressing the smallest, most insufferable urge to smile.

You’re good at reading people. That’s what makes you such a good CEO. You can tell when a business partner is about to backstab you. You can spot a bad deal from a mile away. You figured out your CFO was embezzling money based on a hunch and a particularly sleepless night.

So why the hell can’t you figure out what’s going on with Jamil right now?

Your day is over. Your work is done. You’re walking out of the building, feeling suspiciously well-rested for once, because Jamil is the best damn secretary you’ve ever had.

And there he is.

Standing near the exit, very much still here, despite having clocked out hours ago.

You stop. Blink. “Jamil? What are you doing here?”

He startles like you caught him committing a felony.

Which, honestly, makes you even more confused.

Jamil is the picture of composure in any situation. He could talk his way out of a hostage negotiation, probably. He could charm a boardroom full of old, corporate sharks into agreeing with his terms.

And yet, right now, he looks like he wants to evaporate.

You tilt your head. “What’s up? You good?”

Jamil scowls like you’ve offended his ancestors. And then, without meeting your gaze, he thrusts a box at you.

"Eat properly," he grumbles. "Heaven knows you can afford it."

And then he turns on his heel and almost sprints out of the building.

You stare at his retreating figure. Then you stare at the box in your hands.

What just happened.

You consider yourself a genius. You built an empire with your own two hands. You have patents worth billions. You have business rivals who would kill to know what goes on in your head.

And yet, this one interaction has you completely, utterly lost.

It’s only when you get home that you actually open the box.

Inside is a clearly homemade meal. Balanced, nutritious, and suspiciously catered to your exact tastes.

You crouch down. Laugh a little.

And then you pull out your phone.

You: thank you <3

Meanwhile, In Jamil’s car:

He hears the message notification. Opens it. Sees your text.

And immediately slams his forehead into the steering wheel.

The honk that follows is so obnoxiously loud that a street cat outside lets out an ungodly scream and scrambles away like it just witnessed a murder.

Jamil exhales sharply. He grips the wheel like it personally wronged him.

You’re going to be the death of him.

Jamil does not get sick.

It is a fact as ironclad as his ability to keep a secret, as certain as the sun rising in the east and setting behind your ridiculous office where you concoct new ways to stress him out.

Jamil does not get sick because sickness is a weakness—an opening in his otherwise airtight, bulletproof existence.

And yet.

Here he is.

Dying. Absolutely, irredeemably, spectacularly dying.

His body betrays him completely, weighed down by a fever that could probably fry an egg on his forehead. Every muscle aches as if he has been tossed into a meat grinder, his throat is raw, and his head is a battlefield of pain and regret.

He barely manages to lift his phone and call you, the only person who needs to know why he’s breaking protocol and skipping work for the first time in his entire life.

The phone rings. Once. Twice.

And then—

“Jamil! What’s up?”

Too loud. Why are you always so loud? He winces, nearly drops his phone on his face.

“I… I can’t come in today.” His voice is hoarse, unrecognizable. Disgusting. He clears his throat, which only makes it worse. “I’m sick.”

There is a long, stunned silence.

Then, very, very slowly—

“You’re what?”

Jamil closes his eyes. He does not have the strength for this conversation.

“Sick,” he repeats, barely suppressing the urge to just fade out of existence right then and there.

Another pause. Then, in a tone that is so soft he almost doesn’t recognize it coming from you—

“…Oh.”

Something about the way you say it makes his stomach twist—though that could also be the fever.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” you say, genuinely concerned. “Rest, drink water, and if you need anything—”

He does not hear the rest.

Because he blacks out.

Jamil is sick.

Jamil, your unshakable, hyper-competent, borderline immortal assistant—the man who somehow pulls miracles out of thin air while looking vaguely unimpressed—is sick.

You expected betrayals, corporate espionage, elaborate counter-strategies in your ongoing war to get him on your side.

You did not expect this.

And worse—he sounded awful.

Not just tired. Not just mildly inconvenienced.

You sit at your desk for approximately three minutes, trying to convince yourself that it’s fine, that Jamil is a grown man who can take care of himself.

Then you Google “how to care for a sick employee” and make the deeply logical decision to immediately drop everything and go check on him yourself.

Which is how you end up outside his apartment, ringing the doorbell like a maniac.

There is no response.

You ring again. And again.

Nothing.

A small, horrible thought creeps in. What if he passed out? What if he hit his head? What if he—

Just as you're about to kick down the door in a move that would absolutely get you arrested, it creaks open.

And Jamil is standing there.

Barely.

He looks terrible.

His usual sharp, careful composure? Gone. His hair is an absolute wreck, his eyes are dazed, and his entire body is actively betraying him by swaying on his feet like a tragic willow in a storm.

You are horrified.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, stepping forward before he can literally collapse. “Jamil, you look—”

Like death. Like the very concept of suffering incarnate.

But you do not say this out loud, because you are a good person.

Instead, you step into his space and grab him before he keels over.

“You’re burning up,” you mutter, steadying him. “When was the last time you ate?”

Jamil blinks at you very slowly, like his brain is buffering at dial-up speeds.

