ranzemn

[ranzemn]

Wait… YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND?! Pt4

✦part1 part2 part3

✦fem!reader

✦characters: Sebek, Idia, Jamil

✦streamer reader keeps her relationship private until….

✦good luck finding your usernames (post)

Sebek Zigvolt

Your stream today was calm, cozy, and exactly the vibe you were going for. The warm lighting, your comfy chair. Your voice was calm, measured, the perfect tone for your book review streams.

Currently, you were halfway through discussing a newly released fantasy novel.

“…And while the pacing lagged a little in the middle chapters, the final act tied together the themes of loyalty and sacrifice beautifully. I’d rate this one an—”

BANG!

The door to your room slammed open with a force that made your camera shake.

“Y/N!!!” Sebek’s booming voice practically rattled your headset.

You jumped, your book slipping in your hands. “Sebek?!”

The tall, broad shouldered half fae stormed in like he was announcing a royal decree, clutching a hardcover book to his chest. His green hair caught the light dramatically as he planted himself just beside your chair.

“You will not believe the treasure I have found!” he declared. “A tale of knights and honor! The battle sequences alone are…” He stopped only to flip it open, already preparing to read you a passage.

You swallowed nervously, glancing between him and the still active chat scrolling. “…Sebek, that’s wonderful…really… but I’m, um… still streaming.”

He froze mid sentence. “…Streaming? As in…?” His eyes wandered toward the monitor, where his tall frame was now perfectly visible in the webcam view.

Chat:

b.o.okmark: WHO IS THAT???

busy-dadzawa-fish: HE’S HUGE WTF

y/n_worm: omg is that her bf??

keikeiluvyou: THE GREEN HAIR?? HOT

Jen_jen: wait… he’s kinda… loud…

Sebek’s face went from proud to red in seconds. “Wh—!? They can see me?! Hear me?!”

“Yep,” you said with a nervous laugh, “chat, this is Sebek… my, uh… boyfriend.”

The chat exploded.

Chat:

Neko_: BOYFRIEND REVEAL LET’S GO

busy-dadzawa-fish: he sounds like he’s about to charge into battle for you

keikeiluvyou: PROTECT HER SIR KNIGHT

The_general: ship it!!

Sebek straightened his posture as if realizing that yes, this was a battlefield. “…I… did not intend to interrupt your… important work.”

You smiled faintly. “It’s fine. Just… maybe next time knock?”

“I always knock!” he insisted, cheeks still flushed. “…This time I simply… forgot.”

Chat:

silver.sword: no you don’t…

keikeiluvyou: he forgot bc he was too excited to see you 😭

busy-dadzawa-fish: this is better than the book review ngl

You put your face in your hands. “Great. Now they’re going to hunt us for a couple stream.”

Sebek frowned at the scrolling text. “…What is a ‘couple’s stream’…?

Idia Shroud

You had been resisting all week.

Your chat had been begging you to watch the newly released season of Eternal Blade, a wildly popular anime whose fandom was currently frothing over every frame.

“I told you guys,” you said, sitting cross legged in your chair, “I was gonna watch it with someone. I can’t just start it without them.”

That didn’t stop them.

Chat:

aster-luna-light: PLEASEEEE just one episode

naroiseyyy: we won’t tell 👀

amfoju-chan: you can totally rewatch it with them

spaceywaste: don’t be a coward, start it already

idiasfavstrandofhair: I can’t eat my lunch without it!!!

You sighed. “You guys are evil.”

Ten minutes later, the intro was rolling and you muttered, “…Fine. But you’re all accomplices.”

It started innocently. Episode one, you paused occasionally to rant about the overdone tropes, gush over the animation, or drop hints about potential foreshadowing. Episode two rolled in. By the time episode three hit, you were totally absorbed.

Which is why you didn’t hear the quick, heavy footsteps pounding down the hall.

The door to your room swung open so fast it hit the wall with a bang. Standing there was Idia, wild blue hair crackling faintly, eyes wide with disbelief.

He looked at you like you’d just been caught in bed with another man.

“Y/N…” his voice was low, wounded, “…You started it without me?”

Your stomach dropped. “Idia, I… it’s not what it looks like—”

“Oh, sure it isn’t!” He stepped inside, hair flaring brighter. “We planned to watch Eternal Blade together. I cleared my entire schedule. I even bought themed snacks! And you…” his hand flung toward the screen, “you’re already on episode three?!?”

“I— It’s chat’s fault!” you blurted. “They wouldn’t stop nagging me!”

It wasn’t until the word “chat” left your mouth that you remembered.

The little green “LIVE” light in the corner of your monitor. The scrolling comment section you hadn’t looked at in several minutes.

Oh no.

Idia followed your gaze to the camera. His pupils shrank. “…You’re streaming?”

And just like that, two secrets were obliterated

1.You had a boyfriend. 2.Said boyfriend was Idia Shroud, eldest son of the Shroud family and heir to “S.T.Y.X.” a man so private that the public had maybe three blurry paparazzi shots of him.

Chat:

yaoikitten69: HOLY SHIT! IS THAT IDIA SHROUD???

canubringmeacokepls: no wonder she wouldn’t watch with us before 😭

luna-tzu: HOW DID YOU BAG HIM?!

thewitchandthepangolin: wait… the S.T.Y.X. heir actually exists??

keikeiluvyou: bro’s literally never seen in public and he’s HERE

Idia froze like a deer in headlights. “You… you weren’t supposed to… I… They can see me?! Everyone can see me?!”

“Yes…” you said weakly, “but… at least you look good?”

“This is the worst possible event chain,” he hissed, running both hands through his hair as it flared a bright, mortified pink. “Now they all know… now everyone knows—”

“They now know we’re dating,” you muttered.

He stared at you in horror. “You said that out loud?!”

You pointed at the chat, which was now spamming heart emojis, marriage proposals, and memes.

“…You know what,” Idia mumbled, turning halfway toward the door, “just tell them I died. Tell them they imagined me. I’ll move into the basement and never leave again.”

“Idia…” you started, but he was already muttering under his breath about ‘level 99 social aggro’ and ‘speedrunning embarrassment’.

The chat was losing it.

Chat:

yaoikitten69: Two nerd in one house

Neko_: this is better than the anime tbh

naroiseyyy: is he jealous bc she watched with us instead of with. him??

idiasfavstrandofhair: WE DEMAND A COUPLE WATCH PARTY

You groaned, sinking into your chair. “Great. Now I’m never going to hear the end of this...”

Somewhere down the hall, Idia shouted, “DAMN RIGHT YOU WON’T!”

Jamil Viper

“Okay, now we add the seasoning.” you said sweetly, gesturing toward the little bowl in your hand as your camera zoomed in on the bubbling pot of curry on the stovetop.

You had your hair tied up, a cute apron on, and soft music playing in the background , the perfect vibe for your cozy weekend cooking stream. Chat was lively as always, tossing in questions and recipe tips.

Chat:

fancyhawk45: omg this looks so good 😭

whatisthis808: can you drop the recipe later?

rekimitsu: your apron is adorable omg

Jen_jen: lowkey need this exact curry in my life

Neko_: wifey material fr fr

You giggled. “You guys are so sweet. I’ll post the ingredients list later, promise. But right now, we’re gonna cream this curry up with a little milk, just for texture—”

“No.”

The voice cut clean across the kitchen. Firm. Calm. And unmistakably male.

You froze mid pour. Your hand hovered over the pot, the bowl trembling just slightly. From off camera, you heard footsteps and the rustle of fabric. And then…

“You’re going to break the emulsion if you add milk now,” the voice continued, closer this time. “It’s still too hot.”

You turned toward him with wide eyes. “I—what?? But the recipe—!”

“That recipe’s wrong,” he said flatly. “Wait five minutes. Stir it gently. Then you can add it.”

You blinked, lips slightly parted.

Chat:

Trap_mod: WAIT WHO WAS THAT

Neko_: WHO JUST SAID “NO”???

fancyhawk45: THAT VOICE WAS HOT HELLO???

Jen_jen: GIRL WHO IS IN YOUR KITCHEN

y/n_pot: IS THAT YOUR MAN??

whatisthis808: SHOW 👏 HIS 👏 FACE 👏

rekimitsu: that “no” activated smth in me ngl

You finally snapped out of your daze, cheeks warming. “Oh. Um. Yeah. That was… my boyfriend.”

The spoon in your hand dipped awkwardly into the pot as you stirred the curry. You tried to go back to the stream like nothing happened, but your chat? Oh, they weren’t letting it go.

Chat:

y/n.uno.fan: BOYFRIEND???

whatisthis808: YOU’VE BEEN HIDING HIM FROM US?!?

Jen_jen_: WHO IS HE

fancyhawk45: WHO TF SAYS “NO” LIKE THAT??

rekimitsu: we need a face reveal, IS HE HOT??

You sighed, a sheepish smile pulling at your lips. “He’s… shy, okay? He doesn’t really want to be on camera—”

Just then, a hand slid into frame. Long fingers. Smooth skin. A thin silver ring on the index. It gave a lazy wave to the camera.

You blinked at it. “Jamil… really?”

He didn’t respond, just left the hand there for a few seconds and then disappeared offscreen again, like some mysterious kitchen ghost.

You could hear him smirking.

Chat:

rekimitsu: NOT JUST THE HAND! WE WANT MORE!😭😭

Jen_jen: tell him we said hi pls

whatisthis808: HE KNOWS WHAT HE’S DOING

fancyhawk45: 10/10 hand, very sexy, would trust to season my food…

You leaned closer to the camera, laughing. “I can’t believe this is happening. You guys are wild.”

From behind you, his voice drifted in again, laced with quiet amusement. “Don’t let them distract you. Your curry’s about to burn.”

“Oh my!” You spun back to the stove, fumbling with the spoon.

You shot the camera one last look, flustered but glowing. “Okay, okay! Focus. Curry first, boyfriend second. Maybe.”

Offscreen, Jamil muttered, “Never.”

You snorted. “Well. There’s your answer.”

Chat:

Neko_: you are a man… you don’t have the rights to deny our wishes!!

Jen_jen: they’re so cute help

rekimitsu: protect him at all costs

whatisthis808: he’s like a secret curry guardian

fancyhawk45: WE’LL GET THAT FACE SOMEDAY

..............................................................................................................................

Not me watching curry cooking videos for this one 🧍‍♀️👩‍🍳

[ranzemn]

MY ‘REVERSE’ ACCIDENTAL COURTSHIP / PROPOSAL IDEA

Okay so we in the twst x reader community have probably all seen at least 1 “the reader accidentally says/does/gives thing to character and now they are accidentally engaged or courting that character”

I love these there always SO cute and funny BUT okay consider this:

What if its ‘character’ who without thinking because hes so stupidly in love with reader does/says/gives thing to reader in a moment of love blind passion only to after the fact realise “oh fuck I just proposed/told them I wanted to court them” they feel stupid and embarrassed for doing such a thing without even thinking but eventually brush it off because Reader probably doesn’t even know about there cultures dumb courtship stuff anyway right? Surely there huge dumb crush hasn’t just been exposed? Right??

WRONG! Reader DOES know because they were researching it recently to learn how to confess and now they think that they are engaged / courting and need to respond in kind. Cut to a few days later when the guy is just hanging out and here comes reader to break down there door and return there proposal / courtship tradition much to the boys complete and utter shock and emberassement or for a more subtle reveal maybe the reader just starts being affectionate and kissing them only to respond to the boys confused “woah what is this about??” With a casual “well we’re courting/engaged now aren’t we?” Funnier still if the reader drops the “if were going to get married id want you to meet / get permission from my parents but seeing as they’re not here… you need to get Grim / the Teachers blessings”

But anyway…

Just imagine Leona biting reader. He’s being jealous and territorial readers been hanging out with Malleus for some dumb school project and Leona’s heart cant take the idea of losing you. He WAS trying to avoid you so he didn’t have to face those feelings but you show up anyway and next thing he knows hes arguing with you (with his feelings for you) and then without thinking driven by instinct and his dumb argument with you and his overwhelming need to mark you takes over and he bites your neck. Not hard but enough mark his claim and stake his challenge to any other suitor. You blush splutter and run off and not long after leaving does the poor beastman finally realise what he did! He just proposed a courtship to you! Not that you probably even realised. He thinks you ran off because he weirded you out. Dammit. He sulks the next day and avoids you too embarrassed and too scared of your rejection. Yet he cant find it in his heart to regret his actions. The idea of you running around with his mark on your neck is one he likes so he CANT regret it even if you might think hes weird now for biting you. But come the next day and you finally manage to find him in his hiding place. And Leona is really doing his best to act unbothered though he cant deny the slight heat that comes to his cheeks when he sees his mark on you. You haven’t tried to hide it or cover it at all almost showing it off. But it’s what you do next that really catches the lion off guard. You sit in his lap and before he has time to react you bite his neck! What the hell herbivore! But thats when it hits Leona… You returned his mark. You claimed him back. Do you know what you’re doing? Judging by the satisfied smile you shoot him the flush of your cheeks and the 0 personal space between the two of you Leona has to accept that it’s real. You understood his courtship proposal and now you’ve accepted it. His hands tighten around your waist and he buries his face in your neck to hide his vulnerability from you.

Floyd doesn’t even realise what hes done until Jade points it out to him. He was just so happy around you. You never bored him you didn’t cower and whimper and avoid him. You stayed steady in his life like an anchor and Floyd had to admit he was maybe a little in love with you. When you looked up at him his heart would squeeze and then he wanted to squeeze you! And you never rejected it! You were his best most specialist little shrimpy! So when his mom sent a package full of baubles and jewellery (for seemingly no reason at all completely randomly) Floyd immediately thought of you and how you’d complimented his earring the other day. So he dug through the sparkly pile of gifts until he found one a lovely necklace that reminded him of you! There was even a matching one he could wear! It wasn’t until after Floyd (who’d skipped his shift just to see you) gave you the necklace even helping you put it on which made your cheeks all red. That Jade finally pointed out what Floyd had done. He’d gifted you jewellery not just any jewellery but matching jewellery from his FAMILY even now Floyd wore the other necklace. He had in essence. Proposed to you. In front of all your friends on a random Tuesday. At first Floyd was over the moon! After all you had accepted the gift! Asked him to put it on you even! Until Azul pointed out that you were not an Eelmer and likely you had no idea what you’d just accepted. And just like that Floyd’s good mood was gone. He kept on his half of the matching necklace set but he was still sulking. And with every passing day that he didn’t see you his mood got worse. Should he confront you? Demand answers? No! He didn’t want to see you! But then he missed you… Missed your laugh and voice. But then why hadn’t you been visiting him!? Were you avoiding him! And just like that he was angry again. When you finally showed up a few days later Floyd was just about ready to tear the lounge apart. But the sight of you all dressed up and showing off his proposal necklace had his sour mood shifting to something sweeter. Then his sharp eyes caught the new ear piercing that dangled from your ear and his curiosity grew. You invited him to eat with you in one of the private booths. And he agreed curiosity only growing more as he watched you shift and blush and stutter like never before. It was all very cute and any remnants of Floyds bad mood was evaporating. Then you pulled out a small gift box and with flushed cheeks pushed it toward him Floyd felt his heart give a tight squeeze. He knew what he hoped to see inside and he needed to know now practically ripping the thing apart to see what was inside. And there sitting in some purple paper was a matching earring to the new one that dangled from your ear. Floyd felt himself freeze his brain only half hearing your nervous explanation that his proposal had caught you off guard and with no family jewellery to offer him back you had to make some and it had taken a few days. Floyd didn’t hesitate hearing that. You knew that he’d proposed. You proposed back. That was all that mattered. Putting on his new earring Floyd grinned before grabbing his shrimpy ignoring there shocked yells as he hoisted them up to carry them. They had to go find Jade! And phone his parents!!! There was a wedding to plan!

( I would write more but I have groceries to get and things to do so il leave the rest for later / the community thank you for indulging my dumb idea feel free to use it kay thanks bye )

[ranzemn]

Wait… YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND?! Pt3

✦part1 part2

✦fem!reader

✦characters: Rook, Ruggie, Floyd

✦streamer reader keeps her relationship private until….

✦good luck finding your usernames (post)

Rook Hunt

The soft lighting from your salt lamp bathed the room in a dreamy glow. On your desk lay your new collection of glimmering crystals, rose quartz, obsidian, all lined up neatly for your late night stream.

You held up a gorgeous amethyst to the camera, smiling as your chat scrolled rapidly in excitement.

“This one right here helps with stress and anxiety.” you explained, brushing your fingers over the stone.

Chat:

muzume: soooo pretty!!

swagdreamcat: your voice is so calming 🧘

gay-tomcat: do a tarot pull!!

alby-rei: tell us our fate 👀

jen_jen: is that a new deck?? it looks GORGEOUS

You reached for the deck beside you. “Yep! This one is new! And also has little cat paws on it. I figured we could do a quick pull later….”

You suddenly laughed mid sentence, eyes skimming over a very bold message in chat.

You read it aloud, mostly for the drama “‘Are you single, or are you looking for a good time tonight? 😉’”

Brows arched, you set the tarot deck down slowly and tilted your head toward the camera, deadpan. “I’m not sure if this is the right stream for that energy, my guy.”

Chat:

Neko: OOP!!

gay-tomcat: did he just shoot his shot

jen_jen: lmaooo not during crystal hour

muzume: bro got NO shame 💀💀💀

Just as you were about to move on, a fwip! sound sliced through the quiet.

You blinked. And then… thwack!

A suction cup arrow suddenly landed on the wall behind you. Stuck to it was a paper, with a single handwritten word "No."

You stared at it.

Chat exploded.

Chat:

muzume: WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL JUST HAPPENED?!?

alby-rei: WAS THAT AN ARROW???

swagdreamcat: DID SOMEONE JUST SHOOT A MESSAGE AT HER WALL??

jen_jen: "NO"??

gay-tomcat: WHY IS THIS SO FUNNY OMG

Neko: REVEAL THE ARROW SENDER

You turned back to the camera with a completely straight face, biting back a smile. “That… was a sign from the universe.”

Chat:

Neko: NAHHH WHO DID THAT

swagdreamcat: “A sign from the universe” she says while there's a literal arrow in her WALL

jen_jen: we are NOT letting this slide

gay-tomcat: it’s giving scary boyfriend energy

muzume: no way she doesn’t have a man

You reached over and casually peeled the arrow from the wall, inspecting it like it was just a regular Tuesday. “Happens all the time.”

But then…

A voice, smooth like velvet and echoed from somewhere behind the camera. “Forgive me, ma chérie. The angle was slightly off, next time I shall aim directly at the person who brings you uncomfort.”

You froze for a beat. Then sighed with a smile. “Rook…”

Chat:

swagdreamcat: WE KNEW IT

arlucent: THAT VOICE OMG

Neko: IT'S HIM

jen_jen: LITERALLY HIM??

gay-tomcat: OH MY GOD SHE BAGGED THE SNIPER GUY

alby-rei: the hunter protecting 😭

muzume: shooting arrows at flirty chatters I’M WHEEZING

He stepped into frame briefly, just from the waist down, gloves still on. His face remained out of sight, but his voice impossibly suave, dripped with affection. “She belongs to no one but the stars… but they currently favor me, non?”

You covered your face with your hands, half laughing, half dying of secondhand embarrassment. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

“I do not wish to go anywhere,” he replied smoothly, “except wherever you are.”

Chat:

gay-tomcat: GET A ROOM

gay-tomcat: actually… no bring him ON the stream

arlucent: THIS IS THE BEST REVEAL EVER

alby-rei: the arrow. the DRAMA.

muzume: “no” arrow >>> any response ever

You set the arrow aside, turning back to the camera. “So. Anyway. Let’s pull a tarot card now. Shall we ask the universe about jealous boyfriends with projectile weapons?”

From behind you, Rook chuckled.

The Lovers card flipped out on its own.

You looked at the camera, deadpan. “Of course...”

Chat:

Neko: HAHAHAHA

swagdreamcat: THE UNIVERSE HAS SPOKEN

jen_jen: WE SHIP IT

alby-rei: HUNTER x STREAMER CONFIRMED

Yn_arrow: tarot don't lie 🔮

Ruggie Bucchi

You sat in your cozy streaming chair, lazily blowing a small bubble with your gum as you chatted with your viewers. “…And yeah, the merch drop should go live next Friday,” you said between chews, “as long as the hoodies come back from the printer in time.”

Your chat was scrolling fast, buzzing about color choices and designs, when one comment caught your eye, just as you reached for a tissue to spit out the now flavorless gum.

You leaned back, chewing one last time before dabbing the tissue to your lips. “One sec guys, this gum’s dead.”

You reached over to the trash bin, tossed the tissue in, and then froze, brows pulling together as you spotted something… unhinged in chat.

“‘I’d pay good money for that gum.’” You blinked, then slowly turned to the camera, repulsed.

“Are you serious? No. Absolutely not. I am not selling my chewed gum. I don’t care how much you’d pay.”

Chat:

kiwiopal: 💀💀💀

suns-out-sleeps-in: wtf bro

pistachiokatelyn: not the gum simps

Neko: ayo how much tho?

jen_jen: don’t encourage them!!

sweetestlotusflower: she’s GROSSING OUT

cuupiisstupi: she’s about to block y’all 😭

You shook your head with a look of complete betrayal. “Y’all are outta pocket for real. I mean, that’s gotta be top ten weirdest messages I’ve ever—”

“Why not?”

You flinched and spun around.

There, in the background, casually munching on a rice cracker, stood Ruggie, your very private boyfriend. Still in his hoodie and sweats, hair tousled from a nap, he didn’t even blink as he added

“If someone offered me money for chewed gum? I’d bag it up, sign it, and throw in a ‘thank you’ sticker.”

You stared at him, mouth hanging open.

Chat:

cuupiisstupi: WHOA WHOA WHO IS THAT?!

jen_jen: WAIT

Neko: SHUT UP

kiwiopal: “I’d bag it up” I’M SCREAMING

sweetestlotusflower: YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND???

suns-out-sleeps-in: EXCUSE ME???

“You’re not helping,” you hissed, panic bubbling in your throat as you switched camera angles… too late. Everyone had seen him. His face. His voice.

And his perfectly casual grin.

