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Armin had never imagined himself capable of resentment, yet loving you had introduced him to corners of himself he wished had remained undiscovered. He tried to be understanding. He reminded himself that you had every right to speak with others, to laugh with others, to build bonds that had nothing to do with him.
He repeated those truths so often that they became hollow, because no amount of reason could quiet the ache that settled in his chest whenever your attention drifted elsewhere. He noticed everything without meaning to. The way your smile softened around certain people. The way you instinctively stood closer to someone else. The ease with which you offered pieces of yourself that he had spent so long hoping to earn.
Every observation became another weight he quietly carried until the burden of it left him exhausted. What frightened him most was how desperately he wanted reassurance without ever asking for it. He wanted you to notice the way he always found his way back to you, the way every conversation lingered in his thoughts long after it ended, the way your approval had slowly become the measure by which he judged himself. Instead you remained blissfully unaware, treating him with the same kindness you offered everyone else, never realizing that kindness without certainty could become its own form of cruelty.
There were moments when jealousy whispered ugly things into his ear, insisting that the people around you did not appreciate you enough, that they laughed too loudly, stood too close, occupied time that should have belonged to him. He hated those thoughts as soon as they appeared, ashamed that affection had become tangled with possessiveness, ashamed that someone he loved so deeply could inspire emotions so painfully selfish.
Yet no matter how much guilt followed, it never erased the longing. Every goodbye felt unfinished. Every absence stretched longer than it truly was. And every time you returned with stories that did not include him, he found himself smiling through a quiet grief that only grew heavier the more he tried to hide it.
Rollo despised what you had turned him into. There had once been comfort in certainty, in principles that separated right from wrong with absolute clarity, but you had disrupted that certainty simply by existing. You occupied his thoughts with an ease that felt almost offensive. Every attempt to distance himself only sharpened his awareness of you, every effort to ignore you resulting in an even stronger fixation.
What unsettled him most was the jealousy. It emerged quietly at first, hidden beneath irritation whenever you devoted your attention elsewhere, but over time it grew into something impossible to dismiss. Watching you laugh with another person left a bitter taste in his mouth. Hearing you speak fondly of someone else felt strangely personal, as though every kind word offered to another was something stolen from him. He hated that possessiveness. He hated how naturally it came. Yet he could not deny it.
Somewhere along the way he had begun viewing your attention as something precious, something finite, something that should not be wasted on people who would never value it properly. The realization disgusted him because he knew exactly how unreasonable it was. You belonged to no one. You were free to make whatever choices you wished. Yet every time you exercised that freedom, every time you walked away from him or gravitated toward someone else, he felt a sharp and humiliating sense of loss. It made him question himself in ways he never had before. Why was your approval so important? Why did your absence feel heavier than your presence should have? Why did every attempt to let go only deepen his attachment? He could find no answers that satisfied him. All he knew was that you had become woven into every corner of his life and now even his anger revolved around you.
The cruelest part was that he could never bring himself to truly resent you for it. No matter how much you hurt him, no matter how many sleepless nights were spent wondering whether he mattered to you even half as much as you mattered to him, the longing always remained. Quiet. Persistent. Unyielding. Like a wound that refused to close because some part of him no longer wanted it to heal.
Vil had always believed that affection was something earned, cultivated through effort, refinement and relentless self-improvement, so the fact that someone as careless as you could reduce him to this state felt almost insulting.
Every smile you offered someone else lodged beneath his skin like a splinter he could never quite remove, every casual touch exchanged between you and another person lingering in his mind long after it should have been forgotten.
He hated how often he found himself watching you, measuring your expressions, counting moments that did not belong to him and resenting the people fortunate enough to receive them.
The worst part was knowing how pathetic it would sound if spoken aloud. He was Vil Schoenheit. He should have been above this. Above jealousy. Above insecurity. Above waiting for scraps of attention like a starving man waiting outside a locked door. Yet whenever you drifted away, whenever you became distracted by someone else, something ugly and desperate twisted inside his chest.
It made him wonder what more he was supposed to become for you. How much more beautiful, more charming, more perfect he needed to be before your gaze settled where it belonged. Because no matter how much admiration he received from the world, it never felt like enough when yours remained uncertain.
Your indifference wounded him more deeply than outright rejection ever could. At least rejection would have been honest. Instead you lingered close enough to keep hope alive, close enough to make him believe he mattered, before turning your attention elsewhere and leaving him to wonder if every meaningful moment between you had only existed in his imagination.
Sometimes he found himself thinking cruel thoughts about the people surrounding you, not because they had done anything wrong, but because they possessed something he wanted and could not claim. He hated that. He hated them for causing it. He hated himself even more for wanting you despite it.
Yet no matter how much resentment gathered inside him, it always collapsed the moment you smiled at him again. One look and all the bitterness vanished, leaving only the unbearable certainty that if you ever truly left, if you ever gave yourself completely to someone else, there would be nothing beautiful enough in the world to distract him from the loss.
Idia spent so much time convincing himself that expectations only led to disappointment, that it should have been easy to accept whatever scraps of affection you offered, yet somehow you had become the exception to every defense he had ever built.
Your messages remained open for hours after conversations ended. Your voice replayed in his head when everything else was quiet. Every interaction became something to dissect and revisit until he could no longer tell the difference between reality and the version of it his loneliness had constructed.
The moments you were kind to him lingered and it was mainly your fault. You stayed with him. You lead him on.
Then you would laugh with someone else, spend time with someone else, choose someone else, and suddenly he was left wondering whether he had imagined his importance entirely.
Rationally, he understood that people had lives beyond him. Rationally, he knew you owed him nothing. Unfortunately, jealousy had never been rational. It crept in through every unanswered message and every mention of another person until it became impossible to ignore.
The thought of being forgotten by you terrified him in a way he could never admit. It haunted him. Sometimes he would find himself staring at old conversations simply to reassure himself that you had once wanted to speak with him, that there had been moments when he mattered. The possibility that those moments meant less to you than they did to him felt unbearable.
What hurt most was that you made him want things. More time. More attention. More certainty. More of you than you were willing to give. He knew it was selfish. He knew it wasn’t fair. Yet every time you drifted away, every time you disappeared without explanation, it felt as though you were taking something with you. You occupied so much space inside his thoughts that he no longer remembered what it felt like before you. The resentment, the longing, the jealousy, the desperation—they all blurred together until he could barely separate one emotion from another.
All he knew was that he wanted you close, wanted proof that he mattered, wanted reassurance that he wasn’t simply another person you would eventually leave behind. And whenever that reassurance failed to come, the silence became loud enough to drown out everything else.
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Trey went to the town because he needed groceries.
His mistake was allowing you to accompany him instead of just going alone or better yet getting everyhthing that he needed from Sam.
Now he's standing outside a luxury boutique while you're pressing your face against the glass.
"Wow."
"Mm."
"Look at that dress."
Trey glances up.
The price tag is horrifying.
"...It's nice."
"It's perfect."
"You don't even go anywhere that requires that."
"I could."
"Where?"
"I don't know."
You sound genuinely offended that reality has entered the conversation, yet instead of letting this repel you, what do you do? You drift to the next display. Of course.
"Oh. Oh, that's even worse."
"Worse?"
"Yes, because I want it more."
Trey finally loses composure and snorts.
The thing is that he notices quickly that you're not actually trying to buy anything, you just enjoy looking. Admiring. Dreaming, perhaps.
So while you wander through stores you can't afford, he follows patiently, carrying shopping bags and occasionally offering practical commentary.
"This fabric would wrinkle."
"It's gorgeous."
"You'd spill coffee on it."
"...You're ruining this."
"You asked."
By the end of the trip you have bought nothing except a discounted pastry and Trey has somehow spent more money than you have.
He's also weirdly fond of these outings at the end of the day. They're... peaceful.
Well, mostly peaceful, until you discover designer shoes. Then you're just impossible.
Cater Diamond
He is the one to drag you to the stores, not you, because he saw it as a chance of trend setting, so this becomes content immediately.
"Cay-Cay Mall Day with Prefect-chan~!"
"No."
"Too late."
Click.
Video for Magicam story started.
The problem is that Cater actually encourages you.
"LOOK AT THIS BAG."
"OMG THAT BAG IS SO YOU."
"It costs six months of rent."
"We don't need that kind of negativity."
"Cater."
"Cater says manifest it."
"Cater is insane."
"Cater is thriving."
Half the day is spent taking pictures of outfits you cannot buy.
The other half is spent rating luxury items and putting them on polls.
"Ten out of ten."
"Seven."
"SEVEN?"
"The stitching's weird."
"Since when do you know stitching?"
"Since right now."
Cater discovers your expensive taste and finds it endearing, mostly because you have absolutely none of the rich-kid entitlement usually attached to it... mostly because you're not rich. So you don't really expect to own any of it.
You just like beautiful things, which is surprisingly light and refreshing. Although he does eventually regret enabling you, because now you're holding up a necklace that costs as much as an apartment's rent and the jewellery store's owner looks at the two of you like you're about to run off with it.
"Cater."
"Hm?"
"If I won the lottery."
"You'd buy it."
"I'd buy two."
"That's my girl."
Leona Kingscholar
Leona should have known there was a problem the moment you walked into the store and ignored every price tag under a hundred thaumarks.
He was sitting in a leather chair near the fitting rooms, one arm draped over the backrest and eyes half-shut in that way that suggested he was either napping or considering murder (probably both).
You emerged from behind a rack carrying two dresses.
One was reasonably priced. The other was insulting to the average citizen with its existence.
You held them up side by side.
"Which one?"
Leona glanced up.
"The left."
"The right one is prettier."
"The left one."
"The right one is much prettier."
Leona looked down at his phone.
"The left one."
You disappeared into the fitting room.
A few minutes later the curtain opened again.
The right one. Of course, Leona didn't know why you'd bothered asking.
The dress fit you annoyingly well whatsoever, soft fabric, clean silhouette, exactly the sort of thing that made people stare. You spun once in it.
"What do you think?"
"Looks fine."
"Fine?"
"Yeah."
"You looked for longer than what 'fine' would have required."
He sighed.
"Do you want an opinion or do you want me to agree with you?"
"Both."
"Then it looks good."
Your sweet smile widened immediately.
There it was, the answer you have been fishing for. You turned toward the mirror again, smoothing your hands over the skirt.
Then you checked the tag and your bright smile vanished.
Leona watched the entire emotional journey happen in real time.
Admiration.
Shock.
Calculation.
Regret.
Acceptance.
The five stages of expensive taste.
"Ah...," you muttered.
"How much?" He asked as if he didn't know, just to make you say it out loud in case that this helped you realise how much it was not worth it.
You showed him.
Leona stared.
"That's stupid."
"I know."
"Who's charging that?"
"That capitalist doesn't want me to find him."
"Put it back."
You sighed dramatically and started toward the hanger. Halfway there you stopped, slowly turned and gave him a look. Leona immediately narrowed his eyes.
"No."
"I didn't say anything."
"No."
You clasped the dress against your chest, still smiling, still looking at him.
"No."
"I literally haven't spoken."
"You've got that face."
"What face?"
"The face."
Your smile became even sweeter.
Leona groaned.
"Absolutely not."
"You don't even know what I was gonna ask."
"Yeah I do."
"You don't."
"You were gonna ask me to buy the dress."
You clasped one delicate hand over your mouth, gasping. "Leona! You think so little of me."
"You're standing there like a scam artist."
"I'm standing here like your beloved girlfriend."
"Same thing."
You laughed, not offended in the slightest, he was right and you expected that answer.
The thing was, you weren't serious about the dress, not really. I mean, sure, if Leona suddenly decided to buy it, you would be thrilled, you're not ungrateful after all. But you'd never actually ask, half the fun was seeing how fast he caught on.
The dress was returned to the rack.
Five minutes later you found a handbag.
Leona felt a migraine coming on.
Vil Schoenheit
Vil is slightly different because the moment you picked up a handbag, he already knew what was about to happen.
"No."
You blinked.
"What?"
"No."
"I haven't done anything."
"You saw the price."
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
The handbag was cream-colored leather, elegant, beautifully made and expensive enough that Vil immediately understood why you were holding it.
You hugged it against your chest. "It's cute."
"It is."
"I love it."
"I'm aware."
"I think it's speaking to me."
"It's saying 'financial irresponsibility.'"
You ignored him and examined it from another angle.
Vil could already see the outcome. The inevitable conclusion. You would spend ten minutes convincing yourself you deserved it, five more trying to justify it, then you'd complain about the purchase afterward.
"How much money do you currently have?" Vil asked.
"Like, around 3500 thaumarks."
"How much is the bag?"
A pause. "1069,99."
Vil stared. "Absolutely not."
"It's not that bad."
"It is nearly a quarter of your savings."
"But look at it."
"That is not an argument."
"It kind of is."
Vil pinched the bridge of his nose.
You slowly lifted the handbag, tilted your head and smiled.
Vil closed his eyes immediately.
"No."
"What?"
"No."
"I still haven't said anything."
"You are trying."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm just standing here."
"You're attempting psychological warfare."
Your grin widened.
Vil pointed at you.
"That expression might work on everyone else because they are weak."
"It works on you sometimes."
"It does not."
"It absolutely does."
"It does not."
Last week you had gotten dessert. The week before that you'd convinced him to buy matching accessories.
Vil hated that you were right.
The worst part wasn't that you asked, but that you knew exactly when you looked adorable and weaponized it shamelessly.
"You have your own money," Vil informed you.
"I know."
"Use it."
"No, I have Ramshackle expenses."
"Then stop looking at me."
"I can't."
"Why?"
You smiled. Because now was your chance. "You're prettier than the handbag."
Vil stared for three full seconds. "...That was a cheap tactic."
"Did it work?"
"No." Another pause; Vil reached for the bag. "Give me that."
Your eyes lit up. "Vil—"
"I'm checking the stitching."
"Uh-huh."
"The craftsmanship."
"Of course."
"The construction quality."
"Mhm."
Vil inspected it.
Turned it over.
Examined the seams.
You practically vibrated beside him.
He sighed, deeply and tragically, a good man realizing fate had once again defeated him.
"Fine," he said.
Your entire face brightened.
"But you are not allowed to complain about anything today. I'll take us wherever I wish and there will be not a single comment, no 'I'm tired', no 'you're taking too long' and neither 'let's leave already'."
"Deal."
"You agreed too quickly."
"Because I wasn't listening."
"Of course you weren't."
