#azul ashengrotto and reader

[dearestones]

Muscle Memory (Azul Ashengrotto and Reader)

Warnings: Exploration of merfolk culture, elaboration on certain aspects of canon lore, etc. 

@lottieinlimbo Request: Hi Devin!!! Congratulations on the 750 followers :D!! Your writing is incredible, you have more than earned your success!!!! I’m here to steal the final request slot! There were a lot of cool prompts that would have been fascinating with multiple characters, it was hard to choose! But I’m thinking “why did you help me?” With Azul could be really fun, maybe something platonic? I’m really excited to see what you do with this, congrats again on 750 followers!!

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Once upon a time, you desperately wanted to be a child of the sea. 

It was a stupid thing to want, you know that now that you’re older, but as a child of a fisherman and a marine biologist, you grew up immersed in the sea. Swimming came as naturally as breathing and there were days when you refused to get out of the water. Your mother would spend hours either cataloging and tending to the wildlife off the shore or lecturing students at your local university. Your father, on the other hand, would board a boat with a few other fishermen and cast his net along the side of their boats, eager to catch fresh fish for dinner and to sell at the local market. 

If it were not for the legs that burned under the unforgiving sun, you would have been one of the merfolk. You told your mother so, and she laughed as she hastily scribbled annotations on a particularly bright student’s thesis. It wasn’t a demeaning laugh, it was more like a sound that sought to appease a precocious child like yourself. 

“If you were from the sea,” your mother had crooned in your ear, “then I wouldn’t be able to do this, would I?” 

She would tuck you deep into her chest before blowing raspberries into your cheek and tousling your hair.

“If you were a mer,” your father had told you, “I would cast nets out everyday so I can take you back home with me.” 

He would then throw you into the middle of your bed before gathering the covers and pulling the corners together to make it seem as if you were caught in a net. 

You couldn’t be a child of the sea, and even your young, naive mind knew that, so you latched onto the next best thing. 

Talking about them. 

Both your mother and father, having spent most of their childhood, adolescence, and adulthood living in and around the sea, had tales to tell of meeting merfolk. People who lived on the mainland, you found, had very few encounters with the children of the sea. Sevens, they even said that it was actually more likely for them to meet one of the fair folk visiting from Briar Valley. Your parents and quite a number of the locals had often talked to the children of the sea who inhabited the waters a few miles from the coast, but some of the small fry would frequent the shallow waters, often risking getting beached on shore. 

One of your first few encounters with merfolk happened when you were only six years old. You had long since learned how to swim (you learned when you were only nine months and since then, you begged your father to take you out to the beach whenever possible), but you were never left unsupervised. On this particular day, both your parents were free from their duties and had set up a little picnic spot quite away from the tide.

You had recently eaten a snack and because your parents were superstitious, said that you couldn't go swimming until at least thirty minutes had passed. You were six and you had no true grasp of consequences outside of your parents sternly talking to you or taking away privileges as punishment. Because of that, you were toeing the line between the water and hopping in between the craggy rocks that littered the area. You had been forced to wear special swim shoes to keep your feet safe, but even with your short sighted nature, cuts on your feet and punishment from your parents didn't make the idea of disobedience all that appealing.

You skipped down the share, sometimes slipping and tripping into the water, but you always laughed to yourself and waved back at your parents every once in a while. They kept a wary eye on you, but continued to converse in that way only adults could understand and children didn't feel like grasping.

Eventually, you wandered far enough that you couldn't see or even hear your parents anymore. That may have frightened any other child, but you grew up with the sea practically in your backyard and you were taught how to self-rescue since before you could learn how to walk.

You were safe and to a certain extent, your parents trusted you.

As you waded in and out of the water that only reached your ankles, you caught sight of a boulder jutting out of the water. It was several feet away from you, away from the remnants from the stolid presence of the beach and trespassing into the heart of the sea. Normally, with how high the tide can get, the boulder would be submerged, but today, you could see how craggy and sharp it really looked.

So, it startled you when you saw a ruddy face jut out from the other side of the boulder, lock eyes with you for a second, before shrieking and backing away.

Friend?

Was it a friend?

At that moment, you weren't thinking about your parents, if enough time had passed, or if you would look stupid with your shoes still on. When you locked eyes with a child your own age, you could only hope that they would be your friend.

You ran into the water, quickly started swimming once you were deep enough, and swam towards the other side of the boulder.

Would the child still be there?

You swam onto the other side of the boulder until you saw the child, except there was—

"You have a tail!" You could barely hold onto your excitement. It was only due to societal convention that you didn't start tugging and prodding at the brilliant appendage that dangled and swished in front of you.

"And you have legs."

You looked up to find a face both like and unlike your own.

"And it's not just a tail! I've got eight of them!" The child splashed you with one powerful swish of her tails. “And they’re called arms!”

And that's how you met your first friend from the sea.

Shelley was a native from the sea bordering the Land of the Red Dragon. Her family used to live in those warm waters until they decided to migrate towards your stretch of ocean. You were young, so you didn't quite understand what she was talking about when she mentioned migratory patterns, politics, or whatever, but you did latch onto the fact that she was lonely and had a hard time making friends.

So you offered to be her friend.

"With a human?" Shelley scoffed.

Well, sixteen years later and she was still splashing you. Both of you grew up together, often sharing aspirations and dreams with each other. Like the mermaid princess, she dreamed of going up on land and walking on her own pair of legs. It took a while, but she managed to get into an exclusive land boot camp that occurred on another island (you pouted when she told you) and was later given a regular supply of transformation potions once she was old enough to enroll into university. 

And that’s when you realized that the both of you could still work together.

You see, over the years, you began to realize that your love of merfolk wasn’t just because you wanted to befriend them, but you also wanted to get to know their culture better. Like the fae, children of the sea were notorious for keeping close to themselves, especially those who spent their formative years in the bathypelagic zones. What most land dwellers knew about their aquatic neighbors were either from the outdated accounts from the famed mermaid princess or the very few merfolk who decided to breach the surface. Most governments wanted to bridge the gap between the vastly different cultures, which meant that they often recruited both merfolk and land dwellers to facilitate and improve upon the land boot camps that were initially started by the very first royal who deemed it worthy to live on land. 

You broached the topic cautiously to Shelley when you had been busy helping her walk across the beach after a session at her land boot camp. 

It took some convincing, but the both of you decided that you would work together: one day, you would be a physical therapist to help merfolk walk upon land and Shelley would teach classes to acclimate them to land culture. 

This year, you were supposed to help merfolk native to the Coral Sea stand and walk for the first time. 

This land boot camp you had relocated to was situated on one of the small islands under the Land of Dawning’s jurisdiction. The facility was small and private, owing to the fact that it was still a government project and no one wanted to be ogled at by civilians, especially when they were learning how to be human for the first time. 

This batch of merfolk were from the mesopelagic or twilight zone of the ocean, second to the sunny euphotic zone. You had your fair share of merfolk from across all three main zones, but most participants originated from the upper layer, owing to the fact that there was an increase in land dwellers to merfolk interactions. So, it wasn’t a surprise to find less than a dozen merfolk swimming playfully in the water or waiting patiently upon rocks. 

After taking the transformation potion (each of them tailored to the specific type of sea dweller because it would be a disaster and a half giving one of the classical looking mers the dosage that would better benefit a mer modeled after an angler fish or a cecaelia), all of them would be given the chance to stand up and walk within the water. 

Years ago, when the mermaid princess made her way ashore, it was only through willpower alone that she could heave herself off the sandy beach and trudge her way into her beloved’s castle. Today’s research declared that it was better to treat merfolk with hydrotherapy first by giving them exercises that would acclimate them to using the right muscles and granting them muscle memory that would later aid them in land. The water helped with the sudden pull of gravity while also maintaining a sense of familiarity so as to not cause them undue stress. 

(It was also for the same reason it was strictly forbidden that government workers such as your supervisor and by extension, yourself, were not allowed to teach the merfolk how to walk in a pool. The chlorine contact would not cause them undue harm since they now had human skin, but mers were notoriously sensitive to dryness and that wouldn’t exactly be the best impression to make when fostering better relations across races). 

The same was said for clothing. 

Get the merfolk accustomed to walking first and then clothes. 

It was best to get them hurtling one obstacle after another instead of tackling everything human-related at once. After at least one week of hydrotherapy and lessons on human etiquette, the second week would introduce clothing and walking on land. The third week would be full time human-ing, which meant a stronger dose of transformation potion that would last three days before a refill was needed. Finally, during the fourth week, they would be given the full transformation potion and a trip to the mainland where they would tour and interact with the locals as opposed to government agents. 

A month shouldn’t be enough time to get merfolk acquainted on land, but the newcomers from the twilight zone were hardy and could take a stronger beating than their neighbors in the higher zones. They already had strong muscles and coordination; they needed only guidance and direction on how to move those muscles properly in a new body. 

And so, after you reviewed your roster of attendees, you wore a wetsuit, slathered on sunscreen in copious amounts to stave off the harmful rays of the sun, and then ventured away from the facility on land. Upon first glance, you realized that most of them were young, but you saw that there were at least two middle aged adults and one elderly mer who congregated closer to the front of their younger comrades. Carefully, you studied them; how they moved, how their tails would ripple in the sunlight, and how some of them had teeth made for slicing. 

A mixed bag of both predator and prey. 

You would have to keep an eye out for any bullying. 

Once your supervisor was in position and began detailing the history of the government facility, you carefully tuned her out, content to dig out the tray full of transformation potions from the cooler that one of the other interns had brought out of the lab. Inside, vials of cerulean and silver gleamed within the confines of pale lavender vials. To each of the stoppers, a nametag and species of merfolk was affixed. Indeed, if you remembered correctly, the concentrations of cerulean and silver allowed a brief glimpse of what the potion could do: silver to bind appendages together, turn gills into scarred skin, transform beautiful scales and hides into varying shades of brown and tan; cerulean, to split tails in two, strengthen the bones, and allow for greater lung capacity. 

Depending on the type of mer, maybe they needed more of the components that made up cerulean to cut their legs into two. Or maybe they were a species of mer that took after squids or octopi; they needed more silver. 

All of the vials were encased in a thin layer of frost: optimal temperature for quick results. 

In another cooler, there were another set of vials. For these, all of the dosages were equal. 

Pain medication in case some of the merfolk would not be able to take the pain of sloughing away their old bodies for a new one. 

(It was rarer for the merfolk native to the deeper zones to ask for the pain medications, but you had seen it happen once or twice. Knowing them, however, and knowing that there were at least a ratio of three predators to one prey, it would be best for everyone involved that no one took the medication). 

And underneath the set of pain medication, there was also another tray filled with potions meant for emergencies, but you chose not to dwell on unpleasant possibilities. 

Finally, you heard your supervisor call for you and gesture for you to walk across the boardwalk and call out the names of the attendees. Like any roster, it was labeled in alphabetical order. A’s to B’s to C’s and so on. No surprise there. 

However, what caught your attention was that the first A on your roster (the only A, actually), belonged to a young male mer. He kept most of his body underwater with only the top of his head and eyes peeking out, but at your behest, he reluctantly began to climb out. It wasn’t until you caught sight of his multiple appendages attached to the bottom of his torso that you realized that you may know his type of species.

A cecaelia.

Out of habit, you counted all eight of his arms—exactly like Shelley!—but you must have been so entranced at the idea of working with another cecaelia because the boy made an irritated grunting noise as he narrowed his eyes at you. 

You apologized, slightly bemused by his impatience before giving him the vial that corresponded to his name. You murmured the instructions that he should wait until everyone else received their dose before ingesting it. At that, the cecaelia nodded, resolute and determined in his very reaction, before he ducked below the surface of the water and swam far away from the boardwalk. 

After that brief encounter, you continued down the list of names and made sure not to spend too much time mentally cataloging the types of merfolk who were supposed to be your students. There were at least two “classical” merfolk (very human at the torso with a nondescript, but shimmering tail at the bottom), but the rest were clearly descended from various species. You could see an angler fish, a squid, and even twin eels!

Twins!

If you remembered correctly, twins were very rare within the ocean, especially the deeper you went. The fact that there were two adolescent mers who were born at the same time and still lived despite the cruel nature of the ocean, could only spell good luck. Goodness, it didn’t even matter if they were predatory merfolk! You were sure they would be a delight to have under your tutelage. 

Finally, after each of the merfolk had received their government mandated potions, your supervisor called you and the other intern to stand in five feet intervals along the boardwalk. You were at the very end of the boardwalk and you were assigned to the first four merfolk along your roster. It was, of course, the cecaelia, but there were also two classical merfolk and an angler fish. The classical merfolk huddled together, giggling as they asked you questions about how long it normally took humans to learn how to walk. Meanwhile, the two other deep sea merfolk were content to keep to themselves, but you noted that the cecaelia was hanging onto your every word. 

Now that everyone was in position, your supervisor announced that in each group, only one mer would go at a time. This was to prevent them from drowning all at the same time. 

“Okay then!” You clapped your hands to gain all of your students’ attention. “Does anyone want to volunteer? Or would you rather go by alphabetical order?”

During your time as an intern, you were more accustomed to the merfolk who hailed from the euphotic zone. More often than not, the attendees were classical mers who were already aware of land dweller cultures and it showed—they were open and friendly, often clamoring and climbing over each other to be the first. For this particular group, you were disappointed, but not at all surprised to see that your chattier students had instantly quieted and looked to each other in apprehension. Meanwhile, the cecaelia and the angler fish mers looked like they were planning on completely submerging themselves. 

You took a deep breath before coming to a decision. 

“Mr. Azul… Ashengrotto?” You nodded at the cecaelia, watching as his face seemed to grow from a light lavender gray to a light flushed blue. Nodding at him, you sat upon the boardwalk and beckoned him forward with a kind smile and a wave. “Come here. For safety purposes, I’ll ask that after you drink the transformation potion, you hold onto me or the boardwalk. It will be painful, but the shock will pass once you start kicking your legs. Do you understand?”

The cecaelia, still having yet to speak in your presence, nodded his head. 

“Do you remember the demonstration on how to tread water?”

The cecaelia furrowed his brows, perhaps remembering how both your supervisor and fellow intern had jumped into the water earlier that day. They had hung onto the wood of the boardwalk while also slightly kicking underwater to keep themselves upright. Then, they gestured for you to sit to also demonstrate for some of the more nervous mers how to hold onto your arms or legs if they needed someone to further stabilize their movement and offer comfort.

With a decisive nod, he said, "Yes, I do. May I start?"

You said a few more things that were included in protocol just so the entire group under your watch understood the consequences for not taking the exercises seriously, to comply with legal regulations, and to allow each of the mers time to relax and understand that you knew what you were doing. Finally, after about five more minutes, you nodded to the cecaelia.

In your experience, taking any sort of potion was best done by downing the entire thing. It was recommended that the merfolk don't take pauses or take small sips. Transformation was already a tricky process, it would become all the more complicated if you delivered only a small dose of the potion to your body only to take a break for too long and have certain body parts rearranging themselves without the proper dosage. Thankfully, the young mer looked to be the studious type, and above all else, cautious, because once he unstoppered the vial, he returned the seal to you and knocked back the potion as if he were thirsty.

Within seconds, his face contorted in pain and his body began to thrash as his skin began receding from the shimmering lilac and gray undertones to an almost sickly pale coloring. You had assigned spotters earlier in case the mer undertaking the potion were too wracked with pain to come to their senses, so that meant that the angler fish began to restrain the cecaelia while your other students brought both of his hands up to the boardwalk. Under your keen eye, you could see that the skin above his knuckles were bone white and that face was flushing dark blue. You took note of that: scientists were always trying to improve upon the efficacy of their potions, cosmetics being one of the criteria that was often underrepresented.

"Breathe." You kept your voice steady. "Like the breathing exercises," you reminded him. "In through your nose and out through your mouth. Slow and steady."

His thrashing continued, albeit at a more subdued pace. The angler fish and the classical mers watched patiently, but you could see that all of them were transfixed by the sight of their comrade overcoming the pain. Usually, at this point, you would often pinpoint the exact moment a mer would decide to give up and discontinue the program. It was unfortunate, but not everyone was suited to the surface.

If your suspicions were correct, one of the classic mers looked like she was about to be sick while the other two merfolk were eyeing their vials with a scrutinizing gaze.

After giving them a warning glance, to which all of them merely nodded, you focused once more on the cecaelia. His breathing had regulated and the grip he had on the boardwalk was less desperate and more out of desire to seek stability.

You bent down low, murmuring to him so as to not startle him out of how much of a good job he was doing. "Most cecaelia have a hard time adjusting to losing six of their limbs. Can you raise your right arm—" You gestured to your own arm to inform him you meant the human appendage and not what most humans would mistakenly call a tentacle. "—and spread your fingers wide?"

The cecaelia's eyes widened, his lips wobbling. Out of breath and clearly out of his element, he experimentally tried to move... something, but his mind must have been too frazzled other than to cast his gaze downward, clearly at a loss. That was okay. Shelley had felt the same. Both the pain and the shock of losing so much oneself within seconds was hard, but it was even harder trying to control and relearn how to move and be at peace with what you had left.

Another note that you would have to make in the margin of your roster. The cecaelia would need time to adjust. Within a month, that was more than fine. All of the merfolk were permitted time out of their busy schedules to practice and train their muscles.

Reaching behind you, you picked up one of the floating devices that were assigned to you. There were a series of life jackets, buoyancy paddles, and pool noodles. Some mers wanted to get acclimated to wearing human clothing (so they chose the life jackets), others wanted something that was not restraining and had the familiarity of floating driftwood (hence the paddles and noodles).

"Would you like a life jacket?"

Bright blue eyes the color of the calm ocean glared dangerously at you. Had you not had your fair share of predatory mer, you would have found yourself almost scared. However, you could understand the feeling of getting one's pride crushed, even if it was the first time gaining legs. Still, though, such anger seemed simultaneously out of place, yet right at home, on his pale face.

"One of those, please." He concentrated on his right arm, but after realizing that he was still somewhat stuck in his current mindset and still working out the connections, he glanced at the noodles that you kept at your side.

It took some maneuvering and some help from the angler fish (you saw that the cecaelia had a hard time being so close to a predator when he was now human), but you managed to get the pool noodle under his arms so that he could float without any more aid.

Satisfied that he wouldn't recklessly flip over and risk drowning himself, you called out the second name on your list.

It was going to be one long session.

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[PART ONE HERE] [PART TWO] [PART THREE] [PART FOUR]

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TWISTED WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

[solxamber]

You Try to Sleep on the Couch after an Argument with: Housewardens

Other Parts: Vice-Housewardens; First Years ; Cater, Floyd, Silver, Rollo

Riddle Rosehearts

The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of wood and the rustle of fabric as you flopped onto the couch with all the grace of a cat forcibly denied its favorite sunny spot.

The argument still hung in the air, an unspoken tension that neither you nor Riddle were willing to breach—at least not yet. He wasn’t wrong, not entirely, but he wasn’t right either. The impasse was as thick as the silence between you.

Determined to make a statement, you yanked the blanket off the couch arm and cocooned yourself in it, defiantly turning your back to the door. No way were you crawling back to bed tonight. Your pride wouldn’t let you. Let him stew in his perfectly fluffed, oversized bed.

Meanwhile, in his room, Riddle’s impeccable composure was fraying at the edges. He lay stiff as a board under his duvet, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to all his mistakes. His pillows seemed unusually hard, the blankets too suffocating, and no matter how he adjusted, something felt... wrong.

It didn’t take him long to figure out the culprit: you weren’t there.

He groaned softly into the darkness. Guilt clawed at his insides, sharp and relentless, each tick of the clock making it harder to bear. He’d handled things poorly—he could admit that, now that the heat of the argument had ebbed. And worse, he couldn’t bear the thought of you being upset, out there on the couch, all because of his stubbornness.

With a heavy sigh and an even heavier heart, he threw off his blanket and shuffled into the living room. His breath caught when he saw you.

There you were, fast asleep, your cheek smushed against the arm of the couch, one arm dangling off the side. The sight was far too adorable for the emotional train wreck he’d become. His guilt doubled.

Riddle knelt by the couch quietly, determined not to wake you. But as he crouched there, the exhaustion hit him—of the argument, the guilt, the restless tossing and turning. Maybe just sitting here would suffice. He wouldn’t disturb you.

A few minutes turned into an hour. Before he knew it, he’d slumped sideways against the couch, head lolling onto his arms, fast asleep in what had to be the most uncomfortable position imaginable.

When you stirred awake, the morning light was peeking through the curtains. Groggily, you rubbed your eyes, the previous night’s anger feeling like a distant shadow. That was when you noticed him—his normally pristine figure curled up on the floor, head resting uncomfortably close to your dangling hand.

Your chest ached at the sight. The idiot. The sweet, guilty idiot.

You reached out, brushing your fingers lightly against his hair. “Riddle,” you whispered. “Hey… wake up.”

He stirred, blinking up at you with sleep-clouded eyes, disoriented but instantly softening when he saw your face. Without a word, he shifted closer, arms wrapping around your middle as he buried his face against your stomach.

“Don’t go,” he mumbles, voice thick and quiet.

You freeze but quickly recover, leaning into his embrace. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, voice muffled by your blanket. “I didn’t mean for it to get so out of hand.”

Your throat tightened, and you found yourself carding your fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry too,” you whispered. “Let’s not fight like that again.”

For a moment, the two of you just stayed like that, wrapped up in quiet forgiveness. When he finally looked up at you, there was a hesitant, hopeful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Will you come back to bed now?” he asked softly.

“Only if you promise to use it too. No more couch-floor accommodations,” you teased, pinching his cheek lightly.

“Deal,” he murmured, and together, you made your way back—closer than before, warmth filling the space where anger once was.

Leona Kingscholar

The argument had been sharp, biting, and the kind of fight where you both refused to back down. Storming out of the bedroom felt dramatic enough to match the vibe, so you grabbed a blanket, stomped to the living room, and threw yourself onto the couch with the weight of your indignation. “Fine,” you muttered into the cushions. “Let him have the stupid bed. I don’t care.”

And at the time, you didn't. You were replaying his snarky remarks and cursing his stubborn attitude. But the couch was lumpy, the blanket too short, and sleep came grudgingly after what felt like hours of stewing.

When you finally woke, disoriented and achy, something felt...off. For starters, you weren’t on the couch anymore. You were in the bed, wrapped snugly in the comforter that still carried Leona’s scent.

Blinking against the sunlight, you sat up, confusion clouding your thoughts. At the foot of the bed was the blanket you’d dragged out last night, now neatly folded like some taunting symbol of Leona’s existence.

And Leona himself? Missing.

You slid out of bed and wandered to the living room, where the answer to your mystery lay sprawled across the couch. The sight of him, however, made your irritation waver.

Leona was far too large for the couch. His long legs hung over the edge at weird angles, and one arm was slung over his face to block the light filtering through the curtains. He looked wildly uncomfortable, but his usual arrogance softened in sleep, his face peaceful and unguarded.

It didn’t take a genius to piece it together. He must have carried you to bed sometime in the night, only to exile himself to the lumpy couch. The guy could be maddeningly stubborn, but this... this unexpected gesture had you torn between wanting to yell at him or simply kissing him awake.

Ultimately, you decided to settle for the middle ground.

Crouching next to the couch, you reached out and brushed the stray strands of hair from his face. Before you could withdraw, one eye cracked open, and a lazy grin spread across his lips.

“Caught ya,” he drawled, voice rough from sleep.

You raised an eyebrow. “You moved me to the bed, didn’t you?”

He huffed, clearly uninterested in owning up to the sentimentality of it. “Couldn’t leave you out there whining in your sleep.”

“I wasn’t whining!” you protested, even though your cheeks were burning.

“Sure you weren’t,” he replied smoothly, grabbing your wrist before you could retreat. With a sharp tug, he pulled you down, practically pinning you against him. “Don’t see the big deal. You’re mine, aren’t ya? ‘Course I’m gonna take care of you.”

The casual way he said it didn’t make it any less sincere.

You sighed, melting into his warmth despite yourself. “I hate how sweet you can be when I’m trying to stay mad at you.”

His smirk widened, and he tucked you closer, burying his face in your hair. “Didn’t mean to piss you off,” he murmured against your temple. “But you’re not leaving this couch till we make up. Deal?”

You rolled your eyes, but your voice softened. “Deal.”

As the tension melted away and his arms tightened around you, the couch didn’t seem quite so lumpy anymore. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad place to be.

Azul Ashengrotto

The argument had been tense, the kind where you both said things you probably shouldn’t have. Frustrated and too stubborn to stay in the same space as Azul, you grabbed a pillow and marched out to the couch. He’d barely tried to stop you, his pride seemingly keeping him rooted in the bedroom.

But pride was a fickle thing, and now you were left trying to fall asleep on the stiff cushions. Every creak of the floorboards made you feel a little guilty, knowing exactly who it was.

You didn’t even need to look; you could feel Azul’s presence lingering in the doorway, his usual composure clearly absent. The sound of shuffling footsteps returned to the bedroom, and you thought maybe he’d finally leave you alone—only to hear those same footsteps inch closer again a minute later.

"Azul, I know you're there," you muttered, cracking an eye open and turning toward the doorway. Sure enough, there he was, peeking out. His glasses caught the faint glow of the hallway light, and he immediately froze like he’d been caught stealing treasure.

“I-I wasn’t...” he started, before trailing off, clearly scrambling for an excuse.

You sighed and sat up, your frustration ebbing in the face of how uncharacteristically sheepish he looked. This was Azul Ashengrotto, the calculating businessman who could sell ice to Yetis—and yet he couldn’t even apologize without peering at you like a child who’d been scolded.

“If you’re just going to lurk there all night, we’re both going to lose sleep,” you said, finally beckoning him over with a wave.

Azul hesitated for a fraction of a second before his composure cracked, and he shuffled toward the couch. “I didn’t mean for things to escalate...” he started, sitting next to you, his head ducked low, voice soft.

You smirked despite yourself. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed, you know that?”

He bristled, his dignity rallying as he cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “I am not—”

“You’re very cute,” you interrupted, and the smallest flicker of a pout crossed his lips.

Azul looked away, a hint of color dusting his pale cheeks. “You’re the worst.”

“And you still love me,” you countered, pulling him down beside you. “Truce?”

He glanced at you, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips. “Truce.”

Apologies came in murmured exchanges after that, both of you acknowledging where you’d gone wrong. You knew you’d both let pride get in the way—typical for two people as headstrong as yourselves.

Eventually, Azul’s head rested on your shoulder, his warm weight grounding you. You leaned back against the couch, and despite its discomfort, it felt perfect with him there.

“You know,” you whispered, running a hand gently through his hair, “for a guy who’s made half of Twisted Wonderland sign contracts, you really can’t stand your ground for the life of you.”

Azul huffed, turning his face into your shoulder to hide. “Do you want me to apologize again?”

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Nope. I think I’ll just enjoy this.”

And with that, the two of you finally let the tension of the argument melt away, falling asleep together on the couch in an imperfect, perfectly “you and Azul” sort of peace.

Kalim Al-Asim

The argument had been uncharacteristically heated—rare for someone as sunny and easygoing as Kalim—but even he had limits, and so did you. When your stubborn streak flared, it ended with you grabbing a blanket and storming off to the couch.

“No, Kalim, I’m fine. You sleep in the bed, I’ll sleep here,” you snapped, cutting off his attempts to follow you. His face fell, but for once, he didn’t argue, retreating to the bedroom with a defeated slump of his shoulders.

You burrowed into the couch cushions, determined to stay mad, but as sleep started to claim you, the anger dulled into annoyance. It didn’t matter. He started it, you thought stubbornly, clutching the blanket tighter.

A soft rustle of fabric woke you, tugging you from the edges of sleep. Blinking groggily, you turned your head to see Kalim crouched beside the couch, carefully tucking another blanket over you. He had his tongue poking out slightly in concentration, his touch so gentle that it was clear he didn’t want to wake you.

“What are you doing?” you mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep.

Kalim flinched, looking at you like a startled puppy caught raiding the kitchen. “Oh, I—uh—I just thought you might be cold, so I…”

He trailed off, clearly expecting you to brush him off again. Instead, you sighed, your irritation melting as you realized just how ridiculous he looked, trying to coddle you even while you were angry at him.

“Come here,” you said, sitting up and pulling the blanket back a bit.

“What? No, I don’t want to—”

“Kalim.”

His protest crumbled immediately, and he slid onto the couch beside you, tucking his legs up awkwardly. You wrapped the blanket over both of you, and after a moment of stunned hesitation, Kalim relaxed into the embrace, resting his head against your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice small and earnest. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You sighed, tilting your head to rest on his. “I’m sorry too. I overreacted.”

He perked up slightly at that, his usual cheer trying to peek through. “So… does this mean you won’t sleep out here alone again?”

“You’re lucky I’m even letting you under this blanket, Asim,” you teased, though your smile softened the words.

Kalim beamed, his arms wrapping snugly around your middle. “I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me forever!”

You rolled your eyes fondly, leaning back into the cushions. The couch wasn’t exactly built for two people, but the warmth of his presence made it easy to ignore. Slowly, you both drifted to sleep, Kalim murmuring sweet nothings even as his breaths evened out.

Maybe next time, you thought sleepily, you’d just let him win.

“You can have your perfectly fluffed pillows and skincare routine in peace,” you muttered, tucking yourself in with a spiteful sense of triumph.

Vil Schoenheit

The argument left both of you simmering in silence, which for Vil was a rarity. Instead of his usual icy composure, he seemed genuinely rattled. You, however, weren’t in the mood to care. Grabbing a blanket with theatrical flair, you stomped to the couch.

Once comfortably cocooned, you scrolled on your phone, trying to drown out the lingering annoyance. That’s when you heard it—sharp, purposeful footsteps marching toward you.

Before you could react, Vil appeared like a vengeful storm god, looking every bit as flawless as a deity would while furious. With a huff that could make kingdoms tremble, he reached for your arm and began dragging you back to the bedroom.

“Vil, what are you—let me go! I’m fine out here!” you protested, but his grip was firm, his annoyance palpable.

Once you were unceremoniously deposited by the bed, he turned to you, pointing at your neatly made side. “You are sleeping there,” he declared.

You folded your arms. “I’m sleeping on the couch. Deal with it.”

He tilted his head, his expression a dangerous blend of frustration and disbelief. “Absolutely not. You’ve ruined my entire evening, and now you expect me to suffer further by sleeping alone?”

“Ruined? Seriously?” you shot back.

“Yes! I require my beauty sleep, and I can’t possibly get it knowing you’re out there, sulking on a couch. It’s impossible to relax without you next to me—so you, are going to have to take responsibility!”

The sheer audacity of his statement left you blinking. It was so dramatic and entirely Vil that you couldn’t help it—you laughed. Not a little chuckle, but a full-bodied, slightly wheezing laugh that made you clutch your sides.

Vil crossed his arms, arching an offended brow. “I fail to see what’s funny.”