“…Food?”

That is not an answer.

You curse under your breath and haul him back inside, which is a feat of great strength because he is all lean muscle and fever deadweight.

How did this happen? Why did this happen? Who let this happen?

Oh. Right. Him.

Jamil is going to die.

Not from the fever, no. That would be merciful.

He is going to die from sheer embarrassment because you—his boss, his greatest headache, his most infuriating problem—are here, in his apartment, fussing over him like some kind of divine punishment.

He barely registers you pulling out a thermometer and shoving it into his mouth with all the grace of someone who has never done this before.

The numbers blink back at you ominously.

“You’re burning up,” you mutter. “Okay, I’m ordering soup. And you are not moving until you eat something.”

Jamil tries to protest. He does.

But then you press a cool towel against his forehead, and—

Oh.

Oh, that is nice.

His body betrays him once again by relaxing into your touch.

By the time the soup arrives, he is too weak to even lift the spoon properly.

So you—without hesitation, without a single ounce of normal human shame—just feed him.

Like a child.

Like he is some helpless, pathetic creature.

Which, okay, maybe right now, he is.

But still. This is humiliating.

It is also the best soup he has ever had in his life.

Jamil finally falls back asleep.

And you sit there, staring at his peaceful, fever-flushed face, wondering how the hell this became your life.

You were supposed to be running a company, not playing nurse to your best-paid spy.

You should not care this much.

And yet.

You check his temperature again. Still high, but better.

You sigh, raking a hand through your hair, and grab your phone.

“Okay,” you mutter into the receiver, pacing the room. “But what do I do if he wakes up and refuses to rest?”

A pause.

Your voice drops, quieter. “Yeah, I know. I just don’t want him to push himself again.”

Behind you, Jamil shifts.

You do not notice.

But he notices you.

Your hair is mussed, your usual sharp, teasing grin replaced with something softer.

You look worried. For him.

Jamil stares, something twisting in his chest.

Oh.

Oh, he is so incredibly doomed.

You always knew Jamil was a spy. That much was obvious.

The way he answered every question perfectly in his interview? Suspicious.

The way he executed his tasks with military precision? Suspicious.

The way he didn’t try to subtly flirt with you or brown-nose like all the other incompetent spies before him? Extremely suspicious.

But he was competent. So stupidly, ridiculously competent. And you’d rather keep an enemy that made your life easier than deal with another incompetent fool.

Besides, you like playing with fire. So you decided to see how far you could push him.

So tonight, you left your office unlocked. Oh no. What a terrible mistake. If only someone didn’t sneak in and steal your files.

And to make things more interesting, you left some semi-important files open on your computer. Documents that looked serious enough to be tempting but wouldn’t actually do much damage if leaked.

Right before you left, you made sure to sigh dramatically in front of Jamil and say, “Ugh, these files have been keeping me up at night. I sure hope they don’t get leaked or anything.”

Then, you went to your surveillance setup, made yourself some popcorn, and watched.

Because of course Jamil was going to take the bait.

And sure enough, there he was.

You watch as he sits down at your desk. Silent. Focused. The very picture of efficiency.

You lean forward as he navigates to the files. Click. Click. Scroll. His fingers hover over the copy button.

And then—

He just… stops.

Your eyebrows shoot up. Oh?

Jamil stares at the screen like it personally insulted his honor. His fingers twitch over the keyboard, hesitating.

Your interest piques. He should’ve copied them by now. He’s supposed to be a professional, isn’t he?

He clicks out of the important files.

Your jaw nearly drops. What.

He clicks out. He clicks out. He actively chooses not to take anything of worth.

Instead, you watch as he scrolls past all the confidential reports—

—bypasses all the juicy, corporate secrets—

—ignores all the schematics—

—and copies a single folder labeled “raccoons_for_a_rainy_day.zip.”

You almost choke on your popcorn.

Jamil pauses. Stares at the screen for a long, long moment.

Then, as if committing a terrible crime, he ejects the USB, tucks it away, and swiftly leaves your office.

You sit there, stunned.

Because out of everything in your company’s database, out of all the valuable information he could’ve stolen—

He took your emergency raccoon meme collection.

You blink. Once. Twice.

And then, slowly, a grin spreads across your face.

Oh. Oh, this is delightful.

You knew you were converting him to your side, but this? This is proof.

Jamil, the competent, efficient, dangerously intelligent spy, had a perfect chance to complete his mission. And instead of betraying you, he chose to betray his employer instead.

For you.

How flattering.

You had dealt with a lot of strange things in your life. A lot. But this? This was definitely one of the stupidest.

Your old secretary—the one who took a bribe and fled like a rat from a sinking ship—was currently sitting in front of you, begging for her job back. Why? Who the hell knew. You had been certain that the bribe she took would have lasted her a few years, maybe even bought her a cute little vacation somewhere far away, but apparently, money couldn’t buy wisdom. Or, in her case, common sense.

You leaned back in your chair, fingers steepled together, watching her ramble through increasingly desperate justifications. I’ve changed. I’ve grown. I’ve learned from my mistakes. You doubted it.