And despite knowing exactly what you had done, Vil still found himself walking to the register. Which was humiliating, frankly.
Rook Hunt
Rook is having the time of his life, an absolutely magnificent day! To Rook, this is not simply 'shopping'. It is observation. Appreciation. But mostly... human nature in motion.
"Look at this coat!"
Rook clasps his hands dramatically. "Ah! A tragic romance!"
"What?"
"You have fallen desperately in love."
"It's a coat."
"A doomed love!"
You make the mistake of laughing at his weird antics which only encourages him as every luxury item becomes a theatrical event, every display a masterpiece and every longing stare worthy of getting written down in poetry.
You point at a watch. "I'll never afford that."
Rook places a hand over his heart, nodding. "The cruel hand of fate."
"Rook."
"The merciless passage of time."
"Rook."
"The suffering of youth."
"ROOK."
He's delighted. What fascinates him most is your sincerity. Not really greed, no. Not envy either, just momentary appreciation.
The same appreciation he feels when looking at a beautiful landscape, a painting or a rare bird. Like him, you simply enjoy beauty wherever you find it, or so that's how he translates it.
By the end of the day you have purchased nothing. Rook has noted mentally about at least seventeen different moments, as the two of you leave, you glance wistfully at one final display.
Rook follows your gaze.
"Do you wish you could have it?"
You think for a moment. "A little." Then you smile. "But looking was fun too."
Rook's expression softens, because this answer is exactly what he expected.
Idia Shroud
Letting you know how much money he actually had was a mistake, this and continuing to date you afterward despite early signs of greediness and audacity, because at some point in your relationship you became presumptuous with his wallet.
"Idia."
"No." You hadn't even finished sitting down beside him on the bench. You rest your chin on his shoulder and held up your phone, the sunlight was falling on the screen and he had to squint to see whatever unecessity you were presenting him with.
"Look."
"No."
"Look."
"No."
"You're looking."
"Against my will, you're shoving it on my face."
The screen displayed a pair of earrings, pretty, tasteful and expensive. Not absurdly expensive, just expensive enough to make a normal person hesitate.
Idia was not a normal person, which meant you had developed terrible habits, currently acting as if you studied the product page. "Hm." That noise alone was enough to make him suspicious.
"Hm what?"
"Hm maybe."
"That doesn't answer the question."
"Hm maybe I deserve them." Idia snorted, there it was, the thing you did whenever you wanted something.
You tilted your phone slightly. "So?"
"So what?"
"What do you think?"
"They're earrings."
"Very observant."
"They go on ears."
"Idia."
"They appear to be functioning correctly."
You smacked his arm.
He smirked.
You had learned long ago that the more comfortable Idia got, the less polite he became. Not cruel exactly, although in specific settings he could be, but mostly just impossible. The kind of person who'd spend twenty minutes roasting your argument because he found it entertaining.
You pointed at the price. "That's a lot."
"Not really." The answer came instantly, without thought or actual hesitation.
That was the opening it took for you to slowly lower the phone. "Oh, right."
"Yeah."
"You have billionaire disease."
"What? That's not what that means."
"It absolutely is."
"That's not even expensive."
Oh hell no. How arrogant could he be? You actually stared at him dumbfounded for a moment.
Idia stared back. Then he realized what he'd said too late. Far too late; the damage was already done.
The smile eventually appearing on your face should have been illegal. "Oh."
"No."
"Oh, that's interesting."
"No."
"Not expensive."
"It isn't."
"Interesting."
Idia groaned. The shark had smelled blood.
Three stores later you were still being annoying about it, professionally so. You stopped in front of a display case examining a necklace, looking at the price.
Then immediately looked at Idia, not sparing the necklace a second glance. The look you gave him itself was insulting, because it was not hopeful, not questioning, not asking permission. It meant you were already mentally spending money that wasn't yours.
"Absolutely not."
"I didn't say anything."
"You don't have to."
You smiled. Idia pointed at you. "There."
"What?"
"That."
"What?"
"That exact expression."
"What expression?"
"The one where you've already decided 'it's mine'."
Your smile only got sharper. Caught. Because yes, the pull at the sides of your mouth told you that was exactly the expression you were making right now. In your mind's eye the necklace wasn't in a store anymore, but in the theoretical collection of things belonging to Idia's girlfriend.
"Come on."
"No."
"It would look cute on me."
"A lot of things would look cute on you."
"That's not helping your case."
"That's not helping yours either."
You leaned against the display, nearly making out with the glass.
Studying the necklace.
Studying him, calculating what you should say to make him your cute little piggy bank.
Then you sighed, a dramatic one of course, the sort normally reserved for tragic heroines. "Life is sooo unfair."
"You're literally standing next to the solution." The words left his mouth before he could stop them, followed by momentary silence.
You blinked.
Idia blinked.
Both of you realized what he'd just said.
Then your eyes narrowed slowly and predatorily.
"Oh?"
"Forget I said that."
"Oh?"
"Forget it."
The grin that reappeared on your face was an awful naturally disastrous catastrophe, because now with this opening you were a step away from winning.
At some point in your relationship you became so openly presumptuous about his money that it circles back around into being endearing. Like a cat sleeping on your laptop. The audacity itself becomes the appeal.
And a few-many minutes later of you absentmindedly still admiring the necklace, you felt something lightly tap your forehead.
You blinked.
Idia was holding a small shopping bag. Just when did he dissapear?
"...What's that?"
"Nothing."
"Idia."
"It's literally nothing."
You looked inside and surely enough the necklace box sat at the bottom.
For a moment you simply stared, then slowly looked up at him bewildred. "You bought it."
"Yeah."
The grin spreading across your face was immediate. Victorious and insufferable, exactly the expression he'd been trying to avoid.
You slipped your hand into his sleeve and leaned against his shoulder. "Thanks."
"Mhm."
"You love me."
Idia sighed dramatically.
Malleus Draconia
The issue with Malleus isn't getting him to buy things, the issue is stopping him, which is something you discovered by accident.
"Malleus."
"Yes?"
You held up a bracelet, a simple pretty thing, quite expensive, but not outrageously so. The sort of purchase you'd normally debate for twenty minutes before making yourself.
"I like this."
Malleus looked at it, then nodded. "It suits you."
You smiled. "Right?"
"Indeed."
Then you put it back, decision made, conversation over— or so you thought.
Three stores later Malleus was gone, you found him twenty minutes afterward standing beside a sales clerk holding a box, a familiar box. "Malleus!"
"Ah. There you are."
"Malleus..."
"Yes?"
"What is that?"
"The bracelet."
You froze. "Oh."
"You said you liked it."
"That wasn't—"
"So I purchased it."
The sales clerk looked delighted, unlike you, who looked horrified. "Malleus." you repeated his name for a third time.
"Was that incorrect?"
Immediately, immediately his expression changed, now concern replacing satisfaction because Malleus wasn't trying to show off, he wasn't trying to buy affection, he genuinely thought he'd solved a problem. You liked the bracelet, the bracelet could be acquired therefore he acquired it, simple and logical. Yet you pinched the bridge of your nose. "Malleus." That counted four.
"Yes?"
"I wasn't asking for it."
"Oh."
A pause.
"Oh."
The concern deepened, the poor man looked like he'd accidentally stepped on a kitten.
"No, no, no. That's not what I mean."
"Then what did you mean?"
What a struggle. How exactly did one explain this?
"It was more like..." A pause, you slightly wrinkled your nose, not liking admitting such a thing. "I was being dramatic."
Malleus blinked.
"Dramatic."
"Yes."
"You did not actually desire the object?"
"I did."
"I see."
"You just don't always buy everything you want."
"...Why?"
The sincerity nearly killed you, Malleus genuinely didn't understand, not from privilege entirely, but because he approached desires differently. If something mattered he obtained it, if it didn't matter he ignored it. The strange little ritual of wanting things without buying them was completely foreign.
"It's fun," you explained but he looked unconvinced.
"Fun."
"Fun."
"You derive enjoyment from refusing yourself things."
"When you say it like that, it sounds stupid."
"It does."
"Thank you for confirming as if I didn't say so myself."
Malleus looked down at the box after considering this recreational hobby of yours, then back at you again. "If I return it..."
"Yes?"
"...will you cease making mournful noises every time you see something expensive?"
You immediately looked away, blood rushing to your cheecks, burning them a bright pink.
Malleus narrowed his eyes wickedly. "Ah."
"I don't do that."
"You do."
"I don't."
"But you absolutely do."
You were smiling now—caught—because you weren't actually after the bracelet. You just liked the game, the teasing, the attention. Oh, that sweet sweet attention.
And the ridiculousness of it all. Feeding into a fantasy that would travel you into being a 2000s diva simply tagging at her boyfriend and acting bratty.
How do you explain this to someone who had not watched these types of movies? Fortunately, it merely meant you'd have to make him watch them with you! How fun. Perhaps not entirely for Malleus, but fortunately he was an eager learner still learning the rules. Which meant you had every intention of teaching him.
Lilia Vanrouge
Shopping with Lilia starts normally, you picked up a pair of earrings and casually asked, "What do you think?" Lilia examined them thoughtfully. "Hm. Pretty."
"Right?"
"They'd suit you."
The answer pleased you enough that you turned back toward the display, but Lilia was smiling. Not a normal smile, a Lilia smile. Immediately suspicious. Your eyes narrowed.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"What."
"I was merely imagining the look on Sebek's face if I purchased them for you."
"...Lilia."
"He'd be horrified."
"Lilia."
"He already thinks I spoil people too much."
You groaned, putting the earrings down. Lilia picked them up leaving you staring as he smiled.
Chenya
Chenya had in his pockets approximately:
three thaumarks
five buttons
A ribbon of unknown origin
The economics of his existence remained a mystery.
Which was exactly why you never pulled the same stunts with him as you would with someone you knew was economically comfortable enough to feed ten generations to come. Instead you wandered through shops together as two people who had accidentally escaped supervision.
You'd pick up something beautiful and Chenya would rest his chin over your shoulder.
"Pretty."
"I know."
"Too expensive."
"I know."
"Steal it."
"Chenya."
"Kidding," a pause, "mostly."
"Chenya."
Chenya understood wanting things, not in a practical way, but whimsically. He'd happily spend an hour trying on ridiculous hats with you despite having no intention of buying one.
The window shopping itself was the entertainment, the object at the end barely mattered, though occasionally you would catch him staring at something too.
A scarf.
A pastry.
A trinket.
And whenever you did, you'd quietly buy it before he noticed to surprise him later.
Rollo Flamme
The first time you tried the spoiled act on Rollo you learned an important lesson.
He was immune.
"Rollo."
"No."
You blinked. "I haven't said anything."
"You are holding something."
"It's a handbag."
"Yes."
"And?"
"You want me to validate the purchase."
You glared and he dared glare back at you coldly. His assessment was accurate of course, but this was unimportant. You exhaled through your nose, upturning your brows to prepare a sad face.
"Maybe I do."
Rollo took the handbag from your hands. Examined the tag. And looked appalled.
"This is absurd."
"I know."
"Who buys this?"
"A lot of people actually."
"They shouldn't."
The handbag was returned to the shelf immediately.
Case closed.
Discussion over.
You followed him through two more stores before speaking again.
"You know, most boyfriends would at least pretend to be supportive."
Rollo glanced over. "Most boyfriends are cowards, afraid to tip-toe around rejection over ridiculous things."
Aparently, perhaps wanting to justify his reaction, you understood that Rollo wasn't difficult because he was stingy. He wasn't stingy at all.
If you genuinely needed something, he'd provide it before you finished asking. The problem was that he approached money like a responsible adult, which in your eyes, was a horrifying condition. It meant that every unnecessary purchase became a debate. Every luxury item required justification and every handbag turned into an ethics lecture. This made him the absolute worst shopping companion imaginable.
And yet as you complained dramatically about this fact, you suddenly noticed him quietly carrying the bags of items that you had already bought. When did you pass them to him? Or had he just taken them himself? For that, you're not sure.
He wasn't ever asked to carry them and you're quite surpised he hadn't mentioned or complainted about it once.
The hypocrite.
He refused to finance 'nonsense' but he'd still follow you through six different stores carrying the consequences of it.
Riddle is obsessed with rules, control and order. Breaking the mirror would be an act of desperation disguised as righteousness.
He’d justify it with cold logic: “This mirror is a danger. It tempts you with instability, with escape. It had to be done.”
His need for control would spiral into iron-clad restrictions. He’d impose rules on you the way he did with Heartslabyul, equating obedience with love.
Every glance of longing you cast toward the broken shards would feel like a betrayal. His temper, quick and merciless, would erupt: “Is my care not enough for you? Is this world not better than that one which abandoned you?”
His love becomes a court, where he is both judge and executioner and you, his beloved, forever the accused.
Ruggie Bucchi
Ruggie has lived his whole life scraping by, never having enough. The mirror represents the one thing he can’t steal: freedom.
When he breaks it, it’s raw, bitter instinct: “You’d just leave, wouldn’t you? Go back to some cushy life and forget I even exist.”
He’d hide his guilt beneath jokes and his sly grin, but inside, the act festers. His beloved becomes his prize, the one treasure he’s ever managed to keep for himself.
But with that treasure comes fear. He’d be suffocatingly attentive, cooking for you, doing your chores, showering you with small acts of care, all while haunted by the thought that he only kept you through force.
Ruggie’s action lies in his desperation, perhaps not born of malice, but of a feeling of unfairness gnawing him from inside out similar to hunger. He broke the mirror because he’s terrified of losing the only person who makes him feel full.
Azul Ashengrotto
Azul craves power and control to mask his crippling insecurity. Destroying the mirror would be calculated, a contract without consent.
He’d speak smoothly, as though it was inevitable: “Why return to a world that gave you so little, when here you can have everything with me?”
The truth is uglier. Azul doesn’t trust that anyone would ever choose him freely. By breaking the mirror, he forces permanence.
He’d lavish you with luxuries, meals, and comforts, convincing himself that gilded chains are still kindness. But every act of generosity is poisoned by fear, for he is always waiting for rejection that can never come, because he removed the possibility.
If confronted, his mask would crack. The shy, self-loathing octopus would emerge: “Of course you don’t love me… You’re just pretending because you’re trapped. But at least… you’re mine.”
Jade Leech
Jade is not impulsive. When he breaks the mirror, it’s a sober choice. He’s calm. Too calm when he removes the only path back.