“Oh no,” you whispered.

Ruggie leaned his elbows on the back of your chair. “What? You said you wouldn’t sell it, I’m just sayin’, that’s missed income, y’know?”

You smacked his arm, face flushed as chat erupted.

Chat:

pistachiokatelyn: IS THIS HER BOYFRIEND??

cuupiisstupi: NO WAY YOU’RE DATING HIM

kiwiopal: THE CAPITALIST HIMSELF

Neko: this explains EVERYTHING

pistachiokatelyn: when’s the couple Q&A?? 👀👀

You turned back to the camera, burying your face in your hands. “So… yeah. Surprise. That’s Ruggie. And no, we are not selling used gums. Mine or his.”

Ruggie leaned into frame with a grin and winked. “Unless you’re offering a good price. Then we’ll talk.”

You shoved him out of the frame while trying not to laugh. “Ruggie, get out!”

He popped another rice cracker into his mouth. “You love me.”

“Not right now I don’t.”

“You do~”

You absolutely did. And now, apparently, so did your entire chat.

Chat:

sweetestlotusflower: COUPLE STREAM WHEN???

suns-out-sleeps-in: I KNEW IT!

cuupiisstupi: the gum now is iconic

kiwiopal: so about the gum 👀

You sighed dramatically. “…Fine. You win. But we’re not selling used snacks.”

From behind you “...Unless it’s vintage.”

“RUGGIE EWW!!”

Floyd Leech

It was a warm, sunny afternoon perfect for a chill stream.

You were lounging comfortably on a sunbed by your backyard pool, the soft sound of birds and trickling water in the background. Wearing a cute two piece swimsuit and sunglasses, you sipped from your iced drink and leaned toward the camera.

“Alright chat,” you said, smiling, “today’s just a little hangout stream. Nothing crazy. I figured we could talk, enjoy the weather, and I’ll answer a few questions while I get some sun. Sometimes we need to touch some grass.”

Chat:

universallydazepenguin: omg ur swimsuit is so cute 😭

kaii156: pool stream??

spaceywaste: the vibes are immaculate

wokasiv: real question: iced tea or iced coffee?

imasip: who taking those aesthetic photos of u 👀

You laughed. “I told you, I use a timer! No secret photographer hiding behind the bushes.”

But that would soon turn out to be a lie. You were mid sentence, answering a question about your summer plans, when—

“Shriiiimpyyy~”

Your heart stopped. You turned your head in slow motion, already dreading what you’d see…

And there he was.

Floyd wearing only his swim shorts, dripping slightly, towel tossed over his shoulder, and a glint in his eyes that screamed trouble.

He leaned over you from behind, resting his chin on your head. “You done yet? I wanna play with you now~”

“I—! Floyd!” you yelped, scrambling to mute the mic but only managing to knock over your drink. “I’m still streaming!”

“Oh?” He blinked once… then grinned, wide and sharp. “You didn’t say that~”

Chat:

alby-rei: WHO IS THAT

calcifiedunderland: WHO JUST SAID SHRIMPY??

imasip: NO WAY

wokasiv: sir! Put some clothes on… never mind… I like the view…

universallydazepenguin: EXCUSE ME???

kaii156: he’s shirtless IM GONE

spaceywaste: AYO! Double fan service?!

You reached to cover the camera or do something, but Floyd was faster, he snatched the camera with one hand and tilted it toward the pool, still holding you effortlessly in the other arm like a ragdoll.

“Alright, chat~” he announced cheerfully, “boring talk stream is over! It’s a pool stream now!”

“Floyd, NO—!”

Before you could stop him, he sprinted toward the pool and jumped in with you in his arms.

SPLASH.

The camera caught the blur of movement, a flash of water, and then the screaming laughter as you both surfaced.

You spit water out, gasping. “You’re insane!”

Floyd slicked his wet hair back, grinning at you like you were the most fun toy in the world. “Mmm… is that a complain?”

Chat:

jen_jen: WHAT JUST HAPPENED

spaceywaste: SHE’S DATING WITH A PSYCHO???

alby-rei: HE PICKED HER UP LIKE NOTHING 😭

calcifiedunderland: THIS STREAM TOOK A TURN

Neko: pool stream of the year LMAO

wokasiv: DID SHE JUST GET YEETED INTO THE POOL

You swam over to the pool’s edge where the camera was still rolling and sighed, water dripping from your lashes. “Well. Um. Surprise?”

From behind you, Floyd wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed a kiss to your temple. “You said when I get back we’d hang out…”

“…after the stream,” you muttered, but couldn’t help smiling as he nuzzled into your neck.

Chat:

spaceywaste: AHHHHHHH

calcifiedunderland: I SHIP IT SO HARD

alby-rei: THEY’RE CUTE AND CHAOTIC HELP

imasip: she really tried to keep him secret 💀

wokasiv: it’s getting hot in here 👀

You shook your head and reached for the camera to end the stream. “Alright, alright, you guys saw nothing. Stream’s over, go touch some grass.”

Floyd grinned. “Why would they touch grass when they could watch us make out in the water?”

“FLOYD.”

You slammed the stream off, screen going dark

But the internet was already on fire.

..............................................................................................................................

I literally looked up “arrow sound” to write Rook 😭

[ranzemn]

WHAT ARE THESE NAMES 😭

I giggled when I saw these names, istg, Deuce's dream is like one of those coming of age gangster dramas

AND TELL ME WHY THEY WERE FIGHTING WITH BOOKS, THEY WERE SHOUTING THE NAMES OF THOSE BOOKS LIKE IT'S A LEGENDARY WEAPON 😭

"ILLUSTRATED MARINE LIFE TEXTBOOK CHOP"

"BOTANICAL ENCYCLOPEDIA BLOCK"

It's also so funny to me that he woke up literally due to the fact that dream ace was js TOO nice. When your friend was such an asshole that he woke you up to reality

Had me cackling throughout the entire thing 10/10 would recommend

[ranzemn]

High-res Assets for Leona Kingscholar - Relaxing In Room

Dialogue, animations, and extra assets can be found on Drive: Link

[ranzemn]

Wait… YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND?! Pt1

✦part2

✦fem!reader

✦characters: Lilia, Jade, Epel

✦streamer reader keeps her relationship private until….

✦good luck finding your usernames (post)

Lilia Vanrouge

Your brows furrowed, jaw clenched as you peeked around a digital corner. “Okay, chat, they’re camping again. Literally again. Same deam spot. I swear these players don’t even blink, they just sit there like… like angry little mushrooms waiting to ruin my day.”

Chat:

chris-2220: campers = evil confirmed

jen-jen: she’s boutta lose it

best_mod: NOT THE MUSHROOMS LMAO

y/n.fan: someone save her

hanafubukki: rage incoming in 3…2…1…

You turned the corner in-game.

BOOM.

You screamed. “OH MY GOD!! AGAIN?! I JUST SPAWNED, YOU LOSERS PIECE OF—”

Your avatar ragdolled to the ground for the fifth time. Your hands flew into the air in defeat as you let out a long, loud puff. "Ugh, I hate this. I hate all of this."

You flopped back in your gaming chair, ready to launch into a full blown gamer rant when…

“You always get this dramatic when you lose. It’s adorable.”

You froze. Your heart stopped. Your soul left your body.

Because that was a very familiar voice. A very recognizable, flirty, smug, velvet smooth voice coming from just out of frame. Your eyes widened. Your hands shot up like you were being held at gunpoint.

And then…

Chat:

chris-2220: WAIT! WHO IS THAT? WHO JUST SAID THAT?! WAS THAT A GUY’S VOICE??? TELL US NOW!

hanafubukki: “adorable”??? HELLO??? WHY WAS THAT KINDA HOT

blessingofthestars: I NEED HIM TO SPEAK AGAIN PLS

jen-jen: SHE’S GOT A MAN??

masquerade-of-misery: HE SOUNDED WAY TOO SMOOTH TO BE REAL

You started laughing nervously. “Uh…I…guys, that was, um… just… the neighbor! Haha! Funny thing. Thin walls. Ha…”

You were fumbling hard. The stammering. The fake giggles. The absolute refusal to look directly at chat. From behind you, the voice returned, closer this time, clearly amused.

“Tell them I said hi.”

You turned slowly. He did not just… You whipped your head back to the camera. “I… I can explain!!!!”

Chat:

Y/N_simp: DEAD! I’M DEAD

hanafubukki: HE SAID HI I’M SCREAMING!
y/n.fan: MYSTERY BOYFRIEND???

chris-2220: YOU’VE BEEN HIDING A MAN THIS WHOLE TIME???

masquerade-of-misery: DROP HIS @ !DROP HIS BLOOD TYPE! WE NEED RECEIPTS!

blessingofthestars: WHY IS HE KINDA FLIRTY

jen-jen: DID SHE JUST GET EXPOSED LIVE LMAOOOOO

You covered your face with both hands, groaning. “I hate you,” you muttered over your shoulder.

Lilia leaned casually into frame, smirking like the smug menace he was, and gave the camera a playful wink. “Aw, come now, love. They seem fun.”

Chat:

chris-2220: OH MY GOD HE’S CUTE

y/n.fan: STOP IT! YOU’RE KILLING US

Y/N_simp: SHE’S SO RED RN I’M IN LOVE

hanafubukki: girl… good for you…

best_mod: I SHIP IT

You exhaled in defeat, cheeks glowing. “…Okay. Yes. That was Lilia. He’s… my boyfriend. Surprise…”

You shot him a glare. He blew you a kiss. “I was gonna keep it private a little longer,” you mumbled.

Lilia perched himself on the arm of your chair and rested a hand on your shoulder. “Where’s the fun in that, love?”

Jade Leech

You were mid way through a relaxed, late afternoon stream, lounging in your chair with your headset perched lazily over one ear. Chat was a chill ocean of messages, questions, and banter as you leaned back and scrolled through your upcoming schedule.

“Okay, so for Thursday’s stream, we’re doing the collab with CayCay, and then next Monday’s stream might be an IRL one… if the weather behaves,” you said.

Chat:

Y/n.mushroom: pls tell me the IRL stream is hiking again!

usernamesarehardtomake: i love the forest ones!!

jen-jen: what’s the outfit for Monday 👀

tutorialb0ss: we want the chaos collab on Thursday 


You smiled, stretching a little then…

Click.

The door to your room opened behind you, and you instantly stiffened. Your mouth hung open mid sentence. Jade walked in. Calm, composed… and visibly excited, at least, Jade excited, which meant a slight gleam in his eyes and a gentle lift to his smile. In his hands was a small, intricately carved wooden box.

“I found some new kind of mushrooms,” he said with quiet enthusiasm. “They’re a curious shade of violet and had an unusual texture when I plucked them.”

Your entire soul left your body. Because not only did he forget you were streaming, but he had walked in exactly the way he always did, soft footed, confident, and directly into frame.

Your eyes shot wide. The camera only caught him from the chest down, but still…. white sleeves rolled neatly at his elbows, forest dusted gloves, and his voice.

That smooth, hypnotic voice.

Chat:

Y/nsupport: WHO WAS THAT!?

jen-jen: “I found some mushrooms”?? HELLO??

Y/n.mushroom: voice reveal of some mystery man

wokasiv: he sounds hot not gonna lie

tutorialb0ss: THE WAY HE SOUNDED EXCITED ABOUT MUSHROOMS! IM CRYING!

usernamesarehardtomake: MA’AM. MA’AM EXPLAIN RIGHT NOW! WHOSE FOREARMS ARE THOSE???

You were frozen, like a deer in headlights. “...Hi, Jade,” you managed weakly, one hand awkwardly hovering over your mouse. “You’re, uh… on camera.”

Jade blinked once, then glanced at the monitor. “Ah,” he said smoothly.

He didn’t panic… of course he didn’t. He just tilted his head slightly, curious. “Am I interrupting?”

“I—uh—yes. I mean no. I mean… I forgot to end stream before you got home,” you stammered, heat crawling up your neck. “That’s… my bad.”

Jade chuckled. “I did wonder. You said you would be finished by the time I returned.” He placed the mushroom box on your desk gently. “But you get so absorbed when you’re enjoying yourself. It’s endearing.”

Chat:

tutorialb0ss: END??EAR??ING???

neko: HE’S SO CALM WTF

jen-jen: HE PUT A BOX DOWN. WHAT’S IN THE BOX?!?

usernamesarehardtomake: BRO WHY HE SOUND LIKE A FAIRY TALE VILLAIN I WANNA DATE

wokasiv: HIS VOICE IS ILLEGAL

Y/n.mushroom: DROP HIS FACE. DROP THE CAM. WE WANNA SEE.

You rubbed your face, trying to hide your red cheeks. “Chat, this is Jade. Yes. He’s my boyfriend. No, I wasn’t planning on telling you like this.”

Jade leaned down just enough for his face to almost peek into frame, still hidden, but close enough that you felt his breath near your ear. “Would you like me to say hello properly?” he murmured.

Your brain short-circuited. “Nope! Nope, we’re good, thanks!” you blurted out, smacking the ‘Be Right Back’ screen hotkey in a flustered panic.

Chat:

wokasiv: SHE’S LOSING IT!

usernamesarehardtomake: STOP THIS IS THE BEST STREAM EVER

neko: SHE WENT ✨BRB✨ REAL FAST

tutorialb0ss: MUSHROOM BOYFRIEND REVEAL IS ICONIC

Y/nsupport: LET HIM SPEAK AGAIN PLSSSS

Y/n.mushroom: this man got her blushing and panicking I’m OBSESSED

better.twin: Ew…

You turned in your chair and glared at Jade, who smiled sweetly down at you like he hadn’t just broken your entire streamer career in five seconds flat. “This is your fault,” you muttered.

He leaned in and kissed your temple, voice like silk. “I brought mushrooms.”

“…Fine. You’re forgiven. But next time!!!.”

Epel Felmier

You were in the middle of a comfy, easy going stream, your hoodie sleeves bunched up at your elbows and a grin on your face as you held up your new prototype merch mug to the camera. “So this is the first test version. The handle’s gonna be reshaped, and the logo will probably glow in the dark. Which I think is so cool,” you said proudly, spinning the mug between your fingers.

“The hoodie samples are coming next week, and I’m thinking of doing a special pre order drop for subs first”

Chat:

Y/n.lil.apple: that mug is so cute!

waitlexist: GLOW IN THE DARK??? OKAYYY

Y/n.notice_me: take my wallet pls

glitchingmind: when’s the drop date?? 👀👀

Neko: WAIT WHO JUST WALKED BY???

You blinked. “Huh?” You glanced behind you but nothing was there. Just your bedroom door half open.

“Someone walked by?” you repeated slowly, squinting toward the hallway.

Chat:

Y/n.lil.apple: YES SOMEONE LITERALLY JUST PASSED

Y/N_simp: lilac hoodie guy! he was cute

waitlexist: HE HAD A BABY FACE

Neko: HE’S SO ADORABLE! was that your brother??? 👀👀👀

You snorted, laughing. “My brother? I don’t have a brother.” You leaned closer to read more comments, scrolling up.

“Wait… what? ‘He’s so adorable, was that your brother?’... I—huh?” You read the comment out loud.

Before you could even register your confusion fully…

SLAM.

The door flew open, and Epel marched back in like a storm in human form, glaring straight at your monitor with arms crossed over his chest and righteous fury radiating from him. “Who the fuck are you calling adorable?!” he snapped, voice sharp and thick with his unmistakable accent. “AND I’M HER BOYFRIEND!!”

You froze.

Chat? Exploded.

Chat:

Y/N_simp: EXCUSE ME?!?!?!?!?! BOYFRIEND???

waitlexist: “WHO THE FUCK” SIR HELLO???

Neko: LMAOOOOOOOOOOO

Y/n.notice_me: BABYGIRL HAS A BOYFRIEND REVEAL LIVE

glitchingmind: THIS IS THE FUNNIEST THING EVER

Y/N_simp: YOU’RE DATING THAT ANGRY LITTLE GRAPE??

Y/n.fan_: I THOUGHT HE WAS A BABY HE’S A WHOLE MAN???

Y/n.lil.apple: THE ACCENT CAME OUT HARD 😭😭😭

You turned slowly in your chair, wide eyed. “Epel… what… why did you yell at chat?!”

“They called me adorable,” he said indignantly, walking fully into the room now, jaw tense. “Like I’m some little purse puppy or somethin’… tch. I ain’t adorable, I’m tough. I work out! I chop wood! You’ve seen my arms!”

You blinked at him. “...They didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“I don’t care, they’re wrong!” He pointed at your screen dramatically. “Tell them. Tell them I’m your man, not your deam brother!”

You slapped your hand over your mouth to hide your laughter, shoulders shaking. “Okay okay! yes, everyone, that was Epel,” you said between giggles. “He’s not my brother. He’s my boyfriend. My… very proud boyfriend.”

Chat:

waitlexist: “I CHOP WOOD” OKAY LUMBERJACK

Y/n.fan_: SIR RELAX WE GET IT

Y/n.notice_me: THE ACCENT WHEN HE’S MAD IS KINDA 👀

Y/n.lil.apple: I THOUGHT HE WAS CUTE, BUT HE’S SCARY NOW!

glitchingmind: “I’M HER MAN” I’M GONNA DIE

Y/N_simp: you got yourself a firecracker

Neko: PLS BRING HIM ON STREAM MORE

Epel huffed but looked satisfied. “Damn right.”

You finally turned to him, eyes warm. “You could’ve just said hi, you know.”

He shrugged. “Wouldn’t be as fun.”

Then, with all the casualness in the world, he leaned down and kissed your cheek, making your chat short circuit even harder, before walking off again like nothing happened.

You stared at your camera, stunned. “...So anyway, about that merch drop.”

Chat:

Neko: MAM.

Y/N_simp: WE’RE NOT DONE.

Y/n.lil.apple: GET HIM BACK HERE

glitchingmind: WE NEED A COUPLE STREAM NOW

waitlexist: HOW DARE YOU JUST GO BACK TO BUSINESS

..............................................................................................................................

If you wanna be in the next, drop your favorite character in the comments.

[ranzemn]

Wait… YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND?! Pt2

✦part1

✦fem!reader

✦characters: Leona, Cater, Vil

✦streamer reader keeps her relationship private until….

✦good luck finding your usernames (post)

Leona Kingscholar

The kitchen was warm, filled with the soft golden light of afternoon sun and the gentle hum of your voice as you read chat while gently rolling out cookie dough. Your sleeves were pushed up, apron dusted with flour, and the counter was a colorful spread of cookie cutters, sprinkles, and ingredients.

“Okay chat,” you smiled, holding up a lion shaped cookie cutter. “I know I said we’d go with bunnies and flowers today, but come on. Look at him. Too cute not to include.”

Chat:

aurorab-0-realis: 🦁LION COOKIE LET’S GOOOOO

ceruleantai: okay but the way she’s smiling rn... sus

naroiseyyy: lion cutter supremacy

echosofmortality: make 5 of those. ten. a whole tray.

You giggled, pressing the cutter into the dough with a satisfying squish. “I might make a whole batch of lions. Just for fun.”

You were fully focused on the cookies now, lining them up neatly on the tray, bunnies, cats, dogs, and lions all in a row. “Once these are in the oven, we’ll start on decorating. I’ve got pink icing and tiny candy bows, so we’re going full cute mode today.”

The stream was peaceful, cozy. Just you, your viewers, and cookie chaos.

Until…

Chat:

magical-regical: WAIT WHO JUST WALKED BY

swinginthinggiantbagel: HOLD ON HOLD ON HOLD ON

wokasiv: WHO WAS THAT???

m1lly69: WAS THAT A MAN???

suns-out-sleeps-in: TELL ME I’M NOT CRAZY

satsu-neko: IS THAT… IS THAT LEONA KINGSHOLAR???

echosofmortality: IS THAT THE PRINCE???

m1lly69: HE’S SHIRTLESS. I REPEAT. SHIRTLESS.

naroiseyyy: OH MY GODDDDD

You blinked. “What are you talking about? No one’s here.”

And then like a slow motion cinematic horror scene, you heard it. A low, gravelly yawn behind you.

You froze.

Then turned. And there he was.

Leona. Half-asleep. Hair a tousled mess. Eyes lidded and sharp with sleep. And yes… completely shirtless.

He was rummaging in your pantry for dried meat snacks like this was the most casual thing in the world (I mean… it was…), completely unaware that you were, in fact, live streaming in front of thousands of viewers.

You dropped the icing bag. “Leona?!”

He looked up lazily. “Mm?” His eyes flicked to you, then the setup, then your laptop screen. “You’re streaming?”

Chat:

echosofmortality: OH. MY. GOD.

jen_jen: SHE JUST SAID HIS NAME SO CASUALLY

wokasiv: SHIRTLESS. SNACK RAID. PRINCE.

Neko_: NOT HER DATING A PRINCE???

y/n_cookie_: I THOUGHT THIS WAS A COOKIE STREAM

m1lly69: BRO HE LOOKS LIKE HE JUST WOKE UP FROM A NAP AND STILL FINE ASF

ceruleantai: EXPLAIN. NOW.

You went pale. Then red. Then pale again. “Y-Yeah, I’m streaming…”

Leona blinked, still looking completely unfazed. “Thought you were done by now.”

You scrambled to block him from the camera view… too late, obviously, and tried to laugh it off. “W-Well, surprise, chat! This is Leona. My, um…”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning against the fridge with all the smugness in the world. “You gonna tell them or keep pretending?”

You hissed under your breath. “You’re not helping and you’re still shirtless, Leona!”

He smirked, sharp teeth glinting. “Yeah? You weren’t complainin’ this morning.”

Chat:

aurorab-0-realis: HOLY HELL.

jen_jen: THIS IS A FAMILY FRIENDLY BAKING STREAM 🥲

m1lly69: THIS MAN SAID "YOU WEREN'T COMPLAININ'"😭

wokasiv: WE NEED TO BREATHE

echosofmortality: SHE REALLY BANGED A PRINCE

ceruleantai: LITERALLY A LION PRINCE AND A COOKIE STREAMER

Neko_: #ROYALCOOKIECOUPLE

You covered your face with both hands, laughing hysterically now. “Okay! Yes! We’re dating! He’s my boyfriend!”