Jamil stood beside you, completely unreadable, but you knew him well enough by now to recognize the signs of his barely contained fury. His shoulders were stiff, his posture rigid, and—most damning of all—his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

Oh, interesting.

Obviously, you weren’t rehiring her. She wasn’t even ten percent as competent as Jamil, and unlike her, Jamil wasn’t stupid enough to take a bribe when you were the one offering him far more than money. But this? This was a perfect opportunity to test something.

So you sighed, long and dramatic, before rubbing your temples as if this decision physically pained you. “I’ll consider it,” you said finally. “I’ll call you back once I’ve made my decision.”

Her face lit up, all eager gratitude, and she left the office with a bounce in her step.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, you stood, intending to grab a file from your cabinet—but you didn’t get far.

Because Jamil blocked your path.

You blinked at him, more amused than anything, but your amusement flickered into something softer when you saw his face.

He looked wrecked.

Not in an angry way, not even in a controlled, simmering fury. No—this was something else entirely. His eyes searched yours like he was trying to find some sort of answer, his breath slightly uneven, his expression utterly betrayed. He looked like you had punched him in the gut.

You had seen Jamil irritated, seen him exasperated, seen him indulge in rare moments of smugness when his plans went exactly as intended. But this? This raw emotion spilling out of him like a dam breaking—this was new. And you couldn’t stop the way your heartbeat stuttered at the sight.

“Why?” His voice came out hoarse, like he barely trusted himself to speak. “Why would you… Why would you even consider hiring her back?”

You tilted your head, keeping your voice light. “Why does it bother you so much?”

Jamil’s mouth opened—then snapped shut. You could practically see his thoughts racing, running too fast for him to catch up, but something cracked inside of him, because once he started speaking, he couldn’t stop.

“Did I mess up?” he demanded, voice sharper than he probably intended. “Was I not good enough? Did I do something wrong? Why would you—” He cut himself off, exhaling shakily, his hands twitching at his sides like he desperately wanted to reach for you. “You know she isn’t competent. You know she isn’t better than me.”

You hummed, tilting your head in faux thoughtfulness. “Of course, I’ll give you a different position,” you mused. “No need to worry about job security.”

Jamil broke.

Before you could even register the movement, he grabbed you.

His hands found your face, his fingers curling against your skin like he needed to ground himself, like he needed to prove something—and then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t polite. It was desperate, burning with frustration and something deeper, something so much more vulnerable than you had ever expected from him.

And then, hypothesis proven, you kissed him back.

For a moment, you simply blinked.

Jamil pulls away like he just touched something scalding, his breath uneven, his eyes wide with something close to terror. You watch as realization sets in—his own actions hitting him all at once, like a dam finally bursting and drowning him in the consequences of his own emotions.

“I—” His voice is hoarse, almost shaky, but he’s trying to regain control, trying to salvage something, anything. “I’m not who you think I am.” He says it like a confession, like a last-ditch effort to make you see reason, to make you step back and realize that you shouldn’t want him, that you shouldn’t choose him. “I was hired to—”

“My dear, sweet spy,” you interrupt, voice dripping with amused affection, “won’t you be mine?”

Jamil freezes.

You can see the exact second it dawns on him. The way his expression shifts from confused horror to pure, unfiltered disbelief. You knew. You always knew. Of course you did. He should’ve realized it sooner. You were too sharp, too perceptive, too you to have been in the dark about something so crucial.

And yet, here you were. Choosing him anyway.

His lips twitch. His shoulders shake. And then, he laughs.

Not a small chuckle, not a bitter scoff, but a real laugh, something rare and unguarded, something so genuinely light that it catches even him off guard. He laughs so hard that he nearly doubles over, his forehead dropping against yours as he exhales shakily, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

You feel his breath ghost against your skin, feel the warmth of him so close, and yet, there is no hesitation anymore, no careful, measured distance.

He shakes his head, still breathless from laughing, and when he finally meets your gaze, his expression is something unreadable, something painfully soft.

And this time, when he kisses you, there’s no fear left.

“…Fine,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard it. “I’m yours.”

You wake up to the warmth of an arm draped over your waist, the steady rise and fall of a familiar chest behind you. It’s a rare thing—to wake before Jamil. He’s always been the early riser between you, slipping out of bed before the sun has even had the chance to settle into the sky. But today, for the first time in two years, you’re the one watching him sleep.

Two years since his terrified confession. Two years since you pulled him into the kind of love neither of you had ever expected to find. Two years of whispered promises, stolen kisses, and a loyalty that runs deeper than any mission, deeper than any past betrayal.

The early morning light filters in through the curtains, soft and golden, catching on the matching rings on your fingers. A quiet proof of what you’ve built together. The sight makes something tender settle in your chest, and you press a kiss to his forehead, gentle and lingering.

Jamil stirs, brow furrowing for just a moment before he instinctively pulls you closer, his grip tightening around your waist. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, voice thick with sleep as he murmurs, “Why’re you awake so early…?”

You smile, carding your fingers through his hair as you whisper, “Go back to sleep.”