The act would feel inevitable. He’d smile faintly, but there’d be a tension behind his words, an unshakable resolve:
“This world is cruel enough. Why return to a place that would only take you from me? I won’t allow it.”
His love is not manic; it’s steady, suffocating, like deep ocean pressure. You would realize too late that Jade has been deciding this outcome for a long time.
Unlike Floyd, Jade wouldn’t gloat. He’d treat the destruction of the mirror as if it were merely tidying up by removing something dangerous from the room.
But the menace lies in his subtlety. He’d notice every flicker of longing in your eyes when you thought about home and with that same polite voice, he’d remind you:
“Ah… you’re thinking of the mirror again, aren’t you? Best to put such things behind us. You belong here now. With me.”
Jade never raises his voice. He doesn’t need to. His love is quiet, calculated, and absolute — and once the mirror is gone, the pressure of that devotion is inescapable.
Bonus:
The mirror stood in the corner of the room, quiet, still, reflecting possibilities.
You had been looking at it too often. Your eyes lingered a beat too long, your hand brushing the frame as if remembering.
Jade noticed.
He stepped forward with that same composed grace he always carried, his gloved hand tracing along the frame in the same manner that you had. His reflection looked back, smiling politely.
“Such a fragile thing,” he murmured, his tone conversational, as though commenting on the weather. “So easy to… disrupt.”
Before you could realise and protest, the sound of splintering glass filled the room. His hand had pressed forward, precise, and the mirror cracked into a web of glittering fractures. The shards tumbled like falling stars to the floor.
Your gasp was sharp, horrified, but Jade didn’t flinch. He brushed a piece of glass from his coat sleeve, tilting his head.
“Better this way,” he said softly, turning to you with calm certainty. “Now you’re spared the torment of indecision.” His eyes, half lidded and unreadable, gleamed with quiet satisfaction. “No more temptations.”
When you looked back at the broken mirror, Jade stepped closer, bending just enough that his voice reached your ear with dramatic effect.
“You are mine now. Entirely. And the deep sea does not return what it has claimed.”
Floyd Leech
Floyd usually acts when he’s energised, entertained or playful. In contrast, his bad moods usually lead him to sloth, lazing around while whining. Well… not this time. This time, his foul mood led to him shattering your only exit.
He didn’t plan it. It just happened in the middle of one of his black storms, when silence was heavy, his shoulders tense, his eyes flat and dark instead of mischievous.
You might have tried to reason with him, calm him down, but that’s when he lashed out.. not at you; at the mirror.
“Sick of it. Sick of you always lookin’ at it, like you don’t even wanna be here. If it’s such a problem… then I’ll just get rid of it!”
The glass shattered under his hands with snarling frustration. His bad mood made the act less a declaration of love, more an explosion of resentment.
And then he’d turn on you, voice low, teeth bared in something too sharp to be a smile:
“There. Now you can’t leave. Happy? …Better be. ‘Cause I’ll get real mad if you keep lookin’ at me like I just did something wrong.”
Floyd isn is lead by simmering need. He destroyed the mirror because he couldn’t stand being reminded of your longing. And now you have to tread lightly, carefully, because who knows when the next storm will roll in?
Bonus:
The room was heavy, tense, Floyd’s broad shoulders hunched forward, eyes narrowed, jaw tight.
You spoke gently, trying to soothe. “Floyd… what’s wrong?”
Wrong.
The word grated. Wrong was the way you always stared at that mirror when you thought he wasn’t looking. Wrong was the way you sighed, soft and aching, like you didn’t belong here.
His gaze snapped to the mirror, sharp and cold.
“You like it too much,” he muttered, his voice low and flat. “Keep starin’ at it like you’re hopin’ it’ll suck you right back outta here.”
He crossed the room in two strides. His hand shot out, gripping the edge of the frame. You barely had time to shout before he slammed it against the wall. The glass shattered, exploding into jagged shards that rained onto the floor.
The silence after was deafening. Floyd stood over the wreckage, chest heaving, his face caught between anger and something more bitter.
“There,” he ignored his knuckles bleeding from the glass. “Now you can’t leave.”
He turned slowly, his eyes locking onto you. Heavy, stormy and accusing.
“You better not look at me like I’m the bad guy, I did this for you. For us.” He stepped closer, glass crunching under his shoes. “You’re not going anywhere. Ever. Get it?”
The mirror lay in pieces, and so did the last illusion of choice.
Kalim Al-Asim
Kalim is kindhearted, but dangerously naive. His suffocating love is disguised as generosity.
He’d break the mirror with a sunny smile, convinced it’s for the best.
“Now you’ll never have to go back to that boring place! Isn’t that great? You can stay here, with me, forever!”
He’d shower you in riches, gifts, and constant affection, smothering you until there’s no air left. To him, your sadness or longing would be confusing, because: “Why aren’t you happy? Don’t I give you everything?”
His childlike desperation would grow sicker over time. When you resist, his cheer would crack, panic flooding in.
“You don’t want to leave me, right? …Right?”
Kalim doesn’t mean to be cruel, but the mirror’s shards are proof. He destroyed your freedom and his endless kindness just serves to become the gilded cage.
Jamil Viper
Jamil has lived in servitude, always second. The mirror represents freedom and he’ll never allow someone else to abandon him for it.
He’d destroy it with cold finality: “If anyone is going to control your fate, it’s me. Not them. Not that world. Me.”
His bitterness would sharpen into control. He’d manipulate routines, twist truths, gaslight
“That world was never yours to begin with. You belong here. With me.”
Unlike Kalim, Jamil wouldn’t smother with kindness. He’d keep you trapped with subtle chains: fear, dependency, guilt.
His resentment would seep through. Every act of love would carry the sting of envy. He loves you, but he hates that he had to break you to keep you.
Silver
Silver is gentle, devoted and noble, but that devotion can curdle into something grim.
Breaking the mirror would be quiet, almost solemn. He’d cradle the shards in his hands, whispering: “Now you’ll never have to leave me. I’ll protect you… forever.”
His devotion would twist into a knight’s vigil that never ends. He’d watch you tirelessly, sacrificing his own needs, convinced it’s duty.
But duty without consent is a prison. Silver’s gentleness becomes suffocation; a guard who never lets you out of sight, a love so heavy it feels like chains.
The tragedy is that he would never see it as wrong. To him, it’s loyalty. To his beloved, it’s a cell with no walls
And no doors either.
Neige LeBlanche
Neige is beloved, adored, a beacon of goodness. But what happens when that adoration is twisted into obsession?
He’d break the mirror with tears in his eyes: “If you go back, I’ll be alone again. Please… don’t leave me. I need you.”
To the world, Neige would still be sunshine smiling, singing, adored. But behind closed doors, his need would smother. He’d cling, apologize constantly, manipulate with sweetness, whether he realised that he did so or not.
“Don’t you love me too? Isn’t it better here, with me?”
You? Trapped by the weight of his goodness. Who could fight against someone so gentle, so pitiful? His tears would feel like shackles.
Neige’s violation is subtle, not quite cruelty, not in the conventional sense whatsoever. But dependency so intense, it makes it impossible to breathe. His kindness becomes the most unshakable prison of all.
Snow dusted the windows of Heartslabyul’s kitchen, soft and steady, like the world had decided to speak in whispers. You stood beside Trey at the counter, sleeves rolled up, hands dusted with flour.
“Careful,” Trey said gently, reaching over to guide your wrist. “If you press too hard, the dough won’t rise properly.”
You laughed. “You say that every time.”
“And every time, I’m right,” he replied, lips twitching into a smile.
The oven hummed warmly, filling the room with the scent of cinnamon and sugar. Trey moved with quiet confidence, the kind that didn’t demand attention but earned it. When you weren’t looking, he popped a misshapen cookie into his mouth.
“Did you just—”
“Quality control,” he said smoothly, though the corners of his ears pinked.
Later, as the cookies cooled, you sat together at the small table, mugs of tea steaming between your hands. Outside, the castle glowed with soft lights, reflected in the snow.
Trey slid a small box across the table. “It’s not much,” he said. “But I thought you’d like it.”
Inside was a simple charm bracelet, each charm representing a shared memory. You looked up, stunned.
“How did you even think about making this? It must have taken you quite the time to choose and find each one of the charms… thank you. I’m– glad you even remembered all of these.
He scratched the back of his neck. “Of course I did. They matter to me… you matter.”
When you leaned in and kissed him, it was slow and warm, like the promise of many winters to come.
Cater Diamond
The hallway lights flashed red and green as Cater spun you around, phone already raised.
“Okay, okay! Hold that pose!” he laughed. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
You groaned. “You’ve taken, like, fifty pictures.”
“And I’ll take fifty more,” he replied, grin bright. “It’s Christmas. Gotta document the vibes.”
The dorm buzzed with energy, decorations everywhere, but eventually Cater tugged you away, guiding you up to the rooftop where the noise softened into distant laughter.
He sat beside you, legs dangling over the edge, phone finally set aside.
“…Hey,” he said, voice quieter now. “Can I show you something?”
You held back the urge to playfully reply ‘no’.
From his bag, he pulled out a scrapbook, carefully made, pages filled with photos, ticket stubs, handwritten notes. You recognized moments you hadn’t realized he treasured so deeply.
You’re glad you didn’t say no.
“I didn’t wanna mess this up.” Cater admitted, bright emerald eyes fixed on the pages. “You’re… real. To me.”
You squeezed his hand. “You’re real too, you know.”
He laughed, a little breathless. “Dang cutie, don’t say stuff like that, I might cry on Christmas.”
The lights below shimmered, and Cater just leaned into you, smiling like he’d found something worth keeping offline.
Leona Kingscholar
The fire crackled low, casting gold across the room as Leona lounged on the couch, one arm draped lazily behind you.
“Still don’t get why everyone makes such a big deal outta this,” he muttered.
You glanced up at him. “Then why did you agree to stay in with me?”
He snorted. “…Tch. Don’t read into it.”
Outside, the savanna inspired décor glowed with warm lights, and the quiet felt intentional, chosen. You shifted closer, and Leona didn’t protest, simply pulling you in.
A small box rested on the table. When you opened it, your breath caught.
Inside the small box was a ring, not ornate, but heavy with intention. Gold worn smooth, set with a warm amber stone that caught the light like late afternoon sun. It wasn’t flashy. It was certain. Something meant to be kept close, like a quiet claim that didn’t need to be spoken twice.
“Leona… this is expensive.”
“So?” he said, eyes half lidded. “It reminded me of you.”
You smiled softly. “You’re terrible at pretending you don’t care.”
He clicked his tongue, but his tail flicked.
When you leaned your head against his chest, his voice dropped low. “Not so bad. As long as you’re here.”
Vil Schoenheit
The tiles reflected candlelight and elegance, everything in its proper place. Vil adjusted the collar of your outfit with practiced precision.
“Perfect,” he said softly. “You look stunning.”
“You always say that.”
“And I always mean it.”
The celebration had been flawless, music, food, laughter, but now the world had narrowed to just the two of you, seated near the tree, its ornaments shimmering like stars.
Vil handed you a gift wrapped immaculately. The wrapping came away to reveal a vanity case, custom made, its mirror subtly enchanted to always reflect you at your best, even on tired days. The powder inside was mixed to suit your skin exactly. Elegant. Precise. A reminder that you are already beautiful, simply refined by care. Something thoughtful, the way it was decorated was tailored to your aesthetic, down to the smallest detail.
“You pay attention to everything,” you murmured.
“It’s my job,” he replied. Then, quieter, “But with you… it’s instinct.”
Later, he rested his head lightly against yours, the weight of expectations slipping away.
“Beauty fades,” Vil said thoughtfully. “But moments like this? They endure.”
You reached for his hand. “Then let’s make more.”
He smiled soft, real, unguarded.
Rook Hunt
The forest path glittered with frost, moonlight spilling between bare branches. Rook walked beside you, coat fluttering like a hunter’s cloak.
“Ah, mon trésor,” he said warmly. “Winter itself seems eager to witness you tonight.”
You laughed. “You really never stop, do you?”
“Never,” he replied simply.
He led you to a small clearing, where lanterns glowed softly. From his pocket, he produced a small arrow charm, fashioned of silver, its tip dulled, its feathers delicately etched. It could be worn on a chain or tucked away. Modest gift, simple, but symbolic to him. Because:
“This,” he explained, “represents pursuit. Not the hunt of conquest, but of admiration.”
You looked at him, touched. “You’re… incredibly sincere.”
Rook took your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “How could I not be? When loving you feels like art.”
As snow began to fall, he drew you close, voice low and reverent.
“Let the world freeze,” he murmured. “Tonight, we are eternal.”
Idia Shroud
The glow of the monitor painted the room in soft blues and violets, a digital snowstorm looping endlessly across the screen. You sat cross-legged on Idia’s bed, controller in hand, while he hovered nearby not entirely sure where he should settle himself.
“Okay,” he muttered, tugging at his sleeve. “So… this is technically a limited time Christmas event. If we miss it, we’ll never get the item again. No pressure.”
You smiled. “Since you kept your promise of taking me out this morning, I’ll try my best.” No promises though.
He glanced at you, eyes flickering. “Yeah, do your best, Ortho would help me clear it asap.” At the end, he settled on his bed beside you, but with enough distance that he could get his personal space. “but… doing it with you makes it different.”
When you cleared the level together, he froze for half a second, then let out a quiet, victorious ‘hee-hee’.
“W-We actually did it.”
Later, the game faded into background noise. Idia handed you a small gift, awkwardly held.
“I didn’t know if you’d like it,” he said quickly. “It’s dumb. I mean, not dumb, just…”
Inside was a controller shell he’d modified himself, colors chosen to match your favorites, tiny pixel decals hidden along the grip. When you pressed a certain button, it lit up softly. He’d programmed it to sync with a game he thought you’d like.
You blinked incredulously, it was handmade, thoughtful and personal.
You looked up, eyes soft. “You made this?”
His flame flickered brighter. “I wanted it to be… proof. That I can do stuff. For you.”
You slid closer to him and leaned in, resting your forehead against his. “It is. I used to be the one to make handmade gifts… n-nothing as good as yours, I mean I can tell how much time you took to do it and I appreciate it,” you looked away, blubbering “really, it’s the most precious thing you could do-“ you paused when you realized that the tips of his hair begun to make a soft pink hue. “Thank you.” You said finally.
He froze for a moment too long, his lips pressed tight, personal space forgotten as you decided to close it, but he let you, slowly relaxing he whispered, “Nice Christmas buff.”