Leona gave a lazy wave toward the camera and snagged a lion shaped cookie from the tray, even though they hadn’t gone in the oven yet.

“Unbaked…” he muttered, but still eating anyway. “Tastes like dough.”

You blinked. “Because it is.”

He shrugged. “Still good.”

Chat:

suns-out-sleeps-in: EATING RAW COOKIE DOUGH LIKE A SAVAGE

naroiseyyy: I CANNOT BREATHE

jen_jen: this stream went from sweet to scandalous in 5 seconds

m1lly69: BEST. STREAM. EVER.

With your cheeks burning and laughter bubbling out of you, you turned back to the camera. “I don’t even know what to say anymore. Do you guys want to decorate cookies or… just watch my boyfriend commit snack crimes?”

Leona stretched and walked back toward the hallway, still shirtless and unbothered. “I’m goin’ back to sleep. Try not to burn the kitchen down, herbivore.”

And just like that, he was gone. You turned to the camera with the deadest stare possible. “...I’m never doing a baking stream again...”

Chat:

Neko_: YES YOU ARE

aurorab-0-realis: WEEKLY COOKIE

magical-regical: STREAM WITH LEONA PLS

ceruleantai: COOKIE & CROWN SERIES

y/n_cookie_: LION SHAPED COOKIES ONLY

m1lly69: WE’RE NEVER LETTING YOU LIVE THIS DOWN

Cater Diamond

You were practically glowing under the studio lighting, but it had less to do with the ring light and more to do with the guy sitting beside you.

Cater had his hair tied up in a casual half bun, sleeves rolled, and was currently trying to read the back of a face mask packet like it was a science test.

"Okay, okay, so this one says it's got 'infused sea minerals and blueberry extract', what even is sea mineral?"

You snorted. "How would I know? You’re the one who dragged me into this collab idea!"

Cater gasped, dramatically clutching his chest. “Dragged? Sweetie, you were texting me heart emojis the moment I said 'skincare haul stream.’"

“Exposed,” you said with a wink to the camera.

You both sat at a desk covered in half opened skincare packages, a rainbow of serums and masks, casually chatting with your audience like this was just another Wednesday (which, to be fair it was).

Chat:

aster-luna-light: another chaotic skincare stream let’s goooo

jen_jen: not Cater reading ingredients like a chef

Neko_: THE FLIRTING IS REAL

Cay_fan: just admit you’re dating already 😭😭😭

Legend_Ace: married energy for real

You both laughed as the questions started pouring in, just like always.

“Guys,” you said, pointing at Cater with a grin. “How many times do we have to tell you?”

Cater leaned in, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “I’m literally her cousin’s ex-roommate’s dog groomer.” He joked.

You cracked up. “He’s my brother from another timeline.”

“Platonic soulmates from opposite ends of the zodiac.”

“He’s the wind beneath my friendship wings.”

Chat:

Legend_Ace: bro shut UP 😭😭😭

jen_jen: NOT THE DOG GROOMER

CayxY/n: STOP LYING TO US

y/n_litlcam_: you two are literally glowing

aster-luna-light: the chemistry is suspicious

Neko_: also… are they both wearing… RINGS???

You blinked at the screen. Cater froze for half a second, then casually glanced down at his hand… where, very visibly, a golden ring shimmered on his finger.

You followed the trail of chat messages down, realization dawning… then frantically tried to adjust your camera to hide your hand.

“...Oops,” you said innocently.

“Oopsies,” Cater echoed, clearly trying not to laugh.

Chat:

CayxY/n: YOU THOUGHT WE WOULDN’T NOTICE???

jen_jen: OHHHH MY GOD

Neko_: RING RING RING RING RING

y/n_litlcam_: I KNEW IT. I KNEWWW ITTTTTT

aster-luna-light: STOP PLAYING WITH OUR HEARTS

You and Cater exchanged a glance. Then you both shrugged in sync.

“Okay, okay,” you said, holding up your hands. “You win. You caught us.”

Cater grinned and leaned toward the camera. “Surprise~ We’re together.”

“And engaged,” you added, wiggling your fingers and showing off the ring with a sheepish grin. “It’s… pretty recent.”

Cater practically sparkled as he showed off his own ring. “We were gonna wait to tell you guys, but someone left their ring in full view of a very smart chat.”

Chat:

Blueber_Deuce: I’M SOBBING

Neko_: THIS IS CANON NOW

aster-luna-light: BEST PLOT TWIST OF THE YEAR

Jen_jen: you two are SO CUTE

Cay_fan: ENGAGED??????

Legend_Ace: when’s the wedding stream lmao

You smiled softly at the screen, leaning into Cater’s shoulder. “You guys have honestly been with us since the beginning, so... thanks for always being there, even when we were total trolls.”

Cater wrapped an arm around you and beamed at the camera. “We promise to keep bringing the chaos, just now with matching rings.”

And as chat continued to spam emotes and celebration messages, you rested your head on Cater’s shoulder, both of you laughing as you opened the next skincare pack.

Maybe the masks were hydrating, but honestly? Nothing made you glow quite like being in love, with your best friend, your partner in crime, your now official fiancé.

Vil Schoenheit

The camera was perfectly angled, your ring light softly glowing, illuminating the elegant satin dress draped over your figure. You gave a little twirl for the camera as your chat erupted with emotes and excited comments.

“Okay, okay, so this is the dress I picked for the premiere,” you grinned, brushing your fingers down the fabric. “I wanted something simple but still elegant, you know? Because I’m gonna be in the same room as, like, actual movie stars and celebrities. Insane!”

You held up a palette. “I’m thinking champagne shimmer on the lids, nude gloss, nothing too bold. The goal is: I belong here, not I tried too hard, right?”

Chat:

aurorab-0-realis: THE DRESS IS GORGEOUS OMG

swagdreamcat: slay queen attending events with the stars

babebleu: YOU’RE GONNA LOOK SO GOOD

naroiseyyy: I’d cry if I saw you on a red carpet

Neko_: wait what’s that behind you???

You blinked, glancing at the camera. “Huh?”

Chat:

Neko_: THAT OUTFIT IN THE BACK

sugarxrt: HELLOOO WHO OWNS THAT???

swinginthinggiantbagel: that jacket is like celebrity level glam

juiceboxofdepression: IS THAT YOUR BOYFRIEND’S CLOTHES???

You stiffened slightly. The outfit hanging innocently in the background, betraying all your well laid secrecy. Sleek, structured, with a cascade of embroidered silver threading on a deep violet coat. It looked like something that belonged on a runway or in a glass case.

You laughed nervously. “Oh, that? Pfft. That’s, um, just my friend’s. He left it here. We were… doing a fashion collab. Photoshoot stuff.”

Smooth, right?

You casually adjusted your camera to crop the outfit out of frame. “Anyway… focus, people. This is my night to shine!”

The next night at the movie premiere

Paparazzi flashes. Red carpet chatter. Every major name from the fashion and film world seemed to be there. You posed for a few quick photos on the carpet, exchanged greetings, and slipped into the venue trying to stay chill.

You were just one influencer in a sea of elites.

But the internet? Noticed something.

And not just something…. someone.

Vil Schoenheit, actor, model, icon of elegance and perfection, arrived fashionably late, head held high, wearing a breathtaking violet ensemble embroidered with silver thread.

The exact. Same. Outfit. From your stream.

SparkTok. Magiccam. All of it imploded in minutes. And the comment sections blows up

“Is Vil dating that streamer???”

“NO BECAUSE THAT JACKET WAS IN HER ROOM”

“caught. red-handed. in couture.”

The next day

You stared into the camera with a painfully forced smile.

“Hi, everyone,” you said sweetly. “Sooo, wasn’t that event just incredible? The venue was gorgeous. I didn’t get to talk to every celebrity, but, you know, just breathing the same air as them? Like, wow. Life goals, right?”

Chat:

babebleu: SO WE’RE JUST GONNA PRETEND THAT HE WASN’T IN YOUR HOUSE?!?

naroiseyyy: SAME JACKET BABE. SAME. JACKET.

sugarxrt: don’t act dumb we saw EVERYTHING!

swinginthinggiantbagel: YOU. ARE. DATING. VIL.

swagdreamcat: WE NEED A STREAMER X CELEB POWER COUPLE CONFIRMATION

You widened your eyes with fake innocence. “Dating? Me? Vil? Oh come on, chat, be serious. That outfit? Total coincidence. Designers copy each other all the time.”

You waved a hand dramatically. “Besides, I’d never hide something like that from you. I’m a very transparent person, remember?”

Just as you finally leaned back, satisfied with your convincing performance (which clearly didn’t convince anyone), you heard it.

Click. Clack. Click.

Footsteps.

Then the soft sound of keys.And a familiar, unmistakably smooth voice…

“I’m home, sweet potato.”

Your entire body tensed. Your soul left your body. Chat exploded.

Chat:

Neko_: AHAHAHAHAAH

Jen_jen: SWEET. POTATO.

aurorab-0-realis: IT’S HIM. IT’S HIM. IT’S HIM.

Bex_y: YOU LYING WOMAN

Vil_fan: SHE’S DEAD SHE’S GONE

sugarxrt: SHUTTING DOWN IN 3… 2…

babebleu: VIL CONFIRMED OMG

y/n.favorite_: THIS IS THE BEST STREAM OF MY LIFE

You shot up in a panic, smacking your stream deck button.

“Okaythankyousomuchforwatchingbyeeee~!”

[Stream Offline]

..............................................................................................................................

[ranzemn]

@i-am-so-strange WHAT IS THISSSS

[ranzemn]

How'd yk I have glasses 😦

chat I made the uquiz

alr gng take it and reblog who you got I will be looking TAG YOUR FRIENDS

[ranzemn]

me at any given time: can we just buckle down and focus on the task at hand please???

my brain:

my brain: ……….ranibow sprimkle……………

[ranzemn]

Had this idea for my MerMay event 👀💌 I’m really proud of this one. Hope you enjoy!

Floyd ver. here!

Legends told that you could control a selkie if you were to steal their pelt. That being said, Jade wasn’t very concerned with others taking his eel skin.

If anyone were to get their hands on a Selkie’s pelt - the skin they wore in order to turn back into their merform - they could make the pelt’s owner do their bidding. Jade supposed it would be smart to keep it locked away in his dorm, like Azul, or constantly on his person, like Floyd, but he liked it to be seen.

Usually, he had it slung across the back of his chair or around his neck with his Dorm scarf when in uniform. Sometimes, he’d tuck it in his bag, and it would stick out whenever he took his things out. A reminder to anyone that, while he was a menace on land, he was still from the ocean.

It gave him a twisted kind of amusement to watch the look in others’ eyes. The desire to take his eel skin, to hold it in their grubby little land-folk hands and steal it from him. It would be so easy. One quick swipe from the back of his chair, or a quick pick-pocketing from his bag, and then they held the power.

It would be so easy to control Jade Leech - to have something over him, to take something so important to him. To finally have the upper hand over Jade Leech. To trap the charming moray himself.

If only they’d work up the courage.

He’d deliberately make a show of it, drawing the skin slowly from his bag and shaking it out. The slick, shiny, smooth teal pelt that meshed perfectly with his human body would drape over the chair back tantalizingly. The same pelt that allowed him to return to his home in the ocean, that gave him the power of returning to his natural eel form, hung over the chair as if it were nothing but a mere jacket.

He’d usually feel the weight of others’ gazes upon him while he did his work, but today Azul gave him a large stack of papers to work through. Something about a deal of his again. Being Octavinelle vice Housewarden certainly had it’s busy moments. And despite being a menace, Jade was still an accomplished student, so he put his head down and got to work.

Quietly, over the hours he worked, the pelt slid soundlessly from the chairback to the floor. Jade didn’t even notice - just as the skin allowed him to move through the water without a ripple, it fell without so much as a sound. He must have been so focused on his work, or perhaps half asleep, that he didn’t even notice you come behind him.

His head snapped to you when he felt your fingers brush against his back. You flinched backward, fingers clutching his pelt.

“What are you doing?” Jade’s eyes bored into yours, face slack. You tried not to gulp as you gingerly tucked the teal ‘jacket‘ back onto Jade’s chair.

“You dropped your jacket onto the floor, I was just putting it back,” you explained. “It just looked really pretty with the colors and trims and stuff, so I figured you didn’t want it to get dirty…” you rubbed the back of your neck, trailing off.

Something like shock swirled in Jade’s eyes as he looked at you. You had already taken your hands off the pelt, but you could’ve very well run off with it. He searched your face for any sign of foul play, but found none. His heart skittered a beat, amused. You had no idea what you’d just done, had you? You hadn’t even realized you’d declared your intentions to him, earnest and sweet. How cute.

A selkie coat already was a valuable thing, but an eel selkie coat was very uncommon. To take a selkie’s coat was one thing. To return it to them was practically a declaration. And you gave it back to Jade without a second thought, with honesty in your eyes as you called it a jacket. A jacket.

“Welp, I should probably go,” you felt awkward under Jade’s gaze. His pupils were smaller than a pinhole, and despite being helpful, you somehow felt like you did something big. Still, Jade wasn’t biting your head off, so it couldn’t have been that bad?

You shouldered your bag as you trudged out of the library, Jade’s gaze still haunting you. You willed it out of your head once you entered Ramshackle, and didn’t think about it until the next day when Jade approached you.

Imagine your surprise when you saw a strangely soft-gazed Jade looking down on you, seated in the cafeteria, hastily eating your lunch. “(Name),” he said fondly, his ‘jacket’ draped around his shoulders. You swallowed your food in a hurry, eyes falling on the teal ‘fabric.’ You could’ve sworn it was a jacket or something, with how large and long it was. Come to think of it, you’d never seen Jade actually wear it, and it seemed more suede-y than soft…

Jade grinned cryptically, “I must say, you surprised me in the library when you made your intentions known. But I do accept them.” You opened your mouth but no words came out. You were flabbergasted. What on earth…?

Jade’s voice took you out of your thoughts. “I must thank you for returning my pelt to me. Perhaps I can repay you with a complimentary Mostro Lounge meal?” You gawked at him, feeling bewildered.

You managed a confused nod, “I-I mean, sure? But I didn’t really do anything-“ “Splendid. You will join me for dinner later today after classes. Please do not be late.” Jade gave you a cryptic smile before smoothly walking away,

Beside you, your friends gawked. Grim nearly choked on his tuna, “what jus’ happened?!” You shrugged, eyes wide as you stared into space trying to understand, “I don’t know! I just gave Jade back his green shoulder-thing, and now he wants to pay me back or something? What, is it a big deal?”

Ace looked at you like you were stupid, Deuce looked at you with pity, Jack looked shocked, while Epel’s jaw dropped. “You just made your shot at one of the creepiest guys on campus!” Ace spluttered. You looked at the others helplessly, “what?”

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. “Prefect, I know you come from a different world and all, but do you at least know what a selkie is?” You nodded hesitantly, and Jack continued. “Did you touch his pelt?” You frowned, “you mean that green thing on his shoulders? I thought it was his jacket. I just gave it back to him when it fell?”

You laughed nervously as your friends stared at you. “He didn’t declare war on me or something right?” Epel sipped his apple juice, “nah. The opposite, actually.” You choked on your food.

Guess you’ll be dealing with a besotted Jade for the foreseeable future.

Thanks for reading!! Reqs for Mermay are open til the end of may! Xoxo calci

[ranzemn]

I love your selkie Jade fic!! It’s so good and so creative! I need a Floyd courting fic like I need air, maybe where Yuu has no idea what Floyd strange behavior is, but the octavinelle crew is acting very odd and extra smug when they see Floyd and the prefect together

🐬💥💌Request received! Thank you for your message, your delivery is ready~

THANK YOU!!! I’m glad you liked the Jade Selkie fic AH!!! I really wanted to write a Floyd version too hehe, hope you enjoy~

Floyd Leech, ft. Selkie

Jade ver.

Floyd was confident no one would dare take his pelt. It was easy to steal a selkie’s pelt when it was left unattended (like Jade’s) or hidden (like Azul’s). Floyd always knew where his was - always, always, on his person.

When he had to go to the surface to attend NRC, their father gave him two pieces of advice. One, always pay attention to your footwear. And two, always keep your pelt with you. Whether it’s in your bag, over your shoulders, or under your clothes.

People expected Floyd to be more lax with his skin, but he took the advice to heart more than Jade, who liked showing it off tantalizingly to those grubby landers. So, Floyd’s pelt was always under his clothes. He hated the feeling of extra layers, but he hated being parted with the pelt even more. The very thought of being taken away from the ocean made his human skin crawl.

Imagine his panic when he couldn’t find it once he returned to his dorm after club practice.

He’d tied the pelt securely underneath his basketball jersey, and practice went off without a hitch. He was fired up that day too. He’d won points left and right, and left the gym feeling great. Up until he realized his pelt was no longer snugly tied to his torso, and his heart dropped. He’d passed through the gym, the entire school, the mirror chamber, and through the Lounge up to his dorm. He could’ve lost it anywhere. To anyone.

Jade opened their dorm door to see Floyd flinging things around their room, and launching himself to Jade’s side to dig through his things. “What in the Seven’s are you doing, Floyd?” He didn’t even need to a response when Floyd turned to him with sheer panic on his face. Jade felt his throat tighten. Floyd lost his pelt.

Meanwhile, you stared at the… cloth? in front of you. Earlier today, you’d stopped by the gym while running errands for Crowley. As you made your way across, you noticed a teal heap amidst the basketballs. You knelt, curious, and picked it up. Wait, isn’t this what Jade and Floyd wear?

You didn’t really know what it was, only that it seemed special to them. You never wanted to be rude and ask him about it though, since you figured Floyd had his reasons for hiding it, while Jade has his own for flaunting it.

That thing was massive. You didn’t even see a zipper on it, so it couldn’t be a jacket. Not to mention, it felt kind of… leathery, almost. Like fish skin or something.

When you got to Ramshackle, you folded it neatly before tucking it in a spare shoebox you had. It had a few jewelry pieces in it with shells and pearls. You also chucked a shoe polish in, as well as some funky patterned socks you didn’t want. You decided to leave them in, tucked under the cloth. Maybe Floyd would like them.

The next day, you walked into Mostro Lounge with the box. You overheard some students freaking out, whispering about Floyd being in one of his moods, but this time it was even worse.

You frowned, suddenly nervous. Floyd’s freaking out? Why? You clutched the box a bit tighter. Was it because of the cloth?

In Azul’s office, Floyd was damn near about to blow the whole dorm up. It took Jade wrestling him down and Azul placating him, to get him to calm down just a fraction.

Even now, Jade had to keep watchful eye on him while Azul had a million contracts on his desk, hair wild from running his hands through it. Currently, Floyd was staring listlessly at the wall, bouncing his leg wildly. Who could have possibly been brazen enough to take Floyd’s pelt…? Jade and Azul had an understanding. They’d make them pay for this.

You overheard someone say Floyd was in Azul’s office, so you knocked on the door. “Hey, is Floyd in there?” You called, walking in. Jade glanced at Floyd, who seemed to at least compose himself in front of you. How interesting.

You stopped in front of Floyd, who looked up at you from the couch. He looked up at you, irritated. You cleared your throat, presenting the box to him. “I found your… belongings so I thought I’d give it back to you. It was in the gym, I figured you didn’t want to lose it.”

Floyd’s eyes zeroed in on the box, sensing the pelt, and he grabbed it from you. He nearly tore the top off, but at last he had his pelt back. He almost tore his uniform off then and there to feel it against his skin when he suddenly stopped.

You gave it back to him. You, gave it back to him. You gave it back.

Jade and Azul stared wide eyed at you and Floyd. You cleared your throat uncomfortably, “I also put some extra stuff in the box too, if you want it.”

Floyd lifted the skin a bit, and his eyes went wide. Glittering jewelry, shells, and pearls nestled in the folds of the pelt. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, and Jade and Azul gasped.

“Oho?” Jade said, grinning slowly. “Oho?” Azul looked shocked. Floyd lifted the pelt out, and more jewelry fell out between the folds. Jade lifted his hand to his mouth, looking sly, “how forward of you, (Name). And in front of us, too.” Azul rose an eyebrow, pleased, “I must say, I didn’t expect you to be the pelt thief. What an interesting development.”

Floyd was quiet, staring at everything in shock. He didn’t expect this from you, Shrimpy. You always were able to surprise him, but this took the bait. It was like everything started to make sense.

You had to know what you’d done. You gave Floyd jewelry, something merfolk did when they wanted to show affection. Not only that, you gave him things directly related to his interests. He eyed the shoe polish with interest, grinning widely. This was textbook courting rituals.

“Ne, shrimpy really is the best~” He stood, mood completely changed. You shrank back a bit as he leered over you. As he gazed into your eyes, you felt the acute sense that you just did something big.

“Don’t you worry Shrimpy, I’m gonna repay you back real good~” Floyd winked at you. You smiled nervously, conscious of the others’ smirks, “I-I should go.” You scurried out of Azul’s office, hearing Floyd’s raucous laughter echo behind you.

Floyd’s kinda weird today, you thought. You didn’t particularly mind it, though. Although dealing with Azul and Jade was a doozy.

Azul ran into you earlier, although you weren’t sure it was on accident. He’d hummed cryptically, with that sneaky businessman smirk he had when he knew something you didn’t. “I must say, it was incredibly forward of you to present Floyd’s pelt, especially with extra gifts. He was energetic all night, he hardly did any Lounge work,” Azul’s words somehow held little annoyance. Confusion filled you. His ‘pelt’? And the jewelry and shoe polish? Was it a big deal?

Azul continued, “You should find Jade later. He will want to speak to you, especially to go over your plans.” Your brow furrowed, echoing “plans?” Azul nodded, amused. “It’s more informal, since we’ve known you before. Just to discuss matters - the timing, ideal circumstance, your intentions, so forth.” He’d walked off before you could ask more. Your head swam.

You hadn’t been able to properly speak to Jade. He was all cordial smiles and, surprisingly, bowed to you multiple times. An amused smile graced his face, and he seemed to revel in your alarm. He’d brush past you just before you could ask him anything, and was always replaced by Floyd bounding up to you and taking you into his arms in giggles.