“You,” you said between giggles. “This whole ‘it’s your fault I can’t sleep because I love you’ nonsense. You’re ridiculous.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he sighed, and once your laughter subsided, he gestured to the bed again, this time more softly. “Please. Don’t make me sleep without you.”

You relented, sliding under the blankets. As you settled in, Vil switched off the lights, the room going still.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly after a moment. His tone was sincere, lacking the sharp edges from earlier.

You shifted closer to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him gently against you. “I’m sorry too.”

Vil let out a contented hum, nestling into your hold. With your body heat mingling and the earlier tension dissipating, it didn’t take long for both of you to fall asleep—together, as it should be.

Sleep came in patches, your mind replaying the fight in a loop. At some point, the dull ache in your bladder forced you to stumble toward the bathroom. On your way back, you froze, hearing quiet, panicked murmurs drifting from Idia’s room.

Idia Shroud

The argument had been rough—sharp words, bitter edges, the kind of fight that left your chest heavy. It didn’t matter how much Idia stammered his way through an apology or tried to explain his side; you weren’t ready to hear it yet. So, in an act of frustrated finality, you grabbed a blanket and retreated to the couch, refusing to spare him another glance.

“Ortho, what do I do? I think I really messed up this time,” his voice wavered, thick with worry. “They probably hate me now. Like, actual hate—no respawn, no restart. I mean, who else would put up with me? I’ve completely blown it.”

You sighed, anger ebbing as guilt trickled in. You hadn’t meant to push him that far, and his usual self-deprecating spiral sounded more frayed than usual.

Pushing the door open, you caught the tail end of Ortho’s voice. “Big Brother, you should—oh!” His robotic eyes darted to you, scanning the scene. A moment later, he gave a tiny thumbs-up and practically zoomed out of the room, leaving you and Idia alone.

Idia froze when he noticed you. His shoulders hunched as if he could shrink his already wiry frame. “I-I didn’t mean for you to hear that. Sorry for being pathetic. Again.”

Rolling your eyes fondly, you stepped forward and opened your arms. “Come here, you dramatic dork.”

His eyes widened, hesitation etched into every inch of his posture. When you didn’t move or drop your arms, he finally shuffled over, nervously slipping into your embrace. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him securely, and his entire body seemed to deflate as tension drained out of him.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” he admitted, voice muffled against your shoulder.

You huffed softly, rubbing his back. “Idia, I wasn’t leaving. Just... needed space to cool off. And honestly, hearing you lose your mind over it made it hard to stay mad.”

“Cool. Cool, cool, cool,” he mumbled, the words tumbling in an embarrassed rush. “Um, does this mean...?”

“It means I still love you,” you interrupted gently.

His grip on you tightened for a moment before he pulled back, pink dusting his cheeks and his hair glowing pink at the ends. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice so soft you almost missed it.

“I’m sorry too,” you replied, kissing his cheek and earning a startled squeak.

Together, you made your way back to bed. As you settled under the blankets, his fingers tangled hesitantly with yours. The argument seemed miles away now, replaced by the steady warmth of simply being with him.

“I’ll try to be better,” he murmured into the quiet.

“You’re already enough, Idia,” you replied, squeezing his hand.

And as you drifted off to sleep, you felt his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your knuckles, grounding both of you in the quiet comfort of reconciliation.

Malleus stood frozen for a moment, processing your declaration, and you could feel his pout even with your back turned. "You do not need to sleep on the couch," he finally said.

Malleus Draconia

The argument left both of you tense, and you were too mad to deal with Malleus' brooding silence. Grabbing a blanket, you stormed off toward the couch, refusing to even glance at him. "I'm sleeping on the couch," you announced. "Goodnight."

"I'm not changing my mind," you shot back, tossing the blanket onto the couch for emphasis.

There was a brief, sulking pause. Then, he went quiet—suspiciously quiet. You peeked over your shoulder just in time to catch him crossing his arms with a look of smug triumph spreading across his face.

“Malleus—”

Before you could finish the thought, a flash of green lightning struck the couch, reducing it to a pile of ash with alarming precision. You stood there, jaw dropping as the faint smell of charred upholstery wafted in the air.

"Well," Malleus said, ever so matter-of-factly, "it seems the couch is… out of commission. A most unfortunate turn of events."

You turned to him, dumbfounded. "Did you seriously just smite your own couch?"

He looked at you expectantly, his lips pressed into an overly calm smile. "The bed is still available," he offered, gesturing toward the bedroom as though that solved everything.

Your anger reignited—if that was even possible after witnessing such sheer audacity. Without a word, you dropped your blanket onto the floor, flopping down dramatically as if making it your personal mission to out-stubborn a dragon fae.

He stared at you in bewilderment, clearly expecting a different outcome. For a long moment, he didn’t move, as though trying to process your act of defiance. Then, with an audible sigh, he finally caved.

“Alright,” he said softly, crouching to your level. His eyes held a rare vulnerability. “I… overreacted. I apologize for upsetting you.”

You bit back a smirk, pretending to be unimpressed even as you felt your resolve softening. "I wasn’t thrilled about it, yeah."

Malleus tilted his head, something of a pout returning to his expression. “Will you come back to bed, then? The floor hardly befits someone so precious to me.”

“Only if you promise not to zap anything else," you teased, finally relenting as you reached out to take his offered hand.

He helped you up gently, his grip firm but careful, as though he feared breaking you. “I cannot promise to never act rashly in defense of my love,” he murmured, leading you back to the room.

Settling into the bed together, you couldn’t resist poking at him one last time. “You really destroyed your own couch just to keep me near you, huh? You know they make couple’s therapy for this, right?”

He chuckled softly, pulling you close. “I would smite an entire castle if it meant you stayed by my side.”

“Noted,” you said, rolling your eyes, though you couldn’t hide the warmth in your chest. As you both drifted off, tangled in the sheets, you couldn’t help but think how absurdly lucky you were to be loved by someone so dramatic—and so utterly devoted.

Masterlist

[telephoniii]

REALLY…HIM?

☆彡 in which professor trein judges your relationship with the NRC boys

NRC boys x Reader (minus Ortho)

Word Counter: 3K

Warnings: Reader is Prefect, Trein is your father figure, established relationship, possible OOC

A/N: life’s getting pretty hectic so i’m sorry if my upload schedule slows down. i hope you enjoy :>

ace trappola

Can’t say he’s surprised, just disappointed. It makes sense; he was one of your first friends. However, that doesn’t make him any less troublesome. Despite being a first-year, Ace is one of the biggest slackers and troublemakers on campus— much to Trein’s dismay. His main worry is that Ace will poorly influence you. He’s already seeing it with the two of you getting a crazy amount of detentions and scoldings for unthinkable reasons. You’ve got it rough already being from another world, you don’t need a devil on your shoulder convincing you to get into all kinds of trouble. It’s a real shame said devil is your boyfriend. He’ll allow the relationship and all will seem swell. Little do you know that he pulled Ace aside and had a long chat.

deuce spade

A fine pick; Trein is neither severely impressed nor disappointed. He doesn’t think Deuce is too bad, but he believes you could do better. Deuce will need to somehow prove himself to Trein. On the outside, Trein looks like he absolutely hates his guts. His eyes are always staring at Deuce with this sharp look and it gets the card soldier real nervous real fast. In reality, it’s just Trein keeping a closer eye on him + his RBF. He’s relatively neutral on the first year, yet Deuce is fully convinced that his professor wants to set him on fire.

cater diamond

Trein is very annoyed with your choice. He doesn’t like Cater’s social media addiction and would much rather have you hit the books than scrolling through Magicam. Not to mention, he feels as though something about Cater’s happy-go-lucky attitude is a facade, and doesn’t trust him around you. Cater finds Trein scary, but he’s not as intimidated as Deuce. As he does with Ace, Trein takes Cater to have a talk, and—surprisingly— his opinions on the third year improve. He doesn’t fully like him, but he’ll tolerate Cater more so than beforehand. Cater also offers to help Trein make a social media account; it’s cute yet chaotic all the same watching them bond.

trey clover

Before Trein can form a solid thought on Trey, the vice housewarden is subtly trying to win his favor. Trey knows how about his father-like connection to you and immediately shapes up. He gifts Trein different pastries and learns which ones he’s partial to. What really wins the professor over is when Trey starts volunteering to help clean his classroom after class. Trein won’t even know the two of you are already together and he’ll make comments around you like, “That Clover boy is real nice…” Needless to say, Trein approves of Trey long before he finds out you both are in a relationship.

riddle rosehearts

Trein immediately scowls when he hears the news of your relationship. You’d think he’d approve due to Riddle’s intellect and dutiful behavior. Admittedly, Trein does like that about Riddle. But he despises the boy’s bursts of anger, finding them childish and unfitting for a future mage. He’s seen the housewarden go berserk on one too many students and doesn’t trust he won’t do the same to you. Trein doesn’t want you walking on eggshells around your own partner. This is another one who’ll have to prove themselves to Trein. Riddle will be upset when he hears of Trein’s low opinion of him, but gets a surge of motivation to convince him otherwise. You’ll find Riddle working even harder on his studies than before you didn’t even think that was possible in hopes of gaining Trein’s favor. He’ll eventually get it. I imagine that Riddle does some small, heroic deed for you that really shows his love, and Trein just so happens to be passing by and sees it. Once your unofficial official father in Twisted Wonderland gets along with Riddle, expect to be nagged about missing assignments and homework a WHOLE LOT.

jack howl

Similar to Trey, he immediately knows about your bond with Trein. Instead of trying to win over the professor, Jack takes a more blunt approach. He goes straight to his desk after class and tells him about your relationship, being upfront about his feelings towards you. Trein respects it. He thinks that Jack has more guts than most on campus and trusts him to protect you. He’s quite supportive of the relationship, acting as a mentor for the both of you. You can catch him watching the two of you with a tiny smile, murmuring something along the lines of, “Young love.” The two of you remind him of his own marriage with his late wife. It makes him sentimental in a way.

ruggie bucchi

A BIG 180 FROM JACK. Trein thinks this guy is sleazy. Ruggie couldn’t care less in the beginning, finding it funny to practically hang off your shoulder while Trein stared daggers into him. Then it started to seep in that it may or may not be important to get Trein’s approval for a long-term relationship with you. That’s when he gets his act together and completely starts sucking up to Trein. He’ll help out with paperwork, errands, cleaning up, etc! All for free! much to his dismay All Ruggie asks for in return is Trein’s support for your relationship. He catches Trein by surprise with how well his work ethic is. The lengths the hyena goes to for you ends up leaving the professor impressed.

leona kingscholar

Professor Trein is both surprised and disappointed. Now how did this happen? He didn't think Kingscholar was capable of being nice to anyone, let alone get into a whole relationship. Well, he bugs you to tell your boyfriend to start showing up to class. He’s not exactly happy with you dating a huge slacker like him, but Trein knows that Leona is a smart boy. Brash and not his first pick, sure, but he wouldn’t play with your heart or rope you into anything stupid. He trusts Kingscholar to protect you. But if he starts seeing you begin to skip class— which is going to happen, Leona’s going to make you do it at least once— he’ll pull YOU aside and give you an earful. Tough love, unfortunately.

floyd leech

Hell no. All the red blaring flags. Now why would you go and do that? Really? Out of EVERYONE? You bet your bottoms Trein is actively speaking out against your relationship every single time he sees you. He doesn't even want to try to talk to Floyd. Trein is convinced you are addicted to getting in trouble and lets out the biggest old man sigh. Is there any way Floyd can win the professor’s favor? Probably not. And if there was a way, would Floyd even do it? Big fat no. Floyd thinks it is hilarious that Professor Trein disapproves, upping his affections around him with that toothy grin of his. And if you guys have a class together that Trein teaches? Chaos. Expect a lot of paper balls to be thrown at you.

jade leech

“Are you okay??” Is the first thing Trein asks when you tell him you and Jade are in a relationship. Doesn't exactly trust the boy, but Jade tends to behave around him. The professor has always seen him being picture-perfect whenever he’s around which is 100% suspicious, but Trein doesn't have any solid reasons to disapprove. Jade, like his brother, finds the whole situation very amusing. He’s always figuring out new ways to appear like the ‘ideal boyfriend’ to Trein. If he ever talks to the professor he’ll slip in a comment like, “I never disappoint, trust me” and it makes Trein distrust him even more.

azul ashengrotto

Now what bet did you lose for this to have happened? At least Ashengrotto is a star student, you need to hang out around more of those in his opinion. After confirming that, “No, no bet was lost,” and “No, he’s not paying for my love,” Trein was pretty alright with it. The Monstro Lounge is a student-ran organization, it's clear from that the young boy is capable and responsible. He just keeps a very, very close eye on you two. The last thing Trein wants is for Azul to take advantage of you since— knowing him— he seems like the type to do so. Expect frequent questions of “How’s your relationship going?” and “He’s treating you right, right?” Azul is going to get asked to stay after class to talk. Trein then proceeds to threaten lecture him on how to properly treat your lover. He just wants to make sure you don't get wrapped up in one of those contracts he’s heard about. Azul has quite the track record.

kalim al asim

Automatically assumes you’re dating him for the money and begins to ramble about how you should marry for love. Tells you about his late wife and how much he loved her— it is so sweet I'm actually crying. That's the kind of love he wants you to have. You’ve got to reassure him that, “Yes, my certified father figure, I do love him very much and I’m not just in it for the money.” After that talk, he finds the relationship sweet but kind of concerning. Kalim is a nice boy but severely naive and, frankly, incompetent. Trein starts to go a little harder on Kalim in class, not that he was going easy anyway. He scrutinizes the essays he turns in and chastises him for missing an assignment. As he watches you kiss Kalim on the cheek after getting an A, Trein can only sigh and think, “He’s lucky he’s rich.”

jamil viper

Trein’s pretty okay with him. He’s a level-headed guy with passable grades and the title of a vice housewarden. However, the professor did hear about his Overblot and does think that there's more beneath the surface. He doesn't judge him for his Overblot, no. But Trein does keep a closer eye on him to make sure he isn't scheming anything involving you. The professor also tries to push him to do better academically. He’s heard from you about how smart Jamil truly is and can see his potential, so he tries to get him to stop holding back. Jamil is a little appreciative of it and respects Trein as your father figure, but still isn't a fan of sticking out. Nor does he plan on giving into Trein’s attempts.

epel felmier

Is fine with the relationship at first. He was polite, soft-spoken, and a part of Pomfiore. Most students belonging to that dorm are pompous, but respectful nonetheless. Then Epel’s true nature comes out and Trein is constantly reprimanding him for horseplay. It's kinda funny how surprised Trein is by Epel’s country toughness. The professor definitely had his suspicions— nobody at NRC is innocent, he’s learned every student here has some sort of dark side— but he definitely wouldn't have expected this. A part of Trein actually prefers him like this. You are dating someone with a backbone who will defend you. He encourages Epel to be himself around him, promising a judgment-free area. They get along pretty well surprisingly, with Trein being a sort of mentor to him. Overall, very sweet and Trein approves.

rook hunt

In the most blunt way possible, Trein tells you, “Your boyfriend weirds me out.” He thinks Rook is an oddball for sure. No way around it. Is half convinced Rook is stalking him. Because he is. When you explained to your boyfriend about the bond you had with Professor Trein, he got way too intrigued and ended up ‘watching’ Trein like he does to Leona. It's not until the professor makes a passing comment about being paranoid that he’s being watched that you realized, “Oh shit my boyfriends stalking you.” You don't say that to him— you don't want Rook getting in trouble. So you settle on having a really long talk with Rook about it who reassures you he’d never disturb your father figure or the absolutely beautiful bond between the two of you. He still worries you sometimes when he goes missing and randomly reappears by walking out of Trein’s classroom.

vil schoenheit

Trein worries that Vil won’t make the time for you. He’s aware that Schoenheit is a busy boy as he’s missed his class plentiful in the past. He’ll make Vil stay after class for a little to talk to him about it, giving him a fatherly warning about being ready to fully commit to a relationship and the time it takes to manage one. Vil is, admittedly, insulted that Trein doubts his ability to wholeheartedly love you but takes it in stride. He sees this as a sign to up his game in the romance department and properly does so, dedicating more time to pampering you. The professor expresses his concerns to his coworker, Crewel, who talks his ear off about how much of a “good pup” Vil is and that he won't disappoint. Trein can’t help but agree when he spots you walking into class looking more freshened with slight makeup on and a new hair-do that Vil definitely did for you.

idia shroud

Once you break the news to Trein, he immediately asks to meet with Idia one-on-one. The blue-haired student rarely shows up to class! And that iPad isn't going to cut it forever! He needs to be able to size him up in person. Idia, naturally, is scared to death. At first, he immediately declines, insisting that they don't really need to meet up, the whole idea is stupid, and it’ll be fine if he stays right there in his room. Then you sit down with him and tell him how important Trein is to you and… sigh You landed a natural 20 on the dice of persuasion. Idia can’t believe he's doing this. You’re beside him the whole time as he stutters in front of Trein. Is Trein impressed? No, not at all. Yet your confidence in the Shroud and constant praise is reassuring. The professor’s going to make you force Idia into showing up in person in class. His attendance rivals Leona's.

sebek zigvolt

Doesn't really care for Sebek despite the first year's desperate attempts at trying to impress him. Sebek lost him after he started talking about Malleus when Trein asked about you. Ever since then, it’s just been him trying to win him back to no prevail. Kinda sad to watch. He’ll be the biggest gentleman ever: rushing to doors to open them for Trein, scrubbing his whole classroom for him from top to bottom, and yelling at other students to be quiet— though he was pretty much doing that before you two even got together. But every time Sebek gets close to winning the professor’s favor, he ends up going on a tangent about how amazing his liege is, and we're back at square one. You’ve got to rub him on the back and kiss him on the cheek while telling him, “Trein will come around one day!” Even if that day never comes.

silver

Not a fan. He’s witnessed Silver fall asleep in his class one too many times and thinks it's disrespectful. Once you tell Silver, he’s upset as it's not exactly something he can change, but will put in extra effort not only in Trein’s class but in all his classes. He studies with you beside him so you can prevent him from falling asleep when you see him get all drowsy-eyed. Trein immediately takes note of Silver’s hard work and grit as the boy passes his class with flying colors while asking if there’s anything he could do to help him after hours. It's only when he hears from his fellow teachers that Silver has been doing exceptionally well is he actually impressed. Afterwards, Trein will start being more understanding of Silver’s constant sleeping. He won't be any less strict, but he won’t lay into him for it as hard as before since learning it's out of Silver’s control. Trein thinks rather positively of your relationship, comparing it to the ones in the fairytales.

lilia vanrouge

A bit disturbed, to say the least. Lilia is older than him after all. Trein tried to keep a close eye on the two of you, but Lilia always caught him and pursued a staring match. Trein was always the first to look away. Lilia finds it entertaining. He tries to play tiny tricks on the professor, but you stop him at the very last minute. You sit down and try to explain that you deeply care about Trein and, by extension, what Trein thinks of him. Lilia proceeded to suggest that he brings Trein some cookies to win him over to which you immediately say no. Honestly, I don’t see Trein really ever warming up to Lilia. He just pretends the old bat doesn't exist and isn't your boyfriend. Lilia finds that incredibly funny while you're dying inside.

malleus draconia

The fact you were able to get close to the Draconia is an impressive feat to Trein. However, future ruler of Briar Valley or not, he intends to make sure that Malleus treats you right. Right when you tell Malleus that Trein is basically your father, the fae goes straight to the professor, confesses to him about your relationship, and swears to take good care of you with this ominous tone. Trein isn’t very fond of Malleus at first, struggling to decipher whether or not that introduction was genuine. It isn't until you go to him after class, gushing about the late-night walk you went on with Malleus yesterday and shoving cute little polaroid photos in his face does Trein begin to trust the fae. He makes sure to scold you for not being asleep at that time, yes, but he stares at one of the photographs for way too long, imagining you and Malleus as him and his late wife for a moment. A small smile appears on his face. However, he can’t help but think that the two of you are down a similar path; the happiest marriage ever, kids, and one lover outliving the other. A tragedy, but he’ll let you enjoy it while it lasts just like he did. As long as you’re happy.

[dior-luxury]

I need some teasing romantic fluff, can I request the housewardens reaction to being pulled into a random room by their lover and being smother with kisses. Please and thank you 💖💖

Kiss And Make-Out

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] dormleaders

- [𝐩:𝐬] suggestive themes . mentions of making out ofc

Note: Honestly thing took me shorter than I thought it would to write Lol. And I tried my best to not make it extremely suggestive... But I then realized I have free will and just made it regularly suggestive.

Riddle Rosehearts

The hallway was quiet, lined with the dignified wallpaper and polished wood of Heartslabyul’s east wing. Riddle was walking beside you, dutifully listing the upcoming events for the next dorm meeting, when you suddenly grabbed his wrist.

"Wait—what are you—!" he sputtered, blinking rapidly as you tugged him into a nearby, empty reading room.

The door slammed shut behind you. Bookshelves stood in neat rows, sunlight streaming through high windows. But you didn’t give Riddle a chance to take in the room. You spun him to face you, pressing your body close, your hands already cupping his cheeks.

“[Name]!” Riddle gasped, eyes wide, ears turning red. “This is highly improper—”

You kissed him before he could finish.

His breath hitched as your lips met his in a flurry of soft, passionate kisses—one on the lips, another on the cheek, then two more down his neck. His back gently met the shelf behind him, a soft thump muffled by his uniform. He stood stiff for a second, flustered beyond belief, but then…

"...You're being completely unreasonable," he mumbled between kisses, although his hands were now resting on your waist. "I can't focus when you do that."

But he didn’t stop you.

Your kisses moved down to his collarbone, and Riddle squirmed just a bit. His face was a flaming red now, his breathing shallow. You could feel the way his heart was thudding under your fingertips as you ran your hands through his soft red hair.

“I’m trying to behave…” he whispered.

“But you’re so cute when you’re flustered,” you replied sweetly, stealing another kiss from his lips.

Eventually, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, letting out a quiet, surrendering sigh. “Only you could get away with something like this…” he muttered, arms now wrapped around your waist. “But if Trey walks in, I’m blaming you.”

Leona Kingscholar

You knew Leona was headed back from Spelldrive practice—his shirt clinging to his broad chest, his hair tousled, golden skin glistening with sweat. You had timed it perfectly.

As he turned the corner toward the dorm hallway, you jumped out from behind a tapestry, grabbing his shirt with both hands.

“Tch—what the hell—”

You dragged him into an unused music room, slamming the door behind you.

“Oi, herbivore, are you trying to start a fight?” Leona snapped, eyebrows furrowed, tail lashing in confusion.

But your only answer was kissing him hard.

The snarl caught in his throat immediately vanished as you caught him by surprise, hands sliding up his toned chest, lips moving over his with soft, heated insistence. For a moment, he stood stock-still, blinking, your kiss leaving him dazed. Then you kissed the corner of his mouth, then under his jaw, and he let out a slow, very audible groan.

“You really woke up and chose chaos today, huh,” he muttered against your lips.

He let his bag drop with a thud. “You could’ve waited ‘til I showered, but nah, you want your king like this?”

You nipped at his lip playfully, whispering, “I want you like this especially.”

That was enough.

Leona’s hands gripped your hips with a growl, spinning you and pressing you back against the wall, kissing you with fierce hunger now. His tongue brushed yours, his fangs grazing your lower lip as he kissed you harder, deeper. His tail flicked behind him, betraying his rising desire.

“I should punish you for ambushing me like that,” he murmured against your ear, voice gravelly.

“But I won’t.”

His smirk was dangerous and lazy all at once.

“Not yet, anyway.”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul had just finished another long meeting in Mostro Lounge. You waited until the twins had left him alone in the hallway before you struck.

“Azul, can I borrow you for a second?” you said sweetly, tugging at his sleeve.

“Ah, certainly, my pearl—wait, where are we—?”

You pulled him into a supply closet of all places. It was dimly lit, a little dusty, but private. Azul looked around in confusion, pushing up his glasses.

“I—is this about the contract I was drafting—?”

You didn’t answer. You kissed him.

The poor boy short-circuited. He froze as your hands slid into his hair, tugging just enough to make him gasp. You kissed his lips, then his cheek, then the underside of his jaw, and he visibly shivered.

“[Name]—w-wait—why now? I-I didn’t prepare—!” he stammered, glasses askew, already blushing violently.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him again, long and slow this time. Azul's knees buckled slightly, and he caught himself by gripping the shelves behind him. His breath was trembling as you ran your fingers down his sides.

“You… you’re going to kill me,” he whispered, eyes wide behind his fogged glasses. “This is too much for a man of my constitution…”

But even as he said that, his hands found your waist, gently pulling you closer. His lips brushed your ear.

“I suppose I shouldn’t complain about having such an affectionate girlfriend…”

You smiled. “You love it.”

“…Don’t tell the twins.”

Kalim Al-Asim

You caught Kalim just as he was coming down the golden staircase in Scarabia, humming to himself, all sunny and unbothered. His eyes lit up the moment he saw you.

“[Name]!! I was just about to look for—WHOAAA!!”

You didn’t let him finish. You grabbed his wrist and yanked him into the nearest room—one of the spare guest suites with gauzy curtains and sun spilling in through the arched windows. He stumbled in after you, laughing the whole time.

“You’re so full of surprises today—ACK!”

You tackled him onto the cushions, landing right on top of him with a mischievous grin. Before he could ask anything, you started kissing him—peppering his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, and his lips with kisses so fast he couldn’t even catch his breath.

“Wha—mmf! Wahahaha—[Name]!! Wait!!” Kalim laughed uncontrollably, trying to catch your hands in his. “You’re kissing me too fast—I’m gonna pass out from happiness!!”

You finally paused just long enough to look down at him. His white hair was a little messy, his golden eyes gleaming, his face flushed and grinning like the sun itself.

“Was that all for me?” he asked breathlessly, cheeks glowing.

You nodded and leaned in again, kissing his lips a little slower this time.

He melted under you like butter on hot sand.

“Wow,” he murmured, now dazed. “You’re… amazing. I think my heart just did a triple somersault. I should throw a party just to celebrate this moment!”

You laughed, resting your forehead against his. “You really would, huh?”

“Of course!! I’ve never felt this lucky in my life!”

Vil Schoenheit

Vil was walking briskly through the upper halls of Pomefiore, hair and uniform immaculate as ever, when you stepped directly into his path.

“Vil,” you said, breathless and determined.

He arched a single, elegant eyebrow. “Yes, darling?”

Without answering, you grabbed his hand and pulled him into a side hallway, then pushed open a door into one of the unused dressing rooms. The full-length mirrors and velvet furniture gave the room an intimate feel—one Vil would usually approve of.

“What exactly are we—mmph!”

You shut him up with your lips.

You kissed him firmly, again and again, ignoring his stunned stillness. His back lightly hit the vanity table, and your hands found his jaw, tilting his head as you kissed a path from his lips to his cheek to that spot right below his ear.

Vil sucked in a sharp breath.

“[Name]… this is hardly a—ah—suitable location…” he said, voice breathy despite himself.

You kissed down his neck, and he gripped the edge of the table hard enough for the wood to creak.

“…I’m trying to remain composed,” he hissed, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re ruining my lip gloss.”

You kissed him again, slower this time, tasting the faint berry gloss on your lips. “I’ll buy you another one,” you whispered.

His hands finally slid up your arms, resting on your waist. His expression softened, pride melting into fond exasperation.

“You’re so bold when you want to be,” he murmured, brushing his forehead against yours. “But you should know… if you keep kissing me like that, I might not let you leave this room for a while.”

Idia Shroud

You had to be sneaky with Idia—if you startled him too hard, he’d vanish into a puff of blue flame and digital pixels.

So when you saw him walking back from the library with headphones in and Ortho floating behind him, you waited until he was alone—just outside the server room in Ignihyde.

You pounced.

“AHHH—SYSTEM ERROR, WHAT THE—?!”

You yanked him into an empty tech room and closed the door behind you. Idia stumbled backward, hair flaring slightly blue with panic.

“W-Wait, are we being chased?! Is this a boss battle? Did you glitch through reality again—?”

You didn’t let him finish.

You kissed him. Right on his startled, slightly parted lips.

His brain blue-screened.

Idia’s body stiffened like a glitching NPC. You kissed him again, this time on the cheek, then again, trailing little kisses along his jawline. His hoodie bunched under your fingers as you leaned into him, holding him close, while his hands flailed in the air like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“M-M-M-M-Moe overload—emergency shutdown imminent—!!”

You giggled and pressed a softer kiss to the tip of his nose.

That seemed to reboot him. Slowly, his shaking arms wrapped around you, awkward at first, but growing tighter as you kept going. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Are you real? Like… for real real?”

“Very real,” you said, kissing him one more time.

He leaned into you then, forehead pressed to your shoulder, still flustered but clinging to you like you were the only stable thing in his world.

“…You’re OP,” he mumbled. “Totally broken character build. It’s unfair. Nerf girlfriend pls.”

Malleus Draconia

It was late evening, just after sundown, and you spotted Malleus walking alone through one of the lesser-used halls of Night Raven College—moonlight catching on his horns, his cape flowing behind him like royalty incarnate.

“Malleus!” you called, jogging up beside him.

He turned with a small smile, the kind that he reserved just for you. “Ah, my love. What fortune brings you to this path?”

Without warning, you grabbed his hand—cool, calloused, always gentle—and tugged him through the closest heavy oak door. The room was empty, dark except for the faint shimmer of magic-laced torches. Dusty furniture and a grand window gave it an old, castle-like feel. Perfect.

“Where are we going?” he asked, tilting his head. “Is there danger?”

You didn’t answer. You pushed him back gently against the wall and kissed him.

His eyes went wide, not in shock, but in the quiet kind of awe that only Malleus seemed capable of. You kissed his lips, then his cheek, then the pale stretch of skin along his neck. Your hands moved to his shoulders, pulling him closer, kissing him again and again—slow, soft, reverent.

“Dearest,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion, “your affection is… overwhelming.”

You kissed the tip of his jaw. “Is that a problem?”

“…Not in the slightest.”

His voice dropped low, velvety and deep, as he rested his forehead against yours. “You wield power greater than most—did you know? Not in magic, but in how effortlessly you undo me.”

You smiled and kissed him again, this time slower, and something in him finally gave way. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close as his lips met yours again, more certain now, more claiming. His kisses were intense and unhurried—like time stopped for you and him alone.

“If this is what it means to be mortal,” he whispered between kisses, “then I never wish to be a god again.”

[pomefioredove]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ friends forever

summary: a beaded competition for yuu's affections type of post: drabbles characters: all students additional info: platonic or romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu, based on an ask I got a while ago, fluffy, predictable sappy ending

Word travels fast at Night Raven College.

Gossip, secrets, whispers exchanged in the darkened halls, from student to professor, to professor to ghost, to student again.

The Ramshackle Prefect was beaming, bright as the dawn itself on Monday morning, a string of blue plastic beads on one arm. They seldom smiled so much, and for good reason- but Monday, they were glowing, holding out their wrist, and telling anyone who would listen about the gift their "best friend" had given them. It was an enthralling sight.

