#twst ace

[britishassistant]

VDC Tribe Roommate Problems

Ace: Doesn’t clean up after himself. Will leave dishes he’s used dirty in the sink, and not throw away empty containers or bottles. Tries to trick someone else into doing it for him.

Deuce: Sleep teeth grinding. Audible even through walls and doors with cloth stuffed under them to block noise. Yuu has had to stop Ace and Vil from grating soap into his sleeping mouth on two separate occasions.

Kalim: Never shared a bathroom before. Has his own wing at home so the concept of someone else being in there when he wants to use it has never occurred to him. Seen the others naked more times now than their fathers.

Jamil: Extreme insectophobe. Can and has attempted to burn down Ramshackle over spotting a spider in the corner. Demands Yuu spend nearly all their money on pesticides.

Epel: Accidentally destructive. Used to buildings in his hometown, which are old but well maintained and just need “a little elbow grease”. Has ripped doorknobs out of Ramshackle doors.

Rook: Jumpscarer. Never makes any sound when moving around and will pop up when you least expect it, usually while holding something breakable or doing a focus-based task. His pjs make him easy to mistake for a ghost.

Vil: Space hog. Spends 4 literal hours each in the bathroom on his morning and evening routine and uses up all the hot water. Gets pissy if anyone else spends 1 (one) minute longer than he deems necessary.

Do.

Do you think that during VDC training, Yuu got up to get a glass of water, said hi to what they thought was one of the ghosts, and then got freaked out when they heard “Bonsoir Trickster~” from Rook in his froofy white nightshirt

[itsmywritingtime]

.. 【 A Fierce Competitor 】 ..

Notes: love triangle (love angle), ace trappola x reader, malleus Draconia x reader, jealously, love rivals, reader is yuu, gender neutral reader, very minor spoilers for book 5 and 6 ♥ vs ⚡︎ Words: 2.5k

Ace had never expected to fall for the magicless janitor he teased on the first day of class. More importantly, he never would have anticipated how persistent you would be. No matter what he did or what he got himself into, you would be right there beside him.

He couldn’t exactly pinpoint when he had fallen for you. Maybe it was when him and Deuce were bickering after fleeing from the abandoned mine. You had quickly set the two of them straight, yelling at them to get their act together and cooperate. Having that fierce look in your eyes he hadn’t expected from someone like you.

Perhaps it was when he had eaten that tart and been collared by Riddle and you allowed him to stay at Ramshackle after only knowing him a day.

Or perhaps it was when you had signed that one-sides contract with Azul for the sake of your friends. Consequences be damned.

Or perhaps…

You get the point. He could recall a handful of stories in which he had seen you as more than just the Prefect. More than just his friend.

Ace had never been one to chase after something he wants. Why try so hard when you can make it come to you, hm? However, he had been having a bit of a problem. No matter what he did, he was always the pursuer not the persuadee.

You, the Prefect of Ramshackle dorm were smart, quick thinking, agreeable, and most importantly, majorly oblivious.

You couldn't take a hint. From him awkwardly casually bringing up that he was into someone —"You like someone? Really??" — to flat out asking you to go out with you — "Oh you wanna go out? We should invite everyone. It'll be fun!", — you just couldn't grasp anything he was laying down.

As annoying as that was, he wouldn't typically have any reason to worry. He would just have to put in a little more effort. Nothing, he, Ace Trappola, couldn't handle. However, there was a major roadblock in the form of the housewarden of Diasomnia.

Malleus Draconia.

Ace hadn't put that much thought into the curious night visitor you had offhandedly mentioned a few months back, he had been too occupied with the ongoing investigation into the confusing injuries with the up and coming spelldrive tournament. Now, he was kicking himself at his carelessness. At the time, he hadn't even been acknowledged his own feelings for you!

Ace had almost felt his heart almost stop (for multiple reasons) when Malleus appeared after Vil's overblot and you revealed that he was your midnight guest.

When everything has settled down—a dangerous thought had crossed his mind.

—No, no, no. Everything was still okay, he had rationalized. Nothing would change.

Just because the two of you hung out every so often didn't mean anything, right?

♥

It had been a typical study session run late. After a few minutes of you clumsily bargaining with Riddle over the phone, both him and Deuce had been allowed to stay the night at Ramshackle. An impromptu sleep over.

Ace had fallen asleep quickly, exhausted from the amount of material he had been forced to memorize in such a short amount of time.

He had awoken at an unknown hour, his throat burning with a lack of moisture. He stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. While Ramschakle had been renovated, it had been a collective choice to still not trust the pipes and stick to bottled water.

The lid was twisted off with little resistance and Ace poured the cool liquid into his mouth. Sighing in relief as a wave of chill washed over him.

As he chugged the water, his eyes wandered over to the window that overlooked the front lawn. He really hadn't expected to see anything besides maybe a wandering ghost or the swaying of trees.

However, small flashes of green caught his eye. What? He took a few steps closer to the window to get a better look.

Were those...fireflies? Ace swore that they didn't come out during the spring time.

Now that he was really looking, he noticed that there were two figures on the front lawn, by the metal gated entrance of Ramshackle.

His hand squeezed around the bottle as he connect the dots.

Ramshackle → Late at night → Two people outside → fireflies → fireflies don’t come out during spring + green magic → …MIDNIGHT VISTOR!!

*Ding! Ding! Ding!*

Water rushed from the bottle, and down his throat from his tight grip. He rushed over to the sink and coughed up any water that clogged his throat, his eyes not leaving the scene in the front lawn for a moment.

He regain his composure just as the two figures reached close enough to be illuminated by the lamppost. He was not surprised to see you and Malleus. You were smiling, animatedly discussing something he couldn’t make out through the thick walls. Damn these renovations!

Malleus looked down at you, following every word with a similar smile on his lips.

An uncomfortable feeling festered in Ace chest the longer he took in the two of you.

Malleus had a strange look in his eye as he stared at you. A fondness and appreciation that was almost familiar to Ace.

It hit Ace like a tidal wave when he realized where he had seen that look. It was the same expression he saw in the mirror every morning. The same expression he saw in the photos you took together. Where, unbeknownst to you, his eyes would linger longer than what was deemed appropriate.

Your conservation came to a standstill and you made your way towards the front door before suddenly pausing. Ace’s heart almost leapt up into his throat as you turned back to Malleus.

You gave a quick wave goodbye before turning back around and resuming towards the door.

Ace sighed in relief. He had thought you were going to invite the housewarden in. But then it hit him. What would he have done then? What could he have done?

As you entered Ramshackle, he quickly patted up the stairs, attempting to convince himself that he hadn’t confirmed what he had feared.

Malleus eyes had never left you.

Oh boy. He was in deep shit, wasn’t he?

~

Malleus knew less about romantic love than he did friendship. It had been the last thing on his mind when you and him became companions.

You were a breath of fresh air. You knew nothing about who he was, his name, his face, his strength. Even with such little info, you still welcomed him with open arms. It was unfamiliar. Not being feared.

It was only after you had given him tickets to the VDC did he realize that he felt something peculiar about you. A feeling that he had never endured before.

It took a lengthy conversation with Lilia for him to realize that what he felt for you was much deeper than friends.

A likeness.

Perhaps love.

Fae did not fall in love easily. Especially fae that carried royal blood through their veins. Once he yielded to his feelings, the courtship began.

Malleus was used to having what he wanted at his fingertips whether from his immense magical prowess or his position as the crown prince. You provided a challenge, yet, it wasn’t unwelcome. He knew you were different the moment he met you.

He attempted to reach out to you during the school day, now that you knew his identity, with the intention of inviting you out and living the “average” school life. There was no reason your interactions to be contained to nocturnal outings only.

However, there was a problem.

Unlike him, you were quite popular. There always seemed to be someone by your side. Normally, that wouldn’t bother him, but you had always looked so happy and he would rather stand to the side and be alone than potentially take that away from you. No matter how badly he yearned to know the cause of your glee.

He could be patient and wait. Wait from the right moment. Fae has an abundance of time on their hands, after all.

Still, there was something else that bothered him. The ones that most commonly made your company was a group of freshmen.

It made sense, he rationalized. You technically were a freshmen too. Nevertheless, something felt…off.

It hadn’t taken him long to realize. The occasional brushing of hands. A silent, but desperate plea for your attention, to tightly grip onto it. Holding onto every word as if it was sacred….

Oh.

Alright then.

His rival had taken an unusual face. A freshmen of Heartslabyul dorm, Ace Trappola. Malleus knew little to nothing about the first-year besides the fact that he was always around you.

But that closeness that had been building up over the months. The constant smiles you shared. That familiarity that he hadn’t quite reached with you yet.

Malleus knew that he shouldn’t be worried. He was the prince, the future king to Briar Valley, but as he watched the two of you interact, he couldn’t help but let something fester deep inside him.

You were both so…normal. Something that he never has been or will be.

But he digressed. Just because Trappola had feelings for you it didn’t automatically mean anything…

…right?

⚡︎

It was bright a day, but not blinding. Cool, but not an uncomfortable chill.

A perfect day for studying gargoyles, if he said so himself.

A few days ago, during one of your midnight talks, you had promised to go with him on an outing for the gargoyle research club if the weather approved of it.

Today was that day, so, he was going to make sure you made due on your promise.

He just had to find your first.

Malleus wasn’t exactly the best with electronics, he couldn't contact you via phone, and he didn't think you would appreciate it if he would randomly appear one second. Thus, it was up to him to seek you on campus on foot.

He didn't know how long he was walking for, it was hard for him to keep track of time. The sun was not as high in the sky as it was when he started his search. After a few more minutes of walking, and slightly growing frustration, he had found you.

You stood on the steps of the entrance of the gymnasium holding a bulky water bottle. You checked your phone, looking back and forth every so often into the open gymnasium door.

Malleus felt his heart pick up as he made his way towards you. An almost giddy smile spread over his face at the mere thought of being able to spend time in your company.

When he was a few dozen yards away from you he suddenly stopped.

Ace can bounding out of the gymnasium clad in his club uniform. He enthusiastically greeted you, taking the bottle from your hands. Malleus watched as you both chatted away. How easy you fell into conversation.

The sky darkened.

Pushing aside his thoughts, he steeled himself. He was dead set on at least asking you if you wanted to spend some time with him.

Then, as Malleus made his way over it happened. From an outsider, it wouldn’t have had seemed like much. But to the Prince it was, oh, so much more.

You had adjusted yourself, giving Ace a small wave goodbye. An odd expression had crossed over Ace’s face. He moved slightly to block your way, a grin forming onto his face. His hand came to the small of your back, attempting to gently convince you to sta—

*BOOM*

Lighting touched down on the ground, the thunder following soon after. The two of you jumped away from each other in surprise. The rain came almost immediately.

Malleus knew he shouldn’t allow his feelings to control him. It was unbecoming for a crown prince.

But, perhaps, this time it was okay.

Malleus continued his way to you. A black umbrella pulled over his head.

Once you regained your senses, from the corner of your eye you saw him approach. You fully turned around to greet him with a nervous smile.

He stepped under the awning, closing his umbrella with a slight shake to get the water out.

With as much charisma as he could muster, he held out a hand to you. “Will you go gargoyle watching with me, Child of Man?”

You blinked in surprise. You looked at the dark sky and then back at him. With his free hand, he held up his umbrella, slightly shaking it for emphasis.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his uncharacteristic behavior. You took his hand.

“I did promise didn’t I—?“ You remembered, Malleus could feel his cheeks redden at the thought—“However, I didn’t bring an umbr—”

With a nonchalant wave of Malleus hand, a soft green glow enveloped you. When the light dimmed it revealed a similar outfit to Malleus’s club uniform and in your hand held an identical black umbrella.

You cooed in delight, spinning around to view your new outfit.

Almost as if you realized something, you turned back to the freshman on the steps. Ace had a sour expression on his face, however he remained silent, simply taking in the scene before him.

You gave him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry..I’ll watch you another time. Promise!”

Ace had a contemplating look on his face, as if he was weighing a decision on his mind. Finally, he grinned, leaning in close you. So close that Malleus had half the mind to pull you away. He should remember himself.

“Hey Prefect, do you mind if I come over tomorrow night? My brother sent me some DVD’s and I saw some that were just up your alley.”

You placed you fingers on your chin, as you were deeply pondering the request. You finally hummed, nodding your head, finding your answer.

“Fine. But I want the crème de la crème! You better not cheap me out, Trappola!” You huffed, sporting a grin of your own, slightly leaning in.

Malleus felt his eye twitch.