Malleus Draconia
The bells of Diasomnia rang low and distant, solemn as snow drifted across the courtyard. Malleus stood beside you beneath towering spires, hands folded behind his back.
“Humans celebrate this season with great warmth,” he said thoughtfully. “Lights, gatherings, joy.”
You nodded. “It’s about sharing time with your loved ones.”
He turned to you, gaze deep and luminous. “Then I am grateful you chose to spend it with me.”
Later, you walked through the garden grounds, his cloak shielding you from the cold. He paused, producing a small, enchanted ornament, its glow pulsing softly. It was a small glass charm, shaped like a star caught mid-fall. Magic hummed quietly inside it, glowing brighter when held close. It felt warm in your palm, steady and patient, like a presence that would never rush you, only wait.
“It will light when you think of me,” he explained. “So you are never alone.”
Your breath caught. “Malleus…”
He hesitated, then gently took your hand. “May I… remain by your side tonight?”
You smiled. “I was about to ask the same.”
Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance, not ominous, but content as he leaned closer, resting his forehead against yours like a vow.
Lilia Vanrouge
Music echoed through the halls, slightly off key, but enthusiastic. You found Lilia in the kitchen, humming cheerfully as he attempted something that vaguely resembled a cake.
“Ah! You’re here,” he said brightly. “Perfect timing. Taste tester!”
You eyed the creation. “…Is it supposed to be smoking?”
“Festive effect.”
Despite everything, you laughed and somehow, it tasted better than expected.
Later, you sat together beneath twinkling lights, Lilia’s arm slung easily around your shoulders.
“Christmas has changed a lot over the years,” he said lightly. “But some things remain precious.”
He handed you a gift, a music box, its wood darkened with age, polished lovingly over decades. When opened, it played a gentle old melody, one he admitted few remembered anymore.
“It endured a long time,” Lilia continued, looking at the well kept antique. “And I choose you to have it from now on.”
You leaned into him, warmth blooming in your chest. “I’ll treasure it and keep this melody unforgettable.”
He smiled, round pink eyes soft with fondness. “Oh, it already is.”
Chenya
You never heard him arrive.
One moment, you were alone near the decorated courtyard and then—
“Boo!”
You yelped, spinning around as Chenya grinned upside down in midair.
“Merry Christmas!” he chimed. “Did I scare you?”
“Yes!”
“Great!”
He dragged you into snowball fights, stolen sweets, spontaneous games that made no sense but felt magical. Eventually, you collapsed into laughter beneath the lights.
Chenya grew uncharacteristically quiet, handing you a small gift.
“Don’t overthink it,” he said quickly.
You opened it. Inside the small package was a ribbon, soft, pale, almost unassuming. When you touched it, it shifted slightly in color, reacting to your warmth. How colourful. Proof that even simple things can change when they’re held by the right person.
“You can be sincere,” you said gently. “It’s… sweet.”
He looked away, tail flicking.
Then he smiled again, bright and mischievous, but you saw its softer edges now. “Stay with me tonight, yeah?”
Rollo Flamme
The bells of Fleur City rang sharp and clear, echoing through snow dusted streets. Rollo stood beside you, hands folded neatly, eyes fixed on the lights.
“This season,” he said, voice measured, “represents contradictions. Warmth and excess. Faith and indulgence.”
“And what does it mean to you?” you asked.
He hesitated.
“…It means resolve.”
Later, indoors, he handed you a gift plainly wrapped.
You unwrapped it to find a small book bound by leather, its edges worn smooth as if it had already been read many times. Inside were carefully pressed notes tucked between pages: passages underlined, margins marked in his precise hand. Reflections on restraint, devotion, and the quiet strength of choosing one thing fully.
It was an offering of thought and of all the time he spent, before even Christmas was near, reading carefully and leaving his thoughts written in notes with the intention of you reading them, with evenly placed space under each note for you to write down your own thoughts. The rare admission that, to him who was absolute, you were worth being considered as well.
“I do not celebrate frivolously. But I wanted to acknowledge… you.”
You met his gaze. “That’s enough for now.”
Silence lingered, then he spoke again, quieter. “Being with you makes this time… bearable. Perhaps even meaningful.”
When you reached for his hand, he stiffened
then allowed it, fingers tightening slightly.
Outside, the bells rang again. This time, he didn’t flinch.
Trey is pragmatic, the ‘big brother’ type, yet under that calm lies a quiet fear of loss.
At first, he’d tell himself it was an accident. That he’ll find a way to fix it. He would stay outwardly composed, reassuring you that “It’s fine, don’t panic, I’ll find a way.”
But eventually Trey’s steady composure would crack in isolation. He’s someone who values stability, and knowing he single-handedly severed his beloved from their home would gnaw at him like guilt-ridden rot.
He’d cling tighter, baking treats, keeping you busy, anything to make this unnatural permanence feel normal. But beneath every smile is the knowledge: you didn’t choose to stay. He forced it.
Cater Diamond
Cater thrives on connection but fears being forgotten, abandoned, or left behind. Breaking the mirror would be half-impulse, half-desperation.
For a fleeting second, he’d smile: “Guess that’s one less thing to worry about, right?” trying to disguise possessiveness as lightheartedness.
But once the adrenaline fades, Cater’s insecurities bloom. He’d obsess over whether his beloved resents him for it. Would you secretly hate him? Would you leave him anyway, in other ways?
His desperation for validation would deepen. He’d flood you with attention, social facades slipping into cracks of paranoia. He broke the mirror because he couldn’t stand being left behind, but now he has to live with the silence of knowing you might never forgive him.
Leona Kingscholar
Leona is prideful, cynical, and simmering with unspoken yearning. Breaking the mirror would be intentional.
He’d justify it as “Why bother going back? Everything you need is right here.” To him, if something precious is within reach, he’ll keep it, no matter how selfish.
But the mirror’s shards would taunt him: proof that he had no faith in your choice to stay willingly. Deep down, he knows he trapped you.
Over time, Leona’s paranoia would grow corrosive. Every look, every sigh from you would become a test. Did you mean it when you smiled? Or are you dreaming of escape? His love becomes a cage, built of both possessiveness and fear of losing the one person who might have loved him freely.
Vil Schoenheit
Vil’s obsession with control, beauty, and perfection would manifest in a chilling way.
Breaking the mirror would be deliberate, disguised as care: “That world didn’t deserve you. You belong somewhere you’ll be truly seen.”
But in Vil’s mind, the destruction of the mirror is not a sin, but a necessity, like trimming away flaws. He’d recast your imprisonment as salvation.
His love would turn suffocating, framed as cultivation. He’d refine you, dress you, mold you. If you were stolen from him once, never again.
Yet every now and then, when your eyes linger too long on the horizon, Vil would feel a quiet terror: the shards of the mirror cutting into his conscience, whispering that perfection built on force is only ruin.
Rook Hunt
Rook would shatter the mirror with romantic fervor.
He’d frame it as a declaration: “Now, mon cœr, you are forever entwined with this world. With me.”
His devotion would be terrifyingly sincere. He’d adore you, paint your captivity as destiny, and make even the horror sound beautiful.
But beneath his poetic mask, he knows he committed a crime of selfishness. He wouldn’t admit it, but he’d watch you with vigilance. His love, half worship, half predator’s hunger, would never let you forget that the choice was stolen.
To Rook, its tragedy made divine: your bond sealed not by love alone, but by irreversible destruction.
Idia Shroud
Idia’s insecurity runs deep, but so does his desperation for control in a world where he feels powerless. Breaking the mirror would be labeled as an accident — even when deep down it was in fact a conscious choice, born of fear and obsession.
At first, he’d whisper rationalizations to himself, voice low but laced with intensity: “If she goes back, she’ll forget me. She’ll leave me. She’ll move on, just like everyone else. That’s not fair. Not when I finally got someone to choose me.”
When he smashes the mirror, it’s deliberate. His hands might shake, but his eyes would be bright, feverish — the kind of manic fire when his ego surges for seconds before dying down. In that moment, he’s not the stuttering recluse. He’s the one with the upper hand, the one rewriting the rules.
To his beloved, he’d frame it like an inevitability: “You were never gonna go back, right? Heh. I just… made sure of it. No big deal. Game over, bad ending for them — happy ending for us.” He’d speak with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, masking terror with bravado.
Over time, though, the cracks would show. He’d oscillate, one moment smug, reveling in the fact that now you’d be his forever, and the next moment plagued by paranoia that you resent him. His mind would cast the situation as a save he can’t reload, a route he can’t undo. That would both thrill and terrify him.
His possessiveness would sharpen into something unyielding. He’d monitor you, rationalize surveillance as “just in case,” and dismiss your protests with a bite of sarcasm: “Oh, so now I’m the villain? Weren’t you crying the other day, telling me how the other world made you lonely? I’m not saying you should be thanking me–D-don’t look at me like that… J-just tell me you’ll stay.”
Idia breaking the mirror is the strike of someone who knows he can’t risk losing the only thing anchoring him. It’s calculated, selfish, and terrifyingly lucid. The act of someone who embraces his own hypocrisy because it’s the only way to keep what he wants.
Malleus Draconia
Malleus, centenarian, lonely and aching for companionship, would see breaking the mirror as a fateful act.
His reasoning would be solemn: “This world has denied me too much. I will not let it take you as well.”
Unlike others, he wouldn’t see it as theft, but justice. The mirror is merely another cruel gatekeeper between him and happiness.
Yet his beloved’s quiet sadness would wound him deeply. He loves fiercely, with possessive longing, but also with a child’s fragility. If you mourn your lost home, he would rage against the unfairness of fate, destroying himself with guilt even as he insists: “Stay. Please. I cannot be alone again.”
For Malleus, breaking the mirror would be the most selfish and most vulnerable act of his life, binding you to him in both love and tragedy.
Lilia Vanrouge
Lilia, mischievous yet wise, would break the mirror with a smile, even while the weight beneath would be devastating.
He’d joke lightly: “Oops. Looks like you’re stuck with me~” but the laughter hides a hollow ring.
Unlike most of them, Lilia knows exactly what he’s done and what it means. He’s lived centuries, he understands that ripping someone from their world is monstrous.
His charm would cover guilt, but it would eat at him in quiet moments. He’d become overly doting, almost suffocating in his attempts to keep his beloved happy, as if he could erase your loss with tenderness.
Yet he’d know, deep down, that time cannot erase the truth: he chained someone’s fate to his own. And time is all he has.
Chenya
Chenya, whimsical and chaotic, would shatter the mirror playfully. The consequences would only weigh in strange ways.
To him, it might feel like a game at first: “Well, no going back now! Ain’t that curious?” He thrives on madness, but beneath it lies awareness.
As the reality sinks in, his smile would twist, still playful, but more desperate. Chaos distracts from loneliness, yes. Now, he’s tied someone to that chaos forever, you won’t be lonely anymore.
He’d flit in and out, unpredictable, never letting you feel secure. Part of him would fear you’ll hate him, so he keeps everything off balance, as though confusion itself could keep you close.
For Chenya, the broken mirror isn’t tragedy or romance, it’s the whim of a mad boy. And his beloved is now bound to dance in it with him.
Rollo Flamme
Rollo, hypocritical and obsessive, would shatter the mirror with fire in his eyes.
To him, it would be holy: “That world was corrupt more so than this one. Here, you can at least be pure. I have saved you from its poison.”
You regret ever telling him about your world.
He’d recast the act as salvation, trapping you in his suffocating ideals. Every protest would be met with sermons: “In time, you will thank me. You will see the truth.”
But even as he cloaks it in righteousness, the truth is much more simple: he couldn’t bear to lose you. He destroyed your freedom to soothe his own obsession.
His love would be a pyre devouring, sanctimonious, and utterly inescapable. He would never see himself as cruel, but as savior. Which, in many ways, is the most terrifying form of imprisonment.
You move behind him without warning, fingers sliding onto his shoulders. He tenses instantly, but your voice drops low, breath ghosting near his ear.
“Stiff again… you should learn how to relax, Eren.”
His jaw locks. He wants to shrug you off, spit something sharp, but the way you say his name, drawn out, almost taunting, digs under his skin.
You think you’re in control. You think this is a game.
“You’re so damn annoying,” he mutters, but he doesn’t move. His fists stay clenched in his lap, knuckles white. Your thumbs press into the knots at the base of his neck and he feels the heat crawl down his spine. He hates that he doesn’t push you away. Hates that you know.
Armin Arlert
Your hands descend softly, almost ghostlike, before pressing into his neck. His breath hitches.
“Mmm… tense strategist,” you whisper, the corner of your mouth brushing dangerously close to his ear. “How are you supposed to win if you can’t even breathe?”
His shoulders rise to his ears before he forces them down, face flushed scarlet. “Y-you don’t have to—” He cuts himself off when your thumbs roll into the muscle. His body betrays him, loosening despite his mind screaming.
Are you mocking him? Is this another test? Your words echo, as though you’re dismantling his composure like one of his own flawed plans.
He wants to say something clever, cutting. Instead, his lips part uselessly, and he sits frozen, burning under your touch.
Floch Forster
You come up behind him like a shadow. Floch jumps, but then smirks when your hands claim his shoulders.
“Well, well,” he chuckles, leaning back just enough to feel you closer. “Didn’t think you’d ever come crawling to me.”
Your nails drag lightly along his collarbone, and your murmur drips like venom. “God, you’re wound so tight. All that shouting… no wonder you’re always ready to snap.”
His chest rises sharply, half a laugh, half a growl. You think you’re in control. You’re wrong.
“You like this, don’t you?” he shoots back, tilting his head so your lips nearly brush his temple. “Whispering like you hate me, touching me like you want me.” His grin is wide, cocky, but his heart slams against his ribs, desperate for you to keep going.
Erwin Smith
You approach soundlessly, but Erwin feels your presence before you touch him. When your hands finally settle on his shoulders, his only reaction is a slow exhale.
“Commander…” Your murmur is warm, deliberate. “Carrying the weight of the world on these shoulders. No wonder they’re like stone.”
His gaze stays fixed forward, unreadable, though a flicker of heat passes through his chest at the suggestiveness in your tone. Audacious. Too audacious.
“{…}” he says the last name evenly, his voice deep enough to still the air. “You should consider what line you’re walking.”
But he doesn’t move your hands. He lets you dig into the muscle, lets the tension unwind just enough to remind him how tightly he’s been wound. Your daring fascinates him. He’s not indulging it - not yet - but he’s not stopping it either.