Deuce Spade, the poor, sweet boy, had become patient zero.

Word travels faster at Night Raven College when it's about the Prefect.

Deuce Spade had claimed title of best friend with a string and sixteen translucent plastic beads, something that made Ace Trappola itch. He didn't care! He didn't! Of course, he stayed up all night, trying and failing and trying again, to tie the tiny knot on a black-and-red beaded bracelet. But that didn't mean he cared!

It's on your arm, right above Deuce's, on Tuesday.

"Thank you, Ace!" you had smiled, announcing it to the entire unbirthday party. "You really are my best friend!"

Ace looked over his shoulder to smugly grin at his dormmates. "Aww, this old thing? It's nothing, just thought your wrist looked a little lonely with only one,"

It was a rather strange sight: the housewarden of Heartslabyul, his scepter and crown set to the side, his back hunched as he strung black, red, and gold beads over his desk that night. Riddle Rosehearts marched over to you first thing in the morning, set his bracelet in your waiting palm, and marched away, his face redder than his hair.

Trey Clover had forgotten all about homework, promising Deuce two week's worth of dish duty in exchange for beads and string. Forest green and black. He was too shy to give it to you himself, and left it at your doorstep in a basket of tea leaves and leftover tart. It smells of vanilla.

Cater Diamond made sure to snap a pic of his bracelet on your arm, black, red, and orange beads, with his and your initials right next to each other. "#BFFs #besties"

His Magicam story was viewed over 6,000 times.

...Mostly by the same people, over and over.

Ruggie Bucchi had a different take on the situation. See, he didn't have the kinda cash to spend on beads and string and fancy charms, and so you wore a striking dandelion crown to your classes on Thursday morning.

Jack Howl braided you a simple, brown-stringed band to wear on your wrist or ankle or wherever you liked it. You had told him you loved it, rumor said.

Then, all came to a halt.

Word spread that Leona Kingscholar had tried gifting you an expensive, golden-beaded bracelet from his home, (one that would haven taken up half your forearm), and you had refused it. You couldn't possibly accept such a nice gift, you said.

You would, as it seemed, only accept handmade friendship bracelets.

Kalim al-Asim kept Jamil Viper up all night, weaving and unweaving, beading and unbeading, doing and redoing and redoing again, until he had perfected your friendship bracelet in all colors of the rainbow. Little did he know that Jamil had already given you one that afternoon. It smelled of spices, giving away the fact that he had made it in between cooking meals.

Azul Ashengrotto told his staff he was taking a morning off to study, went to the beach, and collected shells in every shape and color. He strung them on black fishing line, and smiled as he gave them to you, free of charge. "Just something to remember me by when I'm away," he said, his face redder than it felt.

Floyd Leech had started one, but became bored of the tedious beading after ten minutes and decided to dedicate his next basketball win to you instead. Jade Leech finished it, and, while his brother was distracted, lined the teal-and-black striped beads with mushroom-shaped charms.

Vil Schoenheit never half-asses anything, friendship bracelet or not. He would do most anything to hear those sweet words of thanks on your lips (not that he'd admit it), even if that means taking hours out of his busy schedule to dye white yarn in wine and weave it with his gilded initials and red, bejeweled hearts. He likes seeing himself on you.

Rook Hunt, ever the nonconformist, fashions you a necklace out of broken bow strings and an arrowhead from his favorite quiver. He puts it on you himself, his fingers brushing against your throat and lingering on the back of your neck for a moment too long, as if enjoying the feeling of your heartbeat.

But Epel Felmier outdoes them all.

For on Friday morning, you come to class with a bracelet of lavender-painted wooden beads, his initials carved into the soft oak, and he comes in wearing the same bracelet, but with yours.

How had no one thought to make a matching one for themselves???

Idia Shroud 3D prints a bracelet in your favorite color, and Ortho Shroud engraves the flat surface with your favorite characters... they make two more for themselves, as if in a sort of secret club. It gives Idia quite the thrill to think about, though he'd never say it.

Sebek Zigvolt hmphs at the idea of showing such loyalty to a mere human, until Silver and Lilia Vanrouge return from an early morning stroll with baskets of acorns, flowers, and pine nuts for bracelet-making. Sebek and Silver both make theirs in earthy wooden tones and shimmering shades of rose and violet. Lilia sneaks in a few animal teeth and bone fragments. For good luck.

Malleus Draconia, tedious as it is, spends his Sunday morning spinning his own string, and lining it with beads, tiny in his hands, and small pieces of smooth glass and stone from Ramshackle. He gifts it to you with a blessing, a promise of your eternal friendship, in this world and the next.

By the end of the week, your arms are heavy with beads, shells, stone, nuts, flowers, and charms, covered from wrist to elbow. You can't move without sounding like a wind chime, jingling and clinking with each step.

Your friends eagerly await your praises, not-so-subtly asking which bracelet is your favorite, or, frankly, who is your best friend?

You promise an answer soon.

Thus, on Monday morning, you arrive with only one bracelet.

Sloppily made, in soft blues and grays, with the cut-out logo of a tuna can label stuck to your wrist, and a smiling Grim holding the hand beneath it.

[lotuswish]

𑁍ࠬܓ how they react when they see you hurt (housewardens & jamil)

synopsis: pain is not something he ever wanted to associate with you. but seeing you injured—knowing someone dared to harm you—shatters his composure. for some, it’s rage; for others, panic. and for a few, it’s cold, terrifying control—until he knows you’re safe. but one thing is certain: someone will pay for this.

featured character(s): riddle rosehearts, leona kingscholar, azul ashengrotto, kalim al-asim, jamil viper, vil schoenheit, idia shroud, malleus draconia.

content warning(s): angst, mentions of violence and implied revenge, mild injury descriptions (ex. bruises, wounds, pain etc.), spoilers for book 6 in idia’s part.

a/n: they’re just being silly, guys. <3

link(s): (masterlist)

riddle rosehearts

riddle prides himself on maintaining control.

his entire life has been shaped by discipline, by structure, by the belief that emotions must be ruled by logic. he does not allow himself to be reckless, does not allow himself to be overcome. everything he does is precise, calculated, deliberate.

but the moment he sees you hurt—

everything unravels.

his breath catches in his throat, his heart slamming against his ribs, his mind instantly abandoning all reason. his entire world sharpens to a singular point—you—and all at once, every ounce of restraint he’s spent years perfecting is hanging by a fragile, fraying thread.

“who did this?”

his voice is sharper than you’ve ever heard it, trembling with something raw, something dangerously close to rage.

he’s beside you in an instant, dropping to his knees without hesitation, his hands hovering—not touching, not yet, because what if he makes it worse? what if he hurts you somehow? his fingers tremble, itching to reach out, to make sure—

“tell me where it hurts,” he says, but his voice wavers. “tell me what happened.”

his hands are gentle but firm as he checks you over, his usually practiced movements clumsy with the weight of panic. he doesn’t even realize his breathing is uneven, doesn’t even notice the way his shoulders are shaking as he looks you over, as he takes in every bruise, every wound, every sign that something happened—

something he didn’t prevent.

“you should have been more careful,” he scolds, but the words come out thin, forced, like he’s trying to hold something else back.

you try to tell him you’re fine, try to brush it off, but he doesn’t believe you. his eyes flicker with frustration, his jaw tightening, his grip on your wrist just a fraction too tense.

“don’t be ridiculous—you’re hurt,” he snaps, and then immediately exhales, forcing himself to breathe. “just… stay still. let me handle this.”

he refuses to let you wave it away. refuses to leave it alone. you are not fine, and he will not let you convince him otherwise.

but even as he focuses on making sure you’re okay, something else burns at the edges of his mind, pressing against his temples like an unbearable weight—

who did this to you?

his hands clench into fists. his breathing evens out, but his posture remains rigid, coiled tight like a string about to snap.

because once you’re safe—once he’s certain that you’re okay, that you’ll recover, that he didn’t fail you—

then, and only then, will he deal with the one responsible.

his mother may have taught him restraint, but some things are unforgivable.

and hurting you is one of them.

leona kingscholar

danger.

his body registers it before his mind does, his instincts kicking in the moment his eyes land on you—hurt, vulnerable, not okay.

his vision tunnels, his pulse spikes, and suddenly, the world around him doesn’t matter anymore.

“what the hell happened?”

his voice is a low, guttural growl, thick with something dark, something uncontrollable. his hands clench at his sides, every muscle coiled, his body ready—ready to fight, ready to destroy, ready to eliminate whatever put you in this state.

but then he sees it—sees the way you’re holding yourself, the way your breath hitches, the way you flinch just slightly—and suddenly, the anger has to be forced down, swallowed like bile in the back of his throat.

because right now, you come first.

so he moves, closing the distance in a single step, his hands reaching for you before he can stop himself. his hands are gentle from the start, unusually so. these hands of his are capable of devastation, of turning flesh to dust, of summoning ruin with a mere touch. but against you, they are careful, restrained. the second he feels the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips, the tension in his hold eases, his hands softening, steadying you instead of breaking you.

“who did this?”

his voice is still dangerous, still thick with that barely restrained fury, but now there’s something else underneath it.

concern.

fear.

he hates how it makes his chest tighten. hates the way it lingers at the edges of his thoughts, nagging at him, clawing at something buried deep beneath his usual indifference.

he kneels in front of you, his sharp, emerald eyes scanning every inch of you with terrifying intensity. his fingers ghost over your injuries, his jaw clenched so tight you can hear his teeth grind together.

“tell me.” his voice is dangerous now.

and then—when you hesitate, when you try to brush it off, when you lie—

his patience snaps.

“don’t give me that.” his grip tightens just slightly, his expression darkening. “you’re hurt. don’t act like it’s nothing.”

there’s no room for argument in his tone. no patience for your stubbornness, no willingness to accept anything less than the truth.

if you try to keep it from him, if you refuse to say who’s responsible, then fine—he’ll find out himself.

because someone did this.

and once you’re safe—once he’s sure you’re okay, once he’s made damn sure you’ll recover—

then he’s hunting.

“stay here,” he mutters, standing to his full height, his tail flicking behind him in barely restrained aggression. “i’ll take care of it.”

and if you try to stop him?

his gaze flickers down to you, something sharp, something scorching, like the unrelenting heat of the desert sun at its peak—blistering, unforgiving, merciless.

“no one lays a damn hand on you and gets away with it.”

and then he’s gone, a storm of unbridled wrath, a lion on the hunt.

azul ashengrotto

azul is a man of careful calculations.

every word, every action, every decision he makes is deliberate. he has spent years crafting a persona of charm, wit, and effortless composure—one that allows him to stay in control, no matter the circumstances. he does not flinch, does not waver, does not lose to uncertainty.

but then he sees you hurt.

and suddenly, all of that control is gone.

his breath catches, his body locks up, and for one horrifying moment, his mind is utterly blank.

“you—what happened?”

his voice doesn’t sound like his own. it’s too sharp, too raw, lacking the usual smoothness he prides himself on.

he rushes to you without thinking, but the second he’s close enough to touch, he hesitates. his fingers hover inches above your skin, his knuckles white with the force of his restraint. his mind is screaming at him to act, to do something, but a terrible thought wedges itself into his panic—

what if i make it worse?

he doesn’t trust his own hands, doesn’t trust his own judgment, not when the sight of you like this is unraveling him from the inside out.

“tell me what hurts,” he demands, his words tumbling out in a way that’s almost frantic. “is it serious? how bad is it?”

his thoughts spiral immediately, jumping to the worst possible conclusions. is it critical? should he be calling for medical attention? what if you’re downplaying it? what if he’s not fast enough?

and then you try to brush it off.

“nothing?” he echoes, breath hitching. his voice almost cracks—and he hates that. “how can you say that when you’re—when you—”

his hands clench into fists, shaking slightly as he forces himself to breathe.

“just—just stay still,” he mutters, voice tight with strain. “i’ll take care of it.”

because if there is one thing he knows, one thing he can control, it’s fixing things. making deals. offering solutions.

“i’ll call a healer. i’ll get whatever you need—whatever you want.”

his words come too fast, his mind still racing, but through it all, his hands never leave yours.

his grip is too tight, fingers wrapped around yours like a lifeline, like letting go isn’t an option he’s willing to consider.

because if he lets go—if he loses you—

he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle it.

and when it’s over—when he knows you’ll be okay—he still doesn’t let you out of his sight.

“you scared me,” he murmurs, quieter than before.

his voice is steadier now, but you can still hear the remnants of his fear, lingering in the way his thumb brushes absentmindedly over your knuckles, in the way he exhales like he’s been holding his breath this entire time.

and for the first time since you’ve met him—since he built the persona of azul ashengrotto, the untouchable businessman, the man always one step ahead—

he lets you see just how fragile he becomes when it comes to you.

kalim al-asim

kalim is always smiling.

he is a beacon of joy, a burst of light in every room he enters. when things go wrong, he looks for the silver lining. when people are hurting, he lifts them up with his boundless energy. sadness is something he refuses to dwell on, something he fights against with warmth and laughter.

but when he sees you hurt?

his entire world stops.

“oh no, oh no—”

the words leave him before he can think, his breath catching as his heart lurches in his chest. he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t pause to process what he’s seeing—his body moves, fast and instinctive, rushing to your side.

his hands cradle your face, warm and steady despite the frantic tremor in his touch.

“are you okay? what happened? does it hurt? how bad is it?”

his voice is shaking. he’s shaking.

and when he finally really looks at you, when he takes in the way you wince, the way you hold yourself like you’re trying to hide the pain—his chest tightens, his stomach twisting into something awful.

“why didn’t anyone stop it? why didn’t i stop it?”

guilt. overwhelming, suffocating guilt floods him like a tidal wave.

“i should’ve been there! i should’ve protected you!”

his grip on you tightens—not enough to hurt, just enough to let you know he’s here. he isn’t letting go. he won’t let go.

and then, before you can stop him—before you can tell him it’s not a big deal—his eyes start to glisten.

“kalim, are you—”

“i’m not crying!” he absolutely is. “i just—you scared me!”

his voice wobbles, and suddenly, he’s pulling you into a hug, arms wrapping around you too tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“don’t move, okay? just stay right here! i’ll get someone to help—i’ll fix this, i promise!”

if it’s something small—just a minor scrape, a bruise—he still treats it like it’s life-threatening. he refuses to let you walk it off, refuses to let you act like it’s fine.

if it’s something worse? if you are seriously hurt?

he panics, but his movements are certain. without hesitation, he lifts you into his arms, holding you to his chest like you’re something precious, like you belong nowhere else but safe in his hands.

“i’ve got you,” he whispers, voice breaking. “i won’t let anything happen to you.”

and when he finally gets you to safety, when he finally knows you’re okay—

he still won’t stop fussing.

“you need to rest! do you want pillows? i’ll get you pillows! or tea! do you want tea? i’m sure jamil will—jamil! we need tea!”

“kalim, i’m fine—”

“no, you’re not fine! i was so scared!”

his fingers squeeze yours.

and later, when you’re patched up, when the worst of the moment has passed—

he presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes.

“don’t ever scare me like that again, okay?”

his voice is softer now, the usual excitement dimmed into something deeply sincere.

“i don’t ever wanna see you hurt again.”

jamil viper

jamil was raised to handle crises.

he has spent his entire life being the one who steps in when things go wrong, the one who fixes things while everyone else panics. no matter the situation, no matter the chaos, no matter the pressure—he is always in control.

so when he sees you hurt, when he registers the way you’re holding yourself, the way your face twists with pain—

his stomach drops.

but his body moves on instinct.

“where?”

his voice is steady. too steady. his mind is screaming, but his tone doesn’t waver, his movements are calculated, precise. he crouches in front of you immediately, eyes scanning you with sharp, assessing precision.

“how bad is it? let me see.”

he doesn’t waste time. doesn’t ask what happened—not yet. because right now, the only thing that matters is making sure you’re okay.

his hands are warm but firm, brushing over you carefully as he checks for injuries. his fingers ghost over your wrist, your arm, the side of your face—everywhere that might be hurt—his touch gentle but filled with purpose.

“it’s not broken,” he murmurs under his breath, half to himself, half to reassure you. “no major swelling… does this hurt?”

and then—when you flinch, when you let out the softest hiss of pain—

something inside him snaps.

his jaw clenches. his breathing slows.

“who.”

his eyes flick up to meet yours, and for the first time, there is something dangerous in his gaze.

“who did this?”

if there is a culprit—if someone is responsible for this—then they are not leaving unscathed.

but even as fury thrums through his veins, even as his mind races with ways to handle the situation, he forces himself to prioritize you first.

“can you walk?” his voice is softer now, his tone slipping back into something controlled, something measured.

if you say yes, he doesn’t let you prove it. he supports you immediately, one arm around your waist, guiding you effortlessly as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

if you say no, he lifts you without hesitation. no warning, no asking—just picking you up, his hold secure, unshakable.

“don’t argue,” he mutters, barely sparing you a glance. “just let me take care of it.”

because he will.

and once he gets you somewhere safe, once he’s made sure you’re being treated properly, once he knows with certainty that you are okay—

then, and only then, does he allow himself to breathe.

“you’re reckless,” he mutters, his voice a mix of exasperation and something far too raw. “i don’t have time to deal with this every time you get yourself hurt, you know.”

but his fingers tighten just slightly where they rest against your arm, betraying the truth behind his words.

because if something had happened—if things had been worse—

he doesn’t even want to think about what he would have done.

vil schoenheit

perfection is vil’s standard.

not just in beauty, not just in his work, but in everything—his composure, his discipline, the way he carries himself. he does not allow himself to be reckless. he does not make careless mistakes. he does not let emotions rule him.

but then he sees you hurt.

and something inside him fractures.

his lips press together, his expression unreadable, his body rigid—the only betrayal of the storm brewing beneath his flawless exterior is the way his fingers tighten just slightly at his sides, the way his breath is a fraction too controlled.

“where are you hurt?”

his voice is steady. cold. clinical. but his eyes—his eyes—

they burn.

he crosses the distance between you in two strides, his gloved fingers already reaching for you. his touch is firm but delicate, brushing over your skin with the kind of precision only someone like him could possess.

“sit down.” it’s not a request. “don’t move until i’ve assessed the damage.”

you try to downplay it, try to insist that it’s nothing, but his sharp gaze cuts through you instantly.

“do not insult me by pretending this is fine,” he snaps, his voice sharp as glass. “you are hurt. i can see it. so let me handle it.”

his fingers ghost over your injuries, his touch meticulous, searching. he catalogues everything—the severity, the placement, the way you react when he presses too close.

he is silent as he works, but the tension in his shoulders speaks volumes.

“this never should have happened.” the words slip out low, almost a whisper, but the weight behind them is undeniable. “i should have—”

but he cuts himself off before he finishes the thought.

vil schoenheit does not dwell in should haves.

he fixes things. he prevents disasters before they happen.

but right now, all he can do is make sure you are okay.

“i’ll handle this,” he says smoothly, already preparing to tend to your wounds himself. “stay still.”

his movements are precise, every action perfectly executed—cleaning, bandaging, ensuring no imperfections remain. but his touch lingers just slightly longer than necessary, his fingers brushing over your wrist, your palm, the curve of your shoulder with a tenderness that is almost imperceptible.

and when it’s over—when you are properly cared for, when the worst of the moment has passed—he finally exhales.

“you worried me,” he murmurs, and it is softer now, less controlled, less rehearsed.

and then—just for a second—his fingers ghost against your jaw, tilting your face up toward him.

“i won’t let this happen again. not ever.”

his voice is gentle. his eyes are not.

because if anyone had a hand in this—if someone is responsible for this pain—

then they will regret ever daring to touch you.

idia shroud

idia doesn’t do well under pressure.

he was not built for high-stakes situations, for stress, for emotions so raw they leave no room for second chances. he hates unpredictability, hates chaos, hates not knowing what to do.

so when he sees you hurt—

his mind shuts down.

for a full second, he just stares, his breath caught somewhere in his throat, his fingers twitching but unable to move.

no, no, no, no, no—

his brain latches onto the worst possibilities immediately. how bad is it? is it fatal? what if you’re bleeding out? what if it’s internal? what if he doesn’t react fast enough?

what if he loses you?

his stomach twists violently, a familiar, awful panic rising in his throat, threatening to choke him.

because this—this exact fear—is something he’s lived through before.

he remembers the first time. the real first time.

losing ortho was something he never saw coming. something he never thought could happen. and even though he’s built him again, recreated him, brought back a version of his little brother—

he still remembers.

remembers what it felt like to be too late. to fail someone he loved. to stand there, frozen in horror, helpless to stop it.

and now—

now it’s you.

you, the only person who matters to him besides ortho. you, the person who understands him, who stays, who chooses him despite all the reasons not to. you, who has somehow become his entire world without him even realizing it.

“oh seven—okay, okay—don’t freak out—no, wait, i’m the one freaking out—”

he rushes toward you but stops short, his hands hovering inches away, shaking.

“w-wait, should i touch you? would that make it worse?? oh seven, what if i make it worse—”

his mind is short-circuiting. too many variables. too many possible failures.

“idia,” you start, but he whirls on you, wide-eyed and frantic.

“y-you have to tell me exactly how bad it is, okay? give me a numerical rating—no, no, wait, i don’t trust the pain scale, um—can you move?? do you need a doctor??”

his breathing is erratic, his fingers clutching at the edge of his hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

but then—just like before—you try to reassure him.

“i’m okay.”

he stops.

his whole body locks up, his mind struggling to catch up.

”…are you sure?”

his voice is so small. so uncertain.

because he’s already lost someone before.

and if he lost you too—if this was his fault, if he wasn’t fast enough, smart enough, good enough—

he doesn’t know what he would do.

even when he’s finally convinced that you’re not dying, he still refuses to leave your side. he hovers awkwardly, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve, clearly itching to do something to make himself useful.

so he does what he knows best—

“d-do you wanna lay down? i, uh, set up a recovery station in my room. blankets. snacks. medkits—y’know, just in case. w-we can watch something comforting, i won’t even complain about the genre. promise.”

his voice is still wobbly, still slightly frayed at the edges, but the tension in his shoulders finally eases when you nod.

and later—when you’re safe, resting, and no longer in pain—

his fingers brush against yours, hesitant, unsure, before finally intertwining them properly.

“never scare me like that again, okay?”

his voice is quiet. but this time, it doesn’t shake.

because he won’t lose you too.

he can’t.

malleus draconia

malleus has lived longer than most.

a century and more has passed since his birth. he has seen generations rise and fall, watched mortals grow old in the blink of an eye. nothing unsettles him. nothing disturbs his calm.

but then he sees you hurt.

and the entire world stands still.

his breath halts, and the air around him shifts—the very atmosphere bending beneath the weight of something primordial, something as vast and unrelenting as the storm-laden skies over the land of briar.

his first instinct is not panic.

it is rage.

“who did this?”

his voice is low, steady, but beneath the surface, something dangerous lurks.

his emerald eyes gleam, faintly glowing in the dim light. the shadows stretch taller, the wind outside stills, the very earth itself seems to pause, as if the land itself knows what kind of wrath is building within him.

his hands twitch at his sides, claws curling, magic crackling faintly at his fingertips—not for you, never for you, but for whoever was foolish enough to harm you.

but he stops himself. forces himself to breathe.

because you come first.

he is in front of you in an instant, his movements as fluid as shadow, his expression unreadable. his hands—hands that could command storms, reduce castles to rubble, shatter the very sky—reach for you with an almost unnatural gentleness.

“let me see,” he murmurs, his fingers ghosting over your injury, tracing the bruises, the cuts, the places where pain lingers.

his touch is featherlight, his movements precise, but beneath it all, his body is rigid with barely restrained fury.

“who did this?” he repeats, quieter now, but infinitely more terrifying.

if you don’t answer, if you try to downplay it, if you lie—

his gaze darkens, something thunderous in his silence.

“do not shield them from me.”

he is not so easily deceived. he sees the hesitation in your eyes, the way you waver, the way you avoid his gaze. if you refuse to tell him, it does not matter—he will find out on his own.

but first—

“hold still,” he murmurs, raising his hand.

a pulse of magic hums through the air, a whisper of ancient power curling around your form like a protective shroud. the ache dulls, the wounds begin to close, the pain fades.

“better?” he asks, softer now, something tender hidden beneath the weight of his fury.

but even as he tends to you, even as he ensures you are safe—

his mind is already elsewhere.

because someone hurt you.

and for that, there will be consequences.

malleus does not act rashly. he does not lash out blindly.

but the guilty party will know fear.

“stay here,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheek for just a fraction of a second, his touch lingering. “rest. recover.”

and then, as he turns, the air thickens, the weight of his presence pressing down like the hush before a storm, like the crackling stillness before lightning splits the sky.

because someone has made a grave mistake.

and if the gods are watching, they would be wise to offer their mercy—because malleus draconia will not.

congrats on making it to the end! if you enjoyed this, likes, comments, follows, and reblogs are always appreciated—they help motivate me to keep creating and sharing!

[riddlesrose]

kissin him stupid

w/ the housewardens

in which you were recently gifted a tube of lipstick from grim, you're unsure of where he got it or why he decided it's yours now but it's given you a fantastic idea.

(he probably stole it from vil somehow and wants to place the blame on you..)

note; malleus' is the shortest but the most full of love i swear to goooood but the post itself is quite long

part two!

if riddle could form a proper sentence right now, he might scold you for slacking off, or breaking rule six hundred and seventeen, or he may just ask you to do it again. if colours could speak, his face would scream in comparison to the red accents in the housewarden’s room, uniform and matching hair. 

you attempt to keep a sober expression but he seriously cannot be so flustered by a single kiss? the red lip stain on his cheek is bright against the flush of his cheeks, as he sputters vowels and consonants, attempting to speak, to protest, to ask you what in the queen’s name are you doing.

you invited riddle over to the ramshackle dorm under the guise of needing help with studying, but you had this motive the entire time. riddle could feel your rebel to his help and directions if he ignored the obvious fact you hadn’t even cracked the spine of your book yet (to be fair it was only assigned today, and it was a new book), and the devious smile you attempted to hide until now. 

riddle took a breath, finally feeling sensible enough, “what… was that.” 

“affection, riddle. this isn’t new.” you shot, tone dripping in sarcasm. 

“yes, my rose, i know that. i mean,” he grabs hold of your uniform tie, drawing you closer, “what’s with the lipstick?” your head probably could have exploded, where did this riddle come from and how can he be drawn out more often?

you press a swift kiss to riddle’s other cheek, thanks to the proximity. “i have no explanation,” you press another kiss onto his forehead, “i simply was gifted it,” a kiss to his temple, “this morning.” the grip riddle has on your tie loosens completely as it falls back onto your chest, slightly wrinkled from the force. 

“i just had this ironed!” you frown. 

“i-i’ll get it done again.” riddle stands, brushing invisible dust off his jacket, though nothing could distract from the shade of pink that covers his face. 

“you’ll iron my tie for me? how kind.” you wrap an arm around riddle’s waist, pulling him close. he drops his forehead against your chest with a thud, inaudibly mumbling to himself. 

you wrap your other arm around him as he takes your face between his hands, slightly squishing into your cheeks he drags your face to his height, kissing you feverishly. 

“where did this riddle come from? i like him.” 

“i just felt… bold i suppose.” riddle’s red tinted lips smile against yours.

“do it again!”

leona stirs underneath you. you’re sat, straddling either side of his hips, weight pressed on his defined torso. leona doesn’t know it but you’ve practically trapped him where he sleeps. where he’s asleep currently, that is. in your dorm. 

on your couch.

using your pillows, taking in the setting sun like a true feline, though you would never dare utter the word feline anywhere near him lest you face the wrath of a moody boyfriend. 

you silently laugh to yourself, leaning down and pressing your lips on the prince’s temple.

leona stirs again at that, attempting to roll over – he cracks an eye when you gasp. slowly, coming to his senses, he furrows his brows at your positioning. you weren’t there when he fell asleep, when did you do that, and why are you sitting on him with half of a sinister smile across your lips…

and when did your lips turn red? he brings a hand up to rub his face, trying to shake the sleep out of his fogged mind, but you catch his hand before it makes contant. 

“don’t, it’ll mess up all my hard work,” you say with a half hint of embarrassment. (just a hint; only because you were caught before you could slip away undiscovered.)

leona’s confusion increases, as he detaches your hand from his wrist. he takes his freed hand up to your lips and swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, smudging it further across the line of your lip.

he inspects his red finger, “is this… lipstick?” you purse your lips in an attempt to stifle the laugh that bubbles in your chest. he looks ridiculous; eyes half lidded, nose crunched in focus and red marks painting his face.

your tinted lips curl upwards slightly into a smug grin, “maybe?” if leona knows one thing, it’s smug grins. he matches yours and wipes his thumb on your cheek, smearing the lipstick off his thumb and onto your skin. 

you playfully swat his hand away and lean down to continue painting your masterpiece, placing another kiss on his skin – onto the spot between his eyebrows. leona’s hand find your hip, giving a teasing pinch to the side. 

leona may be a prince used to some pampering, but this is some treatment he could get used to. 

azul has a finger in every pie, as riddle likes to say. you’re very much aware of that as your boyfriend likes to talk your ear off about his investments, new opportunities and the lounge. you’re so very proud of all of his hard work but sometimes he gets off on a tangent that doesn’t stop until you make him. usually with a kiss. it flusters him just enough that he forgets what he was going on about and it works every time. 

this time, however, was a bit different. azul didn’t take notice of the hue change of your lips as you leaned in and shut him up. drawing back, you snicker at his pursed lips and flushed cheeks, and the red lipstick smeared around his lips.

azul peeked in your direction, curious. you usually find it funny when he’s flustered like this but you were laughing a little too much. he noticed the messy red lipstick and furrowed his brows, wiping a finger across his lips. 

you suppressed a smile as you watched him curiously examine his stained finger, “it’s lipstick.” he concludes. 

“well… obviously? i thought that would have been pretty clear,” you grab his hand, wiping the red off of his finger. 

before azul can retort you lean in to kiss him again; anywhere you can get your lips on before he shells himself away, utterly embarrassed. a kiss to his cheek, jaw, forehead, nose, other cheek, forehead again, has him sputtering, almost begging to be released. 

azul places his free hand on your shoulder, trying to push you away while laughing between breaths. when you do back up, leaning back on your hand, he almost looks sad. (as if he wasn’t actively trying to get you off!) 

“so, mister ashengrotto? feeling loved and appreciated yet?” you give him a toothy grin, watching as his face contorts from flustered to even-more-flustered. (if that’s possible.)

“well yes! i dare say i’m feeling very valued and cherished as well.” despite his rosy features, his voice is unwavering, full of conviction. 

his confident, put-together outer layer completely melts away when you’re alone with him, but this has him absolutely on fire, a feeling no number could replace. numbers can’t give affection, you give it tenfold in their stead. 

kalim’s permanent grin widens when you claim you’ve got a gift for him. he expectantly holds out his hands, making you shake your head. 