“Alright great~ Just me and you?” Malleus could’ve swore he saw Ace’s eyes wander over to him, “It’s a date then.”

A flash of indignation washed over Malleus. Crackling burst of light danced across the dark sky.

This freshmen had some gull, Malleus would give him that.

Ace backed away, seemingly happy with himself. From inside the gym, a whistle rung out. Ace gave a quick wave goodbye and jogged back inside.

He was gone. Now it was just the two of you. Just how Malleus wanted it.

Or just how he should have wanted it.

What should’ve been a nice outing with you had turned into much more than he anticipated.

Even as the two of you walked away from the gymnasium and the rain lightened, the soft rumble of thunder was always in the distance.

It seemed as if he was mistaken. He would just have to try harder.

a/n: I tried to reflect their mindsets and personality through the third person writing. Had to pull out the thesaurus for Malleus. As I reread this I kinda realized went a little extra for Malleus's part. Oops!

[anhniedraw]

Chasing after you

Was in the mood for some angst

[harunayuuka2060]

RSA student A: Neige, have you heard about your twin who attends Night Raven College?

RSA student B: They have quite an interesting story.

Neige: I haven’t had time to watch their interview yet, but I will once I’m done with my schedule.

RSA student A: It wouldn’t be surprising if they actually turned out to be your long-lost sibling.

RSA student B: I think they should transfer to Royal Sword Academy, since they didn’t really think through which school they wanted to attend.

Neige: It looks like they're enjoying their time there.

RSA student A: Well, it wouldn't be bad if they visit us here.

RSA student B: Should we send them an invitation?

RSA student A: That's a good idea! We should tell Principal Ambrose!

Neige: *chuckles*

Ace: Dude— What kind of backstory is that?

Deuce: Did your adoptive aunt really snatch you from the orphanage?!

MC: As I mentioned in the interview, adopting a child was already expensive—but for some reason, the cost doubled when it was my turn to be adopted.

MC: My aunt thought it was absurd, but rather than challenge them legally, she just stole me away in the dead of night.

Ace: And you didn't even question it?

MC: No.

Ace: Wow.

MC: She raised me, provided for me, funded my education, and—before she passed—left me everything she had. Looking back, following her was clearly the best choice I could’ve made.

Ace and Deuce: ...

Deuce: She seems like a kind aunt.

MC: *smiles* She’d never admit it, but yes, she was kind.

Principal Ambrose: Hmm... I'll allow it.

Neige: Really, principal?

Principal Ambrose: *chuckles* Yes! I'll speak to Headmage Crowley and arrange a meeting between you and MC.

Neige: Thank you, Principal Ambrose!

[twistedpink]

LOVING UR SNEAKY LINK SERIES!!! I beg of u sneaky link ace, deuce (separate 🙏) and sebek plsss I'd love to read ur thoughts on them 😔🩷🩷🩷 i have a feeling ace would be annoying as usual and deuce and sebek would be funny as hell lmaoooo tysm !! 🥺🥺🫶

RAHHHHHHH tyty

Sneaky link!Ace is, as expected, INSUFFERABLE. He’s always bugging you about ‘staying casual’ and ‘letting him breathe’ but that energy’s long gone when he gets attached,, It’s impossible to avoid him now :( Whether it’s a hand in your back pocket or his cologne stinking up your uniform, you’re not done until he says you’re done. (Or you do, ig </3) He’d rather get waterboarded than confess to your face- so he’s just fine with a little harmless fun,, Unless you want more? (Pleasepleaseplease)

Sneaky link!Deuce wants to be your boyfriend sooooooo bad,, He’s plotting at LEAST a three year relationship before the proposal- the wedding’s got to be small, probably close to home.. Can you blame him? It’s all he can think about when you kiss him stupid,, It’s a death sentence to watch him sweat and beat around the topic of ‘what are we?’ but at this point, who can resist that face? Certainly not you, at least- not anymore :^

Sneaky link!Sebek’s the worstttt,, Rather than falling blindly for stupid, human you, he’ll get you to fall for him! It’s only the natural order- he’s so obviously cool and mysterious, and those types simply aren’t built to fawn over civilians like yourself :/ Just ignore your shirt he sleeps in. And the birthday gift he’s planning. AND the portrait he’s painting- those are all knightly privileges, so get to work on earning his loyalty!!! (DEFINITELY ignore that you already have it, if only to spare his ego) <3

[officialdaydreamer00]

HELP ME THEY'RE SO SILLY :((((((

[thenumberhuntress]

Grim: Imagine the dorm leader as the GPS lady Ace, mimicking Riddle: I AM YOUR GPS AND IF I SAY TURN LEFT, YOU TURN LEFT! Jack, mimicking Leona: Good job, you missed your stop 5 minutes ago Epel, mimicking Vil: That turn was sloppy! Go back and do it over again!

[somefanchick]

TWST Boy Love Languages

 What are everyone's top three love languages? (Words of Affirmation; Quality Time; Physical Touch; Acts of Service; Receiving Gifts / Gift Giving) Headcanon list, all characters except Ortho. (I may do one for Ortho and non-NRC characters later) I only know information from the English server story (not including book 7) and events so sorry if anything is terribly out of character. This ended up being structured as 1 - [How he likes to show love], 2 - [How he likes to be shown love], and 3 - [Best of both worlds]. This can be seen as platonic or romantic for all characters.

TWST Masterlist

Riddle

Acts of Service: While Riddle does value capable people, he also likes to show he cares by helping those around him. A good example is in book 2 when he fixes the prefect’s tie for them. It’s not that he believes that the prefect is incapable, they have clearly shown him they are, but he is showing his appreciation by helping with the minor task. 

Words of Affirmation: Please tell Riddle you are proud of him. Please tell him he is doing a good job. It’s not like he needs it, but he really wants it. His mother never really praised him for doing well in his studies or extracurriculars, so he appreciates hearing the words. 

Quality Time: Riddle clearly didn’t have much time to spend with people he cared about in his childhood. This leads to him really appreciating time spent with people. If he is spending time with you beyond necessity, then you know he cares about you. 

Ace

Words of Affirmation: I think we all recognize he shows his love through bullying. He is giving you attention and keeping himself ‘safe’ by making himself look less attached. However, when he gets the nerve to really express how he feels he will do so through words. It feels more solid to him if he is able to say it. 

Physical Touch: PLEASE! I mean- what? He doesn’t care about that. It’s not like he really wants to hold the people he cares about in a nice long cuddle or heaven forbid the thought of him being the little spoon. Don’t mind the fact that his hands are almost always on your shoulder or arms. Don’t mind that he has offered to let you sleep on his shoulder or chest multiple times. He’s just kidding! No seriously he wants physical affection please.

Quality Time: He does like hanging out with his friends and the more he cares the more he will want to spend more time with you. He loves playing cards, watching movies, or honestly doing anything together. Especially when he can find an excuse to get closer to you. 

Deuce

Acts of Service: He loves doing things for others and taking care of them. Carrying your bags for you, taking you for a ride on a blastcycle, pulling out your chair for you, putting his hand on the table’s edge in order to keep you from bumping your head, I could go on. This not only makes him feel like a gentleman, but it is almost a habit from taking care of his mother. 

Quality Time: Spend time with him. He doesn’t care if it is studying, reading, playing games, watching movies, or just sitting and talking. He just likes to be there with you. He enjoys being there for you and he genuinely believes that the best way to spend his days is around the people he cares for.

Physical Touch: Part of his protective nature calls him to hold his friends close metaphorically and physically. He is a big fan of holding a partner while dancing, kisses on hands, and other cheesy physical gestures, but he would try his best to never admit it. That stuff is mostly for romantic relationships, but that doesn’t stop him from holding onto his friends whenever it’s appropriate. 

Trey

Acts of Service: He likes doing things for you when you don’t know he’s the one doing them. Putting a blanket over others when they are asleep, leaving a glass of water on the table for you while you study, little things that you almost forget about. However, we have seen he also can be more direct with it, acting as Heartslabyul’s mother hen and making sure that all under his power brush their teeth and take care of themselves. 

Quality Time: Want to show Trey you care? Spend time with him, especially when he is baking. He might ask for your help if he really really needs you for a moment, but for the most part he just likes the company. He can do a lot of the baking while not entirely focusing on it, so he likes to listen to you talk or even engage in conversation with you. 

Receiving Gifts / Gift Giving: He’s not as big of a fan of baking as he tends to be seen as; he does it largely because he is good at it and it gives him some kind of status within Heartslabyul. However, I do think he genuinely likes baking for those he cares about. He likes the idea of you enjoying something he made with his own two hands. I also think he likes receiving little things from people, especially if they made the items themselves. Little pieces of origami, snacks, notes, and other little things. It warms his heart to know you like doing those things for him.

Cater

Gift Giving: Cater loves getting the people he loves little gifts. It could be a drink or snack from a cafe or just something he thought would be so cute to see you with. He also is a fan of leaving little notes with affirmations or reminders around where he knows the people he cares about will see them. He does it for himself as well, so it’s a piece of cake to make sure you know you are also wonderful. 

Words of Affirmation: This kinda goes into the note thing, but mostly he likes to hear what you like about him. Fun and positive comments in person and on his posts basically sustain him. Telling him how much you care about him or telling him how much you liked something he did is the best way to show him you care. He will immediately throw a complement back in response, but that doesn’t mean that he means it any less.

Quality Time: He is the king of mutual doom scrolling. While he prefers to doom scroll with someone looking over his shoulder, he also likes being in the same room with others while on phones independently. He finds it all somewhat intimate, like showing others what is on his For You page is pretty close to completely baring his soul. He also just likes being there in person to see your reactions. 

Leona

Physical Touch: He is SUCH a physical touch guy. There might be no way he’d tell you when he likes you, but the signs are there when he suddenly decides your lap looks like a comfy pillow. He is the type to just rest himself on you at random times. He doesn’t really ask, I mean why would he? You should feel honored to be getting so much attention from the second prince. It’s definitely not because he’s clingy with people he cares about (out of a small fear they will leave when they find something better). Definitely not.

Acts of Service: Look, you can’t blame the man for wanting princess treatment. He’s never going to ask for it, but it makes him feel so special when you do things for him. It’s not the same as when Ruggie does it for money. This is genuine care. He values action much more than words, so doing little things for his benefit means much more than any vocal reassurance.

Quality Time: He loves one on one time with people he cares about. You don’t really even need to talk with him. He just likes napping in another’s presence, or simply just sitting in the same room with people he cares about while doing completely independent activities. He just likes the feeling of being there for someone. And someone being there for him. Also if he is there, he can scare off the other herbivores that want to take you away. I mean, who would want to spend time with mutts when you can spend it with a prince, right? RIGHT!?

Ruggie

Acts of Service: Okay so we all know this man is a busy bee. He is always trying to get the most benefit possible, so he’s doing the most work possible. So how does he show he cares? Doing work for little to no compensation. Now I don’t mean anything like servitude, but I mean doing the little things. Plus if someone he really cares about asks him to do something, sevens know he is rushing to do it.

Receiving Gifts: He loves getting things. Give him a snack or some other treat without him having done anything to ‘earn’ it, and he will love it. Call him materialistic, he doesn’t care. I mean, why wouldn’t you give him things if you care about him so much. He deserves it. Besides, it gives him a good excuse to stay if you feed him. 

Words of Affirmation: Okay so call him a wimp (or simp). He likes being told that he’s doing good, or that he’s amazing. Plus, it gives him an excuse to ‘pay you back’ by randomly complimenting you. He knows that some people don’t get enough appreciation, and he wants to show the people he cares about that they are worth it. Even if it might be embarrassing to say.

Jack

Acts of Service: Jack likes feeling useful. He loves feeling like he’s doing the right thing by those he cares the most about. He’ll carry heavy things for others, assist with home and housework, and honestly anything he can to show he cares. 

Quality Time: He loves spending time with people. He also likes it when you give him attention, so spend plenty of that time talking to and doing things with him. He also enjoys company during his morning jogs and other workouts. Even if you are not working out with him, he likes being able to listen to you. If you don’t mind the sweat. He’s also okay with doing independent activities while existing in the same space, though he prefers being able to hear you. 

Words of Affirmation: He has sensitive hearing so hearing the pleasant voice of someone he cares about. Sevens know praise will get his tail wagging, no matter how much he tries to hide it. Even if he is a man of few words, he does like expressing his own care with short and direct compliments on his loved ones character. He rarely compliments looks or other things (even if he thinks you look pretty), preferring to praise personality and achievement.