And as the warmth of him lulls you back into slumber, a thought drifts lazily through your mind—

"You sleep too," he grumbles, but it’s lazy, half-hearted. You can already feel his breath evening out, his body relaxing against yours once more. You keep stroking his hair, slow and rhythmic, feeling the last bits of tension melt from his frame.

Maybe playing with fire was the smartest move you ever made.

Masterlist

[bonbonly]

bon’s thoughts (18+) a/n: needed a small break from studying but this is all i could think about (tw: somnophilia, cunnilungus)

coming back from work extremely tired, the ac’s broken and it’s hot in your bedroom. after a cold shower, you dried yourself off with a towel and flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling until your eyes slowly closed and you drifted off to a peaceful slumber.

but how dare you ignore your “puppy” charles, who had been anxiously waiting for you to return? he had done the dishes, folded your laundry and was waiting for you to come down to the living room to greet him. he'd been good the whole day since you promised him that if he didn't fuck something up and start whining like a brat, he'd get a good reward - your pretty pussy.

and so he waited. and waited. ugh and waited, but you didn't seem to come down from your room! it surely didn't help that the ac was broken too, he was sweating through his white tee but he was too lazy to take his clothes off and put it in the laundry basket; what if you came down and saw the basket filled with clothes and thought he didn't do his work? nuh uh, he'd have to pull through and make sure you couldn't find any excuse to punish you.

he twisted the rings on his fingers, biting his lip as he thought about what was taking you so long. you didn't even acknowledge him when you first walked through the door. you had tossed your coat off and handed him your bag, and how cruel of you to miss his puckered lips that chased after your fleeting form! he thought he had done something wrong, and he pouted as he remembered the events of the day. no, no! no he did everything right, so why were you ignoring him?

as the seconds transformed into very long minutes, he carefully stepped onto the staircase and headed to the bedroom where you laid, fast asleep. imagine his surprise to see you sprawled out on the bed, like a present for him to take! his excitement knew no bounds and he slipped his shirt off his shoulders, a sheen line of sweat beading down his chest from the heat of the room and he crawled over to the edge of the bed. he knew that he wasn't allowed to ever touch you unless he was given permission to - it was a privilege he had to earn, but seeing you like this? his mouth was watering as he took in the sight of your parted legs, the moonlight catching onto your gummy folds. he slowly exhaled onto your cunt, watching the way you stirred ever so slightly at the sensation.

"this is not right," charles whispered to himself, "she would not like this but... but it's been so long."

he caught his whine in his throat, making sure not to make any more noises as he leaned closer, hovering above you as he placed his hands on each side of your hips. slowly, he let a glob of his saliva travel from his tongue down to your clit, almost as if it was dancing to your cunt. he pressed his nose against your sensitive nub, inhaling your scent.

you smelled like you were made for him - err, well, he was made for you. he couldn't have those foolish thoughts circling in his head, not when the punishment from last time still stung against his ass. he licked a long stripe through your folds, his eyes trained on the way your soft tits rose and fell with each breath. he yearned to reach out and pinch those nipples, twist them hard enough for you to cry out in pain so that you'd feel helpless in his arms not the other way around.

what, no! charles! get it together, what are you thinking? you know better than that!

he wrapped his lips around your clit, suckling on the nub gently as his eyes fluttered close. he was savoring every second, his head bobbing. he tugged your trapped clit and watched the hood raise more, calling out for his tongue. he lapped at your glistening folds, watching them snap back in place, and that's when your hips started to buck into the air unconsciously, your brow furrowed as soft gasps escaped your lips. he froze for a second, fear coursing through his veins at the thought that you might be awake but after a few moments of silence, he sighed in relief and resumed his motions.

he pushed a digit into your core, feeling your walls clench and suck him in greedily - a heavenly feeling altogether and he brought his lips right back onto your clit, pumping his finger in and out, in and out before adding another. he picked up his pace, curling his fingers precisely where you had told him to and he was so lost in your essence that he nearly missed it when you had finally woken up.

"what are you doing, puppy?" you asked, your hand shooting out to grip his hair and tug him away from your cunt. he gulped, his cheeks all flushed and eyes wide.

"désolé, i-i... i did n-not m-mean to wake you!" charles stammered, his fingers still stuffed into your dripping cunt, "i just... i did all you ask for today a-and you p-promised me a reward so i thought tha-"

"you thought wrong," you snapped, shoving his fingers out of you. as much as you would've loved to indulge in yourself, you were still awfully tired from work, "tsk tsk tsk, and here i thought you were actually being good for once."

"b-but i am good!" charles cried out, shaking his head with tears streaming down his face in desperation, "i r-really am good, p-please! no, please i've been good all this time!"

it still didn't change his fate as you tied him to a chair across from you, putting a muzzle around his face. his sweats were long gone, so the both of you could see his hard cock aching for your touch that he knew would never come. he bucked his hips into the air frantically, his cock slapping against his stomach as he continued to beg for forgiveness and not this cruel punishment. he had been doing so good, why did he have to mess it up? ugh, stupid stupid stupid charles! he always messed up!

you crawled back onto the bed, a satisfied smirk on your face as his pathetic whimpers and whines lulled you back to sleep.