“it’s more of an eyes closed kind of gift,” you start, kalim instantly squeezes his eyes shut. he puts so much trust in you that you worry jamil has eyes everywhere. everywhere. but you brush the jesting idea away, believing that you wouldn’t even be allowed on scarabia grounds if jamil didn’t trust you with the housewarden. 

you turn to a nearby mirror, passing the tube of red lipstick over your lips. the smooth makeup applies nice and neatly. (doesn’t matter because you know it won’t be neat for long.)

you step back over to where kalim’s sitting on the edge of his bed, standing between his knees. he’s waiting not-so patiently, he looks like he’s almost vibrating, is he really that excited? you suppress a smile as you gently grab onto his jaw, tilting his head to the side as you press your lips to his cheek. his laughter immediately fills the room, making you press more kisses over his face. one to his forehead, one on the nose, another on the other cheek, his temples, and anywhere you can get before he’s laughing too much, pushing you away.

“it tickles,” he heaves a breath, “stop!” a wider smile grows on his face after seeing yours, the red lipstick you applied had smudged around your lips, looking not-so neat. his face isn’t much better, tan skin littered in red kisses.

while you’re mentally retaining the image of kalim covered in red lip marks, you notice him looking more intently at you. you raise a brow, curiously.

“my turn, give it here!” he reaches a hand out, expecting the tube of lipstick?

you look at him bewildered, “what?” 

“my turn!” he repeats. he seems real set on returning the ‘gift’ it seems. kalim’s all smiles as you hand him the black tube. he exposes the stick and passes it over his own lips, tossing it aside and pulling you down to his seated height. he flattens his lips across the expanse of your face, getting at any skin he can just like you did to him. 

when he deems he’s finished, you’re dazed and equally covered in red lipstick stains, smiles wide across your faces. matching stained faces for matching blitheringly infatuated idiots.

vil leans on the back of his vanity chair; his face littered in different coloured lip marks. the reason? he claims he wants to see which ones compliment him the most. 

you know he already knows exactly which shades of each brand line do exactly that. (thanks, rook.) vil doesn’t know that you know he’s already figured this out. 

you wipe the makeup remover-soaked cotton pad across your lips, ridding it of the pink. “what would all of your fans think if they knew you were being covered completely in rainbow kisses?” you wipe the moisture from your lips as vil reaches around you to grab another tube, but you stop him. 

“i’m sure they would lose their minds,” you reach into your pocket, revealing a miscellaneous tube of lipstick, it matches none of the previously discarded lipsticks, nor does it have a brand logo on it. “where did you find this?” vil takes the lipstick in his hand, nimbly examining the exterior. he removes the top to reveal a rich, velvety red colour. his eyes widen just slightly. 

“it’s a secret,” you wink and take the lipstick from him and apply it, smiling as you replace its cap and let it fall from your hand, onto a messy vanity behind you. 

vil wraps an arm around your neck, drawing you closer to his seated level, “well, share your secret with me, if you would be so kind.” you swiftly close the gap between yourself and the housewarden, administering a healthy dose of red onto his lips and the surrounding skin. 

he parts first, his cheeks dawn a hint of pink that’s hidden behind the various stains on his otherwise perfect skin. he truly is the most beautiful person ever. makeup or not, hair tied back or loose, vil is sincerely as pretty as the morning's first light, a flower; freshly bloomed, and a fresh set of nails. 

“you’re staring. not that i mind,” you snap out of your hazy daydream about your gorgeous boyfriend and back into reality. 

“yeah, sorry. you’re just really fucking pretty.” you lean down and tenderly kiss his forehead as he internally squeals like one of his fan-girls. he really hit the jackpot with you as his (second) biggest fan.

idia looks up at you with wide yellow eyes, but they have a sort of gloss over them that makes you believe he would not want you to get up and leave his dorm right now. you grin at his feeble attempt of a silent, inconclusive plea. an ask to what, you’re unsure because his face (minus the eyes) and hands grabbing at you tell you he’s very much enjoying you straddling his hips right now.

you reach into your pocket, revealing your master plan. a tube of lipstick, you swipe it over your lips once, then twice before replacing the cap and tossing it down, letting it hit the plush bedsheet you’re atop. 

the translucent tips of his hair start to turn pink as you lean down towards his face. a trembling hand comes up to your shoulder, not pushing you away but seemingly grounding the housewarden underneath you. “how cute,” you smile against his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another to his left cheek, then the right. one more on his forehead for good measure. maybe one more. okay, one last one couldn’t hurt.

you sit upright and drag a hand down idia’s chest, over the sweater you know is probably two sizes to large for him, (but that’s how he likes them you suppose and it just makes for a more comfortable sweater when you steal ‘em) while admiring the definitely not smudge-proof lipstick marks on idia’s face, giggling as you compare the red smears to his blue features. you wonder if-

the rapid rise and fall of idia’s chest catches your attention, it almost sounds like he’s hyperventilating, but when you look up to his face it’s surrounded by fiery pink hair and a flush across his cheeks, spanning down his neck, you realize he’s fine. probably a little more than fine. 

“well, that’s some false advertising,” you smile, wiping at the edges of your lips lightly with a finger. idia snaps out of his stupor, hastily agreeing with a stuttered breath. his hands find your hips, giving you a small squeeze. you lean down and press a proper kiss to his lips, you lift away just as quick as you bent down, pushing idia back down as he chases you up, hoping for more. a pitiful whine escapes him as his hair burns brighter. 

the red lipstick mixes with his natural blue lips gives him a sort of purple that would put the octavinelle’s house colour to shame. though, he almost looks forlorn. the usual solemn and gloomy housewarden; reduced to a blushing mess after a few kisses. 

hilarious, isn’t it?

malleus’s eyes flutter shut, a pleased sigh escapes his lips. his hands, hidden by your sweater, trace messy patterns on your back as his nails scratch lightly. he’s unsure of how he got himself into this humanoid predicament but he’s not complaining. 

you’re sat in his lap, placing kisses all over his face, leaving red lip marks behind. 

“you look like you’re enjoying this more than i am, malleus.” you bring a hand up to rake it through his bangs, pushing them behind his horns and revealing the shiny scales hidden beneath. 

the housewarden cracks a sharp emerald eye, examining your features. the slope of your nose, the curve of your stained lips, your eyelashes, cheeks. your eyes. oh how he loves your eyes, the way they look up to him with adoration, not fear or indifference like other humans do. 

you cup his cheek, “malleus?” 

he blinks once, twice. the gloss over his eyes breaks, refocusing on you. “i apologize, i was lost in thought.” 

“i could tell,” you trace your finger to the tip of his ear, then drop your hand back into your lap. “what were you thinking of? me?” 

“yes.” 

“woah, okay. blunt!” heat rises to your face. 

a hand leaves your back, trailing around your side and up to tuck a piece of hair away from your eyes. “was i not suppose to tell the truth?” 

“no, malleus, you should have said you were thinking of pancakes.” 

“but i wasn’t? i was thinking of-” you cut him off, placing a kiss on his lips. 

“now, let me resume my art.”

malleus is more than happy to sit as still as the gargoyle statues he studies while you press kisses all over his face. he is, truly is.

this was so self indulgent i ain’t even sorry (is my favouritism showing??)

masterlist

[cursedcola]

Prompt: YOU ARE LIKE PAPA!!!! Aka. I'm seeing a trend. The boys are all literal carbon copies of their mommas (or one parent) at this point - so how do they feel having a child that’s THEIR spitting image? In which your genes didn’t even try. Physically...and personality. Masterlist: LinkedUP Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: House-Wardens Format: Headcannons+ imagine (Yes, I know I said I wouldn't be doing bullets anymore...but one more? It's mixed. Can't just cold turkey a gal) A/N: Do I want to make this a series?...I do not know. Maybe? It's really hard to write without the kids having names - and I'm just here like...can I use the names I want? I already made them up in a past post. Would that ruin the experience for people? I mean - it's my stuff and I can do what I want but hmmm.... Warning(?): For this to be, MC's the one who popped the kid out and has reproductive ability to house spawn. Kiddos are biological. Talk of pregnancy and general child-rearing. Use of mother and she/her pronouns to make my life a bit easier.

Riddle couldn't care if his child looked like him down to the last freckle on is butt. What mattered most in that delivery room was that the child came out healthy with no complications. He's the father that doesn't shy away from asking the doctor + midwives questions - perhaps too many, since you nearly toss him out of the delivery room for causing unneeded distress.

In all honesty? Had he studied medicine like his mother pushed - Riddle would've been the one delivering his own child. He copes with stress through control - so imagine THAT scenario.

After birth, he cares much more for the child's skills and manners rather than their appearance. Do they wash their hands before every meal? Say their please and thank you? Do they trust him enough to state their opinions - respectfully, not a potty mouth.

Riddle can and will make them lick a bar of soap if they utter a curse word before the age of 15.

How's their academic drive? Are they social? It's very important that they get along well with others from an early age. He wants them to have many friends.

He's so focused on their personality - aiming to raise a happy, confident, healthy child - that Riddle takes compliments on their physical attributes with a grain of salt until his hard work all those years child-rearing amass into... well, a second less intense version of himself.

He's adamant to ensure the child's homelife is better than what he had growing up. In a way, he misses much while worrying about other things. 10/10 an anxious father, but very doting despite being strict.

"Must I paint a heart on my cheek every day? Why not a crown, or something more fitting us? Like a rose?" his daughter huffed, yet went to paint a large red heart over her cheekbone regardless.

Just like her father, she'd received her invitation to Night Raven. The girl was expecting it, her certainty fueled by perfect grades and a strong aptitude for magic. She did not lack confidence.

Just like her father, she was assured to land in Heartslabyul. Already prepping her cheek-mark before the mirror made any verdict.

Just like her father, she aimed for the position of Housewarden before setting a single foot on campus.

Yet unlike her father, she held no issues in speaking her grievances. She bemoaned about packing, groveled at her mother's feet for her favorite biscuits before living off cafeteria meals, and surely had no reservations stealing Riddle's best fountain pen for her studies.

She keenly resembled a certain ginger that still calls the Rosehearts' household every day despite getting blue-screened by the answering machine.

That’s the last time Riddle allows you to chose the godfather of his child. Ace is an insufferable influence without that power to toss around.

Riddle sighed, plucking the brush from her fingers and pinning her V-shaped bangs back to examine her uniform. He flattens her lapels and redoes her necktie.

His necktie. Gods he’s raised a little thief.

For a moment, as he loops the tie-knot, he's a young boy calling the girl's mother over each morning to straighten her uniform. It's nostalgic, especially with how his daughter squirms under his appraisal.

Definetly her mother’s daughter, he thinks.

It is then that Riddle sees himself through her wide eyes - they're the same greyish blue that were hardened on his first day. His daughter's are much kinder, he notes. She'll easily find companions to eat her meals with.

Her cheeks are full with sweetness- his were too, but by genetic design rather than an extra treat here and there. To this day his baby-face lingers.

Her cheeks were 100% rounded with uncle Trey's spoiling. Not that Riddle could deny her when he'd eat just as much sweets while toiling over papers in his office. He remembers the familiar patter of feet slipping in, tiny hands pushing a cookie on his desk and coating it with crumbs.

He'd scold her to bring a plate next time, but take a break from work to enjoy the moment. Strict yet not domineering. A child that shares should be encouraged, at least that's what one of his many parenting manuals said.

She shared his button nose and tiny stature. Except she loved wearing matching Mary-Janes with her mother, while he wouldn't be caught without a heel at that age. She inherited his height but not his insecurity. Thank goodness.

Perhaps all those comments about his genetics weren't solely in regard to her magical prowess or ambitions. "....Father? Hellloooo?" she side-stepped to grab her bags, just as he reached to flatten her hair for the fifth time. His heart mellowed enough to not scold her impropriety.

"Ah - " Riddle coughed into his fist, " - apologies, little rose. I just never realized how much you look like -"

"You?” She cut in, “Yeah, psssssh. Mother says it at least once a day. About time you listened."

Riddle snorted, pinching between his brows. Yes, of course it was said. Although only now was he beginning to believe it.

"In appearances, yes. Yet your manners are as deplorable as ever."

Leona hopes his children are nothing like him. Which is impossible, since beastmen carry dominant traits when pitted against humans. He's not surprised in the slightest when his child has two little cub-ears atop their head, or that tiny chord barely passing as a tail. A ready snack he threatens to bite off when they misbehave.

At the very least, he hoped for your eyes. His piercing citrine was attractive, no doubt about that. He's not displeased to have them peer up at him from a bassinette each morning. Yet it is your eyes that carry a softness that this palace needs for him to get through his day.

Hey. At least there's no question of paternity. The joke falls flat with the midwives though. 'course it does.

Multiple times, by the way. For someone who claims to dislike loud children, Leona's genes are intent to sire three spitting images of himself.

In every which way - from their squeaky yawns after a mid-day siesta, to the magic flowing in their veins.

"Papa! Look what I learned how to do!"

Leona barely had time to look up from his endless pile of paperwork. The damn thing was near endless, and he'd missed three scheduled siestas just trying to get through the civil dispute filings. His brother spared no mercy in delegating the less 'enthusing' tasks to his 'smart, wise, people-smart' - pah - little brother.

He hated the sea of menial administrative filings.

His eldest daughter was well aware - she hated her homework just as much.

"A stampede's on it's way! Better freeze up before it's too late!"

Which is why she chose that moment to turn her beloved papa's woes to stone. Literally.

The moment her little fingers touched papyrus, the entire stack turned into solid rock. As did the blood in Leona's veins. Sparkly citrine eyes looked at him expectantly. Somewhere in the palace the lioness' tutor was undoubtly scouring to find her, take her back to magic theory, maybe try to cover this up from the other servants.

"You - OI! I needed those - urk, what else have you turned to stone?" he drops the pen in his hand and tries to move the now frozen stack into a drawer.

"Dammit Ki'faji...Where are your tutors? This is exactly why I told your mom combined lessons with Cheka would be a hassle," Leona grumbles and kicks from his desk, quick to check the hall outside. The kid was a bad influence - rambunctious as a twerp and even more riled up as a preteen.

Upon seeing no servants, guards, or even Cheka running up after his cousin - Leona's both relieved and angered.

Angered that his daughter was left alone. She probably escaped to avoid classwork, which he did too at that age but she deserved better. A proper education outside of solitude. One where she could hopefully grow up optimistic about this country and the people inside of it.

Relieved that no servant witnessed her Unique magic. They wouldn't understand. He can't bear the thought of them speaking of her like they did him.

Except it would be inevitable.

Then angered again, because in his hurry her little tail tucked between her legs. She hugged the side of his work desk with her hands fisted at the hem of her tunic. Her lips set in a scared pout, looking up at him past that untamed mane in her eyes. Worried.

"Papa...did I do something wrong?"

He wonders if this is what his father felt like. Being confronted with your own child, knowing that by cruel fate they'd have to face hardships and hatred for something out of their control.

Suffocating. His own throat felt full of sand. The leather on his hands too tight. She looked so much like him. Acted like him. That much Leona never once contested. Ki-Faji bemoaned to the skies that it was like time never passed, and he was stuck in a loop teaching the same unruly child.

It was funny, until it wasn't. "Nah, kiddo. Nothin' like that," he tried to keep his usual drawl. Unclench his fists. Forget about when he first slipped gloves on, "ya gotta warn me before a shock like that. So you finally got your magic tamed down, huh? Good job."

He shut the door and it set closed with a load thud. Leona might have an idea of what his father felt, but right now? She came first.

Ensuring she felt wanted, strong, and damn right accomplished - came first. Everything else later.

So with just a few strides, he swept her up over his shoulder and out from under that desk. She giggled and squawked about turning 'him' to stone if he made her go back to classes.

And Leona made no promises, but set her on the edge of his desk with 'threats' of turning her sweets to sand if she didn't at least try.

"With Unique Magic like that, you'll out-class your cousin before he even catches wind," and a bit of rivalry never hurt to keep the bloodline strong too.

Which judging by his daughter's immediate squirming to go and turn the first-prince to stone? She inherited Leona's competitive streak as well.

Unions between Merfolk and Humans are rare. Roughly 1/100 and that is giving benefit of the doubt. There were too many boundaries and complications. Prejudice born from history, the need for transfiguration, differing lifespans and culture.

One strong deterrent, perhaps the most impactful, is childrearing. The genetic output - while not impossible - is exceedingly unpredictable. Each species of merfolk reproduces differently, and their genetic dominance when put against a human's gene (especially if the mother is human) can cause complications. Capricious complications.

And as we all know - Azul is not fond of chance. Were his child to be born on land, yet have gills? Their lungs are so small, so new, they wouldn't make it to water in time. The same could be if they were born underwater and needed air.

One thing he is certain of, is that Octopi carry strong genetics. Literally. Should the child inherit his strength its kicks could do much more to your stomach than be a tickle to fawn over.

His mother wanted grandchildren, as did his great-grandmother did great grandchildren. Truth be told he wouldn't be opposed to raise one to leave his legacy to. Yet the Ashengrotto genes were strong with each descendent, so much that when he discovered you were with child? He couldn't be happy. Not truly - because too much was at risk and out of his control.

He prayed, which is not something Azul ever does, that the child would take after you. At each stage of development you were monitored down to the last detail, looking for any complications. Even the slightest hint of a tentacle or incompatibility.

Luckily, the child formed feet. Its first kick scared the hell out of him, but at most left you sore. Yet he wasn't able to relax. Not until you were taken care of in the best hospital on land, with a literal aquarium set up next to the bed just in case.

A medical marvel. That's what this child was.

Not a miracle. Not a blessing.

A medical marvel, and the most beautifully unpredictable thing that has ever happened to Azul in his entire life.

There was no clear picture of how his son might look at birth. He waited with bated breath, mentally running through every text he could find on mer-human unions. Banking on all the preparations He arranged and trying not to bite through his nails from the anxiety. The success rate was too low, but you insisted.

And he was most fortunate, because had you not then he wouldn't be holding the most cherished prize of his life.

The baby didn't cry, yet neither did he according to his mother. He was pale, no gills in sight but the wispy swirls of light gray on his head showed Azul's genes wouldn't rescind everything.

It was hidden from view for now, but there were signs of mixed blood on his son's skin. Plentiful black dots spotted his entire body, too dark to be freckles yet too light to be like Azul's outer skin in his mer-form. Time would only tell if Azul's genes really did overtake all, and if his son would look at the world with wet purple eyes.

Yet what struck Azul the most wasn't these obvious traits, ones he predicted at the very start of your pregnancy after endless nights of research.

It was that right below his son's lip, in the same spot as his father, was a small mole. That truly was by chance with no genetic influence.

He thumbed the little speck, marveling at something so small yet he didn't realize he wanted until it was there.

"You weren't lying, huh? Those are some strong genetics you carry."

Azul balked, just barely stopping himself from whipping around too quick. He turned to scold you for not sleeping, worry ebbing at him all over again.

Yet you rest your head against his shoulder, cheek pressed into his ruffled button down to sink against him. His heart still spun like it did as a teenager.

"Look at his little head of hair," you laughed, and he mutely did just that, "if he gets glasses, then I think my bloodline's finished. Might as well say you did mitosis"

That got him to scoff.

"Hardly," he said dismissively, but his lips pulled to smile regardless, "I don't recall giving him feet. That's all your doing."

"Well excuse me for not having eight legs."

"You are excused," he snickered, "Truly, he would be so much more productive with them."

Azul didn't mean that. Well, partially. Yes his son would get much more done with four sets of arms but with other costs.

You hadn't pressed, and he was grateful.

Kalim wants a large family. Not only because it is expected of him as the eldest Asim, but also because he is a family man. He adores his siblings and does his absolute best to give them all attention despite their large quantity.

He's the most doting husband, and is even more attentive as a parent. One thing he will do differently from his father is keeping his family 'small'. Four children minimum, six children maximum. Monogamous as well. As much as he loves all his siblings, the unspoken tensions are too much to endure. Kalim's also a one-spouse kind of guy, and the thought of sharing - while normal for someone of his status - is not for him. No amount of suggestion or pressure will change that. It is bad enough that his children will be subject to worries about their uncles, aunties, and cousins possibly harboring ill-will. Kalim is set on ensuring that they are part of a true family, one without such tensions, and that he can give them all the love they deserve.

Perhaps he feels guilt as the eldest. He received the most attention from his father as the heir, but he has siblings who barely know anything about their father aside from how he looks. He has step-mothers he has met only in formality, and as time went on there were strains between his siblings that he couldn't ignore. Not after taking his official seat.

Kalim will not be the same as his father. Regardless for his respect and love for the man - No matter what the future does to him, no matter if he lives a long life or one cut short. Kalim will make sure his spouse and children are cared for. He loves them more than anything on the planet.

Should he have a family, and the situation demand it? He'd give up his spot as heir in a heartbeat and move far out into the dunes with nothing but the clothes on his back. All for them to be happy and safe. That's the kind of dad he is.

"Baba?"

Kalim resisted the urge to giggle. His eldest son hated when Kalim acted too childlike, and he was already pushing the boy's patience. He was just past thirteen, his fourteenth birthday already planned for a week-long celebration in just a half-month. It would be the biggest banquet the Scaldings Sands had see since Kalim's wedding. His son would soon start officially training as the next head Asim, just like Kalim did at that age.

Yet it was never too early to celebrate one of the best days of Kalim's life. Which is exactly why Kalim hovered outside the boy's window at an hour long past their family's 'bedtime'. The carpet under his feet familiar as ever, as was his son's exhausted disapproval (we wonder which attendant he inherited 'that' look from).

"Come on! Let's go for a carpet ride. Just you and me tonight," Kalim gently pat the space next to him, his smile adamant, "we don't even have to tell your mother."

His son deadpanned. Even Kalim grimaced at that one.

"Okay! If we get caught, I'll take the hit for both of us. Please? It's such a lovely night out. Perfect for a flight~"

Normally it would be the son begging his father to sneak out, not the other way around. Yet Kalim's eldest was much more mature than he was at that age. Despite being his physical copy, those ruby reds never sparkled with excitement like his father's. They were aways fully concentrated - be it on his studies, his charity, or whomever captured his attention. There came a point when a rumor surfaced that he couldn't possibly be Kalims, yet they didn't reach far thanks to the physical resemblance.

The 'only' resemblance. Since the kid hadn't cracked a laugh since he was in diapers.

Something Kalim learned to accept, but never gave up trying.

His son observed from his bed, the boy's nose wrinkled with thought. No doubt wondering if he should tattle to his mom. He was a doting momma's boy, at least he had that in common with his father.

"Fine," he sighed heavily, and rolled out of bed like it was torture.

Kalim waited, holding the curtain open eagerly until his boy hopped the ledge and sat cross-legged on the carpet's far edge.

Then they were off. High above the city where no one would see. Kalim bobbed his head happily, pointing out buildings as if his son hadn't memorized the entire map of their homeland at the ripe age of five.

"Oh! And there's the restaurant I took your mother on our first date. She loves their Kanafeh -"

"Baba, I know. We have it for breakfast twice every week."

Kalim guided the carpet towards lower ground without a response - keeping air, sassy teenagers, and his messy turban from whacking him in the face.

Only two of those three succeeded.

"Why are we even out here? Shouldn't you worry more about your responsibilities? What if mother wakes to an empty bed, did you consider the consequences? Her worries?"

There came those older thoughts out of such a young mouth. Kalim couldn't help but slump inwards, although his smile still hung on. "You're turning fourteen soon," life will change, "Don't you want to enjoy life a bit more before starting your studies? Baba will understand, you know." he said, and perhaps that was not what his son expected to hear. The boy puffed up. His tanned skin rouging with lost composure.

"I'm not like you. Being al Asim means something to me. Maybe you'd understand if you were a proper sultan who took his job and family seriously! Rather than sneaking off in the night for merry rides on a flying carpet!"

Under the moonlight, his son's perfectly primmed white hair bounced in the wind. Even in sleep he managed to keep his appearance tidy. There were times it was like Kailm was looking in warped a mirror. Those rare moments when he caught the boy lapse, usually with his younger siblings or cousins. When he looked softer, his garnet eyes full of kindness rather than the contempt held in them right now.

Except in these moments too - he still saw a mirror. Just one he wished to avoid.

He too disliked his father's way of doing things, to a certain extent. That his own son felt similar wasn't a surprise. It did not lessen the sting regardless.

"Tifli..." Kalim started, and his son faltered at the endearment, "think what you want, but there is nothing that means more to me than our family."

And even if his son wouldn't admit to it - Kalim knew he saw the mirror too. Just because Kalim disliked his father's choices, didn't mean he did not love him.

He reached for his son without a second thought, pulling the boy down to roughly rub his cheek over his head.

and just like that, Kalim was back to being happy and his son back to groaning complaints - albeit less agitated, to Kalim's delight - and pretending he was much more mature than he was deep down. Kalim's opposite yet perfect little replica.

"Ahahaha!!! Look at you! Just wait until the council has to fight against that fire! I can't wait to bring you with me! "

"AGH LET ME GO!!! WHY DID I EVEN AGREE TO THIS?!"

Papa Vil - now that's one unexpected title to tack onto his Resume. Contrary to what everyone might believe of a superstar leading a life on the go, Vil is proud to be a father. His own raised him while juggling his goals, why should Vil's career deny him the joys of fatherhood?

No. When Vil's daughter is born, he is more than prepared to balance family and work. He locked in when taking a spouse, and is never one to be unprepared.

When you were pregnant, he announced a hiatus in his career just as you entered the third trimester. He can afford it. The public loves a family man. He has money money, and wasn't going to risk missing the birth of his first child while travelling.

Also. Supportive husband to the maximum. Considering you were carrying his child, the bare minimum he could do was be readily available as you go through the roughest stage. That baby had a college fund made and filled before she was even born.

Not that he'd just let her mooch - no child of his would grow up without ambition and practiced life skills. He was not 'aiming' to create a replica or enforce his standards...but she wouldn't lack drive. No Schoenheit - not even you - is going to go through life quietly.

His hiatus was meant to extend until she turned one. Old enough to enjoy life on the road, for you to recover, and give 3-5 years for him to work until she started school. Unlike him at that age, she wouldn't be chartered around as much for his work. Nope.

He already had it planned. She'd be enrolled in a private academy, you'd work as you liked in a good neighborhood, and he wouldn't take any contracts outside of the Shaftlands until she was a teenager. Balance. She would have every opportunity, proper support, and hopefully independence to grow outside of his shadow.

The last thing Vil wanted was for her to be influenced by his career - well, other than admiring his films and being that perfect little face to single out int the audience while at a talk-show or photoshoot.

Speaking of Schoenheit genetics and their blossoming careers - heavens above, he fell in love the moment she first opened her eyes. There were few curly blond ringlets that grew out at super speed as the months past, and she inherited his lavender eyes. Although on a baby they were more rounded, doe-like, and would most definitely take his sharp edge as she grew. Every time he booped her little nose, the little giggle that came was almost melodic.

Such a well behaved baby made a cameo in one of his largest projects to date. He took the role of an unruly ostracized duke, where the special effects makeup made him both enchanting yet horribly frightening to young children. His character gained his redemption through raising an orphan, and Vil's little girl was the only baby they could find who wouldn't cry when seeing her father act so heinous.

"Vil, everyone here is itching to know, is it true that the baby we see in 'Redemption of our Finest ' is your own daughter? There are rumors and speculations from those on set yet we'd love confirmation."

Vil shifts in his chair. The many cameras at all angles did little to deter his focus from the interview in progress. It was one of many, and the talk-host across from him looked very eager to get the first scoop on his latest hit success. He smiled to the camera with his eyes, pretending to be in thought for a moment. The questions were all pre-approved, after all.

"Your assumption and the rumors are all correct," he started, crossing his legs and folding his hands together in them, "unfortunately we struggled to find a child that would not cry when faced with my appearance. Poor little things - it is a struggle to rear child actors. Especially babies."

The reporter blinked, somehow still shocked despite knowing the already.

"And you're saying that your daughter is a cut above the rest?" they asked, and he tutted inwardly. The phrasing was poor, as always with these reporters.

"Yes," he gave them a moment's victory, "and no."

He didn't wait for further inquiry.

"My daughter is remarkable - she is my greatest production, a work of perfection alongside my beloved spouse. Yet this film is rated PG-13, and includes scenes not fit for young eyes. Babies act on instincts alone, and for the majority of this film my appearance was...ah, I so rarely say this, but I was unsightly."

His tone carried warning for them not to twist his words, and the message was received as they gestured for those behind the scenes to alter the backdrop.

"We could even argue your acting ability is that good! To make such a beautiful face and poised demeanor come off as cold." they said, and with the click of a button the screen behind them changed.

On it came a picture of an old, tattered bassinette left on the front stoop of a castle. The picture flicked to show inside, and in it was Vil's precious little girl. Special effects added some dirt on her cheeks, and they wrapped her in a tattered blanket for the scene. Yet despite their efforts to make the child look abandoned, Schoenheit genetics demanded the world see such an adorable baby for all she is.

The audience awed at the picture, even without a cue card. Vil himself took on a genuine lift to his practiced smile when seeing her.

"And just look at her folks! Such an adorable little baby! Can you really expect anything less from THE Vil Schoenheit and Eric Venue's heritage. An actor before she can even count! Your wife's genes didn't even try here, did they Vil?"

The crowd appears insatiable as the host scrolls through a series of photos. Some taken from the film, others from photoshoots and the occasional candid photo snuck by paparazzi. He knew better than to try and hide his family, but said nothing as they all made assumptions.

After all - he was beautiful, and his daughter was undoubtedly the most beloved baby in all of Twisted Wonderland. It was only natural and who was he to turn his nose when faced with one of the few facts these reporters have gotten right.

Although, he wasn't entirely content He laughed into his palm, unable to resist the chance and made direct eye-contact with one of the cameras. Knowing full well that you were watching somewhere back stage, lips likely puckered from being disrespected and just waiting for him to come sneak your family out before the public was dismissed.

"I'm afraid there is nothing to argue there. My genes are perfection, not to mention competitive," he smirked seductively at the camera, propping his chin in the palm of his hand, "but I'm not opposed if my wife would like a rematch for a chance to win the next battle."

And with that - he simultaneously spiked his popularity rating and soft-launched what would likely be a second replica coming to life soon.

Maybe.

If you didn't kill him for that stunt first.

Prodigies spawn prodigies. At least in this case.

Idia never pictured himself as a family man. Hells he never thought anyone would even look at him with anything other than disgust (minus that one ghost lady. He doesn’t like to talk about it) let alone marry him. Needless to say that he cannot decide if you are an idiot or if he has plot armor - because those are the only two reasons you could possibly ever agree to give up your entire life and move to STYX just to be with him.

**see Marriage series for settling THAT can of worms

Yet you do, and now he’s got not only his little brother but a whole ass spouse. He’s on cloud nine. Life cannot be letting him have such good luck. The RNG is rigged

Until he learns that you’re with child - and it all goes boom. Literally. Since not only does his daughter inherit his curse, his fiery flames that never tame themselves, and his spiked teeth that nip his lips way too many times for comfort -

She inherits his genius.