Azul

Gift Giving: Okay so let's be honest, if he is giving someone something with no strings attached, then he is whipped. He does like feeling useful and giving others what they need. He also likes seeing the people he cares about with items he has given them. Octopi are territorial by nature, so he feels like he has some small claim over people when he sees them wearing or with something he spent his time or money on. It’s a good feeling for him. If not slightly concerning, he can’t help it.

Physical Touch: Okay, hear me out. I feel like he loves getting personal, physical attention from the people he really really cares about. He’d love waking up to a long slow cuddle where no one was in any rush to wake up. He’s very selective with his touch, but he prefers to be the one receiving the affection. He loves getting his hair brushed for him, or having his head pet gently. Do not try touching him casually, it always has to be with his permission or you will be in trouble. 

Quality Time: He is one of the boys that just likes existing in the same space as those he cares about. He will be hard at work for the lounge, studying, or some other independent activity and just be happy that you are in the VIP room with him. He also enjoys playing board games with those he cares about. Especially when they get competitive with him. He likes the challenge.

Jade

Acts of Service: He likes doing things for others in general since it makes him valuable to others and it gives him power over the people in his life as well as helps with manipulation. However, helping out of pure care means that he helps with what you need no matter what. Even if you don’t know you need it. He is hyper vigilant in figuring out exactly what you need or want and doing it before you even get the chance to do it yourself. As long as he doesn’t get preoccupied with work or his mushrooms.

Quality Time:  PLEASE GO HIKING WITH HIM! Go on a nice walk in the mountains and bear with him while he rants about and picks mushrooms and other mountain flora. He will barely process how much that means to him in the moment, but it will 100% make him blush as he tries to go to sleep later. He has a hard time processing affection at the moment, but that care lingers with him everytime he is not busy or at work. 

Receiving Gifts / Gift Giving: Okay so it would totally start with him giving you things he found on his hikes that he already had or couldn’t use in any way. Then it evolves into him giving you hiking gear in order to rope you into his club activities, and eventually he is giving you things casually. He very much appreciates when you give him cool things you see on the trails with him or just little things that make you think of him. If the item is only really present on land, it will make him value the item even more. He’s just so curious about things on land (you included).  

Floyd

Physical Touch: Cuteness Aggression! CUTENESS AGGRESSION! He just wants to squeeze you and he can’t help it! It makes it even harder when you are acting cute or innocent/naive. He gets this way with anyone he cares about in any capacity, though he can be trained out of it (though it will make him sad). He doesn’t really care about the time or place, he just wants to lean on you or squeeze you until you pop.

Quality Time: Okay so like, let’s be honest. People don’t really hang around him too long. Some of that is on him, he gets bored or wanders away in order to follow one of his whims. But most of the time it is because he’s a little too much for them. Spend time with him. Don’t try to just use him for his intimidation or size, but genuinely live in the moment and entertain him. He might not say it, but it’ll really affect him. 

Words of Affirmation: Okay so this is kinda like how Ace’s love language is bullying. Floyd just loves to get reactions from you. It can be from making fun of you, flustering you, or simply saying something to get you to say “WTF”. He also loves when you say things to him. When you try to get reactions out of him. And he would be lying if he said he didn’t like the attention or praise that comes with it.

Kalim

Gift Giving: Okay so there is a full fic on my page about this, (Kalim's Love Language) so I’ll try and keep it short. He sees gift-giving as natural. He has the resources someone else wants or needs, so he gives it to them. In smaller doses, it’s almost lost its meaning. However, it is when he gives something homemade or he has to try and figure out a gift for someone, it has much more love and affection in it. He values the time and thought it took for him to come up with the gift more than the gift he is giving. 

Words of Affirmation: Praise this boy. He is used to praise back home from his siblings, the masses, and from servants. However, he doesn’t have much of that at NRC. He takes it like a champ and he’s ever-so accommodating, but he does love when he gets verbal confirmation he’s doing the right thing. He also loves conversations with others about anything. He also likes to listen. He’ll give out more praise than anyone else, but he really appreciates being praised back.

Acts of Service: He likes doing things for others and he really appreciates when people do things for him. Though the latter is what happens more often than not. However, Kailm is someone you can count on for the little things; like grabbing your things for you, being there to support you when you are nervous, or simply doing whatever he can to assist. (Honestly I think this sort of thing is why Kailm is so confused by Jamil’s hatred and hostility, because he is so used to people doing things for others because they care. So he didn’t understand that Jamil wasn’t doing all those things to show love or care.)

Jamil

(Pls don’t judge me for this one, I do not understand this man in the slightest. I’m trying my best.)

Quality Time: He doesn’t waste time on stuff he doesn’t want or have to do. So if he is genuinely spending time with you with no ulterior motive in mind, then he really does care about you. The only issue is that it is hard to really tell why he is spending time with you. He’s very good at masking his intentions, but if he is spending time around you and not putting up a front, then damn he really must care.

Receiving Gifts: He likes getting things. Especially when they are from the heart. He’s used to Kalim’s flippant, expensive gifts; however getting smaller gifts from people he cares about has a completely different effect on him. Especially when those things help him with his duties or simply make his life easier in little ways. 

Acts of Service: To be honest, taking care of others is a habit for him at this point. However, his attitude about it is the main difference. Instead of doing it without thinking or because he feels he has to, he will be actively going out of his way to help out. And if you do the same-! He is obsessed. He doesn't get much capable help with nothing attached to it, so he loves it when you do things to help out.

Vil

Acts of Service: Vil fusses over people and does everything he can in order to help them strive for perfection. However, he also likes to fuss over people in the more literal sense. He loves spa days, dress-up, and hairdressing. If he really cares about you he will want to do these things for you. While he is attracted to competence and independence, he does also appreciate being able to help. He finds joy in doing the simple things for you, (and he does like being able to dress those he cares about like a doll).

Quality Time: He is a busy guy so time spent with him is very important. He will love letting you tag along to whatever events he can. He also loves doing mundane things with those he cares about. His father was often very busy, leaving him alone for much of his childhood, so it really does matter when people spend time with him. Even if it is just sitting with him while you both do your own jobs. Even if it is in comfortable silence. 

Receiving Gifts / Gift Giving: This man gives things out very often. He’ll give clothing, skincare, perfumes, ect. Most of the time it is in order to make himself look better, sometimes it is to help his ‘projects’, ect. But whatever the case, he loves giving things to people he cares about. He also appreciates gifts from the heart. He can get his hands on expensive things that many others couldn’t dream of owning, but he loves when someone makes something for him (Though he won’t accept less than your best). Bake something for him, make him some custom jewelry; whatever your talent is, he will appreciate seeing it or being on the receiving end of it.

Rook

Words of Affirmation: This man sings praises like it’s his job. He says praises so often they might seem dishonest, but he means every word. He praises all accomplishments, and can even tell you what you need improvement with. Though any criticism is definitely constructive. And rest assured, he will praise any improvement or discovery you make. Because to him, it is beautiful. 

Quality Time: He loves spending time with those he cares for or wants to observe. So the best way to show him you also care, is to bring him along to whatever you plan to do for the day. Going into town? Let Rook tag along. Studying in the library? Let Rook tag along. Hanging out with his friends? Well he wouldn’t want to intrude, but you can let him watch from afar. <3

Acts of Service: He loves doing things for those he cares about. I mean we saw that in book 6 when he went out of his way to bring Vil his products. He loves seeing beauty and will do anything to help those he loves shine. And Sevens know he will be so grateful for anything you do for him. He sees others' generosity, especially towards him, as one of the most beautiful things around. It’s enough to get him obsessed and curious to see if he’s the only one you do these things for. 

Epel

Acts of Service: Epel likes to be useful. He likes to feel manly and strong by opening jars, getting things for others, or simply just defending those he cares for. It’s also somewhat of a habit from living in Harveston. Small, farmer towns where he’s the youngest worker and everyone helps everyone else like their family? Yeah he’s definitely accustomed to helping those he loves. And he’s happy to do it. Why wouldn’t he help those he loves when he’s fully capable and it makes him feel strong. 

Physical Touch: He loves the idea of driving someone around on a blastcycle or a broom while they hold onto his waist. He loves the idea of big spooning when cuddling. He loves all that romantic stuff. But he’s not going to initiate it. He hates that he actually likes when Vil or Rook comb through his hair. He needs those physical touches. It’s not that he’s touch-starved by any means. It’s actually kinda because of the opposite reason. He is so used to being fussed over and hugged by family members or neighbors that he feels somewhat of a deficit in physical affection when he moves to NRC. Show him you care by giving him back some of that affection he’ll never admit he’s missing.

Quality Time: He likes spending time with people. That does connect once again to his close-knit upbringing. He is very used to spending a lot of time with others. He’ll do just about anything with people he cares about. While he definitely has things he doesn't like to do, he is willing to do a lot of them as long as they’re with people he really cares about. He also really appreciates when people make that same effort for him. Come to his spelldrive games. Go riding with him. He loves the effort just as much as the time spent.

Idia

Quality Time: He’s a shut in. That much is obvious. He likes gaming in his room where no one can perceive him. However, when he opens his door for someone it means he really cares. Yeah he’ll love playing games with those he cares about, but even just being in the same room as him is his way of showing he cares. He’s another one of those happy to do independent activities while in the room with someone he cares about. However, he will randomly start talking about his games, show, or manga and he will somewhat expect you to listen. (Like my roommate has told me that I do and I am working on that as an individual lol.)

Acts of Service: He likes letting people do things for him. While he does like doing something himself – if you want it done right you have to do it yourself and all that – but the smaller things or the social things he likes having done for him. Go pick up his latest manga for him. Bring him snacks. Do things that help keep him from leaving his room. Or maybe even do things that get him outside while not making it absolutely miserable. He will complain at first, but some part of him will be happy that you care enough to get him to do responsible things.

Receiving Gifts / Gift Giving: He will take notice of your interests. And he will appreciate it when other people do the same. Make him some custom merch for one of his anime or games. Pick up in-store only merchandise for him. He’ll also reciprocate by ordering you merchandise from your favorite franchises (that he likely introduced you too). The price doesn’t really matter to him, the only thing that really matters is if he thinks you’ll want it. He also will buy most media that he wants to introduce you too that you show any interest in. He’ll buy games for your system, manga, or really anything else that the two of you can bond over. Heaven forbid when a gacha game releases a character you both want. He’ll try his best to make sure you both get it. 

Malleus

Acts of Service: This man can borderline do anything. Like he can make basically anything happen for those he cares about. While he doesn’t attempt to overstep and lets you do what you need to do, if you ask he will do anything for his child of man. He also does try to occasionally do little things for you to make your life better. He finds out Ramshackle is lacking in any way? It will just be fixed next time you check it. Oh look, the shower you mentioned now has hot water? That’s odd. Huh, those sheets are much softer than you remembered from when you got up this morning. Things like that. He never really lets you know he’s doing these things, he’s just delighted when you notice and you go to tell him how lucky you seem to be. 

Quality Time: He loves when you carve out time for him. He loves spending time with you on nighttime walks. He loves stargazing or looking at ruins or mansions adorned with gargoyles. He loves late night walks and being able to do the little things with someone who isn’t bending to his whims or actively peeing their pants. He appreciates being able to spend time being normal. A feeling he can only get from one on one time with his darling child of man.

Words of Affirmation: Let him yap at you. Yap back at him. He loves it. It kinda goes with the blurb about quality time but he just likes listening and talking with you one on one. His favorite thing is nighttime talks while walking or stargazing. He’ll listen to complaints, stories, or really anything about your homelife. But just prepare yourself for him to rant about gargoyles or tell you about him getting some invitation to some sort of event or something. He loves yapping, and he loves the yapper.

Lillia

Physical Touch: He loves teasing, but his favorite method of teasing? Physically. He loves jumping out and scaring those he likes. He loves suddenly appearing and poking people in the small of the back. Or just poking people anywhere. He loves seeing reactions to randomly hugging people. Or suddenly leaning over someone. It’s all in good fun. But you know he really cares when his touch turns soft. When he holds someone gently. Cradling crying faces, brushing hair out with his fingers, or letting someone lay on him. He can be mean with his touches, or he can be sweet. As long as he is showing care through touch.

Quality Time: He feels old. Let’s be honest. He’s gotten to the point of his long life that he values every moment more than ever. While he’s always lived in the moment, he now really treasures every moment like it’ll never happen again. So he wants to spend as many moments with the people he loves. And he has a lot of love to give. Spend time with him. He’ll love every second. 

Words of Affirmation: As mentioned before, he loves teasing. He will tease verbally and Sevens know that he will be insulted if you don’t tease him back. Or at least have a fun reaction to the teasing. He also just loves to listen to you or be listened to. He loves hearing and telling stories. He has so much life that he’s lived and he wants to share it with the people he loves. 