Levi Ackerman
Your palms descend silently onto his shoulders. In a blink, his hand whips up and clamps around your wrist, stopping you mid-press.
“Tch. Don’t.” His voice is low, sharp enough to cut. He twists in his chair just enough to glare up at you, gray eyes hard.
But you lean down, lips near his ear and murmur, “So tense, Captain. You’ll break if you don’t loosen up.”
His grip falters for half a second, his jaw tightening. What the hell is she playing at?
He releases your wrist but sits forward immediately, pulling out of reach. “Find someone else to bother.” His tone is final. Yet his chest feels hot, taut. Your words stick in his mind like a burr, and his body remembers the brief press of your fingers long after it’s gone.
Zeke Yeager
Your hands drop onto him smoothly, confidently. Zeke doesn’t flinch, instead, a slow, amused smile spreads across his face.
“My, my,” he drawls. “Didn’t know you were so bold.”
You lean close, voice honey-slick. “All that scheming, Zeke. You must be exhausted. Let me help you unwind.”
He hums low in his throat, leaning back slightly, deliberately giving you more to touch. She’s dangerous. I like it.
“You should be careful,” he murmurs, tilting his head back so he can just glimpse you from the corner of his eye. “When you touch the enemy like this, you might end up convincing yourself you don’t want to let go.” His grin is wolfish. He doesn’t move your hands. He dares you to continue.
Porco Galliard
Your touch lands and he jolts forward immediately, almost knocking your hands away. “The hell are you doing?!”
He trails off, glaring at the floor. His pride screams to shove you away yet his body betrays him, sitting back down, jaw clenched as you keep kneading.
Your voice snakes down his spine: “So tight, Porco. All that strength, always ready to fight. What a waste if you can’t even relax.”
His fists clench on his knees, teeth grinding. She’s mocking me. She has to be. But your thumbs press deep into the tense muscles of his back, and his body betrays him, loosening against his will.
“Shut up,” he mutters. He doesn’t shove you off, but he refuses to lean into it. “You think I need you? I don’t.”
Yet his shoulders stay under your hands, trembling faintly as he fights himself more than you.
Yelena
Your hands sink into Yelena’s shoulders, deliberate and slow. Yelena tilts her head back, eyes fluttering shut with an almost reverent sigh.
“Mmm… so perceptive,” she murmurs. “You see what others miss. You know what I need.”
Her tone is velvet, but her grip on the arms of her chair is white knuckled, as if she’s holding back the urge to seize and twist this contact into something more. Is this surrender? Or is she worshipping me?
Yelena lets the moment stretch, basking in the suggestiveness of the mutter, drinking in the audacity of it. Then, without opening her eyes, she says quietly:
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You hurt no one. The day was beautiful, your head hurt, the coffee from the cafeteria was suspiciously good and your account on Magicam needed some adjustments for the new season. Fuck practical magic. You couldn't even use magic, so why would you have to take this class? So Grim and Ace can scoff at you? No. Today you go the Idia 'don't talk to me, I'm busy gaming' way. But with Magicam and silly phone games instead.
Dire Crowley
“Prefect! While I commend your initiative in finding… alternative uses for your time, do remember—if you don’t attend class, who will make me look good in front of the staff?”
Flutters his cloak dramatically and makes a big show of being “disappointed.” He might snatch the phone out of your hand, waggle it like he’s confiscating contraband… only to get distracted by a notification from his own phone. Ultimately, he’ll probably let you off with a long lecture that’s more about his hardships than your truancy.
Divus Crewel
“Tch. What’s this, pup? Cutting class to sip bitter beans? Don’t think you can just laze about when there’s discipline to be taught. Back to class, now, before I have you fetching sticks as punishment.”
Snaps his pointer like a whip against the ground to startle you. He’d stand over you with a glare sharp enough to cut glass, and physically herd you toward the classroom, heels clicking. If you resist? Detention with him and trust me, he’ll make it as grueling as obedience training for a wayward pup.
Mozus Trein
“Hmph. Another student neglecting their studies. One day, you’ll find knowledge slipping from your grasp as easily as that coffee cup. Come along. Even Grim manages better attendance than this.”
Heavy sigh, shaking his head like you’re another hopeless case. He doesn’t drag you, but he’ll assign a stack of “extra reading” or a written report on the lesson you skipped. Lucius might jump into your lap as if mocking your laziness before Trein calls him back.
Ashton Vargas
“Skipping class? You’re wasting precious training time! You won’t build strength lounging around like that. On your feet. Ten laps around campus, and I’ll consider letting you back into class!”
Claps you on the back so hard you nearly spill your coffee. Then he literally drags you out of the shadows by the arm and onto the training field. If you’re going to skip class, you’ll make up for it in cardio, laps, push-ups, maybe climbing the stadium stairs. No excuses.
Sam
“Well, well, looks like someone’s playing hooky. Can’t say I blame you, but hey, if you’re looking to make the most of your time, I got some items in the shop that’ll make class fly by…”
He doesn’t report you. Instead, he crouches beside you with a grin, trying to strike a deal. “Since you’ve got all this free time, why not stop by Mr. S’s Mystery Shop?” He might even pull a flyer or trinket from his coat like a magician. Whether you buy something or not, he keeps your secret… for a price.
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Can I request "they see you walking out of someone's room in the middle of the night disheveled" but like, the 2nd and 3rd years find out that it was js a misunderstanding?
This got requested A LOT! Thank you all for giving the time of the day to read and request. Who am I to refuse my little mermaid jellybeans? I’m answering to this request particularly because it was the only one that wasn’t anonymous and because little sibling played dirty by giving me the hyena puppy eyes. 🤍
Thank you all for being here my little mermaids 🧜🏻♀️💙
I’ll start with the Third Years
They Caught You Coming Out Of Someone’s Room in the Middle of the Night - Disheveled - Part 2 - Third Years (And now you have to explain the obvious to the dimwits)
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Trey Clover
You found Trey in the greenhouse, his back turned as he carefully trimmed a rose stem. He hadn’t sought you out for days, his usual warmth replaced with polite distance.
“Trey,” you called softly.
He froze, hands tightening on the shears before setting them down. “…You should be resting. It’s late.”
Your chest ached at how formal he sounded. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
He sighed, finally facing you. The hurt in his eyes nearly undid you. “I saw you the other night. Coming out of someone’s room… You looked… like you’d just…” His throat closed up. “I thought I knew you better than that.”
Realization dawned. You shook your head to prevent your hands from shaking him instead, stepping closer. “No. Trey. Don’t assume to know me and don’t assume to know what I may or may not be doing behind closed doors.” The hurt line between his brows made you pause. “I just… was studying with Grim in Ace’s and Deuce’s room and I was tired and fell asleep after a while, Grim had already left like the little selfish thing he is. That’s why I looked a mess… because I suppose your nasty mind thought of other things seeing me like this.”
His eyes searched yours, and when he found no lie, his shoulders slumped in relief. You tilted your head with a shy smile. “But.” His eyes shot back to yours “You seemed awfully upset about it. Why?”
Color dusted his cheeks. He fumbled with his glasses. “…Do I really need to say it? I was jealous. Because… I didn’t want you to belong to anyone else.”
Cater Diamond
Cater was leaning against the wall near the Mirror Chamber, scrolling through his phone, or at least pretending to. His usual energetic chatter had been absent for days, leaving you restless.
You approached. “Cater… are you mad at me?”
He looked up with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Mad? Nah, no way! Just been busy, y’know?”
But you pressed. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
He flinched. The mask slipped, and bitterness laced his tone. “Kinda hard to hang out when I keep picturing you sneaking out of someone else’s room looking… like that. Do you know what that does to me?”
Your heart twisted. “Cater… it wasn’t what you thought. I was just helping out, and I was so tired I didn’t even realize how I looked.”
The relief that crossed his face was instant, his phone lowering as tension drained away. You tilted your head coyly. “But with what right did it bother you? Who are you to me?”
Cater laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Caught me, huh? Guess I’m not as carefree as I want to look. Truth is… I like you way too much to play it cool when it comes to you.”
Leona Kingscholar
Leona lay sprawled in the botanical garden, tail flicking irritably. He hadn’t ‘invited’ you (he didn’t invite, he simply sat where you were sitting as if it was his birthright. As if it was you who reached for his company.) to spend time with him in days. A silence sharper than words.
You crouched beside him. “Leona. You’ve been avoiding me.”
One green eye cracked open, glaring. “Didn’t think I needed to babysit someone who already has company at night.”
Your breath caught. “You… thought I was with someone?”
He sat up, scowl deepening. “What else was I supposed to think, seeing you stumbling out of someone else’s room all disheveled? Don’t play games with me.”
You reached out, catching his sleeve. “It wasn’t like that. Jack was helping me with cardio- like- literal cardio- as in- the exercise itself! That’s all.”
For a moment, silence. Then his shoulders eased, relief flashing before he masked it with a scoff. Your lips curled slyly. “But… why were you upset, hm?”
His ears twitched. He groaned in frustration, leaning closer. “…Because I was jealous. Don’t make me say it twice, I won’t give you the satisfaction.”
Vil Schoenheit
Vil had buried himself in his routine, walking past you without a glance for days. You finally cornered him in Pomefiore’s lounge.
“Vil, please. Why are you avoiding me?”
He didn’t look up from the phone in his hand. “I thought you at least had standards. That disheveled appearance, late at night, coming from someone else’s room… And to think I trusted you.”
Your chest tightened, but not with hurt. With frustration that the little Ken alive made assumptions of your morality. Even if you did sleep with someone, what is it to him? “Vil, it wasn’t what you thought. I made Rook promise me to teach me archery and it… didn’t go well. I just used his room to change- he wasn’t in there helping me change out or anything though!”
The scrolling stilled. Slowly, his gaze lifted, searching your face. Relief softened his beautiful features. You tilted your head, lips curving with a dishonest smile that hid the tick of your eye. “But why did it upset you so much? I mean, next time I might tell him to help me out of my Victoria Secret leggings, so I can see your face when I steal your boyf-”
Vil’s hand stood to pause you. Which, omg, rude. His lips parted, then pressed together. He let out a quiet sigh. “It did upset me…. Because you matter to me more than anyone… and the thought of you giving yourself to someone else was unbearable.”
Rook Hunt
Rook had been unusually absent, his once constant shadow gone. You tracked him, down to the forest, humiliating your feminine ‘I do not chase, I attract’ aura for him. He stood among the trees, bow lowered.
“Rook.”
He turned, mask of a smile in place. “Ah, papillon rose. Forgive me for keeping my distance.”
You frowned. He said it himself, which means that he was after all aware, if not doing it on purpose. “You were avoiding me then. Why?”
His eyes sharpened. “Because the image of you, slipping from another’s chamber in such a state, haunts me still. It pierced me with jealousy.”
Your heart skipped. “Rook… you misunderstood. I was only asking Vil to show me how to apply my nightly beauty products correctly and it turned out to a whole training- that’s why I looked like I just came out of the battlefield!”
For a moment, silence, then his smile grew softer, relieved. But there was this itch in you that preferred the chilling look he gave you before, so you teased him some more. “But why did it get you jealous so, Romeo?”
Rook chuckled, voice low. “Fufufu… Because my heart beats only for you, Juliet and the thought of you in another’s arms was agony.”
Idia Shroud
Idia had stopped DMing you, stopped inviting you into his gaming streams. You finally stormed into his room, startling him mid-match.
“Idia! Why have you been ignoring me?”
He nearly dropped his controller. “I-I-I wasn’t! Okay, maybe I was… B-but can you blame me?! I saw you, all rumpled, coming out of someone’s room in the middle of the night. OBVIOUSLY you’d pick someone cooler, better…”
That was a better reaction than what you expected. His quiet pout! His silent shame! His envious longing! (Sorry my fascination with pathetic men got the best of me.) You stepped closer. “Idia, no. It wasn’t like that at all. We were watching a movie with Grim in a friend's room since Ignihyde basically has home-cinemas installed in some dorms and I… started c-crying, that’s why my mascara got ruined as if I decided to compete with you for Miss Emo of the year."
"..."
"...That’s all.”
His hair flared pink, eyes wide. “Y-you’re serious? You’re not…?”
You smiled shyly, tilting your head. “But then again… do remind me why you were so upset all this time.”
His face went crimson. “W-w-what do you mean why?! Because I like you, okay?! Ugh, this is so cringe, don’t make me say it again!”
Malleus Draconia
The nights felt colder without his usual visits. You sought him out by the gargoyles, where he stood lost in thought.
“Malleus… have I done something to upset you?”
His eyes were shadowed as they turned to you. “Why ask, when you already know? I saw you, disheveled, leaving another’s room. Was I a fool to think I was special to you?”
Your throat tightened. “Malleus, it wasn’t like that. That day it rained so much I barely had time before my clothes got all wet and Silver was kind enough to lend me his room to change, the whole thing got me so exhausted I barely noticed how I looked because I was already impatient with waiting most of the night for the rain to calm down so I could go back to my dorm.”
The tension bled from his posture, relief flickering in his gaze. Your lips curved coyly. “But why did it upset you so much, hm?”
He stepped closer, voice low and rich, unfazed by your sad excuse of a tease. “…Because your presence belongs with me. Do you not see? You are precious beyond compare and the thought of losing you…” His hand lingered just shy of yours. “It is unbearable.”
Lilia Vanrouge
Lilia had been oddly scarce, his laughter missing from your days. You finally found him perched on a windowsill, gazing at the moon.
“Lilia. You’ve been avoiding me.”
He smiled prettily, though his eyes were sharp. “Kufufu… Perhaps I did not wish to intrude, after seeing you stumble from another’s room in such… a state.”
Your lips tightened. “Lilia, it wasn’t what you thought. I was playing tag with Sebek- well… kind of. He was trying to bark something at me and my speed-walk turned into a run when I felt his yelling ringing my ears. I stepped into the first person’s room to hide. Nothing more.”
His gaze softened instantly, relief warming his face. You tilted your head with a teasing smile. “But why did it bother you so much, hm?”
Lilia’s smile was softer this time, tinged with fondness. “Even I can feel jealousy, little one. Especially when it comes to someone I… care for.”
Chenya
Chenya hadn’t popped up to tease you once in days. When you went to the Heartslabyul dorm, he finally appeared. Ears twitching, grin forced.
You didn’t even get to ask him, perhaps he had read the pout on you, or your big eyes that looked at him with a slight pinch to the brows.