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

I wonder if anyone would know how to deal with an infected apocalypse Yuu?

First Years In Hell

***

This is actually something I think abt a lot. The first years in apocalypses together and shit. I actually had a weird idea on this and inspiration struck so lemme ramble. This ramble turned I to a full on fic of 4.2k words so...

Content ahead: Yuu is GN with no description, Fluff to comfort to romantic to hurt no comfort, angst ending as thats my brand, poly first years sorta (minus Ortho ofc), group make out session, alcohol, decriptions of violence Idk, Rambley because Yuu and everyone are losing their shit.

***

Imagine it. A zombie apocalypse has happened and the world seems to have collapsed much too fast for all of you.

Yet right now, at this moment, it doesn't matter.

You are all gathered around the crackling fire in front of you, having found a safe place in a dilapidated building for the night. Epel is cracking open a can of some god awful processed mush with a knife like he does his apples. Jack is ensuring the fire is fed. Your head rests on Ace's shoulder along with Deuce on the opposite side, enjoying the moment of warmth and comfort. Ortho is there in sleep mode to conserve himself...

The boy insists that he doesn't need rest and his battery can last a long time, even some of his parts that were bent and warped still functioned well enough. Deuce maintains him the best he could. You all look after the boy like he’s human, like he’s the collective little brother. His battery can last forever yet you all carry rudimentary batteries on you just in case. Perhaps too much. They may not work on him but just maybe, maybe they can also be used in an emergency, not just to charge your own devices.

Sebek, ever the stubborn, ordered Ortho to rest, and that HE will keep first guard for the night. The knight, yes you call him a knight and not some knight in training as he earned that title in everyone’s eyes, stands tall and surveys the area carefully. His was hand on the hilt of his sword ready to draw it at the drop of a single leaf. He was so… so… charming. Caring. Sweet. Though you can never say it out loud. Such cutesy terms to describe him were silly but accurate and he'd deny every one.

“Food's goin’, should be done in a minute or so. I’m gonna set some traps.” Epel got up, stirred the small cooking pot of assorted rations and then started searching in his own bag. There was a good wire and scrap in there, along with the wire saw he used to help cut down some wood. Empty aluminum cans were pulled out, along with spare wire.

”Don’t use too much.” Jack murmurs. Those cans were like gold. So much you can craft from them alone. “I know, I know ‘m just gonna set up some noise makers.” Sebek looked at him with his stern gaze. “I will watch.”

… The food smelled good for slop. Ace looked at the boiling pot, blinking a few times. “Alright I'll finish it off.” Ace sighs before Deuce pushes him back down as he tries to get up. “Nah, I got it.” Ace doesn’t argue, it's clear he’s tired from all the magic he used and Deuce wants to occupy himself. Jack watches Deuce stir the pot emptily. The wolf usually does rounds to make sure everything is in order but today he just stares out.

Perhaps it was from the conversation earlier today. When Ace mentioned he hoped his brother and his parents made it to a safehouse. Everyone was silent for a moment, letting the weight sink in, agreeing with the sentiment. You don’t know who started crying first. If it was Deuce regretting not being a good son for long for long enough. If it was Sebek's restrained breakdown to not give away your positions. If it was Ace that started it all. Maybe it was Ortho shaking in all his metal. Epel crying for his meemaw. Maybe it was you who was already so far from home when this all happened.

Jack, though clearly shaken, told everyone to pull it together. It isn't safe to cry in the wastelands. I guess right now it finally seemed to have caught up to him. Shittest vacation ever. Seriously. One trip out of NRC to have some fun as first years then this? With every means of transport and teleportation now gone? Just you dumb fucking luck. You swear you have to be cursed. Some trouble magnet with all the dumb situations you’ve been in since getting stuck in this world. It was all your fault.

”Cripes!” Deuce hissed out as some of the soup popped out and burnt him. Hah, it was funny. Even now he’s trying to clean up his act by cursing less. “Tch… Loosey Deucey over here…” Ace snickered. “Oi!” Deuce glared over at him but didn't retaliate, focusing back on the soup. Jack actually lets out a hum of amusement, spirits lifting slowly.

”Jeet?” Epel asked, walking back to the fire. “Huh?” Ace gives him an odd look. “Jeet?” “Don’t know what that means.” Epel let out a sigh, hands on his hips. “Did ya eat? The food looks done.”

”…” There were more aluminum cans in Epels bag with the tops cut off. It was what you all used to scoop up the soup that was made. Sebek filled his can quickly before turning back to guard. “… Why don’t you join us Sebek? We're still up after all.” You say to him, making him tense a bit.

”Nonsense Yuu, I must keep watch.” You let out an annoyed sigh. “Come on Sebek. Let's enjoy this moment together okay? It was a good day! Sure there were some hiccups but there were more highlights. Got more good stuff from the wandering merchants, no zombies, nice weather… And were so much closer to the outpost. We can make it tomorrow! Plus, after tonight our meals are gonna get better, we're just using up the old ones. We can actually make a proper breakfast in the morning!”