Raising a child in a contained base is a living nightmare.

Raising a child with a need to infiltrate the laboratories and experiment is hell. At least he kept to his room when tinkering as a kid. Idia’s daughter has his brains and your craftiness for going around undetected…and your habit of initiating dramatic events. Needless to say that she does NOT keep to your family’s apartment, does NOT submit to any security (he regrets teaching her how to decode the base padlocks), and very much enjoys making STYX ‘lively’….haha…yeah

No one has ever met such a happy Shroud. Excluding Ortho. He was a sweet type of happy. You spawned a menace.

But let’s not derail. Even if he didn’t want her per-say - Idia loves his daughter. His gut twisted seeing the Shroud curse start taking hold over such a tiny body. She was just a toddler and already burning through enough blot to tie her to this place. He knew the feeling of those youthful amber eyes looking at him for guidance. She looked so much like Ortho as a toddler, and as a child began to resemble him more with longer flames.

It was a constant battle every day. Balancing his work while also trying to do better - because his attitude sucked. He knew his attitude sucked. You warned him about using self-deprecative language and for the most part he did learn to reign it in.

Except old habits die hard, and deep down he still struggles to like himself. Seeing his daughter follow in his footsteps burns brutally, since she has all this potential and just like him she’ end up working for the family business without a choice. All because of these stupid flames and these stupid teeth and these stupid genetics and this STUPID curse -

“MAMAAAAAAAA!!!! DADDY’S BEING A BIG MEANIE AGAIN!!!”

Her shrill high-pitched cry carried throughout the apartment. Idia had just enough time to swipe the alarm system off before it processed. He wishes he could regret putting a system to detect and alert if she was distressed when alone here - but couldn’t. Even now. Since this was totally 100% his fault.

Dammit this kid has lungs of steel.

“Nonononononono - No Mama! No! Shhh shh shh shh!” He grapppled at her little shoulders with clammy hands, “Look! Look I’m not sad, see??? We have pretty hair! Super cool hair! Please please please stop crying -“

And then she did.

The tonal whiplash. The way this tiny manipulator just ceased all her tears, mouth clamping shut with an audible click. A literal child pulling out a handkerchief from her pocket to pat her eyes dry - like some twisted 60yr old swindler at a poker game who’s been training for this moment for decades.

He should have known.

Honestly. Idia can’t even bring himself to be mad. The amount of gaslighting it took to get this kid off his Ninswendo last week already put his best tricks to use.

He is the one who created this monster.

Just like her dad - his little girl was hyper aware of people. Including him, and picked up all his weaknesses. She knew damn well that he genuinely had reason to fear only two people - her momma and her grandmother. Both of which lecture him about being a good model. She knew that system was put in place, and to be good when no one was around to watch her. Not that she ever stayed quiet in their home with S.T.Y.X labs to infiltrate.

He just never thought the day would come, when her demon like tendencies would be used for something like this.

“Your her father, not her friend” his mother said.

“It’s bad enough you turned me into a living photocopier - don’t you dare get lenient with her at this age” you warned.

“That child scares me” he thought, and you agreed. Awful. Awful parents. You both mean it in the most loving way possible.

“Hwee hee hee! I’m glad you think so, daddy,” she grinned up at him all sweet-like, with those pointy little chompers ready to stake their claim. She snapped her teeth at him like a piranha, “hehe~ Mommy says our teeth are cool too. The pointies make eating steak easier - oh! Oh! Can we please have steak for dinner tonight? Please?? Pleaseeeeee?”

Something told him that should he say no, those distress detectors would be set off before he could catch them.

“U-uh…yeah, kiddo. Sure thing. Just go play and I’ll put an order in.”

He tried desperately to hide the quiver in his voice, but knew he failed. She skipped off to her bedroom much too happily - even if father’s were supposed to want their kids to be happy, that was too much - and whatever work remained for the evening didn’t seem important

As Idia slid up to one of the house control panels to check for instant-card delivery, he wondered how this became his life, and if this is how his parents felt having a prodigal spawn of the under-hells for a son.

No. He wasn’t that bad….was he? Did he even want to know at this point?

Boom

“DADDY!!! MY EXPERIMENT BLEW UP AND IS LEAKING RED GUNK!”

No. No. He really did not want to know. For the sake of whatever relationship he had with his parents.

He wants as many children as possible. The definition of that one clip of of the kid who wanted 100 children, so that they'd all have to be his friend. Not that Malleus would force his children to be his friends - well, it would be a plus surely - but he does want a large family to live his life beside.

He finds comfort in solitude, but comfort's close companion is loneliness. He wishes to never be partnered with that feeling. There was opposition. Union between the Briar Prince and a human? Unheard of. Not to mention the life-span difference. Not just between himself and you, but also for his children. Half-fae live long, but not as long as full-blooded fae. In time he will still come out alone, but he hopes to have many memories. Much love and warmth to take with him.

Yet this isn't meant to be sad - no, let us focus on the absolute joy he felt when his first child was born. A boy, his magic exceedingly strong despite his lineage. Even the elders were surprised at the magical prowess this child held. It was almost as if Malleus' nightly wishes for his child to be well, to be loved, to be healthy - taking every precaution to ensure you were well cared for during pregnancy, speaking blessings to your stomach in the dead of night - it all just manifested and out came the world's most perfect child.

A Draconia who would grow up with both parents. He'd be protected, nurtured, loved, and never ever alone. Some might call the King overbearing, making sure his spouse had a desk in his office and attending his meetings with a bright yellow baby sling over his chest. It definitely stood out against his royal attire but Malleus didn't mind.

In magic - there was also physical appearance. Being half-human, the child physically aged quicker than Malleus did in his youth. Yet he still retained the Draconia genes, with two curled scaly horns poking out above his forehead. He had no tail at birth, but around puberty many little scales began to poke their way through at his temple, back, wrists, and neck. No one predicted this since the Draconias have never reproduced with humans, but you tried to calm him with poorly convoluted jokes about ' fancy dragon acne'.

Yet according to Lilia, the boy looked like a near carbon-copy of Malleus once he sprouted up. His hair may have been kept shorter, slicked back, and he may carry himself entirely different from his father. Yet the look in his slitted-emerald eyes was exactly the same. His aura was the same.

And Malleus hadn't any idea how to handle that observation. Surely it was meant as a compliment. In the moment, he laughed and took it as one. Who wouldn't be prideful to see themselves in their child? Especially one so accomplished, growing into his scales with pride and eagerly stepping into his role as prince.

Except Malleus wouldn't, because the thought of his child sharing the feelings he had at that age? It unsettled him greatly. Perhaps one of his worst nightmares as a doting father.

“Father?”

Three sharp knocks echoed in Malleus’ study. He needn’t look up from his book, since the door opened with a thud without waiting for his approval.

Not that he minded - no, quite the contrary. He felt excitement building up at the first knock after all. There was only one person who it could be.

No one would dare impose on the Briar King during his downtime.

None had permission for such rudeness.

No one except his dear family, of course. Although as much as he wished for them to cling to his side and be a welcome reprise from his duties - Malleus was rarely afforded such a gift. His eldest son in particular conducted himself more as a knight or distant consultant than a loving son. Perhaps that came from leaving him in Sebek’s care - as much as his knight was ecstatic to become the first prince’s personal guard, his constant reverence to the elder briar ways likely left an impact on an impressionable child. Instead of bedtime stories, the little Draconia likely fell asleep to Sebek's long-winded lectures on the daily.

Back when he was a starry-eyed toddler, of course. Now the boy wouldn't dare let his guard down enough to sleep, even if his safety was guaranteed. Somehow despite Malleus taking every last precaution to rear a tranquil child, he raised a stickler instead.

“Hm? You look troubled, my son” Malleus met his eldest’s rare lack of decorum with amusement. He didn’t bother to hide a fanged smirk from him.

His son, who seemed to bristle in the doorway when under Malleus’ eye, clearly struggled to contain himself into the proper prince he was trying to be.

“Because I am troubled, father” he grit out, hands flexing at his sides. Sharp black fingernails pricking at his palms.

“Oh? And what seems to be the problem? You so rarely come to me with such matters” - to anyone who didn’t know the king, the sentence read as a bitter slight.

Yet it was merely a father sulking for his son’s attention, in his own prideful way.

“That’s precisely the issue,” his son huffed, “with all held respect, you cannot just drop in on my classes whenever you feel like it! It’s disruptive!”

Malleus merely turned the page in his book, “and whose fault is it that I had to resort to such measures?”

His question met a guilty conscience, and so he continued.

“What else am I to do? My child no longer behaves as my blood. He writes home giving stale reports as if he is one of my soldiers and bids his precious family far too few visits,” Malleus looks up from his ‘reading,’ and gestures to the uniform his son wears, “What else am I to do to see my precious son, other than visit his school? I was a student there once. Your headmaster wouldn’t dare to deny my entry.”

“Father - I understand your anger with my negligence but that is not an excuse for disrupting my classmates -“

“They looked quite please with my presence. I even supplemented material for your lecture -“

“They were scared beyond their wits! - And what of mother?! Surely she was against doing something so drastic! Think of our image! The King of Briar Valley cannot just casually drop his responsibilities whenever he so pleases.”

The boy’s composure finally cracked - and even for a half-blood, his power easily contorted the world around them if left unteathered.

Crackles of electricity buzzed across the study, flickering through a lit desk-lamp. As did the temperature lessen some degrees. Rather than be miffed by his son’s explosion, Malleus laughed in the face of it.

So this is how he must have looked during his moments of impulsivity. Hah.

“You’d be foolish to assume she didn’t try and come along. I thought to spare you her ire, as a mercy.”

At that, the lamp ceased it’s flickering to beam a steady light once again. The teen’s cheeks flushed a shameful color, so rare for one who prides himself more than any of his siblings.

"That was not necessary," he softened almost instantly. Even if she nearly committed the same 'crime' as Malleus, it seems favorites were at play.

"You know with certainty that it was."

A Draconia through and through. What was the term Lilia used? “Momma’s boy”? Considering that none disrespect the Queen - the King included - as her ire could strike the most sore spots of their family after all.

The boy pulled at his collar, out of arguments and simmered to displeasure rather than anger. He muttered an apology for losing his temper, and Malleus found himself wishing for the argument to continue just a bit longer.

After all, these were the times he felt most like a father, a husband, part of a family - rather than a king. He misses the early days when he was only the first three, before the council and other influences pushed his children to focus on responsibilities and their lineage.

“I’m sorry for not writing home…or visiting…I hadn’t thought it would trouble you. I simply - I thought it best to place distance between us.”

“Distance?” Malleus balked, “Distance from your family?”

He couldn’t understand why his child would want distance.

How could the boy he worked so hard to instill belonging within, whom he raised from egg to man, whom he would give up everything for - possibly say such a harrowing thing.

His own blood. His heart and soul. To spew such things in the face of ancestors who were bound to loneliness.

Whatever explanation for his manners didn’t matter so long as he was happy, but to intentionally want to be away from all Malleus thought worthwhile in life?

Never-mind. Malleus wanted the argument to cease. Indefinitely. And to tie himself to this desk for a decade or more.

“Yes, Father. Otherwise it is too difficult-“ he hesitated to continue, but one look at his father- whatever expression he might hold that couldn’t be contained despite his efforts - seemed to be the last push, “- being away. From my family. Leaving. I do not like it, but it is my duty. Coming home, hearing from you, mother, even the care packages I receive from grandfather! I can’t eat them but somehow just smelling the burnt food makes me falter! How can you expect me to preform up to our family’s standards, if I am homesick all the time!?”

It was the first time since he was a boy, clinging to Malleus’ legs, begging his parents not to leave him with his babysitters, that his son cried so openly. Malleus nearly gave in each time it happened too.

The pressure of royal duties, of perfection, on his shoulders was the same as those who came before him. Yet Malleus found himself more relieved than anything, even if his child might never recover his pride.

It was also the first time in many years that Malleus hugged his son, careful to avoid his growing blunted horns, and wasn’t pushed away.

“You are already doing more than enough. Loving your family is nothing to be ashamed of, and it is one of my greatest regrets that you thought otherwise for a single moment.”

[married-to-google-translater]

Request: Dorm leaders seeing female mc in a bathing suit?

Idia would really die. A nosebleed would be a dangerous thing. Idia certainly wouldn't have prepared to see you in a bathing suit. It would take time for him to be able to function again. Not that Idia is complaining. He thinks you look beautiful in almost any outfit.

Kalim would blush a lot when he saw you. Kalim may be innocent but not stupid. Maybe it's time for Sacrabia to build a swimming pool lol. Would apologize for staring and try to act normal.

Azul would like to see you in a bathing suit and you would like to see him in merfolk form. So you made a deal together about this. Azul would be really shy at first. He would blush a lot.

Vil would definitely help you choose a bathing suit. He will surely know which color and which type of fabric suits your skin best. Both of you should look as good as possible. Vil would be self conscious about this lol. Only the best for you with him~

Malleus like what he sees very much, but don't like others to be able to see it. You really bring out his more possessive side. Going to the beach with Malleus could be difficult. Malleus wouldn't try to cover you, but would dish out free death glares to anyone who stared at you too much.

Leona would wake up really fast. His sixth sense would tell him to wake up and it wouldn't be wrong. Another person who would become possessive. Leona wouldn't want other people near you. Definitely would hit anyone who made you uncomfortable~

Riddle would be redder than a tomato. Nothing could have prepared him for this moment. Of course he should have realized this while going swimming. He would try to cover his blushes but stutter a lot.

First years here

Vice dorm leaders are here

Others are here

[soft-blue-clouds]

Twisted Wonderland x Oiran?

Yeah!

Art about how boys would be seen as they hear!

An AU of Twisted Wonderland is being thought of with the leaders and Jamil as they will hear.

This au is thought by a friend( @majocer ) and I!

It is an idea that I would like to do but I do not promise anything.

Until now the only characters that are planned to introduce in the Au are:

Riddle Rosehearts

Vil schoenheit

Jamil viper

Azul Ashengrotto.

More au will be said in the distant future!

I will upload drawings about other things that I like for some problems that I am having!

[dearestones]

Muscle Memory Part Two (Azul Ashengrotto and Reader)

Warnings: Exploration of merfolk culture, elaboration on certain aspects of canon lore, etc. 

@lottieinlimbo Request: Hi Devin!!! Congratulations on the 750 followers :D!! Your writing is incredible, you have more than earned your success!!!! I’m here to steal the final request slot! There were a lot of cool prompts that would have been fascinating with multiple characters, it was hard to choose! But I’m thinking “why did you help me?” With Azul could be really fun, maybe something platonic? I’m really excited to see what you do with this, congrats again on 750 followers!!

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After a long day of getting splashed and almost getting dragged off the boardwalk by overly anxious mers, you were grateful when they finally transformed back into their normal selves. While ingesting the potion was quick and painful, the process to return was gradual and felt more like sharp tingles that flowed and ebbed depending on the location and intensity of the pain. Before you had transferred to this new location, a colleague of yours who was a mer, confirmed that it was a near universal experience that taking the transformation potions daily upon the first week followed by the natural regression into their former selves after such a low dose was more effective at retaining students rather than having them take the full dose that would last seven days.

It helped strengthen their ability to overcome the pain and helped them adjust by allowing them to take breaks after working their human legs. There were actually a few studies done on it, but since the population of merfolk who wanted to live on the surface was so few, it wasn't a conclusive study. For all you knew, it was more of a placebo effect.

After saying goodbye to your students, you picked up the equipment, the cooler, and the clipboard with the roster so that you could return it to the government facility. Inside, your supervisor and your fellow intern were comparing notes and commiserating at some of the antics that you had been slightly privy to. It wasn't often, but sometimes you were called to step in if one of the mers were acting unruly or if someone needed medical attention. Thankfully, you didn't need to call for help—your batch of merfolk were surprisingly well behaved—but the other intern was unfortunate enough to have landed himself not one but two gleeful troublemakers.

"I thought eel merfolk were supposed to be shy," Soren muttered as he wrote down some notes into his log. His pen blotted a little on his notes, which made him curse a little into his open palm before he produced correction fluid to cover up his mistake. "But, somehow, I manage to land not only the most brash mer I have ever seen, but also one who happens to be the most suicidal!"

You laughed a little to yourself as you joined them at the table.

"He is still a child, Mr. Andersen," your supervisor scolded. "And not only that, but he is also a child granted the opportunity to experience life on land. You've read his profile, he's due to attend Night Raven College if his magical proficiency and grades are any indication."

"Are you sure it's not the fat stacks in his parents' back account?"

You punched Soren's shoulder playfully. "I don't think paper money can handle the moisture," you laughed. "More like tall towers of gold!"

Your supervisor rolled her eyes at the both of you before she gestured at the paperwork that littered the table. "Make sure to clean up and organize the documents for tomorrow's session. The second day is usually better, but it's also the day when we get the most dropouts."

"You think that the Leech twins will drop out?"

"Mr. Andersen!"

You didn't know Soren too well, only that he was from the Land of Pyroxene and had spent most of his adolescent years in the City of Flowers before attending Noble Bell College. Although a proficient mage in his own right, he decided to dip his toes into a field that not many would have imagined him entering. 

Years ago, he had told you, he thought that he was going to be an archivist for magical artifacts. However, he fell in love with the many canals and underwater routes that flowed in and out of the City of Flowers. One thing led to another and eventually, he had immersed himself into learning more about merfolk culture and how they acclimated to living on land. Given his background in magical artifacts and history, he was a heavy proponent of the research and experimentation of using talismans or charmed objects to make the transformation both instantaneous and painless. Unfortunately, such an invention was still out of reach for various reasons, but he was confident that one day, accessibility for merfolk would be greatly increased.

Until then, he had to satisfy himself with this internship.

"Do you think any of yours would drop out," he asked to continue the conversation once your superior had headed out. He tapped on his notes, a furrow in his brow before circling something in red ink. "I think all of mine are willing to stay the whole period, but I can't say for certain they'll actually live the rest of their lives on land."

"Hmmm…” You thought for a moment. “One of my classic mers looked a little too weirded out after my cecaelia transformed. He actually handled it well, but she looked like she was about to turn tail and swim away."

Soren nodded, lost in thought. "Shame. It's rare that we get a one hundred percent attendance rate."

"True, but for those who do stay, we definitely get high ratings on how well they adjust and adapt to life on land."

After at least half an hour of chatting and locking up the lab, the both of you proceeded to your assigned dorm rooms. The initiative for acclimating merfolk to land life was fairly small, which meant that the community was fairly well knit and cohesive. Sure, there were times when a new intern or a transferee would cause some friction, but it wasn't all too often.

You passed a few other interns (some of whom were hard at work monitoring and working out the correct dosages for the merfolk) and a security guard (he tipped his hat to you in greeting after you presented your badge) before entering. Inside, you had your classic dorm room layout. 

On one side hugging the wall, there lay your bed with hastily made covers and a few clothes strewn at the foot of it. There was a small desk with a chair parked in front of it, and a window with a view overlooking the ocean. You were assigned to the third floor, a fact that you flaunted to your friends and colleagues just to mess with them. It was perfect: you could see how the full moon lit up the sky and if you waited for the right moment, you could see some bioluminescent creatures light up the water around them. During your first week, you had sent photos and videos of the phenomena to your parents, both of them delighted that you were having a grand time at your internship.

Tonight, however, you were tired.

While you did not have to call for help, you did have to jump into the water to soothe one of your classic mers. She was far from a predator, which was apparent from her whispery soft voice and the way she hugged herself despite your efforts to tell her that it was best to either hold onto the boardwalk for balance or to spread out her arms for proper wading.

Instead, she gave a low keen that had your heart clenching in your chest. You wanted to pat her head and rub at her scalp to soothe her, but protocols dictated not too much skin to skin contact. There were too many incidents when certain people in positions of power took things too far when manhandling their charges. (There was a scandal a few years ago which resulted in cold relations between the land dwellers and the children of the sea before reparations were settled between the two parties). To make up for the lack of comforting contact, you gave her a floating paddle, to which she awkwardly cuddled it close to her chest while tears ran down her smooth skin.

The angler fish and the other classic mer took to the pain and the loss of their tails and fins with just as much grace as the cecaelia, but they were quicker to use their legs and arms. Within half an hour of coaching and practice, both the angler and the classic were able to tread water and even swim like a human! It wasn't unheard of—there were even stories of mers who drank the potion, crawled onto the boardwalk and started walking as if they had been doing it since they were born—but you were surprised to see such rapid growth under your care.

(You made sure to take special note of this and the time taken from your heavy duty waterproof watch).

You let the angler fish play with the classic mer (both of them didn't look like they were going to antagonize each other, but you made sure to keep an eye out just in case playful nips became gaping bites) before you turned your attention to the cecaelia and the other classic.

The classic mer kept her head down low, tears still dripping down her cheeks, but you gently reminded her that the pain would go away if she moved her newfound legs for a little bit.

"Just a little bit," you cooed. You climbed back onto the boardwalk (you were soaked to the bone and wet from the angler fish mer trying to play with you) and sat down so that your shins and feet were submerged in the water. Kicking your feet made little splashing noises; you were pleased when you saw that in between the sniffles, she was trying not to laugh at how the water felt on her skin.

However, try as you might, she refused to move her legs and continued to cry even with your kind words caressing her ears.

"It's okay—" Quickly, you tried to remember the list of names upon your roster. Not Azul... Not Pacifica... Oh! Her name was Adria! "—Adria. The potion will wear off soon. Do you want to float while I help the other student?"

Adria shot you a terrified look, the tears in her eyes spilling like a fountain over her cherubic cheeks. She glanced at the cecaelia—who, up until that point, had chosen to float by hanging off the pool noodle in the most rigid way possible—before fearfully nodding in your direction.

You frowned. Had the cecaelia bullied the classic mer earlier when you were tending to the angler fish and his playmate?

Not wanting to jump to conclusions, you advised Adria to stay close to the boardwalk and to keep the buoyancy paddle close to her chest. She was welcome to keep trying, but something deep inside of you knew that she would be dropping out as soon as the transformation potion wore off.

Now that your attention was no longer split between the other mers, you focused on the cecaelia.

Shelly was a bit of an oddball, even according to others of her own kind. Back on the beaches of the Land of the Red Dragon, she would chance capture or sightings from the locals by wading up the shore and proceeding to walk along the sandy beach. The dryness of land and the harsh feeling of pebbles and rocks upon her suckers caused irritations at best and bleeding at worst, but she proudly told you that it was practice for the real thing. In fact, that was one of the reasons why she was so close to the beach in broad daylight during your first meeting. She had been scouting for a good place to practice, even if she didn't have proper human legs yet.

For most cecaelia and other species of mer that had to give up multiple appendages, the loss was almost too much. Most dropouts were octopus and squid based merfolk, which was a shame considering you knew that most depictions of sea dwellers were heavily skewed in the classical mers' favor.

Shelly was able to breeze through her lessons within two weeks of her land boot camp experience.

(Well… not without plenty of help and assistance from you. The land boot camp she had gone to was not as pleasant an experience as it was now). 

You wondered if this cecaelia would do the same.

First of all, however—

"Right arm and spread your fingers, please."

You had to make sure that all of his limbs were in working order and could respond on command.

And so, for the better part of at least an hour, you helped the cecaelia master all four of his limbs. His customary human arms were the easiest to obey him, you found. That was good, that meant that any and all problems had to do with his lower half being downsized into two working legs. After making sure that he could grasp onto the boardwalk of his own accord, rotate his arms to show off his full range of motion, and even write his name upon one of your notes, you deemed it safe enough to start working his legs.

This was trickier. It seemed like the cecaelia was firing off too many commands at once, but they weren't being well received by the lower half of his body. His legs would twitch one way instead of another or maybe he would overshoot and end up losing balance upon his pool noodle.

Shelley explained it to you once when you were stuck in the same dormitory and she was busy penning down her thesis.

"All of my arms have brains in them, you know that right?" You kind of had to know that. Your mother would bury herself alive if she found out that the most basic of octopus facts had never pierced your skull. "Well, when most of your body have a mind of their own and that disappears, the lone brain that gets left behind has to overcompensate, but then you end up sending mixed signals or canceling demands that were never completed in the first place."

"Like... a computer overloading on too many open applications so you have to use task manager to end them?"

"Kind of." She canted her head to the side in thought. "You know what? Yeah, you're right."

"So how did you stop overcompensating?"

"By relaxing."

Easier said than done.

There wasn't a lot of overlap between land and merfolk culture, especially in regards to the expression of feelings, but you had the feeling that the cecaelia was trying too hard to appear confident. His eyes were bright and determined, but beneath that steely veneer, you could detect the same sort of tension that you had previously associated with the other tearful mer. However, despite the similarities, you found that the cecaelia was more likely to attend the entire boot camp.

"Azul." His name sounded foreign on your tongue, but you kept your hesitance to yourself. At the sound of his name, he straightened upon the pool noodle and regarded you with a distant expression. "What do you like to do for fun?"

You tried not to laugh at the naked expression on his face. For all of how he seemed to hold himself up with a rigidity you would normally associate with your haughty superiors, the young cecaelia looked absurdly adorable when he tried to process your question. His mouth went agape and his eyes had widened in comical surprise.

"Fun?" He spluttered out. The grip he had on his pool noodle wavered, causing him to thrash a little on the water. Out of instinct, you gave him a steadying hand upon his shoulder. It was a slight touch, well within regulation, but Azul stared at you with an indiscernible expression on his face that you didn't have the heart to interpret.

(There was another reason why this government initiative was so discreet and small compared to other well known government plans: land dwellers were often let go and blacklisted if something untoward happened. Given his age, if he said something...)

You kept a professional smile on your face before you nodded down at your legs.

"When I was younger, I liked to chase my friend around. Both of us liked to swim in the water, but we ended up splashing each other more often than not." You peered at him, true curiosity brimming in your eyes. "You're from the twilight levels of the Coral Sea, right? How often have you gone to the surface?"

Suspicion lined the tension in his shoulders and darkened the brightness of his eyes.

"You're not going to get into trouble," you murmured, "it's not like I have the power to turn you into the authorities. It's just that I've taught a lot of merfolk over the past few years, and a number of them liked to sneak up to the surface to have fun."

A number of them had also been delinquents, often choosing to skip school just so they could splash water along the decks of small cruise ships or to wreak havoc upon the local fisherman. Out of respect for your past students, you refrained from saying that last bit.

Besides, something told you Azul didn't look like he was a troublemaker.

"Well..." Azul looked like he was weighing his options, probably scrutinizing you for any sort of underhanded behavior. You let him take his time. With more rest, you hoped that he would muster enough energy and bravery to start kicking his legs. "A few associates and I would explore sunken shipwrecks... but there were also nights when we would swim up to the surface and watch the fireworks show."

"Associates? Not friends?" You couldn't help but tease him. He glared at you and you watched as his eyes seemed to drift past your figure and towards another group of merfolk that was spearheaded by your fellow intern. Before you could inquire as to what held his interest, he turned towards you again, only to haughtily huff at you. "Okay, associates."

Were all fifteen year olds this edgy?

"Indeed." He sniffed, clearly done with this conversation.

"Well, have you splashed each other once you guys breached the surface?"

A scandalized look this time, that bordered on incredulous.

"Watching the fireworks was purely for educational purposes and—"

You didn't want to give him the look, but you had no choice.

With the full force of your irritation, you gave him one of the most deadpan stares ever. Even the most vicious of predators hailing from the abyssopelagic zone would have been stunned at the pure power behind your stare.

"A little bit." He muttered more to himself than to you. 

You would think from the solemnity in his voice that he was talking about a funeral. Still, you nodded your head and smiled with what you hoped was encouragement.

"Do you remember how you splashed each other?"

He looked at you and you decided to amend your approach.

He didn't want to be babied; that was understandable.

"Well, I want you to utilize those memories of splashing each other so that you can start kicking your feet. You used all ten of your limbs, right?"

"Not at first," Azul conceded. "Eventually."

"Good." Without missing a beat, you sank into the water with practiced aplomb, much to the surprise of your student. He gasped, a sound that he tried to stifle, but you were too close to hear it. "Splash me."

"P-pardon?"

"Come on! You need to exercise and gain control of all four of your limbs. Splash me."

At his continued hesitance, you splashed him with both arms before returning to wading in the water.

Surprise was quickly replaced with irritated determination. Before you knew it, you found a tidal wave of water heading in your direction.

Not bad, you couldn't help but think as you dove beneath the waves.

But he still needed to use his legs.

It took some time, but later on, you saw that he was wading in the water; his movements were a little jerky, but sure enough to signal that he was consciously controlling his legs.

It was strange seeing a cecaelia beaming at himself as he allowed his arms to splay out gently in the water as his newfound human legs tread the water underneath. For a moment, as you murmured congratulations to him, you saw Shelley in his place. Once upon a time, she had also been a young, aspiring cecaelia who had also been in the same boat as Azul. The only difference was, when she showed you how well she adapted to her legs, she lunged and tackled you into the water without a care for your need of oxygen. 

The cecaelia in front of you had no intention of doing that, but the hope within his eyes mirrored that of your best friend’s.  

For a moment, as you lounged within the dorm room, your head still swimming with the possibilities and opportunities that would surely arise come tomorrow, you watched as bioluminescent algae sparkled and glowed to life as small waves began to wrack the beach. If you paid attention, you could see that there was a large mass disturbing the glowing algae, but you chalked it up to either a fish or one of your students fooling around. 

You took a glance at your clock and cursed to yourself. 

Tomorrow was going to be an even longer day.

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Tagging: @missam

[PART ONE] [PART TWO HERE] [PART THREE] [PART FOUR]

If you want to donate a Ko-Fi, feel free https://ko-fi.com/devintrinidad.

TWISTED WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

[solxamber]

Jealousy, Jealousy with: Housewardens

Riddle Rosehearts

It was honestly impressive how oblivious some people could be.

You weren’t even doing anything particularly inviting—just standing in the courtyard, minding your own business—when someone you barely knew strolled up and started laying it on thick.

“Wow, you must be tired,” they grinned, leaning a little too close for comfort. “From running through my mind all day.”

You stared. Slowly blinked. “...I literally don’t know who you are.”

They laughed, undeterred. “Oh, a little mystery! I like that. We should get to know each other. How about a—”

Before they could finish, a very distinct presence materialized beside you, and suddenly, your hand was clasped in a vice grip.

You turned your head, already stifling a grin. Riddle stood stiffly at your side, his expression carefully neutral—too neutral—but his fingers tightened around yours with unmistakable possessiveness.

And then, in the most Riddle way possible, he opened his mouth and immediately started critiquing their uniform.

“Your tie is loose, your shirt is untucked, and your posture is abysmal,” he declared, gaze sharp. “It’s disgraceful. If you have time to loiter and bother people who are clearly uninterested, then you certainly have time to fix your appearance.”

The person, previously brimming with confidence, visibly withered. “I—wait, you’re—”

“Housewarden Rosehearts,” Riddle confirmed, tone clipped. “And if you ever plan to talk to my partner again, I strongly suggest you do so properly dressed.”