Ever since you gave him the box, Floyd was strangely clingy. His constant hugging and nuzzling you was borderline affectionate, and it made your heart stutter and stomach feel fluttery. You noted that he was wearing the jewelry you stuck in the box, next to the pelt peeking out of his shirt.

“Hey, (Name),” he said while leaning against you. You were both in the library. Floyd insisted on accompanying you everywhere, and seemed to be exhausted with how much he was yawning at you. “We should go swimmin,’ I’m bored here.”

You sighed, shutting your notebook. “I have work to do, Floyd.” You spied a couch nearby, “you could take a nap maybe, if you’re tired?” Floyd looked you up and down, before grinning. “Nah.”

He tossed you over his shoulder, and you shouted, making the ghost librarians shush you loudly. “Floyd!” He laughed and ran out before the ghosts could catch him.

He ran you all the way to the back of Mostro Lounge by the private fish tanks, where the tanks for the merfolk were. Finally he put you down, still cuddling you as the blue light from the waters washed over you.

Seeing the tanks, you suddenly remembered Azul talking about a pelt. Your mind flashed to the cloth you picked up from the gym. The skin-like texture. Floyd’s moodiness. The secrecy. You’d heard the word ‘Selkie’ being thrown around before, and you knew Floyd was a mer. The thought hid you like a truck - if the pelt belonged to Floyd, then was he a Selkie? Your heart pounded. And you gave the pelt back to him.

Jade walked in, holding a drink and potion in hand. “Ah, Floyd, you’re back.” Floyd grinned at him, shaking you side to side in his arms, “hey Jade~ me n’ Shrimpy are going to take a swim!” Jade smiled pleasantly, gaze locking onto you. “Could I have a moment with (name), please? It should only take a minute.”

Floyd pouted, but Jade gave him a look. Finally, let you go with a little sulk, but not before giving you a final squeeze. “I’ma be back, Shrimpy!~ Don’t go anywhere!” He flounced off, leaving you with Jade.

Jade handed you the drink and potion. “This is on the house, and this is an underwater breathing potion. I thought you may need one,” he said cryptically. You smiled warily at him, and you dumped the potion into the drink to mix it.

Jade sighed happily. “Mother and Father will be so thrilled.” You sipped your drink, throat feeling dry. “What do you mean?”

Jade continued as if he didn’t hear you, “please be gentle to Floyd. He’s never done this before, but I’ve never seen him so besotted with anything before.” Jade suddenly became serious, looking you in the eye. “You will not hurt him. And you won’t need to worry about him. I assure you, our parents took our lessons quite seriously where courting was concerned. He was always the one to wear his heart on his fins, so to speak. He’s quite romantic at heart, really.”

You nearly choked. “C-courting?!” Jade nodded, slowly grinning mischievously. “Of course. You made your intentions quite clear when you gave Floyd back his pelt. With some lovely courting gifts, no less.” Jade looked fondly at you, patting your shoulder. “You will be a welcome part of the family. Usually gifts such as jewelry come much later in the courting process, but I expect you’ll be betrothed quite soon with how taken Floyd is with you.”

Now you actually choked. “He- what?!” You couldn’t lie, you weren’t exactly upset about Floyd liking you, but courting? This was fast. Jade nodded. If he sensed your growing panic and confusion, he certainly ignored it (or found it entertaining) as he smiled at you. “Yes, he was quite pleased that you were the one who found his pelt. Ah, young love~”

You downed your drink as Floyd bounded back to you, sweeping you up. “Shrimpy~ I’m back!” He’d stripped off his outer garments. His pelt was draped over his shoulders like a towel, and he grinned down at you. “Let’s go~ I’ll keep ya safe, promise!”

As he waded into the waters, you decided to just accept your fate. You reached up and kissed Floyd on the cheek, pressing your face to his gently. He squished you against him as the water rose and his lower half meshed with the pelt, turning back into his eel form.

He rubbed his cheek against yours, “I’m happy you gave me back my pelt, Shrimpy.” You felt Floyd smile against your face, and you hugged him back. “Y’know what? I’m happy too, Floyd.”

THE MAN THE MYTH THE EEL!!! Floyd!!!!!

[ranzemn]

Sebek never change

[ranzemn]

High-res Assets for Idia Shroud - clubwear

Dialogue, animations, and extra assets can be found on Drive: Link

[ranzemn]

Workplace Hazards: Romance || Idia Shroud

You're a feral SS-class Esper with no off switch. He's an anxious shut-in SS-class Guide just trying to game in peace. Through lies, HR nightmares, dramatic near-deaths, and one candy ring proposal, you accidentally become soulmates. Government benefits may or may not be involved.

Series Masterlist

Life, in its infinite wisdom, had decided to take a sharp left turn off the highway of normalcy and drive screaming into the wormhole of cosmic horror.

One day you’re just a person trying to buy goat milk, and the next, the sky rips open like a microwaved burrito, belching out monsters that look like someone tried to 3D print your worst nightmare with a spaghetti code of malice and slime. Scientists call them "Gate manifestations." Everyone else calls them "oh no no no NO—"

But humanity, being the scrappy little infestation it is, adapted. Not by solving the actual problem (of course not, that would require shutting up billionaires and redirecting global funds from "missile measuring contests"), but by evolving. Or rather, mutating—suddenly a percentage of the population started exhibiting terrifying, physics-optional powers. 

These people are called Espers—a sanitized title that really just means "Congratulations! You are now licensed to punch interdimensional horrors in the face and traumatize yourself in the process."

Now, if the Espers were just laser-wielding sad little soldiers, that would be one thing. But no, their powers came with a side effect: unmanageable psychic noise. Think psychic radiation plus the emotional intensity of a sleep-deprived theatre kid on their third espresso shot. 

This is where Guides came in. Not to lead anyone (the name is misleading, like “boneless chicken wings” in Ohio), but to stabilize Espers before they exploded into a Category Five Meltdown and leveled half a city block because someone forgot to restock the vending machine.

Guides don’t just talk you down—they shove their psychic aura into your brain like a weighted blanket made of competence and condescension. They are therapists, emotional janitors, and living surge protectors. Some are kind. Some are terrifying. Some, unfortunately, are hot.

So now the world runs on a system: gates appear, Espers go in and fight, Guides catch them when they fall out twitching and covered in monster goo. Rinse. Repeat. Cry. Go to therapy if you’re lucky. Take a nap if you’re not. Don’t die. (Please. HR paperwork is a nightmare.)

And if you’re very unlucky—like catastrophically, cosmically doomed—you fall in love with your Guide.

But that’s not your fault. That’s life now, baby.

You’re an Esper. A good one, actually. Or you were. You were ranked S-Class and living the dream: minimum paperwork, maximum destruction, and you had a Guide who made you drink tea and pretend your trauma was a garden to be tended. You even humored him and tried to visualize your “inner zen koi pond” until the koi started screaming back. Good times.

But then came The Incident.

Now, to be fair, the gate had looked normal. It wasn’t your fault it turned out to be a Class Alpha Instability Spiral—whatever the hell that means; you don't read the reports, you're just the explosion part of the team.

It also wasn’t your fault the emotional stress made you unlock a new tier of Esper abilities mid-battle. And it definitely wasn’t your fault that you accidentally bent the laws of physics so hard that five square kilometers of space-time decided to just... sit this one out.

But sure, blame the walking psychic warhead. Classic.

Congratulations! You're now SS-Class. The extra “S” stands for “Somebody please help.” Your previous Guide has politely resigned, citing “irreconcilable sanity differences.” HR gave you a pamphlet called So You’ve Accidentally Become a Government Weapon, and you were told your new classification required a compatibility reassignment.

Soul-sorting algorithms that spat out exactly one name. One room number. One very troubling lack of further details. Because while every other high-ranking Guide had reviews, commentary, threat assessments—your new match had... whispers.

"Doesn't take anyone."

"Turned down a whole squad of Espers."

So naturally, you knocked on the door.

Then knocked again.

And on the third knock, after contemplating whether this was some elaborate prank designed to push you into spontaneous combustion, you heard it: a whispered, "Come in," like the voice of someone who’d been emotionally concussed by mere social interaction.

The office was dark. Not ominous-dark, more... someone-didn’t-want-to-pay-the-electric-bill dark. The curtains were drawn. The monitor light was the only glow in the room, and behind it was a figure so slouched, so cocooned in hoodie and existential dread, you almost mistook him for a sentient couch cushion.

Idia Shroud.

SS-Class Guide. The Anti-Social Sorcerer. The Mothman of Mental Stability.

He looked up at you like you were the ghost of an unpaid internship and visibly recoiled.

"Hi," you said, very brightly, like this wasn’t clearly a mistake and the man before you hadn’t just contemplated leaping through the window to escape human contact.

He blinked. Slowly. "You're the SS?"

“Apparently,” you replied, sitting down calmly and very much not vibrating with barely-leashed doom energy. You folded your hands in your lap like someone who hadn’t just melted part of the training center during compatibility testing. “And you're going to be my Guide.”

That clearly short-circuited something in his brain because he made a strangled wheeze that sounded like a laptop dying.

So, obviously, the next logical step was pretending to be emotionally stable.

“Yes, I’ve been told I have excellent boundaries,” you said, lying through your teeth. “I meditate. I go to therapy. I drink water.”

Your nose might have twitched at the last one. Idia squinted.

“I’ve... seen your incident reports.”

Ah. Well. Time to double down.

“And yet,” you said, flashing a smile that could win awards for Most Suspicious Aura, “the test matched us. Fate, right?”

Idia looked at you like fate had personally wronged him.

You maintained eye contact. Calm. Cool. Collected. Just another emotionally well-regulated citizen of the world, absolutely not about to snap and launch a fireball into a vending machine if it ate your coins again.

And to your surprise, after a long, tense silence and a muttered line that sounded suspiciously like, “If I ignore it, maybe it'll leave,” he didn’t kick you out.

He just sighed. Opened a drawer. Pulled out your file like it physically hurt him.

And so it began.

You and the man who looked like a sleep-deprived curse word.

Esper and Guide.

Chaos and more chaos. 

Willing participant and deeply unwilling participant.

Honestly, this was going to go great.

Idia sits next to you like someone forced him into a live-action horror movie adaptation of his worst social nightmares. He perches at the very edge of the couch, knees turned sharply away from you, shoulders hunched like he’s expecting to spontaneously combust just from proximity. He’s sweating. Actively. You can hear it.

He doesn't look at you—doesn’t dare to. Eye contact might trigger some kind of emotional subroutine he’s buried under six years of anime quotes and avoidance. So instead, he glares at the floor like it owes him money and says in the driest, most pained voice you've ever heard:

“…I’m going to initiate touch now.”

You blink. “Cool. I won’t bite.”

“Statistically, there’s still a 17% chance.”

Before you can ask how he got that number, he reaches over—very gingerly—and clasps your hand like it’s a ticking time bomb. It’s the least affectionate, most clinical hand-hold imaginable. And yet—

Your brain goes silent. Completely. All the psychic noise, the static, the ghost of that one Gate entity that’s been whispering “eat drywall” for three weeks straight—gone. You breathe out, deeply, for what feels like the first time in months.

“Oh,” you say, blinking slowly. “That’s… good. That’s really good.”

Meanwhile, Idia has gone stiff as a corpse. He looks at you, then at your hand, then back at you like you’ve just transformed into a philosophical dilemma.

“How are you alive?” he asks, genuinely horrified. “You’re… you’re an unstable esper. Your baseline resonance is like an overcooked spaghetti noodle wrapped around a hand grenade. You should be fried. You should be paste. What the hell have you been doing for guidance?”

You shrug. “My last guide made me listen to podcasts. And sometimes put a warm towel on my neck.”

Idia just stares at you in disbelief. “A warm towel?! A warm towel?! That’s like trying to fight a house fire with herbal tea!”

You grin at him, relaxed in a way you haven’t been since your promotion. “Hey. I’m adaptable.”

Then you wink.

He jerks his hand back like you just slapped him with a legally binding marriage proposal. “Okay, what does that mean?! Are you flirting? Threatening me? Both?!”

You stretch luxuriously on his couch, now absolutely high on the absence of psychic distress.  “Wouldn’t you like to know, Guide boy?”

He looks at you like he’s re-evaluating every decision that led him to this moment—including being born.

You close your eyes, content, while Idia frantically Googles “how to tell if your newly assigned Esper is insane.”

You don’t need to see him to know he’s panicking.

But you feel better than you have in weeks.

You exit the Gate with all the dignity of a baby deer on roller skates. Technically alive, mostly upright, and riding the high of “I didn’t die today” like it’s a stimulant. There’s smoke rising from your gloves, your hair’s doing a very bold interpretation of ‘windblown,’ and you’re about three seconds from either vomiting or adopting nihilism as a full-time lifestyle.

And then—you spot him.

Your Guide.

Idia Shroud.

He’s lurking in the far corner of the clearing, half-shielded by a vending machine and what looks like pure, unfiltered spite. His hood’s up, his glowstick hair is practically vibrating, and he’s watching the post-Gate Espers like a cornered Victorian orphan who’s about to throw hands over the last piece of bread.

One comes within five feet of him and he physically recoils, clutching his comms tablet like it’s a crucifix. You're ninety percent sure he hissed.

So naturally, you make a beeline for him.

“Hi honey, I’m home,” you chirp, still crackling with energy like a downed power line.

He jolts like you just poured emotional commitment down his spine.

“Oh my GOD,” he mutters, dragging you by the sleeve like you’re radioactive (which, in fairness, you might be). “What took you so long?! I was standing here surrounded by—by unregulated feelings and eye contact and—oh my god, one of them tried to hug me.”

You let him pull you behind a barrier, where he sits you down with the dramatic flair of someone absolutely done with his entire existence. He doesn’t even wait—just snatches your hand and starts stabilizing you like he’s diffusing a bomb, holding on like letting go might summon the apocalypse.

Instant, blessed silence.

Your brain, which had been screaming like a dial-up modem on fire, goes quiet. Your chest unknots. You remember that oxygen exists and taking it in is actually encouraged. You sigh, blissed out, while Idia makes a face like he just stuck his hand in radioactive soup.

“I know it was, like, a gate collapse or whatever,” he mutters, eyes fixed on the skyline like he’s begging some higher power for patience. “But maybe next time don’t take so long to get out? You were in there for seventy minutes. I counted. Every second was emotionally damaging.”

You grin, eyes still hazy. “Aw. You missed me.”

“I panicked,” he snaps. “There’s a difference. I had a backup plan. It was called ‘run.’”

You lean toward him with a smug little hum. “You care.”

“I don’t care,” he says immediately, voice cracking like a damaged violin string. “I just don’t want you getting so emotionally unhinged you come back here all weepy and soulbond-seeking and—” he gestures vaguely. “Clingy.”

“I’m not clingy,” you say, still not letting go of his hand.

“You’re currently latched onto me like a trauma koala,” he deadpans.

You wink. “So you do care.”

Idia looks at you like he’s actively calculating how many regulations he can violate before someone notices. His expression lands somewhere between “why me” and “I should’ve become a dental assistant.”

But he doesn’t let go.

In fact, he shifts slightly so you can lean against him more comfortably. Not that he says anything about it. No. That would imply emotional maturity and gross things like “communication.”

Instead, he mutters, “You smell like space lightning and poor decisions.”

You beam at him. “Thanks. It’s my natural musk.”

And despite everything—despite the chaos, the imminent paperwork, and the looming threat of another Esper trying to trauma-bond with him—Idia doesn’t move away.

You’d like to think it’s because of your immense charm.

He’ll tell himself it’s just because it’s the most efficient way to keep you from frying your nervous system.

But deep down—deep down—he’s already doomed, and you both know it.

Congratulations. You’ve adopted a reclusive Guide with the emotional range of a scared wet cat.

And he cares.

Desperately.

You were having a very productive day doing absolutely nothing.

Flat on your bed, hoodie pulled over your face, limbs at the exact angle of maximum immobility, you were experiencing true stillness. The kind of stillness monks meditate decades to achieve. You hadn’t moved in hours. If someone were to enter your apartment right now, they’d probably mistake you for a corpse, but with worse fashion sense.

And then your phone rang.

You ignored it. Of course you did. Whoever it was could wait. You were on a spiritual journey to become one with your mattress. But it rang again. And again. And then came the messages. Ping. Ping. Pingpingpingping—

With the groan of someone who’s known true peace and been dragged back to hell, you reached for the phone.

[Guidia]: B-Class pest in hallway. Halp. He's monologuing. [Guidia]: SOS. EMERGENCY. COME NOW. I’M NOT KIDDING.  [Guidia]: HE'S OUTSIDE MY OFFICE. HE HAS A CLIPBOARD.  [Guidia]: I’M HIDING BEHIND MY ROLLING CHAIR.  [Guidia]: IF YOU DON’T COME I’M FAKING MY OWN DEATH.

You stared at the messages. Debated pretending you didn’t see them. Debated harder. Lost.

Twenty minutes later, you're standing in front of the office building, internally mourning the loss of your free day and dressed like a walking stress nap with an energy drink in hand. You shuffle into the building, make your way to the guide floor, and as soon as you turn the corner—

There he is.

A junior Esper. Knocking on Idia’s door with the determined rhythm of someone trying to summon either a guide or God himself.

You slow down, then stop completely a few feet away, watching the scene with mild interest and the deadpan curiosity of someone who’s just been pulled out of bed to witness this madness.

He looks fresh out of training. Blue hair perfectly combed, posture painfully upright, shoes that don’t have a single scuff on them. He’s also got that nervous, earnest vibe that screams “will fill out extra paperwork if asked.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

He turns, a bit startled, then gives you a hopeful little smile.

“I’m here to meet Guide Shroud,” he says. “I heard he’s an SS-Rank and that he has only one Esper on his schedule, so I came to ask if he’d consider guiding me!”

You blink slowly. “You’re…?”

“B-Class!” he says proudly. “But I’ve been training hard. My instructors say I’ve got potential!”

You resist the urge to say “uh-huh” and pat him on the head. It is bold, you’ll give him that. You’d admire it more if you weren’t already picturing Idia foaming at the mouth behind the door.

Before you can respond, the door opens a crack—and a pale hand shoots out, grabs your wrist, and yanks you inside like you’re being abducted.

The door slams shut behind you. You spin and there’s Idia, crouched behind his desk, wide-eyed and absolutely vibrating with panic.

“WHY is he still out there,” he hisses.

You shrug. “He’s got dreams?”

“I SAW THE CLIPBOARD.”

“What’s on the clipboard, Idia.”

“I DON’T KNOW. GOALS? AMBITIONS? A LIST OF ICEBREAKER QUESTIONS?”

You give him a flat look. “So you dragged me out of bed—on my day off—because a baby Esper wanted to talk to you?”

“Did you SEE him?! He’s wearing a BUTTON-UP. He brought a PEN.”

“And your solution is what? Hide in your office until he dies of old age?”

“YES,” he says, without shame.

You sigh, long and dramatic. “Fiiiine.”

“You’ll get rid of him?”

“Yes.”

“WITHOUT making a mess?”

“No promises.”

You step out of the office, roll your shoulders, and walk up to the junior Esper with your best tired-but-stern government-employee face.

“Hey,” you say. “Guide Shroud can’t take you.”

His face falls. “Oh. Why not?”

“He’s bonded.”

“Oh.” He looks down, disappointed. “Wait—bonded? Like, permanently?”

“Yep.”

“…To who?”

You tilt your head and flash a smile. “Me.”

A beat passes.

“Oh,” he says again, eyes wide. “I—I didn’t know. That’s amazing. Congratulations! You two must have a really powerful connection.”

You nod solemnly. “We do. He definitely doesn’t hide under the desk every time I sneeze.”

“I hope someday I get to experience something like that,” he says, eyes shining.

You pat his shoulder like the elder cryptid you are. “Maybe. But for now, go back to your training. Don’t skip on the cardio. Gates love people who skip cardio.”

He scurries off with a polite bow and a visible resolve to become the best version of himself.

You reenter the office. Idia’s peeking from behind his chair like a horror movie extra.

“Gone?”

“Gone.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That you’re soul-bonded to me and emotionally unavailable.”

Idia goes still. Then slowly slinks out of hiding and collapses into his chair like a dying star.

“I can’t believe you just lied to a government-registered Esper,” he mutters.

“I can believe I did it to get my day off back.”

“…Fair.”

You yawn, stretch, and head for the door. “Anyway, congrats on our fake bond. I expect fake anniversary gifts.”

“I'm gonna submit a fake complaint to HR.”

“Romantic.”

Idia glares.

You blow him a kiss and leave.

You realize just how feral Espers are for high-grade Guides when one tries to poach yours in broad daylight, in public, with the social grace of a raccoon trying to steal your fries at a bus stop.

You’ve just finished a gate run, which—if you ignore the part where you took on three more phantoms than assigned, broke your regulator, and got launched through a wall—went rather well. Minor details, honestly. 

Idia, however, is not ignoring any of that. He is, in fact, still cataloging your crimes in a tired monotone that suggests he’s preparing a very long, very strongly worded complaint for HR. Possibly engraved on stone tablets.

“You absolute menace,” he mutters, slumped against the wall beside you. “You promised—promised—you wouldn’t go after the untagged ones unless backup arrived, and what did you do? You ran at it. With a stick. A stick.”

“It was a long stick,” you say helpfully, grinning as you lean a little more of your weight against him, fully aware he’s too drained to push you off.

“I had to leave my desk, you tyrant,” he hisses. “Do you know what it’s like being forced to cross a city-wide barrier while wearing socks with holes in them?! My soul is chafing.”

You laugh, and the sound is light and easy, the kind that says this is all routine for you now—him grumbling, you ignoring, the two of you attached at the hand like mismatched puzzle pieces that somehow just work.

It’s been nearly a year since you first met, and though Idia still resembles flight response in human form, he doesn’t flinch when you touch him anymore. He doesn’t hide behind walls of screens and sarcastic muttering. These days, he’ll even look you in the eye if he’s feeling particularly emotionally reckless.

And today, you’re halfway draped against his side, gripping his hand like it’s your personal grounding wire, while he complains about your irresponsibility with the dulled, weary cadence of someone who has long accepted his fate.

Everything is calm. Peaceful. Slightly sweaty, but serene.

Until it happens.