Sebek looked off. “… Please?” You just want to pretend everything is normal. That this was just another camp Vargus trip. Not some living hell. “I mean Jack will definitely hear any trouble first with those big ass ears of his.” Jack shoots you a look. Despite that, his ears wiggling told the story.

Sebek sighed, then relented, sitting down at the fire and sipping the soup. Epel hums as he slurps his can. “This is good.” You all followed, surprised at how good it is. Small conversations and stories are shared as you lean more onto Ace in exhaustion. Deuce leans into you also. Jack soon follows, resting close by, tail out in hopes to protect you three from the cold. Epel was there too. Conserving body heat. That's all you were doing. But deep inside you all knew that you all missed some sort of skinship. Sebek merely looks at the pile, then to Ortho nearby in sleep mode. He huffs, then gets up to keep guard. Right next to all of you.

The following day was a blessing. Made breakfast. Beat down one zombie with magic and it was the only you saw. You all found a spring to wash your filthy casual clothes along with the dumb NRC uniforms as well. Epel even came with his dorm uniform, Vil’s orders but like hell he’d listen to him out here. It came in clutch actually. It was cut up into an array of blankets for each of you. Light and airy yet wonderfully warm. Some scrap was used to make Ortho a small scarf.

Then there it was: the settlement you all were waiting for right in front of your eyes. Ortho was right, it was a big one. Sure, perhaps it wasn’t a safe house but it was protected well. It was an entire town, fit with shops, hotels, wifi, even entertainment. After getting checked for bites you all scurried to barter and trade with various shop owners for cash to buy a room for an Inn.

It was barely enough for one room but you’ve all had to be crammed in tighter spaces before so what does it matter. At least it was a king bed, enough for you all to fold on top of each other and pass out in. The mattress was a lumpy stiff haven. Food at the inn was cheap but you will need jobs, at least for a bit as you all figure out what to do from here.

For now, you are all able to actually use your phones. Go through old photos, videos, hell even people on magicam were active, sharing useful information for everyone. Vil was posting. Cater too, his magicam actually being a great resource for crafty survival tips. Those two were okay at least. Ortho was already cracking better numbers here.

“Mom?” Deuce held his phone to his ear as he paced around anxiously, before shouting ‘mom’ again with a tearful smile as he collapsed. “You’re still alive!” There was sniffling and weeping but everyone was happy for him. He had his moment uninterrupted.

Tomorrow the job hunt began. Sebek was easily taken in as a guard, Epel was a farmhand, Jack would deliver and unpack crates, Ortho helped with settlement planning, Ace mainly did side gigs and Deuce actually acted as security in quite a few places. You worked at the Inn you were stayed at, it lessened the rent for sure.

It was actually nice the few weeks you were there. It felt normal. Even doing the most mundane tasks you took for granted was bliss. You’d all return to your shared room as you chatted about the day, deciding what to do for dinner and who’s sleeping where this time.

Then one night, one of the best things since all of this happened. Ortho made contact with STYX. You all gathered around his projection watching with rapt attention. Idia was there. There was a sweet reunion before he started up business.

Damn near everyone at school was fine, and made it to the STYX safehouse with him. It was a relief. “Lucky assholes.” You think Ace murmured. The coordinates and map was now with you. It was a week's worth of walking away and no way are any of the vehicles here built to go far out at all.

“Maybe a blast cycle?” Deuce hums. “If you can find one that fits us all.” Jack smirked a bit at Deuce’s ‘oh right’ face. “Besides they were probably ripped apart for materials.”

”Welp,” you sigh, “We walked this far, may as well continue right?” Everyone sighed. They knew it was the only way.

Tonight called for celebration however, Ortho was out for supplies for the trip and quick repairs and said not to worry about him. To continue to celebrate. You all sat in the inn, indulging the food and music and laughter of the bards. Hooting and hollering as you make your toasts and talk about how far you all made it and how things are looking up.

Hells, there was even a tinge of alcohol involved. Just a bit, not like the others drank too much you think but you definitely had at least two of whatever the hell. You were tipsy for sure, maybe buzzed. The lively environment influenced you to. It had you giggly, your friends more so with all of their dumb jokes.

Ace was leaning next to you. Maybe he drank a bit too or you were just wobbly but you both look at each other's eyes and features. You don’t remember what you were talking about but it devolved into quiet. “… I like you Yuu, I like you a lot. I mean… You and the rest of them…” He was leaning into you now. “Are probably the greatest ones I met…” Your noses touched. “I like you too.” “Haha really? How about you prove—“

You don’t remember who initiated the kiss but you remember his soft lips and chapstick on your own. You remember Deuce standing there shocked before he was pulled in and you were all over each other and no doubt got drunker from each kiss shared. You swear you remember Sebek's flustered face and how you all trudged up the stairs aftwe r being told to go rest in your room where all of you then collapsed onto the floor. You don’t remember much about Jack and Epel but there’s fur on your shirt and Epel was on your chest as you stared up from the splintery floor you laid on.