Silver

Quality Time: Since he falls asleep so often, he really values time spent awake. So he wants to give that time to the people he cares about. It also helps that being active with people can somewhat help him stay awake. He also loves doing lots of things with people. He wants to follow in his father’s footsteps and experience life to the fullest he can. And doing those things with people he cares about? That just makes it all the better. 

Physical Touch: Let him sleep on you. Like when he falls asleep, move his head onto your lap. Brush your fingers through his hair. Move him somewhere safe and warm. Hold him close while he rests. Wake him up with gentle touches and soft words. He’ll melt. He loves being cradled almost as much as he loves being strong for others. He’s not weak by any means. However, he loves the opportunity to be weak. He loves the safety of another’s gentle touch. It’s peaceful. Perfect. 

Acts of Service:  He’s such a caregiver. A big protector. He likes being a safespace or home for those he loves. He shows this by doing things for you. Helping with homework, bringing soup or notes when you are sick, etc. However, he loves when the acts are reciprocated. He loves being helped as much as he loves helping. He’s both a prince and princess (at least stereotype-wise lol). Doing things for him will 100% make him melt. It is so sweet to watch him care and be cared for.

Sebek

Words of Affirmation: So his affection will be yelled at you, so if you aren’t ready for that – don’t let him grow attached. We have all seen how vocal his love for Malleus is. He will verbally build you up, talk about you to others, and defend you. He will work hard to make sure to properly communicate his care to you. You are not allowed to be insecure around him. Any complaint from you will be battled verbally against a man who cannot shut up with his praise. It’s honestly sweet. 

Quality Time: He likes spending time around people. People rub off on people. Meaning if he is spending more time around these amazing people, then he will become more like them. Plus, he likes the attention. He likes to know that these people he cares about want him around. Sebek isn’t immune to wanting to be cared about. And spending time with him, wanting him in your life, is how he knows that someone really does care. 

Acts of Service:  Sebek is a knight. He likes to care for people and be at their beck and call. He loves protecting them at their side. And he’s that same way with people he cares for. He feels duty-bound to them, wanting to be a hero to the people he cares for. However, he would (will be) lying if (when) he says he doesn’t love it when you take care of him. When you protect him. When you serve him as he would serve you. Since he believes that this devotion is one of the best ways to show care on his end, it is endlessly flattering to him to have that same kind of devotion shown to him.

[cawslew]

Reconsider?

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: Speedrunning Marriage Fraud || Ace Trappola

You get isekai’d as the heroine in a romance novel, but instead of dreamy suitors, you’re stuck with a yandere cryptid, a billionaire with no impulse control, and a knight who thinks he's in a Shakespearean tragedy (and more).

Your solution? Commit marriage fraud with your best friend, Ace Trappola, and hope no one asks for a marriage certificate.

Series Masterlist

You should have known better than to leave your apartment. You should have listened to your instincts, that deep, primal voice that told you the outside world was a dangerous and unforgiving place. But no. You just had to touch grass.

It had all started with an innocent desire for fresh air. You had gone to the park, found a nice spot, and opened the novel that a colleague had given you—probably as a form of psychological torture disguised as a gift. From the summary alone, you knew it was going to be a lot, but you had no idea just how much your soul would suffer.

The heroine was a noble who clearly did not want to be in this story. Every single page was filled with her staring off into the void, giving half-hearted responses to the five men vying for her attention, like she was a protagonist who hadn’t realized she was in a romance novel yet.

And the love interests. Oh, the love interests.

The (Discount) Yandere Viscount (who had never heard of stealth)

His idea of "obsessively watching over the heroine" was lurking in the shadows like a particularly uncoordinated cryptid. Every single time he tried to “stalk” her, he tripped over his own sword. At one point, he dramatically whispered, “I will protect you… wait, don’t run!” before faceplanting into a bush.

2. The Childhood Acquaintance (who was delusional)

This man had spoken to the heroine exactly once when they were both six years old, but somehow convinced himself they were soulmates. He carried around the same handkerchief she had given him more than 15 years ago like it was a sacred relic and refused to take no for an answer.

3. The "Genius Strategist" Prince (who had the IQ of a raisin)

The man had already planned their wedding, their honeymoon, and the names of their three children within four minutes of meeting her. When she told him she wasn’t interested, his brain blue-screened and he simply repeated, “Ah, you’re just shy.” No, sir. She is not shy. She just isn't interested.

4. The Brooding Duke of the North (who was a caricature of a chaebol heir from a K-Drama)

He believed love could be bought. He once gifted her a solid gold chair because “only the finest furniture is worthy of your presence.” He bought an entire carnival just so she wouldn’t have to wait in line. At one point, he threw money at a random tree, and you weren’t even sure why.

5. The Drama King Knight (who needed to calm down)

He was so powerful but refused to use his strength unless it was for dramatic effect. He got scratched by a cat once and collapsed into the heroine’s arms like he had been mortally wounded. His sword had the power to split mountains, but the only time he ever drew it was to dramatically point at the moon while monologuing about destiny.

And the villainess? She wasn’t even that bad. Compared to these five disasters, she looked like a sensible person.

Somehow, despite all odds, the heroine chose Ace Trappola, her childhood friend, which you had to respect. That was the one good decision this novel made. But just when you thought there might be some semblance of satisfaction—an assassin appeared out of nowhere (sent by the villainess of course) and killed her.

That was it. That was the ending.

You felt your soul leave your body.

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you weren’t sure if it was grief for the heroine, sheer frustration, or physical pain from how hard you had been laughing at this disaster of a novel. It was the most ridiculous, nonsensical, brain-cell-destroying thing you had ever read. You could feel your neurons committing arson inside your skull.

You snapped the book shut and decided that was enough stupidity for one day.

It was time to go home.

As you trudged back, your brain still processing the absolute war crime of a plot you had just read, you heard it.

A faint rumbling.

A presence.

And then—

“OUT OF THE WAY, SONNY!”

A blur of gray hair and unholy speed tore through the park, the sound of wheels screeching against pavement like a demonic banshee’s cry. You turned your head just in time to see a grandma on rollerblades, moving at a velocity no elderly person should legally be able to achieve.

For a split second, you locked eyes.

And in that moment, you knew.

You were not surviving this.

Before you could even process what was happening, she collided into you full force, sending you into a full aerial somersault before you crashed into the bushes like a ragdoll. You barely registered the thundering roar of her departure as she continued skating into the sunset, leaving you for dead.

Now, as you lay crumpled in a bush, your body feeling like it had been hit by a sentient freight train in orthopedic shoes, you had to accept the consequences of your actions. The world had punished you for your hubris.

She. Didn’t. Even. Stumble.

Your body ached, your limbs refused to move, and as darkness crept into your vision, your last conscious thought was, How is a senior citizen more sturdy than me…?

And then, everything went black.

The first thing you noticed upon waking up was the suspiciously pleasant smell. It was fresh, like lavender and high society, with a hint of expensive tea and wealth you’d never personally known.

Your groggy brain latched onto the first thought it could process:

Damn. Hospitals really upgraded their budget.

Then, half a second later, a much more terrifying realization hit you.

Oh God. The ambulance bill.

Your eyes snapped open in unfiltered financial terror, hands clutching at the sheets as you prepared to calculate your medical debt down to the last miserable cent. You were already accepting your fate as a lifelong indentured servant to the healthcare system when—

The ceiling was too ornate. The bed was too soft.

And there was a man sitting beside you, holding your hand.

Your breath caught in your throat as your vision sharpened. Red hair. Heart earring. A cocky smirk, even in his sleep.

You knew that face.

You knew that godforsaken face.

This wasn’t a hospital. This wasn’t even your world.

Somewhere in the heavens, a cosmic entity was laughing as you stared at Ace Trappola, the very same Ace Trappola from the cover of the book you were reading before you got absolutely trucked by a grandma on rollerblades.

Your will to live immediately evaporated.

This couldn’t be happening. This was not real. There was no way that the trashy dumpster fire of a novel you barely got halfway through had decided to swallow you whole and spit you out as its heroine. You were a victim of circumstance. You hadn’t even wanted to read the book. Your colleague had shoved it into your hands with a laugh, saying, “It’s so bad, you’ll love it.”

And now? Now you were going to die in it.

While you were still reeling from this existential horror, Ace stirred beside you, stretching like he’d just taken a refreshing nap instead of being complicit in your suffering.

“Oh, you’re finally awake,” he said.

You almost threw up in real time.

NO. NO, HE DID NOT JUST SKYRIM YOU.

Before you could even begin to unpack that offensive introduction, Ace leaned back in his chair, regarding you with an amused grin.

“Man, you were out for so long,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself at your expense. “We were starting to get worried.”

He paused, then snickered. “Not that I can blame you, though. You got knocked out real bad after Sir Drama decided to pick you up and carry you across a puddle—y’know, because chivalry—and then you started struggling and he, uh…” Ace coughed, failing to smother his laughter. “He might’ve… dropped you on your head.”

Your soul left your body.

The sheer force of your disgust, fury, and resignation compressed into a singularity of unparalleled despair.

You had already suffered a head injury in this world and it hadn’t even been five minutes.

Meanwhile, Ace—clearly unbothered by your silent mental breakdown—casually reached out and ruffled your hair like you were some kind of small animal.

“Try not to scare everyone like that next time, yeah?” he said, standing up with a stretch. “Anyway, I’ll let you rest. See ya, drama queen.”

And just like that, he walked out.

The door clicked shut.

And you were left alone.

You sat there for a full minute, staring at the ceiling, dead inside.

Then at the overly luxurious furniture.

Then at the mirror across the room.

You knew what you would see before you even looked.

White nightgown. Perfect noble lady bedhead. The very same reflection that haunted you from the novel’s terrible cover.

You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaled, and let out the most guttural, primal scream into your pillow.

This was real. This was happening.

And worst of all—

You were about to be pursued by five of the worst men to ever disgrace the literary world.

Tears pricked at your eyes.

You needed a plan.

You needed a way out.

You needed to reject them.

You needed to survive.

With renewed determination, you wiped your tears, hardened your heart, and began plotting your escape.

The moment you accepted that you were, in fact, trapped in this flaming disaster of a novel, you immediately went into damage control mode.

Step One: Gather Allies.

Your first course of action was to round up every single sane person in your immediate social circle—which, in this case, meant the heroine’s original friend group. You weren’t sure how well they’d take this, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

So, within the hour, you managed to corral Ace, Deuce, Riddle, Cater, and Trey into a private room like some kind of organized intervention.

They were all staring at you expectantly.

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the sheer stupidity of what you were about to say.

“Listen,” you began, voice firm. “I need help. Serious help. I am being actively hunted by five of the worst men to ever exist, and I need to figure out how to reject them before I end up dead in an alley.”

There was a pause.

Riddle, bless his soul, was the first to react.

He patted you on the back, nodding solemnly. “Finally,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you to grow a spine. It’s about time.”

You blinked. That was the most support you had ever received in your life.

Meanwhile, Trey and Cater exchanged amused glances, Ace looked way too smug for comfort, and Deuce was already looking at Ace like he was onto something.

“You need to get rid of them?” Trey asked, as if he were merely discussing pastry ingredients.

“Yes,” you stressed. “Immediately.”

Riddle hummed in approval. “Good. Then let’s strategize.”

You, Riddle, Trey, and Cater huddled together like you were planning a war campaign.

Ace and Deuce, on the other hand, were having a separate conversation entirely.

A conversation that consisted of Deuce elbowing Ace repeatedly while Ace sat there, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

Then, with the casual arrogance of someone who absolutely had an ulterior motive, Ace stretched his arms and leaned back.

“Y’know,” he drawled, cutting into your very serious rejection plan, “we could make things way easier if you just tell ‘em you’re already taken.”

You stared at him. “Excuse me?”

Ace smirked. “You'd just need a fake lover, right?”

“…Yes?”

He shrugged. “I could do it.”

The room went silent.

Deuce’s face twisted into an undisguised scowl of "That's not what i meant." Riddle raised an eyebrow. Trey hid a knowing smile behind his hand. Cater was visibly entertained.

You, on the other hand, were experiencing about five different emotions at once.

On one hand, Ace clearly had a crush on the heroine—for you. Which meant using him for this felt slightly scummy.

On the other hand, game was game, and survival was survival.

And you were not above exploiting every advantage you could get.

“…Alright,” you agreed, shoving your morals into a dark abyss.

Ace grinned like he’d just won a bet.