There was a beat of silence. Then—without another word—the person bolted, nearly tripping over themselves in their rush to escape.

The moment they were gone, you turned to Riddle, your amusement barely contained. “Riddle,” you said, voice dripping with mirth. “Were you jealous?”

He scoffed, tugging at his collar. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

You raised a brow, glancing pointedly at the way his grip on your hand hadn’t loosened in the slightest. Then, you took in the very obvious, very intense red dusting his cheeks.

He refused to meet your eyes.

You laughed, delighted, and before he could protest further, you leaned in and kissed him, pressing a quick, affectionate peck to his still burning cheek.

Riddle went still.

“…You are jealous,” you whispered against his skin, just to tease.

“I am not,” he insisted, but his voice cracked ever so slightly, and that was enough to send you into another fit of laughter.

Still smiling, you tugged on his hand, leading him away. “Come on, let’s go do something fun before you start assigning uniform inspections as an act of vengeance.”

Riddle let out a heavy sigh, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he laced his fingers more firmly with yours, the corners of his lips twitching—just barely—before he let you drag him along.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona was going to lose his mind.

Three days.

Three days of watching you run around with those two idiots and that furball, pouring over textbooks, muttering formulas under your breath, completely oblivious to the fact that he existed.

You were studying. Fine. He got it. But you were studying with them.

And not him.

The moment the door to Ramshackle creaked open, you knew.

It was a sixth sense at this point—an awareness of a certain presence, of a lazy kind of arrogance that filled the air like a storm cloud waiting to break.

And break it did.

Because before you could so much as blink, a heavy arm was slung around your shoulders, and your entire world tilted.

You let out a startled yelp as you were bodily dragged from the dorm, Ace and Deuce frozen mid-review session, Grim’s tail puffed up in sheer betrayal.

“Oi—!”

“Not oi,” Leona drawled, utterly unbothered by your flailing. “Mine.”

You spluttered. “Leona, I have to study!”

“You can study later,” he dismissed, hauling you across campus with a grip so firm you had no choice but to stumble along. “You’re overdue for a break."

“I don’t have time for a break—”

“You do” he interrupted smoothly, and that was that.

You huffed, glaring up at him. “This is kidnapping.”

“Tch. If I was kidnapping you, I wouldn’t be this obvious about it.”

That was… not reassuring.

By the time he finally dumped you onto his bed, you were half-expecting him to declare an official study ban, but instead, he settled in beside you, his arms casually looping around your waist, his body half-draped over yours like an oversized, incredibly smug blanket.

“Go on, then,” he murmured against your shoulder, voice low and easy. “Study.”

You gave him an incredulous look. “Here?”

He hummed. “Why not? I got old notes. Bet they’re better than whatever those idiots are using.”

You blinked. “You actually have notes?”

Leona scoffed, reaching over to grab a notebook from his desk. “What, you think I just guessed my way through school?” He flipped it open and, to your absolute shock, the pages were filled with neatly written summaries, key points highlighted with the kind of precision that suggested he did actually pay attention. “See?”

“…I hate that this is actually useful.”

“Told you.”

You sighed, already feeling yourself sink into the warmth of him, the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing, the way his fingers tapped lazily against your side, like he knew you were starting to relax and was deliberately making it worse.

Still. If you had to study, this wasn’t… terrible.

You let your head rest against his shoulder, flipping through the notes. “Fine. But if I fall asleep, it’s your fault.”

Leona smirked, his breath warm against your skin. “Then I guess you’ll just have to take a nap right here.”

You rolled your eyes, but the next time you felt him shift, the unmistakable curve of his smile pressing into your neck, you didn’t even bother fighting it.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul Ashengrotto was a patient man.

A calculated man.

A businessman.

Which was the only reason he hadn’t already torn his hair out strand by agonized strand over the fact that you had been frequenting some other café for the past two weeks.

At first, he’d assumed it was a novelty thing. Maybe you had a moment of curiosity. Maybe they had some limited-time drink that you needed to try. Maybe you’d simply gotten lost—it happened more often than you liked to admit.

But no. You had kept going.

Loyal, devoted, regular patronage.

To a café that was not the Mostro Lounge.

Azul could not abide it.

So, instead of despairing in silence, he took action.

The next time you announced you were heading there, Azul smiled, adjusted his glasses, and accompanied you.

Because if there was something about this place that had captured your attention, then he would analyze it, perfect it, and eliminate the competition before they could even think about stealing away his most treasured customer.

(And partner. But semantics.)

At first, it seemed innocent enough. You gushed over some ridiculous limited-menu item with a starry-eyed enthusiasm that made him fond despite himself, but it was just cake. Cake was replaceable. Cake was replicable. Cake was nothing.

And then the owner came out.

Azul didn’t move, but his businessman’s smile settled into place with all the calculated precision of a predator fixing its gaze upon its prey.

The café owner, meanwhile, had their full attention on you.

And they were far too familiar.

Far too comfortable.

Far too eager.

Their eyes crinkled with warmth when they spoke to you, their laughter was just a touch too soft, and their entire demeanor—

Azul’s fingers twitched. He did not clench them into fists, because that would be petty, but—

He was going to destroy them.

With a pleasant, affable smile, of course.

By the time you finished your cake (which Azul had methodically analyzed with every bite), he had already formulated seventeen different ways to not only outdo this café, but to erase its relevance entirely.

He escorted you back to your room, silent for once, but his mind was racing.

And then, after a long pause, he asked, “Do you enjoy their presence?”

You blinked. “Who?”

“The owner.”

You stared at him, visibly baffled. “…I like their cake?”

Azul opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

And then, after a long, suffering pause, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, because of course you hadn’t noticed.

Because of course you had been utterly, entirely oblivious to the way they had been practically fawning over you.

He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry.

So, in the end, he simply pulled you close and kissed you, long and lingering, with a kind of slow, consuming possessiveness that had you melting against him in pleased surprise.

He held you the entire night, unwilling to let go, much to your delighted confusion.

And if, a week later, the Mostro Lounge mysteriously unveiled a bigger, better, and undeniably tastier version of that limited-edition cake, effectively nullifying any reason for you to return to that café—

Well.

Azul had no comment.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim insisted on picking you up after class every day, no matter how many times you told him it wasn’t necessary. He always laughed, dismissing your protests with a wave of his hand, as if the very idea of not meeting you after class was ridiculous. “Why wouldn’t I? I like seeing you first thing after class! It makes my whole day better!” And, honestly, how could you argue with that?

So, as usual, you waited outside, looking for that familiar flash of red and gold. You didn’t mind—Kalim was always quick, always eager, and always a little over-the-top about it, greeting you with his usual sunbeam of a grin and a greeting so enthusiastic it was like he hadn’t just seen you that morning.

But today, before Kalim arrived, someone else approached.

At first, you thought it was just an overly friendly upperclassman looking to chat, but the way they leaned in, the way their eyes swept over you, made your skin crawl. Their words were dripping with false charm, their smile just a little too knowing, and the moment they took your hand, something in you snapped.

You were seconds away from yanking yourself free and letting them know exactly what you thought about their audacity—

And then, before you could react, a firm hand wrenched theirs away from you.

You turned, eyes widening in surprise, and saw Kalim standing beside you.

Only—this wasn’t the Kalim you were used to.

There was no bright, carefree smile, no cheerful energy. His expression was carefully blank, his eyes steady and serious in a way that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. He wasn’t angry—no, you’d seen Kalim angry before, and this was something different. This was controlled, quiet disapproval as he stared the person down, his grip on their wrist unyielding.

“Don’t touch them.” His voice was even, but there was no room for argument.

The person sputtered something, an attempt at an excuse, but Kalim’s gaze didn’t waver. He didn’t shout, didn’t make a scene, didn’t need to. The sheer weight of his presence was enough, and after a tense pause, the person hurried off, clearly rattled.

And just like that, Kalim let out a breath and turned back to you, his usual grin slipping easily back into place, warm and reassuring. “Are you okay?”

You blinked.

Your heart was pounding. Not from fear—not even from lingering discomfort—but from something else entirely.

Because, apparently, Kalim without his smile was unfairly, ridiculously attractive.

You managed to nod, clearing your throat, forcing yourself to breathe as he took your hand—gently, reverently, the complete opposite of the unwanted touch from before. He squeezed it lightly, beaming at you as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened.

Later that night, as the two of you lounged together, he confessed, a little sheepishly, “I hated seeing them touch you.” His grip on your hand tightened slightly, as if just remembering it made his stomach twist.

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, leaning in to kiss him. He hummed against your lips, pleased, the jealousy from earlier completely forgotten.

And if, after that, Kalim insisted on being even quicker to meet you after class, practically appearing the second you stepped outside—well, who were you to complain?

Vil Schoenheit

You had been meticulous in your planning. A surprise party to celebrate Vil’s latest movie role—because, really, any excuse to throw a party for him was a good one. You coordinated with Rook (a double-edged sword, given his enthusiasm), found the perfect venue, picked out a cake that was as extravagant as he was, and carefully avoided any suspicion.

Or at least, you thought you had.

Vil, on the other hand, was about five minutes away from losing the last thread of his sanity.

You had been avoiding him. Not in the obvious, dramatic way—but in the subtle, infuriating way that made his stomach twist unpleasantly. Shorter conversations, quick kisses before running off, whispering in dim hallways with Rook, of all people.

Rook, who delighted in keeping secrets and spoke in riddles even when he wasn’t actively trying to be cryptic. Every time Vil so much as entered the room, your conversations stopped, and all he got was your innocent, suspiciously wide-eyed smile.

It was unacceptable.

But Vil was not jealous. Of course not. He was above something so irrational. Why should he feel threatened? The very idea of it was absurd. He was merely… curious. Concerned. Watching you sneak around with Rook had been horrible for his blood pressure, but jealous? Certainly not.

(And if his skincare routine had gotten even more rigorous to account for stress-induced breakouts, that was purely coincidental.)

So when you finally waltzed into his room, all bright-eyed and smiling, telling him to get dressed, his patience—what little remained—snapped.

In one smooth motion, he had you caged in against his vanity.

You blinked up at him, startled. “Uh. Hi?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You have been distracted lately.”

“Uh.” Your bluffing instincts kicked in, but it was useless. Vil’s gaze was sharp, his lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t look angry, exactly—he looked… hurt.

And, well. That was enough to shatter your resolve immediately.

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you!” You blurted, hands flying up in surrender. “We planned a surprise party for your movie premiere, and I didn’t want to ruin it! That’s why I’ve been sneaking around!”

Silence.

And then—

Vil laughed.

Not a quiet chuckle. Not a delicate, amused exhale. No, he laughed so hard that he had to lean on you for support, his entire body shaking with it.

And just like that, the tension was gone. He exhaled, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before straightening. “Next time,” he said, smoothing his hands over your shoulders, “just tell me.”

You sighed, half-exasperated, half-fond. “That ruins the surprise.”

“Surprises are overrated,” he declared. “Now, come. You planned this party, and I refuse to let you attend it looking anything less than perfect.”

Before you could protest, he had already grabbed your wrist, dragging you toward his closet.

And honestly? After all that turmoil, matching outfits was the least he deserved.

Idia Shroud

Idia had been off all evening.

Not in the usual, grumbly, "the outside world is a waking nightmare" kind of way. No, this was different. This was pointed.

He was pouting.

You had first noticed it when he refused to meet your gaze, keeping his head turned at an almost comical angle whenever you tried to look at him. Even when you sat next to him, close enough that your shoulders brushed, he still wouldn’t acknowledge you.

At first, you thought he was just having an introvert moment. But then you noticed his fingers—tapping on his controller in short, stilted bursts, his usual fluid movements replaced with something far more sulky.

Something was wrong. And worse, he was refusing to tell you.

So, naturally, you did what any reasonable person would do.

You grabbed his face.

“??!!??!” Idia made an undignified noise as your hands squished his cheeks, forcing him to finally look at you. His wide eyes darted around frantically, looking for an escape, but you just leaned in, resting your forehead against his.

“What’s wrong?” you asked softly. “I can’t fix it if I don’t know what I did.”

For a second, he wavered. You could see it—the way his hands twitched, his lips pressed together in a battle between staying mad and melting like he always did when you held him like this.

But then—betrayal. Pure, unfiltered betrayal flashed in his eyes.

“If you don’t even realize your crimes,” he huffed, “then you don’t deserve to be told.”

…Huh.

You blinked at him, torn between concern and immense amusement. His cheeks were puffed up in an actual pout, his shoulders slightly hunched like an offended cat. His hair even flickered with a dramatic little sizzle, the blue flames crackling indignantly.

So, you did what any responsible partner would do in this situation.

You kissed his cheek.

He made another noise—this one more flustered than betrayed—but at least he wasn’t turning away anymore.

“Idiaaaa,” you coaxed, voice lilting as you gently rubbed soothing circles against his jaw. “Come on. Tell me.”

He hesitated.

Then, in a grievously wounded tone, he finally muttered:

“You did your dailies… without me. Who did you do them with?”

You stared at him.

“…That’s it?”

He gasped, looking even more betrayed. “That’s it?!”

Okay. Maybe not the best response.

“I just—” You tried to stifle your laugh, but failed miserably. “I didn’t know it was that serious—”

“IT IS,” he declared. “We have an unspoken promise! Every night! We do our dailies! We do our pulls! We suffer together in the gacha mines!” He gestured wildly, his voice spiking in distress. “And today—today, you—you—” His voice wobbled. “You betrayed me.”

You clutched your chest in mock horror. “I have committed the greatest of sins.”

“You HAVE.”

You bit your lip, barely holding back another laugh, but then—then you saw his face. The dramatic pout, the still-flickering flames, the way his fingers fidgeted against his sleeve.

And suddenly, it hit you.

This wasn’t just about the dailies. This was his time with you. The one moment of the day where it was just the two of you, side by side, relaxed and rambling about nonsense while farming loot drops.

And you had accidentally robbed him of it.

Your amusement softened into something warmer. You pulled him closer, letting your fingers trail through his hair as you pressed another kiss to his cheek—longer this time.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, resting your chin against his shoulder. “I didn’t realize how much it meant to you. I did them alone, by the way.”

He mumbled something under his breath, still sulking, but at least he wasn’t pulling away.

“I promise I’ll wait for you every day from now on,” you continued, letting your fingers trace comforting patterns into his back. “Okay?”

“…Tch,” he muttered. Then, after a long pause, he finally slumped against you, his entire weight pressing into your chest.

You grinned. Victory.

“…You are watching the Premo concert reruns with me as compensation, though,” he grumbled, his voice muffled against your shoulder.

You rolled your eyes, amused. “Fine, fine.”

And that was how you ended up in Idia’s room for hours, marathoning concerts.

And if you showed up to class the next day completely wrecked from lack of sleep?

It was fine.

As long as Idia was happy.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus Draconia is above petty emotions.

He is the Prince of Briar Valley, an ancient being of immense power, the strongest fae in existence—he does not succumb to something as trivial as jealousy.

…That is what he tells himself as he watches you, once again, being hopelessly kind to people who clearly do not deserve it.

He watches as you nod along to Crowley’s latest absurd request, despite the fact that everyone knows that the headmaster is little more than a well-dressed menace with a penchant for delegating all responsibility to you.

He watches as some random student—a student who has never once acknowledged your existence before—approaches you with a bright, eager smile, undoubtedly about to ask you for yet another favor.

And he feels a peculiar, simmering sensation coil in his chest.

Malleus is not petty. He does not get jealous.

But he does dislike seeing you taken advantage of.

So, before this interloper can even get a word out, Malleus simply appears by your side, materializing in that eerie, seamless way that only he can. His presence alone is enough to make the student stumble back in terror, but then—just to be certain—he reaches out and takes your hand in his, lacing his fingers through yours with casual ease.

The effect is instantaneous.

The student goes pale. Their entire body stiffens, eyes darting between you and Malleus as if calculating whether their life is worth whatever ridiculous request they were about to make. The answer, apparently, is no, because they immediately spin on their heel and flee.

Malleus watches them go, his expression carefully neutral.

He usually dislikes the way people fear him. But today?

…Today, he finds himself rather pleased.

Satisfied, he turns back to you, fully expecting you to be grateful for his intervention. Perhaps a soft smile, a quiet "thank you," maybe even a fond squeeze of his hand—

Instead, he is met with your grin.

That knowing, teasing grin.

The one that says you know exactly what he just did. The one that says you know he is not as above jealousy as he claims to be. The one that says, without words, oh, so you’re feeling possessive today?

Malleus pointedly ignores it.

“Come,” he says smoothly, giving your hand the lightest tug. “Let us go somewhere… peaceful.”

You let him pull you along, but not without looping your arm around his and leaning into him with unmistakable amusement.

Malleus pretends he does not notice.

Masterlist

[strawberry-bubblef]

Could I please request house wardens catching they're s/o threwing up overblot ink and they're just like 'It's fine' but the ink is slowly taking over and tearing apart their insides? Like, they're not overbloting cuz they're magicless but when they fought off the house wardens, the blot got into their system, and it's not pretty.

Housewarden catching their s/o throwing up blot ink

Riddle Rosehearts

It happened after the fight. After the dust settled, the roses stopped bleeding, and Riddle returned to himself,confused, breathless, horrified.

You were the first to run to him, ignoring the warnings, the lingering sparks of magic still fizzing in the air. You had touched his face, still streaked with blot, and smiled shakily.

“It’s over,” you whispered. “You’re okay now.”

But he hadn’t noticed your hands trembling. He hadn’t seen the ink beneath your fingernails.

The first time you coughed up ink, it was just a droplet. Small. Easy to hide. You wiped it with your sleeve, heart hammering. You told yourself it was a fluke.

Then came the second time. The third.

You started avoiding mirrors because you didn’t want to see the veins blackening faintly beneath your skin.

The corruption wasn’t magical,it couldn’t be. You were magicless. That was the rule. You couldn’t overblot. You shouldn’t be able to.

But maybe… maybe the rules didn’t apply to whatever the blot had become inside you.

And then, one day, Riddle walked into your shared study and found you hunched over the wastebasket, coughing violently.

“Y/N—?” His voice pitched up in panic. He was at your side in seconds, kneeling, grabbing your shoulders,only to freeze as he saw what you’d expelled.

Thick, black ink. Unmistakable.

It clung to your lips. Coated your hand. Pooled at your knees like tar.

You looked up at him with a pale smile. “It’s… fine.”

His heart stopped. “No. No, it isn’t.” His voice was shaking. “You’re not a mage, you—this shouldn't even be possible !”

You tried to stand, but your legs gave out, a fresh stream of ink spilling from your lips. It hissed faintly as it hit the floor, like it was alive.

Riddle caught you before you collapsed, his gloves smearing against the substance as he cradled you. His hands were trembling.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered, his voice cracking. “How long?”

“Since the fight,” you mumbled, barely conscious. “I thought it would pass. I'm not like you… I didn’t think it could overtake me…”

“You’re not overblotting,” he said in disbelief, eyes wide as he looked at your body. “But it’s inside you. It’s killing you.”

You gave a weak laugh. “Guess I'm breaking a few rules, huh?”

He didn’t laugh.

“Don’t joke,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours. “You didn’t break rules. I did. And you’re paying the price.”

Tears welled in his eyes.

“I won’t let this stand. I won’t lose you. Even if I have to rewrite the rules of magic itself.”

And for the first time in a long while, Riddle Rosehearts broke a rule,he left your side only to begin researching forbidden magics, his pristine record forgotten.

Because if the system allowed this… then it didn’t deserve his obedience.

Leona Kingscholar

He finds you behind the botanical garden, hunched over, your hand pressed against your mouth as thick, viscous ink drips through your fingers.

You don’t hear him at first.

You’re too busy trying not to throw up again, trying to breathe, trying to pretend this isn’t as bad as it feels.

But Leona sees. And he freezes.

“…What the hell.”

His voice is low, almost too quiet. Not angry. Not yet. Just… stunned.

You turn your head slightly, weakly, forcing a smile that looks more like a grimace. “Hey…”

His eyes narrow at the blot staining your lips and chin.

“What is that?”

You try to wipe it away. “It’s just… a little leftover blot. From the fights. I guess it got in me somehow—”

“You guess?” He cuts you off, but there’s no venom in it. Just a sharp edge of disbelief. “You’re throwing it up.”

You glance away, embarrassed. “I didn’t think it’d get this bad.”

Leona steps forward, slowly. His expression isn’t scowling or pissed—it’s something worse.

Worried.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want you to worry. You’ve already got enough going on.”

A long silence stretches between you.

Then, softly,so softly it almost doesn’t sound like him,he mutters, “Don’t do that.”

You blink up at him. “Do what?”

“Decide for me.” He looks at you now, and there’s a tightness in his voice that pulls something deep in your chest. “If you’re hurting—especially because of me—I want to know. You don’t get to protect me by putting yourself through hell.”

You try to make a joke, to lighten the moment. “Wow. That sounded dangerously close to sentiment.”

But he doesn’t smile. He just exhales and crouches in front of you, eye-level now.

“You look like your insides are fucking breaking apart.”

“…They might be.”

He tenses, jaw clenching, but he doesn’t lash out. He just reaches out and rests his hand behind your back, steadying you as you tremble.

“You’re magicless. You shouldn't even be able to survive it.” His voice is low, rough. His grip on you tightens slightly,anger, panic, frustration, all twisted into his jaw. “Do you have any idea what this’ll do to you?”

You manage a laugh. “Think I’m finding out.”

His ears flatten. His tail lashes behind him. But his hands don’t leave you.

“I’m taking you to someone who can help,” he says, his voice firm but careful. “You don’t argue. You don’t pretend. You let me take care of it this time.”

You’re too tired to fight. You lean into him, and he lifts you without complaint, one arm around your shoulders, the other under your knees.

His brow stays furrowed the entire time.

He doesn’t say much else. But the way he holds you,secure, protective, just a little too tight,says enough.

And just before you slip into unconsciousness, you hear him murmur something into your hair.

“You saved my damn life. So don’t think I’m letting you throw yours away.”

Azul Ashengrotto

He thought it was a joke at first.

You were always trying to hide things from him, especially when it came to your injuries. You were proud, and he admired that,even if it made him worry. But when he caught you stumbling out of the Mostro Lounge’s back hallway, one hand gripping the wall, the other pressed against your lips, he didn’t smile.

Then you collapsed to your knees.

And the ink came spilling out.

Thick, black, vile. It hit the floor in splatters, sticky and alive, like it didn’t want to leave your body. Your back arched with the force of it, and you coughed so hard it sounded like something inside you cracked.

Azul dropped the clipboard he’d been holding.

His shoes echoed across the polished floor as he rushed to you, faster than he’d ever let himself move in public. “Y/N—!”

You waved a shaky hand, still hunched over. “It’s okay, it’s just—just a little blot..”

“That,”kneeled beside you, “is not a little blot!”

You were tired. Your eyes were glassy. And the ink,gods, the ink was boiling. Like it was trying to crawl its way back down your throat.

He tried to reach for you, but paused, hesitating. What if touching you made it worse? What if his magic triggered something else?

You noticed. Even through the haze, you gave him a soft, crooked smile. “Don’t look so scared… I’m magicless, remember? I can’t overblot.”

“You don’t need magic to be consumed by it,” he snapped, voice cracking. “You were exposed. Weren’t you? During the fights—against me—”

“…Yeah.”

He closed his eyes for just a moment. His chest hurt.

“How long?”

You hesitated.

“How long, Y/N?”

“…Two weeks.”

Azul’s hands trembled, just slightly. He never trembled.

“I could’ve helped you,” he whispered.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

A bitter, strangled sound left his throat,something between a scoff and a gasp.

“You think I’d care about appearances when you’re dying in front of me?”

You leaned into him, your strength fading fast. He caught you this time, arms curling around your form as the ink soaked into his sleeves. He didn’t flinch.

“Stay with me,” he said softly, his voice lower than it had ever been. “I don’t care what it takes. I’ll find a way. I don’t need a contract. I don’t need payment. I just—"

He cut himself off.

Held you tighter.

Pressed his forehead to yours, eyes wide and shining.

“…Please,” he breathed. “Don’t leave me alone again.”

You managed to whisper his name before everything went dark.

And Azul stayed there, holding you, ink pooling around him like a curse he couldn’t bargain his way out of.

Kalim Al Asim

You didn’t want him to see it.

You’d been hiding it for days, shivers, the way you sometimes gripped your stomach like something was tearing through you. You kept smiling, waving off his concern, calling it a cold, stress, anything to keep his eyes off the truth.

But Kalim was nothing if not persistent.

He followed you when you left the party early, weaving through the celebration in Scarabia with apologies and excuses. You’d said you needed air. But he found you behind the dorm, bent over and gasping, your hand trembling as it caught the wall to steady yourself.

“Y/N?” His voice was light at first. Confused.

You turned to him too late.

The ink was already pouring from your mouth.

Thick, black, and writhing,like it was fighting to stay inside. It hit the sand like tar, steaming in the desert air. Kalim froze. His breath caught in his throat.

“Y/N?!”

You coughed again, nearly collapsing, but he caught you just before you hit the ground. His hands were on your shoulders, then your back, his jewelry clinking as he tried to support you.

“I—I’m fine—” you gasped, barely able to lift your head.

“No, no you’re not! That’s blot! That’s overblot ink, what—what’s happening?!”

You looked up at him with eyes too tired to lie. “It got in me. During the fight..with Jamil..”

Kalim blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then he shook his head, violently. “No. No, no, no—that’s impossible, you’re not even a mage, you can’t—”

“I know. I can’t overblot.” You gave a hollow laugh that turned into a rasping cough. “But it’s inside me. It’s still killing me, just… slower.”

You expected panic. You expected fear.

What you didn’t expect was Kalim to wrap his arms around you and hold on like he’d drown without you.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into your shoulder, voice shaking. “I didn’t know. I should’ve known. I—”

“It’s not your fault—”

“It is,” he said, louder now. “It is, because I would’ve never let you near him if I knew this could happen! I would’ve protected you-I would’ve done something—!”

You coughed again, ink dribbling past your lips. Kalim wiped it away with a shaking thumb.

“…Why didn’t you tell me?”

You couldn’t answer. Not with the way the pain twisted inside you.

But your silence said enough.

Kalim pressed his forehead against yours, holding you close even as the ink stained his white and gold sleeves.

“I’m going to fix this,” he whispered. “I don’t care how long it takes, or what I have to give up. You’re my light, Y/N. And I won’t let you go out.”

He pulled you closer still.

Kalim Al-Asim felt helpless in the face of something he couldn’t fix with love alone.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil had always prided himself on control.

Poise. Discipline. Perfection. His life was a routine of polished movements, carefully chosen words, and flawless performances. Emotions were something to be harnessed, not shown. Mess was something to be cleaned up not lived through.

And yet.

He found you doubled over in the pristine bathroom of Pomefiore, retching up a substance that didn’t belong in any world where things made sense.

It was black. Viscous. Blot.

It clung to your mouth like tar, trailing in thin strings from your lips as you spat the rest into the sink. Your hands were shaking, gripping the edges of the porcelain like you might fall apart if you let go.

Vil stopped in the doorway. Time seemed to catch its breath.

“…Y/N?”

Your eyes flicked to him through the mirror.Hollow.

“…Hey,” you said hoarsely. “You’re not supposed to be back yet.”

He didn’t respond. He walked forward, slowly, carefully,as if any sudden move would break you entirely. His reflection stood beside yours, immaculate as always, but you,you looked like death.

“I told you I was fine,” you whispered, voice cracking.

Vil reached for your chin, tilting your face toward his with the gentlest touch he’d ever given anyone. His hand didn’t shake but his breath did.

“That,” he said coolly, “is not fine.”

You tried to smile, but it slipped before it even formed. “It’s… from the SDC. I didn’t notice at first. But the ink,it’s been in me since then.”

His eyes flickered, sharp and calculating, but you could see the fracture behind them.

“You knew,” he said, voice dangerously low. “And you kept it from me.”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

Vil laughed,humorless, bitter. “You didn’t want to worry me? Y/N, you are coughing up blot. That’s not a worry, it’s a nightmare.”

You tried to sit up straighter, but the movement sent a violent spasm through your chest, and more ink spilled out of you. Vil caught you as you crumpled, holding you upright against him, not caring that the blot was staining his gloves, his robe,him.

“I didn’t think it’d get this bad,” you admitted, voice trembling. “I thought it would go away.”

“Things like this don’t just go away,” he snapped, but his arms were steady around you. “It festers. It spreads. And now—” He cut himself off. His breath hitched.

And then softer, almost pleading: “Why didn’t you let me help you?”

You looked up at him, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. “Because I knew you'd look at me like this. Like I’m broken. Like I ruined something.”

His expression shattered.

“I don’t care if it’s broken,” he said, voice thick. “We fix broken things. We heal them. But I can’t do that if you keep hiding it.”

You tried to protest, but he pulled you closer.

“From this moment on,” he murmured, voice fierce and low, “you are not hiding another thing from me. Not your pain. Not your fear. Nothing.”

“…Okay,” you whispered.

He brushed the hair from your face, cradling you like something fragile, precious. For once, he didn’t care about his appearance, or who might see him kneeling on the bathroom floor, covered in ink. All he cared about was keeping you here.

Alive. Safe.

His.

“You are not dying from this,” Vil said, not a hope but a command. “I won’t allow it.”

Idia Shroud

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

You’d promised. You told him it was just a scratch,that when the fight was over, you’d be fine. He’d seen you tired, bruised but still standing. Still smiling.

So why were you now curled up on the floor of his room in Ignihyde, your back pressed to the side of his bed, trembling as you violently coughed up black blot like your lungs were trying to reject your own insides?

“Wh-What the hell?!” Idia dropped the tablet in his hands. The clatter echoed too loud in the silence.

You wiped at your mouth, slowly turning your head to look at him with dull, glassy eyes. “It’s fine,” you muttered. “It’s just… leftover. From the overblot. I must’ve absorbed some of it.”

“‘Just’—??” Idia’s voice cracked, his hair flaring in jagged bursts. “That’s blot, Y/N. Not a nosebleed. Not a cold. That’s corrupted magic and pure suffering in liquid form!”

You tried to stand, but your legs gave out, and Idia was at your side before you hit the ground.

His hands hovered, twitching nervously. “Okay. Okayokayokay. This is—this is fine. Not fine fine, obviously, this is nightmare fuel tier, but like—okay, okay, I can fix this. Maybe.”

You leaned against him, breathing shallow. “Idia…”

“No. Don’t ‘Idia’ me right now,” he said, breath quick. “Why didn’t you say something?! I have monitoring programs—scans—serums—okay, mostly for Ortho, but still. I could’ve done something..!”

You rested your head on his shoulder. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

He froze.

“…Bother me?” he repeated in a whisper. “You really think you’d ever be a bother?”

Your silence said it all.

His voice cracked. “You’re the only person who makes this dumb room feel like something more than a digital grave. You show up, and suddenly it’s like I’m not just a spooky background character anymore. You make me feel like I matter. And you thought this wasn’t important enough to tell me?”