It wasn’t brought up again. Not acknowledged. For the most part. Sometimes you would all have knowing looks in your eyes and small quiet moments between you that have you both a bit flustered when nothing even romantic is happening. Nothing happened that night. Nothing at all.

Maybe it’s because it was a lot to take in. Maybe it was too fast and confusing. Maybe you all don‘t know how to proceed. Where would you take this? How would this work? Perhaps they don't want to admit their feelings but you won’t either.

I mean it was just much needed skinship. A coping mechanism even. A way to live out all the things they may not have in the future. There will be no prom. No girlfriends or boyfriends out here in this environment. No fancy dates. No crazy but reasonably dangerous adventures. You knew a few of them dreamed of marriage, kids even, but that may never happen like this.

That was it, yeah. It was another break from reality. It was just like a movie scene of a stupid coming of age movie where the protagonist has a wild night out that shapes his life and is the beginning of a stupid adventure. It was just pretend. Business as usual. All that mattered is that you were all still a team. That all of you would go to extreme lengths to protect each other.

It’s for the better. You don’t know if you don't mind it or not. So much yet nothing changed. Everyone stays by each other's sides not out of obligation or some crazy plot but because you all care for each other.

Ortho did lecture you all about passing out on the floor. Seriously, what were you all doing? Did you really party that hard when you all have to start your walk today? At least you all made it up safe.

Perhaps drinking wasn’t the best idea. You have a minor headache now but nothing too bad. There weren’t a lot of zombies. It all felt off. You weren’t gonna look a gift mouse-horse in the magic though right? Or however that saying goes here.

The night was lovely though. Sharing stories around the fire. Remember when Epel got bit protecting Ace and everyone freaked out? Thank god catching diseases by saliva was as rare as it is. Or the time you walked past graveyards in a rush because you all didn’t trust it. How for once you all celebrated finding a dead body because it was too eaten up to turn? Having to eat bugs? Or that time where everyone was in a rough spot but we fought everyone off like a badass? Remember how grocery stores were a thing? Crazy in retrospect. Stories were shared and shared and shared until the sun rose.

For the next few days it was nonstop walking. The expedition slowed a bit. Half a week behind. It was fine though. You all were getting by great. Maybe you should have considered buying a mule. Slowly but slowly you were right there to the base. Just a few more hours away. Play it safe.

It was going well. So well. You see the shelter right there. You were saved.

A horrible gurgling was heard from the right of you from the woods. Everyone was tense and ready to fight. Your pistol ran out of ammo but you still got your blade and bow. You don't need any magic… but it would be nice.

These zombies were quick, no doubt freshly turned. They charge at an unsettling speed, janky movement making their top half flop. One down. Two down… More came out. An ambush!

Three was incinerated. Four was sliced down the middle… God it went for a bit too long but it was over. Magic is now spent and the adrenaline makes you exhausted.

It wasn't over. Of course it wasn’t over. You’re a goddamned curse. Everything goes wrong around you. It was naive of you to even think that good things happen around you. Trouble always finds you. You have a goddamned flaw on this very universe that shouldn’t even be here and the world is punishing you for it. Maybe if you just didn’t join them, they would have been safer.

The bone chilling cries of a new-risen zombie boomed much too loud. You all swallowed, backing away before you saw it. This wasn't just any mutant— it was a mage. A mage that overblotted. Their skin was pale but they looked intact for the most part. Just like a human.

Fresh zombies are always the most terrifying. Not because of the extreme strength brought on by adrenaline or that they are bullet sponges that can fight for hours. It was because the mind of the original person was still there. Their habits, their speech.

The zombie just stared, wide eyed… and their pupils dilated. The creature's rotting jaw turns upwards into a wicked smile of clacking teeth. One hand was playing with its filthy hair like it was trying to tie it back— something no doubt the original person would have done. Their mind isn’t fully gone yet and it’s unsettling for you to see them as a person that had hopes, dreams, goals in life. What they were before…

“Hi. Hi. Hello.” it tried to speak as much as it's corrupted mind would let it

To say they charged at you was an understatement. They were the damn carriage that hit you at Mach fuck. Adrenaline is a terrifying thing. Its teeth clacked with each attempt to bite you as you managed to wrestle out from beneath it despite the lacerations you sustained. A bite from them may actually kill you.

“YUU!” Jack screamed out.

”Fuck! I can’t put them in glass, I can’t even cast it!”

There was a shriek from you as the nrw turned above you grabbed your leg so tight— too tight— the flesh is coming right off! Your cries did nothing to stop it nor did the damn knife that you sunk into its head over and over. It doesn’t budge, doesn't flinch. You're lucky to have been alive this long.