Deuce looked one second away from committing homicide.

And just like that, Operation “Escape Horrible Men” was officially underway.

The first lunatic to cross your path was, tragically, the childhood acquaintance—if you could even call him that. This was a man whose entire personality was built on a single act of kindness you had allegedly performed when you were six, like some kind of feral pigeon imprinting on the first human to throw it bread.

He had the look of a man who had been living exclusively off delusions and a diet of unattainable dreams, and you could already feel your soul attempting to evacuate your body at the sight of him.

It all started when you, Ace, and Deuce were having a perfectly nice day at the market. The sun was shining, the air was crisp, and you were engaged in the kind of casual battery that only true friends participated in—swatting at each other, shoving, stealing food mid-bite, and slinging arms over shoulders like a group of rowdy idiots. It was peace. It was joy. And then he appeared.

Like a cockroach that had survived a nuclear apocalypse, he inserted himself into the conversation with an ease that defied all reason, his hand creeping onto your waist as if that was something people just did.

The audacity. The sheer gall. The unmitigated temerity.

On instinct, you physically rejected his existence. You shoved him off with enough force to make a statement, then slammed your heel down on his foot. You were not the original heroine. You did not believe in suffering in silence. You believed in equal opportunity violence.

But this man—this absolute buffoon—had the mental resilience of a particularly dense brick. He simply did not process rejection.

You walked away. He followed. Like a stray cat you accidentally fed once, he clung to your side, ignoring all signs that he was unwelcome.

You showed Deuce a cool charm for his sword; he inserted his completely unsolicited opinion.

You cracked a joke to Ace; he forced out a laugh like you had told it for his benefit.

At one point, you were fairly certain he was just mimicking your breathing patterns to convince himself you were soulmates.

Alright. You had tried being civil. Time to be petty.

You turned to Ace with the kind of dramatic flourish that only came with years of consuming terrible romance novels, throwing yourself into his arms like some damsel in distress. Ace, to his credit, took exactly one second to process before he immediately understood the assignment.

He leaned in close, breath brushing against your ear like he was whispering something scandalous, and you, in turn, made a show of gasping, clutching his shirt like he had just recited the most romantic poetry in existence.

Then he hand-fed you a pastry.

It was too much. Too intimate. Too stupidly effective. You let out a little dreamy sigh, delicately biting into the pastry like it was a love declaration and not just your breakfast. Ace, ever the performer, brushed a crumb off your lips with his thumb.

Deuce, at this point, was convulsing with laughter in the background, nearly choking on his own spit.

But the acquaintance? The parasite? The man who had lived the past decade of his life under the assumption that you were his? He was seething. His face was twisted like he had just swallowed a whole lemon rind and all.

Time to twist the knife.

You turned to Ace with the most lovestruck expression you could muster and, in a voice dripping with sugar and malice, cooed, “Darling, when are you going to propose? I simply cannot wait to be engaged to you”

Ace visibly blue-screened for a moment. You could hear the Windows error noise in real-time. But he was nothing if not quick on his feet.

In a devastating move, he took your hand in both of his, looked into your eyes like you personally invented the concept of love, and murmured, “My love, I’ve searched the entire kingdom for a ring that shines as brightly as your eyes, but nothing has been worthy of you yet.”

That was it. That was the final blow. The childhood acquaintance physically recoiled, his reality shattering like fragile glass, his world crumbling like an over-soaked sponge cake.

“You’re… dating?” he whispered, trembling, as if he was the protagonist in a tragic opera.

You and Ace turned to him in perfect synchrony, all wide eyes and lovesick smiles, and in the most disgustingly sweet voices you could manage, declared, “We’re soooo in love~”

He ran away crying.

It was magnificent. It was euphoric. You turned to watch him flee, skidding into the distance like a wounded deer, while Deuce collapsed against a stand, wheezing.

And then, just for a moment—barely a second—you caught Ace watching you, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Then he smirked, slinging an arm around your shoulder like nothing had happened.

One down. Four to go.

The invitation to the ball had arrived with the pomp and circumstance of an execution notice.

You had already survived assassination attempts (by fate and by your own refusal to engage with the five unhinged men vying for your hand), but now you were being asked to waltz? Like some graceful noble lady who had spent her entire life twirling through candlelit halls and not someone whose idea of “dancing” was flailing in the kitchen at 2 AM while waiting for instant noodles to cook?

You tried to tell yourself, maybe the original heroine’s muscle memory will kick in.

It did not.

You attempted a single spin in your room and promptly tripped over the hem of your dress, landing face-first into the carpet with all the elegance of a sedated goose. The reality was undeniable—you needed help.

Unfortunately, Deuce and Riddle, your two best hopes for structured, competent lessons, were drowning in their official duties. That left you with Trey(thankfully), Cater, and Ace.

Ace. The man who claimed he could “totally waltz” but then proceeded to move like he was dodging invisible potholes. He swore he was just "freestyling," which, sure, was a thing people did—just not in 18th-century ballroom dancing.

Trey, ever the responsible elder brother figure, took pity on your plight and offered to teach you. You gratefully accepted, placing your hand in his, and the two of you began to move across the floor. Or, rather, Trey moved and you decimated his toes with every step.

Ace, watching from the sidelines, looked like he had been personally wronged by the universe.

His jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed. His grip on his drink? White-knuckled. If he had been any tenser, his soul might have ascended on the spot.

Cater, in contrast, was having the time of his life.

Sipping tea like a smug little gremlin, he watched the spectacle unfold with the kind of amusement normally reserved for reality TV drama. He did not care that Ace was clearly dying inside. In fact, it was making the tea taste better.

Meanwhile, Trey suffered.

He suffered so much.

You stepped on his foot. Again. You stepped on it without intent. Without malice. But with the weight of a hundred failed dance lessons.

“Ah, you’re getting there,” Trey said with the patience of a saint, even as he subtly tried to guide you away from his crushed toes.

Ace twitched.

The evening ended with you being marginally better at dancing and Ace looking like he had been force-fed an entire lemon tree.

The next day, you arrived at Ace’s estate with the singular goal of dragging him into town for shenanigans.

Instead, you were met at the entrance by his butler, who, with a knowing wink that immediately put you on edge, informed you that Ace was “currently practicing” and that you were "free to go in and see for yourself."

This, of course, set off all your mental alarms.

You pushed open the door just a crack, peeking inside, and what you saw nearly short-circuited your brain.

There, in the middle of the room, was Ace Trappola.

Dancing.

With a coat hanger.

He held it like a real partner, moving across the floor with surprising grace, his brows furrowed in concentration, his lips pressing into a frustrated pout whenever he missed a step.

You felt something unfamiliar rise in your chest. A warmth. A flutter. A sense of being deeply, irreversibly touched.

You immediately squashed the feeling. Crushed it under your heel like a bug. Incinerated it. You refused to let sentimentality win.

So, naturally, you cleared your throat and went straight for the teasing.

“Wow, Ace. I didn’t know you and the coat hanger were so close.”

Ace startled so hard he nearly dropped the poor inanimate object.

He turned to you, face flushing an almost adorable shade of pink, before scowling and attempting to play it cool.

“I—this—I wasn’t practicing for you or anything!” he scoffed, crossing his arms as if that would somehow erase the memory from your brain.

“Oh, of course not,” you said, nodding sagely. “You were obviously training to impress the coat hanger.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Rubbed the back of his neck. Refused to meet your eyes.

“…You wanna practice together?”

And that was how you found yourself dancing with Ace in the dim glow of the evening light, his hands warm against yours, the two of you laughing every time you stumbled.

It was awkward. It was messy. It was weirdly fun.

And somewhere in the background, Ace’s butler was already reallocating the estate’s budget for your wedding.

You had successfully survived the dance.

This was, by all accounts, a miracle.

There had been no toe-crushing disasters, no tragic falls, no wardrobe malfunctions that would have made the noble ladies clutch their pearls and whisper about you for decades. Not even a single case of you flinging your arms out too enthusiastically and smacking a duke’s son in the face.

You had defied fate.

And it definitely helped that your partner had been Ace—as much as that bruised your pride to admit. He was annoyingly decent at making sure you didn’t trip over your own feet, even though he kept smirking the entire time like he was waiting for you to say something ridiculous like "Wow, Ace, you're so talented and charming and handsome, what would I ever do without you?"

You would rather perish.

So, once the dance ended, you immediately excused yourself and found a nice, solid chair to collapse into. Ace, good little fake boyfriend that he was, offered to get you both drinks, which was a very convenient excuse for you to not be near him for five minutes.

And that was when the Genius Strategist Prince swooped in.

You did not see him approach. You did not sense his presence. It was as if he had teleported into existence like some eldritch being fueled purely by narcissism and misplaced confidence.

One moment, you were sitting peacefully, and the next—

He was there.

The cursed arm wrapped around your shoulders. The infuriating smirk. The unbearable arrogance wafting off him like overpriced cologne.

Oh, this was bad.

"You looked quite beautiful on the dance floor tonight," he murmured, his voice dripping with self-satisfaction. "Almost like a queen-to-be."

This man had the audacity—the sheer, unholy nerve—to look at you like you were supposed to giggle and blush at that line instead of chewing through your own tongue in an effort not to commit a crime.

You had one option.

You fled.

You simply stood up and walked away, directly towards the only person in this cursed ballroom who could save you from this richly perfumed disaster of a man.

Ace.

Ace, who had perfectly timed his return with two glasses of something that was hopefully strong enough to erase the last ten seconds from your memory. Ace, who took one look at your expression, saw the absolute horror trailing behind you, and immediately understood the assignment.

Without missing a beat, he wrapped an arm around you.

Possessive. Protective. The very image of a devoted fake lover.

You had never been so grateful for his dramatic streak.

The prince, who had followed you like a particularly persistent case of food poisoning, bristled.

"Remove your arm," he commanded, his voice low and sharp.

Ace did not remove his arm.

In fact, he pulled you closer, tilting his head just slightly in a way that perfectly balanced smugness and challenge.

"Why should I take my hand off my partner?" he asked.

You, who had spent your entire life developing a survival instinct specifically for escaping situations like this, felt the distant whisper of a self-preservation alarm. That was still the crown prince, after all. Ace was many things—irritating, reckless, an absolute menace—but he was not immortal.

Fortunately, before you had to say anything, help arrived.

Across the ballroom, Riddle nodded.

To your left, Deuce gave a subtle thumbs-up.

The plan was in motion.

Phase One

From the far end of the ballroom, Trey, the royal chef, emerged, balancing an enormous cake on a silver tray. It was a towering, masterful creation—a true work of art, layers stacked high, delicately sculpted sugar decorations shimmering under the chandelier light.

A cake that, in mere moments, would be used as a weapon of mass destruction.

Trey took one fateful step.

Tripped (As planned)

And the entire cake, in all its elaborate, multi-tiered glory, toppled over.

Straight. Onto. The. Prince.

Ace immediately shielded you from the debris. His hand was firm on your back as he turned you slightly away from the chaos, and when you glanced up at him, he was grinning.

Smug. Smug. Smug.

Something in your stomach did something.

You ignored it.

The prince, meanwhile, stood there in horrified silence, cake and frosting dripping down his very expensive, very now-ruined clothes.

And then came Phase Two

Deuce, moving with the "concern" of a man who absolutely knew he was about to ruin someone’s life, rushed forward.

"Your Highness," he said earnestly, holding out his own coat, "you should remove your clothes."

The entire ballroom went silent.

The prince, still picking fondant out of his hair, turned slowly.

"What?"

"You’re covered in cake," Deuce explained, voice so painfully genuine that you nearly choked.

The prince, who absolutely would rather die than undress in public, refused.

Which was unfortunate. Because Deuce, bless his heart, did not take no for an answer.

He grabbed the prince’s jacket.

And pulled.

The ballroom collectively inhaled.

Because underneath—where there should have been the broad, powerful shoulders of a “warrior prince,” where there should have been toned muscle sculpted by years of battle and strategy—

Was nothing.

Not just nothing—an outright betrayal of physics and expectation.

The prince was built like a malnourished Victorian ghost.

His coat—once the source of his so-called “strong, masculine presence”—had been heavily padded. Not just lightly stuffed, but outright engineered to create the illusion of bulging biceps and warrior-like stature.

Biceps, it was now evident, larger than his actual head.

The ballroom gasped.

The prince, red-faced and humiliated, did what any reasonable man would do when faced with public disgrace.

He ran.

You, Ace, Deuce, and your co-conspirators high-fived.

And the next morning, Cater, journalist extraordinaire, published an excruciatingly detailed article titled:

"From Brawn to Busted: The Prince’s Muscle Mirage!"