You didn’t mean to cry. You hadn’t even noticed it until the ink mixed with tears on your cheeks.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

He pulled you into his chest not with elegance, not with a dramatic speech, but with desperation. “I see you,” he whispered. “Not the ink. Not the breaking down part. Just… you.”

His fingers curled into your shirt as his voice went quiet.

“…I’m scared.”

“Me too,” you admitted.

He nodded, shakily. “Then we’re scared together.”

He adjusted your weight against him, wrapping his arms around you tighter,awkward, too warm, a little sweaty, but real.

“You’re not allowed to die,” he muttered. “I didn’t install a save point. Don’t make me invent necromancy.”

You gave a tiny, painful laugh.

And for once, it didn’t sound like a game anymore.

Malleus Draconia

The storm was still raging when you stumbled through the doors of Diasomnia.

Lightning cracked above the towers, thunder rolling across the moors, but the sound of it couldn’t drown out your gasps or the slick, wet sound of black ink splattering onto the cold floor beneath your feet.

You barely made it three steps before you collapsed to your knees, one hand bracing yourself while the other gripped your stomach. It felt like fire. Like something inside you was trying to rot its way out.

And then—

“Y/N.”

Malleus’ voice.

He appeared beside you in the blink of an eye, his presence nearly making the air vibrate with how quickly his magic reacted to your pain.

You looked up, vision swimming, lips trembling. “I—I’m fine.”

You weren’t.

You were coughing up tar-black blot like your lungs were lined with it, like your very soul had been stained by it. No magical signature, no spell. Just residue,something left behind after fighting too many overblots made of sorrow and rage.

Malleus knelt in front of you, his hands hovering at first, not daring to touch until you looked at him and gave the smallest nod.

The moment you did, he reached out and pulled you close, cradling you as if your body were made of glass.

“You’re not fine,” he said, voice lower than usual. There was a storm brewing inside him now, too. You could feel it.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” you whispered, breath hitching. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

Malleus’ grip tightened slightly, his forehead resting against yours.

“I am always worried,” he murmured. “But I would rather be frightened by your truth than soothed by your silence.”

You flinched as another wave of pain struck, your spine arching as you coughed up more of the ink. It burned your throat. It felt like it was eating you alive.

And still—still—you clutched at his sleeve, as if asking him not to leave.

“I’m here,” he whispered immediately. “I will not leave. Not now. Not ever.”

You barely noticed the flickering green glow wrapping around you until you felt it seep into your bones. Gentle, ancient magic,dragged from deep within Malleus himself. Not offensive, not protective. Restorative.

But it didn’t work.

Not completely.

Because the blot wasn’t a spell. It wasn’t something that could be undone by fae power or reversed by time-honored rites. It was corruption,infectious,cruel and it was already far too deep inside.

Still, he tried.

He kept one hand against your chest, the other against your cheek, murmuring in an old tongue that only the fae still remembered. His words weren’t spells,they were promises.

The ink didn’t vanish, but it slowed. Your shaking eased. The agony remained, but Malleus' magic acted like a shield,like a steady breath amid the smoke.

“I failed you,” you whispered weakly. “I should’ve been stronger.”

He shook his head, his voice tight. “No. You were braver than I ever deserved. You fought battles we could not see. You bore a weight alone that should have crushed you and still, you stood.”

A long pause. Then:

“You were never meant to burn alone.”

He pressed his forehead to yours again, his next words barely audible:

“If this ink dares to take you from me… then I shall walk into the dark and bring you back myself.”

You shuddered, tears slipping free at last.

You didn’t want to die.

And under Malleus’ trembling hands, you felt the same truth written in his every touch:

He would not let you.

English is not my first language !

[dior-luxury]

Love your stories♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️ Could I request the female reader falling asleep on their boyfriends lap with the dorm leaders and vice dorm leaders + Floyd? Thank you.

In the Comfort of You

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] dorm leaders . vice dorm leaders + floyd

- [𝐩:𝐬] none

Note: Aww, this prompt is actually so cute are you kidding! I came back from my dance comp early so I celebrated by writing again! (*¯︶¯*)

Riddle Rosehearts

It was a quiet afternoon in Heartslabyul, the garden unusually still after a morning of chaos. The usual string of rules, order, and unexpected mushroom inspections had tired out even the strictest members. The sun filtered through the rose bushes, scattering golden flecks across the picnic blanket laid out under the gazebo. The breeze rustled the leaves above, and the faint smell of strawberry tarts lingered in the air.

Riddle sat upright, posture perfect, a book open in his lap. He was mid-sentence when he felt a shift beside him.

You, his girlfriend, had been curled up at his side for a while, your head resting lightly on his shoulder. But now, slowly, without a word, you repositioned yourself and laid your head fully in his lap.

He stiffened.

Rules. There were rules about propriety. About maintaining posture. About not being flustered in public—even if it was just you two in the garden. His brain fired through a checklist of what he should do. He should tell you to sit up. He should maintain boundaries.

But then he looked down.

Your face was peaceful, softened by sleep. A slight smile played on your lips, your chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. One hand loosely held the hem of his jacket, as if even in sleep, you wanted to be close to him. You trusted him enough to rest like this. On him.

His heart stuttered.

Slowly, he placed the book aside and stared down at you, watching the way your lashes fluttered when the breeze tickled your cheeks. His hand hovered in the air for a long time—unsure—before he finally brushed your hair away from your forehead, his fingers trembling slightly.

He had always been taught discipline, order, and responsibility. But with you? He felt human. Vulnerable. Safe.

His fingers lingered in your hair, stroking it gently.

“…I suppose... one nap isn’t against the rules,” he murmured to himself.

He leaned back slightly, his other hand resting lightly across your back to make sure you didn’t roll off his lap. He felt warmth in his chest, unfamiliar and wonderful, like a sun blooming behind clouds. For once, Riddle Rosehearts didn't care about rules or appearances. Not when you looked so peaceful. Not when your presence filled his every thought.

And when you murmured his name softly in your sleep, like a prayer wrapped in trust?

He knew he'd never let anyone disturb this moment.

Not even the Queen of Hearts herself.

Trey Clover

The sun was setting over the Heartslabyul courtyard, painting the sky in sherbet hues. After a long day of baking sweets for the next unbirthday party, the scent of sugar and vanilla still clung to the air.

Trey had insisted on taking a break—dragging you out into the garden with a blanket and leftover tarts. You’d tried to protest, insisting you had homework, but he just smiled with that warm, steady patience of his and said, “You’ve earned a rest.”

You sat beside him, legs stretched out, chewing lazily on a berry tart as he leaned against a tree trunk. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and his glasses had slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose as he read aloud from a half-open cookbook. You didn’t understand why he found recipe books so relaxing, but his voice was calm, familiar, grounding.

Eventually, the warmth of the setting sun and the soft cadence of his words started to lull you into a haze. Without thinking, you scooted closer and laid your head in his lap.

Trey’s voice trailed off.

He looked down at you, blinking once, then again. The way you curled into him, unguarded, so effortlessly vulnerable—it made his chest ache in the sweetest way. He smiled, one hand coming up to adjust his glasses, the other instinctively brushing along your arm.

“You okay down there?” he asked softly.

No response.

Your breathing was slow and even, lips slightly parted as you drifted deeper into sleep. Your hand rested on his thigh, fingers barely curled like you were holding onto the moment.

He chuckled under his breath. “Guess that’s a yes.”

With infinite gentleness, Trey shifted the tart plate out of the way and used his free hand to tuck your hair behind your ear. He watched the way the sunlight danced on your skin, how your eyelashes cast little shadows across your cheeks.

He didn’t move for a long while. Didn’t read. Didn’t speak. He just sat there, a steady presence while you slept on his lap. His thumb brushed lazy, affectionate circles on your shoulder.

“I hope you know,” he said eventually, voice soft and low like a whisper in a dream, “I could sit like this forever.”

His heart beat slow and full. This wasn’t the chaos of the kitchen, or the madness of Heartslabyul. This was something simpler. Sweeter. Like a quiet lull after the storm.

He leaned down slightly, pressing a feather-light kiss to your temple.

“Sweet dreams, sugar.”

Leona Kingscholar

It was one of those scorching afternoons in the Savannaclaw lounge. The heat had chased most students into the shadows, and the usual clamor had died down to a low hum. Leona had claimed his favorite sun-drenched couch—stretched out with one arm behind his head, the other lazily flipping through a textbook he had no real intention of reading.

You were sitting next to him, legs curled under you, chatting idly for a bit before trailing off. He barely registered the silence at first—figured you were just zoning out. But then something shifted.

You moved closer.

His ears twitched.

Without a word, you leaned over and placed your head directly on his lap. Just—boop. Laid down. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Leona froze.

He looked down slowly, like he couldn’t believe what just happened. There you were, his girl, sleeping soundly across his lap. Lips parted slightly, cheek pressed against his thigh, hands tucked under your chin. Peaceful. Completely knocked out.

For a moment, Leona just stared.

And then—

“…Tch.” He clicked his tongue, but it lacked any real bite. “You’ve got some nerve.”

His hand hovered over you for a beat. He wanted to push you off, maybe grumble something about how he was supposed to be the lazy one, not you. But instead…

His fingers dipped into your hair.

It was light. Barely a touch. Just a lazy comb through your strands, again and again.

“Brat,” he murmured, but his voice was soft, like the desert wind at night. “You really just gonna sleep here without asking? On my lap?”

And yet he didn’t move.

Didn’t complain.

Didn’t breathe too loudly for fear of waking you.

His tail swished lazily across the floor, betraying the contentment he pretended he didn’t feel. The warmth of your body against him made his eyelids droop, but he stayed awake, keeping a silent vigil.

He wouldn’t admit it, not in a thousand years—but having you there, choosing him as your safe place to rest?

That meant more than all the crowns in the world.

He smirked, resting his head back.

“…Guess I’ll let you off this time.”

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie wasn’t used to having time off. Between errands for Leona, club stuff, side hustles, and dodging various school responsibilities, “relaxation” wasn’t exactly on his schedule. But today? For some miraculous reason? He had an open hour. So he dragged you out behind the Savannaclaw dorm where the sun was warm, the grass was soft, and there were no chores to do.

He was halfway through telling you about some weird thing he saw in the cafeteria (“Swear on my granny’s life, the mashed potatoes moved!”) when he realized you weren’t laughing anymore.

He turned his head to look—and there you were.

Head in his lap. Curled up like a cat in a sunbeam. Eyes closed. Asleep.

Ruggie blinked.

Once. Twice.

“…Huh?”

He looked around like this was some kind of prank. “Oi. Y/N?”

No response.

A soft snore.

Ruggie stared down at you, your face squished slightly against his thigh, your fingers loosely gripping his hoodie. He didn’t know what to do with his hands at first. He held them up in the air like you were fragile and he might break you by accident.

He whispered, “…You serious right now?”

His face was bright red. Full-on red as a beet. But his heart? Beating like crazy. Fast and full and warm in a way that made his chest ache.

He glanced down again.

And slowly, hesitantly, the corner of his mouth tugged into a grin.

“Heh… cute.”

Very carefully, he pulled his hoodie sleeve down and tucked it under your head like a makeshift pillow. Then he leaned back on his hands and looked up at the sky, his tail flicking lazily behind him.

“You better not start drooling on me,” he muttered—but there was no venom in it. Just affection.

He sat there quietly, keeping still even when his legs started to fall asleep. When you shifted a little and sighed in your sleep, he actually stopped breathing for a second.

Because no one ever really… relaxed around him like that. Not like this. Not since he was a kid in the slums of the Sunset Savanna. This—being someone’s safe place—was something new. Something precious.

And he’d fight anyone who tried to ruin it.

Even if he’d totally deny that later.

Azul Ashengrotto

The Lounge had closed for the night. The clink of glassware had faded, the last customer long gone, and the velvet curtains drawn tight. Everything was bathed in that dim oceanic glow Octavinelle was known for—deep blues and the shimmer of water against stone.

Azul had finally finished sorting through contracts, sighing in satisfaction as he slid the last document into its folder. You were already sitting on the plush couch in the VIP room, legs tucked to the side, watching him with a soft smile on your lips.

“Hard at work, as always,” you teased lightly.

Azul chuckled, brushing his bangs back. “You know how it is. A businessman’s time is never his own.”

“You’ve got time for me now though, right?”

He hesitated only for a moment. “Always.”

You patted the space next to you. He sat, slightly stiff as always—ever the perfect posture. But he relaxed once you leaned against his shoulder. You chatted for a bit, your voice slowly trailing off as the atmosphere quieted. Your head slipped downward, resting lightly against his arm at first… then lower… until suddenly, Azul felt a shift.

He looked down to find your head in his lap.

Asleep.

Breathing gently.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Azul froze. Completely. His hands hovered mid-air, his back went ramrod straight, and panic flickered in his mind like a school of darting fish.

What do I do? Is this allowed? Is she okay? What if she drools? What if Jade sees—oh seven seas—

He dared to look down at your face. Your eyelashes fluttered faintly. Your lips were parted slightly, your expression peaceful. Unburdened. Completely unafraid.

The kind of peace Azul never had in his own head.

He felt his throat tighten.

You trusted him—him, a calculating, manipulative, secret-wielding businessman enough to fall asleep on his lap.

“…You really are bold,” he whispered, voice breaking into a whisper. “But… I suppose I can’t blame you.”

Cautiously, as if worried he’d shatter the moment, Azul rested a hand against your shoulder and the other—so slowly—began to stroke your hair. The strands slipped through his fingers like sea silk. He watched you for what felt like hours, every so often brushing a strand out of your face or tracing the curve of your cheek with his thumb.

And for once… the silence wasn’t unnerving.

It was comforting.

“Maybe just a little longer,” he murmured.

When Jade poked his head in later to report something, his eyes landed on the scene. He raised a brow—but said nothing.

Azul simply met his gaze, a faint smile playing on his lips. For once, he didn’t care about appearances.

Not when you were in his arms.

Jade Leech

The rainforest in the botanical garden was dim, warm, and filled with the sounds of dripping water and the flutter of hidden wings. Jade loved bringing you here after long days—the two of you wandering between the glowing mushrooms and thick vines, talking about strange creatures and even stranger students.

That evening, you had been unusually quiet.

Tired.

He’d noticed. Of course he had. Jade noticed everything.

So, he suggested you rest.

You both sat on a stone bench nestled under an arch of glowing moss. The lights cast a soft green hue over the clearing. Jade had started telling you a story—some obscure tale about a deep-sea creature with a song that lured people into dreams.

And maybe it was his voice—smooth as silk, low and lulling—or maybe it was the way he ran his fingers lazily through the fern beside you, but soon…

Your head slipped gently into his lap.

And you didn’t move again.

Jade blinked once, tilting his head ever so slightly.

“…Oh my.”

Your face was tilted toward him, cheek resting on the fabric of his uniform pants. Your breathing was deep, peaceful. Your body, curled like a cat, radiated warmth into his legs. You made not even the faintest sound.

And Jade?

Jade was frozen—but not out of panic.

He was fascinated.

You trusted him enough to sleep here. On him. Fully vulnerable. Open. And you didn’t even seem to hesitate.

The corners of his lips curled upward into a smile—genuine and serene.

“Well,” he murmured, reaching out to gently brush your hair behind your ear, “you are more interesting than any mushroom I’ve ever encountered.”

He chuckled quietly, the sound blending into the soft symphony of the garden.

Jade’s hand lingered in your hair, slow and thoughtful. He studied the way you clutched the fabric of his jacket with one hand, like you were anchoring yourself to him. And slowly, his usually composed heart began to thrum, unfamiliar and full.

No one ever rested near him this way.

No one dared.

But you did.

“You’ve caught me off guard,” he whispered, almost reverently.

Not a trace of mischief in his tone—only awe.

He leaned down slightly, brushing a kiss to your temple with an elegant tenderness only someone like him could manage.

“I wonder what you’re dreaming of,” he said softly, his voice a promise. “Whatever it is… I hope I’m there.”

And he stayed perfectly still, watching over you like a sentinel in the jungle. Not because he had to—but because he wanted to.

Because you, in that moment, were the most precious thing in his world.

Floyd Leech

The tide was low in his mood today.

Everything felt boring. Club meetings dragged, the Lounge was quiet, and even scaring first-years didn’t give him the usual rush. He was sprawled out on one of the long couches in the Octavinelle dorm lounge, legs dangling off the side, one arm draped over his eyes.

You were with him, of course—his “Shrimpy.” His favorite toy. His favorite person.

Today, though, he wasn’t teasing you or playfully squeezing you until you squirmed. He was unusually quiet, lying still in a rare moment of calm. You sat beside him, chatting softly at first, your fingers absently tracing patterns into his arm.

But then… your voice faded.

Your hand stilled.

He peeked out from under his arm just in time to feel it—your weight shifting as you gently curled up beside him, resting your head right on his stomach. A warm, sleepy sigh left your lips.

And then nothing.

You were asleep.

At first, Floyd just blinked, his mismatched eyes wide with surprise. “Huh?”

He tilted his head forward, peering at you like a curious sea creature watching a pearl roll into its den.

“You really knocked out, huh?”

No answer. Just the sound of your soft breathing, face nestled into his hoodie, arms curled in like you were hugging a plush toy.

Floyd didn’t move.

Didn’t make a sound.

Instead… his grin slowly, slowly spread across his face.

“Eheh~ Shrimpy... you really are something else.”

He gently lifted his hand and let it fall over your back, his fingers splaying like seaweed, curling into the fabric of your shirt. He didn’t squeeze this time. No chaotic thrashing, no threats of “squeeeezin’ ya ‘til ya pop.” Just the weight of his hand, steady and warm, like he was grounding himself in you.

His tailing mood melted like drift ice under sun.

You chose him.

To rest on. To trust. To fall asleep on, even knowing how temperamental he could be.

That tugged at something deep. Something primal and tender. He could feel his heartbeat slow to match yours, lulled by the rhythm of your breath.

“You’re lucky I like you so much,” he murmured, voice unusually low and gentle. “If it were anybody else, I’d have chomped ‘em by now for touchin’ me like this.”

But he didn’t move. Not an inch.

He just laid there, arm wrapped around you, letting you use his body like a pillow made of seafoam and muscle.

And when you murmured his name in your sleep—barely audible, just a breath?

Floyd melted entirely.

His grin softened, his head tilted back.

“…Guess I’ll nap too, then. But if I drool on ya, it’s your fault~”

Kalim Al-asim

The palace-like halls of Scarabia were quiet in the golden haze of late afternoon. The sun poured through the arching windows, lighting the silken pillows in warm amber. It had been a long day—flying carpets, music practice, and Kalim pulling you into at least three spontaneous dance circles.

Now, you were both on the balcony, surrounded by flower pots and colorful lanterns swaying in the breeze. Kalim had been talking excitedly about a festival his family hosted once—a night where they lit a thousand paper lanterns and let them float into the sky.

You were curled beside him, resting against his side, nodding along as his hands animated every story.

But eventually… your replies stopped.

He glanced down mid-sentence to find you still. Eyes closed. Breathing soft.

Your head had somehow found its way into his lap, resting there like it belonged. Your hands tucked under your cheek, your face tilted up toward him like you were dreaming of the stars he’d just described.

Kalim’s eyes widened.

“Oh!”

He clapped a hand over his mouth immediately, realizing how loud he was about to be.

“She fell asleep,” he whispered to himself, awed.

He looked down at you like you were made of starlight and gold.

You trusted him. You felt safe with him. So safe, in fact, that you’d fallen asleep in his lap under the open sky.

His heart soared.

“Wow…” he breathed.

He reached out, ever so gently, brushing a lock of hair from your forehead, his fingers trembling just slightly. Not from nerves—Kalim was never shy—but from the sheer overwhelming joy of the moment.

He wanted to laugh, to cheer, to kiss your forehead a hundred times.

But he didn’t.

He sat still, barely breathing, his smile wide and wonder-filled.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered, his voice full of love. “Like a dream.”

He looked up at the sky, watching the clouds drift by, and then down again at you. His fingers found yours, lacing them together gently.

Kalim’s world was fast, bright, full of noise and song. But this?

This was a quiet kind of joy.

One that filled his chest like sweet air and didn’t need to be shouted.

He leaned down, kissed the crown of your head, and rested his cheek gently against your hair.

“If I had a thousand stars,” he whispered, “I’d give them all to you.”

And there, under the setting sun, with the breeze carrying hints of jasmine and warmth, Kalim stayed absolutely still—just a boy in love, holding his world in his lap.

Jamil Viper

It was late—well past the quiet hours in Scarabia. The sun had long since dipped behind the dunes, and the dorm was bathed in a soft, warm glow from hanging lanterns. The courtyard had emptied after a long day of activities, and only the hush of wind through palm trees and the distant trickle of water from the fountain remained.

Jamil sat beneath the archway overlooking the open courtyard, dressed down in his lounge clothes—simple, dark, loose-fitting, no frills. His shoulders were slouched, rare for someone always so tightly wound. You were beside him, curled up with your legs tucked under you, slowly leaning more and more his way.

The conversation had started casually—stories about Kalim’s antics, about classes, about the endless list of responsibilities Jamil was juggling. But as you listened, your replies grew quieter, slower…

And before he could even finish a sentence, he felt it.

Your head, gentle and warm, settled right into his lap.

Jamil went completely still.

He looked down, blinking, utterly silent.

“…You fell asleep?”

He could hardly believe it. There you were—his girlfriend—just… sleeping on him like it was natural. No hesitation. No fear. Just soft breath against his stomach and one hand lightly curled in his hoodie.

And him?

He didn’t move a muscle.

Jamil wasn’t used to this kind of closeness without strings. He wasn’t used to someone resting on him, not needing anything, not demanding he do something, fix something, prove something.

You were just there.

Sleeping.

Trusting him.

He swallowed hard, his heartbeat loud in his ears. One of his hands hovered above your shoulder, hesitant, as if afraid touching you would wake you—or worse, make the moment disappear.

But then, with a quiet exhale, he let his hand fall gently into your hair.

Fingers threaded through the strands slowly. Carefully. Like you were made of delicate silk.

“Y/N…” he whispered, barely audible.

There was a softness in his eyes no one else ever got to see. He didn’t know if you could hear him in your sleep—but it didn’t matter.

“You really don’t know what you do to me.”

He leaned back against the pillar, staring up at the night sky, the stars peeking through the edges of the courtyard ceiling. For once, he allowed himself a moment of stillness. No planning. No scheming. No worrying about Kalim or school or a hundred responsibilities.

Just you.

Warm and trusting in his arms.

And Jamil—quiet, calm—stayed perfectly still, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he brushed his thumb over your temple.

“If this is a dream,” he whispered, “I don’t want to wake up.”

Vil Schoenheit

The dressing room was quiet.

For once.

The glow of vanity lights lined the mirror, casting golden halos over the room. Bottles, brushes, powders, everything meticulously organized in Vil’s space. You had been keeping him company after his rehearsal—watching him take off his stage makeup with gentle, practiced motions, each movement like part of a performance in itself.

You sat beside him on the plush velvet chaise, your posture proper at first, engaged in conversation. He was mid-rant about a classmate’s awful skincare routine (heaven help them), and you had smiled, eyes soft, head tilted just slightly.

And then…

You slumped sideways.

Right into his lap.

Vil’s breath hitched, and he looked down, mouth parted slightly in surprise.

You… fell asleep?

On him?

“Darling?” he said quietly, brushing his fingers against your shoulder. No response.

Your face was tilted toward him, cheek gently pressed against his thigh, lashes brushing the top of your cheek, lips parted just slightly. You looked so peaceful. So still.

So unaware of how tightly you’d gripped his heart in that moment.

Vil slowly exhaled, lowering his hand to rest on your back. His other hand—still elegant, still carrying the last remnants of lotion—hovered over your hair. And then, with featherlight grace, he began to smooth it back, careful not to disturb your rest.

“Sleeping on a chaise,” he murmured. “That’s hardly ideal posture.”

But his voice had no edge. No scolding. Just… gentle amusement.

Vil Schoenheit was used to control—his appearance, his schedule, his image. And yet, here you were, disrupting all of that with a single act of vulnerability. Trusting him with your body in its most unguarded state.

And it didn’t irritate him.

It moved him.

“This is… dangerous,” he whispered. “You lower my guard far too easily.”

He gazed at you for a long while, memorizing the curve of your face in the soft light. The way your hand rested atop his knee like it belonged there. The softness of your lips, the warmth of your breath.

Vil had been photographed a thousand times, posed beside the most beautiful people in the world.

But this?

This was the most beautiful moment he had ever been part of.

He gently tugged a silk throw blanket from the back of the chaise and draped it over your shoulders, careful not to shift your head. Then, leaning down, he pressed a kiss to your temple—soft, reverent, full of unspoken feeling.

“You’ll be the ruin of me, schatz,” he whispered. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Rook Hunt

The sun had long since begun its descent, draping the vast grounds of NRC in a golden veil. The lush gardens behind Pomefiore dorm basked in that soft honey light, petals curling gently like sleepy sighs, and even the breeze seemed to hush itself to a lullaby. Rook Hunt sat on a stone bench nestled beneath an arch of ivy and lavender, legs crossed with poetic elegance, one arm draped along the bench’s edge, the other cradling a small leather-bound book of Baudelaire’s poetry.

But he had not turned a page in fifteen minutes.

His gaze, normally so sharp and brimming with curiosity, had softened completely—locked onto you, his beloved, curled up in the safest of sanctuaries: his lap.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, of course. It had started with just leaning against him, the sun warming your back and his hand absentmindedly carding through your hair, twirling strands like golden thread between his fingers. His voice had been low, reciting French verses with a soft lilt, letting the words flutter into the air like butterflies. Somewhere between the cadence of his voice, the scent of lilacs, and the rise and fall of his breathing, sleep had stolen you away.

And Rook… was absolutely enchanted.

“Oh, mon ange…” he whispered, barely audible, his breath brushing against the crown of your head.

He didn’t dare move. His usually ever-restless energy was still for once—his stillness more reverent than any silence in the cathedral. Your cheek was resting just over his thigh, your arms folded like a child’s under your head. A soft sigh escaped your lips every now and then, the kind that melted straight into his chest.

It was an intimacy far beyond a stolen kiss or dramatic serenade. This was something quiet. Sacred.

Rook’s gloved fingers ghosted along your shoulder, his thumb brushing ever so lightly against the skin where your shirt had slipped a bit. He chuckled—quietly, tenderly.

“To inspire such trust… Such vulnerability…” He murmured in awe, gazing down at you like one might look at a painting in a gallery, overwhelmed by its beauty but unable to explain why. “Tu es ma muse éternelle.”

The soft flush on your cheeks, the way your lashes kissed your skin, the rhythm of your breath—all of it wove a spell around his heart. A predator by nature, he was always seeking, always hunting the next beautiful moment. But this? This stillness, this peace—this was the rarest prey of all.

Rook leaned back, head tilted toward the twilight sky.

He would sit here forever if it meant you could rest undisturbed. The hunt could wait.

Idia Shroud

The atmosphere in Idia’s room buzzed with low ambient synth music, neon lights tracing cyber-punk lines across the walls, bouncing off rows of figurines and glowing monitors. Ortho had exited the room a while ago, leaving behind a half-empty can of soda and a quiet “I’ll give you two some space, nii-san~” in a sing-song voice that had Idia practically overheating.

You were on the floor, curled in a sea of fuzzy blankets and oversized gaming pillows. Idia had set up your “chill zone,” as he nervously called it—stocked with snacks, manga, and an absurdly cute cat-shaped pillow that he had definitely not bought because it reminded him of the way you smiled.

You had climbed up into his gaming chair at some point, practically draping yourself across his lap, completely fearless. Idia had gone full system error—stiff as a board, hands twitching at his sides, a thousand inner alarms going off.

“Wha—Y-You can’t just—th-th-there’s a process! A sequence! L-like, at least two awkward movie nights before you just go full-on lap-mode!!”

But you hadn’t answered. Your breathing had slowed. Your body had gone warm and heavy.

You’d fallen asleep.

Idia’s heart skipped several beats. He actually had to check that he wasn’t hallucinating. A tiny puff of air escaped your lips, your cheek squished against his hoodie-clad thigh, and your hand, like it had a mind of its own, had curled around the hem of his sleeve.

He froze. Again.

Then slowly, as if afraid to wake a very fluffy, very delicate sleeping beast, he let himself breathe. Just a little.

His hand trembled as it hovered near your head. His fingers twitched like they were afraid to mess it up—you—the whole fragile image of this moment.

And then, very carefully, he let his hand settle into your hair.

“…This is… r-real, right?” he whispered, voice cracking mid-sentence. He bit down on a whimper, overwhelmed.

“She’s literally asleep. On me. Like, I’m not even an NPC in this cutscene. I’m the main questline now.”

A faint giggle threatened to bubble up, but he slapped a hand over his mouth.

Then the other part of his brain chimed in.

What if she wakes up and realizes it’s weird? What if she was just tired and it wasn’t a conscious choice? What if she thinks you’re a total loser for sitting there like a statue?

He shut his eyes tight.

No. No, for once, he wouldn’t self-destruct this moment. Not when it felt like he’d stepped into a rare hidden level that only unlocked when your affection for an NPC was maxed out.

He looked down at you again, marveling at the tiny breath of warmth rising and falling against him.

“You’re like… my safe point,” he mumbled into the dark, letting his fingers finally settle gently in your hair.

A small ping from his PC reminded him a new update had installed.

“Whatever, I already got the best patch.”

Malleus Draconia

It was a rare, quiet evening at Diasomnia. No thunder echoed from the mountains, no duties called for the crown prince, and no students dared interrupt the rare moment of peace Malleus found with you.

The courtyard behind the dormitory was bathed in moonlight, silver threads weaving between tall hedges and ancient statues. You’d been chatting beside him on a stone bench, your legs curled beneath you, fingers grazing his as you recounted a ridiculous tale Ace had told you during lunch. Malleus listened—his eyes never straying from your face, utterly enchanted by your every word. You were warm and brilliant, like the sun he’d always been curious about, and it was moments like this that made him feel closer to understanding it.

But the day had been long. Long classes, longer conversations, and the gentle lull of Malleus’s deep voice had slowly pulled you into the edges of slumber. One moment you were chuckling, your cheek in your palm, and the next… your head tilted gently against his thigh.

Malleus stiffened slightly—not in discomfort, but surprise.

He blinked down at you, your lashes fluttering, your lips parting slightly as your breathing evened out. His first instinct was stillness. Dragons, after all, are patient creatures. He gazed at your peaceful form, processing the trust it took for you to doze off like this—on him. Vulnerable. Soft.

“My treasure…” he whispered, voice low with reverence.

He gently adjusted his posture, making sure your head had a comfortable angle. One clawed hand hovered hesitantly in the air before slowly descending to stroke your hair, tender and cautious, like touching spun gold.

“Even in sleep, you are unafraid of me.” The words were not sad, but filled with quiet awe.