The creature was then pushed off of you— not before taking a good chunk out of your leg. Fuck it may have to be amputated— where was Epel’s wire saw again? You don’t know but it hurts and you can barely stand to help as you can only watch Jack tearing the monster apart in wolf form and Sebek trying to cut through its sick mutant neck. A panic rushed through you, Jack is using such strong magic with full blot—

”Yuu!” Epel slid over to you as did Ortho and dropped down to assess your wound. “Cmon cmon!” Epel was putting pressure on one of the punctures as Ortho scanned. “Cover us!” The card duo already were. Deuce was up close and personal with each jab, each cut that did nothing to it. Ace was crazy enough to take off his overcoat and get behind the thing to wrap it between its mouth. Helping to slow its bite speed. “C’mon Sebek, I’m gonna try to pull it back so you can dismember it!”

Fuck fuck fuck. You're a sitting duck that invited the other two to join you. It’s not worth it. “Don’t worry about me right now! Go help them take it down!” Epel looked at you as if you were crazy. “But Yuu, you’ve sustained critical blood loss!” Ortho yelped. You took in a breath, “And if they die I’ll continue to bleed out anyways— help them!”

They couldn't argue. Epel just took off his coat and handed it to you to cover your thigh. All you can do is watch. Orthos lasers were weakened, Epel’s weapon could only do so much and he was just an inch away from the thing. It’s no good. It caught you all on an unlucky day. This was it… No no no. You’re smart, you can do this. You’ve survived this long.

The tree! A thick Redwood! It looks as though the base was rotting out at a wonderful angle. Epel’s wire saw peaked out of the bag near you… You know what you have to do. No, you aren’t using the saw to cut down the tree, it would take too much time. You’re dead either way.

The monster's torn jaws are just now inches away from Sebek as it leaped forward, just to be pulled back by a wire saw around its throat. “YUU! What are you DOING?!” Sebek was yelling and so were the others. “Yuu! You only have a 2% survival rate!”

You know. You know you're dying. May as well go out like this.

The beast tries to shake you off as you direct it to face the tree with the wire around its neck like a horse with its bridle. Sebek taught you this now that you think about it. It tries to shake you off again and you allow it— backing up a good distance towards the tree in hopes it charges. Ace realizes what you are doing, then everyone else does too.

”Yuu no!” Who was it that said that? They sounded hysterical and it would be something you would totally hold over them. You can't hear them over the pounding in your head and rancid clicking of the creature. And you really can't hear them when you feel the sudden slap of the tree against your back and the beast's teeth tearing off some flesh of your stomach.

It was blurry. And painful. But the rush— oh the rush of it all was pure euphoria. Your body slipped out from the creature as it charged into the tree, tossing you to the side and allowing you to see that thing get crushed instantly. It was wiggling still, but it was trapped and that’s all it mattered. I mean look! Deuce just finished it off! Or is it Ortho? Sorry, it's just so hard to see.

A chorus of ‘Yuu’’s sang to you and your vision is obscured by shadows. You feel hands all over, pressing, holding, supporting. Someone above you put your head onto his lap. You know what it feels like. Yes, you remember that.

They’re leaning in so close. It was Deuce just right above you. You see them now. Jack’s in now in his usual form as he supports a few broken parts of your body. Orthos is trying to cauterize wounds, scanning rapidly, desperately, as Ace and Sebek and Epel all try to help. Everyone seems to be holding onto you for comfort though.

“Nonononono—“ Ace shakes and Sebek is letting out strings of ‘damn it’s fall from his mouth in anger. They’re all clinging, desperate, hoping somehow they can save you.

You know it.

They know it.

You’re not surviving this one.

“Hah… it's useless you know? I’m dying. There's nothing you can do.” It feels like you swallowed burning hot coals as you speak.

“Shut yer damn mouth you— you…” Epel was crying now.

“This can’t be happening.” Jack shakes, eye wide.

Ortho is trying to rationalize it all, blubbering any possible solution or possibility, scanning for rates over and over and over until he dissolves into sobs. “You’re DNA might have a cure— you can't die!”

“The audacity of you humans! You—- You aren't to leave us! I COMMAND you Yuu. That you ARE NOT going to succumb to this! SO DON’T ACT LIKE YOU ARE!”

Deuce choked. ”Yuu.. Please don’t.. Please don’t go. You‘re… you‘re my best friend you believed me— all of us! I can’t— I dreamed of us graduating and…”

”No. This is it. It’s over… Guys, if you need my body to sustain you—“

”Hell no! Don’t even finish that sentence!” Ace hisses. “Please… not like this..”

”Don’t worry, don’t worry… I’m at peace, truly. It was an honor to be with you all. I’m glad I’m dying with you around me, I’m even more glad you are all okay.”

”Yuu…” Deuce is leaning down trying to wipe away tears. You may as well reach up to kiss him one last time right? Your breath hitches as you do and when you pull away Deuce is shaking.

”Just promise me alright? Promise me that you will all live, not just survive, live. That you will all be kind to each other after this okay? That you will all… kick ass if you need to!” You had a much nicer thought but they were incoherent. Your mouth can't catch up to your brain. “Promise me okay?” Tears were now finally falling. “Can you just hold me a little more? Please?”

The sun is pretty. It's even nicer when you're around all your friends and being held like this. If only you could have done this back then.

“… I think I’m just gonna close my eyes and rest a bit…”

Then everything faded.

Sobs and shouts and cries was the only music played at your funeral.