2 down. 3 to go.

It had been a regular morning. A peaceful morning. A morning where you had intended to do nothing more than descend the stairs like a normal, functioning member of society, have breakfast, and not make a complete spectacle of yourself before noon.

The universe had other plans.

One moment, you had been confidently stepping forward, and the next—

Betrayal.

Your foot had missed the step. Gravity, that treacherous, fickle force, had seized its chance. You had plummeted like a sack of potatoes launched off a moving carriage, limbs flailing, dignity abandoning ship before you even hit the floor.

And then you hit the floor.

Hard.

Ace, your beloved thorn in the side, had stood over you, blinking, until you groaned and weakly waved a hand to signal that you were probably not dead.

And that was when he had completely lost it.

He had laughed for ten minutes straight. A full, wheezing, tears-in-his-eyes, struggling-to-breathe kind of laugh, slapping his knee like an old man who just heard the funniest joke of his life. The servants had peered around corners in confusion. One poor maid had whispered, "Should we call a doctor?" Not for you. For Ace, because he was about to rupture a lung.

"You're fine," he gasped out eventually, still giggling like a goblin. "It's just a sprain, right? But your ego— oh, your ego is never coming back from this one."

And that was how you had ended up here.

Ace had decided—without your input, without even a semblance of human decency— that you were now a particularly large handbag.

He carried you everywhere.

There was no logical reason for this. You could still walk. You had one (1) slightly messed-up ankle, you were fine. But Ace, seeing the opportunity to be the worst person alive, had simply hoisted you up like a particularly unruly sack of flour and declared, "Guess you're stuck with me, huh?"

And he had not put you down since.

Which led to your current predicament.

You had planned to meet Riddle, Trey, and Cater for tea in the gardens, because you were a person of class and refinement, not some gremlin carried around like stolen treasure. But did that stop Ace? No. Of course not.

The three of them had been waiting peacefully in the garden, cups of tea in hand, enjoying their serene afternoon—

And then Ace had strolled in, with you draped over his shoulder like a particularly expensive piece of luggage.

Silence.

The kind of silence that one might expect after watching a clown cartwheel directly into the king’s court.

Trey looked concerned. Riddle looked like he was going to spontaneously combust. Cater, to absolutely no one’s surprise, looked entertained.

And you? You had given up.

"You could just let me down, you know," you muttered, swatting at Ace’s shoulder in what you hoped was a dignified manner, though it probably looked more like a dying fish flopping around.

Ace grinned, because of course he did. "Nah. Too late. You’re furniture now."

You scowled. "Then put me near the table so I can actually reach my tea, you absolute menace—"

Ace ignored you completely.

He dropped into a chair, still holding you.

This was your life now.

Trey, who had likely woken up hoping for a quiet afternoon, cleared his throat and asked, very diplomatically, "So… sprained ankle?"

"Tragic accident," Ace said, like he was recounting the tale of a fallen soldier. "There I was, just minding my own business, when—boom. Disaster. Absolute catastrophe. They will sing songs about this one for years."

"You were laughing," you deadpanned.

"And now I'm grieving," Ace shot back.

Riddle, who had quite frankly had enough of both of you, massaged his temples.

Meanwhile, Cater, who had pulled out his camera at some point, was taking photos.

"This is gold," he muttered, already plotting his gossip column.

And then, just as you were mid-swat, trying to smack the smirk off Ace’s face while he cackled like a heathen, Riddle sighed under his breath, voice heavy with exhaustion and despair.

"They're so obvious," he muttered. "Sevens save us all."

Trey nodded solemnly. Cater just grinned.

It had been a perfectly normal day.

Which, of course, meant disaster was imminent.

You were standing in the grand hall, sipping a totally normal, non-poisoned cup of tea (probably), when you felt it. That eerie, spine-chilling sensation. The distinct, unsettling awareness that you were being watched.

Slowly, you turned your head.

A pair of glowing eyes peered at you from behind an indoor potted plant.

You sighed. Loudly. "Viscount, I can see you."

"Tch," the Viscount hissed, stepping out of his entirely inadequate hiding spot. "So perceptive… as expected of my fated beloved."

As if to ruin the illusion entirely, he tripped on his own cape and had to grab onto the plant for support. The entire thing tipped over with a thunderous CRASH.

Silence.

A servant slowly turned to look at him, unblinking.

The Viscount, sprawled across the floor, cleared his throat. "Pretend you did not see that."

You rubbed your temples. "What do you want?"

He rose to his feet dramatically—or at least, he tried. His foot got tangled in his cape again, and he had to do an awkward little hop to untangle himself before he could finally regain his dignity (what little he had left).

"I have come to confess," he intoned, "the depths of my undying love for you."

A dramatic wind blew through the hall. (Despite the fact that all the windows were closed.)

You braced yourself. This was going to be painful.

"From the moment I first laid eyes upon you," the Viscount continued, stepping forward (but nearly tripping over a rug). "I knew that you and I were bound by fate."

He gripped his chest. "Your beauty, your grace, your ability to evade me every time I attempt to watch over you from the shadows… truly, you are like a rare and precious bird, always just out of reach!"

"You mean because I run away every time you try to talk to me?" you deadpanned.

"Exactly!" he said, passionately. "Such a clever game of cat and mouse we play!"

You stared at him. He stared back, completely serious.

Cater was, once again, taking pictures of this entire trainwreck. Deuce had just pulled out a chair, grabbed a snack, and was watching like it was a soap opera.

"But no more!" the Viscount declared. "Today, I shall break this cycle and claim my rightful place at your side!"

He took a bold step forward—

—and promptly slipped on the fallen leaves from the potted plant.

There was a moment of absolute silence.

Then—THUMP.

He faceplanted straight into the marble floor.

Cater wheezed. Deuce actually fell out of his chair. Riddle was muttering something about public executions. Trey looked like he was reconsidering his entire life.

But the Viscount?

He slowly pushed himself up, nose bleeding, expression unfazed.

"A minor setback," he rasped, wiping the blood off his face with his own cape like some kind of tragic war hero. "Love… is pain."

You exhaled deeply. "Alright, you know what?" You straightened your posture, voice heavy with overwhelming sorrow. "My dear Viscount… if only you had come to me sooner."

His breath hitched. "You mean—?"

"If only fate were kinder," you continued, placing a hand on your chest. "If only my heart were not already…taken."

Fake gasps echoed through the hall.

The Viscount staggered. "No… it cannot be!"

"I am afraid so," you whispered. "For I… I have already pledged my love to…"

You spun dramatically—and pointed straight at Ace.

Ace, who immediately choked on his drink.

Ace, who had agreed to fake date you but was now staring at you like you had just struck him with a bolt of divine judgment.

Cater’s camera zoomed in on his expression.

You turned dramatically, seizing Ace’s arm with a grip that could bend steel. "My darling fiancé, my heart, my sun and stars!" you declared, throwing yourself against him like a maiden in distress. "Forgive me for not introducing you sooner—this is my betrothed, Ace Trappola!"

Ace made a sound like a cat getting drop-kicked across a room.

"WHAT."

The Viscount looked like someone had just run him through with a broadsword.

"I know," you said, voice trembling with unspeakable woe. "It seems impossible. Unthinkable. But love, my dear Viscount, is a force beyond comprehension. Who are we to fight against fate?"

Ace was still making distressed noises. Riddle looked like he was five seconds away from committing homicide.

"No—no, this cannot be!" The Viscount staggered back, clutching his chest like he had just been mortally wounded. "You would choose him over me?"

You gripped Ace’s collar, pulling him until your foreheads nearly touched. "How could I not?" you whispered. "Look at him. Look at his—his, um. His face!"

Ace mouthed: WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?

"His personality!" you continued, wildly grasping for reasons. "His—his unparalleled ability to be so Ace-like at all times!"

"I hate every single word coming out of your mouth," Ace muttered.

"And most of all," you gasped, voice hushed. "The way he carries me when I sprain my ankle. A true gentleman. A man among men."

The grand hall erupted into chaos.

Ace visibly short-circuited. "I— WHAT??"

Cater's hands visibly shook as he tried to keep taking pictures. Deuce had fully dropped his snack. The Viscount let out a dramatic, heartbroken wail.

"Engaged?!" the Viscount gasped. "But how? When?!"

You clutched Ace’s hand tighter. "Last night."

"LAST NIGHT??" Ace screeched.

You shot him a look. Ace, whose entire face was on fire, gulped and quickly switched tactics.

"Aha… aha… yeah, totally!" He threw an arm around your shoulders, grinning through his existential crisis. "We got engaged last night! Super romantic and all that! Just me and my beloved—" his voice cracked, "—who I love so much!"

You patted his chest reassuringly. "See? True love."

The Viscount staggered back. His entire world was shattering. The intensity of his emotional turmoil was so strong that he tripped over his own cape again and went tumbling down the nearby staircase.

It took twenty entire seconds for him to hit the bottom.

More silence.

Then, from below: "Love… is pain…"

Ace, still holding you, whispered, "What did you just do to me?"

You turned, smiling sweetly. "I just made you my fiancé, Ace."

Ace felt faint. His heart had been going a normal amount of fast when he agreed to fake date you, but this? This was illegal.

Meanwhile, Cater was already writing the next article.

The night had started so normally. Just you, your expensive, holy-grail skincare routine, and the unwavering determination to emerge from this ritual looking like a Renaissance painting come to life. You had your headband on, your fluffy robe wrapped around you, and the greenish-white sludge of your face mask setting into a crusty layer of beauty and self-care.

Then Ace Trappola happened.

He kicked the door open like he was the protagonist of a spaghetti western, took one look at you, and lost his entire mind.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?" he gasped, immediately doubling over in laughter. "Oh my god, you look like a haunted doll."

You did not hesitate. You lunged at him like an apex predator.

And despite all his athleticism and street-rat reflexes, Ace had not been prepared for an attack from a fully masked-up, vengeance-driven individual armed with a whole tub of premium skincare.

"WAIT—NO—"

It was too late.

You straddled his lap, pressed his shoulders down onto your bed, and slathered the mask onto his stupid, laughing face with all the delicacy of an artist painting their magnum opus.

"See?" you said sweetly, coating his nose with a dramatic flourish. "Now we’re both glowing."

Ace wanted to talk back— wanted to make a joke, to tell you off, to do anything but sit here like a dumb, frozen idiot while you cupped his face, held his chin so gently, and smoothed the mask over his cheekbones like he was something precious and breakable.

And he was losing it.

Your legs were slung over his lap. His back was against your bed. Your hand was on his jaw, tilting his face however you wanted. And Ace, the very same Ace who laughed at every romantic in the kingdom for being cringe and stupid, was about two seconds away from throwing his dignity out the window and leaning into your touch.

Because all he could see, smell, and feel was you.

Your voice kept going, rambling about something stupid and inconsequential—some royal drama, a new gossip column, your thoughts on different brands of facial cleanser—but Ace couldn’t process a single word because his entire stupid, traitorous heart was screaming at him to just—just—

The revelation slammed into him like a meteor. A deadly, world-ending, history-changing impact that reduced his brain cells to rubble and left behind only the smoking wreckage of a man who was well and truly screwed.

This was not a platonic feeling.

This was the opposite of a platonic feeling.

And yet, instead of saying anything, instead of introspecting like a sane person, he just let you keep talking, let himself bask in the feeling of your fingers on his face, let himself sink into the sheer stupidity of his predicament.

By the time he could regain enough motor function to think about moving, it was too late.

You had both somehow, inexplicably, fallen asleep.

The morning arrived with the unmistakable sound of high-pitched giggles.

You cracked open a single bleary eye, your body heavy with sleep, and—oh.

Oh no.

Ace was snuggled up against your arm, his face relaxed in a way you had never seen before. His usual cocky smirk was nowhere to be found, replaced by something painfully soft and vulnerable.

His hair was a mess, sticking up in ridiculous angles, but somehow, it made him look even cuter. His cheek was squished against your shoulder, his arms curled slightly around yours, one leg lazily slung over yours like he had every right to use you as a makeshift pillow.

And the worst part?

It wasn’t even weird.

It felt… right.

And that was when it hit you.

Like a meteor. Like an act of god. Like the universe itself had conspired to wait until you were at your most defenseless before smacking you in the face with one singular, undeniable truth.

You were in love with Ace Trappola.

You. Loved. Ace.

How unfortunate.

You had half a mind to violently shake him awake, make him take responsibility for making you feel this way—but then he muttered something in his sleep, something unintelligible, and shifted closer, pressing his nose against your arm.