The warmth of your body against him, the subtle scent of your perfume, and the delicate rise and fall of your breath began to unravel something inside Malleus. A rare emotion—one that wrapped around his ancient heart like ivy. He had seen kingdoms rise and fall, yet here you were, the most precious thing he’d ever held, choosing to rest in his lap like he was your sanctuary.

As your hand twitched in your sleep, seeking his, Malleus smiled.

He laced your fingers together, holding you close.

“You will never know harm while I breathe,” he murmured, more promise than poetry.

He remained there, unmoving, for as long as you needed. Watching over you with all the devotion of a dragon guarding his hoard, his heart heavy with love and light.

Lilia Vanrouge

The music from the Lounge had died down hours ago, and yet the two of you lingered in the quiet common room of Diasomnia, curled up on an emerald velvet settee, bathed in candlelight.

You had been scrolling through photos on your phone, laughing at memories, while Lilia lounged beside you, arms spread over the back of the couch, looking for all the world like a retired general watching over his beloved court jester.

His teasing quips had slowed as the hour crept past midnight. You were curled sideways now, legs draped over his, head tucked against his shoulder.

And then… your body shifted slightly.

You sighed—a soft, exhausted exhale—and gently, instinctively, nestled your head into his lap. Your phone slid from your hand to the cushion with a muffled thud.

Lilia paused mid-sentence, blinking. Then he looked down.

“Well, well…” His voice was a whisper, touched with warmth and amusement. “You’ve gone and melted into my lap, little bat.”

There was no complaint in his tone. Only gentle adoration.

He shifted minutely, reaching for a throw blanket folded neatly over the back of the couch. With practiced ease, he draped it over your form, tucking it around your shoulders with a tenderness only centuries of experience could perfect.

As your cheek pressed against his thigh, he could feel the subtle hum of your breath through his clothes. He gently brushed your hair away from your face, taking a moment to admire your features—so soft, so trusting, so utterly you.

Lilia had lived longer than most stars, but never had he found a moment quite like this.

“A sight sweeter than sakura in spring,” he murmured, one gloved hand resting lightly atop your head.

He leaned back, gazing at the ceiling, his other hand lazily tracing invisible patterns against your arm beneath the blanket.

He thought of the countless battles he’d fought, the wars he’d survived, the heartbreaks endured. And yet this moment—this quiet, sleeping you—was what he found himself wanting to protect most of all.

“Don’t worry,” he said quietly, “I’ll keep watch tonight, just as I always have. Even nightmares wouldn’t dare bother you while I’m here.”

A mischievous glint twinkled in his eyes, even as his voice remained soft.

“And if you drool on me, well… I suppose I’ll consider it a badge of honor.”

He chuckled lightly to himself, and resumed playing with your hair, humming a lullaby so old the stars had likely forgotten it. It was a melody sung once in ancient fae courts, now resurrected just for you.

Lilia, the eternal guardian, kept his silent vigil, heart full and content.

[ryker-writes]

Hey there! I loved giving Malleus a stone as an accidental proposal! It would make sense to me that mers would also see it as that! Could we possibly get one with Floyd Azul or Jade?

omg yes absolutely! Thinking about it, merfolk probably would also take it as a proposal! Especially with their culture being inspired by The little mermaid and she loved to collect things. I love this request! For those of you who haven't seen the Malleus part, it's linked below!

Request rules and Masterlists

Accidentally proposing to Malleus with a rock

Accidentally proposing with a rock (Octavinelle)

Floyd:

It was an innocent gesture. You wanted to give Floyd a rock to show you care about him. A simple gift that you thought he'd like. Well, you think he likes it a little too much.

When you gave the rock to Floyd, his eyes went wide, and he quickly smiled and pulled you into a tight hug (careful not to hurt you too much), "Awwww of course!"

He seemed so happy to get the rock, it honestly surprised you. Then he started lurking around you more. Like, hovering behind you and picking you up at random times to carry you around anywhere. When you asked, he said he had a right to carry and lurk now.

You also caught Jade snickering more than usual at you and Floyd, like he knew something you didn't. But both him and Floyd didn't elaborate. Instead, Floyd laughed and wrapped his arms around you, setting his head atop yours, "Silly silly~"

It wasn't until later when you visited the Mostro Lounge's VIP room that you got a hint of what was happening. Normally you'd just go there to hang out, but you'd noticed Azul was unusually frustrated today. When he saw you, it only seemed to set him off on a rant as he paced about the room.

"I can't believe this. Of all the things you could've given, and to all the people...I can't even begin to imagine what's going through your mind. You must be as impulsive as him to do this and with such short notice! Now he wants to use the whole lounge for a day and dumps all these things to prepare on me. Could you not have waited until I've graduated at least so I wouldn't have to put of with this? You two could at least help me instead of leaving me to figure out how to cater for an entire wedding without giving me any specifics-"

At this point, you kind of zoned out because you were stuck on the whole "wedding" part. What?

As Azul paced around the room and ranted, without you fully listening, your mind was working to put together the pieces. He clearly was blaming you for something, and impulsivity could only mean Floyd was involved. That, and he mentioned giving him something...

Oh no...

Right on time, Floyd had strolled into the room, completely interrupting Azul's rant. But the second his eyes landed on you, his expression lit up and he'd made his way over to you. His arms quickly wrapped around you and he basically leaned all of his weight on you as he cheered, "There you are. I've been looking all over for you. What're you doing here with Azul?"

Hesitantly, you had to ask, "Floyd, what's going on?"

Tilting his head, he rested his cheek on top of your head and hummed in amusement, "Ah. Azul's just jealous of us. Getting married while he's stuck talking all business and contracts."

You're what? Did you hear that right?

Before you could ask anything else or try and explain anything, he'd picked you up again, and started walking out of the room with you. A very frustrated Azul calling out to you two, "At least give me something!"

Only for Floyd to wave a hand dismissively as he carried you out, "Nah. You got this. We're busy."

Something told you he wasn't going to let you just back out or call it a friendship rock...

Jade:

You like to think you know Jade pretty well. You've spent a lot of time together, so you thought it'd be a great idea to give him a little gift. So when you found this nice smooth and pretty rock, you knew it'd be the perfect gift for him. It's even practical since he can put it in one of his terrariums!

He even seemed happy when you gave it to him, after brief shock of course, and he had that sharp-toothed smile you knew well.

"Well well, I must say I never expected you to be so bold to give me something like this, but I accept."

That was all he said. You weren't really sure why it'd require boldness, but he didn't elaborate and instead brushed it off and quickly left saying he had work to do.

The day carried on as normal until you saw Floyd. He ran up to you and swung you around, "There you areee~ Welcome to the family! Ma's gonna love ya!"

Disoriented, dizzy, and confused, you had to ask, "Floyd? What are you talking about?"

He swung you around once more before finally setting you down, "Ah, you know. Proposing to Jade like that? Real brave of you."

Huh? Proposing?

But in a true Floyd fashion, he just ginned and waved goodbye as he scurried off, leaving you with many questions. The only way you'd probably get answers is to ask the man himself. So, you quickly made your way to the Mostro Lounge.

There, Jade was setting up some tables, as composed and collected as ever. Seeing you, he straightened up with that same sharp-toothed smile as earlier, and welcomed you, "Good, you're here dear. We have a small dinner to celebrate our engagement before we can begin making preparations."

Stunned by the wildness of it all, you tried to nervously correct him, "Jade, I feel like there might've been a slight misunderstanding-"

"Nonsense," He began, stepping closer and wrapping an arm around you, "It's common knowledge that gifting a special rock is a marriage proposal among merfolk. You're mine now, dear."

Azul:

Azul and you are really close. There was no denying it when you spent so much time at the Mostro Lounge VIP room just hanging out with him. So you thought you’d do something nice for him and get him a little gift.

Then there was this perfect rock you found. It was smooth and round with specks of blue and purple, perfect for Azul.

You didn’t expect him to act so…odd when you have it to him. You held it out in your hand towards him, and he just stared at you in shock. His face turned about as red as Riddle’s hair, and you could tell he was struggling to speak. If Jade and Floyd were here, they’d no doubt tease him for the look on his face.

After a few moments of stunned silence (you figured it was best to just be patient and wait for him to collect himself), he took the rock with slightly shaky hands. He held the rock close to him, over his heart, and took a deep breath. Then, he cleared his throat, and tried his best to answer, “I…wasn’t aware you felt so strongly, but it’s clear now. Don’t you worry, I can handle this. I’m…delighted to receive this.”

Not thinking much of his words, you simply smiled at him. It wasn’t uncommon for Azul to get a bit flustered by small gestures. He wasn’t treated well as a child, so you know little shows of appreciation mean a lot to him.

He scurried off with the rock to his office moments later, and there was silence for a moment before you heard him sputtering on the other side of the door. He probably would be embarrassed if you listened in though, and you wanted to spare him (this time).

The day went on as usual for a while. Classes went by, you spoke to some other friends, and went to visit the Mostro Lounge again later.

But the Lounge was…busier than normal. Students who worked there were scrambling about trying to serve customers and clean and adjust the smallest of details on things. Several of them looked super stressed, and some looked like they were about to pass out. Jade and Floyd, were the only calm ones who stood off to the side, watching them all with amused smiles.

You went up to them to ask what was happening, but Floyd spoke before you could, “Can ya let Azul flounder a bit longer? This is fun to watch.”

Azul was floundering? But he’s usually so calm and collected when he’s working. He couldn’t still be flustered from your gift earlier, right?

“What’s going on with Azul?”

Jade chuckled and was the one to answer you, “You sent him on quite the spiral. He’s got everyone working overtime to make sure everything is perfect for you.”

Now more confused, you had to ask, “Me? What did I do?”

At that, the duo only laughed more, clearly knowing something you don’t, but refusing to elaborate at you and everyone else’s expense. There was only one way you were going to get an answer; from Azul himself.

Marching past the two, you made your way to Azul’s office, barely knocking before going in.

And boy was he startled. The second you entered the room he sat up straighter and his cheeks turned pink, but he quickly tried to hide it behind his hand and muttered, “Ah, you’re here. My apologies, I’m still working on the contract right now.”

Walking up to his desk in complete confusion, you asked, “What contract? What’s going on?”

There was a moment of silence throughout the room. His gloved hands fidgeted with the pen and papers on his desk in front of him, trying to figure out the right words to say.

Then, he slid the paper over to you for you to read. Well, you only read the top before sitting stunned.

‘Contract of Marriage’

Huh???

Now it was your turn to be stunned into silence. So, he filled the silence, “I…was quite surprised by your gesture earlier, but I accept. If you’ll have me, I’d love for you to sign this. It’s quite possibly the best contract I’ve ever written.”

[cheapshrimpysheep]

What if They were Dads?

SUMMARY: Headcanons of what I think they would be like as fathers to your child. And what if his dormmates were like honorary uncles to the child?

CHARACTERS: OB Students (Riddle Rosehearts / Leona Kingscholar / Azul Ashengrotto / Jamil Viper / Vil Schoenheit / Idia Shroud / Malleus Draconia)

TAGS: Headcanon; Fem!Reader (AFAB) (I never really know what tags to use but I hope you know what I mean)

WORD COUNT: An average of 690 words per character.

COMMENTS: I would have liked to have made a headcanon about the relationship with the boys' parents and siblings, but since we don't know them that well or at all on the Eng Server like Vil's father, I think I'll leave that for a possible post that complements this one. If you want.

Since I didn't want each character to have a big chunk of text, I put them as paragraphs instead of bullet points.

I hope you enjoy 🩵

CONTEXT: This was written with a cisgender female reader in mind. Reader is Yuu. But if you want (and can) read it in any other way, feel free to.

By the way, this is one of those moments when I wish English had a second person plural, instead of the singular and plural being the same. Whenever I write “your child” I mean it in the plural (you, the reader, and his)

Riddle’s child(ren) call him: Father

Riddle has the same demands and standards for his child that he has for himself. But he doesn't want to make the same mistakes as his mother, so in comparison he can be more permissive. Because of this he will ALWAYS listen to you if you tell him he is being too harsh.

In terms of studies, etiquette and behaviour he is quite strict as you would expect. But when it comes to play he lets his child do almost anything they want.

He doesn't know how to play with his child, but he will always make an effort to learn how to and do it with them. He almost seems to regress to the childhood he never had and wants to give to his child. Whenever the child learns a new game, they will show it and teach it to Riddle and he will be delighted with it.

Although he is strict, he is also relatively protective, especially if your child is a girl. He tries not to be overly protective, but he can't help but worry about your child. If there was a right way to raise a child, is he doing his job well enough? You will have several conversations at first to reassure him that he is doing a good job.

He will study any and all parenting books that experts in child behaviour and education recommend. This kind of knowledge is never too much. Which often leads you to try to convince him to relax and just trust his instincts and what he feels is right. The child is his, not all those authors and experts. Sometimes there are things that a parent simply knows.

Lawful and calm Uncle Trey. They love uncle Trey's sweets! Sometimes Riddle asks him if he's not giving them too much sweets and Trey always assures him that it's okay because he knows how to make healthier sweets and the limit for a child to eat. If they weren't already Riddle's child, the whole thing about always brushing their teeth could be scary.

Chaotic Uncle Che'nya. The crazy and fun Uncle! Your child and Che'nya join forces (maybe even with you) to play pranks on Riddle. Never anything that could get the child into trouble with their father, just enough for everyone, Riddle included, to have fun.

Uncle Ace and Uncle Deuce are more from your side than Riddle's honestly. Ace is a bit like Che'nya in the case of being one of the chaotic pranksters uncles. But he is also the uncle of magic tricks who is always deceiving, but also entertaining your child with them.

Deuce is the rad uncle with a cool moto and/or even cooler blastcycle, who offers to take your child for a ride in it with him. Your child also finds it funny to see the two of them arguing amicably. But it’s even funnier to see them imitating their father trying to order them to stop arguing.

Uncle Cater doesn't show up very often, but they like him. He's not chaotic like Ace and Che'nya, but he's also fun. Your child enjoys receiving compliments from him and taking pictures with him.

Your child imitates their father scolding Grim too. Just like Riddle (and probably because they're still little) they have a very bad temper. Riddle gets embarrassed whenever you say that someone takes after their father.

Leona’s child(ren) call him: Dad

Leona still doesn't like kids... your child(ren) is/are just an exception.

Yes, Leona would treat a daughter slightly differently than he would treat a son. In the same way that he treats men and women a little differently. But the only difference is that he would be tougher on a son than a daughter, but will still be affectionate regardless.

No matter what gender his child is, he wants the same for them: be strong both physically and mentally. To outsiders like some servants or citizens who don't know him, they may get to the point of thinking Leona is a harsh father who doesn't deserve all that love from his child, and he will tell both you and your child not to mind that. But the truth is that he is just like he was with you at school: a tough guy who hides a caring heart.

Leona continues to show himself to be a person who doesn't want anyone to upset him and who would growl at anyone who bothers him. The only people who can get close to him even when he's angry and remain safe and sound are you and your child. He'll still growl at you and your child quietly, but there will be a volume that is the line, like if his growl is louder than that limit it's because he's getting really angry, until then it's just him being him.

Your child will already have the best private teachers and tutors (one of them being Kifaji/Neji if he’s still alive), but even so, Leona will want to make them study and learn more. But in that discreet way that he knows. He will not force them to study more, he will find a way to convince them to want to learn more on their own.

You end up being the most affectionate parent and the one they trust for emotional comfort. Leona is the tough love, you are the soft love (at least in comparison). Leona will always tease you, insinuating that you are too soft and only spoil your child. Although he enjoys when you spoil him too.

He is 100% the ‘Go ask your mom’ kind of dad.

He lets his child take naps with him. And you too.

If he has more than one child, he will police himself not to favor any of them. He may have a tendency to favor the younger ones because of what he went through as the youngest himself, but none of his children will be treated in any special/different way based on their birth order. Neither the youngest nor the oldest.

He will try to convince his child not to be too close (emotionally) to their uncle or cousin, but won't stop them from playing with Cheka. When your child is old enough not to tell others what is said in your home, Leona and them will talk badly about Falena and Cheka behind their backs.

Leona will prefer your child to play with Ruggie and/or his children. On the one hand, he wants to keep them away from his family, but on the other hand, he also wants his child to know what the real world is like, to see both wealth and poverty, to know royalty as they knows their people and only then create their own judgement.

They don't call anyone uncle or aunt other than Falena and his wife. In the same way, Leona also doesn't give cute titles to anyone without being sarcastically. Even when he calls you “love”, “darling”, “honey” or something like that, it's to tease you.

Whenever you go to Shaftlands, whether for democratic reasons or on holiday, you always try to find a way to meet with Jack. Leona pretends that he only helps you with this because you want to see your friend and he wants to get rid of his family. Both you and Jack know that he just doesn't want to admit that he wants to see him too. Jack is the cool parent's friend who taught your child how to snowboard. While they are little they like to hug his tail because it’s fluffy.

Despite everything, he doesn't want his child to have the same lack of hope that he has, and despite trying to hide it, he always feels extremely guilty and bad whenever your child says something like that. At these times he relies on you to be the ray hope in that house, they will both need you for that.

Both Leona and your child are afraid of you when you get really serious or angry.

Do you know that scene from The Lion King where Mufasa uses Zazu to give Simba an pouncing lesson? Leona often does something similar, but instead of the target being a blue bird, it's a magical creature called Grim.

Azul’s child(ren) call him: Daddy (when little) Dad (when older)

Azul is an extremely emotional father, despite trying to hide it. There's going to be a lot of moments like: “HE/SHE IS THE CUTEST LITTLE THING IN THE WHOLE- *clears throat* I mean, he/she is such a charming little child.” He will most likely cry at your baby's first words, steps, anything.

Azul is overprotective! If any living creature even thinks about harming your child, he will tortu- that is, find a completely legal way to ensure that it never happens again. Now, if you'll excuse him, he suddenly felt like talking to Jade and Floyd. (The same protectiveness applies to you.)

Although he is very (secretly) emotional and loves to spoil his child, he is also relatively strict about their studies. He likes to spoil them (and you) when it's deserved, but he will not raise a spoiled child! This ends up balancing things out a bit.

He will hide the whole mafia-like part of his life from his child. Dad is just doing business, boring adult stuff. Maybe when your child is older he will start to reveal a little of that side of his life, if they later want to join their father it will be their choice. But until then, let them be innocent children, they are cuter and happier that way, there is time for everything.

He will always hold back his emotional side so as not to be overly affectionate. Unless his child starts crying. At that point his mask falls completely and he becomes the most affectionate and comforting father there can be, that is his weakness.

And if one day the child realizes this and starts using crying to get what they want from him, he won't know whether to be angry that he is being emotionally manipulated by his own child, or proud that they learned so quickly.

You will be the only one immune to the fake crying.

From the beginning, Azul has been wary and suspicious of letting Jade and Floyd be like uncles to your child. However, you two ended up letting this happen, but Azul will always keep an eye open.

Both Jade and Floyd will definitely use the child to play pranks on Azul. Mostly Floyd, Jade prefers to watch and assist. Azul will always be upset with the twins, never with his child. And depending on the severity of the prank, he will turn on his overprotective side and threaten Jade and Floyd that if that happens again they will never see your child again. They never go beyond that limit.

Every now and then when Floyd plays with your child, he will do that joke where he playfully tells them he's going to catch them and bite them. Actually in his playful voice, he doesn't want to scare them. And they will run to Azul and hide behind his legs asking for help while laughing. Or tentacles if they are in their merfolk form.

If you ask them Jade is the scary uncle (only sometimes) but they themselves don't even know why. It's just his vibe or something. However, they are not afraid to ask any of them for something, it being to play or for help.

You know those little plastic cashiers where kids pretend to have a little shop and try to sell things to people at home? Usually parents or sibling. Azul loves to play this with his child because it is a great and fun way to pass on his knowledge. Both about sales and about taking care of your money. Usually using the Grim as a guinea pig. Grim also likes to play because he always ends up with food in exchange for toy money.

Jamil’s child(ren) call him: Dad (in informal moments) and Father (at formal events)

Jamil needed to learn to express himself more and better emotionally so as not to end up being a cold father without meaning to. He needs your help to teach your child when to hold back and when to know when they are in a safe space to let go.

The only thing that will follow Jamil forever is an inevitable feeling of guilt for your child having the same fate as him, simply for being his child: serving the Al-Asim family with no other choice. But you can be assured that if there is a way to stop this and give his child freedom of choice, whatever that method may be, he will not give up until he finds it and do it! Normally parents want to give their children what they always wanted and could never have, in Jamil's case it’s freedom.

There was something Jamil wanted to do, but he didn't have the courage to ask the Al-Asim for some kind of vacation. But you had! Using your great friendship with Kalim, you managed to get him to allow you to take a vacation long enough for you to travel as a family, as Jamil wanted. Jamil has always wanted to travel alone, but now with you and your child he would like to travel as a family and give his child the experiences he would have liked to have had himself.

He is quite demanding with his child's education and training. However, his attitude towards this is always calm and collected, and he is attentive to his child's limitations and needs. He is a great and responsible tutor, who knows how to distinguish between being a teacher and being a father.

He is usually quite serious, so you and your child are the ones who start messing with him to have fun and make him laugh. It's always nice when he reminds you two that he can also be a tease. Normal or biggest target of your joint teasing ends up being Grim at some point.

During his work as Kalim's servant, Jamil always had to cook a lot and he's not that big a fan of cooking, so so he can rest at home you're the one who cooks most of the time. He will teach you everything you want to learn and at first you will cook together a lot until you feel comfortable cooking alone. But even then he will continue to offer to help you. Your child will continue to say that Jamil's food is tastier, but yours is prettier. And the food you make together is the best because it’s tasty and pretty. Jamil will also encourage his child to cook with you two so that they can learn from a young age.

His child knows that there is only one thing in this world that can make their father scream in fear: Bugs! If your child is also afraid of insects, you're screwed, because you will be the insect killer in that house. However, if it is just the two of them, Jamil's protective instinct will be stronger and despite his fear he will protect his child. If your child is not afraid of insects, then Jamil will have two protectors. “Can you do dad a favor?”; “Where is it?”; “Living room, south wall last time I saw.”; “Does it fly?”; “...Yes.”

Kalim will treat your child almost like one of his own children, for loving you both so much. He got emotional when he found out you were pregnant, he wanted to help pay for your doctor's appointments if necessary (never was), and he got emotional again when your child was born. He loves buying toys for your child too and give them gifts. He would love for Jamil to let them call him Uncle Kalim. And he loves it when your kids play together.

Vil’s child(ren) call him: Father 

Vil wants to have a family that is at its best as he likes to be at his best himself. He wants you and your child to be as beautiful on the outside as you are on the inside, just as he strives to be as well. However, he would treat a daughter slightly differently than a son because of the different pressures of societal beauty standards.

With a son he would be as strict with him as he is with himself. But with a daughter, he knows she's more likely to suffer from these kinds of things. So although he continues to be relatively strict and wants her to be the best she can be, he ends up being softer with criticism and stronger with praise and soft love than he would be with a son.

He would hire a specialist, like as a child psychologist or something like that, to always know the best ways to rise and protect your child. Children of famous people like him, especially in the digital and social media age, may need more protection from their parents in this regard, in addition to the toxic pressure of comparison that exists. However, because Vil cares so much about your child's personal development as their happiness, he may end up putting enormous pressure on himself to be a perfect parent too.

Both Vil and your child will need you to be the person who brings them both back to the real world and the life of a loving family with flaws like any human being. Vil will always listen to you if you feel he may be being too harsh and demanding with your child, or with himself in terms of parenting.

If you are the type of person who likes to tease Vil by letting yourself be sloppy from time to time, (always at home) then your child will also like to tease their father like that. “You have your mother’s cheekiness, I see.” Vil sighs but laughs. The teasing includes eating sweets and food that Vil would not approve of. You are the parent they ask for things from and who best comforts and pampers them. You two probably team up to make Vil relax and have fun with you.

His child will have the best teachers and tutors, go to the best schools and best establishments for any extracurricular activity they want to have. Vil will probably force them to have an extracurricular activity but they will be free to choose which one.

Rook is OBSESSED with your child! In a respectful way of course, he is just already a huge fan. The result of combining your DNA with Vil's? MERVEILLEUX! He won't hold back the tears when he sees the baby for the first time. He will LOVE playing with your child. He will babysit for free and will be happy to do so if you ever need. It will be a long time before he stops getting so emotional whenever your child calls him "Uncle Rook."

Uncle Epel is the rad uncle, when Vil is not around. He is that person who will help your child do cool activities that Vil may not allow. Like taking a blastcycle ride with him, eat grilled meats, playing with things that make the child very dirty or other things that Vil didn't like Epel to do when they were at NRC. But if at least one parent allows it (you), then there is no problem. Right? All this, of course, when Vil is not around.

When he is there, both Epel and your child behave like little angels. You and Epel have to be very careful that the child doesn't get careless and say something in Epel's dialect in front of Vil. They love Uncle Epel because it is fun to do cool things without their father knowing and with your help.

Your child likes to use Grim as a doll to dress up in cute clothes. The funny thing is that Grim likes it too because your child eventually realizes that if they tell him he looks cool instead of cute, he'll let them keep dressing him up.

Idia’s child(ren) call him: Daddy (when little) Dad (when older)

Idia doesn't believe he can be a good father. A shut-it and antisocial otaku like him? Are you crazy? That's a disaster! He can't take care of himself, how is he going to help you raise a child? However, and especially with you, he also has that overly cocky side that believes that even being an antisocial nerd he would be 1000 times better than a lot of parents out there. So basically he has a tendency to oscillate between these two moods.

In comparison, you are the strict parent, he is the parent who spoils the child. They are both afraid of you when you get upset. He's a ‘Don't tell your mother’ type of dad. He can't say no to his child, but, oddly enough, he can't be emotionally manipulated either. He may even let his child do a lot of things, but even he has limits to what he knows is good or bad for them.

Because he's the permissive father, he's also the scariest when he gets serious. He can never get really mad at his child, but he can say a firm and assertive “No” if necessary. However, if they are still very young and start crying, he will panic and call you immediately. You will then have to comfort Idia and tell him that no, he did not make a decision that put him on the path to the traumatic and apocalyptic ending. What he probably did was the opposite.

If it depends on him, his child will be a nerd/otaku just like his father. However, he doesn't want them to be socially anxious like him and will always encourage them to go for walks with you outside even if it's without him. That doesn't mean there aren't times you drag him outside with you.

Besides occasionally questioning whether he is being a good father, there is something else that haunts him... He still carries and will probably always carry the feeling of guilt for what happened to Ortho, so he is absolutely TERRIFIED that something like that may happen again.

Idia has always tried to keep your child as far away as possible from all areas that are dangerous or even remotely similar to the hallway where that happened. But if your child ever happens to even enter an area that their father did not allow, they will get to know a side of Idia that sometimes you yourself don’t even remember exists: The overprotective, traumatized side that isn't afraid to scare his child if it means keeping them away from the danger. And probably the only way they'll see his red hair. But it will probably be after that, that the two of you will have an open heart conversation and Idia will apologize.

Now, about Uncle Ortho, they LOVE uncle Ortho! He's the one who goes for a walk with you and your child when you and he can't convince Idia to go too. He is a cheerful uncle who loves to play with your child. You three made up stories to explain why uncle Ortho was a humanoid. You always make up different and crazy stories to jest with them and make them change the subject. The day will come when they will be old enough to know the truth.

Idia may even talk badly about himself a lot of the times, but no matter what his child do, they are talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular and everything good. “Of course that's because they inherited it from you, not me.” He will say with a smile.

Both Idia and your child treat Grim like a pet cat and find it funny to see him getting grumpy.

Idia spoke to his child in that baby voice when they themselves were also babies. And maybe also when they are children to the point where they tell him to stop treating them like babies.

Malleus’s child(ren) call him: Daddy (when little) Dad (when older) Father (at formal events)

The day Malleus found out you were pregnant was already a happy day, but the day your child was born was the happiest day of his life! And every moment with them is the happiest moment of his day. And of course with you too. He totally and completely loves his family!

Anyone who dares to speak ill of the child of Malleus Draconia, especially about the fact that they are half-human, will suffer the consequences! Anyone who spoke openly about the child being something of a disgrace, shame or an abomination was either killed or imprisoned. (Depending on how opposed you really are to Malleus killing or ordering someone to be killed.) and of course, the same applies to talking bad about you.

The problem is that this is doing the same thing to your child that was done to him. He's scaring everyone and making them afraid to come near your child for fear of saying or doing something that might upset them or Malleus. He listens to you and agrees with you, showing concern and thoughtfulness about what should be done. He hates people being disrespectful to the ones he loves, but he also doesn't want his child to go through what he went through.

What ends up happening is that, on Malleus's part, he realizes that he has to start learning ways for people to respect his child without using fear, but to do that he also has to start letting certain insults slide. He doesn't like it, but if it's what's best for his child, he'll do the best he can. Although the same applies if they disrespect you. He hates it so much!

In the case of your child, you are helped by Lilia (if he’s still alive), Silver, Sebek and their families. Perhaps trying to spend more time among their people and with other fae, humans, and half-fae might be beneficial to a child's social development.

Lilia would treat the child as if they were his own grandchild. Even if Silver also has children, they are ALL Lilia's grandchildren! “There's no denying it any longer... I am... officially... an old man... For the best possible reasons!” Everyone will rescue your child from Lilia's food. “Never eat anything that Grandpa Lilia cooks, you hear?”

Silver is the calm uncle who, despite not being the most fun to play with, is the one they turn to when they want to rest and simply have a good chill time. Or take a nap. Probably who they turn to to run away and hide from Sebek when he's being annoying. He ends up being the adult (than is not their parents) that they trust most and feel most comfortable with. Silver is very happy when they ask him for help to get closer to an animal to see it better, and even more so if they and the animals end up interacting and playing with each other.

Now about Uncle Sebek... If there is anyone more protective and flattering of that child than Malleus, it is Sebek. He cried when the child was born, for sure. And cried even more when the child said his name, or whenever they at least tried to. The day they called him "Uncle Sebek" he was about to have a heart attack. The problem is that he ends up being one of those type of person who adores children (although in his case the only ones he likes would be Malleus's and his own children) to the point that the child finds them annoying and clingy. “But don't tell Uncle Sebek that, he'll be sad.”

Whenever the child throws a tantrum that ends up causing their powers to manifest in storms or uncontrolled magic, Malleus will take care of it while you stay away and safe. To him, any attack would be mere tickling, but he always made sure that your child knows that the same does not apply to you. They may end up thinking that you are very fragile while they are little, but it is better this way to ensure that they do not hurt you unintentionally.

This also means that whenever you need to say ‘No’ to your child, Malleus will do it if there is a possibility that they would start throwing tantrums. At least while they are young and cannot control their powers well.

Malleus also runs the risk of being a father who spoils his children.

Your child and Grim probably burn a lot of things around the castle because they play together and they both have fire powers.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

And if you would like to read this but with other characters you can write in the comments. If this post has a lot of notes (likes and reblogs) I might consider making a second part with other characters.