You feel it first—a disturbance in the air, a sort of psychic shift like a mosquito entering your periphery. And then a hand—not yours—wraps around Idia’s other hand.

You both freeze.

You turn your head slowly, like a haunted doll in a horror movie, and lock eyes with the offending Esper: a stranger, grinning with the unnerving intensity of someone who’s never once respected personal space in their life.

Their grip is firm. Their eyes are gleaming. You get the immediate and unshakable impression that they brush their teeth with motivational speeches and do pushups while listening to alpha wave affirmations.

“Hey,” they say brightly. “I felt your energy from across the lot. You’re an SS-ranked Guide, right? I need a sync. This is urgent.”

You blink. They just walked up. Grabbed his hand. Started a conversation. Like you’re not right there. Like you’re not holding his hand already.

Idia makes a noise. A terrible, high-pitched, panicked noise that sounds like a dying computer fan combined with a stress wheeze. His grip on your hand turns into a death clamp so intense you briefly lose sensation in your fingers.

You can feel his aura spiking erratically, his hair going from blue-flame to fire-hazard, his whole body broadcasting something between fight and flight but mostly error404.human.exe has stopped responding.

The other Esper keeps smiling.

So naturally, your half-dead, gate-fried, emotionally responsible brain decides to handle the situation with grace, poise, and logic.

“That’s my bonded Guide, how dare you?” you say loudly, voice ringing across the field like you’ve just declared war at a royal banquet.

The Esper blinks. “Wait—bonded?”

You stare them down with the weight of a thousand lies and the calm of someone who has absolutely no plan but is fully committed to whatever this is now. “Yes. Bonded. Anchored. Spiritually entangled. Aether-twined in the eyes of the Bureau and every known deity.”

The Esper takes a step back. “Oh. I—I didn’t realize, you weren’t listed—”

“It’s private. Sacred. We don’t believe in paperwork,” you say solemnly, as if this is an ancient vow passed down from your ancestors and not something you just made up to avoid watching Idia break down like a damsel in the middle of a syncing field.

“I—I’m sorry,” they stammer, already backing away like you’ve slapped them with a restraining order made of pure energy. “I didn’t mean to—good luck with your, um. Bond.”

And then they run. They actually run. Kick up dust and everything.

You turn back to Idia, who’s frozen in place like his entire reality has blue-screened.

“What,” he croaks, “the hell was that?”

“A problem solved,” you say, settling back into your lean like nothing happened. “You’re welcome.”

“You told them we were bonded. In public. Do you have any idea what you just—? That’s a federal registration. There’s ceremonies. There are retreats. I’m going to start getting targeted ads for matching sync robes!”

You shrug, resting your head on his shoulder with the peacefulness of someone who knows, with every fiber of their being, that they have zero intention of fixing this. “Eh. If the ad algorithm knows something before you do, maybe it’s just fate.”

“You’re the worst,” he whispers, deeply and with feeling.

And yet, his grip doesn’t loosen. Even with both your hands clasped like that, even after the emotional equivalent of a car alarm going off in his soul, he keeps holding on.

So really, you figure everything’s fine.

After one little white lie (okay, two), things spiraled faster than you expected. Who knew that telling two different Espers that you and Idia were bonded would spread like someone set the office gossip group chat on fire and dumped rocket fuel on it?

Now you’re both sitting in HR.

The room is sterile in that special, soul-draining way that only HR offices can achieve—walls too white, chairs too plastic, a single wilting plant in the corner that’s seen more existential dread than most therapists.

You’re slouched in your seat, one leg bouncing like a ticking bomb, while Idia sits stiffly beside you, arms folded, looking like he wants to sink through the floor.

He's glaring at you with the intensity of a thousand blue suns. You can feel the judgment radiating off him like he's trying to guilt-force an apology through sheer mental anguish.

"Look," you mutter, nudging his boot with yours. "It’s not that bad."

"You told people we were bonded,” he hisses under his breath. “Twice. You turned it into an office-wide feature presentation. They sent us an official celebration cake, do you understand how terrifying that?”

You grin. “People love love.”

“I’m allergic to attention,” he snaps. “Do you know how many people tried to make eye contact with me this morning?”

“I made your life more efficient. Think about it—if we just roll with it, you never have to guide another Esper again. No more weirdos grabbing your hand in public. No more field calls. No more small talk.”

Idia pauses. You can see the moment he processes it. He goes very, very still, like a prey animal realizing the trap is actually a very comfy bed with Wi-Fi.

“…If I say we’re bonded, you're the only Esper I’ll ever have to guide,” he murmurs, eyes flicking toward the ceiling like he’s consulting an invisible divine entity. “I could work from home forever. No more missions. No more rando Espers breathing at me. I could build an AI version of myself for you to sync with. I wouldn’t even need to be conscious.”

“There you go!” you whisper, triumphant. “Fake it till we make it. Just smile, nod, and look like you tolerate me.”

“I don’t know how to smile on command.”

“Perfect. That’s our natural chemistry.”

Before he can spiral further, the HR door opens and a clipboard-toting, tired-eyed official waves you both in.

You sit. Idia sits like he’s never sat before. The HR guy folds his hands and gives you both that “I don’t get paid enough for this” expression all HR personnel master within the first week of their job.

“So,” he says. “You’re claiming a bond. You understand that means your sync scores, mission pairings, and emotional resonance charts are now considered federal data.”

“Absolutely,” you say confidently.

“Nope,” Idia says at the same time.

The HR guy pauses. “Right. Let’s just verify a few details.” He flips through the clipboard. “When did you begin your relationship?”

“About eleven months ago,” you reply smoothly.

“Two months ago?” Idia echoes, blinking. “Wait, what?”

“Where was your first official sync?”

“Field 17,” you say.

“The cafeteria,” says Idia.

A silence. You shoot him a quick look and whisper, “Why would we sync in the cafeteria—”

“I was thinking of lunch!” he hisses back.

HR guy clears his throat loudly.

“Okay,” he says, clearly fighting for patience. “Can you describe the moment you knew you were psychically compatible?”

You nod solemnly. “He touched my hand during decompression and I felt peace.”

“...When I almost blacked out from terror on field 206” Idia mutters.

You both blink at each other. There’s a horrible, choking silence.

The HR guy just sets down his pen, pinches the bridge of his nose, and sighs like he’s about to file for retirement. “Are you sure this is a real bond?”

Panic grips you like a sudden gust of wind. You think, fast. There’s only one thing left to do, one final act of desperation.

You rise from your chair.

Idia blinks. “What are you—oh no.”

You drop to one knee. “Oh yes.”

You pull out a ring. It’s a candy ring, the one you were saving in your jacket pocket for a sugar crash emergency. It sparkles like cheap sugar-coated destiny.

“Idia Shroud,” you say, with all the theatrical sincerity of a soap opera star in a season finale. “From the moment we synced, I knew you were the only socially avoidant, high-strung disaster I wanted to illegally claim government benefits with.”

Idia makes a noise that’s one part static feedback, one part soul exiting the body.

“Will you continue this extremely bureaucratically convenient charade with me?” you say, offering the candy ring with reverence. “For the tax write-offs and the peace of never having to talk to anyone else ever again?”

The HR guy is stunned. Mouth open. Not blinking. Probably buffering.

Idia stares at the ring. Then at you. Then at the HR guy. Then at the ring again.

“…I hate you,” he whispers, but lifts his hand anyway. “It better be lemon flavor or I walk.”

You slide the ring onto his finger like this is a fairy tale gone deeply, deeply off script.

HR makes a note. “...Right. Well. You’ll receive your bonding paperwork in three to five business days.”

And just like that, the meeting is over.

You and Idia walk out in silence, side by side, your new “engagement” ring glinting like the chaos it truly represents.

“...I hope you choke on candy,” he mutters.

“You love me.”

“No one will believe we’re bonded.”

“Oh, honey,” you grin, linking your arm through his. “They already do.”

These days, you and Idia have reached what scientists might call a stable orbit, and what HR calls a “gross misuse of company time and space.” But whatever. That’s between you, Idia, and the slowly dying office fern neither of you have watered in months.

You don’t bother him too much anymore—which is to say, you only rearrange his collectible figurines once a week now instead of every time you enter his office. And in return, he no longer looks at you like you’re an invasive species he’d like to report to pest control. Progress.

Sometimes, your days are quiet. Idia’s hunched over in his gaming chair, absolutely violating some poor boss monster on screen while whispering insults under his breath like, “Die, you HP-bloated RNG hellbeast,” and you’re sprawled face-first across the couch like a very emotionally fulfilled potato.

You’ve made a perfect depression nest out of spare jackets, your limbs dangling off the side like you’ve been freshly thrown there by fate itself.

You should be working. Technically. But Idia’s the one who put the “Do Not Disturb Unless You’re On Fire” sign on the door, so really, you’re just honoring the sanctity of that promise.

Other times, you swing by with takeout—because you both forgot to eat lunch, and if left alone, Idia will subsist off instant noodles and spite. You shove a container into his hand and collapse next to him on the couch, your thigh pressed against his as he awkwardly elbows you for space but doesn’t actually move away. Not that you’re keeping score.

(You are. You're absolutely keeping score.)

"Okay," he says, opening his container. "So this season's adaptation is garbage—they cut the backstory arc, the budget tanked, and the studio didn’t even animate the hair properly, it’s criminal. But the original light novel? Peak fiction. High literary art. Shakespeare is in shambles.”

You nod sagely as you munch on your fries. You don’t know what the hell he’s talking about—something about time loops and cursed bloodlines and a vampire love interest who’s actually a sentient program??—but you listen anyway.

Not because you care about the plot.

But because he talks with his whole soul, voice quickening, eyes gleaming like he’s just rolled a nat 20 on the Charisma check against social anxiety. He flails with one hand, gesturing wildly with his chopsticks like a tiny conductor of chaos, while his other hand never leaves yours.

And sometimes, in those moments—when he’s mid-rant, flushed with nerd rage, and you’re half-listening, half-dozing, fingers tangled with his—you catch yourself looking at him a little too long.

You catch the sparkle in his eyes, the way his shoulders drop around you, the way he stops stuttering when he gets excited and trusts you to listen even if you don’t understand.

And it takes every single molecule of willpower in your rapidly melting brain not to say anything.

Not to say how much you like these moments. Not to say how much you like him.

Because, sure, you’re fake-bonded. Pretending. Faking it for HR and for peace and quiet and to stop weird Espers from flirting with your favorite (and only) antisocial Guide.

But maybe—just maybe—you wouldn’t mind if it weren’t pretend at all.

Despite being a somewhat unmotivated little gremlin who once filed a formal complaint about being asked to show up to a meeting before noon, you have a bad habit of pushing yourself too far when it came to gates.

Not for glory. Not for stats. Not even for the sweet, sweet serotonin of a job well done. No, you did it because you’d seen what happened when gates breached—when help came too late, when the wrong Esper got caught in the crossfire, when someone broke apart in a way no guide could patch back together.

You remembered one of your old friends, a Guide with the sunniest smile and a laugh that always rang louder than anyone else’s. Until one day it didn’t. They’d walked out of a particularly bad gate in stunned silence, hands shaking, mouth opening and closing like they wanted to say something—anything—but couldn’t. They handed in their resignation the next day.

So yeah. Maybe you were lazy about laundry and paperwork and showing up on time. But when it came to gates, you didn’t play around.

You fought like hell to make sure no one else had to go through what your friend did. You fought out of bounds. You fought monsters that weren’t yours. You fought so Idia never had to wear that hollow, too-still expression you remembered from that day.

And today?

Today was bad.

A sudden gate, not enough backup, and you were the highest-ranked Esper present. Which meant it fell on you.

You lasted twelve hours in there. Twelve hours of back-to-back fights, suppressing, clearing, burning through your stamina like your life—and everyone else’s—depended on it.

By the time the gate sealed and spat you out, you were barely standing. The world tilted hard to the left, your vision turned into that weird static-y filter they use in horror movies right before someone dies, and your stomach made a noise that might’ve been a scream. You took one step before your knees gave out.

You didn’t hit the ground.

Because suddenly, there were hands on you—arms catching you just before you collapsed, dragging you out of the danger zone with a surprisingly solid grip for someone whose most strenuous physical activity was switching charging cables.

You didn’t even need to see him to know who it was.

Idia. Your Guide. Your terribly anxious, semi-voluntarily associated handler, whose voice was sharp with panic as he dragged you to the safe zone and sat you down with all the gentleness of a malfunctioning robot.

“Oh my god—oh my god, what the hell is wrong with you? Are you trying to die? Is this your new thing? Is this a hobby now?!”

You tried to respond but only managed a weak groan and a half-choke that might’ve been, “I’m fine,” or “I’m dying,” honestly it was 50/50.

He pressed his hands against your temples and started guiding immediately, energy steady and practiced. You felt the tightness in your chest start to ease, your pulse gradually slowing, your lungs actually filling up for once instead of fluttering like a dying balloon.

It was kind of nice. You hadn’t realized how close to blacking out you were until the static started fading. And then—

SMACK.

“OW—!”

“Shut up,” Idia hissed, yanking his hand back after slapping your shoulder hard enough to knock your soul a little looser. “You—you absolute fool of an Esper, you think I have time to be picking your half-dead corpse up off the ground like this?! I have three games on cooldown and a raid to prepare for next week and a life, you inconsiderate idiot!”

You opened one eye. “Wow, you’re yelling so much. Are you worried about me or just mad your stream got interrupted?”

“I’m both,” he snapped, color rising fast in his cheeks. “This—this can’t happen again. If you do this again, I’m gone. I’ll walk. I’ll— I’ll turn off my communicator. I’ll delete my file. I’ll fake my death. I will abandon you.”

You hummed, barely keeping your head upright. “You’d never.”

“I would.” His voice cracked like glass under pressure. “Don’t—don’t you dare test me. I mean it. I don’t want to… I don’t want to see you like that. Not again.”

You blinked at him slowly, the weight of exhaustion settling back into your limbs now that the adrenaline had burned out. And maybe it was the guiding haze, or maybe it was just him, but you let yourself rest.

Just for a little.

Because despite the dramatics and the hissy fit and the aggressively uncoordinated yelling, you knew what that panic meant. You knew what his hands trembling over yours meant.

And if your Guide was threatening to fake his own death for you, well… wasn’t that kind of romantic?

You took a few days off after The Incident™, otherwise known as You Being A Reckless Maniac Who Nearly Died On The Job While Your Guide Watched In Real-Time. The official report called it “extreme physical exertion in a high-risk environment.” You called it “a regular workday.”

But now, by some miracle of medical leave and your supervisor’s desperate plea for you to “please just stop doing this to us,” you were free.

And what did you do with your precious, well-earned downtime?

You healed your soul.

Which, for the record, looked a lot like wearing the same hoodie for three days, eating spicy chips with reckless abandon, and watching a reality show so unhinged it had to be imported from three countries over and aired exclusively at 3 a.m. due to moral concerns.

It was everything you wanted. Stupid people making stupid choices while you lived vicariously from the safety of your couch.

You were mid-cringe—some poor contestant had just confessed their love to the wrong twin—when someone knocked on your door.

You paused the TV and blinked. You weren’t expecting anyone. Delivery? Nah, you hadn’t even ordered anything today. Maybe the neighbors—

You opened the door and froze.

Idia stood there. Hoodie too big. Hair slightly frizzed as usual. One hand holding a plastic bag that looked like it could house a small cow, the other awkwardly dragging a suitcase. A suitcase.

You stared at him.

He stared at you.

Then, without saying a single word, he walked right in. No greeting, no explanation, just brushed past you like he’d done it a hundred times before and knew exactly where he was going.

He set the bag down with a thunk, the suitcase with a thud, plugged a drive into your media player with all the confidence of someone who had practiced this, and loaded up an anime you didn’t even recognize—something with neon colors, probably three timelines, and a cast of beautiful characters with extremely tragic backstories.

Then he turned to you.

And stared.

Not a single word. Just pointedly stared until you sighed, flopped back down on the couch, and scooted over to make room for him.

He joined you immediately. Threw a blanket over the both of you with the elegance of a man conducting a sacred ritual. Pulled your hand into his and laced your fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Still didn’t say anything.

You glanced at him. “So… are you living here now?”

No answer.

“Did you bring me snacks at least?”

He reached into the bag with his free hand, pulled out your favorite candy, and passed it to you without looking.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re really committing to the whole silent anime protagonist thing, huh?”

He finally opened his mouth.

“Shut up. The sad backstory part is about to start.”

And that was that.

Apparently, your healing arc had a guest star now. One with a suitcase, great taste in melodrama, and a grip on your hand that never loosened.

You wake up with a distinct sense that something’s wrong.

Not life-or-death wrong. Not “gate-breach-imminent” wrong. More like “you-fell-asleep-in-a-position-that-defies-basic-anatomy” kind of wrong.

Your limbs are a mess. There’s a hoodie-clad arm loosely wrapped around your waist. Your face is very much pressed into someone’s collarbone. Someone who is radiating body heat like a human furnace. And you, like the enlightened creature you are, sniff before you register what your eyes are seeing.

Wait.

Wait.

You blink blearily, and that’s when you realize: the human furnace is Idia Shroud.

You’re practically draped over him. Your leg is slung over his hips like you own him. His fingers are curled gently in your shirt like you’re his last tether to life. It’s less “sleepover” and more “Netflix and accidental marriage.”

And just as you situation begins to settle in, he stirs.

You freeze.

He opens his eyes.

And then—it happens.

He makes a sound. A terrible, wretched sound. Like a dying Roomba. Or a haunted fax machine possessed by a demon with asthma.

Then he squints down at you, eyes wild with confusion and betrayal.

And with a trembling breath, he whispers, “…I hate you.”

You blink. “What.”

“I hate you,” he repeats, louder this time, like you’re hard of hearing and he’s your dramatic high school ex. “I hate you. This is all your fault.”

You squint. “Did the genre shift? Are we friends to enemies now? Or, like, lovers to enemies to something worse?”

He sits up with you still partially on him and gestures dramatically at the tangled blankets like he’s presenting evidence in court. “Look at this. Look at what you’ve done to me. I used to be a recluse. I used to avoid human interaction. I had peace. Quiet. I had ten hours of gaming time per day.”

“You still have that,” you point out. “You just make me sit in the room now and pass you snacks.”

“Exactly!” he snaps. “I started liking it! I started looking forward to your dumb commentary during boss fights! I started… craving your presence like some kind of socially-adjusted moron!”

You stare.

He rants on, wild-haired and red-faced and approximately one and a half steps from throwing himself out a window. “You fake proposed to get out of HR trouble! And then you stole my hoodie! And you keep showing up in my space and making it better and more tolerable and I hate you for it!”

Your mouth twitches. “You sure this isn’t just a confession disguised as slander?”

He glares at you. “Don’t flatter yourself. I am merely experiencing symptoms of long-term emotional contamination. Also known as affection. A known virus."

You’re laughing now, arms still loosely wrapped around him. “So you like me.”

“I can’t believe I fell for you,” he groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “Of all the people in this world, I had to fall for the unhinged disaster gremlin who pretended we were bonded because it was ‘funny.’”

“You asked me to keep the lie going!”

“Because you said we were soulmates in front of an HR rep with a clipboard!”

You grin. “Okay, but was I wrong?”

He makes a noise that sounds like a tea kettle having an emotional breakdown.

Then he slumps like he’s aged thirty years in three seconds and mutters, “Just reject me already so I can go die in some cold, dark corner of a server room.”

You kiss him.

It’s soft and simple and smug. Mostly because he’s still glaring at you and now he’s also short-circuiting. His ears go bright pink.

You smile against his lips and ask, “So. You wanna make the fake bond real?”

He glares harder. “You’re the worst.”

And then he kisses you again like he’s never been more offended to be in love in his entire life.

Idia hated that he was a high-class Guide.

It was like being the rare shiny Pokémon everyone wanted to catch, except instead of admiration, it came with a nonstop barrage of overcaffeinated Espers trying to hold his hand without warning and HR emails that read like increasingly desperate dating profiles: “This one is only mildly feral! Just give it a shot :)”

He didn’t want to “give it a shot.” He wanted to crawl into his anime pillow fort and watch seventeen episodes of Mecha Scream Force: Ultimate Uncut Directors’ Deluxe Edgelord Edition in peace.

And then your file landed in his inbox.

Subject: SS– BATTLE-LEVEL ESPER. NOTES: Known anomaly. Exhibits unpredictable energy flux due to post-gate mutation. Possibly cursed. Re: Sync pair recommendation – IDIA SHROUD. Good luck. [Attached: a video of you almost biting into a monster’s neck mid-fight]

Idia stared at it for a full minute. Then he closed the file, reopened it, and checked the name. His name.

“Whyyyy me?” he whispered to the heavens, even though he was indoors and had blackout curtains drawn so tightly it looked like the void itself lived there.

Clearly, he’d wronged someone in a past life. Probably a whole list of someones.

When you walked into his office, he expected chaos. He expected explosions. He expected you to tackle him to the ground screaming “LET ME ABSORB YOUR AURA” or something equally traumatic.

Instead?

You looked at him, grinned like this was a lunch break, and approached him. 

Then you stuck your hand out like you were offering him a pen.

“Yo. You guiding or nah?”

Idia blinked. The sheer normalcy hit him like a truck. 

You just kept smiling, not even a glimmer of feral gate trauma in your eyes, and said, “Wanna do the hand thing or are you one of those forehead touchers?”

Idia was so caught off guard he actually stuttered, “J-just hands is fine.”

“Neat,” you said, and took his hand like it was no big deal. Like you hadn’t allegedly suplexed a gate beast using only your pinky. Like you didn’t have a file thicker than some light novels.

And… that was it.

You let him guide you. No whining. No dramatic speeches. No weird vibes. Just sync.

When it was over, you looked at him and said, “Wanna grab noodles?” and then skipped off to bother a vending machine.

Idia stood there for several minutes, buffering like a corrupted cutscene.

You weren’t loud. You weren’t clingy. You didn’t even try to oversync. And your handshake? A solid 8.5/10. Firm, but not emotionally traumatizing.

He texted Ortho:

“I think I found a non-feral one. Do you think they’re a spy.”

Ortho replied:

“Or maybe they’re just not like the others.” “Bro do NOT fall in love.”