You stopped breathing.

The maids were still standing at the door, watching, waiting for you to react.

You slowly raised a hand.

And, with the elegance of a queen issuing a decree, you waved them away.

Five more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

The Duke of the North was an annual disaster. Like a migrating bird that exclusively flew south to be annoying, he only visited the capital once a year—and every single time, it was to do one thing: propose to you.

This would have been flattering, except for the fact that you had been rejecting him since the dawn of time. Yet, for some reason, he was deeply convinced that, one day, you would simply change your mind upon seeing him standing there, brooding dramatically in his tailored, imported-from-a-country-that-doesn’t-even-exist coats.

He did not take rejection well.

Of course, you never answered his letters. Why would you? His correspondence was a tragic novel in real-time, each letter trying and failing to sound aloof, with absolutely zero success.

"I suppose you are busy, as I am also very busy, thinking about extremely important things, such as war and finance and not at all about why you have not replied to me in the last six months." "Should you choose to acknowledge my existence, I will, of course, consider taking time out of my incredibly packed schedule to respond (though I have already cleared next Tuesday for you, just in case)." "It is of no consequence to me whether you reply. However, I have sent my fastest courier, so you may want to respond before he breaks his legs trying to reach me before nightfall."

Pathetic.

And now, as expected, here he was again.

And as always, he came prepared.

This time, he had doubled down on his "love can be bought" philosophy.

A solid gold chair—because “only the finest furniture is worthy of your presence.”

An entirely new breed of horse, bred specifically for you, because "standard horses are beneath you."

A fleet of ships. Why? No one knew. You were not a sailor. You had never even been on a boat.

Riddle, who had been an unfortunate witness to this entire spectacle, had been slowly turning redder and redder, not out of anger, but out of sheer secondhand embarrassment. He looked like he was debating whether to intervene or let natural selection take its course.

Meanwhile, the villainess, who had been throwing you dirty looks since the Duke’s arrival, stood nearby. It didn’t take long for you to realize why—she liked him. She wanted him.

You turned to face her. Slowly. Deliberately.

Your expression said: “Lady, I don’t even want him.”

Her expression said: “You lying harlot.”

And before you could even think of clarifying that you had no interest in this walking gold reserve, the situation somehow got worse.

Ace appeared out of nowhere, grabbed your hand, and, with the audacity of a man who had never once in his life considered the consequences of his actions, declared with full confidence:

"Oh, sorry, we already got married."

Riddle choked on air.

The Duke froze, mid-proposal, like a glitching NPC in a poorly coded game. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, as if he were about to say something but his brain was actively refusing to process the information.

"You," he said hoarsely, like someone had just stabbed him in the chest. "What?"

You nodded solemnly, forcing yourself to look as heartbreakingly sincere as possible. "We even have a dog," you said.

Ace, who had waited his entire life for a bit like this, effortlessly raised the stakes.

"Two dogs," he added, gripping your hand even tighter.

You smiled sweetly, as if recounting precious memories of a long and happy marriage. "Three, actually."

The Duke’s breathing audibly shortened.

Riddle buried his face in his hands and muttered, “Oh my god, make it stop.”

"WHAT?!"

Ace sighed, the weariness of a devoted husband weighing down on him. "We also have six kids."

The Duke, who had already been dangerously close to a stroke, seemed to visibly glitch.

"SIX?! BUT IT HASN’T EVEN BEEN A YEAR!"

Ace, seeing an opportunity and deciding to go all in, dramatically gestured at a group of stray cats on the street.

"There they are," he said, with the utmost conviction.

The Duke followed his gaze, slowly, hesitantly, as if he already knew he was about to regret it.

There, on the sidewalk, were six very dirty, very chaotic stray cats.

One of them, making full eye contact with him, immediately started hacking up a hairball. Another was biting its own tail, because it had seemingly forgotten that it was attached to its body. A third was somehow climbing a wall upside down, defying both gravity and logic.

The Duke completely lost his mind.

"YOU—YOU HAVE—YOU’VE BIRTHED FELINE OFFSPRING?!"

Riddle made a strangled noise. His entire body convulsed with the effort of holding back laughter.

Ace did not hesitate. "Yeah, we just love them so much," he said, as if this were a completely normal and factual statement. "Fatherhood changes a man, y’know?"

"Don't forget our youngest," you added helpfully, pointing at a cat stuck in a flower pot.

Ace wiped an imaginary tear. "That's little Gregory. He's the smart one."

At this point, Riddle was not even trying to stop laughing anymore. He had completely given up, his usual decorum shattered beyond repair.

The Duke, however, looked like he was experiencing all five stages of grief simultaneously. His face twisted into pure devastation. He opened his mouth to say something, then immediately closed it, shaking his head in silent agony.

And then, without another word—he left.

Ace, smug beyond words, turned to you, grinning. "That went well."

Riddle, who had just witnessed a full-scale psychological takedown using nothing but sheer absurdity, wiped a tear from his eye. "You two are insane," he muttered, shaking his head.

Ace didn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the evening.

Ace doesn’t know what the hell is going on.

He’s always liked you. A little.

A manageable amount. A totally ignorable amount. The kind of dumb little crush that normal people have. The kind you lock in a box, throw into the ocean, and then blow up the ocean for good measure.

But then you woke up from your fainting accident and became his worst nightmare.

Because somehow, in that brief unconscious state, you became ten times more interesting. More chaotic. More fun.

You met his sarcasm with even faster comebacks. You encouraged his bad ideas. You had absolutely no self-preservation. You went from exasperatedly tolerating his nonsense to actively participating in it, and it was the worst thing you could have possibly done to him.

Because now?

Now he’s the one barely keeping up.

You match him perfectly—step for step, disaster for disaster. If he’s instigating, you’re escalating. If he cracks a joke, you one-up him. When he nudges you in the ribs, you shove him into a bush.

And when you grab his arm, lean in close, and whisper, "Hey, let’s cause some problems," his brain just shuts the hell down.

He’s so ruined.

And the thing is?

Ace has done this to himself.

Because when he suggested pretending to be your lover, he genuinely thought it was a great idea. A genius plan, even.

He’d fake it, get it out of his system, and then tragically move on once you found someone else.

Except now he’s holding your hand in public.

Now he’s whispering in your ear just to make you laugh.

Now he’s calling you ‘sweetheart’ and ‘darling’ and ‘my love’—and you play along like it’s a game, and every time, his heart detonates like an unstable potion.

At this point, if you actually fell for someone else?

Ace thinks he might literally die.

No, really. He would simply perish. Collapse. Expire. He would crumple to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been violently severed and haunt the castle as the world’s most bitter, lovesick ghost.

Cupid was somewhere, rolling on the floor, wheezing.

The other day, you smiled at him for too long, and he forgot how to walk and almost tripped.

You called him ‘Acey’ once, and he almost bit through his own tongue.

One time, you said, "I feel safest when I’m with you," and he blacked out for a full thirty seconds.

You took a sip from his drink the other day, and he had to go lie down.

And now you’re standing beside him at some stupid jewelry stall, pointing at a necklace with that gleam in your eyes, and Ace is staring at you like an absolute idiot.

He can’t stop thinking about how pretty you look under the market lights.

How he’d buy you every single piece of jewelry in the damn kingdom if you asked.

How his entire soul is in shambles because he’s standing next to you thinking, "Oh no. I actually, genuinely, idiotically am in love."

Ace Trappola, Ace ‘Fake-Dating-Was-A-Good-Idea’ Trappola, is staring at you thinking:

"Oh, Trappola. You absolute dumbass. You’re in love."

And then you turn to him, all bright-eyed and smiling, and ask, "Ace, do you think this would suit me?"

And he almost chokes on his own tongue.

Because yes.

Yes, it would suit you.

So would every other necklace in existence. So would a crown. So would the title of Supreme Ruler of the Universe, if he could somehow get that for you.

But instead of saying that, he just shoves his hands in his pockets, tries to look normal, and mutters, "Yeah, yeah, whatever. If you like it, just get it already."

And you laugh.

And Ace Trappola is never going to recover from this.

The worst of the lot finally appears.

You had dealt with the Brooding Duke who thought love could be purchased, endured the Prince who wept into his lace handkerchief at every rejection, and even managed to shake off the Yandere who believed true love was an elaborate chess game. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared you for the Drama King Knight.

He stood before you in the garden, his impractically long cape billowing in the completely windless afternoon, because he had, no doubt, hired a peasant to stand just off-camera fanning him.

His sword—which was capable of splitting mountains but had only ever been used to dramatically point at celestial bodies—glinted in the sun. He looked at you with eyes that had definitely rehearsed this exact expression in the mirror for three hours.

"Fairest of all," he said, already halfway through a monologue you did not want to hear. "I have braved the perils of—"

You sighed dramatically, cutting him off. "A single brush of your hand might shatter my frail mortal bones."

The Knight visibly trembled. His gauntleted hand hovered in the air like he was about to faint. "You’re right… I must protect you. From myself."

Riddle, standing beside you, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes. Do that. From very, very far away."

And for a moment, it seemed like that would be enough. The Knight turned away, his cape swishing dramatically. You could practically hear the imaginary background music swelling, the curtains closing, the credits rolling.

Then he whirled back around. God, why do they always whirl back around?

"But if I cannot be with you in body," he declared, voice shaking with raw emotion, "then I shall remain by your side in spirit. Our souls, forever entwined. Our hearts, eternally wed!"

You blinked. "What."

"Yes!" He threw an arm toward the heavens, pointing at the sun like he was about to challenge it to a duel. "We shall be together in spirit! No matter where you go, I shall always be watching! Always waiting! Like the moon follows the tide, I shall—"

Alright. You had tried to reject him normally. You had been reasonable. But clearly, reason had no place here.

Riddle sighed. "Do whatever you're about to do. Just… make it quick."

You nodded grimly. If this was how it had to be, then so be it.

You squared your shoulders, took a deep breath, and clutched your chest like a woman stricken with a terrible, unknowable curse.

"No," you whispered. "You don’t understand."

The Knight faltered. "Understand… what?"

You threw an arm over your eyes. "I am cursed! Any man who loves me shall be turned into a… a… a goose."

Silence.

The Knight blinked at you. He opened his mouth. Closed it. His sword, which had been dramatically trembling in his grip, clattered to the ground.

"A… a goose?" he repeated.

You solemnly nodded.

And then, as prearranged, Deuce rushed off to fetch the goose.

The Knight looked between you and Deuce’s retreating figure, his expression one of dawning horror, like a man realizing he had proposed to a person who was actually an eldritch horror in disguise.

Deuce returned, struggling slightly because the goose had absolutely no interest in being part of this nonsense.

But this was not just any goose. This was the Emergency Goose.

Ace, hiding behind a tree like the gremlin he was, gave you a solemn nod.

Deuce carefully lifted the goose, revealing the final touch—the little red heart painted onto its cheek.

Riddle rubbed his temples. "I hate that you were prepared for this."

"This," you declared gravely, "is Ace."

The Knight reeled. "No. That… That cannot be!"

The goose honked.

"Yes," you continued, "he loved me once. And this was his fate."

A perfect beat of silence.

And then, from behind the tree, Ace whimpered, "Save me."

The Knight—a man who had once stood before a charging wyvern and laughed in the face of death—let out a shriek so bloodcurdling it startled every bird within a five-mile radius.

And then, cape billowing, he turned and ran.

Not a noble retreat. Not a dignified exit. No. Full-speed sprint. He shoved a confused maid out of the way. He leapt over a market stall. A small child pointed and laughed as he fled, but the Knight did not slow down, because his heart—once so full of love and poetry—was now full of terror.

Terror of you.

Terror of your goose.

Terror of the idea that at any moment, he too might sprout feathers and begin honking at the moon.

You, Ace, Deuce, Riddle, and the goose watched him vanish into the horizon.

A long silence followed.

Deuce set the goose down. The goose, finally free from its obligations, pecked him on the shin and waddled off.

Ace emerged from behind the tree, cackling. "Did you see his face?! Bro really thought I turned into a goose!"

Riddle sighed the sigh of a man who was simply too tired for this nonsense. "You two are the worst people I have ever met."

"You love us," you said.

"I do not."

Ace slung an arm over your shoulder. "You totally do."

Riddle turned on his heel and stormed off in the opposite direction.

But you saw it. You absolutely saw it.

A single, fleeting twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

Freedom. Sweet, unshackled, unburdened freedom.

No more men in capes dramatically reciting poetry at you. No more gold furniture being delivered to your doorstep. No more wild-eyed knights trying to prove their devotion by fighting literal bears in your honor. No more deranged suitors appearing at your window like particularly uncoordinated bats.