“Nyahaha… You caught me. Been busy.”
That pinch deepened. “Busy, or avoiding me?”
His grin faltered. “Maybe both. Kinda hard to joke around when I saw you sneaking out of Trey’s room looking like you had… fun.”
Oh? So honest. “Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker, no. It wasn’t like that. I was helping Trey clean up and I was exhausted. That’s why I looked a mess.”
His relief was visible, ears perking up. “Did you think I stole your boyfriend? Not my fault you’re petty.”
His grin turned sharper, more genuine. “No. Maybe I did get petty but it's because I want you all to myself, nyahaha. And I don’t share.”
Rollo Flamme
Rollo had kept to himself even more than usual, slipping away whenever you approached. You finally caught him in the courtyard, lanternlight painting his face.
“Do you want to explain to me why you have been avoiding me or should I keep guessing until my patience runs out?”
His jaw tightened. “It is difficult to look at you, after what I saw. Disheveled, leaving another’s room so late at night…. You…” His voice broke. “You have given yourself away.”
There was a small pause were you were studying his face, his beautiful eyes and the dark circles underneath that somehow looked worse than before. “Don’t assume. I don’t allow you to assume for me.” Strangely enough he said nothing, looking at you with that cold stare, or rather, what would be cold if it weren’t for the elevens between his brows. “You misunderstood. I was helping, and I was tired. Nothing more.” You didn’t explain further, no, you wanted to see whether he’d understand or twist it yet again in his head.
But his relief was palpable, though he struggled to show it. Then you pushed more, softer this time. “Why did that upset you so much? Whatever your ideologies are I know… I hope that you wouldn’t just… shame me for... no apparent reason.”
His composure cracked, voice low. “…No. No you’re right, it’s not something for me to mingle, but I can’t pretend to look the other way…. Because I could not bear the thought of you giving your heart to anyone else. Not when I-” He cut himself off, but his trembling hands betrayed him.
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They Caught You Coming Out Of Someone’s Room in the Middle of the Night - Disheveled - Part 1 - Third Years
Featuring: The Heartslabyul Boys ( Riddle Rosehearts, Trey Clover, Cater Diamond, Ace Trappola, and Deuce Spade )
Summary: In your younger years, you paid them no mind. Now you've reunited years later and you can't seem to keep your eyes off them. How would they react to their childhood friend ( and crush )'s sudden interest in them?
Warnings: Author has only played the Prologue - Book 2 ( and is currently playing through Book 3 ) so inaccuracies in both setting and personality may be abound. Ace acts like an asshole and gets beat up in the end. I describe delinquent Deuce's appearance similarly to his dream self. Comedic elements are sprinkled throughout this because I can't take shit seriously. With all that said, read at your own discretion! <3
A/N: Brooo this draft did not want to see the light of day but I prevailed in the end 😤 Been obsessed with this game as much as I've been obsessed with Sabrina's newest album, Man's Best Friend! This song has specifically been stuck in my had for the past week and I needed to get it out of my system somehow so take this as tribute. ( Aka a result of me blasting this song on loop for 5+ hours across multiple days )
Song Inspo: When Did You Get Hot? - Sabrina Carpenter
Formatting Inspo: The wonderful @fqntqsy, who's one of three twst wonderland writers I've been devouring the content of these past few days! <33
Extra: I officially have a taglist! If you liked this piece, please consider grabbing a loyalty card at the front counter!! <3 Our inbox is currently open to all so if there's a special piece/novel you'd like to request from me or Ari, leave a description of it in our request box and we'll retrieve it as soon as we can! 🖤
Riddle Rosehearts
↬ Your reunion didn't happen into fruition by happenstance like some romance novel but was instead planned down to the very last detail — this time by your own volition rather than either of your overbearing mothers.
↬ You had sent a notice of your arrival through mail a month ahead of time, proclaiming that a break from routine and having a cup of tea whilst you studied for an upcoming exam reminded you of him and that you had been likening the idea of reuniting for quite some time.
↬ When the envelope was put before him and the familiar symbol of your family's insignia came into the view of his bluish-gray hues, he nearly choked on his dessert.
↬ He couldn't believe it, to be frank. Sure, you two had a budding academic rivalry going on all throughout your childhood together ( where you had, disappointedly enough, always been five steps ahead of him at all times ), but you haven't attempted to reach out since you moved away in your middle school years. He had honestly thought you forgot all about him and all of the little memories you've had together that you used to constantly hold over his head.
↬ His breath — without realizing it — had been held during the first, second, third, and fourth reread of your note. His cheeks stained cherry ( from asphyxiation, of course ) halfway through the second read as he imagined the sportive lilt of your voice.
↬ He replied as elegantly as you had; expressing how long it's been and, though he's irked at the idea of a perfect schedule being rifted, how much he likes the idea of catching up with his old rival over an unbirthday party on the fifth day of the month. The tea party was solidified by your next response a week later.
↬ The following weeks leading up to your arrival were rough for House Heartslabyul as Riddle was on a ten whilst planning everything out to the smallest of details. It seemed as though your little letter had put this rose into full bloom, much to the dismay of the members of the dormitory.
↬ The days leading up to the unbirthday party were utter hell on earth for them — some's necks especially. ( Cough cough Ace cough cough ) Riddle claimed that his behavior was merely because of your status and rivalry, but everyone could tell from the way Riddle seemed to fluster at the simple mention of your name that it was something more. Something fluttering and fiery. Something like love.
↬ Ace was the one who so crudely brought this to his attention and Riddle couldn't have gotten any redder. This-! His affections for you are completely platonic! Do not misunderstand! What he feels for you is merely admiration! You possess the skills and intellect and beauty that anyone would idolize and respect not just him! That's why he has to put 210% of his efforts into this unbirthday party to make sure everything is perfect. He merely wants to impress you and make you see him as an equal!
↬ And impress you he did! Stepping into the Heartslabyul Garden felt like you were entering the Queen of Hearts's Castle itself. With ruby red petals, pink flamingos, and hedgehogs fluttering for your attention wherever you looked and the heart-themed plants, structure, and decor reminding you so much of Riddle...who looked much different than what you remembered.
↬ Okay, maybe not totally different. He still hadn't grown out of his baby face ( or baby height ) and still had the same flat, red hair from before, but there's something about him now that sets him apart from the person he was before. Was it the slight maturity of his tone? How it seemed a pitch deeper than what you remember? Was it the new attire he dawned? ( Which, you'll admit, fit him well ) Was it the way he looked at you? The way it seemed more narrowed and sparkling with confidence like a true ruler, making his lashes flutter when he looked at you — oh, what that look did to your heart.
↬ Whatever it was, you were utterly captivated by the boy in a way you had never been before...and Riddle was none the wiser, as he was far too focused on keeping his own heart in check to notices your longing gazes or bashful microexpressions.
"Walking into this place was certainly an experience — you clean up well. Can't say the same about that outfit though," You complimented rather backhandedly as your leg crossed over the other and your hands folded to match.
You would've resembled a benevolent monarch perfectly if it weren't for your signature grin tarnishing the image, which quirked too high at its edges not to come off as impolite and condescending yet showed too less teeth and not enough arrogance to commit fully to the bit — making your comment seem less like a true insult and more like a playful jab.
It's a face one couldn't take at face value. One that had to be dissected and picked apart to understand the true meaning of your expression or the words which came from it. It's painstaking, annoying, and most would either not catch on or not bother to try and understand you.
Alas, Riddle had no choice but to study you, had no choice but to play your games in order to consistently be on par with you when he was a kid to earn his mother's affections and, as a result, his heart developed a new tune he refused to acknowledge but got terrifyingly addicted to nevertheless.
"Your letter had made me believing otherwise for a moment, but it seems you're still as tactless as ever," He replied, his tone matching your smile perfectly.
It was odd to hear such confidence in his tone. Compared to the young boy you used to spend every weekend showing off to, this redhead seemed much more assertive and the way he spoke and the fact that he's been able to hold eye contact with you showed that as clear as ever.
Speaking of eyes, have they ever...been so gorgeous? It may be the beauty of the garden getting to you, but you've found yourself entranced in the monochromic skies he uses to see the world. No doubt they're the prettiest sight you've seen in a while, but it feels weird when it dawns on you just who's sparking such a reaction from you.
In the end, you decide to laugh it off. In your ears, the bounce of your chortle sounded forced, kinda like a stretched out smile, so you make sure to scrunch your face in order to make it seem more believable.
And believe he did. At the sound of you laughter, the tips of Riddle's ears began to rosy without him realizing. You noticed quicker than he could hide it and the result ended up being more damaging for you and your heart than Riddle's.
So, thinking fast, you throw out, "How have you been, my friend?"
Deflection was something you hadn't been forced to use since you were young, but whatever spark that has lit itself inside you has forced your hand.
Ultimately, when the silence seems to stretch longer than you'd have preferred — with the perturbed beauty before you biting down lightly on his lip and staring far too intently to be considered normal — you opt to distract yourself with the assortment of food before you.
You reach for the tart first, specifically the one topped with an abundance of strawberries; Riddle's tart.
The clanking of silverware catches his attention and has him glancing up. You're eyes are suddenly starlight similarly to Grim whenever he was about to dig into his plate during lunchtime, though your expression was much more dignified and your movements as you cut the tart — his tart — were poised like a royal waltz.
You had broken a rule, he realized, and yet he did nothing but stare on as the blush burning his ears consumed his entire face.
A thought comes to mind. One flowery and ticklish to his tummy and certainly not appropriate to voice aloud — especially to someone he supposedly views as a friend — but Riddle shakes it away before it has the chance to fester in his mind and looks down at his now empty teacup once more.
"Hellooo..? Earth to queen ! You in there?" You jestingly call. You've decided in the pregnant silence between you two that you'd take a more teasing approach to this conversation. At least that way any emotion shown on your visage can be taken satirically. ( Or so you hoped )
His eyes snap up to meet yours again — cold yet entrancing like the gleam off of bejeweled crown — and your breath is snatched away like a rose petal to a wind current, your jaw slackens, and your heart flutters as though its been taken hostage by some Pomefiore student's love potion.
"S- Sorry, I..." He clears the throat, "Could you repeat that?" And you blink as the realization slowly comes to you that for not the first but second time, you had been bewitched by this baby-faced, rule-obsessed, perfectionist....who seemed to possess the loveliest shade of bluish gray, the prettiest apple red hair, who's face looked ever so charming stained in a matching color, and prudent lips that's been framed downwards this entire tea party yet has seemed no less appealing to you.
It strikes you then like a lightning; you wished to kiss him. You...wanted to kiss Riddle Roseheart.
Your facade shatters like fine glasswork.
"...I said," You jolt to attention, and upon noticing Riddle pauses and shoots you a confused look but continues, saying, "Could you repeat yourself? I didn't catch what you asked me."
Your lips purse and you gulp, forcing the saliva that's pooled at the entrance of your mouth down your throat before repeating in a quieter tone, "I asked how you've been faring these days.." You then add, slightly louder, "Surely you aren't lagging behind someone else like you did with me when we kids."
The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth which is unsurprising at this point but no less embarrassing to admit to yourself. The idea of someone else being the flower to his eye was almost heartbreaking to imagine and you found yourself desperately wishing that, at the very least, that part of him hadn't changed.
And thankfully, it hadn't. Not one bit because he clicks his tongue as though the very notion offended his being and he says, "Of course not."
And you sigh out, relieved, "Good.."
The mumble reaches him and his body instantly reacts as though your words were some kind of aphrodisiac to his frazzled system. Every part of him burns and yearns for you, yet he keeps up the fragile front of being composed, too prideful to succumb or even acknowledge the existence of the very obvious tension that's now grown as thick as stone between you two.
Trey Clover
↬ You ran into him in the same place you met; his family bakery. He had come to visit his family and you were in desperate need of sugar to satisfy your cravings. In the end, he was the one who rung you up.
↬ You noticed each other immediately, but you were the one whose face dropped at the sight of him instead of light up. Not because you weren't happy to see him — far from that — but because the man who stood before you now was completely different from the boy who used to invite you in for taste-testing years back.
↬ He was much taller, a little leaner, and his glasses fit his face better. It had caught your eye, and without realizing, your heart was under a temporary lock and key. Suddenly, his princely smiles were having you swoon like some soon-to-be consort and his mannerisms, which have grown to be much more laidback with age, had your heart doing somersaults.
↬ Trey notes your odd behavior, but doesn't say anything as he was unsure of the reason behind it ( or the fact that he had been a big part of that reason ).
"So one strawberry creampuff, two strawberry tarts, and a jar of strawberry jam... Hm, I'm guessing you're something specific?" He jokes, but all his words go through one of your ears and out the other, leaving just one word behind; craving.
Yes, you had been, in fact, craving the slight tartness that strawberries bring, but you couldn't seem to care much about that now as you gaze up at his face — which grin widely your way.
Ultimately, your answer comes out as a dumbfounded muttering, "Yeah....I was."
He quirks a brow at you response, his smile turning awkward as he parrots you, "Was?"
His perplexed tone breaks the illusion his quick flash of teeth put you under and when you realize, you end up stammering as you try to sweep it under the metaphorical rug, "I- I mean I am— er, sorry! I, uh...spaced out."
Spaced out was an understatement, but how mortifying would it be to admit you were brought into an entirely new realm where fantasy was reality all because some good looking guy smiled in your direction?
Woah... Trey is that good-looking guy. You...actually think you're childhood friend is hot.
You pause, letting the thought simmer and settle, big mistake.
"Are you okay?!" Trey suddenly exclaims, startling you.
"Hu- Huh?!" You retort, bewildered, to which he quickly explains his cause for his sudden concern.
"Your face got all red all of a sudden! Are you okay?!" He questions with furrowed brows, already beginning to make his way from around the counter.
With each step he takes, your fluster-fied panic worsens and, on instinct, your body moves with the brisk, silent terror of a cornered animal.
Unfortunately for you, Trey's long legs can cross more distance than yours can in little time and he's in your face before you can take a third step backwards and topple over on a cake stand.
His slender fingers kiss the skin of your face, setting it ablaze further as they slide in place along your jawline and forehead. His hands are warm like the freshly baked goods that were winking at you from the heated stand by the window when you walked in and they smelt faintly of caramelized sugars, vanilla, and fruit — he was probably making a tart or something along those lines before you showed up.