Idia stared at your file again that night. He looked at the chaos reports, the combat records, the notes scribbled in red pen by HR.

And then he thought about your stupid little grin and how you didn’t even complain when he made you wait twenty minutes while he charged his noise-canceling headphones.

Maybe—just maybe—you weren’t going to ruin his life.

Yet.

The first time Idia waited outside a gate for you, he genuinely thought, How bad could it be?

Spoiler: it was bad.

He was standing there with his coat flapping awkwardly in the breeze, hunched like a socially anxious gargoyle, trying to blend into the concrete.

But alas—there was no blending in when you were wearing a neon SS-rank Guide badge that practically screamed, “HELLO! I’m high value and emotionally unavailable for syncing, please invade my personal space immediately!”

Espers began swarming.

Like moths. No. Like moths with abs.

“Yo, you synced up with anyone?” said one particularly muscular guy who was chewing gum with the intensity of someone trying to seduce through molar power.

“Wanna test compatibility?” offered another, already reaching out like this was some kind of handshake.

“I could use a cool-headed Guide like you,” purred a woman who looked like she bench-pressed trucks in her downtime.

Idia, for his part, simply froze. Not because he was considering it. No. He was buffering. His brain was lagging so hard it was displaying the mental equivalent of the spinning beach ball of doom. Why were they all so close? Why was that one flexing?

He wanted to vanish. He wanted to dissolve into the sidewalk. He wanted you to COME OUT OF THE GATE ALREADY.

And then, like some kind of disaster-themed magical girl, you stumbled out of the gate with your jacket halfway falling off your shoulder, a smear of monster goo on your cheek, and your smile crooked from adrenaline.

You blinked at the scene. Idia surrounded by sparkle-eyed Espers. And you? You grinned like a menace and called, “Aww, were you being courted while I was gone?”

He immediately flushed three shades of cherry blossom pink and hissed, “W-would it kill you to come out faster?! I almost got bond-napped!”

You just laughed, clapped him on the shoulder (with the force of a medium earthquake), and said, “Don’t worry, Shiny Badge. I’ll be faster next time.”

And shockingly… you were.

Next gate, you practically threw yourself out as soon as the rift closed, stumbling directly into Idia like you were being ejected from a monster meat blender.

He squeaked. You beamed. And every other Esper in a ten-foot radius suddenly looked like they’d just found out their crush was married.

“You happy now?” you asked, trying to wipe blood off your face with a wet napkin. “Did I make it in time to preserve your purity?”

“I am never wearing that badge again,” Idia muttered, clinging to your arm like you were his emotional support chaos.

But secretly?

He was just a little happy you’d listened.

A few months into this partnership—not that Idia was counting (he totally was, he had a spreadsheet tracking your interactions and categorized emotional events, but that’s beside the point)—he was enjoying what he considered peak compatibility.

You didn’t ask invasive questions. You brought snacks. And most importantly, you didn’t try to poke at his psyche with metaphorical chopsticks like all the other Espers seemed to enjoy doing.

So when a baby B-class Esper showed up outside his office and refused to leave, he had one reaction.

Panic.

He were earnest. Bright-eyed. Starstruck. Speaking through the office door in a tone that suggested he was auditioning for a sports anime.

“I just believe it’s my destiny to be guided by the best! And the system says you have many open slots!”

Idia, crumpled in his gamer chair like a depressed shrimp, texted you in the most pathetic SOS syntax he could manage.

SOS. B-Class pest in hallway. Halp. They’re monologuing.

To his relief and eternal confusion, you actually showed up. On your day off. Dressed in sweatpants and judgment, hair a mess, holding an energy drink in one hand and existential dread in the other.

He thought—great, you’d flex your seniority, threaten the rookie with HR, maybe gently suggest they find a less traumatized Guide.

But no.

You looked at the Esper, and said, “Sorry. He’s bonded. To me. Permanently.”

The B-class Esper’s eyes widened with sparkling heartbreak. “O-oh. I didn’t… I didn’t see a bond registration?”

You didn’t even blink. “It’s private. For, uh… spiritual reasons.”

The kid left with a sniffle and a salute—a salute, like they’d just witnessed a great romantic tragedy.

And you?

You slurped your energy drink and said, “You’re welcome. You owe me dinosaur nuggets.”

And Idia, poor Idia, just sat there in the background with his hands halfway to his face, mumbling, “I’m gonna fling you out the window. Then I’m gonna follow.”

He just curled up in his chair, stared at the ceiling, and began calculating how long he could fake his own death before HR caught on.

And the worst part?

The lie worked too well.

Idia had survived a lot of things in life.

He’d survived MMORPG guild drama. The Y/N self-insert fic someone wrote about him that got 80,000 kudos and a spin-off comic. That fic someone wrote about him marrying Malleus in a pasta-themed AU that still somehow had an 8k comment thread.

But this?

This was unforgivable.

He was in HR. Again. With you. And no one had even punched a hole in the wall this time. This was all preemptive HR. Preventative HR.

The worst kind of HR, because it meant someone somewhere thought he might be a problem. Him! A problem! As if he didn’t already take up negative space in most social situations!

And you—you, the original source of his misfortune—you were just sitting beside him like you hadn’t just committed the equivalent of marriage fraud by loudly claiming, in front of at least seven witnesses and a vending machine, that the two of you were bonded.

Permanently. Irrevocably. Like a pair of idiot soulmates who'd stumbled out of a romcom written by an unpaid intern.

As if the “we’re bonded, teehee” debacle with the B-class Esper wasn’t enough to shave a year off Idia’s already stress-shortened life, it had happened again.

Some random esper held his hand post-gate when you were both still high on adrenaline and trauma, and instead of, Idia didn’t know, punching them or using your words like a normal person, you just went “excuse me, that’s my bonded Guide, how dare you,” like you were a jealous ex.

That was the moment the rumors really took off.

And now here you were. Both of you. In HR.

Because HR had questions. Many questions. And neither of you had done the bare minimum, which was maybe talking about what fake answers you should give in advance. Like you didn’t even rehearse. Not a single shared Google Doc. No coordinated lies. Just vibes.

So when the HR guy (who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else on the planet, including the bottom of a sulfur pit) asked, “When did the bond occur?” you said October 3rd and Idia, with absolute confidence and zero hesitation, said March 22nd.

There was a pause.

Not a silence. A pause. The kind that echoes through generations.

“And where did it happen?” the man asked again, in the voice of someone whose therapist was going to be hearing about this in excruciating detail later.

You, smiling: “Field 17.”

Idia, barely restraining a grimace: “The Cafeteria.”

Another silence. This one more like an oncoming freight train.

“Do you at least know each other’s middle names?”

Idia blinked. “They have a middle name?”

You, helpfully: “His is ‘Trouble.’”

The HR guy looked like he aged six years in that moment. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed deeply, and began massaging his temples in slow, pained circles like a man who had seen the abyss and wished it had swallowed him.

And then.

Then you moved.

Idia saw it happen in slow motion. You stood up. Reached into your hoodie pocket. And pulled out something shiny and crinkly. Something artificial. Something glowing with malevolent intent.

A Ring Pop.

A goddamn Ring Pop.

“Don’t do it,” Idia whispered, “I swear to everything, if you—”

You dropped to one knee in the middle of the HR office like you were auditioning for a live-action soap opera.

“From the moment we synced,” you said, voice loud, clear, and completely free of shame, “I knew you were the only socially avoidant, high-strung disaster I wanted to illegally claim government benefits with.”

ILLEGALLY.

CLAIM.

GOVERNMENT BENEFITS.

In front of HR. 

Idia's soul left his body. Again. He was nothing but a faint outline of smoke and anxiety in the shape of a man.

The HR guy did not react. He simply stared into space like he had become untethered from time and reality. Somewhere in the distance, someone’s computer pinged. A bird hit the window. The printer made a noise like it was trying to weep.

Idia looked at the Ring Pop. It better not be raspberry flavored. The worst possible option. The flavor of betrayal and poor decisions.

“If it’s not lemon, I walk,” he muttered, even as he extended his hand like the fool he was.

You beamed like you’d just won a reality show. Slipped the candy ring onto his finger with great ceremony. He stared down at it, sticky sugar starting to melt onto his knuckles, and wondered what series of decisions had led him to this moment.

You leaned close as you walked out of the office and whispered, “We’re truly fraudulently bonded now. I hope you’re happy.”

“I’m the opposite of happy,” Idia hissed. “I am… anti-happy. I am negativity incarnate. We are legally entangled. We have created an HR file. I’m going to have to explain this to Ortho.”

You smirked.

“Tell him it was a shotgun wedding. He’ll love it.”

You didn’t let go of his hand.

And—God help him—he didn’t let go of yours either.

It definitely got worse before it got better. 

Ortho, for one, did not let him live it down. Not for a second. There was a party. A full-on celebratory bash. With banners. One of which read “Congrats on Your Emergency Government Sanctioned Soul Marriage!” in Comic Sans.

Idia had tried to crawl into the floor. The floor, unfortunately, remained solid. He was forced to attend the party in body, if not spirit.

Ortho had even made a slideshow, complete with sparkly transitions and lo-fi music, documenting “every known moment of you two being disgustingly bonded.”

There was cake. The cake said “Congrats, You Played Yourself.” It tasted like guilt.

But… after the glitter and humiliation settled… things became weirdly good.

You didn’t treat him differently. That was the weird part. You still flopped dramatically across his office couch like you’d just fought a battle with gravity and lost.

You still made horrendous snacking noises and tried to convince him to watch cursed reality TV. You still made offhanded jokes during his games that were so sharp and stupid that he had to pause the cutscene and stare into the screen like it was a black void of disbelief.

He never laughed—obviously—but his shoulders shook a little sometimes. Just from rage. Definitely.

Sometimes, you brought him takeout. Unprompted. Just dropped it on his desk like a raccoon delivering tribute and started poking through your own container.

You always let him talk about whatever show had emotionally ruined him that week. You even listened. Like, actually listened. Nodded at the plot twists. Called the villain a loser. Asked about the fan theories. Like what he said mattered.

And sometimes, when you were too distracted counting shrimp in your fried rice, brows furrowed like you were solving a shrimp-based tax puzzle, Idia would stare at you.

Not in a creepy way. Just in a very... intense... anime-protagonist-moment kind of way. Like if someone added a wind filter and dramatic music, it would be a whole romantic B-plot arc.

He’d stare and think: Please don’t change. Please don’t leave. Please let this be real, even if it’s dumb. Even if it’s fake government paperwork and Ring Pops and nonsense. Please let this nonsense stay mine.

And then you’d look up mid-chew, mouth full, and say something like, “Do you think shrimp ever get existential crises about tempura?”

He’d immediately look away, ears red, heart a mess.

He was doomed.

Absolutely, sugar-glazed, takeout-fed, soul-bonded doomed.

There was an emergency gate.

Idia was outside. He’d been outside for twelve hours. That was twelve hours of sunlight exposure, twelve hours of people trying to talk to him, twelve hours of not knowing if you were dead or just being dramatic. Which, okay, to be fair, the line between the two was thin when it came to you.

He paced. He vibrated. He glared at anyone who so much as breathed in his direction. Someone tried to hand him a water bottle and he hissed like a wet cat.

Every five minutes, he checked his comms, even though he wasn’t cleared for internal updates. SS-ranked Guide my ass, he thought bitterly, hands twitching. Can’t even get an accurate live feed on the one maniac I’m synced to.

He told himself—repeatedly—that he was only mad because he had to wait outside for twelve whole hours. That it was purely logical rage. That the sun had permanently crisped his skin and fried his nerves and this was just normal vitamin-D-overload fury.

He was a filthy liar and he knew it.

He was anxious. He was anxious because you were in there alone. Well, not alone—technically there were other Espers—but they were all juniors. Babies. Snot-nosed kids who couldn’t fight their way out of a tutorial level.

You were the highest rank inside. Which meant you would push yourself. Which meant he had to sit there for twelve hours imagining every possible worst-case scenario his very creative and extremely deranged brain could come up with.

So when you finally stumbled out—filthy, bleeding, and doing your best impression of a half-dead Muppet—Idia didn’t even think. He caught you before you hit the ground, arms wrapping around you like instinct.

You were half-conscious, mumbling something about how the last monster looked like your elementary school English teacher, and Idia just about blacked out.

He dragged you to the side with the strength of pure panic and adrenaline. You were barely upright, clinging to him like a sleep-deprived spider monkey, and he was guiding you with shaky hands and a full-body tremble of what the hell, what the actual hell, what is wrong with you.

And then—he slapped your shoulder.

Hard.

Harder than someone with his spaghetti-noodle limbs had any right to.

“Are you out of your mind?!” he snapped, voice cracking. “Do you have a single functioning brain cell?! Were you trying to die in there? Is that it? Were you like, ‘Wow, you know what would be awesome today? Ruining my lungs and my Guide’s entire life in one go’—was that the plan?!”

You wheezed a laugh and gave a thumbs up.

He smacked you again.

“You can’t do that again,” he said, quietly this time, guiding aura flaring warm and sharp around his hands. “You can’t. If this happens again, I swear, I’m done. I’ll walk. I’ll turn in my license. I’ll go live in the woods and talk to raccoons. I’ll abandon you. I’m serious.”

You blinked at him, eyes bleary. “That’s dramatic.”

“So are you!” he snapped, and ran another guiding pulse through your body, scowling.

You slumped into him, letting the energy steady your limbs, and mumbled something about him being overprotective.

He told you to shut up.

You smiled.

He didn’t mean it about leaving.

But you didn’t need to know that.

You took a few days off after the gate incident. Not that Idia was keeping track. Not that he had an entire spreadsheet titled “Gate Trauma Recovery: Dumb Gremlin Edition” with daily updates on your recovery status that he absolutely did not check every thirty minutes.

But okay, maybe he was spiraling a little.

Because no matter how many games he played or anime episodes he queued up, he couldn’t get the image out of his head—you, bruised and burned and half-conscious, slumping into his arms like you were seconds away from not existing anymore.

It lived rent-free in his head. It had set up a cozy studio apartment in his cerebral cortex and was not paying utilities.

So, naturally, like any emotionally repressed SS-rank Guide with the common sense of a decorative rock, he packed a suitcase.

In went his portable gaming setup. His backup backup controller. Six different cords for reasons known only to the universe. Two sets of headphones. His lucky gamer hoodie. A USB fan (essential). And then a bag of snacks roughly the size of 6 corgis, filled with everything from neon sour gummies to obscure off-brand Pocky flavors.

Then, in a fit of either romance or psychosis (jury’s out), he showed up at your front door.

You opened it mid–reality show binge, wearing pajama pants with some loud pattern that made his eyes hurt. He stood there, suitcase in one hand, snack bag in the other, looking like a socially anxious door-to-door apocalypse salesman.

Neither of you spoke.

Because what was he supposed to say?

“Hi, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way your breathing was shallow and your skin was cold and I panicked so hard I packed my whole life into a bag like we’re running away from a zombie uprising and now I’m here because not seeing you for three days makes me feel like I’m gonna hurl?”

Absolutely not. He would rather eat drywall. He would rather die.

So instead, he walked in silently like a weirdo, set his stuff down like it was totally normal, and plugged in his drive into your media player like this was just a casual day.

You, either out of kindness or shared delusion, didn’t question it.

You just moved things over on the couch to make room and handed him the blanket. Like this was normal. Like he hadn’t just barged in with a small suitcase of emotional instability and bad coping mechanisms.

He put on a new anime. One he’d been saving. One he hadn’t planned on watching until you could roll your eyes and make your dumb little commentary at the plot holes.

You leaned against him, not saying a word.

And he held your hand like you hadn't absolutely blown up his entire emotional firewall. Like he hadn’t nearly lost you. Like this wasn’t already his favorite memory.

He didn’t say a word the whole episode.

But his fingers stayed curled around yours like a promise he was too much of a coward to say out loud.

Idia woke up with a full-grown human person draped across his body like a weighted blanket with boundary issues.

His brain booted up slowly—first registering the dull ache in his spine from sleeping on your disaster of a couch, then the soft warmth of your face smushed into his shoulder, and finally the fact that your entire existence was currently entangled with his like some kind of romcom final episode cuddle position.

He did not survive twelve hours of panicked gate-waiting, emotional damage, and spontaneous suitcase-packing for this.

Actually, no. That was a lie. He absolutely did. And if anyone dared to move you right now he would bite.

But unfortunately for him—and also, somehow, for you—he had the emotional self-control of a feral raccoon near a garbage can of feelings. So when you stirred a little and blinked sleepily at him, he opened his mouth and said the first thing that slithered out of his traitorous brain.

“I hate you.”

Your eyes focused slowly. “...Huh?”

“I hate you,” he repeated, voice cracking like a cursed record. “I hate the way you act like it’s totally normal to almost die in my arms and then go eat egg tarts like it’s no big deal. I hate that you lie to HR like it’s your full-time job. I hate that you keep doing stupid dangerous things and now I can’t function unless I know you’re alive and breathing and not about to faceplant into death.”

You blinked. Then—as if you weren’t being confessed to in what could only be described as a monologue from a melodramatic anime villain—you grinned.

“You sure this isn’t just a confession disguised as slander?”

“I—!” Idia made a noise so high-pitched only dogs could hear it. “I can’t believe I fell for you. Out of everyone. I fell for a chaotic war goblin who proposes with candy rings and lies to government officials like it’s foreplay.”

You were still grinning.

“Okay,” you said, ridiculously chipper for someone in a horizontal cuddle chokehold. “So do you wanna actually permanently bond and make it official or are we just going to keep emotionally edging each other until one of us passes out?”

Idia stared at you like you’d just offered him the keys to the universe and then spit directly on his soul.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Short-circuited a little.

Then, quietly—so quietly you almost missed it—he said, “...Only if you still have that candy ring.”

You beamed. “I always carry the candy ring.”

He looked like he wanted to crawl under the couch and die from happiness. Instead, he pulled you closer and mumbled against your forehead:

“You are the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Then he kissed you again like he never wanted to let you go.

You and Idia actually end up permanently bonded.

Legally. Emotionally. Spiritually. Psychically. All of the above.

You signed the forms (well, you dramatically slammed them onto the HR desk and said, “Guess we’re actually married now, huh?” while Idia tried to phase through the wall from secondhand embarrassment), synced up your brain waves or whatever, and boom—done.

And honestly? It doesn’t feel like fireworks. Or fate. Or some dramatic crescendo of music and soulmates.

It feels like wearing your favorite hoodie.

It feels like sleep.

It feels like finally putting your phone on Do Not Disturb and flopping face-first onto your guide.

Gates still suck. They still open at 3 a.m. when you're already two bites into a reheated burrito. They still spit out eldritch horrors that look like tax fraud made flesh. And yeah—you still fight recklessly. You're still you.

But now there’s a pause before you push too hard. Now there’s a voice—his voice—filling your head mid-fight going, “Hey, I don’t mean to backseat or anything, but MAYBE don’t solo the three-headed acid wolf?”

And you listen. Mostly. Sometimes. At least you try.

Because you remember what it was like, the way his hands shook the first time he caught you after a gate—your blood on his shirt, your laugh too weak, your legs folding like bad origami. You remember the way he smacked you while guiding, voice cracking, saying, “Don’t you ever do that again or I’m uninstalling myself from this entire dimension.”

So you ease up. A little. For him.

Life is still a mess. You're still a mess. Idia is a different flavor of mess, like the kind that alphabetizes their video game collection but forgets to eat lunch.

But it’s your mess now.

Sometimes, you watch terrible reality shows together and he pretends not to care but makes offhanded, emotionally devastating comments about character arcs. Sometimes, he lets you nap on his shoulder as he games and blushes violently if you drool on him.

Sometimes, he just sits next to you with your pinkies intertwined and doesn’t say a word—but you feel it anyway. That weird quiet peace. That “please don’t ever go into a gate without telling me again” kind of love.

And sometimes, when the world isn’t ending and your head isn’t splitting and the shrimp-to-rice ratio is finally correct, you kiss his cheek mid-battle and he yells, “This is emotional sabotage during a DPS rotation!” but he doesn’t pull away.

Life is chaos. But hey, at least now it’s your chaos. And you’ve got a socially anxious gremlin who chose you—every unhinged, exhausting part of you—on purpose.

And you’d choose him every time.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

[ranzemn]

Ruggie, Romantic, 'Shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling' - Good Luck Babe, Chappell Roan

Good Luck, Babe! || Ruggie Bucchi

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Good Luck, Babe! by Chappell Roan

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 800

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Angst with a happy ending

Ruggie’s good at pretending things don’t get to him.

He’s got a sharp tongue, a quick grin, a way of brushing things off like nothing sticks. That’s how he’s always been—scrappy, slippery, never holding on too tight.

But when he loves, he loves.

And that’s why this—you—hurts like hell.

You’re across the room, laughing too loud at something someone else said. Some nobody with an easy smile and hands that land where Ruggie’s should be.

He tips his glass back and drinks.

Yeah. Maybe if he drinks enough, he won’t feel the way his heart clenches every time your eyes skim over him like he’s just another face in the crowd.

It shouldn’t hurt like this. He knew what this was.

You were never his to keep.

You never called him yours, never let the nights you spent tangled up together mean anything more. And he let you. Played along, acted like it was all just a good time, because he figured that was better than nothing.

Better than losing you completely.

But watching you now, seeing you throw yourself into someone else’s arms like it’s nothing, like you don’t feel the same hollow ache he does—

It makes him want to break something.

Instead, he takes another drink.

The bartender glances at him, like they’ve seen this a hundred times before. Like they know the story by heart. Some poor bastard drinking his way through heartbreak, hoping liquor will do what common sense couldn’t.

“Another?”

Ruggie exhales slowly, tapping his fingers against the bar.

What’s one more?

One more drink. One more excuse. One more second pretending he’s not stupidly, hopelessly in love with someone who won’t ever let themselves love him back.

The bartender sets a fresh glass in front of him.

Ruggie picks it up, rolling it between his fingers. His reflection stares back at him in the amber liquid—eyes too tired, lips pressed into something too tight to be a smirk.

You used to tease him about his bad habits. "You drink like it’s gonna fix something."

He used to laugh.

Now, he just takes another sip and lets the bitter taste sit on his tongue.