You were free.

And yet—

As you stood in the gardens, bathed in the golden glow of your well-earned peace, you felt… unsettled. Uneasy. Almost—upset.

Which made no sense. You had spent months rejecting these lunatics. You had faked engagements, lied through your teeth, orchestrated elaborate hoaxes, and weaponized a goose. You had done everything in your power to be rid of them, and it worked.

So why, in the face of your glorious victory, did you feel like you'd lost something?

And then, like a lightning bolt to the brain, it hit you.

Ace.

This meant no more holding hands in public to “convince” people. No more cheek kisses for the sake of believability. No more stupid, infuriating, wonderful Ace, grinning at you like you hung the damn moon.

It was over. Your fake dating/marriage/engagement (depending on the day and the level of your theatrics) had served its purpose.

And now it was gone.

The realization hit like a carriage crash.

You were an idiot. A complete, utter idiot.

Because somewhere between the first fake kiss in front of a suitor, the first time he laced his fingers through yours, the first time he winked at you like you were his favorite person in the entire world, you had fallen for him.

And now, standing in the wreckage of your successful campaign of repelling suitors, you realized that it was either confess right now… or take this to your grave.

Your horribly embarrassing, entirely unavoidable, painfully obvious feelings for Ace Trappola.

Ace is happy for you. He really, really is.

You’re finally free. No more unhinged declarations of love from men who have the self-preservation instincts of a lemming. No more dodging elaborate marriage proposals like a rogue in a dungeon raid. No more looking over your shoulder, expecting some cape-wearing lunatic to be reciting poetry in your honor.

Most of them think you’re taken. One thinks you’re cursed.

It worked. You’re safe. You’re free.

So why does Ace feel like he’s the one who lost?

He was kind of hoping it would take longer. Just a little bit. A few more weeks, maybe. Another month, if he was lucky. Because every day you had to pretend to be his meant another day you were in his arms. Another day he got to hold your hand in public and call it necessity. Another day he could press a kiss to your cheek without consequences. Another day of you being his.

And now? Now it was over.

And he doesn’t know how to go back.

How is he supposed to just… be your best friend Ace again? How is he supposed to look at you and not wonder what it could’ve been? How is he supposed to stand beside you like nothing has changed when everything has changed for him?

Because now, every time he looks at you, he just wants to grab you and kiss you until you’re the only thing he can taste. He wants to pull you close, whisper all the things he never let himself say. He wants everything.

But most of all, he knows—knows deep in his bones—that if you ever fall for someone else, it will destroy him.

He has to confess right now or take it to his grave.

You’re running like a madman. Like some kind of deranged romantic heroine who’s just realized she’s been in love with her childhood friend all along. Your dress is catching on every stray branch, your hair’s a mess, and you probably look like you’ve barely survived a war. But none of that matters.

Because Ace is running too.

You see him, just as wrecked as you, his coat unevenly buttoned, his hair windswept, his face flushed and frantic like he’s been sprinting for miles. And maybe he has. Maybe you both have—metaphorically and literally.

You skid to a stop, panting, staring at each other like two idiots who have finally realized the answer to a question they should’ve known all along. Ace looks at you, his breath shuddering, his eyes wide and teary like he can’t believe you’re actually here. And maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the fact that you’re both half out of your minds with feelings, but you throw caution to the wind.

You’ve survived up till now on sheer audacity. Maybe it can take you further.

So you kiss him.

And for a second, there’s nothing. Just the stunned stillness of the world as you close the distance, pressing your lips to his.

And then he’s grabbing you, pulling you in like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. His hands are tangled in your clothes, your hair, desperate, shaking, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you through touch alone. He kisses you like he’s been waiting for this moment forever, like he’s terrified it’s all a dream and any second now, he’ll wake up.

You pull away for air—and he chases after your lips, stealing another kiss before you can even take a full breath.

This one is deeper, slower, but just as desperate. It’s like he’s pouring everything he’s ever felt into you, like he’s afraid to stop, like he’s trying to tell you everything he never could with words. And you get it—because you feel the same way.

When he finally pulls back, breathless and shaking with emotion, you press one more soft kiss against his lips, and then you say it.

“I love you.”

Ace lets out a watery laugh, his forehead dropping against yours as he grins like a fool. His eyes are shining, and he cups your face like he can’t believe you’re real.

“What took you so long?”

And then he kisses you again.

The morning after your dramatic, borderline cinematic love confession, you and Ace walk into the usual meeting spot grinning like absolute fools.

You’re both trying to act normal, like the world hasn’t completely shifted on its axis, like Ace hadn’t kissed you breathless under the stars, like you hadn’t confessed to each other in a moment so romantic it could’ve been a grand finale scene in a novel. But normalcy is impossible because the second you walk in, hand-in-hand, everyone immediately knows.

Riddle, the most composed of the group, simply pinches the bridge of his nose, exhales sharply, and mutters, “Great Sevens, finally.” His tone is not congratulatory—it is the tone of a man who has suffered for far too long, who has borne witness to the sheer idiocy of your mutual pining and is just relieved that he no longer has to endure it.

Trey, ever the calm and collected one, gives you a small, knowing smile and nods. “Congrats,” he says simply, because Trey has probably seen this coming since the very beginning. He is the type of man who could predict the weather based on the way the wind blows and has likely bet money on this exact outcome.

Cater, on the other hand, reacts as expected.

“LET’S GO, MY MAN!” he hoots, high-fiving Ace so hard that Ace actually staggers backward. “Finally out of the friendzone, huh? This is a historic moment. A certified win.” He’s already pulling out his camera, preparing to document this for the masses, and you barely manage to swat it away in time.

And then there’s Deuce. Sweet, exhausted Deuce.

He doesn’t cheer, or exclaim, or even try to congratulate you. No, Deuce just sits there, staring at the both of you like he’s just been freed from an unspeakable burden. Like he’s been carrying the weight of Ace’s obliviousness and denial on his shoulders for so long that he no longer knows what to do with himself now that it’s over.

“I don’t have to hear him deny his feelings anymore,” Deuce whispers, voice thick with emotion. “I’m free.”

Ace shoves him.

And as your friends start heckling you, teasing you, yelling at you to get a room, you turn to Ace, grinning at him as he grins right back.

And in that moment, you can’t help but think back to the mysterious, rollerblading grandma who is the reason you even ended up here. The woman who defied all logic and physics, who sent you hurtling into this world with nothing but sheer willpower and questionable urban transportation.

You close your eyes, sending a silent thanks to her.

She was a real one.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

[wonderlandcrown]

I beg of twst fandom to open up their eyes and realize Vils autistic traits I beg of you guys please. A lot of you are overlooking Vils autistic traits just because his special interests aren't anime or something esoteric like say gargoyles.

Please just imagine Vil as Idia and replace all the skincare stuff with video games and anime. Please tell me you see it

[kazuww00]

Before book 4 interaction.

This so random lmao…..

[anhniedraw]

More middle school heartshackle shenanigans ft. Doodles i made during class

Crewel was not happy when Deuce and Yuuki started bawling it out and the floor. It’s always troubles with these three.

Since they switched places, present Adeuceyuu didn’t know what happened after they got sent back in time but they did hear accounts from other people. Deuce is greatly remorseful even though he had no control over what his past self did while Yuuki was aware that her younger self wasn’t that easy to be deal with either.

Of course, we have foreshadowing. Don’t bother guys, you’re bonded by fate to meet anyway.

Thanks @dreamyroi for the ideas btw!!

Meeting in the Past

Just a funny idea i have about what if heartshackle met when they was a bit younger.

Only for me to realize they would not get along well most of the time lol. Deuce with his delinquent tendencies and Yuuki’s apathetic and blunt approaches to things would not mesh well and they would likely ended in fights. A far cry from their current friendship.

Ace is surprisingly the most sensible one here but he’s still a jerk so he’s not stoping them and just there to watch things unfold. I thought it would be funny if he was going on a date with his middle school gf only to get swapped with his present self.

Planning on making another one but with their future selves too.

[harunayuuka2060]

MC: Do you see that?

Ace: See what?

MC: The simp you are.

Ace: ...

Ace: What the fuck—

MC: And I appreciate you for it.

Ace: ...

Epel: 5 madol, Ace's heart is tumbling.

Deuce: Make it 10. He's going to write this on his phone diary.

Ace: *frowns at them*

[oristik]

few doodles of them before sakuracon! excited to go and see the artist gallery lol (only reason I'm going too hehe)

[starmaidengarden]

Smooch Attack! x gn!reader. no cw/tw : first-years.

As the early morning light filters through the curtains, you gently brush your lips against their cheeks, leaving a playful trail of soft lipstick kisses. Each mark is a sweet reminder of affection, even as they remain blissfully asleep, lost in their dreams.

༘˚₊➳❥Ace

He wakes up with a playful smirk and that familiar spark in his eyes as he feels your soft lips leave a warm kiss on his cheek. Pretending to be asleep, he enjoys the sweet moment and starts thinking about how he can tease you later for being so affectionate.

“Ewww, gross! So that’s why my face feels all sticky” he cries out with mock disgust, the corner of his mouth still twitching with a grin. “Geez, you really can’t resist me, huh?”

Throughout the day, he walks around with a hint of your kiss lingering on his skin, a cheeky sign that invites curious looks from others. Inside, he feels a mix of excitement and shyness, but he skillfully hides it behind a playful attitude and witty comments, making the whole experience feel like his own fun little adventure.

༘˚₊➳❥Deuce

Cue internal panic.

standing in front of the bathroom mirror, his breath catching in surprise as he spots the cheerful kiss marks dotting his skin. There are bright pink impressions on his forehead, his cheeks are a delightful shade of flushed, and a sweet little print rests on his jawline. Each mark is a reminder of the affection that unfolded while he was sound asleep, completely unaware.

"E-eh?! Don't tell me I was asleep the whole time!" His heart races with a mix of excitement and disbelief as he grips the cool porcelain sink, his fingers trembling. The reality of the moment washes over him, and his eyes widen with confusion and joy.

He can't help but giggle, feeling a bit shy. To settle his nerves, he leans in, burying his face in your neck for comfort, trying to process it all.

༘˚₊➳❥Jack

You can see that this boy is on the verge of transforming into full stiff-tail wolf mode. As he slowly wakes up, the first thing he does is touch his cheek, lingering on the warmth of his skin. taking a deep breath, the scent of you wrapping around him like a cozy blanket.

“What—why did you…?” he mumbles, a mix of confusion and surprise in his voice. His ears droop and his tail flicks nervously behind him, revealing a swirl of feelings he’s unsure how to express.

Throughout the day, it’s clear he’s riding an emotional rollercoaster of pride and embarrassment, his cheeks flushing now and then as memories of your time together come back to him.

༘˚₊➳❥Epel

He sits up suddenly in bed, his heart racing as he notices the bright kiss marks all over his skin. A wave of concern washes over him—not from anger, but because he knows Vil can’t see him like this. Thoughts of what could go wrong flood his mind.

“Are you trying to get me into trouble?” he says, a mix of disbelief and urgency in his voice. “If Vil sees this, he’ll go all-in with makeup remover! I can already picture his face.”

But despite the looming threat, he can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement. He grabs his phone and takes a quick photo of the marks, a guilty smile spreading across his face as he admires this playful reminder of affection left on his face. The unexpected nature of it all makes his cheeks warm.

“Ugh, it’s really not fair, you can’t just do that while I’m asleep—my heart isn’t ready for that kind of surprise…” Just thinking about it fills him with warmth and a mix of longing that he knows will stick with him throughout the day.

༘˚₊➳❥Sebek

He wakes up with a start, heart racing and breath caught in his throat, as a rush of adrenaline fills him. For a moment, he's sure he's being ambushed by a swarm of overly affectionate bees, their buzzing filling his ears. But as he rubs the sleep from his eyes, reality sets in. He spots the playful lipstick prints all over his reflection in the mirror, each vibrant cherry red mark standing out against his skin.

“what did you do to my face?!” he exclaims, his voice echoing off the walls with a mix of surprise and laughter. His initial panic gives way to a blush creeping across his cheeks, especially at the thought of the distinguished Lord Malleus seeing him like this.

Even as he raises his voice, there's a hint of vulnerability in his tone, revealing his true feelings. Deep down, he’s flustered but secretly enjoying the playful situation. If you were to suggest adding even more kiss marks later, he’d pretend to be annoyed, rolling his eyes in mock irritation. Yet, he can't help but lean in closer, secretly loving the quirky attention.