You look up at him again. Up close, you can really take in all the little things which did little good for your already overexerted heart. For example, there was the neat trimming of his thick eyebrows, the subtle warmth fading into his eyes which made his eyes resembled a hearth alight on a perfectly chilly night, the faint crow's feet he inherited from his father ( or was it his grandfather? ), which brought out the slight crinkle of his anxious expression..
He licks his lips, and as if he were dangling candy in your face, your eyes lock in on the action and your own mouth parts — suddenly famished for a different kind of sweetness that no pastry could ever give.
The thought resurfaces; the fact that your body is genuinely reacting in such a way is all because of Trey who you'd, in the past, never spare a glance in such a way.
You chew on that for a moment and swallow it down. To your surprise, it doesn't burn or causes your stomach to ache — in fact, it warms your chest like strong hug and produces the faintest smile out of you.
....No doubt, from his perspective, you looked utterly insane.
"Maybe you should sit down.." He suggests as you become more and more aware of the hot mess that's taken over your face and mortification slowly consumes you, "Seriously, you look worse for wear—" "I'm fine!"
With swift movements, your peeling his hand off and by-stepping around him where you throw a chunk of thaumark onto the counter. Trey's eyes dart to follow you, curious of what you're doing, but by the time he does you're passing him again to make a brisk sprint to the door.
"Wait, you—!" He calls after you, but he's just as quickly responded by the door's bell signaling your departure and watches through the window as your tomato-shaded figure runs off in a random direction.
He stands in the middle of his family's bakery, bewildered and still on his feet for all of five seconds before he's sighing and pushing his glasses up.
He turns back to the counter where your money ( which was definitely too much for what you bought ) laid chaotically sprawled about next to a nicely wrapped bag....filled with your now paid pastries.
He sighs once more, grabbing the bag — his mind already set out to chase after you as he thinks of the reasons of what could've caused such an odd reaction. ( And not one of them being anywhere close to the truth )
Cater Diamond
↬ It all started when he happened across your Magicam account.
↬ He had been doing his nightly scrolling like he always did around that time when your familiar mug popped up on his feed for a surprise appearance.
↬ Instantly, he recognized you — how could he not when he used to spend every other minute flirting with you and trying to win your heart? Even now, he can recall that swirl that ran through his arteries whenever he thought of your smile, your laugh, your voice..
↬ Before he knew it, he had liked every picture, including the ones in your highlights and the twenty-something pictures on your story ( which consisted of birthday shoutouts in your honor and short clips of the party you had in celebration with your friends ), and invading your DMs with compliments in tow.
↬ You replied soon after he sent the message and he couldn't contain how giddy he was when you recognized him with delighted surprise. A lengthy convo ensued from there that stretched all throughout the night and had him passed out in class the next morning ( which he paid a price for )
↬ The next few days had him in giddy bliss. Like some schoolgirl with a crush, he was twirling his orange hair and giggling at every other text you sent and figuratively ( and literally ) kicking his feet at every thing you sent and said.
↬ Soon enough, you two were planning an irl hangout together with Cater cheekily texting that his late birthday gift to you would be a weekend of fun with him.
↬ You laughed it off initially, but when you finally stood before him that day, you found yourself thinking that having him as a gift was far better than anything he could've possibly gotten you
↬ He took you to the fair that was being held in your town. You two rode a bunch of rides, took a bunch more photos together, ate even more ridiculously-named foods, and Cater casually flirted with you throughout the entirety of it.
↬ And you, hypnotized by his charming looks, could do nothing but feel the heat consume you while trying your hardest not to make fantasizing and restless gaze obvious.
"Hold that pose!" The sudden exclamation has you frozen instantly, mouth agape, slightly watery, and ready to sink your teeth into the sugary fluff of a comically-large stick of cotton candy.
"Wait!" You shout when he lifts his phone, but its too late. The familiar click of the camera snapping a photo had already sounded and Cater, despite your obvious dismay, was already tapping away on his phone and adding hashtags to the post-to-be.
"Sweet! I snagged a pick of the birthday star in their natural habitat! This'll totally go viral on Magicam!" He raves — a stark difference to the groan you let out afterwards.
"Don't post that...!" You say, half-whining and fully serious. Alas, your querulous demand fell on deaf ears and Cater continues to type away..
So, when you realize your words are ineffective, you get up and reach over, yanking his phone from him just before he could hit post. Cater lets you do so without fuss or fight, but the action does earn the prettiest pout from him.
The sight of it has you biting your lip. How could someone look so good doing something so childish? — you found yourself wondering that as you took a glance at his phone's screen..
Immediately, you scowl at the sight of yourself. Maybe it was due to the fact that this absolute babe sat literal inches away from you, but going from the gorgeous sight of his playful sadness to the less than stunning sight of you with your mouth open way too wide and your hair frazzled to hell ( and...crumbs galore on your cheeks from the food you shoved down your throat minutes before the picture was taken, ew ) gave you a similar feeling to a bad whiplash.
You should really delete this and spare the world from such an unpleasant sight.
...Before you could, though, "Come onnn...! You look adorbs in that picture — you don't even need a filter!" He says and you're embarrassed by the way your heart flapping in your chest like it was some butterfly about to take flight.
It was odd. From what it seems, nothing has changed about Cater — well, personality-wise anyways. Look-wise...
You glance up from his phone. He's still looking your way with his honeydew green hues softened and slanted to give off the best puppy dog eyes he could manage. The look went straight through you — went straight to your knees, and...
—Wait, are you really... Are you seriously getting nervous? Because of Cater? Your old friend...who looked as good as this cotton candy in your hands with his stupidly clear skin and his tangerine orange hair he's grown out to fit his face perfectly or his sparkling eyes which can't seem to stop winking at you whenever your eyes locked—
"—and...posted!" What?
"..Huh?" You blink, befuddled. You look down, and sure enough, Cater's phone was no longer in your grasp and had been returned to its owner.
Your eyes widening, you snap up to look at the culprit — who grinned triumphantly as he waved his phone in the air. His screen still alight by your image with the timestamp of when it was posted taunting you above it.
"When did you..?" You began, but can't manage to finish your sentence as your words fail you. Your reaction wins his laughter; a serenade that you wished to play over and over like some broken record.
Great Seven give you strength, you mentally groaned as you decide to alleviate the crushing feeling of your defeat with a bite of the sugary cloud on a white stick.
...It doesn't help much, but man did it taste good.
Ace Trappola
↬ You two bumped into each other, quite literally, during spring break. You were having a bad day and — though it wouldn't have been your proudest moment — you were ready to pour all of your built up anger and frustration onto whoever made you topple to the ground.
↬ But when you looked up, you quickly found yourself speechless.
↬ For what you saw....was Ace Trappola, your old frenemy.
↬ But he certainly didn't match the scrawny, annoying face that would grind your gears near-constantly with his smug attitude and ugly mug.
↬ Well, his dickheadish personality hadn't changed a bit, but his face...
↬ As an argument ensued, you found yourself floundering to both get the last word in and defend your pride, for more reasons than one.
↬ And Ace — upon realizing your wandering eyes and slight change in demeanor — jumped at the chance to both amuse himself and piss you off.
"My eyes are up here, you know," The comment comes out as a teasing remark that has your tongue stilling in your mouth and your eyes snapping up in self-realization.
You had been caught with your hand mid-reach for the cookies in the cookie jar and you couldn't have been more mortified about it.
So naturally, you went on the irritable defensive.
"Don't flatter yourself, Trappola," You snap, "You aren't that good-looking."
Poor phrasing, you realize it a second later than Ace and you immediately pay for it, "So you admit that I'm at least a little attractive. 'Unexpected coming from you, but I get it. It's hard to ignore—"
"Fuck off," You say with an eyeroll. Whether he aged like fine wine or not, his attitude is something you could never adore. You were certain of that.
He laughs your retort off like he was brushing dust off his shoulders. It irks you how much fun he seems to be having with this — even more so when you come to grips with the fact that you've given him a machine gun's worth of ammunition to use on you in these past few minutes alone.
You groan, frustrated, and Ace uses it as leeway to infuriate you further. He sighs, face dropping as his fingertips come up to delicately touch his chest.
"It's annoying, I get it," He says with mocking sympathy, "I mean, it must be so hard staying focused when the man you're arguing with is just that handsome— Ow!"
Yep, you threw your pen at him. It wasn't the most witty response you could've given but seeing his face contort in pain, even for the briefest of seconds, certainly made you feel a lot better.
"Real mature, asshole..." He grumbles, rubbing the center of his forehead where the gemstone of your pen had unceremoniously smacked and lightly bruised.
The sight reminds you of a wounded cat, honestly.
It's cute. He's cute. You bite your lip as you mentally curse, damn it all to hell.
"At least I'm capable of being mature," You say as you finally find the satisfaction in yourself to get up and walk away.
Alas, today is simply not in your favor it seems. As you snatch yourself off the ground and shoot him a glare, you straighten yourself and raise your head high ( and just a tad too pompously for someone who had just assaulted a hot guy on the prestigious streets of the Queendom of Roses ) as you got to turn and walk off....when you slip on your own pen.
That's right. You slipped on your fucking pen. Your Magic Pen specifically — which you had thrown at him a literal minute ago.
It was comedic the way the world seemed to slow down as you faced your impending doom; the smooth concrete. It came at you slowly as if you were falling in slow motion and, at that point, a part of you began hoping that the impact was hard enough to kill you instantly.
But, of course, you couldn't be so lucky.
"Heh, at least I'm capable of walking straight," The repetitive quip was delivered like a final cut, and it was truly a pity for you that what it severed was the remaining bit of your pride rather than your head from your shoulders.
You purse your lips. Feeling sour, embarrassed, and defeated as you straighten up for a second time. Your eyes peer back without turning your head and you can see Ace's shit-eating grin as clear as day.
It fits him like a finely-tailored suit, bringing out the gorgeous curve of his cheekbones and the warmth that envelopes it — which complimented the ambers of his eyes well.
The sight makes your heart skip and, as dejected as you are right now, there's no way to prevent it from sinking into your veins this time.
Your eyes trail to the ground where your pen lays slightly scuffed up but thankfully not damaged. For a moment — just for a second — you consider grabbing it and conjuring up a giant boulder to crush you, but the thought is quickly waved off. No way it'd be that easy ( and in no way would he let it be that. )
You opt for a simple escape, but when you go to snatch your arm away, you're met with resistance.
"Ah, ah, ah! Not so fast! Don't you got something you wanna tell me?"
You had plenty to say, but barely any were courteous. In fact, a lot of them were rather murderous and involving the demise of a certain redhead, but you can't risk embarrassing yourself further.
So, after a moment, you get to grumbling under your breath.
Ace leans in close — so close that his short hair tickles your burning ears — and cups his hand against the shell of his earlobe, humming as he asks you to repeat yourself.
With a grit of your teeth, you do, "Thanks for the catch..." You say.
Ace snickers ( and promptly pushes the fact that your words and expressions has his heart doing tricks like crazy to the very back of his mind ) as he answers, "Oh, no need to thank me — really, it's no big deal. I'm just that chivalrous!"
At this point, your teeth are beginning to grind into pixiedust by how hard they're being forced together. You realize that at the first sputter of warning your teeth makes and force your jaw slack, telling yourself that it's all over now and that you'll soon be able to find a hole to crawl into and forget this ever happened.
That's when Ace speaks up again with a sneering grin, still riding the high from having his ego thoroughly stroked by you, "Now, kiss my knuckles and admit that you think I'm the hottest guy ever in Queendom — no, the whole world, and I'll consider letting you go!"
The next day, when he had returned to Night Raven College, Deuce, Riddle, and the others who laid sight of him were in a collective shock — for it looked as though Ace had gotten into the worst fight of life...and lost horribly. ( Who knew you had such a mean right hook in your arsenal? )
Deuce Spade
↬ Your knight in suited armor came to your aid when you were facing the most dire of predicaments; a broken fan and a money-hungry jerk.
↬ The heat had not only come half a season earlier than expected, but had reached absurd numbers in little over half a week. It was bad enough having to travel to and fro to do basically anything, but to make things ten times worse, you arrived home one day to a destroyed fan and your culpable pet playing with the snapped parts.
↬ You were irate, but with the sweltering heat, you had no choice but to swallow your anger and go out to find the nearest repair shop...where you met the most obnoxious guy ever.
↬ His prices were unreasonable to say the least, but with no other shop like this in town, you had no choice but to try and haggle to no avail.
↬ It was after a while, when you were considering giving up and trying to find some way to earn some quick cash to buy a new fan, that someone intervened.
↬ They claimed they knew their way around machinery and could fix your fan within a day or so, free of charge — music to your ears.
↬ You turned with gleeful surprise to your savior, already preparing your thanks, when your eyes locked with bright cyan hues.
↬ You pause, flabbergasted by the sense of familiarity that strikes you. Where have you seen this guy? — you wondered to yourself as you took a moment to take in his appearance further.
↬ Nothing about him rung a bell, but his face certainly struck a cord in your heart. Not to make you sound like some fantastical mc from a trashy romance novel, but it was like love at first sight!
↬ His charming face had you at a lost for words and your heart racing...until he introduced himself and said his name. That's when the fantasy land in your head came to an abrupt collapse.
↬ For the absolute knockout before you...was the same guy you'd spend days on end scolding when you were a kid. You were in complete and utter shock.
↬ Deuce merely wrote it off in his head, believing that you were merely caught off guard by his drastic change in appearance.
↬ Oh, if only he knew the real reason for your sudden bashfulness.
"Deuce?! Is that really you?!" You exclaimed, your jaw having kissed the pavement since you stepped foot back into this horrid heat — which was of little concern to you now.
Not that anyone could blame your sudden disinterest. I mean, the most radiant man ever just swooped you off your feet during your brief performance as a sweaty damsel in distress and now you're finding out that same guy was the delinquent who would get into fights left and right and made your childhood ten times harder by dragging you into his heap pile of messes.
On instinct, your eyes traveled up and down his body, taking him in and, sevens, what a sight he was now. His hair was no longer dyed that grotesque lemon yellow that would sting your eyes after staring at it for too long and his skin was vacant of the usual black eye and ghastly cut, allowing you to take in his truly delicate features.
He was like a male lead in a romance novel now, especially in this weather that dyed his midnight features in a soft, golden hue.
That said, you couldn't help but take a double and even triple take, unable to believe that this sunshine of a boy had a past of delinquency — and such a terrible one that you were apart of against your will..