"One more, and then I’m done."

But he knows it’s a lie.

Because no matter how many shots he takes, no matter how many times he tells himself to let you go—

It’s still you. Always you.

The bar is too loud, the air too thick, and he feels like he’s suffocating. The next sip tastes like regret, but that’s never stopped him before. He grips the glass tighter, mutters something under his breath, and wonders how long it’ll take before the ache in his chest turns numb.

Then—

"Ruggie?"

Your voice.

He barely has time to register it before you’re slipping onto the stool beside him, brows furrowed, eyes sharp with something that looks a hell of a lot like concern.

“What’s happening?”

He scoffs. “Nothin’.”

You don’t buy it.

You glance at the half-empty glass in his hand, then at the others he’s already worked through. Your lips press together, and Ruggie knows he’s in trouble—not in the fun, reckless way he usually is, but in the you’re about to make me say things I don’t wanna say way.

You tilt your head, studying him.

He looks away.

"You drink like you hate your liver," you mutter. "Since when do you do that?"

Since you.

Since tonight.

Since the moment he realized this whole thing—you and him—was never gonna be more than stolen moments and cheap thrills.

He sets the glass down. “Ain’t nothin’ to worry about.”

"Ruggie."

It’s not the usual playful tone you use when you tease him. It’s softer, closer, and gods, it makes something inside him snap.

The words spill out before he can stop them.

“I love you.”

Silence.

Ruggie exhales sharply, runs a hand through his hair like that’ll somehow fix this colossal mistake. He laughs, but it sounds hollow. “There. You happy? Ya got me.”

Then, you laugh.

And—okay, that’s not the reaction he was expecting.

He gapes as you shake your head, something exasperated and fond in your eyes. Then, before he can ask what the hell is so funny, you’re grabbing his wrist, tugging him off the stool.

“Alright, that’s enough of this,” you say, dragging him toward the exit.

“Hey—what—? Where are we—?”

“Home.”

“Home?”

"Yeah. Because who else, if not you?"

The words hit him harder than any drink ever could. He stumbles a bit, blinking at you like he’s not sure if he’s hallucinating.

You glance at him, smile curling at the edges of your lips. “You idiot. I love you too.”

The world spins a little. Not from the alcohol, not from the exhaustion, but from that. From you.

And suddenly, for the first time all night, Ruggie doesn’t feel like he needs another drink.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[ranzemn]

Betraying the Gods in Three Easy Steps || Malleus Draconia

Step 1: Befriend the Demon King.

Step 2: Fall in love.

Step 3: Quit your hero job.

The first thing you learned upon being chosen as the hero was that the gods were, in fact, morons.

This revelation came to you as you stood in their grand celestial court, bathed in holy light, staring at the pantheon of divine beings who had just bestowed upon you a sword that actively whispered threats into your ear.

"Go forth, O Chosen One," boomed the god of war, his six eyes burning with sacred fire. "You must slay the Demon King who lurks in his cursed lair atop the Black Hills!"

You shifted your weight and cleared your throat. "Okay, so... question. Just a tiny one. What, exactly, has the Demon King done?"

The gods exchanged glances.

"He is evil," the goddess of fate offered.

"Uh-huh. Examples?"

"He... exists," the god of light said, waving a golden hand vaguely.

There was an awkward silence. You rubbed your temples. "Right. But, like, has he pillaged villages? Enslaved kingdoms? Kicked a puppy?"

"He has refused to die despite our many attempts to kill him," the god of judgment said gravely.

You squinted. "So you're mad that he’s alive."

"YES," they all said in unison.

Fantastic. You had been chosen to carry out a divine grudge match.

Still, you weren’t in any position to argue. The gods had given you a bunch of ridiculously overpowered artifacts, including a holy sword, an indestructible shield, and a cloak that supposedly made you invisible but mostly just made you look like a very blurry ghost. They also kind of expected you to die like all the previous heroes, but that was a problem for later.

So here you were, standing at the edge of the Black Hills, staring up at the Demon King’s lair—a suspiciously well-maintained castle that looked less like a fortress of darkness and more like the summer home of someone who enjoyed gardening.

This whole thing reeked of bureaucracy.

With a deep sigh, you tightened your grip on your murderously sentient sword and marched forward, fully prepared to commit deicide if this entire mission turned out to be as dumb as you suspected.

You had braced yourself for a dark, ominous fortress filled with twisted creatures, rivers of lava, and at least one chandelier made of bones. Instead, you walked into what could only be described as a cozy study.

The room was warm, lit by a fireplace that crackled gently in the corner. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, filled with neatly arranged tomes, some of which looked suspiciously like romance novels. A tea set rested on the table, next to an open book. And sitting in an armchair, casually flipping through the pages, was a man.

A very tall, very elegant man with sharp green eyes and black horns curling from his head.

He blinked at you, clearly just as surprised as you were. "Oh," he said. "Hello."

You stared at him. "Uh. Hi?"

There was a long pause. He looked at your very dramatic hero attire, then at the glimmering, divinely blessed sword in your hand, then back at you. "I assume you’re here for a reason?"

You shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, so, the gods sent me to kill the Demon King, but like… lowkey? I don’t know what he looks like."

The man nodded, as if this was a completely reasonable statement. "I see." He gestured to the chair across from him. "Would you like some tea?"

You squinted at him. "I feel like you’re not taking this whole ‘assassination attempt’ thing very seriously."

"Should I?" he asked, pouring tea into a cup with unnerving grace. "You don't seem particularly invested in it yourself."

You couldn't exactly argue with that, so you sat down, placing your god-blessed weapon awkwardly on your lap. The man slid a cup toward you. The tea smelled… nice. Suspiciously nice. You sniffed it. "This isn’t, like, drugged or cursed, is it?"

He looked amused. "Only if you consider chamomile a powerful sedative."

You took a cautious sip. It was delicious.

"So," he said, leaning his chin on his hand. "Tell me about the outside world. It’s been a while since I last left these hills."

You shrugged. "Nothing much. The gods are idiots, as usual."

His lips curled in interest. "Oh?"

You leaned forward conspiratorially. "Okay, so get this. When they summoned me, they gave me this holy sword, right?" You tapped the weapon resting on your lap. "Only problem? It won’t shut up. The gods literally forgot to turn off its voice function, so now it just screams battle cries at all hours of the day. I had to wrap it in three layers of cloth just to get some sleep."

He let out a chuckle, eyes gleaming. "That is… incredible."

"Right? And that’s not even the worst part. The god of wisdom—actual title, by the way—accidentally set fire to their own temple last year because they miscalculated a lightning spell. They blamed it on ‘mystical forces’ but everyone knows they just got their math wrong."

The man—who, now that you were really looking at him, was ridiculously attractive in a dark-and-mysterious way—laughed. It was a rich, deep sound, the kind of laugh that made you feel like you’d just told the best joke in the world.

You grinned, feeling oddly comfortable. "Oh, and don’t even get me started on the god of fate. She got into a brawl with the god of harvest because she made a prophecy that all the wheat fields would burn down, and then the god of harvest was like, ‘You know that’s literally my job, right?’ and cursed her with hay fever. Now she sneezes every time she tries to predict the future."

Your new tea-drinking companion actually had to cover his mouth to stifle his laughter.

You took another sip of tea, feeling very proud of yourself. "Anyway," you said, stretching your arms. "By the way, have you seen the Demon King? Because, like, technically, I’m still supposed to be doing that job."

The man calmly pointed to himself.

You stared at him.

He stared back.

You blinked. "I'm sorry. What."

"Malleus Draconia," he said, setting his teacup down with the kind of elegance that made you feel like an unwashed peasant. "And you are?"

You were still reeling from the realization that you had spent the last half hour drinking tea with the exact person you were supposed to kill, so it took you a second to answer. You introduce yourself. "Hero chosen by the gods. Here to, you know…" You made a vague stabbing motion.

Malleus nodded, completely unfazed. "Ah. Yes. That would explain the weaponry." He glanced at your holy sword, which had mercifully remained silent for the past few minutes. "Though, I must say, you don’t seem particularly enthusiastic about your mission."

You sighed and set your cup down. "Yeah, well. I don’t really get why the gods have it out for you. I mean, do you actually do evil stuff? Are you stealing souls? Raising the dead? Kicking puppies?"

Malleus tilted his head, considering. "No, no, and—well, I suppose there was one incident with a puppy, but in my defense, I was trying to return it to its owner, and it misunderstood my intentions."

"That’s a really vague way to say 'I accidentally terrified it.'"

He sipped his tea, saying nothing.

You squinted at him. "So you’re telling me the gods declared a holy crusade against you for… what? Vibes?"

Malleus shrugged. "I assume so. They don’t seem to like my existence very much."

"Wow. Must be nice not giving a shit."

"It is quite freeing," he agreed. "Would you like a tour?"

You blinked. "A tour? Of your evil lair?"

"My home," he corrected, as if you were the unreasonable one. "I assume you have never seen it before."

"You assume correctly." You rubbed your chin. "Eh. What the hell. Show me around, mighty Demon King."

And so, instead of assassinating him, you spent the next hour wandering through the halls of his "evil lair" (read: very fancy castle), learning about his book collection, admiring the admittedly cool-looking stained-glass windows, and getting distracted by a particularly fluffy cat lounging on one of the rugs.

Somewhere along the way, you had fallen into easy conversation, sharing more absurd stories about the gods’ incompetence while Malleus listened with increasing amusement. You barely even noticed how natural it felt, how quickly you forgot the whole "mortal enemies" thing.

It wasn’t until you were about to leave that you remembered why you had come in the first place.

"Ah, right," you said, gripping the hilt of your holy sword. "The whole… uh, slaying thing."

Malleus lifted an eyebrow.

You exhaled and held the sword out to him. "Here. Take this."

He looked at you, then at the sword, then back at you. "You are giving me your divine weapon?"

"Look, man, I don’t know if you can tell, but I am very bad at this job."

Malleus took the sword, examining it with mild curiosity. The moment his fingers curled around the hilt, the weapon, which had remained blissfully quiet all day, suddenly came to life.

"FOUL BEAST! UNHAND ME AT ONCE—"

Malleus flicked his wrist, and the sword immediately went silent.

You gaped at him. "You can do that?!"

He hummed. "It appears so."

You put your hands on your hips. "You know what? Yeah. You can keep it. I don’t want it anymore."

Malleus smiled. "How generous of you."

You waved him off and turned toward the exit. "Anyway, this has been fun and all, but I should probably get going before the gods smite me for treason. I’ll, uh… I’ll get the job done next time."

Malleus watched you with that same unreadable expression, something like quiet amusement playing at the edges of his lips. "Of course. Next time."

You nodded, totally believing yourself, and left.

The gods were getting suspicious.

You could tell by the way they kept summoning you more frequently, their celestial faces lined with divine skepticism, their glowing, omnipotent eyes narrowing just a little more each time you gave your mission report.

So you did what any responsible, chosen-by-the-heavens hero would do: you doubled down on the lies.

“I’m gathering intel on the enemy.”

A few gods murmured in approval, nodding at your strategic foresight.

(The truth? You had spent the last four days sprawled across an absolutely sinful couch in Malleus’s absurdly cozy castle, debating whether a dragon could, theoretically, play the lute. Malleus had very strong opinions about claw dexterity and string tension. You were just trying to figure out how to smuggle the couch home.)

“I need to study his weaknesses.”

More nods. One god even stroked their beard, looking impressed.

(The reality? You were currently studying how many cookies you could consume before he started looking mildly concerned for your well-being. The number was high. Concerningly high. You were probably committing a sin against your own digestive system, but that was Future You’s problem.)

“He’s probably planning something evil, so I need to keep an eye on him.”

Now the gods were practically glowing with approval. One clapped you on the back, nearly knocking you off your feet.

(Meanwhile, in the demon king’s lair, Malleus was sitting in his massive library, sipping tea like a distinguished nobleman who had never even considered jaywalking, much less world domination. At one point, he sighed dramatically and looked out the window, the very picture of a wistful poet pondering the meaning of life. You had watched him do this for ten whole minutes, waiting for a sign of villainy. Nothing. The man was the least demonic demon king you had ever seen.)

The gods, thoroughly convinced that you were hard at work, dismissed you with a vague warning to “stay vigilant” and “not fall for any demonic tricks.”

You barely made it back to the castle before collapsing onto your new favorite couch with a groan. “They think I’m doing such a good job,” you mumbled, stuffing another cookie into your mouth. “I could probably ask for a raise.”

Malleus looked up from his book, amusement dancing in his emerald eyes. “A raise? What exactly would they be paying you for?”

“For my noble heroism,” you said around a mouthful of cookie. “My unwavering dedication. My strategic mind. My—” You gestured vaguely. “—efforts.”

Malleus hummed, setting his book aside. “Ah, yes. Your valiant efforts. Lounging on my furniture. Eating my desserts. Entertaining me with tales of divine incompetence.”

You wagged a finger at him. “You say that like it isn’t an important job.”

He smirked. “Oh, I quite enjoy your company. But I do wonder how long you plan to keep up this charade.”

“As long as I can,” you said without hesitation, grabbing another cookie. “At this point, I think I deserve an award for Best Hero in the Field of Procrastination.”

Malleus chuckled, resting his chin on his hand as he watched you with what was definitely, absolutely, 100% not fondness. Probably. “Indeed.”

Getting Malleus out of his lair was easier than expected. Getting him to wear the disguise, however, was a battle of wills.

“It is absurd,” he said flatly, staring at the comically large hat in your hands.

“Absurdly effective,” you countered.

“It looks like it belongs to a—”

“Fashion icon?”

“A cursed scarecrow,” he finished, unimpressed.

“Okay, rude. But listen, if you walk into town looking like that—” you gestured vaguely at his horns, “—people will either think you're about to declare war or host a very dramatic poetry reading. The hat helps.”

Malleus gave you a long, contemplative look, then, to your eternal delight, sighed and took the hat. It sat atop his head with the solemn dignity of a royal crown, though the sheer size of it made him look like he was about to start selling potions out of a roadside wagon.

“Very well,” he declared. “Let us proceed.”

Thus began the grand adventure of sneaking the Demon King into town.

Turns out, no one even noticed.

Which, to be fair, was kind of expected. This was a town where a man once tried to pay his taxes in live chickens and where the local bard wore sunglasses at night “because it added to his mystique.” Some guy in a huge hat? Not even in the top ten weirdest things people had seen this week.

Still, you felt an odd sense of pride as you dragged Malleus through the bustling streets. The Demon King, who had spent untold centuries isolated in his ominous gothic estate, was now watching a juggler toss flaming batons while a street vendor tried to sell you “cursed amulets” that were clearly just painted rocks.

He was fascinated.

His first stop was the bakery, where he became personally and spiritually invested in the concept of croissants.

“These are quite remarkable,” he murmured, carefully inspecting the flaky layers. “It is as if the very essence of light and air has been woven into dough.”

“You’re making it sound way fancier than it is,” you snorted. “It’s just bread.”

“A divine bread,” he corrected.

“You’re literally a demon.”

“I can still appreciate divinity when I taste it.”

Next, you took him to the bookstore, where he spent an unreasonable amount of time debating which tomes to purchase. At one point, you caught him flipping through something called One Hundred and One Curses to Ensure Your Enemies Remember You Fondly, which felt both deeply specific and incredibly on-brand.

While he was distracted by a book of poetry so dramatic it might as well have been personally written for him, you slipped away for a moment. A nearby flower stall caught your eye, and on impulse, you picked up a delicate bloom, its color strikingly similar to Malleus’s eyes.

You returned just as he was still deep in thought over which book to buy. Without a second thought, you reached up and tucked the flower behind his ear.

Malleus froze.

His expression didn’t change immediately—he just stared at you, his usual unreadable gaze flickering with something… complicated. His fingers hesitantly brushed against the petals, and for a moment, he looked genuinely baffled, as if no one had ever done something like this before.

You grinned at him. “Looks good on you, Your Evilness.”

Malleus exhaled a short, amused huff. “I must admit, I do not often receive accessories from my sworn enemies.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” you said, already dragging him towards the next store. “Now come on, I still need to introduce you to the single greatest achievement of human civilization.”

He tilted his head, intrigue sparking in his expression. “Oh?”

“Fried food.”

For the first time in centuries, the Demon King of Darkness, Terror of the Gods, Eternal Wielder of Unholy Power… was genuinely excited.

You were not bringing Malleus more books because you liked him. Obviously. That would be ridiculous. You were simply executing a strategic maneuver—an information-gathering mission, if you will. The more books he had, the more he would talk, and the more he talked, the more you learned.

This was all very professional. A tactical decision. Absolutely nothing to do with the way his eyes lit up whenever you brought him something new or the fact that you may or may not have started associating his lair with peace instead of doom.

So, with arms full of books that were definitely not handpicked to match his interests (including one on celestial phenomena, which was coincidental and not an attempt to make him happy), you strolled into his lair like you owned the place.

And that was when you met him.

Lilia Vanrouge.

You knew the name. You’d heard it whispered in the temples, spoken with the kind of reverence usually reserved for plagues and natural disasters. The Scourge of the Battlefield. The War Demon. The Dark General Who Consumed Kingdoms Whole.

You had also heard it from Malleus, who described him as eccentric, mischievous, and one of the few people he respected.

And the moment you laid eyes on him, you realized once again that the gods were complete and utter morons.

Because standing before you was not a nightmarish harbinger of destruction. No, the man currently floating upside down in the air, cheerfully snacking on something, looked more like an impish uncle who would absolutely teach children how to commit tax fraud for fun.

He looked at you. You looked at him. He grinned. You immediately braced for impact.

“Well, well! So you’re the fabled Chosen Hero,” Lilia chirped, righting himself mid-air and landing gracefully before you. “How fascinating! I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“I—” you began.

“I must say, this is not what I expected!” he continued, completely ignoring you. “From what I’ve heard, heroes usually barge in with righteous fury, divine proclamations, and very little self-preservation! Yet here you are, standing in the Demon King’s domain, casually handing him books.”

You turned to Malleus, who looked completely unbothered, still examining the latest tome you had brought him. “You told him?”

Malleus, without looking up: “He asked.”

You turned back to Lilia. “And you’re not freaking out?”

Lilia tilted his head, amused. “Should I be?”

“I don’t know, I just assumed one of Malleus’s generals would take issue with me being, you know, the divinely ordained slayer of your king?”

Lilia snorted. “Oh, please. Do you have any idea how many so-called ‘heroes’ I’ve seen storm in here? You’re already my favorite.”

“…Thanks?”

“Of course! It’s just so refreshing to see one of you actually using your head for once.” He floated up again, upside down, resting his chin on his hands. “Though I must admit, I was expecting something a little more… impressive.”

You blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lilia smirked and gestured to the table where you and Malleus had been previously engaged in very serious discussions. Your stomach dropped. You had left out your papers.

Specifically, the ones where you had been doodling different armor designs and asking Malleus for his fashion advice.

Malleus, the traitor, casually picked one up. “I am partial to this one,” he said, holding up a particularly elaborate sketch. “The embroidery detailing is quite striking.”

Lilia laughed.

You buried your face in your hands as the War Demon, the Living Nightmare of the Battlefield, the Eternal Scourge of Kingdoms—wiped away tears of laughter over the fact that instead of slaying the Demon King, you had apparently made him your personal stylist.

It was, all things considered, not your proudest moment.

It had been months since you first stepped foot into Malleus’s lair, and, well… things had progressed.

Not in the way the gods wanted, obviously. If they had their way, Malleus’s severed head would be mounted on a sacred altar by now. Technically, you were still on your holy mission to vanquish the Demon King. Technically, you were gathering information. Technically, you had every intention of fulfilling your duty.

But, if one were to take a completely unbiased look at your current situation… it might appear that you were just hanging out.

A lot.

Like, a lot, a lot.

Malleus now made your drink exactly the way you liked it—sometimes before you even asked. You didn’t even have to tell him anymore. You’d wander into his lair after a long day of doing absolutely nothing related to demon slaying, and he’d already have your favorite drink ready, at the exact right temperature.

And you? You, the so-called “Divine Champion of Justice,” the god-appointed warrior of destiny? You had, against all logic and reason, started bringing him gifts. It wasn’t even a conscious decision at first. But every time a merchant came through town, you found yourself idly picking up little trinkets or books that looked like they’d interest him.

You told yourself it was just diplomacy. A strategic bribery effort. It had absolutely nothing to do with how much you enjoyed seeing his face light up whenever you presented him with something new.

You weren’t even sure when the shift had happened.

One day, you were the brave hero, standing before the terrifying Demon King with divine orders to smite him. And now? Now, you were practically living in his lair. Casually.

You’d gotten comfortable here, a fact that you refused to acknowledge out loud. Malleus’s lair was peaceful, quiet, and—to your horror—pleasant. The enormous gothic windows, the soft candlelight, the bookshelves stacked high with ancient tomes… It was all just so much nicer than the gods’ temples, which were always cold, sterile, and filled with divine bureaucrats who asked too many questions.

And worse—worse—when you weren’t here, you were usually thinking about what to do for Malleus next.

Should you bring him something from the next merchant caravan? Maybe take him to another festival? He liked those. Maybe introduce him to the weird little bakery in town that sold those oddly-shaped pastries you kept seeing. He might find them amusing.

You were planning surprises for him.

Like a friend.

No. Not just a friend.

A best friend.

You slammed your head onto the nearest table with a thud.

The gods could never find out about this.

You were having an existential crisis. A real one. The kind that made you stare at your reflection in a soup bowl and wonder if you had any meaningful purpose in life beyond being the divine equivalent of a glorified errand runner.

Lilia, of course, noticed. Because he was an agent of chaos and probably fed off emotional turmoil like some sort of tiny, ancient demon bat.

“You seem troubled,” he had said, watching as you slumped dramatically over Malleus’ very fancy dining table, exhaling the world’s most pitiful sigh. “Why don’t you and Malleus spar?”

Your head lifted slightly. “What?”

Lilia smirked, clearly pleased that he had successfully baited you out of your misery. “It’s been months, has it not? If the gods ask, you can tell them you’ve been honing your skills, preparing for the final battle.”

That… actually wasn’t a bad excuse. The gods had been getting nosy again, demanding updates. Maybe you could make this work.