Meanwhile, Deuce was shrinking away like some wounded animal under your scrutinizing gaze. To say he's mortified would be an understatement. Here he was, trying to do some good by helping out a person in need and it ends up being his childhood crush of all people..
( It was times like this where he wished he could go back in time and change things or, at the very least, cause you one less headache )
"Heh, yeah... It's me.." He strains himself to say with a smile, looking off into the distance to spare himself from judgement he certainly deserves.
He then asks, "Is that— ..Does that bother you? Do I bother you still?"
He fully expected a resounding yes. It was the only reasonable reaction one would have when considering all he made you put up with in the past.
But, to his surprise, it seemed the world was taking pity on him because you quickly shook your head no.
"N- Not at all! You don't bother me — quite the opposite, actually!" Your words come out much too strongly to be passed off as casual. You realize that and quickly reiterate in a much calmer tone, "I- I mean, not at all, heh..."
"Cool," He throws out, and after a pregnant pause that stretches on for way too long, he adds, "I just thought since...y'know, that you'd be...you know..." He clears his throat, 'U- Uhm, anyways! I should have your fan fixed for you in no time, don't worry!"
He throws up a crinkled smile that has your legs suddenly quaking like they were made of jelly and a smile that's just as loopy.
It's embarrassing — and you're sure once he's gone and out of your face, you'll want to suffocate yourself with a pillow — but for now, your full attention is on every little word, vowel, and sound that leaves his lips.
Having said that, it's a true shame that the next sentence he utters has your heart shriveling up like a prune.
"I'll get going now... When I have the fan ready, we can meet up."
"I'll go with you!" You shoot out. It takes a second to register, but when it does, Deuce is shooting you a look of furrowed bafflement.
"You...want to go with me to my mom's place?" He questions with bewilderment, but then something seems to click in his mind and he's mumbling, suddenly looking visibly dejected, "..You don't have to do that. I won't steal it or anything, I promise, I'm not that kind of guy anymore."
"I didn't mean it like that.." You trail off. What was your reason for following him to his old home? To continue to gawk at him? To try and weasel your way back into his heart with the intention of staying this time? Neither of those are acceptable answers...
"I..." You began, "I...would like to be shown the ropes — y'know, for when my fan breaks again," You explain, not even noticing your wording as you continue, "I mean, it's not like I'll have such a ho— helpful man like yourself to gimme a hand all the time!"
You mentally facepalm. Could you be any more obvious with your intentions here? No way he'd honestly believe you!
...Or so you thought. Whether he was trying to spare you both the embarrassment of reading in between the lines or was simply that oblivious as to not connect your actively wandering eyes, subtle expression changes whenever you noticed something particular about him that you found attractive ( which you could make up a whole list of at this point ), or shifty behavior, he speaks on none of it.
Instead, he slowly nods his head, confused but not at all put off by your suggestion — which younger him would've saw as his dreams coming true — and timidly offers his hand for you to take.
You take it with eagerness that you're just barely able to mask behind your coy grin. Could be considered masking at this point? You had no idea nor did you really find yourself caring all that much either as the comforting warmth of his hand swallowed your own.
Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx
Taking a small breath this Thursday since I'm on vacation (yes during September, capitalism didn't let me rest during the Summer season.) So instead I'm leaving this here, because dear @aritsukemo ate and gave.
“Prefect… you don’t know what you’re saying right now.”
He catches you before you stumble, steadying you gently. The flush on your cheeks and the slurred words make it obvious you're not yourself. For just a heartbeat, he imagines what it would be like to say yes... but that’s not who he is. “You’re not going to remember this in the morning,” he says softly, brushing your hair back. “Let’s get you some water instead.” He guides you away, gently prying you off.
Cater Diamond
Laughs awkwardly, though his cheeks flush pink.
“O-okay, wow, that’s bold… but you’ll regret saying that in the morning, {...}!”
His smile flickers for a second when you press close, all tipsy warmth and reckless words. His heart skips, who wouldn’t want to believe you meant it? But Cater knows better. “Aw, Prefect, you’re kinda cute like this, but nahhh. You’ll unfollow me in the morning if I ‘liked’ this post, y’know?” He laughs, light but firm, and drapes his jacket over your shoulders instead.
Leona Kingscholar
Groans like he’s just been given the biggest headache.
Leona arches a brow at your audacity, lips twitching in amusement. “Tch. Bold little herbivore.” The idea lingers. Tempting, thrilling, but even he knows lines not to cross. He leans back lazily, refusing your weight with a gentle shove. “Come back when you’re sober. If you even remember this tomorrow.” His tail swishes, amused yet protective as he lets you collapse against a pillow instead of him.
“You’re wasted. Sleep it off before you say something dumber.” He tosses his coat over you and let you nap nearby, but he refuses to entertain the request.
Vil Schoenheit
Immediate scolding.
“Absolutely not. Do you know how ungraceful you look right now?”
Takes charge, fussing over you like a strict parent, but deep down he’s a little flustered at being begged for like that.
Vil’s eyes harden, though his cheeks color faintly. “Honestly. Do you know how unsightly you are right now?” But the heat in your words lingers longer than he’d like, prickling at the edges of his composure. He exhales sharply, brushing past the thought. “I won’t indulge this version of you. Sleep. I’ll make sure you wake up with your dignity intact.”
Rook Hunt
Sparkles in delight, though he restrains himself.
“Ah, mon papillon, such passion! But it is the wine speaking, not your heart.”
Finds it romantic in a tragic way, but will keep you safe until you’re sober.
Rook chuckles, charmed and pained all at once. “Ah… such passion, such reckless abandon! Truly, you tempt me.” For a moment, the hunter considers surrendering. Then he shakes his head with fond exasperation. “But non, not like this. Beauty deserves to be cherished in clarity, not clouded haze.” He carefully sweeps you into a more comfortable seat.
Idia Shroud
His hair is flaring pink.
“Wh—wha—WHAT?! No, no, no, bad flags everywhere, abort mission!”
He’d freeze, then panic, then awkwardly cover you with a blanket while mumbling incoherently.
Idia freezes, hair sparking faintly as his brain blue screens. His heart races at the idea, you actually want him? Then the reality sinks in: you're drunk, and this is a minefield. “U-uhhh, y-yikes, this is like… totally a ‘bad end’ route if I actually… no no no nope nope nope.” He retreats halfway across the room, face flaming, but he does send Ortho to make sure you get tucked in safely.
Malleus Draconia
He holds you steady with surprising gentleness, making sure you don’t stumble.
He looks at you as if studying your earnestness. For the first time, someone has sought him so openly. The thought tempts him, stirring unfamiliar warmth. Yet he knows the haze of intoxication robs the words of true meaning. “You speak boldly, child of man. But your heart does not know itself tonight.” He gently lays a ward around your sleeping form, watching over you until dawn.
Lilia Vanrouge
There is a twinkle in his eye.
Lilia chuckles, eyes glimmering with mischief at your brazen plea. “Oh my, {...}, you certainly know how to make an old man feel wanted.” The notion is amusing, even flattering, but he shakes his head with a smile. “Alas, I’m not so heartless as to take advantage of a drunk fledgling.” Instead, he hums you a lullaby, coaxing you into a gentle sleep.
Teases you about it endlessly the next day.
Chenya
At first, he does laugh, because it’s such an over-the-top scene and he can’t help himself. But then he notices the look in your eyes. You're not in your right mind.
“{...}… you’ll get yourself in trouble talking like that. You’re lucky it’s me you pounced on, and not someone less friendly.”
He’d still tease you, but his tone would carry a warning.
Probably would disappear for a moment - poof! - and reappear holding water or even dragging someone responsible along.
Despite his grin, he’d make sure you ended the night safe, comfortable, and nowhere near real danger.
She's hilarious, but I can’t let her make a fool of herself now can I?
"You’re a bold one, aren’t nya? Asking in that state? Heh, dangerous.” His tail flicks, the temptation only a passing shadow. “Nuh-uh, not tonight. But I’ll remember what you said, nya~.” He plops you onto a couch, vanishing and reappearing only to drape a blanket over you.
Rollo Flamme
Flustered and upset, Rollo keeps his distance while still trying to usher you somewhere safe with as much dignity as possible.
When you cling to him, looking up at him with those eyes and spill such pungent words he stiffens immediately, scandalized. Your words ignite something dangerous. Curiosity, longing... but he crushes it ruthlessly beneath his self control. “…Such corruption. Alcohol reduces you to this, does it?” His gaze softens, betraying his internal conflict. “I will not participate in your downfall. Rest. I shall ensure you are not harmed further by your own recklessness.”
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆
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They caught you coming out from someone's room in the middle of the night - disheveled
Staff
✩₊.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⏾⋆☁︎｡⋆｡✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧
Dire Crowley
Crowley gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “In the middle of the night?! Leaving another’s dorm in such a… state? What scandal!” He immediately assumes the worst but frames it as concern for the school’s reputation. Expect a long winded lecture about how your “conduct reflects poorly on the Academy.” Deep down, he’s more flustered than truly upset. He’s just milking the drama.
Divus Crewel
Crewel’s eyes narrow sharply behind his glasses. “My, my… what a mess you are.” His tone is icy, more disappointed than angry. “I don’t care what you were doing, but parading around so disheveled is utterly unfashionable. No dignity at all. Tsk.” He won’t pry, but his biting words make it clear he disapproves. Later, he might give a subtle warning: choose better company, pup.
Mozus Trein
Trein stops in his tracks, eyes wide with exasperation. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” He rubs his temples, muttering about how youth is wasted on the young. He doesn’t lecture, he’s too tired for that, but you’ll get the patented disappointed dad look. Later, he might sigh in class, grumbling, “At your age, I was reading philosophy texts, not… this nonsense.”
Ashton Vargas
Vargas blinks, then grins like it’s the funniest thing ever. “Hah! Look at you, sneakin’ around, huh? Gutsy! I like it!” He slaps you on the back hard enough to knock the wind out of you. He sees it less as scandal and more as game, guts, and stamina. “Just make sure you can keep up in PE tomorrow, or I’ll know exactly why you’re dragging!”
Sam
Sam just gives you a knowing grin, his voice smooth. “Well, well… been making late-night deals of your own, huh?” He won’t press, he just chuckles and waves you along. Later, though, you might find new stock in his shop… oddly fitting for your situation. “Got just what you need, friend! For cover-ups, excuses and slippery situations. Limited time discount, just for you!”
✩₊.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⏾⋆☁︎｡⋆｡✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧
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They Caught You Coming Out From Someone’s Room in the Middle of the Night - Disheveled - Third Years + Chenya & Rollo
They Caught You Coming Out From Someone’s Room in the Middle of the Night - Disheveled - Second Years + Neige
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They caught you coming out from someone's room in the middle of the night - disheveled
Second Years + Neige
✩₊.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⏾⋆☁︎｡⋆｡✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧
Riddle Rosehearts
Riddle stiffens instantly, cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment. “W-what are you doing out of curfew at such an hour... and in that state?” His voice is sharp, but beneath it is hurt. He won’t demand details, but his strict demeanor is a wall shielding the sting of betrayal. Later, he’ll try to act unaffected, but avoids you. If you belong to another, he won’t allow himself to indulge in foolish hopes.
Ruggie Bucchi
Ruggie blinks, then lets out a short, awkward laugh. “Heh… wow, guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re full of surprises, huh?” He’ll joke it off, but his eyes linger on you a little too long. Later, when he’s alone, his smile fades. He doesn’t think he has the right to complain; why would you choose him when you’re fully capable of choosing someone that has more to give? Still. It leaves a sour taste and he quietly distances himself.
Azul Ashengrotto
Azul’s mask doesn’t flatter. He adjusts his gloves and says smoothly, “Quite the… interesting place to be leaving at this hour.” But inside, panic. His insecurities scream at him. Of course she’d never look at me, I’m not delusional to think otherwise. He buries it under icy politeness, but afterward, he obsesses over it. His jealousy drives him to dig for details; contracts, favors, anything to know who ‘the other man’ is. It gnaws at him endlessly.
Jade Leech
Jade tilts his head, smile perfectly in place. “Ara… quite the adventure, hm? How fascinating.” He doesn’t accuse, doesn’t judge, but his eyes gleam with sharp curiosity. He files the image away like a specimen in a jar. Later, his demeanor toward you doesn’t change much, if anything, he becomes more attentive, asking probing questions and watching your every move. His version of jealousy is quiet, unnervingly polite control.
Floyd Leech
Floyd stops dead, his expression flattening. “Eh? Shrimpy… what’s this?” His tone is deceptively light, but his grip on your wrist (if you try to walk past) is tight. Depending on your reaction, he’ll either pout like a sulky child or lash out unpredictably. “You’re soooo boring… running off to someone else when I was right here.” It’s possessive, raw jealousy. He won’t bother to hide it.
Kalim Al-Asim
Kalim’s first instinct is confusion, not suspicion. “Oh! Were you hanging out with a friend? You look kinda messy though... are you okay?” He smiles, trying to be positive, but there’s a flicker of unease he can’t quite name. Later, when he pieces things together, his brightness dims a little. He won’t confront you harshly, but his smiles will be softer, tinged with sadness. He can’t stop wondering if he already lost his chance.
Jamil Viper
Jamil freezes, his eyes narrowing immediately. “…Seriously?” His voice is quiet, but it’s venom laced. He doesn’t need to ask what you were doing, he’s already assumed the worst. He turns on his heel without another word. Later, he avoids you entirely, pouring his energy into work just to forget. His jealousy isn’t loud. It’s bitter, simmering, and it eats at him more than he’ll admit.
Silver
Silver rubs his eyes, looking more tired than usual. “…You’re… leaving someone’s room?” His tone is soft, not accusing, just disappointed. He looks away, as though it hurts too much to see. Later, he won’t treat you coldly, but he withdraws into quiet politeness. His heart is heavy, but he tells himself that if you’re happy with someone else he has no right to interfere.
Neige LeBlanche
Neige freezes in place, wide-eyed. “Oh… you were… with someone?” His voice is gentle, but his shoulders slump slightly. He forces a small smile, wishing you good night without another word. Later, he keeps up his kindness, but it’s tinged with melancholy. He tells himself it’s fine, you’re free to love who you want, yet... it stings and he hides his heartbreak behind that ever sunny smile.
✩₊.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⏾⋆☁︎｡⋆｡✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧
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They Caught You Coming Out From Someone's Room in the Middle of the Night - Disheveled - Third Years
They Caught You Coming Out From Someone’s Room in the Middle of the Night - Disheveled- Staff