Which was how you ended up here.

Standing in the grand, sprawling courtyard of Malleus’ lair, stretching out your limbs while he calmly removed his cloak, draping it over a bench like he was about to have a casual stroll instead of engaging in combat.

“You sure about this?” you asked, gripping the hilt of your sword.

Malleus tilted his head, looking amused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You smirked. “Just saying, if I win, I demand tribute.”

Malleus chuckled. “And if I win?”

“… Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Lilia was off to the side, grinning like this was the best form of entertainment he’d seen in centuries.

You inhaled deeply, grounding yourself. Okay. This was it. You were going to fight the Demon King, and it was going to be serious. No more cozy tea parties. No more lighthearted book shopping trips. It was time to—

“Would you like me to go easy on you?” Malleus asked.

You scoffed. “Pfft. No. Give me everything you’ve got.”

Malleus hummed, looking almost pleased at your confidence. “Very well.”

And then, without warning, he disappeared from sight.

You barely had time to register the movement before a gust of wind slammed into you at full force, sending you flying backwards like a poorly thrown ragdoll.

You crashed into a bush.

For a moment, you just lay there, staring at the sky, contemplating every choice that had led you to this moment.

Then, groaning, you rolled out of the shrubbery, shaking off the twigs as you picked up your sword. “Okay,” you muttered, adjusting your grip. “That was just a warm-up round.”

Malleus was still standing in the same spot, looking entirely unbothered.

And his hands were behind his back.

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you—” You took a deep breath. “Are you fighting me with your hands behind your back?"

“Of course,” Malleus said pleasantly. “You told me not to go easy on you.”

You could hear Lilia choking on laughter in the background.

You squinted at Malleus, wondering if you should feel honored or insulted.

Fine. You could work with this. You charged again, ducking low, aiming for his legs. A flicker of green magic intercepted you, sending a harmless but powerful shockwave that knocked your weapon out of your hands.

You stared at your empty hands.

Malleus looked mildly impressed. “Good attempt.”

You retrieved your sword. Tried again. And again. And again.

Malleus never used his hands. Never lifted a finger. He just sidestepped your attacks with casual ease, occasionally flicking his magic at you, like you were a mildly annoying housecat trying to pounce on a much larger, much more powerful predator.

Somewhere along the way, you stopped trying to win and just started having fun.

And then, eventually, your energy gave out. You collapsed onto the ground, spread-eagled, arms outstretched, staring up at the sky as you caught your breath.

Malleus stepped closer, looming over you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“I do believe you’re my favorite hero,” he mused.

You groaned and slapped a hand over your face.

The gods were going to kill you if they ever found out about this.

You couldn’t sleep.

Which was fine. Heroes probably weren’t supposed to sleep. Heroes were supposed to lie awake at night, tormented by the burden of their destiny, haunted by the weight of their mission, plagued by—

"What if I let him win?"

You bolted upright so fast you nearly knocked yourself unconscious on your headrest. You slapped a hand over your mouth like you had just spoken a heresy so foul the gods would strike you down immediately.

That was not a normal thought for a hero to have. That was the most absurd, blasphemous, outrageous, morally reprehensible—

"Am I technically dating the Demon King???"

NO. NO NO NO NO NO NO—

Your hands went to your temples. You squeezed your eyes shut. Maybe if you just thought hard enough, you could physically remove this thought from your brain. Or maybe, if you focused, the gods would finally smite you like they had always threatened to do.

You flopped back down onto your mattress, dragging a pillow over your face, as if that would smother the absolute nonsense your mind was generating tonight. But the problem was, now that the thought had entered your brain, it had built a home there. It had a mailbox. It was paying taxes. And now it was decorating with even worse thoughts.

Because now you were remembering the way Malleus had smiled when you let him talk for two whole hours about gargoyles. How his eyes had lit up like you were the first person to ever listen. The way he carefully, deliberately made your tea exactly how you liked it, as if he had memorized it from the very first time. The way he always tilted his head when he listened to you, genuinely fascinated by even the stupidest things you said.

The way he let you exist in his space. Not as an enemy. Not as a hero. But as…

… oh no.

OH NO.

You slapped a hand over your mouth again. Your other hand clenched into the sheets like you were physically trying to hold onto your sanity.

You were NOT—this was NOT—

You rolled over, kicking your legs violently under the covers. Maybe if you shook your entire body hard enough, you could dislodge this thought from existence. Yeet it into the void. Purge it from reality. But all that happened was that you pulled a muscle in your back and now you were lying there, in agony, emotionally and physically, because you were starting to realize something terrible.

You weren’t just fond of Malleus. You didn’t just enjoy his company.

You liked him.

You LIKED him.

YOU LIKED THE DEMON KING.

You sat up again, legs crossed, hands clasped together in front of you. “Dear gods,” you whispered, voice trembling, “please smite me where I sit. I have failed you.”

Nothing happened.

“…Cowards,” you muttered.

You flopped back down, staring at the ceiling in pure despair.

You were going to bed. You were going to sleep, and when you woke up, you would not be in love with the Demon King. You would be normal. You would be reasonable. You would be a good hero.

You closed your eyes.

Five seconds passed.

You opened them again.

Gods help me.

Literally.

You were having the time of your goddamn life.

Malleus' lair—again, as usual. You were halfway draped across his lap, leisurely popping fruit into your mouth while Lilia spun some absolutely deranged tale about the time he tricked a king into believing he was a vengeful forest spirit. Malleus sipped his tea, vaguely amused, and you? You laughed so hard you nearly choked on a grape.

The atmosphere? Immaculate. Life? Good. Everything? Perfection.

And then the door SLAMMED open.

You flinched so hard you nearly tumbled off Malleus’ lap. The tea cups rattled. The room’s easygoing tension evaporated as you stared at the figure in the doorway—some guy, just some guy—storming in with his sword drawn, looking like he was about to say the most dramatic thing you’d ever heard in your life.

“I HAVE COME TO SLAY YOU, DEMON KING—”

He stopped.

Because you—the actual hero—were very much not slaying the Demon King. You were, instead, sprawled across him like a spoiled house cat, eating his fruit and giggling like an idiot.

A horrifically long pause followed as this budget hero—who was not chosen by the gods, by the way—took in the scene.

Scrambling upright, you waved your hands frantically. “This—this is not what it looks like—”

“It is exactly what it looks like,” Lilia corrected, taking a dainty sip of tea. “Please, continue.”

Budget Hero looked insulted. Absolutely offended. “You—you’re supposed to be a hero! You’re supposed to be fighting him, not—” He gestured at you and Malleus with a face of pure betrayal. “—whatever this is!”

Panic surged. “I am fighting him!”

Budget Hero squinted.

You cleared your throat. “It’s just—” A vague gesture at Malleus. “A mental battle.”

Lilia snickered. Malleus lifted a brow, deeply entertained.

Budget Hero wasn’t buying it. His face hardened with righteous fury as he turned his sword back on Malleus. “No matter! If the gods will not choose a proper hero to strike you down, then I shall—”

And that’s when it happened.

Before Malleus could even think about obliterating him, you moved first. Instinctively. Violently. Viscerally.

Budget Hero never saw it coming. His weapon went flying in a single fluid motion, and before he could process it, he was done. Just absolutely demolished.

Silence.

Then:

Lilia. Wheezing. “Oh, that was brutal.”

You stared down at Budget Hero’s crumpled form, still gripping your weapon, stunned.

Because here’s the thing. That wasn’t a calculated attack. It wasn’t self-defense. It wasn’t even to protect Malleus, exactly.

It was pure, unfiltered spite.

Who did this guy think he was? Marching in, sword drawn, acting like he was Malleus’ sworn enemy? That was your job. Your dynamic. The thought of anyone else trying to take that place—trying to take any place in Malleus’ life that wasn’t yours—was so disgusting, so offensive, that your body moved before your brain did.

…Oh no.

Quickly sheathing your weapon, you coughed into your fist. “Welp. That’s enough murder for today! I should get going!”

Malleus blinked at you, unbothered. “You only just arrived.”

Lilia, still recovering from laughter, wiped a tear from his eye. “Stay! We haven’t even finished discussing your new armor—”

“Nope!” You laughed—too forcefully. “Nooope! I just—I have to, uh—cleanse myself. Spiritually. From, um. Today’s events.”

Malleus tilted his head, intrigued. “You’ve killed before, haven’t you?”

You sweat. “Yeah, but this one was just, uh, really emotionally charged. You know how it is.”

Lilia’s grin was so knowing it made you ill. “Do we?”

You needed to leave immediately.

“Anyway, see you later, besties!” Backing toward the door, you threw up a hand. “Malleus, you’re great, Lilia, you’re also great, I’m normal, and definitely not in any sort of crisis! Bye!”

And then you fled. Like a coward.

You had been avoiding him.

Technically speaking, you had only been gone for a week. But considering you usually barged into his lair daily—arms full of books, or pastries, or some weird trinket you thought he’d like—it was an absence that did not go unnoticed.

After all, you had never run before.

Even when you first met him, when you had been sent to kill him, you had walked right up to him and said, "Hey, so the gods told me to kill you, but honestly, I don’t feel like it." And he had smiled, slow and intrigued, and offered you tea. That had been the beginning of everything.

You had stayed. You always stayed.

But yesterday, after that absolute disaster of an encounter with that third-rate hero, after watching yourself cut him down before Malleus could even lift a hand, after realizing with gut-wrenching horror that you had reacted viscerally to the mere idea of someone else claiming that they were destined to fight him, to be his rival, you had fled.

Because what the fuck did that mean?

Because why had your stomach turned in disgust at the thought of someone else standing in your place?

Because you had looked at Malleus, and something inside you had snarled mine, and the weight of that realization had nearly knocked you off your feet.

So you ran.

Cowardly. Embarrassing. You, the so-called chosen hero, the one who had spent months dragging Malleus through town, shoving hats over his horns, feeding him sweet treats, listening to him ramble about gargoyles with the fondest expression on your face—you had panicked and run away like a flustered maiden in a fairytale.

You didn’t even have the excuse of battle wounds. The only wounds were entirely self-inflicted, entirely emotional, and entirely stupid.

So today, after daysof pacing and telling yourself to get it together, you forced yourself to return.

You spent the entire week gaslighting yourself into thinking nothing happened.

That reaction? Not weird. You were just… caught off guard! Maybe a tiny bit possessive. Maybe incredibly deranged about Malleus to the point where you instinctively obliterated someone for even thinking about taking your role as his arch-nemesis—but that was normal. That was just healthy rival dynamics!

So when you walked into Malleus’ lair the next week, it was with the confidence of someone absolutely not having a mental breakdown over their supposed mortal enemy.

“Yo,” you greeted, hands in your pockets, a casual whistle leaving your lips. “What’s up, big guy? Ready for some classic, good old-fashioned, not-at-all suspicious hero vs. villain conflict today?”

No answer.

It was silent. Too silent.

Usually, Lilia was there to greet you with some teasing remark. Usually, Malleus could sense you the moment you entered his territory, and you’d be met with a soft “You’ve returned.” Usually, there was some kind of warmth, a quiet hum of life in these ancient halls.

But today, there was only cold stone.

Your stomach twisted as you searched for him.

You found him by one of the enormous windows, hands clasped behind his back, staring at the sky with an expression you’d never seen before. His shoulders—usually poised with an almost arrogant regality—were slack. His jaw, tight. His eyes, distant.

For the first time since you met him, he looked exhausted.

“…Malleus?”

Your voice came out softer than you expected. Almost hesitant. As if part of you already knew what he was about to say.

He didn’t turn, didn’t shift, didn’t react right away. Just stood there, gazing out at the vast horizon like he was searching for something.

Finally, after a long, slow exhale, he spoke.

“…I thought you weren’t coming back.”

Your breath caught.

You had been gone for a week. You figured skipping a few visits wouldn’t matter much. That you could collect yourself, sort out whatever this was, and return once you weren’t a flustered disaster.

But standing here now, staring at him, it hit you just how much he had felt your absence.

His fingers curled a little tighter behind his back. His voice, barely above a whisper—

“If someone were to kill me,” he murmured, “I think I’d rather it be you than anyone else.”

The breath whooshed out of your lungs.

Because suddenly, you understood.

He wasn’t just speaking in hypotheticals. He wasn’t musing about battle. He wasn’t challenging you, wasn’t provoking you, wasn’t setting the stage for a dramatic clash between hero and demon king.

No.

Malleus had lived centuries watching heroes march to his doorstep, brandishing divine weapons, shouting righteous declarations, vowing to end him. And yet, he had never once fallen. Never once faltered. Never once let a blade even graze his skin.

But yesterday, when you hadn’t returned, he had thought—ah. So this is how it ends.

If he had to be slain, he wanted it to be by your hand.

If he had to see someone for the last time, he had hoped it would be you.

You broke.

Instantaneous. No hesitation. No rational thought. No clever quip or theatrical deflection. No last-minute is this a good idea? self-reflection. Just a sharp inhale, a rapid closing of distance, and then—

You kissed him. Hard.

Not soft, not slow, not gentle. Desperate. Raw. Months of pent-up feelings, of endless late nights spent thinking about him, of hands brushing and shared laughter and quiet understanding and—fuck. You were so gone for him.

Malleus stiffened—but only for a second.

Then he melted into you.

His hands rose—one tangling in your hair, the other curling around your waist, pulling you so close you swore you could feel his heartbeat hammering against your chest. He kissed back just as desperately, just as fiercely, like he’d been waiting just as helplessly as you had.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he stared like he’d never seen you before. Wide-eyed. Lips parted. His grip on you so tight, like he was terrified you’d vanish if he let go.

“…I suppose that was your way of saying you refuse?” His voice, unsteady.

A breathless, shaky laugh. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Yeah, I refuse.”

His forehead pressed to yours, breath warm against your lips. His hands didn’t loosen their hold.

“…Then don’t ever leave me.”

You closed your eyes. Gripped his shoulders.

Nodded.

“Never.”

The celestial being—divine embodiment of justice and order, an ancient force revered throughout history—descended upon Malleus’ lair in a blinding display of light and holy power.

Wings of pure radiance unfurled. A golden staff crackled with divine energy. A voice, imbued with the might of the cosmos, boomed across the chamber:

“CHOSEN HERO. DEMON KING. IT IS TIME FOR YOUR DESTINED BATTLE.”

You blinked. Looked up from where you were curled against Malleus, sipping tea and reading a book titled 1,001 Architectural Wonders (That Are Not Gargoyles, Please Stop Asking).

Malleus glanced up from the game of chess he was currently losing against Lilia. “Oh?” he said, perfectly unbothered. “Has it truly been that long?”

“Yes, it has been that long!” the celestial being thundered. “You were sent here to vanquish the Demon King, not—” their eye twitched as they took in the scene, “—play house with him.”

You frowned. “Okay, first of all, rude.”

"Rude? RUDE?!" The celestial being practically vibrated with fury. "YOU LIED TO US!"

“I did not lie,” you said, deeply offended. “I gave you very detailed mission updates.”

“‘I’m gathering intel on the enemy’?”

“I was!” you huffed. “Did you know Malleus actually prefers honey in his tea instead of sugar? Crucial information.”

The celestial being sputtered. “You literally wrote, and I quote—” they conjured a glowing scroll and read aloud, “‘I need to study his weaknesses.’”

“Well,” you said, nodding toward Malleus, “he is weak to compliments. Call him ‘awe-inspiring’ and he gets all flustered. It’s very endearing.”

The being looked one breath away from smiting you. “AND ‘HE’S PROBABLY PLANNING SOMETHING EVIL, I NEED TO KEEP AN EYE ON HIM’??”

You pointed at Malleus, who was currently sipping tea with perfect elegance, staring at you like you personally hung the moon in the sky.

“Look at him,” you said dryly. “He’s clearly up to something.”

Malleus delicately set down his teacup. “Indeed,” he mused. “I was just plotting whether to have scones or biscuits with my tea tomorrow.”

The celestial being’s golden aura flickered like a candle in the wind. “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO KILL HIM!”

Malleus frowned. “That seems excessive for a difference in snack preference.”

The celestial being inhaled sharply, hands trembling. You were pretty sure you just heard them whisper I hate my job.

“Enough!” they roared. “FIGHT! NOW!”

You and Malleus exchanged a long glance.

There was a beat of silence.

Then, with all the excitement of two overworked employees being forced into another useless meeting, you both sighed and reached for the nearest decorative swords.

You lifted your sword. Malleus did the same.

And then, with all the enthusiasm of two toddlers being told to pretend-fight for Grandma’s amusement—

—you both half-heartedly tapped your swords together.

clink.

“There,” you said, monotone. “We fought. Can we go back to cuddling now?”

The celestial being screamed.

The celestial being didn’t so much escort you to the heavens as haul you there like a parent dragging a misbehaving child to a disciplinary hearing. You barely had time to adjust to the blinding light before being unceremoniously dropped onto the cold marble floor.

Above you, the gods loomed from their gilded thrones, their divine radiance pulsing with something that was not quite anger—because gods did not feel anger, only divine disappointment, which was so much worse.

The celestial being, standing smugly beside them, crossed their arms. “I told you they weren’t taking this seriously.”

The first god spoke, voice like rolling thunder. “Chosen hero.”

Another voice, this one like a windstorm, joined in. “You were sent to slay the Demon King.”

A third, calm and cold as deep water. “And yet, you have done nothing.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the celestial being snapped their fingers, and suddenly, an image materialized before you. A glowing vision of you, fully reclined across Malleus’ lap, popping fruit into his mouth while he read a book.

You stared.

“…Okay,” you admitted, “this looks bad.”

The celestial being glared. “Because it is bad!”

The gods ignored them, their voices deepening into something more final.

“This war against the Demon King has lasted centuries,” one intoned.

“You were our last hope,” another added. “If you do not complete your duty, there will be no other hero for another hundred years.”

“Without a hero,” the celestial being hissed, “there will be no one to protect the world from his inevitable destruction.”

Their words should have shaken you. You should have felt the weight of them pressing into your spine, the consequences of this moment sinking into your bones.

Instead, you just felt tired.

Tired of this war you never understood. Tired of the gods, who sat safe in their gilded heavens, while they sent hero after hero to their deaths.

Tired of pretending that Malleus was something he wasn’t.

You took a slow breath. Then, you reached up and began unbuckling the divine armor. The metal rang loud as it clattered to the ground, reverberating through the silent chamber. You ripped the sacred amulet from around your neck, tossing it aside like an afterthought. The enchanted boots that carried you here? Gone.

The gods watched, speechless, as you stripped away everything that bound you to them.

Then, you stood taller than you ever had before.

“I quit,” you said simply.

The chamber erupted. The celestial being choked. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” you interrupted, stretching your arms, reveling in the freedom of it. “And I am. You want a hero? Find another poor fool. I’m done.”

The gods stared, as if they truly couldn’t comprehend your audacity.

“There will be no other hero for a century,” one god reminded you. “Do you understand what you are forsaking?”

You grinned. “Yeah. Unnecessary slaying.”

And with that, you turned on your heel and walked away, the celestial doors parting effortlessly before you. The gods did not stop you. Perhaps they couldn’t.

You returned to Malleus’ lair lighter than you had ever felt.

He was waiting for you when you arrived, standing near the entrance, his expression unreadable. His eyes—those impossibly green eyes—watched you carefully, searching for something.

“You’re back,” he said softly.

You stepped closer, meeting his gaze. “Of course.”

Something flickered in his expression—something relieved, something like hope.

You exhaled, the weight of everything lifting off your shoulders. “I’m free now, Malleus. No more gods. No more divine duty. Just… me.”

For the first time, you saw it—true joy in his gaze. He stepped forward, closer, until there was nothing between you.

And then he kissed you.

It was not hesitant. Not questioning. It was certain, like he had always known this moment was inevitable, like he had only been waiting for you to realize it too.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his lips curling into a smile.

“I was hoping you’d choose me,” he murmured.

You smiled back, fingers threading through his.

“I always would have.”

It happened over tea, as most of your most life-altering conversations with Malleus tended to.

You had been lounging on his absurdly comfortable sofa, sipping something floral he had brewed just for you, feeling very much like a person who had absolutely no idea that their entire life was about to be rearranged.

Malleus, ever composed, set down his own cup and regarded you with something almost too fond.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, “about how long we’ve been together.”

You blinked. “How long?”

He hummed, tilting his head. “Since you gave me your sword, of course.”

You continued blinking, because surely, surely you had misheard him.

“…My sword?”

Malleus nodded, utterly serene. “Yes. It was an elegant proposal.”

You made a sound. It wasn’t a word, exactly, but it conveyed your confusion well enough.

Malleus watched you, waiting patiently for what he must have assumed was joyous realization.

You, meanwhile, were still trying to process whatever the hell was happening.

“…Proposal,” you echoed, because maybe if you repeated it, reality would shift into something that made sense.

Malleus offered a rare, knowing smile. “A symbol of devotion. Offering one’s most treasured possession to another—it is an unbreakable vow, a declaration of lifelong commitment. The moment you placed your sword in my hands, you became mine.”

A long pause.

You stared at him. He continued to look pleased.

You, meanwhile, were experiencing an entire existential crisis.

“Hold on,” you said slowly. “So you’re telling me that, in demon culture, giving you my sword meant—”

“A proposal,” Malleus finished, nodding. “It was quite romantic.”

Your brain short-circuited. You thought back to that moment, a year ago, when you had so casually handed him your holy sword, thinking haha, maybe he can make this thing shut up.

In reality, you had apparently gotten engaged like an absolute moron.

You set down your tea with the careful precision of someone trying very, very hard not to spiral. “Malleus,” you said, voice deceptively calm, “why didn’t you tell me?”

He blinked, puzzled. “I thought you knew.”

“Malleus, I’m human.”

He tilted his head, considering. “Ah. I see the problem now.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling deeply. “So, in your mind, we’ve been betrothed this whole time?”

“Yes,” he said, utterly unbothered.

You stared at him. He stared back, composed as ever.

And then you just—laughed. Because of course. Of course you had accidentally proposed to the Demon King like an idiot.

“Well,” you said between snickers, wiping at your eyes. “Since we’re apparently already engaged, wanna just go ahead and get hitched?”

Malleus’ grin was blinding.

“Absolutely.”

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